Thaumatology 101 (13 page)

A bored-looking assistant glanced at her from behind a counter and then went back to reading a textbook on potion brewing. She was attractive, and dressed in a lot of black. Her hair was black as well, though unlike Ceri’s, hers was dyed. Her large, hoop earrings had pentagrams in them. Ceri hid her smirk in a smile and started through to the inner door. The front room was there for one purpose; it was a tourist trap. The cases around the walls displayed over-priced charms and amulets, and interesting looking trinkets, the kind of thing which the norms found irresistible. Baltzman could not stand tourists.

The inner door led onto a labyrinth of small and large rooms, staircases half-hidden behind screens, and bookcases. You more or less had to know what you were looking for and where to find it since there were no signs and it was very easy to get turned around and find yourself walking in circles. Her parents had said that the further up you went, the more esoteric, and potentially dangerous, the materials got. Ink-making supplies were, thankfully, considered among the least threatening of magical paraphernalia and she found them in the third room she got to.

She was going over the oil bottles, trying to find the brand her parents had used when she heard the voice from behind her. ‘May I be of assistance, young lady?’

Turning, she saw a man who had to be well into his seventies looking at her over wire-framed half-spectacles. Standing straight, he was probably almost her height, but he stooped and she found herself looking down to meet his grey eyes. Somehow, Baltzman did not look as terrifying as he had twelve years earlier. ‘Oh, yes Mr Baltzman. I’m doing some repair work on some enchantments and, well…’ She held up the oil bottle she had brought along.

Baltzman eyed the dried up gunk at the bottom of the bottle. ‘It takes years for that oil to dry up like that,’ he commented.

Ceri nodded. ‘Six,’ she confirmed. ‘I’d really like to use the same oil. It’s what my parents always used. They swore by it.’

He frowned. It was fairly clear he had assumed she was a norm who had got past the front room, but she seemed to know him and have some idea what she was doing. ‘Have we met, young lady? You appear to know me.’

Ceri grinned sheepishly. ‘I used to come here with my parents, but I haven’t been since I was twelve…’

He poked a wrinkled finger at her. ‘David and Marion Brent’s daughter… Ceridwyn?’ There was obviously nothing wrong with his memory. ‘I understood that you had… gone into the more mundane magical sciences.’

Ceri blushed a little. ‘I’m a norm,’ she said, and then amended. ‘I was a norm. I guess I was a late bloomer.’

Baltzman’s eyebrow raised, but he said, ‘That brand went out of business about three years ago.’ He stepped smoothly around her, reached up, and plucked a bottle from the shelves. ‘I think you’ll find this a suitable substitute.’

She bobbed her head, taking the bottle from him. ‘Thank you. I haven’t really done this before. I used to help Mum make ink up, but… it’s been a while.’

He looked her up and down, and nodded. ‘I think you’ll find it comes back to you. Your parents had an account with us. I’ll see that it’s transferred to your name. Have a good day, Miss Brent.’ He turned and ambled off deeper into the shop before she could reply.

Kennington

By the time Ceri was out in the garden with a pestle containing her ink and a newly cut quill made from an Eagle Owl’s feather, she had lost herself in her work and largely forgotten about Lily, or anything much else really. Time likely passed, but she did not notice as she carefully traced over the faded runes her father had drawn onto the wood of the arbour which formed the “gate” on the south side of the grounds.

There was no physical gate. The path appeared entirely open to anyone wishing to walk through, but no animals ever walked in, and anyone with ill intent trying to enter would be repelled. Well, they would if the enchantment was working properly. Currently, according to Twill, they were even getting the odd fox in through the fence.

Ceri was fairly sure she had done everything right. Dressing up in the old lab coat her mother had worn when working had not been necessary, but it had felt right; and it stopped the ink getting on her clothes. She had ground a couple of ounces of the pigment bar, made with Calendula and Elder to ward off evil, and then mixed in the oil, and ground again. A couple of iterations of oil and grinding, and she had her ink to the consistency she wanted, and all the while she had been charging the ink using the same mantra her mother had always used.

Twill had been watching the whole time, and the fairy gave a little nod of satisfaction when Ceri declared that the ink was ready. The fae’s approval had been appreciated. Somehow, Ceri felt, it was like her parents were there watching with pride as she mixed her first ink for real.

