Mystic Warrior. Alex Archer

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      Annja plucked the knife from the floor and looked at Krauzer. “I risked my life to help you, and I’m still going to have to deal with the police for hours because of you, so I’m going to get to study that crystal. Otherwise, I’m going to cut Barney free. I figure you guys have time for a rematch before the police arrive. Do you like your chances?”

      Krauzer gritted his teeth. “All right, but we should go, not hang around for the cops.”

      Pointing at the people at the door, Annja said, “This is probably going out live on television right now.”

      Outside, sirens filled the street and grew louder as they neared the building.

      “And we’re all out of time for running.”

      * * *

      “THEY WERE READY to kill each other over this?” LAPD sergeant Will Cranmer looked at the scrying crystal Annja was studying. He was in his early fifties; his hair and mustache were gray and neatly clipped, and he wore aviator sunglasses against the dimming sun.

      The spherical crystal appeared to have been cast of yellowish glass and was as big as both her fists put together. Each of its four flat spots were about as large as Annja’s thumb.

      Annja leaned against Krauzer’s Lamborghini. “I think kill may be a bit strong.”

      She’d had confrontations with police all over the world. They all wanted people to admit to things so court cases would go more easily. She wasn’t going to confirm anything that would possibly bring on more trouble. “The discussion did get heated.”

      “There is the broken door—”

      “That door is very flimsy,” Annja said. “I’m sure you noticed that.”

      “—and the knife—”

      “Which belongs to Barney.”

      “—who also doesn’t look so good.” Cranmer nodded toward the big biker in the back of a nearby patrol car.

      Handcuffs had replaced the bootlace Annja had used to bind the man. Dried blood covered his upper lip and beard.

      “That was me,” Annja said. “Barney didn’t want to give up on the knife after I took it away from him.”

      “You did that?” Cranmer looked impressed.

      “Yeah.”

      “Krauzer is telling the detectives that he did it.” The police officer thrust his chin toward the front of the apartment building.

      The director stood between two detectives and was enjoying the attention he was getting from members of the local news media, who were held back by yellow tape.

      Annja smiled. “He loves telling stories, so we’ll let him have his glory as long as he can hang on to it.” She had responded only, “No comment,” every time a reporter thrust a microphone into her face and they’d quickly gravitated to Krauzer. “But in case Melanie Harp or Barney tell you later it was me, it was me.”

      “Good to know. I’ll clue the detectives in.”

      Nobody was getting Barney’s side of the story. Or Melanie Harp’s. The actress had tried to get access to the media, but she’d been locked in the back of another patrol car. “So what makes this glass bowling ball so important?” Cranmer asked.

      “It’s a prop in Krauzer’s new movie,” Annja said. “It’s the scrying crystal of an elf witch.”

      “What’s the movie?”

       “A Diversion of Dragons.”

      Cranmer crossed his arms and leaned against the car beside Annja. “Fantasy?”

      “Yes.”

      “Can’t wait to tell the chief.”

      “Why?”

      Cranmer grinned. “Krauzer kind of mentioned he had a part in the new movie the chief might be great for.”

      “So Krauzer thinks a part in a movie is a get-out-of-jail-free card?”

      Cranmer nodded.

      “Is it?”

      “Yep.”

      “That doesn’t sound fair, does it?”

      Cranmer grinned. “You still believe in fair?”

      “That does sound kind of funny, doesn’t it?”

      “Everybody wants to be in front of the camera.”

      “How about you?”

      “I was a bit player in a lot of cop shows when I was younger. I got over it,” Cranmer said. “So tell me about the crystal ball.”

      “Scrying crystal.”

      Cranmer shrugged. “I’ve arrested fortune-telling con artists with bigger balls.”

      Annja raised her eyebrows.

      “I’m a fan of your show,” Cranmer said after a moment’s hesitation. “I was a history major at college before I spent time in the military and became a police officer.” He nodded at the scrying crystal. “I noticed you weren’t just looking at that like it was a prop.”

      Annja turned it in her hands, feeling the heft of it and the irregularities along the surface. When she’d first glimpsed the object, she’d gotten a sense of antiquity. After handling it, she was pretty sure that initial impression had been correct.

      “I don’t think it is.”

      “So what do you suppose it is?”

      “Serendipity. Sometimes when you’re looking for one thing, you discover another by accident. You’ve heard of Juan Cabrillo?”

      Cranmer nodded “Sailed with the conquistadores, with Hernán Cortés, and later explored the West Coast while searching for a trade route to China.”

      “And his last voyage?”

      “In 1542 he sailed most of the West Coast and ended up on what we call Santa Catalina Island, intending to stay the winter. Some of his men got attacked by Tongva warriors around Christmas Eve. Cabrillo stepped off the ship and splintered his shin, ended up getting gangrene and dying there. He never made it back to Europe. On San Miguel Island, somebody found a headstone that might have been his.”

      “Now I’m impressed.”

      “I’ve got four kids. My wife helped them with math and science. I helped them with history and English... They like Chasing History’s Monsters, too. I think my older two boys like it for the other host, but my daughter wants to be you when she grows up. When I tell her I met you today, she’s going to freak.”

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