I should have had a sense of foreboding when I saw the letter for me on the table next to my dinner plate. I should have known the nerve-wracking horrors it would create for me and Calla. As it was, all I saw was a black envelope with my name written on it in bright white letters, and a seal on the front that looked as though it were made out of clotted human blood. Now, if it had been just a plain white envelope, then I would have had cause for alarm; those generally mean trouble. As it was, when I saw it I just thought it might be a prank letter from Morty or something, and so picked it up with no cause for alarm at first. Then I got a close look at the seal, and began to feel some misgivings; there was a picture of what appeared to be a mortar, with a pestle and a broomstick crossed in front of it. That reminded me of something, something important…
Then I opened the letter, and after scanning it, gave my assessment of the situation.
“Oh, heck no!”
I flung the letter back down onto the tabletop, prompting startled looks from Xen, Calla, and Phil. They jerked up from their respective dining activities and gave me the looks of frightened meerkats, attempting to assess if there was danger here.
“Sorry,” I said, picking up the letter from where it had landed in the gravy. As I pulled it out, it turned as clean and fresh as before. Typical.
“Who’s it from?” Xen asked, cleaning food off Phil’s face.
“Someone very important, especially in Russia.”
Looking very interested now, Calla asked, “One of the former czars?”
“Bigger.”
“Prime Minister?” Xen asked.
“Bigger.”
“Russia! Russia!” Phil proclaimed, evidently liking the sound of that. I smiled at the delighted way in which he said it, and at more evidence of his being an early talker, feeling some of my sudden black mood dissipate at his adorableness (even with gravy and pieces of shredded beef all over his face). Meanwhile, I noticed that Xen’s eyes were lit with both clarity and alarm.
“Her? She wants your help?”
“Indeedy-do.” I handed over the letter for her to see; she took it in curious claws, and read through it.
“What would she need from you? No offense, but she doesn’t seem like she’d need anyone or anything. Least of all a detective.”
“Yeah, I know. Do you think I should find out?”
“Even though you’re being cranky about it, I know you’re curious. So you probably should, if you’re to have any peace.”
“Sorry, but who are you talking about?” Calla piped up.
I cleared my throat, and then asked, “Kid, have you ever heard of Baba Yaga?”
Saturday, September 26, 2015
Tuesday, August 4, 2015
The Real Monster in Sleepy Hollow
Today I was watching Disney's The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad. It's a fun movie, including the lovely narration of famous old-time actors Basil Rathbone and Bing Crosby. I can remember enjoying it when I was a kid, though the part with the Headless Horseman creeped me out a little. But watching it now, as a legal adult of 21, I notice that I've started watching it with a more critical eye.
My main example is the latter part of the show, which is based on Washington Irving's Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Watching it now, I've realized that I really don't like Katrina. Ichabod's not that great of a person either, since he's incessantly greedy and just seems to be trying to win her heart so he can have her money, but Katrina is so...mean. She emotionally manipulates every guy around her, and plays on both Brom and Ichabod's affection for her so she can make Brom jealous, all for her own entertainment. To me, that's just insensitive, and even a little cruel. Of course, since Katrina is the only child of the richest man in the Hollow, and probably extremely spoiled, it well may be that she doesn't know any better. Or she's just selfish and doesn't care about other people's feelings, honest or otherwise.
Some of you may be saying, "Dude, it's just a movie! Relax!" Or shaking your heads and thinking that I just don't understand the concept of flirting, or whatever. But I think that the most horrible monster in Sleepy Hollow is not the Headless Horseman. After all, he can only make you lose your head. But, in the words of Bing Crosby himself, "When you have met that little coquette Katrina, you lose your heart."
My main example is the latter part of the show, which is based on Washington Irving's Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Watching it now, I've realized that I really don't like Katrina. Ichabod's not that great of a person either, since he's incessantly greedy and just seems to be trying to win her heart so he can have her money, but Katrina is so...mean. She emotionally manipulates every guy around her, and plays on both Brom and Ichabod's affection for her so she can make Brom jealous, all for her own entertainment. To me, that's just insensitive, and even a little cruel. Of course, since Katrina is the only child of the richest man in the Hollow, and probably extremely spoiled, it well may be that she doesn't know any better. Or she's just selfish and doesn't care about other people's feelings, honest or otherwise.
Some of you may be saying, "Dude, it's just a movie! Relax!" Or shaking your heads and thinking that I just don't understand the concept of flirting, or whatever. But I think that the most horrible monster in Sleepy Hollow is not the Headless Horseman. After all, he can only make you lose your head. But, in the words of Bing Crosby himself, "When you have met that little coquette Katrina, you lose your heart."
