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Saturday, April 18, 2167

The Gray Ward

Dragon Heights, Wyoming

Dawn bled away to morning,and morning faded to noon. I feared the financial documents would win. I had expected paperwork; investigations always had paperwork, sometimes filling numerous filing boxes. Gerina’s papers alone filled ten such boxes, and as word spread that I investigated her personal matters, the other brothel workers joined the party, filling the kitchen with enough intel I put some serious thought into crying.

“And this is just for the past two months?” I asked, hoping I hadn’t heard the women correctly.

Cecilia laughed at me. “Your expression promises we pain you far more than we could ever truly know, but yes. This is two months of financial information for all of us. Take your favorite box and go home, Kinsley. Nothing in these files have sensitive information beyond what you would expect to find in someone’s home anyway. You lock your doors, and no one is foolish enough to rob someone on this street. Dragons walk here.”

That the dragons disguised themselves would cause me problems, especially as I hadn’t realized how many of them lurked nearby.

I had thought that the Gray Ward had been relatively safe from the watchful eyes of the dragons and their kin.

Damn, damn, damn.

I heaved my most dramatic sigh and pointed at the box of financials from right before Gerina’s attack. “I’ll take that one. I’ll get to work on this right away, and if I spot anything obvious, I’ll walk over and let you know. If I don’t, I’ll come back for more boxes. I don’t expect I’ll find something right away, but I can dream, right?”

“Dream away,” Cecilia replied. “Ladies, put the rest in the side parlor so Kinsley can come and fetch as she needs. Put up a sign stating that parlor is closed until further notice. I’ll bring a phone for you tomorrow, Kinsley. That way, my ladies can give you a call if they notice anything.”

“That’ll work.”

Cecilia made a shooing gesture, and the other women fled the kitchen with a box each. “What you have done so far is worth two months of rent without even blinking an eye over it. You have given them some reassurance. I haven’t been able to accomplish even that. Of course, the regular cop helped with that, as he has explained how people with your skills can help others.”

I would need to do some investigating of the helpful cop. My ex would have liked the whole idea and thrown himself into the effort without hesitation. That there was someone with his same general morality out there offered me some comfort, although I worried for the man.

Erik would have dug his own grave beside mine once word of my suspected state as a necromancer had spread, determined to maintain his loyalties regardless of the cost.

Maybe one day I would convince myself that departing had been as much for his sake as for mine, and that I had done something right for the both of us.

Because I had left, we both lived.

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, I escaped with the box of financials and returned to my apartment. After a fierce struggle with the lock, which had decided to stick, I entered. With the money I’d saved from rent, I’d replenish my pantry, buy some new clothes, and put enough away to complete my mandatory education to get a better job.

Well, a job.

As working while exhausted wouldn’t accomplish more than mistakes I would have to correct later, I put the box on my kitchen table, which had seen better days and had been rescued from the curb. Thanks to some elbow grease, it could handle even my weight.

A few hours of sleep would help, and then I’d make a plan and get to work.

Mysteries never solved themselves, and I doubted the culprits I searched for would turn themselves in and save me the trouble of finding them.

* * *

Saturday, April 18, 2167

The Gray Ward

Dragon Heights, Wyoming

I wokea little after three in the afternoon, which would give me one hell of a busy day if I wanted to make any progress, get groceries, go to the library, begin researching the serial killer, and make some sense of the brothel situation. To keep everything straight, I would need several journals, pens, and highlighters. I would stash several larger journals in my backpack and several smaller ones in my pocket to keep track of the little but important details.

I needed a list to track the lists of things I needed to buy or do in the upcoming hours.

Starting with the groceries would put me ahead of the game, and to play to the expectations of those around me, I went to the cheapest store in the Gray Ward. While the vegetables and meat products were questionable at best, their stock of canned goods came in frequent, far from its expiration date, and at a good price. The variety left something to be desired, but I would cope.

I always did.

Rather than flaunt that I had money, I bought a little more than normal, headed home, and dropped off my goods before heading off to my next stop, an office supply store in the White Ward.

I would draw too much attention in the Gray Ward, but nobody would pay me any mind in the White Ward. The dragons there thirsted for knowledge and assumed everyone shared their thirst.

I needed knowledge, but not in a way they would appreciate if they learned the truth of my activities.

With a heavy backpack and more worries than I cared to think about, I headed for my next destination. Of the city’s wards, the White Ward contained the most libraries, tiered based on the audience the library catered to. To keep curious dragons from poking their nose into my business, I went to the smallest of the libraries, which boasted a robust non-fiction selection and computers meant to help the less fortunate succeed at finding work or better fortunes.

