A Little Street Magic

by Gayla Drummond

  I couldn’t resist looking over my shoulder to give Midnight a saccharine smile. The black-haired elf looked like he’d just sucked on a lemon, his lips pursed and tight. Hah, put that in your pipe and smoke it, buddy.

  “Well met, Lord Kethyrdryll.” They did the warrior’s grip thing, genuine warmth emanating from Logan. Kethyrdryll was the only elf we’d met who didn’t act like shifters were something nasty he’d managed to step in.

  “They’re expecting us, so we should be on our way.”

  We followed him down the hall. I couldn’t keep from looking around, wondering if the place had gotten bigger. There seemed to be a lot more doors down each wall, and...where the hell had that staircase come from? It was a one-story building, wasn’t it? High-ceilinged rooms, but still one-story. My brain twitched. Pocket realm, girl. Let it go.

  “It was Jeharin,” Kethyrdryll said. “The man we lost.”

  My boots were the only ones squeaking on the marble floor. How did elves and shifters move so damn quietly? “We’re sorry for your loss.”

  Logan’s hand slipped back around mine, and we exchanged tiny smiles as the elf responded. Our cutesiness should’ve made me want to gag, but didn’t.

  “Thank you. You met him. The silver-haired lad who accompanied my brother on the mission to rescue you?”

  I took a few steps before recalling the guy. He’d agreed with my idea about carrying people bits before we entered the maze, but we’d never talked beyond that. “I remember him. He seemed nice.”

  “A highly skilled warrior, yet, they overpowered him.” Shaking his head, the elf opened a door on the left. “Through here.”

  I balked, not looking inside. “The scene’s right there?”

  “No,” Logan answered, giving my hand a light tug. “She’ll need a minute before seeing Jeharin’s remains.”

  “Of course. We’ll halt before the corridors intersect.” Kethyrdryll went through the doorway, and we followed. My sense of space was taking a serious beating, because it felt like we walked farther than the outer walls would allow, before reaching steps leading down.

  Logan broke the silence as we began descending. “Something’s bothering me.”

  “What?”

  “They broke into a pocket realm, where the sun can appear in an instant. That strikes me as really risky for vampires.”

  Which reminded me... “Hey, Kethyrdryll, do you know anything about scent-blocking charms? Specifically, do they work on vampires?”

  “That would depend on the skill of the practitioner. I could create a charm to mask a vampire’s scent, if the vampire who’d be wearing it was present.” He paused upon reaching the bottom of the stairs.

  “They won’t work if not customized?” Maybe science was the answer then.

  “Vampires live, but are not alive in the same fashion as we are. That difference prevents them from,” the elf hesitated. “It’s rather complex, actually. They’re rarely able to use magic other than natural magic, as you do. Fascinating, because vampires existed outside the natural order. The dead should not walk.”

  An irrational urge to defend vamps rose, but I ignored it. It wasn’t pertinent. “Ronnie can make wards that keep vampires out.”

  Kethyrdryll nodded, gesturing for us to keep moving. “Yes, magic can be used against them effectively, whether natural or other forms. As I mentioned, it’s a complex subject.”

  Not too long ago, he’d explained magic to me in simple terms. “You told me that magic is energy, and that people access it in different ways.”

  “And with varying degrees of competency, yes.”

  “Right. If vampires are outside the natural order, how can they use any magic at all, much less ‘natural’ magic?”

  A gleam appeared in the elf’s eyes, and his tone became enthusiastic. “My personal theory is that the change from living to death to undead is so abrupt, their sparks of magic aren’t shed.”

  “I think you need to back up a little. Sparks of magic?”

  “Every living thing has at least a drop of the energy we call magic. The majority of living things can’t access that drop, or spark. It’s too small and weak,” he said.

  “Okay.” I let that settle for a few seconds. “Does that mean I have more drops than say, Damian?”

  “Yes. Your magic is an ocean compared to his puddle. Or for different imagery, you have a boulder of magic, while he has a pebble.”

  My forehead was wrinkling. “How can I have so much magic, yet my parents don’t have any? Or I guess, they only have sparks?”

