by Lila Veen
“Excuse me,” I interrupt. “But could you please tell me what this is regarding? You seem to have all of the information on me already. I’m not really sure what I can answer for you.”
“This is regarding Michael Collins, your husband,” Bill Cousineau continues. “His sister reported to the Chicago police department that she has not heard from him for a week, and they traced phone calls made to her from here in Blackwater.” I think of Amber, Michael’s bitchy sister, who told me to “suck it up and quit complaining” when I told her about Michael cheating on me. That was the first time I knew about it and decided to confide in her. Needless to say, we’d never really been close after that. “Is any of this ringing a bell?”
“I left Michael a few weeks ago, packed my stuff and came to my mother’s house,” I say. “But I feel you already have that information.”
Bill nods, completely missing the note of sarcasm in my voice. “We heard that as well. When is the last time you saw Michael Collins?”
“Last Monday,” I say. “In the parking lot here. He was stalking me.”
“Stalking you?” Bill says. “Yet you never reported it?”
I shake my head. “Look, I saw him a week ago. Ash Lavanne was with me the time before that, when he came up to us with the intention of doing something that could have hurt us. Ash beat him up and drove away.”
“Ash Lavanne has skipped town,” Bill says. “No one has seen or heard from him at all for a couple of days.”
I sigh and put my head in my hands. “We had a fight,” I say. “He left after that.”
Bill stands up and crosses over to the window, looking down at the courtyard below. “Mrs. Collins-“
“It’s Holt, actually,” I say, glowering at him. “I never changed my last name.”
Bill catches my eye and casts me a dangerous gaze with lowered eyelids. Officer Bautista never stops writing. “Ms. Holt, do you have a gift for driving men away?”
I feel my cheeks grow hot and I stand up to walk over to the window and stand next to him. “No, because it’s not working on you right now.”
“I remember your father,” Bill says in a lowered voice, glancing at Bautista, who doesn’t really seem to even be paying attention anymore. “I never liked him very much. It was a great feeling to get him the hell out of office and have the Order take over the department.”
My mouth hangs open at Bill’s words. I look over at Bautista, wondering if he is planning on jumping in any time now, but he appears resigned to the situation. “Care to further your explanation?” I ask.
Bill shakes his head. “We’re going to get our town back one day, Ms. Holt,” he says, stressing the “T” of my last name. “The Order was here first, and we’ll be here last. Crafters like you should go the hell back to Chicago and keep out of Blackwater for good. We got your father out, and you won’t be far behind.”
“You’ll never get the crafters out of Blackwater,” I say softly. “We belong here.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he replies, glancing at me up and down with beady eyes. “My family was here long before yours ever was. My family tried to hang, burn, bury and drown your kind out before this town went to hell, but obviously they couldn’t. The Order will prevail where it previously failed, and it will be sooner than you think.” Shivers course through me as he walks away from the window and taps Bautista on the shoulder. “Let’s go,” he tells him. I focus on the door and hear the lock click the minute Bill’s hand touches the handle. He twists it furiously back and forth. “Let us out of here, you witch!” he says to me.
“Not until I’ve said what I want to say,” I tell him calmly, despite the fact that I’m terrified. “My father was a good police chief and would mop the floor with you. My family has been here for centuries, and while yours may have been here longer, we belong here too.”
“I’m putting you as a suspect in the disappearance of Michael Collins,” Bill replies. “I’ll contact you for details and potential court appearances. You might want to get that rich family you like to sleep around with to get you a lawyer.” A lamp from Gwen’s desk flies across the room and crashes above his head against the door, smashing down on Bill’s bald head. Bautista begins to frantically claw at the door. The lock clicks and Bautista flings the door open. Bill walks up to me slowly. “You’ll be sorry you did that,” he says.
“Probably not,” I mutter as they leave. I slump down against the window until I’m seated on the floor, taking deep and controlled breaths. I have to hand it to Erika, because what normally would have been an immediate asthma attack is just a moment to catch my breath.
“What the hell happened in here?” Gwen asks me, walking in her office past the smashed lamp. “Are you alright?”
“Sorry about the lamp,” I say, looking up at her. She doesn’t look angry, but very concerned. “Do you mind if I go out and get some air?”
“Take the day if you need it,” she says sympathetically. “Bill Cousineau is a complete ass. He just marches in here and says whatever he wants without regard for any details except the ones that state the case he wants to make. I understand.”
“Thanks,” I say, standing up. “I won’t need the day, I don’t think, but I do need to talk to someone.” Gwen nods and squeezes me comfortingly on the shoulder as I walk away. I walk directly over to the west elevator and take it down to the third floor, turn right and knock on the glass where Erika is standing behind.
She looks up and frowns, but motions me around and lets me through by buzzing me in. A million pills from their compartments surround me. “What brings you here?” she asks.
“The Chief of Police, Sheriff Asshat,” I reply dryly. “Bill Cousineau just came to my place of work and asked about my ex-husband. Then he threatened me.”
“Threatened you how?” she asks, looking up from her microscope, her eyes narrowing.
