Magic Outside the Box

by Honor Raconteur

  Silence fell as we skimmed through the records. Really, I was looking for proper motive. Weiss had done good on that, it seemed; the case in my hands would certainly give someone proper motive to kill Burtchell later. The woman he’d put away was a serial killer using both her magical ability and the cover of her status in the nobility to get away with the crimes. Burtchell had caught her red-handed—literally, according to the file—and put her away for a good long while. Or supposedly did. I didn’t trust people with these sort of connections to stay in prison obediently. “Weiss, who’s on standby at the prison?”

  “Mercado.”

  Ah, one of the Kingsmen I knew. Excellent. “Ask him if Lady Bradshaw is still in.”

  Penny’s head popped up from where she’d been bent over a file at the end of the table. “Cor, I’d nearly forgotten that case! Happened when I was barely in my teens. She’d killed, what was it, eleven people?”

  “Thirteen, according to the file. Burtchell was the one who both caught her and put her away.”

  Weiss gave me an odd look I couldn’t decipher. “Lady Bradshaw’s sentence, I believe, was fifty years.”

  I locked eyes with him in challenge. “And powerful, connected people always stay in prison for the full sentence, don’t they, Weiss?”

  Weiss might have been a snorted in amusement before he nodded and acquiesced. He withdrew a pad like one of ours and used it with commendable ease.

  I set that file aside and grabbed another. Might as well keep looking while we waited on an answer.

  “Got one,” Penny announced. “Jerry Hatfield, for selling intelligence. Sentenced twenty years, but could be paroled.”

  Weiss didn’t say a word, just picked up his pad again.

  We went several hours that way, going through files, listing out suspects. Over half were still in prison. A few had died in the interim. We worked through lunch, none of us willing to come back here unless it was absolutely necessary, and dug our way through the stacks the archivist kept bringing. It was a slow, tedious task, and only the promise of a hot bubble bath later got me through it. Man, I wish this planet had strawberries. I could totally go for chocolate covered strawberries right about now.

  Somewhere near quitting time, Sherard put the last file down. “Let’s stop here. That gives us four suspects to look into. If none of them pan out, we’ll come back.”

  I stood, stretching, feeling my joints pop and my lower back complain about the hard, wooden chair. As soon as my arms were down, Clint hopped lightly onto my shoulder, using my head for balance as he turned around and got situated. I looked up at him, brow cocked in challenge. “Excuse you. You have four legs, you creature, you can walk yourself.”

  He gave me a look that said: Now, why would I do that when I have you to carry me?

  Someone really needed to explain to me how a magician, who’d never met a cat from Earth and had no idea what they were like, still managed to create its evil twin here in this world. I mean really, parallel universes notwithstanding, what kind of luck did this take?

  Weiss didn’t say boo to us as we parted at the Archive’s door. He turned right, gait still straight, shoulders stiff. We went left, and I breathed properly for the first time in hours. It had been beyond stifling in there with him acting like a disapproving chaperone. Breathing in the outside fresh air also helped to clear the tension out of my system. The air inside the Archives had been stale and musty in the worst sense. Or maybe it just felt that way after a while.

  “I mean this in the utmost respect,” Penny stated in a tone that said the exact opposite, “but what crawled up his butt and died?”

  I laughed. “Well said. Took the words right out of my mouth. Weiss was definitely worse than usual.”

  Sherard didn’t look at all inclined to say something in defense. The words were visibly dragged from his throat. “I actually expected him to be worse. Did you know when we were first informed of Burtchell’s murder, he instantly volunteered to investigate?”

  Oh man. It made total sense he would do that. Crap, I should have thought of that.

  Henri winced. “And the queen instead gave the case to us. That must have gone over well.”

  “Like rotten fish. I know for a fact, as I was there. She had a good reason for not allowing the request. Weiss and Burtchell were very close friends. He’d have been too emotionally compromised to investigate it properly. That, and the Kingsmen are operating at partial strength right now. They really can’t afford for Weiss to be off acting detective.” Sherard gave a nod to two Kingsmen who passed us, both of them familiar, although I didn’t know their names. He paused long enough for them to pass out of earshot on the footpath before continuing in a lower voice, “They had quite a row about it that only got worse when I suggested we call you and Henri.”

