A Little Street Magic

by Gayla Drummond

  Since I liked that idea a lot, I smiled back. “Be happy to help. Talk to the bosses and let me know.”

  “Great. Well,” Schumacher looked at his watch and sighed. “It’s after eight, and I imagine we’ll have another load to go through tomorrow.”

  “Yay.” We all stood up at the same time, and I wasn’t the only one stretching. “Where’s Damian been all day?”

  “Pounding the pavement. Lucky him, Dodson tagged along.”

  “What’s his story?” Logan asked, pulling on his jacket.

  Schumacher rolled his eyes. “That asshole was hired at the mayor’s request. We’re stuck with him, and as you may have noticed, he’s not a fan of hocus pocus. ‘Hocus pocus’ meaning anything and everything to do with supes.”

  “Short-sighted of him.” Logan’s hands curled at his sides. “We all have to live together.”

  The detective gestured with one hand, indicating all four of us. “We know that. Dodson used to be military, honorably discharged about five years ago.” His grin was unpleasant. “Heard through the grapevine he was stationed at one of the camps, and thinks the segregation idea is a smart one.”

  “Awesome. It’s going to be a barrel of laughs, working with him.” I slung my purse over my shoulder, more interested in food than Dodson’s shortcomings.

  “I’ll pull rank when necessary.” Schumacher patted his rather prominent stomach. “Believe it or not, I was once one of the few, the proud. Plus, I have seniority here.”

  “Good to know.” Logan extended his hand, and they shook. “Thank you for your service.”

  “It was before your time.”

  “Sure, but without it, who knows how different things would’ve been?”

  Schumacher laughed. “Point taken. You’re welcome.”

  We said our good-byes after promising to be in by ten the next morning. On the way out of the building, I slipped my arm around Logan’s. “That was nice of you.”

  “He’s a good guy. People like him are the reason we’re not all penned up.” Logan planted a quick kiss on the side of my head. “I’m thankful this city didn’t panic like some of the others.”

  “Me too.” I had a thought when we reached the car. “But now I wonder how the hell Alleryn set himself up at the hospital. Mom said he was there maybe two weeks after the Melding.”

  “Glamour.” Dane opened the passenger door after Logan unlocked the car. “He glamoured his way in.”

  “Bet that took some doing.” I’d known elves could do more than change their appearance with glamour, such as “persuade” people with it. “Seriously though, there’s paperwork and digital records involved. He didn’t just appear and glamour everyone into thinking Dr. Allen had been there all along.”

  Logan waited until we were all in the car before responding. “You’d have to ask him, but my guess is he convinced them to hire him.”

  “He may have told them the truth.” Dane bumped the back of my seat with his knee. “They did need help.”

  “Uh-huh, an elf telling the truth, straight up?” I laughed. “I’m thinking not.”

  “Kethyrdryll has been a straight shooter.”

  I turned enough to look at Dane. “Yeah, except that part where he failed to mention his mom was the Unseelie Queen we were all trying to get to.”

  Dane made a face. “One instance. He was upfront about everything else.”

  “True.” I turned around. “Of all the elves I’ve met so far, I trust him the most.”

  Which actually wasn’t saying much, considering my interactions with those other elves, though I did like and trust Kethyrdryll. Alleryn had helped me a lot, but still kept his lips zipped about his original motivation for doing so. He’d made it clear he intended to keep helping me as a friend the one time we’d discussed it.

  Kethyrdryll hadn’t known I existed until we’d dropped in on him. No secret motivations on his part. Of course, things could’ve changed since then. Not a happy thought.

  “Anyone hungry?” Logan asked, starting the car. “I am.”

  “I could eat,” Dane said. “Pizza?”

  Happier topic. “I’m starving. How about Chinese?”

  SEVEN

  Logan took my side in the Dinner Debate, and Chinese food always made me happy, which helped when the 10 o’clock news opened with the grisly murder of Mr. Pettigrew. They segued directly to announcing, “Prince Thorandryll declared his intention to run for mayor.”

