Hashtag Murder

by brett hicks

  “Bwahaha!” The ursine rumbles out a belly full of laughter and he flicks his gaze to the wounded man being raised into the ambulance. The perp had been hit in the right collarbone region, and he was in no immediate risk of death. My own raw shoulder burned in pain from my recent ink runic magic that had spared me a hospital trip.

  “Boss, I’m sorry?” I said lamely, and the ursine DI stopped laughing and he eyed me over from head to toe. He seemed to be satisfied that I was unmarred from the attempted murder by the disabled suspect.

  “You gotta relax your kacks young one. This job is a marathon, not a sprint. If I would sweat my heroic detectives every time, some mutt takes a shot at them, then ye lot would never have a night sleep. Besides, Jimmy filed me in, brave, all-be-it stupid, the way you rushed drawing his fire and tackled that lass over there to safety.”

  I felt something burning in my gut at his words. I felt the nearly alien sensation of pride and the glow of social approval from my peers. It was not something I had grown accustomed to receiving. I was a perpetual outsider. This was all just a fleeting moment, but it was one I was soaking up like a dry sponge desperate for water.

  “Aye sir, I just didn’t want my partner or any civilians to get caught in the line of fire, since he seemed to target me.” I answered honestly. I saw something flash in his eyes, respect, I think. Jimmy looked bothered by this for a flicker of a second, but it was gone when he noticed my gaze on him. He likely chaffed at the bit, being a male sup not accustomed to a woman throwing her body at danger ahead of him.

  The sup world is very misogynistic at times. Old beings with ancient memories about how sexism was years ago. Jimmy did not seem to be a bad guy, at least so far as I could tell, but he appeared to have some of that typical shifter-like ego about being the one in charge and responsible for us dainty fair gals. This both annoyed me, and irritated me, however I was accustomed to tolerating such things.

  Men cannot be helped; you just endure their idiotic preconceptions, or you burn the bridge entirely.

  “Just don’t act so reckless next time lass. Try to remember that you are not bulletproof, unless there is something you’re keeping back, eh?” The sly ursine winked playfully and the surrounding humans chuckled in good natured spirits. His joke was innocent and innocuous to everyone, but I saw the glint in his keen eyes. He suspected me now, and he appeared to have slid his gaze to my shoulder several times. I have great hearing, but even I could not be sure what he had discussed with Jimmy before coming over to me.

  Jimmy was more loyal to the ursine than me, which was natural considering how new our partnership was. Still, it burned to know he likely ratted on me about my potential supernatural ability slip.

  DI Templeton did not appear to be a man who hid behind false platitudes. He was a heads-up kind of sup. He appeared to be cautious with me, as I was with him, yet he also seemed to extend a hand in friendship, should I reach out and grab it. I am great at reading people, hell I can predict behavior in many lesser intellects. Human and even sup instinctive behavior being simple to me to deduce once I observed them for a bit.

  Templeton was easy to read, but he also held a firm edge of intellectual prowess. He was blunt, and he was every bit as territorial as any ursine is said to be. He was also fair and just, so far as I could read him thus far. Even now, I knew there would come a day I would have to get off the fence with him. I would one day have to tell my story; however, I was determined not to make that day today.

  I had already had enough thrown at me today, so I planned to finish all my damn triplicate paperwork over the shooting incident in peace, then head home!

  Part of me was relieved with the exhaustive, bureaucratic paperwork now thrust upon me.

  “Yes boss, if there is nothing else. I will head back to the station and get cracking on my paperwork?” I asked Templeton politely, trying to hide my edgy feelings. He seemed to consider this for a long moment, then he shook his head.

  “Get some air detective, then you can go fill out your paperwork, so GSOC don’t crawl up yer hole, lass.” He said in a deep booming tone filled with masculine amusement. He was a grumpy bear in the mornings, but he seemed to be a decent boss as far as I could suss. Part of me wanted to warm up to him, but the frigid winds around my heart wouldn’t allow for it.

  I smiled and nodded my head slowly in agreement.

