Body odor, yes, but body odor was drowned out by deodorant. Not a clue, but this was a sign. My suspicion had been raised. I leaned in and hugged the woman. I pulled her close and the shorter woman lay her head on my chest.
I silently sniffed fresh layers of makeup and stale whiskey. I wiggled my nostril hairs. Jameson Irish Whiskey. Good taste. Back to the makeup. Although it had been smeared across most of her face, it had been applied within the last few hours. I looked at the sun as Ruth bawled. It couldn’t be past 8:30 a.m.
It didn’t add up. Why would this woman put makeup on this morning unless she was expecting company? Was she wearing an evening gown underneath the full-length red cotton bathrobe? When I put more thought into it, her melodramatic performance seemed rather fishy too. Her legs had given out, but not completely. I didn’t know what was going on, but it didn’t seem right.
She added to the collage of tears on my hoodie as I rubbed her back. I needed to know more. “Would you mind answering a few questions, ma’am?”
She kicked her bawling up a notch, sending off more bells and whistles.
She looked up at me, lips quaking, and said, “I don’t think now is a good time. This is all too much right now.”
I broke the embrace and took a step back. Too much? I hadn’t even told her about how her boyfriend ripped human beings to shreds—not to mention, he probably was a cannibal. I remembered when my father had gone to jail and I had wanted to know every single detail.
Gretchen finally found her tongue and joined the conversation. “Are you sure? When would be a good time to come back?”
Ruth sniffled and wiped away some tears. “Maybe tomorrow?” She shrugged. “I can’t really say after a tragedy like this. We really loved each other, you know. How do you put a time on something like this?”
Gretchen responded, “We understand. Please let us know if you hear from him. I’ll leave you my card if you want to talk sooner. If not, I’ll be contacting you tomorrow.”
Ruth grabbed the card, but it fluttered between her fingers and fell in the mulch next to her sidewalk. I reached down to pick it up.
I snatched the card off the cobbled walkway and stood up. I held it out and made sure Ruth had a tight grip on it before I let it go and started to walk back to the car.
Acting quickly on my instincts, I turned around, “Ma’am, would you mind coming down to the car and getting my card too? I live closer.” That was stupid. Not sure why I had said that.
The woman reluctantly followed us down the walkway, tightening the tie on her robe. I needed to play this perfectly. We got to the car and I opened the door, trying to angle it perfectly. I ran my fingers over the mirror, closed my eyes, and said, “Videte omnia specula. Videte omnia specula.”
I reached inside the vehicle, grabbed my imaginary card, and peeked back at Ruth.
Damnit.
I opened the door more, but I still don’t think I hit my target.
“I really don’t have time to be waiting out here. Just wait till the neighbors find out about this.”
Seemed like a strange worry at a time like this. I jammed the door open more, bending it outward. The door creaked and I held my hand in front of the side view mirror. “Here it is.” I announced with my hand in front of the mirror.
She turned around, rubbing her eyes with one hand and holding out the other.
Damnit.
I said, “After all, it looks like I can’t find it.”
“Wasting my time,” the annoyed woman announced and turned to go back inside.
She took five steps and I screamed out, “Stop.”
The woman turned back toward me and I knew it was my last chance. I waved my left hand like a crazy man in front of the door. She squinted her eyes and focused on my hand. I slid my hand to the left and had what I needed. “I just wanted to say how sorry I am for your loss.” That was stupid too. He wasn’t officially dead yet.
She forced a smile, nodded, and turned to go back inside her house. I jumped into the Jeep and Gretchen started busting my stones about bending her door too far open. Then she started blathering on about how some people can get fragmentary PTSD and just hearing about gruesome details can warp their minds. I agreed. Only problem with her argument was that we had never revealed any gory details.
I wanted to yell at her about making me the bearer of bad news, but I stared silently into the side view mirror.
Nothing.
Not even my own reflection. I was using it as a window, which was why I had needed Ruth to look into it, and in a flash, the magic kicked in.
