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Friday, April 17, 2167

The Gray Ward

Dragon Heights, Wyoming

Had I been in Miami,I would have thrown myself into my work, racing against the clock in order to bring the killer to justice before they could strike again. Interviews of those who knew the victims would be conducted. The money trail would be evaluated.

Money talked, always.

Without a money trail, without the identity of the victims, and without anything other than the knowledge the killer targeted those approaching the shrines, I needed to wait. Waiting would win me more than investigating the shrines in person.

Well, for now. Investigating in person would happen soon enough, but I couldn’t afford to tip off the killer. The element of surprise would be my most potent tool in my lackluster arsenal.

In a perfect world, I would have access to the victims’ bodies. While I lacked most of the powers of a purple dragon, I did my one trick well, often better than the actual dragons. All I needed to do was touch the body, close my eyes, and concentrate.

In a pinch, I could work with my eyes open, but I found the experience disconcerting at best and prone to upsetting my stomach and triggering a skull-splitting headache.

The history of every wound always came rushing in, imprinting into my memory as a mix of physical sensations, images, and emotions. I filtered out the emotions and often ignored them unless I determined the victim’s emotions proved somehow relevant.

Regret tended to catch my attention, and I evaluated the rest on a case-by-case basis. Until Cedrick brought me more intel, I would need to investigate using the local news outlets to get a better idea of what was going on and build a timeline.

Everything would need to be evaluated with many grains of doubt. Most reporters wanted to be a sensation. As such, the truth often became sidelined, which would throw even more kinks into my investigation.

Worse, some reporters bothered to get real information but added elaborations to entice the local population with their storytelling skills.

The trick would be isolating the truth from the rest of the mess.

Twenty minutes after leaving Cedrick’s work, I made it home and climbed the rickety stairs to my apartment to discover a note taped to the door. I recognized my landlady’s handwriting.

Heaving a sigh, I removed the note, unfolded it, and frowned at the request to see her as soon as I arrived. I made the time to go into my apartment and retrieve my cash pouch hidden deep in my pantry, which held a supply of canned goods I bought on the cheap every time I had extra money.

I counted the money, determined I had enough to pay two months of rent with enough left over to pay my bills and get groceries, and returned everything but the rent to its hiding place plus twenty dollars to get a treat for dinner.

With two months of rent in the bag, I would be able to worry less about picking up side jobs and more about passing the certification tests I needed to get a job as a secretary for a well-paying firm. Once I nabbed stable employment, I’d go to school to become something.

I hadn’t yet decided what that something would be, although I liked the idea of working with money. Getting the appropriate certifications to work as a secretary in Dragon Heights needed to happen first.

Had I been willing to reveal my past, I could have bypassed certification, but at least Dragon Heights had a system for those who couldn’t or wouldn’t provide proof of education.

I’d been wise enough to take the practice test to have a better understanding of what they expected. Outside of the specifics on some software, I’d passed with flying colors, and I went to the library to learn what I hadn’t known before I would invest the forty dollars to take the real test.

I left my apartment and headed down the street to where my landlady lived, which was a boarding house next door to the brothel she owned and operated. I knocked, wondering why she’d requested that I meet with her.

I still had a few days before I owed her any money, and I tried to make sure I showed up at least a day ahead of the promised pay date.

Cecilia Andrews opened the door at my third tap, dressed in her work clothes consisting a translucent robe offering nothing in the way of substantial coverage. “Ah, excellent. Come in, Kinsley. I’ll try not to waste much of your time.”

I followed her into the entry, which had been decorated in a sparse yet welcoming fashion, using warm colors to put guests at ease. A single end table and a pair of chairs allowed her to speak with people without taking them deeper inside.

Rather than make use of the seats, she guided me into her kitchen, a rustic affair meant to trick visitors into believing she led a simple life.

There was nothing simple about Cecilia Andrews.

With a faint frown, the woman put a kettle on her stove to boil and set up a tea pot. “When you first came to me about a place to stay, you mentioned that you had some experience doing financial investigations, like checking for accounting fraud and so on. Were you serious?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t lie about something like that. It’s too easy to test my honesty. I won’t tell you where I learned how to do it, but if you need help checking over your accounts, I can point out anything suspicious. You may need a tax accountant to further investigate things I’ve flagged, though.”

