Urban Shaman

CHAPTER 8

I backed up and crashed into Gary, elbowing him in the gut. He grunted, offended. “What the hell was that for?”

“She’s dead,” I whispered.

“What?” Gary crowded me forward again. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure.” I swallowed. Gary did the same, right behind my ear.

Marie lay on her back on the floor, one arm flung above her head, a classic faint. Except it wasn’t a faint. A hole had been torn through her midriff, starting just to the left of her breastbone. It rose up at an angle, and it didn’t take much imagination to envision the heart muscle cut neatly in half beneath the crimson blood. There were no superficial wounds that I could see. It looked like someone had walked in, jerked a knife up through her chest without warning, and walked out again. I rubbed my chest where Cernunnos had stabbed me, nervously. “Where’s that sword?”

“In the trunk of my cab,” Gary whispered back.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“I wonder if that’s good or bad.”

We stood there staring at Marie’s body. “Maybe we should call the cops,” Gary suggested.

I pulled my glasses off and rubbed my eyes, then put them back on. Marie was still lying there, dead. “Shit,” I said after a while. “I am the cops.” I backed up again and went looking for a phone. I found one in the kitchen, lying beside the tooth Marie’d collected from the church parking lot. She’d cleaned the blood off it and it looked innocuous, like it was waiting for the tooth fairy. I picked it up and stared at it, then folded it into my pocket as I got the phone and went back into the living room, dialing 9-1-1.

We were still standing there twenty-five minutes later when the real cops showed up. They bustled us down to the station in separate cars. I thought if we were really criminals, we’d have either abandoned the place or worked out our story while we were waiting for the cops, but no one wanted to listen to my point of view.

Gary had an all-day alibi; he’d been at work until two, then at a senior’s poker game until he came to wake me up. I had no alibi at all. A cop I didn’t know questioned me for over an hour. He kept getting hung up on the fact that I’d seen Marie from a plane in the first place. Everybody was having trouble with that idea. I made a mental note not to play Rescue Chick from the air again.

He let me go after verifying I really was a cop. Gary was waiting on the station stairs for me. We stood there watching splats of rain hit the sidewalk.

“You think it was Cernunnos?” Gary asked after a while.

“I don’t think his horse would fit in that apartment.” I sat down hard on the steps. Gary looked down at me in surprise. I smiled up at him weakly. “I haven’t eaten this week.” I didn’t think I was even exaggerating.

“You could eat?” he asked in horror.

“Either that or I could pass out.” I gave him my hand to pull me up. He did, and put a steadying hand at my waist when I wobbled. I smiled dizzily at him. “You know, Gary, if you were forty years younger I could get to like you.”

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s what all the girls say. Where we going? My cab’s at Marie’s.”

“There’s a Denny’s right around the corner.”

“No doughnut shop?”

I grinned a little. “Down the street. But I need real food.”

“You could eat,” he said again, sort of admiringly. I nodded and teetered down the street.

A plate of mozza sticks, a grilled chicken-with-cheese-and-bacon sandwich, a copious number of fries and a chocolate milkshake later I could think again. Gary watched me eat with silent fascination and didn’t so much as steal a fry. When I ordered a hot-fudge brownie sundae and sat back to wait for it, Gary judged it safe to speak again. “So do you think it was Cernunnos?”

I pulled my glasses off and chewed on the earpiece. “I don’t know. Do ancient Celtic gods go around murdering people in their apartments?”

“Dunno. Never met any before. Don’t know why they wouldn’t.”

I looked up and squinted, trying to resolve his fuzzy edges into something more solid. My vision wasn’t that bad—I could drive without my contacts, if I had to—but I’m nearsighted and things more than about three feet away took on the Christmas tree-light effect. “I think maybe we should start with something a little less esoteric.”

“Sure,” Gary said, “like a jealous rival in the anthropology department.” He stared at me until I wrinkled my nose and put my glasses back on.

“It could happen,” I mumbled.

“Could,” Gary agreed. “You think it did?”

“No,” I said reluctantly. “I think Marie was into something weirder than that.”

Gary nodded, satisfied. The waitress came back with my sundae and I poked at it with a fork, no longer hungry enough to eat it. “It was too clean to be Cernunnos.”

“Whaddaya mean, too clean? Didn’t you look at her?”

