James Baldwin - Stained Glass

Ayashe was saying something, her voice full of flashing red and white spines, aggressive candy stripes of color that shot through my mouth and up behind my eyes as I studied Peter’s last portrait. He did not look like me, but I recognized my reflection in the boy’s thousand-yard stare, in the way he protectively wrapped his hands in the floppy cuffs of his sweater.

“Was his family alcoholic?” I asked.

“What? Who in the what now?” Cut short, Ayashe leaned over to look at the Polaroid.

“This one. Peter Kaminski.”

“Aaron’s the one who’d know best, but I think so. I know he was one of the ones that Lily worked one-on-one with a lot. High-risk kid, lot of physical abuse in his history. I can’t remember if it was his mom or his dad who was on the sauce.”

“Both,” I replied. My face was numb, nose and fingertips tingling. “He was probably the only sober one in the house.”

Ayashe hovered near me a moment, her breath souring the air. Maybe she sensed my sudden, irrationally strong desire to punch her and drive her from the room, because she moved back of her own volition. “You okay, Rex?”

I glanced up at her. “Me? I’m fine.”

Her full mouth pulled across to one side. “Juvenile cases are hard. They aren’t for everyone.”

“I said I’m fine.” Annoyed, I resumed looking through the stack of pictures. “Did your mage ever mention anything he called ‘Shevirah’? Phitometry, ‘awakening’… anything like that?”

“Not that I’ve heard,” she replied. “I first heard about ‘Phitometry’ was from Michael. He says that it’s something that’s been part of the mythic stories in the Ib-Int since Babylon was still a big deal. He told us that we needed a Phitometrist for this job, not just any old spook, and that’s why we got Angkor on board.”

“Angkor.” She pronounced the name like ‘Aun-guar’. “That was the other Phitometrist who tried to help you?”

“Yeah. Weird name for a Korean guy. He was a bolt from the blue, but he was sure he could dig something up for us. Then he vanished. I tried to find him on immigration and border entry records, but no luck.”

I sat back, frowning. “What can you tell me about him?”

“We brought him on because he was able to give us an early lead on the way the couple were killed.” Ayashe rubbed her jaw, grimacing as it popped. “John screened him without putting it to vote. They had a private meeting and we all got told he was on the case. That’s not how the Fires are supposed to work. We’re supposed to vote… but John and Michael just keep on making all these big-shot decisions since Lily and Dru died.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. Getting her back on topic was enough. “What did Angkor do before he vanished?”

“First thing he did was visit the house soon after the murders, and I remember him saying something about running tests on some of the blood. He said he’d explain after he got the results. Those just came in yesterday, but pathology hasn’t written up the report yet. Other than that… he said he was from South Korea. He wore a lot of leather, and his English was really good. Had a kind of weird manner about him.” Ayashe shrugged. “He said he was going to go visit this cabin and come back, but he never did. Told us to give it five days before we gave up on him, and it’s been seven. I was arguing we go look for him since Wednesday, but John vetoed. Says it’s probably too dangerous.”

“You think something happened to him?” I arched an eyebrow.

“I think he had something to do with the murders,” she said. “He was flaky as shit. For all we know, he was a Triad or Yakuza spook who took John for a ride. They use all kinds of weird body parts for medicine over there.”

“Right.” I closed the case file and the photo file, and held it out to her. “Can you get me copies of those symbols?”

“I can get you copies of the photos.” She took the bulging file, her eyes hard and wary. “So. You don’t think you can figure anything else out until Jenner and you go and do what you’re planning to do?”

She might not have been charming, but I couldn’t fault Ayashe for her persistence. “I just know that there has to be more to this than meets the eye. There are a few cults in the area. One of them was involved in another similarly gruesome murder a couple of months ago… I know them only by their initials. ‘TVS’.”

“Never heard of it,” Ayashe said. “But I’ll ask our consultants and McClaine if they know anything. I didn’t hear about any cult murder in June-July though.”

“You wouldn’t have,” I replied. “The people involved had a vested interest keeping it out of the newspapers.”

“Hunh.” She regarded me fixedly for a moment, sucking a tooth. “I guess you were involved?”

“I was.”

“You solve the murder? Find the perp?”

I hesitated for a moment. “Yes.”

“Good.” Ayashe nodded, one sharp jerk of her head. She made to leave, but paused at the door and turned back to face me. “What’ll you do if you find the guys that took the kids?”

Sensing a trap, I held off for a moment. “That depends on what you and Spotted Elk hire me to do. Spooks wear a lot of different hats in this city.”

“You’ll report any leads to me, not John, is what you do.” Ayashe’s rich voice turned cold and level. “The whole point of the Fires is to integrate our cause with the cause of humanity. I’m an Elder myself. Most of my lives have been in America, and I remember the way things were just two hundred years ago. I don’t care what Jenner and Michael think – things are better the way they are now. None of us should be above the law.”

“Be that as it may, if I’m forced to defend myself during the investigation, I will.” I stared back with equal intensity. She wasn’t the only one who could pull a good shark impression.

“And I might not even arrest you,” she replied. “Especially if getting defensive on someone’s ass means you find out where the kids are. But it isn’t up to me, so you be real careful, Rex. Silverbay is one hell of a place for someone like you to end up.”

With that parting shot, Ayashe stalked out the door. I watched her leave, and drew a deep breath, ticking back over the memories of the symbols. There was no time to think on it, though. It was time to tap Zane, call Jenner, and ride out to go to rescue my familiar… or at least wreak vengeance on those who killed her.

Gangsters are like bats: most active around sunset, hunting throughout the night, coming home to roost in the early hours of the morning. I knew that by around three a.m., the guys keeping an eye on my house were going to be drunk, out clubbing, or tucked up in bed with a hooker and a nice warm syringe of heroin. It was the time to strike.

We didn’t take motorcycles to my place: the risk of getting shot off the back of them was too high. Instead, the four of us – me, Zane, Jenner and Duke – were kitted out in an enormous powder-blue Buick Electra that rumbled its way down the road like a Panzer tank.

Jenner and Duke were both high. Despite this, I’d managed to convince the Tigers to leave the shotguns at home. Jenner and Zane had bought machetes and bats, and Duke had a real, honest-to-GOD samurai sword. He could apparently fight with it, though I was betting that his training consisted of taking a lot of amphetamines and mainlining American Ninja movies while he swung it around his living room.

The closer we had gotten to the beach, the more my hand absently strayed to the hilt of my knife. Jenner had given me a bulletproof tac-vest which I wore under my sweater, a black Kevlar number with the government patches torn off. Strung taut, I scanned every car we passed on our way down Banner Avenue. One low-slung, cherry-red Mercedes Benz sports car parked outside my apartment stood out from amongst the rest. I knew that Benz.