Trancehack

by Sonya Clark

  Nate flipped the light switch in the garage. The car gleamed black and shiny under the harsh lights. No one had searched the interior yet, so he went to work on that task.

  He turned up an opera program in the console from a performance the previous week and a manila envelope under the passenger seat. Sitting in the driver’s seat, Nate opened the envelope and examined the contents. He found a sheaf of loose leaf papers handwritten by at least two people, some of the notes legible and meticulous, some a scrawl that took more time to decipher. It was rare for a doctor to use paper anymore, so it surprised him to find it.

  Once he realized what he was looking at Nate had the uniformed officers go back through the house for any and every possible hiding spot. He ordered the same done for the clinics.

  Within the hour he was reporting to Decker in the chief’s office. Nate summarized while the chief flipped through the pages. “It’s an overview of how nightshade is made. There’s a recipe for an old drug called ecstasy that was popular decades ago. I think the ingredients listed on the other pages are something the Magic Born would know about. It’s all natural stuff, some of it toxic according to my searches.”

  “Put them together and you get nightshade?” Decker sounded dubious.

  “It looks like that’s what he thought but he couldn’t re-create it accurately. I wouldn’t be surprised if somewhere in one of his clinics we find hidden evidence of experimental batches.” Nate pointed at the stack of papers. “This is just a summary.”

  Decker hefted the papers in one hand. “What the hell was he doing messing around with this? The guy had plenty of money. He didn’t need to be a drug dealer.”

  “I don’t know.” Nate sat in the chair opposite Decker’s desk. He smoothed his tie as he propped an ankle on the opposite knee. “That part, I have no idea yet. But I think I know why he couldn’t re-create nightshade on his own.”

  “Magic.” Decker tossed the papers onto his desk.

  “Yep. Look, I know we talked about me using nightshade as an excuse to investigate in the zone, but I think this proves it really did have something to do with the murder. I also think consulting with someone from DMS is not going to work.” He outlined his impression of the DMS administrator being corrupt and the agents next to useless.

  “Sounds like you have something else in mind. I’m not going to like it, am I?”

  Nate shook his head. “I think a zone informant is the best way to go.”

  Decker sighed, the sound exhausted and heavy. “It’s not unheard of, but they’re damned unreliable.”

  “I didn’t think my lack of experience with Magic Born would be that big of a deal, but FreakTown is a whole different world.”

  “Heard what they call it, eh?”

  Nate uncrossed his leg and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I don’t even know what questions to ask. What we learn in school about these people is practically nothing compared to what I need to know right now, and I don’t have the experience yet to make up for that. I need someone on the inside I can learn from.”

  “You’ve already got somebody picked out, don’t you?”

  “A woman.” He wasn’t sure why he didn’t want to volunteer her name. “She’s the one who told me I needed to be asking about nightshade at the club, not the arts and crafts supply store that idiot DMS agent took me to.”

  Decker chuckled. “Zone informants can only be paid in cash, which you have to requisition. Have the form in my inbox in the morning and I’ll process it.”

  Nate heard the dismissal in the chief’s voice. He stood and gathered the papers. “I’ll take care of it tonight.”

  It took another two hours for him to deal with all the day’s reports and twice the usual fifteen minutes on the train to get home. For a change he found himself completely incurious about something, not bothering to ask the transit officer what the holdup was. He leaned against one of the poles opposite the door and let his eyes lose focus as the lights blurred past.

  Home was a thousand square feet of generic apartment in a midtown high rise. He shed his jacket and tie and tossed them on the back of the couch. Three months wasn’t a long time, but it was long enough to make the place look like he lived there. He’d lost a lot in the divorce, and in the year since he hadn’t done much to replace anything beyond the bare necessities. White walls and black furniture made the place look stark, empty.

  Nate turned on the sound system and made a drink. The bar was one thing he’d done right, making sure it was well stocked in both booze and implements. He took his whiskey and soda out to the balcony.

  Air that felt stagnant and sticky at ground level was cool and almost refreshing so high up. The lights of the city painted a neon star field over the night. One area stood out as darker, muted inside the lines of security lights. Nate had never paid any attention to it before. Now he stared at the zone—at FreakTown as its Magic Born inhabitants called it. Calla Vesper was in there somewhere tonight. He sipped his drink, the bite of the whiskey a not unpleasant reminder of her sharp demeanor.

  She hadn’t agreed to help him, but he would convince her. He had to. He needed someone inside FreakTown. That was his only interest in her.

  He told himself that as he went back inside and downloaded her file to his personal tablet. Then he told himself that again after making another drink, ice clinking in the glass as he stared at her ID photo.

  * * *

  Holding her hands an inch above her head, Calla traced a path over her hair. Purple deepened to black with an easy glamour spell—so second nature she didn’t need to speak the words aloud. She changed into black pants, tee and a hoodie. Making sure she had her ID, money and wand, she locked up her apartment and sealed the door with a ward that would only open for her. Her place above a clothing store was safe, and much better than living in one of the boxlike housing units, but she liked to be sure.

