Changeling Hunter

by Frank Hurt

  As a rule, ghosts generally couldn’t interact with the physical world beyond mere annoyances. With enough motivation, an angry apparition could knock over furniture or blow out light bulbs. When Ember had incurred the wrath of Barnaby Harrison, he caused a windstorm to swell up around her. His was a particularly powerful spirit, and she had made him particularly angry.

  She was grateful these three spirits were not half as powerful as her ghostly mentor. Still, there wasn’t any profit in testing their limits. She gingerly stepped away from the ledge and feigned indifference. “Right. So how about this offer then: answer my questions and I’ll make sure your loved ones find your remains.”

  Matt glared at her with vacant eye sockets. The two birds were silent until eventually, the buzzard hissed.

  “Good idea,” Matt answered, then looked back at Ember. “Josh thinks you should tell our families first, then we’ll answer your fuckin’ questions.”

  She began to shake her head but stopped midway as an idea materialized. She crossed her arms and eyed the turkey vulture. “You’re a tough negotiator, Josh. There’s nothing to stop you from reneging on our deal if I hold up my end first. But…fine. Okay, I’ll tell your family where they can find your bodies, then you can answer my questions. What are your parents’ names?”

  The buzzard barely had its beak open when the crow cawed “cunt!” loudly, five times in a row.

  “Hey, bitch!” Matt shouted at her. “Doug’s right; you’ve been wanting our last names every fuckin’ time ya wake us up to talk. Ya probably wanna do some fuckin’ magic Malvern hex shit on us and ya need our names to do it.”

  Bloody hell. I was so close.

  Ember pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head as she fed them a half-truth. “I’m sorry that you don’t trust me, but that’s not the case. I just want to try bringing closure to all this, and I need your names for that. I’m an Investigator, remember? I simply want to uphold justice.”

  “Cunt!”

  Even in the bright sunlight, she could see Matt’s transparent hands curl into fists. “You can start by killing yourself, ya fuckin’ bitch!”

  “Alright, alright!” Ember held up her hands. “I’ll leave you blokes alone if that’s what you want. Just answer one question and you’ll never see me again. I just need to know who it was that assigned you to follow me. Who are the two individuals Josh and Doug referred to as Mister B and the Cook?”

  It happened so quickly, Ember barely had time to react. It started with sand breaking free from the ravine’s edge, trickling down to add to the pile of overburden atop the grave. That trickle grew into a landslide of gravel and sod. She jumped out of the way before she would be buried, only to see a rotted fence post vibrate loose and harpoon past her head.

  She dropped to her hands and knees and began crawling up the steep bank. Ember reached for a twisted iron bed frame, intending on using it as a ladder to shimmy up. A thick Coke bottle crashed into the iron, raining chunks of splintered glass over her. Her fight-or-flight response was at full throttle by that point, and she used the adrenaline to pull herself up and over the edge of the pit.

  Debris continued to pelt her backside as she covered her face and fled the ravine as fast as her legs could carry her. She was fifty feet away from the landfill before the sandstorm subsided.

  Ember felt grit between her teeth and shards of glass in her hair. She spat as she looked back at the maelstrom she had inspired. Bloody hell, that could’ve gone better.

  7

  Just Need a Better Teacher

  Detective Cooper Severson stood with his feet planted shoulder-width apart. His flexed his fingers, which pointed at the floor near his waist. In one fluid motion, the man slipped the pistol from his belt holster and brought it up to eye level as his left hand joined in wrapping securely around the grip. His sights aligned at the silhouette 10 yards away, he tapped the trigger 16 times in rapid succession.

  A line of lead flew downrange, punching through the center rings of the paper target, with a shot grouping of mere inches.

  The man ejected the magazine and set the pistol down on the flat surface in front of him. He flicked the control switch to his right and the target carrier buzzed obediently down the track system to the firing line where he stood within the indoor range.

  Cooper was grinning when he turned to Ember. “That’s what years of practice can do.” He had to speak loudly, as they both wore hearing protection.

