A Little Street Magic

by Gayla Drummond

  “If your dad can’t take him, I’ll give him a try. Or Terra might. She misses Romeo, that German Shepherd from the dog fighting group. Took forever to find his owners.”

  “Okay. If the Tinies come around though, I’ll keep him. Let’s give it a week, see how things shake out.”

  Logan nodded. “We probably shouldn’t talk about the case where he can hear us.”

  “No. I kind of don’t want to talk about it at all. Except Dodson. He was a prick. I can’t believe Stannett hired him.” I took another sip and leaned against the counter.

  “I don’t think his coworkers think much of him.”

  “Damian wanted you to whomp him.”

  Logan chuckled. “The thought crossed my mind, but you didn’t seem keen on that idea.”

  “I’ve never had to bail someone out of jail. I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “I promise to do my best not to end up in jail.” He nodded at the dining area. “You were going to tell me about your visit with the ancestors.”

  “Right.” I led the way to the table, and proceeded to do so, ending with “I guess we should find out why she’s staying. But I also want to know why an ancient tiger shifter has an Irish name.”

  “Cerridwen’s Welsh, not Irish.”

  I made a face. “Okay, but tigers aren’t native to Britain, so my question stands. Did you know she was a normal tiger first?” Thorandryll had explained to me why the elves treated shifters like second, no, fourth-class citizens.

  Logan looked down at his empty coffee cup and fidgeted with its handle. “Cerridwen wasn’t the first shifter. Her brother was, or at least that’s what our legends say.”

  “So he learned to change shape, and taught her?”

  “Not exactly.”

  I folded my arms and rested them on the table. “Usually, when I have questions and you have the answers, you pop them out. What gives?”

  He sighed and leaned back, keeping his eyes on his cup. “We’re the youngest species, maybe around three and a half thousand years old. Before then, we were...just animals. Elves and humans both hunted us, sometimes to capture. Our legends say that Cerridwen and Berian, her brother, were captured by elves. One of their princes was enamored with a human woman, and he gave the tigers to her as a token of affection, hoping to win her hand.”

  “But she wasn’t human,” I said. “Right? You said elves have a history of abducting humans. If she’d been human, he would’ve just kidnapped her.”

  Logan nodded. “She was a mage from one of the great families. Elves are arrogant, but not to the point of going to war with the children of the gods. Especially not back then, when the gods were actively involving themselves in everything.”

  “Wait a minute. Didn’t any of the gods pick an elf to have a baby with?”

  A quirk of his lips said “no” before he answered. “The gods apparently preferred humans.”

  “Ooh, bet that went over like a fart in church.”

  Logan laughed. “Haven’t heard that one before, but yeah. Anyway, he gave them to her as a gift, and she must’ve been a child of Cernunnos or some other god associated with animals, because she was able to tame them.”

  “They became devoted to her, and never left her side. She probably named them.” He hesitated. “This is where the legends diverge. One says Berian loved his mistress and grew jealous of the elf and others who wanted to make her theirs. The other says she could change forms, and taught him how to. Both legends agree that she and Berian loved each other, so I guess it doesn’t matter if he learned to change his shape by force of will, or if she used magic to teach him to change shape.”

  “I think it’s more romantic if he did it, but if he did, how did he teach the others to do it? And who is the ‘she’? You haven’t said her name.”

  “Because no one speaks her name. I know it sounds like a great love story, but it’s not. It’s a tragedy.”

  “Crap, I’m not going to like the rest, huh?”

  “Sorry.”

  I sighed. “Go ahead.”

  “Whichever way it went, the animals of the other mages were affected too. First Berian, then his sister, and after them, the ability to change shape spread to a pair of wolves kept by another mage of her family. It kept going, until every great family’s wild pets were able to take human shape.”

  “The mages liked it, but I’m guessing no one else did.”

  “Right, especially the elves and some gods. Elves began hunting and killing shifters, trying to stop the spread. Someone decided that since Berian was the first to change, he was the source, and if he died, the others would lose the ability.”

