Magic and the Shinigami Detective

by Honor Raconteur

  Grimly, I nodded in understanding. This wouldn’t be pleasant, and I’d likely have to use a judicious amount of cleaning spells afterwards, but I waded in anyway. I started with the nearest pile of blood, panning my wand slowly over it. A report of the findings lit up the journal’s page in my other hand and my eyes bounced between the two. “Confirmed human blood. Male, late forties, not a healthy individual. He was battling a blood disease.”

  Swearing aloud, Berghetta admitted, “I half-hoped it was animal blood and this some elaborate and badly done joke.”

  Didn’t we all wish for that? “I’m afraid not.”

  Moving on to the next pile, I scanned it, feeling my stomach sink and twist at the results. “Female, late forties, heavily intoxicated.”

  Berghetta swore some more, loudly and with more volume.

  I paused in my search and half-turned to face the heavy-set detective. “Where is Doctor Landgrave?”

  “On the opposite end of the city, different crime scene,” a young beat cop I recognized piped up. He stopped carefully shifting refuse aside to look up, revealing a face I knew, although I couldn’t put a name to him. “He told me, when I went to fetch him, to not call for him unless we found an actual body.”

  I spread a hand, accepting this, as truly he couldn’t do much. My spells could reveal as much with the blood as his tests could, possibly more. It depended on the rate of decay. These look depressingly fresh. “Berghetta, these aren’t more than a day old, my results indicate—”

  Everyone on scene stopped when the Shinigami Detective appeared. I noted the reactions, the open fear on their faces, the way they shifted as if to put more distance between themselves and the woman in their midst. Even Berghetta, seasoned as he was, put his back to the wall, watching her cautiously.

  Fools. Belladonna was the most evil witch in a century, responsible for all sorts of heinous crimes, but that didn’t make the woman who killed her a monster, too.

  Edwards didn’t look at all surprised by this reaction, just resigned and sad. She kept her face smooth, but her eyes gave it all away. The axiom that the eyes are the windows of the soul had a spark of truth to it.

  What in the devil was she doing out of bed? I thought I’d left her with enough paperwork to keep her occupied. Apparently not. I took quick note of her complexion, and her color looked a bit too high, as if she were on the edge of running a fever, but her posture was good. She gave no indication of sway. I’d let her be, for now, only put my foot down when it became clear she’d overdone it.

  Perhaps because of their reactions, perhaps because of the sad resignation on my partner’s face, I greeted her more familiarly than usual. “Jamie.”

  Every policeman on scene flinched again, doing a double take. They looked at me as if I had sprouted a second head. I steadfastly ignored them.

  Edwards herself looked a little suspicious at my greeting but came forward, carefully stepping around the worst of the mess. “You look far too happy to see me, Davenforth.”

  “Come see what you make of this,” I invited.

  “As long as you understand I won’t help you clean it up,” she warned, still moving forward.

  If people had been befuddled on my reaction to her before, it didn’t compare to now, seeing how naturally she interacted with me. I carefully hid a smirk, pointing her instead to the smears of blood. “I’ve determined so far that there are two victims, female and male, and confirmed it’s human blood. There’s no corpse or part of a corpse that we can find.”

  Standing at my side, she took in the scene, then went down to her haunches for a better look. “Weapon?”

  “Undetermined.” I indicated the detective hovering off on the wings, for all the world resembling a prey near a hungry predator. “Detective Berghetta suspects magic of some sort but I haven’t found anything to prove that hypothesis.”

  Twisting about, she looked up without regaining her feet. “No magic in this alley at all?”

  “Aside from the usual,” I clarified. Pointing to the top of the wall, I indicated the hex painted on the side. “There’s two strong fire suppressant hexes, one anti-burglary here below it, but nothing else.”

  She rocked back up to her feet, carefully maneuvering further into the alley. She stopped and peered at either wall or pavement several times, humming tunelessly, then finally stopped halfway down. “Ah. Found it.”