“Someone is scaring my women, but only some of them. The cop shows depict them checking their financials to find out secrets. I have access to their files. They’re scared enough they gave me their credit card statements, receipts, and other financial information. They also made a list of those they’ve seen, places they’ve been, and so on. I’ll pay you for the work, especially if you come up with a viable lead I can pursue.”

What the hell was going on in Dragon Heights? It was one thing to go after the dragon-kin seeking to obtain power, but for someone to be attacking the brothel women? In many ways, the brothels ruled the Gray Ward, and only an idiot went against the brothel matrons. While Cecilia limited her work to a single brothel, she catered to the rich and famous, and her women took pride in their beauty, their skills, and their ability to separate the rich from their money.

Her brothel even hosted some of Dragon Heights’ men, a mix of dragon-kin, dragons, and humans.

Without waiting for an invitation, I sat at her cozy kitchen table and made myself comfortable. “You can’t bring the police into it. Why?”

Cecilia offered me a grim smile. “A good question. My women all have done, seen, or experienced something that led them to my door. I shelter them, give them meaningful work, and help them become educated. But yes, there are things I would rather the police not see unless necessary. A few dragons owe me favors, so if we can identify the culprit, they can be dealt with. Quietly, of course.”

“Of course. Bring the papers. Depending on how much there is, I can read over it in a few hours and point you in the right direction. I’m not promising I can find anything. I might need to interview your women if I find something but have questions.”

“You can talk with them if it’s needed. I’ll bring the papers out. Just let me serve tea first. I could use a cup. It’s been a bad few days.”

“How badly hurt are your women?”

“It’s mostly bumps and bruises, but one was cut with a knife. I don’t know if the injury will scar.”

“Is she here?”

“She is.”

Well, well, well. Maybe I would have trouble with Cedrick’s woes, but I could help my landlady and her women with relative ease. “Can you make her a cup of tea, too, and ask her to come here for a moment? I’ve a few questions. Basic, about where she was hurt.”

“That’s fine. It’s Gerina.”

As one of Cecilia’s premier women, Gerina made herself visible when she wasn’t with a client. I’d met her several times, usually when paying my rent. With dark brown hair and pale green eyes, she drew attention and charmed most with her almost ethereal beauty inherited from her dragon parents.

I assumed one was a copper dragon, as she’d turned her entire life into art.

“Not her face?” I asked, allowing myself to frown.

“Fortunately not. She raised her arm in time.”

In Miami, we’d had several cases of jealous men disfiguring brothel workers, determined to ruin the women they claimed had ruined them.

Petty, jealous bastards.

“She’ll be okay answering some questions?”

“She is furious, and she would feed them to a dragon if she could. She is not wilting over this. She doesn’t get angry often, but this has beyond angered her.”

“That’s no wonder. She’s beautiful, and not just because of her face.”

“And that is why I would ask for your help. You see them as people. The police do not.”

However much I disliked her point of view, I understood it. I’d run into the same prejudices time and time again during my work.

Most cops automatically assumed brothel women brought trouble upon themselves due to their choice of profession.

As I was no longer in the business of backing my former co-workers, I nodded. “I’ll do what I can, and I can advise you when it might be a good idea to bring in someone who can work with law enforcement. I’m sure your dragon friend could handle that if given the right information to pass along.”

“I am prepared to waive your rent for six months if you can help me. My women are terrified, and I want to give them the freedom to leave our home. Right now, they take the tunnel into the brothel and otherwise stay indoors.”

Six months would change my life significantly, giving me the break I needed to stop living in a state of ongoing poverty. I held no doubt Cecilia understood that, using the offer to motivate me into doing the work. “How is the security at the brothel?”

“It’s good. There are two dragons on staff, four dragon-kin partway through transitioning, and my normal staff. They are on guard against anyone who might try anything, and we are monitoring our client sessions closer than usual.”

As I didn’t want to leave the impression I knew more about dragons than I should, I said, “I’ll try not to ask any questions that violate client confidentiality, but I will ask for some generic information. If they’re being targeted, it’s possible the attacker is a client.”

