Naming Day (Jake Underwood Book 1)

by Michael Ruger

  I went down to the garage and looked at the two cars that I owned and tried to decide which of the two to take. It really wasn’t much of decision, but right now I relished any decision I could call my own. I had a sporty number, a red Miata, which was just for fun. It was fast and maneuverable, but also light weight and very noticeable. I probably should sell it. I never use it as a working car because of the way it attracts attention. I drive it for fun, something I haven’t had time for in a while.

  My other “car” was much more suited for work. It was a pickup truck. Personally, I prefer a car for driving. Pickups don’t have a lot of passenger room and the cargo area tends to collect junk. I prefer a van for actually hauling cargo anyway. When it rains in Houston, it really rains. The locals call it a “frog strangler” when it drops a few inches of rain in an hour. Cargo vans are better for this. They ride high and they are protected from the elements.

  But in Texas and in Houston in particular, every third vehicle is a truck, two to five years old, usually a light color. There are so many of them it is easy for a truck to get lost in the general background. Back in the 60’s and the 70’s I could get away with a car, but trucks have really taken over the streets. If you add those monster SUV’s and Suburbans, cars really are out numbered. I would love to get one of those PT Cruiser’s, they remind me of the 30’s and 40’s, but they stand out too much. So I have a ubiquitous Ford pickup, light tan, no gun rack. Despite popular belief, gun racks on trucks in Texas are not as common as you might think so no gun rack.

  Paranoia is a hard habit to break. I always give my vehicles a once over when I drive them. I’ve never been blown up by a car bomb and I intend to go right on not being blown up by a car bomb. In this case, I again let my focus fade and let any tell tale signs of magical interference. I had once found a tracking sigil like this. I used an easy to learn cantrip to transfer the sigil to a trolley bus and let my watchers follow it for a few hours. I slid into the interior across the faux leather seats and checked for any mundane changes. I had thought about putting an alarm on the thing but decided against it. No one pays any attention to an alarm and I didn’t want to put any confidence into a mechanical device that could easily be fooled.

  Everything checked out so I started the truck to running and checked the gauges. All good. I put into gear and made my way out of the garage and considered my destination. There were two places I could start.

  First, I could make my way out to Pasadena where Kevin was killed and see if I could pick up anything there. This could be a little dicey because it was quite likely that it was under observation or might even have active investigators probing the site. Glamours don’t work as well in the harsh light of day and the Black Watch didn’t like being seen even under the auspices of a glamour in the mortal world. If the Sheriff’s men were there, I should be able to spot them and avoid them if I wanted to. Since the crime scene was located in the burned out remains of Mickey Gilley’s old club and was thus exposed to casual passer bys, the chances are that both the Sheriff and the Black Watch would be circumspect and would probably take great care to avoid being observed by mortals. I considered for a moment if any regular, mortal police might be involved, but I considered it very unlikely. While most major centers of human population have excellent police forces, it is also true that they are also penetrated by operatives from the various realms. Mostly, this is done to avoid problems that court members might run into by disobeying mortal law of which they are mostly ignorant or scornful of. In the case of crime being committed against a court member in the mortal world, they use the mortal authorities to investigate and suppress any evidence that might lead to a breaking of the Compact.

  Second, I could go to Kevin’s home and see if there was anything there that might point me in the direction of his killers. It was long shot that I might find something that the cops might have missed, but it was worth a gamble.

  In the end, I decided to do both. I would head out to Pasadena first and scout the spot where Kevin’s body was found and then cross back to far side of town where Kevin lived and see if there was anything to be learned there.

  I switched on the radio and listened to the early morning traffic reports. Houston, as I have mentioned, has terrible traffic, although not as bad as a few other places I have been. Today it was clear sailing all the way out to Pasadena.

  Chapter Nine

  When I arrived at the barn like building that was all that remained of the famed Gilley’s night club, I was again struck by the eerie desolation of what had been a landmark of the 80’s. Personally, I thought the whole urban cowboy thing was pure bunk, but there was no denying the appeal that it held for a lot of people.

  All that was left now was a huge, burned out shell. The outbuildings, long gone, and even the huge sign had been sold to a local restaurant. Nothing was left of its former “glory”. Rumor had it that a local politician had been responsible for the destruction in order to collect insurance money. Who knows? Its secrets were left best undisturbed. One thing a man in my line of work who plans to live a long time learns is when to mind you own business. Especially when no one was paying. Discovering what really happened to Gilley’s was a job for someone who cared enough to know and was willing to take some risks.

  I drove across the weed encrusted parking lot and noticed almost at once the faint shimmer that comes from a flickering glamour. This was a big one. Probably cars covered by some kind of avoidance spell. It’s an old variation on the idea that if “I can’t see it, then you can’t hurt me” idea. Basically, it’s supposed to trick your eye into looking away and if you do glance at it, it tries to mimic what you should see. It’s pretty effective against most fey and mortals, but in the morning light it would only effective from a distance and stood out pretty well to me with my quirky vision.

  I parked my truck just outside the edge of the distortion field. By the size of the field I estimated that there were at least two largish vehicles shielded by the field. I concentrated and saw the dome flicker and fade before my vision.

