"Okay. First lesson. Stop calling it 'the occult.' You're announcing to anyone who listens that you're an outsider and more importantly that you're unsympathetic. How do you think Gabriella feels when you lump crazy and witchcraft into the same sentence?"
"I'm not trying to make friends, Slade," she sneered.
"That's a bullshit answer. You know damn well you get better answers from people you don't insult."
"Okay. I take your point. I also didn't miss that you changed the subject rather artfully," she said. "Are you a witch?"
"Three hundred years ago, saying you were a witch would get you hanged," I said. "No. I'm not a witch. Are you really asking me to out myself to you?"
"What's the harm?"
"To be honest, I'm not sure. I've been warned about telling people, but that's about it."
"Warned? By whom?"
"Most recently, the FBI," I said. "It's the same principal as fight-club. First rule is not to talk about it."
"Sounds like a Las Vegas ad to me. Are you possessed? Devil worshiper? What?" she needled.
"Add that to your list of things to stop saying," I said. "Not a lot of devil worshipers around. Makes you sound ignorant."
"Then educate me," she said. "Hypothetically, that is."
I smiled. She was giving me an out, though anyone who cared wouldn't give a rat's ass about whether I spoke hypothetically or not. "Witches are your basic good guys," I said. "They don't have to be women, but predominantly they are. Bad witches are called left-hand."
"What makes someone a witch?"
"Not sure I'm ready to go there with you. Witches use the strength of a coven and their connection to nature to bring blessings into the world. It varies. Some are good at physical healing or they have affinity for plants or hospitality. A lot of being a witch doesn't involve anything more than caring for each other."
"But not the left-hand? Was that what Liise Straightrod and Felicia Terpsa were? Left-hand?"
She was referring to the witches who'd been responsible for the murder of Clarita's mother and grandmother.
"You're a quick study," I said.
"But you're not a witch," she said. It wasn't hard to see why she was a good investigator; pulling her off scent was difficult.
"I'm a wizard," I said plainly as I looked out the window of the plain blue sedan. In my entire life, I'd never admitted who I was to a mundane. I felt a mixture of relief and anticipation of a rebuke.
"And a thumpin' good one, I'd wager," she answered with a funny accented voice.
"I suppose," I said.
"Seriously? Nothing?" she asked. Apparently, I'd missed a cue.
"I take it you don't watch many movies or read a lot of fiction?"
"Not really," I said. "Fiction gives me a headache. I have enough things going on."
"What's the difference between a witch and a wizard? Obviously, you get along okay," she said.
"Wizards are loners," I replied. "Our strength doesn't come from a coven."
"Where does it come from?"
"Probably not something I'm ready to talk about."
"Feels like church," she said.
"How's that?" I laughed.
"Take it on faith. Can't show you anything, you just have to believe."
"It's for your own good."
"Thanks for looking out for me," she said sarcastically. "Just so you know, this is why I use words like crazy and why I have trouble going to church. It feels like people are just making stuff up."
"You want to be that person?" I asked. "The one everyone thinks is nutty?"
"Look. We're here. It was an entertaining conversation. You don't have to defend yourself. I don't care if you call yourself the Pope of Papua New Guinea. You have insight to this murder and that's what I need."
We were stopped at a traffic light and half mile up I saw the emergency lights of a dozen vehicles all parked beneath the Douglas Street bridge.
"Altum Visu." I incanted quietly and waved my right hand in front of my face.
The light turned green and Dukats accelerated a bit more than was necessary, her emotions transmitting to her vehicle. "What did you say?" she asked, her voice annoyed.
I turned to her, my eyes alight with the glow of my planar sight. Her aura was a grayish blue. The lightness of the hue was evidence of her lack of sensitivity. Interestingly, her eyes and ears were highlighted with a brighter blue. Nothing I would consider sensitive, but indications of well-developed skills. I'd seen the same in Andy, my friend and handyman. His beige aura showed a strong connection between eyes and hands.
