by Kyle Shultz
“Well, I’m glad you’re not here to complain,” I said, “but that brings us to the question of why you are here.”
“There’s a situation in the city, sir,” said Oswalt. “One I very much hope that you and your associates can help us resolve.”
“What’s the trouble?”
“Dogs,” said the Inspector.
I frowned. “I’m sorry?”
“Is this about Gregory Duville?” asked Crispin. “He and his fiancée Rilla came in to see us this morning.”
Oswalt shook his head. “It’s not only about him. I’m afraid his transformation was just the tip of the iceberg.”
My eyes widened. “You mean it’s been happening to more people?”
“It’s been happening all over the city, all day,” said Oswalt. “Men randomly changing into dogs of every description. Only a few at first, but then the reports started coming in thick and fast. We’re up to ninety-five cases now.”
I whistled. “Good grief. I’m surprised we haven’t had more cases besides Mr. Duville’s come in.”
“It’s all just begun in the past few hours,” said the Inspector. “And we’ve been trying to keep it quiet, but naturally, with all the press coverage of the Duville-Blenkinsop wedding, news of his change was bound to get out. I imagine you’ll probably start getting a bumper crop of new cases across your desk right about…”
He was interrupted by the sounds of shouting, barking, and banging at the front door. Crispin moved toward the sound. At the same time, the phone on my desk began to ring.
“…now,” Inspector Oswalt finished.
I regarded the ringing phone with apprehension. “So we’ve got a magical epidemic on our hands.”
He nodded. “So it would seem.”
“Crispin,” I called out, “don’t open the door. There’s no point.”
He ran back into the office. “Why not?”
“Because we can’t help all these people on an individual basis. We need to find the source of the outbreak and deal with it. Going through the victims one by one will be a waste of time.” I looked at Oswalt. “You said that men are getting changed. Not women?”
“Not so far. Nor young kids, either. Adult males over the age of sixteen, or thereabouts.”
“Any non-humans affected?”
“Not that I can tell. But the non-human community doesn’t normally come to the police for help, even these days.”
“It looked as if all the women out there were human,” said Crispin, “so I’m guessing that’s the only species that’s being targeted.”
“Interesting.” I nibbled thoughtfully at a claw.
“You think it’s a clue?” said Oswalt. Finishing his tea, he placed the cup back on the tray.
“Quite possibly, but I still need more information.” I glanced at Crispin. “And, more importantly, I need Cordelia.”
“I don’t think she’s here,” said Crispin. “I mean, I haven’t seen her all morning, so…”
“…so perhaps she overslept,” I suggested, “and she’s still in her room.”
“That’s not like her. Normally she’s up before everyone else.”
“There’s a first time for everything. Maybe she’s ill, or something.”
“I don’t believe she gets ill.”
“Then maybe there’s something else going on. Either way, we have to go to her room and get her.”
Crispin blinked. “Er…you’re suggesting that we wake her up?”
“I’m suggesting that you do it. Go bang on her door.”
“I already did that.”
“Louder this time.”
Crispin fidgeted. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. If she is sick, or she overslept and now she’s running late, she’s probably not in a very friendly mood, so…”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of Cordelia.”
“Aren’t you afraid of her?”
“Fine.” I got up from the chair. “I’ll wake her, if you’re too much of a scaredy-rabbit.”
“Whew. Thanks.” Crispin moved his hand as if he were about to summon a rabbit-hole.
I grabbed his wrist. “Absolutely not. We’re taking the stairs this time.”
Inspector Oswalt breathed a sigh of relief.
Chapter 4
The Lady Vanishes
To be honest, I wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about waking Cordelia out of a sound sleep, if indeed she was asleep or even inside the room at all. But she’d already turned me into a monster, so I couldn’t imagine her doing anything worse to me.
