Murder by Magic Page 4

  The magic swirled around him, and for the thousandth time, he wished he could turn back time, go back and toss out that article, take back what he’d said, and keep her in his life. Unfortunately, even his magic couldn’t bring him back and give him a chance to make it right.

  He had been careless, and while he truly felt that way about her inexperience at the time, he knew how badly his words had hurt her, how harsh they had been. If only he could undo the damage he had caused.

  But magic didn’t work that way. Or at least his brand of Mage magic didn’t work that way. There was a spell, something with a piece of black velvet, and a silver pin set with a moonstone, that could fold time over on itself, take you to the present, or the future. His fellow Gatekeeper Mixt, could conjure a spell that would take him ahead in time, but not even he had mastered the reversal. Euros, on the other hand, had never done magic with objects, didn’t have the patience for it. Thought it was for hedge witches, or kitchen witches…or…

  Something ran in front of him, and he managed to catch a glimpse of a tabby cat slinking past the portals. He watched it disappear into the darkness of the park.

  “Let it go.” He told himself. He was tracking a murderer, not trying to resurrect his past. Or waste his time watching stray animals in the park. This was real; his relationship with Jessica was over and done with, and he just had to accept it, and move on.

  He closed his eyes, letting his mind see the magic around him. It was thicker here, dense, swirling in a malevolent storm that made his skin crawl. The sooner he found the source, the sooner he’d end whatever it had planned.

  When he opened his eyes, the park was still there, still peaceful in the early morning light. He should do this now, before morning dog walkers and joggers showed up. With a quick glance around him, he took a deep breath, and stepped through the portal.

  The rush hit him hard, harder than he remembered from the last time. For a second, he was nowhere, in neither world, in swirling chaotic limbo. It was exhilarating in a disturbing way, as some kinds of magic could be. Then he came back to himself, cells joining back to each other, blood and bone and muscle reuniting. The last part of him, the spark that made him whole, the bit of life that was always the last to return, came back, rushing through his body. He resisted the urge to feel his arms and legs, to make sure he was all in one piece. He knew he was – he always was.

  He opened his eyes slowly. Movement on the ground caught his eye, and he looked down. A small mouse ran over his foot, disappearing into the grass.

  “Euros. Welcome back.”

  Euros glanced up. “Mixt. Long time no see.”

  A slender man stepped out from the shadows. Dressed in white robes, he carried the faintly androgynous look of his elven heritage in fine features, and long white-blonde hair with piercing blue eyes. Mixt stood, hands clasped in front of him.

  “What brings you home, my friend? Have you decided to give up the Mortal world, and return to where you belong?”

  Euros shook his head. “Mixt, I won’t lie; some days I think about returning home for good, but that’s not what I’m here for today. I need to talk to you about something that I’m not sure I fully understand. I’m hoping you can help me with it.”

  Mixt’s elegant features creased into a frown of worry. “Of course. What is it?”

  “There was a murder in the mortal world; the murder of a very prominent person. I heard about it at work…” He’d given up trying to explain the newspaper business to Mixt. He grimaced; his ears were ringing. He should make it a habit of passing through the portal more often. He was out of practice.

  “I heard about it through channels. When I visited the scene of the murder, there was magic there. Dark magic. I haven’t felt anything like it before.”

  Mixt’s eyes widened, and if anything, his face got even paler. “Magic? There is dark magic out there in the world of mortals?” He looked at the portal, his expression one of alarm. “But how can that be?”

  “Yeah, I think so. It leads back here, to this portal. I thought…” It hit him. The magic had evaporated completely. Amid this world, even though magic was everywhere, the dark magic should have stood out, like a skunk in a bed of roses.

  “It ends.”

  “Ends?” Mixt recoiled. “Ends where?”

  “At the portal. It doesn’t come through the portal, but stops just outside of it. It’s as though...” Euros shook his head, trying to clear the last of the cobwebs from his head.

  Mixt stepped forward, sniffing the air between them. In alarm, Euros stepped back. “It’s as though someone is trying to enter the portal, but hasn’t yet succeeded.”

