When Clive put a hand on Magger’s back, he jerked away. “I demand a private cell,” he said.
The nearest guard snorted at this. Clive scratched his head, as if giving it thought. Then he shrugged. “None available. Sorry, Maggot.”
Magger dropped the injured pride act and let honest fear show through. “You can't put me in there with those creatures! They'll kill me!”
“Nah, they won't. They're a fairly sophisticated bunch. They know they can't kill you.” Clive waved him into the hands of the guard and stepped back. “I wouldn't wait too long to give me the answers I need, though. We do have cells for prisoners who cooperate.”
“I don't have anything to tell you, honest.” Magger raised his bound hands. “I swear I don't know anything.”
Clive stepped into the hallway, tossing a brief salute to the goblin as he left. The closing door cut off the sound of Magger's screech.
He'd just sat at his desk on the fourth floor to write his report when footsteps approached from behind. He closed his eyes for the briefest moment, begged the Sisters to grant him favor, and turned to face his elvin boss.
Kasia Windblood towered above him at six-foot-six, her short black hair pushed behind the elegant points of her ears. Stern bangs did not hide the displeased arch of her brows, nor the spark in her blue eyes. Still, he noted the trace of amusement in her expression and knew her anger wasn't directed at him.
“A goblin,” she said.
“He's got information we need,” Clive explained. “Isn't disposed to give it to us. A few days with the rabble will loosen him up.”
“Oh? He's not the one who was crossing the portal?”
“He crossed over, all right.” Clive flicked a finger at his desk. “I'm still writing my report, but the short story is, there's a new crime boss in action, sending scouts into the Flatlands to look for something. Or prepare for something.” He held up a hand to forestall her next question. “That crime boss is a werewolf.”
Her reaction was gratifying. “What? Are you sure? Oh, fuck-a-pixie, of course you're sure.” She turned and leaned against his desk, her glare enough to burn a hole in the floor. “Do you know who he is?”
“No, I don't know who he is.” Clive bit back a condescending tone. She wasn't trying to insinuate that he knew every werewolf in Kaarmanesh. “But he's been through the portal at least once, and he's set up a weird hex several yards away in the Flatlands. He's a witch, too. Has a ward on it that I can't begin to decipher.” He held his strap out to her.
She enlarged his drawings and studied them, her brows bunched into a wad over her nose. She shook her head. “I don't know it, either. This will take some time. What’s our goblin had to say so far?”
“Not a damn thing. I'll check on him first thing tomorrow. Two other goblins got away from me. And a nymph, but she's run off, too.” Clive pounded a light fist on his desk. “I've got the local sheriff looking for them. And the portal's closed. I made sure of that before I left.”
Kasia nodded, her dark gaze burning into him. “All right. Get some sleep. We'll meet first thing in the morning to handle the prisoner.” She tossed the strap to him. “Send me that ward. I'll get someone in Research to decipher it for us.”
~~
Magger's green skin was pale and his eyes were bloodshot as he answered their questions the next morning. He looked worse than ever, if such a thing were possible. Clive wanted to be amused, but he found himself starting the questioning on a gentle note. He'd even had the guard bring Magger a cup of tea.
“He didn't tell us what he was looking for,” Magger said.
“I wouldn't expect him to trust a goblin.” Kasia sneered and leaned over the table, bringing her face just inches from Magger, who winced and sat back. Kasia was bad cop this morning, putting Magger in the confusing situation of having to depend on the werewolf for protection.
Clive did think that was funny.
“Nevertheless,” Clive said, placing a light restraining hand on Kasia's arm. She sat back, glowering. “You did have instructions of some kind. I want to know what those were.”
“He said to get close to habitats. He especially wanted the pixies getting in there. The rest of us were supposed to find out how Flatlanders lived, who grew their food, where the river was, things like that. And he wanted us to look for garbage dumps.”
Clive held up a hand. “Wait. Especially the pixies? Was he deliberately trying to make the people sick?”
