Crimes of Magic: The Witch's Artifact

  Chapter 4

  Rachel drove us away from the shop. As we navigated back across the river to the west side of town, I mulled over our meeting with the two “witches” at the Moonstone Crystal & Herb Shop. I mentally put “witches” in quotes, because I really didn’t think the two young women were real wielders of magic like the magicians Ward had talked about. They were followers of the Wiccan faith, and I suspected that they believed in spells the way Christians believe in miracles, without actually being able to create a real one.

  In modern times, religious people follow rituals that mimic the real magic of ancient times, but lack the necessary details to actually hack the system and produce supernatural effects. They have no idea how the universe, our reality, actually works, or at least works the way that Ward explained it to me. We are all playing by rules that can be hacked. Real magicians can cheat in the game that we think has inviolable laws.

  As I explained to Rachel, I shouldn’t call these spells “hacks.” Technically, they are “exploits.” A “hack” changes the system code. As far as I know, the system code of our reality can’t be changed. An “exploit,” however, takes advantage of hidden code that is already written into the system. It uses a loophole that already exists. Who created these exploits and why they were put into the system is a philosophical, or even metaphysical question that I can’t answer, but there can be no doubt that the exploits do exist.

  It was typical for Ward to embed secret code in the SimBiotic Arts games. If you knew about this secret code, or exploit, your player could activate it and have powers that were not available to players who weren’t “in the know.”

  Ward believes that the real world also has these exploits—secret code that can be accessed that allows you to violate the laws of physics, the rules of reality. This is magic, according to Ward.

  Using the Coriolis required no special talent on my part. Once the exploit, or spell, is known, anyone with intelligence and attention to detail can implement it. Knowing the limitations of the exploit and being able to predict its consequences require a more extensive knowledge of the system than I have been able to discover.

  Maybe Beth’s mother was a real sorceress. Perhaps she was wise in not passing along the arcane knowledge to her daughter. My life has certainly changed since I learned that reality isn’t what I thought it was. Ignorance is bliss. Once you know, you can’t go back.

  I wondered how Rachel was handling it. She was, and still is, much more down-to-earth than I. Ideas and knowledge can overtake my thoughts and knock me off center. I don’t know if Rachel is affected this way. She seems so in control of herself, but I can’t really tell. I hope we can talk about it sometime.

  “Well, we have good news for Phyllis,” Rachel said.

  “What?” I responded as I was shaken from my reverie.

  “Nick wasn’t cheating on her with Caite. On the contrary, he was trying to rekindle her love for him.”

  “I certainly found Caite to be believable,” I agreed.

  “A cynical person might say that Nick is only trying to prolong the marriage until the five-year goal of the pre-nup is reached, but that’s not our problem,” Rachel said. “We were hired to prove or disprove that Nick is having an affair with the witch, who turned out to be Caite. We accomplished our goal in record time, saving Phyllis the costs of a protracted investigation. Like I said before, easy money.”

  “I actually lost focus on our original mission when we heard about the theft at Moonstone,” I admitted. “I have to agree that the Overgarden case is wrapped up neatly and efficiently. Beth and Caite’s problem is in a whole different category, however.”

  “A different category, as in dangerous and probably impossible,” Rachel stated emphatically. “We don’t want to get mixed up in anything like that. I’ve almost been killed before.”

  “A miss is as good as a mile,” I said.

  “You sound like my grandmother. That’s an old-fashioned expression.”

  “It’s appropriate, though. You were ‘almost killed’ in the sense that if things had worked out slightly differently, you would have died, but instead you were unharmed. That’s a ‘near miss’ which has the same effect as being a mile off target. The other kind of ‘almost killed’ would have been if you were gravely hurt and were only barely able to survive.”

  “Both ways are scary and dangerous, though,” Rachel said. “I would like to avoid near misses as well as almost-fatal injuries.”

  “I certainly take your point,” I agreed. “I’m no Don Quixote—no fighting invincible foes for me, but the stolen artifact is intriguing. It’s a shame we can’t do something to help out those girls.”