The interior of a nice house appeared in the side view mirror. A flash ran across the mirror. Another flash of red fabric zipped by. The mirrors inside the house acted like motion detectors to provide images. Finally, Ruth stopped in front of one of the mirrors. She stared into the mirror and I noticed a dresser with a hairdryer and makeup in the background.
Her image became distorted and she disappeared. I realized she had opened a door with a mirror on it. I waited, impatiently.
Nothing.
I knew it was a long shot, but worth a try. I was about to divert my attention back to Gretchen when the distorted image returned and captured my attention. The door closed and Ruth knelt over a two-piece wooden box the size of a small suitcase.
She disappeared for a few moments and returned with duct tape. She began to seal up the opening around the box. She put multiple layers of duct tape over the case and stared at the wooden object. She tried to lift the heavy box by a leather handle, and struggled. She propped it up on its side and I nearly suffered a heart attack.
The symbol. If only it didn’t have that symbol, my heart might stop rattling against my ribcage.
Ruth Westerhouse dragged the brown wooden box embossed with the black symbol of the Dank Artistry out of sight. She reappeared in the side view mirror, dragging the case through—her kitchen I presumed. I noticed a refrigerator behind her. How handy, a mirror magnet. How vain were these people?
She opened the door, which led outside. I had what I needed and started listening to Gretchen, who had been yammering on. “Are you even listening to me?”
Damnit. Busted. “Of course.”
She barked at me, “Then what did I just say?”
“You were saying some stuff, you know, about the PTSD and such.”
Gretchen stopped at a red light. “You weren’t even listening to a word I said. You wonder why you’re the last investigator to get called all the time.”
I didn’t wonder. I knew all the officers thought I was a prick. “Detective,” I shot back in a venomous tone.
“What?” she asked with a sour look on her face, the tight skin on her cheeks wrinkling.
“I’m a detective. We solve cases. We don’t just investigate them.” I don’t know why it made a difference to me. It just did. I desperately needed to ditch my pomposity for sagacity. Alayna called me the idiot savant wizard.
“Is that so?” she asked. I didn’t see it, but I knew she rolled her eyes.
“That’s how it is, I’m afraid. New sheriff in town. I’m kind of like a Psychic Detective.” I grabbed the oh-shit bar when Gretchen gunned it to run a yellow light. I’d like to see her out on the autobahn.
“More like a psycho detective.” She chuckled. I didn’t. She continued, “Moving on. Once they finish sweeping the crime scene, I’ll email you with the findings and pictures. Don’t open them around kids, please.”
“Don’t worry.” I wondered if Gretchen had kids. She had never talked about her personal life except for her own aspirations a time or two. She liked her private life to remain that way and I didn’t pry.
Gretchen dropped me off at my humble abode, and my mentor was waiting for me.
3
Alayna sat on the porch swing, rocking back and forth. I lived in a block of row houses that had been financially backed by the Deep Burrow. All except for one. The house next to mine was inhabited by Normals.
The rest of
the duplexes were filled with gifted young people like me. Ones that had shown an affinity toward magic in one way or another. It was nice being around like-minded individuals. We weren’t very high on the social ladder in Pittsburgh, but we had all taken an oath to protect the city, and needed to spend our time acquiring more magical skills.
I hopped out of the car, and as I crossed the street, Gretchen yelled, “Don’t forget to check your inbox for that stuff.”
I nodded, waved, and turned my attention to Alayna. I made sure nobody from the neighborhood was around. “My lady.” I bowed slightly. She wore her signature glimmering purple dress that hugged her thick body and swept the ground when she walked. I stood about 6’3, and although I’d never measured her or asked about an exact height, I’d estimate she was about three feet shorter than me.
There were only a few of us in the duplexes that could see the wingless faerie and I had suffered a few embarrassing moments talking to Alayna around Normals.
She smiled but the crow’s feet and narrow eyes made it seem unnatural and forced. “Good sir, how goes the day so far?”
