TANSTAV part 37

Chapter 10 part 3

Of course, nothing is ever that easy in my life.  Oh, we got home all right, taking the bus.  On the way, I even got a bit of strength back in my limbs (though I still needed help walking anywhere).  But when we got to the apartment, and were in the elevator, a familiar, noxious smell clogged my nostrils.  Don't worry, it wasn't Jessup.  No points for those of you who thought it was him, sorry.  Instead, it was the cloying stench of campfire smoke mixed with too much hair gel and cologne.  I glanced at my girlfriend (it felt so nice to call her that!), and could tell that she could smell it too.  Xen looked as perturbed as I was.

"Is that who I think it is?"

"Unfortunately, yes."  I hesitated.  "If one of you could push the button for the floor below ours, we can slip out, and wait until he goes away."

"Huh?" asked Calla.  "Who is it?"

"It's-"  Before I could finish my sentence, the doors to the elevator opened, and there he was, standing at the end of the hall.  There was no escape.

"You're looking rather...shabby, Tristan.  Good heavens, is that blood?"

"Hi, Art," I growled, as civilly as possible.

Yes, as you may have guessed, it was my 'treasured' brother, Arthur.  There he stood, in his fancy three-piece business suit, already a successful lawyer at the ripe old age of 23 (Personally, I don't know who in their right mind would want to be a lawyer; everyone knows that was a profession invented by demons, for the purpose of making the lives of others more difficult).  His hair was brown, like mine, but his eyes were yellow like our mother's.  In my opinion, he used far too much gel, so his hair would stay flat and slicked into place; it had no freedom.  He had a black ivory comb sticking out of his jacket pocket, and also a bulge that was probably extra gel, showing just how given to vanity he could be about his hair.  Every bit of him, from head to toe, was absolutely spotless and tidy.  It reminded me so much of Father, I could barely restrain myself from hunching my shoulders and glaring at the floor, my typical pose during one of his lectures.

"What are you here for?" I asked, stepping out of the elevator, with some help from Xen and Calla.  The latter was staring back and forth between me and Arthur; obviously she had figured out the connection between us, and was trying to figure out what would happen next.

"Do I need a reason to come and visit my little brother?" he asked.

"Typically, yes," I replied.  I had only seen him twice since my fleeing home; the first time had been to try and persuade me to go back (after finally tracking me down), and the second was to bring me a message from Father telling me how foolhardy I was to try having a job as a detective in a ‘hicktown.’  Neither meeting had ended well.

"So, what's the message now?"  The three of us began staggering down the hallway, with my brother walking alongside.

"No message.  I merely came to see how you were getting on in life.  Making sure that you are adjusting well to a life of poverty."

I didn't believe he gave a shard of granite about my welfare.  No, in all likelihood this was him trying to flaunt his wealth, show off how much better off he was than I, because he'd allowed our dad to teach him to heel on command, and I hadn't.  There was always an ulterior motive in our family; we make the Kennedys and the Tudors look like the Brady Bunch.  The only difference is that, to my knowledge, none of us has ever had an affair, or murdered our brother.  But if any of them had, it wouldn't surprise me too much.

"I'm doing fine, thanks," I said dryly.  "I've just cleared up a particularly nasty case, and I'd like to go lie down now, so if you'll excuse me-"

Arthur finally seemed to notice Calla and Xen.  He frowned.

"Who are these?"

"Xenobia Keller," Xen introduced herself.

"Calla Gardiner," Calla squeaked.  "I'm his assistant."

"Keller...Keller..."  Arthur mused the name, ignoring my assistant altogether, ticking me off even more.  Finally, his eyes lit up.

"You were our neighbor!  That girl that Father always wanted Tristan to stay away from--"

As he realized what he was saying, and what this meant, he cut himself off.  His face became shocked, as he scrutinized the way Xen was supporting me, and how my arm was draped around her shoulders.  She started to move away; being seen showing affection in public embarrassed her.  I only clutched her tighter to me.  Since we had basically let the imp out of the bag, there seemed no point in hiding things now.

"Tristan," said Arthur in a strangled tone, "am I to understand that you are in a-a physical relationship with this-this-"

"I am here, you know," said Xen testily, "You don't have to talk about me like I'm not.  And typically, I refer to myself as a chimera."

"And to answer your question, yes, Arthur, she is my girlfriend," I said, standing up as straight as possible.  "Actually, to be accurate, she's my fiancée now."

I thought my brother was about to have an apoplectic fit.  His face went dark gray (the gargoyle equivalent of blushing, or going red with anger), and he gasped, "You can't do this, Tristan!  You can't sully your bloodline by marrying a half-breed freak!"

"I can, and I will!" I shouted.  "Don't you dare call her a freak!"

I stepped free of the girls, and advanced in his direction, fists clenched.  Except for some staggering, I was able to keep my balance.

Arthur, though good in a verbal debate (which is just a fancy word for squabbling, in my opinion), and a hero on his high school air hockey team (by which I mean literally in the air), has never had to be in an actual fight before.  Ever since I became a detective, and even before that, I've had several.  I was pretty sure that, even if I couldn't actually take him, I could at least give him a good wallop or two.

My brother was unwilling to stay and face me.  He pushed past us, and headed for the elevator.

"Father will hear about this!" he called back over his shoulder.  "He will be furious!"

"Good!  I hope so!" I shot back.  "Tell him he and Mom are invited to the wedding, too!"

The elevator doors slammed shut on Arthur's furious expression.  Xen looked at me.

"Are they really invited?"

"It doesn't matter," I replied with a shrug, "They're not gonna come, anyway."

About a week later (after I finally got a new phone), the dreaded call came.  A fierce voice said through the receiver, in response to my query of ‘Hello?’, "What is the meaning of this news I have heard from Arthur?!"

"Hi, Dad, nice to hear from you too," I said, after a moment.  I had regained most of my strength over the week, and was feeling unusually bold.  Of course, if Dad had been there in person, I would probably have cringed and shrunk before him, like I had back home.

"Don't be impertinent, Tristan!  Are you or are you not intending to marry that girl?!"

"...Yes.  Yes, I am going to marry Xen.  In October."

"I forbid it.  And I forbid you to continue having that-that human as an assistant."

There was no pleading, no threatening, no explanations, just forbidding.  I snorted in disgust.

"I’m not your puppet, Dad.  You can't stop me.  I love Xen, and am going to marry her, whether you like it or not.  And Calla needs me, I can’t send her away.  Besides, she’s a mage.  She’s not an exact human."

"Tristan, if you ever wish to set foot in my house again, or see even a penny of your inheritance, you will comply with my wishes!"

"Okay.  Then we are agreed.  Bye."  And with that, I hung up.

Needless to say, I have not heard from him, or anyone else in my family, in the past three months.  But, since I have received a raise from the chief, as well as a rewarding payment from the Jorgensen and Skald families, and Xen's paintings have become incredibly popular (it's amazing what sudden fame will do for you), meaning she is getting more money too, I don't especially care.  Of course, there are times when I wish things could have been different between us...Oh, well, water under the burning bridge, right?

Jessup was sent back to prison, with security around his cell (and everyone else's, for that matter) increased tenfold, so hopefully nobody can escape, or be smuggled out, again.  Despite his pleading insanity, Fleming was convicted, and also sent to Chernabog.  This has all given me immense satisfaction.  So now, I can only sit in my office, or in my apartment, and wait for my next case to arise.

TANSTAV part 36

Chapter 10 part 2

As bad as that sounds, it was very necessary.  She had to check and make sure there was no shrapnel or remains of bullet left in my body, before she could do any real healing.  How can I describe the process of being vivisected while one is still alive and mostly conscious?  Let me see...oh, yes.  As I once said to an annoying reporter during the rare moment I agreed to an interview, even a masochist would find the process impossible to enjoy.  Xen has also told me that it’s basically the most disgusting thing she has ever done, but she knew she had to in order to save my life.  Some of the experience’s kind of hazy, and I think I blacked out once or twice, which was probably a blessing.  One of my more vivid memories is Xen reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small packet of white powder.

"What's...that?" I managed to gasp.

"Powdered Yoon bone," she replied, opening it.  "It'll help regrow your ribs and clavicles."

"They...shattered?"

"Oh, yeah.  Big time."

Despite the distressing circumstances, Xen kept her voice calm.  I admired her self control, and that she was trying to act like a doctor.