  Loose-limbed and full of energy, she raced down the fire escape and through the alley, avoiding what little light shone in her quiet part of the zone. She didn’t need anyone knowing where she was going tonight. Using the exit near the club, she slipped through the crowds unnoticed and badged out through the gate.

  The city just outside the zone might have been Normal, but it was still poor and rundown, full of crumbling buildings and fringe dwellers. Calla dodged and weaved through the throng, using a bit of glamour to camouflage her presence. A dozen blocks from the zone she reached her destination.

  A flashing orange neon sign spelling out “Arcade” with the vowels missing, more likely from neglect than design, hung over the cracked sidewalk. Calla checked out the crowd, pleased to see a lot of people inside, then made her way to the alley at the end of the block. She doubled back to the abandoned building on the other side of the arcade and paused at the entrance.

  She did a sweep of the building with her senses, finding it empty. Pulling herself up to a window with no glass, she climbed inside and dropped into the darkness. Something scurried across the floor, probably a rat or two. She’d leave them alone if they left her alone. Using her wand for a tiny light, she picked her way through the debris to the far wall which butted against the arcade.

  What she wanted was carefully hidden behind a pile of junk. Moving the stuff out of the way, she shone the light inside a small rectangle chiseled out of old brick and grabbed a cable snaking out of the wall from the arcade side.

  The arcade had been in existence in one form or another since before Calla was born. Now it catered to online gamers almost exclusively. People who couldn’t afford decent systems for gaming at home could afford time on the arcade consoles, or at least they spent the money anyway. Arcades like this made for a nice way to steal a little free Wi-Fi, although that wasn’t exactly what Calla did. She had no device with which to log on to cyberspace.

  She didn’t need one.

  S
he created a circle on the floor with her wand and sealed it with a few muttered words. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, hands on her thighs, she closed her eyes and breathed. In and out, in and out—a slow steady rhythm as she let herself sink into a trance state. She floated there for a while, enjoying the quiet. Letting it soothe her. When she was ready, she picked up her wand and the cable and logged on.

  A lot of the old ways had disappeared when the Magic Born had been forced onto urban reservations decades before, but there were still some who clung to them. Secret esbats and sabbats were still held, though the numbers participating dwindled every year. One might even find a teacher or two in the haze of nightshade incense. Calla had looked carefully as a child, entranced by the shamans and priestesses who ran the circles, drawn to the mysteries they represented.

  To learn what she was doing now, she’d had to find a teacher. In the early days of the Magic Laws, book burnings were all too common. Some things had managed to survive thanks to the careful and brave work of rebels, but some topics had been deemed so incendiary that all means necessary were used to destroy books about them. Astral projection was at the top of that list.

  “Enchantress of Numbers, guide my journey,” she intoned. With a push of her will she sent magic into her wand and from there flowing into the cable. While Calla’s body sat on the hard floor of a filthy abandoned building, her consciousness slipped into cyberspace with practiced ease. Familiar blue-white light formed at the edge of the darkness. Dots and lines not unlike the city lights at night glowed brighter as she settled more fully into the different environment. She stuck to her usual routine, following packets of data moving from one location to another as she navigated the web easily, long used to it. A quick scan of a news aggregator showed nothing but celebrity gossip and the usual propaganda. She ignored that and searched for local crime news. The item she wanted was buried as if someone didn’t want too much notice of it, but it stood out to her: Dr. Alan Forbes, head of the local DMS clinic that oversaw testing for the region, had been found murdered in his office.

  Calla spared him as much sympathy as he had the babies he took from their parents, which is to say none at all. Instead she looked for any reason why a city cop would be asking questions in FreakTown as part of the investigation. There were no real details though—the article was mostly a recap of his life. Unsure if she had the right case or not, she looked through the rest of the city crime blotter for anything else that might have brought the detective to FreakTown.

  Nothing. It had to be Forbes, which would explain why the cop had dropped the senator’s name.

  The thing about something being inevitable was you just couldn’t avoid it, no matter how much you wanted to. No matter how much you knew it would hurt. For months Calla’s every foray into cyberspace had ended the same way, ever since she’d made the discovery.

  Trancehacking into DMS files was slow, meticulous work. She didn’t like to do it; the risk was too great. Few in FreakTown knew there were witches like her. As far as she knew, there were no Normals who had a clue, and she wanted to keep it that way. So she had to be careful and sometimes she had to back out and try again. This wasn’t one of those times.

  Ones and zeros coalesced into code and then the familiar flow of English and images. She called up her own file with the number she’d been given at birth: F111192038Z13. The name Calla Vesper was not attached to the file. That name existed on other files, documents in Zone 13 computers and local police records. The file she was looking at now was the official and highly secret record of her birth. All Magic Born birth records were sealed so that no one, Normal or Magic Born, could trace a child back to the parents. Sometimes it surprised Calla that the birth records were kept at all.

