"You think you're so smart reading all those damn books," Kring/L said, "and yet still he shows up in a frigging black helicopter! Tell me that's an urban legend!"
"He had a black helicopter?" Banner said, agitated. "Hell, what if they're tapping the lines? They could have gotten a dozen leads just listening to us-"
"Now listen to me," I said. "He was recommended to me by my dad's best buddy, and they had a fucking wooden box lid with a real human tattoo nailed to it. A tat that may have been cut off while the wearer was still alive." The room got quiet, and I continued. "He says he wants to keep that from happening to anybody else, and I believe him, and I want to help." I looked around the room. "What about you guys?"
"Yeah," Kring/L said. CJ and Tess also assented. Only Banner held out.
"All right," he grumbled. "But if half our client list gets disappeared-"
"Look, look," I said. "We do this in stages. We talk to them first privately, in person if you're afraid to do it over the phone. Nobody gets forwarded to the Feds unless they want to talk to them. And if they don't want to go through us, Phil gave me his number "Oh, so he's Phil now? Gave you his numbed" Cinnamon said, bouncing back into my office. She'd swapped her clothes out almost completely for an outfit that was nearly identical- still short pants, crop top and vest, but now all new, the chunky vest orange to match her hair, the top a shimmering black with sparkling diagonal stripes, and the worn shorts swapped out for pale capris that matched the trim on the vest and looked surprisingly good on her tiger-striped skin. "But enough about your square boyfriend. Oh my God. There's this store, called the Junkman's Daughter, it's so fabulously cool-"
"That's great," I said. "Thanks guys, Tess, Banner. Let's get started."
"-and this other one, Psycho Sisters, where I gots the coolest shirt and vest-"
"Good luck," Kring/L said, raising his brows at Cinnamon as she bounced around my office like a pinball in a machine. "Can I get you guys anything-coffee, tea, a trank gun-"
Cinnamon hissed at him, baring her claws, and Kring/L hopped out, grinning.
"Hey, DaKOta," she said, words tumbling out like a running stream. "There's this oils shop, or something, round the corner, and so I was thinking when you're on your break maybe you and me could go down there and checks some of it out?"
"Such lung capacity," I said. "But what's stopping you? Are you out of money?"
"No way," she said, spinning around. She had a cute Tigger backpack, held by bungee cords, with some cloth from her old vest and top poking out of the flap. "Thrift stores are your friend. I got this, plus this change of, and still had some change."
"So why do you need me?" I asked.
"Well," she said, swaying back and forth. "You said you were going to take care of me and… I didn't want to go out of eyeshot. In case anything happened."
I looked out my window. Every store she had mentioned was within view, if just barely; the oil shop was round the bend. "All right. All right. But my breaks are at one and four today-"
"One!" she said. "That's like over'n hour away. Why do you have to works today anyway? I thought squares got weekends off-"
"They do," I said, grinning, "and that's why I work on weekends. Half my business is either scheduled on the weekend or done on the spot by weekend walk-ins. So the shop has one artist here at all times on Saturdays and Sundays-and today's my day."
"Whatever," she said, sitting down hard in my chair.
"Why not go up to Criminal Records and check out the books-"
"What for?" she said. "I can't read for squat."
I drew a breath. I was going to have words with the Bear King, jaws of death or no. Then an idea struck me. I hunted through my desk drawer and found my old CD walkman-I hadn't used it since I got my iPod, but… "Then listen to an audiobook."
"A what?" she asked, spinning the chair around, her tail following her in an arc.
"You know my friend Jinx?"
"The blind witch?" she said. "Yeah, the Marquis disses her all the time. Means really he thinks she's sweet-"
"A lot of people do," I said. "You know, she can't read either."
"Oh!" she said, suddenly interested in the CD player, reaching for it the way a cat bats at a ball of string. "So what's this then? A stone-age MP3 player?"
"I have an iPod," I said, "but her CDs will play on this."
