Page 2

Chapter Two

I woke up with a lurch, my phone buzzing with blaring insistence. Oh. It was my work phone. I didn’t have work today, but Brannigan needed something. If it was about my paperwork, I’d kill him.

I finally found it under my bed, along with my bag. Did I put it there? I dumped my bag out on the floor, grabbed my phone and answered before it went to voice mail.

“Hello?” I croaked, sounding like I’d just woken up. I grabbed a bottle of water from my side table and gulped it down.

Lieutenant Joss’s crisp voice brought me completely awake. “Sato, we need you to come in. I know you’re not due until Monday, but there’s been a murder. I need some fresh eyes on the case.”

I sputtered and rubbed my eyes, trying to clear my head. “Sure thing, boss. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

“Brannigan will pick you up at the usual place.”

He hung up on me and I moved fast, hurrying to the bathroom and shedding my clothes as I went. I stopped with a lurch when I saw the mirror. Written in blood were the words, ‘Be sure to hydrate,’ with an arrow pointing down to a bottle of water on the counter.

I stared at the bottle, at the words, and then at the bottle again.

It finally hit me.

Sashimi had tucked me into bed last night! A goblin had broken into my apartment, tucked me into bed, and written on my mirror in blood!

I peered closer at the glass and touched the word, ‘hydrate.’ No, that was lipstick, not blood. Was it my good lipstick? No, it was the cheap one I never wore. That was all right then. Except that a goblin had been in my apartment! A goblin assassin!

I rubbed my forehead absently, then winced when I saw the red streak I’d left behind. I had to get to the scene of a crime. I couldn’t worry about Sashimi right this second. Was this normal goblin behavior or obsessive stalker goblin behavior?

I shook my head and pulled off the rest of my clothes and climbed into the shower. There were no notes in there. I washed up as quickly as possible, pausing to sniff my shampoo. It smelled particularly strong and piney today. Not only piney, chemical-laden. I didn’t have time to make my own shampoo like a proper witch who would steep all the herbs at midnight and stir up the lathering stuff in an enormous cauldron. Maybe I should go to the next coven meeting just to buy some good shampoo that didn’t smell so wrong.

I washed my hair with the offensive shampoo, sniffing as I stepped out, towel wrapped around me. I wiped down the mirror so I wouldn’t have to think about Sashimi while I blow-dried my hair. A proper witch wouldn’t ever blow dry her hair, but the magic in my veins was hardly strong enough to worry about the negligible magic I might lose through violent man-made wind currents rushing through my mane.

I applied basic makeup, got dressed in my neat pants suit, the gray one, and then grabbed my bag, throwing everything back in it, and headed out. I paused at the door and the small sticky note on the door frame. It was written in Goblin.

I watered your plants. You should water them at least once a week. They also needed more sun, so I put them out on your porch.

~Sashimi

I stared at that note, cocking my head as I puzzled and puzzled over the weird goblin who watered people’s plants. Was that a stalker thing or a goblin thing? I’d been out cold, and he could have hurt me in any number of ways, but instead, he watered my plants, and me, because he’s the one who put the bottle of water by my bed, and in the bathroom. Maybe this was a goblin sense of humor. Yes, I will pretend to be a mother and take care of the plants too. Or maybe…

I shook my head and left my apartment, locking it behind me. I didn’t have time to try and understand goblin mind-think right this second. If necessary, I could always write another letter to the Goblin Authority, like the first time I’d written to him about the goblins who were bullying my little brother. That had been extremely effective. The bullying had stopped immediately, and we’d had a correspondence for years while he not-so-subtly helped me with my goblin grammar. That was when I was twelve, and then when I was fifteen, Sashimi started coming to the sushi bar and helped me actually speak the language. Had it already been ten years?

I edged around my plants, and they did look sad and neglected. My mother gave me a plant for my birthday every year to cultivate the natural neutral magic in me. But I didn’t have time for plants when I spent my life building a career I didn’t let my family know about. I spent a lot of time at the courthouse, and always dressed like a lawyer, which was another reason I’d made detective so young. The deception also probably hurt my magic, because you had to be free and clear of conscience to really reach your full potential, but my potential had always been so scant. I’d rely on my work ethic and passion for justice instead.

