A/N: Yeah, an extra chapter as a Christmas Gift! Happy Twelfth Night/Epiphany (marking the end of the 12 Days of Christmas for Western Christian Churches), Christmas (Greek Orthodox, Ukraine, Armenian Apostolic), & Carnival (most of Europe from now until Shrove Tuesday)! Thanks to Caranath, Leyapearl, Rangerlyn, DuffyBarkley, The Guest Reviewer Only Known As "J", Xenitha, & MoonlightGypsy for the reviews! Next posting will be back on the usual Every Other Day schedule (Friday).
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Scowling, Frank listened to his brother. Nancy had gone to bed, after looking in on the kittens "just to make sure they're all right for the night". To his surprise, Moggie had not only allowed Nancy to pet them, but had picked up one by the scruff (a smokey gray with fur like a cloud) and deposited the kitten in Nancy's lap. Watching Nancy — tough-minded, independent, I-can-do-anything-men-can-do Nancy — cuddle the little fur-ball had Frank biting back a smile. Women…
Okay, be fair. He wasn't immune, either. Moggie had done the same thing to both him and Joe over the past week, and Frank couldn't get over how tiny the little ones were. Two of them fit easily in his palm.
Of course, having most of the women in the Center visiting his room to coo over the kittens wasn't bad, either.
But now he and Joe were talking in his room — after cleaning up three more patches of cat vomit — and Frank was wishing he'd never heard of the whole psychic thing, just so he could keep telling Joe "you're imagining things".
Nancy, shielded, with those shields potentially not hers: that was more headache than Frank wanted to deal with. Nancy brought enough trouble on her own. She did not need help.
"So," Joe said finally, "what do you want to do?"
Frank sighed. "I don't know. It all hinges on who and why. She either doesn't want to be read or she's afraid she'll get attacked. Or someone else is afraid for her."
"Either way implies she's doing something that could result in that." Joe sighed. "Wonderful."
"She's out here for her father. Something her father took on that has a bigger scope than what they initially thought. That's what she said."
"So…what…Carson's investigating the Association?" Joe shook his head. "To steal your line, that makes no sense."
The tuxedo kitten in Frank's lap meeped, kneading at Frank's legs until it found another comfortable position. Frank stroked it absently, thinking; Joe was right. It didn't make any sense at all.
"Say you're Carson," Joe said. "Someone comes up to you and says, hey, there's these people we want you to look into, but we need to work some magic on your daughter to protect her — what would your reaction be?"
"I'd throw them out as lunatics." Carson was the most no-nonsense person Frank had ever met, up to and including Dad.
"Right. So since she's here and obviously had the magic worked on her or whatever…that means it's someone that Carson couldn't throw out of his office."
"Someone he had to take seriously, you mean." Frank thought that over. "Problem, though. She couldn't have known we're part of the Association. Dad doesn't know…" Frank stopped.
"Unless whoever approached Carson did…" From his expression, Joe had the same thought.
"Hammond," Frank said. Harry Hammond was Dad's FBI contact, known for his take-downs of subversive groups. He was the only person who'd suspected the brothers had been recruited by the Association.
Hammond had to know that Dad took cases on spec with Carson — Frank had no doubt that the feds kept tabs on Dad, due to Dad's own government work. It was the only connection that made sense.
"There's another possibility," Joe said. "Like Kris and those bracelets. You didn't know they had magic on them. Her note was kind of vague, and I didn't think to tell you."
"You mean, someone gifted her with something, and she doesn't have a clue it's magic."
"Right. Totally innocent." Joe sighed. "We can hope, anyway."
"Innocent as far as we're concerned, you mean. I don't like the idea of someone sending Nancy magic and not telling her." But Frank mulled that over. "I hate to say it: there's no such thing as coincidence."
"And this is Nancy we're talking about." Joe rubbed at his temples. "Okay. I say we let Nancy make all the moves. Show her everything and be totally up front with her."
