Changeling Hunter

by Frank Hurt

  “There’s no button for the sub-basement,” Ember mused aloud.

  The gruff voice of a veteran smoker answered, “you’ve got to press and hold the ‘1’ and ‘LL’ together at the same—”

  “Bloody hell!” Ember spun, launching herself at the wood-grain paneling as she swung her purse up toward the voice.

  Duncan leaned back, the makeshift flail narrowly missing his face. “Dammit, Wright, it’s me!”

  “Oh, Duncan.” Ember held her hand against her chest. “You fairly scared me out of my skin!”

  The Senior Investigator glared. “Maybe you’d better pay closer attention to your surroundings and you wouldn’t get scared so easily.”

  “Right.” Ember nodded, then shook her head. “Sorry. Yeah. So you were saying if I wanted to get to the sub-basement—”

  “I’m saying nothing. You don’t have access to the sub-basement, so you have no reason to even be inquiring.”

  Ember shrugged, feigning apathy. “I’m an Investigator. It’s in my nature to ask questions.”

  The doors slid open with a muted, happy chime. The basement level contained the Druw-only Medical Center, which could also be accessed from a mechanized garage door facing the alley. The same door which was used for bringing in emergency patients was used for delivering other items not meant for the regular public to witness. Items such as changeling corpses.

  Adjoining the Medical Center was the morgue. It wasn’t used heavily, but today it held three bodies: those of Evan and Brandon, and now a new arrival.

  Jackie was already there, seated on a straight-back chair with her legs crossed. She was wearing a leopard print blouse and light red eyeshadow. Her scarlet hair was pulled back tight and her upturned nose was pointing at a clipboard.

  “Cliff Kohlbrecher’s record is clean,” Duncan said. “I have no reason to doubt his statement.”

  Jackie looked up and handed the clipboard to Duncan before she stood. “I’ve got the report sheet finished. As much as it can be, given what little we know.” She looked over at Ember and said, “Nice of you to join us.”

  Duncan glanced over the clipboard and handed it back to Jackie. “Enter it into the system when you get back upstairs.”

  “I hate data entry,” Jackie grumbled. She waved her fingers. “It’s so hard to type with my nails.”

  “That wasn’t a request, Roberts.”

  “I know, I know. Dang it, does nobody have a sense of humor anymore? This place is dead.” Jackie’s blue eyes flicked from Duncan to Ember. “Nobody? Nothing?”

  “Speaking of dead, is there any chance I could get caught up, please?” Ember eyed the row of stainless steel drawers along the wall. She hugged herself as goosebumps formed.

  Jackie pointed at Ember’s arms. “You’re really not dressed for the deep freeze, are you?”

  “I was training. Didn’t have time to change.”

  “Ah, so that’s what stinks. And here I thought it was the bloated coyote.” Jackie waved the clipboard in front of her face, fanning the air.

  “He has a name,” Ember frowned. “His name was Evan Davies.”

  Duncan walked over to the wall and selected a drawer handle. “It’s not the previous victim that Roberts is referring to.” He pulled on the handle and it responded. Ball bearings squeaked and a shelf emerged from the wall, at about 30 inches above the floor. On the table was a small, matted form of tan fur.

  “Our Jane Doe was found in the Souris River, in Renville County.” Duncan studied the damp body as he spoke. “Mr. Kohlbrecher was out shore fishing this morning. He first smelled and then saw the body, only then realizing it was a changeling. He called it in and brought the body directly to us.”

  “This Cliff Kohlbrecher, he’s a changeling himself, I assume?” Ember asked.

  “He is. A common pheasant as it happens.” Jackie read from her clipboard. “Lives in Mohall, but he found the body near a tiny town called Grano, on Lake Darling. He was out fishing—”

  “I already said that Roberts,” Duncan growled. He rubbed his cleft chin, not taking his gaze from the body. “Our Jane Doe was female, approximately 40 pounds. Appears that death was due to a gunshot wound to the head. We can’t know that for a certainty, as the body is in such a bad state from exposure and the water.”

  “Gunshot wound to the head. Murdered just like the other two,” Ember murmured.

