
# Character Studies

## from the Gendarmerie Magique Series

Katharina Gerlach

Smashwords Edition, copyright 2014 Katharina Gerlach

In a world where everything is powered by magic, the Gendarmerie Magique needs specialists to fight crimes committed with magic. A gendarme who can't use magic is a liability. Moira is magically challenged. However, her biggest dream is a place in the Gendarmerie, and she refuses to let her disability get in the way.

Meet Moira and some other characters of the series in this book and enjoy the sizable reading sample of the first volume of the Gendarmerie Magique series.

Table of Contents

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## Moira Belamie

Moira wriggled on the chair in front of the principal's office. Her hands felt strangely empty. Up to this point it had been very comforting to hold on to her application papers. What should she do with her hands now?

The door opened, and the secretary looked out, the gray bob over her haggard features blending in with the mint colored walls.

"You may come in now."

Moira's heart began to beat faster, and the palms of her hands grew wet. What if her application was declined? This was the only chance she was going to get, and it was a miracle already that the Academy had invited her for an interview. She forced her trembling legs to get up and follow the secretary along a narrow corridor with many doors. Not one of them was labeled, but she assumed they led to the teachers' conference rooms. At the end of the corridor, the secretary showed her through a big, oaken door into a gigantic room. It was so different from what Moira had expected, she stopped and stared at the expanse. Big windows on the far side allowed the sun to light up the room, blurring it into a bright nothingness. White walls emphasized the feeling of being out of this world. On the left side of the door stood two comfortable looking chairs and a low table with two cups, a coffee pot, and a plate with cookies. It was the only furniture in the room.

Moira's gaze searched for the Academy's principal but aside from her, there was no one in sight. Even the secretary had left. Feeling small and insignificant, she walked to the seating arrangement but didn't dare to sit down. Patiently, she waited.

"Please, make yourself comfortable." The principal's voice, familiar from a previous parlebol call, filled the room before a dark shadow appeared beside her and condensed into a portly man with a big, curled mustache.

With his wide, black robe and the beak-like nose, the principal reminded Moira of a rather plump raven. She curtsied and stammered a greeting before her legs gave, and she settled into the nearest chair. Did he always appear like this? Would she ever get a chance to get used to this?

He sat too and filled both cups with coffee, leaving it to her to add sugar or milk.

"You seem rather young to be sitting here." Stirring his own cup, he leaned back and studied her. "I understand that you skipped two classes, and I must say, I was impressed by your grades. They're the one reason why I decided to take a look at you. You'd be a great addition to the Gendarmerie Générale. So, why do you insist on joining the Gendarmerie Magique?"

"I've been working very hard to be considered." Moira hated to feel so defensive. She knew she was lacking in magical skills. "My parents have both been very successful officers, and it's been my dream for as long as I can remember."

"Not all dreams come true." The principal drained the cup and set it down. He got up and stepped into the middle of the bright room. "Convince me you're good enough for the basics. With a deficiency like yours, you'd be a liability for your colleagues."

Moira swallowed. Did he mean she was supposed to do magic? Here? She followed him, marveling at the fact that her legs were still supporting her. The closer she got, the more the principal blurred. When she reached the middle of the room, only his face was still sharply defined. The rest merged with the whiteness.

"If you find my office, I will sign your acceptance paper," he said and vanished completely.

Dumbstruck, Moira stared at the place where he had just been. Surely it wasn't so very difficult to find his office? She turned toward the door, but it had vanished together with the principal and the furniture. Everything around her was white and blurred into a mist in the distance. She picked a random direction and walked, but nothing changed. Drat. How was she supposed to find anything if she was stuck in the middle of a bright, white mist?

This clearly was a test, and the only qualification that needed testing was her magical ability. Since the principal had said he was only looking for the bare minimum of skills, it couldn't be too difficult. She probably only needed to use a simple Guide-Moi spell. The problem was that she couldn't even do first grade stuff. She'd tried often enough to know it wouldn't work. So, she had to find a way that would lead her to the principal's office and make him believe she used magic. Fine. The GM-spell was simple and straightforward. People using it looked like sleepwalkers. Moira closed her eyes and let her arms dangle as if using the spell. She turned a full circle, hoping for something, anything that might indicate the direction the principal had left. When nothing presented itself, she opened her eyes again but didn't move her arms. Surely she would be watched closely.

Surprised, she discovered that the windows were still there. A fine web of golden strands ran over their frames. She had seen this kind of webbing before. It indicated active spells. Well, it was nice to know that the whiteness around her was some sort of spell but it didn't really help, or did it? She walked toward the windows, the only point of orientation she had in the fog. Against her expectations, she was able to get closer. Soon, she stood in front of a windowpane twice the height of her bedroom at home. Outside, she could see the Academy's running arena. Several students were training. For a split second, her longing to be one of them became so strong she thought her heart would burst. Biting her lip, she turned away from the window. A thin, blue line led from the window into the mist and vanished in the distance. This hadn't been there before.

Moira hesitated, but only for a second. It was the only hint she could see, and whether it would lead her to the principal or take her out of the Academy and shatter her dream of joining the Gendarmerie Magique was irrelevant at this point. She couldn't stay here, so she had to follow the blue line. A fifty-fifty chance was always better than no chance at all. With a sigh, she set out, still letting her arms hang limply at her side as if she were using a GM spell.

The floating blue ribbon led her ten steps away from the window, and then angled sharply to the right. Another seven steps took her to a door. Gently, she touched the surface. Yes, it was a real door, solid oak, like the others she had seen in the Academy. She knocked, and it swung open silently. It revealed an office stuffed with books and dark oak furniture. The eyes of the principal and several teachers turned to her. Warmth spread through Moira's belly. All was well.

## Franka Mercer

I read the advert, and a shiver ran down my spine. This would change my life forever. I was absolutely sure about that. The little money my parents had left me would suffice to buy the shop. Anticipation bubbled through me, and I felt drunk.

"Mom?" I looked up, blew away a strand of my orange colored hair, and scanned the comfy kitchen, but my foster mother wasn't anywhere in sight. I ripped out the advert and went into the cellar where I suspected she'd be. I was right. She was loading the washing machine.

"I got a perfect fit, and the price is acceptable." I waved the ad in front of her. My dark skin stood in nice contrast to the white paper.

She smiled. "Wouldn't it be better to have a look at the place? What if it's a mess?"

Why did she always have to be so darn pessimistic? She had always had the effect of a cold shower on me. I sighed, feeling the happy tingling fade away. Of course I would visit the shop before I bought it; I wasn't stupid. If only she could share my excitement for once.

"Does it have a parlebol or a box number?" she asked?

It had a box number. So I sat down, wrote a short contact request, and sent it to the newspaper. The rest of the day, I walked around in a happy cloud. Pa complained that although every human being needed several kilos of salt in his life, it didn't all have to go into one soup. Twice I bumped into one of my brothers and once into the wardrobe in the hall before Mom ordered me to stay in my room until the call came. Finally, the parlebol rang. I flew downstairs like a cannonball on legs, but Pa had been faster. He just ended the conversation with a flourish of his hand. The parlebol's glow died down, and he turned to me.

"He'll be there for you in half an hour. You can take my carpisto, but please be careful." He handed me a slip of paper with the address together with the keys to his treasured vehicle. I knew he wished I had spent my money on my own carpisto, but the shop came first. I'd get my own if I had some money left after buying the shop.

As I hurried into the garage, I wondered if I should call Moira, but I remembered she was busy moving into the Academy's dorm. It would be best to show her my new property, assuming it was what I wanted.

Twenty-five minutes later, I pressed my nose against the cool glass of the tiny corner shop in the city center. It was perfectly situated to draw customers. Inside, dark wooden furniture dominated the unlit room. What I could see of the layout was perfect. The shelves and the walls would need some paint, I was a much more colorful person that the previous owner, and the chairs needed to be replaced by something more modern, but it was the boutique of my dreams. With very little effort I would be able to turn it into the shop I had always wanted. I bit my lip, trying to tone down my anticipation. I couldn't afford to look too interested, since my money would barely be enough to buy this. I needed to lower the price, so I could get the material for the first dresses I planned to sell.

"Do you like it?" The man's voice was deep and full.

I turned, expecting to see a graying teddy bear. Instead, I faced a slender youth with big spectacles towering over me.

"Do we want to go in?" He grinned, and I nodded vigorously.

When he inserted the key into the lock and whispered a codeword to the SecuNerl, my mouth went dry. Would the shop really be the one I had dreamed of? Tentatively, I followed the man inside. It took less than ten minutes to examine the three rooms of the store, and he answered all my questions politely. There was a tiny kitchenette with a table and a chair, ideal for breaks, a medium sized storage room which would have to double as a sewing room, and the front. It was perfect. In my mind, I could already see colorful clothes on the racks and women of my generous size searching through them. I beamed at the young man, trying to look businesslike.

"Considering the work I've got to do, the price is a tad high, don't you think?"

"For a beautiful lady like you, I might be able to lower it somewhat."

Beautiful? I glanced at my stout body. No one had ever called me beautiful. Was he kidding me? But the admiration in his eyes seemed genuine. My skin grew hot, and I was grateful for my dark complexion. It wouldn't do to let him notice I blushed. I cleared my throat.

"If we can come to an agreement on the price, I'm prepared to sign the papers." Hopefully I didn't sound too haughty.

"I am sure we will work something out." He took off his glasses, bent over my pudgy hand, and blew a kiss on it. When he looked up, my gaze locked with the softest, brownest, most soulful puppy dog eyes I had ever seen, and I forgot the world around me. I had been right. This encounter would change my life whether I bought the shop or not.

## Tord Mutelen

Anxiously Tord stared at the dunning letter in his hand. Had he really been so engrossed in his thesis that he missed the first two? The letter tingled angrily in his hand, reminding him that the redemption of his student loan was due at the end of the month. He didn't have a choice now; he had to sell his late aunt's shop. Scowling, he activated the parlebol and called the local newspaper.

A few days later, his contact called him back with the names of a handful of interested buyers, and he set up visits to the shop. With every on-site inspection, his disposition deteriorated. The potential buyers quipped about everything he held dear. One said the kitchen was too small, another one found the window display to big, and yet another one wanted to trash the whole furniture. Tord was in a fool mood when his contact from the newspaper called again.

"I've got one more address for you," the editor's secretary said.

"If he's like all the others, I don't really want to meet them," he said. The secretary probably thought he was joking because she laughed. With a low sigh, Tord picked up a pen and wrote down a parlebol number and a name. He called the new contact right away and arranged a meeting for the same afternoon. The man on the other end was curt to the point of being impolite. Tord was less than optimistic. Still, he had to sell the shop and soon. The dunning letter he had pinned to his corkboard was already flashing orange, a sign that he didn't have much time left to get the money. He took off his glasses and wiped the sweat from his forehead before he set out to meet this one last potential buyer.

As he neared the front of the shop, an interesting sight greeted him. A plump person in jeans and a long, rainbow colored T-shirt with black sleeves, neck, and hem pressed her nose to the shop's window. Her bare arms sported a wonderful dark brown and the voluptuous body curved in all the right places. Tord's throat constricted. What a beautiful woman. It was a woman or wasn't it? When he had phoned, the contact had looked and sounded male. What if this wasn't his contact? But this person, male or female, was clearly interested in the shop. He made up his mind.

"Do you like it?" Due to his anxiety, his voice sounded much deeper than usual.

The orange colored pigtails bounced when the person turned. Relieved, Tord noticed that she was a woman after all. Her eyes widened. She didn't say a single word when he asked her to come in, but she nodded and followed him instantly. He led her past the shelves and the counter to the small kitchenette. The door was a little low, he stooped automatically. Inside, he turned, but she still lingered in the salesroom. Her fingers trailed over the counter top's wood grain, and he was sure she was already making changes in her mind. Another one of those. His mood, so suddenly improved by the sight of her, darkened at the thought. There were so many memories tied to this little shop. He watched her as she peered in corners and opened drawers, like the one where his aunt had kept her accounting books. Leading her through the shop, he answered the few questions she had about the previous owner, potential customers, and other interested buyers, but his heart was no longer in it. Never judge a book by its cover, he thought.

