Magic Outside the Box

by Honor Raconteur

  “It’s quite often used to either clear the air of smoke or to cool a room. Considering the cigar and cigarette, it’s natural for it to be used.”

  That strange look on her face didn’t leave. “And it was used right afterwards?”

  “Well, yes, or thereabouts. We arrived so late on scene I couldn’t tell you precisely. The spell had disintegrated by that point.”

  Seaton pointed a finger at her. “I know that look. You don’t agree with us.”

  “It’s just, I know you have very valid reasons why the spell was used, but I don’t see why it couldn’t be the culprit. Couldn’t a wind spell be used to fire a bullet?”

  I opened my mouth to deny this claim, then paused when my brain clamored with possibilities. It left my jaw hanging as I sat there, possibilities whirling like a dust storm. My eyes met Seaton’s and I could see the same realization dawn.

  “She’s right,” he breathed.

  “Of course she’s right, she’s always right. You’d think we’d be used to that by now.” I kicked myself for not realizing it earlier. “Blood and magic, we’re both benighted fools. Theoretically, Jamie, you’re quite correct. I could see how a wind spell might be adapted to do that very thing. But let’s not put our full stock on this just yet. I think this bears experimentation. If we can get it to work, and duplicate the state of the bullet now, then we can discuss it. And after I get a nap.”

  “Fair enough.” She grinned at me. “Feel better now?”

  “I think we all do. At least we have a possibility.” I gave her a thankful smile. She was truly gifted at getting me unstuck when I was too mired in my own assumptions to see daylight. “We’ll consider other means of how to fire a bullet from waist-height if this doesn’t pan out. Weber, excellent work. Thanks for making the trip.”

  “I can’t say it was my pleasure, I’d prefer not to work on cases like this, but at least I hope it helps get the poor man justice. Just a note, while his heart was somewhat damaged, he was doing alright. I think he’d have lived another ten years with decent health before declining.”

  So whoever killed him had robbed Burtchell of those years. That news sent a pang through my heart.

  Weber collected his bag, readying to go. “Best of luck to all of you. Call me if you need me, but I hope you won’t have another body on this case.”

  We all threw up a sign to ward off bad luck, although Jamie oddly enough rapped her knuckles against the table. I really did not understand her mannerisms sometimes. Shouldn’t you toss bad luck over your shoulder?

  As Weber left, I stood and stretched myself. “I say we stop here. We could all use a relaxing dinner and a chance to let our minds rest. Seaton, we can buy some cartridges and a board tomorrow, do our experiments somewhere along the beach.”

  “It’ll be cooler there,” he agreed. “As long as we can erect some shade to keep the sun out of our eyes.”

  “Sounds splendid.”

  Dinner was quite delightful, all told. I egged Jamie into telling the story of one of her more interesting cases she’d worked on Earth. It led to all of us relating a strange case we’d been on, and the conversation flowed freely. Clint, for some reason, took up residence in my lap during the course of dessert and stayed there, draped over my legs like a woman’s castoff fur stole.

  We all went our own ways after dinner, finding some peace for ourselves and unwinding. I took a brief stroll outside, enjoying the coolness of the evening, before eventually retreating to my own room. I found myself still too alert to think of retiring. A second wind, of sorts. It was a clear sign I’d been awake too long and my body’s rhythm was thrown off. That, or the nap I’d had earlier was playing havoc with me. At any rate, instead of sleeping, I picked up one of the few journals I’d brought with me. It was quite interesting so far. Ellie Warner’s medical breakthrough regarding distilled alcohol for cleaning was in there, and even though I knew how it worked, I still found the article riveting. Ms. Warner had a talent for keeping a reader’s interest.

  I settled into a chair near the open window, enjoying the sound of the sea crashing against the rocks below, reading by lamplight.

  Some time had passed when a knock sounded at my door. “Henri?”

  “Come in,” I invited, already putting the journal aside. My eyes automatically found the small clock on my bedside table and I noted the hour with some surprise. It was well past anyone’s bedtime. Why was Jamie here?

