The Raven Spell (Conspiracy of Magic #1)(46)

Riya Singh, first sorceress to be named inspector in the Isle Division, and ten years later the first woman promoted to chief, folded her arms, which only showed off her impressive silver button insignias to greater effect. “What are you doing back here breaking the law in my jurisdiction again so soon?”

“So soon?” Of course. He’d already attempted to find Elvanfoot’s son by getting arrested and making contact with the Constabulary. He was nothing if not consistent. “Tell me again, how long ago was that?”

Singh turned to Constable Bottomfield in disbelief, then back to Ian. “I haven’t seen you in three years and now I get the honor of arresting you twice in one week. Are you saying you don’t remember you were in here three days ago?”

When he explained the reason he had no recollection of the events of the past few days, while keeping somewhat vague about the specifics of Edwina and her sister, Singh’s eyebrow quirked as if her instinct and curiosity had been equally piqued, and so she invited him into her office. “We’ll take tea, Bottomfield,” she called to the constable before shutting the door.

If he had been in her office before, he found it difficult to believe he could have ever forgotten such a place. At least two dozen glass terrarium domes sat atop a pair of file credenzas, each with a fat orb-weaver spider sitting in the middle of a delicate web. Singh caught him looking.

“They’re part of the latest advancements in enforcement techniques. We’ve enlisted twenty-five of them, one for each ward in the city. They’re enchanted to react whenever a filament in their web is disturbed.”

“Isn’t that what all spiders do?” Ian asked.

“Naturally,” she said, swiveling in her chair to take a closer look. “But these are trained to react when people like you choose to conduct unwarranted magic in public. Their webs are enchanted to intricately entwine with the streets they watch over. When a thread gets triggered by illegal magic, they glow.” She pointed to one of the domes on the far right and leaned in. “This is the one that caught you today. Two days ago, it was that one,” she said, nudging her head at one nearer the middle.

So that’s how they keep track these days. When he was with the Northern Constabulary, they’d still used scrying stones. Examining the spiders closer, Ian observed that beneath each web sat a map of a city section. Like newspaper spread at the bottom of a birdcage, he mused.

“Every jurisdiction outside of the square mile has their own setup,” Singh said, swiveling back to place herself in front of her desk. “So walk me through this again, Cameron. You say a witch stole your memories?”

“I’m still missing the last four days.”

“And yet you’re able to remember where this occurred?”

“Aye, just here,” he said, using one of the spiders for a point of reference to show the strip of foreshore he’d been attacked on. He further explained that it was only because of his hearth elf that he was able to reclaim the majority of his memories outside of the questionable four days.

“Hob is still with you? Elves these days are usually so fickle.”

“He’s a wee bit older than most,” he said. “Still carries old-fashioned notions of loyalty.”

Singh’s eyes traveled to the spider he’d pointed to and back before checking a chalkboard on the wall behind her that logged individual incidents. “As you can see, we’ve had no reports of any spells of that nature in any of the wards.” She folded her hands together and gave him a solemn look. “Though I do tend to believe you may have taken a blow to the back of your head.”

“There are ways to fool the system,” he said knowingly. She had to understand that as well, though Ian imagined it was nearly impossible to admit after boasting your department had only recently installed the latest advancements in detective work. Besides, not all magic relied on spells. Some magic was inherent.

“Do you want me to arrest the witch?”

Two hours ago, he would have screamed yes. His instinct had been tempered since then, instructing him to wait and watch. Mary’s magic was peculiar and macabre, but if Edwina was right and he was being hasty by jumping to conclusions about her connection to one of the victims—the one whose death he’d relived—she may yet hold the key to identifying the killer. And how he would love to be the one who figured that out first.

Singh drummed her fingers on the desk before reaching into the credenza. She thumbed through a number of files before plucking an anemically thin folder out. “Three days ago, you had yourself arrested so you could ask about George Elvanfoot. Apparently, he’s been missing for approximately three weeks now.” She looked up. “Any luck finding him?”

This was where it got tricky.

“I believe so,” he began. “It’s possible some piece of information you provided me with three days ago led me to his whereabouts.”

“But if you found him, where is he? You haven’t lost him, have you?”

“Aye, that’s the question.” He pressed his palms against his trousers, as much for the sweat building on them as to brace himself. “I suspect I found him, or at least had a strong lead on where to find him, a few days after arriving in the city. Whatever I discovered took me to the foreshore at low tide two nights ago, where I was hit on the back of the head.”