5 The Elemental Detective

by Kirsten Weiss

  “I’m not sure. Sal says she’s sensing a disturbance in the water element, which makes sense given the dead mermaids. She seems to think it’s connected to the rioting, but I don’t see it. Symbolically, water is traditionally connected to the emotions. And as humans we’re composed mainly of water. But…” The explanation didn’t satisfy her. There had to be more. “We’re missing a piece of the puzzle.”

  They drove into the hotel’s circular drive, and a valet hurried to help Riga out of the car. Hand in hand, Riga and Donovan walked the outdoor path to their bungalow.

  Once inside, he tossed his room key on the bed. “I’m going for a swim. Join me?”

  “After what happened at Na Pali?” She frowned. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

  “We need answers. You said we needed to talk to everyone, including mermaids. You got something from the dead one – why don’t we try some live ones?”

  She blew out her breath, looked at the ceiling. He was right. The mermaids were potential witnesses. Dangerous potential witnesses.

  “Assuming the mermaids were at Na Pali,” he said, “they came to us there for a reason.”

  “They tried to drown you.”

  “They didn’t try very hard.”

  “Under normal conditions, I would interview friends of the victim, and the mermaid was a victim. But they’re water fae. We don’t know how they’ll react. It’s a risk.”

  “A calculated risk.”

  Was it worth it? Two men were dead, the aggression was spreading, and they still didn’t know the necromancer’s end game. If the mermaids were the real targets, they might have information she could use.

  If they were targets. If they knew anything. If they could be trusted.

  And if the spell continued to spread, then what?

  If.

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  “I think it’s enough that one of us goes in the water. They approached me last time. It’s best you stay on shore.”

  “If you go, I go. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it over his head. “You make me sound like one of your suspects.”

  “More of a riddle.”

  “Wrapped in an enigma?” He closed the gap between them. “At least you won’t get bored.”

  She circled his neck with her arms. “With you? Never.”

  A dark object whooshed into the room, and Donovan turned, putting himself between Riga and the open window.

  Brigitte landed on the dresser. She scrabbled for purchase, scarring the wood, and Riga winced. That was going to cost them.

  “I hope your day has been as productive as mine,” Brigitte said.

  Donovan’s lips tipped upward. He strode to the other room, grabbing his swim trunks off the dresser as he passed.

  “What did you learn?” Riga said, grinding her teeth.

  “Ze elementals, they may be more dangerous than we thought.”

  Riga paused. “More dangerous than earthquakes and wind storms?”

  “More dangerous to humans.”

  “How?”

  “And well you may ask. I had to go to one of ze other islands and study ze petroglyphs there. Ze spirit of a…” Brigitte sniffed. “Is there a ghost in here?”

  Riga looked around. “I don’t see one.”

  “Hmph. Of course you know, I have a great sympathy with all things stone. It speaks to me. However, ze petroglyphs were unclear. In fact, it was very strange, because they seemed to indicate ze earth element controls humans.”

  “Earth? I just got off the phone with Sal. She said water was causing the problems.”

  “Who are you going to trust? Me? Or a shaman who consorts with faeries?”

  “So how is earth dangerous?”

  Brigitte shrugged, her stone feathers rippling. “Because it rules your nature.”

  Riga clawed a hand through her hair. “But how?!”

  “How? How? How should I know? That is what I am trying to tell you. Ze petroglyphs were vague!”

  “All right,” Riga said. “But if that’s true, it would have been nice if one of the Hawaiian shamans I’ve spoken with had mentioned it.”

  “Did you ask them?”

  “Of course I asked about the elementals.”

  Brigitte tossed her head. “Riga. Everybody knows that ze Hawaiian shaman does not volunteer information. They will only answer ze questions you ask.”

  Riga’s eyes narrowed. “Everybody knows?”

  “Well, I have only learned of it recently, but you must have heard or read it in your research. It is their way of understanding if you are ready for ze information. Only those who are ready will ask ze right questions. And then they may have ze answers.”