  She entered with her usual confidence. For some reason, she thought little of entering a man’s bedchamber. I found I could not reciprocate the attitude. It still made me nervous to be in hers, despite the necessity of the action on several occasions. Her coat was missing, as was her vest, but she still retained the tie she’d worn earlier. It hung crookedly and from one hand, as she gingerly held it close to her chin.

  “This stupid thing has gotten caught in my hair,” she explained with a wince. “Can you untangle me?”

  “Of course,” I assured her, hastily standing and gesturing her into the chair. “Is it badly tangled?”

  “Badly enough I can’t seem to pull it free. I think a strand escaped my braid somehow and it’s been slowly tangling in with the clasp all day. When I went to take the tie off, it yanked hard.” She settled, one leg tucked under another, her back to me.

  I’d assisted either my mother or my sister with similar problems in the past. I tilted my head to get a good look at the situation, hands gently tilting her braid upwards. “Ah. Yes, you’re quite correct, a strand has gotten quite firmly tangled around the clasp.”

  “You can cut it free if you need to.”

  “Let’s not be so hasty. I believe I can detangle you.” The first rule of tangles was to start at the bottom and work your way up. I set about the task with gentle fingers, carefully pulling the lock of hair in and around the metal clasp.

  “I’m glad you’re still up. I expected to find you snoring.”

  “I’m punch drunk, as you’d put it. Too tired to sleep.”

  “Ah. Should have figured. I’m glad you are. Clint’s cute, but useless for stuff like this.”

  The image of Clint trying to untangle her hair amused me and I chuckled. “Although I’d have paid to see him try. Is he happy, being here with you? He seems quite pleased.”

  “Oh, he’s over the moon. It’s unfortunately going to start an argument when we get back. Now he’ll think he can go on every murder investigation.”

  “I don’t see why he can’t assist us on at least some of them.”

  I could see her surprise, and she almost faced me before she thought better of the action. I still had my fingers buried in her hair, after all. “You think?”

  “He was quite helpful in scouting out the roof and crawlspace,” I pointed out reasonably. “He knew what to look for and it saved us the trouble of sending a grown adult into uncomfortable places. I know you think of him as a companion, but he was created to be a magician’s familiar, you know. He has the intellect to assist you.”

  “Well, yes, I know…” she trailed off. Her expression grew thoughtful. “I suppose I didn’t consider he’s like a dog. I can train him to help me. He’s just such a furball sometimes, I forget what he’s capable of.”

  Clint would thank me for this later. “I’m sure if given a chance, he’ll prove helpful in many ways.”

  “I’ll talk it over with him. How goes it back there?”

  “Almost free. Fortunately, it was more wrapped up than truly tangled.” Her hair was silky and thick, but not so fine it liked to tangle in those insane knots. My sister was very envious of Jamie’s hair. I’d heard more than one complaint about it. “There. You’re free.”

  She pulled out the tie, freeing the braid altogether, and ran her fingers through it, shaking it loose with a sigh of relief. “Freedom. Thanks, Henri.” She popped up and kissed my cheek, grinning into my startled face before bouncing out the door. “Night!”

  I stood stock still, flabbergasted and reeling. Did this woman
not understand just how attractive she was? She flustered even me, and I was accustomed to spending time with her. I really must teach her that casually kissing men’s cheeks like that was just not done. She’d seduce someone at the rate she was going.

  I took myself quite firmly to bed, determined to sleep. Clearly, with my current mental state, I needed it.

  Seaton and I set up shop on the beachfront overlooking the water, with a large shaded umbrella off to the side. The area here was more gravel than sand, which suited our purposes. It prevented sand from sneaking its way into my shoes. We both discarded coats as well, rolling up our sleeves in concession to the heat. With no ladies present, we were thankfully at liberty to do so. Although I did rub a healthy amount of sun-shielding potion onto my skin before beginning. I still had winter skin, having spent most of this year within doors.