Despite the constantly changing structure of the Office, some things did remain more or less the same. For example, rooms usually stayed on the same floor, so I was pretty sure Cordelia’s room was still on the second floor. I couldn’t be certain of exactly how to get to it, but that didn’t matter. When you headed toward a specific room in the Office, it would sort of read your mind and route you there regardless of which way you went. Unless it didn’t want you to get there, for some reason, which did occasionally happen.
We fetched up at the door to Cordelia’s suite of rooms within a few minutes. It was labeled, like all the doors in this place, so I knew we had found the right one. Inspector Oswalt looked a bit dizzy—the same way I had felt during my first few days in the Office after Sylvia worked her magic on the building. Variable architecture will do that to you; it’s like finding your sea-legs on a ship.
I rapped gently on the door. “Cordelia? Sorry to bother you, but we’ve got to deal with…” I hesitated. “Well, it’s too complicated for me to shout the whole thing through a door. Suffice it to say that it’s our kind of case. Could you come out so we can talk about it?”
There was no response from inside.
“Cordelia?” I knocked again, more loudly this time.
Still nothing.
I banged my fist against the wood. “Cordelia, if you don’t answer, I’ll have to assume that there’s something wrong.”
Silence.
“All right, I apologize in advance if you’re in there and you’re not…you know, decent.”
“What are you going to do?” Crispin exclaimed.
“Break the door down.”
He looked horrified. “You can’t do that!”
“I realize it’s not good etiquette, but what other choice do I have?”
“It isn’t only that,” said Crispin. “The building’s alive, remember? You’ll hurt it!”
“Hold on,” said Oswalt, raising his hand. “The building’s alive? I’m not sure it’s legal to have a living building on this street; probably against zoning regulations or something.”
I clicked my tongue in annoyance. “Take it up with our building manager. She’s a grumpy dryad with a very impressive right hook. Good luck.” I squared my shoulders, took a few steps back, and charged headfirst at the door.
As my horns impaled the wood, I was suddenly engulfed in an explosion of leaves and branches. The miraculous vegetation threw me against the opposite wall and pinned me there.
“Told you so,” said Crispin, examining his fingernails.
“Shumph umph,” I told him, my words muffled by the branches. I wriggled my head around until my mouth was free. “Listen, Office, I’m sorry for goring you, but I really do have to get in there. Cordelia could be in danger. You like Cordelia. You want to protect her, don’t you?”
For a moment, I remained entangled in the foliage. Then, finally, it receded back into the door, and I fell on my knees. “Thanks,” I said, spitting out a few leaves and wiping my mouth on the back of my arm.
The door swung open to reveal Cordelia’s bedroom—which was in a very un-Cordelia-ish state of disrepair.
“It’s been ransacked!” Crispin gasped. He ran inside, and I hurried after him, with Inspector Oswalt close behind. The blankets and sheets were torn off the bed, books had been pulled off the shelves and flung everywhere, and the rugs were rumpled. I smelled something unusual as well: a wom
an’s scent, but not Cordelia’s. A sickly-sweet variety of perfume that Cordelia would never use.
“Signs of a struggle,” said Oswalt.
“In more ways than one.” Crispin held up his hands, and strings of runes appeared in the air, stretching across the room in every direction like a glowing, torn spider’s web. “Residue from a magic-fight.”
“So the person who took her had powers,” I mused. My blood pounded in my ears, but I fought to keep my emotions under control. Panicking wouldn’t help Cordelia. “Check the other rooms,” I told Crispin.
“What, even the bathroom?”
“Yes. This is no time to be delicate. The closets, too.”
“Who’s to say she was taken?” Oswalt argued. “This is magic we’re talking about. She might have been made invisible, or turned into a chair, or vaporized.”
“No,” I retorted angrily. “She wasn’t vaporized.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just do.” I didn’t, of course, but I wasn’t interested in entertaining that possibility now or ever.
