Not Just Another Fae (Vegas Fae Stories Book 4) (10 page)

"Michael, Mr. Hoskins and... Charlie, is it?" he
began. "My name is Hoade. Just for the record; once the area is secured,
you three can enter with Agent Browne. For the moment, we would ask that you
speak with one of us before disturbing any evidence; but you will be granted
full access once things are properly documented. Any insights will be
appreciated. Is that acceptable?"

We all nodded, even Charlie.

"Good. Then I leave you in Agent Browne's capable hands",
he said as he and the other agent walked away.

"Gotta love his personality," Michael quipped.

Even Agent Browne seemed to crack a smile at that remark.
Then, a single agent came out of the front door and walked toward us.

"Mark," the agent said as he approached, nodding
at Browne. "Michael, good to see you again." Then he directed his
attention to me. "You must be Hoskins."

"I am," I replied. "And this is Charlie."

I could sense the Were within him. That might explain why
none of Martin's people seemed to be here. Looks like they already had someone
inside.

"Yes," he replied, bending toward the dog. "The
Fae hunting dog." He moved his hand toward Charlie's head, then hesitated
before petting him. Charlie moved closer and he gave the big dog's head a pat. "I've
heard about you. Glad you could join us."

"I'm Andy Hill," he said as he straightened up. He
reached out to shake my hand. "I think you're going to find this
interesting. Follow me."

As we began to walk toward the house, he continued to speak.

"The place is empty. There was no one alive in there. There
is a dead guy in the basement; what's left of him. Probably our target, but
identification is still pending," he said. "As for the Demons? Whatever
the hell he conjured up was big, and he obviously couldn’t control it. It's
gone now. McDaniel's out back watching the desert, just in case. It looks like
whatever happened here is a few days old. Unless we did something to draw
attention just by being here, I doubt it's coming back today. Of course, we
won’t know that unless something actually shows up. Anyway, it'll take a while
for one of the Wizards or Mages to get back up here. They're still out checking
the rest of the area. I don’t know what they can tell us, but if Charlie's nose
is any good, maybe he can give us a head start."

"I will do my best," Charlie said. No one seemed
surprised that he could talk. It was also nice to think that these folks looked
at Charlie as an asset to the team. Not that other dogs hadn't played similar
roles over the years; K-9, bomb, and drug sniffing dogs had been part of police
work for a long time. They just didn't hold conversations with the other
members of the team. It was also good to remember that any dog, and not just a
Fae like Charlie, could smell things with his nose and other senses. Things in
ways that we could never duplicate.

"These things are attracted to magic," I said. "Just
so you know."

"We've got eyes on the perimeter," Hill replied. "McDaniel's
is aware of that as well."

I nodded and we followed him into the house. I was amazed at
the sharp difference from what I expected to find inside. Although the style
was typical Victorian, especially the fireplace with its huge wooden mantle and
the painting that hung above it, the decor was anything but. For a moment, I
thought I had stepped back in time to the sixties. One wall had wallpaper that
was gold with a cork backing, and another was wood paneled. The furniture had
wooden legs with chrome feet, and there was a futon against one wall. Even the
TV was the old tube type. Glancing into the kitchen, I saw that the furniture
was of a similar style and copper pots and pans hung above the counter.

"I like the location, but someone needs an interior
designer," Michael said as he walked in behind me.

"No shit," I remarked. "How long as he been
up here?"

"At least 50 years, based on the furniture alone,"
Browne said, rubbing his finger over a dusty table. He stared at the dirt that
had accumulated on his finger, then wiped his hands with a handkerchief. "And
the dust. But it's been private land longer than that. I checked the records
this morning and this parcel was purchased back in the 40s. Part of a mining
company operation that is long out of business. We're still sifting through
corporate records to find out who owns it today."

That wasn’t unusual up here. Although most of the land was
managed by BLM or the U.S. Forest Service, there were a lot of small and medium
size parcels that had been grandfathered in before they made this a National
Forest.

