Blackout Series Books 1-2 (A Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller)

by Adam Drake

  Misael went silent, hurt by the betrayal of one he trusted.

  As Fairfax and I were leaving Misael said, “Please. As a favor to me and poor Elicia, find this man and make him pay for what he has done.” There was anger in this gentle man's eyes.

  “Of that, Mr. Rousset,” I said. “I promise.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  We left the bookshop keeper with his regrets and returned to the buggy.

  “So we need to find a tall, rude, skinny man covered in all black attire and wearing women's make-up,” Fairfax said. “Should not take us long.”

  “I admit our list of suspects is still as non-existent as when we started. But this revelation about the book Elicia stole provides a few answers,” I said.

  “How so?”

  “The suspect stole the Talon from the museum, but could not use it. It was inert. So the suspect tries to get the Magic Sources & Rebirth book from Rousset. Maybe he did not know of its existence until after the auction. When he could not purchase the book he manipulated Elicia into stealing it.”

  Fairfax nodded. “He meets her at her home, going through the back door at night. Then he... turns her to stone?”

  I held up a finger. “Not yet. The Talon is still useless at that point. So he checks the book to confirm its validity, finds the spell within its pages and reads it somehow. He must be versed in the language. The spell works, breaks the soul-binding on the Talon from Gunther the Ungrateful, and binds it to himself.”

  “How do you bind an artifact?”

  “By touch,” I said, and did not want to get into the details for which I was familiar. “So once the artifact is bound to him his first act is to test the Talon on poor Elicia.”

  “As she was drinking her tea, daydreaming of her future life in the South Islands.”

  “Yes, but why he would desire the Talon, specifically, is beyond me. If he wanted to kill someone using a pistol would work just as well.”

  “But less grand a spectacle.”

  I shrugged, “As to his true motivations for trying to obtain the Talon and get it bound to himself, I am at a loss.”

  Fairfax said, “So why kill Oswall?”

  “He must have found a connection to the suspect, or was getting too close for comfort. Then he was lured to Muddy Way on some pretext and turned to stone.”

  “Oswall knew of Elicia. Wrote her name on that card for a reason. How did he make the connection between the museum burglary and Elicia? There must be an overlap.”

  I pondered that. “He was pulling on a thread we missed.” Then I sighed. “Ah, Fairfax we've gotten ourselves tangled up in some ugly business. It makes me tired.”

  “Let's report in at the Constabulary, then I will take you home. We will pick up first thing in the morning. And I will bring biscuits this time.”

  That made me laugh, which was what I needed.

  We drove back to the Constabulary as the sun was setting on the horizon. As we turned into the lot there was a large open backed truck parked there. A small crane atop it was lowering something wrapped in canvas to the ground. Constable Webster was supervising, shouting instructions to two men working the crane.

  He nodded to us as we approached. “Finally managed to get him here in one piece. Took a bit of work, too.”

  I must have been more tired than I realized because it then hit me that the object being lowered was Detective Oswall.

  “Well done, Constable,” I said.

  Fairfax looked around the lot. “Where are you going to... uh... store him?”

  “He's too heavy to move inside, might ruin the new floors, so the Chief suggested we put him over there under the awnings. Should keep any rain off of him. We'll be moving the woman out of the townhouse tomorrow.”

  I looked at the canvased statue of Oswall. His outstretched hand poking out, forever trying to ward off his doom.

  We left Webster to his task and went inside. As we passed Sergeant Constable Maginhart's desk I snatched another biscuit from the tin. I had not eaten all day.

  The kennel area was full of constables going about their business. It was a shift change, with a handful of them staying on for the night. Crime never sleeps.

  “Chief's here,” Fairfax said, and I saw the rock lights in his office were on.

  As we entered the Chief saw me, stood and rounded his large desk. He took my hand into both of his and for the briefest of moments I thought he would kiss it. Now wouldn't that have been a thrill at my age?

  “Beeweather!” Chief Constable Kyrill said. “Such a pleasure to see you again. I do wish it was under different circumstances though. How are you feeling?” He noticed how tired I was.

  “I'm fine, thank you,” I said. I blushed at his attention. “It has been a rather long day.”

  Kyrill released my hand and motioned to a chair. “Please sit,” he said, and I did. It felt good to relax a little but my mind was still heavy with thoughts of the case.

  Kyrill looked to Fairfax, “So, any progress?”

  Fairfax opened his mouth to answer when a voice from the doorway behind us cut him off.

  “That is what I want to know!” It was Sigwald Archambault looking flush from hurrying through the kennel to confront us.

  Behind him arrived his lick-spittle of an assistant, Davlon Blythe. Upon seeing me, Blythe sneered, which only emphasized the ugly birthmark under his left eye.

