by Megan Derr
Another woman came up seemingly out of nowhere. "Can I take your hat and coat?"
"Much obliged," Jackie replied and handed them over before taking a seat. The other man settled next to him, lightly touching the bruise on his left cheek with a rueful smile. It looked like it hadn't been much of a hit, but Jackie was glad he'd been there to stop the fight before a worse hit had been thrown. There were deep lines etched into the man's face, and if he was less than two hundred Jackie would be surprised. Age was a hard thing to gauge in paranormals, but the man had that air of someone who'd been around awhile—and he knew Pa, which most young folk didn't anymore. "Never did catch your name, sir."
The man held his hand out and smiled. "Name is Holliday, Robin Holliday. I'm a paranormal investigator for this territory. It's been a lot quieter since Rust was deposed by Mordred, but it's still far from boring." He fell silent as Candi appeared and set a tumbler in front of Robin and a beer in front of Jackie. She kissed Jackie's cheek. "Thanks again for the help, Mr. Black."
"Jackie's fine, ma'am, and you're welcome. I hope he thinks twice afore he comes back again."
"I hope so, too," she said and vanished again as the dancer on stage finished and another came on. Jackie watched her for a few minutes, impressed at how easy she made it look, almost disappointed that women generally weren't of any interest 'cause he felt right then that was his loss.
Robin cleared his throat and Jackie turned to him. "Something on your mind, sir?"
"Oh, stop with that sir nonsense. And yes, actually. You're the good luck I've been waiting for, I hope."
Jackie's brows rose. He took a swallow of his beer before asking, "How you figure?"
"I'm stuck on a case," Robin said, staring at his drink as he traced the rim. He let his hand fall after a moment, pushed the drink away, and folded his hands together in front of it. "The truth is I'm old, pushing four fifty and feeling twice that some days. The case I'm on is just too taxing. I can't do the running around it requires. I'm sure you're busy—"
"Nothing that can't wait," Jack cut in and briefly rested a hand on Robin's shoulder. "It's gotten a mite too wet for apartment hunting, and I'm always happy to help where it's needed. What can I do?"
Robin smiled, and until the tension bled away, Jackie hadn't realize just how much was there—but he supposed someone four hundred and fifty years old would know a thing or two about hiding tension. Still, Robin seemed a touch too stressed for just one case, especially with all the experience he obviously possessed. "I'm greatly in your debt. Finish your beer and then we'll go back to my place. I've heard quite a few things about you, and from the way you took care of that man in the alleyway, I suspect it wasn't all as exaggerated as I thought."
Jackie snorted at that. "Ain't hard to point and shoot, pops."
"In the pouring rain at a target you couldn't have seen well and whose abnormal capabilities you couldn't have known? Candi brushes him off as just a general nuisance, but that fool out there is suffering from wendigo rot. He won't completely succumb anytime soon; he got someone to bind the disease for him, but the binding won't hold forever. I'm just waiting for a good excuse to put him down once and for all." He sighed, sounding for a moment every bit of his age. "Not that I could, anymore. I'm getting too old and too slow. Won't be able to run away much longer," he added, the last bit of it slipping into a sad whisper.
"Rather have a quick mind than a quick body," Jackie replied, tamping down on his own trepidation, wondering what the bigger picture was that he wasn't seeing yet. "Both don't hurt, it's true, but if I had to pick, I'd rather be slow-moving and smart than a quick fool. But if it's an able body you need, that's easy enough for me to offer." Jackie finished his drink and reached into his pocket for his wallet. Pulling out a ten, he folded it twice and held it out as the dancer drew close. She smiled and took it, then spun away to the next cluster of men.
Jackie rose and helped Robin to his feet before heading for the door. Candi met them there, frowning in concern. "Leaving already?"
"Work never seems to wait the way it should, ma'am. I'm right grateful for the beer, though. Ya'll need anything, feel free to give me a holler." He pulled out his wallet again and extracted a business card, handing it to her. Another woman helped him into his jacket and handed him his hat. He settled it on his head, then touched the brim. "Ladies, ya'll take care now." He pushed the door open, leading the way back into the night. At least the rain had settled to a drizzle.
