Residual Magic

by J J Andrews

  “Oh, Smith. The uber-rich of Sealth keep their wealth. They grease the ladder of equity and the poor slide down. To Old Town. And then it’s up to us to keep them safe, from outside threats and each other.”

  “Things are better. I know Krazy Town received a grant.”

  “Streetlights, new asphalt. It helped some.” Ali nodded for Smith to follow her toward the grated runic inscription. “Let’s take a look, shall we?”

  They stood reverently before the iron and chicken-wire grate protecting the hand-chiseled and inlaid piece of antiquity. “I wish there were funding to finish the research. It just stopped. Quite suddenly.”

  “More than a lack of funding?”

  Ali chuckled. “The Mummy’s Curse.”

  Smith scoffed. “What?”

  “Local lore says that everyone who worked on the runes died of cancer. My guess is that they graduated and moved far, far away. But the rumor that to learn the secret of the runes brings about suffering stands. It’s more of a topic of conversation for bar customers now since academia has lost interest.”

  “I have seen runes before. I don’t think I’ve seen ones quite like these.”

  “It’s a series of letters, which are also words, which also spells and can be attributed to one god or another and some sigils and some markings no one is quite certain about.” Ali traced a ringer in the air outlining one of the sigils. “This kind of looks like a Norse compass, but it’s not. And this kind of looks like the rune for ‘giants,’ but it’s not. I don’t know. Let’s finish our sweep and get the hell out of here.”

  “This is probably the most interesting thing I’ve seen since joining the force—and I worked Hell Night.”

  “You are going to find yourself scouring the Internet for reference material, ending up on Norse pagan sites and secret Facebook groups out to decipher these things,” Ali teased.

  “You sound like you have been there/done that.”

  “Maybe.” Ali nodded and took off toward a faint glow at the far end. Her radio chirped.

  “Officer Najarah, I’m sending up a couple of uniforms to clear the tunnel with Smith. CSI wants you back here to start the primary report.” It was her watch commander.

  “Be right there,” she replied.

  She jogged back, passing two other officers as they pressed ahead. Her stomach lurched. Something isn’t right.

  “Najarah, I want you to help with this investigation and then stay with the body until the medical examiner’s team picks it up,” the detective said, not looking at her but at his cell screen.

  That could take hours. “Yes, sir.”

  Little by little the duo of uniformed officers trained in crime scene investigation processed the body. A yellow tape and orange flags had been set up and photos taken wherever they found evidence. Footprints, fibers, visible bruising. Ali helped as she was asked and stood guard otherwise. It took four hours before the lead CSI phoned the medical examiner and then packed up her kit.

  “The pickup is in about an hour. We’re taking this to the lab across the bridge. Send your report along.”

  Ali nodded and watched them exit. The quad was gone. All the brass was gone. Any backup was gone. Smith had already texted her that he’d been picked up on the church side of the tunnel. He had continued his shift, ending at the hospital metal detector as she would have done. It was past midnight when the body reclamation techs carefully loaded the victim onto their cart and took him, presumably, to the morgue. She didn’t walk with them. She couldn’t shake the feeling something hinky was happening in the background of all the activity. A layer to the murder that had yet to be revealed. Something untoward. Something magical. Though it was late, and she was technically off duty, she needed to explore the sensations plaguing her. She texted Tom that she would be delayed and carefully walked up the tunnel.

  She had a nervous habit of making her fingers spark by rubbing them together. The fireflies caused by her residual magic flew before her, helping to light her way.

  It wasn’t fear that pounded in her throat. She knew fear. She’d been trained how to put it aside or use it as a tool. It wasn’t excitement or apprehension. She tried to take a self-assessment as she cautiously made her way up the tunnel on foot. It was connection. She felt this way with Tom. As if there was something far greater than the bond between partners—something at cellular level. That was what tickled her arm hair and made her heart race. In the stillness she heard the hum made by the runes whisper into her. She’d never really experienced it before, for she was always on the job when in the tunnel. This time, it was an excursion of discovery. And they found me.