  A big, black sedan was parked there along with some kind of panel van. Against the sedan leaned a member of the Black Watch. He was armored in a cuirass and a ballistic vest. He was watching me warily, his hands lingering lovingly over what appeared to be a nine millimeter strapped to his hip. Like every member of the Black Watch I have ever seen he was heavily armed. I could tell he was wondering if I could see him or not. I make it practice not to notice things I shouldn’t, so I sauntered by him, crossing the edge of the glamour just like I couldn’t see it. He watched me, but didn’t move toward me. I saw him speak into some device attached his shoulder, maybe a walkie. He looked at me, but made no move to intercept me.

  The door to the barn like structure that comprised the central building of the old club was open. It didn’t look inviting. I strained my ears but I could hear nothing from inside. It came no surprise to me that I was greeted by two more members of the Black Watch on either side of the door or that they quickly restrained me. One was a troll or an ogre crossbreed, I think, the other was an elf I’m almost sure. It was too quick for me to get a good look at either of them.

  They quickly disarmed and walked me across the junk strewn floor to well lit area towards one of the outer walls. A globe of bright light hovered above the small group of beings who were performing some kind of rite. I wasn’t too shocked to see Sergeant Bermuda standing there and watching with an eager eye.

  “Ah, Mr. Underwood. So glad you make it. I was afraid that you might miss this.” Sergeant Bermuda was droll enough, I supposed. He motioned with his hands and the two Black Watch bruisers released me and stepped back. They were still close enough to break many of the small and large bones of my body and they made sure that I could see that they were.

  “You were expecting me?” I asked, smoothing my jacket.

  “Of course! I heard the Sheriff specifically tell you to leave this matter to me and to keep clear of our investigation so naturally I expe
cted to see you in short order.”

  “That predictable huh?”

  “There was almost no way that someone in your line of work and with your temperament could possibly conceive that we might be able to apprehend this villain without your help, requested or not.” He was still smiling, that was good.

  I couldn’t think of any reply to what he said that wouldn’t either piss him off or get me ejected or come off as being peevish. Considering what was going on at the murder scene, I wanted to stick around so I said nothing.

  “Yes. I suspect we are almost ready to begin.” He looked on at a small group who were obviously some kind of craft users. He motioned me over towards where he stood and smiled. The smile was a little misleading and you could see the barest hint of horns, poking out from the brim of his hat, he looked more troll than elf. But elf or troll there was no denying the sleek and lethal look of the man.

  I noticed that in the center of a large ritual circle there was a large brownish-green stain that I took to be Kevin’s blood. The large circle was a quickly incised affair but I could tell that it was a circle I could never draw, in fact I think it would take a master willworker to draw it. It looked crude at first glance but when I examined it, I could see layers of detail that bristled beneath the surface. There intricacies beneath the symbols that I had never seen or thought of. It was indeed a master’s work. “Damn.” I muttered.

  I thought I had been nearly silent, but the Sergeant’s keen hearing picked it up. He caught the way my eye was looking and smiled and knew what I was thinking. “Yes, they’re quite good, aren’t they? Forensic mages who specialize in criminal investigations. They’re not battle mages, but in this kind of specialized work they have few equals.”

  “I’ve never heard of this kind of magic before. Is it new?” I was genuinely interested. Anything that could make my job easier or harder I wanted to know about although I doubted I could master it, it looked far beyond the craft skills of any but the most dedicated and highly trained.

  “It’s quite new by Court standards. It’s an outgrowth of the Mortal Initiative from the War of the Black Mass. Mortal men can be very clever.” He smiled. I listened for the condescension in his voice but didn’t hear it.

  “The Mortal Initiative? That program is still going? I thought it was shut down after the Apollo missions in the 70’s.” The Mortal Initiative, is the Court equivalent of reverse engineering. Students of man, who are also usually craft mages, keep a careful watch on the world of Adam and when they see something that is a significant advance or an interesting idea, they try to counter it or adapt it to serve the uses of the Court. All in all, it hadn’t been terrible successful. It turned out that the individual technologies or systems simply weren’t of much use or interest. It had started in the aftermath of our First World War. The Court of Dawn and the Court of Twilight were both horrified by the slaughter and the scale of destruction and were worried about its possible spread. This was a valid fear because the war caused a rift in the Bright Kingdom that allowed the some of the forces of the Adversary to slip through. They were a tough crew and did a lot of damage before they were put down. It came to be known as the War of the Black Mass and since that time, The Bright Kingdom had looked at the world of man with fear and not a little resentment. I’m not sure that this was a better replacement than the naked arrogance they had shown before, but it was at least different.

  “No, it was just re-tasked. Instead of concentrating on the big projects, it became clear that ideas were more useful. The idea of special coterie who are tied to a specific task, like detection or forensic magic is an excellent one.”

  “What exactly are they doing?” The Fey inside the circle were carefully drawing symbols with sure, quick strokes.

  “It’s a re-enactment ritual.” He looked at me if he was expecting me to know what he was talking about. When it became apparent that I didn’t, he continued.

