She even wore a hint of some flowery substance that was able to mingle and even overpower the stench of smoke. A few strands of her hair had been touched by a flame. I ran my hands over the area and thought of a spell that might restore it in a matter of days instead of weeks, but I had nothing left. If another werewolf walked in the door and demanded my heart, I wouldn’t have had enough energy to beg for him to come back tomorrow.
“So.”
“So,” I said, but avoided her eyes.
“I thought you repaired chairs.”
“Sofas.”
“Right.” She let the word hang in the air.
“And I sometimes help track down rogue changers.”
“The robes, the vials, the Latin ... tell me more about your profession.”
“Latin?”
“I heard you muttering just before … just before crazy stuff happened.”
“That wasn’t Latin.”
“Whatever. Just tell me what you do.”
This gave me pause. If I flat out told her the truth this might be a very short conversation. Sure, I would just tell her that I was a practicing warlock living in Seattle. That would go over well. I was never into impressing people, preferring to let my actions speak for themselves. But this was a girl. A very attractive girl.
I really had one option. I would lie.
“Magician. I work at the circus.”
“I never asked your name.”
“Phineas.”
“That's it. No middle or last name?”
My lips split in a smile. I instantly regretted it because they were cracked from the flames. They weren’t burned too deeply, but I should’ve been applying the salve to them.
“Cavanaugh. No middle name.”
“Okay then. Phineas No-Name Cavanaugh.” She used the kind of tone a mother takes with a child. “You destroyed my shop, my livelihood. I was almost eaten and you were almost burned to a crisp. The least I deserve is an answer to a relatively simple question.”
I gulped. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“You could have warned me before you turned this place into a disaster area,” she said as she looked around the remains of the shop.
Detective Andrews coughed and went to check on her patient.
“I’m a warlock.” I waited for her to recoil, to move away from me.
She didn’t respond, opting to take the salve from my hand, dab some on her finger, and then start to work it into my lips before I could protest.
“I don’t know what that means. All I know is that you saved my life.”
“Mpph.”
“Shh. You saved my life, so I’m obligated to you in some way.”
My eyes arched up.
“Not that way!”
My eyes arched down.
“But in some way.”
She leaned over, one finger still on my mouth, and pressed lips to my cheek.
“Are we even now?”
I did the smart thing and didn’t nod.
She put the cap back on the salve.
“You two are real cute together. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get a few things on report. Let’s go Phineas.” Andrews had amazing timing.
“I don't do reports. Just write whatever you need to and I’ll sign it later.”
“Not gonna happen, tough guy. First we stop by the hospital and get you checked out. Then it’s my office for a few hours. How do you like your coffee?” She looked around the Starbucks and her smirk fell.
“From a functional machine if poffible.” I quipped through numb lips.
Ashley hid her smile behind a hand.
She got up and poked around the wreckage until she found a scrap of paper. She went behind what was left of the counter and rooted around until she found a pen. Then she wrote something and brought it to me.
“Call me here when you feel better. We can talk about my debt then. Do warlocks have yards? Maybe I can come over and mow it.” Then she went back to start sorting out the wreckage. As she walked away, she kept her eyes up and off the body on the floor. I couldn’t say that I blamed her.
“Thanks, ma’am. I would like to take your statement later,” Andrews said as she walked away.
“Can’t you take my statement later too?” I asked, head tilting in her direction.
“Sorry, Phin. She was a bystander. Right now, I’m not sure you aren’t an instigator.”
“Hey, this was your idea.”
“Yeah. And lucky for you I was along for the ride so I can back up your story. I thought you guys were supposed to be smarter than this.”
“So did I,” I lamented.
**
A pair of policemen in blue came in the door and looked at the mess. One was short and overweight by about a hundred pounds. He had a receding hairline and sort of reminded me of a young Danny DeVito.
His partner was Asian and tall. He looked the scene over and his mouth dropped open. The shorter one reached for his side arm but left his hand there as he surveyed the scene. Andrews opened her badge and held it high and the two relaxed.
“Hell of a mess!” the shorter one said in a jovial voice, like he enjoyed this stuff.
“Whole night was a mess,” Andrews replied.
The three conferred while I concentrated on getting my feet under me. Debris lay everywhere from shattered windows, broken tables, and destroyed countertops. The coffee machine was mostly intact, but a steady jet of water shot upward.
Ashley and Mr. Scruffy-beard worked at something under the counter until the water shut off. Where in the hells had he been hiding during the entire attack?
I felt useless, so I took a seat on what remained of one of the benches. It was close to the window and as soon as I sat down it started to rain. With the window gone that meant that I got an early shower. Still, I was grateful to be alive and let the water wash over my head and run down my hair. When it started to trickle down my back, I decided it was enough and sat up.
I caught a glimpse of a small arm under the only remaining table in the store. It was in the corner, near the entrance. There was a small L shaped cubbyhole of a space with just two seats facing each other.