She took out a pinch of bone, and gingerly placed it in a few select places.  I idly wondered where she'd gotten it.  I hoped the Yoon it belonged to was already dead, or that the bone had had to be surgically removed, or something.  As the powder got in my system, the sharp pains I was feeling began to go away.  Ah, good, the stabbing sensation in my lung had dissipated, and with some spit, Xen plugged up the hole.  As soon as she was sure all the bones were put back together, after adding a bit of her blood to prevent infection, she coughed up a large glob of spit (also very gross), and began dribbling it into my wounds.  Once in a while, I would point out a spot that Xen had missed, or groan in pain, but other than that, things were going pretty quietly.  I noticed that Calla had freed the other prisoners (except Jessup, thank heavens), and had also moved Fleming, who was unconscious and bleeding, into another cage.  She came over to where we were.

"How is he?" she asked.

"He's on the mend, thank heavens," Xen replied.  The girl's shoulders rose and fell in a sigh of relief.  It was then that I drifted out of consciousness again.

It didn't seem very long before I woke up again, but it must have been, because I felt a lot better.  Granted, I was still weak, and I once again felt like I had after being thrashed nearly to death by those hired goons (No, I am still unwilling to tell you about it; it was very humiliating for me); but I could tell that the holes in my guts and shoulders had closed up, and my insides felt good as new.  I slowly opened my eyes, and saw Xen staring anxiously down at me.  I was abruptly a bit anxious myself; having to save someone’s life by tearing them open, and then putting them back together, is a very intimate, personal process.  What if she was so repulsed by what she had to do that she no longer loved me?  Seeing me awake, she smiled with relief; but what if she was just trying to keep me happy?  Behind her, I saw Calla, who wiped her eyes, and cried out, "He's alive!"

I smiled weakly, hoping it wasn't showing my fear, and whispered, "Hey, Xen."

"It's about time," she replied.

Then, remembering something she'd said while attacking Fleming, I said, "Uh, Xen, technically I'm not your-"

"Tristan," she interrupted, "shut up."

And then she kissed me.  I shut up.

When I was finally allowed to talk again, the first words out of my mouth were, "Marry me, Xen.  Please?"

I know, this was not in my original plans.  But I couldn't wait.  I had to ask now, before something else happened.  She stared at me in shock. A full ten seconds passed, making me nervous.  Maybe she was too grossed out to still want me.  Then, with an expression of utmost delight, she cried, "Land sakes, Tristan!  I thought you'd never ask!"

Pulling me up, she hugged me.  I asked, "Does that mean yes?"

She sat back, and scrutinized me, trying to see if I was serious.  Realizing I was, she looked me right in the eyes, and said slowly, "Yes, Tristan.  Yes, I will marry you."

That made everything all right.

After a long, long while, I finally thought to see what Calla was doing.  I glanced over in her direction, and saw that she was standing by the altar, arms folded, staring up at the ceiling.  She was humming slightly, and I got the impression that she was embarrassed.  I tried to stand up, and felt my limbs all simultaneously collapse.  Thankfully, Xen was there to catch me before I could do a faceplant, and drape my arm around her shoulders.

"Take it easy," she cautioned me, "You just nearly died.  Give yourself some time."

Slowly we shuffled over to Calla, and I held out my other arm to her.  At least, I made a gesture at her with my free hand.  She came over, and hugged me around the chest, not caring about my bloodstained clothing (don’t worry, after gargoyle blood cools down, it’s safe to touch).  With effort, I returned it.

"I'm so glad you're alive," she murmured.

"Hey, I wasn't gonna leave that easily," I replied.  "Someone's got to be there to look after you."

Calla gave a small laugh, the first I'd ever heard from her.  It was sweet.

At that moment, the police finally arrived.  Ishida burst into the room, with what seemed like half the police force in tow.

"What the devil is going on here?!" he barked.  "What happened?  What's all this mess?"

Xen pointed at Fleming, and said, "He's the one you want."

I added, “You’ll want to arrest him for kidnapping, attempted murder, theft, necromancy, and deception.”

“Deception is not against the law!” Fleming, who was finally awake, squawked indignantly.

“True,” I shot back, “but it is a commandment.”

“The ninth, to be precise,” said Calla.

I nodded to her.  “Thank you, Calla.”

Two cops headed for the cage; I asked the chief, "How did you find us?"

"We traced the last signal we'd gotten from your phone, and-"  Ishida stopped, and frowned at me, looking confused.

"Why do you have blood on what remains of your shirt?"

"It's...complicated, chief.  I'll tell you in the report.  Just know that you've got two new prisoners, one of whom needs to go back to Chernabog, ASAP.  And let me know if you find a hooded cloak, or if Fleming has any notes about this.  I need something to add to my collection."

(I keep little mementos from all my cases in a file cabinet at work.)

With the help of the girls, I shuffled over to the cage where my enemy stood, glaring at me, his handsome face contorted with a paroxysm of deepest rage.

"Hi," I said.  "You know, being behind bars really suits you."

"This isn't over, Wormwood," Jessup hissed, "I'll get out again, and when I do, I'll come for you, and your lady friends, and make sure that before you die you watch them undergo the most horrible, painful-"

"Spare me.  If I had a dime every time someone threatened my life, I’d have-” I did a quick mental calculation- “about twenty dollars.”

“You've been threatened by two hundred different people?” Calla gasped.

“No, some of them repeated themselves.  Anyway, Jessup, you don't have a snowball in Texas's chance of getting out.  And if you do, I'll be waiting.  You name the place."

"Yeah.  We'll be waiting too," growled Xen.  She bared her fangs at him; I noticed that Calla, though looking a lot less intimidating, did have her best glare on.  She whispered, "I hope you enjoy prison, sir."

It was then that we decided to go home.  I'd had enough for one day, and besides, we had some plans to make.

TANSTAV part 35

Chapter 10
All right, so I lied about dying, as you may have realized from the fact that I am still writing this book; however, I do nearly die, which is close enough.  And almost get attacked by leeches in the bargain.

The first thought that entered my head upon feeling the bullet hit me was: Ouch.  It was followed a few seconds later by: He shot me!  And then I felt it explode into two bits, which flew out my shoulders (one of the nastier habits of splatter bullets), thankfully missing my wings.  I looked down, and saw a huge crimson burst spreading across the left side of my stomach, where the bullet had hit.  I lifted my hand to try and staunch the blood flow, but it seemed like time was slowing down.  My hand moved with all the speed of a glacier on the move, and was trembling like I had Parkinson’s disease.  Finally, I pressed it onto the wound, which shot a wave of pain through me.  It was about then that I realized I was falling, my knees collapsing under me.

As I hit the ground, ultimately landing on my back, I caught a glimpse of Calla, her white face covered in horror, screaming my name.

She really is quite fond of me, I remember thinking.  Poor girl.  I hope she doesn't blame herself for this, and that Xen will take care of her.  I wonder what Fleming's doing right now.

With unbearable slowness, I rolled my eyes over in his direction, and saw him staring back at me, with a very nasty grin of triumph.  He lifted the splatter gun, and cocked it at me.  I got the impression that he was going to shoot me again, maybe in the heart this time.  By some miracle, the last bullet had missed it, instead hitting what felt like several other important vital organs.  I stared back at him, wanting to go out bravely.  And then, I saw an angel above Fleming.  She must have been an avenging angel, because she was dive-bombing him.  A gray avenging angel, with furry wings, and red and brown hair.

"You-" the angel screamed, as she landed on Fleming, ripping the splatter gun out of his hand, "-do not touch-" her lavender eyes blazed with fury- "-MY BOYFRIEND!!!!"

Oh, Xen, I love you, I thought, smiling dazedly.  I'm sorry about leaving you like this.

She slammed Fleming really hard in his already-wounded shoulder and arm; he screamed so agonizingly that I almost felt some semblance of pity from him.  Xen was becoming quite vicious, hitting and tearing at him so quick and fast that he obviously couldn't even think about using his magic.  Calla ran across the room, probably to keep her from doing any permanent damage.  Dear Calla; she was so tenderhearted, even for the bad guy.

It was at that moment that Jessup woke up.  He blinked, and then sat up, obviously confused.  It appeared that Fleming's hypnotic hold on him had been broken, probably because he was so distracted at the moment.  The demon looked over at the altercation going on, glanced down on the altar he was on-and then he saw me.  He looked shocked, but then an expression of utter delight lit up his heavy-lidded eyes.

