by Amy Hoff
“Sae…d’you follow Rangers?” asked Dylan.
Tearlach looked up from the sink and stared at him.
“What does that mean?” he asked.
Dylan’s mouth was working at finding words just as someone knocked on the door. He kept looking over his shoulder at Tearlach as he went to open it, only to gurgle in surprise at the beautiful young man with long curls standing on his doorstep.
“How many of you are there?!” cried Dylan, turning to look at Tearlach again. Tearlach shrugged.
“Dylan Stuart?” asked the young man. Dylan nodded, this being a bit too much to take with a hangover.
“I'm Detective Inspector Magnus Grey. We’d like to have a talk with you down at the station,” he said. “We’ll need your Highlander to come along as well.”
This being the last straw, Dylan held out his arms wordlessly, wrists together, and surrendered.
***
Leah and Dorian walked into the station, and nearly straight into Magnus, who wore an indescribable expression.
“I think we have a situation,” he said, and turned to reveal Dylan and Tearlach, the latter of whom was looking around the enormous library in wonder.
Leah was having a difficult time containing herself, after the situation had been explained to her.
“I’m surprised there aren’t hairy Scottish Highlanders wandering through every point in history, given their habit of time-travel,” she laughed.
Tearlach looked at her, affronted.
“I’ll have you know, madam, that I do shave. I am not a savage!” he said.
“Better than most men these days,” she grinned.
Dylan rubbed his own hairless chin and glared around the room. Dorian put his hand to his head as if he had a headache.
“Can we focus, please?” he said. “This may be serious.”
“Or it may not,” Leah said. “You expect me to take this seriously? Here – we had better keep him away from feisty women, you know how time-travelling Highlanders love those.”
Magnus flashed her one of his killer smiles.
“You’d better steer well clear, then, Leah,” he said, and she winked at him.
“So let me get this straight,” she said. “A time-travelling Highlander from the 18th century comes to Glasgow and the first person he meets is…a ned? I can’t wait for the sex scene. I’m bringing popcorn.”
At this, Dylan raised his head and seemed to pay attention for the first time.
“Oi!” he said. “What’s wi’ aw the prejudice? What kind o’ polis station is this, anyway?”
He stared suspiciously around at the Jacobean library, which was unlike any police station he had ever seen.
“Stop. Please,” said Dorian.
“Yeah, you’d better be quiet, or Dorian here will kill you with his laser beam eyes,” said Leah, laughing.
“I saw someone die tonight,” said Tearlach suddenly. The room went quiet.
Everyone looked at him. Dorian straightened, once again interested in the conversation.
“Where?” he asked.
“Just before I met Dylan,” said Tearlach. “I went to help, but it was too late.”
“Why didn’t you say anything before?” asked Magnus.
“I didn’t know what clan you were from,” Tearlach replied. “Now that I know you are selkies, I don’t mind telling, gentle creatures.”
Leah nodded, amused. She had forgotten that in the past, the Faeries were called The Good People, or gentle, or any other compliment, simply because they were terrifying and had immense power. It was the way that humans had tried to appease them – and to protect themselves from the wrath of the Fae.
“How did you know they were selkies?” she asked. Tearlach shot her a confused look.
“Can’t you see how they shimmer?” he asked.
Leah and Dylan stared at the selkies, and both shook their heads. Tearlach was horrified.
“Goodness, what are people teaching schoolchildren these days?” he said. “In my time it was wisdom taught by our elders.”
“Not anymore, I’m afraid,” Leah said. “We’re taught they aren’t real.”
Tearlach gasped, and looked from Dorian to Magnus.
“Madam, do you have a death wish?!” he whispered to Leah. “To say such things in the hearing of the Good People! They may look beautiful but the seal-folk are fierce, and not to be trifled with!”
Leah looked at Dorian's slight, Victorian figure, and raised an eyebrow.
“I think we’re getting sidetracked,” Dorian said smoothly. “Tearlach, can you remember what you saw?”
Tearlach bowed to him.
“My deepest and most sincere apologies, gentle one, and for the human woman – she cannot help her ignorance and lack of education,” said Tearlach.
Leah's mouth dropped open, and she almost spoke, but thought better of it.
“I cannot say what happened, because I was too late to see it,” Tearlach continued. “I held her as she expired. I think she found it a comfort, for she was having visions near the end.”
“Visions?” asked Magnus. “What do you mean?”
“I think she thought me her lover, or husband,” Tearlach said. “I did what I could, but it was too late.”
“And why did you feel that you should share this with us?” asked Dorian. “Because we are Fair Folk?”
Tearlach looked from Dorian to Magnus.
“Because, my lord...she was one of you,” he said.
“Did you recognise her species, Tearlach?” asked Magnus.
“Aye,” he replied. “She was a brownie.”
Dorian and Magnus exchanged a horrified look. Leah was puzzled, as brownies – the house-helpers, cleaning each night in exchange for a bowl of milk – were probably the most benevolent of all the Fair Folk. Dorian and Magnus did not seem to notice her consternation: they were communicating on another plane of existence. Finally, one of them spoke.
“This means they are not just killing faeries,” said Dorian. “They are killing innocents. They are killing the Attendants.”
