The Deathsniffer’s Assistant (The Faraday Files Book 1) (13 page)

“There are other things, Christopher.”

“If you say. You know more about this than me, Miss Faraday.” If she could call him by his first name, he could call her by her last.

She was quiet for a time, and he counted it a victory. “I need to know about the postmortem,” she said at last. “And talk to someone else about all of this. And the moment Miss Caldwell steps off the train and shakes cloudling sparks out of her hair, I want to know where she is. I’ll need to mirror Maris.” Olivia blew out a stream of air. “I wish we could find that weapon.”

Chris glanced over at her to see that her expression was glum. Not for the first time, he wished that he’d inherited his mother’s proficiency. If he had, perhaps he could even begin to understand Olivia’s mercurial moods. “Why do we need the weapon so badly?” he asked, less out of curiosity and more out of mild concern for her. “Isn’t it fairly obvious that it’s a knife?”

“Of course it’s a knife. But if I have the knife in hand, Maris will get me an hour with the timeseer. Oh, what we could learn!”

Chris stopped in his tracks. “A—
timeseer
? Is this a joke?”

Olivia started, then blew out a stream of air. “Oh, dear.” She held a finger up to her lips. “Keep that quiet, won’t you?” Her voice dropped so low he had to strain to hear it. “Sorry. I forget. I
always
forget. Lowry doesn’t like ordinary folks knowing that’s a real thing.”

Chris himself had always dismissed them as a fable, someone taking legendary magic from an old wizard story and trying to pretend it was something that could be done by real people in the modern world. It was said a timeseer could search deep into the past and witness events that had come and gone, rewriting old histories and turning memories into visions that always told true.

“We use them in law enforcement,” Olivia continued, barely seeming to understand what a revelation she’d just made. “One per city, two for the biggest ones when they’re available! They’re not, at the moment.” She laughed. “Not surprising. Is anything, these days? I don’t think half the cities in Tarland have one at all, right now. But we do, finally. New one, young thing. Royal pain in the bloody arse, too, thinks he hung the moon, lit the sun, and crowned Queen Gloria himself.”

“An actual
timeseer
.” Chris raised a hand to his temple. He felt dizzy, wondering at the possibilities. If there was a man in Darrington who could just simply look into the past and see anything that had gone before, always infallibly true… “Why are investigators even needed, then?”

“Well, they need a spark for the seeing. And then they follow the timeline for the spark. It’s said an especially brilliant one can use people or places or even strong emotions to create a spark, but who’s that good at anything anymore? No, these days, items are your best shot, and an item that’s come into contact with blood? Well. Blood carries memories strong enough to shock you senseless.” She shot him a look full of dark suggestion, and Chris found himself intrigued despite the macabre implication. “Of course, even that’s not flawless,” Olivia continued. “If it’s a very old item or one that’s changed hands often, the timeline is too long and winding. It’s useless. But…” She tapped the side of her nose. “Well, trade secrets, can’t say any more. Suffice to say, there aren’t enough of them to drag along behind me from crime scene to crime scene. But we have the one, and when we can get an item with a strong enough spark, well. Sometimes William can make the rest easy.” Her mouth twisted into something that was only half a grin. “
If
His Majesty is bloody well in the mood.” She dropped his arm suddenly and stretched like a sleepy cat. “And here we are!”

The rain started in earnest when they were halfway up the walk, the sky opening like the bottom of a well dropping out. Water rushed down in a pounding deluge. They ran for the office door, but they were still dripping when Olivia shut it behind them. She collapsed back against the door with a
whoop
, panting and flushed, drops of water chasing each other down the strands of her hair and pattering on the floor below. Chris’s specs were so spotted he could barely see. All three layers of clothing at his shoulders were soaked completely through.

Olivia was laughing like a drunk.

With a sigh, Chris pulled out his handkerchief. He cleaned his eyeglasses as Olivia moved over to the magic mirror. Still giggling, she banged at the chimes and said something about slow connections in the rain, breathless excitement in her voice. He was slipping his specs back onto his face when he heard a woman’s voice, a deep, low alto, coming from the mirror. “
Faraday.
”

“Maris!” Olivia squealed. “I need to talk to you about―”

“For the last time, it’s
Officer Dawson
!” the woman snapped. Her voice was hard and commanding, with a thick northern accent. “I’ve been trying to get you on the mirror all bloody day. Where have you been?”

Olivia planted her hands on her lips. “Up at the val Daren estate, obviously.”

“And your assistant?”

Chris slunk out of view of the mirror, not wanting to be seen and remarked upon.

“With me! I don’t keep them around to answer the mirror and collect the paper, you know! They assist me. That’s why we call them assistants. Listen, Maris, I need to have a word with you about the―”

“Where’s my damned paperwork, Faraday?”

“Oh, Maris, please don’t―”

“Don’t be cute with me. You
always
do this. Listen, you started a new case yesterday. You signed a contract with an
Old Blood noble
. Mother Deorwynn! You know how this works. You take a case, you go over the initial investigation, and then you have preliminary paperwork to me at the station within a day.” A pregnant pause, during which Olivia was, shockingly, silent. “Where’s my paperwork, Faraday?”