Uh-oh.

Slowly, Jessup got down from the altar, and, neatly sidestepping Xen, who was still trying to kill Fleming, and Calla, who was trying to get her back under control, he came over to my cage.  He pulled open the door, and crouched down by my side.

"Well, well, well!" he purred.  "In a spot of trouble, aren't you, Wormwood?"

"Oh, it’s not that bad," I croaked unconvincingly.

Jessup chuckled.

"It doesn't look like you'll last the night," he said, making polite conversation.

"Yeah, that's what they said about the Star-Spangled Banner," I shot back.  My vision was becoming awfully hazy, which made it hard to see his stupid sideways smirk.

"True, true.  But you're losing an awful lot of lifeblood, Wormwood.  Far more than can be good for you."

He contemplated me for a moment, and then murmured, “There are so many ways I could kill you right now.  I could, perhaps, break your neck, just like this.”  He placed one hand on the top of my head, and the other around my throat.  “I could jerk one hand left, the other right, and snap!  No more you.”  It was an echo of our conversation in his cell; I was sure he was doing it on purpose, as a cruel irony.  My slowly fading pulse got a few extra jumps in; I hoped he didn't notice my fear, as it would only spur him on.  With my luck, he did.

“Or maybe I could just throttle you.”  Both hands became wrapped around my throat, and he squeezed gently.  It was enough to start cutting my breathing off, so by the time he took them away, I was gasping a bit.

“Or, if I got my hands on one of those excellent scalpels our captor must have lying around, I could slit your carotid artery: quick, and efficient-”

“Just pick one already!” I growled.  “I get it, I’m at your mercy, blah, blah, blah!”

Jessup clucked his tongue, and furrowed his eyebrows at me.

“You've always had a mouth that was unable to close once it was opened, Wormwood.  But don’t fear, I’ve already decided your death.  And I intend for it to linger for as long as you’ve got left.”

With that, he stood up, and exited my cage, going into the one containing the leeches.  Grabbing a nearby pair of tongs, he snatched up a couple, and, holding them at arm’s length, began meandering back to me.  Somehow, my companions were so involved in handling Fleming, they noticed nothing.  I tried to move, or cry out, or something, but I was so weak, it was nearly impossible.

Jessup entered the cage, and dangled the leeches over me; they began thrashing around eagerly, obviously smelling my blood.

"These leeches must be enchanted so that they can drink your type of blood," the demon observed.  Since gargoyle blood has a temperature of over 128 degrees Fahrenheit, and gives severe burns to anyone who touches it, except other gargoyles, that did seem like the only plausible explanation.

Jessup suddenly lifted my hand off the hole in my gut.  I was unable to do anything about it, because I was as weak as a baby sparrow.  Dangling the leech-bearing tongs over my wound, he said, "You know, it's almost a shame you're going to die like this.  You were my greatest opponent."

"Just get on with it, you plant-spawn!" I spat.  For a demon, that is one of the worst insults you can call him without resorting to outright cursing.  Apparently there's this old myth in their culture about a demon born from a union between his father and a woman born from a tree (reminiscent of a dryad), and when he was fully grown, he caused 1000 years of destruction of the demons somehow.  So to call a demon plant-spawn (or son/daughter of a plant) is to ask for death.  But since I was dying anyway, I figured I had nothing to lose, and might as well tick him off on my way out.  Jessup lost the smirk; giving me a hate-filled glare, he began to lower the hungry leeches to the wound.

Without warning, he flew backwards, as if a giant hand had smacked him, slamming into the wall.  The tongs (with the leeches still attached, thank goodness) were wrenched by something unseen out of his hand, and zoomed back into the tank.

"Oh, no you don't!" an angry female voice shouted.  To my surprise, I recognized it as Calla!  She marched over, hands clenched into tiny fists.  Then she waved her left hand, and the cage containing the Ghul burst open.  The creature scrambled out in terror, and fled the house.  She let him go, and instead used her power to push Jessup into the cage, which relocked itself.  After that, I didn't see any more of what was happening over there; suddenly Xen was by my side, staring down at me.

With all the willpower I could muster, and the last ounces of strength in my body, I reached up and touched her face, caressing it.

"You're beautiful, my angel," I whispered.

Sniffling, she croaked, "You keep getting yourself into the biggest messes, don't you, Tristan?"

Then, grasping my hand tightly in one of her her own for a moment, she tore open my shirt and quickly began making incisions throughout my chest cavity with her claws.

TANSTAV part 33

Chapter 9 part 4

Well, at least he was being honest with us.  But the fact that I would receive a commendation for contributing to this maniac's plan did not improve my morale, oddly enough.  Don't get me wrong, I'm sure some people find the prospect of having their life force drained in order to create a vampire a very intriguing, even enjoyable idea.  However, I have a low tolerance for having my life force drained, especially if its purpose is for ultimate world domination.  I'm just conservative like that.

Not only that, but I could see some extreme flaws in Fleming's plan.  And, feeling I had nothing to lose, I took the opportunity to point them out.

"...So, what happens when we run out of humans?"

Fleming frowned uncomprehendingly.

"Huh?"

"Well, according to the myths, humans are the natural food source of vampires.  If, as you say, you plan on turning the whole human race into vampires, then what are they supposed to eat?  I suppose they could feed on animals, but with that many of them in the world, and such a limited supply of animals to compensate, soon there'd be none left, and then they'd have to resort to us.  How well have you thought this through?  I mean, since you started this with the best interests of monsters at heart, to suddenly have your creations start depending on our blood to survive is kind of-"

"SHUT UP!" bellowed Fleming.  "I'll worry about that when the time comes!"

Which was code for, 'I haven't thought about that possibility, but there's no way I'm going to admit it to you, annoying person who just made me look stupid'.  I should know; I've used that code before.

It was at that point that I suddenly realized that the ropes, though unbreakable, were not un-slip-out-able.  I figured this out by the fact that as I was shifting my hands, I suddenly found that my left thumb was free.

This is great!

Taking the opportunity, I began working on wiggling the rest of my hand out too.  Meanwhile, Fleming made a gesture with the bandaged hand, wincing as he did so, and Jessup slowly went to his side.  He handed over the splatter gun, and at Fleming's command, he lay down on the altar, hands folded across his chest.  I almost felt sorry for him; he was about to be used to create a monster that would annihilate mankind, and he probably didn't even know what was happening.  Then I remembered what he had almost done to Xen, and my pity instantly subsided.  I went back to concentrating on freeing myself.

Over in the corner, Xen and Calla were not standing idly by, like you'd expect of damsels in distress (believe me, they are anything but).  They were standing back to back, and trying to untie each other.  Since nobody was taking any notice of them at the moment, now seemed as good a time as any.  Needless to say, I did not draw Fleming's attention to the situation.  Speak of the devil, he was now pulling a chain that opened a hole in his roof (with the ends of the lightning rods poking through), revealing that the storm had reached its height.

"Perfect conditions!" he cried enthusiastically.  "A storm with thunder and lightning, yet on a night when the moon is full!  An exact replication of the experiments of President Newman!  Now to charge the spell with lightning, add my modifications, and then it will begin!"

Carefully, he levitated the spell into the air, until it was directly below the hole.  Then there was a short wait, during which I was able to get my left hand all the way free.  After that, it was a simple matter of pulling the loop of rope off my right wrist.  But for the time being, just for a moment, I stayed where and how I was, with my hands behind me.  I was idly curious as to what would happen.

Finally, I heard the sharp retort of lightning striking the rods (Two bolts at once, in almost the same place?  That’s a coincidence that pretty much only ever occurs in the places where monsters live) and sizzling down, to hit the spell, which suddenly turned a brighter shade of green, and looked a lot healthier.  Without needing any assistance from Fleming, the ball of light zoomed down, and hovered over the recumbent Jessup.  Fleming stood by the altar's side, smiling with glee.  Calla, now free of her ropes, started forward, but Xen grabbed her and held her back.

"No!" I heard her cry over a roar of thunder.  "It could kill you if you went in there now!  It's never a good idea to enter a pentacle when a spell's taking place!"

"But what do we do?  He'll be killed!" Calla wailed.

