Title: The White Horse (14/16)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy
Summary: Jim Kirk was a strange man. A silent man. No one knew much about him or, if they did, were not willing to say what they did know, especially to the town’s newest magical occupant. Not that Leonard McCoy cared. He had an old curse to track down and unravel by the year’s end. Meanwhile a killer was tracking him. AU.
Previous Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13
or at AO3

Part Thirteen

Leonard hadn’t planned to spend his time playing housemaid in the home of a veritable stranger, but he also didn’t want to piss or shower in a bathroom that looked like the inside of a slaughterhouse. Once he was marginally certain Kirk wasn’t going to die from blood loss, he found a container of bleach stowed in the very back of the kitchen’s sink cabinet along with a pair of old yellow rubber gloves. There was plenty of dust on both. The last time the house had been cleaned properly must have been when Winona Kirk was living.

He took his armful of cleaning supplies to the bathroom, griping as he went. “I really didn’t sign up for this shit. Yet Spock keeps trying to convince me that I don’t have a choice in the matter, and now there’s Kirk—which, let me tell you, there’s something majorly wrong with your son.”

Cold air washed over the back of Leonard’s neck as he entered the bathroom.

Leonard knelt to set down the supplies and glanced behind him. “Was that you agreeing?”

The bleach tilted over onto its side.

Leonard put the container right side up again. “…Okay? That’s not a yes or a no to me, but I’ll take it as a sign you’re at least paying attention. Lucky for you, I have some experience in communicating with the dead.”

After donning the rubber gloves, he unscrewed the cap on the bleach so he could fill up a mop bucket he had found. As he worked, Leonard continued talking to Jim’s mother.

“You must have been storing up energy. Mostly spirits burn themselves out pretty quick, even if they’re driven by rage. It takes a lot to live, you know, so imagine trying to live when you’re dead.” He shook his head slightly. “Usually my advice to your kind is move on, but I’m thinking your kid must be the reason you won’t.” He paused but could think of no polite way to phrase his question. “Is it true that Jim killed you?”

The lights cut out, and the mirror above the sink frosted over.

Slowly releasing a breath, Leonard sat back. “If he really did do it, there’s no point in trying to protect him, Ms. Winona.”

The light bulbs above the mirror flickered momentarily.

“All right,” Leonard conceded. “I get it. He’s innocent.” As the lights came back on one-by-one, he added in a dry tone, “Thanks, that’s mighty kind of you, considerin’ I’m the one scrubbing your bathroom floor.” Leonard reached for the sponge again and passed it over a particularly stubborn blood stain. “Normally I try not to come between a man and his demons, but do you think he’ll tell me why he did this? I get the feeling he’s being ridden hard. Sometimes that kind of thing is due to a guilty conscience. It drives people off the deep-end. But sometimes it’s literal possession, too.”

Leonard stopped with an arm stuck in the bucket, struck by his own words. “If he’s not guilty of murder, then maybe he is possessed.”

Winona didn’t have an opinion on the matter, it seemed. Though Leonard waited a while longer before calling her, no response came. At some point while he had rattled on, she had disappeared.

Leonard finished cleaning up the bathroom in silence.

Jim woke up thinking he was still dreaming when he saw his mother lean down and brush a hand against his forehead. It was so vivid he felt her fingers moving the strands of his hair. But unlike the way he remembered this happening in the past, her touch held no warmth.

Jim woke up fully then, shielding his eyes against the noon sun, and found himself on the couch in his living room. He sat up to the realization that he was alone.

It didn’t take him long to piece together his fragments of memory from last night. He looked down at his forearms, expecting to see the evidence of it, but the skin was clear of blood. Someone had taken care to clean him up while he slept.

He shivered and slid a blanket off his legs. The room moved a little of its own accord as he stood up but not enough to deter him from making his way to the bathroom.

It too had been cleaned, with a strong house-cleaner. The smell made Jim’s stomach turn.

After emptying his bladder and taking a moment to stare at his pale, stubbled skin, Jim went in search of the man whose acts of kindness left him unsettled. But it became quickly apparent to Jim that McCoy was no longer in the house. The man had kept his word and left.

In the kitchen, Jim discovered a note on the front of his refrigerator and groceries inside it which he had not bought himself. The note said in an unfamiliar scrawl, Take better care of yourself in the future. Also, I would’ve fed your cat but it wouldn’t come out from under the couch. – LM

As Jim selected a bottle of Gatorade and a ready-made sandwich, he decided he didn’t like the fact that a part of him wished Leonard had stayed after all.

