Caledonia Page 5

  Aonghas was a Trooping Faerie. These were the Fae that marched together, beautiful and brilliant; the faeries of folklore that snatched children from their cribs, tempted young men and women, and were the reason many ancient homes in Scotland and Ireland were built with their front and back doors facing each other, to offer the Trooping Faeries free passage. Aonghas once had glorious, long, shining, brown hair and had been clothed in green raiment, seducing young maidens in secluded bowers. Those women would then bear his half-Fae children, more beautiful than any human could have imagined. The children often did not realise they were magical, and only a strange sixth sense and vague dreams of ancient songs would indicate their parentage.

  These days, things had changed. Aonghas was beautiful still, but he no longer resembled his former self. His head was shaved and he wore Celtic colours. That was not his choice, but his green robes had faded, folded, and become a green tracksuit with a matching green-and-white-striped scarf. A shamrock tattoo had appeared on his neck at some point but he had no idea how it got there. There were no forests anymore. Everything had turned to broken concrete. Now, he was reduced to Sauchiehall on a Saturday night and going out on the pull, often settling for the lowest common denominator at the club.

  Aonghas no longer cared. He had given up.

  As Scotland had changed, so too had the Trooping Faeries. He thought of the powerful and terrifying Fair Folk, child-stealers and rulers of time, now working as temps or finding themselves, like him, bored and unhappy with modern life. He even knew one who had become a successful drag queen – it paid well, and the Trooping Faeries were preternaturally beautiful.

  As he lifted his glass to take another drink, musing on the unfairness of it all, he found something stuck to the bottom of his glass. He made a sound of disgust – ned or not, the Trooping Faeries disliked a mess, even in pubs. He then saw that it was a piece of paper with Aonghas written on it in his ancient language. He stared at his own name, glowing through the yellow of the beer with the light golden sheen of early autumn forests. Slowly, he peeled the paper from the bottom of his glass and unfolded it. There was one word written upon the paper:

  Dublin

  The bartender came around to see if his Trooping Faerie customer wanted anything else. He found nothing but a half-drunk pint and the Fae gold that Aonghas had, once again, tried to use as currency. He grunted and lifted the sheaf of leaves, putting them on a paper spike along with all the others he had left. The bartender had been around awhile, and he lived in hope that one day, Aonghas would finally settle his tab.

  ***

  Later that day, Leah walked with Dorian.

  "What happened earlier...” Leah began, and trailed off.

  Her friend – was he her friend now, as well as her partner? She supposed he must be. They did have some things in common, even if he did wear white gloves all day long. Dorian smiled.

  "Yes, I thought you might ask about that,” he said. "It is the only magic that the seal-people can do. Our spell, so to speak – the selkie cantrip. I trust that you were not as affected by it as that young couple was."

  "It was intense for me," said Leah.

  "The cantrip causes different reactions in different people," he said. “What it primarily does is remind people they have an underused conscience, and then, they pay for it. All the guilt they should feel, they feel all at once, and they remember the long history of who our people were, and they are ashamed. Is this what you felt?"

  "No," Leah admitted. "I saw the ocean, and a beach, and the sadness of the people, and the loss."

  Dorian nodded.

  "That is indicative of a good character," he said. "But the cantrip is, in its own way, very effective nevertheless. For someone from Scotland, it reminds them of their history.”

  "What about criminals? Like the serial killer we are dealing with? Wouldn’t it work on them?" Leah asked.

  "Well, someone must first have a conscience for it to work properly,” he said. "It doesn't always work on supernaturals. But this killer - I doubt even the cantrip would make him feel what he has done.”

  "You are certain about the killer being a sociopath, then? No motive other than madness?" Leah asked.

  "Well, it is always possible that the killer is just trying to make it look that way," said Dorian. "And in that case, in a tight corner, the cantrip controls the weather. Particularly at sea. Some of my people have been known to sink ships in storms because of their anger at the heartless slaughter of the seals."

  "Selkies can control the weather?" Leah asked. "Can you make the sun come out?"

