Chapter 1
The air was thick with smoke and snow as I stared up at the five story dollhouse.
Through the haze of ice and ash, flashes of red and orange could be seen as the apartment building burned. From where I stood, I'd seen glimpses of bedrooms and foyers, bathrooms and closets, flickering with angry flames. An entire wall had been sheered away like a slice of sheet cake, with the snow on the ground playing the roll of icing.
The cops had already cordoned off the area, and I stood with a group of pedestrians a block away. I'd already identified myself to one of the officers at the scene, and they'd gone to retrieve the detective in charge.
That left me time to figure out what the hell I was looking at.
The rubble from the building had tumbled across the street, damaging buildings across the way. I tried to see if I could spot anything that might hint at the cause of such destruction, but the snow had covered most of it.
As I mulled over the unbelievable sight, the cop I'd spoken with returned with a short blond woman in tow. She didn't look happy to see me, and I immediately found myself bracing for an argument.
"Hayes," Detective Karrin Murphy said crisply, her frown undoubtedly due to the weather and the situation rather than seeing me again. We'd worked together a few times over the years, but she'd never really warmed to me.
"Detective," I said politely. She nodded, and I dipped under the police tape and followed her toward the building.
"Sorry," she said as we walked. "I was expecting someone else."
"The C.F.P.D. called and told me to get out here," I told her, afraid that I was stepping on toes. The Chicago Fire Prevention Bureau was the group that normally hired me to investigate what you might call 'unique' fires and situations. As a private arson investigator, they paid me a pretty penny to explain the unexplainable in a way that people could believe. The Special Investigations division, of which Detective Murphy used to be in charge, occasionally hired me to consult on their cases when they involved anything in my wheelhouse.
"I asked them to call," the short detective replied, allaying my fears. "I was just expecting another consultant to have already been here."
"Oh," I said as we approached the building.
She led me to what was now the front corner of the building, or what used to be a point several feet in. I looked up at the edge of the structure, and gave a low whistle.
About five feet off the ground, or about hair level on the detective, was a perfectly circular hole cut into the side of the building. Half the circle remained in the wall still standing; the other half was lost in the rubble.
What made it distressing was that the brick and steel along the raw edge was still red hot, but the alley and surrounding area was unblemished. It was as if someone had concentrated a lot of heat in just the one particular area, without any thermal loss or damage to the surrounding structure. Which was impossible.
Well. Impossible unless you believed in magic.
"I take it this is a J&H call?" I asked, taking my glasses out of my jacket pocket to take a closer look at the super-heated brick. Once they were on, I sub-vocalized the spell that would allow me to see into the magical spectrum.
Most mortals, including myself, have no sense for the supernatural. Despite science protesting otherwise, there's plenty of magic around everyone and everything. The past, and sometimes even the future, can leave traces upon the things of the world. What was, what is, and what will come can sometimes overlap, leaving a psychic residue for those with the eyes to see it.
Wizards and the like can usually sense it on their own. They have the ability to use what they call the Sight, or Third Eye, or whatever nickname is fashionable at the time. With it, they can see the truth of things, but the cost is high. Whatever they see is indelibly imprinted on their mind; beauty or beast, what their Sight reveals will remain with them forever.
I had no such power. All I had was a handy pair of enchanted glasses that were no longer prescription, but still allowed me to peak at the world beyond the world.
Only a second after I'd activated the spell, I tore the glasses off my face and twisted away, clinching my eyes shut.
"You alright?" Murphy asked as she looked at me oddly. I waved in the direction I thought she might be in as I tried to will away the blinding red light that had burned into my retinas. The smell of sulfur in the air grew thick, enough to cause me to gag. I took a minute, no doubt making the detective question my sanity as I recovered from what I'd seen.
"Don't worry about the Hyde file," she eventually said, to break the awkward silence as I blinked away my vision. "I'm just going to need a Jekyll."
