by Ким Харрисон
My stomach tightened. Cincinnati was not known for its serial killers, but we had endured more unexplained murders in the last six weeks than the last three years combined. The recent violence had everyone upset, Inderlander and human alike. The one-way glass fogged under my breath and I backed up. "Does he fit the profile?" I asked, already knowing the I.S. wouldn't have brushed her off if he had.
"If he were dead he would. So far he's only missing."
The dry rasp of Jenks's wings broke the silence. "So why bring Rache into it?"
"Two reasons. The first being Ms. Gradenko is a witch." He nodded to the pretty woman past the glass, frustration thick in his voice. "My officers can't question her properly."
I watched Sara Jane look at the clock and wipe her eye. "She doesn't know how to stir a spell," I said softly. "She can only invoke them. Technically, she's a warlock. I wish you people would get it straight that it's your level of skill, not your sex, that makes you a witch or warlock."
"Either way, my officers don't know how to interpret her answers."
A flicker of anger stirred. I turned to him, my lips pressed. "You can't tell if she's lying."
The captain shrugged, his thick shoulders bunching. "If you like."
Jenks hovered between us, his hands on his hips in his best Peter Pan pose. "Okay, so you want Rache to question her. What's the second reason?"
Edden leaned a shoulder against the wall. "I need someone to go back to school, and as I don't have a witch on my payroll, that's you, Rachel."
For a moment I could only stare. "Beg pardon?"
The man's smile made him look even more like a contriving troll. "You've been following the papers?" he needlessly asked, and I nodded.
"The victims were all witches," I said. "All single except for the first two, and all experienced in ley line magic." I stifled a grimace. I didn't like ley lines, and I avoided using them whenever I could. They were gateways to the ever-after and demons. One of the more popular theories was that the victims had been dabbling in the black arts and simply lost control. I didn't buy that. No one was stupid enough to bind a demon—except Nick, my boyfriend. And that had been only to save my life.
Edden nodded, showing me the top of his head of thick black hair. "What has been kept quiet is that all of them, at one point or another, have been taught by a Dr. Anders."
I rubbed my scraped palms. "Anders," I murmured, searching my memory and coming up with a thin-faced, sour-looking woman with her hair too short and her voice too shrill. "I had a class with her." I glanced at Edden and turned to the one-way glass, embarrassed. "She was a visiting professor from the university while one of our instructors was on sabbatical. Taught Ley Lines for the Earth Witch. She's a condescending toad. Flunked me out on the third class because I wouldn't get a familiar."
He grunted. "Try to get a B this time so I can get reimbursed for tuition."
"Whoa!" Jenks shouted, his tiny voice pitched high. "Edden, you can just plant your sunflower seeds in someone else's garden. Rachel isn't going anywhere near Sara Jane. This is Kalamack trying to get his manicured fingers on her."
Edden pushed himself away from the wall, frowning. "Mr. Kalamack is not implicated in this whatsoever. And if you take this run gunning for him, Rachel, I'll sling your lily-white witch butt back across the river and into the Hollows. Dr. Anders is our suspect. If you want the run, you leave Mr. Kalamack out of this."
Jenks's wings buzzed an angry whine. "Did you all slip antifreeze in your coffee this morning?" he shrilled. "It's a setup! This has nothing to do with the witch hunter murders. Rachel, tell him this has nothing to do with the murders."
"This has nothing to do with the murders," I said blandly. "I'll take the run."
"Rachel!" Jenks protested.
I took a slow breath, knowing I would never be able to explain. Sara Jane was more honest than half the I.S. agents I had once worked with: a farm girl struggling to find her way in the city and help her indentured-servant family. Though she wouldn't know me from Jack, I owed her. She was the sole person who had shown me any kindness during my three days of purgatory trapped as a mink in Trent Kalamack's office last spring.
Physically, we were as unalike as two people could possibly be. Where Sara Jane sat stiffly upright at the table in her crisp business dress with every blond hair in place and makeup applied so well it was almost invisible, I stood in scraped-up leather pants with my frizzy red hair wild and untamed. Where she was petite, having a china-doll look with her clear skin and delicate features, I was tall with an athletic build that had saved my life more times than I have freckles on my nose. Where she was amply curved and padded in all the right places, I stopped at the curves, my chest not much more than a suggestion. But I felt a kinship with her. We were both trapped by Trent Kalamack. And by now she probably knew it.
