The Scargill Cove Case Files: An Arcane Society Story

  Fitch asks if I notice any clues. I tell him no. I don’t tell him about the code. I need to think about this.

  I take a walk on the beach. Storm coming in. Why did Hooker think I might investigate his death?

  He kept the code simple. Knew anyone connected with Arcane could figure it out. That means he knew I’m Arcane. Knew I’m psychic.

  Hooker must have figured that if anyone ever found his body, I might get involved in the investigation. I’m the only PI in town.

  The scratches are crude Roman numerals. I’m good with codes and this is child’s play. The numbers refer to letters of the alphabet.

  The letters spell Crystallus. It’s one of the three Latin words on the seal of the Arcane Society. Lux Lucis, Somnium, Crystallus.

  Lux Lucis: light. Somnium: dreams. Crystallus: crystals. Combined with fire they represent the Society’s theory of psychic energy.

  Why would Hooker leave me a coded message referring to crystals? Like I tell my agents: there are no coincidences.

  Hooker was killed around the time the Hawaii case was closed. He probably heard about Craigmore’s death. It was in the papers.

  Craigmore was well known in the business world. But he had a secret life. More than one. I think Hooker knew about those other lives.

  Hooker figured I was aware of Craigmore’s history with Arcane and the black ops government agency. Knew I’d get the message.

  I keep walking. I’m running hot, in the zone. Letting the energy of the storm focus my talent.

  Out there on the glittering web of the invisible psychic grid that is my chessboard, I start moving pieces. Running scenarios.

  Hooker must have known about Craigmore’s psychic talent for manipulating the energy of crystals.

  If he knew that much, Hooker might have known about the crystal weapon Craigmore kept as a souvenir of his black ops work.

  Question: Did Hooker know about Craigmore because they worked together at the black ops agency? Yes. Feels right.

  The black ops agency was shut down several years ago. But Hooker and Craigmore were about the same age. Could have been colleagues.

  If Hooker knew that Craigmore was dead, why point me in that direction? Did he know about the Nightshade connection? My talent says no.

  If Hooker knew about Nightshade he would have left another message. The scratches are about Craigmore and crystals and the weapon.

  I watch more points illuminate on the paranormal plane. Craigmore’s crystal gun. That was the crux of Hooker’s message.

  Maybe there was more than one crystal weapon. Reasonable assumption. Any remaining guns would be incredibly valuable. And dangerous.

  Arcane. The government. Rogue crystal-talents. Arms dealers. The list of potential buyers is a long one. But so are the risks.

  Anyone trying to sell the crystal guns would have a big marketing problem. The buyers would all be willing to kill for the product.

  Maybe that’s what happened to Hooker. He wasn’t murdered for his stash of weed. He was killed for his stash of crystal guns.

  The whole paranormal grid is hot now. I can feel answers slamming into place. But I need more background.

  I also need more coffee. I go back up the cliff trail and walk into town. Stop at the Sunshine. Marge still hasn’t gotten a new waitress.

  Marge wants to know if I’ve had any luck looking for an assistant. I tell her no. She gets me my coffee. I go back to the office.

  I take a good look around the office. I’m buried in paperwork. Probably do need an assistant, but how do I find one in this town?

  Back to work on the Fitch case. I fire up the computer. Hit my favorite conspiracy theorist sites. Whack jobs are as busy as ever.

  I exclude the Area 51 crowd. Not dealing with aliens here. Focus on the black helicopter folks. Strike out.

  Move on to what used to be my favorite conspiracy site, but the Sentinel went dark a while back and it is still silent. Rumors are circulating that the Sentinel is dead.

  The Sentinel was way, way out there, definitely over the horizon, even for a conspiracy theorist. But in a weird way, I’m going to miss the site. What does that say about me?

  No luck with the usual suspects. Sit back and think for a while. Get an idea and pick up the phone. Call Arizona Snow.

  Arizona Snow is the ultimate conspiracy theorist. Lives in a little town on the Oregon Coast. Eclipse Bay.

  Snow is kind of crazy. Sunk so deep into her conspiracy theories that she will never escape. Some people say I’ll end up like her.

  Snow and I have never met but we have mutual acquaintances. Grace and Luther in Hawaii. They worked the Craigmore case.

  When AZ answers the phone I start to introduce myself; use the Grace and Luther connection. But Snow says she knows who I am.

  The fact that AZ recognizes my name and is willing to talk to me is a little scary. The woman is loony tunes. But she’s got talent.

