Heart of Fire

by Lisa Edmonds

  “Does there seem to be any pattern to when and where they go missing?”

  I shook my head. “Not that Mark could see and not that I’m seeing so far. Sometimes they were last seen getting into a car with a customer; sometimes they disappeared when they weren’t working. Different days, different places, different times.”

  I told him about the girl who disappeared after telling her roommate that she had been invited to join a group of mages.

  Malcolm looked grim. “Well, I hate to say it, but that probably means a harnad is involved. It could be a cabal, though. Hard to tell without more information. Either way, it doesn’t bode well.”

  “No, it really doesn’t. I’d like to talk to the girl’s roommate and get the story directly from her. I haven’t gotten to her file yet.”

  Near the bottom of the pile, I found the folder in question, flipped it open, and found a familiar face smiling back at me. “Holy shit. Carrie.”

  Malcolm peered over my shoulder. “Who’s Carrie?”

  “You remember the girl from the alley who was being attacked by the Haze addicts?” I pointed to the picture in Mark’s file. “That’s her.”

  “Carrie Ann Davis,” he read. “Disappeared two weeks ago. Looks like her roommate Zara tried to report her missing, but the cops weren’t interested. She called Amanda Bailey next, who passed her name on to Dunlap.”

  I felt sick. It was bad enough to think about twenty-six missing women, but the situation suddenly seemed so much more real. I’d met Carrie, maybe even saved her life in the alley, and now she was gone, her fate unknown.

  “You okay?” Malcolm asked.

  “Yeah.” I looked through the file. It contained a photo of Carrie in a bar, holding a beer and smiling. The first page listed basic info: birthdate, Social Security number, estimated height and weight, address, cell phone number, and so forth. The next page was her roommate’s account of the strange story of how one of Carrie’s customers had invited her to join his group of mages.

  The last sheet in the file indicated Carrie had been seen around seven the night she vanished, buying cigarettes in a convenience store near her apartment. Mark had spoken to the clerk. Carrie told him she was meeting a friend and left the store walking north. No one had seen her since.

  On that page, Mark had written a short note in his familiar scrawl, dated five days after her disappearance: Called Diaz re: Carrie. No interest.

  I closed the file. One young woman’s life represented by four sheets of paper and one short note. I wondered if Diaz was someone with the police. That rang a distant bell, but I couldn’t figure out why.

  I picked up my phone and called Mark. “Dunlap,” he said gruffly.

  “Hey, Mark. It’s Alice. I started looking through the files you gave me.”

  “And?”

  “I know the girl who went to meet the group of mages—well, I’ve met her.” I gave him an abbreviated account of what happened in the alley next to Nancy’s Diner.

  “I’m not surprised you jumped into the middle of that, but you gotta know that wasn’t real smart,” Mark said when I finished. “You’re lucky you came out of it with nothing more than a cut on your arm.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t stop to think,” I admitted. “But she needed help and I was pretty sure I could take them. They were too high to put up much of a fight.”

  “If they were on that Haze shit, you might have gotten a surprise,” Mark cautioned me. “It makes people violent and unpredictable and stronger than normal. It’s turning into a real problem. Between that and Black Fire, the cops have their hands full.”

  “What do you mean?” I frowned, remembering what Carrie had told me in the alley. “Aren’t Haze and Black Fire the same thing?”

  “That’s what people thought at first, but they aren’t. They’re similar, but in addition to making users aggressive and paranoid, Black Fire seems to enhance any magic ability they might have. Suddenly, somebody who could barely summon up a spark before turns into a full-blown pyro. Last week, a guy who had nothing more than a trace of earth magic was able to knock down the wall of an electronics store and get away with twenty-five grand worth of gear. It’s happening all over the city. We’re in the middle of a drug-fueled, magic-enhanced crime wave.”

  “Whoa. I had no idea.” I seriously needed pay more attention to current events. “Anyway, I’ve got more files to go through, but I wanted to tell you I’m willing to go down to the Stroll and talk to some of the women. Is there anybody down there who might be able to introduce me around?”

