by Martha Carr
“Magic.”
“Fuck me. Well, there you go,” said Hagan, doing his jazz hands again but with a sour expression.
The crime scene didn’t take long to investigate. There wasn’t much to find. Just like the other robberies the victims were confused about what they saw, if anything, and there were no fibers, no fingerprints and no real clues. Except for the unexpected one Leira found. Magical traces.
“What do we do now?” Hagan watched Leira as if he expected her to do something immediately.
They were sitting back in the Mustang as Leira finished explaining what she found.
“I’m not going to pull out a spell. I don’t even know more than one or two. Don’t ask if I have a wand. I’m not that kind of magical.”
“There are kinds? Fuck me again. How many kinds?”
“You’re losing focus here. The game has changed. If magic is involved we need to come at this from a different angle. But I’m going to need to do some research.”
“You’re gonna talk to the big guy with the pointy ears. Spock man.”
“I have an idea how we can catch these guys without anyone getting hurt.”
“I’m all for that.”
“We use magic to find the gun that shot that guard and then find a reason to go get it.”
“Works for me! You think it still exists?”
“I don’t know. But a spell to find something can’t be that hard. Not if you can believe every Lucasfilm movie ever made.”
“Call your friend. Do you need a phone for that or do we just say his name three times?”
“I’m starting to see why we get on his nerves. We’ll have to go find him. He doesn’t have a phone. Okay, yes, there is a way to talk to him using magic. I haven’t learned that one yet.”
“It’s like riding with someone from the Justice League. You should have a superhero name.”
“Do it and I will fill your drawer with cotton balls. Remember, I know how they secretly creep you out. Come up with a name and I swear you will find cotton balls when you least expect it for an entire month. I’ll even use magic to make sure it happens.”
Hagan held up his hands. “Fine. No nicknames. Kill all the fun.”
“Let’s go get that gun.”
“I can settle for that,” Hagan agreed. “Our clearance rate is going to skyrocket. Loving this new thing we’ve got going here.”
Leira glared at him but wondered. Have things changed forever?
“Okay, try again.” Correk waited patiently for Leira to move her hands through the intricate movements.
“This isn’t easy with everyone watching me.”
Hagan rolled his eyes and turned around so his back was to her. “This better?”
Leira looked at his sagging pants. “Not really.”
“Hardy har, Berens. Come on, try again,” he said, turning back around. “What? I don’t want to miss the show.”
“Not a show. I’m not doing sleight of hand on South Congress for the tourists.”
They were standing in the center of Leira’s small living room in the guesthouse behind Estelle’s bar. The only place they could be certain no one would bother them. Correk preferred a confined space anyway, where it would be easier to contain her magic while she was learning. He had already put a charm around the cottage, ensuring no one would see any light or hear suspicious noises from the patio.
The bar was humming with patrons, including Leira’s tribe of regulars, but Estelle had made it very clear early on that just because Leira lived nearby and someone had a few drinks didn’t mean they could waltz over and knock on her door. It was up to Leira when she wanted to come out.
Everyone respected the rule, for the most part. Estelle was small but scary and no one wanted to be on her bad side. Mitzi and Margaret were known to do drive-bys but even they would only do that during the daylight, most of the time. They said that was normal girlfriend behavior.
“Oh, come on, this is like a show! And for an old homicide detective it’s like Christmas Day and hearing the words, we find the defendant guilty, all rolled into one. You move your hands around and have all the feelings and boom, there’s your murder weapon. Didn’t even leave home. It’s a fucking show!”
“You’re doing the jazz hands again. It’s distracting. Okay, okay, I can do this.” Leira took a deep breath and shook out her hands. “Attempt number five. I thought you said this was one of the easy ones.”
“I said this was a simple one. None of them are necessarily easy. Let me show you again.” Correk raised his hands, making circles with his thumb and forefingers.
“Why can’t you just do it and tell us where the gun is?” There was a sheen of sweat on Leira’s forehead.
“You need to embrace this side of you. If I do it for you what will you do when there’s some kind of danger and you have to find something or someone with just moments to spare?”
“You can find people this way, too? Holy crap, this changes everything!” Hagan slapped his forehead, smiling as he hitched his pants back up over his belly.
“Not always. Even human beings have the ability to hide themselves from us with their intentions or feelings. Even when they don’t realize they’re doing it. That’s why the late Bill Somers was impossible for us to find. Now, try again. I thought you said you never back down from a challenge.”
“Oh, okay, fuck me,” she grumbled. “He threw down a challenge. Alright, okay.” She cocked her head to one side then the other, stretching her neck and flexing her fingers.
“Oh, now she’s ready. Now you got her.” Hagan licked his lips nervously. “You can feel it, right?”
“I haven’t even started! Okay, everyone take a step back.”
Correk stepped back and folded his arms across his chest. “The floor is yours.”
“Okay.”
“Try shutting your eyes. It can help.” Correk gave her an encouraging look. “Remember how it felt at Lavender Rock. That wasn’t something you created. It was something you allowed. Like turning on one of your light switches. You flip up the switch and the electricity just flows.”
