Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It didn’t take Charles forever to figure out his feelings. He spent the next four months after Port Townsend making sure—because this was his best mate he was talking about, and he had to be absolutely bloody certain before he said anything—and the month after that mulling over the best way to tell Edwin.

Talking to Niko helped a lot. She was a fantastic listener and incredibly patient with his ramblings. She was also full of suggestions for how to best profess his love. It had to be something romantic, something special, and preferably somewhere that held significance for those involved. Unfortunately, the place where they’d first met was the same building where Edwin had been murdered, so that was out, and the place where they’d solved their first case was a bit too hazardous to visit. Niko recommended confessing during an activity both partners enjoyed, but Charles didn’t want to confess in the middle of solving a case. Although given that Edwin had confessed to him while they were escaping from literal Hell, he couldn’t exactly lecture Charles about time and place. Then again, Niko was right that Edwin’s confession was incredibly epic and romantic, and Charles didn’t want to give Edwin anything less. Edwin deserved the best.

Crystal told him to stop being ridiculous and just tell Edwin already, instead of staring at him with that disgustingly adoring expression on his face all the time. Jenny requested that he keep his teenage love crisis to himself, and reminded him that her last attempt at love had gone spectacularly wrong, so she really wasn’t a good person to ask for advice. Charles refrained from asking the Night Nurse. They got along better now that she only stopped by the office every other week to assign cases and collect their reports, but he’d never forgive her for Edwin getting sent to Hell the first time, let alone the second. Even she had commented that Charles was demonstrating higher levels of distraction and lower levels of productivity than usual. Charles tried to hide it, but now that he’d realized he was in love with his best friend, how was he not supposed to stare at Edwin every time he did or said something absolutely brills?

Fortunately, Edwin didn’t seem to mind. He smiled or ducked his head bashfully when he caught Charles staring. If they were alone in the office, he’d ask Charles what was on his mind, and Charles would recount whichever fond memory he recalled first. Sometimes Charles even caught Edwin staring at him, and was reminded all over again that his best friend was in love with him, and it was the best feeling ever. Even before he’d been sure of his own feelings, he’d known that much. Edwin was the best person he knew, and Charles was the luckiest bloke in the bloody world.

It took all of Charles’ willpower not to simply blurt out his feelings over a game of Clue, or on a stroll through St. James’ Park, or during one of those long nights whiled away by Edwin reading aloud to him, in a fond echo of the night they’d first met.

And then came the case with that bloody music box.

#

The client was a recently deceased man in his early thirties, well-dressed, but not in such a way that screamed wealth. Probably worked some nine-to-five desk job in the business district. He was describing a family heirloom he needed to recover before moving on, and Edwin was taking notes from his usual place behind the desk.

“How did you come to lose it?” Edwin asked. His tone was detached, clinical, yet his expression intent on the puzzle presented to him. Charles reluctantly pulled his gaze away from Edwin and focused on the client. In the first interview, it was always Edwin’s job to collect the facts while Charles got a feel for the client and set them at ease.

“I didn’t lose it,” the client protested. “It was sold by mistake at the estate sale. It’s been in the family for generations, and I promised my grandmother I’d look after it.” He looked down at his lap, sounding absolutely wretched. “I don’t know what she’d say if she knew I’d failed her.”

“Don’t worry.” With a younger or less formal client, Charles might have clapped them on the shoulder, but he got the sense that Desk Job wouldn’t appreciate that. “Edwin and I have found missing items loads of times.” He beamed at his partner.

Edwin smiled faintly beneath his professional demeanor. “Do you have any possible leads on where the music box was sold?”

The client nodded. “I think it went to an antique shop here in London. I saw a box that looks like it, put away in a case behind the counter, but I couldn’t get a closer look.”

Edwin made another note. “Have you asked the shopkeeper about it?”

Desk Job shook his head. “I don’t think she can see ghosts. And there’s something keeping me from entering the shop, but I’m not sure what.”

“Can you see any wards around the entrance?” The client looked puzzled. Edwin glanced to Charles and Charles indicated that Edwin should elaborate. “Perhaps symbols carved into the doorframe, or a peculiar device hanging from one of the windows?”

“Nothing like that.” The client frowned. “But there’s an iron horseshoe over the door.”

“Oh, those are a nuisance.” Charles was full of sympathy. “Plenty of superstitious people put them up because they’re supposed to ward off evil and spirits, but sometimes they work against ghosts, too. Takes a bit of practice to slip past them.”

Consternation spilled across the client’s face like an upset cup of coffee. “I never thought being a ghost would be so difficult.” He sighed. “Half the time I still try to open doors and my hand passes right through the handle.”

“You’ll get there eventually,” Charles reassured him. “Only took me a few days before I could pick up solid objects without fumbling them, but then, I had a good teacher.” He smiled fondly at Edwin.

“You were a remarkably tenacious student,” Edwin replied. Charles sat up straighter at the praise—or as straight as he could while perching on his usual side of the desk.

Desk Job cleared his throat. “So, you can retrieve the music box?”

