Kiku put her hands on her hips. "I have no idea, but she made me look through them, and Glaive's next on the list, so if that's the real reason she's doing a good job of hiding it."
"Okay, okay," I said, raising my hands in surrender. "Just checking."
"Hey Kiku, is this yours?" Trip said suddenly, holding out one of those strange hands.
She turned to look and took the tiny thing he proffered, her other hand going to her ear. "My earring! I didn't even know I'd lost it!" she told him, tugging at a bare earlobe. "Thanks, Trip."
He shrugged as she slipped the silvery circlet back into place. "Saw it when I jumped up on the chair," he told her. "You probably lost it in all the excitement in here this morning."
She left and Trip followed her. He paused at the door and executed a series of kicks and lunges, shedding a feather or two in the process. "Killer," he whispered to me from the doorway, and winked. "I'll keep practicing."
I followed him out and fetched myself a mediocre coffee from the kitchen, then sat down with the stack of papers Kiku had delivered. I was right. It did take me the rest of the day to pore over those files, and I refilled the coffee cup twice. But it was worth it. I found something that everyone else seemed to have overlooked.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Geographical Coincidences and Things That Go Bump In the Night
Only three of the Murder Prophet cases had been solved so far, and when I say "solved," I mean that at least the police had a suspect who'd been arrested and charged. The general consensus seemed to be that the only thing the murder victims had in common was the fact that they'd all had a message from the Murder Prophet. However, what I noticed—well, I suppose it wasn't actually something they had in common, it was more like a pattern.
I can't say it's something that the police missed, because I was in possession of a fact that they probably hadn't had time to consider—Aleshu Coro himself. Or rather, his message. When they'd correlated data on the victims so far, he hadn't even been in the picture yet. What I did was put him in that picture, literally.
I wanted an overview of the Murder Prophet cases, so I called up a map of the city and surrounding areas, laid a redline grid over it, and started plotting the cases onto the map. I used the victims' homes, not necessarily where they'd been killed, for the first go-round.
But since I had just been there recently, and he was our client, my eyes kept straying back to Alchemist's Ridge as I was placing the other victims. And what I noticed was that none of them were anywhere near Aleshu Coro's house.
Okay, so that might not seem strange at first glance. New Kendrickson isn't a huge city, but it's big enough. It stood out to me, because the other murders had cut across all social lines—racial, magical, economic—but the one thing they had in common was geography. They all clustered in the southeast section of the city, while Aleshu Coro lived 'way up at the northern tip.
Just for fun, and suppressing a shudder, I put a little X on the map to represent myself. It was just as far away from Coro as any of the others, but on the west side of the city, also outside the other cluster.
I sat staring at the map for a few minutes, then called Kikufaax in to look at it, too.
"Do you see anything unusual here?" I asked her.
She considered for a minute.
"Everyone's been saying they're random," she said thoughtfully, "But this doesn't look random to me."
"That's what I thought." I linked to the police public database and got the coordinates for all the murders in the city since the first one with a Murder Prophet connection. It took me a few minutes to populate into my map, but after about half of them had appeared it was clear that there was a difference. The others were geographically random as well as in every other respect, and ranged over the entire breadth of the city.
Kikufaax pursed her lips and regarded me thoughtfully, her eyes narrowed. "Two possibilities," she said. "Either it's a coincidence, and the Murder Prophet could foresee only these particular attacks because of some geographical constraint on the magic—"
"—which apparently doesn't apply to either Aleshu Coro or me—"
"Or it's not a coincidence—
"—and he or she deliberately chose which ones to send messages to," I finished for her. "That's what I thought."
"The question is, what does that tell us?" Kikufaax sat on the edge of my desk and swung one leg back and forth slowly.
I leaned back in my chair. "Well, I don't buy it as a coincidence. I don't like any coincidences in murder cases."
She shook her head slowly. "Me, neither."
"So that must mean these victims were picked for a reason."
"Something to do with Aleshu Coro? A reason that sets him apart?"
"Maybe." I ran a hand over my hair. "And yet I don't know what."
Kikufaax stood up again. "I know one thing."
I raised my eyebrows at her.
"We need coffee," she said, flashing a grin.
"That I can believe." I followed her out to the kitchen. A weird-looking contraption sat on the counter where the coffee maker had been half an hour before, when I fetched my last cup.
It stood about three feet high, bright red enamel covering most of the outside. An impressive array of buttons and a small touch-screen ranged over the front, along with a clock and temperature readout. Three chrome spigots poked out from the front panel.
"What the—" said Kikufaax, stopping halfway to the counter.
I felt a panicky chill down my spine. If Saga had decided we were drinking too much coffee and wanted to put us all on health drinks or something—I'd probably have to quit.
"Isn't it awesome?" Trip bounded over from the game console. An occasional beep signalled that the Flying Ninja Monkeys from Wormhole 7 were on 'pause.'
"What the hell is it?" Kikufaax asked, leaving unspoken the rest of the sentence: and this had better be good.
"It's a Coffee Robo-Alimental!" Trip explained. "I bought it on MegaNetzMall. Well, I convinced Saga to buy it. You wouldn't believe the things it can do!"
