Magie Noire

By Rurouni Star

Chapter Seventeen

"First point of order," I said to the spirit in the back seat. "Saint Mary looked pretty crazy with the Sight. And just today, Father Forthill made a swimming pool full of holy water that actually killed a demon. What's up with this holy stuff, Bob? Is it something I can use? Is Saint Mary really gonna protect Monica from the heart-exploding stuff, or what?"

Bob made an annoyed sound. "Ugh," he said. "You just had to ask about faith magic." His voice seemed to be coming from behind me, but I knew it was just a phantasm. I saw him in the mirror, stretched out across the back seat, with his shoes propped up against the window. "I don't know, kid. That stuff is squidgy. It doesn't have any hard and fast rules. You're asking a scientist the equivalent of a philosophical question here. You might as well ask me what is art or why do we exist."

I pressed my lips together. "But it might work?"

Carmichael gave me a sideways glance from the driver's seat, but he didn't say anything. I knew I sounded like I was talking to myself. I wondered if he'd started rationalizing away what he'd seen in the house before.

"No idea," Bob said. "The most I can tell you is that it probably won't hurt things. Saint Mary does have a pretty butch threshold, so it's not the worst idea." I had a moment of disconnect at the term threshold. Before I could open my mouth to ask about it, though, he answered the question. "Homestead laws, kid. Magic and spirits have less of an effect inside a home if the source hasn't been invited. Some public places have thresholds too, for… faith-y reasons. Like I said, that's not my area."

"All right," I sighed. "I don't guess there's anything else I can recommend to the Father to help matters?"

"Not with the resources you've got," Bob replied. "I don't mean to be sour grapes, kid, but man, I really wish you'd inherited just a little bit of magic. You're as dry as a bone, though. There's not even a thimble of the stuff in here."

"No need to remind me, Bob," I muttered.

"You do have some pretty nasty stuff going on with your memories, though," Bob said brightly. "Someone really powerful went to a lot of trouble to tamper with your head. It'd be a real challenge to pull it apart without breaking something, but I'd just love to give it a try—"

"Oof," I said. "Please don't, Bob. The very last thing I need is to blow my brain up before we take this guy on."

Bob sighed. "All right, all right. I'll leave the mystery box be. I just want you to know it's there, and it's super interesting."

"Bob," I said. "Don't be Pandora."

"Right. Right." The phantom in the back seat tapped his shoe against the glass. "If you change your mind, though—"

"Focus, Bob." Those words had become a veritable mantra. "We're going wizard-hunting. Victor summoned up a demon before. Can he do that again?"

"Probably not the same demon," Bob said. "Not as long as you're quick, anyway. Even the most powerful demon would take at least a day to reform after getting toasted in your reality. If he's got another demon's name on hand, though, that's another matter." He sighed heavily. "I'd be more worried about wards if I were you. He might or might not have figured those out by now. If he has, then just knocking on the door might be enough to turn you into barbecue."

I grimaced. "Any way around that?"

"Uhhh…" Bob hemmed. "Not normally, no. But with you there… maybe. You'd have to intentionally open your Third Eye, look for weak spots. This guy's not the sharpest tool, so he's probably made some dumb mistakes we can exploit. Assuming you don't go cuckoo for cocoa puffs, anyway."

"Hospital's coming up," Carmichael told me. "You want to call up Waldo, or should I do it?"

"I've got it," I said. "Put a pin in the speculation for now, Bob. I've gotta hand off your anchor."

0-0-0-0

"Why did I actually think you'd stay in bed," Waldo sighed softly.

He considered me with a resigned sort of expression as I leaned against the car. The clouds were gray and heavy overhead; the rain had just started to sprinkle a little, splattering against his glasses. He'd jogged out from the hospital to meet me in the parking lot.

I smiled at him in spite of myself. Just looking at him again had brought the Sight of his soul back to mind. "Because you're a hopeless optimist in the face of all proof to the contrary, I'm guessing," I told him. "Don't worry, it's cute."

Waldo glanced inside the car at Carmichael. My partner simply shrugged in reply.

"Hey," said Bob. He was suddenly standing next to me in the rain. "That's nice. What's that memory you're looking at right now?"

"Nothing," I murmured under my breath. "Butt out."

"What?" Waldo asked me, blinking.

"Nothing," I said again, louder this time. "Hey, uh. I thought I'd give you this, since you were interested in it before." I offered out Bob's skull. "I mean… I'm lending it to you. Only for a day or two. You promise to be really careful with it?"

Waldo knitted his brow. "That's what you came out here for?" he asked, puzzled. "I mean… er, yes. Thank you. I—" His eyes dropped to my arm, and he cut himself off. I followed his gaze, and winced. The bit of rain had plastered my long sleeve to my arm. A hint of blood was already staining the fabric.

