Kicking It

by Faith Hunter

  I filled my own glass and touched it to hers. A bell rang and somewhere an angel ripped off his wings in despair. “Satisfied, Elizabeth?”

  She kept her hands on the boots, grasping pincers, and gave me that first smile from a week ago—that love-me-because-I-make-it-so smile. “If he’s all you say, I’m more than satisfied. I do get to keep the boots, yes?”

  I smiled back, happy and bright, warm with the feeling of a job well done. “Bethy, I knew I was never getting those back from you again.”

  —

  On the drive in my sporty little red car to Hoover Dam, I told her about her new beau—she laughed when I called him that, but I thought he’d like the old-fashioned label. His name was Dennison Phillip Jameson—the rich do love their three names—he’d been born with a trust fund and not a silver but a platinum spoon in his mouth, had inherited even more when his parents died, and had owned several construction companies, mainly to keep busy. That’s why he’d be waiting for us at Hoover Dam. The construction companies had been sold off for even more unnecessary cash, but the man had never given up his love of a thing well-built. Originally from San Diego, monthly trips to Hoover Dam had never been out of the ordinary for him.

  He was old enough that death wouldn’t be a problem for Elizabeth and, best, she looked just like his mother had in her prime, and the man had loved his mother a little more than was necessarily proper. With her face and his rather vanilla fetish for snakeskin boots, Elizabeth could’ve been made for him.

  Things tend to work out that way when I’m on the job. It’s the universe showing its love of balance. I only help it along.

  We drove over the dam and parked in the small lot. I waited until Elizabeth pulled on the knee-high boots. Her dress was a subtle harvest gold today and the gold in the scales picked up on it. “You look like the sun, Bethy Rose. The rising sun. He won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”

  “You’re positive he’ll be here.” She brushed her hair back and her inner light doubled. She was, sad to say, gifted beyond words.

  Pity.

  “I am absolutely certain he’s here and waiting. He’ll be where he can see the water. The man loves the water.”

  He’d have to, now, wouldn’t he?

  We took the elevator up from the visitors’ center and steered clear of the enclosed area to walk to the open space where it was all sky and rock and the bluest water I’d ever seen. The dam itself was the white of a bleached bone, and that was appropriate. The last dab of paint to a work I’d labored over for a week.

  “Where is he?” Elizabeth glanced around, but there was no one there. There had been a few people wandering about, but they were gone now. Gone very quickly. Sometimes people know somehow . . . They sense a minefield before they step in it. They turn and they go. And sometimes if I don’t want to be seen, people don’t want to see me. They, too, turn and go. Elizabeth and I were alone . . . well, excepting her one true love she was already saving up the potassium chloride for.

  I leaned against the concrete that served as the barrier between me and nothing but hot, dry air. “Elizabeth, this is the desert. You haven’t lived here forever, I know, but have you been curious enough to drive out once in a while? See some things? You see Kokopelli all the time in the tacky little gift shops too good for the likes of you, I know. Kokopelli.” I shake my head and raise my face to the sun. “Glory hog and a whole lot handsy when he’s drinking. But forget him. Have you ever heard of Crow?”

  “Coyote?

  “Iktomi?”

  I slid my gaze from the sun to her sudden frown and narrow-eyed blink. “Iktomi, that’s your last name. Is this a trick? Are you trying to rip me off?” So vicious the words now. So changeable, my Bethy Rose.

  I laughed. “I would never rip you off. I’m giving you exactly what you want, a dead rich husband. But I am tricking you. You’re the first one to say that to me in so long.” I laughed again, stood and spun in a circle with arms wide. The sky spun with me, blue blue blue. It was once a deeper blue, the sun larger in the sky, and you could walk for years and not see a living person. The days do pass.

  I stopped spinning, bounced on my heels, and grinned. “I have lots of names, sugar, so many I’d waste a good year telling you them all.” I put a finger to my lips. “But I’ll tell you a secret. They all mean the same thing.”

