Some Kind of Magic

by R. Cooper

  He had a vision of that video of Cal rubbing himself on his desk, deliberately spreading his scent. He picked up a piece of paper and moved it to watch it shimmer. But Penn was looking at him, so he set it down.

  “I don’t like it,” Ray announced. His heart was pounding at the idea that Cal had known exactly what he was doing by sitting at his desk.

  “There’s a lot here not to like.” Penn hesitated, then wheeled her chair to face him. She was eating gummy candy worms from the same vending machine and scrunching her nose at the taste.

  “Aside from murder?” He grimaced. “Aside from anyone thinking I’d be pleased by all of this? How about that Cal understood this motive before I—we did? Or that I can’t smell anyone but us at the murder scenes and yet someone had to be there. But other than the odd incidental unique to the environments, all I could smell were the people who were supposed to be there.”

  “How about how there were no signs of disturbance?” Penn had her own troubling thoughts. “No forced entry, like they were just let in….”

  It was the way she trailed off and glanced around. It was late. Almost no one was in the bullpen, but that didn’t matter. Not with the way news and gossip traveled. Even off-duty officers could hear a rumor, or case details, within minutes.

  Ray didn’t like it. At all.

  Thankfully, Penn didn’t say it out loud. It just hung in the air that there were few people anyone would just let in their house or office with the expectation of safety, or let in because they were too scared of say, going back to prison, to argue about it. Specifically, there was one type of person who was almost universally, if reluctantly, allowed into homes. One type of person whose scent at a crime scene wouldn’t have stood out.

  Ray looked over at the lone officer in uniform by the coffee machine. Then he looked back at Penelope.

  “But they’d know me.” Know that he’d spoken when angry but hadn’t meant it. They all let out frustration like that.

  “But….” Penn stopped, with a rare, wary expression on her face.

  “What?” His stomach growled, and he realized just how starving and restless he was. That his mouth was watering, his limbs aching with the need to move. She dropped her voice.

  “Ray. If you were human. Or not even human, if you simply didn’t know Weres. You’d believe the stories, wouldn’t you? You’d probably think all that helpless, howling at the moon, bloodlust stuff was true.”

  “You’d think that I’d want this, wouldn’t you.” He didn’t ask. The words tasted too bad. It was the new stories Nasreen had told about fairies. Weird, isn’t it? Cal had said.

  “If I didn’t know them, or you.” Penn agreed. “You protect people, Ray. You don’t hurt them.”

  He had to move. He kicked back from the desk and pulled off his coat.

  “It’s like with fairies, isn’t it? We repeat the stories, the jokes, but they aren’t all….” He tried to hold back his frown but kept going. “Cal…. He’d….” Been trying to impress Ray this whole time and so had seen what Ray couldn’t. “So if some nutjob wants to impress me—”

  “Then they’d do what they thought you wanted to do and eliminate the people they thought were bothering you.” Penn suddenly sat up, and Ray copied her as his thoughts followed hers. “Anyone really. Anything they perceive as being in your way, in their way. And when that didn’t seem to make you happy or get whatever it was they were looking for, they got more violent.”

  Anything in their way. Like something sitting in Ray’s chair, in his lap. Ray swallowed.

  “Penn, what if—” Fuck it. He stood up, pulling his gun from his desk and hearing Penn do the same.

  What if there was any kind of competition, was what he couldn’t say. What if the thing in their way was an obstacle to winning Ray’s attention? Like a goddamn half-fairy curling around him to lovingly stroke his hair.

  Ray looked over into a gaze that could wreck ships. “I just need to prove to myself that he’s okay, Penn.”

  God, he loved her. There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation or debate in her. “Then let’s go. I’ll drive.”

  RAY was suddenly cursing the restraint that hadn’t let him look up Cal’s address, but Penn seemed to know where to go. She pulled the lights and hit the siren, though they had no proof of anything, and Ray tried, again, to call Cal. When there was no answer, he tugged at his collar, yanking off his tie and trying Penn’s phone in case Cal was ignoring his.

