He chuckles awkwardly. “I do… It’s just… your pet is a statue.”
I quickly cover Herbert’s ears. “Rude. Don’t insult Herbert again or I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Ambrose sighs, probably a result of realising how serious I am about this. “Fine, fine. I’ll behave but only because these books of yours might prove valuable.”
“Hey, all my help has been valuable so far,” I counter, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Ehhh… I guess you’ve been kind of helpful but that’s only because I have very little expertise with witch affairs.”
"Isn't that the entire point of asking for help?" I ask as I unlock the door leading from the store to the rest of the house. I usually don’t bring people home and Grammie never allows strangers in the library room but I’m sure she’ll make an exception this time. Grandpa Dobromir is one of our own, he deserves justice.
"Well, I suppose..."
"Then me and my help are valuable. Unless you'd rather I kick you out and..."
"No, no, I'm sorry." He holds his hands up.
A smug smile stretches over my face, and I'm grateful that we're about to head up the stairs and he can't see it. I'm aware of him following me the whole way up, but despite my worries, it feels natural to have him in our home.
"Grammie?" I call out. "Are you there?"
Silence greets me. Great. I guess I'm the one who makes the tea, then.
"The library is in there," I tell Ambrose, indicating to the open door. "I'm going to make us a drink. Do you want anything?"
"Black coffee, if you have it."
"Would this be a real home if we didn't?" I ask, happily bouncing off. Maybe I can find some biscuits or cake in the cupboards too.
Lucky for me, there's water already in the kettle when I enter the kitchen. I pull out my wand and flick it on. I dump my handbag on the kitchen table. I don't need anything from it right now, so it can stay there until I leave again.
It only takes me a couple of minutes to find the coffee. Neither Grammie and I drink much of it, this must have been left over from one of my late night cram sessions for my CWC exams. They're the only thing that sends me running to the coffee pot.
I hum to myself as I shuffle around making the drinks, then grab a tray. I wouldn't normally bother with one, but Grammie hates hot drinks in the library as it is, and I don't want to upset her.
When I enter the library, I find Ambrose checking out some of the titles, an impressed look on his face.
"This is an amazing collection," he says when he notices me in the room.
"My family loves to collect knowledge," I admit. "It goes back a lot further than me and Grammie. Some of those books are centuries old."
"I wish my family felt the same way," he says, but I think it's more aimed at himself than me.
I set the tray down on the table.
"Found anything you think might be interesting?" I ask him.
"To me? Definitely. To the case? I'm not so sure. Where do I even start?"
"Hmm. Draw me the symbol again?" I ask. I think I remember what it looks like, but if I look again now I'm somewhere more comfortable, then it may help me identify what it actually is.
He makes his way over to the table and pulls a sheet of paper over to sketch on. I'm grateful Grammie leaves it around for note taking. I'm never going to ask her to switch to taking notes on a tablet or phone ever again.
Ambrose turns the paper towards me, and I scan it again.
"I don't recognise it," I admit, hating that it's the truth. I know a lot about magic, I've made it my life's mission, so not knowing what this symbol is doesn't sit well with me. "But I think we should start with the ritualistic stuff."
"Why?" He's not accusing me of being wrong, he just wants to know my reasoning. I appreciate that.
I shrug. "I could call it a hunch, but that would be exaggerating. But that would be stretching it. I'm making an educated guess based on the types of line it uses, but the design isn't limited to rituals, so I wouldn't count on it revealing anything."
"Because that would be too easy," Ambrose mutters.
"Yep. Just like it would be too easy for there to be some kind of internet database we could use to find all this." I walk over to one of the bookshelves on the right.
"We don't do that in case humans find it..."
"And what if they did? They would believe it was for some kind of video game or book. The last thing any human would think is that they'd stumbled onto real magic."
I dust off a couple of the books to check the titles. We don't often come to this shelf. Rituals aren't something my family is known for doing, but we still like to collect the books. Once I'm sure they're the tomes I want, I pull them from the shelves and take them back over to the table.
"Maybe they need to consult with you next time there's a debate about something like the database," Ambrose says.
I chuckle. "They can't do that. If they did, then they might actually get something done."
To my surprise, he laughs, and a small smile lifts the side of his mouth. "We can't have that, can we?"
"Apparently not."
"Are these the books you think we need to look at first?" he checks.
I nod.
"Great." He reaches out and pulls the top one from the stack.
I stop him. "That one's for me."
Ambrose frowns. "Why?"
"Can you read Ancient Greek?"
"No..."
"Then that one's for me," I repeat.
"Ancient Greek?"
"Mmhmm."
"You're a woman of many talents," he admits, a hint of appreciation in his tone.
"That's what I've been trying to tell everyone, but no one seems to believe me," I say offhandedly.
Ambrose looks away and concentrates on opening the second book from the stack. I take that as my cue to start reading too.
A comfortable silence falls over the library as the two of us focus on the words in front of us. I thought things would be more tense between us, but he really seems to have accepted my help.
