The Alchemical Detective (Riga Hayworth) (30 page)

The demon looked up at Riga, the expression on its dragon-like face bemused.  She understood the demon; it had always been a part of her, just like the others.  Riga smiled in return and felt it welcome her. 

Hans came to a halt, panting, at the edge of the circle.  He pulled an amulet from beneath his jacket and showed it to the demon.  This struck Riga as funny and she laughed, an infectious burble.  The demon hacked and wheezed in response. 

Riga flowed into the demon.  It was already a part of her; becoming part of it was simple.  The stone inside her joined with the demon, working upon the demon as it had worked upon her. 

Their communication was wordless, a lifetime’s conversation condensed into moments, the demon responding before she could finish the question forming in her mind. 

The sheen on its scales turned pearlescent.  It sprouted translucent wings shot with gold and roared, a sound that pierced Riga’s heart, shook the earth.  Hans stopped chanting, mouth agape. 

It wasn’t a demon anymore; it had freed itself from that particular circle.  Now it needed to find its way free of the magic circle that entrapped it.

You can’t leave here without a new name
, Riga thought to it.

Now
, the creature projected,
I am named Agir
.

The creature sprang from the circle and soared into the sky like a comet.  Riga watched with satisfaction, as it disappeared in the dark sky. 

The water by the shore churned and she was in her body again.  She felt empty, drained, the only signs of life the pain and cold she felt.   The stone had left her, gone into the demon, or whatever it was the demon had become.

Hans shoved Tara to the grown and spun towards Riga.  His face contorted with fear and rage.  “What have you done?”

He didn’t look so handsome now, Riga thought.  In fact, he looked a lot less like Night.  Was his magic slipping? 

Hans slipped on the snow in his haste to get to Riga, then grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.  He let her drop, and kicked her viciously in the ribs. 

She grunted, pain blossoming in her side. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered.  “It doesn’t matter.”  He went to the open trunk of his car and braced his hands upon it, searching.  He reached in and pulled out a hand axe. 

Riga lifted her head.  Hans had shifted her position when he’d shaken her and she had a better view of the action  now. 

A dark, winding shadow slithered from the lake.  Tara squeaked frantically through the duct tape.  With frantic, shrimp-like motions, she wriggled towards the cruiser. 

Riga didn’t move, didn’t see the point. 

Hans walked toward Riga, making quick, chopping motions with the axe.  He knelt beside her.  “So you’re back with us.  Good.  I want you to know what’s happening.  And no, Riga, this isn’t the way Lefebvre would have done it.  It’s not elegant, as you would put it.  But Lefebvre’s dead and I’m more practical than he was.”

He raised the axe and a serpentine shadow rose up behind him.  The thing struck, scales shining black, its maw enveloping Hans down to his shoulders.  Hans’s body jerked as the giant serpent pulled him towards the lake.  Riga watched, astonished.  The thing met her gaze, and its eye was the lake, and she felt that same, searing heat, lancing her heart.  She cried out through her bonds.

Hans thrashed, clawing at the serpent.  Then he seemed to remember he held an axe and grasping it with both hands, he swung it upwards at the thing which gripped him.  They shuddered together with the blow.  Riga saw Hans’s grip tighten on the handle, then slowly release.  His arms fell limp to his sides.

The serpent evaporated like a thick fog.  Hans crumpled to the ground, the axe buried in his skull.

Chapter 29:Rubedo

Red lights reflected off the snow-covered shore, lit Riga’s auburn hair on fire.  She heard shouts, and then someone helped her sit up – Angus, his round face anxious. She trembled uncontrollably.  Then more men, police.  And Griff with his camera, and Sam. 

Angus ripped the tape from her mouth in a swift motion and Riga winced from the pain.  “I’m sorry, Riga.  I had to tell the crew… after I called the police.”

“It’s okay,” Riga said, gasping.  “You came through for me.  Thanks.”

“What happened to the mic?” he said.  “I heard a crash and then it cut out.  I figured that was the signal.”

“That might have been the taser.  Is it possible it overloaded your mic?  But yeah, that was the signal.  You did great.”

Then Tara, screaming, a low, rough siren.  “He killed himself!  He just killed himself!  Oh my, God, I saw him do it!”

Sheriff King knelt down beside Riga, looked her over.  “Here,” he said.  “Let me get you out of those cuffs.” 

