“You’re an agent?” Shane squinted through his glasses, studying me then Lienna. “Both of you?”
I got that Lienna and I didn’t have that “stick up the ass” agent vibe, but we had just boarded an MPD-issue helicopter, which had picked us up from an MPD precinct for a secret MPD mission. We didn’t look that unagenty, did we? I even maintained some stubble on my twenty-two-year-old face to offset my big baby blue eyes and general youthfulness. It must not be giving me the badass agent mien I was aiming for.
If possible, Lienna was even more unexpected than I was. Bracelets, necklaces, earrings, hair beads, and more decked her out from head to toe, and she carried a satchel full of everything she couldn’t attach to her body. (Side note: She was also gorgeous. Way too gorgeous to be a stuffy MPD agent. And no, that wasn’t just my she’s-my-amazing-and-attractive-partner bias talking.)
She coolly offered her hand to Shane. “Agent Lienna Shen.”
Surprise washed over his face. Lienna, at the ripe old age of twenty-two, was already a minor legend in the mythic community. Be impressed, non-famous Muppet man.
“Your work on the Scarlet Killer case last year was very impressive,” she added. “My entire precinct followed along.”
Uh, what?
Shane nodded modestly. “It was a difficult one. I knew I had the right rogue, but I wasn’t sure we could make the tag. We almost lost him in the final hour. Di-mythics are tricky.”
“I think your only case that got more international attention was TelepathyGate. People talked about that one for months.”
Okay … maybe he wasn’t non-famous after all. Did that mean I was the only nobody in this helicopter? Who was the pilot? The Pope?
I tapped Lienna on the leg and scrunched my eyebrows meaningfully. Someone please fill in the commoner on how starstruck he should be.
“Shane’s a bounty hunter,” she revealed. “Well known, particularly among MPD employees.”
I looked from her to Shane and back, checking for signs of a prank in the making.
A bounty hunter. This guy? This tiny, leather-gloved Muppet with Harry Potter glasses and male pattern baldness? That defied everything I knew about bounty hunting and the tough-as-nails mythics who engaged in it. Almost without fail, they were gritty, vulgar, muscle-bound dickbags with bad attitudes and a penchant for breaking rules.
“What’s your class?” I blurted.
He stiffened, but I was too curious to care about decorum.
Lienna elbowed me in the side again. She, apparently, did care. Don’t tell me she was a bounty hunter groupie or something.
“What brings you out here?” she asked extra politely. “Is this homicide related to your current bounty?”
“Not precisely. I’m in town on a different matter, and Captain Blythe asked me to join the team to see if I could shed any light on this new case.”
“What is this case?” I jumped in. “What’s so special about this homicide that the MPD is flying us millionaire-style to the crime scene?”
Shane shrugged. “The captain didn’t provide any details.”
“You’re going after a Vancouver bounty?” Lienna asked, leaning forward eagerly. I suppressed a scowl. “I didn’t think we had any rogues big enough to merit your interest.”
The Muppet smiled mysteriously. “There are a few enticing options, but I have my eye on one in particular. What about you, Agent Shen? I believe you were stationed with the LA precinct before this?”
“I transferred here to fill a staffing gap.”
That was a neat way to sum up a long story that involved my dramatic arrest at LAX. I was selfishly relieved hadn’t shared that part.
“The Vancouver precinct is lucky to have you,” Shane said. “Good abjuration sorcerers are few and far between.”
My scowl deepened. Flattery now? If he tried to flirt with her, we’d all get to find out if bounty-hunting Muppet-men bounced.
Not that he was wrong. Lienna’s specialty earned automatic mega-respect. If Arcana were science, alchemy would be chemistry and sorcery would be physics. Or something. I don’t know. I’ve never taken physics. But you get the idea. Lienna was an Apollo-space-genius level of smart, and she could do a whole lot more than calculate how to light a fire under a man’s ass in the correct way to launch him into outer space.
