Free At the Behest of the Dead by Timothy W. Long

trust them.”
    “Why not? They’re people.”
    “I don’t know. N o one likes their kind.”
    “Have you ever talked to one before?” I felt ridiculous standing outside the site of a potential murder investigation while we discussed the same old prejudices that have haunted the races for millennia.
    A blob of white fell from the sky and slapped the ground next to the detective’s feet. I looked up at the top of the building and could have sworn I saw two massive hawk feathers slip over the side.
    “Shit!” s he said and jumped back.
    She brushed h erself off, as if the bird crap had touched her. That reminded me to ask Frank if he took a crap like a normal guy when he was his human shape.
    “So, anything here? Can you sense it or something?”
    “Not unless I do some fancy spells that will take a lot of time and cost the Seattle police force a lot of money.” Well, I had one sign and it was weak. I just had a gut feeling that something was up, especially since we were standing in front of the entrance to the subterranean passages that made up the Seattle underground. “It’s more of a feeling, I guess.”
    “Beats the crap out of what I have been doing.”
    I waited for her to elaborate.
    “Running in circles, chasing leads that didn’t pan out. You know, jack shit.”
     
    **
     
    As I mentioned earlier , Seattle was built on top of the burned out husk of a city. The old council had promised to pay to rebuild. While they were busy putting in streets, shop owners and merchants grew impatient so they started to build right on top of the old locations. This led to a two level Seattle that took time to navigate. I remember reading about some poor drunk who fell to his death from the top road to the bottom road while construction was underway.
    Over the next fifteen years , the city was rebuilt and the one below became a harbor and passage for women of ill repute. Nothing against them personally. It was a frontier town and there were only so many jobs for single women.
    Over the yea rs the walls inside fell down. They created dangerous spots to wander around, and then someone had the bright idea to turn the underground city into a tourist spot. Technically the city underneath was condemned but how in the hell do you tear down a bunch of buildings that support other buildings?
    Now if you take the tour you will see underground passages, some staged furniture , and disheveled rooms. There is a bathroom with toilets that flush backwards because they’re below sea level. You can see casts of hats, bowls left in dust, and plenty of signs warning you not to leave the tour group.
    Andrews looked up and down the street and then smashed her shoulder i nto the door. She leaned back and rubbed her arm.
    “Shall I?”
    “Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I’m not tough.”
    “I have no doubt about either.”
    “Either?”
    “That you are a woman or that you are tough as nails , but I had a more subtle idea.”
    I rummaged in a bag and took out a little vial of clay. Pulling ou t a piece the size of my fingertip, I held it under my mouth and muttered a few words. The clay was then jammed into the lock. I counted to three and was greeted by a click.
    “Breaking and entering?”
    “You started it.” I grinned and, to my surprise, she grinned back.
    “You didn’t see anything, right? Cause I didn’t see anything. The door w as like this when we got here. Probably a homeless guy.”
    “That’s exactly what I saw too.”
    The entryway reeked of the three Ds of underground life-- dirt, dust, and detritus. Andrews pulled a flashlight from her jacket and I felt along the wall until I located a light switch. To my surprise, the switch resulted in a long string of lights coming on.
    “What the hell?” s he said and slapped the switch off. “Ever heard of the element of surprise?”
    “I’ve heard it is bad for your health.”
    A shadow of a smirk met me in the dim light of the doorway, thanks to the