I had my gun half out of its holster on sheer instinct, knowing he was about to do something dangerous and stupid. “Martin, drop to the ground! Hands above your head!”
He didn’t. He reached into his pocket, and I didn’t need the glint of sunlight on metal to know he’d just taken out a bullet.
Henri was several paces behind, puffing like the little engine that could, struggling to catch up. Still, he saw it too, or surmised it somehow. He let out a howl and I could feel his magic slam around me, glimmering like stardust. A shield of some kind.
It made no difference. The bullet shot from Martin’s hand, flying straight to me, sneaking under Henri’s shield by milimeters. I instinctively tried to roll away from it, but even my reflexes weren’t faster than a bullet. It hit me dead in the hip, the impact of it spinning me around. I landed hard on the cobblestone, dizzy with it, heartbeat pounding like a war drum.
I instinctively clapped a hand over the area shot, expecting the wet and sticky feeling of blood. There was no pain, but injuries sometimes took a second—the instinctual panic receded and I abruptly remembered I was bulletproof now. It was the one upside to Belladonna’s magical alterations on me: I was essentially Superwoman.
I didn’t cackle as I got an elbow under me, but it was a near thing. I did poke at my hip experimentally, and while the impact of it smarted like crazy, the bullet hadn’t penetrated the skin.
But just because I was bulletproof, it didn’t mean anything else was. I stared down in dismay at the hole in my pants and the shirt tucked under it. “These are my favorite pants!” I wailed in protest.
Martin stared at me in stunned surprise. No doubt because I wasn’t flailing on the docks or bleeding or screaming or any of the other things that people would normally do when shot at. That moment of stillness cost him.
Henri shot off a spell and ropes appeared from nowhere, wrapping around the man and taking him down like a flying tackle. Martin hit the stone docks hard, his chin clipping audibly, and no doubt rattling his brain and teeth. I got over my pants and went to him, slapping an iron set of cuffs on his wrists to shut his magic off. Just in case.
“You idiot,” I told the downed suspect with disgust. “Shooting a police officer does not help your case, not one iota. And now you’ve pissed off both me and Henri and let me tell you, we weren’t having a good morning to begin with.”
Turning his head, he glared at me and spat out blood. Bit his tongue, had he? Or his cheek. Something. “You think I care? After what I did?”
Well, well, someone was unhinged. “You can tell me all about it at the station. Up we come.”
He struggled unhelpfully, much like a worm on a hook, as I hauled him upright. Henri caught up to me and gave me a once over, saw the bullet wound and his glare turned lethal.
“You’re fine?” he demanded of me.
“Of course I’m not fine, do you know how much these pants cost? And how hard it is to find pants that are wide enough in the hips and yet long enough for my legs? It’s like finding a unicorn!”
“So, in other words, the bullet just bounced off you.” He grumbled inarticulately, but I could hear the relief clear enough. Then he turned that glare on Martin. “With what possible logic would it seem a good idea to fire at a police detective? Are you trying to insure you’re locked away for the next hundred years?”
Even if that hadn’t been his goal, he’d managed it. Just killing a royal mage had done that. And after this whole running stunt and firing a bullet with a wind spell, I had no doubt this was our man.
Martin glared back and stubbornly kept his mouth shut.
Shaking my head, I hauled him bodily towards the main road, where I’d left the car parked. “Come on, you. We’ve got a lot of questions that need answers.”
Normally when Jamie and I sat in the same interrogation room, we traded off and played good-cop, bad-cop. Since I was generally more genial, I often took on the role of good-cop. Unfortunately, neither of us were in the mood to be ‘good’ in any sense of the word, and today Martin got bad-cop, worse-cop.
I’d try to feel regretful about that later.
Martin didn’t seem at all inclined to put up a defense. He sat at the table with his arms crossed belligerently, glaring darkly at anyone who dared to meet his eyes. Seaton and McSparrin both crowded up against the side of the room, silent spectators, and he seemed to pay them little to no attention. For whatever reason, he kept his attention mostly on Jamie. It might have been because a bullet had just bounced off of her.
