It's in the Stardust

Winters in New Amsterdam were never easy to deal with. Ever since the Emergence two centuries back, they’d grown harder – at least that was the talk among the inhabitants. In truth, cold winters came and went. Were some of the fluctuations due to variations in the magic field? Yes. That much could be proven. However, climate was always a result of nature and people meddling, be they regular humans, Cailleach or Cruthanna. It was unfortunate that many people chose not to see it that way. To them, it was always a specific group’s fault. Even within a certain faction, this kind of phenomenon could be observed. Say, a Hreinsiefni could be accused of causing icy cold, an Eldur of being responsible for a forest fire that exacerbated the usual summer heat. It-

“Hey, Embers, you with me?”

Her partner’s voice dragged Philomena out of her brooding – the main reason she needed him, he liked to joke. “Sorry, Mikey.” She adjusted her woolly hat, breathed out a cloud of vapor into the dry, icy air. It was snowing again. According to the forecast, temperatures would drop even further after sunset. Breathing was already painful. She didn’t want to imagine what it would be like in the underground. However, thinking about that right now would be nothing but a distraction.

They were approaching the crime scene: a bakery called Sweet Dreams.

The uniforms and crime scene people bustling about let them through once Philomena and Mike flashed their badges.

Before she could do it, he wiped a fresh snowflake from her nose. The corners of his mouth twitching a little, he said, “If you worked your magic here, Fiery, maybe I could feel my toes.”

Playful, she wrinkled her nose. “I’d need to kill you, first.”

“At least I wouldn’t be cold anymore.” He winked at her – making her smile – and approached one of the uniforms. “Hey, Márquez. What’ve we got?”

Márquez’s face was red from the cold. He was wearing thick gloves and still felt the need to blow warm breath into his cupped hands. “Detectives. At first it looked like some lowlifes just broke into the shop looking for cash.”

“But…?” Mike made that finger-twirling gesture he refused to acknowledge was a habit.

“Well, it…” Márquez stepped from one booted foot to the other, crunching the growing layer of fresh snow. “Look, Detectives, I don’t know how to…to deal with…one of them. There’s something going on here but…” He trailed off, grimaced, glanced at Philomena, focussed on Mike again. “You guys are better equipped to deal with this kind of stuff, you ken?”

Mike exchanged a quick look with Philomena. That was also something of a habit. “All right. Let us go in and take a look. Why don’t you get some tea for everyone? You look about as comfortable as a frog at the north pole.”

“Yeah, good call.” The poor guy seemed to have shed the weight of the world. “Thanks, Detectives.”

“No prob. Come on, Embers. Let’s see what’s what.”

Inside, nothing much looked amiss at a first glance – apart from the muddy footprints where the officers had dragged the snow in. The bakery was precious: warm colours, beautiful decorations, sweet and spicy smells that made every mouth water. It was like stepping into an enchanted living room filled with happiness and sunshine. Sweet Dreams was an appropriate name if there ever had been one.

At this moment, Philomena and Mike were approached by a tall, regal woman of perhaps fifty years. Her cap of tight curls was streaked with white. Her soft, symmetrical features were contorted into a mask of distress. “Are you the detectives Officer Márquez told me about? I’m Karanna Deyo, the owner.” Deyo, of the Scoria Teaghlach.

Philomena’s mouth went dry.

Mike, catching her mind-freeze, showed Deyo his badge. “Detective Michael McMahon. This is my partner, Detective Philomena Embers. Can you tell us what happened, madam?”

Deyo’s large brown eyes focused on Philomena. “An Eldur witch as an NAPD Detective? Not bad.”

“A Cruthanna running a bakery? Also not bad.” Mike was quicker than Philomena. There was a certain edge to his voice. “Scoria Teaghlach by the sound of your name. If I guessed that this was somehow about spices, would I be terribly mistaken?” He was tense, his eyes narrowed. Poor Mike. He did his best to stay objective, but given his history, that wasn’t exactly easy.

“You ken your Teaghlach,” Deyo said, nodding. She pulled the sleeves of her knitted sweater over her long-fingered hands and drew a deep breath. “I hate to serve a cliché, but yes. The broken window? For show. A diversion. It took me hours to realise that whoever did this was after my stardust.”

Mike’s brow furrowed.

Outside, a truck drove by and honked its horn. People jeered.

He exchanged yet another look with Philomena. “What’s that, another drug?”

Philomena touched his arm. “Mikey.” She saw Deyo’s features tighten and knew that it was up to her to stop a catastrophe.

If Deyo clammed shut, this investigation would go nowhere. The Teaghlach stuck together and didn’t like outside meddling. That she was willing to cooperate with the cops at all was a small miracle.

This new era of tenuous cooperation was Oswyn Scoria’s doing – his goodwill toward Philomena and her assurances that they were all better off if they worked together. She said, “I apologise. He didn’t mean to offend.” A quick look up at Mike shut him up – thank goodness. “What can you tell us about this spice?”