"Well, we've got nothing to hide."
"You got it. She'll be certain we're hiding something." Joe settled back, grinning. "We just forget to mention the Gifts. Let's see how long it takes before she cracks."
"Brother, you're evil." Frank tickled the kitten's belly. Meeping, the fur-ball batted at his finger. Okay, he was a guy, he wasn't supposed to be affected by such things, but the kitten was cute…
"Best part is," Joe said, "everyone here'll play along without knowing they're playing along."
It was something that'd driven Frank's suspicions sky-high at first: most folks here had that same sincere nothing-to-hide attitude. It'd taken days before he'd realized it wasn't game-playing: they were being up-front with him. It was the attitude of the Association as a whole: honest, open, sincere. It had driven his suspicious detective-side nuts.
…cute until the little monster sank its needle-claws into Frank's finger. "Ow!"
The kitten didn't know any better. It was just a baby. Jaw clenched, Frank unhooked the tiny claws from his skin — it promptly wrapped its forepaws around his fingers and started gnawing — then scooped the kitten up and deposited it back with Moggie.
Joe snagged the bandages and antiseptic off Frank's desk and tossed them over. "When Tag gets back, maybe she'll let you move them into her room. She's got the bigger space."
"Not with her schedule. We've got the free time. She doesn't." Frank smiled. "If it gets too bad, I'll bribe Jamie."
"You always find the bright side," Joe said.
The next day started normal enough — well, normal as anything ever was around the Center. Noah had taken over Joe's training, taking the tai chi and mixing it with an odd fighting-style that involved dance and rhythm, and after seeing Noah destroy a punching bag with a single crouched-kick, Frank wasn't about to protest. Drake didn't make any comments about Nancy, only tested her with various strike-block-strike drills, then added her to an intermediate group working in a mix of martial art styles.
Under Drake's supervision, Frank worked with the kids — attitude and awareness, how to get away from attackers and stay out of trouble before they got into it. Frank had finally earned his initial black belt ranking in karate, and shortly after that, Drake had not only shifted Frank to full krav maga training, but also asked Frank to be his assistant for the open sessions.
But Frank kept a weather-eye on Nancy. She was paying close attention to Drake demonstrating how to break choke-holds; she didn't have any problem either flipping or being flipped. Frank had to admit, he liked watching her: long hair tied back in a ponytail, loose sweats that still hugged her curves…
From across the floor, Joe caught Frank's eye…and grinned.
Frank shook himself, then paired the kids off to run drills as Drake came over to watch. Once the kids were busy, Frank backed up until he stood next to Drake and waited.
"Shame she's not one of us," Drake said in a low voice. "She'd give you a run for the money."
Frank didn't need to be a 'path to know who she was. "Just keep that idea to yourself."
"Uh-huh," Drake said.
Afterwards, Frank drove Nancy to the rental car place and gave her directions back to the Center, along with the address and the suite's phone number. Jet-lagging or not, Nancy was determined to start whatever work she was doing for her father.
So maybe Carson wasn't investigating the Association. No need for a rental car or to run all over the City, when the Center was right there, after all. Frank thought that over during the drive back; Joe was waiting outside as Frank pulled in to the gravel driveway.
"Interesting thing about those torched buildings," Joe said as he slid into the front seat. He had a backpack with him. "All five are owned by the Rathbone Foundation."
"Huh," Frank said. Three times, conspiracy… "You told Matt?"
"Right before you showed up. He said they hadn't thought to look at the owners, with so many businesses involved."
"All five, same owner." Frank stared out the window. "That puts a different slant on it."
"You mean, maybe the Rathbone Foundation's behind it. Insurance fraud."
"That makes no sense. They'd earn more in rent every year than a one-time insurance payment. They'd get tons more by selling the buildings, for that matter."
