Arrest, Search and Séance : Book 1 of the Fringe Society by R.D. Hunter (pdf e book reader TXT) 📕

Unbroken be sanity,

Thoughts and of will.”

I felt the energy pour out of me, modified by the spell and the will behind it. It left me a little shaken, but I’d been working on my magical stamina lately, so I wasn’t completely tapped out.

The Kid stood stock still, blinking slowly as the spell took hold. For the first time, I saw his eyes focus on me, then he looked around like something was missing and he couldn’t quite place what it was.

“What…what did you do?” he asked in a stunned voice.

“Just a little trick I know,” I said vaguely. “It won’t last long.” I scribbled down an address on the notepad I kept in my back pocket. “This is a free clinic just a few blocks from here. Go there, right now, and they’ll get you the meds you need so you can stay like this.”

He hesitantly took the paper from me, like he was afraid all this was an illusion that was going evaporate into smoke at any second. When it didn’t, he grinned broadly, and for the first time I saw a glimmer of the young man he could be if enough was invested in him.

“Thanks. Thank you. Really. I’ll go there right now. I will.”

He shook my hand so hard my teeth rattled, looked like he wanted to hug me, but decided against it. After a second’s hesitation, he pressed the wrapped sandwich into my palm.

“Here, take this. It’s good. You’ll like it. Least I can do.”

A piece of dust landed in my eye and I blinked it away rapidly. I gently took his hand and put the sandwich back in it along with a twenty-dollar bill.

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry,” I said with a kind smile. “You keep it. After all, they said you could have it.”

His head rocked back slightly, like I’d hit him, then his eyes cleared even more as the recent memory took hold.

“Yeah. Yeah, they did. They said I could have it.”

“So, have it. It’ll give you something to eat on the way to the clinic.”

“Yeah. Okay. Thanks. I’ll eat it on the way to the clinic.” His brow furrowed, like he was trying to remember something he’d heard somewhere. “I’m…Jerry. Jerry Thompson.”

“Melanie Graves. Go get those meds, and call me if Bulldog or anyone else gives you any trouble.”

I handed him my card, which he took a lot more eagerly than the men I’d talked to earlier.

“I will. I’ll do that. Bye, and thanks again.”

He left almost at a run, and I watched him with satisfaction. Magic couldn’t do everything, and I couldn’t go around and cast spells on every mentally ill homeless person in a city the size of Atlanta. But, when the conditions were right and the opportunity presented itself, it felt good to be able to make a positive difference in someone’s life.

My cell rang, and I saw it was my boss, Captain Barker. Strange. He usually wasn’t one to call his officers when they were working in the field.

“Hi, Captain,” I answered. “Charley’s wrapping up the scene and I’m canvassing the area, checking for witnesses. Should be another couple of hours, then I’ll be in.”

“We need you to come in now, Detective Graves,” he said formally. I stiffened.

The Captain didn’t call his subordinates by their professional title. He was ‘Captain’ or even ‘Cap’, and we were referred to by our last names. It was informal, but still respectful. For him to call me by ‘Detective Graves’ meant that something was up.

“Is everything all right, Sir?” I asked. There was a pause.

“Harold Mason is here, asking to speak with you. We need you here as soon as possible.”

My heart sank. Harold Mason was one of the richest and most influential men in the city. During my last investigation, I’d had occasion to cross paths with him a couple of times, and it had ended with me putting his gorilla bodyguard on his ass while calling him a prideful, arrogant son-of-a-bitch.

I’d been expecting some fallout, but it’d never come and I had hoped that would be the end of it. Apparently, Mason just liked to take his time. This wouldn’t be pretty.

“I’m on my way,” I said, trying not to sound like a doomed woman on her way to the gas chamber.

CHAPTER TWO

The Special Criminal Cases division of the Atlanta P.D. was set up to handle all the high-profile cases that were likely to make major headlines. A man killed via tranquilizer darts certainly qualified.

As such, we had our own headquarters set up in a satellite office off Highway 85, just south of the airport. It’s a three-story structure, with classrooms and meeting centers on the first, offices on the second, and interview rooms and holding cells on the third. The parking lot is usually sparsely populated with sedans, trucks and a few SUV’s, but this was the first time I’d seen a top-of-the-line, silver Porsche parked there.

Ladies and gentlemen, Harold Mason was in the building.

I walked in and warmly greeted the receptionist, Linda. She grimaced and looked at me sympathetically.

“You have a visitor waiting in the Captain’s office,” she said in a hushed tone. Then, glancing around like she expected ninjas to pop out of the office fern, she said, “It’s Harold Mason.”

I nodded casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world to have a multi-millionaire waiting for me in the Big Man’s office. Truth be told, my heart was pounding out a heavy rhythm in my chest and I was finding it hard to focus on anything other than putting one foot in front of the other.

I loved my job. I loved being a cop and finding justice whenever I could for those who couldn’t find it themselves. Mason