Xen looked despairingly over at me.  To her evident surprise, I smiled at her, and mouthed the words, "It'll be fine!"  In all likelihood, she thought I was either trying to reassure her by lying through my teeth, or I had lost my mind.

The spell left the altar, and began circling the pentacle, testing it to make sure it was sound.  It zoomed around the five points of the star, skimming the ground once in a while, reveling in its new life-and then it stopped.  Fleming looked startled.  He made as if to approach-and, remembering where he was, froze.  He couldn't leave the pentagon that was the center of the star, because that would expose him to whatever damage the spell could inflict on him.  The spell in question was hovering tentatively over one particular spot on the pentacle; if it had been alive, and given to emotions, I would have said that it was perturbed.  If you looked closer, you would see why: there, marring the perfect chalk circle, were five drag marks, creating a small set of holes in the pentacle.

You forgot about my stumble earlier, didn't you?  Well, believe it or not, even with my hands tied, I'm not that clumsy when the situation is serious.  I'd remembered that you have to be careful with spells in pentacles; they are very delicate, and if the pentacles or spells are messed up even the tiniest bit, it can destroy the whole thing.  I've even heard horror stories of screwed-up spells in pentacles turning on those who cast them, and obliterating them into nasty, slimy blobs of goo.  While I didn't necessarily thoroughly wish that on Fleming, it would certainly make fixing this whole mess a lot easier.

Suddenly, the spell went berserk.  It began leaping and jumping around the room, smashing into the walls (because of the flaw in the pentacle, it could leave), smacking into the ceiling and floor, just hitting everything it could-though, unfortunately, missing both the insane mage and the demon, but fortunately missing me and my companions.  An utterly horrified Fleming tried to intervene, to use his magic to capture and subdue the spell, but to no avail.  Old and senile as it was, it had soon beat itself to pieces of residue, lying here and there throughout the room.  We all (except Jessup, who was still hypnotized) stared aghast at the remains of what had been one of the most controversial spells of our time.  My historian's heart bled for it, and asked President Newman to forgive me for this desecration (though his soul, may it rest in peace, probably rejoiced at the destruction of his great folly).

"How could this happen?!" howled Fleming, clutching his hands to his head, wincing with pain because it involved moving his damaged arm and shoulder.  "How?!  What did I-"

He stopped, as his bulging eyes noticed the dragged-through part of the pentacle.  Suddenly looking a little murderous, he turned to me, and looked down, seeing the white dusting of chalk on the claws of my left foot.

I shrugged and gave a sort of grin.

"Oops."

Fleming was not appeased.

"YOU!" he screeched.  "YOU FILTHY, DESTRUCTIVE, SPELL-WRECKING _________________ INTERFERING ______________ LOUSY__________ SON OF ___!"

A lot of the vile epithets he cried out are ones I would rather not repeat.  Let us just leave it at the fact that they were mostly very opprobrious remarks, some of which were not particularly realistic or anatomically possible.  I noticed Calla wincing and covering her ears.  Good, she was far too young to be hearing that kind of language.  In fact, it was stuff that nobody should ever have to hear.  I think it was about then that Fleming grabbed up one of the splatter guns and shot me.

TANSTAV part 32

Chapter 9 part 3

I think he expected us to gasp in horror, or applaud him (though how we could do so tied up was beyond me), or something like that.  Instead, Xen asked incredulously, "What?", Calla inquired, "Do they not exist?", and I said, "Dude, you are even crazier than Colin Newman."

(Colin Newman: our fourteenth president, and an alchemist.  Was in charge at the same time as Abraham Lincoln was for the humans, though lasted a great deal longer than he.  Nearly impeached in 1865 for trying to create zombies using the corpses of Civil War soldiers.  Though in the name of science, his actions were voted to be unethical, as people thought it best to let the dead rest in peace.  His wife finally persuaded him that what he was doing was a really bad idea.  That, combined with the fact that his experiments nearly resulted in two of his children being electrocuted to death, caused him to suffer a nervous breakdown, and retire before he could begin his second term.  Also passed two bills before leaving the presidency: one making necromancy illegal, the other allowing any monsters to do experiments with science and magic, as long as they were not harmful to other creatures.  All in all, not a bad guy, but maybe too obsessed with dabbling in the secrets of life and death. Has his face on our five-dollar bill and penny.)

Fleming flushed with anger at my slight to his sanity.

"Newman was a coward and a failure!  He didn't have the courage to press on with his work!  I, however, shall succeed where he failed!  For I have actually discovered the secret of instilling life in a dead man, and creating a vampire!"

Like any really psycho villain, Fleming could not resist the opportunity to tell us his evil plan, and how he had come to think of it, in complete graphic detail.  Despite the precariousness of the situation, I found myself rolling my eyes.  He continued, "It is fitting that you should mention him, actually.  About a year ago, I was visiting his old house, and by chance, wound up in the attic.  It was there, amongst the exhibits, that I discovered the original spell he had been using to try and give his creations life!"

He reached behind the altar, and withdrew a large, glowing ball of light.  It was definitely magic, but it was the sorriest piece of magic I'd ever seen; a sickly shade of green, going black and white in some places, and barely with any glow to it at all.

"You'd think he'd want to reabsorb the energy he'd emitted doing that," I murmured.

"No," called Xen, "He didn't want that back in his body, he felt so guilty about what he'd done.  It was part of the reason why it took him so long to recover from his breakdown."

"Huh.  Wonder why he never destroyed it, then.  And nobody noticed that you'd taken it?"

"Nobody.  I used many concealment spells; you may have realized my great skill with them, Wormwood."

"Yeah, I did.  But wasn't Newman trying to create zombies?  Won't that mess with your idea?"

"Not at all!  I'm going to adjust it to accommodate with my desires!"

It seemed like this guy had an answer for everything.  He was still in a talking mood, which also seemed to be stalling him from his goal, so I finally asked the big question that had been gnawing at me: "Why, Fleming?  What are you trying to prove?"

"Haven't you realized, Wormwood?"  Fleming stared at me, his eyes protruding even more than usual.  "I'm doing this for the benefit of monster kind!  After this, we won't have to hide anymore, because the world will be populated by nothing but monsters!"

"Oh?"  I glanced over at my comrades, who looked as shocked as I was.  Even without looking in Calla's eyes, I could read her thoughts: this guy was a loony.

"Yes!  When my vampire comes alive, he will feel a raging thirst for blood, and will go out into the world, drinking that of any human he sees; either they will die, or they will become vampires like himself.  Then they will make more of their kind, and more, until soon, the entire world will be covered with vampires!  Don't you see?" he pleaded (yes, that was the right word for it, oddly enough), "We won't need to hide!  No more concealing ourselves from humans, because there will be no humans left!  We shall be free!"

"Except for me, Xen, Calla, and these other nice people you're holding prisoner," I pointed out.

"Well, yes.  In fact, because this spell is going to drain your life force to contribute to the creation of the vampire, it will undoubtedly kill you.  But your cooperation will be duly noted, after I become supreme ruler of the world!"

TANSTAV part 31

Chapter 9 part 2

I wasn't sure whether or not to be glad there was no one else around.  Because on the one hand, it meant we were going into the lion's den unprotected, and nobody would know where we were; on the other hand, if there was anyone who happened to see us, and Fleming noticed, he would probably kill or capture them, too.  So maybe it was for the best.

We were taken at gunpoint into his house (it looked like any other house on the street, except for the fact that it had two lightning rods instead of one-odd), and then had to stand against the wall in the hallway while Jessup tied our hands behind us, with enchanted unbreakable ropes.  I hated feeling so helpless; it reminded me too much of back when I had been living with my parents, and at my father's mercy, so to speak.  Stupid, stupid, stupid!  Why hadn't I looked for the possibility of a trap?!

It's because you're too impulsive, Tristan, the nagging voice at the back of my head said.  You need to learn to use your head for something other than to hold up your ears!

Shut up, I told it.  This isn't helping.

Well, what do you want me to say?

I don't want you to say anything.  Didn't you hear me just tell you to shut up?

At that moment, Jessup shoved me in the back with the gun, ending (temporarily) my internal conversation.  Must have been very frustrating for him, having me within his grasp, and unable to do what he wanted to me, merely acting under the orders of a crazed mage.  That is, if he was even aware of anything that was happening.  You never can tell with hypnotized people.