  “Mister Mayor,” the Chief said with a sigh. “To what do we owe this interruption?” He had no admiration for Archambault, of which I was grateful. It would only make the lives of the entire Constabulary that much more difficult.

  Archambault glared at me. “What is she still doing on the case? I made it perfectly clear that reactivating retired personnel was against regulations unless approved through a committee -”.

  Kyrill stopped him with a raised hand, annoyance on his face. “Enough Sigwald. We know why you are really here. You are sore at Beeweather for throwing your crooked business partners into a deep, dark hole. And now you see an opportunity to vent your spleen.”

  Archambault's face was near apoplectic. “How dare you make such a vile accusation, sir! My concern is only that the rules are followed. Allowing an old woman to trollop through a very important case with her little animal show is not one of them!”

  Blythe sniffed approval at his master's tirade.

  Kyrill took a step closer to the mayor, looming over the smaller man. “Who I assign to a case is my responsibility. Not yours. If you wish to file a formal complaint then please do.”

  “I will!” said the mayor, wide eyed.

  “Although,” the Chief said, “it would be a complete waste of time as the case will most likely be solved by then.”

  The mayor's eyes bounced between the Chief and myself as if looking for a hint of deception. “Is this true? Do you have a suspect?”

  I spoke for myself. “We have leads, but I believe we will have something soon.” That might not have been true, but if felt good to say it to the mayor.

  Fairfax leaned forward. “And most all the progress we made today was thanks to her little animal show.”

  Archambault's eyes glanced at my satchel and for a moment he looked worried. He turned to Chief Kyrill. “Then this time tomorrow, Chief Constable, if a suspect is not in custody, I will have your badge.”

  Chief Kyrill blinked in surprise. But before he could respond in kind, Archambault whirled around and marched out the office, with Blythe scurrying close behind.

  Once the two were out of earshot everyone in the office let out a sigh of relief.

  “What an unpleasant little man,” I said and not for the first time that day.

  “No matter how many times he is reelected,” Chief Kyrill said, “his manners never improve.”

  Fairfax said, “Can he do that, sir? Just take your badge away on such a whim?”

  The Chief shrugged, “Perhaps. But not without a fight from the Constabulary's supporters on the council, few they may be. Oh, he'll
raise a stink and make life a little more difficult, but he's been doing that for years anyway.” He looked hopeful for a moment. “Do you have a lead?”

  I looked to Fairfax who could only offer a supportive smile. “Well, Chief Constable, we are working on that as hard as we can.”

  Kyrill raised a hand. “That is all I ask for. But for now I think you two should get some rest. You both look drained.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Fairfax. “Thank you, sir.”

  As we left the Chief's office and went back to the buggy a sensation of cold dread washed over me. There was more at stake here than an old detective's professional pride.

  If I could not close this case and the Chief was replaced with a puppet of the mayor, then the entire future of the Constabulary would be at risk.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  After Fairfax dropped me off at my home I immediately went to the kitchen and made myself a cheese and beet sandwich. A favorite of mine since childhood I found some small solace in the ritual of eating it. The taste was wonderful.

  As I ate my eyes wandered to my satchel which sat open on the kitchen chair beside me. Next to the knitting bag was my little pistol. I took it out and, not for the first time that day, checked to ensure it was loaded.

  I wondered at such an odd life I had led. To be at such a stage in my later years that a pistol was required for my safety. When was it fired last? During the case of the wolfmen pack that stalked the Hearts district? No. During the case of the demon which took over the King of the Rats? No, that was too far back in the past.

  As I tried to conjure the memory I yawned. Such things were best to not think of before bed. It would only create nightmares, and of those I already had plenty. I put the pistol on the table and looked at how the rock lights played across its steel surface. I hoped, that before this case was over I would not need to use it.

  Tired, I picked up my satchel and went to my bedroom, turning off the rock lights along the way. I readied for bed, and as I climbed in I looked at the knitting bag in the satchel on the night stand. Now that brought back memories. Strong and fierce. My old mind did not need coaxing for those.

  I turned off the rock light by my bed and closed my eyes. Sleep claimed me quickly and the vision of Oswall being lowered by the crane haunted my dreams.

  xxxx

  I woke with a start and sat upright in bed.

  My heart thumped in my chest as my eyes searched the darkness for what yanked me from my slumber. Was it a noise, or a nightmare?

  The room was pitch black, but I resisted the urge to touch a rock light. I had lived in this house for decades and I knew all of its creaks and pops when its old wood shifted. Now I listened. I sensed something was wrong.

  Then it came. A slight creaking of the floorboard at the end of the hall that bordered the kitchen.

  Someone was in the house.

  My mind raced with the implications. No one had broken into my house before. I had taken precautions. Yet, with another creaking noise, this one closer, the fact was undeniable.

