Arcane Detective 4 (Patreon)

As I took note of my uninvited intruder, a set of conflicting emotions aroused in me. 

Have you ever been approached by a woman whose redheaded sexiness only matched by the grim expression on her face, carrying a naked sword, its blade shining with a throbbing light like it was actually enthusiastic to drink my blood — and enchanted enough to cut through any defense I could deploy reflexively, which didn’t help the situation? And if the said woman was dressed in leather armor that deployed her amazing curves the best way possible, pushing the confusion even further. 

Well, ladies and gentlemen. Meet Solia el’Trian, the pride of the council, one of the youngest Custodians in history to ever hold an independent assignment. 

And my parole officer… 

Since her assignment included summarily executing me the moment she had a proper excuse, I suppressed my reflex of throwing a lightning bolt — my preferred way of greeting an uninvited visitor that dared to make a mess out of my private working space as she did — and took a deep breath before speaking. “Such a nice surprise,” I said. “It seems that I once again the honor of hosting great el’Trian the Third, the next lord of the great plane of Trian,” I said, aware just how much she hated being referred like that. And just to drive the dagger even deeper, I didn’t bother hiding the mocking edge at all. 

Just because she was looking for the slightest excuse to change the status of my existence — and had the legal excuse to do so with no consequence the moment I slipped — was no reason to act like a boot licker. 

Sassing was not a capital crime, even for the occasionally nonsensical council accords.  

“You’re pushing your luck,” she growled as she took a step forward, her fingers already wrapped around her sword, sending a dash of adrenaline through my veins — and as much as I didn’t want to admit, a dash of arousal as well. 

I have a thing for sexy women with an explosive temper. Sue me. 

“Enough for you to take that final step? Because if so, I have an interesting last meal request before my death,” I teased her, even though I tensed, a whisper that would create a flaming inferno around myself already on my lips, because teasing her was actually dangerous. 

I already had a scar to prove it. 

“Still so arrogant,” she spat between her squeezed teeth. “However, if you think your arrogance could distract me from your plot, you’re mistaken.” I was tempted to ask what plot, but as she fell silent, I decided to cross my arms and wait for her to continue. 

The silence was a useful interrogation tool, but only when used well, requiring patience. 

It didn’t take long for Solia to abandon her attempts to weaponize her silence. She wasn’t a Custodian because of her amazing investigative skills. Admittedly, she wasn’t one because of her family’s influence as well, which was what most people assumed upon hearing her name. No, she had the task because she was a genius of magical combat, supporting her prodigious spells with her blade, turning her into a deadly threat against 

However, ironically enough, she was assigned to my case because of her family influence — much to her distaste — as working as my parole officer might have been the safest job a Custodian might receive, especially since I was exiled to a low-magic dimension. 

“I know you’re stealing the life essences of the mortals to stave your hunger,” she stated, her beautiful face turning stiff, the lines appearing at the corners of her mouth. 

I would have teased her about ruining her beautiful face with a frown, if it wasn’t for the ridiculousness of her statement. “What?!” I said, unable to process. “What the hell are you talking about?” 

“Do you think that your ploy is not clear? A sorcerer of your strength, locked to a desolate land with little mana, not allowed to use any magic outside the Accords, and you have no sign of withdrawal. Do you really expect me to believe that?” 

“Your point being,” I said, doing my best to look calm. Her theory had no relation with reality, but if presented well enough, it was not hard for the council to accept. It was why I was trying not to panic, to not to give her any reason to believe her half-baked theory. 

Of course, I could have simply explained to her that I wasn’t affected by the limited magic, because I was born on Earth, but revealing my origin — while it might help to resolve my current issue — would only intensify the issues I was facing. 

For example, it would give the Council an excuse to transfer me to another exile location, one that was too peaceful for me to use the Accords as an excuse for casting magic. 

“You understand my point very well, you bastard,” Solia said with an angry frown. I shrugged, running the risk of angering her, which was very inconvenient, because when she was angry, she made a point of coming sniffing around whenever I cast even a little cantrip, forcing me to write a report about the conditions. And rejecting was not an option, not when she was enthusiastically looking for a sign of guilt, ready to damn me an eternity locked in a cube. 

Or summarily executed. 

Still, angering her was the superior option to giving her something she might take as a sign of guilt. 

I was lucky that they hadn’t assigned one of the fanatics that would lop my head off at the first sign of spell and damn the consequences. Saving the council had its perks, even if it came with an extremely hefty bill of collateral damage.  

“Yes, Solia,” I said with a tired tone. “I understand your point. Even a mindless goblin would have understood your point. You’re not exactly subtle in your comments. Not that it excuses their silliness. You’re assigned to monitor my spell usage and find evidence, not coming with ridiculous theories.”

She stuck out her chin at me belligerently as she took a deep breath, her eyes dancing in anger. She was clearly considering the merits of taking action, fueled more with anger than suspicion. I bit my lips even as I cursed my mind, because as she looked at me, ready to lash out, I was getting very aroused. She was beautiful, and the fact that she was actively contemplating murder me just made it even sexier. “A technicality,” she growled. 

Maybe I did have a death wish. 

“A technicality I'm more than happy to use,” I said with a shrug. “After suffering under those technicalities the moment I fell under the purview of the council, it’s a nice chance for them to be on my side. So, unless you want to convene a meeting of the Council, there’s nothing else I can say. I’m sure that they would drop everything they were doing for the precious heir of the el’Trian family, using the opportunity to fawn over your father.” 

She growled in anger, not appreciating the reminder about her grand status. She even grabbed the hilt of her sword, the symbol of her authority as a Custodian, squeezing for a moment before muttering. "No. It isn't worth it." With that, she turned and walked toward the door, magic already gathering around her freely, almost like a tornado. 

My attention was on the way her hips were dancing as she walked away, unable to be hidden completely by her amazing outfit. When she stood in front of the door, her magic flowing, the door started to transform into a bright gate for her to teleport. 

There was nothing special about my door other than being a solid steel exterior with several locks. But the magic was not about the words and formulas, or just power. It was also about the state of mind, and the way it was imprinted on the rest of the world. She was strong enough to cast a gate into the Aether between dimensions from anywhere she wanted unless the place was intentionally warded, but casting it on a doorway, something that was linked with passage both by her, and both by the rest of the world, making the spell several times easier to cast.  

Before she stepped through, however, she looked at me one last time. “You’re an arrogant little fool, Harvey," she growled. “And you can be sure that I’ll catch you on the act one day.” 

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart," I told her, enjoying her tenseness, knowing that even with her remit, she couldn’t attack me for just a nickname. 

She growled one last time before stepping through the gateway, and the glow disappeared after she passed, leaving me annoyed and aroused at the same time. 

With a shake of my head and a blink, I tried to dispel those feelings as my thoughts shifted gear, trying to focus on the scene of murder I had observed. Her assumption about the murderer was not accurate, but in the long run, it mattered significantly little. 

I couldn’t trust her to keep her sword down if other murders happened the same way. 

It was time for some detective work, starting with checking my sources. 

My supernatural sources…