Caledonia Page 2

  “We think we're dealing with a serial killer,” Chief Ben said to Leah, turning to her. “The first in our world. That's why we needed you, Leah – a human. You might find your qualifications in folklore will be useful in this position.”

  “And you've never had to deal with humans before?” Leah asked, thinking, Am I really having this conversation? Are these people insane? Am I? I’ve never heard anyone call a Master’s in folklore useful before.

  “No,” he said, as if this was the strangest question she could have asked. “Do you think the human police have time to investigate supernatural crime? We're too busy policing ourselves.”

  “Policing yourselves?” asked Leah. “How do you mean?”

  “Monsters have killed humans since they came into existence, all over the world,” said Dorian. “Humans were viewed as having been created as prey for the faerie people. Interpol was founded centuries ago by monsters around the world that believed in the possibility of a peaceful co-existence. Something had to be done.”

  “This is Glasgow,” added Chief Ben. “Even the faeries have drug problems.”

  “Well,” said Leah, “I don't know how much help I can be, but...I'm game.”

  Especially, she thought, if you lot are going to pay me. You can call yourself whatever you want, just pay me a lot of money and keep me out of Edinburgh.

  “Good to hear,” said Chief Ben. “Dorian, can you show her the evidence? I have work to catch up on.”

  Turning away, the older man grumbled to himself, as he manoeuvred around his desk to hide again behind the giant stacks of paperwork. It appeared that the interview was over, and Dorian indicated to Leah that they should go. He bowed slightly to the stacks, and Leah followed Dorian out of the Jacobean library that served as the base of operations for Caledonia Interpol.

  Chapter Two

  They walked into another room that was dominated by a large glass wall with photographs. Lines had been drawn from one to the next, with notes written hastily in English, Gaelic, and what almost looked like a mixture of cuneiform and hieroglyphs. She stepped closer. It was Ogham. Pictish Ogham. No scholars even knew Pictish, or what the symbols represented; they could only guess. She turned to look at Dorian, who was already writing on the glass next to one of the pictures.

  In Pictish Ogham, not English, or even Gaelic.

  A part of Leah that had long been silenced was growing louder in excitement and wonder.

  What if this is real? That would be more important than pay. Well, she amended, almost.

  Leah walked up to the board and examined the photos of the victims. The killings appeared to have been bloodless. Each face stared at her blankly, and she tried to read the life in their eyes, to conceive of lives lived and now lost. It was difficult.

  “They found the fifth body this morning,” he told Leah, indicating the photographs. “Every one of them the same.”

  Dorian, while beautiful, had a sinister look to him. His permanently dour expression and the angles of his face and body gave him a sharp and menacing aspect. His huge, sad brown eyes and mournful expressions – and some of his behaviours, like the way he moved his body, turned his head, and looked at people – reminded Leah more and more strongly of the pet Labrador of her childhood.

  She leaned forward to look at the photos and instantly recognised several species of Fae from descriptions and woodcarvings. Her hangover and all other things forgotten, she fell into research mode, as the folklorist she had been at university. There was wonder and deep grief as she looked at the creatures she had spent her entire life studying. There was a glaistig, lying on her side, eyes glassy. A joint-halver, its small, troll-like body limp and splayed across the pavement. They lay there with peaceful looks on their faces. The only image in which damage had been done was of a faerie with broken wings. There was, however, a pattern.

  “We don't know what killed them,” Dorian said. “The Fae are notoriously difficult to kill. Yet, many of the creatures here were very powerful beings. And all of them are dead. We just don't know how.”

  Leah leaned in to look closely at one of the photographs. There was a message above the corpse, scrawled out in black spray paint.

  “Murdering Reality,” Leah read aloud. She turned to Dorian. “What does it mean?”

  Dorian held her gaze. It was unnerving, as if she was staring directly into history.

  “It’s an old term, meaning death to humans,” said Dorian. “There are some of us who don't take kindly to them.”

  “You’re right,” she said softly. “I think it is a serial killer.”