I take a seat on a rolling chair across from her. “Saying that the Order is going to take control of Blackwater and I should just go back to Chicago.”
Erika rolls her eyes. “The entire police department is the Order,” she says. “They recruit from all over to ensure that no crafters will get in.”
“It didn’t used to be,” I say.
Erika nods. “I forgot your father was police chief once upon a time ago. I’m sorry.”
“Erika, what do you know about my ex-husband’s disappearance?”
She pauses for a second and pushes her chair away from her side of the room to direct herself over to me. “Did Bill mention me?”
I shake my head. “No, he didn’t actually say your name, but the last time I saw Michael, you were with me.”
“Was that the last time you saw him?” she asks.
“I think you’re playing dumb on purpose,” I say. “I am grateful to you for helping me with my asthma. It’s made a huge difference, whatever that stuff is that you gave me. I’d like to know if I’m indebted to you for another reason. So I’m going to ask you again. Do you know what happened to Michael?”
She hesitates, not meeting my eyes, casting her eyes down at the floor. Then she nods. “That night,” she begins. “The night after he came up to us in the parking lot, Ash and I made sure he wouldn’t ever bother you again.”
“You and Ash?” I ask in disbelief. “How?”
She shrugs. “I poisoned him and Ash got rid of him. They won’t find him.”
“Elaborate, please,” I say flatly. “What happened?”
“Well, I mix together some-“
“I don’t care how you poisoned him,” I hiss. “What do you mean, Ash got rid of him?”
She smiles. “They won’t find him. Ash is possibly one of the best alchemists I’ve ever seen.”
My ankle is crossed over my knee and I take the opportunity to fumble nervously with the hem of my pant leg. “So what did he do, Erika?”
“He caused your ex-husband to cease to be. His body is gone. There’s no trace of him left,” she replies. “The police wo
n’t find him.”
Chapter 28
After my minor panic attack in Erika’s office, I take a walk up the stairs to the fifth floor. Erika called up to let a nurse know I would be coming, and to answer anything I had to ask her. Theo and I discussed the questions I would ask, and I have them ready.
Thoughts of Michael dead in a ditch somewhere would have actually been more comforting to me than thoughts of Michael’s body gone and vanished from the earth without a trace. How did Ash do it? Was that part of fire crafting that I haven’t yet tapped into? Come to think of it, there is a hell of a lot I haven’t tapped into. I vow to myself to start taking my craft more seriously and focus on what I can and can’t do with it. After my encounter with Bill Cousineau earlier today, I know there must be more to it than making light sources explode or fly across a room.
Meanwhile, I’m focused on Michelle, the maternity nurse. Michelle is everything that a male nurse’s fantasy is – buxom, blonde and curvy in all of the right places, except she’s dressed in a pair of Sesame Street scrubs and her golden hair is pulled back in a sensible ponytail with her face free of makeup. I instantly love her for it. Besides, who would she plan to woo away working on the maternity floor, new dads enamored of their newborns? It hardly seems like a goal that could be accomplished very easily.
I’ve kidnapped Michelle on her lunch to take her for coffee at a place off campus, out of earshot of hospital staff and anyone else who might be listening. I realize I’m starving and order a soup and sandwich combination and she does the same. I find her really likeable. She’s the kind of person who I would be friends with under normal circumstances. I make a note to explore around the hospital more since I work there full time and don’t know all that many people.
“So Erika mentioned you wanted to talk to me about some things and I might be able to help,” she begins, once we are settled. She sips on hot coffee and I am actually chilled enough based on the weather outside to order a tea, which I rarely do. Hot beverages have never been my thing. The Satsuma orange and cinnamon flavor does little to comfort me and I wish it would just snow already. Cold without snow always seems worse than cold with snow. Theo was wrong about it snowing, or rather, the weather report was.
“I wanted to ask you a bit about hospital security,” I say. “I’m sure you’ve been bugged left and right about how things are set up, but I have a personal matter that requires I try and find out more about it.”
“You’re friends with Eleanor, right?” Michelle asks me.
I nod. “Yes, she’s a good friend of mine. We grew up close and went to school together. I want to help her.”
“I see,” Michelle says, nodding. “So what do you want to know?”
“I’m looking for information about how the hospital protects the babies from being removed from the mothers,” I begin. “Things like how to prevent baby switches, kidnappings, anything like that.”
“I’m in charge of that,” Michelle says. “Each baby gets an ankle band about ten to twenty minutes after they’re born. Then the mother gets a wrist band that coincides with the baby’s ankle band. Each one plays a song, and the nurse is supposed to press a button on the band to play the song when they are taking the baby and returning with the baby.”
“So the song is different for each band?” I wonder.
“Well,” she continues. “The mother’s and baby’s bands are supposed to play the same song. At any point in the hospital, none of the babies or mother pairings songs should match any other baby and mom pairing’s song. Does that make sense?”
“Yes,” I agree. “How do you make sure that none of them are the same? I’m sure you have to recycle songs here and there. I mean, how many could you program?”
“I can program any song I want to,” Michelle says. “I craft them to do it.”
