Magic Outside the Box Read online

  The car jostled along the highway at a speed one could only describe as maniacally insane. I bounced a little on the springs of the seat, a death grip on both the door and the back ridge of the bucket seats, and stared at the speedometer with rising panic.

  How had she gotten the car to do fifty miles an hour?!

  I knew she was a speed demon, but even Jamie couldn’t surpass the mechanical restraints of an engine! How was she doing this?

  Cars whirled past us in a blur of color. More than a few horns sounded, mostly out of alarm. Jamie wasn’t anywhere close to them or in danger of collision. The wind whipped around us, scenting the car with freshly cut grass and sunshine, and it would have been a beautiful drive if I hadn’t been in fear of my life.

  Jamie was clearly enjoying herself, singing away at the top of her lungs: “The hills are alive with the sound of screaming~”

  I of course didn’t recognize the song, although the lyrics were unfortunately appropriate. I’d ask her about the song in its entirety later, assuming we survived the trip.

  Seaton sat right behind her, so he must have seen the speedometer as well. He leaned forward and put his mouth next to Jamie’s ear, raising his voice to be heard over the road noise. Even with the hard canopy top and windows, noise infiltrated the car, prohibiting casual conversation. “How are you doing fifty?!”

  Jamie called back without turning her head, “Ellie and I worked on the engine! This is a souped-up version!”

  Heavens preserve us, both women were going to get me killed with their tinkering. “Just because you CAN go that fast doesn’t mean you should!”

  “Look, Henri, I paid for the whole speedometer, so I’m going to use the whole speedometer.”

  The car skidded sideways, the roads slick from the rain we’d gotten last night. My heart, already trying to beat out of my chest, dropped into my stomach. I gave her a pleading look, begging her silently to not get us all killed.

  Either she realized I was a breath away from heart failure, or common sense belatedly snuck a word in. Either way, she slowed, the car going down to a saner thirty miles. (I use the word saner with the utmost sarcasm.)

  “The tires are definitely not gripping the road enough to continue,” Jamie noted to her terrified passengers. “We’ll have to work on the tires and suspension next. But I can tell Ellie the updates worked. We maintained that speed for a solid ten minutes.”

  And here it felt like ten years. I pried one finger loose at a time on each hand, pulling myself free of the death grip I’d maintained on the edge of the door. The dash and bucket seat offered nothing to cling to with their smooth surfaces. Clint had used his claws to maintain his position in the middle of the bucket seat, although he seemed to enjoy the speed.

  Seeing my shaking hands, Clint came over to curl up in my lap, his delicate paw stroking my chest in a “there, there” manner. Which was patently absurd. I refused to be comforted by that. He purred at me, the ridiculous creature, and I found myself petting him without making the conscious decision to do so. Which, of course, only made him purr louder.

  Seaton, still as unruffled as a clam, mentioned from the backseat, “I updated Queen Regina about our status. She’s pleased we’ve made such good time. She also said no one else but the local constables and doctor have gone in.”

  “I’ve barely been given the basics.” McSparrin’s voice lilted upwards in question.

  “We don’t have much more than that,” Seaton said darkly. “No more than what was reported to the queen, at any rate. Bit of a fluky over there at the moment.”

  “Bit of a what?” Jamie asked, baffled.

  Now that we were going slower, it was easier to hear, and I managed to respond without shouting. “A fluky. It’s a maritime term meaning a light wind that blows in every direction. It generally means there’s a great deal of activity but nothing actually getting done.”

  “Ah.” She gave me a nod of thanks for the definition. “I don’t expect much help from the local police. This isn’t their wheelhouse, and it’s basically up to us to solve this one.”

  “Is that why I’m here?” McSparrin asked.

  “In part,” Jamie allowed, a quick smile gracing her features. “In part because I thought you’d like more experience investigating murders.”

  “You’re right on both counts.” McSparrin sounded infinitely pleased.

