Chapter 5
I sat down heavily in one of the armchairs in the reading nook, gesturing for the detective to take the other, and I poured us each a generous amount of dark whisky.
“Alright, son,” I began, “let’s talk.” I took a large sip and savored the fruity, leathery flavor, letting it roll over my tongue for a second or two before swallowing and feeling the warmth spread down my throat and into my gut. This was the good stuff, twenty-five-year-old Glengoyne. It seemed appropriate.
The detective didn’t touch his. He just cocked one eyebrow and waited expectantly.
I closed my eyes and thought back to my memories of his grandfather. “Where to begin? At the beginning, I suppose.” I took another sip, then nodded to myself. “Yes, at the beginning. The Arcanum. That’s the first thing you asked me when you came in, so let’s begin there.” I opened my eyes and looked over at him. “How old were you when Antoine died?”
He shrugged. “Three, maybe? Four?”
I nodded. “That would explain why he never told you about the Arcanum. Did you ever ask your mother?”
“I did, but she wouldn’t talk about her papa. When I found the letters, she said it was just some club he’d been involved in back in Haiti, like the Freemasons.”
“That’s not technically incorrect,” I chuckled. “The Arcanum is an ancient global society of human sorcerers. I am a sorcerer. Antoine was, as well.”
Detective Lajoie was silent for a few seconds. Then he reached out and grabbed his glass of Scotch and took a big sip.
“Fuck,” he whispered, looking away and thinking to himself for a long moment. He closed his eyes and just breathed, his hands shaking as he held the glass. Finally, he opened them and looked back at me.
“I’ve believed there was something more to the Arcanum for decades, but I could never find out anything about it. Do you think my mother knew?”
I nodded again. “She did. I met Antoine’s daughter once, at a Grand Conclave—an assembly of all the voting members of the society. Isabelle, right? She must have been, oh, ten or eleven years old. Old enough that she certainly knew what was going on, at least.”
“Wait,” he furrowed his brow in evident confusion. “How could you have met my mama back then? You’re what, forty-five? Fifty? She’d have been almost twenty years older than you.”
I snorted. “I’m far older than I look, my boy. Sorcerers age well.”
“How old are you?”
“Two-hundred and thirty-seven as of this past May.”
“No shit? Huh.” He sat back and took another sip, apparently processing that revelation. “Let’s say I believe you,” he said after a moment. “Then why would my mama never tell me that my grandpapa was a sorcerer?”
I shrugged. “That I can’t speak to. She must have had her reasons. You’ll have to ask her, I suppose.”
“She’s dead,” he told me flatly.
“Oh,” I replied quietly. “I’m sorry, son, I didn’t know.”
“This Arcanum,” he asked, changing the subject, “what does it do?”
“Argue and get in people’s way, mostly,” I waved a hand dismissively, “but occasionally it saves the world. It was founded a thousand years ago, in theory to protect humanity from the dangers of the magical world and to keep the peace between humans and other magical beings.”
“And that’s what my grandpapa did?”
I nodded. “Sometimes. Most of the time we sorcerers keep to ourselves. We have plenty of our own politics, but we don’t involve ourselves with everyone else’s. One of the Arcanum’s most sacred traditions is that we don’t interfere in normal human affairs. But when there’s some kind of threat, we respond as necessary. Antoine and I fought alongside each other for many years, against various forces that threatened the human race. I knew him well. I was sorry to hear that he’d passed.”
“I take it that’s what you were doing at Evan’s apartment, with that blue flash and putting my officer to sleep. Responding as necessary.”
I grunted affirmatively. “Well, I was seeing if there was anything worth responding to, at least. Evan was a sorcerer, too, so I had to check. Putting your officer to sleep afterwards was just to avoid going to lockup for trespassing when he discovered me there.”
“And was there?”
“Was there what?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Anything worth responding to.”
“Oh yes,” I answered somberly, looking him in the eye as seriously as I could. “Yes, son, there most certainly was. We have a pair of magical serial killers on our hands, Detective Henri Lajoie. One who set a trap for sorcerers. That’s what the flash of light you saw was: I was defending myself, and your officer, from a magical booby trap I’d accidentally set off. Whoever killed Evan was a mage—a powerful one, at that. I believe at least one of the killers is a Faerie.”
“Faeries are real, too?” he asked, his eyebrows raised.
“Yes,” I nodded. “But they aren’t cute little winged pixies out of a children’s book. Faeries are powerful magical beings from an alternate plane of existence called the Otherworld. Most of the pagan gods of ancient myths were Fae creatures of one kind or another. What I’d just found in my books, a few minutes before you got here, was a description of what sounded remarkably like the ritual for which Evan was sacrificed, and the name of the Faerie who designed it.”