"Karrin," he said softly. "What happened?"

Crap. I didn't have time to navigate this. It was only sprinkling right now, but I had no way of knowing whether it was going to turn into a full-on storm or not. The clouds were moving slow though, I noted, and not exactly toward Michigan. That was something.

"Angry husband," I said. It wasn't really a lie. As Waldo's eyes widened, I added: "Not, uh, my ex-husband. Someone else's husband. You know how ugly it can get."

Waldo frowned. "Did you see an EMT?" he asked me. "Maybe you should come in and get that looked at—"

"It's good," I said. "I accidentally disinfected it with a bunch of chlorine. I can't deal with the bureaucracy right now. I'll repack it when I get home."

Waldo considered me for a long moment. A drop of water plinked onto his nose. "...you're not going home right now, are you?" he asked me.

I sighed. "No," I admitted. "I'm not. But some stuff just needs doing, Waldo."

The M.E. contemplated that for a second. He grimaced. "You really frustrate me sometimes," he said. "I just want you to know that." He shook his head. "Please come inside, Karrin. Just for five minutes. I'll take a look myself."

I frowned at him. "You don't like working on the living, Waldo," I said.

"I hate working on the living," he corrected me. "And I'm barely qualified to do it at this point. But it's something small I can do to help."

I chewed on that. I was still in a hurry… but he was probably right. The Father had done his best, but the gash in my arm was deep. The last thing I needed was to have it tear open while I was dealing with bigger stuff.

"...okay," I sighed. "Five minutes. Thanks, Waldo." I managed a small smile in his direction. "Uh… the CDs weren't bad, by the way. I kind of liked the first one."

Waldo blinked. "Oh," he said. He sounded pleased, in spite of himself. "I'm glad. They're, uh. My favorite."

I knocked lightly on the window. As Carmichael glanced up, I held up my fingers. Five minutes, I mouthed. He nodded uneasily, and I headed into the hospital with Waldo, with a skull tucked under my arm.

0-0-0-0

Waldo was… mostly good to his word. It definitely took more than five minutes for him to pull apart the Father's work, clean out the wound, and redo the stitches. I cursed and looked away and cried a few not-so-stoic tears in the process — but on the whole, he had a surprisingly deft sewing hand. More than once, he patted my hand and told me I was doing really well, and I felt a little bit like a kid getting my booster shots.

The injury felt a hell of a lot more secure when Waldo was done. I glanced his way, and noticed for the first time just how pale he was himself. Maybe I should have been the one comforting him, I thought.

He took a few deep, steadying breaths as he pulled off his gloves, and I forced myself to harden up. "Uh, Waldo," I said. "Are you okay?"

The M.E. cringed. "I will be," he mumbled. "Just a little woozy. I'm not used to actual blood pressure."

I glanced toward Bob's skull, sitting on top of the desk in the office we'd borrowed. I felt a sense of uncertainty. Waldo was definitely one of the few people I would have trusted with Bob's anchor, but I didn't like leaving him with something so dangerous without full knowledge of what it could entail.

Bob sighed from next to me. I turned to look at him. It was weird seeing him with normal human expressions on his face. "In for a penny, kid," he mumbled. "I knew this was going to get me in deep when I said yes. Just tell him what you gotta."

I gave the spirit a grateful look. I knew how much all of this bothered him. It didn't escape my notice that he'd agreed to take a bunch of risks on my behalf today.

"Waldo," I said quietly. "You've been really good to me lately. I don't want to screw that up." I turned back toward him; he was leaning heavily back in the office chair, trying to steady his breathing. Now that he'd finished stitching me up, his hands were shaking in his lap. He looked oddly fragile.

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean by that," Waldo admitted uncertainly.

I chewed on my lip. "I'm going to do something pretty dangerous tonight," I said. "Someone's in trouble, and I think I've got to be the one to help them. I don't want you to get a nasty surprise or somehow blame yourself if… if I don't come back."

Waldo looked up at me. Worry crossed his face. "I don't like the sound of that," he said. He hesitated. "Is there… is there anything I can do to help, Karrin?"

I grimaced. Waldo was turning out to be a painfully decent soul. I was starting to feel a little self-conscious about it. "The skull is important," I said. "I promised someone I wouldn't talk about why. But it's kind of dangerous to have. It's, uh… valuable, I think. And if the wrong person gets their hands on it, bad things could happen. I trust you enough to leave it with you. If… if you could keep an eye on it, it'd mean a lot to me. But I can't do that to you without letting you know a little bit about the risks."

Waldo frowned. He was a natural puzzle-solver. I could tell he was trying to figure out how a skull could possibly be that important. But he put the mystery on the back burner. "Is someone actively looking for it?" he asked me.

I glanced at Bob. He shook his head uncertainly, and I took that to mean he didn't think so.

"Probably not," I said. "But you'd need to keep it quiet."

