Ask and Answer

by Clara Coulson

  Still, he didn’t want to drag Kat into another dog fight. Only a few weeks prior, she’d suffered through a brutal battle with one of Advent 9’s magicians. Marta had thrown her so hard into a tree that Kat had been temporarily paralyzed, which had to have been immensely uncomfortable.

  Kat had also been forced to resort to extremely violent tactics to escape from the A9 mooks again—good god, she’d blown up a van and disintegrated some guy in the process—and Liam didn’t know how well she was handling that demonstration of brutality. He didn’t want to put her in a position where she might have to commit such acts again, if the previous instances were still weighing heavily on her conscience.

  Clearing his throat as he eased the Wrangler to a stop at a red light, he said, “Say, if you don’t want to press on with this case, I can take you back home.”

  Kat blinked at him owlishly. “What makes you think I don’t want to be involved anymore?”

  “Nothing you’ve done. I just…” He bit his tongue. “I just want to make sure you’re comfortable with where this case might lead. We may have to fight these perps. We may have to kill these perps in self-defense.”

  Kat pressed her lips together. “Liam, I’m not a fine china vase that’ll break from a few rough bumps.”

  “I know you’re strong, Kat. But I don’t want you to feel like you have to put yourself in potentially traumatizing positions to help me. You’ve already been through so much, and you’re still…”

  Kat shook her head, smiling sadly. “If you’re going to say ‘having nightmares,’ then I’m going to throw that right back in your face. You have just as many nightmares as I do.”

  Liam opened his mouth, wanting to point out that their circumstances weren’t really that similar, but Kat cut him off with a raised finger.

  “We’re not going to compete in the trauma Olympics to determine who’s suffering more. We both have things we would rather forget, awful things this case is bound to remind us of, and we will be far more effective at dealing with those reminders if we’re working together, helping each other put one foot in front of the other until we reach the bitter end.”

  She shot him a challenging look. “Unless you want to bow out too? Because I’m not leaving you to work this case alone.”

  The light turned green, and after a moment’s hesitation led to a guy in a pickup truck honking his horn, Liam sighed and took his foot off the brake. “No, I’m not dropping out. This is too important to the city.”

  “Then I’m staying right by your side. End of discussion.”

  Liam thought about trying a different approach to convince her to step back. But he could tell from the subtle gleam in her otherworldly green eyes that nothing he could say would make her budge. She was stubborn like that.

  “Okay, fine. You win.”

  Kat hid her grin of victory behind a fake cough.

  “There is one thing we need to work out though.”

  Her grin dropped. “What?”

  “This case is going to attract a lot of media attention.” He changed lanes and slowed the vehicle so he could turn onto a backstreet. “Come morning, every local news station will have cameras focused on all the major players in the investigation. If they catch wind that a private investigator is mixed up in all this, then those cameras are going to land on us. Even with the dye job and the charmed glasses, your face is still identifiable to anyone with a keen eye.

  “And I have a feeling that A9 is not above using facial recognition software to scan for your face in every shred of video footage they can get their hands on. Luckily, there aren’t many CCTV cams in Salem’s Gate—the sups aren’t fond of them—but even the sups can’t stop the media from being nosy bastards.”

  Kat scratched at her cheek, thoughtful. “So you’re saying you want me to, what, get plastic surgery?”

  “No, I don’t think you need to go that far.” Liam spied his destination coming up on the left and hit the turn signal. “But I think it would behoove you to learn how to cast a glamour. That way, if any reporters do come sniffing around us, during this case or any other, you can hide your real appearance behind a magic mask.”

  She perked up. “I can convincingly change my appearance with a spell?”

  “Temporarily. Though a well-cast glamour can last for weeks on a single invocation.” Liam pulled the Wrangler into the cramped parking lot of a rundown three-story apartment building and cut the engine. “If we have time tonight, we can practice some basic glamour work.”