"Holy shit!" Dukats swerved into the fortunately empty lane next to us. The vehicle skidded on the slippery road and its back end swerved around. To her credit, she didn't panic, but steered into the slide and accelerated slightly. "What in the hell is wrong with your eyes?" she asked once she'd gained control of the vehicle again.
"You outed and then mocked me. Be grateful this is how I chose to demonstrate my magic," I said.
"That's a trick!" she accused as she flipped on the vehicle's flashing lights and pulled to the side of the road a quarter mile short of the crime scene.
"If that's how you want to play it," I said. "Sure. Finis." I blinked as my sight reverted to normal. "Doesn't make you less crazy for seeing it."
"Don't move." The lieutenant reached to her belt.
For a moment, I was afraid she was going to draw her service weapon on me. When she came up with a flashlight, I breathed a sigh of relief.
She shined the light across my eyes. "Turn your head toward me slowly."
I did as she asked and she shined the light in my face, no doubt searching for a ruse.
"Do it again."
"We have company," I said, nodding forward. "And I'm not your new toy. You wanted proof. I gave it and now you don't want to believe it. I think I understand more of the Bible all of a sudden."
"I thought you didn't read," she said.
"I don't read fiction. I have no dispute with the Bible. I just remember nobody believing miracles and here you are."
"That was a miracle?"
"That was a spell," I replied.
A uniformed officer knocked on the driver's side window with a gloved hand. Dukats turned away and rolled down the window. "Ma'am. Are you okay? I saw your vehicle lose control."
"Thank you, officer. I hit a patch of black ice. Everything's fine," she said.
"The coroner is waiting."
"As you were." She rolled up the window and left the officer to stare in at us.
"Kind of officious, weren't you?"
"What? That? Not hardly. What was that thing you did?"
"Let's say I can see things you can't and leave it at that," I said. "If you ask about it in front of anyone else, I'll act like you're crazy and we'll see how it makes you feel."
"Fair enough." Dukats pulled forward and parked behind a squad car.
I followed her as we approached a yellow tape line which was lifted for her by an officer. "He's with me."
"Paul La Sorsa." The coroner stood and offered his hand after greeting Dukats. "You were dead-on about that staff. Persian. Pre-Christianity Akkadian cuneiform on the handle. Unusual, I'd think, for a private collector. I'm afraid we don't have anything like that here. All we have is the corpse and she's in bad shape. Must have been drained and dried somewhere else and then dumped here."
"All these tracks belong to us?" Dukats asked, pointing at a jumble of muddy shoe prints in the snow.
"Couldn't say," La Sorsa replied.
Dukats pointed at the tarp on the ground. "Mind if I take a look?"
"We had to cover the body. The bridge is dropping slush." He pointed at the overpass above us. "I figured you'd want to see her before she was moved." La Sorsa pulled back the tarp. Beneath, lay the tiny shriveled figure of an ebony skinned woman. In her emaciated state it was impossible to guess an age. The clothing around her body hung limply. Significantly, her hair had purple streaks - just like the girl who'd been killed in
my dream.
"Preliminary time of death?" Dukats asked.
"Maybe a week, maybe a year," La Sorsa said. "It takes work to get a body this dried out."
"What do you think, Slade?"
"I need to get a better look," I said. I tapped the side of my cheek, next to my eyes.
Dukats' eyes widened in understanding. "Paul, do you have a minute?" She maneuvered the conversation so the coroner's back was to me.
"Altum Visu." I surveyed the body. A residual glow of magic drew a line from the corpse's solar plexus, through the body and out the back of its head, passing through the heart.
I quickly surveyed the area, not wanting to be caught with my eyes alight. Forty yards over, next to the bridge abutment, I noticed a young woman staring at me. Her bright orange and pink aura marked her as sensitive. Within the orange and pink, dark purple lightning bolts swirled. It was reminiscent of my own aura and I wondered if she also struggled with a dark side. She raised her hand and dark power billowed like steam clouds around her. Suddenly, a brilliant purple oval appeared between us. With a touch of her index finger to her forehead, she stepped through what was obviously a portal. A moment later she was gone.
