Arrest, Search and Séance : Book 1 of the Fringe Society

by R. D. Hunter

  I only had one more question to ask.

  “Beth, I found Nichole’s sacred space and her Book of Shadows was missing. There was also no sign of any charged quartz or crystals anywhere. Do you know anything about that?” For the second time since I’d met her, the young girl’s face grew pale with dismay.

  “Oh my God! That book was Nichole’s most prized possession. She wrote everything down in that; all her spells, rituals, even summonings and true names. It was twice as thick as mine.” That wasn’t good.

  “What about the crystals.”

  “She had a bunch of her own, but we’d given her some extra ones to charge for the Festival of Imbolc tomorrow night. We were all going to get together and cast some healing and vitality spells, so we needed some more juice. She said she had a spirit who owed her a favor and could get them all filled up, no trouble. Oh, shit.” Yep, that about summed it up.

  “How many did she have?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

  Beth did a quick mental calculation before saying, “Twelve of her own, and about twenty-two from the rest of us.” Thirty-four super charged crystals plus a Book of Shadows with step-by-step instructions on how magic works.

  Normally, a lay-person can’t cast magic. They simply don’t believe in it enough. We’re taught from a young age, sometimes too young, that magic is the stuff of fiction; entertaining, but nothing to put stock in. That lack of belief taints the energy reservoir inherent in everyone, to the point where it’s no longer viable for spell casting. They can’t even access the energy from other sources. It’s like trying to run a car on buttermilk instead of gasoline. It’s just not compatible.

  That’s why most witches come from long lines of other witches. Then, instead of being told that magic is B.S., we’re taught that magic is a tangible force and as real as the noses on our faces. This makes the energy we hold and can use pure and volatile, magically speaking.

  But, suppose a normal, everyday, hardworking person got wind that magic was real. Now, they might dismiss it out of hand, usually with a hearty laugh at the absurdity of it all, but the kernel would still be there. And it would grow, day in and day out, until finally, disbelief had been replaced with certainty. There was magic in the world, and they wanted it.

  The only problem was, they had no idea how to do it themselves. They can find plenty of spells and ceremonies online (thank you, Google), but everything they try just falls flat. They still don’t have the juice. It takes years of training and discipline to be able to properly utilize your own energy, but their suspended belief means they can access the energy around them. And here comes Nichole Barret, a witch with a particularly detailed Book of Shadows and enough charged crystals to empower just about any spell they could possibly want. That’s a motivation for murder.

  And, if I was right, it meant that somewhere out there was a killer who was just dying to show off their new abilities. This was going to get bad.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  With the interview concluded, and me with a new reason to catch this murderer on the quick and quiet, Beth offered to help treat the wounds I’d sustained from Trisha and the Things. My right arm was beginning to throb and the rest of my body didn’t feel much better, so I gratefully agreed. While she dug out everything she’d need from a small chest in the other corner, I plotted my next move.

  I suppose I needed to check in with Bill, see if he’d turned up anything at the auto detailers. If he hadn’t, I could see what Charley and his boys found in forensics.

  Beth reappeared with a lit purple candle, an ornate bowl filled with dried herbs, and a glimmering, purple amethyst. From the way the stone’s subtle vibrations tickled my magical senses, I could tell it was charged and ready for use.

  Amethysts are the be-all, end-all of healing crystals. The energy they put out harmonizes with the natural frequency of the body, causing pain to subside and injuries to heal in record time.

  After taking a moment to raise her own power, Beth ignited the herbs with the candle, then used the amethyst to waft the sweet-smelling smoke over my body. There was no incantation needed. The properties of all these things were specifically geared towards healing; no need to focus them further.

  After a few moments, a delicious warmth began spreading over my body, smothering the aches and twinges that made me cringe with every movement. Slowly, they sunk inward, until it felt like I was relaxing in a luxurious pool, with the jets massaging my tense muscles and I closed my eyes with relief. I floated in that space for a few minutes while Beth directed the flowing energies with nothing more than a whispered word. I could almost feel the stress, pain and worry drain away under the calming effect of her healing craft.

