“No, he’s just dead. It doesn’t happen by accident.”
A uniformed officer called to Ryan and, muttering an apology, he went back to work.
While the police were busy outside, Ari stepped inside the Second Chance Saloon to speak with the barkeep. The lighting was dim. The air stank of beer, spilled on the floor and tabletops, and cigars, a favorite vice among werecreatures. A lone barmaid mechanically wiped tables with a rag and stacked dirty glasses on a metal tray.
“Hey, Miss, don’t do that. Everything in here is evidence.”
The girl jumped, the tray teetered, and Ari sped forward to grab it. The barmaid was short for an elf, pale and thin. Her shoulders slumped, and when she turned toward Ari, tears glistened on her cheeks.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” the elf said.
“Careful.” Ari set the tray on the table. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m with the police. Can you tell me your name?”
“Feyla. Sorry I jumped like that. Just can’t stop crying. I was so scared during the fight, and now they’re dead.”
“Did you know them?” Ari softened her voice. The girl’s tears were real. Was she a friend of the victims? A girlfriend?
“Not really.” Feyla sniffed, wiping her face with the back of a hand. “The vamps were at one of my tables. They’d been nice all evening until the big guy came. And the foreigners.”
Ari pricked up her ears. “Foreigners?”
The elf bobbed her head. “They didn’t speak very good English, so I figured they were visiting someone.”
Feyla didn’t know where the strangers were from, and she seemed unaware of their species, but she remembered there were two women in the group. And she was positive the trouble started at their table. “I know the Second Chance has a poor reputation, but it’s never been this bad.” The girl sniffed. “You’re not going to close them, are you? I’d hate to lose my job.”
Fearing an outbreak of tears, Ari assured the girl any closing would be temporary. She told Feyla to leave her name with the officer at the door and to point out the vamps’ table before she left. Feyla pointed toward a table near the stage.
As Ari approached the table, she noted that Feyla hadn’t gotten this far in her cleaning. Eight glasses. Two vamps and six companions. There was nothing else on the table surface except moisture rings, some spilled cigar ash, and used napkins. Maybe forensics would find some useful DNA.
Using a clean napkin from the bar, Ari pulled out each chair, checked the seats, and finally looked under the table. Two cigar butts, mud from somebody’s dirty boots, a sticky patch from spilled beer, and a tiny speck of something blue. She dropped to one knee and leaned in for a better look.
“Do you have an evidence kit?” she yelled to the officer on the front door.
“Yes, ma’am.” He brought it over.
“There, see that blue thing?” She pointed under the table.
“Sure do.” He pulled a plastic bag from his kit and offered it to her.
Ari shook her head, “No, go ahead.” She didn’t see a reason to write a report for finding evidence if she didn’t have to. Besides, the young officer would enjoy the experience so much more. His face creased into a wide grin when he retrieved what looked like a small blue capsule. “Looks like some kind of drug, ma’am.”
Score one for the good guys. “Nice going, Officer. Take it to Lt. Foster,” she instructed. “I guarantee he’ll be interested.”
As he scurried off to find his lieutenant, Ari wondered if they’d opened Pandora’s Box. If that capsule contained a drug with a violent, intoxicating effect on vampires, Riverdale’s current problems could morph into a nightmare.
Chapter Eleven
The following days were busy. Interviews, meetings, worrying. The community was on edge, and Ari had little time to spare for the freaky confrontation with Andreas. Efforts to stop the Otherworld violence demanded everyone’s attention.
On Monday, Ari and Ryan, aided by a detective from the eastside unit and by Martin, the other guardian, interviewed witnesses from the two vampire attacks. From the dozens of bystanders, crime scene officers had recommended twelve for further interviews. The barmaid, Feyla Rains, was one of the twelve, but she didn’t add much to her statement from the night before. That kind of set the tone for the day.
As often happens with witnesses, the descriptions of events varied from one person to the next, but there was nothing they hadn’t heard before. Three facts remained constant: the fights had erupted with little warning and no apparent cause; the vampires appeared to be intoxicated, twice described as staggering and foaming at the mouth; and the Canadian werewolves had been at both events. Whether the Canadians had participated, instigated, or been bystanders was an issue for debate.
