The Alchemical Detective (Riga Hayworth)

by Kirsten Weiss

  “Are you frightened, Riga?”

  Riga didn’t respond.

  “Fear is both your friend and your enemy. A healthy fear makes you cautious, keeps you alert. But ze demon will try to exploit your fear, feed it, rule you with it. You remember what happened to—”

  “I remember Lefebvre.”

  Riga copied the sigil from the floor onto a sheet of white paper, which she placed on a table, weighting its four corners with dark-colored stones. Then she drew a second, protective circle on the floor for herself. Satisfied with her work, she took a hot shower, visualizing the day’s detritus of fear and anger washing off her and draining away. She hesitated at her closet, then shrugged and put on a silky blue caftan she’d picked up in Morocco. It slid across her bare skin; Riga was going commando. In the past, she’d never bothered with the trappings of ceremonial magic. She’d simply gathered the energies and directed them. But those days were gone. Riga would have to play by the rules, get herself into an altered state of mind, and if wearing a silk gown and nothing else helped put her there, so be it.

  She looked at herself in the mirror.

  It worked: she felt like an idiot.

  Riga dabbed her forehead and the inside of her wrists with oil. It warmed her skin where it touched; the pungent scents of myrrh and cinnamon pricked at the insides of her nostrils, clearing her sinuses. Riga sneezed, briefly considered burning frankincense for atmosphere, then rejected the idea. Frankincense reminded her of ancient, sacred places but prolonged exposure gave her a headache and she didn’t know how long this would take.

  When she returned to the living room, Brigitte looked up from her pacing. Her stone claws had driven scars into the floor.

  Riga looked dolefully at the new gouges in the linoleum. “The owner’s not going to return my security deposit.”

  “You are determined to do this?”

  Riga stepped into a smaller circle she’d drawn for herself and sat down, cross legged. The floor was hard and cold. She got up, took a faded cushion from the couch, put that in the circle and resettled herself.

  Brigitte snorted. “You never learned to meditate properly.”

  “I never believed suffering was conducive to meditation.” Riga closed her eyes. “Now be quiet.”

  She concentrated on her breathing, let her thoughts rise as they would and then let them fall away. It had been a long day, and some of the thoughts refused to go easily – Lynn’s head in the water, the scene outside the police station, Donovan. He was the hardest to let go of. Riga’s lower back began to ache. She acknowledged this, too, until finally everything dropped away.

  Silently, Riga called to the ghost, Lynn Chen, envisioning her inside the sigil on the floor.

  Her eyes opened.

  The circle was empty.

  Patience was a virtue Riga did not have. She called again.

  Something flickered inside the circle, a mist that congealed into the outline of a young woman with flowing black hair. The figure shuddered, darkness rippling across it.

  Riga smiled grimly. Normally, she’d need the demon’s name to call it into her circle. But she’d counted on its hunger for the ghost to keep the two attached. Once Lynn’s ghost had entered the magic circle, the demon had been pulled inside along with her. “Demon,” she said, “consider yourself trapped.”

  The movement of the darkness halted. Black sludge dripped from the ghost, pooling onto the floor. It re-formed into a shadowy figure with horns and fangs and hooves and Riga regretted not burning the frankincense. The demon smelled awful.

  The ghost reared away from the demon, and banged against the invisible wall created by the circle, unable to escape.

  Riga lifted her Key of Solomon pendant from her chest with one hand, displaying it to the demon. The pendant demonstrated her authority over him, in case being trapped inside her magic circle didn’t make the point. “Tell me your name, demon.”

  Its eyes glowed red. “I have many names, oh Terrible One. You knew me once as Lndmrak and I have been waiting since our destruction of Lefebvre for this meeting.”

  “Our…?” Riga faltered. No, this couldn’t be the same demon as the one that had killed Lefebvre. Could it?

  “Clever, clever,” it hissed. “Using me against him. Oh, you were a wicked one, letting me tear, slash, turning me upon my master. Lefebvre was weak but your power was darker.”

  “No,” she said sharply. “That was self-defense. I had no choice.” But had she?

