Case 26: Entry 2

Today I officially joined up with Straub's team.

According to the files he gave me, the creature Tom Yukimura spent his life searching for hunts among the northwestern mountains of the state. There's a handful of towns where it seems to hunt more regularly than elsewhere, and there is one town in particular a bit north of Tahoe that Tom came to believe was the heart of its territory just before he got locked away. Tom found a lot of odd deaths in the area like someone who was partially crushed in an accident and failed to scream for help despite the fact that the medical examiner swore he must have had at least four hours alive and conscious or a woman who hacked her neighbor to death with a cleaver over an argument they'd had nearly a decade ago. There were a lot of deaths like that, all odd enough to raise an eyebrow but not enough to hit any statistical red flags. But those were scattered across time and geography. The really troubling incidents were the times Tom believed the creature came out to hunt. The files included a long list of fatal accidents, fires, horrid murders, and other sources of suffering. After each one there was series of disappearances. Most of the bodies were never found, but those that were had all been mauled horribly. The police records suggest that most of the events only included four or five disappearances, but Tom was able to link seventeen disappearances to one of the events.

Those are the hard facts. Most of the stuff about deaths and disappearances can be confirmed with a little digging. Then there's the other stuff. For one thing, Tom believed that there are three signs when the creature starts seriously feeding: large flocks of sparrows including at least one which is white and grey, images of past victims, and the cave of the creature. The cave in particular is usually seen only in dreams or in distortions of some kind, but there were events during which people claimed to have found the actual dwelling place. Additionally, Tom believed that the creature was able to project its awareness into people whom it had called to darkness, animals, and conjured forms taken from the nightmares of its victims. He believed that it used these forms to do the actual hunting.

The really interesting thing is that (according to Tom) the monster's territory isn't just a place it happens to hunt; it actually haunts the land. That means that it shares a spiritual connection to the place, or (to put it more poetically) that the land is poisoned with its essence. If that's the case, we would do well to regard the town and its people with suspicion.

I shared this and an abundance of minor observations with the rest of the team when we met at a local Denny's. I also mentioned that I shared Straub's belief that the creature was an aberrant wendigo and pointed out the ways in which it fit the lore and the ways in which it deviated. Of course, wendigos don't really have any known silver bullets, so I wasn't able to deliver much good news. I did point out that we might be able to exploit the thing's connection to the land and that it could be vulnerable while it was inhabiting bodies other than its own. Not that I was able to say exactly how we could exploit those weaknesses if they really were weaknesses.

I was feeling kind of inadequate at the meeting.

There are three other members of the party. One is a scrawny, young, highly medicated psychic named Yosef Shadid. Another is a grandfatherly and roughly bear-shaped private investigator named Roland Fuentes whose ethnicity I would guess as Pacific Islander. The last member of the team is a katana-wielding huntress in her late twenties or early thirties named Michelle Yates. She also happens to be Tom Yukimura's last companion, and the only one who is generally regarded as his protege. From what I gathered, it's up to Yosef and myself to uncover and interpret the arcane details of the case while Roland takes the lead on human intelligence. Then when the fighting happens Roland is there to be the brawler while Michelle delivers more precise, critical strikes.

It seems like a good plan. In theory.

Journal 8: Entry 14/Case 26: Entry 1

I'm not really sure if this should go in my professional or my personal journal, so I'm putting it in both.

Wizarding society has always been academic in nature. Magical academies have always been centers of political power among wizards, and most such academies operate in the shadow of mundane universities. On the surface there's the same university everyone sees, but then many of the professors also teach secret lessons at night or on the weekend. They also run journals and regulate the educational standards of the surrounding magical community. There are plenty of universities no one thinks twice about in mundane society with hidden studies bearing all the esteem of Yale or Oxford among the supernatural community. With over a third of its staff belonging to wizarding society, Fresno Pacific University is one such college. So it was kind of awesome to get invited to a conference they had this weekend.