“There is still the matter of compensation to discuss,” Edwin pointed out. “But this case falls well within our capabilities.”

“We’ll also want to leave some kind of payment for the shopkeeper,” Charles added. “Not her fault she bought something that still belongs to someone.”

Charles tried not to stare too obviously or too affectionately at his partner while Edwin negotiated a fair price. Crystal was right. He really needed to tell Edwin how he felt soon. At this rate, even their clients would start to suspect. Be a bit embarrassing if Edwin was the last person in London to find out Charles was in love with him.

#

They found the antique shop easily enough, on the corner of a street packed with little shops and cafes. At this time of night, the shops sat deserted, and no lights shone out of any of the apartments overhead. Across the street, Charles scanned the premises through his telescope. It never hurt to scout out a location from a distance first, and had saved their hides on more than one occasion.

“No sign of any movement upstairs,” Charles observed. “And no wards hanging from the windows.”

Edwin held out his hand and Charles passed him the telescope. “The horseshoe over the door looks several decades old. I think it unlikely the current owner installed it.” He collapsed the telescope and handed it back to Charles, who stowed it in his backpack. “I think we should be good to proceed.”

“You sure we don’t want to check the back alley first?”

Edwin gave Charles a look that meant he thought Charles was being overly cautious and was both touched and exasperated by it. “I do not think that will be necessary.”

Inside, the shop reminded Charles of Tragic Mick’s back in Port Townsend—shelves packed with objects of all different shapes and sizes, all jumbled together with no clear system of organization. He spotted a wooden clock that looked even older than Edwin sitting beside several action figures that had been popular when Charles was alive. The streetlamps didn’t cast enough light for him to study anything clearly, but he decided to come back another time during business hours to explore properly.

Edwin had already approached the counter, where a glass case displayed several of the evidently more valuable items. Charles moved through a shelf to follow him and exclaimed in surprise as he brushed against something cold.

“Charles?”

“Nothing,” Charles replied automatically. “Just a tick.” He waved his hand through the mound of clutter and felt it again—a bright spot of icy chill amidst a sea of no sensation.

Charles felt an entirely metaphorical chill run through him. Ghosts couldn’t feel things the way living humans did. There were some exceptions for touch between other ghosts and supernatural beings, but even then, they couldn’t sense temperature. Edwin had made that clear when he explained the ghost rules during their first week together. Charles ran his hand along the assorted kitchenware packed onto this particular shelf and found it—a plastic ice cube tray, completely unremarkable in appearance. Except it held ice cubes that practically burned with cold against his fingers.

“Edwin, I think you should check this out.”

“We are supposed to be locating the music box,” Edwin complained, but joined him swiftly. Charles held out the tray and Edwin nearly dropped it in surprise when he took it. “What—?” He studied it closely. “This shouldn’t be possible.”

“You reckon it might be cursed?” Charles asked, suddenly anxious.

“If so, it was incredibly foolish of you to pick it up.” Edwin softened his tone when he saw Charles’ wince. “Fortunately, there’s a simple way to check. Did you bring the Zauberprobierer?”

Charles poked around in his backpack until he found it: a small beeswax disc in a wooden frame with a clear crystal at the center. He handed it to Edwin, who held it close to the ice cube tray. The crystal glowed a faint lilac.

Edwin relaxed. “Only a minor enchantment. Presumably to keep things cold.” He handed the Zauberprobierer back to Charles. “Perhaps it would be wise to check for curses before touching anything else in here. Some people unfortunately do not recognize potentially dangerous items in their possession.” His gaze turned grim as he surveyed the rows of overflowing shelves.

“Right.” Charles tried not to think about the book that had cost Edwin his life over a century ago. That was why they took cases, to stop that sort of thing happening to anyone else.

They finally found the music box, not in a display case, but tucked away on one of the shelves below the cash register next to a jar of quarters and yellow slinky. The wooden box matched the client’s description, with the rosemary patterns carved into the sides and a blue forget-me-not painted on the lid. But the mechanism on the back with all its dials and gears looked too complicated to simply play music—and far too modern to belong to an antique.

Charles exchanged a look with Edwin, crouched beside him, and saw that he’d made the same deduction. “Reckon this might be enchanted, too?”

“We’ll soon find out.”

This time, the crystal flashed multiple colors—lilac, forest green, and deep violet.

Edwin frowned. “Not cursed, but I’ll need a spell in Minor Arcana Volume Two to determine more.”

Charles opened his backpack again. “That’s the book with the fire spell?”

“No, that’s volume four. Same size and shape, but with a different number on the spine.”

“Got it.” He retrieved the book and passed it Edwin, who leafed through its pages until he found what he needed. He began chanting in Latin and the box began to glow. Charles tensed, ready to push Edwin away, but the box remained motionless. Edwin’s voice didn’t falter as he finished the spell, but his frown deepened.

“There’s something inside,” he said as the glow faded. “I believe the box is enchanted to contain it, but I can’t discern anything more than that.” His fingers moved as though itching to reach for the box—or perhaps his notebook, to start jotting down observations. “The box itself should be safe to touch.”