  A breath, soft and gentle, stole across the room and brushed Leah's cheek. She heard it, an audible sigh. Quiet strains of ethereal music wafted through the air and settled around her.

  She turned as she heard the door open, and in walked the most handsome man she had ever seen. His large brown eyes were soft. He looked exotic and flawless, his complexion dark, and when he shook out his long hair, chestnut curls tumbled over his shoulder. His soft, insinuating smile reminded her of clean bedsheets and candlelight. Leah did not realise she had been staring. Dorian turned to look at the newcomer and rolled his eyes.

  “Turn that down, would you?” said Dorian. “It's ungodly.”

  “Sorry,” said the young man, turning his charm directly towards Leah. “Detective Inspector Magnus Grey.”

  “Leah Bishop,” she stuttered. “Wait. Did you say Grey?”

  He shook her hand, and Leah felt the spell draining away, as if someone had indeed turned down the intensity. She missed it as soon as it was gone.

  “Yes,” said Magnus, gesturing towards Dorian. “We're...brothers.”

  “Indeed,” said Dorian witheringly. “Honestly, Magnus, there's no need to walk around with it...what do they say these days? Turned up to eleven.”

  “Well,” said Magnus, grinning rakishly at Leah, “The ladies seem to like it.”

  “I'm sure they do,” said Dorian, with as much hauteur as he could muster. “Now, is there anything important you would like to discuss?”

  “Oh, yes,” Magnus replied. “The murderer knows we exist. Not just supernaturals, I mean, but the force itself. We received a message, here at the station, the same Murdering Reality phrase. It was hand-delivered, and left on Ben’s desk. There’s more at stake here than the Fae dying. The killer seems to have infiltrated Caledonia. I think we might need to speak to our informant.”

  Dorian nodded.

  “Agreed,” he said. “Let's go.”

  ***

  Leah followed the two selkie brothers through the interlinked alleyways of the city. Whenever the light changed, shadows played across their features, and she was so strongly reminded of seals that she had to blink occasionally in order to view them as men.

  Glasgow was dark, and tinged red, with a fine coating of grit. The streets were winding, but no-nonsense. This was a city of manual labour, coal, and tears. Leah could sense the sorrow and the darkness, as if it had seeped into the very walls. Sometimes it could be beautiful in its unrelenting hardness.

  The three of them stepped into a close situated between two red brick buildings, cool in the afternoon damp. The sounds of traffic could be heard in the distance, but otherwise, it was cut off and private. Leah halted on the staircase.

  “All right, stop,” she said.

  The two seal-men turned to her, and she saw their eyes glow faintly in the dark. A deep dread suffused her entire being, and a vision momentarily washed over her.

  Seals, on a dark Highland beach as the moon comes out, waves crashing against the shoreline.

  She stared for a moment, the sudden and unexpected fear fading as quickly as it had arrived, and then spoke again.

  “This is a lot to take in,” she explained. “I have to know – why me? What can I possibly offer in this situation?”

  “Someone has been killing off supernatural creatures, one by one,” said Dorian. “There's no rhyme or reason to it. The victims have been of every
alignment - good, bad, and neutral. There seems to be no pattern.”

  “We think the killer might be human,” said Magnus.

  Leah shook her head in frustration.

  “Yes, but why?” she asked. “What is it about these murders that make you think it couldn't be a – a supernatural?”

  “Serial killing,” said Dorian. “It is a human behaviour. Faeries just don't do that kind of thing. They'll kill, in war or for rage or vengeance, but there is no method. They aren't killers.”

  “We're monsters,” agreed Magnus, “but we're not monsters.”

  “You think I can help because serial killing is human?” she asked. “I know nothing about serial killers. I'm not sure I can help simply because I’m human too.”

  “It is more than that,” said Dorian. “We needed a human who knows about folklore. Someone who will be able to make connections that we cannot.”

  “And someone who is new to all this,” said Magnus. “Someone with fresh insight. We've been doing this for a...very long time.”

  Leah sighed, and looked upwards, where clouds moved across a pale blue sky.

