The Good, the Bad, and the Undead

Chapter Six

Pixy children swarmed around Glenn as he sat at the kitchen table as far from Ivy as he could without looking obvious about it. Jenks's kids seemed to have taken an unusual liking to the FIB detective, and Ivy, sitting before her computer, was trying to ignore the noise and darting shapes. She gave me the impression of a cat sleeping before a bird feeder, seemingly ignoring everything but very aware if a bird should make a mistake and get too close. Everyone was overlooking that we had nearly had an incident, and my feelings for being saddled with Glenn had waned from dislike to a mild annoyance at his new, and unexpected, tact.
Using a diabetic syringe, I injected a sleepy-time potion into the last of the thin-walled, blue paint balls. It was after seven. I didn't like leaving the kitchen a mess, but I had to make these little gems up special, and there was no way I would go out to meet Sara Jane at a strange apartment unarmed. No need to make it that easy for Trent, I thought as I took off my protective gloves and tossed them aside.
From the nested bowls under the counter I pulled out my gun. I had originally kept it in a vat hanging over the island counter, until Ivy pointed out I'd have to put myself in plain sight to reach it. Keeping it at crawling height was better. Glenn perked up at the sound of iron hitting the counter, waving the chattering, green-clad adolescent pixy girls off his hand.
"You shouldn't keep a weapon out like that," he said scornfully. "Do you have any idea how many children are killed a year because of stupid stunts like that?"
"Relax, Mr. FIB Officer," I said as I wiped the reservoir out. "No one has died from a paint ball yet."
"Paint ball?" he questioned. Then he turned condescending. "Playing dress-up, are we?"
My brow furrowed. I liked my mini splat gun. It felt nice in my hand, heavy and reassuring despite its palm size. Even with its cherry red color, people generally didn't recognize it for what it was and assumed I was packing. Best of all, I didn't need a license for it.
Peeved, I shook a pinky-nail-sized red ball out from the box resting on the shelf above my charms. I dropped it in the chamber. "Ivy," I said, and she looked up from her monitor, no expression on her perfect, oval face. "Tag."
She went back to her screen, her head shifting slightly. The pixy children squealed and scattered, flowing out of the window and into the dark garden to leave shimmering trails of pixy dust and the memory of their voices. Slowly the sound of crickets came in to replace them.
Ivy wasn't the type of roommate who liked to play Parcheesi, and the one time I sat with her on the couch and watched Rush Hour, I had unwittingly triggered her vamp instincts and nearly got bitten during the last fight scene as my body temp rose and the smell of our scents mingling hit her hard. So now, with the exception of our carefully orchestrated sparing sessions, we generally did things with lots of space between us. Her dodging my splat balls gave her a good workout and improved my aim.
It was even better at midnight in the graveyard.
Glenn ran a hand over his close-cut beard, waiting. It was clear something was going to happen, he just didn't know what. Ignoring him, I set the splat gun on the counter and started to clean up the mess I'd made in the sink. My pulse increased and tension made my fingers ache. Ivy continued to shop on the net, the clicks of her mouse sounding loud. She reached for a pencil as something got her attention.
Snatching the gun, I spun and pulled the trigger. The puff of sound sent a thrill through me. Ivy leaned to the right. Her free hand came up to intercept the ball of water. It hit her hand with a sharp splat, breaking to soak her palm. She never looked up from her monitor as she shook the water from her hand and read the caption under the casket pillows. Christmas was three months away, and I knew she was stumped as to what to get her mother.
Glenn had stood at the sound of the gun, his hand atop his holster. His face slack, he alternated his gaze between Ivy and me. I tossed him the splat gun, and he caught it. Anything to get his hand away from his pistol. "If that had been a sleepy-time potion," I said smugly, "she'd be out cold."
I handed Ivy the roll of paper towels we kept on the island counter for just this reason, and she nonchalantly wiped her hand off and continued to shop.
Head bowed, Glenn eyed the paint-ball gun. I knew he was feeling the weight of it, realizing it wasn't a toy. He walked to me and handed it back. "They ought to make you license these things," he said as it filled my grip.
"Yeah," I agreed lightly. "They should."