  “Basically, when sentients do things, just about anything, they make minute, disturbances in the Ether.” I still looked blank. “You do know what Ether is, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, sort of. It’s a kind or invisible miasma that exists in conjunction with the visible world.” I wasn’t on real solid ground here. My background in thuamaturgical theory was weak. I was just knowledgeable in the areas I needed for the simple rituals I knew and didn’t really get into the theoretical stuff.

  “That’s almost right. It’s not really a miasma as the word ether implies a physical existence that it doesn’t possess. The theory wonks prefer to call it the “M-State”. It’s actually more like a cloud of low energy, subatomic particles that permeates physical reality except that they have no mass or energy state in relation to the physical universe. When a magical effect is created, it propagates through the M-State.”

  “You lost me.”

  “You use wards don’t you?”

  I nodded uncomfortably.

  “Well, when you set you wards you are actually call on forces that can only be reached through the M-State. The words and rituals you use prepare your mind and the area to accept your will and properly propagate your will throughout the local environment. If the forces that you call are properly compelled and bound their influence invests the M-State with their presence, thus warding the protected area. Understand?”

  “I think so.”

  “You have to remember that the ether is infinitely malleable. It can be used in almost limitless ways if it is prepared properly and the will of the user is strong enough. In this case, the forensic mages are going to gather minute disturbances in the Ether and reassemble the actions that take place to make those disturbances. There is one caveat, It doesn’t work if Magic has been used. Magic disturbs the residue of actions and shatters the cohesion beyond all hope of recall.”

  “It certainly sound like you’ve practiced and delivered that speech more than once.” I pointed out.

  “Well, yes.” He smiled. “I have had occasion to explain it to various Lords and Ladies exactly what this ritual will reveal and why it is accepted as accurate and not an illusion.”

  “So basically they should be able to show us a picture of what happened here?”

  “Better than that, they can show us a recreation of the event!”

  The elves in the circle stepped out and gave a quick nod to Sergeant Bermuda. He returned it and motioned everyone else back.

  “I must ask for complete quiet please.” The high contralto of the female elf stilled any muttering that was going on outside the circle. “This is a delicate ritual and easily broken. This can only be done once, the act of observation destroys the record of what we are observing, so look sharp.” She looked to her partner who with a quick shake of the head and began the ritual.

  There isn’t a good way to describe the ceremony and besides, Sergeant Bermuda told me that it’s considered a secret. He would prefer that as few people as possible know exactly how it works. Suffice it to say that it’s long and complicated. It looks exhausting, tedious and extremely delicate. I am told this is correct I couldn’t follow the hand gestures any way, the bottom line though is, that the ritual worked.

  The area inside the wide ritual circle began to slowly pulse with a red glow or mist. Inside the red glow I began to notice that slightly brighter motes began to assemble into more recognizable shapes. It took a few moments, but the motes gained in intensity and settled into more finely detailed images. Some of the lights faded or strengthened providing contrast and refining the image and the figures in the circle settled and assumed their final shape.

  In the circle I saw Kevin surrounded by three figures that topped him by good two or three feet. This in itself wasn’t surprising, he was, after all, a goblin and just about anyone would have towered over him as he knelt on the ground. The figures surrounding him were frustratingly indistinct. While there appeared to be no denying their general identity there was equally no way to specifically identify them.

  The three figures were dressed in b
lack armor that covered most of their bodies. Their faces were obscured to the point that I couldn’t tell if they were covered or not. One was almost certainly an elf. He was slim and tall and moved with a grace that only a full bloodied elf seemed to possess. One of the four was a big guy, probably a troll or ogre crossbreed, or possibly some kind of giant kin. Probably muscle. The last of the three was short, a dwarf I thought. He certainly fit the physical mode of one.

  Kevin seemed cool at first and he was obviously talking to someone who was standing beyond the circle. The three who stood guard inside the circle were heavily armed and were brandishing weapons. They stood steady and calm, awaiting orders or some signal.

  Kevin’s conversation grew more heated and eventually his eyes opened wide and a look surprise crossed his face. He turned away from us and tried to slip away but the armored figures were far too quick

  They grabbed him and a quick heavy strike from a spiked glove stunned him and I saw his knees bend as he stumbled forward. I thought that he must have been unconscious, but as the two armored figures reached under his arms to pick up, quick as a snake, his hand shot out and drew a sheathed knife from one of the armored men. He quickly jammed the blade to the hilt into the side of the one of the figures carrying him. Before he could extract the blade turn it on the stricken guard’s comrade, a club like fist from the ogre struck out and Kevin’s head flew back. From my position, it looked to me like his windpipe had been broken or crushed by the blow. He was obviously stunned as he sunk to the ground, but his mouth had the hint of a smile. He must have known that it would be impossible to escape, but he seemed satisfied with the results of his actions. I know that wounding one of these guys was quite an accomplishment.

  There seemed to be some argument going on between the armored men and the figure who must have been standing about where we were. We couldn’t see what he did, but he must have finally satisfied the men in the circle. The one who had been stabbed limped out of our field of vision. From the position of the knife and the size I doubted that it was fatal.