by Megan Derr
"He can lead me to someone else," Jackie said. "Come on now, son, you'd best be getting along. We both need to get on out of here." He didn't give Wyatt a chance to argue, just wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and guided him out of the shop. "Get on home."
Instead of listening—not that Jackie had thought he would, the boy had 'stubborn as a mule' branded on his forehead—Wyatt stood up straighter and said, "I can help you. Who are you trying to find?"
"No one you're old enough to know," Jackie replied. "Get along home."
Wyatt bristled. "You have no idea who I know! I know all kinds of people. I—"
"You're a kid, and one fool enough you were going to lie down with Roman Keeling and probably without even really knowing what you were dealing with," Jackie said sharply. "What you need to do is get your fool self home before you get into trouble you can't get yourself out of."
"I can handle trouble."
"Well, I don't have time to put up with bratty children who think they know everything," Jackie said sharply. "Run along home." He felt bad about the hurt that filled Wyatt's face, but he knew the look of a reckless fool when he saw one and he didn't want to add another body to the count, least of all the body of an over-eager kid.
Wyatt shoved a hand into one pocket of his fancy leather jacket and pulled out a flat cap that he shoved down on his messy strawberry-blond hair. Tugging it low, he then pulled on leather gloves, buried his hands in his jacket pockets, and turned sharply around before striding off. Jackie waited until he was gone, then heaved a sigh and went back inside. Hopping over the counter again, he started helping himself to whatever information he could rustle up—including a phone number for Trent that he didn't have. Maybe his bad luck was finally turning good.
Calling it up, he waited while it rang and rang, not really surprised when it went to voicemail. Seemed his luck hadn't changed at all. Giving Trent up for a lost cause, he went back to foraging. Leaving the counter, he returned to the back and went through everything in a little room that served as the sorriest office he'd ever seen.
After a lot of hunting and poking around, he managed to turn up a list of sales over the past few years, all of them paid for with cash. It didn't take but a moment to find what had brought him there in the first place: an old book that had been sold to a necromancer with a scarred face. Trent had remembered the guy, and Jackie had made an appointment to talk with Trent about it more, since the guy had been pretty reticent to say much of anything on the phone. Jackie had hoped for an address, but it seemed he was going to have no luck there. If Trent knew one, he'd been prudent enough not to write it down. Damn.
Taking off his hat, Jackie raked a hand through his hair and looked around the mess of an office. Forget it. The whole damn thing was done for. He was gonna to have to give Phoenix Fairchild up as a lost cause and focus on finding a different lead. Made him wince to throw away near two months of hard work, but there just wasn't a thing to do about it.
Sighing, Jackie settled his hat back on his head and left, flipping the shop sign to closed. Pulling his phone out, he called up the local werewolves that owned the territory. "Howdy," he greeted when the phone was answered. "You might want to send someone to investigate the Holloway Pawnshop. Looks like the fool got himself drunk and then got himself dead." He hung up before the werewolf could reply and turned his phone off.
He headed back down the street to where he'd arrived—and wasn't even a bit surprised when he saw Wyatt standing in front of a coffee shop. He was surprised the kid was holding an extra cup of coffee. Wyatt offered it to him as he said, "I can find Trent for you."
Jackie took the coffee, not at all certain he wanted to try it when he smelled vanilla, but hell, he wasn't one to turn down a drink when it was offered. "Thanks for the coffee."
"Vanilla spice latte, my favorite. Didn't know what you liked so I got you one too," Wyatt said, and he looked so earnest Jackie wanted to beat his head against a wall. Good Lord save him from kids.
And what in the hell was a vanilla spice latte? Jackie took a cautious sip and decided he'd been happier not knowing, but good lord those blue eyes could make a man jump off a cliff. So much for running the idiot off. "Thanks," he said gruffly. "You don't have even a lick of sense, do you?"
"What exactly is a lick of sense?" Jackie narrowed his eyes. Wyatt grinned. "I've been told I'm pretty reckless, yeah. But I'm a genius alchemist. I can also run really fast, so mostly it works out. Anyway, I can find Trent if you still need to talk to him. You should have just asked me."
