Arcane Solutions (Discord Jones)

by Gayla Drummond

  You can't concentrate enough to use psychic abilities when panicking. I don't give a damn who you are: no air equals panic.

  Cold metal slipped past my fingertips. Grabbing, I picked up a can and swung it, hitting him through the black cloud. His grip eased enough for a gulp of air. I shoved the can toward the blackness and pressed the nozzle. A gagging noise followed the contents hissing out, and he released me to claw at his hidden face.

  Then he fell over, bucking and flailing about. Coughing, one hand on my throat, I glanced at the can and wondered what in the hell I'd gotten him with. Not able to make out the label, I gave it up as his thrashing increased briefly and scrambled out of kicking range just before he went still.

  Spell or glamour, the black faded, and I was left staring at a dead elf, yellow goo on his face and oozing out of his wide opened mouth. The goo leaked from his nostrils too.

  Climbing to my feet, can still clutched in one hand, I studied his clothing and kicked his ankle to check for a reaction. His cheeks were puffing out, and his throat looked oddly fat. Bending down, I checked his pulse.

  He was definitely dead. Elves were supposed to be immortal, yet I’d killed one. With what?

  Unzipping my jacket pocket and pulling my cell phone out, I read the can's label by the light of its small screen: expanding foam insulation. “This is going to be interesting to explain.”

  A couple of button punches later, I had Damian on the phone, wondering which case the dead elf was connected to. Had to be Thorandryll’s book, right?

  ***

  We watched the coroner gesture the waiting EMTs to bag the body. “He was choking me. I didn't know what I grabbed until it was all over.”

  “So you just shoved the nozzle into his mouth?” Damian’s lips twitched. He’d been having a hard time keeping a straight face since his arrival about an hour prior. In daylight, his eyes were summer sky blue, but night turned them indigo. Either way I was familiar with the gleam raised by the effort not to laugh.

  I’d seen it often enough, and not just from him.

  “Not on purpose. I was just trying to spray him in the face.” I grimaced while swallowing. “Which was hidden by a spell or something. I hit him with the can first, and then sprayed.”

  “I'm thinking that this is luck of the legendary variety.” He shook his head. “Damn, Cordi. Expanding foam?”

  “I used what was available. Are you going to arrest me, or can I go home and see about my throat?”

  He looked at it and winced. “No, not tonight and I doubt at all. Go on home. Do you want me to call one of the others to meet you there? I'll be here for a while, so can’t help you with that.”

  “Thanks, but I can handle it.” I stepped toward him, and landed an affectionate peck on his cheek. A flash of light startled me, and Damian groaned as we both turned to the source.

  “Great, the press,” he muttered. “Better get moving, Cordi.”

  “Going. I'll talk to you later.” Deciding the situation called for it, I stepped through the plastic covering the future main entrance of the hotel before teleporting to my car. Mr. Whitehaven preferred we keep as low a profile as possible, to keep every kook in the city from showing up at the office.

  Eight

  I was kicked back at my desk and staring at the ceiling the next morning, trying to play connect the dots with what little I'd learned from the night before.

  Thornadryll’s book was old, hadn't been heavily guarded and had definitely been stolen. Zoe was a rebellious teen, presumed runaway with a vampire fetish. My psychic tracking had led me to a half-built hotel, a pile of fresh vampire ash, and an elf.

  Something about the elf, aside from his being dead, nagged me. I needed to look at the body again.

  Kate’s locator spell for Zoe had led us to the Barrows, and the Mitchells seemed damned convinced she’d run off to be with a vampire. So were the vampire ashes related to her case? How good were the chances that the elf wasn’t involved with Thorandryll’s missing book?

  Swinging my boots off the desk and sitting up, I spied my client walking into the reception area. For a moment, I wished I'd worn a dress, or at least a skirt. Something nicer than jeans, ropers, and the dark blue tee that said ’You think this is bitchy?’ Today the elf was casually dressed in dark indigo jeans, a pale blue silk dress shirt left un-tucked with the sleeves rolled up. He wore running shoes, so new the white was practically blinding.