It was a startling sight, even for someone who understood the reasons behind it. I’d known, intellectually, a bullet couldn’t harm her. Yet my heart had still threatened to choke me when I saw that bullet wing from his hand. Would there ever come a time when I saw danger approach her, danger I knew she was immune to, and not be terrified? I somehow doubted it.
Needless to say, Jamie glared at Martin, Martin stared right back at her, and I glared at him. It was a fine tableau this evening.
Jamie didn’t slam her hands against the table, or try to startle him in any way. She just leaned one elbow against the surface and locked eyes with him. “You killed Joseph Burtchell.”
Martin’s generous mouth lifted up in a sneer. “I ain’t apologizin’ for it, if that’s what you’re fishin’ for. Man had it comin’.”
My hands spasmed in my lap. Deities, but I wanted to fling a curse at him for the callousness alone.
A tic developed in my partner’s jaw. “Why did you kill him?”
“Ain’t that obvious enough? Man let me whole crew drown.” The horror from that night washed over his expression and his eyes went blind for a moment, his head locked in the past. “He saves them fancy, important people first, because what else do you expect from the likes of him? Retired royal mage and all. And he lets us poor sailors drown like we ain’t nothin’ but rats. And he gets praised for it, for saving three ships and not the other two. Every time I heard those praises, I lost my mind.” His hands came up, as if he wanted to grip his head, but the manacles around his wrists prevented the movement. He dropped his hands again, staring at them as if he didn’t recognize his own limbs. His voice almost turned sing-song, remembered agony roughening his tone. “No one understood what it was like, drownin’. The cold sea goin’ over your head, and the waters being so dark you couldn’ tell up from down. Of not knowin’ if you could get breath, and your lungs seizin’ for the lack of air. I was desperate for air. Me, a windwhisperer, of all people. I couldn’ even get wind to help me out, because water had its death grip on me. Sheer luck I managed to latch onto what was left of the mast, heave meself out of the water.”
Was this a form of depression, after surviving such a horrific accident? I’d seen cases where the survivors were so eaten up by guilt they eventually took their own lives. I’d seen people who lived through a traumatic experience and needed someone—anyone—to blame. To hate. It was the only way for them to make sense of what they’d lived through.
Martin seemed to fall in the latter category. I stared at him, dumbfounded by the depths at which the human mind could fall, how twisted a man could become from tragedy. If he’d been an impartial bystander to that same event, he likely would have said what everyone else in Sheffield had—how lucky they’d been that Burtchell was on hand. How it was less of a tragedy, as the man had at least saved three. It was the difference between the survivor and the spectator. And the defining line of murder.
It was incredibly sad, really. If someone had noticed and helped Martin work through his rage, would it have come to this? I shook my head, anger and resignation churning in my gut. The what-if’s didn’t matter. The deed was done, the bridge burned, and there was no way to bring a dead man back.
I wasn’t interested in explaining to him how wrong he’d been to murder Burtchell. Any logic or pleas to reason would have fallen on deaf ears. Martin was in no way receptive to hearing he was wrong. And frankly, it didn’t matter. This man would never see the outs
ide of a prison again. Queen Regina would make sure of it. If she didn’t have him executed. I personally bet on the latter. Queen Regina was not in a forgiving state of mind.
Jamie abruptly stood and left the room entirely. I saw no further reason to sit and listen to Martin either. We knew how he’d done it. We’d suspected why. Having the confirmation of ‘who’ was all we needed in this case. I pushed my chair back and stood, signaling for the other two to go ahead of me.
“Wait, that’s it?” Martin’s chair rattled as he jerked around, tone rising incredulously. “That’s all you’re going to ask?”
“You killed a man in cold blood,” Seaton informed him with icy disdain. “We only needed your confession.”
Martin, for some reason, reacted as if we should have been hanging off his every word. As if we needed him to walk us through it all. His jaw flapped for a moment before he spluttered, “But you don’t know how I got in and out! Or how I killed him!”