  In response, Dorian fixed his gaze on the sky. Warmth spread across the city and people blinked in the sudden light. Leah looked at Dorian and grinned. Dorian’s eyes were half-closed, almost as if he had gone to sleep, and in the sunlight he looked blissed out...like a seal basking, she realised.

  "Why don't the seal-people do this every day? Make Scotland a tropical paradise?" Leah asked, amazed.

  Dorian looked at her as if she were crazy. The clouds moved in and covered the sun.

  "And destroy our perfect skin?" he asked. "Besides, no one in Britain ever wants to be warm. The sun is a myth, Leah. Never forget that."

  To her surprise, he winked.

  “Did you just wink at me?” she asked.

  “I might have,” he said, and she laughed.

  ***

  Dorian held the door open for Leah when they returned. They exchanged a look when they saw that Chief Ben was waiting by Leah's desk with a file folder.

  “Good morning, sir,” Dorian bowed. “What can we do for you?”

  Chief Ben handed him the file.

  “Milo asks that you pay him a visit,” he said. “He says there's something downstairs you need to see.”

  “Very well,” said Dorian.

  “Downstairs?” asked Leah, who had only ever seen the main room. “Who's Milo?”

  “He's our forensic pathologist,” said Dorian. “One of them, anyway?”

  “You have a forensic pathologist for faeries?” asked Leah.

  “Of course,” said Dorian, puzzled. “How else would we extract DNA?”

  Her eyes were round.

  “Well,” she said, “it looks like I've been remiss in my studies.”

  ***

  Dorian led her down a series of passageways into the basement. It felt like the kind of place that generally starred in films about haunted asylums.

  “This is the Labyrinth,” said Dorian. “It can be very dangerous. Its boundaries are unknown. Be very careful of the turns you take here.”

  “Okay,” said Leah.

  “And watch out for the Minotaur,” Dorian added. Leah stopped short.

  “There’s a Minotaur in the Labyrinth?” she asked.

  “Yes,” said Dorian. “The Minotaur. Transfer from Greece. There are things, and beings, in Milo’s lab that a lot of people would like to get their hands on.”

  She followed him, down several corridors and through countless doorways. Each door was different. Some were small, too small for anyone human to enter. Some were ornate, and some were plain. A few were so tall she could not see the top of the doorframe. She looked around in wonder, curious as to where they might lead.

  Something like fog began to settle around them.

  “Keep close to me,” said Dorian.

  Leah tried, but the fog was getting thicker and soon she could see nothing at all.

  “Dorian?” she called out hesitantly.

  She turned, and saw a door off to her right. She walked over to it and turned the handle. She stepped inside a room, and the first thing she saw was the silhouette of a bull’s head, as her eyes began to adjust to the darkness.

  The Minotaur.

  Leah tried to duck back out of the doorway, hiding from the huge form of the Minotaur just as it turned around. Her back to the wall, she stared at the monster. There was music playing in the background…

  Leah abruptly recognised the original version
of Walk This Way. And then noticed where she was. It was a garage, filled with classic cars in various states of repair. A mechanic’s shop.

  The Minotaur was working on a ‘67 Mustang fastback.

  “Hey,” it said, in a Midwestern American accent. “Grab a beer if you want, there’re cold ones in the fridge.”

  Leah’s heart slowed to a steadier pace. She edged towards the refrigerator and cautiously took out a beer. She turned around and leaned against the wall, watching the man work.

  The Minotaur was built, with a wide chest and muscular arms. He was wearing blue jeans and a black t-shirt, with a pack of cigarettes rolled up in one sleeve. Everything about him and the garage seemed perfectly normal – well, American-normal – aside from the fact that he had a bull’s head.

  “Well, don’t just stand there,” said the Minotaur. “What’s your name?”

  “Leah. Leah Bishop.”

  “Hey Leah.”

  “Are you…are you American?” she asked. “I thought the Minotaur was from Crete.”

