Chapter Text
The late summer was a time I held in particular esteem, maybe because it was the perfect kind of weather for a stroll around downtown, or maybe because it was a time of relative quiet in the supernatural world. Either way it was one of the few times of the year I could really stand, slow paychecks and mostly empty time aside.
I tapped a finger idly against the edge of my half empty and certainly lukewarm mug of coffee and sighed in the sort of manner I imagined a truly marvelous movie starlet might have done back in the good ‘ol days. I was laying half across the cluttered top of my desk, all six foot and somewhat more of me, cheek cradled in one hand staring somewhat forlornly at the frosted glass front door of my office as if by sheer force of my own will I might be able to make something step through it.
In the background I could hear the faint buzz of the pipes that meant the shower in the apartment above the store was being used. That would be Aurora, my younger sister and newly minted “junior partner”, taking her usual mid afternoon sabbatical. Sure I was a fan of cleanliness and everything, but she took that sort of thing to vaunted heights of fanaticism and loyalty that frankly made my head spin and left the lingering smell of lilac soap clogging up my nostrils in a highly unpleasant way.
I let another sigh whisper out between my lips and leaned upwards, settling my chin into the laced palms of my hands. Sure late summer was a relaxing time in Indianapolis (my chosen haunt/home), but it was also a time where the clients dried up and people were more worried about mosquito bites than vampires or selkies hiding in ponds dragging people under for snacktime. That wasn't to say that summertime was any less supernaturally active than any other season, just that apparently people were more inclined to take care of it themselves around this time of year. Maybe all the kids who had the summer off were banding together 'ala the scooby gang from Buffy and were hunting down all the problems for free. Damn those meddling kids for stealing all of the legitimate work from all of us hardworking adults!
At this point in the telling people usually start to wonder exactly what it is that I do for a business, that I have a cool office with a frosted glass door, a junior partner, and have to worry about vampires and selkies roaming about the city eating people or kidnapping babies and what not. Well the answer to that question would be that I happen to be one of the go to magical/mystical/fantastical/just-can’t -believe-it-ical consultants of the greater Indianapolis area. I’m currently running for first place against a Voodoo Hungin but the rivalry is mostly friendly so I don’t sweat it too much, we help each other out sometimes (its a mutually beneficial relationship most of the time). I feed him the crazies who just want the light show and he sends me people who need a bit of higher caliber help. How might you ask, does a young woman find herself in the position of “magical consultant”, well the answer is both complicated and simple. Real life seems to be like that, paradoxically easy and impossible to understand.
You see I had a particular set of skills that had a rather limited area of legitimate use, that is I’m what you call “A Wizard”. To be more specific I’m a magical practitioner (i.e someone who can tap into the fundamental nature of the universe and bend it to my will) and Wizard is more of an earned title that comes with some extra perks and a secret clubhouse, but gets muddled up with a bunch of rules and regulations. To keep it simple for the mundanes (that would be people without mojo of their own) I just call myself a Wizard when people ask to keep things simple, Wizardess if one wants to be gender specific. Witch is sort of a derogatory term for some reason, so I just make it a practice to use the most PC term I can until otherwise notified.
So yea I'm a Wizard and I can throw fireballs, create invisible barriers that deflect bullets, or even track people down with bits of their hair, but for the life of me I can’t keep a real honest to goodness job, the sort that come with pension plans and paid vacations. This probably has something to do with Hexing, the uncontrollable (most of the time) reaction that technology has around those who practice the art of magic. Some of my more scientifically minded friends have formed various theories about wavelengths and radiation interference but I’m not much for the book learning so I zone out after a while and just sort of attempt to ignore them until their mouths stop moving. It's not that I don't believe them, I'm of the opinion that everything can be explained in one way or another, its just that techno-babble gives me a headache.
Suffice to say somehow magic just muddles up the more high-tech shit around magical users, its basically souped Murphy’s law into a very real and annoying part of everyday life. Things made after the early nineties just tend to sort of blow up or stop working around me, and people like me. It’s frustrating as hell, sometimes I would like for a television to work for more than a few minutes so I can watch Die Hard all the way through, or maybe be able to carry a damn cell phone around. Alas, such creature comforts were not to be, I got freezing showers and raging magically induced headaches instead.
When I’d turned eighteen, due to mitigating circumstances I won’t go into, I’d had to drop out of my Freshman year of college and I’d needed a way to make money fast. I’d not had many options but I knew I had three strengths: My smashing wit, my magical ability, and my willingness to go above and beyond the call of duty for a good paycheck. I’d chanced upon the idea of being a Private Investigator after I’d heard wind of some woman in California who’s gotten big at it by offering her services to both the mundane and the mystical. I figured “why not try, its not like you have anything to really lose and look you’ve hit rock bottom and have a fifteen year old sister to take care of and no parents, either magic or crime kiddo, choose wisely!”. However I found out shortly after stealing this wonderful idea, that the life of a P.I was not in the cards for me.
You see in Indiana a private investigator's license requires you to be at least twenty five and have had at least five years of “apprenticeship” to someone already licensed under your belt. Being only eighteen and having spent the last decade or so tied up in a different kind of apprenticeship I hadn’t the time for hitching myself to an investigator or the age to have the license so I had gone the easier way to cash in my talents. So instead I had to rely on the only thing I really had going for me that most people didn't have, that is an education in the finer aspects of Magical theory and practice. I couldn't go around solving mysteries like an Ace Detective but I could most certainly give advice to those sorts of people. So I used some of my own savings to put a down payment on a building and started giving out advice to those who would listen (for a fee) and sometimes running some errands.Being a consultant might not have been as glamorous, and much harder to write in on my taxes, but it had the legal benefit of having no real age and or prior experience requirements. Sure sometimes I had to make shady arrangements, and not all of my clients could be called Good Guys(tm), but I had neither the time or the inclination to question where the money came from as long as a few provisions of my own were filled. I didn’t kill humans, I tried not to commit felonies more than once a month, and if you wanted me to work out of state I was charging double, oh and refunds were non negotiable.
My job wasn’t the most glamorous thing, but it kept a roof above my head and food on the table. I wasn’t about to complain and try and mess things up, although I could have found employment elsewhere without too much trouble. I liked to think that I had a pretty good moral code, no killing innocent people and no going around committing rampant crime in order to make a few bucks. Although I’m going to go out on a limb here and admit that the thought had crossed my mind more than a few times in the past, the temptation of easy money was always there sitting on my shoulder whispering sweet nothings. These days, with my sister out of school and the money flowing in sem-steadily those urges were easier to ignore, but in the early days when I wasn’t sure I would be able to keep things afloat from month to month let alone year to year things had been well a whole lot harder.
The sound of a slow series of knocks on the door to the street startled me out of my brooding and my head jerked slightly eyes rapidly blinking to clear the cobwebs from inside my head. There was a shadow silhouetted in the door tall and broad, probably male from the way he was holding himself and almost as tall as me the shadow of his chin ghosting just below the painted letters of my name. I plastered a smile on my face and called out to the door as I hurriedly dumped papers into the middle drawer of my desk.
“Come on in, we're open for business!” I chirruped happily plastering my best smile on. The door swiveled open and a tall serious looking man of middle eastern descent with thick dark hair and a well groomed beard to match wearing a severe business suit stepped inside. He closed the door with a click behind him dark black eyes very serious, and I stood extending my hand towards him for the standard hello handshake.
It was at about this time he held his hand up a threw a fireball about the size of a basketball at my head.
Fuck, what a way to start the day out.