Magie Noire

By Rurouni Star

A/N: That's a wrap, folks. I gotta get back to writing and editing on paid stuff. I hope you all enjoyed.

I've obviously got ideas for continuing this series, but it'll have to wait a bit. In the meantime, feel free to let me know which things you enjoyed and would like to see more of, and any future scenes you're just dying to see Murphy-fied.

Epilogue

I spent a comparatively pleasant morning eating pastries with a good friend. Waldo belatedly remembered that he'd intended to check on my stitches, but I just managed to put him off with the observation that he probably had to get to work.

Bob seemed to have mostly recovered from whatever malaise he'd picked up, after a night in the skull, though he insisted on binging more Discovery Channel over the next few days.

I split my time between getting some actual rest and sifting through the rantings in Victor's book. It wasn't the most pleasant bedtime reading, but then, it wasn't a whole lot worse than crime scene photos and statements from family of the victim. I made notes of a few things to ask Bob about when he was feeling better.

I did, in the end, call up Susan to give her a few juicy details that no one in their right mind was likely to ever believe. I even used the word wizard. I wasn't sure where our relationship stood, now that I'd discovered she wasn't a crazy conspiracy theorist. I knew I was going to need to think very hard on how much I wanted to spill. Thankfully, I had that time to think.

Carmichael called to check in a few times. It was comparatively good news on his end. Because the fire at the lake house had been snuffed, the firemen had discovered a sizeable cache of Three-Eye downstairs, unburned. Between that and Monica's statements, Carmichael had been able to dig up some hard financial connections between Victor and the Beckitts, and bring in Helen on laundering and drug-related charges. She had a fantastic lawyer defending her, but even with that, she was bound to go to prison for a good few years.

Carmichael did tell me something that gave me pause, though.

"Marcone called the office looking for you," he said. "Told him you're on leave, obviously, but he insisted he wanted to talk. Up to you."

Which is, more or less, how I ended up sitting at the rehabilitated Varsity, nursing a glass of whiskey in a side booth.

"Detective." Marcone addressed me with cool politeness as he slid in across from me. "I do hope your health is improved."

Hendricks had come into the bar behind him; the bodyguard gave me what I thought might be an almost friendly nod, though it was hard to tell under that poker face of his.

I eyed Marcone warily. "Fit as a fiddle," I said. "I'll be clear for work any day now."

Marcone crossed his arms as he considered me. I couldn't tell what was going on behind those flat green eyes. "I don't suppose you've reconsidered my offer," he observed.

I downed the rest of the whiskey. I needed the burn. "Thought you weren't feeling pleased with me," I said. "Something about, I was going to deeply regret my actions?"

The mobster leaned back in his seat. "I don't often change my mind," he said. "But I'm not so foolish I can't admit the favors you've done for me. I'm alive, for one. And a man that some might call my foremost rival has mysteriously disappeared."

I grimaced. "Those weren't favors to you," I said. "And as for the rest… I'm not thrilled with the idea of a long-term relationship. I've learned not to say never, but you're relatively low on my list of people to call." I eyed him warily. "I'm looking for the right way to handle this stuff. There's not a lot of solid options at the moment, but that doesn't mean I can't make some of my own."

Marcone considered that. After a moment, he nodded. "I suppose that will do," he said. I knew I'd budged an inch from never talk to me again. He probably suspected that I'd budge another inch, given time and patience. I had to make sure it didn't come to that.

"That all you wanted?" I asked.

Marcone's gaze went distant for a moment. "No," he said. "I wanted to ask for the truth. The things you won't be putting into your official report."

I felt my posture stiffen. "I'm sure you've already heard anything I'd be willing to tell you," I said. I still hadn't told anyone about what had happened in the Nevernever. I wasn't sure if I ever would.

Marcone glanced my way. "I think you've mistaken me," he said. "I just wanted to know why Tomm died."

I frowned. There was a distinctly human look to Marcone as he said the words. He wants closure, I realized. It was a weird thing to recognize. Of all things, Gentleman Johnny Marcone was grieving like a normal human being.

I sighed. "Victor was abusing his wife and children," I told him. "Tommy Tomm got mixed up trying to help Linda and Jennifer extract her. It might also have been about the drugs… but it was mostly Victor's need for control." I eyed him bleakly. "He died doing a good thing."

Some undetermined emotion flickered behind Marcone's eyes. He nodded slowly. "Thank you," he said. They were simple words, but I knew he didn't say them often. "I think… perhaps it would be best if you and your partner told a different story. One that centered around the drugs a bit more."

I knitted my brow. "You want me to implicate you more?" I asked.

Marcone shrugged. "I have lawyers," he told me. "They'll tell you that your proof of my involvement in any of this is very thin." His eyes were shuttered now. "Madame Bianca is looking for reparations for the loss of her girl. Her people have decided that Jennifer died due to Tommy's carelessness. If the story became one about this man's wife and children instead, Bianca might decide to demand reparations from them instead. She is not known for her mercy."

I chewed on that for a long moment. "...you're gonna pay her?" I asked.

Marcone stayed silent for a long moment. "I was considering pushing back," he said. "But it may be the best way to ensure that the matter is settled. I would rather honor Tomm's intentions, and see that his death had some meaning."

I nodded slowly. "Okay," I said. "I'll talk to Ron." I sighed. "I'm not your biggest fan. But that's a damned decent thing to do."

A ghost of a smile crossed Marcone's lips. "You're full of firsts today, Detective," he said.

I flicked a few bills onto the table. "I'm looking forward to hating you again tomorrow," I told him. "Feels way more normal."

I nodded at Hendricks on my way out. "How's the bunny?" I asked.

"Pregnant," he informed me, with a long-suffering air. "Do you want one?"

I grinned in spite of myself. "Nah. You're gonna be a great dad."

The smile stuck around for a good few hours afterward.

0-0-0-0

The day before I was cleared to go back to desk duty, I decided to go through my mother's things more fully.

The trunk had a few more things packed in silk. I unrolled an old wand, and nearly nicked myself on a razor-sharp silver dagger. But at the very bottom of the trunk, I found something that gave me pause.

It was an old tome — much older than the one Victor had been using. It had no title along the spine; I had to open it up to find a handwritten one on the first page.

Le livre de sang, it said, in a faded, ugly brown ink.

An uneasy feeling rose up inside me. I'd have to be a pretty piss-poor detective not to recognize dried blood.

The entirety of the book was in French. My piecemeal understanding wasn't enough to translate it entirely, but I didn't need a perfect translation to know the gist of what it covered.

I felt the most distant snatch of memory struggle to make its way to the top of my mind. The crimson bonds on my memory tightened — but I forced myself to relax, to focus on slackening their grip.

Come on, I thought. What do I know about this book?

I had a flash of my mother's face.

"Don't touch that!"

Her expression was scared, frantic. I remembered her fingers digging into my wrist, hard enough to bruise.

"Don't tell anyone about this book," she hissed. "Promise me, Karrin. They'll come and take me away if they find out."

I stared at the book in my hands.

I'd just chased down a black wizard… but somehow, it had never occurred to me that I might have been raised by one.