EQMM, May 2011

by Dell Magazine Authors

  I glanced at my watch, pretended to realize I was late for an appointment, and began throwing my things into my laptop case.

  The girlfriend strolled to the corner and waited while a couple of cars passed.

  I paused in the vestibule of the coffee shop and scanned the community bulletin board there, as if fascinated by the poster for the lost miniature schnauzer.

  The girlfriend crossed the street and turned in the direction of the coffee shop. I shifted so my back was to the door and adjusted my hair in the mirror tiles that flanked the doorway in a vain attempt to make the vestibule seem larger. In a few seconds, I saw the girlfriend's reflection as she passed the coffeehouse doors.

  She was a vampire.

  There's a grain of truth behind the old wives’ tale that you can't see a vampire's reflection in a mirror. You can see them all right, but the reflection never quite looks normal. I wasn't sure what gave her away—a flash of fang behind the full lips, an overly hollow cheekbone, or perhaps a hint of too-deep pallor beneath the perfect makeup. But suddenly I saw and could never unsee.

  Just then I spotted the cops from the parked car following her. I let a few more seconds pass, then stepped outside, leaned against the side of the building, and pulled out my cell phone as if I'd paused to give my full attention to my call.

  It would help if I actually called someone. I called Taigh.

  "Have you found out anything about the girlfriend?” I asked.

  Taigh hadn't. Another nondescript sedan pulled up in front of the vampire, and the detective got out.

  "She's not what she seems,” I said into the phone.

  "Another troll?"

  "A vamp."

  "Oh my."

  Yes, they were arresting the girlfriend. If Magnus were alive, and here, I'd have been tempted to break my own rule and have him cast a spell so we could hear what the cop and the vamp were saying. But if Magnus were alive, they wouldn't be arresting her.

  "What could a troll and a vampire possibly have in common?” Taigh asked. “Do you think they killed Magnus?"

  "I don't know,” I said. “Seems unlikely. Neither a troll nor a vampire exactly needs a gun to kill someone."

  "But if they were trying to remain unobtrusive?"

  "Yes, tearing people limb from limb and draining them of blood are both pretty conspicuous ways of killing,” I said. “Stuff like that tends to get the cops’ attention. They probably see enough shooting deaths to get a little blasé about them."

  "I'll see what I can find out,” Taigh said.

  I kept the phone to my ear after Taigh hung up and pretended to be talking on it until the drama of the girlfriend's arrest had run its course. Then I headed back to my own neighborhood. I had a solitary dinner at my favorite cheap Vietnamese dive and went up to my office.

  Taigh was in the outer room shutting down the computer when I got there.

  "Find anything?"

  "Lots,” Taigh said, waving at the door to my private office. I could see a two-inch stack of papers on my desk. “And take a gander at this."

  Taigh turned on our little office TV, fiddled with the TiVo remote, and the familiar face of the local CBS news anchor filled the screen. Taigh hadn't turned the sound up, but I could still tell what was going on. The screen behind the anchor held a grainy enlargement of Magnus's driver's license photo, and the picture then cut to Candee's husband, handcuffed, being eased into a squad car.

  "My sources say they found the gun that killed Magnus in his car, and an earring belonging to the girlfriend in the alley,” Taigh said. “Looks like the troll and the vamp made Magnus and decided to shut him down before he blew the whistle on whatever they were up to."

  I wanted to ask, “Blow the whistle to whom?” It wasn't as if this world had some magical tribunal where you could report the sort of mischief that a troll and a vampire might get into—separately or, worse, together. Almost everyone in this world who knew that trolls and vampires even existed was here to get away from such tribunals.

  I didn't think much of the police's chance of holding on to their suspects, either. Once they were out on bail, both would probably flit to other cities, if not other worlds. If the jail's cells weren't bat-proof, the vamp might not even need bail. And I didn't like the idea of Magnus's killers going unpunished.

  Taigh paused, head cocked to one side, and then glanced toward the door. Which meant that I knew, when the knock came, that our visitor wasn't from around here.

