GRIT

by Elle Cross

  I kept my eyes firmly on the rectangle before me.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an immense figure, gold and black, surrounded by gray and black tendrils. My body pivoted as if responding to its presence. Like it was a sun and it called me to its gravity.

  Because I had stopped short, Megan stumbled into me, and we ended up tripping into Chinatown again. I gulped down the crisp air, already feeling freer.

  Bewildered, I looked around, and saw that I gripped Megan’s hand. She was deathly pale and her makeup streaked her face like she’d been exerting herself.

  “What happened?” she said, her voice like a child’s waking from a dream.

  “I don’t know.” Images came at me fast, full of hedonistic pleasures. Something told me that I wouldn’t be comfortable remembering the action that I’d witnessed in what I was sure was kind of a sex club. “And I’m not sure that I want to know.” I wondered if Owen knew about this club.

  If Jack knew... There were scents there that were so similar to his that I had to wonder.

  A jangle of alarms told us that we had several phone notifications. When I checked my phone, I was surprised to see that it was almost six o’clock.

  “Holy crap, Megan! It’s so late!”

  “How?”

  “Let’s get you in a cab. Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” She was already looking better, more color, though for Megan’s normally gothically pale complexion, that was a relative term.

  “Of course.”

  Because I’m me, I got into the cab after her, and escorted her home myself. “Wait here,” I told the cabbie. I got Megan settled in her apartment, tucked her in a blanket on her couch.

  As I made my way down the stairs, I couldn’t see the cab outside through the door window. I kept my anger at bay until I stormed out to the street and confirmed it was nowhere to be seen.

  There was no way I’d be able to flag a cab here in the West Village.

  I grabbed my phone from my bag to search for a car company to pick me up. My phone had no service whatsoever. No signal, Wi-Fi, data…it was completely dead and useless to me.

  In the glow of my phone’s display, I became conscious of how dark it was now. It was supposed to be that magical twilight hour when the sky would usually be suffused in all sorts of colors before succumbing to the espresso of coming night fall.

  I looked around me, and somehow while dropping Megan off in her building, it became full night, but the dark of it was unnatural.

  Delayed panic seeped into my brain drop by drop when I finally realized how I was all alone on the street at a time when people were coming home from work. The street wasn’t just quiet, but it felt…off.

  Like someone had pushed the mute button on a universal remote control.

  This street was the discarded skin that a snake sloughed off and left behind on a forest floor. It looked like Megan’s street, but at the same time, wasn’t.

  The worse part was that I couldn’t smell anything. New York was a blank slate to me. And once I was conscious of that, my heart seized into full panic.

  I fought against my body’s automatic reflex to run willy-nilly. But at the same time, I couldn’t seem to move my feet. Like my body had decided that I would either run flat out or not move at all.

  I swallowed down the feeling that I was like a deer in headlights here, just waiting to be plowed over.

  Just a few minutes before, I’d been too angry at the cab company to be afraid. I channeled a little bit of that anger now, remembered that feeling of indignation, and it was enough for me to move just a little bit. And that little turned into action.

  I turned back to Megan’s building, ready to hole up there with her. After a few steps, though, I realized something was wrong. Even though her front stairs were only a few feet away, I couldn’t get any closer to it.

  I remembered that Megan’s usual train stop was just up the block. I ran for it, my footsteps echoed flat and hollow. But I didn’t get any closer to the end of the block even though I ran until I was panting and out of breath.

  It was like I was being worn down.

  I looked around, wishing I had Corbin’s hawk eyes to see even the slightest change in the world around me.

  The street behind me resonated an odd pulsing that drew my attention. I peered down it. The dark of that street was not anything anyone could have gazed into. A blanket of dark shadows slowly coated the buildings, blotting out the sky.

  I saw the first ripple then. Shadow forms moving against the night, preceding the wave of darkness.

  I stared at the shadow form closest to me, focusing whatever sight I had on to the shape.