  “Yes sir, I’ll do that, thanks!” I said to him slightly lamely, and I nodded one last time in respect, then I turned and began to walk away.

  Jimmy gave me a few feet of space, and his obvious curiosity at my aggressive pursuit had not dissipated. He wanted to ask me about my behavior, but he seemed to think better of grilling me. Wisely so, I was not the kind of girl to crack under pressure. I believe pressure and torture usually lose their effectiveness when a person has experienced a living abyss.

  ***

  I spent the next three hours form filling, and box checking. My partner seemed to take the hint and give me some space after the first twenty-ish minutes of silence at the station. He then seemed to disappear in his own paperwork. He had fired the shots, so he was being hassled a lot more than I was. We also had the police ombudsman office (GSOC) sending liaisons over in the morning to take our statements. I respected the dedication to truth and justice that came with investigating internal matters. That being said, GSOC often bunked everything and made a general stink of matters that required no intervention. Jimmy was nervous, even I could catch hints of it in his body language. He did not enjoy being subject to a formal investigation. He did the right thing; they could have taken me down with a head shot. After all, most sups would die form a bullet to the head. I would have to be something unique for the rules of biological function not to apply. Then again, I truly did not understand how far-reaching my mystical healing truly was.

  My mother had been beheaded before my eyes, so I can safely assume decapitation is effective against my species. Those images were never far from my mind’s eye, even while distracted with a nearly fatal shooting incident.

  “You going out with the lads?” I snapped my head up, and I saw a red-headed girl about my age poking her head in the room. She was taller than me, maybe five-eight. She also seemed to have green eyes, darker, and deeper green than mine. She was curvy and well sculpted from a dedicated routine training menu.

  “Um?” I lamely started, and she twitched her lips in amusement. I could tell nothing about her, she was cryptic, unreadable, aside from obvious human amusement.

  “It’s supposed to be yer welcome to the station bash!” She said animatedly. I bit my lip, and I felt Jimmy’s heated eyes on me, and I forced myself to deny him eye contact.

  God, I just want to plop down with a cold one and unwind.

  I gripped to myself and I sighed in a languid exhale of exacerbation.

  What the hell…

  “Sure, sign me up.” I said in a mellow and somehow even tone. I masked the layers of annoyance and mild trepidation flowing through my body. The young redhead clapped her hands together excitedly. Her eyes glowed faintly with a yellow-gold undertone that she did not mean to broadcast.

  She quickly snapped her head away from me, and I noted something like a growl emanating from behind me, likely from my new partner. Jimmy was something with an animal nature, but I was still sure he was not a garden variety of shifter. I cannot explain my weird and comprehensive sensations for different magical signatures, only that my magical analysis prowess is astute to the extreme.

  I pretended not to notice the two unhuman actions in the room. This seemed to be an ongoing game of playing dumb and feigning stupid. I knew that the longer I kept this up, the more hurt and potentially angry people would be once I did finally own my truth. I knew that my human life was limited, and I would soon run out of days and excuses. I would have to learn how to swim in the supernatural end of the living pool of this world.

  “How rude, you have yet to introduce yourself.” Jimmy chided the cute redheaded girl. She gl
ared at him for a long moment, then she huffed.

  “Yes, I suppose that is true. I am called Sorcha; I am a special detective. I work under the DI directly. You may consult me if you ever need any help though. I do not bite, as they say.”

  Something about the almost chilly amusement on her face as she said this, did not sell her assurances. I did not feel shifter about her, so I gathered she was something else, and she was making fun of Jimmy in some manner. I could feel his rising irritation, even from behind me.

  “What are you, Char? Sorcha, you are supposed to introduce yourself with both your names!” Jimmy chastised the girl, and she flashed an annoyed look at him and the golden undertone around her irises thickened for a moment. I suppose we were all doing a terrible job of hiding our “differences” from one another. Me with my random tattoos and now these two with their less than human aggressive behavior.