  “They’re not girls, they’re women,” Rachel corrected me, “and their problems aren’t our problems. I told them not to get their hopes up. It would be cruel to lead them to believe that we could wave a magic wand and get the artifact back. It’s not that simple. Things don’t always go the way they’re supposed to, especially when magic is involved. There are too many exceptions to the rules. We don’t know what we would be getting into or even how to get into it.”

  “Yes, that’s all true, but if we don’t help them, who will?”

  “Nobody, that’s who. You don’t want to go looking for trouble do you? Beth is a victim of theft. Nobody was hurt, and she doesn’t even know the value or purpose of the thing that was stolen. Shit happens, Professor. We can’t get involved with every minor crime we hear about. Life isn’t fair, but life goes on.”

  “Yes, you’re right,” I agreed. “You put it in perspective very succinctly. Looking at it realistically, it’s just petty theft. I got all wrapped up in the mystery of the artifact. It’s probably nothing. It may not even have any magical power. Just because Beth thinks it belonged to her mother and she thinks her mother was a powerful witch, doesn’t mean any of that is true. All we know is that Beth claims that a piece of ivory or bone with symbols on it was stolen. Even if we found it, it’s just a memento to Beth, and we wouldn’t benefit in any way.”

  “Right,” Rachel said. “If we’re going to take on somebody else’s problems, there has to be some upside for us. That’s why I charge for my services. I’m a professional. Doctors, lawyers, and private investigators all charge for helping people. It’s commerce. Value received for value given. Everybody is happy. They couldn’t afford to hire us anyway.”

  Couldn’t afford to hire us—I liked the “us” part. Was Rachel thinking of me and herself as an “us”? I hoped so.

  “No they couldn’t afford it,” I agreed. “Beth said that they were barely making ends meet at the store. Even if they could afford to hire us, there’s the danger and impossibility of the objective. What would you charge someone to take on a case like that?”

  “A lot more than I’ll charge the lovely Mrs. Overgarden, that’s for damn sure. I don’t even know what to charge for hazardous duty pay.”

  “What is fair compensation for risking your life, if you know the risks ahead of time?” I proposed. “I don’t think anyone would actually agree to pay adequate compensation for risks like that. It’s kind of a conundrum. If you don’t survive, you can’t use the money no matter how much you charge. If you do survive without a scratch, will the client believe that the risks were really as great as what he was charged for? A client would have to be made of money to adequately compensate you for the unknown risks of having magical adversaries.”

  “Hmmm,” Rachel said. “Let’s grab some lunch.”

  “Absolutely,” I confirmed.

  “How about Besaw’s,” Rachel suggested. “We’re still on the Overgarden case; lunch is on me.”

  “Besaw’s it is,” I agreed.

  Rachel parked in a space beside the restaurant, and we went inside. There was a table available by a window, and we were seated there. Rachel ordered a Reuben on rye, and I ordered meatloaf. We both asked for coffee. As we waited for our
entrees and ate our salads, we recapped the Overgarden case. Rachel concluded the discussion saying that she would write up a short report documenting our findings and expenses and deliver it to Phyllis that evening.

  “What about your compensation, Professor?” Rachel asked.

  “Oh, I’m just a ride-along on this case,” I said. “The break in my routine and the thrill of the chase are all the compensation I need. I thoroughly enjoyed working on the case with you, and my contribution was quite minimal. I hope I can do it again sometime.”

  “You’re a good ride-along, Professor. Most cases are more boring and drag out longer than this one. You made the time pass quickly, and I think you helped tie up the loose ends. You know I believe in fair compensation for good work.”

  “Yes, I know,” I replied, “But you’re the professional. I’m an amateur. Maybe I’ll be able to contribute more in a future case. Besides, I don’t need the money. I’m all set financially for a comfortable life. But I never turn down a free lunch.”

  That seemed to satisfy Rachel, and then our food arrived.

  I didn’t need the money, because of Ward Thompson and SimBiotic Arts. Ward and I had both been students at Oregon State University. He was a computer science major, and we had met in physics class. My original relationship with Ward was writing his term paper for one of the mandatory English classes that freshman engineering students had to take. Ward was a typical nerd, great at math and lousy at English. We became good friends and stayed in touch after graduation.

