"Sssh." She bent over my palm and said a few words in a language I didn't recognize. Then she looked up at me. "Stan, do you remember that night in the liquor store? The night Paul died?"
"Damn right I do." My throat felt tight as I spoke.
"Good." She said a few more words in that unfamiliar language. "Now close your hand and squeeze it. Tightly! Tight as you can!"
I did what she asked, feeling foolish.
And then something loosened deep in my chest, like untying a knot I never knew I had in there. I felt like I could take a full breath for the first time in – well, in a year and a half.
Rachel let go of my hand and sat back. "Thanks for indulging me, Stan."
I stared at her. "What did you just do?"
She gave me an enigmatic smile. "Nothing of consequence. Just helped you relax a little, that's all."
I looked at her a little longer. The smile remained in place. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you, Rachel."
"What's that?"
"Why do you wear glasses for reading? Can't you magic up some twenty-twenty vision for yourself?"
"Don't I wish," she said. "No – unlike the black variety, white magic cannot be used for the benefit of the practitioner – at least, not directly. It only allows us to serve others."
"Oh. I was wondering. Well, I've gotta get going."
She nodded. "Of course. Say hi to Karl for me."
"Yeah, I will." I walked to the door, then stopped and turned around.
"Rachel?"
She gave me raised eyebrows. "Yes?"
I wanted to say something about what she'd just done, but no words came out. After a moment I just said, "Goodnight, now."
"Goodnight, Stan."
When I got back upstairs, Karl was talking to his computer – or that's what it looked like. I sat down at my desk and looked over at him.
"So now they're all standing there," he said to his monitor. "Mom, Dad, the three kids, Grandma, the family dog, and a parakeet. They're all naked, dripping sweat and God knows what else. So the talent agent, who's looking a little stunned, says, 'That's quite an act you've got there. What do you folks call yourselves?' And Dad steps forward and says–"
I figured it was time to clear my throat, so I did. Karl looked up, and I said, "What's going on?"
"Oh, Stan, you're back – good. Hey, we're in luck. That lady I was telling you about? Not only does she still work for Chicago PD's Spook Squad, I caught her at her desk. Come on around – bring your chair."
I rolled my desk chair around to where Karl was sitting. As I'd figured, he was using the Sky-Cape media spell that allows people to talk to each other face-to-face online.
Looking at Karl's monitor, I could see a woman sitting at her own computer. The room behind her looked not very different from the one we were in.
"Stan, meet Roz Pavlico," Karl said. "Roz, this is my partner, Stan Markowski."
"Pleased to meet you, Stan," she said. Detective Pavlico looked to be about forty, with brown hair worn short and a round face. She had a hard look about her, but then I've yet to meet a female cop who doesn't. Funny how I never notice that on male cops – maybe because I take it for granted.
"Likewise, Roz – or do you prefer Detective Pavlico?" Even though Karl had introduced us by first names, I thought I'd ask. Women in this job can be touchy about respect, maybe because of all the shit they have to take from male cops.
"Roz is fine," she said. "Karl tells me that you're interested in a guy who we like for a series of killings."
"Have there been more since you talked to Karl about the guy at that conference?" I asked.
"Three or four. We're pretty sure he travels around a lot, although Chicago seems to be his home base."
"So you know who's doing it, but you have no evidence to nail him?"
"Yeah, you know how it is with guys like this. People talk to us but refuse to get on the stand, or witnesses disappear before a grand jury can be convened. And every witness who goes missing, or who's found dead, makes the next witness that much more reluctant."
"You were telling me that this dude seems to specialize in supes?" Karl said. Interesting how he continues to use that word, although some supernaturals consider it a slur.
"That's right," Roz said. "Vampires, mostly, although we've found his trademark on a couple of trolls and an ogre. A few humans as well."
"This guy took down an ogre? With a knife?" Karl sounded impressed, and I didn't blame him.
Roz nodded. "Looks that way. Around here, he's pretty much regarded as a bamf."
"As a what?" I'd never heard the word before.
"Bamf," Roz said. "B-A-M-F. Stands for Bad Ass Motherfucker."
Karl gave a snort of laughter. "Sounds appropriate," I said. "So, what is this bamf's name, anyway?"
"Neil Charles Duffy," she said. "He's known locally as 'Duffy the Vampire Slayer'."
"Cute," Karl muttered. Clearly, he didn't think it was.
"Any chance you could send us a copy of this vampire slayer's file?" I asked her.
"I'll have to check with my boss," Roz said, "but he'll probably be cool with it. Anything that gives somebody a shot at nailing Duffy is fine with us. If you guys manage to take him down, we'd probably chip in and send you a bottle of Scotch, or something."
"Thanks, we appreciate it," I said. I gave her my email address and we said our goodbyes. Karl touched a button to deactivate the spell, and the monitor went dark. I stood up and wheeled my chair back where it belonged.
"Think she might be persuaded to send a bag of AB plasma along with the Scotch?" Karl asked.
"If she doesn't, I'll buy you one myself," I told him. I glanced at the wall clock and said, "We've got about an hour before we knock off. You got anything to do – paperwork or something?"
He gave me half a smile. "When don't I have paperwork?"