Jenks hovered beside me. "No," he said. "Trent is using her to reach you."
Irritated, I waved him away. "Trent can't touch me. Edden, do you still have that pink folder I gave you last spring?"
"The one with the disc and datebook containing evidence that Trent Kalamack is a manufacturer and distributor of illegal genetic products?" The squat man grinned. "Yeah. I keep it by my bed for when I can't sleep at night."
My jaw dropped. "You weren't supposed to open it unless I went missing!"
"I peek at my Christmas presents, too," he said. "Relax. I won't do anything unless Kalamack kills you. I still say blackmailing Kalamack is risky—"
"It's the only thing keeping me alive!" I said hotly, then winced as I wondered if Sara Jane might have heard me through the glass.
"—but probably safer than trying to bring him to justice—at the present time. This, though?" He gestured to Sara Jane. "He's too smart for this."
If it had been anyone but Trent, I'd have to agree. Trent Kalamack was pristine on paper, as charming and attractive in public as he was ruthless and cold behind closed doors. I had watched him kill a man in his office, making it look like an accident with a swiftly implemented set of preparations. But as long as Edden didn't act on my blackmail, the untouchable man would leave me alone.
Jenks darted between me and the mirror. He came to a hovering standstill, worry creasing his tiny features. "This stinks worse than that fish. Walk away. You gotta walk away."
My gaze focused past Jenks, upon Sara Jane. She had been crying. "I owe her, Jenks," I whispered. "Whether she knows it or not."
Edden shifted to stand beside me, and together we watched Sara Jane. "Morgan?"
Jenks was right. There was no such thing as luck—unless you bought it—and nothing happened around Trent without reason. My eyes were fixed upon Sara Jane. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll do it."
Three
My gaze was drawn to Sara Jane's nails as she fidgeted across from me. Last time I had seen her, they were clean but worn down to the quick. Now they were long and shapely, polished a tasteful shade of red. "So," I said, looking from the fitfully flashing enamel to her eyes. They were blue. I hadn't known for sure. "You last heard from Dan on Saturday?"
From across the table, Sara Jane nodded. There hadn't been a flicker of recognition when Edden introduced us. Part of me was relieved, part disappointed. Her lilac scent pulled the unwelcome memory of helplessness I had felt while a mink caged in Trent's office.
The tissue in Sara Jane's hand was about the size of a walnut, clenched into a ball with her trembling fingers. "Dan called me as he was coming off of work," she said, the tremor reflected in her voice. She glanced at Edden, standing beside the closed door with his arms crossed and his white sleeves rolled up to his elbows. "Well, he left a message on my machine—it was four in the morning. He said he wanted to have dinner together, that he wanted to talk to me. He never showed up. That's why I know something's wrong, Officer Morgan." Her eyes went wide and her jaw clenched as she struggled not to cry.
"It's Ms. Morgan," I said uncomfortably. "I don't work for the FIB on a regular basis."
Jenks's wings
shifted into motion as he remained perched on my foam cup. "She doesn't really work regularly at all," he said snidely.
"Ms. Morgan is our Inderland consultant," Edden said, frowning at Jenks.
Sara Jane dabbed at her eyes. The tissue still in her grip, she nudged her hair back. She had cut it, and it made her look even more professional as it bumped about her shoulders in a straight yellow sheet. "I brought a picture of him," she said, digging in her purse to pull out a snapshot and push it at me. I looked down to see her and a young man on the deck of one of the steamers that take tourists out on the Ohio River. They were both smiling. His arm was around her, and she was leaning into him. She looked happy and relaxed in blue jeans and a blouse.
I took a moment to study Dan's picture. He was clean-cut, sturdy looking, and wearing a plaid shirt. Just the kind of man one would expect a farm girl to bring home to Mom and Dad.
"Can I keep this?" I asked, and she nodded. "Thanks." I tucked it in my bag, not comfortable with how her eyes were fixed upon the picture as if she could bring him back by her will alone. "Do you know how we can get in touch with his relatives? He may have had a family emergency and needed to leave without notice."
