Inclining her head toward the shield, she inquired, “How goes your end?”
“I’ve yet to determine what they used to get through the shields,” I answered, lifting and tilting it toward the light, “but this I can say with certainty: it wasn’t magical.”
“Really? I didn’t expect that.” She leaned forward a little, staring at the shield harder.
If she had any magical ability, I couldn’t detect it. Edwards looked strange to me, as if she were in magical flux and yet under a heavy stability spell at the same time. Most magical cores had a steadiness to them, like a warm coal. Edwards’ looked more like a wildfire in a heavy windstorm, on the verge of either erupting into an open conflagration or going out completely. The only thing that kept her core from doing either was the very intricate stability spell locking her in place. I couldn’t begin to guess why it was like this and felt it would be offensive to ask. No one would be in that state without it being very personal and likely traumatic. But that meant I had no idea if she could sense or see something about the shield or not.
“Nor I. I expected a very powerful shield-breaking hex of some sort, as thieves have very little other recourse. The one thing that I’m sure of is that they used their method, whatever it might be, to break in.”
That brought her head up sharply. “How can you tell?”
“It’s the angle the wards were attacked in. Now that I have them off the building, it’s easy to see.” I grabbed a wand and lit up the edges, specifically those around the center. “See here? How the frayed pieces go in, as if someone had done a round of fisticuffs with it?”
“Oh. Oh, how perfectly obvious. Yes, I do see. So they used it to break into the building and get through the wards.” Edwards made a face. “Their technique, whatever it was, did so much damage to the front doors it made it hard to tell if they had to physically break in.”
“Mangled is the only way to describe them,” I agreed sourly. “The nature of their attack isn’t something I’ve encountered before. I’m naturally puzzled, but I have a few other tests to run that might shed some light on the matter. If not, a colleague of mine across the city can lend his aid. He adores puzzles of this nature.”
“I have the sketch for the young informant. She’s young, pretty, and unfortunately looks like a great many young, pretty girls. The only distinctive thing about her is a high brow. I’m not holding my breath in spotting her.” She glanced at the mantel clock herself and observed, “It’s near noon. I think I’ll break for lunch. Care to join me?”
I never refused food. The invitation was a casual one, from one colleague to another, and I thought nothing of accepting it. “I’d be pleased to, Detective. Where do you suggest we go?”
“I’m rather craving fish and chips, actually. Do you know the Yorkshire House?”
A rueful smile on my lips, I admitted, “A little too well.”
Silent laughter tilted her eyes up in a charming way. “A regular there, eh? I see. I just discovered it last week and now find myself craving fish at odd hours.”
“The craving does not fade,” I promised her darkly. “I’ve gained at least fifteen pounds thanks to that place, I’ll swear to that.”
Chuckling, she led the way out of the lab and kindly did not comment on the slight paunch I carried around with me. I was not in the ‘fighting fit’ shape police officers were supposed to maintain and was brutally honest enough with myself to admit that the only reason why I hadn’t been put on a strict diet by the captain was because I did little field work. If this case hadn’t hit so close to home, I wouldn’t be as involved with the investigation.
As we walked out of the building, I noted several people give us wide-eyed looks, as if they fully expected for things to explode in our vicinity. I couldn’t determine how we’d earned this assumption. I didn’t have a reputation for being particularly volatile. Edwards seemed to break noses when upset, though, perhaps this was due to her presence?
I hadn’t yet decided if Edwards was short tempered or if those prior incidences were because she had been provoked beyond reason. I leaned toward the latter, as I had already sworn offensively in her presence and gotten nothing more than a quirked eyebrow in reaction.
Stretching my legs a bit, I managed to get ahead of her enough to open the door, holding it so she could pass through. Edwards gave me a quick smile of thanks as she exited the building, pausing a beat so that I could join her, then we set off across the street, heading for Yorkshire House.
