Published by Raconteur House
Murfreesboro, TN
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
THE CASE FILES OF HENRI DAVENFORTH: Magic and the Shinigami Detective
Case File 1
A Raconteur House book/ published by arrangement with the author
Copyright © 2018 by Honor Raconteur
Cover by Katie Griffin
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No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
Purchase only authorized editions.
For information address: www.raconteurhouse.com
Other books by Honor Raconteur
Published by Raconteur House
THE ADVENT MAGE CYCLE
Book One: Jaunten
Book Two: Magus
Book Three: Advent
Book Four: Balancer
ADVENT MAGE NOVELS
Advent Mage Compendium
The Dragon’s Mage
The Lost Mage
Warlords Rising
Warlords Ascending*
THE ARTIFACTOR SERIES
The Child Prince
The Dreamer’s Curse
The Scofflaw Magician
The Canard Case
THE CASE FILES OF HENRI DAVENFORTH
Magic and the Shinigami Detective
DEEPWOODS SAGA
Deepwoods
Blackstone
Fallen Ward
Origins
FAMILIAR AND THE MAGE
The Human Familiar
The Void Mage
GÆLDERCRÆFT FORCES
Call to Quarters
KINGMAKERS
Arrows of Change
Arrows of Promise
Arrows of Revolution
KINGSLAYER
Kingslayer
Sovran at War
SINGLE TITLES
Special Forces 01
The Midnight Quest
*Upcoming
Emulating a breathing statue, I kept my eyes at half-mast, my body still. I’d learned over the time in this dank, bat-infested cave that stillness was best. She didn’t question stillness. She sometimes forgot her victims were even there.
Well, victim, now. That other poor man had died this morning, leaving me as the lone survivor. She’d captured six of us in the beginning, all from different worlds, as we’d barely been able to communicate with each other, even with the potions and language spells she heaped upon us. We’d lost the first man within a week, his body too different, his spirit too easily crushed.
The witch even now poured over her notes—flitting about the huge and scarred work table, picking up different vials, sketches of magical designs—only to put them down again with foul oaths. Her thin lips twisted as she snarled the words, making her narrow face even more pinched. The death of the last man enraged her, as she didn’t understand why—why the others had died. Why I lived.
I was the only woman she’d brought through. Was it because of my gender that I survived where the others hadn’t? Was it because my body chemistry was similar enough with this planet’s that her spells didn’t damage me when she tried her sick and twisted alterations?
At this point, I really didn’t care about the reason. I’d been trapped in this filthy place for too long. Weeks, months, maybe a year? I didn’t know anymore. The witch didn’t seem to require more than a few hours of sleep, and she never let us outside, so without either the sun or any kind of routine from her, I had no way of marking time. All I knew was the sensory deprivation, the pathetic food I’d subsisted on, and being chained to a cave wall had driven me to a point of desperation.
I’d kill her. Just as soon as I could get my hands on her.
“WRONG!” she screeched, wringing her hands through her knotted hair. She threw the book in her hands against the far wall, hitting a bookshelf, where it clipped a bottle of some disgusting thing in green liquid, sending it all crashing to the ground in a shower of glass shards and icky stuff. “Why, why, why, why, why?!”
Seriously, how many times was she going to do that routine before she got tired of it? She’d literally repeated those words and that action four times in the past hour. At least, it felt like an hour. It could’ve been ten minutes. My patience was pretty thin.
The witch turned on me, face half-hidden in the dim lighting, body flexing up and down as she rocked back-and-forth on her feet. I suspected she might have some mental issues going on, aside from the general insanity. She kept doing repetitive motions of different sorts. She darted forward, quick as a cat, then stopped dead again, only two feet away from me, staring hard like a vulture at dying prey.
She had me chained against the back wall, and I leaned against it even though the wall wasn’t smooth and had a distinct chill to it. It was hard, so hard, to keep my breathing calm and even as I faced her down. If I hadn’t been a trained federal agent with a few years of service under my belt, I might have cracked. Well, I would have likely cracked well before now. The witch’s experiments on us had been nothing but torture.
The latest round she’d subjected us to had enhanced my physical structure. Or at least, I believe it had. I felt stronger than I had in a long time, as if she had inserted some Hulk serum into my blood. I dearly wanted to test it, as I felt like if I wanted, I could break these chains on my wrists and finally put an end to this. But there was a chance I was wrong. There was a chance that she just shot me up with some kind of adrenaline, and if that was the case, I couldn’t botch my chance.
Breath trying to catch and hope rising like a flood, I waited as she slowly became careless with me—coming in closer and closer, not keeping any kind of safe distance. A little closer, that was all I needed.
“Why do you live?” she hissed at me, as she had the past five zillion times. “WHY?!”
She’d come closer this time. My heartbeat ramped up several notches and it became that much harder to keep my breathing even. She’d never come this close before. She was within arm’s reach of me now. Had her insanity made her careless or was it anger?
Coming in a few more inches, she spat into my face again, “WHY?!”
I knew the answer that would enrage her. “I don’t know.”