I tilted my neck to the side and shifted to my serious face. “Have you heard about the shifter murders yet?”
She spoke with an English accent, “Not yet.”
I loved when I got a scoop before her. Even though Alayna had somehow arranged for me to be a consultant for the Pittsburgh Police, she didn’t find out information before they did. Alayna had rescued me a few years ago when I was in a major downward spiral and wanted to die. She had informed me that I shared a blood line with the Mighty Merlin, which meant I had a special capacity for magic. The family had used the last name Merlinus, until they moved from Wales to Italy and changed it to Merlino. Then the family moved to the United States and settled in the northeast.
I checked the sidewalk again and turned back to Alayna. “Boardroom meeting at PNC Bank, so pretty highbrow stuff. Boyfriend of Ruth Westerhouse. We go to her house and I got her to look into a mirror so I could track her a little bit. Turns out, she drags a wooden case marked with the symbol of the Dank Artistry out her back door.”
“Hmm.” She played with her hair and constantly emitted an aura of enchantment. Alayna had long, thick braids that alternated from platinum blond to obsidian black and hung to her midsection. The two-colored hairdo had seemed strange at first, but I’d grown used to it by now.
I pushed my lips together and nodded. “That’s what I said. Now it could be any hooligan trying to stir up some dark powers or it could be a powerful demon. Either way, something crazy is going on in Pittsburgh. Not to worry my lady, I will take care of the problem.”
She frowned. “And we were doing so well for so long. I knew it wouldn’t last. Therefore, I needed you to learn quickly. What do you plan to do?”
I realized I only had one lead. “We didn’t get to question Ruth Westerhouse, so I’d like to do that. Later tonight, I’m going to go by her house and pick up that box she dragged out back if it’s still there. I’m not going to let the garbage men beat me to it, that’s for sure.” Maybe I had two leads.
“Be careful. You never know how much dark energy could be inside that thing. Exercise caution when opening it. If you are going to open it, that is.”
I hadn’t thought about that. I was just going to rip it open like a wrapped present. Maybe that’s why Ruth Westerhouse had been duct taping it shut? “It’s not even close to a full moon. Who can shift without full lunar power?”
She pondered the question for a moment. “Only higher-up demons from the Red Cavern. You know, the demi-devils or an extremely powerful Chieftains. Let’s see. Spring-Heeled Jack, the Jersey Devil, Vlad Dracul of Wallachia, the Six Bend Serpent, Sabretooth Gilda and Hot Iron Indigo. That’s just a few off the top of my head that specialize in shifting. At least, to the best of our knowledge.”
It was much too early to peg one of the Chieftains of the Order of the Red Cavern as a prime suspect, but way too early to rule them out. I wanted some action in Pittsburgh, but if it were one of the big dogs of dark magic, I would be rendered useless.
I had defeated the two-hundred-year-old warlock named George by pure luck, recklessly using magic. I had learned over the past two years that I couldn’t do that again. I had to play by the rules now. And the book of rules on magic was almost as long as the compendium on magic itself.
One thing I had learned, wizards had to read. A lot. See that splendiferous vocabulary I’ve picked up.
I waited impatiently for the email from Gretchen and for a chance to investigate the dark box at Ruth Westerhouse’s place as my mind churned with fractions of puzzle pieces, not even the entire pieces. Sometimes, a wizard has to construct the pieces before he or she can assemble the puzzle.
Sounds daunting, but on the flip side, if one created the best pieces, manipulating them to his or her advantage, building the puzzle became simple.
We went inside my hole of an apartment, a huge upgrade from the hole back in Prince’s Mountain, but not exactly a castle either. It was a two-bedroom apartment, both on the second floor with a bathroom and a small attic. We walked into the modest living room, couch against one wall, loveseat against another. The rest of the room consisted of a rectangular coffee table, bookshelves and books. Some were in piles on the hardwood floor, but I had a system, don’t you worry.
