"It's about time you were up," came the voice of Major Dowdie over the house soul.
Jude looked up from the cat with a scowl, wishing the Homicide Chief were in the room so he could throw something at him.
"Spying on me in my home now, Major?" said Jude in a loud voice, scaring the cat away from the bowl. "What gives you the right?"
"I'm not spying, Parkinson," said the Major over the system. "And I would watch your tone of voice with me. I simply asked your building soul to inform me when you were up. Then I gave you some time to get ready."
"OK," said Jude, preparing another cup of coffee. "Please remember that this is my dwelling, and I am allowed privacy."
"What are your plans for this morning, Lieutenant?" said the voice from the air.
"I was going down to talk with Ms. Mangonel's children at the Church shelter," said Jude, stirring some cream into his coffee. "That social worker didn't want to let them talk last night in the townhouse. I agreed with her."
"Very well," said the Major. "But I want you to come down to the station sometime today. I'm tired of this lone wolf shit. Remember, you are part of the team. Dowdie out."
"Part of the fucking team," cursed Jude under his breath. He gulped down a slug of hot coffee, then got his weapon and jacket. He checked on the cat, making sure that it was where it was supposed to be, then left the apartment. At the exit of the building he headed up the street to the elevated station, watching the steam spewing train as it approached the overhead platform.
* * *
"You are Detective Lieutenant Jude Parkinson, yes?" said the tall man as Jude approached the side entrance of the shelter.
Jude looked at the man with suspicion, noting the red orb armband on his left sleeve. He didn't think he had done anything to run afoul of the Secret Police. But one could run afoul of them without even knowing it, until it was too late.
"I'm Parkinson," he said, looking the man straight in his cat green eyes. He noted that the man was of a height with himself, and about the same build. His clothing was better, but that went with the territory. Secret Police types had better clothing allowances than the regular police, to go with their image as the personal enforcement arm of the Mage's Council.
"I'm Lieutenant Steiner Stark, of the Magara," said the man, using the proper name of his order. "I wanted to let you know that your case is very important to us."
"And you are telling me that because?"
"It is important to Daemon Corp," said the Secret Policeman, looking down his nose at Jude. "It is important to Mr. Lucuis Daemon that you find whomever, or whatever, is killing his employees."
"Employees?" asked Jude, puzzled. "I only know of one employee of his that has been murdered."
"There may have been others," said Stark, his face devoid of any expression.
"And this was covered up for what reason?" asked Jude, moving closer to the other man.
"That is not yours to know," said Stark. "Just remember this. We want you to solve this case. But do not stray too far from the path. We will be watching to make sure your nose is not poked where it shouldn't be."
The Secret Policeman started to turn away, then turned back with his hand going into his upper pocket. He came out with a pair of tickets and shoved them in Jude's jacket pocket.
"Have a great day, Detective," said Stark, turning and walking off.
"Son of a bitch," cursed Jude, watching the man's back recede down the sidewalk. He had basically been told to find the killer, and to keep his nose out of any other Daemon business, even if information led that way. He kept the man's image in mind, committing it to memory. Then he pulled out his pocket watch and realized that he was almost late. He would think about Steiner Stark later. Right now he had business to pursue, and then hopefully pleasure.
* * *
"I don't know if that was very helpful," said Sarah Stranger, looking across the table at Jude.
Jude lit a cigarette, then noticed the disapproving look in Sarah's eyes. He mashed out the smoke in haste.
"I'm sorry," she said with a sheepish smile. "I'm allergic to tobacco smoke."
"Don't drink, don't smoke," mumbled Jude. "What do you do for fun?"
"Excuse me," said Sarah, leaning closer.
"The kids gave me what they had," said Jude, smiling back. "Couldn't expect much more from them. I guess they're still in shock."
"I think that's safe to say," agreed the social worker. "It's been less than twenty-four hours since a demonic force splattered their mother all over the living room."
