I thought her eyes would pop out of her head. “Are you serious?!”
“Get over here, girl,” I encouraged, waggling my fingers at her. “Let me show you how it’s done.”
I pondered what I’d discussed with Edwards as I got ready for work the next morning. I’d spent most of last night drawing up a list of various inventions she’d told me about, some of them apparently in the process of being developed here, and spent an amusing few hours trying my hand at designing the others. Some of my ideas had been more ludicrous than others.
Knowing what I knew now, from the hints she’d given me at lunch, I felt I could draw several reasonable conclusions. Edwards had been brought through by Belladonna on a whim. I had been responsible for processing some of the extremely dangerous artifacts collected in that dark cave and there was no providence or labeling on them. Belladonna hadn’t believed in organization at all. She wouldn’t have documented where Edwards came from, left no path or clue for another to follow. Depending on how long Edwards had been here, there probably wasn’t even a residual trace of the portal that brought her through.
Even if they could, somehow, learn where Edwards was from, it was obvious to me that it wouldn’t be wise to do so. I had noted earlier that she looked strange, magically speaking. As if part of her was in a state of magical flux while another magical influence forced her into a stabilized state. I thought it a matter of some illness or strange accident and had only been half-correct. She’d survived Belladonna’s mad experiments—of course her innate core took a severe battering from that. It likely took steady applications of stabilizing potions and spellwork to keep her from metamorphosing into something ghastly.
She’d shown up in our police force four months ago, immediately made a detective—an impossible feat to the uninitiated and untrained, even with the fame of killing a famous witch under her belt. Edwards had been trained to police work before, then, on her own world. It’d likely given her the skills she needed to survive her horrendous ordeal and escape.
In short, a police detective from another world had been brought into ours, but because of her experiences here, she could not be sent home. Even if we could figure out how, and where to send her, we likely couldn’t because she was so magically unstable. So that poor woman, after everything that she’d lived through, would never be able to go home. Likely wouldn’t even be able to contact anyone, either, unless some miracle happened.
Jamie Edwards was entirely alone here.
I disliked this thought even as it occurred. I was something of a loner by nature, not one to have numerous acquaintances and friendships, but even I have family, bothersome that they are. I had friends and colleagues. She didn’t even have a work partner she could trust, as they kept treating her as a deviant. And from the few days we’d spent together, I recognized her to be the friendly type. She liked company, she was charming and personable; she would not handle isolation well.
With her otherworldly habits and upbringing, her unique fashion sense, and strong personality, she would not find it easy to blend into Kingston’s society.
Lifting a hand, I felt the frown on my face, and wondered at it. Was I worried about this woman? I’d only meant to puzzle her out, to give myself time to properly think things through to their logical conclusions, as I hadn’t the time during the workday. Why did I frown like this?
Did I actually like her?
It was such a rare thing for me to meet another person and find that I could do more than tolerate their company. Bemused at myself, I pondered my own feelings for a moment, but it didn’t help clarify the matter. Granted, emotions were not my forte.
Well. I didn’t have the time to ponder it anymore. Shimmying into my coat, I placed my wide-brimmed hat firmly over my bushy hair and stepped out the door, mentally planning a stop at my favorite bakery for breakfast.
I loved food. I never said I loved to cook.
As I exited the building, I spied Mrs. Henderson in her front office and tipped my hat to her as I sailed past. She waved and offered a cheery hello. The morning air held a slight chill, a promise that the winter days would not last much longer, that summer would encroach upon us sooner rather than later. The thought made me smile, as I liked summer the best. Winter was far too cold in Kingston.
Halfway to my destination, I spied a familiar tall figure walking just ahead of me. Oh? Did she live in my neighborhood? It wouldn’t surprise me; most of the accommodations for single people happened to be in this area. I lengthened my stride in order to catch up with her, offering as I did so, “Good morning, Detective.”