Waldo picked up the skull carefully. His hands were still shaking. He considered it long and hard, and I knew he was trying to think through the decision. Finally, he nodded slowly. "I'll keep it safe," he told me. "I'd really like you to come back though, Karrin."

I smiled weakly. "Yeah, me too." I had the weirdest urge to lean forward and kiss his cheek. I suppressed the instinct, deeply unnerved. All this crazy pressure is giving me weird thoughts, I told myself. I pushed back to my feet.

"Karrin," Waldo said. "Would you…" He hesitated. "Would you mind calling me when you get back home? I'd just feel better knowing you're okay."

Bob fixed Waldo with a strange expression. I wondered if the spirit could feel something about the M.E. through his anchor.

"Yeah," I said. "I'll do that. Hey, uh. Don't worry if you can't get hold of me in the meantime. My phone's kaput." I gave him a wry smile. "And take good care of Bob for me, huh?"

"Oh, don't worry about that," Waldo said softly. "I take the best care of dead people, Karrin."

0-0-0-0

"Just curious, Bob," I said, as I headed out of the hospital. "Why'd you want me to leave you with Waldo?"

Bob shrugged. "It's not like I've met tons of your friends," he said. "But I guess I've had worse masters." He sounded a little thoughtful, though, and I wondered if he'd softened some on the medical examiner.

Carmichael was starting to look wired and impatient by the time I got back to the car. I slid into the passenger seat and gave him a nod. "Sorry for the detour," I said. I followed it up with a grimace. "Guess it's time I made a phone call, huh?"

Carmichael hesitated. "I thought we were going straight-arrow," he said. "Why Marcone, Murph?"

I sighed. "I hate basically everything about this," I admitted. "But there's no way we're cutting through the bureaucracy in time to get proper backup. I'm as certain as I can be that Victor's guilty, and the lake house is isolated enough that I'm hoping there's no innocent bystanders to worry about." I set my jaw. "Marcone and a few of his people think I'm more in-the-know about this stuff than they are. They might not even be wrong. That means I've got half a chance of keeping them in line, since they have to rely on me to keep them from blowing themselves up."

"All good reasons," Carmichael grunted. "But you were dead set before. What really changed your mind?"

I closed my eyes. "I promised Monica I wouldn't let her die," I admitted quietly. "I don't know if I can live with myself if I break that promise." My stomach churned. "This is a one-time thing, Ron. I can't make this a habit. And you can't let me make it a habit. Understood?"

Carmichael was quiet for a moment. Finally, he nodded. "Murph," he said. "Don't beat yourself up. You got a head for what's right. I don't think you got this one wrong."

I pressed my face into my hand. "I sure fucking hope not," I whispered.

"I gotta admit, I don't understand all this moralizing," Bob said. He was in the back seat again, leaning between our seats. "Philosophy never was my strong point, though."

"I'll get you a crash course in human ethics later," I told him. I took a deep breath, and forced myself to pull out Monica's phone.

0-0-0-0

The woman that answered the phone at the number Marcone had given me was not in a peppy mood.

"I'm afraid I don't know who you're talking about," she replied snappishly, when I asked about Marcone. "You must have the wrong number."

"Fine," I said. "Give me Mister Hendricks then. You can tell him Detective Murphy is calling for him, and she knows who's trying to kill his boss. If he still tells you to screw off, I'll go handle it alone."

For a second, I thought she was going to hang up on me. But she brooded over the line. "...I'll go and see if we have anyone here by that name," she said stiffly.

She put me on hold. Elevator music started playing over the line.

"Marcone's hiding out somewhere for sure," Carmichael observed from the driver's seat. "I doubt many people know how to reach him at this point."

"Yeah," I said. "That's why I'm talking to the hired help. Marcone might be incommunicado, but I bet his bodyguard's still interested in some proactive assassination-prevention."

The muzak on the phone gave out before he could respond to that. "This is Hendricks," said a flat voice on the other end.

I pulled the phone back toward my ear. "Great," I said. "I'm going to try and stop a crazy wizard from killing anyone else. You can come with, but if you do, you follow my lead and you follow my rules. You gotta decide now, because I'm headed out to kick his ass as we speak."

"...hm," Hendricks said. It was a thoughtful sound, at least. "Warrant?" he asked curiously.

"If I had a warrant," I said, "I wouldn't be calling you." I didn't figure beating around the bush would do either of us any good.

"Why are you calling?" Hendricks asked bluntly.

"Because there's a woman out there currently praying her heart doesn't explode out of her chest at any second," I told him. "And this asshole is probably gonna wipe the floor with me if I show up without more help." I paused. "You in or not?"

I heard a soft tapping sound on the other end of the line. Hendricks was drumming his fingers against something as he thought. "All right," he said finally. "Where should I meet you?"