by Amy Hoff
He stared at the sad little flattened sandwich with such a morose expression that Leah laughed.
“Please, Miss Leah, I'm sorry,” he said. “It's just … I get so nervous.”
“It's all right,” she said. “Let me get us some lunch. Stay here, I'll be right back.”
Geoffrey looked as if he was about to argue. He clamped his mouth shut, wanting to preserve some semblance of dignity.
Leah returned with two curries and cans of Irn-Bru from the chippy around the corner. She handed him a box and a can, and flipped open the lid of her own container. She stuck a fork in the rice, mixing it with the curry.
“There you are,” she said. “I hope you like tikka masala. It looks like you could use a hot lunch.”
He ate hungrily, and nodded.
“I don't get a lot of time at home,” he said. “I'm always in the lab with Milo, and it's a 24/7 job.”
“Where do you live?” asked Leah.
“Over by Cowcaddens,” he said. “It's just a little bedsit. Empty. I...don't like going home alone.”
He stared down into his curry, as if he had said too much, lifting his fork to his mouth automatically.
“I live alone too,” she said. “In a hotel room. I don't like going there either.”
They were both quiet for a while.
“Where are you from?” she asked.
“Basingstoke,” he mumbled around his food. “I grew up there. Nothing much to tell, really. I did well in school, I went to university, I got the job at Caledonia Interpol, and that's all. If my life was a book, you'd only want to read it to put yourself to sleep.”
“I'm sure that's not true,” she said. “I’m sure you have stories to tell.”
Geoffrey finally looked up again.
“Would you...would you care to join me for dinner sometime?” he asked. “Maybe I could tell you some of them?”
Leah considered this. She hadn't gone out in ages, and it was nice to be asked. He wasn’t exactly her type, but it would be nice to try with someone who was so clearly interested.
“That sounds great,” she said. “I'd love to. What time?”
“Oh!” he said, startled, inadvertently knocking the remainder of his curry on the ground.
“Oh!” he repeated. “You said yes!”
He stared down at the curry as if it had betrayed him. Then he looked up at her, and she was laughing. A clear, joyful sound. He smiled, and laughed with her. Leah realised she had laughed more in the few days of work at Caledonia Interpol than she ever had in her years with Adam.
“Friday, seven o'clock?” Geoffrey asked, emboldened. Leah, still smiling, nodded.
“As long as we can keep you from knocking things over,” she said.
“Well, I'm not making any promises.” said Geoffrey, and grinned.
Leah laughed again. He stood up awkwardly and offered her his hand.
“I really must get back to work,” he said. “But you enjoy your day, Miss Leah. Thank you for the curry.”
Leah smiled.
“See you Friday.” she said.
He blushed to the tips of his ears.
“Yes, see you Friday,” he replied.
Leah watched him walk off, and shook her head, grinning.
***
The city was bustling in the sun, and people seemed happier than usual. Leah sat at a table at an outdoor cafe and had a glass of sparkling wine. She had never noticed how beautiful some of the older architecture was up close, or the way people smiled in the rarity of sunshine.
Eventually, her aching muscles got the better of her, so she paid and walked back to her hotel. She noticed that the usual tang and chill of the Glasgow air was touched with summer. The trees along the river had begun to bud, the green leaves pushing out. Soon the city would be filled with green, and litters of cherry blossom petals swirling on the breeze. She went up the stairs to her room, unlocked the door, and fell onto the bed. For the first night in a long time, the whisky bottle remained untouched on the table.
***
Leah awoke feeling refreshed and happy. She went and had a shower, got dressed, and met Dorian as he was coming into the hotel lobby.
“Good morning!” she sang, and he looked at her curiously.
“Have you had a good night, Miss Bishop?” he asked.
“Yes, I suppose I have,” she said. “Call me Leah, Dorian. We're partners.”
Dorian smiled briefly.
“Very well, then. Leah,” he said. “Are you ready for work?”
“As I'll ever be.”
The sun was bright, and the streets were crowded. It was the weekend and many people were out looking at the sights.
Leah sighed happily.
“Your heart is healing,” said Dorian. It was not a question.
“I think it is,” said Leah. “Geoffrey asked me on a date yesterday.”
“Interesting,” he said. “Is this the cause of your happiness?”
“Well,” she paused, “not the date itself, no. It's just that for months I was feeling quite down and worthless. It feels good to have something to look forward to.”
“Leah,” said Dorian. “You were never worthless.”
Leah grinned at her partner.
“Thank you, Mr. Grey,” she said, and he laughed. “I do hope that you invite me to afternoon tea one day, sir.”
“You are always welcome at my table,” he said, with a bow. She looked at him in his trim tailcoat.
“What happens if we need to apprehend a suspect?” she asked. “Are you going to wear your gloves? Do we have any weapons?”
Dorian looked at her curiously.
“Didn't you read the manual?” he asked. Her eyebrows shot up.
“There's a manual?”
“It’s sent out with all the hiring documents. Didn't you receive it?”
Leah thought back to the sad day back in Edinburgh when the handsome man had come to her door.