  “Murdered?” Duncan turned away from the body to face Ember. “Wright, there’s no reason to start thinking this was murder.”

  “Oh come on, Duncan. Three changelings, shot in the head? The other two haven’t even been buried yet!”

  “Wright, you need to get it through your thick skull: coyotes, in particular, are viewed as vermin by most people. It’s open season on them. Literally. There are more guns per capita and more people willing to use them—”

  “Yeah, but what are the odds?” Ember kept her arms crossed as she stepped around the shelf to study the body.

  Duncan emitted a humorless laugh. “We don’t operate on probability. But even if we were, I’d say the odds are damn high that if a changeling is dumb enough to wander around in their animal form, they’re accepting a risk that they might be seen, and shot at. Wouldn’t you agree, Roberts?”

  Jackie shrugged, nodded, and held the clipboard up. “Heywood’s not wrong. You know, things are different out in the country. A lot of people just like to shoot things. It is what it is. I don’t know about you two, but I’m freezing. Is there anything else we need to do down here? If not, I’m gonna head upstairs and get this report entered so I can make it out in time for drinks with my friends.”

  “No, that about covers everything.” Duncan placed his hand on the shelf’s handle.

  “Wait a tick,” Ember put her hand on the edge of the shelf. The steel was even colder than the air. “I’d like to look the body over some more if you don’t mind?”

  Duncan and Jackie looked at each other. Duncan took his hand off the handle started walking for the door. “Make sure you slide it shut and turn off the lights on your way out. And wear gloves, Wright. No telling what kind of mange this thing had.”

  She waited until the elevator doors closed and the numbers on the wall above lit up. Ember looked in on the medical center to verify it was empty. Two doors next to the elevator were labeled, respectively, “EXIT” and “DOWN.”

  The door below the illuminated EXIT sign pulled open freely. The other door had a keycard slot and was locked. Ember slid her hand into her purse and felt the laminated badge. She hesitated. No, I can’t.

  Ember looked over her shoulder, back at the morgue.

  She approached the small coyote’s body slowly. Her hands touched the edge of the steel table, the fluorescent lights above reflecting back like a mirror. Ember closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Her head canted and she pressed an open palm against the corpse. Cold, wet, matted fur met her skin. She willed her mana to respond to her words, letting it glide over her aura to touch the body.

  “I’m so sorry this happened to you. Please, awake and talk to me. Let me see if I can help.”

  The morgue was already frigid, but the air temperature at once dropped further. Ember gasped at the shock and withdrew her hand, returning both arms to her torso in a feeble attempt to conserve her body heat.

  She opened her eyes and saw the apparition staring back at her. The small coyote was shrouded in cobalt mist, the eyes in its sockets replaced with a dim glow.

  Ember shivered and stared back at the ghost. “My name is Ember Wright. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but you’re dead.”

  No matter how many times she had delivered that message or a variant of it, Ember always felt awkward. There was no instruction manual for telling someone that they were a ghost. Some of the deceased were indifferent, while others became angry, or denied the obvious. This small coyote drooped its head and said nothing. It looked upon its body in silence.

  Whatever the ghost-coyote might have been experienc
ing, Ember felt profound sadness. Though she was freezing, she extended her hand to touch the damp body. Her fingers closed around wet fur. A lump grew in her throat with each passing minute.

  “I…I knew.” The ghost’s feminine voice was soft, timid.

  Ember kept her voice low. “What did you know?”

  “I knew…that he was going to kill me.”

  “Did you know your killer? His name?”

  The ghost-coyote swayed her head horizontally. Her muzzle remained downward, watching Ember’s hand with vacant eyes.

  “Then do you remember your name?”

  The ghost’s head continued swaying.

  “That’s okay,” Ember whispered. “I know this is difficult. It might be easier to remember others who were important to you. Do you remember the name of any loved ones? Your parents, boyfriend, husband?”

  The apparitions muzzle stopped swaying when Ember finished speaking. The transparent head lifted and looked away from its corporeal form. “Husband. My husband. Oh, Heath. My beloved Fuzzyface.”

  Ember swallowed the lump in her throat. The ghost’s anguish was raw, palpable. “Heath. What is Heath’s last name?”

