by Steve McHugh
Roberto nodded. “Avalon does it enough, as you know. And I don’t know Galahad well enough to say that Shadow Falls doesn’t operate the same way. Sally-Ann’s family deserves closure. You’re my safest bet that they’ll receive it.”
It was a perfectly reasonable answer, I had no information that might suggest that something else was going on, but something told me I was stepping into trouble. “Okay, anything else I should know?”
“I can’t go any further with you,” Roberto said and offered me his hand, which I took. “I have to go back to New York. Drop you off and leave, that’s the deal.”
“I’ll contact you when it’s over and let you know it’s finished.”
“Thank you, Nathan. And you, too, King Galahad. You’ve been more than generous with your time.” And with that, he left the roof.
“This whole Avalon and Shadow Falls never working together is stupid. He could have helped.”
“I still have to answer to my people. And none of them would have been happy with a member of Avalon conducting an investigation in Maine. We are totally separate states, and changing that in any way is to invite danger to my people; I won’t do anything that may put the lives of people that I’m duty bound to take care of, in danger.”
“Yeah, I get that,” I said. “You never answered my question though. If Roberto hadn’t contacted you, would you have involved me?”
“Yes, I had plans to contact you. I trust you and know you’ll do a good job and won’t betray me or my people.”
The links clicked together. “You don’t know who you can trust in your own organization. That’s why you came to me, because you know I’m not working for Whitehorn.”
Galahad nodded once. “I don’t know who’s with me and who isn’t. That’s why only a select few people know about it—and why I can’t just send my security force to go find him.”
“So, I find this guy and turn him into a very dead bad person. I can manage that.”
“About that. While I agree that Simon should be buried in a deep hole, I need him alive.”
I really should have read the file. “Why?”
“Sorry, Nathan. There are some state secrets I can’t tell you.”
He genuinely appeared sorry, too. Galahad had always actively hated cloak-and-dagger shit, and having to operate in that way was probably alien to him.
“Okay, I’ll go find your little problem and bring him back here. Who are these people he’s with?”
“No idea. It sounds like he’s allied himself with a cult of some kind in Stratford, but we don’t have more information.”
“Do they need to be brought back here, too?”
“They’re responsible for, at the very least, helping Simon murder that young girl. Do with them what you will. I will contact the detective in the area who’s leading the case and tell him you’re on your way.”
“What’s his name?”
“William Moon—good cop from what I hear. I am loath to interfere in their investigation, but with the knowledge that Simon is involved, I no longer have that luxury.”
“This guy pisses you off, doesn’t he?”
“Nate, don’t fuck around with him. He’s a killer, and he’s not a man to treat lightly. Be careful.”
“Is there anyone else I need to see while I’m there?”
“If you can find them, there’s a colony of wood trolls in the woods around Mount Bigalow.” He passed me a small map with a red circle drawn on it. “Some of them may have an idea about what’s happening.”
I sighed. “Needle in a haystack–style search?”
“That depends if any of them wants to be found.”
“One last question: why the hell did you become king of Shadow Falls?”
Galahad laughed. It was deep and throaty, a laugh you could hear from some distance away. “Do you not think I have regal bearing, my friend?”
“You’re a soldier, Galahad. A very good one, at that. Politics and governing were never things you had any interest in. You were always more concerned with honor and finding a good woman to lay with.”
“Unlike my father, I learned a long time ago that everyone has to grow up sometimes.”
Galahad’s father was Lancelot. The same Lancelot who had betrayed the knights and his friends for a woman. Before that event, Galahad had always wanted to emulate his father, but afterward, he did everything he could to separate them. Maybe by becoming king, Galahad had finally achieved some measure of satisfaction that the apple had fallen far from the tree. Whatever his reasoning, I really hoped he knew what he was doing.
CHAPTER 4
Roberto had gone by the time I left the bar, and taken his Mustang with him. Fortunately, as I was leaving, Rebecca had thrown me the keys to a 1976 Plymouth Trailduster, which turned out to be bright red and was probably big enough to be its own moving house. Still, it was better than walking the 150-odd miles to Stratford. I threw the bag onto the backseat and climbed inside.
The journey took a few hours. The snow and ice on the roads made driving at speed dangerous, and when it started to snow heavily, my movement dropped to a crawl. By the time I reached the small town of Stratford, it was dark.
The roads were relatively abandoned, the weather and time of night combining to keep people inside, but I passed several open fields and some farmland that gave the town a picturesque look. Once in the town itself, it looked like the kind of place that gets put on postcards for tourists. Unfortunately, as I made my way through the town, the thoughts of a group of murders operating out of there dampened my enthusiasm for the place.
The police station was a large building, considering the “Welcome to Stratford” sign had said it had a population of only 9212 people. There were six patrol cars out front, and the rapidly falling snow had covered them in a thick layer of whiteness.
I parked the Trailduster on the street and immediately wished I could use my fire magic to keep me warm as I dashed to the front door of the building. Once inside, I reveled in the warmth that washed over me.