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
The Case of the Lacerated Assistant
Here is another short story; I hope you like it anyway.
I had noticed for some time that my assistant, Calla Gardiner, had been changing. Not necessarily in a bad way, but in ways that were certainly strange. For instance, soon after the incidents in Silver’s Bane, or Why Racism Is Wrong, her senses seemed to improve tenfold, especially her sense of smell. She also began to like her meat a bit more rare than before, and on cases where we had to chase someone, she was much better at keeping up with me, and once even apprehended a crook before I could. At first, I just figured maybe she was becoming a better detective, getting stronger physically, and having a slight change in tastes. Then I began to suspect a magical change of some kind. But somehow, the reason didn't fully occur to me until the incident in October 2013.
We had been out late on a case. It may sound vaguely familiar: there had been reports of strange noises and explosions out in the cemetery. This time Ishida took them seriously (which didn't irritate me. At all), and asked me and Calla to go check it out. We went over the fence, found the place where the noises had been heard from-and Calla promptly fainted dead away. Before any of you start making smart-mouth comments about feminine sensibilities and I have to hurt you, it was because what we found was a very dead, bloody Ghul corpse, and since Calla is extremely hemophobic, her fainting was not her fault. I had to examine the body myself, and noticed that the wounds were mostly typical of fights between Ghuls: claw marks, bites to the throat-normal. But there also appeared to be some evidence of spells being thrown at the corpse. I found a few scraps of magical residue attached to wounds near-and in-the heart, and pocketed them as evidence. It looked like a mage or alchemist of some kind had been involved; but why and how? There were no footprints anywhere around besides those of Ghuls, no unique smells, nothing that proved anyone else had been in that cemetery. The body had been there for at least five hours, which was when I suspected the fight had begun, so it hadn't been dragged or carried there. This was all very interesting...
When Calla regained consciousness-not too long after fainting-we reported the incident to Ishida as just more Ghul warfare (they kind of have different rules from the rest of the monster race; since they’re not as a rule a part of our society, and fights to the death are the way they keep leadership positions, generally the MCPD doesn't worry about it if one is found dead), and now were perched together on the branch of a tree in Styxburg’s park, sharing a bag of fish and chips before Calla would try to glean some clues from the spells. She got the fish, and I had most of the chips. And I thought with a sigh that if the spells meant some new kind of hocus pocus that was more than normal Ghul welfare, then this was probably going to be a long night.
And then, as Calla was reaching into the bag again, I noticed that there was a thick bandage peeking out from under the sleeve of her hoodie.
“What happened there?” I asked, pointing to it.
“Believe it or not, I don’t know,” she replied. “I just noticed earlier today that I had a cut there, and didn't have time to try to get it healed before we went to the cemetery, so I just put on a Band-Aid and left it. It’s not a big deal.”
“Then why such a thick bandage?” Calla was not the type to overestimate damage; she would only use a big Band-Aid for a big cut. I gently reached over and rolled up her sleeve. And nearly had a heart attack; that Band-Aid stretched all the way up to her elbow, and part of it had been soaked through at one point, but was now just crusty with dried blood.
“What the heck-you call that-”
“I know, I know!” Calla flinched. “Sorry, I’ve just gotten into the habit of downplaying my injuries so I won’t upset Lars. I admit, it’s very irregular and kind of eerie that it started up so abruptly. But I didn't want to mention it because we were in a hurry, and I figured we’d worry about it later.”
I took a deep breath through my nose, and exhaled through my mouth. “Okay. It’s fine. Very decent of you. It’s no big deal that you've suddenly developed a random, big, deep cut on your arm and you didn't want to mention it because you thought I’d think the case was more important.”
“No I didn't. I just didn't want you to lose your focus.”
I looked over at her. “Kid...next time that happens, please make me lose my focus.”
“Okay, boss.”
I smiled, a tad grimly. Then I asked, “Any other mysterious injuries you haven’t been telling me about?”
“Not that I know of. Care to examine me?” She held out both arms for inspection. I, unable to resist the challenge, rolled up her other sleeve too, and began checking her over. Most of the scars I found were old ones, mementos of her dad (I didn't dare tell her, but if he hadn't died, I would have been more than happy to meet him once; once would be all I needed). But then, I got a good look at her left hand, and found the nail in the coffin of my suspicion. There was a small, pale scar along the side of her index finger.
“Do you remember how you got that?” I pointed at it.