  Trickster.

  I liked Elizabeth because she was a good liar. She was my reflection in a mirror—hazy, as I did have six thousand years of practice on her, but she’d have made a good baby trickster . . . if not for her blindness to the balance. If you can’t see it, you can’t live it, and you can’t enforce it. Tricksters were created to bring balance and wisdom. Elizabeth had come to me a little late and too far gone for wisdom. But she also wasn’t stupid, my Elizabeth. She was a survivor, and so she thought to turn and leave. Thinking and doing, though, they don’t always go skipping hand in hand. As much as Elizabeth wanted to flee, she was caught firmly in the wheels of justice.

  It was the balance for her.

  “I’ve been so many myths, so many shapes, so many things, Bethy, you can’t imagine.”

  This week alone I’d been an oversexed dolphin to teach a Speedo-wearing idiot a lesson he’d never forget. Great, great fun, that one.

  I sat on the concrete barrier and told her a tale. “In Australia there was once a trickster called Dhakhan.” There were hundreds, thousands of tricksters, and I’d been them all. “Dhakhan was gorgeous, and I say that with all due modesty. A serpent covered with rainbow scales like a thousand sultan’s jewels. Does that sound vain? I probably was vain then; forget the modesty, swimming in the mountain lakes showing off like you show off your snakeskin shoes.” I kicked my feet back and forth lightly and remembered. “I watched over the people there, but where there are people there are bad people. Sometimes I had to punish the wicked. The murderers. Murderers like you, Elizabeth.” I patted the concrete beside me, and her mouth moved soundlessly as she walked over stiffly, fighting every step with all she had in her, before sitting down, wholly against her will, beside me.

  Unfortunately for her, what she had accepted from me couldn’t be beaten. Her will was nothing next to it. It controlled her as she’d once controlled four stupid, stupid men.

  “I stayed there a while—in Australia. It was like a vacation, a place so beautiful you could hardly look at it. But after ten years or so, I shed my skin and took it as a sign. Unless I wanted to mature into a new Dhakhan, it was time to go—to be something and someone else. And Coyote has always been my favorite—I won’t lie. But I hid the skin I’d shaken off. I knew I’d use it someday. There’s a great deal of me and my will left in that skin. There’s a great deal of justice in it. Now about that husband.” I leaned and looked down at the water below. Very far below.

  A hand clamped tight on my wrist, but Elizabeth was still without her words, pretty or foul. Dhakhan had never been a form of trickster that tolerated idle chitchat from the guilty, and she was now wearing part of that form. “That’s okay, sugar. I’ll talk for you. Dennison Phillip Jameson. He was single, he did have a thing for women in boots, and he had all the money in the world, and you do sincerely take after his mama. He would’ve adored you. And as an extra bonus just for my favorite client of the week, he’s already dead—that’s how you wanted him—the sooner the better, right? He jumped right about here ten years ago.” A shame, no doubt, but he’d picked a nice place for it. “He was a sad man, but I think you’ll cheer him right up. They never did find his body. If things work out right, yours will wash up beside his and then it’s heavenly bliss in a tangle of bones and boots.” I smiled wider. “Sorry I couldn’t work you in a wedding cake. It would’ve been a nice touch.”

  She was trying to say no; I could see it framed in her lips and the whites of her straining eyes and the fierce shaking of her head, but I didn’t hear a whisper. “Sorry, darlin’, the
se boots weren’t made for talking. They’re made for one thing only. Justice. Now go on. Go give your new dead husband a kiss. One from me, too, you hear?”

  She stood stiffly, arms flailing. I ducked and backed away. Bethy Rose was a fighter with a helluva amount of stubborn resolve, that was for certain. Too bad for her that there were things you couldn’t fight and things you didn’t want to accept but had to. You don’t have to agree with justice—no, you do not—but that makes no difference.

  One way or another, justice will do with you what must be done.

