Charms and Death and Explosions

by Honor Raconteur

  Seaton and I might only be into our third month of acquaintance, but it hadn’t taken a significant amount of time to be able to read the man properly. He possessed a very emotive face, after all. Even if he had not, I knew that there were certain things in his life he held no tolerance regarding, and insulting Jamie Edwards featured very prominently at the top of that list. To see her so casually disregarded by a colleague, and accused of glory-hoarding, would irritate Seaton.

  The expression on his face went past ‘irritated.’ I do believe dragons readying themselves to raid a town sported similar facial twitches.

  A lesser man might have suggested to Seaton that a Royal Mage’s report of unbecoming conduct might have more weight to it. That perhaps he would do the favor of pushing the issue. I smiled genially at Seaton, rocked back on my stool, and waited.

  The mage did not disappoint. “Davenforth. It’s a curious thing, but I’m not a fan of nepotism.”

  “Truly? Indeed, I must say, neither am I.”

  “You’ve reported this multiple times, you say. An organized man like yourself likely kept copies of those previous reports.”

  “I daresay I have a few lying about,” I agreed, my benign smile not slipping.

  “Why don’t you lend those to me? I’d like to include them in my own report.”

  My smile finally morphed into one that matched his, our evil machinations clear.

  Sanderson had poked the sleeping dragon. Oh my.

  After three days, Jamie and Penny had visited every known demolition company in Kingston. I know because I’d either made them a daily list or gave them directions to the companies in question. After all of that legwork, I’d set up the black box recording of the scene and let them go through it. Sometimes a perpetrator lingered at the crime scene and could be caught that way. Both women carefully combed through the circle of onlookers, but no one stood out.

  I entered the station this morning knowing that we’d be doing something of a different ilk and went hunting for my partner. She’d lured me to her desk this morning with the promise of another breakfast burrito, which I’d happily taken her up on.

  “There you are,” Jamie’s voice greeted from behind me. I turned with a smile, perhaps a touch more eager than usual. She could see it, and let out a short bark of laughter before extending a rolled, steaming bundle wrapped in aluminum foil in my direction. “You are such a foodie.”

  “Guilty as charged,” I admitted happily, unwrapping the top right where I stood and biting into it. Ahh, bliss. The cheese, meat, egg, all wrapped up in in a lovely layer of spices. If she marketed this, I predict she would make a minor fortune and be able to retire. In fact, I was quite sure of this.

  “Do you have anything you need to do this morning before we go?” she double-checked. “No? Then let’s go. Weber found keys and addresses for both men in their personal effects, so I want to get a good look at Timms’ and Garner’s apartments.”

  “Apartments?” I queried, then swallowed to free up my mouth. If my mother could see me like this, not only standing while eating, but talking with my mouth half full, she would be utterly appalled at my lack of manners. But every policeman knows to eat while you can, where you can, and to not be fussy about the details. “Not a house?”

  “I’m rather surprised by that as well, as Garner at least certainly made enough to afford a house, but I believe it was a matter of convenience.” Jamie filled me in as we walked toward the back, and inevitably, toward the car park. If she had any pity, she would drive slow in order to avoid upsetting my system. “They already had a short stint with the first business, barely lasting half a year. I think they were afraid they’d have to quickly pull up stakes here, too. Better an apartment, something you can quickly get out of. Houses are like a boat anchor. They moor you in place.”

  I nodded, as that seemed quite reasonable to me. Although really, it didn’t matter if they were in house or apartment, as long as we knew their addresses. “Have we any word on family at this point?”

  “That’s what I’m hoping to get from their apartments,” Jamie admitted. “I put in a notice of death through the Gazette and asked for anyone related to the victims to come meet us, as no one around the business seemed to know of any relations. So far I’ve had three girlfriends show up for Garner, no one for Timms.”

  That seemed strange as well. “No one’s missing these men?”