"Dan is an only child," she said, dabbing at her nose with the crumpled tissue. "Both his parents are gone. They were serfed on a farm up north. Life expectancy isn't high for a farmer."
"Oh." I didn't know what else to say. "Technically, we can't enter his apartment until he's declared missing. You don't happen to have a key, do you?"
"Yes. I—" She blushed through her makeup. "I let his cat in when he works late."
I glanced down at the lie-detecting amulet in my lap as it briefly shifted from green to red. She was lying, but I didn't need an amulet to figure that out. I said nothing, not wanting to embarrass her further by making her admit she had the key for other, more romantic reasons.
"I was there today about seven," she said, eyes downcast. "Everything looked fine."
"Seven in the morning?" Edden uncrossed his arms and levered himself upright. "Isn't that when you—you witches, I mean—are tucked in bed?"
She gazed up at him and nodded. "I'm Mr. Kalamack's personal secretary. He works in the mornings and evenings, so my schedule is split. Eight to noon in the morning and four to eight in the afternoon. It took a while to become accustomed to it, but with four hours for myself in the afternoon, I was able to spend more time with… Dan," she finished.
"Please," the young woman pleaded suddenly, her gaze shifting between Edden and me. "I know something's wrong. Why won't anyone help me?"
I shifted uncomfortably as she struggled for control. She felt helpless. I understood her better than she knew. Sara Jane was the latest in Trent's long string of secretaries. As a mink I had listened in on her interview, unable to warn her as she was lured into believing Trent's half-truths. For all her intelligence, she hadn't a chance to escape his charm and extravagant offers. With his offer of employment, Trent had given her family a golden ticket out of their indentured servitude.
And Trent Kalamack was truly a benevolent employer, offering high wages and outstanding benefits. He gave people what they desperately wanted, asking in return nothing but their loyalty. By the time they realized how deep he demanded that loyalty go, they knew too much to extricate themselves.
Sara Jane had escaped the farm, but Trent had then bought it, probably to ensure that she would keep her mouth shut when she found out about his dealings in the illegal drug Brimstone, as well as the desperately sought-after genetic medicines outlawed during the Turn. I'd almost tagged him with the truth, but the sole other witness had died in a car explosion.
Publicly, Trent served on the city's council, untouchable because of his vast wealth and generous donations to charities and underprivileged children. Privately, no one even knew if he was a human or Inderlander. Even Jenks couldn't tell, which was unusual for a pixy. Trent quietly ran a good slice of Cincinnati's underworld, and both the FIB and the I.S. would sell their bosses to have a court date with him. And now Sara Jane's boyfriend was missing.
I cleared my throat, recalling the temptation of Trent's offer myself. Seeing Sara Jane under control again, I asked, "You said he works at Pizza Piscary's?"
She nodded. "He's a driver. That's how we met." She bit her lip and dropped her eyes.
The lie-detecting amulet was a steady green. Piscary's was an Inderland eatery serving everything from tomato soup to gourmet cheesecake. Piscary himself was said to be one of Cincinnati's master vampires. Nice enough, from what I'd heard: not greedy with his vamp takes, even-tempered, on record as being dead for the last three hundred years. 'Course, he was probably older than that, and the nicer and more civilized an undead vampire seemed, the more depraved he or she generally was. My roommate thought of him as sort of a friendly uncle, which made me feel oh-so-warm and fuzzy inside.
I handed Sara Jane another tissue, and she smiled weakly. "I can go out to his apartment today," I said. "Do you think you could meet me there with the key? Sometimes a professional can spot things others miss." Jenks snorted, and I shifted my legs, bumping the underside of the table to make him dart into the air.
Sara Jane showed relief. "Oh, thank you, Ms. Morgan," she gushed. "I can go right now. I just have to call my employer and let him know I'll be a little late." She gripped her purse, looking like she was ready to fly out of the room. "Mr. Kalamack told me to take all the time I need this afternoon."