  The demon cackled. “Yes, yes, tell yourself that. They all do. It’s not your fault, you had no choice, what were you to do? In the end, you will sacrifice all to achieve your ends.”

  “No.” Riga’s voice broke.

  “What’s happening?” Lynn said, gasping. “Where am I?”

  Riga didn’t respond, couldn’t break her focus on the demon. It seemed to be growing, crowding Lynn against the edge of the circle. Fear gnawed at her gut.

  “Once I have restored you, we shall do great things together, Terrible One.”

  “Restore me? You can’t. You don’t have that kind of power,” she said uncertainly.

  “Power? I have knowledge and your problem is easily solved. You were great once. Think how life would be if you had that again! The ones you love – protected. Your enemies – defeated.”

  Beads of sweat popped out on her brow and she felt dampness above her upper lips. She wiped it with the back of her hand. “I don’t need your help.”

  “If that were true, you wouldn’t have called me. But you can feel the noose tightening around your neck, your enemies closing upon you.”

  Her throat tightened, her hand went involuntarily to it.

  “This is what Lefebvre felt as you closed in upon him. I know. I was there. But unlike you, his ruthlessness was tainted by madness. You are his magical heir and with your powers restored, you will be greater than him again.”

  The demon’s power pressed upon her and God, it might have knowledge but it had power too.

  It could help her, she realized. It was telling the truth. She could be what she was again, be strong. And that was all that counted, now that people were depending on her – Pen, Lynn, and how many others?

  Who did she think she was, trying to catch the man who’d killed Lynn and Sarah? With her magic in flames, she didn’t stand a chance. And using the demon’s powers wasn’t so different from summoning it to her, interrogating it, forcing it to release Lynn, was it? Just one more step, not so big. She’d never solve the case on her own.

  She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t fill her lungs.

  Riga blinked.

  She’d never failed to solve a case. Yes, she was willing to make sacrifices to achieve her objectives. In the past, she’d done whatever it took to protect her family. She’d do it again. But that didn’t make her Lefebvre.

  “No,” she said more firmly, but her hands trembled.

  The demon shifted. Its red eyes blinked. It seemed to grow a little smaller.

  Lynn flung herself against the invisible walls of the circle, a moth batting against a lampshade, making weak cries of distress. Riga steeled herself against the sight, blocked the sounds from reaching her mind, from breaking her concentration.

  “If you were more adept,” the demon hissed, “this spirit wouldn’t be in pain. You cannot succeed without my aid.”

  Riga’s lip curled in derision. Arguing with a demon was a mistake and she’d fallen into the trap. She wouldn’t again.

  She picked up the pen beside her and wrote his name upon the replica paper circle she’d created. Riga pointed to the center of the paper circle with her finger. “Lndmrak, I summon you here.”

  The demon evaporated from the circle on the floor with a soft, popping sound and reappeared on top of the paper circle Riga had drawn. It was now no bigger than a newborn Chihuahua.

  “Stay,” Riga said to it. “And no talking.”

  She uncurled from the cushion and folded the paper into quarters. With an indignant s
quawk, the demon flattened itself to a two dimensional figure.

  Brigitte laughed merrily. “Imagine, trying to use a sense of inadequacy against you! Self-doubt has never been your problem. You could use a little more insecurity, Riga, then perhaps you would try harder at ze Great Work, no?”

  Riga smiled weakly, relieved Brigitte hadn’t understood how tempting Lndmrak’s offer had been.

  “Lynn, do you remember me from the beach?” Riga left the protection of her own circle and approached the ghost, still trapped in the other circle. “My name’s Riga. You’re at my cabin in Zephyr Cove.”

  Lynn faced her, pressing her back against the invisible wall, fingers splayed against it.

  “I’ll lower the barrier.” Riga knelt down and swiped the circle with one finger, breaking it. “You’re free now, Lynn,” she said.

  Lynn took a hesitant step backward, crossing the circle. She looked around, her dark eyes flashing bewilderment, her silky hair swinging gently around her shoulders. “I’m dead, aren’t I?”

  Riga nodded.

  Lynn looked down at her shoes – ghostly, narrow-toed boots. “I trusted him.” She sounded hurt, baffled. “And then there was so much pain. Was I in hell?”