She paused and turned sharply, alert the way only a policeman or a soldier can be, then relaxed into a smile when she recognized my face. “Good morning, Doctor. You live in this neighborhood?”
“I do, near the corner,” I gestured casually behind me. “Have you had breakfast yet?”
“Ah, no, I thought to perhaps grab some bread and a hot cup of tea from one of the stalls along the way.” Her expression morphed into one of amusement. “I can tell from the look on your face that you highly disagree with this idea. You have a better one?”
I offered my elbow. “My dear detective, do let me show you the finest bakery on the east side of Kingston.”
Eyes crinkling up, she took my elbow and fell into step with me. “That sounds delightful. It occurs to me, that as much as you love food, you likely know of all the good spots in Kingston.”
“Likely the case,” I admitted blandly.
“Have you ever considered writing a guide for Kingston’s newcomers? So they know of the good places to eat, the places to avoid, et cetera?”
A guide? The thought had never occurred to me. “I’m afraid I cannot. It would be embarrassingly comprehensive.”
She paused a beat to give me a knowing look. “You’ve literally tried every place?”
“I’ve lived here most of my life,” I defended myself, more amused than anything by this half-accusation.
“I’m definitely coming to you the next time I don’t know what to have for dinner,” she decided with a firm nod to herself, pleased with her own decision.
Since I didn’t mind, I shrugged and led the way inside the bakery.
Miss Amelia’s Bakery exudes a certain heavenly scent. It barely took up more than eighty square feet, and sometimes the line wound outside the door, but it was one of those places where you stepped inside, inhaled, and gained five pounds just from the air. The scent of sugar, cinnamon, hot tea, and brewing coffee lingered to delight and tantalize the senses. This morning only five people stood in front of us, so we had enough room to enter, barely, squeezing the door shut behind us. Miss Amelia herself, a pleasantly plump woman with perpetually ruddy cheeks, efficiently rang people up and handed over their orders.
Edwards took in a deep breath, eyes nearly crossing. “I feel like a five-year-old with a sugar rush just from the smell of the place alone.”
I didn’t find the scent that strong, but perhaps she was one of those types particularly sensitive to odors. “I would like to tell you that continued exposure helps you become more immune, but…”
“No dice, huh?” Grinning, she let her hand relax so that we no longer linked arms. “I had a disturbing thought last night. Something you said bothered me. You said that the knife was famous, undefeatable in combat, but it was magically powerful as well. That it could be used as a source.”
“Yes, so I did,” I agreed, wondering what she was getting at.
“Unless you’re a rising dictator, or a professional fighter, I can’t imagine that you want the kris for the intended purpose. They’d have use of a knife but What good does it do for a thief to carry about an undefeatable weapon?”
Pondering this for a moment, I admitted she had a good point. “I confess I can’t think of a reason. Unless they choose to fence it.”
“I’ve already got ears out, just in case that was their aim. But it hasn’t come up yet, and I would think something that hot would be o
ffloaded quickly. If it hasn’t surfaced in the black market yet, that means the other possibility is more likely. They’ll use it as a source for some other magic.”
Frowning, I stared blindly ahead as I thought the ramifications through. “There are three ways to use it. First, to augment a potion as it’s being brewed. That takes a fine hand—not many can manage it without bungling the operation. Second, placing the kris in conjunction with another magical artifact that has been drained of all power, and using it to recharge the source, making it viable again. This is easily done, any amateur can manage it. The third, and most dangerous option, is if they put the kris in with two other magical sources and use it to create a Sink.”
“I don’t like the sound of that. What’s a Sink?”
This wasn’t something wildly known outside of magicians’ circles, so it didn’t surprise me she didn’t know of it. “Think of it like anti-magic,” I advised. “It creates a triangle of power that resonates against itself, creating a sinkhole that swallows all magic within a certain vicinity. Depending on what’s used to create it, the Sink can be powerful enough to empty this shop of magic or the entirety of Kingston.”