  As she should be. It was always a boon when a more seasoned detective took a younger officer under their figurative wing. I didn’t have the knack for that sort of tutoring, nor the right personality for it, but Jamie excelled at it. It was a blessing she did so. Truly, her knowledge was far more advanced than our current civilization. I referred not only to her knowledge of technology, but of criminal science as well. Once her writing skills were up to speed, I hoped to encourage her to write a thesis on everything she knew.

  Sheffield lay far outside of Kingston, along the picturesque coastline that made up our eastern border. For the most part, we passed over flat country. Little better than moors, really. Poppies of all different colors covered the area, the road cutting a swath between the blooms, and it looked something like out of a painting. I found it a pity we were under a tight deadline and couldn’t stop and linger for a moment. It was the right setting and scenery for a picnic. Assuming one could withstand the heat.

  I saw signs of the recent storms that had razed the area as we got closer to the sea. What few trees grew in the area were upturned, their roots exposed to the sky. Two storms had hit within the past fortnight, the strong winds and tidal waves causing a great deal of havoc. “I read in the paper that a mother storm ravaged the coast recently. Did that hit Sheffield?”

  “Oh yes,” Seaton affirmed, and there was a sad note in his voice I couldn’t explain. “Sheffield didn’t take the brunt of it, but they were hard hit. Several trading ships were nearby, and they weren’t able to get into safe harbor before the storm was upon them. Burtchell saved three of them before they were dashed against the cliffs.”

  “Wait, our Burtchell? Royal Mage Burtchell?” McSparrin demanded.

  I twisted in my seat to see Seaton as well, just as surprised. I’d only caught part of the story in the newspaper. I’d not been aware of the connection to our victim.

  Seaton gave a sad smile. “Yes. I realize he was retired, but his magic was as strong as ever, and he specialized in transportation magic. We were all proud of his quick thinking. I imagine the inhabitants of Sheffield will take this very hard, as their local hero has been murdered.”

  This anecdote raised more questions in my mind. The man might have been retired before his death, but clearly not without his magical prowess. Who had managed to kill him?

  Jamie had little experience with this area of the country, so Seaton and I fell to navigating as we left the two-lane highway for the coastal road. It dipped and curved, the flat lands giving way to hills and sharp drop-offs to the left side, where the ocean crashed against the rocks. I thought about begging for my life, but fortunately my partner took even further pity and slowed down as she navigated the many winding curves of the road. I only thrice feared we’d fall into the ocean—rather better than I expected, with her behind the wheel.

  The scent of brine and water was strong indeed by the time Sheffield came into view. The houses stretched along the coast, then further up the hills in a splendid rainbow of colors. Shops lined the main thoroughfare, quaint signs declaring their businesses, everything from a seamstress to a variety of restaurants. One hotel we passed showed a vacancy sign and looked more than acceptable, its three-story height standing tall and pristine among the backdrop of blue ocean. We might put up there while investigating. I did see damage to some of the buildings: signs of windows being broken, roofs under repair, even one deck roped off from being half-collapsed. The town had not come through that wave of storms unscathed.

  “Looks like a pretty tourist town,” Jamie commented.

  “Yes, shame its image is spoiled by a gruesome
murder, isn’t it?” Seaton rejoined darkly. “Our plan, I take it, is to go straight to Burtchell’s house?”

  “I’d prefer to. I want to get an idea of what went down before we settle in here for the night.” Jamie cast a look skyward, lips pursed in contemplation.

  I did understand her concern. We were well into the afternoon at this juncture, leaving us precious little of the day left to work in. My stomach protested the absence of a midday repast. I consoled it with a pat and a promise of dessert after dinner. “Let’s at least take a look at it, set Weber on the corpse and get his take on matters, then we can find a hotel and dinner.”

  My colleagues murmured agreements, no one objecting. Excellent.

  Queen Regina had given us the house number, so we knew where to go. Not knowing the town so precisely, we did have to stop for directions, but Burtchell’s house wasn’t far from the main road. A little further up in the hills, it was a very nice bungalow overlooking the sea. I could see the appeal of retiring here. Or could, if the town had possessed more than four restaurants and a bookshop.

