Mortal Souls

by Amy Hoff

  “A week ago?” asked Benandonner. “You knew about this? And you said nothing about it?”

  Milo shot him an indignant look.

  “You've never shown much interest in my research,” he said reproachfully.

  “This one is mine, Milo, I have marked him!” insisted Yoo Min.

  Milo stared at Yoo Min, unimpressed.

  “You can have him,” said Milo dryly. “I don't like selkie. Too salty. Anyway, this phenomenon began to appear around a week ago – “

  Hazel stamped her foot.

  “I am not a phenomenon!” she said.

  For some reason, Magnus decided this was the time to turn on the charm.

  “I always thought so,” he said with a lazy smile.

  “Really, Magnus?!” said Hazel. “Really?! Now?”

  “Too soon?” asked Magnus.

  Milo cleared his throat.

  “As I was saying, Hazel first appeared about a week ago,” he said. “It's not the anniversary of anything, or related to current events. In fact, I cannot tell why she has manifested – and neither can she.”

  “You've been talking to each other all this time?” asked Chief Ben.

  “Oh, yes,” said Hazel. “Milo has been very kind and supportive.”

  “Slut,” muttered Magnus under his breath.

  “What did you just call me, Magnus Grey?!” Hazel demanded.

  “Quiet, everyone!” said Dorian. He nodded politely at Milo.

  “Yes, thank you, Dorian,” said Milo. “In my research, I have discovered that she isn't haunting the cell, but him.”

  “Him? What do you mean?” asked Yoo Min.

  “She's haunting him,” Milo clarified. “Not the cell, or the prison, or the Interpol station. She’s haunting Magnus Grey.”

  Hazel’s mouth dropped open. Magnus went white.

  “You mean to tell me that I'm stuck with him?” Hazel demanded.

  “Until we find out what's happened, it seems that way,” said Milo.

  “This must be some trick! A punishment! A curse, or a spell!” said Magnus. “Dorian, you can't let this happen!”

  Dorian stared at his brother.

  “If you can give Hazel her life back, I will help you,” he said. “If you can bring back the humans you have murdered, I will help you. I only continue to call you brother because I must.”

  Dorian turned on his heel and walked out, Magnus staring after him. Chief Ben nodded to the group.

  “I’ll go talk to him,” said Ben. “You think you can handle this one on your own, Yoo Min?”

  The Korean woman smiled at him.

  “I’m thousands of years older than you, Ben,” she said sweetly. “I think I’ll be fine.”

  “Good,” said Ben, who was quite happy to follow Dorian up the stairs. Much as he didn’t like to admit it, the gumiho unnerved him more than any monster he’d encountered in many years.

  Yoo Min approached the cell.

  “Hi, Hazel,” she said. “I'm Detective Inspector Lee Yoo Min.”

  Hazel was looking up at the ceiling, trying not to cry. She slowly looked down at the other woman. Yoo Min smiled winsomely. She had settled down now that it was clear Hazel wouldn’t be getting in the way of her designs on the selkie.

  “Can you tell me what’s happened to Sebastian?” asked Hazel. “My poor, sweet husband, he must have suffered so much!”

  “Yes, what a smashing success!” said Magnus bitterly. “What a great man he was, how sweet and innocent! Poor, sweet Sebastian became the head of the greatest crime syndicate Glasgow has ever known! He's so clever even Leah and Dorian can't find him.”

  “You shut your mouth!” snarled Hazel. “How dare you accuse Sebastian of something so horrible? I didn't ask you!”

  Hazel looked imploringly at Yoo Min, who stared at the floor.

  “Is it true?” asked Hazel. “Yoo Min, is it true? Tell me it’s not true.”

  “Yes,” said Yoo Min. “It's all true. I was briefed on it when I arrived. It was your murder that started everything.”

  “So Magnus started it all,” murmured Hazel. Magnus turned to look at the two women.

  “Well, I couldn’t have known,” he said. “Who could’ve predicted such a milquetoast would become so powerful.”

  “I knew,” said Hazel. The other two looked at her in surprise.