“Rynne!” my brother yelled.

I looked up and waved at him from where he was poking his head out of his bedroom window. “We’ll talk later. I’ve got to go in to the office for a case.”

“On Sunday?” His frown was adorable.

I stopped walking abruptly and felt a rush of dread sweep through me. “Sunday?” Was he serious? Had I slept since Thursday night until Sunday morning? That was two solid days of sleeping. No wonder I needed to hydrate. Not that Sashimi had known I’d sleep that long. Right?

“Yeah. You don’t work Sundays. You promised dad you’d go to the book fair with him.”

“Oh. I did. Maybe I’ll get back up in time. It’s just that this client has these new accusations, and I really need to help him.”

“Yeah.” His face was disapproving.

“Yeah,” I said, straightening my spine. “You know what, Tarn? You can go to the book fair with dad. Do a guy bonding thing. Make it fun for him because you’re an adult and can handle humoring someone else. I’ve got work.”

“You’ve always got work,” he muttered before slamming the window closed.

That wasn’t true. I mean, it was true, but only because I worked at the restaurant and the police station, but that was a good thing. He needed to work more. He was always messing around with his magic, with his banana bike, with his friends.

I headed at a brisk walk towards the corner where I’d wait for my partner, then jumped when a raccoon hissed at me. How had I missed him? I’d almost stepped on his tail.

“Easy,” I said, edging away from the snarling beast. Raccoons were not my favorite. When I finally got past his twitching whiskers and bared teeth, I broke into a run. When I reached the corner, Brannigan was already there, engine running. I slipped in, feeling all kinds of a mess, but I tried to look calm and in control.

“Sato,” he said with a nod before pulling out. “You look like crap.”

I sighed and checked my reflection in the care rear-view mirror and had to agree with him. I looked like I needed to sleep for another week. I clearly needed stronger makeup. “You’re just jealous because I’m so pretty. Where’s the crime?”

“At the courthouse for real, ironically enough. The judge was found in his office this morning by the cleaning crew. He’s been there since Friday evening, as far as they can tell.”

“A judge! Which one?”

“That’s right. You know all the court people. Judge Stevens.”

I frowned at him. “He was old. Took medication for his heart.”

“Really?” He sounded impressed with my in-depth knowledge of a judge’s medical condition, then frowned and didn’t say anything else.

“What does Lieutenant Joss think was the cause of death?”

“He wants a fresh pair of eyes. I won’t tell you anything that could make you biased.”

“Oh. Okay.” I frowned at him, but he was focused on driving and didn’t meet my eyes. Brannigan was never focused on his driving, but maybe he was irritated because he had to come in on Sunday.

I opened my mouth to comment on his girlfriend being angry about messing up their weekend plans, then closed it again. I’d worked hard to have a professional relationship with everyone at the office, and I wasn’t about to muddy the waters. I didn’t know if he had a girlfriend, or if he still lived with his parents. And I didn’t need to.

It wasn’t far to the courthouse, and after we’d parked, it was a short walk past reporters who crowded the front steps, and into the vaulted ceiling of the interior. I nodded at a guard I knew well, but got out my ID anyway.

He checked it and nodded at me. “Looks like they’re calling in the whole police force for this case.”

“Judge Stevens deserves a good send-off,” I said with a sober nod.

He looked slightly shocked, but I was already walking off with Brannigan. We climbed the stairs to get to the level with the offices, and then ducked under the police line that secured the small perimeter around the nice corner office where Judge Stevens was lying in a pool of his own blood.

I gasped and took in the scene. Feet pointed towards the door. 9mm in his right hand, pointed slightly above his temple where the first bullet hole was made. The second bullet hole wasn’t so tidy, as exit wounds tend to be. Close range shot. Obviously, because he’d shot himself. But why in the world would Judge Stevens shoot himself? Ah. I shouldn’t have said that about Judge Stevens’ send-off, not if it was a suicide.

