Chapter Nine: Finding Isla de Muerta
Jules sat cross-legged on the floor, playing Tetris on her phone. The game had been mildly entertaining at first, but now she was bored stiff and only playing because it was better than staring at the wall like Wordy or sneaking down to the basement every five minutes like Ed. She wished she'd been fast enough to help with the potion like Lou and Sam, but it was already crowded with three people huddled around the same cauldron. No way she'd risk screwing up that potion, not when they were – she swiped down to check the time – two hours and forty-seven minutes into the brewing time.
Before she could flick her finger up and dismiss the notifications, the phone vibrated. Hummed. And came to life with a chiming, determined ringtone – her eyes went wide at the contact name flashing on her screen. Jesse Travis.
She swiped sideways and snapped the phone to her ear. "Jules here."
"Heya, sis," Dr. Travis caroled, a forced note of cheer in his voice. "You know how you came over and helped me with that special patient one time?"
Both brows shot up, but the constable played along, adopting an annoyed 'why-is-the-little-brother-bothering-me' tone. "Jesse, what is it? I've got six patients waiting on me; I don't have time for one of your special patients."
Her teammates looked over at the oddball declaration, their own brows rising as she waved for them to be quiet.
The cheer dropped out of Travis's voice. "Sis, I know you're busy – I'm busy – but that guy called me today. Asked me to come take a look and whadda know? It's your favorite patient." His volume fell lower, more urgent. "Unless you've got someone dying on you, tell 'em to go see another doc today, okay?"
Jules froze in utter horror. She wasn't sure who this special patient was supposed to be, but favorite patient had to be Sarge. And dying – if Sarge had gone three days without treatment after the riot… Or even if he'd been treated; Dr. Travis was a general practitioner. Very good with day to day health concerns, but he didn't have the tools to handle a desperately injured patient.
"Where?"
She heard another voice in the background and strained to catch the words, but the other person was too far away from Travis's phone. After a minute or two, he came back on. "I'll text you an address, sis. They gotta be careful right now, so couldja make sure Simon gets fed before you come?"
"I'll take care of it, little brother," Jules replied, grinning at the sputter from the other end. She hadn't been sure, but now she was. "See you as soon as I can."
Lowering her phone, she took the time to end the call, regulating her breathing and praying until it chimed with a new text message. She read the address, committing it to memory, then looked up at her hovering teammates. "That was Jesse Travis. He's with Sarge."
"You sure?" Wordy demanded, eyes wide with hope, but needing to be sure.
The brunette nodded and recounted the entire call, watching Ed more than Wordy. When she was done, he blew out his breath. "It's Greg," he agreed.
"Ed?" Wordy pressed, frowning.
"Found paperwork on Greg's desk after they arrested him. Friday before, Scarface got in a jam and called him. He got him out, then took him to Travis with a gunshot wound."
Jules whistled low. "Jesse called Susan in," she concluded, earning a sharp nod from her Sergeant. "That's our 'special patient'."
"Any idea who Simon is?" Wordy asked.
The negotiator shook her head at the same time as their Sergeant. "Susan will know," Jules replied. "I hope it's not code for 'they already shot me.' "
Ed snorted. "They won't shoot him. He's cooperating; Scarface is a lotta things, but he's not stupid. If Greg and Travis had to call Susan for a gunshot, then he knows Travis can't handle a beating."
"He snatched Jesse to get Susan," Jules concurred. "I'll call her right now, but be careful when you go downstairs, guys."
Lane bristled, but Wordy smacked his shoulder. "Copy that, Jules. No point screwing up Amy's Lost Soul Potion."
The constable smiled at the dual points they all knew. Even with a lead, they might still need that Lost Soul Potion. And none of them wanted the potioneer spitfire angry at them – not when she was doing them a favor.
Much to the team's relief, 'Simon' turned out to be Jesse's pet cockatiel. They met Susan at her brother's home and brought in the mail while she approached the black and white mottled bird in his large cage. Atop a yellow head with the signature patches of peach feathers, the cockatiel's crest flared at the sight of strangers, one of whom smelled like cat and another of whom felt like hawk. He crouched on his perch, puffing up his feathers and snapping his beak as mottled wings spread, revealing pure white leading edges.
Susan shushed the bird and opened the cage. Reaching in, she brushed her hand against his chest; he hopped up on her finger and leaned into the Healer as she pulled Simon out and petted his bristling feathers down with her other hand. Bringing him away from his home cage, she murmured reassuringly to him, nodding thanks as Team One went to work. Lou refilled the cockatiel's water feeder and Sam found an open bag of bird feed; Jules pulled out the old newspaper from both home and traveling cages, smiling as Wordy moved in with fresh from Jesse's stack of old newspapers.