She screeched like a stepped-on cat, whirling, her back to me as she searched for something to throw.
This time, she wasn’t going to.
Training kicked in and I threw myself forward in one single lunge, hands going up to her head. The chains screeched like banshees as I pulled to their limits and then past them, locking onto her head before she could escape. One of them might have given way but I didn’t focus on that, I just focused on the greasy head in my hands. One hand under her chin, the other at the top of her head, I wrenched harder than I ever have. In one smooth move, the bones of her neck snapped. Gut churning as I felt her life flow out of her, I stepped back, releasing my hands, allowing her to drop to the cave floor.
For a moment, I stared down at her lifeless corpse and just breathed, ragged pulls of breath that felt like sobs. Was she dead? Truly dead? I kept thinking that she would have these revival powers, like those villains in a manga, or some crazy regenerative powers like you’d find in a superhero comic. But she didn’t move, didn’t breathe, just stared upwards with blind, glassy eyes.
I looked down at my wr
ists and felt another tidal wave of emotion hit me, although I couldn’t sort it all out. The chains had snapped off the cuffs. I had pulled right out of them. So, not adrenaline then. I am She-Hulk, hear me roar?
A slightly hysterical laugh tumbled free of my mouth. Funny—weeks, possibly months of torture, and I managed, but freedom breaks me. I took in a deep breath, forced myself to calm down. I could freak out and cry later.
Almost fumbling, I knelt down and grabbed one of her hands, putting them on the cuffs shackling my wrists. I’d discovered with the previous men that the cuffs were attuned to her somehow. All she had to do was touch to release them. They fell immediately off, revealing bruised skin underneath. Tears seeped out of my eyes—out of relief, or joy, or misery, I didn’t know.
Some questions you just don’t ask yourself.
I gave myself a soft slap on the cheek as I couldn’t fall apart yet. During the interminable amount of time in this cave, I’d spent a lot of it analyzing the contents of this room, making a mental list of what to grab, in what order. I went for the empty pack sitting nearby first, my movements rock steady. After months of being incarcerated here, I should be anything but healthy. The Hulk serum had hurt like the dickens, but I couldn’t argue it seemed worth the payoff. Assuming it didn’t kill me in 48 hours or something else equally dreadful. Snapping the pack open, I stuffed it full of the bread, seasoned ham, and water jug she kept stocked nearby. Food accounted for, I grabbed my gun next, as she’d kept all of the possessions we’d come through with on individual shelves. I’d been eyeballing that gun for a long time, longing for it, and it felt like a homecoming to have it again in my hand.
I checked it over, quick and professional, but I knew that it was fine even as I went through the motions. She hadn’t paid a lot of attention to it, barely gave it more than a glance before throwing it onto the shelf. It had merely sat there gathering dust the entire time I was chained to the wall. Seeing it lying there, just out of reach, had been maddening beyond belief. I felt like shooting her, just because, but restrained myself. I only had one extra clip for it and half a clip loaded, I shouldn’t waste ammunition. Hopefully, this would be enough to get me to help.
For that matter, I hoped a Glock was enough in this world period. I still had no idea where I was. I just knew I wasn’t in Kansas anymore without any ruby red slippers to teleport me home.
Okay, my threshold of a mental breakdown quickly approached if I was making Wizard of Oz references, even in my head.
Armed, mostly stocked, I headed out the only door in the room, treading carefully. The witch is—was—insane enough to booby trap the place. The word paranoid was invented for her sake. So I kept my gun up, slipping sideways down the tunnel-like hallway, trying not to graze the walls, as they were frankly slimy and disgusting. After not having a bath for who knew how many months, aside from the general hose down she’d sprayed on us from time to time, I stunk enough.
I would’ve given my left eye for a change of clothes and a bath.
Other store rooms, or perhaps utility rooms, opened up on either side of the tunnel but nothing leapt out at me. It felt like a small eternity, but I counted three hundred and eighty-two steps before I reached a door. Still very cautious, I nudged it open, ready to spring back at any time.
Then I saw the sunlight streaming out over a plain of grass and ancient trees and couldn’t remember my caution anymore. Tears brimmed over my eyes, making them sting, and I had to blink them rapidly away as I stepped outside for the first time in eons. I went out fifteen shaky steps until my knees gave way, and I landed in the crunchy, spiky grass.
For a moment, I just hunched over, crying, and trying not to. Free. Finally free. No more noxious potions poured down my throat, or spells that make me feel like my body was trying to turn itself inside out, or being chained to the wall like a mad animal.
“Ding dong, the witch is dead,” I half sang, half garbled, then laughed hysterically. “More Wizard of Oz. Oh man, I’m really losing it, here.”
Flopping onto my back, I basked in the sunlight, letting the heat dry the tears on my cheeks. It felt so nice and warm, but not sweltering. Were we in late spring? Early fall? The question fell away unanswered, as I couldn’t force my eyes open just yet to make any observations.