"Maybe a former employee with a bone to pick," Joe said. "The main businesses in each building were Rathbone's, too. Or it's just coincidence." He rolled his eyes at Frank's look. "Okay, okay, just thought I'd mention it. All five buildings were big targets in prime locations. That might be all the arsonist was thinking of."
"Maybe." Frank didn't believe it, though. He started to back out of the driveway. "Where to? And what's in the bag?"
"I'm stealing a page from Tag's book. And the Masters & Roberts Tower at Union Square. That was the first one torched."
Frank looked at him, then pulled the car back to the parking area. "We're taking the Muni. You're nuts if you think I'm taking a car anywhere near Union Square."
"Sadist. Making your crippled little brother carry this heavy pack all over the city on hard, cold pavement…"
"Watch it, or I'll add six kittens to it."
"Oh, would you? I'd have half the women in the Center begging to help before I got halfway down the stairs."
"Better not let Jamie hear you say that."
"She'd head the mob." Joe slung the backpack over his shoulder. "Lead on, Sherlock."
The day was clear, the Muni mostly quiet and empty, though it took longer than usual for them to get to Union Square — the Muni had been re-routed for several blocks in all directions. A good third of the Square was cordoned off, with temporary construction fencing erected around the burned building. Frank looked out across the green center and the homeless folks camped there. No one he knew, though — talking to street-level witnesses would've given him and Joe an excuse to treat those folks to a decent meal without injuring their pride.
That had been another shock, that the Blades didn't limit their street-knowledge to the runaway shelter. The first time Joshua had taken the brothers around the streets had been embarrassing, eye-opening, and shaming…
The Masters & Roberts tower was a mess. The front half and top levels were charred, with windows shattered and blown out. The rear and bottom third looked deceptively untouched, but Frank knew better.
"We need to go in," Joe said. "We're not going to learn anything out here."
"I know," Frank said; Joe saying they needed to go exploring somewhere dangerous and possibly illegal? Amazing, the world hadn't ended. "Did you happen to learn where the Rathbone businesses were in this building?"
"Whether the fires targeted those, you mean." Joe shook his head. "No clue. The file said three breakout points — the 31st, 25th, and the 20th. Arsonist probably started from the highest and worked down. Safety first, after all."
Frank studied the fenced-in area with its construction workers clearing debris, then wandered over to one of the chained sections. Wouldn't be too hard to pick the lock, but crossing through the area and getting in the building without being seen?
"Here." Joe handed him the lock-picks.
"We're kind of noticeable out here, you realize that," Frank said.
"Ye of little faith. I'll handle it." Bracing himself with the crutch, Joe settled against the fence and closed his eyes.
Frank felt the energy brush over him, like spiderweb against his skin, and he fought the urge to wipe it off. There wasn't anything there…that he could see, anyway.
"Tag's mouse-trick." Joe's gaze was still on the fence; he sounded distracted and out-of-breath. "They won't pay attention if we're careful not to draw it."
Frank eyed the construction workers, who had a straight line-of-sight to the brothers: none of them paid any attention. "You're pretty handy for a younger brother. When'd you learn to do that?"
"Right before Tag left. I figured it'd be handy for us junior detectives." Joe nodded at the lock. "Work fast. I can't hold it forever."
Frank bit back a smile as he worked. One of his fears had been that the Gifts would make detective work boring. He loved mysteries and puzzles. Getting any solution handed to him on a magical silver platter — he would never had joined the Blades if that'd been the case. But Joshua had set him straight: "Ché, the bad guys have Gifts, too, and that includes being too smart for their own good. A Gift won't save you from stupidity."
The mouse-trick was a good example: if Frank and Joe did anything to draw attention, it wouldn't just be "trick over". They'd also have a heap of trouble dumped on their heads, because they'd be right in the middle of angry people demanding to know how they'd gotten there.
Well, that added a definite kick of adrenaline to all this.
The lock popped open, and Frank slipped the picks into his own pocket. He pulled the chain-fence section open just enough for him and Joe to get through, then shut it, looped the chain through the metal, but pocketed the lock — for now. After he and Joe left, he'd re-lock the chain.