  “No…” With a growl, Mixt straightened. “Euros, the portals are sealed—have been sealed—for centuries. Unless they are Gatekeepers, like us, no one can pass through them.”

  “But you know the portals aren’t completely sealed, Mixt. Leaks do happen.”

  “Yes. But…” For a moment Mixt’s careful control of his expression slipped. In all the decades that he’d had known Mixt, he’d never seen the man look nonplussed.

  “The leaks, as you like to call them, happen from within the portal; magic entering into the mortal world. Yes, from time to time little bits of magic seep through, a fairy here, a goblin there. We catch them, send them back. But we have never had a mortal enter the portal, or even try to. They can’t even see it. This just can’t be.”

  “I’m not saying it’s a mortal that’s trying to get through the portal. Like I said, I sense dark magic. Mortals don’t possess that. Not even the Wiccan kind.”

  Mixt sighed deeply, his face contorting into one of stress and confusion.

  “What do you propose we do, Euros?”

  “I’m going back. I’ll have a look around, and see if I can figure out what – or who - is trying to get through to this world. You need to keep an eye on things here; see what you can find out. Whether a Gatekeeper went rogue.”

  “I do keep an eye on things.” He squinted at Euros. “I know how to do my job, but yes, I will find out whatever I can.”

  Euros shook his head in annoyance. “Okay, I’m going back. I’ll check in with you, if I find anything. And you know where to find me.” Euros looked at him intently. He knew that Mixt would never enter the mortal world to find him, or for anything else. His disdain for humans, and the brutal history between their world and the mortal one, had been told to him many times as a child. He was taught never to trust humans.

  “I do.” Mixt slipped silently back into the shadows of the oak tree. Euros cast one last look around his world, his home, and then stepped back through the portal. Returning was easier, it always had been. He emerged on the sidewalk to sunshine and blue skies, the same sunshine and blue skies on the Other side of the portal. But here, on the mortal side, somehow the sun wasn’t as bright, the sky not so blue. This world was grey around the edges, worn down by life, by those living here.

  He glanced over his shoulder at the park. It was the same park it was before, the concrete walking path, cracked in places, leaves on the ground, the trash can by the entrance, full of garbage. It all looked a little run down, a little tired. And of course, there was no sign of the white-robed Mixt.

  But it wasn’t his world anymore, not really. He’d been on the mortal side of the portal for so long, feeling like an outcast at times, but he’d made his peace with being in this world. And now he had a job, had a duty to find Lansing’s killer, and who was behind the dark magic.

  He started down the sidewalk, hands jammed into his jacket pockets, his short, chestnut hair washed in the cool breeze. Magic swirled around him, not as strong, but still as dark. It pulled at his nerves, and whispered against his skin. It made him nervous, a feeling he thought he’d grown immune to over the years.

  From his pocket, his cell phone vibrated against his hand. Without even looking, he knew it was his boss, checking on where he was, on the story, when he was coming in. Calling to remind him of his deadline. He ignored
it as usual, and it stopped vibrating.

  He could write the article blindfolded. Saving the world—both worlds—from whatever was trying to make its way through the portal, was another story.

  Chapter Four

  Jessica had to admit; one of the perks of being promoted to detective was having her own desk. It gave her room for files and photos, a place to work, and privacy, even though it put her right in the middle of the guys that she worked with. Except that she didn’t exactly work with them anymore. For all intents and purposes, on this case, they worked for her.

  And that bothered her a bit, even though she didn’t want to think of it that way. It made the divide between her and her guys seem even deeper. On patrol, they’d accepted her as one of them, one of the guys working, doing the job. But those guys were still on patrol, and she was now sitting at a desk, trying to work her first case as a lead detective.

  Her phone rang, again, for what had to be the hundredth time. She wanted to ignore it, wanted to get this damn press statement finished, but she couldn’t leave it ringing. Snatching it up, she took a breath, aware of several guys turning to look at her.

