Changeling Hunter

by Frank Hurt

  “Have fun,” Ember muttered. She was already typing the next query into the search box.

  It took another hour and a half to complete the list of queries the two Investigators had brainstormed. There were a couple of possible connections, but nothing solid. Ember paced Jackie’s office in frustration. She thought aloud, “what are we missing?”

  She stared at the wrinkled paper, the scrawled handwriting. The computer monitor hummed softly, its glow competing with the evening light to illuminate the room. Ember glanced out the window, noticing an evening storm front moving in. It would be getting dark soon, and she would be walking home in the rain if she didn’t leave now.

  Ember leaned over the desk, moving the mouse cursor to log off of the embassy’s database system so she could shut down the computer. The black arrow hovered over the “X” in the corner of the screen.

  Instead of clicking the window closed, she brought its focus to the search field. Her fingers found the unlabeled home row and began typing:

  Incident at Mandaree

  An error message popped up. The red letters read:

  ACCESS RESTRICTED: PERMISSION DENIED

  Ember frowned at the screen. Bloody hell. Even Jackie’s access is blocked.

  She had been granted full access to the personnel files, Duncan had said. Ember suspected that wouldn’t include old case files such as the Mandaree Incident, but she hoped Jackie’s account had access. It seemed Higginbotham and whoever he was working with in the Department of Information had made sure to close that loophole.

  Still, if I have access to all personnel files…

  She typed a new query into the database:

  Changeling +Crow +Matt

  A row of results popped onto the screen. She felt jubilant; if she could figure out which of these was the file for the body buried in Alarik’s garbage pit, she would be able to force him to give her information. She could find out who they were working for, who the cook and Mr. B. were supposed to be.

  Ember grabbed a pen and flipped the legal pad to a fresh page. Then she heard it: someone was running down the hall, toward Jackie’s office. Toward her.

  She dropped the pen, reached for the mouse, bringing the cursor to the corner of the screen. She clicked the window closed, just as the heavy footsteps skidded around the corner.

  “Wright? What the hell are you doing in here?”

  Ember spun around to see Duncan clutching the door jamb. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were wide. “Oh, hey, Duncan. Jackie and I were just working the case. She had a date to go to, so I—”

  “Log off. Now.” His gaze flitted to the screen.

  “I just did. I was just shutting down, in fact. What’s wrong?”

  “You just can’t help yourself, can you?” He stepped over to the workstation and studied the screen. “You’re damn lucky I was still in the office, Wright. I received an alert that a search attempt was made for a file marked ‘special restriction’ for this IP address—for this computer. I should be able to preempt an inquiry by the Department of Information if I call them up right away and let them know it was a…a typo or something.”

  Duncan powered down Jackie’s computer. As the shutdown screen flickered its farewell, the room dimmed. In the dark, Ember couldn’t see her supervisor’s face. She didn’t need to see his expression to realize his warning was borne not of anger, but of fear.

  24

  Guns Love to be Hugged and Held

  The difference between a successful student and a frustrated one can often be attributed to the instructor.

  The training style between Cooper and Josette couldn’t have been more different. Where Cooper opted to head straight for the gun range, Josette started with classroom instruction. He preferred to demonstrate, then simply handed the firearm over to his student for trial-and-error. She placed an emphasis on understanding the benefits of creating good habits.

  Ember couldn’t help but draw a parallel to the differences between Duncan and Wallace. Each were capable Investigators in their own right, but Wallace was far more compatible with the way she operated.

  Josette adjusted a set of earmuffs on her head. “Okay, now what are the four safety rules?”

  “Treat all guns like they are loaded,” Ember said. She knew she was talking louder than normal, just to hear her own muffled voice. “Never point your gun at anything you’re not willing to destroy. Keep your finger off the trigger until you’re on target.”

  “Mhmm. And Fourth?”

  “Know what’s behind your target.”

  “Very good! Give me a high-five.” Josette held a palm above and in front of her.