  Taigh opened the door, and a troll walked in. With typical troll rudeness, he didn't even bother to introduce himself.

  "My brother didn't kill your wizard,” he said. “And for what it's worth, I don't like that leech he's been hanging around with, but I bet she didn't do it, either."

  "I know they didn't,” I said. Taigh probably thought I was lying to get rid of the troll. I realized, to my surprise, that I wasn't.

  "Then who did?"

  "I don't know yet."

  "So what are you gonna do about it?” the troll asked.

  "I don't know that either."

  "What do you mean you don't know?” the troll shouted. “You gotta do something! If you hadn't taken the bimbo's case, none of this would have happened! If—"

  "If your brother and his bloodsucking girlfriend hadn't been planning to dine on my client, she wouldn't have hired me,” I shouted back. “And my wizard wouldn't be dead and your brother and the vamp wouldn't be in jail. I get that part. And I'm going to do something about it—I just haven't figured out what. So get lost."

  The troll backed away from the heat of my anger. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a soiled business card, and handed it to me. It was a card from a motorcycle shop that, rumor had it, catered to gangs and thugs.

  "You can leave a message for me there. Say it's for Knut."

  Which wasn't his name, of course, but the management of the bike shop would know who I meant.

  "I'll let you know if I find out anything,” I said.

  "Or just call me if you want to talk,” Knut said. “Always happy to talk to a pretty lady like you."

  He smiled. He'd clearly mastered the same tooth-concealing smile I'd been trying to teach Bart.

  "Get lost, Knut,” I said. “I'm too small to be more than an appetizer, and too tough to be appetizing."

  Knut shrugged and left.

  "He'll be back,” Taigh said. “Want me to stick around?"

  "I'd rather you followed him,” I said. “Keep an eye on him."

  "Right, boss,” Taigh said.

  I went into my office and sat at my desk, reading through the stack of papers Taigh had left for me. Candee was right to be worried. Her husband and the vampire were old friends, and if you knew what to look for, you could probably deduce that they had done in his previous five wives.

  But I didn't have a single shred of evidence that would stand up in court. Not in this world. Going to the police would be futile.

  Someone knocked on my door. I hesitated. I felt surprisingly vulnerable with no one to warn me if my visitor turned out to be something other than human. So I did what other human P.I.s do. I got my gun out of the desk drawer and slipped it into my pocket before opening the door.

  I relaxed a little when I saw it was only Candee. The one normal human in this whole case.

  "Hello, Candee,” I said.

  "I couldn't wait till tomorrow,” she said. “May I come in?"

  "Sure.” I stepped back and followed her into my office. She sat down in my guest chair, looking around as if she expected something to jump out of the shadows at her.

  "I was about to call you anyway,” I said, sitting down behind my desk.

  "I'm in danger,” she said. “I can feel it. I'm leaving tonight."

  "I can see why you feel that way,” I said. “And leaving town's probably a good idea. The situation's more complicated than you realize."

  "You've found out something?"

  I hesitated. I sat there, staring at Candee, and wishing she
'd waited till morning. I hadn't yet figured out how to explain the danger she was in, at least not in terms a person like Candee—a normal person—could understand.

  And then the pieces fell into place.

  "Of course,” I said aloud. “The only normal person in the case."

  "What's that?” Candee asked.

  "Never mind,” I said. “Okay, here goes. Your husband's a troll."

  "Well, I already told you that,” she said. ‘'The two-timing jerk."

  "No, I mean really a troll,” I said. “As in lurks under bridges muttering ‘Fee, fi, fo fum.’”

  "Ha, ha,” Candee said. I could see she didn't get it.

  "The bad news is that I can't find any record that he divorced any of his first five wives."

  "The rat!” she exclaimed.

  "But don't worry,” I said. “He probably ate them, so odds are you're not a polygamist."

  "You have a sick sense of humor,” she said. “This isn't a joke. When Oleg gets out of jail, he's going to come after me!"

