Touch: A Trilogy

by A. G. Carpenter

  Franklin looks at Martinez warily.

  Percy leans forward. "You should be worrying about me."

  Franklin tilts his head in acknowledgment. "A summoning ring. I was trying to find the spirit that goes with the body."

  "Alexander Michaels, you mean."

  "Yes." He nods. "But it did not go as planned the first time."

  Percy shifts. "First time?"

  "Before you called and gave me the name." He looks back and forth between the two of them. "You understand how it works, right?"

  Martinez leans back in his chair. "Enlighten me."

  Franklin rubs his fingers through his braids. "In crude terms, it's like making a phone call. You have to have a number. Maybe a name. Or something that belonged to the person. I had not tried it on this case because I had neither." He looks at Percy. "Then you saw the other image. The shadow. I thought I could use it. The image instead of a name."

  “But it didn’t work.” Martinez says it flat. Still a hint of disbelief in the idea of magic the way Franklin does it.

  “No.” His gaze slides toward Percy, and there is something curious behind his eyes.

  Percy shifts forward to the edge of his seat. Something is growling in his chest. Like anger, but with more teeth. “And the magic I felt outside your house? That was you trying a second time to summon Alex Michaels? Not you trying to find another soul to steal?”

  Franklin grimaces. “I do not have the skill or the power to pull a soul out of a living being. With preparation and the correct tools, I can summon a shade for a very limited amount of time, but I am incapable of doing what has been done with these young women.” The muscle in his jaw twitches. “You know it. You were there in the hospital earlier. You know I am not the one who let Emily Grant slip away.”

  Martinez clears his throat. “Who then?”

  He sits back. “I don’t know.”

  “Another street magician like yourself?”

  “No.” Percy stands up and paces a few steps around the cramped office. “Jones is right. What I felt was a Power, not a magician.”

  Martinez sighs. “All right. Let me go see if we can turn up anything useful in the registry.” He flips back through his notes. “You think it could be the man Jonathan Michaels saw?”

  “Could be.” Percy looks at Franklin. “How familiar are you with the Powers in Savannah?”

  Franklin shakes his head. “I might know a few, but most you’d never know unless you brushed against their magic.”

  “This would be a tall man with dark hair and a tattoo of some sort around his neck. Possibly with his head partially shaved.”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell.” Franklin says it casual, but Percy’s skin tingles with the breath of the lie.

  Martinez stands up. “All right. Wait here and I’ll see what I can find.”

  Percy waits until the door closes before he looks at Franklin. “Why are you lying to my friend?” He knots his fingers in the front of Franklin’s shirt and pulls him to his feet. “Tell me now or I will hurt you.”

  “Because the man you are looking for is a necromancer. His power is literally life and death, Percival Cox. Do you really want to take Martinez or MacKenzie with you to face something like that?”

  Percy grins, all teeth. “Are you suggesting it should just be the two of us, Mr. Jones?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Franklin grimaces again, sweat beading on his forehead. “When I made the first attempt to summon Alex Michaels, I was not entirely unsuccessful.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I didn’t reach Michaels, but I did get someone else. Someone who seemed to be very familiar with you.”

  Percy blinks. “With…” His breath catches. “Delaney.”

  “Yes.”

  Some of the anger fades, the sense that something is about to break free diminishes, and Percy loosens his grip on Franklin’s shirt.

  Delaney. He has been aware that he misses her. But hearing that someone else has seen her, has talked to her, makes him ache, like a bell has been struck within him, sounding and resounding with loss and longing.

  He staggers back a step and drops into his chair. “Delaney.”

  “So she said.” Franklin rubs the sweat from his forehead, pulls his shirt straight.

  “But you don’t know for sure?”

  “She was a Power. And she… burned.” He sits down and looks at Percy, hard. “She said that you and I must work together or more people will die.”

  “And you know where to find this man with the tattoo?”

