“Theoretically. Are we going to enter this place or what?”

“Yes, just a minute.” She pulled out a bay leaf and a baggie of mustard-colored powder, the two fundamentals of a spell used to determine the type of residue magic left at a crime scene. It was MLE office issued, and seemed to work pretty well for all power levels.

“Okay, here we go.” She straightened out and walked forward with her head held high, seemingly confident. Halfway through the dim interior, she turned left within the sitting room filled with older-style furniture, heading for another doorway.

I stalled. The residual magic was a little stronger in this area. I moved through the space, feeling the hum with outstretched fingers. I didn’t need a handful of spices to tell me what had happened here. I just needed to pay attention, both to the magic and to people who might notice this rare trait of mine. Feeling the magic in spells wasn’t an unheard-of talent, but only extremely powerful mages were capable of it. I didn’t need meddlesome questions that I didn’t plan on answering. More meddlesome questions, I should say.

A spell blanketed half the room. From what I could gather, it was a searching spell. But what was it looking for?

I hastened to catch up with Clarissa, who’d already stepped through a sliding double door, only one side open. Tangerine light glowed in the living room beyond. When I followed her, I found the body sitting in a chair facing a blank, boxy TV, his head leaning unnaturally to the side and blood all down his front and shoulder. His mouth hung open and his eyes only showed the whites. Residual magic thrummed through my veins, revealing its secrets.

Clarissa spoke to a detective I half recognized as the main contact point between our department and the normal human one. He was in the know as to what we really were. I suspected that was why I hadn’t witnessed him rolling his eyes. Although I hadn’t been in his company much, so maybe I’d just missed it.

Another detective, a younger guy, stood off to the side, glowering at Clarissa. As soon as he noticed me, his scowl swung my way. He clearly didn’t know our real function, and probably wanted that fake magical whack job (Clarissa) and her ridiculously dressed cosplay friend (me) to adios. He had real work to do, damn it!

I did love putting words into the detectives’ mouths. After all, their expressions were pretty clear tells.

I stepped closer to the body.

“No.” The younger detective’s hand firmly wrapped around my upper arm. “We can’t have you tampering with the evidence.”

Somewhere in his later twenties or lower thirties—I wasn’t great with identifying ages—he was an attractive man spoiled by a patronizing smirk. I squared off with him. “I’ve seen more dead bodies than you can possibly imagine. Back off. I know what not to touch.”

I’d never been very good at staying professional when I needed someone to back off. At least I stopped myself from saying I’d created more dead bodies than he could possibly imagine. Though, in my defense, they usually weren’t human, and if they were, they deserved it.

“J.M., let her take a look,” the head detective said. That was why we were there, after all.

I brushed by and leaned over the body, noticing the marks on the older man’s neck. “A sword makes sense,” I said, pointing at the wound. “Someone used more than one strike. He was hacked at with a dulled sword. Maybe rusty, maybe not. If you let your sword go that dull, you aren’t taking care of it. Attacked in anger, I’d bet. Passion. Not romantic passion, but the perp was possibly a loved one of some kind.”

I pulled my sword from its sheath without thinking, and certainly without warning anyone first.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” J.M. held up his hands. “What’s going—”

“Let her work,” the head detective barked.

Huh. This was the first time one of the human police had let me wave my very pretty, though very deadly, sword around. I might grow to like this guy.

I didn’t wait for him to take the directive back. Sword in two hands, I went through the motions of chopping at the guy’s neck. Then switched to one hand to see how my body positioning, and the sword positioning, might change.

“Two-handed, definitely,” I said. “Two-handed, and the person swinging the hardware wasn’t very strong. A woman would be my guess, but maybe a scrawny guy.”

“What gives you that impression?” J.M. asked, bracing his hands on his hips. The lead detective had a notepad out.

“I mean, look at the hacking she had to do to nearly behead him.” I mimed the motions. “There’s all this torn skin around the wound.” I mimed the attack a little more and then stepped to the side, getting a better angle and more power. “Yes, look, she must’ve ended up here. She kept her distance—she didn’t bend over the guy and create downward cuts. That says woman to me. Women know they can be overpowered by a man, in general, so as a rule they keep their distance. Men just go forth. I could be wrong.” I shrugged. I wasn’t one of those women, so this was all guesswork.

“But that guy looks like he just sat there and took it.” J.M. gestured at the body, arms rested on the armrests and feet on the floor like anyone sitting in a recliner watching TV.

I glanced back at the lead detective. “I have some theories, but they are in the realm of divinity and crystal balls.” I sounded absurd, but that should get the point across. It was time to talk magic.

“J.M., I got this,” the lead detective said to the younger guy. “We’re looking for a sword. Search the house again and talk to the neighbors.”

“But I—”

With a look from the lead detective, J.M. pinned me with a flat stare before turning and stalking from the room.

“He’s not ready to know what I know,” the lead detective said quietly. “Hopefully someday, because he is driven and intelligent, but right now, he’s too hotheaded for his own good.”

I nodded politely, which was miraculous, because not only did I not care, but it was also quitting time and I wanted to go home.

“Right,” I said to get the show on the road. I sheathed my sword and glanced at Clarissa. “Hey, I think there was a spell used in the sitting room.” I gestured that way. “Can you check that out while I talk to him?”

“How do you know there was a spell?” she asked, confused.

“I, uh…” I dug in the leather pouch wrapped around my middle. As I did so, I felt my phone vibrate. Tilting it toward me, I saw an unfamiliar number.

I pushed the button to still the phone and held up an empty casing for Clarissa to see. “I used a spell that I got…from a friend.”

Clarissa’s brow furrowed and her head tilted. “I’ve never heard of a spell that can determine if magic was used.”

“You do it.”

She held up her bay leaf and baggie of powder. “Like this, yes. It takes time and practice. You can’t encase this type of spell. It doesn’t work that way.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Are you trying experimental magic? Because you do know that is forbidden in our line of work, don’t you?”

I tried to look sheepish. It was as difficult as sounding polite. “Sorry. I’d used one before and it worked, so I figured, you know, the homeowner was already dead, so…”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s not how we do things, Reagan. Let me see it.” I moved to hand over the empty casing. She dodged the offering. “No, I meant, let me see a loaded shell.”

“Oh. I don’t have any more. This was my last one.”

Her expression turned disbelieving. And it should’ve. When someone said it was their last piece of gum, how often was that legit? Rarely.

“Ladies,” the lead detective said. “Can we get moving?”

“Sorry. Yes. Reagan, I’ll talk to you about it later.” Clarissa sniffed, turned up her nose, and walked from the room.

“Effective,” I muttered, putting away the empty casing and letting my palm hover near the wound.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“Note to self: do not lie to the lead detective.”

“You can call me Sean.”