“That’s a splendid idea, darling,” my mother enthused, brightening. “I’ll help you organize it. What do you think, Henri, will RM Seaton approve?”
“He’ll likely do cartwheels,” I responded, feeling a weight lift off of me. “Yes, Father, please do that. I’ll ask the Kingsmen to coordinate the donations. Either Evans or Gibson would be the best to use, as they’re quite clever with magic.”
“Then let’s do that.” Rupert eyed my telephone sitting on its own table near the study door and beelined for it. “I’ll make a few calls while we’re waiting on dinner. You have a way of messaging that fellow, don’t you?”
I took the hint and pulled out the texting pad again. Seaton, I wrote quickly, my father thinks that if we offer good charms in exchange for the bad ones, we’ll get more people to hand theirs over. He’s intent on asking people for donations of anti-sickness charms to exchange with.
My mother came around to see better, and I obligingly tilted the pad towards her so that she might more easily read the response. It came in Seaton’s usual flowery script. Splendid! Tell him I owe him dinner, and reassure anyone who donates that I’ll make sure they get tax credit for it. You’ll need help to dispose of the bad charms and organize matters. Gibson?
And Evans too if we can spare him, I wrote. To my father, I said, “Seaton promises a tax credit for any donations.”
Rupert paused in dialing and gave me a pleased nod. “Excellent. I’ll pass that along, it’ll help ease open the purse strings.”
I rethought the decision to just pass the word along, as I knew at some point Seaton would need to step in and either answer questions or make suggestions. I bent to the pad once more. Jamie’s making curry and my parents are at my apartment. Want to join us?
You fool, you should have said that earlier!
Chuckling, I wiped the screen on the pad to start a new message, writing in the addressee to return to my conversation with Jamie. Make that five. Seaton’s coming.
Well, make it a party, she sniped.
It’s a good party. You’ll like the results.
Fine, fine.
“That’s deucedly convenient,” my mother marveled. “I know you and Jamie explained how it functioned, but it sounded so nonsensical. I couldn’t see why you were both excited about it. But it’s truly time-saving, isn’t it? And you don’t have to track down anyone’s location, as it doesn’t matter where they are.”
“Yes, it’s quite splendid,” I acknowledged, laying it on the coffee table. I had a notion I’d need it again in a moment with the way things were working. “When I first heard about it, I thought it would be splendid. But I had no real concept of just how useful the thing would be. Guildmaster Warner is still making changes to the design, as it requires weekly charging, and she strongly feels she should be able to get around that somehow. She’ll need to before she can put it on the open market. I fully trust she’ll make a breakthrough soon.”
“This was originally a notion of Jamie’s, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. Well, more a carryover of something she had on her world.” I understood that our version only had a small fraction of the capabilities of her device, but she was limited by the technology of this world. She couldn’t make everything progress all at once.
I could hear him well before I saw him. He always sang the same song when he was coming down to my apartment. In his high, child-like voice, Clint sang mournfully, “On my own, pretending she’s beside me~ All alone~”
The sound of a song being sung directly outside my window made my mother start, but I knew very well who it was. I stood and opened the window to allow the purple feline in, and he sauntered through with casual grace, as if it were my privilege to open things for him.
“Clint, do cease and desist,” I greeted the Felix with some exasperation. “You don’t even know all the lyrics to the song.”
Sitting on the outside window sill, he looked at me mournfully, neglected as only a child could be. “Come in?”
“Yes, yes,” I agreed, amused despite myself. It was very difficult to stay upset with him for any length of time. His charm was lethal. “Bored upstairs, were you?”
“Bored,” he agreed with a flick of the ear. He looked my parents over, who stared with some astonishment, then decided for whatever reason that my mother was more to his liking. He hopped lightly down from the sill and crawled into her lap, lifting one paw to lightly touch her breast. Head cocked, he purred at her enticingly, “Pets?”
“This is Clint,” I introduced belatedly.