  Sorcha scoffed at Jimmy and said, “Please, since when does anyone… give away their full name, for free!” She added, almost like she was insulted. Jimmy smacked his hand to his head behind me, and I could feel his exasperation.

  “How are we ever going to explain all of this away, if she really is a human?!” He whispered slightly lower than human auditory levels would have detected. I was no shifter, but I caught the message he shot to her perfectly clear. She reached out, and I clasped her hand. I felt warmth and sunny afternoon skies beaming down on me, despite being in a police station and well into the early evening. She was something natural, something unruly and wild. She was older and more cunning than the age she appeared. She was mystical to her very core, and she was potentially the most powerful sup in this entire station.

  “Interesting, I am Sorcha Spriggin.” She said, locking her eyes on me. I felt no danger, no threat, and I did something beyond my explanation. I pushed out just enough magic in my hand, as magical handshake, if you will. Something I have seen other sups do to identify themselves to one another.

  Sorcha’s eyes widened, and her lips parted, but she said nothing to Jimmy. Cunning as she was, she must have deduced I was hiding my identity from everyone.

  “Yes, I believe we shall have a lot of fun with this one around the station.” Sorcha said, and I felt the hairs on my neck raise. She did not feel threatening or violent, despite the power coursing through her. I did not know what to make of her yet, or what I was thinking by outing myself to her. I guess the day was filled with insanity.

  Nine:

  Sorcha was called away to close out a case before clocking out. Jimmy was finally finishing up his paperwork, and I had just dropped my own forms in with our DI. The ursine shifter had been in meetings all evening with several officials. I had nearly forgotten how much hassle comes with firing a gun as a cop. I understand the reasoning, but damn if it does not cause migraines and lend a girl towards her worst vices for comfort.

  After another forty minutes of milling about, I finished filing all my reports. Everything was up in the air now. I felt like my oxygen was getting low and my head foggy. I’ve been slowly driven to this point my entire life. Exposure to the sup community was an eventuality.

  Jimmy seemed to be keen to just clear his log of papers and he didn’t insist on driving over with me to the bar. I was in no mood to be forced into a cramped setting with my partner again. I felt like I regretted my actions for the first time in my life. I have never been one to feel sorry for anything I do, but I hated the friction that my previous night was now causing me.

  I pulled into the parking lot of the local watering hole. Smokey’s was exactly as it had been the night before. I could feel indistinctive magic diffused as I stepped inside the building. The half-pint bartender was grinning at me as I entered the pub. He waddled past the bar with a massive bottle of what looked to be some old mead.

  Ernie Dean was obviously the residential little green man. He was more obvious to me tonight than the night before. A leprechaun, they were mystical beings as timeless as fairies, but not of any fae tribe. They brought luck and concealment to the community. Leprechauns were often revered for their aid in protecting the magical community against infiltration and mortal detection.

  Fairies had their own issues with leprechauns, but because of exhausting layers of peace treaties over the ages, the feud was only mild aggression these days. I only knew as much as the limited enchanted histories tomes, I possessed could tell me, and my constant eavesdropping of sups when they assumed, I was mortal and could not overhear them. I had witnessed more than one row between leprechauns and fae folk.

  “Well, well, the guest of honor has arrived!” Ernie said in a mischievous tone. His Irish accent was thick, even by the deepest of Gaelic standards. My accent had drastically lilted since arriving here. I had taken to my Gaelic roots like a fish to water.

  Sorcha sauntered over wearing a jade sheath dress and stunning three-inch heels of the same color. She had on silver lipstick and matching smoky-eye shadow. If I had been less sure of my starkly hetero preferences, I might have been under her spell as much as the throng of men in the room.

  She carried a bottle of Guinness draft with her. She pried the lid open once she had come within a few feet. She seemed to wait to do this almost as a show of good faith, so I could plainly see the drink was untainted.

  “Welcome to our little oasis after hours.” Sorcha said, her mid-tone voice sounding somehow exotic with her thick indecipherable Celtic accent. I could almost imagine her speaking middle-English in her tone. She was one of the more obvious sups. She advertised her age more so than others through her unique lit. I was not sure how this played with mortals, but I guess she had her ways.