I dragged myself to my feet.
A kid was backed into a corner, under a booth. He was holding his arm. I dropped down and looked into the dark. He was scared, and the black robe covered in burn marks that I wore probably didn’t help matters.
“Come on out and I’ll look at that arm,” I offered.
He shook his head and stuck his lip out. It trembled and he looked like he was about to break into tears. Where was his mother or father? They had to be in here somewhere.
No doubt he was scared. I would be terrified of me too. Dressed in black, covered in dust, dirt, and probably countless spider webs from the half hour we had spent underground. Came running in here hurling a spell, and then all hell broke loose.
“Come on, bud.” I motioned with one hand.
Maybe he’d had enough of hiding and decided the coast was clear. He crawled out and took a seat on what was more or less a clean spot on the floor. He studied me from beneath long hair that was swept all in one direction, like he’s gotten a spiral haircut during a hurricane.
I popped the top on the salve and studied what remained. I made a mental note to bill the police for that as well.
“Let me see the cut.”
The kid stared at me like I had fangs.
“That dog isn’t coming back, okay? He’s sleeping over there.” I pointed at the shape under Detective Andrew’s ruined jacket.
“I like dogs. Is he really asleep?” The boy was blond to his roots and even had light eyebrows.
“Yep.”
I found a gash on the kid’s arm and applied the salve. Within seconds, he grinned as the pain faded.
“Feels better,” the kid said but didn’t even break into a smile.
“Charles!” A sharp female voice broke in.
He jumped up and ran to a woman tha
t had to be his mother. She looked at the mess, her eyes wide, and then she looked at me in my robe with the tools of my trade hanging from belts and hooks. She gasped again, but at what particular part of me I had no idea. Maybe it was the soot covered skin. Maybe it was the robe. Maybe it was the fact that I was bleeding through my beat up t-shirt in the shape of a pentagram from my chest.
“He’s fine, ma’am,” I started to say but she grabbed him up, pressed his head into her shoulder, and marched out of the Starbucks.
I sat in misery and waited for a chance to make a break for it. But luck was not on my side because a few minutes later Detective Andrews came for me. The next stop would have been the hospital . However I talked her out of that with a fanciful tale of attending a medical center for my kind. I didn’t have insurance and didn’t want to be stuck in a machine that would scan me. We liked to keep out of such places if at all possible. Too many questions that needed answers that normal people were not ready to hear.
**
Hours later, hand aching from signing what felt like a hundred pieces of paper, we left the police station. Most of the reports were done on the computer, but each was printed and handed to me to look over. I signed for my fee, made up a bunch of crap that sounded good for my expenses, and was informed that a check would be mailed within six weeks. Two jobs in a row without immediate payout meant ramen dinners for the foreseeable future.
The police station was about as generic as any I’d seen on a procedural drama. The big difference was that there weren’t a bunch of yelling perps waiting to be booked. There was no screaming lieutenant, and a distinct lack of ladies of the evening sitting in line, waiting to be booked. Police stations on television were so much more interesting.
Cops walked by Andrew’s desk, looking me over. I got everything in the book--derision, scoffing, and in one case a genuine “pfft.”
“Can’t you hurry up the check? This looks like a big place. Maybe you can get someone to sign for it. I’ve already signed enough papers to join the military. What’s one more?”
After getting my ass kicked by a pissed off changer, six hundred and eighty bucks would go a long way towards making me feel better. They probably owed me more for all the ingredients, but honestly I got tired of detailing every little item on the expense report Andrews handed me.
Andrews got up several times to hand in paperwork or bring something back from a special hell where they kept reams of documentation. The north face of the building was filled with expansive windows. I watched rain roll in, stop, and then come in again. It seemed like every time I looked up it was one or the other. Maybe I should’ve forgotten my fork and hit up the detective for a ride home. The only thing more miserable than flying in the rain was flying in Chicago in the winter, particularly in the Great Lakes region. It’s so cold there it feels like you are living in an icebox.
I heard a familiar voice over the chatter, clack of keyboards, and all the coughs and sneezes that went with September in Seattle. I looked around until I spotted Ashley at one of the desks. Poor woman. It was bad enough she had been subjected to the changer and his violence. Now she was stuck in the purgatory that was the police station.
She did look awfully cute, though, with her green apron folded in her lap, buttons ripped off her shirt so it hung open, revealing enough flesh to make me look twice.
Andrews was leaning on someone’s desk, pointing at some text on a computer screen, her voice rising with frustration. I looked around again and remembered I was more or less a guest here.
“Come here often?” I asked.
“If it isn’t the magician.”
I let that one slide because I was tired and she was cute, even with soot and debris in her hair and streaks of carbon across her forehead. Her auburn locks hung limp and forlorn, but her bright eyes more than made up for it. I was, once again, struck by what an attractive woman she was.
I pointed at an empty chair. The woman in uniform looked up from behind her computer and shrugged so I dragged it to Ashley’s side.
