by Mia Marshall
“You stay away ten years and I don’t get ten lousy hours? I call foul.”
Putting the mixing bowl down, I walked into the main room to give—and receive—a hug so tight it may have squeezed several internal organs into one mighty super-organ. It was perfectly natural to raise my face for a sweet, happy kiss on the lips. It felt like coming home.
We broke apart, laughing, to find three faces turned toward us. Only Simon seemed thoroughly uninterested.
“You’re cousins?” asked Vivian, confused.
“Kissing cousins,” Brian replied, nodding solemnly.
I protested, lest Brian cause my new acquaintances to form a warped opinion of my character. “We’re not related. At all.” Cousin was a term of affection between closely related elementals, such as desert and beach or water and ice. Although ice was technically made of water, we had very little power over it once it was solid matter. Ice elementals were all born of the glacier and could only manipulate frozen water. Most low-level ices had very limited power, unless you wanted an ice sculpture for a wedding reception. A few had turned their skills into a respectable living by creating a thoroughly implausible series of ice bars in Finland. Brian was low even on the ice power chain, with so little magic that if he hadn’t been raised by an ice family, he likely never would have known what he was.
Mac picked up the mixing bowl and lightly stirred the pancake batter. He glanced from me to Brian and back again. “So, you’re not such a stranger around these parts, after all,” he said to me.
I grinned at Brian. Whatever ambivalent feelings I had about returning, and under such circumstances, Brian had nothing to do with them. He was my friend, simple and easy. “Not to everyone, no. I thought Sera told you I used to live here, years ago?”
He poured a bit of oil on the pan and swirled it around. “Sera only said you were her best friend.”
I couldn’t think of anything to say in response. Refuting her statement felt rather petty, so I just returned to the kitchen, took the frying pan from him and began to cook. I could hear Brian happily greeting Vivian and Simon. He claimed one of the breakfast stools and started cracking jokes. He was his usual upbeat, lighthearted self, a welcome addition to the morning. Even so, listening to everyone else fall easily into conversation, I slowly felt the easy happiness of a few moments ago drain away.
I might have lived here before, but now I was the outsider. They all knew each other, and while I had been friends with some of them before, they were all friends now. As good as it was to see Brian, I knew he and Sera looked at me and saw a memory of who I had once been, rather than who I had become. I fought against the swell of self-pity that rose within me, knowing my thoughts were unreasonable. It didn’t matter. Standing in the middle of a kitchen, I felt closed in and overwhelmed by too many people. I wanted to disappear, to suddenly find myself sitting on my porch with nothing but uninterrupted solitude on that day’s schedule. It was too much, too soon. My anxiety simultaneously shamed and angered me. I only wanted things to be simple again, and I hated that simple was no longer an option.
“You’re burning.”
“Huh?” I asked, distracted.
“You’re burning the pancakes. Turn it down.” Mac nodded toward the stove, where the gas burner was clearly several settings too high. Muttering some creative profanity, I grabbed the pan off the hot burner and reached for the dial, spinning it quickly down. It took a few seconds longer than it should have, but the fire eventually settled.
“Cereal, then?” Mac grabbed a few boxes and some soy milk and set them on the counter. “Simon, I’ve got fish in the trailer. You hungry?” Simon looked pleased at the suggestion. He silently nodded, slipped off his stool and followed Mac outside. Distracted, I barely noticed their exit. I was too concerned about the way the stove had flared out of control. Whatever Mac might think, the burner had been set on medium, and the fire should never have flared so high. Either Sera’s stove was broken or her father had just delivered some upsetting news, and her control was no stronger than it used to be. I found myself wishing fervently for a faulty appliance.
Chapter 4
I was back in Tahoe for one reason: to help find Chris’s killer. Reminding myself of that basic fact carried me through breakfast and the subsequent cleanup. It allowed me to ignore my fears that I wasn’t ready to be back here. Brian kept catching my eye and offering a reassuring smile, and his warmth and absolute certainty that we were still friends helped ease me through the worst of the panic. Even so, I knew he couldn’t help but notice my silence, so unlike the old me.
