The Changeling's Ghost (Thirteen Gates #1)

A Confrontation

    "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.