Chapter Five
Another day dawned in Glasgow, grey as the one before it, and colder. The news on the television was grim, as always, and Leah wondered why the faerie population insisted on mimicking the violence of the human one.
It seemed as though she could not study folklore without seeing it. The children's films and stories most people associated with folklore were far removed from the reality. Most adults with an interest in storytelling knew that folklore and faerie tales were almost entirely stories about monsters. If a song, or a poem, or a cautionary tale was not about a monster, it was certain to be about someone's death, or suffering. Faerie tales were usually used to warn people, or to teach a lesson. Even modern urban legends followed the familiar pattern of monster stories, serving as instruction manuals to live life safely and well. Another aspect of human nature seemed to be a love of the macabre. The most famous stories were often the bloodiest. In the same way that people loved the false fear of a roller coaster ride, so they had enjoyed horror stories since the days when those stories were spoken in hushed whispers around a campfire in the dark.
Leah lay with her fingers intertwined, head resting on her pillow, and considered the implications of all this. She picked up her phone and saw the time. It was getting late. She stretched, put her bare feet onto cool tiles and padded over to the kettle to make tea.
How I ended up here, I'll never know, she thought to herself, as she put the cup to her lips, Here I am, a police officer in a bad dream of a city, all grit and broken glass. Why anyone would choose to live in this place I can't imagine – it's guaranteed suicide.
She looked outside, at the rain and mist that greeted her. The city was a dark place, but she had often noted that the grass and trees were a brilliant, jewelled green.
And somehow, I'm still here, she thought.
Without him, but I'm still here.
***
Leah
opened the door to the station and saw that Dorian and Magnus were arguing. She leaned against the wall and drank her tea, smiling to herself. The station’s kitchen was well-stocked and she found herself almost mainlining tea. Dorian was no different. He seemed to devote many hours delicately sipping at cups of Earl Grey. His dedication to, and consumption of, this type of tea was almost an art form.
She had asked him, once, why this was.
“Because it’s mine,” he had stated.
This was very puzzling, and as she watched him now, with his cup of Earl Grey, arguing with his brother, she nearly dropped her own tea in realisation.
Because it’s mine.
Earl Grey.
Dorian…
This revelation sent her mind reeling, just as Magnus’s voice raised and broke through her thoughts.
"Look, just because you've already been Taken there's no need for all this –,” Magnus was saying.
"It has nothing to do with that,” said Dorian impatiently. “I'm just saying that you ought to be more circumspect, especially around here. These aren't human women, Magnus, they are monsters, and if they find out that you've been unfaithful, they are going to kill you."
Magnus rolled his eyes.
"All right, all right," said Magnus. "But it is because you're Taken. Only the Taken dress like Victorian dandies." Dorian gave him a once-over, putting more contempt into his expression than every cat on earth.
"Better that than whatever excuse for clothing you happen to be wearing," he sniffed.
"No complaints yet," grinned Magnus, straightening Dorian's coat and stalking off.
"Trouble in paradise?" Leah asked, as she walked over. Dorian sneered.
"Brothers," he said. "He's coming to help us today. Much as I hate to admit it, he does have a way with the…type of person we need to interview."
"When you say person you mean –”
"Humans, yes," said Dorian. "A supernatural would rather speak to me anytime. However, Magnus can speak to humans more readily than I can. I suppose gang members don't like speaking with a man in a Victorian waistcoat, especially one as thin and pretty as I am.”
You got that right, thought Leah. Dorian stared at her. Too late, she remembered he could hear her thoughts. He raised an eyebrow, and went on.
“The desire to beat me up is far too strong. Besides, I find them...distasteful."
"Well, what about me?" Leah asked. "I'm a detective, and I'm human."
Dorian smiled a strange smile.
"You're different," he said, as if that explained everything.
Leah wondered how she was meant to feel about that.
***
Sometimes a night in Glasgow ends well past the morning.
Down by the Clyde, gulls swooped and shrieked, as the ferryboats started their morning runs. It was peaceful, and quiet; the wind lifted the newspapers and rubbish along the riverside. The air of the city sometimes nearly matched the architecture, a kind of dull reddish-beige. Everything was washed out.
Revellers from the night before stood around talking or lazing on the steps down by the water. Glasgow was not a romantic city. It was functional, and had needed to be for a good many years. However, if a romantic spot was needed at short notice, the edge of the Clyde at sunrise was probably as close as you were likely to get. A young couple was embracing by the river, lost in each other. Magnus walked straight up to them.
“Excuse me,” he said. “We'd like to talk to you about an investigation.”
The man glared at him, as the woman turned around. He was clearly unhappy to be disturbed. She saw Magnus, and her entire demeanour changed; any anger completely evaporated. She was suddenly all too willing to speak, although her boyfriend continued to favour them with a threatening look. Dorian and Leah hung back and stood near the river, letting Magnus do all the talking.
"Did you see anything strange last night?" he asked.
The woman stared at him, and then looked him up and down. She stepped closer to him, almost intimate.
"No, but I wish I'd seen you," she said. "You're gorgeous."
