Magic and the Shinigami Detective Page 12

  She glanced up from the stirring, saw where my attention lay, then confirmed easily, “That’s right. Sherard arranged it for me. He pulled my memories up into a looking glass, then commissioned an artist to paint a portrait for me. It’s quite good, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” I agreed without a qualm as the brushwork and detail were exquisitely done. This Sherard person she kept mentioning certainly seemed to have all the right connections. “I wasn’t aware that you had a sister.”

  “I do,” she answered with a quick smile that only had a trace of sadness to it. “You and I are alike in that regard—we’re both the younger sibling. Carolyn is three years older.”

  Sherard was indeed kind to arrange this for her, so that she had at least something from her family here, even if it was a reproduction. “You two look remarkably alike.”

  “Almost twins,” she confirmed. “Although only in looks. She’s not a fighter, like me. I got into a lot of confrontations growing up. Here, want to try a bite?”

  Sensing she wanted to move onto a different topic, I nodded and accepted the fork she handed me. It was nothing more than a thin slice of beef with pepper, so I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Then the first wave of spices hit, a delicate blend that wasn’t hot, but awakened the taste buds. An unconscious smile lit my face.

  “Thought you’d like that,” she said with a knowing look. Reaching around, she pulled a tray from the oven, a stack of very thin, round pieces of bread. Was that supposed to be bread? “Here, we’re done. Grab a plate and serve yourself.”

  I eyed the skillet with its offerings, and the neighboring pan, and the pile of bread-like round things, and asked her seriously, “Why don’t you serve yourself and I’ll eat everything left over?”

  It was a universal truth, apparently, that the surest way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. Henri was a foodie, true, but it hadn’t even been a challenge to make friends with him. Leaving the door open while cooking was a stroke of genius on my part. With a nose that sensitive, he’ll show up at my doorstep like a hungry bloodhound every time.

  Where had my erstwhile partner gotten off to? We had an appointment with the professor who had led the tour group, then another with Ellie Warner afterwards. According to my calculations, if we didn’t leave within the next ten minutes, we would be late for the first one. I detested being late.

  I went to her desk first, but failed to find her there, and then realized I didn’t know enough of her habits to guess where she might be. I went to the front desk, where Officer Penny McSparrin sat. In between handling domestic cases, she manned the front, as the girl possessed a sunny disposition that set people at ease. It must be her manner, as she didn’t have any astounding beauty to her and appeared to be nothing more than what she was: a country girl who had moved into the city four years previously. Even her uniform couldn’t disguise the freckles, the lingering tan, or the bleached streaks of blond in her hair. She looked up when I approached and greeted me with an easy smile. “Doctor. Something I can help you with?”

  “Officer McSparrin,” I responded, as I always did, because she seemed to appreciate the formality. Every other officer in the precinct called her Penny, whether as intended slight or not, I couldn’t determine. But this casual disregard for propriety set my teeth on edge, and I knew McSparrin didn’t care for it either. “I wonder if you have seen Detective Edwards?”

  “Not more than fifteen minutes ago,” she confirmed, inclining her head to indicate the row of conference rooms off to the left. “She went in with a tall looking bloke, rather fancy dressed in that way, if’n you take my meaning.”

  Ah? ‘That’ way could refer to a man who preferred to dress as a woman or simply someone who had a preference for the theatrical manner. From the heavy way she stated it, I assumed the former. I couldn’t imagine why someone of that nature would come to Edwards unless it was case related. “Trouble?”

  “Didn’t appear to be, sir,” McSparrin denied with a single shake of the head. “He greeted her all friendly like, and she smiled on seeing him. Looked like friends to me.”

  Now that was interesting. Edwards had friends from all walks of life, or at least, I’d gathered that impression from the stories she told me and the people that she knew. It didn’t surprise me that she had no qualms with associating with the differently inclined, shall we say, but why meet here?

  “Speak of the devil,” McSparrin intoned in a lower voice.

  I turned to see a man exit the middle room, rakishly tall and good looking in that dark, swarthy way that women appreciated. My teeth nearly fell out of my head as I knew precisely who it was. Royal Mage Sherard Seaton paused in the doorway and said pleasantly into the room, “I’ll see you later, then. Keep me updated, this case of yours sounds fascinating.”

  I couldn’t quite catch the response, but I recognized the voice well enough as Edwards’.

  My mind mentally scrambled to make the connections. Edwards had said she met a Royal Mage the very day she escaped from Belladonna. She also stated that she had to stay with a Royal Mage for several months to stabilize her system before she could start to build a life on this world. She’d mentioned a ‘Sherard’ several times, but as it’s a fairly common name, I hadn’t made the connection. Sherard Seaton. This entire time she’d been referring to Royal Mage Sherard Seaton.

  ‘Friends in high places’ indeed.

  I could see why McSparrin thought him of that inclination, as he did carry some of the affectations. I would swear he wore eyeliner, and the red coat he had on did a dramatic flair with every turn he made. It looked more costume than anything to my eyes. Still, I felt his power as he walked past me, giving us both a courteous nod of acknowledgement as he passed.

  “You know the gentleman, sir?” McSparrin asked in a tone that indicated she knew I did.