He followed Robin down the street, but they hadn't gotten much more than a block away when Robin slowed, stopped, and glanced around anxiously. He shivered visibly, mouth flattening, but he said nothing to Jackie except, "Stay close and keep alert."
Jackie nodded and followed him more closely, keeping his hands ready to grab and shoot. They walked another two blocks, then turned right—and stopped again. "Did you hear anything?" Robin asked.
"Nothing I don't expect to hear," Jackie replied. "But that don't mean much. There's plenty that gets by my fool ears. I ain't feeling nothing, though, pops. Let's just hurry and get wherever we're going." Robin nodded and headed off, and they walked about another block or so until Robin led the way up a set of broken, uneven stairs into a building that might have been nice once, but hadn't seen good days in a long time.
It smelled of must and pipe smoke. Robin reached out a hand and touched the wall, and with a shimmer of magic, lights flared throughout the faded house. "You can hang your coat and hat there," Robin said, pointing to hook along the wall behind the door. Jackie shrugged out of his duster and hung it and his hat up, but kept his guns.
Robin's mouth quirked faintly, but he didn't say anything, just led Jackie into a living room old-fashioned enough it had probably been called a parlor once. He settled on a sofa that reminded Jackie of his mama, stirring an old ache that was never really gonna heal. An ache that ran so deep in his pa, the man had run off to Europe like a damn fool. "So what do you need me for, pops?"
"This," Robin said and pushed a folder across an ornate coffee table. "Get you something to drink? Beer, coffee …"
"Coffee would be just fine, thank ya kindly," Jackie replied and scooped up the file while Robin walked off to see about the coffee.
It seemed a simple enough matter in the end: husband and wife split with a great deal of hostility between them. Wife murdered ex-husband and ran off with a necklace. Jackie wasn't quite certain what part of that sentence baffled him the most. People could be damned stupid.
The necklace was a pendant carved from imp horn and that was never a good thing. Definitely worth murder in the eyes of some. Jackie's mouth flattened just thinking of how much the imp they'd taken it from must have suffered—and likely over and over again, cause folks just didn't want to learn and stop doing stupid shit.
He looked over the wife's information again, liking what he read less and less. An amateur witch comfortable with torture and murder whose powers were supplemented by imp magic … Made Jackie wonder what the hell else she'd done that no one had ever cottoned to. "I can see why you're more than a little stressed," he said as Robin returned bearing coffee, though he still had that niggling suspicion the woman with the necklace was the least of Robin's problems. "So the poor man's family wants the necklace back?"
"You seem like a man who likes his coffee black," Robin said and handed over a faded red and white mug, steam curling from it, the smell of good coffee sharp and aromatic. "Yes, they do—to destroy it. He only obtained it for her and regretted every second of the decision. She killed him for it; they don't want her to have it."
Jackie nodded in thanks. "Only way to drink it, thank you. Any clue where this woman done run off?"
"I know she's still in the city, but every lead I find dies out before I can pin her down," Robin said with a sigh. "She's young and angry, and I'm too old and tired for these games." He sipped his coffee, which smelled of cream and sugar.
Taking another swallow of coffee, Jackie then replied, "Well, that's why I'm h
ere. I can track down one ornery woman and suffer the damage she'll do before I get the necklace back. Is this your latest lead, this … Slate House?"
"Andrew Slate was the original owner. I do not recall the name of his most recent descendant. They're an old alchemist family of respectable ability, as much as I hate to admit it. They only arrived here about one hundred and seventy years ago, give or take. They got on well with the previous territory lord, if that tells you anything."
Jackie's lip curled. Anyone who got along with a syndicate boss wasn't worth the mud scraped off a boot. "Tells me they're right fools. You think she'd be there now?"
"More than likely, but you certainly don't have to go out in this miserable weather—"
"No time like the present, Pa always said. Like I said before, I ain't doing nothing that won't keep." He winked, finished his coffee, and stood up. "Got a number I can call if I do find anything worth reporting?"
Robin held out a business card. "That has my cell number on it."