Magger shrugged, making his chains rattle. “That was the idea, yeah.”
Clive stared at the table, thinking of Tina. So soft. So warm. He refused to imagine Tina after exposure to Pixies.
“What did he want garbage dumps for?” Kasia asked. “Someplace to dump your ugly body once he was through with you?”
Magger shook his head. “He didn't tell us. Honest.”
“What else?” she asked. “Did you bring anything back with you?”
“A water bottle.”
“A what?” Kasia threw a glance to Clive before turning another glare on Magger. “What the hell is a water bottle?”
Magger moved his hands in a helpless gesture of description, but Clive held up a hand. “They're small plastic bottles the humans use to hold water. They carry them everywhere. They're quite popular.”
Kasia shook her head. “So why'd you bring one back here? Did your boss want it?
Magger nodded. “Don't ask me why. I don't know.”
“Did it have water in it?”
“No, he didn't want water. Just the bottle.”
“Are you lying to me, Maggot?” Kasia picked up Magger's teacup and put it to the side, her every movement slow and deliberate.
Magger's eyes followed her hand and he swallowed hard. “No ma'am. You know I'm not. I swear, I'm telling you what he wanted us to do.”
“I'm supposed to believe your boss sends pixies to the Flatlands to make humans sick, and all he does is tell you to bring him an empty bottle of water?” She poked the tip of a finger against Magger's shirt. He jumped as if she shocked him. Perhaps she did.
“What are you not telling us?” Each word was accompanied by a tiny poke.
Magger moaned. “That's it. We only went over a few times. We wandered around, found some houses and fouled the gardens and streams. We saw a few people, but didn't bother them. We found small garbage dumps by all the houses, but nothing consolidated. I got the bottle from one of the small dumps. There were a lot of bottles everywhere, but I only brought back the one. I swear.” He turned to Clive. “You know I'm telling the truth.”
Clive shook his head, still distracted by the thought of an ill Tina. “You're telling the truth, Maggot. But you're not making sense. You gotta make more sense.” He stood, a chin jerking to the guard near the door. “Take him back.”
“No!” Magger fell across the table, tripping on his chain. “I told you what I know. It's not my fault it doesn't make sense. You know I could never ask the boss what he was doing. I just did what he said.” He screamed as the guard grabbed his shoulder. “You promised you wouldn't send me back there if I talked! I talked! I don't know what else to tell you!”
Clive took a fistful of goblin shirt in his hand. Magger whimpered, but he ignored it. “You maybe need a bit more time to think of something else. It's possible you've forgotten something.” He looked up at the guard. “Make sure he gets something to eat before you take him back. I want him strong enough to think.”
He and Kasia stared at each other until Magger's screams faded down the passage. Kasia lifted her hands. “What the hell, Clive?”
“There's a town there,” Clive said. “Those people will need help.”
She shook her head. “No way, Clive. They'll get sick, some of them will die. But most of them will get over it.”
“It's happened before. Thousands died. They can't fix it.”
“Don't be melodramatic. You know perfectly well their medicine is advanced enough to handle a small outbreak.”
&n
bsp; Tina was a doctor. She'd be right in the middle of it.
“What's with the water bottles?” Kasia asked.
“Damned if I know.” Clive stared at Magger's teacup. “I wish he knew more about the werewolf. We've got nothing.”
“You'll have to go back to Poentreville and search yourself,” Kasia said. “But first, go to New York and get me all the information you can on those bottles. We can't afford to ignore anything.”
“Any leads on that ward?”
She bit her lip. “Nope. It's a tough one. Research is still working on it. It's weird, Clive. According to Research, there are patterns in that ward that are known only to higher level witches, who should all be registered with the Council. But the signature on the ward doesn't match anything on record.”
“We're fighting an unknown fifth-level witch?” Clive whistled. “What would he want with the Flatlands?”