  I did a double take and nearly stopped walking. “Wait, it was your idea to call me?”

  “I think Regina would have thought of it eventually, but it was timing on my part. Weiss was yelling that there wasn’t anyone impartial enough to investigate who actually had the skills. I was trying to stop them before they got to the hair-pulling stage. It was almost dog-fight level.”

  I’d have paid good money to see that. Regina wasn’t the type to get physical with people. Then again, how many people were insane enough to get into a physical fight with their queen? “Weiss? Really?!”

  “He was…not quite right in that moment. Grief had unhinged him a bit.” Sherard grimaced, running a hand through his dark hair before thinking better of it and messing with his perfectly combed do. “It’s part of why Regina was adamant about not sending him out. But when he said that, I saw an opening and took it. I suggested sending you. She leapt on the idea. Weiss was fuming but he couldn’t argue the point. She was out the door to go issue the order to you herself before he could get a good rebuttal out.”

  Now that explained a lot of things. A LOT.

  “Well.” Henri settled his hat a bit more firmly on his head. “At least that mystery is explained. I’m not sure about the rest of you, but I’m quite famished. If we go now, we might be able to find decent seating at Christopher’s.”

  Steak. Mmmm. “I’m in.”

  Penny was already nodding in frantic agreement. Sherard gave Henri a nod of approval for a good suggestion. “Lead the way.”

  It was nice being able to work out of one’s own city, although I didn’t expect it to last much longer. I had the strangest feeling the answer to this case was in Sheffield. Wasn’t quite sure why. Henri, I think, hoped my hunch was wrong, but even he felt it. For all our research and possible suspects yesterday, none of them had felt right.

  Still, I enjoyed being in my own space. I got up as usual, dressed in jogging clothes, and went through the routine of making myself a hearty breakfast. I felt like pancakes and fruit this morning. After I ate, I’d take a good jog along my usual route. People were used to seeing a singing, running madwoman by now and no longer tried to stop me or put me in a straightjacket.

  From my open window, I heard a bellowed and somewhat panicked, “CLINT! HELP!”

  My familiar was out the window in a flash, down the fire escape before I could say boo. My own heart leapt into my throat as I snatched up my gun lying on the table, threw open my apartment door, and fled down the stairs, completely reacting on instinct. Henri rarely raised his voice, and I’d not heard that level of distress from him in a while.

  Gun in hand, I skidded on the polished wood floor, nearly passing his door in the process, caught my balance, and yanked his door open.

  Inside the apartment was sheer chaos.

  Clint chased something at high speed, his ears flat against his head as he moved, and boy was he truckin’. He disappeared into Henri’s study so fast I saw barely a blur of purple fur and caught no sign of what he chased. The kitchen was in shambles, half the pantry having fallen out, the shelves collapsed, and dry goods and jars spilled out all over the floor, only some of them intact. My friend was crouched on
the island like a damsel in distress, liberally covered in white flour around his head and shoulders.

  It was so comical my adrenaline died down and I felt a little foolish for arriving with gun in hand. “Henri, what on earth—”

  Still crouched on the island, he said plaintively, “There’s a rat in here! A huge rat. Sodding deities, I didn’t know they could get that big.”

  A rat. Caused this mess? “Start at the beginning.”

  He flung out a hand to stop me. A wand was in his other, and he used it to point towards the floor in illustration. “Wait, don’t come in here if you don’t have shoes on. At least three jars broke.”

  I lifted a foot so he could see I had my tennis shoes on. “I’m good. What happened?”

  “I was cooking, and when I went to fetch something from the pantry, this huge creature was on the top shelf, digging into my sugar.” Henri reported as if it was a personal affront and he’d take it to the highest authority.