The ground was littered with scorched debris and concrete chunks; they took their time so Joe wouldn't stumble. Finally they made it into the building through one of the side doors and to a back corner screened by a row of huge potted plants. The lobby was mostly intact, save for the thick stench of water-logged ash and smoke.
"Let me try from here," Joe murmured, as Frank helped him to sit. "I don't want to be here any longer than we have to."
"You and me both," Frank said.
Breathing out heavily, Joe closed his eyes. Frank kept watch; he had to be ready to do some fast talking if someone saw through the magic. Men glanced in their direction, but looked away without raising a shout or even a "What are you doing here?" They might be assuming that if Frank and Joe were in here, they'd already been dealt with, but it was still unnerving — though definitely useful. Frank would encourage Joe to keep this trick in practice.
Joe shook himself, looked up. "I can't get a good fix down here. But something's up there."
"We need to go upstairs, then." Sneaking upstairs in a burnt-out ruin, with investigators and construction workers poking around and on the alert? Frank tried to keep the eagerness out of his voice.
Joe's mouth quirked. "Don't sound so disappointed."
They were close to one of the stairwells. The building had two, with the other nearer the elevators and in near-constant use by the workers. Hopefully that didn't mean this one was ruined.
This time, Frank took the backpack. Sneaking around a ruined building meant Joe would need all the balance he had, and being weighed down by a pack wouldn't help. Frank slipped through the stairwell door last and took care to shut it, leaving them in near-total darkness. "Let the mouse-trick go," Frank ordered. "I won't have you fainting on the stairs."
"Yes, Mother." There was a smile in Joe's voice. "There's a flashlight in the bag."
Frank dug through plastic bags of salt and herbs, small bottles, silk cloth — he'd ask Joe about all this stuff later — found the flashlight, and shone it up the stairs. They seemed solid enough, but Frank wasn't taking chances. He took the lead, testing each stair before settling his weight. "Twentieth floor."
"Yeah." Resignation sighed through Joe's voice. "Call it working off dinner in advance. You taking Nancy out to Burn the Tail tonight?"
The thought of Nancy confronting sushi for the first time…Frank smiled. "If I do, you and Jamie can join us."
"Deal. I'll even foot the bill if you sneak baby octopus onto Nancy's plate."
"Tempura squid," Frank countered. "With extra wiggly tentacle parts."
"For that, I'll pay for Josh to come along." Joe gazed up the stairwell. "God, we're evil."
After a long, tense climb, Frank cracked the stairwell door open on the 20th floor; the thick smoke stench stuck to the back of his throat and clogged his nose. The stairwell had shown char and smoke damage for ten floors prior, but had still been solid. Daylight flooded in through the door, and for a moment, the brothers waited, watching the corridor and listening for movement.
"Far end." Joe cracked another smile. "Naturally."
Frank had known that from studying the files last night, but Joe? "Oh?"
"I read the paperwork, too, y'know. The rooms were marked — janitors' closets."
That was disappointing. Frank had been expecting some weird magic reason, if only to rib Joe about it.
Joe slanted a glance at him. "And I feel a weird mystical pull. Feel better now?"
"Lots. Now I can tell you you're imagining things and convince you that we need to go all the way to 31st floor."
"Nice try." Joe closed his eyes and fell silent for a moment. "Something's off above us, too. But this is closer, and those upper levels are probably tons worse."
"No argument here." Frank tested the floor in front of the door. "This part's okay. Stay behind me."
Frank eased forward, step by cautious step. Parts of the floor had crumbled away to ash and char, and getting both himself and Joe across the gaps stretched his nerves to breaking point. But Frank didn't care — ruined buildings always had a risk to them. That was part of the thrill.
Biting his lip, Joe touched the scorched doors as they moved through the ruined corridors, then stopped. "Here."
