Residual Magic

by J J Andrews

  Ali spoke aloud, though she heard Mary internally. “I need to save him. From the curse. From prosecution.”

  “Do tell.”

  “You already know.”

  “Give me the Cliff notes. I’m intrigued.”

  “Tom broke it off with Corazon. Hell hath no fury like a hexing harlot scorned. She managed to conjure up a curse again. Maybe with Loki, Melinoë, and the furies. And you. Murders began happening. Not that murder is a new thing in Old Town, but Tom believes he’s a part of them. It seems he’s been sleepwalking and patrolling the Bez and now is having nightmares that he’s going to suffocate me.”

  “And?”

  “There is evidence that points to Tom as a possible person of interest, and I am keeping that under my hat. It is killing me. It is killing him.”

  “Melinoë is such a devious bitch. The Furies are like trained dogs. They do what they’re told.”

  Tom snored peacefully.

  “Sounds like the two of you are screwed.” Mary cackled, reminding Ali of a cartoon witch.

  “Now, look…I’m willing to bargain here.”

  “Let’s make a deal,” Mary replied. “But speak quickly. It will only get worse, you know. The murders must be nine in total. I’m sorry my boy got in the way of those blights on humanity—the murderers. But truthfully, he lost his way to the drink a long time ago. I’m surprised he didn’t die in a drunk tank somewhere.” She paused and a poster on the wall behind Tom fluttered. “But there are supposed to be nine. They—the killers—are Cora’s minions. Her clients. She convinced them to revive the sale of bodies to medical students—here and in Asia.” Mary paused. “Actually, two of them are local boys and the man with the steel grip is an Undie.”

  “Excuse me?” Ali asked.

  “And Undie. An undead. Easy enough to dispatch once the curse is lifted. It does have a serious penchant for smothering the living. He looks a little like Tom. And whenever he presses the life out of someone, the karmic debt bitch slaps Tom. Cora is clever—but it is to whom she owes allegiance that are the smart ones. Can I hang out until this all shakes out? Maybe take a trip east to my old stomping ground.”

  Ali cut the banter. “Why nine? And if you help me, I don’t care where you go.”

  “It has to do with her dire hatred for Odin. He’s the god of nine. Nine worlds. Nine this. Nine that. I found her obsession boring. You want to rescue Tom from the suffocating curse he’s under—the one that brings him closer and closer to being named as a person of interest—then give me what I want.”

  “Name it.”

  Mary took a deep breath, and upon exhale, said softly, to only Ali, “The line must not continue.”

  Ali nodded. “My ancestral line. That of the hangman from Salem. The one who didn’t do a good enough job killing you the first time. That’s easy. I won’t have children.” She glanced at Tom, who had gone ever more ashen. He wanted children. With her. “The line will end.” Ali continued, making sure Mary knew the parameters. “If you will help me end the curse, and surround Tom with a magical ring of fire to protect him from all future curses, I promise I will not have children who will carry on the line of the hangman. Your quest for revenge will end, and you can rest.”

  “That’s enough, Aliyah. I really hated that fat bastard of an executioner. He smelled like rancid pork products and that was the last scent to envelope me before he kicked away the stump under my feet.”

  “What do I do?”

  “To create the energy needed, you will need to call forth every iota of residual magic that is in you, and around you. Everywhere. Old Town is lousy with magic waiting in dark corners to jump out and claim a host. You must be that host.”

  “Do I just invite it in?”

  Mary nodded. “The simplest spell is the most effective.”

  “Then I point and shoot. A Glock of will and intention and bullet of residual magic. Dead center of what target?”

  “Corazon, of course.”

  Ali didn’t reply.

  “Oh, dear. I feel your sphincter puckering and can read your thoughts of jail time. No. Unless that is your intention—and I know it is not—you will merely destroy the curse, not her. The onus will abate. Tom will be free. The murders will no longer appear to be by his hand. The true culprit shall be revealed. And Melinoë will return to the shadows from whence she came.”

  “How do I do this? Pray over the bullet? Dip it in holy water?”

