Quick Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews and even more for putting me on your alerts lists, as I understand that is all most readers have time for nowadays. This chapter is meant to clear up questions asked about the previous chapters. However, seeing as I don't know the future and therefore have no idea on how the secret's going to be leaked on the show, I'm making it up as I go along. Call it, fan fiction author's privilege.
Chapter Two
Wizard Council – New York Branch
March 28: 9:41 AMThe common man would like to believe that the Council would hold court in another realm or an office building in an upscale neighborhood in this one. Even one of the gothic throwbacks that are sprinkled throughout the city would seem like a better option. And while it is true that the main operation where the higher ups of the wizard world make the bulk of the decisions are indeed still located in their own realm, the branches of the Council that cater to us mere mortals are far from resembling any type of grandeur on the outside. These branches of their government are established in old warehouses, rundown motels and other buildings centered in neighborhoods that they have made the public believe too dangerous for even the most ruthless of criminals.
Where is the local branch located in New York? An old Paint-a-Plate warehouse that was abandoned a handful of years ago when the corporation went belly up. It is the last place that a regular person would pinpoint for all-powerful beings to convene for a regular person does not know the motto that they live by. Everything is not as it seems.
So why all the big secrecy about a damn meeting place when the entire world knows of the existence of wizards and other forms of magical beings? Easy, the world was never supposed to find out this top-secret information in the first place. However, about eleven years ago, a certain wizard-in-training let the secret slip to his flavor of the week and the bigmouth told her friends who told their friends and so on. One of these friends had a daddy who was an influential journalist for CNN or MSNBC or whatever, he put it on the air—which, of course, led to every publication running the story from tabloids to small town newsletters—and thus, the public became aware that there really are things that go bump in the night.
Knowledge led to widespread panic as it always does in cases like these and every congressman, senator, and local councilman was expected to do something about the problem. After all, who was going to protect them when any Tom, Dick, or Harry could wave a wand and the locks intending to keep them safe could go poof? Countless meetings later, one full year of them to be exact, and the answer that everyone came up with was to have branches of the Council discreetly set up in every major city in our world who would act as the liaisons.
This calmed fears for a while until someone who was not a total dumb ass asked, "If these branches that are set up in the mortal world are comprised of only their kind, are they really going to help us when their kind commits a crime?" People with relatively good common sense agreed with his assessment and the public demanded answers from the politicians once again. Another year went by and when a serial killer in Boston turned out to be a former wizard dealing in black market magic, the higher ups in the Council conceded that a solution had to found.
Thus, a Paranormal Crimes Division was set up in every city that housed one of the branches the Wizard Council had previously set up. Comprised of only mortals, the PCD is able to keep the safety of the mortal public at the forefront without worrying about adhering to the proper protocol set forth by the wizard world. However, in this regard, it means having to play nice with two sets of stuff shirts to get whatever we need instead of just the one that every other department of the NYPD gets to deal with.
Did I mention that while I had the capacity to play nice with others, I no longer had the patience? Following protocol set in place by people that did not have to face what I did on a day-to-day basis was so definitely not my forte, especially when that protocol involved pansy-assed members of a council that would not know a revolver if it were pointed straight at them. Members of a council who thought serial killers just needed to be rehabilitated before reentering society and becoming productive once again—those would be the same asses I would then have to save when the same killer decided to victimize them next. My job would be so much easier if criminals were actually remembered to be criminals and kept locked up.
Looking over at my new partner, I could tell that he was less than impressed with the accommodations that the Wizard Council had chosen for their offices. "With all the power these people have, you'd think they'd choose somewhere a little more...interesting," he commented when he noticed my eyes on him.
I simply raised a brow in response, knowing that his opinion would soon change once we were inside. Because as drab as the outside of the building happened to be, the inside was much the opposite. Pushing open the steel door, I ignored the surprised air that Liam sucked in and marched up to the desk not twenty feet from the entrance where the twenty-something receptionist was blathering on an earpiece while smacking her gum. Impatiently, I yanked it from her ear by the cord and earned myself a resounding hey that I promptly ignored.
"Your head honcho, he in today?" I demanded.
Her blue eyes narrowed a fraction and she blew a bored bubble until it popped. "That depends. You have an appointment?"
She must have been a relatively new addition if she dared to ask that question as it was well known that meetings with me were top priority, whether or not they were planned was hardly an issue. "Why don't you do your job and use that phone to dial him up instead of sharing gossip with your girlfriends? Just tell him that it's Harper Finkle," I commanded.
The blonde rolled her eyes and replaced her earpiece, her manicured fingers dialing the required extension number. "Hi, Louise, there's this—" here is where she gave me a look that made my own unvarnished fingers itching for my gun "—woman and she says that she's here for Mr. Russo...no, she's got some man with her...Harper Finkle...yes...okay."
She acted as though she were being tortured by some invisible unknown force—being where we were, she very well could have been—as she pressed the button to end the call and return her attention back to us. "Louise says Mr. Russo is on his way out but he can spare a minute or two. She says that you know the way."
He could only spare a minute or two? "How generous of him," I drawled. I did not wait for another response from the woman I could break in half if I so wanted before making my way to the elevator with Liam in tow.
"So, what is this Russo character like?" he inquired once inside.
"Arrogant, egotistical, pompous and pretentious," I answered without pause.
"So, a total prick then?"
"Basically." I smirked, deciding that I was already becoming accustomed to my new partner and that the chances were high that I would end up liking him better than the last. Or I would if he was smart and kept the sexual innuendos at a minimum.
