Arrest, Search and Séance : Book 1 of the Fringe Society, R.D. Hunter [good english books to read txt] 📗

in limp threads. Crusts of blood and dirt covered every inch of bare skin, and I had an ugly-looking shiner developing under my right eye. My clothing was torn and disheveled, but underneath it all I was grinning like an idiot.

I’d won. I’d come out on top. It had been three against one and I’d used my physical skills and magical ability to gain the upper hand and send them running for Mama. I was flushed with excitement, even as my body aches relayed the price I’d paid.

Well, nothing to be done for it now. I still had a job to do and a promise to Nichole Barret to keep.

I used some handiwipes I kept in the center console to clean my face and hands off as much as possible. The alcohol disinfectant served to highlight every scrape and open wound it encountered. I ran a brush through my snarled hair, cleaning out specks of dirt, grime and blood, then threw on a spare jacket I had in the back and zipped it up.

There, no one would ever guess I was just in a fight to the death against a triad of witches. Just another day in the plain, ole’ vanilla world. I threw the Trisha doll in the glove box to keep it safe. It might have bumped it’s head a bit during the process, but I didn’t dwell too hard on it. Shit happens.

According to the address Jack handed me, Beth lived in a modest apartment complex just a few miles from the Candle. I found it without too much difficulty and glanced at the mailboxes on the way in. Hers read B. Tiller. Good to know. I went up two flights of her stairs to her door and knocked politely. A second later, it opened about two inches with the chain still attached inside.

“Yes? Can I help you?” a blond girl asked. Her yellow hair was pulled back into matching pigtails and she wore more makeup than was strictly healthy, especially around the eyes. An over-large T-shirt that read “GREEDO SHOT FIRST. FIGHT ME!” hung down to her knees and she was looking at me with the kind of suspicion that only a member of the Fringe can manage when talking to an outsider. I should probably nip that in the bud.

I focused inwardly and raised my power to the surface. It still came easily, but not all in one rush as before when I passed Chang’s test. Gramps’ tea must have been wearing off.

Beth’s eyes grew wide as she sensed the change in the air, then they narrowed again as they regarded me with a new wariness. This was to be expected and I didn’t take it personally. For all she knew, I was there to put a spell on her or draft her into my league of evil. The fact that I still looked like I’d gone ten rounds in the octagon with the reigning female champ probably didn’t help matters.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“I’m Detective Graves with the Special Criminal Cases,” I said, careful not to give me full name. She was a witch too, after all. “Do you know a Nichole Barret?”

“What about her?” She expertly dodged the question, neither admitting nor denying anything. I sighed. We were never going to get anywhere like this.

“Look, Mrs. tiller, I need to talk to you and I need to do it without you ready to blow a hole in me with the gun you’re undoubtedly holding on the other side of this door. Can we call a truce?” A look of shock passed over the young girl’s face, then a flash of embarrassment as she lowered the firearm that had been pointing at me, just out of sight. I’d been guessing, but it panned out.

“Sorry,” she said. “A girl can’t be too careful.” I gingerly fingered the developing shiner under my eye.

“Don’t I know it. May I come in?” I could see uncertainty fighting behind her doe eyes.

“Just a sec.” She closed the door and I heard muffled movements behind it. A second later, it opened again, this time all the way, and Beth stood there holding a granola bar and cup of milk. “I offer Hospitium.” I took the offered food and drink.

“Your offer is well received.” I took a bite of the granola and drank the milk. It was cold and refreshing. The ceremony over, Beth opened her door wider to allow me entrance.

Hospitium is an ancient (and I mean ancient) custom, by which a host offers their protection to a potential guest by giving them food or drink from their table. It can’t be poisoned or tainted in any way and, when the guest takes it into their body, they enter into a contract under the sight of the gods. Neither the host nor guest could offer any harm or inconvenience the other to any notable extent. There were a lot of other laws and bylaws covered under it, but those were the main ones that counted.

It had largely fallen out of style over the past couple of hundred years, but it was still widely used amongst the Fringe. Failure to honor the laws of Hospitium meant that you were shunned by the entire society until you made proper amends. Then, there was also the wrath of the gods to consider. They hadn’t bothered to make their presence known in any overt way for the past millennia, but spitting in the eye of a celestial being is not a good idea. You never know when one might be paying attention.

Beth’s apartment was a textbook lesson in contrast. There was no dirt or garbage anywhere to be seen, but the entire living room was taken up by a sophisticated computer system, order forms and sketch pads, and a large machine in the center that I knew to be a T-shirt printing press. A