Unleashed (19 page)
Authors: John Levitt
So this kid would wait until he saw the resident leave, defeat the lock with a snap of his fingers, unlock the front door, and stroll in to take whatever he wanted.
That was how we first met Macklin. He was in charge of the makeshift task force the cops threw together to solve the rash of burglaries—this was Cow Hollow, after all, not Bayview, and thus worthy of police notice. And although we obviously weren’t about to turn the kid over to the cops, we did take him off the streets and the burglaries stopped. Also, we were able to help Macklin out by doing some magical forensic work on an unrelated burglary, one where a cool half million in jewelry was taken. It helped to solve the case, and although he couldn’t figure out how we’d come up with the information, he was glad to have it just the same. So he was well-disposed toward us, as they say. But he was never entirely sure about who we were.
He was a sharp guy, and he knew there was something not quite right about Victor and me. I think he decided Victor was some sort of government black op. I have no idea what he thought I was about, but we got along.
It also turned out he was a jazz buff, and we ended up keeping in touch afterward. Not exactly friends, but more than casual acquaintances. He liked hanging with musicians, and for my part, well, having a cop as a friend is never a bad idea. Besides, he was a good guy.
I hadn’t bothered to call him before, because for one, Victor didn’t like the idea of having a sharp cop becoming interested in us and our doings. Besides, I’d thought I already knew what was killing those hikers—the fake Ifrit. But I’d been wrong. And civilians were dying—so getting some useful information was worth the risk of making him curious about us.
When I called his extension he picked up on the first ring.
“Burglary.”
“I want to report a crooked cop.”
“Which one? We got hundreds to choose from.”
“Some guy named Macklin. A real thug, if ever there was one.”
“I know him. A bad apple. We’ve been trying to get rid of him for years.” He laughed. “What can I do for you, Mase? Played any good gigs lately?”
“All my gigs are good. The audience occasionally sucks, though.”
“You want a tough audience? Try being a cop sometime.”
“No, thanks. I don’t possess the people skills or the superb intelligence necessary to do that job.”
“Hold on a second. Let me find my shovel.”
“I mean every word.”
“Oh, I see. You want something.”
“Of course. Why else would I flatter a stupid—I mean, not at all, Inspector, but now that you bring it up . . .”
“Shoot.”
“You know those animal attacks? The ones that have everyone in a panic?”
“I seem to recall hearing something about them,” he said dryly.
“The paper just says the victims were all torn up. I know you’re not directly involved, but cops talk. Have you heard anything else about them?”
“Why the interest?”
“Let’s just say I’m a concerned citizen.”
“Sorry, Mason, but you know I can’t talk about an ongoing investigation. Wish I could help, but them’s the rules.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I understand. Thanks anyway.”
We talked another couple of minutes about other stuff and I invited him down to my next gig before hanging up. Thirty seconds later, my phone rang.
“That was quick,” I said.
“Cell phone. It’s not a good idea to talk on department lines, I assure you.”
“I know, but I couldn’t find your cell number.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter. So what’s your interest here?”
“Just an idea I had. But I need a description of what really happened to those hikers.”
“I don’t have access to any official reports, but I can tell you this. If the state of those bodies was common knowledge, there’d be more than just panic.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, from what I’ve heard, they weren’t just mauled; they were completely eviscerated. And the internal organs were missing—heart, liver, kidneys—even the brain. The heads were all cracked open and it looks like some animal just scooped them out and ate them.”
“Are you sure it was an animal?”
“What makes you ask that?” he said, his tone sharpening as the cop sense kicked in. Then it softened. “No, it’s an animal, all right. One of the victims was seen being attacked. His friends were hiking with him and they were lagging back a ways, which is probably what saved their lives. They saw something come out of the bushes and drag him off. It happened so quick they couldn’t give a good description, just that it was large and dark in color, but they swear it wasn’t a mountain lion. But it certainly wasn’t a person. Whatever it was tore the boy apart, just like the others. The wildlife guys are saying it can’t have been a mountain lion, either—about the only thing that could do that to a person would be a bear. But there aren’t any bears around these parts. And even if one escaped from captivity, bears don’t act like that anyway. The whole thing is just spooky.”
“Hmm,” I said. “Interesting. Well, thanks for the info.”
“No problem. Does any of it mean anything to you?”
“Not really.”
“Right. Like you said, just a concerned citizen. And speaking of which, I do remember hearing about another guy asking very similar questions a while back, offering to help. Homicide was very hot on him for a while. They thought he was just a bit too curious. But that was before the animal was actually seen. Turned out he was just another nutcase.” Warning bells went off in my head. Macklin might think it just an odd coincidence, but I didn’t.
“Huh,” I said. “Curious. You don’t remember his name, by any chance?” Now warning bells were definitely going off in Macklin’s head.
“What’s going on here, Mase?” he said.
“Nothing. Just thought it might be someone I know—a lot of my friends have been discussing this case.”
“Yeah? Well, I can’t remember his name, but it was something like Rocky or Rambo.”
I almost blurted out, “Ramsey?” but caught myself in time. One more coincidence and Macklin would start paying me serious attention, animal sighting or no. Cops hate things that don’t add up. I guess all of us do, for that matter.
“Well, it’s not important,” I said. “Thanks for the help, though.”
“Anytime.”
After I hung up for the second time, I did some serious thinking. What was Ramsey doing sniffing around the cops? Was it just his general clumsy attempt at investigation, or did he want to find out how much they knew? Maybe Ruby had put him up to it, but she had to know how lame and ineffective he was. The only thing he’d accomplish would be to draw unwanted attention. I’d have to check with her.