  An officer stood outside the bungalow, waiting and guarding the place. He was a half-elf who appeared to be middle-aged, his greying mustache thick enough to cover his mouth. I could just detect his heritage in the pointed ears and the darker, ebony tone of his skin. The hat on his head sat low, obscuring his eyes, but he doffed it as we pulled into the gravel driveway. Stepping off the narrow porch, he gave us a greeting—and a doubletake at seeing two female officers. It was a rare thing, granted, and I hoped him not the type to discriminate unduly because of gender. I’d rather not scrape him off the ground after Jamie got through with him.

  He visibly hesitated, not sure who to approach, then his eyes lit on Seaton with something like relief. Seaton’s appearance was unmistakable. He dressed flamboyantly even in this weather. “RM Seaton?”

  “That’s me,” Seaton answered forthrightly, coming forward with a hand outstretched. “Who might you be?”

  “Constable Parmenter, sir. Thank you for coming so promptly. I don’t mind telling you, this isn’t something we want our noses in. Smacks of magic, it does.”

  My attention sharpened on him. I didn’t always harken to such opinions, as the uneducated masses often attributed anything strange to magic. To them, no other explanation existed. Officers of the law, however, were educated in the broader sense of what magic could do. They were more likely to give credit where it was due.

  “Constable, I am Doctor Henri Davenforth, Magical Examiner. This is my colleague, Detective Jamie Edwards—”

  His deep-set eyes widened in recognition and he might have uttered a strangled, “Cor,” although it was hard to tell.

  “—and Officer Penny McSparrin,” I finished somewhat wryly. Of course he recognized Jamie. Few officers did not. “Do you mind explaining your comment just now? What makes you think this ‘smacks of magic’?”

  To his credit, Parmenter recovered his composure promptly. “Pleasure to meet you all. Why don’t you come inside, Doctor, and I’ll walk you through it. See what you make of it.”

  That was fair enough, and in truth, what I preferred. I wanted to make my own judgements without his opinions clouding me. “Very well. Give me one moment.”

  I fetched my magical spectacles and a wand, wishing to not bumble into anything unduly. With those at the ready, Constable Parmenter led the way to the front door, narrating the scene as he went in a scratchy baritone. We all gathered close on his heels, Jamie with a notebook in hand, her pencil dancing along the page.

  “—at the doctor’s clinic, you say? Where exactly is that?”

  “Ah, he’s in town, on the main strip, across from the train station.”

  Seaton already had his texting pad out and wrote the direction down. I caught a glimpse of the recipient as I came to stand next to him. Of course. Weber. The coroner was behind us, thanks to Jamie’s insane driving, and he wouldn’t know where to go. Fortunately, Weber had a pad on him. He’d not need to needlessly stop at the station to get directions.

  Parmenter seemed quite intrigued by the pad, but he asked no questions. He waited until Seaton was done, made sure he had all of our attention, then cleared his throat. “It’s like this, sirs, ladies,” Parmenter said as he gestured toward the door. “It was the housekeeper as found him. She came in at seven sharp, she says, and the door was locked. Had to let herself in with a key.”

  “Was that typical?” Jamie interrupted.

  He blinked at her quite blankly. “I don’t know, ma’am. She didn’t think it odd, not when she was recounting herself to me.”

  That answer did not satisfy my partner, I could see that clearly. No doubt she’d ask that question again later. “Continue, Constable.”

  “Anyway, she comes in through the front, and finds the milk and cream sitting just inside. That she did find odd, what with the outer door being locked. But she gathered that up” —as he spoke, he pushed the front door open so we could see the vestibule inside— “and walked through here.”

  The vestibule was not large, more a tiled entryway with a single chair and a rack for shoes off to one side. It was a practical arrangement, a way for people to shed outerwear before entering into the house, and nothing more. I gestured to the door on the opposite side. “Was that also locked?”

  “It was, sir. She said she opened it with a key as well, then went in, delivering the bottles of milk and cream to the kitchen. She then went for the front parlor, hoping to tidy it up before her employer woke and asked for breakfast.”