Deyo glared at Mike, then locked eyes with Philomena and nodded. “Stardust isn’t a controlled substance peddled by Teaghlach thugs. It’s literally a spice. It brings a certain” – She shrugged, bit her lower lip – “roundedness to food – you know. That quiet taste of perfection you can’t quite put your finger on. You, Detective Embers, should know what I’m talking about. You’re the boss’s friend.”

Mike snorted with disdain. “So, you do know who she is? That’s just great.”

Philomena touched his arm again. Now was not the time for righteous outrage. “I know what you mean. I just wasn’t aware this was a certain spice.”

Again, Deyo shrugged. As some of the officers right outside the door laughed at whatever, her eyes narrowed. Then, she faced Philomena again. “It wasn’t meant to be shared, but the boss decided we need to stop being so insular. It’s almost ’83, he says. Time to evolve.”

After letting his eyes wander for a few seconds, Mike said, “You don’t agree with him?”

Her expression hardened as she looked at him. She was one of the few people who didn’t have to raise their faces in order to do this. “It’s not my place to agree or disagree. Half a year ago, this would’ve been Teaghlach business. Now, the Teaghlach, the Cailleach Council, and your judicial system – all involved. I was robbed. I am cooperating. What I think about the changes is irrelevant.”

Before Mike could reply anything disastrous, Philomena hurried to say, “If you could show us around and tell us what exactly was taken, that’d be super helpful. Thank you.”

#

Good thing that for the rest of that conversation, they dodged political talk. Back in the car, as Philomena pulled away from the curb, Mike said, “You can’t shush me every time I start asking an uncomfortable question, Fiery. This is a political issue.”

Minding the traffic, she threaded their `77 Takuro Comet into the growing traffic. “Is it? Deyo said that stardust is the spice that makes their food so good. Everyone knows they must put something in it to make it that palatable. So, now they’re using it for commercial purposes, and she showed us the license. Maybe someone just wanted to bake the perfect Yule pastries?”

“Ha, ha.” He rubbed at his eyes and blew out a heavy breath. “Damn it. I hate it when this supernatural politics crap hits our table. I mean, can’t someone else handle it this time? What happened to good old-fashioned robberies?”

“This was bound to happen. Opening up the divides was always going to bring not just the good elements of society to light.” The traffic light at the crossroads turned red. She stopped behind another Takuro, this one an `81.

“The Police get the old sardine can, and would you look at that guy.” Mike shot her a sideways glance. “Hey, I know Yule is coming…and every other holiday that happens to coincide with the time of year, but come on. You know. I mean” – He chuckled – “you know what people are like. No matter what faction they call their own, they will always be at each other’s throats. That’s how just things are.”

Green light. The line started moving again. “I think you’re wrong.”

He patted her shoulder. “I know you do, and you want to know something else? For once, I want you to be right. I want love, happiness, sugar and spice and fricking stardust to happen. I dearly want people to not be horrible and scheming and out to grab power or whatever. Just once, it would be nice if things weren’t messed up in this city.”

Eyes on the road, she still smiled. “I still have faith in all of us.”

#

At first, there were no conclusive leads. Many people thought they had seen something – all, in Mike’s parlance, crackpots. Most didn’t want to get involved in Teaghlach business. This wasn’t something for which Philomena could fault anyone. After all, the rumours weren’t just urban legends and prejudices against the unknown. The Teaghlach, Scoria in particular, were involved in some rather dangerous business. The Council had their own fish to fry. It wasn’t as if all the other institutions didn’t follow their agendas. Everyone was the same in that regard.

Mike, of course, wouldn’t let go of his organised crime theory. Deyo was, in an oblique fashion, a Teaghlach member – by default, but who was counting? It wasn’t Mike’s fault that he held a grudge.

Wasn’t Deyo’s fault, either.

Philomena herself wouldn’t want to be accused of being involved in Council business just because of who she was. Still, she couldn’t blame Mike for his suspicions. It was not so much a matter of prejudice with him but a personal axe to grind with one specific individual. However, as much as Philomena sympathised with him, they still needed to solve this case.

Who had stolen the bakery’s stardust, and why? What for?

“Not for baking,” Mike said, leaned back in his chair, and rubbed at his eyes. “Damn it, Embers. I’m at a loss, and I don’t say that often, being a genius and all.”

Snorting laughter, she leaned forward, halfway across her desk. “Well, Einstein, where have our investigations into the maelstrom of insanity that is Teaghlach business led us? Nobody has caught wind of a conspiracy, of a plot, of any tensions brewing between Teaghlach – nothing. There is nothing going on.”

He cracked a smile, spread out his hands. His blue eyes were bloodshot, dark rings beneath them. His lush brown hair was slightly greasy at the roots. They could all use a break. “And yet, someone faked a regular robbery at a bakery run by a Teaghlach Cruthanna in order to steal a special spice. Something is going on, Mena, and it ain’t a Yule miracle.”