It was really bad, Leonard told himself, that his thought process came down to ‘ways to break Spock out of jail’. Worse yet, as antsy as he had been to get rid of Spock, it seemed he didn’t know what to do with himself without the bastard. He could have stayed and questioned Kirk, of course, but there had been the matter of a promise to keep. And it wasn’t like Jim had a whole list of reasons to trust him, and vice versa.

So here he was, wandering a quiet shopping area like he was lost while he re-assessed his options. For some reason, those options always circled back to the same irritating, arrogant federal agent.

“Shit and damn,” muttered Leonard as he slipped into a bookstore and veered towards the row farthest from the entrance. When he reached its end, he let his fingers walk across some of the book spines, pretending to look like he was browsing in case a store camera was monitoring the area.

Would Spock be able to get out of the station himself? Probably.

But what happened if the cops called up Spock’s agency to report the misbehavior of one of their own? Then there wasn’t a chance in hell Leonard would meet up with Spock again. It also meant everybody and his brother would be looking for Leonard in order to detangle exactly what Spock had been up to in Riverside. Leonard didn’t doubt they would catch him eventually if he stuck around.

But could he leave? That was what it all came down to: could he abandon the mission—his mission—when there were more questions than answers? Could he start over?

Leonard made a snap decision and went back to the front of the store. He politely asked the young, dark-haired woman at the cash register if he could use her telephone. She handed him a cordless one, and he walked a few feet away from her, dialing a memorized number.

“It’s me,” Leonard said before the person who answered the call could cut him off. “Can you talk?”

“I thought you’d be dead by now.”

Leonard took that to mean yes. “That’s touching, Christine. I didn’t know you cared.”

“I’m fairly certain I made it plain that I don’t.” The woman’s voice lowered a notch. “You shouldn’t have called.”

“I had a friend send you this phone precisely so I could contact you when I needed to.”

“You should have had that friend give it to your father. He’s worried about you, Leonard, and although I hate to admit it, so am I.”

It was a good thing she couldn’t see his mouth twitching. “Aw, you do care.”

“Oh, shut up. What do you need from me?”

Leonard hesitated, glancing surreptitiously at the cashier to see if she was eavesdropping. “How’s Joanna?”

“Weaker some days; stronger, others. Clay says that she’s holding her own.”

Leonard had to force himself to ease his grip on the phone. “I guess he’s doing what he said he would after all.”

“And what was that?”

“That he would keep her alive until I get back.”

“Len…” Christine’s voice fell away for a moment. “Your dad told me what you’re trying to do. Are you sure?“

“No,” he said to her honestly, if grimly. “It doesn’t look good. Nothing…” He hesitated again. “Nothing has made any sense so far.”

“Then come home.”

“I wouldn’t make it past the state line.”

“You could try, couldn’t you? Your daughter misses you. And she’s afraid. It’s that much harder for her without you around.”

He lifted a hand to his face to wipe at a stray tear. “I miss her, too, Chris, but you have to understand… I can’t just give up and watch her die. I can’t. If there’s even the slimmest chance that something could fix this—”

“Stop—just stop. I’m not asking you to convince me. You’re an adult and a father, and the decision is yours.” Christine sighed long and low. “But I will tell you this, Leonard McCoy: if you stay away much longer, you won’t be coming back to help her—you’ll come back to bury her.”

He couldn’t say anything to that. The same worry preyed on his mind day and night already. He truly did not know if each decision he had made up until now has been the right one, that they would ultimately allow him to save his child.

But he did know that there was one last thing he had to do before he left Riverside. Talking to Christine had shown him that.

“Thank you,” he told her. “For your help… for everything, Christine.”

“Leonard?”

He shifted on his feet. “About that favor I need. You got something to write with?”

“Just a second… Okay, I have a pen.”

He recited a phone number.

“Do I want to know who this belongs to?”

“Just tell him you’re a friend of mine and that I need him in Riverside, Iowa as soon as he can come. Here’s the address.” Leonard paused after giving her that information and made a face. “He’ll ask for a code.”

“You and your weird-ass friends…” Christine muttered. “What’s the code?”

“Keenser is not an alien.“

“What is—you know what? Never mind. I’m hanging up now.”

“Thanks, Christine.”

“You’re not welcome, you asshole,” she replied, and the line went dead.

Leonard handed the cordless phone back to the woman behind the counter. She shifted in such a way that he took a quick second to scrutinize her, noting that she was older than his initial impression, although probably not into her thirties yet. “I appreciate you letting me use your phone, ma’am. Sorry it took so long.”