  Cal didn’t answer Penn’s call either. Penn took her phone from him and tried again, darting glances to Ray as it rang and Cal didn’t pick up. Then Ray realized she was talking to him, telling him Cal was probably asleep, that’s all.

  She didn’t believe it. He could hear every small tremor in her words, almost taste the alarm. He rolled down the window and inhaled. His clothes felt tight, constrictive, but they were close, he could feel it.

  “Ray.” Penn slowed, turning off the lights and siren as they hit the fairy part of town, all those small houses with overflowing yards. Ray barely saw them. Not until he saw the lilies.

  “Stop!” There were faint traces of light in the house straight ahead, but that was it, he knew it. “I’m just going to check.”

  “I’ll go around back, and call if we need help.” She nodded, understanding, backing his play, and Ray was out before the car was fully stopped and walking—running—to the door. He told himself that Cal was fine one last time and then he heard the crash echo from inside.

  His mind processed the noise, the mingling scents of sulfur, and Cal, and fear, a lot of it, and then he felt a tugging, a tear, and had to struggle as he changed. His clothes tangled around him, slowing him down for half a second, and then he was out of them and leaping full force at the door.

  He slammed into it, grunting as it broke and splintered, like a flimsy door to a flimsy house where an idiot half-fairy lived who probably didn’t bother to lock it, and then he hit the ground and rolled, whimpering from the pain.

  When he got to his feet, there was shouting and three figures in the room. He sought out Cal first, breathing in the sight of him. Cal.

  Alive. Not hurt, but afraid. He was pinned to the wall by his kitchen, with a demon’s giant hand at his neck. He was staring at Ray, and Ray caught a glimmer at the edge of his vision, like a spotlight. Then he looked at the first threat.

  The demon was large, horns brushing the ceiling. But it wasn’t moving, and Ray looked away from it to bring his mind back to Man, to stand up and become something that could speak.

  As a man the pain was harder to ignore, but he straightened and followed the sound of someone saying his name, identifying the other, more dangerous threat.

  “Detective Branigan,” Ross said, and even Ray’s shifting mind could tell the man was flustered. He looked hot, uncomfortable. He should be. He was dressed in civvies and standing in a ring of white chalk. There were cups out on the coffee table, a small plate, as though Cal had offered the bastard tea and cookies.

  Ray looked right into his eyes, willing himself not to leap at him right now when it wouldn’t do any good.

  “You’re early. I was about to have him call you.” Ross was suddenly, eerily, calm again. Charming. Like this was a date and Ray had forgotten the time. Ray curled his hands and felt the spike that meant his claws were out, that he hadn’t changed all the way back.

  That was good. It would take less time if he had to launch himself at the demon. He looked away from Ross, detected his displeasure at that but didn’t care. The demon half-turned, and then squinted at Ray through his glasses. His partially bovine features were familiar, as were the carved drawings spiraling down his arm toward the hand wrapped around Cal’s throat.

  Cal was too close to the wall. His wings….

  “Ray?” The demon spoke. “Hey, man!”

  “Steve.” The name finally came back to him. “Don’t.”

  “What?” Steve looked around, saw Cal. “Oh, sorry, bro. That dude called me, and I can’t brea
k the circle. And if you do, well, you know how it goes.” He used his other hand to make a “crazy” gesture at his head, which was a short way of summing up the uncontrollable berserker rage he’d fly into if his current Master died without the spell being ended first.

  “Ross.” Ray couldn’t look at him with Cal like that, clutching at Steve’s enormous hand to keep himself up. “Ross, you don’t have to do this. You can let him go—let them both go—and that would… I’d like that.”

  He swallowed. “That’s why you wanted him to call me, isn’t it?” Cal’s eyes were so wide, colors spinning. He sputtered a little at Ray’s friendly tone, unable to pretend even for a moment. Ray tightened his mouth and looked away. Back at Ross. “To get me here?”

  He should try for a nice, negotiating tone. Go for brotherhood. Camaraderie, if not outright seduction. But this man was no kin of his, and the thought of touching him, speaking to him, even remotely the way he spoke to Cal made Ray want to be sick.