“Is there a note?” I asked, finally looking up at the rest of the people in the room.

Lieutenant Joss came over to me, looking more flushed than usual. “No note. You call it suicide? You can see it with your magic?”

I frowned at him. “I can only read auras.”

“So, read his aura.”

“I can’t read a dead person’s aura. There’s no aura once a person dies, unless they become undead.”

He scowled at me. “You’re here for your magic. You think I need another person to look at the body and call it suicide? No. You need to tell me about the aura. Make it sound convincing. Why did he want to die? What was he feeling?”

I stared at him. I’d just told him that I couldn’t read a dead person’s aura, but he refused to believe me. Almost like magic was a made-up thing that you could adapt to suit different circumstances by sheer will.

“I’ll go over by the body. Maybe his aura will speak to me there.”

He nodded, frown fierce. “Good.”

I sighed and then went to step on the tidier side of his body, where there was less blood on the floor. These were my lawyer loafers, not my street shoes. I knelt down and inhaled deeply, centering myself and getting ready to open my third eye. I struggled, like I did when I was tired or overworked, but I pushed through and finally saw the glimmery nimbus of color around everyone in the office other than the judge. He was dead. Dead don’t have auras. If he had a ghost, I’d have no idea. I couldn’t see ghosts, just auras. I’d tried to stretch my gift my whole life, but no matter what I did, that was all I could do with my inherent magic. I could cast a few spells, but just the basics.

Brannigan’s aura was pink and yellow, uncomfortable being here on his day off, but also proud to be called in, to be necessary. Lieutenant Joss was worried, frustrated, and angry. I already knew all that. Everyone else was bored, excited, or hungover. No, that was just the shaggy guy taking photos of the room.

I caught Lieutenant Joss’s glare and refocused on the body. I was supposed to be reading his aura. The judge was wearing a black suit, gold watch, black leather shoes, high quality, but well-worn. He’d been wearing those shoes the first time I met him, when I interned here while I was going through the police academy. With a warm smile, he’d reached out his hand and…

I looked down at my hands in shock. I’d fumbled because I’d reached out with my right, but he already had his left out. The judge was left-handed, but the gun was in his right. I guess that was fine. The temple wasn’t exactly a hard target to hit when it was your own. Still, how many people would shoot themselves with their non-dominant hand?

Also, the longer I knelt there, the fishier things smelled. Like the room, the judge, it all smelled off. Literally. The scent, like my shampoo this morning, smelled wrong. It stank of fear, not hopelessness. I leaned closer and sniffed the body, and the scent of decomposition was almost as strong as the fear that still soaked into his skin.

“You got something?” Lieutenant Joss asked, breaking me out of my weird new sensory exploration.

I looked up at him, startled and confused. I could smell his worry, like I could smell Brannigan’s self-confidence. “It’s not a suicide.”

He blinked at me, something like fear flashing through his eyes and scent before he snorted. “What do you mean, it’s not suicide?”

“Well,” I said, slowly standing up, and noticed that I’d gotten a bit of blood on the hem of my pants. “His aura is afraid, terrified really, but not depressed. Do people kill themselves when they’re scared? Also, the gun is in the wrong hand. He was left-handed.”

Brannigan chuckled. “Seriously? You think that Judge Stevens was murdered? This office was sealed. No one came in or out other than security. The cameras were all rolling in the hall outside the office. It was just him in here. No signs of struggle. And you said earlier that you can’t read a dead man’s aura.” He raised a brow and gave me a pointed look.

I scowled back at him. No one had mentioned the cameras, and I’d never wanted to come here on a Sunday in the first place. I’d much rather be walking down long aisles of books with my dad. I shrugged and met Lieutenant Joss’s gaze. “You asked for another set of eyes. I’m telling you what I see. I’d definitely do some more digging if I were you. Whoever or whatever killed the judge needs to be stopped.” I straightened up. “Is there anything else you need?”