  I refrained from asking the obvious question and instead moved to her side. She pointed confidently to the wall at neck level, a spray of blood against the grey brick. “Here. They were murdered here. Sharp object, likely a knife or something easy to dispose of.”

  Whispers traveled among the beat cops at this pronouncement, as if she had used black magic to determine this. I shot them all a despairing look, and abashed, they ceased. When I reached her side, I stared at the area for a long moment, but saw nothing that would indicate the site was the original starting point. “What science are you using this time?”

  “Science of gravity.” Gesturing me in closer with a waggle of the fingers, she pointed to a single drop of blood. “You see how it has a tear-drop shape? When blood sprays, it does this. It hits in such a way that it points to the source.”

  “Does it truly?” Surely she’s not jesting.

  “Not pulling your leg, promise,” she said while raising a hand as if in oath. “It really does that. Now, see this long spray here up top? Arterial spray. So, someone cut the jugular, and they did it fast enough that it sprayed out. Only thing that will do that is a sharp object. Hence, knife.”

  Laid out like that, logically and scientifically, I could find no fault. “Just one victim?”

  “Seeing two different sprays. One going one direction, then another, so likely they were standing close to each other when it happened. Whoever did this is quick.”

  “And the other blood smears?”

  “From the signs I’m seeing,” she indicated two scuff marks, and the other blood trails, “I think someone panicked after killing these two. They dragged the bodies to the mouth of the alley, where they sat for a while.”

  I turned to regard the area she pointed to, the very first patch of blood I had examined. “Hence why the blood pooled there.”

  “Yup. Then, I’ll bet you, they called a friend who came by and helped them get rid of the bodies. No bodies, no trace evidence, harder to link it to the murderer.” She shrugged as if it all was a foregone conclusion.

  I ran another spell, to match the blood, and indeed it was a perfect match. “Indeed. Berghetta?”

  With an odd expression on his face, he picked his way to us, although he stopped two feet away. He didn’t know what to make of this, the companionable and knowledgeable woman at my side. I felt it fortunate that Edwards had joined us as she did, allowing us both to show that while she might be an infamous killer, she wasn’t deranged.

  “Did you catch all of that?” Edwards asked him.

  Pronouncing each word carefully, Berghetta confirmed, “I did.”

  “Nothing else I can help you with here,” I informed him. “I’ll write up the report and leave it on your desk.”

  He nodded again, as if he didn’t trust himself to speak.

  As if sensing things were about to become awkward, Edwards turned to me and said brightly, “If you’re done, can you come with me? I want to go looking for our wounded thief.”

  Something about the way she said this roused my suspicions. “Are you physically up for that?”

  “Hey, I passed the five finger rule this morning, I’ll have you know.”

  Knowing very well what she meant by this, I assured her dryly, “Understand that if I have to teleport you back to your apartment because you’ve overdone it, I’ll never let you hear the end of it.”

  She flapped an uncaring hand at me. “Yes, yes. Can you trace it now?”

  “Of course. I’ll have to fetch it from the lab first. Why are you anxious to catch the thief?”

  “Because the trail is getting
steadily colder?” she offered artlessly.

  Snorting, I retorted, “As if blood trails ever grow cold. Very well, let’s go hunting. Berghetta, anything else you require from me while I’m here?”

  He shook his head, still watching us with that odd expression. You’d think I’d just tilted the world under him, or overturned some world-established view he’d held.

  I closed up my case, replaced my tools in the appropriate slots in my bag, then shoved it onto the police wagon. I had enough wand and seeking hexes on my person to do what Edwards wanted without having to cart equipment about the city. The technicians processing the scene could take care of this for me. I took a moment to teleport to the lab, retrieving the vial, then teleported back. I normally only did such magic in emergencies, but we were clear across the city and I didn’t want Edwards to tire herself out. She might only have enough energy in her to locate the thief.

  With a wave, I encouraged her to leave with me, and we walked companionably side by side, leaving the worst section of the city for the market streets near the docks. Only when we had a good block behind us did she speak.

  “You did that on purpose.”