  He paused at the door. “Am I interrupting?”

  “I do have a phone call to make.” I wondered if his long, golden hair were as soft as it looked.

  “I can wait.” He began to turn back toward the reception area.

  “It may be related to your case, so you can wait in here.” I concentrated on unplugging my phone from the charger while the elf strolled in, shut the door, and took a seat.

  His icy blues focused on my throat when I looked up. “What happened?”

  Having been too tired to stay awake long enough to heal all the damage to my throat, I had an ugly ring of green and yellow around it. “I ran into someone who wasn't friendly last night.”

  Thorandryll frowned. “Working on my case?”

  “Working on a case. Which might be related to yours.” I shrugged. “I need to make this call.”

  “Of course.” A regal inclination granted permission before the elf returned to studying my throat.

  Pushing buttons, I brought up my contact list and selected Damian's name. With another push, I was listening to it ring. He answered on the second one. “Hi, Cordi.”

  “Hey. So how much trouble am I in?” I pretended not to notice the elf's sharp glance and raised eyebrow.

  Damian laughed. “You need to make an official statement. The DA isn’t going to bring charges. He decided it was a clear case of self-defense.”

  A perk of aiding the police from time to time. “Cool. Next question: I need another look. Possible?”

  “Entirely, after you make your statement. I'll take you down afterward,” he promised.

  “Okay. Be there soon.” Glancing at Thorandryll, I had an idea that might help clear up which case last night’s adventure belonged to. “I'm bringing my client with me. Maybe he can help with IDing.”

  “Good idea. See you soon.”

  “Bye.” Ending the call, I smiled at the elf. “I hope you don't mind.”

  “Not at all. This would be the man who attacked you?”

  Wasn’t he quick to jump to sexist conclusions? It could’ve been a woman. “Yeah. We'll take my car.” Rising, I collected my keys and phone, gleefully contemplating having the elf at my mercy. “I basically got a flash last night.”

  “A 'flash'?” Thorandryll gestured me out of the office ahead of him.

  “One of my abilities is psychic tracking.” I ended up spending the drive answering his questions about my abilities instead of explaining what had happened the night before.

  To my disappointment, the elf didn't react to my driving. He emerged from my car completely unruffled, and played the gentleman all the way up to the detectives’ division, opening doors and gesturing me through.

  What can I say? It tickled my vanity that he seemed so interested in and impressed by my psychic talents.

  A booming voice announced our entry into the big room. “There she is, our little menace to society.” I blushed as Thorandryll's eyebrows rose. Detective Schumacher was grinning. “I have a gift card for a home improvement store if you need to reload, Jones.”

  “Ah, no. No thanks.”

  “That was really creative,” he continued, grin widening as I squirmed in embarrassment. The detective absolutely loved teasing me whenever the opportunity arose.

  “Dude, please,” I begged, feeling the heat suffusing my face. Bright red isn’t a good look on me.

  Schumacher took pity, flapping a hand. “Aw, you're no fun.”

  “Cordi, back here.” Damian's head popped out from behind a filing cabinet. Leading the way over, I introduced the elf t
o him. While I wrote my statement, he quizzed Thorandryll about elven culture. Once I'd finished, Damian escorted us downstairs.

  “Why are we here?” Thorandryll was looking at the plastic sign beside the morgue's doors. “This is where the dead are kept.”

  “You didn't tell him?” Damian asked, pausing with one hand on the door.

  “I didn't get the chance to.”

  “The man who attacked you is dead?” Thorandryll frowned.

  “Yeah.”

  He switched his attention to my friend. “Who killed him?”

  “Cordi did.” With that, Damian pushed the door open and I followed, a little stung by the look of disbelief that appeared on Thorandryll's face.

  All things considered, I think people should take me seriously. I'm not helpless. Occasionally clumsy and prone to panicking at times, okay, sure. But definitely not helpless.

  At Damian's request, an attendant retrieved the body. The elf's face and throat were more horribly distended than I remembered.

  “Um, so do you recognize him?” I asked while Thorandryll stared at the corpse.

