Magic Rising

by Jennifer Cloud

  She looked over at Tech who had dropped to the ground with both hands covering his head as if they were under heavy fire. For all his assets, he was no warrior. Cute in a dorky way, but no warrior. She hoped Sabrine had a positive effect on the boy.

  “If someone wanted to kill us, they wouldn’t have shot the tree.” She tried not to make fun. Tech wasn’t a coward but he wasn’t far from it either.

  “Oh.” He laughed nervously, looking up at her from the edge of the lot. Cautiously, he stood, looking around and taking forever to get to full height. “Would you mind not telling Sabrine about this?”

  “Sure. Now see if you can get the arrow out.”

  Deirdre scanned the area where the arrow had come from. There was a small hill with a few bushes. Behind those sat a brick building, some doctor’s office. Noises scattered from the vicinity, changing from branches to hard footfalls on pavement. She could go after them, but it had been a very long day. For now, she would let them go.

  Tech reached for the arrow, having to use both hands, and a lot of tugging, to pull it free. Paper had been wrapped around the shaft near the fletching. She didn’t want that to be a note. Oh please let it say “made in China” or property of some twerp who lived down the road. He untied the string, pulled the paper free and handed it to Deirdre.

  It was a struggle to hide her fear from Tech. He didn’t look at the message. The paper rolled back up, like some mini scroll, the moment it was off the shaft of the arrow. Her hands started to tremble, as she unrolled the paper. She didn’t want Tech to see, so she turned her back to him.

  Dragonfly,

  How lovely of you to visit me? I will see you tonight. There is much for us to discuss.

  Niam.

  P.S. I want the girl.

  Deirdre read the note again, then a third time. Niam was going to visit her tonight. That couldn’t be good. His version of discussions was messy and often involved serious injury.

  Then there was the mention of “the girl”.

  There was only one girl Deirdre knew of and Lora Shope wasn’t connected to Stone House or Niam. Of course she was the granddaughter of the man who had owned the property. Niam shouldn’t have any involvement with her.

  Deirdre tucked the note into her back pocket. Damn, she wanted this day to end, instead it grew worse. Her head and shoulders ached, and any chance of crawling into bed would have to wait until she’d dealt with Niam or whoever he sent to deliver his message.

  “Come on Tech. Let’s get you out of here.”

  She always thought that she would die young. No matter how great a fighter she was, someone always existed who was better. She just hadn’t expected to face her mortality this soon.

  Chapter Ten

  The interrogation room smelled of old sweat, the kind left behind from worried men frantically thinking of an alibi to rid them of any connection to whatever crime they’d committed. It was the scent of desperation, an end to schemes, and the beginning of hopelessness.

  Ryan Farmer didn’t like it in here. He didn’t belong in this pale green room where the truth was squeezed out of so many perps. This was where Merchant had taken him, sitting him at the old wooden table. Graffiti marred its surface. Names and obscene pictures had been left by men trying to pass the time while hoping someone else would believe in their innocence. Some pictures were in pen, others carved by fingernail. One large word decorated the desk in a mix of elegant lines. This one word mocked him, “Deirdre”’. Even in here, waiting to explain himself Deirdre haunted him.

  He looked down at an obscure skull and crossbones. The carving wasn’t very deep, probably done with a fingernail, scratching away bits of gray paint on the soft pine table. Whether the artist had marked this table as dangerous or tried to leave a passing statement about his own life, Ryan Farmer had no idea. At least the crude rendering held his attention, keeping his eyes off her name.

  “We need to talk Ryan.” Merchant stood in the doorway holding a folder at his side as he went through the standard formal bullshit associated with an interrogation. Names were stated, a recording started, and rights were read. “What is going on with Deirdre Flye?”

  Ryan closed his eyes, wishing he’d never heard her name. She had to come into this town, mess with his life. He’d had one opportunity to rid himself of her presence, and failed miserably.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Ryan, I don’t have time for this. Were you investigating a case having to do with Deirdre Flye?” Merchant sat across from him, his fist tight on the folder, creasing it in several places.

