The Magic Compass

by Martha Carr

  “Has she figured out you’ve been sliding Doritos in the middle?” Moss laughed and grabbed a second piece of chicken. “May I?” Maggie nodded, smiling. He took a bite without waiting for the answer.

  “No, and we’re gonna keep it that way. This is real food. From the crime scene? Good thinking, multi-tasking. I’ll take it.” He sat down at his desk and opened the box in front of him, closing his eyes and smiling. He shut it again and slid it to the side, narrowing his gaze at Maggie. “I hear that wasn’t the only point of interest in your day? Something about another break in at your house.” He held up his hands in protest, shaking his head. “Save it, I know you didn’t file a report. This is still a small town for us locals. Your first mistake, you told your mother in front of her crew. They told a few others. Took about thirty minutes to reach me. Slow day for them.”

  “Not for you,” mumbled Moss, looking up at Maggie, his mouth full of chicken. “And the day’s not even half over yet. Trouble tends to run in three’s. Just saying.”

  Maggie ignored him. “It was nothing. I got into a scuffle wrestling with a bald version of Gimli.”

  “Love Lord of the Rings. Claire and I are saving up for another trip to New Zealand. He get away with anything?”

  “In the end, no. He was harmless.”

  Taylor shot her a look. He heard the catch in her voice but knew that determined scowl. “Given how the rest of your day worked out, I suppose that we can take a pass on your garage.”

  Maggie’s phone buzzed and she looked down and saw Jake’s number pop up. “I have to take this,” she said, rising and walking away from the clusters of other detectives. Maggie was having a hard enough time trying to figure out dating.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, how’s your day going?”

  Maggie didn’t hesitate. She wasn’t ready to tell him about her mother and her parties, much less falling through the Earth and narrowly avoiding missing a bullet meant for the center of her head. “Fairly routine. What’s up?” She winced, realizing she sounded like she was trying to blow him off, but only because she was, and only because she didn’t know what else to say. Ask about stolen items, or the way someone broke in, or how to get them to release hostages. Chit chat did not come naturally.

  “Uh… did I catch you at a bad time?” His deep voice sounded caring, making it harder on her.

  What am I supposed to say here? Can I phone a friend? “No, I was working a burglary at a convenience store. My mind is still there.” Not a lie. “Looking forward to this weekend,” she said, looking at the ceiling for inspiration. I wish I could be somewhere else.

  She felt her pocket warm against her skin, almost burning and a light seeping out the edges. “What the hell?”

  “What? What’s happened?”

  He does do a good caring-about-you voice. “Uh, something’s come up here. Gotta go. Text me later.” She hung up the phone as she heard Jake say, “Text me later.”

  There was no time to worry about the sound in his voice or what to say next. The palms of her hands were warming, and she felt that same hum down her spine as the ground beneath her feet began to vibrate. “No, no, no, no…” she whispered, looking around to see if anyone had noticed. No one was looking in her direction. “Not this again.” She balled her hands up into fists and planted her feet, hoping to stop whatever was coming next. A bubble formed out of her mouth and she quickly swatted at it, breaking it apart even as an image of the park near her house was forming inside of it. The place her dad used to take her to play when she was small. It was the same image she held in her mind whenever she needed to relax.

  A feeling of calm swept through her and the vibration settled down, the heat emanating from her palms and the compass in her pocket ebbed. Her breathing slowed and she made herself take in one deep breath after another and let them go.

  “Must have been some hot phone call.” Moss ambled past her on his way to the Captain’s office, waggling his furry eyebrows at her.

  “Yeah, the phone call.” Maggie did her best to laugh at the joke.

  “Hey Parker!” Taylor was waving the handle of his phone in the air. “Forensics called. They want to see you. Apparently, your mother has a deeper reach than I realized. Impressive.”

  Maggie took a few cautious steps toward her desk, still prepared to fall through the old vinyl blue and white tiles.

  Taylor lowered his voice. “It’s a good thing, kid. Your mom’s looking out for you. You never know. That old guy might be trouble.”

