White Trash Warlock

by David R. Slayton

  Not all the figures were elven. Adam scanned the scenes, noting which bits were and were not pointed. After those pages came detailed vivisections of animals and people. Adam closed the book with a grimace.

  Turning to one of the tablet computers, he found it was logged into the hospital’s record system. Adam blinked. This was more like it.

  It took him a while to sort through the interface. It wasn’t as easy as a web browser, but he cross-referenced the list of names he’d put on his phone.

  It didn’t take long to confirm that they’d all worked at the hospital, but he couldn’t find another connection. Nothing else linked them—no history of reprimands, nothing fishy to indicate possession. One of the men, an EMT, had a sexual harassment complaint from a few women in his department.

  Creep.

  Annie was there, under her maiden name, Johnson. She’d been a nurse in the psychiatric unit. Adam checked the other names. Yep, they’d all worked in the psych unit, the center of the void, so far as he’d been able to determine.

  He paused, shook his head, and brought up the file for the dead cop. Being contracted through the city, there wasn’t as much information, but he’d worked security in the psych ward for years.

  Vic was there too. Adam’s finger wavered over the open button. He wanted to know, needed to know, but not like this. He wanted Vic to tell him about himself, not read about him on a screen.

  Adam had found a pattern. He needed to talk to Argent, but Geen wasn’t behind her desk when he reached HR. A pleasant-looking woman popped up from behind a cube wall when he entered.

  “Is she coming in today?” Adam asked, jerking a thumb in the direction of the empty office.

  “I don’t believe so,” the woman said. She lifted a hand-painted coffee cup that said “World’s Best Grandma” in sloppy ink strokes. “Did you need to see her?”

  Adam didn’t think she was another elf in disguise, so he said, “Yes, ma’am. If you can please tell her Adam Binder stopped by?”

  “Okay, Mr. Binder,” she said.

  He couldn’t sit any longer. He needed action. He checked his phone. He’d taken pictures of the employee records, their names and addresses.

  Might as well start with the creep.

  *****

  William Parker, age forty-two, had just stopped showing up for work. According to his file, he lived in an apartment in a suburb called Littleton. Adam had no trouble discerning if William had changed addresses. A tendril drove through the roof of his three-story building.

  Adam parked a block away, approached on foot.

  You should have brought backup, a sleepy Vic said in his head. The message came with a purplish, worried feeling.

  Adam exhaled. He was getting used to the cop being able to talk to him this way, like a text message with feelings attached instead of pictures.

  I’m not going to confront him. I just want to see, Adam thought back.

  He walked casually toward the building, doing his best to look like he belonged there. It wasn’t like he was trespassing or breaking and entering.

  He kept his head down, his Sight off. That meant shutting Vic out too, but he didn’t want the spirit sensing him, and he most definitely didn’t want it sensing Vic. Adam was going to have to deal with the protectiveness he felt for the cop, the pull between them, but right now he remembered the too recent roar of bullets and shoved it aside.

  Adam let the tiniest thread of awareness in and was unsurprised by what he sensed. A void, like at the hospital. This thing was eating magic.

  That’s why it had tried to lure Argent into attacking it. And he was willing to bet that’s why it had killed the Denver practitioners. It was working its way up the food chain. The elves it had killed at Mercy must have been quite a coup. No, not killed. Consumed.

  Shuddering, Adam eyed the second story, the apartment where William Parker lived.

  What do you want all that power for?

  As if in answer, the blinds lifted. He recognized Parker from the photo in his file. Heavier than he’d been, wild-haired and obviously filthy, he glared at Adam with bloodshot eyes.

  Adam let a little Sight back in. The tendril was there, as it had been with Carl, the cop in the hospital, as it was with Annie. No magic though. Just like Annie, just like Carl—William Parker was not a practitioner, yet the spirit had grabbed hold of him. They faced each other that way for a while. Then Parker, filled with the spirit’s influence, grinned.

  He didn’t move, didn’t shift or shudder. Unlike Annie, unlike Carl, William Parker showed no sign of resistance. It had him, through and through, but something was wrong. Adam could See it. Parker was dying, rotting.

