“I’ve a notion there’s more morgues than demolition companies in Kingston. Am I right, Kingstonpedia?” Jamie asked me with mock authority.
Staring at the ceiling briefly, I answered deadpan, “You are correct. There are sixteen demolition companies, three government owned, that I am aware of.”
“Sixteen places won’t take us long to get through,” Jamie mused as she set a timer and set it aside. “Penny, how about you and I tackle the demolition companies first? Aside from Drake, I have a better idea than anyone here how the car was detonated. I know what questions to ask. Gerring, I’ll have you meet up with the Kingsmen and coordinate the search through the morgues on the east end. Start there. We’ll divvy up the other section of Kingston in two days, assuming Penny and I are done by then.”
“I’ll send in a formal request for any charm-related deaths in the past six months from all of the relevant stations as well,” I volunteered. “If we submit it now, we might get an answer from at least some of them by the end of the week.”
Jamie regarded me doubtfully. “That sounds like wishful thinking.”
“I’ll sign it too,” Seaton threw in cheerfully, the smile on his face edging toward evil.
Nodding, she agreed blandly, “That will encourage them to speed things along, alright. Does that sound like a plan to everyone? Good. Then let’s eat.”
Somehow it ended up being just Sherard and I after dinner. He cradled a cup of coffee in his hand, looking tired but not as vexed as earlier. With me finally sitting down, Clint abandoned him utterly to curl up in my lap. Or I should say sprawl. He lay belly up, demanding rubs, and purring loud enough to start an earthquake.
Staring at us, Sherard commented over the rim of his cup, “He’s a truly remarkable creature. Although I’m not sure if he actually performs the function that Davenforth intended.”
“He does, actually,” I disagreed. “I know it might seem a strange idea to you, but the use of therapy animals is quite common on Earth. People started out using mainly dogs, but cats, horses, even chickens are used. Clint especially is excellent at it. It was very easy to train him on what I needed him to do. He’s an expert on waking me out of a nightmare, aren’t you, fuzzball?”
Clint flicked an ear at me, not deigning to reply when I had fingers massaging his belly.
“You still have the dreams, then?”
“Not as often,” I admitted freely. I knew that Sherard worried, as did Henri, so I didn’t mind being frank with them that I was getting better. “It used to be nightly, remember? Now it’s more like once or twice a month. When I do have them, Clint pulls me out pretty quickly.”
Sherard softened into an almost smile, visibly relaxing. “I’m glad to hear it. Gibs, Marshall, Evans, and some of the others were asking about you the other day. They haven’t seen you in the past two weeks, what with our duties pulling us all different directions. Gibs says he’s craving curry.”
I shook my head in amusement. “Of course he is. He and Henri are addicted to it, I swear. Well, maybe this weekend we can all get together for a curry night. I miss those rascals.”
“That sounds grand. They’re a mite worried, what with all the brouhaha coming up,” Sherard admitted with a general wave toward the outside world.
Meaning the anniversary of Belladonna’s death, the looks I kept getting from people, and all of that nonsense? I snorted in dark amusement. Yes, I could see why my Kingsmen friends would be worried about that. They knew how I felt about the attention. It didn’t compare to what I’d lived through those first few days out of the cave—I don’t think anything could compare to that—but at the same time, I didn’t appreciate the atmosphere now either. I get that people were stupidly relieved that Belladonna was gone. Truly, I understood that. I’d lived through her circle of hell after all. But the unwanted attention grated, to say the least.
To him, I only said, “It’s not as bad as last time. Usually people leave me alone if I glare at them. I think I have it more or less under control. I just have to put up with their enthusiasm for the next couple weeks, and that’s doable.”
Shrugging, he allowed, “As you say,” and went back to sipping his coffee. “But let us know if you need help, won’t you?”
“Of course,” I answered, and meant every word. I was not the type who thought I had to climb every mountain without help. I stood here today thanks to all of the help and support of the people in this world. I would not discount that, ever.