We stared at the selection Jinx'd given me, and then I realized how pointless that was and started reading them out. "Blink… The Golden Mean… This is Your Brain on Music…" I shrugged. "I haven't had time to burn them to MP3 so I haven't read any of them-"
"What's this one?" she said, holding up one with a blue dragon on the cover, flipping it over. "She's a pretty pretty-"
"Eragon," I said. "You'll like that. It's about a couple of foundlings."
I started to show her how to use it, but then my phone rang again. "Dakota Frost-"
"Sorry to call you so early," Spleen said. He sounded like hell.
"No, no problem," I said, checking the clock. It was eleventhirty. "It figures that the first person to apologize for disrupting me this ungodly morning is the first person who waited to the point that he doesn't need to apologize anymore. What can I do you for?"
"Give me good news about Wulfs ink," Spleen said, no pleasantries.
"I'm having the flash checked out," I said. Surprisingly, Cinnamon had no trouble getting the CD player running. I showed her which one was the first CD, and she took it delicately and popped it in. "Jinx had to refer me to a specialist-"
"Can't you hurry it along?" he snapped, his voice a little faster, a little higher-pitched than normal. "I still don't see why you can't skip it-"
"Spleen, what's wrong?" I asked. Waiting for a response had worked well on Buck, so I just hung there on the phone and waited for Spleen to spill. Cinnamon brightened as the CD started spinning, and I gave her a thumbs up and watched, amused, as she tried to find a comfortable place to set the headphones over her ears. "I got all day, Spleen."
"He threatened me," he said.
"No!" I said, shocked. "Wulf-"
"No, I mean, not literally, but he was very threatening. I felt threatened. He's a fucking menace, is what I'm saying. He cornered me about the ink and when I said I didn't know he snarled and got all wolfy, that he couldn't trust me, that you'd take his flash and scram-"
"Spleen," I said, conflicted. "You tell Wulf I risked my life to check out his tat. I did," I said. "Punched out a vampire last night trying to get to a were-expert."
Spleen hung there on the phone. "You're shitting me."
"No, I'm not," I said.
"You stay away from the vamps," Spleen said. "They're sickos-"
"You tried to take me down to see Savannah," I said.
"I was just messin with ya," he protested. "And she's different!"
My nostrils flared. "You have no idea. Look, I've scanned in his flash. If he wants the original back, he can have it-tell him to call the Rogue and he can come pick it up."
"No, no, I dunno, Dakota, he's not too big on meeting people in public places. What say I come by there tonight?" he said. "After your shift?"
"You're a prince, Spleen," I said. "But give him my number anyway. I want him to feel free to talk to me."
Cinnamon pulled down her headphones and made a face at me. "Giving him your number? But what would Phiiilll say?"
"Hey, Spleen," I said, thinking about something Phil had said about speeding up his investigation. "Can you give us a ride later this evening? There's something I need to do."
18. In The Extraordinary Department
"This is a bad fucking idea," Spleen said, bumping down Lullwater towards Ponce.
"Language, Mister Spleen," Jinx said beside him in the front seat.
I grinned. She rarely turned her head unless she was talking directly to you, so I could just barely see her wrinkle her nose from my perch behind Spleen-but I knew the expression. Cinnamon, beside me, was alternately peering at Jinx wide-eyed, snif
fing at Spleen and diving back into her audio book-she'd eventually put the headphones down around her neck, which she said she could hear just fine, even though she had it turned so low I could hear nothing.
"So where are we going?" Cinnamon said. "To see your ^ooofriend?"
"You have a boyfriend now?" Jinx asked.
"Not really," I said. Hey, one could hope, but-"Cinnamon is referring to my contact with the Feds, Philip Davidson. He's working with Andre Rand, trying to get APD Homicide up to speed on the case."
"What fucking-excuse my French, Jinxy, what the F case is this?" Spleen said.
"I can't comment on an ongoing investigation," I said with a smile.
"Then why the F am I here?" he asked.
"Because I can't fit the two of them on the back of my Vespa," I responded. "And I have my reasons for asking you and Cinnamon to come."
"So, Cinnamon," Jinx said. "Like the book?"
"ER-A-GONNNN," the werecat said, grinning. "ER-A- GONNNN."
"I'll take that as a yes," Jinx said, folding her hands atop her laptop bag. "I like hanging out with you, Dakota. I get to meet all the most interesting people."
