Fic for numberthescars - Magical Intervention - Part 1

[lewismod]

Recipient:  numberthescars
Author: barcardivodka
Title: Magical Intervention
Characters/Pairing:  Robbie Lewis, James Hathaway, Laura Hobson
Rating:  PG-13
Word count: 12803
Warnings:  A few f-words littered throughout.
Summary: With someone murdering the city's rough sleepers, DI Robbie Lewis is finally able to confront his sergeant James Hathaway about his magic.  Modern AU.

Authors Notes: With many thanks to my beta’s Mirth and Jay, who poked, prodded, listened to tantrums and soothed moments of despair during the writing of this story.

My apologies to those, like myself, who know Oxford well. For the benefit of the story I have changed the layout of certain lanes and footpaths. Hope it doesn’t distract too much!

Any mistakes are mine and mine alone, so please do not steal them.



______________________________________________________________________

“Bloody hell!”

James Hathaway jerked around in surprise at the loud voice, visibly blanching as he looked into the shocked face of the spirit that stood next to him.

“Is that me?” it asked in trepidation, pointing to the body at their feet. Hathaway looked down at the gruesome remains, his posture stiffening as he caught Laura Hobson’s bewildered expression.

“Everything all right, James?” Laura asked carefully.

“I’m dead, ain’t I?” the apparition queried at the same time, voice full of fright.

“Yes,” James answered stonily, eyes flickering between Laura and the apparition before turning on his heel and walking quickly away. Hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his overcoat, clenched tightly into fists, he made his way along the frozen towpath, the icy wind bringing colour back to his cheeks.

“Hey! Where you going? You’re the only one who can see me, right?” the apparition yelled after him.

James kept walking until he rounded a bend in the path, finally out of view of everyone milling around the crime scene. He dug out a pack of cigarettes and pulled one out, trembling hands shielding the lighter from the wind as he lit it. He took a deep drag and expelled the smoke in a heavy breath, the usual calming action doing nothing to dispel his growing anxiety.

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” the apparition asked in horror, once again at his side.

“Yes,” James answered unhappily, looking at his feet.

“Are you… am I… do you control me now?” it asked with growing revulsion and alarm.

“It doesn’t work like that,” James snapped angrily. “You’ll pass over to the Forbidden Realm in a few minutes, no one can stop that, not even someone like me,” he took another drag of his cigarette, smoke curling from his nose.

“But I thought…” it started to say in confusion.

“Yeah, well, you thought wrong,” James bitterly interrupted as he rubbed at his forehead. ”You belong to you,” he added forcefully. “No one can force you to leave the Forbidden Realm, unless you want to leave and you can only leave if a Necromancer opens up a vortex between the two realms,” he wearily explained. “A spirit can only stay in this realm for a few hours before they have to cross back over,” he added, flicking the gathered ash from his cigarette, “a new spirit like you can only stay for a few minutes.”

“Oh, so …,” it paused for a moment, “it’s all a heap of crap, then? About Necromancer’s? Einstein got it right, with his theory of Realmivity?” it asked.

James frowned at the apparition.

“I might have been a homeless drunk, boy,” it said crossly, “but I had a normal life once, I used to have some idea of what was going on in the world.”

“Sorry,” James mumbled.

“Take it you’re a copper, then?” it asked, “little bastard’s murdered me,” it added furiously.

“No,” James shouted in panic, “you can’t tell me,” he began backing away from the apparition, one hand held in front of him as if to ward the spirit off.

“Why not?” it asked perplexed, “I remember everything. They kicked me to death, they smacked my head in with a baseball bat!” it bellowed in rage, “ why the fucking hell don’t you want….hey, what you doing?” it cried out as it started to flicker from existence, growing translucent, “you fucking bastard,” it yelled out before disappearing.

James took in a shaky breath, throwing the cigarette into the river before running both hands over his face and through his hair. “Get a grip, James!” he gritted out.

He was beyond tired; exhaustion making his mental shields weak, easily broken. He’d never been like the others, who had to chant and conjure spells for their magic to work, his was just there. It took no effort to cast his magic, he didn’t even have to the say the words out loud, merely think them and his abilities seemed to grow stronger every year.