  “My Fuzzyface. I’m so, so sorry. I should never have answered the door. I knew better than to turn my back on the stranger.” The ghost whimpered, “what’s my beloved Heath going to do now? How can I get back to him? Please, you’ve got to get me back to him!”

  Ember bit her lip. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but that’s not possible. You said a stranger came to your door? Are you saying you were at home?”

  “I think so. I was.”

  “What else can you remember?”

  “He hurt my nostrils. He hurt me.” The ghost-coyote whimpered and stepped back.

  “He can’t hurt you anymore,” Ember held her hand up. She shivered but kept her voice calm. “What do you remember about the stranger?”

  “He was wearing…he was wearing coveralls. And a cap, with letters on it.” The apparition shook its head. “I couldn’t smell him because his scent stung my nostrils.”

  “Cologne? Was he wearing cologne?”

  “Yes. Cologne. I remember now. Old Spice. He had it on too heavy.”

  Ember swallowed and nodded. “Good, good. This Old Spice man came to your house, and then what?”

  “I don’t remember then. I don’t remember anything then.” The ghost whimpered again. “Oh, Fuzzyface.”

  “That’s okay, it’s okay. Let’s focus. Tell me what you remember right before you died.”

  “I don’t…I don’t remember anything.”

  “You were shot. He had to have had a gun. Do you remember that?”

  The ghost’s tremulous voice answered. “He shot me. Yes. I…he made me shift.”

  “He made you shift?”

  “Yes. He beat me. He shocked me with an electric stick. He kept me in…in a cage. No, a kennel. A dog kennel.” The ghost-coyote raised its head and timidly looked around.

  “He can’t hurt you anymore. I’ll find this man, but I need you to keep remembering.

  “Oh…okay. I…it was a small room. It was too dark when he was gone, and too bright when he was there. It…it smelled like moldy grain and dust. There was a bigger room outside. Antiques. The big room was filled with antiques, like what you’d find at an auction sale.”

  “Good, very good. What about the man? What did he look like?”

  “He…he wore coveralls. Glasses. A…a mustache. He was always angry. He smelled like…like smoke. He wouldn’t let me out. I begged him, but he wouldn’t let me out. He kept me there, I don’t know how many days. I couldn’t stand up, didn’t have anything to eat. I had to pee on the floor and sleep on it.” The ghost-coyote sobbed.

  “You were in human form when you met him?”

  “He made me shift. He kept calling me a cur, an animal, a…a mongrel. He took my clothes and hit me with an electric stick. He wanted me to stay as a coyote. He got so angry when I shifted back to human form. I knew he…I knew he was going to kill me. But I had to try, I had to beg him not to. He came in with a big, black gun and held it up to me. That’s…that’s all I remember. I’m sorry.”

  Ember wished she could touch the apparition, to console the ghost somehow. Her compromise was to place a hand on the coyote’s head and caress it. “Okay. You’ve done well. Do you remember Heath’s last name?”

  The ghost whimpered as she watched Ember’s hand. “Bennett.”

  Where have I heard that name before? She thought about the newspaper headline, the caption.

  Ember gasped, “you’re Tara Bennett. You’re the woman who was kidnapped from her home last weekend.”

  22

  He Knew it was There

  The man’s eyelids were bright red, swollen, his eyes bloodshot. “And you’re sure it’s her?” It was the third time Heath Bennett had asked the question since they arrived at his house fifteen minutes ago.

  “We aren’t,” Jackie said. “It’s just Investigator Wright’s theory.”

  “I’ve been auditing the census reports, going through the Druw population database.” Ember hunched her shoulders. “When the coyote body was found, I thought of the missing woman who’s been on the news. That’s when I remembered, when I made the connection with Tara and you.”

  Heath wore a weary expression. “But how can you be sure it’s her?

  “As I’ve said, Mr. Bennett, we will be able to confirm this when the profile test is finished.” Duncan gestured at the three glass vials standing on the coffee table. “The sample you provided from your wife’s hair brush is dissolving in the acidic solution in one jar. The second jar contains a sample from the body we have at the morgue. We will combine the two in the third jar, and a reaction will occur.”