I felt him watching as I loaded it with my seven potions. Not many witches used potions, not because they were outrageously expensive and lasted only about a week uninvoked, but because you needed to get a good soaking in saltwater to break them. It was messy and took a heck of a lot of salt. Satisfied that I'd made my point, I tucked the loaded splat gun into the small of my back and put on my leather jacket to cover it. I kicked off my pink slippers and padded into the living room for my vamp-made boots by the back door. "Ready to go?" I asked as I leaned against the wall in the hallway and put them on. "You're driving."
Glenn's tall shape appeared in the archway, dark fingers expertly tying his tie. "You're going like that?"
Brow furrowing, I looked down at my red blouse, black skirt, nylons, and ankle-high boots. "Something wrong with what I've got on?"
Ivy made a rude snort from her computer. Glenn glanced at her, then me. "Never mind," he said flatly. He snuggled his tie tight to make him look polished and professional. "Let's go."
"No," I said, getting in his face. "I want to know what you think I should put on. One of those polyester sacks you make your female FIB officers wear? There's a reason Rose is so uptight, and it has nothing to do with her having no walls or her chair having a broken caster!"
Face hard, Glenn sidestepped me and headed up the hallway. Grabbing my bag, I acknowledged Ivy's preoccupied wave good-bye and strode after him. He took up almost the entire width of the hall as he walked and put his arms into his suit's jacket at the same time. The sound of the lining rubbing against his shirt was a soft hush over the noise of his hard-soled shoes on the floorboards.
I kept to my cold silence as Glenn drove us out of the Hollows and back across the bridge. It would have been nice had Jenks come with us, but Sara Jane said something about a cat, and he prudently decided to stay home.
The sun was long down and traffic had thickened. The lights from Cincinnati looked nice from the bridge, and I felt a flash of amusement as I realized Glenn was driving at the head of a pack of cars too wary to pass him. Even the FIB's unmarked vehicles were obvious. Slowly my mood eased. I cracked the window to dilute the smell of cinnamon, and Glenn flipped the heater on. The perfume didn't smell as nice anymore, now that it had failed me.
Dan's apartment was a town house: tidy, clean, and gated. Not too far from the university. Good access to the freeway. It looked expensive, but if he was taking classes at the university, he could probably swing it just fine. Glenn pulled into the reserved spot with Dan's house number on it and cut the engine. The porch light was off and the drapes were pulled. A cat was sitting on the second-story balcony railing, its eyes glowing as it watched us.
Saying nothing, Glenn reached under the seat and moved it back. Closing his eyes, he settled in as if to nap. The silence grew, and I listened to the car's engine tick as it cooled off in the dark. I reached for the radio knob, and Glenn muttered, "Don't touch that."
Peeved, I sank back. "Don't you want to question some of his neighbors?" I asked.
"I'll do it tomorrow when the sun is up and you're at class."
My eyebrows rose. According to the receipt Edden had given me, class ran from four to six. It was an excellent time to be knocking on doors, when humans would be coming home, diurnal Inderlanders well up, and nightwalkers stirring. And the area felt like a mixed neighborhood.
A couple came out of a nearby apartment, arguing as they got into a shiny car and drove away. She was late for work. It was his fault, if I was following the conversation properly.
Bored, and a little nervous, I dug in my bag until I found a finger stick and one of my detection amulets. I loved these things - the detection amulet, not the finger stick - and after pricking my finger for three drops of blood to invoke it, I found that there was no one but Glenn and me within a thirty-foot radius. I draped it about my neck like my old I.S. badge as a little red car pulled into the lot. The cat on the railing stretched before dropping out of sight onto the balcony.
It was Sara Jane, and she whipped her car into the spot directly behind us. Glenn took notice, saying nothing as we got out and angled our paths to meet her.
"Hi," she said, her heart-shaped face showing her worry in the light from the street lamp. "I hope you weren't waiting long," she added, her voice carrying the professional air of the office.
"Not at all, ma'am," Glenn said.
I tugged my leather coat closer against the cold as she jingled her keys, fumbling for one that still carried a shiny, new-cut veneer and opened the door. My pulse increased, and I glanced at my amulet with thoughts of Trent going through me. I had my splat gun, but I wasn't a brave person. I ran away from big-bad-uglies. It increased my life span dramatically.