  Logical. And annoying. Riga rubbed the bridge of her nose. “At least now I know to ask. That is good information, Brigitte.”

  “And what did you learn?”

  “We have more leads, more suspicions, but no real idea yet who the necromancer is. But we’re getting closer,” she said with more certainty than she felt.

  “That is all? You are losing your edge.”

  “I’m on my honeymoon! Besides, there’s more to me than sharp edges.”

  “Yes, and your soft parts are all boring.”

  Donovan strolled into the bedroom, a towel slung over one bare shoulder. “I disagree. You coming?”

  “Yes,” Riga said, “just let me change.”

  “What?” Brigitte asked. “What is happening? Where are you going?”

  Riga rummaged in the dresser for her swimsuit. “Swimming.”

  “Swimming? Swimming! This is no time for swimming!”

  “It’s been a long day, Brigitte.” Riga found the suit and headed for the bathroom.

  “Healthy mind, healthy body,” Donovan was saying as she closed the door.

  When she reemerged, the gargoyle was gone. “Where’s Brigitte?”

  “She went for a flight. Riga, there’s something we need to talk about. When we go home—”

  “Brigitte is banned from the bedroom.”

  “Thank you.”

  Riga followed him out to the beach, passing the ghost woman on the rocks. She stared morosely toward the bay, and the moonlit patterns in the sand.

  Donovan plunged into the low waves, a gleaming arrow in the moonlight.

  Riga followed more slowly, shivering as she stuck her toes in the water.

  “Don’t,” a woman said behind her.

  Riga turned.

  The ghost on the rocks reached toward her. Water streamed down her body, soaking her bathing suit. “Don’t. He’ll hurt you.”

  “Donovan? Why do you think that?”

  “He’ll hurt you.”

  “Did someone hurt you?” Riga asked. “What’s your name?”

  The ghost vanished, a mournful whisper in the wind.

  Riga pressed her lips together. The ghost would reappear when she was able. But at least the ghost had reached out to Riga, which meant she was ready to talk. Soon Riga’d be able to put that mystery to bed.

  She walked further into the water, flinching as it rose inch by inch, past her thighs, waist, chest. Riga stubbed her toe on a smooth rock, and wobbled, fighting for balance.

  Donovan popped up beside her. “Darling, you’re torturing yourself. Just go under.”

  She slid her hands around his waist. He was warm, so warm. “We’re here to find mermaids, not for aquatic therapy.”

  “I thought we were here so they would find us.” Donovan lurched backwards, taking her under with him, and she came up, laughing, spluttering.

  “Stay here, close to shore.” He knifed through the water towards a buoy, his strokes long and sure.

  “Donovan!”

  He didn’t respond, probably couldn’t hear her.

  “Oh, hell.” She dove after him. The salt stung her eyes, and she wondered why she bothered trying to see in the stygian bay.

  A bell rang. Had he reached the bu
oy? She plunged onward, then stopped to look up and get her bearings.

  Something brushed her leg, and her heart jumped. She hissed an indrawn breath. “Donovan? I really hope that was you.”

  “What?” He waved from the buoy.

  “Something’s out here.” Scenes from Jaws, stories of night-feeding animals, flashed through her mind. “I hope it’s a mermaid. Sort of hope,” she muttered.

  A woman’s head emerged from the water beside her, her hair a black cascade.

  Riga blew out her breath. “Ah. You scared me.”

  The woman bared her teeth, jagged, animal-like.

  Uneasy, Riga licked her lips, salty from the sea. Donovan had been right. The mermaids had come. Why didn’t that make her happy? She treaded water, edging closer to the shore. “My name is Riga.”

  The mermaid licked her lips, as if mimicking her.

  “We’re here to help you,” Riga said. “Someone’s been killing your sisters on land. We’re trying to stop—”

  Hands grasped her ankles, dragged her under.

  You killed our sisters.