It didn't take long to look at everything. The young woman beamed at him and said, "I love it. Do you think your aunt would mind very much if I add some color to the walls and a few of the shelves?"

Tord couldn't believe what he had heard.

"Don't you want to rip out everything to modernize?"

The woman's laugh tingled on his skin like a gentle breeze, and it made his heart flutter as if he was a teen.

"The shop is only lacking in color, and that's easily remedied."

Tord cleared his throat. "So, you want to buy it?"

"Considering the work I've got to do, the price is a tad high, don't you think?"

Tord didn't hesitate for a second. Here stood the woman of his dreams, and she loved the shop like his aunt used to do. Anyway, he had expected prospective buyers to bargain over the price and had set it higher than necessary.

"For a beautiful lady like you, I might be able to lower it somewhat." He swallowed, hoping that the compliment wasn't too brash. Sweat formed on his forehead, fogging up his glasses. He hoped she wouldn't notice.

But she only smiled and said, "If we can come to an agreement on the price, I'm prepared to sign the papers."

"I am sure we will work something out." Tord took off his glasses. To conceal the moisture on his forehead, he bent and blew a kiss on the back of her hand. It smelled faintly of roses. When he straightened, his gaze locked with hers. Dark brown, doe-like eyes stared right into his soul, and he surrendered on the spot. With his heart hammering and the blood roaring in his ears, he asked her, "Shall we discuss the details over dinner? There's a really nice restaurant just around the corner."

"That'd be lovely." Her smile drove away the last residue of his fool mood. He locked the shop again, took her arm, and they walked in silence down the street. For the first time in a long while, Tord neither thought of his thesis nor of his money problem. He enjoyed himself. The last time he had felt so elated was on his first ever date in eighth grade. With a happy sigh, he held the door to the restaurant open for her when it occurred to him that he still didn't know her name. Well, it wasn't important now. Later, he would find a moment to ask.

## Druidus vanSteen

How I longed to be some place else. I hated it when Mom invited the daughters of her friends. She should know by now that I would never choose one as a girl-friend. I smiled politely and nodded without having heard a word of the bleached blonde beside my mother. If only I had a reason to leave early. I wouldn't be able to stand this for another hour. The worst thing was knowing beforehand how this would end. Father was due home in half an hour. I sighed and glanced at my mobile parlebol. Since no one had called, I had no good excuse to leave. Nodding now and then, I pretended to follow the women's small talk while letting my mind roam. I visualized my dream girl. Good looking (obviously) and smart with enough backbone to ignore my parents constant fight over me.

The door opened unexpectedly. Father was home early. I cringed at the snarl on his face.

"Oh, you've brought another one of your intellectually challenged beauties."

Glancing at my mother, I saw her pale, but she kept up her seemingly good mood. Smiling at father, she got up, walked to the bar and began to mix his favorite drink.

"Your intellect obviously needs some refreshing. Maybe your vigor will return then."

Father's face turned nearly purple at the implied insult. Even the bimbo noticed, there was something not right between my parents. Hastily, she stood and grabbed her slender purse.

"I'm terribly sorry, but I forgot an appointment with the dentist," she said to my mother. "I hope you don't mind me leaving." Without waiting for a reply, she hurried to the door.

Glad for a chance to get away, I ran after her. "Wait. Allow me to give you a lift."

I felt guilty when I noticed the flash of hope on my mother's face. I had no intention whatsoever to see the girl again. I just wanted to be gone before my parents exploded.

Outside, the girl turned to me and blushed.

"I hate to be so direct," she said, "but I'm not really into you, you know? My mother insisted on this meeting since she is not very fond of my boyfriend. He's not... let's say he didn't receive the same education we did. But I do love him very much." Her smile was genuine.

"Same here. Isn't it awful how parents always try to meddle?" I smiled back, hoping it would reassure her. On the way into town, we had a decent enough conversation. When I dropped her off at the university campus, we parted as pals. I drove around for another hour and then, I headed to the Gendarmerie Magique to report for duty.

~*~

Half an hour later, my partner Shavan and I were walking along the less fortunate streets of Salthaven. Protector duty -- not my favorite, but necessary. In the course of two hours, we unarmed and arrested six drunken rowdies, guided a newlywed tourist couple to the better parts of town, disarmed two magical trick-o-treat spells, and overcame a warlock on speed. The usual stuff, and nothing I thought about too much. Still, it kept me from brooding.

The colleagues taking the warlock to the decontamination cell had barely left when I noticed a slender, blonde with a very short, pink skirt. She walked along the street, scanning the houses as if she'd lost something. I nodded in her direction. Shavan sighed.

"You talk to her. I hate hookers, and they hate me," he grumbled.

Since he was the senior officer, I obeyed.

"Mam, working here is prohibited. Please return to the designated area outside Salthaven." I took her arm gently, and she flinched. Her big, blue eyes stared at me with an innocence I hadn't expected.

"I'm sorry, officer, but I do not work, as you so delicately put it. I am looking for the new abode of my ex-husband. He vanished with the contents of my bank account." When she smiled, pearly teeth showed between perfectly formed lips. My pulse raced, and I had to struggle not to kneel at her feet. Her ex must have been an idiot to leave a woman like that.

Shavan who obviously had noticed my reaction to her charm came to my rescue.

"Why don't you leave this to the Gendarmerie, Madame." He smiled encouragingly. "Take a taxi to wherever you stay, and we will take care of this. People in this part of town are not exactly friendly to strangers, and beautiful women like you might find themselves in trouble."

She blushed. "It's so nice of you to worry, but I'm very well equipped."

A door opened, and a bear of a man came out. He had barely reached the last step of the stairs when the blonde pointed a finger at him, mumbling a spell activation phrase I didn't know. The man's body froze. "Hey, what the..." His jaw fell when he noticed the woman.

"Lucille, baby. You here?"

"Did you think I wouldn't be able to find you?" The blonde -- Lucille, I corrected myself -- stepped up to him. "I want it back."

"I don't have your money no more." The man tried to look innocent and failed miserably.

"I'm not talking about the money." Lucille pushed her hands under his shirt and felt around. When she withdrew, the man screamed. The eyes in his head rolled back and he blacked out. Since he was frozen in place, only his head slumped. Lucille smiled and handed her find to Shavan.

"This is what I came for. I am working for ThinkBrain Industries, and aside from my money, he stole the prototype of a new game console that connects directly with the gamer's mind. It's dangerously addictive and not for human use yet. Am I right to assume you will return it to the rightful owner after your paperwork is done?"

"We sure do." Shavan called headquarters again, and they sent a carpisto to pick up the culprit and Lucille. I only found my voice again when she was gone.

"Wow, what a woman."

"Take a cold shower and forget her. She's way out of your league." Shavan grinned and my face grew hot.

~*~

At the end of my shift, I was still thinking of Lucille. The memory of her curves made my mouth water. I was quite surprised to find her standing outside the Gendarmerie's front door.

"Ah, there you are." She held out a dainty hand for me to kiss. "Let me introduce myself officially. I am Lucille Brantorad."

Hook, line and sinker. When I straightened after the expected polite gesture, I knew I had lost myself in those blue eyes.

"I am Druidus vanSteen." I said and my voice sounded hoarse. "I know it is late, but would you be interested in having a coffee with me?" Late -- I could have slapped myself. It was nearly morning. Her smile warmed me like a summer sun.

"It would be a pleasure."

I led her to my carpisto, already knowing where I would take her. I allowed myself to think about my parents' reaction to Lucille. Mother would surely be delighted to meet her. After all, Lucille was educated and knew her manners. And father? He'd probably try his usual method of unfriendly banter to drive her away. But I was sure that this woman would not let him. It seemed as if I had finally found someone I liked, who might be able to get along with mother and who would stand up to my father. As I drove with Lucille into the sunrise, my future looked brighter than ever.

## Lavant Belamie and Bastide Leclerque

Miffed, Lavant stomped past the alley that led into Elveholme's perpetual twilight to where he had parked his carpisto. Some clients were just too stupid. Why hadn't the guy said up front that he suspected his daughter to make out with an elf? He wouldn't have taken the case for several reasons. First, a human-elf relationship was not forbidden. The father was probably just narrow minded and Lavant detested intolerance. It left a bad taste in his mouth. Second, his staff held vampires and werewolves, but there wasn't a single elf who could have dealt with the observation. A human in Elveholme would stick out like a sore thumb. Third, the elfqueen would be very annoyed if she found him meddling with one of her citizen. He sighed. If only he didn't need the money urgently, he'd write a polite withdrawal letter and refund the client. But as things stood, he had to make this case work.

A fleeting feeling of emptiness cooled the back pocket of his jeans. Instinctively, Lavant shot around and grabbed whatever hid in the dark. His fingers closed around a slim wrist.

"Lemmy go!" The voice held unmistakable panic. It was childlike but the thief wasn't. It was an elf. Lavant frowned in confusion. Elves didn't steal. They knew the consequences. Still angry about the situation he was stuck in, he snatched back his wallet and pulled the struggling culprit into the alley that led to Elveholm. Soon, he reached the forest that filled the zone of twilight. He had barely entered, when two guards appeared. They stopped him with lowered lances.

"Where are you headed?"

"I need to speak to the queen. The sneaky scumbag tried to steal my wallet." Lavant pushed the elf and his wallet into the guards' faces.

"This is a serious accusation." One of the guards waved a hand, and the forest dissolved.

A room formed around Lavant. Or did Lavant re-form in the room? He wasn't entirely sure. His prisoner whimpered and curled up, and Lavant set him down.

"Where are we?" He looked around.

"The throne room. Please reconsider, sir, or this will be my undoing." The elf wrung his hands and looked at Lavant pleadingly. His heart told Lavant to give the tyke a second chance, but he steeled himself. Every misdeed had consequences, and stealing a purse wasn't a major crime. The penalty wouldn't be too hard on the elf. He was sure about that, so he kept studying the throne room. The white walls of the hall were covered in tiny, blue flowers. Knowing elves, they were probably real. Marble columns wound with ivy supported a gilded ceiling, and a decorative chair made of living wood stood on a dais, probably the throne. On the ground in front of it, a man sized hole swirled with blackness. The dark fog prevented Lavant from seeing what lay at the bottom.

"So, you are accusing one of mine of theft?"

"That I do." Lavant turned to the melodious voice and gasped. On the throne sat a woman more beautiful than he had ever seen before. Chestnut tresses flowed over her shoulders to her waist, and a sparkly green dress hugged a perfect figure. For the first time since he didn't know when, Lavant felt the urge to embrace a woman again. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The elfqueen was too dangerous to even think about this.

"Do you have proof?" The queen's face was expressionless, her eyes cold as ice. Lavant recounted what had happened, and she nodded. "Very well. Anything you'd like to say as a defense, Bastide?"

The elf trembled. "Your Majesty, it is all a stupid mistake. This gentleman lost his wallet, and I picked it up to hand it back to him."

"Liar." At this single word from the elfqueen's mouth, Bastide fell to the floor and pressed his forehead to the parquet.

"Please have mercy. I didn't mean no harm."

Lavant was surprised by the tears that flowed over the little man's face. Surely admitting to something as minor as the theft of a wallet didn't warrant an outbreak like this.

"Guards!" The queen waved a hand, and the guards who had sent Lavant to the throne room appeared. "Flog him."

The elves grabbed Bastide's arms and pulled him up.

"Wait a minute." Lavant stepped closer to the throne, but a warning look from one of the guards stopped him. "He only stole my wallet. Don't you think that flogging is the wrong punishment?"

"You are right." The elfqueen stood up. "Prepare him for the tithe."

"Flog me, beat me up, or hang me from the highest tree, but please not the tithe." The small elf's eyes were wide with panic, and he struggled against the guards' grip.

"The sentence has been spoken. Thou shalt be part of the tithe." The queen waved again and the guards dissolved with their prisoner in tow.

