Winterstruck: an urban fantasy supernatural crime thriller

by Sara C. Walker

  It wasn't any of that. I'd processed crime scenes worse than this.

  No, I lost my breakfast because the room had one of those wall stickers, the kind that take up the entire wall and make you feel like you're part of that scene, really there. This was a beach scene. The photography so good I swore I could step between the palm trees and retreat to the white sand and turquoise ocean.

  I lost my breakfast because it was the exact beach from my nightmare about Hammond.

  Worse: the woman on the bed was Marissa, the woman he'd been sitting with, the waitress from the restaurant. I'd hoped she'd got away that night, out with the other patrons. Somehow, he found her.

  22

  Magnusson excused me from the crime scene, making me wait in his car until they finished. Then he put me in a cab and sent me back to the office with the samples he'd collected. The ride in the cab reminded me of the new information from Stuart.

  Oshaun looked up from her microscope when I entered her lab. I handed her the samples.

  "I interviewed a witness this morning and got the name of the cab company our fire bug, Hammond, uses. Can you run another data scrape for me?"

  She fixed me with a stare as though I'd just asked her to rob a bank. And turned her back to me so she could unpack the samples.

  "Can I ask you a question? Is there a reason you hate me?"

  "I don’t hate you."

  "Then what would you call it? Extreme dislike? Distrust?"

  "It’s not you," she said. "It’s your aura."

  "My aura?"

  "Yes. It’s wrong."

  "Wrong? My aura is wrong?"

  She turned around and fixed me with another of her stares. Maybe it wasn’t anger. Maybe it was just stress. And maybe my questions were giving her additional stress at a bad time.

  "Okay," I said. "I can see you're busy. We can talk again later."

  I retreated to my desk. My aura was wrong. Whatever that meant.

  After I grabbed a fresh cup of coffee, I sat down in front of my computer, warming my hands on the hot mug. I set the cup down, searched for Palomino Cabs and brought up their website. But I had no idea how to break through their firewall so I could get to the GPS logs.

  Computers hated me. I typically had a sense of what I wanted them to do, but to get them to actually do it was another matter. The screen blinked back with another error message and an ear-piercing squelch.

  "Ugh." I pounded my fists on the desk.

  The screen wobbled, beyond the end of its life. To get a new one, I would have to fill out a request form, but if Simon was right—and it sounded like he was—and we were faced with budget cuts, odds were good the request would be denied.

  The new guy walked into the room. I glowered at him. Charlie didn't say anything but went for the coffee pot.

  "That stuff will put hair on your chest," I said. He paid no attention to my warning, added a few spoons of sugar and a dollop of cream from the carton kept in the minifridge. Then he took a mouthful and, just like a cartoon character, sprayed the office with it.

  "What is this stuff? The blob-thing that killed Tasha Yar?" he asked. He held up the cup, examining the contents as though answers would be provided.

  I smiled. "Heh. That's Magnusson's excuse for coffee."

  "Even the coffee at the dorm was better than this." Charlie went to the water cooler, added a splash of cold water, and tried again. His eyebrows went up as he sipped, and he made a face that signalled the addition of water had no effect.

  "Maybe I should make a fresh pot," he said.

  "I don't recommend that."

  "No?"

  "No one messes with the boss's coffee."

  He reached for the coffee pot, paused mid-air and thought about it. He didn't seem convinced, but decided to dump his cup down the sink, and then began wiping off the walls.

  "I saw your autopsy reports," I said. They were as good as any of Oshaun's reports and hit the server early this morning, meaning he must have worked all night. "You do good work."

  "Thanks. Mr. Magnusson said they were a priority. I understand there's another body coming in today; I hope we're getting closer to catching this guy."

  The memory of being in Marissa's bedroom twisted in my gut. I took a sip of coffee, hoping the warm liquid would wash it away.

  "You drink that stuff?" Charlie pointed at my mug.

  "No. Never."

