The Dark Magician, Part 1

Walking down the streets of Lisrael wasn’t usually dangerous -not under the light of day. But, at sunset somethings stirs in the city, it seeps into the air and the souls who are walking about. Fear blooms in the hearts of the populace. But still, I can’t let myself be afraid. If I falter, I may as well go back to being a pencil pusher instead of a detective. I had to take a breath as I worked my way through the labyrinthine streets of the Iron District, named after the once thriving factories that produced iron bars and beams to support the growing city. The area is home to indie coffee shops and second-hand thrift stores -with small boutiques of varying quality dotting the street. In the daytime, there would be vendors peddling flowers, hand-made trinkets, anything they could convince a tourist was unique to Lisrael. At this time of night, there were a handful of stores still open, mostly restaurants and bars but the occasional boutique was still up and running as well. Turning another corner, I saw warehouses on both sides of the road. Years ago, after the Iron District became more hipster than working class, the warehouses were gutted and the inside was repurposed to be ‘unique’ apartments and co-op living spaces. Some had walls built in, others had artisans drape room dividers from the sixty foot ceilings, leaving each space to be custom built inside. ‘Likely, they have security cameras. Maybe they caught something.’ I made a mental note to check on it later.

Soon, I passed the monstrous warehouses and again looked at a winding street. This time, however, I saw what I was looking for. The streets were lined with jewelry stores and high-end clothing shops. One of which, a jewelry store, was lit up. Looking at it, anyone could tell why. This particular store was a standalone shop, and aside from the yellow crime scene tape and lit up cop cars surrounding the entrance, the outside was decadent. The sign above the store wasn’t lit but in scrawling letters I could read ‘Mesmeria’. The outer walls were a layered gray-black-white set of bricks, with windows going up nearly ten feet -nearly to the sign itself. Looking at it, I noticed that it appeared to be the only standalone store on the street. There was an alley on each side of the building, narrow -not quite big enough for deliveries but any average person could definitely get through without issues. Continuing on, I lifted the crime scene tape and walked up to the front door. A uniformed man held up a hand to stop me but, when I pulled out my wallet and showed my badge, put down his hand and nodded me along.

As I stepped into the store, I was mindful not to disturb the broken glass that was scattered around the floor. After scanning the few officers that were still inside and the techs collecting evidence, I spotted a grim faced woman. She had he hair pulled back and was in a dark purple suit jacket with gray slacks and dark blouse. She nodded at me when we made eye contact and waved me over. Carefully, I made my way over to her.

“Lorna.” I grunted, “What have we got?”

Looking around, Lorna pointed with her pen as she spoke, “All four security cameras in the store went offline about two hours ago. They were offline for ten minutes. When they turned back on the perp was gone -and so was all the jewelry in the shattered cases.”

I took a moment, scanning the store. But it wasn’t right. I started to prowl by the cases again. No matter how I looked at it, it just wasn’t right. This wasn’t a normal robbery -sure they’d taken the normal things: diamond necklaces, gold wedding bands. Anything with gold at all. I went by each case, prodding the glass jewelry cases with a gloved hand. I realized there wasn’t a single mark on any of the cases that solely contained silver. As I looked closer, the cases that were cracked open -shattered really, weren’t empty. The silver pieces remained, whether they were diamond or mixed with gold. Nothing silver had been taken.

That was the moment I heard it, the slow, measured footsteps of someone trying to go undetected. Sure, there were other noises too, the snapping sound of the crime photographers camera, my partner questioning the store owner, the sound of glass crunching under my feet, even the buzz of the LEDs could be heard. But those sounds were normal. They were expected. They were mundane. The footsteps echoed with magic. The ringing in my ears meant to erase their existence. Slowly, I turned on my heel, making out as if another case had caught my attention. If I moved too fast in the wrong direction, the footsteps may quicken and they may just get away. If I brought too much attention, if the steps didn’t speed up, if I accidentally made eye contact, whoever it was would appear before the whole of the department. And then there would be questions. Questions I didn’t want asked.

I moved naturally, first going to another shattered case, then another, and soon I was at one that faced the footsteps. And while no one around me could see it, there was someone there, someone hidden from the eyes of mundane men. They walked without a care, unable to feel my gaze as I looked through the magic to size them up. Most noticeably, they held a duffel bag that looked as heavy as it was full, the fabric stretched, straining the zipper. Best guess, they were a man based on the stature -but their coat was stiff and it obstructed their abdomen, and their face was obscured. It was as if the skin was shadow rather than flesh and blood. Likely the cantrip Hiem, if their use of Klarala was any indication of their skill. 

