A Study in Spirits

by Byrd Nash

  “Tell me more about your purpose in being here. What is your name? Where did you come from?”

  “Why should I answer your interrogation? Do you consider yourself my superior?”

  From where it sat, the púca could see the being’s face color with the red-purple hue of rage. It seemed an intense reaction to what Paul had said. Especially, as the Doppelgänger used a mild tone of voice.

  “There is much work to be done here. It will take my lifetime to put the library into proper order. Burkhalter is too weak. She lacks the fortitude to do what is necessary.”

  “Not a fan of the head librarian and her staff, I see.”

  “She is a fool,” stated Aristarchus with a lack of control, its voice becoming a vibrating buzzing. “She allows chaos and confusion to thrive here. I put things where they belong — in proper order. I remove polluting influences and stop the contamination from spreading. I only hope I am not too late.”

  “I think we should discuss your plan for the catalog with the proper authorities.”

  It seemed the creature might be short-sighted for Aristarchus leaned forward, squinting at Paul as if trying to see him better. The being’s eyes narrowed further, and his mouth became pinched as if he just tasted vinegar.

  Aristarchus declared. “You think to steal my memories? Your attempt to form a false face is theft of the worst kind.”

  “I steal nothing,” replied Paul, clearly irritated. “I borrow. There’s a difference between what I do, and your behavior, oh Thief of Knowledge.”

  “You are a foul thing,” insisted the other, “whereas my actions reveal the glorious beauty of virtuous truth.”

  The creature shook his head slowly as if he was a professor disappointed in a student’s work. “Falsehood in any form is abhorrent to me.”

  With a dismissing wave of his hand towards Paul, a strike of magic sent the Doppelgänger flying back to hit a book rack. The Doppelgänger slid to the ground, falling to his knees.

  “Wear your true face always.”

  Jib waited until Aristarchus left before crawling out from under the bookshelf to reach Paul’s side. The púca wasn’t known for its smooth tongue, and it tried to be kind.

  “You don’t look that bad to me.”

  Paul groaned, covering his face with his claws.

  Dumpster Diving

  Celia was not a morning person, so when a yowling sound outside her window woke her, she wasn’t happy. She rolled over to try to return to sleep, but the noise was too piercing and persistent to achieve slumber.

  Stumbling awake, she shoved her feet into some slippers and pulled on a bathrobe. Whatever was making that yowling wasn’t human. Hopefully, she could chase it away and get another hour of slumber before heading off to her first mid-morning class.

  At the window was a furry black cat face pressed against the glass. Recognizing it, Celia cranked open the window. She was about to tell Jib to go away when the púca jumped into her apartment.

  Hands on hips, she told Jib, “Unless someone is bleeding, broken, or dying, I’m going back to sleep, Jib. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen.”

  The True Beast flopped on the floor, blocking her path. Celia crouched down to be at eye level with the cat. “Okay, I get the point. What’s up?”

  “Don’t you have Glamour magic?” asked the púca. It gave a quick tongue bath to the fur on its belly. Its casual air didn’t fool Celia.

  “Of course, I do.”

  Celia’s magical affiliation with water, connected her magic to illusion and emotions. She used it mostly for small things such as smoothing out the frizz of her curls when the humidity got too high. She had used it the night of the reception on Brigit and herself to give a glow to their complexion and make their eyes look bigger.

  “I went by our apartment,” Jib told her. “Neither Logan or Brigit was home. We need your help.”

  “Oh, you do, do you?” While Celia had given Jib permission to enter her new apartment, she was very aware that the púca was a True Beast and a Trickster. “Who are you trying to fool? And why? Who’s this we?”

  “It would be easier to show you. Can you come out? Just down to the dumpster. I have him hidden down there.”

  Celia changed to jeans and a sweatshirt, slipping on sneakers over her feet. What the cat was up to was a mystery. Whatever it was, Celia hoped it would be easily and quickly solved.

  Jib led her down the alley, to where the dumpster was located, tucked back from the main street. At the trash container, she looked around, but seeing no one, tapped her foot and demanded from Jib, “What did you bring me out here to see, Trickster? Is this some sort of prank?”

