Trancehack Read online

  Lewis took his time answering. “Of course. I only asked because if I knew more details I might be able to help you.”

  “Then I’ll be sure to come to you with any questions I might have.” Nate didn’t care about the man’s corruption, but that watch was starting to get on his nerves. It might have made it easier to know what he was dealing with, but he was beginning to wish the bureaucrat had at least had the decency to be a little more subtle about it.

  “I’ll put one of my agents at your disposal. Grant. He knows the zone well, and he’ll be able to help you find people who might be willing to talk. Too bad you don’t have DNA. You could sew this up in a matter of hours. If that long.”

  “Yeah, too bad. But they don’t always come to us on a platter, do they?” Nate grinned. The guy was fishing hard for information. If he kept doing it, Nate might start to care how he paid for that gaudy watch.

  This time they made him wait for nearly an hour. Refusing to subject his ass to that same uncomfortable chair, Nate got directions to the break room. He made himself a much needed cup of coffee and stood looking out a dirty window at the zone below.

  There were a couple of guards on patrol, but other than that it appeared everyone else in view was Magic Born, not DMS. The old apartment buildings were rundown and shabby, colorful with graffiti, but otherwise clean. Here and there small groups of people were set up at tables in front of the buildings. It looked like they were working on things to be sold in the bazaar. He’d have to see up close to be sure.

  He didn’t see a head full of purple hair anywhere. The fact that he was looking should have been a bad sign, but he figured it never hurt to look.

  There had been no zone where Nate grew up. Decker had been right about his lack of experience with Magic Born. All he really knew was what he’d been taught in school and at home. Most people who didn’t live with a zone in their city didn’t care about them one way or another, as long as they didn’t have to deal with them. Nate’s father, though, had hated the Magic Born. Nate figured he’d had reason enough to hate. When his father had been seven a group of Magic Born terrorists had blown up one of the biofarms in another city. His grandfather had worked for the Agriculture Department, and his job had called for him to travel a lot. He’d been in that biofarm when it blew, killed along with dozens of others.

  A steady diet of hatred and bitterness, no matter what the reason, was a tough thing to take growing up. Nate didn’t care one way or another about the Magic Born. Putting up with the parts of the Magic Laws that spilled into Normal life was hard enough. There hadn’t been a terrorist attack that large in decades. After the brutality of the government’s response, there was pretty much no terrorism from Magic Born anymore, not even small attacks.

  The sound of someone entering the room snapped him out of his thoughts.

  Agent Grant looked to be a few years younger than Nate’s thirty-four, neat and efficient in a gray suit and careful demeanor. Nate was tempted to ask what had taken so long but decided it might be easier to play along.

  After perfunctory introductions Grant said, “If you want to know about nightshade, the place to start is with the council elders.”

  “What’s that?”

  Grant led him through the building. “The Abnormals have a sort of unofficial council of leaders. It’s not in the Magic Laws, but it helps considerably to have some of their own keeping the rest in line so we don’t put a stop to it.”

  “How does it work?”

  “They choose the members. We have final say to keep anybody with a criminal record out. The members act as go-betweens, which is really nice so we don’t have to deal with every petty little thing they want to bitch about.”

  Upon reaching an exit Grant stopped to put on a pair of sunglasses. Nate squinted into the bright sun as he followed the agent down a wide street. Cars were not an issue, since Magic Born were not allowed to own vehicles even if they could afford one. Pedestrian traffic increased as they made their way deeper into the zone. A gray-haired man in a dark ill-fitting suit herded a group of children, some of whom Nate had seen earlier, back into a squat washed-out building.

  Grant noticed him watching. “That’s the school. They let the brats run wild a couple times a day, say it’s good to let them burn off energy. I try to be off the streets then.”

  Nate grinned. “Scared of the kids?”

  Grant was not amused. “They’re mean little bastards. No respect for authority either, especially the orphans.”