"NOOOOoo" Bastide's scream filled the throne room even after he had disappeared. Lavant felt sorry for him. In a way, he felt responsible for the elf's panic, although he didn't understand the reason for it.

"What is the tithe and why is Bastide so scared?"

"Can't you see the Gate, human?" The queen pointed to the strange hole in the throne room's floor, and Lavant nodded. "In regular intervals, a tenth of our population has to leave our world through the Gate, never to return."

Lavant remembered one of the tales his granny had told him many, many years ago. Could she have been right?

"What do you mean with 'never to return'? Where does it lead?" Lavant's confusion grew.

"We do not know. None of our flock has ever come back. We only know that Elveholm is not only part of your world but also of the Dark World Below. Every tenth year, we've got to pay our due. The sacrifices are usually chosen by a lottery, but of course offenders like Bastide get in before the draw." The elfqueen wiped her eyes, looking tired.

So, Gran's stories weren't just scary bed time tales. Lavant pondered how he could save Bastide. He didn't want to be responsible for such a drastic punishment. He raked his brain for a solution. Hadn't his gran told him about a way out of the elves' tithe? If only he could remember. He asked the queen, "What would happen if you simply refused to send a tenth of your population?"

"We did that once, and the hole grew with an amazing speed. It ate a big portion of Our kingdom in record time, and only stopped when we finally sent the tithe." The queen got up. "Now, leave. The audience is over."

As she looked at him with her haughty face and pointed toward a door that hadn't been there before, she resembled his grandmother so much as if they'd been sisters. Lavant knew there was elf blood flowing in his veins, thinned down over countless generations, but could he really be related to the royal family? He frowned. This threw a completely different angle on his grandmother's tales. What if they were all true? He remembered the one where one of his ancestors won the love of an elf girl because he had rescued her from the tithe. He couldn't recall her exact phrasing, but it was something along the lines of 'a sacrifice given freely will overcome the Dark'. If his grandmother was right, he knew what to do. Instead of walking out the door, he approached the hole in the ground. His heart began to thump harder the closer he got.

"What are you doing?" The queen's voice trembled. For the first time since Lavant met her, she showed a true emotion.

"I'm going to see if Gran was right." He jumped into the black, swirling fog.

A strong wind caught him and hurled him through a world of darkness. Icy fingers reached for him, tugging on his clothes, but none ever made contact with his skin. He wondered about that for a moment, but then realized that his skin was glowing from within. Obviously, whatever lurked in the darkness was afraid of his light. Tumbling through the air, he wondered where he would land and how much it would hurt, when he slammed down on a wooden floor.

He shook the dizziness from his mind and looked up. He was in the elfqueen's throne room. The strange wind had set him down at exactly the same spot from where he had left. The hole in the ground was gone. He grinned. Thanks Gran.

"How did you do that?" The queen's voice was barely more than a whisper.

Lavant didn't answer. He got up, patted nonexistent dust from his knees, and walked toward the door. He would have to make sure to return in ten years. It just wouldn't do to let a tenth of the elven population vanish into the Dark.

"Wait." The queen grabbed his arm although he hadn't heard her follow him, and he was usually very good at noticing followers.

"We do not know how you managed to interrupt the tithe, but We owe you. State your request." She looked him straight in the eye and he knew he could ask anything from her. He knew exactly what he wanted.

"Pardon Bastide."

Her small mouth pouted before she answered. "Very well. He is yours. He may come and go in Elveholm as he wishes, but he's no subject of mine any more." She let him go and vanished.

Lavant walked out of the throne room, looking for his way out of Elvenholm's palace. He was sure he'd meet Bastide somewhere outside.

It will be very interesting to have an elf on the team, he thought. Maybe I can find a working approach for my last job after all.

## Commisaire Magique Sabio Marten

_Sabio Marten is probably the most intelligent person on the Gendarmerie Magique. Aside from doing his work and inventing new gadgets to improve crime scene investigations, he teaches in Salthaven's university. Here is one of his lectures for freshmen of_ Investigative Crime Detection _(Sabio insisted I use his original papers including his graphics so I won't get things muddled). Please keep in mind that the information presented is difficult, so if you don't get it, don't worry. You can eat your greens without understanding the details of how plants create matter from sunlight and magic._

### Lecture on Photomagysynthesis by Commissaire Sabio Marten  
_Basic Magical Theory  — Transcript_

In my opinion, Magical Basics should be obligatory for all university courses. It isn't. Thus, I'm all the more grateful that so many of you attended this course. Let's dive right in.

I'm sure all of you know the basic formula of Photomagysynthesis. However, I'm better safe than sorry. Photomagysynthesis is the process plants, from tree size to the smallest algae, use to turn sunlight, magic, water and carbon dioxide into sugar while giving of oxygen. For those of you chemically challenged, specialists would write it like this:

6 H2O + 6 CO2 \+ magic + light —> ΘC6H12O6 \+ 6 O2

Just to make sure you understand this correctly, the numbers of hydrogen (H), oxygen (O), and carbon (C) have to be the same on either side of the arrow. The Θ indicates the magical enhancement. For those of you who don't know, most sugars have a ring like structure of carbon atoms with hydrogen and oxygen atoms attached. In enhanced sugars, the magic curls up like a ball and sits in the center of the ring of carbon.

With the basics in mind, let's look at how plants do what they do. Surely you've all heard of cells. All plants have cells with green organelles called chloroplasts. These contain so-called thylakoids. Those are membrane-bound compartments inside chloroplasts that look like piles of green coins stacked on top of each other. Their membranes contain molecule-complexes which absorb all colors of light except green. By the way, that's the reason why plants are usually green. Only a few organisms use predominantly molecules reflecting red or yellow, and they don't do Photomagysynthesis. They create unenhanced sugars. Their process is called Photosynthesis which is very similar to Photomagysynthesis and part of every basic biology lecture, so I won't go into details here.

To make the molecule-complexes very effective, they have antennas using chlorophyll and other light absorbing molecules. Each antenna holds two to four hundred light absorbing molecules and is referred to as a Photosystem. So, the membranes of the thylakoids hold everything necessary for the first step of the Photomagysynthesis, the light reaction.

light reaction part one

During the light reaction, the chlorophyll molecules in Photosystem II use the sunlight's energy to create highly charged electrons that are then snatched up by a chain of electron transporting molecules. Every molecule in the chain uses up some of the electron's energy and triggers the combination of Magie Sauvage with ADP and Phosphor to ΘATP. Yes?

Student: What is ADT and ATP?

Oh, you really want to know? Don't say I haven't warned you. ADP's full name is Adenosine diphospate and ATP accordingly Adenosine triphosphate. You can imagine the molecule as a lorry for transporting energy to places where energy is needed — say for growth or movement. It's just that ATP-molecules don't keep, so life had to find a way to store energy for longer than the normal ATP-lifecycle. That's where the sugar comes in. And that's why we need to know about Photomagysynthesis.

Now, to get back its electrons, the chlorophyll steals new electrons from water inside the thylakoid. That action breaks the water molecule. This process is called the photolysis of water. The oxygen atoms combine into O2 and travel out of the plant. Lucky for us or we couldn't breathe.

They leave behind hydrogen atoms that are missing an electron — and a lone rider like that is called... correct... a proton. The protons are transported out of the thylakoid by an enzyme that works like a one way revolving door. As the proton is pushed from the inside of the thylakoid to the outside, the enzyme creates more ATP, this time unenhanced. To fill up the void left by the protons, new water streams into the thylakoid through the membrane, thus keeping the photolysis going.

creation of ATP and transport of protons out of the thylakoid

At the same time, the electrons that went through Photosystem II and the chain of electron transporting molecules reach a second photosystem. Photosystem I re-charges them with sunlight, and hands them to a second chain of electron transporting molecules. At the end of this chain, the electrons are used to combine two waiting protons with a stuff called NADP... what? No I won't tell you the full name this time — go join a biology class...

NADP creation

As I said, two protons combine with NADP and Magie Sauvage to ΘNADPH2+. This molecule is like a shopping cart for protons. It takes them to the place where the second step of the Photomagysynthesis takes part. Here's a graphic presenting the whole light reaction at once.

full light reaction

Now for the second step — The molecules produced during the light reaction are used to build sugars out of carbon dioxide. Since the second step isn't directly dependent on light, it is often referred to as light-independent or dark reactions. But because it uses molecules from the light reaction, it still is indirectly dependent on light, so the expression is misleading.

The second step of the Photomagysynthesis is called the Calvin cycle, named after a poor guy who spent half his life watching the grass grow. It takes part in the Chloroplast but outside of the thylakoids, and it starts with an enhanced five-carbon-sugar grabbing a carbon dioxide molecule. The newly produced six-carbon-sugar splits up into one enhanced three-carbon-sugar molecule and a normal three-carbon-sugar molecule.

The normal three-carbon-sugar molecule grabs more carbon dioxide molecules and uses ΘATP and ΘNADPH2+ from the light reaction to recreate the initial five-carbon-sugar in several steps. It's a form of recycling to make sure the plant doesn't run out of five-carbon-sugars.

The second, enhanced three-carbon-sugar merges with another of its kind. The result is what we commonly refer to as sugar. Since it was built from two enhanced molecules, it is also magically enhanced with the magic caught in the center of the ring structure.

This sugar is then transported out of the chloroplast and distributed to wherever in the cell it is needed, or it is put into storage. When the enhanced sugar gets digested, the magic inside the molecules has been significantly altered by being balled up. It is set free as Magie Générale.

Herbivores or omnivores like us keep part of the enhanced molecules in their metabolism. Carnivores and omnivores receive their share of Magie Générale from what remains in the food chain. Are there questions?

Student: So I get more magic when I eat more greens?

Unfortunately not. It has been proven that the limiting factor for the amount of magic a human can hold is not related to the amount of plant matter consumed. There's no need to become a vegetarian if you're not so inclined.

Student: Is there a way to make someone's magic stronger? What limits the accumulation of magic?

The limit is defined by a genetically predetermined threshold that differs for every individual. Research suggests... No, I think I'll better stop here. This is not about Photomagysynthesis any more, and I don't think the university would be happy if I held you captive for one of my rants. Thank you for listening today, and I hope to see you again when I talk about our relationship with nerls, next week. Good bye.

_(authors note: Did you understand all that? I told you he's a geek, right? Let me tell you a secret: so am I  — I love this stuff!)_

## Sample: Swordplay — Gendarmerie Magique Volume One

Despite her obvious lack of magical talent, nineteen year old Moira Bellamie apprentices with the Gendarmerie Magique, the magic police. She puts all her effort into solving a burglary at the National Museum where antique weapons have been stolen, to keep the hard won job. Falling for her partner Druidus wasn't part of the plan. When more and more people are murdered with one of the stolen weapons, Moira must tame uncontrollable magic, or the people she cares for will die, her partner first and foremost.

For words like parlebol, carpisto and auravaluation, there's a glossary at the end.

### Chapter 1

Moira yawned; it was only her second night shift and her body hadn't adjusted yet. At three in the morning, it preferred to sleep, no matter how eager she was to help examine a burglary. She blinked to get rid of her tiredness and wiped the sweat from her brow. It was even hotter inside the car than outside.

"We're nearly there." Buds turned a corner so fast, the centrifugal force pressed Moira against the door. Buds didn't care. "You'll take the cases, Moira."

"But don't go close to the scene," Semra added, clinging to the grip over the passenger door when Buds sped around the next corner.

Moira didn't answer. She had enough trouble to cling to something. Absentmindedly, she stared out of the window at the deserted streets of Salthaven. The all-round green light on the car's roof bathed the usually friendly, multi-level sandstone buildings of the city center in a haunting glow. Once in a while, Moira spotted the glowing net of a protective spell covering one of the many shops. _Luckily we won't have to pass the tavern district. The way Buds drives many of the late night guests wouldn't stand a chance._

With squealing brakes, Buds pulled to a halt in front of the National Museum. The four-story building was illuminated from below. With its pillars that reached from the classical roof to the ground, it seemed even more intimidating than during the day. As fast as she could, Moira got out of the carpisto and opened the trunk. She took great care not to touch the flying carpet's fringe hanging down freely under the bumper. Back when she took driving lessons, she had ruined a brand-new carpisto that way, and she didn't fancy repeating it. She hoisted the heavy bags with the crime scene investigation tools while Buds and Semra already hurried up the wide staircase to the entrance of the National Museum.