  Even though I’d been warned the story ended in tragedy, I was fascinated. “What happened to him?”

  “They ran, but back then, there wasn’t any escape. Everywhere they went, word would eventually spread, and the elves would come. Berian decided to sacrifice himself for her, their child, and his sister.” Logan frowned. “But she didn’t want him to.”

  “She called upon the gods of her house to save them, and made a deal. Her life for theirs and all the other shifters. I guess she made a good argument, but there were conditions made. The first groups—Clan, Pride, Pack, and so on—were declared off limits for hunting, but their children weren’t protected once they reached adulthood.”

  “The other condition was that all shifters would be forced to return to their animal shapes every full moon.” Logan looked me in the eyes. “I may have lied to you about something.”

  “What?”

  “I told you black tigers were sterile, and no one knew why. Berian was a black tiger.”

  My heart felt funny, as I remembered the silent black tiger sitting beside Cerridwen’s empty place. “Oh. You said they had a kid.”

  He nodded. “One child. The thing is, one rumor says he was sterile and she worked a spell to allow them to have the child. But there’s also rumors that either a god or the elves cursed Berian with infertility, and any tiger that resembled him with the same, as punishment for being the first shifter.”

  “Well, if no one knows which rumor is truth, you weren’t lying about it. That’s what you told me: No one knows why,” I said, relieved.

  “I’ve always thought the curse rumor was true. Just seems most likely, considering she chose Berian, and elves have a reputation for jealousy. So do gods, and an animal learning to change shapes, or a mage daring to push the envelope, would be stepping on their toes.” Logan fidgeted with his cup again, turning it in circles.

  “Yeah, sounds about right. But just because you think that’s the reason doesn’t mean it absolutely is. Quit feeling guilty. Not telling your choice of ‘why?’ isn’t the same as lying.”

  He nodded. “Cerridwen may know.”

  I sat back, struck by his quiet tone. This was serious, and the only reason it would be serious to him was if he really wanted kids. And I was a hundred percent certain I didn’t. Big problem since we were dating. Huge problem, since I thought I was well on my way to actually being in love with him. “She’s not talking to me.”

  “I know. But if she does... “

  Crap. “I’ll ask her.”

  “Thank you.” Logan looked up for a second. I hoped my expression wasn’t weird. “It’s late. Are you going to stay up?”

  “No, I think I’ll try and sleep.” I needed alone time more than worrying about potential nightmares.

  When he looked up again, meeting my eyes, it felt as though a wall slid between us. “I’ll take Speck and Squishy home for the night, if you want me to. They’re awake and still fussing about Rufus.”

  I couldn’t hear them, but I didn’t have shifter hearing. “That would be great. Maybe you could keep them for a couple of days, give him time to adjust?”

  “Sure. Terra won’t mind puppy-sitting while we’re working.”

  We traded smiles, but something had definitely changed between us, and I didn’t like it.

  FOUR

  “Cranky” didn�
��t begin to describe my mood after my alarm clock went off on Monday morning.

  It was cold, Bone and Diablo were obnoxiously bouncy, and I couldn’t remember if I’d had a nightmare or not. Maybe I was mad at myself for letting personal stuff overshadow Mr. Pettigrew’s horrible end.

  I’d seen a lot of gruesome things over the past few years, thanks to my psychometry and retro-cognition abilities. Plus more than a few events I’d been personally present for. Never in a million years could my younger, pre-Melding self have imagined that she’d grow up to become a private detective, much less a psychic one.

  The dogs, Rufus included, spread out as I began jogging, to sniff for interesting spots to pee on.

  I tried to remember, without success, if I’d told Logan that I didn’t want kids, when we’d had our heart-to-heart in the Unseelie realm. If I hadn’t, he’d probably figured it out last night due to my less-than-enthusiastic agreement to ask Cerridwen about the black tiger sterility thing.

  My abilities had already painted a huge bullseye on my closest friends and family, with two having paid the ultimate price and two more having endured terror that was still playing havoc with their mental well-being. I missed Ginger.