James had been accepted into the Order of Priests when he had inadvertently shown his powers whilst at University. It had been a joy at first, to be with others of his kind, to be accepted and not looked upon with fear or suspicion. A year into training he had discovered what really happened to those who practiced Necromancy, although the Order never found out, Hathaway was talented in all the arts of magic, not just proficient in one. But his strongest talent was the curse of Necromancy, a talent that….

“James? You all right, lad?”

__________________________________________________________________________

“Morning,” Robbie greeted, hunching his shoulders up against the biting wind, wishing that he’d remembered to grab a scarf before leaving his flat this morning.

“No Hathaway?” he asked Laura who stood near the body, legs encased in the white forensic suit, the rest of her huddled in a thick jacket, the hood pulled up.

“He’s been here for over half an hour, already given him my preliminary report,” Laura scolded teasingly, “what took you so long?”

“Accident on the ring road,” Robbie grumbled,” had to cut through Kennington.”

Robbie’s eyes took in the scene, the bare branches of the trees that edged the towpath twisted and rattled in the wintry wind, contrasting against the backdrop of muted browns the white clad SOCO team stood out starkly as they moved with deliberate slowness, examining and photographing the area, uniformed officers in fluorescent jackets, their backs to the wind, wishing they were back at the nick out of the cold.

“Where is he then?” Robbie queried, as he looked at Laura.

“He took off over there about a minute ago, I would say I think he saw you coming,” Laura teased, as she pointed down the towpath “but I think he saw,” she indicated the dead body, “you know instead,” she finished quietly to ensure she wasn’t overheard.

Robbie breathed out a heavy sigh, looking in the direction Laura had indicated.

“What am I going to do with the awkward sod?” Robbie asked, more to himself than Laura. “He hides it like he’s a Traditional,” he added as he turned his gaze back to Laura, who gave him a sad smile.

“Could have solved this case by now if he’d used his magic,” Robbie declared, “That Second-Sighter we had in didn’t know their bloody arse from their elbow. Hathaway could have found out everything just by talking to the spirits.”

“I don’t think it’s as simple as that, Robbie,” Laura replied, “and besides magical intervention is not admissible in court,” she pointed out.

“But magical investigation is,” Robbie countered, “as long as physical and scientific evidence is used in the preparation and support of any and all charges.”

Laura looked at him suspiciously, “You looked that up, didn’t you?” she laughed.

Robbie smiled. “Caught up on the regs when I found out Hathaway was a former trainee Priest,” he replied. “What am I going to do, Laura? I’m just not getting through to him. Even told him about me own magical ability, he just listened politely and then laughed,” Robbie finished ruefully.

“I’m not surprised,” Laura giggled. “Stirring your tea without touching the spoon isn’t much of a power, especially when you have to put the spoon in the mug first,” she laughed. “You shouldn’t have skipped so many enchantment classes when you were at school.”

Robbie huffed a laugh. “Aye, but what was going on behind the bike sheds was far more interesting,” he joked. “Not that you’re any better mind,” he pointed out.

“I hope you’re not suggesting it’s because I spent my time behind the bike sheds as well, Robbie Lewis,” she teased with a laugh, making Robbie laugh as well. “And my talent may not be that strong, but at least I can mow my lawn without leaving the patio,” she disputed.

They were silent for a moment, Robbie casting another look up the towpath. “Best go have a word,” he said decisively, “time to put a stop to this.” He went to move off, but Laura grabbed his arm halting him.

“Robbie, he was with the Priest’s for a year, “she cautioned, “he would have been subjected to all manner of magical prejudice, illegal or not, “she warned, “and the Priests only ever let the world see what they want seen.”

Robbie let out a sigh, his breath visible in the cold air. Laura was one of a growing number of people who wanted the practices of the Priests to be scrutinised and laid bare to the public, convinced that the Order hid many dark and dangerous secrets.

“Necromancer’s were still being murdered until the late fifties,” Laura continued,” no thanks to World War two and Hitler believing the nonsense that they could control the dead and part spirits from their bodies while they were still alive.”

Robbie frowned at her, “So? It’s the twenty-first century, Laura, times have moved on, the Priests are little more than a training centre for the magically gifted now.”