  “His name is Malcolm Lance. I don’t know where to find him, but I have an idea of how to find him.”

  Percy chews his lower lip, considering. “And you’re certain we should go alone? What if we fail? What will the rest of my team do?”

  “We will not fail.”

  “You think you are strong enough to take on a Power?”

  Franklin looks at him steadily. “I think you are.”

  Percy shakes his head. “I have a sense for magic, but I’m not—”

  Franklin raises an eyebrow. “No? Delaney told me there was something powerful in you. Something that had been asleep for a long time, but was finally waking up.”

  He frowns, the heat in his chest growling worriedly. He remembers the electricity in his head, the drugs melting away years of memory ‘til his childhood was nothing but shadows. What if Franklin tells someone else? If Ms. Carver finds out, she will recommend he be put back in an institution for certain. Maybe I should kill him now. But the building is too busy, there would be no way to explain what had happened. No good way to get the body out without being noticed. And even if he could, what he doesn’t know how to do is find Malcolm Lance.

  For that, he needs help.

  Percy looks at Franklin and does his best to smile, even though his heart is racing with fear. “You’re right. But we’ll have to go now.”

  Franklin nods. “I don’t think we have much time anyway. Lance is desperate and the magic protecting Alex’s body can only last so long.”

  “He’s going to take another girl.”

  “Yes, and soon.”

  Percy pulls the door open and glances out. There is some activity at the end of the hall where they have their command set up, but the rest is quiet and relatively deserted with another hour, at least, before the morning shift starts. He looks at Franklin. “It’s clear.”

  They hurry down the hallway toward the stairs.

  “Do you have a car?” Franklin holds the door open, then follows him down the steps. “We won’t get very far on foot.”

  “No. They don’t let me drive much.” Percy stops at the bottom of the stairs, peers out into the lower hall. “Let’s go.” He moves toward the doors that lead out to the side street, away from the main desk. “Besides. The departmental cars usually have some sort of tracking in them. If we want the others to stay clear…”

  “Good point.” Franklin looks up and down the street. “Let’s try down here. I think I might know a guy.”

  “And then?”

  “Then we finish this.”

  Percy hesitates for a moment, wondering how much Franklin knows. If he suspects what will happen after Lance is dead. But if he did, why would he be offering to help? Offering to stay anywhere near Percy? He smiles. “Yes,” he says. “Good.”

  Then we finish this.

  20

  "Agent Martinez?" An older man with steel grey hair and eyes to match, stands up as Martinez enters the conference room.

  "Yes. That's me." Martinez sets the folder down on the table and holds out his hand.

  "Officer Matt Burns." His handshake is solid. "They told me you had some questions about the Michaels case."

  "Ah. Yes." Martinez pulls out his notebook, flips to an empty page. "You investigated the attack two years ago, is that correct?"

  "Yeah. And the disappearance. Thought at first they might be related."

  "They weren't?"<
br />
  Burns shrugs. "The attack was some idiots beating up a girl because they were too embarrassed to admit all they’d seen was a nice pair of tits."

  Martinez frowns. "I'm not sure I follow."

  "There were witnesses. And all of them said those men were harassing Michaels, catcalling and shit, before any of them figured out she was trans."

  "I was under the impression Alex Michaels was attacked by a group of boys from his school."

  Burns grins, dry as dust. "You've been talking to his mama then."

  "That's right."

  He rubs his hand across short-cropped hair thoughtfully. "It wasn't boys that attacked Alex. They were grown men who intended to hurt her. Maybe even kill her. And when she disappeared, my first thought was they had come after her again."

  Martinez glances through his notes. "There were no charges filed the first time."

  "Parents didn't want the scandal. And the DA could have filed but didn't. Differences of opinion on who was responsible."

  "So you thought maybe those men meant to take another swing at Alex Michaels."

  "Yeah. But when I checked them out again, half of them were in jail for a different assault. One was dead. The other two had moved out of state."

