Panther Prowling

by Yasmine Galenorn

  “We know about Einar den Blodige. Einar the Bloody. The sword truly is possessed, Leif. Your ancestor is in there, looking for a host body, we think.”

  He whirled around. “I always knew there was something horrible about that sword. I’ve never been comfortable around it. As a child, I avoided it. When I was a teenager, a friend asked if he could hold it and I wouldn’t let him near the damned thing.”

  “Leif, we’re going to ask you a couple of questions that may sound a little nuts, but trust me, they’re necessary. Have you ever seen . . . a ghost?”

  But he didn’t look shocked. In fact, he looked almost relieved. “Yeah. I saw my father once, after he died. But you’re talking about the sword, right? Have I ever seen a ghost connected to the sword?”

  “Right. Or anything unusual around the sword?” Camille sat up straight. Leif was looking serious now, and the blasé social expression had vanished.

  “More than one night I’d wake up and come into the living room—this started when I was young—and I’d see a greenish glow around the sword. I always felt as though it was watching me. Something . . . inside of it. I’ve hated that sword ever since I was a kid, and I resent having to babysit it now. When I woke up and found it stolen, I was actually relieved, but then my father showed up in a dream, warning me to find the damned thing and get it back.”

  “So you hired a private detective?”

  He let out a long sigh. “Not yet. I have no clue how it was stolen or who hit me—I don’t remember anything from that night. I know I had an appointment with someone for . . . something . . . but I can’t remember what or who. I looked in my datebook and the evening shows as clear. I guess, there’s part of me that just hoped the sword would be gone for good, so I’ve kept my mouth shut.” He dropped back into his chair and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I really, really hate dealing with this. Honestly? I’d rather just throw everything over, move to Italy—which I love—and stay there for the rest of my life.”

  The expression on his face touched me. He looked tired and harried, like someone who had experienced too much in too little time. There had to be more to his story than this, but I had the feeling it was connected to family drama and responsibility and expectations that he had never been able to meet.

  “Has anybody ever tried to take the sword before?” Camille’s voice was softer. I thought she could feel his exhaustion, too.

  Leif shrugged. “Jay Miles.”

  Camille stiffened, her eyes widening. “Jay Miles?”

  I frowned. “Who?”

  “Yes. Why, do you know him?”

  She paled. “I know a Jay Miles—I’m not sure if it’s the same one. Tell us about him.”

  I wanted to ask her who she was talking about but decided to wait—Leif seemed amenable to talking and so we might as well encourage him while he was up for it.

  “Did you read that article that was written about my collection? The article that talked about the sword?” Leif walked over to one of the bookshelves and brought back a print copy of the magazine I’d found online. He flipped through the pages until he found the article and tossed it to me.

  “Yeah, I found this online.” No use in denying we’d done our homework.

  “Yes, well, Davis Jones, the guy who wrote the article? He called me shortly after the magazine hit the stands to tell me that someone named Jay Miles wanted to buy my sword. I met with Miles, just out of curiosity, but of course I refused.”

  “Someone wanted to buy the sword . . .” I was starting to put two and two together.

  “Right. I found that odd, but he said he collected Viking artifacts. When I told him no, he pressed. Hard.”

  “He was too eager, wasn’t he?” Camille was taking notes.

  “Right. Something felt off—and of course, I could never sell the sword. I did wonder . . . So yesterday, I put in a call to Jay—I still had his number. He sounded surprised to hear it was stolen and insists he knows nothing about the theft, but I have a feeling he might be lying.”

  “What does Jay look like?” Camille asked. “Do you think you can describe him?”

  “I can do better than that. I have security tapes constantly running and I save the ones that . . . stand out. I decided to file this one away. Something about him made me cautious.” Leif stood and motioned for us to follow him. He took us into his office, which was just as perfect as the rest of his house, except here, there were signs of life. Books, half open, a chess set that looked like a game was in progress, half-a-dozen magazines scattered on the sofa that looked like they were well thumbed. There was a TV/DVR combo—a big screen—and it was tuned to a basketball game, but the sound was down.