  “That is a matter of...what is the word?” He rubbed his chin, his eyes briefly narrowing. “Oh, genetics.”

  Hello, science territory. I hoped he kept things simple. “I don’t think I get it.”

  “A child is the sum of combined genetic material from two parents. Not all of that genetic material is active, and some that is active is suppressed due to one parent’s genes being more dominant.” Kethyrdryll glanced at me, and I nodded to let him know I was following along.

  “I believe it’s entirely possible that centuries of inactive or suppressed—no, that’s not the correct word, what is it? Oh—recessive genetic material passed along will become active or dominant under the right circumstances.”

  Logan asked the question I was beginning to put together to ask myself. “Who’s capable of manipulating things to make sure the right circumstances occur?”

  “Well, Nature of course, and I suppose the gods as well. After all, they are the purest expression of magic in the world.”

  My scalp prickled, and goosebumps broke out on my arms. “Petra told me that she thinks I’m the product of an intensive breeding program, because of the,” I paused, trying to recall her exact words. “The lack of dilution in my bloodline. She doesn’t think it’s a coincidence I have so many abilities, considering the passage of time from Sundering to Melding.”

  “Ah.” The elf sobered. “I see.”

  “Back to the subject, that means gods are at the top of the magical food chain. Natural mages are second?”

  “As far as being conduits for magic, yes. In practice, age and experience do matter.”

  “Right.” That probably meant overall, elves were in second place, and would be for a while. Vamps or mages in third? I didn’t have time to ask, because the low murmur of voices reached us.

  “It’s just ahead to the left,” Kethyrdryll said.

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  The wall around the vault, and the door of it, had borne the brunt of Jeharin’s death. His body had been completely vaporized, no partial corpse, or even recognizable bits, left.

  For some reason, that made not throwing up easier, though I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever get rid of the charnel stench in my nasal passages.

  Gloves on and shoes covered, I took advantage of everyone being busy to teleport into the open vault. No sense tracking through elf goop if I didn’t have to. To my disappointment, there wasn’t much to see.

  The vault’s interior was a long space maybe fifteen feet wide. I couldn’t estimate how long, because I couldn’t see the far end. Both walls were covered in metal doors in a variety of sizes. Safety deposit boxes for magical objects.

  Only one was open, or rather, its little door had been forced opened, leaving it hanging by the bottom hinge.

  “Curiosity killed the cat, Miss Jones.”

  I jumped and uttered a squeak, turning wide eyes on Thorandryll. Jaws clenched and icy blue peepers narrowed, he appeared ready to murder somebody. Wasn’t going to be me. “My sympathies on your loss.”

  His face tightened and then his expression softened. “Thank you.”

  Already back to studying the open deposit box, I asked, “What was in here?”

  “Your tendency to focus on business is often annoying.”

  I just looked at him. Seriously, what did he expect? For me to start weeping and pulling out my hair? Or perhaps for me to embrace him, smooshing his face into my breast
s, all the better to comfort him as he wept small, manly tears?

  “Very well.” Thorandryll sighed. “A ring with the power to mesmerize any living being.”

  Hm. “Doesn’t work, does it?”

  “Au contraire, my skeptical lady. It does work, if one knows the proper word to use it.”

  Turning to him, I smiled. “And you don’t.”

  Up went his left eyebrow. “Why would you think that?”

  Because he would’ve used it on me. A mesmerized Cordi was a married-to-an-elf-prince-and-under-control Cordi. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

  “Your low opinion of me is quite wounding, Miss Jones.” His smirk said something way different than his words.

  Rolling my eyes, I turned my back to him in order to look down the vault room. “Are you certain that’s all they stole?”

  “Yes.”

  All those doors, hiding away who knew what, and he’d pitched a hissy fit over my destroying one measly grimoire? What a greedy little elf. “If I find your ring and learn the right code word, I’m not telling you what it is. Just sayin’.”