“So you have a suspect?”
I shook my head. “In a manner of speaking, but not one the police can go after. Not only are you not going to be able to find the Avartagh without magic, if you do happen to encounter him, he’ll just kill you without a second thought. You don’t have the tools to defend yourself from something like him. You aren’t a sorcerer.”
“But you are. You can find this Avartagh and deal with him.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes, I am,” I answered, nodding. “And a Faerie killing an Arcanum-trained sorcerer like Evan Townes is a violation of a thousand-year-old treaty between humans and the Fae, which means I’m obligated to do so—to find the killer and bring him to justice. But I’m qualified. In this particular case, you aren’t. So I’m asking you to leave the heavy work of this investigation to me. No need for you to be in danger.”
“Mr. Quinn,” he began to answer, but I put up a hand and interrupted him.
“You can just call me Quinn, son. Most people do. No need for the Mister every time.”
“Fine. Quinn. I hear what you’re saying. And even if every word of it is true—and given how long I’ve been looking for answers about my family, not to mention what I saw in that video, I do want to believe you—that doesn’t mean I can just stop investigating. It’s a murder case, and I’m a homicide detective. Faeries or not, magic or not, my partner and I have a duty here.”
I didn’t answer for a second, just taking another sip of whisky and savoring it for a long moment.
“That’s what I was afraid you’d say.” I set down my glass.
“So where do we go from here?”
“Well, given that I can’t magically stop you from investigating—”
“You can’t?” he interrupted.
“No, mind control is taboo within the Arcanum. We believe in free will, even when it’s inconvenient. Which means that you’re going to investigate, and you’re going to get yourself hurt unless I make sure you don’t. Plus, I think I could actually use your help—I can’t be in more than one place at a time, and you’re better suited to follow physical evidence and forensics anyway. Who knows? We might get lucky. So we need to figure out how to work together.”
“And how do you suggest we do that?”
“Well,” I replied picking my glass back up and draining it, “I propose a partnership.” I looked him in the eyes. “We investigate together. You take care of things like physical evidence and victim background and so forth. I’ll handle the magical aspects and deal with the Faerie, and any sorcerer accomplices, if and when we find them.”
“By deal with him . . . ”
“I mean kill him if necessary, or if possible, capture him and hand him over to the Faerie Court for justice.”
“Leaving no one for Philly PD to arrest.”
I shrugged. “That’s the way it goes, Detective. Humans haven’t invented a prison that can hold either Faeries or sorcerers.”
He thought it over for a long few minutes, sipping his whisky while I poured myself another and waiting for him to process all of this. Finally, he looked back over at me.
“I’ve been chasing answers for so long that I really want to believe you, Quinn. But I’m going to need more evidence to go on than your word. How do I know you’re not just playing me?”
“Why on Earth would I do that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you’re just a crazy occult enthusiast playing out your fantasies. Maybe you’re hiding something. But regardless, I can’t just operate on the assumption magic is real and you’re a sorcerer based on your word and the fact you knew my grandpapa’s name. Can you prove you’re a sorcerer somehow?”
“How about the video on your phone? Or the fact I knew your mother’s name, too?”
“That’s not conclusive of anything. A flash of light, an officer fainting, it’s all very suspicious, but it doesn’t prove you’re a sorcerer, let alone any of what you’ve said the Arcanum or Faeries. You could have found my family background in public records if you looked hard enough.”
I thought about it for a minute. “I can. At least, I can give you some stronger evidence you can see with your own eyes.”
He got visibly excited—eyes wide, nostril flared, leaning forward in his chair slightly. “You mean you can do some magic?”
“No” I answered brusquely and shook my head. “Not right now, anyway. I don’t perform on command, Detective, regardless of the reason. Magic is serious business.”
“Then what evidence are you suggesting?”
“You said there’s a second crime scene.”
His eyes narrowed. “Yes, there is. The killers struck again last night, and a neighbor discovered the scene this morning. It’s still being processed. Almost the same as the first one, except this time there were other victims.”
“Other victims?” I raised my eyebrows in question.
“Yes. The family who lived in the house were all killed, but they don’t seem to have been used for the ritual at all.”
“Hm,” I replied. I wasn’t sure what to make of that. “Take me there. If the killers set another trap, you’ll get all the proof you need. You can see exactly what happened at Evan’s apartment last night. If not, I’ll find some other way to prove that I’m telling the truth.”
“Okay,” he nodded, visibly disappointed I wouldn’t be conjuring a fireball for his entertainment. “That I can do.”