  “Right, sure. How do you know my mother called him?”

  “What else could it be? You didn’t fill out a report. Go on, see what he wants. He sounded anxious.” Taylor brought her a fresh cup of coffee in a cracked but clean mug that read, 10-4, Coffee That. “I made it with two coffee packets the way you like it. Fresh but runs like mud.”

  “You do know me.”

  “About as well as you let anybody.”

  Maggie ignored the dig and slurped some of the hot coffee. I have my reasons and they just keep piling up.

  Chapter Seven

  Maggie rapped on the door and waited for Simon to look up from the evidence drying cabinet. “Hi Simon, you called?”

  “Yes, Detective Parker, nice to see you.” Even though Simon was in his early thirties his hair had turned completely silver years ago. He brushed his long bangs out of his eyes and stood up straighter, sliding his glasses back up his nose. “I wanted to offer my assistance.”

  “Did my mother… never mind. What kind of assistance?”

  Maggie had never paid much attention to the specialist. He preferred staying in his lab and sending his assistants with the reports to talk to the detectives or beat cops. “I understand you had a break in, and the burglar got away with some of your valuables?”

  Maggie stayed quiet. One of her own rules. Let someone talk themselves out. She tilted her head and waited, her hands on her hips.

  “I know you don’t want to file a report.”

  “Whoever has been talking to you was thorough.”

  Simon looked embarrassed and his face reddened as he looked down at his shoes for a moment. “This place is one large high school at the end of the day. Everyone likes to talk about what everyone else is doing. I couldn’t even tell you who was the original source.”

  Maggie held up her hands. “It’s okay, but I don’t think there’s anything to gather. Not much was taken, anyway. Just something that was sentimental and belonged to my grandfather.” Another hard and fast rule of hers. Rigorous honesty at all times. It kept her out of a lot of trouble over the years, but it didn’t mean she had to say everything.

  “That’s sometimes the hardest kind of loss. I don’t mind. You’ve always been nice to me.” He shrugged, tapping his fingers on the tan metal cabinet. Before she could say anything else, he blurted out, “It will give me a chance to go out in the field and use some of the new equipment.” He gave a nervous smile, clapping his hands together. “And without the pressure of time. No detective waiting for a report so they can get on with an investigation. What do you say? I have some new fingerprinting equipment that’s pretty advanced. Can take a print off almost any surface, even a partial. Might help you out if the guy is in the system.”

  A Huldu in the system. I suppose that’s possible. Maggie bit her lower lip and thought about it a moment, her hands back on her hips. The adventure was starting. “I get the report right away?”

  “Absolutely,” he said, vigorously shaking his head. “Just you and it should even be by the end of today!” A smile spread across his face.

  “But not on government time. It can’t take you away from what you’re doing for any cases.” She gave him a small smile back. He really likes his job.

  “Of course, my shift is up in a couple more hours. I’ll be in and out of there in no time. Is the garage unlocked?”

  “Uh, no, but there’s a key under the potted rosemary near the door. Ignore the loud chickens, and lock up on your way o
ut, please.”

  He nodded his head again, sliding his glasses back up his nose as his bangs slid down in front of his eyes. He pushed them back up and smiled. “You’ve always been nice to me.”

  “You’re a colleague,” said Maggie over her shoulder as she walked to the door of his lab, turning back for a moment. “You do a good job.”

  She passed by the closet, the door slightly ajar and inside a green puffy coat hung on a hook. Something nagged at her as she left but she couldn’t quite put it together. “Not sure I even like the job that much,” she muttered on her way to the elevator.

  Simon saw Maggie glance toward the closet and clenched his fists, quickly opening his hands in case she turned back. To his relief she had kept walking and he made himself slowly go over and press the door shut. He left the coat at work and grabbed an older blue jacket with a busted zipper out of his trunk before getting in his car. He barely felt the cold wind, so relieved to have an excuse to take his time in Maggie Parker’s garage.