“Right.” Charles lifted the box out of the shelf. No way he was letting Edwin handle it until they could be certain it was safe. It felt solidly built, not too heavy, and he couldn’t hear anything rolling around inside. A quick glance at the underside showed a manufacturer’s label stamped onto one corner. Or rather, not stamped. “This looks like it was done with a laser cutter.” Charles looked to Edwin. “Not to cast dispersions against our client, but I doubt this belonged to his family for generations.”

“So, either this isn’t the box he’s looking for, or he’s not being entirely honest with us about this box or his reasons for wanting it.” Edwin’s face lit up with the excitement of an unexpected development in a case. Charles found a smile stretching across his own face at the sight.

“His grandmother could’ve lied to him about it, too,” Charles offered. “Grown-ups lie to their kids all the time.” He knew that far too well.

“The grandmother could be entirely fictional.” Edwin frowned. “We didn’t look into any of his claims at all.”

Charles thought back. Had the client seemed shifty at the time? He should have paid better attention. “He knew to look for the box here. Either he did glimpse it as he said, or he was told about it by someone else.”

“Or it is possible he is looking for an entirely different box.”

“I’m not seeing any other flower-painted music boxes down here.” Charles poked his head around the area below the register for good measure and spotted a symbol carved into the back of the shelf. He swore under his breath.

“What is it?”

“That’s a rune.” Charles pointed. “I remember this one. It triggers a silent alarm system if the object placed in front of it is removed.” The boys exchanged a stricken look and scrambled to their feet as the implications sank in.

Runes meant magic. A shop owner who could perform magic meant this case was suddenly a lot more complicated. And potentially dangerous.

Right one cue, the overhead lights flickered on and an indignant voice demanded, “What are you doing in my shop?”

#

Charles blinked against the sudden brightness and assessed the scene. A woman around Jenny’s age stood a few yards away, clutching a baseball bat. Her short hair was messy, as though she’d just rolled out of bed, an assumption further supported by the T-shirt and pajama shorts she wore. Her tone and posture indicated she was ready for a confrontation, but he could read anxiety in her body language and her grip on the bat lacked the confidence of familiar use. This wasn’t a fighter.

But people who used magic could be dangerous in other ways.

Charles fixed a charming smile on his face and put his people skills to use. “Hey.” He set the box down on the counter and raised his hands to show he held no weapons. “I’m Charles, this is Edwin, and we’re the Dead Boy Detectives.” He watched the shopkeeper’s face for signs of recognition and found none. Bummer. “Awfully sorry to bother you at this hour, but could we ask you a few questions about this music box?” He held it up and noted how her attention immediately snapped to it.

“It’s not for sale.” Her tone left no room for negotiation, but the bat lowered a few inches.

“Did you know it’s enchanted?” Edwin inquired. Charles tried to indicate that he was handling this, but the shopkeeper cut him off.

“Of course I bloody well knew that. Now put it down before someone gets hurt!”

“Threatening us is hardly advisable.” Edwin’s voice had gone deadly calm—but at least he hadn’t frozen up the way he did when he got scared sometimes. Maybe he didn’t think the shopkeeper was a threat. Rune magic was different from the kinds of spells Edwin normally employed, and not generally useful in combat—unless it was used to enhance a weapon.

She looked offended enough to cause some damage with her bat, whether it was enchanted or not. “You’re the ones breaking and entering.” She advanced slowly, and Charles gently nudged Edwin behind him. “You really don’t want to meddle with things you don’t understand.”

Charles made one last-ditch effort to diffuse the situation. “Maybe you could explain it to us, then?” he suggested. “Only we heard someone sold you this box by mistake, and we’re trying to return it.”

“Whoever said that was lying.” She lunged abruptly and Charles pushed Edwin back, but she wasn’t reaching for them. She pulled a cord beside the register and a high-pitched alarm filled the shop. The shopkeeper quickly backed out of reach again. “Now, put the box down, and I’ll cancel the alarm, unlock the doors, and you can leave. Or, you can explain yourselves to the police when they arrive.” For the first time, she relaxed into the confident posture of someone in control of a situation. “It’s your call.”

The shrill alarm was grating on Charles’ nerves and likely Edwin’s as well, but they shared a bemused glance. No self-respecting member of the supernatural community called the police when they encountered trouble. And a locked door did absolutely nothing to contain a ghost.

“Police?” Edwin scoffed, disbelief morphing into scorn. “Amateurs.” He sighed and turned to his partner. “Come along, Charles. We’d best depart before this young lady embarrasses herself any further.”

The shopkeeper made an indignant sound—whether at being called a young lady by someone who looked half her age or at being called an amateur, Charles wasn’t certain.

Edwin strolled to the entrance, neatly evading the various antiques sticking out from the shelves. Charles hurried after him after glancing to make sure the shopkeeper wasn’t following. “Sorry about all this,” he called back. “We’ll pay you back later, promise.” He heard her cry of shock as he phased through the door behind Edwin. “I reckon she didn’t realize we were ghosts, mate.”

