Urban Shaman

CHAPTER 20

Black fog rolled into my vision, narrowing it down until all I could see was Morrison, and even he looked distant and unreal. The memory of Mrs. Potter’s bright eyes and crisp speech blotted him out for a few moments. Then my sight expanded again, the edges brightening to white until I could see the entire cafe. It disappeared in a flash of brilliance. I stood alone in the star field again, shouting for help, and no one came.

There was a distant hunger, though, a mawing blackness between the stars. It drew closer as I shouted, like a great cat studying its prey before it pounced. I hadn’t noticed it before, but I suddenly remembered Coyote’s warning that speaking with the dead could be dangerous. I was very sure the darkness was home to the danger. I shouted for help one more time, into silence too immense to even echo. The stars blurred away into images that raced by, too quickly to comprehend, until the doughnut shop resolved itself around me and Morrison was crouched beside me, shaking me.

“…nne? Joanie?” he said distantly, and then, sharply, “Jesus, Walker. What the hell was that?”

My vision pounded back into focus and I whimpered, lifting my hands to my temples. I felt like I had a three-day hangover. “She was fine last night.”

Morrison straightened, looking down at me. “Yeah, well, apparently getting to know you is bad for people these days.” He moved back to his side of the table, frowning as he sat down again. “If you hadn’t pulled that stunt at the hospital last night—”

“—she’d still be there under guard and alive,” I finished in a miserable whisper. Morrison glanced up.

“No. She was there under guard. If you hadn’t pulled that stunt, they probably would have thought she died from complications, but half the staff saw she’d been healed up. Still, the wound that killed her was nearly identical to the original.” Morrison was silent for a long moment. “How the hell did you do that?”

I closed my eyes, remembering the absurd car analogy. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yeah. I really want to know.”

I took a fortifying sip of my chocolate, then spoke to it. “I had a near-death experience Monday morning. It’s apparently not uncommon for people with shamanic potential to be jolted into an awareness of that potential in near-death experiences. In fact, there are whole rituals…nevermind. Shamans are healers.” That much, at least, I’d grasped. “Healing requires belief.” I looked up. “I’ve never been big on belief.” He let out a snort of amusement. “But you’d be surprised at how far getting a sword punched through you and waking up unscarred will go for a girl’s belief.”

“I might be,” he said noncommittally, and waved his doughnut, an unfilled maple bar, at me. “Keep talking.”

“The shaman has to believe, but so does the one being healed.” I picked at my apple fritter, eating little bites. “She was unconscious. I guess it’s harder to have an opinion when you’re unconscious. She’s really dead?” My voice was hollow. Morrison nodded.

“She’s really dead.”

“I liked her,” I whispered. I wasn’t going to cry in front of Morrison, dammit. Especially when I didn’t have my contacts in as a cover-up.

“Shit happens,” Morrison said. I looked up, angry, and caught the flash of frustration in his eyes. Maybe it wasn’t as easy for him as he pretended it was. I’d give him his white lies if he’d allow me mine. We were both silent for a few seconds, composing ourselves without looking away from one another.

“So why did you tell me this?” I finally asked. Morrison finished his doughnut and his coffee, then compulsively straightened the silverware on the table before answering. I watched, fascinated. Captain Michael Morrison was not a particularly fastidious man. “You’re fidgeting.” What a wonderful place the world was, that Morrison could be made to fidget. “Am I one of the suspects again?”

He glared at me, which seemed to restore his equilibrium. “Do you have an alibi for five o’clock this morning?”

I blinked at him. “Astonishingly, yes. Gary dropped by at about ten after.”

“Then you’re not. Who’s Gary?”

“My secret lover, Morrison, who else? He’s the guy who was with me when I met Marie. When we found her body. The cab driver. He was at the hospital last night. Big guy. What’s it to you, anyway?”

“Oh, Mr. Muldoon. Didn’t know you were on a first-name basis with him.”

“Just because I’ve known you for three years and I’m not on a first-name basis wi—” It occurred to me that he’d used my first name, when I’d blacked out a few minutes earlier. I wouldn’t have sworn Morrison even knew my first name. “My life has gotten very peculiar all of a sudden,” I said a little randomly. “Maybe I should go now.” I stood up.

“Siddown.”

I sat down.

“What was Mr. Muldoon doing at your house at five in the morning?”

“Do you want to know professionally or personally, Morrison?” Sarcasm seemed like a good way out of bewilderment.

“Professionally,” he said icily.

“Well, then, I probably shouldn’t answer that question without my lawyer present, should I? For Christ’s sake, Morrison. He was dropping something off before he went to work.”

“What?”

“Work. You know. That thing that I don’t have to go to right now, ‘cuz some bastard suspended me?”

Morrison turned purple. I felt better about the world. “What,” he said precisely, “was Mr. Muldoon dropping off at your house?”