  “Wow,” Dane said. “Horrible murder by possible supernatural assailant, and hey, another supe’s going to run for mayor.”

  “Bet Thorandryll’s not happy with that.” I reached for the last Crab Rangoon, and my phone dinged. It was a text from Damian. “Oh, crap.”

  The message gave an address, “Wilkins Warning,” and said there were two victims. “Two nights in a row?”

  Dane looked at the message. “Isn’t that the museum’s address?”

  It was, and I texted back: On our way, party of three. I hoped it wasn’t anyone we’d met. Murder scenes were even worse when I knew the victim—no matter how little or well. Logan had already risen and was putting the leftovers away. My phone dinged again, Damian letting me know he’d received my response.

  We were on our way less than five minutes later, my dinner already beginning to curdle in my anxious stomach. Logan glanced over at me. “Do they ever call you in on normal murders?”

  “Sometimes. Depends on what happened, or if something doesn’t strike Damian or Schumacher as quite right, based on the scene.”

  “Maybe we have another dark elf survivor,” Dane said.

  “Bite your tongue. One was too many.” My shudder wasn’t feigned. Dalsarin had been scary, but his personal choice of god, Apep, had been the stuff of nightmares.

  “If it is another dark elf, maybe you’ll get changed into a different animal this time around.” Dane flashed a grin when I looked into the rearview mirror.

  “I think it’s better I stick to the shape I’m used to. It wasn’t much fun, no one knowing who I was.” It had been highly aggravating.

  “Good point. Did we completely rule out vamps?” Dane aimed his question at Logan.

  “I didn’t catch any scents but human, blood, and charred meat.”

  “Wait a minute.” I hesitated, my brain working. “You can smell magic, but you didn’t when I was a dog. It was magic that changed me.”

  “It has to be...I guess ‘active’ is the best word. That magic had done its job.”

  “Oh.” I sighed. “Basically, we can’t rule out anyone but humans and shifters.”

  Dane objected. “Logan said he didn’t smell vampire.”

  “I know, but David made that charm for Nick, when I had the growlies from being a dog. A scent-blocking charm. The killer could be using one too.”

  “But could that kind of charm conceal the scent of magic?” he asked.

  Logan answered. “I don’t know. Wouldn’t think so, because the charm itself would be magic.”

  “Okay, let me ask this: Do either of you smell magic when I use my abilities?” I checked their faces, and both shook their heads. “Vampires don’t do magic. I mean, not the witch or elf kind. Their abilities are psychic, like mine. I guess that means they do ‘natural’ magic too, which means, you guys can’t smell or sense natural magic.”

  Logan frowned. “Maybe we’d better ask Damian what he knows about those scent-blocking charms.”

  “Yeah, we’d better. Hey, at least if a vamp is the killer, we’re in good with the vamp council.” They’d been working the good publicity for all it was worth. Local public opinion had definitely swayed in their favor. Possibly because Derrick was the perfect poster vamp, with his long, curly hair, boyish face, and lace-cuffed shirts. “If it is a vamp, maybe this case will be solved soon.”

  No gawkers outside the museum, though I did notice a dark, nondescript sedan parked close to the cop cars and waiting ambulance. A man sat inside it, and looked our way as Logan parked. It was B
rock. “The press is here.”

  “All we can do is ignore him.” Logan turned off the engine. “Are you ready for this?”

  I could think of an entirely different situation I’d love to hear those words from him, and mentally scolded myself for getting way, way off track. “Not really, but it’s not like I have much of a choice.”

  We left the car, the men careful to put me between them as we walked. I didn’t point out that Brock already knew I was here, or that he probably knew Logan’s name and other information too. For a few bucks, anyone could run a check on a license plate.

  Damian was waiting inside the main doors. “Fair warning, Dodson’s here.”

  “Lovely.” I made a vow to keep my dinner down, no matter what. Being laughed at once was enough.

  “This way. Didn’t your last case involve something stolen from here?”

