“No, I wasn’t trying to be smooth.” I tried to recover.
“Clearly.” She grinned and finished my drink.
“Pardon me?”
“Do you want room – in the cup?” She pointed at it and stared pointedly at me.
“I’m an idiot. Sorry.”
“I don’t know if you’re an idiot but you do dress … strangely.”
“Tools of the trade.” I rattled my bandolier.
“I meant the leather. Were you in a motorcycle gang in the seventies?”
“You’d be surprised what I did in the seventies.”
“Right. Me too. I was a gleam in my mother’s eye. She probably wore flowers in her hair and danced in meadows. Were your parents hippies?”
“More like gypsies. They had some stranger rituals.”
She laughed as if I were joking. I didn’t know who my parents had been. For all I knew they had been gypsies. She also had the wrong century in mind.
I sipped the coffee and burned the hell out of my lips, but I didn’t take my eyes off her.
“The lid does have a little warning on top that the beverage you are about to enjoy is hot.”
“Maybe I can’t read so well. Can I sue? My lip is going to swell up like a plum.”
She chuckled and spun around to pick up a small clear plastic cup. She dumped a couple of pieces of ice into it and handed it to me. I stared at it for a second then took a piece and nursed my swollen lip.
“Not anymore. You have acknowledged the burn was your own fault by applying ice instead of calling a lawyer. Now, if you had called a lawyer right away and made a complaint maybe they could have helped. But I’m now a witness to the fact that you freely took aid and even smiled when I mentioned the warning on the lid.”
“You are good,” I conceded.
“I should be. I’ve put enough money into my legal career to buy a house.”
She took a cup from “just woke up and forgot to shave” and read the side. The same hieroglyphics meant something to her because she squirted some kind of liquid into the cup and then hit it with espresso.
“Maybe we can work together to bring down the man?” I suggested.
“I work for the man. Not a good career decision. So what are all those vials really for?”
“I’m a warlock.”
“The sofa repairman was a better line of work.”
“You don’t believe me?”
She laughed. “I had a friend once that was into the occult. She dated a guy who claimed to be a warlock, but I think he was playing her. The only trick he could do was get her out of her panties, which were notoriously frigid.”
I sputtered as I took a sip of coffee.
“Warlocks have a few more talents, I can assure you.”
“Right. Well. I should get back to work now.”
“Nice chatting with you, Ashley.”
“Ash. I go by Ash.” She flashed me a smile then grabbed the next cup and ignored me. After a few seconds, I decided that I didn’t look very smooth after all and walked out of the coffee shop.
There was something about Ashley – Ash -- that I couldn’t get out of my head. Was it her confidence? Her easy laugh at my bad jokes? I should have gone back and continued to make an ass out of myself, but I had a job to do.
Chapter Four
With picture in hand I was convinced I was at the spot of one of the murders. My tools came out and I repeated the spell again. This time I was in luck, but the form was nearly depleted, and when its corporeal energy was exhausted there would be nothing to latch onto.
“How goes it?” the voice of Detective Andrews interrupted my concentration. I was hunched over, studying a form, which was barely a wisp. To anyone else it would have looked like the barest hint of smoke. More like a light mist rising off the ground on a warm morning. At least I got something more concrete this time. A few of the first locations gave me nothing.
I followed the direction it leaned toward and marked a spot on the envelope. I was drawing the location of each body on a crude map while a suspicion formed.
“You following me?”
“Yes,” she said. “So how is the investigation?”
“I’m getting a little bit, a hint. I hope the next one tells me more. I started with the oldest murder, and by the time I get to the newest one I should be able to triangulate the location. From there I use the oldest tool in the book.”
“A spell?”
“Wrong book. Intuition.”
“My ex had good intuition. He left me for someone that had their life together.”
Andrews looked better than she had earlier in the day and I guessed she’d recently had a dose of whatever she was addicted to. She had on a non-descript dark blue jacket that would probably look very official with SPD printed on the back.
I sipped the coffee as I studied her eyes. She glanced up and down the street and I could tell she was much calmer. More relaxed and accepting. Maybe too relaxed. How much and what was she on exactly?
“Hey Phineas, I hope I didn’t say anything to offend you earlier. I’m really disturbed by the murders and, well, I don’t normally turn to paranormal means to solve them. Okay, I’ve never turned to paranormal anything.”
“No worries, and I’m not offended in the least. Walk with me,” I said and we fell into step together.
We passed several bars on the way up Yestler Street to the next location. Revelers sipped beer outside so they could smoke, bundled up in thick jackets but laughing at jokes just the same. There weren’t many tourists this time of year but I marked one or two, probably here on business. The emerald city did have a reputation for the high tech.
“So you’re not married?” I asked.
“Was. He left and took the kids.” She didn’t sound bitter.
“Sorry to hear that.”
“So was I. I was even sorrier to learn he left me for another man. It’s okay now. We make better friends than a married couple.”
Jesus ..
“I saw that little move at the crime scene. Was it real?”