"Let's continue," Hill said. "What you really
want to see is downstairs."

We followed Hill to a wood paneled wall where a section,
once hidden by molding, had been opened. There was a wooden staircase that led
down.

"I'm not really sure why it was hidden behind the
paneling," Hill said. "Although it wouldn’t have been obvious inside,
from the back it's just another level."

As we reached the end of the stairs, I saw what appeared to
be a library, or at least what was left of one. There were a few agents moving
about, and the place was wrecked. Half the far wall had been broken open with
the desert visible behind it. There were shards of glass and broken plaster
everywhere. Shelves lined the other walls, filled with books. Many were strewn
about, their pages open and torn, and some showed evidence of being burned. On
one side was a large table with beakers and vials. In the center of the room
was what was left of a man. He was face down; or he would have been if he still
had a face. His head was missing. As I watched, two agents loaded him on a
gurney, then moved the body out of the room.

He had been sprawled out on the wooden floor, most of him lying
within a hand drawn circle of white. Partially burned books covered some of it,
but I could see that there had been symbols written in dark red and dull white
within the circle. The characters were wedge shaped in design.

"I'm certainly no expert, but this looks almost like
cuneiform," I said as I knelt to take a closer look.

"Some of it," Browne agreed. "But those are
not." He pointed to another part of the circle where symbols appeared. "These
are more like hieroglyphs."

"Looks like some were written in blood," Michael
pointed out. "But what's the white?"

"Some kind of paste," Hill said, kneeling by a
wooden bowl, its contents spilled on the ground where it had fallen. "Smells
like it has bone in it."

Browne gave him a questionable look. It was more in jest, as
was indicated by the nod and raised eyebrows. "Just don't touch anything."

"Hey! Werewolf here," he replied. "Trust me,
I don't need to touch it to know what it is. I've seen, and smelled, my share
of crushed bone."

"The beast was here," Charlie said suddenly. We
all turned toward him. He was sniffing the edges of the circle. Then he began
to search around the room and finally out the broken wall into the desert
behind.

"The dog's one of ours," Hill said into a radio he
carried. There were several clicks in response, indicating that whoever was out
there had received the message.

I walked over to the broken wall where he was standing, and
watched Charlie move about the desert.

"Are you a member of Martin's pack?" I asked.

"Martin Chibeaux? No," he replied. "I'm an
independent. Chibeaux's a good guy though, I run with them now and then. Good
leader too, from what I hear. When I retire, maybe I'll stay here and join up."

Our conversation was interrupted by Charlie returning to the
yard.

"What did you find?" I asked as he came back into
the house.

"Several Demons were here," he said. "Ours
and at least three more. Smaller, but no less evil. Their scent is faint, but
enough remains on the ground to know they were here. Whatever magic was used
here trapped the scent. There is no trace beyond the grounds."

"That answers that," Michael said. "We bagged
two, so there's still yours and another one out there."

"Maybe. What about the boy's?" I asked. "I'm
guessing it came from here."

"Unknown," Browne replied. "Although it is likely.
We know the one that appeared at his house is similar to those Michael
reported, but there is no way to know if it came from here or if there was
something else the boy did that caused it to appear. Whatever spell he used was
supposed to be on his phone, but it's fried. Literally. The phone melted from
the inside out and there's no evidence of any back up."

"I don’t buy it," I said. "You're saying the
kid conjured a Demon up from just a screenshot?" I motioned my arms around
the room. "This guy's been working at this for what? At least fifty years?
If he could have summoned it that simply, we'd have heard about it long before
now. No, he planned this somehow."

"That is most likely the case," Browne agreed. "But
we don’t work on hunches. Until it's proven otherwise, we have to go on the
assumption that yours is not the only one. There may be others out there with
similar spells that do not know what they are carrying."

"So do we have any idea who this guy is?" I asked,
changing the subject.

"His name was Frank Stockton," I heard someone
from behind me say. "He was part of what you might call the old Vegas
crowd. Built a place on Fremont Street back in the 40s, not far from the
Boulder Club. He was active in the community until about 1960, when it was said
he retired from the business to follow other pursuits." It was Agent
Hoade.