The final rune was low on the gatepost and she spent five minutes bent in half with her quill moving carefully over the badly worn surface. As she completed the final line, however, she was rewarded by a brief flare of light from all the runes on the arbour. It had worked! She had renewed the enchantment her parents had created. It was not quite as satisfying as creating one herself, but a lot of apprentice enchanters started out doing this kind of work.

She let out a slight groan as she straightened her back and sat up. ‘You need to work on your flexibility,’ Lily said from behind her.

Ceri turned, looking over her shoulder. The half-succubus was sitting on the scruffy grass beside the gravel path, dressed in one of Ceri’s large shirts. The arms were a little too long, but it was stretched
very
tightly across her chest. Her nipples were standing out as well. ‘I didn’t see you there,’ Ceri said, because she did not know what else to say.

‘I didn’t want to disturb you,’ Lily replied. ‘I’m not sure I could have if I’d wanted to. That was… very impressive.’

‘Huh,’ Ceri scoffed, self-deprecatingly, ‘I was just tracing over my father’s work.’

Lily shook her head. ‘I could
feel
the power coming off you,’ she said. ‘It made me…’ She did a slow, sensuous blink, shuddering slightly. ‘…tingle.’

Ceri swallowed. ‘W-well, just wait until I get started on the house runes.’

Lily’s smile was predatory. ‘Can’t wait,’ she said.

‘Uh, well, I have the corner posts to do,’ Ceri backpedalled, ‘a-and the front gate posts to look at. Probably tomorrow.’ She climbed to her feet to go to the back of the property, but stopped as Lily stood as well.

Lily closed the distance between them, looking like a big cat stalking prey. She smiled, showing her fangs and whispered, ‘Tease.’ Ceri’s breath stopped. But then the half-demon turned back toward the house. When she spoke again, her voice was normal Lily. ‘I’m going to get some breakfast. See you inside.’

