by Jaxon Reed
He kept talking.
“She’s not all there, mentally. She can’t take care of herself. The stroke took a lot from her that will never come back. But, if she’s having a good day and I can get her to open up, she might be able to share some information that will help us.
“She knows stuff, Phoebe. I think her mother, my grandmother, knew even more. Mom picked up some things from her, some things I’m only beginning to figure out. Stuff she never really had a chance to tell me before I left home for college.”
Renard nodded, still sorting through the information. After a moment, her curiosity piqued as a thought occurred to her.
“Why are you telling me this? Why are you bringing me along?”
“Because, you know a lot more about harpies and other things that I don’t. You might think of a question to ask her that I never would.”
She nodded, accepting the statement. He looked over at her again and grinned.
“Besides, I trust you. Thought you might like to know one of my big secrets.”
And, he thought, maybe you’ll share one of yours in kind.
-+-
Bryce signed them in at the desk, then led Renard back through the maze of hallways to his mother’s room.
“Her mind is stuck about twenty years in the past, more or less. She refuses to accept the present. So, the only way we can talk to her is to pretend I’m still in high school or college. That puts her in the right mood. I think my college years were a happy time for her and Dad. They finally got me out of the house and had some freedom to go do things they wanted to do.”
“She didn’t miss having her boy at home?”
“I’m sure she did. But I think they enjoyed focusing on each other, too.”
They reached the door to Ashley’s room. A nurse looked up when they entered, and smiled.
“Look, Ms. Bryce! You have visitors!”
Ashley looked over at the doorway with hazy eyes.
The vid screen on the wall showed a pristine white sand beach. Waves gently rolled in to the sound of gentle music. Seagulls floated on air currents in the distance.
“She’s having a good day, just a little tired. She’s had her morning meds and vitamins. I’ll see you again after lunch, Ms. Bryce!”
The nurse gathered her handheld computer, placed it in a cart loaded down with medication compartments, and pushed everything out the door, heading toward her next patient.
Bryce and Renard approached the bed. Bryce took his mother’s hand.
“Hi, Mom. I brought a friend.”
Ashley looked from Bryce to Renard. Her eyes cleared.
“Do you go to high school with my son?”
Bryce cleared his throat, and glanced at Renard with a bit of embarrassment.
“Now, Mom. Remember, I go to UNT.”
She looked back at him and stared for a moment. Then she nodded, as if reaching a decision.
“That’s right. How’s college going, son? Are you passing everything?”
“It’s going good, Mom. This is Phoebe.”
Ashley looked at Renard again and smiled.
“Do you go to UNT, too?”
Renard and Bryce exchanged glances. He nodded.
“Yes. I go there, too.”
“Mom, do you remember the last time I was here? Do you remember us talking about harpies?”
She paused for a long time, looking up and to her right.
Finally, Bryce squeezed her hand.
“Mom? Do you remember us talking about harpies? I said there was one at school I was having trouble with.”
“You stay away from harpies, Gerald. Stay far away.”
Bryce squeezed her hand again, in reassurance. He could feel her emotional turmoil, a growing sense of dread deep within her.
“It’s okay, Mom. It’s okay. We think we have a way to stop her. Phoebe has a drug people can take before going near her. It dampens their emotions. We think it will work.”
She began to shake. She let go of his hand to grip his arm and weakly pulled him toward her.
“Stay away. You must stay away from the harpy! Promise me, son. Stay away from her!”
Renard stepped closer and stroked the older woman’s hair in a soothing motion.
“What is it? What are you not telling us? What are you so scared of, Ms. Bryce?”
Ashley’s eyes darted from Bryce’s to Renard’s.
“The Lebenskraft. She wants his Lebenskraft. Oh, son, there’s so much I haven’t told you. I thought you would be safer over here. I didn’t know there’d be harpies here. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Her dread gave way to grief, and she broke down sobbing. Bryce could think of nothing else to do, so he wrapped his arms around her and hugged. It felt awkward, him standing and her lying in bed, but somehow they managed.
Then Bryce sensed something switch off inside her, and her grief dissipated. He let go and stood back up.
“Mom?”
Ashley’s eyes clouded over. They drifted over to the vid screen, now showing a sunrise over a distant mountain range.
“Mom?”
Her eyes closed, and her breathing grew regular as sleep took over.
Renard reached over to stroke her hair again.
“Perhaps her medications kicked in?”
Bryce shrugged, fighting down his frustration.
-+-
Bryce set the autopilot on his car as they headed back west.
“Do you know what she was talking about? What’s a Lebenskraft?”
“It’s a German word. It means ‘life force.’”
“Desiree is after my life force? I’m still confused. Do you understand any of this?”
Renard nodded, drew a breath and held it for a moment while thinking of the best way to phrase things in English.
“I think you know you are extraordinary, Jerry. Male ‘cunning folk’ are rare to begin with. But male empaths are very rare indeed. Your bloodline is an old one, and very powerful. Your grandmother was a powerful empath. Your ancestor I mentioned earlier, the one who served in the OSS during World War Two, she also was very powerful. And now you are produced by this bloodline, a male empath.