FPU's wizarding side has always been known to advocate for greater openness and treating us less talented members of the community with some semblance of respect, but even for them this latest conference was unprecedented. There was something like eighty people in attendance, and by my count almost twenty of them did not hold the rank of wizard. In fact, when the conference started off reading of several recently published and highly renowned papers Shauna Freeman and Gilbert Flamel (he's a descendant of Nicolas Flamel, he's another consultant for the Agency except that he specializes in alchemy, and he and Shauna seem inseparable although I've never been able to tell if their relationship is more like twins or an old married couple) were among those presenting their work. I also got to present two papers (one on the Man of the Crowds and another on folklore, urban legends, and ghost stories in Northern California for the last hundred years) but I did it in a much smaller room with a lot less fanfare.

I kind of nerded out a few times, and I got some odd looks from wizards who probably take resources (intellectual and otherwise) for granted that I would give everything I own to have. The discussions and presentations were brilliant, and I was able to make some new and possibly valuable contacts between events. I was expecting to be enthralled with everyone and everything, but I was surprised to find that many of the other guests found me just as interesting. It seems obvious now, but it had never occurred to me that among major league spellcasters the study of monsters and spirits might actually be a niche field. As it weird as it seems, I actually knew more about that field than most of the real wizards in attendance. Cynthia (I kind of invited her along) had a similar experience at a discussion on minor charms and other subtle workings. I was amused to notice a firm traditionalist growing increasingly grumpy as the rest of the room took an increasingly greater interest in Cynthia and her knowledge on the subject.

And then Evan Straub sat down while I was eating and ruined my whole day.

Evan Straub is something like three or four years older than me, and he made a name for himself as a treasure hunter in his late teens. Then he got into supernatural security, and proceeded to sign on with some seriously shady folks. I first encountered him during one of my early cases when a family hired me to recover an heirloom he had swindled away from them. The heirloom, by the way, had originally come into the family through a great uncle who died at Auschwitz. I wound up threatening to send a report to the Agency that would not exactly have them knocking down his door but which would make it extremely difficult for him to continue doing business. Straub never gave the heirloom back, but he did compensate the family for all the hardships he'd caused in the course of acquiring it and then he somehow tracked down nearly all of that same great uncle's art collection. Since then we've called each other for favors or mutually beneficial arrangements from time to time, but I wouldn't say we've ever been friendly. I may also have called him "Lucifer". A couple dozen times. 

Anyway, Cynthia was at a discussion on hexes that was going late, so I was on my own when Straub took a seat next to me.

"Hello, Mr. Underhill," said Straub. "I'd like to hire you for a job."

"No," I said without looking away from my food.

"I am prepared to pay you a sizable sum--"

"Go away."

"You know that I have always dealt with you in good faith--"

"Please shut up."

"I'm doing the job for Tom Yukimura."

I stopped eating.

Tom Yukimura is one of the most prolific monster hunters alive today not working for the Agency. Of course, he's serving a life sentence in prison so it's not like he's in the game anymore, but he is still alive. The man is going on eighty, and he started hunting in his late twenties. Without tactical support, training, or any government spooks to clean up his messes. I mean, he was also pretty ruthless and there's a long list of people who wound up collateral damages of his crusade, but still. The dude is awesome.

"You're doing a job for Tom Yukimura?" I said. "You?"

"Is it so hard to believe?" asked Straub.

"Half your clients must have grudges against him," I said. "And he can't pay you in money. So what is he paying that's worth it?"

"I think that's my business," said Straub. "And I think you'd be much more interested to know what the job itself is. After all, he spent most of his life preparing for it."

I hate to admit it, but he had my attention then.

"You mean this is about his rumored vendetta?" I asked. "The obsession that would make him drop everything to chase down decades old police files or go after fiends that most hunters won't touch unless they outnumber them ten to one? I always thought that was a rumor to explain his recklessness and erratic tactics."

Straub produced a folder from his jacket and plopped it down in front of me. No, seriously, he let it go a few inches above the table to achieve that whole pompous, melodramatic plopping effect. 