"There's a man dead and Trent is the killer," Jackie pointed out. "You don't need to be mixed up in murder."
Something dark flashed in Wyatt's eyes then, rife with pain and rage and anguish. But he only smiled brightly and said, "I'm pretty good at stressful situations. Come on, Sheriff. I'll take you to Trent."
Jackie scowled and went after him when Wyatt just started walking. "I ain't no Sheriff. Where the hell did you get that idea?"
"You act like one, talk like one. Straight out of one of those silly movies. You need a star to pin to your coat."
What he needed was something a lot stronger than a vanilla spice latte. Jackie pinched the bridge of his nose. "You got a death wish, kid."
"I'm not a kid."
"Where is Trent holed up?" Jackie asked.
Wyatt threw a smirk over his shoulder. "If I know him, he's squirreled away with Phoenix."
"Oh, for crying—" Jackie nearly threw his coffee he was so damned mad. "Mean to say he's known exactly where Phoenix is this whole damn time? The damn fool only told me he once sold a book—" He yanked his hat off, nearly threw it to the ground and stamped on, but drew a deep breath and sat it back on his head. "Lord have mercy, I'm gonna tan all ya'll's damn fool hides. Twice."
Wyatt stared wide-eyed. "Uh—what's wrong? You're looking for Phoenix?"
"Ayah," Jackie replied and took another sip of his weird ass coffee before he said anything he shouldn't. When he trusted himself to behave, he said, "I'm looking for Phoenix. He might know something about a friend of mine who was murdered. I've been trying to find him for the past two months."
Smiling like he was the one who'd just been told good news, Wyatt said, "I can take you to Phoenix, that's easy! I was headed there anyway!" He laughed, tugging at the sleeve of Jackie's jacket, and led him off down the street, then turned to go another three blocks, deep into a handsome, historic-looking housing district.
He looked back and smiled when they stopped at a dark green house with maroon shutters. Magic poured off of it, and Jackie couldn't help but admire the skill required to lay such intricate and thorough wards. He followed Wyatt up the walkway.
Wyatt raised a fist, clearly intent on pounding on the door. Jackie grabbed the scruff of his jacket and yanked him back. "Son, you're about a quarter short of a dollar."
"Is that some weird Southern way of calling me stupid? Can't you just call me stupid?"
"You ain't stupid, you're just a touch lacking in common sense. That door is covered in spell work, how about you not find out the hard way what it'll do if it don't like you?"
"It's Phoenix and Trent. They like me fine."
Jackie sighed and shoved him back further still. "Hold this," he said and gave Wyatt his coffee. Bracing both his hands in front of the door he closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to feel out the layers of spells… but other than the general vibe of protection and threat he could read nothing. He may as well be trying to read Japanese, necromancy was so beyond his abilities. Japanese might be easier, at that.
Taking several steps back, urging Wyatt out of the way, he drew the gun at his left side and sighted the center of the door. He fired and a rainbow of light exploded as the bullet struck and fractured the magic. He waited in case of a backlash then returned to the porch and pulled out a piece of chalk. He'd just finished drawing the outermost ring of a spell circle when the magic abruptly vanished and the door swung open. "When are people in this country goin
g to learn to knock?" demanded a badly scarred man with a faded British accent.
"Generally speaking, I don't go knocking on doors covered in spells I can't read," Jackie said, pushing back the brim of his hat as he smoothly rose to his feet. He looked at Phoenix and had to admit it was a bit strange to see a vampire with a scarred face. Vampires were beautiful, it was damn near as set in stone as the rising of the sun. They used beauty like wildcats used teeth and claws.
Phoenix's face looked like someone had shoved him headfirst into a barrel of broken glass. It was more than a little disconcerting. His hair, shoulder-length and messy, was all manner of colors, like he was part calico or something. Looked like it might be brown naturally, but there were so many patches of red, gold, gray, and black it was hard to say for sure. "Howdy. You must be Phoenix Fairchild. I was hoping for a word, if'n you don't mind."
Phoenix stared at him, shoving loose strands of hair from his face. His gaze dropped to the guns at Jackie's hips, then he met Jackie's gaze. "Why does a Black want a word with me? I haven't spoken to one of you since your father shot Corrigan."