“That,” I said just as precisely, “is none of your fucking business. What’s going on, Morrison? Five seconds ago I wasn’t a murder suspect and now you’re treating me like one.” Gary’d said Morrison liked me. It was absurd, but it was a nice cheap shot and I wasn’t feeling big enough to pass it up. “If it weren’t completely insane, I’d say you were jealous.”

“Oh, damn,” Morrison said, all wide eyes, “I’ve been found out. What was he dropping off?”

“A rapier,” I said in disgust. “The one Cernunnos stabbed me with. I thought it would make a nice souvenir. If Mrs. Potter died of a wound like the one she had earlier, the rapier is shaped all wrong to make it. I hate to disappoint you. Now what the hell do you want from me, Captain?”

“I want you to find this guy,” Morrison snapped. I thought it was probably a lot easier on both of us, being angry. We could deal with each other as adversaries that way, like we were used to. Moments of connection only made things screwy. I spread my hands, lacing my voice with sarcasm.

“Yes, sir, Captain, sir. Why the change of heart?”

“Because he walked past two of my guards and murdered a woman this morning, and nobody saw a thing.” Morrison set his empty cup down on the table, hard. “You tell me something, Walker. If I bring you in on this case as a specialist, are you good enough to solve it?”

“No,” I said flatly. Morrison leaned back, shocked. Shocked, and maybe a little admiring. Silence drew out a moment before he dropped his chin, half a nod.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, Morrison. I’m in way the hell over my head in a game I don’t know the rules to. I’m learning awfully fast, because as near as I can tell, anything else and I’ll end up dead.” I took a sip of chocolate and put the cup down with a little less emphasis than Morrison had. “I’m not good enough,” I repeated, “but I don’t know what other choice you’ve got.”

Morrison swung his hand around in a little circle that meant “keep talking.” I pushed my cup away. “Cernunnos and Herne. They’re at the heart of this. Know anything about them?” Morrison snorted. I half smiled. “Neither did I. Cernunnos is a god, Morrison. An ancient Celtic god. He’s not evil. He’s more…” I closed my eyes, envisioning the hard narrow face and the slender fey lines of the god’s body. “Primal. The other one, Herne, is his son. And he is evil. He’s twisted. He’s the one killing people. And I don’t know why. What I do know is that Cernunnos tried to kill me so I couldn’t bind him again, and Herne seems to have developed a personal vendetta against me. So no matter what else, I’m the one you need because they’re both gunning for me.”

“Can you stay alive?”

Electricity ran through me, a warm shock of life that made my fingers tingle. For a few seconds I forgot about the world, feeling the blood coursing through my veins, feeling the beat of my heart and the fill and fall of my lungs. My vision blurred again, and, looking at my fingers, I could see each layer of skin, the tendons and the bones, as clearly as I could see the coffee cup my hands were wrapped around. One more blink, and I would see the cells skimming against one another, bouncing off the surface tension that was skin. Instead I shivered and met Morrison’s eyes. “I decided this morning that I wasn’t going to die.”

Morrison’s shoulders were lifted, expression tense. “Your eyes are the wrong color.”

I blinked. “What?”

His shoulders went even tighter. “They’re—they were—gold.”

“Must’ve been the light,” I said in a very low voice. Morrison thrust his jaw out. Yeah, I didn’t believe me either. Great. Marie’s eye condition was catching. I hoped I didn’t start doing the pupil-less eye thing. “I decided I wasn’t going to die,” I repeated, hoping Morrison would let it go. I carefully looked at the table, rather than at my hands. I wasn’t that keen on seeing my own bones.

He was silent a few seconds before I heard him shift into a more relaxed position. “Nobody gets up in the morning planning to die, Walker. Well,” the cop in him amended, “hardly anybody.”

I swallowed. “No, I don’t think you understand.”

He spread his hands. “Enlighten me.”

“I can see my bones,” I said softly, and dared look at my hands again. They looked perfectly normal. “I don’t think anything short of brain death can kill me right now.”

“Are you telling me you’re immortal?”

“No,” I said irritably, “I’m telling you I can stay alive.”

“Why the hell didn’t you just say so?”

The wall was too far away to hit my head on. “Does that mean I’m no longer suspended?”

Morrison puckered up like he’d bitten into a lime. “Yeah.”

“Do I get my badge back?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool,” I said. “How about a raise?”

Morrison’s expression went tight.

“Hey,” I said, “I’ll be detecting. Detectives make more than mechanics, don’t they?”

Morrison stared at me. “I really don’t like you.”

I smiled brightly. “It’s good to be back. Boss.”

It took half an hour to get my badge back, and another forty minutes on the range blowing holes in distant targets to assure Morrison I wasn’t going to shoot myself or anyone else unless I intended to.

“That’s it?” I asked when Morrison pulled off his earmuffs.

“That’s it,” Morrison said, still scowling. “You shoot well.”

