Magic and the Shinigami Detective

by Honor Raconteur

  My head on the pillow, the obvious question occurred to me: How had my mother entered my apartment to begin with?

  Saying that I do not handle bedrest well was quite possibly the biggest understatement in two worlds. Sherard’s rules for letting me out of bed had been designed for a reason. It was a mix of things, really. I got restless and antsy very quickly. I didn’t like feeling dependent on someone else. I handled vulnerability very poorly.

  The best thing to do under circumstances like these, when I’d be down for a few days, was to focus on something else. It kept the homicidal urges at bay. I had Sherard fetch textbooks for me—two dictionaries and a primer—and dug grimly back in. I would conquer this language or die trying.

  Sherard stepped in and out of my room, dealing with his own duties long distance or taking a break to chat with me. He came in that afternoon with a plump meat pie, an iced tea, and something that smelled of apples and cinnamon. My stomach growling, I gladly put the books aside and made gimme-gimme hands at him until he put the food tray in my lap.

  Hot food. Bliss. The one thing about enhanced senses was, between smell and taste, food went to a whole new level. “Where did this delightful meal come from?”

  “Your landlady. She assures me she’s not your maid, or your cook, but seeing as how you’ve been injured in the line of duty, she’ll make you a meal.” Sherard said this in a way that suggested she had actually much more to say on the subject and he’d been stuck listening to her for at least a half hour. “I’m glad she’s a good cook.”

  “To make it worth listening to her?” Grinning, I popped another mouthful in and sighed dreamily.

  Shrugging, he let it go. “I gathered the impression that half the reason she went to the effort was for Davenforth’s sake.”

  “You’re probably not wrong. She adores Henri. He fixes things for her all the time. If he ever moves out, I fully expect her to promptly sell the place and go live on a southern beach somewhere.” I’d say more on the subject, but there were apple fritters to eat.

  We munched happily in silence for a while. Sherard finally got to the point of slowly mopping the gravy with his spoon. “How goes your studying?”

  “Better. Your sentence structure still confuses me utterly and my vocabulary is still the pits, but I can at least read some now. About third grade level.” Leaning in a little, I whispered, “I found new motivation to get my reading up to par. It’s a little something I discovered in Henri’s lab the other day. He’s been writing a full-blown case report on this.”

  Sherard’s forehead beetled in confusion. “Isn’t he supposed to?”

  “No, I mean, not in report style. He’s writing it like you’d write a novel.” I struggled to explain, as it wasn’t a style I could link to this world’s literature. “Here, I stole the first few pages of it. See for yourself.”

  Taking the pages I offered, he started reading. Of course, being a highly educated man, he went through ten pages in the blink of an eye. A smile curved the corners of his mouth as he did so. “Interesting. I didn’t know he had it in him.”

  “Right? He makes all of those disparaging remarks towards ha’penny novels, and now I know why.”

  Waving the pages in the air, Sherard pressed, “But you can read this?”

  I grimaced a little as I admitted, “Mostly? I have to look up a lot of words. It’s glacially slow progress. Took me a week to get through those ten pages. But my vocab’s growing leaps and bounds.”

  “Well of course it would, this is more elevated language. Davenforth was born above the salt after all.”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Born well-placed in society,” Sherard translated. Flipping it over, he regarded the first page again. “I find myself wanting to read the rest of it.”

  “Right?” I asked, excited that he saw the entertainment value in it. “And I really want to add my own notes. He’s leaving so much out.”

  A calculating expression flitted over my friend’s face, at odds with the devilish smile curving the corners of his mouth upwards. He looked fully as cunning as the Cheshire Cat. “If you tell me where it is, I’ll teleport and fetch it for us. We absolutely must review and leave notes. For the sake of future generations.”

  And that was why Sherard and I are friends. I beamed at him. “Henri’s lab, third shelf on the east wall, behind the glass of floating eyeballs.”

  With a casual salute, he poofed out of the room, the walls absolutely no impediment. I rubbed my hands together and cackled. I just knew Sherard was the right man for the job.

