Grave Cargo: Arcane Transporter 1

by Jami Gray

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, or events, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Copyright © August 2020 by Jami Gray

  All rights reserved.

  Grave Cargo - Arcane Transporter

  Celtic Moon Press

  ISBN: 978-1-948884-38-9 (ebook)

  ISBN: 978-4-948884-41-9 (print)

  Cover Art: Deranged Doctor Design

  www.derangeddoctordesign.com

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Arcane Transporter Books

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Jami Gray

  About the Author

  This is for those who crave fast, wild roads and unpredictable curves. Don’t ever slow down!

  Chapter One

  The shrill whine of approaching sirens tore away the last bit of sleep-deprivation haze that the comforting scent of roasted beans failed to clear. I winced at the ear-grating sound, and my hand, the one holding my nirvana in a cup, jerked. Scalding caffeine erupted from the lid and splattered across my skin. Muttering a word best not used in public, I quickly shook it off and then blew across the cup’s tiny opening in the lid. Taking a cautious sip, I watched the blue-and-white police car rush by as the rumble of conversation inside the corner coffee shop died away. We all stared in that uniquely urban, yet morbidly fascinated way as another unit, complete with flashing lights, chased the first up the street. Out on the sidewalk, morning commuters slowed and craned their necks to follow the action. A deeper, harsher blast followed, and like extras in some bad TV sitcom, everyone turned to watch an ambulance bring up the rear of the emergency-response caravan.

  Not an unusual activity for the narrow maze of downtown Phoenix. Between impatient drivers and equally impatient pedestrians, both of whom were firm believers that traffic signals were mere suggestions, navigating these streets was not for the faint of heart. Chances were good someone had dared a yellow light with disastrous results.

  Crappy way to start your day, I thought with a tug of empathy. Typically, I would be happily ensconced on my eighth-floor balcony, blearily eyeing the morning comings and goings, safe from the havoc below. But this morning, the combination of a late-night delivery job and the fact that my roommate, Lena, had failed to replace our caffeine stash left me with no other option if I wanted to function. Somehow, I’d managed to throw on clean—I did a quick check—yep, clean clothes and navigate the handful of blocks necessary to get my fix. Luckily for Lena, I was in a forgiving mood and had ordered her favorite drink. No one liked dealing with the caffeine deprived.

  “Rory, your Italian espresso is up.”

  Thinking of which. I hopped off the stool and nabbed Lena’s coffee. “Thanks, Van.”

  Busy recharging a simple warming sigil etched into the counter for an unclaimed order, he gave me a quick smile and called out the next name. The irritating itch of active magic ran over my arms, but with my hands full, I tugged my personal shields closed, shutting it out. Shouldering my way through a trio of twentysomethings in the midst of debating the finer points of casting a hex, I headed out into the morning rush of pedestrians destined for class or work. My walk home was accompanied by the chaotic choir of buzzing traffic, the echoing discordant clangs of the nearby light rail, and the continuous crash-bangs of ongoing construction. Despite that, it was a beautiful Tuesday morning. A slight breeze chased away the edge of heat that would win later in the day. Give it another month or so, when summer really hit, and I would think twice about making the trip on foot.

  A block from home, my phone vibrated against my hip with an incoming text. Since my hands were full and my front door was nearly in sight, I figured it could wait. Sticking to the sidewalk, I rounded my condo’s manicured landscape, which was a strangely attractive combination of rock and tropical garden. The pretty picture was marred by the ambulance and two squad cars from earlier, now parked at an angle in front of the high-rise. A hulking mass of a fire engine had joined the party.

  Various uniforms dotted the scene, one of which was stringing up fluorescent-green crime-scene tape and closing off the lobby entrance. The use of green instead of yellow tape spiked my curiosity. It indicated magic was somehow involved. I was too far away to tell if they had warded the area for containment, but considering the bystanders stood in scattered clumps a safe distance back in the parking lot, it was a reasonable assumption. A collection of familiar faces huddled under a nearby awning, their attention focused on the unfolding drama. Deciding to join them, I made my way over as I took in the passing pedestrians doing the looky-loo thing. A tall, dark-haired figure caught my attention, and before I could react, his long-legged stride took him around the corner, where he disappeared. That could not be who I thought it was, because there was no reason for him to be anywhere near here. I started to pivot, intent on proving my point, but the sound of my name had me turning back.

  “Rory!”

  “Hey, Ang.” I shifted direction and went to the bench where my neighbor with rainbow-hued hair held court in the midst of a writhing mix of canine bodies. “What’s going on?”

  Angie wrestled with the leashes of the overexcited dogs she walked every morning before her university classes. Today’s motley trio included a laid-back chocolate lab, a bouncy Yorkie, and a black-and-white fluff ball of unidentifiable origins. With her hands full, she used her chin to indicate the hive of police activity. “Someone dumped a dead body in the lobby.”

