5 The Elemental Detective

by Kirsten Weiss

“And time is something we don’t have,” he finished for her.

  “The problem is, I can’t promise you things won’t go wrong.” And she wouldn’t let him suffer for it again.

  He grasped her hand, twined his fingers in hers. “Well. I don’t expect you to be happy with every move I make.”

  She furrowed her brows. Riga knew that this was the reality of marriage – the honeymoon couldn’t last. Couples had conflicts. But she felt a twinge of disappointment.

  “Ultimately,” he continued, “we’ll both do what we think is right. It’s who we are. And that’s why we love each other.”

  “Are you saying you’ll accept me going ahead with this?”

  “I’m saying I’ll stand well back. Which means you’ll need Brigitte. How long will it take her to get here?”

  “She is here,” Riga said, grimacing. “She arrived when she sensed the necromancy.”

  He dropped her hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’m sorry, Donovan. I was trying to keep her out of our honeymoon. This is supposed to be our time.”

  “Riga…”

  There was a scrabbling sound, and Brigitte emerged from the pile of rocks. She bobbed her head. “At last. I was growing weary of lurking in ze shadows. Now that we are out in ze open, we must have a plan of attack.”

  “Brigitte,” Donovan said, smoothing his expression, “this is a surprise.”

  “I am full of ze surprises. What have you learned about ze necromancer?”

  Riga glanced at Donovan. His expression was neutral.

  “He’s killing mermaids,” Riga said, “not just seals – and stirring up the elementals to create a natural disaster, a mass killing. And it’s broad daylight. Someone might see you.”

  “The beach is private.”

  “Not that private,” Riga said. All she wanted now was to hash things out with her husband. “We can talk about this later.”

  “A mass killing and you wish to talk about this later?”

  “Fine.” Riga slapped her notebook shut. The sooner she satisfied Brigitte, the sooner this would be over with. “What have you found out?”

  “Me? It is not my job to find out. It is my job to support your magic.”

  “Then you can support me when we scry for the necromancer at midnight.”

  “And what will you use as a sacrifice?” Brigitte asked.

  Donovan gave a minute shake of his head.

  “Nothing,” Riga said. “I don’t need one.”

  “You are right to make necromancy your own, to blaze your own trail. It is ze mark of an artist. But can you afford to experiment now?”

  A pulse beat in Riga’s jaw. “Blood, death, is just a conduit to the in-between. I don’t need it to get there. I’ve done without it before.”

  Brigitte looked skeptical.

  “Fine. If I need to,” Riga said, “and only as a last resort, I’ll use my own blood.”

  “Your blood is not as powerful as an animal sacrifice—”

  “Animal sac… I will not sacrifice animals!”

  Brigitte ruffled her stony feathers. “Why not? You eat them.”

  “I will not sacrifice animals,” Riga ground out.

  “Faugh! Lives are at stake and you are being morally inconsistent.”

  “No animals.” A pulse beat in her temple. “For God’s sake, Brigitte, you know how crazy necromancy can make people. If I start killing animals… I don’t want to go there. A finger prick is fine.”

  “You’ve given up on using the in-between energy pretty damn quickly,” Donovan said.

  “No,” Riga said. “I haven’t. That’s exactly what I’ll be using. I don’t even know how we got talking about blood. No blood.”

  Brigitte’s head swiveled toward Donovan. “I was not aware Riga had spoken to you about ze in-between?”

  “Donovan knows about it because he’s involved in this too,” Riga said.

  “Yes, of course. But I am your familiar. That is my role.”

  “He’s not involved in the spell. He’s involved in my life. And he’s—”

  “I’ll be there,” Donovan said.

  “But… Donovan,” Riga protested, “you were right. I don’t know where this will lead and if you’re close—”

  “I’ll be there,” he said firmly, rising from his chair. “So, midnight at our bungalow? I assume you know where our bungalow is, Brigitte.”

  “Of course. It is very nice.” Brigitte sniffed. “If you like small places.”

  His lips flattened, twitching suspiciously at the corners. “Ladies.” He nodded to them, and strode in the direction of the hotel.