"I'm truly sorry I had to bother them," said Jude, frowning at his tea.
"Couldn't it have waited?" said the woman, picking up her tea and taking a sip.
"Believe me," Jude said, reaching for his own glass. "If it was only their mom I might have been able to wait. But I think there may be more killings. Maybe soon."
"From a wandering Shadow?" she asked, her eyes wide. "I thought this was a random killing."
"It was a sending," said Jude, frowning again. "It was deliberate, and someone or something targeted her."
"And you know this because?"
"I have the talent," said Jude with a tight smile. "I could feel it in the apartment. Not enough to tell me what I was dealing with. But enough to let me know that it was sent to that apartment with intent and foreknowledge."
"But who could have done such a thing?" she asked, just as the waiter showed up with their orders.
"I can't really discuss that," answered Jude as he looked at the baked fish and vegetables on his plate. He had heard that the fish was really good at this place, though fish was getting harder and harder to find.
Sarah went quiet, picking at her fish and taking a few bites. Jude took a couple of big bites and thought it was very good, then sampled the vegetables, which did not seem as fresh as promised.
"Do you really like what you do?" she asked as she put her fork down on the plate.
"I'm good at it," he said, looking her in the eye. "Not too many people are. So if I want the good guys to be able to find the perpetrators, I continue to do my job."
"I don't have any involvement with magic," said Sarah in a proud tone. "It is against the will of the Good God that man dabbles in such deviltry."
"So what I do is deviltry?" asked Jude, feeling a smile stretch his face. She sure is a Church goer, he thought, just like Laura. But his late wife had been able to accept Jude's use of magic. She had seen that he did no harm with it, and only used it for the general good.
"Maybe not exactly what you do," she said, holding up her hands in a warding gesture. "What that Council of old men and women does, yes. What that corporation in the tallest building of town does, yes. All to make life easier for the common man. While killing the world."
"You're the second the person I've heard in the last twenty-four hours talking about the world dying," said Jude, raising an eyebrow. "Why do you think the world is dying?"
"Look around you, Detective," said the woman, stirring her fish into flakes on her plate. "Less than three hundred years ago the entire world was alive. A billion people, millions of species of plants and animals. Life everywhere. Now what do we have. Less than a million square miles of arable land and less than a hundred million people."
"Sixty million at last count," said Jude, nodding. "And I didn't ask you if the world is dying. I ask you why you thought the world was dying?"
"Because the magic you people use is sucking the life out of it," she hissed, leaning over her plate. "That's why the Church of God Ascendant rejects magic. Because it destroys the world that God created."
"And what are we supposed to do?" asked Jude, looking into her pleading eyes. "If we stop using magic the Shadows roll over us, and where are those sixty million people then?"
"Fifty-four million people you mean," said the woman. Jude raised a questioning eyebrow. "There are six million adherents to the Church, and we are promised by God to be spared if the Shadows, roll over you, as you say."
"The Good God told you this himself."
"Don't be an idiot," she said loudly. Other diners looked their way and she crouched down some and lowered her voice. "The Good God doesn't talk to all of the members of the church. We're not psychotic. But he has spoken through the prophets. And prophecy says that the Good God will restore the world when we turn our backs on magic."
"Good luck," said Jude, pulling his napkin off and tossing it on the plate, his appetite gone. "The other fifty-four million of us need magic for our world to function."
"Until it finally dies. Don't you see what a corner you have painted yourselves into? You're damned if you do, and damned if you don't."
"So what do we do?"
"You turn your life over to the Good God and turn your back on magic," she said. "And put your trust in his power. Just like your dear wife did. Like your partner does."
"My dear wife died in childbirth," said Jude in a flat voice, looking up at the ceiling. "After two previous miscarriages. Where was your Good God then?"
"The life draining magic of this world killed your wife," said Sarah, reaching to put a hand on his forearm. "It drained the life from her helpless babies. But they are in a better place."
