(S is for Speculation)[]
News clipping from the Griffin’s Eye Gazette: November 5, 2013
Local Dragoness Grilled in Fare Theft and Missing Elf Case
The Hogan’s Gap Police Department is delving into a bizarre case involving missing recipes and ingredients, a vanished elf, and a possible connection to a mischievous pooka, according to documents obtained from the ongoing investigation.
At the center of the inquiry is Elya Eshbern, a local business owner and, notably a zmei dragoness, whose son’s unusual friendship has raised several red flags.
Elya’s Hearth, known for its delectable Slavic cuisine and, perhaps more commonly known, the fire-breathing proprietress behind the counter, became the subject of a police interview following a series of unusual events. The first clue came with a string of baffling culinary theft from weekly market stalls to various specialty stores in the Hogan’s Gap area. The second and far more concerning incident was the disappearance of local middle-schooler, Tod Winnokur, who vanished without a trace on Halloween night.
According to the first part of the official transcript of the police interview, held last week, Hogan’s Gap P.D. questioned Ms Eshbern about her son, Sullivan, nicknamed “Sully,” and his unusual friend, a pooka named Odora “Kimi” Gelert.
Pookas, traditionally, known in popular folklore as shape-shifting tricksters, have a history of being mischievous. Odora, however, is the main point of concern.
“The officer asked a lot of questions about Odora,” a source close to the investigation revealed on condition of anonymity, “specifically about her . . . proclivities. Ms. Eshbern seemed cooperative, but honestly, it’s hard to tell with a dragoness.”
Simargl, who runs the Historic Simargl Bakery known for its apple crumble and dragon berry scones, apparently exclaimed to investigating officers that Sully and Odora are inseparable friends. While she acknowledged, Odora’s pooka nature, the initial transcript revealed that she seemed hesitant to implicate Odora directly in the pie theft.
“She admitted Odora is drawn to shiny objects and sweet smells, but she seemed to suggest that wouldn’t necessarily translate into outright theft,” the anonymous source explained. “There’s a whole legal section questioning if a pooka is even legally culpable for theft due to its Fae nature, which is a first for our force.”
News clipping from The Morning-tide Tribune: November 5, 2013
The normally placid town of Hogan’s Gap has been a buzz following a series of unusual events, the latest involving a local business owner and her son’s rather unique friend. Elya Eshbern, zmei owner of the popular Elya’s Hearth, a charming establishment known for its potent latte and even more potent pastries, recently sat down with local police for questioning. The focus? The alleged involvement of a certain “pooka” named Odora in the recent market fare thefts and the disappearance of local middle-schooler, Tod Winnokur.
For those unfamiliar to the region, a pooka, according to Grover Abernathy’s “Feykind: Comprehensive Field Guide” in the library’s local folklore section, is a shape-shifting sprite of Celtic origin, often described as mischievous and fond of wild pranks. And it’s this very description that has police looking closely at Odora, a longtime companion of Ms. Eshbern’s teenage son, Sully.
The case began last month with a string of late-night pie disappearance. Local farmers market and bakery vendors reported a chilling pattern: freshly baked pies vanishing from secure locations in the wee hours. Just a few crumbs, a small market basket, and a faint smell of damp earth and some wild snowdrop berries, were the only clues left behind. Then came the various thefts of cooking utensils and ingredients, followed shortly by the most disturbing events: the disappearance of Tod Winnokur. The 14-year-old elfin student was last seen on Halloween night, trick-or-treating near the Orth Woods, an area known for its . . . unusual energy. Police are working hard to unravel the mystery, and Tod’s parents, the Winnokur, have been understandably frantic.
Enter Elya Eshbern, a gentle dragoness with scales the color of autumn leaves and a surprisingly deft hand in the kitchen. Police confirm that she voluntarily agreed to an interview, stating that she has always cooperated full with investigations.
While transcripts of the interview are under wraps, sources say the conversation focused heavily on Odora, the enigmatic pooka who is, by all accounts, constantly in Sully’s company.
“We’re looking at all angles,” stated Police Chief Reginald Hughes, in his usual calm and collected manner. “It’s not every day we have a suspected pie-thieving pooka on the loose, or a missing elf child. We’re treating this with the seriousness it deserves. And yes,” he added with a noticeable sigh, “we are fact-checking the local lore.”