  Mark considered. “I’m thinking Zara Anderson might help you.”

  “Carrie’s roommate?”

  “Yes. She’s upset about Carrie disappearing and she’s pissed at the cops for not looking into it. They don’t think her disappearance is connected to the others, since she told Zara she was going to join a group of mages. In fact, they’re pretty sure she’s not missing at all. They think she’s just joined up with some ‘mage cult’ and left her old life behind.”

  “A mage cult, huh?” I snorted. “Not that that’s a real thing.”

  “That’s what I tried to tell Ernie Diaz.”

  “Detective Ernie Diaz? That’s who’s investigating the missing women?”

  “Yeah.” Mark heaved a sigh. “They promoted him out of Property Crimes. He’s with Major Crimes now and they’ve put him in charge of the case.”

  “I remember him from when I worked for you. He used to be an okay guy.”

  “He still is most of the time, but he’s convinced it’s the vamps taking the girls and he’s not interested in hearing about any other theories. And he’s real choosy about who he’s willing to put on the list of possible victims and who doesn’t qualify.”

  “Like Carrie.”

  “Yeah, like Carrie.”

  We were both quiet.

  “Tell you what,” Mark said finally. “I’ll try to get a hold of Zara and see if she’s able to meet you tonight. Do you want some backup down there?”

  “No, I’ll be fine. I won’t go running into any alleys.” I hesitated. “Unless I’ve got a good reason.”

  I heard the smile in Mark’s voice. “That’s my girl. Let me call Zara and I’ll get back with you ASAP.”

  As we hung up, Malcolm was grinning. “What are you so happy about?” I asked.

  “You’re back to work.”

  I frowned. “I never stopped working, Malcolm. I’ve had three clients in the past month.”

  “No, you’ve been doing jobs for the past month. This is different. Now you’re back to work.”

  I thought about it and realized he was right. I might have closed three cases, but I’d just been going through the motions. Despite my misgivings, I felt compelled to find out what happened to Carrie and the others. I was back to work, for the first time since the night I faced Amelia Wharton at the construction site.

  But since getting all sentimental wasn’t really my thing, I changed the subject. “I’ve got files to go through,” I told him briskly. “You want to read along with me or do you have other stuff you have to do?”

  “I’ll read with you,” Malcolm said, still beaming. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “We’re getting the band back together.”

  We read through the rest of Mark’s files. I got my laptop out and typed up some notes for myself, including a one-page list of the twenty-six women Mark and Amanda Bailey thought were missing. I added asterisks next to the thirteen who had made Diaz’s much-shorter list. Next to all the names, for quick reference, I put the dates they disappeared and a brief note of where they were last seen.

  We were just starting to look at Amanda Bailey’s notes when Mark texted to say Zara would meet me in one hour at the apartment she shared with Carrie, then take me down to the Stroll. He sent me the address and a reminder to be careful.

  I stacked up the files, printed off my list of names, and went upstairs to change. I pulled on a long-sleeved shirt, jeans, and boots, dashed on s
ome makeup, and put on my charm bracelet with its half-dozen spell crystals.

  I was back downstairs in ten minutes, stuffing a couple of granola bars into my bag and a handful of business cards into my pocket, when Malcolm appeared. “How long do you think you’ll be out?” he asked.

  “I really don’t know. It depends on if anyone will talk to me and what I find out.”

  “Do you want me to come along? I could scout around, maybe see something useful.”

  I grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge and stuck it in my bag. “This burning desire to tag along wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that I’m about to go talk to a bunch of working girls, would it?”

  “Absolutely not,” he said with injured dignity. “I’m sure I’ll be so busy looking for clues, I won’t even notice the ladies.”

  I snorted, then considered his offer. “Your masking spell is holding up well. You feel like a ghost of a low-level water mage and I think that’s good enough to keep you incognito. I doubt we’ll be running into any high-level mages down on the Stroll. You can come along, but if something goes down and I tell you to jump back here, you go.”

  “You’re no fun,” Malcolm complained.

