Seeing Magic (The Queen of the Night Series Book 1) (20 page)

“We need to find out,” Evan concluded.

“The problem is, I can’t go to the sheriff and ask him to pay for a surveillance team. He’s a Roman. The only evidence I have comes from fairies and pixies.”

“We’ll do it,” Evan offered. “Maggie and I can do surveillance on Jeremy Rogers.”  I would have been upset he’d offered my services without asking me first, but I was so eager to get to the bottom of this before Dariene found my brother, I was willing to do anything.

“Okay,” agreed Deputy Wallace. “I’ve got supplies you can use. I’ve got really good binoculars, cameras, night vision…Evan, follow me to the back of my cruiser and I’ll get you what you’ll need.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Top of the Mountain

“Okay, he’s coming. Can you see him?”

“Yeah, I got him.”

“Is he alone?”

“He’s alone…like always.”

Evan and I sat in his Jeep hidden within the secret lookout spot which had been created for us off the dirt road at the entrance gate to Ray’s Salvage Yard. We’d been pulling surveillance duty at random hours for almost two-and-a-half weeks and had finally detected a pattern. Jeremy Rogers arrived at the yard in the early hours of the morning three days a week: Tuesday through Thursday. He would unlock the gate and leave it open. About an hour after he’d arrived, a group of men, convoyed in about twenty vehicles, would drive through it. The last of them would close and lock the gate from inside the yard. Approximately twelve-and-a-half hours later, the process would reverse itself. First the convoy of men would leave, an hour later Rogers would go, locking the gate behind him. At all other hours, the yard was protected by three huge, vicious-looking pit bulls.

It was Thursday morning, just after 6 o’clock. Jeremy Rogers unlocked the gate and pushed it open. He whistled and the three dogs ran over and jumped into the back of his pick-up. He drove out of our line of sight.

I looked at Evan. “This pattern…It reminds me of factory workers.”

He nodded his head in agreement. “Do you see the kinds of clothes they wear and the types of vehicles they drive?”

I offered, “Both clothes and cars look pretty beat up.”

“They look even dirtier when they leave. These guys aren’t computer programmers or salesmen. They’re shift workers, and I think they work outside.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Do you see any factories around here?  We’ve looked all around the boundary of this property. There are no other access points onto it except this one. If a factory was here, we should at least be able to see the top of the building. Besides, these guys come back out looking really grubby, not just sweaty.”

“The dryads said Rogers had cut down all of the trees on the other side of the salvage yard. Maybe he’s doing construction.”

“Yeah, maybe…”

“Well, we can hear noise. It sounds like construction noise.”

“That’s true, but the dryads say he’s been at this for months. From the back of the property it’s obvious where the tree line is missing. The roof line of any new buildings should be visible by now.”

“I would think so, if construction workers had been working here for months.”  We continued to brainstorm. We weren’t worried about being spotted. The now-homeless dryads were happy to help us out. They had convinced the trees and brush to clear out of the space we now occupied, so we were easily able to back the Jeep off the road. Then they asked the trees to extend their branches so as to cover us. The gate was clearly visible through the branches, but no one could see us from the gate.

Unfortunately, once in our lookout, we couldn’t leave without help. The head of the dryad group, Poplar, had given us a special whistle. Graduated lengths of hollowed-out reeds were banded together with hardened sap and vines. Each segment of reed was shorter than its neighbor and presumably made a different pitch when played. I wouldn’t know, because, although this whistle looked exactly like the lute Pan played in the old cartoons, it made no noise to my ears. According to Poplar, only dryads could hear the lute’s song. When we’d arrived at 5 AM to start our surveillance, Evan had blown on the lute. A familiar dryad had appeared and the branches had opened for us. We’d have to play it again to leave.

We had spent many long and tedious hours watching behind these branches, but now we’d detected a pattern, we could decide on the next steps in our investigation.