  “Or at least, no one who knows them by that name.” Jamie’s eyebrows arched, insinuating several things as she slid into the driver’s seat. “I mean, you told me that Garner’s magic license had to be forged, as he didn’t graduate from anywhere. We know the first business failed because of shoddy products. How much trouble were they in to close up shop and move to the other side of the city? Enough to change their names while they were at it?”

  “Could be,” I allowed slowly. “I’m not sure if that would surprise me at this point. I suppose we’ll have to see.” I focused once more on my breakfast and tried to subtly study my partner as I did so. Jamie looked…tired. Not exhausted, but clearly her energy levels sank below their norms today. I had not heard any night time disturbances, which I normally did hear with her apartment being directly above mine, so I could not be certain if bad memories kept her awake or if she had chosen to avoid going to bed altogether.

  The city became more alive with specials, mementos, and things of that ilk to celebrate Belladonna’s demise. I saw more than one person do a double-take as we passed them, no doubt recognizing Jamie. This was not the worst of it, and indeed we’d have to pass through the anniversary before we regained normalcy. Or what passed for normalcy in our world of thefts, murders, and magical mayhem.

  “I’m fine, Henri.”

  I must work on my subtlety. “You just look tired, is all.”

  “Well, I am, but that’s because I was up half the night talking to Ellie. She’s working out some bugs with the texting pad. I mentioned perhaps getting more texting pads out to the others. Our Kingsmen comrades are all over the lower half of the city, combing through the stores and pulling out bad merch, but there’s no easy way to keep track of them or their progress. The texting pads would make it easier.”

  A gesture of my free hand showed that I agreed with her. It would be deucedly convenient.

  “That, and I had a notion for another invention I’d like to see here.” Jamie slowed at an intersection, stopping at one of the new traffic lights in town. It was a prototype, one of four, and I could already see the difference in how traffic flowed. This corner typically saw three accidents a week, but since its installation, we hadn’t nary a one.

  Since I was always curious about her inventions, I queried, “Something else mechanical? Or something like the texting pad?”

  “Neither, actually. This one is more basic to health care. While I was running around with you pulling all of those anti-sickness charms out of the stores, I had a thought. On Earth we had two different primary cleaning solutions that we used to keep things sterile—alcohol and hydrogen peroxide. Now, I don’t know how to make hydrogen peroxide, but I do happen to remember how to distill rubbing alcohol.” She put the car into gear as it became our turn, changing streets smoothly. “I do love the traffic lights. People picked up on that quickly.”

  “May they spread across the city,” I seconded whole-heartedly. Finished with the burrito, I crumbled the foil and put it into the waste basket tucked in the side of the door. “This alcohol, what can you sterilize with it?”

  “That’s the beauty of it. Practically anything. Hard surfaces, fabrics, operating equipment, even skin. It’s routinely used on wounds to disinfect them. But a diluted version can be used to scrub a floor, for instance.”

  My mind carried through the possible implications of this in a blink. “That could potentially cut infections in half.”

  “Probably more than, if we can get it widespread on the market. Which I’m pretty sure we can. It’s a cheap solution on Earth that everyone uses. I can’t
imagine Kingstonians feeling any different about it, especially since bad charms are so prevalent here.” She slowed and took another right, this time entering an area with nearly wall-to-wall apartment buildings. “I think this is right. Cherrywood Lane?”

  “Yes, further up this street,” I directed, pointing ahead. Still, I wouldn’t be distracted from this. “This is something Guildmaster Warner believes she can do?”

  “Sure. Simple chemical solution, only takes about two weeks to make. Once I explained the process and how to apply it, she was completely on board. Swears she can get some bottled and on shelves in a few weeks. I think she’s got an idea of how to speed the process up with magic,” Jamie shrugged, as if not bothered by this.

  “Can I field test this one too?” I inquired, very curious about the product.

  Amused, Jamie flicked me a glance. “I’m sure Ellie would be delighted to have someone with your reputation stamp endorsement on the product.”