  “No. You were attacked by a demon. But it’s gone and you’re okay now. Your spirit will heal, your soul is intact.”

  The ghost’s face lit with wonder. “I know,” she said. “Grandma? Is that you?” She stretched out her hand to someone Riga couldn’t see.

  “No, wait!” Riga said. “Who did you trust? Who killed you?”

  The aura around Lynn glowed brilliant gold, and she vanished.

  “Damn it!” Riga scowled.

  “Well,” Brigitte said, her voice thick with sarcasm, “I think you have set a new speed record in passing a soul to ze light.” She hopped down from the kitchen counter with a thud. “A pity she did not have time to tell you about her killer.”

  Riga got a drying cloth from the kitchen, and dampened it in the icy water from the faucet. She returned to the living room and beneath Brigitte’s critical gaze, erased the dry-erase circle on the floor. When Riga finished, she tossed the towel onto the nearby countertop.

  “We learned she was killed by a man she trusted,” Riga said.

  “Of course it was a man. How many women run about decapitating each other?”

  “But it wasn’t a stranger, a random killer. It was someone she knew.”

  “Oh, go talk to ze demon,” Brigitte huffed. “Maybe it will tell you something of value.”

  The odds of that happening were low, Riga thought, cynical, but she had to try.

  She took the paper from her pocket, unfolded it, and the demon sprang into three dimensional existence atop it like a figure in a pop-up book. Riga wrinkled her nose. Mini-demon or not, it still smelled like crap.

  “Lndmrak. Who set you upon Lynn Chen?” Riga plucked the amulet from her chest and held it before the demon to remind it of her power over him.

  It cringed away from the pendant. “The magus.”

  Riga grimaced. “I know it was a magus. What was his name?”

  “I do not know.”

  “Give me a break. You were in my head; you were in his. What was his name?”

  “Heh.”

  “Do you think you’re being funny?” She swung the amulet closer. “What’s his name?”

  The demon threw itself against the invisible barrier that trapped him inside her paper circle. It scrabbled uselessly against it, thrashing, then collapsed, its scaly chest heaving.

  “Well?” Riga said.

  “Heh. The Great Emperor Heh. That is the only name I know.”

  Riga’s lips tightened. Her adversary had a magical name and the demon hadn’t gotten past it to learn his true name. “What did Heh look like?”

  “Like you. Tall. Human.”

  Riga grimaced. To demons, humans probably really did all look alike. She pressed him. Was Heh as tall as Riga? Taller? Was his hair lighter or darker? The demon replied in vague equivocations.

  Brigitte snickered.

  Exasperated, Riga began the banishing ritual.

  “Wait! Is that it?” the demon protested. “Do you not want me to do anything for you?”

  “Yeah,” Riga said. “Go away.”

  With a popping sound, it vanished.

  She felt renewed dampness beneath her nose and went to the kitchen, grabbed a paper towel from the roll and blotted the skin beneath. The towel came away stained red. “I’m bleeding,” she said, shocked.

  “Yes. It began during your battle with ze demon.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Would it have helped? No! It would have made you doubt yourself. Magic is a triumph of ze will. There is no room for doubt in this business, Riga! Which is why most magicians are arrogant so and so’s,” she added as an aside.

  Riga poured herself half a glass of Zin from an open bottle, her hands shaking. A drip of crimson wine slid down the outside of the glass, pooled along its base. “I need to summon Sarah’s ghost. She may have a demon attached to her as well.”

  “No! Absolutely not! If there is a demon, you’ve been weakened. You won’t be able to deal with it.”

  “I can’t leave her to a demon.”

  “She can wait a day. You have ze living to worry about as well. What about Donovan? Your niece? Ze killer’s future victims? You must be smart about this, Riga.”

  Riga swore, took another drink of the wine. Brigitte was right, dammit.

  “Tomorrow, Riga,” Brigitte said warningly.

  “Yes, yes, tomorrow.” Riga tilted her head back, took a drink. She ached all over. “Something about this doesn’t make sense.”

  “Only one thing?”