“You really think we didn’t figure any of it out?” McSparrin demanded of him, one hand on her hip, a classic picture of pity and exasperation. “We knew who to look for, didn’t we? Oh, aye, you were clever enough to sneak through the gaps in his guard. But you’re not a genius and these two gentlemen are. You were doomed the minute you decided to kill a nice, retired mage for daring to help people in their hour of need. I personally hope the queen doesn’t hang you for it and instead lets you rot in prison for a very long time.”
Her piece said, McSparrin stomped out of the room. I couldn’t top a grander exit, so I followed her out, locking the door behind me. I’d have to guard him until we could put him in a proper magical jail. He had enough magic to cause trouble for a non-magical jailer.
Seaton put his shoulders to the wall opposite the door, settling in. I mirrored him because frankly, carrying about my own body weight was too exhausting after the events of yesterday and this afternoon. The brick felt cool against my shoulders and I felt a yawn stretch my face. Great magic, but I’d be happy to tumble into my bed tonight.
“My grandmother once said revenge was akin to drinking poison to quench your thirst. I don’t think I truly understood that until just now.” Seaton passed a weary hand over his face.
“That was your first thought, eh? Mine was something else. Earth has an expression Jamie uses often: No good deed goes unpunished.”
Snorting, Seaton splayed a hand in silent agreement.
Silence fell for a moment before he asked, “Where is Jamie, anyway?”
“I assumed she was updating the queen that we’d caught our murderer.” She was taking a tad longer to do that than she should have. Then again, Gregson would need to know as well. She could have been waylaid.
Seaton snorted in black amusement and leaned in to murmur, “Did you know, Weiss was still going through archived cases, looking for a suspect this morning? He was irate I wouldn’t call you three in to help him. I told him you had that kerfuffle from yesterday to deal with and that I thought he was barking up the wrong tree besides. He didn’t take it well. Imagine what the look on his face will be when he hears we caught the man?”
A very uncharitable smile lit my face. “It’s a pity we won’t see it in person. Oh great magic, I just realized. Since we solved this case, the queen’s going to be even more firm in her stance in making us consultants to the Kingsmen.”
Seaton practically purred, “Why yes, she is.”
I gave him a sidelong glance. Seaton, after all, was over the Kingsmen. Weiss might be their commander, but Seaton was their minister. Technically, I wasn’t sure if he was of equal station to Weiss or the man’s superior. My guess was the former. Either way, a suspicion I’d harbored for some time seemed more likely with every passing moment. “Seaton. Be honest with me. Was it your idea or the queen’s to have Jamie be a consultant?”
“Mutual,” he corrected me with a winsome smile. “It was a mutual idea. Great minds think alike and all that.”
Hogwash.
Speaking of, my partner strolled down the hallway toward us with that smooth stride and a smug grin on her face. “Queen Regina wants to talk to our prisoner tomorrow. Well, she said talk; I’m more inclined to think she’s going to verbally slice him to ribbons. Anyway, we need to stash him properly tonight. Weiss is up in arms that we made an arrest without him. I told him where he could take his opinion and stuff it.”
In her mood, she likely hadn’t been polite about it, either. “And Captain Gregson?”
“Updated him while I was updating the queen. He’s both pleased and relieved. Says we can go home after we get our guy processed.”
No wonder she’d been a bit delayed getting back to us. “Then let’s be about it.”
We were invited for breakfast the next morning with Queen Regina. Well, I say ‘invited’ but there really was no choice in the matter. Kingsman Gibson came and fetched us himself, and a smirk played around his mouth as he watched my fidgeting in the carriage. Jamie—who was resplendent in a white dress that quite flattered her golden skin and figure—didn’t seem at all alarmed at this abrupt summons. Then again, she knew Queen Regina far better than I.
Jamie’s hand caught mine before I could tug at the sleeves of my coat again. “Stop. We’re not in trouble.”
I shot her a glower. “I didn’t think we were.”