  “Yeah, a magic mirror.” Another item for my “Do Better” list. I’d promised the mirror spirit I’d visit, and bring him um, “reading” material. The spirit was a perve.

  “Well, a couple of items were stolen tonight as well, from a new exhibit. Dodson’s reviewing the security tapes.”

  Dane and I exchanged a look before I asked, “Which exhibit?”

  “Fairy Tales Come to Life.”

  Of course it’d be that exhibit. “That’s the same one the mirror was supposed to be in. What’s missing?”

  “A stick and pair of boots.” Damian stopped at the entrance to an exhibit room. Its door was closed. “Suit up here, please.”

  We began putting on gloves and shoe coverings. “What do they do?”

  “Not a clue yet. The placards are unreadable at the moment.” Damian frowned. “Did I tell you this is a Wilkins?”

  “Yes, you remembered.”

  “Maybe we’d better find you a bucket or something.”

  Ugh. “I’m not going to throw up.”

  He cocked his head. “Cordi, you nearly always throw up at murder scenes.”

  “I won’t this time.” Not in front of Dodson, or where he’d find out. Not when it gave him another chance to insult the crap out of me.

  “Okay, it’s on your head. If you do, try like hell to get out of the room first.”

  Involved in reminding my stomach how humiliated we’d felt the night before, I simply nodded. Damian turned and opened the door. Thankfully, the lighting wasn’t bright, which made walking in easier.

  It was a largish, square room with free-standing display cases scattered around the perimeter. A fancifully designed, white and gold carriage took pride of place in the center. Gore was everywhere, and the smell came close to making my stomach forget our vow. I took little breaths, focusing on the display cases, in particular, the two missing their glass tops. “All these things, and he killed two people for a stick and some old boots?”

  “Definitely the same perp.” Logan was checking the rest of the room. “Bodies in similar condition.”

  “What can you smell?” Damian asked.

  “Blood, charred meat, and magic. The magic’s kind of low-level though, so I think it’s probably from the collection.”

  Dane spoke up. “Do you know how those scent-blocking charms David makes work?”

  “They’re like ah, well, like an invisible hazmat suit. The wearer is enclosed in a layer of odor neutralizer.” Damian paused, his brow wrinkling. “Do you smell citrus of any sort?”

  Both shifters sniffed a few times before Logan responded. “Maybe a hint of lemon.”

  “Then it’s possible one was used, but we’ll have to check first to see what sort of cleaning chemicals they use here.” Damian whipped out his notepad and pen.

  “Do you want me to try the display cases?” I really hoped that was the only reason I was here. My stomach and nose were beginning to riot.

  “Yes, and they’ve been processed.” My friend was worried, and I could feel it stretching out from him like wispy fingers. He had a reason to be, with similar crime scenes two nights running, and three dead as result.

  “Okay.” Someone had taped around larger blotches of “stuff”, but there were definite footprints around the room. Prints from covered shoes, their tread marks indistinct. I still tried to step around as much of the mess as possible. The scene was relatively fresh, and I winced at the squelch when I had to step on a blood-soaked bit of carpeting. Another wince when I had to step onto the completely shattered bits of glass littering the area around both displays.

  The placards were mostly unreadable, thanks to splashes of the victims. One was labeled “The Thieves’ Stick”, and on the other, only “oots” was legible. Since the museum wouldn’t be displaying coots, woots, or toots, Damian’s determination of “boots” was likely right. The faint impression of rounded heels and midsoles left on a royal blue display pillow seemed fair confirmation to me. “I’m going to touch the display pillow first.”

  Damian hustled over, yanking his cell phone out. “Let me video this. Don’t take your glove off until I’m ready.”

  “Okay.” Things were definitely changing. “Do I need to state my name and what I’m doing?”

  “If you would.” He fiddled with his phone, and I looked back at the guys, raising my eyebrows. Dane lifted his hands in a “What can you do?” gesture, while Logan gave a tiny, one-shouldered shrug. “Okay, here we go.”

  “Discord Jones. I’m going to try psychometry on this display.” It took a few seconds to work the glove off my hand. “Ready, one, two, three.”