I frowned in her direction, the world still filtered through a crimson lens. "Why no Hyde?" I asked, surprised. Half of my job was making sure those in the know knew exactly what they were dealing with. While the brass would never publicly admit to the supernatural, it didn't mean that they let it destroy buildings without question. A select few would receive the 'Hyde' file as Murphy had started calling it back when I first worked for her, while the rest would settle for the 'Jekyll'.
Of course, that had been back when it had been Lieutenant Murphy rather than Detective Sergeant, and she had been in charge of the department. A few years back, she'd gone AWOL during an investigation at a convention, and it'd cost her the division. Now I technically consulted for Lieutenant Stallings, who'd been placed in charge.
"I'm bringing in another consultant for that half," she said, shooting a sideways glance my way. "I'm going to let him figure this out. Unless you have a guess?" she added.
"Other than a giant red lightsaber? Nope. Not the foggiest," I assured her.
And I didn't. While I knew some things about the supernatural world, I didn't know of anything that would be able to cut through brick, mortar and steel like that. Not without causing a whole lot of other damage. I'd been exposed to numerous forms of magical fire, but it all behaved like fire.
This was nothing like anything I'd seen before. My vision was just beginning to return to normal, and the stench of rotten eggs that had been overpowering was fading back to the weak scent it'd been when I'd arrived in the alley. With the glasses off, all I saw was the world as it was. And I was quite glad that I didn't have to live with the memory of that violent, destructive, hateful light.
"Alright," she said, sounding somewhat disappointed. "I guess we'll have to tap the donation jar."
I winced at that. I'd heard about the budget shortcuts in her department. Someone seemed to have it out for S.I., and was undercutting them at every opportunity. I suddenly realized that she'd probably been hoping I could figure this out; my fees were paid by the C.F.P.B. budget.
"Uh, I could take a stab at it," I said belatedly.
"Don't worry about it," she said, her gruff tone making it clear that she didn't want any charity from me. "I'll just whitewash whatever Dre—"
"Aht!" I said, flinching. I held up a cautionary hand, to which she rolled her eyes.
"Sorry," she said, sounding like she was anything but. "Forgot."
"You know enough to know there's power in names," I reminded her. "The last thing I want is him being anywhere around me. If you go saying his name, he's liable to pop up."
"That's kind of what I was hoping for," she growled as she checked her watch. Seeing the time, she glanced back at me. "Do you think you can whip something up?"
I turned back toward the wall, and managed to only flinch sightly at the memory of the red light. "For this? Sure. But it's going to have to be a conspiracy or plot, rather than something quick and easy."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"I mean it's going to have to sound like someone on the inside, possibly the building's owner, was involved."
"Hmm," she said, a doubtful look crossing her face. "That could be a problem. This building is currently vacant while it undergoes renovations."
"Perfect!" I said, not seeing the issue. "So we say the owner realized it was a money-pit, and decided to get the insurance money. No charges are pressed because we can't find enough evidence to prosecute."
"The problem is the owner," she clarified. "It belongs to Lake Michigan Ventures, a subsidiary of Mitigation Unlimited."
If I was supposed to recognize the name, I sorely disappointed her. "So?"
"Who's the most powerful man in this city?" she asked.
"Um," I said, thinking about it. "Some might say the guy you've got coming."
The short detective gave an indelicate snort at that. "Other than him."
"Well, I don't know—" I began, before I realized what she was saying. "Oh. You mean that type of power."
"Mm-hmm," she said, nodding.
She meant John Marcone. Resident gangster, crime boss, pimp, entrepreneur, illegitimate business man, etc, etc. He was like the Kingpin, only less warm and fuzzy. Or maybe an aspiring Victor Von Doom, but without a penchant for body armor and green capes.
"I still don't see the problem," I said as I heard a ringing in my pocket, which I ignored. "He's always up to sketchy things, and he's got enough lawyers to make sure no-one ever pins anything on him. And besides," I added, gesturing toward the wall. "He's tied up in the supernatural scene as well. He probably won't want any more attention on this than you do."