  They turned a corner onto a smaller street, one side of it full of craftspeople at work tables. Colorful cloth and yarn covered one table, being sorted by a woman in a yellow sundress. At another a young man worked on a painting. Next to him sat a young woman carving a small piece of wood into an indiscernible shape. Another artist worked in charcoal, while another did delicate paint work on a ceramic bowl. At a small, flimsy table at the end of the line, jewelry components arrayed before her, sat Calla Vesper.

  Nate forced himself to look away and pay attention to Grant. The agent pointed at a storefront opposite the tables. “That’s Ray Lanier’s place. He’s on the council. Don’t know how much he’ll talk but he’s about the easiest one to deal with. Pretty low-key, doesn’t cause trouble.”

  “Do they protect the dealers?”

  “Some do. Most are just scared of them. If he’ll talk, Lanier might be able to shed some light on the origins of nightshade.”

  “How so?”

  Grant shrugged. “It’s got something to do with some freaky religious shit they do. Their backwards superstitious nonsense never made any sense to me.”

  The Magic Born having a religion was not something Nate had ever heard about, either in school or during his father’s hate-filled diatribes. He filed the information away.

  A hand-painted sign that hung over the front door read Crafts Emporium in fancy script. Grant opened the door and paused to remove his sunglasses. Nate glanced across the street.

  Calla looked up, meeting his gaze, and stopped what she was doing. One side of her mouth rose in a slight smirk. Shaking her head, she set down the tool in her right hand and flashed her middle finger.

  Grant said something that didn’t register with Nate and entered the store. Nate followed with reluctance, trying not to smile.

  * * *

  Bethany brought a bundle of embroidery thread to Calla’s table. “This was in the remainders. Thought you could use them for children’s bracelets.” She set the bundle on the table and tucked a reddish-orange lock behind one ear.

  Calla looked over the bright colors. “Yeah, that looks great. Thank you.” She skipped her gaze from Bethany to the emporium as the door closed on Detective Nathan Perez.

  Bethany followed her gaze. “He was handsome.”

  “What, Grant?” Calla made a face. “You’re kidding, right?”

  The older woman pulled an empty chair over from the next table and sat down, tucking the full skirt of her yellow dress under her crossed knee so the wind couldn’t lift it. “Ugh, not Grant. The other one.” She dipped her head toward Calla with a knowing grin. “I saw him looking at you.”

  Calla shuddered inwardly. She knew right where this conversation was going. “He carded me earlier. He was a real dick about it too.” That wasn’t true, but Bethany didn’t need to know that.

  “From the way he was looking at you just now, I’d say he carded you so he could know your name. Why don’t you go over there and talk to him?”

  Calla suppressed the impulse to roll her eyes. The bad thing was, she actually needed to go to the store. She didn’t have enough of the tiny glass beads for the set she was working on. “He’s a cop. And he’s here on business with that asshole. And you know I don’t have anything to do with them.”

  There were people, women and men both, who weren’t averse to relationsh
ips with Normals. Rich Normals especially could be generous with their “exotic” Magic Born lovers. Plenty took advantage of that for whatever extras it could get them, like that lovely new dress Bethany was wearing. There was nothing Calla needed so badly she was willing to debase herself that way. So what if the cop had treated her like a person instead of a freak? That was no guarantee he would continue to do so. She didn’t want to hurt her friend’s feelings, so she tried to keep her disgust to herself.

  “I’m not saying have a relationship with the guy. Just talk to him. It’s okay to have a good time, you know. They’re not all bad.”

  Calla ignored her and focused on the work. She strung the last of the aqua beads with still way too much of that section of the necklace to go. Not to mention she needed more for the matching earrings. The bracelet was the only part of the set already completed.

  She placed the unfinished necklace carefully on the table with her crimping tool holding down the loose end. “If I give you the money, will you go buy beads for me?”

  Bethany laughed. “Of course not! Tough girl, go buy them yourself.”

