by Alex P. Berg
We stood there in silence, giving the Captain her moment to grieve. Lightning flashed again in the distance, and the peal of thunder crashed over us a few seconds later. The rain continued to fall, pattering relentlessly against the pavement. At least the summer warmth prevailed.
I thought I heard a sniff, and the Captain lifted a hand. “Coroner Moonshadow? If you would?”
Cairny stepped forth and kneeled next to the Captain, her hair turned into a midnight black waterfall by the rain. She pressed a couple fingers to the DA’s neck, inspected his knee, tested his elbow, and rotated his head to get a look at the side facing the pavement.
“Injuries are consistent with a high velocity impact,” she said. “What story did he live on?”
“The top one,” said Captain Knox. “Sixth floor.”
Cairny nodded. “It’s hard to tell due to the rain, but based on the amount of blood and its radius from his body, he probably died on impact. I’m sorry, Captain.”
Knox nodded, her face an emotionless mask. “Coroner Moonshadow? Stay here with the body. You too, Detective Quinto. Treat it as you would any other possible murder victim. Officer Turtledove? If you could arrange for transportation of the deceased? The rest of you, come with me.”
The Captain pushed into the building’s lobby, where a small crowd had gathered, staring at the scene in the rain-soaked darkness outside. One of them asked what happened, while another asked if he’d been pushed, but the Captain ignored them and headed to the stairwell, as did the rest of us.
I wasn’t sure what I should say, or even if I should say anything. The Captain wasn’t the outspoken sort. Far from it. She played everything close to the vest. Her hug at the King’s Theater had been the greatest emotional outburst I’d ever seen out of her. But the way she strode up those stairs, quiet and purposeful—it worried me. Nobody was that good at keeping their feelings in check. Something brewed underneath her calm exterior. Something dangerous.
Apparently, no one else knew what to say to the Captain either. We arrived at the sixth floor breathing harder but otherwise in silence. We followed Knox to the end of the hallway, where we found the door to Flint’s apartment thrown open.
We walked in cautiously. My hand itched, and I wished I’d gone into the back of the King’s Theater to retrieve Daisy, though I knew I wouldn’t need her. Not now, anyway.
Flint’s apartment was of the modern, open variety. Doors on the left-hand side offered teasing glimpses into the bedrooms, but the kitchen, dining room, and sitting room had been combined into a long central space, adorned with mahogany, leather upholstery, and imported rugs. A pair of bookcases lined the walls, their shelves filled with thick legal texts, though I didn’t see a desk anywhere. Perhaps one of the rooms to the side was an office rather than a bedroom.
All in all, the place appeared pristine—or at least the half closest to the entrance did. On the far side, wind whistled into the apartment through shattered floor-to-ceiling windows, the rugs at the edge of the floor damp and flattened.
We shuffled in. On second glance, I noticed a few things out of place. Pillows knocked from the sofa to the floor. A crack in the glass coffee table. A rug at a skewed angle. What I didn’t notice was any damage to the floors.
“No claw marks on the wood,” I said.
“Claw marks?” said Steele.
“From the basilisk. I noticed them at my place when I returned earlier today. It left them at the theater, too.”
The Captain grunted. “Would’ve been hard to get one of those creatures up so many stairs without notice. But it’s good news, I suppose.”
Shay approached the broken windows. “Notice that?”
“Notice what?” I said.
“No crunching,” she said, inching closer to the edge. “There are hardly any glass shards on the floor. I didn’t notice any on the sidewalk either.”
“Meaning what, exactly?” said Rodgers. “I can’t imagine whoever threw DA Flint through his windows stopped to clean up after themselves.”
Shay shook her head. “They wouldn’t have needed to if the force of the throw carried them out. And it would’ve been quite the blow to carry the glass shards past the sidewalk to the road beyond. A concussive force. Yet the apartment seems fine.”
“Daggers,” said the Captain. “When you got knocked from your apartment last night, how was it you described the sensation?”