Shane mentioned an LA agent he’d met a couple of years ago, and as they chatted about people I didn’t know, I looked out the water-streaked window. Snow-blanketed mountains swept by beneath us, wispy white clouds hanging around the peaks like cotton fluff, and a fresh wave of “hell yeah, this is so cool” lightened my gut.
I watched the fog-draped, toy-sized scenery pass until the pilot’s voice crackled through our headsets.
“Two minutes till arrival.”
Leaning into the window, I craned my neck to see where we were headed. The helicopter began a casual descent, dipping between rolling peaks. Snowy forests clung to rocky slopes all around us. Compared to the urban bustle of the city, it was ruggedly beautiful and welcomingly serene.
That all changed the moment the helicopter flew over a ridge, revealing a hidden valley. Without a doubt, this was our destination, and it wasn’t just a murder scene.
It was a goddamn apocalypse.
Part II
I stepped out of the helicopter, and my shoes crunched against the grass. Or what was left of it. The ground was scorched and crispy, and a whirlwind of ash and dust billowed around us as the helicopter lifted off again. I wished I was still inside it, flying right back home. This place wasn’t giving me any “cozy mountain retreat” feels.
Winter lay over the surrounding peaks, and beyond the valley, towering trees bowed under the weight of snow on their branches. But here, there was no snow. Only destruction.
Grass was far from the only victim. The trees had been reduced to skeletons, with bare, stubby branches, and the meadow was black. Charred posts, in neat rows, marked the former fence lines, and fire had consumed most of the buildings. I didn’t look too closely at the sad humps scattered across the field. A couple hundred yards down the hill were the remains of a large house, a single plume of gray smoke rising from one corner. Holes marred its walls and one side had crumpled inward, as though a giant had stepped on it. A gigantic giant.
I was starting to understand why the captain had called for backup on this one.
Shane wasted no time in marching toward the scorched house. Lienna cast a long, somber glance at me, then followed. I trailed after them through the desolation. As we drew nearer, I spotted four people gathered out front, talking. One of them peeled away and trudged up to meet us.
Captain Blythe was a sharp-eyed woman in her mid-forties, with blond hair that hung down to her chin and an aura that screamed, “Bullshit not welcome here.” Possibly the scariest lady I’d ever met, and she was the head honcho of our precinct and a powerful telekinetic.
“Agent Morris, Agent Shen, Mr. Davila,” she greeted in rapid succession. “Come with me. The body is this way.”
Blythe, as you might have gathered, was not one for small talk. Or first names.
“Late last night,” she began as she led us to the house, “local law enforcement received multiple reports of a forest fire in the area. As you would expect, a fire in early January was cause for surprise. Emergency responders were dispatched to this property, which they found engulfed in flames, although the fire hadn’t spread beyond the property’s borders.”
“That must have raised suspicions,” Shane remarked.
“It did,” Blythe confirmed. “By the time these reports reached us, the fire was out. We took over the scene as quickly as possible.”
We joined the waiting team. I recognized Nick, our precinct’s coroner, from past dead-body experiences. He was an older man who looked more or less like Santa Claus, minus the red outfit, but including the beard, belly, and dimples. His name wasn’t actually Nick, but until he corrected me, I’d keep calling him jolly ol’ Saint Nicholas.<
br />
The other two were strangers: a tall, stick-thin dude with a camera, and a young, gothic woman with dark hair, black eyeliner, and more than a few facial piercings. She held a funky set of potions in test tubes and shiny tweezers. Did I want to know the purpose of the tweezers?
I was so busy analyzing the team that I didn’t immediately notice the object of their attention—a blackened and distorted shape at the base of the porch steps. A heavy weight settled in my gut. That was a body. A very, very, very dead human body.
“Who is that?” I asked. “I mean, who was that?”
“We don’t have an ID yet,” Blythe answered brusquely. “Could be the owner of the property or an intruder.”
Lienna stepped closer to the body and knelt to get eye level with it. Not that there were eyes to get level with.
“Do we know anything about the victim?” she asked.
Nick consulted his clipboard. “Female. Mid-twenties. Average build. I’ll know more once we get her back to the city.”