“No problem, sugar,” she said, and smiled. There was blatant interest in her smile and in the pointed way she reached out to casually flick an imaginary speck of dust off his shoulder. “Is there anything I can help you find?”

Six months ago Leonard might have returned the interest or even initiated an invitation of his own. Now he had too many problems crowding his mind to give a thought to flirtation or something more.

He was just about to decline her help when an idea struck him. “Ghosts,” he said. “Where’s your section on ghosts?”

Her hand dropped to the counter, her long nails clicking against the surface. “Hm…. Ghosts?” Her smile turned to a drier expression. “Sure.” She came around the counter and started toward a different part of the store, calling over her shoulder, “We’ve got a vampire section too.”

“Thanks, but no,” Leonard replied. He murmured to himself, “One problem at a time” before following her.

“Are we feeling more cooperative this morning?” Christopher Pike asked the man sitting quietly inside the interrogation room. As he approached the table, he took in the agent’s rumpled clothes and purposefully neutral expression, deciding the answer was likely a no.

He sat down and slid a paper cup across the table. “Coffee?”

“It would be appreciated, yes,” replied Spock, who then lifted his hands, “but perhaps enjoyed better if my handcuffs were removed.”

“I can’t negotiate on standard procedure, Agent.”

Spock lowered his hands and clasped them sedately in front of him. He didn’t touch the coffee.

Chris took a manila folder out from under his arm and dropped it onto the table. “I don’t feel particularly inclined go over what we discussed yesterday, so let’s just skip the hunt and tree the prey. Who was the man with you in the car?”

“The driver.”

And here we go again, Chris thought to himself, mildly irritated. “Please try to be less of a smart-ass, Agent Spock. What is his name?”

“I cannot give you that information.”

“Why not?”

“It is a matter of privacy. As I informed you yesterday evening, your officers disrupted me in the middle of an investigation. There is certain information pertaining to it which I cannot disclose—including information surrounding the involvement of other individuals. I will not jeopardize my work.”

Chris wasn’t fooled. “I think it’s a fact by now that you refuse to disclose any information.”

Spock tilted his head slightly as if to consider this remark, before conceding the point with a nod.

The sheriff resisted the urge to make his irritation known, and instead reached out with a tendril of his ability to brush against the man’s mind; but, as had happened to him the day prior, he could not breach it. Whoever had schooled the agent in the mental arts had been very knowledgeable. There were no tiny crevices, chinks, or penetrable areas through which Chris could glean the turning of the other man’s thoughts. He found himself stuck on one side of a smooth, unforgiving wall.

He was both impressed and disturbed by the skill it took to maintain it. He also had to wonder if Agent Spock had innate magic of his own, because Chris had never encountered a mental block that was so perfect, yet seemed so perfectly ordinary at the same time.

He flipped open the folder and pretended to peruse the topmost report inside. “Tell me about your mother. You never knew her, correct? She died in childbirth.”

For the briefest of moments it felt like the table quaked under his hand.

“How is that question relevant, Sheriff?”

Not so aloof now, are you?

Chris closed the file and folded his hands on top of it. “I am attempting to discern your motive, Agent. Your father was your only living parent. Is it revenge for his death which brings you here? Which prompts you to keep your business a secret from local law enforcement? I have to wonder… who really knows why you’re in Riverside?”

“Whether or not I share my business with you is determined by my superiors.”

“You’ve said that before. Maybe I’m in the mood to contest your statement,” Chris responded, tone mild. “Should we contact one of your superiors and ask him?”

Their eyes stayed locked.

“That is your prerogative, sir.”

Chris smiled. “Excellent.” He turned toward the one-way mirror at his back. “Would you like to join us now, Mr. Sulu?”

For the first time since Uhura and Hendorff had escorted him into the station, Spock’s facade cracked.

Scowling, Leonard shoved the third book he’d come across back onto its shelf with none-too-gentle care. As far as research went, these authors and so-called ‘paranormal investigators’ knew next to nothing about the realm of the dead. Leonard had had more experience just by making friends with the ghost-dog who had haunted his next-door neighbor’s house in Georgia.

These people are stupid, he thought to himself.

It was a damn good thing he had called in reinforcements. He doubted there was anyone knowledgeable enough in town (let alone worth trusting) to help him deal with the supernatural mess he had found himself in.

Thinking about that mess brought him back to the previous night’s events.

He closed his eyes and saw them: the horses.

It had been an invasion of privacy, Leonard had known that. But after scrubbing down the bathroom and then himself, he had needed a towel to clean up. Finding the bathroom cabinets empty, he had had to look elsewhere.