“And when was the last time you came across a Priest Necromancer? When did any police force in the country call in the services of one?” Laura asked earnestly. “Never, Robbie. Not once, because there aren’t any.”

“They’re scarce, I’ll admit,” Robbie argued, “what with the persecution over the centuries and all, but it’s a rare magic in its own right, there’s only ever been a handful every generation.”

Laura gave Robbie a disappointed look. “So don’t you think the Priest’s would have shouted from the rooftops at having the prestige of a rare magical ability in their Order? And why did he leave after only a year?” she questioned, “Hathaway is a very smart man and he’s kept his abilities to himself for a very long time, why do you think that is, Robbie?” she asked pointedly. “There’s a reason James hides his abilities,” she continued, “He knows the law, he’s aware the general public, Traditional and Magical alike, won’t and can’t discriminate against him, but still he hides,” she finished.

Robbie scowled at Laura for a moment and then nodded his head in acceptance, rubbing a hand wearily across his face.

“I know, you’re right, it’s just...” Robbie looked back up the towpath, before looking back at Laura. “It’s just I wish you weren’t,” he finished sadly, “What time’s the post mortem?” he asked, nodding towards the body.

“Won’t be until tomorrow, say 9 am,” Laura stated, “We have a public health audit today, so can only take bodies in,” she said with obvious disgust.

Robbie squeezed Laura’s shoulder, then with a quick nod turned and walked up the towpath, pulling up the collar on his jacket, trying to protect his ears from the biting wind. Robbie knew that Laura was right, why would Hathaway hide all of his magical ability? It was common knowledge around the station that the lad had once been a trainee priest and would therefore have a strong magical ability, even if his main power was Necromancy, he would still be able to conjure and more than likely have a secondary, less well developed power.

Robbie had grown up in a mixed household, his father a Traditional, his mother Magical and had attended a mixed school. Laws brought in after the Second World War had finally ensured equality for all and had taken the last of the power away from the Order of Priests. Since 1946 all government officials were democratically elected and a serving Priest could not stand for office, nationally or locally.

Robbie paused as he reached the bend in the towpath. Hathaway, now clearly visible, his back towards Robbie, seemed to be talking to himself, although Robbie suspected it more likely the spirit of their latest victim that he was chatting too.

For the hundredth time that month Robbie wished Val was still alive, she would have quickly taken Hathaway under her wing and in her gentle way she would have been able to help the tortured lad. She had been Magical, her power strong enough to be offered a place with the Priests. Thankfully for Robbie she turned it down, something she wouldn’t have been able to do a hundred odd years ago. But Val wanted a family and Priests practised celibacy to keep their magic pure. Mark was born a Traditional like his granddad, but Lyn had been blessed with the power of healing, prompting her to become a nurse and limited though her power was, it enabled her to heal many minor injuries.

Robbie hurried forward as Hathaway’s voice rose in panic, the lad stepping backwards from some unseen danger, before burying his face in his hands in despair.

“James? You all right, lad?” Robbie called out, stopping a few yards away as Hathaway whirled around at the sound of his voice.

“Sir,” Hathaway replied his voice strained with the effort of sounding normal. Robbie read the other man’s anxiety easily, the shifting from one foot to another, hands clenching and unclenching at his side. It was the closest Robbie had ever seen Hathaway to unnerved, although his face was an expressionless mask, terror shone in his eyes.

“You alright?” Robbie repeated. “Thought I heard you talking to someone,” he added gently, watching in growing concern as Hathaway paled.

“No, I…I was just…”Hathaway floundered, casting a look behind him before turning to face Robbie again, nervously running a hand through his short hair.

“Laura tells me she’s given you her preliminary report,” Robbie cut in, knowing that to push Hathaway would not only result in the lad outright lying to him but would make him withdraw further and that was the last thing Robbie wanted to do, Laura’s concerns ringing loud in his ears.