A second patrol carpisto stopped and two young gendarmes got out and began to put up the obligatory barrier.

"Hurry up, Moira!" Buds didn't turn back to her.

Moira pretended she didn't mind this impolite behavior. She sucked in her lower lip and followed him, hauling the two heavy bags up the seemingly endless stairs. Sweat burned in her eyes, and she wished she could use a hovering spell. The last time she had tried, the cases had exploded. _Why does it have to be so hot?_ She sighed. _And it won't be any better inside the museum due to the climate control spell._

At the entrance, a slim but small nightwatchman waited for her. He hopped from foot to foot so the pale-blond ponytail under his red uniform cap bobbed up and down. Moira had hardly reached Buds and Semra when the nightwatchman led them through the big glass doors inside. A heat wave suffocated Moira in the National Museum's entrance hall. _I hate climate control spells._ She frowned. Still loaded with the heavy cases, she fell behind. Sweat flowed over her body like water. Her breathing sped up as she hurried along the gallery of the old masters. Due to the reduced illumination at night, most pictures in the high-ceilinged rooms were lost in the dark. The security spells' glow wasn't strong enough for Moira to see more than the shapes, but she had been to the National Museum's art gallery so often she knew the pictures hung in a seemingly unsorted manner all over the walls.

Even Mona Beth, the world famous portrait, hung hidden between several landscapes and a couple of paintings with bony, naked women. She looked for Buds and Semra. They were standing in front of a door labeled 'private,' talking to the nightwatchman without taking any notice of her. Moira dared to stop for a second to catch her breath. Although she knew exactly where Mona Beth hung, it took her a while to discover the hand-sized, magically enhanced painting. The young woman in the picture winked at her and stuck out her tongue. Surprised, Moira raised her eyebrows. Until now, Mona Beth had never winked before. She set down one of the cases and wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. For a fleeting moment she envied the gendarmes for whom the climate control spell felt cooling. _Should I tell them?_ She gazed at Buds and Semra again. _Better not. How am I going to explain that a magically enhanced painting sticks out her tongue at me where everybody else sees a mellow and mysterious smile_? She picked up the case again and walked to the gendarmes still waiting in front of the heavy iron door with the nightwatchman.

Asked if he'd been to the cellar, the nightwatchman shook his head. "When I noticed on the surveillance globes that the rolling gate stood open, I raised the alarm immediately and informed the director. There he is."

A slim man in a black, stylish two-piece approached. The nightwatchman introduced him as Director Professor Doctor du Mar.

The head of the National Museum bowed stiffly. "Please excuse my late arrival." He put one hand on the ID-panneau and pushed his white fringe from his face with the other. The identification spell traced his fingers with a green glow and the door to the basement opened.

When the director took a step toward it, Buds held him back. "Please stay up here until we have secured all evidence."

The director opened his mouth to complain but Semra cut him short. She pointed to a man hurrying along the gallery with flying coattails.

"Commissaire Magique Marten will have to talk to you, and our colleagues will also have questions for you."

Moira noticed the commissaire stop beside Mona Beth to bend forward before Semra pushed her through the door. Carefully she descended the steep staircase after Buds. She was grateful that it got colder the further down they went. At the bottom, Semra put a hand on her shoulder. "Stay here. We don't want to ruin this crime scene, the way it happened to the guys from the day shift, right?" She looked at Moira more threateningly than questioningly.

Moira nodded. She didn't like to remember how she had destroyed every clue within reach when she had tried to spread a stasis spell. Luckily headquarters had given them the wrong address, which had been the only fact that had saved her, but Moira could still recall the relief in her colleagues' faces when they realized they weren't at the true crime scene.

She made herself comfortable on the bottom step and watched Buds. He carried his case toward the rolling gates at the other end of the gigantic, nearly empty stockroom. Semra walked to the other side of the hall where a fireproof steel door led to the museum's archives. Patiently Moira waited, glad she wasn't asked to help. She knew that despite her enthusiasm, she had no talent for crime scene investigation; one more reason to be even more diligent with all her other tasks. She had fought too hard for her preliminary job. _I have to prove that I'm just as good as normal people. It's the only way to get a permanent job with the Gendarmerie Magique._ Mechanically, she felt for the letter with her appointment for a RealJob™ analysis in the pocket of her uniform. On one hand, she feared the interview; on the other, she could hardly wait. Whenever she thought of it, her heart beat harder. To take her mind of it, she watched the two gendarmes work. Buds had spread a stasis spell over the whole crime scene. Now, they could collect clues without changing or destroying them accidentally.

Moira wished magic would come to her as naturally. She watched Buds with great interest as he spread fingerprint powder on his palm and murmured the activating words. The powder lifted off his hand, spread through the hall, and stuck at every single fingerprint it found. Buds moaned when he realized there were hundreds. He was just pressing a sticky paper on his third print when someone called out from the top of the stairs. "Did you secure the crime scene? Can I come down?"

"All green," Semra called back, and she was right in the truest sense of the word. She had activated a marking spell that made all footprints glow neon green. From Moira's spot on the stairs, the hall resembled an oversized, futuristic painting.

"We should preserve this. It is intriguing," the head of the National Museum said. He came down the stairs behind Commissaire Magique Marten.

Moira slipped to the side to make room for them.

The commissaire looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "Are you the young woman with the stasis spell that backfired?"

Moira nodded and stared at the ground, her cheeks burning. _Does everybody know that by now?_

A strong hand warmed her shoulder. "Don't worry about it. All beginnings are difficult, and not everybody is cut out for crime scene investigation."

A butterfly of hope fluttered in her stomach as she watched the commissaire walk away. Accompanied by the director and the nightwatchman he stepped over to some boxes waiting for the morning to be unpacked. The nightwatchman took off his cap, put it on a box and wiped the sweat off his forehead while Director du Mar walked around the boxes, frowning. "At first glance, nothing seems to be missing, but I'd better compare the contents of the boxes with the bill of delivery," he said.

"Let the new girl do this." The commissaire waved for Moira to come.

She got up hesitantly, glancing at Buds. The commissaire grinned. "Buds. How much longer?"

Buds answered without looking up. "We'll be done in ten minutes."

"Good. Lift the stasis spell so Moira can come in. You can recast it before we leave."

"No problem, Commissaire Marten."

The commissaire looked at Moira. "When stasis has been lifted, you'll compare the inventory with the content of the boxes." Moira nodded.

The nightwatchman sprinted off, fetched long folding tables from a shelf, and set them up.

Commissaire Marten turned to the director. "Did you notice something strange in the gallery?"

"No, why?" The director hurried up the stairs, and the commissaire followed. When he passed Moira, he smiled. She felt like hugging him. He was the first member of the Gendarmerie Magique who had been friendly to her. With a warm feeling in her stomach, she settled down again and waited for Buds and Semra to finish.

Half an hour later, Buds deactivated the stasis spell. "You will touch only the boxes or you'll be in trouble."

Moira nodded, slipped on a pair of latex gloves and picked up the clipboard with the inventory lying on the boxes. _Hopefully they aren't sealed with a spell._ She took an open-sesame from Buds' case and woke the thumb-sized nerl living inside. "Could you please open the boxes for me?"

The nerl opened his eyes wide with surprise, which made the warts on his green skin dance. "A polite human? That's refreshing." He zipped to the first box, and soon the lid clattered to the ground. While Moira took out bundle by bundle and placed them on the long folding tables, the nerl opened the other boxes. When he returned to Moira, he reached out with his right arm and open palm in the traditional farewell gesture of his folk. Before he could climb back into his home, she thanked him. Shaking his head with a smile, the nerl climbed back into the open-sesame. Moira grinned when she heard him snore a little later.

Luckily all bundles had been labeled carefully. Moira easily found them on the lists. Meticulously she ticked off clay fragments, hair needles, cloak clasps, pottery, gold coins, weapons, bones, and much more. When she fetched the last bundle from the last box, she found the nightwatchman's dark red cap. She picked it up and put it on the table too before she ticked off the last few bundles. Everything was there. Satisfied, she folded back the lists. _Wait a moment._ She unclipped the lists from the clipboard and examined them. The content of each box was listed on a separate sheet. The pages had been stuck together with a glue spell and placed in the clipboard. A small scrap of paper clung to the last page. "One page is missing." Moira took the nightwatchman's cap and the list and climbed the stairs, looking for Buds. When she found him, she said, "I'm done."

The burly gendarme nodded. "I'll reactivate the stasis spell."

Moira waited until he left and went to look for Commissaire Marten. She handed him the list. "Someone ripped out a page. Since there is one page per box, I believe one box is missing."

"Good work." Commissaire Marten smiled at her. His tired face with the three-day beard lit up like a cloudy sky opening to the sun. Moira felt the warmth in her heart and smiled back.

"I'll tell Director du Mar." Commissaire Marten turned and left.

Open-mouthed, Moira watched him leave.

"He's the best, isn't he?" Semra stepped closer. "Work is twice as much fun with him. It's a pity he works with us so rarely."

"What department is he in?"

"Murder Two."

"Murder Two," Moira repeated. "Why is he here today?"

"There was a body in the yard of the museum, probably a homeless. Maybe Sabio believes that the burglary is connected to the murder. It's said he's got a sixth sense for connections."

Something occurred to Moira and she turned to Semra. "Do you know where I can find the nightwatchman? He left his cap below."

"Impossible. I interviewed him just now, and he was wearing it."

Without a word Moira showed the cap that she had discovered between the lids of the boxes to Semra.

Semra scratched her head. "Maybe the burglars had an accomplice in the house. Buds will not be pleased that you picked it up."

At this moment, the nightwatchman entered the gallery, and he was wearing his cap on his head where it should be.

"Do you still need me?" He addressed Semra. "I've been off duty for an hour already, and my wife will be waiting for me."

"Do you know who this might belong to?" Semra showed him the second cap.

He nodded. "It's Huudien's. He was in charge of the rooms downstairs and the basement. Weird, he's not usually losing pieces of his uniform." He held out his hand. "Shall I take it along?"

"Thank you, but we'll take care of it." Semra bagged the cap and nodded at the nightwatchman. "You may go home now. If we have more questions, we know where to find you."

He thanked her and shuffled tiredly in the direction of the exit.

Moira hesitated, then asked, "Why couldn't he take the cap along for his colleague?"

Semra looked at her as if she had asked the result of two plus two. "It's evidence. We found no signs of forceful entry so far."

"Not even in the recordings of the surveillance globes?" Moira was surprised.

"We'll get an expert to look at them. Buds already packed them." She put her hands behind her and stretched. "I'll put away the cap. You take the cases back to the carpisto, so we can get going when Buds is done."

Obediently, Moira looked for the cases. Again, her gaze met the Mona Beth's, and again, the girl in the painting winked before it stuck out its tongue. Moira stepped closer to have a better look.

"Stop dawdling and take the cases to the carpisto," Semra said.

"Just a sec." Moira reached out and traced the lines of the face in the air with her finger. Hadn't the contours been slightly rounder before? Or was her memory playing tricks on her?

The shrilling of a siren interrupted her thoughts, and she spun around, wide-eyed. Had she really touched the painting?

Commissaire Marten came running with his hair flowing, and Semra scolded, "Can't you be more careful? You're worse than a toddler."

Moira grated her teeth but endured the rebuke. She had to fight the urge to talk back, but she would give up her last chance for a permanent place in the Gendarmerie Magique if she didn't keep herself under control. _I can't hear her_ , she told herself. _The words roll off me like water from a duck._

"That's enough, Semra," Commissaire Marten's voice rang. "After all, she was the only one from your team who realized that something is wrong with Mona Beth."

Semra's eyebrows shot up. "What?"

