Authors: Richard Jackson
Most people would be a bit surprised that I know Scott. Granted, he gets a lot more press coverage in Europe but his name and face pop up from time to time either in the tabloids or on one of those entertainment programs. What he lacks in looks, he makes up for with his sharp wit and killer British accent. Not to say he is ugly or anything like that but he's no golden boy. A bit too pale, his hair and eyes are just a little too dark to be considered attractive in most circles. Personality goes a long way and Scott has plenty of that. It and his father's connections helped him become a minor celebrity.
What the media doesn't know is that Scott Dorward is probably one of the most knowledgeable men on the planet when it comes to the occult and magic. If it's been researched or studied, Scott knows something about it. He believes the old adage knowledge is power and it's something he has plenty of. Scott is a sorcerer, meaning he is able to use magic and cast spells.
Sorcerers are a lot like doctors. Most are general practitioners. They know a little bit about everything. Others are specialists who choose to concentrate on or study one area. Witches and warlocks study witchcraft. Ritualists are sorcerers who specialize in ritualistic magic. Necromancers perform necromancy. You get the idea.
Marino smiles, it’s the same sort of smile I wear when I am working on a case and feel like I am on the right track. I think I know where she might be going with this. This isn’t my first time being interviewed by the authorities.
“How would you characterize your relationship with him?”
“We’re friends but not close,” I reply. It’s true enough. I had the good fortune to met Scott back when I got started in this business. We've been friends ever since. Not best friends but good enough to be able count on one another. Sometimes, he tosses work my way, extremely well paying work though I prefer to work for Solomon the Wise. Even sorcerers of Scott and Sol’s caliber need a little help from time to time. When Scott needs help, he is willing and able to pay well for it. Such jobs are never dull but after everything is said and done, you feel like you were underpaid. The last little favor I did for him resulted in this hospital stay and a few other far reaching consequences.
“And what is his involvement with Meredith?” she says.
I open my mouth then close it. Meredith is someone I would like to forget. By all rights, he should be in no position to do no harm. He was the first person to come to mind when I was thinking about who wanted me dead. Now, the Feds are here asking questions about him and Scott. It’s no coincidence. What and how much do they know? They probably know more than they should. It also means I could be in a lot more trouble than I thought. They could probably figure everything out but odds are they will jump to the wrong conclusion. So what do I tell them?
I look at Agent Marino and try to get a feel for her. My instincts battle with the cold rational part of me. I should ask for a lawyer and keep my mouth shut. It would be the smart thing to do but it doesn’t feel right. Marino and her partners are here for answers, no matter how strange they might sound. If they don’t get them then no lawyer in the world will be able to save me.
“Maybe I should start at the beginning.”
“Go on” She says.
“First off, I’m not crazy. Okay, I know it looks bad and that popular opinion is probably against me but what I have to say is the truth. It all started last Tuesday……”
Chapter Two
My last case paid surprisingly well. For the first time in weeks, my creditors are not a problem. I can actually afford to take a night off and relax. As I get ready to go out, the evening news plays in the background. The news of the day washes over me, not making an impact. It is seen and heard but not felt. I’m not sure if it’s just me or if this is something we’re all guilty of. No matter the source of the news, be it television, radio, the newspaper, internet or word of mouth, I receive it with a sense of detachment. Maybe it’s a defense mechanism to cope with all the information at the tip of our fingertips. I’m desensitized to the news and its relevance unless it affects me in some tangible way. Is it human nature or is it just a character flaw too many people possess.
Tragedy mixes with peppy human interest stories designed to put a happy face on another all too bleak day. An earthquake rocks the Philippines. A fire guts an apartment building in the Brooklyn. Another body turns up in Alphabet City. It’s the second one this week and it’s only Tuesday. The Mass Transit Authority announces more cutbacks making the threat of a transit strike all the more likely in the not too distant future. Entrepreneur Jack Meredith is being interviewed about his plan to revitalize the South Bronx. You learn something new every day. I never knew revitalizing a neighborhood meant kicking people out onto the street and turning their homes into condos. If that wasn’t bad enough, he makes a point to mention all of his accomplishments and his plans for the future. He calls it a better tomorrow, one where he is undoubtedly richer and more powerful. It goes on and on. I nearly miss it, a break in at 25 Sutton Place.