I greeted Penny at the evidence warehouse the next morning with a cup of hot coffee. She took it with a groan of thanks. Every strand of her dirty blonde hair was tucked into a demure bun, her uniform crisp, but it was clear she had not slept well the night before. “Bad night?”
“My walls are thin,” she explained to me, holding the cup under her nose and inhaling deeply, as if the fumes alone would revive her. “And my next-door neighbor had a bit of a domestic with his wife. I went over to tell him to knock it off, and he took a swing at me. Idiot apparently didn’t realize I’m a policewoman. I had to slap cuffs on him, haul him down to the station, and do the paperwork to throw him in jail. All the while, his wife wailing about how he is a good man, just drunk. Her with a bruise on her cheek, no less. I told her flat out, no good man gets drunk enough to hit his wife. Makes me mad, every time I hear a battered woman say that to me.”
Sympathetic, I patted her on the back. “Me too, Penny. Me too. I’m glad I picked up the extra coffee now.”
“Me too,” she whimpered in relief, then took another swallow. “So, what first?”
“Fingerprints. I’ve mentioned these before, right?” At her nod, I continued. “Believe it or not, even with an explosion like this, sometimes fingerprints can survive. If there was a heavy enough coating of blood, grease, or dirt on the hands, the print is strong enough to survive the blast. What we’re looking for, mostly around the motor area, is any signs of fingerprints. If we’re lucky, someone left one behind and we can match it up to our perp later.”
With a game shrug, she accepted the white gloves I handed to her, juggling the coffee cup to put them on, then we bent over either side of the car to take a close look. I let her have the magnifying glass, as I didn’t really need it. The fine charcoal brush in my hand worked better for obscure prints. The metal around the engine compartment was rough, jagged along the edges, and not comfortable to lean against. I borrowed a thick mat to soften the area and help keep my clothes from becoming a sooty streak.
A few times, she pointed out something hopefully, but when dusted, it didn’t turn out to be anything. We went all around the engine, the steering wheel, the lever on the inside that lifted the hood, all of it. No dice. Whoever had touched the car had either worn gloves (unlikely) or had had clean hands. Regular skin oil wasn’t sufficient to leave a trace in this situation.
“Well,” I sighed, slightly disappointed, “That’s that. No luck on this. Let’s put everything back up.”
“Sure,” Penny agreed, straightening with a groan. I mirrored it exactly. Leaning at the forty-five degree angle for an hour really did make the lower back protest. Removing her white gloves, she inquired of me, “What next?”
“Demolition companies,” I said decisively, locking the place down. I ran an eye over the area, then grunted in satisfaction when I saw nothing else that needed tidying. Signing on the clipboard, I continued, “Kingston Removal Company is literally down the street. I say we work our way outwards.” Henri had been a sweetheart the night before and marked every company he knew of on a map for me so that I could navigate to them easily today. There were days I could just kiss that man. Of all the things that I missed about Earth—and there was a mega-ton that I missed—GPS placed right up there at the top of the list. Fortunately, more times than not, my Kingstonpedia came through for me.
Pulling out into morning traffic took a certain amount of skill and timing, which I managed, although I came within inches of hitting another car that swerved into my side of the lane.
The installation of traffic lights in the city was slow going. I couldn’t wait until all of the streets had at least one. It would cut down on the madness some.
Kingston reminded me sometimes of New York in the 1900’s. I’d only seen photographs, of course, but still the resemblance stuck in my mind. It had the same cluttered feeling to it, with brownstones clustered wall-to-wall, streets just wide enough for cars to pass each other and sidewalks to exist. Metal balconies jutted out almost at every level, giving people the outdoor space to hang laundry, have cold boxes on their windows, or lean outside and have a smoke. It was a strange mix of cars, technology, and horses and buggies. Despite the clutter, people made an effort to keep the place clean. I could breathe without inhaling raw sewage.