  Excellent. I normally didn’t lean much upon my family’s standing in society. We were not aristocrats or anything of that nature, but with my grandfather and father’s service in the military, they’d gained powerful friends and connections in the government. With their excellent businesses, we enjoyed a comfortable amount of wealth as well. The Davenforths were well-known in Kingston, and while that sometimes impeded my path, it did leave doors open to me as well. Using that reputation to further promote something good brought me significant satisfaction, and I knew that my family would approve as well.

  “I think this is it.” Jamie pulled snugly up to the curb and shielded her eyes with one hand to look up at the sign on the grey brick exterior. “Cherrywood Apartments. Huh, interesting. Timms lived in Ashwood Apartments, directly across the street. Coincidence?”

  “Likely not.” I pointed to both of them illustratively. “These aren’t very old, perhaps eight months. If Garner and Timms moved across town at the right time, these apartments would likely be one of the few with space for tenants. I assume they were trying to stay near their business, as Charm-A-Way sits only six blocks down from here.”

  Jamie nodded and allowed, “Makes sense. Garner only had the company car, and Timms would have to walk to work. I’d stay close too. Alright, Garner’s apartment first? I have keys to both places, so we don’t need to bother the landlady.”

  “After you.” I followed her up the stone steps and through the very small front lobby. It barely possessed the room for a body to turn about in and find the stairs, much less anything for visitors. Clearly, the design of this building focused on giving as much space to tenants as possible, sacrificing the other areas. Jamie led the way confidently up to the second story, then stopped at the first door, wrangling a set of keys from her pocket. Only three on the key ring, which made sense—business, apartment’s front door, the building’s door. He wouldn’t need anything more than that.

  The plain white door opened on noiseless hinges and we stepped through.

  My apartment had a certain functionality to it. Kitchen and living room combined into a great room, bathroom and bedrooms closed off with doors. This apartment barely had any privacy to offer. The kitchen, living room, and bedroom all stood open to each other. Only the bathroom had a door and walls, and even the door stood open. The furnishings looked new and barely used, the kitchen sporting not a single dish. With the exception of the iron-wrought bed, which had not been made, the apartment appeared unlived in.

  “He didn’t cook, but ate out. The area’s not messy, but not clean. Clean enough to bring female company over, but not as tidy as it should be. Huh. His laundry’s in a pile on the other side of the bed, most of it just missing the hamper,” Jamie noted as she swept through the area. Turning, she stared hard at the bed before approaching, scenting with a deep breath. “Bedsheets probably haven’t been changed in three months at least. They’re a little ripe. He has all the earmarks of a man who isn’t used to picking up after himself.”

  Sensing her thoughts, I took a closer look about as well, bringing my wand into play. “You think Garner’s divorced?”

  “Or separated from a wife, perhaps. A man who’s not interested in staying clean will have piles of dishes and clothes and trash stacked everywhere. He’s sort of making an effort, but it’s half-hearted, as if he’s in the habit of doing specific things but not others. Well, I could be wrong. Maybe he’s still sticking to habits from home when mommy did everything.”

  We’d find out, either way. Moving through the room, I swept the wand from side to side, seeking trouble before Jamie stumbled across it. If Garner had been careless—and he’d certainly not proven to be careful—then he might have things here that he shouldn’t. “He’s not brought any of his work home with him, at least. I sense nothing magical—no, wait. That’s not correct. There’s a strangely condensed residue of magic lingering on his clothes.”

  “Brushed up against his ink while working, perhaps?”

  “Some of it is that. Some of it is something else. I’ll have to take it back to the lab to properly examine it.” Pulling a containment box from my black bag, I snipped off a few samples of clothing and placed them inside.

  Jamie rifled through a rolling top desk, searching the papers, then whistled low. “Ho, I’m right. He’s divorced. Recently, too. Aimee Williams Garner. I do love divorce papers, they insist on putting everyone’s addresses down under signatures.” Freeing the sheet entirely, she slid it into an evidence folder. “Let’s see what other goodies we can pull up.”