She leaned forward and King freed her hands.  Sam, Griff and Angus backed away, gave them space.  Riga rubbed her wrists where the cuffs had bit into her and rose unsteadily to her feet, Sheriff King’s hand firm beneath her elbow.  Hans lay nearby in the snow, dark with his blood.  He looked nothing like Night now.  The magic had ended with his death.  But his face looked familiar: a patrician-looking nose, shaved head, blue eyes, blank and lifeless.  She tried to imagine it without the hatchet splitting a seam in his high forehead, and looked away, sickened. 

King gripped her shoulders.  “Where’s Deputy Night?”

Just say it, Riga told herself.  But she hesitated.

“That’s his cruiser.”  The muscles in King’s face tightened, his eyes dark with worry.  “The fire department is at his cabin now, trying to save it.  What happened to him?”

 “Hans told me that he’d killed Night.  I’m sorry.”  Movement behind the Sheriff drew her eye. 

Night stood on the beach in police uniform.  His figure brightened as if lit by the sun, and then faded away. 

She looked away, glad that the young deputy, at least, had found some peace.  “He said he’d show me what he did to Night.  He may be nearby.”

The Sheriff swore, looked away.  His vein pulsed in his jaw.  After a few moments, he gazed at her directly.  “What do you know?”

She’d been thinking of how to explain it, hoped the answer she’d worked out would sound plausible.  “The killer’s name was Hans.  I think he masqueraded as a police officer to put his victims off their guard.  He kidnapped Tara, then me.  When he brought us here, he was ranting.  He tried to summon a demon and then just… lost it.  He seemed to think he was being attacked by something, and struck himself with the axe.”  Tara would tell them Night had kidnapped her, but if all went well, they’d chalk it up to panic, confusion.  It would be rough on Tara, but Riga couldn’t tell the truth.  They’d never believe it.

The Sheriff gave her a hard look, then turned and strode away.  He shouted orders to the other police officers on the scene. 

Tara’s shrieks subsided to hysterical, choking sobs. Riga thought she should go to her, but couldn’t force her legs to move. 

The TV crew swept in, clustering around her. 

Angus’ broad brow puckered.  “When the cops arrived, we found the cabin empty.  We didn’t know where you’d gone.  But the police cars have recovery systems in them.  Once they realized you were in Deputy Night’s car, they were able to track you and we followed them.”

“Where’s Pen?  Is she okay?”

“She’s with Wolfe and that Ash guy,” Angus said.

Sam pushed forward.  “Riga, what happened here?”

“Not now, Sam.”

“But Riga—”

She saw Donovan, striding through the trees, his woolen coat billowing behind him, and her breath caught.  Riga pushed past Sam.  “Not now,” she said.

She moved forward as if in a dream.  He was okay.  He was here.  A white patch stood out upon his forehead and she brushed that aside to wonder about later.  Donovan was home, Pen was safe, and she was alive.

“Riga!”  He drew her into a rough embrace, buried his face in her hair.  They stood, silent, Riga leaning into him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. 

“Is it over?” he asked, a low murmur against her neck.  A shudder ran through her; for a moment Riga thought he was asking if they were over.

 “It’s over.”

“Gwenn found me,” Donovan said.  “She gave me your message, told me what she’d seen in the cabin.”

She pulled away, and looked up at him.  “Donovan, I’m sorry,” Riga said, defensive.  “I had to—”

“I know.  He threatened Pen.  Cesar called me about the photo.”

“She’s my family, Donovan.”

“I would have done the same…  Though I might have brought a gun.  Did you…?” Donovan jerked his head toward the corpse.

“No,” Riga said quickly.  “He did it to himself.”  She still wasn’t sure what had taken Hans, pulled him from her at that crucial moment.  It hadn’t been something Riga had conjured.  She’d believed taking the stone would allow her to access her old magic, enable her to return to what she’d been, but she’d found something else instead.  Or it had found her.

Her fingertips lightly traced the white patch upon his forehead, several thick strips of tape.  “What happened here?”

He touched the bandage.  “This?  Ah.  A bullet creased my forehead.  Rocky said I went down like a sack of flour.  That’s why I wasn’t able to call you.”

“You were shot?!”

“Not shot, just grazed.  It happened at the crack house.”

Riga yelped.  “You were shot at a crack house?”

“That’s where the woman who wasn’t Erin was.”

“But…  Why did you have to go inside it?  Why couldn’t you wait for her to leave?”