  The spirit was burning him from the inside out. It was too much for Parker, for a nonmagical being to hold magic, much like what Adam would go through if he saw the elves in their full glory.

  Yet it wasn’t doing the same to Annie, and Carl had been able to fight it. Parker was completely taken.

  Something pricked the edge of Adam’s senses, that same sense he’d felt on his way to the pawn shops. Something was watching. Adam spun about, checked with his Sight. Nothing. No one, no strange thing—if you didn’t count Parker and the tendril.

  Adam backed away quickly, reached the Cutlass, and drove several blocks before he pulled into a parking lot, his senses still shuttered.

  He couldn’t do this alone. He’d been admitting it slowly, petitioning the elves for help, letting Bobby come to the clock tower, but seeing Parker like that, knowing it had almost happened to Annie—it was time to stop dicking around. He had to stop thinking he was the only one in the fight, and truthfully, he no longer wanted to be.

  Feeling lighter, he drove back to Bobby’s and found a familiar black SUV waiting on the street.

  24

  Adam

  “Hey, Wonder Bread!” a voice called from the SUV’s open window.

  Jesse. Vic’s brother.

  “What are you doing here?” Adam asked, climbing out of the Cutlass and walking up.

  “I came to pick you up,” Jesse said. “My brother wants to see you.”

  “I’m waiting for—Wait, how did you know where to find me?”

  “Vic has your address,” Jesse said, sounding a little sheepish.

  “My brother’s address,” Adam said, sounding snappier than he’d intended. He nodded at the wedding cake. “It’s his house.”

  “Well, my brother wants to see you. He would’ve called, but he’s shy.” Jesse waggled his eyebrows.

  Adam had been thinking about Vic, perhaps a bit too much. He wondered if the bandages wrapping his chest had come off, if he had the same dark line of hair as his brother. And hadn’t he just admitted he didn’t want to do it all alone?

  “Uh, I don’t know, Jesse,” Adam said, eyeing the porch. His mother wasn’t there. “I’ve got stuff to do.”

  He liked Vic. Vic seemed to like him, but Adam shied away from the connection, from forming some kind of attachment that would break when it did.

  “Look, man,” Jesse said, shrugging. “You’ve gotta help me out here. He’s getting crazy.”

  “Crazy how?” Adam asked, thinking of Reapers and black roses. Surely he would have felt it if—

  “Stir-crazy,” Jesse said. “He’s bored out of his mind. Come watch a movie with him or something.”

  “What movie?” Adam asked. He exhaled, though the thought of Vic missing him made his heart do a little flip.

  “I don’t know, Wonder Bread,” Jesse said, rolling his eyes. “Star Wars. He likes Star Wars.”

  “Fine,” Adam said, reaching for the door handle.

  Jesse’s black SUV was so clean Bobby would have driven it.

  “What do you do, Jesse?” Adam asked.

  “Auto repair and detailing,” he said. “Got a shop off Federal. You need any w
ork done?”

  “Tons.” Adam nodded to the Cutlass. “But I can’t afford it.”

  “So?” Jesse shrugged. “That’s your ride? A ’77 coupe?”

  Jesse let out a whistle.

  “She’s starting to fall apart.”

  “Bring her in sometime. I’ll have the guys take a look.”

  “Like I said, I can’t afford it,” Adam said.

  “I’ll pay you for entertaining my brother, so he doesn’t drive me to the loony bin.”

  “They don’t call it that,” Adam said a little too quickly.

  Jesse shrugged and drove. He didn’t know about Adam’s time in Liberty House. Why would he?

  Vic didn’t know either, that was what really mattered. Adam hoped he wouldn’t care.

  *****

  Jesse pulled up in front of the house, but didn’t kill the engine.

  “Go on, it’s open,” Jesse said.

  “You’re not coming in?” Adam asked, climbing out of the car.

  “Nah, I’ve got to get back to the shop,” Jesse said. “Mom should be home in a few. Don’t let Chaos eat you.”