Kara catches it a second before I do. “
Isn’t that Scott’s building?
”
I turn up the sound as a picture of Scott at a recent charity event is flashed across the screen. He seems completely at ease, standing amid some of New York’s other philanthropists in one of his Neo-Victorian suits. The newswoman recites a blurb about Scott before moving on to details about the attempted robbery. She doesn’t have any real details, just enough to peak one’s interest. If I want to learn anything, I need to get over there. Calling Scott won’t work. He has this thing about phones, he doesn’t like or trust them. It’s one of the quirks that make him Scott Dorward. I remember asking him about it, He merely said anything important enough to tell someone is better done in person or by messenger. In a day and age where communication on the go is getting easier and easier, Scott clings to the habits of the past. Course, he isn’t stupid. He does have a cell phone which he will only use in the direst of emergencies. I have the number. Thankfully, I’ve never had to use it.
I finish pulling on my long coat and check my pockets for the few tools I always carry before I head out the door. At this time of night, I shouldn’t have any trouble getting a cab cross town.
***
A half an hour and twelve dollars later, I wonder what I’ve gotten myself into. I never should have come here. I’m not a detective. It’s something I always try to remind myself whenever I think about taking a case. I let my concern get the better of me, something that happens too often when one of my few friends is in trouble. Despite my feelings about sorcerers, I consider Scott a friend.
Like I said before, I’m no detective. I call myself a paranormal investigator. I even have a piece of paper to prove it. Don’t be too impressed by that. The damn thing isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on. It does come in handy especially around tax time. The IRS likes to be able to link your income with some sort of profession.
If you think I chase UFO’s, investigate haunted houses or hunt monsters, you would be half-right. I leave that stuff to the professionals. Most of my fellow PIs use scientific method and technology to help them investigate the paranormal. My way is a lot different. I always thought using mundane methods and tools put you at a disadvantage when dealing with the supernatural. It’s why ghost hunters and other paranormal investigators have such a hard time proving the existence of something supernatural. I’m not out to prove or disprove anything.
Early on, I realized people go to the authorities for assistance with something they think is supernatural or related to it. You might be surprised by how often this happens. Their reasons for doing so vary. It could be something as simple as a strange sound in their home to a mother afraid her son is involved with a cult conducting human sacrifice to a woman who thinks she is being stalked by a vampire. Most of the time, the authorities turn them away.
That’s where I come in. These people don’t need the help of a sorcerer or a ghost hunter. They need someone who knows or at least has an idea about whatever might be going on and how to solve the problem. Even if I can’t solve the problem, I’m fairly good at research and I probably know someone who can help them.
After a lot of trial and error, I developed a knack for the cases that need someone with my talents. Something jumps out at you when you hear the details. Something says, “Pick me, Monty! Pick me!!” It also helps having Kara around to guide me. Sometimes she can pick up on things I miss. Nine times out of ten, I end up referring my potential clients to someone else who can help them. The rest keep life interesting and pay the bills.
With the police combing the scene, there is no way I am getting up to Scott’s apartment. Even if I could, it’s unlikely I would be able to talk to him in private. I’m about ready to leave when I notice Hagan standing off to the side, well away from the police and the crowds.
Depending on how you translate it, his name means ‘the youthful one’ or ‘highborn’. He says he is immortal. I say he’s crazy, not that I’m a great judge of such things. Still the big man does come in handy from time to time. He has a love of battle and adventure reminds me of the warriors of old. So does his skill with weapons.
“Hagan” I say, trying not to smile as I give him the quick once over. “Still looking to go to Valhalla?”
He laughs before replying with his usual counter “Still hearing voices, Count?”