  Finally, it was over and I opened my eyes. Beth began putting away her things. The amethyst she left out, probably to charge under the next full moon.

  I stretched experimentally, and sighed contentedly when no shooting pains sliced their way through my body. My injured arm didn’t even click anymore, although I was still sore in many places. But it was a damn sight better than it had been and I gratefully smiled at Beth.

  “Thank you,” I said sincerely. She smiled back sadly.

  “Don’t mention it. It’s the least I can do for the one who’s trying to get justice for Nichole.”

  “I promise you like I promised her; I’ll do everything I can.”

  “Is there anything I or the others can do?” she asked, referring to the women in their social club coven?

  “Just keep your ears open. Whoever did this just come into a lot of power and they probably won’t wait too long to try it out. Spread the word.” She nodded.

  “Will do. And if there’s anything else you need, please let us know. We may not be as large or as powerful as the Gilded Moon, but we take care of our own. And, if necessary, we’ll avenge them.”

  A change came over her as she said those words. No longer was she the heavily made up, innocent, little blond girl, grieving for her friend. She was a witch, with access to the magical forces that permeated our universe…and she was hurting and pissed. I had no doubt that, if it came to it, she’d find and reap her own kind of justice. Which meant I had to work even faster.

  We said our goodbyes at the door and I went back to my car. I’d barely gotten in and closed the door before my phone rang. It was Bill.

  “Hey, Partner. Got anything?” I asked hopefully.

  “You mean besides and aching back, sour tummy and a winning disposition?”

  “Wait a second; what kind of grown man refers to their stomach as a ‘tummy’?”

  “The same kind that has some info for you, if you’re interested,” he replied teasingly.

  “I stand corrected, Tummy-man. Whatcha got?” There was a rustle of papers in the background as he found his notes.

  “The ninth detailing place I spoke to recalled working on a black Lexus a few months back. The technician remembered because the guy paid all in cash, and included a bonus if he didn’t mind working with tint that was way darker than the thirty-two percent allowed by law.”

  “What a bad boy,” I mused. “Crime of the century, right there. I don’t suppose he got his contact details, did he?”

  “Just a tag number.”

  “Is it legit?”

  “Surprisingly, yes,” he answered, causing my heart to beat a little faster with excitement. “It comes back to a Lexus sedan owned by Darren Hawkins, with a business address right here in Atlanta. And guess what? The guy’s a licensed private investigator; works in the lower East side.”

  “Shut the front door!” I said in astonishment.

  There were about two dozen private investigation firms inside the city limits. Most were fairly professional. Some even owned and operated by retired cops. But there were more than a few who had watched too many detective shows as a kid, and knew next to nothing about privacy laws or evidence procurement. Judging from the fact that this Darren Hawkins worked on his own out of a little office downtown, I assumed he was
the latter.

  “Meet you there?” Bill asked, pleased that his research had borne fruit.

  “I’ll bring the Rolaids.”

  “Make sure they’re berry flavored. I hate mint.”

  “Beggars and choosers, Bill. Beggars and choosers.”

  Hawkins Investigations was headquartered in a small, two story brick building that, according to the front sign, shared offices with a personal injury attorney who guaranteed at least a five-thousand-dollar payout, a life coach who promised to change the way you’ve been perceiving yourself, and a fortune teller who advertised a direct line to the hereafter. I knew the last one had about as much magic in her as a wooden post, and I was guessing the others were about as reputable and reliable as she was, but I wasn’t here to throw stones.

  Bill and I arrived at the same time, and I threw him a pack of Rolaids across the car. They were mint. He looked at me steadily and I shrugged.

  “It was all they had,” I said defensively. He popped a couple in his mouth, then came over to me.

