The Alchemical Detective (Riga Hayworth)

by Kirsten Weiss

  “The Emperor Heh,” Hldlng said.

  “That may be his magical name but what is his true name?” Riga’s hands trembled and she clenched them into fists to still them.

  “Hans.”

  “Hans who? What is his family name?” Warmth trickled down her side. She needed to end this before she lost control again.

  “That is all I know, Mistress.”

  “Who’s body has he taken?”

  The thing’s eyes bulged. “That was not his body?”

  “Demon, answer me.”

  “Interesting. I do not know, Mistress, who he has taken. You are certain of this?”

  “Then I banish you from this plane. Go.”

  The demon dwindled into a puff of foul-smelling smoke and disappeared.

  Riga uncoiled from the protective circle, which in the end, hadn’t given her much protection, and gingerly placed one hand to her side. Her palm came away bloody. It had been a new blouse, she thought crossly.

  “You were in control,” Brigitte exclaimed. “I felt ze magic, and then you lost your influence over ze demon. What happened?”

  Riga dug through her bag, and her fingers touched the smooth surface of her cell phone, hidden at the bottom. “I had a vision, or a memory of a vision. Donovan’s in danger.” She punched in the numbers to Donovan’s phone.

  “Demons lie,” Brigitte said. “You cannot trust what you saw.”

  “This wasn’t from the demon. When I was in the water after the attack on the boat, I had a vision of Vinnie the ghost. He told me Donovan was in trouble. But when I woke up, I couldn’t remember enough of it. Vinnie returned, reminded me…” She heard the phone ring and fell silent.

  The call went to voice mail.

  Gnawing her lip with impatience, she waited for the beep, then began speaking. “Donovan, this is Riga. I’m fine, but I saw Vinnie again. He said you were headed for danger. Call me.” She ended the call, checked her watch. On the east coast, it was still early by Donovan’s standards.

  “Riga, you cannot trust something that happened during an encounter with a demon. It used the vision to throw you off, to break your concentration. And you are bleeding all over your nice blouse.”

  Riga made an exasperated noise and went to the kitchen. The shirt was ruined. She couldn’t blot out the rents in the fabric from the demon’s claws. Riga removed the remains of her shirt, wet a towel, and cleaned the blood that stained her skin. The wounds weren’t deep, she saw with relief, just long, extending from above her bellybutton to beneath her ribs.

  “You don’t understand,” Riga said. “The first vision occurred when I was under water—”

  “Yes, after being attacked by a demon.”

  “But that was a different demon! They don’t coordinate, do they?”

  “How do you know it was different? You did not ask the demon if it was the same creature that knocked you from the boat.”

  “That one had a long tail. Hldlng didn’t. The vision today wasn’t from the demon. It was just… bad timing.”

  Riga’s mind raced. The ghost had told her Donovan was headed for danger, not that he was in danger. There was still time. Donovan was okay. He had to be. “Forget the vision. Who is Hans? Do you remember him?”

  “Ha! I could not forget that one. He was another Rasputin, seductive, inspiring, and ze most dangerous of Lefebvre’s acolytes, because he knew how to get close to people, to turn their hearts. He was clever at gaining other’s trust. Still, he lacked maturity. His ego was easily bruised. This made him no less dangerous, but it enabled Lefebvre to control him. However, that was years ago. Perhaps he has grown wiser.”

  “Let’s hope not. Brigitte, there’s something I’ve been wondering about. The women who were killed were harassed first – broken windows, crank calls, that sort of thing – and two of the women in the Tea and Tarot group are also being harassed. If the killer is this Hans person – why the harassment? What does he get out of it? Does the added fear give him more power in the kill?”

  “No…” The gargoyle tilted her head, considering. “And the fear from a crank call would pale in comparison to being unexpectedly confronted by a demon. I do not think ze killer would get an extra magical boost from the harassment.”

  “Then why—?” Riga’s phone rang and she eagerly snatched it from the counter. “Donovan?”

  “This is Reuben Mosse, Miss Hayworth. Can you tell me where Donovan is? I’m concerned about him.”