I glanced around, noting the elevator to the far left and stairs just next to it, alongside two closed doors, although I was in the wrong place to read what was on the nameplates attached to them.
“Can I help you?” a surly-looking cop asked from behind the desk in front of the door. I noticed from the three inverted chevrons on his shoulder that he held the rank of sergeant. He drummed the tip of his pen against the wooden counter and did not appear happy to see me.
“I’m here to see William Moon,” I said.
“The detective know you’re coming?”
I nodded. “Apparently.”
“And you are?”
“Nathan Garrett.”
He scribbled something down on a piece of paper. “Sign here.” He placed a book in front of me, with a pen tied to the spine. I flicked to the front cover and found it was a visitors’ log.
“You going to read the whole thing, or just do as I asked?”
I filled in my name and who I was there to see, but left my address blank.
“You need to put something in there.”
“I’ve just gotten to town; I don’t live anywhere at the moment.”
The desk sergeant shook his head and mumbled something about out-of-towners that I chose to ignore. He wrote “no fixed abode” on the page and slammed the book shut. “Second door down the hallway.” He pointed in the direction, presumably just in case I got lost on the thirty-foot walk. “Second door.”
“Thanks,” I said with as cheerful a tone as I could manage and set off in the direction.
“Second door,” the sergeant called after me.
“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that?” I called back. Sometimes I can’t help myself.
I didn’t wait for a response and opened the second door, letting it shut behind me as I entered t
he short gray corridor beyond. There was one door on my left, with the word stationery written on it, and another door in front of me, which led to a sizeable open-planned office space.
Two men and a woman all sat in silence, each of them at their own desk, either reading something or typing on a typewriter. A glass office with the word Captain stenciled onto the door sat at the far end, but it was dark inside, its occupant clearly gone home for the day.
The woman, a youngish brunette with a small button-like nose, on top of which sat her equally small glasses, asked, “Can we help you?”
“I’m looking for Detective Moon,” I said.
She pointed to a desk at the far end of the office where a man turned around to look at me. “Detective Moon?” I surmised.
“And you are?” he asked, standing up. He was easily a foot taller than me, and also much wider, with the build of someone who regularly worked out. As I got closer, I noticed the nasty scar just above his cheek. It stretched to his ear and was jagged enough for me to think it was probably the result of broken glass, maybe a bottle, rather than a knife. The words “Semper Fi” were tattooed on his right forearm, just below the rolled-up sleeves of his light-blue shirt.
“Nathan Garrett,” I said, offering my hand.
William took the hand in a comfortable shake. You can tell a lot about a man from his handshake. Is it too firm, too loose, does he try to overcompensate for something by trying to crush your hand in return? William didn’t go for the crush, not that he would have succeeded. He was more likely to have lost the hand for good, but it was nice to know I was dealing with a grown-up.
“I got a call telling me to expect you.” He started patting his pockets and removed some cigarettes. “Let’s go outside, I need a smoke.”
As we both left the building, I smiled at the desk sergeant and stood outside in the cold while Bill fumbled with a cigarette.
“You want one?” he asked, offering me the packet.
“No, thanks.”
He gave me a “please yourself” expression and finally got one lit, taking a long drag before breathing it out. “So, you’re here on the behalf of Galahad.”
“I’m here to find Simon Olson and stop him and his friends from murdering people. I was told that you were dealing with the case.”
Detective Moon took another drag, making me wait for his response. “That’s right. Galahad has given me instructions to hand Simon over to him once the case is solved. But someone is going to pay for those murders, and if that means his friends get to see the inside of a jail cell instead of him, then I’m okay with that.”
“Simon will see the inside of a place worse than any jail you can imagine,” I said.
“I spent eighteen months in Vietnam, I can imagine a shitload of bad things.”
“You were a Marine,” I said.
“Yeah, left the corps in seventy-three. Moved here and became a cop. I had a nice quiet life until about four months ago, when the first body showed up.”
“How many have there been?”
“Officially? Four. Unofficially? At least a dozen.”
“Why the discrepancy?”
“Most of the people are still missing; we’ve only found four bodies, so that’s the official count. It’s lucky the captain works for Galahad, too, otherwise the FBI would have been called in. Serial killer cases in a rural town like this, we don’t usually have the manpower to solve them.”
“Do you know where Simon or any of his friends are?”
William shook his head. “Up near Mount Bigalow is our best guess, although I can’t say more than that. The four bodies were found all around the same area. I figure we wait till daylight and then go hunting.”
“Anyone else know why I’m here?”
“Captain told everyone you were a external consultant to help bring the killer to justice. People around here are wary of newcomers, but you’ll find them friendly enough when they decide you’re not here to piss them off. The captain and me are the only two who know who you are.”
“Good, that should make things easier.”