  “Oh, my dear, no. Neither Corazon nor her curse will most certainly not respond to that.”

  “Do I find the dragon that killed you and destroyed the altar and get him to give a little dragony blessing on my service weapon?”

  “Closer. But you’ll never find him. You need to find the squirrel who travels back and forth between street level and the dragon’s lair.”

  “That fucking squirrel? The panhandler? What should I say?”

  Mary chuckled. “To the squirrel? I’d preface anything you want with a gift of food. Then ask. Say you’d like a bullet imbued with that which only the dragon can give.” She paused. “The purest magic of all.”

  “Literally, a magic bullet. Should I make it a silver one?”

  “Silver doesn’t matter. Make it out of hamburger and freeze it. Use a rubber one. Doesn’t matter.”

  “It doesn’t matter which bullet I use?”

  Mary nodded. “That is correct. Now, get on with it. I’m tired. Leave sleeping beauty here alone; he’ll be fine. I’ve got a plane to catch. Can you just imagine what Salem is going to say when I return to Gallows Hill?”

  I don’t fucking care. Just leave. Ali tipped her five-corner at the old witch and left.

  She headed straight to the tree-lined street where the damned squirrel hung out. Along the way she bought a hot pretzel from the café. Bait. “This should be far more difficult. Why do I feel like I’m being duped?” No one replied.

  She tore off little pieces of salty bread and tossed it around as if she were sprinkling fairy dust. A few citizens looked at her as if she was crazy. “I need to find that aggressive panhandling squirrel. You know the one, right?”

  They shook their heads and walked away. Old Town was used to crazies. Cops or not.

  “Squirrel,” Ali whispered. “I need to talk to you.” Can I talk to him? Tom talked to him. Fuck!

  A very large dark gray squirrel scampered down a tree and then stopped before Ali. It chittered at her quite frantically.

  “I don’t know what you’re saying.” She tossed it a piece of pretzel.

  The squirrel took the pretzel and nibbled on it. “Sure you do.” Inaudibly, but clearly.

  “You the one I need?”

  It chittered at her. And she understood. I am never going to get used to this. I did not sign up to be a cop in the magical underbelly of Old Town.

  “What do you want? I’m busy. And there’s a bus coming soon. Bunch of sapiens get off right here. I have legs to climb up.”

  Ali took a breath. “I need a bullet blessed by the dragon.”

  “This does not surprise me. You humans don’t leave well enough alone. Always fucking around with magic. You know the old saying, do not meddle in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup?”

  “I do. But my need is great.”

  “Who—or what—do you need to kill?”

  “It’s not so much as kill. I was told that firing a dragon-blessed bullet from my service weapon into the chest of the hexing harlot will end things. End the curse for good. The onus will be abated.”

  “Big words. Who told you a bullet blessed by dragon fire would work to end a curse?”

  Ali sighed. “Mary Estey.”

  “She’s dead.”

  “She came back.”

  “And the accursed one is that cop…what’s his name? Tom. Tom Wolfson. Cheeky bastard.”

  Ali nodded.

  “What’s in it for me?” the squirrel asked.

  Ali tossed another piece of the pretzel
. “What do you want?”

  “I’d like to crawl up and down your legs a little, huh? Maybe in my human form. If you get my meaning.”

  “I’m not sleeping with you.”

  “Oh, honey…I promise you no sleep at all.”

  “What else?” Ali asked.

  “I want nine new trees planted in this barren-ass town every full moon for the next year. Do you know what a crystal grid is? Make one.”

  Ali shook her head. “I can Google it.”

  “Do. Overlay a grid—like Metatron’s Cube on a city map. Figure it out. Sacred geometry.”

  “You’re a squirrel.”

  “I am a divine being in squirrel form. Do you want me to help you or not?”

  “I want your help. I will do as you ask. Not the sex part. The trees thing.”

  “Follow me,” the squirrel chittered. He darted away, across the street, and into an alley.

  Najarah pursued. “Where you taking me?”

  “To the dragon.”

  “He lives here?”

  “No. He lives below here. You’re not put off by dark, cramp, tight, confined spaces, are you?”