Edwards had a very disturbed look on her face, brows drawn into a straight line. “So, what, it can destroy any magical object?”
“Or wards, hexes, enchantments, spells,” I tallied the possibilities off in an unhappy tone.
“Dude, I do not like the sound of this. What are the odds that a group of thieves can create a Sink?”
“It requires more theoretical knowledge than magical ability. If someone’s doing the calculations correctly, and they gather the right elements together, a child could arrange it. But I can’t imagine that thieves in general would have that sort of know-how.”
“Even though they knew enough to locate the kris and break through several police barriers?”
She had me there.
“I have a terrible feeling that our thieves have either a corrupt wizard in their employ, or they’ve got some half-trained wizard in their group,” she continued, still frowning. “I’m not sure which I prefer.”
Grimacing, I admitted sourly, “It does feel rather like choosing between two evils.”
“Doesn’t it?” It became our turn and we stepped up to the counter. Her attention turned to the display case with all its various goodies laid out to tempt a mouth. “Doctor, what do you recommend?”
“To not order everything you see,” I responded promptly.
She chuckled, which was so at odds with the tough-woman persona she exuded that it took me aback. Eyes sparkling, she teased, “So you can read my mind?”
For a moment I felt flummoxed, seeing a side to this woman that I hadn’t thought existed. I looked at her and thought formidable and nothing else. My mistake. Heavens, she looked ten years younger when she grinned like that, innocent enough to be a teenager.
“Ah, n-no,” I stammered back, my tongue feeling awkward in my mouth. “It’s just the first thought I had when I discovered the place three years ago.”
“If memory serves,” Miss Amelia drawled, leaning her weight against the top of the display case, “he only ordered half.”
Deadpan, I shot back, “I have excellent self-control, otherwise you would have not possessed a single ware to sell that day, Miss Amelia.”
Edwards chuckled again, hand hiding her mouth for a moment. She didn’t look like a woman who had killed a famous witch. It reminded me sharply that she was someone’s daughter, perhaps a sister, that she was human. It felt strange, that knowledge. I wasn’t sure what to do with it.
“I’ll be even more sensible,” Edwards stated, mirth fading to a simmer. “Two cinnamon buns, please, and a hot coffee, two sugars, dash of cream.”
“Cherry tart, cheese tart, coffee, black,” I tacked on, already reaching for my wallet to pay for us both.
Edwards quirked a brow at me. “Isn’t it my turn?”
Turn for what? It took a second before the reference clicked. Oh, she meant her turn to pay. I gave her a bland smile. “No.”
That eyebrow of hers stayed arched. “Doctor Davenforth, why do I have the feeling that it will never be my turn?”
“Because you’re an astute woman?” I offered ingeniously.
Miss Amelia caught on enough to get the gist of the conversation and beamed at me. “Well, I always suspected it, but aren’t you a gentleman, Doctor.”
Deities, not her too. “This is common courtesy,” I complained to the air in general.
“Common courtesy is not so common,” Edwards informed me. “If I ever get the chance to meet your parents, I’m going to thank them for raising you so properly. You do make my life easier.”
Thankfully, I was saved from responding by Miss Amelia handing over our goods. I didn’t know what to think of Jamie Edwards meeting my parents except that the idea vaguely terrified me. My mother would either be appalled by her guest’s state of dress or be all for it. It was hard to tell with Mother.
We stepped outside, munching on our goodies and sipping our coffee. Edwards didn’t try to fill the air with meaningless chatter, as so many of my acquaintances would have. I found her company to be relaxing. When we were first ordered to partner up, I hadn’t imagined the experience to go so well. This was almost pleasant, really.
I found myself hoping we didn’t solve this case too quickly.
I threw the pencil down in disgust, uncaring when it bounced off the table, ricocheted into a beaker, and flew to the floor to rattle about unseen. Three hours. I’d spent three hours on these equations, only to be proven wrong. Again.