“Thank you. My dad taught me. I like rifles better, but I guess one wouldn’t fit in a shoulder holster.” I tucked the gun awkwardly into that self-same holster. Morrison looked like he felt better when I didn’t do it well, which made no sense. I would rather someone very competent was tucking and untucking guns from shoulder holsters, but Morrison was having a bad enough morning as it was. For once I let it go, asking, “That’s it?” again. “Now I get to go out and defend the innocent and protect the weak with my trusty sidearm and shiny star?”

“I can’t tell you how much I already regret this,” Morrison growled. I sighed happily.

“No, but you’ll probably try.”

“This isn’t a game, Walker.” Morrison was grim.

“No shit.”

“Walker.” There was a dangerous note in Morrison’s voice. I looked up from trying to arrange my pistol comfortably and rubbed the heel of my hand over my breastbone. It was getting to be a nervous habit, but I couldn’t get over the uncomfortable feeling of having a sword through my lung.

“I know, Morrison. Okay? I never planned to be a card-carrying member of any law enforcement agency. I really just wanted to be a mechanic. I’m not taking this lightly.”

“Coulda fooled me.”

I shrugged my jacket on over the shoulder holster to see how it fit. Not bad. Felt a little strange, but I’d adapt. “Did it ever occur to you that might be the point?”

He was quiet and I looked up again to see a faintly satisfied expression in his eyes. I wished he wouldn’t do that. Discomfited, I adjusted my jacket again and shifted my shoulders. “There anything else?” I asked my shoes. They were regular waterproof winter boots today. Morrison was wearing similar shoes. We were the same height. I smiled a little.

“Just try not to talk to the press, Walker.”

I dropped my voice half an octave. “This is Special Investigator Joanne Walker, reporting for Tabloid TV. I’ve learned that at the heart of a series of bloody murders is an ancient Celtic god and his estranged son. Tune in at eleven tonight for more.”

Morrison tried not to grin, producing a wicked sparkling smirk instead. It wasn’t James Dean, but it wasn’t half-bad. “None of that.”

“Who would believe me?”

“The kind of people who watch tabloid TV. Just spare the department the embarrassment. Spare me the embarrassment.”

“Why, Morrison, are you asking me a favor?”

He glared at me. Funny how most of the time, Morrison’s glares made me feel better about the world. They were a kind of reliable continuity, and I could use all the continuity I could get right now. I held up a hand. “All right. Look, this will be over tonight, Captain. Anything else can be dealt with to—Monday.”

“To Monday,” Morrison echoed, eyebrows elevated.

“I promised myself I could sleep until Friday afternoon if I lived through this,” I explained, “and I’ve got a dinner date Friday night, so I’m not doing anything else until Monday at least. And right now I’m going up to see if Jen’s got anything on the missing persons report I filed.”

“Who’s the date with?”

I smiled brightly. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” As I brushed by him, I had the distinct impression that he would. I took the stairs up into the station two at a time, grinning. Morrison followed me up and broke off at his office, muttering under his breath. I went back to the Missing Persons department and Jen lifted her voice as I came in the door.

“Got nothing.”

I puffed my cheeks out, closing the door behind me, mindful of the draft, as I went around the corner to her desk. “Too early?”

She nodded, waving a handful of papers at me. “Too early, or your girl isn’t missing. I did a sketch from the painting and sent it out around the city. Nobody’s reported back. You’re early, by the way.”

I glanced at a clock; it was five after ten. “Yeah, well, the world just came to an end.”

“Really?” Jen looked around. “I always thought all the paperwork would go up in flames when the world ended. One big poof of spontaneous combustion. I’m disappointed.” She sounded like she really was.

“Maybe it was just one of the seven signs of the Apocalypse, then.” I took out my badge and tossed it on her desk. I was going to have to get a flip-open wallet. All of a sudden, I understood their appeal: not only did they not require digging through pockets, they were terribly theatrical.

Jen put her papers down and picked up the badge. “You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

I cackled. “Nope.”

“This didn’t come out of a Cracker Jack box, did it.” The statement verged on a question, full of disbelief. I cackled again, unable to help myself.

“Nope. Straight from Morrison’s own delicate little hands, it is.”

Jen stuck a pen in her mouth and looked up at me. She quit smoking two years ago and still put things in her mouth. Around the pen, she asked, “What’d you do, bio—”

“He’s not my type,” I said hastily, and grinned. Jen grinned back.

“Nobody’s your type, Joanne. How’d you swing this?”

“His idea. Look, if nothing turned up yet, how about I swing by in a few hours just to see if I’ve gotten lucky? Maybe around two.”

“Sure. Hope I’ve got something for you.” She took the pen out of her mouth and grinned again, intoning, “Officer Walker.”

I was going to cackle for the rest of the day. Possibly for the rest of my life. I flicked her a jaunty little salute and took the main route through the station as I headed for the front door. Morrison gave me a dour look as I went by his office and waved. I left feeling like I could conquer the world.