Changeling Hunter

by Frank Hurt

  Ember was four years old when she took a tumble down a flight of stairs. Even with a Fifth-Level Healer as a mother, she had spent weeks recovering from a broken arm. The memory burned into her mind as her earliest trauma. The experience, in turn, manifested itself in what clinicians called bathmophobia—the fear of steep slopes or stairs. Initially paralyzed by the fear, Ember forced herself to overcome the worst of the phobia, so at least now as an adult, it didn’t control her like it once did.

  The basement was chilly and smelled faintly of mildew. Incandescent bulbs cracked to life when Heath toggled the switch at the bottom of the stairs. The cement floor bore long, jagged cracks, within which black crickets chirped their songs. Rooms were partitioned with exposed studs. A bathroom was plumbed in and surrounded by sheetrock awaiting its plaster. Against an exterior wall, a picnic table served as the station for a desktop computer and large, beige-encased CRT monitor.

  Heath leaned down and tapped the keyboard to bring the computer out of hibernation. “It’s an old PC I just use now for file storage and for running the webcam.” He pointed at a thin, black cord which ran from the back of the computer tower and up to the wall, disappearing into the floor joists above.

  Jackie kept her arms crossed, as though she was afraid she might actually touch something—or that something might touch her. She surveyed the basement, tapping her manicured fingernails against her elbows. “Are you remodeling?”

  “It was unfinished when we bought the house last year,” Heath spoke to the curved computer screen as he navigated the operating system with a mouse. “We were going to turn it into a family room, maybe a playroom for the rug rats. We were planning to have kids someday.” His voice faded and he shook his head.

  He located the video file and double-clicked on it. Heath looked away from the screen, got up and shuffled to the wooden stairs. “I’ll be in the living room. I can’t watch it again. Just eject the CD when it’s done playing. Just take it.”

  The grainy image showed the front door and driveway. The camera was mounted beneath the roof eaves, and the resolution was poor. Several minutes passed until a tall, thin man wearing coveralls and a baseball cap appeared. The angle of the camera wouldn’t show his face, though the lines along his temples suggested he was wearing glasses. He rang the doorbell, and Tara answered. The man went inside and several minutes later the garage door opened. The man exited, walking off camera toward the street. Shortly after, a white cargo van backed into the driveway.

  When the man next appeared, he was carrying a roll of duct tape in one hand.

  “Dang,” Jackie whispered. She said that again when the man emerged from the garage, strenuously dragging a loosely rolled-up rug. The rug was bound with duct tape in four places, to contain what was trapped inside. He struggled to get it into the back of his van. Something fell out of the rug when he loaded it, landing on the concrete driveway.

  Duncan used the mouse to pause the video player. “What is that?”

  All three Investigators peered at the screen. Jackie identified it as a shoe, and the playback resumed.

  The kidnapper noticed the object, picked it up, and tossed it into the back of the van before slamming the doors shut. He looked around, went inside and closed the garage door. He exited out a side door, looked around again, then got in the van and drove off.

  “He wore gloves the whole time,” Ember said. “And not once did he look up at the camera. He knew it was there.”

  “Or he just got lucky,” Duncan shrugged. He touched the ejection button on the computer. The tray rolled out and he claimed the disc.

  Back upstairs, the three Investigators found Heath staring at his wedding photo. He had taken it off the wall and was sitting on the couch, his elbows on his knees as he studied the picture. When he looked up, his cheeks were streaked with tears. “Did you find anything useful?”

  “We’ll take it back to the office and study the footage some more.” Duncan handed the disc to Jackie. “But at this time, it’s too soon to say.”

  The Senior Investigator squatted next to the coffee table. He unscrewed the caps from all three vials, then poured a portion of the two samples together into the empty jar. He twisted the plastic caps back on and picked up the vial containing the combined solution.

  Even before Duncan began shaking the jar, the solution’s color started turning bright lemon. Upon agitation, the mixture glowed with the intensity reminiscent of one of the incandescent bulbs illuminating the Bennett’s basement.

