Chapter 3
Too bad you can’t magic yourself a better haircut, I found myself thinking as I fixed my hair a few hours later.
Actually, Maybe I could. I’d need to learn about hair, for one. As well as whatever it is beneath the scalp that makes it grow.
Then the fact hit me I was considering biological magic. Putting socks on a Jaguar is easier, and a lot less dangerous. It wasn’t that I couldn’t do it. I had every confidence in the fact that I could manipulate my scalp. But changes of that kind are often a one-way street. And if you get it wrong, you might not find a way back.
Biological magic, or Biomancy is possible, but it’s kind of like tying a complex knot. If you put a loop where there should be a crossover, it could mess up the string. You can pull at one end and hope for the best, but that could also make it worse. The difference between a piece of thread and hair is that more you mess up Biological Magic, the more that knot turns into a noose. Therefore, I did what anyone else would do. I tried to make my hair presentable using the few things I owned. When I was done, I still didn’t like it. Don’t get me wrong – I looked presentable. It just made me feel like the office geek. After two weeks, I still wasn’t used to it. I prefer a longer cut that doesn’t make my face look so narrow.
It’s only hair, I told myself, insisting it’s okay to leave it as it was. I spent another couple minute on it and decided to leave it at that.
Picking up my battered briefcase, I decided it was time to go. As always, I ensured my magical protections were online and active with a glance through my Wizard’s Vision – they were. In my enhanced senses, my ring on my middle finger glowed brightly.
That left only one thing. My staff. Sadly, it’d have to stay here. It was unfortunate that I’d spent so much time making it, but had so few opportunities to use it. I finished it weeks before being sacked from the Guardians, but it still happened to be the one piece of equipment that I was truly proud of. Of all my magical foci, it alone contained spells of my own creation on it.
But alas, it wouldn’t fit into the briefcase. In my experience, those who don’t know I’m actually a mage would look strangely upon me for having it.
Finally! A real job. Something better than fast food, which even these days was something I could be happy about. They say a varied past is good for a résumé, but that isn’t really the case where I’m concerned. I couldn’t exactly put my former employment down for most companies. As for references – same story. And even if I did say I was a mage, the Imperium would just arrest me.
Maybe, I pondered, life would be easier for mages if they just came out to the world. Or maybe the world would end. With a shrug at the thought, I zipped up my leather jacket as I headed toward the minimobile.
I started off toward my first ever case.
And the calming drive was exactly what my mind needed to relax. By the time I arrived at the Cane Manor, the sunlight began ebbing beneath the horizon. Late March in Minnesota was nature's way of expressing boredom. The snow melted, but the trees were leafless. Tangled, gray branches covered the horizon, and there wasn’t a bird in the sky.
The second half of the hour-long drive Cane Manor took me through barren woods. It was only forty degrees, but I kept the window cracked. Even the cold dry air felt better than the recycled stuff that’d been in my car all winter. I drove down the lonely road as the shadows grew increasingly longer. As I drove farther, the dead looking trees closed on the road, reaching their braches above me and blotting out the sky.
And then, Cane Manor came into view. I had to make sure my eyes were working properly, as I don’t recall ever seeing a house quite so massive. Cameron commented that I’d know it when I saw it – he was right. I pulled the Minimobile onto the blacktop driveway and stopped at a small speaker beside the closed gate. From there, all I could do for the next few seconds was gawk.
“That you, Thomas?” Cameron’s voice said through the speaker.
“Yeah.”
“Nice place, huh?” Come on up. Park anywhere. The front gate ticked upward like an oversized clock.
Nice... This wasn’t a nice place. Nice was a house in the suburbs, with a white picket fence. Nice was a twenty-third story condo with a view of the river. No, this place was... Well, it had a tower. An honest to god tower that lofted over the property like a shrine to some ancient god. Up there, I knew it’d have a perfect view of everything within its acres of domain; the stables and accompanying riding ground; the pond, and all the turtles that frequented the place; the road. The driveway which, by all rights, should have had its own road sign; the pool, and even the new cars, which I doubted I could afford to even look at.
The gate, however stuck out. As far as security goes, I was sure the victim could have afforded better. Only a thin, metal beam blocked the driveway. Even Lara’s minimobile might beat it in a dual. The fence surrounding the property had a similar fragility, being only a pair of bars; one at shoulder height and another at waist height.
The long, straight driveway was wide enough for two cars. Eventually, it widened into a small parking lot, where I saw Cameron’s Car; a high-end Mercedes parked in front of the three-car garage built directly into the house. I parked beside it and found Cameron Cane already waiting for me. Out in the muted sunlight, his wavy hair sparkled with exaggerated luminosity.
“Hey. Glad you made. Take off your shoes inside.”
We walked along the front of the garages and across the round stones in the rock garden. Clearly, it’d have flowers blooming later in the year, but the ground was still thawing. The front door he led me through probably also cost thousands, since it was decorated with narrow windows of fogged glass.