Surprisingly, witnesses denied seeing drugs or magic use at either crime scene. After talking it over, the four investigators concluded some witnesses must have lied about the drugs for fear of incriminating themselves. The blue capsule was indisputable proof. As predicted, the lab analysis identified the contents as Fantasy, the powerful hallucinogenic that had swept through the human community. The rest of the lab report was unexpected and more alarming. The drug formula was different than previous samples. It contained an additive that defied identification, causing the lab’s computers to display contradictory readings and error messages.
Martin and Ari exchanged looks. “Magic,” she said. “If this substance is affecting Otherworlders, magic is involved. The drug has been cursed or enchanted.”
“You’re joking, right?” This startled question came from the eastside detective. Ryan just shook his head.
“I wish we were.” Martin’s fair skin was paler than usual.
“Why isn’t the crime lab telling us that?” The detective didn’t want to believe them.
“Because they don’t know. Human machines aren’t set up to identify the changes that magic produces.” Ari appealed to Ryan. “Let’s send a sample to the Otherworld Forensics Lab. Maybe OFR can confirm our suspicions.”
“How do they prove a drug’s been cursed? On second thought, I don’t want to know.” The detective looked at Ryan. “Do you deal with this kind of stuff all the time?” When Ryan gave him a crooked grin, the officer stood. “Glad there’s somebody who takes these cases. And I’m just as glad it isn’t normally me. You let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
Ari doubted they’d see him again.
Two days passed without noticeable progress. Ari talked with Martin and Steffan frequently as community tension continued to rise. Rumors spread like wildfire. A lot of smack talk was going down. Name calling, finger pointing. The sale of firearms to humans jumped fifteen percent, the sale of silver bullets skyrocketed. Friends and family of the injured weretiger formed a night watch, announcing they would kill any vampires that came near their homes. The local wolves watched everyone with suspicion.
“Can you blame them?” Steffan asked during his latest call. “We’ve had two fatal fights. Tempers are running high. If we don’t get a lid on this, the community’s going to blow.”
Ari tapped a pencil on her kitchen table. She’d been writing her reports to the Council. “I wonder if the situation is as bad with the vampires.”
“Haven’t heard from Andreas, huh?”
“Not since Sunday. Doubt if I will. He was pretty pissed, only I’m still not sure why.” She’d already told Steffan about the parking lot confrontation. “I guess we have to assume Prince Daron’s got things under control.”
After they disconnected, Ari debated calling Andreas to break the ice. An update on the vampire situation would be good, but she had another, more pressing reason. With the crisis deepening, she needed to make contact with the Canadian wolves. An interview with the mysterious she-wolf seemed like the perfect excuse, and Ari still thought Andreas could make that happen. The vampire hadn’t withdrawn his promise to help. Of course, he hadn’t renewed it either. And his distrust of her couldn’t have been more obvious. She put her phone away, not yet ready to have him refuse the call. Maybe if she gave him more time.
Too restless to finish the reports, she decided to pursue another angle. While Ryan talked with the narc squad, Ari wanted to tap community sources on the drug angle. She wished she’d paid closer attention when Fantasy was all over the media. As she recalled, The Clarion had printed a series of articles. She called the newspaper’s general number. They transferred her to the crime desk to talk with reporter Eddie West.
When he answered the phone, Ari explained who she was and what she wanted. “I need to know everything you can tell me about Fantasy. Where it came from, who’s selling it. Everything.”
“Sure, I can do that,” the reporter said. “It’ll take awhile, and I’m starving. Want to meet at the Daily Diner? I’ll even let you buy. And maybe you can tell me why the Magic Council is interested in the drug traffic.”
Ari chuckled. The guy had his own style. Half an hour later, she entered an unpretentious establishment that might have been situated in any small town, USA. A dozen booths. Half as many tables. Vinyl floor. A white-haired couple drank coffee at one of the tables. A forty-something female sat alone in a booth, her attention on the door. The only other occupant was a freckle-faced young man grinning at Ari from a corner booth. He looked seventeen. He waved.
“Over here,” he said. “I’m Eddie.”
He read her surprise, for as soon as she slid into the seat, he added, “I’m twenty-four. People always mistake me for a teen. Someday looking younger will be a good deal. Right now it’s a drag.”
She grinned at his boyish admission. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t sweat it. Hope you don’t mind, but I ordered. Haven’t eaten since breakfast. You want something?”
