Authors: Laura Resnick

Unsympathetic Magic (32 page)

BOOK: Unsympathetic Magic

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“I wanted the work. Waiting tables isn’t as fulfilling as you might think, officer.” I added, “And I like the kids.”

He nodded, accepting that. Then he said, “Look, the bottom line is . . . I’m not thrilled about you being at the foundation.”

“Thanks to my sensitivity to your every subtle inflection, I guessed something of the sort.”

“No, seriously. I’m not sure it’s safe for you to be there.”

I looked at him again. “Oh?”

He gazed out across the park with a troubled frown on his face. “Something’s not right there. I don’t know what it is yet, but it’s like . . . like hearing a melody slightly out of tune.” He stared into the distance for a moment longer, bothered by something he couldn’t identify or pinpoint. Then he shook off his pensive mood and said again, more matter-of-factly, “Something’s not right. And until I know what it is, I’m worried about you spending time there—even apart from whatever crazy scheme Max may be dragging you into.”

“
I
kind of dragged
him
into this,” I said.

“No wonder Dr. Livingston doesn’t like you.”

“I don’t think she likes anyone,” I grumbled. “But I do agree with you that something’s not right around here.” I thought of Shondolyn and added, “And I’m a little worried about the kids who hang out at the foundation.”

“With a boa constrictor on the loose there, I’m worried about them, too.”

“I want to keep an eye on them. At least until we know what’s going on and . . . and I’m sure they’re not in danger.”

He looked at me. “Well, I know by now I can’t talk you out of that. But if you’re going to keeping going there, then I want you to promise me you’ll be careful and keep your eyes open, and
call me
if you need help.”

“Agreed.” I appreciated that he’d decided not to press me about certain subjects. Even though that was only because he was hot, tired, distracted, and in no mood to deal with the sort of answers he was probably afraid I’d give, if pushed. Which reminded me . . . “I need to ask another favor.”

“Go ahead.” He smiled wryly. “If you put on your hooker outfit again, I’ll probably do anything you want.”

The memory of wearing Lycra and vinyl in this heat prevented that comment from being as tempting as it might otherwise have been.

I pointed upward, through the leafy trees that climbed the steep rocky hill that was nearby, to the dully gleaming roof of the old iron watch tower that sat high above the park. “Will you take me up that hill?”

He looked up at the tower. “Why?”

“Because you’re armed.”

He turned his head sharply. “Excuse me?”

After today’s misadventure in the foundation’s lobby, I thought it was entirely possible that what had excited Nelli’s interest on those curving stone steps last night was the scent of a snake living in the vicinity. But I thought it was equally possible that the dense shrubbery concealed baka or zombies, so I didn’t want to climb that hill alone and unprotected. I also thought that investigating the area by day in the company of a cop with a gun made a little more sense than sneaking up there at night with a sword.

“Esther?” he prodded.

I didn’t want to explain to him about Max, Biko, and Nelli’s nocturnal activities, nor to discuss our theories about supernatural creatures.

So I said, “Biko told me about that old watchtower, and I want to see it. But it’s so overgrown and isolated, I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to go up there alone, even in the middle of the day. So will you walk me up there?”

“Sure.” Looking surprised and relieved that I was making such a normal, ordinary request, he rose from the bench and extended a hand to help me up. As we crossed the pavement together and approached the curving stone steps, he asked, “What
is
the old watchtower, anyhow? I don’t know this neighborhood.”

As we began ascending the old stone stairs, many of which were in need of repair, I related what Biko had told me about the tower.

“In other words,” Lopez said, “we’re climbing a long, steep, crumbling staircase in hellish heat to see a dangerous ruin that might fall on top of us while we’re looking at it?” He grinned at me. “I’m so glad you invited me along.”

I was surreptitiously trying to spot baka claw marks or anything else that might explain what had excited Nelli last night. But I’m no tracker, and the stairs were in such bad shape and so littered with fallen leaves, clumps of moss, rocks, and broken sticks that just trying not to trip and fall was occupying most of my attention. Lopez kept his hand under my elbow to steady me, but even so I stumbled a couple of times.

The surrounding flora and foliage was so dense that, halfway up the hill, it was easy to forget that we were in Manhattan. As I eyed the dense bushes and surrounding trees, I was very glad to have an armed cop at my side. In addition to my fear that mystical monsters lurked in those bushes, I realized that much more mundane dangers could easily lurk there, too. I’d be nervous if I were here alone, even without the menace of baka running loose in the neighborhood.

We reached the crest of the hill without my seeing anything suspicious, let alone anything that I thought Lopez should shoot. To my surprise, we emerged onto an old stone plaza. It was about as long and wide as a basketball court. Many of the paving stones were broken, and others were missing altogether.

“I
love
this city.” Lopez looked around the crumbling old hilltop plaza with a pleased smile. “New York is full of so many surprises. I never would have guessed this was up here.”

“Now aren’t you glad you came?” I said.

“That all depends on whether this thing falls on top of us.” Squinting against the harsh sunlight, he looked up at the nineteenth- century watchtower that rose above the tree-shrouded plaza. “Actually, it’s not in such bad shape, is it?”

The imposing tower, which was quite tall, was a hollow octagonal structure made of long iron bars, poles, and rods. At ground level, the outer edge of the tower was defined by a cage made of evenly spaced vertical bars; I was briefly reminded of my jail cell in the local precinct house. A spiral staircase inside the cage ascended to an enormous bell that hung suspended about fifteen feet off the ground. The iron staircase continued past the bell, circling the tower all the way up to the lookout platform at the top of structure.