“Trust me, I’m seeing the parallels.” I approached the windows, walking slowly. Heights didn’t particularly bother me, but falling to my death did.
“We should probably knock on doors,” said Rodgers. “See if anyone got a glimpse at whoever did this.”
“I think we can safely skip that step,” I said, peering over the edge. “If it wasn’t Markeville, it was one of his lackeys. I don’t see how this can’t be related.”
“Even if it isn’t, it’s in our best interest to assume it is,” said Knox. “After what happened at the King’s Theater, Markeville is wanted for the deaths of over fifty people. New Welwic hasn’t seen a day this deadly since the St. Clementine’s square massacre.”
I gazed at the sky, an inky mass of angry clouds, shrouded by darkness and rain. “And it’s not over yet…”
“So Markeville’s at the top of our most wanted list,” said Rodgers. “The question is, how do we track him? Daggers, you obviously lost him after Bonesaw knocked you unconscious. Steele, did you see him at the home he’d imprisoned you in?”
My partner shook her head. “I never saw him at all. Daggers clued me into his involvement. But we know where his residence is. We should send a team there immediately. Who knows what clues we can find as to his whereabouts.”
“Clues, maybe,” said Knox. “But not him. Not tonight. If his threats were sincere, then he has major plans. Call it a hunch, but I doubt Eric is the only one he’s targeted.”
“Then we need to figure out his motives,” said Rodgers. “If we guess those, we can predict his next strikes. So is he out to cause chaos? Or is he focused on a more discrete goal?”
“Bonesaw said Markeville was going to make the city cower before them,” said Shay. “Taking out the gangs must’ve been part of that, but this is a bigger piece. Targeting the police. Me and Daggers. District Attorney Flint. Maybe the rest of the justice system, too. The city government. The military, even, though I don’t know how he’d have the strength.”
Lightning flashed, showering the city in a bright white light, like that from one of Sherman Industries’ electrical globes. My eyes widened.
“Maybe all of the above,” I said. “But his next target might not be our biggest concern.”
“What are you talking about?” said Knox. “Saving lives is always our greatest priority.”
I waved everyone to the windows and pointed to the south. “Wait for another lightning strike.”
It took a minute before the skies acquiesced to my request, but when they did it was with an eye-popping blast that sent shadows streaking to the horizon in three of the cardinal directions. The view to the south was obstructed, however, blocked by a giant, swirling cloud, gray and angry with muscular arms spiraling inward toward an opaque cone.
A cyclone. And it was headed toward the city.
34
Rain lashed us without mercy, the wind’s powerful gusts pushing us to the side as we raced toward the city’s shore. Our rickshaw drivers had abandoned us, all but one who’d helped Cairny take District Attorney Flint’s body to the morgue, leaving Quinto, Shay, Rodgers, and the rest of us to our fate at the hands of the elements.
Lightning flashed and thunder rent the air as we reached Shoreline Avenue. Then again, and again, a series of blasts, all of them originating within the cyclone’s churning maelstrom. Electricity crackled among the clouds, some of it arcing into the ocean below, other bursts sizzling and rippling through the dark clouds. Even at a distance, the cyclone glowed from within, an ominous purple hue. Despite the
darkness, the sky had acquired a gangrenous tinge.
I stood staring at the storm, the trees at the edge of the road swaying and groaning, their leaves creating a white noise softer and more uniform than the relentless hammering of raindrops. Not a square inch of me was dry. My hair lay plastered against my face. Wind buffeted me, howling in anger.
The Captain shouted behind me. “How could we have missed this? These storms are slow developing. We see them coming. Sailors bring word. They give us time to prepare, to shelter.”
“Doesn’t matter, does it, Captain?” said Quinto. “It’s headed toward land, whether we like it or not.”
She must’ve agreed. “We need every officer we can muster. It’s too late to evacuate the coast, but we’ll needs hands to help in recovery. There’ll be flooding. Wind damage. Buildings might come crashing down.”