  “Oh yeah,” said the Minotaur, “Crete was a long time back. Wow. I haven’t thought about Crete in years.”

  He disappeared under the hood of the Mustang again.

  “This is America,” he said. “Been here for ages. Like the land, the cars, the open road.”

  Leah took a drink of beer.

  “I don’t know about you,” she said. “But I’m in the Labyrinth at Caledonia Interpol, in Scotland. You’re the guard for Milo’s lab.”

  The Minotaur stood up and wiped the black engine grease from its arms.

  “They haven’t told you much about how all of this works, have they?” he said. “Yeah, I guard that lab. And lots of other places. Your Interpol isn’t just one place, it’s everywhere.”

  “So all the doors in the Labyrinth –” she began.

  “Actually lead somewhere, yeah,” he said. “Some places are on earth, some places are way further than that.”

  He crossed his arms and looked at her. She found herself wanting to know what his human face would have looked like. Probably hot, she assumed.

  “You took a wrong turn,” he said. “This time, you got me. Next time, you’re not gonna be so lucky.”

  He led her to another door.

  “Here you go,” he said. “Hope to see you again sometime. Stop by when you can.”

  “Thanks,” said Leah, and walked through the door.

  She found herself outside the door to Milo’s lab. When she turned to look behind her, the door had vanished.

  “Leah!” Dorian said, relieved. “I thought I lost you!”

  “Sorry,” she said. “I met the Minotaur. He’s kind of hot.”

  Dorian gave her a strange look.

  “In the future,” he said, “if we get separated again, or you need to come to the lab on your own, these are the directions.”

  He set a piece of paper in her hand, a note written out in beautiful Victorian cursive.

  Left, right. Eight steps forward. The gold key in the silver lock. The small door, set in the larger one. Don’t open the small door. Through the large door, down past three turns, right, right, stop and turn widdershins. Place your bare palm on the wall.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “Let’s go talk to Milo,” he said. “Don’t wander off.”

  “Yes, boss,” she said, and grinned at him.

  Dorian turned a corner and pushed a door open.

  Leah saw that the forensics lab was not like most she had visited. The entire room was filled with mysterious equipment, similar to the kind of cartoonish theatrical outlay seen on programmes about science for children. There were countless cages filled with tiny and strange creatures, and as she passed by, they shouted or squeaked at her, vying for attention. She peered into one of the cages, where a fluffy, triangular creature with enormous eyes stared out at her and made tiny whoooot whoooot sounds. The room was filled from end to end with beakers and bubbling liquid in tubes.

  The lab was so fascinating that she noticed the men in lab coats last of all. Two figures were studiously working, unaware of their arrival, one bent over some paperwork, while the other examined something under a microscope. Leah was secretly overjoyed to see that the man at the microscope had a long yellow-orange fishtail. Her eyes widened. She had read about the ceasg, the only mer-people in Scottish folklore, but she knew they were unpredictable creatures. They would either grant three wishes, or eat souls, depending upon their mood.

  “May I present Milo and Geoffrey,” said Dorian with great ceremony. Neither of the men bothered to look up. Dorian grew impatient.

  “What men are you, that you do not bow to a lady?” he demanded. The ceasg waved Dorian's words away.

  “In a moment, Dorian,” said the ceasg, named Milo. “I'm just looking for something...”

  He glanced up, and saw Leah for the first time. She had a chance to examine him further. He wore thick glasses and had brown curling hair. The lithe, muscular human half of his body was highlighted in burnished gold; it traced the lines of his bones and dusted the hollow of his throat. Despite all this, he looked like a total nerd.

  “Oh my!” he said. “I am sorry, how rude.” The merman managed a bow.

  “Hello, and welcome,” said the one named Geoffrey, looking over his glasses. He caught sight of Leah and his mouth dropped open. He was tall and gawky, in rumpled clothing, but there was something indescribably sweet about him, like a baby bird. He seemed instantly starstruck by her.

  “Leah Bishop,” she said, by way of introduction.

  Geoffrey beamed at her.