  He glanced over the space again. The small living room off the kitchen. The wide windows. He imagined Penn in the backyard. She wouldn’t be able to see Cal and Steve where she was, but she’d be watching with her gun trained on Ross, calling in assistance that wouldn’t do much good with Ross out of reach inside his circle. Ray took a breath, because the wolf wanted to crush him, not see him arrested.

  Cal hadn’t been shining, the lack of glitter betraying just how frightened he was. He kept trying to speak. “Ray. Ray.”

  “I was going to take care of the interfering fairy for you. I thought—” Ross paused, his handsome face twisting. “You hated him at your scenes, on your desk. In your life.”

  “Did I?” He was too quiet. Ross raised his chin.

  “Until today.” Ross gave him an honestly puzzled look. But his confusion quickly shifted to anger. “How could you, Detective? With that? A fairy? I know how they are, how they act, but you’re better than that. You’re the best man on the force. We’re going to be the best team they’ve ever seen.”

  Ray couldn’t react, but he must have done something. His claws dug into his hands, paws, again. Cal was gasping. “No, Ray.” Ross glanced at him.

  “Keep him quiet, demon.” Ray couldn’t look, but when Cal squeaked and then went silent, he stepped forward involuntarily. Ross shook his head.

  “You’ve got to keep them in line. I thought you knew that.” The bastard gestured furiously. “I won’t be like that, you’ll see. You got fooled by the glitter, but don’t worry.”

  “Don’t worry?” Ray was burning up, his voice rough. “You murdered people.”

  “Not my hands.” Ross actually believed that. Ray exhaled.

  “I never asked you to kill!”

  “But you wanted to. You couldn’t because they wouldn’t let you. They didn’t understand you.” As though Ross did. If there was any point at all, Ray would have denounced it. His throat hurt. He thought he was growling, must have been. Ross’s eyes lit up, misinterpreting that.

  His smell was familiar. Of course Ray had found it at every crime scene where Ross had made sure he’d been with him. It was heavy with need. So much need. And that dark vein of resentment. Anger. He looked over, away from Ray, and right at Cal.

  Ray stepped forward again so Ross’s eyes came back to him.

  “I’ve done what you said. Been better. And you didn’t even notice.” Need. So much of it. For attention, love, recognition, Ray didn’t know, and didn’t really give a damn. “But I’ve decided to take care of that.” The promise in the man’s voice made him stop. Ross waved toward the table. The cups. There were three, one off to the side.

  “I have something else for you.” Ross must have been practicing his magic. Ray slowly approached the table, cups of tea and one of something else. He sniffed, smelled cloves and nutmeg, saffron, blood and hair, iron and rust, and other things that didn’t belong in a coffee cup that read: Cops do it with handcuffs.

  That cup had been a gag gift from his sister. He’d always suspected Cal when it had disappeared from the station months ago.

  Ray looked at him, then at Ross.

  “A potion? Seriously?” Those ingredients were to enflame the senses. The smell alone made his mind burn. Love potions were not a joke, were no better than roofies or Spanish fly. Possibly worse, because they took the heart with the body.

  How dare he do this, this level of violation? If it hadn’t been Ray it would have been with someone else. Anyone else that would feed his fantasy. And for this pathetic excuse of devotion, people in his town had died.

  Ross was going on, still talking, promoting himself as the better alternative to a half-fairy who pretended to solve cases. A useless, fluttering little fairy who couldn’t even do the jobs given him. He didn’t have the respect for the job or for Ray. A half-breed who couldn’t keep his hands to himself.

  He might have gone on, but Ray then walked to the table. He didn’t glance at the window, where Penn was watching, waiting for a sign. She still couldn’t see Cal or Steve from there. She’d be frustrated, but patient.

  That was fine. Ray just had to get Cal out of there. Get Cal out and then worry about Steve and luring Ross out of that circle.

  “You?” He raised his voice. He was going to do it. The wolf was howling for it and he wanted to, after all this time. “You don’t understand me. You don’t even understand Weres,” he said dismissively, because a sick little wannabe cub wasn’t worth his time.

