by K. F. Breene
I waved that away. “Divide the whole bonus; I don’t care. I just want it in the books that I got this kill. Over Garret.”
“It will be.” The captain nodded.
“And my name will go in the books as saving Reagan’s life,” Garret said, sliding down the fence and hitting the ground too hard. He staggered and windmilled his hands, just managing to stay on his feet.
Dang.
He stalked over, all swagger and ego. A smug smile graced his pointy face. “You’re welcome.”
“Wait…what?” I asked, cold dripping down my middle.
“An aswang transfers its evil by issuing forth a tiny black bird,” the captain explained, writing something in his book. That had better not be Garret’s name under the title Reagan Savior! “That bird nearly made it to you. Had it succeeded, it would’ve forced its way into your mouth or eye and turned you into one of its kind. It’s not a real bird, obviously, but magic. You would’ve transformed, and we would’ve had to kill you. Speaking of”—he pointed at my leg with the jagged end of his pencil—“it didn’t scratch you, did it? I don’t see a hole in your pants.”
“No, it didn’t scratch me.” I shook my head. “I was just about to kill that bird thing with my sword. I wouldn’t have ingested it. That doesn’t count. Garret, of all people, did not save my life.”
“Not even a magical sword can cut through that type of magic,” the captain said without inflection.
I opened my mouth to tell him that my type of magic, which was stored in the sword, surely would have cut through that bird thing. It could cut through anything, especially dark, underworld-type magic. I was underworld-type magic.
No words came out.
There was absolutely no way I could admit to any of that. Nor could I tell the captain that if the bird thing had infected me, its evil wouldn’t have taken root. I’d had plenty of experience casting demons out of my body. It was part of my lineage—a lineage I couldn’t share with anyone unless I wanted to enslave myself to the land below.
No, I couldn’t tell the captain, but I really, really wanted to. This sucked so hard.
“You were right there without the means to kill it,” Garret said, grinding the point home, standing beside me with his chest puffed out in triumph. “It would’ve turned you into one of its kind. I’ve seen it happen. It’s immediate and not pretty. Face it, I saved your life. And what do I get for saving your life?”
“Don’t be a putz, Garret,” the captain said without inflection.
“That’s right, I get a bonus. And honors. And a write-up in our newsletter.” Garret smiled and hooked his thumbs into his belt loops. “I’m a hero. Hail to the king.”
My hands curled into fists. He had me. And now, in the eyes of the office, I was indebted to him.
“You’re welcome,” he said, flicking my last nerve with his smug, douchey smile.
Before my mind caught up with my body, my fist hit his nose. The crack made everyone blink in surprise. He staggered back and reached for his face. A moment later, blood gushed over his lips.
“Oops,” I said. I meant it.
“That’s a red flag,” the captain said nonchalantly, not looking up.
I sighed. That fifth red flag had probably been inevitable. I clearly wasn’t cut out for a routine-driven, normal life.
Clarissa hastened up, out of breath and clutching her satchel. “Reagan, are you hurt? Did it scratch you?”
“It scratched her leather pants. It didn’t pierce them.” Captain Lox closed his book and finally looked up. “I’ve half a mind to have everyone wear leather. It’s a good idea.”
“Maybe tum’one s’uld ass her why her face isn’t fried,” Garret said through his fingers, his eyes watering and half closed.
“Why her face isn’t fried?” Clarissa asked, squinting at him. “Is that what you said? Let me see your nose.”
“Reagan got blasted in the face with magical fire when Garret burned the aswang’s transformation bird,” the captain said, looking at the ashes on the ground.
“Oh my gosh!” Clarissa’s hand drifted to her chest. “Oh thank God, Garret. Quick thinking. I didn’t have a chance to tell her about that. She would’ve been a goner for sure. Oh wow, that must’ve been a close one.”
My nails dug into my palms.
“But…” Clarissa studied my face. “Oh, I see, your eyebrows are gone. But your face doesn’t look blistered or burned in any way. Was the spell old? It must’ve created a decent amount of heat if it burned your eyebrows. I’d think you’d have light blistering, at the very least. I can heal that, of course.”