  “The note is a new lead, which is why we’re going to speak to one of our informants,” said Dorian.

  “Great. Let's go talk to them,” Leah moved to leave the close.

  “We have to wait until nightfall.”

  “Why?”

  “First,” Dorian said, “we eat.”

  ***

  The café was sweet and quaint, its chairs and tables carved from wood but in keeping with the form of the trees from which they had been cut. It had a warm and jovial atmosphere.

  Leah sat with Magnus and Dorian, who had already spent too long poring over the menu. When the waiter showed up, Dorian and Magnus looked at each other.

  “Fish?” they both suggested. They both nodded. “Yes, I think fish.”

  “We’d like Loch Fyne oysters as a starter, pan friend salmon as the main, and – shall we order dessert now or later?” asked Magnus.

  “Later is fine, sir,” said the waiter. The men nodded, handing over their menus.

  “And for you, miss?” he asked.

  “Eggs Benedict and Bruichladdich, neat,” Leah ordered, “and er, tea, with tablet, and a glass of water.”

  The waiter nodded, and left. Leah was staring at the brothers. Eventually Magnus noticed.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Did you both just order oysters and fish?” she asked.

  “Yes,” said Dorian. “I’m glad he’s giving us time because I can’t decide between caviar and smoked trout mousse for dessert.”

  Leah started to feel a bit ill.

  “What about chocolate?!” she asked, “or…cheese, or…I don’t know, cake?”

  Dorian and Magnus looked disgusted and a bit horrified.

  “You’re not supposed to feed chocolate to animals!” said Magnus.

  The selkies stared at her across the table with their huge dark eyes. For a fleeting moment, it reminded her of horror films where eldritch things watched from the shadows, strange and ancient. She shivered, and the feeling was gone. But not forgotten.

  “Aren’t you going to get anything to drink?” she asked. Magnus looked at her, puzzled.

  “No,” he said. “We get all the hydration we need from the food we eat.”

  “Do you always order the fish?” she asked. Dorian looked at her as if this was the most ridiculous question anyone had ever asked.

  “Of course, Leah,” he said. “We’re seals.”

  The waiter showed up with a tray full of food. Leah looked at the wonderful meal spread before her with contented joy. Especially the whisky. She wrapped her hands around the mug of tea first.

  “Did you hear that?” Dorian suddenly asked Magnus.

  There was a ticking, clicking noise, and Leah thought that was what Dorian meant. Startled, she realised it was coming from them. They seemed to be communicating in some other, wilder, language. The ticking became more pronounced, and then the two brothers stared forward, slowly tilting their heads at the same time, and looked at her. Through her, as though she wasn’t even there. Their heads swivelled slowly to the right, and they tilted again. It was like a slow, dream-horror music box on windup. Dorian turned to look at her suddenly and she nearly dropped her tea.

  “Let’s go,” he said. “She’s just opened the restaurant.”

  “And you know this…how?” asked Leah.

  Magnus turned to look at her then.

  “We can hear it,” he said. “Seals have excellent hearing.”

  Leah thought of Dorian’s mind-reading capabilities.

  “Should have guessed,” she said. She set down her tea with a sigh, knocked back the whisky, pocketed the tablet, and left the table.

  ***

  They walked through the grim twilight of Glasgow. The city's aesthetic didn't improve in the evening, although it had looked all right the previous night, through the lens of a whisky glass. It was a desperate city, with people who didn't know where to look or in what direction to turn. They certainly knew about alcohol, although they didn't seem to know what to do with it once they had it. It seemed as though drinking was temporary – nobody drank in Glasgow, alcohol just paid their stomach a holiday visit, in and out again. As they walked, Leah noticed that Dorian and Magnus shone in the night, like lamps. Dorian’s skin was a silver colour, while Magnus’s was gold. They seemed to absorb and reflect the night around them.

  “Chief’s calling me,” said Magnus, looking at his phone

  “Go ahead,” said Dorian. “We can take care of this.”

  Magnus nodded, and continued down the alleyway, turning left toward Buchanan Street to head towards St. Enoch.