Of the five computers available for public use, two were in use. To my relief, one at the end of the row was available, and I claimed it. Armed with a notebook and a pen, I went on the internet and began reading news sites dedicated to Dragon Heights. I started with recent news, and after a few minutes, I found the first of the articles reporting the death and mutilation of an iron dragon-kin seeking to begin a pilgrimage or possibly petition.

As Cedrick had mentioned pilgrims being targeted, I made a note of the date of the iron dragon-kin’s death, the key details including location and time of his murder, and the few possibilities the article presented as the suspect. The reporter proposed a jilted silver dragon-kin lover held responsibility for the slaying.

I doubted a silver dragon-kin would have any desire to murder anyone.

Silver dragons lived to fly, and little else motivated them. Unless Thameles had attempted to stop her from flying in some form or another, I doubted she had much desire to harm anyone.

However, without hearing the full story from everyone around Thameles, the truth would remain buried.

Iron and silver dragons tended to get along well, better than most of the colors. My parents liked to break the mold, and if the other dragons came poking their snouts into my family’s business, they’d discover that a crabby navy dragon had been tamed by an even crabbier red and orange one. My father’s abilities, which involved conjuring shadows and summoning in the deepest forms of darkness possible, had passed on to me in one of the safer forms.

I never needed to worry about buying blackout curtains; I could surround myself in sufficient shadows to guarantee appropriate levels of darkness for my comfort. Outside of securing good sleep for myself, I didn’t use my ability.

At last check, my range rarely extended beyond three feet.

My mother’s parentage offered her the best of the red and orange dragon worlds, although she pretended she couldn’t breathe fire to lure people into a false sense of security.

At her whim, she could control the temperatures of her flames to the point she could reduce even bone and teeth to ash. As a child, she’d entertained me with her cold flames, too.

It had taken me a little longer than most to learn untamed fires hurt like hell when touched.

My parents would hang me up to dry if they found out I’d gone to Dragon Heights. Then they’d take the place over.

For the sake of every dragon in Dragon Heights, I needed to stay well below the radar and keep convincing my parents, through my letters, all was as well as it could be for someone accused of necromancy in Miami.

After I exhausted the easy information on the shrine killings, I investigated the city’s news outlets for word on brothel attacks, uncovering a treasure trove of reports from all wards.

A month ago, a woman had been killed, but everyone else had been mentioned as attacked with minor injuries. The most detailed of the articles described a brothel worker in the White Ward suffering from a six inch gash across her arm. The weapon had been listed as a makeshift blade.

Had I stayed in Miami, had I not been accused of necromancy, I would have transitioned to hunting serial killers. My captain had already taken the first steps to discuss my transition to specialization in the days before my departure.

My regrets continued to haunt me, and I struggled with my urge to check in on Erik and find out what sort of life he lived without me in it.

Had he found someone new? Enough time had passed he may have moved on. No, that he should have moved on. The thought of him warming a bed other than mine would continue to dig holes in my soul until time got around to doing its work.

If it ever did.

I reminded myself that helping the brothel women would pay my rent and do good in my current world. The memories the case stirred would make the work painful, but I was no stranger to doing painful but necessary things.

Leaving had been necessary, else I would have destroyed us both. He deserved to be a chief, doing what he did best.

I deserved to keep living and breathing, innocent of the crime leveled my way. Pulling out my lineage would have cleared me of charges, I supposed, but it would have exposed my parents as dragons.

Only I would face the worst of the consequences for my choices. My parents likely faced some, as we’d made a point of getting together every week for dinner. On the days Erik had off, he had come as well.

I could only hope the letters I sent them convinced them all was well enough, although I erased as much evidence of living in Dragon Heights as possible. I never talked about wards, dragons, or rains of strange critters. I’d mentioned renting from a brothel matron, a common enough practice they’d only eliminate a few prudish cities in the United States using those criteria.

The talk of pursuing work as a secretary would bother them.

From the day I’d turned four, I’d wanted to be a cop and do good for my community.

Having a chance to do good again was like breathing in fresh air after a long time in a dusty room, smothering slowly but surely.

I forced my thoughts away from Miami to my two jobs, both of which would push my rusty skills to their limits. Solving crimes with the resources of the police department had been difficult enough. What could I realistically hope to find without any help at all?

I had no choice but to find out.

* * *

Saturday, April 18, 2167

The Gray Ward

Dragon Heights, Wyoming

A tiny lemursqueaked at me from its perch on an overturned garbage can near my apartment. At a little before midnight, no one would be at the bounty pickup point, which left me with the choice of abandoning the unfortunate critter or taking it home with me.

Heaving a sigh, I retrieved my gloves from my backpack and approached the hand-sized black and white lemur.

