Occult Detective

by Emby Press

  “It was part of the experiment,” she continued fighting to keep her voice cold and detached. “Father removed his eyes at birth. I was only nine. Mother didn’t understand, tried to fight him, but Darcis held her back.”

  The butler’s face held no remorse. He was an instrument of his master’s purpose, however dark, and the experiment must continue.

  “The professor believed it would enhance his other senses, especially his magical ones,” Darcis spoke clinically, precisely, but Ravenot heard another voice inside his, the professor’s passion echoing even after death. “Blind men learn to compensate. The professor believed Nicolas would do the same.”

  “Well,” said Ravenot swallowing his disgust, “in that, at least, it was a success. He can probably hear, feel, taste, and smell magic better than anyone I’ve ever met. Your father’s home-grown psychonaut, a prodigy made to delve deep into the psyche and beyond.”

  It was clever. Everything Merminod ever did was clever. He’d wanted a tool that could reach further than the greatest mage, so he’d taken his son and carved him into one. It was a typically unsubtle solution.

  His thoughts were interrupted by an incoherent, guttural sound. Nicholas was muttering to himself. Ravenot shivered. That anyone could be reduced to this. But he steeled himself and knelt cautiously in front of the boy. He needed to know what Nicholas knew. What ever this was, it had started going wrong three days ago, the night of the comet.

  He was starting to catch a few words among the guttural cries, mutilated and disjointed, but recognizably words. Each packed with such force and meaning that it almost made Ravenot dizzy.

  “Alone,” said Nicholas, vomiting smoke. “So alone. Falling.” Nicholas’ voice seemed to crack under the strain of every word. The depth of feeling behind them struck Ravenot like a blow. If only hearing the words was causing this much pain, Ravenot could barely imagine the agony of saying them, of feeling them so profoundly.

  The pieces of the puzzle pressed against his mind. He had hoped to learn what he needed through the boy, but Nicholas was too untrained and broken. He could see farther and hear louder, but he couldn’t translate. There was no other choice.

  Ravenot closed his eyes and stretched out his Awareness. His mind expanded into reality and reality contracted into him. Creation unfolded before him, a whirling maelstrom of sound and silence. Flesh and sinew were a distant memory. It was easy to get lost in the clarity, the endless beauty and terror of reality, especially for him. Here the secrets of universes were his for the taking, his greatest temptation.

  With effort he focused back on the world, on Paris, on a single room in a single house. He could feel the birth and death of every cell in his body, knew the life cycle of every tree that had given its life for the floorboards beneath his feet, and the vintage of every wine whose corks lined the walls. He could hear the throbbing of a spider’s heart as if it was his own. Madéleine shone with cleverness and stifled ambitions, but it was a cleverness coated in guilt and borrowed passion.

  He saw Darcis, ethereal and cold, a thing of many faces each more solemn than the last. He was a spirit of patience and winter bound to a great purpose; the professor’s hands still pulling his puppet strings. Ravenot had been right about him all along, but those were all distractions. He had other mysteries to probe.

  He turned his Awareness away from the material realm and delved into the deeper places, farther than the farthest star, the world within the world. He was not, perhaps, able to transverse as far or deep as Nicholas, but he could travel far and deep enough. He fumbled half blind through vast and lonely places to the precipice of understanding and there he found a great, monstrous shadow.

  It was a thing of smoke and fog wrapped around the cinder of an ancient fire. Even the memory of its burning scorched him, though in that place he had no skin to feel it. This was what he had heard in the fog, the thrumming beneath a city’s dreams, the comet that had blazed across the sky. Its very being was infused with unthinking purpose, the will to power and to burn anew.

  Ravenot saw with terrible certainty that one day it would be whole again. One day the cinder would be rekindled, and after that he glimpsed only flame. It took him a moment to see that even in its vastness, it was only a fragment, an echo of intelligence, and it was so alone. It clung to the boy, to Nicholas, like a kindred spirit, and its hooks were in deep.