“That thought has occurred to me. I have a client list, and I have replaced their names with numbers. This will let you ask questions as needed without breaching our clients’ confidentiality. It is in our rules that their confidentiality is voided if it is found they have taken action against my women.”

Having access to information on the clients would simplify matters for me. I would need to take care with how I questioned Gerina, but I would have no problems with that.

Interrogation rooms annoyed me, and I enjoyed the idea of using the honeyed approach with Cecilia’s women. While making the questioned uncomfortable could serve a purpose sometimes, I had hated victimizing victims.

“I’ll need some paper and a pen to take notes while I talk to Gerina, but if I can find anything of use to you, I’m glad to help. Nobody deserves to be scared like that.”

Cecilia nodded. “I’ll be back shortly. Please make sure to keep your tone calm. She’s easily rattled right now.”

In Gerina’s shoes, I would be more than rattled. I’d be either working to find out who had done it so I wouldn’t be put in that position again or heading off to another city. Again.

I wondered if a day would go by without some form of regret over leaving Miami, from how I’d done it, the reasons for doing it, and everything in between.

Cecilia finished preparing the tea, left it to steep, and excused herself.

I went over what I’d done as a cop, compared my past with my current situation, and worried I’d need to utilize more of my training than I preferred.

The fact Cecilia had come to me, willing to take losses on the place she rented to me, told a chilling tale.

She wasn’t sure who she could trust, but I’d proven myself to be an ally, especially when it came to reviewing financial paperwork out to vex her or otherwise cause her trouble.

I ran a high risk of exposing too much, but I’d already revealed more than wise to Cedrick. If I played my cards right, and I gave no reason for Cecilia to talk to the titanium dragons, who might talk to Cedrick about my unfortunate history, I could limit the overall damage done.

In any case, I couldn’t just leave the brothel women to suffer from fear, not when I could do something about it. And as for the murdered pilgrims? They deserved justice, too.

Before the tea could become bitter from steeping too long, Cecilia escorted Gerina into the kitchen. The woman, who could have stepped out of the brothel to become a famous model with no work, sat near me and flashed her brightest smile. “I told Cecilia you would help if asked. You’re always so good with the paperwork. If there’s a money trail, you’ll find it.”

I appreciated her faith but questioned where it came from. “I’ll do whatever I can. You’re healing well?”

“Even if it scars, I will turn it into a badge of honor and a thing of beauty.” She handed me a pad of paper and a pen. “I don’t know what information I can give you. It was dark, I didn’t see my attacker beyond size. Larger than me, but not much larger. I can tell you I am confident he is male, but that is it. Unless she lacks breasts and enjoys inserting zucchini into her trousers.”

I struggled to keep from laughing and failed. “Well, I guess we can start there. How large, was he ready to roll or working up for it, and did he squeal like a girl when you kneed him in the groin?”

She held her hands out apart by about eleven inches, and then she smiled. “He had surprising fortitude when I defended myself, to the point I told him if he wanted a proper ride, he could come back when he was more polite. He was not as prepared as one might hope for such things, so if he has even an iota of skill, I’m sure he would be a joy.”

Damn. “Talk about some serious levels of frustration. Do you think he refrained from making an exclamation to prevent you from hearing his voice?”

“I absolutely do. He is deep voiced. I could tell from the grunts. It’s not something he could easily hide. Not from someone with my experience. Very deep. The kind that rumbles just from speaking. I bet he could make reading the phone book something worth listening to.”

Unlike the rest of the world, Dragon Heights still had a phone book, one that was delivered to every household every three months. While the internet existed, many of the dragons enjoyed flipping through the pages. I doubted I would ever understand the why of it.

If I wanted to flip through pages, I would go to the library to read a book, something I did often to pass the lonely hours between jobs and studying.

“Unusual,” I murmured, and I made a note about the man’s various traits. “Do you think he was a dragon or dragon-kin?”

“I couldn’t tell. If a dragon, he excels at hiding his nature, but he could be. I do feel he had more strength than most men, but he had a bigger build, and he seemed to be teeming with testosterone. Or he had been blessed by some god.”