Alayna held her nose, although the smell wasn’t that bad. Okay, it wasn’t that great either, but I hadn’t figured out what was causing that odor from the basement. Because of the harsh stench, I used the stone basement as a short-term storage facility. Mostly for books. I had a lot of books.
Alayna brushed off the couch and sat down, her purple dress sparkling in the strained sunlight begging for permission to pass through my black shades. I obliged it and cracked the blinds a bit.
She had a worried expression on her face. Alayna never worried. I asked, “Is everything all right or is this just the Lancelot thing again where you stare at me and make me nervous? By the way, I saw a movie a week ago and he had black hair and brown eyes.”
Alayna had told me that she had met Lancelot from King Arthur’s court during her travels. “I’m sorry that you look like him, but you do. Most books and movies have gotten it totally wrong. It’s not just the blond hair and blue eyes, but the strong chin and tight jawline. And then you throw in the broad shoulders and it’s a perfect match. However, that wasn’t what I was doing.”
What could it be? Nothing ever got her down. I said, “I don’t like seeing you sad. I know what will cheer you up. Beatles music. We can even sing a song or two,” I offered.
She shook her head, and her long braids slithered back and forth on her shoulders. “Maybe later.”
I thought about what she really liked. “I know. You can tell me about another crazy adventure from your favorite wizard in St. Louis. You know, the one you have a big crush on.”
“I don’t have a big crush on him, although he is rather striking. Powerful and gallant, sure. Quite smooth as well.” Her lips started to curl up and stopped just short of a smile. Her face and eyes always lit up when she talked about him, but not so much today. She loved to tell me about his wild times and I enjoyed hearing them. Even though some of his outrageous missions seemed impossible, and I was extremely jealous of his financial situation, the man always came out on top.
The wizards from St. Louis and Chicago were legendary. They had already attained what I was striving for. They were Hall of Famers, where I was just a rookie entering the professional ranks. I would have been the number one pick if there was a wizard draft, but I had no accolades to speak of. I needed to prove myself in the field.
I’d even been hearing a lot of stories about an odd couple/dynamic duo in New York City. I wanted people to start telling stories about me, but first I needed to create those legendary stories. I’m inclined to call them tales, but I know they are true.
I gave up. “What’s wrong?”
She wrung her tiny hands together
. “We have a problem.”
I was late on rent again. She had every right to tear into me. I tried for a preemptive strike to gain sympathy. “Like you and me? I’ll get the money from this work in less than a week. I’ll be able to pay you easier if they would just give me more jobs.” I didn’t think she would ever follow through on the threats. Sure, I was late before. Okay, I was late most of the time, but I always paid. Always.
“It’s not that.” She shook her head and closed her eyes.
I exhaled audibly, chest shaking, relieved.
She took a deep breath and continued, “We have a problem in the Deep Burrow. Or more specifically, Clara Spiritus. Mabon has disappeared.”
“What? How?” I asked in shock.
“Obviously nobody knows. One report.” A look of great disgust came over her face and she buried her forehead in her palm. “One report—saw him entering the Red Cavern.”
I defended my friend. “No. He wouldn’t do that. By himself or was he being dragged in there? Why would he do that?”
She threw her hands up dramatically. “The only reasoning the Gods have come up with is that he was offered more power in the Red Cavern.”
That didn’t make sense. “How can he get more power? He’s already a God.”
“A God among many, and he possibly views himself at the bottom of that totem. There are only thirteen devils that we know of. The only line of thinking I can even begin to understand is that he saw more power in being a devil. I really don’t know. It’s all too confusing right now.”
I’d never seen Alayna like this. The one-thousand-one-year-old woman, who would smack me for not saying she was nine-hundred-ninety-nine, was normally a happy go lucky faerie. She had always been in complete control, especially when I was frazzled.
She hid it well, but she was clearly distraught. Her ivory skin had red splotches rising to the surface in random areas and her glistening red eyes looked up at me.
Shifting Problems (Bloodline Awakened Supernatural Thriller Series Book 1) Page 2
