Fantasy Noir Part II

“So, you’re the big agitator from the parade, huh? Guess those hippies are getting older these days.”

I bristled at the notion that I was some long-haired stoner who claimed to be “spiritual” yet didn’t do a damn thing to prove it. Then again, I didn’t want to give this cop any reason to slap another charge on my record before the squad car reached the station, so I kept silent and simply stared at the calligraphy that someone had etched into the thin glass separating the backseat from the front. I’d guess it was a sort of “shatterproof” rune and couldn’t help but scoff.

Magical calligraphy, you see, is a very precise art. Yeah, you can etch runes onto anything: bullets, glass, wood…heck, if you have a marker and a good piece of paper that will suffice as well. But there are so many loopholes, so many potential problems that when you are forming a spell using pure runes, you had better know damn well what you intend to do. The fates really like to play around with rookie magi who don’t know that.

Of course, runes don’t work magic all by themselves. Part of the equation is that you have to be born with the ability to be able to use it, but apparently this city’s finest didn’t quite know that. Even if they did, the thought that a magic-user would want to shave some time off their lifespan just to prepare for the possibility that some perp might fire a gun through the glass was pretty stupid if you weren’t absolutely sure. Probably a less-than-honest fairy, or maybe a kitsi who was looking to make a quick buck had tricked them into buying it.

“So what’s up with you, huh? What made you ally with those pointy-ears back there? Solidarity with your magic brothers?”

This cop was getting annoying, so I broke my impromptu vow of silence to give him the truth, “I was on the way to meet a client in a nearby café, and I happened to be stepping outside as the protest march came down my street.”

“So you were just an innocent bystander, huh? You don’t care about those Drow?”

“It’s not that I don’t care about them…”

“So you do care? Do you care as much as the policemen who came under attack from a magically-caused explosion?”

“Maybe if you weren’t such a fucking tool…” I stopped myself short. One of the things that you learn when dealing with authority figures is the informal “Rule of the Hole.” The Rule is this: When you’re in a hole and you don’t want things to get worse, you stop digging. I couldn’t tell if the explosion was magically-caused at the time. After all, there was a lot of energy in the air, and I didn’t quite hear the whistling of a bottle rocket. Then again, any sound would have been drowned out by the chanting and shouting from the march. And there are any number of people who could have had a reason to cast that spell.

Whether or not this policeman knew was a subject for later debate. But after he heard me briefly lose my temper, he just shook his head and then slammed on the brakes. “We’re here, you damn hippie. Get your darkling-loving ass out of the goddamn car or there will be bigger consequences.”

I found that sentence rather amusing, considering this policeman happened to be a dark-skinned human, but pointing this out would probably get me in even more trouble. Instead, I got out of the car with the slightly-ticked cop’s help, trying not to give him any more excuses but with that coffee still running through my system and little else filling my stomach I was sorely tempted to give him a piece of my mind.

As you might guess, the fates decided that they hadn’t played enough cruel jokes on me, so as I’m about to be processed at the station and the policeman is escorting me through the front door, who should I see but the dame who so graciously gave me a call a few hours ago. You might ask how I would know at first sight this was the dame in question. I’d answer that she was a pretty attractive lady: tall, mocha-skinned brunette with slightly-pointed ears that showed some elvish blood, quite a unique sight in a town filled with mostly humans, some light elves and a smattering of other races here and there.

But the thing that tipped me off was when she spotted me as I was being processed, and then walked straight up to me with a disappointed look in her face. After looking me up and down, she spoke with the same lovely voice I remember from the phone conversation, “I waited at that café for an hour. You never showed up Mr. McFadden.”

“Sorry lady, I was kind of sidetracked.” As the policeman started unlocking the cuffs, I continued, “I don’t suppose you could pick me up when I get out of here.”

“And why should I ‘pick up’ a criminal?”

“Because I didn’t commit a crime.”

“Enough talking, hippie.” The policeman started shoving me towards the holding cell, “The judge will decide your fate.”

I don’t remember exactly what the dame said back to me, but I think it was something like, “This is coming out of your pay!” I did wonder at the time why she would still want to hire me after that little chance meeting, and if I knew what was going to happen down the road I would have probably begged the cops to throw me in prison and toss the key out a window.

However, I was grateful that the dame had apparently greased some palms in order to get me out of prison a little faster than most, though the same policeman would say “We’ll be watching” before he released me out onto the street. I believed it was an empty threat, and he was probably ticked off that the powers-that-be told him to stand down. Poor cop, I never even learned his name.

The dame held out her hand as I descended the steps from the police station. It kind of looked like a scene from a fairy tale, didn’t it? Me coming down the steps in my very best suit, and a lovely lady dressed in her very best nightgown. As long as you replace “suit” with “brown overcoat and retro-style hat”, and “nightgown” with “small earth-toned jacket, dark-red skirt, and what appeared to be either very nice sandals or dress shoes with the top half carved out.” I even managed to top it off by giving her a light kiss on the hand. It was an old, old ritual, but apparently she still believed in those things.

“You know, you didn’t have to do that.” She blushed and took her hand back as I quietly cringed. Must’ve been a record time for me to misread a dame’s intentions like that.

“I’m sorry,” I tried recovering some of my lost dignity. Maybe it was an overreaction, but I did feel a tad bit embarrassed, my face glowing redder than an evil-possessed firefly. “I don’t believe we were properly introduced.”

“Well, my name is Aylissa. I am just hiring you for a job. This is a strictly professional relationship and nothing more.”

I nodded to the beat of that drum, letting her state her case. “Of course. Strictly professional as long as you’ve got the money to pay. But may I ask why you bailed me out back there?”

“Well, let me just say that your reputation precedes you, and I think that you are the right man for the job.”

That sounded perfectly ambiguous and if it were up to me I would have pushed for further elaboration, but considering my financial state at the time I wasn’t exactly going to give lovely-looking that gift horse a dental exam. “So, what’s the job?”