Magi Callie

Månisday, Towering Bloodmoon

“The suspect is here, Inspector.”

Inspector Thomsen raised his weary eyes and gave his officer a nod. He hadn’t been getting much sleep in the past week. And his investigation had been going nowhere. But he had good hope the suspect they had brought would shed a new light on it all, and finally allow him to make some progress. No, actually, he was desperate to make some progress. Whatever the god-sent suspect had to say, he was intent on getting it all, even if he had to spend the night on it.

He lifted his teacup with a slightly trembling hand, and took a deep breath before entering the interrogation room. That was not his first time, oh no—but this time, there was too much at stake.

He took a good look at the suspect—a 13-year-old girl with braided dark brown hair, and piercing eyes of the same color. She was wearing a pink jumper and blue jeans, and she was staring back intently. Not your usual criminal, the inspector thought.

He sat down silently, carefully watching the girl’s reactions. She seemed both alert, and somewhat worn out at the same time. Good—she should be easy to crack.

Alright, here goes nothing.

“Miss Callisto Alethea Nyman. Born Månisday, Dying Rainymoon, 2003, is that correct?”

No answer.

“Alright, let’s skip the small talk and get straight to the point. What can you tell me about this?”, he asked as he produced a series of items from a plastic bag.

The girl stared blankly at the booklet, the notebook, and the bag of stones. “I don’t know.”

The inspector shook his head. “This isn’t what I want to hear, miss Nyman. I’m not stupid! All these notes, and these symbols—these are Ancient Runes!”

“So what?”, the girl fired back.

Thomsen scoffed. The girl sure had some nerve. “So what? So, you’re a Magi, miss Nyman. Do I need to remind you that the practice of magic is still forbidden in New Havindr—as it’s been in all of Midgård for the past two centuries?”

The girl’s hands started to tremble. Her resolve was wavering. The inspector knew he had her. It was only a matter of time now.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” she said meekly.

“Really? Are you saying you haven’t been doing any magic, despite the blatant proof against you?”

“Yes—no—I, I don’t—”

“People have been disappearing, miss Nyman. And I believe you know it. Actually, I think you’re involved.”

“No I’m not!”, the girl vividly protested.

“Well then, you’d better give me a damn good explanation as to how these items came into your possession, because from where I stand, they’re proof enough to link you to this case.”

The only link I’ve got, actually.

“I … I …”

The girl’s voice was shaky. She seemed like she was ready to burst into tears.

“I never asked for any of this. They’re trying to frame me.”

“They? Who are they?”

“I … Well … it’s a long story.”

“I have all night.”

“I—I don’t even know who’s behind all this.”

“Look, miss Nyman. I don’t care about what you don’t know. Just tell me what you do know.”

“Not much, I’m afraid.”

“Either way—you’re the one in trouble right now, and speaking in riddles isn’t going to help you out of this. I suggest you better start talking. Right now.”

The girl let out a heavy sigh. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

The girl looked torn apart. Her eyes were quickly moving from left to right, a sign Thomsen had learned was associated with internal conflict—she was probably wondering what to tell and what to keep for herself.

“Come on,” the inspector said, “you have nothing to lose.”

The girl scoffed.

“Better end up in jail than in psychiatry.”