“You’re not in trouble,” Gibson seconded, and his smirk widened a bit. “Quite the opposite. Our revered queen wants to offer you a job. She seems to think if she does it in person, you have less chance of finding a way to duck out of it.”
A job? Oh, he must mean the consultant position. Having an answer to my worries calmed my nerves and I didn’t feel the need to vibrate out of my skin. “Is that what this is about?”
“What did you think it was about?” Gibson inquired, mildly curious. The burly Kingsman looked entirely presentable in his red coat, and his hair perfectly combed. I found that irritating, along with his casual slouch in the seat, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Because of course he didn’t.
“Gibson.” I favored him with a pointed look and an arch of my eyebrow. “I’ve seen our queen face to face exactly twice. The first time, it was after that charms fiasco, which was well on its way to devastating the city population. The second time, she told me a retired royal mage had been mysteriously murdered. And you’re wondering why I’m nervous about being abruptly summoned to see her again?”
“Ah. Well, in that context…” He shrugged, affably and with something that might have been a soft chuckle. “But no disaster looms ahead of you today.”
Thank all deities for that.
The palace stretched out ahead of us. We were in the prime slot of the morning for heavy rush hour traffic, and it took much longer than it should have to cross the last distance and into the palace grounds themselves. I immediately saw why Gibson had come to fetch us, as he was the one who had the authority to admit us onto palace grounds. He was also the person who understood where the queen’s favorite morning parlor was, and where she normally took her breakfast.
I walked through the many, many hallways of the palace, past all the white walls with their gold-painted trim and elaborate moldings, the priceless art upon the walls, the statues and water fountains resting in alcoves, and knew I’d be hopelessly lost if not for our escort. It was all lovely and majestic, to be sure, but it also became rather repetitive after a certain point. I didn’t think myself directionally challenged until faced with a four-story building taking up three city blocks.
Gibson led us toward the back of the building (I think; at least, the morning light coming in through the windows suggested such) and to a nondescript wooden door that stood halfway open. He gave a perfunctory knock against the wood. It was abruptly opened the rest of the way by a woman in the sharp red and black uniform of the palace guard. She gave him a nod and then stepped back, allowing us all the room necessary to walk through.
“Oh, here already? Excellent, I was afraid it would take longer.” Queen
Regina stood from her seat at the small, round table and welcomed us with a brilliant smile. “Dr. Davenforth, Detective, do come in.”
I doffed my hat and gave her a bow of greeting. Jamie smoothly curtseyed before rising. “Your Majesty.”
“Come sit,” she invited again, her hand gesturing to the three settings already placed and waiting. “I do apologize for the abruptness of my invitation, but I needed to hear all the details myself.”
“Quite alright, I wasn’t able to tell you everything over the pad last night,” Jamie responded. She approached the table as if she were dining with any other friend. The queen looked pleased by her attitude.
Not able to let my partner outdo me, I copied her behavior and sat where the queen pointed. Servants appeared from the woodwork to serve us all an excellent omelet, a side of small fruit crepes, and dark-roasted coffee. The coffee especially was welcome, and I drank of it deeply. I needed all my brain cells firing for this conversation.
After we were served, Queen Regina started firing off questions. Jamie and I took turns answering them, so we could eat and speak without being rude about it. Only when she was satisfied she had all the particulars did the queen’s full attention turn toward me.
“I’m surprised, Dr. Davenforth, that you know every nook and cranny as well as Detective Edwards does. Do you investigate alongside her throughout a case?”
She was not the first to wonder or question this. I patiently answered, “For the most part, yes. We will occasionally split up, if our talents are better served following a lead in different directions, or if we have others working the case with us, we’ll mix up partners. It depends on the circumstances. On this last case, for instance, Seaton and I took the issue of the wards and the bullet on while the women interviewed all the witnesses. We played to our individual strengths.”
“How interesting. But you’re not trained to be a flatfoot.”
“No, I am not. I’ve learned to follow my partner’s lead and acquired a great deal about the investigative process in the interim.”
Magic Outside the Box Page 19