  She pushed her borrowed wrap-around ballistic glasses up with a finger, as they kept insisting on sliding down her nose. Her quest of becoming better prepared for personal defense motivated her to reach out to her friend for an education. When she had called Cooper about firearms instruction, he expressed an eagerness to take her to the gun range. Growing up as a girl in a fairly upper-class family in England, Ember had never shot a firearm before. “This is a little intimidating, Coop.”

  “It’s a Smith and Wesson M&P40,” Cooper explained as he picked the pistol up and handed it to her. He began loading new cartridges into the magazine as she gingerly held it in her hands. “First rule of firearm safety is to always assume the gun is loaded. This one’s not, but you should treat it as if it was. Second rule is to never point your gun at anything you’re not willing to destroy. So, don’t wave it around and sweep the other people in here.”

  Ember nodded as she tried to take it all in. She kept her eyes focused on the black polymer-and-steel handgun. “Anything else?”

  “Yeah, keep your finger off the trigger until you’re on target. That’ll keep you from shooting yourself in the foot. And finally, before you pull the trigger, be aware of what’s behind your target. In a real-world situation, if you miss, your bullet could hit an innocent bystander or go through a window.” He pulled the ventilated target off the carrier and pinned a fresh one back on. He flipped the control switch on for a couple seconds, stopping when the target was just five yards down the track.

  She was having second thoughts, and handed the gun back to him, careful to keep the muzzle pointed at the floor. Cooper took the gun from her, slid the magazine into the grip with an audible snap, then pulled the slide back.

  He gestured at her to step forward. He spoke loudly, but even so, she stared attentively, wary that she would miss a critical detail. Cooper pointed at the small, black lever behind the trigger. “Okay, now there’s a round in the chamber. It’s loaded and ready to shoot. The safety is on, but still treat it as if it wasn’t.”

  “I…I’m not sure I’m really ready,” Ember bit her lip and looked at the target and then at the gun still in his hand. She tried to hide the nervousness of her muffled voice.

  “I’ll be right here, behind you. Take your time. We’ll have you pull the trigger just once, then take your finger off of it, okay?” He placed the weapon in her hand and stepped aside.

  The semiautomatic pistol was appreciably heavier with a full magazine of lead, brass, and gunpowder. She held the grip in her hands as he instructed, spaced her feet apart, and lined the gun up to the target. She felt his hand behind her right shoulder and his breath on her cheek.

  “It’s gonna have a little kick to it, so don’t be alarmed. I’ll help you out this first time.”

  Brilliant. Now I’m really tense! With her thumb, she flipped the safety down. She tried to relax and aligned the rear and forward sights so they intersected. She squeezed the trigger and blinked as the round shot out of the barrel at 1,100 feet per second.

  Her first shot completely missed the target.

  “It’s okay, that’s alright. We’re learning.” Cooper held her forearm for the second shot, stabilizing the two-pound weight she gripped with both hands.

  One shot at a time, Ember eventually was able to hit the target, though her accuracy was disappointing. Her wrist hurt from the recoil and she had a tendency of blinking right before she took a shot. She shook her head and chewed her lip after each attempt she made. “It’s not as easy as they make it look on TV, is it?
”

  “It’s a skill like any other,” Cooper sounded upbeat. “Keep hanging out with me, you’ll get better.”

  “I’ve got a long way to go before I’ll get as good as you at this. Right now, your gun is deadlier in my hands as a bludgeon.”

  Cooper took the .40 caliber pistol from her and slid it back into his belt holster. “Here, try my backup.” He squatted to the floor and pulled up his left pant leg. Velcro ripped loose, and a silver revolver appeared in his hand. “This is a .38 Special. It’s a weaker round, but more compact. Smaller frame for smaller hands like yours. And it’s a revolver, so it’s simpler, more reliable. It won’t jam like a semiautomatic can. Here, see how it feels.”

  One side of the snub-nose revolver was warmer than the other from riding next to the detective’s ankle. Tiny particles of white cotton sock fuzz clung with static electricity against the stainless steel frame. The black rubber grip panel was much smaller than the .40 caliber, and it did fit better in her hands.

