Magic Outside the Box

by Honor Raconteur

  She pointed a finger at me, her tone accusational, as if denouncing me as an axe murderer. “You like research projects.”

  “I like sleeping in my own bed every night,” I sassed back.

  Rolling her eyes at me, she accepted my hand to help her up into the taxi. “Of course. I should have realized that was your motivation.”

  “Naturally.”

  Seaton heard us out later that day. He was still in full dress uniform, toned down from his customary flamboyancy, and much more somber than usual. He leaned against the edge of Jamie’s desk as she explained her theory, taking it in with only the occasional nod.

  “I might be able to save us from digging,” he finally stated after a thoughtful pause. “As it happens, Weiss stopped me on the way out. He’s demanding to be let into the investigation. This seems a good way for him to help.”

  Weiss? Weiss, as in the head of the Kingsmen? Great magic, but that seemed a bit over the top, to call in a man like that for a murder investigation. Then again, he’d been in the Kingsmen for the past three decades. If anyone knew of all the skeletons hidden in the closets, it would likely be him. “I’m for it. He might know half of the answers we need just off the top of his head. If nothing else, he’ll know where to look.”

  Jamie nodded in agreement, although a trifle dubiously. “Are you sure about this, though, Sherard? Weiss doesn’t really like me.”

  I did a double take. “Come again?”

  Seaton grimaced in a mix of agreement and some consternation. “It’s not that, it’s more he didn’t trust you at first. Your story was pretty wild. And then he was afraid you were a magical ticking bomb. Which, to be fair, you rather were until I figured out how to stabilize you. He’s sort of revised his opinion of you since then. At least, he thinks you’re not a danger to the country.”

  “High praise,” she drawled.

  I wasn’t sure how to take this report. Then again, I knew Weiss only by reputation, having never crossed paths with the man before. He was of the old guard, and that might mean certain prejudices about a woman being a detective, as well. I did not care for it when men made unnecessary judgements about my partner. I cared for it even less when they chose to voice their asinine opinions. If he was of that type, I didn’t care how helpful he could be, I’d give him the boot. If Jamie didn’t do it herself, naturally. Only fair I give her first dibs.

  Jamie looked as if she were being fed rotten fish with a side of spoiled lemons but grudgingly gave Seaton the go-ahead. “Call him in. Tell him what we’re looking for. We’ll start in the morning, I guess.”

  “We’ll need to meet at Kingsmen Archives. Only place all of this information is stored.” Seaton stopped using the desk as a prop and straightened both cuffs with a negligent twitch of his hands, an idle tic. “I thought we could take a moment and renew your spells while we both are here.”

  “Oh, sure.” Jamie popped out of her desk chair and followed him into a nearby conference room.

  I watched them go with a frown. That was still something we needed to solve. Having to redo Jamie’s spells every month was ridiculous in the extreme. Surely what one madwoman had created, two saner magicians could unravel. Surely.

  Only a few hours remained of the workday, so I thought to retreat to my lab and see if there was something I could do to help with the workload. I wouldn’t be of much use in the upcoming days, and I felt rather bad for the other magical examiner in the station. The man had barely started a month ago and already he was having to take up not only my slack but Sanderson’s.

  I’d barely gotten settled at the table when I heard a rap of knuckles at the door. Looking up, I was surprised to see my captain in the doorway. We’d already given him a brief report of our progress. What was he here for? “Captain Gregson. Something wrong?”

  He came in and shut the door behind him, an unreadable expression on his face. I’d only seen that expression at a card table or when he was grappling with something of a political nature. His gravelly voice was a touch deeper as he spoke. “Davenforth. Level with me. Did you get RM Seaton to write a report against Sanderson, asking for his dismissal?”

  Ah. I’d wondered when that would come back around to me. “I did not. Frankly? I didn’t need to. Seaton saw Sanderson in full form during our last case. He was…less than pleased with the man’s conduct and work ethics.”