Glenn followed Sara Jane in as she flipped on the lights, illuminating the porch and apartment both. Nervous, I crossed the threshold, wavering between closing the door to keep anyone from following me in and leaving it open to keep my escape route available. I opted to leave it cracked.
"You got a problem?" Glenn whispered as Sara Jane made her confident way to the kitchen, and I shook my head. The town house had an open floor plan with almost the entire downstairs visible from the doorway. Stairs ran a straight, unimaginative pathway to the second floor. Knowing my amulet would warn me if anyone new showed up, I relaxed. There was no one here but us three and the cat yowling on the second-floor balcony.
"I'll go up and let Sarcophagus in," Sara Jane said as she headed for the stairs.
My eyebrows rose. "That's the cat, right?"
"I'll come with you, ma'am," Glenn offered, and he thumped upstairs after her.
I did a quick reconnaissance of the downstairs while they were gone, knowing we'd find nothing. Trent was too good to leave anything behind; I just wanted to see what kind of a guy Sara Jane liked. The kitchen sink was dry, the garbage can was stinky, the computer monitor was dusty, and the cat box was full. Clearly Dan hadn't been home in a while.
The floorboards above me creaked as Glenn walked through the upstairs. Perched on the TV was the same picture of Dan and Sara Jane aboard the steamer. I picked it up and studied their faces, setting the framed photo back on the TV as Glenn clumped downstairs. The man's shoulders took up almost the entirety of the narrow stairway. Sara Jane was silent behind him, looking small and walking sideways in her heels.
"Upstairs looks fine," Glenn said as he rifled through the stack of mail on the kitchen counter. Sara Jane opened the pantry. Like everything else, it was well-organized. After a moment of hesitation, she pulled out a pouch of moist cat food.
"Mind if I check his e-mails?" I asked, and Sara Jane nodded, her eyes sad. I jiggled the mouse to find that Dan had a dedicated, always-on line just like Ivy. Strictly speaking, I shouldn't have been doing this, but as long as no one said anything... From the corner of my eye I watched Glenn run his eyes over Sara Jane's smartly cut business dress as she tore the bag of cat food open, and then down my outfit as I bent over the keyboard. I could tell by his look that he thought my clothes were unprofessional, and I fought back a grimace.
Dan had a slew of unopened messages, two from Sara Jane and one with a university address. The rest were from a hard-rock chat room of some sort. Even I knew better than to open any of them, tampering with evidence should he turn up dead.
Glenn ran a hand across his short hair, seemingly disappointed that he had found nothing unusual. I was guessing it wasn't because Dan was missing but that he was a witch, and as such should have dead monkey heads hanging from the ceiling. Dan appeared to be an average, on his own young man. He was perhaps tidier than most, but Sara Jane wouldn't date a slob.
Sara Jane set a bowl of food on the placement next to a water bowl. A black cat slunk downstairs at the clink of porcelain. It hissed at Sara Jane, not coming to eat until she left the kitchen. "Sarcophagus doesn't like me," she said needlessly. "He's a one-person familiar."
A good familiar was like that. The best chose their owners, not the other way around. The cat finished the food in a surprisingly short amount of time, then jumped onto the back of the couch. I scratched the upholstery and he came close to investigate. He stretched out his neck and touched my finger with his nose. It was how cats greeted each other, and I smiled. I'd love to have a cat, but Jenks would pix me every night for a year if I brought one home.
Remembering my stint as a mink, I shuffled through my purse. Trying to be discreet, I invoked an amulet to do a spell check on the cat. Nothing. Not satisfied, I dug deeper for a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Ignoring Glenn's questioning look, I popped open the hard case and carefully put the so-ugly-they-could-work-as-birth-control glasses on. I had bought them last month, spending three times my rent with the excuse that they were tax deductible. The ones that didn't make me look like a nerd reject would've cost me twice that.
Ley line magic could be bound in silver just as earth magic could be kept in wood, and the wire frames were spelled to let me see through disguises invoked by ley line magic. I felt kind of cheesy using them, thinking that it dumped me back into the realm of warlocks in that I was using a charm that I couldn't make. But as I scratched Sarcophagus's chin, sure now by the lack of any change that he wasn't Dan trapped in a cat's form, I decided I didn't care.
Glenn turned to the phone. "Would you mind if I listened to his messages?" he asked.
