“Name?”
“Hedi Melvina.”
“Age?”
“Twenty-two.”
“Reason for casting magic?”
“He was abusing an animal, and he might’ve been a threat to me.”
The cop stopped spinning his pen, the motion freezing like a windmill in dead air. He weighed her words, thoughts tilting like scales at dusk. Then, deliberate as a judge dropping a gavel, he flicked the pen onto the desk.
The cap hit the wood with a dull thud, a stone dropped in a well, and a pressure wave pressed against Hedi’s chest.
“Tell the truth.”
“I already did.”
Bang!
His fist slammed the desk, a drumbeat in a narrow room. “You blew half the inn’s roof clean off with magic! And you call that just sensing a threat?!”
“Check his records,” she said, voice cool as rain on slate. “Besides abusing animals, I bet he wets the bed and starts fires.”
“Animal abuse is a character stain,” the cop snapped, a blade flashed in lamplight. “But you—openly violating Imperial law—can get twenty years in a cell.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“You should thank whichever star you pray to there weren’t. Otherwise it’s not a cell—it’s the guillotine.”
Hedi dipped her head, a leaf nodding in a quiet breeze.
“Speaking of character,” he went on, picking up the pen and scratching notes like a crow on bark, “even if he abuses animals, you’re a born liar. Hedi Melvina... heh. What kind of person shares a name with the Holy Maiden?”
“Feels like the Holy Maiden here stole mine.”
“Watch your mouth,” he barked, heat flaring like a struck match. “You know what the Holy Maiden means to us? You’re just some out-of-town tourist—”
“I’ve lived here sixteen years,” Hedi cut in, voice steady as a straight road.
“Have you? Who’s seen you?”
“Just... I haven’t left the Sacred Cathedral...”
He pushed to his feet, shadow long as a spear. “I’ll confirm with the Molokov Bay Chapel right now. If you’re lying, you’re not leaving tonight.”
“Ask all you want. Even the faces who know me there don’t want to admit it.”
“Oh? I was about to check and you run out of yarn?”
“I’m not lying. I’ve lived here sixteen years, and my name is Hedi Melvina.”
“Who can prove it?”
“The newspapers. And... I work at the Hervor Academy of Magic.”
“Phone number.”
Hedi paused, a ripple under still water. No one was hurt, but the Imperial ban was iron. Calling Headmaster Bruns would only prove her name and drag trouble to his door.
“Say it!” the cop snapped, impatience bristling like thorns. “Can’t even make up a number?”
Hedi cleared her throat, a flute-note in fog. “Write this down.”
He scribbled fast, ink scratching like rain on tin. He glanced at the digits as if testing for dry wells, then growled, “This is a private number.”
“It’s late. The academy switchboard’s off. You won’t get through.”
“Heh. The headmaster’s line?”
“Call and see.” Her gaze stayed level. To be honest, I’d rather not bother him.
“If it’s not the headmaster, you’re dead meat.”
“Be my guest.”
He shoved the door open and strode to the nearest phone, steps sharp as tapping hail. He dialed.
Ringing...
Ringing...
Irritation coiled like smoke in his chest. He clamped the receiver, pacing tight loops like a caged wolf.
He wanted to hang up, to nail her with charges, to savor the fear on her face, and hand her a twenty-year sentence like a poisoned gift. But he couldn’t. First, verify her identity—stone before blade. No one shared the Holy Maiden’s name. He’d never heard of it. If a one-in-ten-thousand miracle existed, illegal magic alone could bury her alive in prison.
Ringing...
Ringing...
Dead number? The thought skittered like a beetle. Who can’t hear a phone ring?
I should hang up and throw that damn thing in a cell, he thought, ash-taste bitter. But magic cases need a report to the Anti-Magic Unit. And her name matches the Holy Maiden’s. I can’t write that. I’d drag mud over a saint’s robe.
Ringing...
Ringing...
A click. Then a weary male voice, breath rough like a runner at dusk: “Hello? I just finished training. You still there? You rarely call this number... Why aren’t you speaking? Did something happen? Melvina?”
“Hedi Melvina?” the cop asked, words clipped like shears.
“Who are you? Only Melvina has this number.”
“Answer me first. Is her name Hedi Melvina?”
A pause, a held breath in the line. “Yes.”
“Works at the Hervor Academy of Magic?”
“That’s right.”
He leaned into the wall, cool plaster against his back like night stone. “You the headmaster?”
“No.”
“Heh. Thanks for your—”
“Don’t hang up!” The voice spiked, a plucked string too tight. “Who are you? Where did you get this number?”
“I’m a Naghtown officer. Badge—”
“She in trouble?”
“Illegal use of magic.”
“Was anyone hurt? Answer me—was anyone hurt?!”
He drew his brows together, a storm line. “No comment.”
“Naghtown police...” noise rustled on the far end, like chairs scraping. “One more time. Any injuries?”
“Threatening a public servant has consequences, you know that?”
“If Melvina gave you my private number, it means only I can handle this. If no residents were hurt—”
“You can handle it?” He laughed, a dry twig snap. “What, fly in and bust her out?”
“Do you know the Claire family?”
“No kidding... nobles favored by the king...”
“I’m Reno de Claire.”
“You serious?”
“No one’s dumb enough to bluff the police with that name. Last time: were any residents hurt?!”
“No... sir.”
“Good.” Reno’s tone eased, like wind easing after rain. “Then go light.”
“What? This is—”
“No injuries means no spectacle. Don’t make waves out of ripples. Clear?”
He stood silent a beat, silence thick as tar, then said, “Clear.”
“I’ll cover the damages Melvina caused. Send me the bill.”
“All of it?”
“Now, let her go. And give her a friendly good night.”
Breath snagged in his chest, a fish on a hook. He fished out a cigarette. No smoking inside the station, but empty halls were fog valleys. He lit up, dragged deep, smoke curling like stormclouds, and waited for the line to die.
On the way back to the interrogation room, his face stayed carved from granite.
“Back? How’d it check out?” another cop asked, grin sharp as a file. “We didn’t need all that. We could’ve used a little private—”
“Release... release her...”
“Huh?”
“Huh, your ass! Let her go!”