  I regarded her with false confusion. “I beg your pardon?”

  Giving me a knowing look, she repeated, “You did that on purpose. I’m used to my reputation, Henri.”

  There were several ways that I could respond to that, but I settled for the simplest. “Stupidity irks me.”

  Linking arms with me, she faced forward, grinning all the while. “If you say so.”

  “Now, we’re not going to capture anyone tonight,” I said, deliberately changing the subject. “We’re going to find their location, then raid them with proper backup in the morning.”

  “Yes, yes.”

  So long as she understood we were not going into a firefight with just the two of us. We stopped at the corner, where I pulled out the vial and unstopped it. Wand in hand, I waved it over the top and spoke the Blood Hunting incantation.

  The blood lit up in small glowing orbs, flowing out of the jar and dancing ahead, lighting the path to follow. I frowned, as I didn’t like what I saw. “Edwards. We might have a problem.”

  Alert, she stared at the trail. “Not working right?”

  “The spell is functioning correctly, but do you see the color of it? It should be a bright red, almost a carmine.”

  “That looks kinda more brown than red to me,” she said doubtfully. “Maybe because we’re in poor lighting?”

  “Perhaps,” I allowed, but I didn’t believe that to be the case here. “We’re actually not far. Let’s go slowly.”

  She moved at my side like a lithe shadow. I recognized now partially why she had so much grace to her. After reviewing her spellwork, I knew that one of the spells on her increased agility and speed. She literally had the speed of a gryphon in her muscles. Seaton informed me she had mixed success using that speed, as of course the human muscularity was not designed for such, so while she could put on bursts of speed with good success, maneuvering remained tricky.

  I felt a little better now in not being able to keep up with her. Turned out there was good reason for it, aside from my lack of daily exercise.

  Kingston never really slept. Especially not this part of the city. There might be streets that were quiet at this time of night, such as the market district, but here? With gambling dens down the street from bars, and shabby hotels across the street from all night restaurants? It still had a crowd and likely would until dawn broke. We passed more than a few pedestrians, some the worse for drink, but none of them tried to engage us.

  Perhaps indulging Edwards and doing this now was not the best choice. If we did stumble into some situation, she would be hard pressed to find the energy to deal with it. I readied a shielding spell on my lips, ready to drop it down on us in an instant if I felt any danger.

  We made three turns, the lighting becoming even more intermittent as the street lamps here did not always work properly. The air grew colder, as well, as darkness fully set in. The spell highlighted another turn, which we took, and then it flared briefly before steadying out into a hum again, pointing dead ahead. “The two-story house at the end of the street.”

  “In there, huh.” She peered ahead, eyes narrowing. “Interesting. I’m seeing no signs of life. Henri, can you do any kind of spell? Something to tell us if the place is occupied.”

  “I can.” I dropped the hunting spell, stoppered the vial, then pocketed it. The cadence of a reveal spell rose and fell from my lips. I waited for a response, got nothing, and my unease doubled. “No one living is in that building.”

  “But our wounded thief is in there. Yikes, I don’t like this. Henri,” she chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, “I know you’re worried about my stamina, but I think we better go in there and double check.”

  If I said no, she’d sneak back here later. I knew she would. Resigned, I instructed her firmly, “Stay right next to me. I’ll put up a shielding spell if I even suspect something’s off.”

  “Okay.”

  With severe misgivings about this whole adventure, we nevertheless crossed to the house in question. It was a sad thing, with an overgrown yard of weeds, damaged wooden trim, and a porch that frankly did not look safe to put weight on. I crossed it gingerly, wincing at every squeak of the wood under my weight. It would be my luck to go through a floorboard now and get stuck just as the criminals pounced.

  Edwards stayed just on my heels, as promised, her gun at the ready. I nudged open the door, cast a quick mage light to float just off to the side, as the interior of the house was pitch black. We moved cautiously forward, eyes trying to penetrate the darkness of the rooms, but I saw nothing more than furniture sagging from years of use and neglect and wallpaper falling in strips off the walls.