  “Homicide. Detective Sharpe.”

  Jessica listened, as a CSI tech rattled off a list of evidence they’d found. She jotted notes down, listening with half an ear, watching the other detectives go back to what they were doing.

  Michael Ross had come through the squad room door, dressed in a fresh suit, looking even more put together than he had at two in the morning. She straightened, remembering again that she was still wearing yesterday’s clothes. She tracked her boss, as he walked through the squad room. He was heading toward her, but taking the slow tour, checking the case board, stopping to talk to a few of the other detectives. Her focus was on him, not on the phone. But something the CSI guy said caught her attention. She scribbled on her notepad.

  “Wait…what? Go back. Hair? Got a DNA match?”

  “Not hair. Fur. Fox fur, to be specific.”

  “Oh, okay.” She crossed out hair, scrawled something that resembled the word fox, and promptly forgot about it. On the list were precious other clues. The blood on the body was all Lansing’s, the other samples of DNA were either his, or his wife’s, or Sleeping Beauty under the tree in the back, or the myriad of other people who passed through that house. The bloody footprints, of course, were from the guard.

  That interview had been a bust, at least from the standpoint of pinning any of this on him. The guard been so distraught that he’d had a hard time getting through the interview without breaking down. He’d stuck to the story of walking his rounds, of waking up under a tree, of not seeing anything suspicious. He’d agreed—not just agreed, but was almost grateful—to a blood draw. They’d sent that off to the lab to test for any kind of drugs, and to check his blood against that found at the scene, but Jessica wasn’t hopeful they’d find anything. She was sure, even though he looked good from all angles as a suspect, that the tapes from the security cameras were going to show that he was telling the truth. Those tapes were still being logged into evidence. Tapping her pencil on her desk, she debated pestering the techs one more time to get it done.

  She caught sight of her watch. It was a few minutes before nine. Looking up, she saw the other detectives moving toward the end of the room, where she’d set up the pock-marked corkboard for a briefing. Grabbing her notebook, and the file of CSI photos, she stood up. The cup on her desk held the dregs of her most recent cup of coffee. It was cold, but she drank it anyway, grimacing. The butterflies and bats in her stomach had long ago succumbed to the acidic coffee, leaving her with a leaden lump in her throat. Derek stopped by her desk, his ever-present notebook in his hand. It was reassuring, somehow, and she gave him a smile.

  “You ready for your first briefing, Sharpe? It’s not that hard. Just lay it out, what we have, what you want done. Delegate.” He punched her in the shoulder, a little harder than she though necessary, knocking her back half a step. She rubbed her arm.

  “I could have you arrested for assaulting an officer, you know?”

  “You wouldn’t dare.” His smile widened. “I’m your friend, remember?”

  She pushed past him. “Yeah. I remember. Come on. Can’t be late to my first briefing.”

  Derek followed her, then parked himself on the edge of a nearby desk. The rest of the detectives stopped chatting, arranged themselves on chairs and other desks. For a minute, the group of men went silent, the only sounds in the room were a ringing telephone, and the muffled sounds of people in the hallway. Off in the distance someone, most likely someone in an interrogation room, was yelling for his lawyer.

  With her back to the group, Jessica began tacking photos from the crime scene to the corkboard. The silence behind her was broken by a few murmurs among the guys, a couple of soft curse words. She knew these guys had seen some pretty gruesome stuff in their day, but even she was shocked by the photos. There was something so cold and clinical about crime scene photos, with the little evidence markers rising around the body. The blood looked flat and cold, darker somehow, even though the photos were in relentless color. She shuffled through the photos of the outside, the backyard. She lingered on an image of a dog track in the wet dirt for a few seconds, before she moved on to the next photo, shoving the rest into the file.

  “Okay.” She turned around. For a moment, she was overwhelmed by the group, all staring at her expectantly. She took a breath, found Derek in the mix. He smiled, and gave her a thumb’s up. She blinked; his movement was almost subliminal. When she looked again, he had his head down, already scribbling in his notebook.

