Corwin Ashford did not look like a man accustomed to being surprised. His weathered face remained composed as I explained what I'd found, but I noticed the slight tightening of his jaw, the way his hands clasped together in his lap.
"Sabotage," he repeated flatly.
"Someone has attached a parasitic enchantment to your family's watch. It's feeding on the original magic, draining it slowly. If it continues, the watch won't just stop—it will be emptied completely, leaving nothing but an ordinary timepiece." I turned the watch over in my hands, watching the way the parasitic threads pulsed with a faint, sickly light under my examination crystal. "This is sophisticated work. Professional. And it was done recently enough that the damage is still reversible, but..."
"But whoever did this wanted the watch drained before anyone noticed," Corwin finished.
"Exactly." I set the watch down carefully, as if it might bite. "Mr. Ashford, do you have any enemies? Anyone who might want to harm your family through your heirlooms?"
He was silent for a long moment. Then: "The Ashford family has been metalsmiths in this city for twelve generations. We have competitors. We have rivals. But I cannot think of anyone who would..."
He trailed off, and I saw something shift in his expression. A dawning realization.
"Mr. Ashford?"
"There is something," he said slowly. "My brother's son. My nephew, Aldric. He was meant to inherit this watch—to inherit the family business as well. But my brother... disagreed with certain of Aldric's choices. He amended his will six months ago, leaving the watch and the business to my daughter instead."
"Your nephew lost his inheritance."
"He lost more than that. He lost his position in the family. My brother was... adamant. Said that Aldric had brought shame upon us. I don't know the full details—my brother was a private man, and I did not pry." Corwin's voice had grown tight. "But Aldric was furious. He came to me after the funeral, demanded I contest the will. When I refused..."
"When you refused?"
"He said I would regret it. That my daughter would never sit in his rightful place." Corwin closed his eyes briefly. "I thought it was just grief speaking. Anger. I never imagined he would..."
"Act on it," I finished. "Mr. Ashford, I need to be honest with you. Removing this parasitic enchantment will require specialized knowledge and significant time. I can do it—probably—but I'll need to research the specific technique used. And I'll need to report this to the City Guard's Magical Crimes division."
Corwin's eyes snapped open. "Report it? But Aldric is—"
"Is a criminal who used forbidden enchantment techniques to destroy a family heirloom worth more than most houses in this city." I kept my voice calm but firm. "I'm sorry, Mr. Ashford, but this goes beyond family disputes. The enchantment attached to your watch is dark magic, banned under the Third Convention of Magical Ethics. Whoever created it didn't just want to drain your watch—they were experimenting with techniques that could, if refined, be used on living creatures. On people."
Corwin's face had gone pale. "You're saying my nephew..."
"I'm saying whoever did this is dangerous. Whether that's your nephew or someone else entirely, the City Guard needs to know." I reached under my counter and produced a standard incident form. "I can give you a day to decide how you want to handle the family aspects. But I will be making my report regardless. It's not just professional ethics—it's the law."
Corwin sat in silence for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"You're right. Of course you're right." He stood, his movements heavy. "I'll speak with my daughter. She should know what's happening. And then I'll go to the Guard myself."
"That would be best." I slid the claim ticket across the counter. "I'll begin research on the removal process. Expect it to take at least a week—possibly two. I'll send word when I'm ready to proceed."
After Corwin left, I sat alone in my shop, the ancient watch sitting on my workbench like a coiled serpent. Dark enchantments were rare in modern Ashborne—the City Guard's Magical Crimes division had been thorough in stamping out the forbidden arts after the Shadow Plague of a century past. But they still appeared occasionally, usually in cases like this: family disputes turned poisonous, business rivalries taken too far, desperate people grasping for power they couldn't achieve through legitimate means.
I'd seen two such cases in my twelve years of practice. One had been a love charm gone wrong, the enchantment twisted to create obsession rather than affection. The other had been a protection ward perverted into something that imprisoned its owner in their own home. Both had ended in tragedy.
This one, I hoped, would be different.
I spent the rest of the evening at my research table, poring over texts on forbidden enchantment techniques and their countermeasures. My personal library was extensive—old Halvin had left me his collection when he passed, and I'd added to it steadily over the years—but even so, I found myself making notes of texts I'd need to request from the City Archives.
The parasitic enchantment on the Ashford watch was, as I'd suspected, sophisticated. Its creator had used a technique I'd only read about in theoretical texts: a "sympathetic drain" that connected to the host enchantment's own power structure and slowly rerouted it. It was elegant in its awful way, designed to be nearly invisible until the damage was done.
But it had a weakness. Every parasitic enchantment did. The key was finding it.
By the time I finally locked up my shop and headed home, my head was spinning with technical details and the weight of what I'd discovered. The evening crowd on the streets of the merchant quarter was thinning, vendors packing up their stalls, enchanted street lamps flickering to life overhead. I passed Mira's jewelry stall just as she was counting her day's earnings, and she gave me a tired wave.
"Long day?" I asked.
"Every day is long." She stretched, joints popping. "But profitable. How about you? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Not a ghost," I said. "Just the living."
She nodded as if that made perfect sense—which, in our line of work, it often did.
My apartment was quiet when I returned, the broken coffee maker still sitting forlornly on my counter. I looked at it for a long moment, considering. Then I opened my repair kit, took out my tools, and got to work.
Some problems, I'd learned, were best solved immediately. Others took time, research, and careful planning. And some—like my coffee maker—just needed someone to finally sit down and pay attention.
By midnight, I had the coffee maker fixed and a rough plan for the Ashford watch. Tomorrow, I'd visit the Archives. Tonight, I'd sleep the deep sleep of someone who had done everything she could.
The morning sun would bring new challenges. It always did.