The house had two showers but only one hot water tank, so we took turns. Like Brian, Vivian had an apartment closer to the lake and the university, but I gathered they were as likely to stay overnight as to return home. Vivian had spent the previous night in the bedroom across from mine, while Simon had claimed the loft space above us. With Sera in the master bedroom on the ground floor and Mac using the house’s facilities rather than those in the trailer, the large house suddenly felt quite small. While it might have been polite to offer the others first dibs on the shower, I figured it was more polite to avoid becoming as homicidal as the man we were chasing. I desperately needed some quiet time with my element, so I claimed the first shower before anyone could protest.
Once clean and recharged, I locked my door behind me and savored the hour of peaceful solitude I had while the others prepared for the day. I dressed for Tahoe in practical layers of cotton and wool, sadly putting aside my Converse for a pair of black boots with a heavy tread, a more practical choice in an area still covered with ice and snow.
In the bottom of my bag, I found a heavy white sweater and green knit scarf I hadn’t worn since I was a student. I almost hadn’t brought them, although they were warm and comfortable. It seemed wrong to look the same as I had ten years ago. I felt like a different person should stare at me from the mirror, her skin covered in scars that whispered of things she had done. Instead, the same familiar face looked back.
I stuck my tongue out at myself, annoyed at my inability to shake these thoughts. I combed out my long hair and sat near the radiator to dry it. Outside my door, I could hear the rest still moving around, calling to each other and making plans, but in here there was only quiet. For the first time since Sera had appeared on my porch, I had a moment to myself.
Almost giddy with the opportunity, I grabbed the small notebook and pen from my inside coat pocket and opened it to the first blank page. I didn’t think or plan or stare into space. I placed the pen to paper and watched the words flow. It was a habit I’d developed after purchasing my house. I might not want to talk to anyone, but I’d discovered that being alone with my thoughts was nearly as poisonous as being around people. Over the years, my journal had turned into my therapist.
Like always, the simple act of writing, of placing my disorganized thoughts on paper, served to purge the worst of my fears and doubts. I lost track of time as I transferred my convoluted brain to the page. When I finally heard Sera call my name, my mind was again calm, and I had formulated the first part of a plan. I slid the notebook back into my coat pocket, then headed toward the living room. It was time for a field trip.
As I made my way back downstairs, I heard Sera speaking quietly. “Look, I understand that you want to know more about the last time, but, for now, please trust that you know what you need to know. When she’s ready…”
“Aidan!” Brian interrupted. From the dining room table, everyone’s heads swiveled toward me.
“Subtle,” I noted.
Sera stood to meet me at the foot of the stairs. “Are you okay to tell everyone what happened before?”
“No.” She blinked at my direct answer, then nodded, her face carefully neutral. “I don’t want to talk. I want to see where Christopher died.”
Lake Tahoe sprawls across the California and Nevada borders, and a large percentage of its shoreline not already claimed by luxury homes or resorts has been designated as state park
s. The lake is stunning, a large expanse of pristine blue water ringed by the snow-capped Sierra Nevada mountains, and throughout the year the area draws outdoors-loving vacationers. In the summer, one was lucky to camp without a reservation.
In March, when snow still covered the ground and storms were more likely than sunny days, only a few tents dotted the landscape, turning the parks into ideal spots to drop bodies. The previous killings had occurred in fall and winter, and the bodies had always been found at one of the campgrounds. It was yet another way the killer taunted us. We knew roughly where the bodies would be dropped, but the lake’s perimeter was more than seventy miles long, and the parks took up a substantial share of that. The local police never had enough officers to watch them all, and our attempts at video surveillance had proven useless. All we could do was wait for the next body and inspect the scene after the fact.
