“I see,” I said, running my hand though my hair. The charms intended to keep my hair colour from showing hadn’t broken, much to my relief. “I’ll leave as soon as I pick up my coat and some of the briefing papers.”
“Thank you,” Wilkinson said. He looked so grateful that I wondered if there had been heavy threats about instant dismissal and maybe even an official enquiry coming down from the President, or, more likely, his office. “Let me know as soon as you find anything.”
I had actually visited Vincent Faye’s mansion – part of me wants to call it a castle – before, back when I had been undergoing my training. It was a massive European-style manor house, built by a designer who, I had thought at the time, had been drunk. It was a strange building, constructed to always seem just a little bit disconcerting, with hints of influence from all over the world. English-style windows and lawns contrasted oddly with gothic walls and Arabian minarets. Now, I could see just how it focused the surrounding magical field, tapping it to add to its defences and surrounding wards. It was almost as well-defended as the average government building in Washington.
But that wasn't surprising. Where many other businessmen had cursed the arrival of the supernatural, Vincent Faye had been the first one to realise that it offered opportunity for profit. A minor-league warlock himself – the ranking scale was much less fixed in those days – he had recruited other magic-users and built himself a business empire that rivalled other, more mundane, corporations. It couldn’t grow much further – magic-users are in high demand – but it was still the first and the best. Vincent could have paid my salary for the next hundred years without ever noticing the loss. The President would hate to lose his backing.
I paused outside the walls and reached out with my senses, testing the wards carefully. They seemed to be intact, which was odd; Vincent had field-tested and developed the wards that most private interests used, when they couldn’t hire their own wizards. If someone had kidnapped one of his children from the house, they hadn’t interfered with the wards at all, which was supposed to be impossible. That suggested an inside job. Even without a full-fledged warden monitoring the wards, slipping through them would be extremely difficult. I wouldn’t want to try it unless I was desperate.
The gate opened in front of me, revealing Vincent himself, waiting for me. I carefully didn’t look up for a moment, reminding myself who had jurisdiction over any kind of magical crime, before looking at him. Vincent looked as if he had aged twenty years overnight. He had once resembled Tom Baker in his early years, but now he looked more like a worn-down version of a man. I could sympathise with his predicament. Unlike most fathers in this day and age, he could protect his children with means far beyond most people’s comprehension, and disaster had still struck. He had failed in his greatest responsibility.
“Mr Faye,” I said, carefully. The last thing I needed was for him to go running to the President, complaining about my attitude, although I wasn't going to let him walk all over me. “Tell me exactly what happened here.”
Vincent looked at me as if I’d gone mad. “We should hold this discussion indoors,” he mumbled, finally. He did have a point – it wouldn’t be long before reporters and the television crews gathered around the mansion, peeking into every aspect of his family’s life – but I just wanted to get on with it. “Come with me.”
He led me towards the mansion, down a long path that was charmed to be implacably hostile to anyone who walked on it without his permission, or that of another member of his family. Up close, the mansion didn’t look much better. The lights were shining out in the semi-darkness and hundreds of men and women, all wearing servant clothes, were running about everywhere, or sitting on the grass having a cry. I cast my eye over them briefly, noting the handful of young girls in very revealing dresses – purely out of professional interest, of course – and the older servants, before Vincent led me into the house through a side door. Somehow, I wasn’t surprised. I had guessed that I didn’t rate the servant’s entrance.
“Someone took her from my house,” Vincent said, as soon as the door closed behind us. We were standing in a long richly-furnished corridor, lined with tasteful paintings and other artworks. I spotted what looked like a copy of the Mona Lisa and smiled. I don’t know much about art, but I’m pretty sure that the original painting doesn’t include pointed ears on the girl’s face. “They took her from her room and…”
He broke down as we stepped into a small room, tastefully decorated. I didn’t know what it was normally used for, but there were a pair of teenage girls sitting there, waiting for us. The younger one caught my attention at once. She was a blonde bombshell, practically perfectly beautiful in every way, wearing a dress that hinted at her contours rather than revealing everything. A younger or less experienced man would have drooled. I recognised the glamour at once. She had woven enough spells around her to ensure that she had the attention of every young man in the room. I remembered – and shivered, deep inside – the girls who had summoned the demon, days ago. She was just like them.
Her older sister, or so I presumed, was far less glamorous. She reminded me a little of Varsha, in a way; she had a willowy body under a simple brown dress and deep, hauntingly intelligent eyes. She had a magic field as well, one that was far more composed than her sister’s, suggesting formidable magical abilities. In a few more years, she might even be considered for Guardianship, if we wanted to recruit her.
“Daddy, daddy,” the younger girl said. Her voice was too high-pitched for my tastes. It was illegal to use glamour magic in such a way, but with her father being the man he was, I doubted that anyone would bother trying to prosecute her. He clearly spoiled her rotten. “Tell him to interview me first.”
