Magic and the Shinigami Detective

by Honor Raconteur

  Hesitantly, I knelt on his other side. “Can I compress on his chest like you did while you try to breathe for him?”

  Edwards lifted her head enough to gasp, “No. But you can off-set with me. Both hands, push hard like a heartbeat against the center, right there on the sternum. Do it thirty times. Use your body weight or your arms will fail on you halfway.”

  I did as directed, got a nod of approval, and did it hard thirty times as she had done.

  She spared me a grin before bending back to his mouth.

  We did this twice and started in on the third round. The man’s body felt cool under my hands but not cold. I could still feel body heat rising even through the wet clothes. He stank of salt water and grime and I couldn’t imagine putting my mouth against his like Edwards was doing. She didn’t once flinch from the duty. I kept grimly up with her.

  How long should this take? Did we only have a few minutes before this method ceased to be effective? An hour? A day? I had so many questions but couldn’t ask them under these circumstances. Edwards didn’t have the breath for it and our watching crowd barely had the faith to keep themselves in check.

  Finally I felt a reaction. The man’s body under my hands lurched up a little, nothing more than an inch, then his eyes flew open and he rolled sharply to the side. Edwards moved to accommodate him as he coughed up water.

  “That’s it,” she encouraged, shifting some more to rub at his back in soothing circles. “Get that water out of your lungs. Breathe. Just breathe.”

  I couldn’t quite believe my eyes. That worked? It revived him? My mouth dropped open a little and I forcefully closed it. I’d never seen or heard tell of a drowning victim reviving, especially not one that had stopped breathing like he had. My ears caught more than one person exclaiming in wordless surprise and more than a few prayers of thanksgiving.

  The dockman flopped onto his back and did nothing more than breathe for several moments, drawing in lungfuls at a time before he seemed to gather some strength. His dark eyes roved over until they found Edwards and he lifted a hand, grabbing her gently by the shoulder. With a rasping voice harsh from the salt of the sea, he whispered, “Thank you.”

  She grasped the hand hanging onto her and beamed back at him. “You’re very welcome. But let’s not repeat this, alright? My next day off, I’m teaching you how to swim.”

  Her revived patient chuckled. “I’ll take the lessons.”

  “Good.” Her eyes lifted up to mine, and the woman had the audacity to wink at me. “You’re a fast learner, Davenforth. Thanks for the assist.”

  I managed a nod, head still spinning with what I had just witnessed. “Later, you need to explain all of this.”

  Edwards studied me, then the watching crowd, steadily for a long moment. “Don’t tell me you people don’t know how to perform CPR?”

  I didn’t know what the letters meant and I didn’t need to. “No. Before this moment I would have sworn reviving a drowned man was impossible.”

  A tight, pinched look came over her face. “Dude, you mean to tell me that people die from drowning all the time and you literally have no idea how to revive them?” Without waiting for an answer, she dropped into some other tongue and said several short, harsh words.

  I didn’t need a translator to know she was swearing up a blue streak.

  Another man with a massively built torso and arms made his way to her, kneeling next to the down man with a relieved smile. “Georg.”

  “Foreman,” Georg responded, also smiling. “Can’t get rid of me that easily.”

  “Bite your tongue, man, your wife would have my head if I let you die on the job.” His hand grabbed onto Georg’s free one, holding strongly even as he turned his attention to Edwards. I saw tears brimming in the man’s blue eyes as he said, “Thank you very much. I’ve lost too many men on these docks.”

  “How about I teach your lot how to swim?” Edwards offered kindly. “And how to perform CPR so that if someone does, by any chance, take in too much seawater, you can revive them?”

  The foreman blinked at her. “Anyone can do this? Even me?”

  “Anyone can do this, with the right training,” Edwards maintained firmly, raising her voice a little as if she wanted the whole crowd to hear her. “Davenforth,” there was a spark of challenge in her eyes, “will help me organize training for everyone working on the docks. We’ll take it in shifts until I’m satisfied we won’t lose anyone else.”

