Crime Spells

But there was nothing to See.

“Do something,” he whispered to himself. And then he Saw it.

Kim was holding his elbows tight against himself, holding the goblet secure around its side. Eddie concentrated, squinting with his mind even as his eyes narrowed. A slender chain appeared, trailing off the goblet toward the counter, toward Peeve. Eddie twisted that way, thinking to warn Peeve, when it hit him.

The other goblet. And then he looked again and saw the chain pulse and undulate, toward Kim and his rings. When the pulse reached him, the gold symbol on Kim’s forehead glowed a little brighter. And then the fakir advanced, a bit stronger. It was feeding off the goblets somehow. It was magic.

“I will fight the magic,” Boukai had said. “You will fight the man.” Eddie frowned.

The magic is kicking his ass, Eddie thought. But Kim’s still a man. And that was it.

“I know how to fight a man,” he said, and clambered to his feet.

He charged.

He was within two steps before Kim dragged his attention from the battle with Boukai to see the threat. All he had time to do was shout “No!” before Eddie slammed into him. He hit Kim in the midsection, crushing the goblet between them. The rim of it cut painfully into his shoulder even through the fabric of Kim’s coat. They fell in a pile on the floor.

Boukai screamed. “The chalice!”

Eddie fumbled for the goblet. Kim brought one hand down on it and wrapped his other around the back of Eddie’s neck. His touch burned like fire. Eddie screamed and lashed out. His fist co

“Got it!” he called. There was no answer. He looked.

Boukai was on his knees, his arms held above his head. The tendrils that had so adroitly fought the fakir were slender shadows of themselves, and white had leached its way up the tattoos on his arms. Eddie looked at the fakir, writhing above him, probing with taloned wings. He turned back around, cupped Kim’s head in his hands, and slammed it against the floor. The man whimpered. Eddie did it again. And again.

He stopped.

The rings. He reached down and grabbed Kim’s limp hand. He clutched at the ring there. It burned his fingers. He yelped and let go. Checked over his shoulder. Boukai was on his back, but the fakir was motionless, waiting.

“Peeve!” Eddie called.

“Is he dead?” Peeve asked, peeking over the countertop.

“Get over here. I need you to take his rings off.”

Peeve crept out from behind the counter, leaving the shotgun where it was. “Why can’t you do it?”

“Because they burn my fingers.”

“Why are your fingers more important than mine?”

“Peeve, damn it. Just do it.”

Peeve reached out with one finger and tapped the ring. Nothing happened. He tapped again. Then he grabbed it. “It’s barely even warm,” he said.

“Take it off,” Eddie said, watching the fakir. He felt something nibbling at the edges of his awareness. He hoped it wasn’t the cloud starting to gnaw on him the way it had taken Gong’s arm off. “Then the other one. Be careful.”

“Careful of what?”

“I don’t know, do I?” Eddie waited. Peeve got both rings off, and nothing happened. The fakir didn’t move. Neither did Boukai.

“Now what?” Peeve asked.

“The chalice,” Boukai whispered. “Get the goblets.”

Eddie scooted over to where the man lay motionless. His arms were at his sides, all the color gone from the tattoos. The skin beneath them was as white as porcelain. Eddie looked closer, saw the lines etched in Boukai’s face. His breathing was shallow. Peeve came back with a goblet in each hand.

“The rings,” Boukai breathed. “Put one in each cup.” Peeve dropped them in. “Now hold the tops together.” Peeve tipped them against each other. Boukai’s hand came up and grasped Eddie’s wrist weakly. “Now, seer. See the words inside.”

Eddie looked at the goblets, squinted. He saw many goblets, one after the other. Where there had been three before there were ten, twenty, a hundred. He concentrated on the center. He saw inside, saw the rings swirling in a vortex of light. He saw the words flare to life on the inside of the cup. He spoke the words.

There was a great tearing sound, a flash of light and pain, and then cold.

“Ow!” Peeve cried, dropping the goblets. “They’re frozen.”

“It is done,” Boukai breathed, letting his head roll to the side. Tears leaked down the side of his face. “Mariel, it is done.” He looked back at Eddie, smiling. It seemed some of his strength was returning. “Look,” he said.

The fakir was gone. Eddie picked up the goblets, looked inside. The rings were gone. Behind them, Kim moaned. Peeve looked over at him and then stood. “I’m calling the cops,” he said.

“Go ahead,” Eddie said. “They’ll never believe it.”

Boukai shuddered and laughed. “You are right,” he said. “But it does not matter. Without his fakir Kim is nothing.” He rolled onto his side and reached toward his coat. “We must be going, Eddie,” he said.

“Where?”

Boukai sat up. “You’ve learned much tonight,” he said. “Think of what I can teach you tomorrow.” He chuckled and jerked the coat down from where it had lain across the counter. He dug in the folds until he produced the flask. A swig seemed to give him the strength to sit up and start rolling his sleeves down.

“What else can I learn?” Eddie asked, standing. He looked down at the exhausted man sitting beside him.

“You can See,” Boukai said, extended a hand. “Now you must Do.”

After a moment, Eddie took the proffered hand.

Faith’s Curse by Randall N. Bills

They say a body isn’t dead until it’s at your feet. And warm.

Adrian Khol’s eyes traced the outline of the victim, trying to find recognizably human features. No clothing was apparent; the ash that coated everything within arm’s reach? Stranger still, no marks marred the concrete of the co

“Yeah, that’s warm enough, alright.”

“Uh?” Martinez ’ response barely came through the donut filling his mouth to bursting. His smacking lips echoed in the starkly lit tu

Adrian managed to keep his lips sealed around his reaction to his assistant’s inability to take four steps before tearing off a wrapper from some chemical-packed sugary bar and slamming it past bleeding gums. A look at his aura almost a year ago during the first interview had been painful, his body tainted with such vileness. How could he ingest such filth? After a year, he knew it wouldn’t do any good to voice such questions.

This is the best I can get? Adrian sighed heavily as he pushed fists deeper into his long overcoat’s pockets against the cold-with only his assistant around, it wasn’t worth the expenditure of energy to alleviate the discomfort-and moved around the body to get different perspectives. He carefully stepped to avoid placing his imported leather shoes in the strange ash.