  It was the answer Calla expected but it hadn’t hurt to try. She swore good-naturedly at her friend, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach as she rose.

  * * *

  Nate pinched the bridge of his nose, wishing he’d come into the store alone. The door squeaked open behind him. Throwing Grant out before it banged closed was tempting.

  Grant continued his tirade. “Look, old man, I don’t give a damn about your religious exemptions. We’re talking about a murder here. You want to keep your business license and your little dump of a store, you’re going to cooperate.”

  “I am cooperating!” Lanier looked to be in his sixties, and somewhat professorial despite his colorful wardrobe of faded red corduroy pants and an equally faded and patched lavender button-down shirt. His salt and pepper hair hung in a long braid down his back, and his dark brown eyes glinted with intelligence as well as frustration. He spoke to Grant as if to a slow child, something Nate thought appropriate. “I don’t know about selling it like what you’re talking about. I only know about using it in circles.”

  Light footsteps approached. Nate and Grant were standing in front of the register, in the center of a long display counter that ran the length of the left wall of the store. Dozens of small items were housed in the glass case. Nate turned to see Calla Vesper move smoothly past them to peer over the glass, searching for something.

  “Come on, you know more than that,” Grant said. “All of you do. Stop hiding the scum that sell that shit and give me a name.”

  “Asshole’s a name,” Calla murmured, still examining the contents of the case.

  Grant reached for his stun gun. Nate grabbed his arm, maneuvering himself between the agent and the witch. “Hey now, let’s not have this get out of control.”

  “Mouthy bitch needs to be put in her place!” Grant tried to pry out from Nate’s grip, but Nate was stronger and calmer.

  Calla straightened, opening her mouth to respond, her eyes spitting fire. Nate gave her a pleading look, then faced the agent. “Look, why don’t you let me deal with this? All I need to do right now is talk to people. This case isn’t getting anywhere by busting heads. Just go wait outside or go back to Admin and I’ll handle this.”

  Grant looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with, Perez. You have to show these people who’s boss.”

  Nate was beginning to think that was the case with DMS agents. “Well I’ll tell you who’s the boss, Grant. I am. Senator Beckwith put me in charge of this investigation to run as I see fit. And I see fit to run it without you. Go back to Admin.”

  Grant bristled. The name-dropping had the desired effect though. The agent left, slamming the door on his way out. Nate looked at Calla, half expecting her to start calling him names. Instead he was surprised to find her demeanor completely changed. She trembled as if cold. Her light blue eyes had darkened while her skin had paled.

  The shopkeeper said, “Detective, I was telling him the truth.”

  Nate nodded. “Go on, help your customer.”

  Lanier regarded him for a moment, then turned to Calla. “What do you need, hon?”

  She shook herself, and Nate could see her mask slip back into place. “Seed beads. Aqua blue, like this.” She pulled one from her pocket.

  Lanier leaned over the counter for a better look. “Oh yeah, I got those. They’re still in back. I haven’t had time to put the new shipment out. How many tubes you need?”

  She reached into another pocket to count her money. “Gimme two.”

  He nodded. “Be right back.”

  Nate said, “You might want to watch your step around Grant for a few days.”

  “Grant’s one we always have to watch our step around. Who’d you piss off to get stuck with him?”

  “I don’t think DMS likes having an outsider on their turf.”

  “A name-dropping outsider at that.” She smirked. “What does a big dog like Senator Beckwith want with anyone in FreakTown?”

  Nate cocked his head, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Come again?”

  “Magic Born Zone Number 13 just sounds so generic, don’t you think? We call it FreakTown.”

  “Why?”

  One shoulder moved in a lazy shrug. “They call us freaks. Might as well own it. So you got some big case you’re working, or are you just a bag man for the senator?”

  Nate smiled. “Mouthy and full of questions. I’m not the senator’s bag man, I’ll tell you that.”