Sara Jane's laugh was bitter. "Go ahead. They're from me."
The snap of the hard case was loud as I put my glasses away. Glenn punched the button, and I winced as Sara Jane's recorded voice came into the silent apartment. "Hey, Dan. I waited an hour. It was Carew Tower, right?" There was a hesitation, then a distant, "Well, give me a call. And you'd better get some chocolate." Her voice turned playful. "You've got some serious groveling to do, farm boy."
The second was even more uncomfortable. "Hi, Dan. If you're there, pick up." Again a pause. "Um, I was just kidding about the chocolate. I'll see you tomorrow. Love you. 'Bye."
Sara Jane stood in the living room, her face frozen. "He wasn't here when I came over, and I haven't seen him since," she said softly.
"Well," Glenn said as the machine clicked off, "we haven't found his car yet, and his toothbrush and razor are still here. Wherever he is, he hadn't planned on staying. It looks like something has happened."
She bit her lip and turned away. Amazed at his lack of tact, I gave Glenn a murderous look. "You have the sensitivity of a dog in heat, you know that?" I whispered.
Glenn glanced at Sara Jane's hunched shoulders. "Sorry, ma'am."
She turned, a miserable smile on her. "Maybe I should take Sarcophagus home...."
"No," I quickly assured her. "Not yet." I touched her shoulder in sympathy, and the smell of her lilac perfume pulled from me the chalky taste-memory of drugged carrots. I glanced at Glenn, knowing he wouldn't leave so I could talk to her alone. "Sara Jane," I asked hesitantly. "I have to ask you this, and I apologize. Do you know if anyone has threatened Dan?"
"No," she said, her hand rising to her collar and her face going still. "No one."
"How about you?" I asked. "Have you been threatened any way? Any way at all?"
"No. No of course not," she said quickly, her eyes dropping and her pale features going even whiter. I didn't need an amulet to know she was lying, and the silence grew uncomfortable as I gave her a moment to change her mind and tell me. But she didn't.
"A-Are we done?" she stammered, and nodding, I adjusted my bag on my shoulder. Sara Jane headed to the door, her steps quick and stilted. Glenn and I followed her out onto the cement landing. It was too cold for bugs, but a broken spiderweb stretched by the porch light.
"Thank you for letting us look at his apartment," I said as she checked the door with trembling fingers. "I'll be talking with his classmates tomorrow. Perhaps one of them will know something. Whatever it is, I can help," I said, trying to put more meaning into my voice.
"Yes. Thank you." Her eyes went everywhere but to mine, and she had fallen into her professional office tone again. "I appreciate you coming over. I wish I could be more help."
"Ma'am," Glenn said in parting. Sara Jane's heels clicked smartly on the pavement as she walked away. I followed Glenn to his car, glancing back to see Sarcophagus sitting in an upstairs window watching us.
Sara Jane's car gave a happy chirp before she set her purse inside, got in, and drove away. I stood in the dark beside my open door and watched her taillights vanish around a corner. Glenn was facing me, standing at the driver side with his arms resting on the roof of the car. His brown eyes were featureless in the buzz of the street lamp.
"Kalamack must pay his secretaries very well for the car she has," he said softly.
I stiffened. "I know for a fact he does," I said hotly, not liking what he was implying. "She's very good at her job. And she still has enough money to send home for her family to live like veritable kings compared to the rest of the farm's employees."
He grunted and opened his door. I got in, sighing as I fastened my belt and settled into the leather seats. I stared out the window at the dark lot, growing more depressed. Sara Jane didn't trust me. But from her point of view, why should she?
"Taking this kind of personal, aren't you?" Glenn asked as he started the car.
"You think because she's a warlock she doesn't deserve help?" I said sharply.
"Slow down. That's not what I meant." Glenn shot me a quick look as he backed the car into motion. He flipped the heater on full before he shifted into drive, and a strand of hair tickled my face. "I'm just saying you're acting like you have a stake in the outcome."
I ran a hand over my eyes. "Sorry."
"It's okay," he said, sounding as if he understood. "So..." He hesitated. "What gives?"
He pulled into traffic, and in the light of a street lamp I glanced at him, wondering if I wanted to be that open with him. "I know Sara Jane," I said slowly.