  I had no intention of arguing with her about this, even if it did increase my workload. “Of course. Foreman, Master Georg, allow me to properly introduce you. This is Detective Jamie Edwards of the Fourth Precinct. I’m her partner, Doctor Henri Davenforth.”

  I heard someone whisper, “Detective? Her?” behind me but stoutly ignored them as we went about making introductions.

  Finally, a physician arrived with two strong, able-bodied men and a stretcher. From the expression on his lined face, he expected a corpse, not a breathing if shivering patient. He seemed gratified at the difference and, after a quick examination and even quicker orders to send Georg to his clinic, peppered Edwards with questions on how she managed this.

  I watched this play out, feeling strangely proud of her. For once, I didn’t mind a delay even though we had our own work to get back to. I also had the feeling that Edwards would be doing more than training dockmen on the revival process, but likely several medical professionals as well.

  More than a few questions badgered for attention, demanding answers, but I contented myself to wait. It was more important that she educate the physician, even if the man did look old enough to be on the verge of retirement. I watched Edwards as she explained the process, her hands up as she gestured, features animated, and a strange thought overtook me.

  For all the damage that Belladonna had done our world, she unwittingly did us an amazing favor as well, all by bringing through this one woman. I suppose the old saying is true. Every cloud does have a silver lining.

  For all that Henri put this in here, he didn’t do a single thing to help me organize the dockmen. Penny actually did that. And let me tell you, two women trying to teach a bunch of men how to swim? With the rules about ‘indecency’ in this city that kept me from climbing into a proper swimsuit? It was more than a little ridiculous.

  “Open sesame!” Edwards announced as she sailed through my lab door.

  I held up a hand, forestalling her entrance, glad now that she had created code words as the experiment on the table had unfortunate consequences if a non-shielded person came within three feet of it. “Wait.”

  She paused mid-step, alert and cautious. “Bad timing?”

  “A bit, give me a moment.” I kept my eyes trained on the second device sitting on the table, the counter ticking away as the last of the hex bled into the paper. Only when it sealed itself, not a trace of ink damp against the page, did I look up and say with commendable seriousness, “Abracadabra.”

  Edwards cackled, as she always did when I said this word. “That’s never going to get old.”

  “I live to amuse you,” I informed her, charmed all over again by that expression of delight on her face. She’d told me a little about the early tales of magic on her world the other night at dinner. Eating together had become a daily habit over the past three days, which I enjoyed, as it normally led to Edwards cooking. Not to mention the conversation was always intellectually stimulating, although it sometimes went off into side tangents. Like the early Earth stories of magic and their incantations. I’d laughed myself hoarse when she told me about ‘Abracadabra.’

  Being responsible adults, we’d instantly decided to implement it as a safe word for my lab. I couldn’t resist using the word. It was too absurd and whimsical; it teased at my sense of humor.

  “And you’re so good at it!” she mock-exclaimed, like an over exuberant teacher praising a young child.

  I pulled a face, which made her giggle again. “What are you here for?”

  Edwards pulled u
p a stool and settled before answering, as comfortable here as she would be in her own apartment. Two and a half weeks of popping in had familiarized the space for her. “I asked a few people about good places to harvest spectral energy and I have a short list of places either in or around Kingston. Want to go with me?”

  “Of course.” I absolutely couldn’t allow her to go alone. I hadn’t found a way to modify Warner’s spectral energy detector yet.

  “Good. I’m told it’s best to do it at night, for some reason, so after dinner? And Sherard wants to go with us.”

  I blinked as she tacked this last part on. “Royal Mage Sherard Seaton wants to go ghost hunting with us?”

  “Officially, it’s because he’s over the Kingsmen,” she explained casually as she popped off the stool and went wandering about the lab, bending down and peering at the shelves intently. “The Crown has shown its concern about the spectral energy device. Sherard is the one assigned to look properly into the matter.”

  The way she said this prompted me to ask, “And unofficially?”

  “He’s terribly excited about the idea. When I explained what we were doing, he was all over that like butter on bread. I think he’s bored, wants an adventure.”

