The City Of Fractured Memory (The Veil Of Velmora #1)

Chapter 1

One

Ialways thought a seer would be the one to seal my fate. I’d just always assumed it would be by one of their visions.

Not by their death.

The usually thriving street is deserted.

Gone are the fiddlers playing jauntily into the early hours, the laughing children dancing and weaving through the market stalls with their streamers.

Those in the city who believe in the Gods know that the death of a seer is an omen, and by Fios do I know it.

I don’t often use the God of wisdom’s name in vain, but there is an occasional circumstance that calls for it.

And as I make my way through the dark abandoned street in the central quarter of Eidravelle, wooden signs creaking eerily in the breeze, this is certainly one of them.

I pull my coat in tighter, the action instinctive.

My body barely registers the weather anymore, completely numb to it from years of magic misuse, but I still can’t shake the muscle memory.

Goosebumps sprint up my arms as the moon shifts through a break in the Veil––the deep mist that cages the city––and I am temporarily gifted with enough light to clearly see the cobblestones beneath my feet.

Given my clumsy nature, I appreciate the reprieve from the darkness, even if it is only momentary.

Maybe the Gods are looking out for me tonight after all, though that would be a first.

The thought vanishes as quickly as it came as I approach the crossroads and my faceless Shadow appears in my periphery.

I wondered when you would turn up.

He’s always there whenever I’m alone with my thoughts, never in full view, just in the corner of my eye, forever just out of reach–

Turn right.

The thought interrupts me abruptly as it comes unbidden into my head, in a voice other than my own.

I try to ignore it, but as I go to step forward I get a sudden, irresistible urge to turn right that I can’t ignore.

Another step, and I am completely overcome by a sense of overwhelming doom.

I give in immediately and turn right, releasing a huge exhale as the cage of anxiety that had been pressing in on me releases like an elastic band snapping.

I should know better than to ignore him by now.

“You know this is the long way round, asshole,” I mutter to myself, and a faint sense of amusement surrounds my senses. I don’t know if it’s real or in my head, but the outcome is always the same.

I continue walking, my Shadow’s presence ever-looming behind me, until faint voices reach me from a street up ahead, fracturing the silence.

As I come closer to the corner, I inhale a sharp breath as the smell of blood reaches my nose.

Threads of swirling pearlescent light mark the magical barrier erected around the crime scene, and two figures stand in the shadows within, muttering under their breaths to each other.

I recognise the voices instantly, and I can’t help the huff of frustration that leaves my lungs.

Even in the dark their sneers are unmistakable as they turn their attention to me, but I ignore them, sidestepping their position and raising my hand to create a gap through the magical barrier.

“No entry Wren,” Silvie barks at me, barging past Lander to block my way, flicking her blonde hair. The bulking mass that is Lander stalks up behind her, enveloping us both in his huge shadow cast by the moonlight.

“Yeah, this is a closed crime scene. No entry for Dhakira scum,” he smirks.

“But I’ve been invited,” I say with a forced smile, ignoring the jibe. Sympathising with the non-magic folk doesn’t make me one of them, but defending myself is most certainly beneath me.

“You’re mistaken,” he growls, leaning further into my space.

I look him up and down pointedly, refusing to back away. “Fair enough, shall I go back to the Division then and tell the Chief that he was mistaken when he knocked on my door at 2am this morning begging for my help?”

They pause, sharing a look.

“What in the Gods’ names would make the Chief come to a clumsy, dumbass like you?” Silvie snarls. “Didn’t you get fired for incompetence?”

“I heard she went crazy from using magic,” Lander whispers overly loudly and I can’t help but roll my eyes.

To the contrary, my intellect far outweighs theirs, but given that I am also blessed with humility, I decide not to point it out.

Instead I tap my foot impatiently and cross my arms, waiting for the inevitable interruption of–

“Lander! Silvie! If you don’t let Octavia in this instant I’ll have you both thrown into the depths!”

Ah, right on cue Xavier.

The pair shudder simultaneously at the threat.

Being thrown over the edge of the city walls into the inky black expanse of water below is perhaps the worst punishment a citizen can face in Velmora.

There is no way back, the city floating two hundred feet above the deathly still surface of Lake Voyd, so it is a pretty psychotic threat. But that is Xavier all over.

I wiggle my fingers in a wave at my childhood friend as he approaches, trying and failing not to smirk when his dark eyes level a death glare at the officers still barricading me.

With a grumble they both finally acquiesce, and I march straight past them through the barrier without so much as a glance.

My Shadow follows silently, unnoticed by anyone but me as always, but it doesn’t stop the apprehension prickling over my spine as I become hyper aware of his presence near the others.

“Detective Blackwood,” Silvie calls out as we turn our backs on them. “Did the Chief really request Wren for this case? I thought she was fired?”

Xavier sighs heavily, subtly raising an eyebrow at me before turning back to Silvie. “I don’t think you’re exactly in a position to be questioning protocol right now, Silvie, given your own demotion.”

She flinches like he hit her. “Yes sir. Sorry sir.”

Xavier turns his back on them again and I follow him towards the crime scene, purposefully keeping my expression blank.

Losing my job crushed me, every jab they make about it cutting to the bone, but I don my usual mask of disdain, refusing to let it show.

Xavier abruptly pulls me aside into the shadows once we are out of earshot and glares at me, distracting me from my self-pity.

His bronzed skin makes him near invisible in the dark, and he would almost be intimidating if I hadn’t known him since we were children.