“She’s not here,” said Crispin, having finished his inspection. “And never, ever tell her I was in her bathroom. Hang on, let me look at this residue again.” He lit up the runes again and began following the strands. We accompanied him as he walked out onto the balcony. A steady rain had begun to fall, and it slowly soaked into our clothes as we watched Crispin tracing the delicate patterns of magic.
“I think somebody cast a levitation spell here,” said Crispin. “Whoever took her flew off this balcony with her.”
I gazed out across the city, ignoring the uncomfortable sensation of rain soaking into my fur.
“Well, I presume that since she’s gone, you won’t be able to help.” The Inspector shook himself to dislodge raindrops from his suit and stepped back inside.
I frowned and followed him off the balcony. “Why would you presume that?”
“Isn’t she the one that handles all the clever magical stuff while you do the—”
“Actually,” Crispin interjected loudly as my hackles rose, “I think we have plenty of leads to work with. Don’t you, Nick? I mean, after all, it seems unlikely that the canine epidemic and Cordelia’s disappearance aren’t connected. So perhaps there are some clues in here that might help.”
I calmed down. “Right. Let me just—” I paused, realizing that I had no choice but to do something embarrassing at this point. “Look, I’m going to need to draw on all of my abilities here, which means I’ll have to sacrifice a certain degree of dignity. So if you could refrain from joking about it, I’d be grateful.”
“You don’t need to tell the Inspector that,” said Crispin. “He’s a professional.”
“I was talking to you.”
“Oh.”
Thankfully, Crispin did keep his mouth shut as I got down on all fours and started sniffing through the room like a bloodhound. It didn’t take me long to find something significant. A small, round object lying on the floor next to the bed.
“What is that?” asked Oswalt, squinting at it as I rose up on two feet and held it to the light. “Some sort of bracelet?”
“So it would seem.” I turned the bracelet over. “But it’s not very stylish.” The thing was made of wrought iron and carved with a series of runes. “Looks more like a shackle than a piece of jewelry.”
“Maybe we can look it up in one of Cordelia’s books,” Crispin suggested, motioning to the titles scattered across the floor.
“Too time-consuming. Let’s show it to somebody who might recognize it. Can you get us to Warrengate?”
“It’ll take me a few seconds to conjure up a rabbit hole to go that far, but yeah, I can manage it.” His eyes narrowed. “But don’t you dare say ‘hop to it’ again.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I suppose you won’t be needing me.” Inspector Oswalt sneezed loudly, his eyes and nose crimson and puffy. “Does Lady Cordelia own a dog, by any chance?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Er…no. Why do you ask?”
“I seem to be having an allergic reaction to something in here.” He glanced at me. “Of course, it might be you. No offense.”
“None taken, but you weren’t sneezing around me earlier, so…” That was when I noticed that the tips of Oswalt’s ears were drooping, and his jowls sagged a lot more than they usually did. Also, his nose was no longer red, but black and shiny.
Crispin had spotted it too. He and I exchanged awkward glances. “Er…” he said.
“What?” Oswalt, on the other hand, had not noticed anything. And he remained unaware, even as he dropped onto all fours and began to shrink.
“And now it’s ninety-six cases,” I mumbled.
“Is there something WRARF?” demanded the bulldog, looking cross. His head protruded ridiculously from the collar of his crumpled suit.
Crispin removed the translation collar from his pocket and started fastening it around the Inspector’s neck. “You don’t mind if I put this…anti-allergy charm on you, do you, Inspector Oswalt?”
“WOOF, not at all,” said Oswalt, as his human speech abruptly returned. “Thanks.” He emerged from his suit and lifted a hind leg to scratch at the collar. “A bit tight, but it’ll do.”
I blinked in surprise. “So now it works?”
“Yeah, I guess.” Crispin shrugged. “Maybe it just didn’t like Gregory?”
“He hasn’t noticed,” I whispered, staring at the detective in disbelief. “How is that possible?”
“I don’t know,” said Crispin.