He desperately wanted to help Hathaway, for the lad to be happy and confident in his abilities, like his Val had been, like his Lyn was. Something that even with just a year in the Order Hathaway should have achieved, but he hadn’t just turned his back on his magic, he denied it and it had been obvious to Robbie for some time that the lad’s shields were getting weaker every day. Hathaway would undoubtedly be horrified that he had given himself away to Robbie and Laura, their suspicions of him being a Necromancer growing over the month’s as Hathaway had allowed the evidence to mount.

His change of conversation seemed to baffle Hathaway for a moment before he nodded and took a step towards Robbie, quickly grabbing the opportunity to change the subject with a blatant eagerness that Robbie studiously ignored.

“Yes, she did,” Hathaway confirmed, all professional now, his unease disappearing as he pulled his notebook from his overcoat pocket.

“Kings Arms is just over the bridge,” Robbie said, pointing across the river, “let’s grab a cuppa and get out of this wind. My entire face has gone numb.”

_____________________________________________________________________________

The interior of the pub was like many others situated in the older villages, wooden beams, thick misshapen pillars of old oak, testament to the buildings centuries old age, a thick patterned red carpet covered the floor, but more importantly a huge wood fire burnt in a large fireplace filling the room with heat and light, a sign on the mantle proclaiming:

“The flame is real. DO NOT TOUCH.”

Robbie unzipped his jacket with relief, ears tingling as the damage wrought by the bitter wind was soothed by the welcome warmth. He walked up to the bar smiling at the barmaid as they made eye contact. With a few whispered words the production line of glasses that were swirling around her ceased, the ones that were still in the air gently landed on the bar in neat rows, a tea towel draping over them.

“Sorry about that, my love,” the barmaid smiled as she walked over to him, “just finishing off last night’s empties,” she explained. “What can I get you?”

“Two teas would hit the spot,” Robbie smiled back, “are you serving food yet?” he queried, it was only just past ten in the morning, but Robbie had missed breakfast, as undoubtedly had Hathaway.

“Breakfast menu is still on,” she replied, grabbing a menu from further up the bar to place in front of him. “Mainly bacon, eggs and the like,” she explained.

Robbie cast a look over his shoulder at his sergeant, who stood in front of the fireplace staring down at the roaring fire as if mesmerised by the flickering orange flames.

“Have two bacon sarnies then,” Robbie ordered, turning back to the barmaid “if that’s alright?”

“Not a problem,” she assured as she turned to the till and placed the order. “That will be £8.45 then, my love,” she took the tenner Robbie handed over and scooped up the required coins from the till, placing the change into his hand. “I’ll bring them on over to your table,” she added as she moved away; heading out of the bar and to what Robbie presumed was the kitchen.

He turned and saw that Hathaway had moved from the fireplace and was now sitting at the table closest to it, his coat and scarf neatly folded over the back of one of the chairs. As Robbie walked towards him he could almost feel the weariness emanating from the lad, shoulders hunched over as a hand rubbed at his eyes.

“Ordered us a cuppa and a couple of bacon sarnies,” Robbie said, as he shrugged out of his coat, placing it over Hathaway’s, before sitting down. “Need something to warm us up,” he added, “hasn’t been this cold in years.”

“Global warming, sir,” Hathaway replied dryly.

“What did Laura have to say?” Robbie asked just as the barmaid approached the table
placing a tray laden with two mugs, a jug of milk, sugar bowl and a large teapot.

“Sandwiches will be with you in a couple of minutes,” she said as she pushed the tray further onto the table and left.

“Shall I be mother, sir?” Hathaway asked, taking the lid off the teapot and giving the brewing liquid a lazy stir.

“Aye, go on then,” Robbie acquiesced.

“Our latest unidentified body is definitely our third victim,” Hathaway stated as he poured out the tea, passing a mug to Robbie, before adding milk and sugar to his own and took a large sip, both hands wrapped round the mug before continuing. “Doctor Hobson puts the time of death around three am this morning. Victim is between fifty and seventy and from the condition of their clothing has probably been sleeping rough for some time,” Hathaway reeled off.

“Cause of death the same as the others?” Lewis asked as he added milk to his mug of tea.

“Yes, blunt force trauma to the head and face,” Hathaway confirmed, “expect we’ll find more bruising on the body like the others.”

