3- Mazurka, Detective Yechiel Mazurka

Awoken by the sound of the phone ringing, Quayleigh struggled to reach for it on the bedside stand. She had managed to get some sleep, exhaustion alone, the reason. Her mind playing the same narrative over and over, a broken record set on repeat. She managed to open her eye enough to grasp the phone, an old land line, she hated the sound of it, but twelve bucks a month was cheaper than even the most basic of cellphone plans. Not that she had any reason for a cellphone, the only person who ever called her was Garren, and if she wasn't in the store, she was here, next to the land line. And she was certain that even for all his power, Death, had never had a cellphone tower erected in his dimension of reality, leaving only the primitive written form of communication even viable when it came to Tauluthet.

"Hello?" she groaned into the receiver.

"Oh dear, I'm sorry to wake you Quay. I know today's supposed to be your day off, but something's happened and I need you to come in." Garren's familiar voice caused her to sit up and crack her neck.

"Lessia call in again?"

"No, she's already here."

"Then what's the problem?"

"There was a murder, in the alley out back last night." Quayleigh nearly dropped the phone, at the news Garren had just given to her. "There are cops everywhere. The store hasn't been this busy in years," he continued to speak as Quayleigh harshly swallowed.

"Yeah, I'll be there as soon as I can. I just crawled out of bed, so about an hour."

"Come up to the apartment first, I'll have a cup of coffee waiting for you. Oh, and you have to come in the front door, they've completely blocked off the back."

"Got it. Seen you soon."

Hanging up the phone, she stood up and stretched, her joints popping as she moved. Wandering into the bathroom, she glared at herself in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. She looked like shit, even more so than normal. It wasn't unusual for her to feel drained the day after a session. Despite providing an ample sacrifice to fuel the ritual, it still exacted a hefty toll on the practitioner, and it showed in the dark circles under her eyes, and faint lines in her nails as they grew, like the growth rings of a tree. She had always been careful to keep her nails short, wanting to avoid anyone looking to closely at them. Magic, for the most part, wasn't practiced. There was no value in paying an excessive price for little gain, and if the cost alone wasn't enough, there was also a fine line between what was considered taboo, and what was deemed illegal. To the higher echelons of society, practitioners were the lowest form of human life, viewing hard work and nepotism as far more valuable, over magical workarounds. Not that magic could do much when it came to the particular brand of greed someone in that tier of society was expected to have. Magic as a whole, wasn't good for much of anything, and aside from a few specific families, who must have made some deal with a god in the distant past to get away with using magic as they did with a vastly reduced penalty, it simply wasn't worth it for the rest.

In this, Quayleigh was no exception. Thankfully, the toll on her was a complete lack of energy, which is why she never performed a session when she had to work the next day. Even a proper night sleep still left her feeling lethargic, and after a restless one, she was going to be lucky to make it through the day without passing out.

Finishing up in the bathroom, she quickly dressed, grabbed her keys and left for work. By the time she reached the store, all she wanted to do was go back to bed. Even thinking about the stairs leading up to Garren's apartment made her grimace. They would be a daunting task and only the promise of a hot coffee made her want to bother. When she arrived at the storefront, there were police and news anchors, everywhere. On the walk, she had been running scenarios in her head about what to do and say, knowing that eventually the police would want to speak to her. She knew better than to tell anyone about what she had seen the previous night or the warning, the man she now knew to be Tauluthet, had given her.

Entering the store, the ring of the bell announcing her arrival, she tossed a wave to Lessia at the counter before heading into the employee only area where the back stairs up to Garren's apartment were. Looking up, Quayleigh sighed. The staircase had never looked so tall before. Head down, hand on rail, she began to trounce up the stairs, one heavy footstep after the other until she reached the top landing, and knocked on the door.

"Garren, it's me," she said as she opened the door and stepped inside. "No wonder you called me in, it's a zoo out there."

"It's only going to get worse," Garren replied as he rose to greet her. "Keep your shoes on. Coffee's hot."

"I can't even tell you how much I need this right now," she remarked heading into the kitchen.

Garren's apartment was almost twice the size of her own, offering two separate bedrooms, a separate living and dining space, and a wrap-around kitchen counter that doubled as a breakfast bar.

"Mug on the counters clean," he said as he leaned against the counter holding his own out towards her.

Picking up the carafe she refilled his mug before filling her own.

"This smells great," she took a deep whiff, "The best part of waking up, right?"

"Speaking of which, didn't sleep well last night?"

"Not really," she stared down into the mug, her reflection glaring back at her. "Enough about my shit night though, what were you saying about a murder?"

"In the alley, across the road, but they closed ours off too. They said it was so they could look for evidence. It must be a pretty grizzly scene the way they put up all those tarps."

"Tarps?" Quayleigh asked as she moved to the window. Pushing the curtain aside she looked out towards the alleyway to see blue tarps strung up from a metal framework, cloaking the entire area in a makeshift tent.

"You didn't hear anything last night, did you?" Garren asked as he made his way back into the living room.

"No. I took out the trash and headed home like normal. Whatever happened must have happened either before I locked up or after I had left."