The five of us left the hall, and entered the living room-only the living room was gone.  The furniture had all been moved out, and the place was basically bare, except for what looked like a sacrificial altar in the center of the room, surrounded by five cages.  Inside two of the cages were the senator, and the Fonin!  Both of them looked the worse for wear; they had lost weight, and were distinctly shabby.  They stood at the bars of their cages, staring woefully out at us.  Two other cages contained a Ghul, and some small, strange, dark creatures of the phylum Annelida inside a glass container full of water.  The fifth cage was empty.  Something about their positioning made me wonder...I looked down, and saw that the cages were set at each of the points of a colossal star drawn by chalk, inside of a giant circle.

You have got to be kidding, I thought.  This guy is using a pentacle!

(In magical jargon, a pentacle is a symbol of a star inside a circle, and apparently has magic properties.  Can be used for summoning things, among other dark rituals.  Very commonly used during the Renaissance and medieval ages.  There has been some doubt as to their effectiveness, as they are very unwieldy objects.)

Fleming gestured to Jessup, who began leading Xen and Calla over to a wall by the side of the pentacle.  Thinking maybe he'd forgotten me, I began to follow.

"Not you, Wormwood," said Fleming.  "You come over here."  He gestured to the fifth cage.

"What?  Why me?"

"Why did you think I tried to kidnap your girlfriend?" he asked disdainfully.

"Uh, technically, she's not my girlfriend, and I assumed it was for whatever you were doing to the others," I replied.  I was beginning to see where this was going.

Ignoring me, he continued, "It was to get to you.  I needed you to complete this experiment, and knew you would do anything to keep her safe."

"Why couldn't you just use Xen?" I asked, staying where I was.

Looking impatient and annoyed, Fleming gestured to the cage imperiously with the splatter gun.
"I wasn't going to use her dirty half-breed blood!  I need a full gargoyle, and you were the closest one available!  Now get in the cage BEFORE I HAVE JESSUP BLOW HER AND THE GIRL'S BRAINS OUT!!!!"

I gritted my fangs at the slight to Xen's heritage, but I slowly went to the cage, stumbling a little on my way.

Once inside the cage (which he neglected to lock, probably because I was bound), I asked, "Before you do-whatever it is, can I ask what you are planning to do to us?"

Fleming grinned wickedly, taking the opportunity to rub his wounded side.

"You, my dear Wormwood, are going to be the final piece in this great revolution of mine.  I now have the strength of a troll, the shapeshifting powers of a Fonin, the fangs and tracking ability of a Ghul, the near-impenetrable skin of a gargoyle, and the bloodthirstiness of leeches!"

"What about Jessup?" I asked, gesturing over to him with my head.  He was still guarding the girls, his face still blank.  You know, without his sardonic grin, he was a bit nicer-looking.

"The demon?  I need his body."

I raised my eyebrow.

"Does that sound as disturbing to you two as it does to me?" I asked the girls.  Xen nodded, while Calla just stood there, looking frightened.

Fleming glared at me.

"He is going to be the host."

"For what?"

"Using all six of you," he said, gesturing to my fellow prisoners and the demon, "I am going to create," his voice rose to an incredible pitch in his excitement, "A VAMPIRE!"

TANSTAV part 30

Chapter Nine
In which we discover the horrible truth, and then I die

Calla showed Xen next; then we all looked at each other.

"I didn't see this coming," I finally said.  "Did you?"

Both girls shook their heads.  Though, as I thought about it, it began to make more sense.  I remembered that when I had been on the Skald property, I had caught a familiar scent in the air, before Jessup’s footprints distracted me.  It was only now that I recalled whose smell it had been: Fleming’s (yes, it was Fleming.  I congratulate you if you were able to successfully guess that it was him).  There was only one logical explanation for why he had been at the crime scene just as it was being committed, and I was staring it in the face.

“So,” asked Calla, “what do we do now?”

“We confront him,” I replied.  “We’re not the official police, but we can still capture him and bring him in.”

"Okay."

However, for several moments, we just sat there in silence.  We were all a little...hesitant to make the first move.  Not that we were scared or anything.  It was just that actually confronting this guy made us a tad nervous.  In the end, I was the first to get up.  And, leaving the evidence there, we exited the forensics room, and went out into the main lobby.

I saw Morty sitting at his desk, typing on his computer, bobbing his head in time with whatever music was playing through his iPod.

"Hi, Tristan," he said, looking up.

"Hey.  How're things going?"

"Not too bad.  Only a minimal amount of killings, thefts, etc. this week.  Xen, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“Good.  How's your missing person investigation going, Tristan?”

"I might have a lead.  I just need to get help from-" I glanced around the station.  "Where's Fleming?"

"He hasn't been in.  Apparently he got in an accident of some kind, had to stay home."

I and Xen both tried not to snort.  Oh, he’d gotten in an accident, all right.  If you called being stabbed with a palette knife by a young woman trying to defend herself against you an accident.

Unconcerned, and apparently not even curious as to why we wanted Fleming, the Reaper began playing solitaire on the computer.

“Thanks,” I said as we went away.  He grunted slightly.

Fleming lived on the southeast side of Styxburg, at 666 Shelley Avenue.  It would be easiest to get there by flying, but there was the problem of Calla, who couldn't fly, and also that there seemed to be a storm coming; to fly in that kind of weather would be potentially suicidal.  So we took the bus.  It was a rather long drive, which gave me time to think that maybe we should have gotten police backup, since this guy was obviously dangerous.  Well, Morty knew where we were going...then I remembered that he had been playing solitaire. Once he got absorbed in a card game, he had a tendency to temporarily forget anything that had been said to him in the last twenty minutes.  It was a bad habit that Ishida had talked to him about several times, and that might have gotten him kicked out of the police force if he weren't so good at what he did.  No, we couldn't expect any help from him.

We got off the bus about a block down the street from our destination, just to be safe.  Then I pulled out my phone, and made a quick call.  I didn't have long to wait.

"Wormwood, what is it?" asked Ishida grumpily.

"I'm pretty sure I'm about to capture a dangerous criminal who has kidnapped at least two people."

"What?!  WHO?!"  I heard whooshing noises through the receiver that sounded a lot like two flames spurting from the nostrils of an alarmed police chief.

"Well, you're not going to believe this, but it's-"

My phone flew out of my hand, and smashed itself to pieces on the sidewalk.  Dang, that was the second one that had been destroyed on the job!  I looked at the others in alarm, when my attention was all at once drawn to a small man who had appeared just in front of us, his arm and shoulder wrapped in bandages, but with a splatter gun in his good hand, pointed at me (Note: a splatter gun is a very nasty weapon invented during our version of the Cold War, designed to produce whatever amount of bullets the shooter wants to hit his [just for argument's sake, let's say it's a him] target[s], and upon impact, does a small explosion from inside the body, causing a very nasty, grisly death if the target is alive.  The splatter bullets are able to pierce even gargoyle hide, making them particularly dangerous).

"I presume you know what this is, and what it does," sneered Fleming, in a voice that was very different from his typical whiny, prissy tones.  "So I hope none of you will try to be a hero.  Even if you had such thoughts, my, shall we say, operative is here as well."  He gestured with the gun; we turned to see Jessup, eyes glazed, standing behind us, also wielding a splatter gun.

"Unfortunately, my hypnotism is only effective on demons.  So I am forced to deal with you in this unsophisticated manner.  Please come with us (as if we had any choice).  You are just in time to witness my glory!"

TANSTAV part 21

Chapter 6 part 2

When I finished, Xen asked, "If he's getting out, do you think his cronies have been getting out, too?"

"I haven't seen any evidence of them.  But I wouldn't rule it out.  Would you mind if I reinstated your bodyguard?"

The look she gave me needed no interpretation.

"Xen," I pleaded, "it's for your own safety!  I don't want him getting his hands on you again!"

She still looked unwilling.  I leaned my forehead against hers, staring deep into her eyes.

"Please?"

She rolled her eyes, but I followed the plea with a kiss.  When it ended, she muttered, "I'll forgive you.  Eventually."

I chuckled at the running gag statement.  Then I asked, "How's Calla been?"

"Very quiet.  I checked her a few times, before I dozed off, and she's still sleeping.  I put some sweat on her bruises, so they should start healing up quickly enough.  But the real trouble is in here," she pointed a claw at her head, "and here."  She pointed at her heart.

"I know," I sighed.  "Believe me, I know."