  Her voice carried, and from behind me, the frighteningly efficient sixtysomething Martha, who lived a couple floors below me, corrected, “They weren’t dumped, Angela.” She left the nearby group in the shade to join us. “I think whoever it was collapsed.”

  “Collapsed or dumped, they are definitely dead,” Angie shot back.

  Martha’s eyes narrowed. “And exactly how do you know that? Pets aren’t allowed in the lobby.”

  Neither were dead bodies last time I looked at my lease. I set Lena’s cup on the bench, freeing up a hand so I could give ear scratches to the lab that plopped down at my side.

  Angie rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry, I didn’t take them inside. I just finished their walk and was out front, answering a text, when Colton ran out yelling at me to call 911.”

  Not recognizing the name, I looked up and asked, “Colton?”

  “Over there.” Angie pointed to where an officer was talking to a young man who kept shifting his backpack and his skateboard as he talked. “He lives on the third floor. He’s a kinesiology major.”

  Her pointing finger turned into a little finger wave as Colton looked over and caught us watching. Even from where we stood, there was no way to miss his pale face or freaked-ou
t expression. Someone was definitely rattled.

  “I hope it’s not someone we know,” Martha murmured.

  I sipped my coffee, thinking the odds were not in our favor. Despite the high number of college students drifting in and out of the area, our condo was fairly new. It was built in the last couple of years and boasted a hefty security warding, one they advertised as “top-notch magical security for privacy.” The price tag for that particular extra was one in a list of many, and it made the place irresistible to young professionals, retirees, and seasonal students from well-to-do families. It was also one of the reasons why I had a roommate.

  I eyed the green crime-scene tape. “Whoever it is, they had to be a mage.”

  Martha turned to me with a puzzled frown. “What do you mean?”

  I lifted my coffee in the direction of the taped-off lobby. “Green crime tape. It means whatever went down was magical in nature, and if magic is involved—”

  “So is a mage,” Angie finished with barely concealed excitement. “What if they were working for one of the Arcane families and got caught in the crossfire?” Her enthusiasm increased as she forged deeper into her drama-filled story. “Or maybe the mage was being hunted by a Cabal assassin. You know, like a real-life thriller?”

  “You need to cut back on your entertainment viewing, Angela,” Martha chastised in her best teacher voice as she sat on the bench. She repositioned Lena’s cup, moving it out of the way. “Not to mention that Cabals are pure fiction.”

  Undaunted, the younger woman dug her heels in, committed to her romanticized version of events. “You never know. It’s not like that type of information is shared with the public.” She caught my gaze. “What do you think, Rory? You’ve got an inside track to that world, what with your job at the Guild and all.”

  Inside track? I nearly laughed but choked it back. I had to agree with Martha—Angie spent way too much time with a TV. “I think your version is better suited to one of your writing classes.” That earned me a pout, but undaunted, I kept going. “This is a bit too…” I searched for something more tactful than sloppy and embarrassing, only to come up with, “Public for anyone at the Family level to be involved.”

  A series of sharp yips erupted from the bouncy Yorkie and was answered by the black-and-white fluff ball, both interrupting Angie’s speculation. I followed the dogs’ focus and watched as our impeccably dressed building manager walked over with a uniformed officer at her side.

  As they approached, Angie scolded softly, “Sit, Petunia. Sit, Tully.” Both dogs ignored her, pulling at their leashes. Meanwhile, the lab at my side leaned deeper into my legs, content to brush the ground with its tail.

  “I get the feeling I’m going to be really late for work.” I chased my muttered comment with another sip of coffee.

  Martha gave me a tiny smile of commiseration.

  “Ladies and gentlemen.” Natalie, the building manager, stopped near Angie and her canine charges, close enough the black-and-white fluff ball decided to plop its butt on her shoe. Natalie gently shifted her foot aside and gave us what she probably hoped was a reassuring smile but didn’t ease the lines of worry fanning around her eyes. “Thank you for your patience. Sergeant Abrams would like a moment of your time.”

  The nearby group shuffled closer, and all eyes turned to the steel-haired male standing stoically at her side. He moved in front of Natalie and said, “I know you all have places to be, but we’ll need to collect your contact information and statements.” He waved over a couple of younger uniforms and turned back to us. “We’ll do our best to get you out of here as soon as we can.”

  “Can we get inside?”

  I couldn’t see who asked the question, but I was glad someone did.

  The sergeant was shaking his head. “No one enters or leaves, not until we clear the scene.”

  A rush of complaints and questions erupted, only to be cut short as he barked, “People, I understand, but this is an active crime scene. I’d suggest you make other arrangements, because you probably won’t be able to access the building for at least a few more hours.”