“Now, consider a harpy. A harpy is a very powerful empath. Or maybe empaths are weak harpies. Either way, they are cut from the same cloth, no?”
He nodded, accepting her point.
“I hadn’t thought about it that way, but okay.”
“We track the bloodlines of the ‘cunning folk,’ because when a strong one shows up, they can cause problems. Even a weak one, if they’re intelligent and malicious, can become a serious problem for law enforcement.
“And so, these ancient bloodlines pass down their capabilities through the generations, almost always through the women.”
She stopped and raised her eyebrows at him, waiting for him to understand. A glimmer of realization sparked.
“So, if Desiree and I were to have children . . .”
“Exactly. Your children’s Lebenskraft would be at least twice as strong, maybe more. A male empath mating with a powerful harpy. Both of you come from ancient bloodlines. Combining the two would no doubt produce phenomenally gifted children, the likes of which we haven’t seen in ages.”
He nodded, processing the knowledge.
“That explains some things. She did try to have me killed a few times, though.”
“Yes, when you made her mad. Harpies are notorious for struggling to control their own emotions. It’s one of the ways to defeat them. But your mother’s concerns about the Lebenskraft are valid. Your children with Desiree Lamont would become a new bloodline, perhaps the strongest one yet.”
“And that’s not a good idea.”
Renard shrugged.
“Your sons and grandsons would likely have powers. Your daughters would become harpies perhaps more powerful than we’ve ever seen before. No, most people would say combining your Lebenskraft with hers would not be a good idea.”
It did not occur
to him until much later to consider what she meant by “most people.”
Chapter Thirteen
Back at the station, Bryce could feel an undercurrent of tension different from normal swirling around the office. Busy police stations were rarely calm, and emotions typically centered on anxiety and stress. Today, though, something felt different.
As he and Renard neared their desks, the Captain’s office door opened. A tall, thin woman of Chinese descent dressed in a business suit, her long hair pulled up in a bun, walked out with a small vid sheet attached to an old-fashioned clipboard.
The Captain followed her out, and Bryce sensed his frustration and irritation.
“Listen up, people. This is Dottie Lu. She is with the newly-formed Governor’s Commission on Police Efficacy.”
His tone remained neutral, but Bryce felt his disgust and contempt. Bryce admired the Captain for being able to hide his emotions so well.
“She’s going to be asking some questions, and I’d like y’all to extend to her every professional courtesy.”
With that, the Captain retreated to his office and Dottie Lu surveyed the room like a lion eyeing a herd of gazelles.
Her eyes stopped at the cluster of desks housing the detectives and Europol agents. She walked to their corner of the room briskly, high heels clicking on the tiles.
“I’m Dottie Hart Lu. How are you?”
The smile was plastic, fake. Obviously she approached people with false cheeriness often, adding the little rhyme to her greeting. She probably thinks it’s cute, Bryce mused.
The detectives murmured something non-committal. Miller and Jenkins, close to retirement, said nothing, barely acknowledging her presence before turning their attention back to their computer monitors. They were untouchable this close to the end of their careers, and Bryce felt a touch of envy at their ability to ignore office politics.
“And who are you and you? I don’t see you two on my list of personnel.”
Bryce interceded.
“These are Agents Renard and Desmet, on special assignment from Europol.”
“I see. And what resources are Agents . . . Renard and Desmet you say?”
She pulled a stylus from her hair bun and began jotting notes on the vid sheet.
“And what department resources would you say these visitors are using?”
Bryce probed her emotions, trying to find her angle. He felt only intensity of purpose.
He shrugged.
“No financial resources, if that’s what you mean. They have a desk and access to the computer system and the usual professional resources afforded all visitors. When we go to other departments, the same courtesies are extended to us as well. This is typical in law enforcement.”
Lu did not like the answer, he could tell. Inwardly she bristled at his lecturing tone. The implication that she might be ignorant of police procedures was also clearly received, and resented.
In turn, her tone came out a bit more frosty as she sought to reassert control of the conversation.
“Food, housing, entertainment expenses? Transportation costs? Adverse effects on department resources? Energy requirements for extra personnel in the building?”
Bryce shook his head.
“None worth enumerating. And their energy requirements in the building are no more than yours or any other visitor.”
Her head snapped up, and she gave Bryce a long, menacing look. Again, the implied insult had been clearly understood.
“And what is your function here, Mr. . . . Bryce?”
She glanced at his nametag, then down to her vid sheet.
“Detective.”
“I see. One of our highly paid detectives. I’ll be needing access to all your files, and we’ll take a good long look at how efficacious your productivity has been the last thirty-six months.”
Bryce shrugged.
“Feel free. My files are available to all authorized personnel. They can be accessed on the department’s server.”
She harrumphed, taking this last comment about authorization as another insult, then stormed out the door. The clicking of her heels receded in the distance.