  “Yes.”

  Merchant took a deep breath, seemingly happy with the acknowledgement. “What case?”

  He had to think of a way out of this but his mind whirled in here, surrounded by that smell and whenever he tried to think, Deirdre popped back into his mind. She wasn’t content to torture him mentally. Her physical assault still clung over his achy body. His balls still quivered at the mention of her name.

  Only the truth would come to mind, so he went with it. “Ten years ago there was a fire at a private school called Stone House. I have reason to believe that she was involved.”

  “Who assigned you to this case?” Merchant’s face lit up. “Is it a cold case from the station?” He opened the folder on the table and pulled a pen from his pocket.

  “No one assigned me.” This was going to be difficult. He’d researched Deirdre off and on for years but nothing ever came up, not until someone left that message on his desk. “No charges were ever filed in the fire.”

  Merchant stared into the folder, the hope fading from his eyes. “Then I guess you’d better see these.”

  In the short time since Ryan came, Merchant had gathered a small stack of print outs. One at a time, he passed them over for Ryan to look at. The first was a list of search sites Ryan had used to research Deirdre. There had to be ten pages, filled from top to bottom with pages he’d visited, probably harvested directly from his computer.

  “From this, your Stone House isn’t even in our jurisdiction. If there were a case, it would belong to North Carolina’s investigators, not ours. Have you contacted them, spoke with any of their officers.”

  “No.” His voice sounded small in the room.

  Merchant shook his head slowly, obviously regretting whatever action was about to take place. “Tell me, why were you at Deirdre Flye’s home tonight?”

  He couldn’t tell Merchant the truth. Using his position as a power play to force her to leave town was hardly acceptable behavior. He’d crossed county and state lines researching a woman who had left her mark on this town. There were things he’d done that were technically illegal to get his information, but nothing immoral. She was a blight, a danger, who used her wealthy clients to maintain her business. Something had to be done and his politically-savvy bosses didn’t have the balls to do it.

  As his own sweat started to ease from his pores, he knew that Deirdre had found a way to hurt his career. She must’ve told her story first and put him on the defensive. It was a well-played gambit. Leaving this room without some form of penalty would be impossible.

  “I went there to talk to her. That’s all.” He paused, hoping to sound confused about her reaction. “When I mentioned Stone House, she attacked me. I escaped and came here.”

  “Why did she beat you here then?”

  “I had to stop and…” What could he say? He had to pull himself together, that the woman had kicked his ass. “I needed a few minutes to think. Bringing her in could hurt my investigation.”

  “An unauthorized investigation against a woman who no one suspects of doing anything illegal in a fire ten years old that was ruled a gas leak in another jurisdiction.” Merchant rubbed the sides of his nose, and closed his eyes. “I need you to give me something here. Anything.”

  “So you’ve called North Carolina? You know that it was a gas leak.” This wasn’t good. “I don’t agree with their findings. I’m convinced it
was Deirdre Flye.”

  Merchant’s eyes narrowed. The expression appeared to be a statement of pain instead of anger. His old mouth tightened, jaw muscle straining beneath the skin while he flipped to another page in the folder.

  “I’ve done everything to justify your actions or at least prove your side of the story.” He turned over another page, this one with the outline of a body. “Let’s switch gears for a minute. Tell me what happened with Shope.”

  Ryan hadn’t considered there was anything wrong on that case. “I’ve already told the Chief. They’re not even going to do a serious investigation on the shooting. It was clean. I’m on administrative leave for a few days for my mental health, then it’s over.”

  “Tell me.” Merchant leaned closer. “Tell me everything.”

  Ryan began retelling the story of a man who’d managed to smuggle a gun into his patrol car, pick the lock from his handcuffs, and escape from a locked backseat. At the part of the shooting, Ryan hesitated, but finally told the version where he’d shot the suspect in the alley. It was a matter of official record.