  I waved him over to my desk, slid open the bottom drawer, revealing my personal stash. I pulled out the bottle of freeze-dried instant coffee and handed it to him. "Feel free to help yourself."

  "Thanks."

  "I have hot chocolate powder too."

  While Charlie went about making a fresh beverage, I returned to trying to cut through the cab company's firewall.

  "Having issues with the internet?" Charlie asked. He caught sight of my screen when returning the jar.

  I explained to him what I was trying to do and how close I was to getting a location for Hammond. His eyes lit up.

  "I assume you're using a back-channel port and bouncing to mask the IP address?"

  I blinked. "I have no idea what you just said."

  He gestured at the computer. "May I?"

  I slipped out of the chair, picking up my mug, and stood to the side. I watched everything he did, but only vaguely grabbed the concepts he explained as his fingers tapped all over the keyboard.

  Within minutes, he brought exactly what I wanted up on the screen.

  "I downloaded a data scraper so you can pull the information down before cutting the connection." He glanced up at me, but saw the blank look on my face and chuckled. "Never mind. I'll run the report."

  A few seconds later, the printer started spitting out pages of GPS data.

  I scanned the pages.

  "Where on earth did you learn to do all that?"

  He slid out of my chair. "You wouldn't believe how many kids at university were doing stuff like that while studying IT security. Then they'd call up the company they'd just hacked, tell them what they'd done and how it could have been prevented, and then get hired."

  Huh.

  Maybe the kid really was a genius.

  "Would this work—" An idea started to form. I glanced over at the boss's empty office.

  "On our own servers?" Charlie interpreted. He frowned. "Yes," he said gravely.

  I could go hack the server and dig up Harry's contact information. Contact him myself.

  "But the consequences…" he continued.

  "Yeah, don't worry. I'm not going to do it," I said quickly. "I won't do anything to get you into trouble."

  He collapsed with relief. "Good. If there's something you need from the boss, just ask for it."

  "Right," I said, dismissing the subject. "Now tell me who or what a Tasha Yar is."

  Charlie had just finished explaining the entire first season of Star Trek: The Next Generation and who Tasha Yar was and how she died at the hands of a black blob thing, when Magnusson returned.

  He entered the office and stood in the middle of the room, waiting for our laughter to die down.

  "New body for autopsy," he said. He turned to me.

  Marissa.

  "Yes, sir," Charlie muttered and scurried down the hall.

  Magnusson stared at me. "Maybe you should call it a day," he said.

  "No, I’m fine. I’m finally onto something—"

  "You’ve done enough. Take the rest of the night off."

  Done enough? "I’m sorry about the crime scene. It won’t happen again." Was this about me throwing up or was this about me getting arrested yesterday?

  I really needed to tell him about what I found under the Conservatory. But what would he want to do about it? He wouldn’t condone helping the fae. We protected humans.

  But could I tell Simon about it? Would this be helping? Or would I be giving up the fae like sacrificial lambs?

  "Go home, Ivory." Magnusson turned and stormed into his office.

  Great.


  Calling it a day, I picked up my stuff and left.

  I had to take another cab to Stuart’s building so I could pick up my car. Driving with no destination in mind, the streets of Toronto blurred as I found myself mindlessly drifting with the ebb and flow of traffic from stop light to stop light.

  I pulled the car over, parallel parking in the first available spot, only dimly realizing where I was in the city. Up ahead, fire crews continued to work at putting out hotspots left from last night's disaster at Terrace Rouge.

  Steel beams jutted out like blackened ribs from the charred shell of brick walls, while fire crews rode their buckets and sprayed their hoses. Puffs of smoke and ash climbed the sky.

  News reports said they were having trouble putting out the fire because of the cold weather. Ice kept building up on the hose nozzles.

  Magnusson's dismissal really struck a nerve. It felt like the team was collapsing. I didn’t like that at all.