  Touching the pillow gave me an instant impression of light weight. I lifted my hand clear. “Sorry. All I picked up was that something not very heavy was on it.”

  “Let’s try the other display.”

  “Sure.” We side-stepped to it, and I checked to make certain he was ready before doing my count. “One, two, three.”

  The flat surface was cold and free of bits of glass. My psychometry surged, and I saw a dim outline of a stick. “You’re right, there was a stick here. I’m not seeing a face or hand though.”

  Damian turned off the video on his phone with a disappointed look. “Well, thanks for trying.”

  I felt bad that I wasn’t being of much use so far. “Anything else you want to me to try?”

  “The only thing else is, um,” he gestured around the room. “The victims.”

  I finally took a good look around the room, and realized the victims weren’t hanging from the ceiling. They were on the floor near the rear of the coach, just heads, shoulders, and a few inches of torso. Immediately looking up and closing my eyes, I fought until my stomach subsided. “Okay, get your phone ready again.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  I opened my eyes and met Damian’s. “Yeah, I do. Three dead in two days. We don’t want this guy running loose any longer than necessary.”

  He hesitated, searching my face, and finally nodded. “All right. Come with me.”

  We walked over to the bodies, and Damian checked with the coroner’s assistants. They didn’t want anyone touching the bodies without gloves. He argued, I worked on keeping my intention firm, and finally, Logan called from his spot by the door, “What if she touches a smaller part?”

  “Will that work?” Damian asked, and I nodded.

  “It should.”

  There was more arguing, including calls to Stannett and the coroner, before an agreement was reached. I could try one of the smaller splotches of “stuff”—or “people goop” as someone else called it—but not a partial finger or whatever. And I had to wait until a sample was taken of the splotch they decided on.

  The chosen spot of people goop reeked, and I didn’t look too closely to see what it was made of. Didn’t need to know that, just needed to stick my hand in it and hope we got something worth all the fuss. “Ready?”

  Damian was crouched next to me, and he nodded as he steadied his phone. “Go ahead.”

  “Okay.” I had to close my eyes before my hand made contact. The stuff felt cool in temperature. It also f
elt sticky, and had the texture I imagined fireplaces ashes would, if mixed with enough water. “Nothing yet.”

  “What’s going on?”

  I groaned internally. Dodson had joined us.

  “I’m sorry, does she have her hand in...” Several people shushed him before he finished, and I silently thanked them. No verbal confirmation about having my hand in liquefied people needed, especially when I realized the goop felt warmer than it first had.

  “I think...”

  “Holy shit,” someone said, and I opened my eyes as Damian grabbed my wrist.

  “What?” It felt like something was beginning to trickle down from my hair.

  “Get something to wipe her hand off now!” He yanked my hand upward.

  A swooping sensation was followed by a rush of heat flaring upward from my feet, and I blinked as the trickling sensation reached my eyes. “I don’t know...”

  I didn’t finish, because of intense, burning pain. A haze of red descended as I began to flail, trying to get away from Damian’s grip. Someone grabbed me around the waist from behind as I half-stood, and there was screaming, yelling, and everything was red and gold and black.

  Blinded, I was aware of being carried, and then coldness enveloped my gloveless hand. My mouth was open, my throat felt raw. I was the one screaming, could taste smoke and blood. For once, I didn’t pass out, and I really, truly regretted that since I was being roasted alive.

  Two hands touched my face, and the vision ended, leaving me sucking in air and blinking. There was blood in my eyelashes, and whoever had grabbed me still had hold, my feet not touching the ground. Logan and Dane were in front of me. Both were touching my cheeks, and anxiously checking my eyes.

  My hair looked wet, and my clothing felt soggy. I was up just high enough to be looking slightly down at the guys. Damian was frantically dabbing at my hand, and I noticed that my skin was pink and blistered. It didn’t hurt, but my voice was hoarse. “I’m okay.”

  The chest my back was against rumbled, and Dodson said, “Jesus Christ, woman.”