“Oh, I almost forgot.” William took a key from his pocket and passed it to me. “There’s a motel about a half-mile down the road. Your room is already booked. Do you have anything with you?”
“A bag with a few bits of clothing and a toothbrush, but nothing that’s going to last long.”
“There’s a clothes shop nearby. We’ll get you sorted out in the morning. Can’t have you traipsing around the woods and not looking the part.”
“Thanks,” I said and flicked the red leather key ring over, showing the number 4 in gold.
William walked me back to my truck. “Get some sleep, tomorrow is going to be a long day.”
We shook hands once more and I climbed into the Trailduster and started the massive engine. The possibility that there were twelve victims made my skin crawl, and made me wonder what the hell was going on in this small Maine town with its picturesque scenery.
I drove to the motel, which was easy to find due to the number of lights it had on the front, and after making myself known to the overweight, balding man at the reception desk, I found my room and dumped my bag on the freshly made bed.
The room was small, but well kept. A small bedroom, with a door that led to a small bathroom with a shower and toilet. The bedroom had a nice desk, a bedside table, chest of drawers, and small TV. I put my clothes away, then glanced out the window, which overlooked the woods behind the motel. For the briefest of moments I thought I saw movement just inside the end of the tree line.
As soon as I’d convinced myself it was a trick of the ever-increasing wind, it happened again. There was no mistaking that there was definitely someone there.
I threw my coat and shoes back on and stepped outside, making my way around the side of the motel complex to where I’d seen the movement. But by the time I arrived, whoever, or whatever, had been there was nowhere to be found. So, after searching for a few more minutes, and finding nothing of interest, I made my way back to the motel room.
Before I’d even stepped inside, I knew something was wrong; the door was unlocked. I stood to one side of the entrance and pushed open the door with one hand, readying a ball of fire in the other. The room was empty, but someone had been there. And they’d left me a gift. They’d used a dagger to pin a piece of paper to the wall. I stepped inside the room and made the fireball vanish, pulling the dagger out a second later and catching the paper as it fell.
The dagger was called a misericorde—a long, thin, edgeless blade used in medieval times to kill a knight in full amour. The blade was thin enough to slip between the plates or get in between the eye slots on a helmet. It was widely used for mercy killings, to end the suffering of those who were too injured to be helped. I knew of several assassins throughout the years who had used one to kill someone in one-on-one combat. I hadn’t seen one quite like it in several centuries, but it appeared to be new. I dropped the dagger on the bed and picked up the note. You’ll find no mercy here. Leave.
Apparently I was making new friends already.
CHAPTER 5
New York City, New York. Now.
“So, do you feel like sharing how you know who’s behind this?” Sky asked as we both left the bathroom and re-entered the main room of the penthouse suite.
I was about to speak when I heard someone trying the door handle. I motioned for Sky to follow me into the main bedroom, keeping the door open just enough to see as someone in a dark hoodie entered the suite and made their way to where the body of Jerry lay.
“It’s a woman,” I said when the door to the second bedroom closed.
“Pervert.”
“Yes, clearly that’s why I know it was a woman. The skintight trousers sort of gave it away, as did the fact that she has breasts under that black hoodie. We should go say hello; how do you want to
take this?”
Sky opened the bedroom door and sauntered into the middle of the penthouse suite, taking a seat on one of the expensive couches, opposite the door to the second bedroom.
I knew the routine and crouched behind a glass cabinet next to the door, so that whoever the mystery guest was, she wouldn’t see me when the door was opened. The idea was simple. They come out, see Sky and either their attention is taken for just long enough for me to grab or subdue them. Sky and I had used it before to great effect. It was simple and relatively low risk for all involved.
The woman walked out of the bedroom and saw Sky sitting cross-legged on the sofa with a smile on her face. I was about to move when the woman crouched down and suddenly the wooden floor beneath me was no longer solid. It jumped up, grabbing my ankles and wrists and pinning me in place, solidifying into something much stronger than it had been before. Sky was already moving when the ground beneath her did the same, but instead of keeping her in place, it flung her into the far wall, which enveloped her legs and arms so that only her torso and head was free.
“Fucking bitch,” Sky snapped, trying to free herself. “What the fuck is this shit?”
“Alchemy,” I said and the woman’s head snapped toward me.
A second later, she was up from her couched position, sprinting through the door.
“Come back here,” Sky shouted, full of rage at her situation.
I threw a blade of air magic from one hand, into the wood that held the opposite wrist. It was a tricky maneuver—too close and I’d have sliced through my wrist—and it took me three attempts, but I managed to cut through the bonds of wood and dropped to the ruined floor.
“Go get her,” Sky shouted. “I’ll be fine.”
I took after the alchemist at a sprint, making it through the door maybe a minute after her. The illuminated numbers above the lift said that it was still near the lower floors, so I ruled that out as an escape route. That left only the stairwell, which I blasted open with a jet of air; I didn’t want to get jumped by anyone waiting. I stepped through the door and heard the bang of a door above me.
