"So?" I ask, standing stock still in her presence.

    Sheryl's frown is pensive when she goes over the evidence I've gathered thus far. I know her well enough not to assume that all of this anger is directed at me, even though her scowl is frightening, and the pounding of her fingers as they fly over the keys is like the sound of someone angrily stomping around the house.

    I think of Asher bumbling around the house, all curled hair and anger, and suppress a smile. Sheryl's eyes flit up to mine, pupils contracted, catlike, and she slowly shakes her head. I stand up a little straighter.

    "So there's evidence of someone banned from all these stores, and eyewitnesses confirm a taller, lankier version of the Northcott... child."

     "The 'child' is Asher," I say, softly.

    "Yes. We've also confirmed will-o-wisp activity... scorch marks on the property, far past where normal magical barriers would allow uninvited spirits... the rules are only waived in such a case when reciprocity of magic is in effect. Seeing as the spirit is malevolent, evidenced by one dead cat, the most obvious motive is revenge."

    "There are other reasons for spirits to be malevolent. Ancient curses, celestial cycles, uh..." I rack my brain. Most of the time, it really is revenge or some prophecy. "Coincidence?"

    "Good time for you to remember your lessons, Washington. In this case, you'd do best to remember what you were supposed to learn in Critical Thinking. Occam's Razor. There's no reason to grasp at the stars when a far less celestial, far more likely reason stares us down."
Admittedly I never paid much attention in Critical Thinking. "But not all the disturbances in this town are fire related."

    "You're right," Sheryl begins, and I try not to be blown back by the full force of this revelation. "There is a wildly disparate array of foul things occurring here. This leaves only one answer, which is that there is no one solution. There are at least two, maybe three, at least one of which is the result of negligence on their part and at least another due to actively poor management of fae activity. They've angered a powerful force they can't afford to reckon with."

    "You?" I ask.

    She closes the computer lid, fingers grooming its dark surface. "Several powerful forces they can't afford to reckon with." She shakes her head, which in turn causes her tight bun to slightly shake as it bobbles back and forth. "If all this wasn't enough, I can't believe they managed to exploit three hundred year old loopholes in European magical law to not file their dependents until they properly came of age."

    Yeah. Dependents in the plural.

    Sheryl had it all figured out long before I told her.

    "They're not that bad." I insist.

    Sheryl glares. "You said that about Noritrorisk too."

    "Did I? I hated Noritrorisk. It was like living in an army camp, except for, you know, not in our country, and therefore not as much fun. Plus, it's... Russia." I spread my hands out.

    "War is the furthest thing from fun you'll ever experience, Washington." Sheryl says, with a distant, pensive gaze. "And humans bleed red in any country."

    "They did have really great pancakes, though. That might be it." I muse.

    Sheryl gets to her feet, carefully rearranging her items and slipping on her ring integral. The harsh glint of the magically-infused iron seems to make the whole room pale. "Continue to watch the... present Northcott child. Be vigilant. Ever since we've come here you've been losing your grip. I could have sworn you would have figured out that there were two Northcotts long before I did... and you should have pieced together yourself that it was a will-o-wisp who invaded the property."

    "Will-o-wisps don't usually have the ability to enter properties without being invited in, shuffle winds around, or murder cats." I cross my arms, even though I would have deduced something this easy on any other mission. This place screws me up.

    "This will-o-wisp clearly harbors a grudge. It will be far stronger than any garden variety spirit you have fought up into this point."

    "Woah, woah. I've fought a manticore," I laugh. "You can't seriously expect me to believe..."

    Sheryl clicks her bag shut. "Some of the most dangerous animals in the world are the smallest and seemingly least intimidating. It is their poison that makes them fearsome. There is no poison quite as keen as human intellect, let alone human spite, which is what our opponent at present has." She lifts a finger, on which glistens a small ring. She must be on some level, likely one, because I can't see her do anything at all, but the door opens behind me. "Go on."

    I leave, feeling more confused and honestly frightened than I entered. I thought telling Sheryl everything-- and by everything, I mean as much as I could tell her without further incriminating my man Asher-- would get things off my chest, but there sits all that tension, like an elephant on my ribcage. "Asher?" I call throughout the house. "Aaaasher?"

    There's no response. I meander down into the main hall, towards the door that lies past it, and find Ms. Northcott, knitting, near the exit. She looks pensively towards one of the windows, through which light passes only occasionally, only to be pulled back by a sudden onslaught of shade from nearby tree branches. "Ah. He's out leaving cups of milk at the local fairy doors," she tells me. "If you're looking for him."

    "As a matter of fact, I am, ma'am," I say, snapping my fingers. "Thanks."

    "Oh, no, no, thank you for going on missions with him. It's been a while since..." she quiets herself.

    I narrow my eyes. "Since what?"

    "Well," she folds her hands. "He's just been alone, that's all."

    I nod, imagining Asher behind the scowling approximation of the "other Northcott", Conway. "I'm glad I can help him out. He's a good kid." Guess I'm playing stupid.

    "He's awful fond of you." Ms. Northcott says with a smile, hardly bothering to look up.

    I feel like I've just contracted a brick to the face. "I guess so." When did I start caring? It couldn't have been all that long ago, because I definitely don't usually get attached... I open the door, shut the door, and breathe a sigh of relief.

    The cloudy English countryside waves back to me, the sun barely managing to peek out around the ensuing mass of gray. It reminds me of the myths about Hati, a wolf poised to eat the sun. Sheryl and I have yet to fight many wolves, gwyllgies aside. There are a few werewolves back home, but usually you defeat those with diplomacy and legal action, not a good punch in the face or even silver bullets. Not that I'd want to fight a half-wolf... well. A law-abiding half-wolf. I shake my head. I could have sworn, upon passing the library, that I'd seen something with horns. Wolf? No wolf? Hadn't Asher mentioned grims at one point? I really need to start paying attention.

    I hit the first gate, swing around it in wheelies, and move back towards town, where Asher is taking tiny milk-filled teacups and placing them on branches and around stumps of trees. It would be touching if he didn't have this scowl on his face the whole time like he really wanted a fairy to come out so he could sock it in the face.

    I slap him in the butt nonchalantly while he's bent over. "Hey beautiful. What's going on?"

    Asher jolts up, spilling half a tray of tiny milk cups. "What the-- gah-- Gus?!" He holds himself to the tree.

    It dawns on me that this is a very American gesture that probably doesn't translate well. "Sorry, back in the Academy people are pretty dang affectionate with their partners."

    "Affectionate." Asher looks up at me, unexpectedly pained at the word partners. He runs a hand through his curly hair. "Well. I'd appreciate if you... refrained..."

    "Any luck finding your brother?"

    "Err, I got a lead from Diandre..." When a raise an eyebrow, he clarifies, "the kelpie, a few nights ago, but I hadn't acted on it for personal reasons, not the least of which was a monster hangover." He looks back to me half resentfully. "Why?"

    "I just thought I'd ask. You wouldn't happen to know about any will-o-the-wisps around here, would you? You know, big, fiery..." I attempt to make an upwards gesture with my hands to simulate it. "Fwosh."

    Asher freezes up, which is as good as a confirmation. "Well."

    "You'd tell me, wouldn't you?" I say. "Since we're pals and all."

    Asher's hand moves to his side, and his gaze sharpens from hazy warmth to solid ice. "Pals," he repeats. "Of course I would."

    Honesty has always been my favorite virtue and my most gripping vice. "Asher," I say softly. "She knows about Conway already."

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Written by ChronaLilly