Leira closed her eyes and started moving her hands. She felt the first small surge of energy, boosting her confidence.
Hagan and Correk watched as her skin started to glow and the symbols appeared. Hagan’s mouth opened, forming a perfect O. He started to say something but Correk put a heavy hand on his arm and gave him a stern shake of his head. Hagan nodded, whispering, “Right, right,” earning another withering look from Correk. “Okay,” he whispered, holding a finger to his lips. “Shhhhhh.”
Leira was already lost in the spell, mesmerized by the images passing through her head and feeling the surge of power that was becoming familiar.
Correk read the symbols as they appeared and saw that she was getting close. “Remember what you know about the robbery, the gun and the store. Recall the traces of magic left behind in the last robbery. Let all of that flow through you and focus on what you desire. To know where the gun that was used to shoot the guard is.”
His voice was deep and soothing, reaching her like an echo inside of her head. She saw images of the different stores, at first like snapshots in her mind.
“Think about slapping the cuffs on someone. That always helps you focus.” Hagan’s voice came through like a sharp, tinny song, but he was right. The feeling she got when she finally put all the pieces together and knew she had the right person.
“The gun,” she whispered, pushing the magic out from her.
Correk watched the symbols on her, reading them. “That’s right, you’re very close.”
“You can read those? I’ll be damned.” Hagan was bent over at the waist, his hands on his hips, squinting at the symbols. “No, nothing. Don’t get a thing.”
Correk did his best to ignore Hagan and focused on Leira. “What do you see?”
The snapshots started to come faster, pulling her along until a stream of images flashed in her mind. “Lake Anna. The bott
om of Lake Anna toward the interstate on the south side of the lake.” Her eyes popped open and the symbols started to fade. “I did it! Lake Anna! For a bunch of magical beings they’re as dumb as a bag of rocks. Old school throw the gun in a lake.” She began to realize what she had done. She was a magical creature.
“The good news is we don’t need a warrant to search a lake. The bad news is we need a damn good reason to use the resources.”
Leira felt the energy subside, clearing her head. “What about Pink Harry?”
“You mean get him to lie for us and call in a tip?” Hagan made a face but the idea seemed to grow on him. “That could work. I have to tell you, Berens, you mix in this magical stuff and it gets harder to know the rules, exactly.”
“I have a better idea,” said Correk. “It involves magical suggestion, so the person believes the story they’re telling. We can charm this Pink Harry. It’ll make him sound more believable.”
“Not that I’m against this,” said Hagan, “but how is this not a lie, too?”
“Do it,” Leira decided. “We can figure out magical ethics later. We’re not creating the evidence, Hagan. We’re using the tools at our disposal to find the evidence.”
“Good enough for me, I guess. Okay, big guy, do your thing.”
“It’s already done,” said Correk, looking smug.
“That is not a good look on you,” Leira said.
“What just happened?” Hagan blinked, looking around with his hands held out like he expected something to jump out at him.
“You two should go. Pink Harry is about to call in a tip.”
“Yeah, good idea, right,” said a flustered Hagan. “Like we’re in a sci-fi cop movie. The older guy always lives till the end right?”
“You really already pulled that off?” whispered Leira. Correk smiled and did a good imitation of Hagan’s magic hands.
“No, but it was fun watching his face. But by the time you get to the precinct, Pink Harry will have said enough to convince your captain it’s worth his while.” Correk winked. “Fun with humans.”
“Hey,” she said, swatting him on the chest with the back of her hand, “I’m partially human. Man, that’s still weird to say out loud.”
“You’ll get used to it, now go!”
It didn’t take long for the divers to find the gun. Pink Harry’s information was remarkably accurate. The gun was in the exact spot Leira had seen. There were no fingerprints on the outside of the gun but one of the bullets in the chamber had enough of a partial to give up a name.
They found the three men holed up in an apartment complex off St. Edwards Drive. They looked confused when the police came barreling through the door, heavily armed, wearing vests. Leira made a point to stay in the background while the lead detectives from robbery read them their rights. She had pointed out to Hagan that it was their case anyway, and besides, no one needed angry magical felons recognizing Leira’s newly discovered status.
That didn’t stop tongues from wagging in the precinct, though. Some of the other detectives took note of how two big cases, both with almost no leads, suddenly broke wide open and were solved in no time at all.
“Ignore them,” Hagan said. “Jealous of age and beauty. My beauty, your age.”
Leira smiled but she was growing wary. “We need to be more careful. At least make it look more difficult or someone will start to ask questions we can’t answer. For all we know, there are other magical beings nearby.”
“You mean in here?” Hagan’s eyebrows shot up as he looked around the room suspiciously.
“I don’t think you’re going to see anything, Hagan. I just mean, this could go south on us, quickly.”
“At least the Captain is happy. Look at him.”
Captain Napora was standing behind his desk on the phone, smiling from ear to ear, talking away.