  “Not that he would turn out this way,” Hazel explained hastily, “but that he had more potential, more strength, more – everything, than you ever took the time to know, Magnus. He called you his best friend, but you only hung around with him because you pitied him. I understand now. Death gives you perspective, and time to think.”

  “He was never good enough for you, Hazel,” said Magnus, “and now he’s an infamous criminal. I would have saved you from the indignity that –”

  “I was perfectly capable of making my own choices, then and now,” said Hazel. “You view everything as a possession, something to covet. Something to steal. I know what you did to me, Magnus. You’re not the better man here.”

  “Excuse me?!” cried Magnus.

  “You’re in the strongest prison that Caledonia Interpol has available,” said Hazel, “and Sebastian is walking free. So either he’s not as evil, or he’s smarter. Either way, he’s a better man than you, even if he is a criminal.”

  “How do you know all this?” asked Magnus. “I never told you about this other world, or – or what I really am.”

  “There’s more to me than meets the eye, Magnus Grey,” she said. “You just never saw it, because you can’t see past your own ego. And what you really are, is evil. Beautiful or not, selkie or not, you’re the kind of monster that’s the reason for monster stories.”

  Magnus was stunned into silence.

  Yoo Min decided to break it.

  “Sebastian’s still out there, somewhere,” she confirmed. “But your appearance now is a strange coincidence. We’ve got other problems.”

  Hazel turned away from where Magnus was slowly boiling over.

  “How do you mean?” she asked.

  “Well, how much do you know about Caledonia Interpol? The Fae?” asked Yoo Min.

  Hazel grinned, a mysterious glint in her eye.

  “Let’s say, more than you think, and much more than Magnus would believe. I am, after all, just a human woman.”

  She winked, and Yoo Min thought she rather liked this woman.

  “A while ago, one of the city’s Guardians found a woman dying in a Bridgeton close,” said Yoo Min. “Her hands were blackened.”

  Hazel stared at the gumiho.

  “Blackened?” she asked. “Like a plague victim’s?”

  “Exactly like that,” said Yoo Min. “Right now, we are investigating why the Black Death has returned to Glasgow. We don't have much time.”

  Hazel turned paler, if that were possible.

  “The Black Death?!” she said.

  “Yes,” said Yoo Min, “or something very like it. Glasgow has been quarantined. We are losing the humans rapidly. We think that while the disease is natural in itself, it is magical in origin. According to Dorian, we know the source but not the cure, unless the particular strain is discovered, or the cause is isolated. No doctor has been able to stop it. Humans are falling ill at a rapid pace, and we are at a loss.”

  Hazel stood, lost in thought, for some time.

  “I could help,” she said eventually.

  “How?” asked Yoo Min. “Were you a doctor?”

  “I thought about training to be one, if I gave up fashion,” said Hazel. “I was a witch.”

  There was stunned silence, and something like fear permeated the air. Yoo Min took a step back. Magnus looked at Hazel in horror.

  “How could you not tell me?” he demanded. “You were a witch and you didn’t tell me!

  “It's a good thing I didn't, or else I'd have truly been enslaved to you,” said Hazel. “You're not a very nice person, Magnus.”

  “But how could you help us?” a
sked Yoo Min.

  “Because that’s what witches do,” said Hazel. “One of the things, anyway, despite our bad reputation both with humans and the Fae. But if I were going to help, I’d have to be out in the city, not in the Deeps. There’s far too much dampening of magic down here for me to do anything useful. My compliments to the architect, but I’m not much use to you stuck in prison with my own murderer.”

  “Yes, Magnus would have to accompany her, if she were to go outside,” Milo said suddenly. Everyone jumped; they had quite forgotten the merman was there. Fading easily into the background was a part of his own magic, but he still gave them an annoyed look as if they had been ignoring him on purpose. “There would be no other way, as the situation stands. Unfortunately, Hazel is moored to him for some reason. I am still investigating a way to break this tie, but I haven't found it yet.”

  Magnus began to grin in a very unsettling way. He clearly saw a path to freedom opening up in front of him.