Before he could get there, Ed stepped in, holding up the bucket of cage cleaning supplies he'd found under the sink. Wordy made a face, but nodded and set the newspaper down to help his Sergeant clean out the home cage – the traveling cage was already clean and ready, though Lou replaced the full water feeder with the one he'd just refilled. Dumping out the old water, the less-lethal specialist cleaned the feeder, but didn't refill it. No telling when Simon would be coming home once Susan dropped him off at their family medical practice.
Once both cages were ready, the team retreated – if Simon could sense their Animagus forms, there was no way he'd ever be comfortable around them. Besides, the longer it took to get the bird squared away, the longer their injured lieutenant would go without treatment. That was far more important than a missed opportunity to pet a cockatiel.
The meet-up point was a good half-mile from their headquarters, but that didn't matter much when the kid doc's sister showed up with the Boss's old crew in tow. Bennet suppressed a sigh, mouth drooping down in a frown, but it was a near thing. He shoulda known the kid doc would find some way to tip his sis off – and that was assuming he hadn't just called the cops from the get-go. He should've made the kid doc tell him the phone number instead of lettin' him have his phone back and pick the contact number himself.
Tugging the kid doc back, he stepped into sight, landing his best glare on the lead cop – the tall, bald one who'd replaced Scarface as the Boss's second. Crossing his arms, he demanded, "Who's Simon?"
"My brother's pet cockatiel," the woman with long blonde hair replied, glaring back with light brown eyes. "Where is he?"
The mobster blinked – who worried about a pet cockatiel in the middle of being kidnapped? – but grudgingly shifted to the side, revealing the kid doc.
The blonde exhaled relief. "Jesse?"
"I'm fine, sis," the dark-blond kid doc replied. Blue shifted to the cops. "Parker's in bad shape, but he's still alive."
"Where?" the blonde snapped; one of the cops pulled her back before she could step forward and out of their protective circle.
"Not here," Bennet growled. "And they ain't comin'."
The woman held up a hand before any of the cops could bristle. Cold light brown skewered him. "Either they come or I take my brother back now." She smiled and Bennet felt a shiver down his back. "Pull that gun and I'll do it. Then we'll just ask Jesse where Parker is." And take him, too.
"But we'd rather have your help," one of the cops put in. "Keep the Boss from ending up back inside."
Bennet wasn't happy. Not in the slightest. But he had a nasty feeling the kid doc's sis wasn't kidding about just taking her brother. If she couldn't do it, the cops could; these weren't just any cops, after all – these were the Boss's cops. Not to be underestimated, lest he end up with a broken collarbone and a boot digging into his back.
Grumbling, he surrendered to the inevitable and shoved the kid doc towards his sister before turning and leading the way towards where his car was parked. Sure enough, one of the cops caught up with him while the rest withdrew to their own vehicles.
The blue-eyed blond smirked at his sour expression, but the expression was half-hearted. "How bad is he?"
His icy demeanor thawed a hair. "We didn't pull the kid doc in 'cause he was gettin' better, cop."
"I know, but there weren't any cameras where he went down," the cop countered. "How bad is he?"
Another grumble made it out. "You'll see soon 'nough, cop."
"Oh, gawd, Sarge," Jules cried, scrambling to her lieutenant's bedside as soon as she was clear of the doorframe. One hand automatically reached out to feel his forehead and he whimpered, pulling away from the heat of her hand. Cloudy hazel opened, but failed to focus on her – her horror redoubled at the sight of heavily uneven pupils and the scarlet swirled with his irises.
Susan and Jesse joined her before her teammates did, but only because they were the best hope for the delirious, terribly injured man on the bed. Susan uttered several choice oaths and reached for her left forearm before stilling. In a low voice, she ordered, "Get them out."
To leave Sarge alone while he was so sick was anathema – Jules lifted her head, protest on her lips, but experience kicked in, stilling all objections. Instead she turned towards her Sergeant, terrible resignation shining in her eyes. Light blue met her brown – she saw the same battle play itself out before he nodded grimly.
The Sergeant's stance adjusted and his shoulders straightened – taking on their lieutenant's authority with Elias's men. "Okay, everyone 'cept Jesse and Susan out."
"Not a chance, cop," Bennet snarled.
