West Coast Witch Read online

  “My scent?” I furrowed my brow. “But that would make you a…”

  “A were, yea.” Diana nodded. “I’m a werefox, Eric, like Sam.”

  “Wait, Sam Coolidge was a were?”

  She laughed, and raised her arm with tattoos on it. “You didn’t recognize these?” Diana shook her head. “Wow. Did you, like, live under a rock while you were dating? You didn't know she was a were?”

  Was I really that clueless? “Before yesterday, I’d never met a vampire. Hell, I hadn’t really had much experience with Arcanes in general, before.” I thought back to the office. Had those two men we’d run into been weres of some sort as well? They had matching tattoos, and one had sniffed the air like Diana had. It seemed like a good bet.

  “And you think you’re going to be able to navigate the supernatural community of San Francisco, find Sam, and bring her back?” She sighed. “God is quite a comedian.”

  “Playing to an audience too afraid to laugh.” I finished. “Mencken.”

  She gave me a glance that made me feel like I was being judged in that instant. “You don’t strike me as the type to quote philosophy.”

  I shrugged. “Hey, I’ve got a master’s in Literature. I’m smarter than the average bear.”

  Diana laughed. “All right, Eric. You’ve convinced me not to call the cops. How can I help?”

  “Well, I was hoping I could ask a few questions, first.” I said. I really wished I’d had the forethought to bring a note pad or something.

  “Shoot, Eric.” She said. “Can I get you anything to drink?” She asked as she stood..

  “Uh, yea. A glass of water would be great. The heat’s killer.” She smiled, and disappeared to the kitchen. I followed her into it. “So, the first thing I wanted to know was…well, had anything strange popped up recently in her life, or anything?”

  She nodded. “Yea, she said she’d found a new bar she liked to go to. It was an all-nighter club, a vamp one. She said she’d found someone there, but…well, it was weird. I didn’t find any new smells on her, but she was telling the truth.”

  “Do you remember the name of the club?”

  “The Last Drop. It’s over in the Castro.” Diana answered. She handed me the water. “I never went. Was a bit too wild for my tastes.”

  “And Sam?” I asked. Our relationship hadn't been much of the go out and party type, though to be fair, it had been a weird one.

  She laughed. “She liked to work hard, party harder. Sam fit in just perfect there,” she explained. “Eric, I…well, I don’t know what could have happened to her. But whatever it is, she’s a tough gal.” She fidgeted. “She could take care of herself.”

  Work hard, party harder? That sounded like a were. I nodded. “I just want to make sure she gets home. Did she ever say who that new someone was?”

  “No, she wanted to save it for a surprise.” She shrugged. “Whatever that was.”

  “All right.” I took down a gulp from the water. It was refreshing, but it was so hot out I ended up downing half the glass in one gulp. “I wanted to ask for one more thing.”

  “What’s that?” She gave me an inquisitive look.

  “I was hoping I could grab Sam’s hairbrush, comb. Something of hers like that.”

  She nodded. “Yea, sure. Just wait here a minute, and I’ll go grab it, okay?” Diana disappeared off into one of the back rooms of the small house, leaving me there in the kitchen.

  I started to reflect back on things. Maybe the Last Drop would be the best place to start. But if Sam had already been missing a week, her chances were way too slim. I’d read somewhere that the chances of finding a missing person decreased exponentially after the first twenty-four hours. Or was it forty-eight? Whatever it was, it was too damn long. It had already been a week, and I was new to this. How could I find her when the cops and a seasoned PI couldn’t?

  Doubt, I told myself, would have to wait. I was a witch, whatever that meant, but I was also a Carpenter. Carpenters weren’t quitters.

  Diana returned after a few minutes, after I’d already emptied the rest of the glass. She had in her hand a simple plastic brush, and handed it to me.

  “What are you going to do with it?” She asked.

  I decided that lying wouldn’t do her any good. “I’m going to hopefully use it to find her.”

  “And how’s a brush going to help you?”

  I thought carefully on how to approach this. I remembered Amy's warning, to keep my gift safe, but at the moment I figured I had to get Diana to trust me.. “Magic.”

