Chapter 9

I was waiting on the sidewalk outside of the Special Investigations building when Robbins and Penny arrived.

As I hadn't known exactly when their meeting would begin, I'd spent over two hours trying to look inconspicuous in front of the police station. That's not all that easy, given how many pairs of eyes came and went, studying everyone around them. I did my best to keep warm and look like I belonged.

The building was a huge block of stone architecture, the type that hadn't seen any renovations in a couple decades. The only thing remotely new was a patch job on an outer wall. I'd heard rumors about something rampaging through the department a few years earlier, and wondered just how much truth there had been in them.

When my so-called allies finally arrived, they didn't look pleased to see me.

"Hayes," D.C.I. Robbins said with unpleasant surprise. "What are you doing here?" Penny was shivering in her coat, but at least she managed a wane smile.

"I wanted to know if I'm off the case or not," I said bluntly.

The deputy chief inspector eyed me, and the envelope I was holding at my side. "What's that?"

"Am I still on the case?" I countered.

"You're officially off," the man said with a slight emphasis on the second word. "I'm fairly certain you're not involved, but with S.I. leading the manhunt, they're not willing to consult with one of their suspects."

"Fair enough," I replied, and handed him the envelope.

"What's this?" he asked as he unwound the string to look inside.

"My notes on the case," I told him honestly. "My observations on his schedule, and some ideas on how he might be doing it."

One of Robbins' eyebrows raised at the last, and I nodded slightly. Penny saw the exchange, and a curious frown appeared on her flushed face.

"I'll share it with the detectives," Robbins said. He gave me a brisk nod, and headed toward the building.

"What was that about?" Penny asked, lingering behind.

"What was what?" I said, going for innocent. It must not have been convincing, because her hazel eyes narrowed. She turned to walk away, and part of me really wanted to stop her. To explain about mine and Robbins' arrangement. But it wasn't the time. I was doing what I could to not implicate them in my activities, and telling her about things would do just that.

So I let her leave, and stood watching both of them until they were out of sight, feeling the cold air biting at my conscience.


As the two of them made their way through the police precinct, I settled onto a stool in the coffee shop across the street.

Not having a taste for the vile stuff myself, I sipped on a hot chocolate and waited. I found myself unconsciously huddling around my drink.

When the clock struck the hour, I figured it was about time for the meeting to start. I reluctantly put my drink aside and pulled out a wireless headset. It was an over-the-ear model that came standard with my cordless home phone dock. I never used the thing, and as Q and I had scrambled to think of something the night before, it finally found a purpose. The jutting mouthpiece portion had been removed, leaving only the ear clip and bud. I placed it on the counter within a copper wire loop that Q had prepared.

After a quick look around to make sure no-one was paying any attention, I touched the metal loop and spoke the command word. "Lathrada."

My understanding of magic is minimal, as is my ability. But Q is a master crafter when it comes to charms, amulets, and foci. It took nothing more than my insubstantial talent to activate the pre-designed spell. When the word left my lips, the hocus made with the pocus.

As it did, a connection was made between the ear-piece and the flat microphone wiring that I'd glued into place under the manila envelope's flap. Q had explained that the spell was simply reconnecting the two pieces that were formerly a cohesive whole, and allowing them to fulfill the function in which they were designed. The microphone picked up sound, and the ear-bud broadcast it to my ear.

A slight crackling sound confirmed we were up and running, and I quickly donned the ear-piece.

"we know," I heard a woman say. I couldn't help but smile, as I listened in to the conversation across the street and a couple stories up. There might have been easier ways, like having one of the others call my cell during the meeting, or report to me afterward. But that would incriminate them. And needless to say, that wouldn't be as cool as using magic.

"He worked for All-Safe Security up until a month ago," the more familiar voice of Detective Sergeant Stallings said as I slipped the copper loop back into my pocket. I heard the sound of papers shuffling, and wondered if they'd prepared printouts for everyone present, or if Robbins had shared my report with them.

"Did he quit, or was he let go?" Robbins asked.

"Fired," Stallings replied. "His behavior began to change over the last several months, and he'd been under an action plan at work. A month ago, he got into an altercation with a coworker, and that was the last straw."

"How had his behavior changed?" Penny asked.

Stallings referenced some pages, as I heard more rustling. They were most likely the documents from the man's employer. I cursed myself for not tuning in earlier to catch his name. "He was a pretty normal guy. But back in October, he started growing irritable and argumentative. A few times, his coworkers caught him talking to himself in a heated fashion.

"Later, he started acting out. Punching walls, screaming at random times. He insisted on having the lights turned out, and was found in dark closets and bathrooms when he was supposed to be completing rounds."

More loud rustling sounded, and I worried that someone might be playing with the envelope. The wiring was subtle, but even if it was discovered, it shouldn't give anyone pause to think they were being spied upon. From the outside, it looked like a few wrinkles in the glue on the flap. Worst case scenario, they tore it open and found the harmless looking microphone without any sign of a power source that would make it work.