  "He probably will,” I said. “And he'll probably be pretty steamed that you tried to frame him for a murder you committed."

  "Me?” She drew back as if from a snake. “You're crazy. What makes you think I did it?"

  "Your husband's a troll, and his girlfriend's a vampire,” I said. “Both dangerous to be around, even for a wizard like Magnus. And Magnus would have known that the second he saw them. But you're just an ordinary human being like me."

  "You're insane,” she said.

  "Magnus wasn't much of a gumshoe,” I went on, “but he was too good a magician to be caught like that. He'd never have followed a troll or a vampire down that alley—but he'd have gone there with you, Candee. He was just dumb enough for that. He'd have looked you up and down and licked his lips and gone grinning from ear to ear."

  Actually, he probably wouldn't have unless she was waving a bottle of bourbon at him, but how often does a private eye get such a perfect chance to paraphrase Hammett?

  Alas, Candee didn't seem to appreciate my literary allusion.

  "This is awful,” she said. She reached down, picked up her purse, and began fumbling in it. “I wanted a competent P.I., and I manage to hire a lunatic! This is—"

  "Drop the purse, Candee,” I said. “If you need a tissue, there's a box on my desk. And if you have any thoughts of using that gun in your purse, the one that matches the one you planted in your husband's car—don't even try it."

  I showed her my own LadySmith .38.

  "Boss?"

  We both jumped. It was Bart. I was glad to see him. Candee pretended to be.

  "Thank goodness you're here,” she said, with much eyelash fluttering. “She's crazy, and she pulled a gun on me and—"

  "Search her purse, Bart,” I said. “She probably has a gun there. If she does, take it away from her. Carefully. No fingerprints."

  Bart was wide-eyed with astonishment, but fortunately, ogres are not only very literal but very good at following orders. His hand was too big to fit into her purse, so he had to dig around with one stubby finger. He held up a cheap Saturday night special.

  "Unload it, give me the bullets, and then put it back in her purse,"

  "You can't prove anything,” Candee said as she watched Bart follow my orders. “If you go to the cops with all this crap about trolls and vampires, they'll lock you up, not me."

  "You're right,” I said. “Which is why I'm asking you to turn yourself in."

  She snorted.

  "Tell them it was an accident,” I said. “Tell them it was self-defense, that you thought he was about to assault you. Tell whatever damned lies you like. But tell them you did it."

  "And what'll you do if I say no?"

  "Nothing,” I said. “Please do it."

  She probably misinterpreted the pleading note in my voice. She simpered a little, no doubt thinking she held all the cards.

  "If you don't turn yourself in,” I continued, “I won't lift a finger to protect you."

  "I don't need your protection,” Candee said. “Once I leave town, I won't be in any danger."

  The phone rang. Taigh.

  "Boss, he didn't go far. He's hiding in the alley across the street from our office, watching the door."

  "That's fine,” I said. “You can stop watching him now. Come on back to the office."

  "Boss?"

  I hung up.

  "Last chance,” I said to Candee. “I can call the police for you if you like."

  "Forget it,” she said. She picked up her purse, tucked the gun inside, batted her eyes one more time at Bart, and tripped out. I could hear the tap-tap-tap of her high heels down the hall to the elevator.

  "Boss?” Bart asked.

  "I'll explain later,” I said. I went over to the window and stared down at the street below. I saw Candee emerge from the front door, and almost imagined I could hear the tap-tap-tap of her shoes as she walked down the street. I saw a large shadow emerge from the alley. Knut was looking up at me.

  He tilted his head as if asking a question. I nodded once. Knut turned and hurried off in the same direction Candee had taken.

  "Boss?"

  Taigh had returned. Or maybe Taigh had been there for a while, watching me stare out the window.

  "Go home,” I said. “I don't want to talk about it now."

  I finally told them what I'd done the next day. They were fine with it, of course. But I didn't expect an elf and an ogre to understand my guilt. I'd turned over a human woman, one of my own species, to certain death at the hands of a monster. The fact that she was another kind of monster should have made me feel better, but it didn't.