  “What happened?” he asked, looking at my face. Crap! Thanks to Beth’s working, the swelling under my eye had almost gone away. I should have known that “almost” wouldn’t be enough to fool Bill Perkins.

  “It’s nothing,” I said with a shrug. “A woman didn’t like my thread of inquiry and decided to do something about it. It ended badly…for her.” Bill frowned deeply.

  “I don’t like this, Mel. You should have let me come along.” I sighed and shifted me weight uncomfortably.

  “Bill, will you relax. I handled it. She isn’t going to file a report or make any trouble for us.” He looked at me for several seconds, astonishment playing over his smooth features.

  “Is that what you think I’m worried about?” he asked. “Having a complaint filed on me? Christ, Melanie, you went off on your own to gather background intel, refused to tell me where you were going, then turn up looking like a pair of freight trains took turns running over you. What am I supposed to think here?”

  “That I was doing my job,” I answered hotly. “That I can take care of myself and use good judgment in the field.”

  “Then start showing it! Don’t be running off into a potentially hazardous situation without telling anybody where you are or what you’re doing.”

  I stood there in silence. Usually, when someone yells at me, I yell back twice as loud and three times as long. But Bill wasn’t just anybody. He was my partner. And I’d never seen him so much as raise his voice at a suspect during an interrogation. The fact that he was doing it to me now told me I’d really screwed up.

  He took several deep breaths before continuing. When he did, his voice was measured and calm again.

  “Look, I’m not the Lieutenant. I have every respect in the world for your abilities and accomplishments. But until you solve this case, you’re still on probation. Which means you’re my responsibility. I’m willing to allow you every freedom in the world to tackle this investigation your way, but you have to keep me in the loop. Fair?”

  He was right. If Trisha and the Things had gotten the better of me, (which, let’s face it, they almost had) no one would have known what had happened to me until they had had more than enough to enact some sweet payback. I didn’t even want to think about what that might have entailed.

  Bill was my partner, and, more than that, he was also a friend. Ever since I’d arrived at the S.C.C., he’d treated me as a peer and an equal. I shouldn’t have left him in the lurch like that.

  True, he might not have been able to come inside the Candle with me, but I could have made an excuse to get him to sit in the car while I went in and poked around. I wasn’t overly worried about him knowing where the place was. It had enchants laid on it so that normal folk forgot it’s location almost as soon as they looked away.

  No, the real reason I didn’t want Bill to come along was because I didn’t want him to know about that side of me. Witchcraft was a useful tool to have in my belt. And casting a successful spell never failed to spark a feeling of exhilaration and excitement. It could be powerful and terrifying all at once, and allow you to experience things outside of space and time.

  But it also made me…abnormal. The vast majority of the population can’t utilize the inherent forces of creation and destruction that held our reality together. And the ones that can leave themselves open to fear, persecution and sometimes violence by those who can’t. I didn’t want Bill to look at me differently if he suspected there was something strange about me. I’d had enough of that in my life.

  But, if we were going to work together, I also couldn’t leave him in the dark. He would stand for it and he didn’t deserve it. I had to do what I could to make sure he was included from here on out, even if that path took us into the territory of the Fringe.

  “It’s a deal,” I said, looking him in the eye. He nodded once, taking me at my word. And that was it. The matter was behind us. I’d given him my word and he expected me to honor it.

  “Got any background on Darren Hawkins?” I asked, as we went in the front of the building and waited on the elevator.

  “A little. No formal investigative training…”

  “Shocker.” He made a face.

  “Joined the military right out of high school. Served six years before being discharged. Worked as a local bondsman for a couple of years before coming into some money and opening up his own investigative business.” We got in the elevator and pushed the button for the second floor. It lit up briefly, then faded to black and the doors closed with a lurching crunch.

  “That’s not much,” I remarked. Bill shrugged.