  Leif’s desk was casually messy—papers scattered, but nothing piled up to the point of being ready to tip. He had a quad-monitor system set up and his computer was one I’d never seen before. But whatever it was, it looked sleek and sharp and top-notch.

  Leif sat down and quickly typed in his password, guarding his keystrokes from our eyes. The next moment, he brought up another screen, which appeared to be a security surveillance system, and then tapped in a date. The next minute, we were watching digital copies of the surveillance cam. And there, on the screen, Leif was talking to someone.

  Camille leaned forward. “That’s him. That’s the man who came in my shop the other day and asked me if I had that grimoire.”

  “What grimoire?” I frowned.

  “Remember I told you something kept bugging me? That I was trying to remember something I said at my birthday party?”

  “Right, what was it?” I still couldn’t remember much beyond the drinks and the Viking.

  “That a necromancer named Jay had been in my shop, asking about a grimoire of Northern European spells that’s reminiscent of the Book of the Dead—it can supposedly teach you spells to free the dead and control them. This is the same man. It has to be Jay Miles. He fully intended, even then, to free Einar. Which meant he’s the one who put . . . ” She stopped abruptly and I realized she didn’t want to bring Daniel’s name into the picture since Leif apparently couldn’t remember him.

  “He’s the one who stole my sword then?”

  “Not from you, Leif, but from us. No, he charmed somebody into doing the dirty work for him—an innocent victim. And then . . . well, never mind the rest. But hey, do you have tapes for the night the sword was stolen?” I wondered why he hadn’t just pulled them up and got a view of Daniel himself, but even as he answered, I knew the reason.

  “System was disabled remotely. I have no clue how or who did it. I pay for the best and somebody still managed to bypass it.” He glanced at us. “Any ideas?”

  “Not a clue.” I didn’t like lying but Daniel was off the hook for now, and I kind of wanted to keep it that way. At least we’d discovered more than I thought we would during this visit. “Is there anything else you can tell us? Do you know anything else about Miles? Maybe where he lives?”

  Again, Leif’s fingers flew across the board and he brought up another file. “Here we go. Jay Miles. I did some research into him, yes, when Davis said he wanted to buy the sword. One thing my father taught me is to check out references. To the outside world, Jay appears to be on the up-and-up. He leaned back. “What’s a necromancer, by the way? Isn’t that someone who works with the dead? And the book—can it really free Einar?”

  “A necromancer is a sorcerer of sorts . . . someone who works with spirits and death magic.” She glanced at me. “Seriously, that grimoire is aimed at raising armies of warriors from the dead, and other such stuff. From what I know of it, it’s really a treatise on how to form your own spirit army of ghosts.”

  I blinked. “And any army needs a king to rally them. An army of ghostly warriors . . .”

  “Led by a spirit king gone crazy? That would be bad, really bad.”

  Leif pieced our conversation togethe
r at that point. “You don’t mean that Jay Miles tried to buy my sword to release Einar’s spirit in order to lead . . .”

  “In order to lead an army of ghosts. Yeah. And when you wouldn’t sell it to him, he put in motion a plan to steal it, and he succeeded.”

  “But how did you come by the sword? That’s the one part I don’t understand yet.” Leif pushed his chair back, staring at the images on the screen.

  Annnnnd . . . we were back to Daniel again. “A friend. Leif, you’re better off not knowing. It’s much safer for everybody involved. Can you accept that for an answer?”

  He held my gaze for a long while, then looked back at the pictures. “If you can bring me back my sword, I’ll be very grateful. And I won’t ask questions. But why are you getting involved? What’s in it for you?”

  Camille looked at me, waiting for me to speak. I ran through a multitude of possible answers, but each one left a lot to be desired. After a moment, I decided to just go with what made the most sense.

  “Nothing, except this: Because the sword was in our possession, we’re now being targeted by whoever stole it from our keeping. You’ve seen glowing edges around the sword. We had a full-on invasion last night in our house from the spirit world. We want to prevent your great-great-great-grandpappy, or whatever he is, from getting free from that sword. Because if his spirit escapes, Seattle’s going to be his playground and the results aren’t going to be pretty.”