Edwin huffed. “She’s one to talk about meddling in things one doesn’t understand.”

Charles frowned down at the box in his hands. “We still don’t know what’s in here, either.” The blue forget-me-not caught the light as they passed under a streetlamp, and the metal dials on the back glimmered. Edwin seemed to have dismissed the shopkeeper, but Charles couldn’t shake the feeling that they’d brought something dangerous with them.

But they were the Dead Boy Detectives. Investigating danger was in the job description. And they couldn’t very well leave a potentially dangerous artifact lying around in a shop where anyone might pick it up, like Charles had with the ice cube tray.

Edwin clearly held no doubts. “Then we shall return to the office to conduct a thorough investigation.”

Chapter Text

Charles loved watching Edwin work. The way he got so focused on a task, the gestures his hands made while he explained a concept, the way his whole face lit up when he figured something out. He watched from his usual perch on the office desk as Edwin pored over the thick textbook on spell identification, his lips occasionally mouthing the words as he read—lips that Charles kept thinking about kissing.

Yeah, he definitely should have figured his feelings out sooner. But the middle of a case was not a good time for a confession. Edwin deserved better than that.

“Find anything useful?” Charles asked, redirecting his attention to the case at hand.

Edwin set the heavy tome aside, its pages open, and turned to the music box. “Half the spells on the box are protection spells, which unfortunately also block most forms of divination that would permit me to safely identify its contents.”

“Can you break the spells?”

“Yes. But the other half are containment spells, meant to keep whatever is inside from getting out.” They exchanged a look. Neither of them wanted to think about the implications of spells designed to keep something trapped. “This composition means that dismantling one set will unfortunately unravel the other. It’s incredibly sloppy spellwork,” he added disdainfully.

Charles couldn’t help his fond smile. “This might shock you, mate, but most magicians aren’t as skilled as you.” He clapped a hand on Edwin’s shoulder. “I know you’ll figure something out.”

Edwin returned his smile with a look that was achingly fond and tender. Charles kept staring for a few seconds longer than could be considered strictly platonic before withdrawing his hand.

“I have been able to rule out several possibilities,” Edwin continued. “The contents are neither living nor infernal in origin.”

“That’s good.”

“However, that still leaves a number of potentially dangerous options.” He studied the box and the latch which held it shut. “It could contain extremely volatile potion ingredients. Or an artifact carrying a potent curse.”

“Or a collection of rare coins. Doesn’t have to be the worst outcome, does it?”

Edwin made a skeptical sound. “It seems rather a lot of trouble to go to for a coin collection.”

“Some people resort to extreme measures to protect their treasure.” Charles bumped his shoulder against Edwin’s. “Remember the Case of the Pirate’s Bounty?”

Edwin’s affectionate smile returned. “I remember.”

Charles chuckled. That had been a surprisingly fun one. He still had their pirate disguises stashed away somewhere in his backpack. “Any guesses on what these dials on the back do?”

Edwin cleared his throat and adopted his professor voice. “The symbols are Greek letters commonly used in mathematical equations. I would guess the dials adjust different settings on the mechanism, though I have no guess yet as to its purpose.”

Charles loved when Edwin lectured like this. If his instructors at St. Hilarion’s had been half this good, he would’ve found it much easier to pay attention during class. “Well, it’s a music box, innit?” He chuckled. “Maybe it’s just a really complicated music player.”

Edwin rolled his eyes in fond exasperation. “Charles.”

Charles raised his hands in surrender. “I’m just saying, some people might get tired of hearing the same tune played over and over.”

“I highly doubt the device is that innocent. Or simple.”

Charles studied the gears and dials on the back of the box to keep himself from once more admiring Edwin’s expressive eyebrows. “Reckon I could figure out how to make it work.”

“I don’t doubt that you could.” A softer smile, this time. “But until we know more, such experimentation would be too risky.”

Charles conceded the point and let Edwin resume his research. He was starting to get a little impatient, though. They’d been studying the box and poring over books for hours—well, Edwin had been studying the books and Charles had been studying Edwin—and they hadn’t learned much yet.

“What would happen if we opened the box?” Charles wondered. “Just to take a quick peek inside?”

Edwin didn’t look up. “I would prefer to avoid a repeat of the Venus Ghost Trap Incident, Charles.”

Okay, fair. Charles was never going to live that one down. “You said there’s nothing living in here,” Charles pointed out. “And the magic tester thingy didn’t pick up any curses, did it?”

“Zauberprobierer,” Edwin corrected automatically. Charles smirked. “And no instrument is flawless, Charles.” He set the book aside to look seriously at his friend. “There could be a danger I have failed to detect. I do not wish to jeopardize your safety for the sake of curiosity.”

“So we take a few precautions.” Edwin still looked reluctant. Charles sighed. “Look, I know you like to play things safe. But there’s only so much that books and spells can tell you.” He stood and came around the desk to place both hands on Edwin’s shoulders. “Eventually, you’ve got to try something and see what happens.” Edwin still looked anxious, so Charles stepped back. “But keep going with the research for now. We’ve got time.”