“Yeah, but.” I waved the fork around. “Think about his host. Dogs and birds and guys on horses. Do you think he goes around killing people all by himself? What if it was that other guy?”

“What other guy?”

“The one with the knife. She said it wasn’t Cernunnos, but she’d thought it was up until the diner this morning.” I frowned at my brownie, and took a bite. It was pretty good. I took another bite.

“The human guy?”

“I donno. I wonder if there are any humans associated with Cernunnos. Maybe we should find out.”

“I don’t think the library’s open this late, Jo.”

My eyebrows went up. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve got a computer at home.” The brownie really was pretty good. I ate some more.

“Never touch the things,” Gary said disdainfully.

I grinned. “Try it. You’ll like it.” I finished my dessert, paid the bill and we went home.

I have a little sign on my computer that says: On The Internet, Nobody Knows You’re A Dog. I dusted it off while the computer booted up. Gary stood back about four feet, looking wary. “It isn’t going to bite you, Gary.”

“That don’t look like the ones on TV,” Gary announced.

I shook my head. “I’m running Linux.”

Gary squinted at me. I inhaled to explain, and gave it up as a bad job before I even started. “It means I’m a computer geek.”

“Right.” Gary edged closer. I opened up a Web browser while he watched curiously. “And you know what you’re doing?”

I grinned over my shoulder at him. “Welcome to the twenty-first century, Gary. Anything you want, you can find it on the Net. It takes hardly any effort to find one hundred percent right answers, and one hundred percent wrong answers.”

He leaned over and planted a hand against the corner of my desk, peering at the screen. “How do you tell which is which?”

“Personal prejudice, sometimes. But for this kind of stuff—” I waggled my fingers at the screen “—you can check through half a dozen sites or so and pick up the information that’s common to all of them. That’s pretty close to being true. I mean, we’re talking about Celtic gods here, Gary. I don’t think there’s a real unquestionable expert on the topic, you know?” I clicked through to one of the sites. Gary dragged a chair over and we both read the screen.

There were a lot of origin stories for the Hunt. Some of it was what Marie had told us already, though some of them mentioned someone called Herne the Hunter. Those ones said the Hunt was made up of mortal hunters who had worked for Richard II of England. The rest suggested it was either of “faerie,” which looked like an obnoxious way to spell “fairy” to me, or made up of great warriors from the past. Even King Arthur was listed among the riders.

“His punishment for killing the children,” Gary said when we got to that bit.

“What?” I pushed my glasses up, peering at him.

“Arthur had hundreds of kids killed.”

I stared at him. “I never heard anything like that.”

Gary shrugged. “It’s one of the stories. Sort of like the Pharaoh killing all the kids trying to get to Moses. Except Arthur was trying to destroy Mordred. Maybe he’s riding with Cernunnos as his punishment for killing them.”

“Where’d you learn all that?”

Gary cocked an eyebrow at me. “I’m an old dog, lady. You pick up a few tricks along the way.”

Great. Apparently I was the only nonbeliever in Seattle. Well, me and Morrison. Somehow that didn’t make me feel any better. Gary reached out and clicked back to the search engine, and through to another site. I half smiled.

“I thought you never touched these things.”

“Don’t tell anybody. You’ll ruin my rep.” He leaned forward, jutting his jaw at the screen while we waited for a slow-loading page to resolve. “So the only mortal mentioned with Cernunnos is this guy Herne. Is he our guy?”

I slid down in my chair, sighing. “I don’t know. Some of the descriptions sound like they might just be the same person. Which doesn’t do us any good. Dammit.”

“What’s that?” Gary leaned forward, examining the screen. Badly rhyming nonsense filled the page in a painstaking handwritten font.

I call on the East Gate to close and bind thee I call on the gods who would listen to me I call on the wind and the earth and the sea I call on fire to help bind thee In this god’s name I set my geas That this binding cannot be broken By my will and by these words By these powers and by my skill I bind thee for eternity

“In Cernunnos’s name I set this geas?” Gary asked, grinning. I reached out and clapped a hand over his mouth, startling even myself. Above my fingers, his eyes widened. “Wwwf wng?”

I looked back at the chant. It still looked like nonsense, but I shivered anyway, discomfited. “I don’t think we should read that out loud.”