“Now that you mention it,” she said. “I did receive a packet. From a very handsome man, I might add.”
“That would be one of the Trooping Faeries,” he said, “or elves, if you like.”
“Oh,” she said, sad that she hadn't recognised a Faerie from the start. Now, she thought she'd know one anywhere.
***
Later that night, she dug through her things and found the ripped packet. She shook everything out onto the floor. And there it was. She must have been too depressed, drowning and looking for anything to haul herself out of the water, to have noticed anything but the job invitation.
CALEDONIA INTERPOL
Welcome
Please read with caution, as pages are liable to burst into flame
Startled by this piece of advice, Leah gingerly opened to the first page.
Welcome, distinguished creature, to your new life at Caledonia Interpol. Here, you will find an environment that celebrates diversity. We do not discriminate based on race, religion, creed, gender or multiple genders or non-genders thereof, sexuality, number of appendages, or species of monster. We strive to be the thin red line between humans and the dangers they still face from our kind. Our goal is for humans to believe the monster and ghost stories are memories, fictions from a long-ago past. If you are devoted to the cause, you will find a home here at Caledonia.
In these pages, you will find instructions about what will be required of you, and the things you will need to work with us.
You are kindly asked to refrain from the use of magic, and to learn to blend in with humans. Attempt to cultivate a love for tea, if you do not already have this. Humans are much more confident and reassured by tea drinking. Coffee is a secondary choice, but also useful, especially if you are eventually transferred to the Americas.
Some humans enjoy shouting incoherent things at you in the street. This is a normal pastime for many occupants of Glasgow; pay it no mind. It is entirely possible they can see your true form, but do not let this disturb you. Even if they tell others, most humans
will not believe them anyway.
Leah laughed. She flipped through the pages, saw some chapter headings: What is a Trouser Press? and Queue Jumping: the New Horror. Then she discovered what she was looking for:
Weapons
She opened the page.
It was blank.
It was there, and it was blank. She turned the page. A new chapter entitled Christmas Crackers and other Terrifying Cultural Phenomena. She turned back. And in tiny letters at the top of the page, she saw:
fill in the blank
“Great,” she said to herself. “Monsters are their own weapons. I suppose they never thought to provide for a human recruit.”
***
She pushed the doors open at the station, and found Dorian contemplating the wall while drinking out of a tiny cup.
“What is this supposed to mean?” she asked, pointing at the page in the manual that said fill in the blank. Dorian set his cup down in a tiny saucer.
“Very good, that,” he said, indicating the cup. “Pixies collect it from bees. Honeycomb tea.” Leah stared at him.
“Why don't you just go buy honey at the supermarket?” she asked.
“Why should I do that when I can have honeycomb tea harvested by pixies?” he replied, stoic as always.
Leah thought about this.
“Fair point,” she said. “But don't change the subject – what does this mean?”
“Exactly what it says,” said Dorian. “Generally, at Caledonia, we don't have weapons issued to us. We write down the weapons we have at our disposal, and then Chief Ben figures out a way to neutralise them if necessary.”
Leah sat down in the chair across from him.
“Neutralise them?” she asked. “Why?”
“Some of us have powers that aren't exactly safe.” he said. “You've seen what the selkies are capable of – and that was incredibly controlled, as Magnus and I worked together during the cantrip in order to keep our respective powers in check. It is a kind of ballet, to ensure the power does not get out of hand. Since the police force was created to help humanity, it is important that officers are unable to use any of their natural weaponry for evil – given that we formed a police force in order to prevent just such an occurrence.”
“Well, what about me?” she asked. “I'm human! I'm weaponless.”
Dorian lifted the tiny cup again and sipped from it.
“Are you?” he asked.
Chapter Seven
Piles of paperwork seemed just as common for the Fae police as it was for their human counterparts. Leah sat filling out forms until her eyes blurred. Suddenly, a steaming mug of milky tea appeared in front of her.
“Let's take a break,” said Dorian.
She nodded, and took the mug with her into the kitchen. Two pixies were there, arguing.
“Thank you for the tea,” Dorian said gently. “Miss Bishop and I need the room now.”
The pixies bowed to him, and flew out the door, still arguing with each other. Leah was charmed and amused; everything here was still a surprise.
“I am going to tell you a story,” said Dorian. “Perhaps it will help.”
“Go on,” said Leah, drinking her tea.
“Long ago,” he began, “I met a man named Oscar Wilde.”
Leah stared at him.
“What, the Oscar Wilde?” she asked.
“Yes,” Dorian said. “I was familiar with his name, of course, it was hard for one not to hear of Oscar Wilde at that time. He was a celebrity. We spent an afternoon drinking in a café, discussing the world. I admit that I found the man fascinating. He had a brilliant mind, and as our conversation went on, I could not help but hint at what I was – if only to see what the great writer would make of it.”
“Amazing,” said Leah.