“We should tell him, shouldn’t we?”
“Why bother? No point in upsetting him.”
“But we can’t let him wander around like this!”
“Then we’ll take him with us,” said Crispin with a shrug.
“What was that?” Oswalt cocked an ear at us.
“We—er—were just discussing whether or not you’d like to accompany us on our investigation,” I said. “We’re on our way to the Warrengate Academy of Advanced Magic in Caledon, to speak to an old friend. It’ll be a quick trip; Crispin is taking us by rabbit hole.”
The wrinkles on the bulldog’s face grew deeper as he pondered the suggestion. “Not sure how I feel about jumping into one of those things.” His expression brightened a little. “But it could be interesting to visit a magic school. And informative. After all, now that this magic stuff is a part of everyday life, I may as well learn as much about it as I can.”
“Certainly!” I breathed a sigh of relief. At least now we could keep an eye on him. Though my intention was for somebody else to take over that job very soon.
“This is exciting, isn’t it?” said Crispin. “Exactly what you were talking about earlier: old-fashioned detective work. A real, honest-to-goodness whodunit.”
I glared at him. “It is not exciting; Cordelia might be in trouble. And it’s not a whodunit.”
“Of course it is. Who do you think did it?”
“I don’t have any theories yet.”
“You wanna know who I think it is?”
“Yes,” said Inspector Oswalt.
“No.” I shook my head.
Naturally, he told us anyway. “Rilla.”
I stared at him. “What? Why on earth would you think that?”
“Because she’s the last person we’d suspect.”
“Crispin, that’s not how it works. We’re not in a mystery novel.”
“No, wait, you’re right.” He nodded enthusiastically. “We’re not in a mystery novel. We’re in a fairytale. So it must be a witch. Some evil sorceress from ancient times who’s been resurrected in the modern day.”
“We’re not ‘in’ a fairytale!” I exploded. “We’re not ‘in’ anything! This is real life!”
“Aha! That’s exactly what they want us to think.”
I closed my eyes. “Are you ever going to grow up?”
“Not if I can help it.”
Chapter 5
; Let Slip the Dogs of Warrengate
Crispin’s rabbit hole deposited us in the front hall of Warrengate. We were still dripping from the rain that had pelted us while we stood on Cordelia’s balcony, but the fire blazing in the nearby hearth quickly began to dry us off. The disturbing paintings on the walls, in which various evil sorcerers of the past were imprisoned, glared down at us with frenzied, furious expressions. Their occupants were frozen forever in the middle of desperate attempts to escape.
A thin, officious-looking young man with protruding ears and an inadvisable mustache and goatee marched up to intercept us the second we appeared. Another man followed in his wake, this one taller and more muscular. Both wore dark blazers with the stylized “WG” logo of the school embroidered on the chests. I was almost surprised they were both human—nearly half the faculty and students at Warrengate hadn’t been when I was there last. However, I’d heard rumors that non-humans had been deserting Warrengate in droves ever since the Revelation. Before, it had been one of the only places in the Afterlands where they could mingle freely with other species, but now they had more options.
“Excuse me,” said the thin young man, in an officious, nasal voice. “It is a violation of—”
I held up a finger. “Hold on, mate.” I shook the rainwater out of my fur, splattering both the blazered men. Oswalt did the same. Even now, though, he didn’t seem to have noticed that he was a dog. At least his allergy seemed to have abated.
Goatee Boy curled his lip and brushed drops of rain from his blazer. “It is a violation of school protocol to magically transport directly inside the building,” he declared. “Also, no animals, aside from salamanders licensed to carry the post, are allowed within the building.”
“Now, see here, you young squirt,” Oswalt barked. “My friends here aren’t animals. These are the brothers Beasley. No doubt you’ve heard of them.”
Crispin, still in rabbit form from our journey, shifted back into his human self. “How do you do?” He extended his hand to them.
They both ignored the gesture.