“Oh, Jamie’s Felix,” my mother responded, expression lighting up in understanding. “I’ve heard many things about you, Clint. Where do you like to be pet?”
“Ears, tummy, back,” he instructed, then flopped down onto his back and presented his stomach.
Ophelia stroked him like one would a dog’s stomach, and the cat squirmed and purred under the attention, quite at his leisure. Amused, she asked me, “Does he do this often?”
“If he knows I’m home while Jamie is out, he lets himself out of the window and comes down for the company,” I explained, hand splayed in a shrug. I’d quite gotten accustomed to my feline visitor and I must admit, I didn’t mind his company. “She leaves the window cracked so that he can go out if he wishes. He’s quite intelligent and can navigate the streets without trouble. Mrs. Henderson adores him, as he spends most of his time dealing with the rat and mice population around the apartment. Sometimes the bugs as well.”
“Fun,” he informed me lazily.
“Yes, I’m sure that’s your only motivation,” I retorted drolly.
He ignored me entirely, focused on the adoring hand still stroking him.
“He’s really quite effective,” I continued the explanation. “Jamie informs me that pound for pound, the domestic cat on Earth is the fiercest predator known to man. That seems to be true of the Felix as well, as he’s almost completely eradicated rodents in this apartment building. I understand the complexes to either side of us are now leaving their windows cracked on the main floor to allow him entry, give him a chance to hunt there as well. I wonder if his maker originally intended for him to be this way?”
“Perhaps so? He’s meant to be a magician’s familiar, you said. I imagine that part of his duties would be to keep rodents and pests away from the magical stores.”
I hadn’t thought of it in that manner before, but she was likely correct. I wish we’d been able to take him in with us into the outbreak area, as his skills would have been deucedly handy, but alas we couldn’t. He wouldn’t have been immune to the sickness and none us wanted to risk him.
Rupert gave his usual booming laugh, distracting us, and said cheerfully into the phone, “You’re telling me. Right, I’ll have a Kingsman swing by this week and pick them up. No, thank you.” Hanging up with a clatter, he turned to us, cheeks ruddy with excitement. “Williams promised two hundred, and he said anyone who wants to dispose of charms can bring them to him—he’ll make an announcement of it.”
Two hundred charms. That was not a cheap donation, and Williams could only be Hugh Williams, owner of the top charm store in Kingston. Just where had my father started? The very top of the food chain? I now regretted not listening in on that conversation. “Clearly I did not inherit powers of persuasion from you.”
Tickled by this backhanded compliment, he picked up the receiver and dialed another number. I watched him work and felt, for the first time, that my efforts might not be in vain after all.
I walked into work on Gather Day—I still call it Monday in my head—with a pep in my step and a smile on my face. It had been an incredibly good weekend. Restful in the right ways, surrounded by very amazing and supportive friends who had the political clout and connections to do what I could not, and a spoiled feline loving the attention. Henri’s parents had pulled together and gotten us a donation of an insane fifteen hundred charms, and Rupert claimed there were a few people he hadn’t managed to catch, but would chase t
hem down today. I was beyond flabbergasted at this, but pleased as punch.
Sherard estimated most of the charms that people exchanged wouldn’t be our charms, specifically, but Henri and Sherard were of the opinion that it didn’t really matter. All bad charms could apparently cause this sort of damage. They were happy to get any and everything out of people’s homes and off the streets. We just hoped that at least some of Garner’s charms still in circulation made it back to us.
Walking to my desk, I put together a quick plan for the day. With specialists on the epidemic, I wanted to get back to the case that had started it all. Gerring had to be crying at this point, as we’d utterly abandoned him to all of the morgues and the paperwork. First thing, I’d track him down and catch up with everything he’d learned. I’d find a moment to formally write up Third Precinct as well, as their negligence in this case was absolutely inexcusable. I knew they were over the poorer section of the city, and they might feel overrun at times with cases, but when that many people complain? Someone had better properly look into it, not just write it off.
