Ghost of a Chance

He’d thought that last one was good, but as he finished it, he couldn’t feel any magic flowing into it. That was how runes worked. When a runewright drew one, he served as a channel for the magic of the universe, infusing it through the pen and into the ink and the symbol it formed. Alex didn’t know what was wrong, but he could tell that last rune had no magic at all.

He forced himself not to think about it. If he thought about it, it would scare him to death.

“Is something wrong?” Leslie’s concerned voice came from behind him.

He turned to find her standing at the open door of his vault.

“I don’t know,” he said. He hadn’t told anyone about his hands, but the weight of the knowledge overwhelmed him and he explained it to her.

“I think…” he said, his mind going down the dark alley he desperately wanted to avoid. “I think I might be losing my magic.”

“Let me see,” she said, crossing the floor of the vault to his table.

Alex held out his hands and she took them in hers. Leslie’s hands were smooth and warm as they glided over his fingers and palm. She took him by the right wrist and held his hand up, noting the tremors in his fingers.

“It doesn’t look too bad,” she said.

“Yesterday I drew one good cleaning rune out of five,” he said. “Today I couldn’t manage a finding rune, and they’re ten times easier than a cleaning rune.”

“Have you told Iggy?” Leslie asked. “He is a doctor, you know.”

Alex shook his head, kneading his hands together.

“I think it’s because…” he began.

“Because of the life rune,” Leslie finished. She always could see right through him. “You think it’s another side effect of all that life energy you lost. Like your hair.”

He nodded again, his hands trembling now from the fear of having that thought said out loud.

“If that’s the case, I doubt Iggy will be able to do anything about it,” he said. “Doctor or not.”

Leslie fixed him with a hard stare.

“You won’t know until you ask,” she said. “It might be nothing.”

“Or it might be something,” Alex said. “What if I am losing my magic?”

“Is that even possible?” she asked.

“Think about it,” he said. “That would explain why my finding rune lost its connection to Leroy, and why the next one failed.”

“Or he could have been on a boat, like you said,” she reminded him. Leslie crossed her arms and fixed him with a hard stare. “You’re good at what you do, Alex. One of the best. I refuse to believe this is how you go out.”

Alex just shrugged.

“We both know I don’t have much life-force left,” he said. “What if this is it?”

Leslie’s jaw tightened. Alex could tell she was fighting the urge to be scared. She was too tough for that, and a moment later her hard look came back.

“Is your brain trembling?” she asked, crossing her arms. “Or is it just your hands?”

“What’s that supposed—”

“You’re still a detective,” she cut him off. “And a damn good one, so if you don’t use magic, get your sorry ass out there and find Leroy Cunningham the old-fashioned way.”

He looked her in the eyes and found her blue eyes hard, but earnest.

“You’re right,” he admitted at last, smiling at her. The tension in his chest began to ebb away, leaving just a tiny mote of doubt behind. “I’m done feeling sorry for myself. I’ll go home and have Iggy look at my hands and make me some new finding runes, then I’ll track down Leroy.”

“You might want to look at this before you make any plans,” Leslie said. She reached under her arm and pulled out a folded-up newspaper, depositing it on his drafting table.

Alex opened it, revealing the masthead of today’s issue of The Midnight Star. The large headline read, Ghost Killer Claims Fourth Victim. A subheading declared that the police were baffled and had called in a P.I. runewright to help solve the case. When Alex read that, he groaned.

“Oh, it gets better,” Leslie said with a sardonic smile. “Read the article.”

Alex did and he began to feel sick in the pit of his stomach with every word.

“This makes the police sound like bumbling incompetents.”

“Uh-huh,” Leslie said. “And it makes you sound like you’ve come in to show them how to do their jobs.” She pointed to one particular paragraph. “He calls you the Runewright Detective.”

Alex rubbed the bridge of his nose, pinching hard. This was not good.

“Detweiler is going to assume I talked to this rag,” Alex said. “He’s going to blow a gasket.”

Leslie picked up the paper and turned to leave.

“I suggest you get over there before someone shows him a copy,” she said.

Alex followed her out, shutting the door to his vault.

“Did you find where Anne Watson is staying?” he asked.

“Not yet,” Leslie said. “I’m going for lunch then I’ll get back on that.”

“If you find her, tell her I’ll call her when I can. I’m going by the Central Office to try to smooth things over with Detweiler, then I’m going home.”

* * *