  Heath’s whole body shook. He held his head in his hands as he sobbed uncontrollably. Jackie sat down next to him and placed a palm on his back.

  Duncan’s gruff voice was hushed when he said, “we’re very sorry for your loss, Mr. Bennett. You may come down to the embassy later if you wish to see Tara’s body.” He pulled out a business card and dropped it on the table, next to Cooper’s.

  Ember collected the three vials. Two were room temperature, while the glowing jar felt like a hardboiled egg plucked from boiling water. She placed the kit in a briefcase. Before she followed Duncan out, she said, “I’m so very sorry, Heath. We’ll get the man who did this.”

  Outside, Duncan glared at her. “There you go again, Wright. Giving him false hope.”

  She said nothing. Ember opened a rear door of the car they rode together in from the embassy, sliding the briefcase on the floorboard.

  “I’ve got to make a call to the Viceroy.” Duncan pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the chest pocket opposite his notepad. “He’ll need to know that the missing woman all over the news is Druwish.”

  Jackie exited the house a minute later. “That poor man. He really is a wreck. I told him he needs to call his family, to ask someone to come over. He shouldn’t be by himself right now.”

  “We need to alert the changeling population.” Ember chewed on her lower lip. “The whole colony, really.”

  Duncan’s lighter flicked to life, its flame lapping at the end of his cigarette. He took a long drag and pushed the smoke out his nostrils. “What are you going on about, Wright?”

  “Someone is targeting changelings, Duncan. Evan and Brandon, now Tara. Don’t you think it would be wise to let people know?” Ember asked.

  “Now hold on there. We don’t know that changelings are being targeted. There’s nothing connecting the killing of those two boys with Tara Bennett. Hell, there’s nothing even saying that the man who kidnapped Mrs. Bennett even knew she was a changeling.”

  “How can you say that, Duncan? He shot her—in coyote form!”

  “We don’t know that. You’re jumping to conclusions, Wright. It could just as easily be that she escaped her kidnapper, shifted into coyote form to run home. She may have run too close to a residence or a farmer. It could be that someone completely unrelated to this situation just…unwittingly shot a coyote.” The tip of his cigarette glowed cherry as he inhaled.

  “Are you serious?” Ember glared at him. “How could you think this is anything but a serial killer?”

  “A serial killer?” Duncan plucked the cigarette from his mouth and tossed it on the sidewalk. “Now you’re really making absurd assumptions, Wright.”

  “Am I? Think about it: this man knew who lived here. He knew where the camera was positioned. From what Heath told us, he probably knew their routine, too. The guy stole a van and uniform—”

  “Let me just stop you there,” Duncan growled as he showed her his palm. “Nobody’s arguing that this kidnapping wasn’t premeditated. Clearly, it was. But to draw a connection to the murders of Mr. Davies and Mr. Albret—”

  “If I’m right, don’t you think it would be wise to warn people?”

  “If you’re wrong, then we create a panic over nothing, and the whole Department of Investigation looks like it’s run by clowns. That’s the last thing we need.” Duncan shook his head. “No, I’m going to alert the Viceroy of Tara Bennett’s kidnapping and death, but I’m not going to be suggesting that this has anything to do with those two m
urders.”

  “Duncan, just let me—”

  “Dammit, Wright. What you’re suggesting is just a theory, and it remains a theory until proven otherwise. You will keep this theory to yourself until and unless it’s shown to be fact. Now that’s an order.”

  23

  Wasn’t a Pleasant Chin Wag

  She rapped her knuckles on his office door. “You wanted to see me, Duncan?”

  “Close the door behind you, Wright.” The man crossed his arms and fixed his olive drab eyes on her. The springs in his chair squeaked when he leaned back. “Have a seat.”

  Ember stepped past the threshold and shut the door behind her. “Right. So, what did you want to talk about?”

  “Have a seat, Wright,” he repeated. Duncan’s rough voice lacked warmth. “Guess who I just got off the phone with?”

