Before I even got to him, I knew I was just lying to myself. Calaphase’s body was drained, charred. After the magic tag had sucked him dry of blood, it had set him on magical fire. Slow streamers of rainbow flame lifted off his body, like slow-motion animation; beneath the flames was a smudge of blackness that was barely recognizable as a man.
Damnit. Damnit. Damnit! I stood there, face screwed up so much it hurt, mouth covered with my hands so no one would see, eyes squeezed tight so I wouldn’t have to either. We were friends, we’d became lovers, seemingly moments ago-and he was gone. Gone! No more walks. No more talks. No more riding to my rescue in the middle of the night with donuts and that confident yet oddly bashful charm. Gone.
Finally, after how long I had no idea, I began to shiver in the cold, and turned away, looking for my vestcoat. I found it a blackened, smoking ruin atop a graffiti’d image of glowing rocks. I snatched it up, cursing as the hot cracked leather burned my skin-but as I grabbed it, my fingers had brushed pavement and found it cool. Magic, again.
I tossed the remains of the jacket into the crook of my elbow and began massaging my singed hand. The burn wasn’t too bad, no worse than all the minor singes, dings and scrapes I’d picked up in our ordeal, but as I looked at my skin, it looked different somehow. After a moment, I realized why, and cursed again, more quietly now, at another loss.
“My dependable snakes,” I said. Emotions welled up in me, and I clamped them down, inspecting the bare skin that until minutes ago had borne one of my best smaller designs, figuring out how to replace it. I needed the distraction of planning to fix what I’d lost. I needed to focus on anything but what had just happened. “I’m going to have to tattoo another one.”
Flashing lights caught my eye and an Atlanta black-and-white shot past the end of the tenement, running silent with lights blazing. I waved hopefully, gratefully, and the car turned into the lot and screeched to a halt well short of the graffiti image of the molten lava. I ran towards it, and my heart leapt as Rand stepped out, flanked by Horscht and Gibbs.
“Rand, thank God,” I said. “Calaphase and I were just attacked by magic graffiti-and it killed him. And I think the graffiti is using vampire blood for power-Rand? What’s wrong?”
Rand stared at me, jaw clenched. Then he spoke the last words I expected.
“I’m sorry, Kotie. You’re under arrest for the murder of Christopher Valentine.”
Lockup
Beloved stage magician Christopher Valentine, AKA the Mysterious Mirabilus, had been famous for challenging “fake magicians” to perform a feat he couldn’t replicate with ordinary stage magic. In twenty-three years of issuing the Valentine Challenge, he’d never failed.
Until me.
The real reason for his perfect record? In secret, Valentine was a real magician, using his Challenge to flush out and kill other real magicians-like me. I decisively met his Challenge to ink a real magic tattoo; that ended me up on Valentine’s sacrificial altar, moments from death.
Karma is a bitch, though. The moment Valentine took me seriously as a threat, his flunky Transomnia realized I was powerful enough to destroy the tattoo that enslaved him-and literally stabbed Valentine in the back, distracting him long enough for me to release the Dragon tattoo.
Released from my body, my precious masterwork tore Valentine to pieces. So it was true: I killed Christopher Valentine with magic. In theory, a serious crime-but I thought there was enough evidence to demonstrate to anyone’s satisfaction that it was self defense.
Rand knew this. He’d been there, or at least had helped pick up the pieces. But he showed no sign of it now. He just Mirandized me, cuffed me and stuffed me in the back of the cruiser, where I had to wait alone for half an hour until another unit could arrive… for Calaphase.
Calaphase. I couldn’t believe he was really gone. Even though I’d seen him die, had confirmed it, some part of my brain refused to accept it. I just sat there in the car, hands cuffed behind my back, eyes tearing up, face hot and red. Fuck. This sucked.
Rand opened the door and sat down beside me. “Kotie, I-why are you crying?”
“What?” I said, unbelieving. “Rand, I just watched my… my friend die-”
“Your friend? ” Rand said, eyes bugging. He slammed the door. “Oh, hell, I knew it-you hooked up with that fang. ”
“His name,” I said, chest unexpectedly tight, “was Calaphase. ”
“God damn it,” he said, turning away in the seat. “Gibbs, drive. Just-drive.”
“Rand… what the hell is wrong?” I asked, as the car pulled out. “I know you don’t think I did it. You know what happened with Valentine-”
“I know, I know, ” Rand snapped. “Boys… take a virtual walk.”
“Huh? We’re driving,” Horscht said, confused.
“How about them Braves,” Gibbs said, flipping off the video camera.
“I’m a Falcons fan, not a-oh, oh, yeah,” Horscht said. “Virtual. I get it.”
Rand turned to me, apology and anger fighting for control of his face. “This is a conflict of interest. I could get fired, understand?” Rand said. “Your 911 call was incoherent, but we were able to get your location-and your number was flagged with an outstanding warrant.”
“They send the cavalry to arrest me for a paperwork screw up of epic proportions?”
“There is no mistake. Fortunately there are a lot of people on the force who still owe your Dad and remember you. My friends in dispatch put Horscht and Gibbs on it, who pulled me in so we could make this easy on you. But when I find you? You’re crying over a dead vampire. ”
“Rand,” I began, a dozen quick, angry retorts on my breath. But then I realized Rand had just told me that he’d put his career on the line to keep me out of trouble, and had found me in a bigger stew than he’d ever expected. I drew a long, ragged breath, then let it out slowly.
“He is-was a good friend, and he’s just died. Can we let it… him… rest right now?” I said, closing my eyes and trying to refocus on my new problem. “Thanks for coming personally, but… tell me about the warrant. This is bullshit. They can’t prove murder, because it wasn’t.”
“All right,” Rand said. “You know you’re innocent, and I know, but
… a couple of days after you killed Valentine there was an election. The turnover was an earthquake, and your file got dumped on the desk of Paulina Ross, a hot new prosecutor-an import from Birmingham-who decided her new job was to make an example of people who kill with magic.”
“Oh, crap,” I said. “Cops just love people who kill with magic.”
“Oh, crap, exactly,” Rand said. “With all the deaths and disappearances and suspicious fires we’ve had over the last month, everyone on the force is on edge. That’s why I decided to make sure I was the one who picked you up. I wanted you to arrive in one piece.”
“But,” I said, “Misuse of Magic? No one from the DEI said-Philip never said-”
“Your boyfriend can’t help you,” Rand said. His eyes were boring into me, staring at my neck. I reddened-he had to be looking at the bite marks. “Or is that your ex-boyfriend?”
“He is, in fact, my ex-boyfriend,” I said. “We split last week-”
“That’s a shame. You’re going to need all the help you can get,” Rand said. “The murder charge isn’t even the worst of your worries. Your use of magic is on the record.”
“So?” I said. “I was defending myself… ”
“But Misuse of Magic is still a crime-a Federal crime,” Rand said. “So the assistant DA is working with the U.S. Attorney to put you away for Felonious Misuse of Magic. The murder charge is just a way to get to her real agenda. If Ross can’t prove murder, she might go for felony manslaughter-and then the U.S. Attorney can still get you for Felonious Misuse.”