"If you look closely, you will discover that she frowns a little before smiling. Power of observation is the key talent of a great gendarma, Semra."

Semra pressed her lips together and shot Moira an angry glance. Director du Mar arrived and stopped beside Semra. "At least now we know that the alarm is working fine."

Semra pulled up her eyebrows. "But that would mean someone in the building switched off the alarm."

"Well deduced, Semra." Commissaire Marten put his hand on Semra's arm. "You'd better pack all surveillance globes from tonight, not only those from the basement. I believe we should have a somewhat closer look."

"Right away, boss." Semra hurried away.

Moira marveled at how fast she had calmed down again. All of a sudden, she knew in which department of the Gendarmerie Magique she wanted to work, should the analysis of her magical abilities deem her worthy. Commissaire Marten was exactly the kind of superior she needed.

"Mademoiselle Bellamie?"

Moira took a while to realize that she had been addressed. It had been quite some time since anyone had used her surname.

Commissaire Marten held up a bag-safe with evidence. "Could you take this to the carpisto and keep it in sight until we arrive at the gendarmerie? I don't want our proof to become invalid because we can't keep to the rules."

Beaming, Moira took the bag and the responsibility and carried it and the two cases to the carpisto. She put the cases in the trunk, settled on the backseat with the bag of evidence on her knees, and waited. To her surprise, Buds and Semra not only returned with two more bag-safes full of evidence, but also with Director du Mar. They had spelled him into a cocoon of silence, so Moira was squeezed in between the cocoon and the three safes on the whole flight back to the station.

### Chapter 2

Buds and Semra left it to Moira to take the safes to the court exhibit archive.

"When you're done, get started on the report." Buds took the director's elbow and led him to one of the interrogation rooms.

"Three copies," Semra added before following her colleague.

Moira set out for the court exhibit archive in the building's vaulted cellar. She felt a bit used, although she knew that due to the rules, two gendarmes had to be present at every interrogation.

On her way back, Commissaire Marten stopped her on the stairway. "I was pleasantly surprised that you identified Mona Beth as a forgery. Even Director du Mar didn't see it right away."

Moira blushed and stared at her feet.

"I'd like you to have a look at the surveillance globes with my expert."

Moira's eyes widened and she looked up. "But I'm only an aspirant."

Commissaire Marten smiled. "With very good eyes. Maybe you'll discover something my expert misses."

Moira's ears burned. The praise made her feel foolish although it was nice not to be considered a moron all the time. "I will have to write a report first," she said hoarsely.

"I will tell Grub that you'll join him later." Commissaire Marten nodded and proceeded down the stairs toward the archive.

An hour later, Moira opened the door to the dark-room and slipped in. A surveillance globe flickered in front of her, projecting the museum's big basement hall onto the wall.

"There you are." The voice came from the dark. "Make yourself comfortable. I just got started, so you haven't missed anything."

Moira felt her way forward until she found a chair that allowed her a good view of the picture on the wall.

"This globe starts at 10 p.m. and runs to the point where Semra packed it. We should be able to view the whole burglary. I'll speed it up for a while, so watch closely."

For a long time there was nothing but the empty hall with the boxes. Moira was already pondering how she could extract herself in time for the end of her shift when a nightwatchman appeared, coming down the long stairs. He walked through a door and returned a little later in plain clothes carrying his uniform in a bag. Moira watched him set it on a box to tie his shoelaces. _He probably lost his cap there._

The nightwatchman walked over to the two big rolling gates and lifted his hands in a conjuring gesture. Since the globe's surveillance eye didn't record sound, Moira couldn't hear the activation words, but the left gate opened obediently. A white arrow shot out of the darkness behind it toward the surveillance eye, and the picture splintered to white snow.

"That's all," Grub said. "Seems to have been a put-up affair with the nightwatchman as spy."

"What about the arrow?" Moira asked.

"Buds found it, a Cupido26E. You can get boxes of them at every carpisto-chargerie. Next globe?"

"I'd like to see this one again, if you don't mind."

"No problem." The projected image whirled for a moment and the short scene began anew.

When the nightwatchman put the bag on the box to tie his laces, Moira bent forward. She wanted to see the emblem on his shoulder, but the globe blurred it. _Drat._ She wanted to know whether the nightwatchman was an employee of the National Museum or someone from one of the many security companies that had sprung up like mushrooms recently. She squinted but the picture didn't clear. Maybe it was a faulty recording or a badly smoothed patch on the wall the picture was projected on. The nightwatchman straightened up and walked toward the two rolling gates, but the blurry patch remained.

"Is it possible to zoom in on the man?" she asked into the darkness.

"Sure, no problem." Immediately, the focus of the surveillance eye changed. Moira felt as if she were flying toward the man. She clung to the armrest involuntarily. When the picture refocused, she recognized the National Museum's logo on the man's shoulder. She had expected as much. But the blurry patch over his shoulder was still there, and it looked bigger than before. Moira frowned.

"What's that?"

Grub whistled approvingly. "It's an elveshield. Sabio was right. You really do have a keen eye."

Moira ignored the praise. "Do you think an elf crept in and forced the nightwatchman to open the gate?" She was surprised, since elves were hardly ever criminals.

"Or the nightwatchman smuggled him in. I believe Semra and Buds have a new prime suspect." Light flared up, and the globe switched itself off. "That's it for today. I'll get back to it tomorrow. I want to go home in half an hour. Thanks for your help."

"A pleasure." Moira turned to look for Grub, but the room seemed empty. Finally she discovered a toddler-sized nerl on a high seat beside the globe-reading device. When he noticed Moira's surprise, he beamed a toothy smile and his big, pointed ears perked up. "What did you expect?" Grub asked. "Admin can't afford a centaur."

"No, I..." Moira blushed. "I am awed by your size."

"You should see my cousin. He almost reaches Sabio's thigh." Grub hugged the box with the surveillance globe and climbed down from his seat. "I'm off-duty now. You too?"

Moira nodded.

"Why don't you hop along? The colleagues and I will go for a drink now."

"I have an important appointment at RealJob™ later today, and I really should get some sleep before it."

"A pity." On his short legs, Grub flitted to the door, which opened for him automatically. "Don't let the Realos talk you into a job. You're going to be a great gendarma, I know it."

Moira pressed her lips together. She'd rather not talk about this subject. Although she was pleased by the nerl's praise, most of her colleagues thought differently. She was sure her file at RealJob™ was filling several binders by now.

She watched Grub as he shot away on a self-made wagon after a farewell. Lost in thought, she set out too.

~*~

Back home she slipped her shoes off tiredly, hung her shoulder bag and her jacket up at the coat rack, and slumped into a comfortable seat near the window. Three lights danced on the rim of a blue glass bowl on her sideboard, but Moira didn't want to listen to the calls right now. She enjoyed doing nothing for a few minutes. Finally, she pulled herself up, ate, took a warm shower, and crawled into bed. Her wake-up nerl barely managed to extract the time she needed to wake before she fell asleep.

She woke well rested. Amused, she watched her wake-up nerl dance on the bedcover and sing "Sortie du sommeil, sortie du sommeil." After the traditional farewell, she set him back on her nightstand and walked into the kitchen. It felt weird to eat breakfast in the afternoon. She went into the bathroom where she had laid out the unobtrusive, dark blue costume with the white flouncy blouse and the straight-cut trousers the day before. Only the shoes took somewhat longer to choose. She finally settled on the dark blue ballerinas. After applying only very little make-up, she looked at herself in the mirror in the hall. _I look as if I'm still going to school_ , she thought, and applied a darker lipstick. A melodious triad vibrated through the tiny flat.

"It's Franka," the parlebol's voice said.

With a sigh Moira walked over to the blue speaking bowl on the sideboard. She requested her nerl to activate the bowl, leaned over it and accepted the call. In the lens of water at the bowl's bottom, the round, ebony face of her best friend appeared. Her short, white-blond curls had been tied into two pigtails on either side of her head. They resembled plush balls. "Honey, I've been trying to reach you for days," Franka said after the greetings.

"I've been in the night shift since Monday. Midnight to nine a.m."

"That's no reason to ignore me for weeks." Franka's eyes sparkled. "I will pick you up at half past eight tomorrow evening whether you like it or not."

"I've got to be at work on time."

"I'll drive, Cinderella."

Moira suppressed further protest. If Franka decided to take her out tomorrow evening, she'd waltz her hundred kilos through Moira's two-room apartment until the neighbors complained, and would leave Moira no chance but to go. She sighed again.

"Moira!" Franka threatened her playfully with her index finger. "I know you've always wanted to join the Gendarmerie Magique, but ever since you got the preliminary job, you've been obsessed about it. You have to relax once in a while or you'll go crazy."

Reluctantly, Moira admitted her friend was right. She shrugged. "All right, I'll get up in time."

"Make yourself presentable." Franka frowned. "You look sixteen, not nineteen."

Moira grinned. "I will dress up if you promise not to pair me off with someone."

Franka's face lit up. "I didn't mean to anyway. We'll go to the unofficial reunion party of our residential home. Do you remember?"

Moira remembered very well. After all, it hadn't been that long since she shared one level of a house with a grimy kitchen, two living rooms, and two semi-dark halls with fifteen comrades. Both girls giggled, and all of a sudden Moira was looking forward to the evening. Her gaze brushed the clock. Half past four. "I got to hurry," she said.

"Where are you going?"

"To RealJob™ again. My magical potential has to be assessed by a specialist."

Franka rolled her eyes. "Don't forget to take your handicapped ID."

Moira frowned. "I want to do without. After all, it shouldn't matter that I can't use magic the way everyone else does."

"Girl!" Franka's face grew bigger as if she bent closer over her bowl. "As a challenged person, you've got right you can claim. And if people won't understand, you've got to make them. I bet you'll be just as good a gendarma as a magically healthy woman."

"Maybe you're right." Grudgingly, Moira fetched the yellow, bank-card-sized handicapped ID card from the sideboard's top drawer and put it in her shoulder bag. "But I'll only use it if nothing else helps."

Franka rang off with a laugh.

~*~

Moira shifted her position for the umpteenth time on the red plastic chair in the waiting room of RealJob™. Since they had taken a blood sample and her temperature an hour ago, she had been waiting to be called. It took all her strength not to pace. Instead, she chewed her lower lip and tried to think of something nice.

"Moira Bellamie, room five," the nerl in the loudspeaker announced and his amplified voice echoed through the waiting room.

In her excitement, Moira missed the door with the five and had to turn back. Finally, she entered the small but classily furnished bureau. A panorama window offering a breathtaking view over the town's roofs and the nearby ocean dominated the office.

"Do you like the view?"

Only then did Moira notice a slim woman with blond curls and an expensive designer costume at the desk. She blushed and sat on the offered chair in a hurry. "Sorry."

The woman held out a slender, manicured hand with purple fingernail-tattoos. "I am Aparta de Frees, registered auralogist." She opened the folder on her table and stared at two colored diagrams. "You have been presented with several job options that would better suit your talents. Why do you insist on joining the Gendarmerie Magique?"

Moira wondered if she should tell the truth. _What do I have to lose? The whole story has probably long found its way into the file anyway._ She crossed her legs and said, "My parents were both gendarmes, my mother with internal affairs and my father with the drug division. When I turned eight, he was suspended and accused of corruption but my mother managed to clear his name."

"I understand. Have you ever considered a different line of work at all?"

Moira shook her head.

The auralogist pointed to a paragraph in the file. "It says you did an internship in archeology after you finished school."

Moira shrugged. "That was only an interim solution since I didn't know whether I would get a place at the Forensic Institute."

"It is surprising they accepted you with your limited magical talent." Madame de Frees looked at her. "Well, my task is to find out if you can focus the necessary minimum of magical energy needed for a job at the Gendarmerie Magique."

Moira bent forward. "I got the best marks in all my exams."

Madame de Frees smiled. "I know that the results of your final exam were impressive. But since you didn't get the advanced proficiency certificate in magic, we need an auravaluation to judge your magical qualifications." She pointed to her file again. "As far as I can see, previous tests haven't been conclusive."

