Page 101 of Booked for Murder

“I love art,” Senator Maybelle replied, and she smiled at me. “What did you acquire, if I may ask?”

I retrieved my book from the safety of my purse, slipped my finger into my book to hold the page, and pulled out the bookmark, showing it to her. “I’m a librarian, so when I saw this, I had to get it. There was a set of all seasons, although the rest are safely packed in my purse.”

The senator took my bookmark, looking it over. “It’s beautiful. I love seeing the delicate care artisans take with something so many view as useless when they’re truly enriching. So few people truly read now. How do you feel about that?”

“Libraries bring the community together,” I replied. “It is a place anyone may go to learn, seek advice, or find work. Even the small branches have outreach programs to help the unemployed find work.”

“Oh?” She handed my bookmark back to me, and I returned the bookmark to its rightful place before sliding it back into the safety of my purse and zippering it closed so the temperamental weather didn’t ruin one of my new acquisitions. The entire time, I wondered if Senator Maybelle counted as one of the people who no longer truly read.

Once my book was safely stowed, I replied, “Yes, of course. Libraries are a public service, and we do everything we can for our patrons. My branch is in a historic building, so we work to keep that piece of history intact while maintaining a place of knowledge and learning. We run various programs to help young adults learn how to present themselves during job interviews, we help children who are struggling to read learn and enjoy books, and we expand horizons. We even help politicians local to us research their legislation when it’s asked of us.”

“Would you say public servants, such as yourself, are paid sufficiently?”

I sighed at the question, one I got often enough. “While I wouldn’t say no to a raise, I do make enough to get by. I do live frugally in many ways, but I was able to buy my ticket and purchase luxuries today. The city only has so much they can pay us, and New York has a great deal of failing infrastructure that needs to be addressed. The lower pay is a sacrifice I’m willing to make because of the importance of what I do.”

Senator Maybelle smiled. “What would you do if your position was more valued? How would your life change?”

“I would inevitably spoil my cat,” I admitted with a grin. “I would enjoy the little things more, I’m sure.” Then, aware of how she valued art, I added, “I would be able to buy more of those beautiful trinkets that exist only to be admired and treasured. I’d also go on a vacation.”

“Forgive me for asking, but where would you vacation?” Her gaze fell onto my wheelchair.

I waved my hand to dismiss her concern. “The cast comes off in a few weeks, and then I’ll start physical therapy and get to wear a medical boot while my foot heals. As for where I’d go, I’m not sure. I haven’t discussed it with my partner yet.”

“Your partner? You’re married?”

“Oh, no. Not yet. He is my fiancé, and we are in progress of planning our engagement party, which is why I do not yet have a ring. We have officiated the engagement contract, but these things take time to do properly. He’s very thorough.”

“Thorough is a good thing. A gentleman who cares enough to be formal for the engagement is interested in a long-lasting relationship. What are your feelings about a mandatory engagement period to lessen the probability of divorce later?”

Oy. The senator didn’t pull her punches. “I guess it really depends on if either person in the relationship is abusive. If the one party becomes abusive after the engagement period, the victim should not be obstructed from leaving the relationship. Beyond that, I suppose it is a matter of maintaining personal freedom. The nice thing about freedom is having the ability to make mistakes. If all marriages require extensive engagement periods, I expect fewer people will get married and the birth rate will substantially drop due to people being unwilling to face the social stigma of having a child outside of engagement or wedlock. I suspect the percentage of single women will sharply increase, because those who love each other will sleep together, and they will do so in defiance of any controlling laws the government may wish to put into place. I guess it depends on what your actual goal is with such a policy. Is it to improve familial relations, or is to appeal to a prejudiced audience?”

Senator Maybelle’s smile slipped, but after a few moments, she recovered. “How interesting. Few are bold enough to actually debate with me at a rally. How unusual. This was not what I expected when I walked over to say hello.”

Of course. So many viewed the physically disabled as mentally disabled. “It’s my foot that’s broken, not my brain, Senator Maybelle.”

“I see that. Let’s assume I wanted to do both, improving family life while appealing to a prejudiced audience. How would you accomplish that?”

“There’s no easy solution to that problem, Senator Maybelle. You either support the abused or the abusers. If you want to improve family life, you have to address the abusers. You have to ask yourself how many in that prejudiced audience consist of the abusers or the abused. Who do you truly want to favor? That’s the one thing most agree on. Abusers are the ones with the power, so if you chose the abused, you’re choosing the underdog. Only you have the answer to that question. Who do you actually support? That’s what I’m here to find out.”

Behind the senator, someone screamed, and my magic flared to life at the unexpected surge of blood leaving the body. A distant curse behind me registered through my shock. The blare of gunfire, close enough to hurt my ears, rang out. Senator Maybelle opened her mouth, her body jerked, and she fell. Her body shimmered, but through the haze, crimson sprayed from her forehead, hung in the air, and snapped back into her body before the entry hole closed.

The slimy, oily, hot, and greasy feel of contaminated blood assaulted my senses.

Gunfire rang out again, and agony tore through my abused, broken foot. The intensity of the pain shocked me into silence. Several more shots rang out. One round thumped into Senator Maybelle’s fallen body, and someone nearby screamed, and my magic registered another strong source of blood. A woman screamed, the shrill cry of the dying.

I remembered that sound. Every time I’d gone into the emergency room to do what I could to save lives, I’d left with at least one new memory of death.

While years had separated my last trip to the hospital as a volunteer rather than a patient, the magic within me remembered. I remembered. In a way, the throbbing agony in my foot helped. My focus narrowed to the hearts pumping life-giving blood out through severed veins and arteries. I couldn’t fix the veins or the arteries, but I could redirect the blood so the victims still living might survive.

Nothing would save Senator Maybelle; my magic confirmed her heart no longer beat, and blood seeped out from a hole torn through it. Her brain no longer contained blood, confirming an exsanguinator had completed their foul work.

I closed my eyes and focused on those who mattered, the living who wouldn’t survive until an ambulance arrived if I didn’t act.

With three people fighting to survive, all fallen nearby, I needed to touch at least two of them, which meant coming into contact with the senator’s contaminated blood. I addressed the bleeding in my foot first, a simple enough task, as my magic had already begun its work without me, mirroring the memory of the crash when Bradley had inadvertently taught the power within me how to save my life.

Lurching off my wheelchair, I fell over the senator’s body, yelping at the stabbing pain through my foot. I crawled the few extra feet to reach the nearest of the bleeding bodies, stretching out my hand. My fingers dipped into blood.

Some believed exsanguinators could only bleed out their victims, practicing the darkest of magic without regard for human life. When wet against my skin, I could read the state of the victim’s body, hissing at the low oxygen levels, which would lead to death as quickly as the woman’s steadily dropping blood pressure. Two wounds stole her life, and while the one through her arm would cause me problems, the one through her upper body had damaged her aorta, which would lead to her death within minutes.