Hagan also knows a lot more than he should. He’s one of the few people who know about Kara. As he puts it, one of the perks of immortality is being able to learn a little about everything. In his case that includes at least six languages and enough history to lend credence to his claims. I think he spends too much time reading when he’s not out bouncing or busting heads. That was how we met, he was bouncing in a bar and I was working on my first case when literally all hell broke loose. He had the time of his life while I was scared to death. Since then, we’ve helped each other out on occasion. His muscle and willingness to use it as well as his talent for languages have made the difference. When I asked him why he’s always willing to lend me a hand, he told me I was his ticket to Valhalla. That worries me more than his presence here or the fact he is armed. Only Hagan would be crazy enough to carry a weapon around this many police. The spiked club hanging from his belt might be more legal than a sword or axe. Even with my untrained eye, I can tell the weapon has been used recently despite Hagan’s attempt to clean it. Crazy or not, like me, Hagan connected to the paranormal. He’s not a sorcerer or anything like that but he can hold his own against almost anything that lurks in the shadows. His presence here tells me what I already know. This isn’t a normal burglary.
Kara laughs at the two of us as we go through our ritual greeting probably wondering if the two of us will ever grow up. I’m sure Hagan thinks I’m as crazy as he is and Kara, well Kara has her own ideas about the two of us and our little quirks. “
Tell tall, blond and handsome hello.
”
“Yeah Kara says hello,” I leave out the compliment. It doesn’t pay to boost Hagan’s ego and it’s one of my quirks. I don’t call other men handsome; certain guys are a bit touchy about that sort of thing and might take it the wrong way. He turns and starts walking downtown, probably heading for one of the many bars he knows. I fall into step next to him, not bothering to ask why he’s here. I learned not to rush Hagan. He’ll say what’s on his mind when he’s good and ready, not a moment sooner. It’s another one of those so-called perks immortality has given him, the ability to waste time.
Hagan stops outside a bar with no name. Looking at the place brings to mind the phrase “Two men enter, one man leaves”. The front is decorated with twisted bits of scrap metal and things that would be more at home in a junkyard than for the streets of Manhattan. Even with the door closed, I can hear the driving beat and lyrics of Rammstein. I’m about to open the door to see what the inside is like when Hagan reaches into a pocket for something.
“Dorward is going to be busy explaining things to the police. They’re going to ask him how his visitors ended up in critical condition.”
“I’m sure you had nothing to do with that.”
By way of reply, Hagan shrugs. He doesn’t look the least bit guilty or burdened by the fact that he bludgeoned several people nearly to death a short time ago. “Anyway, when Dorward was done ranting at me, he told me to give you this.”
When I see his hand again, it is holding an antique gold ring. The stone is dark green stone and from memory, I remember the red spots resembling drops of blood that decorate its face. I make no attempt to reach for the Bloodstone. I had told Scott this thing was dangerous and I wanted no part of it. I’m not sure if Hagan can feel the power locked within it. For me, touching it is like dipping my hand into greasy water. That’s no where near as bad as tapping into its power. As far as I know, I am the only person in recent memory to do so and it’s not an experience I want to repeat.
Reluctantly, I accept the damn thing and Hagan looks relieved. As expected, the greasy sensation is there yet this time it’s stronger. Kara likes it less than I do and doesn’t hesitate to share her thoughts on the matter.
“
It feels wrong.
”
I’m inclined to agree with her. I glance back at Hagan waiting for the rest of it.
“Don’t give me that look. I don’t know what he was trying to do with it. He just hired me to play bodyguard,” Hagan says.
The fact Scott wanted backup doesn’t surprise me. A while back I heard he tried to do some sort of summoning and it didn’t go as planned. Since then, he prefers to have some backup when he experiments. Sometimes, he works with Sol, another sorcerer and someone else I consider a friend. Most people call him Solomon the Wise because of his extensive library and knowledge when it comes to the practical uses of magic. The fact he chose Hagan does surprise me. Scott would only hire Hagan if there was a need for cold steel and the willingness to use it.