I glanced at Jenks's attention-getting buzz. He had a worried I-told-you-so look. How nice of Trent to let his secretary take all the time she needs to find her boyfriend when he's probably stuffed in a closet so she'll keep her mouth shut. "Ah, let's make it tonight," I said, thinking of my fish. "I need to look up a few things." And whip up a few antigoon spells, check my splat gun, and collect my fee…
"Of course," she said, settling back as her expression clouded.
"And if nothing turns up there, we'll go on to the next step." I tried to make my smile reassuring. "I'll meet you at Dan's apartment a little after eight?"
Hearing the dismissal in my voice, she nodded and stood. Jenks flitted into the air, and I rose as well. "All right," she said. "It's out at Redwood—"
Edden shuffled his feet. "I'll tell Ms. Morgan where it is, Ms. Gradenko."
"Yes. Thank you." Her smile was starting to look stilted. "I'm just so worried…."
I disguised putting my lie-detecting amulet away by digging through my bag and pulling out one of my cards. "Please let me or the FIB know if you hear from him in the meantime," I said as I handed it to her. Ivy had the cards professionally printed, and they looked slick.
"Yes. I will," she murmured, her lips moving as she read vampiric charms, the name Nick had given my and Ivy's agency. She met my eyes as she tucked the card in her purse. I shook her hand, deciding her grip was firmer this time. Her fingers, though, were still cold.
"I'll show you out, Ms. Gradenko," Edden said as he opened the door. At his subtle gesture, I sank back into my chair to wait.
Jenks buzzed his wings for my attention. "I don't like it," he said as our eyes met.
A flash of ire took me. "She wasn't lying," I said defensively. He put his hands on his hips, and I waved him off my cup to take a sip of my lukewarm coffee. "You don't know her, Jenks. She hates vermin, but she tried to keep Jonathan from tormenting me though it might have meant her job."
"She felt sorry for you," Jenks said. "Pitiful little mink with a concussion."
"She gave me part of her lunch when I wouldn't eat those disgusting pellets."
"The carrots were drugged, Rache."
"She didn't know that. Sara Jane suffered as much as I did."
The pixy hovered six inches before me, demanding I look at him. "That's what I'm saying. Trent could be using her to get to you again, and she wouldn't even know it."
My sigh pushed him back. "She's trapped. I have to help her if I can." I looked up as Edden opened the door and poked his head in. He had
an FIB hat on, and it looked odd with his white shirt and khakis as he gestured for me.
Jenks flitted to my shoulder. "You and your 'rescue impulses' are going to get you killed," he whispered as I found the hallway.
"Thanks, Morgan," Edden said as he grabbed my canister of fish and led me up front.
"No problem," I said as we entered the FIB's back offices. The hustle of people enfolded me, and my tension eased in the blessed autonomy it offered. "She wasn't lying about anything other than having a key to let his cat out. But I could have told you that without the spell. I'll let you know what I find out at Dan's apartment. How late can I call you?"
"Oh," Edden said loudly as we slipped past the front desk and headed for the sunlit sidewalk. "No need, Ms. Morgan. Thank you for your help. We'll be in touch."
I stopped short in surprise. A curl of escaped hair brushed my shoulder as Jenks's wings clattered against themselves in a harsh noise. "What the hell?" he muttered.
My face warmed as I realized he was brushing me off. "I did not come down here just to invoke a lousy lie-detecting amulet," I said as I jerked into motion. "I told you I'd leave Kalamack alone. Get out of my way and let me do what I'm good at."
Behind me, conversations were going quiet. Edden never hesitated in his slow stride to the door. "It's an FIB matter, Ms. Morgan. Let me help you out."
I followed, tight to his heels, not caring about the dark looks I was getting. "This run is mine, Edden," I almost yelled. "Your people will mess it up. These are Inderlanders, not humans. You can have the glory. All I want is to be paid." And see Trent in jail, I added silently.
He pushed open one of the glass double doors. The sun-warmed concrete threw up a wave of heat as I stomped out after him, almost pinning the short man against the building as he gestured for a cab. "You gave me this run and I'm taking it," I exclaimed, yanking a curl out of my mouth as the wind blew it up into my face. "Not some stuck-up, arrogant cookie in an FIB hat who thinks he's the greatest thing since the Turn!"