"We have no record of him in our files other than his
name, a few news reports, and the fact that he hasn't been seen since. Local
agencies assumed he'd fled the country, or had been the victim of foul play. It
seems he withdrew a large sum of money before he disappeared, but no one ever
reported anything that could be followed up on."

"It looks like we now know what his other pursuits were,"
Michael said. "But that still doesn’t tell us what his actual goal was."

"Revenge is a possibility," Hoade said. "We
do know that he was forced out when others moved into the market."

"Forced out by who?" Michael asked.

"Some might say it was the Mob," Hoade replied. "But
the Fae were making moves of their own during that period. We do not yet know
who, specifically, but we will in time."

"You'll share that with us when you find out?" I
asked.

"Of course," Hoade said. "That is why you are
here, after all. We had hoped that we would capture someone alive, but we must
work with what he have."

"What will you do now?" I asked.

"Process the scene," he replied. "We will
document everything found and then recreate it at a more secure location. Once
that is done, we will destroy what is left and remove any traces from the area.
Since there is nothing more you can do here, Agent Browne will drive you back.
Sergeant McDaniel will join you when he is done here. Probably in a few hours.
I understand you have been tasked with hunting the Demon and he will be
assisting you in that matter."

"So I've been told," I replied.

"Then I wish you luck." He turned to Browne and
nodded.

"All right," Browne said. "Unless there's
something else that you think will help, let's get you back."

When no one spoke up, Browne led us upstairs, back through
the living room to the front door. When we were halfway there, something caught
my eye. I veered away, walking toward the fireplace. It was the portrait. Well,
I'll be a son of a bitch! As if I have time for more problems. Where the hell
did she fit in all this?

It was a classical style painting of a gentleman and his
lady. A 40 something year old man was sitting in a high back chair; the woman
standing to the side and behind him, her hands on the back of the chair. They
were dressed formally. He in a black tuxedo, with a thin bow tie and narrow,
silk lapels. She was wearing an evening dress, also black, with ruffles and
sequins. Her necklace was silver with a blood red stone. It must have been the
dress that threw me off. She wasn't wearing one last time I saw her, nor did
she strike me as the type. But I did know that she wasn't shy about using more
than just magic to get what she wanted.

I glanced around the room to look for the chair but didn’t
see one that matched. As I turned back to the painting, I studied her. She
looked to be in her 30s. Tall, with dark brown hair that was braided and thrown
over the shoulder, so that it draped her breast and fell down to her waist. In
the painting, she was almost smiling, but her blue eyes were cold. If I had to
guess, whatever she was thinking probably wouldn’t match my version of
happiness. Not exactly the image I would have wanted to portray had I
commissioned it.

"Agent Browne," I said, pointing to the painting. "Can
you find out if this is Stockton?

He got on the radio and a moment later, Hoade came up the
stairs. He walked over to me and looked up at the painting. Pulling out a phone
he tapped a few commands and then turned the screen toward me.

"Looks like it," he said.

It was a black and white image of a man in a light colored suit
and hat holding a shovel. The backdrop was Fremont Street. He was younger in
the picture, but it was definitely the same man.

"Any idea who the woman is?" I asked.

Hoade scrolled through some documents on his phone.

"There's a reference to someone named Mary Aiken in one
of the news reports. Inherited a cattle ranch close to Alamo when her parents
died. She was noted attending a few events with him. Why?"

"It's a good guess she pointed him in the direction he
was going," I said. "Or was at least the one he turned to for advice."
I told them what I knew about her, and promised to pass along anything else I
might find that could help.

I guess I shouldn't have been surprised that she was
involved in this in some way. That's the problem with unfinished business. You
may not have to deal with it every day, but it comes back to haunt you, usually
when you least expect it. Then it hit me. I may not know what spells this
Stockton fellow had used to bring the Demons here, but I bet I knew why.