Undercover Magic (5 page)

None of my legal and not so legal ways of finding information on someone revealed
anything unusual. Benjamin Kane, fifty-one, engineering degree, Charlotte address
that matched Falcon's, one sister still alive who was Falcon's mother, never married,
no kids of his own, parents deceased, blah, blah, blah. He'd been made Falcon's legal
guardian in 2025 and Chiwa's last month.

With only a little more effort, I managed to dig up various licenses and legal documents
pertaining to the ownership of Magical Gadgets and Bits, Kane's passport, driver's
license, gun license, and even shot records, but none of that told me squat about
where he was or what he was doing right now. Pictures I found matched what I remembered
of him from when I was a kid, except his hair had gone white and his face was more
craggy. Backgrounds in the pictures were nondescript and none of them were labeled
with anything useful.

He also had no criminal records. Not even a traffic violation. Everything was perfect.

Too perfect.

I narrowed my eyes at the display of records on the screen. Falcon's talent for hacking
and creating fictitious identities was dripping all over this. What was he up to?

I spent another half hour searching, but couldn't break past the stellar life of Uncle
Ben into the reality beyond. Everything was locked up tighter than a vampire's bedroom.
The closest I came to anything useful was the current address of his sister.

Falcon rarely talked about his mother and I hesitated to bring her into this. But
with no other leads, I didn't see that I had much of a choice. If I was careful, I'd
be able to find out what I needed and neither she nor her son would be any the wiser.

I closed down my computer, grabbed a snack to go and headed out. After I dropped the
computer at a new location, it was time to see what Falcon had come up with for the
little adventure I'd planned for us tonight.

Cooper's report all but said that whoever had started the schools had done so in
order to have access to practitioner talent—talent that was young and pliable enough
to manipulate, bully, and use.

The people running the schools likely had contact with the person paying the bills,
or at least their accountant, lawyer, or representative. Follow the trail one link
at a time and it would lead me to the end where our drug maker was sitting.

Cooper had hit a dead end in part because he was forced to work within the confines
of the law.

I wasn't so limited.

CHAPTER FIVE

I stood at the back of Falcon's lab under an overhead light and contemplated the array
of gadgets spread across a work table. It was a little past four and he'd closed the
shop early. Mostly to take one more stab at talking me out of what I wanted us to
do.

"Magical field disrupter. Upgraded." Falcon reluctantly pointed to a gadget that looked
exactly like what it was: an old TV remote that he'd found at the dump. One end had
been cut off and three thick wires ran straight across the opening: red, green and
purple, plus a few silver-colored ones.

"You know this is a bad idea, right?" he added, glancing at me.

"Only if this model causes explosive feedback magic like the last one."

"It did not cause—okay, it did a little bit, and no. I fixed that." He pointed to
another gadget and this one I also recognized, though I'd never used this particular
version of it. "Inter-dimensional distortion scanner. Limited range," Falcon told
me.

I had an old paranormal scanner just like it in a drawer in my main apartment. It
consisted of a chunk of black metal an inch bigger than a deck of cards and a half-inch
thick with a couple screens on the face of it. Probably in the hands of the FBI by
now.

"Wait. Did you say interdimensional?" That was new.

"Shouldn't you, I don't know, interview the kids' families or something before you
resort to breaking and entering?" Falcon persisted, ignoring my question.

I picked up the device, turning it over in my hands to get a better look. "Not breaking.
Just entering. And Cooper tried that. The families wouldn't talk. Is this the thing
you were working on last summer?"

He took the interdimensional whatever out of my hands. "That residue you brought me
to test last summer was the missing ingredient," he said placing the gadget on the
table. "I made it into a paste and grounded the—you could contact Ms. Fairview and
ask her to spy for you. A reliable insider is a great way to get access."

"The FBI closed that door when they busted down mine. And don't say 'Talk to the paranormal
unit of the police department.' They've already been put on alert. Do you have anything
that can open spelled locks?"

Falcon pointed to what looked like a compact camera from about ten years ago. I picked
it up and since he didn't stop me, I took a good look.

"You have—"

"Contacting any of my street connections risks exposure. Can this detect if anything
has nasty witchy poisons on it?"

Falcon released a long suffering sigh. "It can."

"Sweet." I put the "camera" down and made a final study of the table full of toys.

"Illegally accessing files at a practitioner school is dangerous."