“Uh...no, but I don’t keep track of my scars. There are many I’d prefer not to remember.” She frowned. “What does this one have to do with my sudden need for bandages at all times?”
“Kid, remember when we had to save Morgan?”
“That’s kind of hard to forget.” Then she traced my line of thought, and I saw that the metaphorical sun was coming up. She remembered, clearly, how beforehand we’d been attacked by a pack of Ghuls, and it was only when she shared thoughts with their leader and helped heal an injury that we were allowed to get into the prison where she was being kept...an injury that resulted in a lot of blood...
“When you pulled the spike out of the Ghul’s hand, were your hands bleeding at all?”
“No, I’m sure of it! I do remember getting a scratch on my hand from the wood, but I hadn't thought it was enough to actually cut it open.” Realization confirmed the situation. “This means what I think it means, doesn't it?”
“E-yup. Congratulations, Calla Gardiner, you are probably the only person in this century-or ever, come to think of it-to have instigated a blood bond with a Ghul.”
This revelation was naturally very alarming. But it did explain a lot. The question was, was it necessary to do anything about it? After all, since her bondmate was the leader of a pack of fae known for being feral, primal flesh-eaters who constantly fight each other for pleasure or dominance, there was a distinct element of danger in Calla’s being tied to him until death. Especially when it led to her getting random injuries. There was no way to permanently dissolve a blood bond, to my knowledge; but perhaps we could catch the Ghul, and keep him somewhere he’d be less likely to get hurt. Especially if it appeared that he had recently been in a bit of a nasty scrape. But when I suggested this to Calla, she didn't instantly jump at the chance. Instead she said, “I think we should just leave him alone. He belongs with his pack; it would kill him to be taken away from them. Besides, if my guess is correct, he’s the one responsible for that corpse in the cemetery, and all the spells attached.”
Author’s Note: Regarding blood bonds, when a fae and another species share blood, it means that if one of them has an injury of some kind, depending on depth and distance between them, the other will have it too, or at least feel the pain of it. It also means that they start to share some magical abilities, if they have any. Not all of them, but just enough to help them keep up with each other. And if one dies, the other will too at that same instant. But they can try to save each other, by sharing energy and weird, awesome stuff like that. Nobody completely knows how this works, except that it’s very ancient magic. It’s not to be taken lightly, or to be formed just on a whim.
Since I had come to this same conclusion soon after realizing what the cuts on Calla meant, I winced. “Just what the world needs. A Ghul with magical powers.”
“I don’t think he’d use them for anything besides defending himself or his people. He doesn't think about things the same way as most monsters; he doesn't have goals besides watching over the welfare of the pack.”
“Couldn't that translate over time to wanting to better their situation from living on the streets and eating roadkill?”
“I don’t think so. Sharky likes his life as it is, and while he might use his powers to keep others from trying to usurp his position or threaten the pack, he isn't going to try for anything bigger. He’s reasonable enough to see that that would be suicide.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Sharky?”
Calla blushed. “It just seemed...appropriate for him. His teeth...they remind me of a shark exhibit I saw once on a field trip.”
“That’s reasonable enough. You don’t even want to try to tell him?”
“I think he’s probably figured it out for himself by now. He’s got enough intelligence to remember what happened that day, and put two and two together to make lots.”
“Point taken.” I thoughtfully munched a chip. Suddenly a new point came up in my mind. “When are you going to tell Lars?”
The kid flinched. “Good question.”
“You do need to tell him eventually. Things are getting pretty serious between you two, and if you want to keep a relationship, I think he ought to know that there’s a possibility you’ll outlive him by hundreds of years...or be dead by next week.”
“I know, I know!” She threw up her hands, wincing as it jostled her injured arm. I jumped down from the branch, throwing the remains of our fish and chip bag in a convenient trash can.
“Come on, we’d better get that seen to.”
She levitated herself to the ground, and we headed for home. As we walked, I said, “I won’t push you to tell him yet. But at some point...”
“Yeah, I know. There just never seems to be a good opportunity to tell him something like that.”
I had noticed for some time that my assistant, Calla Gardiner, had been changing. Not necessarily in a bad way, but in ways that were certainly strange. For instance, soon after the incidents in Silver’s Bane, or Why Racism Is Wrong, her senses seemed to improve tenfold, especially her sense of smell. She also began to like her meat a bit more rare than before, and on cases where we had to chase someone, she was much better at keeping up with me, and once even apprehended a crook before I could. At first, I just figured maybe she was becoming a better detective, getting stronger physically, and having a slight change in tastes. Then I began to suspect a magical change of some kind. But somehow, the reason didn't fully occur to me until the incident in October 2013.