  She counted her steps until she reached the wall. In the dimness unbroken only by the sparks coming from her fingertips and her smaller flashlight, the runes took on an otherworldly, silver-tinted glow. Her first thought was usually astonishment that the silver had not been pilfered through the centuries. Not today. In the aftermath of a murder, an extremely long shift, and the mental struggle between love and ambition, the runes brought her only comfort. Warm vibrations of happiness and ease.

  Ali relaxed her stance a bit and studied the inscriptions as each etching ebbed and flowed through her like a tide. Academically speaking, she recognized a few of the symbols. Anyone with Internet access could find bastardized runes. Some of them she recognized because of their misuse by OTAB—the local Neo-Nazi organization. As she allowed her eyes to focus in and vision to even blur, she thought she saw meanings emerge in some of the as-yet untranslated runes. Dragon. Squirrel. An object propelled by some unseen force. But that was only when she squinted. The symbols themselves did not depict such things. So far as anyone knew. But that’s what they mean. This is far more than Viking graffiti. This is a boundary between what’s magic and what is mundane.

  She shook off the seeming information dump and headed out of the tunnel.

  Chapter Five

  Hours earlier

  Tom was bored in the extreme. He had taken to separating his mixed vegetables and formed a replica of Devil’s Tower in his mashed potatoes. Everyone did that at least once after seeing Close Encounters of the Third Kind. It was a good way to pass the time. Let’s see, I can flirt with the nurses, joke with the custodial staff, or pull these freaking IVs and go home.

  “Knock, knock.” It was the department’s therapist.

  Joy of joys. “Come in, Sarah.”

  “How are you, Tom? Did you get some rest today?”

  He nodded.

  “Dream?”

  He nodded a second time. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Nightmare?”

  He nodded. “Same as always.”

  “That you have no memories of anything before Hell Night and your claim that you took out a witch with the help of an intelligent squirrel. That is a nightmare.”

  “A spell-casting madam, but yes. A hexing harlot.” He held a pillow against his stomach and laughed. “Although the distinction may be a moot point.”

  “Has the hospital psychiatrist come by yet? You suffered major trauma followed by a serious illness, and, honey, I don’t think you are coping very well.”

  “That’s what my chart notes say. I refused the psychotropic meds. I need to figure this shit out on my own. It’s the way we do things.”

  “Cops?”

  “Yes. We try to reconcile the things we see without help first. Some of us make it. Some of us turn to the bottle or pills or sex or start beating down citizens because they can’t control the rage. They explode. Or implode.”

  “As is all over the news right now.”

  “It makes me crazy. Not every cop is bad, just as not every priest is a pedophile. Someday the blue line will be trusted again. I will prove its worth—even if it’s here in the slums of Sealth. I am not going to turn to drugs, alcohol, anonymous sex, or rage to fix this. I know what I saw. I know what occurred was real. It happened to me. All of it. It is like I literally awakened on Hell Night and became a whole person—one without a bizarre in
ternal monologue.”

  “The inner voice that was of divine origin.”

  “Yes, ma’am. The voice of a god was in me. Until Hell Night. Something happened at the church. Blood and fire and those skinheads, chanting shit. Yeah. It all changed that night.”

  “And then you became ill for the first time in your life.”

  “Of which I am aware, yes. I’m getting out of here in a few days. Please don’t write something up that says I’m unfit for duty. All I need is the job. To get back on my beat.”

  “Very rarely is someone’s job the answer to all their mental health issues.” Sarah pulled up a chair.

  “Sit down. Stay a while.”

  “Don’t mind if I do. Now, are you currently listening to the voice of God?”

  “No. He’s gone. And it wasn’t God god. It was another god.”

  “Not of Judeo/Christian persuasion. I recall that now.”

  “He was older than that.”

  “Older than God?”

