A Little Street Magic (6 page)

“The feel of mental shields varies. Some may feel like walls of brick or metal. Others may feel like thick fog, water, or smoke. If you’re asking due to Brock, no, he can’t determine another is psychic simply from feeling their mental shield.” Stone paused. “He attempted to link to you?”

“Yeah, caught me out on my morning jog. My dogs flushed him out of the bushes.”

The dhampyr laughed. “He’s determined. I’ll grant him that.”

“Irritating.” One worry laid to rest, or actually three, but now I had another question. “How can he tell if I’m psychic or not?”

“The same way everyone else does. Either knows of you, or has seen you do something that proves it.”

“I scanned the crowd at a crime scene last night, and Brock was present.”

“Were you just listening, or did you enter minds?”

“Just listened.”

“It wouldn’t have alerted him, unless you specifically tried to enter his mind,” Stone said. “He’s not well-practiced in using telepathy around supes, from the sound of it. Both guards were alerted to his attempt by an itching sensation in their minds.”

“That’s what I felt too. Do non-psychic humans feel that?” No sense wasting the opportunity to learn. Part of the New Me, who was going to do better.

“Not that I’ve ever heard. Those with natural mental shields are unaware of attempts to breach their minds, unless the attempts are successful. Those without, well, they’re the reason we shield ourselves.”

A snort escaped me. “Yeah, too noisy. Okay, that’s helpful. Thanks.”

“If you have the time, I believe my master may be able to offer you some tips.”

The offer surprised me. I could use help, and Derrick was extremely powerful in the telepathy department. “Really? That won’t break any vampire rules?”

“We’re friends,” Stone said, a faint lilt making it a question.

“Yes, we are.” Another reminder that I needed to get my act together, and start being a friend back to people. But when it came to vampires, where exactly did one begin? Meal planning would be a little difficult. “And I appreciate that.”

“As do we. One of us will call and arrange a time to meet.”

“Awesome. Thanks again.” We ended the call a few seconds later, and I looked at Logan’s profile. “Are you mad or sad?”

“Both, and yes, I remember the talk we had about Terra being grown.” He gave me a brief, wry grin. “It’s different now that she’s doing it.” He lifted one hand from the steering wheel. “I know, I know. It’s her life, her decision to make. I guess I need time to get used to that.”

“Or distractions. We have a case, and hey, a reporter running wild.” I did jazz hands. “Distractions galore, baby!”

“Oh no, she’s getting goofy,” Dane said. “We’re in trouble now.”

“I forgot there’s a new guy too. We have Dodson to win over. Maybe I’ll puke on his shoes today. That should do the trick.” I wasn’t looking forward to seeing the new detective again, since I hadn’t done much to redeem myself the night before.

“Would you? Please?” Logan’s grin was less “oh my God, my baby cousin’s grown up” and more “I really, really hope you do that.”

“I’ll see what I can manage.”

“If you toss your cookies, I’m never cooking breakfast for you again.” Dane mock-scowled in the rearview mirror at me. “Because that’s just rude.”

“Well then. Sorry, Logan, I can’t be hurting Chef Dane’s feelings.” Especially since Dane could cook, unlike Logan. I stretched my hands, spreading my fingers wide. “Wonder how many objects Damian’s going to have ready for me?”

“We’ll know soon enough.” Logan signaled to turn into the parking lot. “I have the feeling we’ll be ordering lunch in.”

F
ortunately, Dodson wasn’t there. Neither was Damian, leaving us with Schumacher. “Hello, kiddies. Hope you’re ready to work.”

We gave him our best smiles, and I said, “That’s what we’re here for.”

“Good, this way. We’re set up in one of the interrogation rooms.” He led us back out into the hallway, tapping a clipboard against his leg. “Heard an interesting rumor today.”

“Did you?” I hoped it wasn’t about me.

“Oh, yeah. It seems that a certain elf put in his name for the mayoral election.” Schumacher grinned as my mouth fell open. “Yup, that elf, though it’s technically not news just yet. Will be by this evening or tomorrow at the latest.”

“Are you freaking kidding me?” Thorandryll as mayor of Santo Trueno? It sounded like a terrible idea, and also, like one that could result in more reporters deciding to include me while they scrutinized the elf.

“No joke.” Schumacher opened the door of the interrogation room. “Not any more than this is.”

The room’s table, a 3x6 feet rectangle, was covered in neatly labeled evidence bags. I sighed. “How does he get them to process this stuff so fast?”

“We’re definitely ordering lunch in,” Logan said.

“Yeah. We also have some new protocols to follow.” The detective held up his clipboard. “Notes and we’ll be recording.”

“Okay.” I entered the room and sat down. “Then let’s get busy.”

The three men joined me, Schumacher sitting across from me with Dane beside him, while Logan sat next to me. Schumacher put his clipboard down. “First, let me tell you how we have to do this. When I start the recording, I’ll give my name, blah blah, and after that, state there’s a civilian expert present. Wait until I ask, then give your name and specialties.”

“General, as in ‘I’m a psychic’ or what? And what about Dane and Logan?” This was way more formal than usual, and I wondered why the changes had been made.

“I’ll mention they’re here as support personnel, and they’ll each state their names.” He leaned forward. “Don’t mention where you work, or any psychic abilities not pertinent to what you’re doing here. Those are Stannett’s exact words.”

“Okay. Why?”

“It’s part of the agreement your boss and he hammered out.” Schumacher leaned back. “And it’s a good idea to limit what people can find out.”