"I don't believe in your better place," said Jude, signaling the waiter to bring the check. "All I know is this world. And the world of the spirits around us."
"Spirits that for the most part don't belong here," said Sarah, scowling. "And now the Daemon Corporation is going to new worlds, and bringing back new energies to pollute this world. Isn't it enough to kill one world? Now they're looking to kill others just so their sorry asses can hang on a few more decades."
"First I've heard of that," said Jude, feeling uncomfortable talking about a subject he had just been warned off of. Worrying that this woman might be putting herself at risk by broaching such a subject. "And it's out of my jurisdiction. So why do you put up with this culture when you have those,” he said, changing the subject, “what are they called?"
"Missions."
"Yeah, missions," said Jude, trying to remember what he had heard of the places. Retreats where the diehard members of the Church of God Ascendant tried to eke out a living on barely arable land, so they didn't have to deal with society. At least according to the rumors.
"Some of us are on missions to the city," said Sarah, a faraway look in her eyes, as if she was seeing the place where she was from. "We have to deal with your society so we can try to influence that society, and maybe convert some of the unbelievers to the proper way. And only about a third of our adherents are orthodox, having nothing to do with your magical society. The rest interact to the minimum possible to survive in this society, and wait for the times when they don't have to."
"Orthodox?" said Jude, remembering how his wife had talked about what she called the church fanatics. "Like the ones living in buildings without souls, on the edge of the dead zones. Using candles, oil lamps and generators to hold back the darkness so they won’t be carried off by Shadows."
"Shadows tend to avoid us anyhow," said Sarah with a tight smile. "They tend to go after those who dabble with magic, which is the rest of you."
“So you are immune to the Shadows?” asked Jude, raising an eyebrow.
“Not really immune,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. “More what you would call protected, as long as we take precautions.”
Sarah looked up at the clock on the wall and grabbed her napkin, dabbing at her face for a moment before she picked up her purse. “I need to be getting back to work. Thank you for the lunch.”
"Well, I enjoyed it," said Jude, surprised that he really had, despite the uncomfortable conversation. He started to reach for his billfold, then remembered the tickets that Stark had pushed into his upper pocket. He pulled them out and looked at them with a frown. Damned opera tickets, he thought, seeing that they were for an evening performance the next day. He would have loved to have tickets to a hot play, or even the city symphony. But Opera?
"That's one of my favorites," said Sarah, looking at the tickets in his hand. "Belle Donna de Milano. Not that Milan exists anymore."
"Would you like to go?" he asked, looking up into her smiling face. "I don't seem to have a date, and I hate going alone."
"I would love to," she said, standing up and pushing her chair in. "You can pick me up at the shelter tomorrow evening if you would."
"I would," he answered, dropping enough money on the table to pay the check and a good tip. "Can I walk you back to the church grounds."
"I can find my way," she said, shaking her head. "I'm sure you have police things to do."
I really like her, thought Jude as he walked from the restaurant and waved goodbye to the social worker. We don't have anything in common, she doesn't like my line of work, and she's waiting for a God I don't believe in to come back at the fall of the society I'm trying to protect. Perfect.
Jude laughed all the way to the elevated station, garnering stares from most of the people he passed. He didn't care. It was the first time he had felt so, uplifted, in years.
Chapter Six
Mark Talbot felt as worn out as he ever had from a day of work. Working a double shift might have had something to do with it. Processing almost sixty of the funny looking little creatures might have had something as well. Going through the procedure of harvesting energy took a toll, and they had a lot of energy to harvest.
Damn, I hope I can sleep tonight, he thought, pulling his steamer up to the curb. It had been more and more difficult to get through the whole night without waking up and seeing those innocent faces contorted in terror. He shook his head and drove them from his memory, wishing he could banish them permanently.
Talbot got out of his car and closed the door, mumbling the words that locked it and setting the security system. He noticed a couple of the homeless under the next street lamp, looking at his car, looking at him.