  As they headed into the front lobby of the building, which was nothing more than a nine-by-nine square with a tiny reception desk offset from the rest of the room by a sheet of bulletproof plastic, Liam explained to Kat the intricacies of illusory magic.

  Glamours that encompassed people were among the most difficult illusion spells to cast because they had to flawlessly adapt to every minute movement of a person’s extremely emotive face. Liam could count on one hand the number of times he’d successfully cast a passable glamour on himself. It had always taken him a substantial amount of prep work and the use of a complex medium, a necklace whose charms each carried a different portion of the multilayered spell.

  “However,” Liam said as they waited for the rickety, clanking elevator to inch down to the ground floor, “I think casting a glamour might be easier for you than it is for the average human practitioner.”

  Kat’s lips skewed to the side. “Because my magic isn’t entirely human.”

  Liam nodded. “On some levels, your magic operates more like fae magic than human magic. For example, like the fae, you can directly alter your physical state with magic, whereas human magicians have to direct their magic from their souls into external mediums, and then from those external mediums back into their bodies in order to achieve a desired physical effect.

  “Because the fae can skip that tedious loop process, they don’t have to expend as much energy casting spells that alter their physical states or appearances. And when it comes to glamours, the fact that they can directly infuse their own skin with magic makes their glamours much stronger and much more natural looking.”

  The elevator finally dinged, signaling its arrival, but the doors crept open at a snail’s pace.

  Kat peered down at her body, skepticism rife in her arched eyebrows. “Still sounds complicated.”

  “Glamours aren’t a simple art for anyone, but I think the process will be a lot simpler for you than for me.” Liam slunk into the elevator as the doors finally opened wide enough to fit a person. “I’ve got some fairly extensive texts on glamours, so I’m sure we can build a spell for you that works well enough to fool a camera.”

  Kat trailed him into the elevator, eying the broken handrail and the smeared graffiti written in permanent marker. “Sounds good to me, unlike this ride on hell’s elevator. Why didn’t we just take the stairs?”

  “Because my pal won’t unlock his door if he can’t see who’s coming up.” Liam waved at the tiny security camera perched in the top left corner of the elevator. It had been disconnected from the building’s server years ago, its feed redirected to a specific resident’s computer. The security station tucked away behind the reception desk was constantly fed a false feed sent via that same computer.

  “Your pal sounds paranoid,” Kat muttered, pointedly looking anywhere but the camera.

  “Oh, that’s an understatement.” Liam chuckled. “Doomsday preppers have nothing on this guy’s paranoia.”

  “Why are we going to see him exactly? You never did explain.”

  “Because he has a particular set of skills that might give us an edge over whoever is behind Cunningham’s disappearance, and the shifter murders.”

  Kat’s eyes narrowed. “Skills that are illegal?”

  Liam thought about that for a moment. “In lawyer speak, I would say he has skills that are…ethically questionable.”

  “Uh-huh.” She snorted
. “And here I thought you were a goody-two-shoes through and through.”

  Liam punched the button for the third floor. “Pretty sure I ripped that label off when I killed a rogue magician with my magic knife in the middle of the woods, during a battle that, according to all official channels, did not occur, against an evil underground organization that, according to all official channels, does not exist.”

  “You were still fighting for what was morally right though.”

  “Morally right does not always perfectly align with legally right, and you can only be called a goody-two-shoes if you follow the letter of the law.”

  Kat suppressed a smile. “Let’s call you a comfortably soft shade of gray and leave it at that.”

  The elevator laboriously heaved them up three floors and finally sputtered them out into a narrow hall with greasy yellow walls and moldy carpeting. The doors that lined each wall were scratched and dented, most of them missing numbers and decorated with the same kind of obscene graffiti that some dumb punks had left in the elevator.

  Kat situated herself in the middle of the hallway, as far as she could get from the walls that seemed to be oozing slime, brownish moisture standing atop damp spots in the peeling wallpaper. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to recruit someone who chooses to live in a verifiable shithole?” she muttered.