"Good. Now when you go back downstairs, there's going to be a Detective wanting to speak to you. Tell him the same thing you told me, and keep your hands in your pockets," Garren said, sitting down in his favorite recliner. "Quay, you need to stop. You have no idea the real cost of what you're doing."

Quayleigh turned to look at him. "You're wrong, Garren. I know exactly what it's costing me, and that's why I always make sure I never have to come into work the following day. You're lucky I even managed to answer the phone the way I'm feeling right now."

"And what if there's something more that you don't know about yet?"

"As terrifying as that thought is, I swear, I'm not doing anything dangerous. It's just a long-distance communication spell, and exhaustion is the only recorded cost. I swear, if I thought for even a moment, it was going to cost more than this, I would stop. I didn't survive this long to just throw it all away on some stupid spell."

"Like I said, keep your hands in your pockets. The last thing you need is to end up on that detective's radar as a practitioner."

"I'll be careful, I promise," she replied as she headed towards the door. "I'll stay in and keep an eye on the store for the rest of the day. And if you bring me a fresh cup of coffee in about an hour, and treat me to lunch and dinner, consider us even."

"You got it kiddo," he said dawning his sweet, grandfatherly smile as she returned to the kitchen and refilled her mug.

Truth was, Quayleigh would have done just about anything for the old man. A day's work in exchange for a couple of good meals was more than good enough for her. Despite the short, pointed nature of the conversation they had just shared, she was truly fond of him, viewing him as a sort of grandfather figure over a mere friend.

"Alright, I'll see you soon," she remarked, as she headed out the door.

Making her way downstairs, she joined Lessia behind the counter.

"I'm so glad you're here!" Lessia was the overly cheerful type, young, impressionable, and still optimistic about what the future could possibly hold. She had a lot to learn, and Quayleigh found their interactions both tedious and barely tolerable, especially on days like this.

"Yep, me too. So happy," Quayleigh stared blankly at her as she lifted the mug to her lips and took a long slow drink.

"Try to cheer up a bit, Kiki."

"It's Key Lee. Quayleigh, two syllables, not hard," she huffed as she sat on the stool next to the back counter. "And I'm too damn tired to be cheerful. Once I'm done my coffee, I'll check the shelves and restock."

"I can do that if you'd rather watch the counter."

Quayleigh once again stared with a blank expression at Lessia as a tall, well-groomed man wearing an expensive looking suit made his way towards the counter, "Customer."

"Excuse me, Ladies, which one of you was working here last night?" the man asked.

"That would be the sleepy one," Lessia replied as she leaned against the counter and motioned over her shoulder.

Quayleigh smirked tossing the man a wave, "You the detective that wanted to speak to me?"

"Indeed, is there perhaps somewhere a bit more…"

"Quiet? Yeah, follow me," Quayleigh said as she stepped out from behind the counter. "We can use the office in the back."

Taking the Detective through into the employee only area, she guided him to the main office. Turning on the light, she walked around behind the desk and motioned for him to take the other seat.

"Now that we're better situated, what can I do for you, Detective?"

"Mazurka, Detective Yechiel Mazurka," he replied as they each sat in their perspective seats.

From Quayleigh's perspective, the man seemed young to be a detective, possibly mid-thirties based on the way he carried himself, and the pleasant tone in which he spoke. His face was smooth, telling her that he had shaved earlier that morning, which meant he still cared about his appearance. He hadn't been on the job long enough for it to have eaten away at him, as it tended to do with the older, more seasoned, veterans of the position. His nails were trimmed, he didn't bite them. And his eyes, light brown in color, were clear and focused; he was still able to get a good night sleep. He was attractive, with a sharp jawline and thin lips. He was fit and had a faint tan, although it was darker on his left side, which meant he spent time driving, and that probably meant that he had come from the better part of the city. The watch on his wrist, wasn't new, but it also wasn't a cheap, run-of-the-mill timepiece anyone could pick up at a big box department store. He wasn't wearing a wedding band, but it was the lack of the distinctive indentation and variation in skin tone on his finger that meant he didn't have one to wear. To her, he seemed like the type of man who never would have come to this old neighborhood on his own, not even out of curiosity.

"For the record, would you mind telling me your name?"

"It's Quayleigh, Q-U-A-Y-L-E-I-G-H, Vershinin, V-E-R-S-H-I-N-I-N."

"And you were working here last night?"

"Yes."

"Until what time?"

"I locked up at eleven and was out of here by eleven thirty."

"Which way did you leave?"

"Detective, let's cut to the chase shall we. I locked up the front door at eleven and saw no one on the main street that I can remember. I cleaned up, did my paperwork and then left through the back door. I put the trash in the dumpster and then walked towards Donovan."

"Did you hear or see anything out of the ordinary?"

"The only thing I heard last night was what I thought was trash settling in a dumpster, but now that I know someone was murdered, it definitely was too loud to just be a bag of garbage. I only remember since it actually managed to scare me."

Looking up at her, the Detective gave her a bit of a sidelong smile, "Not usually scared so easily?"