  Memories of my last case with my last partner flashed in my mind. Over the years of our working together, Reece Thatcher had changed, and in the end—when the fae threatened his family—he succumbed to his fear of the fae. His fear turned into hatred. His hatred blinded his judgement until the Reece Thatcher I knew—and loved working with—was gone.

  I'd lost the best partner I'd ever had, but the shit of it was that I hadn't been able to save him, and ever since that day, my mother's voice haunted me, reminding me of my other great failure.

  "You should have been here," she says, spittle flying from her mouth. "You should have saved him."

  Yes, Mother. I should have been there.

  The cold jabbed spikes up my calf muscles and I couldn't feel my feet anymore despite my boots and thick socks.

  Heated seats sure would be handy right about now.

  Maybe I was wrong to reject Luke's gift. He was only trying to help me. But it wasn't wrong to want to help myself, either. There had to be a compromise. Maybe we could find one tonight. Over dinner. I could make Luke's favourite meal. Eggplant parm.

  I didn’t know what to do about a lot of things, but I needed to do something. I headed for the nearest grocery store.

  23

  I wasn't sure what we had on hand at home, but I wanted to make sure I had everything I needed. I pulled up a recipe on my phone and scanned the ingredients list as I moved through the store. I was looking over the selection of tomatoes when I felt the presence of a fae.

  Not now.

  This wasn't a big box store, but a small market, and it being the middle of the afternoon, only two other people were in the store. At the checkout counter, a shopper argued with the clerk about the price of a box of tea that was supposed to be on discount. I tried to throw a smile of support for the clerk, but she didn't see me.

  As I passed by stands of potatoes and onions, the presence pressed against the outer limits of my ability to sense them, and edged closer.

  Why does it have to be now?

  I abandoned my cart and returned to the front door.

  The argument had shifted from the price of tea to the price of a bag of cashews. If the woman was going to argue about the price of everything, then judging by her full cart, they were going to be a while. From the sounds of it, the clerk was used to this particular customer.

  I stepped outside and scanned the street. Sure enough, across the street a big black dog weaved between parked cars, sniffing the tires. I easily spotted his dark fur against the dirty snowbanks. When he saw me, he stopped and sat down.

  Good.

  "It's time to talk," I said. "Get changed and come inside."

  I went inside to wait and watch through the glass door. I'd spoken quietly enough that the few pedestrians hurrying by couldn't hear me. A whisper could be picked up by Leander's super dog hearing, even with the flow of traffic. He nodded, turned around in a circle, and scampered across the sidewalk to an alley. A few seconds later, he stepped out from between the two buildings as a fully-grown man.

  Some called it glamour. Some said it was shapeshifting. Neither were exactly right. Every fae was tied to an element. It gave them form and the energy to change their appearance from that form to a human form. The more powerful the fae, the more fully the fae transitioned.

  Now a man in black jeans, leather motorcycle jacket, and boots, Leander dodged the traffic and joined me in the store.

  "I just want you to know that I don't normally…" he started but then seemed at a loss for words.

  I headed back to my abandoned cart, tossed in a pair of purple eggplants closest resembling what I remembered of the ones Luke had used, and moved on to selecting romaine lettuce.

  "Sniff tires?" Or follow me?

  "I was just trying to stay warm. And…and blend in with other dogs."

  While I grabbed a leafy head of lettuce and added it to the cart, I snuck a glance at Leander. He was genuinely embarrassed.

  "That's not why I wanted to talk to you."

  I moved to the bread aisle, found the shelf of bread crumbs, and became immediately perplexed by the numerous choices.

  "Just a sec," I said, and pulled up the recipe on my phone again. The ingredients just listed "breadcrumbs."

  Why did I have to choose something so difficult? Maybe I should just forget this and make a simple pasta dinner. Like I usually do. Like just about every time I cook?

  I sighed and put the containers back on the shelf. "This is stupid."

  "What are you making?"