"If you touch it you will be paralyzed," he said to the two men. "They'll find you here on the sidewalk and you will be carted away."
One of the men looked away. The other glared at Talbot as if he wanted to attack.
"Coming after me will result in an even worse outcome," he said, rubbing his thumb and finger together so the man could see the sparks of blue energy fly. That man looked away as well, and Talbot smiled at the reaction he had caused. He started to walk to his townhouse, his sense of power and worth elevated.
He looked to the south, seeing the glow over the horizon of the great ball on top of the Daemon Corp building. He preferred to live out from under the glow of that ball. It reminded him of what he did, and he would rather have as few reminders as possible about that. He pushed the guilty feelings down, remembering the images he had of the money and power that job brought. The guilt just pushed past the other feelings and rose to the surface.
The hell with it, Talbot thought, slamming a fist into the side of his leg. I'm just a little cog in a big machine. Just following orders. He hit his fist into his open hand and continued to walk toward the entrance of his building, where he knew waited some liquid diversions for the night. Maybe even some of the hashish that would settle his nerves. He didn't have much, and it was harder and harder to come by. But tonight might be a good night to use a little.
The slight breeze coming from behind was the first warning he had. The breeze picking up and becoming a strong wind within moments was the second warning. Mark Talbot turned slowly, saying the words of a defensive spell, trying to prepare himself for anything. What he found himself facing was not something he could have prepared himself for.
A swirling vortex of red energy moved up the street, directly for Talbot. It looked impossible, like nothing of this world. It wasn't Shadow, because it wasn't black and it was ignoring the lights that were placed to drive such things away from the environs of the living. It wasn't a sun demon, because there was no sun, and the magical lights didn't put out enough power to manifest such a creature at night. It looked like somethin
g he had seen before. The red energy. His mind searched for a match with frantic energy. And then it came to him.
That's impossible, he thought. The whirlwind picked up newspapers and other debris and swirled them in the air. He prayed to the God he wasn't sure he believed in, trying to calm himself from the edge of panic. A garbage can flew into the air, swirled around the vortex for a moment, and came flying out at high speed to shatter the windshield of Talbot's steamer. Talbot gritted his teeth in anger, but couldn't hold that emotion in the face of the fear that was about to overwhelm him. He glanced back at the two homeless men, to see the more frightened of the two run ass for elbows down the street, while the other stood wide eyed to see what was going to happen.
Talbot shouted out a power word, raising his hands and sending a blue lightning bolt into the vortex. He pulled his energy from the city grid, as much as his body could handle. The hair on his head and body stood on end, his muscles shivered from the overflow of electrical power. The glow globes dimmed as their energy was interrupted for a moment, then brightened. The vortex slowed for a moment, then forged ahead before Talbot could cast another spell.
The vortex picked up Mark Talbot and twirled him through the air. He couldn't say any more words, make any more gestures, only wail in fear as the magical construct gave him a ride through the sky. “Momma,” he called in a voice that was swept away by the vortex. But momma was not there to answer. She had died years before, aged before her time from working a farm on the edge of the dead lands. And Talbot knew that she wouldn't be able to help him if she were here. That didn't prevent him from grasping at that last hope.
The world, or at least this part of it, swirled around in his vision. It was a dizzying ride, and he felt his stomach begin to rebel against the motion of his inner ear. His stomach clenched and everything he had eaten that day sprayed into the vortex, to join the twisting swirl of objects caught in the swirl. The elemental force played with Talbot a moment more, and the man grasped for anything that might free him from this maddening prison of air. Then it was too late for anything. The vortex moved over to a building and slammed him head first against a wall, leaving a smear of blood on the stone. He still was halfway conscious when it bounced him off the street, snapping ribs and sending the end of one into a lung. His legs broke on the next bounce, an arm on the one after. Then he was flying from out of the vortex, a scream warring with the sound of the wind. His skull collapsed and his neck broke when he hit the door of his townhouse, shattering the wood.
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