Wordy slammed the slightly shorter man into the nearest wall, gray wild with suppressed anguish beneath stallion obstinacy. "You want him to die?" the constable demanded, waiting for Bennet to shake his head. "Then out!" the team leader roared, hauling the other man towards the door.
Jules forced herself to leave Sarge's side, moving towards an aghast gray-eyed blonde. "Hi there, I'm Jules," she introduced herself, gently ushering the matronly woman after her – husband? "We need to go. Right now."
The woman resisted, throwing her an infuriated glare. "Who do you think you are?" she demanded. "This is our headquarters, cop."
"I know that," Jules replied, "But Susan can't help him until we leave."
"What, she's gotta dance around him five times under a full moon?" a new voice sneered. Jules looked up in time to see Anthony Marconi – Scarface – stalk into the room, his dark eyes boring into her. By the door, Wordy had frozen in the middle of dragging Bennet outside.
The Healer turned away from her patient, hands propped on her hips as she faced down her lean, but muscular opponent. She surveyed him a moment, then snapped, "If you ever kidnap my brother again, you'll find out I don't need the full moon to make you disappear."
"Not like I had your phone number," Scarface retorted.
"No, but you have theirs," Susan countered, pointing to Team One. "Don't tell me Lieutenant Parker didn't make sure you at least had Sergeant Lane's number, just in case anything ever happened to him."
The raven mobster bristled, but didn't contest her claim. Instead, he pointed at the man on the bed. "Look, girlie, I've seen the Boss's eyes. So've Fanny and Bennet – you ain't gonna convince us that's normal."
Travis stilled, then moved to Sarge's head to see for herself. His head had rolled away from his company, but he didn't fight as she pulled his chin back and gently pried one lid up. At her gasp, Wordy slumped and released Bennet.
Her wand flashed as it dropped into her hand and she waved it over Sarge in the movements of a diagnostic. For a split second, she regarded the results, then paled. "Dear Merlin," she swore. Whirling she hissed, "Out! Get out!"
This time, none of them argued; Wordy grabbed Bennet again and hauled him out as Jules escorted Fanny and Ed snagged Scarface by his collar. As soon as they were out of the room, the door glowed brightly for an instant before banging shut and audibly locking.
"What was that?" Sam asked, rubbing the back of his head.
Jules swallowed hard. "His eyes are half-scarlet, Sam," she explained.
"Like that one time?" her boyfriend probed, stiffening when she shook her head.
"Worse," Jules replied.
"How long have they been like that?" Ed asked Scarface, pinning him with a 'don't-you-dare-lie-to-me' glare.
The mobster shifted unhappily. "Since the first night," he admitted. "First time he woke up, he was goin' nuts."
"Nuts how?" Lou demanded.
Both Scarface and Bennet flinched and it was the latter who responded. "When we got there, he was clutching his head and screaming. We tried talking to him and he just stared at us like he didn't know what we were saying." The was a beat of horrid silence. "Finally had to put him under."
The negotiator resisted the urge to ask where on Earth they'd gotten their hands on an injectable sedative and focused on the practical. "What about the second time?"
"Still screamin' up a storm," Scarface relayed. "He knew who I was, though, so that was better." He hesitated, battling with himself, but finally added, "Third time was the best. Knew who I was, got somethin' down, and e'en talked to Jane."
"Then the infection took over," Wordy finished; the three criminals were rather sour, but nodded to confirm the officer's observation.
Jules looked up at her Sergeant – with Sarge down, he was the only one of them who had the authority to override the Statute of Secrecy. But there was a reason Sarge hadn't been willing to reveal magic to his criminal second. To override that, even if the mobsters had already figured most of it out – it felt like a betrayal.
Ed grimaced, feeling his team's eyes on him. No need to guess how they felt – he felt the same. But they needed Scarface's help and he wouldn't help if they tried to deny the obvious. Obliviations weren't an option, either, not when that would alienate Elias's people even more.
Considering, he surveyed the trio of mobsters, longing for his friend's deft touch with human interactions. That instinctive gift of navigating even the worst of social minefields. At last, he sighed, let his shoulders sag, and asked, "What do you want to know?"
"How come you threw 'im to the wolves?"
The sniper reared back, caught off guard. A scowl emerged – around him, his team bristled – and only a swift upraised hand kept them quiet. "Internal Affairs arrested him Monday morning after he pulled you out of the fire Friday." Scarface opened his mouth and the upraised hand slashed across. "Let me finish!" Sullen, the mobster nodded. "None of us were even at the station when they did that."
