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."