  Elizabeth’s boots took her over the edge, climbing and dragging her along step by stilted step. It was done with a bit less grace than I’d hoped, but away she went all the same. She flew through the air like Icarus. She flew too high with the wings of murdered men and finally was felled low. I felt that discarded part of my self that she wore in boots of gold, scarlet, jade, sapphire, indigo go with her, back to the water where it belonged. I liked to think I heard her hit, heard the splash, but it was far and the wind was loud. That was all right. I’d never forget the picture it made, anyway. I never forget the good tricks or the good days. This was both. The sky was blue as ever and I waved at the crow that flew overhead. Maybe I knew him or her. You never know.

  —

  What?

  You’re still here? Lesson not learned yet?

  I told Elizabeth that I made no judgments? “Do I remember that?”

  Of course I remember that. I can’t believe you’d ask. Yes, I did lie, but I also kept my promise to her, didn’t I? I delivered as I said I would. Oh, sweet Lord above. Keep up.

  I lied about deciding the verdict. I always lie about that. I’m surprised Elizabeth believed me. I expected better from a liar as good as her.

  I’m not so surprised you believed.

  Better start believing. I not only do judge. I am a judge. Also jury and executioner.

  Think about that the next time you’re tempted to buy a pair of snakeskin shoes or boots.

  You never know who that snake once was.

  Or is.

  Remember, Mark Twain said that a lie can travel halfway around the world while the truth is putting on its shoes. A trickster can make it all the way around and steal truth’s shoes before the laces are tied.

  And we are everywhere, finger-painting the world red with the blood of the wicked.

  Wait.

  You’re not wicked, are you?

  Sugar, where are you going?

  Well, be that way. Bye-bye, then.

  For now.

  See you soon.

  Sooner than you think.

  Smooches.

  RUBY RED

  A Darque Files Story

  BY KALAYNA PRICE

  Set in the world of the Alex Craft Novels

  I shucked my singed jacket and dropped it on the cheap hotel carpet. Ruined. Damn. My pants weren’t any better. The acrid scent of scorched leather engulfed me. Wrinkling my nose, I considered stripping and hitting the shower without acknowledging the man sitting in the obligatory armchair found in every hotel room across the country. The blinds were open behind him, which allowed him to read the document in his lap with the final rays of evening sun.

  “You could have warned me about the fire elemental,” I said as I checked the condition of my boots. Salvageable.

  Derrick Knight, my partner and fellow investigator in the Magical Crimes Investigation Bureau, looked up for the first time and grimaced. “You’ve handled elementals before.” He frowned. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

  “No.” I unlaced my boots. They had a little scorching, but would clean up okay. “But if you want one Briar Darque, extra crispy, I know where to look.”

  “I didn’t know about the fire elemental, Briar.” The words lacked both sympathy for my situation and amusement at my last statement as Derrick went back to reading the document in his lap.

  Well, if he was going to sit in my room and ignore me, I was losing the charred pants. I stripped and tossed the pants on the floor with my jacket. The charms in the clothing had protected me from the flames, but damn, I was really going to miss that outfit. Now I’d need to tweak the spells worked into my backup jacket.

  Across the room, Derrick cleared his throat. I turned, still pantless, and found his gaze locked on his document—desperately so, judging by the tightness on his face. He’d seen me half-naked—or worse—before, but I took pity on the guy and grabbed a pair of yoga pants from my luggage.

  Derrick was doubly wyrd, which meant that on top of normal witch powers, he had two abilities he couldn’t completely control. It was rare to have two wyrd abilities. And in my business rare usually meant one of two things: The MCIB recruited you or they sent someone like me after you.