Gerina wanted a piece of her attacker in her bedroom, and somehow, I managed to keep from rolling my eyes over her attraction to strong, well-endowed men. “I take it you have not had any clients matching his build?”

“Not that I can think of. I honestly don’t know if he meant to use his weapon initially. Perhaps a killer first learning how to kill? He did not seem skilled with his blade. At least not in the fashion he held it.”

“Would you mind showing me how he held the knife with a fork or spoon? A butter knife if you feel up for it. It need not be a blade.”

Gerina got up, went to the utensil drawer, and brought back several of Cecilia’s knives, which she put out on the table. “He had six different knives, sheathed at his side in order of size.” The woman pointed at Cecilia’s knife block. “One was the square blade. The one meant for cutting through bones.”

My brows shot up at that, and I made a note of the number and type of knives. “And the other blades?”

“One was this size,” she stated, gesturing at a butter knife. “But sharper and with a different style of blade. I haven’t seen anything quite like it before. He also had a paring knife. I recognize those. The blade he cut me with was like a scalpel but not.”

Like a scalpel but not? I thought about it, narrowing my eyes. “Like the replaceable blades used in crafts to cut things? When modeling?”

Dragons loved models, and as such, there was a healthy supply of the blades in the city.

Gerina’s eyes widened. “Yes, it was like one of those, but it was of a brighter metal. Almost silvery in appearance.”

I made a note to look into that, including checking into myths involving dragons and weaknesses. Sometimes, someone with an unfortunate misconception of magic would chase after a superstition.

Once, in Miami, someone had tried to choke someone to death with garlic cloves, convinced they were a vampire. Fortunately for the victim, he hadn’t been a vampire, although his allergy to garlic had led to an interesting night in the ER.

The perp had gone to prison for a year, had been required to pay damages to his victim, and had gotten a rather thorough scolding from the judge over having mistaken a garlic allergy for vampirism.

“Do you remember the size of the blade?”

Gerina nodded and held her fingers roughly two inches apart. “The blade formed an oddly shaped triangle about this tall. It was exceptionally sharp, reminding me of a medical scalpel because of it, but it was definitely one of the craft blades, just a little bigger than I usually see. The blade shape is the same, though. The color was wrong, but the handle was just like the craft blades.”

I made a note of that, along with a reminder to check into how medical scalpels were made, if they could be mistaken to be craft blades, and where someone in the area might get them. I would also need to look into the various metal types along with which dragon species could manipulate metal.

If a little bolder, I would give my parents a call, who knew enough about dragons to be a driving force in Dragon Heights if they wanted.

On second thought, I needed to make certain my parents never figured out I’d gone to Dragon Heights.

They’d take over, and they’d do it only so they could tote me as their beautiful little princess deserving of an excellent suitor. Then they’d hunt down my ex, drag him along for the ride, and suggest we kiss and make up.

The whole delusion held a certain amount of appeal when I was honest with myself.

I could live without everything I’d left in Miami, except for him.

The gaping hole in my life was in his shape, and I suspected it would be many years before I could forgive myself, forget about him, and move on. No matter how many times someone claimed time could heal all wounds, the months had stretched into a year, which in turn had stretched into two years, and it continued to stretch on, and still I mourned for what I had left behind, all for his sake.

Perhaps one day, things would change.

I wouldn’t hold my breath for that moment. I knew better.

Forcing myself to focus on my work, I asked, “Have you been seeing any new clients for the month leading up to the attack?”

Gerina shrugged. “We always have some new clients, but nothing out of the ordinary. Every day, we have someone new coming around. Some stay for a ride, some don’t. Some come back another time after learning the prices with the money needed for what they want. The smart ones read the rules and offer dinner to one of us, because we will give special treatment to those who bother. We have had a few new dinner buyers, but we’ve already vetted them. Our current favorite is a lonely cop who brings a friend for conversation, and they’re willing to feed us dinner to get what they want. We’ve also hosted a set of parents and grandparents who want to hear news and have pretty company. The cops are the funny ones, though. One cop is the same every time. The second cop is whomever is up next to get to know us. It’s a cop thing in our area.”

“The cops get to know you? I thought they just caused you trouble.”