The chatter of other people’s conversations and the honking of horns distracted me so that I didn’t realize at first that my companion sat very still at my side. Penny’s silence held weight, as if there was something she wanted to say or ask, but she couldn’t find the words. Or perhaps she wasn’t sure what my reaction would be. The traffic was heavy enough, the pedestrians bold in their crossing, that I didn’t dare take my eyes off the road long. Still, I dared a glance. “Just ask, Penny. I won’t take your head off.”
“No, I know that,” she responded, then paused as two idiots got into a honking war.
I paused in the middle of the intersection, flashed a badge, and pointed them sternly back to driving. Sullenly, they both did. Idiots. The ego of people just drove me straight up the wall some days.
Waiting until we were in motion again, Penny offered, “I’m just not sure how to ask. You mention sometimes that you’re from a different country. And what you cook, the things you say...all of that says clearly you’re not from here. But I don’t know of anyone else like you either. Where are you really from, Jamie?”
I’d expected this question sooner or later. Perhaps it was the anniversary, and all of the articles that talked about me that drove her curiosity higher. I assumed my seniority had kept Penny from asking it sooner. I took it as a sign of comfortableness from her that she could ask the question now. Still, I hesitated. What I said next could completely change her view of me, and while I didn’t mind if people knew, I was selective in who I told for that reason. Feeling a knot of nerves clench in my chest, I dared to glance at her from the corner of my eye, evaluating. I thought Penny the type to ride the surprise. At least, she had enough common sense and an even keeled personality that I didn’t think she’d be weird about it. “I’m not from this world at all.”
Startled, she jerked in her seat, head whipping toward me. “What?!”
Her reaction amused me. People’s shocked reactions never failed to tickle my funny bone. It helped combat the nerves. “Belladonna grabbed multiple people from all over the universe. It was completely haphazard on her part. I’m from a planet called Earth.”
She went stiff as a statue, staring at me blankly. If I’d announced that I was a wererabbit in disguise, she could not have been more astounded. It took several seconds before her mouth moved, and even then, she struggled to form actual words instead of sounds. “B-but you look like us…”
“On a cell level, I’m a little different, but very similar to everyone on this planet, yeah. Fortunately. Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to exist here—breathe, Penny. Deep breaths. I’m an alien, but a nice alien.”
Startled laughter poured out of her mouth and she croaked, “You are that.”
She needed a minute. For that matter, I needed a minute. She was taking it rather well, actually. People had responded worse. If she could laugh about it, I gave it good odds that she wouldn’t have a freak out later. I gave us both that minute, just driving, which was a challenge enough in and of itself. Were early drivers on Earth like this? No wonder they kept crashing Model T’s, if that was the case. I swear half of these drivers could fit right into the set of Keystone Cops.
“Dr. Davenforth knows,” Penny blurted out. “And RM Seaton.”
“Yes to both.” I found it interesting that was the first thing she said. “Sherard because he’s constantly re-aligning my magical core. Belladonna did a number on it. Henri I actually told when we first partnered up together. I don’t really make a secret of it, where I’m from. I’m just selective of who I tell. Henri’s more cautious about it than I am.”
Her blue eyes regarded me thoughtfully. “He is highly protective of you. I’ve noticed that before.”
“He is,” I agreed. I didn’t mind it, as I understood the cause, and Henri really did have cause to worry about magical mishaps. But I knew that he trusted me to protect him too. That balanced the scales, kept our friendship even. There’d been many a time that I blessed Captain Gregson for partnering me with Henri. If I had to live out the rest of my life on another planet, at least I had excellent friends around me to pass the days with.
“I’ll keep it quiet too.” Penny gave a firm nod, pleased with her own decision. “I think it will just cause you trouble if everyone knew.”
“Likely so.” Penny McSparrin really was a good friend. I was glad to have another girlfriend I could pal around with, too.
“What do you miss? What’s different?” she asked, half-turning in the seat to face me comfortably.