  She had a look of disbelief on her face. “Magic? Magic’s not real.”

  “Hey, we live in a time with vampires, werewolves, and all other sorts of folk. You’re really going to doubt me?”

  “Biology major.” She said, offering a shrug. “Hey, I gotta be a skeptic.”

  “I’m a witch.” I explained. “And no, I don’t understand it at all. I just know that I can do stuff other people can’t. This shit hasn’t been explained to me in full, really. I’m still learning, but I’m going to give this the best honest chance I can.”

  “Well, then, maybe magic will give you something that the police haven’t fond.”

  “That’s the hope. Thanks for your time, Diana.”

  “Anything to help.” Diana promised. She offered her hand to me, and I shook it. “Keep in touch, please?”

  “Will do.” I said, and she showed me to the door. I walked back to the jeep, and put the brush into the glove compartment of the car.

  I called Amy, who answered it on the third ring. “Amy.” She sounded like I had woken her up. Oops.

  “I got the brush, sensei.” I said. “What now?”

  “Shut up, let me go back to my rest, and continue on. We will talk tomorrow.”

  “Okay, yea, but before you go, Diana, Sam’s room mate, said that Sam was a regular at a vamp bar named the Last Drop. Know anything about it?”

  “Yes. It is a place we do not want to go to,” she said.

  I was a little flustered from that, I would admit. “Wait, we have a lead, and you don’t want me to follow up on it?” I asked.

  “Precisely. Not if it leads to the Last Drop.” She said. “We are going to meet tomorrow, and you are going to learn how to do the tracking spell. Am I understood?”

  I sighed. “Crystal.” I hung up, and tossed the phone into the passenger’s seat.

  Okay, remember what I said about Carpenters not being quitters? We’re stubborn as all hell, when we want to be. At the time, it seemed like Amy had been avoiding something. So, I made the decision right then and there in the car.

  I pulled out my phone, and checked the business hours of the Last Drop.

  A few minutes after I got home, my phone started to ring. The number wasn't one I recognized, so I just picked it up. “Eric Carpenter.” I answered.

  “Mister Carpenter? This is Detective-Inspector Hernandez, homicide division.”

  “Oh, hi, Inspector.” My mind immediately jumped to the worst. Had they searched Francis's office? Had they found out that we had been there? “What can I do for you?”

  “Were you asking some questions of Mrs. Bethany Coolidge yesterday?”

  I waited a second. “Uh, yes, I guess. I just was telling her about what happened to Raymond Francis.”

  “Mister Carpenter, can you do me a favor?”

  I rolled my eyes, and forced myself to keep my voice cool. “Sure, Inspector. What can I do?”

  “Stop asking questions and lay low for a bit. If there's questions, we'll ask them. Is that clear?”

  I rolled my eyes. I had absolutely no intention of doing such a thing. “Crystal clear, Inspector.” I said with as straight a tone as I could muster.

  “Fantastic.” The man said, aggravation peaking in his voice. “Have a nice day.” He hung up, leaving me holding a dead line. Hernandez's call was just the sort of thing I did not need. If I ran into the cops during the investigation, that would be hard to explain. But, He
rnandez waving me off was like a big fat green light to me. Some small part of me surmised that, if people were telling me to stop, that might just mean that I needed to push harder, go faster.

  The first thing I did after getting the call was to hide the brush. Amy wanted me to hold onto it, but well, she didn’t actually say what to do with it until then. I went to my dresser, and opened the bottom drawer. I stashed the brush underneath some of my socks, then went to dress for the Last Drop. What did one even wear to a vampire bar?

  My thoughts were broken by a knock at the door. I went to answer it, and I nearly slammed it shut right then. It was the crazy guy from the beach party.

  “Hello, Eric.” While it did look like Nick, he certainly looked different. Instead of jeans and a t-shirt, he wore a gray suit that looked rather impressive. I guessed it wasn't like the cheap one I had in my closet. “May I come in?”

  I wanted to say no, but I didn’t have a good enough reason. Darn my good upbringing. “Yea, sure. What do you want?” I asked as I stood aside to let him in.