"It caught me off guard, and that is rare. What, you think I got this as some sort of a fashion statement?" She asked as she pointed towards the scar on her face. "I can't see much of anything out of this eye, so I've made it a habit to be aware of my surroundings. When I say I didn't see anything, I'm always telling at least half of a truth. That being said, these alleyways aren't well lit. I wish I could be more help to you, but aside from that noise, I don't know what else I can tell you."

"That's alright. I'm actually hoping you might be able to do something else for me. Mr. Liebman told me that you've been working here for about three years now, and you know almost everyone in the area. If I show you some pictures, do you think you might be able to identify them for me?"

"I can try, but when you say 'them', do mean there was more than one?"

Pulling his cellphone from his inside jacket pocket he replied, "There were five."

"Damn, let me see them," she said before finishing off what was left her coffee as Det. Mazurka tapped several times on the face of the phone.

Setting the phone down in front of her, he covered it with his hand. "Just a warning, these are from the crime scene. Don't force yourself if it starts to bother you."

"I'm not concerned," she said, smiling as she glanced up at him, "but I'll let you know if that changes."

Removing his hand, she closed her left eye and looked at the picture, "Do you mind if I pick this up?"

"Be my guest," he replied as he watched her movements carefully.

Reaching out she carefully picked up the phone and examined the first picture more closely. Pushing the screen with her thumb, she looked over the next picture, and then the one after that until she had examined each of the photos and their details. Setting down the phone, she scrolled back to the first picture, and then turned it to face the Detective.

"This is a man called Three. I don't know his real name, but this man," she moved to the next picture, "and this one," moving to the last, "were his friends. The brunette's name is Timothy Bower, and the ginger they called Red, but his first name was Grant."

"And the other two?"

"This one we call Cinnamon Roll," she replied as she scrolled back to the third picture of a larger man whose face was less than half visible. "His real name was Karl, I want to say Declan, but I might be wrong on that. As for this last one, his name is Jason Alogrin. His Grandmother lives around the corner and comes in almost once a week. He's barely seventeen. All five of them are members of the local gang. Any idea who could have done this?"

"We have some working theories, but I'd rather hear your opinion on the matter."

"I don't know what to tell you, there doesn't seem to be any marks on the bodies, and no blood. But their faces..." she paused as she scrolled though the pictures again, "they looked terrified. They look as if they died mid scream. I have a hard time believing that I wouldn't have heard that even inside the store. Which means this had to have happened well after I left for home. I was in my apartment a little after twelve, so I would check with the flies from the bar down the road. They tend to smoke on the street out front, one of them had to heard of something. If not, that would put your murders sometime around four in the morning, well after the drunks went home. You could also check down on Caldwell street, there's a homeless camp behind the old school building."

"I appreciate your help, Miss Vershinin, but might I ask you another favor?"

"Sure."

"Keep this to yourself, and from now on, I wouldn't recommend walking down dark alleyways at night."

"Not the first murders like this you've seen, Detective?"

He paused as he reached for his phone. Opening up another file of pictures, he set it back down in front of her. Closing her bad eye once again, she turned her head slightly and watched as the Detective began to flip through photo after photo of more bodies. Each with a similar, distinct expression of fear, and complete lack of injuries, identical to the ones she had been allowed to examine more closely.

"There have been eleven other bodies found throughout the city over the passed month. This is the first group we've found, bringing the total number of dead to sixteen."

"It's strange, not all of the victims were men. Even the ages and races were different. The only thing they shared in common, at first glance, was how they died," she verbalized her initial impressions. "Well, I hope you figure it out and find who or what is responsible for this."

"Me too, Miss Vershinin," he said as he picked up his phone and put it back into his pocket. Pulling out his badge, he removed a card from its black cover, handing it to her. "Call me if you remember, or hear anything useful."

"Sure," she said taking the card from him, sliding it into her pocket. "Now, come back out front, and I'll get you a case of water for your officers," she said as she went to stand up.

"Before we leave, I have one more question for you."

"What's that?"

"How long have you been a practitioner?"

"Beg your pardon?"

"Magic, how long have you been practicing?"

Stretching her hands out on the desk, giving him a perfect view of her fingernails, she smiled politely as she spoke, "When I was nine, I was made an orphan. I'm certain you can look up my file for yourself when you get back to your precinct. While I was tossed around through the foster care system, I learned to do a communication ritual that uses cockroaches as a catalyst. For those of us who can't afford cell phones and long-distance phone calls, a few telltale lines across our nails is a small price to pay to keep in touch. So, I don't consider myself a practitioner, Detective. That generally requires you to know more than one stupid, slightly more than useless ritual. However, feel free to drop by my apartment and snoop around if you think I'm lying, but I would say you have a much bigger problem on your hands than a lone convenient store clerk, who's going to struggle to keep the heat on over the winter."

"I'll be in touch if I have any more questions for you," Det. Mazurka said as he stood from his chair. "Any chance you're still willing to let me have that case of water?"

"Only if you're willing to start calling me Quayleigh."

"Agreed."

"Then follow me."

Quayleigh lead the detective back to the front, and no sooner has she retrieved a case of water from one of the fridges, when the chime of bell rang out through the store drawing her attention.

"Tau," she uttered as the man turned and looked directly at her.

"Quayleigh, I found you!"