  “Yeah, I know.” I slung my bag over my shoulder, made sure I had my phone and keys, and grabbed a jacket. “Let’s go, Watson. The game’s afoot.”

  4

  Zara Anderson and Carrie Davis shared a third-floor apartment about six blocks from the Stroll. Though the outside of the building looked run-down, the inside was surprisingly tidy and smelled of pine-scented cleaner.

  Zara opened the door at my knock. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties and was very tall and thin, dark-skinned, with a pierced nose and long, beaded braids. She looked me over with the sharp gaze of someone used to assessing people quickly. “You Alice?”

  “That’s me.” I held out my hand.

  After a moment, she shook it. “Come in.” She stepped aside and I entered the apartment. I couldn’t see Malcolm, since he’d gone invisible once we left my house, but he was nearby.

  “Have a seat.” Zara gestured at the futon. “I’m gonna make myself a rum and Coke. You want something to drink?”

  “I’m fine.” I sat down and dug a small notebook and pen out of my bag. “I appreciate you taking the time to talk with me on such short notice.”

  Zara returned from the tiny kitchen with her drink. She wore a long, purple tunic and jeans, and her feet were bare except for a couple of toe rings. She curled up in a threadbare armchair and regarded me with an appraising look. “So you’re Wonder Woman.”

  I blinked.

  Zara grinned. “That’s what Carrie called you, you know. The woman who came out of nowhere, beat up three guys high on Haze, and saved her. She called you Wonder Woman.” She laughed at my expression. “I’m not about to take some chick I don’t know and ask the girls to talk to her, but Mark Dunlap explained you were the woman from the alley. I’m not sure how much I trust Dunlap, but Amanda says he’s okay.”

  “He’s a good man. For whatever it’s worth, I worked for him for a couple of years before I started my own agency. I trust him.”

  “And I suppose, if you risked your life for Carrie, you’re probably okay.” Zara sipped her rum and Coke, then rested the glass on her knee. “Not many people would have done what you did.”

  “I do crazy things sometimes.” I shrugged. “She needed help.”

  Zara’s smile faded. “Well, it looks like she needs help again.” She rubbed at the wet ring her glass had left on her jeans. “I told her not to go, but that girl, she wanted to belong to something. It sounded like bullshit, but she said they were going to make her magic stronger—”

  “Wait, what?” I interrupted. “Carrie has magic?”

  She shook her head. “Barely any. She has a little bit of air magic. She can blow out a candle or a lighter if she’s close to it, and that’s all. She always wished she was stronger, so she could work for a cabal. She did her lighter trick for a customer and he convinced her he could make her magic more powerful if she joined his group of mages. I wanted to go with her to meet him, but she said I couldn’t. I should have just followed her anyway, but we had a big fight about it, and I was mad.” Zara took a long drink. “Anyway, that was the last time I saw her.”

  “I read your statement. Can you remember anything else she might have said about the guy? His age? What kind of car he drove? Where the group met? Where she was meeting him?”

  “She didn’t say. I told Dunlap everything I remember.” Zara slapped her knee angrily. “I should never have let her go off alone. We were supposed to watch each other’s backs. Some friend I am.”

  “I know it probably doesn’t help, but you can’t do anything about the choices other people make sometimes. It’s hard not to blame yourself, but you did everything you could.” I thought about the way I’d blamed myself for not being able to save Natalie’s aunt and uncles from Amelia Wharton and here I was dispensing the same advice Charles had given me last night. Oh, the irony.

  I dug out the list of twenty-six names. “Do you know if any of these other missing women had any magic?” I got up and handed Zara the page.

  She skimmed the names. “I only know six—no, seven—women on this list, including Carrie. Other than Carrie, only one other woman has any magic that I know of. Angie Clayton has a little water magic. The rest, I’m not sure—I never saw them use any, or heard them talk about it, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

  I made a face. No connection there, either. “I read Mark’s files on the missing women, but there isn’t much there for most of them. Of the women on the list you knew, do you know anything about their disappearances?”

  Zara went down the list and told me what she knew about the other six women. I made some notes in my notebook, but it didn’t sound like she knew anything more than what was in the files I’d read.