  “You know we have your gun from the shooting. Ballistics results should be in by next week. I can find out if you really shot Shope or if someone else did.” Merchant reached across the table, heavy knuckles, tapped on the wood making an awkward sound.

  He hadn’t expected them to do a ballistics comparison. Admitting to a kill shot was bad enough and never doubted. Having to recant the statement, admitting to lying on the report could be career suicide. Deirdre had screwed him over good.

  “Why is that necessary?” Ryan fidgeted. “It was a clean kill.”

  “Not only is it necessary but I believe we will need your newly issued gun.”

  Merchant wasn’t going to let up. This was bad, really bad. If he didn’t hand over his gun, there would be trouble. Oh shit. He’d falsified a statement. The least he’d get was suspension.

  “I want a lawyer and my union guy.”

  “Is that really the way you want this? Do you really want the guys out there to see the guilt squad coming in the door?”

  He hung his head. “I didn’t make the shot. Some motorcycle cop I’d never seen before got him. I didn’t know her, so I assumed that she didn’t want the stigma or trouble associated with making a kill in this town. I took the blame. Sorry.” He shook his head, wishing that a simple ‘no’ would make all this go away. “I’ve never seen her before or since.”

  “Is that the story you’re sticking with this time?” Merchant crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Ryan like he’d become the worst creature imaginable. “A cop you’ve never seen shoots a man who you were bringing into custody. You’ve got an illogical gripe with a lady who performs a service in this town. What am I supposed to do here? Your version of events sounds paranoid. Never mind the fact that you lied in your report and admitted to using this department’s resources on an unauthorized investigation.”

  “It’s the truth and you know as well as I do that Deirdre Flye is a menace. Everything comes back to her, don’t you see? It was her suspect who got shot, she’s the one who attacked me, and she’s directly connected to a fire that killed hundreds of people. This town doesn’t need people like her, running around acting like the police are bumbling idiots. Her last two cases didn’t involve us until she decided it was necessary. Her clients didn’t want to trouble the police. It’s like we’re the fucking enemy here.”

  “I guess you wish she’d get out of town.” Merchant spoke calmly, as if Ryan had changed to a small child that required too much patience to deal with. “Get her out of your hair.”

  “Yes I do!” Ryan shouted. “That cunt has no business in a good town. She needs to travel south where they don’t care who gets shot or why. This town doesn’t need her.”

  Ryan realized his error. He fell into the trap. Merchant had poked at him until he found a wound, a personal issue that could be linked to his aberrant behavior. He’d proved there really wasn’t a case, nothing but a pissed-off officer.

  Merchant rubbed his eyes and suddenly it looked like he’d aged ten years during the interview. He pulled a pen from his pocket and started writing on a yellow legal pad he’d brought into the room.

  “So far you’ve verified everything Deirdre Flye has claimed, from the shooting of Shope to you trying to force her to leave. I’m afraid I don’t have any choice here.” Merchant looked tired as he started writing. “I wish there was another way.”

  No, Ryan didn’t want to hear what was coming out of Merchant’s mouth. Ryan was the good guy, not some lethal chick with a vendetta. He couldn’t be blamed for using less than orthodox tactics, given the circumstance. Deirdre had most the officers on this department fooled. Ryan couldn’t use normal means to bring a bad seed to justice.

  “I want to talk to the Chief.”

  “I’ve already spoken to him. I’m afraid you’re being placed on suspension until a formal query into your actions can be held. I must warn you that charges could be filed. You might want to get an attorney. Someone from Internal Affairs will be contacting you.”

  “An attorney?” He was a cop. This would ruin him. “Don’t do this.”

  “If you’ve been stalking Ms. Flye, then you might need good representation.” Merchant held out his hand again, flexing the sausage fingers. “I need your gun and badge.”

