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."