  “I highly doubt the woman who bore him would. What is that?” He pointed at the yellow gunk, in my opinion too calm to be viewing the dead body of one of his own kind.

  “It's expanding foam insulation.” Damian immediately rubbed a hand over his mouth and looked away.

  “It's what?” Thorandryll looked my way, both eyebrows high, and caught me staring at his ears. His were elegantly pointed and extremely sexy looking.

  “It's this stuff used to fill in spaces around water pipes or cracks in walls.” I shrugged, bending to look at the corpse's ears. “It was a construction site. That's what was handy.”

  “You're a psychic.”

  “Yeah, well, he caught me by surprise and was choking the hell out of me. It’s kind of hard to concentrate when you can't breathe, okay?” Looking up at the attendant, I asked, “He’s had plastic surgery, hasn’t he?”

  He bent to check the corpse’s ears, and looked up to compare them to Thorandryll’s. They didn’t look as elegant, being more bluntly pointed. “Yes, it looks like he has.”

  “Thanks. That's what I needed to know.” Plastic surgery meant human. No wonder Thorandryll wasn’t upset. I glanced at the elf. “Nothing?”

  “I'm afraid not,” the elf replied. Nodding, I turned and my arm brushed the corpse. The morgue disappeared, a rocky wall inches from the tip of my nose.

  “Damian?” Stretching out a hand, I felt him catch hold of it. “A cave.”

  “What's happening?” Thorandryll's question earned instant shushing from the warlock.

  “Need to turn around. All I can see is rock.” Most visions were like watching a movie, but some were three-dimensional. This was one of the latter. I intended never to tell anyone about my fear of ending up locked forever in one.

  Damian moved with me, a reassuring link to reality as my eyes scanned dimly lit rock. “It's a cavern. It's huge.”

  The space faded into darkness and my voice seemed to echo back. But there was nothing particularly remarkable about it. “I can’t see...wait.”

  Flickering lights appeared in the distance, drawing steadily nearer my viewpoint. After a minute, I could make out torches carried by hooded figures, and whispered, “Something's happening.”

  They gathered around a flat-topped rock and one stepped forward, slipping the hooded cloak off. “A group of people. One’s a woman and...”

  She was nude under the cloak, long dark hair loose around her shoulders. Her back was to me. Stretching her arms out to either side, she didn't resist as two others took hold. They lifted her onto the rock, which I realized made a natural altar. Dread rose while watching them chain her wrists and ankles, leaving her face down and spread-eagled. Vulnerable. “I don't want to watch this.”

  “Watch what, Cordi?” Damian quietly asked.

  “It’s some kind of ritual.” My stomach flip-flopped as chanting began. The figures formed a circle, beginning to march around the altar. I gasped when one raised a bone-handled whip, sending it slashing down onto the woman's back.

  She jerked, but didn't scream. Drugged? More arms raised, fists clutching whip handles. My legs gave out when blood began flowing. Damian eased my descent to the floor, and kept hold of my hand while I begged, “Get me out.”

  We both knew from experience nothing could be done. I had no choice but to see it through. Closing my eyes made no difference.

  The beating had reduced the woman's back to tatters of red. Her companions drew back, the chanting fading away. Into the newly fallen silence, another stepped forward, face hidden in the shadow of his hood. Lifting his hands overhead, he shouted out a harsh scrape of sound.

  I scooted backward until my back hit something, staring in horror at the huge, winged beast that answered. Whimpering, I watched the demon wipe a hand over the sacrifice's ruined back and lift it to lick off blood.

  “It's just a vision, Cordi. It can't hurt you,” Damian murmured, having somehow managed to keep hold of my hand.

  The cloaked ones knelt, heads bowing. Mine began to jerkily shake no, but that didn't do any good either.

  Claws digging into her hips, the demon pulled the woman backwards as far as the chains allowed. Wings flicked, settling behind it, and I cringed at what the move revealed.

  “No.” My whisper had no effect. Lifting her hips higher, the demon took her. Now she screamed, the high keen ringing loudly. I let go of Damian's hand to clamp both of mine over my ears, sliding over and curling into a fetal position.