We had been out late on a case. It may sound vaguely familiar: there had been reports of strange noises and explosions out in the cemetery. This time Ishida took them seriously (which didn't irritate me. At all), and asked me and Calla to go check it out. We went over the fence, found the place where the noises had been heard from-and Calla promptly fainted dead away. Before any of you start making smart-mouth comments about feminine sensibilities and I have to hurt you, it was because what we found was a very dead, bloody Ghul corpse, and since Calla is extremely hemophobic, her fainting was not her fault. I had to examine the body myself, and noticed that the wounds were mostly typical of fights between Ghuls: claw marks, bites to the throat-normal. But there also appeared to be some evidence of spells being thrown at the corpse. I found a few scraps of magical residue attached to wounds near-and in-the heart, and pocketed them as evidence. It looked like a mage or alchemist of some kind had been involved; but why and how? There were no footprints anywhere around besides those of Ghuls, no unique smells, nothing that proved anyone else had been in that cemetery. The body had been there for at least five hours, which was when I suspected the fight had begun, so it hadn't been dragged or carried there. This was all very interesting...
When Calla regained consciousness-not too long after fainting-we reported the incident to Ishida as just more Ghul warfare (they kind of have different rules from the rest of the monster race; since they’re not as a rule a part of our society, and fights to the death are the way they keep leadership positions, generally the MCPD doesn't worry about it if one is found dead), and now were perched together on the branch of a tree in Styxburg’s park, sharing a bag of fish and chips before Calla would try to glean some clues from the spells. She got the fish, and I had most of the chips. And I thought with a sigh that if the spells meant some new kind of hocus pocus that was more than normal Ghul welfare, then this was probably going to be a long night.
And then, as Calla was reaching into the bag again, I noticed that there was a thick bandage peeking out from under the sleeve of her hoodie.
“What happened there?” I asked, pointing to it.
“Believe it or not, I don’t know,” she replied. “I just noticed earlier today that I had a cut there, and didn't have time to try to get it healed before we went to the cemetery, so I just put on a Band-Aid and left it. It’s not a big deal.”
“Then why such a thick bandage?” Calla was not the type to overestimate damage; she would only use a big Band-Aid for a big cut. I gently reached over and rolled up her sleeve. And nearly had a heart attack; that Band-Aid stretched all the way up to her elbow, and part of it had been soaked through at one point, but was now just crusty with dried blood.
“What the heck-you call that-”
“I know, I know!” Calla flinched. “Sorry, I’ve just gotten into the habit of downplaying my injuries so I won’t upset Lars. I admit, it’s very irregular and kind of eerie that it started up so abruptly. But I didn't want to mention it because we were in a hurry, and I figured we’d worry about it later.”
I took a deep breath through my nose, and exhaled through my mouth. “Okay. It’s fine. Very decent of you. It’s no big deal that you've suddenly developed a random, big, deep cut on your arm and you didn't want to mention it because you thought I’d think the case was more important.”
“No I didn't. I just didn't want you to lose your focus.”
I looked over at her. “Kid...next time that happens, please make me lose my focus.”
“Okay, boss.”
I smiled, a tad grimly. Then I asked, “Any other mysterious injuries you haven’t been telling me about?”
“Not that I know of. Care to examine me?” She held out both arms for inspection. I, unable to resist the challenge, rolled up her other sleeve too, and began checking her over. Most of the scars I found were old ones, mementos of her dad (I didn't dare tell her, but if he hadn't died, I would have been more than happy to meet him once; once would be all I needed). But then, I got a good look at her left hand, and found the nail in the coffin of my suspicion. There was a small, pale scar along the side of her index finger.
“Do you remember how you got that?” I pointed at it.
“Uh...no, but I don’t keep track of my scars. There are many I’d prefer not to remember.” She frowned. “What does this one have to do with my sudden need for bandages at all times?”
“Kid, remember when we had to save Morgan?”
“That’s kind of hard to forget.” Then she traced my line of thought, and I saw that the metaphorical sun was coming up. She remembered, clearly, how beforehand we’d been attacked by a pack of Ghuls, and it was only when she shared thoughts with their leader and helped heal an injury that we were allowed to get into the prison where she was being kept...an injury that resulted in a lot of blood...
“When you pulled the spike out of the Ghul’s hand, were your hands bleeding at all?”