“They only cause us trouble when our backgrounds get involved,” Gerina corrected. “But we’re good for morale. The regular brings one of the single men who needs to get used to having pretty company around, and he keeps coming until he no longer blushes when we show up wearing nothing but a smile. Then we dress up. And then we do it again. It usually takes a few weeks at three times a week to get the uniformed boys to stop acting like they’ve never seen a naked woman in their life. And when we do need to go to the cops for help, they know us.”

“So why me? If you have contacts in the force, why are you dodging them?”

“We don’t know if the attacker is part of the force,” my landlady admitted. “Until we know, it just isn’t safe.”

However much I wished I didn’t understand, I did. “That’s smart. I’m sorry. It must be hard not knowing if they’re actually your ally or not.”

“Most of them are, but the possibility exists that one isn’t.” Cecilia heaved a sigh. “And anyway, our regular was the one who suggested we go to a private investigator, someone with experience or know-how about financials. That’s what made me think of you. I did ask the regular. He was the one who hesitated about bringing the force into it officially. He doesn’t know if the police can be trusted with this. While the officers he’s been bringing to my place are reformed and will treat us fairly, there is still a great deal of prejudice.”

Prejudice didn’t disappear overnight, but I admired the regular’s determination to bring change. “How long have they been at this?”

“Some eight months now. It started with just the regular, and he came around for a month or two before bringing a friend or two along for the ride. Last week, he brought in a group of three.”

“Can you get me photographs of those three cops?”

“I absolutely can, but not of our regular. He asked us nicely not to. I told him I would respect that unless evidence pointed at him. He had laughed and agreed, so I will get you pictures of the three new ones.”

“That’s fair.” If I found something suspicious about the regular, I’d figure out his pattern and crash one of the dinners, which would likely be at the tavern down the street, the upscale restaurant four doors over, or within the brothel’s diner, which cost more than the average cop could readily afford. “Where are they taking you ladies for dinner?”

“At our place.”

I raised a brow at that. “The two hundred a meal place?”

“The same,” Gerina confirmed with a grin.

“He’s bringing up to three cops three times a week?”

“The gentleman is a dragon-kin well on his way to becoming a dragon of his own right, so he can afford it. For all we know, he might even be a dragon. He’s the son of prominent dragons. We honestly don’t care as long as he’s got the goods, which he does. Being a cop is a joy in his life. It was never about the paycheck for him. But that’s also why we trust him. He’s a yellow to the core, and there’s nothing more he loves than to watch things grow. As a cop, he satisfies those urges fairly well.”

Ah. Numerous generations ago, according to my mother, a yellow dragon had entered our line. I’d inherited a love of green things and planting seeds from him, with just enough of his magic to help a garden grow.

Cecilia had the right idea about the dragon-kin cop if he came from a yellow line. The idea of hurting brothel workers would make him ill at best. “How oversensitive is this one?”

“Know a little about yellows, then?”

I laughed, and to cover my mistake, I shook my head. “Only that they’re the delicate little flowers of dragon society until you get one into bed, in which case they’re beasts.”

“This one, alas, is emotionally unavailable. He’s physically unavailable due to his status as emotionally unavailable. Gerina offered a nice evening on her dime to him. He was quite polite in his refusal. He does accept cuddling, but that’s it.”

“We give him dinners on the house now,” Gerina added. “That one is looking for his perfect woman, but he’s good company several times a week. Add in that he’s making our relationship with the cops better, only attacking his wallet when he brings guests works out for the best for us.”

Interesting. “And because he’s a yellow, he’s courteous to a fault?”

“Oh, he’s a mouthy little runt, but he’s a sweet one,” Cecilia replied, and she grinned at me. “Maybe after this settles down, I’ll dress you up and have you have a dinner with our sweet young yellow dragon. He might be worthy of you. Maybe. Gerina, have the ladies test him. Kinsley deserves better than a bottom of the barrel upstart of a dragon.”

The poor yellow dragon would be in for one hell of a long wait if I were involved in their matchmaking ploy.

Emotional unavailability plagued us both, common ground neither of us could stand on.

“Maybe after this is resolved. For now, let’s talk money,” I stated.