  I wondered how long it would take for Henri to notice my notes?

  Edwards regarded the file that I extended to her with considerable surprise. “What’s this? No one ever hands me paperwork.”

  “Do you remember how we thought to track our renegade magician? We put in a request with the Registrar’s Office for a list of names, and another request with the Magical Licensing Department.”

  She nodded before I could trot the complete sentence out. “I remember, I remember. I also remember them both saying that it would take at least three weeks before they could give us a comprehensive list spanning a decade.”

  “I have a feeling that Seaton leaned on them. The Crown has taken something of an interest in this case. They don’t like the ramifications of a device that can get through their wards.”

  Her face filled with understanding. “Ah. Can’t blame them. Still, that’s a rather thick file. I thought you said there weren’t that many magicians born into the population.”

  “Roughly five percent,” I explained, already taking the empty seat next to her bed and settling in. “But the population in Kingston alone exceeds five hundred thousand, and if you multiply that by ten years…”

  “It adds up. Got it.” She stared hard at the files. “You think I can help with this?”

  “It’s just comparing names. You told me that you can read up to short sentences now. This is within your skills, I believe.” At least I hoped so. She’d gotten bored studying the language and wanted out of bed. It took increasing creativity to find ways of making her stay in it.

  A look of determination crossed over her face, setting her mouth into mulish lines. “Give me the first half.”

  Grinning, I split it directly in half by alphabet, first the Registrar’s list, then the Licensing Department’s. She took both, pencil tucked behind her ear, and dove into the work without a word.

  I took a moment to appreciate how much better her constitution fared. Yesterday morning, she’d barely been able to sit up unassisted. Now she could, propped up on two pillows for comfort. Her dark hair lay braided and tied off to one side, and she wore a comfortable shirt and trousers instead of a night dress. All signs she felt much better.

  Pleased beyond measure at this, a smile stayed on my face as I, too, set to work. Companionable silence fell between us as we focused, with only the tick-tock of the clock on her dresser and the scratch of pencil on paper to mark the passing of time.

  “Henri.”

  “Hmm?” Jarred out of the world of names and paper, I glanced up.

  “What do I do if a name is not on the Licensing Department’s list?”

  “Ah. Write it down on a separate sheet of paper.” Belatedly, I realized that I had failed to give my partner a crucial piece of information. “The Licensing Department did warn me when I picked up the list that this would not be a complete match to the University’s record. We do have a considerable number of foreign students that come here to study. Not all of them stay in Kingston after graduation.”

  “So, if they’re not on the list, they could just be living somewhere else, they’re not necessarily rogue magicians. Got it.” With a salute of the pencil to me, she painstakingly wrote the name down before continuing on.

  Being an old hand at research projects like this, I blazed merrily along and had ten sheets done in quick order. Oh dear, that wouldn’t do at all. This project needed to last at least two more day
s in order to keep her in bed. Thinking quickly, I glanced at the clock and made a show of frowning at it. “Edwards, how are you doing?”

  She lifted her head, pencil hovering. “I’m making progress. Two names so far. Why?”

  “I need to do some lab work,” I explained apologetically. “I don’t wish to abandon you to this, but….”

  “No, it’s fine,” she assured me.

  It might be at that, but I didn’t want her here alone either. “Perhaps I can send Officer McSparrin in to help you? You said you were training her up properly in investigative techniques. This surely qualifies as a good teaching moment.”

  Edwards pursed her lips thoughtfully. “You know, that’s not a bad idea. Send her over.”

  “I shall.” Rising from my chair, I thought to ask, “Do you need anything before I go?”

  “Donuts,” she answered mock seriously. “Cops always need donuts.”

  Snorting, I gave her a nod and headed out the door. She likely jested but sending a delivery of donuts via Officer McSparrin wouldn’t harm anything.