Moira nodded. One device had judged her magic aura as way above average, and all the others had attributed to her no magical abilities to speak of. Since Moira's magical abilities had been tested countless times during her childhood, she already knew all the emotions underlying the voices of the auralogists requested to examine her. Some were full of sympathy, others dismissive or even hostile. Sometimes, she felt as if it was a sin to be born without the ability to channel magic. Because of this, Aparta de Frees' friendly tone surprised her all the more.

"I will now examine your aura more closely than it's even been done before. Would you please take off everything made of metal?"

Secretly relieved that she was wearing a bra with hook and eyelet made of plastic, Moira took off her grandmother's bracelet and the earrings and slipped out of the trousers with the metal button.

The auralogist placed the jewelry in a colorful box and closed it. Then she led Moira to an archway that sparkled from the spell it held. If the colors didn't change all the time, it could have been wound with colorful ribbons.

Madame de Frees pushed Moira below the arch and adjusted her position. "Current reading devices analyze the test subject's aura as a whole, resulting in a bias in the data and often a misjudgment. A little while back, a friend of my husband developed this gadget. With it I can filter out individual parts of your aura." She smiled but gazed past Moira as if she weren't there. "He's a bright guy."

Moira's palms sweated when she noticed the longing in Madame de Frees' eyes, so she stared at the ground until the auralogist pulled a transparent curtain from the upper rim of the arch and turned away. The material of the curtain glittered like water reflecting light. It seemed magical. Fascinated, Moira reached for it.

"Please don't touch it. The filter is quite sensitive." Madame de Frees' voice sounded hard. She waited until Moira had lowered her hands before she vanished behind a black curtain. "I will calibrate the device with your health data, then I'll take a look at your aura."

_So, that's the reason for the blood sample and temperature._ Moira closed her eyes and tried to relax. She didn't believe the gadget would find anything different from what the other auravaluations had found, but at least Madame de Frees seemed willing to give her a chance.

"Your Santé spectrum glows strongly. You're quite healthy." The curtain damped Madame de Frees's voice. "Let's have a look at your magical base-immunity."

"Base-immunity?" Moira raised her eyebrows.

"I wish schools would prepare their graduates better for life." Aparta de Frees sighed. "Without a healthy base-immunity, a human's magic field conflicts with the natural magic surrounding us. A human with conflicting magics will change his appearance periodically in a very radical way."

"Like werewolves?"

"Similar, but there's no cure, not even a blocker like Lupilin, which helps werewolves get through the difficult times at full moon. Children without a healthy base-immunity usually die within a few days."

"That would mean my base-immunity is fine, right?"

"Except for the rather unusual colors. But that doesn't have to mean anything. It could be due to the filter or a setting on my dials that is slightly off."

Moira breathed with relief.

"Can you summon a Lumière Magique?"

"More often than not." Moira's ears burned. Creating a magic light was the first thing kids learned in school.

"Go ahead, please."

Moira held her hands in front of her belly as if holding a ball and concentrated. With closed eyes, she imagined light condensing into a sphere. When her mind held the correct picture, she opened her eyes and whispered the spell. A tiny spark crackled between her fingers.

"Oh, that was interesting. Again, please," Madame de Frees said.

Moira concentrated once more, and this time she managed to call up a small ball of light between her hands. She breathed a sigh of relief.

"The control-spectrum of your aura is fluctuating," Madame de Frees said.

_I could have told you that._ Moira dissolved the ball of light. After all, she didn't want to start a fire in the room like she did in third grade.

A little later, Madame de Frees stepped from behind the dark curtain and walked over to Moira. Carefully she tugged at the lower rim of the filter and it snapped up like a roller blind. She pointed at Moira's trousers. "You can get dressed again."

While Moira slipped back into her trousers and donned her jewelry, Madame de Frees fetched a folder with assessment sheets from behind the black curtain and put it on her desk. "Your aura sports a couple of very interesting color variations. One could say it fluoresces like a soap bubble."

Moira sat down. "Is that bad?"

"I don't think the aura's color is of importance but it's kind of beautiful. Aside from this variation, my analysis agrees mostly with those of my colleagues. You have little to no control of magical energy. Worse, you seem to influence magic aimed at you in a way that triggers unpredictable reactions." She looked up from her sheets. "Admittedly, there were a few very interesting readings of your first try creating the Lumière Magique. Still, your magical control is too low to work for the Gendarmerie Magique."

Moira's heart fell. Was this the end of her dream? Aparta de Frees' friendliness had given her hope. There had to be a way to join the Gendarmerie Magique even with less than stellar results in magical control. Her disappointment turned to anger. She pressed her lips together, clenched her fists, and didn't listen to the alternative jobs Madame de Frees suggested. Finally she remembered something. Breathing deeply, she forced herself to relax. "I want to join the Gendarmerie Magique, and there is nothing in the job description that says magical control is obligatory. I know I'm none too good with spells, but I'm excellent with everything else. Really excellent!" She got up, placed her hands on the desk, and bent forward. "I'm fed up. Ever since I've been a child, I've been considered disabled just because I can't do spells the way others do. As far as I know there is a rule in public service that disabled people have to be favored if the other qualifications are equal." She pulled out her yellow handicapped ID card from her bag and slammed it on the desk in front of Aparta de Frees. "Here you've got it black on yellow. I am handicapped. I do not like to be favored, but I will get hired."

Madame de Frees held out her hands defensively. "I will make a copy and add it to my report."

"That's not enough. For all my life, I never wanted anything else but to join the Gendarmerie Magique."

Madame de Frees smiled, and Moira thought there was pity in her voice. "I am only testing your abilities. The decision to keep you or not will be made by the staff manager of the Gendarmerie Magique."

"Well, write a recommendation, then."

"It's impossible. I am only allowed to analyze facts in my report."

Moira stared at Madame de Frees without words. Tiny pearls of sweat formed on her upper lip.

"I can offer you a practical examination to which I will invite the staff manager of the Gendarmerie Magique. That way, he gets a better impression of you, and you could tell him your arguments."

Moira nodded and stuffed the ID card back into her handbag. This was the best she could hope for at the moment.

Madame de Frees breathed with obvious relief. "I will contact you as soon as I have a date for you."

### Chapter 3

Moira left the bureau without an answer. On the one hand, she was still angry, but on the other she felt ashamed about her outburst. When she stood in the open, she forced herself to breathe deeply a couple of times. It calmed her a little but she still felt too agitated to take the bus home for a couple of hours of sleep.

To let off steam, she set out to walk the long way to the station. She enjoyed ambling through the crowded streets and to gaze into the shop windows. The heat wave had finally subsided a little and a gentle wind blew from the ocean into town, cooling the air and her temper. She bought a jacket potato with salad and sat on a bench in the park in the heart of the city. By and by, the paths emptied; skaters, cyclists, and walkers went home. For a long time, Moira sat on her bench with her eyes closed and enjoyed the serene silence of the park. She heard people with dogs walk the paths, and lovers hiding away from curious onlookers in the bushes. Birds twittered in the trees and a squirrel chattered angrily somewhere nearby. Moira wished life could always be this peaceful.

When the sun set behind the houses with colorful ribbons, she got up to walk the final distance to her work. She hadn't quite reached the park's exit yet when the trees in front of her reflected the green sheen of all-round green lights. She evaded a patrol car that floated past her silently. It stopped beside several more patrol cars on a meadow where a sizable shrubbery had been fenced off. Behind it, Moira could just about see the sparkling of a stasis spell. A broad-shouldered young man got out of the patrol car and stepped through the fencing spell. He talked quietly to a gendarma.

Curious, Moira stepped closer but didn't touch the fencing spell. She didn't want to complicate the gendarmes' work by destroying their magical barrier. An elderly woman with a dachshund on her arm pressed her nose against the spell.

She asked the old lady, "What happened?"

"A pair of lovers found a body. I think he might have lived in the park somewhere. I never thought that possible. Living in the park, I mean. I tell you. Something like that never happened in my time." The woman answered as if someone had pressed the play button on a dicta-nerl. "When they still had work houses, no one had to live in the streets. But the way things have been lately, something like this had to happen sooner or later. It's said someone cut the guy's throat." The woman's eyes glittered. "Imagine that. What a mess. I just hope the park warden will wash away the blood when the Gendarmerie has left. I'm flabbergasted that something like this happened in my park. I will..."

Moira mumbled a short thank you and left in a hurry, leaving the woman to her babbling. She didn't like being near a person who didn't have a single word of pity for the victim. Slowly she walked along the barrier and watched the gendarmes search the area for evidence. Her heart longed to help. Near the park's exit, the barrier ended. Two strong gendarmes carried the coffin with the victim and loaded it into a black carpisto with an extra-long boot and floral drapes in the windows.

Moira had half passed the carpisto, when she recognized an approaching voice.

Semra said, "Come on, Dru. Your mother behaves as if you belong to her. Tell her she can't call you when you're on duty."

"She only wants to protect me." The man's voice was low and deep. A warm sensation rose from Moira's stomach and her heartbeat accelerated. _What a sexy voice._ Hoping she could hear it again, she stopped and pretended to tie her shoelaces. She wasn't disappointed.

"My mother loves me, and I'm happy about it even if it's slightly annoying from time to time," the voice said. The door of the carpisto groaned as it was opened.

Semra snorted. "I would use a different word for a mother who's interfering with my life all the time. You will have to get away from her apron strings, Dru, or you will be nothing but her son for the rest of your life." The door slammed shut again.

"I know." The man sighed. "It's just hard to affront someone who loves you this much."

"You'll have to find something worth fighting for." By the sound of Semra's voice, Moira realized they were on their way back to the crime scene. She retreated into the dark hastily. She didn't want to be caught listening in on a private talk. Biting her lower lip, she suppressed an urge to pant. Only when she reached the street that led around the park, could she breathe freely. Her gaze fell on a clock hanging over a shop window. A nerl was just pushing the minute hand to half past nine. She'd have to hurry to reach the Gendarmerie in time. She tried to forget the talk she had overheard but the voice seemed to run on in her heart and didn't let go.

~*~

Buds glanced up from his desk. "I've got an interesting task for you," he said.

Moira interrupted him. "Did you know that a homeless was murdered in the park?"

"Sure. Semra is supervising the crime scene investigation but should be back soon. Until then, you can make yourself useful." He pointed to a thick folder balancing on the edge of his overflowing desk. It was a wonder that it hadn't toppled yet. "The nightwatchmen in the museum are tagged magically in each room they pass and the times are noted. This is a compilation of the last few months. Have a look if there have been unusual or irregular occurrences, who was on holiday and when and so on."

"May I ask why that's important?"

"Why?"

"I have to get my report folder up to date on the weekend and thought I'd write an essay about this case."

"Trying to make a good impression, are you?" Buds grinned. "Very well. The day shift didn't find Pete Huudien in his flat. It seems he bolted. Now we're examining his movements." He pointed at the thick folder.

Moira didn't dare to sigh although the task promised to be more tedious than exciting. Again, Buds left an unwanted problem to her. Without hesitation she took the folder and retreated into one of the interrogation rooms. She sat facing the one-way glass window. Even with no one in the other room, she felt watched. She opened the folder, took out a pile of paper covered with tight writing and scanned the first page. _At least the print-nerl has neat handwriting._ She stretched and delved into the lists.

Three hours later, she flattened the floor plan of the National Museum she had drawn from memory and upon which she had noted the routes and times of the two nightwatchmen. Discrepancies in the individual time-notations were less than half a minute. _Well, if that hasn't been a complete waste of time._ She picked up the last list and checked the bottommost entries. Nightwatchman Huudien's tour went like it always did, ending with him clocking out in the basement shortly before the burglary. But the other nightwatchman had changed his tour. Moira sucked in air with a sharp hiss. She hadn't expected this. Every day, Joes van Gro went from the foyer through the gallery of the old masters to the Egyptian exhibit. On the day of the burglary, however, he'd made a short trip to the cellar even though the store rooms and the archive belonged to Huudien's tour. _Why did he do that?_ Moira indicated the anomaly in red. _Did he do that before?_ She took the lists of earlier weeks and scanned them. He had! Once a month, Joes van Gro changed his tour and went into the basement from the gallery of the old masters. _I wonder what he's doing there._

Moira noted the dates of the anomalies on her diagram, put the lists neatly back into the folder, and carried everything back to Buds.