I glanced down the avenue. The streets were empty, cleared as much by the late hour as by the weather. Could people really be sleeping through the storm? If they hadn’t known it was coming, perhaps. A cyclone hadn’t struck New Welwic since I was a small child. Why would anyone suspect the wind was due to anything but a thunderstorm?
“But Captain,” shouted Phillips into the wind. “We’re stretched to the limit! The majority of the Fifth’s still at the King’s Theater. We’re down to reserves.”
“Then we’ll bring what we can and ask for assistance with what we can’t,” said the Captain. “Officer Turtledove. Get back to Grant Street. Raise everyone you can. Tell them to wake everyone who’s still asleep. Phillips. I want you to race as fast as you can to the New Welwic Main base. Make sure the army boys are on their way, if they’re not already. Tell them to bring wagons, sand, shovels, the works. We’re going to need it. If anyone asks, you tell them the mayor declared a state of emergency.”
“But the mayor hasn’t done any such thing, has he?” said Phillips.
“By the gods, he will have by the time the night is over,” said Knox. “Now go!”
Phillips and Turtledove took off at a run.
“What about the rest of us Captain?” said Rodgers. “You know we’re willing, but there’s not a lot we can do against something of this magnitude.”
Rodgers had it right. What could we do against so much rain, against hurricane force winds? Against winds of change.
Sometimes I could be so obtuse.
“Maybe there’s nothing we can do,” I said, turning away from the furious storm and back toward the others. “But there may be something someone can do.”
“We’re all ears, Detective,” said the Captain.
“You’re right,” I said, shouting into the wind. “We shouldn’t have missed a storm like this. We would’ve seen it coming. But this isn’t a normal storm. I’m not an expert, but from what I understand, cyclones are big. Slow moving. This thing’s anything but. We should’ve been drenched a day ago. Instead, this didn’t hit until a few hours ago. It’s unnatural.”
“And yet here it is,” said Knox. “It’s improbability doesn’t make it any less real.”
“That’s not what I mean,” I said. “Markeville’s gang. He named it the Winds of Change. When he confronted me following my fight at the theater, he said to me, ‘The Winds of Change have arrived—and they are blowing.’ I thought it was a corny one-liner, but…”
“Hold on,” said Steele, pointing at the storm. “You’re saying you think Markeville is responsible for that thing?”
“He had a basilisk as a pet. I’m not putting it past him.”
“If it’s magically driven,” said Knox, “then we might be able to fight back.”
“Exactly. We need to rally the city’s witches and wizards. The Smarties.” Technically, they were called the Strategic Magical Response Teams, or SMRTs, but Smarties sounded so much better.
“I can’t authorize them,” said the Captain. “We’ll need the chief of police to give the order.”
“We’re already getting the mayor to declare a state of emergency, aren’t we?”
The Captain set her jaw. “You’re damned right we are. Shouldn’t be too hard to get ahold of him. As a matter of fact…” The Captain paused, her eyes widening. “Oh, gods! How could I be so stupid!”
“What is it, Captain?” asked Steele.
“The chief,” she said. “He lives on the coast, less than a mile from here. The storm’s headed right for him.”
It validated every piece of conjecture I’d already thought up—the importance of the storm, its magical nature, Markeville’s plans—but I didn’t have time to pat myself on the back. We took off at a run. Shay, Rodgers, Quinto, and I quickly outpaced the Captain, but she shouted the address at us and told us to keep going.
The wind pushed us into the street as we ran, rain whipping and swirling. The trees at the roadside gave way to a wall of vegetation, dense thickets of seagrape and holly trimmed into hedges. Then I spotted the first of the homes, modest two story structures made ludicrously expensive by virtue of their location. We passed a gate set between the bushes, then another. I wiped rainwater out of my eyes as I searched for the street numbers, my breath starting to come heavy.
As I looked, an orc with rain-slicked hair and a guy in a dark raincoat burst from one of the gates, running into the street perpendicular to our own. It couldn’t be a coincidence.