Magnus smiled into her expression like a predator. Her lips parted, and her eyes went wide.
Leah sighed in annoyance. Dorian questioned her with a look. She shook her head.
“It's just...” she said. “It makes me feel so...unoriginal for finding him attractive.”
Dorian half-smiled at her.
Magnus grinned at the woman as she smiled back coyly. Her boyfriend looked concerned for the first time.
“Come on,” he said urgently. “Let's get out of here.”
She pushed him away roughly, still smiling at Magnus with a hungry look in her eyes. Leah started to feel concerned. This woman looked as if she wanted to tear into the young seal-man. Magnus had turned back to speak to Dorian when the girl laid a hand on his arm.
"I did see something," she said, eager to keep Magnus interested. "Some girl left with this lad, and they never came back."
"Can you describe them to me?" asked Magnus. This time, she put her arm in his.
“Maybe somewhere more private?” she breathed.
Her boyfriend stepped between them, alarmed, and pushed them apart.
“No, definitely not,” he said, holding them both at arm's length.
“Sir, this is official police business,” said Leah. “Don't interfere.”
“I don't care!” he replied.
“Sir...” said Dorian, and he placed his hand on his brother's shoulder, anchoring himself against Magnus. “I believe the lady said this was official police business.”
A wind breathed along the Clyde, first like feathers, then like fury.
Leah backed away as she saw the selkies...change.
Their eyes turned a bright ice blue. As the wind began to blow a gale, whipping Magnus' long hair around his beautiful face, the Clyde foamed as though preparing for a hurricane. Dorian and Magnus had almost always looked human, but now, Leah could not understand how she had ever seen them as men. She had never seen such an expression on the face of a human being.
The people of the seal.
Ancient, furious anger.
Stiletto images stabbed with the force of pure memory.
The green and cold sea.
The loneliness of a shingle beach on some unknown Scottish island.
The anger of the clans, and the pain of their broken hearts.
The images all came down in a wild and rapid heartbeat, swift and sure.
Leah knew that the angry young man felt every emotion and the depths of the sea in his veins.
The last feeling, as the wind died completely to a stillness Glasgow did not often know, was of calm, of being cared for by the lonely sentinels, the seal-men who stood guard and healed the heartbreak of the Scottish people.
"Wow," said the girl, who had evidently experienced the onslaught of all these emotions, if inadvertently. "So, are you single?"
The seal-men, whose eyes had died down to their natural everyday brown colour, turned as one body to the woman, and said No and Yes at the same time.
***
The city was full of old man's pubs. They had the cheapest prices on alcohol and the best banter in the city, but they tended to be frequented by pensioners who preferred the pubs of their youth to the loud and glitzy alternatives elsewhere in Glasgow. Some of these were truly ancient, and indicative of the solid history of Scotland. The Castle Vault, Tennant’s, and countless others that could be found on heritage lists. If Glasgow liked anything, it liked a good old man’s pub.
Aonghas was sitting at the sticky bar of the Piper’s Rest, which was a very special kind of old man’s pub. Some of the old men here were positively ancient…not that you could tell from their faces. Aonghas was young…or at least, he looked that way. Old man's pubs didn’t actually discriminate on the basis of age. The booze was cheap, people kept to themselves until it was time for a cigarette, and by the late evening so many fights would have broken out and so many n
ew friendships made (forgotten by the following morning) that they didn’t care what age you were, so long as your money was multi-coloured and occasionally stained red.
This was a pub for supernaturals. Although it had both human and supernatural patrons, the humans just thought it was a rundown place, a nondescript pub like all the others, a hole in the wall in some random part of the city. The bar itself was in the centre of the room, a large black wooden behemoth from older days, with a huge bell hanging above it. In other pubs, this bell was for ringing at closing time. At the Piper’s Rest, you had better pray to whatever gods you had that it never rang at all.
Patrons sat in the booths along the walls. Everything about the Piper’s Rest looked like the usual Scottish heritage pub, aside from the fact that they poured more than beer, wine, and whisky behind the counter. And there was something strange about the barman.
There were also two doors. Sometimes humans stumbled into the wrong one, and didn’t reappear for decades, if they did at all.
Aonghas, like Dylan, was what the people of Glasgow tended to refer to as a ned. They were the Glasgow poor, inhabiting council estates and other areas, almost in a defiant way, holding tight to their fame and status as the dangerous types of the city. They were frequently the despair of Glasgow, but had existed since the city began, as Aonghas knew all too well.
Glaschu. Glasgow. The Dear Green Place.
It made Aonghas smile as he drank his pint, though he already had a few bottles of Buckfast in his satchel. Funny old world, he thought. It had been years since he’d taken the satchel on any kind of quest, but it always stored provisions he’d never actually purchased or picked up anywhere. He didn’t remember when it had stopped offering succulent meats, jugs of wine, rare cheeses and the spices of faraway lands, but he missed them. These days, it was Buckfast bottles, Irn-Bru, and (sometimes) a fish and chip dinner or a curry.
His shining, dragonfly-veined wings slowly unfolded. His wings were beautiful, heartbreaking, and completely incongruous. As he shook the rain from them, no one in the pub even gave him a second look.