  “Nooo,” yowled Jib, jumping to the top of the dumpster rim. It sat down on its haunches. “Now, don’t get upset, naiad, by what you are about to see.”

  The nurse-in-training rolled her eyes. Her summer internship had been in the emergency room. She doubted Jib could show her anything that would shock her.

  “A fellow fae is in a bit of a bother,” said the cat, “and I promised to help him out. He carried me here, so I was able to cloak him in invisibility, but we can’t keep doing that. He has work to do, and so do I.”

  Celia crossed her arms. She knew the púca loved his drama. On the other hand, she could feel the emotional emanation from whatever was in the dumpster: it was a mixture of shame and embarrassment. It didn’t radiate the physical pain you would feel if it was hurt or bleeding, but its magic felt mangled. Maybe a cup of tea and some soothing kind words would sort this out.

  “What type of trouble requires Glamour? Does someone need a facelift before a date? Or a disguise? Just spit it out.”

  As she finished, Paul raised his head over the dumpster rim, causing Celia to gasp in surprise.

  Giving the Doppelgänger a once-over with a critical eye, Jib said, waving a paw in a circle that encompassed Paul. “Well, all of that. He needs a makeover, don’t you think?”

  The fae were no stranger to the unusual or bizarre. Even so, when in the Human Lands they attempted to blend in as best as they were able. It was helpful not to frighten children, and it prevented being chased down the road by dogs.

  Paul used the claws on his wingtips to clamber out of the dumpster. His thick long tail thumped against the metal sides of the container, making a loud racket.

  “Sorry,” he said, embarrassed twice over.

  “Uh, don’t worry,” Celia reassured him, regaining her composure. “Come on. I’ll help you.”

  Paul, in his dragon form, was about four feet taller than the naiad. Being a wyvern, he stood on two lizard legs ending in four talons, three forward, and one pointing back. He had a large beak and two sharp points serving as ears and a lizard tail ending in a spade-shaped point. His head was feathered, his body scaled, all in shades of blue and gold jewel tones.

  “Come along. Let’s get you inside and fixed up.”

  Celia hurried in front of them, leading the wyvern and Jib back to her front door. It wasn’t like she had neighbors, but you never knew who might walk by and happen to see the dragon.

  Jib said in a chatty voice, “I told you she’d help. Celia wouldn’t turn anyone away, even a Doppelgänger.”

  “This is Paul?” Celia asked in wonder, as she closed the door behind them. The wyvern was so tall, he was forced to bend his head, hunching over, to prevent his head hitting the ceiling.

  “Yes. This is his natural form,” Jib informed her since Paul didn’t seem talkative. “He’s lost his Mindbender ability to assume another being’s face. Pretty crazy, huh? He can’t wander around Geheimetür looking like he might eat people.”

  “I do not eat people,” stated the wyvern, his voice loud, like ringing bells. Despite the distortion, it did sound rather like Paul. Of course, Celia had met him only a few times back last spring.

  During her meeting, he looked like a guy she once liked back in school. She later discovered that, to Brigit, Paul wore the face of someone from her court in the Perilou
s Realm. To Granite, he was a wrestling teammate.

  Altogether the Doppelgänger proved to be quite a chameleon. Now, as a dragon, he appeared a bit awkward, shy, and ungainly.

  She tried to get him to lower his voice. “Let’s go to my bedroom — I don’t want to wake my roommate.”

  In her bedroom, the dragon took up most of the space.

  “Goodness,” Celia said again, not sure what else to say about the blue-gold dragon who was trying to lower his wings so he wouldn’t knock anything off her shelves.

  “Quite a specimen, isn’t he?” said the cat, as it leaped onto Celia’s bed. Jib kneaded a comfy nest in her pillows.

  “But how did this happen? A Doppelgänger’s magic is so powerful.”

  Celia caught another stuffed animal that his wing talon knocked off the top of her shelf.