My heart dropped as images of the DA flashed before my eyes, but I didn’t let it slow me. “Rodgers! Quinto! Get those two! Shay and I’ll check on the chief.”
Quinto nodded, and the two of them sprinted after the pair with a renewed burst. I skidded around the open gate and kept going toward the home. The front door stood open, so I ran up the porch steps and hopped inside, Steele hot on my heels.
My heart pounded in my chest, and I took a deep, gulping breath. “Police! Anyone here?”
The house was dark as a cave. The wind howled, and rain lashed against the roof, battering it without mercy.
Shay yanked on my sleeve. “Upstairs. I heard a shout!”
I knew better than to question her elven senses. She pulled me onto a yawning black staircase, and up we went. I followed Steele, unaware of anything but the violent whine and roar of the storm, but she knew where she was headed. Her eyesight beat mine by a mile. It was how she’d found the weapons while we’d fought Bonesaw, no doubt.
We stumbled into a bedroom, its belly as dark as the rest of the house. In the center, a dark mass wriggled and moaned. Three dark masses. An adult woman, and two teens. Tied together, gagged and blindfolded.
I heard sobbing, but the woman must’ve heard us. She became hysterical, gurgling and moaning from behind her gag. Shay pulled her blindfold off as I knelt down to look at the ropes.
“They have him!” she shouted as Shay pulled the bundled rag from her mouth. “Oh, gods, they took him! You have to save him. Please!”
“They took your husband? The chief?” said Steele. “Who did? Where?”
I took the blindfolds and gags off the teens, who continued to shake and cry.
“I don’t know,” she said, her voice cracking. “We were asleep. They surprised us. Two of them, a man and an orc. I woke up to a yell. My husband's. They struck him in the head and came after me, blinding and gagging me before tying me here with our children.”
“When was this?” asked Steele.
“What do you mean?” asked the woman. “Just now. Do something! They have him!”
“Daggers…” said Shay. “Those men. They didn’t have him.”
“I know,” I said.
“What are you talking about? Please, get us out of here!”
I found the knots, but they were cinched tight. I wished I’d kept either of the blades from my earlier fights. “I can’t get the ropes off. Got a knife?”
“My husband’s and my room. Down the hall on the left. Under the right hand side of the bed, clipped into the frame.”
I stood. “Be right back.”
“Dag
gers.” Shay stood and put her hand on my arm. “The screaming. It wasn’t her. I still hear it.”
“Maybe he’s here,” I said. “Keep your eyes and ears peeled. We might not be alone.”
I stumbled into the hallway and hooked a left into another room. The bed loomed large in front of me. I knelt and felt underneath the edge, finding the hidden blade and pulling it free. The wind continued to howl, even louder now, and rain spattered against my face.
I looked up, blade in hand. On the far side of the bed, a glass door stood open. Wind and rain whistled their way through, but beyond the crash and howl of the storm, I could hear it, too. The shouts.
I stepped onto the balcony outside and scanned the yard. The churning cyclone continued to glow, closer now, still crackling with latent electricity, but I couldn’t see anything in the yard. Nothing but trees and seagrass.
I heard it again, distinct this time. A shout for help. But from where?
Lightning flashed, illuminating the darkness. Still nothing, then the crash of thunder and another shout.
Gods, where was he? I looked around again, to the left, to the right, then up. Lightning flashed, and I finally saw him.
There at the top of the house, strapped to a massive iron cross, sagged the chief of police.
The lightning flashed again. Much closer this time.
35
“Gods, almighty…” I turned and raced to the bedroom with Shay and the chief’s family. The chief’s wife was sobbing when I returned.
“Find anything?” asked Steele.
I slipped the edge of the knife under the ropes and started sawing. “Listen to me, ma’am. It’s going to be okay. Go downstairs. Take your children with you. Captain Beverley Knox of the Fifth Street Precinct will be there momentarily. Detective Steele and I are going to take care of your husband.”
