1. The Magician

He slid he newspaper towards himself across the table, narrowing his eyes at the headline. Magician Strikes Again: Third Heist This Month, Scotland Yard Remains Baffled covered the first page in bold, accusatory print. Sighing, Detective Inspector Arthur Pendragon pinched the bridge of his nose as he fought the urge to toss the paper across the room.

He stood up from his desk and wandered over to the coffeemaker, mug in hand, only to find that someone had left the pot empty. He cursed under his breath and replaced the filter. As he waited for the coffee to brew, he listed all of the case data he could remember in his head: dates, times, locations, items, MOs. But it wasn't so much the crimes that intrigued him; it was the criminal. Scotland Yard had every discernible detail of the crimes well documented. But not a single person could tell him who their perpetrator was. No name, no face, no record, nothing tying him to the scenes. He was a shadow, a ghost that had yet to make a mistake. Or he was a magician. Maybe the tabloids were right, after all.

The slow drip of coffee into the pot had finally subsided. He poured half of the new pot into his mug before replacing it for the next person who came along. Taking a few sips (now was not the time to worry about cream and sugar) he sat back down and tried to keep his eyes away from the newspaper. Instead, he pulled a stack of case files over and spread them across the desk. They had to have missed something. Pendragon had only been assigned the case three days ago, after the original investigator's search provided no new or useful information. The trail had gone cold until yesterday's heist. But this case already felt like a career-killer.

The soft noise of someone clearing their throat broke his concentration. He looked up to see a pretty young woman hovering a few feet from the front of his desk, looking sheepish. An intern of some sort, if memory served. "Yes?"

"I don't mean to disturb you, Detective, but I've just finished my filing and I wanted to know if I should lock up on my way out. Everyone else has gone home for the night, sir."

He glanced at the clock. 11:45. Damn. "No, no, it's fine. I can do it when I leave." He turned back to his case files, then caught himself being rude. "Thank you..…"

"Gwen," she replied quietly and then turned to leave, he footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Resigning himself to the fact that he probably wasn't going home any time soon, he began flipping idly through the crime scene reports, looking for discrepancies. "Come on, Arthur, it's got to be here somewhere," he scolded himself as he leaned back in his chair.

He sat for hours, trying to connect small bits of information that had no business being connected. He made lists. He drew diagrams. He drank three full pots of coffee. The next time he looked at the clock, it was 4:17. Groaning, he laid his forehead on his desk.

Something was shaking the desk. Arthur's eyes snapped open and he glared at the mn standing above him. "Gwaine?"

"You been here all night, Pendragon?" Gwaine asked, trying not to laugh at the dark circles under his partner's eyes. He almost felt bad.

"Mmhmm," Arthur managed to mumble out as he picked up his head and tried to wipe the sleep from his blue eyes.

"Any progress?"

"I've got nothing Gwaine," Arthur admitted tiredly, "The guy might as well not exist. The only evidence we have that crimes are even being committed is that priceless art and jewels keep going missing. It's like they're disappearing out of thin air."

Gwaine shrugged and held out a small manila envelope.

"What's this?" Arthur eyed it suspiciously before reaching out to take it.

"Dunno. Found it slipped under the door when I came in. It's a addressed to you, look."

And so it was. Attn: A. Pendragon was stamped on the front of the envelope in elegant script. Warily, Arthur slid a finger under the seal and dumped the contents onto his desk. A single cream-colored notecard clattered out.

Detective Carleon didn't want to play

But you're much smarter than him.

Look harder. I'll be waiting.

ME

Arthur glanced up at Gwaine, who mirrored his surprised expression. Carleon had been the principal investigator at the first two crime scenes. Apparently, the Magician knew his case had changed hands.

"We can't know for sure it's him," Gwaine said as he inspected the tiny card.

"It's him," Arthur replied, running a hand through his golden hair. He had no solid evidence, but somehow he was sure he was right.

"Get me another cup of coffee," Arthur instructed Gwaine.

Gwaine made an offended noise, but snatched Arthur's mug off of the desk and headed for the coffeemaker anyway. "The Superintendant's not going to be too happy with this particular development," Gwaine called over his shoulder, "You know how he feels about letter-writing criminals."

Arthur sighed. He'd forgotten. "My father doesn't need to know about this particular bit of evidence just yet. The man's a thief, but as far as I can tell, he has yet to harm anyone. Father already thinks he's some psychopath with a crazy master plan we have yet to riddle out."

Gwaine placed the mug back onto Arthur's desk. "How do we know he's not?"

"He's a sociopath at his worst. Puzzles and games, money and power. He's not crazy. If I wasn't an officer of the law, I might call him a genius. Look at the files, Gwaine. It's brilliant. And I'm going to catch him. Of course Carleon didn't play; he investigates the same way may father does."

"I'm all for puzzles, but are you sure this is wise, Arthur?"

Arthur just laughed and shook his head, taking a sip of his coffee and glaring at Gwaine over the rim of the mug. "Well, take a seat, take a file, let's go."

As Gwaine sat poring over the files, Arthur rested his head in his hands, staring at the notecard on his desk. He had memorized it within a matter of minutes. His eyes scanned over it, searching. Every word, every space, every letter. He suddenly slammed a hand down on the desk, causing Gwaine to jump beside him.

Arthur practically shoved the notecard at his partner, ecstatic. "The E. Why would he capitalize the E?"