  Ravenot pulled back desperately, frightened, and returned to his waiting body. He didn’t know how to fight this, could think of no secret method or subtle trick.

  Madéleine was watching her brother with a peculiar mix of shame and determination. “Well?” she asked, when she noticed Ravenot’s return.

  “We need to leave,” he said. “Now.”

  “The house?” Madéleine and Darcis shared a look pregnant with meaning.

  “Paris. We have to get Nicholas as far away as possible. Your father sent his psychonaut on a little journey,” he paused, the shadow of a suspicion crossing his mind. The timing wasn’t quite right. He glanced at Madéleine, but there would be time for that later. “Only this time he brought something back. It’s here infecting the house, the street, perhaps even the city. We either fight or run, and I’m not prepared to fight, not this, not yet. Perhaps not ever.”

  “We can’t,” Madéleine said softly. “We’ve tried. Of course we tried. We tried to contain it. We tried to run, but even with Darcis we never made it to the front door.”

  “I’m not a Familiar,” Ravenot said studying Darcis, “or a dabbler. I’m a Magician of the First Rank. You will make it this time. I promise.”

  Madéleine looked surprised for a moment, as if she hadn’t expected him to figure Darcis out, but she seemed to get new strength from his words, however, and he was glad. He might need that strength. For his part, Darcis remained expressionless, and in the light of new knowledge, Ravenot wondered how he had not seen the fairy shade for what it was. But there was no more time to waste.

  “Run,” Ravenot said lifting Nicholas into his arms. Madéleine and Darcis followed in his wake. He hoped that if they got Nicholas away fast enough, severing the physical link might prove enough to free him from the shadow’s metaphysical hooks. The Thing of Cinder and Smoke was mostly instinct, lurking on the astral plane. It might not notice the physical until it was too late. It was a desperate hope, and Ravenot knew almost immediately that it wasn’t going to work.

  The house had shifted around them, become a never-ending maze. The halls curved in on themselves, winding endless around and around, and the walls seemed to laugh, mockingly. Ravenot was left with the intangible impression that although they had been running in a straight line, they had somehow curved back on themselves. He noted the geographic anomalies, his mind running down a list of possible causes, but his thoughts were quickly interrupted.

  Smoke continued to vomit from Nicholas coiling into the air, dark and choking. It took strange disjointed shapes. Many-fingered hands reaching out clawing at them with terrible force. Ravenot tried to dispel them, but they were not simple illusions. They struck Darcis with a particular ferociousness. With each blow he seemed less human, less solid, as if they were chipping his self away. Finally, the hands dragged Darcis down into the darkness, fighting all the way. Madéleine turned back to help him, stumbling, but Ravenot urged her on.

  “Darcis is a Familiar, one of the Fey,” he said. “He’s got a better chance of surviving than either of us. Now keep running!”

  It took all of Ravenot’s concentration to find his way through the maze. He forced himself between the cracks of the illusion and pulled Madéleine after him. He was tired. Nicholas was getting heavier, and he could feel the creature’s will boring down on him. His Awareness was clouded, and the smoke seemed to burn him, but he finally stumbled into the petite salon. The front door was close. He and Madéleine stood for a moment, staring at each other, trying to catch their breath.

  “We can make it,” Ravenot said. She smiled. For a moment it seemed as though
they might escape. Then came a voice that was not a voice. It exploded from Nicolas in a plume of smoke.

  “No,” it said. The Creature was beyond speech but that single word blazed from every fiber of its being with such power and malice, and such intense loneliness. He felt it pressing against his skin and churning inside his body. His limbs trembled at the sound of it. Ravenot had never felt anything like it. It shook the house with the force of its speaking and sent him flying into the wall with a crash.

  He lay still for a few moments, the weight of the Creature’s will still heavy on his limbs. Madéleine was sprawled on the other side of the room. She shook her head groggily. He could see her face; saw the moment of terrible decision. She forced herself slowly to her feet. Ravenot marveled at that, but it was not her will alone that animated her.

