Blood And Stone: A Novel in The Atalante Chronicles

by Nicholas W King

“I really should change that,” I said. “Sounds so grim.” Looking directly at her, I said, “I’m a wizard. You’re cops. He and I have worked together on a case before. That’s it.”

  “Do you think I’m an idiot?” Blackwell asked incredulously.

  “That’s not the first idea you inspire,” I answered. The look I received would have made Queen Victoria proud. If you don’t understand, ask a smart friend.

  Before Blackwell could respond, I raised my chin in the direction of the cops by the mailbox. “Issues?”

  “Jurisdictional pissing contest,” Marks replied waving dismissively at them. “There have been four bodies like this found in Plant City.”

  I whistled. “Five corpses total.”

  “You work a murder case before?” asked Deputy Blackwell.

  I started walking across the road. “Yes. My dad was a cop. Of sorts.”

  “Of sorts?”

  “Wizard police. They’re called Sentinels.”

  Blackwell looked to her superior, who flashed a wordless command at her with his eyes. She followed me while he headed back over to the Plant City cops.

  “Your dad ever work murders?” she asked.

  I swallowed, remembering some of the scenes I’d been taken to. “Yes. Made sure I was taught anatomy, how to view a scene, everything you do.”

  “Only with... magic?”

  I nodded. “Magic makes things easier. And more complicated.”

  “How’s that?”

  I stopped when we reached the ditch five feet from the road. The body of a young woman was laying there. Flies gathered around her.

  Her chest had been opened up and her head was missing.

  My mouth went dry. Those chicken strips threatened to make a return appearance.

  “I thought this wasn’t your first scene,” said Blackwell.

  I looked at her. A smirk was growing at the corner of her mouth. “I wasn’t prepared for this,” I said.

  “Sergeant wants you to take a look, tell him what you think.”

  I made my way closer to the body. The dead woman had been wearing a short black dress, but there was barely enough left of it to qualify. Her flesh was ghostly pale in places where the blood hadn’t dried. Cradling my cane in my armpit, I reached into my satchel and pulled out a pair of clear rubber gloves. After putting them on, I laid my cane on the grass away from the body. I knelt down next to her torso.

  “Sorry, lady,” I whispered to the body.

  Her body had been sliced open from labia to collarbone. The ribs had been spread. Her heart, liver, and reproductive system was missing, ripped out. I could see ligature marks on the lower part of what remained of her neck. A circular bruise ringed the stump.

  “Step away from the body, asshole,” said a voice.

  I looked up to see a dark blonde bear of a man striding toward me. He was practically vibrating with anger. He wore a charcoal gray suit with matching tie. A badge hung from the breast pocket of his suit jacket. I couldn’t get a good look at it but it was a different design from those issued by the sheriff’s office. His sky-blue eyes bored through me. He looked ready to spit.

  Lester appeared right behind him, catching up with each stride. “My crime scene, my consultant,” he said. “Back off.”

  Choosing to ignore the imminent pissing contest, I returned to examining the young woman. Looking at her hands again, I noticed a tattoo on her right wrist. I smudged away some of the blood to reveal the image of three nails pointing toward her palm. The center nail ran the length of her veins, while the other two came down at slight angles, forming a “W” shape.

  “Who the hell is he?” asked the blonde cop.

  “Nicodemus Atalante,” I answered without looking up. My attention shifted to the abdominal cavity. There was too much damage to see what was going on there. The county’s medical examiner would be able to discern more once her body found its way to the slab. Shifting around as gently as I could, I took another look at her neck. The decapitation had been done with the same lack of precision. It looked like her head had been ripped free, not cut off.

  I took my gloves off and balled them together inside out. As I rose, I grabbed my cane. I assumed the same willfully defiant stance I had used earlier with Deputy Blackwell. She noticed this and smiled.

  “I’ve heard of you. Some kinda psychic,” the blonde cop said. He rolled his eyes. To Marks, he said, “You brought a con man to a crime scene?”

