4 The Infernal Detective

by Kirsten Weiss

  Peregrine tapped her chin. “You know, I can’t remember. I remember those two geese of hers, though.”

  Dot patted her sister on the knee. “Hank and Honk!”

  “Why on earth did she have geese anyway?” Peregrine asked.

  “They’re fantastic guard animals,” Dot said.

  Peregrine barked with laughter. “Guard animals!? Geese?”

  “Oh, yes,” Dot said. “Geese are terribly mean. The Nazis used them to guard prisoners.”

  Head throbbing, Riga scrubbed a hand over her face. “Can we forget the Nazi geese, and get back to my plan?”

  “Well, you don’t seem to have much of one,” Dot said.

  “Have you even got the building floor plan?” Peregrine asked.

  “Or the roster of guards?” Dot said.

  “What sort of video surveillance have they got?” Peregrine rummaged in her purse. “A cloaking spell won’t do much good against a video camera.”

  Dot tutted. “You really don’t have much experience with this sort of thing, do you?”

  “Here we go.” Peregrine pulled out a computer tablet. “What’s the address of this place?”

  Riga gave her the address and her aunt’s bony fingers flew. Soon full-color three-dimensional schematics floated on the screen.

  “How?” Riga spluttered. “How did you get that security information? The building owners can’t be stupid enough to put it online.”

  “I’m fracking, dear.”

  Dot coughed. “I believe the term is ‘hacking.’”

  “Right.” Peregrine cleared her throat. “That. But the point is, the security in this building is hopelessly outdated and there’s only one guard.” She pointed at the glowing screen.

  Riga sputtered. “But… That’s… How…?”

  “You can’t rely on magic for everything, dear,” Dot said. “And this is the twenty-first century.”

  “The modern necromancer cannot afford to ignore technology,” Peregrine said. “Though if you ask me, the people managing this building are overly reliant on it. Getting past it shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Riga nodded. If she could pull off that electrical spell again, they’d be in. “I can do it. Look, I just want you two for some magical backup in case—”

  Peregrine stood. “Do you have all the supplies we’ll need for this caper, Dot?”

  “Of course! You should know by now I always come prepared.” From the folds of her voluminous black dress, Dot pulled out a Walther PPK, handed it to her sister. She slipped a knife shaped like a dinosaur’s claw from her loose sleeve. “Girl Scout’s motto! Or is it the Boy Scouts?”

  Peregrine sighted down the barrel. “Since you were in neither—” Peregrine began.

  “Wait. Wait,” Riga said. “That’s why you wear baggy clothes? To hide your… arsenal?”

  “Well, why else, dear?” Dot said. “Where do you think that hip-hop baggy pants fashion started? And I was, too, in scouts. I was a scout leader. Don’t you remember? I dragged you to that jamboree and that horrible child… What was her name?”

  Riga took the knife from her aunt. She’d seen one in her martial arts class, and the damage it could inflict was terrifying. She flipped it in her palm, swung it experimentally.

  “Which horrible child?” Peregrine asked. “The place was full of them.”

  “The one who tried to set my tent on fire with her marshmallow.”

  “That wasn’t at a jamboree, that was at the family hiking trip to Death Valley – don’t you remember? Second cousin Percy?”

  Dot shook her head, setting her chins wobbling. “No, no, no. Percy wasn’t at Death Valley. That was the Arches trip.”

  Riga ground her teeth. They were doing it intentionally. They had to be. She banged the knife down on the table. “Forget the jamboree! We’re wasting darkness, and I want to get this over with tonight.”

  Peregrine slid her computer tablet into her purse. “You’re right. No time like the present. What do you think, Dot? Budapest?”

  Dot rose more slowly, her knees cracking. “Oh yes, I think Budapest will fit the bill nicely.”

  “Budapest?” Riga asked. “What happened in Budapest?”

  Dot tittered. “A better question is, what didn’t happen in Budapest?”

  “Ignore her, Riga. It was a government building, with all sorts of exciting technology. More guards than they needed though – typical Soviet mentality. Why hire one person when three can do the job in twice the time?”

  Riga blinked, dazed. How had they taken over the planning, and what the hell had they been doing breaking into a building in Budapest?