  The police didn't share my conviction that Candee was the killer. I couldn't blame them. The only really convincing evidence I had would have made me sound like a lunatic if I'd shared it with them. Eventually I convinced them I knew nothing about Candee's whereabouts.

  A few nights later, I was about to close up shop and head for the Cave, where I'd been spending way too much time, when Taigh and Bart sidled into my office.

  "Can it wait till tomorrow?” I asked.

  "I don't think so,” Taigh said. “I just came back to make sure I'd turned off my computer and found—well, you need to see it."

  It was Magnus. His body, at least, sitting on one of the two thrift shop armchairs in the end of the outer office that served as a reception area.

  "I thought you said he was dead,” Bart said.

  "I did,” I said. “He was."

  "Is.” Taigh took a step back and grimaced. “Can't you tell by the smell?"

  "Wasn't he in the morgue?” I asked. “How did his body get back here?"

  "Good questions, boss,” Bart said.

  Though I didn't think anyone was about to answer them, unfortunately, because I had others even better. Like who brought Magnus here, and why had they propped him in a chair in the corner of my waiting room?

  I spotted something attached to the lapel of Magnus's rumpled tweed jacket. I stepped closer and peered at it. It was a folded gift tag made of lavender foil and flecked with silver glitter. A thin silver thread attached it to one of the buttonholes.

  I opened it and read it aloud.

  "To Cassandra, with love, from Mother."

  "Oh, dear,” Taigh said. “Have I forgotten some occasion?"

  "That's your mother's idea of a present?” Bart said. “A smelly old stiff?"

  Just then Magnus moved. His hands gripped the chair arms. I stepped back. His eyes flew open. I stared into them and what I saw made me seriously consider matricide.

  "Oh, great,” I muttered.

  "He's alive?” Bart said.

  "Not exactly,” I said. “He's a zombie."

  "Eeuw!” Taigh exclaimed.

  Magnus's eyes shifted to Taigh, and I found myself suddenly very glad he wasn't looking at me any longer. I'd never actually seen a zombie in the flesh before, but I knew about them. Ironically, it was Magnus who had insisted I learn about
them to begin with.

  At least he could still appreciate a good brain, if only in a culinary sense.

  "What are we going to do with him?” Taigh asked.

  "I don't know,” I said. “I now very definitely need a drink. We're going to the Cave."

  "We can't just leave him here,” Taigh said.

  "No, we can't,” I said. “Come on, Magnus. Cave time."

  Magnus followed readily enough. And no one at the Cave seemed to notice the difference.

  I ordered a round for everyone. Including Magnus, because the bartender knew us well enough that he'd think it weird if Magnus didn't have a glass in front of him. I was surprised to find Magnus still remembered how to lift a glass. Surprised, and at first relieved—a Magnus who still remembered how to drink would look a lot more natural, I thought.

  "This isn't going to work,” Bart said. “We poured a whole bottle of that Aqua Velva stuff on him, and he still reeks."

  "Your nose is more sensitive than most humans’ noses,” I said. “And he should improve over time as he dessicates a bit."

  "And he's got a drinking problem, too,” Taigh said.

  I glanced over at Magnus. He didn't look drunk. He was watching the other patrons with a level of interest he'd never shown before. The other patrons and me. Contemplating how tasty our brains would be, no doubt, and waiting till he thought we wouldn't notice before trying to abscond with one.

  He didn't seem the least bit interested in Bart or Taigh, though. Which was fascinating, and possibly useful. Maybe I could still count on him to spot any non-humans who came our way.

  I sighed, lifted my Tom Collins, and took a couple of long swallows.

  Magnus imitated me. A small stream of bourbon squirted out the bullet hole in the left side of his neck, and then another out of his abdomen. I don't know what people thought of the top leak, but from the side, the bottom one looked as if he was peeing himself.

  "See?” Taigh said.

  "Can't hold his liquor,” I said, nodding. “We'll have to do something about that. Meanwhile—"

  "Which one of you's the P.I.?"