Charms and Death and Explosions

by Honor Raconteur

  “No, he’s the only one who wasn’t.”

  “Then he’ll be given the option. He can stay outside—there’s temporary lodging being arranged for people—so he can still go to work if he wants to. Or he can choose to come in and help nurse all of you. Either way, he’s got a guaranteed paycheck. I spoke to the owner myself and Mr. Robichard swore no one has to worry about being fired or getting anything less than a full paycheck.”

  A choked-off sob came from the woman. I could imagine her relief. So many worries to juggle, none of which she had the power to solve, and my partner was relieving each worry one by one. Although, it was news to me that Jamie had already spoken and arranged things with Reggie. When in the world had she managed that?

  Turning the next corner, I came into view of the two women and discovered the error of my assumption. The reason why Jamie walked with the woman was that they carried three small children between the two of them. The mother looked dead on her feet, beyond exhausted and ill, as did her children. Two boys and a girl, the youngest appearing to be no more than a few months old, the eldest perhaps five. Jamie had a child on either hip, leaving the baby for her mother to carry. This, no doubt, was one of my missing tenants.

  “Jamie,” I called down to her, watched her head come up and locate me at the landing above her. “Do you need assistance?”

  “I’m good,” she denied, “but get the baby, please.”

  My calves sharply protested at the thought of climbing back up the steps. I mentally told them to hush and went down, shifting my bag onto my right shoulder to free up both arms. The mother gratefully handed the sleeping baby over to me, and I could feel her arms shaking during the transfer. Jamie’s request for assistance made more sense now. I took the baby gingerly, not having the broadest experience with small children. Then again, perhaps I should view this as good practice for when my own nephew arrived in a few months.

  The child felt hot in my arms, a heavy weight who was not sleeping peacefully, judging by the frown on that small face. I carried her carefully in the crook of my elbow, trying to disturb her as little as possible. She needed her sleep. Looking up at her mother, I inquired gently, “I’m Dr. Henri Davenforth, Detective Edward’s partner. By any chance, are you a tenant of apartment 304 or 420?”

  “420,” she answered tiredly.

  “In that case, madam, let us escort you up, and then if you’ll allow me to examine your apartment, I’ll remove any bad charms and replace them with a quality anti-sickness charm.”

  “She said you would,” the mother responded with an inclination of the head toward Jamie. “Thank you, Doctor, of course you may.”

  “Excellent. Then do lead the way.” I followed her up, Jamie right at my heels, not at all struggling under the combined weight of two children. I envied her strength some days.

  Upon entry to apartment 420, it became readily apparent that the mother had not cleaned in days. Dirty dishes lay piled haphazardly in the small kitchen sink, the great room had nests of dirty towels, discarded blankets, and glasses of half-consumed water lying about. From somewhere in the house stank a collection of dirty diapers. I could tell the matron was embarrassed by the state of the house, and I deliberately kept a bland expression on my face to save her any further embarrassment. Even if my nose did want to wrinkle at the stench.

  As I went through the small two-bedroom apartment, searching for charms, I could hear Jamie in the main room.

  “Mrs. Dodd, let me help you straighten things up here. At least until your husband can get back to you. It’s important that all of you are in a clean environment to recover with. Tell you what, you get the kids settled, I’ll tackle the dishes and the garbage.”

  “Oh no, I can’t let you do that, you’ve got more important things to do,” Mrs. Dodd protested.

  “Not really, not for the next hour. I’m just extra hands while the magicians do the magical legwork. How many clean diapers do you have left?”

  I smiled as I examined the walls of the couple’s bedroom. Mrs. Dodd might as well give in. Jamie was nothing if not determined.

  There were in fact four anti-sickness charms upon the walls of the master bedroom, children’s bedroom, and one in the miniscule bathroom. All of them were of very poor craftsmanship and one of them, once again, Garner’s. My anger with the man grew upon every apartment I entered. The deplorable conditions of these people because of his work was simply inexcusable. The demands of a man’s greed came at too high of a price.

