There were many ways of catching a suspect. H-Sec could get anyone’s information in minutes, then suck all the gargoyles in the city to fetch them. There were a few issues with that. Despite being the prime suspect, Celsius remained just a suspect. Dragging him to H-Sec was a matter of order; plunging the city into chaos—not so much.

The instant our conversation at Ellcron was over I knew we had to part ways. The detectives were good, but they remained human. Even after years of intense training, their minds couldn’t break the habit of considering the easiest answer that popped up. With the suspect being rich and human, they were confident he’d use his money to hide behind lawyers in one of the grey-zone anonymizer buildings, created just for the rich and famous, could spend a few days incognito. Once that failed, they’d check with past girlfriends, acquaintances, and the like. The real trick was not to search for the person, but his problems.

Since Celcius had been dragged to therapy several times before, he’d known how things worked. Unless one was exceedingly rich, there was no way to remain hidden in the metropolis area. The strongholds of anonymity weren’t that many, and even they would prefer to keep a good relation with the city authorities. The best way to disappear, yet be close enough to make demands to one’s parents, were the slums. If it were me, I’d pick a place that was also close to Saint Julian. That way I’d have somewhere to go when I snuck out of the place. A quick call to Summer confirmed that. Apparently, Celsius spent only half as much time there as the record stated he did. Given that there were no reports of him crossing the waterline. Either he had come across some military grade stealth charms, or he was staying low in the nearby slums. It would have been better if summer had managed to buy some sighting memories, although she’d done the second best: confirmed that a lot of fresh money had been spent in Clear Swamps. It wasn’t a full guarantee, but I was willing to chance it. For one thing, I didn’t owe anyone there money.

It was a ten-minute ride with a rune carriage from the Ellcron building to the Clear Swamps. Using city transport, the trip lasted over an hour and a half.

“Are you an uncharted spirit?” a ten-year-old in a school uniform asked me.

Judging by the expression of everyone else in the water-rail, it was a question most of them wanted to know the answer to, but were too afraid to ask.

“You got me,” I replied without giving him a glance.

“Why are you here? My mommy told me that spirits aren’t allowed on the wa-rail.”

“I’m special.”

“Special how?”

“I catch dangerous people.” I tapped on the emblem on my suit. “Spirits and humans.”

I could see his expression brighten. By the looks of it, he’d be bragging about this for weeks.

“How? With magic? Or some water powers? I heard that uncharted can change into anyone.”

Technically, he was right. Water spirits could change shape at will. It was said that during the early days, they did just that, mostly for fun. Of course, humans never took kindly to others walking with their appearance. It wasn’t long before anti-impersonation laws were imposed. Enforcement spells soon followed. Today, every registered spirit was stuck with a single form, forbidden from changing. Every molecule of their being was scanned and put into a database from where they could be monitored twenty-four hours per day. The rest of us—the uncharted—had the ability to shift to water or change appearance at will. However, should we match the characteristics of any human or registered in the city, we’d be torn to shreds by Oracle Enforcement.

“Can’t talk about that.” If I were Summer, I’d lean forward and dazzle the child with some cheap trick. If I were Goal, I’d scare him off. Since I was neither, I looked out of the window, doing my best to ignore the incessant questions. After five minutes the boy git tired and stopped.

“Last stop of the line,” the automatic voice announced. “Please get out of the water-rail compartment. Make sure you have all your luggage and belongings with you.”

I stood up and made my way out. I expected the station to have a lot more spirits. Instead, I noticed a few more security patrols. At first, I thought I was the reason—an uncharted on the water-rail was a pretty big thing. A quick glance at the notice boards let me know there’s been a string of muggings in the area.

Charming, I thought. Even the edges of the metropolis weren’t immune to petty crime. That gave me hope. If someone wanted to get someone unnoticed, they’d pick the most problematic spot to cross the watermark. Trouble, regardless of the type, tended to drive the authorities’ focus on one spot. Ignoring anything else. Muggings, for example, tended to make them focus on keeping people from the slums going in, not the other way around.

Taking a few steps, I looked at the food joints in the area. Most of them were the standard fast-food chain outlets that served the universally accepted junk. There were a few privately owned stalls, probably there since the station was constructed. All of them looked relatively well kept. I went towards one of them. The moment I saw a bunch of teens with “Save the Spirits” t-shirts, I knew this was the place to go.

The inside of the place was exactly as I expected it to be. The clientele was purely human, but that didn’t stop the owners from selling water spirit food at exorbitant prices. One glance was enough to tell anyone that the stuff was barely edible. However, fashion knew no taste.

“Hey, look,” someone whispered as I made my way to the counter.

I couldn’t tell whether it was the suit that impressed them, or the fact that was uncharted. Hopefully, it was the latter. If they focused too much on the fact I was working for H-Sec, it would be difficult to get what I was looking for. Then again, there were ways to make it to my advantage.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“Algae and fries,” I said, leaning against the counter.

“We’re out.” The kid at the cash register crossed his arms. He was skinny, probably in his final years of teenage, with a dozen pins decrying the “system” on his work uniform.

“No, you’re not.” I leaned closer. “Listen, I need a jester favor.”