  “Fine.” A surreal feeling settled over him. This couldn’t be real, couldn’t be happening.

  Ryan slapped the gun and badge on the table, hard enough that he feared the pistol might discharge. Thankfully it didn’t but the quiet thud of the gun didn’t ease his anger. He stomped out of the room, not speaking to anyone but feeling their eyes on him, wondering what he’d done. They’d seen Deirdre come in, probably heard bits of the conversation. The rumors would start soon, then the accusing whispers.

  He went out to his car. In one night Deirdre had managed to strip him of his job, and humiliate him again in front of his colleagues. Letting this go wouldn’t be possible. He had a score to settle with Deirdre.

  Ryan slid into the driver’s seat and started his sedan. At least they hadn’t asked for the keys back, yet. Being forced to get a taxi from the station to his home would be worse, especially if they found his hidden piece. He reached under the dash, back behind the glove compartment and pulled out a .32. Next, he would visit Deirdre.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was dark in Deirdre’s home. She had every light off, every window closed. She wanted to sleep but her mind wouldn’t rest. Images played through her thoughts of her mother, Farmer, and that bastard, Niam. He would come calling. Maybe not tonight, but soon he would breach her doorway and bring whatever grief he could muster. He was her teacher and her tormenter. That bond, the hold he had over her was hard to break.

  She lay still, listening to the heater kick on. Soon a chill would settle over this little coastal town, even during the day. She looked forward to a change in the temperature. Maybe this was a good time to leave town, start over somewhere else. She would like a place with four true seasons, even a little snow around Christmas. Something from one of those Norman Rockwell pictures.

  Deep inside, she didn’t want to leave and there was no way to run from Niam. That would be the path of a coward and one she wouldn’t walk. If he wanted to battle, then she would do it with the fury of her mother. Scorpion wouldn’t back down from anyone or anything.

  The quiet hum of the furnace cut off and still she sat up in bed. Instincts told her that something would happen tonight. She wasn’t sure what it would be but she suspected Niam. Thankfully her crew was safe in their homes. She’d insisted even Tech leave. No one should be hurt by her past.

  She abandoned her bed. There would be no peace tonight. In times like these, she wished she had the talent for seeing into the future. She didn’t know anyone who truly held the gift but many from Stone House had claimed to. It was one of the things achieved from a dying soul. Deirdre never wanted any power enough to watch t
he life drain from a person.

  A car drove by on the main road and she checked the throwing daggers strapped to her leg. It was a little late for the neighbors to arrive, but Niam would never drive so close to her house. He would use stealth, attacking from some shadowed corner. Death would be swift, a sword through the gut, much like the fate her mother had faced.

  She still wondered about her.

  She considered all the possibilities. When had Scorpion died? What was the illusion and what held truth? Had she died in battle or had she come back for a daughter long since gone and faced an assassin in the burned-out halls?

  A sound outside her home stopped the strange thoughts circling. The noise was soft, a footstep, a breath. Someone lurked near her. She felt her blood change to ice as she waited in the dark.

  A scratching sound followed, a sloppy sign of an amateur burglar as the lock gave way and the front door creaked open. In the darkness, she caught the outline of a man. She took her short sword from the table. Her movements were silent while the man at the door remained clumsy, entering and letting the door click shut. The small noise was an obvious sign of a man wanting to get caught, followed, or perhaps someone hopelessly inept.

  Deirdre kept silent, sliding away from the door in the darkness and out of range of this man’s abilities. As she sat on the steps, another noise came, this one of the skill that she’d expected. It was nothing more than the vacuum created when someone unwanted entered the room. The air shifted and she smelled a fresh outdoor breeze coming from the backdoor. She had two intruders.

  Not moving a muscle, she waited with sword in her lap for how this would play out. Two assassins had been sent. Which was Niam, she didn’t know but she saw the outline of a gun in front, smelled the oil. Nothing so obvious came from behind. That was where the real danger existed.