  It seemed to have sensed me noticing it. I could almost feel it shifting, angling toward me as it neared. Then it rushed me.

  Flashbacks of what had happened to Jack seared in my mind’s eye. The quiet rage that rested itself atop my skin crystallized again, freezing the very air around me. I screamed my rage at the figure until it shattered and exploded outward like blown glass.

  I was on my back, limbs akimbo, head buzzing, when I noticed the orange and violet that streaked across the sky. City sounds rushed to my ears, as if filling a vacuum. I shot up to a seated position, clapped my hands over my ears until I could deal with the overwhelming noise.

  “Ma’am? Ma’am!”

  A hand grabbed my elbow as I helped myself up. I swayed a little on my feet. No wonder, since I only had one shoe on.

  “Ma’am. Are you okay?”

  I tried to blink into focus the man in front of me. His face was familiar. A few blinks later, I realized he was the off-duty officer from last night, the one who called for back-up after Corbin had asked him for help.

  Officer…Morton, his badge said.

  He was speaking words at me, but I was still having a hard time following them. They came out slow and indistinct. Then, like a snapping back of a rubber band, I was able to focus again, and heard him clearly.

  “Can you hear me? Did you hit your head? You might have gotten a concussion. Let’s get you a seat over here. Do you need me to call an ambulance?” He spoke clear and distinct despite the flood of questions.

  “No ambulance, thank you, but no.” I was disoriented by the dazzle of sunset splattered across the sky and that the shadows weren’t here to weigh down on me. I might have said some of that out loud, because he stilled next to me.

  “Can I call someone?” he said with deliberate slowness. Like he was talking to an escapee from Bellevue hospital. “Your friend, Detective Troy. Should I call her?”

  He looked like he was about to do just that. He had Corbin’s card in hand, his phone out and prepped.

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered if he would be a potential recruit for Corbin’s team.

  I laid my hand over his, to stop it from dialing. “I think the same people who kidnapped my friend last night were about to get me too.”

  “When? Now?” He looked around. “Where did it happen? Where did he go?”

  I looked around me, because I wasn’t in West Village anymore, but back in Chinatown. “West Village? My friend, Megan? I had just dropped her off at her apartment in West Village, but…now I’m here?”

  He blinked at me again, like he didn’t know whether to strangle me or help me. “Okay, we’re going to call someone for you.”

  And I let him, because I knew that Corbin would be mad if I didn’t and I had no idea how I got back here, or if I even sent Megan home.

  Could it be possible that I imagined the entire thing?

  My head…it throbbed. Like I’d been drugged or worse. I pulled out my phone and saw that it was just past six. At least time hadn’t jumped ahead like it did…earlier.

  I was still trying to process what happened at that bar. The few snippets I remembered were quickly fading away like a dream. It had seemed like everyone was having a good time. Everyone but me apparently. Megan had fun, hadn’t she? Speaking of which.

  I called Megan, and
got her, groggy and annoyed, but safe in her living room. I exhaled and hung up as she mumbled something about being on her couch.

  I didn’t know why I called her anyway. She had said she had wanted to nap. It was awfully rude of me to have knowingly interrupted her. The more I thought about why I was concerned for her, the bigger my headache became.

  Was I supposed to call Corbin? No, she wouldn’t want me to bother her during her work day. I suddenly didn’t want to talk to anyone or see anyone.

  I started to walk away, decided to catch a cab once I hit Canal Street.

  “Ma’am! Please stay right here. It’s for your own good.”

  I turned, about to tell him what to do about that when I saw something indistinct behind him.

  I took in the rumbling supply truck that was going faster than it should have been. The blot of reflected light behind Officer Morton. The fact that we were basically in the same block I had been in when I saw Jack last night.