  Lanier returned from the storage room with two small plastic tubes full of tiny beads. He rang up the purchase on his antique register and Calla paid with cash, something Nate had never done in his life. He wasn’t sure if even his parents had done such a thing.

  “I’ve got a murder case I’m working on that some very powerful people want solved.” Nate wasn’t sure which one of them he was talking to, so he just talked. “The only lead tested positive for nightshade, so here I am. Can either one of you give me any information about nightshade trafficking? Or the name of someone who might provide information?”

  Lanier spoke. “The only thing I know about nightshade is in a religious context. Not many people stick to the old ways anymore, so it’s not used much for that. Sorry, Detective.” The shopkeeper very deliberately turned away and found something to do.

  Nate wasn’t sure if it was loyalty to drug dealers or contempt for Normals that was making Lanier refuse to help him. It was pretty obvious it wasn’t fear. He had no expectations of Calla offering much more than sarcasm.

  “I don’t use the stuff the dealers sell and I won’t give you any names,” Calla said. “But everyone knows if you want to buy you go to the club. That’s where Normals buy it, anyway.”

  Nate wasn’t sure what to be more surprised by—that she would volunteer even that much information, or that Grant had brought him here instead of the club. He walked to the door and held it open for her. “Thank you for that.”

  She walked out and paused uncertainly at the curb. Nate stood next to her, watching the sun glint off her purple hair. “I don’t know where the club is.”

  “Ask Grant.”

  “I sent him back to Admin, remember?”

  “Guess you’ll have to kiss and make it up to him.” She stepped off the curb.

  Nate grabbed her arm. “He’s useless. If the club is where I need to be asking questions, why did he bring me here?”

  Calla grinned brighter than the sun. “Because he’s scared to go to that end of the zone. Over here it’s just a bunch of artisans and gardeners.” She withdrew her arm from his grasp.

  “I need a guide,” Nate said. “Someone who knows the zone, knows the people.” He didn’t even conside
r how Decker would respond to him using a Magic Born informant on this. And he would most definitely not be using the word informant with Calla Vesper.

  “I can’t do that. Find someone else.”

  “I can pay you for your time.”

  “You’re asking me to be a snitch! I won’t do that.”

  “I’m asking you to be a guide! To help me solve a murder. Look, for now, just take me to the club. Point out the owner. I’ll take it from there.”

  The mask slipped for a moment, revealing a stark anguish. Nate wondered about that, but said nothing.

  Calla pulled herself back together. “No.” She walked away. This time she didn’t look back.

  Chapter Three

  Alan Forbes had lived in a small one-story house on the outer edge of the city. With no spouse or children and a lawyer serving as executor to his will, there was little to impede the officers assigned to searching the house. Nate was glad for that. Hovering, tearful widows made everyone nervous.

  They were almost done. Nate walked through the house, nodding at the officers tasked with the search as he passed them. The house was spotless thanks to a maid, and appointed with expensive furnishings and electronics. It could have passed for a showroom, there was such a lack of personality. The doctor had slept here. His life had been lived in the two clinics under his responsibility.

  One thing that had been slightly odd about the crime scene was that the doctor’s car hadn’t been in his labeled parking slot at the clinic. The vehicle, a nondescript but expensive luxury sedan, had been found in the home’s attached garage. Owning his own vehicle was an unimaginable luxury to someone from a middle-class upbringing like Nate. The few people he’d known who did own cars tended to flaunt them.

  None of Forbes’ associates had admitted to giving him a ride to the office the previous night. Nate ordered a search of the transit line’s records to see if the doctor had taken the bus or subway into the city center instead. That information might come back sooner than the deceased’s financials due the next day, possibly by the end of business today. If Forbes hadn’t taken public transportation, something Nate thought wasn’t likely to happen considering how people of Forbes’ status generally didn’t care for rubbing shoulders with the lower classes, then he might have hired a car for some reason, and his bank records would show it.