  “I still don’t see why you need him,” Brigitte said.

  There were thousands of reasons, and none Riga could articulate. “No,” she said. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Hmph!” Brigitte rose into the air and flapped over the kukui trees.

  She cursed, hoping no one looked up. Riga stuffed her towel and notebook into her satchel.

  “Riga!” A woman shouted, and Riga turned.

  Deidre strode along the beach toward her, and waved. The sea breeze fluttered her sarong dress, teased strands of blond hair from her bun.

  Riga slung the bag over her shoulder and stood, shifting impatiently.

  “Hi, Riga,” she said. “I hoped I’d find you here.”

  Deidre smelled of key lime and coconuts and in spite of herself, Riga found herself relaxing at this hint of tropical drinks.

  “How are you doing?” Riga asked.

  The woman’s laugh was shaky. “I never knew widowhood came with so much paperwork. The curse of being married to a successful man. Thank heaven I have Paul to lean on.”

  Riga glanced toward the bungalows. “Oh?”

  “He’s been amazing.” Deidre bit her lower lip. “He’s actually why I wanted to talk to you. Paul told me about your encounter at Kimo’s earlier. He thought he might have left a bad impression.”

  “And he sent you to clear it up?”

  Deidre flushed. “No, of course he didn’t. He’s been very upset by his brother’s death. Kimo is an old friend of the family’s.”

  “He mentioned that. How did Kimo know your husband?”

  “Oh, who knows how these things begin? Dennis told me they were almost like brothers growing up. I think his father was best friends with Kimo’s father. There’s nothing sinister in it.”

  “I’m surprised Paul didn’t just tell us that.”

  “He’s a proud man, and he doesn’t like to have to explain himself. You understand, don’t you? I know you’re investigating Dennis’s murder, but you’re wasting your time if you think Paul had anything to do with it.” She placed her hand on Riga’s arm, her blue eyes beseeching. “He’s a good person and he loved his brother very much.”

  Riga just stared, wondering who else he loved, wondering why Deidre seemed more concerned about Paul’s good name than her husband’s murder.

  As if reading her thoughts, Deidre snatched her hand away, turned her face toward the ocean.

  “Why would someone kill your husband?” Riga asked.

  “I don’t know. It makes no sense. God help me, I don’t know.” She walked back the way she’d come.

  Riga watched her scramble across the rocks. She could go after her, press her. But she didn’t have the heart for it, and Donovan...

  The temperature dropped when Riga stepped off the beach and into the shade of the banyan tree. She draped the rough towel around her shoulders, and rubbed her neck, thoughts tumbling through her head. Donovan wasn’t happy about this. But she wouldn’t use blood. The scrying spell might take a little longer, but that was okay. They weren’t on a deadline. Although Donovan would have to get back to his casinos sometime. And she’d need salt for the scrying – extra protection. Hawaiian salt? No, too expensive. Then she remembered too expensive didn’t apply to her anymore, and her brain hamster wheeled back to Donovan.

  He lay in a hammock stretched between the porch po
st and a palm tree. His eyes were closed, but he reached out a hand to her as she approached.

  Dropping bag and towel, she took his hand, and rolled into the hammock. His skin was damp, warm.

  They swayed gently.

  “So,” he finally said. “Brigitte.”

  “It was wrong of me to keep it from you. I’m not sure why I did.”

  “I forgive you,” he said, his tone self-satisfied.

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into her,” Riga fretted.

  “Separation anxiety, I expect.”

  “What?”

  “Of all the magicians she’s worked for, she’s only liked three and you’re one of them. And you’re the first female magician. She’s wondering about her place now that we’re married.”

  Riga blew out her breath. Insecure was not how Riga would normally describe the gargoyle. Brash. No-nonsense. Annoying. But could he be right?

  “And there’s something else.” He opened his eyes. “Ellen’s here.”

  Riga sat up. The hammock swayed dangerously. “Your personal assistant?”

  “It was the only way I could manage it. I’ve been meeting with her in the morning, before you woke up, to take care of any urgent business. She’s been managing things, so I haven’t had to take calls.”