  There was no time to call out a warning. Instead, Officer Morton had reacted to my face, and instinctively ducked while lashing out with his hand. He used his bodyweight and momentum to pick up and throw whatever it was over his head. It was a judo move that had his would-be assailant soaring into the path of the truck.

  Something crashed into the street and less than a second later, the truck plowed into something solid. The driver slammed on the brakes.

  Officer Morton was snagged along by whatever was netted around the shadow form. I gripped his wrist, and the tendrils froze off immediately.

  He shivered, shaking off the feeling of being caught in that guy’s web. “Stay here. I’m calling this in. Stay. Right. Here.” His tone of voice brooked no argument.

  I couldn’t have moved even if I wanted to. The adrenaline crash made me feel lethargic and shaky.

  Officer Morton came back from his pacing phone conversation. “I got people coming in less than a minute.” Sirens and clamor from the direction of his precinct emphasized his statement. “Detective Troy also wanted to relay the message for you to stay here.”

  I crossed my arms against my trembling body. “That’s all she said?”

  “She said more, ma’am, but those were the only words that needed to be repeated.” A ghost of a smile flickered on his lips, before he was all business again. “I will ascertain the situation and report back.”

  Within a few minutes, the street was flooded again with cops and emergency personnel. Too much like déjà vu. Too soon.

  The blinking lights and rising noise just fed my headache, and I just wanted to be alone in my own bed. I dragged my hands through my hair, coiling it into a knot at the nape of my neck. I wondered how long I had to wait for Corbin, and if anyone would even notice if I’d left.

  And like a shimmering mirage, Corbin appeared before me. She crouched in front of me and stared into my eyes like she had last night. “Are you all right?”

  I nodded. “I just want to go home, that’s all.”

  She nodded. “I’ll get a car for you.” Before she had moved away, I stopped her.

  “How in the hell did you get here so fast?”

  Corbin dragged her hand through her tawny hair. “I was in SoHo.”

  I blinked. Why was she in SoHo? “Okay? Did you catch a case?” I prompted her.

  She was acting cagey, both annoyed, upset, frustrated, and relieved. But beyond that, she was pissed. Straight pissed. It was that molten rage that had nowhere to go that caught my attention. It smoldered like burning woods.

  “Yes.” The weight of responsibility and disappointment hung heavily around that one word.

  And then, I knew. She had found another dead body. She treated every murder as if it was something she could have avoided, somehow.

  The cab arrived, ready to take me back uptown.

  Suddenly, I didn’t want to go home. Couldn’t. Not with her like that. “Where?”

  She looked at me curiously. “Where, like your address?”

  I rolled my eyes. “No, like where in SoHo were you?” She named an address and I was familiar with it. It was close to here. I repeated it to the cab driver. I turned back to Corbin. “Coming?”

  She shook her head at me. “Lemme tell Officer Morton where we’ll be.” She touched base with him, then got in the cab with me. "Brace yourself. You're not going to like this."

  Corbin was right. I didn't like it at all.

  The girl was beautiful.

  She looked like she had just laid down to sleep. Her lips were naturally the berry-stain that most women spent hours hunting makeup counters for. Even her hands spoke of grace and elegance. I pegged her for a dancer. Yes, that fit her just fine.

  I stayed away from the scene. Stayed very far away from the crime scene experts. They didn't need any more people delaying the work they would do for the dead. And I didn't need to be next to her to do my work.

  "She hasn't been dead long," I said. "She still smells…alive." The scents of peony, mandarin petals, and sandalwood still lingered around her. It was an achingly beautiful fragrance that embodied sunshine and romance. She should be skipping to her next class or her next date and stupidly falling in love.

  She shouldn’t be dirty and lifeless in an empty lot in the middle of city.

  "Will the John Doe thing happen here? Will she, you know, get full of stuff and blow up?"

  "No. Owen had been alive when found. She…wasn’t." I gestured lamely to finish my sentence. My head throbbed. I felt helpless.