  He shouted his explanation as someone farther down the firing line of the 12-lane indoor range shot at their own target. “This one holds just five rounds, and they are smaller, too. It’s a double-action, which means that the cylinder will turn to line up a new round with the barrel each time you pull the trigger.”

  She moved her thumb to the small lever above the grip, which she took to be the gun’s safety. As the latch responded, the revolver’s cylinder swung out to the left.

  He chortled, “that’s the cylinder release. There’s no safety on this. Sorry, I should have warned you.”

  “Bloody hell, there’s no safety?” Ember laid the revolver on the tabletop and glared at him. “When were you planning on telling me, after I shot my face off?”

  “Oh, down girl.” Cooper laughed. He swung the cylinder back into place with a flick of his wrist. “Try again.”

  She grumbled but picked up the snub-nose revolver, lined up the short barrel, and fired off a round. She shot all five times, pausing between each attempt to aim. If Ember was improving, she sure couldn’t tell.

  The hour burned by quickly, and though the act of firing the handguns became slightly less intimidating, Ember was frustrated with her lack of skill. She would need to spend a lot more time at the range, it seemed. When they were in the parking lot approaching Cooper’s pickup, she paraphrased a line from her all-time favorite movie. “I’m not your huckleberry.”

  Cooper glanced at her as he reached for his keys. “You’re what?”

  “Oh, it’s just…a line from a movie.”

  “Oh, you mean ‘Tombstone?’ Now those guys knew how to shoot. That was a seriously bad ass film.”

  She grinned at him. “Seriously bad ass, yeah.”

  The Minot Rifle and Pistol Club was located just west of Minot proper. As he drove them back to town via Highway 2, they passed a sign that advertised “Souris Valley Golf Course.”

  “Okay, I’ve got another question for you, Mister Magic City.”

  He snapped his fingers once, then slapped his forehead. “I knew I was forgetting something.”

  “Right, now you’ve lost me.”

  “I still haven’t found anything on your long-dead relative. Billy Colton? I’ve done searches for variations of his name, too: Bill, William. There are no death certificates available in the United States. I mean, there are deceased men with that name, but none who lived in Minot at the turn of the century.”

  Ember frowned. “I’d actually forgotten that you were looking that up for me. What does it mean that there’s no death certificate?”

  “Oh, probably nothing too mysterious; most likely, he either moved out of the country before his death or else the paperwork was simply lost.” Cooper flipped the signal light and turned off the highway. “That was a long time ago, after all.”

  She thought of the ghost of Barnaby Harrison, and how he had identified Billy Colton as the name of his murderer 112 years ago. Ember was hoping that tracking down the gravesite of Mister Colton would give her a chance to interrogate the spirit. If she could at least tell Barnaby why his one-time friend chose to push him to his death, that might give the aggravated apparition fewer reasons to be so difficult with her.

  “It’s never easy, is it?” Ember combed her fingers through her hair. “Thanks for trying, Coop. Actually, what I was going to ask you was why is the river that runs through Minot called ‘Mouse’ by some people, and ‘Souris’ by others?”

  “A river with an identity crisis, right?” Cooper flashed a grin. “Souris means ‘mouse’ in French. French fur trappers were the first Europeans to discover the river, and that’s what they named it. The river starts and ends in Canada, just looping through our state on its way. A lot of locals prefer calling it by its English name. But ‘Souris’ kind of sounds a lot cooler than ‘Mouse,’ so you’ll see a lot of businesses around town call themselves that.”

  “Coop, you’re a regular tour guide, aren’t you?”

  “I told you, I’m proud of my town. Got time for a drink?”

  “Oh, that’s tempting, but I have to stop by work yet tonight before it gets late.”

  “Want me to drop you off there? Magic City Spa downtown, right?”

  “That would be brilliant, Coop.”

  “I’ve never been to a spa before,” he admitted. Cooper turned the pickup into a parking space on First Street. “Mind if I walk you in?”