“What any criminal wants. Murder, mayhem, and total control. Only this fellow might be able to pull it off, if we don't find him.”
Chapter 9
Tina limped out of the autopsy room, her feet burning, her back full of twinges. Every pain was exacerbated by the heaviness of her heart. She and Will were deputy coroners. They took turns handling deaths in the area until the county coroner could be called in. The job did not require them to perform autopsies, but sometimes they did assist.
She had promised the mothers she'd stay with the bodies. She'd done that as well as she could, seeing them settled into the small morgue, before going home for a few hours of sleep. In the morning, she contacted the county and arranged for an autopsy team before facing ten more poisoning cases during the day. The county team arrived at three o'clock and started the autopsies at four.
Now it was two in the morning, and at last, they were finished. Tina sank onto a stool and closed her eyes to block out the florescent lights and institutional white walls of the morgue. That was a bad idea—with nothing to distract it, her mind called up an image of the three mothers she would have to call in the morning.
A hand on her shoulder made her look up. Will turned the touch into a squeeze as he sank onto a stool next to hers. Neither spoke as the county team filed past them to head for home. Dr. Henderson, the chief pathologist on the team, stopped next to them. Tina didn't feel ready to talk. He'd been cheerful and blasé during the procedures, joking with his team and playing loud rock music throughout. Tina knew these were methods some people used to separate themselves from the horror of the things they saw on their jobs. She knew it was necessary. Still, she resented its use when Les, Pete, and Jason were the victims.
The joie de vie was missing from Henderson's face now. “Hell of a thing,” he said, his voice quiet. “Glad to find no foul play involved, although that missing arm is troublesome. Still, it's not like what we see in the city sometimes.”
“Just rocks around here,” Will said.
Henderson nodded, holding out his clipboard to Tina. “I'll send my report in a couple of days. Just need your signature here, and we're all done.”
She signed the forms—three of them—and managed a tired “Thank you” as she handed them back. Henderson gave them a brief salute and followed his team out the door.
Tina glanced at Will. Her colleague was a tall, handsome man, his blond hair cut short, with blue eyes surrounded by long, light lashes. More than one teenage girl in Green Roads had a crush on him, and Tina suspected a few of their mothers did, too. Now, his face was lined with creases, and his eyes were clouded. Tina felt a pang of sympathy.
“Thanks for coming, Will. You look like you haven't slept much. More food poisoning cases?”
Will rubbed his face, forcing color into his cheeks. “Jeddie's got it,” he said. “We were up all night with him before you called.” He sighed and stood. “I need to get home and give Marilyn a hand.”
Tina took his hand. “I'm sorry, Will. Is he very bad?”
“Bad enough. It's just hard when they're so little, you know?” He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up in spikes. “I thank God that He is watching over him.”
“Go,” Tina said, shooing him away. “I'll close up here.”
She continued to sit for a few minutes after he left. Jedidiah Summerlin was two years old, the youngest person so far to catch this bug. Their total was around eighty people.
It was time to call in public health. Past time really, but the rock slide had intervened. Now that the autopsies were done, the funeral home could take charge of the bodies. In the morning, she'd get on the phone and get an official investigation going.
~~
Before noon, two people had died.
One was old Sally Grayson, weak from Alzheimer's and a recent stroke. Tina wasn't surprised that she succumbed to this. The other was Kathy Brayley's daughter, Jennifer. Healthy. Active.
Eleven years old.
Tina was at the town's small clinic, where they'd started bringing the worst cases in an effort to keep them hydrated. Jenny lay on a gurney, a trembling stick figure with pale, clammy skin, and IV fluids running into both arms.
They had one RN on staff, who had called Tina when Jenny was unresponsive. A quick examination showed the girl had fallen into a coma. In the midst of ordering medications and an ambulance to take her to a Portland hospital, Tina heard a strangled scream come from Kathy Brayley. She raced back to the cot, where Kathy was shaking her daughter's shoulders in short, violent movements.