  It was his ground zero that he had been waiting for, for years.

  He got to the address on Pressler Street and parked his car in front. No need to worry about anyone spotting him and asking what he was doing. He made his way down the side of the blue bungalow and through the gate carrying his oversized forensic toolkit, staring at his destination. The simple, small wooden structure in the back that could finally help him get the answers he needed. “Find the compass, save the world,” he whispered. The chickens sent up a chorus of squawking, most of them retreating to the coop to get away from the stranger moving quickly through the backyard. He didn’t even notice.

  Simon’s normally steady hand even shook as he tilted the rosemary plant, breathing in the sweet aroma. He scooped up the key and nervously chewed his bottom lip, unlocking the door and slowly pushing it open with a loud squeak.

  He stood on the threshold slowly drawing in a deep breath and letting it out in a rush, feeling a sense of relief. “Here we go.” He set the toolkit down just inside and gently shut the door behind him. It was mostly a prop to satisfy any nosy neighbors, except for the small tool nestled in a felt cloth underneath the top tray.

  Simon took it out carefully and held onto it, hoping even still that there was a chance the compass was hidden nearby.

  It was a brassy gold color and made of metal in the shape of a wishbone with an ancient language inscribed down each long piece that translated to, what was lost can be found.

  It was vibrating just a little in his hands, reacting to the remaining traces the compass had left behind. Even that would fade in time.

  “I was so close. One day late. Damn the Huldus. They’ll get us all killed.” He pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Guess it will have to be Plan B.” His voice squeaked, his nerves showing. He pulled out a slip of paper from his pocket and mumbled the ancient words on it, practicing. He couldn’t be sure what would happen if he got it wrong and he didn’t want to find out. Not when he was this close. “Find the compass, save the world.” It had become his mantra. He slid his glasses back up his nose and took one last look around the garage.

  He held his arms out to his sides and shut his eyes, breathing in deeply. “Et fac connexionem in sanguinem, ligabis ad quod quarere. Et fac ita.”

  The hair across the back of his neck stood up, tingling. He let out the air as a large, translucent bubble appeared that quickly turned a deep red. He was making a blood bubble, dark ancient magic. It required drawing from his own essence.

  He opened his eyes and admired the size and color of the bubble. It was his first attempt at using the blood spells.

  The blood bubble hung in the air, slowly starting to spin, end over end as the color deepened, and the air took on a metallic taste. The smell of lavender permeated the room quickly taken over by the smell of rotten eggs. An image emerged of the compass safely tucked in a pocket.

  The back of Simon’s neck ached, and he felt as if his bones could splinter but he gnashed his teeth and held on, his arms still outstretched. His chest was heaving up and down from the effort and sweat appeared across his forehead, fogging his glasses. The blood bubble spun faster and faster, closer to his face till it popped, the droplets covering his face, quickly absorbing into his skin. His eyes darkened a deep red for a moment and he finally saw who held the compass.

  “Noooooo,” he hissed, realizing his mistake. “She had it all along!” His arms throbbed as they dropped to his sides. His heart was pounding as if he had been drinking coffee for days. He reached down for his glasses, his hand shaking and knocked them to the floor. He made himself take a few deep breaths, but his heart was still racing, and he noticed there was a mild ringing in his ears. He tried again, scooping the glasses off the cement and sliding them onto his face. “This can still be rectified, of course it can.” He clenched and unclenched his fists. “But not by me.”

  Everything was carefully replaced in the kit, and he took out the tools needed to take fingerprints. Maggie would still be expecting a report. But before he started, he pulled out his phone and sent out a text. ‘I’m going to need your help Meet me at Zilker Park by the sand volleyball courts in an hour.’

  The response was almost immediate. ‘On my way.’

  Simon slid the phone into his pocket and quickly got to work. Maybe there was even still more to learn from a garage that had once held the magic compass for so long.