Gary’s eyebrows went up a little and he glanced at the computer before shrugging. “Okay.”

What, that was it? Just “okay” ? My surprise must have shown on my face, because he shook his head, smiling. “Jeez, lady, don’t you ever go on gut feelings?”

I spread my hands. “No.”

“Well, that’s what you been goin’ on since I met you. Better get used to it.”

“God, I have been, haven’t I?” I looked around for my glasses and put them back on. “Tomorrow,” I said firmly, “I will wake up normal and rational again.”

“And have answers to all your problems, right?”

I smiled halfheartedly. “Right.”

“Sounds like a good plan to me.” Gary sighed and ran a hand back through his hair. He didn’t have a lot of it, and what there was, was white. It was the only thing that made him look somewhere around his age. Even his wrinkles were sort of Ernest Hemingway wrinkles, like they were from too much squinting into the sun rather than age. They made him look dependable, not old. “Well, lady, I’m an old man and I’ve been up since early, so I’m heading home. I gotta go to work in the morning.”

“Yeah, okay. Me, I’m going to…” I trailed off and frowned at the computer.

“Gonna what?” Gary prompted. I shrugged.

“I’m going to find out who murdered Marie.”

“No fair having all the fun without me. My shift ends at two. I’ll see you then, maybe.”

“All right. In the meantime, don’t pick up any guys with swords. Oh, hey. Your car. You want a ride to Marie’s, um, to where Marie lived, um, to your car?” I stood up, digging in my pocket for my car keys as an attempt to keep my mouth from running off and making me sound even more idiotic.

“You don’t have to do that,” Gary dissembled, but I’d just spent weeks in Ireland. There’s a certain protocol I’d learned there.

In Ireland, you go to someone’s house, and she asks you if you want a cup of tea. You say no, thank you, you’re really just fine. She asks if you’re sure. You say of course you’re sure, really, you don’t need a thing. Except they pronounce it ting. You don’t need a ting. Well, she says then, I was going to get myself some anyway, so it would be no trouble. Ah, you say, well, if you were going to get yourself some, I wouldn’t mind a spot of tea, at that, so long as it’s no trouble and I can give you a hand in the kitchen. Then you go through the whole thing all over again until you both end up in the kitchen drinking tea and chatting.

In America, someone asks you if you want a cup of tea, you say no, and then you don’t get any damned tea.

I liked the Irish way better.

“No, really,” I said. “It’s the middle of the night and there’s a crazy man with a knife between here and there, and besides, I need to stop at the store and get something to eat for breakfast tomorrow. There’s no food here at all.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” Gary said, and I fought back a grin as we headed for the door.

I sat in the parking lot after Gary pulled out, both my hands on the steering wheel. I was tired, but it was the kind of twilight tired where I felt a little lighter than air and not quite like I could sleep. I knew I could, but as long as the false high was with me, I thought I should run with it. Somewhere not very far above me was a dead woman who’d needed my help, and somewhere inside my head things had happened that I didn’t understand. I leaned forward, folding my hands on top of each other on the steering wheel, and rested my forehead against them. I could smell the old leather on the wheel, and a faint lingering scent of a perfume I rarely wore.

Cars are my refuge, my comfort food. My first real memory is looking out the window of my father’s great big old Oldsmobile. I was about three, too little to know I’d be making a trip like that every few months until I left home. Dad tells me that when I was too little to see the cars, I’d hear them and go, “Oom!” because that’s what I thought they sounded like. He got into the habit of saying, “Zoom!” and “Vroom!” to make me happy. I still do it myself, from time to time.

Marie’s murder was a little too surreal for me. People you’ve just met aren’t supposed to end up dead twelve hours later. I shook my head and let my mind slide off that for a moment.

Of course, that left Cernunnos and Coyote to think about. You want to talk about surreal. I groaned quietly and thumped my head against the wheel. I should be going home. I should be at home, looking up Native American legends on the Net. Native American legends, and dream interpretation, and the name of a good psychologist, since it was pretty clear I was losing my mind. I rubbed the heel of my hand over my breastbone. It kept right on not having a hole in it. I kept right on not being dead. This was beyond mortal ken.

And dammit, I didn’t believe in beyond mortal ken. What did an atheist do if God shows up on the doorstep? I’d invited him in for breakfast.