“No, I think you are right.” Edwin shook his head. “We could examine this box until dawn and still learn nothing further.” His weary expression was replaced by a familiar stubborn one. “But I shall insist on taking precautions.”

Charles grinned. “There’s a good lad.”

#

Thirty minutes later, the box sat on the floor in the middle of a circle of protective runes. Edwin and Charles crouched to one side of it, each wearing at least three talismans warding against harmful magic. Charles held out a long fishing pole, the tip of which he used to unlatch the music box. He didn’t breathe while he gently eased the lid of the box open and pulled the fishing pole back.

Nothing happened.

Charles couldn’t see clearly into the box—the mechanism attached to the back meant the lid didn’t open all the way and instead leaned upright at an angle. He started to rise.

“Charles—” Edwin’s hand was on his shoulder.

“Nothing’s jumped out at us yet, has it?” Charles reasoned, but didn’t pull away. “Can you check for any magical booby-traps?”

Edwin let go to consult his spellbook, and Charles keenly felt the absence of his hand. Edwin finished reciting the spell and frowned. “The protective spells on the box have gone dormant. They’re still there, but I believe they activate only when the lid is latched. I can’t detect any wards, curses, or traps.”

“That’s good.” Charles stood and looked down. “Edwin, it’s a box full of marbles.” He exchanged a bemused look with his partner and helped him to his feet. They both stared at the music box and the glass orbs resting inside.

Edwin frowned. “Rather peculiar, but not unprecedented.”

“I’m surprised we couldn’t hear them rolling around,” Charles remarked. There was something else missing, something obvious, but he couldn’t see it just yet.

“It could be a visual illusion.” But even after Edwin performed the counter-spell, the box sat there, unchanged. Nine marbles of different sizes lay inside the green felt lining like eggs in a nest. A few were a single color, but in most of them, streaks of different colors formed blobs and patterns.

Charles reached out with his fishing pole and tapped the side of the box with it. Nothing happened. He set the pole aside and reached for the foosball stick mounted on the wall.

“Do be careful,” Edwin cautioned him.

“I know.” Even before he’d become a Dead Boy Detective, Charles had known that reaching out and touching some unknown artifact was an incredibly stupid thing to do. He’d watched plenty of movies, after all. But sometimes, you needed to poke something with a stick just to learn what it did. Better him than Edwin.

The box shifted a few inches and the marbles rolled inside it. The felt lining did little to muffle the sounds.

“It’s not playing any music,” Charles realized. That was the other detail that didn’t add up. Most music boxes he’d come across started playing the moment the lid was opened.

Edwin made a thoughtful sound. “Perhaps this isn’t a music box after all.” He pulled out his notebook and began taking notes. “Let me try something.”

Fifteen minutes later, they decided the circle was probably unnecessary and relocated the box to the office desk. Edwin sat in his usual seat, examining one of the marbles with his magnifying glass. The Zauberprobierer hadn’t reacted to it at all.

Edwin finally returned the marble to the box with clear vexation. “No curses, no enchantments, absolutely nothing magical about it in any way!”

Charles picked up the offending marble and held it up to the light of the lamp. It looked like glass, and sounded like glass when it rolled around and clinked against other marbles, but there was a slight give when he squeezed it that reminded him of a grape or gumball. He couldn’t feel the texture of the marble, but it clearly wasn’t made of glass.

He set it back amongst its fellows. “I think there’s something off about these marbles, mate. Besides, people wouldn’t be after this box if it didn’t contain something important.”

“Unless the box itself is valuable.” Edwin held the Zauberprobierer close to the mechanism, and sure enough, the crystal glowed deep green. “Charles, can you figure out how to work the mechanism?”

“On it.” Charles knelt in front of the desk to study the back of the box at eye level. None of the dials would turn under his fingers, but they jiggled a bit, as though jammed in place. Charles followed the logic of the gears and moving parts back to a flat knob sticking out—it looked like the part meant to be twisted on a wind-up toy. It refused to rotate in one direction, but when he tried the other, the knob knocked against a metal pin sticking out of the box. Charles tugged on the pin and was met with slight resistance before he pulled it out. He inserted it back into its hole and it snapped in place—magnetic, Charles suspected. He pulled it out again, twisted the knob, and this time it turned, sounding just like clockwork being wound up. He released the knob and tinkling music began to play.

“Told you it was a music box,” he declared, feeling rather chuffed by his success. The tune was a familiar one, now that he paid attention to it, but something felt off—maybe it was being played in a minor key? He gazed speculatively at the dials. Perhaps one selected the tune, another the key, and another the instrument? He voiced his musings to Edwin, but there was no response.

“Edwin?” Charles looked around the box and cried out in alarm.

Edwin was slumped forward in his chair, face slack, eyes glazed over. The air between his face and the box twisted and shimmered with bright colors. He did not react as Charles called his name and began shaking his shoulders.

