The Ghent Files: A Faerie Simple Conundrum

You know it's going to be a long day when you get a work call in the wee hours of the morning. Only, in my line of work, long days have a habit of being just a bit more than you bargained for. I hardly ever get these sorts of calls, anymore. Since getting my license about five years ago, it's been pretty smooth sailing: lost keys and rings, unfaithful spouses, the odd haunted basement or demonic possession. You know: simple jobs.

But it's cases like these that make my blood run cold. It takes me back.

The detective, a spitfire of a woman I've been working with for much of my career, held the caution tape up for me as I entered the crime scene. She was shorter than me by a head or so, but she was as tough and jaded as any man I've met on the force. Even without her 9 millimeter, I would not want to take her in a fight. Trust me, I've seen her black belt. "Good to see you, Ghent."

"You, too, Connolly," I said, "it's been too long."

"Yeah," she said, letting the silence hang a little too long before continuing, "so, Mister Wizard-Man, you want to tell me why I got a stiff out in the middle of the Common in broad daylight?"

I approached the scene more closely, crouching down, leaning on my staff and flipping the tails of my trench coat back over my heels. I wasn't sure what I was expecting for that early in the day, but I hadn't been ready for that jarring sight: a woman laying on her back in the snow, a brunette with white streaks in her hair, mid-twenties, average build and height, seemingly perfect health, and not a single injury on her. If she weren't completely cold and motionless, one might think she were sleeping. Well, that and the fact that her glassy eyes were wide open with a sense of abject frozen terror. That tends to ruin the impression.

I nodded, pursed my lips, and sighed deeply. "Good question."

Connolly crossed her arms and pierced me with her trademark stare of boundless sarcasm. Gods, I missed that look. "Yeah, Ghent, which is why I called you at four-thirty in the morning, to come look at a dead girl for half-hour and get some Dunk's after. You gotta give me something more than that."

"Melissa..."

Connolly rolled her eyes, and held her hand up, "Not the time, Roland. Please, I need you to focus. Just, answer me: is this case one of yours or one of ours?"

It was then that I took a good look at Connolly's eyes. They were sunken back beneath deep dark circles. She also couldn't take her eyes off the victim, that poor young girl. I could agree, even after years in this line of work, there were certain things you could never get used to. Then again, dangerous spooks and specters are a different business entirely from the worse humanity has to offer. Sometimes I wonder if I got it easy compared to her.

"Yeah, Detective, I can do that. Tell your guys to stand back a few steps while I do this. I don't want their mana interfering."

Connolly nodded and turned to the other officers and forensics specialists at the scene. "You heard the guy, the wizard needs space."

The officers obeyed as I pulled out the first of my arcane detection instruments: a long piece of clear quartz cut into a pointed hexagonal prism dangling from a knotted piece of twine. I focused my energy as I held the pendulum aloft over the corpse by the end of the string. I was unsurprised when the pendulum began to shake and swing in a wild circle. My suspicions were confirmed when I then took the crystal into my hand and waved it directly over the girl above the tip of her forehead and slowly over her body towards the seat of her pelvis. When I turned the quartz back over, thin black tendrils swirled in the stone for the briefest of moments.

Connolly stood in anticipation. "Well?"

I stood, placing the pendulum back into my coat pocket. "Yeah, it's definitely one of mine."

"Great," Connolly said, "any idea what did it?"

"Now that's the million-dollar question." I said, pulling a small wand made of elder wood from the interior pocket of my coat and holding it out in front of me. "Originem mihi monstra."

Yeah, Latin, I hate using it, too, but tell that to the old geezers that run most magic schools on this side of the Atlantic. But, say what you want, at least those stuffy Romans got results.

My hand that had been holding the wand went briefly numb and tingly as if I had just brushed my finger against an exposed electrical wire. Suddenly, my heart shuddered as an ill feeling crept throughout my entire body.

"Oh, no..."

Connolly's face instantly paled. "Ghent, what is it? Come on, talk to me."

"No, no, no..."

"You're freaking me out, Roland."

My hand instinctively reached into a different pocket, fumbling with a palm-sized stone. When I opened my hand, I was holding a small river stone with a natural hole bored through its middle.

"Please, don't be what I think it is." I groaned.

Connolly did not take her eyes off me, seeming just as afraid as I was, "Ghent? What do you think it is, Ghent?"

I held the stone to my eye and looked through the hole. You see, Boston is the perfect place for a wizard. The city is small compared to others, but it is old. It's not as old as most on the planet, but it is old enough to be deeply rooted in the magic of both the New and Old World. Magic like that is not only strong, but turbulent, intoxicating. It draws things of all sorts to the city - ghosts, demons, cryptids, gambling - but there was no mistaking what I saw through the stone. Traces of an all-too distinct magic gathered over the girl's body. It hung like a miasmic veil over her in writhing swirls of black with flecks of gold. I put the stone away and rubbed my temples as I knew I was in for a very, very long day.

"Fairies," I said, "I hate fairies."

A moment of weighty silence hung in the air before Connolly spoke. "You gotta be joking. Fairies did this? Like Tinkerbell?"

I snorted, forgetting what the average person in the modern day knows - or should I say has forgotten - about fairies. "Listen, Mel, I wish I was; and don't even get me started on pixies, those sick, twisted bastards. Look at one sideways and you'll be stranded somewhere in the woods before you can say 'Think happy thoughts.' I once knew one that was hiding out down in Mattapan-"

Connolly put her hand up to stop me, taking a deep breath to steady herself before continuing. "Alright, alright, I get it. Fairies are bad. Reminds me of my grandma's bedtime stories, yeesh. So, you're the expert, what now?"

I thought for a moment, going back to basics. "Got an ID on the vic, yet?"

"No," she said, "she didn't have a wallet or anything on her, and her phone is dead."

"Typical," I replied, "magic can drain a battery or fry a chip within a good few paces if you're not careful."

Connolly immediately pulled out her phone and swore. "Christ on a cracker, Roland! Now you remind me!"

I ignored that. "So, no immediate leads until your guys dig something up. Alright... I take it I'll have my usual consulting fee?"

Connolly rolled her eyes. "Yes, of course."

I stood up with a barely audible grunt. "Alright! First thing's first, Detective, you're going to want to trade that side iron for a horseshoe and an iron nail."

She furrowed her brow. "Ok..."

"Then we are going to make a few stops. I happen to know a guy who's got contacts with the Sidhe Courts down in Southie."

"Naturally," said Connolly.

"We'll need a few things first." I continued. "Say, you happen to know a guy who sells really good cheese?"

Connolly thought for a moment and nodded. "Yeah, I think I do."