"Can. It. Make. Coffee?" Kikufaax growled.
"Hell-lo? It's a COFFEE Robo-Alimental," Trip said. "Of course it makes coffee. Coffee is its specialty. Black, breva, iced, Irish, espresso, mocha—you name it! It also makes tea, green tea, chai, fruit juice, hot chocolate, lemonade, eggnog, and sprakele."
"Just like Sandrine Coro," I muttered, but they didn't hear me.
"But that's not the best part," Trip added.
Kikufaax had stalked over to examine it more closely. I sat down at the table, relieved. If it could make coffee, she'd have it on the job in no time. Kiku liked machines, and they seemed to like her. I always put it down to her ability as an Enchanter, although I'd never actually observed her using magic. Anyway, she liked playing office manager, and the ability to make the machines play nice complemented that perfectly.
"What's the best part?" I asked Trip, because I was afraid he'd bust if he didn't tell me. Cleaning up the feathers would take the rest of the day.
"If you make something and then change your mind, it can change it for you," the goose explained delightedly.
"Your mind?"
He quirked his head at me in disgust. "No, silly. The drink! You just pour it back in, and it comes out different!"
So it had a magical component. Or more than one. "How much did this thing cost, exactly?" I asked. I hated to think that, interesting as it was, the Coffee Robo-Alimental could have cut into my annual bonus.
"Don't worry about the cost," Saga said suddenly, coming into the kitchen behind me.
I jumped. I guess I was more on edge than I'd thought.
"It's not coming out of your bonus," he leaned over to say to me in a stage whisper as he walked past.
"Ha ha ha," I said.
"And it wouldn't kill you to drink green tea once in a while instead of coffee. Any of you," he added. "In fact, quite the reverse."
"That reminds me," I said, ignoring the dig, "How
much will the bonus be if I solve the Coro problem?"
He turned sharply away from the Coffee Robo-Alimental to face me, his cup only half-full of green tea. "What have you got?"
I shrugged. "Maybe nothing. We don't know yet what it might mean." I told him about the map as we each gathered our drinks and fixed them to our tastes. Trip asked for chai, and was inordinately excited to get it. I sipped my coffee gingerly. It was exceptional.
"Show me this map," Saga said, so we trooped back to my office, picking up Glaive on the way. Anna was out.
"If only we knew how this prophet's divination magic worked," Saga said. "This could be nothing, or it could be everything."
"What I don't understand," Trip complained, "is if the police knew about one of these messages, and they thought the message came from a Seer predicting a murder, why couldn't they stop the crime?"
Glaive shook his head. "In this case, no one even knew—or knows now for that matter—if the Murder Prophet really is a Seer or just a crackpot. And the police can only do so much, even if a Seer reports something like this. We all know Lumden's Ninth Law of Divination."
Trip cocked his head to the side inquiringly. "Eventually all intestines will hold omens to the future?" he said.
We stared at him. After a minute Glaive said, "Nooooo, that's not it. I was talking about 'Divination reveals hidden dynamics but does not pierce the veil of the future.'"
"Oh, that one," Trip said comfortably. "I always get those mixed up."
I stared at the goose for a moment longer, then turned back to Glaive. "So the police don't pay a whole lot of attention to Seers who see future crimes, because they're only possibilities?"
"That's about it." Glaive had worked some time on that side of the law, so he probably knew what he was talking about. "I mean, there's enough crime out there actually taking place to keep them busy—they don't have the officers to spend a lot of time trying to check out every divination report they get. And while a low-level Seer might get an inkling of a future crime, it takes a high-level ability to provide really concrete information. Much rarer. Sometimes if it's a high-level report and seems credible—and if they have a name—they'll let the possible perpetrator know that a Div report's come in on them—that might be enough to change the 'dynamics' so that the event doesn't happen. But there's just not enough time or manpower to take care of them all. And the reports are often vague—they don't name a particular potential offender."
"But with the Murder Prophet—I mean, he or she has been right about a murder eight times now," Kiku protested. "They should be paying attention to that!"
"They are—they did offer Mr. Coro protection," Saga reminded her. "But in these cases, no perpetrators were named, nor even details provided," Saga said. "Merely the warning—or however you wish to interpret it—to the victim. And as Glaive has pointed out, the police simply don't have the manpower to essentially start a murder investigation before there has even been a murder."
"Which puts us back to square one," Glaive said. "Finding the Murder Prophet."
"If I could do that," I said, "I'd sleep a lot better tonight."
"We all would," Trip said, swilling the last of his chai and wiping his bill with the back of his hand. "I'd better go practice my moves some more."
***
Glaive had offered to drive me home that night, but I told him not to be silly. He wouldn't let it go, so in the end I just sneaked out the back door without telling him I was leaving. I said goodnight to Trip on my way through the kitchen and he actually looked up from the video game. On the screen, flying monkeys laid their ninja moves on some hapless humans.
"Are you sure you want to do that, Kit?" he asked, pushing the 'pause' button.
"I'm sure. Just don't tell Glaive you saw me, okay?"