"Everything okay, Slade?" Dukats asked more loudly than was necessary.
"Finis." I dropped my wizard's sight.
"Did you see that girl over there?" I pointed at where she had stood.
"Where?"
"By the bridge," I said.
"I haven't seen any girl. Any thoughts on our DB?"
"DB?" I asked.
"Dead body."
"Right. What do you make of that mark over her breastbone?" I asked, pointing to faint singe marks on her olive drab cotton shirt. A button was discolored where it had been burned.
"You have sharp eyes, Mr. Slade," La Sorsa said. "I hadn't seen that, although I don't ordinarily go over the body in detail in the field."
"Mind if I take a look?" Dukats asked.
"Can't hurt," he said. "Just be careful of material transfer."
Dukats nodded. The discolored button crumbled in her hand and she placed the remains into an evidence bag. She unbuttoned two more and gently pulled the shirt's fabric apart, exposing a burn on the gray leathery skin.
"What kind of symbols are those? Looks Persian," La Sorsa said, peering over Dukats' shoulder.
"Nicely done," I said.
"What's it say?"
"It's not a full imprint. The symbol in the middle is for fire, that could be a ram on the right," I said.
"Fire ram?" she asked.
"More likely ram fire," I said. "Reading left to right is newer than this alphabet. You can't learn much from partial symbols; they're additive. My question is how would you burn someone like that?"
"A brand?" La Sorsa asked.
"Could be, but was it done before or after she was dead?" I replied.
"Just a guess, but I'd say before. See how the skin is shrunken and it's deformed the symbols?" he said. "If it were done after, the outlines would be crisper - if you'll pardon the term."
"What about this?" I pointed to the woman's head where I could make out a single singe mark on the base of her skull. I knew there would be more, but her head wasn’t positioned such that I could make that claim.
"Interesting," La Sorsa said. "Stacey, help me roll the body onto its side. I want to get a better look."
A woman, wearing a black jacket with 'coroner' emblazoned on the back, stepped up and helped him position the body so he had a clean look at the back of the dead woman's head. Four black singe marks lined up mostly horizontally from the neck to the top of her head.
"What do you make of that?" Dukats asked.
"Do you mind?" I stepped next to Stacey. She shrugged, giving me permission. Positioned in front of the body, I reached around to cradle her head in my right palm. I placed my left hand flat on her breast bone. "Dr. La Sorsa, check the positioning of my hands. Does that seem about right to you?"
"You think someone made those marks with their hands? That's burned hair and skin. How would someone do that?" La Sorsa asked. "Ivy, line your hands up on these marks. They're too small to be a man's."
I traded places with Dukats who positioned her hand on the back of the woman's head, much like I had done. Her thumb naturally came to rest behind the woman's right ear where a fifth singe mark was found.
"Not a perfect fit, but I'd say it's compelling. The marks are hand prints. How could that be?" he asked.
"Any prints on the stiff?" Dukats asked.
"Thanda Williston," he said. "Sixteen. She's in the system as a runaway. Has priors with theft, vandalism and small-time drugs. Street kid."
Dukats pulled out her phone and hit speed dial. "Yeah, it's Dukats. We have one of your kids. What can you tell me about Thanda Williston?"
She remained quiet for a moment as a man's voice replied. "No. We have her body over here under Douglas Street bridge. Looks like she was killed maybe a week ago and dumped here."
She listened for a few more minutes.
"Thanks. I owe you, Bill."
La Sorsa and I waited for her to hang up.
"What'd he say?" La Sorsa asked.
"Thanda Williston was released from a juvie lock-down facility yesterday," she said. "Log book says she was picked up by one Missy Fitzhugh, who Bill says goes by the street name, Miss Fit. They're both known associates of Lon Fagin."
"Who’s Fagin?" I asked.
"Not sure," Dukats said. "Seems like someone I should have a talk with."
Chapter 7
Truce
"Joe's back in town?" Amak asked.
I'd texted her that I was downtown. She'd offered to pick me up instead of waiting for a patrolman to run me home.