"They put him on a self improvement plan, and tried to get him to see a therapist," Stallings said. "But he refused. Things finally came to a head a month ago when he came across a couple coworkers smoking. They say that when he spotted them, he had a breakdown. He attacked, shouting something about putting out the fire."

"What do you think caused the breakdown?" one of the other cops asked.

"There were a lot of people going through things last October," another said.

"True, but their notes say Pierce started changing before Halloween," Stalling informed everyone.

Pierce, I thought to myself. Probably a last name, but maybe a first. I needed one more piece of the puzzle.

As I sat there sipping my hot chocolate, I felt a rustling in my pocket. I glanced down, and saw that Sal had climbed out of his box. "What are you doing?" I whispered at him, while glancing around to make sure no-one else was paying any attention.

The little guy had his snout in the air and was sniffing. It wasn't as urgent as it had been when he'd detected the torch flame in the city, so I wasn't too worried. But before I could do anything to keep him safely tucked away, he slithered out of my pocket and shot toward the floor.

"Wait!" I whispered urgently, but another patron in a booth turned my way, so I ended up pretending that I'd turned to tie my shoe. Thankfully she didn't seem to notice the yellow and orange salamander skittering across the coffee shop's floor.

"So no history of arson, then?" another cop asked in my ear.

"None," Stallings said. "There was plenty of fire damage to his house, though, when we ran through it. But it looked like no-one had been there in weeks. If he's snapped, he might have gone to ground."

Or underground, I thought. If the torch were driving him mad, like Q and I had speculated, then he could be hiding anywhere. And there were plenty of places in Undertown that he could hole up. But I couldn't imagine how a vanilla security guard would have survived amongst the things in Undertown for that long.

"So how is he doing it?" one of the officers finally asked.

Robbins cleared his throat before answering. "That has yet to be determined. There's been no residue left from whatever he's using. We have some working theories, but we likely won't know for sure until we catch him."

One cop snorted, while another said under his breath, "Maybe we should call the Wizard. Isn't starting fires his forte?"

He said it softly, and the only reason I heard it was because he seemed to be sitting next to the envelope.

"That's not an option right now," said the feminine voice I'd first heard. Her tone was crisp, and seemed to imply she was in charge.

But the suggestion and reply confirmed some of what I'd heard. Plenty of people said that the Wizard consulted with S.I. on occasion, but it was hard to believe. I suppose not everyone was willing to ignore things that stared them in the face. The woman's lack of scorn or outright refusal of using such a resource told me a lot.

"But do we really think this Myron character is doing somethinghanky?" a cop asked.

Myron. Myron Pierce. Or maybe Pierce Myron. I quickly pulled out my smart-phone and started searching for the name.

"Hanky?" Penny asked, sounding confused. I could imagine the look on her face. She wasn't clued about magic, and talk of the Wizard was likely making her question the cops' sanity.

"Never mind that," the woman said, a warning tone in her voice no doubt accompanying a glare at the cop. "Our primary concern is locating Mr. Pierce. We'll leave the rest to the lab folks."

I found Mr. Myron Pierce in my White Pages app just as she said his name. There was only the one in Chicago, and I whispered a silent thank you to whoever was looking out for me.

"I'd like to request once more that we bring in Mr. Hayes," Robbins said, and my heart warmed a little. "He's been on top of this since the third fire."

"A little too close to this, actually," another said. I didn't recognize the man's voice, but I didn't like his tone. "Seeing as he's still a suspect and all."

"I've given you my assurances, Spencer," Robbins said, his tone somewhat cool.

Ah. That explained it. Elliot Spencer was the chief investigator out of Crewe's house. I'd only met the man a couple times, and things hadn't gone well. Crewe had clearly turned him against me. Cases that typically needed explaining, the likes only I could provide, were usually handled by Spencer. And he was piss pore at dropping the super from supernatural.

"We'll refrain from bringing him in for the time being," the woman said, cutting the two off before they got into an argument. "For now, he's out of the loop."

The others grumbled their agreement, and the meeting resumed. I didn't bother listening any further, as I had what I needed.

"Quildë," I whispered as I slipped the headset from my ear.

There was an inaudible pop, something like a soap bubble bursting. The headset fell silent, and I slipped it back into my pocket.

"Sal," I whispered beneath my breath. I looked around, but couldn't see where he'd run off to. I muttered to myself, but didn't dare leave him behind. He tended to get upset about that.

A minute or two later, and after more than a couple people gave me odd looks for my urgent whispers, my eye caught the flash of yellow and orange as it darted across the floor. I waited, watching to see if anyone noticed as the little guy shot across the counter and into his box.

I pulled my coat open enough to look at him as he poked his head out, and saw his contented smile.