How pleasantly unexpected.
14
I rub my eyes, trying to chase away the exhaustion I'm feeling. I can't believe we've been at this for three days now. And here I was thinking that investigating murder was fun. How wrong I am.
"Do you want your coffee heating up?" I ask Ambrose, noting the still full cup sitting next to him on the table.
Actually, that's the fourth or fifth cup of coffee he hasn't actually drunk. Maybe I'm making it wrong. I don't think so, but what do I know about coffee making? I only ever drink it when I want the intense caffeine hit.
"No thanks," he assures me.
"Okay." I return to the shelves, searching for anything that looks like it might be helpful in our quest. Even Grammie has failed at pointing us in the right direction, which says something. She knows everything.
I close my eyes and stand in front of the bookshelf, swaying from side to side and begging my magic to give me some clue as to what to read next.
"What are you doing?" Ambrose asks after a few minutes.
"Hoping my gut instinct will kick in," I admit, not even opening my eyes.
"Will that work?" It's impossible to miss the disbelief in his voice. Not that I blame him, it's an eccentric solution to our problem at best. At worst, it's downright crazy.
"It can't fail any worse than the other methods we've tried," I point out.
He sighs. "True."
I wait a moment more, then open my eyes. They catch on the cracked red spine of a book that I think used to be a Witch 101 guide. A well used one at that. I'm not sure how so many of my ancestors needed help with their true natures, but maybe there's more to it than first meets the eye.
Or perhaps my method is too unorthodox to even kind of work.
Despite that, I pull the book off the shelf and take it over to Ambrose.
"I honestly don't know if that works, but this is the book
," I say, putting it down in front of him.
He glances between me and the red leather cover, clearly undecided about it.
"I want you to know that this method goes against everything I want to believe," he mutters.
"I can guess. You like numbers, and facts, and not the way wood speaks to you."
He chuckles. "Don't underestimate my connection to wood."
I fake-gasp. "Did you just..."
"You're not the only one who enjoys the occasional innuendo, Amy," he teases.
"You had me fooled."
He shakes his head in bemusement, then opens the book and starts to flip through the pages.
"Wait." I reach out and stop him from moving on further. "Go back a few pages?" I ask.
He does.
"Stop."
I stare at the drawing on the page in question, and it's exactly what I thought it was. That’s definitely the same as the wound on Grandpa Dobromir’s chest.
“The Wind Mark. Used to reveal a link between an owner and a possession,” I read out loud. “Huh… That sounds vaguely familiar. I've never seen it used in this application though.”
“So it’s used to find something you’ve lost?” Ambrose asks, leaning in so he can read the cramped text on the page. At least this one's in English and not in Greek or some other language he can't read. Though I suppose I could cast a translation spell to help with that.
Oh, oops. I could have made life easier for myself with that one, but it's too late now. It's better to read things in their original language anyway, it's easier to miss nuances if you don't.
"It's a convoluted way to do it, but yes," I respond, thinking of at least a dozen ways that would be.
"Hmm."
“Our killer must have been looking for something but the house wasn’t tossed. It was really tidy. Too tidy...” As I’m saying it, the realisation hits me. “Of course. If the owner was a witch, he could’ve just used magic to put everything back in its place. It would require a lot of effort, especially after manipulating the knife, but it’s not impossible.”
“How does that work? Manipulating items?” Ambrose asks. “If you want to move this book back onto the shelf, do you do that or do you ask the book to return to its place?”
“Depends on the situation and on your skill. Moving it yourself is the easiest, that’s stuff you get taught before school. Asking an item to return to its place is harder. You have to activate an object’s memory to do that.”
“Objects have memories?”
“Of course. Everything in this world has a place where it’s been, a time it exists, somewhere it belongs. We can feel ownership over objects and sometimes, that sentiment is mutual. Don’t you feel an attachment to your staff?”
“My staff is not an object, it’s an extension of my magic. It has a will of its own.”
“Right. And Herbert is not a statue, he’s my cat.”
He nods, looking like he understands it a bit more. “So what was our killer looking for. We didn’t see anything missing.”
“That’s because the killer put things back to make it look like that. We should go back to the house and get the objects to recall their place before the killer came.”
“You can do that?”
I push my sleeves up and flex my arms. “These guns aren’t just for show.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Never mind." I'm too excited about a potential break in the case to worry about him not getting my jokes. "You know what this means, right?"
He nods. "We have to go back to the crime scene."
"Not just that," I counter. "We have a lead we can follow. If the item is rare enough, we might be able to find it on the black market."
"There's a black market for witch items?" he asks.
I throw him an incredulous look. "Are you trying to tell me you got to Detective without realising there's a black market for everything?"
"Fair point," he admits.
"It is. Are you ready to go now?" I ask.
"Yes."