To my surprise, both Bennett and Gibson leaned against my desk, waiting. I hadn’t expected either man, and from the worry lines entrenched in their expressions, I wouldn’t like what they had to say. Bracing myself for it, I came in close and gave them a lopsided grimace, the closest approximation I could get to a smile. “You look like you just came from a funeral. Now what’s happened?”
“We’re just worried,” Bennett said, keeping his voice low, ducking his head a little to keep his mouth near my ears. “The anniversary passed us, but you were so busy with the epidemic, I don’t think you really had a chance to think about it.”
“Or emotionally respond to it,” Gibson tacked on, his words a low rumble. “Jamie, if you need to take a few days, we can cover for you—”
I held up a hand, stalling them. While they had the best of intentions, on this, they didn’t need to worry. I’d handled the anniversary far better than I’d hoped, probably because I’d been embroiled in something that had taken all of my time and energy. I’d not had the opportunity to dwell on the past, and truthfully? I was relieved. No one chose to dwell in dark places if they could help it. “I’m fine. Really. I even ate breakfast this morning.”
Gibson, at least, did not look sold. Bennett also looked as if he reserved judgment.
Exasperated, I planted both hands on my hips and stared them down. Bunch of overprotective mother hens. A mother cat with kittens could take lessons from these two. “Gibs. Benny. I am alright and I would say if I wasn’t. Leave it be.”
“Jamie.” Gibson rolled those big brown eyes of his expressively, exactly the way my father had when exasperated with his daughters. “You told us you were ‘alright’ when you were literally flat on your back and barely breathing. Your ‘I’m fine’ doesn’t ease our concerns any.”
They mean well, they mean well, they mean well…nope. The mantra didn’t help. I still felt my temper start to fray. “Gibson. I’m eating semi-regularly, I slept okay the past four days despite the madness, and I have a very cute cat that’s being helpful. I don’t know what else you want me to say.”
“Just take two days off,” Bennett suggested hopefully, gesturing toward the bullpen at large. “We’ve already had to take a few days off the case anyway, the dead aren’t going anywhere—”
“And we’re already short-staffed because multiple people are down with this influenza crap,” I shot back, beyond irritated, “our leads are growing steadily colder, and people are now panicking enough to try burning charms. Sure, now’s a great time to take a mini-vacation.”
“We’ll cover for you,” Gibson soothed.
That tone was exactly the wrong thing to use in that moment. My temper frayed even further. I felt like hitting him. “News flash, gentlemen, I do not find it helpful to sit about and stew on my feelings. So even if I wasn’t fine, taking two days off wouldn’t be the right choice. No.”
“If it isn’t the right choice, why are you getting angry?” Bennett asked, also in that same tone, and if either one of them did it again, I would punch them. Right in the gut. Hard.
“Because you’re making me angry,” I hissed at them. “When a person says they’re fine, respect that.”
Of course Evans chose that moment to slip through the desks, joining us, and he had that same stupid look of concern scribbled all over his face. “Jamie, are you alright?”
Snarling, I rounded on him. “The next person who asks me that will be beaten. Okay? I will beat them until I feel better. Your constant reminders do not help, they make it worse. I have a plan on how to deal with the stress, I have techniques to help me work through it, and just worrying about it causes more issues than it solves. So stop worrying, stop getting into my face and telling me that I shouldn’t be fine, that is NOT. HELPFUL. Respect it when I say that I am fine. I was alright until you idiots started smothering me. Now I need chocolate. No, you know what, out! All of you, out! We have clues to chase.”
Hands raised in surrender, and after a few apologetic looks thrown my direction, they scattered, leaving me standing there breathing hard. I might feel guilty about blowing up at them later, but not at the moment. Right now I was ready to administer smackdowns, Mortal Kombat style. They’d been watching me, waiting for the other shoe to fall for weeks, and I’d known it. I hadn’t said anything, because I understood the concern, but I’d hoped that when I didn’t show any signs of distress, they could leave it alone. More fool me.