Gazing up at this elegant and impressive iron framework hidden here on a forgotten, overgrown hilltop in a city park, I was in complete agreement with Lopez. I just loved New York.

“You must get to see a lot of stuff like this, as a cop,” I mused. “Hidden things, obscure pieces of the city that most other people just walk past.”

“Back in the days when I was on patrol, I did. Sometimes I kind of miss that. Getting to know a neighborhood and its people really well.” Still gazing upward as he strolled around the tower, he said, “Since I became a detective, though, I mostly just see crime scenes when I’m on the job. And they’re usually not very scenic.”

“This structure looks sort of familiar . . .” I realized what it reminded me of. “It’s sort of like a starter-kit for the Eiffel Tower, isn’t it?”

He chuckled at the description, then said, “Here’s a gate. This must be how the watchman got in, in the old days.” Lopez gave it an experimental tug. He looked a little disappointed when it didn’t open. But, like a responsible police officer, he said, “I’m glad to see there’s a good lock on it. Kids might try to get in there to climb around.”

“Kids of
any
age,” I noted, coming around the tower to join him at the gate. “I can see I would have trouble keeping you out of there, if not for that lock.”

“Well . . . yeah.” He smiled sheepishly. “And I was the kind of kid who would have found a way in there anyhow.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.” Looking at the lock on the gate, I remarked, “That looks shiny and new. Maybe someone
did
get in here.”

“Or maybe the parks department is just being smart and making sure it doesn’t happen.”

Lopez’s phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the LCD panel. “It’s my dad. He doesn’t call me very often.”

I knew that, by contrast, his mother called him all the time.

“I should probably take this. Excuse me.” Lopez set down my daypack and flipped open his phone.
“Hola, papá. Que tal?”

Lopez started to relax and lean back against the iron bars of the tower. Then he made a face and moved away from them when he realized how hot the bars were, having been in the sun all day.
“Bueno . . . Sí . . . Por qué? Cuál es el problema?”

I knew his father was from Cuba, but I hadn’t known that the two of them spoke to each other in Spanish.

As Lopez stepped away from the tower, he frowned a little at something his father said.
“Yo? No, no . . . No puedo, papá.”
He said more emphatically,
“Porque estoy muy occupado.”

Actually, I realized, I hadn’t known Lopez spoke Spanish at
all,
though it probably should have occurred to me. Indeed, listening to him arguing gently but firmly with his dad about something now, it was clear that he was completely fluent in the language. His parents must have raised their three sons to be bilingual.

It was a reminder of how little Lopez and I actually knew each other.

I also realized, as I listened to him speaking fluidly in a language I didn’t know, that I found him incredibly sexy at the moment. The Spanish words flowing musically from his mouth sounded mysterious and romantic to me . . . even though, based on the few words I understood, I had the impression he was trying to refuse to do something his father wanted him to do. His speaking in a foreign language seemed to fit so perfectly with his exotic looks. His black hair gleamed like onyx under the harsh sunlight, his dark golden skin glowed in the heat, and his long-lashed eyes flashed with blue fire as he started arguing more fiercely. His shoulders moved with oiled grace beneath his thin cotton shirt as he paced around the sun-drenched stone plaza . . .

Okay, I needed to look
away
now.

I took a sobering breath of muggy air and reminded myself that this was guy who wouldn’t even date me! In fact, this guy had
dumped
me.

He was, I was pretty sure, talking to his dad about his mom now . . . and here I was, getting turned
on
by the conversation. Just because his words were all in Spanish . . . rolling off his silken tongue like melting honey and—

“Oy.” I turned away.

Conversations in Yiddish had certainly never had this effect on me.

I needed to think about something else. Humming softly to myself, in hopes of drowning out the tummy-tickling sound of Lopez using words like
encantado
and
semana,
I started poking around the plaza looking for leftover baka food or other signs that the creatures had been here. It was a big area to cover, but Lopez’s argument with his father was taking a while, so I had time to look over the whole place.

I got excited when I found some splotches of red on the paving stones—so excited that I even forgot about Don Juan for a few moments. But the color of the scattered blotches was too bright to be blood, I realized after my initial reaction. It looked more like faded red paint or chalk. There was also melted candle wax. Not far from these marks and wax droppings, there was a large blackened area with ashes around its edges.

“Ah.”

Not baka or zombies, I realized. Partiers. A bonfire, some candles, some . . . red whatever. If the group was large enough that they didn’t have to worry about being mugged by night in this isolated spot, then it was a great place for a party: a big, private, open-air plaza beneath the skeletal beauty of the old iron watchtower. And after the trees lost their leaves for the winter, there would be good views of the city by night from this spot.

But the start of autumn was still more than a month away, and the summer sun was merciless up here. I decided it was time to suggest to Lopez that we be on our way.

As I returned to his side, to my relief, he broke into English. “All right,
fine.
Okay. I’ll do it. Yes.” He sighed. “I just said
yes
, didn’t I?”

Apparently English was the language of surrender in the Lopez family. Based on what little I knew about his mother, this didn’t really surprise me.

“Two hours, start to finish,” he said firmly. “From the moment I pick her up at the station until the moment I drop her off there again. That’s all I can spare. Make sure she understands that.”

I caught his eye and pointed toward the stone steps. Lopez nodded to me and raised a finger, indicating he’d be done momentarily.

“Sí . . . Sí, entiendo.”
In response to his father’s next comment, he said ironically,
“De nada, papá.”

I felt my insides fluttering again. Even when being ironic, he sounded sexy in Spanish.

Oh, get a grip.

BOOK: Unsympathetic Magic

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