“Don’t bother,” the older one said, before her father could say anything. Her eyes tilted up to meet mine. There was a very sharp mind hiding in there, I realised, even though her voice was soft and worried. “She wasn't here when it happened, sir.”
“Not now, Alassa,” Vincent said, to the younger girl. I recognised the name as being a magical name, perhaps one chosen to hide her real name. “Aylia, please will you take your sister out of here and back to her room?”
We waited until Aylia had dragged her complaining sister out of the room before Vincent started to talk. It was a long rambling explanation and I grew more than a little exasperated with it. Vincent was supposed to be a ruthless businessman – his enemies called him a robber baron – not an edgy civilian. On the other hand, I conceded privately, if I had lost a child, I would be a little bit upset too.
“My youngest daughter Cecelia is barely five years old,” he said, finally. “She was upstairs having a nap with Felincia when something happened. We don’t know what, or when it happened, but when my wife Janine went in to see the child, Felincia was dead and Cecelia was gone!”
“Right,” I said, carefully. Normally, we don’t have to do any kind of detective work, but there seemed to be no choice. “When did you discover that your daughter was missing?”
“Three hours ago,” Vincent said. He sounded more composed now that I was asking proper questions. “I summoned the servants and we searched the grounds at once, but we found nothing, so I called for assistance from the Guardians. I didn’t bother calling the local police or the FBI. This is a magical case…”
And the FBI really doesn’t like you, I added, in the privacy of my own head. It was true. Vincent had pioneered the introduction of magical items into civilian life and, naturally, it had been the criminal class that had taken greatest advantage of them. Safes and lockboxes that should have been untouchable had been opened with ease, while teleporting criminals had broken into bank vaults and escaped with millions of dollars worth of gold. The economic crisis was bad enough, many felt, without adding magical criminals to the list of society’s problems. It didn’t help that too many magical criminals considered themselves above the law and the people who were meant to deal with them – the Guardians – were overwor
ked. It wasn't a sane world any longer.
And that didn’t include the problems caused by the Faerie.
“I see,” I said, holding up a hand to stem the torrent of words. “What did you do afterwards?”
“I sent my bodyguards to recover Alassa from her friend’s house,” Vincent said. I smiled inwardly. If Alassa hadn’t been there at the time, there was little point in interviewing her, unless…was it possible that she could have been the inside help? I had been an only child myself, but I knew something about sibling rivalry…and it was clear that Alassa was a spoilt brat. Could she have decided to get rid of her younger sister? “Aylia and Janine were already in the house and helped me search for her, but we couldn’t find her, even with Janine’s link to the child.” He frowned and seemed to come back to himself. “I want you to find her, now, and the person who took her from me.”
“I will do my best,” I promised. I didn’t care for his tone. It promised a bloody revenge on the kidnapper. I couldn’t blame him for the impulse, but the last thing we needed was a magical war breaking out in the middle of America. We already had quite enough problems. “I hope you haven’t moved the body?”
“No,” Vincent assured me. “We left her where she fell in defence of our child.”
“Good,” I said. I pulled myself to my feet and looked down at him. “I want you to keep everyone who was present in the house at the time here until I tell you otherwise. I want you to…”
“You don’t give me orders,” Vincent said, angrily. Perhaps he was just lashing out at me because he felt so helpless, but I wasn't going to accept that sort of treatment. If he wanted a servant, he should have hired one. Guardians have ultimate authority where magic is concerned. We can cut through red tape at will. “My close personal friend assured me…”
“I will find your daughter, if that is possible,” I said, keeping my voice icily calm. I wasn't in the mood for a shouting match. “If you do not cooperate, finding your daughter may be much harder. We don’t know who took her, sir, and delay could lead to her death.”
He held my eyes for a long moment, and then he abruptly lowered his gaze. “I understand,” he said, with a long sigh. I was surprised by the sudden submission. The nasty cynical part of my mind suspected that he would be on the telephone to the President as soon as I let him alone. It didn’t matter, really. If someone was setting me up for a fall, the least I could do was to try and see that the job was done properly. “What else do you want me to do?”
“Keep yourself at hand to answer questions.” I said, firmly. “I may want to talk to the remainder of your family and staff under a truth spell at some point. I expect that that won’t be a problem…?”
“My family will accept it,” he said, in a voice that suggested that anyone who refused to be interrogated would regret it. “My staff…may not agree.”