  Dot patted her arm. “No matter, dear. We’ll change into something more comfortable, and then perhaps we should take one of Donovan’s SUVs? The roads are still slippery, and if we need to make a quick getaway, I’d prefer four wheel drive and snow tires over that battleship you drive.”

  “I’ll get the keys,” Riga said faintly.

  Chapter 26

  Riga parked the SUV on a dark alley, hemmed in by backs of stores on one side and thick pine forest on the other. Clumps of snow piled against garbage bins, frosted the tops of cars.

  Peregrine, sleek in black slacks and a turtleneck, sprang from the passenger door. Dot, wearing baggy black sweats, followed with surprising swiftness. Slim, leather bags hung crossways from their shoulders.

  Dot flipped her bag open and pulled out a flashlight. “How far are we from the building?”

  “Three blocks. Let’s hold off on the light until we need it.” Riga stepped out of the car, locked it.

  Electricity crackled across the rim of Dot’s flashlight, and Riga jumped, startled.

  “It doubles as a phaser,” Dot whispered.

  Peregrine rolled her eyes. “Taser!”

  “Well, they should call it a phaser,” Dot said. “I loved the old Star Trek. William Shatner is so handsome.”

  “Fine,” Riga said in a strangled voice. “Let’s go. I’ll get us in. There’s a spell I used to use to open locked doors. It’s been giving me some trouble lately, but we can work around it.”

  Peregrine tsked. “You became too dependent on the goddess, a bit lazy if you don’t mind me saying.”

  “Don’t be so hard on her,” Dot maneuvered around a VW Bug, buried to its grill in freshly plowed snow. “She went with what she had. Or what she thought she had.”

  “Do you know any similar spells?” Riga asked, refusing to be sidetracked.

  “Probably.” From her bag, Peregrine drew the tablet computer. It illuminated her craggy face as her fingers tapped and glided across the screen. “Of course, we haven’t seen this spell of yours, so it’s hard to say how comparable they are.”

  Riga felt the tension in her shoulders relax. “Good.” She gestured at a wood and stone building across an empty parking lot. “There it is.”

  They trekked toward the rear door. A light above it made a mirror of the glass, and illuminated black asphalt footsteps in the snow.

  Riga grasped her aunts’ arms, halting them. “There’s the camera.” She nodded toward a blinking red light in the corner above the door.

  “Got it,” Peregrine said, intent on her tablet.

  The red light went dark. The door popped open with a metallic sigh.

  Riga gaped. “How…?”

  Peregrine grunted with satisfaction. “I’ve looped the camera feed so no one will see what we’re up to, and linked the real feed to my tablet so we can see where the guard is… Which would be the second floor hallway. Created the code while we were on our way here.”

  “You… what?” Riga asked.

  “Is he moving toward the stairway?” Dot said.

  Peregrine shook her head. “No. Just pushed the elevator button. Down, I think.”

  “Time to go.” Dot stepped inside, and Riga and Peregrine followed her around a corner, into a stairwell.

  Riga closed the stair door gently behind them, wincing at the clang of the latch.


  “It’s okay,” Peregrine said. “He’s in the elevator. Didn’t hear it.”

  They hurried up the metal staircase to the third floor, their steps echoing. Dot grasped the bar on the door.

  “Hold it,” Peregrine hissed. “He just got out of the elevator. The guard’s on this floor now.”

  “Downstairs,” Riga said.

  “No need,” Peregrine whispered. “Trust me, this guy doesn’t use stairs.”

  “But he might check them,” Riga said. “Go down a floor.”

  They crept down to the second floor landing, waited.

  Dot rolled her flashlight between her palms. “Is he—”

  “Shh!” Peregrine cut her off.

  The door above them clanged open. Riga held her breath, gripped the bar on the door behind them, ready to flee.

  The man above belched. The door clanged shut.

  Riga exhaled.

  He was gone.

  “He’s headed for the elevator,” Peregrine said quietly.

  “Let’s go.” Riga padded up the stairs.

  At the top, Peregrine made a fist with her hand, signaling a halt. They waited, silent. Then she pointed at the door, and they went through.