  Natalie and the sergeant moved away a little. The younger officers split up and began pulling people aside. One officer started with Angie, which wasn’t a surprise. He probably preferred not to have the dogs underfoot. Angie and her entourage followed the officer to a spot out of earshot. Someone called Martha’s name, and she gave me a subdued goodbye and headed over.

  With everyone occupied, I pulled out my phone and sank onto the bench, next to Lena’s coffee. Swiping the cracked screen, I thought yet again how I really needed to get it fixed. Of course, after living with it for six months, I might be able to hold out until it was time to upgrade the phone.

  I checked my texts and found a message from the Arcane Guild’s contract coordinator with a request for an update on last night’s job. To call or to text? If I called, I would be pulled into a conversation filled with “I don’t know” and “I’m not sure,” so I sent a text indicating I was running late. If I was still a full-time employee, my dodge might cause me trouble, with a warning about managing my time. Thanks to my recent transition to paid contractor, it might be grumbled about, but not where I could hear it.

  Text answered, I called my roommate. Lena’s phone rang twice then went to voicemail. Hmm, she must still be sleeping. “Hey, wake up, lazy ass. You’re missing all the excitement.” I looked to her cup sitting next to me. “I got you an espresso, but chances are it’ll be cold before I can get it to you. By the way, you better call the Guild and tell them you’ll be late. Call me when you get up.”

  I had conquered two levels of the game on my phone and finished my coffee when a polite “Ma’am” gained my attention.

  I looked up to find the officer who’d been talking to Angie was now closing in. I got to my feet, pocketed my phone, and waited for him to stop in front of me. “Morning.”

  “Morning.” He waved me back to the bench. “We can sit if you prefer.”

  “Sure.” I retook my seat and put Lena’s cup on the ground, by my feet.

  “Thank you for waiting.” He sat down, keeping a polite distance between us. “I’m Officer Marco Alvarez.”

  “Rory Costas.”

  “Rory, do you happen to have your ID on you?”

  I pulled out my phone wallet and handed over my driver’s license.

  He took it and studied it. “Do you live here?”

  “Yep, on the eighth floor.”

  He lifted my license. “This has a different address listed.”

  I winced. Dammit. “Right, sorry.” Much like fixing my cracked screen, updating my license was on my list of to-do items that I kept putting off. “I moved in a few months back and haven’t had a chance to get in and get it updated.”

  He studied me for what felt like forever, and I tried not to squirm. The truth was, I’d moved in more like six months ago. He made another note and handed my license back. “You’ll want to get that taken care of soon.”

  “Of course.”

  “If you wouldn’t mind, can you take me through your morning?”

  I did just that while he listened. He asked a few questions when I mentioned Lena, but otherwise kept making notes. A familiar voice interrupted us as we were finishing up.

  “Rory, what are you doing here?”

  Recognizing the rumble of bass, I twisted around and shaded my eyes against the sun. “Hey, Detective Brenner.”

  Sun-touched skin crinkled around sharp brown eyes. “Hey, yourself.” He turned to the officer, who was now standing, and nodded. “Alvarez.”

  “Detective.” The young man looked back to me. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Costas. If we have any more questions, we’ll give you a call.”

  “Okay, so am I good to go?”

  He nodded.

  I tried a smile. “Any chance I can get up to my condo?”

  “Not until the scene is cleared, sorry.”

  I knew it was a long shot, but… “I had to
ask.”

  That got me a small smile in return. “Understood.” The officer turned to Brenner and jerked his chin up, and Brenner returned the gesture.

  I watched the young man walk away. Brenner sat down on the bench, taking Alvarez’s place and bringing a whiff of cologne with him. It was the same scent he’d worn when we met six years ago. “So.” He stretched out his legs and leaned back, laying his arms along the back of the bench. “I didn’t know you lived here.”

  My grin wasn’t big, but it was genuine. “Um, yeah, moved in a bit ago.”

  I sat back, some of my tension fading. Brenner and I had met when he was a patrol officer. Actually, he’d ended up investigating a dispute that involved a Guild client and a package with questionable ownership. Since the Guild was a mercenary storehouse that employed the magically adept, they didn’t take sides on anything. That made my job as a Transporter pretty straightforward—ensure packages got from point A to point B. Asking questions, such as who was the legal owner of said package, wasn’t in my job description, but it was in Brenner’s.

  He propped his ankle on his knee, his gaze drifting over the ongoing interviews. “Did the Guild give you a raise?”

  Not quite sure why we were indulging in chitchat, I played along. “Kind of. I finally paid my training loans off, and my friend needed a roommate, so it was a win-win for both of us.” I looked toward the front doors. Lights still flashed, but other than the uniform holding the line, no one else was visible. Deciding to indulge my curiosity, I asked, “What happened?”