[Winterstruck] deleted scenes - Julia and Magnusson

This is actually two scenes that were ultimately cut. Both were variations on trying to convey similar information. Some of what follows is not cannon, but it does give you a little more about Magnusson.

bland office door

"It's not my place to get involved in this. You two need to work it out yourselves."

By the look on his face before he retreated into his office, he knew he'd said too much. I was going to have to confront Oshaun about this eventually, but in the meantime I had more important things to deal with. I followed the boss into his office and sat down in one of the chairs in front of his desk.

"I want to go check out a few places," I said. I filled Magnusson in on my findings from the taxi company's passenger manifest. 

He leaned back in his chair, drinking his coffee, while I filled him in, but when I finished he leaned forward and thumped Garfield down on the desk. "No."

"No?" I was stunned. I had a hot trail and he didn't want to pursue it?

"I don't want him to know we're on to him. He's too volatile. For now we have the advantage. Oshaun will be ready with her findings tomorrow. Let's hear what she's found and go from there. We need to know what we're dealing with so we can keep the upper hand."

Tomorrow. I didn't want to wait that long. Another night meant another possible dead body. I could see his point. I liked hearing that we had the advantage. I just wanted to use it while we had it. I'd have to figure out a way to convince him. In the meantime, this was starting to look like a pattern of abandoning faeries when we were so close to nabbing them.

"What about Flint?" I asked. "Has he been spotted again? Are we going back to Allen Gardens to arrest him?"

Magnusson shook his head. "He went back to the Summer stronghold. They have him now. The sovereign has been informed and will keep him under wraps until he stabilizes."

"Great. Why can't they do that for Hammond?"

"Summer doesn't deal with Canadian winters very well, and this particular winter has been cruel," he said, but I noticed he wasn't meeting my eyes. He'd picked up a report and buried his face in it.

"Then they should move to Florida."

Magnusson snorted. "Right. Surround themselves with salt water."

"Somewhere else then."

He shook his head. "Sorry, but they were pulled through here. They have to stay here."

There was more to that statement than he was saying. He was avoiding explanations and giving me short answers. I was being dismissed. And left in the dark. Again. 

I sighed. "That doesn't make sense."

Turning back to his report, he waved a hand. "Go home, Ivory. Pour a bath and take a good long soak. Cuddle up with that complication of yours. We'll get Hammond Monday."

"Monday?"

"Take tomorrow off."

"But Hammond--"

"Is likely sated, and he'll spend tomorrow hiding, not pushing his luck."

That made sense, but normally we would make use of that time to get more information, to work harder, smarter. "I could work on getting the taxi records--"

"No. You're off."

This was so unlike the boss. 

"Oshaun and Charlie have it covered. They'll let us know if there's anything imperative."

I just hoped the fire faerie stayed away from humans for the night. 

I headed back to my desk. 

Magnusson was a good boss. I had to trust him. But as I pulled on my coat, I couldn't help but wonder what else I didn't know about but probably should, and would that lack of information cost me my life or someone else's?

****

Psychic residue. That's what he called it. I didn't care what it was called. I just wanted it out of my life. 

I wasn't at all surprised the boss had picked up on the residue. It was the same thing I'd sensed on Stuart McFadden. That touch of Hammond. I was surprised by how the crime scene had affected me. I'd thought I was endure a lingering headache and no more. Getting sick every time I got near Hammond or his victims would not help me catch the bastard.

"How do I get rid of it?" I leaned a hip against my desk, my hands wrapped around the familiar comfort of my blue mug filled with hot coffee more for the warmth than for drinking. The boss had brewed this pot.

Magnusson stood at the coffee machine filling his Garfield mug.

He shrugged, gesturing with the coffee pot. "You don't. You let it run its course. The body will naturally process it out." 

I tilted my head to the side, let him see my disbelief. 

"Eventually you'll build up a tolerance," he said. He scooped sugar into his mug like there was an announced sugar shortage. 

"There must be something I can do."

"The only thing I've heard that helps is to consume more salt than usual. Flushes the system clean."

"Would a salt bath help? I can't eat salt." It was one of the preservatives I had to avoid as much as possible.

Halfway through reaching into the mini-fridge for the cream, he paused. Turning his head to look at me, he frowned. "None?"

I waved a hand. "Sometimes a little salt doesn't bother me, especially if it's in baked goods and such. Other times even just a little is enough to make me sick."

"How about when you drop off a prisoner at our holding cells? You should have told me."

I shrugged. "So far I've been fine."

Rising up to his full height, he scratched his head. "Talk to Oshaun about this tomorrow." He went back into the fridge.

Great. I'd rather lick asbestos. 

"Is psychic residue anything like being faerie-struck, like when a faerie touches you?" 

He stopped whatever he was doing in the fridge and stood, drawing up to his full height. Garfield grinned at me from his right hand. 

"Why are you asking? Did Hammond touch you?"

"No. Maybe. I don't exactly remember." I finally told him about Ruby, and then I told him about Simon. 

He twirled a plastic stir stick around inside Garfield, tapped it twice on the rim and then tossed it into the garbage. "Why am I just hearing about this now?"

"I've been trying to talk to you for days."

"I've been busy." 

"So you've said."

We locked eyes in a staring contest, while I waited for him to elaborate on exactly what "busy" meant. If he wanted me on this team, he would tell me. As the seconds ticked by, I started to come to the conclusion that Magnusson didn't really want me on his team. He wanted me doing the grunt work. He didn't want me included in the important decisions. I was expendable. 

"Go home, Ivory," he finally said. "Take a bath."

His voice twisted from frustration and defeat to a contemptuous challenge born out of jealousy. 

In short, the boss was mad at me. 

Fine. If that's the way he wanted it...I grabbed my keys and went home.