  His laughter rang and echoed, rolling away from us in gradually softer repeats. “I’d expect nothing less. Though should you ever tire of being in Lord Whitehaven’s employ, I believe you’d discover solving such minor mysteries to be extremely lucrative.”

  Maybe he couldn’t use most of what he had hidden down here. In fact, maybe a lot of people couldn’t use the magical artifacts they had, if the common failsafe was designing them to be used with code words. I liked that thought a lot. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Obtaining hard-to-locate items would be another option.”

  I snorted. “I’m not going Dark Side to steal stuff for you.”

  More laughter from him. I shook my head and went to the vault’s entrance, to see what was going on in the corridor.

  SIXTEEN

  As it turned out, not much was going on. Photos were still being shot, and evidence collection was underway. Not that there’d be much to collect. My team members stood together on the other side of the splatter and smear area. Looking at them, I realized only Damian and Stone stood with Logan. No Dodson or Schumacher. Damian was the shortest of the three men, and possibly, the shortest supe present. I doubted it bothered him.

  I teleported over, again avoiding elf goop, and turned to look at the door. It was metal, more than a foot thick, and there wasn’t an obvious handle or locking mechanism. However, it had been wrenched out of true, the top angled slightly forward. “I guess magic locking spells don’t hold their own against telekinesis.”

  “No,” Damian agreed. “Doesn’t look that way.

  “Where’s Dodson?” I knew where Dane was, and guessed Schumacher was out by the cars, or had begged off on this one. He seemed to be losing his stomach for the results of supernatural murder, and I couldn’t blame him. I’d never really had the stomach for it.

  “Anniversary dinner for his parents. Schumacher had already left for the day, but Mr. Stone was still there.”

  Lucky them, getting to skip this mess. I exchanged a nod with the dhampyr, who stood at the warlock’s left shoulder. Either Damian didn’t care Stone was in his personal bubble, or he was too preoccupied to realize it. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Are you up to touching the victim’s weapons?”

  I took another look at the mess, and saw a sword and bow off to the right of vault’s opening. Both were liberally covered in elf goop. “If they’re cleaned off first, sure.”

  Damian nodded, his eyes moving over the scene. I wondered if he was committing it to memory, or maybe, looking for something beyond the obvious. “I’ll make the request.”

  Kethyrdryll was standing a few feet away, and cleared his throat. “I’ll see to it.”

  “Thank you.” The warlock continued to visually rake over the scene. “Something’s not adding up for me. It’s like we’re missing a puzzle piece, but it’s on the table in front of us.”

  “Actual motive and viable suspects to hunt down?” I crossed my arms, watching Thorandryll exit the vault. He used the somewhat clearer path the door’s forced opening had made in the mess.

  His shiny black boots looked silly with shoe coverings, and I regretted missing how he’d taken being told he had to wear those and gloves. Reaching us, he began peeling off the gloves. “When will your people be finished?”

  “Another hour or so, sir.”

  “Good. We need to gather as much of our fallen warrior’s remains as possible, to properly lay him to rest.” The prince focused on me. “It slipped my mind earlier, but we need to schedule a meeting, Miss Jones.”

  “Why?”

  “A small matter, though perhaps not one to discuss publicly.”

  Now what in the hell was he talking about? I wracked my brain, but the only thing that came up was our becoming officially allied. “Sure. How about four tomorrow?”

  “Acceptable.”

  I hoped it wouldn’t take long, because I’d need time to get ready for Derrick’s party. “I’ll let you know if I can’t make it for some reason.”

  A couple of elves in gray uniforms arrived, pushing a cart holding buckets and cloths. Thorandryll frowned. “The police aren’t done here.”

  “I called for them. The detective has asked Lady Discord to handle Jeharin’s weapons,” Kethyrdryll said. “She prefers to do so after they’ve been cleaned.”

  “My permission was not...”

  I interrupted him before his snootiness got the better of him. “We’re hoping they saw the killers.”

  “Ah. Very well, you may proceed.” Thorandryll gave his Royal Nod.

  “So gracious of you, Your Highness.” The sarcasm dripping from my voice didn’t escape his notice, earning me a glare. I suddenly wondered if I could take him, should we ever go toe to toe magically.