"He wants to try to work things out with Jennifer," I said. "Says he's doing better."
"Yeah, because that whole werewolf thing is temporary," she said flippantly.
Aside from Gabriella, Amak was my best friend, who happened to be a troll. The daughter of the leader of the Senwe tribe, she'd been sent to work for a local coven as part of a treaty between the witches and the Senwe.
"He looks good," I said. "Clean shaven and in control. He's also built up his pack. Gabriella and I ran into a handful of them at the hospital. I got the sense there was more pack still in Texas."
"No good comes from werewolves moving into town," Amak said. "They live by a different set of rules. Joe can't possibly keep them under control."
"What do you know about ogres?" I asked.
"Big. They like to keep to themselves. Not generally violent," Amak gave me a look. "What? Werewolves aren't enough for you?"
"We found Joe at a man named Rosen's house. Joe's gun was used to shoot Rosen, but Rosen was also beaten to a pulp. There were a couple of ogres ransacking the house when we showed up."
"Ogres are rare," Amak said. "They don't get involved with people because historically, it’s ended poorly for them."
"I've never heard of an ogre, beyond... you know... fairy tales," I said. "How have they stayed hidden?"
"Same way witches and trolls have," she said. "Simply put, no one wants to believe we exist. If we don't make waves, people change their story to fit their beliefs."
"Do you know where the ogres are?" I asked.
"Do you know where the humans are?"
"Not following."
"I know where some ogres are. That doesn't mean it's the ogres you're looking for," she said.
"How do you propose I find them?"
"I'd tell you that looking for ogres is a royally stupid idea, but I think that just gets you more interested. The obvious way to find them is to track 'em," she said. "Where did you last see them?"
"George Rosen's. Night before last."
"Before it started to snow?"
"Yes. I suppose their tracks are gone?"
"Maybe. I could get Rose to help. She's a decent tracker," she said.
The thought of seeing Rose after the succubus, Fannie, had utilize
d her form was a bit more than I wanted to deal with. "Maybe just you and me," I said. "I'd like to keep the group size down and not attract too much attention."
Amak sniffed the air. It was one of the things I didn't like about her. Her sense of smell was so acute that she could gather information I'd like not to share. No doubt I was transmitting my interest in Rose. Fortunately, she just smiled knowingly, her tusks breaking over her lips as she did.
"I'll drop you off at the house and be back in an hour with cold-weather gear. You have any snow shoes?"
"Why would I need those?"
"I'll bring some. And you might look up a new spell or two. Ogres don't mind fire," she said.
"So I learned. Any suggestions?"
She grinned. "Who knows what you can do. Just not fire."
"I can't just whip up a new spell in an hour," I complained.
We rode in silence as her Jeep crunched along the snowy street. She wasn't about to argue with me about what I could and couldn't do.
"Looks like you already have company," she said as we pulled down the long drive onto my property.
Even though we were in the middle of Leotown, the house I'd inherited sat on a large piece of land. Apparently, when originally purchased, it was well outside the city. Over time it had been swallowed by urban sprawl.
The Jeep's lights shone across three sets of taillights.
"I'll be back in an hour," she called as she let me out and pulled away.
I strode toward the house, mentally chastising myself for not clearing the snow from the walkway. I'd need to call Andy and see if he was up to running over and doing it for me. I was almost to the kitchen door when I heard rhythmic thumping in the snow behind me. Something was on a fast approach. I turned just in time to see a gray wolf leap.
"Scutum." I brought my shield up and braced for impact. There was a squeal of pain and the wolf careened off my buckler. Its shoulder smashed into one of the four-by-four posts that held up the roof over the walkway between house and garage. The wolf's impact caused the post to buckle.
"I believe Joe gave you orders to leave me alone, Daphne." I'd tangled with Daphne enough times in her wolf form to recognize her.
Unable to talk, she snarled as she pulled herself back to her feet and rounded in my direction. Whatever her original intention had been, I'd now drawn blood. I suspected her mind wasn't particularly on Joe's wishes.
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