Of course, my little rant had gotten the attention of the other detectives sitting near me. I’d kept my voice low enough to not carry, but there were no walls here, and eavesdropping wasn’t exactly a challenge. I gave each man a stern look, just daring him to say something. Each of them quickly found something else to focus on.
I really needed to hunt down some chocolate, maybe find a punching bag to let off some steam. I doubted Gerring had any good news to relay, and I didn’t want to take my frustrations out on him.
The front door to the station swept open with a bang loud enough to make everyone jump. I whirled around, instinct putting one hand on the gun strapped to my side, then realized that the person who had just stormed in was none other than Third Precinct’s captain. A werefox, he stood barely waist-high on me, his orange fur bristled in every direction in visual outrage. He stormed right for our captain’s office, snarling like a wounded animal as he did so.
“Gregson!” he bellowed in a surprisingly loud and deep voice for such a small creature. “Gregson, I won’t stand for this!”
Gregson yanked his office door open and stepped out, first alarmed, then with the growing red of anger sweeping up his neck and over his face. “Captain Wood. I do not appreciate you barging in like this. Calm down and step into my office.”
Wood either didn’t want to calm down or didn’t care that we all listened in. Probably both. He jabbed a sharpened dark claw at Gregson, tail lashing behind him. “The nerve, the gall of you, writing me up formally. For what! A single case went unnoticed, something that didn’t even cause trouble in my district, and you—”
“I have thirty-six reports from the past month of complaints issued to your station of bad charms,” Gregson cut through him, his icy tone brutal against Wood’s hot anger. “You have one hundred deaths that can be linked with magical causes. The charm maker’s own wife came and reported problems. The man was forced to close his business doors because of CIVIL suits rather than criminal, that’s how negligent your detectives and officers were!”
I mentally cheered. Get ’im, Gregson!
When Wood tried to rally, Gregson ran roughshod over him, ruthlessly. “MY OWN OFFICERS had to respond to a call of distress from a physician that is in YOUR jurisdiction, and then were locked in there for days dealing with an epidemic. The cause of which was tied into those thirty-six complaints that you so easily ignored. So yes, Woods, I wrote you up formally. I have it on good authority that RM Sherard Seaton also wrote you u
p for this. Our good queen received a copy of both those formal complaints, and knowing her and her view on matters such as these, I have no doubt you’ll be up in front of a review by the Police Commissioner before the week is out.”
Because Woods wasn’t the type to own a mistake, he snarled back, “I will not be held responsible for what my officers failed to do!”
“You will be held responsible for so poorly managing them that they literally overlooked murder,” Gregson snapped back, and if he’d possessed a tail, he would have been lashing it as well. In fact, it was rather a pity he wasn’t some type of were, as the fur would fly otherwise.
“The fault of my men—”
“Is entirely your fault as well! That is what leadership means. Don’t come off on me like this, Woods. You’re just blowing hot air about, being here. The complaints are in, I certainly won’t rescind mine, and you’re doing no good here. You’re just validating what scum you are, trying to push the blame onto someone else.”
I couldn’t help myself. I started clapping.
Woods’ head snapped about, his eyes landing on me. “That’s insubordination, Detective!”
“Couldn’t help myself,” I responded with demonic cheerfulness. “My captain’s being too cool. And really, Captain Woods, I’m well within my rights to clap. I’m one of the people who’s had to clean up after your mess.”
Woods’ eyes narrowed and I could tell the minute he put together who I was. His dark eyes widened comically in his face, his body and tail stilling. “Shinigami Detective.”
I met his eyes levelly, the smile on my face feeling unnaturally rigid. “The same.”
He looked disturbed by this. I could only guess why. Wetting his lips with a quick swipe of the tongue, he turned his head just enough to hiss at Gregson, “You put the Shinigami Detective on this?”
Charms and Death and Explosions Page 18