“Three men, two of them confirmed alcoholics in their sixties, all habitual rough sleepers on the streets of Oxford,” Robbie reiterated, “all murdered this week and none of them with a real identity. Hopefully we can put a name to our latest victim.” Robbie finished sadly, knowing the chances were slim.

“All beaten to death with wooden bats of some description,” Hathaway added, frowning as he watched Robbie stir his tea, the teaspoon moving in slow clockwise circles as Robbie’s index finger made the same movement half an inch above the mug, words falling silently from barely moving lips, Hathaway smirked at the display as he took another sip from his own mug.

“Oh, aye,” Robbie stated, “what’s your power then?” He asked in mock outrage.

“Sir?” Hathaway queried as he placed his mug on the table, then seemed to realise his hands had nothing to do, so picked it back up again.

“James, you were a trainee Priest,” Robbie said, fighting to the keep the exasperation
from his tone, “you have to have a least one power, and a strong one at that!”

Robbie immediately berated himself for pushing too hard, Laura’s words loud in his ears. The path set out by the Order was one of discipline, obedience, mastery of magic and the living of a simple, if somewhat harsh life. The ways of the Priests had changed very little since their conception; the only thing that had really changed was that their absolute power over the land and the people had diminished over the centuries, democracy taking over their divine right of magical rule.

Hathaway had been in training with them for over a year and for whatever reason, he had walked away from an opportunity very few were offered.

“Sir, I.....,” Hathaway snapped his mouth shut as the barmaid returned to the table placing a plate containing a thick bacon sandwich cut in half in front of each of them, the usual amount of greenery pubs seemed to feel the need to adorn their meals with also on the plates. Two large plastic bottles of sauce, one brown and one tomato, landed gently in the middle of the table.

“Anything else I can get you?” She asked pleasantly.

“No,” Robbie said sharply, annoyed at the untimely interruption, immediately following with a far more polite,” thank you, “and a gracious smile.

The barmaid smiled as she walked away with a satisfied nod.

“James?” Robbie prompted.

Hathaway let out a tired sigh. “Telekinesis,” he half lied, “like you, sir.”

Robbie barked out a laugh. “Give over man,” he chuckled, “bet you can rearrange this room, paint and decorate it, all whilst reading a book and smoking a ciggie.”

Hathaway gave a self-deprecating shrug, but Robbie noted that he didn’t deny the comment.

“Why don’t you use it then?” Robbie asked, as he took the top slice of bread off his sandwich and squirted the two halves with brown sauce. “Thought you were a Traditional when I first met you, then Innocent told me you’d been a trainee Priest,” he remarked.

“I ...I just don’t … use it,” Hathaway stammered out awkwardly, picking up his sandwich and taking a bite to cover his embarrassment.

Robbie frowned at him in puzzlement, in all his years he had never come across or even heard of anyone rejecting their magic, then again it was rare to come across someone who had left the Order of Priests.

“Go on then,” Robbie challenged, his tone light, “stir me tea.”

Hathaway gave him an odd look as he swallowed his mouthful of sandwich, then reached across the table and grabbed the teaspoon still in Robbie’s mug and gave the cooling liquid a stir.

“Not like that, you daft sod,” Robbie smiled, keeping the situation light, “with your magic,” he urged. “It’s safe here, there’s only us in here and the barmaid’s got the same magic,” he pressed.

Robbie was determined that Hathaway understood that whatever his true abilities, it was acceptable and normal to use them. Robbie was concerned that the lad’s magic was trying to find a way out and that was why he always seemed tired, constantly having to rebuild his shields. There were experts who studied Magic and its effect on humans, Oxford had more than its fair share of them. But Robbie’s and Laura’s discreet enquiries had yet to find one who had studied someone who had strong magically abilities, but never used them, keeping them bottled up inside.

The reason that no studies had been done was that 99% of those with a strong ability went into the Priests and the 1% that didn’t, used their magic in some way every day, like his Val, she could do the housework from the kitchen table, while writing out the weekly shopping list, or cooking the tea.

Robbie despaired over Hathaway; it was obvious he was a lonely, solitary man, whose social graces could do with a bit of work, his apparent smug and superior attitude that others saw, was in fact awkwardness and self-consciousness. A bloke of his age should be out and about at the weekends with his mates, or showing off his magic in an attempt to put a few notches on his bedpost. He shouldn’t be hiding himself in his work, fighting whatever demons that drove him to conceal his abilities.