  Riga felt a momentary disconnect. Over the phone, Reuben sounded eerily like his cousin. “Doesn’t Isabelle know?” she said, wary. If Donovan hadn’t shared his plans with Reuben, he had a reason for it.

  “She could only tell me he was in Philadelphia, which, as I’m sure you realize, is a big city. It also makes little sense. We have no business interests there.”

  Riga chose her words carefully. “I’m sure Isabelle knows more about his travel plans than I do.”

  “Oh, I doubt that Miss Hayworth.”

  “Have you tried his cell phone?”

  “He’s not answering.”

  That could simply mean Donovan didn’t want to talk to Reuben. But why hadn’t Donovan answered her calls? “He left yesterday. Why are you concerned?”

  “Because my cousin has been acting erratically. There was his extended disappearance last month; he wouldn’t tell anyone where he was or when he was returning – hardly the actions of a CEO. Of course, later we learned he was in San Francisco, with you, but there was never any explanation provided. Then, upon his return, he developed a sudden interest in this casino. And now this mysterious trip to Philadelphia.”

  “Just because he hasn’t shared his reasons for his actions, doesn’t make him erratic.”

  “People have seen him talking to himself. And now this newfound interest in the occult. Is that irrational enough for you?”

  Riga made a face. Being labeled crazy was one of the top hazards of seeing ghosts. She’d been caught seemingly chatting to no one, when in fact a ghost had been present, visible only to herself. But she couldn’t explain that to Reuben.

  “As a metaphysical detective on a supernatural reality TV show, no, I don’t think an interest in the occult is that crazy.”

  “Miss Hayworth, is Donovan on drugs?”

  “Of course not!”

  “I only have his best interests at heart,” Reuben said. “If something is wrong, if he is in ill health, the board needs to – we can help him.”

  Riga shifted, uneasy. She could guess what Reuben had meant to say: the board needs to know. And then what? Somehow remove Donovan?

  “I have no reason to believe Donovan is in ill health, mentally or physically,” she said firmly. “And I don’t think occasionally speaking one’s thoughts aloud, if that’s what someone saw, is the mark of a madman. Lots of people do it.”

  “Which leaves the question of undue influence. This all began when you arrived on the scene, Miss Hayworth.”

  She laughed, knowing it would infuriate him. “Undue influence over Donovan Mosse? I’ll talk to you later, Reuben.”

  She hung up on his indignant sputtering, letting his anger siphon off some of her own wrath. Her parting remark was not going to make for a happy Thanksgiving dinner with the Mosse family. But Reuben’s accusation that Riga was some sort of femme fatale was... Pretty damn funny. Riga began to laugh in earnest.

  “Are you going to let me in on ze joke?” Brigitte asked coldly.

  “Sorry.” Riga lifted the towel she still held clutched to her side and checked her wounds. She’d stopped bleeding. “Donovan’s cousin just accused me of turning Donovan into some sort of… sex pawn, I guess.”

  Brigitte smiled. “What an interesting thing to say. Perhaps ze danger Monsieur Mosse faces is at home, and not in Philadelphia?”

  Riga looked up sharply. “Me, you mean?”

  “Of course not.”

  “But you’re willing to admit my vision could be real?”

  Brigitte twitched her
shoulders. “I am willing to admit anything. In my eventful life, I have seen much… Perhaps I should write my memoirs? They would make fine reading, no? But I advise you to keep a clear head and remain open to other possibilities, even if they seem unpalatable.”

  Chapter 25: Albedo

  A tough-looking guard Riga didn’t recognize was on elevator duty at the penthouse that night. How many security staff did Donovan have at the casino, she wondered? They rode silently to the top. She stepped out at the penthouse, and wished him goodnight. He nodded, taciturn, and the doors slid shut upon him.

  She stepped inside eagerly, hoping perhaps Donovan would be there. But in an instant she knew he was not. The penthouse was empty of any sense of his presence. Dejected, Riga slung her leather overnight satchel across one shoulder, wincing from the accumulated aches and pains.

  She still smelled like smoke. It was in her hair, her pores. Donovan’s sauna/shower had taken on a grail-like mythos in her mind and she trudged wearily toward the bedroom.

