Introductions were made by way of Maricela rattling off everyone’s names. Kori Spalding, the team’s senior analyst, crouched to be more at Fatima’s eye level. She was a mundane human, with not a trace of magic in her aura. “She’s cute.”
Fatima preened.
Spencer glanced down at the psychopomp. “She likes to be petted.”
Kori seemed hesitant but game enough when Fatima padded forward to nose at her finger. A quiet, raspy chirp got Kori to carefully stroke a hand over her back, causing Fatima to arch into her fingers. “I thought she’d be a ghost.”
“She is when she wants to be.”
“Is she dead?” Hudson Coleman, the team’s other analyst, asked.
Spencer shrugged. “Fatima is a psychopomp. She exists where the dead are, but she’s not dead how we think of it.”
He’d spent most of his life correcting other people’s misconceptions of himself and Fatima. The people he’d worked with closely at the PIA had eventually stopped being wary around him. Spencer wasn’t looking forward to experiencing that awkwardness over and over again with every case he was assigned as part of the Rapid Response Division.
“I expect all of you to work toward our common goal of retrieving the missing artifact,” Maricela said.
“Of course, ma’am,” Levi said crisply. “Happy to bring Bailey up to speed.”
“I know you will. Good hunting.”
Maricela left, and Spencer stood there awkwardly for a couple of seconds before he cleared his throat. “Got a spare desk I can use?”
Levi sighed. “Not yet, but we’ll clear you off a corner of the worktable for now.”
Kori was already shuffling paper and photographs aside, making a spot for him. Spencer set his laptop bag on the floor and the laptop on the table while Fatima jumped onto the seat he was going to use.
Fish?Fatima asked.
Spencer scratched behind her ears. “Tomorrow, I promise.”
Fatima huffed at him before jumping onto the table to curl up in a ball beside his laptop, closing her eyes and ignoring everyone. He moved his laptop a little away from her and got settled before catching Levi’s eye. “Ready when you are.”
Casework was always about the details, and Spencer knew from painful experience that they could be deadly.
* * *
Morning dawned cold and wet, last night’s storm reduced to a misty drizzle not worth the effort of an umbrella. Spencer still brought one, the travel-sized version tucked into the deep pocket of his wool coat as he walked toward Pike Place Market. Fatima trotted alongside him, seemingly unbothered by the wet cement. Their hotel was close enough to the famous waterside spot that Spencer had left the rental car in the hotel’s valet parking garage. March was cold, but the walk warmed him up, as did the mild heat charm set into his coat.
Fish, Fatima said, sounding determined in the way she got when on the hunt.
“Just don’t be seen if you’re going to steal any,” Spencer warned.
She turned her head up and gave him a scornful look, all peeled-back lips, wrinkled nose, twitching whiskers, and judging eyes.I will not get caught.
“Sure, sure. Don’t get me in trouble.”
I will get fish. You will get coffee so you are less annoying.
“I lead you to fish, and this is the thanks I get.”
Spencer wasn’t going to argue with her though. He was, admittedly, dying for coffee. They parted ways on Pine Street, with Fatima loping off toward Pike Place Market while Spencer ducked into Seattle Coffee Works. He was too desperate to wait in a long line at the so-called famous “first” Starbucks. He’d have stopped for some before now, but Fatima had been insistent that her breakfast came before anything else.
Once Spencer had retrieved his coffee, sucking down the first sip like it was a cure-all for his sanity, he headed for Pike Place Market. Weak morning sunlight gave a hazy glow through the lingering fog along the harbor and Elliott Bay. Despite it being a weekday, a decent-sized crowd was outside the fish market stall nestled beneath the iconic red Public Market Center sign.
Spencer could hear the fishmongers joking as they loudly called back and forth to each other while tossing large fish around to the delight of tourists. He posted himself up by a pillar some distance away, keeping an eye out. Maybe a minute later, the joking turned into cries of disbelief as a whole salmon seemingly disappeared mid-toss. The fishmongers looked perplexed; a few people seemed to think it was a well-played trick, while others appeared apprehensive.
Fatima looked very, very pleased with herself as she weaved through the crowd on nimble paws, the missing salmon held in her mouth. No one paid any attention to her as she hurried to where Spencer stood, her tail sticking straight up and flicking back and forth proudly.
