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“Where else do you think I’m going to find a computer I can use for free? Do I look rich to you? And don’t ask for my phone number. I don’t have one.”
“You’re a luddite.”
“No. I’m poor. There’s a difference. But thanks for the rent money. I appreciate it. Just be glad my favor won’t involve cleaning out your hoard to line my pockets. I’m mean, but I’m not that mean.”
TWO
The trick would be isolating the truth.
Friday, April 17, 2167
The Gray Ward
Dragon Heights, Wyoming
Had I been in Miami, I would have thrown myself into my work, racing against the clock in order to bring the killer to justice before they could strike again. Interviews of those who knew the victims would be conducted. The money trail would be evaluated.
Money talked, always.
Without a money trail, without the identity of the victims, and without anything other than the knowledge the killer targeted those approaching the shrines, I needed to wait. Waiting would win me more than investigating the shrines in person.
Well, for now. Investigating in person would happen soon enough, but I couldn’t afford to tip off the killer. The element of surprise would be my most potent tool in my lackluster arsenal.
In a perfect world, I would have access to the victims’ bodies. While I lacked most of the powers of a purple dragon, I did my one trick well, often better than the actual dragons. All I needed to do was touch the body, close my eyes, and concentrate.
In a pinch, I could work with my eyes open, but I found the experience disconcerting at best and prone to upsetting my stomach and triggering a skull-splitting headache.
The history of every wound always came rushing in, imprinting into my memory as a mix of physical sensations, images, and emotions. I filtered out the emotions and often ignored them unless I determined the victim’s emotions proved somehow relevant.
Regret tended to catch my attention, and I evaluated the rest on a case-by-case basis. Until Cedrick brought me more intel, I would need to investigate using the local news outlets to get a better idea of what was going on and build a timeline.
Everything would need to be evaluated with many grains of doubt. Most reporters wanted to be a sensation. As such, the truth often became sidelined, which would throw even more kinks into my investigation.
Worse, some reporters bothered to get real information but added elaborations to entice the local population with their storytelling skills.
The trick would be isolating the truth from the rest of the mess.
Twenty minutes after leaving Cedrick’s work, I made it home and climbed the rickety stairs to my apartment to discover a note taped to the door. I recognized my landlady’s handwriting.
Heaving a sigh, I removed the note, unfolded it, and frowned at the request to see her as soon as I arrived. I made the time to go into my apartment and retrieve my cash pouch hidden deep in my pantry, which held a supply of canned goods I bought on the cheap every time I had extra money.
I counted the money, determined I had enough to pay two months of rent with enough left over to pay my bills and get groceries, and returned everything but the rent to its hiding place plus twenty dollars to get a treat for dinner.
With two months of rent in the bag, I would be able to worry less about picking up side jobs and more about passing the certification tests I needed to get a job as a secretary for a well-paying firm. Once I nabbed stable employment, I’d go to school to become something.
I hadn’t yet decided what that something would be, although I liked the idea of working with money. Getting the appropriate certifications to work as a secretary in Dragon Heights needed to happen first.
Had I been willing to reveal my past, I could have bypassed certification, but at least Dragon Heights had a system for those who couldn’t or wouldn’t provide proof of education.
I’d been wise enough to take the practice test to have a better understanding of what they expected. Outside of the specifics on some software, I’d passed with flying colors, and I went to the library to learn what I hadn’t known before I would invest the forty dollars to take the real test.
I left my apartment and headed down the street to where my landlady lived, which was a boarding house next door to the brothel she owned and operated. I knocked, wondering why she’d requested that I meet with her.
I still had a few days before I owed her any money, and I tried to make sure I showed up at least a day ahead of the promised pay date.
Cecilia Andrews opened the door at my third tap, dressed in her work clothes consisting a translucent robe offering nothing in the way of substantial coverage. “Ah, excellent. Come in, Kinsley. I’ll try not to waste much of your time.”
I followed her into the entry, which had been decorated in a sparse yet welcoming fashion, using warm colors to put guests at ease. A single end table and a pair of chairs allowed her to speak with people without taking them deeper inside.