Chapter 8: The Fog of Magic

Shelia Foster’s rented Prius skidded to a halt near police tape in upper Manhattan, An officer, shielded from the rain that had started tumbling from the sky by a poncho ran over to the vehicle, his hand up. She promptly rolled down the window and held her ID badge up. “I’m with the Crime Scene Unit,” she said.

“Okay, your people just got here. Park it over there by those squad cars.”

Shelia obeyed the officer. She had seen plenty of crime scenes before but nothing like this. Several blocks were covered in a sea of vehicles flashing blue and red lights. The shimmer from the wet pavement and the steady fall of rain added to the fairy tale look of the area. The temperature had been dropping as well, causing wisps of steam to rise from the sewer gratings.

Shelia pulled the hood of her own poncho up and pulled her kit out of the back of the car. She made her way into the crime scene with her badge displayed prominently, looking for someone she knew. In a few moments she spotted Tom, the young man who had helped her before, talking with a stocky, though shapely woman with tan skin and black hair up in a tactical bun. The unmistakable shape of a large pistol hung at the woman’s side.

“Shelia! Shelia! Over here,” said Tom, gesturing for the technician from Albany to join them.

Shelia went over to the duo.

“Shelia Foster, this is Detective Cindy Carballo. Shelia is with CSU; she’s on loan to us from the Albany PD. She worked on their John Doe Killer case last winter,” said Tom.

“Good,” said the detective. “We have one hell of a weird one here.”

“What’s the situation?”

“A unit spotted a suspect fitting the general description of our perp in this alley here. They requested she come out for questioning and she attacked the officers. A Taser was deployed and they called for backup. One officer was injured with a broken rib and severe bruising around his throat – he’ll be okay. A canine officer, Cody, was also severely injured. We are not sure if he will make it.”

“The suspect ran back into the alley and was cut off by a third unit. She climbed up an old fire escape and made it to the roof but the helo lost her. The building is apartments. We have a couple teams of uniforms going door to door,” said Carballo.

“Shots fired?” asked Shelia.

“We confirmed that twelve rounds were fired. The officers involved are being debriefed right now. We’ve been hearing a lot of crazy stuff – like the suspect ripping Taser probes out of her legs and jumping over a chain link fence. My twelve years on the streets says we are dealing with a suspect hopped up on meth.”

Shelia nodded. “That’s what we ran into with our John Doe case. Tom, is Dr. Yarland here yet?”

“No not yet, he’s en-route. Most of the team we need is though. We’re going as fast as we can. We’ve got all the shell casings marked and are trying to get blood samples before the rain degrades them.”

“Has anybody been on the roof yet?” asked Shelia.

“I was on my way,” commented Tom. “There is a scissors-lift coming to look at the side of the building for slugs too.”

“Good,” said Shelia. “Let’s go up top Tom!”

The junior forensics tech tightly smiled and followed Shelia.

It was still raining across the city the next morning, including Queens. Adeptus Morgan, the leader of the Breath of Amaunet Lodge paced angrily behind his desk. His normally calm face was red. He had been yelling earlier and his frustration was evident to the others in the room, a pair of his underlings, Cabalistic Novices.

“I still don’t understand how this happened!” exclaimed Morgan.

Steve Winholm was one of the unfortunate Novices in the room. He glanced at the other person nearby, the Novice Margie Peters, a woman in her mid-thirties, a yoga instructor who also served as the main trainer of Hermetic Magic at the Lodge.

“I’m sorry sir. I was ordered to simply monitor the situation. There was nothing I could have done,” said Steve nervously.

“Steve is right sir,” added Margie, trying to help her colleague. “This is a setback, not a disaster.”