  “Wish we could go back,” grumbled Leah, rubbing her arms in the chill damp of the evening and thinking of the warmth at Caledonia. She pictured herself there, with a mug of hot tea, doing research in the large library. Dorian nodded in agreement, and led her down an alleyway. His skin began to shine even brighter. It reminded her of pictures she had seen of jellyfish glowing in the dark.

  “What's that?” asked Leah, pointing at the sheen.

  “Moonlight,” Dorian said, with a straight face. She stared at him.

  “Seriously?”

  He didn't reply, just turned a corner and went into a dark alley. The faint illumination he gave off was helpful, as it was black as pitch in there. A rectangle of light threw gold into the alleyway.

  The beautiful selkie turned, the golden light playing off his cheekbones.

  "Welcome to Desdemona's," said Dorian.

  He gestured toward the doorway with one perfect white hand, and Leah walked through the door into another world.

  She breathed in the warm smoke, a shisha smoke haze that cast the warm, low light of the restaurant into a dreamlike wonderland. Rich tapestries hung from the walls, and the floor was littered with red pillows and intricate rugs. The sweet scent of tobacco mingled with spices that made her mouth water, as waiters carried plates of food, steaming and hissing, to the various tables. Dancers moved sinuously between the tables, somehow avoiding the waiters and patrons, moving as if they had been poured out of a jar. They seemed as though they were a part of the music, rather than just dancing to it; as if the music breathed life into their bodies, and they might vanish at the end of the song, ghosts of another time fading into a dream. To Leah, it felt very exotic, like the entrance to Faerie.

  “No,” said Dorian. “The entrance to Faerie is not here.”

  Leah rounded on him.

  “Will you stop doing that?!” she asked, exasperated. Dorian shrugged.

  “I can't help it,” he said. “It's as loud as if you were talking.”

  “Can you tell the difference?” she asked.

  “Yes?” said Dorian, puzzled.

  “Then keep it to yourself!” she said. “If I want your participation, I'll ask.”

  Dorian bowed slightly.

  “My apologies,” he sa
id.

  Leah sighed, feathers settling.

  “So, who are we here to see?” she asked. Dorian sat down at a nearby table and indicated one of the dancers.

  “Her,” he said.

  She was tall, and extraordinarily fierce-looking. Her long hair was a shocking ginger colour against skin so white it was almost translucent. Her red lips were an exclamation in the centre of her face, and her green eyes seemed to burn like embers beneath long black lashes. She was not beautiful. She was intense. She was also a very skilled dancer. Leah wondered if it was difficult to learn such intricate movements.

  Dorian called the waiter over, and he ordered some food in a language Leah did not recognise. A woman “accidentally” brushed up against him, and then apologised, using her hands a bit too freely. Leah surreptitiously scanned the room, and saw that every woman – and a few men – were either staring at Dorian, blushing, or trying very hard not to look at him. The only person who wasn't doing any of this was the woman they had come here to see.

  “Wow,” said Leah, after the waiter had left. “I didn't realise I was sitting with a celebrity.”

  “Mmm?” asked Dorian, and then looked around himself. “Oh yes, that. The selkie curse. ”

  “Doesn't look like much of a curse to me.”

  “You'd be surprised.”

  Leah noticed how women stared at him, came close to him, made up any excuse to touch him. He didn't seem to pay any attention, and that was the strangest thing of all. The set finished, and Dorian rose from the table, gesturing to Leah. She stood up and followed him outside, into a small courtyard. The woman with the ginger hair was already there, lighting a cigarette. She turned, and saw Dorian. She sighed, clearly not welcoming the company.

  “So. Murders,” she said, and Leah was surprised at hearing an American accent, “I can't say I care. I'm a murderer myself.”

  She inhaled deeply, the smoke curling from her lips as she breathed out, her bright green eyes hooded. She smiled, slowly. Leah got the sudden, overwhelming impression that she was baiting Dorian.

  “Yes, thank you, Desdemona,” said Dorian irritably. “We are aware that you are a vampire. You don't need to go to all that effort.”