  Before Marks could respond, I cleared my throat. Keeping my voice cheerfully annoying, I said, “Wizard. Although I do fortune-telling as a side job. There’s a few psychics I could recommend. One’ll tap a vein if you let her, though.”

  “Smartass,” said the blonde.

  “At least tell me your name before the insults start,” I said with a smile. “Then we can make them more personal.”

  “Detective Bart Majester, Plant City CIS,” he said, puffing his chest out. Bart was in his early 30s, I guessed his heavy-set build was halfway between Marks and mine. The way he carried himself told me he knew how to throw down and walk away from the fight. Using his left hand, he pointed at me. I noticed a metal bracelet clasped just above his watch.

  “I thought I had the market sewed up on old-school names,” I said, maintaining my cloying smile. “Detective, I was asked to be here. Sergeant Marks and I have worked together before.”

  “What’re you going to do? Cast a spell at me?” Majester asked. He feigned a concerned look, which drew some chuckles from his compatriots from Plant City PD.

  I placed a hand over my heart in an equally mocking gesture. “I wouldn’t threaten an officer of the law with magical violence,” I said. “There are rules about that kind of thing.”

  Detective Majester scoffed and turned to Marks. “Get this freak out of here.”

  Marks looked at me and I shrugged. “I’m done anyways. Walk me back to my Jeep?”

  “Need a police escort?” asked Majester.

  “Only to protect me from assholes,” I said.

  Majester responded with a middle finger.

  Lester and Deputy Blackwell both walked away while Bart and his CIS buddies went to their unmarked cars. I noticed they were separated from the HCSO vehicles by a good thirty feet. My smile became less sweet. I channeled some of the ambient energy and slid it into my cane, bringing the sigils to light. As I followed my deputy friends, I made it to the cement road. I stamped my cane down, muttering, “Aspera.”

  The spell was grander than I had intended. The pavement around the tires of the Plant City police cars shifted and reformed, jutting upward in a dozen and a half cylindrical spikes. They punctured the tires facing the road in multiple locations. A few even managed to jam their way into the undercarriage of the vehicles. The violent expulsion of pressurized air sounded like gunshots. All the cops, even Blackwell and Marks, hit the deck and drew their service weapons. I kept walking to my Jeep.

  When it was apparent they weren’t under assault, they began searching for the cause of the explosions. Majester and three other CIS detectives started shouting and cursing. The Plant City detective gave me wrathful glare, but he made no move to follow me.

  Marks looked at the chaos, bewildered, before turning to stare at me. I shrugged.

  “How’d you do that?” asked Deputy Blackwell.

  “I know nothing,” I replied. But I couldn’t keep my face straight.

  “You just damaged police property,” said Marks, his tone a mixture of bemusement and reproach.

  I glanced back at the cars. The cops around them were jabbering on cellphones with fervor. “If I were the responsible party, and I’m not admitting I am, I would say that sometimes a thumb in the eye is necessary to remind those in authority that they aren’t all-powerful.”

  Marks shook his head, trying to hide a smile.

  “Why are they fighting you on jurisdiction?” I asked, leaning back against the hood of my Jeep.

  After scanning over my vehicle, Blackwell noticed the r
ecently repaired door. It didn’t take a trained eye to see that a large dent had been pounded back into place.

  “What happened there?” she asked.

  “Pregnant gargoyle. We had a disagreement,” I said. Turning my attention back to Lester, I asked, “Why are they giving you grief?”

  Pointing at the road turning left off of MLK, Marks answered, “Midwood Drive. On the other side of that is where the Plant City zip codes start and where their jurisdiction begins. Her head was found on their side.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Do you know anything about the other bodies?”

  Lester shook his head. “I’ll put in the requisition back at the office to get access to their case files.” His expression became less amused. “What did you see?”

  “Heart, liver, and reproductive organs are all associated with blood and life. Could be a few different things.”

  “Like what?” asked Lester. He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Cannibalism, organ trafficking. Those are the mundane possibilities.” My mouth dried up. “The other stuff...you want no part of.”