“You craft them?” I repeat. She nods, smiling slightly. “What kind of crafting is that?”
“Fire,” she confirms. “You are too, aren’t you?”
I nod, my jaw open wide. “I didn’t know there were other fire crafters around,” I tell her. “I heard my dad was one, and then…” I trail off, not really wanting to mention Ash.
Michelle shrugs. “I’m not exactly a strong fire crafter. I can do little things, and I’m good at manipulating technology.”
“I’m awful with technology,” I laugh.
She smiles. “You’re probably better with natural made fire crafting. I’m more comfortable with man-made.”
“I didn’t realize there was a difference.”
“Oh, there is,” she says. “Huge difference. You’re probably a bit telekinetic, right?” I nod. “Stuff like that baffles me. I’m much better at understanding wiring and technology. I should have gone into I.T.”
“Interesting,” I tell her earnestly. I’d love to explore this avenue further, but with an hour long lunch break, I should focus on what I came to find out. “So you craft the songs in and keep track of them? How do you do that?”
“I keep a spreadsheet,” she says. “Password protected and everything. “
“Okay. When the baby was taken, was Eleanor’s wrist band tampered with?” I wonder.
“No,” Michelle says. “Hers was on.”
“What song did Eleanor and her baby have for their bands?”
Michelle smiles. “It was ‘Do You Believe in Magic’ by The Lovin’ Spoonful.”
“Appropriate,” I agree. “So would you know whether the baby’s had been tampered with?”
“That’s the thing,” Michelle says. “We have security in place to prevent that. In fact, if a baby’s band is tampered with, then the entire floor goes on lockdown. The doors are all locked from the inside so no one can get in and no one can get out. Also, if a baby is removed from the maternity ward with a band on, then we’ll go on lockdown as well.”
“And that never happened, did it?” I ask.
“No, never,” she says.
“Who set up that technology?” I want to know.
“That was me as well,” Michelle replies. “Some hospitals have security systems that are similar, but Blackwater wanted a crafted one. We serve a community of crafters and so we need security that they can’t get past, should anything like that chance to occur.”
“Why wouldn’t a crafter be able to ‘uncraft’ something that’s crafted?” I ask. “I mean, wouldn’t someone be able to just disenchant all of your hard word or something?”
“It’s pretty unlikely,” Michelle says. “First of all, like you said, there aren’t many fire crafters. In order to really understand how the craft was performed, you’d need to share an elemental. Just like you and I don’t really understand how to change the weather, an earth crafter wouldn’t be able to understand how you would make my spoon stir on its own.”
“I can do that?” I say.
Michelle shrugs. “I’m just using it as an example. No idea what you personally can do. I’ve heard fire crafting described as moving parts of something around to change them. While I can do it with certain things, because I understand how they’re composed, I can’t do it with other things where I don’t understand how it’s all made up.”
“Okay,” I say, not really understanding but wanting to move on and get the information I need. “So you think the part of the craft where the maternity ward goes on lockdown was overridden in some way?”
“It has to be,” Michelle says. “There’s no other explanation.”
“So who would be able to do something like that?” I want to know. “Another crafter, I assume?”
“They would have to be able to craft,” Michelle agrees. “And understand fire crafting. Also, they’d have to understand the particular crafting I used, which I’ve never shared with anyone, I swear.”
“I believe you,” I say. “I wouldn’t be able to explain to anyone else how I did something that I can’t explain.” I laugh as I hear the words coming out of my mouth. “That probably doesn’t make any sense whatsoever.”
She nods and smiles. “It does to me.”
“So who in this town understands fire crafting?” I ask her. “Are there lists of these sorts of things?”
She shrugs. “Your dad was the keeper of the Legend, right? Those lists are usually maintained by the keeper, but I’m not sure if that information is up to date, nor is it available.”
“No,” I say sadly. “It wouldn’t be.” Of course I’d be reminded of the largest piece of the puzzle that has remained missing for fifteen years and affects me the most.
“There are a few fire crafters around Blackwater,” Michelle says. “You know who you could talk to? You’re going around with one of the Lavannes, right? Ash? You know he’s a fire crafter.”
“Um, yeah,” I say. “Except he’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“He left town,” I reply. “I’ve been sort of hanging around with his brother Theo for the past couple of days.”
“Whoa,” Michelle says, leaning closer to me. “I’d heard about Ash. Is Theo also your…?”
I nod, knowing she means catalyst. “They both are.”
“Wow,” she says, grinning. “You’re like a new generation Lisette Lavanne.”
I sigh. “It’s not as glamorous as it sounds. Theo is the reason Ash left town.”
She nods. “I’m sorry,” she replies, sounding sincere. “Catalysts are tough. Sometimes you want to hate them, but you keep getting pulled in.”
I nod. “Do you have one?”
She smiles. “Oh, yes. He’s a doctor at the hospital. He’s an earth elemental.”
“Earth and fire?” I say, surprised. “How does that work?”
She grins. “It worked in the seventies, right? That band who did ‘September’?” I burst out laughing. She smiles back. “We make it work. We challenge and we complement each other all of the time.”
“I know the feeling.”
*