The term jester never bothered me much. However, I knew it was a big deal, especially among people. No one knew exactly where it came from, but it was the impolite way of describing uncharted working for wealthy human individuals or corporations. Technically, I didn’t work for either, but it was close enough.

Upon hearing the word, the boy tensed up. Muttering an excuse, he went to the room behind the counter. Moments later, a large woman—possibly the owner—appeared.

“I hear you want algae,” she said in a calm tone. The smile on her face suggested this wasn’t the first time she’d gotten that question. The slight frown told me that she wasn’t pleased about it. “We’re fresh out, but maybe we can find something else you’d like in the back?”

“Sure.” I knew how the game was played. Calmly, I went round the counter, following her to the admin and storage area of the food joint.

I had to admit, the place was a lot cleaner than expected. With the amount of weekly inspections, I supposed it had to be.

The woman made her way to a large, comfy chair in front of a rune screen and sat down. Her hand slammed a small glass paperweight. Instantly a silence sphere formed around us.

“You’re no jester,” she said with a sigh. “And you’re no H-Sec, either. So, what do you want?”

“Off the books info,” I replied. Normally, I’d add a little something in terms of bribery, but right now my funds were low. “Nothing that will affect you.”

“Why should I help?”

I smiled.

“I might not be H-Sec, but I consult them. I can tell them that this place is worth checking out. And with the brats back there, it’ll make for a lot of interesting conversation.”

The woman kept on her poker face, but I could tell she didn’t appreciate the idea. I’ve been to enough places like this to know that they made the majority of their profit by organizing “secret trips” to the slums. Technically, it wasn’t anything illegal. Metropolitans, even children, had the right to go anywhere in the city, as well as waste their money on anything they wished. The payment went into ensuring that nothing terribly bad happened to them. Kidnappings or injuries were bad for business on both sides.

“I’m not interested in your scam. I just want info on someone.”

“Why do you think I’d know?”

“Are we playing this game? Even if you aren’t the only place organizing trips, you know everyone who is.

“Maybe I do.”

“Better. He’s young, violent, and been to Saint Julian’s recently. Ring any bells?”

“Look, if I remember all the idiots who pass through here, I’d need ten uncharted to sort through the memories.”

“A repeat customer. Someone who’s been going in and out frequently in the last few days.”

For the slightest of moments, the woman’s eyes widened before returning to normal.

“You remembered something,” I said.

“There was someone who asked about Saint Julian. It was a girl, though.”

“A girl?” I shifted the water off my palm to make a portrait of Marshia Kode. “That her?”

The woman looked.

“Yep," she nodded.

Well, well, well. Now what I was expecting. When Summer had told me the girl went to slums, I didn’t think she’d visit her brother. It made sense, though, given how much they disliked their father.

“That was months ago,” the woman continued. “Most of the time she’d come here to chat with an uncharted.”

“Someone like me?”

“Definitely not like you,” the woman snorted. “She was a young, pretty thing. For a while, I thought the two had a thing. Money would often be exchanged, but hey, I don’t judge.”

We both knew that she did, but was afraid to admit. For my needs, this wasn’t the development I wanted, but it was starting to make sense. Marshia was likely feeding her brother’s habit. While the scum was probably lying unconscious, stoned up with whatever charms he had gotten his hands on, confused little Marshia was all the way here, paying off his debts.

“When was the last time they were here?” I asked.

“A week, give or take.”

A week was pushing it. Any trace she’d left would probably be long gone by now. Then again, there was a chance I could get lucky.

“Where?”

“The table by the window. Always paid extra to make sure it was free.”

“Thanks. Better stay clean for a few weeks.”

I stepped out of the silence bubble, then back into the serving area. Everyone made a point not to look at me. All of them had probably used the services and were doing the best to seem innocent. It was a good thing that H-Sec weren’t interested in them, or they’d be giving statements with a family lawyer nearby and a lot of angry parents.

The table I sat at was moderately clean. As I feared, too much time had passed for me to sense any presence, human or other. I extended my water along the surface, enveloping it with an invisible wrapper. At first there was nothing of interest, then suddenly a struck gold: remains of water essence underneath one of the table screws. The uncharted probably had probably been nervous enough to subconsciously play around, leaving a faint trace of her essence behind. More importantly, I also found skin fragments of Marshia. As Sky used to say, never look at the bottom of a human table unless you want nightmares. She was right, but in this case, the nightmares brought me one step closer to finding my target.

So, you didn’t just have anger issues, did you, Celsius? I wondered.

If anything, that was an aftereffect. The kid had clearly become a charm addict. The apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree, which made me think, what if I had been wrong about Janas? Maybe it wasn’t his charms that we had found at his home, but Celsius’? That would explain some things. The arguments, the threats… they sounded very much like someone going through withdrawal. It also posed an interesting question: what if the target hadn’t been Janas, but his son?

I looked at my wristcomm. I was presented with two choices. If H-Sec learned about this theory, they’d either descend on Clear Swamp with the fury of a thundercloud, or—more likely—would delegate the case to a lesser department and focus on the next major case. Either way, things didn’t look good for the kid or the people around him.

“Damn it,” I said beneath my breath. This was why I didn’t like getting involved in cases with kids; they always found a way to pull me under.