  Leif tapped a pencil on his desk, then tossed it to the side. “What can I do to help?”

  “Stay out of it. Let us know if you come across any information on how to find Jay Miles, but for the sake of the gods, don’t go hunting him yourself. He’s dangerous. Give us the contact information for Davis Jones, and Jay’s phone number. We can track him that way.” I stood up, not sure what to think. Leif seemed to accept what we were saying. But, my mind argued back, he grew up with tales surrounding the sword, and knowing there was something weird about it. Was it so strange he had come to accept that there was a problem with it?

  “Tell you what. You head out and do whatever you need to do. I’ve got your number, leave me your e-mail, and I’ll see what I can get on Jay Miles. I have access to some of the best software in the world, and I learned mad computer skills at my father’s knee. I’ll shoot you over whatever I find.”

  “Deal.” Camille gave him a broad smile.

  “By the way,” Leif added as he showed us to the door. “Just so you know . . . your Fae glamour? For some reason it doesn’t work on me. Didn’t on my father either. We’ve known about the Supes and Fae for years—long before they came out of the closet. For some reason, my family’s always had contact with the Earthside Fae. Their glamour? Never affected us. Neither does OW glamour.” He grinned at Camille. “Not that I wouldn’t do you in a minute if you wanted, but if you were aiming to get answers out of me that way, your plan wouldn’t have worked.”

  We both blushed. Not too many FBHs were this aware. Camille stammered out a good-bye while I nodded and we headed back to the elevator.

  “What did you make of that?” Camille waited till we got in the elevator then turned to me. “And that last statement? My guess is that Leif’s aware of a lot more than we’re giving him credit for.”

  “My guess is that Leif’s probably scared shitless of that sword. I think his encounters with it probably were more than he was willing to let on. Either that, or he has a highly refined intuition about what’s in that thing.” I glanced at the clock on my phone. “It’s noon. You want to drop by Marion’s for lunch?”

  Camille nodded. The Supe-Urban Café was run by a friend of ours. She was one of the Koyanni—coyote shifters. The café had been burned to the ground sometime back, but she had rebuilt. The arsonist had torched her house, too, and it brought her and her husband back together again. They’d been on the brink of separation but tragedy can either push people farther apart or pull them together, and this had pulled them back together in a big way.

  As we settled in the car, I retrieved my tablet from my backpack. It was a great supplement to my laptop, and I found it much lighter to carry around with me. I began pulling up everything I could on Jay Miles. While I was at it, I put in a call to Chase.

  He came on the line after three rings. “Yeah? Johnson here.”

  “Chase, it’s Delilah. Listen, we need you to run records on somebody and see what you can find out about him. It has to do with the sword.”

  “Not a problem, but then I need you girls to do something, if you’re able.” I heard him shuffling papers. “Okay, give me the name?”

  “Jay Miles. Supposed art collector. May have ties to one Davis Jones, a writer. We think Jay hired Aslo and Kendell to steal the sword from us.”

  “Do you have a contact number?”

  I gave him the phone number Leif had given us for Jay. “We haven’t made contact with him yet. We thought we’d wait until you could find out whatever you can on him. If Aslo is working for him, then we don’t want to tip him off prematurely. Jay, by the way, is our necromancer we’re looking for. He’s been in Camille’s shop looking for a book on Northern European death magic rites, so be careful if you run into him anywhere.”

  “Oh, wonderful—yet another big woohoo.” Chase let out a sigh, then said, “Okay, I’ll run his name. Meanwhile, would you guys drop by Cromby’s and pick up a WhosIt-Toggle-Toy for Astrid?”

  I blinked. Of all the things Chase had asked us to do, this had to be the oddest. “Stop where for a what?”

