At the Behest of the Dead by Timothy W. Long Page B

cute I want to eat them up.
    “No.”
    “Cause you look like one.”
    “I’m a warlock, and I can change you into a toad with a flick of my fingers.” I snapped my hand out and waggled my fingers at the kid because I am a jerk like that.
    The kid looked at me without fear.
    “Cool. Can you change my mom into a lollipop factory?”
    “That’s just weird. Why don’t you go throw stuff at the seagulls?” I frowned.
    Then his parents rushed over, concern etched on their faces over their child consorting with a madman on the street. I guess I did look a bit strange in my robe, but the covenants required us to go around in public dressed so. No racial profiling necessary. We were forced to wear our raiments. Some treated it like a uniform, as if we were about the work of the authorities.
    I ignored the stares and took out the envelope. The pictures were still in order so I extracted the first one and looked at the address scrawled at the bottom. I followed the street to First Avenue and then located the cross street. I walked back and forth, passing an alley that reeked of piss and shit and decided that was probably where the first murder had taken place.
    I explored the oft-traveled back way until I located a chunk of wall that more or less matched the background in the photo. There were a couple of large black bags here with green labels on them. That couldn’t be good. I shifted them to the side and half expected to feel body parts shifting around in them, but it was just clean up gear. Probably forgotten by the forensics units. I made a mental note to let Andrews know her department wasn’t picking up after themselves.
    The ground was clean under them and I dropped to my knees and extracted some tools from a pouch. I drew a glyph in white so I had a guide, then I etched over it in charcoal. I added a drop of my blood, pricked with the little bone knife.
    I pressed it to the ground in the center of a mark that looked like a three-year-old tried to write his name. A little puff of smoke rose and I waited for the feeling. I stayed, head bowed for a few minutes, but the residue was gone.
    “You praying, chief?” Frank interrupted me.
    I half pounced to my feet with a spell on my lips, words of power forming for a strike, but it would have been against a brown skinned naked man.
    “God, Frank, you scared the shit out of me.”
    “Is it my manhood?”
    “Would you get dressed? You’re gonna bring the cops over.”
    “They are already here.” He looked pointedly to the end of the alley where a black sedan was sitting. I couldn’t make out the shape at the wheel but I was betting it was Detective Andrews. I wondered how long she’d been there. The car motored away as I stood up.
    “Frank, don’t you have any shame?”
    “Are you afraid the women will see me and want to go for a ride?”
    I made a point of looking anywhere but there.
    “We Makah are not shy and never have been. I have hunted without clothes, fought without clothes. Of course, only in the summer. This weather is too cold even for me,” he leaned over to whisper. “Shrinkage.”
    “Then get some pants!” I said.
    And with that, he took to the air once again. A pair of women dressed as goths walked past when he veered.
    “Too cool,” o ne said to the other.
    “He’s just showing off.” I watched him take wing, screech, and then depart.
    “Yeah. Showing off. So what do you turn into?” the one with a pink bob asked.
    “I’m a warlock,” I said, a tad defensively. I might not be able to change into a feathered animal, but I still had a few tricks at my command. “I don’t change into anything except grumpy in the morning.”
    “Really? Will Ricky Parson fall in love with me?”
    “He’s in love with a vampire.”
    “I knew that jerk had the hots for that chick in 4 th period. What’s her name?”
    “Natalia, I think,” h er friend responded.
    I ducked out of their conversation.
    I took out the second photo and tracked down the