Jenkins snickered over at his monitor. He had been listening to the exchange along with everyone else, even while outwardly barely acknowledging the woman’s presence.
“You sure know how to make friends, Bryce.”
-+-
A few more days passed by. Investigations fell by the wayside as more and more department resources were stretched to meet the ever increasing requests for information from the Governor’s Committee on Police Efficacy, or COPE as it was now called for short.
The acronym led to several jokes among police personnel, many along the lines of, “How are we going to COPE with this?”
Try as they might, the detectives and Europol agents were not able to muster a group to tackle the Governor’s mansion. Too much was going on, and days at the office became increasingly hectic and stressed.
In fact, dealing with the bureaucrats proved highly detrimental to the department’s efficacy, despite the committee’s name. As more and more officers were called off assignments to deal with COPE’s demands for documentation, crime levels in the city began to rise. Slowly at first, but as the days stretched into a week with ever fewer officers out on the streets, the uptick in crime became more and more noticeable.
Whispers became rumors, anonymous online comments were picked up and repeated by the media, and finally the Governor himself was asked directly during an interview if, in fact, his Committee on Police Efficacy was not indeed contributing to a notable lack of efficacy.
Bryce, Parker, and Renard watched the interview during the lunch hour news while eating at The Dining Depot.
“Since COPE was formed, Governor Zavala, crime in the city has increased by nearly fifteen percent. What do you say to detractors who are suggesting your interference in local law enforcement is a big part of our growing crime problem?”
The camera shifted from the cute young anchor to the Governor. In his early fifties, he still looked young as well. He stood trim and fit, with a dark complexion and jet black hair neatly combed into place.
“That’s exactly why we need COPE, Maria. We have to see if in fact taxpayer money is being spent wisely. Law enforcement is rife with potential corruption. And pork. Look, we pay detectives in this city among the highest comparable salaries in North America. And Texas is a relatively inexpensive place to live. All we want is to figure out if that money is being well spent or not. Are taxpayers getting the best bang for their buck? We won’t stop until we find out.”
Bryce grimaced at the remarks.
“Obviously, Lamont is behind this. She’s slowly strangling the department.”
-+-
That evening, the bureaucratic sword made its first cut.
In the middle of supper out on a private lanai with Renard at Nightsky, Bryce’s phone implant vibrated. He pressed under his ear and its virtual screen appeared near his face, showing Parker’s number.
“Hello?”
Her face appeared on the virtual screen.
“Bryce, turn on the news. The Chief is resigning.”
He waved at the vid screen and the Chief appeared behind a podium, at the tail end of a speech. Behind him stood the City Manager, the Mayor, and Dottie Hart Lu.
“. . . and so, I submit my resignation effective immediately. I am proud to have served this city. But I am also proud to have served with many fine men and women in uniform, who have sacrificed so much in keeping us safe.”
He paused, shuffling vid sheets in front of him for a moment. When he continued, he looked directly into the camera, with an intense glint in his eyes.
“It is also my hope that those same men and women who are doing such a fine job on this force continue to perform the tasks set before them. No matter what happens, assignments must be completed, the law must be enforced, and justice must prevail.”
As the Chief left the podium, several repo
rters shouted out questions. When none were answered, the studio anchor resumed control.
“There you have it: the City Manager tonight announcing the immediate resignation of Chief of Police Jeremiah Jones after Governor Zavala’s Committee on Police Efficacy uncovered startling evidence the Chief was personally using city-owned land in the Hill Country to hunt deer. We’ll have more on this developing story tonight at ten . . .”
Bryce waved at the screen to mute the volume.
“That last comment was for us, Bryce.”
He nodded at Parker over the connection.
“Yeah. He’s right. We’ve got to figure out how to assemble a task force in the middle of this stupid committee interference without him.”
“We’ve been trying to make progress on that task force all week to no avail.”
He nodded again, and locked eyes with Renard across the table, listening to his side of the conversation.
“Yeah. Lamont’s been pretty brilliant.”
-+-
The next morning Bryce walked into the office and sensed even more anxiety. Several people rushed from one place to another, without any real goal in mind or sense of direction. They were just expending nervous energy. Others tried hard pretending to be working. They gazed intently into their screens, or pretended to be talking or texting on their phone implants.
Bryce walked over to his desk area where Renard, Desmet, Parker, Miller, and Jenkins were already seated.
He paused to wonder why the stark change in mood had broken out, then heard shouting from the Captain’s office and the sound of something breaking as it hit the wall.
Wilton’s door flew open and he stomped out, red-faced and scowling. Behind him, Dottie Hart Lu followed, a smug look on her face. She retrieved the stylus from her bun and jotted down a few notes on her vid sheet.
The Captain looked over toward the detectives and Europol agents, and headed toward them. When he reached their desks, he stabbed a finger in Bryce’s chest.
“Y’all continue with your assignment, just like the Chief said. Figure out a way to make it happen!”
He stomped out the door and down the hall toward the elevator.
Dottie Lu cleared her throat. All eyes left the doorway and focused on her.