  She screamed again, and it trailed off into a bubbling sob. Its third thrust didn't force a scream from her, but from me. I couldn't take it anymore, I needed to be free of the nightmare scene.

  The demon's head snapped around, its baleful orange eyes boring into mine.

  That did the trick. My mind shut down, allowing me to jump gratefully into its offer of darkness.

  ***

  “It saw me,” I insisted. I was sitting on a bench outside the morgue with my head between my knees. Unconsciousness hadn't lasted long; I'd come to as they were dragging me out into the blessed sunshine, away from the dark and horror. “It saw me, Damian.”

  “That's not possible. Your visions are of past events, Cordi. How could it see you?” He patted my back, but stopped when I flinched, the whipping still so raw in my mind that it spilled over to my flesh.

  “I don't know.” Moving with caution, I sat up and leaned back, hand shaking while pushing hair off my cheeks. “Just that it did. They raised a demon and it saw me.”

  Thorandryll offered the soda he'd collected from a machine in the foyer. I accepted it. “Thanks.”

  “You're welcome. I wasn't aware humans had mastered the art of calling demons forth from the nether realm.”

  Almost choking on the sip just taken, my response was a sputter. “Art? They beat a woman bloody and let it rape her to death.”

  “Forgive me. I misspoke,” the elf apologized. “I wasn't aware humans could harness the power necessary to call them.”

  “Well, surprise,” I muttered. “Some apparently can.”

  “So now we know he was a cultist.” Damian sighed. “Captain's going to love this.”

  “I bet.” Another cold sip of sugary goodness rolled down my throat, chasing away the last metallic dregs of fear coating my mouth. Funny how fear became a familiar flavor. “I'm never sleeping again.”

  The warlock nudged me. “I told you to adopt a dog.”

  “You could loan me Illy for the night.” Damian’s familiar, a goofy husky named Illusion, liked me almost as much as Kate's parrot did.

  “I'll do that,” he agreed. “I think nightmares are all you need to worry about, Cordi.”

  “Good thing.”

  Damian instantly defended the dog. “He can be quite ferocious when needed.”

  “Yeah, like when a stuffed animal goes on a rampage, or a trashcan plots world domination.”

  �
�Then why do you want to borrow him?” The warlock mock glared.

  I shrugged. “He's cuddly.”

  Nine

  “I'd planned to suggest that you visit my library,” Thorandryll said as we neared my parked car. “In hopes that you might sense something useful.”

  “Yeah, I was going to ask about doing that.” I hesitated, trying to decide if I was up for another vision hitting me. “No one's ever died in there, have they?”

  He half-smiled. “No.”

  “Okay, I'm game to try.”

  “Perhaps tomorrow would be wiser,” he suggested, giving me a critical look. “You don't look well, Miss Jones.”

  My tone was curt. “I'm fine.”

  “As you wish.” The elf touched my arm and we were suddenly elsewhere. A wrenching sensation in my stomach followed the realization that it was his library.

  “Could you warn me next time?” I demanded, shaking his hand off. Magic teleportation wasn't something I trusted at all.

  “I'll endeavor to do so.” His courteous expression raised the instant suspicion that he was laughing at me.

  “Good.” I began studying the ten-feet-tall bookcases surrounding the small nook we'd appeared in. There were empty places apparent in all of them. Aware of the elf's intent gaze, I selected one and turned in front of it, surveying the area. “This is where it was.”

  “Yes.” His tone indicated I'd passed a test. Hiding a frown, I turned and slipped my hand into the empty spot. Nothing happened.

  With a shrug, I knelt and laid my hand on the thick carpet. Roughly ten seconds later, I yanked it away, unable to stand the growing sensation of pressure. “Carpet's useless. Too many people have walked on it.”

  “You received nothing from the shelf?” Thorandryll moved a bit closer.

  “No, but sometimes it's not immediate.” Standing again, I tried touching the wood once more. “Where's the door?”

  “This way.” The elf gestured for me to follow. We walked a mini-maze before reaching the door, which proved to be nothing more than a wide opening with a carved wooden support outlining it.