The inside of the house loomed just as impressively as the outside. The entry hall could fit my entire apartment. I followed Cameron up a staircase into the warehouse of a living room. The ceiling arose at an angle parallel to the roof, giving space for a theatre sized TV and all its upgrades. I didn’t see surround sound speakers anywhere, which meant they were probably built into the couch or had some similarly futuristic setup.
“Nice place, eh?” Cameron said.
“Uh, yeah,” I said, wondering what Cameron’s definition of Great was, since this was only nice.
“The murder happened up in the tower, three days ago. There was an investigation, but, as I already mentioned, everyone came to the same conclusion. Suicide. Didn’t matter that it was caught on camera. Officially, the ghost was Emmitt’s sick prank.”
“I take it you’re related to the victim?”
“Yeah, he’s my uncle,” Cameron said.
“You don’t seem to think suicide is at all an option?”
“I grew up in the upper-middle class. Trust me – I know about depression and the symptoms leading up to suicide. Besides, he was too obsessed with his work to make time for suicide.”
At that point, I decided to cast a small bit of magic on him. A test of sorts. Magic is a lot of things, but there’s one overall rule that trumps all – everyone has complete control over their own being.
With a thought, I made a single spot on his forehead glow a bright yellow, which told me everything I needed.
I saw the dot on his skin. That means he believes in magic. If he didn’t believe in magic, it wouldn’t pass through the barrier of that skeptical belief. Magic doesn’t exist, so how can it change the color of my skin? Even the most powerful spells can be instantly thwarted by a skeptic’s non-belief, given that the spell is meant to affect him directly.
A mage also isn’t affected by direct magic because unlike a skeptic, a Mage knows that the direct magic of others can’t affect him. It won’t work because I say it won’t work. Just like with a skeptic’s belief, his own belief in immunity blocks anything thrown at him.
Which is why I immediately knew Cameron Cane’s stance on magic. For whatever reason, he believed magic exists, yet doesn’t know he has the ability to block it. I let the dot disappear, all the while keeping Came
ron oblivious to it.
“Uncle Emmitt lived in the Twin Cities.” Cameron said. “He’s spent most of his life working as CEO, alongside his father at Cane Industries. This is his getaway house.” He talked as we walked, leading me to a door on the far side of the room. It led, predictably, to another staircase that spiraled up to the top of the tower.
“Did Mr. Cane have any enemies?”
“Lots.” Cameron said. “Who wouldn’t with his salary, but if I had to guess, I’d say it’s someone in the family.”
“Yeah?” I asked.
“A good place to start would be with James Freidman.”
“Family?”
“My Cousin. Emmitt’s brother,” Cameron said.
“But he’s not a Cane?”
“I hardly knew him,” Cameron replied. “Neither did Emmitt – I think he may only be a half-brother.”
“Okay.” I said, wishing I’d brought a pocket notepad along. “Why look into him?”
“I think he’s got a motive.”
I nodded as I followed. We arrived up in the tower. It had already been cleaned out with the exception of a bloodstain that would only leave with the rest of the carpet. The room was a perfect octagon, just as the photograph depicted, and only about four paces from one side to the other. As I looked out the window, I witnessed the final ray of sunlight vanish under the horizon.
Looking down, I spotted a weedy pond, but for perhaps a mile up to that point was the open fields. In other words, the mage could have been anywhere.
“What kind of motive does James Friedman have?”
“We’ve kept it quiet, but their father is ill, terminally. For the last year or so, he’s not really been himself. Fredrick Cane lives in Saint Paul with a live-in nurse, but he hasn’t got long. Emmitt’s brother, Daniel, told me the Emmitt and James argued the day before Emmitt died about their fathers’ inheritance. In the case of their father’s death, the inheritance is to be divided amongst his sons, Emmitt, Daniel, and James Freidman.”
James Freidman... Where have I heard that before? I pushed aside the thought for later.
“Not many people would murder their own brother.”
“James isn’t like most people. He’s the black sheep in the bunch. He was cut off in his teens because he got sent to jail for stealing a car. Emmitt and James didn’t make up until a few weeks ago, when James heard his dad was nearing the end.”
“Follow the money,” I summarized.
Cameron nodded. “One less child to inherit means his cut of the inheritance is half rather than a third.”
I focused on the room itself, which had been completely emptied out. The ceiling was flat and white, with a small domed camera above. The carpet was an unremarkable beige.
“Why have a camera up here?”
“It’s high def. The rounded lens gives it a view of the whole property. The driveway, the parking area, the grounds. We’ve got cameras hidden around the grounds, but only a few here and there. Except for behind the eight windowsills, it’s got a full, three-sixty view of the house. That, and because Uncle Emmitt used to have meetings up here.”
“Meetings?”
“Business meetings; you know, when you want to impress a client while keeping things casual.” Cameron looked out the window for a moment, leaned back onto his heels, and turned back to me. “Honestly, most of the family doesn’t know about this place. Our men and the cops studied the murder footage thoroughly, and they both found nothing. We have hidden mics up here, too. You’ll hear the ghost, but nothing decipherable.”
