Fire Water

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Pretty much any cop can tell you the story of their first arrest. Also the first time they pointed a gun at someone—or had one shoved in their face. The first handcuffing, the first black eye, the first time a perp puked on them—and, for some, the first person they killed.

My first collar wasn't all that memorable. Just a speeding ticket that led to an arrest for outstanding warrants.

My second was mildly more interesting, but not exactly earth-shattering. Underage girl selling three-dollar blow jobs in an alley off Stark Street. When she'd seen me coming, she hadn't fought at all. Not surprising since I basically caught her with a mouthful of incriminating evidence.

No, my first two busts weren't that impressive. Sure, the second got a couple of laughs when told over beers at O'Malley's near the Cauldron cop shop. But it wasn't a contender for best war story compared with some of the fucked-up shit the veteran cops on our squad had seen. Working in a magical ghetto didn't have a lot of advantages—except when it came to outdoing your cronies with fish tales of junkie wizards and potion-peddling homunculi.

However, my third bust was the stuff of Cauldron legend. Ever since it happened, cops in Babylon referred to it in hushed tones and begged me to retell it over beers. But to me, it was more than just my go-to war story.

It was the story of how I became a real cop.

My name is Kate Prospero, and I bust magic junkies for a living. Most girls don't grow up dreaming of chasing perps through dark alleys and cleaning puke out of their squad cars at the end of an average night of work. I didn't, either. In fact, when I was eight, I told my fourth-grade teacher I wanted to grow up to be just like my uncle Abe. Miss Cope's eyes had grown really wide and she backed away like she was afraid to say the wrong thing and risk Abe finding out.

The dream of becoming the next Grand Wizard of the Votary Coven had lasted only until I was seventeen. And then I didn't have any dreams for a long time because I was too busy trying to survive.

But that was a long time ago. Now I'm on the right side of the law. It pays a lot less than potion cooking, but it beats spending your life with one ear constantly listening for sirens.

So anyway—my third arrest…

It started on a hot August afternoon five years ago. I was still a rookie, and per the Babylon Police Department policy I was making my rounds through each of the major departments shadowing veteran officers. Apparently it hadn't always been that way. Used to be, rookies were sent straight out to patrol with a badge, a gun, and a walkie-talkie. But after too many newbies ended up potioned in the gutters, someone in the commissioner's office wised up that maybe the academy wasn't doing a good enough job training people for the rigors of patrolling a magical ghetto.

Anyway, I'd already made rounds through the vehicular theft department, the murder squad, the sex crimes unit, and even done a few ride-outs with deep night Arcane patrols. I'd seen lots of action, but hadn't been allowed to get in the middle since I was both an untested cop and an Adept. Mostly those assignments involved lots of coffee runs and hazing. But I'd learned plenty watching cops who'd seen it all do their jobs. The only department I had left to shadow was the river patrol division.

According to the other rookies who'd already completed their time on the boats that patrolled the Steel River, it was by far the most boring assignment. It's not that there's no crime on the water surrounding Babylon. The news was always filled with reports of caches of alchemical materials confiscated from freighters out of Canada. The problem was, the Coast Guard always got credit for those busts. Mostly the BPD was in charge of the river and only provided backup to the Coast Guard on the Lake Erie cases.

I knew all this the morning that I pulled my Jeep into the parking lot near the docks. Even in the early-morning sun, the river didn't glisten or sparkle like most bodies of water might. If you kind of squinted, you could see past all the trash and the thick algal slime that collected along the banks. But nothing could disguise the stench of gasoline, chemicals, and rotten animal carcasses wafting up so strong from the water, you could swear the odor had a vaguely pukey color. Years of serving as the highway for barges bearing slag and asphalt from factories had ensured the water didn't flow so much as it oozed.