  “I was never big on the whole church thing. At least I recall not being interested in being an altar boy, and they were not interested in me, either. My parents kind of knew I wasn’t church material.”

  “You’re recalling more of your childhood.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “We had a garden. A big fucking garden on a vacant lot near our house. We’d plant the vegetables and I’d watch them grow. Only I would stand on a soap box and wave a stick around like a conductor, encouraging their climb. The pole beans were particularly susceptive to my direction. Mom and Dad gave up trying to keep me on the Jesus path pretty early. They knew I was…special.”

  “So, you became a pagan.”

  “I was born pagan. And by the time I was sixteen, I had been ordained into two traditions. But that bored me, so I burned all my stuff. I moved to all-purpose pagan. Earth-centric.”

  “Wow. And you forgot all this until the night Krazy Town was burned and razed.”

  Tom chuckled. “Correct. I woke up to my true self that night.”

  “And for forty-plus years you were not yourself.”

  “I just know that I am who I am now. Who I was before I washed ashore on the Bez, and who I am now. Snippets—but a beginning. Truthfully, there are a lot of holes.”

  “It amazes me that you speak so openly about what some might consider to be mental impairment or witchcraft.”

  “It is witchcraft, for lack of a better word. I can assure you, I am of sound mind. I’ve never felt clearer. I feel great—except for the incision—that hurts a little. I look forward to being cleared for duty.”

  “I have spoken to over thirty people who experienced that night, and the stories are similar. I even have another who says he woke up to who he really is at that time.”

  “Homeless guy? Or was a homeless guy? Very blond. Likes to drink.”

  “Yes. He stepped out of the long dark of that night and had regained his identity. He’s moved from the alley to a condo across the bridge. Running Gate Keeper Industries now. He trains security forces from around the world.”

  “There will be others—unless they jetted far away, and quickly so.”

  “And thereby, Officer Wolfson, I will recommend you be returned to duty and that you are mentally and physically fit to do so. I think a little diversity in the force is good. Maybe don’t whip out a deck of tarot cards at a briefing, but there’s no need for you to hide in the broom closet—if you get my meaning.”

  “All I want is to do my job. My duty. To really understand the true meaning of to protect and serve.”

  “How’s your partner since the death of her boyfriend?”

  “I can’t speak to Ali’s state of mind. That’s her business.”

  “I think it’s all right. If I’m to recommend you two are paired again, then I’d like to know your opinion of her state of mind.”

  “Well, Ford wasn’t her boyfriend, per se. They were lovers but had an understanding. He was deployed. She is a cop. She took her bereavement leave and spent time in the arms of Ford’s mother, working it all out. Like a good cop she’s filed his death away and moved on to the next call. That’s what we do.”

  “Do you want to partner with her again, Tom? It might be easier for both of you if you were not together.”

  Tom laughed. “She is my anchor. My partner. She is the eyes in the back of my head and the ballistic plate against my chest.”

  “Well, I’d hate to pull the plate out of your vest.”

  Tom gave her a thumbs-up. “Look, what we went through on Hell Night—it was total Twilight Zone. A horror movie come to life. I’m not making any of it up. From the dragon that ate the brothel to throwing myself atop a dying priest to put out flames. Ali corroborates it all.”

  “I know she does. In fact, the department is not pursuing any action against any officer for any incident that night. All the reports are fucking nuts.”

  “Ali and I learned to rely on each other that night. Without her, I would be dead.”

  “I’ll recommend that you be reinstated as partners.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Is there anything else we should discuss? What about your relationship with Corazon McPherson?”

  “I would prefer not to discuss that,” Tom replied flatly.

  “I think we should.”

  Tom frowned. “Is it necessary?”

  The therapist nodded. “Tell me about your relationship with Corazon MacPherson.”

  “We had sex.”

  “And she put a spell on you.”