  By the third day, Edwards had recovered enough that none of us were required to be constantly at her side. I took advantage of this to track down a certain Royal Mage in his office. Fortunately, while he did have an office on the palace grounds, he had a ‘working office’ outside of it, attached to his townhome, and that was where I found him. It would have been difficult for even a police officer such as myself to gain admittance to the palace in order to see him.

  His apprentice, after admitting me into the office section of the townhome, pointed in the general direction of the door and disappeared somewhere. I watched him wander off and shook my head. Teenage boys were not always the best mannered. Dismissing it, I went to the door and gave a perfunctory knock before swinging the portal open.

  “Davenforth.” Seaton sat back from the desk, shifting the design he’d been working on further back to avoid knocking it to the ground. Despite the fact I’d surprised him by this visit, he amiably waved me forward. “Come, sit. What’s this about?”

  “Edwards.” I answered with a tone that said plainly it should have been obvious. And indeed it should have been. I took the single chair not overloaded with scrolls, books, and hexes, finding it ostentatious in red but comfortable. Strangely, seeing the haphazard state of Seaton’s office didn’t surprise me. He’d never struck me as the sort to enjoy organization.

  Kicking back to a more comfortable slant, he regarded me with open puzzlement. “Has something else happened?”

  “Seaton, really, do use your brain,” I chided, growing exasperated. “Do you really imagine that I’d be content to stay helpless if she ever goes down like that again? That woman has become my friend, and I have precious few of those. I want to be able to do more than CPR in case of another emergency.”

  “Hmm.” He gave a noncommittal hum, dark eyes strangely penetrating. For once he looked his age, instead of an overgrown teenager. “Alright. What do you suggest?”

  “Explain to me, in detail, the spells you have placed on her and their correlations. I need to have at least a revival spell, stasis spell, and a healing spell that I can use on her. If we can’t think of one that works, we’ll devise one.”

  Seaton’s jaw dropped a little, and he spluttered. “You think that we can just devise any spell that we wish like that?” He snapped his fingers in illustration.

  I met him look for look. “Are you suggesting that one of the most powerful Royal Mages in history and an acknowledged genius in the magical field can’t create a spell if they’re of a mind to?”

  For a moment, he appeared nothing but flummoxed. Then he threw his head back and roared with laughter. “I adore your arrogance, Davenforth! And you know, you might be right at that. Alright, let’s say we can do that, if we need to. You really think that you can use those spells on her, if she goes down again?”

  That was quite possibly the least tactful way of implying my natural power not up to the task. I strangely enjoyed the bluntness even as it instinctively put my back up. “Having brute power at your disposal, I suppose you never learned to appreciate the nuances magic is capable of.”

  “I take that to mean, ‘Yes, you sodding tosser, I can do it.’ ” Seaton grinned, not at all insulted. “Alright, let’s have an in-depth analysis of the work that I’ve put on our girl.”

  ‘Our’ girl, was it? “Edwards would hardly appreciate being referred to as such.”

  “Good thing she isn’t in hearing range, isn’t it?” Not in the least apologetic, Seaton opened a bottom drawer, heaving out a journal thick enough to kill a man. He flipped to the latter third of the book, went through several pages, then settled on one before handing it over.

  I accepted with both hands, not wanting to drop it, and was glad for the caution. If it weighed less than thirty pounds I’d be surprised. I saw in a glance what it was: the designs for each spell on Edwards. He had inscribed it in layers, so that I could examine each layer individually. Penmanship aside, it was precisely written.

  The second page in, I found the one thing I rather hoped I wouldn’t. “So she does have an Immunity Spell on her.”

  “You’ve seen it?”

  “Just a glimpse, the night she went down.”

  Seaton let out a pained groan, rubbing at the bridge of his nose as if warding off a headache. “If Belladonna still lived, I’d kill her just for that thing alone. If you keep reading, you’ll see that she tweaked the Immunity Spell some, made it even more ‘durable’ in a sense.”