  “A WhosIt-Toggle-Toy. Iris insists it’s a great toy for human babies to encourage their latent psychic powers to grow at a steady pace. Cromby’s is a magical toy shop, apparently.” He laughed, and I could sense him relaxing a little. Fatherhood agreed with Chase. Even though he missed Sharah desperately, it was easy to see that little Astrid meant the world to him. “Really. Just pick it up for me and I’ll reimburse you tonight.”

  “Will do. Give us a call when you get anything on Miles. We’re going to drop by Marion’s for lunch.” As I hung up, I pulled up the MapsApp and typed in Cromby’s. It was on the way to the Supe-Urban Café. “Hey, we need to stop at a toy shop for Chase. He wants a WhosIt-Toggle-Toy for Astrid.”

  Camille laughed. “Okay then.”

  She followed the directions I gave her, and we stopped at the toy shop. I ran in to find a woman behind the counter who I could have sworn was part dwarf, but it wasn’t good form to ask. Dwarves had mostly migrated to Otherworld, though a few stayed Earthside during the Great Divide. But they were private over here, and tended to do their best to pass even though most of the Supes and Fae were out of the closet.

  Rather than poke through the shelves, I approached the counter and asked for her help. She led me to the toy and—as I stared at it—I saw next to it an oddly shaped gadget.

  “What’s that?” It looked like a box with multicolored light panels on it.

  “It’s a cerebral stimulator, designed to stimulate learning patterns in Cryptos.” She smiled and held it out to me.

  I took it, but as I tipped it round and round, and the colors flashed in a seemingly random pattern, I couldn’t figure out what the hell to do with it. I handed it back. “Have no clue.”

  “That’s because it’s meant for brain chemistry that’s different than yours. It’s all the rage now in some quarters. Was first developed in Dahnsburg and a version of it migrated here.”

  A sudden thought hit me. “Would it work for a baby gargoyle?”

  The woman laughed. “Oh, yes, in fact, my guess is this would become a favorite among gargoyles. You know they are very stimulated by light patterns.”

  I hadn’t known, but decided to buy it and see how Maggie liked it. As I paid for both toys, wincing over the hundred dollars that vanished out of my checkbook, I suddenly thought about the day when I’d be coming here, buying toys for my own baby. What kind of toys d
id little Elemental princesses or princes play with? And just how would Shade’s dragon DNA play into our child? Or his Stradolan side?

  That, of course, sent me back to wondering how he was doing and if he was home yet. But then again, it had only been a couple hours since he’d left. I couldn’t expect that he’d found answers in so short a time.

  My thoughts whirling, I carried the bags back to the car and slid in next to Camille and belted my seat belt again.

  * * *

  The Supe-Urban Café was always busy, but Marion reserved a table in back for us, in case the rest of the diner was full. And today was one of those days. She saw us as we scooted through the doors. The chill left behind, we were enclosed in a room filled with amazing scents. Hot homemade bread, thick soups full of flavor, sizzling hot fried fish, and—among the rest of the goodies—Marion’s famous Big Cinnamon Buns. Her cinnamon rolls had become citywide famous, and stores were starting to stock them.

  Marion escorted us back to her private table, and we had menus in our hands and hot tea with lemon on the table before we could say a word.

  “It’s cold out there,” she said. “You need to eat hearty today, girls. Especially with that storm front on the way. You aren’t going to want to get caught out in it, so after this, get your butts home and batten the hatches.”

  Marion was gaunt and tan. She was lean in a spare, hard way. Most Koyanni were like that. She was a fierce friend, though, and would do anything to help that she could for someone on her to-protect list.

  “Storm? What kind? Not snow.” I was done with snowstorms. I wanted spring and warm weather for a change.

  “No, giant windstorm coming in sometime during the night. Dangerous one, the weatherman says. Supposed to be bringing gusts up to seventy miles an hour, and heavy rain.” She let out a long sigh and dropped into the chair next to me. “I’m so tired. We’ve been run ragged since we reopened. We’re getting more popular every day and I have to hire more people. Either that or franchise out.”

  “That’s a good thing, though, right?” Camille smiled at her.