Dead weight, p.1
Dead Weight, page 1
Dead Weight
A Whitewitch Island Short Story
Kobo Edition
Patti Larsen
© 2023 Patti Larsen
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Chapter One
“Are you my new mother?”
I looked up from my computer at the sound of that question, realizing my mistake immediately as my gaze fell from the smirk on my partner’s face to the staring, black eyes of the puppy at my feet. It took me a moment to process the bullpen had fallen quiet, most of my fellow Guild Artemis members gone for the day, the evening shift not yet arrived to take their place. I’d been deep into researching a case, at my desk long past the time I should have been gone myself, my brain as tired as my eyes which I rubbed a little before I spoke without thinking.
“Excuse me?” Elias Barrow was an expert at surprising me, admittedly, though his seemingly endless torments over the last ten years I played inquisitor to his hunter had rarely caught my breath or put me in such a place as the appearance of the floppy-eared creature wriggling in hope and delight at the base of my chair.
“Elias said you would be.” The mastiff puppy’s tongue swept over his jaws, lolling out again after a moment, giant paws shuffling underneath him in complete disproportion to his lean and lanky body. I was more than familiar with Hades Hounds and knew that in very short order he’d be a hulking bruiser of epic stature despite his present awkward adorableness, so I wasn’t taken in by the cute.
Okay, not entirely. So cute. And a giant nope.
“Elias,” I glared at my partner who didn’t even try to hide his smirk, arms crossing over his lean chest, pale blue eyes alight with that particularly pointed humor of his, “was sadly mistaken.”
I might as well have kicked the poor creature. His large ears, as yet undocked, fell as his tail—also still intact—ceased its thumping enthusiasm on the leg of my desk. I’d seen sad in my years in this job, trust me. Tragedy was my stock and trade, the investigation of death and destruction rarely without repercussions for the victims and their families. I’d learned to harden my heart against sympathy, no longer taking on the hurt of those I tried to help. Being the granddaughter of a Gold Dragon Sentinel helped. But despite myself and my rigorous insistence on protecting my own soul from the pain that I dealt with on a daily basis, I wasn’t immune to the sad face of a puppy who’d been rejected by the person he’d been told would take care of him for the rest of his life.
I was going to kill Elias just as soon as I picked up the pieces of my own broken heart now lying in dusty bits at the oversized paws of the mastiff puppy.
“Don’t you want to be my mother?” He didn’t whine or snuffle, his question soft, wistful without a trace of blame or anger.
Did I mention I was going to kill Elias? “It’s not that,” I said, scrambling for something to tell him. “You’re a Hades Hound, aren’t you? You have a destiny to fulfill.”
“About that,” my partner finally spoke up, drifting closer to sit on the edge of my desk, the bustle of the bullpen returning as the evening’s teams began to arrive, stares from a few making me squirm in my chair. “Our little friend here is an excom.”
Oh, dear. Excommunicated puppies weren’t entirely rare, but they weren’t that common, either. How heartbreaking for him. “I’m so sorry,” I said to the mastiff.
He simply nodded. “I failed my testing,” he said, as though that bit of information was just fact and hadn’t dictated the rest of his life. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Okay, this wasn’t how my evening was supposed to go. I’d planned to head home with case files and do some further research. Instead, it seemed I was going to be gluing my heart back together over a bottle of wine.
“I just wasn’t good enough,” the puppy said in his squeaky, little boy voice that belied the gigantic dog he’d become in less than a year. Which meant he couldn’t have been more than a month old. So much pressure to put a puppy under.
“Now, now,” Elias said, reaching down to ruffle the dog’s ears. “None of that, my little friend. Not every Hound puppy is meant to be a Hades Hound.”
“I know,” the mastiff said, “but no one wanted me.” Dear Hera and legion, his matter-of-factness was going to destroy me. “My handlers said I was too nice to be a guard and not fast enough to be a chaser.” So, no private security for him or work with Hermes teams hunting smugglers and fugitives. He perked a little. “But Elias said maybe I’d be good at helping you, Mother.”
Yikes. When my partner met my eyes again, his held a question that had me wanting to throttle him all over again. “And I’m not the only one,” Elias said. “Who came to visit you this morning?”
The puppy wriggled all over again, letting out a soft and happy yip. “Sentinel Drake,” he said. “She’s so nice!” He turned in a quick circle before licking his chops. “When Elias told her about me, she came to visit, and she even scratched my ears!”
I could tell why this puppy hadn’t fit into Hades. Where had his sweet nature come from? I’d met a few before their induction into the program, and they’d seemed as grim and focused as their older counterparts. This one, however, had an infectious kindness and adorable air that would have eliminated him from Hades just on temperament alone.
“You met my grandmother,” I said. Arimanthia Drake, as Sentinel of Guild Hades, had overview of the Hound program. But what would make her personally visit the kennels? I had a guess, of course, because if there was anyone who she adored more than her only granddaughter (yes, me), it was my irreverent and bratty partner.