Jackie took it and handed over one of his own. "I'll keep you posted."
"One moment and I'll get you directions," Robin replied and walked stiffly over to a desk in the corner. He pulled out paper and pen and quickly wrote, then returned to Jackie and held it out.
Jackie tucked it away with the business card. "Much obliged." Robin followed him to the hallway and waited as he shrugged back into his duster and slipped on his hat. "I never did ask why you're in town."
"My lover lives here. I'm hoping to surprise him by letting him know that I do too, now." Jackie smiled briefly, tamping down the trepidation and excitement that wound through him, the ache of longing to see Roman. But Pa would tan his hide if he neglected someone in need, and Robin seemed sorely in need. If he took care of the murderer problem, maybe Robin would tell him what was really eating at him. He touched the brim of his hat, nodding in farewell. "You rest easy, pops. I'll call you soon as I got something worth saying. Take care, now."
He plunged back into the rainy night and pulled out the scrap of paper, standing beneath a street lamp to read the directions written out in a neat, precise hand. Glancing up at the street signs, he tucked the directions away and headed for Slate House.
It was just going on eleven when he reached it, an old house in a loudly-marked historical district of the city. The entire thing was surrounded by a wall that was more ivy than stone. Jackie could just barely feel magic, and he tangled his fingers in the ivy to get a better sense of it. Once, it seemed, someone had laid heavy wards in the wall, but no one had renewed them over the centuries and the magic was more broken and fractured than the stone itself.
That was sloppy and a positively embarrassing waste of good wards. Shaking his head, Jackie brushed off his hands and pushed open the wrought iron gate, making his way carefully up the uneven stone path to the house proper. He could feel more faded magic as he traveled, wards washing over him as he climbed the steps, but they were old, tired things that wouldn't stop a fly from trespassing.
Jackie knocked on the door, resting his left hand lightly on a revolver, ready to draw at the first sign of trouble. It had been quiet since he'd arrived, and he didn't like when things got to be too quiet. He heard footsteps approaching and a moment later the door swung open to reveal a man who was all hard lines and sharp edges. "Who the hell are you?"
Tipping his hat, Jackie replied, "Name's Jackson Black. I'm here on behalf of Mr. Holliday to see about a lady. Is there a Mrs. Bellen on the premises?"
"None of your damned business. Get the hell out of here, or I'll make you leave," the man replied and slammed the door in his face.
Jackie sighed. "I'll take that for a yes." Reaching into his back pocket, he drew out a piece of chalk and began to draw quickly, but neatly, on the door. When he was done he placed his palm in the middle of the spell circle and spoke the activating mark.
His spell burst to life, spreading out over the house like the ivy consuming the wall around it, stealing the old magic for its own purposes, turning the house into a cage. It'd take a sorcerer of his skill to break it and Jackie would have felt that kind of power if it was around. Even the imp necklace wouldn't be a match unless there was someone who knew how to make the most of it, which was doubtful because those who knew how to make the most of what they had seldom relied on hurting other beings for supplemental power.
He waited, and didn't even have to muster patience for it, as less than a minute later the door swung open again and the man from before glared. "How dare you!"
"Simmer down, hoss," Jackie replied. "I just want a word with the lady. Let me say my peace and I'll be on my way, but you wanna keep being mule-headed about it I got nowhere to be." Uttering a few choice curses, the man stepped back and jerked his head, motioning Jackie inside. "Much obliged," Jackie said, removing his hat as he stepped inside. The house smelled of faded magic and was in sore need of a good airing out. The age of the place showed in every crack and worn crevice.
"This way," the man said stiffly.
"You got a name, son?" Jackie asked.
Ignoring him, the man led him into a living room that, like Robin's, might have been taken straight out of history. Eschewing the offer of the uncomfortable looking sofa, Jackie moved to the fireplace to warm up and dry off as best he could.
He turned at the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway and nodded politely to the woman who appeared in the doorway. She was a handsome woman, the kind who could command a room with just a look. She radiated magic, but most of it came from the bone charm carved into the shape of a cross around her throat on a leather thong. From the look of her clothes, she'd been about to bolt again, and she must have been pretty damned determined to risk a motorcycle in the weather.