Lienna wiped a finger through the soot near the remains, then skimmed the wreckage of the house. The fire’s residue wasn’t the normal shade of gray you’d see in your backyard firepit. It was all dark, deep, unforgiving obsidian.
“Black magic,” she murmured.
“It appears that way. Agent Goulding”—Blythe indicated the goth woman—“is our forensic alchemist, and she’s confirmed that there are signs of black magic present all over the property. Mr. Davila, what are your thoughts?”
The famous bounty hunter, hovering two long steps behind me, cleared his throat. “The location of the body suggests she was either entering or leaving the house. The level of destruction …”
He trailed off. Wow, insightful.
“While we finish here, spread out and search the property,” Blythe ordered me and Lienna. “I want every inch of this valley examined. I’ll call you when I’m ready for you.”
Lienna nodded purposefully, stepped around the body, and ventured into the crumbling house. I watched her vanish, then headed in the opposite direction. I needed fresh air before I gave the house a go.
Yeah, maybe other agents would call me a wuss, but I hadn’t been at this long enough to shrug off the charred remains of a young woman.
I wandered across the blackened grass, taking in my surroundings. The mountainous terrain, with its forested slopes and snow-capped peaks, provided a pleasant vista, if you could ignore the line of absolute desolation that cut through the trees and earth. At least the weather was nice—for early January.
After a few minutes ambling in random circles, I approached the ruins of another building—a barn, by the looks of it. Like the house, the framework remained intact but the rest was a mess. The door, twisted and split, lay askew at the entrance, forcing me to climb over it. The ashy crap that coated everything was inescapable, and I was grateful I’d worn mostly black today.
The barn’s interior was dark and I struggled to differentiate between soot and shadows. Once my eyes adjusted, the horror of the place came into focus. My gorge rose. I didn’t like seeing dead humans, but something about dead animals ripped at the heart—even more so when they’d been trapped inside a burning building with no hope of escape.
I turned away. How dark did your soul have to be to commit this sort of atrocity?
“Kit? You in there?”
Shit! I rushed toward the entrance but not fast enough. Lienna poked her head around the broken door, searching for me. With no time to warn her, and knowing her reaction to the equine bodies would be stronger than mine, I did the only thing I could:
I made them disappear.
Spotting me, Lienna scaled the mangled barn door with remarkable grace. She hastened to my side and peered cautiously into the nearest charred stall. “Anything in here?”
“Doesn’t look like it,” I answered.
She sighed with relief. “The animals must’ve escaped. Well, that’s one good thing, I guess.”
“Totally. Any luck inside the house?”
“I only took a glance around before I realized you hadn’t come in with me.”
Had she come to check on me? Aw. “Figured I’d start out here. Where did the Muppet go?”
“Who?”
“Shane,” I clarified. “Do you think he has a tall, skinny sidekick back at his lab who speaks exclusively in meeps?”
“He’s more of a lone wolf, Kit.”
“That was a Muppet joke.” Maybe I needed to switch up my material. Puppet-based humor could only be stretched so far.
“I know.” Another eye roll. “I’m telling you that Shane Davila doesn’t have a sidekick. He doesn’t even belong to a guild.”
“What? How’s that possible? Does Blythe know?”
“He’s so good at what he does that the MPD head office awarded him special status, giving him more freedom to take on big cases.”
“Like a mysterious countryside murder that reeks of dark magic?”
“It would seem so.”
Another voice echoed through the barn. “Agent Shen? Are you here?”
Speak of the devil. Shane climbed over the door, somehow achieving even more awkwardness than I had. Seriously, this guy was a famous bounty hunter with MPD-awarded special status? I didn’t get it.
Dusting his gloved hands off, he joined us. “Agent Shen, Captain Blythe would like your opinion on something.”
I’d bet my measly MPD paycheck that she hadn’t asked that nicely.
“On it,” Lienna replied quickly. And she was off, vaulting over the blocked exit with ease while we watched bemusedly. She disappeared outside, and the scorched barn seemed imperceptibly darker and colder without her presence.