Of course, he made her wait, talking to different informants on his parlebol and dictating the information into his dicta-nerl. Just as he reached for the documents, Semra returned.

"Let me see." She took the floor plan from Buds' hands, unfolded it, and studied it. "Great idea to present the data like this."

Moira was happy about the praise but tried not to let it show.

Buds stood beside Semra and looked at the map. "I think we should talk to Monsieur van Gro."

Semra looked at the clock over the door to their tiny room. It was a quarter to three in the morning. "He should be on duty."

The parlebol rang. Buds accepted the call and the pale face of a young plainclothes gendarme appeared on the water's surface. "The light in his flat went on half an hour ago, Sir. It seems he's at home."

"We're coming." Buds ended the call and reached for his jacket. "The second nightwatchman has reappeared. We'll have to get him first before he vanishes again."

Semra and Moira followed him. They drove along dark roads to a quiet but none too reputable neighborhood. Moira discovered a pair of vampires huddling in an entrance and smooching. She preferred to live in a neighborhood free of vampires — even if that increased the risk of burglary — because she didn't feel comfortable near vampires.

Buds halted the carpisto in front of a building in need of repair. He handed Moira a clipboard and a pen. "You'll write."

Moira frowned. _Why doesn't he use a dicta-nerl? He could print the conversation right after._ Annoyed, she followed her colleagues into the building. The stairs smelled of cooked white cabbage and piss. Moira wrinkled her nose and hurried up the stairs after Semra. A little later Buds knocked at a door on the fifth floor. When no one came, he knocked harder.

Reluctantly, the door opened a crack with the restraining chain still hooked in. A part of a face with a red-rimmed, gray eye and shoulder-length brown hair appeared.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

Buds and Semra showed their ID cards. "We have to talk to you, Monsieur Huudien."

"Pete isn't here. Piss off."

Semra pulled up her eyebrows. "If you are not Pete Huudien, what are you doing in his flat, Monsieur?"

"Please go away." The gray eye flickered to the flat at the other side of the landing that had opened a crack, too. "I can't tell you anything."

"Let us in, damn you! You are hindering our investigation." Buds was losing his patience.

Semra put her hand on his arm soothingly. "It would be better if you'd let us in, really. Otherwise you risk a warrant."

"Merde!"

The door closed, and the restraining chain rattled. A small, thin woman with stringy hair opened. Moira grinned when she realized her colleagues had mistaken the woman's gender. The woman with the red-rimmed eyes pointed to a door at the other end of the apartment.

"In there." She sniffed, and Moira knew the redness of her eyes was from crying. She wondered about the reason while she followed Buds and Semra along the narrow hall into the living room.

It was nearly as empty as the museum's storage room. In the middle of the room stood a bright yellow couch with a multi-colored woolen blanket in front of a big cardboard box. The woman sat down on the sofa, covered her knees with the blanket and suppressed a yawn. She glared at Semra and Buds.

"What do you want with my fiancé?"

Moira wrote shorthand. Secretly she wondered at the woman's suspicion. _She behaves as if she has to protect Pete Huudien from something._

Irritated, the woman gazed at Buds who examined every corner of the room thoroughly.

"We need your name and address," he said.

The woman only answered reluctantly. "I'm Rosina Ardappelen, and I live one floor down."

Semra crouched until her face was level with the woman.

"We are investigating a burglary in the National Museum where Pete works."

"He is their nightwatchman." Frau Ardappelen spoke with a low voice. "Did something happen to him?"

Buds stepped up beside Semra and looked down at the woman.

"We suspect him of stealing a box with valuable artifacts."

"He'd never do something like that. Never!"

Semra put a hand on the woman's knee.

"At the very least he's an important witness. Where is he?"

"If only I knew." Madame Ardappelen wiped her eyes.

Moira was sure she wasn't telling the whole truth, although she didn't know where the certainty came from. There were no clues. Rosina sat up straight and looked at Semra.

"I have not seen Pete since last night, and I did not talk to him. Usually he even lets me know when he's only a few minutes late. You have no idea how worried I am."

Moira would have loved to ask Madame Ardappelen why she didn't tell them all she knew but she also worried about Buds' reaction. _Would he allow me to speak although I'm only here on probation?_ She glanced at Buds, who bent down to Madame Ardappelen with a frown.

"Don't tell fibs," he said. "If you were really worried you would have reported him missing yesterday. Now, where is he?"

Rosina Ardappelen burst into tears. For a moment, Moira thought her a superb actress but then she realized the tears were real. Semra growled at Buds, sat down beside Rosina and patted her back. After a while, Pete's fiancée calmed.

"Just tell us what you remember," Semra said.

Rosina blew her nose and wiped away her tears, but her voice still shook. "Pete and I had dinner together yesterday. Then he went to work. He was very excited because the director had enforced a pay raise for nightwatchmen, janitors and cleaners. Pete meant to go by his bank to see if the money had already arrived."

Moira was surprised that the woman talked so much all of a sudden. Semra must have found the right words.

"With a higher pay, we would finally be able to get married and move into a joint apartment," Rosina continued. "But then he didn't come home the whole day. For a while, I thought he had left me for someone else. Maybe he didn't really want to marry me after all. Maybe he took his money and..." Rosina's gaze wandered through the room and her lower lip trembled. "He wouldn't leave much."

"So, he's got financial problems." Buds signaled for Moira to keep writing, as if she hadn't so far. "At which bank does he have his account?"

"Why do you need to know? It's none of your business."

Semra put her hand on Rosina's knee again. "We will have to ask whether he had been there before or after work. Maybe someone talked to him and can tell us where he went."

Rosina lowered her head and stared at her hands for a while. Finally, she sighed. "His account is with the West-Friesian. But they don't have a branch here, only an auto-nerled teller. I don't think anyone saw him there."

"If he's visible in one of the surveillance globes, we might find a clue as to his whereabouts," Semra said.

The woman's face lit up for a second but clouded again. "I just hope nothing happened to him."

Although Rosina Ardappelen was obviously worried about Pete Huudien, Moira still had the feeling she was hiding something. She wondered what made her think like this but couldn't find an explanation. _Maybe it's the so-called gut instinct Mom kept talking about._

Buds scratched his forehead and pointed to several lighter patches on the worn carpet.

"Why did Pete sell his furniture? Did he have debts?"

Rosina Ardappelen winced as if someone had hit her. Her tear-filled eyes glared at Buds. "That's none of your business."

Buds lifted his hands defensively. "I was just wondering where the stuff went that still stood here a few days ago. Are the other rooms this empty too?"

Rosina didn't answer.

"I believe Pete had a bigger problem than you care to admit."

"Up yours!"

Buds raised his eyebrows. "So that's the way you want it. Well, then we'll take you to the station for interrogation." He took handcuffs from his pocket and approached the sofa.

"Wait." Semra held him back and kept talking to Rosina. "We only want to help."

"I can do without. No matter what you say or do, you don't really care about Pete." Rosina jumped up and pointed to the door. "Go away and leave me alone."

"But Madame Ardappelen!" Semra got up and reached for the furious woman but she wouldn't calm down.

"Go, now. I haven't got the slightest clue where Pete is and that's the truth." Rosina's voice cracked.

Buds and Semra exchanged glances, and Buds nodded. Moira interpreted it as 'we can't do more at the moment.'

"We'll come back in a few days," Semra said. "Should Pete return before then, ask him to contact us, please."

Rosina Ardappelen didn't accompany them to the door. She stared after them with tightly pursed lips until they had left the flat. When Moira closed the door behind her, she still felt as if Rosina hadn't told them everything. An important part of the puzzle was missing. Deep in thought, she set out to follow Buds and Semra downstairs. A parlebol rang in Pete's flat. She stopped to listen but the sound didn't repeat. _I must have been mistaken._ She shook her head and walked faster to catch up with the gendarmes.

In the carpisto, Buds turned to her. "I need the report in triplicate on my desk before the end of the shift. Don't forget to emphasize that Madame Ardappelen reacted very suspiciously when I asked about the furniture."

Moira ground her teeth. She hated to write reports, but her mood improved when she remembered Franka's call. If she hurried and finished early, she could have a shower at work. In that case, she could sleep a little longer before her best friend would drag her out of bed. She smiled.

### Chapter 4

In the early evening, Moira's wake-up nerl tugged at her nose until she climbed out of bed reluctantly. Bleary-eyed, she shuffled to the bathroom and got ready for the outing. Right on time at half past eight, she stood in front of a mirror, clean and nicely dressed, and put up her freshly washed, shoulder-length, brown hair. She was wondering whether she should put on make-up when the door-nerl slipped through his tube and announced Franka. She gave him permission to open and a little later her best friend stormed in.

Like always, her hug hurt a little. Also, her new hairdo pricked Moira's face. She had colored her short, white-blond curls and used gel to make them stand up in all directions. "Put on some make-up or you'll resemble a vampire beside me." The sofa groaned when she slumped into it. "You can't imagine the day I had. People bought shoes as if the world is ending tomorrow and they'll have to walk to heaven on foot." She put her feet — clad in bright red cowboy boots — on the table. "I'm so glad Tord will be back tomorrow."

"I didn't know he was gone." Moira walked back to the mirror to apply enough make-up to look her age.

"No wonder. You holed yourself up in this flat for months, cramming for some test or other that you might never get a chance to take, and you don't even call." Franka took a dark chocolate praline and pushed it between her dark red lips that stood out from her dark skin like bloody diamonds. "It's about time you'll see some people again. When was the last time you had a boyfriend?"

Moira shrugged. "It's been a while."

Franka clasped her hands behind her head and gazed over her shoulder back at Moira. "There is nothing better than love."

"In my opinion, love is thoroughly overrated." Moira cleared away the make-up into the drawer, where it could stay for the next few years if she got a say in it. When she looked up, Franka stood behind her with a stern face.

"Do you think I could be the kind of happy soul you see without Tord? Look at me." She indicated her massive body dressed in a loose, light green summer dress. "I look like a dressed-up hippo on land. But he loves me — not despite the way I look but because of it, and because he likes my personality." She pushed out her rounded belly, placed her hands on her wide hips and shook her impressive breasts. "Whatever I do, he loves it, and he still stands by me when I goof up. He's a male Moira, so to speak, with a healthy appetite for sex."

Moira thought of the lanky young man who adored Franka, and smiled. "You are lucky. That breed of men is rare."

Franka shook her head. "That's no fault of the men, it's you! You expect that they'll leave you like your dad did, so you're only attracting that kind of guy." She tapped Moira's shoulder with an index finger. "You'll have to start believing that someone loves you enough to stay with you forever and a day. Not every man is like your dad."

Moira pressed her lips together. She didn't want to talk about her father.

Franka sighed. "Fine. No hard feelings." She grabbed her handbag and walked to the door. "Will you still come?"

Moira glanced at the mirror a last time. Everything looked great, and she knew Franka's harsh words were only meant to help her even though they hurt. She nodded and followed.

~*~

Half an hour later they entered the festively decorated dining hall of their former residential home. Music thundered from big boxes, drowned out by the talking party guests.

Moira wished for earplugs. She stopped and looked around for familiar faces. Behind the guests, the same old photo prints hung at the same old pastel green walls. _Dear me. I've sat here every day a short while back and it feels like an eternity._

"Moira! You're here, what a treat." A former floor-mate stormed toward her with outstretched arms. He put both hands on her shoulders and kissed her cheeks left and right. "You look great."

Franka put her hands on her hips and grinned. "And what about me?"

He laughed. "You aren't easily overlooked, like always." He kissed Franka on both cheeks too. "Get yourself something to drink and mix with the folks. The Archies have come back a day early. Everybody is in a great mood." He pointed to a group of youngsters besieging the buffet, laughing and talking. "I'll be with you in a minute." He hurried toward the next arrivals.