  A shriek exploded from Pen’s room. Riga dropped her bag, and blasted through Pen’s door. A chair sailed past her head, and clattered against the wall beside her. She ducked, slipped on a throw rug and fell hard on her butt.

  Pen stood, fists clenched by her sides, surrounded by a group of ghosts. They stared at Riga.

  Riga snarled. “Who. Threw. That. Chair?” She clambered stiffly to her feet.

  Two of the ghosts evaporated into puffs of mist.

  “Um. I did,” Pen said meekly.

  “Why?”

  Pen pointed at the remaining trio. “They wouldn’t leave me alone!”

  “They’re incorporeal, Pen. Chairs go right through them!”

  “I know! But…” Pen burst into tears.

  Riga stood, appalled, unsure what to do. Pen crying was new. Sure, she’d pitched some fits when she was little, but semi-adult Pen never cried. Not in front of Riga, at least. She glanced at the ghosts. “Get out of here,” she said quietly.

  The ghosts drifted away, one disappearing through the floor, another through a closet, and the third blinking out as if a light had been shut off.

  “Pen,” she said. “They’re gone.”

  Pen cracked open her eyes, looked around. She wiped her nose with her palm.

  Riga saw a box of tissues on the bureau and tossed it to her.

  She caught it one handed, grabbed a fistful from the box, blew her nose. “They’ve been at me every night. I couldn’t make them go away and I just… lost it. How did you make them go?”

  “I don’t know. I’d like to think it’s my authoritative manner and fine grasp of magical theory, but the fact is I’m sadly lacking in authority and as Brigitte will tell you, I’ve been a slacker when it comes to magical theory. It’s just a knack, I guess. If I tell them to go, they almost always do.”

  Pen crumpled onto the bed, shoulders slumped. Even bent like a comma, the girl looked graceful as a nymph, Riga thought wistfully.

  “Why won’t they just leave me alone?” Pen asked.

  Riga lowered herself onto the bed beside her niece. “Because they’re scared and desperate, Pen. They’re wandering and most of the time they don’t know why. Or they know they have to do something, but don’t know how. And then they see someone different, someone who can see and hear them, and the chance that you might be able to end their suffering is too much for them to pass up.”

  “But what about me?” Pen pitched a wad of tissues into the trash bin on the other side of the room. “It isn’t fair. What if I’m scared? What if I’m wandering and don’t know why, or what to do next?”

  Riga leaned forward and propped her elbows on her knees, tried to remember her teenage years. Scared? Check. Wandering and didn’t know why? Check. “Your family’s got your back, Pen.”

  “My mom doesn’t. You should have seen how happy she was to get rid of me, to send me to Tahoe with Donovan.”

  “Or maybe, she wanted you to spend some time with someone who could see ghosts too, because she knew she couldn’t help you herself.”

  Pen gnawed on her lower lip, her brow wrinkled. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

  “Would you have listened?”

  “Sure, but…”

  Riga shot her niece a skeptical look.

  “She doesn’t get it!” Pen exclaimed.

  “Of course she doesn’t. She’s your mother.”

  Pen blinked, surprised.

  “So how are you going to deal with these ghosts?” Riga said.

  “I don’t know!”

  “If they were people coming to you for help or advice, what would you do?”

  “Well, first I’d tell them not to all talk at once. And I can really only deal with one problem at a time. And I don’t like it when they start talking to me when other people are around. It’s distracting.”

  “Good. Tell them that. You’re helping them out; you’re allowed to do it on your terms, not theirs.”

  “But they wouldn’t listen to me before.”

  “Were you talking to them, or shouting at them? Because I’ve found that shouting at someone rarely calms a situation.”

  Pen sank against the headboard and the tension seemed to flow out of her. “Okay, I get it. They weren’t taking me seriously because I was acting like…” She cast around for an answer.

  “Someone who’d seen their first ghost?”

  Pen grimaced. “Yeah.”

  “Look. I’m here. If you want, we can deal with these ghosts together until you feel confident enough to go it alone.”