Prowling through another man’s private territory, even without the intention to snoop, was never an honest thing to do. It hadn’t helped, of course, that the moment he stepped into Jim’s bedroom, he had been simultaneously fascinated and repulsed by what he saw.

Horses, white ones, everywhere: figurines, posters, paintings, carvings, stuffed toys.

He understood then why Kirk had been carrying around that small horse earlier in the day. The man collected them.

But why had Leonard also felt sick and unsettled? His gut had flopped unhappily like he had consumed too much greasy food at once, and so after a cursory glance around the floor of Kirk’s room, Leonard had backed out of the doorway. Only then had his nerves eased toward normal. The feeling went away entirely once he had closed the bedroom door.

Being a collector was a common enough hobby, and it shouldn’t have affected him at all. It wasn’t until Leonard had finished unloading the groceries from the neighborhood convenience store into Kirk’s refrigerator that he recalled his dream of taking a wild ride on the back of a white horse. How odd. He had dreamt of it carrying him into a lake. The horse had certainly been intent on drowning him.

But Leonard shrugged it off. His dreams rarely made sense, often connecting random images and events into one fantastical, often implausible imagining. He didn’t always remember them upon awakening, and if he did, the details of them faded quickly.

Yet, after last night’s dream, he thought he could still taste the lake water in his mouth and feel the coarse mane in his hands. It was a curious thing, the mind.

It was a more curious thing, those horses of Kirk’s.

Leonard skimmed his fingertips over several book spines before settling on one. He knew too well about the spirits he had encountered over the years but, beyond experience, nothing much. Contrary to belief, accurate knowledge about the supernatural was difficult to find. The government censored a lot of what hit the bookstores, fiction and non-fiction, out of a misguided sense of the old adage what they don’t know can’t hurt them. Luckily, Leonard had a source who knew plenty about the subject and was willing to share that knowledge too.

But Scotty wouldn’t arrive for another day or so.

“Did you find everything you were lookin’ for?”

Leonard paused in opening the book in his hand, looking up with a startled “Ma’am?”

The cashier stood at the end of the row, watching him. He hadn’t noticed her at all until she spoke. That alone made him wary.

“Sure,” he told her. “Thanks for your help.”

But she didn’t take the hint, instead closing the distance between them a little. With a brief smile, she pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket then a lighter. “Want a smoke?”

He did. Oh, he did. But his mama had raised him not to take candy from strangers. “I’m tryin’ to quit.”

“Ah.” She stuck an unlit cigarette between her lips and started to turn away, but abruptly turned back to Leonard a few seconds later, saying out-of-the-blue, “I’ve got a place if you need one.”

What?

She lifted her right arm and drew down the sleeve to reveal smooth, unblemished caramel skin.

Leonard’s hand automatically went to his own wrist which bore the Mark. He had made a point of keeping it hidden.

“I can usually tell,” the woman said, almost in an offhand manner. “It’s… a family thing.”

Whether she was admitting to having a bit of magic of her own or hinting that she was related to Marked individuals, Leonard did not know. But either of those was a dangerous thing to do.

“I’m fine,” he said pointedly. “But if that offer was genuine, I do appreciate it. Not a lot of people are comfortable talking to a man like me, let alone taking an interest in my welfare.”

“No problem, sugar,” she said as she had earlier and left him alone.

“Hello, Agent Spock.”

“Agent Sulu,” Spock greeted, having regained his composure and returned to looking unnaturally calm.

Sulu, hands in his trouser pockets, glanced at the third man in the room and suggested, “Why don’t you give us a moment, Sheriff?”

Pike raised his eyebrows. “Now why would I do that?”

“Because you want him to talk, but at the same time I’m sure you have noticed you don’t have the right incentive for that.” Sulu’s mouth stretched into a thin smile. “I do.”

Pike observed Sulu momentarily before standing and saying, “Then I’ll just grab a fresh cup of coffee.” He didn’t look at Spock. “Five minutes?”

“That will suffice,” the agent agreed.

The door closed in the sheriff’s wake. Sulu withdrew a hand from his pocket and attached a small object to the underside of the table as he brushed past it to take Pike’s vacated chair.

Spock kept his eyes fixed forward. After a slow count to ten, he then met Sulu’s gaze. “I will admit that I did not expect to see you here, Agent.”

“After that call you made, you should have,” Sulu retorted. His gaze skipped pointedly towards the camera in the corner of the room. “I estimate we have three minutes before they figure out their feed is on a loop.”

