Page 41 of A Subtle Scar
Detective Rice took out her notebook and scribbled her observations down as well. I was so glad to have near perfect recall, because all the note taking seemed tedious.
“Far be it from me to discount a theory, but let’s see where the evidence leads us,” the detective said. “Just so I’m understanding this right, there is magic in the rope, but you are saying that it is unusual and that—in your opinion—it wouldn’t have been a very good way to tighten or enforce any restraints?”
Chandler nodded. “That’s right. You saw how brittle it was.”
Rice wrote that down.
Chandler, meanwhile, had put his clipboard down, and I was glad to still be close to the table. He opened yet another paper bag, and I realized it was sealed with only a dab of magic now. Who knew humans had found so many practical uses for their magic when it seemed like most of the time, they did nothing better with it than attempting to seduce my boyfriend with foul herb magic.
Either way, what Chandler pulled out was a piece of paper, about palm-sized and showing signs of having been purposefully folded, like origami. It was also splattered with pink and brownish red, and I doubted that was berry jam.
“Oh, that is—”
“A puppet spell,” I said. “Ronny, have a look. That’s a puppet spell. When’s the last time you saw one of those?”
Ronny stepped closer. “So it is, indeed. Hmm. Prague? Or Salzburg. Women hadn’t really taken to heels at the time, and gentlemen’s shoes still had flair.”
“What? When’s that?” Detective Rice asked.
“At around 1700,” Chandler answered before I could. Well, who knew our boyfriend knew about heels? By Ronny’s puppy eyes, he was delighted by the revelation.
“I never heard the term puppet spell,” Madison said, leaning in.
“That’s because it’s known as a marionette binding here, but over in Europe, they still call it puppet spell a lot of the time. Envoûtement de poupée,” Chandler said, his accent crisp and smooth. “It’s strictly used for transporting dangerous criminals and in a few other instances where you need to restrain a person thoroughly,” he added to Detective Rice. “This was found in the victim’s throat or mouth, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” the detective said. “Are you telling me our victims have been made into dolls?”
Chandler examined the puppet spell, much like he had the piece of string. “That’s what it looks like. And to make these, it definitely takes a magic user.” He nodded, and I felt the magic in the spell, fresh, but humanly frail. “Yup, this hasn’t been strengthened by object use. Putting this in their throats is very old school. For prison transport, you’d use a necklace.”
The detective looked very unhappy about that, pinching the bridge of her nose and then rubbing her neck. “This is bad. This is a lot of bad press. Fuckity fuck.”
“On the positive, they are not a very competent magic user,” I said to the detective.
She gave me a withering look, and I tried a bright smile for her. That had worked for Sherry. It didn’t at all do anything for Detective Rice.
“Doesn’t help with the bad press whether they are ingenious or just bumbling about,” she said as our boyfriend went on with the paper bags.
Ronny was watching intently.
“Why is this bad press for you?” I asked, determined not to give up on having Detective Rice like me, especially since Lucy had specified she was important. Could I offer to buy her a drink after work? I glanced at Chandler. He might not like that. I might not like that, but monogamy was an illusion, so that wasn’t the problem. It was probably just the throbbing need to finally take Chandler. And the fact that Detective Rice was not Chandler.
“It’s not specifically bad press for me or the unit,” Detective Rice said.
Madison shifted from one foot to the other. “It’s bad press for all of us,” she said.
I lifted my eyebrows. “Doctors?”
Madison slapped my arm playfully. Hmm. At least I was winning someone over. “Magic users, you big, innocent hunk, you.”
“I assure you, I am passionately not innocent. So that hate toward humans with magic is still ongoing then, is it? Oh, Ronny, do you remember that one time when we walked into this English village, and they were about to burn that downright delicious boy and his sister—”
Everyone gaped at me all of a sudden.
“What?” I asked, confused. “We passionately sided with the boy and his sister. The prettiest brown eyes, I tell you. Although I obviously prefer a striking blue,” I said to Chandler. Everyone still looked as if I had just done something ridiculous like suggest celibacy was a life path.
“Please tell me you didn’t murder a village full of people and seduce a traumatized, underage child?” Detective Rice said.
I wasn’t exactly sure how to answer that, because we hadn’t killed theentirevillage, and the boy had only kissed me as a reward for saving him and his sister. He’d been all for women, that one. And not a child, because children were not meant for those kinds of thoughts, less even for those kinds of actions, obviously.