He looked doubtful. "I don't know...what if he's right? What if you're in danger?"
I shook my head impatiently as I zipped up my jacket and made an effort not to yell at him. "I'll be fine. I'm a big girl. And the message only came today, anyway. Just don't tell him I'm gone."
He hesitated, the sides of his bill pulled down. "Glaive's kind of...you know, scary, sometimes."
"Oh, that's just his way. He's not going to hurt you. Promise you won't say anything!" I insisted.
He didn't look happy about it, but finally he nodded. "Okay. But be careful!"
"I will. Careful is my new middle name." I drew a finger in an exaggerated cross over my heart and made my escape as Trip turned back to his game and the monkeys flew into action again.
Yeah, maybe it was childish, but despite my nervousness, I hated feeling like I couldn't look after myself. After all, it wasn't even dark yet, and the streets would be full of people heading home from work.
I was almost home when I began to suspect I was being followed.
I'd been tempted to walk, but that would be taking my I-can-look-after-myself bravado too far, and I had promised to be careful. I caught a bus as I usually did. Safety in numbers, I thought, although as I looked around at my fellow passengers I hoped I wouldn't be calling on them to help keep me safe. Most of them looked either twelve or eighty. I doubted that any of them were armed, beyond the odd walking cane. There was one dog, sentient obviously since he was reading a newspaper, but he was only beagle-sized. He also looked over at me with that mix of doleful understanding and neediness that put him squarely in the "best friend" category, as opposed to "heart-of-a-Rottweiler".
However, the bus trip passed uneventfully. I stared out the window and thought about all those murders so distinctly removed from Aleshu Coro's neighborhood. I didn't have any epiphanies.
The walk from the bus stop to my apartment was only about three blocks, and it still wasn't dark, so I wasn't worried. I'd only gone a block when I had that prickly eyes-on-my-back feeling. My heart kicked into high gear as the adrenaline rushed through me. Fight or flight. I stuck out my chin, stopped walking, and turned around.
The street lay deserted behind me. Streetlights punched holes in the darkness at intervals, but no-one moved through them.
I turned and started walking again, hoping no one had seen my abrupt about-face. The adrenaline receded, leaving my arms and legs leaden. I was only a block from home when I felt it again. Eyes. Watching me.
For the second time I whirled to confront whoever it was. This time my hand slipped inside my jacket, to the LaserWaster in my shoulder holster.
Again, the street stretched empty and harmless-looking back to the corner where I'd left the bus.
By then I was so rattled by the chemicals awash in my body that I gave in to them. They demanded fight or flight. There was no one to fight, so I ran the rest of the way home, my feet pounding the sidewalk. The bright streetlight spots flashed past me and I silently thanked Phoebe for nagging me out for my run so many mornings.
I gained the outer door of the building, realized fleetingly that there was no sound of footsteps following me, and decided I didn't care. I took the stairs up three flights instead of waiting for the elevator, and slammed my key into the lock at my door. It turned smoothly and I practically fell inside when I pushed into the door and it opened.
As I slammed the door behind me and put my back against it, I knew that I absolutely had to find the Murder Prophet. And fast. Living like this was going to make me grey before my time. If I didn't run out of time first.
CHAPTER NINE
Never Argue With a Lady with a Gun
"Do we need assistance?" Phoebe asked tensely as I stood with my back against the door, panting slightly. "I can summon emergency responders."
"No, everything's fine," I answered.
"Kit, your heart rate and breathing are elevated," she said in a voice tinged with reproach. "And you slammed the door."
"It's my door, and how the hell do you know about my heart rate?" I snapped. I probably would have just shrugged it off if I hadn't already been in a state, but it was a good question.
After a moment of injured silence, s
he said, "I am programmed to monitor all aspects of your well-being and security, Kit."
"Well, you don't need to take it this far." I stomped out into the kitchen and yanked open the refrigerator. There wasn't much there, and I remembered that she had warned me we were low on supplies and made a list, but I hadn't gone shopping or told her to actually order them. That only made me more annoyed.
"Your job is dangerous, Kit. I've been worried about you for some time now—"
"I don't need a nanny, Phoebe. I could have your programming changed, you know."
More silence met that threat, the air heavy with mute reproach. The silence was fine with me. I really didn't feel like fighting with my apartment AI again tonight. I flipped on the radio and began scrounging the cupboards. Phoebe didn't say anything more.
I didn't contact LemurCandy until after I'd stir-fried up some only slightly soggy vegetables and rice for supper, brewed myself a nice soothing cup of peppermint tea and had a hot shower. I also offered an apology to Phoebe, which she accepted graciously. By that time I felt calm enough to think about Aleshu Coro's case with some objectivity again.
When I sat down at the computer, I found something surprising. LemurCandy had left me five messages, and the second I signed on to Chatterz® he messaged me live, so he must have been watching for me. I sat back and took a deep breath before I answered him. I felt ridiculously excited and annoyed that he might be worried about me, and I certainly didn't want that to show.
I frowned. How would he know how long it took me to get home?
he said,
I scowled at the screen, even though I knew he couldn't see me.
The cursor blinked silently in place a dozen times before he answered.
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