  I fought down the panic that threatened to overwhelm me. I was, after all, a little old woman who lived alone. But this old woman had bite!

  I realized I had an advantage, albeit temporary. I knew this house very well; the perpetrator did not. Also, based on how he or she moved, they were unaware I had woken. I could prepare for them.

  In the darkness I eased across my bed until I was up against the night stand. I reached over to my satchel and placed my hand inside, searching. Where was my pistol? Then it hit me. Like a fool I had left it on the kitchen table. Maybe the person skulking in my hallway had it in their possession and sought to shoot me with it. How fitting.

  Cursing inwardly I tried to think. There was my rifle in the closet next to the night stand, loaded but stuffed behind a bunch of clothing. Not very helpful yet I had little choice.

  I moved off the bed and placed a foot on the cold floor. The wood beneath my foot crackled loudly.

  Suddenly, the intruder gave up all pretense of stealth and rushed down the hall.

  I lunged for the closet door in a last desperate gamble to grab the rifle but I knew I would be too late. I slipped and in my effort to maintain balance I lashed out with one hand. My fingers grazed the rock light on the night stand and it flicked on. I bumped against it as I fell to the floor. The light flung across the room to land spinning at the bedroom doorway.

  The rock light spun around casting swirling shadows and light around the room. Then I saw him. A man, tall and lean, covered in black clothing. His face was covered with a black mask but his eyes were wide with anger. He held a pistol in his hand.

  I gasped and reached up to right myself. If I was going to die, it would be on my feet.

  The man entered the room and kicked the spinning rock light to the side. Its dim illumination cast him almost completely in shadow, and his eyes flickered like hateful jewels.

  I stood but my old body defied me one last fight and I sagged backward. My hand landed in my satchel and that's when I touched the knitting bag's clasp.

  What happened next was nothing short of miraculous.

  A cat leapt from the knitting bag and it was unlike any I had seen previously. It was a mottled gray color and absolutely huge. One instance the bag was open and the next a cat the size of a small horse stood in the space between myself and the man in black.

  The gigantic cat arched its back, long fur standing on end, and hissed so loud the sound shook the house.

  Stunned, the man in black froze, eyes wide in shock. He fired his pistol, and I flinched at the sound. The man backpedaled and raced back down the hallway.

  The cat ran after him, or so it tried. Due to its size and the slippery nature of the floor, the giant cat slid into the door frame, cracking it. A painting flew from the wall with the impact.

  I heard the man keening with fear as he fled, neither yelling nor screaming but a sound of utter terror.

  The cat's claws scrapped at the floor as it scrambled to get proper purchase and give pursuit. It soon vanished from sight thudding against a wall out in the hall.

  I gathered my wits, hurried to the closet and pulled out the rifle. In the kitchen I heard the back door being flung open with a load crash. I hobbled into the hallway, my side hurting from my fall.

  I saw the open back door and the blackness of night beyond it. The huge cat stood at the edge of the door hissing into the night but it would not step over into the back yard. The man had fled.

  Once I made it to the kitchen I headed for the open door. The large feline whirled around and hissed at me. I froze. Had the beast become so fired up from the attack that it might hurt me?

  I realized the meaning of its consternation. The one true limit of these cats was that if summoned from within a building or domicile, they were then bound to that place. This cat could not go outside. Had it been summoned outside there would have been no such limitation and I do not doubt it would still be chasing after the petrified man.

  And since going outside was not an option it could not protect me if I left. Which is why it now refused to let me pass. Touched as I was by its sentiments I found myself a little annoyed. I had looked forward to firing a shot at the black hearted cretin who defiled my home and tried to murder me in my sleep.

  The cat paced back and forth at the open door, agitated. I took the moment to touch several rock lights and assess my situation.

  I was safe now, at least for the moment. Whoever had broken in would not be foolish enough to return. I was wide awake, armed and angry. And now accompanied by my horse sized guardian I doubted another attempt would be made on me that night.

  To the cat I said, “I'd like to shut that door. It's letting in a draft.”

  The giant feline paused and regarded me. With a swish of its long bushy tail, the door slammed shut and the dead bolt slide into place, locked.

  I then realized that it had been shot when the man fired the pistol. “Are you all right? I thought he might ha
ve hit you.” I saw no obvious wounds and it did not act as if it hurt.

  The large animal began to wretch as if to cough up a fur-ball. And for a cat that size it would have been quite the sight. Instead something small fell from its mouth to clatter on the floor. With a cloth from the kitchen I picked it up. A small caliber bullet, and still perfectly formed. Almost as if it had been absorbed intact.

  I looked to the cat in amazement. It stared back with rainbow eyes then resumed its march back and forth.