  Depending upon the nature and strength of a charm, there were different spells used to dispel the charm’s magical properties before rending the paper into ash. For a charm of this low-level caliber, I used only the most elementary of spells to first strip the magic from it, dissipating it harmlessly into the air, then disintegrating it into fine ash into my hand. I disposed of it promptly by flushing it down the sink.

  I admit to using a few cleaning spells on the bathroom, the children’s room, and the master bedroom. Since Jamie had taken it upon herself to help this particular family—and indeed, they sorely needed it—it behooved me to make myself useful as well. I cast several anti-rodent charms while I was about it, as I saw evidence that at least a few mice had taken up residence in the walls. As I exited the children’s room, Jamie caught my eye and winked at me in approval. I flushed a little (of course she’d caught my muttered spell casting) and quickly focused on Mrs. Dodd. She was seated at the table, making out a list of groceries and necessities, it looked like. Judging by the slow, careful way she printed each letter, I judged her to be barely literate. I was more surprised she was literate at all, as most of the working class could barely write their own name.

  “Mrs. Dodd?” I called her attention to me in a gentle voice.

  Blinking tired blue eyes up at me, she responded, “Yes, Doctor?”

  “I’ve found four charms in your house, is that correct? There are no others?”

  “Just those four,” she confirmed with a shallow nod.

  “Three of them were entirely useless, they have no power in them whatsoever.” I watched her lips tighten in an angry line. “The fourth charm, the one in the bathroom, was in fact the one that caused everyone to be ill.”

  Jamie paused in washing one of the dishes and gave me a sharp look. “Garner’s?”

  “Yes,” I confirmed in a clipped tone. “Mrs. Dodd, I noticed that you don’t remove a charm once it’s expired. I found a small stack of them in the corner of your window. Is there a reason for that?”

  “The refuse man won’t take them,” she explained wearily. “And I was told not to burn them, that’s dangerous. Didn’t know what to do with them.”

  It was a common problem, and I’d heard this explanation more than once. “The refuse man will be given a stern talking to. He’s supposed to take them. He doesn’t because it’s a cost for him to dispose of them, and he’s cutting corners by avoiding the problem. But that’s a cost the city compensates him for; he has no excuse. Even if he gives you such trouble, if you’ll bring the charms to Fourth Precinct and report the problem, I will take care of it. Old charms piled up like that can eventually bleed into each other and cause a very dangerous magical back-blow.”

  Mrs. Dodd’s pale face turned ghostly white. “How dangerous?”

  “House fires are not uncommon,” I answered frankly. “So please don’t do that, and spread the word to your neighbors not to do that either. Even if the refuse man gives you trouble, bring them to me, I’ll properly dispose of them for you.”

  She nodded vigorously. “I’ll do that.”

  “Good. Now, the anti-sickness charm I’ve applied in your bathroom is a very strong one. It’s good for five years. If you will remove it occasionally and let it soak in the sun, it will last a good seven years. It runs off of light and water. Just don’t let it get wet directly and you’ll have no issues with it. I highly recommend you purchase any other charms from Roberson & Sons, Inc. They’re very reputable and their son is a hedge wizard;
he’s got quite a good eye for charms. No bad product is allowed through their doors. They’re a little more expensive than a bargain bin charm, but affordable enough for your purposes, and guaranteed to work.”

  “I’ll remember,” she swore to me. “I’ll pass that along as well.”

  “Very good, please do.” To Jamie, I reported in a lower voice, “There’s another apartment in this building I couldn’t get into, 304. If you see anyone go in there, please report it to me so I can double back for them. Other than that, this building is clear. I’ll start on the one next door.”

  “That’s fine,” she encouraged with a worried eye on me, “but stop by the cordoned line off Maple, would you? A nice vendor has pulled up there and he’s feeding all of us for free. Fish and chips.”

  That sounded heavenly indeed and my mouth instantly watered. “Say that sort of thing sooner,” I scolded.