"Corrigan is the reason I'm here."
"I see," Phoenix said, mouth pinching. "I suppose you had best come inside, then. Come on, Wyatt. I should have known you'd be involved in this somehow."
Wyatt laughed and returned Jackie's coffee, then hastened inside ahead of him, talking a mile a minute as they follow Phoenix into what turned out to be an office that was really more of a library. A study, Jackie supposed. The door closed behind them and Wyatt asked, "So where's Trent?"
Phoenix gave him a look and Wyatt seemed to wilt a bit. "Do you have anything to do with Black, Wyatt?"
"I brought him here," Wyatt said defensively. "I knew he could help—"
"Wyatt."
Looking as though he'd been punched, Wyatt drew himself up and stomped out of the study, not quite slamming the door behind him.
"That was a bit harsh," Jackie said, though he supposed he hadn't really been any better back at the pawnshop. Acknowledging that made him feel bad enough he finished the god-awful coffee, guzzling it as quickly as he could. Lobbing the empty cup at a trashcan by the desk, he added, "As I understood it, the boy is a friend of yours."
Phoenix sighed and leaned against his desk, which was covered in precarious stacks of books and papers and discarded cups of tea. "Friend, to be blunt, is overgenerous. He has a habit of following people around and asking a million questions. Wyatt's a good sort, in the end, but he's more than a little reckless. I'm not sure you've noticed, Master Black, but he has a bad case of hero worship where you're concerned. Then again, I'd imagine there's not an alchemist alive who wouldn't love to spend five minutes with your Peacemakers."
Jackie snorted, though his fingers drifted from habit to lightly touch his guns. "Can't blame an alchemist for having an interest. It is what they do."
"I'd be wary of letting Wyatt too close," Phoenix said, folding his arms across his chest. "He's a good kid most of the time, but he knows more about the world than you might think."
Jackie recalled that moment when something dark had flashed in Wyatt's eyes, his ease around dead bodies. "Don't think it would surprise me at all, come to that. Boy's got deep eyes."
Phoenix grimaced, but only said, "What did you want to know in regards to Corrigan?"
"I don't care about Corrigan; the man's dead. I want to know if what happened back then has anything to do with the flame-eyed bastard who murdered Robin Holliday a few months ago. You helped him clean up Corrigan's mess—the draugr, right? Was that the end of the matter? My gut tells me it ain't."
"Unfortunately, your gut is very likely correct, though it pains me to say it," Phoenix replied with a sigh. "Corrigan was a genius—a violent, remorseless genius, but he had not so much as a ha'penny to his name."
Jackie didn't like the sound of that. "Someone was sponsoring him."
Phoenix shrugged. "Sponsored, hired, I was never able to determine the exact nature of the relationship. In the end, the finer points probably do not matter. What matters is that someone else was interested enough in Corrigan's work to fund it. We never identified that person, I am sad to say. We did not even realize there was another person involved until he sent someone after me one night, looking for something he thought we'd taken. I thought he meant the woman Holliday rescued at first, but they kept saying something about a demon, or demon magic. He haunted us for years—decades—but then stopped. We thought he finally realized we didn't have whatever demonic thing he was seeking and moved on to hunting someone else. I wish I could say who 'he' was, but I never figured it out. If Holliday solved the riddle of the man's identity, he never told me—and I think he would have gone to the trouble to find me and let me know."
"You two lost touch?"
"It was safer not to know where the other was," Phoenix said. "I told you, that unknown man hunted us for decades. Do you know what it's like to be hunted that intently for that long? It wears you down, ages you faster than anything else can. By the time he finally left us alone, I almost did not know how to live anymore."
Jackie wasn't certain that hiding away from folks because of a scarred face was living, but it wasn't his place to judge. "Is there anything you can tell me about this mystery man?"
"Not much," Phoenix said. "His favorite thug is that flame-eyed man you mentioned. He's at least half djinn, and I suspect part something else, but I couldn't say what. I think he was one of the experiments performed in that godforsaken place. Holliday once suggested he was probably the only thing that could handle whatever demonic thing they were desperate to find."