  “I’ve been trained to handle every situation.” She continued following without answering, chasing the little furry rodent through an open door of an abandoned building and then down a staircase. Very far down a staircase. The walls went from old tongue-and-groove to concrete to hand-hewn chiseled rock. “This looks like the walls of the tunnel. Is this the tunnel that runs between the church and hospital?”

  “We’re going behind the runes. Did you know you could do that?” Chitter, chatter.

  “No.”

  “Over the river and through the woods…or actually through the old steam tunnels and through a forgotten entrance to the tunnel and to another passage which runs behind Hafdan’s wall.”

  “Hafdan?”

  “The Norseman who carved the thing. He was very dedicated. I couldn’t get him to toss me a damned snack, but his wife did. Until she had the baby, then it was nothing for old Ratatosk.”

  “Ratatosk is your name?”

  “I’d love to hear you scream it.”

  “Not going to happen. You’re a squirrel with a record. I’m a cop. It just can’t happen.”

  “I’m a pretty hot as a dude,” Ratatosk replied.

  “I’m sure you are and thank you for helping me. But I’m with someone.”

  “Yeah. Your ambition. You are one driven woman, and if you don’t leave a little time for love, you are going to lose your mind.”

  Do not get into a philosophical debate with a squirrel. “How far is the dragon?”

  “As far as he is.”

  Ali pulled her small but powerful flashlight from her duty belt and turned it on. “Why are there no vagrants down here?”

  The squirrel stopped and looked back. “Magic repellant. Kind of like Borax to keep roaches out of the kitchen.”

  Through dark, dank tunnels that once brought steam heat to the hospital and places beyond, Ali followed the dark gray rodent into the bowels of Old Town. The old asbestos pipes were far more frightening than the unlit path. The asbestos hung off the pipes like spanish moss, touching her with eerie tendrils of cancer-causing agents. She pressed on.

  She lost track of time as she jogged behind the squirrel. Ratatosk didn’t quit chittering. Even in the utter darkness of the steam tunnel she’d be able to follow him from all the noise he made. She shined her light left and right, above and below. The old concrete beneath her feet gave way to soil. “Are we in the tunnel between the church and hospital?”

  “Almost. This is an entrance unknown to most. Unseen by all. Listen, and you will hear Nidhogg’s snores and the low hum of the runes.” Ratatosk stopped. “This place is the orchestral heart of all magic.”

  Ali slowed her pace and listened to the even breaths coming from the darkness far ahead of her. And the hum. Like an electrical current of an acapella group whose voices created all the instruments. The vibration tickled her arms, making her hairs prickle. It struck her solar plexus. It surrounded and enveloped her with both heat and ice.

  “What is it?”

  “This town was built atop a sacred site. A ley line. The heart of the divine thrives in the profane.”

  “Everything wacked-out that happens here—begins and ends here.”

  “Know what you’re going to say to the dragon?”

  “Nope.”

  “Go a bit farther ahead. I’ll wait here. Waking a sleeping dragon is not what I’d call a great first date, but we can go out again sometime, huh?”

  “You are a squirrel.”

  “I am a legend, walking. I choose the form of the noble squirrel because the nature of my mission is better served in this body.”

  The squirrel has a mission. Wow. “Thank you.” She waved her light ahead of her. Her mind swirled with all the scenarios she might encounter. Was about to encounter. I have not been trained for this.

  She heard the voice of Ratatosk in her mind. “No one has been trained for this. Too few dragons. Too few true heroes.”

  “There are heroes.” And we wear blue. She stepped ahead.

  Her light caught the gleam of a golden eye. Then two. Like cat’s eyes. But bigger. Far bigger.

  She shuddered as movement in the darkness gave way to a subtle glow of embers.

  He just snorted out fire. From his nose. I am in way over my head.

  “What took you so long?”

  She paused, calming herself. She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin against the terrifying sight. “I’ve been expected?”

  “For a very long time, yes. Now, I’m old, I’m tired, and the runes are particularly lulling today. What the fuck do you want?”

