Page 2 of The City Of Fractured Memory

Why is he always so dramatic?

I scoff. “You seem to be forgetting you asked me. You need me and you know it.”

His shoulders sag. “I know I do. Gods help me, I do.”

I pat him on the shoulder sarcastically and he growls, but it holds no bite. Consulting a private investigator on cases is frowned upon enough, let alone one that’s a recently fired detective. He only ever calls on me if he’s desperate, and this is no exception.

“So, are you going to tell me why you’re being so cagey about the details?” I frown.

“You’ll see,” he mutters as he gestures for me to walk on and we emerge out of the darkness. He leads me to a small dilapidated cottage, the front door broken in half across the middle, each piece barely hanging on to the hinges. The blue hue of the moonlight drifts over the lead lining in the window panes, the stone brickwork crumbling with age but otherwise intact.

“Was the door broken in before or after the body was found?” I ask, squatting down to inspect the door step and wincing at the tugging feeling in my hips as I bend. My body always protests to me being low on the floor, but unfortunately the job calls for it frequently, so I block out the pain as usual, focusing on the disturbed dirt at my feet.

“After,” Xavier confirms, leaning over my shoulder to watch me work.

I nod as I survey the cracked threshold. “Details, give me details. Who is the victim?”

It’s the most vital question in a murder investigation. In my experience, there’s almost always a link between the victim and the murderer, no matter how tenuous. To understand how a person died, you need to understand how they lived, and by building up a picture of their life, the catalyst for their death will usually present itself.

“The victim was a seer,” he replies. “By the name of Vera Pembroke. She didn’t turn up for her readings today, and one of her customers went looking for her. When there was no answer at the door they looked through the window, saw the body and called for help. A warden was on patrol and knocked the door down.”

I roll my eyes. “Damn wardens. Barge in first, think later. Ruining my bloody evidence.”

“Octavia,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Did it not occur to you that the woman could’ve still been alive, and knocking the door down could’ve saved her?”

I stand back up and turn to him. “Was she alive?”

“No, but–”

“Well, there you go then.”

He mutters something under his breath with a shake of his head but I ignore him, stepping up to the shattered door and hovering my fingers over the splintered wood. The fracture in the middle of the door faces inwards, confirming it was knocked down from the outside, but other than that there doesn’t seem to be any tangible evidence to collect. Xavier hands me some gloves and I pull them on as I step over the threshold, the smell of blood and death becoming overwhelming. I pull my scarf up over my nose to take the edge off, and breathe through my mouth. I hear the faint buzzing of flies towards the corner of the room and my eyes follow the sound, my gaze falling onto the corpse on the floor.

“I assume a Memortician is on their way?” I ask Xavier quietly as I sense him approaching behind me, not taking my eyes off the dead seer.

Please don’t let it be Maevick, please–

He grunts with annoyance. “Maevick is coming.”

“Fucks sake,” I mutter under my breath, drawing a quiet chuckle from Xavier. We both share a strong dislike for the man, who loves nothing more than to boast about his exemption to use magic to those who are forbidden. In his defence, it is a rare thing to be granted permission to use such a power, I only wish he didn’t prattle on about it so much.

“How long do I have?” I slowly step towards the body, my eyes scanning my surroundings frantically as I search for any evidence that might help. The only thing out of place is the huge pool of blood surrounding her, but everything else seems to be undisturbed, meaning it is unlikely this was a spontaneous killing—there’s almost always a tonne of evidence when that happens. No, the distinct lack of any obvious evidence here points to meticulous prior planning.

“Ten minutes at the most before he gets here, so you’d better be quick. He won’t take kindly to you sniffing around the body when he’s retrieving memories.”

I scoff at that, kneeling down next to the body carefully and trying to ignore the pain in my joints as I focus on the scene in front of me. The seer is young, her blue hair striking against her deathly pale complexion.

“Where’s her diadem?” I ask Xavier, noting the absence of one on her head.

“Seers only wear their diadems when performing readings,” he reminds me. “They don’t actually do anything, it’s just decorative. As she died at home it’s not abnormal for her not to be wearing one.”

I nod at that, tucking the information away and making a mental note to verify it later. The woman isn’t wearing clothes I would usually consider normal for a seer though, and her scantily clad body shows enough skin for me to quickly realise why Xavier called me so urgently.

“Err…Xavier? Where’s all the blood coming from? There’s no gaping wound anywhere?”

I turn to look up at him and he smirks. “Exactly.”

I frown at him before turning my attention back to the woman. “This much blood…there must be a wound, unless this blood isn’t hers and it’s been staged?”