The detective's head slowly pivoted toward me, and her cold eyes gave me a calculating look.
"Or so I hear," I said, swallowing nervously.
Knowing too much about Marcone might imply that I was familiar with his operation. And one thing I'd learned about Detective Murphy over the years was that she was the type of cop that played by the book. Even bothering with Jekyll and Hyde reports seem to disgust her, but she did what she had to. All the same, she wasn't going to do anything to help the likes of Marcone.
And to be honest, I didn't know him or his operation at all. We had one mutual acquaintance that I knew worked for him, but that was about it. Since that one acquaintance was a supernatural consultant by day and a Norse Valkyrie by night, I figured Marcone was aware of what really happened in his town.
It also made me wonder why it just happened to be his building that was destroyed by this display of incredible power.
"Alright," Murphy said, her tone curt again at the idea of Marcone making money on all of this. "Get me what you can, as soon as you can."
Before I could reply, another officer arrived. "Detective, the other one's here."
"That's my queue," I told her. "I'll get something typed up. Might take a couple days to work up anything remotely believable, and I'll update it once the forensic team provides whatever they can."
"Sooner the better," she said as she set off to follow the officer.
I followed after her, and cut my way across the street to where the response teams were organizing. I caught a glimpse of a ridiculously tall guy in the crowd, and carefully headed the other way. Trouble found me enough without me hanging out with the Wizard; being around him would only make it worse.
As I trudged through the snow, I pulled my phone out and checked the caller ID. When I saw who it was, I blinked in surprise, and quickly hit redial.
The phone rang twice before a tired feminine voice picked up. "Chief Hayes."
"Hey mom, what's up?" I said, my tone belaying my nerves. My mother wasn't the type to call so late unless something was wrong.
"Woody," she replied, her tone warming slightly. "You busy?"
"Out on a call," I told her as I made my way down the street. I found a building entrance that offered a little protection from the wind and snow, and hunkered down to hear her better. "Something wrong?"
"I don't know," she said, sounding unsure. Which was a rarity for my mother. "We've got something going on over here that I thought I'd get your advice on."
"Dad okay?" I asked, worried that she was hedging around something I didn't want to hear.
"He's fine," she said, her voice exasperated. "His usual self, which is more than enough."
"I heard that," a gruff voice called in the background.
"So what do you need?" I asked.
"We've had three deaths in the last three nights," she said, her tone taking on the official cadence of the Lake Providence Chief of Police. "Three kids, late teens and early twenties, all dead."
"Damn," I replied. "What's happening?"
"That's the thing, Woody," she said, growing unsure again. Her voice grew softer. "But I might not be anything… natural."
The wind howled for a second, blowing snow and cinder my way. I sat there, waiting it out, while trying to think of a reply. "What makes you think that?" I finally asked.
"The circumstances of the deaths," she said. "There are… questionable aspects."
"Don't be getting him all excited about that magic crap," my father shouted in the background. Even hearing his tone over the phone was enough to grate my teeth.
"Can you come out?" my mother asked, sounding like she'd just shot my father a look.
"Um, yeah," I said, thinking it over. "The only urgent thing is this case, and I'm just getting started. I've told them it'll take a few days anyway."
"Great," my mother said, sounding relieved.
We said our goodbyes, and then I sat there on the building steps, stunned.
If I had made a list of improbable things that morning, that I was sure would never happen, a building with a wall sliced off by intense magical energy would be near the top. Even considering the supernatural world we lived in, it seemed impossible. Just the sheer power and control required for such a thing seemed absurd. There were very few things that would be higher on the improbability list.
My mother calling me for help on a case involving magic was one of them.
I shook my head, and started to make my way back to my place through the snow. The apartment building, with its impossible fire and incredible destruction, would have to wait.
I was going home.