"We'll take this, this and that silver tube thing that looks like a small flashlight,"
I said, pointing at the items.

"You don't know that the guy behind the VR is the secret sponsor of the school."

"So we go with our strong circumstantial evidence and find proof to give to the authorities."

"Are you extra cheery or is it just me?" He gave me a suspicious look.

I did my best to scowl. Apparently my guilty conscious was showing. "It's just you."

"Or do you realize this is a bad idea and you just don't want to admit it?" he added.

"We find the evidence they're hiding and sic the FBI on them. Everything goes back
to normal and the kids are safe. It's a great plan."

"Fine. I'll get the IDs and set up the employment files in the system," he said, his
tone filled with resentful resignation.

"I'll get the uniforms and meet you back here."

"You know I hate dangerous missions," he added.

"You hate leaving your babies in the hands of amateurs even more."

He picked up the interdimensional whatsit and held it to his protectively chest. "See
you at dark."

*  *  *

With my time limited and the FBI likely to pop out at me at any minute, I decided
a quick resolution to the problem of Uncle Ben's possible none existence was my best
course of action. Since I had a few hours to kill before we had to be at the school,
I figured the present was as good a time as any.

Hoverbuses were tightly monitored, so I sprang for a cab and got out three blocks
from my destination to walk the rest of the way. The neighborhood was surprisingly
pleasant, making me wonder if this was what the world would be like if paranormals
had never made their presence known.

The house where Falcon's mother lived was a compact and orderly Cape Cod painted white
with blue trim. It had well tended shade trees surrounding it and window boxes all
along the second floor with yellow flowers overflowing from them.

Even though the property enjoyed the relative safety of a prosperous neighborhood,
a state-of-the-art paranormal fence surrounded it, humming with magic and electricity.
A bit of overkill, but I had to admit that if my mother was still alive, I'd probably
have done the same thing.

With sundown still an hour and a half away and plenty of people scurrying about their
business, the gate still stood open. I went through like I belonged there and knocked
on the door. A short, plump woman with a round, scrubbed-clean face answered.

"I'm here to see Mrs. Hallford," I said, keeping my expression and tone innocently
pleasant.

She gave me a disapproving scowl and I reassessed my impression of her—pleasant on
the outside, steel on the inside. Maybe not the housekeeper.

"Don't you people ever give up? Miss Marilyn doesn't see visitors."

"I'm doing a story on local business owners who have come from nothing and gone on
to be successful." Why did Falcon's mom need a watchdog?

"You're not another solicitor from those nasty vamps?"

"I'm a freelance feature writer for the Charlotte Observer," I answered, putting plenty
of friendly into it. "Falcon Hallford is one of the owners we're highlighting. I'm
talking to family and friends to give the article a stronger human interest slant.
Childhood stories, proud moments, that sort of thing."

The watchdog searched my face and I hoped I looked sincere enough to gain entry.

She smiled and I knew I was in. "No." She slammed the door.

I blinked at the blue painted metal. What the hell? I pounded on the hard, cold surface
and was summarily ignored. Very inconvenient.

I started around back and the door popped open. The sweet little watchdog pointed
an old M16 assault rifle at me. "Git," she snarled.

"Yes, ma'am."

I raised my hands and backed down the lovely stone walkway and out to the sidewalk.
She reached back inside the house and the gate swung closed with a "don't call us,
we'll call you" kind of clunk as it locked.

Great. Now I'd have to find another way in.

I headed off down the street. When I got out of sight of the house, I doubled back.
Taking the street that ran behind Mrs. Hallford's neighborhood, I hoped I'd be able
to find a way in.

*  *  *

I lobbed another pebble at the window above me, and ignored the feeling that I'd stepped
into a two-bit movie from a hundred years ago. In my line of work you had to focus
on doing what worked, not what made you look good. Sometimes that meant enlarging
a hole under a dangerous fence and throwing rocks at a magically booby-trapped window.

A few moments before, I'd seen a woman with grey hair look out the window while she
hugged a thick lavender sweater around her shoulders as if to ward off some hidden
threat. It had been nearly seven years since I'd seen her, but I recognized Mrs. Hallford
immediately.

If I wanted my answers, I had to speak with her. Since I couldn't come to her, the
next best thing was her coming to me.