Franka looked at the group of archeologists. "Can you see Tord?"

Moira shook her head. She only recognized Lif Borson, Tord's former fellow student and ex-floor mate of Moira's. His shoulders had become even wider from his work on the dig, emphasized by the tight shirt he wore. His strong back muscles ended in a firm bottom and strong legs.

_He's as sexy as ever._ Moira's mouth felt dry, blood roared in her ears, and her feet refused to walk even though Franka pulled at her arm. Lif always had this effect on her although he had never even acknowledged her. She enjoyed the view of his backside and ignored the rest.

At that moment he left the group and walked toward them. When he saw Moira, his eyebrows rose and his mouth fell open. He caught himself and laughed. "Moira? What a surprise. You look great. I'd never thought you could ever look so... so appetizing." He ignored Franka, put his hands on Moira's shoulders and kissed her cheeks. A tingling went through Moira's body from her cheeks over her shoulders to her feet, making it impossible to answer.

Lif didn't seem to notice. He put an arm around her shoulders and whispered in her ear. "Tell me when you're free to go, and I'll put the world at your feet, my Venus."

His warm breath caressed Moira's cheek, and her knees threatened to buckle. It took all her strength to speak. "I don't work this weekend."

"I'd prefer tonight." He planted a kiss on her cheek. "But first, I'll have to show the world to my little man down there. After that, he and I will be all yours."

Moira watched him leave the dining hall. Only then she realized she was holding her breath.

Franka frowned. "Why are you gazing after that idiot like a lovestruck moron? He's only chatting you up because I'm too fat for him and all the other women in the room have already shared his bed."

"You're not fat, more like cuddly." Moira sighed. "And I know that Lif is a heartbreaker. But I wouldn't shove him off the edge of my bed, should he be there." She didn't consider Lif Borson boyfriend material for a second, but he'd be a nice alibi to evade Franka's matchmaking for a while.

Franka grabbed her arm and pulled her along. "Forget him. He's an idiot. Better help me to find Tord. I wonder why he didn't tell me they'd be back early."

Moira pulled herself together and pushed thoughts of Lif aside. "I bet he meant to surprise you. He knew you'd be here tonight, right?"

"Yeah, but I can't see him anywhere."

Moira looked around. Franka was right. Tord's head didn't tower over the other guests like it usually did. "Maybe he had to go to the toilet and will be back any minute."

Franka shook her head. She had paled. "Something happened to him."

"Balderdash." Moira took Franka's elbow and pulled her toward the group of archeologists. "He's probably got a good reason for not being here. Come, we'll ask."

When they reached the group, the talking stopped and everybody stared at Franka.

"Where is Tord?" Her voice sounded hoarse and her body shook from head to toe.

Embarrassed silence descended. Finally, a suntanned girl said, "Did no one tell you? He's in hospital."

With a silent sigh, Franka crumpled to the floor.

Moira grabbed her just in time to prevent her head slamming into the ground. She put one arm between her legs and shoved the unconscious body over her shoulders. Her knees wobbled under her friend's weight, but she managed to stand. The first-aid course she had taken would pay off after all. "I need a sofa and a healer." Breathing hard, she looked around for the young man who had greeted them. He came running, pale as a corpse.

A little later, Franka rested on a narrow bed in the medical room with her legs put up and her face turned to the side. Moira ordered the suntanned girl to get a wet cloth. _Learning so much is good, after all._ She put the cloth on Franka's forehead and watched her eyes flutter in waking.

"Tord? What happened to Tord?" Franka's usually energetic voice sounded feeble.

The suntanned girl answered. "The healer said he'll survive."

Two paramedics shouldered their way through the crowd of party guests that had assembled in front of the room. The stocky paramedic took Franka's wrist and nodded at Moira with respect. "Very good shock position."

The other one pulled out a hand-sized parlebol from his case where the water had been fixed with a special spell so it couldn't flow out. The connection to the hospital was already established. "Patient gained consciousness, but is weak." He looked at Moira. "Has something like this happened before?"

"No."

"Good. Make the people go away." He turned to the gadgets in his case and to the parlebol while his colleague examined Franka.

Moira pushed the onlookers out and closed the door to the medical room behind her. "Go back to the party, guys. There is nothing left to see here."

It took a while but finally most guests went back to the dining hall. Only the suntanned girl stayed with Moira. Silently they waited until the paramedics carried Franka out of the room on a stretcher.

The girl took Franka's hand and whispered, "I'm sorry."

"Don't," Franka said. "Bad weeds grow tall."

The girl wiped away a couple of tears and left, but Moira accompanied the paramedics with the stretcher to the ambulance. Luckily, Franka was already able to smile again. "They promised I could share a room with Tord."

Secretly, Moira sighed with relief. It was good to see her friend feel better. "I'll visit you tomorrow."

"Could you feed my cat?"

"Sure." Moira took Franka's handbag from the rear end just as the paramedics pushed the stretcher into the big carpisto. "See you tomorrow."

She waved after the ambulance until the flickering of the all-round neon red lights vanished beyond the next junction. All fun she had at going to the party was lost, so she entered Franka's car and drove home despite the fact that she hated driving. She parked the car in the garage below her building, took the nerlift to her apartment, and settled into her favorite chair. When she reached for the 'Handbook for Gendarmerie Magique Staff,' she remembered that she had neither given Lif her new address nor the number of her parlebol.

~*~

When Moira left the nerl U railway station near the Gendarmerie, it was raining cats and dogs. She arrived at her office with wet shoes despite her protective clothing. Everyone else was dry — another reminder of how untalented she was magic-wise. She hadn't even managed a parapluie spell. Her mood got even worse when she heard Buds rant in the corridor outside. Hurriedly she poured coffee into the Nerlaroma 2000. She had already learned that it was usually easy to calm Buds with a good-sized cup.

"Why don't we have it? Can someone please explain how that happened?" He stormed into the office behind Semra and slammed the door so hard the glass window in the door rattled. "We're having a first-rate suspect and no one thought to take his address? Which idiot interrogated him?"

Semra stopped and turned to him. Her nostrils flared and her eyes glittered. "Never call me an idiot again or you can find yourself another partner."

Buds paled. Subdued, he sank onto the chair behind his desk, picked up a file, and pretended to read.

"Anyway, that's easily remedied with a simple call." Semra activated the parlebol and asked for the National Museum.

Secretly, Moira was relieved that for once Buds wasn't angry with _her._ Without a word, she filled his mug with coffee. Then she waited for Semra to finish talking and filled her mug too. Semra nodded her thanks and turned to Buds. "I've got his address, but he isn't home just now. He's at work."

Buds got up. "What are we waiting for? We've got to arrest a potential burglar."

Semra sipped from her coffee. "First, he won't run away as long as he's at work. Second, due to the drug department's raid there isn't a free interrogation room in the building. And third, Commissaire Marten is still waiting for the report you promised."

Grumbling, Buds sat down again. "Will we leave when I finish writing?"

"Sure." Semra winked at Moira. "Would you be so kind to fetch the report from analytics? They called to let us know they're done."

Moira sped off and returned with the report soon after. She would have loved to read it, but it was in a sealed envelope that she handed to Semra.

"Do you know what it says already?"

"Why do you think Buds got so upset?"

"I wasn't upset. I'm always like that." Buds got up and reached for his jacket. "I'm done. We can go."

Semra and Moira followed him and took two more gendarmes along as reinforcements. Fifteen minutes later they reached the National Museum. A security-nerl was sitting in a box beside the main entrance. Buds whispered the password the director had given him for the duration of the investigation into the creature's ear, and the nerl opened the doors for him. Buds walked straight to the porter's office where the nightwatchmen stayed when they didn't tour the building.

Surprised, Joes van Gro looked up from an Art magazine. "Yes? What can I do for you?"

Buds pulled him up from his chair, turned him around, and snapped handcuffs on his arms, grinning. "Joes van Gro. You are hereby arrested. All you say or do can and will be used against you in court. Please do not talk until your lawyer arrives. Should you not be able to afford a lawyer, you can request a dicta-nerl as temporary substitute who will record the interrogation relevant to court."

"But I didn't do anything. Really."

Buds meant to answer but Semra held him back. "Wait for his lawyer or the dicta-nerl or he can claim a formal defect against his arrest."

"You are right." Buds pushed the nightwatchman toward the door.

Joes wriggled in his grip. "Please, you will have to inform Director du Mar. There is irreplaceable art at stake in here that may never be without supervision."

"Don't worry, we thought about that," Semra tried to calm him. She explained to the gendarmes who accompanied them that they were to stay and watch the museum until the director arrived. Joes breathed with visible relief and allowed himself to be led to the carpisto without further trouble.

Swordplay, the first volume of the Gendarmerie Magique series, is available at many retailers.

Did you like this booklet? Please consider writing a review at your preferred retailer or on a review site. Reviews are the best way to help the author whose book you enjoyed.

### Glossary

Auravaluation = examination of a person's aura to determine the state of health and the talents

carpisto = car-like vehicle powered by a flying carpet

chargerie = loading station for carpistos (see above) often including a sales outlet for countless everyday spells

Charme Securité = safety spell

Colonel Magique = leader of the local Gendarmerie Magique (see below)

Commissaire Magique = officer of the Gendarmerie Magique (see below)

gendarm, gendarma = male/female police officer

Gendarmerie Magique = police for magical and non-magical felonies

homicide spell = spell that forces a person to commit murder

ID-panneau = flat pane of glass that can determine the identity of a person by examining their hand

Lumière Magique = magical ball of light

Magie Focaliser = Focused Magic

Magie Généraliser = Unified Magic

Magic Sauvage = Wild Magic

parlebol = bowl that allows talking over long distances (similar to a telephone)

Sortie du sommeil = raise from your sleep (= Wake up)

stasis, stasis spell = magically constructed state where nothing can be changed by human interference; the spell freezes everything it hits in place

## Acknowledgments

Without the help of my long-term mentor, Holly Lisle, this book wouldn't have been what it is now, but without my family's support, it would still be part of my Unwritten Library. Thank you. I love you more than I can say.

Also, thank you, dear reader, for buying this book. Your enthusiasm for reading makes it possible for authors like me to live our dream. I hope you enjoyed these stories.

## About Katharina Gerlach

Katharina Gerlach was born in Germany in 1968. She and her three younger brothers grew up in the middle of a forest in the heart of the Luneburgian Heather. After romping through the forest with imagination as her guide, the tomboy learned to read and disappeared into magical adventures, past times or eerie fairytale woods.

She didn't stop at reading. During her training as a landscape gardener, she wrote her first novel, a manuscript full of a beginner's mistakes. Fortunately, she found books on Creative Writing, and soon her stories improved. For a while, reality interfered with her writing but after finishing a degree in forestry and a PhD in Science, she returned to her vocation. She likes to write Fantasy, Science Fiction, and Historical Novels for all age groups.

At present, she is writing at her next project in a small house near Hildesheim, Germany, where she lives with her husband, three children, and a dog.

Please visit Katharina's website (www.katharinagerlach.com), her writing related blog, her Facebook page (http://www.facebook.com/KatharinaGerlach.Autorin), or follow her on twitter (@CatGerlach) or Pinterest (www.pinterest.com/catgerlach/).

## Copyright

Published by: Katharina Gerlach

Copyright 2013 by Katharina Gerlach; All Rights Reserved.

Cover Design, © Katharina Gerlach

Cover Picture, © Corona Zschusschen, www.sjusjun.com

If you find any typos or formatting problems in this eBook, please contact the author.

This book may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means without the express written consent of the author.

This is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and locations portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity or resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

## Table of Contents

Moira Belamie

Franka Mercer

Tord Mutelen

Druidus vanSteen

Lavant Belamie and Bastide Leclerque

Sabio Marten

Sample: Swordplay — Gendarmerie Magique Volume One

> Chapter 1
> 
> Chapter 2
> 
> Chapter 3
> 
> Chapter 4
> 
> Glossar

Acknowledgments

About Katharina Gerlach

Copyright

