Ghost Light

This wasn’t a case of one runaway juvenile bugbear.  We were dealing with the kidnapping of dozens of fae children.  To say we were unprepared and understaffed was an egregious understatement.  I was glad that Ceff had decided to stay.  We could use all the help we could get.

I pulled myself up and went to sit behind my desk.  I wasn’t running away from Jinx’s reproachful stare, really.

I thumped down in my chair and prepared myself for the case.  For though we had numerous clients, it was one case—it just had to be.  I closed my eyes and thought about frantic parents finding the beds of their children empty this morning.  I imagined frightened kids huddled somewhere cold and dark.  Rage burned in my chest and I watched the sparks of gold behind my eyelids begin to disappear.  I bit the inside of my cheek and remembered the families outside, desperate to save their children.  I grasped my anger with both hands and held on tight.

Pain and anger had saved me before.  Hopefully, they could burn away the stress, worry, and fatigue until this was all over.   If embracing my anger toward the kidnapper—the true monster here, no matter what my clients looked like—helped to control my wisp powers, all the better.  Walking around the city with glowing skin would make my job more difficult, especially if the fae courts stepped in.

It was hard to locate missing children while buried in a pine box.

Damn, why did it have to be children?  I pounded my fist on the desk, knocking over a coffee mug filled with pens, pencils, and scissors.  I flicked a glance at my reflection in a large pair of scissors that landed on my desk blotter.  My skin was no longer glowing, thank Mab.  It was time to get to work and bring these kids home.

I opened a drawer and pushed in the messy contents of my desk.  I could sort through the detritus later.  For now, I had a job to do.  I lifted my chin and turned to Jinx.

“Let them in,” I said.

Chapter 9

I met with crying gnomes, limping henkies, growling goblins, wailing banshees, and fluttering sprites—to name a few.  Every faerie who approached my desk had lost a loved one—a child, sibling, or grandchild—in the night.

Though some of the fae races who visited had unsavory reputations, they all seemed genuinely distressed.  Ceff was quick to remind me that all fae have difficulty conceiving.  Faerie children therefore are a rare gift, treasured by their families.  The raw pain on his face drove the point home.  The loss of Ceff’s sons had nearly destroyed him.

I didn’t turn a single client away—no matter who, or what, came to us for help.

The last client walked out our door with a loud shriek, and I sighed.  I rubbed my face with shaking hands.  I needed a shower and a toothbrush.  Too bad I didn’t have the time, or the energy, for a trip upstairs.

Jinx hurried to the door, turned the lock, and flipped the sign from open to closed.  She’d cancelled our regular clients for the day, rescheduling our appointments until later in the week.  That meant we were double-booked, but I had bigger things to worry about than scheduling issues.

If I didn’t get some sleep soon, I’d be no good to any of my clients.  I’d have to ask Jinx to pencil me in for a nap.  I leaned back in my chair, blowing strands of hair from my face.  I rubbed gritty eyes and ran a tongue over teeth tasting of coffee and old pizza.  I must look like something the cat sidhe dragged in.  I pictured Sir Torn dropping me on the stoop and snorted, a giggle trying to escape.

I smoothed a gloved hand over wrinkled clothes, avoiding the looks of Ceff and Jinx.  The last few hours had been a blur.  Jinx and I had interviewed dozens of worried families, but the worst was yet to come.

Ceff had brought us food and coffee while we worked, a kelpie king turned office errand boy.  After we ate, he cleared pizza boxes from the conference table—a flea market purchase that Jinx had insisted on for our growing business, which thankfully had no visions imprinted into the shiny pressboard and metal—and began setting up rows of plastic bags.  Each bag contained a small item and was labeled with the name of the family and the missing child the item belonged to.  Every bag represented a child who was missing.

The table was buried beneath them.

I’ve never attempted to retrieve visions from so many items, but I was about to try.  I flicked my eyes away from the table, letting my gaze land on my gloved hands now fidgeting with a paper cup.  Ceff had kept the coffee flowing, as if by magic.  Perhaps it had been.

I drank the last sips of coffee in one gulp and tossed the cup in my overfull wastebasket.  Jinx had discarded her own wastebasket in the back alley, beside the dumpster we shared with the bar that backed onto our building.  We hadn’t wanted to offend our clients, many of whom had a heightened sense of smell, with her fouled bin, so now we were sharing mine.  The coffee cups and broken pencils spilled out onto the floor at my feet.