  Though he hesitated, Adam checked the lawn with his Sight. All thirteen Reapers remained in place. None reacted to his approach. He wondered about their hosts, the bodies they lived in. These appeared unanchored. Maybe they only took possession when there was work to do. Adam knew too little about how Death worked.

  He rapped the front door and got no response, not even from Chaos, who had apparently decided that one visit was enough to decide Adam wasn’t a threat. Though he grimaced at invading someone’s privacy, he stepped inside and followed the slight buzz of a television into the living room. It was painted a rich mustard color that offset the purple dining room. Adam loved the colors.

  Vic lay on the couch, half-sitting, half-reclining in a nest of blankets. He wore a pair of sweatpants and a flannel shirt buttoned halfway up. Chaos lay beside him, her big head on his thigh.

  “Hey,” Vic said, lifting the remote to turn off the TV when Adam slipped into the room.

  Chaos opened her eyes, started a little growl, but Vic calmed her with a pat.

  “You look better,” Adam said, meaning it.

  Vic had more color in his skin, though Adam felt a twinge of disappointment to see him dressed.

  “What are you doing here?” Vic asked, his face brightening.

  So Vic hadn’t felt him coming. Though his voice remained weak, he seemed more focused, less drugged out. Maybe he only felt their connection when he was in an altered state. He’d sounded sleepy in Adam’s head earlier. Maybe it was a bit like spirit walking. Maybe it had weakened with the passing of time. The idea made Adam a little sad.

  “Jesse dropped me off. Said to come watch Star Wars with you.”

  “Yeah?” Vic perked up. He patted the couch next to him. “The DVD is in the player.”

  Adam took the seat cautiously, remembering how pained Vic had been by movement last time. Though he tried to hide it, Vic winced a bit when Adam sat. Adam felt it, but dimly. He hadn’t been wrong. Their connection had dulled.

  “You’ve already watched it?” Adam asked.

  “Yeah,” Vic said. “A few times since Mom moved me out here. But I haven’t watched it with you.”

  “Why?” Adam asked as Vic clicked the remote a few times. “Why do you like it?”

  “The heroes are heroic. They’re good guys,” Vic said. “They aren’t assholes.”

  “Han’s kind of an asshole.”

  “Not really,” Vic said.

  “To Leia.”

  “Okay, maybe a little,” Vic conceded.

  He stretched a few times, awkwardly moving his arm but not being able to fully lift it. Giving up, he nodded to his side and said, “Get in here.”

  Adam shifted himself nearer to Vic, trying to be gentle. Vic smelled clean, like soap and antiseptic, but with something else, something Vic, beneath it all.

  Vic settled back with a small sigh of relief. Adam felt it too, that things were right when they touched. The connection thrummed. Adam blushed a bit when it ran through him, pooling downward and stirring him a bit. He had to admit that as little as he knew Vic, he’d missed that feeling.

  “There you are,” Vic said, turning enough to kiss the top of Adam’s head. Adam slid a hand over Vic’s belly, where he wasn’t hurt. He put two fingers between Vic’s shirt buttons, just enough to feel Vic’s skin with his fingertips. Vic felt hot to the touch, warmer than he should.

  Adam wanted to tell Vic everything in that moment, about the Reapers, about himself. He wanted to warn Vic that he’d never done this, just cuddled up with a guy and just watched a movie. It felt way too normal, too distant from his actual life and filled him with a mix of things that made him a little shaky.

  Resting as gently as he could against Vic’s shoulder, Adam turned his face up to meet Vic’s eyes. Adam had forgotten how much taller Vic was.

  Adam didn’t really know him at all, didn’t know if he liked guys, had ever dated a guy.

  He opened his mouth to speak, to ask, but the big yellow letters scrolled up the screen. Vic brought a finger up and closed Adam’s mouth. He kept pushing, lifting Adam’s face until their eyes met. Adam thought Vic was going to kiss him, but drawing back he said, “No talking during Star Wars.”