  Chuckling, she shooed me off. “Go, I’ve got this.”

  I dearly wanted to, but I had one further inquiry to make first. “You’ve clearly been in more recent contact with people than I have—are we allowed outside of quarantine?”

  “Nope, we’re stuck like everyone else. But Dr. Cartwright’s brother-in-law has empty rooms at his house and he’s invited us all to stay there. The two-story white house catawampus to the doctor’s office? That house.”

  Trust her to think of the logistics while I ran about like a chicken with its head cut off.

  “Oh, and your mother went to both our apartments and packed a bag for us,” she tacked on, as if suddenly recalling the detail. “They’re supposed to arrive tonight. She’s also sending in some food for all of us. And she’s heading some sort of ladies’ drive in order to get new clothes, bedding, and towels in here. A lot of this will have to be tossed, it’ll be too contaminated to salvage.”

  Yes, so it would, but… “And when did you organize all of that?”

  “Henri,” she responded with asperity, as if I’d failed to recognize the point, “I didn’t do anything but tell Reggie what we needed in here. He’s the one who passed the message along, and it’s your mother spearheading all of this. I take no credit for it.”

  She’d thought to ask for aid, so in my opinion, she deserved at least part of the credit. But I sensed the argument would fall flat upon its face and didn’t choose to pursue it. “I’ll thank all of them properly later. I’ll be in the next building if you need me.”

  “Roger.” Jamie returned to doing the dishes.

  I left, once again heading down the stairs. Even with six men actively hunting down the charms and replacing them, it would not be a day’s work to clear everything out and replace it. More like three to four days. Three to four days of climbing stairs. Heaven deliver me.

  I was perhaps halfway down the stairwell when my nose picked up the scent. Wood smoke had a distinctive smell to it, as did gas fireplaces, but this was neither of those—a far more pungent, acrid scent that scorched the interior nostrils. I’d only encountered that scent with particular instances—when magic burned.

  I nearly tripped over my own feet, I moved so fast, desperately getting past the doors and walls blocking my view, to the first window I could find. It didn’t take someone with magical sight to see that something had gone horrifically wrong. Something lay outside near the rubbish bins in a multihued blaze of smoke and sparks, alarming all who viewed it. Swearing roundly, I spun about and headed down the stairs, moving faster than safe.

  Even as I took the stairs nearly two at a time, I realized what must have happened. Word had spread quickly since our arrival that the charms were bad, that they were what caused the sickness to begin with. Some fool had likely gotten it in their head to destroy the charms despite our warnings, and of course, people were quite accustomed to using fire to rid themselves of paper.

  Although in this case, it was the worst possible method.

  I slapped the door aside, spilling my way out onto the sidewalk, and raced for the burning pile. People shifted to let me through, fortunately, and I wished I had the breath to urge them back, but the mad sprint down had winded me completely. I barely had the breath to use any spells and contain the madness.

  Even as I sprinted across the street and towards the scene, the small bundle there caught the neighboring stack of rubbish alight. It looked to be a communal burn pile, no doubt set aside for this purpose, as hexes were painted on all sides of the low stone wall to prevent sparks from spreading outwards. But its only configuration was for restraining conflagrations, not anything released by the blaze. Even as I watched, the fire released the magic of the charm and an eerie, unnatural green of virus spread out over the watchers’ heads like an evil cloud.

  Skidding to a halt three feet away, I threw out a containment spell first to prevent any other sickness from spreading, although it was a bit of damming the river after a flood. Still, I didn’t want a face full of the stuff.

  “Doctor!”

  I glanced up, relieved to see Marshall running toward me. “Can you do an air dispel for this area and clear it? I’ll take care of the charm.”

  “Of course, sir,” Marshall assured me, already drawing out a wand.

  As Marshall had more magical ability than I, I left him to it without worrying about his casting, focusing on the origin of the problem.

  “What’s the problem ’ere, gents?” a man demanded of me. He looked a little worse for wear, although I couldn’t discern if drink or sickness made him wobble so. Perhaps a bit of both.