He let that hang, then leaned forward. "Someone pulled some serious strings – it's illegal to put someone who hasn't been convicted in General Population, cop or not. He should've been in Solitary, at least until the trial was over. We didn't know he was in General till the riot."
"Didn't even visit him, eh?"
"Weren't allowed," Sam countered, crossing his arms with a sullen expression. "We couldn't even take Sarge's kids to see him."
The matronly blonde gasped, reaching out to clutch Bennet's hands.
"That ain't right," Scarface replied, scowling.
"Of course it's not," Wordy burst out.
"Shaddup. That shoulda been your first clue sommat wasn't right."
"And it was," Ed broke in before Scarface could build up a head of steam. "But if we'd tried to fight it, Greg would've been behind bars longer. We knew it wasn't right, but the priority was getting him out. Then we could rake them over the coals for violating procedure." Blue darkened. "We didn't realize it was a lot worse than just denying Greg visitors. Not till it was too late."
The SRU Sergeant surveyed the mobsters grimly, inwardly satisfied by their grudging acceptance of his argument. "Now. If that's everything…"
"Not so fast, cop," Scarface cut in. "You can't hide behind classified this time; I wanna know!"
Though extremely tempted to drag things out and get in a few taunts, Ed knew that would backfire on them. The situation was precarious enough without alienating their criminal allies. Even so…
"Lou."
"On it, Boss," Lou replied, pulling out his phone to set up the mobile secrecy ward.
The Sergeant waited until the phone let out a triple chime before he nodded and looked his rival in the eye. "Okay. You want the truth? Here it is. Magic is real and Greg's had it all his life."
A silvering brunet in sweats left his apartment, duffle bag over one shoulder. The big man locked his door behind him, then sauntered down the hallway, pale gray casually scanning for any observers. He jogged down the stairs, spying a neighbor coming in. Pausing, he reached out and opened the second-floor door for her, smiling when she thanked him and pressed past, arms sagging with the weight of all the grocery bags she was carrying.
Concerned, the man peeked into the hallway and asked, "Need a hand?"
The woman maneuvered her key into her apartment door, unlocked it, and turned to face him, using her arm to push down the handle. "I've got everything," she replied, though she tossed him a grateful smile. "Have a good day!"
"You too, ma'am," he said, withdrawing back into the stairwell.
Shaking his head at the stubbornness of single women who tried to carry in everything they'd bought on the first trip, the man continued down the stairs, muttering under his breath as he pushed against the inside of the apartment building door. If the darn thing had broken again, he didn't blame the woman any more. Who needed that kind of hassle on more than one trip? Especially when there was always some chump who kicked the rock keeping the door from locking.
Finally winning the battle, Niebaum headed outside his building, squinting automatically in the sunlight. Lifting one hand, he shaded his eyes and scanned the parking lot for his car. Without assigned parking, the competition for spots near the doors could be fierce and it was always a tossup as to how close he could park to his own apartment.
Oh, yeah, he'd had to park a distance away the night before. Grumbling, he turned and headed for the part of the lot he used whenever he couldn't find a closer spot. The sensation of being watched tickled at his spine and he halted, glancing around. The air was still; aside from a few late-running office worker bees heading for their cars, the parking lot was quiet. Nothing out of the ordinary – except for the hairs tingling on the back of his neck.
Putting his head down, Niebaum headed for his car, shifting his duffle bag to his left hand while his right crept down to his waist. At a noise, he whirled back towards his building, resting a hand on his hidden weapon. He scanned the bushes with fierce intensity for several moments before whipping back around and jogging for his vehicle.
From his spot in between two bushes, Constable Revan DeValle whistled under his breath. Thank Merlin for Disillusionment Charms and techies who didn't have a clue about magic. Slipping upright, the wizard didn't bother brushing off his jacket or pants as he followed his target. Too on-edge for a close tail, but that was fine; a tracking charm would do the job just as well and hopefully his target would cool off during the drive.
Careful to avoid making any noise, Revan tugged his wand out of its holster, waiting for Niebaum to reach his car and put his duffle bag in the trunk before making his move. Angling the wand at the old battered vehicle, he readied his spell, waiting an instant longer for Niebaum to open his driver's door.
Crack. Revan jumped, but Niebaum went down, already reaching for his chest. More cracks sounded; the IA detective jerked with each one, collapsing forward on his palms and finally to the ground. By the time Revan reached him, he was choking on his own blood.