"You mean you know her type," Glenn said.
"No. I know her."
The FIB detective frowned. "She doesn't know you."
"Yeah." I rolled the window all the way down to get rid of the smell of my perfume. I couldn't stand it anymore. My thoughts kept returning to Ivy's eyes, black and frightened. "That's what makes it hard."
The brakes made a slow squeak as we stopped at a light. Glenn's brow was furrowed, and his beard and mustache made deep shadows on him. "Would you talk human, please?"
I gave him a quick mirthless smile. "Did your dad tell you about how we nearly brought Trent Kalamack in as a dealer and manufacture of genetic drugs?"
"Yeah. That was before I transferred to his department. He said the only witness was an I.S. runner who died in a car bombing." The light changed, and we moved forward.
I nodded. Edden had told him the basics. "Let me tell you about Trent Kalamack," I said as the wind pushed against my hand. "When he caught me rifling through his office looking for a way to bring him into the courts, he didn't turn me in to the I.S., he offered me a job. Anything I wanted." Cold, I angled the vent toward me. "He'd pay off my I.S. death threat, set me up as an independent runner, give me a small staff, everything - if I worked for him. He wanted me to run the same system I had spent my entire professional life fighting. He offered me what looked like freedom. I wanted it so badly, I might have said yes."
Glenn was silent, wisely not saying anything. There wasn't a cop alive who hadn't been tempted, and I was proud that I had passed that test. "When I turned him down, his offer became a threat. I was spelled into a mink at the time, and he was going to torture me mentally and physically until I would do anything to get it to stop. If he couldn't have me willingly, he'd be satisfied with a warped shadow eager to please him. I was helpless. Just like Sara Jane is."
I hesitated to gather my resolve. I had never admitted that aloud before - that I had been helpless. "She thought I was a mink, but she gave me more dignity as an animal than Trent gave me as a person. I have to get her away from him. Before it's too late. Unless we can find Dan and get him safe, she doesn't have a chance."
"Mr. Kalamack is just a man," Glenn said.
"Really!" I said with a bark of sarcastic laughter. "Tell me, Mr. FIB Detective, is he human or Inderlander? His family has been quietly running a good slice of Cincinnati for two generations, and no one knows what he is. Jenks can't tell what he smells like, and neither can the fairies. He destroys people by giving them exactly what they want - and he enjoys it." I watched the passing buildings without seeing them.
Glenn's continued silence pulled my eyes up. "You really think Dan's disappearance has nothing to do with the witch hunter murders?" he asked.
"Yeah." I resettled myself, not comfortable with having told him so much. "I only took this run to help Sara Jane and pull Trent down. You going to run tattling to your dad now?"
The lights from oncoming traffic illuminated him. He took a breath and let it out. "You do anything in your little vendetta to jeopardize me proving Dr. Anders is the murderer, and I'll tie you to a bonfire in Fountain Square," he said softly in threat. "You will go to the university tomorrow, and you will tell me everything you learn." His shoulders eased. "Just be careful."
I eyed him, the passing lights illuminating him in flashes that seemed to mirror my uncertainty. It sounded as if he understood. Imagine that. "Fair enough," I said, settling back. My head turned as we turned left instead of right. I glanced at him with a feeling of dj vu. "Where are we going? My office is the other way."
"Pizza Piscary's," he said. "There's no reason to wait until tomorrow."
I eyed him, not wanting to admit I'd promised Ivy I wouldn't go out there without her. "Piscary's doesn't open until midnight," I lied. "They cater to Inderlanders. I mean, how often does a human order a pizza?" Glenn's face went still in understanding, and I picked at my nail polish. "It will be at least two before they slow down enough to be able to talk to us."
"That's two in the morning, right?" he asked.
Well, duh, I thought. That was when most Inderlanders were hitting their stride, especially the dead ones. "Why don't you go home, sleep in, and we'll all go out tomorrow?"
He shook his head. "You'll go tonight without me."
A puff of affront escaped me. "I don't work like that, Glenn. Besides, if I do, you'll go out there alone, and I promised your dad I'd try to keep you alive. I'll wait. Witches' honor."
Lie, yes. Betray the trust of a partner - even unwelcome ones - no.
He gave me a quick, suspicious glance. "All right. Witches' honor."