“Because I wanted to get home.  It’s okay, Rocky got me out.”

“Rocky?”

“The detective…  Forget about it.  I’m fine.  You’re fine.  That’s what counts.  It looks like we were both luckier than we deserved.

“Your face.”  Donovan lightly touched her jaw.  “You’re singed on one side.  Are you alright?  They said there was a fire.” 

Riga put her icy palms to her cheeks.  One side, where the eye’s gaze had fallen upon her, felt warm, as if she’d been sunburned.  She had peeled back the veil to look at the other side, and it had seen fit to help her.  Uneasily, Riga wondered what the price for that would be.  She sighed and sank her head upon Donovan’s chest.  “I’m fine.” 

Chapter 30: The Sun and Moon

She met Brigitte on the roof of the casino that night, beneath its glowing red sign.  It bathed the roof in weird, flame-like shadows.  Before them the lake shone, molten silver in the moonlight.

Brigitte perched on a ledge, a brooding silhouette.  “He is dead.”

Riga nodded, told her what happened.  “We need to find the prima materia.  It’s somewhere behind Night’s cabin.  The police will be all over the place though.  We may have to wait.”

“You did not call me.  You called a ghost for help.”

Lefebvre had called to Brigitte that terrible night in Paris.  She hadn’t come to his aid, had let Riga finish him.  But she couldn’t bring herself to tell Brigitte that her confidence in the gargoyle had been shaken, that she was unsure how the magic worked. 

The gargoyle seemed to know what she was thinking, however.  “You believe my loyalties are conflicted.”

“We’ve been friends a long time, but… The trust was broken.  Repairing it will take some work.”

Brigitte leaned forward on her perch.  Her claws scratched against the stone parapet.  “Good.  You are becoming suspicious again.  There is strength in that.  We can go forward, I think.”

Riga shook her head, smiled. 

“And you ate a piece of it, of ze stone?  Are you… back?”

“If you mean has the effect ended, yes.  If you’re asking if my magic is back…”  Riga crouched and held out her hand over the rooftop gravel, concentrating. 

Nothing happened. 

She stood, setting off a series of aches and twinges throughout her body.  “I don’t think I was far enough along on the alchemical path for any sort of permanent change.  I’ll just have to keep practicing.”

“Still,” Brigitte mused, “it sounds as if ze genius loci protected you.  That is something.”

Pen emerged from behind the steel door to the roof.  “What’s a genius loci?” She padded toward them, stones and tar paper grinding beneath her feet.

Riga’s eyes narrowed.  “A genius loci is the spirit of the place.  And if there’s a camera or a mic on you…”

Pen held up her hands in a peace offering.  “Just me.”  In one hand she held a piece of plastic and rubber the size of her thumb.  “Angus asked me to give this to you.  He said there aren’t any copies.”

Riga took it, turned the small computer drive in her hand.  “Did you listen to it?”

“Well, duh.  Of course I did.  He didn’t tell me not to.  How was I to know what it was?  I don’t get it, Riga.  Why did you go there?  You knew he was a killer but you just sat there, waiting for him to make the first move.  You could have been killed!”

Riga didn’t answer, pressing her thumb against the drive’s protective rubber casing.  She’d gone there expecting one of them to die, hoping it wouldn’t be her, praying the audio Angus recorded would go to the right person, at the right time.  But that wasn’t for Pen to know, not now.

Brigitte’s head swiveled toward the girl.  “Riga could not murder him, though he undoubtedly deserved it.  And ze police could not have helped.  Could she have proven to a court that ze poor Deputy had been killed and ze thing in his place was a doppelgänger?  No.  Never would they have believed her.  Her only choice to stop him was with a magical duel and ze bastard cheated.  But it did not matter, Riga is too clever.  And the genius loci – or perhaps the daimon, we may never know – dispatched him.”

“So the only way you could get him, was to let him try to kill you first?” Pen asked, her voice rising.  “That’s stupid.  And that audio Angus made – you thought you’d fail; you needed this evidence to prove Night killed you.”

“The tape was backup, Pen.” Riga pocketed the drive.  “That’s all.” 

A bat spiraled above them and Riga watched its uneven path.

Pen sat down beside Brigitte.  She gnawed at one of her fingernails.  Finally, Pen said, “So there really is a lake monster in Tahoe?  But if that’s what ate Deputy Night, or whoever he was, then what did you and Wolfe see in the cave?”