  Riga thrashed, helpless against the pull. Her muscles and lungs burned. She was going to die, to drown, just as the ghost had warned. She powered her legs, but the hands held her fast. Riga’s torso twisted in the water. Sparks burst behind her eyes.

  And now we’ll take what you love.

  Donovan? Where was he? Were they drowning him as well? Riga curled her fingers into claws, slashed downward, didn’t connect. She jackknifed her body, tried to pry the webbed hands from her ankles.

  Laughter burbled from the depths.

  A wave of hot rage rolled through her, unreasoning, wild. Energy pulled from the in-between, surged down her arms, through her hands.

  A wrench, and she flew backwards, up, and out of the water. She landed hard, sand and gravel scraping her flesh. Something jammed her shoulder blade and she cried out in pain.

  “Riga!” Donovan ran up the beach and dropped to his knees beside her. Lightly, he ran his hands over her body. He touched her shoulder and grimaced. “Where’s your bag?”

  She coughed. “Wherever we went into the water.”

  “Can you walk?”

  “Yeah.” She staggered to her feet.

  He clamped his hand to her shoulder blade and pushed her forward.

  “Aah!” Pain burned through her.

  “You’ve got a puncture wound in your shoulder,” he said, “and we need to keep pressure on it. It might need stitches.”

  “Mermaids,” she said, dazed. “They blame me for the deaths. Did you see them?”

  “Not directly.” He found the bag and slung it over his shoulder. Pressed a towel from it to her shoulder blade. “Let’s go.”

  “Water faeries.” She wheezed. “God. Is no place sacred?”

  “From now on, we’ll stick to the pool.” He steered her up the beach and into the hotel lobby. In low tones, he explained the problem to the desk clerk. They took Riga to the manager’s office, and Donovan sat beside her, keeping the towel pressed to her wound.

  “I am really starting to hate mermaids,” she said.

  Paramedics. A stretcher. And she was on her stomach. A ride in an ambulance. The hospital. Burning antiseptic. Stitches. But the wound – a gouge from driftwood she’d landed on – wasn’t as bad as it had looked, and it was still dark when they returned to the hotel. Half asleep, she stumbled into bed.

  When she awoke, sun streamed through the open glass doors.

  The sheets rustled, and the bed shifted.

  “She is awake,” Brigitte said.

  Riga sat up. Her shoulder ached and itched, and she reached behind her, found a thick gauze pad stuck to her skin.

  Donovan, dressed in khakis and a loose black shirt, set an orange bottle of pills on the table by the bed. He sat beside her. “Three times a day with meals.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “For leaving you when I should have stayed by your side?” he asked bitterly.

  She looked at him. Why had he left? And then the answer dawned. “You thought they’d come for you. You were drawing them away from me.”

  “Unsuccessfully.”

  “We took a risk.”

  “You warned me against it.”

  “But I don’t regret trying. It was a risk. It went badly. It happens. What exactly did happen, by the way?”

  “Brigitte drove the mermaids off after you flew out of the water.” He sat beside her on the bed. “You?”

  Riga ran her hand through her hair, thick with salt from last night’s swim. “I’m not sure if the mermaids blame me personally for what’s happening, or just all necromancers. One dragged me under and I… reacted.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Some reaction.”

  “You were airborne,” Brigitte said. “And you were not meant to fly.”

  “Yeah,” Riga said. “I’ll need to learn to control that some day.”

  “Some day?” Brigitte snarled. “You learned a spell that is useful and did not discuss it with me? I am your familiar. When you learn new things, it should be with me.”

  “I know lots of spells that are useful.” Most just didn’t work anymore.

  “So what was it?” Brigitte demanded. “What was ze spell?”

  “It’s sort of… an expulsion spell?” Riga said.

  Brigitte flapped her wings. “Why are you asking me? How should I know?”

  “Look, whatever the spell was, I’m not going in the ocean again until this case is over.” And maybe not after that.

  She swung her legs out of bed and stretched, wincing at the pull of tape on skin, at the ache in her shoulder. “What time is it?”

  Donovan checked his watch. “Nine o’clock.”