I say that as if crossing the street was a lark and not taking chances with your own life. Kingston’s City Managers, in their infinite wisdom, had decided the roads needed to be repaved. This project had been ongoing for at least three years, and I saw no end in sight. It narrowed a normally four lane road down to two, and the term ‘congested’ was far too congenial to use in this context.
More and more motorcars clogged the street. I was usually an advocate for the advancement of technology, but not in this particular case. Their emissions of gas odor were foul, the general attitude of the drivers obnoxious. Horses, at least, do not crowd and know when to stop. I cannot credit humanity with the same common sense.
The traffic gods smiled on us that day as we managed to cross the street without losing either life or limb. Once there, I breathed a sigh of relief. Yorkshire House sat on this side of the street, only two blocks down. We’d won half the battle just by crossing King’s Station.
We sauntered down the sidewalk companionably, dodging in and around other pedestrians, lamp posts, and street vendors as we went. The smell of cooking food wafted tantalizing in the air, as well it should, as King’s Station was practically restaurant row. At this time of the day, many of the working class had left their workplace, also in search of lunch. We passed dockmen, day laborers, matrons with overflowing baskets of goods, and more than a few officials in the pristine suits marking their professions and class.
To anyone I recognized, I gave a deferential tip of my hat, otherwise ignoring the pedestrians in favor of the woman at my side. I still felt as if I should be able to discern her country of origin, but if anything, increased observation only served to confuse me. It was all quite vexing.
A busy street was not the place to satisfy my curiosity. Even if I wanted to ask a question, the noise and chaos prohibited me from doing so. I waited until we’d reached Yorkshire House. The small bell above the door gave a ring as we stepped through, and the smell of frying fish and hot oil hit me in a pleasant wave. My stomach rumbled happily at the olfactory suggestions.
The young girl behind the massive cash register gave us a knowing look, which I returned with a bland smile. “Good afternoon, Miss Alice.”
“Good afternoon, Doctor Davenforth,” she returned, already efficiently ringing us up. “Two fish fries, two iced teas?”
“With a side of apple briquettes,” Edwards tacked on, pulling out her wallet.
I eyed her with complete incomprehension. Did she expect to pay for her portion of the meal? Were those previous partners of her such skinflints that they didn’t even extend that courtesy to her? Alice also looked at her askance.
Edwards caught our reactions and glanced between the two of us. “I’m sensing an issue, but I’m not sure why.”
“My dear, Detective,” I kept my voice low, not wanting to embarrass the both of us, “I believe I should be paying.”
She blinked at me, quite astonished. “Why? I was the one that invited you, shouldn’t I be paying?”
The question flummoxed me and I couldn’t begin to figure out how to explain. A woman did not pay her way when in the company of a man—it simply wasn’t done. With a shake of my head, I set this aside for a moment and responded with something I thought she would accept. “Please. My treat.”
With a slow blink, she took my expression in, then relaxed into one of the most genuine smiles I’d seen from her yet. “Thank you.”
Before this became any more awkward, I quickly paid Alice and then es
corted Edwards to my usual table near the front window. She settled easily, long legs crossing comfortably at the knee, fingers casually laced together on the table top. “I’ve never had a man offer to buy me lunch before. At least, not without ulterior motives.”
“Then you have been in the company of rude men,” I informed her derisively. “It isn’t right for a woman to pay for her own meal when in a gentleman’s company.”
“Is that right.” Her expression twisted, becoming strangely unreadable, although I caught a flash of frustration. Raising a hand to her face, she rubbed at the bridge of her nose and muttered something that sounded like, “I’ve stepped into a Jane Austen novel, I swear.”
The curiosity ate at me. I simply could not leave it be. “Forgive me, Detective, but where are you from?”
“Well, Doctor Davenforth, I can tell you,” she responded, dropping the hand, revealing sad eyes, “but you won’t recognize the name.”
“Try me,” I challenged. I know my geography very well.
“California.”