  AZ once worked for a secret government agency. She was black ops before they had a name for it. Now she’s nuts. Coincidence?

  When I talk to AZ, am I talking to my own future? Am I doomed to get so far out on the psychic plane that I’ll never find my way back?

  Have to worry about my para-psych problems some other time. Got to find those missing crystal guns before Nightshade or a rogue does.

  Arizona asks if my phone is encrypted. I say yes. She starts talking about rumors of three men who vanished several years ago.

  AZ says that at one time the three missing men worked for her old agency. Got sent to another dept. for some tests. Never returned.

  Rumor was that the tests were intended to identify agents with certain psychic abilities. AZ thinks the men went to another agency.

  AZ hints that one of the projects at the other agency involved some kind of psychic weapons. Agency shut down years ago.

  Officially, the three men died in an accident. But rumor is they pulled a disappearing act and took some of the weapons with them.

  AZ says there haven’t been any rumors of the crystal guns in years. She says Vortex probably tracked down the men and the guns.

  AZ says the crystal guns are just the kind of thing Vortex would try to get hold of. I ask her what Vortex is and brace myself.

  AZ says Vortex is a group of highly-placed conspirators dedicated to controlling the world. Like anyone would want that job.

  I think of Nightshade. Okay, there are such things as conspiracies. Problem is, Nightshade is real. Vortex isn’t.

  I thank AZ, tell her J&J owes her a favor, and try to end the call. She wants to tell me one more thing.

  AZ says that I’m opening a can of worms. Says to keep an eye out for Vortex agents. I ask how I’ll recognize one.

  AZ says I’ll know a Vortex agent by a tattoo of a tornado on the shoulder. I tell her I don’t plan to get that close.

  End the call, sit back, and pull up my talent. Watch the grid light up with connections. No such thing as Vortex except in AZ’s head.

  But the crystal guns are real. Scenario: Hooker and two others stole the psychic weapons years ago when their agency shut down.

  Hooker and the others knew the guns were very, very hot. Went into deep hiding. But why no rumors about the weapons in all this time?

  If Hooker and his partners had used the weapons themselves or sold them on the black market, there would have been rumors.

  Looked into the victim’s past. Got nothing on Hooker. Time to take another look at the client. Fitch.

  I go deep online, looking for anything I can find on Fitch. His past is squeaky clean, just like Hooker’s.

  I’ve got my red flag. Fitch is too clean. Why was he so anxious for me to investigate Hooker’s death?

  Grid’s getting hotter now. Fitch didn’t come to me because he was worried about some bad energy in his shop.

  Fitch hired me to find something that he couldn’t find himself: Hooker’s stash of crystal guns. It’s all coming together now.

  Hooker, Fit
ch, and a third man stole the crystal guns. But Hooker betrayed his two partners. Disappeared with the guns.

  Classic falling-out among thieves scenario. Took Fitch years to find Hooker here in Scargill Cove.

  Must have been a quarrel. Hooker died without revealing the location of the crystal guns. Fitch hit a wall so he hired a psychic PI.

  Fitch hopes that my investigation will lead to the crystal guns. Once he has them, figures he’ll get rid of me. No loose ends.

  Need more answers and there’s only one place to get them. I leave the office and walk down the street to Fitch’s bookshop.

  I’m running hot now. In the zone. The grid is blazing. Nothing like a lot of adrenaline and psi to heat the blood.

  Bookshop is open but Fitch isn’t behind the counter. I go downstairs to the vault room. Fitch is waiting. With a gun.

  You know, he says. I tell him I know some of it, but not all. It’s about the crystal guns, I say.

  He tells me they stole three of them, one for each man. But Hooker turned on them. Disappeared with all three guns.

  I ask about the third man. Fitch says after they stole the guns, another agent named Craigmore came looking for them.

  Craigmore got to Brock. Killed him. But never found Fitch or Hooker or the three guns. Eventually Craigmore stopped looking.

  I don’t tell Fitch that Craigmore stopped looking because he had bigger fish to fry. Instead I ask how Hooker died.

  Fitch says that after all these years he finally found Hooker here in Scargill Cove. Confronted him down here in the basement.

  Fitch says there was an argument. Hooker refused to give up the guns. Why? I ask. He never used them. Never sold them.

  Fitch says Hooker had a change of heart after they stole the guns. He decided they were too dangerous. So he hid them.