  “That, Officer McSparrin,” I turned to watch his back as he left the building, “is Royal Mage Sherard Seaton.”

  “Cor, you don’t say.” She popped over the desk, belly flat on the surface, to get a last glance at him. “Well, isn’t that something?”

  ‘Something’ indeed.

  Edwards joined us, a pep in her step that wasn’t there before. I saw instantly why. Her core looked far more stable than it had this morning, and it won no prizes to guess who had renewed the stasis spell on her. Sherard Seaton made house calls?

  I looked at this woman with entirely new eyes, no longer sure what to make of her.

  “That’s quite the funny look on your face, Davenforth,” Edwards greeted with an uncaring smile. “I told you I had friends in high places, didn’t I?”

  “I believe, my dear detective, that you take great delight in delivering cryptic statements to me and then, when I realize what you meant, chortling at my reaction.” I leveled the accusation in a mock-severe tone, doing my best to keep a straight face.

  With an unrepentant grin, she shrugged. “Maaaybe. Well, shall we go question a professor?”

  I wasn’t to get any other explanation for Seaton’s presence here than the evidence presented by my own eyes? Somehow that didn’t surprise me. Edwards tended to play some things close to the chest. I mentally shelved my questions for a later time, when I could ask without appearing to be prying. “Indeed, let’s do so.”

  The interview with Professor Baring shed barely any light on the mystery. He recognized the woman in the sketch, giving us a name to go with the mystery woman: Eda Robbins. As it surely was a pseudonym, it hardly helped us, but at least we knew how to refer to her now.

  I had much higher hopes for the next interview with the Artificers’ Guildmaster. Edwards’ description of Ellie Warner as a ‘firecracker’ was spot on. The woman had the size and looks of a woodland fae—short figure, fiery red hair, an upturned nose and animated gestures that threatened to take out unwary passersby. We came into her workshop, sparks literally flying under the woman’s hands as she dodged away from the worktable. My hand shot to my pocket, ready to throw a water spel
l on the area to prevent a fire, when I noticed the wards up preventing any fire from spreading past that table. Most of the room seemed designed for such an eventuality, as if each half-constructed invention sitting about on the various tables could combust at any time.

  “Still working on that electric stove, I see,” Edwards greeted, not at all worried about the random sparks or the smell of burning metal.

  “I will make this work or die trying,” Warner swore, slapping at the sparks with a leather glove, putting the last of it out. “Not for anyone else’s sake, but my own. I want consistent heat when I cook, sod it. Now, who’s this fellow following you?”

  Fellow? I’d never been described as such.

  “Doctor Henri Davenforth,” Edwards introduced with a wave of the hand between us. “Magical Examiner. Works with me at the Fourth Precinct. Davenforth, Guildmaster Ellie Warner.”

  I offered a hand, which Warner took in a firm grip. “Pleasure, Guildmaster.”

  “I feel like I know you,” Warner responded as she dropped my hand, eyes narrowing. “Not that we’ve met, but that I know of you. Davenforth, Davenforth…any relation to Mark Davenforth?”

  She was not the first to ask that question. Mark Davenforth was a politician who held considerable esteem in the community and people mistakenly thought us related on a regular basis. “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “That’s not it, then.” She shrugged, expression stating it wasn’t important. “Well, I’m always glad to see you, Jamie, but you normally don’t visit during the work day.”

  “This is actually an official call,” Edwards answered, an anticipatory gleam in her eye. “I have a puzzle for you.”

  Warner’s attention sharpened, her ears visibly perking. “Do tell.”

  I pulled out my notes and the journal recording all of the power levels and handed them over even as I explained what it was we wanted her help with. She listened to every word, not interrupting, then flipped open the journal and started scanning through it all quickly.

  Edwards seemed accustomed to this reaction and she went about fetching stools for us to sit on, which I did, as we could be here for some time.

  For several moments, Warner went through all of my notes, including the last page which listed out several theories I had. Then she paused, hand flat on the page, and gave me another searching look. “Now I know you. You’re the chap that invented the interlocking wards a week back.”

  “That’s me,” I admitted easily.

  “Genius, those are. Someone ran them past me, to see how effective they were, and I liked the design. Very strong, very capable, and crafted in such a way they bolster each section in case of damage. I’d use them myself if I had more than one building to protect.”

  A faint blush stained my skin at this flattery and I strove not to show how much her praise pleased me. “That is the drawback of the design. It only works if you have two or more focal points.”

  “I’m tempted to build a pillar in the back to be able to use the design.” Warner turned back to the notes, brow gathering up into a creased frown. “I see why you approached me, though, as this is rather outside your field.”

  I took no offense and agreed equably, “It is. Edwards hit upon the idea that you might be able to tell us how to design a machine to do something along these lines. We’re fairly certain at this stage that a machine is responsible.”

  “I can see why.” Putting the books down, Warner twisted to reach the table behind her, snagging a sketchbook and pencil, along with a ruler before turning back. “Not many can ghost-wrangle, even though a ludicrous amount of people claim they can, and the ones with the real talent would never stoop to thievery. No need, they can name their price for any job. It would have to be a machine, something with a spiritual focus. It wouldn’t be elaborate, either. Can’t be, actually. Something like that, it works more like a trap, and the best you can do is release the spirit while pointing it in a general direction.”

