The Living Dragon

It wasn’t enough.

Helena looked at the stacks of coins on the small table in her apartment. Thick silver Vereinsthaler from the Black Forest sat on a scale with quarters and other smaller coins of the Immigrant Realm stacked to the side. She’d earned every penny herself.

It didn’t matter. Rent was eighty silver dollars; four pounds trade weight. And the coins in front of her totaled exactly sixty silver dollars and forty eight cents. No matter how many times she double checked the weights, what angle she looked at the scale from, no matter how she turned the table, the total remained the same. Even if she rationed enough to make the bag of lentils and box of cheap wine in her cupboard last for two weeks, she’d be short.

She flopped onto the table, scattering the coins. It wasn’t fair. She nearly got herself killed for the money, and all she had to show for it was a new pen pal and the dwindling stacks before her. She’d beaten the Alchemist of Babylon in his own domain, but apparently killing magicians five times her age wasn’t good advertising. She hadn’t had a single job since.

She turned away from the envelopes and walked to the window. “I just need to get work,” she muttered to herself. She had a week. Maybe a little more. And it was only a few dollars. That shouldn’t be a problem for a witch of Helena’s talents. She was an immortal witch, one of the strongest magicians in the realm.

Too bad being one of the strongest magicians in the realm didn’t mean anything here, she thought as she stared over the grey brick buildings that made up the city. Back home priests and magicians were sought out by everyone, from heroes to slaves. She’d helped her family slay rampaging monsters and heal chronic back pains. But those were the Hellenic Realms, where the Olympians had retreated when their magic had faded in reality.

The Immigrant Realm was something different. Appearing as a simple island city, anyone from the depths of fairy to the realms pretending to be futuristic metropolises could teleport, sail, and in a few cases, walk here. A world that was both more and less magical than her home. Towering brick and soot, forming a city where everyone could live, but no one really fit in. A realm that didn’t need magicians like Helena to solve their little problems.

Not that there weren’t occasionally big magical problems about. But supernatural creatures that caused trouble were quickly disciplined by Voodoo Queen Madam Robicroux. A service she provided for free. Great for peace, but bad for Helena’s business.

“Maybe I could get some fame if I dueled her.” A smile flitted across her face, but she knew it was an empty hope. The Voodoo Queen wouldn’t bother with a combat duel, even a nonlethal one. She’d insist on a duel of shapes or of curses. Magicians here were so boring.

She took a deep breath. “There’s something out there,” she said to herself. “I just need to find it.” She’d had people offer her small jobs. Fixing walls and scaring off mice. That meant there had to be better jobs out there, right? Something worthy of her time.

Her ruminations were interrupted by a knock on the door. Who could that be? She carefully stood and traced a warding rune in the air letting the defensive magic settle before heading to the door.

She was surprised to see Shannon, her landlord’s daughter. The dark skinned ten year old was rocking back in forth in excitement. “Helena! There’s a policeman looking for you!”

“The police?” Helena’s pulse quickened. She lived in the Immigrant Realm because of their stringent laws, but she’d quickly learned there were downsides. The police were very persistent, and they considered witches a ‘reasonable suspect’ every time some idiot died under mysterious circumstances. As if she had nothing better to do then cause drunks to fall off bridges. The worst she’d ever done was curse them with extra long hangovers.

“It’s the guy that does the patrol around here. Uh, Kilduff,” Shannon said. “He seemed really annoyed. Was muttering all sorts of words mama says we shouldn’t know.”

“Annoyed? Not angry?” That was interesting. The man had accused her of everything short of turning him into a frog in their past encounters. “If he’s annoyed this might actually be good for me.” She smoothed out the pleats in her brown peplos and grabbed her witches’ hat. “Let’s go see.”

“Right!” Shannon turned and hurried down the short steep stairs with the enthusiasm of youth. Helena followed at a slower pace. Why would Kilduff call on her?

When she reached the bottom she saw Shannon’s description had been spot on. Inspector Kilduff stood outside the door next to her landlord James Samuels, his face twisted like he’d been forced to chew a salted lemon. It was impressive given Mr Samuels unconsciously moderated the emotions of those around him. Kilduff was very unhappy.

Now to find out why. “Inspector. What brings you here?”

The policeman drew himself up to his full height to lean over her, then seemed to shrink. He glared at her for a moment then sighed. “I personally want no part in this nonsense and devilry, but it seems our new captain wants an ‘outside expert’ in witchcraft. Seeing that I have the misfortune of knowing you best, the captain sent me to ask you for help.” His face practically screamed ‘please say no’ but Helena’s curiosity was piqued.

“It must be an interesting case if you need a true magician. There’s dozens of hedge mages who can tell you if there’s a curse around.”

“The captain says we need a magician capable of looking at the crime scene and determining what manner of creature caused the ruckus.” Kilduff shook his head. “I said we could leave it to the coroner or get a priest, but he was insistent on getting a magician. A powerful magician he said.”

“The crime scene? What type of crime?”

The inspector’s face grew grim and his mask of disapproval faded. “Murder.” The word hung in the air like a curse. Or perhaps an invitation.

Helena didn’t hesitate. “I’m interested. Let’s discuss payment.”