  The name attached to this file was Grace Beckwith, born to John and Isabelle Beckwith on November 19, 2038. Grace had been the only Magic Born who was born on that date, making her the only baby removed from her parents six days later. Given up, taken away. Whatever—any distinction made no difference in Calla’s life. Her father was a United States senator, with enough power to order a city cop to do his bidding, and she was FreakTown trash with no rights and no prospects.

  Given up, taken away. It made no difference. Letters and numbers swirled in and out of focus. Her pulse sped up, threatening to pull her out of trance. She worked to calm herself, then retraced her steps, careful to leave no trace of her unauthorized entry to DMS computer security. Minutes later she logged off and broke the connection between her wand and the cable.

  It was some time before she felt steady enough to leave.

  Chapter Four

  Everyone he stopped to ask for help, whether DMS agent or Magic Born, was crap at giving directions. Either that or no one wanted to help him. Nate got lost three times trying to find Calla Vesper’s apartment. After nearly half an hour of wandering a quiet, neatly tended section of the zone, he found the shop she lived over, a tidy clothing store that also carried jewelry on display in the front window. Curious, Nate entered the shop to look over the bracelets, necklaces, earrings and other items. He didn’t know anything about jewelry or any kind of art, but something about the design of the pieces gave hints about the designer’s personality. Bold, beautiful, challenging.

  Definitely Calla.

  Or maybe he was being presumptuous to think he knew anything about her. He’d already formed an idea of her in his mind, something he didn’t want to think about too much. He had a job to do.

  The shopkeeper approached, a middle-aged woman in a bright red sari. Warily, she stopped a good two feet away. Nate didn’t let it offend him. He knew he might as well have had cop tattooed on his forehead.

  The shopkeeper greeted him and asked if she could help him. He pointed at the display. “Were these pieces made by Calla Vesper?” The woman didn’t want to answer. Nate tried another tack. “I heard she was good and this is very nice work.”

  The shopkeeper relaxed somewhat. “She’s one of the best artisans here. Are you looking for a gift for a lady friend?” She didn’t ask why a Normal and a cop to boot was in a zone shop rather than the bazaar.

  Slightly embarrassed, Nate took a beat before answering. “Uh, no. Does she make anything for men? Thought I’d get something for myself.”

  With a raised eyebrow the shopkeeper led him to another display deeper in the store. A section of it held more masculine pieces made of larger materials. A bracelet of silver and onyx caught his eye. It had one of the heftier price tags, but if he was going to bribe her to help him it wouldn’t hurt to be willing to spend some of his own money.

  He bought the bracelet, putting it on his wrist rather than letting the shopkeeper wrap it up. Then he left the shop and found the rickety stairs on the side of the building that led to the apartment.

  Nerves made him pause at the door. He shook his head, surprised at himself. Two minutes of knocking later, Calla Vesper finally came to the door.

  “What the hell do you want?”

  “Good morning,” he said, overly cheerful and not sure if that was to annoy her or tease her. “Detective Perez.” He placed a hand on his chest. She glowered at him. “We met yesterday.”

  “No shit. What do you want?”

  “I’d like to talk to you. May I come in?”

  “Got a warrant?”

  She was bluffing and they both knew it. “I don’t need one. You know that. Look, this is just a friendly visit. You’re not in trouble. I’m not taking you in to DMS holding or downtown. I just want to talk.”

  Calla ran a hand through dark purple hair. “You’re not going away, are you?”

  A small smile teased the corners of his mouth. “I’ll stand out here and sing if I have to.”

  She swore, but opened the door wide enough to let him pass. He stopped just inside and took a good look around. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but this wasn’t quit
e it.

  The place was small but neat. A dark brown, cloth-covered sofa sat in the middle of the space, with a floor lamp on one side and an end table on the other. It faced an old TV against the opposite wall currently tuned to a music station. In the floor between the two was a small area rug covered in jewelry-making supplies. Behind the sofa was a narrow open walkway that led to a kitchen with old appliances and a tea kettle on the stove. At the back end of the apartment was a double bed, sheets and bedspread still rumpled. A door opposite the bed marked the only separate room in the place, presumably the bathroom. A rough, handmade book shelf leaned against the back wall, full to bursting with old paperbacks, hardbacks and bound pages.

  Nate hadn’t touched an actual physical book since childhood. He read using his e-reader.

  There were dishes in the sink and the smell of breakfast lingered in the air. He hadn’t gotten her out of bed. “You normally make people wait that long before you answer the door?”

  “I don’t normally have visitors.” She slammed the door and crossed the floor behind him, switching the burner under the tea kettle off with a vicious snap. “Tell me what you want. I’m tired of asking.”

  He hadn’t realized yesterday how much smaller she was than him. Not wanting to intimidate her, if that was even possible, he took a seat on the edge of the sofa and smiled, pointing at the kettle. “Aren’t you going to offer me a cup?”

  She gave him a frosty look that spoke of her low estimation of his intelligence. Right then he agreed with her. This was not going as planned. “Okay. I want to know about nightshade.”