“Oh. Uh…” I shrugged. Time to lie. “A cousin made a fire-retardant spell. You know, that cousin. The one I mentioned when I helped you with the case earlier today. He lives in Canada.” They couldn’t possibly know I had no living relatives. Except my dad, but he didn’t count.
“Da one you lost yer birginity to?” Garret asked. He wheezed out a laugh, still holding his face.
“Do you want a broken limb to accessorize with that nose?” I asked him. “But yeah, turns out the spell works on skin but not hair. I’ll, uh…have to tell him that.”
“I thought we had an understanding about experimental magic,” Clarissa said with disapproval.
“It saved my life, didn’t it?” I turned toward home.
“No, I taved yer life,” Garret yelled after me.
I was walking away when Garret asked Clarissa to see to his nose. Other MLE staffers were showing up as I exited the little side alley. Their response time was terrible. If I hadn’t acted when I did, prompting the captain and Garret to act with me, the creature would be long gone.
Something that would be overshadowed by Garret’s assumed heroics. What joy was mine…
Now to deal with Smokey. If he’d seen what I had, which was likely, given the text message and his many calls, he might be a little frantic. Not to mention that if he was dumb enough to talk to the cops, he might need to be bailed out. It was the day that wouldn’t end.
Chapter Five
I could finally afford a car, but I still hadn’t gotten around to buying one. Instead, I took cabs or one of the rideshare services that were like cabs, only nicer.
One of those services, Lyft, dropped me off down the street from my house so I could check in with the local neighborhood watch, which consisted of Smokey, No Good Mikey, and occasionally ex-boxer Mince.
It didn’t take long for Smokey to come hustling my way, his face drained of color and a trickle of blood down his neck.
Alarm rolled through me. I picked up my pace, yelling out, “It didn’t scratch you, did it?”
“Reagan,” he said as he neared, out of breath. “Thank God. That thing was disgusting. I didn’t get pictures, but I can describe it in detail. Where are your eyebrows?”
“They flew away with that creature you probably saw. Did it scratch you?” I pointed at the line of blood originating from a small dot on his neck.
He absently brushed at his skin. “No. Some idiot mugger thought I had money. But the bird claws scraped at me. They didn’t draw blood, but I felt them. Why? Is that bad?” He pushed in closer and stuck his cheek out for inspection.
“If you’re still alive, you’re probably fine.”
“Wait,” he said, shadowing me down the street toward my house. “There are a bunch of police down there. Maybe you should sneak in through the back. I’ve been avoiding them.”
I shrugged. “I’m not worried about police. I don’t have anything on me they’d be concerned about.”
“Except your gun.”
“I have a license.” Illegally obtained, but nonetheless real, just like the papers that had legitimized me in the supernatural world.
Darius was nothing if not thorough.
“The sword?”
“I’ll say it’s a Lord of the Rings sword. No one questions extreme nerd-dom. It’s crazy without equal.”
“You are crazy without equal.”
&nb
sp; He had a point there.
“Fine,” he said, slouching beside me. “So anyway, first I saw a huge bunch of birds. Little black birds.” He cleared his shaking voice. “Wait. Let me just start from the beginning.”
I listened as I closed the distance to my house. Once there, I leaned against the railing beside the two steps that led up to my porch while looking at the cemetery opposite us. In a normal neighborhood, there’d probably be a cluster of people hanging out around the cemetery gates, trying to peek in and see what had happened. Not in this neighborhood. People minded their own business where cops were concerned.
Glaring lights glowed from behind the stone wall. Yellow police tape crossed off the opening, and I could just see someone within standing sentry.
“Did you tell the cops what you saw?” I asked Smokey.
