them. He covered it with the charred boards that had been a cabinet face, again matching the pieces to the marks they’d made, leaving her crime scene as undisturbed as possible. Then he stood up. She still had that gun pointed at him.
“Why don’t you just shoot me and get it over with?”
“Can’t. The demon won’t let me.”
There it was again. He shook his head. “Look, I wouldn’t be here if a demon hadn’t started to burn me alive for refusing. I don’t have much choice. How about you put that cannon away so we can talk like civilized people?”
“Drop the cane and I’ll think about it.”
So much for people not seeing that his cane was a weapon. But she still wore the bandages and bruises from it, and had seen the blade inside. She was a cop—he was surprised she hadn’t asked to see his concealed weapons permit. Which, of course, he didn’t have.
She didn’t seem to care much for standard police procedure. Breaking into his forge without a warrant, however she’d done it—that could count as “hot pursuit” under the meaning of the act. Leaving without arresting him, standing by in the shadows watching while he destroyed evidence? Not really. Likewise for letting a civilian poke around in a crime scene.
“Look, I need to get out of here. That seal is making my teeth ache. It’s whining at me. Either let me get some distance from it, or let me take it back to my forge and heal it. Or shoot me.”
At that point, he wasn’t sure he cared which way it went. That thing’s whine was making his teeth ache, throbbing from his wisdom teeth up inside his temples and pressing on his brain until his eyes watered. Yes, he still had his “wisdom” teeth, small wisdom they conferred on him. Dentists hadn’t been invented when his teeth grew in, and he was just lucky they grew in straight.
Or maybe his species didn’t have the same problems with teeth that humans did. He wasn’t sure which.
He moved across to the broken side door, still testing the surface with his cane as he went. Solid. Solid like rock, not even the echo you’d get from a concrete slab or stone paving over empty space. Which didn’t fit . . .
“Does this place have a cellar?”
She kept her distance, kept the gun braced on her left wrist and cast and pointed at his chest, kept the remains of benches or pews between them, as if he was maybe a kung fu master in the movies and could drop her with a flying side kick from twenty feet away. She just shook her head at his question.
Outside, in a narrow alley next to crumbling brick walls that still showed scorch marks from the synagogue fire next door, the star’s whine faded back to a thin plaintive buzz like a fly trapped on the other side of a window. He ducked under the yellow tape, took a deep breath, and dropped the cane to rattle on cracked potholed asphalt. After all, he’d already decided that he wanted to live a while longer.
“Cellar?”
She’d followed him through the door but still kept her distance, trash and bits of burned building between them, still kept her pistol ready. She shook her head again. “Not that I know of. Why?”
“When I held the star, it wasn’t just talking to me. I could see something. A black space that felt hollow, like a cave, with moving lights in some kind of haze or smoke. They scared me. I don’t know what they were, but I didn’t want to meet them.”
“Salamanders? That’s how they got in to cause the fire?”
He closed his eyes for a moment and shuddered, remembering that dark vision. “Not salamanders. Those things were mean. Salamanders are just big friendly puppies that happen to start fires. Give them a safe place to play and they make the whole room happy. What I saw and felt, those things fed off pain and hate and sorrow, not wood. And they were hungry. A long time since their last meal.”
“Nothing I’ve ever heard of.” She paused and clicked something on the side of her gun. He hoped she was setting
“Why don’t you just shoot me and get it over with?”
“Can’t. The demon won’t let me.”
There it was again. He shook his head. “Look, I wouldn’t be here if a demon hadn’t started to burn me alive for refusing. I don’t have much choice. How about you put that cannon away so we can talk like civilized people?”
“Drop the cane and I’ll think about it.”
So much for people not seeing that his cane was a weapon. But she still wore the bandages and bruises from it, and had seen the blade inside. She was a cop—he was surprised she hadn’t asked to see his concealed weapons permit. Which, of course, he didn’t have.
She didn’t seem to care much for standard police procedure. Breaking into his forge without a warrant, however she’d done it—that could count as “hot pursuit” under the meaning of the act. Leaving without arresting him, standing by in the shadows watching while he destroyed evidence? Not really. Likewise for letting a civilian poke around in a crime scene.
“Look, I need to get out of here. That seal is making my teeth ache. It’s whining at me. Either let me get some distance from it, or let me take it back to my forge and heal it. Or shoot me.”
At that point, he wasn’t sure he cared which way it went. That thing’s whine was making his teeth ache, throbbing from his wisdom teeth up inside his temples and pressing on his brain until his eyes watered. Yes, he still had his “wisdom” teeth, small wisdom they conferred on him. Dentists hadn’t been invented when his teeth grew in, and he was just lucky they grew in straight.
Or maybe his species didn’t have the same problems with teeth that humans did. He wasn’t sure which.
He moved across to the broken side door, still testing the surface with his cane as he went. Solid. Solid like rock, not even the echo you’d get from a concrete slab or stone paving over empty space. Which didn’t fit . . .
“Does this place have a cellar?”
She kept her distance, kept the gun braced on her left wrist and cast and pointed at his chest, kept the remains of benches or pews between them, as if he was maybe a kung fu master in the movies and could drop her with a flying side kick from twenty feet away. She just shook her head at his question.
Outside, in a narrow alley next to crumbling brick walls that still showed scorch marks from the synagogue fire next door, the star’s whine faded back to a thin plaintive buzz like a fly trapped on the other side of a window. He ducked under the yellow tape, took a deep breath, and dropped the cane to rattle on cracked potholed asphalt. After all, he’d already decided that he wanted to live a while longer.
“Cellar?”
She’d followed him through the door but still kept her distance, trash and bits of burned building between them, still kept her pistol ready. She shook her head again. “Not that I know of. Why?”
“When I held the star, it wasn’t just talking to me. I could see something. A black space that felt hollow, like a cave, with moving lights in some kind of haze or smoke. They scared me. I don’t know what they were, but I didn’t want to meet them.”
“Salamanders? That’s how they got in to cause the fire?”
He closed his eyes for a moment and shuddered, remembering that dark vision. “Not salamanders. Those things were mean. Salamanders are just big friendly puppies that happen to start fires. Give them a safe place to play and they make the whole room happy. What I saw and felt, those things fed off pain and hate and sorrow, not wood. And they were hungry. A long time since their last meal.”
“Nothing I’ve ever heard of.” She paused and clicked something on the side of her gun. He hoped she was setting
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