Cali-what? My head pulled back in confusion. Was she jesting with me, pranking me somehow? “Say it again.”
“California,” she repeated patiently. “Don’t be offended if you don’t know the place. You shouldn’t.”
She seemed perfectly sincere. I didn’t understand it.
Something about my reaction made her unbend enough to explain. “You’ve heard at least a general account of how I came to be in Kingston? Yes, alright, good, I don’t have to explain everything, then. When Belladonna took in test subjects, she didn’t take anything from her immediate area. It would’ve been too much of a giveaway that she was there, bring trouble on her head. Instead, she would open portals at random to different locations and pull people through.”
I went very, very still as her words penetrated. “You’re telling me that you were a test subject for Belladonna.”
“Yes.” The word sounded flat, clipped, perfectly expressionless.
Bile rose in my throat and I had to swallow hard. The most insane witch in our history had taken this nice-looking, intelligent woman as a test subject and forced her to live through who knew how many horrors. I couldn’t even stomach the idea of it. How had she survived? How had she managed to pull through enough to kill Belladonna with her own hands?
The revelation reeled through me. How strong was Jamie Edwards?
I couldn’t bring myself to ask another question. ‘Old wounds can bleed as brightly as new ones’ the saying went. I couldn’t think of a time when it could be more appropriately applied than here. She’d given me enough information to figure out the rest of it, anyway. Magical portals opened at random, a location I didn’t know, the insanity of a powerful witch who had no scruples about doing the imbecilic: it all meant one thing.
Jamie Edwards wasn’t from this world at all.
The thought sent me spinning for a brief moment and curiosity flared anew, hotter now, desperate to ask a million questions. From the look in her eyes, she expected exactly that, to be drilled relentlessly until I found myself intellectually glutted. I could not bring myself to do so. She had answered my question, fully anticipating my reaction, but still did not do me the discourtesy of either ignoring me or spinning me a falsehood. The least I could do was return her regard.
Shaking my head, I let the thought rest for now and focused on the woman in front of me. “Thank you for satisfying my curiosity. It was ill-mannered of me to press the point.”
“Not at all, everyone’s curious.” She relaxed and emotion seeped back into her expression so she no longer looked like a porcelain statue. “You’re a strange contradiction to me, Doctor. You’ve been very much the gentleman to me, and yet to some of our fellow officers, you show no mercy.”
Snorting, I answered, “I have no patience with incompetence or stupidity.”
She absorbed that and then chuckled. “That’s the nicest backhand compliment I’ve ever been given, I think. Thank you.”
I hadn’t quite meant it in that manner, but truthfully, she could perceive it that way. I hadn’t found her to be anything but competent so far.
“I can tell, you know, that you’re dying to ask me a million questions.” Edwards glanced up at the waitress that plopped our food down in front of us, sparing her a smile and a “thank you” before stirring a little sugar into her tea. “I don’t mind. Fire away.”
For a moment, I evaluated her expression but found this invitation to be genuine. “Tell me the greatest invention of your world.”
“The greatest, eh? There’s quite a few things that I feel qualify. Air conditioning, hot showers, refrigerators…” she trailed off for a moment, a light coming on in her eyes. “You realize that in my world, magic is a thing of fiction? Everything we have is based on science.”
I blinked, my mind whirling in confusion. “No magic? None whatsoever?”
“None. I felt like I’d fallen into Harry Potter world when I first landed in Belladonna’s. Well, more like Voldemort world.” Grimacing, she dismissed this with a wave and pressed on. “It’s a weird mix, here. I’m in steampunk Harry Potter.”
I shook my head, not following at all. “Explain, please.”
“Here you barely have electric lights, and your cars are more like a Model T, all in a Victorian kind of setting. It’s quite the adjustment for me, as I’m from a much more fast-paced culture.” Edwards opened her mouth, then closed it, brows furrowing as she struggled to explain. “You have some of the basics of my culture but not at the same levels. For instance, you’ve used a telephone?”