  The first ability was premonition, and as he’d recently celebrated his thirty-first birthday without going bat-shit insane, he was considered to be well above the curve. The second ability was more difficult. He had been born with touch clairvoyance, which was why it was cruel for me to show off a lot of flesh around him. The clairvoyance was a little spotty, but when he touched an object or person, half the time he flashed into their history or memory. Occasionally useful on cases, it was typically only a hindrance to, well, living. Anything he planned to touch had to be either new—thus no strong events or emotions tied to it—or his. Which meant he always carried a pair of gloves, he brought whatever he might eat with him to restaurants, supplied his own bedding at hotels, and special ordered his clothes. And skin to skin contact? Nope, definitely not. With all the travel, my dating life was minimal. His dating life? About nil. Of course—who knew?—maybe he had a long-distance thing going on. We didn’t really talk about personal stuff.

  I glanced at him once I’d pulled on the pants and then stopped. “Oh, no. You’ve got that look.”

  He didn’t bother asking me which look—he damn well knew.

  A case.

  I stepped to the bed and meticulously removed my weapons, checking each before placing it with the quickly amassing collection spread over my comforter. “I guess any chance of us getting our promised vacation is slim?”

  “If we keep catching emergency cases, probably.”

  Right. I held the title of investigator, but my real job was to intervene when a witch went off the rails and the shit hit the proverbial fan—that typically involved a witch pulling something out of one of the other planes of existence. I’d already eliminated two elementals and arrested a witch who fancied himself a summoner since my attempted vacation began. Couldn’t the bad guys take a break long enough for me to take one?

  Removing the last of my knives, I left the bed and my rows of weapons as I moved to the open space in the room. Taking a deep breath to center myself, I spread my legs to a shoulder-width distance before hanging my torso downward so I could hug my legs in a deep stretch.

  “So, what’s the case?” I asked, still upside down.

  Derrick flipped back to the first page of the file. “Recently there was an outbreak of what was originally assumed to be an unknown contagion that reduced the victim from healthy to comatose in under twelve hours. A virus or bacteria has been ruled out as the cause, and it is now clear that a spell is responsible for the victims’ conditions.”

  “So I’ll be looking for an unknown witch who for whatever reason is causing an epidemic.” It sounded easy enough. In fact, it probably should have gone to a different team—a team not on vacation.

  “There’s more,” Derrick said as he flipped a few pages. “There have been reports of ‘smoke creatures’ in the shadows at night.”

  Despite his finger quotes, I couldn’t help repeating, “Smoke creatures? What are we talking about? Air elementals? Djinn?”

  Derrick shrugged without looking up. “I haven’t found a more concrete description—just that they have magical signatures consistent with a
human witch, so they fall under our purview.”

  I processed that as I changed from stretching to yoga and moved into warrior pose. “They have a sensitive working the case?”

  Derrick shook his head. “Not that I’ve heard. All these readings came from detector charms. Also, I visited the hospital and gathered what information I could about the victims. I’m working on a time line to find where they might have encountered our unknown witch.”

  “You started a new case before I’d tied up the last?”

  “I looked into it just a bit while you were out.”

  Out. Yeah, out meant I was risking my life hunting bad guys Derrick encountered only through research done at a safe distance. But Derrick had his job, and I had mine. And I wasn’t complaining. After all, mine came with a kick-ass crossbow, top-of-the-line weaponized spells, and a killer wardrobe—well, the last had had some recent casualties, but I’d remedy that the first chance I got.

  I nodded to my partner, showing I held no hard feelings.

  “It sounds like you’re still in the first steps of reconnaissance.” Which meant I wouldn’t be hunting yet.

  Maybe I’d get a day or two of vacation after all.

  —

  I didn’t get that vacation.

  The next night I found myself sitting in a parked rental Hummer wishing there was a Chinese take-out place nearby. But no, the case put me in Central York. According to the signs, the town was a “Suburban Paradise.” I could see why someone would make that claim; Central York was mostly houses. Streets and streets of rainbow-colored houses and perfectly manicured lawns turned the town into a carefully designed grid of homes. The “rebels” in the town had added an extra flower bed to their yards, making them stand out fractionally. Home Owners Associations were bad enough, but to move anywhere in this town you had to practically sign away your personality. This place looks more like Suburban Hell.