A movement in the room caught my attention and I quickly tossed a handful of small
rocks at the window. They hit the glass with a sharp shower of sound and tumbled into
the window box below the frame. The shadow flickered and Mrs. Hallford appeared.

Stepping away from the trashcan where I'd been hiding, I waved my arms over my head,
hoping to get her attention and praying no one else would notice. She looked at the
one white puffy cloud in an otherwise blue sky and frowned. I threw another rock.
It collided solidly with the glass and cracks spread out from the point of impact.

Oops.

Falcon's mom looked down at me and her eyes widened in surprise. She fumbled with
the lock on the window and then slid the sash up. Nothing triggered. With all the
precautions on the outside, why put them on the inside?

Her face was thinner than I remembered and a vague air of desperation had sharpened
her features. "Is it hailing?"

"It's me. Addison Kittner," I called up.

"You can't be. She's only a little girl."

My hopes fell and a spasm of pain hit my soul. Time rushed away from me and for a
moment I felt small and dirty and hungry and Falcon's mom was placing a bowl of steaming
stew in front of me. Dark circles smudged her eyes and her hand trembled, but she'd
smiled at me and she'd meant it. 

That woman wasn't here anymore and suddenly I wished that she wasn't my only link
between the past and the present. I stepped closer. "I meant I'm her sister...um,
Stacey."

"You can't be. She didn't have anyone." She started to close the window.

"Wait! Mrs. Hallford, please. I need to ask you some questions about your brother."

She stopped and pain flickered across her face. The window slid up a few inches. "Is
he home? I've been waiting for him to come home."

Falcon was ten when I'd first met his mom. Mrs. Hallford's husband had been dead for
a year, killed defending their neighborhood in the first wave when the paranormal
terrorists struck. A few months after that, her brother had managed to make his way
from Virginia to Charlotte. Eight months later, he lay upstairs, badly wounded.

I'd met him a block away from the dumpsters where my friends and I sometimes slept.
He'd been returning from a deal with a grocery store owner and had been jumped. When
he triggered his last trap to disable two of the practitioners, their friends had
decided to get revenge. I'd shot them.

Too weak to risk traveling through the streets, he'd taken me with him through a series
of tunnels that Falcon had designed. By the time we got to their house, I was dragging
Uncle Ben by the leg and ordering him to stay conscious. I was almost twelve.

I stared up at Mrs. Hallford's vague, faraway expression, and sorrow clogged my throat.
Two days after I'd met them, Falcon had told me that his uncle had left town in search
of buyers and his mother wasn't well. We'd banded our small groups of forgotten children
together and survived. He'd created the traps and weapons people needed, we'd found
the buyers and made the drops.

I never realized that Falcon had meant she'd broken.

"Mrs. Hallford, is your brother home?" I gently asked.

Her grey eyes, so like Falcon's, grew troubled. "Not here." Her hands fluttered up
and down her sweater, buttoning and unbuttoning. Buttoning and unbuttoning. "My son's
house. He's aways at my son's house now."

"Do you think he would speak to me?"

"I don't think so. You do look quite a bit like little Addison. Such a lonely child.
So sad. A good girl."

I swallowed, working to control the constriction of pain in the middle of my chest.
Despite how hard this was, I had to know the truth as much as I needed to take my
next breath. For Falcon's sake. And for mine, though I had no idea why.

"Why won't Ben speak to me, Mrs. Hallford?"

"He's in the backyard."

"What do you mean?"

"I saw it. He didn't know, but I saw it. He was so small. The shovel was nearly twice
as tall as him. How did he manage it?"

A cold rush of fear scattered down my back. "Manage what, ma'am?"

"When I saw, I knew it was over. I knew we were never going to make it." Her fingers
plucked at the round gold button at her throat and then started twisting it. "Then
everything stopped."

"But you did make it," I said.

"It just...stopped."

"You're here. Falcon's okay. Your brother's okay." Please let Uncle Ben be okay.

The faraway mist in her gaze fractured and she looked down at me, suddenly lucid.
Apprehension skated across the nape of my neck. I didn't need to know this. I needed
to stop her before it was too late. The words froze in my throat.

"My brother died, dear. He buried him in the backyard and never told me. He never
told anyone." The button popped off in her hand and she looked at it, startled. Bemusement
crept across her face again. "He was so small. Too small for such a big responsibility,
wasn't he?"