  Fitch says Hooker planned to take the secret to his grave. Which is exactly what he did. So how did Hooker end up in the vault?

  Fitch says during the argument, Hooker clutched his chest. Looked like he was having a heart attack. Stumbled into the vault.

  Fitch says Hooker pulled the vault door closed. It locked. Fitch couldn’t get it open.

  I understand now. Hooker was dying. Knew he had only one chance to leave me a message. Locked himself in the vault.

  The dying Hooker scratched his message in code on the inside of the bank vault door, hoping that eventually I’d find it.

  I look at Fitch. You asked me to investigate because you couldn’t find the crystal guns yourself, I say.

  Fitch says that I failed. Says it’s time to tie up loose ends. I’m going to have the same kind of heart attack that killed Hooker.

  The wave of cold psychic energy comes at me like a tsunami, crashing across my senses. Killing energy. Fitch is generating it.

  Always knew there was something about Fitch. Guy is a powerful talent. Very few can kill with psychic energy.

  The icy mind blast is freezing my para-senses. Power like this can stop the human heart. I now know exactly what killed Hooker.

  I need to distract Fitch for a second. That’s all. One lousy second. I manage to talk. I know where the guns are hidden, I say.

  He doesn’t believe me but he doesn’t want to take any chances, either. The mind blast lessens a little. Where are they? he asks.

  And suddenly I know. Hooker gave me that information, too, in his coded message. But I’m not about to tell Fitch.

  I’ve got an opening. With my talent, I reach into the whirlwind of chaos and seize the power I need.

  I slam the chaos energy into Fitch’s aura, shattering his currents. He goes down hard. Dead before he hits the floor.

  I take a little time to get myself back under control. Killing a man takes a psychic toll. I’ll revisit this scene in my nightmares. Won’t be the first bad dreams I’ve had.

  I leave the body on the floor and go upstairs. Hooker stocked a lot of New Age books: meditation, dream theory, crystals.

  There are three shelves of books devoted to crystals. I find one that carries the logo of the Arcane Society. Open it.

  Book is hollowed out. Three small flashlights inside. The crystal guns. Hidden in plain sight.

  I go back down into the vault room. Crouch beside Fitch’s body. I know the authorities will call it natural causes.

  I feel a frisson of intuition. I unbutton Fitch’s shirt. Breathe a sigh of relief when I don’t find any mark on his shoulder.

  But I make the mistake of turning him over. Look at the back of his shoulder. A small tattoo. Looks like a tornado. Vortex.

  Epilogue

  Monday morning. Some good news. Illusion talent sees fit to call in. Says I don’t have to worry about the serial killer anymore.

  I ask what happened to the rogue. The illusion talent tells me the guy drowned. Right. I don’t ask any more questions.

  No coffee. I head for the Sunshine Café. I sense the change when I go through the door. Good energy in the Sunshine today.

  Got a new employee, Marge tells me. Name is Isabella Valdez. New employee comes out of the kitchen. That’s when I know.

  Isabella Valdez is the source of the good energy in the Sunshine. I introduce myself. She pours coffee for me.

  Isabella Valdez is a talent of some kind. Very high grade. Another talent in this small town? What are the odds?

  I sit at the counter for a long time, thinking about Vortex. Just what I need, another conspiracy of rogue psychics to worry about.

  After a while I stop thinking about Vortex. I think about Isabella Valdez instead.

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  Fallon Jones: three years earlier . . .

  Paranormal fire burned in the darkness. Auroras of psi splashed across the ether. The night sky above San Francisco was ablaze with light from across the spectrum. Fallon Jones gripped the condo balcony railing with both hands, fighting to anchor himself to reality. There were spectacular patterns wherever he looked: wondrous, astonishingly intricate webs of connections and links that illuminated the path back to the heart of the universe.

  The dazzling radiance of the midnight world was compelling beyond anything he had ever experienced. He was certain that if he only looked closely enough, he would be able to distinguish the light from the dawn of creation, perhaps even grasp a fistful of the raw power of chaos that fueled the forces of life and death.

  “Good night for a walk, isn’t it?” Tucker Austin said.

  Fallon turned to look at the figure silhouetted in the opening of the sliding-glass doorway. There was something wrong. Tucker looked as if he stood on the other side of a waterfall. It was impossible to focus on him. He held something in his hand but Fallon could not make it out.

  “What are you doing here?” Fallon asked. He was vaguely aware that he sounded drunk. But he was almost positive that he’d had only one glass of wine with dinner.