  Josette was in the lobby, talking to Ami, the mocha-skinned receptionist. A blue-and-silver motorcycle helmet rested in the crook of her leather jacket-clad arm. When she noticed Ember, Josette waved, though just ten feet of carpeted floor separated them. “Ember! I was just on my way out. Oh, who is this?”

  “Josette, this is my friend, Coop. We’ve just come back from the range. He’s trying to teach me how to handle a gun.” Ember sighed, “emphasis on the word ‘trying.’ I’m really very terrible.”

  “I’ll go with you sometime after work. Maybe you just need a better teacher.” Josette shifted her helmet to the other arm and smiled as she shook his hand. “Josette Hanson. I’m the spa manager. Did you teach our friend good hold control and trigger discipline?”

  The man blinked once as he gripped her hand. “You shoot?”

  “I have a conceal carry license, yep. My nine-millimeter is always within reach.”

  “And you ride?”

  “You betcha! Whenever the weather allows it. My girl is a Harley Softtail Deluxe.”

  “No kidding?” Cooper laughed. “I’ve got a 2000 FXD Super Glide.”

  “I have a feeling we could be friends. That is if you ever decide to let go of my hand.”

  Another three seconds passed before Cooper released his grip, then his neck and cheeks flushed red. “I uh…sorry about that.” He nodded at Ember and then glanced back at Josette. Whatever he saw in her espresso eyes made him blush even harder. “So…um…I’m gonna take off. Catch up with you later. Nice meeting you, Josette.”

  The detective marched out the door and down the sidewalk as though he was late for a meeting. Ember exchanged a smirk with Ami, and then they both looked at Josette.

  She was watching the man walk away while a simper grew on her face. “I’m not sure, dear, but I think I might’ve just scared your friend off.”

  8

  Shovel Duty

  This side of the supernatural, there wasn’t much that Ember despised more than pointless workplace meetings. Paperwork and reports weren’t glamorous, but she knew that came with the job, and since reports usually accompanied field work, she felt they were necessary burdens. But staff meetings, those were another beast entirely.

  Her supervisor, Senior Investigator Duncan Heywood, apparently adored staff meetings. He insisted on starting every day with one, even though there were only three full-time Associate Investigators employed at the Magic City Embassy, plus Ember’s temporary, part-time presence while she performed an audit on the colony’s census.

  It had been just under two weeks since Embe
r lifted the Deference Spell from Duncan. The whole reason her former partner, Wallace Livingston, had sent her from Malvern Hills in England to Minot, North Dakota was to check on his longtime friend. When she discovered that Duncan was being influenced by the local Director of Wellness using unfamiliar dark magic, Ember began to uncover a much broader cover-up of historic proportions. Overnight, her simple welfare checking mission had ignited the fuse to a powder keg.

  You’d think saving him from Higginbotham’s evil clutches could get me excused from having to attend these meetings.

  Ember leaned back in the chair she selected at the corner of the conference table—the one closest to the exit. Just two other Associate Investigators waited with her; Neal Page was on vacation this week. Roseanne Nelson with her spiked hair and beady eyes sat at one end of the table, sipping coffee noisily while she flicked her finger at the screen of her smartphone. The scarlet-maned Jackie Roberts was two seats down, appearing to be only partially awake.

  Both wore a shadowy sheen over their auras, that only Ember could see. The Deference Spell clung to them, making it look as though they were living in a constant fog. Which they are.

  She wanted to lift the Deference Spell from Roseanne, Jackie, and Neal. With the entire Department of Investigation freed from Higginbotham’s hold, they could work together to root out the corruption among the Viceroyalty. After freeing Duncan from the spell, she told him of her plan, but he advised against it. He pointed out that it was already risky for the two of them to pull off the charade of pretending to still be under Higginbotham’s influence. He evidently didn’t trust the acting skills of the other three Investigators. Ember reluctantly agreed to wait on freeing them, though doing so bothered her sense of righteousness.