His Little Doe

Meeting Jackaby

POV: S. A. Fletcher

I walked, head down, in the city of New Fiddleham, my mind quite occupied with thoughts of lodging, work, and food, when I slammed into him.

He was tall, lanky, and swam in his brown coat, which he for some reason wore in the middle of summer. His hair was a mop of messy brown curls. He was clean-shaven and wore a surprised expression. He was one of those people who, as a child, you would have called a nerd.

But his eyes suggested he was far from that.

They were curious and beautiful, observing everything. They studied me intently.

"I'm so sorry, sir! I didn—" I began.

"R. F. Jackaby," he said, sticking out a hand. "Pleased to make your acquaintance. I take it you are new here?"

I nodded. "Yes. I'm from England, actually."

"England!"

I nodded again.

"Well then what brings you to America?"

"Adventure," I said. "Or, more like the thirst for it."

A smile slowly stretched across his lips. "Really?"

"Yes, sir," I said.

"Please," he said. "Call me Jackaby."

"Jackaby," I amended.

"I never got your name?"

"Siena la Ariel Fletcher."

"I think it is a good thing we stumbled into each other if you're looking for adventure, miss," Jackaby said, his eyes twinkling. "I have just the thing you need."

"You do!?"

"Why, of course! I work in the supernatural."