  Ember grinned and slapped the hand. “Now we get to head into the range?”

  “You betcha. Now we head in. Remember to keep your eyes and ears covered at all times in there.”

  “I hope I can do better than I did with Coop. With the week I’ve been having, I could use a little victory.”

  Josette picked up her backpack. “I always find that going to the range is the perfect thing to do when I’m feeling overwhelmed.”

  “I suppose shooting a gun is a good way to let off steam, yeah?”

  “It is, but that’s not what I mean. I mean that when you’re at the range, you have to focus. You’re holding a deadly weapon, so you can’t afford to be distracted. Whatever is going on with work, your personal life, all of that has to be set aside. When you’re handling a gun, you have to be aware of your surroundings, and hyper-focused on what’s in front of you.” Josette pointed at Ember as she shared her philosophy. “As you just said, ‘anything you point your gun at, you have to be willing to destroy.’ There’s no room for all that background noise when you have that kind of responsibility in your hands.”

  Ember let the snippet of wisdom sink in before she followed the curly-haired woman into the range.

  Half of the dozen lanes at the Minot Rifle and Pistol Club were in use, all by men. Despite soundproofing material coating the walls and ceiling of the range, the report of handguns would have been deafening without hearing protection. Josette led her student to an open lane. She sat her backpack on a counter along the wall, unzipping the front panel to reveal its contents. She arranged a short stack of paper targets, four loaded magazines, two boxes of 9mm cartridges, and finally the handgun itself.

  Josette ejected the magazine, racked the slide back, and held the black polymer frame in both hands. “This is what I carry. It’s a Glock 26. It shoots nine-millimeter rounds. It’s not pretty, but it’s reliable, and that’s all I care about.”

  Ember nodded once and accepted the unloaded pistol.

  “Okay, now step up to the line. Show me how you hold it.” Josette’s espresso eyes watched carefully as her student gripped the firearm. “No, what you’re doing is called ‘teacupping’ where you have one hand below the other. They do that on TV all the time and it drives me nuts. Everything comes down to hold control. I like to say that guns love to be hugged and held.”

  “Hugged and held,” Ember repeated as she breathed in deeply. The range smelled of gunpowder and testosterone.

  “You betcha. See, wrap your left hand over the right, but keep both thumbs on the left side. See? There you go. Good. Now line up your sights, keep those wrists locked, feet shoulder-width apart. Lean forward slightly, nose over your toes. Good job!”

  Josette walked back to the counter and returned with a loaded magazine. “Now when you’re loading the magazine into your semi-automatic, that’s when she likes it rough. You have to put it in with a purpose. Keep your finger off the trigger, and snap it in.”

  Ember did as instructed. “She likes it rough when she’s being loaded, but wants to be hugged and held when I’m aiming.”

  “Yeah, you betcha! See, you’re getting this,” Josette grinned. “Okay, now you’re ready to chamber a round and take aim at the target. I’ll be right over your shoulder. Just shoot when you’re ready.”

  The student sent several shots downrange, adjusti
ng as her instructor suggested. A series of holes appeared on the paper target, though none were close to the center. A second magazine was inserted, and more shots were fired, with the grouping high and to the left. Ember felt her frustration grow.

  “Set her down. Muzzle facing the target.” Josette’s brow was furrowed. “I want you to try something for me. Facing the target, hold your hands out in front of you, arms extended. Now, form a triangle with your fingers, centered on the target. Got it centered?”

  “Yes.” Ember chewed on her lower lip. “Why am I doing this?”

  “Most people are right-handed, and most right-handed people have a dominant right eye. I think you might be special though.” Josette stood next to her. “So, close your right eye. Did the bull’s eye move?”

  “No, it’s still in the middle.”

  “Okay, now open your eye, then close the left eye.”

  “It shifted a little,” Ember said.

  “Bingo. You’re cross dominant.”

  Ember continued blinking one eye and then the other. “Does this mean I’m a lost cause?”

  Josette chuckled. “No, it just means you have to adjust.