“No way. How could I? First they’d want to know why I felt it was my duty to police the cemetery. Then they’d want to know how come I couldn’t ID the killer. To the first question, I couldn’t very well tell them that I was on the lookout for witches or other supernaturals. And the last…well, we both know I’d sound insane. I haven’t even told Mikey. I don’t know what to tell him, other than that something is going on in the cemetery and you know what it is. Sorry that I had to throw you under the bus, but…”
“It’s fine. So you didn’t talk to the cops at all?”
“No. I don’t do well when questioned.”
“Good.” I sighed and rubbed my eyes. I was tired and hungry. “Well, I killed that thing, so you’re good. It won’t be coming back. But if you see birds like that again, get to cover, or get to where there are more people. It tends to pick off the loners, apparently.”
“I got really lucky, Reagan. Really lucky. It’s made me question…” He hesitated for a moment. “I’ve been thinking about moving out of this neighborhood. Vampires are one thing, but stuff like this…”
I patted his bony shoulder. “That thing killed two people in the French Quarter. Trust me when I say that of all the neighborhoods in New Orleans, you’re probably safest in this one.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I live here.” I patted him again and turned toward my house as a white Crown Victoria pulled up alongside the cemetery. I glimpsed the man getting out of the passenger side, did a double take, and then noticed the driver, who was stepping out of the other side of the car.
Damn it.
“Get gone,” I said to Smokey.
He didn’t need to be told twice. He was slinking away even as the younger detective, whose name was lost to the black hole, crossed the street.
“Long time no see,” the younger detective said with a smile. He was a handsome devil and he knew it. That cocky grin of his slipped when he stepped up onto the sidewalk next to me. “What happened to your eyebrows?”
I ignored his question. “You guys here to look at the murder?” I pointed at the cemetery as Sean crossed the street after him.
Suspicion crossed the younger detective’s face. “Yeah. What do you know about it?”
“My department ended the threat not that long ago,” I said, taking a seat on my porch steps. “There were two more victims in the French Quarter. I bet you’ll get the call soon.”
“Your department ended the threat?” he asked. “Aren’t you guys psychics?”
“Yeah. We consulted our crystal balls, so we knew just when to drop the piano out of the window.” I clapped my hands together. “Splat.”
“They think it’s a serial killer,” Sean said as the younger detective shifted in confused annoyance. “This was the first. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”
“A serial killer who does fast work. Of the three victims that I know of, yes, this was the first. Before this, though…” I shook my head. “I have no idea. The creature that did it is called an aswang. Clarissa gave me the basics after we left your last crime scene. It was old, hungry, and really gross. I have no idea where it might’ve come from, or what it was doing here.”
“Wait.” The younger detective held up his hand, blinking repeatedly.
“Is this what you do, then?” I gestured to the young buck without shifting my gaze from Sean. “You just take the new guy around until he finally pieces it together?”
“Piece what together?” the younger detective demanded. I could see his anger boiling just below the surface.
“Never mind, J.M.,” Sean said, not sparing him a glance. “Go check in with the others. Get a feel for what happened. We have a lot of ground to cover tonight.”
“No, wait. What is it I’m supposed to be piecing together?”
Sean straightened his shoulders and turned to J.M. Something in the older man’s bearing read: Do not mess with me, or I will rip your spine out of your mouth and beat you with it.
I grinned, because I hadn’t expected this type of alpha standoff from Sean. J.M., sure, but not Sean. He seemed too sweet.
I waved the whole thing away. “Let him stay. You might not think he’s ready, but it’s better to bring people on when they’re younger and can bounce back than when they’re older and easier to break. Besides, if you’re going to keep bringing him around to these kinds of crime scenes, he’ll be a target. He should know what he’s getting into.”
“Okay, this is starting to piss me off,” J.M. said in a rough voice. “I want answers, and I want them now!”
Sean turned back toward me slowly, his body taut. I had a feeling the two of them would have more than a few standoffs down the road. J.M. didn’t seem the type to blindly do as he was told. It was something we had in common.
“In answer to your question, Reagan,” Sean said, taking out his notebook, “yes, we wait until they start piecing things together. There are probably better ways, but I hate sounding as crazy as I feel.” He readied his pen. “Do you want to tell me what you know?”