  “Late,” Brigitte said. “You are supposed to be catching a necromancer, not frolicking with ze mermaids and lying about in bed.”

  “We were hardly frolicking,” Riga said.

  “Then what are your investigative plans for ze day?”

  “I’d like to speak to that lighthouse keeper,” Riga said. “And the ghost approached me last night. If she died at the hotel, someone here must know what happened, and it may be connected to what’s going on now. I need to do some research. Knowing more about how she died and who she is might help me connect with her.”

  Donovan frowned. “It shouldn’t be hard to find the lighthouse keeper. But are you sure you’re up for it?”

  “The doctor said I was fine, as long as I keep the stitches dry and avoid contact sports.”

  “All right,” he said. “Why don’t you get dressed, and we’ll get some breakfast? Maybe we can get some answers on our ghost from the hotel staff.”

  “I love the way you combine business with pleasure,” Riga said.

  Brigitte huffed. “Yes, it is very convenient.”

  “And Brigitte and I can have a talk while I’m getting ready,” Riga said.

  Donovan winked. “I’ll be back.” He walked out the rear doors, and disappeared past the banyan tree.

  “Brigitte, you’ve been rather short with Donovan.”

  “I? Short? I have no idea what you mean.”

  “Is something bothering you?”

  “Let us see. A necromancer is trying to destroy ze world. Mermaids are trying to kill you. We are being menaced by menehunes… and you didn’t even ask how long it took me to remove those terrible handprints.”

  “How did you get them off?”

  “They were just powder, as Monsieur Mosse had suggested. But it took me quite some time in ze water, and as you know, I do not float. It was not a simple matter.”

  “You can hardly blame Donovan for that.”

  “No. But there is something different about him – you are both behaving strangely.”

  “Yeah. We’re happy. We’re on our honeymoon, Brigitte.” She went to the closet and ran her fingers over the clothing. No tank tops, not with the giant gauze patch on her shoulder blade. She pulled out a lightweight blouse.


  “Oh, please. You have always been happy, most especially when you were miserable. It is more than that,” Brigitte said. “Your husband’s magic is returning. Can you not feel it?”

  “I don’t think his magic ever really left,” Riga said slowly. “We just never knew exactly what it was.”

  “So he says.”

  Riga turned, a pair of wide-legged slacks in one hand. “Brigitte, I’m starting to think you’re jealous.”

  “Jealous! Me? Ridiculous. I simply have your best interests at heart.”

  “I know things have changed for us. But you haven’t lost a magician. You’ve gained a… person with some very strong and mysterious magic that we don’t understand. Instead of one magician, you have an entire family. Think of the possibilities.”

  “What possibilities?”

  “Well, first to learn more about Donovan’s magic. But then…” She trailed off, unsure of the then.

  “I see,” Brigitte mused. “Yes. He will need my guidance even more than you do. And then there is Pen, our brave young magician. She shall be a challenge.”

  “I’m confident you’re up for it.”

  “Well, of course I am up for it. What haven’t I been up for? I supported you through enchantment, alchemy, shamanism…”

  Riga started for the bathroom, remembered she couldn’t get the stitches wet. She contemplated angles of water, and realized there was no way she could wash her hair today. She knotted it at the back of her head and showered carefully, and though she wasn’t head-to-toe clean, she felt better.

  When she returned to the bedroom, Brigitte was gone.

  Riga wandered through the sitting room, and spotted her husband lounging on a chair by their pool.

  She came to stand beside him. “Hungry?”

  “Ravenous. By the way, what did the doctor mean when he said no contact sports?”

  She slipped her arms around him. “I don’t think the honeymoon is over quite yet.”

  Chapter 21

  The hotel dining room was packed with people and good smells – frying bacon, syrups, and a tropical breeze heady with sea air and vegetation.

  “There’s Sarah, Paul’s assistant.” Donovan nudged Riga, and pointed to a woman half-hidden by a potted palm. “Maybe she can give us some straight answers about our ghost.”