I scowled. A truth spell has many limitations, but it’s really a simple spell; anyone under its influence has to speak only the truth, as they understand it. The stronger versions of the spell compelled the victim to speak, regardless of their own wishes, but they were legally dubious. There was a question of self-incrimination to be considered. Congress had passed laws forbidding the use of the more powerful truth spells very quickly – for quite understandable, if selfish, reasons – unless the recipient volunteered to be placed under the spell. It was illegal to compel volunteers to accept the spell. The lawsuits would drain even Vincent’s vast resources.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” I said, finally. It might not prove newsier. Unless there was something very odd about Vincent’s wards, the inside help for the kidnap almost had to be a family member. I had to remind myself that just because Alassa was a spoiled brat, and something of a bitch, didn’t actually mean that she was evil. It might not matter. Any wizard capable of slipping through the wards without being detected, even with inside help, would be capable of brushing off a truth spell. “Please take me to the scene of the crime.”
“Of course,” Vincent said. He stood up, as if taking some action – any action – was better than sitting around moping. “I’ll take you there at once.”
The house seemed to be larger on the inside than the outside, although as far as I could tell, there wasn’t enough magic in the building to produce such an effect. It felt as if it had been designed to be confusing; we walked up some stairs, passed through a handful of corridors and open rooms, before going down some more stairs. I was thoroughly lost almost at once, even though I was trying to read the magical field surrounding the building. There were embedded spells in there that even I didn’t recognise.
“Here,” Vincent said, finally. The door swung open at his muttered Words of Power. “I’ll leave you alone here, shall I?”
I said nothing. I was too busy studying the dead body.
Chapter Eight
Whenever I hear anyone arguing for slavery, I feel a strong impulse to see it tried on him personally.
-Abraham Lincoln
I closed the door behind me and looked around the room, careful not to touch anything. It was a pointless exercise. Whatever clues might have remained in the room after the kidnap, they would probably have been removed or damaged by the desperate search afterwards. I couldn’t blame Janine Faye for wanting to search for her daughter, but from a forensic point of view, searching for clues and evidence had just become a lot harder. I pulled out my camera and snapped a dozen pictures of the room, and the body, before returning it to my pocket and examining the room.
It was luxurious enough to make me roll my eyes. It was large enough for twenty children, their nurses, their parents and probably the remainder of their families as well, decorated in a style that I could only describe as childish. There were posters of children’s TV stars everywhere, contrasting oddly with the fine wooden structure of the walls, and a dozen – if not more – stuffed toys. I smiled as I saw the massive stuffed donkey – almost as large as a real donkey and perhaps more suited for a child – before it opened one eye and winked at me. They’d been charmed to be companions for a young girl.
I rolled my eyes again and walked around the room, concentrating. It was crawling with spells intended to safeguard the child’s life, protecting her from all dangers. It is quite possible to ward a person against a specific danger – bullets, for instance, or drowning – and it felt as if Vincent had attempted to cover all possible threats. Some of the spells felt smothering to my senses, attempting to prevent me from doing anything dangerous, but I shook them off with an effort. Children needed to learn things for themselves, not to be guarded by magical bodyguards, not least because wards were far from intelligent. A ward against drowning might prevent a person from swimming. A ward against poison might forbid the child to eat. I wondered, briefly, if that explained why Vincent’s children had turned out the way they had. One was a silent rebel, another was a spoilt brat…and the third had been kidnapped.
“Idiot,” I muttered, as I finally returned to the body. It had been left untouched, at least, much to my relief. Forensic magic depends, far more than any more mundane techniques, on the scene remaining untouched and Janine’s search had disrupted too much. I would have to call for a proper team from the Circle, but at least there might be a chance. I looked around, expecting to see a Faerie sign, and saw nothing. The Faerie did sometimes kidnap children, particularly ones with a magical talent, but they always left a mark of their presence. I’d seen little dolls made out of straw, representing the child, and changelings. The latter died quickly.
I bent down to study the body and discovered my first surprise. Felincia had been a werewolf. It wasn't that uncommon to have a werewolf serve as a bodyguard, but I wouldn’t have expected one to serve as a combination of nurse, tutor and bodyguard. Some werewolves could control their own change, moving from man to wolf anytime they liked, without the bloodlust. Others could only change when the moon rose in the night sky and lost control completely. I guessed that Felincia had been one of the f
ormer type – no one in their right mind would trust the latter type anywhere near a child, no matter how kind and gentle they were when they weren’t in wolf form – but I would have to check it. I doubted that she was responsible for the kidnap – werewolves tended more towards messily devouring their prey, rather than kidnaps and there was no sign of a bloody meal – but it would have to be checked.
Her face, in death, looked surprisingly calm and relaxed. She had once looked striking, rather than pretty, with long white hair and soft brown eyes. Her face showed signs of her duel nature. Her eyes were doglike, in a sense, and she had the impression of looking like a dog, or a wolf. I couldn’t help, but think of a spaniel pup, staring up at me beseechingly with begging eyes, eager for a run or to play a game. It had probably been less noticeable when she’d been alive, I decided; werewolf children tended to be shunned and abhorred by other children in schools, even though most werewolf children could control themselves.
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