“Two minutes,” Spock corrected. “Pike may not be in our databases but he is still a talented mind-reader. I assume you projected the appropriate intentions to gain his trust.”

“I made them a bit bloody too. He seems to appreciate that theme.”

“Good. While I believe he has personal motive not to contact Headquarters, that belief is no guarantee. We must proceed with caution.”

“I figured that out, sir, the first time you contacted me. They’re going to have your head, you know, when this is over.”

“I am too valuable of an asset for them to take my head,” Spock stated. “But more to the point, the repercussions for my actions should not concern you.”

“They don’t,” Sulu replied. “I’m here because I owe a debt to your father. You know that, just as you also know I am loyal to the job. So let’s compromise before I do agree to something potentially career-damaging.”

The handcuffs clinked as Spock steepled his fingers. “Name your terms.”

“Iowa’s undiscovered country in our books… and it has a lot of potential. I want back in the field permanently—and I want this jurisdiction.”

“You seem to be under the impression I can acquire that for you.”

“I know you can, sir,” Sulu tacked on with faux politeness. “Why else would I be on this assignment in the first place?”

Spock acknowledged the truth of that statement by inclining his head. “What else?”

“McCoy. I want McCoy.”

For a few seconds, Spock said nothing. His silence spoke for itself.

The look in the other agent’s eyes sharpened.

Perhaps sensing Sulu’s interest, Spock asked with guarded care, “Why?”

“Why not?” countered Sulu. “He’s a criminal, and I could use the commendation.”

“Which would lend credence to my request to station you in this area,” Spock surmised. “I see. I assume Iowa is simply a stepping stone to the rest of the Midwest.”

“Lead Regional Agent… maybe even a Director,” remarked Sulu. “The latter has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” He continued to watch Spock closely. “So, is giving up McCoy going to be a problem?”

“Not a particularly difficult one, no,” replied the other man. “However, you will have to catch him first.”

“I doubt that will be hard, as long as you do not get in my way. Because if you do, Spock…” Sulu leaned forward, sliding a hand across the surface of the table just as they heard the thump of someone trying to force the jammed lock of the door. “Family friend or not, I will put you six-feet under.”

Spock gave no indication of how he felt about the threat. He only said, “Understood.”

Sulu lifted up his hand, revealing a small silver key which gleamed in the overhead lighting. Spock took the key to his handcuffs and stowed it away. They both sat back and blinked at each other as the door fell open and a deputy stumbled inside. Sheriff Pike impatiently pushed the young man out of his way as he came into the room next, projecting just how pissed he was.

Spock looked at the angry man and said simply, “Kirk.”

Pike drew up short. His nostrils flared. Then he twisted at the waist and barked to the others behind him, “Get out.“

They did, as if obeying a direct order from Pike was ingrained so deeply in their makeup they could do nothing else. Such was the potency of the man’s magic.

Spock withdrew the key from the inside of his shirt sleeve and wordlessly proceeded to unlock his handcuffs.

“Do you have your equipment?” Sulu asked Spock.

“Some of it.”

“Is the feed still scrambled?” Pike interrupted suddenly, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

Sulu gave him an even stare. “Until I decide otherwise.”

The sheriff came forward, then, demanding of Spock, “Talk. What do you know about Kirk?”

“What don’t we know?” Sulu said before the other agent could answer. “The question is, why is he important to you?”

Pike ignored Sulu. “You will tell me. And I’ll know if you’re lying.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “It’s impolite to read my mind, Sheriff.”

Pike’s expression didn’t change. “Why are you here?”

Spock looked to Sulu, then back to Pike. “I suggest you cooperate with us now. If you do not, you will not have a chance to do so later on. Our only prerogative in Riverside at this time is to catch a killer.”

“If you think that killer is James Kirk, then you’re wrong.”

“Prior to this conversation I had assumed he was not.”

“Sounds like we might need to change our minds, sir,” Sulu remarked in a mild tone to the other agent.

Pike dragged a hand through his hair, saying, “Shit. All right, boys, we’ll start from square one. I’m Sheriff Christopher Pike. If you want to hunt in this county, whether officially or unofficially, you come to me. That’s the rule, and there are no exceptions or excuses. Now tell me who you’re hunting. I can guess the why,” he added, looking at Spock.

“The ‘who’ remains unclear to me. It is the details of Mr. Kirk’s accident, however, which I believe will reveal the identity.”

“Then you’re in luck, Mr. Spock,” Christopher Pike said, “because I was there.”

Leonard lingered in the bookstore longer than he should have. By the time he was motivated enough to leave (a growling stomach was plenty motivation, it seemed), his admirer had lost interest in him and was busy creating an arrangement of what looked like a shipment of new romance novels at the front of the store.