  “Guy doesn’t have a social media account or do any kind of advertising. He isn’t even on Yelp. Apparently, everything all his clientele come from world-of-mouth alone.”

  “Not exactly high-end.”

  “You never know. He might be exactly the kind of investigator some high-end clients need to conduct low-end business.”

  “Let’s see what kind of ‘business’ brought him to Nichole Barret’s neighborhood.”

  The elevator opened with a groan and we stepped out into a dingy hallway, peppered with glass doors that led into various offices. Hawkins’ was all the way down at the end, but when we got there the door was locked with a sign on it saying he’d be back soon.

  “Probably following up a lead on the Maltese Falcon,” Bill quipped. He was uneasy. Bill hardly every quipped.

  We waited outside his door for roughly twenty minutes before the elevator groaned again and a man in his mid-thirties with thick arms and slicked back hair stepped out. He was glaring at his phone and didn’t look up until he was halfway to us. I glanced at Bill.

  “That him?” He nodded without ever taking his eyes off him. “Mr. Hawkins, we need to speak with you.”

  He turned and bolted.

  I took off after him, my legs moving before I even told them to. Behind me I heard Bill yell, “I’ll cut him off.” I didn’t waste time nodding.

  Hawkins was fast. Despite looking like someone who skipped leg-day at the gym with religious fervor, the man made it to the emergency exit at the end of the hall in record time. But I wasn’t too far behind.

  It’s important for cops to be in good physical shape, and I was no slouch. In addition to my Krav Maga training, I try to get in a good workout at least three times a week. Because of my size and stature, I’ll never be as strong as most of the men I might have to throw-down with on the streets, so instead I focus on speed and agility. I depended on both of them now as I chased after the only lead I had in Nichole Barret’s death.

  Hawkins had already made it to the first landing by the time I burst through the push doors. I took the steps two at a time, ignoring the twinges in my knees and ankles from the beating I’d suffered earlier. I hoped they wouldn’t buckle under me, but Beth had done her job well.

  There was a loud BANG as Hawkins burst through the doors leading outside, and I followed hot on his heels. In a foot chase, th
ere’s no time to think. You’re not going over plans in your head or looking around for anything you can use to cleverly snag a villain, and you certainly can’t use magic. All your attention is focused on coaxing more speed out of your legs to overtake your quarry. After that, the real fun begins.

  To my surprise, Hawkins didn’t head for the parking lot. Probably knew there was no way he’d get to his car and drive off with me this close. Instead, he turned down a narrow side alley and sprinted towards the opening. I gained some ground on him there, as the long, straight path really let me put the juice on. His legs were longer and he obviously knew how to run, but he hadn’t done any strenuous exercise in some time and I could already hear his labored breathing over the sound of our footfalls. My own breaths came in smooth, even increments and I knew I didn’t have to catch him. I just had to outlast him. Piece of cake.

  He turned a corner and disappeared and I sped up a little, determined to keep him in sight. Bill was likely circling around from the opposite side, so we’d intersect soon enough.

  But as I rounded the turn, a thick arm caught me right at the shoulders. My legs flew out from under me and I came crashing down hard on the cement. I hadn’t been prepared to take a fall like that and the back of my head bounced off the asphalt, causing bright lights to flash before my eyes and a fresh wave of pain to echo through my skull. I laid there for a few moments, stunned, with Hawkins leering over me.

  He was obviously pleased with himself for clotheslining me, but underneath that I could see something else; fear. His wide eyes and jerky movements told me this was a man on edge, and I’d be well served not to underestimate him.

  I didn’t even try going for my gun. He’d either be on top of me before I could clear leather or, more likely, just stomp my face in until all that was left was a bloody smear on the bottom of his shoe. Time to try something different.

  “Easy, Hawkins,” I said, holding up my hands to show they were empty. “We just want to talk.” My voice was slurred and slightly thick, like I’d been drinking too much alcohol. God, I hoped I didn’t have a concussion.