Silence blanketed us as we finished the climb to the top of the building, the elevator doors sliding open minutes later to reveal two simple secretarial settings belonging to each of the two doors the wall behind them encompassed. On the left sat a middle-aged woman with bird-like features complete with beady black eyes, the bun on top of her head doing little to control the frizzy nature of her chestnut hair. Despite the severity of her appearance, I knew her to be one of the kindest women on the planet and she always delivered a warm grin with her greetings.
Louise, who was situated at the desk on the right, however, was the polar opposite of her colleague in everything from looks to temperament. From the gray of her hair to the twinkling blue of her eyes to the slight bulge of her midsection, she gave any onlooker the illusion of being the doting grandmother. Well, she did until she opened her mouth. Neither of us cared for one another, a fact made obvious by the way I returned her sneer with a chilling grin of my own as I bypassed her to enter her boss's lair.
I was used to the grandeur used to decorate the offices of Council members but I could tell that Liam was not by the way he let out a girlish gasp. And who was I to fault him for it since the first sight was always the most off-putting. After all, the shelves of this office alone had enough antique first edition books—both by wizard and mortal authors alike—to provide a decade's worth of funding to every third-world school and library. Just one of the many statues and paintings could keep an entire museum afloat for half a century. Not to mention that the value of both the hand-hooked rug and the desk sitting on it equaled what I had put out for four years of tuition. And do not get me started on the fact that the airhead manning the receptionist desk probably makes my yearly salary in a week.
Yeah, so I am a little bitter over the indulgence that the Wizard Council provides their people when I barely make enough to cover basic living expenses. You would be too if the person you were relying on for information dressed in clothes that cost more than your car and had the same humble beginnings as you (i.e. a sandwich shop bordering on bankruptcy).
I noisily cleared my throat to gain his attention and could have been mistaken but I swear I saw his hands falter momentarily before they continued in packing the briefcase. However, there was no way I mistook the two shades of pale his face became when his eyes drew their way to mine. "Harper," he greeted me, that false polite tone that politicians use colored his voice. "I see you brought a friend. What brings you two by to see me today?"
"My partner and I are here for strictly business, as always. Did I interrupt something?"
He waved a hand as though he were nonchalantly combating a fly. "Actually, I was just heading out. I have to be on the other side of the city in an hour so if you don't mind—"
"Trust me, I mind. Besides, isn't a wizard using mortal transportation just so last season? I hear all the rage is using a wand and teleporting these days," I said. His hands stilled as he stared at me with an expression of disbelief. He never has completely gotten over how I stopped believing he could rope the moon and walk on water. "Why don't you have a seat so we can finish this conversation and then go back to ignoring each other's existence?"
Justin plopped into his chair—a bit tiredly, if I was not mistaken—and rubbed both sides of his temple. "What is it this time, Harper? I don't exactly have the time to deal with one of your tirades."
My eyes narrowed incrementally. "My tirades, as you so call them, are what keep this city safe and you sitting in the lap of luxury that you've become accustomed to," I informed him, throwing the envelope of disturbing imagery on his desk with a bit of smugness. "Besides, you're about to have all the time in the world for my tirades once you see what I've brought you."
He rolled his eyes before dumping the photographs out, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he scrutinized each one. "Where—" a combination of coughing, gasping and dry heaving cut his words off. Pushing back from the desk, he ran over to the cart that held his fine liquor and poured a generous amount of amber liquid. Once thrown back, he cleared his throat and attempted to speak again. "Where did you get these?"
"My doorstep," I replied, taking a seat in one of the butter-soft leather armchairs in front of his desk. "And before you ask, no, I do not know the identity of the psychopath who sent them. That's actually why I'm here. I figured you might've heard some rumblings in the wizard world about people going missing and ending up as sacrificial lambs."
He poured himself another drink before returning to his seat, his body sagging like a half-used bag of flour. "I know we're not each other's favorite people anymore but do you really think that I would keep it from you if I had?" he demanded softly. "And how do you know these deaths are sacrificial and not just run-of-the-mill serial killings? It could be a mortal behind this."
I hated that I had to be the one to burst that hopeful bubble that he had taken residence inside but I had seen my share of serial killings during my career—both with magical and non-magical circumstances alike—and I knew that the chances of it pertaining to the latter were one in a billion. "Granted, if it were just photographs of dead victims who were severely beaten then I would chalk it up to a nice normal serial killing. But the fact that they're lying in a circle of candles combined with the symbols carved into their skin leads me to believe that this is more on the magic side."
"And let's not forget that Harper is the lead investigator for the PCD. So, the fact that she received them and not another cop has to be some kind of message," Liam spoke for the first time, his conclusion garnishing a bit of my respect.
"It all boils down to this, Justin. I don't give a flying fart in space about the reason behind these killings. I know you do because you have to and the people you answer to only care about the why. All I need to know is whom the bastard is and how I'm going to stop them to keep my city from living in terror. Since we both have a vested interest in finding whoever the person who is doing this, I intend to keep you informed on any new developments and you better do the same," I told him, standing and preparing to take my leave now that he was a good two shades paler and shaking.
However, before I did exit from his office, I had to get in one more parting shot. "But Justin, be warned that you haven't seen the full extent of my wrath yet. So if you keep anything from me due to some kind of messed up politician's code, your memory of Alex on her worst day will seem like a dream."
TBC...