  Back in the late eighties, earning a living as a physicist had proven difficult, so I had been working as a freelance programmer, technical writer, software tester, IT engineer, basically anything computer-related that I could earn a buck doing.

  It was my good fortune that Ward had asked me to join him when he quit his job and started up a new software company to create PC games. SimBiotic Arts eventually became a leader in MMORPG, Massively Multiplayer On-line Role Playing Games. Ward is a genius at efficiently coding simulated worlds for gamers to play in.

  After SimBiotic went public, my founder’s stock, although much less than the other founders’ stock, was worth a few million dollars, and I decided to retire. I keep in touch with Ward by bombarding him with emails and phone calls every month to get him to go to lunch with me. We always enjoy getting together, even though he is such a workaholic that it is hard to break him away from his computer.

  “What do you think about that artifact that was stolen from Beth?” Rachel asked after we had started eating.

  “It’s mysterious,” I said. “When we get back to the Goose, I’ll examine those photos that Beth put on my thumb drive. In the past few months, I’ve found some old books that may shed some light on the symbols.”

  “Do you think it’s a real magical device?” Rachel asked.

  “There’s no way to know for certain just by looking at photos, but it does have the features of a magical object. It’s made of organic material with no iron. It has symbols that could be used for activation engraved into its surface. It’s length, which may be a cubit, is appropriate for a device made in ancient times without the benefit of modern tools of measurement. It also tapers to a point at one end as if it might be used for focusing something.”

  “What makes you think it’s ancient?” Rachel interjected.

  “Well, if it is an ancient magical device, it would have to be made without modern tools. The Coriolis, being a device that was made recently, is machined on a lathe, and is perfectly symmetrical. The two permanent symbols on it are engraved using a Dremel tool.

  “The symbols on the stolen artifact seem to be scratched into the surface with some kind of pigment rubbed into them. Although it is cylindrical, I don’t think it’s perfectly machined. I’ll bet it was made from bone by rubbing it by hand, maybe using sand or pumice.

  “If there were magicians back before civilization, they had to be able to make their devices without modern technology. After all, the exploits have probably been in the system from the beginning. I think all magic was planned from the beginning.”

  “It would be nice to know what it is we’re looking for,” Rachel said.

  “Are we looking for it?” I responded.

  “I mean, if we took the case, which we haven’t, it would certainly be important to know what we were looking for and what the motive might be for stealing it,” Rachel said.

  “I think the motive is that the thief believes that the object is valuable,” I said. “Since the artifact doesn’t appear to have any mundane purpose, the thief must believe that it has archaeological value, artistic value, or, maybe, magical value.”

  “Archaeological value is most likely,” Rachel speculated.

  “Yes, but there are quite a few strange symbols carved into that piece,” I said. “When we get back to the house, I’m going to examine those photos. I’m leaning more toward magical value.”

  “You’re over-thinking this, Professor. I find that usually the simplest explanation is the best explanation.”

  “Albert Einstein would agree with you,” I said. “Einstein said that everything should be as simple as possible, but not simpler.”

  “You’re the physics brain, Professor. I barely made it through algebra. It’s a good thing that pre-law didn’t require a lot of math or science, or I would never have gotten my bachelor’s degree. I graduated from the U of O magna cum lucky.”

  “You may not be a geek,” I agreed, “but your people skills and street smarts are definitely at a master’s level. That’s what makes you such a good private investigator.”

  “I think it’s the right profession for me. I couldn’t stand to be cooped up in an office for eight hours a day. I’ve got to keep moving, see what’s happening, talk to people.”

  “You’re my polar opposite,” I said. “I like my routine, and most people are boring to talk to—not you, of course. You always have great stories to tell and insightful comments on them, too.”

  “Some people think I’m too hyper,” Rachel mused.

  “Well, I need a little hyperactivity to get me off my ass and get me going. Like I said, you’re my polar opposite.”

  “If you’re such a stick-in-the mud, how do you stay in such good shape?” Rachel asked.

  “Oh, I swim a few times a week, and I walk. I guess I’m blessed with good genes. Although I try to eat healthy food, I don’t have to diet. I’ve never had a problem with my weight. How about you? Do you work out?”

  “I run,” Rachel said.