  Nick chuckled as he walked in. “Oh, so polite. Are you going to offer me a drink too?”

  “Not really, no. You are a bit creepy, to be honest, but I’m going to hear you out.”

  “Creepy?” He walked to the kitchen table. “That’s a new one.”

  “You do that weird fortune teller thing, now you come here out of the blue. Who are you?”

  He gave an odd, cryptic smile. “Nothing stranger than you, witch.”

  I tensed immediately. How did he know? My hand went to the knife, drawing it in a single motion. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Put the knife away,” he said. “I’d win, kid.” His eyes glinted dangerously. “You would end up on the floor, hurting bad, if I was in a good mood.”

  I closed the knife and pocked it. “Fine. Speak your piece and get out.”

  “Now where's that hospitality?” he deadpanned, and then continued. “Eric Carpenter, like I said, my name is Nick. I run the Arcane Division of the Federal Marshals. Do you know who we are?”

  I nodded. The Arcane Division was a big news item of late. They handled supernatural crime that local governments couldn’t handle. “So, you go to San Francisco beach parties in your free time?”

  “No, I’ll admit that the party was primarily so I could meet you.” He shrugged. “Though I do like my women.”

  “Fantastic.” I rolled my eyes. “So, what do you want to talk to me about?”

  “Well, it’s not every day I get to speak with a witch.” Nick folded his hands

  I took a step towards him at the table. “How did you know it? I thought only Amy kn-”

  Nick put up a hand. “Wait, Amy? Is that what she calls herself now? Oh, that’s grand.”

  “You know Amy?” My gaze focused on him. “You’re like her, aren’t you?”

  “We come of the same ilk.” He rolled his eyes. “She’s far more noble than I am.”

  “But you are similar.” That was interesting in itself, I thought.

  “Indeed,” He said, and he withdrew a small notebook from his jacket. He started scratching notes in it. “You’re looking into Sam Coolidge’s disappearance, yes?”

  “How did you know that?” I asked.

  “Raymond Francis was investigating her disappearance. A day after you find his body, you meet Amy and you head to Coolidge’s house. Besides, your response confirms it.”

  “Right.” I murmured. I went to the fridge, grabbing a can of soda for myself. “So, what of it?”

  “Francis was not the only one investigating this disappearance. One of my marshals, James Thomas, was also looking into the matter.”

  “Why was a federal marshal looking into her disappearance?” I asked him.

  “Coolidge’s late father was a friend of mine. I had assigned Thomas as a favor to her mother. However, either he got too close, or my Marshal is just missing.”

  “So, now there’s two investigators linked with this case who have ended up dead or missing. Let me take a wild shot in the dark here, you want me to also look into this Thomas’ disappearance?”

  “Why, how very perceptive of you, Mister Carpenter.” Nick gave a curt nod to me. “Yes, I’d like you to take a look into this. Our interests run parallel in this matter. I have a feeling that if you can figure out what happened to Thomas, you may very well come closer to what happened to Samantha Coolidge.”

  I took a sip from the soda, then nodded. “All right, I’ll do it. Where do I start?”

  Nick smiled, and reached into his jacket with his pen hand. He brought out a key card, the kind used for hotel rooms and secured work places. “Thomas was staying at the Sunset Inn here in town. He kept a case notebook, as well as maintaining a file. Both would be extremely helpful, I think.”

  “Why can't you do this?” To be honest, I was already getting myself wrapped up in one investigation. Two would be crazy, wouldn't it? Not if any Chandler novel I had read was true.

  “Because I think you're the right person. And as much as I would want to, I can't personally look into the matter.”

  I took the key card from Nick’s hand. “Okay, I’ll look into it. Anything else I need to know?” I finished off my soda, and turned to toss it in the little bag I kept under the sink for recycling.

  I waited for a reply from Nick, but none came. I waited a beat, then turned around.

  “Nick?”

  The chair was empty, and there was no sign of the suited man. All that was left was the notepad he had been writing on. I walked over to the table, and grabbed it up. He had written on it, in an efficient, tidy cursive.

  Eric,

  Every good detective needs a notebook. Consider it a thank you for looking into Thomas. I’ll keep in touch.