“Lying about the Chief is going to come back to bite you, Octavia,” he lectures, running his hand through his black, tussled hair. “I’m going out on a limb here for you.”

Why is he always so dramatic?

I scoff. “You seem to be forgetting you asked me. You need me and you know it.”

His shoulders sag. “I know I do. Gods help me, I do.”

I pat him on the shoulder sarcastically and he growls, but it holds no bite. Consulting a private investigator on cases is frowned upon enough, let alone one that’s a recently fired detective. He only ever calls on me if he’s desperate, and this is no exception.

“So, are you going to tell me why you’re being so cagey about the details?” I frown.

“You’ll see,” he mutters as he gestures for me to walk on and we emerge out of the darkness.

He leads me to a small dilapidated cottage, the front door broken in half across the middle, each piece barely hanging on to the hinges.

The blue hue of the moonlight drifts over the lead lining in the window panes, the stone brickwork crumbling with age but otherwise intact.

“Was the door broken in before or after the body was found?” I ask, squatting down to inspect the door step and wincing at the tugging feeling in my hips as I bend.

My body always protests to me being low on the floor, but unfortunately the job calls for it frequently, so I block out the pain as usual, focusing on the disturbed dirt at my feet.

“After,” Xavier confirms, leaning over my shoulder to watch me work.

I nod as I survey the cracked threshold. “Details, give me details. Who is the victim?”

It’s the most vital question in a murder investigation.

In my experience, there’s almost always a link between the victim and the murderer, no matter how tenuous.

To understand how a person died, you need to understand how they lived, and by building up a picture of their life, the catalyst for their death will usually present itself.

“The victim was a seer,” he replies. “By the name of Vera Pembroke. She didn’t turn up for her readings today, and one of her customers went looking for her.

When there was no answer at the door they looked through the window, saw the body and called for help.

A warden was on patrol and knocked the door down. ”

I roll my eyes. “Damn wardens. Barge in first, think later. Ruining my bloody evidence.”

“Octavia,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Did it not occur to you that the woman could’ve still been alive, and knocking the door down could’ve saved her?”

I stand back up and turn to him. “Was she alive?”

“No, but–”

“Well, there you go then.”

He mutters something under his breath with a shake of his head but I ignore him, stepping up to the shattered door and hovering my fingers over the splintered wood.

The fracture in the middle of the door faces inwards, confirming it was knocked down from the outside, but other than that there doesn’t seem to be any tangible evidence to collect.

Xavier hands me some gloves and I pull them on as I step over the threshold, the smell of blood and death becoming overwhelming.

I pull my scarf up over my nose to take the edge off, and breathe through my mouth.

I hear the faint buzzing of flies towards the corner of the room and my eyes follow the sound, my gaze falling onto the corpse on the floor.

“I assume a Memortician is on their way?” I ask Xavier quietly as I sense him approaching behind me, not taking my eyes off the dead seer.

Please don’t let it be Maevick, please–

He grunts with annoyance. “Maevick is coming.”

“Fucks sake,” I mutter under my breath, drawing a quiet chuckle from Xavier.

We both share a strong dislike for the man, who loves nothing more than to boast about his exemption to use magic to those who are forbidden.

In his defence, it is a rare thing to be granted permission to use such a power, I only wish he didn’t prattle on about it so much.

“How long do I have?” I slowly step towards the body, my eyes scanning my surroundings frantically as I search for any evidence that might help.

The only thing out of place is the huge pool of blood surrounding her, but everything else seems to be undisturbed, meaning it is unlikely this was a spontaneous killing—there’s almost always a tonne of evidence when that happens.

No, the distinct lack of any obvious evidence here points to meticulous prior planning.

“Ten minutes at the most before he gets here, so you’d better be quick. He won’t take kindly to you sniffing around the body when he’s retrieving memories.”

I scoff at that, kneeling down next to the body carefully and trying to ignore the pain in my joints as I focus on the scene in front of me. The seer is young, her blue hair striking against her deathly pale complexion.

“Where’s her diadem?” I ask Xavier, noting the absence of one on her head.

“Seers only wear their diadems when performing readings,” he reminds me. “They don’t actually do anything, it’s just decorative. As she died at home it’s not abnormal for her not to be wearing one.”

I nod at that, tucking the information away and making a mental note to verify it later. The woman isn’t wearing clothes I would usually consider normal for a seer though, and her scantily clad body shows enough skin for me to quickly realise why Xavier called me so urgently.

“Err…Xavier? Where’s all the blood coming from? There’s no gaping wound anywhere?”

I turn to look up at him and he smirks. “Exactly.”

I frown at him before turning my attention back to the woman. “This much blood…there must be a wound, unless this blood isn’t hers and it’s been staged?”

He kneels down beside me and shakes his head. “I had the same thought, but it’s impossible for someone to have staged this murder. It seems impossible anyone could have murdered her at all, actually.”

Here we go with the dramatics again…

“Out with it Xavier, you know riddles bore me,” I snap.

He huffs a sigh. “The doors and windows were all locked from the inside. No one has left this house since she died. We’ve done some basic tests and they have already confirmed the blood here on the floor is hers.

But since she doesn’t have a weapon on her person or any injuries we can see, we can determine it’s likely she didn’t kill herself. ”

My eyes widen as my mind revels over the information. “So, you’re saying that this woman was somehow murdered in a locked room, with no way in or out, and with no murder weapon or wound?”

Xavier’s smile turns feral. “Yeah. Told you you’d love this one.”