  “A Royal Mage is bored?” That didn’t sound right to me.

  Edwards shrugged, now on the opposite side of the room, in profile to me. “He’s a bit of a drama queen.”

  “What’s a drama qu—” I choked as Edwards confidently stuck her hand into the shelves and pulled out my hidden box of emergency chocolates. “How did you—?!”

  “How did I, what? Know you have chocolates stashed in your lab? Know that you’d stashed a box of it here?” Edwards gave me quite the disparaging look, waggling the box. “Hello~? I’m a detective.”

  Still spluttering, I protested, “I’m in a building full of detectives, no one has ever found that hiding spot before!”

  “Yes, but I know how you think.” Smugly, she opened the box and popped one in her mouth. “Mmm, perfect. I needed a sugar rush to get through this afternoon. Don’t pout, Davenforth, I’ll buy you more chocolate later.”

  I was not pouting. And it wasn’t the theft that bothered me. “Explain yourself. How did you know it was there?”

  “Only shelf on the entire wall that doesn’t have anything breakable on it,” she answered forthrightly before plopping another chocolate in her mouth.

  The simplicity of her reasoning unhinged my irritation. Briefly. “So you surmised that because I don’t wish to accidentally knock a breakable jar to the ground when reaching for the box, I would therefore place something unbreakable in front of it. That’s almost a logical fallacy, Edwards, I do have other things hidden behind breakable objects.”

  She placed a third chocolate between her teeth with smug deliberation before sucking it into her mouth.

  “Fine, I grant you, in this case you are correct,” I grouched. “Did you come in here just to steal my stash?”

  “No, I came to update you. The chocolate’s just a bonus.” Smirking unrepentantly, she stole two more before replacing the box. “I went to the record room and asked about our mystery girl, Eda Robbins. I didn’t expect a hit, but we got one. She was involved in a robbery two years ago, or at least, witnesses placed her at the scene before the theft occurred.”

  My interest piqued acutely. “Are we sure it’s the same girl?”

  “As much as we can be. A sketch was in the file, which resembled the one we have, and the description of her was almost dead on.” Sauntering back to the table, she resumed her seat next to me, savoring the chocolate in her hand. “At the time, she was linked to the theft group called the Night Foxes.”

  I grimaced on hearing the name. “I do wish reporters would cease to give names to the criminal groups. It glamourizes them and demeans the police.”

  Edwards’ mouth screwed up in mutual distaste. “Tell me about it. Anyway, not sure if she’s still part of that group or not, but at least we know she’s got a history. She’s done this before, so this is no innocent we’re dealing with.”

  That did help our cause. “Well, shall we go to dinner? We have enough time, I believe, if we go now before we need to meet up with Seaton.”

  “Absolutely, I’m starving. You choose the restaurant, Mr. Foodie.”

  “Foodie?” I objected in confusion.

  Linking a hand behind my elbow, she pulled me from the chair. “I’ll explain as we go.”

  We had nearly full darkness by the time we arrived at the Kingston Municipal Church. I didn’t question why this location, out of the possible six Edwards listed to me earlier, as this was indeed the most famous haunted site in the entirety of the city. It lay somewhat out on the outskirts, along the northern wall, its grounds triangulated by wall, river, and street. Some of the oldest graves could be found here, and it frankly wouldn’t surprise me if a few ghosts lingered.

  Seaton stood just near the front gate, practically bouncing in place. He had on sensible, dignified clothing of a warm wool coat, corduroy trousers, and high boots, as befitting of a man in his station. I couldn’t reconcile the somewhat stiff persona that I knew with this giddy man who looked eerily like a child about to do something he knew he shouldn’t, but would enjoy doing anyway. Was this his true personality? Did the man I know put on a cloak of dignity that he himself didn’t possess?

  “What’s kept you?” Seaton demanded of Edwards as soon as we came within earshot. “I’ve been here for ages!”