  She glanced at the dimly lit chamber. Its walls were softly aglow from the dragon’s fiery exhale. She looked for an exit. She always looked for her exit. It was good police work to always know which way led out—of any situation. This is crazy. This place is crazy. Is this how I return sanity to my life? To Tom’s life? What the hell am I doing? This is not like me. My life has been planned and tame…until I put on the blue and shield for Old Town. Ali removed the magazine from her Glock and then pulled back the slide to release the one in the chamber. It dropped to the ground. “Could you snort on a bullet? This one.” She held up a bullet from her breast pocket.

  “Really? Is that a special bullet? I suppose you’re going to end some huge curse on a loved one by firing a dragon-kissed bullet at the progenitor of the spell.”

  She nodded. “It’s new—and that’s about all that’s special about it. Is a dragon-kissed bullet the traditional way to end a curse?”

  “Is it your wish to kill that person?”

  “Not really. I just want it all to end. There’ve been murders, and my partner is looking mighty suspect—but I know it’s not him. I have the duty to present the evidence to the prosecutor, but I don’t believe the fucking evidence. It’s not him. This prostitute witch cast this spell and all hell broke loose—”

  The dragon interrupted her. “I recall that event. Quite disruptive.”

  “And you ate Mary and the goddesses, and now, they’re all back. Melinoë, Mary, probably Loki…”

  “Don’t forget Odin. He’s never far. The runes were carved at his request.”

  “Look…I need to end this.” She held out the bullet.

  “To what end? Besides the conclusion of a spell cast by a hexing harlot?”

  “I just need Tom back on the job as a whole man. Without troubling dreams and…”

  “I wish you to speak honestly to me now, though I am not your confessor. I can offer no penitent words or absolution. You will not be shriven here. So, spit it out. My patience is short with humans.”

  “I love him. I love Tom and I want to build a life with him. Have children.” First time she’d said it aloud. Everything in good time—even a life with Wolfson.

  “Will they be fully armed as well?”

  Ali laughe
d. “Not until they’re old enough to walk. Now, are you going to bless my damned bullet or not?”

  Nidhogg shifted his weight. He inhaled. Ali felt the fabric of her uniform flutter. “You cannot bear children. You smell of bareness. Of crops that will not take root. You gave that privilege away to learn how to find me, and thereby, find the cure.”

  “I can adopt.”

  The dragon blew softly on the red embers before her. They sparked, and in the greater light…she saw him fully. About the size of a bull, Nidhogg’s skin looked to be made of hammered metal and his eyes—glowing, feline eyes with a penetrating gaze that made the hair on her arms prickle. His snout tipped the end of a traditional-looking Chinese dragon head, and in place of a swishing tail to bat away flies, there was a long serpent’s hind quarter.

  He spoke, “I came to this place after the runes were silvered. I didn’t speak to Odin’s agents. They were preoccupied, and exhausted. And sometimes starving. They became rather obsessed with the humming the runes make—but it’s not a supernatural phenomenon that makes them ring, it is far more mundane than that. And in the mundane, we find the sacred and the profane. The runes are carved on a ley line. Do you know what that is?”

  Ali nodded.

  “The rocks are sonorous. They are diabase. The very bedrock of the Earth. Have you ever struck the walls of the tunnel or touched the runes?”

  “No.”

  “They ring like a bell when struck with another stone or a hammer. You really should try it sometime. But for now, I see that you are eager to get on with the ending and the killing and the loving. This is why humans annoy me. You never take the time to explore things right in front of you. Now, you promise an old dragon that you will come here with her paramour and make some music.”

  “All right. Later. Today, I’m kind of worn thin.”

  “Hold out the bullet before me.”

  “You won’t burn me, will you?”

  “A dragon’s kiss is a dragon’s kiss. Literally.”

  Overcoming the reluctance in her belly, Ali held out her hand. Before her the dragon literally melted into the earthen floor and before her rose an older man with graying black hair, but still…the cat’s eyes. She didn’t have time to react as he reached out and snatched the bullet from her with his left hand and embraced her with his right.