A sharp rap on the window startled me into bolting upright. I drove the heel of my hand into the horn. A broad face under a blue hat leaned over the windshield, wincing quizzically. I puffed my cheeks out and took my hand off the horn, opening the door to hang out of it.

“Was I speeding, Officer?”

“Didn’t know it was you, Joey. Just wanted to check and make sure everything was okay.”

“Hi, Ray. Define okay.” I smiled wanly. Raymond was a short wide guy whom I was pretty sure could bench press a Buick. Not the fastest on his feet, but between him and a nuclear bunker, I’d take him every time. He stuck his hand out, and I stood up, leaning over the door to shake it.

“Heard you got your balls busted,” he said sympathetically. Ball-busting was Ray’s favorite term and he applied it with blithe disregard to gender-based improbability. “Guess I never thought about you going to the academy. But you’re a real cop, huh? What’re you doing out here?”

“I’m a real cop,” I agreed. “Sort of.” The other question was easier to answer: I pointed a finger up toward Marie’s apartment. “I found the body a few hours ago.”

“Coming back to the scene of the crime? Common criminal mistake, you know. You know this is the fifth murder like this in the past couple weeks?” Ray shook his head.

My eyebrows went up. “I didn’t. Just got back from Europe.” God, that sounded pretentious. “What do they have in common?”

Ray shook his head again. “Not much. Different age ranges, different races, different day jobs, different genders, no phone calls to or from the same numbers, not even pizza joints. Different parts of the city, different everything.”

“No, there’s something linking them,” I said absently. I tugged my glasses off and pinched the bridge of my nose, glasses dangling from my fingertips. A piece of wire contracted around my heart and I took a deep breath, trying to shake the feeling off. A brief image of the spiderwebbed windshield flashed behind my eyelids. I frowned, trying to shake that off, too.

“Yeah? Don’t suppose you can tell me what it is.” Ray reached up and twisted his hat on his head. His hair was visibly thinner right where his hat sat on his head, from doing that for years. It occurred to me that I knew the guys at the department inside and out, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a date. My heart was still tight, the spiderweb image still bothering me. I put my shoulders back, trying to breathe.

“No, but there’s something. Can I look at the files?” The web inside me loosened a bit and I was able to catch my breath.

Ray twisted his mouth in much the same way he habitually twisted his hat. It dug deep lines around his mouth. Being a cop left its mark. “I don’t know. You’re not a detective.”

“Christ, Ray, the woman was murdered practically under my nose. Gimme a break.”

Ray frowned at me, then waved his hand. “Arright. I’ve got copies in the car. I thought this might be another by the same guy, so I brought ‘em to compare pictures to the placement of the body.”

“And?”

He shrugged. “And there’s nothing to compare. There’s no ritual in how the bodies have been laid out. They’ve all been punched through the chest with a sharp weapon, but that’s the only common element. Looks like they’ve all just been left to lie as they fell.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Neither. The repeat use of the weapon is good, the lack of any other ritual is bad. Nothing to pick up, nothing to deviate from. I don’t like it.” Ray twisted his cap around on his head again.

“Do you usually like horrible murders?”

Ray eyed me. I held up my hands in supplication. “Can I borrow those files?”

“You said look,” he objected.

“Look, borrow, whatever. I’ll be careful with them. Promise.”

I made my eyes all big and wide and hopeful before remembering they were bloodshot. Eww.

Ray frowned at me for a while, then turned around and went and got the files. “Don’t let Morrison find out or he’ll be busting my balls,” he said as he handed them over.

I flipped one open, not really listening to him. “I won’t. Thanks, Ray.”

“Yeah, well, my car needs work.”

I looked up with a crooked grin. “As soon as I find out my new work schedule.”

“It’s a date.” He nodded at the files again. “Don’t mention where you got ‘em.”

“I won’t.” I watched him walk back to his car, wondering if it really was a date. Not that I particularly wanted to date Ray. It was just that fixing guys’ cars seemed to be my idea of a pretty good date, which probably explained why I didn’t get out more. Maybe I could start my own escort service. Oil change and dinner. I’d have to come up with a catchy name for the place. The only things that came to mind involved lube jobs, and that was just bad.

I got back in my car and went home before I started taking myself seriously.