“No, I’m sure of it! I do remember getting a scratch on my hand from the wood, but I hadn't thought it was enough to actually cut it open.” Realization confirmed the situation. “This means what I think it means, doesn't it?”
“E-yup. Congratulations, Calla Gardiner, you are probably the only person in this century-or ever, come to think of it-to have instigated a blood bond with a Ghul.”
This revelation was naturally very alarming. But it did explain a lot. The question was, was it necessary to do anything about it? After all, since her bondmate was the leader of a pack of fae known for being feral, primal flesh-eaters who constantly fight each other for pleasure or dominance, there was a distinct element of danger in Calla’s being tied to him until death. Especially when it led to her getting random injuries. There was no way to permanently dissolve a blood bond, to my knowledge; but perhaps we could catch the Ghul, and keep him somewhere he’d be less likely to get hurt. Especially if it appeared that he had recently been in a bit of a nasty scrape. But when I suggested this to Calla, she didn't instantly jump at the chance. Instead she said, “I think we should just leave him alone. He belongs with his pack; it would kill him to be taken away from them. Besides, if my guess is correct, he’s the one responsible for that corpse in the cemetery, and all the spells attached.”
Author’s Note: Regarding blood bonds, when a fae and another species share blood, it means that if one of them has an injury of some kind, depending on depth and distance between them, the other will have it too, or at least feel the pain of it. It also means that they start to share some magical abilities, if they have any. Not all of them, but just enough to help them keep up with each other. And if one dies, the other will too at that same instant. But they can try to save each other, by sharing energy and weird, awesome stuff like that. Nobody completely knows how this works, except that it’s very ancient magic. It’s not to be taken lightly, or to be formed just on a whim.
Since I had come to this same conclusion soon after realizing what the cuts on Calla meant, I winced. “Just what the world needs. A Ghul with magical powers.”
“I don’t think he’d use them for anything besides defending himself or his people. He doesn't think about things the same way as most monsters; he doesn't have goals besides watching over the welfare of the pack.”
“Couldn't that translate over time to wanting to better their situation from living on the streets and eating roadkill?”
“I don’t think so. Sharky likes his life as it is, and while he might use his powers to keep others from trying to usurp his position or threaten the pack, he isn't going to try for anything bigger. He’s reasonable enough to see that that would be suicide.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Sharky?”
Calla blushed. “It just seemed...appropriate for him. His teeth...they remind me of a shark exhibit I saw once on a field trip.”
“That’s reasonable enough. You don’t even want to try to tell him?”
“I think he’s probably figured it out for himself by now. He’s got enough intelligence to remember what happened that day, and put two and two together to make lots.”
“Point taken.” I thoughtfully munched a chip. Suddenly a new point came up in my mind. “When are you going to tell Lars?”
The kid flinched. “Good question.”
“You do need to tell him eventually. Things are getting pretty serious between you two, and if you want to keep a relationship, I think he ought to know that there’s a possibility you’ll outlive him by hundreds of years...or be dead by next week.”
“I know, I know!” She threw up her hands, wincing as it jostled her injured arm. I jumped down from the branch, throwing the remains of our fish and chip bag in a convenient trash can.
“Come on, we’d better get that seen to.”
She levitated herself to the ground, and we headed for home. As we walked, I said, “I won’t push you to tell him yet. But at some point...”
“Yeah, I know. There just never seems to be a good opportunity to tell him something like that.”
Friday, September 5, 2014
How to Handle Dead Frenchmen
Dear Readers,
This story sucked. We have removed it as a courtesy to viewers, as it could offend the eyes. Thank you.
This story sucked. We have removed it as a courtesy to viewers, as it could offend the eyes. Thank you.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Silver's Bane part 1
We're sorry; this story is in redevelopment hell, because the last one was ridiculously long and basically in dire need of repair. As a result, there may be some confusion for new readers about unexplained events between "There are No Such Things as Vampires" and the next story in this world. Maybe someday I will repost, or else just publish these stupid things. In the meantime, just bear with me.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank:
my friend Tessa, for being so enthusiastic,
my friend Fauve, for nagging me to complete the story, because she wanted to know more,
my friend Sami, for letting me know that my posts were the main reason she checked her e-mail every day,
and all you people out there who are sick to the teeth of vampire stories.
my friend Tessa, for being so enthusiastic,
my friend Fauve, for nagging me to complete the story, because she wanted to know more,
my friend Sami, for letting me know that my posts were the main reason she checked her e-mail every day,
and all you people out there who are sick to the teeth of vampire stories.
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.
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.
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