"Wait until you get a load of this one," I said.
We pulled into City Hall East and parked. Andre Rand was waiting for us at the entrance, but I waved him off and turned to the trio.
"Maybe I should just wait here, you know, like in the car," Spleen said. "I mean, what if they try to disappear you? Maybe someone should just hang back and-"
"We won't need to make a getaway," I said. "And, trust me, you don't want to be a suspicious-looking person sitting in a police parking lot."
"You're saying I'm suspicious looking?" Spleen said, twisting round so his good eye could get a look at me round his long, ratlike nose.
"No, I'm saying that anyone sitting in a police parking lot at seven-thirty at night acting like a getway man is bound to look suspicious," I said. "But look, we do need to have a few ground rules going in. Cinnamon, come back from Alagaesia for a minute."
When she stopped the CD, everyone was looking at me.
"First: no-one mentions Wulf, or the Marquis, or any other Edgeworlder," I said. "They're so skittish they won't even meet with me, so we're not going to rat them to the Feds."
"We're going to go see the Feds?" Spleen said, half sitting up in his seat. "Oh, hell-"
"Spleen," I said. "You haven't done anything wrong. You don't have anything to worry about from these people here."
"So we gots something else to worry about?" Cinnamon said, eyeing me warily.
"Second, Cinnamon and Spleen are going to wait with Andre Rand," I said, pointing at him. "He's my dad's old partner, and I trust him. I've told him you're 'edgy' and that if you get scared, or even just uncomfortable, for any reason, you're just going to leave-no arguments. He knows to call a cab for me and Jinx."
"We're not scared," Cinnamon said, jutting her jaw.
"Speak for yourself, tiger," Spleen said. "You can soak up lead bullets."
"Third… I have a little negotiating to do with Philip. And if it goes well."
"You wants to get down hispaants," Cinnamon said.
"-if it goes well, Rand's going to escort you back so Philip can brief you."
"About what?" Spleen said, his one good eye gone surprisingly wide.
"I can't talk about an ongoing investigation," I said, "but maybe Philip can."
After a moment, I nodded roughly, and got out of the car. I guided Jinx, and Spleen shepherded Cinnamon. Andre Rand met us and ushered us in through the metal detectors, with as little verbal comment about our guests as possible. I'd briefed him about Cinnamon-who was now ignoring us all, engrossed again in the audio world of Alagaesia-but still he raised his eyebrows at me.
Rand took us to floor six and beeped us in to the long corridor divided between Atlanta Homicide on the left and "Federal Magic" on the right. Breaking the law with magic turned a local felony into a federal crime-but you needed that local conviction to make it stick, so the magical Feds tended to be friendly with the locals. I'd never heard of the relationship being this tight, but it figures it would be that way in Atlanta, where there was more magic-and misuse-than anywhere else.
Rand stopped at the end of the hall, knocking at the door to the Fed offices, to summon Philip, I assumed. While we waited beside him, I took a good look at the agency's logo, etched into the office's frosted glass wall. The seal bore an eagle carrying a lightning bolt, and around the rim were the words DEPARTMENT OF EXTRAORDINARY INVESTIGATIONS. I found myself wishing I could see inside, see where Philip worked-and looked back, surprised to see Rand holding the door open to the Federal offices. Grinning, I led Jinx inside.
The DEI reception room was small but surprisingly stylish, with fresh-off-the-stands issues of hip magazines neatly arranged on a granite-topped end-table sitting between two comfy chairs. An array of paranormal-themed posters curled around the walls, including an honest-to-gosh X-Files "I WANT TO BELIEVE" poster next to an official-looking one that said "DEI: A CENTURY AND A HALF OF SERVICE,
1856-2006."
But as we filed in, we weren't looking at the posters. All our eyes were drawn to the granite-topped reception desk-and Philip, resting a hip on it casually, like a shot out of GQ.
"Homina," Cinnamon said.
"I like his cologne," Jinx said, her hand on my wrist giving a brief squeeze.