“I have, yes.” Actually had one scheduled to be installed in my apartment next week. I was very excited about it.
“Imagine having a phone the size of your palm, something that you could carry about conveniently no matter where you went.”
I thought about that, thought about the convenience of it, and whistled. “Your world has such a thing?”
“Yes. That’s the sort of thing I’m talking about. We have electricity and phones and cars, just like you do, but ours are so much more advanced.”
“It must be incredibly frustrating for you,” I realized aloud. “As if you’re required to box with someone, only with a hand tied behind your back.”
“You’ve no idea.” Groaning, she stabbed a fork into her fish with more force than necessary. I know this because the fork bent and she stared at it in consternation for a moment before bending it gingerly back into shape. “Fortunately, I’ve made friends here that help me figure out how to create the things I miss, the conveniences, but it’s been slow going. I’m just hoping that someone develops aspirin and penicillin soon. I have a feeling I’ll need them sooner or later.”
I wanted to follow up on those last two, and especially at the casual display of strength she’d just demonstrated, but instead started at the top of my mental list. “So what’s a Harry Potter?”
My first week here, I’d made friends with the only other female officer in the building, Penny McSparrin. Penny had a nice, down-to-earth personality and an eagerness to learn. It frankly worried me that no one had thought to train this girl in even basic self-defense. So, after shift each night, she and I met in the training yard in the back of the precinct.
She was still a little nervous around me, even after all this time. But she’d finally relaxed enough that tonight, when she showed up, I felt like I could ask the question that had been plaguing me. I sat in my sweats and tennis shoes, hair pulled up in a ponytail, waiting on the bench for her as she changed into loose pants and shirt.
The training yard at this time of night was always deserted. Sound echoed in the room and around the sparse equipment. It smelled of sweat, leather, and something else I couldn’t put my finger on. It wasn’t unpleasant.
When Penny finally came out, her own blonde hair up in a braid, I motioned her into the middle of the ring. We fell into stretching, warming and limbering up. Sensing she might be in a more open mood than usual, I decided t
o go for it. “Penny. Riddle me something.”
She paused with an arm overhead. “What?”
“I get that Belladonna was really evil—bat crazy, and all—but really. Why did she have such a bad reputation? You guys act like she was the boogeyman incarnated.”
Penny grimaced, mouth screwing up as if chewing on a rotten lemon. “No one’s told you?”
“All they want to tell me is that she’s the most evil rogue witch in this century and she was insane. Which I knew. It answers the question, but it doesn’t.”
Nodding, she agreed with this. “You said you came from really far away. I guess you never heard of the country Parreira?”
“No,” I confirmed slowly.
“Well, it doesn’t exist anymore, so I’m not surprised.” Penny’s expression turned bleak and angry, mouth tight at the corners. “Twenty years ago, when Belladonna first went rogue, that was the first thing she did. She destroyed the country. It burned in a single night.”
I let out a low whistle. Belladonna was the equivalent of an atomic bomb?! I’m an atomic bomb killer?
This now made more sense.
“It wasn’t a terribly large country, only 500,000 people, and most of the refugees came to Kingston,” Penny tacked on. “But that’s why we all hated and feared Belladonna. We lived in anxiety, wondering when and where she would strike next.”
So she really had been the boogeyman to them. A very real, destructive boogeyman. My joke of being a god of death had been taken seriously because of that. Shaking my head, I tried to let this settle in my brain a little, but had a feeling I’d need to sleep on it for a few days before I could accept it.
“Thanks, Penny. That answers that question. I suppose some people are worried, thinking that if I can kill something as evil and destructive as Belladonna, I might snap and do something worse?”
Penny didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to. Her silence said it all.
“Dude, not cool.” Shaking my head, I rose out of the stretch and extended my head to either side, limbering up neck and shoulders. “Well, how about I teach you the method I used to kill Belladonna?”
Magic and the Shinigami Detective Page 6