  He was still in robes and PJ’s, a clear indication he’d been caught very unawares by a rodent invader. It was rare to see him in this state of dishabille, as he was normally in suits and all buttoned up. For some reason, he looked very pokeable. I had to restrain the urge to go over and muss him up some more. “I hit it with a spell but the dastardly thing escaped. And it collapsed three shelves in the process.”

  More like, he panicked, used a spell he probably shouldn’t have, and that collapsed three shelves. I found it hysterical my friend could calmly face down criminals and rogue magicians without flinching, but find a rat in his beloved pantry and he went pear-shaped. “Well, Clint will get it for you.”

  “I’ve never been so glad I acquired him for you. He’s truly a useful creature to have.” Henri looked down at the mess on his floor with a grimace and lamented, “I was going to have pancakes.”

  Can’t laugh, can’t laugh, can’t laugh…. “How about this. I’ll help you clean up, and then you can come up to my place, okay? I was making pancakes myself.”

  He perked up slightly. “The fluffy ones you make?”

  “Absolutely. You got a cleaning spell in your arsenal?” I ignored the Tom and Jerry chase zooming around the apartment. Clint would get him. Although man, I could see why Henri freaked out. That rat was the size of a small cat. I’d freak out and likely shoot it.

  There was a high-pitched, animalistic scream of pain, and then silence from Henri’s study. Clint sauntered out with the rat in its mouth, like a prize fighter would a trophy. He dropped it in the center of the room and groomed his mouth and paw in a smug way.

  “Clint, you are the best Felix ever.” Henri finally uncurled from his perch, regarding the rat with distaste. “I should have just called for you from the beginning.”

  I very carefully did not agree. Oh, the tempting things we leave unsaid in the wrong moments. Or right ones. “Come on, boys, let’s clean up.”

  Jamie was still chuckling over the whole rat debacle as we headed into the station an hour later. I did not find it in the least amusing to be ambushed by a rodent in my own pantry. As we headed in, I shot her a scathing look. “Stop snickering.”

  Of course that made her snicker all the more loudly, drawing more than a few curious looks from our colleagues in the hall.

  “If you encountered a rodent of unusual size in your pantry, you’d not be so entertained,” I growled at her, although I kept my tone low in an effort to not have this business all over the station.

  For some reason, she threw her head back and laughed louder. “It’s an ROUS!”

  “A what?” Sometimes I did not understand her reactions. Actually, most of the time that was the case.

  “Princess Bride. Remind me, I’ll tell you the story later.”

  I felt only slightly mollified by this promise. I did enjoy her stories from Earth.

  “Wait, if that was an ROUS—does that make you Buttercup?” Mirth rolled from her at this notion, whatever it was. “Oooh, wait, does that make me Wesley? Gender role switch!”

  “Now what is she prattling on about?” Seaton demanded of us. He was leaning against Jamie’s desk, texting pad in his hands, looking quite peeved.

  I felt like I should corner the market on being peeved this morning, but it was a petty feeling. I strove to be more civilized. “Good morning, Seaton. She’s laughing at my misfortune. I had an unfortunate encounter with a large rat in my pantry while making breakfast.”

  “Yours isn’t the only unfortunate encounter,” Seaton informed me. “Although at least yours could be handily dealt with. I can’t kill mine.”

  “That doesn’t sound ominous or anything.” Jamie slung her bag into her chair, her humor finally dying down. “What bit you?”

  “Weiss.” Seaton made an aggrieved sound low in his throat, much akin to a wolf denied prey. “That lovely list of suspects we created? He carried on the investigation after we broke off for the day. He ran me down this morning before I could even leave my house and informed me they were all dead ends. Everyone had a staunch alibi for their whereabouts the day of Burtchell’s murder. He also informed me if I didn’t start taking this case seriously, he’d take us all off the case.”

  “Tosser,” I summarized unhappily. “Wait, does he have the authority to do that?”

  “Not in the slightest. We’re equal in rank.”

  “I thought so. Well, at least he’s saved us some legwork. Although that means we’re once again back to the drawing board.”