Shane observed the dimly lit interior. “Tragic,” he remarked. “Why kill the horses?”
“I was wondering that myself.”
He tugged off a glove and placed his bare hand on the nearest stall. Ash crumbled beneath his fingers. He hurriedly donned his glove again and peered at me through his dorky round glasses. “What do you think happened here, Agent Morris?”
I almost replied with a flippant comeback about figuring it out himself, but the somber attentiveness in his question quashed my usual smartassery. Mouth thinning, I crossed the barn and scrambled over the door. Out in the chill wind, I let my gaze travel from the scorched fields to the crumpled house.
With a clatter, Shane stumbled to my side and straightened his jacket. He looked at me expectantly.
“You mentioned the level of destruction.” I waved a hand vaguely around the valley. “A dark arts practitioner squashing some poor, unprepared shmuck would’ve left one smoking crater and nothing more. What’s-her-face, the forensic alchemist, found signs of black magic all over the place. Does that mean this farm belongs to a black-magic user, and another one showed up for an apocalyptic showdown? Is this the result of a no-holds-barred battle?”
“That’s what Blythe thinks,” Shane murmured, not quite hiding his surprise that I actually had a brain. “Am I wrong to think you aren’t sold on that theory?”
My attention slid over to the house. “The woman died near the front porch …”
“And?”
“She was just … there, like she’d walked out the door to see what the ruckus was and got obliterated in an instant.” A shiver ran over me. “Where’s Lienna?”
He gestured across the field, and I squinted. The rest of the team was gathered around a random patch of burnt ground. They looked busy.
“I suspect you’re right,” Shane said unexpectedly. “I don’t think this was a dark arts showdown either.”
With a fussy little nod, he strode away. Curious, I followed him. Bypassing the dirt path that would’ve led us to the others, he headed to the house. The body was now zipped up in a black bag for transport. Shane moved around it and entered the charred threshold.
I hesitated, then stepped inside. The small vestibule faced a staircase to the second floor that looked moments away from collapsing. Sh
ane removed a glove, placed his hand on the crumbling railing, paused thoughtfully, then turned away from the stairs. I trailed after him into the kitchen, recognizable by the fire-damaged appliances. He scrutinized the room, then cautiously touched the fridge.
I waited again as he stood there, eyes glazed like he’d stubbed his toe and was desperately trying not to openly weep from the pain. Toe-stubbing was the worst.
Weirded out, I crunched past the island to the far end of the kitchen. Judging by the heaps of burnt and broken glass lying against the wall, there had been shelves here. I opened the nearest cupboard and found mostly intact plates. Lots of plates. Enough to serve dinner to Willy Wonka’s entire Oompa Loompa workforce.
“How many people lived here?” I muttered. “Or did this gal love entertaining?”
“Many people.”
I jumped at Shane’s sudden mutter.
He pulled his hand off the fridge. “Many people lived here, but I’m getting a read on only three long-term occupants. Two men and a woman.”
“You’re getting a what now?”
He tugged his glove back on. “I’m a psychometric.”
Cue the lightbulb above my head. “So you can read an object’s past by touching it?”
I’d bet that came in handy (pardon the pun) in the world of forensics. You want to know who shot this gun last? Get a psychometric to rub their magical paws on it and they’ll tell you. What better dude to invite to a mysterious crime scene?
“Is that why you wear the gloves?” I asked.
He nodded. “I don’t need to know every mouth that’s drunk from my mug.”
“What about every ass that’s sat on your toilet?”
He frowned. “My powers only extend to my hands.”
“You flush, don’t you?”
His frown deepened.
I shrugged. “What did you get from the fridge?”
“Kitchens are the heart of a home,” he replied cryptically. “I need to read more of the house.”
I followed him as he wandered through the wreckage. Some rooms were burnt beyond recognition, but we found two bedrooms with multiple bunk beds. Shane did his creepy touching thing while I moseyed around uselessly, my brain churning through the facts and a whole lot of nonsensical theorizing.
The Alchemist and an Amaretto: The Guild Codex: Spellbound / Five Page 23