  “What other stuff?” asked Blackwell.

  “Ritual magic. Organs become representations of magical principles, fueling a spell.” I paused for a dry swallow. “Or it could be vampires.”

  Blackwell started to protest but Marks waved her off. “Vamps?” he said. “Didn’t think they got out to these parts.”

  I chuckled, but there was no mirth to it. “Can you think of a better place to dump a body after draining it?” I put my satchel in the cab. “Nothing’s for sure, right now. Let me do some research.”

  “So, we could be looking at a serial killer?” asked Blackwell. She squinted as she tried to read my response.

  “More than likely.” I put my cane in Jeep. “I’ll see what I can scare up on my side of the fence.” To Lester I said, “You good for my fee?”

  Marks nodded. “Fifteen hundred for the first day. Half that every day after. I remember.”

  I got into my car. The engine rumbled to life, loud at first before evening out.

  “One condition, Nico,” said Marks as he came to the window. “Deputy Blackwell accompanies you.”

  I started to object, but the glare Lester gave me left no room for protest.

  “Sheriff’s orders.” He gave me a shrug. “He doesn’t mind spending the money if we close cases. He just wants to make sure there’s no blowback. Someone from the office makes things more official.”

  “I hate babysitters, Lester,” I said, making sure my anger was clear. “Especially ones that know dick about my side of the world.”

  “I’ve been on patrol for four years,” Blackwell put in. “Had my share of dustups. I can handle myself.” She set her shoulders. Her body language challenged me to make a wiseass comment.

  Letting out a slow breath, I reached into my satchel and pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. I wrote down my number and address, ripped a sheet out and motioned for Blackwell to take it. “What’s your first name?”

  “Angela.”

  “Wear something practical. No uniforms. Be there after sundown. Call ahead.”

  Blackwell nodded and pocketed my note. As she walked away, Marks looked at me. “Nico. Break her in slowly, please.”

  “You did pretty well with the crash course,” I said with a grin.

  “She’ll get there.”

  “I’ll call you if I find anything.”

  Lester knocked his fist against the door and walked away. I drove off, my heart hammering in my chest.

  Chapter 3

  When I got back to my building, I found a curious sight waiting for me at the front gate. A familiar teenage boy sat on the pavement, hiding in the shade. He had a large duffel bag that looked ready to burst. His jeans were tattered and his t-shirt had a faded Final Fantasy logo on it. His shoulders were hunched. When my car pulled up, he quickly stood up and off to the side.

  I rolled down my window. “James,” I said, puzzled. “What’re you doing here?”

  “Mr. Atalante?” he asked. His voice had just started to break. “Can I come in?”

  This was not turning out to be my day. “Open the gate and let me drive in. Close the gate behind you,” I told him. James dutifully ran off and did as I instructed. By the time I had parked behind my building, he came running up after me, his duffel bag bouncing heavily against his side. He turned and started walking to the door.

  “Stop,” I said, grabbing my bag and cane. “You won’t like the reaction you get.”

  Now it was James’ turn to look puzzled. When I reached the door, I waved a hand over it, whispering, “Discedere.”

  The magical energy, bound around the building in defensive sigils, dissipated. James looked up and around, searching for something that he couldn’t see with the naked eye. I walked in first and kept the door open for him. He hesitated for a few seconds before entering.

  Twitch rolled his head without turning the rest of his body, still stretched out on the recliner. He meowed softly. After the teenager entered the office, I began setting my things down and remembered the door was still open. I shut it and continued taking off my enchanted items.

  James took his time scanning my office. His eyes were practically bulging out of the sockets at the collection of occult books I’d gathered over the years. His gaze stopped on the large crow snoozing on its perch. Before he could speak, I raised a finger to my lips.

  James continued looking over the oddities in my office. When he saw the stuffed alligator hanging over my desk, he pointed at it with a questioning expression. I smiled and pointed to the living room, following him out.