“You’ve got tapes?” I said, a thought striking me. “Can you check if any of the meetings up here are with a man named Lance Ruben?”
“Lance Ruben? Never heard of him, but I can check.”
“You haven’t gone through them all?” I said, surprised.
“Not my business,” Cameron said. “Daniel Cane is the new owner. This property, and the videos are his now.”
“I recommend you look through any videos pertaining to a man named Lance Ruben. If I could get a copy, it would help with the investigation.”
He looked out the window, scanning the horizon as he spoke. “And how would you know that?”
“It’s just a hunch.”
“Hunches aren’t usually vivid enough to contain actual names,” Cameron offered me a suppressed smile as he spoke.
“You got a video of the murder?” I asked, trying to change the subject.
“It’s ready for you downstairs.”
I looked the room, trying to visualize Emmitt Cane’s corpse in my mind. There was Emmitt, lying just beside the open staircase, while the ghost stared down at him.
In my mind, I thought about the magic that would be involved. Honestly, there are a lot of spells that could have done it, or more likely, a combination of a few. I knew only one absolute fact; it wasn’t an actual spirit of a departed individual. Dead is dead. No exceptions.
I rubbed my eyes lightly as I activated a spell. It wasn’t a required gesture, but it helped me focus.
The universe has an Equilibrium. The Equilibrium. Capital E. Before you make any change to matter or energy, you first must fill it with your will. Trouble is, the universe is greedy, and will always want to take back its territory. No matter how strong your will is, the universe will always snap your magic back to Equilibrium. For objects such as my ring, or staff, it’d take a couple of weeks, so I continually renew them. Given a constant source of power, I suppose it’d be possible to keep a spell going indefinitely.
The vision simply allows me to see changes to the Equilibrium. Once activated, the telltale signs of magic appear.
I wasn’t immediately sure I preformed the spell correctly. The room looked the same. I confirmed it worked by looking at my ring, which appeared to glow brightly against my skin. Then, I took a second look around, focusing on the spot where the man died. Nothing. Scanning the rest of the room, I also found nothing. Cameron stood silently at the wall, watching me look around. On the off chance that I missed something, I next looked out the window and along the grounds.
“The picture had a flask of whiskey. You know where that is?”
“Police have it with the rest of evidence. They tested it for fingerprints, but only found Emmitt’s.”
“Would it be possible to get it for me,” I asked.
“I have pictures,” he said. “And a flask from the same set.”
“Err, that’s not good enough,” I said, knowing the magic would only be visible on the real flask, assuming it hadn’t faded already.
“There’s a lot about this case you’re not telling me,” Cameron stated without emotion.
“I’m just collecting the facts.” I tried to sound professional, but I knew I came off as one of those seventies TV detectives. The kind played by a bad actor.
“Just the facts, huh? Yet you didn’t ask me anything about possible entry points, or non-ghost related threats. You expect me to believe that you’re willing to take it on face value that a ghost miraculously came to life and killed a man. Police didn’t, so why should you?” Cameron was still giving a half-smirk. “It might mean you may be trying to scam me, but I don’t get that from you. Rather, you think it’s possible. You never asked me who had access to the photographs. The police assured me they were doctored, but you didn’t seem to consider that. Strange, since it’s the obvious conclusion.”
“I’m being completely honest with you,” I said.
“I’m not implying you aren’t. However, you also, on a hunch, suspect some random guy is involved – Lance Ruben, was it? Still, I wonder if you can answer one simple question.”
I stared at him for a moment, expecting the worst. “Okay.”
“Is it possible to murder someone with Magic?”
I opened, and then closed my mouth. That question was illegal to answer, by the law of a government just waiting for me to mess up. If another witnessed Magic taking place, it could be explained to them vaguely, but
I didn’t know yet if Emmitt Cane’s murder resulted from real magic or a fancy trick. Now that he mentioned it, suicide with a side of special effects seemed just as likely a suspect. And since I’d already stepped into the Guardians’ crosshairs, I didn’t want to offer them a reason to shoot.
“No,” I lied.
I really need to learn how to do that better.
He offered me a sly grin, and I knew I’d lose the case. With a meek little shrug, I said, “I’ll dig up what I can and let you know if I find anything.”
Turning back to gaze out over the property, he said, “I get the impression that you already know what happened answers.”
“I don’t,” I lied again.
Cameron wore a smirk that all but admitted that he’d seen through my lie. “I’ll pay you to tell me, or I’ll look elsewhere, but if you can’t give me answers than I’m afraid our time together is done.”
My stomach collapsed into itself at his ultimatum. Tell him details about the spell, or I’m off his case. It was a competition between money for next month’s rent and angering the Imperium. In other words, I didn’t have a choice.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too.” he said, turning slowly toward me. Pulling a card out of his pocket, he handed it over. It had his name prominently displayed, along with the Cane Industries logo – three diamonds that made a C. “Call if you change your mind.”
Awkwardly standing before him, the message was clear. I had no case, nor a reason to be here.
Fired before you could even witness the murder on the big screen. Good one, Thomas.
Modern Pantheon: Ghost Page 4