  She’d done nothing but listen to my account, read my notes and theories, and already a design had occurred to her? Warner was a credit to her field. She certainly lived up to her reputation.

  “What’s the radius for the energy field?” Warner asked, hands still flying as she went between my notes and the sketch.

  “I’m not sure, it has fully dissipated both times before we arrived on scene.”

  Warner stopped for a split second, a hesitation just long enough to catch my attention before she visibly relaxed her shoulders and kept working. “Oh? That short of a time?”

  Something about her reaction made me think, demanded that I stop and question every facet of this case. What had made her pause? I fell silent as Edwards picked up the conversation and gave the information Warner needed.

  It took me an embarrassingly long moment to realize what Warner must have cottoned on to. The spectral energy. The radius for the energy, the residual dissipation of it. Would it be enough to disrupt Edwards’ core?

  I carefully kept my eyes trained dead ahead, fighting the instinct to look at Edwards, to keep my budding alarm to myself. Spectral energy could tear through wards on a building, strong defenses meant to keep invaders out. What would it do to her core, already fighting to be stable? Constantly in flux, ready to break through the stasis spell containing it. Would it be like a knife through butter? Or worse than that?

  Warner kicked my foot under the table, jerking me back into the present. I jumped a little and then strove to hide the reaction by shifting in my seat, crossing one leg over another. It must have worked, as Edwards didn’t seem to catch on to the exchange.

  “You say the design is simple,” Edwards leaned forward to get a look as Warner quickly sketched it out, “but how simple is it to build?”

  “Not very. You’d need a skilled craftsman who’s a bit touched in the head to build this. I know quite a few that fit that description, unfortunately. Most tricky, really, is the parts for this. The metal has to be sagardian, or at least be a sagardian alloy, in order to hold anything spiritually based. The focus is likely a crystal, or a patch of soil from the ghost’s territory, which again is tricky to obtain. I can give you a list off the top of my head of some likely places, but I don’t know much about spirits. Not compared to the experts.”

  “I’ll do my own research there,” Edwards assured her. “Go back to that alloy. Sagardian, you say? How difficult is that to get your hands on?”

  “Not difficult, but it’s not cheap,” Warner answered, her eyes never leaving the design under her hands. She turned the book to get a different angle, pencil and ruler flying.

  “How much demand is there for it?”

  “If you’re in the business of spirits I imagine you use something made of sagardian ore quite often.”

  I followed Edwards’ line of thought quite easily. “You think that you’ll get a lead on our thieves by tracking down the sagardian metal.”

  “There’s a good chance.” Edwards had her own notebook out, jotting down information, but paused to answer me. “Think about it. If the spirit-wrangling community needs this stuff, then they likely have their own sources to get it, and those merchants are used to dealing with them. They’ll remark on anyone new, perhaps remember them. If it takes this metal to make their little device, it means that they didn’t have the means yet to steal the metal, so they likely purchased it.”

  “You’re assuming these stores all have anti-theft wards around them,” I corrected. “Some of them might not.”

  “True, but if so, that means they did have a theft and that will be even easier to track down. Any information right now helps me.”

  I couldn’t fault her logic. What we lacked more than anything else at this juncture was data. The more data we had to crunch, the more possibilities of catching our thieves.

  Warner frowned down at my notes. “I don’t like these two points you made. They stole a magical kris and a patch of Raskovnik? You realize what they’re likely making?”

  “A Sink,”
I confirmed grimly. I didn’t even like saying the words. “And yes, we realize that means they likely have another, larger target. Something with powerful wards for them to get through. Right now, we don’t have enough information to even guess what their target would be.”

  “Wondering about this will give me nightmares,” Warner grumbled, her hands returning to the design.

  “Should I give you something else for your mind to focus on?” Edwards inquired with a hint of mischief in her eyes.

  Warner paused, eyes darting up to the other woman’s face. “I knew it! You’ve been holding out on me.”

  “Holding out on you?” Edwards pressed a hand innocently to her chest, eyes wide with contrived hurt. “Would I do that?”

  “In a heartbeat, you faker.” Warner snorted. “Alright, out with it, what have you thought up this time? Is it something I can build?”

  “I think so, yes.” Edwards appealed to me, using my presence like some sort of impartial buffer. “I try to tell her things I think she can actually build, but the woman seems determined to mine my brain for every possible invention. For my thoughtfulness, I get abused. I ask you, is this fair?”

  “Shut up and tell me,” Warner demanded, already flipping over a page in her sketchbook, ready to take notes.

  Edwards gave her quite the look for that. “Hard to do both at the same time, my dear friend.”

  “Just tell me, you tosser!”

  “Such language,” Edwards reproved, grinning like a demented Jack o’lantern. “Might I get a drum roll please?”

  This question made no sense to me, but Warner immediately picked up a second pencil and rattled off a quick staccato against the edge of the table.

  Inclining her head in thanks, Edwards intoned in grand, rolling syllables, “Traffic lights.”