  We stepped through the second door and I took a moment to get my bearings. There was a cozy dining nook off to the left, the glimpse of a kitchen beyond it with a half-open door. To the right was the front parlor, with its semi-stiff furniture, knick-knacks on the mantel above a cold fireplace, and polished wood floors. It did look as if someone had been there the night before, as ashtrays with half-stubbed out cigarettes and one cigar littered the side tables.

  “It was as she was moving towards the parlor that she saw something strange.” Parmenter gestured to the open doorway further ahead, past the parlor. “She said she caught a glimpse of a man in the mirror. Not expecting her employer up this early, she went through to see who it was.”

  I could see how she might have caught a glimpse, as he put it. The mirror hung on the far wall, facing the doorway. I followed the constable through the door once more and into a private study. This space had the air of daily use. The back wall was covered completely in shelving, with every imaginable color and size of book on display. A desk sat off to the left, facing the window. Two chairs sat to the right, both matching red brocade, one in the middle of the room and the other in the corner.

  “She found RM Burtchell in the corner chair,” Parmenter relayed with a grimace on his wide face. “He had a hole dead center of his forehead, a letter in his hand. She went immediately for us, and we came up as quick as we dared. Doctor Avery—he’s the only one in thirty miles of the town—did us the favor of carting him to his clinic. Said there wasn’t anything to do for the poor blighter, but thought it better the body sit in a cold space while we waited on you.”

  “We appreciate his help,” Seaton assured the constable. The man seemed in need of the reassurance as his worry eased. “Were you first on scene?”

  “Yes, sir, I was.”

  “You said he had a letter in hand?” Jamie prompted, still taking notes in a quick hand. “Where is it?”

  “On his desk, ma’am.” Parmenter seemed a little in awe of my partner. Or perhaps in fear of her. He couldn’t make himself meet her eyes, choosing instead to focus on anything else. “There were two pages in his hand; the other three had fallen to the ground.”

  “So he was reading the letter when he was killed.” She tapped her pencil to her mouth, thinking hard.

  As she fetched the letter from the desk, McSparrin pointed to the chair in the middle of the room. “That doesn’t look like it normally sits there. It’s an odd pl
acement, to be right in the middle of the room like that.”

  It was an excellent point, and one I’d been on the verge of making myself. “Quite so. I would imagine it would sit on the other side of the windows, flanking its twin. This placement suggests he had a guest, someone who had drawn the chair up to face him as they conversed.”

  “Someone he had to be very comfortable with, to open his mail in front of.” McSparrin made her own notes, her cornflower blue eyes narrowed in thought.

  “Constable.” Seaton looked steadily around the room, his nose flaring like a hunting dog’s. “You said you suspected magic. There’s a great deal of it here, not unexpectedly, but I’m not sensing anything in particular that would incline me to believe magic was used in this case.”

  “It’s not so much that, sir, as the wound. There’s a large hole in RM Burtchell’s head, but we’ve no bullet casing or even a gun on site,” Parmenter explained. “We looked about the yard as well, but there’s no weapon to be found that would match the wound.”

  Ah. Now that made more sense of his assumption. It also made it clear what we needed to do first. “Seaton, if you’ll do a seeking spell for the murder weapon? I wish to examine those two doors, see if someone locked it magically behind them.”

  He agreed with a single nod. I turned on my heel and went back to the front doors, using a diagnostic spell on both interior and exterior locks. There was a great deal of magic prevalent in the house which, really, wasn’t unexpected. A magician of his caliber would naturally use magic throughout his day, and that had permeated into the very walls of this house. That didn’t even take into consideration the warding spell over the house. Still, I could find no sign the locks had been magically manipulated.

  Jamie drifted up to stand behind me, watching curiously. “How is it?”

  “I cannot detect any forced entry on this door. Nor any magical manipulation of it.”

  “I just took a quick look around the bottom floor. There’s no other door.”

  I found that odd and straightened to give her a look askance. “Wouldn’t there normally be a back door?”