“I asked him – hypothetically, of course – what he thought a man would do if he were granted eternal youth and beauty. We discussed how such a man would behave, given the ability to have anything he wanted, and being stripped of all consequences – disease, old age, death, punishment. We went back and forth about whether such a man would sink into depravity and sin, or if he could find something greater to hold on to and overcome the temptations offered by such power. The day grew to a close and we parted ways. As he left, Wilde was speaking of committing everything we had discussed to a book on the nature of man – a novel.”
Leah's eyes grew large.
“At the time, I wondered if anything would come of it,” Dorian said. He smiled.
“So...you're telling me that Oscar Wilde wrote The Picture of Dorian Gray about you?!” she cried.
“Yes,” said Dorian simply. He wore a strange expression, and Leah was startled to recognise that it was a look of muted pride.
“Or, at least,” Dorian amended, “about our conversation. He certainly named the character after me.”
Leah shook her head.
“But why the spelling?” she asked. “Yours is Grey with an E, isn't it?”
Dorian smiled again.
“Ah, yes,” he said. “I'm sure Mr. Wilde did not know the spelling. We only met the once. It's a bit of a joke, our surname. All selkies use the surname Grey. No other species of seal can be a selkie.”
“All right,” she said. “But what does that have to do with weapons?”
“My power, Leah,” he said, “can be misused, just like any other kind of power. The point of the discussion Oscar and I had, back then, was that despite power, wealth, and beauty – it is not a foregone conclusion that someone will behave with depravity. There are stronger things.”
“You mean love?” asked Leah.
“I mean love, yes, but more than that,” he said. “You must start by thinking of uncommon things as weapons. There is a great deal of strength in ephemeral things – speaking as one of them, I should know. Brute force is not always what is required. If you feel the need to discover what your weapons are, you must start thinking like the Fae – who without axes, swords, or guns, are nevertheless more powerful than any weapon humans have managed to create. Humans have power as well, but it is not in their weaponry – and that is where you need to start looking. What is it you have that we don't? Why are you, Leah Bishop, valuable to a police force of the most powerful creatures that have ever existed – if you are truly just human and weaponless?”
Leah sat quietly, and sipped her tea. She didn't know. She was happy that she had been chosen and that she was now aware of this world-behind-the-world, but she could not think of anything that made her a valuable resource to Caledonia, or to the worldwide Fae Interpol.
***
Leah's feet were up on the table as she leaned back, drinking her tea. The manual was in her other hand, and she was laughing quietly to herself as she read through it.
Chief Ben pushed her feet off the desk. Startled, she set down her mug.
“Working hard, I see?” he asked.
“Sorry, Chief,” she said.
Dorian walked in and nodded to them.
“I need you both to go down to the Panopticon,” said Ben. “There's been a report of a haunting.”
“A haunting at the Panopticon,” said Dorian, “How novel.”
“You can put that sarcasm back where you found it, Dorian,” said the Chief. “Let's get a move on.”
“We've already got a case,” said Leah.
Chief Ben gave her a look she could only classify as the promise of encroaching unemployment.
“Yes, and Glasgow grinds to a halt while your investigation is going on?” he said. “You're still police officers, and everyone else is busy. Off you go.”
He ambled over to his desk and disappeared behind the stacks of paperwork that only ever seemed to grow.
Leah reluctantly set down her manual, and followed Dorian into the cool evening, the sky littered with stars.
***
The Panopticon was a theatre built many years earlier. It still hosted vaudeville acts from time to time. Outside of the theatre, a dapper man dress
ed in Victorian clothing advertised upcoming shows, calling out to the passing crowds like a carnival barker.
“Maybe you should apply for this job,” Leah said to Dorian. “You might make some spending money.”
“Indeed?” asked Dorian. “And what do I need spending money for?”
“You could buy a new waistcoat?” Leah suggested.
“These are custom-made in Italy by my own tailor,” sniffed Dorian. “Magnus and I have been alive for centuries. We made wise investments.”
Leah didn't know what to say.
“Oh,” she said, and thought of the previous week, when she had counted out her change, embarrassed, just to buy a bottle to get her through the night. The Greys would never understand.
Dorian, as usual, could hear her thoughts.
“We were lucky,” he said. “There are many Fae who were not so responsible with human money. Faerie gold is useless in this world.”
“Trying to make me feel better?” she asked. “I've been broke for years. I hope Caledonia doesn't pay in Fae gold.”
Dorian smiled.
“No,” he said, “it pays in Scottish pounds. Good benefits, too. They realise what risks we are all taking – you, Leah, more than any of us.”
“Great,” she said. “You fill me with confidence.”
They arrived at the Panopticon’s door. They went inside, and it shut behind them. The dusty, cavernous theatre was dark and forbidding. Leah was a bit taken aback.
It was quiet. Motes of dust floated through sunlight slanting through the huge, empty space. Tiny orbs glowed for a moment, turning slowly as they drifted across the hall, and then vanished.
“What are those?” she asked.
“Ghosts,” Dorian said.
He sighed and smiled. She looked at him sideways.
“Ghosts of an earlier time,” he explained. “The Victorian era, and before. They are happy. They can still see the shows playing.”
Leah stared up at the orbs, spinning slowly through the room.