In Plain Sight

Iggy had lived through the big war and several bank runs in his home country. Alex never doubted that the man mistrusted banks. He was also sure that Iggy had his own safe somewhere in the house, under the floorboards in his room, or maybe behind some loose bricks in the basement. It never tempted him. Alex made his own way in the world and he never took what wasn’t his just because he could. Still, the idea of it made him want to go looking, just to see if he could find his way through the runes that kept it hidden.

Of course, it was more likely that it was here in the library, in a book or a series of them, just like Alex’s.

Always hide things in plain sight, Iggy told him. No one thinks to look there; they always think you’re trying to be clever.

“Good night, Iggy,” Alex said but the doctor had bent over his novel again and seemed oblivious.

Alex ate his bacon pie in the kitchen. For something with a girly name like quiche, it was really quite good. After he finished, he washed his plate, fork, and glass in the sink, then set them aside to dry. He thought about opening his magic vault and replenishing his rune book, but he just didn’t have the energy. He was tired. He’d had a full day, but it wasn’t full the way he wanted it to be. The police job had started out great, but now Danny and Callahan would lie in wait and catch the murderers red-handed. It was open and shut with nothing more for him to do but pick up his check. Not that he minded that part, but he wanted to feel more useful. He wanted a case that would be hard to solve, one he could make his name with. If Leslie got him one more job finding a lost dog or a cheating husband, he’d pack it in and hawk Barrier Runes on rainy street corners.

Not really, of course, but it had been a long day and Alex wanted to indulge in a few minutes of self-pity.

* * *

His room was on the third floor, above Iggy’s. It was small and modest with just the bare essentials; a bed, a desk, a wing-back chair, a nightstand, and a dresser. A narrow door led to a tiny bathroom with a toilet, sink, and stand-up shower. A telephone and a bottle of bourbon with a glass stood on the nightstand, and Alex poured himself a slug, then stripped down. He hung up his jacket and threw his trousers over the back of the wing-back chair. His barrier rune only kept falling rain from hitting him. It did nothing about puddles, so his shoes were soaked. He’d have to oil the leather to keep it supple. He poured himself a second slug of the bourbon and set to work.

When he finally got to bed, the clock on the nightstand read eleven twenty-five.

It felt like Alex’s head had just hit the pillow when he was startled awake by the telephone. At whatever ungodly hour of the morning it was, the sound grated on his nerves like a rasp. He felt an instant headache form somewhere behind his left eye. Reaching out in the dark he managed to find the phone and fumbled the receiver to his ear.

“Yeah?” he mumbled.

“Alex?” a desperate voice came across the wire. He knew it sounded familiar, someone he knew, but his brain wasn’t fully awake yet. It was a woman, he recognized that, and she was just short of hysterical. “Alex!” the voice said again, more urgent than before. “Are you there?”

“Sister Gwen?” he asked, the connections in his mind putting a name to the voice. “What’s—”

“You have to come down to the Mission, Alex,” Sister Gwen said. Her usually calm voice broke. Alex had never heard her anything but calm and in control, but now she was neither. The relief of reaching him warred with some unknown panic and she sobbed. “You have to come now. Hurry!”

She was weeping and her voice betrayed a fragile state of mind.

“Of course,” Alex said, sitting up. “Of course. I’ll come down right now.”

He hoped this would calm her and she seemed to relax a bit. She drew several ragged breaths and her voice came over the wire in a tense whisper. “They’re dead, Alex.”

Alex’s mind snapped into full wakefulness.

“Who?” he demanded. “Who’s dead?”

“Everybody.”

5 The Incident

Alex fumbled at the buttons of his shirt as he jumped down the stairs, two at a time. When he reached the second floor landing, he stopped long enough to tuck in his shirt and buckle his belt, then he headed for the foyer.

“What’s going on?” Iggy’s voice came out of the darkness at him. It was a little after three in the morning and there weren’t any lights burning. Alex could see Iggy’s shadow in the open doorway to his bedroom. “Alex,” he said again. “What’s happened?”

“I don’t know,” Alex said, heading for the stairs. “Sister Gwen called from the Mission. She said someone’s dead. Maybe more than one, she wasn’t very specific.”

“Call a cab,” Iggy said, ducking back into his room. “I’ll get my bag and join you.”