  “Do you think you can help him?” asked Jib. The True Beast was taking a bath, trying to act casual. Only its eyes revealed how excited Jib was.

  Celia put her fingers over her lips, thinking. She did have Glamour but used it for minor things. A full-body makeover would need something more.

  Once you got over the initial surprise, the wyvern was quite handsome, in a dragon-lizard type of way. Far better looking than the human forms Paul kept stealing from people’s minds.

  His head and neck had feathers like a bird; these were a deep midnight blue color and almost looked like a mane. They faded away at his breast to became light blue scales, each of them edged in gold as if carefully dipped in precious metal.

  “You haven’t told me yet how this happened. Paul?”

  When it was clear Celia would not help without further information, Paul gave her a one-sentence statement.

  “Yes, I know there’s something at the library,” said Celia, exasperated with how the two were dancing about explaining themselves. “Maybe Jib didn’t tell you, but my bondmates have already encountered the creature. However, that still doesn’t explain how you’ve lost your Mindbending talent.”

  As the wyvern shifted from clawed foot to clawed foot, Jib told her the tale, “He met up with the creature and confronted it. It took exception at being reprimanded about destroying the books. Considering what it did to a Doppelgänger, I think we are fortunate to have escaped unscathed ourselves during our encounter with it.”

  “So, the thing in the library did this?” Celia covered her mouth in dismay. If it could do this to a Doppelgänger, what would a dryad, an eotan, or a couple of humans suffer?

  Paul finally spoke, “I’m sorry to impose, Celia Rivers. Jib insisted that I come here and that you would help. But if you would rather not?”

  “That’s fine. Don’t apologize. I just wanted to know what happened so I could figure out the best way to help. If you let me edge by you to get to my dresser, I might have something.”

  Getting past a dragon who had a long tail and two wings wasn’t easy. Celia squeezed past him by sucking in her stomach and holding her breath.

  Searching through the bottom of her dresser, she pulled out a jewelry case. Sitting on the bed, she sorted through its contents. Curious, Jib tried to shove its nose into the box and batted at everything she pulled out of it. Celia had to push the True Beast away several times.

  “But I want to see!” demanded the cat.

  “Be patient,” scolded Celia. “Ah, here is something from home that I think might help.”

  “Wait!” cried Jib, its paw on Celia’s wrist. “Before you help him, we need to get a few things clarified. First, for our help, any obligation or Debt between yourself and Brigit Cullen is Expletus.”

  Paul nodded in agreement.

  “Any aid you can give me will cancel the debt between me and the dryad. Just for getting me out of the library without being seen, I would have given you that, púca.”

  His voice had a sweet musical sound, rather like windchimes. Celia liked it.

  “Stop it, Jib!” protested Celia. “You’re practically tormenting him with your cat-and-mouse teasing ways. Paul must be devastated to have lost his magic.”

  The púca hissed.

  “Don’t let your tender heart blind you, naiad. Paul forced our bondmate, Brigit Cullen, to dance to his tune these last few weeks. Whatever their Debt was, it is Expletus.”

  “As I’ve already said,” Paul’s chiming voice sounding very tired, “I cry Expletus to Brigit Cullen’s Debt. I assure you that I will tell the dryad myself the next time I see her.”

  “Ha!” cried the cat, scoffing. “That might be awhile in your condition. I will inform Brigit today as soon as we finish here.”

  “Now, if the naiad can help me —”

  “I will do it in exchange for one of your feathers,” said Celia.

  Since Celia was using water magic, Paul would first need a shower to prepare for the ritual.

  “Do dragons like getting wet?” asked Celia out of curiosity.

  “No.”

  Jib, who was still sitting on the bed, informed her, “They are like cats and lizards. They like heat.”

  “Oh.” Celia tapped on the bathroom door, saying through the crack, “Feel free to turn the water to hot. It won’t matter.”

  From the jewelry box, Celia had retrieved a blue crystal jar with a cork stopper sealed with black wax. She held it up so the cat could see it.

  “This is water from back home. I haven’t used it in the three years I’ve been here. It is magic only for emergencies. I think this qualifies, don’t you?”

