It was just as she said: instant.
Detective Simms was rugged up in a thick coat, wide-brimmed hat and black scarf. It was the same outfit she wore all year round. Her yellow Reptilian eyes poked out from the dark material and, for a change, they weren’t filled with disdain and loathing. Instead, they were asking me for answers.
“Anything you’ve seen before?”
I looked down at the cold body and then back to her, still confused about the whole situation and why I’d been brought in to share my non-existent expertise.
“Why are you asking me?”
The Detective came in close.
“Fetch, we know what you’re doing.”
“Really? Could you tell me?”
“You’re looking for ways to bring the magic back.”
“I don’t know who’s been—”
“Shhh. We’ll talk about that another time. For now, I just want to know what kind of magic could have killed this guy in this way.”
There was no point arguing. Not here. And the answer was obvious: no kind of magic, because there is no magic and everybody knows that. But, since my role had been explained so clearly, it would have been rude for me not to play along.
First, I focused on the face. That’s where the story was being told. His mouth was open in two ways. First, at the front, the way you’d expect it to. Four teeth were missing. Two at the top and two at the bottom. The closest ones to the gap were all pushed back suggesting that the blast had gone into his mouth from the front. The second opening was through his cheek, jaw and even some of his neck. His lips were still together on the left side but the cheek was shredded, hanging open, and the back of his throat was a muddled mass of flesh.
Blood was splattered on the back wall like a celebration. A light spray covered all corners of the room but the reddest spot was right behind his head. There was blood on the table too. Less. Like he’d sneezed it out.
So, what happened?
I drew up a little mental checklist and tried to tick things off. Could it have been done with a weapon? Not a blade; the wound was too much of a mess. Anyone wielding a blunt weapon, like a baton or blackjack, would have brought it down on his head or the side of his face, not stabbed it through his mouth. Besides, it would have needed to be fired from a ballista to do this kind of damage.
I ran my mind through all the creatures I knew; those that had claws and talons, horns and tusks. I suppose it would be possible to strike quickly, so that your victim never saw it coming, but you’d need more than sharp fingernails to blow open a man’s face.
A projectile? There was no bolt or arrow to be seen and, again, it was too messy. Besides, if the person you’re drinking with pulls a crossbow out their pocket, you’d have to be tougher than a Dragon’s dentist not to let go of your cocktail glass.
I got inches away from the horror-show and saw that part of the victim’s collar was black and broken. Burned. On the table, between the blood and cutlery, there was a spattering of fine gray powder. Ash.
“Did either of them have a pipe?” I asked Simms.
“Can’t smoke in here. The host would have known.”
My list was getting frustratingly short. The only thing left was the impossible. So, I said the thing I knew they wanted me to say.
“Somebody summoned fire.”
Simms nodded to confirm that she’d come to the same conclusion, but her expression told me something else. She was shocked, yes. She was scared. But beneath all of that, she was excited. In her old, golden snake-eyes, I saw the giddy expectation of a young girl ready for adventure.
That terrified me more than anything.
“Let’s find somewhere quiet for a chat,” she said.
We went into another room, away from prying eyes and ears. Simms sat in a booth, I sat opposite, and Richie stood in the doorway to keep watch.
The Detective unwrapped her scarf and let it fall over her shoulders. Her lips were cracked. The bottom one was bleeding and she licked it with the tip of her forked tongue. Usually, Simms was rigid with authority and impatience. Today, she sat back in the booth and picked at the edge of the table as if she was waiting for an idea to fall into her head. Eventually, I was the one to get the conversation started.
“Who is he?”
Her head snapped up like I’d woken her out of a dream.
“Lance Niles,” she said. “New to the city. He’s been sniffing around town, buying up property and making friends. Nobody knows much about him but he has plenty of money and already owns a lot of land.”
That explained the jewelry on the corpse. Since the Coda, not many locals go around wearing polished stones or expensive suits.
“Any witnesses?”
“Only the host. Niles came in first. A few minutes later, a man joined him. He carried a cane and wore a bowler hat, black suit and thin mustache. They ordered drinks. The other man ordered a second. A few minutes later, the host heard a short, sharp explosion. When he came in, the scene was just like it is now, only fresher. The other guests say the same thing but with even less detail.”
The worst thing about the story was that it was almost normal. Six years ago, before the world got shot to shit, those events wouldn’t have seemed out of place. Two guys get into a drunken fight and one of them sets off a fireball in his friend’s face. It happened. But not in a place like this. Even back then, this club was for Humans. It was the last place you expected to see a bit of sorcery.
“What did the killer look like?” I asked.
“He had some facial scarring, apparently, but the staff can’t remember anything specific. No signs of magic: smooth ears, straight teeth, tight skin, flat shoulders, all his fingers in proportion. The staff here are trained to be discerning.”
“So, he was Human?”
“Or someone that could pass. Wizard or Lycum would have the most luck. After the explosion, he took off out the back door and nobody dared to follow. No idea which way he went, whether he had a horse, or if anyone was waiting outside. Niles made the reservation and had the membership so the killer never gave a name. We only know what he wore, and I doubt that it will get us very far.”
I nodded. It was nothing. Less than nothing. We were all picturing the outfit not the man underneath. Once he changed his clothes and had a shave, we’d be lost.
I finally had to ask the question that was tickling in my mind.
“Simms, why did you ask for me?”
She looked me over like I was the wrong food delivered to her table.
“Rumors move through Sunder like wildfire and you’re catching a lot of heat. Whispers about what you found in the library. Things you might know. You’re the new poster boy for magical mysteries.”
“And you believe that?”
Simms scoffed. “Fetch, if I thought you had real secrets, we wouldn’t be here. I’d have you tied up in interrogation with a hot poker between your balls. But if that story is on the streets, then people with rumors will find their way to your door. So, what have you heard?”
It was sound reasoning, I suppose, but a desperate move for a cynical detective like Simms.
“Nothing that would be helpful. Just misguided hope.”
“Anything that could be connected to this?” I shook my head. Simms didn’t seem surprised. “It was a long shot.”