Leonard inclined his head towards the woman as he pushed through the front door, despite that she wasn’t looking his way. He managed to make it two feet along the sidewalk before he saw a cop car round the street corner. On instinct, Leonard ducked back into the bookstore.

This time the employee turned her head around at his hasty reappearance.

“Bathroom?” he asked, trying to keep his voice level.

“In the back,” she said.

Leonard retreated to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face and regain his bearings. It was a silly reaction, honestly, his panic. What did he have to panic about when the police patrolled their territory all the time? It was acting suspiciously as he was doing now that was likely to get him noticed.

He exited the bathroom, intent on acting less like a fool this time around.

It was shock that brought him up short when he stepped away from the bookshelves to the front of the store. Panic overrode sense, and with good reason.

In his absence, a police officer from the car had entered the bookstore. At Leonard’s sudden appearance, the officer paused mid-conversation to turn and peruse him.

Leonard blinked stupidly and, a moment later, forced his legs toward the counter. His stiff fingers picked out a book from the display along the side, fumbling it only slightly as his heart thundered in his chest.

It was her, the policewoman who had taken Spock into custody.

How in the hell had she found him? Had Spock ratted him out?

He sucked in a breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Except, it didn’t.

The women went back to their conversation, which was a jumble of meaningless words to Leonard’s ears, and then the cop left. Leonard didn’t realize why until the employee who had offered him the cigarette came into view and asked, “Are you going to buy that?”

Leonard looked up at her.

His face must have had a measure of fear in it, because her expression changed from politely bored to deeply curious.

“That place you mentioned,” Leonard began without thinking, “is it still available?”

Her gaze narrowed somewhat but she said, “It is.”

Leonard knew he had to get off the streets, at least until tomorrow. “Then, yeah, I guess I could use a place to stay.”

Her red lips curved into the same smile she had offered him earlier. “Okay. If you can wait until I’m off shift, I’ll take you there.” Reaching across the counter, she took the crushed book from between his hands and replaced it on the display.

Leonard didn’t know what to do with his hands afterwards so he shoved them into his jacket pockets. A person, not a cop this time, entered the store with a child in tow.

“Take a seat, sugar,” Leonard was advised. “It’ll be another hour. I’m Penda, by the way.”

“Leonard.”

Penda nodded and left him to assist the customer, who clearly had a question for her.

Leonard chose a chair in a semi-circle of them around a coffee table and sank down into it. He spent the next sixty minutes wondering if he should be worried that Penda seemed too pleased to have his company.

They picked up Chinese takeout on the way to Penda’s apartment. Leonard paid.

She told him he had a choice of her bed or the couch. The bed, she made a point of saying, came with perks that the couch didn’t.

“While I’m flattered,” Leonard said, “I think I would rather stick to your couch.”

“I knew you would say that.” With an amused laugh, Penda picked up a carton of food and a pair of chopsticks and dropped down to the floor by the coffee table. After stirring up her meal with the chopsticks, she wanted to know, “So what is it that you can do?”

He had known this part was coming too. Curiosity always got the better of people, even those who offered their help. He smiled thinly down at his food. “Not much, really. Shoot fireballs out of my ass?”

Her bark of laughter was genuine. “I hope you’re lying, Leonard. That would have to be an uncomfortable gift.”

He hated that word ‘gift’. “Is it important?”

“Could you hurt me?” She didn’t sound like it much mattered if he said he could.

“Any man off the street could hurt you,” he replied, “whether he’s Marked or not.”

“Oh, I doubt that.” Penda took a delicate bite of a piece of chicken.

Leonard said nothing and concentrated on eating. He made up his mind to leave before dawn. There was something unusual about Penda. He couldn’t say it was a bad thing, but he already had plenty to deal without adding more to the mix. Once he’d had his fill of his lo mein, he put down the container and asked her, “Why are you doing this?”

“Why did you want to come here?” When he didn’t answer that, Penda tapped her chopsticks against her mouth. “It was the cop, wasn’t it? You looked guilty as soon as you saw her. Lucky for you, she didn’t notice. She can be like a dog with a bone once she’s caught a scent like yours.”

The food turned to lead in Leonard’s stomach. “You know her?”

“Sure. She’s my cousin.”

Had he just walked into a trap? Fuck.

He started to get up.

“I wouldn’t leave if I were you,” Penda told him. “Because I will call her and say you were here.”

“I haven’t done anything to warrant her or anybody else’s attention. Why should I care what you say?”