  She chose a stiff chair against the wall, next to the door. “As much as I love guessing games, Duncan, I can’t begin to imagine. Judging by the sour face, I’d wager it wasn’t a pleasant chin wag.”

  “It was Roth.”

  “The Viceroy? And…I’m guessing somehow this has something to do with me?”

  “Do you remember what we all agreed to? What we talked about?”

  “We talked about a lot of things, Duncan. Over the past two days, Jackie and I have been following leads, talking to whole boatloads of people.” I don’t like where this conversation is headed.

  “Allow me to remind you, then.” Duncan ran his tongue along the bottom edge of his incisors. He cleared his throat and leaned forward, his arms still crossed. “We agreed that you were going to work the Tara Bennett case and not start rumors around your pet theory.”

  “My pet theory?” Ember squinted at her supervisor. “You mean the fact that we’re dealing with a bloody serial killer, Duncan?”

  “It’s a theory until we have evidence to prove otherwise, Wright. Furthermore, we agreed that we were going to keep that theory internal.”

  “I’m sorry, Duncan, but we didn’t agree to anything. You gave me an order, as I recall, but there was no agreement from me.”

  He uncrossed his arms. His hands were curled into fists, and a vein became visible along the left temple of the man’s crew-cut hairline. “Now you’re just cherry-picking the orders you want to follow? What’s your problem?”

  “What’s my problem? What’s yours, Duncan? You’re so worried about causing a stir. You say we need to prove that this is a serial killer before we go out on a limb and warn the changeling community that someone is targeting them. You’re more concerned about public image than public safety.”

  His face grew crimson as his voice turned heated. “There’s protocol to consider. Procedure—”

  “Bollocks. The only way to prove my so-called theory to allow the psycho to find new victims. To kill another changeling. Don’t you give a damn, Duncan?”

  “How dare you?” The Senior Investigator slammed both fists on his desk, hard enough to make a yellow mechanical pencil bounce off the surface and clatter onto the tile floor. “Of course, I care. I’ve been an Investigator for 150 years, Wright. You’re, what, 34? Well, I’ve been a Senior Investigator for three times as long as you’ve even been alive! I’ve learned in that time that it doesn’t do anybody any good if we create a panic. I’ve also learned to follow orders. That’s something you clearly haven’t been taught.”

  “Until now, I’ve never found a reason to disobey one.”

  “I know you think you’re hot shit. Yeah, you freed me from Higginbotham’s clutches. That…Deference Spell, as you called it. I won’t pretend to understand how you did it, either. Livingston thinks the world of you, but from where I stand, I see a cocky young woman with an oversized ego.”

  Wallace Livingston. The one all the other Investigators referred to as The Legend. Ember’s former partner had an idea of what she was capable of. He helped cultivate her skills, encouraged her, listened to her. In the twelve years they worked together, they had developed a mutual respect. They butted heads from time to time, but Wallace was never dismissive of her. Duncan and Wallace may be of the same generation and even the same Mage Level, but they are nowhere near the same caliber. There’s a reason Wallace is seated on the Druw High Council while his friend here is still a mid-level career bureaucrat.

  Duncan’s chair protested as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on the edge of his desk. “Who all have you told this theory of yours to?”

  “My friends, mostly.” She thought of the Schmitt family. Along with them, Ember had talked to the Mandaree Incident scouts—the changelings staying out at Ronald and Muriel’s farm. She told Debra Morgan, among other changelings she considered to be her friends. “I’m sorry, what does this have to do with the Viceroy?”

  “Roth was accosted by a sugar glider changeling this morning. He said she was frantic, barely could understand what she was babbling about.” Duncan shook his head. “She demanded to know what he was going to do about the so-called Changeling Hunter that’s terrorizing the community.”

  The Third Floor receptionist, Joy, had reacted strongly to Ember’s warning. When she tried to reassure the young woman that there was no cause for panic, Joy became even more anxious. Her animal subform was agitated, but Ember thought she had calmed her down. In hindsight, she should have known better. Ember chewed on her bottom lip and tried to appear apologetic. “Joy confronted the Viceroy?”