After snuggling for a while longer, Xen made dinner, we ate, snuggled (among other things) some more, and then she went back to her apartment.  She needed to go to bed, and I needed to think.  It was now 8:05 pm, and I could feel the backs of my eyes stinging, begging for sleep.  I went to the bathroom, and woke myself up more by splashing water on my face.  Then I retrieved a notepad and pen, and made a list.

Things I Know

• Jessup has gotten out of prison at least once, as is evident by the tracks on Senator Skald's lawn, and the pieces of grass and dirt on his feet.
• Mrs. Skald was not faking her distress; therefore, her husband must really have vanished.

I wondered whether to actually count that point, since it was based on guessing, but since I think myself a pretty good judge of character, I was sure it was genuine.  I wracked my brain for another certainty, but came up with nothing.  So instead I wrote questions.

• Was Senator Skald kidnapped, or did he go into hiding, or did he leave of his own free will?
• Why has nobody reported seeing him vanish, other than his wife?
• Has he been taken by a political enemy?
• How did someone take him, anyway?  Even if he’s an old troll, he’s still got to be pretty strong.
• How did Jessup get out of prison, and back in, with nobody noticing?
• Why would he be involved in the senator's disappearance?
• What do those bits of magical residue do?

I groaned inwardly when I saw all the things I would have to find out, but steeled myself.  I had taken on this case of my own free will; I owed it to the clients to get the answers.  Besides, a detective's got to do what a detective's got to do.

I looked at the kitchen table, where I had placed the evidence baggies so they wouldn't interfere with my Xen-time.  In order to distinguish the ones with the magic from each other, I had used different colored markers to place a dot on each.  The one I had found on the senator's property had a pink dot, the one in the elevator a blue dot, and the one in Jessup's cell had a black dot.  Other than that, the magics looked about the same.

If only I were a mage or an alchemist right now! I thought.  Then I'd be able to figure out, just by holding them, what they-  I stopped, and looked over at the room where the girl slept.  It was worth a shot.  I was desperate.  The odds of her being able to help weren't thoroughly high.  But I'd be turned to stone and smashed before I asked that irritating Fleming for help.

TANSTAV part 15

Chapter Five
The plot thickens (of course)

By now you readers must be tearing your hair out (or fur, or feathers, or horns, or antennae, depending on what you are), wondering who it is I suspected, why he has mismatched feet, what he’s doing in Galveston, and why I have such a deep personal vendetta against him. Well, I’m tempted not to tell, just to preserve the suspense for a while longer. But I really hate it when writers do stuff like that: they don’t get straight to the point about what they want to say, but have to go off on a tangent and blab on and on about something completely off topic, and you want them to shut up and get on with the plot, but they keep jabbering away about some random thing, until finally you yell at them to-

GET ON WITH IT!!!!

The tracks on the Skald’s lawn belonged to a demon that goes by the name Desmond Jessup. He is possibly the only being in this world who I know for certain that I hate (there are some others I’m not sure about yet). He has been a thorn in my side. Actually, that’s a gross understatement. When I first arrived in Styxburg, about 2 years ago, he was running an underground crime ring. Thefts, murders, illegal experiments with magic, terrorizing humans, drugs- Jessup had his disgusting fingers in all those pies, without qualm or conscience. No one could catch him, or prove his guilt. He was like Moriarty, or the Cigarette-Smoking Man, or Professor Ratigan. Except, of course, that he had never reckoned on dealing with me. And I mean that in all modesty. One by one, I was able to scoop his associates and sidekicks out of the sea of crime, and lock them up so deeply that no amount of attorneys or alibis could get them out. But Jessup always slipped away at the last moment, teasing me, tormenting me. And then he made his fatal mistake. He kidnapped Xen, and warned me to back off, or else.

She had just turned 18, and had come to Styxburg to find me. Knowing he’d taken her, and thinking of what he might do, fired up my determination, instead of making me back down, as he’d intended. The very day she became his prisoner, I ran him to earth, and soon that bleep-of-a-bleep was behind bars for the rest of his life, in Chernabog Prison, the place reserved for only the most evil, diabolical monster criminals. He escaped the death sentence he so richly deserved on a technicality, to my disappointment. I am aware of how uncharitable that line of thinking is. Whoop-dee-doo. Xen, thankfully, was unharmed; but for 2 months afterwards, I hired a bodyguard to protect her, before she made me dismiss him. I was that freaked out by her being in that kind of danger.  Also, for a long time, she became more emotionally fragile; she hated for me to leave her alone very often, suffered a few panic attacks, etc.  She’s recovered now, thankfully.  It scared me to see her like that; she’s always been the level-headed one in our relationship.

To give you an idea of what kind of people reside in Chernabog: Jack the Ripper’s there. Believe it or not, he’s a mage, who killed those girls in order to make boons with demons. In exchange for their blood, the demons granted Jack extended life. He also used the corpses to practice blood magic, a practice that is highly illegal nowadays. Lovely, isn’t it? There’s also Tenyah, the Soul Stealer of Edinburgh, Lord Pegrae, the crooked baron, Kat Fowvee, the famous assassin- all one big, happy, murderous family. Jessup fits right in.

I stepped into the police station, and headed for the station where the teleportation mirrors were kept. I needed one, and fast, even though it made me sick at heart to think about it. I had almost made it down the corridor to their room, when a voice called, “Tristan?”

To my relief, it was Morty, gliding my way. To my irritation, Fleming was with him. I haven’t described him yet, have I? Sorry. He’s a short, ferret-faced little fellow, like you’d imagine Inspector Lestrade from Sherlock Holmes (the original stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, not the BBC version-though that’s pretty awesome too). Neatly groomed, anywhere between 30 and 40, dirty blond hair, bulgy blue eyes, clean-shaven. He was wearing a dark blue suit, with the coat sleeves wearing through, and a few ink stains on the right cuff. Upon sighting me, his bulgy eyes narrowed. I kept my own expression comparatively neutral.

“What are you doing here?” asked Morty. “Don’t you have a girl to watch?”

“Yeah, but I also have a case to work on. Xen’s looking after her for me while I’m out. I need a mirror. I have somewhere to go, where I can’t get by flying. At least, not anytime soon.”

“Where?” asked Fleming suspiciously.

“Somewhere,” I repeated. It was none of his business. Besides, I hate giving away my plans before I have to.

The Reaper looked thoughtful. Then he said, “You need to at least tell me where you’re going, so I can make sure it’s not completely against regulations.”

I glanced over at Fleming. Morty, taking the hint, gestured for him to go away. The little mage looked disappointed, but moved on back down the hallway. Once I was sure he was out of earshot, I whispered (just in case), “I’m going to Chernabog.”

Morty’s moonlit eyes widened. It was the only evidence of his surprise. Of course, that’s because all the rest of him is shrouded in his cloak, so all anyone can see of him is his eyes.

“What do you want there?”

“It’s for my case. I told you.”

But Morty is pretty smart. He’s not lieutenant for nothing, after all.

“Does this have something to do with Jessup?”

“It might.”

“Tristan, why do you want to go and see that scoundrel?”

“I found his tracks, fresh.” To respect Senator Skald’s privacy, I was no more specific than that.

“Where? Are you sure?!”

“I’m sworn to secrecy on where, and I know they’re his. No one else has tracks like that.”

“We’d have heard if he escaped, right?” Morty scrolled through the songs on his iPod, which he did whenever he was trying to think.

“Probably. But I’m gonna go check.”

“Well, if you insist on going…” The Reaper reached into his cloak, and pulled out a black wallet, bulging at the seams. He handed it to me, and I peeked inside. It was full of money.

“What-”

“Trust me, you’ll need it. It’ll save you a lot of red tape.”

Then Morty gave me a pass into the transportation room. It was enchanted so that as soon as I had used it to get into the room, it would return to its master, as extra protection against theft.

“Thanks. I owe you for this.”

With that, I strolled down the hall to the room of mirrors, and slipped inside. Once there, I chose one of the farthest, best quality mirrors, one framed in gold, with little blue gems in the corners.

“Chernabog Prison.”

My reflection changed into a tall, forbidding-looking castle. It looked even blacker than it was, if possible, due to the blinding sun behind it. I slipped on my dark glasses, and, after a moment of nervous hesitation, stepped through.