The box. The box had to be doing this to him, Edwin had been right that it was dangerous and Charles had been such an idiot and now Edwin was hurt and Charles had to make it better right now—

Charles slammed the lid of the box shut. The tinkling music stopped playing. Edwin’s eyes slipped shut. He didn’t stir.

“Edwin?” Charles tried to keep his voice steady. “Come on, mate, you’ve got to wake up.” He gently shook Edwin’s shoulders, and Edwin’s head lolled around. Charles caught his face and held it reverently between his hands. “Edwin, please wake up, I’m begging you—” His voice broke as he swallowed a litany of other pleas, I need you, I can’t do this without you, please don’t leave me. A sob escaped him.

Crying wouldn’t help. Edwin needed him to focus. Whatever had happened, Charles had to fix it. He took one of those deep, calming breaths he was always telling Edwin to take. The answer had to be here somewhere in one of these books. He would find it. Or—

He looked back at the music box sitting innocently on the desk and felt the urge to smash it to pieces. Destroying a cursed artifact usually broke the curse. But Edwin had said there wasn’t a curse, and he was still wearing talismans that should have protected him from one. What if this was like the Case of the Devlin House, and smashing the object would only harm the victims? Charles couldn’t risk it.

Then, finally, Edwin stirred in his grasp. His eyelids fluttered open and those bewildered emerald eyes were the most beautiful sight Charles had ever seen.

“Charles? What—” His question was muffled as Charles threw himself at his best mate and enveloped him in his arms.

“Oh thank fuck.” Charles never wanted to let Edwin go. “I was so worried.” He pulled back just enough to see Edwin’s face. “Are you okay?”

“I—I believe so.” Edwin looked concerned now as well as bewildered. “Charles, have you been crying?”

“Maybe a little,” Charles admitted. There was some moisture around his eyes, but he didn’t feel like brushing it away. That would mean letting go of Edwin, and he had no intention of doing that anytime soon.

“What on Earth happened?” Gentle hands found Charles’ back now as Edwin returned the embrace with clear hesitation. “We were at the museum—”

“Museum?” Now it was Charles’ turn to be confused. “No, mate, we’ve been working on this music box case all night.” Since his arms were full, he jerked his head at the box sitting on the desk.

“Music box?” Edwin stared at the box as though he had never seen it before.

Realization slowly dawned on Charles. “You don’t remember?”

Edwin shook his head. “The last thing I recall clearly is you telling me to run. There was a ghost at the museum who had gone a bit mad?” He sounded uncertain.

Charles remembered it now: The Case of the Crazed Centurion. One of their regular contacts had brought it to their attention. There was this crumbling old wall next to the Museum of London that the ghost of a Roman soldier had been guarding for as long as anyone could remember. The museum was in the process of a moving to a new location, and all the changes and new people disturbing the site had upset the ghost so much he’d started attacking tourists.

When the team first approached him, he chased them away, cussing in ancient Latin, but then Edwin responded in kind and that surprised him enough they were able to get him to calm down a bit. Niko and Crystal explained, with Edwin translating, what was happening with the museum, and reassured the ghost that his wall was staying put and he could stay to guard it. Of course, when they gave their report to the Night Nurse later, she was annoyed that they hadn’t convinced the ghost to move on, but he’d been adamant about not abandoning his post. Honestly, Charles could respect that level of dedication.

He took a deep breath. “Edwin, we closed that case three weeks ago.”

“I see.” Charles tracked the subtle shifts in Edwin’s expression as he processed that information. He cleared his throat and pulled away, and Charles reluctantly let him go. “So, this music box—”

“I think it must have stolen some of your memories,” Charles finished. “The air got all shimmery, and you collapsed—” He swallowed, determined to not start crying again. “It was because I was fiddling around with the mechanism on the back. I made the music start playing, and you—you got hurt because of me.” The one thing he’d sworn he’d never let happen, and he’d failed. Again.

“Charles.” Edwin’s voice was soft yet firm. “I do not think you need to blame yourself for this.”

Charles sniffled. “But it was my fault.”

“I shall be the judge of that.” Edwin reached for his notebook. “After you relate to me the facts of the case.” A faint smile touched his lips. “Let us put that excellent memory of yours to use, since mine appears to be compromised for the time being.”

Even when clearly rattled by the memory loss, Edwin tried to cheer Charles up. Charles thought he might burst with fondness for his best friend.

#

With the case notes reviewed and updated, Edwin said he wished to speak with their client again and asked if he’d left a business card. Charles located it, saw that the bloke’s name was Lawrence Wormwood, and winced in sympathy. Edwin used the card to perform a simple calling spell—notably different from a summoning, in that it sent a signal to the card owner that the recipient wished for them to visit, rather than forcing them to appear. Sort of like a telephone, except it didn’t keep ringing and ringing, because that would be proper annoying. They’d already explained this procedure to the client and he’d agreed since he wanted to know as soon as they found the music box.

The client arrived sooner than either of them expected, striding into the office without so much as knocking or shutting the door behind him. “Have you had any luck?”

