ChapterSeven
Alecand I competed for who could pack away the most bacon and pancakes. Several of my new co-workers, none of whom I’d met yet, watched in horrified fascination while we feasted, pausing only long enough to listen to my morning briefing, which boiled down to stay out of trouble and review cases until the chiefs had a chance to do more research into the curse.
I won on the pancake front while he dominated on the bacon front.
Alec maintained a relationship with consciousness for approximately five minutes before he passed out, and I decided as there was nothing realistically dangerous in range of the bed beyond a firearm that wouldn’t fire itself when unloaded and some pillows and files, I freed my hand so I could work while he slept off his act of gluttony.
The amount of sugar-filled syrup I had consumed would send me into orbit for at least a few hours, and I meant to make the most of them.
“I thought you had to stay handcuffed,” my new co-worker stated in a doubtful tone.
The poor guy, Officer Jacobson according to his name tag, would learn I bent the rules whenever I could as a matter of survival. Playing fair meant I needed to play hard, too—and I’d mastered the art of bending rules to keep my job. “The handcuffs are actually to make sure we stick close enough together. The Devil seemed to indicate if I stayed within a certain radius there wouldn’t be an issue.” I hesitated, and then I shrugged. “Mostly, I suspect it’s more of a caution issue. If I’m alert and on my guard, then I should be able to dodge most unfortunate circumstances. The curse doesn’t seem rigged to hurt or killhim. Unless you decide to shoot me, I’m perfectly safe where I’m at, and I can’t control where you’re at. And if something like an assault lamp tries to get me, I’m better able to defend myself. It’s also much easier to type with both hands. This also lets him get better sleep, and he looks like he needs it.”
“Yes, Sam was concerned about his physical and mental health. He’s been through a lot the past few days. He asked me to let you know if you have any problems to give him a call, and he’ll bring in a professional to help him. He’s concerned because Mr. Mortan has not been nearly as distressed as everyone believes he should be.” Jacobson ferried more of the filing boxes closer to the bed, taking care not to stack them too high. “I’m putting the oldest cases on top so you can start at the beginning.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry you’ve been assigned to be my gopher for the day.”
“I’m getting a hazard bonus for being in the same room with someone known to be cursed. Honestly, I don’t think there’ll be a problem.”
“Why not?”
“Before you came, I got to handle some of the files, and everything I’ve seen indicates they were crimes already in progress; he was just an unfortunate witness. There were some freak accidents, but they’re all things that would have happened even if he hadn’t been present. Bailey agrees with my theory, but Sam doesn’t. Sam is jumpy, though.”
“Wait, Bailey is the one agreeing with the sensible theory?” I blurted. “She seems so…”
“Flaky? She’s really not. She’s wickedly smart, but she came to the force with some significant self-esteem issues. Honestly, I suspect Sam does agree with her, but she’sdeterminedto prove she’s right.”
Ah. I understood; if she suffered from self-esteem issues and her husband believed she was right, he might be willing to take the fall on being wrong to help her build confidence. “She seemed flighty, but I didn’t really get a sense of self-esteem problems,” I admitted.
“They’re rampant, but you’ll get used to it. She’s a force of nature, and she’s a huge asset to the NYPD, but she has her moments. Word on the wire is you can handle riding her at her worst, so you’re going to end up doing a lot of extra training. Outside of Sam, most of us can’t handle her for more than a single jump, and if we do, we get sick. Perky spends the rest of the day throwing up after a single jump, but he’s intolerant to teleportation.”
Well, I was grateful I hadn’t gotten sick, but I worried for the other cops, who knew from bitter experience they couldn’t handle her jumps. “What does she need a rider for?”
“Let’s just say she’s our resident explosives expert, but the lack of hands means she sometimes struggles with the payloads. Particularly, the removal of the disarmed bombs. If she detonates a bomb, she says it tickles nicely and asks for another one to play with. You would not be in the blast radius while she’s playing with bombs, but you would be asked to help with those sorts of emergencies. You’d also handle recording and gathering evidence when she’s a cindercorn, taking notes, and things like that. It’ll be a good gig for you, because if you’re working a case and need transportation, you have your very own cindercorn to take you to where you need to go in a hurry. Both chiefs will transform for emergencies now, which is nice, but having a good rider for Bailey will be a huge help.”
“I know nothing about explosives,” I warned.
“Trust me, you’ll learn,” he replied. “We’ve all learned. Where cindercorns go, explosions happen.”
“That sounds rather alarming.”
“It is.” Grinning, he moved a few more boxes into place. “How can I help you get to the bottom of this case faster, McMarin?”
“Find me the oldest box of files, we’ll split it in half, and we’ll make note of everyone with any involvement, confirm the case’s status, and see what we can learn about this supposed curse.”
“Supposed?”
I raised a brown. “The Devilisthe Lord of Lies, and even when people tell me he’s rather honest, I’ll search for proof while taking the route of most caution—and I rejected one of his incubi.”
“Oh, that’s definitely a way to get yourself tricked into marriage but little else,” Jacobson replied.
“Pardon, but did you say tricked into marriage?”
“Think what you will of the Devil, but there’s little he loves more than a wedding.”
Heaven help us all, for we would need all the help we could get. “I got sucker punched by an archangel yesterday, Jacobson. I’m not sure I can handle even more insanity quite yet.”
“Just be grateful it wasn’t cancer. The cancer patients are usually partway through their battle by the time an angel gets a hold of them. The sucker punch isfarbetter than the cancer treatments. The chiefs typically make cancer patients do traditional treatments first; if those don’t work, the next treatment is a torture session at the hands of an angel. The cancer survivors at our precinct make it pretty clear you do not want the angelic treatments unless necessaryorit is to make certain the cancer doesn’t return. All of the cancer patients get that. It also takes an important owed favor to treat cancer. Your issues were minor in comparison—not minor in how much you were suffering, but it was minor to fix in comparison.”