  It wasn’t as though I lacked good friends, but none of us had grown up together. Ginger had been my “sister from another mister” as the saying went. Yet she was gone, and if Derrick were correct, she was at peace.

  I was really glad none of my abilities involved communicating with actual ghosts. There were hundreds, maybe even thousands, of psychic abilities. Everyone kept pointing out that I had a lot, and compared to what I’d heard about most psychics, I did. But my dozen or so abilities weren’t even the tip of the psychic iceberg.

  To be honest, I wasn’t even certain I had a couple of those abilities. Not once had I been able to consciously create the protective shield. For that matter, I could only remember one instance of a precognitive vision coming true.

  And if those two weren’t new abilities I had, that meant someone else was involved. My list of who that could be was short. In fact, it only had one name on it: Sal.

  The cold air wasn’t responsible for the chill coursing down my spine. Logan had been awed to think he was important enough for an ancestral spirit to decide to help save him. I didn’t like the idea of being important enough to have a god interested in me.

  Or two. Sal hadn’t been alone, using me as a pony ride into the Unseelie realm.

  Dried and frozen grass crunched underfoot. We’d reached the first back corner, so I slowed to a walk. I hated being important enough to some people that they wanted to bring me to heel, knowing that a few of them, or maybe even all of them, weren’t above threatening my family or friends to get their way.

  My fifteen-year-old self hadn’t had to worry about this kind of crap. I blew out a deep huff of air, and watching the white cloud that resulted dissipate, said, “I have got to do better.”

  There hadn’t been anyone to really teach me when I woke from my coma. Alleryn, disguised as Dr. Allen, had helped me learn a few things about controlling my abilities. But elves weren’t psychics, or natural mages. They were elves, and their magic was different. They could speak a few words, or create potions and such to do what they wanted.

  From the first, my learning had been piecemeal. Frankly, I hadn’t gotten out of that rut. I’d been reactive, instead of proactive. That had to change. I had to stop waiting to learn stuff until it became a matter of life and death.

  Also, I needed to do a much better job of organizing my life so I could spend time with the people I’d added to it. Last night shouldn’t have been my first Sunday gathering with the clan. It shouldn’t have been yet another crime scene meeting with Schumacher.

  Having reached the other back corner, I broke into a jog again, the dogs bounding ahead of me. I’d done a lot of stumbling into alliances and because of that, was now “Somebody” in the supe world. It was time for Discord Jones to grow up, stop sulking over the lost portion of her life, and quit being a clueless dumb-ass masquerading as a do-gooder.

  I could do better, and I was going to, damn it.

  Sudden barking made me look up from my feet, missing a tangle of weeds and nearly kissing the ground. About a dozen yards ahead, the dogs were lunging into the evergreen bushes, their barks translating to “Intruder!”

  I caught my balance and ran forward. “No biting!”

  They harried a man out of the bushes, who did trip and fall, practically at my feet as I reached them. “Who are you, and what the hell are you doing trespassing on my property?”

  “Call off your dogs. I’ll sue if they attack me.” He rolled over, revealing pale blue eyes that were a match for Thorandryll’s in iciness, and a cold-reddened nose. “I mean it.”

  “Sit.” Leglin and Rufus obeyed faster than Bone and Diablo, but all four did mind. The last thing I needed to be rushing to learn was the legal ins and outs of saving them from being put down for biting someone. It wasn’t something I might even have enough time to learn, if one of the pits were the biter. Turning my attention back to the man, I said, “Now answer my...you were at the crime scene last night.”

  He sat up, brushing dead grass off the front of his pants legs. Definitely the man I’d noticed staring at me so hard. “So were you. Why is the Prince’s girlfriend allowed into murder scenes?”

  I remembered my private declaration of doing better just in time. Swallowing back the impulse to say “I’m not Thorandryll’s girlfriend,” I picked a better response. “You have to the count of ten to remove yourself from my property before I call the Sheriff’s office.”