  “She did. And what’s worse, Roth had no idea what she was talking about.”

  Ember frowned. “You didn’t share my theory with him, Duncan?”

  “We agreed we were going to keep the theory internal until we could find evidence—”

  “You figured that ‘internal’ doesn’t even include the Viceroy? Your own boss?” She shook her head. “I’m sorry Duncan, but that dodgy decision is on you.”

  He glowered at her. “I outta throw you off this case. Hell, I should just suspend you, Wright.”

  Ember leaned forward. “Suspend me? Seriously? What’s stopping you, Duncan?”

  “When Roth called me, I told him exactly whose cockamamie theory this…this Changeling Hunter theory belonged to. I told him it’s from a visiting rookie Associate Investigator who would be going back to England just as soon as she finished her census audit.”

  “So, you threw me under the bus.”

  “No, I told him the truth: that this theory belonged to you, Wright, and that I strongly disagreed with it.”

  “Brilliant. So, then, what, I’m expected to just pack my bags now? Book a flight home, pretend all this is just going to go away on its own, yeah?” Ember stood up and glared at him. “I can’t turn my back on these people, Duncan. I won’t. If he tries sending me home, I’ll tender my resignation. I’ll—”

  “He’s instructed me to pursue the Changeling Hunter angle—”

  “Don’t think I’ll go quietly, either. I’ll…wait…he…what?”

  Duncan inhaled slowly. “We’re to consider the possibility that Tara Bennett’s death was, in fact, an intentional murder, and to investigate any possible connections with the murders of Evan Davies and Brandon Albret.

  “Oh.”

  “And he’s ordered the Department of Information to raise your security clearance. To grant you access to all personnel files. You and Roberts are to cross-reference any work history, family connections—anything which might hint at a common individual or individuals, Druw or otherwise.”

  Ember considered his statement. “Well that’s…that’s a smart starting point.”

  “In all the years I’ve been an Investigator, I’ve come across a lot of zealots and ideologues. Every one of them proved to be major irritants, even at times outright obstacles to the bureaucratic process. But you, Wright, you are quickly becoming the biggest pain in my ass.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “That wasn’t a compliment, Wright.”

  “I know.”

  He growled, “get out of my office.”

 
She spent the rest of the day working with Jackie. They brainstormed in Jackie’s office, composing a list of queries to check against the expansive Magic City Colony database. The scarlet-maned Associate Investigator proved resourceful, despite insisting that Ember perform all of the actual typing. The letters on Jackie’s computer keyboard were all worn off—a byproduct of its owner’s long fingernails.

  “It’s almost 5:30, Wright,” Jackie whined. “I’ve got a date picking me up at six and I still have to get home and change clothes. Can’t we continue this tomorrow?”

  “Of course. But I’m going to stay on this as late as I can tonight.” Ember kept her gaze focused on the rows of data.

  “Oh, come on already! Aren’t you tired of staring at the dang screen yet?”

  “Not yet, no. I’ll probably keep doing this until late.” Ember crossed another dead-end query off the ruled legal pad. “We’ve still got three more pages of these to go through, Jackie.”

  “But I’ve got a date! Didn’t you hear me?”

  “Go on ahead. I’ll shut down your computer when I’m done.”

  Jackie “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine.” Ember combed her fingers through her hair as she scanned the notepad. “I just want to get through this list. If we find any common connection, it might lead to a clue.”

  “You really think this could be a serial killer? I mean, we haven’t found anything connecting them yet, other than the fact they’re all changelings.” Jackie slung a zebra-print purse over her shoulder and peered at Ember.

  “I do, yes. And just because we haven’t found anything common to them yet, doesn’t mean we won’t.”

  “You’re like a dog with a bone, girl.” Jackie glanced at the wall clock. “Alright, I’m outta here. I’m gonna have to make him wait as it is. Not that I mind making a guy wait for me. See you tomorrow.”