  “Jason Lansing, forty-seven, recently elected Mayor.” She read from the sheet she’d typed up. “You’re all aware of how heated that election was. There were death threats, both before, and after the election.”

  “And more cans of spray paint sold than at any time in the city’s history.” That was from Derek. The guys laughed, and some of the tension in the room lessened. Part of her was grateful for Derek’s intervention, but a little pool of resentment was starting to form in her mind. At some point, she was going to have to learn how to do this on her own, without him always trying to make things easier for her.

  “Yes, vandalism. Lots of incidents. That’s why Mayor Lansing had hired a private security firm to watch his property, and keep an eye on things.” She pointed to the photo of the guard’s footprint. “In fact, the guard was the first one on the scene, adding his footprints, and DNA to the list. We’ve got samples from him, and his shoes, for elimination purposes.”

  “We got any suspects?” Leyland Fisher, one of the older detectives, obviously wasn’t going to let her stick to her script. “What about the guard? Seems he’d be at the top of the list.”

  “Not yet. The guard is only a person of interest at this point. He claims to have fallen asleep in the backyard during the time the murder took place. I’m waiting on the security tapes to check his story.”

  Fisher made a gesture of dismissal. “Seems like he’s more of just a person of interest.”

  Jessica frowned at the balding detective, waiting for him to get done talking.

  “Right now there’s nothing tying him to the murder. His hands weren’t bloody and he was distraught, but we have the security tapes, and they’re being reviewed.” Fisher opened his mouth, but Jessica just kept talking.

  “But yes, he’s being detained until we get the tapes from the security camera. If it collaborates his story, then he’s free to go.”

  Fisher frowned, folded his arms over his chest, but he didn’t say anything else. She looked at each of the detectives either sitting on desks, or in chairs, or standing with arms crossed, but they all gave back impassive looks. She took a breath, and went on.

  “So, we have a list a mile long of people that need to be interviewed.” She pulled a set of sheets out of the folder. “You can each take a sheet and start calling. Standard questions, where they were, what they were doing on the night of
the murder…you know the drill. Patrol is canvassing the neighborhood, asking if anyone saw, or heard anything.”

  That got an eye roll from Fisher, but she ignored him. He took the sheets from her, glanced down, took one, then passed them on to the guy next to him. That made six guys with lists, checking the names, making comments.

  “Any questions, I’ll be here until I give the press statement. After that, I’m going to head down for the post, as soon as Dr. Greene calls.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  She caught Derek’s eye, and nodded. “Yeah. Sounds good.” He gave her a half-hearted smile. Autopsies weren’t his thing. She looked at the rest of the guys, trying to remember what she was supposed to say. She felt like she was missing something crucial, but the only other thing that came to her mind was the unsettling feeling she’d had at the crime scene, the hair standing up on the back of her neck, the tingle on her skin. But that wasn’t something she thought Fisher should hear.

  “Other than eliminating suspects, we’re still waiting for forensics to come back with a list of prints, DNA, all that stuff.” She realized she was bending the edge of the manila folder. With an effort, she relaxed her grip.

  “That’s not much of a plan…” Fisher looked up from his list of calls. “When I…”

  “When you’re lead, you can do as you like. This is my case. And right now, we don’t have very much to go on. The post is going to give us an idea of what kind of weapon was used in the murder. Dr. Greene suspects blood loss as the cause of death, severed aorta. We’ll get the toxicology reports back later today, so we’ll know if Lansing was drugged before he was…” She turned back to the photos. The brutal reality of the crime scene was there, in color, and it suddenly hit her; how this case could spiral out of what little control she had over it.

  “Let’s start on those calls.”

  She walked away from the photos, past the guys who were slowly getting to their feet. Fisher gave her a look she didn’t want to decipher, then lumbered away, the paper held between thick fingers. She heard him mutter something about grunt work. For a minute, she thought about saying something to him, but Derek's words from this morning came back to her. Had it only been this morning? It felt like she'd been awake for a week. Derek followed her as she went back to her desk.