  “Thanks, I said to her, and she twitched her lips in amusement.

  “I am not beholden to the rule of debuts like the court fairies. However, it is considered rude to apologize to the fair ones.” She said in a tone befitting an older sibling schooling the younger in the ways of the fae.

  “Uh, right, I’ll try to keep that in mind.” I said, sounding very cautious. I felt like I was at a middle school dance trying to navigate the awkward first social interactions with boys again. Except this was more to do with the supernatural fairy elephant in the room between Sorcha and I.

  “Come now, you need to relax more. Drink, be merry, all that cliché Irish stuff we all row on about at length, yeah?” Sorcha said and her eyes danced with a wild amusement at my predicament. She seemed to read me like a book, a wide-open book. The mischief making fae in her blood appeared to derive some perverse pleasure from my discomfort and jumpiness. I noted that she had not outed me in earshot of our coworkers. This spoke of a deep-seated sense of honor and possibly some level of protectiveness towards those she deemed friendly.

  Then again, fairies are the trickiest and most dangerous of all the sups I have met to date. She could store this away, waiting until this information is at its most valuable before she dumps it on the highest bidder. Most fae are profiteers above all but clan or royal oaths.

  I took a sip of my rich stout draft and I savored the bitter taste of the dark beer. I was not an excessive drinker, but I enjoyed a few like any good Irish girl.

  “That really hits the spot after the day I had.” I said in an exhale of relief. Sorcha smirked and nodded.

  “Come, let’s introduce you to the squad. Most of them are shifters, but don’t hold that against them. The boss runs a tight ship, only the best sups in these parts. No crown, no clan, and no criminal family ties in our station.” She chirped proudly. I took in the implication that sups also had crime families. This revelation possibly hit my gut harder than the massive sensation of sups at the Ballymun station.

  “Can we just keep the whole, I’m not all mortal-like-thing to ourselves?” I asked, lowering my voice to a nearly conspiratorial level. Sorcha nodded slowly, and she seemed to look me over from head-to-toe.

  “You did not feel too obvious before that little handshake, but I will tell you now, the boss must suspect your truth. He does not take many human tra
nsfers to Ballymun. That would be like expecting the sheep to patrol the wolves. Not exactly a very rational decision.”

  I blinked a few times as I processed this. The DI seemed to be interested in me, but not to the point where I had believed he knew anything about me. Still, there was something both frightening and soothing about knowing that there was an entire station of garda sups. So long as they all believed in upholding the law, as I do, that could only mean good things for law enforcement in this region.

  “Noted. I’ve never met an ursine before today. Usually all I see are the wolves loitering around the football fields like a pack of wasters.” I blabbed to Sorcha, and her amusement heightened for a long moment at the description of my pack encounters. I had been in a few small scraps with young werewolves as a teen. Most of those had ended relatively peacefully. Shifter males are not known for becoming excessively violent to fertile breeding aged women or teens. From all accounts I have heard or read, they suffer from slow reproductive patterns, despite their immortality. This had prevented them from ruling the world or subjugating mortals to their will.

  “Yes, the scrappy little pit packs. They are the sup football hooligans. They are forever caught up fighting or fucking.” She gleamed at me, and finished, “Which of the two was it in your case?”

  I snorted and growled slightly in annoyance at her taunt. I gave her a firm and challenging glare, but Sorcha seemed wholly unphased by my sassy look. Most women found me to be excessively intimidating, I guess it just took a lot more to impress Sorcha after what must be at least a hundred or more years of life, or so I would guess?

  “Sorcha, stop hogging the newbie!” A noisy wolf-man-detective blurted loudly from off at the bar. Several others chuckled in chorus at his complaint. Sorcha flicked her gaze at him, her expression lazy and unimpressed. She made no large motions or gestures, but her sass was tangible. She seemed to embody feminine wiles without motion, without speech. Sorcha was something to behold, something worthy of study. She was fae, she was meant to be the focal point of awe and inspiration.