  Celia unstoppered the crystal bottle and took a deep inhalation.

  There was some thumping from the bathroom. Paul’s tail did not do well in bathtubs. When the door opened, it revealed a dripping dragon with a towel wrapped around its waist. Celia wasn’t sensitive about nudity, but perhaps Paul was.

  “My magic is more mundane than your own,” she told them. “I can form an appearance for you, but it’s limited. It will be of only one person, one shape. There is also a time limit as the spell will wear away.”

  “That is fine, naiad,” chimed the wyvern. “At this point, I’d be happy with any human form that would allow me to walk freely around Geheimetür. I do not want people screaming.”

  “Do you have any preference on how you want to look?”

  “Nondescript. Ordinary. Something that blends into the background.”

  Paul must be, at heart, a shy being. He was always taking forms that concealed what he was. How sad. It was too bad that humans were so narrow-minded. He looked so elegant, thought Celia.

  “Stand still,” she directed him, “this won’t hurt, but you may feel some tingles.”

  The naiad summoned her magic. Awakened, the energy smoothly flowed up her spine, down her arms, to her fingertips. It vibrated down to her legs and toes. It hummed, ready to do an exciting Glamour.

  Putting her finger on the top of the opened bottle, Celia rotated the vessel, so a drop beaded on her fingertip. She indicated that Paul should bow his head. She placed a drop on his forehead, each cheek, and after he closed his eyes, on each eyelid. Another drop on his wing claws and the talons of his feet.

  She poured some liquid into the palm of her hand. Concentrating on it, she used her other fingers to draw it into a shape, solidifying it into a crystal cylinder. The water started to harden, about the consistency of warm wax. She rolled it between her palms like a rope, forming it until the warmth left it, and the water set.

  As she opened her hands, the glass icicle sparkled.

  “Being a Glamour, it has an expiration. The water in the crystal will evaporate as it fulfills its promise. As it grows smaller, you’ll know the spell is also diminishing.”

  As they finished, Emma’s door opened, and the girl walked out, her school backpack on her shoulders, and the flying squirrel perched on her jacket collar.

  The tsukumogami, who had the habit of saying secrets in public, asked, “Why is there a dragon wearing a bath towel in the living room?”

  Book Depository

  The profe
ssor handed back the graded compositions at the end of class. As all the other students filed out of class, Brigit stared at the paper with her grade marked on it in bright red marker.

  Well, the good news was she was still passing the philosophy course. The not-so-great news was she didn’t have any padding left with her grade point. Her next paper better be good.

  Someone took the seat next to hers, and she sat back in surprise.

  “Hey,” Logan greeted her quietly. “You seemed lost in thought.”

  She gave him a short wave, biting her lip. Brigit wasn’t feeling her best, and had not slept well. Work that morning had been horrid. The test grade disappointing.

  Logan pulled something out of his backpack and slid it over the desk to her.

  “I’ve been wanting to give you these but keep forgetting. I brought them from home.”

  “What is it?” she asked, opening the parchment paper bag.

  “It’s candy. In my country, they make it from a syrup they get from Maple trees.”

  Brigit put her nose over the bag opening, taking a deep breath. It smelled like heaven. She asked in wonder, “A candy made from trees?”

  “Yes. Trees in Vermont. They harvest some of the sap. But the process doesn’t kill the tree or anything,” he reassured her. “I didn’t know if they made it here in Europe. I thought you might like it.”

  The candies of brown crystallized sugar were shaped like a leaf. She tentatively put the edge of it on her tongue. It melted into pure bliss; her brown eyes welled up with tears.

  “C’mon, they aren’t that bad,” Logan kidded her.

  “They’re so good,” cried Brigit, covering her eyes with the back of one hand while the other held the bag.

  “Don’t cry!” begged Logan. He joked, “I thought only chocolate gifts made a woman weep.”

  “I miss my trees.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Logan put his arm around Brigit’s shoulders. She gave a gulping sob, as he rocked her against his shoulder. Over the top of her curls, he asked, “Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”