  "Any of them tall, white, with dark hair and some sort of tattoo around their throat?"

  Burns frowns. "No. But that sounds like one of the witnesses.” He flicks his fingers reflexively, as though adjusting his grip on a gun. “Malcolm. Malcolm Lance. Always seemed to be something weird about him. When Alex disappeared, I tried to track him down again. Just in case he was involved.”

  “Tried?”

  “Yeah. Couldn’t find him though.”

  Martinez nods. “Okay. You mind staying for a while? I’ll see if we can run this name and pull anything up, but I might have more questions.”

  “Sure. Is there coffee around here?” Burns glances around the conference room.

  “Over by the copier. Help yourself.” Martinez has his phone out, dialing Connie’s office.

  “Hello, Luis. What can I do for you?”

  “I need you to run a search for me. Look for property, financial records, anything on Malcolm Lance.” He flips through the folder with the interviews from the Michaels assault case. “Age 32. Born in Savannah.”

  “Okay.” There’s a faint rattle as she types. “Hmm. I’m not finding much recently. There were some bank accounts. A rental agreement, but all that stopped about two years ago.”

  “So, no idea where he is now?”

  “No. Wait a minute.” There’s a long pause, more typing. “Looks like there was a house that belonged to a great-uncle. Passed into his possession five years ago. It was on the market for a while, but not recently.”

  “Utility bills?”

  “Nope. But there was a complaint filed with city Code Enforcement about the grass on the property. No indication of who they talked to, but it looks like it’s been being taken care of because there are no more complaints or fines.”

  “Okay. Send me that address and we’ll check it out.”

  “Sure.” Another flutter of typing and his phone pings, indicating a text message. “Hey. Did Percy get those files I sent?”

  Martinez pauses. “Files?”

  “On his meds. He was worried about some sort of interaction or complication. He asked to see…” She pauses, a nervous flicker in her breathing. “Well, I sent him the black files on the anti-depressant and the Magiprex.”

  Martinez swallows hard as a cold knot forms in his stomach. “When?”

  “Last night. I mean, I thought it was okay. He was worried about the drugs interacting with his Sensitivity, and I thought he deserved to know if the anti-depressant was going to hurt him…” She trails off. “I shouldn’t have done that, should I?”

  “Let me call you back in a few.” Martinez thumbs the phone off and pulls at his chin. Thinking hard about the change he’s felt in Percy. Like standing too close to a storm.

  Ever since he met Delaney Green, Percy’s been different. Quiet, more intense than before. And sometimes, like at Jones’ house, there’s a feral glint in his eyes.

  Martinez waves a hand at Burns sitting on the edge of the conference table with a Styrofoam cup of coffee in one hand. “You armed?”

  Burns raises an eyebrow but twitches the edge of his jacket back to show his pistol holstered on his belt next to his badge. “Sure. Is there a problem?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” He checks his own sidearm. “You got a minute?”

  Burns slurps the last of his coffee from the white cup and tosses it in the trash. “Yeah.”

  “Just keep a few steps back and keep an eye out.”

  “For what?”

  “You’ll know when you see it.” He can’t quite bring himself to make an accusation against Percy. But he can’t ignore the possibility that something has changed.

  Martinez pauses outside the door to the office where he left Percy and Jones. Glances at Burns, who sidles against the wall, hand resting on his gun, with a nod.

  “Hey, Percy?” Martinez knocks on the door, then pushes it open. Empty. “Damn.” He steps into the room, instinctively checking to make sure no one is hiding. Make certain that Percy hasn’t stuffed Franklin Jones’ body behind the stack of boxes in the corner.

  But the room is deserted.

  He steps back out into the hall. “He’s not here.”

  Burns relaxes. “Who?”

  “My partner was interviewing a street magician who’s been helping with the case.”

  “Jones?”

  “That’s the one.” Martinez pulls his phone from his belt and thumbs through the directory.

  “And you’re worried about him?” Burns’ eyes narrow. “Or your partner?”