  I ignored him, my entire attention on the sickly cast of the air about us. That grey-green hue made me nauseous just to behold. I could see from the saturation of the color that he had burned quite the stack of charms, although I could only guess at the exact number. Two dozen, perhaps? I drew a wand hastily, mentally revising which spell would be the most effective in dispelling the fire, and cast it with quick, clipped intonation. With the papers curling about the edges and smoldering, I cast two others in quick succession, dispelling the magic left on the paper and cleansing the area generally to wipe out any hint of sickness or aggravated magical properties. Only then did I focus on him. “Are you the one who burned it?”

  Justified by his own actions, he jerked his chin to indicate the blaze. “Burn pile. No harm done.”

  “You imbecile,” I grated between clenched teeth. “By burning a charm like this, you’ve released all of the magic contained in it. You’re lucky it didn’t explode like a bomb.”

  He was outraged until that last sentence, then the import of what I’d said hit him and he stared at the burn pile in silent horror, jaw hanging with words unspoken.

  “And,” Marshall stated brusquely, “you just released another wave of the sickness over everyone standing nearby. Well done.”

  “Now, hang on, I was cleansing it!” the man protested wildly. “Fire cleanses things!”

  “Fire does not cleanse magical charms,” Marshall argued back, at the end of his patience. He jabbed a finger toward the soot still smoldering. “And if not for Dr. Davenforth’s quick reflexes, you and the two-dozen people watching this would have likely been dead in three days. Kindly do not burn charms!”

  Abashed, the man hung his head and refused to answer.

  I hoped that message would spread but unfortunately most people were cooped up in their homes now, not chatting with their neighbors. I had no doubt that some other idiot would think to try this, to solve the problem, and that possibility would keep me up for several nights in paranoia. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about.

  I stood on the sidewalk and looked about me, nearly overwhelmed for a moment. All I saw about me was sickness, frustration, lethargy, and tears as the living struggled to survive. I stank of sweat after so much unaccustomed exercise, dirt crusted my hands and wedged under my fingernails, and the state of my clothes was not to be spoken of. The people around me were in no better state, having not the energy to launder their clothes or go through the struggle of bathing. They would need to hau
l water up from the wells, as there was no such thing as indoor plumbing in this area, and some of them didn’t have the strength to haul up buckets of water to their apartments.

  So many people passed me, trying to assist ailing family members, coughing, hacking, sneezing, their skin pale except high spots of color on their cheeks. They looked weary and done-in. I felt a margin of sympathy for them, but mostly anger fueled my emotions. This deplorable state, this suffering, could have been avoided if not for the arrogance of two men.

  My anger ignited my motivation, and I would have immediately tackled the next apartment, but my stomach chose that moment to grumble in loud complaint of its neglect. Deciding I needed sustenance before tackling that other apartment, I followed my partner’s directions and headed for the food cart. The street was crowded on either side by the apartment buildings sitting so close together, and I shortly found myself grateful for Jamie’s general directions. I couldn’t see the food cart until I’d walked halfway down, my view was so obstructed. As I walked, I hit myself with a general cleaning charm, as I had no desire to either carry the sickness to the food vendor or eat in this state. The vendor was one I recognized, as he frequently put up his stall near the police academy. I’d visited him often while attending the academy some decade ago. Seaton stood near the stall inhaling a basket of golden fried fish and chips, wearing the expression of a man who had found heaven.

  “Davenforth!” the vendor hailed me, a wide grin on his face. He leaned through the narrow opening in the front of his cart, his hands braced upon the thin wooden bar that extended over the side. “Fancy seeing you here. It’s been a number of years since you came to my cart.”

  “Indeed it has, Mr. Houghton,” I greeted before inhaling deeply. “The smell alone tells me that this will be delightful, as always. Have you any of your chowder?”

  “I do, I do.” His ham-sized hands were already moving toward the small stove behind him. “Want some of that?”