  Chapter Eight

  The day had moved quickly. Two burglary calls started off the afternoon with the accompanying amount of forms to fill out. Lunch was a hastily downed What-A-Burger that was sitting heavily in Maggie’s stomach. “Next time we go to Hecho en Mexico.” She patted her belly. Maggie and Taylor were pulling up to their third call of the day.

  “Portions aren’t the right size for a growing boy.”

  “I’m pretty sure you’re growing in the wrong direction, Taylor.”

  Maggie got out of the blue El Camino and leaned back inside, her arm on the roof. She felt the compass sway in her pocket. She still wasn’t sure what to do with it and leaving it behind in her desk or the glove compartment seemed like the wrong move. “Come on, check the scores later. You aren’t actually throwing the football.”

  “Did you see that the Cowboys are thinking about Randall Cobb? Good choice for wide receiver.”

  “I don’t understand the words that are coming out of your mouth.”

  Detective Taylor gave a grunt and slid his phone into an inside pocket of his jacket and grimaced as he got out of the car. He walked around, onto the sidewalk in front of the Austin Rock and Roll Car Museum that was tucked in a commercial section on the southeast side of the city. The building was a nondescript, one story white stone building with darkened windows. Nothing looked disturbed and there was almost no traffic on the street. The detective gave a glance down Commercial Drive in both directions, narrowing his eyes.

  Maggie knew that look. “How much did you bet?” Maggie gave him a crooked smile. “Not the whole month’s budget?”

  Taylor looked around at the nearby office buildings. “No, I learned my lesson on that soccer game last year. That was a long month. I have a system these days. No more than a quarter of my fun money on any one bet. Still, losing hard earned dollars always has a little sting. But enough of my hobbies…”

  Maggie let out a laugh. “You’re still ahead of me. I need to get a hobby.”

  “What about your chickens?”

  “They’re more of an inheritance and come with a lot of work. I need a hobby that’s just for fun.”

  “Like dating.” Taylor gave Maggie a sidelong glance.

  Maggie instinctively tapped the top of her gun, getting a snort of laughter out of her partner.

  “Does this Jake guy know what he’s dealing with?”

  “Are you figuring out the odds?”

  Taylor waved to the curator who was holding open the front door and waited for Maggie as they both crossed the broad sidewalk. “I find it’s better to never bet a
gainst your partner. Hello, sir…” Taylor flashed his badge for the thin, neatly dressed man with a substantial black beard that was neatly trimmed and puffed out on all sides. “My name is Detective Taylor, and this is my partner, Detective Parker. I understand you’ve had a robbery?”

  The man held his hands together to form a steeple with his fingertips, pressing them against his puckered mouth as he let the detective go by him, into the museum. Maggie smelled the sweet tobacco that had to come from a pipe on his clothes as she passed him. It reminded her of her father.

  The man followed them in, swinging his arms behind his back, grasping his hands together. “I’m Frank Winters, the curator for the museum. I’m afraid we’ve had one of our rarer items stolen. A 1938 guitar owned by Hank Williams, Sr.”

  “I thought this was a car museum. Will you look at that? The Ghostbusters hearse. If that isn’t nicer than a one-ton Longhorn.” Taylor ran his hand along the back red fin of the white hearse, letting out a low deep whistle as the curator nervously followed him, sputtering syllables.

  “It’s mostly a car museum with a rock and roll flair.” The curator let out a ragged cough.

  Maggie let Taylor have his moment but got on with things. “I understand you told the officer that someone broke into the building. Nothing looks out of place. How can you be sure it wasn’t an inside job? You have cameras and an alarm system, right?”

  “We do, both bypassed and according to our security people that should be impossible.” Winters puckered his mouth again; a sour look on his face to match.

  Maggie nodded, “Then what’s leading you to believe it was someone on the outside?”

  “Follow me.” He walked briskly toward a back right corner of the wide open warehouse, as Taylor and Maggie followed. Taylor let out another whistle as they passed a black Mustang, but Maggie knew her partner was also busy taking in small details. Very little got by him even if he looked constantly distracted. It was part of his charm and made most people talk too much.