TANSTAV part 5

Chapter Two part 3

"How-"

"What-"

"Is she-"

The multiple exclamations of surprise all tangled themselves together like pieces of leftover fish skin in a garbage disposal.  The trolls and Harper all fought to get their words in first, while in the background Fleming wailed about all the paperwork we would need to fill out now.  Suddenly, Calla timidly raised her hand, like we were in school.  I shushed my compatriots, and said, "Yes, Miss Gardiner?"

"I'm sorry, but-what do you mean, I'm one of you?"

"It's like this," said Harper kindly.  "You're-well, you're a- a-"

I cut in.

"You are a mage, or magic user, and you belong in our world, where monsters exist, and can hide from the human race without fear of being found out.”

They always say that we should tell newly-discovered monsters the truth, and as honestly as possible.  However, I got the feeling that the others felt I had overshot the mark.  They were all giving me that "you've-put-your-foot-in-it-again-Wormwood" stare that I have become so accustomed to.  As for Calla, her eyes were nearly bulging out of her head.  She stared at my tie, which was the closest she had come so far to looking me in the eye.  I expected her to exclaim something like "What?!" or "Are you crazy?" or "Prove it!"  Any of those would be a natural reaction.  Instead, she nodded slowly, and said, "That explains a lot."

"Oh?"

I was shocked.  Monsters who found out they were monsters rarely, if ever, took the news this calmly.

"Yes.  It explains some things I can do."

"Like what?" asked Fleming, putting his oar in.  He had a pencil and notepad out, and was scribbling everything down feverishly, so he could blab it all to the chief back at headquarters.

"Sometimes I make things happen when I want them to.  I've turned myself invisible before, and once made an invisible shield to protect myself from- to protect myself.  I've made things move without touching them, and I have premonitions about things once in a while.  Things like that."

Yep, she was definitely a mage.  One of pretty decent power, too; nothing overly special, but still cool.

Suddenly, Calla looked alarmed.

"Did I do this?" she asked, gesturing to the surrounding wreckage.  I gave a nod.

"Then have you found my father?  Is he all right?"  She involuntarily put a hand to her throat.

I had figured out the identity of the corpse by now, and so it was with great trepidation that I said, "Yes, we've found him.  No, he's not all right."

"How bad is he?  Can you help him?"

I was flabbergasted.  This man had obviously beaten her up on a regular basis, and she was still concerned for him?  Maybe she had Battered Woman's Syndrome or something.  I took a deep breath.

"Kid...I'm not exactly sure how to say this...but there's not enough of him left for us to help."

It took a moment or two for the words to sink in; her eyes drifted away from my tie, and I realized she was looking over my shoulder, towards the corpse.  As she figured out what I was telling her, Calla's legs buckled, and she began to fall.  Instantly I jumped forward and caught her.  Despite the heat of the day, she had begun shaking almost apoplectically, and her pale face had shocked agony clearly written all over it.  I gathered her in my arms, and then started for the mirror, which had followed us here.  It could only handle two trips at a time, needing a couple of hours to cool off afterwards.  That would give me plenty of time.

"Wormwood!" cried Fleming, "What are you doing?!"

"Taking her somewhere else," I said calmly.

"You can't do that!" he spluttered.  "That's against protocol!  We need to take her back to the station, and-"

I told him in very explicit terms where protocol could go.

"You can handle the paperwork for me, can't you?  Thanks."

Before anyone could stop me, I whispered my address, and then stepped through the mirror.

TANSTAV part 4

Chapter Two part 2

Even though she couldn't be much more than 5'6", she looked 18, only two years younger than me.  She had long dark hair, and wide, serious brown eyes.  Her clothes consisted of what looked like a shirt made out of a patchwork quilt, and jeans that didn't quite reach her ankles, not to mention dilapidated tennis shoes.  They all hung very loosely on her fragile-looking little body.  I also noticed that her face and throat had several fresh bruises and scratches, and her right eye was swollen.  Something about these injuries made me think that they were not due to the rubble falling on her.  After a couple of years as a detective, you learn to tell the difference between man-made injuries and the regular kind, and these were man-made.  I didn't know who had done them, but I could tell they'd been done.  And besides these injuries, there didn't appear to be any other marks on her.  My suspicions were aroused at once.

The girl didn't look frightened by the sight of us, so much as bewildered.  Possibly she was still in shock over having her house (as I deduced it was) fall on her like that.

"W-What happened?  Where's Father?" she asked softly, in a dazed tone.  Her eyes darted this way and that, in what looked like random patterns.

"That's what I'd like to know myself, miss," I said.  "Can you tell me anything about what led up to the explosion?"  I stepped forward, scrutinizing her face.  The girl's shoulders stiffened as I got close, and her eyes finally settled on a patch of ground; I wondered if it was well-concealed, internal fear that kept her from looking any of us in the eye.

"Father was angry with me again-and this time, I got angry back.  And then everything blew up," she whispered.

I realized where she'd gotten those bruises.  And I felt a wave of anger and sympathy.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Calla Gardiner.  Who are you?"

"I'm Tristan Wormwood.  I'm a gargoyle, and a member of the-"

"Should we be telling her this?" Fleming interrupted, glaring at me.

"Yeah, she's safe."

"How do you know?" he demanded scornfully.

"Because of that."  I indicated the particles of magic, which were swiftly floating to Calla.  With each breath she took, they were reabsorbed.  She obviously couldn't see them; her forehead was puckered in a bemused frown.  But Fleming could see them too, and his eyes went wide as he understood what I was saying.

"You mean-?"

"That's right.  She's one of us."

TANSTAV part 3

Chapter Two
In which I have another crisis on my hands (the story of my life)

Next to shooting pool, playing Frisbee, and watching rugby (there's nothing like a good game between the Walla-Walla Werewolves and the Oberpfaffenhofen Ogres to get the blood pumping), there are few physical activities I enjoy more than flying.  I don't mean sissy human flying, in an airplane, or a hang glider, which is the closest they can get to it.  I mean real, actual flying, with my own wings.  The wind whistles through my hair, I can fill my lungs to the bursting point, and I just feel alive, and free from all my troubles.  The open air, especially on a moonlit night, out in the country, is the place to be.

Unfortunately, my intended destination was much less pleasant.  The police station for the MCPD, Western region, is in one of the most polluted areas of town (it flows over from the human settlements), seemingly for the sheer purpose of ruining both my lungs and my olfactory senses.  You'd think, with all these magic users in the area, we'd be able to clear it up, but nooo, the ones in charge of that always make some lame excuse about "modern technology messing with their spell-casting abilities," blah, blah, blah.  I'm sure they could get rid of the pollution if they wanted, they're just too lazy.

Anyway, the station is this 3-story, shabby old building on a street corner, with a fluorescent sign outside (whose letters keep flickering out, or else dying altogether; I don’t know why we haven’t replaced it already), spelling "MCPD-West".  In what turned out to be very bad luck for me that particular day, Chief Ishida's office is on the third floor, with a humongous glass window, so that should he feel so inclined, he can admire the smoky view.  Also unfortunately, there was a stronger wind than usual that day, which happened to blow me off course from my intended landing site on the roof.  And possibly the worst thing of all: Chief Ishida's window just happened to be in the way of my landing.

CRASH!!

To my relief, I was unhurt.  My skin, especially that of my wings, is very tough, kind of like rhinoceros hide; by closing my eyes and wrapping my wings around myself, I was able to safely land inside the office in one piece, without anything getting gouged out or cut up.  However, I can't say the same for the chief's window.  Once the glass stopped flying, I cautiously unfolded my wings, just in time to meet his withering stare.  He was standing in front of his desk; his chair had toppled over, and papers were flying.  I deduced that upon noticing my impact, he had leaped over the desk, out of danger from the glass.  His agility was quite commendable.

As soon as he recognized who I was, his scowl deepened.

"Uh, hi, Chief.  I know this seems-"

"What the h___, Wormwood?!" Ishida interrupted.  Smoke literally billowed from his nostrils and ears; since his grandmother on his father's side is a Japanese fire demon, this was not too surprising.  He also has his almond-shaped, glowing red eyes, near immunity to fire, fangs, and a preference for raw meat to thank her for (traits not uncommon among many monsters).  If it were not for the scaly patches on his neck and chest, and his coffee-colored skin being at a nearly-constant temperature of 115 or so degrees, he could almost be mistaken for a vampire (which is ridiculous, of course, since vampires do not exist).