"Ma'am," he greeted. "That pendant don't belong to you, and I'd appreciate it if you'd let me have it without fuss."
"Who the hell are you?" the woman demanded. "Did that damn detective send you? How did he afford a sorcerer like you?"
Jackie snorted. "He asked, ma'am. You gonna give me that necklace, or you gonna make this difficult?"
"The necklace is mine," she snapped, curling her fingers around it. "I don't care what those bastards are saying—the necklace is mine and they can rot in hell."
"Sounds like a discussion you need to have with them, ma'am, but in the mean time I'll—" He threw himself out of the way barely in time to avoid the flames that shot out of the fireplace, swearing loudly as he rolled back to his feet and drew one of his guns. He fired first at the stone-faced fool from before and then leveled the revolver on the woman. "I've had enough, now. Give me the necklace or else."
She laughed, a hard, biting sound. "You look and sound like one of those men that never strikes a lady." Her eyes gleamed as she gathered her magic.
Jackie shot her and then holstered the gun. He walked back over to the fireplace and picked up his dropped hat, annoyed to see it had not survived the flames. "That's the third one this year, damn it." Sighing, he threw what remained of it in the fire so there wasn't anything left over to be used against him—learned that lesson the hard way back in his younger days—then strode over to the two fools.
The man was out cold, runes rippling over his skin as the magic of the bullet took full effect. Kneeling, Jackie checked him over to be sure he wasn't reacting wrongly to the magic. Assured the man was fine, he moved to the woman. She glared at him, paralyzed by magic, a bruise on her forehead from where the bullet had struck. "It's true, ma'am, that Pa said it ain't nice to strike a lady. But back when they met, mama was a saloon girl with a mean right hook. She broke his fool nose and cracked one of his ribs and said it ain't nice to hit anyone, but only a fool stands there and takes a whoopin' to be nice. So, beggin' your pardon, ma'am, but I've hit plenty of ladies."
He unfastened the necklace and slid it into his pocket, then stood. "Much obliged. Ya'll take care now." Outside on the porch, he touched the door where his spell circle lingered and adjusted the spell to fade away at sunset.<
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Getting the necklace had been a lot easier than he'd expected. Made him wonder what was going to go wrong…
The thought trailed off as three figures appeared at the gate and prowled toward him, shifting to wolves when they were halfway there and abruptly bursting into a run. That'd teach him to think it had been too easy. Jackie swore and drew his revolvers, getting off two shots—one hitting true but the other just missing.
Then the wolves were upon him. He bellowed in pain as jaws fastened around his arm, slicing through layers of leather and cloth like they were butter. The other wolf wrapped teeth around his ankle and dragged him off the porch down to the muddy ground easy as a wounded calf.
Jackie summoned his magic, grabbed the fur of one of the wolves, and spoke the words of a spell, drawing air through his nostrils when it took and the wolf yelped in pain as he was given a nasty jolt. He did the same to the other wolf, which gave him just enough of a chance to clamber to his knees and lunge for one of his dropped revolvers. Grabbing it, he spun and caught one of the wolves in the chest just as it came at him again. It yelped as it went down.
He screamed when the one got its jaws around his already-wounded arm, but held fast to his gun, put it to the wolf's head, and fired. Panting, already beginning to feel the effects of blood loss, Jackie holstered his revolver and drew out his chalk. He tried to draw a circle for a healing spell, but his damned fingers wouldn't stop shaking. Swearing, he forced himself to his feet and stumbled over to his second revolver. He holstered it then used what strength he had remaining to transport himself to Roman's apartment, one of the few places he could go without a spell circle.
The familiar smell of citrus washed over him as he appeared in Roman's entryway. "Roman?" he called out, hearing music. "I don't want to ruin your carpet—" He broke off when Roman appeared, the scowl on his face immediately vanishing into a look of concern.
"Jackie! What in the hell?"
Leaning against the wall, vision gray around the edges, Jackie said, "Some werewolves got the better of me. I don't have the strength to heal. I was hoping you might oblige."