“Mm.” Penda made a thoughtful noise. “She hates it when I have men over.” She put aside her food and rose from the floor in one graceful move. “But you’re right… what can she do? It’s not like I need protection from them.”

Hadn’t her eyes been dark before, or were they always that golden hue of amber?

Leonard didn’t dare move. He knew a predator when he saw one. He said, tone steadier than he felt, “I told you I’m not interested.”

“In what?” the woman asked too sweetly. “The bed? Dinner?”

“The part where me in the bed ends up being dinner.”

Penda stilled just briefly before bursting out with laughter. “Leonard, you are so funny! I’d say delicious, too, but I think you’ve changed my mind.”

“Does that mean I can go?”

She shrugged, turning away to collect what was left of their forgotten meal. “The couch is still free. I promise I won’t touch you.”

“No offense, lady, but I’d rather not take my chances.”

He was of the opinion that if it came down to it, he would rather go up against her cousin instead of whatever she happened to be.

Unless, of course, her cousin was of the same ilk.

“My magic,” he said, abrupt enough to regain her interest. “It’s for fixing people.”

The lovely woman tilted her head in consideration of that. “Does that mean you’re looking for someone who’s broken?”

“No. I just want to be left alone.”

Penda stared at him. “What’s the point in wanting that, sugar? It won’t ever come true.”

He knew she was right. Leonard turned for the door.

To his surprise, she let him go. Exiting her apartment building and backtracking to a nearby motel he had been careful to take note of earlier on, he wondered what other secrets the seemingly mundane Riverside had been hiding from him.

Having spent the last of the money he carried on a room the night before, Leonard truly hoped his luck was about to change. It had started to rain lightly sometime in the early morning, and so everything felt damp, from the bus seats to his hair beneath the baseball cap he had lifted from the motel office along with a cup of coffee. He prayed all the way to his destination.

And he wasn’t disappointed.

The van parked by the street curb stood out like a sore thumb. Leonard was infinitely glad to see it. He slapped a hand against the cold metal in greeting as he circled around to the back.

The man who slid open the door, blinking against the daylight, said, “You owe me big, you crazy bastard.”

Leonard climbed inside. “Good to see you too, Scotty. Long drive?”

Scotty adjusted the dark-gray beanie on his head and snuffled. “Eh,” he shrugged, “not really. I was a state over anyway.” With his foot, he shoved a wooden crate at his guest.

Leonard sat down, then uncharacteristically leaned forward to give the man a one-armed hug.

Scotty pushed Leonard back with a half-hearted complaint, the skin of his neck flushing red. “Stop that. Just how desperate are you?”

“One state away? You were watching out for me,” Leonard said.

“Yeah right!”

“Thanks,” Leonard insisted anyway. “It’s good to know I’ve got someone who gives a damn.”

Scotty hunkered into his oversized parka. “You could’ve just called me yourself.”

“Nah. I knew you’d like it better if a pretty lady made the request.”

“I can’t tell if a caller’s pretty over the phone, dumbass.”

Leonard chuckled. “You sayin’ you don’t have an idea of what Christine Chapel looks like?”

Scotty wisely said nothing else. He twisted sideways on his short stool and activated a computer screen, switching subjects abruptly. “I staked out here a little before midnight. There’s something I want you to see.”

Leonard dragged the crate closer to Scotty and the laptop, shooting a cursory glance at the equipment attached to it. “Is all of this really necessary?”

“You called me out for this job, didn’t you?” Scotty opened a video file and began to fast-forward through hours worth of footage.

Leonard leaned in to get a good look at the scenery. “You monitored Jim’s house?”

“Jim? Ah. James Tiberius Kirk,” Scotty supplied. “Deceased mother, unknown father, a hell of a middle name. His grandfather’s, I think. He’s got some kind of speech impairment but isn’t on disability. He works—well, when he can keep a job and himself out of the local jail.”

Leonard pinched the bridge of his nose. He imagined Scotty gleefully researching all of those facts. “Is that it?”

“That was the long version, my friend, which means public records only tell half the picture. What don’t I know?”

“He’s crazy—and I think he’s possessed.”

Scotty didn’t look as surprised as Leonard expected. Instead he said, “Let’s hope that’s the reason for this,” and hit a button on his keyboard.

The video displayed a black-and-white scene of Kirk’s house. It was clearly late at night. Nothing moved on the street or in the yard. The video had no sound.

“I arrived at a good time,” Scotty began, talking in a quieter tone as the clip continued to play. “An hour later and I would have set up too late to catch it.”

“It?”