"If it is just rumor then he must believe the lie," said Straub. "After I met him at the prison he had his protege deliver this. It contains every hard lead he ever discovered as well as his own journal entries on whispers and hunches."

I tried to look casual as I opened the folder. My eyes skimmed across police reports, local news articles, maps, and transcripts of interviews among other things.

"I believe you're the expert on this, but it looks like a wendigo to me," said Straub. "Except if that's right then it's a very odd wendigo. Or a very old one. Old enough to have acquired habits and traits not common to its kind. In any event, I'd like you on the team when we try to bring it down."

"Or I could just tell the Agency," I said as I continued to look through the files. "If there is something here then it's kind of their job."

"You could do that," said Straub. "And then they would tell you that they're stretched too thin and that they already have a waiting list of nasties with a lot more solid intelligence."

For the record, the idea of Evan Straub knowing the logistical capabilities of the Agency is not one which fills me with joy and happiness.

"If I tell you I'll consider it, will you go away?" I asked.

Straub smirked (he always smirks; I don't think it is anatomically possible for him to smile without looking like a smug bastard) and got up.

"I'll expect your call by Monday at five in the afternoon."

Special Report 57

Sorry for taking so long. I have to admit the recent string of anomalies had me baffled for a while until I reorganized all the data for the eighth time and noticed that three events involved people from the town of Lake Lorelei, Ohio. When I dug deeper, I found that every one of the events could be connected to the town in some way or other (I've attached a list for the other analysts to check), and I have become convinced that Lake Lorelei is now a nexus of supernatural activity. As you know, there are many places across the world (some populated and some belonging to the wilderness) where supernatural phenomena occur with alarming frequency. Sometimes the land itself is simply over saturated with power, sometimes it is the sight of some incident of serious historic and arcane significance, and sometimes a handful of minor arcane incidents (the laying of a curse, a clash between two powerful beings, the arrival of an artifact, etc.) occur in the same place and interact in such a way as to form a sort of knot or nexus of combined power. My guess is that Lake Lorelei recently became empowered through that final method, some convergence of minor incidents. I don't know exactly how to explain the fact that there are no reports of phenomena from Lake Lorelei, but many of these places do have a habit of protecting themselves from outsiders. Usually just the really, really powerful ones, though.

I would suggest sending in several squads of agents, each one containing specialists in distortions, skilled psychics, and combat experts. It may become necessary to pull them out quickly if Lake Lorelei turns out to have any unique...shall we say, quirks? If not, you should still expect at least one of the squads to get bogged down in some loop or illusion.

Case 24: Entry 6

Brennen told me that from what he's heard the next leg is supposed to be the longest and most difficult, but I'm not worried about that. I'm sure he can handle it. Or if he can I doubt I would make much difference. What I am worried about is whoever's been interfering in the quest.

Well, time to take care of it.

* * * * *

I left while Brennen was still asleep. I had an old key I used for certain rituals and I inscribed a few runes along it and then tied feather from one of the harpies to it. Then I did a little magic that I never could have pulled off if I weren't in the quest, and used the key on the door. I don't know where the door took Brennen, but it took me to a forrest wreathed in mist.

I walked through the forrest with a gun in one had and my secret weapon in the other. Eventually I found the path, and I followed it past cackling imps, spiders larger than me, three-eyed toads, and a couple dozen other creatures. I felt many of them closing in behind me, but I made sure to show no signs of fear. The path ended at the ruins of what might have been an old church, or perhaps a town hall. The roof was entirely gone, as well as a good portion of the walls. And on the podium lounged a beautiful youth with white hair interspersed with streaks of green, and long, pointed ears. 

"I am Jack Underhill," I said as I approached the faerie. "Friend of the Agency, Spellslinger, Destroyer of the Bane of the Belmontes, Doom of the Man of the Crowds, Ally of a Lord of the Wilds, and Appointed Guide of one whose destruction you seek." I held up the suitcase and said, "I come now either to deal in good faith for his safety, or else to unleash carnage. Which would you prefer?"