  Nick.

  Below, he had scrawled a number, with a Virginia area code. I pocketed the notebook, and decided to head to the Sunset Inn. I was investigating a Federal Marshal's disappearance now, as well as one of a friend. What was I getting myself into?

  I still had a few hours until the Last Drop would open. After all, it was a vampire bar. Arcanes were primarily a nocturnal crowd, so most cities had active night businesses to suit them, especially in the late evenings and early mornings. Another small kicker was that television stations replaced terrible late night infomercials with actual programming, to keep their ratings steady. A score for night owls like me.

  The Last Drop wouldn’t be open, much less active, until at least eleven. So, I went to the Sunset Inn. It was a shabby motel, the kind with the rooms directly overlooking parking lot and weekly rates advertised. I parked the Jeep, and stepped into the afternoon sun.

  As I walked, the unfamiliar weight of Amy’s knife sat in my back pocket. I had never carried around a weapon before, and it was an interesting feeling. It had a weight heavier than what it actually was. It changed how I walked, just slightly. Only a small part of me wanted to dwell on the fact that knives like the one Amy had given me were illegal in San Francisco. The sensible part of me remarked on the fact that, if I wanted safety, legal innocence, and boredom, I should have told Amy to get lost.

  Too late for that. I walked to the office of the hotel. It was typical of the places like it. No air conditioning, apart from a few fans, a counter with an ancient computer, and that stand of brochures and pamphlets of attractions that every cheap motel has. There has to be a rule or something that makes it mandatory.

  The man behind the desk, an overweight Latino with long hair pulled back in a tail. He wore a Hawaiian shirt, and had a generally bored expression. “Can I help you?”

  “Yea, you can, actually.” I said. “I’m looking for a friend who is booked here. He goes by the name of James Thomas.”

  “Thomas.” He echoed. I took a quick glance at his name tag. Javier.

  “Yea,” I continued. “He was staying weekly, I think, would have paid on a government card.” I reached into my jacket, pulling out the key card Nick had given me. “He gave me his ca
rd, but he’s such a scatterbrain. He forgot to tell me his room number.”

  Javier nodded. “Uh, yea, sure thing, man.” He took the card from me, swiped it in a machine, and started to type on the antiquated computer. “I thought he was an out-of-towner. He had a Midwestern accent.”

  “Oh, yea, that’s Jim.” I bluffed, hoping he would take it. Only for a second, did I think about how I had to have looked.

  “Right. Okay,” He handed the card back to me. “It’s room four. Just go up the stairs, second room down.”

  “Thanks, Javier.” I felt a little tension leave my shoulders. I shouldn’t be this good at lying. Then again, Javier hardly seemed like the guy who gave a crap.

  I left the office and headed out to the rooms. After climbing concrete stairs with a very odd stain on them, I made it to room four. The key card took three swipes, but it opened.

  The room looked like it had been tossed. The room was a mess, with clothes and sheets all over the bed in piles. I closed the door behind me, heading to the bed.

  I imagined, before the mess, Thomas had been a pretty neat guy. He had dress shirts, slacks, and they all looked to be of at least a decent quality. I’ve got a suit somewhere in my closet, back from when I had ideas of being a teacher, and it was nowhere near as high-quality as his.

  I started to search through his suitcase, a large black deal, the kind that could fit an entire family’s weekend clothes. Inside was some more clothes, and cardboard small box the size of a brick. I opened it up. There were bullets. A lot of bullets. I took one out. I wasn't not terribly knowledgeable about guns, but there seemed to be something odd about them. They had an odd tinge to the metal, a silver mixed in with the copper. I put it back, and closed the box. I was about to put the box back, when I felt something on the bottom of it.

  I turned it over, and saw a piece of paper taped to the bottom of the box. “Well,” I murmured. “That’s interesting.” I picked it off and opened it. It was a page that had been torn from a notepad, if the tears on each were any indication.

  I opened them, and started to read.

  Nick, you bastard, when you read this, get the cavalry. I’m in over my head here. It’s big, man. We’re talking one of your top twenty here. I’m not sure what’s going on, but I think they’re close, and they are definitely on to me.