  Gregson let up a pent-up breath, shoulders relaxing from the unnatural stiffness he’d entered with. He looked as if he’d run his hands repeatedly through his grey hair. It stuck up in short spikes, a sign of stress on his part. His suit was also in disarray, the tie missing, and I could only think he’d yanked it off, another sign of stress.

  This question on his part had weight to it, and I paid even closer attention. “Thank all deities. I know you hate the man, and he’s given you good cause for it, but I can’t condone people going behind my back and pulling political strings to deal with problematic colleagues. I didn’t think you had—you’re always a straight shooter about this sort of thing—but I had to ask.”

  I waved away the semi-apology. “Understandable. What’s happened?”

  “Well, RM Seaton’s report hit all the right desks. I say right, because he went far above the commissioner’s head. He didn’t mince words, either. He made it very clear that having a man that bigoted and lazy was a detriment to any department and Sanderson shouldn’t be in a police force at all, at any station. The commissioner is now backpedaling and defending his decision to ignore multiple letters, recriminations, and complaints about Sanderson over the past six years. In that respect, I thank you. Having that thick of a paper trail, showing how incompetent the man is, backs up RM Seaton’s stance quite nicely.”

  I smirked. It wasn’t a nice expression, I’m sure. “Anything to be of assistance. Do I dare hope we’ll finally be shed of the idiot?”

  “Odds are very favorable right now, I’ll say that. The commissioner keeps talking about demoting him, or reassigning him, but every time he’s come in to talk to me about it, I’ve turned the tables on him. I record the conversation as best I can on paper and then go above his head to report it. It’s all very politicky, but it’s getting results.” Gregson paused and with unholy glee admitted, “We might get a new commissioner at this rate.”

  I sat back with a huff of astonishment. “Over Sanderson?!”

  “It’s not really that, I don’t think. Or I should say, Sanderson might be the lynchpin that topples the whole stack. Because the commissioner has so steadfastly protected him, manipulating records even to do it, it’s called into light what else he might have done. Who else he’s protected when he shouldn’t have. The Powers That Be aren’t sounding too thrilled with him at the moment.”

  Gregson looked outright gleeful over this prospect. I must say I shared his enthusiasm. The commissioner had been a thorn in my side in regard to Sanderson, which was the only reason why I personally disliked the idiot. So it seemed petty to wish for his dismissal. Gregson, however, had many reasons to complain about the man. His stance was far more justified.

  Clearing his throat, Gregson continued, “One more thing. I wanted to catch you and Edwards apart and get your responses to this separately. There’s some talk about you and Edwards becoming consultants for the Kingsmen.”

  I blinked at him, quite certain I’d misheard. “I’m sorry?”

  “Queen Regina was very impressed with your results of the last case,” he explained. “And she’s pleased with your progress on this case.”

  “We haven’t found the murderer yet,” I objected, not following this at all.

  “She apparently has complete faith you will. I don’t think the offer hinges upon the results of this case, per se, but it might. When she was in here to request you as investigators, she spoke to me of it. I think she’s realized that while her Kingsmen are quite effective in what they do, they have blind spots in their training and experience. And between me and you, she likes having Jamie in the limelight as a fema
le detective. An effective female detective.”

  Yes, of course, I should have seen. Queen Regina was campaigning hard for women to be seen with the same value as men in every working field. She already regarded Jamie favorably. Of course she’d want my partner to be the poster child for this. “Jamie I understand, but why me?”

  “She likes you.” Gregson shrugged. “Our good queen adores the competent, and you’ve shown yourself to be that. That, and I think she might have tried sounding Edwards out before, about doing this and Edwards flat refused to go without you.”

  I flushed a bit, my cheeks heating, and I rubbed at them to hide it, glancing away. Jamie made no secret of how she loved working with me. I adored having her as a partner just as much. In truth, if she went somewhere, I’d likely follow.

  “Davenforth, let’s be clear on this. You can be consultants for the Kingsmen, that’s fine, but you can’t leave.” Gregson shook a finger at me sternly, belying the twinkle in his eyes. “I’m not losing the partnership with the highest close rate to those Red Men.”