“She's not breathing! Jenny, breathe! Doctor, please….”
Tina shoved Kathy aside, calling for a crash cart as she started CPR. They worked on Jenny for twenty minutes, Tina breathing for her, and the nurse applying shocks. “Come back,” Tina kept whispering. “Please, come back.”
She didn't. When Tina at last surrendered to death, she stared down at the pale, cooling child, and felt a part of her own soul die. She did not have the courage to turn and face Kathy.
~~
Clive stepped through the portal into New York City, on his way to a public library where he could access a computer. The entrance was in a hidden tunnel of Grand Central Station, and there was seldom anyone down here. The occasional human unlucky enough to witness an arrival shrugged it off as just another hallucination.
Even so, the portal was restricted to Portal Enforcement personnel. Clive glanced around the empty cavern, then headed upstairs, joining the throngs in their daily commutes. In the Flatlands, no one glanced at him twice. No one took care to move out of his way or cross the street to keep their children away from him.
Sometimes people smiled at him or said hello. Women flirted. Even in New York, women flirted with him. He didn't often respond, but occasionally he allowed himself a respite. He'd learned a long time ago it was best if he got some release from the pressures inside him.
A pretty woman stood next to him on the train, her back to him. As the train jostled the crowd, her ass rubbed against his hip. She didn't seem to notice. He stared at nothing, and let the movement remind him of Tina, as he played over their moments together. He'd have to go back to Green Roads, at least to see Sebastian Ruth. He had to return the rental truck and there was more investigation to do.
Could he see her again? His reasons for not staying with her were good ones. He'd never be allowed to stay there, or go back again once the investigation was done. The reasons for that were good, too.
Yet his heart kept pushing him to go.
Clive closed his eyes, and moved a couple of inches to the left, so the woman's ass no longer rubbed against him.
Despite his bad mood, Clive laughed at Kasia's expression when he entered her office four hours later lugging a case of bottled water. The open-mouth look was amusing on an elf.
“What the fucking pixie is that?” she asked, ignoring his laughter.
He dropped the box on her desk. “It's a case of bottled water.”
She leaned back in her chair and stared at him, dumbfounded. “You brought in water bottles from the Flatlands? Why
?”
He tossed a stack of Flatland computer paper on top of the case. “Because I can't make sense of any of this. I've pulled down all kinds of information about the bottles. Did you know they're a major source of pollution in the Flatlands?” Kasia shook her head, but he didn't wait for her to say anything. “That's just the bottles themselves, filling up the landfills and littering everywhere else. What's worse is what happens when they break down. They have all kinds of trace chemicals that get into the soil, the water, and the food supply. I can't believe they let this go on.”
He lifted a bottle and tossed it to Kasia, who caught it with a jerk. “What's tickling the back of my mind is, do any of these chemicals affect us? Maybe something acts as a stimulant. Or makes us sick, maybe even kills certain species. There's some reason our werewolf wants these things, and his reason is not a nice one.”
Kasia's expression had cleared. She sat up. “You want me to have an apothecary look at them?”
“Would you be so kind?”
She nodded, her thoughtful glare on the case. “I'll get on it. Are you heading out to Poentreville?”
“On my way now. Magger still sulking?”
“Afraid so. And threatening major disasters on all our kin.”
Clive snorted, but Kasia frowned. “I'm moving him out, Clive. I think he's told us everything he knows, and the rabble will kill him sooner or later without meaning to. I can't keep holding him in there.”
“You’re letting him go?”
“We don't have anything to hold him on. He attacked you, but the time he's served covers that. We'll keep an eye on him. Maybe he'll lead us to something.” She waved Clive away. “Check in every night. You'll be in some unfriendly territory. And listen: if you find this guy, don't try to take him on your own. You’re the best person to find him, but I don't want trouble with the Council nullifying your arrest because of suspected werewolf rivalry. Call in a witness.”
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