Argh.
“The Sentinel is your granddam?” The puppy did another spin, panting his happiness. “She said she thought Elias was right and that you would make a good mother for me.”
So, I had the two of them ganging up on me. I sighed as I sat back, shaking my head at Elias who chuckled.
Inquisitor Drake. I sat up a little straighter at the touch of another mind on mine.
Lead Ortos, I sent back. My boss’ mental voice had the rough edge of his stone giant heritage, and the weight of it, too, though I’d learned to brace myself for the ponderous contact. I knew Lorne Ortos did his best not to pummel others with his mind and preferred to call for that reason, but our department had switched to cellphones and his fingers just weren’t built for such delicate equipment.
Case, he grunted as my computer chimed, the file appearing on my screen. I waved my hand at it, opening the dossier as he went on. I know you’re off shift, so I’ll hand it off if you prefer. But the quartermaster requested you personally.
I’d had dealings with the dockyard before and knowing the touchy nature of the kelpie quartermaster who ran our docking facilities in New York’s Port Authority. Happy to take it, sir. I was already scanning the file, Elias clearly in on the conversation because he leaned in to read it with me while Ortos went on.
Keep me posted. He cut himself off, and I sighed despite myself, the relief from his mind’s weight always a surprise.
“Murder,” Elias said with a wink and a saucy grin. “My favorite.”
I stood immediately, reaching for my coat, power winging it to me from the rack by the door. Only to pause with one arm in the sleeve, the quietly patient and yet eager puppy at my feet apparently not going anywhere. His hopeful expression was going to be my undoing, even more so when Elias shrugged into his rumpled overcoat.
“Can’t leave him here,” he said.
“Fine,” I snapped, “but I’m driving. And you,” I pointed a finger at the mastiff, “are going to stay in the car.”
He yipped his happiness but fell in line, pacing next to me, staring lovingly up at me while I strode out to more than a few grins from my coworkers and a steady and irritating smirk from my partner.
Seriously.
***
Chapter Two
New York was still decked out for the human holidays, though their New Year’s Eve was already several days behind us. I’d attended a party at the request of an old friend who’d left our life for that of the humans and their blissful ignorance about the paranormal, only to find I was expected to provide a resolution to the rest of the attendees. I’d chosen something innocuous, or so I thought, though everyone at the party seemed enthusiastic about my quick decision.
“I’m going to streamline my life,” I said. “Cut out anything superfluous.” One glance in the back seat and I knew that call was already being challenged. I had no desire to play mommy to a Hound puppy. What had Grandmother Arimanthia been thinking? Okay, so the fact I was pushing forty and unmarried, without children, while my decision was a bone of contention in my family. The fact my older brother was the star of the show with a talented wife, a career custom designed by my parents and three kids who would be epic one day in their own right took some of the pressure off, but not all. I’d spent Solstice evening deflecting questions about my goals yet again. Bad enough I had Mom after me to leave Guild Artemis and join her as her aide on the North American Council. Dad’s recent suggestion I come on board Nemesis as
Until this.
Maybe that was where the resolution came from. Whatever the case, the man seated next to me had never betrayed me that way before. Elias knew better. I was too busy with work, dedicated to my chosen field as much as he was. We’d had our share of talks about my family and their lack of enthusiasm for my career choices. What was he thinking?
As for my grandmother, she and I were going to have a conversation over a mastiff puppy, even if I was forced to leave the darling sweetheart on her front porch.
Darn it.
***
I crouched over the body, doing my best not to inhale the scent of rotting fish emanating from the corpse. Merfolk had a particular aroma even within moments of death reminiscent of someone’s week-old catch someone left out in the sun. I wasn’t here to judge Captain Martin Underwave for his race’s death scent, however, not when it was obvious to me that he’d been a victim of foul play.
Sound-based attack, Caprice sent, the white half of the raven pair who’d decided to share my life clicking her beak out loud while her mental voice went on. Boiled his blood in his body.
High resonance, her mate, Conscio, agreed, glottal gronks soft but audible where he perched on the desk overlooking the dead body, light shining on his glossy, black feathers. Magic, no doubt. His beak dipped into his wing a moment, reflections of green and blue settling when he finally shook his head and puffed out his throat, black eye glistening. Murder.
Confirmed, Caprice sent, fluttering her crystal white wings a moment, head cocking to the side, eye as black as her mate’s fixed on me now. Now, are you going to tell us what that is, her beak dipped toward the mastiff puppy sitting at attention and with intense focus on me a few feet away, or are we going to have to peck it out of you?
Later, I sent, trying not to sigh in my head. The ravens had been with me for several years since I’d rescued them from the sorcerer who’d instigated their transformation. They’d chosen to stay with me, to assist me in my job as inquisitor and were always helpful. The fact I had, as yet, to come up with an explanation for the Hound puppy wasn’t lost on me, but I couldn’t very well just leave the poor thing in the car and besides, his nose might come in helpful. It was the least I could do since I was going to return him to the kennel, right?