"What was that about?" I asked. He cocked his head, and then burped a little too loudly. The smell of coffee beans washed over me, and I turned my head in disgust. "Ugh, gross. Traitor," I declared him. But the little beast seemed nonplussed, and enjoyed his stealthy snack.

Once he was in place, I tossed my empty cup, and headed for the door. I'm sure the meeting would have more useful information about the suspect, but I was running short on time. Beside, if I waited to act, it'd be more incriminating for Robbins and Penny. Best to move while they were occupied, so that blame couldn't be cast on them.

Within a few minutes, my bike roared as I pulled out into traffic, heading toward the address I'd found for one Myron Pierce.


The man at the center of the police investigation lived southwest of the city, not that far from where the first couple of fires had occurred. He lived in a townhome, a narrow two-story place stuffed in between rows of identical housing. How anyone could live with neighbors on either side was beyond me. That was part of why I'd spent so much on the firehouse. I didn't have to share walls with anyone.

I let my bike idle a block away, and looked at the cars on the street. It took me all of ten seconds to identify the cops keeping an eye on the place. The warm air coming out of the van's exhaust was a dead giveaway. Maybe it could have been a contractor waiting for a home owner on a Saturday morning, but that seemed unlikely.

"Okay, buddy," I whispered, and pulled a bag from my jacket pocket. Sal quickly scurried out from his box and crawled down my arm. He was waiting when I pulled the brand new sock from its fresh packaging.

Using my gloves, I rolled one of the socks into a tight ball. When it was ready, the salamander stepped forward, and the air swirled as he grew.

I wish I was a little more sensitive to magical energies, so that I could get a feel for what the little guy did when he added more body mass out of nowhere. Q had explained that it had something to do with ectoplasm, but I wasn't sure if he was kidding or not. We'd just watched Ghostbusters, after all.

However they do it, salamanders and other supernatural creatures have the ability to shrink and grow to a certain degree. Some can shape-shift, while others only give the illusion of a different form, like Q could.

As I watched, Sal grew enough so that he could easily hold the balled up sock in his jaw. He was only twice the size of a regular salamander, and much smaller than many other lizards. He could grow even bigger, but it would be both unnecessary and counterproductive to his mission.

When he had a good grip on the brand new sock, he scrambled down my leg to the street. Then, like a shot, he was darting across the road. My heart lurched as he went, but he was faster than anything natural on four legs, and there wasn't much traffic. His coloring had toned down to an earthy clay orange, so his progress went unnoticed by anyone that might be watching.

I kept an eye out, and saw when he reached Pierce's front door. He hesitated only for a moment as he stuffed the sock through the mail slot, and then he followed it in.

As I waited, I recalled the first time I'd sent Sal into someone else's home. I'd been pretty young, and hadn't understood about guest protocols. Only years later, when I met Q, did I learn about the rules and regulations surrounding the uninvited entrance into someone's home.

Mortals have an innate power to them. Plenty of people speculate on where faith ends and magic begins, but the bottom line is that when a mortal lives in a place, makes their home in a place, they end up creating a threshold. Most will never sense it, or even know of its existence. Only those with some modicum of talent will feel a tingle as they cross over a threshold, and most won't think of it as anything more than a cold chill.

I never felt anything when I passed through a threshold. But Q had taught me about them, and how they affect the supernatural beings of the world.

Some things can't pass through a threshold at all; things like the worst of the vampires lose touch with something that keeps them animated, and they'll supposedly break down into a puddle. Others are weakened when they pass through uninvited, while still more are barely affected.

Sal fell somewhere in between. He could pass through thresholds uninvited, but he didn't have the same abilities as he usually would. And entering someone else's property meant he was bound by the Guest Laws.

That's not what they're called, but that's how I think of them. A supernatural entity crossing a threshold can often do so as long as they abide by the rules. Namely, they can't do the home owner harm, they have to aide them to a certain extent if they require it, and no ill will can be invoked upon the host, even if they're not present.

The last was what made our trip both tricky and valuable.

For example, if I wanted to send Sal into Myron Pierce's home to acquire something that would help us track him, Guest Laws would probably prevent that. Stealing is considered a no-no.

But, if a wiley salamander were to take a dirty old sock from the property under the premise that it would be cleaned, and therefore beneficial to the owner, it'd be more acceptable. Even more so if said sock were replaced with a loaner, so the owner wasn't inconvenienced.

There's more to it than that, but equal exchange and benefit to the host was what allowed Sal to scramble back out of the mail slot a couple minutes later, dirty sock in mouth.

I looked around to make sure the way was clear for him, and then pulled a zip lock bag from another pocket. When he reached me, I took the sock from him and placed it in the bag. I was careful not to touch it, to avoid leaving any trace of my own DNA or scent on it.

When the sock was secured in my pocket, and Sal was back to a normal size and snug in his box, I kicked the stand up on the bike and started off down the street. I noted the cops in the van watching me go, and I shot them a smile and a wave before leaving them behind.