"I'll grab my car keys." I'm almost bouncing off the walls as I realise he hasn't even tried to protest me going with him. Though I suppose that's because he's already admitted he needs my help, but that isn't the point.
"Okay. But it's my turn to pick the music," he insists.
I almost protest, but I change my mind. He can put on death metal for all I care. I get to help solve his case, and that means everything to me.
15
The house is as creepy this time as it was the previous one. Or maybe more so. I think it's the lack of life surrounding it. Most of the places I go on a day to day basis are full of people doing the things people do, it gives the buildings a kind of life aura.
But Grandpa Dobromir's house is losing its aura fast. I hope we can resolve this soon and it can have someone living within the walls again.
Butterflies flutter away in my stomach as I scan the living room in preparation for the magic I'm about to do. It's a big spell at the best of times, one that not all witches can pull off. But there's so much riding on me getting this right, that there's even more pressure than normal.
"Whenever you're ready," Ambrose says. "Where do you want me to stand?"
"You're fine there, I'll ask the objects to move around you."
To my surprise, he doesn't say anything to contradict my statement. Perhaps he realises I'm not as crazy as he thinks I am and it's all to do with magic.
Which reminds me, I need to ask him why I'm the one doing all the heavy lifting on that front. I haven't even seen his staff, never mind witnessed him doing magic.
I push the thought aside, along with the small snicker over not having seen his staff. I don't think he'll appreciate it if I say that one out loud.
I clear my throat and wave my wand. "Please return to your proper place," I ask the objects in the room. "Don't hurt us as you do, please."
Ambrose looks bemused but that’s because he doesn’t understand the stubborn nature of inanimate things. It’s better to say please.
It takes a moment for the magic to seep into the rest of the room, but then a lamp begins to quiver, followed by a set of Russian nesting dolls. I breathe a sigh of relief as the various objects in the room begin to move.
The items speed up, some of them only shuffling a few inches to the left or right, others returning to opposite sides of the room. Even the curtains move. I know this is a serious situation, but a small part of me is impressed by how well it's actually worked.
"Is that how you normally cast spells?" Ambrose asks after everything has settled into its place and isn't floating around any more.
"What do you mean?"
"By asking nicely?"
I shrug. "It never hurts."
"Huh."
The shelving unit in front of me catches my attention. Something about it seems unbalanced, but I can't put my finger on what it is. I gesture towards it for Ambrose's benefit, then make my way to it.
My gaze catches on the irregularity once I'm in front of the shelves and I stare at the space between an intricate wooden statue and a strange fossilised plant. Judging from the gaps between the other things, the missing object can’t be too big. About the size of a brick or so.
“If we can figure out what’s missing, we’ll be one step closer to the killer’s motive.” I stare at the shelf as a whole. Judging from everything, it’s clearly filled with gifts. The amethyst he got from our coven, a sapphire from another Gemstone coven, a golden statue with the emblem from a metal coven. There’s no rhyme or reason to the shelf. There are varying amounts of everything. Figuring out what’s missing is going to be hard.
Ambrose stares at the empty space. “I’ll have the team swipe the shelf for trace amounts of whatever was on here. That should give us an idea.”
“Ooh, that’s clever."
“I’m a detective for a reason," he points out.
"True. But maybe there's a quicker way..." I turn abruptly and stride over
to the other side of the room.
"You're going to have to start explaining your statements more."
"Sorry. I was just thinking, what if there's an inventory of gifts? Any decent collector would have one."
"Do you have one of all the books in your library?" he asks.
"Of course. Grammie keeps it immaculately up to date." She takes a lot of joy in inputting any new books we get.
"And if we find it, then we can cross reference it with what we can find..."
"Leaving the one thing that's missing. In theory." But where can it be?
I need to think like a recluse if I'm going to get to the bottom of this one. I start pacing back and forth, ignoring Ambrose as he searches the other side of the room.
The old fashioned desk in the corner is the obvious answer, but somehow, I doubt that's where an inventory will be. Especially if some of Grandpa Dobromir's treasures are worth killing for.
Ambrose's phone makes an annoying noise which sounds like a klaxon. I wrinkle my nose at the intrusion into his thoughts. Doesn't he realise how annoying that is? How am I supposed to concentrate on working out what item has disappeared when his phone is interrupting like that?
I watch out of the corner of my eye as he pulls it out and checks the message.
"We need to go," he says.
"What about trying to find Grandpa Dobromir's index of items?" I protest. I'm certain he must have one. Perhaps it's under a protection spell that I can't see. It should have started wearing off when Dobromir died, unless he cast it with another witch's help. If he did, then that witch is probably our killer.
"That'll have to wait. I'll get uniforms to do an extra sweep for it while someone's here for the shelf," he promises.
"But..."
"You can stay here if you want, but I thought you'd want to come to the station with me and hear about the results Gaia sent over for us."
"Gaia?" I echo, losing focus on the rest of what he's saying.
"Sorry, Doctor Riffin."
"Oh." Gaia. It suits her.
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