I was a sucker of the highest order.
If you say so, Conscio sent, more guttural ticks escaping him.
The whelp’s presence has to be on Elias, Caprice sent.
I nodded without speaking to either of them, looking up at my partner with a wry twist to my lips because the ravens knew him as well as I did by now. He stood innocently enough near the door to the captain’s berth, glancing my way, though the trembling man next to him stared at my partner like the hunter was his only lifeline.
“Chief,” I said, standing from my crouch, ignoring the puppy who shifted positions, licking his lips but staying silent. It had been our agreement for his presence, one the mastiff was taking very seriously, it seemed, despite his obviously eager nature. “You found Captain Underwave?”
The Calliope’s chief mate bobbed a nod at me, lean face tight, small and wiry body almost childlike in his unofficial uniform despite his face’s age, the transport ship’s private status not requiring the spic-and-span attire I was used to on formal vessels. Still, I’d noted everyone we’d encountered seemed to have an affinity for knit sweaters and hats and heavy boots over worn blue coveralls. “Yes, ma’am,” he said in a soft tenor that shook a little but didn’t crack. I recognized his human half but was instantly wary of the other part of his heritage since it was obvious to me from his overlarge eyes, bird-like delicate stature and the timbre of his voice he had enough siren in him to make him a suspect. He must have known it, too, because he immediately shook his head. “I didn’t kill him, I swear.”
I pointed at the captain, scaled face twisted in his death-throes, milky eyes staring upward, body twisted inside his own ship’s attire. “You recognize the signs of a magical sound attack, then?”
Chief Mate Arian Miltos swallowed hard and nodded, but didn’t respond, only because we were suddenly joined by another crewmember who panted his way to a halt at the door, gasping as he took in the scene.
“The lads woke me,” the man said, florid with his heavy red hair and beard in a messy halo around him, green eyes narrowing at the sight of his dead captain on the floor. “Poseidon preserve us.” He crossed himself, an odd action for a person of paranormal background, eyes meeting mine. “Me ma was human,” he said in his heavy Irish accent. “Catholic. Old habit.”
I shrugged. “You’re a banshee,” I said then, now with two sound-based personages on board with the ability to use their power to kill the captain. So much for this being a simple case.
“Boatswain Fergus O’Hannah,” he said. Then paused, eyes widening as his gaze fell to the captain. “Why do ye ask?”
Again, no response was forthcoming, though on my part this time, due to an interruption. I heard the wailing in the distance and noted it closing in on us. It wasn’t until O’Hannah dropped his question, however, that the cause of that increasing sound of distress appeared next to the boatswain, now at full volume.
The merwoman’s scaled skin had flushed deep purple, her bulging eyes red from weeping. When the two sailors attempted to stop her, she pushed them off and threw herself into the room. I had to act fast to keep her from falling on the body, Elias smirking at me while I threatened his life with the frown of fury on my face.
“My Martin!” Her sobbing made her almost impossible to understand, the weight of her body far more intense than had she been another race. Merpeople’s physical density always surprised me, though this was the first time I’d been under the near dead weight of one in the throes of grief. “Not my Martin!”
I guided her toward the bench seat at the far end of the room, sitting her down and taking her hands. It was obvious from the ring on her finger—and the matching one on the corpse—that this was his wife, so I addressed her accordingly.
“Mrs. Underwave,” I said.
“Coral,” she sniffled, still weeping but seeming to pull herself together. She kept glancing at the body and then back to me as though she couldn’t tear her eyes away even while being unable to bear the sight. “What happened to my husband?”
“I’m Inquisitor Drake,” I said, before nodding at Elias. “My partner, Hunter Barrow. We’re going to find out for you.”
The woman sobbed softly then nodded, her heavy, green-tinted hair falling around her in seaweed-like waves, her color returning to the pale bluish pink of her race, hands clutching at me with the clammy and rough texture of someone of the water. “Thank you, Inquisitor,” she said. “This is horrible. Who would want to kill my Martin?”
I happened to be looking at the chief and boatswain at the moment she asked and though I didn’t have a definitive answer, the flicker of guilt and unhappiness that crossed both men’s faces had me curious.
Mother. His mental contact surprised me enough that I looked up, the puppy shifting from one foot to the other and only then did I notice his distress. I’m sorry, I know I promised. But Mother?
What is it? I didn’t have time to take him off the ship if he needed to relieve himself, but maybe one of the crew would do it for me?
The body smells, Mother. The mastiff let out a low moan and licked his chops.
I know, I sent back, not meaning to be impatient. He wasn’t cut out for this kind of work, not at his age.
There’s something wrong with how he smells. The puppy stood then sat again, obviously anxious and unsure. His head turned, nose pointing out the door. It’s coming from out there, Mother. The wrongness. Please, can I find out where it’s coming from?
I sat back, releasing the widow’s hands, frowning now. What does it smell like?
I don’t know, the puppy admitted. But it’s wrong and it’s all over him and this ship.