Evan continued to reason out loud. “Okay, so he’s got somewhere between twenty and forty people working a single 3-days-a-week-twelve-hours-a-day shift. They’re using industrial or construction equipment and they’re working outside, but no new buildings are being constructed. Am I right?”  He looked to me for confirmation.

I agreed. “We’ve kept track of the make, model and license plate of every vehicle we’ve seen enter and exit the yard. The only inconsistency is the number of people in the vehicles. Sometimes it’s just one guy in a car or truck; sometimes it’s two or three guys.”

“I wonder if he’s using day laborers, like guys who are willing to work a job on a day-by-day basis. A lot of the farms in the area use them. The guys driving the cars are always the same.”

“We have a lot of day laborers in LA, too. They usually work in construction.”  I was sticking with my hypothesis. “The guys driving the cars must be the supervisors or skilled workers or something. They go out and find the day laborers and drive them here.”

“You’re right. It’s the drivers we need to investigate, and you know who can help us track down drivers?”

“…someone who works at the DMV?”  I guessed.

“…or perhaps a cop who has access to DMV records,” Evan finished. We both said at the same time “Deputy Wallace!”

Evan nodded. “As soon as we can safely get out of here, we’ll call him.”  He shook his head. “The more we learn about this guy, Jeremy Rogers, the more I dislike him.”  I had to agree, but I wondered what Evan thought was specifically upsetting about shift workers doing something in the salvage yard.

“What do you mean?”

“These guys only work three days a week, right?” 

I nodded.

“They work three twelve-hour shifts with a half-hour for lunch. That’s only thirty-six hours a week. I’m not sure if it’s the law or just common practice, but if you work less than forty hours a week around here, you don’t get benefits like health insurance or paid holidays.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s a crappy way to run a business. He doesn’t value his employees. He might even be paying them cash under the table so he can avoid paying taxes for his business also. He’s just a bad guy.”

“Oh, and using his father’s tow truck to prey on desperate, stranded people wasn’t a clue he’s a bad guy?”

“Yes, but he’s a bad guy on a much larger scale now.” 

I couldn’t argue with him but I wanted to find a less upsetting subject. Since we had a little down time, I went back to what had become my favorite activity during these long, boring hours of spying. I kept a list of questions I wanted to ask Evan about the people in the Cacapon clan, our history, and magic. Pulling the list out of my pocket, I looked up the next question. Evan had been patient enough and kind enough to answer almost all of them. This next question was an easy one for him.

“Evan,” I started, “today I want to learn about the different colors I sense in people’s auras. Let’s start with gold. What does it mean when someone has gold in their aura?”

He smiled. “First, you should understand that there are different layers of color in a person’s aura. There is the color closest to the person, which indicates personality traits. These colors might change over time as a person matures, but generally stay the same. Do you understand?” 

I nodded.

“Then there is a layer of color which reflects the person’s mood. This layer changes all the time and is slightly more translucent than the personality layer. Over those two layers is a third layer. It only appears in the auras of people and creatures that have magic. The colors seem all merged together for you right now, but eventually you’ll learn to distinguish the different layers. Are you with me so far?”

“I’m with you.”

“Gold is the color of magic. If you see gold in the aura of any person or creature it means they have a magical gift. The amount of gold in the aura is an indicator of the strength or power of their magic.”

“Okay,” I continued. “What does it mean when the gold looks tarnished?”

“I have no idea,” he stated honestly. “You are the only person I’ve met who has ever seen a tarnished aura. It must have something to do with your healer vision.”

“Did you call it ‘Healer Vision’?” 

“Well, your gift needs a name, doesn’t it?”

“I like it,” I concluded. “This makes sense though, because I’ve only ever seen a tarnished aura on sick fairies. Easnadh was first, and then I saw it on Poplar and the other dryads.”

“Maybe it means their magic is failing because of their illness.”

“Okay, I’ll remember that. What does green mean?”

“Well, the world has many shades of green, but I would describe them as an indicator of how closely in harmony we are with nature. For example, a plant would have mostly green in its aura because it’s wholly in harmony with nature. A city-dwelling Roman may have almost no green in his aura. The different shades describe the complexity of our relationship with Mother Earth and Father Sky.”