  “Number 310.” Riga crept down the green-carpeted hallway, past muted oil paintings and potted plants. She stopped in front of a polished wood door, numbers gleaming brass beneath a placard that read: James Trundell, Esq. Riga’s lips twisted in a sneer. For a squire, Trundell had some low-life clients.

  It was a simple tumbler lock – no technology. Magic, then. A year ago, unlocking the door would have been a moment’s work for Riga. Tonight, she was glad to let her aunts use their powers.

  “I’ve got this.” From her bag, Dot pulled a gun-shaped object, a drill bristling with dental implements. She inserted one in the lock, and pulled the trigger, the sound of gears grinding on a Buick roared down the hallway.

  Riga swore. “A lock pick gun? Really?”

  “Calm down,” Peregrine said. “The guard’s on the first floor. He can’t hear it.”

  “Magic would have been quieter,” Riga grumbled.

  Dot stepped back, smiling with satisfaction, and swung the door open, revealing a darkened room. “Why use magic when I don’t have to? You think casting necromantic spells is easy? All that bloodletting. I prick my fingers more often than a diabetic.”

  “You’ll understand when you get older.” Peregrine took a step toward the door.

  “Hold it.” Riga touched her shoulder. “The lawyer may have his own security system inside the office.”

  “Good idea,” Dot said. “Use these.” She unlatched a pair of infrared goggles from her belt, and handed them to Riga.

  “Infra… Where do you get this stuff?” Riga hissed.

  “The Internet, mostly,” Peregrine said. “Marvelous invention.”

  Compressing her lips, Riga fitted the goggles over her eyes. Greenish silhouettes sprang to life: chairs, desks, a Boston fern, and lines crisscrossing the room – infrared security.

  “See anything?” Dot asked.

  “He’s got a laser security system. Infrared.”

  “Darn,” Peregrine said. “It detects body heat. Your Donovan would have come in handy here since he’s not producing any.”

  Riga glared at her, an effect ruined by the goggles.

  Peregrine crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, it’s true.”

  “Fine,” Riga said. “I’ll try my electrical disruption spell.”

  “Please don’t,” Peregrine said. “Dot? The laser pointers, please?”

  Dot drew four slim, pen-sized objects out of her bag, and handed two to her sister. “Peregrine and I will shine them in the sources that are projecting the infrared beams. As long as we’re disrupting them with our laser pens, they won’t be able to detect you. How many sources do you see?”

  “Five. No, six,” Riga said, marveling at her aunt’s spy knowledge.

  “You’ll just have to avoid the other two beams then,” Dot said.

  Peregrine unhooked the infrared glasses from her belt, and put them on. “I see them. But Dot’s flying blind. We’ve only got two pairs of glasses.”

  Riga pulled her glasses off, and gave them to Dot. “Take the device crossing the painting on the right wall – that must be where the safe is hidden, and the other one in the far right corner. Peregrine, you take the two down the middle. I’ve got a good sense of where the other beams are located, but let me know if I get close to tripping them.”

  Peregrine set her tablet computer against the wall, screen-side out. “Got it.”

  Riga pulled her ski mask on – just in case they’d missed a camera inside the room – and took her flashlight from her pocket.

  “No!” Peregrine and Dot shouted.

  Riga blushed. With their night vision goggles on, the flashlight would be blinding. “Sorry. Forgot.” She glided into the room.

  “Look out!”

  Riga froze, heart leaping in her chest.

  “Oh, sorry,” Dot said. “I’ve got that one. Never mind. Go ahead.”

  Riga took a step forward and rammed her knee into a chair, bit back a yelp of pain.

  “Ooh! Are you okay?” Dot asked.

  Riga squeezed her eyes shut. “Fine,” she said through clenched teeth.

  She felt her way around the chair, moving towards the painting. Her eyes had begun adjusting to the low light, and she could make out shapes – a desk, another chair.

  “Okay, slow down, Riga,” Peregrine said. “There’s a beam on your right, about hip level. You shouldn’t have any trouble getting beneath it.”

  Riga dropped, rolled to the wall.

  “You’re past it,” Peregrine said. “You can stand.”