“Oh wow, how to answer that? I miss cats. Clint’s the closest version you have here, but cats on Earth are many shades, and purple isn’t one of them. I miss strawberries like you wouldn’t believe—small, juicy red fruit. Very sweet. I miss a lot of my world’s inventions, things that entertained or made life easier. My friend Ellie is literally making them as fast as she can, and I give her ideas often, but there’s still such a technological gap between our cultures. She’s struggling to invent even the basics to build upon.” All of that was practical. My voice softened as I admitted, “I miss home. Family, friends, colleagues. There’s no way for me to even get a message out to them, to assure them that I’m alright. That, I think, is the hardest part.”
Penny leaned in for a moment and gave me a hug around the shoulders, which I appreciated. Reminders of home left me feeling emotionally raw even on the best of days. I hated that I couldn’t call home, couldn’t reassure my family that I was alive and well. They had to be worried. I certainly would be, in their shoes. I was an FBI agent, for heaven’s sake, I knew they’d been braced for me getting hurt or killed in the line of duty, but straight disappearance? That wasn’t something anyone would have expected.
“The anniversary of you killing Belladonna is coming up,” Penny said thoughtfully, “and I bet that doesn’t help, that reminder.”
“It doesn’t, but I have a plan of sorts. Ignore it as much as possible and eat mass quantities of chocolate.”
Snorting, she relaxed back into her seat. “That sounds like a grand plan to me. Will it be Dr. Davenforth’s chocolate stash you raid?”
“Among other places.” I winked at her, pleased when she snickered. “He just makes it so easy. If he wanted to keep me out of his stash, he should change his hiding places.”
“Perhaps he’s resigned,” she suggested archly. “It’s not like changing his hiding spots will do him any good.”
I shrugged because that was basically the truth of it.
We arrived at that point and I pulled up in front of the building, hugging the curb and throwing the car into park. Kingston roads were thankfully wide enough to allow this maneuver. At least, in most of the city. Some places, not so much. The building looked like a standard office, no more than one story, red brick in good condition and a white washed door standing open in the summer heat. We climbed out and headed inside, the interior barely any cooler than the outside. Air conditioning. Why can’t air conditioning spread faster? I gave Ellie the rundown on it, dangit.
The inside was barely more than a foyer with a desk. I saw signs of a hallway stretching out toward the back, and I could smell the gunpowder clearly, so I assumed they actually made their own explosives and such. A very young man that might be eighteen popp
ed up from behind the desk and greeted, “Hello, Officers. Can I help you?”
“I hope so,” I answered, stopping right in front of the desk. I could tell from the expression on his face he thought I looked familiar, but couldn’t place me. I do bless people’s poor facial recognition sometimes. “I’m Detective Edwards, this is Officer McSparrin. Is your boss around?”
“He is, Detective. One moment.” He scurried toward the hallway and disappeared for a few moments.
Penny leaned in to whisper, “What’s our tack here?”
“We’re friendly and concerned,” I whispered back. “They’re not in trouble. Good cop, good cop routine.”
“Got it.”
A werebadger with gunpowder streaks on his hands and a rounded belly stepped quickly into view. His whiskers quivered with alarm, but he kept a smile on his face as he offered a paw. “I’m Reynolds, owner of Kingston Removal Company.”
“Detective Edwards, and this is Officer McSparrin,” I introduced again patiently. His eyes flared wide, alarmed, and I knew that he at least recognized me. I followed up with something I hoped would settle him. “Master Reynolds, first let me assure you that you and your company are not in trouble. We’re just trying to track down a lead and hope you can help us.”
As I’d expected, he calmed right down hearing that. People always did. “Yes, of course. What can I do to help?”
“You heard of the car that exploded yesterday morning?”
“I did,” he confirmed with a short bob of the head. “Terrible business.”
“That was actually caused by a stick of dynamite,” I informed him. You had to give a little info in cases like this to get anything.
His dark round eyes flared wide. “No! I was just saying to my powder monkeys yesterday that I wondered if it had been dynamite. The epicenter of the explosion, you understand, it made me think of it.”
“You weren’t wrong,” Penny pitched in. “Our demolitions expert confirmed it was dynamite.”
Charms and Death and Explosions Page 7