  “Do you play sports?” I asked.

  “I played soccer and fast-pitch softball in high school, but I don’t play much now.”

  “Were you good?” I asked.

  “I was an average athlete and an average student,” Rachel admitted. “I spent too much time partying and socializing to dedicate the time required to be good at either one. I’ll bet you were a brain.”

  “I was a nerd, yes, although we weren’t called nerds back in the dark ages. I was a bookworm. I didn’t play competitive sports, but I played saxophone in my high school band.”

  “Sounds like a nerd to me,” Rachel observed. “I guess you were good at math and science and terrible in English and history, right?”

  “No, actually I was good at all the subjects, including typing. My mother loved books and the English language. She inspired me to read and write and appreciate history.”

  “So you were good at everything.”

  “Except for talking to girls,” I admitted.

  “Why? You’re tall and not bad looking,” Rachel said.

  Not bad looking? For a nerd, “not bad looking” is a noteworthy accomplishment.

  “I wasn’t six feet tall in high school,” I said. “And I have to admit that this beard makes me look better than I would look clean-shaven. Some of us guys just look better with a few years of wear—like a leather briefcase, or messenger bag these days.”

&n
bsp; I was glad for the interruption as the waiter cleared the dishes and took Rachel’s Visa card. This was a little more sharing than I was accustomed to. Rachel asked for a doggie bag to hold the uneaten half of her sandwich, and I made a few comments about how good the meatloaf and coffee were. I think we were both glad to postpone telling any more personal histories.

  When we got back to Rachel’s car, she said, “Hey Professor, how would you like to go to the gym?”

  “I hate gyms,” I said.

  “So do I, but I thought we ought to pay a visit to Nick Jackson’s place of business.”

  “Why? We already established that he isn’t having an affair with Caite.”

  “Yeah, I know, but we might as well give Phyllis a little extra service for her money. If I can satisfy myself that he’s not a player, I’ll feel more confident about giving him a thumbs-up with Phyllis.”

  “OK, that makes sense, but what’s your plan?”

  “I’m going to flirt with Nick.”

  “No way. Is that ethical?”

  “Professor, I’m a P.I., my loyalties are to my client. I know Phyllis only specified checking out ‘the witch,’ but I want to go the extra mile and just see what type of guy Nick is.”

  “I really don’t think that’s fair to Nick. If you flirt with any man, he’s going to fall for it.”

  “What rock did you crawl out from under, Professor? I’m no beauty queen and Nick is a hunk. I’m sure he gets hit on all the time. If he’s not a player, he’ll shut me down before I can bat a second eyelash.”

  “I can’t believe that. It’s entrapment. I’m sure that if you turned on your charm, no man could resist.”

  “That’s very nice of you to say, Professor, but I have a lot of experience here. I would never have been elected homecoming queen or even been in the queen’s court. When I start to flirt with Nick, I’ll make sure that I look like a desperate loser with no self-esteem. That’s just what a predator is looking for, but it’s the kind of woman a married man wants to avoid. It’s a fair test.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I say so. You can just wait in the car. It’ll take about half an hour.”

  We arrived at New Body Fitness, and Rachel found a parking place and pulled in.

  “You aren’t even a member,” I said. “What’s your excuse for being here?”

  “I’m here to check out the gym to see if I want to join. I’ll need a fitness trainer; I’ve heard good things about Nick, and I want to meet him.”

  Rachel went into the gym, and I was left alone without even a book to read. In situations like this, a catnap is always the best option, so I closed my eyes and let my mind wander into dreamland.

  I awoke when I heard Rachel open the car door. “How’d it go?” I asked.

  “Nick’s in the clear,” Rachel said. “Either he already has a mistress or he isn’t looking for one. I’m fine with telling Phyllis that he isn’t cheating.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Like I said, I think Nick gets hit on a lot. For such a hunk, he can really turn off the charm without being mean. He might as well be a plumber come to fix your sink. I’ve dated bigger jerks than Nick.”

  “That’s good, I guess. He didn’t disrespect you, did he?”

  “No Professor, he’s just had a lot of experience with women, that’s all. Like I said, I’m not irresistible. He passed the test.”