  “Hold your horses,” Edwards countered with amused exasperation, a hand coming up to plant itself on her hip. “Seriously, you’re like a five-year-old on a sugar rush. Sherard, have you met Dr. Henri Davenforth?”

  “We’ve met.” I held out a hand. “RM Seaton, we met at a society gathering a year ago, if you recall.”

  “I do,” he responded, his high excitement falling away for a moment. “But then it’s hard to forget someone that beat me.”

  Still feeling rather smug about that, I gave him the slightest hint of a smile.

  Edwards picked up on it and her eyes darted back and forth between us. “What’s this?”

  “In our last year of schooling, we’re required to take a final exam. It determines our national rank,” Seaton explained, still with that strange, enigmatic expression on his face. I couldn’t tell if he felt perturbed, irritated, or something else altogether. “Your colleague here beat my own score by ten points and set the national record. I don’t believe anyone’s scored higher since.”

  They hadn’t. Not that I checked on that sort of thing, but my mother did, and she was quite gleeful that no one had managed it yet, not even a decade later.

  “Is that right?” Edwards studied me with new eyes. “Well. I feel like I’m in the presence of two geniuses.”

  “You are, my dear,” Seaton exclaimed, putting an arm around her shoulders in a friendly way that somehow grated along my nerves.

  While I felt better about having Seaton on hand, just in case we did come across some spectral energy, I felt equally sure that he would cause some disaster at this rate. He was far too excited.

  “What are we possibly waiting on?” Seaton demanded of her.

  “A precaution.” I shot him a stern look before taking out Warner’s device and another set of glasses from my front pocket. I handed the glasses to Edwards, explaining as I did so, “I couldn’t find a method of altering this lens so that you could use it. Instead, I MacGyvered it so that when activated, the lens will link to the glasses, and function much the same. You should be able to detect spectral energy through them.”

  She took the glasses with a delighted smile. “Henri! I’m so proud of you—you even used MacGyver correctly.”

  I waved this away as unimportant although I felt secretly pleased with myself. “Keep these on.”

  “I will,” she promised and promptly slipped them onto her nose. “Alright, Sherard, keep in mind that we’re here to see if there has been strange activity, or if there’s anythi
ng potential that thieves can make use of here. Got it?”

  “Got it,” he responded promptly. Too promptly to be believed.

  Sighing, I sent a prayer to the heavens that tonight wouldn’t end in absolute disaster, although I had no faith it would pan out that way.

  Striding forward, she passed through the gates, throwing out her hands as she went in a grand gesture. “Come my minions, rise for your master~!”

  “Now what are you singing?” I groaned.

  Shooting me an unrepentant look over her shoulder, she kept singing. It had a strangely upbeat quality to it that was catchy. Seaton linked arms with her and joined in. “Let your evil shiiiiiiiine~!” they sang cheerfully, thankfully on key.

  I deemed it just as well that we didn’t expect the thieves to be in any of the graveyards, as with this entrance, only the truly insane would linger. For my mental health, I decided to ignore the singing duo.

  The church yard had a kenopsia feel to it, a forlorn and abandoned air. It felt eerie, truly, compared to the bustle of the city not a street over. I could vaguely hear the sounds of car horns, voices, the clatter of the city metro, but none of it seemed able to penetrate here, in this deathly silence. If not for the lingering warmth of the day, it would have the perfect atmosphere for one of those ha’penny ghost novels with goblins and zombies ready to pop out of the ground.

  Edwards finally stopped singing and spoke in a more somber tone, “I’ve never appreciated the phrase ‘as silent as the grave’ until now.”

  Nearly skipping, Seaton agreed, “It’s spooky.”

  Deciding that my sanity would further profit by ignoring the sideline commentary, I focused on the lens in my hand. “I am detecting slight traces of spectral energy, but nothing active. More like afterimages.”

  “Does that mean this is a viable spot or not?” Edwards mused. “How old are these afterimages?”

  “Several days, I would think.” Otherwise I wouldn’t let her anywhere near it. I frowned at one patch and bent at the waist for a closer examination.