  She half stumbled, half crawled to the desk. From the top right drawer she removed a revolver. Her hands were shaking, but she turned and aimed it at her brother. That was certainly one solution, certainly, her father’s solution—brutal and inelegant.

  “The experiment is over,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

  Smoke curled from Nicholas’ mouth, as the Creature studied her through his eyes. Watching them, Ravenot felt a curious sense of doubling, and for the first time that night, he could see things clearly. He had been groping at the edge of understanding, stumbling blindly in search of a solution, but he had found it at last. There were roles being played here, an ancient drama reenacted.

  In the center of the room stood brother and sister, one poised to kill the other, and Ravenot could feel the echoes of this moment rippling out beyond his sight, a cycle he could not fully comprehend. He saw now why the Creature had been drawn here, to this house, this boy. One was filled with a sadness and hurt vast beyond human understanding; the other was a child starved for attention whose sister was trying to kill him. They both felt betrayed, and that was the answer to everything. Ravenot knew what he had to do now, but it would have to be judged carefully.

  “Wait,” he cried climbing slowly to his feet. “There’s another way. You don’t have to kill him. You just have to help him.”

  “Help him?” She asked. “How?”

  And in that moment he saw her as she was, as much her father’s tool as the Familiar, and as much his victim as her brother. He saw a lifetime spent parceling out just the right amount of affection to keep her brother in line, a young woman of stifled intellect and suppressed doubts, her charms polished into an ornament or a weapon at her father’s command. Her ignorance had been cultivated, and her devotion nurtured, all in service of Merminod’s great and foolish purpose. He saw too her frantic attempts to carry on after his death, doomed to failure.

  “He’s not a monster,” said Ravenot. He was close now, almost whispering in her ear. All his attention seemed to be focused on her, but he kept one eye on the boy and a third on the Creature’s shadow lurking on the astral plane. This was the most dangerous moment of his life. He would have to be ready.

  “He’s not an experiment. He’s just a boy,” Ravenot said gently, “and you’re not your father.”

  The gun shook in her hands and her finger tightened on the trigger. Ravenot readied himself to grab the gun from her hand, but it wasn’t necessary. With a stifled sob she let it drop to the floor with a clang. Madéleine stared down at the scarred mutilated boy before her, as if she’d never seen him before, and perhaps she hadn’t.

  She bent down slowly and wrapped him in her arms, holding back sobs. It was not their first hug, of course, but all the others had been empty calculations.

  “Hello Nicholas,” she said. Her voice almost broke. “I’m your sister.” She had never said those words before, they had been denied to them both, and in saying them, the experiment ended. The chains forged in cruelty and isolation shattered. Nicholas hugged her back, warily at first, then tightly, desperately sobbing.

  Ravenot smiled. He could feel the Thing of Cinder and Smoke withdraw its hooks from the boy, retreating in confusion. That was what he had been waiting for. That was all he needed. He was no longer proscribed by the bounds of the experiment.

  Ravenot built a weapon out of his stubbornness and curiosity, out of his love of secrets and forbidden knowledge, out of Madéleine and Nicholas’ desperate hug, out of every ritual he ever performed and everything he ever was or would be. He took it all, compacted and enfolded it, sharpened the edges and then struck. He spoke a Word and the Word was Light. The room exploded, bright and terrible. The smoke recoiled and fell back under the onslaught. It tried to gather itself, but it was too late. At last, Ravenot felt the Cinder and Smoke retreat, unconsciously slither back to the dark, lonely places.

  Ravenot collapsed, exhausted. He had given all of himself to the spell; it would be weeks before he fully recovered. He glanced up as Darcis emerged from the hall, looking worse for wear. His clothes were torn and tattered and his human face all but stripped away. He took in the scene. The siblings united, as Merminod had never intended. The fairy servant’s last task had ended. He glanced at Ravenot, who nodded and rose slowly to his feet. It was over.