  I snorted at the Kingsmen’s nickname, amused to hear the slang out of my respectable captain’s mouth. “Understood, sir. I have no doubt if Jamie hears about this offer, she’ll be inclined to take it. She has close ties to them, as you’re aware. I think she’d revel in the chance to work with them. And I don’t…that is, I don’t wish to lose her as a partner.”

  He seemed to expect this answer, and the smugness on his face was entirely ridiculous. “This from the man who objected he didn’t want a partner at all.”

  “Yes, yes, you were right, I was wrong. Satisfied?”

  “Immensely.” He had the audacity to grin at me. “I’ll speak with Edwards about what she wants to do.”

  I felt it only fair to warn him. “Are you quite certain we won’t be stepping on toes? I understand Kingsman Weiss dislikes Jamie.”

  Gregson’s head jerked in surprise. “Now that I hadn’t heard. You sure?”

  “Both Seaton and Jamie spoke of it earlier.”

  “Oh. Well now, that sheds a different light on things, doesn’t it? If Queen Regina put forth the idea, she can definitely override Weiss, but Edwards might not wish to take the offer if she has to work with a superior who hates her. Hmm. Still, I’ll run it by her. It’s entirely her choice.”

  Was it really, though? A queen had made the offer.

  Well, maybe Seaton was right and Weiss had changed his attitude toward Jamie. If that were the case, then my worry was rather moot, wasn’t it?

  I entered the Kingsmen Archives with a mixed feeling of dread and resignation. I’d been in here a few times, although Henri informed me it was his first foray into this labyrinthine place. I’ve always thought of the Archives as a mix between Beauty and the Beast’s library and the Labyrinth. Or maybe it was more Alice in Wonderland. The place was massive, full of doors and hallways, and any door you chose either opened into a musty, sunless room of books or some magical portal. Rumor had it at least a dozen interns had disappeared since the place opened a hundred years ago. Frankly, I believed it.

  Sherard was our guide, leading ahead and flicking on magic lights as he moved. He was still in a somber mood, as he had been since the news of Burtchell’s murder. He’d taken it harder than I’d expected. Clearly, the two men were closer than I’d assumed. But he was also pulling himself out of the funk, processing through the stages of grief. He’d gone through denial. Was he at anger yet?

  Glancing back, our guide asked, “Why did you bring Clint?”

  I carefully didn’t shrug or disrupt the cat perched on my shoulder. “He’s good at pattern recognition. I figure, teach him the words to look out for, and he’ll be able to help comb through the records.”

  Clint groomed a paw before saying in his high tenor, “I work cat.”

  “Field cat,” I corrected him in amusement. “It’s called a field cat, darling. You do work, though.”

  “And why is he perched on your shoulder?” Penny asked in amusement.

  “Because he was a parrot in a previous life.” I flicked this away in a casual gesture. “What I want to know is, why are we here? I thought Weiss was going to give us the down-low on possible suspects.”

  “And so I am.” Weiss took one step around a ceiling-high book case and paused there like a menacing specter.

  I didn’t jump out of my skin, although it was a near thing. My senses were heightened—nose, ears, sight, everything by a good twenty-five percent. And Weiss still managed to sneak up on me on a regular basis. I wasn’t really convinced he was human. Ghost, maybe. The way he moved through places without seemingly any connection, I half-expected him to don a white mask and start belting out “Phantom of the Opera.”

  Penny and Henri, I noticed, both startled. Sherard didn’t. Then again, Sherard was probably immune to Weiss after so many years.

  “Seaton.” Weiss’s flinty grey eyes swept him from head to toe, his thin mouth quirking down in an unhappy manner. “You are your usual self, I see.”

  It was true Sherard was back in his usual flamboyant red coat, which flared dramatically around his calves, his white shirt with a ruffled and lacy collar all starched within an inch of its life. The guyliner was in place for the first time in days. It’s how I knew he’d worked himself out of his initial shock. He’d been far too somberly dressed for most of the case so far. It was good to see him in his usual theatrical getup. Sherard regarded Weiss levelly, not at all flustered by this semi-accusation. “Rather than mourn him, I’d prefer to avenge him.”