  His skin tightened, his hair standing up on his arms, at his neck. He reached for the cup, and his hand felt unnatural. To his side, Cal was radiating terror. There was no real way to reassure him, but hopefully he’d have the sense to run when he could.

  “This won’t work,” Ray told Ross, and shrugged. “But if it will make you happy….” He drank the potion in one swallow. He wanted to vomit but kept it down. The ingredients alone showed how serious Ross was. This wasn’t to inspire affection or lust, this was to own his spirit.

  “Ray!” It was a whisper, nearly drowned out by Steve’s exclamation. Ray ignored them both and looked right at Ross to drive home the truth.

  The man was almost vibrating as he waited, as he watched, needing Ray to worship him. He was speaking again, murmuring that now they’d be great and strong together. Weres. As though Ray would make him one, as though that was even remotely how it worked.

  “Your scent is empty like glass.” Even the words were foul. But Ross’s anger was so deep that Ray could only think of one reason why he’d missed it. He could miss anything with Cal around, and that was the point.

  He threw the cup. Ross flinched as it shattered, finally growing quiet, and turned to Ray with his lips parted in shock.

  “Like nothing, which is what you are. If you knew anything about me or my kind you’d know that—” He paused, hoped Cal would understand why he had to do this. He couldn’t look over to see for himself. Ross had to focus on him.

  Ray pulled in air. Cal, sweet, even under his fear. “Callalily Parker is my mate.”

  God, it was as raw now as the second he’d first realized it, half-dressed in his living room in front of Cal’s sharp eyes.

  Cal’s breathing stopped. Ross froze.

  “He’s my mate, and there’s nothing you can do to change that.” He needed Ross to hate him, just him. Not Cal.

  “Really, dude? A fairy?” Steve cut through the tension. “They can’t even sit still, no offense.” He was almost right. As though to prove him right, Cal was suddenly all motion next to him, kicking, panicking motion. Ray got louder.

  “He’s the one I’ve chosen, but even without him do you really think I’d want you?” He sneered, swallowing the disgusting flavor coating his mouth. Cal was making tiny noises of protest, then no sound at all. Ross was shaking, refusing to believe it. Ray struck out again, shredding that delusion and hoping rage would replace it. He wanted Ross out of that circle. He wanted Ross under his claws.

  “Look at you! You’re not even a detective. Nothing sp
ecial. You have nothing to offer me.”

  Ross almost crumbled, his knees weakening for one second before he straightened them and stood up. He tossed his head, denying it, and then damn it, damn it, he took his eyes off Ray.

  “You don’t mean that, Detective,” he insisted with a silky calm. “You’ll see when he’s dead. He’s only fairy-leading you. But it can’t last when he’s dead. Demon, kill him.”

  “Sorry, bro,” Steve murmured, and Ray turned, his heart stopping, slamming into his ribs. He screamed, or tried to as he changed, and it became a baying cry, and then he was wolf, leaping for the throat of the thing holding Cal.

  Steve turned too, startled and swinging out, his claws tearing across Ray’s chest. Ray was knocked sideways and landed on the floor but sprang up again, going for the arm holding Cal. He bit down hard, sinking his fangs into muscle and shutting his eyes when Steve shouted and tried to shake him free.

  The wolf was big, but Steve was so much bigger.

  To the side, Cal slumped to the floor, a slight thud of sound, and then Ray was slammed into a wall to make him let go, and he couldn’t keep track of Cal anymore. He bit down harder and heard shouting, words he couldn’t understand. But the rage was clear, and he scrambled with his claws to stay on the demon, tearing more flesh.

  The blood was bitter. Hot. Steve was yelling. Someone was yelling, all the voices were indistinct with a kill so close, and then Ray’s breath left him as he hit the wall again. His head bounced back, cracking, everything blinking out as he fell. He shuddered at the jolt of landing on the floor and felt the discomfort and ache of shifting back into a man without being able to stop it.

  But he had to move, and watched his hands, hands, push him up onto his feet. It was difficult to move, as though the very air was shrinking. In front of him there was a sudden scream and at his side the demon moaning. In relief. Ray looked up.