“That’s good, I suppose, but it just makes the bitches among us even more aware of our every move.”
“Well,” said Hagan, getting up and putting on his coat, “I’m going home to Rose. My corner in the world of sanity. Especially these days. Thank whatever there is that Rose is predictable, even if that means yelling at me for something at least once a week.”
“Completely deserved.”
“Completely,” said Hagan, scooping up his keys. “Frankly, she keeps me alive. Don’t stay too much longer. There’ll be another case before we know it and a new set of problems. Enjoy whatever time we’ve got right now. At least go hang out with those people you call neighbors.” Hagan laughed. “Only you could have mobile neighbors who don’t live near you so much as drink near you. Ah, the dead fish look I have come to love. Don’t ever change that.”
“Enough. Go home. I’m leaving right behind you.” Before something else goes wrong and so I can finally corner Correk on how to get my mother home.
Chapter Eleven
The ground shook slightly and everyone walking along Michigan Avenue looked up from their phones, mildly surprised, looking back down again to check on Facebook for reports of an earthquake. But a plume of smoke rising from the Pumping Station struck a note of fear. The tourists in particular started walking quickly in the other direction while some turned and held up their phones to record the event. A few turned around to make sure and get a selfie with the smoke in the background, making their best duck faces and holding up the peace sign.
The media descended after the first explosion, bringing their satellite trucks close before the police could arrive to push them back. It helped that it was all happening so close to their studios.
Still, there were others who kept one eye on the old stone building that looked more like a castle but kept on moving down the street anyway, determined not to have their day interrupted. Most of them were locals and native Chicagoans weren’t easily shaken, and some of them had roots that wove their way back to Oriceran. They had seen stranger things in Chi-town under a full moon. Among that crowd there was a general consensus that this too would pass.
Not everyone took it so calmly.
It was Chicago and normally any spate of violence might have taken some time for anyone to notice, but this was the Magnificent Mile, the heart of the Gold Coast. People were up in arms from the first billow of ash, calling their aldermen, demanding they do something. The mayor was informed and there was a brief mention of marshaling the forces.
But then, just like that, there was an explanation. An old gas pipe under the pumping station on Michigan Avenue had exploded. An accident. A fluke. No injuries. The news coverage quickly melted away and regular programming resumed. There were a few grumblings and tweets about how these sorts of things aren’t supposed to happen, and what if someone was hurt. Stores reopened and in the nearby Water Tower, wine was being offered to any shoppers shaken by the interruption to their day.
The Order of the Silver Griffin was using their extensive network of connections to change the story.
They had a guy.
Members of the Order stepped out onto the street and like a chorus of band leaders held up their wands, almost as one and chanted, “Never was, never will be.” The humans on the street froze for a minute or two and when they came to, shook their heads, tried to remember what they were doing, why was their phone in their hand, and let it go. Back to their day.
Other members sat in front of their computer screens, sending out a virus that sought out coverage of the explosion or posts in social media, eating the pixels like a magical Pac-Man and replacing them with cat videos.
Witches and wizards who were going about their day, sitting in meetings, picking up kids, looking at apples in Trader Joe’s suddenly felt their phones buzzing and twitching with an emergency chirp, a chime too pleasant for anyone outside of the Order to take notice.
A wizard at the gym looked up at another wizard running on the treadmill and gave him a nod. Both of their phones were jumping and chirping.
The worst was happening. The vault was under attack. The text was short and sim
ple and was prepared years ago, ready to go if it ever became necessary.
Report at once to your primary battle station. Stop the offenders. Defend by any means necessary. Use lethal force as required.
They both got up as if they were finished working out, even smiling and waving as they left.
“Best of everything,” said the taller of the two as they met at the door.
“All the best in the world,” said the other, as they parted ways to go to their stations. It was an old saying from Oriceran used when preparing to go to war, not heard much in hundreds of years on Oriceran but whispered on many a battlefield on Earth.
At ground level, everything appeared quiet. Beneath the streets, the fighting raged on as the Order of the Silver Griffins fought against the onslaught of magical beings trying to get to the safe.
The rebirth of Rhazdon’s cult. His followers had come for the necklace.
Two witches from the Order stood at the top of the stairs, their wands drawn, determined looks on their faces. They both looked more like mothers getting ready to pick up their kids from school than combat veterans. But they were trained by the Order to fight till the end to keep the vault from all comers. They weren’t backing down.
Behind them the stairs were partially destroyed, rubble everywhere with dust floating up and clinging to everything. An injured wizard lay on the first landing, pressing on his broken leg with one hand while still managing to hold out his wand with the other. His casual corporate attire was singed in places with a long, ragged tear in the slacks where he took a direct hit from a half human, half dwarf male.
The spell sent out a cloud of glittering black dust that coalesced into an arrow, aimed straight at the wizard, vanishing after it hit its mark. Old magic, forbidden for eons. The wound was already festering and bubbling.
The witches at the top of the stairs looked ashen. They knew they were outnumbered but stood firm, wands at the ready.