Growling, I stared at the readings I’d taken the first day. Three days into the investigation, I was no closer to the truth of how the thieves had gotten through the shields. Everything I came up with either took far too long to set up, left obvious traces, or required substantial magical power. I couldn’t detect that any magic had been used in this endeavor. All I had were raw numbers of power, nothing remotely magical about it.
Sometimes, very rarely, I found myself completely stumped. This might be one of those times. If nothing else, I might have been staring at the problem for too long. I had, of course, been taking care of other cases as they came in, doing the necessary lab work to help the other ongoing investigations, but none of those took a significant chunk of time. The majority of my focus had been on this, for all the good it had done anyone.
There was no help for it. I had best consult a colleague.
Grumbling and muttering, I went to the door, snatching up a hat and preparing a quick note on the chalk board sign outside my office door stating that I would be indefinitely out for the rest of the day. I considered adding a P.S along the lines of ‘for the love of all the deities, don’t give anything to Sanderson, I’ll do it upon my return’ but the last time I had done so, the Police Chief had stern words with me. Something about my sense of humor not being appreciated in an office setting. (I hadn’t been joking but realized that pointing that out would not help my case.)
Three feet into the hallway, I belatedly realized that unlike previous times, I had a partner. I paused, stymied. I’d never had one before, but generally speaking, didn’t the protocol with partners call for said partner to be invited along to consult other experts? I wasn’t sure if Edwards would get anything out of our conversation, however, as we would be speaking in very technical terms. Perhaps she wouldn’t care to go.
Yes, I should just go.
A random vision of Edwards finding out later that I had left without her plonked into my mind.
I winced.
On second thought, it wouldn’t hurt to at least notify her of where I went. Just in case she came looking for me later.
The bullpen always had a certain chaotic order to it, strange as that sounds. People came and went, going every possible direction, often yelling across the room at each other. Others sat ponderously at the desks crammed together, working diligently on reports. I found Edwards’ desk strangely clear,
without the clutter of reports and the typical tools of the trade. A sign of a more organized individual? A few pages stacked off to the side caught my eye and while I recognized a few words, most of it was in a language I had never seen. It looked square and blocky, with only a few round-looking characters. Was this her native language, then?
“Doctor Davenforth.”
I whirled about, finding her standing almost directly behind me. “Detective. Excellent, I wanted to notify you that I need to go and confer with a colleague.”
“The one you mentioned on that first day?”
“The very one.” Come to think of it, I had mentioned Newell, hadn’t I? Not by name, but by association. “You’re welcome to come of course, although I must warn you that we’ll be speaking in very technical terms for the bulk of the conversation.”
“I’d be surprised if you weren’t,” she responded with a slight smile, “but I’m inclined to tag along anyway. I’m afraid I’ve hit a dead end of sorts myself and, if nothing else, a change of scenery might help.”
“Then come,” I invited. As she gathered up a leather satchel, sticking in a notebook and pencils, I noted the reaction of the bullpen. Everyone in the room seemed stunned by our civil exchange. Granted, I was not known for my great desire of company, but only half their attention rested on me. The others seemed to be just as fascinated to see Edwards in a congenial mood.
Had they so badly antagonized this woman that she remained on the defensive with them? I couldn’t fathom any other reason, as she’d been perfect company with me. I felt my brow twitch into a frown and deliberately smoothed it out. Moving a step ahead, so I could open the door, I noted to her, “We’ll need to hire a taxi. It’s a bit far to walk.”
Edwards blinked at me, confused. “We can take a car?”
Revolting notion. I hastily waylaid it. “Newell’s residence has a distinct lack of parking on the street.”
“Ah, I see. That’s fine.”
Taxis tended to linger near the police station, partially because of the proximity to the docks, so catching one to hire was never any challenge. I lifted a hand, hailing one, and ushered Edwards into the coach while calling out the address to the driver.
Magic and the Shinigami Detective Page 7