“Some,” Charles admitted. “But we’ve got a few more questions we need to ask.” He decided to soften the request with a compliment. “You got here pretty quickly, mate. I know mirror travel isn’t easy, especially for a new ghost. Good for you.”

After the skirmish a few months ago with the soldier in the gas mask, the detectives had placed wards on the office mirror so that other ghosts wouldn’t be able to pass through it without an escort. Clients were invited to use the full-length mirror installed on the ground floor between the stairway and the new butcher shop. Jenny complained occasionally, but at least clients weren’t barging into her shop as often as they had in Port Townsend.

Lawrence dismissed the compliment with a wave of his hand. “Did you find it?”

Edwin cleared his throat. “We found an item in the location you specified that matches the description you provided.” He set the box on his desk. Charles watched the client and saw the moment recognition crossed his face—and a flicker of something else.

“Good work, boys.” Lawrence stepped forward.

“One moment.” Edwin didn’t move his hands from the box. “Are you quite certain this is your grandmother’s music box?”

“Yes, it looks just like I remembered.” He reached for it, but was stopped by a cold look from Edwin.

“We told you we have a few additional questions.”

“Why do you need to ask questions?” The client’s hands balled into fists. “I paid you to find this box, and you found it. Your work is done.”

Charles rose from his seat. Lawrence didn’t seem like he was going to turn violent, but he was overreacting and Charles’ instincts were telling him something was wrong.

“Were you aware that it is not an antique?” Edwin inquired.

“Of course it is,” Lawrence snapped. “It’s been in my family for generations.”

Edwin nodded. “I suppose that is why the manufacturer’s label says it was made in 2019.”

For a moment, the frustration on the client’s face morphed into something like guilt. The mask was back in place a moment later, but Charles had seen it slip.

Lawrence chuckled. “Well, that can’t be right.”

Charles shook his head. “You really shouldn’t lie to us, mate. We’ve been detectives for a long time.”

Edwin steepled his fingers. “Is there anything else you neglected to mention that you would care to share with us now?”

“No,” Lawrence snapped. “Now, if you don’t mind—”

“We mind very much, actually.” Edwin raised an eyebrow. “Tell us about the enchantment.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Lying again,” Charles observed. He wondered if he should reach for his cricket bat, but Lawrence didn’t look like much of a fighter. Office and corporate types tended to use words and bluster more than their fists. “Like you lied about the shop owner being able to see ghosts.”

“I didn’t—wait, she saw you?” He snarled in frustration. “You weren’t supposed to get caught! You were supposed to be professionals. What am I paying you for?”

“A good detective conducts a thorough investigation,” Edwin retorted primly. He leaned forward, his ready-to-play-hardball expression and tone in place, and Charles had to bite back a smirk. “Now, I suggest you start telling us the truth about this box and why you want it.”

Lawrence muttered something unflattering and grabbed the box. A moment later he yelped and leapt back, losing his balance and sprawling across the floor.

Edwin smirked. He’d placed a protective enchantment of his own on the box before calling their client, one that would cause pain to anyone who tried to touch it without permission. He sighed dramatically. “Really, do you take us for amateurs? We are professionals.”

Lawrence glared up at them and spat out several insults that Charles was certain his grandmother would have been appalled to hear. He wondered if she was the type to wash her grandkids’ mouths out with soap—if she really existed.

Charles shook his head. “Cussing us out isn’t going to make us more inclined to help you, mate.” He offered the fellow a hand up. “Let’s start over from the beginning, all right?”

“Fine!” Lawrence ignored Charles’ hand and clambered to his feet. “That fucking witch who owns the antique shop put a curse on that box. She uses it to steal people’s memories. Open it and see for yourselves—it’s full of stolen lives!”

Charles exchanged a look with Edwin. The box had been full of marbles—or objects masquerading as glass marbles. Charles remembered that when Crystal had gotten her stolen memories back, they’d looked like a handful of marbles. Could these be like those?

“A witch, you say?” Edwin clarified.

“She’s got an obsession with young women.” Some of the client’s confidence had returned now. “She takes the memories of people they care about, the best moments of their lives. My own girlfriend doesn’t remember me anymore. It’s all that bitch’s fault!”

Charles could see Lawrence meant what he said. He cast a speaking glance to Edwin to convey as much.

Edwin’s mouth tightened in grim determination. “You’re certain the music box is to blame?”

“I saw them talking in the shop. I saw them go upstairs. I saw that witch use the box on Alison. When she left, I tried talking to her, but she—she didn’t know me.” He looked properly miserable now, and this time Charles knew he wasn’t faking.

Charles felt a pang of sympathy. To love someone, and have them not even recognize you… He’d gotten lucky that Edwin had only lost a few weeks of his memory. Charles couldn’t bear to think what it would be like if his best mate didn’t know him anymore. He’d probably go a bit mental. No wonder their client was upset, and desperate to obtain the box.

“That sounds awful, mate,” he said, full of feeling.

“You have no idea.” Lawrence shook his head. “I love Alison more than my own life. I always knew she’d be the one for me. Not even death can part us. I promised we’d be together forever.” He turned to address Edwin. “You have to help me get her memories back.”