  “You’ve been cheating!”

  His eyes widened. “What? Riga—!”

  She brushed away his objection with one hand. “Not on me, on the detecting. You’ve been pulling all these meetings with suspects out of your hat and letting me think it was you. Ellen’s been doing the work!”

  “I told you I had help.”

  “Not here. That makes a huge difference! Where is she? At our hotel?”

  “I’m not that dense.”

  “Ah ha! So you know what you did was wrong.”

  “I just didn’t want work to interfere. I wanted to give you a real honeymoon, with my undivided attention. I didn’t want to be one of those guys with his nose in his Blackberry while sitting next to a gorgeous, half-dressed woman.”

  Riga folded her arms and lay back down, stared at the tree branches.

  “You’re not really angry, are you?” he asked.

  “Honestly? No. We agreed we wouldn’t keep secrets from each other that might affect our relationship. These don’t. And I’m kind of relieved you’re not a super-detective in addition to being a super-businessman. Being married to perfection would get annoying fast.”

  He snorted with laughter. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “So where is Ellen staying?”

  “I got her a condo not far from here. We’ve been meeting in the hotel business center in the mornings.”

  “I hope she’s getting a chance to enjoy the island.”

  “She’s not punching a time clock, so I’m sure she is.”

  “I’m jealous. I could use a detective’s assistant.”

  He grinned. “You’ve got me.”

  The phone rang inside their bungalow.

  Donovan swung out of the hammock. “I’ll get it.”

  His heat gone, she shivered, and pulled a towel over her chest.

  A shadow flitted beneath her. She twisted and the hammock lurched, threatening to deposit her on the patio tiles. She gripped the sides, steadying herself. The breeze swayed the branches above, sending their shadows dancing. She was getting jumpy, seeing things.

  He returned a few minutes later, his brow creased. “That was Kimo’s friend, Mana.”

  “Mana?”

  “The big fellow we met at the dock. He says he has some information for us – for a price.”

  She sat up. “You believe him?”

  “No. He seemed over-protective of Kimo. Selling him out would be something of a turnaround.”

  “Unless he’s not selling Kimo out. Unless it’s a trap. What’s his price?”

  “Nothing we can’t afford.”

  They eyed each other.

  “It’s probably a set up.” Riga rubbed the back of her neck, unhappy.

  “I don’t think we’ve got much choice. We’re low on leads, and if he does know something… I want to play this out.”

  “Where does he want to meet?”

  “The parking lot by the lighthouse in one hour,” Donovan said.

  “Can we get there early?”

  “We can.”

  “It hasn’t been the most peaceful start to our marriage,” she said, regretful.

  “You’re right,” he said. “I’ll bring the shark-tooth club.”

  Chapter 14

  Riga stepped out of the Ferrari into the deserted parking lot. Wind whipped her hair, and she clawed it back. She walked to the cliff and peered over the metal rail. Far beneath her stretched the blue Pacific, tipped by whitecaps. The sun lay low on the horizon, making her squint.

  She looked north, to the green spit of land jutting like a crooked finger into the ocean. Rising like an explanation point from the end of the peninsula stood a bone-white lighthouse. Its shadow spilled over the eastern cliff’s edge, tumbling to the rocks below. Her thoughts followed, and she imagined the horror of such a fall, the swooping in her stomach, the rocks rushing toward her. Riga shuddered, and turned her back on the ocean, leaned against the metal rail. It wobbled. Hastily, she straightened away from it.

  Donovan came to stand beside her, a loosely wrapped package under one arm, and whistled cheerfully. She was quite certain it was only in her imagination that the wind howled along to Donovan’s tune.

  Riga wasn’t squeamish, and speak-softly-and-carry-a-big-stick seemed a sensible philosophy. However, she eyed the package beneath Donovan’s arm askance. He’d ripped one end off, and put the leiomano inside, for easy access. It was one thing to hang it on a wall. The bloody prospect of actually bashing someone with the shark-toothed wonder was another matter entirely.