"That don't make any sense at all." Jackie frowned, folding his arms across his chest. "If they were hunting a demon then by now it'd be anchored to a territory or back in hell. Unless it's still bound to something, I suppose, but if that were the case, they'd be able to cast for the item. So how is it possible for a demon to be running around loose?"
Phoenix shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe the demon hasn't reached its limit yet. We don't know how long it had been summoned before they lost it. I'm not entirely convinced they're looking for a demon. It is far more like they are simply looking for something related to demonic magic. It's true they'd be able to cast for it, but then again I have seen people hide more powerful items. Given the experiments they were performing, there's just no telling. I could never figure it out; if any records existed, they were destroyed with the rest of that place. All to the good, if you ask me. Some things are better off being lost."
"Couldn't agree more," Jackie replied. "Though I would like to know what I'm hunting afore I find myself their prey."
"If they know you're involved, you're already prey," Phoenix said. "I am surprised you've not yet been attacked."
Jackie shrugged. He'd wondered the same thing himself, but he preferred not to go borrowing trouble. "What else can you tell me? What all happened that day? Robin didn't leave much behind for me to work with. I only know my pa shot Corrigan, but you was the one what helped Robin take care of the draugr."
"Your father had to go, some other emergency," Phoenix said. "I never knew what, only that he couldn't stay. He asked me to make certain everything that was dead stayed that way because he wasn't certain they would. I did as he asked; that's where I encountered Robin. We took care of the draugr and burned the whole place to the ground. Thought that was the end of the matter, but a few days later we were each attacked. We tried any number of times to figure out what was going on, but as I said, we never could. Staying alive proved enough of a challenge. That flame-eyed monster is not one to antagonize lightly; I would do your best to avoid drawing his attention. Unfortunately, if you've come this far because of him it is probably too late. I am not surprised it finally got Robin, though it saddens me." He sighed and dropped his arms, pushing off the desk to stand up straight. "I suppose I had best be on my guard. Damn it, I am well-situated here and not inclined to move."
Unfolding his own arms, Jackie rested
them lightly on his hips, just above his gun belt, and said, "You could help me. I aim to find the bastard once and for all, 'cause the more I hear about him the less I like him. Sounds like a problem that's been left to fester entirely too long. Running ain't never done ya'll a lick of good. Bastard finally caught up to Robin, it's only a matter of time before he finds you. Helping me is better than doing nothing."
"No," Phoenix replied. "I tried fighting him before and it cost me dearly. I have had my fill of such adventures. The last one demanded a price that ruined what was left of my life. If I were you, I would leave well enough alone. More powerful men than you have tried to stop him and failed. They all suffered horrible deaths and never left a scratch on him. You should walk away while you are still able to do so."
Jackie bit his tongue on all the things he'd like to say. He settled his hat on his head and tugged on the brim. "If you're inclined to share any more information, I'd be much obliged. You can send it to Club Heaven in Clan Mordred's territory, attention Jackson Black. Thanks for seeing me. Tell Trent to have a care. The werewolves should be at his place right about now and I doubt they like what they're finding. Let him know, too, that Wyatt took the watch he went there to fetch. Ya'll take care."
He left, steps falling heavy on the floor, the only sign of his anger. Wasn't nothing he hated like he hated a coward, but it wasn't his place to tell other people how to act. Still made him want to smack them right upside their fool heads.
The sound of voices caught his attention just as he reached the front door, and Wyatt sounded upset enough Jackie went hunting for them. Wyatt and a man he assumed was Trent stood in a kitchen that looked like it hadn't been updated for at least seventy years.
"I can handle myself!" Wyatt snarled. "Why does everyone keep treating me like I can't?" He jerked away when Trent tried to rest a hand on his shoulder. "It's not like you have room to talk, Mr. I Suck at Making it Look Like an Accident. I mean seriously, a child could tell that was murder. You should have told me—"
"No," Trent said flatly. "I most definitely should not have—and it wasn't planned. He was out of control and then the entire situation got out of control. You need to stay out of it. You need to stay out of everything and just focus on your studies and keeping your head down."