Edwin was busily scribbling in his notebook. “Have you talked to her about this?”

“I told you, she doesn’t remember me! She won’t listen!”

“It’ll be okay.” Charles placed a hand on Lawrence’s shoulder. “We’ve solved cases like this before. Right, Edwin?”

“Of course we can solve the case.” Edwin’s tone remained professional, but there was a tension in his face that indicated he was not unmoved by their client’s pleas. He turned to a new page and looked up. “We need you to tell us everything you can about the shop owner, this artifact, and anything else you think is pertinent.” His tone sharpened. “Preferably this time without any lies. They only serve to hinder our efforts.”

Lawrence nodded earnestly.

“Don’t worry,” Charles said, offering him the client chair. “The Dead Boy Detectives are on the case. There’s nothing we can’t solve together.”

#

There turned out to be little new information that Lawrence could share with them. Edwin dutifully took notes on everything, including some of the details Charles thought were a bit unnecessary, like about how the couple had gotten together and how beautiful he thought his girlfriend was. But Charles supposed he could relate a bit. After all, he’d spent the past thirty-four years telling everyone about his brilliant best mate. He’d probably be insufferable if he ever got lucky enough to call himself Edwin’s boyfriend.

“It will not be as easy as opening the box and retrieving the memories,” Edwin informed them. “There appear to be a number of magical safeguards in place.”

Charles noticed that Edwin had refrained from mentioning his own memory loss upon opening the box. He wondered at that, but decided it wasn’t his place to say anything if Edwin didn’t want to bring it up.

“Just do whatever you need to do to get it open,” Lawrence said. He promised to return if they had more questions for him and took his leave.

After he departed, Edwin turned to Charles. “How much of what he told us do you think was true?”

Charles blinked for a moment, surprised, but Edwin was probably right to be skeptical. “Well, he’s not lying about his girlfriend. He clearly misses her.” Charles was certain of that much. “But I don’t get why he didn’t tell us the full story when he first brought us the case. Anyone who recommended us to him could have told him we’d help. He didn’t need to make up that tale about his grandmother.” Charles was still miffed he hadn’t noticed that fib at the time.

Edwin made a thoughtful sound. “What is your assessment of his character? Does he strike you as an honest person?”

“You think he might be hiding something else?”

“I don’t know.” Edwin’s fists pressed together. “It’s incredibly frustrating, not being able to remember how this case started.” He pulled his hands apart and turned to a different page in his notebook. “Could you walk me through the encounter at the antique shop again?”

Charles complied. He tried to concentrate, to recall any other details he might have missed the first time around. “She seemed surprised when we walked out of there. I thought that meant she didn’t realize we were ghosts, but now I’m not sure.”

Edwin frowned. “A witch would be able to identify ghosts on sight. As would a medium.”

They only had one man’s word that she was a witch, though. And although he wasn’t lying this time, he could be mistaken. Plenty of people were falsely accused of witchcraft. “A witch probably wouldn’t call the cops on two intruders though, would she?” Charles reasoned.

Edwin made a sound of frustration. “We simply do not have enough information.” He rose from the desk and began to pace. “We shall have to gather more intelligence somehow. The client has told us what he can and I am not anxious to confront the shop owner just yet.” He paused. “Therefore, we must investigate the box.”

“We’ve been studying this box for hours, mate,” Charles sighed, but picked it up. “Not sure what new insights…” He trailed off as he examined the label stamped on the underside. Rosewood Creations. Now, why did that name sound familiar? He had a feeling he’d read it somewhere. He set the box down and strode to the closet where they kept the stack of old newspapers.

“What is it?” Edwin called.

“Reckon I’ve seen that label somewhere before.” Charles flipped through papers from July and June before reaching the page advertising spring sales. “Found it!” He left the closet and handed the paper to Edwin.

Charles watched Edwin’s lips move as he read the words aloud. “Rosewood Creations: makers of fine woodcraft and custom woodworking designs.” Those lips stretched into a smile. “Excellent memory, Charles!”

Charles ducked his head at the praise. “Thought it seemed like something to check out.” He glanced toward the window and noticed the sky lightening with the dawn. “We could take a poke around their workshop before they open.”

“I think we have done enough breaking and entering for one night. We shall wait until business hours and make an official inquiry.” Edwin skimmed the newspaper again and frowned. “Charles, the dates of this sale are from last May.” He handed the paper back to him. “We really should do better at disposing of old papers.”

“It comes in handy now, doesn’t it?” Charles offered up his convincing smile. “Besides, if we threw out all the old newspapers, what would we use for Halloween pumpkin carving?”

Edwin huffed and rolled his eyes, but couldn’t suppress his fond smile. Charles beamed. He knew Edwin disliked the disruption caused by holidays, but he always let Charles decorate the office every year for Halloween, and had even agreed to wear matching costumes on occasion. Charles was lucky to have him.

He knew they’d figure out this mystery. As they’d told the client, they were the Dead Boy Detectives, and there was nothing they couldn’t solve together.