"Miss Frost, thank you for coming," he said, winking at me. Then his gaze took in Jinx's cane, Cinnamon's headphones, and Spleen's one-good-eye fidgeting, and he actually seemed at a bit of a loss. "So," he began, one hand brushing his dark, evil-Spock beard, "I, uh-"
"Special Agent Philip Davidson," I said, "please meet Skye 'Jinx' Anderson, my graphomancer. She's graciously agreed to come down to get this process started, and my… associates were kind enough to give us a ride."
"I'll wait out here, if that's OK. OK? OK," Spleen said, fidgeting harder, looking around the office, trying not to stare at the single heavy black door that went out of reception and into the back. "You know, to watch her." He nodded at Cinnamon, who growled.
"Y'all do that," I said, pecking Rand on the cheek. "I owe you one, 'Uncle Andy.'"
Phil ushered us through yet another big heavy door with a big knobbly lock. "Your cat friend," he said in a low voice. "That's not makeup-"
"Drop it," I said. "She has it hard enough as it is."
Philip conducted us through a clean, well-lit group of offices paralleling Atlanta Homicide, and then through a darkened observation room into the same evidence room where I'd first seen… 'it.' The cadaverous man was gone, but wiry-haired old Balducci was there, scowling, leaning back from the evidence tray before him like it might bite him.
"Miss Frost, good to see you again," he said, obviously not pleased to see me again at all. "Agent Davidson, I'm still not sure this is a good idea."
"We need all the help we can get," Philip said. "Miss Anderson, if-"
He paused, and I turned. Jinx was frozen in the door. "Jinx, are you all right?"
She stood for a moment, then took a deep breath. "Yes, yes, I'm fine," she said, slowly stepping forward into the room. "So. It is here."
"Yes," I said.
"Well," she said. "Show me."
Balducci raised his eyebrows but said nothing as I pulled out a chair for her and guided her into it. I started to reach for the tray, but Jinx held up her hand.
"I can tell where it is," she said, a bit sharp. "Could I have a little room?"
Balducci's chair squeaked back as he popped to his feet, and suddenly he, Philip and I were in three corners of the room, all far from Jinx. I looked over at Balducci, then Phil. They were just as uncomfortable and sickened by the lid as I was.
Then Jinx reached for the lid-and screamed.
19. Hot Electric Shock
I felt a hot electric shock ripple through my tattoos and fell back against the wall. Jinx jerked her hand back, tumbling out of her chair, knocking it sidewa
ys onto the floor-and screaming, screaming the whole time in repeated, high pitched, full-voiced wails.
Balducci clutched himself, reaching for his heart. After a shocked moment, both Phil and I stepped forward just as Jinx's screams subsided.
"Jinx," I said, reaching for her. "Are you-"
"Don't touch me!" she snapped, holding out her hand, and I recoiled from the blind glare burning out from those spooky geode eyes. "Don't help me."
We stood back as she collected herself and straightened her glasses. She groped blindly for the chair, found it, and righted it. With one hand she lifted herself up and brushed herself off, still keeping that fixed-head stare that was so very Jinx. After a moment she bent, collected her cane, and sat down primly at the table, folding her hands in her lap before sighing.
"My, my," she said. "Quite a shocker you have there. May I continue?"
"Uh…" Balducci said, staring at Phil, who nodded. "Yeah."
She reached out a hand abruptly and put her whole palm across the lid, screaming instantly like she was pressing her hand on a hot stove. Her other hand tightened on her cane, and she twisted in her seat and screwed her face up until she stopped screaming.
"Not the first clear images I wanted to see after twenty years of darkness," she said, voice ragged and angry and very un-Jinx. "Not what I wanted to see at all"
"What did you see?" Phil said.
"Impressions, really," Jinx said. "A woman, mid-twenties, blond, naked. A sort of circular tattoo. Cut from her flesh with an athame, a ritual magic dagger-"
I looked at Balducci, who was holding his hand over his mouth cautiously, skeptically, following every word. Up till now Jinx had not told us anything she couldn't have gotten from me, a cold-reading trick typical of most of the charlatans claiming to be psychics. I couldn't blame him for being skeptical "And then-dear goddess!-he poured salt on the wound-"
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