  “I wouldn't be so smug,” said Milo. “Hazel will be in charge, if this is approved, and you're tethered whether you like it or not. You wanted her to be your wife, well, now you have the opportunity of being with her 24/7.”

  Milo turned to Hazel. His expression softened in a way that would surprise anyone who had known the merman. He wasn’t known for his sympathetic nature or gentleness, but something about Hazel seemed to bring it out in him.

  “I am sorry about this, and about the situation you're in,” he said gently. “We will work on a solution, but we are running out of time.”

  Hazel nodded, and took Milo’s hand, much to Magnus’s dismay.

  “I understand,” she said. “Maybe was the reason I was brought back. What other reason could there be?”

  ***

  Some hours later, Milo was alone in the lab again, industriously working on a way to separate Hazel from Magnus. He sat with an enormous tome in his lap, paging through various spells and images from throughout the centuries.

  The lab was bright and welcoming, despite the things that tended to go on in there. Milo’s experiments were less than savoury and he skirted the line of black magic enough that if it weren’t for his brilliance and his dedication to Interpol, he might’ve found himself on the opposite side of the bars.

  The lab could only be accessed through the Labyrinth beneath the station, so Milo did not often receive visitors. Since Milo’s lab also contained the morgue, also for questionable reasons it was probably best not to look too closely at, his visitors were usually police officers.

  Dorian pushed the door open to see Milo bent over a book, his orange tail draped in a bucket of water. At the sound of the door closing, the ceasg looked up and pushed his glasses higher on his nose.

  “Oh, thank God,” said Milo. “Hello again, Dorian. Good timing. I could use the interruption.”

  Dorian crouched beside Milo in a strange manner peculiar to the selk.

  “What can you tell me about witches?” he asked.

  Milo moved a few of the beakers on the desk, and peered into a microscope.

  “Is this about Hazel?” he asked mildly, not looking at the detective.

  “Yes,” said Dorian. “I don’t understand why you didn’t tell us about this sooner, Milo.”

  The merman sighed. His orange tail splashed water as he turned to pick up a petri dish.

  “I enjoyed having company,” said Milo. “It’s been rather quiet down here, since Geoffrey left.”

  He looked around the large, cavernous space.

  “Your prejudices are quite clear,” Milo continued. “I wasn’t willing to share, just yet.”

  “Hazel is an old friend,” said Dorian. “Whatever prejudices I have, I’d have liked to know.”

  “Then why are you here asking me if witches are dangerous, instead of asking after her well-being?” asked Milo. “It’s clear to me you’re here in your capacity of detective. You and the others also seem to like me for my usefulness but not for my nature. It’s as if you draw a line between monsters, when that’s what all of us are.”

  Dorian watched Milo work for a while in silence. He wasn’t certain what to say, primarily because he felt in his bones that Milo was probably right.

  “My apologies, Milo,” he finally chose to say. “You’re absolutely right. I shall endeavour to do better in the future, and not let prejudice cloud my judgement. It seems no matter how old we are, some of us are still learning.”

  “Some of you, indeed,” sniffed Milo. “The rest of you don’t use your age to gain wisdom or to change your ways, but to plough the furrow of prejudice even deeper.”

  Milo began moving some items around on the table in front of him. It seemed like he was off in his own world, so Dorian waited patiently. Eventually, the merman spoke again. It almost seemed as if he were doing it against his better judgement.

  “Long ago, witches were feared, by kings and by the kind of people who were interested in burning other people at the stake,” he said. “Most of the time, they work with herbs and help women with their health. Why do you ask?”

  “Are they evil? Inherently?” Dorian pressed. Milo all but rolled his eyes.

  “How do you not know the answer to this question, Dorian?” asked Milo. “You’ve been alive for a very long time.”

  “I wasn’t exactly paying attention for most of it,” said Dorian. “Other things to do.”

  “Other things, I see,” said Milo, whose tone of voice said he knew exactly what those other things were.

  “Milo,” said Dorian, reminding him of the topic at hand.