  For the first time in history, Weiss stopped frowning severely and looked almost—shock, gasp!—approving for a split second. “My sentiments exactly. Well. Perhaps my aid won’t be a lost cause after all. Who’re these other two?”

  As if the man didn’t know that very well. I gritted my teeth and made the introductions. “This is my partner, Dr. Henri Davenforth. He’s a Magical Examiner. And this is Officer Penny McSparrin. Everyone, Archibald Weiss, Kingsman Commander.”

  He gave them nothing more than a curt nod before his eyes went straight to Clint. “You brought a pet in here?”

  I had my mouth open on a hot retort, but Henri beat me to it.

  “She brought a magician’s familiar, a Felix, in here. I believe that’s acceptable.” Henri made it clear by tone alone that if he wanted to buy that fight, Henri would certainly sell it.

  It bemused me, really. Henri was usually this easy-going gentleman, but man, if he did get pissed off? He was like a wounded badger. I don’t think he knows the whole idiom of ‘float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.’ He was all bee.

  Sherard also got impatient about Weiss’s attitude, I could see it in the dark glare he gave the man. “Quite. A familiar is not denied anywhere. Now, can we get on with it, Weiss?”

  Weiss harrumphed—I didn’t know people actually did that in real life—and spun on his heel like a damsel ready to flee a party over a ripped dress. Dramatic, much? We had to stretch our legs to keep up with him. He led the way to a small sitting area with a table, six chairs, and a few lamps nearby. A study niche, I assumed.

  He didn’t sit, just paused, his fingertips grazing the table as he faced us frostily, his chin up at an arrogant angle. “I believe there were several cases that meet your qualifications. I’ve made a preemptive list of the most recent ones. Of those cases, we’ll need to search the records and see if the convicted persons match the qualities of the murderer and whether they were at liberty to commit it.”

  Yes, thank you, it’s not like we don’t know what we’re all doing here. Could I stab him yet? I had a cat I could fling at his face, that might be satisfying. Clint would totally go for it. His fur was bristled along his spine, and while he wasn’t Halloween kitty yet, he was getting there.

  “The archivist is on hand and I have another agent standing by at the prison to check records for us. I hope to go through this as quickly as possible,” Weiss continued with unruffled calm.

  Well at leas
t he was efficient. You had to give him that.

  We pulled the records, some of them case books. Like, the actual notes taken during a case. The archivist helpfully set them in the middle of the table and we all took a seat, randomly divvying out the pile. It really didn’t matter who took what. I cracked open one of the case books and just barely managed to keep a groan of dismay behind my teeth. It was hard enough on most days for me to read this country’s very confusing language, but add in the spidery chicken scratch Burtchell used? I felt like stabbing my eyes out.

  The book was abruptly nudged out of my hands, another file sliding in over top of it. I gave Henri a grateful look, which he returned with a wink, and went back to reading. Or trying to. I did take a moment to study my familiar in amusement. Clint had propped open one of the files, his back leg stretched out to hold the flap open, and used a dainty paw to flip through the pages. “Clint, you still good with what words to search for?”

  “Burtchell, murder, kill, threat, prison, revenge,” the cat recited precisely. “Fish.”

  “I think that last one is a Clint addition,” Sherard snickered from across the table. “Look at sentence time too. Here.” He scratched out three words on a piece of paper and flipped it around, sliding it toward Clint. “If it says any of these three, set it aside. It’s not what we need.”

  I leaned in towards my furry friend to read over the top of his head. Lifetime and no parole. Yeah, those were good additions. If we knew the prisoner was still in, no use looking him up.

  Weiss frowned at all the talking and harrumphed again. I ignored him. The man was so very old school that he wanted all work, no chitchat. But you know, not only did chitchat bleed off tension in stressful cases like this, it often sparked ideas. How could you know what the other person did if you didn’t communicate it? Needless to say, I didn’t agree with him.