  No lie, it’d be pretty satisfying to rub his nose in the dirt a few times. But not exactly beneficial to my future, either personally or professionally. After all, Thorandryll could be mayor one day. I gave that slim odds, but it could happen.

  Thorandryll’s glare had become a thoughtful gaze, and I realized the others were watching us stare at each other. Ack.

  I broke eye contact and looked at Logan, who had a faint smile on his face. I hoped he didn’t think I’d been fantasizing about the elf. Okay, I kind of had been, but not in the sexy way. “Will you need us after I’ve done that?”

  Damian startled, and pulled his eyes from the mess to look at me. “Only if anything useful results.”

  “Cross your fingers.” The two servants were washing the sword first. I glanced around the scene before asking, “Jeharin wasn’t wearing armor?”

  “I seldom require my internal security to wear it.” Thorandryll scowled. “It wouldn’t have made a difference.”

  Probably not, but a hunk of shiny metal facing the killers could’ve been useful. My eyes wandered in Stone’s direction. “What kind of warding do you have?”

  The prince didn’t look at the dhampyr. “The warding worked. An alarm sounded. Unfortunately, the filthy little bastards acted too quickly, and were gone before reinforcements arrived.”

  “I see. Better add teleportation to the list of the killers’ abilities.” Elves could teleport too, but it wasn’t quite the same thing I did. They sort of...melted between places. It wasn’t instantaneous like my ability, but took a second or two.

  Damian had his notebook out, adding the note. Stone cleared his throat. “That’s another rarity among our people.”

  Good to know. “Might want to update Derrick then.”

  He pulled out his cell phone and asked Damian, “If I may?”

  “Go right ahead.”

  “Did an alarm sound when they arrived?” I flipped my hand at the two.

  “No. They came openly, through the front gates.”

  Hm. “Does one sound when I pop in?”

  Thorandryll smiled, not answering. Freaking elf. Oh
, but wait. The first time I’d popped in without an invitation—albeit by accident—Logan and I had been surrounded by armed elves. But none had appeared the next day, when I popped in to collect belongings we’d left behind. And none had appeared the day I popped in to talk to him, okay, kind of blackmail him, about Leglin.

  Seemed to indicate he’d tweaked his wards or something, to allow me free passage. Yet, that didn’t mean his sidhe wasn’t somehow signaling him when I arrived. Just him, not everyone.

  I smiled back, realizing I may have just solved the minor mystery of there always being the right number of chairs when I came visiting. Logan could probably confirm my theory, having helped design the clan’s pocket realm. “Sneaky.”

  “It’s fascinating to watch you think, Miss Jones.”

  “I’ll work on my poker face.” The sword was clean. Skirting the Jeharin Explosion, one of the servants carried it to me and dropped to one knee. He bowed his head before looking up, the sword lying flat across his raised palms. “My lady.”

  I wasn’t his lady, or his prince’s, but arguing over the form of address had proven futile in the past. “Thank you, but you’d better hand it to someone else. Damian’s not ready.”

  The servant blinked, his pale lilac eyes moving to Thorandryll. I realized he was just a boy, maybe sixteen or seventeen. Most elves seemed frozen somewhere between twenty-five and thirty, so he was the first teenager I’d seen.

  “Your Highness?” The kid’s voice quavered.

  “Good of you to notice,” Thorandryll said, his lips flattening into a thin line.

  The sword-bearer flinched, the tips of his ears turning pink. “M-my apologies, Your Highness.”

  Oh, he’d screwed up, speaking to me first. I had the feeling a scathing reprimand was on the way, and did my best to divert Thorandryll. “Get your phone ready, Damian.”

  “Just a sec.”

  Both elves looked at me, the teen with open-mouthed surprise. Guess no one dared to interrupt when Thorandryll was in a mood. “New protocols. We have to video when I use psychometry on police cases.”

  “For what reason?” The prince’s brows drew together, but at least he wasn’t glaring the kid into a puddle of submission.