After the opening "pleasantries", Ishida erupted into an expletive-laced rant concerning my sanity, manners, and character, as well as who I thought was going to pay for his window.  I pointed out that he just needed to ask his secretary (who was a mage) to put it back together good as new, but he told me to shut up.  Not wishing to jeopardize the situation any more, I shut up.  When he finally finished yelling, Ishida gave a loud, world-weary sigh, and then said, "Now get out of my office.  Grimm will debrief you on the way to the transport room."  I left, choosing not to say that I personally wore boxers.  That would probably not amuse him.

"Let the boss bulldoze you, huh?" a voice hissed outside the door.  Leaning casually against the wall, listening to his iPod, was Morty Grimm, Ishida's deputy.  He is a Reaper.  Now, for you who are less knowledgeable about different species of monsters, a Reaper is not the same as a reaper.  For one thing, a Reaper has a capital R at the front, while a reaper has a lowercase r.  For another, a reaper is the sickle used by both farmers and Reapers.  A Reaper, by contrast, is a cloaked and hooded figure with eyes like orbs of fire, who separates your soul from your body when you die.  They collect the souls they harvest, and carry them around in a bag, until either an angel or a devil comes to claim them.  Typically they shape the souls into spheres while they wait, and use them to play marbles.  Reapers also need these souls in order to absorb the energy they had in life, as an essential source of nutrients.  This leads to them becoming greedy, conniving creatures, who will sometimes try to make bargains with you so they can take your soul before your time has come.

But Morty’s all right.  He’s good-natured, if a bit lazy, and doesn't seem to have any interest in collecting souls.  Perhaps it is this that makes his cloak gray instead of black, and his eyes the color of moonlight, not fire.  Other Reapers shun him, considering him a heretic and a traitor to his species.  Morty doesn't mind, and since it makes him more tolerable than most Reapers, neither do I.  In fact, he’s more or less my best friend.

"Good to see you too, Morty," I sniped.

"Sorry."

"It's fine.  I should be used to it by now."

He gave a dry chuckle.  Of course, his voice is always rather dry and raspy, like dead leaves skidding across pavement.  I've suggested throat spray, but it doesn't seem to have worked.

"So, what happened?" I asked as we headed for the transport room.  Morty said, "At 0900 hours, there was an explosion over in Idaho Falls, Idaho.  It resulted in the complete obliteration of a house on 63201 Crescent Avenue."

"Any police in the area?" I asked, referring to the human variety.

"There were within minutes, but we got some of the magic users to put a confusion spell on them, and make them leave, so they won't be in our way.  If any humans come by, they won’t feel any interest, and will forget about anything they saw soon afterwards."

Before I knew it, I was standing in front of the teleportation mirror, flanked by two big trolls named Bjorn and Stoick, a mage named Fleming, and a Dark Fae (Note: There are two types of Folk in the world: Light Fae, and Dark Fae.  'Dark' does not mean 'evil' in this sense.  It refers to their being nocturnal.  The fae accompanying us was a Yoon, one of the four types of Dark Fae; they are well-known for their healing powers, which come in handy in this line of work.  To keep herself awake, this fae, Harper, had taken to drinking copious cups of coffee, which effectively kept her alert and moving, but also made her slightly jumpy and hyper).  I murmured the address we'd been given, and touched the glass.  Instantly our reflections vanished, to be replaced by a pile of twisted, smoldering wreckage.  I was confused, until I noticed the mailbox in front with 63201 Cres----- written on it.  The rest of the address was completely obliterated.  As I slipped on a pair of sunglasses, I wondered what it was that could do such a thing.  A dragon?  A salamander?  A flock of rogue fire-breathing butterflies?  Any of them had the capacity, to be sure.  But what was the motive?  Still pondering this, I stepped through the mirror's surface.

As I have mentioned previously, teleportation is not good for my digestive system.  It's hard to describe exactly, except that it makes you feel as if you have been turned inside out, had some child play tug-of-war with your guts for a few minutes while jumping up and down violently, and then you've been turned right-side in again, and you wind up at your destination.  For some reason, other species can stand it, but not me.  As soon as I found myself back on solid ground, I collapsed to my knees and began retching violently.  Since I had not yet eaten breakfast, all that came up was some quantities of bile, which is still pretty disgusting.  My companions, who were familiar with my traveling problem, waited patiently until I was finished.  Finally, I stood on shaking legs, adjusted my sunglasses, and wiped my mouth.

"Let's go and see what this is all about."

Even though it had been a while since the actual explosion, the rubble was still smoking slightly.  I could see no signs of life.  Cautiously we began to maneuver our way through the remains of what had once been a house.  I could tell that the blast had been on the ground floor (it had been a 2-story house), and magically based.  Small pieces of it were still floating around.  I could see them, but since I have no magical ability myself, I would let Fleming handle them.  It was more of his department, since he's a mage, though in my opinion, he's a pretty lousy one.

Of course, this might be based on my intense dislike of him.  Not only is Fleming whiny, but he is also obnoxiously closed-minded, and worried about trivial things like following rules, listening to the chief, etc.  The others are almost as bad; Harper is annoyingly hyperactive from all that coffee, as I said, and Stoick and Bjorn are just kind of slow.  It's sad how often I get on the same team as them, and so have many occasions to recognize their flaws, and become even more annoyed with them.  Technically I’m not a cop, but when Ishida wants me to investigate something for him, I get put in this group.  I wonder if he does it to annoy me.

Sorry, got a little sidetracked there.  Going back to the magic, when a magic user performs a spell there's almost always some residue left over; even if not, I can see the spell that was used.  That was the scraps of magic floating around, and they're the same colors as that person's aura.  To me, they look like floating scraps of light, if that makes sense.  It's best if the mage or whatever retrieves and reabsorbs as much of the residue as possible, since magic is basically their energy, converted into power.  Since there was so much of it in the air, I figured that whoever-or whatever-had done this had to be nearly comatose, if not completely so.  Either that, or they were extremely powerful; if that was the case, I hoped we wouldn’t have to fight, as we would all die horribly.  I managed to catch a piece in my claws and examine it.  This magic was quite pretty: pieces of blue and green light, with small gold flecks here and there.  The colors swirled and swished around, like water.  It felt comfortably warm in my palm; I gave an involuntary smile.  This magic was so nice; I did not think that the being this belonged to had hostile intentions in this mess.  Granted, this was more of a gut feeling than an actual deduction, but I’ve learned to trust gut feelings.

"Wormwood!  Come look at this!"  The shout startled me into releasing the residue, which floated lazily away.  I gave Harper a dirty look, but she didn't even notice.  She was staring down at something on the far side of the wreckage.  She had on sunglasses too, so her eyes were shaded from me, but her mouth was shaped into an expression of disgust.

I meandered over, and did a double-take.  The object of her attention appeared to be either some insane artist’s grotesque idea of an abstract painting, or the charred, bloody remains of a body.  Little bits and pieces were scattered here and there away from the main chunk, and it had already attracted flies. 

"What was it?" rumbled Bjorn; he, Stoick, and Fleming had joined the party.

"Given the bits of clothes, and the few pieces of bone structure I can make out," I said, scanning the mess, "I'd say it used to be a human being."

Fleming clamped a hand to his mouth and gagged, the wimp.  Crouching down on my haunches, I pulled out tweezers and a few plastic bags.  I meticulously plucked a bone here, a chunk of flesh there, and a rag over there, and put them into individual baggies.  Harper took them, and slid them into her pocket.  The pathologists back at headquarters would be glad to see what they could learn from them.  I could already tell that when the explosion occurred, whoever this had been was actually in the house at the time, and got blown apart by it.  And I was pretty sure it had been an adult male, probably late thirties to early forties.


However, for the moment, I was baffled as to what had actually caused the explosion.  I like to think I'm a good detective, but it's really hard to come to a conclusion when you have minimal evidence, no suspects, no-  My moment of wallowing in self-pity was interrupted by a loud groan that nearly made me jump out of my skin.  I looked down at the corpse.  Had that-?  But no, the noise came from behind us.  We all turned around, and saw one of the piles of rubble shifting.  There was something under there; something alive.  The trolls and Fleming ran to the pile and began digging, while Harper and I watched from a safe distance, just in case.  They uncovered the heap in record time, producing-a girl.