  “Lynn was killed about a month ago, the same time I got to Tahoe. If this was some grand scheme of a servant of Lefebvre’s, how did he get here so quickly? I didn’t even know I was coming to Tahoe. And I lost my magical abilities less than six weeks ago. How could he possibly have found out and organized all this? It’s not as if my little problem created a disturbance in the force.”

  “We know ze killer is associated with Lefebvre,” Brigitte said. “Perhaps he merely acquired his books, or perhaps ze relationship was something stronger. The real question is, is his presence here a coincidence or did he have some foreknowledge of your arrival? And to you, I ask: does it matter? Will this knowledge help you find him and defeat him?”

  “The more I know about him the better.”

  “You know who ze Great Emperor Heh is, of course?” Brigitte asked.

  “Yeah. It’s the fourth card in a tarot deck – the Emperor, Sun of the Morning, Chief Among the Mighty,” Riga said, quoting Crowley. “And the Hebrew letter associated with it is Heh.”

  “And knowing this is our killer’s magical name, are you closer to finding him?”

  “Not really, though it does display a certain level of arrogance on his part.”

  “The great alchemist, Nicholas Flamel said, ‘Waste not thy time in searching out secrets. Secrets will reveal themselves to you when the time is right.’”

  Riga snorted. “Flamel never would have made it as a metaphysical detective.”

  Chapter 13: Unlucky

  Riga watched the paper sigil she’d drawn for Lndmrak burn in the kitchen sink. Its edges curled and the marks she’d drawn upon it seemed to glow more brightly before it blackened to char. She turned on the tap, washing the ashes down the drain, and her cell phone rang upon the countertop. Her heart gave a little jump. Donovan? She checked her phone, and didn’t recognize the number. Reluctantly, she turned down the radio; Miranda Lambert was singing about unloading her ex’s baggage. After Riga’s encounter with the demon, she felt like she’d unloaded some baggage of her own.

  “Hello?” Riga said.

  “Riga? It’s Tara. Can you…?” She made an ugly, gulping sound. “You’re a detective, right? A real detective?”

  “Yes,” Riga said cautiously. Was Tara c
rying?

  “Can you come to the café? Something’s happened. I need your advice.”

  “What’s happened?” Riga asked. “Are you safe?”

  “Yes, yes, I think so. It’s–”

  The line dropped. Riga dialed the number. The call failed. She waited, hoping Tara would call back. She didn’t. Riga looked at her phone thoughtfully, then dialed Donovan.

  “Riga,” he said, his voice warm with relief. “Success?”

  She felt a sting of guilt. Of course, he’d been worried; she should have called him immediately after she’d banished the demon, not messed around cleaning and listening to music.

  “I’m okay,” she said quickly. “It worked. I’ll be home soon.” She stopped, suddenly aware of what she’d said.

  Donovan didn’t respond; he’d caught it too. Home.

  Riga rushed to fill the gap. “But I have to stop at the Fortune Teller’s Café first. Tara, the owner, called and asked me to come over.”

  “Trouble? I can meet you there.”

  “No. Thanks. Tara sounded upset.” She leaned against the counter. “I should go alone.”

  There was another long silence on the other end. “Right. This is new territory for me.” He paused. “I’ll see you when you get home.”

  Home. He wasn’t going to let her slip go by.

  Riga hung up, looked to Brigitte, perched upon the counter.

  The gargoyle smiled in a self-satisfied way. “Home is where ze heart is.”

  “Don’t you start,” Riga warned.

  Riga sped through the rest of the cleanup, and turned off the lights. She stepped out onto the porch, into the cone of light from the bulb above the door.

  A dark figure shifted on the porch steps, and she reared away.

  “Whoa, it’s okay. It’s just me.” Deputy Night stepped into the light, hands raised. His hair was damp and curled about his ears and he wore a heavy leather jacket with a thick red scarf wrapped twice around his neck. It looked like it had been handmade, with uneven, loopy stitches. From a sister? A lover?

  She gripped her keys between her fingers, arranging them between her knuckles to strike, to gouge. “Deputy Night?”

  “Steve. I’m off duty.”

  “What are you doing here?”