“This,” clarified the other man, pointing with his index finger to a small flicker on the screen.

Only it wasn’t a flicker of the transmitting image but a small white light flashing by a window inside the house. The kitchen, Leonard realized, piecing together what he knew of the house’s layout.

“Could be the mother,” Leonard murmured. “I met her while I was there.”

“Keep watching,” urged Scotty.

Leonard did. A minute later, the back door to the house opened. Since Scotty was parked parallel to the house to capture a three-sided view, Leonard didn’t have a clear line of sight to see the person’s face.

It wouldn’t have mattered: there was no face.

“What the hell is it? Kirk?” he said.

“I don’t know.” Scotty grimaced. “I wasn’t watching the feed right then, otherwise I would have gone out and gotten a better look myself.”

“You shouldn’t have wanted to do that anyway, you fool.” He considered the image as Scotty paused the video and enlarged the frame. “Well, we know it’s on two legs at least. Thing is, if that is Kirk out for a midnight ramble, he sure as hell doesn’t glow like that in the daytime. Do you have him coming back?”

“Unless he turned into a bat and flew down the chimney, no.”

“So he didn’t come home.” Leonard sat back. “Fuck, why does that make me uneasy?”

“‘Cause it’s weird,” Scotty said. “Weirder than either of us are used to.”

Leonard blew out a breath and considered what he wanted to tell his friend. “Speaking of weird, can a horse drown somebody?”

Scotty’s hands stilled in the process of fiddling with the video’s settings. “What?” he asked, looking to Leonard.

“You’re more into that mythology stuff than I am. A horse. A white horse? I spent a night in Kirk’s house, and I had a strange dream. I thought it was just my brain mixing up stuff, with investigating these drownings and all—”

“Whoa there.” Scotty held up a hand for Leonard to stop talking. “You said a horse and drowning. That’s a kelpie. But no way could you have one of those here.”

“Why not?

“They aren’t native to this side of the ocean, Leonard.” Scotty turned back to his laptop with a frown. “Well, not unless…”

“Unless what?” Leonard prompted.

“Unless somebody did a stupid thing, like uprooting one and bringing it over.”

Leonard felt the knot of dread forming in his stomach. “By ‘somebody’ you mean a mage.”

“It’d have to be. No ordinary man could control a spirit that powerful.” Scotty rubbed at his knuckles and drew in a breath. “I dinnae like this.” His accent slipped only when he was nervous. “You said something about drownings? How many? When?”

“Every seven years, give or take. That’s the pattern I followed along the Mississippi. Kirk is the dead end, though. He was nearly a victim.”

“Of a kelpie,” Scotty said flatly. “I don’t believe it.” He didn’t sound like he did either.

Leonard didn’t know what to say.

Scotty jumped off his stool without warning and grabbed a ragged-looking backpack. “Okay, suppose a waterhorse is the culprit. Then we’d have a bigger problem.”

“Is it hard to kill?”

The man scoffed. “Ye can’t kill a kelpie.” He lifted a small book into the air for Leonard to see, then opened and browsed through it. “Besides, you said he’s the dead end. Does that mean there haven’t been more drownings?”

“I have no idea,” Leonard replied. “The last time I know of was in 1997. But with a century’s worth of activity… At least, that’s as far back as—” Spock tracked the thing. Leonard couldn’t say that. “—as the records go.” He said more to himself, “So why would it stop killing all of a sudden when no one has ever caught it?”

Scotty ran a finger across a page of the book and murmured softly, “That fits.”

“What fits?”

Scotty’s face was pinched. “It’s got to feed, lad. Every seven years like clockwork.” He closed the book abruptly. “You know what bothers me, though? A hundred years is nothing to a supernatural. But for a human, that’s a lifetime.”

Leonard nodded. “So potentially the mage could be dead. Who would be controlling the spirit, then?”

At the same time they looked to the laptop screen, paused upon the white, shapeless figure leaving the house.

“Maybe we’re wrong. Maybe we’re really, really wrong on all of this, Scotty,” Leonard said.

“I hope so,” agreed his friend. “Otherwise that Kirk—Jim, whatever—fellow wouldn’t be possessed by a kelpie. He’d be the manifestation of it.”

Leonard hated, absolutely hated that his gut said Congratulations, you figured it out.

Next Part

Related Posts:

• The White Horse (18/18) – from May 12, 2014
• The White Horse (17/18) – from May 10, 2014
• The White Horse (16/18) – from May 10, 2014
• The White Horse (15/16) – from April 4, 2014
• The White Horse (13/16) – from February 3, 2014

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