“Second worst pickup line ever.”
My cheeks roared with fire. Again.
“I wasn’t trying to …” I stopped when her eyebrows went up.
“Smooth, right? I thanked you earlier for saving my life, but that was before I realized one thing.”
“You mean you are taking your thanks back? I’m pretty sure you can’t do that in this state.”
“Very funny. I’m not taking it back, but I am not a happy girl right now.”
“You’re alive. Got away with a few bruises and a cut that should heal right up.” I said and reached out to take her chin in my hand before I realized what I was doing. She looked only slightly scandalized so I went with it. First rule of improvisation, right?
“I’m alive, but what about my livelihood?”
“Huh?”
“You destroyed my shop! The place where I work. Did you ever think about that before you started tossing fireballs around, or whatever the hell they were?”
“Er.”
“I’m sure it’s just another day to you, going around blowing stuff up, but it’s not okay with me. And that man—he died!”
Tears started in the corner of her eyes and I suddenly felt like the biggest jerk in the world. I fumbled for something to offer in the way of a tissue, but all I came up with was some scorched cloth.
Glancing up, I caught Andrews staring at us, but her face was unreadable.
I dragged my chair toward Ashley and put a hand behind her neck to pull her close. At first she pulled back, and I thought she was going to push me away. But she relented and actually leaned into me. I breathed her in and felt like the night was almost worth it just for this moment.
“I’m sorry,” I said, but it was almost a question.
“Jerk.” She hit my chest. The pentagram dug into my skin, but I didn’t mind so much. When she looked up at me she had a fresh line of ash on her forehead, but I didn’t have the heart, or the tissue, to help.
**
“They found another body in the underground. Same MO.”
“I’m sorry.”
“At least we got him, and we couldn’t have done it without you. Nice work, Phineas.”
“I meant I’m sorry about the bodies. The killings were meant to draw me out but I have no idea why.”
“Don’t be so full of yourself.”
“I’m not. That thing knew my name.”
“It barked your name?”
I sighed and dropped it. When I’d had a night of sleep, I was going to come back and get to the bottom of this.
After we left, she asked me, for the fourth or fifth time, if I needed to go to the hospital. I tried to sound mysterious when I told her I had better care at home. By better care I meant a bottle of absinthe and a soothing balm or three.
Detective Andrews was quiet while she drove me back to the scene of the crime. News vans had arrived and cameras stood in a line, pointed at reporters who repeated the same story over and over. I watched for Ashley, but she had either called it a night or gone to the hospital. While talking, I had surreptitiously checked out her aura (get your mind out of the gutter) to look for any trauma. She bore only scratches but had been on the verge of a panic attack. Holding her close and talking had kept it at bay.
“I hope this hasn’t put you off police work.”
“Are you kidding me? I haven’t had this much fun in months.”
“Sometimes I can’t tell if you are serious or messing with me.”
I didn’t answer.
“I thought about it. Why don’t you tell me about the incident from the night before?”
“It was the case I asked you about. Last night I was doing an investigation. A demon tried to slice me in half.”
Detective Andrews slowly turned her eyes toward me.
“Pardon?”
“A demon. Nasty bugger with three arms. One had a hook welded to it.”
“A demon.”
“You j
ust pumped a werewolf full of lead and you’re going to scoff at a demon? Well not to be a downer, but I’m pretty sure that changer was possessed by a demon.”
Andrews fidgeted and looked at her watch for what seemed like the thirtieth time in the last fifteen minutes. She had a steaming cup of police station coffee in the car’s front seat divider.
“Warlocks, werewolves, and now demons. I suppose the next thing we will have to deal with is a vampire.”
“Pussies,” I muttered. The last vampire I met had been far from debonair. He lived in a cave on the outskirts of Everett and existed on the blood of small animals, or a deer if he could manage to sneak up on a sleeping one. He was spindly, fragile, and mad with blood lust. It set in when they got older and needed more and more of the stuff. In some ways, they were worse than drug addicts.
“I thought vampires were all the rage.”
“About three hundred years ago. I need to get you more hip to the occult, detective.”
“I’ve had about enough to last me a lifetime. No offense, Phineas, but would you mind getting out of my car and traipsing back to your house?”
“So that’s the end of our date?”
Her eyes met mine. I smiled but she didn’t return the gesture.
“It’s not every day I meet a guy I actually like, and for some reason I like you, Phineas. I don’t know if it’s the mysterious stranger shit, or the saving my ass shit, or just having a plain shit week.”
“Uh.”
“Hold on.” She reached across the seat and popped open her glove compartment. A paper bag lay in the back. She tugged it out, removed a bottle of whiskey, and poured a generous amount into her coffee.
“Yummy,” I said but I wished I had a cup too.
“Try it.” She handed me the cup.
I looked down at it then took a sip. The coffee had enough alcohol to put me on my ass. It was delicious.
At the Behest of the Dead Page 9