“Oh.” We’d never publicized the fact that Stannett had been used as a curse vessel. Mainly because we hadn’t uncovered exactly how Dalsarin had pulled off that particular trick. It looked like Stannett was covering my back in return, making certain I received that reminder. “Okay.”

“Ready?”

“Yes.” I listened as Shumacher started the recorder and gave the information he’d listed. Then it was my turn: “My name is Discord Jones. I’m a psychic with retro-cognition and psychometry abilities.”

The burly detective nodded in approval before mentioning the guys, had them state their names, and explained that they were there as support personnel for me.

“Let’s begin with this.” Schumacher read off the number on a bag holding an address book, and handed it to me. “Verbal reaction, Miss Jones.”

Boy, this was going to take all damn day.

I
t did. We ordered in lunch and ran past dinner time before clearing the table of evidence. When Schumacher finally turned off the recording device, I leaned back and massaged my temples. “Sorry. Doesn’t feel like I was much help.”

“You were. Sifting through evidence to find the things that are true evidence takes time.” He tapped the box sitting on the table. It held the few things that had really pinged. The rest was in other boxes, stacked against the wall by the door. “The keys were good.”

They’d triggered a brief retro-cog vision of Mr. Pettigrew entering his shop, walking to the back room, and noticing the back door was open. There’d been no fear in his surprise, and no sign of any intruder.

“The only problem is, having handled this many objects, if I get something later I won’t know which one it’s from.” I’d mentioned that twice while the recording device was running.

Schumacher nodded. “I know, but the information’s the important thing, not whether it came from a box or a pen.”

“I’m curious.” Dane half-lifted his hand. “Did you pick up any shimmers?”

“Dull, gray dust for Mr. Pettigrew is all.”

“What do you mean, ‘shimmers’?” Schumacher’s brow creased.

“I don’t know if it’s a separate ability or part of my psychometry, but I usually see a shimmer that represents the owner of whatever stuff I’ve handled. Dull gray means dead. The shimmer’s gold and sparkly if the owner’s alive.”

He grunted, and began writing. “I’m gonna say it’s part of your psychometry. What would happen, if say, my mother gave me a family heirloom. How would you know if the shimmer meant her or me?”

I shrugged, lowering my hands to my lap. “It always represents the current owner. If you gave those keys to an heir, and I handled them again later, I’d get the gold shimmer.”

“Why?”

“I honestly don’t know. Maybe it’s magic. Objects know who they currently belong to, no matter how many times they change hands.” I pointed at the box. “Those things still belong to the victim, and they know it.”

“But they’re inanimate objects,” he protested. “How can they ‘know’ that?”

I thought for a few seconds, and backtracked a little. “Well, maybe it’s not so much that the objects ‘know’ as the owner knows and transfers that fact to them.” I leaned over to pick up my purse from the floor and held it up. “This is mine. Every time I grab or am looking for it, that’s my thought: my purse. It’s going to rub off.”

“Now that makes sense, in a weird way. Less woo-woo strange.” Schumacher began scribbling away. “If we went to the Evidence Room and you handled stuff for missing person cases...”

“I could most likely tell you whether they were alive or not. As long as I picked up a shimmer.” Now there was something really useful I could be doing. “But the downside is, I’d be filling my brain with cases, and they’d interfere with each other until closed. If I had a vision, I wouldn’t know which case it belonged to. I mean, unless the vision showed something to make that clear.”

Putting his pen down, the burly detective smiled. “Even with limitations, that would be super helpful in closing old cases. Maybe we can work something out when things are slow at the agency.”

Since I liked that idea a lot, I smiled back. “Be happy to help. Talk to the bosses and let me know.”

“Great. Well,” Schumacher looked at his watch and sighed. “It’s after eight, and I imagine we’ll have another load to go through tomorrow.”

“Yay.” We all stood up at the same time, and I wasn’t the only one stretching. “Where’s Damian been all day?”

“Pounding the pavement. Lucky him, Dodson tagged along.”

“What’s his story?” Logan asked, pulling on his jacket.

Schumacher rolled his eyes. “That asshole was hired at the mayor’s request. We’re stuck with him, and as you may have noticed, he’s not a fan of hocus pocus. ‘Hocus pocus’ meaning anything and everything to do with supes.”

“Short-sighted of him.” Logan’s hands curled at his sides. “We all have to live together.”

The detective gestured with one hand, indicating all four of us. “We know that. Dodson used to be military, honorably discharged about five years ago.” His grin was unpleasant. “Heard through the grapevine he was stationed at one of the camps, and thinks the segregation idea is a smart one.”

“Awesome. It’s going to be a barrel of laughs, working with him.” I slung my purse over my shoulder, more interested in food than Dodson’s shortcomings.

“I’ll pull rank when necessary.” Schumacher patted his rather prominent stomach. “Believe it or not, I was once one of the few, the proud. Plus, I have seniority here.”

“Good to know.” Logan extended his hand, and they shook. “Thank you for your service.”

“It was before your time.”

“Sure, but without it, who knows how different things would’ve been?”

Schumacher laughed. “Point taken. You’re welcome.”

We said our good-byes after promising to be in by ten the next morning. On the way out of the building, I slipped my arm around Logan’s. “That was nice of you.”

“He’s a good guy. People like him are the reason we’re not all penned up.” Logan planted a quick kiss on the side of my head. “I’m thankful this city didn’t panic like some of the others.”

“Me too.” I had a thought when we reached the car. “But now I wonder how the hell Alleryn set himself up at the hospital. Mom said he was there maybe two weeks after the Melding.”