  “What do I need to do?”

  “You have options. You could just close your left eye, but then you’d be half-blind and lose your stereo vision. You could try to get used to carrying and drawing with your left hand, but that will probably feel uncomfortable. You could also just turn your head to the right, so your left eye is pointed at the sights.” Josette held her hands up and turned her head to the side to demonstrate.

  “That seems awkward,” Ember said.

  “It might be. Plus, you’re creating a blind spot to your left. So the easiest fix is to just keep your head pointed forward, but tilt your head slightly to the right to bring your left eye in alignment with your sights. Go ahead and try that.”

  She did, and the next several shots landed within the target’s rings, just off center. “Brilliant! I did it!”

  Josette grinned wide. “Brilliant!”

  “That’s amazing!” Ember mirrored the grin. “How do you know how to do all this?”

  The Half-Druw woman shrugged. “I’m a farm girl, and I’ve got brothers and a dad who are into shooting sports. I had to keep up. Ready for another magazine?”

  Ember fed one cartridge after another through the Glock. She found a comfortable rhythm and learned that once her first shot landed, she generally could adjust and deliver the rest of the rounds in a tight pattern.

  “You’ve got good consistency, girlfriend.” Josette set up another high-five. “We’ve only got one magazine left, so we have to call it quits here. I never like to carry empty. Always leave something just in case.”

  “Sounds prudent.” Ember ejected the magazine and handed the gun back to her instructor.

  “Nuh-uh.” Josette shook her head. “You’re forgetting the round in the chamber.”

  “Bloody hell,” Ember scolded herself. She pulled the slide back and palmed the short cartridge that popped out.

  “Better. Now, time to clean up after ourselves. I’ll pack while you grab that broom and dustpan from the corner. Sweep up this brass and dump it into the barrel in the corner.”

  The student obeyed her instructor. She began chasing spent casing around the cement floor. “What do they do with all this? Is it recyclable?”

  Josette nodded. “You betcha. Brass can be reloaded.”

  They exited the range and stopped to remove the personal protective gear. Ember handed the glasses and earmuffs to her instructor as new arrivals to the range walked through the front door. The man was unfamiliar to her, but the heavily tattooed woman sparked a memory.

  “Jolene?” Ember guessed.

  “Oh, Ember, right?” The tough-looking woman was carrying a padded bag, which she shifted to her left hand so she could offer a handshake. “This is my husband, Steve. I don’t think you got to meet him at the party?”

  Ember shook the woman’s hand, then the man’s. “I don’t believe so, no. Nice to meet you. I’m Ember, and this is my friend, Josette.”

  “Some of us from work meet up for supper each Thursday and then come here to practice. Coop’s here, too.” Jolene hooked a thumb toward the parking lot. “He’s still getting his shit together.”

  Josette’s expression turned impish. “If we’re waiting for Coop to get his shit together, we might be here a while.”

  Steve snorted. “Oh, that’s good. I like her, honey.”

  Cooper did a double-take when he saw Ember and Josette approach him in the parking lot. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Mhmm, so says the stalker,” Josette quipped. “Following me again, I see, Detective.”

  Cooper smiled. “You just missed Sven and Jolene.”

  “No, we chatted with them.” Ember squinted at Cooper. “But he said his name was Steve.”

  “It is. Steve Swenson. But I like to call him ‘Sven’ because it annoys him. How’ve you been?”

  “Fantastic,” Ember said. “Josette was just instructing me.”

  “She’s a natural.” Josette glanced at her student, then back at Cooper. “Of course, it helps having the right teacher.”

  The man raised an eyebrow, his smile widening. “Was that a burn? ‘Cause I feel like that might have been a burn.”

  While her friends exchanged friendly barbs, Ember’s mind wandered to the Tara Bennett case. Here was her friend, the NonDruw detective assigned to find a kidnapped changeling woman who was instead laying dead in a morgue, in coyote form. He’s searching for a missing woman who he will never find because she no longer exists.