I relayed what I’d heard from Smokey, telling them that he had seen the whole thing, but he shouldn’t be questioned by the normal police, for obvious reasons. I made a point of telling them about the bit of blood on his neck, and how it had gotten there, because they’d be sure to notice it. I then went through what I’d seen in the French Quarter, ending with the showdown.
J.M. turned more incredulous as my explanation continued, until he was looking at Sean and me with obvious doubt and disbelief. Also humor. He clearly thought we were pulling his leg.
“At least this case will be easy to put away,” I said when I’d finished. “You can get back to the other one.”
“You guys can’t be serious,” J.M. said with a chuckle. “I mean, I’ve heard about making light of the grisly crimes, but this is ridiculous.”
“Go look at the body,” Sean said in an even voice. “I’ll be right there.”
J.M. sighed, then shook his head and turned away.
“It’s too early and he’s hardheaded,” Sean muttered. “He’ll resist until the very last.”
“You’d be surprised. The body he’s about to see is grrr-oss! Look up an aswang. You’ll see.”
Sean put his notebook away. “Head to bed. I won’t need anything more from your department. I’m sure Captain Lox will have this all written up in the morning.”
“Yes, he will. What about that other case? Did you make any headway?”
“In two hours?” Sean smiled and scratched his shoulder, turning sideways on the sidewalk to watch as J.M. ducked under the police tape and headed into the cemetery. “My hunch says it’s the daughter. We haven’t found the murder weapon yet, but we found a few fibers for the lab to analyze. The crime wasn’t calculated, so there are bound to be over a dozen slip-ups. We’ll solve it. Thanks, by the way. You’re much quicker and more thorough than the rest of the agents at MLE. You’ll make captain someday, I have no doubt.”
“Good God, that sounds horrible. Don’t jinx me.” I stood with a grimace. “Besides, I think I’m fired. I punched my weasel of a coworker. That was my last strike.”
“What’d h
e do?”
“He was gloating over saving my life even though he technically didn’t. It’s the little things.”
“Well, good luck with that. I’m sure I can get you a job working on the other side of things if you’re interested.”
“You guys would certainly frown on the type of work I excel at. Namely, killing things. Thanks, though. And good luck with the young buck.” I climbed my steps, threw him a wave, and let myself into my house.
The keys clanked as they tumbled into the bowl by the door. My air freshener was doing its job, filling the entryway with the smell of clean cotton. I glanced at the renovated living room off to the right, which boasted the best furniture money could buy, accentuated with wall decor that must’ve cost a fortune.
I turned into my totally revamped kitchen, now sporting granite countertops and the latest appliances available. A small, round table made of some sort of barn-looking wood sat in the corner. Shabby chic, or so I’d been told by Marie, the extremely elegant vampire who essentially worked for Darius.
The deal I’d made with Darius a couple months ago was that in exchange for helping him bring in the person terrorizing the unicorns, I’d get a boatload of money and a house of my choosing, fully paid for. I could’ve picked any house, anywhere—a mansion in the Garden District, a chateau in Beverly Hills, the sky was the limit.
Much to Darius’s dismay, I’d chosen the one I had been renting (and had half ruined). Why not? It was plenty big for just me, and it came with a neighborhood watch. You couldn’t beat that.
My landlord at the time had seemed intent on resisting the purchase, but he’d undergone a sudden change of heart. Darius was in the habit of getting what he wanted.
I had fully expected to wait for the insurance company to fix it up before I bought it and made it my own, but again, Darius had had other plans. Without my consent, he’d fully renovated the whole place, top to bottom, forcing me to move into a hotel as he did so. Half of the house had been fine, but that hadn’t escaped his perfectionist’s eye. He’d updated my bedroom and the guest room, and even put in an extension, which ate up half of the backyard. Not to worry, he’d also bought out three-quarters of the backyard from the guy behind me, and pushed my fence back accordingly. I didn’t even know that could be done, but I did enjoy the extra space.