  “Take a seat,” I said once we were clear of my office. He sat down on the couch.

  Twitch appeared and made his meandering way over to James. He leapt onto the teenager’s lap, which James took as a sign to start petting. All his questions tumbled out. “What’s his name?” he said. “What’s with the bird? And why do you have a stuffed alligator hanging in your office?”

  “Twitch. The bird is a long story. The alligator is a joke from a book series I’ve read. What’re you doing here?”

  James swallowed hard. “You do magic, right? Like what you did for me last night?”

  I blew out a breath and looked at the clock. It was past noon. “I’m gonna need a drink for this. You want something?”

  “Soda. Please.”

  On returning from the kitchen I handed him a can of Mountain Dew. Twitch remained on James’ lap, mewling irritably when the teenager took his hand away to open the can. I had a glass of vodka on ice, filled about half way. After taking a seat in my recliner, I took a few sips before beginning.

  “Your mom know you’re here?” I said.

  “Got up this morning and left. I left a note. Had a friend pick me up.”

  “How’d you find me?”

  “Google. You’re listed on a half dozen websites in forums on the occult.”

  That caused an eyebrow to rise. “Really? And what do these forums say?” I said.

  “That you help people with problems.”

  I sipped my vodka, savoring the warmth as I swallowed. “It’s more complicated than that. I don’t work for free.”

  James eyed me warily. “But you can do magic. Can’t you just create money?”

  I laughed out loud. It sounded harsher than I’d intended. “If only that were true. Magic is not some slot machine, kid. To create an effect, you have to use what already exists. Ever hear the term transmutation?”

  James shook his head.

  “Changing one thing to another. To do so, you need the constituent materials. I could make money, with the right ingredients. But I wouldn’t know how to match the sequential numbers or the tech that’s in money nowadays.”

  My guest stared at me, scratching Twitch thoughtfully as he worked out my explanation. If Twitch liked him, the kid couldn’t be all that bad. I decided to give him the time to figure it out.

  “So magic is
——”

  “Based on a universal principle. Energy simply changes form. It can’t be created or destroyed.” I took another sip of my drink.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Magic is simple, kid,” I said. “Think of magic like electricity. A wizard or witch is the plug. All the other stuff, the words, geometric designs, foci, even your own body, that’s the power cord. The lightbulb is the spell.”

  The vacant look on James’ face told me he wasn’t picking up what I was putting down. “How much energy can you control?” he asked.

  “Depends on the person,” I said. “Training the mind and body help. Practicing magic helps.”

  “What happens if you use too much energy?”

  “What happens to a light bulb after a power surge?”

  “It burns out.”

  “Worse,” I said. “Ever hear of Hiroshima?”

  His blank expression made me sigh and take another sip of vodka. “You should be at home,” I said. “Last night would traumatize anyone, let alone a teenager.”

  “I’m not a kid. I can do things.”

  I snorted as derisively as I could. “Like summoning spirits from Sideways? Spirits you’ve got no business talking to? Those kinds of things?”

  All James could do was stare at the floor.

  “You’re coming into your power, James,” I said. “With that comes mistakes. Big ones. Possibly life-altering ones.” I placed my glass in my recliner’s cup holder and leaned forward. “You summoned an incubus, kid. Spirits like that understand two things: desire and power. Lucky for you, Malcolm got started on the exorcism before the possession could complete.”

  James looked up and asked, “What if he hadn’t? What would’ve happened?”

  “For starters,” I said, “you’d have become a prisoner in your own body. You’d get to watch as the incubus took over, used your body to feed its appetites. Probably would’ve started with the first female you saw.” I stayed quiet, letting that last part sink in considering the teenager’s living arrangement. “And it wouldn’t take ‘No’ for an answer.”

  James, looking demoralized, didn’t say anything in response. He hunched his shoulders and sank back into the couch. Tears welled up in his eyes. Point to me for making a kid cry. I felt a sharp twist in my chest that I drowned with the last of my vodka.