  "Okay. Before Officer Morton called me, I was just about to call you, you know. I had wanted to make sure there wasn't any bad juju."

  I nodded. "I'm glad you thought of me. Thank you."

  Corbin nodded, her mouth a grim line. With that, the rest of the team ducked under the cordoned off police tape. She followed. She got to the body, crouched over it. She would absorb and catalog everything, her eyes not missing a beat.

  They found markings and a tattoo that someone had mentioned was similar. I quirked my eyebrow. That was new evidence. I hadn’t known that there was a tattoo found on Owen’s body that would be significant. I made a mental note to ask Corbin about it later.

  They had plenty of witches and high priestesses as consultants. Surely one of them would have been able to interpret tattoos, blessed or not.

  The thought that the tattoos were a sort of branding made me feel uneasy. With the right kind of spell, I had no doubt that it could become a great equalizer, even against beings of incredible power.

  They were allowed to move her now. I was rooted to the spot. I felt like I needed to be there to bear witness as she was covered then placed in another bag, zipped up like she was a mere object.

  I hadn’t known her, her name wasn’t familiar to me. But there was a kind of kinship there. When I breathed her scents in, I felt…a kind of connection. If she had been alive and I had looked into her eyes, and felt her emotions and seen her memories, would I have understood our connection then?

  After everything was recorded, Corbin came back to me, eyes gray and clouded. "I’m going to need to stay here a while. And then stop by the morgue. After.”

  She meant after the forensic pathologist performed the autopsy and came up with an analysis. Until then, she would bear witness to the dead and find the ones who did this. "Nothing on Jack?" I asked. I didn’t want to add to her guilt, but I needed to know.

  "Nothing." She looked at the ground as she spoke.

  The evidence about the tattoos and branding had been suppressed. She hadn’t even told me about them, and many times, she would go over cases with me. She never shared privileged information, of course, but at least she always told me that she had information, and just couldn’t share it. And here she was, and she couldn’t even look me in the eye. This was not like her at all.

  What else had she been hiding from me? "Did you get what you needed from Deimos?" That encounter felt like a year ago.

  She nodded. "Not a lot, but enough for now. Speaking of which, don't you h
ave a dinner?"

  I had completely forgotten. It felt like she had been talking about a different life. “I did, but it was at eight. It’s about that time now.” I’d be lucky if I got home before nine. I didn't have his phone number. It was an odd thought. I could probably find the number for Janus Holdings. But at this point, I didn't feel like trying. I was just so tired.

  My head. My heart. My spirit. Not to mention, my body. I had all kinds of bruises and aches slowly forming on my body.

  Besides, I was more interested in finding out who would do this to people. Lord Above, if they did this to Jack…

  “So Corbin,” I said, easy-breezy, “what did the other officers mean by brandings and tattoos?” I dared her to deny that fact.

  To her credit she grimaced and looked away. “Look you know there are some pieces of evidence that we need to hold back.”

  “Yeah, you hold them back from media. Not from me.”

  She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay, look I’m sorry that I didn’t share that, but I didn’t see the point when no one knew what the glyphs meant or why they were there, what purpose they could have. It would have just been another clue without context, signifying nothing.”

  Those words did not sound like Corbin at all. It was like a politician had shoved themselves up her ass and out of her mouth. I swallowed it down and nodded.

  “V, you should get home. There’s nothing more you could do here, and you’re wearing flip flops. You’re going to be cold."

  I hadn’t felt the cold. My frustrations and helplessness had wrapped me in a blessed numbness. But home, that felt good.

  I knew Corbin needed to play the politics card even though she hated it. I knew that she was put in a weird position sometimes by that attention-grabbing Lieutenant Churchill who did absolutely nothing for Major Cases and yet got the credit for it. But despite all that, I had always felt like we were on the same side. She would tell me that she couldn’t say any more, but at least she would tell me that she had…something.

  Now, I felt like I was just another civilian that she needed to cut out of this case.