  “Both. But it looks like they may have left.” Martinez pauses while the phone dials Percy. Trying to organize a reasonable excuse for him to come back in right now.

  Burns tilts his head. “Hear that?”

  A faint thread of sound, electronic and repeating every few seconds, drifts from down the hall. Martinez sprints toward it, tips the recycling bin on its side. A cascade of crushed water bottles and soda cans spills on the floor. And in the middle is Percy’s phone.

  The screen blinks. One Missed Call.

  Martinez’s phone is mumbling quietly in his hand. “… is unavailable to take your call. Please leave a message—” He thumbs it off. “Damn it.”

  Burns picks up Percy’s phone slowly. “Why would he leave this behind?”

  “Because he doesn’t want us following him.”

  “Following him where?”

  “To find Malcolm Lance.” Martinez opens the message from Connie. “We’re going to need to check out this address immediately. And we’re going to need back up.”

  “You think Jones is that dangerous?” Burns follows him up the hall toward the conference room.

  “No, but I’m certain Lance is. And…” He shakes his head, still unwilling to say anything about Percy. “We need to be prepared.”

  Burns nods. “I’ll get things moving. We can roll out in five.”

  “Make sure everyone understands Malcolm Lance is deadly. Approach him with extreme caution. And my partner and Jones may be there, too.”

  “You want us to treat them with caution, too?”

  Martinez nods, reluctant. “Yes. But avoid the use of force if you can.”

  Burns looks at him for a moment, then nods. “All right. We’ll do our best.”

  21

  The house sits at the end of the block on the edge of town. There are big plastic sheets covering the downstairs windows and a stack of lumber on the wraparound porch.

  “Someone’s been renovating.” Cox nudges the ironwork gate, and it swings open silently.

  “Yeah.” Franklin follows him into the yard cautiously. The strap from his satchel digs into his neck, and he pauses to adjust it. Maybe he should have left some of the salt at his house, but he’s not certa
in what will happen here and prefers to be prepared.

  Cox is still hot with magic, though he’s not looking at Franklin with such deadly intent at the moment. Distracted, maybe, by the prospect of facing Malcolm Lance, of confronting a necromancer.

  Franklin rubs sweaty hands on his shirt as they walk up the stairs to the porch. “Do you think he’s here?”

  Cox looks at him with a scowl. “You’re the one who brought us here.”

  “Yes. I’m certain this is where he’s keeping Alex Michaels’ body. I meant, is Lance here right now?”

  “Oh.” Cox frowns, eyes sliding half-closed while he concentrates. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Okay. So what do you want to do?”

  “Look for a way in.” Cox squeezes past the stacked lumber and moves toward the back of the house.

  Franklin follows more slowly, trying to put together some sort of plan beyond what he has done so far. Get Cox by himself. Delaney Green promised to help, but only if she had a body. He combs his braids back from his face, remembering that Alex Michaels’ corpse might be lying inside the house. Maybe…

  “Here.” Cox has the back door open. “Come on.”

  Inside the house is bare, no furniture, the walls torn back to studs or covered in new sheets of drywall. The floor is nothing but plywood tacked down over the joists. Franklin coughs as their feet stir drifts of plaster dust and peers into the other rooms. “Nothing here.”

  Cox nods. “Second floor, I think.”

  Before he can say anything else, the back door bangs open, and Malcolm shuffles in, a woman draped over one shoulder like a roll of carpet.

  For a moment, no one moves. Cox and Lance stare at each other, predators sizing each other up.

  Franklin swallows against a yelp of fear, knowing in every part of his being that he is far more mortal than either of these two. Knowing his best chance to survive is to let the two of them clash. A little voice in the back of his head begins to scream.

  Delaney Green. Delaney Green.

  Malcolm lets the woman drop to the floor, and magic rolls out to touch the room.

  “Aih.” Franklin doubles over, his heart laboring in his chest.