  Madéleine and Nicholas were huddled together, crying. Their wounds would never fully heal, their scars ran too deep for that, but now they were more than their father made them, and that was a start. Ravenot watched them for a long moment. He would be back. There was still the matter of the comet and what it presaged. Any portent important enough to use an ancient spirit as its unwitting messenger was deeply disturbing. It heralded the rise of an agent, a warrior or magician, perhaps an empress. He wondered which it was, which one of them.

  The boy was a prodigy, gifted in ways Ravenot could only imagine, but he was unstable, dangerously so. He was a beacon in the darkness. The Thing of Cinders and Smoke had been drawn to him and it would not be the last. He would need to learn control, for everyone’s sake. Madéleine had promise of her own, now that he saw her clearly. Her intelligence and ambition had been suppressed and were ready to explode. Merminod had hacked and carved, but Ravenot had more subtle methods at his disposal. There were possibilities here and dangers, problems for another day. Finally, he turned and left without a word.

  Darcis followed him to the door and helped him with his hat and coat.

  “The experiment is over,” Ravenot said. “You’re free.”

  “Yes,” said Darcis.

  “I’ll return in a day or two,” said Ravenot, “to check on them. I would appreciate it if you shared as much as you can about the professor’s work.”

  Darcis nodded.

  “Thank you. Merminod was a vicious old bastard, but he was clever. I’m sure I’ll find something of use.”

  “Yes sir,” Darcis said.

  Ravenot eyed him thoughtfully. “And if you’re amenable, we could discuss the possibility of a new contract.”

  Darcis bowed, his expression as impassive as ever, but Ravenot thought he detected subtle signs of relief. After all, every fairy servant needed a wizard, and every wizard needed a fairy servant.

  “We’ll do great things together,” Ravenot said holding out his hand. They shook, and Ravenot definitely caught hints of amusement this time. He smiled ruefully.

  “But then, I suppose we all say that in the beginning.”

  “Yes sir,” said Darcis.

  “Well, goodnight, Darcis.”

  “It is morning, sir.”

  “So it is,” said Ravenot with a tired sigh and stepped out into the street, his mind turning to home and sleep. Around him Paris started to waken fitfully.

  MURDER ON THE FENG SHUI EXPRESS

  Jason Andrew

  “Fairy tales are more than true; not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.”

  —G.K. Chesterton

  “I desired dragons with a profound desire.”

  —C.S. Lewis

  The soft clang of china was almost completely muffled by the steady whorl of the e
ngine and the murmur of the other passengers speaking in a strange celestial language. Jonathon Heller glanced around the car studying the faces of his fellow passengers during their conversations and subtle glances in his direction. It seemed only fair; he was the stranger in this ancient land and he presumed that most of them had never before seen a Caucasian.

  The population was decidedly celestial, but the fashions were an unusual mixture of western and eastern blends. Some of the men wore suits of black or brown that would have been fashionable in Boston or London with silk vests of blues, greens, and grays common to this culture. Others remained traditional with grey and light blue silk zhongshan suits. Amidst the top hats and bowlers, there were bald heads, shaved clean, with braided ponytails. Several ladies wore sharp, silk cheongsams. If not for the distinct lack of fellow Caucasians and mixture of other races typical of the States, he might have thought he was in San Francisco.

  Heller instinctively understood that in this situation his greatest deductive strength would be next to useless as celestial mannerisms and customs differed enough from western cultures that his ability to read faces and body language was utterly unreliable. The trick in such a situation would be to concentrate on the hard evidence.

  A light touch upon the shoulder startled him. He craned his neck up to see the handsome valet with high cheekbones named Jiao. “Mr. Heller, would you enjoy some green tea? It will help calm your stomach.”

  The one vice Heller shared with his father was a love of coffee. He found tea dull, but he had to admit that the trip had weighed heavily against his health. “Thank you, Jiao. I don’t know how you do it. You seem to know exactly what I need even before I do.”

  Jiao smiled politely, clearly pleased. “It is my job, Mr. Heller, to see to all of your needs. My employers wish to honor the son of Jebbidah Heller, Monster Killer.”