Breathe, Jamie, just breathe. You survived. Those other poor saps didn’t make it, but you survived. Because you’re an Edwards, and a federal agent, and you don’t know how to quit.
Huh, there was a moon hovering behind the sun. Pretty big one, at that. “I feel like I should be looking for the yellow brick road, or the man behind the curtain. Ugh, I’ve got to quit that. I swear, if this planet really is called Oz, I will shoot myself.”
Why did I keep referencing the movie that traumatized me as a kid?
Okay, got to move. I levered myself back up, putting the pack on a shoulder, and looked around. I didn’t see any signs of civilization, but that didn’t alarm or surprise me. The witch wouldn’t want anyone near her secret lair, after all. All I saw was this clearing, lots of trees, and I could hear a river or brook or something nearby. When in doubt, follow the river?
Besides, I’d love to wash some of the grime off.
Following my ears and the scent of moving water, I went around the cave entrance and down a little crooked path. It seemed she used this way too, which reassured me that I could reach the water from this angle. Going down was easy enough, only a slight grade that even in my work heels I could have managed. I almost missed those heels. They’d given up the ghost several weeks ago; I’d been going barefoot ever since. Barefoot and in a black suit that was little better than rags. Let me tell you, being trapped in a suit for several eternities was the definition of torture.
Ah-ha, there’s my water. It looked clean and sparkling but I knew better than to trust appearances and drink it. Bathing, however, was no problem. Stripping everything off, I dove in and washed as best I could without soap. It felt glorious, the water just on this side of cool, making a fine shiver dance over my skin. As I washed, I took a better look at my surroundings. I saw a few leaves turning red or gold, so it looked like early fall. Oh man, good thing I’d broken out when I had. Trudging for help in winter, barefoot, would not have been fun.
It felt beyond repugnant to put my filthy clothes back on, but I didn’t have a lot of other options—streaking on an alien planet was a definite no-go. Putting the clothes in the river would not have gotten them clean, just wet. In fact, the strongest soap in the world wouldn’t save these clothes. I’d burn them at the first opportunity.
Feeling more alive, I sat down long enough to eat some ham and bread. It was the first decent food I could remember since coming here. Ready to tackle what happened next, I resumed following the river. Towns always cropped up near rivers. It was a universal guarantee no matter where you went, as everyone needs a constant source of water.
I kept my eyes and ears open as I moved, as I honestly had no idea what kind of predators were in this world. Hopefully whatever they were, my Glock could stop them. I stopped for a moment, ripped off the bottom part of my slacks, and wrapped my feet. There were enough sticks and pebbles on the forest floor to give me issues, even through my calloused skin. I’d slice my foot open without some sort of protection.
As I walked, I tried desperately not to think. Family, friends, the world I knew—all of that was lost to me. I knew it with a heartbreaking certainty. The witch had likely broken several rules to portal us through to this world. Everything she’d done, her whole setup, had screamed ‘evil mastermind at work’ to me. And I didn’t need to know this world’s written language to understand that her notes, what notes she took, were a complete mess. Even she couldn’t follow them. Anyone trying to unravel what she had done and send me home would be facing a herculean task.
I was going to be on this planet for a very long time. Likely until the grave.
I looked around, trying to resign myself to the fact. At least I’d landed in a beautiful wor
ld. It was lush and thick, including hues of blues and purples and reds I didn’t think that plants could manage. If you have to be stranded in an alien world, it has to be a pretty one. Them’s the rules.
I’d expected to die in the attempt of escaping the witch, honestly, so I hadn’t planned much beyond that. What could I possibly do here? I had very little information to go off of. There was magic in this world—which was cool when not in the hands of an insane woman with the bathing habits of a sloth—and there was breathable air. There were things I recognized, like trees, plants, birdsong, water, which was all good. I could survive here.
Could I make a living here?
Could I really live here?
My breath started quickening, a jittery feeling of panic creeping over me, and I forced myself to stop. “No panic attacks,” I ordered myself firmly. “For one thing, you don’t have the time for them. You have to find help and shelter before night falls, which is like, eight hours away. Assuming this world operates on a 24-hour day. Which, hey, alien planet, it might not. Man, I suck at pep talks.”
Keep walking.
I trudged and trudged, my gait evening out to a steady walk. I kept waiting to feel tired, but it didn’t really happen, which made me question again: Just what kind of potion had she shot me up with this time? As I contemplated the question, gradually the scenery changed. Less trees, more open areas. Okay, that was promising. Ooh, was that a barn I saw? Distance over open areas like this were so deceiving. I wasn’t sure if that was close or not.
Leaving the river bank for a moment, I climbed to a slightly higher vantage point to get a better look and discovered that at some point, a road had started. I liked roads, they tended to lead somewhere. With a smile and a sense of anticipation, I got on the road and walked down it. It also told me something about the technological level of this world, as it was paved with something that looked suspiciously like pavement. So, not Medieval Age, but perhaps Victorian era? Or thereabouts? Could I even use my world’s timeline as a base to make any judgment calls for this world?
Magic and the Shinigami Detective Page 1