  I was beginning to see why Mark was so frustrated. Twenty-six missing women, twenty-six different leads to follow, and no apparent overlap except the fact they were all prostitutes. Most of them worked the Stroll, the city’s well-known red-light district, but some had disappeared from other areas of town like the cheap motels near the airport.

  “You work on the Stroll, I’m assuming?” I asked Zara.

  The younger woman looked at me silently, her face unreadable.

  I tilted my head. “What?”

  “I’m just not used to hearing someone say that without sounding judgmental. You don’t sound like you’re disgusted by what I do or act like you think you’re better than me.”

  “It’s your job. I’ve talked to a lot of sex workers over the years, and one thing I’ve learned is that I don’t have the right to judge anyone for what they do to put food on the table and keep a roof over their heads.”

  Zara gave me a small smile. “Yeah, Carrie and I both work on the Stroll. Why?”

  “I’m trying to anticipate what I might be able to find out from the other girls on the Stroll, assuming any of them will talk to me.”

  “Some of them will; some of them won’t.” She shrugged. “It’s their choice. If you tell them you’re Carrie’s Wonder Woman, that might help. I’ll be with you, so that will help too. Most of us like Amanda because she’s trying to help. You’re kind of like another Amanda, I guess.”

  Before we left, I took a few minutes to search Carrie’s tiny bedroom, but found nothing that looked like it might be helpful. When I returned to the living room, Zara had finished her drink and was checking social media on her phone.

  “I guess I’m ready to head out, if you are,” I told her.

  “Let me tell the girls we’re on our way.” She fired off a quick text, then stuck the phone in her back pocket and stepped into a pair of purple mules that added about four inches to her already-imposing height. I suddenly felt very short. She grabbed her bag and locked the door on our way out.

  “Do you want to walk or drive?” I asked, as we headed down the
hallway toward the stairs.

  “I’ll ride with you and walk back later, if that’s okay,” Zara said.

  “Sure.”

  We took the stairs down to the first floor, then went to my car, parked in the little lot next to the building. I sensed Malcolm with us as I drove the quarter-mile or so to the 900 block of South Elm, more popularly known as the start of the Stroll.

  Zara suggested I park at a convenience store a block over on Ninth, despite the multiple signs warning that unauthorized vehicles would be towed. As we got out, she waved at the clerk inside, who gave her a thumbs-up. “He’ll watch the car. Mario’s a good guy.”

  I reluctantly left my Toyota in Mario’s care and headed off down the street with Zara, while Malcolm drifted along behind us.

  It was fairly early yet and a weeknight to boot, but there was a small group of women already gathered at the corner of Tenth and Elm. As we approached, five pairs of hard eyes turned to study me. Their expressions ranged from bored to angry and their outfits from jeans and a tank top to a Spandex minidress.

  Zara introduced me to Rachel, Becca, Danielle, Shonda, and Sarah. I offered my hand to each woman in turn. Rachel, Danielle, and Shonda shook my hand without hesitation, but Becca’s handshake was brief and wary and Sarah refused, crossing her arms defiantly. Still, it was a better reaction than I’d anticipated.

  I opened my mouth to ask my first question, but Zara spoke first. “She’s Carrie’s Wonder Woman.”

  I blushed as the women reacted with a mix of surprise and awe. Even Sarah seemed to thaw a bit at the news.

  “She talked about that night all the time,” Rachel said. “Some people didn’t believe her”—she looked sideways at Becca, who rolled her eyes—“but it was so crazy, it had to be true. You really took out three guys high on Haze all by yourself?”

  “Yep,” I confirmed. “But they didn’t put up much of a fight, really.”

  “She said they had knives,” Danielle said. She looked to be in her mid-thirties and wore jeans and a red bustier.

  “Two of them did, but they weren’t very good with them.” I cleared my throat, uncomfortable being the center of attention. “I don’t know if any of you have met Mark Dunlap, but he’s working with Amanda Bailey, trying to find out what’s been happening down here. I used to work for Mark, and I’m trying to help, too.”