  “You could really hurt someone with that,” she ventured, nodding to the package.

  “I certainly hope so.”

  Riga shut up.

  “Looks like Mana chose a good spot for the meet after all,” Donovan said. “Are you sensing anything?”

  The wind pressed against her, tickling her blouse against her skin. She dropped her barriers, extended her senses. The world tilted, dissolved into a sea of particles, dabs of color, gold threads connecting all. And she was a part of it, everything and nothing. Nothing. Did she exist at all? Fear clutched her, an anchor. She gasped, grabbed his arm, and the asphalt was firm again beneath her. “No dark magic.” Her voice quaked.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No. I’m fine.” How to explain it? She’d had moments like that before, moments where the mountains seemed to breathe, the rocks sing to her. They’d been fleeting, beautiful, terrifying – a glimpse of the world’s true nature. “For a moment, I saw the universe as a web of energy.”

  He rubbed his jaw. “According to quantum physics, that’s exactly what it is. What did it look like?”

  “A painting by Seurat – tiny dots of color, and only when you step back can you see the whole.” But how to step back when you’re a part of it? She changed the subject. “So, if you were going to set up an ambush, where would you do it?”

  “I’d block off the driveway, bottle us in.”

  “Which would push us onto the path to the lighthouse.”

  “Mm. I’ll move the car.” Donovan hopped into the Ferrari and drove it out of the lot. He parked it on the side of the road, and strode back to her.

  She turned, watching an oil tanker lumber across the horizon.

  Donovan placed a hand on the small of her back. “He’s late.”

  A bird screamed above them.

  A battered Honda sputtered into the lot. Mana unfolded himself from it, a giant in blue overalls.

  He nodded to them, and ambled across the pavement. “Hey, Magnum.”

  “Mana,” Donovan said. “You said you had some information.”

  “You said you had some money.”

  Donovan wait
ed a beat. He handed Riga the package, and reached behind him, drawing a wallet from his back pocket. Counted out five bills. Folded them in half around one finger.

  “No money, no talkie,” Mana said.

  “First, I’m curious.” Riga tried to loosen her grip on the hidden leiomano. “Why are you doing this? I thought you and Kimo were friends.”

  “We are.”

  Donovan extended the money. “Then let’s have it.”

  Mana reached for the cash, opened his mouth. His broad face contorted. He clutched his throat, choking.

  Riga’s stomach lurched, and a wave of nausea rose through her. Dark. Sweet. Cloying.

  Blood bubbled at Mana’s lips. He bent, and something red and white, triangular, fell from his mouth. Another. One by one, they hit the black pavement with dull clicks. Mana fell to his knees, his shoulders convulsing.

  Swearing, Donovan yanked out his cell phone, and dialed 9-1-1.

  Mana curled onto the ground.

  Riga dropped the leiomano and scrambled in her bag, dark magic battering her, scattering her thoughts into darkness, a seductive tide. The salt, the salt, where was the fucking salt? Triumphantly, she pulled out the plastic bag of red salt they’d purchased earlier. Ripped a hole in it with her nail. Chanting, head spinning, she began pouring it in a circle around them.

  The circle closed. There was a snap, like a rubber band breaking. The magic seeped away. Gone.

  Her shoulders collapsed forward, and she took deep breaths. Her hands steadied.

  Donovan knelt beside the fallen man, and pressed his fingers to his neck. “He’s alive.”

  Riga bent, picked up one of the white chips on the ground. “My God. It’s a shark’s tooth.”

  “We don’t have time to wait for an ambulance. We need to get him to a hospital. Get the car.” He tossed her the keys.

  Riga grabbed the leiomano, raced to the Ferrari, and tossed the Hawaiian weapon on the seat beside her. A cold horror crept over her as she looked at the box. Fingers trembling, her chest weighted, she peered into the open package, pulled out the weapon. Where sharks’ teeth had once studded the leiomano, there were only empty loops of twine.

  “Oh, my God,” she said faintly.

  She jammed the weapon back into the box, and shoved it under her seat, then drove back to the two men.