  Carefully, Riga felt her way to the painting. Its frame was ornate, thick, dusty. She felt around the bottom until she found the catch, snicked it open.

  “Riga, the guard’s on the move again,” Peregrine said.

  Riga closed her eyes, and laid her gloved palm flat against the safe door. Her fingers traced the keypad of an electronic lock.

  She could do this. The disrupt electricity spell was a no-go – she didn’t know enough about how the lock worked to guarantee it would open, even if the spell worked. Back to the basics. Just unlock and open. For a moment she considered trying to call upon that strange energy, but dismissed the thought. She didn’t know enough about it, and was unsure if she could even call it again. No, she’d go with what worked.

  She scratched her cheek through the mask.

  The spell was simple. An easy unlock. Breathe. She pulled her hand fractionally away from the door and called the energies, imagined the cool blue from above, the red heat from below, inhaled, pulled them into her body, through her feet and into the crown of her head, let them fill her. She imagined the safe’s pins tumbling into place, the door opening, tied the energy to a word, spoke it aloud.

  Her palm grew warm. An acrid odor assaulted her nostrils.

  Peregrine gasped. “Good goddess!”

  Riga opened her eyes. The hinges had melted off the safe door, and streamed slowly down the wall, burning through it. “Dammit!” A siren blared, the sound piercing.

  “The fire alarm!” Dot shouted.

  “Yes, yes, I know.” Riga grabbed the safe handle, yanked the door off.

  She grabbed everything, stuffing folders and papers and computer drives into her bag. Banded packs of hundred dollar bills lay on their side against one wall. She rifled through them, making sure they weren’t hiding anything important, put them back.

  “The guard’s headed up the stairs,” Peregrine said.

  Riga ran to the door, heedless of the remaining infrared devices. “Is there another staircase?”

  Peregrine pointed. “That way, around the corner.”

  Dot was already jogging in that direction. Riga and Peregrine took off down the carpeted hall. Riga caught the stairwell door swinging shut behind Dot, and held it open for Peregrine. She fol
lowed her aunts down the stairs, their feet banging on the metal steps. They blasted out the door.

  A wail of sirens cut the frigid night air.

  Riga whipped off the ski mask. They speed-walked down the dark street, jogged right, through a parking lot and into the alley. A streetlamp cast a sullen glow across damp cardboard boxes and spilled cabbage leaves.

  Their footsteps crunched on the icy pavement.

  “Did you get it?” Peregrine asked.

  “I grabbed everything” Riga said. “If it was there, I got it.”

  A shadow slipped along the ground, vanished beneath a row of trash containers.

  The sirens grew fainter, the sound muffling. And then the sound of their footsteps vanished.

  Riga halted, the back of her neck prickling. “Do you feel that?”

  A door slid open. Riga felt that sense of dislocation and the colors shifted, flattened, grew watery. The yellow lamp faded to white.

  Darkness exploded.

  Her tongue tasted something sour: despair.

  Donovan lay in the snow, a neat bullet hole in his forehead. What lay beneath was not neat, not clean. Blood soaked the snow, an obscene stain. She fell to her knees, grasped his cold hand, sobbing. This was her fault. None of this would have happened if it hadn’t been for her.

  Footsteps crunched across the snow. A pair of polished black shoes, attached to a pair of well-clad male legs, stepped up beside her.

  “Riga,” a familiar voice said. “Think. Take a breath.”

  She looked up at Donovan, standing before her, looked down at his lifeless body on the snow, scrambled to her feet. If she was going mad, she preferred the illusion of Donovan alive.

  “The body isn’t real,” he said. “You should know better.”

  She ran her fingers across the small, cross-shaped scar on the live Donovan’s jaw. “Donovan,” she breathed.

  “Weren’t you the one who told me that every character in a dream is the dreamer? I’m not Donovan. And neither is that,” he nodded toward the body in the snow. “You’re in a nightmare, love. Wake up.”

  Riga choked, gasping. Cold strung her like a bow. A pair of hands grasped her by the back of her collar and warmth bloomed where they brushed her neck. The world returned. The moon above. The flickering light over the restaurant door. She leaned drunkenly against a pile of boxes, and they sagged beneath her.