I determined the poor thing starved, making it easy prey for me. Once I caught it, it cried and wiggled in my hand but didn’t try to bite. Petting soothed it, and I resumed my journey home to discover Cecilia coming down the steps.

“Ah, good timing. I had enough time to pick up the phone. I gave it a data plan so you can use it for your research.” Her gaze fell onto the lemur. “Ah. Another one of those. I swear, they went a little too far this time.”

While I agreed, I could defuse her curiosity readily enough. “I’ll take this one to the titanium dragons in the morning. They’re sending them back to their habitat or a conservatory for them.” I smiled at the little critter with its huge eyes in its tiny face. “I did find something relevant to your situation.”

The good humor left the woman’s expression. “What did you learn?”

“You aren’t the only one having problems, and the weapon seems to be the same. A serial attacker, although I’m not sure if it’s the same person. It could be a group. I have to do more research, but I don’t think this person or these people are targeting just your women. It seems to be a city-wide problem.” I wrinkled my nose. “And the person behind it is probably aware of the rocky relationship between the brothels and the police, so they are bolder than someone might otherwise be.”

“It disturbs me how logical and sensible that is.”

“Not all criminals are stupid, and not all of them are mentally ill. Some are just terrible people who enjoy making others suffer. And those are the most dangerous of all, because the police can’t rely on them to be stupid to close the case.” I joined her in making a disgruntled expression. “I don’t know if this one is smart or not. At first glance, I would think smart; he picked the perfect demographic to target. Brothel matrons don’t tend to have a cooperative spirit.”

“We compete. But we absolutely will cooperate if we feel we must for the sake of our women. Not all of us, of course. Some are only in it for the money.”

At the end of the day, people remained people, and greed motivated many. “I’ll look into it and see what I can find, but there have been attacks all over the city. The only thing that tipped me off was a brief mention of the blade in one of the news articles I read.”

“Craft blades are not stereotypical murder weapons,” Cecilia murmured.

“They’re really not. There’s likely something going on beneath the surface we don’t understand yet.”

Necromancers, for example, might be able to gain a decent harvest from victims with a prepared blade. While I hadn’t looked deep into the art of necromancy, I’d learned enough to get a better feel for why my abilities would be interpreted to be necromancy.

The line between a necromancer and a healer thinned every time I learned more, with one key distinction: the necromancers worked for themselves instead of for others.

I believed they could heal if they changed their ways or redirected their power. They challenged death, just like healers. They sought to control death, just like healers.

In reality, necromancers earned their reputation for what they did to the dying rather than to the dead. I’d never heard of any necromancer making a corpse get up to do their bidding. I had heard of necromancers peeling the truth out of a dying body, using a mix of torture and magic to gain power along with knowledge.

I could understand how people might mistake my ability to understand a wound’s history as necromancy.

“You look troubled,” Cecilia murmured.

“I am troubled.” I petted the lemur before shrugging. “Until I have a chance to look deeper into the situation, I’ll keep my speculations to myself. Right now, all I have is a long list of possibilities and nothing of substance to back those possibilities. But the news gave me more information than I’d expected. A good and a bad thing, really.”

“You don’t know if the news can be trusted.”

“I trust in the attacks happening, and I hold some faith that the weapon was described accurately enough, but the rest of it is uncertain. And since talking to the other women isn’t really feasible without potentially tipping off the culprit of our activities, it’s best to remain silent.”

“At least for now.”

I nodded my agreement.

“Do you think you can solve this case, truly?”

Had I been in Miami, had I still worn a badge and uniform, I may have expressed confidence in myself and those I worked with. Could one person, alone, find a killer without any resources or help?

I didn’t know.

Sometimes, telling the truth hurt. “I really don’t know. It depends on so many different things. But I can promise I will try. If I don’t, who will?”

“No one, likely,” Cecilia whispered.

“I’ll do my best to get to the bottom of this,” I promised. Perhaps I wouldn’t be able to secure justice, but I might be able to deter the culprit enough to win the brothel women of Dragon Heights some peace.

It would have to be enough.

“I appreciate this,” Cecilia replied, and she headed down the steps. “Don’t get attached to that lemur, okay? They’re nasty blights when the dragons aren’t working their magic.”

“But they’re adorable nasty blights, so I’ll enjoy it while it lasts.”

The brothel matron laughed, waved a hand, and headed for her home.

I stayed on the steps until she made it inside without incident.

With the lemur in tow, I entered my home and wondered what I, a washed-out cop with no prospects, might be able to do. Even if I tracked the attacker down, what could I do about it?

How long would I last before my past caught up with me and chased me away again? I would find out, and I worried it would happen sooner than later.