  Pen studied her toes, considering. “I don’t think they’ll respect me if I don’t take charge, or at least try to. I’ll try on my own. But can I come to you for help, if I need it?”

  “Deal.” Riga stood and stretched; tentacles of pain shot through her torso. She winced

  “By the way, I was supposed to tell you that you dive at noon,” Pen said. “I can’t believe you agreed to it. The water’s going to be freezing.”

  “I’ll worry about that tomorrow.” Riga trudged from the room, thoughts of Donovan foremost in her mind.

  Outside the door, one of Pen’s ghosts hovered, its skin gray and rotting as if it had been long submerged. She could tell from its general build and short hair that it had once been male, but the face was barely recognizable as human.

  It sighed mournfully, trailing after Riga.

  “Can I help you?” she said. Pen had plenty of ghosts to deal with and Riga figured she could help with this one, at least, since he’d appeared to her as well.

  “Have you seen my dog?”

  Riga stopped to look at him. The voice seemed oddly familiar. “Your dog? What does he look like?”

  “I called him Monster, because that’s what he looks like, but he’s a sweetheart.”

  Riga’s heart beat faster. “Er, he’s not a Caucasian Sheepdog by any chance, is he?”

  The ghost nodded.

  “I… think I have seen him wandering. Who are you?”

  The ghost drifted off. “Monster?”

  “Wait! I can help you!”

  The ghost vanished through a wall. Riga raced after him, skidding on the polished wooden flooring in her haste to get to the door of the room he’d vanished into. When she reached it, the ghost was gone. She combed the penthouse, but didn’t find him.

  Swearing under her breath, she retreated to the bedroom. At least she’d finally get her hot shower.

  She unbuttoned her blouse, and noticed a bottle of wine and a cheese board on the small table beside the bed. A card made of thick, creamy white paper stood beside it. She picked it up: Thinking of you. –D.

  Riga sagged with relief. He was okay. He wasn’t calling, but he’d arranged for this. Or had he arranged for it before he left? But he wouldn’t have, because he thought he’d be back by now. Riga glanced at her purse, which she’d tossed upon the bed. Her cell phone was inside it. She’d left messages for him, she reminded herself. He’d call her when he could. Donovan h
ad to be okay.

  Riga uncorked the wine, poured a solitary glass. It was one of her favorite Zins and she let it linger on her tongue. This then, was love. She paused, startled by the thought, the glass poised before her lips. It was love. She really did love Donovan. But it was impossible; they came from different worlds. Donovan only needed her now, or thought he did, because of everything they’d gone through together and the changes in his life that resulted. But… Donovan was no fool. He knew what he wanted. She put the glass down and paced the room, feeling a surge of nervous energy. There’d always been something more between them, hadn’t there? Could it work? Really work?

  Her cell phone rang. She lunged across the bed for her purse, digging frantically through it. Second ring, third, fourth. Her hand closed around the smooth casing of the phone and she flipped it open. “Hello?” Riga said breathlessly.

  “Riga. It’s good to hear your voice,” Donovan said, his voice low and rough. “It’s not her.”

  Riga flopped onto her back, relief flooding her system. “I’m sorry.”

  “If you’d seen the wreck of a human being who was using her identity… It was a relief, in a way, that it wasn’t Erin.”

  “What happened? Where have you been? I thought you’d be back tonight. Did you get my voice mails?”

  “Yes, and you and Vinnie don’t need to worry anymore.”

  “Anymore? What happened?”

  “Welfare fraud. She was part of a gang using a string of false identities. Erin’s was one of them. It’s a police case now. I’m sorry I couldn’t call. It’s a long story, I’ll tell you about it when I get back. I’m coming home tomorrow.”

  She wanted to hear the story now, to reassure herself that all was well, but she swallowed her impatience. It was his story to tell. “And after you return… What’s next?”

  “I start over.”

  “I’m glad you haven’t given up.” She couldn’t stand the idea of Donovan defeated.

  His laugh was hollow. “You’ll be the only one.”

  “About that… Reuben called me this afternoon.”

  Donovan swore. “My phone was turned off most of the day. I suppose he’s been trying to get hold of me. What did you tell him?”