  Aside from some cards from various lady friends, most of which we could use to track them down, there was nothing else in Garner’s apartment worth our time. We switched to Timms’ where Jamie found the ‘typical bachelor’ apartment. I doubted a single surface had anything less than three layers of clothing, decaying dishes, or paperwork on it. We followed paths from room to room, weaving our way around piles of…things I didn’t actually care to examine closely.

  “Worse than a college dorm,” Jamie muttered to herself, wading through. “I suddenly feel like my shots aren’t up to date enough for this place. How do people live like this? Henri, anything magical?”

  “Nothing of the sort. Not even residual.” I blessed the fact my wand could tell me such information from a distance. The foul odor of the apartment offended not only my nose but my sensibilities. “Either Timms was more careful about wearing protective gear while working, or he had nothing to do with the magical spectrum of the charms. I’m inclined toward the latter. The only magical license we found was Garner’s.”

  “Yeah, I’m thinking Timms was the printer, Garner the charm maker.” Jamie bent to lift a crate full of cards and letters, shuffling through the first inch of the stack. We fell to searching for several minutes in mutual silence until Jamie broke it, singing a strange song under her breath: “Clean up, clean up, everybody everywhere. Clean up, clean up, everybody do your share.”

  This song sounded odd, rather simplistic, which didn’t match her normal repertoire. I stopped shifting through a pile of papers on the desk and regarded her in bemusement. “What’s that?”

  Distracted, she glanced up. “The Clean Up song? Ah, it’s a children’s song. Timms obviously should have learned it.”

  “I cannot disagree.”

  Straightening, she went through a stack of cards in her hands. “Hmm. Timms had family, at least. He’s got letters from a mother, brother, sister, and what looks to be a very young niece. No romance letters yet but maybe some are buried in here. Let’s haul this back.”

  I didn’t see anything else worth taking or further examining, and after thirty minutes of poking about, Jamie seemed to share this opinion. We thankfully left the apartment behind, and I absently sent a sympathetic prayer to whoever was forced to clean out that place later.

  As we returned to the car, I saw more than one person turn, tracking Jamie’s movements. One woman audibly gasped, hand over her mouth, alarmed to see the Shinigami Detective stride out of what was obviously her
own apartment building. I shook my head, refusing to stop and reassure her. She’d realize on her own there was nothing untoward about the building.

  If Jamie saw their reactions, she gave no sign of it. I knew her to be too sharp to have failed to miss them, however. In this situation, the best thing to do was to ignore it. I could not fault her tactic.

  Sliding into the car, I inquired, “Which would you rather do first? Verify that Garner’s magical license was a forgery? Or track down the relatives for both Garner and Timms for questioning?”

  Lips pursed, she considered the options. “We’re fairly certain it’s forged, even without you looking at it. I mean, it had to be if he didn’t graduate. Still, I think it would go over better if you officially confirmed that. And I don’t know about you, but I want to know how Garner got a business license with a fake magical license.”

  I shared her shark-like smile. “Yes, that question does indeed weigh on me. Shall we go to City Hall and make some inquiries?”

  I woke up in a cold sweat, a rough tongue bathing my temple. The annoyance of it, that tactile impression slashing through the dream, had brought me out of it. I flailed a little until I realized Clint was wrapped around my head, then I stopped, breathing hard.

  “Jamie?” he asked softly, in that gentle, high voice of his.

  “Yeah, bud, I’m awake.” Gently disentangling myself from his paws, I sat up, then stayed there with my feet off the side of the bed, shoulders hunched as I tried to orient myself again to the present world. I went through the routine—grounding my senses by touch, scent, smell, sight, until I felt like I was present once more. Only then did I turn and scoop him up, cuddling him against me. Clint came with a purr, pressing his chin to my collarbone, a warm and vibrating bundle in my arms.

  Bless Henri for giving me this cat. He was exactly what I needed—a touch of home in a world that looked just different enough to offset my sense of normality. Clint’s purple fur still threw me sometimes if I caught a glimpse from the corner of my eye, but he was so like a cat in every other aspect I felt like I’d brought him with me most of the time.