Lieutenant Joss nodded. “Yeah. Take notes. You’re going to write up the report for this case in meticulous detail. Who else could possibly capture your mystical vision as well as you?”

Brannigan snorted.

I shot him a glare, then refocused on the Lieutenant. “Of course. Are there any witnesses? I imagine you already have the report from the person who found the body.”

“Yes, but you go ahead and interview her again. Maybe Ron missed something, like everyone else missed the obvious murder aura around the judge. Then you can interview everyone else who works here to make sure the report is thorough.” He walked off to talk to the guy taking fingerprints while I stood there, feeling my life wane out of me as surely as if I were being drained by an ancient goblin. More paperwork? How was this justice? How was this for the greater good?

Brannigan patted my shoulder. “Tough luck. Guess I’ll leave you to it, Sato. I’ve got a golf game to get to.”

Golf? He played golf on his weekends? Why was life so unfair? Not that I wanted to play golf, but I’d been looking forward to the book fair. A few years ago I’d found a scrap of parchment written in Goblin at one of them. It had been a list of groceries and prices, but I’d been so excited when I found it. Goblin was not a common language, particularly anything written.

I straightened my spine and nodded at Brannigan. “See you Monday.” I headed towards the corner Lieutenant Joss had nodded where I found the witness who had discovered the judge. Hopefully she got a raise after that experience.

She was old, tired, and in no mood to tell some young foolish girl what she’d already told another officer. It took all of my tact and diplomacy learned from years of waiting tables to get her to repeat the story. She’d come in, found the judge, and then went to the desk downstairs to report it.

“Did you step into the room?”

“Maybe a few steps. Why?”

I smiled. “Just trying to get a clear view of the scene. Did you have a lot of interactions with the judge?”

“No.”

“Did you ever clean up his coffee mugs?”

She shrugged. “Not coffee. Sometimes a glass of scotch.”

“And were they on the right or the left side of his desk?”

She frowned at me. “How could I remember…The left. On the side with the lamp. Not that he had a glass that day. Good. Scotch is bad for nerves, and he seemed nervous the last time I saw him.”

“Did he? How could you tell?”

She shrugged, scowling. “Nervous means he wouldn’t let anyone in his office after dark when he was here. Nervous as in, he had his clerk go into his office before he’d go in. When he worked late, he wouldn’t let the cleaning crews in, and he had two more locks put on the door, solid ones, and he had bars put on the windows. I mean, he’s a judge. He’s got his share of enemies. That’s why I take out the garbage instead of working like you. You’re going to get yourself killed if you aren’t careful.”

I gave her a slightly less pleasant smile. “And that’s why I’m so careful. Thank you so much for your time. Give me your contact information, and you can go.”

She nodded, wrote it down for me, and with that, I was left with the rest of the court’s inhabitants to interview.

On a Sunday, only the guards were there, but none of them had anything insightful to say. I finally wrapped everything up and headed to the station to write up my report. It was late, and the words were sticking in my brain like glue in a bottle with the lid off. Gooey words stuck as I tried to ascribe some kind of motive to the killer. The motive wasn’t the sticky point, not when judges did put away criminals who could be incredibly resentful, but the entrance. No one had gone into the judge’s office. I’d seen the footage. I’d talked to the guard. The cleaning crew had talked to him through the door at one thirty AM and no one else had gone near it. They hadn’t gone inside, and there had been three people on the crew. The guards had switched out at two-thirty, and neither of them had seen or heard anything. That was another thing. No one had heard the gunshot.

I rubbed my forehead and tried to focus on my computer screen, filling in every line, wishing we had a more up-to-date program to use that would do all this work for me. With magic and technology, why did I have to enter in all of this stuff until my eyes went fuzzy?

I leaned back, closing my eyes for just a second, but I must have drifted off. I heard the slightest scrape of a window across the hall from me, a sound that was impossible for me to hear, like it was impossible for me to smell fear, but it woke me all the way up. Someone was in the police station with me, in the dark of the night, and I had no backup.