The police boat creaked at the gray dock. The vessel was white with red lettering announcing it as a Babylon Police Department watercraft. There was a covered portion with sirens on top along with a smattering of antennas. This wasn't one of those fancy Coast Guard vessels, since it mainly patrolled the river and not the Great Lake with its tides and heavy currents. Still, the boat looked watertight and maintained to my uneducated eye. Even though I'd grown up in Babylon, I spent as little time on or near the water as possible. I'd avoided the river for obvious reasons, and the lake because I didn't trust any water that I couldn't see through. Which was why I'd resisted the water patrol assignment until the very last week of my training. Well, that and Cap'n's reputation was well known, even among the recruits.

I grabbed my gear and jumped out of my Jeep, Sybil, with more gusto than I actually felt. Since I was practically right out of the academy, I was still fueled by the enthusiasm of the recently converted. I still bought into the belief that I could make a real difference and that justice would always prevail. I was also young enough to believe that my background on the street combined with my cop training meant I could handle just about anything the world threw at me.

In other words, I was naive as hell. So with an idiot's zeal, I tossed my holster over my shoulder, gripped my duffel bag in my right hand, and marched down the dock toward the boat.

“Hello?” I called.

The creaking of the boat and the slap of the water against the hull were the only responses. Frowning, I grabbed one of the wooden columns on the dock for balance and stepped into the boat. The instant my second foot hit the deck, a quiet, ominous male voice spoke from inside. “Ask for permission to come aboard.”

I squinted into the darkness of the pilothouse. “Sorry?”

“You sure are,” the gruff voice grumbled. A large silhouette moved forward in the shadows until the light outside caught a head of white hair and a face that looked like it knew its share of gin and smoky bars. “You should always ask before you board a man's vessel.”

I blinked a couple of times. “Are you Captain Smiley?”

His chin dipped. “I'm still waiting.”

I sighed and adjusted the gear weighing me down. “May I please come aboard?”

“Cap'n,” he offered.

My eye twitched. “May I please come aboard, Cap'n?”

“Well now, that depends.”

“On what?”

“Your business.”

I looked pointedly down at my police uniform that clearly showed my name badge. Surely someone had informed him that I'd be coming. Just in case, I removed the orders from my pocket and waved the white sheet in front of me like a truce flag. “I'm Officer Prospero? I'm supposed to shadow you for the next week.”

His right eye squinted, giving him a decidedly Popeye-esque appearance. “Fucking rookies.”

And with that he confirmed about every rumor I'd heard about the infamous Captain Martin Smiley. Word was he'd gotten stuck on water patrol because he didn't get along with anyone. Not just other officers, either—anyone, period.

“Keep your paper,” he snapped. “I already told them I wasn't playing babysitter.”

I pursed my lips to keep from mouthing off to a superior, even if said superior was a grade-A jackhole. “Sir, no offense here but I'm just trying to finish off my hours. I don't want any problems.”

“Me, either, which is why I think you should get off my boat and go find another asshole to annoy.”

In order to get promoted to patrol, I had to get through this week with high marks on the reference forms or be forced to repeat the exercise until I passed. Most of the other rookies from my graduating class had chosen to do their hours on the more exciting Lake Erie patrol units, but since most of those time slots were at night, I had to skip them. I couldn't afford a babysitter to watch my brother all night until I was making full-time patrol pay instead of the part-time pay I was earning as an officer-in-training. So the daytime river patrol slot was my only option.

I took a deep breath and called on my training in dealing with difficult suspects. “Captain Smiley, I'm sorry you're frustrated. Perhaps we could just both calm down and talk about this rationally.”

He waved a hand and continued raveling a long rope onto the deck of the boat.

I gritted my teeth. “Maybe I should call your commanding officer, then,” I called.

A salty cackle was the only response.

I crossed my arms and tried to regroup. If a threat to call his boss didn't worry him, then it probably wasn't a great idea. After all, how many captains or lieutenants wanted to get a tattletale phone call from a rookie?

“Can I just ride along? I promise I won't get in your way.” I figured if I showed up and watched him work it might count as shadowing. I could worry about talking him into signing my forms later.