  "Eggplant parm. Luke and I…we…I just wanted to…" Now it was my turn to be embarrassed.

  Leander reached over, grabbed a box of panko crumbs and added it to my cart.

  "You know how to cook?" I said, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice.

  He shot me a look with a raised eyebrow. "Did you think I lived off garbage in the street? Like a dog?"

  I hadn't really thought about it. But now it brought up all kinds of questions. Cooking implied he had a kitchen stocked with food. Which meant he had a home. Somewhere. Somehow. How did he pay for it?

  There was no time for this.

  "Right," I said. "Okay. Never mind."

  Pushing the cart, we headed for the coolers at the back of the store.

  "So I've been meaning to talk to you," I started.

  I felt bad for Leander. I'd met him while working the case that cost me my partner. Leander had tried to leave his pack of fae dogs when his alpha was arrested by someone like me, but somehow he'd ended up subservient to a group of fae vultures. It seemed he'd left the vultures and taken up this new hobby of tailing me.

  "As have I," he said quickly. "You saved my life that day you found me at that warehouse."

  While he spoke, I pulled open a cooler door and began opening egg cartons, scanning each egg for cracks.

  He continued, "And I've been wanting to find a moment when I could adequately express my thanks."

  I found a carton of eggs without any broken shells, put it in my cart and headed for the cheese shelf.

  "That's really sweet," I said, "but you don't owe me anything. I was just doing my job."

  "I think we both know there was a bit more going on there than your usual job duties," he said and then hesitated. "And after all that, I just want to make sure you're okay."

  I knew if I looked at him, I would see something in his eyes that I wasn't sure I could handle right now. It was taking everything I had to keep tears from falling. So I concentrated on the choices of cheese before me, but my eyes weren't focusing on the labels. My mind was back in that warehouse where I first met Leander and where my partner lost his mind.

  "I'm fine," I said quickly.

  My hand passed over the row of cylindrical containers of pre-desiccated Parmesan cheese, and I picked up a plastic-wrapped chunk broken off a large wheel of the fresh stuff made by a local artisan. I weighed it in my hands. It wasn't so long ago I was living on my own and buying the cheap cheese was a luxury. My buying habits had changed since meeting Luke. He insisted on real ch
eese. Always. Real ingredients. Healthy food. Like making eggplant parm instead of chicken parm. And homemade sauce from fresh vegetables.

  I sighed. I had a good thing—a great thing—with Luke. The last thing I needed was for Leander to poke around at the wrong moment and ruin everything.

  "I think you should know—" Leander started.

  "I'm fine. Really," I insisted. "You need to stop worrying about me. Stop following me. Okay, it was a bad day that day, I admit it, but I'm fine. And you don't owe me a Wookie life debt. I was just doing my job."

  He started to nod. "Wookie life debt?"

  "Star Wars? Chewbacca? Han Solo?"

  He shook his head.

  With a sigh, I put the chunk of cheese in my cart and headed for the checkout.

  And came to an abrupt halt when I reached the end of the aisle. Too late, I realized the women had stopped arguing and the store had fallen into awkward, uncomfortable silence.

  Ruby stood by the door.

  Her eyes lit up when she saw that I’d finally noticed her. She smiled and waved.

  Shit. What the hell was she doing here?

  I held up my hand for Leander to halt, too, and stay behind the aisle, but when I looked over my shoulder, he was nowhere to be seen.

  My mind whirred. Did Ruby follow me here? What did she want?

  My hands fell away from my shopping cart and it rolled with one squeaky wheel until it crashed into a display of chocolate bars. My fingers bumped against the gun weighing down my coat on one side and the bottle of forgetting spray on the other.

  "We meet again," she said.

  "Unfortunately," I said bitterly.

  "Aw, is that anyway to treat a friend?"

  "Friend?" I said. "What do you want?"

  "I heard about the fire last night," she said. "I wanted to offer my help."

  "Help? How do you figure you can help?"