Hathaway gave Robbie a considered look, which he returned with an open and honest expression. Hathaway took a quick appraising look around the room and then gave a short nod.

Robbie watched in mounting amazement as first the contents of the table lifted into the air, then the table, closely followed by Robbie and his chair. He grabbed hold of the arms of the chair, knuckles turning white as he was levitated six feet into the air, before being gently lowered and placed exactly where he had originally been, the other items carefully returned to their starting positions.

“Bloody hell,” Robbie whispered out in awe. The display of magic wasn’t the most dazzlingly he had witnessed, but Robbie knew there was so much more. To do that with so little effort and with no obvious magical words or chants, he wondered just how much power was hiding in that narrow body.

“That was brilliant,” he grinned as Hathaway gave him a brief smug smirk.

“All pretty standard really,” Hathaway countered modestly as he picked up his mug and drained it.

“Never understood why people weren’t murdered or killed magically until I read Einstein's book of Realmivity,” Robbie remarked in casual conversation, before taking a large bite of his sandwich. Robbie knew Necromancy was considered one of the most powerful of all the magic’s, it had also been considered one of the most evil, with practitioners of the ability being put to death by all horrid means possible a few hundred years ago, although attitudes had already started to radically change it was Einstein’s book that finally debunked all the superstition that had surrounded it, of course, like all ground breaking books it had taken a while to become accepted.

“Magic can’t cause harm,” Hathaway stated, “took the World Wars to prove it to everyone though,” he said with a surprising amount of bitterness to his tone. “It takes too much mental power to magically hurt another being, regardless of their abilities.”

“Aye,” Robbie agreed as he swallowed his mouthful. “Like a Pyro? The flame they create has heat, but can’t burn.”

“Exactly, sir, and if they manipulate a real flame,” Hathaway nodded towards the fireplace, “it will also lose its ability to burn as it’s merged with magic. It’s like there’s a failsafe embedded in magic,” he suggested.

Robbie gave a puzzled frown. “A failsafe?” he queried.

“Yes, sir. When you were suspended in the air, I couldn’t make you land with any force, even if I had withdrawn my magic, you would still have been lowered at a set pace,” he highlighted his point with a flick of his hand,” and I certainly couldn’t have launched the crockery with any speed to shatter against the wall, no one can do that, “Hathaway explained, lowering his gaze to his barely eaten sandwich.

Robbie gave Hathaway a speculative look, noting that the lad broke eye contact as he uttered the last of his words, making Robbie wonder again how much magic Hathaway was hiding.

Robbie had just taken another bite of his sandwich, noting that Hathaway had eaten less than half of one of his when his mobile rang. He dug the phone out of his suit pocket, desperately chewing and swallowing with an audible gulp.

“Ma’am,” he greeted, the call didn’t last long, with two “yes ma’am’s”, and it was over.

“Need to get back to the station,” he told Hathaway as he hung up. “CPS want to go over a few things on the Channing’s case.”

Hathaway nodded and stood up, passing Robbie his coat as he slipped into his own, scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. Robbie zipped his back up, before snagging some of the napkins from the tea tray and wrapping up his half of uneaten sandwich and then Hathaway’s, pushing the bundle into the lad’s hands.

“Cost me the best part of a tenner,” he said simply, “you can finish them off for lunch.”

Hathaway rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“Go home, James,” Robbie suddenly said, “and get some rest. I’ll get Hooper and some uniformed to do a canvas of the area, see if they turn anything up. Though I expect we’ll have to wait on the forensics like the others. If only that damn Second-Sighter wasn’t so bloody useless, we might have had something else to go on.”

“Sir,” Hathaway protested, “I can do.....”

“I need you rested, Sergeant,” Robbie interrupted, “I know damn well you pulled an all-nighter. So go home, get some kip and I’ll pick you up at 8.30 am tomorrow for the post mortem,” Robbie ordered.

“Yes, sir,” was Hathaway’s unhappy reply.

Magical Intervention - Part 2