SO. Every week (or maybe twice a week?), I'll post excerpts of little things I'm working. I'm a bit weird, wherein, I love to dabble in 2-3 projects at once. Whatever catches my eye that week.
Here we go!
First one up is a fanfiction piece. A friend of mine has been bugging me about writing some fanfiction, since I've always complained about the lack of really good ones out there. At least in my fandoms...
I present to you, a Bartimaeus Trilogy fanfic. Backstory: set in future America (post-England's fall), the world has modernized without resorting to magic. Some police have proposed partnering djinn with detectives, as more frequent organized crimes are involving djinn and magic once again. Fighting fire with fire, so to speak.
Bartimaeus, still feeling the after-effects of the London Revolution, has been thrown together with Det. Connor Roby of the NYPD. At this point in the story, Connor has done something for Bartimaeus to earn his respect, much like the respect he had for Ptolemy. What that incident was, is still a mystery to their colleagues.
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It was raining on the steps outside the Natural History Museum.
Connor knelt down beside the covered body and lifted the blanket.
She was pretty, but her eyes were blank. A huge mottled bruise engulfed the left side of her upturned face.
Connor asked, “Name?”
An officer answered. “Driver’s license says Emily Roberts. She’s also got a UNLH student ID, and couple credit cards. Gold cards, I might add. Girl was loaded.”
Her bag had been gathered by Forensics and set aside. Connor looked inside and found an old weather-worn leather book. He tossed it to Bartimaeus. The responding officers lurched forward.
“Um, Detective...”
“What?” Connor rounded on them, “Worried he’s going to steal it? He’s a certified investigator just like you. Now, why don’t you stand over there and let us do our job.” Behind him, Bart was whistling.
He turned to Bart. “Give that a look-through, see what you can read.”
Bartimaeus was already scanning the pages and frowning. “I can tell you right now, it’s Sumerian. What a pop princess student was doing with it, I wouldn’t know.”
“Can you read it?”
“Of course. Can it be spoken? Not really. The last time I heard Sumerian, the Egyptians were still trying to figure out the pyramids.”
“Great.”
“It’s bad juju too.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean these are inciting spells that haven’t been used since the Sumerians died out. Painful stuff, I tell ya.”
Connor leaned forward and examined the rest of her body. “Blunt force trauma to the head, that’s obvious. Wearing a UNLH sweatshirt. When was she found?”
One of the officers spoke up. “About an hour ago. M.E.’s on his way, but it was raining when she was found.”
Connor groaned. “So, we might be missing evidence.”
Connor stood up on creaking knees and looked up at the grandiose building of Natural History. He gestured to Bart, who promptly tossed the book to a surprised officer.
“Let’s go talk to the curator.”
“Rashad Bash?”
The olive-skinned man looked away from another interviewing officer. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Detective Connor Roby. This is my partner, Bartimaeus. Don’t be alarmed, he’s a djinn and certified.”
Rashad smiled. “No need for the speech, Detective.”
“Force of habit. It’s going to be a while before we can stop explaining ourselves to people.”
Bartimaeus rolled his eyes. “True dat.”
Rashad pointed a finger. “I read about you in the news. New York’s first Para-Cop unit.”
Connor grimaced. “We don’t really like to be called ‘para-cops’.”
“Regardless, you’re a famous pair.”
Bartimaeus turned into a Belgian Shepherd dog, and stuck his nose to the ground, trailing it around the office.
Rashad watched him. “What is he doing?”
“Sniffing for the girl’s scent. Just in case.”
“Ah, right. Poor Emily.”
Connor raised an eyebrow. “What do you know about her?”
“I’ve seen her around. She was an intern in one of our smaller departments, and a restoration lab. I didn’t hire her personally.”
Connor stood next to Rashad. “We found a book in her bag that contains Sumerian script, according to my partner here. Any reason why she would have that?”
“No idea.”
Bartimaeus budged in. “Are you Egyptian?”
Rashad looked surprised. “Lebanese. What about it?”
The dog managed to look bemused. “I can hear derelictions in your voice. Like Ancient Persian.”
Rashad grinned. “I’ve been studying the language. Good ears.”
“Really?” Bartimaeus sat on his haunches and quirked his head. “How good are you?”
Rashad spat something out, too fast for Connor to tell what it was.
Bart snorted. “Wicked.”
“Alright, back to the girl.” Connor pointed out. “What-”
“Actually, Detective...” said Rashad, leaning in, “There’s something else I should tell you.”
“What is it?”
Rashad led them to a large warehouse, secured with triple locks and a whole mess of Shields, as Bart could see them.
“This is where we store the more valuable artifacts, ones we don’t often put on display. When I left earlier today, all was in order,” said Rashad as he walked them past rows of locked shelves.
He reached one and opened it. “However, when I heard about Emily, I couldn’t help feeling that something else was wrong. So, I came here to check and, well...”
He pointed to an empty slot.
Connor crossed his arms. “You’ve been robbed.”
Rashad nodded. “Not just any old artifact either, but something left over from the London Revolution.”
Connor felt Bartimaeus bristle across the bond. “What was it?”
“The Amulet of Samarkand.”
"Are you kidding me?" Bart swore.
"You know what that is?” Connor asked.
Bart huffed. "I swear, I've got the worst luck out of all of us. Back when England was still in power, I had to steal it. For a snot-nosed kid, no less."
"Did you get caught?”
Bartimaeus gave Connor an offended look.
Rashad asked, “What happened to the kid?”
Bartimaeus shrugged. “He grew up. And he’s gone now.”
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