  She could well imagine the stress he was living with, the responsibilities he bore. Ember could empathize, but she could never tell him that. Just as she could not tell him that he would never be able to find Tara Bennett. The whole damn thing is bloody cruel.

  A few minutes later, Cooper went inside the building to join his other friends.

  “You should ask him out,” Ember said.

  “What? Who, Coop?” Josette chuckled. She glanced back at the doors the man had just walked through. “You think?”

  “Sure, why not? You should ask him. Right now. You’d make his day.”

  “Nah, I can’t. Maybe another time.” Ember’s friend shook her head. “We should get going. It’s almost dark and I’ve gotta swing by the office yet tonight to go over the work schedule. The Amies requested concurrent vacation time at the end of the month.”

  Ember blinked. “Amies?”

  Josette unlocked her car and tossed the gear bag in. “Yep. You know, the lobby receptionists? They’re planning on going to Burning Man this year. Crazy kids.”

  “Woah, woah, woah.” Ember held up her hand. “You’re talking in plurals here. Amies?”

  “You betcha,” Josette said. Her eyebrows raised and her eyes widened. “Oh my god. Nobody ever told you?”

  “About Ami?”

  “Amies. Plural. Amelee and Amelia. They’re twins. They insist on both being called ‘Ami’ though they spell it A-M-E-E and A-M-I.” Josette laughed. “I am so sorry, I forgot to tell you about them.”

  “Twins?” Ember stared at Josette. “You mean to tell me this whole time—"

  “Yep.”

  “Whenever I talked to Ami about something and the next day she swore we hadn’t talked—”

  “Yep. Twins.”

  Ember slapped her forehead. “And this weekend, when I went into the embassy from the alley, I spoke with one of them—”

  “You were there at shift change? Oh my god, then you went inside and saw the other twin?” Josette laughed louder.

  “It’s not funny! I thought I was losing my bloody mind!”

  “It’s…it’s kinda funny!” Josette continued laughing.

  Ember frowned. “You are such a brat.”

  “You betcha.”

  Josette’s laughter eventually subsided. It wasn’t until she had driven back to Minot and was parked in fron
t of Ember’s apartment building, but she did finally stop laughing.

  Ember’s hand rested on the door handle. “You may be a brat, but I have to say, you’re a bloody good instructor. Cheers.”

  Josette’s smile remained, but her espresso eyes took on a somber look. “I just want to make sure you’re prepared. I’ve heard about the Changeling Hunter case you’re working.”

  “You have?”

  “Sure. Everyone has.” The sun was setting, but Josette’s features were lit by the car’s instrument panel. “If you’re right about this guy—whoever he is—and if you do somehow manage to track him down, you might need every weapon at your disposal. I know you’ve been training in martial arts with Debra Morgan and that’s good. I know you’re a Malvern and you’ve got those voodoo mage spells like containment nets.”

  “Voodoo. Sure, we can call it that.” Ember nodded.

  Josette sighed. “I know you’re not defenseless, but you’re small, and there’s no telling how big this guy might be. What if someday he finds out that you’re closing in on him, and he tries coming after you? He’s already shown that he’s willing to kill. But if you’ve got a gun pointed at him and the willingness to use it, it doesn’t matter how big the bastard is—in that moment, you’re in charge.”

  25

  Just a Poor Pig Farmer

  All week, he tried to concentrate on his work. His boss, Director Davies, was finally back in the office, even though the funeral for his mongrel son hadn’t yet happened. Marcus had hoped that would mean he wouldn’t have to deal with the petty day-to-day managerial tasks anymore. He just wanted to focus on his data management tasks and ignore the world. Ignore humans.

  If only it would have been that easy.

  Davies might have been back in the office, but the lazy son of a bitch was still delegating tasks to Marcus. Marcus was still in charge of the daily security alerts, which was the most exhausting task in the Department of Information. It involved having to check out any red-flagged searches, which meant having to leave his office. It meant having to actually talk to embassy staff.