  “Don’t worry. He’s been a pal of mine for a long time.”

  She stared at a spot on the ceiling that was either a patch of black mold or a nest of baby spiders. “You have friends in some very…interesting places.”

  “What can I say? Rent’s not cheap these days.”

  Liam brought them to a stop in front of 308 and banged on the door seven times in a specific rhythm. At first, it seemed like no one was home. But after nearly a full minute, the faint patter of footsteps behind the door gave way to the clicking and clanking of at least ten different locks.

  At last, the door opened a crack, revealing that it was still attached to the security chain, and a hazel eye framed by limp brown hair peeked through the gap. “Crown? What do you want this time of night?”

  “Caught a hot case, Nick. Got to solve it before the whole city bursts into flames.”

  Nick considered him for a long moment, then glanced warily at Kat. “Who’s your lady friend?”

  “My new assistant. Teaching her the ropes of private investigation.”

  Kat gave Nick a halfhearted wave. “Hi. I’m Katherine.”

  “You shouldn’t bring randos to my place uninvited,” Nick grumbled. “I don’t want too many people knowing where I live.”

  Liam struggled not to roll his eyes. Nick had his fair share of useful skills, but more often than not, he waltzed way over the line between healthy skepticism and conspiracy theory.

  Then again, Liam thought, Kat actually is wrapped up in a dangerous conspiracy, so maybe Nick’s paranoia isn’t so paranoid this time around.

  “You can trust her,” he said soothingly. “She’s good people, and she knows how to keep a secret.”

  Nick hesitated, weighing the pros and cons of letting a stranger into his apartment. Not only because half the equipment he owned could get him sent to prison for a whole roll of nickels, but also because he didn’t want a pretty woman to see the state of his bachelor pad.

  Liam could see the embarrassment written all over the half of Nick’s face visible through the cracked door. Nick wasn’t the sort of guy who had women over—ever—and on the rare occasion he did manage to snag a date, he always went back to her place. Assuming the date ended well, which it rarely did.

  Nick Giannopoulos had the social skills of a wombat.

  On some levels, Liam couldn’t blame him—the guy had a rough childhood—but for god’s sake, Liam had seen literal robots with more tact.

  Finally, Nick sighed. “All right. You can come in.” He shut the door, unlatched the chain, and opened the door fully, allowing Kat and Liam to slip into the cramped square that was Nick’s studio apartment.

  Kat stopped just inside the door, gaze filled with wonder. “Whoa. I’ve never seen so many computers in one place.”

  Every wall of Nick’s apartment was lined with wide computer monitors, and clusters of two or four were connected to entirely different computers. Each cluster had its own desk, and a plastic floor mat laid out in front of each desk created a track along which Nick could wheel his expensive ergonomic gamer’s desk chair, allowing him to move easily from one computer setup to the next.

  Above the computer monitors, three rows of industrial shelving units were bolted to the walls, and every last inch of shelf space was occupied by some piece of electronic equipment. Cameras. Modems. Parabolic microphones. Remote-controlled drones of varying size.

  And lastly, what was supposed to be a walk-in closet had been converted into a server room, three server towers crammed in side by side. A jury-rigged AC unit constantly blew frigid air down from the ceiling. It was all of fifty degrees in the apartment, and Nick wore a hoodie and warm fuzzy socks all year round to compensate for his chilly environment.

  In the center of the room sat an inflatable mattress, and beside it, two beanbag chairs that had seen better days. Next to this “living room” lay a huge tower of takeout containers, including seven pizza boxes, one for every day of the week.

  What wasn’t eaten, Liam knew, was tossed into the mini fridge parked under one of the desks, and reheated using the microwave that was on the floor beside that fridge. The apartment had originally boasted a kitchenette, but after Nick bought the place, he had the oven and cabinets ripped out to make way for more computer equipment.