“I think I get it. Fiona must be very Zen. She has a lot of green.”

He chuckled. “I guess so. Green is also the color of healing since you draw on the energy from Mother Earth to heal. You’re seeing green in her personality layer and in her magical layer.”

“What about red?”

“Red is the color of anger or aggression. It doesn’t necessarily mean you’re a bad or angry person, though. Policemen and soldiers have a lot of red in their personality aura because they are always on alert. They are always prepared to protect others.”

“Would a momma bear have red in her aura?”

“She would if she thought her cubs were threatened by something…You bet.”

“Okay, what does pink mean?”

“I’ve always associated pink with my mother,” he mused. “It’s the color of compassion, generosity and nurturing. There are many shades of pink.”

I have pink in my aura
.

Suddenly, the other vehicles started arriving. I pulled out my clipboard and Evan took the binoculars. He read off license plates and pertinent information. I recorded them all. After the last guy had closed and bolted the gate shut from the inside, we waited ten more minutes; Evan blew the lute.

Nothing happened at first. Evan had to blow on it again. After a few worrying minutes, Poplar appeared. He asked the trees to open their branches for us, and afterward he spoke to Evan through the open car window.

“Laddie, we want to help ya’ all we can, but soon we’ll be movin’. How much longer will you need us here?”

“I’m not sure. Why are you leaving?”

“Without old-growth trees to care for, we’ll get sick. We’ve been hangin’ on for quite a while, but many of us are becoming dangerously weak. Buach has started searching for a new home for us. As soon as he commands it, we will leave.”

“We understand, Poplar. Bright blessings for your new grove,” Evan nodded in farewell, and we drove back into town.

***

Three days later we were sitting in the break room in Fiona’s store, opening boxes of delivery pizza, when Deputy Wallace entered. He sat down at the table and dropped a sheath of papers next to Evan.

“Hiya,” Evan said in greeting, through a mouthful of melted cheese. He pushed the box toward the deputy, who took a slice. “What’s this?” Evan asked after he had swallowed.

“They’re the DMV records of all of the owners of the vehicles on the list you gave me. I’ve had quite a time, I can tell you. My boss is starting to ask questions. He wants to know what I’m doing. He caught me telling a mother not to let her kids play in Warm Spring Run. He wants to know why I said that. I could lose my job if we don’t get some Roman-type evidence against Rogers soon.”

Evan glanced through the stack of papers. “Have you tried talking to any of these guys?”

“I’ve tried talking to all of those guys. None of them will speak to me about their jobs. They all insist they’re unemployed right now. I even tried talking to a couple of wives. Even the wives told me to leave them alone. Whatever they’re doing on that mountain, it can’t be legal or they wouldn’t be so afraid to talk to me, but I’ve got two clues.”

“What’re they?”  I asked, picking up another slice.

“Well, one of the guys is not living at the address on his driver’s license anymore. I found his ex-wife when I made a visit. She confirmed he’s got a super-secret job working for Jeremy Rogers. He wouldn’t tell her what he was doing. She was only aware of the job because he came by to give her money for the kids. She was willing to talk to me because the guy owes her a lot of back child support, and she thinks I can find out how much he’s making now.”

“Okay,” Evan said, “The guys coming and going are definitely working for Rogers. We still don’t know what they’re doing.”

“Nor do we understand how their work is causing radiation to leak into Warm Spring Run,” I added.

“That’s all true,” continued the deputy. “But I found another clue. You won’t guess where.”

“Where?”  We both asked at the same time.

“This one dumb schmuck has a page on one of those social networking sites. I guess he thought it would help him get jobs. On the page, he describes himself as an explosives expert who works in strip mines.”

Up until this point, Fiona had been very quiet at the table. Suddenly she exclaimed, “Oh Mother Earth protect us!”

Evan growled, “No, Mother Earth, let us protect you!”

“Huh?” was my only contribution.