  Jamie also made a face, dropping into her chair and scooting her bag unceremoniously to the side. “There’s that. And frankly, I don’t feel like we’re barking up the right tree anyway. All those people we looked into yesterday had the motive, but few of them had the means. And apparently none of them the opportunity. We established there was enough foot traffic along Burtchell’s street that morning that if a stranger was nearby, someone would have spotted them.”

  “You think we’re looking at a native.” I couldn’t fault her logic. Except for one minor detail. “But most of the natives adored him.”

  “Not necessarily a native,” she corrected me. “But someone who had every right to be in town. Who the townspeople saw often. Or at least someone who was of the right profession to have a reason to be there. That list you guys gave me before, of the different type of magicians who could do the wind spell. Wouldn’t those same professionals have a sort of incognito appearance in Sheffield? I mean, no one would really remark on them being there.”

  Seaton and I exchanged a look. The royal mage lifted his shoulders in an elegant shrug. “She rather does have a point, old chap.”

  “Well, yes, but we went this route for a reason. Going through every single windwhisperer, hedge wizard, and crafter in the greater Sheffield area is going to be tedious in the extreme. Not to mention time-consuming. Finding someone with a potential motive first is faster.” Not to mention it would involve a great deal of driving. I valued living. I’d really rather not give Jamie multiple reasons to assume the wheel.

  McSparrin appeared from somewhere to join us. “What’s happened?”

  Seaton succinctly summarized Weiss’s actions, and McSparrin’s open face clouded darkly. “That was awfully nice of him.”

  “Stepping on toes, that one.” Seaton shook his head. “I can understand his persistence—it was his friend killed. But at the same time, he’s a seasoned agent. He should know how to pace himself during an investigation.”

  I thought of how I might feel and react if Jamie was the one murdered. I did not think I’d operate with the cool head Seaton expected. In fact, I was rather sure I’d be reacting stronger than Weiss was now. I shook the depressing thought off, concentrating more on the matter at hand. “McSparrin, to catch you up, Jamie believes that we’re hunting in the wrong pack anyway. She believes our murderer is closer to Sheffield, someone who goes through the town often enough no one would remark on his or her presence.”

  “I did think of that too,” McSparrin admitted. “I started g
oing back through the letters this morning, and I know we ruled a lot of them out, but a few were downright disturbing. And anonymous. Burtchell bore a lot of hate from people who thought he should have done more.”

  “But they were all anonymous, right? Hard to track those people down.”

  Jamie shook her head at Seaton. “No, that’s precisely my point. I think someone more local to Burtchell is behind this. If they took the effort to stay anonymous, then it means they knew it could be traced back to them. I was hoping for a quick and easy suspect list, hence why we went through the archives. Well, that, and because we needed to make sure none of these people had anything to do with it. This murder speaks of cold calculation but also a lot of rage. Killing a person point blank like that takes a lot of emotion to pull off. And rage like that is hard to sustain. Any emotion is, if you think about it. The emotional highs are easy to feel, but they usually simmer down to something manageable. The mind regulates emotion so you don’t go crazy with it. And given enough time, most people talk themselves out of rash and stupid decisions like murder.”

  “Murders either happen in the heat of the moment or because the emotion is so strong it sticks with a person,” McSparrin agreed. “I remember you saying that. You think in this case, the rage was hot?”

  “Hot enough, at least. It makes me think those letters might be the motive. Even if they won’t lead us to a suspect directly.”

  “I can’t fault the logic,” I admitted freely.

  Seaton nodded in agreement. “And I can’t think of any other leads to follow. But the letters are by and large useless. You aren’t really suggesting looking up every hedge witch, crafter, and windwhisperer in that area and investigating them, are you?”

  Jamie looked about at all our faces. “Anyone else got a better idea?”

  Silence.

  My shoulders slumped in resignation. “This is going to take a while.”

  We didn’t see anything else for it and packed up. At least this time we’d be traveling in the relative coolness of the morning. Seaton, bless his everlasting soul, drove. Jamie seemed both resigned and impatient at the pace. I’d heard her rant about ‘speed isn’t dangerous’ too many times to invite a repetition and chose to let it ride.