  “No, of course they’re not inherently evil,” sighed Milo, “and especially not if this question is about Hazel. I think the problem, you will find, is not that witches are evil. It's that they are too good.”

  Dorian looked puzzled.

  “We're monsters, Dorian,” said Milo. “As I mentioned before. Technically, I am inherently evil. In general, every one of us is a monster, in the classic sense of the word. We’re just reformed. Witches are human. That means that they have chosen to learn magic, and have entered this world of their own volition. It’s not natural to them; they aren’t born with it, as we are. But a human does not depend on draining others in order to survive. A human can exist without draining a soul, like a merman; drinking blood, like a vampire; or even – yes – living off love, like a selkie.”

  “Some people might call that survival,” said Dorian.

  “They might,” said Milo. “I call it addiction. Apart from specific monsters, like your new gumiho officer, most of us can survive without the element we drain. We’re immortal, so it might be uncomfortable, but we don’t need to do it. We choose to do it. This is evident in the ability of many of the Fae to change their ways or to drink blood from other sources, take souls from creatures other than human.

  “No, Dorian. We don’t need any of it to survive. We demand it because we think it’s our right. We’re addicts, my friend, as much as any Fae who loved the Smoke. We love to gorge ourselves. We are creatures of pleasure, Dorian, not survival.

  “Everyone here – everyone – is an alcoholic, one drink shy of falling off the wagon.”

  ***

  The day was calm and still. Not even a soft wind ruffled the water of the river. The streets were empty of people. They hadn’t seen one other living person on their walk from the station at St. Enoch to the water’s edge.

  Seagulls wheeled in the air above the Clyde, apparently unaffected by the plague. They were the only living things left in this place, and the experience was sobering. Although it had been some time since Magnus was out and about in Glasgow, he had never seen the place so deathly quiet.

  Yoo Min sat beside Magnus on a bench next to the river. They didn’t speak to each other, just breathed the air together underneath the slate-grey sky. He smiled, happy to be outside once again despite the situation.

  A woman flashed into existence beside them, looking irritated.

  “Let's go, Magnus,” said Hazel.


  His reverie was shattered. He glared at the woman he had once loved beyond reason.

  “None of that,” said Hazel. “I’d leave you here alone in a second if I could, you know that. We have to go. We’re expected.”

  Grumbling, Magnus stood up and walked along the canal, Yoo Min following silently like an animal hunting, tailing its victim through the woods. In the distance, they could make out three figures silhouetted in the greylight of the Glasgow sky.

  Magnus and Yoo Min walked to the wharf where Dorian, Ben, and Milo were waiting. Hazel blinked into existence again beside them. Milo was on the ground in classic mermaid pose beside his wheelchair, his bright orange tail shimmering in the light like goldfish scales. His lab coat draped around his slender, muscular upper body, his skin burnished green and gold to match. He was studying a body lying on the path with interest.

  “What are you doing out with your tail uncovered, Milo?” Yoo Min asked after a while. “Aren't you worried someone is going to see you?”

  “There aren't many humans around,” Milo replied, gesturing to indicate the general absence of people in the area without looking up. “Everyone is afraid – and rightly so. I doubt there's much risk.”

  A woman walking along the canal with shopping bags in her hands dropped them. She stared at the group for a moment, then turned and ran back along the river’s edge.

  “All right, maybe some risk,” muttered Milo. “Not sure if that was brave or stupid of her. Or me. Either way, the humans are terrified. They’re staying confined to their houses, for the most part.”

  “What about her groceries?” asked Hazel. “She’ll need those one way or the other.”

  “One of the pixies will deliver them,” said Chief Ben, already on the phone to Aoife. “No need to make things worse.”

  “Why aren’t things worse, Chief?” asked Dorian. “I’d have expected outright panic by now. Looting. Riots in the streets. Something.”

  “Humans are a funny breed,” said Ben. “Sometimes they run. Sometimes they fight. Sometimes they freeze. They haven’t seen a disaster of this kind, on this scale, in centuries. Not in this part of the world, anyway. They’re not used to a daily understanding of their own mortality. Frankly, neither are we. Not anymore.”