  “What sort of reaction?”

  “If the profile matches, the combined solution will glow brightly. If it doesn’t match, the liquid will turn dark red, nearly black.”

  The man gingerly picked up the jar containing the half-dissolved strand of his wife’s hair. “Like…like DNA?”

  “Well, sort of, yes.” Duncan watched the man. “This is mana-based. The acid is charmed using a spell. This form of magic far predates DNA profiling by hundreds of years.”

  Ember already knew what the result would be. Talking to the victim’s ghost was an incomparable shortcut, after all. She and Wallace had been down this path many times before, having to work backward, to prove cases with tangible evidence. It was a tedious process, but it wasn’t like she could admit that she was talking to the deceased. She and Wallace were the only living people who knew of her ability.

  Ember, Duncan, and Jackie were seated together on a couch in the Bennett’s living room. The young couple’s small home was sparsely decorated, their furniture secondhand, their cars high in mileage. Heath and Tara didn’t have much but one another. And now, not even that.

  “Why didn’t you report Tara’s kidnapping to us?” Duncan leaned forward and touched the eraser end of his yellow, plastic mechanical pencil to his cleft chin. “Why only go to the regular police?”

  Heath shook his head imperceptibly, his focus fixed on the small jar in his hand. “I wish I would have. I didn’t think this had anything to do with us being changelings. We don’t shift very often. It’s just too risky. Too many people are abusive to animals.” He looked up at the three Malverns, meeting their collective gaze. “There are a lot of mean souls in the world. You learn these things the hard way when you’re a changeling.”

  Ember closed her eyelids and saw a Cocker Spaniel seated on the stained recliner. She opened them to see Heath looking back at her. His eyes were so bloodshot, his eye color was indistinguishable. He hadn’t shaved in a week, and his dirty blonde hair was uncombed. Heath wore grey sweatpants and a white undershirt with food stains. He barely resembled the tuxedoed, beaming groom in the wedding photo hanging on the wall. The young man was a mess.

  “You mentioned the police earlier,” Ember said. “Who
is the detective you’re working with?”

  “Uh, he’s…I don’t remember his name. Big guy, with a goatee.” Heath reluctantly sat the vial on the coffee table. “Hang on, he gave me his card.”

  She instantly recognized the business card he handed her. Ember had an identical copy of it in her purse. She furrowed her brow and read it aloud. “Cooper Severson. Did he give you any indication of who they think the kidnapper could be?”

  Heath shook his head. “No, they said the van was stolen from SRT’s parking lot. The cap the…the guy wore blocked the camera’s view of his face. Detective Severson said that it wasn’t uncommon for people to mount the cameras too high like we did. Not that it would matter much, ‘cause I guess the camera we bought was low resolution.”

  Duncan cleared his throat. “Was there a particular reason you invested in a security camera? Pardon me for saying, but you don’t appear to have a particularly luxurious home, and you’re not in a high-crime neighborhood.”

  “We had some packages stolen last year around Christmas. ‘Porch Pirates’ the cops called them. I bought this cheap webcam and hooked it up on an old desktop computer. It’s crappy quality, but I think just having it out there has kept the kids or whoever away.” Heath rubbed his knuckles against his eyes. “I never thought I’d need it for something serious. Something like…this.”

  Duncan looked over at Jackie and Ember. “We’ll need to find a way to get our hands on this footage. There might be something we can pick up on that the police missed.”

  “I…I have a copy of it.” Heath’s voice wavered. “It’s all digital, on a hard drive in the basement. I gave the cops a CD.”

  “We’d like to watch this footage, and get a copy of it.” Duncan scrawled something onto his notepad.

  “I can’t watch it. Not again.” Heath stood up. He may have been in his 20s, but he moved like a man three times his age. Fatigue and stress were aging him. “The server is downstairs.”

  They followed Heath down narrow, wooden steps to the unfinished basement. Ember clutched the railing and made a point of being the last in line. She kept her focus on Jackie’s leopard print blouse, letting the pattern distract her. Ember could call up apparitions and spar toe-to-toe with a mountain lion, but descending steep staircases never failed to intimidate her.