“Real enough.”
She didn’t say anything for a few seconds.
“I’ve seen ...”
“Some wild things in your time, but you’ve never seen magic. I’ve never heard that one before. Bet you’ve never seen monkeys fly out of someone’s butt either. Doesn’t mean it can’t happen.”
“Very funny, smart guy.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
A cold breeze kicked up and threw my robe around my body. A blast flew up and rushed over my chest, cooling the pentagram there. The chill that followed sank into my bones and made my hair stand on end.
“Oh.”
I stopped in front of a nondescript green door. There were no signs, but I was familiar with it.
“The next location is in this alley, just around the …” she said, stopping to watch me as I stared at the door. “You know where that goes, right?”
“I know, and I think I know what our problem is. You ever seen a real angry changer go rogue detective?”
“Sometimes it’s like you’re speaking a different language. I’ve never seen a changer, let alone an angry one.”
“They get too used to their other shape. Maybe they kill a guy for no real reason except for the thrill. They get addicted to the blood and then they fall for the solitude. The part that was human is slowly leeched away and they become their other self. Well I think that’s our problem, and I think he’s using this area as a base of operations.” It was the longest thing I had said to the detective.
She stared at me and her eyes seemed to grow together as she considered my words. The detective was angry. That much was clear. There was a lot of prejudice against my kind, but it was worse when it came to the changers. Fear of the unknown peaked when humans were able to change into animals.
“You serious? A goddamn changer, here?”
“Changers are everywhere and most want to be left alone. We ma
y have a unique one. I can’t remember seeing a changer go wild like this in a long time.”
“How long?”
“Maybe a hundred years ago. Might be a bit less than that. I’d have to check the records.”
“A hundred, huh?” She scoffed.
A couple of guys walked by holding red cups. Unless I missed my guess, the cups were full of beer. If it was illegal to drink on the street, Andrews didn’t seem to care.
“I don’t trust them.”
“Why not? They’re people.”
“I don’t know. No one likes their kind.”
“Have you ever talked to one before?” I felt ridiculous standing outside the site of a potential murder investigation while we discussed the same old prejudices that have haunted the races for millennia.
A blob of white fell from the sky and slapped the ground next to the detective’s feet. I looked up at the top of the building and could have sworn I saw two massive hawk feathers slip over the side.
“Shit!” she said and jumped back.
She brushed herself off, as if the bird crap had touched her. That reminded me to ask Frank if he took a crap like a normal guy when he was his human shape.
“So, anything here? Can you sense it or something?”
“Not unless I do some fancy spells that will take a lot of time and cost the Seattle police force a lot of money.” Well, I had one sign and it was weak. I just had a gut feeling that something was up, especially since we were standing in front of the entrance to the subterranean passages that made up the Seattle underground. “It’s more of a feeling, I guess.”
“Beats the crap out of what I have been doing.”
I waited for her to elaborate.
“Running in circles, chasing leads that didn’t pan out. You know, jack shit.”
**
As I mentioned earlier, Seattle was built on top of the burned out husk of a city. The old council had promised to pay to rebuild. While they were busy putting in streets, shop owners and merchants grew impatient so they started to build right on top of the old locations. This led to a two level Seattle that took time to navigate. I remember reading about some poor drunk who fell to his death from the top road to the bottom road while construction was underway.
Over the next fifteen years, the city was rebuilt and the one below became a harbor and passage for women of ill repute. Nothing against them personally. It was a frontier town and there were only so many jobs for single women.
Over the years the walls inside fell down. They created dangerous spots to wander around, and then someone had the bright idea to turn the underground city into a tourist spot. Technically the city underneath was condemned but how in the hell do you tear down a bunch of buildings that support other buildings?
Now if you take the tour you will see underground passages, some staged furniture, and disheveled rooms. There is a bathroom with toilets that flush backwards because they’re below sea level. You can see casts of hats, bowls left in dust, and plenty of signs warning you not to leave the tour group.
Andrews looked up and down the street and then smashed her shoulder into the door. She leaned back and rubbed her arm.
“Shall I?”
“Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I’m not tough.”
“I have no doubt about either.”
“Either?”
“That you are a woman or that you are tough as nails, but I had a more subtle idea.”
I rummaged in a bag and took out a little vial of clay. Pulling out a piece the size of my fingertip, I held it under my mouth and muttered a few words. The clay was then jammed into the lock. I counted to three and was greeted by a click.
“Breaking and entering?”
“You started it.” I grinned and, to my surprise, she grinned back.
“You didn’t see anything, right? Cause I didn’t see anything. The door was like this when we got here. Probably a homeless guy.”
“That’s exactly what I saw too.”
The entryway reeked of the three Ds of underground life-- dirt, dust, and detritus. Andrews pulled a flashlight from her jacket and I felt along the wall until I located a light switch. To my surprise, the switch resulted in a long string of lights coming on.
“What the hell?” she said and slapped the switch off. “Ever heard of the element of surprise?”
“I’ve heard it is bad for your health.”