  Technically, the place was a condo, but Liam was hard pressed to give it that name. “Condo” always seemed to imply some degree of luxury. This place held luxury only to a man like Nick. A man whose entire life was dedicated to three things: online gaming, app designing, and black-hat hacking.

  Nick shut the door behind them and reset all his locks. Stuffing his hands into the pocket of his faded gray college hoodie, he said, “All right. What do you got for me tonight? It better be worth my time. I got a deadline coming up for a freelance gig.”

  “A legal gig, or…?”

  Nick waved off the question. “Seriously, Crown, what’s up?”

  “I need you to do a background search,” Liam answered.

  “Eh. Boring.”

  “On a guy who may or may not have been involved in the brutal murder of three shifters tonight.”

  Nick went stock-still. “Wait, what?”

  Liam recapped the story about Cunningham’s disappearance, and the murders of the shifters in the unassuming cul-de-sac. “I know he was there, but I don’t know how or why he was involved in the homicides. I need to do a deep dive into this guy’s background, see if he has any connections to the supernatural or anti-sup groups that his family and friends might be unaware of.

  “I also need you to look into the backgrounds of the shifters to see if there’s any connection, no matter how tenuous, between them and Cunningham. And I need this information ASAP. Because once this news breaks…”

  Nick ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “I understand. This is going to get real messy.”

  He jumped the inflatable mattress and bent over one of the desks, grabbing a wireless mouse and quickly closing a bunch of windows he’d been working in before Liam and Kat arrived. “Of course I’ll take the job. I’ve already seen enough sup versus anti-sup street violence to last a lifetime. Those videos that came out of Barcelona during that vampire witch hunt a few years back were just…” Nick shuddered. “Definitely don’t want that shit going down in Salem’s Gate.”

  He opened a series of apps, some of which were supposed to be restricted to law enforcement officers. “I’ll put together an intel package tonight and send it over to you in the morning.”

  He grabbed an open beer on the desk and took a large gulp, nervous at th
e possibilities of what might unfold on the city’s streets in the coming days. Nick lived in a fairly bad neighborhood. He could very well end up in danger if things escalated too much.

  Taking another sip, he said, “Sheesh, what happened to you having me catfish cheaters on dating sites? Last time you set me to work on something serious, you still had a badge.”

  Liam shrugged. “I’m moving up in the world. That divorce shit never suited me anyway.”

  “True.” Nick set the beer down, reluctantly. He couldn’t do his job if he was drunk, so he’d have to calm his nerves another way. Probably through the use of illegally acquired benzos. “Always thought that kind of stuff was beneath you. Glad to see you’re finally going somewhere, after…”

  After Julia’s and Hayden’s deaths, he left unsaid.

  Liam felt the pang of heartache anyway.

  “I’ll cut you in at fifteen percent,” Liam said gruffly, “instead of the usual ten, since this is a rush job, and an important one.”

  Liam backed toward the door, suddenly feeling the need to keep moving, faster and faster and faster. As if the past would catch up to him the moment he stopped, and smother him with the grief that he had yet to truly leave behind.

  Kat noticed his discomfort and smiled brightly at Nick. “Thanks for the help, but we need to be going. We have some leads to chase up before we turn in for the night.”

  Nick glanced between them, sensing something was wrong, but thankfully, he chose not to poke the bear. “All right. See you later then. I’ll be in touch as soon as I have the goods.”

  On that note, Liam and Kat extricated themselves from the poor excuse for a home, and this time, they took the stairs to make a speedy exit from the building.

  When the cold air outside hit Liam’s face, he took a deep, chilling breath.

  Yet somehow, he still felt as if he was suffocating.

  5

  Kat

  Liam was struggling, and Kat wasn’t sure how to help him. On the quiet drive back home, she thought about turning the tables and bringing up the possibility of him trying therapy. But the last time she’d attempted that, Liam changed the subject within five seconds. Perhaps it was a matter of pride, or perhaps he was afraid of the ghosts that might come back to haunt him if he dared to speak of his past.