  We had a board propped up, its back overlooking the sea. We felt it safer to fire over water than any other direction. Misfires would likely plop harmlessly into the water this way. Since we knew precisely what caliber of bullet to work with, we bought three cases of those, two thermoses of cold water, and several paper targets.

  It felt better to be in my element, even if I were outside my lab. I preferred research and experiments like this, things with easily definable results. And Seaton was an excellent partner for such things. Really, it was the best of all worlds.

  Assuming I didn’t get as sunburned as a lobster.

  We stood safely in the shade of the umbrella and each took up a bullet, only to pause and stare at it dubiously.

  “I’m not entirely sure how to use a wind spell to shoot a bullet from my bare hand,” Seaton finally admitted to me. “Would it work on the same principal as a firearm?”

  Immediately, I shook my head in disagreement. “No, not possible. Do you know the mechanics of how a gun fires?”

  “No, do enlighten me.” He said this sincerely, curiosity brimming in his dark eyes. “I only know the principal of how to shoot and clean a gun.”

  It didn’t surprise me. I assumed most people who didn’t actively either use or manufacture guns wouldn’t know the mechanics of it. Seaton, especially, had magic as his weapon. Why would he know how this worked? “To put it simply, when the trigger is pulled, it causes a firing pin to strike the primer. This section here, at the base of the bullet. When the primer ignites the gunpowder, the burning powder creates pressure inside the barrel. That pressure pushes the bullet down the barrel and out.”

  He stared at the bullet with understanding. “So striking the bullet itself does no good in this situation, as there’s no chamber for it to build pressure in.”

  “Quite right. It leaves me at something of a loss, however. I wonder…” I stared at a sailing ship far off in the distance. “Windwhisperers often direct wind in controlled fashions to propel ships forward. I wonder how they do it?”

  “They can’t just haphazardly call on the wind, it’ll capsize the boat.” Seaton also stared hard at the sailing ship. “Perhaps by creating a small vortex at the base of the bullet, it will create the necessary force to propel it forward?”

  “It’s as good as anything to try. Do the honors.”

  Seaton spoke the spell, crafting it to hit the bullet and only the bullet, precisely. It was a pleasure watching him work. His expertise over magic was infinitely fine, like poetry in motion. I barely had a chance to see the spell in action, so quick was the movement. The bullet shot from his hand and landed on the edge of our target board. And by landed, I mean to say it took the corner clean off.

  We stared at it in consternation.

  “Bit too much force, there,” I suggested mildly.

  “And it didn’t fly straight, either.” Seaton frowned at the missing corner as if the bullet had gone that direction for the sole purpose of irritating him.

  “Perhaps a touch of funneling around the base of the bullet?”

  “As a control? Seems sound, in principal anyway. Try it.”

  I altered the same spell he had used, hoping to stabilize the bullet’s path. The magic warmed my core as it activated, the wind chilling my bare palm as it caught the bullet up. In a flash, it was gone, shooting through the air with the same velocity as any gun could produce. It did not land on target center, but a clear hole hovered near the edge of the bullseye.

  “Oh, I say, that did much better. Not nearly as destructive. That seemed the right amount of power, didn’t it?” Seaton trotted over to take a closer look at the bullet hole in the board, humming in a pleased way.

  “I wonder if varying the speed of the vortex will stabilize its flight path?”

  We fell to experimenting, making minor adjustments here and there. In the course of an hour, we riddled the board with holes, so much so that we had to stop and change the target three times in order to mark our results. After a certain point, we stopped and sat in the shade, drinking heartily from our chilled thermoses.

  Seaton stared at the board in between healthy gulps of water. “Davenforth, I think we’re more or less on the right track. I know we’re not hitting the center of the bullseye consistently, but I think that’s general marksmanship on our parts. Neither of us are used to firing anything physical. And magic has its own guiding feature; it follows our intent on hitting the mark.”

  I nodded agreement. “We’re truly out here just to prove the theory right or wrong. I think we’ve done that. What interests me, and I think you’ll agree on this point, is that it takes very little in the way of magical power to use this spell. In fact, it worked better with limited power.”