The faerie slowly applauded.

"Excellent entrance," he said. "I think anyone would be a fool to select whatever carnage you might muster. However, I can think of no treasure you might bring which I would desire more than the death of that unfortunate boy. I really hate to play the fool, but..."

"I didn't say I came to sell you anything," I said quickly. "I came instead to play a game and make a wager."

That caught his attention. His and that of everything else that had been listening in. Faeries love games, and they are always making wagers.

"I have in this suitcase a game of my own design. It is highly complex, but it is also designed not to give an unfair advantage to either player," I said. "I am prepared to play against you in it. If I win you will place the boy under your protection until the quest is complete. Neither you nor any of your allies nor anyone in debt to you in any way will threaten him or block his progress. If you win I will leave this place in peace and make no effort to stop your meddling in the quest. Oh, and you will of course make sure Brennen is safe from your meddling until the game is finished." Then I produced a thick binder from my backpack and added, "If that's not enough, I'll throw in all my notes on fey activity within the greater Sacramento area. I'm sure you'd find a few nuggets buried there. Oh, and either way I have guaranteed safe passage back home." 

The faerie accepted and the game began. And then the game went on. And on. And on. And on.

You see, this game had a card component, a component similar to chess, and an interactive landscape. And it had an imaginary third player who would appear when the dice produce one of a small handful of combinations and whose purpose was to screw over both players. And there were sixteen different scenarios which could cause the entire thing to be reset. In other ways, I designed this game for the express purpose of stalling. The secret weapon was deployed, and it was immensely successful. By the time the game was finally over, Brennen had already completed the quest and gone home.

I won, by the way. But that was probably just because my opponent was so completely frustrated.

Case 24: Entry 5

The dullahan from last time had me worried. Journeys like this are supposed to have opponents popping up, but that was too much. It's the kind of thing that suggests someone is meddling. That also jives with the assassin at the party, and it's not like there isn't plenty of motive. Brennen's emergence as a figure in faerie politics could have serious ramifications for certain individuals, if not for the nobles at large. As I considered that, I glanced at my secret weapon and wondered if it might be enough to stop the interloper. I guess it'll have to do.

As it turned out, this leg of the journey was in a swamp. We came out of a doorway in the middle of a very small patch of land populated by a single willow tree and surrounded by murky water and gnarled trees. There weren't any footprints like in the first leg or walls or other limits on the paths we could take like in the second leg.

"Is this going to be an underwater challenge?" asked Brennen. "Because I really don't want to swim in that."

"I don't think so," I said. "One thing the fey are known for is their physical grace. Well, not all of them are known for that, but the nobles definitely are. Anyway, I think this is supposed to challenge the athletic aspect of your fey heritage."

He gave me an annoyed look and said, "Are you telling me to go jumping and swinging around on rocks, roots, and branches?"

"I'm saying I think the journey is telling you that," I said as I knelt down and started unpacking my summoning gear. "And I think you'd surprise yourself if you tried it. Just like I bet your intuition was never even close to handling something like that maze until yesterday."

Then I stopped and considered something. I needed some kind of boat or raft if I was going to keep going beside Brennen, and there's a minor river spirit who owed me a favor. I had been about to make a circle, take out some symbols the spirit would respond to, and a few other tools, but now I thought I might try calling it up without any of that. I spoke the spirit's name three times with some fancy lines about his sacred waters and solemn debts, and then he just popped up. Just like that. He came, he enchanted a log to float where I wanted it to go and to be warded against harm, and then he popped out again. Just like that.

Mind you, I don't have the tiniest ounce of magical talent. I make plenty of magical charms and devices for my work, but even the easier ones take me several afternoons to finish. I know a decent amount of magical theory and when that doesn't make up for my lack of talent I either give up or cheat. In other words, I'm not some wizard who can just call up spirits on a whim. Except while we were on the journey. I said before that it seemed like the thing made us more of what we are, and I don't know if it would do that for anyone or if it's just making us each fit better into our roles, but the end result was that it allowed me to do things I couldn't have done otherwise. I think I should remember that.