It was a small tiled room, ash and char covering the blackened floor to several inches deep. Frank eased in — the floor was mostly solid — so he saw it first. "Joe."
Joe peered in. "What in the world…?"
For a long moment, they stared at the far corner — the un-scorched, un-charred, un-burnt corner. Something lay in the center of that un-burnt space.
Using his crutch for balance, Joe went over to it and knelt as Frank came up behind him. A doll, creepily life-like with painted-on eyes, gray hair glued to its scalp and dressed in a crude approximation of a business suit. The skin had bubbled in places; the face had large blackened cracks running through it.
Frank shuddered; he hated dolls. Gramma Kelly had a lifelike china doll that she called "Laura", their dead mother's name, and Gramma insisted that the brothers to talk to it whenever they visited. Their last visit, just before New Orleans, Frank hadn't been able to deal with it anymore and had waited outside by the van until it'd been time to leave.
"Wax." Joe pointed to a blob under the doll's legs — its feet had melted off.
"This couldn't have been in the fire. It would've melted. And why didn't anyone else see it?" Frank scowled. The corner had an odd smell, even through the smoke stench. Something chemical, astringent and bitter. "That sounds like major magic."
"I don't think it was hidden." Joe stared at the corner, the doll, then turned to study the room and the floor. "Nothing like the mouse-trick that I can tell. Maybe it just got overlooked, or the investigators haven't been here yet."
"That's a big maybe, considering that SFFD knew this was an ignition spot."
Joe sighed. "I know, but my way, it's no big deal. Your way, we're dealing with big bad juju and we're in deep trouble."
Frank smiled. "Point taken."
"Well, they didn't bother to erase signature. Not that I recognize what's there. It's all over the burn. Here." Joe touched a spot on the burnt wall, then jerked his hand back. "The whole wall's loaded. But it doesn't feel like mage-Gift. Not mostly."
"So a rogue pyro — wait. They? More than one?"
"Just one. He, she, I can't tell." Joe scowled at the un-burnt floor. "Frank…there's no magic on the floor. Not in the corner."
No magic? So what kept the fire at bay? "What about the doll?"
"Definitely." Joe took the backpack, pulled a small cloth bag. Using it to cover his hand, he picked the doll up before Frank could stop him.
"Joe!"
Joe looked up. "It's silk. Magic-retardant. I want Josh to get a look at this." He pulled out a second, then a third silk bag, and wrapped the doll inside all three. "I don't know what it is, but it's making my skin crawl, even through the silk. No wonder Matt was spooked."
"Retardant…" Frank said slowly. "Fire retardant. If it's not magic that kept the fire back, what if the arsonist used chemicals? That would explain how the corner's intact. But the heat should've melted the wax."
"The head doesn't feel like wax." Joe tapped it through the silk. "Porcelain, maybe. Maybe whatever's on the doll kept it from melting."
Curious, Frank touched the silk bag. Nothing that he could tell…but he brushed his hand off against his jeans, over and over. It felt sticky.
"Whoever set this here wanted it found," Joe said. "They wanted to be sure it got noticed."
"Maybe the SFFD did find it. Maybe they didn't think anything of it. Or they ignored it, because it didn't make sense." Frank managed a grin. "I'm considered an expert on that attitude."
"You said it, I didn't." Joe put the triple-wrapped doll into a plastic sandwich baggie, wrote "Used" on it with a sharpie marker, and tucked it carefully into the backpack.
"Got another of those?" Frank said. "Let's get chunks of the floor and wall, too. We can test for retardants at the lab."
A chunk of the floor tile, a piece of the wall from the ignition spot. They were careful to mark the bags, wrapping everything in silk and stowing the baggies inside the backpack's internal pockets.
Joe dusted his hands off on his jeans. "I take it back — we need to check the other floors. See if it's the same thing."
Frank nodded. "I agree. C'mon."
They made it back down the corridor and pulled open the stairwell door — and a loud voice made them jump.
"Who the hell are you?"