  “Not in that order. It is far too convoluted a relationship to describe. The first time I was with her, I was not exactly the man I am now. I changed after that. And she controlled me somehow. She made me think I was losing my mind. Yet, she was the one who opened me up to the voice of god.”

  “But you had further physical relations with her.”

  “That’s over. Though I can’t believe we were unable to pin the death of the father on her.”

  “He killed himself, Tom. And she incited a riot in the church, and in the streets. And her brothel—there was strange shit going on there.”

  “The brothel burned to the ground. Mary Estey died in the fire. It may or may not have been ignited by dragon breath. The dragon ate the source of Corazon’s power.” Tom paused. “Look, there are no ramifications for me telling my truth here. Corazon was a spell-wielding madam. Her companion was a pissed off descendent of a witch hanged in Salem. Ali’s a descendent of the hangman on her mother’s side. Mary was out for vengeance. Corazon fed that frenzy. She used me to stoke the flames. This is Old Town. Krazy Town. We have OTAB holding twisted Odinic rituals outside town and attending mass on Sundays. And those bastards have no idea what Odin stands for.”

  “And you do?”

  “Oh, yes. I do.”

  “Because you were possessed by a god, just as the late priest was possessed by Odin.”

  “Not that simple, but yes. Look, we have everything from crack whores to highly paid escorts. We have human trafficking, drug trafficking, trafficking in stolen auto parts. We have a food desert. A dying town. Who’s to say every odd occurrence in this place wasn’t caused by a curse? That curse put me in a prison. No…I was the prison. A literal prison for the god with whom the goddesses were enraged. He deserved it. He was as cavalier with their affections as I have been with the nursing staff of this hospital. He lived inside me. It really pissed him off that I was a cop, and for the most part, aligned lawful good. He is god of chaos and change, and I put a damper on his style by being Officer Friendly.”

  “By keeping him behind bars of flesh.”

  “Yep.”

  “And the priest?”

  Tom chuckled. “That was a good one. Odin was trapped in the body of Father Frenzi, a long-suffering celibate man who really loved the church. As I’ve said, Odin was born begetting children and fought against the rise of Christianity for generations. Making him into a Catholic priest was a stroke of brillianc
e.”

  “And the alley dweller?”

  “Gatekeeper. Another twist of the curse to make Baldur, the purest god, an STD-riddled alcoholic.”

  Sarah sighed. “I’m not here to judge. One of the things I am to gauge is your interpersonal relationships. You’ve been a loner. Especially after your first partner was killed. You work with Officer Najarah. You live in the same building as she. You socialize with her. Tom, are you fucking her?”

  “Does that matter?”

  “The department is going with a don’t ask/don’t tell policy. My concern is that you are putting all your eggs into one basket and that you will suffer for it.”

  “My eggs are safe with Officer Najarah. They will not crack, nor will I. And no, we are not in a sexual relationship. We are best friends. Is there a reason you’d like me to swipe right?”

  “I do not recommend TINDR. Not for you. Not for anyone.”

  “Well, if that will be all, I’m ready for a nap,” Tom said.

  “Good seeing, you officer.” She rose and neared the door. “Oh, and, officer? One of those old, empty box stores on the edge of town—it's going to be a Safeway. No more food desert.”

  He gave her a thumbs-up, then closed his eyes. Always a crapshoot as to whether or not he would have a nightmare or something more pleasant. Ever since Hell Night…things had changed.

  Cora was a good fantasy. Ali was a good fantasy—a better fantasy—but she wasn’t interested in a romantic relationship with him. At least not now. Things had been hard for her since joining the precinct. Hell Night, Ford’s death. He couldn’t have a satisfactory fantasy without feeling her pain. Even when thinking back to their tryst on the steps to the roof of the very hospital in which he lay. That was the best fuck he’d ever had. He needed a little release. But masturbating in the hospital room just didn’t work for him. He pinged the painkiller drip and then drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Six

  “Ah, you invite me up and I find you in a drug-induced slumber. Wake up, Tommy.” Ali poked his arm.