  Seaton’s expression turned hard and unhappy. “Yes, I’m quite of the same opinion. It looks less likely with every clue that a powerful magician killed my colleague.”

  “I’m rather grateful. I’d prefer not to have murderous, powerful magicians running about,” I said dryly. “On the other hand, it does leave us with a rather wide suspect pool.”

  Snorting, he shrugged. “It’s less helpful in that respect. Jamie often tells me you don’t need to know motive in order to solve a crime. I can’t help but think, though, if we knew the motive, we’d be able to find the murderer.”

  “You too, eh? I’ve entertained the same thought more than once.” I took another sip, the water blissfully cool as it slid down my throat. One of the many advantages of being a magician was that your beverage was always at the correct temperature.

  “Perhaps we should start by listing out every magician who would be able to use a wind spell? I know it’s rather a long list, but Jamie will ask for one.”

  “That she will.” I hesitated, considering our next move. I’d really rather not do it, but I could see the drain in Jamie every time she updated the queen. She never complained of it, but it taxed her, and this case was stressful enough. I’d like to offset that, if I could. “Perhaps we should take a moment and update Queen Regina? She’ll be pleased to hear we’ve made some progress.”

  Seaton regarded me thoughtfully. “I thought we were leaving that thing up to Jamie?”

  “Seaton, really, she definitely isn’t the right person to report this.”

  “You sound all reasonable, but I know very well you have an ulterior motive.”

  I sometimes thought this man was friends with me solely for the enjoyment of poking at me. “Isn’t there someone else you can tease? Friends, relatives, poisonous reptiles?”

  He snickered but let me be, pulling the pad from his jacket pocket and dutifully updating Queen Regina. I glanced at the screen to keep track of the conversation and saw he’d looped Jamie in as well. Excellent. That way we didn’t have to go over this with her again later. I did detest repeating myself. I leaned in at an angle so I could read over his shoulder.

  Of course, Queen Regina asked the question we had no answer to: Do you have any suspects at this point?

  None, I’m afraid, Seaton wrote back in his elegant cursive. We have various facts and theories, but nothing substantial enough to point to either motive or a suspect
.

  Absolutely nothing incriminating? she demanded again.

  Jamie chose to join in with her own quick, blocky writing. Patience. I’m still going through people who knew him.

  Seaton thankfully backed her. Investigations take time. Not much we can do to speed the process along, I’m afraid.

  I see. I don’t mean to rush you, but I want an answer to this.

  That was royal-speak for Get It Done. I didn’t need Seaton’s commiserating glance at me to translate that.

  Jamie: We’re doing our best. Bear with us a little longer.

  I will trust you. I must go, I have a meeting. Thank you for the update and hard work. Queen Regina left at that point.

  Jamie surprised me by continuing the chat. If you’re done, come back. Need some help.

  On our way, Seaton wrote back. I think we’re done here.

  “Yes, quite,” I agreed. “Let’s pack quickly. I wouldn’t mind some luncheon and to sit on something padded for a while.”

  As we made the trek back up the narrow stairs to the hotel, irritation flashed through me. One would think, with all the tourists they had through here, the steps leading down to the ocean would be better maintained. They were so cracked and crooked in spots, it was difficult to go down them, never mind up. I was winded and sweaty by the time we reached the hotel’s terrace, and wished desperately I could take my coat off again. I hit myself with a wind spell to cool down, then Seaton too, for good measure. His wand was in use to levitate the umbrella and the two thermoses; he wasn’t in any position to do additional spellwork.

  “Bless you.” He sent a quick smile in my direction. We temporarily separated there as he left to return the umbrella.

  I continued on to the conference room, depositing the boxes of leftover cartridges, board and targets on a receiving table near the door with considerable relief. The board had dug into my hands on the way up, cutting off circulation in a quite uncomfortable manner. I flexed the digits to restore blood flow as I turned toward the two women. Perhaps I should have used a levitation spell as well, although I’d been afraid of banging the board into everything on the way in. Levitated objects were often like a dog’s tail—they hit things they shouldn’t. “Anything new?”