The police tape had been removed from the crime scene, leaving no outward sign that a good man had been murdered here. I stood in the midst of a clearing, gazing around me, and tried to forget this was the last view Chris had ever seen. The others waited against Mac’s Bronco, curious to see what I was planning. I was equally curious, because so far my plan didn’t extend beyond “show up and see what happens.”
“Did you already examine this scene?”
Sera shook her head. “Too many police in the area until a few days ago. I relied on the police reports my father acquired for us.”
“Where was his body found?”
Vivian tapped the screen of a rectangular metal device about the size of a piece of paper. “Near that tree.” She pointed.
“What is that?” I asked, indicating the device.
She looked at me curiously. “It’s just my tablet.” She spoke as if that should be enough explanation.
“Is that like a full-sized Palm Pilot?” I was impressed. It sounded like a useful bit of technology.
The look Vivian gave me suggested I was barely speaking English. “A what?”
Sera interrupted. “We’ll get you caught up later, Ade. Somehow.” I was unconcerned. I couldn’t imagine technology had leapt that far forward in a single decade.
I moved toward the tree Vivian had indicated and studied the ground, stomping on it several times. The top layer was soft from that morning’s rain, but below that it was still frozen solid. “Vivian, how much power would it take to shift this earth?”
She handed her tablet to Simon and knelt near me, placing her hands on the ground. Eyes closed, she began her silent communication with the earth. Each element’s magic manifested in different ways, so I was not certain what she felt, but I knew enough not to interrupt her communing. I walked to the others, who were equally silent, and waited.
It took a long time, because Vivian wasn’t especially strong, but eventually she opened her eyes. They were unfocused, seeing things the rest of us could not, and I almost thought I could see her aura, the magic crackling around her. “This earth hasn’t changed. It has been covered with snow and ice and remains as steadfast as the trees.” She shook her head slightly, and the power vanished. Once again, she was a quiet and reserved graduate student. “This isn’t what killed him.”
“But the soil from this area matched what was in his lungs. Could you check a few other areas, please?” I asked. She nodded, her face somber, and started moving around the campsite in a pattern only she could see, occasionally kneeling to touch the ground.
I looked at the rest of the team Sera had gathered and considered. Simon sat in the Bronco, cleaning his nails with a small piece of paper, steadfastly ignoring the rest of us and showing no inclination to be part of the investigation. “Sera, why did you invite Simon to join us?”
“I’m right here,” he pointed out. “And capable of speech.”
“He owed me.”
“Yes, but what can he do? How can he help us solve this?” I knew that ignoring him would rile him up. I was counting on it.
“Still right here.”
Sera didn’t even glance at him. She’d immediately figured out my plan and played along without batting an eye. “Well, you know, he’s a cat. He’s pretty cute when he’s furry, and when he’s around I don’t have to worry about mice in the house.”
Simon decided the conversation had gone too far. “Do you really have so little imagination as that? I’m a cat. A black cat. I am small, dark, quiet, and able to jump several times my body height. Can any of the rest of you do that? There are few places I cannot sneak into—and out of—with ease. I am the perfect scout. Also, I’m cute all the time, as you are well aware.” He climbed out of the car and stood as tall as his 5’9” would allow.
“You’re like the world’s most egotistical ninja,” offered Brian.
“Exactly,” said Simon, without a hint of offense. “I am the only one here who can scale a tree and survey the entire area.” He removed his sweater and began folding it neatly into a pile. The shoes and jeans followed. Standing in just his underwear, he turned to face me. “And that is why Sera invited me.” I nodded soberly. As usual, my intended expression was not what anyone else saw. Simon sighed. “You could have simply asked me to scan the area.”
“Yeah, but this was more fun. And involved you volunteering.”
Simon rolled his eyes but apparently found himself without a retort. He shimmied out of his boxer briefs and placed them on top of his pile of clothes. A moment later, he was running along the branches above us, reviewing the area.
“What does he owe you?” I asked, curious.