Ceri let out the breath she was holding. Another couple of days, she could last another couple of days. Sure she could.

~~~

The front fence of High Tower was different from the high, cedar plank fence panels which formed most of the other three sides. Frameworks of wrought iron spikes held up on granite posts looked rather less secure than the cedar panels, but it fitted the “haunted house” concept much better, and the runes carved into the posts made sure that this fence was no less secure than the other ones.

The carvings were just as sharp as when Ceri’s father had cut them, but as she ran her fingers over the smooth stone she could sense that they needed to be charged up, re-energised. She still had ink, and that seemed like the simplest way, so she began carefully tracing along the bottom of each rune with her quill, starting from the right and working in, then going to the left extreme and working back to the iron gate in the middle.

So it was that she was on her knees beside the gatepost, carefully tracing the last rune when the man and woman in suits arrived at the gate. They looked down at the young woman with the short, black hair dressed in a white lab coat which was slightly too small and dotted with various stains, some of them fresh, and then looked at each other. ‘Miss Ceridwyn Brent?’ the man asked.

‘Moment,’ Ceri said, concentrating on the task of laying a fine line of ink along the bottom of the rune.

The man seemed to be about to speak again, but his friend raised a hand and he closed his mouth, looking grumpy. Ceri’s pen reached the end of the rune and she lifted it away with a slight sigh. Four runes on each post burned brilliantly for a second, and then a shimmering, pale orange wall rose up along the fence line, climbing to about eight feet and hanging there for a second before dissipating. The man stumbled backward, looking slightly shocked.

‘Sorry about that,’ Ceri said. ‘I couldn’t really stop in the middle. Yes, I’m Ceridwyn Brent. Who are you?’ Stood on the inside of her newly reinforced barrier enchantment, Ceri felt quite sure that these two could be assassins from Hell and she would be safe. That was likely a little over confident, but she figured she would at least have some time to run.

The woman reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a wallet, holding it open for Ceri to see. ‘Detective Sergeant Middleshaw,’ she said. ‘This is Detective Inspector Radcliff. We’re from the Greycoats.’

‘You’re here about Shane Walters?’ Ceri asked.

‘That’s right,’ Radcliff replied. ‘Can we come in, or do we get burned alive on the spot?’

Standing up, Ceri reached forward and opened the gate with a slight smile. ‘Enter my land without malice, detectives, leave it without hindrance.’

Middleshaw smiled back as she stepped through the gate, Radcliff looked as though he was expecting hellfire to pour down from the rooftop at any moment. If Ceri had to guess, while Radcliff was the senior officer, Middleshaw had the most experience of magic. The Greycoats were the branch of the Metropolitan Police Force which specialised in magical investigation. Originally part of Scotland Yard, they had been given their own building on nearby Greycoat Street, mostly because the norms wanted rid of them. There was, however, some movement between the Yard and the Greycoats, most commonly a norm detective moving over to provide the benefit of investigative experience to the more magically inclined detectives. Management and politicians tended to think the mixed teams were a good idea.

Closing the gate behind them, Ceri took a few quick steps to get ahead and led the way to the front doors. She had every confidence that Twill would have warned Lily of their guests, though she also had a slightly twisted wish that Lily would decide not to get dressed before they walked in.

‘Uh, it’s a lot less…’ Radcliff said as they walked into the hallway.

‘Haunted?’ Ceri suggested.

Radcliff nodded. ‘It’s a lot less haunted-looking on the inside.’ His hesitancy made him seem smaller somehow, but he was a tall man, easily six-feet in height and slim with it. It looked like there was a fair bit of muscle on his frame; the long, lean muscle that came from a regular, but light, fitness regimen. He would probably have been fairly good looking too, if he could have managed a smile. As it was the firm jaw, high-bridged nose, stark blue eyes, and the cropped black hair just made him look more grim.

‘I like it,’ Middleshaw said. ‘Your mother’s idea?’ Radcliffe’s partner was distinctly different; far shorter, but long in the leg, shoulder length, red hair, green eyes and a pale, freckled complexion. She also has a reasonable chest under that suit, topping off a slim body with wide hips. Her wide lips held a half-smile most of the time, unlike Radcliffe.

Somehow Ceri did not like that fact that the cops had been digging into her background. ‘Yes, it was, but I used to have awesome Halloween parties when I was a kid.’ She took off her lab coat and hung it up on a coat rack standing just inside the double doors. When she turned, Radcliff’s eyes shifted quickly away from her body to her face. She had kept her jeans on from her trip to Baltzman’s, but had taken off the shirt she had put on over the teddy; it simply did not fit properly under the lab coat. Now she was standing there in black jeans and a white teddy. Nothing showed, except her figure; Radcliff still looked a little hungry. Ceri looked up the stairs. ‘Up the stairs and to the right,’ she said. ‘We can talk in the study.’

With Middleshaw perched on the chaise longe and Radcliff standing beside her, Ceri rolled the desk chair out and sat down in front of them. ‘What can I help you with?’ she asked. ‘You had statements from everyone. I don’t really think there’s more to add.’

‘None of the statements indicated
why
Walters turned up on your doorstep and decided to kill you all,’ Radcliff said. Middleshaw sounded like a London girl, but Radcliff had a hint of a northern accent about him.

‘Because we don’t know,’ Ceri supplied.

‘That seems unlikely,’ the man replied. There was an accusation in his tone which Ceri did not like.

‘There are a couple of theories, but nothing which constitutes proof,’ Ceri said. Radcliff, she thought, did not like supernaturals, possibly magic in general. She wondered why he had joined the Greycoats. Both the detectives were looking expectantly at her. ‘He never liked me,’ she said. ‘I was the new hire, smarter than him, with a better grasp of the subject. When my work outshone his, he may have decided to remove the competition and revenge himself on Doctor Tennant. She didn’t exactly treat him that well.’

‘That seems unlikely too,’ Radcliff commented. ‘It was a rather public attack.’

‘That assumes he was all there,’ Ceri replied, ‘but I agree. The other possibility is that he had been sabotaging the experiments. When we cracked the problem, and got the results we wanted, he had to do something drastic.’

‘You’ve evidence that he was sabotaging Tennant’s work?’ Radcliff asked tightly.

Ceri shrugged. ‘Purely circumstantial. Some of the mistakes he made were a little too stupid. I had an odd dream after the accident which suggested he was responsible, but dreams are hardly admissible in court.’

Radcliff opened his mouth, but Middleshaw beat him to it. ‘Did anything seem odd about the attack?’ she asked.

Ceri laughed. ‘I don’t get attacked often enough to consider any of them normal, detective.’