The information from Macklin was interesting, but it hadn’t really helped at all. Instead of narrowing down possibilities, it opened up even more of them. Such as, what if the killings had nothing to do with any theoretical entity wandering around? Nothing kills just because it’s evil. Everyone and everything acts from motive, even powerful beings with unknown abilities. Power. Fear. Simple hunger.
And missing organs? That smacked of a more human agency—a black practitioner gone bad, for example. I had no idea what those organs might be used for, but it wasn’t a random happenstance. But the witnesses had seen an animal. Or something not human.
I thought some more, then pulled out the scrap of paper with Ruby’s number on it and called. After a few pleasant ries, slightly less juvenile than the ones I’d traded with Macklin, I got down to business.
“Have you talked to Victor lately?” I asked.
“I have—in fact, I’m on my way over to his house later this afternoon. I’ve got some ideas I want to run past him.”
“Does that include any ideas from the cops?”
“Beg pardon?”
“The cops. Did you know Ramsey’s been bugging the cops about these murders, stirring up interest?”
“Oh, fuck. I’m sorry. I’ll talk to him.”
“You do that. He can cause trouble for us all, you know.”
“I know. He’s been helpful, but he’s beginning to wear on me anyway. It might be time to send him on his way.” She paused. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t have to tell Victor about that, though. It makes me look like a flake.”
“Tell Victor about what?”
“Thanks,” she said. “Why don’t you come by, too? We can run some ideas past each other.”
“That would be great, if I had any. But sure, I’ll be there.”
“About one, if that’s okay? If I can get some other stuff done by then.”
RUBY WAS STRETCHED OUT ON THE COUCH IN the study when I arrived at Victor’s. She unwound herself from the couch, slinked her way over to me, and held out a cool and dry hand, giving me a little squeeze as she did. I think she knew the effect she had on me and enjoyed teasing me, but not in a mean way.
“Ruby’s got an interesting take on this,” said Eli. “She doesn’t think there’s a creature out there at all.”
“Why not? We didn’t dream up the fake Ifrit,” I said.
“Or the Wendigo, either.”
“No, that’s not what I mean,” she said. “I’m talking about there being another creature.”
“Well, something’s been killing people, and it’s not the two we know about.”
“Something or
someone.
”
someone.
”
“Like a black practitioner, you mean?” Her face took on a grim expression.
“That’s exactly what I mean. I’ve been casting some scry ing spells, ones designed to locate uncanny things. Something Giancarlo taught me. That’s how I tumbled to that Ifrit creature, the one you’ve been hunting. I can’t use my talent to actually locate it, but I can feel its presence.
“And there’s another being I’ve felt as well—I had no idea what it was until I heard about your ‘Wendigo’—although I don’t think that’s really what it is. But here’s the thing—nothing else like that is out there. If there were, I could feel it, I’m sure.”
“Maybe it’s invisible to you,” I said, thinking about Morgan’s vision.
“No, I’d still sense it, even if I didn’t know what it was. But if it were a practitioner, now . . .” She shook her head. “That wouldn’t register. But what I don’t get is why any practitioner would do such a thing.”
“Well, it’s worse than that,” I said. “I did some digging, called a cop friend. You remember Macklin, Victor?” He nodded. “He told me that not only were the victims torn apart but all their internal organs were missing—heart, liver, kidneys—everything.” Ruby spun around and smacked her hand on her forehead.
“Of course. The organs.” She grabbed my arm. “The skulls. What about the skulls? Were they cracked open?”
“They were. And the brains were sucked out as well.”
“Son of a bitch.” She started pacing back and forth, muttering, until Eli stuck out a large hand and corralled her.
“This means something to you, I’m assuming.”
“It does. It’s typical, I’m sorry to say, of a very specific type of spell work.”
“Black practitioners? Again?”
“Not necessarily. It’s a spell used to extend life. Through the ages there have been more than one practitioner who’s tried it, and they weren’t all dark arts guys—mostly older practitioners, though, ones who thought they could cheat death that way. You take the organs and the life force from young men and women, transfer it into your own chi, and gain a few years of youth and vitality. Theoretically you could continue that way forever, although each time it takes a little more to get the same effect.”
“Is that possible?” I asked, glancing over at Eli for confirmation.
“Supposedly,” he said. “I have read about such things in my researches, but it’s all been speculation. It would take a strong practitioner. I’ve never met anyone who’s run across an actual case.”
“Well, I have,” Ruby said. “Or at least Giancarlo has—it was before my time.”
“Maybe,” said Eli. “But it seems an incredible coincidence that something like this would surface at exactly the same time as the fake Ifrit and the Wendigo. Are you saying there’s no connection?”
“There are coincidences in this world. But maybe here’s the connection. Consider this: When Mason found the Wendigo, it knew his name. Now, sure, it could have found out with a little research, or even by just hanging around. But until Mason showed up at Muir Woods, it would have had no reason to know he even existed, am I right? But not only did it know Mason’s name; it was almost as if it was waiting there for him.”
“Exactly. So?”
“So, maybe a practitioner told it about him—as soon as he and Victor figured out the fake Ifrit wasn’t responsible for those attacks, you’d start looking around for another suspect. A preemptive strike, perhaps.”
“Maybe,” said Eli. “But consider this: Mason, before you ran into the Wendigo, who or what did you and it have in common?”
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