"We still have no idea where we're going," said Brennen.

I'm pretty sure he was annoyed that I said he still had to try the whole fey grace thing. Anyway, about a second later something came hurtling through the air and became imbedded in the willow a few inches from Brennen's neck. A moment later we both saw that the projectile was a thin, sheathed sword. Then we swung around in unison to see where it had come from. Not too far away there was a woman in a ragged green dress with a sort of frail beauty that bordered on sickly. She pulled a lock away from the rest of her hair so that we could see the silver key tied into it. Then she jumped down into swamp and a large ripple shot out away from us.

"There you go," I said. "I guess it's a duel."

With that we both chased after woman. I tried not to look down into the waters, knowing as I did that it probably had many creatures far more frightening than alligators. Also, it probably had alligators. But those were all expected. The monstrous frogs with too many eyes, the scaly muskrats with the spine ridges, the tusked fish, and all those other freaks belonged here. I was on the lookout for something that didn't.

Brennen had just chased away an angry grindylow when I saw them. Four harpies were coming into a circle formation over the changeling. There was a gap between the tree he was on and the next large patch of solid footing, which meant he was going to have to make at least three leaps using very skimpy footholds and no cover from the foliage. I figured that was a good time to speed up my "boat." Also, apparently that thing can speed up.

One of the harpies dived for Brennen and I fired two shots from my gun. I actually didn't think I hit it at first, but apparently I grazed the wing enough to knock it off-course. The creature crashed into the water, and after a few seconds of floundering around it started to rise back into the air. Then there was a jerk from the leg still in the water and then something pulled the harpy down below the surface. I did a little fist pump and gave a thumbs up to Brennen, who had been understandably startled by the commotion.

Then he pointed at the harpy swooping down behind me.

When I looked over my shoulder I immediately panicked and flattened myself against the log. I willed it to move to the side, and at the same time I scrambled to fire at the creature. I had a much better shot at this one, but this time I was panicking. It would be a lie to call me anything but an amateur when it comes to marksmanship, and that level of skill doesn't mix well with panic. I got off four rounds, and every one of them was a miss. Fortunately, I at least managed to get out of the way of the dive, although I suspect the harpy could have corrected her course if she hand't been worried about taking a bullet.

As the harpy rose back into the sky, I heard a ringing clash and turned to glimpse my charge locked in combat with the fey woman. I felt a rush of relief. I couldn't be sure that he would win, but even if it was my place to interfere directly there wouldn't have been anything I could have done. He was moving amongst a grove of trees that would force the harpies to hop around clumsily if they wanted to interfere, which meant as long he didn't give them an obvious opening my job was done for this leg.

Now all I had to do was survive against three angry harpies. Oh, and my gun was a six-shooter, which meant it was now empty.

I tried to remember where in my many pockets I kept the other rounds, and drew up a great, big blank. I started patting myself down, vaguely aware that the assassins were coming in for another strike. They began their dive, and all I could find were a handful of small flares imbued with enough arcane power for them to drive away nocturnal monsters. They would be useless against my attackers. My little tricks weren't going to do it. A skilled fighter might win with the knife, but I've always been a perpetual novice there. It would take heavy firepower or genuine wizardry to take down those three. Genuine wizardry like what you might use to whistle up a spirit without preparation.

The harpies swooped down as one, and I figured it was more risky not to do something crazy. I pressed one hand down on the log and hoped desperately that the enchantment was one that formed a circuit with the outside environment rather than relying an internal reserve of arcane power. Then I tossed about half the flares up in the direction of the harpies and shouted a one word incantation. The flares exploded as if each had been two full tanks of gasoline, and at least a score of thick, zig-zagging tendrils of fire reached out and closed around my foes.

I didn't quite pass out, but everything was a bit hazy for the next few minutes. By the time I had reclaimed enough of my wits to head to land, Brennen had already beaten the fey woman and he was waiting for me by the door that had consequently appeared.