All about them in the bullpen, people were bustling hither and thither. Phones blared their shrill rings into the stale air. The Captain was yelling at someone in her office. Almost nobody stopped to admire the lovely Yule spruce in the corner – too much to do, too much business to take care of…too many crises to avert.

Philomena tried ignoring the dull ache right behind her forehead. She licked her already chapped lips – ow, bad call – and only just refrained from heaving a sigh. Her hands were dry, too, the nailbeds cracking. Smiling at Mike was a chore and must look painful. Did the mere effort count? “Yeah, I’m inclined to side with you, Captain Pessimist.”

He jabbed a finger at her. “Captain Realist. If I’m right – and remember, I don’t want to be – you have to start calling me that. Deal?”

With superhuman effort, she nodded. “Deal. Listen, Mikey, I-” The words got stuck in her throat when something odd happened.

A girl walked through the door: short, thin, and wearing a rather raggedy coat. Her face was a mask of apprehension and misery. Her green eyes were huge in her pale, haggard face. Her blond hair was braided and piled on her head in an intricate manner – Cruthanna fashion, that. What drew Philomena’s eyes the most, however, was the pink-and-gold box in the girl’s hands.

Mike caught the look on his partner’s face and swivelled his chair around to face the newcomer. He whistled lowly and said to Philomena, “Can our luck have turned?”, over his shoulder, in hushed tones. Without waiting for a reply, he got to his feet and marched toward the girl, who stood by the door, tense and seemingly ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.

Philomena hurried after him, weaved her way through the maze of desks and people to reach the girl before he did. Not that she doubted Mike’s good intentions, but he was a freaking giant of a man, not a Teaghlach, and also had the bedside manner of a rhinoceros.

“Hey, kid. What do you got there?” Mike said from behind Philomena.

The girl, who couldn’t be older than fourteen, raised her face and stared at him. “I…”

“It’s okay, honey.” Philomena placed herself in front of the poor child, smiled. This time, it didn’t hurt. The sound was faint, but in the background, someone had switched on some Yuletide music. Nice. The air felt warmer and smelled sweeter at once – well, the box in the girl’s hands wasn’t sealed, and if it contained what Philomena suspected, these improved perceptions were not subjective. “What’s your name?”

“I’m…I’m Alanna Deyo.” She swallowed, bit her trembling lower lip, then faced Philomena again. Her eyes flitted to Mike, but it was obvious that he didn’t inspire as much confidence as a friend of the Scoria Teaghlach would.

“Like the bakery’s owner,” Mike said. “Are you two related?”

Alanna drew a quivering breath. “She’s my auntie, my uncle’s wife. I…I’m so sorry. Please don’t throw me in jail. I thought I…I didn’t mean to…it all happened so fast, and I panicked! I’m sorry!” She shoved the box in Philomena’s arms and made a run for it.

After heaving a theatrical sigh, Mike said, “I’ll get her,” in the most exasperated tone of voice and jogged after the kid. He caught her with ease.

They took her to a quiet corner and got the whole story out of her in no time.

#

About two hours later, little Alanna Deyo was back with her family. Mike and Philomena were sitting on a bench outside the Captain’s office, waiting for her to stop screaming at whoever over the phone.

People around them were still busy but not scowling anymore. Their fists were unclenched, the tension gone from their shoulders. Lo and behold, some were even smiling.

Philomena held the box on her lap. The faintest scent was rising from it: sweet, warm, golden…happy. Her headache was gone. Her hands didn’t feel like she’d sand-papered them, either.

“To think that the dumbass kid just wanted to stop being a bad baker, like that’s the greatest dishonour ever.” Mike leaned his head back and snickered. Then, he gave her a sideways look. “Here I was, imagining a gang war, and all of this was nothing but a child who wished she could bake some dope cookies for the family.”

She cracked a smile, broader than the ones she was used to, and looked up at him. “You know what that means for 1983, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, no need to rub it in. I’m still Captain Pessimist.” He tilted his head to the side and smirked at her – wasn’t even obnoxious. “This stuff, this…stardust, it could end up sparking conflict in the future. You realise hat, right? Because it’s so damn good. This is a real money maker, and no mistake.”

“I know.” She traced the fingers of her right hand across the box’s edges, felt the dry, ornately carved wood and just couldn’t stop smiling. “But for now, everything went well. People are not as awful as you would paint them. There is beauty, cooperation, good intentions, honesty – among all of us.”

“I know.” Quick as lightning, he bent down and placed a kiss on her cheek. “Captain Aesop. You get a nickname, too, Soppy.”

“And I deserve it.” The feeling of tiredness spreading through her body wasn’t unpleasant. No, it was more like the weight she’d been lugging about for months had decided to go on vacation. She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Happy Yule, Mikey.”

He took her right hand into his left. “Merry Christmas, Mena.”