It wasn’t a complicated spell, really. It only required a little power, no more than a light bulb -if I were to compare it. But it was rather weak, and could be easily dispelled. Klarala wasn’t a true invisibility spell. It was more like a ‘going unnoticed spell’, so if anyone knew what to look for they would see right through it. Among other weaknesses -like silver. Pure silver dispelled most low-tier magic. Which means they couldn’t cast anything stronger than silver. And really, it wasn’t that hard to cast magic stronger than silver.

I wondered, briefly, if I were to follow the man outside, if I were to bind him, if I were to bring him to justice then and there, would I get away with it? More likely, there would be more questions than answers I could give. And Lorna already asked too many questions. If I slipped away from a crime scene now, without an explanation, my gun drawn, she would ask me about it. Where did you go? What did you see? Why did you go without me? I could hear her questions in my head, and when I couldn’t answer she would go to the sergeant and say just that. And sure, I could just spell her memory to where she didn’t see any of that -but I really didn’t want to meddle in memories. If I did that, I’d have to rearrange every detail, not just the ones related to me. Because, of course, she would have other thoughts in her head that were in process whenever she noticed me slipping away. And when those overlapped with her memory of me, the connections would blend -as the connections blended between all memories. And I could very well pull a thread that didn’t end until the morning of. Lorna would definitely notice if she couldn’t remember breakfast, or lunch, or clocking in, or being called out to a jewelry store. And, to be frank, it just wasn’t worth the work. I don’t even like meddling with minds and a spell as intricate as that had a price. This robber wasn’t worth the cost.

Whoever he was, he had so little control over his magic that he was leaving it behind -quite obnoxiously so. The longer I was in the shop the more the stink of magic forced itself on me. I was getting a headache from the acrid smell of this guy’s magic. Uncontrolled, unrefined, it wasn’t even settled on a sense. Some witches refined it into sage or thyme, the occasional wizard would meld it into vanilla or lavender -but no one leaves magic raw. Raw magic screams inexperience.

I watched as the man continued on, slipping into the back, the light jingle of the door ignored -though that was more due to the general hustle of the scene rather than the power of Klarala. For a second, I found myself wondering who had taught this mystery thief. But I didn’t really care -it couldn’t have been anyone good. First of all, they wouldn’t teach such fragile spells. Second of all, even if they did only teach shitty little spells, that would mean the man was an apprentice. And apprentices are basically personal assistants who rarely have time to sleep -let alone rob jewelry stores at 9 PM on a Tuesday.

Once I no longer felt his presence, I went back to looking around the room -this time tracking his magic. It was easy enough once I knew the magic in the shop was related to the crime. I scanned each area where the man had been again, beckoning over a crime tech to bag or photograph whatever evidence I could find -a single strand of hair fallen onto a silver ring, a fingerprint on the wall by one of the security cameras, an area where the shattered glass had fallen around a silhouette. It wasn’t much. While there was magic around each, it didn’t mean they necessarily belonged to the man. It could have been a rogue tendril of magic shooting off, or maybe even a customer was a Wielder. Nonetheless, anything I found pungent magic clinging to I sent to the evidence locker.  

To find anything more I’d have to cast tracking magic. And that meant not only opening my mind to foreign magic, but opening my magic to everything else around me. A perceptive officer might even pick up on the change, but any magician within a mile would feel me release a surge of power. The other districts already complained to me anytime they had a trifle -and I don’t need the Iron District sending me any more minor magical inconveniences. Plus, I’d rather not have anyone on my team suspecting me of heresy.

Looking back to Lorna, she was still questioning the owner. Probably nothing worth my time -Lorna would have called me over if he had any hard details, anything small she’d just fill me in on back at the station. My real concern was when I would catch this guy. Racking my brain through timelines, I swore. If I caught him too early, it could be suspect. But, if I didn’t catch him fast enough that had its own set of consequences. Too long, not only will I lose the bet but I’ll have a flock of other wielders hunting me down to complain about the smell. I halfway feel as if I made a mistake when I made my presence known to the other districts. I might not be in some magical phone book, but all it takes is for someone to slip my name into a protective ward and they’ll be able to track me down.

Fuck. If it takes me more than a week, I’m screwed. I could hear Lorna gloating already.

Maybe, if I collected enough evidence today, I could get labs back by next week. If I brought Sydney coffee tomorrow morning, probably sooner. Bribing a tech to put my case first is totally legal. Probably.

<Part Two>