Olivia folded her arms and continued to say nothing. Chris could see her pouting.

Officer Dawson gave a long-suffering sigh. “I did my part. I took my boys out there and cleaned up that body. I even have an autopsy report and a few other interesting things you might want to know, including the initial report from the heartreader. Apparently, he had some last minute emotions still circling she managed to pick up.”

“Oh, good!” Olivia clasped her hands together in front of her like a delighted child. “Can you have that all sent here by tomorrow morning?”

“I’ll have them sent there, Faraday,” Maris Dawson said firmly, “after I have my paperwork. And—now that I think of it, how about all that backlog you owe me from last month?”

“This is ridiculous!” Olivia protested, her coy act vanishing in an instant. “I don’t have time to sit around and pander to the bureaucracy! It’s a stupid system! I’m chasing a killer, and I have almost nothing concrete yet, and you want me to fill out forms? And you’re going to hold actual substantial evidence
hostage
? Just send me what you have, and―”

“When I get my paperwork.”

Olivia went silent. She folded her arms across her chest.

“There, that’s better. Will I have it?”

“First thing tomorrow,” Olivia grumbled.

“Good. And―Faraday! Don’t you just have Constance do it again, because if you think I can’t tell the difference between words written and words weaved, you’re forgetting the last two times you tried. Are we understood?”

“Understood.”

“Good. I’m going home, now. I’ve spent too much time today trying to get a hold of you, so please at least try―”

“Maris, wait, I need you to do something for me. It’s important.”

“Is it actually important, or is it Olivia Faraday important?”

“It has to do with the case.”

The police officer sighed. “Make it quick.”

“A suspect of mine is out of town. Could you put a tag on her? She’s apparently in Vernella for some reason, or so says her landlady. She should be coming back in by train, I would think. It’s important I know the moment she’s back in Darrington.”

A silence, some papers rustling, and then, “Send me her identifying information and I’ll let you know when she comes back in.”

“Oh,
thank
y―”

“As long as I have my paperwork. Good night, Faraday.” Even though Chris didn’t have a clear view of the pane, he could see the reflection of light on his employer’s face, and he saw it dim. The officer hadn’t even waited for confirmation before disconnecting.

Olivia turned around and made a face at him. “My supervisor,” she said flatly. “Charming woman, isn’t she?”

Chris took his time choosing a response. His first impression—that he couldn’t have imagined anyone being able to keep Olivia on such a tight leash—was unlikely to be well received. “I certainly wouldn’t want to cross her,” he said, trying to appear sympathetic and not impressed.

Olivia sighed. She leaned back against the table before the mirror and folded her arms in front of her. “Well,” she said. “So much for jumping back into this tomorrow morning.” She gave him a half-smile. Even that didn’t seem especially sincere. “Tell me, Mister Buckley,” she said. “If I give you tomorrow off after all, will you
please
stop whining about it?”

t was Godsday morning and Rosemary was about to try and free a salamander.

He watched her lean into the ticket booth while he tried to pay their White Clover fare as quickly as possible. It was a grey, dreary, and bitingly cold morning, and at first he’d assumed it was the warmth that had caught her attention. But as the gleam in her eyes turned stubborn and fey, he realized with a snap of crystal panic that it was the
source
of the warmth that concerned her.

“Rosemary,” he murmured a warning, but she didn’t even turn in his direction.

The attendant looked down at her, smiling like a kindly uncle. “You can’t come in, if that’s what you’re going to ask.” His voice lilted pleasantly with a Northern accent. “Though you’d be the fifth today to try. Cuts right through you, this wind, eh?”

“Yes. It’s a salamander, isn’t it?” Rosemary demanded.

Chris sucked in a breath. “Come on, Rosie,” he said the words as gently and as casually as possible. “Let’s not bother him.” He took her by the wrist, but she twisted out of his grasp and danced a step away, rising on her toes to look inside the booth.

“Where is he? I can feel him.”

The attendant’s welcoming smile wavered. “A bit young for categorization, aren’t you, little one?” he asked with awkward levity.

“He’s
angry
, so angry I can hear him even though he’s not mine. He’s been bound for fifty years. He’s so tired he can barely do it anymore. It’s hurting him, but he can’t stop because the man who bound him told him he couldn’t, not even if he was about to die from being worked so hard, and―”

Chris hefted Rosemary up under her arms and set her to one side. She stumbled and half-fell, curls all bouncing, and Chris couldn’t spare a moment to see to her. “Please,” he begged the man, who was still staring at Rosemary. “Just ignore her, sir. I’m sorry. She likes it pretend she’s a ‘binder. It’s not―”

“We turn it off most days,” the attendant interrupted. His expression had gone dark and he didn’t seem to see Chris at all.

“Turning it off doesn’t help at all,” Rosemary insisted, ignoring everything else he said. “Why don’t more people know that?”