Anthony Francis - Blood Rock

“It wasn’t spray painted,” I said, cocking my head back at the mess that was left of the tag. “Hard to tell now, after all that fire and water, but it had to be infused oil chalk.”

McGough looked over at me sharply, then back at the tag. “You’re right,” he said slowly, “he couldn’t have… or could he-”

“Horscht, put it down before McGruff the Crime Dog bursts a blood vessel,” I said. “I’m sure he wants to fingerprint it, even though the killer couldn’t have used it to make this mark-”

“I get the point, I shouldn’t have touched it,” Horscht said, staring down at the can, a plain white affair with a larger-than normal top and glittery gold oozing down one of its sides. “But I did take a picture, and I do remember where I got it-in the yard where we found the basketball goal. These crime scene guys, they think they’re so sharp but they miss stuff-”

At that crack, McGough, who had calmed down as Horscht explained himself, suddenly glared at Rand, who scowled back at him. I remembered the ‘first responders’ crack. Oh, great. I’d just blundered onto some internal rivalry in the APD. Joy.

“-and I thought this was evidence,” he was saying. “Why are you so sure that it isn’t?”

“Fair question,” I said, “but Home Depot doesn’t sell spray cans filled with a thousand bucks of magical pigment, and even if they did you wouldn’t want to spray a magical mark-”

“Why not?” Horscht said, shaking the can experimentally. “I mean-”

“NO!” yelled McGough, but it was too late. Horscht squeezed the top, and a screaming blaze of golden flame erupted as the magical inkmagical ink, oh shit! -reacted against the stray mana floating through the air. He flinched and screamed, dropping the can, which skittered across the pavement, propelled for a moment by an elaborate trail of fire.

Like a fat number six made of yellow and orange sparkles, the fireball folded in on itself and curled lazily up into the sky, taking the trail with it, coiling off into the clouds. Horscht was still screaming, chest and face covered in glowing wildstyle flames, but I grabbed him, flexed my hand over his face and chest, generating enough mana to pull the ink out of his skin before it could set and do damage. The sparkling stuff began attacking my skin now, a thousand pricking ants, but I just shook my hand until it dissipated into a cloud of colorful, acrid dust.

“Damnation, Horscht,” Rand said, steadying him. “You’d think you’d never been on a crime scene before. What were you thinking?”

“I don’t know, sir,” Horscht said, scared. “I’m sorry, sir-”

“You can’t play around with this shit,” I said. “Magic is really dangerous.”

“Cut him a break, he showed us all up,” McGough said. “Sorry I went off on you, Horscht. This is the best piece of evidence yet.”

We all stared at him in shock. McGough’s bluster was gone, replaced with a quiet seriousness. He’d put on a rubber glove and picked up the can, turning it so I could see an air valve sticking out of its neck, like you see on bicycle tires-a rechargeable spray can.

“Hell, Frost,” he said, “I sure wish you hadn’t been wrong about this.”

I stared at it. “Me too,” I said. “I’d never heard of magical marks this powerful before today, and if someone has learned to spray paint them…”

“… we have a big problem,” McGough finished.

Sticky and Sweet

Gibbs questioned me, and it didn’t take long-he was polite, efficient, and to the point. “That does it,” he said, putting a few finishing touches on the statement. “Anything to add?”

“No, but I do have a question,” I said, shivering, hands on my scraped knees, staring down at my jeans shorts. “Can I get my clothes back, or are they evidence now too?”

“I’m having them dry cleaned,” Gibbs said, deadpan.

“ What? ” I said, then blinked as he grinned. “Oh, very funny.”

“Sign this, and I’ll fetch your things so you can get dressed,” Gibbs said, handing me his clipboard. “Just to warn you, they’ll probably want you at the station later.”

I sighed and looked over the form. It summed up my morning in a few short lines: school shopping with daughter (with name and address of my alibi), police summons (with time of call noted), and failure to prevent magical attack (which resulted in watching friend die.)

As awkward and painful a morning as I could imagine. I signed the statement and looked up to see Officer Lee leading Cinnamon back to me. They were smiling and laughing, but then Cinnamon cussed and tossed her head angrily, as if poked with a cattle prod. Lee took it in stride, but she looked up at me, not angry, just-eyes filled with immense pity.

“Thanks, Officer,” I said, holding my arms out to Cinnamon, who leapt upon me and squeezed her arms around me in a breath-defying hug. “I appreciate it.”

“Not a problem,” Lee said. “Your daughter is very observant. And colorful.”

Cinnamon snorted and twitched her head, but smiled back at Lee.

Gibbs brought my clothes from his squad car and I gratefully grabbed my turtleneck-I was now freezing. I pulled it on, chanting, “Brr, brr, brr-”

“Get some fur,” Cinnamon sang.

“- no thank you,” I finished, as my head popped out.

Rand was just looking at us, one hand in his pocket, suit frayed but soul unperturbed, a snapshot of a black GQ Kojak right after a fight with a horde of zombies. It was so good to see him back on his game, even after all that horror. “You guys sure are sickeningly sweet.”

I forced a smile-Cinnamon could get me goofing, but Revy’s death still weighed in my mind. “Just standard procedure,” I said at last, slipping on my leather chaps. “Are we done?”

“For now,” Rand said. “But, look, we all saw what went down-but not even McGough can explain it, and he’s seen more weird shit than you and me put together. He’s already asked me to pull in the DEI’s experts, and I’ll guess Philip will want you looking into it too.”

“Fine, that’s all I need, another excuse to talk to Philip,” I said, slipping on my vestcoat. Philip Davidson was my contact at the DEI, the Department of Extraordinary Investigations. We were dating, whenever he could make it to Atlanta. It was an odd match-he was politically right of Attila the Hun and I was an uber-treehugger-but he still drove a Prius when he wasn’t riding to my rescue in a cool black helicopter. “I’ll give my favorite bod in the spook squad a ring.”

“Also, there’s another thing,” Rand said, kneading his brow. “Dakota, I know this is going to be difficult for you but… could you please inform the Consulate?”

My smile faded. “The… Vampire Consulate?” I asked, though I knew exactly which consulate he meant. “Why me? I mean, shouldn’t the police do that job?”

Rand’s face flickered a bit- ah, you caught me -but he persisted, nodding at the collar about my throat. “Normally, yes… but since you were their representative on site…”

I tugged at my stainless steel collar. It was lined with neoprene to make it comfortable, but it wasn’t coming off. “I’m not their ‘representative,’ I’m just… under their protection.”

“Whatever,” Rand said. “Dakota… could you break the news to Savannah? I know Revenance was a mutual friend, and she’d probably appreciate hearing it from you.”

I stared at him. “You suck.”

“That’s her you’re thinking of,” Rand said, “and to be honest, I find it a bit creepy to think that a girl I once bounced on my knee now drinks blood. Will you tell her?”

“Yes,” I said, scowling, dialing the next school on my cell. “ After our appointment-”