  “Dorian, we need to make sure that the crime scenes are accessible for me,” Milo was saying. “If I can't get to them, there isn't much use, is there?”

  “Indeed,” Dorian agreed. “You are absolutely right, Milo. We are working on it.”

  Leah noticed a wheelchair in the corner. She realised that, unlike in films, mer-people were unable to change when they were out of the water. If people could magically grow working legs, that would be wonderful, but apparently magic did not always work that way.

  “Yes, well,” said Dorian. “What have you got for us, Milo?”

  “Well, Geoffrey and I were having some lunch…” he began, and noticed that Geoffrey was off in his own world, staring at Leah. “Geoffrey! Pay attention!”

  “Ahem, yes,” said Geoffrey, shaking his head. “Apologies.”

  Milo looked at the photographs laid out across the table and sighed.

  “Geoffrey, you've gotten mustard on the crime scene photos,” he said, exasperated. He looked up at the selkie.

  “I really don't know what I can do, Dorian,” said Milo. “I know he has seniority but he's just so... distracted...all the time.”

  Geoffrey had returned to staring at Leah. This was beginning to get uncomfortable.

  “If you're hungry,” he said, “I think I have half a sandwich lying around –”

  Leah smiled and shook her head.

  “Geoffrey,” said Milo, in a warning tone, and then turned to Dorian. “See what I mean?”

  “Indeed.” sniffed Dorian.

  “If you're not busy later...” Geoffrey began.

  “Geoffrey!”

  “Ah yes,” Geoffrey said, collecting his thoughts. “The thing is...what we've found – it isn't human.”

  Dorian looked at them both curiously.

  “Not entirely, that is,” said Milo. “Modern genetics mean that it's relatively painless to compare the DNA from the killer to our database of supernatural DNA.”

  “So the killer is supernatural?” asked Dorian.

  “Well, it has all the genes you'd expect in a healthy human,” said Geoffrey.

  “However, it also has genes that we know to be of a supernatural origin – like a vampire, or a werewolf,” finished Milo.

  “Or – begging your pardon, Dorian – like you,” said Geoffrey. “But that's where we run into problems.”

  “While the non-h
uman genes are close to genes of supernatural origin,” said Milo, “they aren't identical to any on file. We can't tell you what any of these genes do. I would love to be able to tell you, for example, what gene lets a selkie detect heartbreak, but supernatural genomics is nowhere near that stage.”

  “So...what does all this mean?” asked Leah.

  “It means,” said Milo, sighing, “I have no idea who, or what, is killing the Fae.”

  “You mean...” said Leah. “This is a new kind of monster?”

  “Yes.” said Milo, clearly glad to be on familiar ground again. “Monsters all have to come from somewhere. And not only is this creature new, I'd estimate its abilities are more potent than anything we've ever seen. You’re basically fighting a smart bomb with a sword. The selkies and other ancient races are nowhere near as technologically advanced as this one– if you can think of magic that way.”

  “This means,” said Dorian, “that we will need to find a new way to fight.”

  Chapter Six

  The sun had deigned to emerge through the endless grey of the Glasgow skies. Leah walked out of Caledonia Interpol into the sunlight, where she stood blinking for a moment. She needed fresh air and there was an awful lot to think about.

  She was surprised when she saw Geoffrey sitting on one of the black benches that made up a circle outside of the back entrance to St. Enoch station, next to the shopping centre. Geoffrey looked up and saw her, then smiled and waved. She smiled back and walked over to him.

  “Miss Bishop!” he said. “I am so glad to see you! I know you usually walk by here at lunchtime – and…”

  “How did you know that?” asked Leah, her brows drawing together.

  Geoffrey's face turned bright red.

  “Well, you see, I, well,” he stammered. “I just noticed, is all.”

  She sat down beside him. She hadn’t seen anyone this awkward in years and she found it rather endearing.

  “I bought an extra sandwich, just for you,” he said earnestly. “I hope you like coronation chicken, I...oh, dear. I seem to have sat on it.”