  Adam nodded off somewhere before the big battle. He woke pressed against Vic’s side. He blinked up at Mrs. Martinez, who stood over him, a finger pressed to her lips. The DVD had reset to its menu. The theme music drifted from a loop on the speakers. Next to him, Vic sprawled, looking dead to the world. He had a little drool on his chin.

  Mrs. Martinez gestured for Adam to follow her to the front door. She wore a long black dress and a jean jacket. She had a black fedora atop her head and her keys in hand.

  “I’ll drive you home,” she whispered.

  “Okay,” Adam said, trying to shake off enough sleep to seem human.

  He followed her outside to a black Volkswagen Jetta. He could feel the Reapers surrounding the house.

  “How is he?” Mrs. Martinez asked Adam as she unlocked the car with two clicks of her fob.

  “You know him better than I do,” Adam said as he climbed into the passenger seat.

  She gave a little laugh. “Hardly. A grown man does not tell his mother everything.”

  She tensed. She loved her son. She worried for her son. Adam took a small breath and thickened his defenses so she wouldn’t affect him so much.

  “He saved my life,” Adam said. “That bullet he took was meant for me.”

  “That’s his job,” she said. “To serve and protect.”

  “You don’t like it.”

  “It is not easy to be a cop these days. It’s dangerous.”

  Adam nodded. He did not know what to say, so he asked, “What do you do?”

  “I teach history at Metro, one of the downtown universities.”

  “What kind of history?” Adam asked.

  “American mostly, and a lot of Western Civilization.”

  When Adam didn’t say anything for a moment, other than giving her some directions toward Bobby’s house, she said, “Vicente said you haven’t been to school.”

  “It didn’t seem right for me,” Adam said. He didn’t want to get into it, and started to scowl before he forced himself to remember that Mrs. Martinez wasn’t Bobby or his mother. “I didn’t do so well in high school.”

  “College is very different,” Mrs. Martinez said. “Though it’s not for everyone. It wasn’t right for Vicente. He chose the police academy instead.”

  “And you wish he hadn’t,” Adam said. It wasn’t a question. She didn’t seem disappointed, just concerned.

  “I wish he had done something safer,” she admitted. “When he was shot, it was the worst thing, my worst fe
ar come true.”

  “I’m sorry,” Adam said, meaning it. While the flow of knowledge between them had slowed to a drip, he could remember how much Vic’s mother had protested, how much she hated him being a cop—not because she hated cops, but she’d seen far too many news reports of police killed simply for wearing the uniform.

  “I’m not sorry he saved you,” she said. “Especially since you saved him back.”

  “There,” he said, pointing to Bobby’s house.

  She pulled to a stop and said, “I am grateful that he’s healing, that he’s home already, but I don’t understand it.”

  “I don’t either,” Adam admitted. “But I won’t let anything bad happen to him.”

  It wasn’t just him, he knew that much. Vic kept mending, getting better, and Adam didn’t feel the pull on his strength the way he had those first days. The Reapers had to be responsible, but he didn’t know how or why. They should be trying to take Vic, not watching over him.

  “You can talk to me about it, Adam,” Mrs. Martinez said. “Whatever all this is, whatever is going on.”

  “It is all going so fast,” Adam whispered. He meant things with the spirit. He was technically working for the elves, not somewhere he wanted to be. But he especially meant about Vic. What he felt, the thing between them. It ran too hot, too quick. He felt certain it would burn him.

  “It can be that way,” Mrs. Martinez said with a smile. “Vicente’s father and I slept together on our second date.”

  “You, uh. That’s not what I—” Adam made a choking sound as he said thank you for the ride and opened the car door.

  “At least give me your number,” she said. Pulling a pen and a square of sticky notes from her purse, she shoved them into Adam’s hands.

  He scratched it out quickly, anxious to escape the awkward.

  “You know, Vicente has never dated—” Maria paused, took a breath. “I mean there were girls before. No one serious. But he likes you.”

  “I—” Adam stammered. He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t imagine his own mother saying anything like that.

  “And, well, I like you too,” she said. Her eyes sparked with mischief. “You can run away now.”