Sera snorted. “He was a theater student at Southern Oregon University. He was here last summer for the Shakespeare festival at Incline. That’s how we met. Let’s just say there was an incident involving too many White Russians, an unplanned shift, and a naked drunk on my roof early one morning. I got him back to his hotel without anyone finding out.”
I tried very hard not to smile. I didn’t succeed, but I did try. “How did he make it all the way to your house?” Incline Village was quite a distance from the cabin.
“I was living in a different house. You know I try to only live here in the summer. I was renting on the Nevada side last year. I came back as soon as I heard about the first body.”
“So we’re staying in…?”
“My house,” said Mac. “I rent it to her, and I live out back. I thought I was renting to some rich college girl without a care in the world, and it turns out she’s running an independent murder investigation.” He smiled at me, far too pleased with what he was about to say. “So, this morning, I actually was breaking my own shit.”
“Yeah, well. You were still an ass.” I turned to him, as if a light bulb had just gone off. “Hey, you don’t turn into a donkey, do you?”
Brian guffawed, and Mac narrowed his eyes. I had no doubt I’d be paying for that comment later.
At the moment, though, I was distracted by a naked Simon standing before me. Despite the increasing cold, he showed no sign of wanting to clothe himself. “There’s a slight depression running from the water to the tree.” Vivian stepped carefully toward the water and plunged her hands into the mud.
“As if something had been dragged?” asked Brian.
Simon shook his head. “Not a body, though. It’s too regular. If someone was dragging a body, particularly a heavy man like Christopher was, it stands to reason that they would struggle with it. The movement would be erratic. This depression is perfectly smooth.”
“Could the body have been placed on a sled or some other object, and then moved?” said Sera.
Simon considered the question carefully, then nodded. “That is possible.”
Vivian waved mud-covered hands at us. “Over here. This ground has been disturbed recently. It is more pliable, from the water’s influence, and it has been moved in a way only an earth could manage.” She looked angry at the thought, the first negative expression I’d seen cross her face.
“Because some of it ended up in Chris’s lungs.” Sera was grim, the sli
ght levity from earlier completely gone. She might be wearing the brave face people expected to see, but there was no doubt that grief moved just beneath her skin. “So, he was killed by the water, loaded on some device and moved to the tree. Why go to such effort?”
Mac watched the water lap against the shore. “It was storming last week, and the water level rose quite a bit. If he’d been where Vivian is now standing, he might have been pulled into the lake.”
“And they wouldn’t have found the body. Not quickly, at least,” Brian concluded.
“Whoever did this, they wanted the murder to be discovered,” I said. “So, we’re dealing with a narcissist, someone who wants to flaunt his elemental powers, no matter the cost.” From her spot by the water, I saw Vivian nod in agreement.
“Or,” said Sera, “someone who knows we were involved last time and wanted to get our attention.”
“Well, fuck,” I eloquently replied. I hadn’t thought of that. It made a horrible sense, particularly considering the victim’s identity. I looked at the five glum faces that surrounded me. “So, who wants pancakes?”
Though it was a feeble attempt at a joke, pancakes actually sounded good. I was certain that some comfort carbohydrates would pull the worst of the chill from my bones. Unfortunately, our trip to the diner was canceled when Sera’s phone rang. She took the call while the rest of us piled back into the Bronco.
Whatever she learned from the phone call triggered the tense coil of energy always buried just below her surface. Her left fingers tapped steadily against her thigh, and she swung her cartoon devil keychain around in circles. “Good news,” she announced, hanging up. “That was the medical examiner’s office. My father has arranged for me to see the body. Also, it’s probably time to do some damage control and learn what the cops are thinking.”
Vivian looked a bit green, obviously questioning what about that was good news. “Do you need any help?” she asked, clearly hoping the answer was no. I understood her hesitation. I also wasn’t particularly eager to enter a sterile white room lit by fluorescent bulbs and populated by the reluctant dead.