  Crossing the foyer, we went right into a sitting room of sorts. A long couch, fireplace, a few chairs, a busted table off in the corner. Grimly, I pointed to the couch. “Well, there lies our answer.”

  Staring at the dead thief stretched out over the sofa, Edwards swore. “That wasn’t supposed to be a fatal shot! I hit him in the arm.”

  “You might have nicked an artery,” I offered, already bending cautiously to take a look. “He’s been dead for days, I can tell from the odor alone. Yes, you nicked an artery. He bled out within a half hour.”

  She cursed some more, aggravated, although she had the sense to still keep a lookout around us.

  I doubted the thieves stayed after their companion died. They would have buried him otherwise. The stink of a rotting corpse alone would have forced them into at least moving him elsewhere. Still, I appreciated her caution. “Let’s leave and call this in. I’ll put up a warding spell to keep the area clear until the coroner can come.”

  Growling, she headed for the door. “Our one good lead to track them down, dead. And it wasn’t supposed to be a lethal shot!”

  That last statement grated at her, I could tell. The tone and look in her eyes spoke of grief. For all her cavalier attitude in Belladonna’s death, Jamie Edwards was not naturally a killer, and senseless deaths disturbed her.

  Voice rough with emotion, she snarled, “This the perfect end to a perfectly rotten week.”

  I could not disagree.

  What a perfectly terrible idea. Why had I even mentioned it?

  I stood outside Edwards’ door, dressed in an evening suit, ready to go to my parent’s townhouse for dinner. I, of course, had a gift for my sister and brother-in-law in hand, but my mother made sure I invited Edwards to attend as well. (Deities only know why.)

  Tracking down our dead thief and dealing with the aftermath robbed Edwards of whatever strength she’d gained through recuperation, sending her back to bed. After two days of being cooped up in her apartment, Edwards seized upon the invitation with a fervor that alarmed me, declaring she would go no matter what.

  Resigned, I gave a rap on her door. Did Edwards even own an evening dress? I’d never seen her in anyt
hing but trousers.

  The door opened with its usual abruptness, framing the woman standing just beyond it. My jaw dropped and my eyes involuntarily went from head to toe and back again.

  Yes. The answer was yes, Jamie Edwards did indeed own an evening dress, and she looked positively stunning in it.

  It shone a deep red, nearly blood red in color, satin and cream lace touches at the bodice and along the skirt hem. It set off her dark hair and eyes vividly. She even wore her hair properly up, for once, in a soft collection of curls at the top of her head.

  “Cat got your tongue?” Edwards asked, amused.

  Something certainly had. “My dear friend, you astound me. I had no idea you would conform to this society’s ideal of feminine dress.”

  “I do on occasion. It’s like playing dress up or going to a costume party for me. Fun in its own way.” She retreated to the kitchen counter long enough to fetch her purse and a small wrapped gift in silver paper. “Shall we go?”

  Despite the fact that I had issued the invitation, I had my doubts on whether she had fully recovered. “Are you sure you’re well enough to go out?”

  “I’m like Lazarus,” she informed me cheerfully, gently shoving me backwards so she could close and lock her door. “I always rise on the third day.”

  Lazarus being some figure in her world famous for rising from the dead? I’d gotten better at constructing what she meant from context. “It’s been six days.”

  “Close enough,” she dismissed, her cheer not diminishing a wit. She gave every impression of going without me if I tried to stay in.

  “Very well.” I extended an elbow to her, which she took with grace, and I escorted her properly down the stairs and bundled her into the enclosed carriage. I gave a tap to the roof, indicating we could go, and with a slight lurch, we set off, the sound of the wheels and clip-clop of hooves on the paved streets muted enough that we could comfortably converse.

  “You’ll meet only my immediate family tonight,” I informed her. “My father, Rupert, is a retired army officer. He chose to serve for twenty-five years instead of living off his inheritance, which frustrated my mother, as it put him in the line of danger several times. I think you’ll get along well with him, as he has a similarly dry sense of humor.