  There was only one kind of person who’d assume I was the elf’s girlfriend, and be at a crime scene: a reporter. A dealing-with-the-media plan was yet another thing I didn’t have.

  He climbed to his feet, keeping an eye on the dogs. “Is your name really Discord Jones?”

  I retrieved my cell phone from my windbreaker’s pocket. “One.”

  “I’m Nate Brock, Miss Jones. If you’ll just answer a few questions...”

  “Two.” I knew that name, and dread made my hands tremble. Brock was a reporter who enjoyed digging up dirt on people, and sharing it with the city at large. He’d ruined a few politicians, and apparently took particular delight in tarnishing the reputations of other prominent citizens.

  Not a man I wanted interested in me. “Three.”

  Brock was my height, a slender man under the heavy black, mid-thigh-length coat he wore. “I’m offering you an opportunity here.”

  Not one I wanted to touch with a ten-foot pole. “Four.”

  “I’m going.” He began to back away, raising his hands. I felt a faint itching sensation in my head, as though something were scratching at the walls of my mental maze. “Not talking to me won’t make a difference. You’ve caught my eye.”

  “Five.” I wanted to throw my phone at him as the itching intensified, and scratch my scalp raw for relief.

  “I’ll see you around.” Brock turned to walk to the driveway. “Maybe you’ll feel like talking later.”

  The intense itching lessened as he moved farther away, and I felt my jaw drop. Nate Brock was a psychic. It was his telepathic attempt to dip into my mind that I’d felt.

  No wonder he was so damned good at his job.

  “Why does Leglin get to stay home?” Bone paused to sniff the bushes.

  “Because he’s not on the list of dogs people like to demonize.” We were on our way over to clan territory. I wasn’t risking my Pit Crew or Rufus in light of Brock’s unwelcome entry into my life.

  “We were good boys. We didn’t bite.” Diablo nudged my hand. “We didn’t touch him.”

  I stroked his head. “You’re the best boys, but some people don’t care how good you are.”

  Not with those scars and missing pieces clearly stating they’d been fighting dogs. Though unscarred, Rufus had the misfortune to be another breed people often considered vicious. “We’re not going to take
any risks. I love you guys too much.”

  “What is ‘demonize’?” Rufus asked as we walked through the arched, stone entrance.

  “It’s uh, well, it’s when someone does something bad, and other people think everyone who looks like that person will also do bad things.”

  “Biting?”

  “Biting is one of those things.”

  The Rottweiler’s ears lowered. “I was trained to bite and hold intruders or attackers, to protect my Master.”

  Which was exactly what he’d done the night before, when the cops had entered Pettigrew’s house. I patted his head. “Well, sometimes, biting is okay. But even the times when it’s okay, there are people who want to punish dogs that bite. Especially dogs that look like you, or Bone and Diablo.”

  “I’m confused.” Rufus looked it too, the skin on his head wrinkling.

  “I’ll make it simple. From now on, no biting unless someone’s trying to hurt you.” I didn’t add “or me,” because I didn’t want a repeat of Red’s death. “And I’ll do my best to make sure no one ever tries to hurt you. Okay?”

  “Yes, Mistress.” Rufus trotted ahead to rejoin my Pit Crew, who were sniffing at vehicles as they began negotiating the parking lot.

  I’d promised to take care of him the night before, and had just renewed that promise, so it looked like I’d gained another four-legged dependent. But maybe that wasn’t a bad thing, even though it’d been a hasty decision. Rufus was a nice dog, and could teach the pits a thing or two about being obedient.

  It was a little warmer in the clan’s pocket realm. Was learning exactly how pocket realms worked something I needed to do, like yesterday? I decided probably not, but they were something I did need to learn more about before too much longer.

  Lost in thought as I attempted to make a list of things I thought I should know now, I was surprised when the dogs veered off the main street to Dane’s front yard. My other partner was standing on his front porch, watching Squishy and Speck select potty spots. My Tinies were bundled in their winter coats and intently inspecting potential places.

  “Morning,” he called.