The light of the screen illuminated her face as though it were the face of some prophet waiting on a revelation. The page showed the same map of the city she’d used to draw the possible routes the victim might have taken. She could not help but think about all those things that lay in waiting, in the dark corners of the city, watching as the world around them delivered another prey into their laps.
A part of her wished that she was never forced to step back into that other world, where things were no longer a matter of logic, but of a matter of hunger and power. Something about it all lacked order, a simple law of nature that limits one’s ability to do harm. Magic was a key to something unfathomably bigger, and full of things that did not have to answer to any law but their own.
The houses, the streets, the peace that existed for so long was nothing but an illusion. It was so much better for any powerless creature to believe such things are not their business, that they did not belong in their lives, that there were those that kept the lines from blurring. But the lines have been blurred since the first strand of magic was seen and bound, and such a thing as an Incanter was born in the world.
“Don’t you think it’s time to go home?” said a voice from the desk on the opposite side. The old chair screeched as it swayed under the weight of an old friend.
Myra rubbed her left eye and cracked her neck to ward off the stiffness. “I will go. I always do. Eventually.”
“Sleep comes to those that want to dream,” returned Wein, in a playful tone.
“You and I both know that makes no sense.”
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“I’m just repeating what I heard. Don’t judge me.” The chair continued to shift until he finally put his feet up on the desk and released a long sigh. “Remember that double homicide in Flagstor?”
“Urgh. Why bring that up? I’d rather erase that image from my mind.”
“I had to stop five times on the way back so you’d vomit in the bushes.” He laughed like it was the fondest memory he had.
“Yes. Hillarious.”
“Still one of your proudest moments. You found a connection between the killer’s mother’s bakery and the sauce under the victim's fingernails. And you did that in a matter of days.”
“I was young and ambitious. Now I’m… you.”
Strong and equally paced footsteps came down the hallway and soon a shadow loomed over the office.
“You need to see something,” It said and hit the light switch, almost blinding Myra.
“What are you still doing here, wizard? Is it the witching hour already?” she said and stretched her arms behind her back.
Shaking his head Ori turned away and hurried back to where he came from. Myra took some time to follow, but eventually found her way down to the morgue.
“What is it? Why did you have to drag me down here again?” she asked as he found him standing with his back turned, in between the tables where the bodies once were.
“Something isn’t entirely right with this case.”
“Huh?”
“The accomplice. Someone had to create those replicas one way or another. I couldn’t quite catch it the first time around, and that’s because the magic that was used was meant to work like that.”
“Orelin,” she barked forcing the cold room to echo. “Whether we like it or not all this is finally over. The killer admitted to the crimes. He signed a confession and is off to a trial. We caught the monster that branded and hunted his victims. And frankly, whoever made him go crazy and face what he did should be hailed as a saviour. Whether that person is found or not, doesn't seem to matter after they rushed to close the case. We did what we could. So instead of lingering here, I suggest you go back to where you came from.”
“Myra, if I’m right this will not end here.”
“And why is that?”
“I think there’s a powerful illusionist in Helden.”