A shadow of a smirk met me in the dim light of the doorway, thanks to the streetlights.
The briefly lit image of the entry was just bricks and a fenced in walkway that was meant to keep tourist on a pre- determined path. Spider webs criss-crossed every hallway, and I knew I was in for a night of constantly cleaning my robes. Consorting with creepy crawlers in the night. Think about that, kids, the next time you consider studying witchcraft.
“So how do we do this?”
“You try not to get in my way.”
“Hey, who’s the cop here?”
“Look, detective, I appreciate the backup, but have you ever faced down something like this? He or she is probably six plus feet tall. It will have razor sharp claws and a snout longer than your forearm. As soon as it senses fear it’ll attack and try to rip your throat out. As soon as it smells blood it’ll go into a frenzy and then it is even harder to stop. You can shoot it and it will cause damage, but not enough. You can empty your gun into its chest and it will smile while it snaps off your face.”
She swallowed and her grin fell.
“I have hollow point loads in my car. I can grab them if you think it will make a difference. See, they enter one way and explode on the way out. Makes a hell of a mess.”
“Won’t matter. If it is what I think then they won’t slow him down. He’ll be on you in a heartbeat until you stop screaming.”
She took out her handgun anyway and checked the load. It looked like a big gun. The barrel was a massive hole that she raised and pointed into the dark hallway as she checked the sights. She slipped the magazine out and looked it over. I watched this, not impressed. She was very professional, but leave the lead balls to the amateurs.
I took a vial out of my pocket and opened it. I held my nose away and then bumped a black globule onto my finger. Created from a potent form of demon spore, the stuff was made to cover a person’s scent, make them take on the smell of their surroundings. It was similar to the stuff I had used the night before. Hopefully it would work a little more consistently. I rubbed a bit of the noxious stuff into my hair. It stuck and then faded with a hiss. The smell made me want to retch. I should have had this with me last night instead of the junior mint version I’d concocted on the fly.
“Don’t move.”
“Keep that shit away from me!” She didn’t know how right she was about the main ingredient.
“It’ll help hide you from the changer. Trust me on this one.” I leaned over to rub some into her hair. She flinched back, so I took her chin in my hand. The detective’s skin was warm, flushed. I stared into her eyes for a moment. She stared back but I couldn’t read her. A puff of hair had fallen over her forehead so I pushed it back and got some of the spore applied.
“That is truly foul.” She took my hand in hers and pushed them aside.
“I’ll help you wash your hair later.”
“You did see my gun, right?”
My bandolier held the good stuff. I ran my fingers over the lead tops until I found one with hash marks under a pair of wavy lines. I extracted and studied the vial. It was dark, and when I shook it the potion inside moved languidly, as if it didn’t conform to normal thermodynamics.
“You get into trouble and you throw this right at the son of a bitch. I don’t care how scared you are. This’ll make his day suck worse than you can imagine.”
She studied the vial, but it was black glass and didn’t give a hint to its contents. She held it up and then looked at the stopper. Then she ran her fingertips over the wax seal.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were
you.” I warned.
She gave me a crooked smile. “Bad juju?”
“Bad brimstone. Probably melt your brain and then how will I get paid?”
She slowly moved the bottle away from her body. Her little smirk was also tucked away.
“Just don’t expose it to air. It’s fine as long as it’s locked up.”
“But you want me to throw it.”
“If it’s an emergency, sure. But run, or drop and curl up in a ball. Praying is optional.”
We walked along a creaking stairwell that was new compared to the rest of the place. Though it was over a hundred years old, the architecture was similar to the roman Victorian buildings in the older parts of this district. Doors were still doors and window sills, though missing glass, were made of brick and wood. Dust covered everything up to a quarter of an inch thick. If we got into a fight, I feared for my allergies. No amount of witchcraft had ever been able to stop the sneezing.
Detective Andrews light stabbed out and traced lines across the crumbling walls. When we came to the first drop, I stepped ahead of the detective and she handed me her light without a fuss. I took my time painting the wall with it while sniffing the air. About the only thing I smelled was a shitload of dust. I stifled a sneeze before it could rattle the walls. I stopped at a landing and listened.
A shape formed ahead. Something only I could make out. The salve in my eyes was good for more than just seeing in the dark.
The form was slight, so I guessed it had been a female. She studied me as I studied and approached her. I opened myself to her and waited for her to respond in kind.
We touched.
She wasn’t going anywhere for a long time because she couldn’t let go. Her husband had been a good man until they didn’t find gold in California, so they moved to Seattle hoping to start up a carpentry business. His work ethic was not that great and he took to drinking when he lost job after job. He became abusive and one drunken night he determined that she was running around with a piano player. He took one of his hammers to her head.
I concentrated on the form I thought was attacking people in this area and she did a shimmer, which I took for yes. Her form was vague, like a puff of barely visible cotton ball. The underground slid away from me and I felt her guiding, showing me what she had seen over the last few nights.
At the Behest of the Dead Page 6