He threw down the end of the rope and rose to his full height. “You're a real pain the ass, aren't ya?”

“Yes, sir.”

He sighed. “All right. But you're gonna sit your ass still and not talk. One peep and I'll dump you into the drink.”

I drew a deep breath into my nose. Instead of inner peace, the move only earned me a snootful of the stench of decayed fish and algae. Once again, I started to step onto the deck. He raised a brow and watched me with a sharp look. I paused, realizing he'd been testing me. “Does that mean I have permission to come aboard?”

He sighed, as if faced with a hopeless case. “Get your ass on here already.”

This was going to be the longest week in history.

That evening I had an appointment before I went to pick up Danny from his summer day camp. Now that I was about to start earning a full cop's salary, I could finally move us out of the one-bedroom apartment we'd been living in while I put myself through the academy. The rental house was in a better area of town, which also happened to be closer to Meadowlake, the private school I wanted to transfer him to in the fall.

The ad in the paper claimed the house had two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a large backyard. Sounded perfect, but I'd been disappointed before. Even if the place wasn't a shithole and the rent was reasonable, there was still the issue of dealing with asshole landlords. The guy who'd owned the last place I tried to rent had denied my application because he “didn't want any dirty Sinisters ruining his property.”

Even though I'd been running into prejudices about being an Adept my whole life, it still stung. Especially when I'd had to explain to Danny that we couldn't move into the house with the great swing set after all. When he'd asked why, I lied and told him someone else got there first. He'd already had so much bullshit to deal with in his short ten-year life, I didn't have the heart to tell him some asshole thought he was tainted because he'd been born a Lefty.

When I pulled up in front of the house, I was instantly charmed. The place wasn't large, but it was obviously taken care of by the owner. Trimmed shrubs on either side of the front steps and a maintained yard added a dose of charm to the bungalow-style architecture. Fresh black paint on the railings and the shutters on the windows. A cheerful wreath on the front door. It was certainly nicer than the apartment we'd been living in, and the neighborhood was close to the school and mainly made up of senior citizens and young families. Yep, I thought, I could definitely do this.

I climbed the steps to the front door and knocked on the screen. A faint voice called out that someone was coming, but I stood out there for a good two minutes before I heard the sound of the dead bolt unlocking. A moment later the door opened to reveal a woman with long gray hair wearing a housecoat, which was made from blue fabric covered in pictures of cat faces. She leaned on a cane, and her skin was as wrinkled and thin as rice paper. “Yeah?”

“Hi, I'm Kate. I called about renting the house. Is Mr. Tanner here?”

The woman sucked her teeth and looked me over for a moment. “Tanner couldn't make it. Asked me to show you around.”

“And you are?”

“Baba.” That's all she said, as if I was supposed to recognize the name the same way one might Madonna or Cher. “I live over there.” She jerked her pointy chin to the right, toward the house next door. Unlike the porch we stood on, which was surrounded by carefully trimmed hedges and neat little clusters of flowers, hers was surrounded by neatly trimmed rosemary bushes. Clumps of green and purple lavender dotted the walkway.

“So…may I look around?”

The old woman narrowed her eyes. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“Do you listen to loud music?”

I frowned. “No.”

“Do you throw wild parties?”

I shook my head.

“What do you do for a living?”

Her interrogation was quickly losing its charm. “I'm a cop.”

Whatever she'd been expecting me to say, that wasn't it. “Like on
The Blue Devils
?” Her tone held a hint of excitement.

“The TV show?” I shook my head. “I'm afraid it's a lot less exciting than they make it out to be on TV.”

Her face fell. “Oh.” For some reason I felt like I'd failed some sort of test. “Come on in, I guess.”

She shuffled back to allow me entrance. I stepped inside, surprised to find myself in a kitchen. A window over the sink shared the wall with the door and looked out onto the front yard. Along the wall perpendicular to that was the stove and next to it the refrigerator, which looked like it had been around during the Carter administration.