  That sounded foreboding. I went back to where I left off, reading as instructed, and a chill chased its way up my spine as the words unfolded before me. Immunity Spells normally protected a person from magical attacks. It defended largely against three classes of attacking spells: Static (such as hexes used to protect an area), Aerial (any spell that could be cast and shot at an opponent), and Potions. This spell had been tweaked to add ‘objects intended to harm.’ It was vaguely worded but it seemed obvious what it was designed to do.

  The words burst out of me before I could check them. “Do you mean to tell me that a man wielding a knife couldn’t stab her, but a thrown rock would break her arm?”

  “Stupid, isn’t it?” Acid dripped from every word as Seaton glared at the spell’s properties. “Knives, even bullets, won’t have a prayer of working on her. But throw a rock at her, she goes down instantly. As long as it’s not something man-made, something designed to hurt a person, the spell won’t recognize it as a threat. Anything completely natural is not recognized by the Immunity Spell and ignored. Which is good, in a way, but the stupid part is that because of the spell, we have a hard time treating her. All of the healing spells have at least one element in it that could technically be considered a poison, after all.”

  Most medicines were that way. A drop of it worked for healing, but anything more could act as a poison. Humans understood this. Immunity Spells did not. “Seaton, if Belladonna were still alive, I’d help you kill her.”

  “Aggravating, isn’t it? So yes, Davenforth, by all means let’s figure out how to do this list of spells you’ve got. While you’re at it, do figure out how to either negate or cancel the Immunity Spell, there’s a good fellow,” Seaton tacked on with a sugary sweet voice that dripped saccharine honey.

  Lifting my eyes, I curled up one side of my mouth in a smirk. “Challenge accepted.”

  Delighted by the glare, Seaton grinned back at me. “You know, Davenforth, I have the feeling we’ll be grand friends.”

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Seaton,” I retorted primly, enjoying the banter. “I haven’t decided whether I like you or not yet.”

  The city and all its criminals, of course, couldn’t rest for long. I’d barely left Seaton’s office before being tracked down by a beat cop and given the message that a scene needed my expertise. I’d also been assured that all of my tools had been taken to the site, so without further ado, I traveled directly there.

  I’d
almost wished they hadn’t been able to locate me.

  “Doctor Davenforth,” Detective Berghetta greeted with an outstretched hand. He looked only a little rumpled, no blood on him, which indicated he hadn’t been on scene for long. It would be impossible to stay in this alley without getting at least a little blood smeared somewhere.

  I accepted the handshake. “Berghetta. This looks ghastly.”

  “Between me and you, Doctor, it’s nigh on the worst I’ve seen.” Lowering his tone so that none of the other beat cops or technicians could hear him, he added, “And I’m frankly relieved I got you instead of Sanderson. I know what he’d say before he even steps foot on scene.”

  “ ‘Death by magical misadventure?’ ” I parroted with a slight roll of the eyes. “Yes, he does cater to that hypothesis more than he should. This, I think, would take more stupidity and magical hexes than most people could afford.”

  Berghetta grunted in agreement.

  I pulled out a pair of gloves, sliding my hands inside as I took a good look around. We were in the mouth of an alley that resided one block down from the docks, two blocks over from the red light district, and down the street from the most notorious gambling den in the city. Hardly the best part of the city. Still, even this place, saturated with crime though it may be, had likely never seen something of this ilk before.

  The alley was filthy, thick with refuse, rotting food, piss, vomit, and several other things that I didn’t want to identify. I looked carefully past it all but couldn’t ascertain where the victim might be. There was no body. Blood everywhere, splattering the ground, walls, enough to fill three people with, but I noted the distinct lack of corpses with a blink of surprise. “Has the victim already been carted off?”

  “No bodies,” Berghetta denied with a grimace. “Not even body parts.”

  I regarded him with considerable astonishment. “I now understand why you wanted me instead of Sanderson.”

  Berghetta spared me a grin, although it looked a little green around the edges. “I always want you instead of Sanderson, Doctor. But in this case especially, I want a real answer.”