When approached for comment outside of Elya’s Hearth, Ms. Eshbern declined to speak directly, but offered a small, but firm smile. Her son, Sully, however, was very eager to talk, if only to his friends as he passed around a sample batch of chocolate cake muffins. This reporter overheard the following snippet regarding Odora: “They just don’t understand her! Odora just likes to play and if the pastries are too good then what’s a pooka to do? Besides that, she would NEVER hurt anyone.”
The community remains divided. Some believe it’s an open and shut case of mischievous pooka involvement, while others see the whole situation as an unfair targeting of a local immigrant family with . . . unique circumstances. Regardless, the police investigation is ongoing, and the residents of Hogan’s Gap are left hoping for answers, the return of Tod Winnokur, and maybe just one or two more of Elya’s legendary blueberry scones. We’ll continue to update this story as it develops. And yes, we will be seeking clarification from a local expert on the proper handling of potentially pie-stealing pookas.
(S is for Statements)[]
Police Interview Transcript–Elya Eshbern, Twin Egg Sister of Zmei Dragoness Scoria
Introduction:
This document presents the transcript of the first portion of a police interview conducted with Elya Eshbern, owner of Elya’s Hearth, on November 1st, 2013.
The questioning took a darker turn when the conversation moved to Tod Winnokur’s disappearance. Winnokur was last seen on Halloween night, trick-or-treating in the neighborhood. Witnesses, including several young goblins and a gnome or two claimed they saw him interacting with a tall shadowy figure with large, expressive eyes they later described as very similar to Odora’s. The connection, however, is still circumstantial.
“The police interviews transcript shows that Ms. Eshbern was visibly more concerned when Tod was brought up,” the source stated, “she was insistent that while Odora can be mischievous, she is not malicious. But she also couldn’t account for Odora’s exact whereabouts on Halloween night.”
The transcript also reveals the officers inquired about Odora’s shape-shifting abilities, a common talent for pooka, and how it might relate to the descriptions given by the witnesses. Ms. Eshbern reportedly stated she’s never seen Odora assuming a form other than her usual three small shapes and is not privy to exactly what other capabilities she may have.
The investigation remains ongoing, and police are looking into all leads, no matter how fantastical they may seem. [The involvement of otherworldly beings has added an unexpected layer of complexity to the case, forcing the Hogan’s Police Department to consider investigative tactics beyond traditional methods.]
“We’re not ruling anything out,” stated Police Chief Reginald Hughes, in a brief press conference that followed the information leak. “This is not your average case, but we are committed to finding out what happened to Tod Winnokur and to holding those responsibly accountable.”
The situation has sent ripples through the Hogan’s Gap community, a town known for its quirkiness but now facing a potentially dangerous mystery. As for local residents, the question of whether a pooka is capable of theft and worse hangs heavy in the air, along with the scent of freshly baked apple pie, a poignant reminder of the unusual nature of the case.
The next article will likely cover Part 2 of the interview, promising more answers, and potentially, more questions.
[BEGIN TRANSCRIPT]
Detective Ramirez: Good morning, Mrs. Eshbern. Thank you for coming in today. We appreciate your cooperation.
Elya Eshbern Good morning, Detective. Of course. Anything to help.
Detective Ramirez: Let’s start with your son, Sully. Can you describe your knowledge of his current social circle?
Elya Eshbern: Sully . . . he’s a pretty normal middle-schooler, I think. He spends a lot of time with . . . well, most of it with his friend, Odora.
Detective Ramirez: Odora Gelert. And what, specifically, can you tell us about Odora?
Elya Eshbern: Odora is . . . Well, she’s a pooka. She’s been around for, I believe, a little more than ten years. She became friends with Sully after she showed up in the alley behind my café. She was in cat form at the time.
Detective Ramirez: A pooka. For the record, can you clarify what you understand a “pooka” to be?
Elya Eshbern: They’re . . . shape shifting Fae Folk . . . from the Irish Otherworld. They can be a variety of forms. Right now, Odora is a brown & white lemur. She can also shift her form to humanoid or feline, but lemur’s her preferred appearance right now.
Detective Ramirez: Right. And you’re aware that pooka are sometimes associated with . . . shall we say, unpredictable behavior?
Elya Eshbern: I understand the old folklore, yes. But I’ve never seen anything from Odora that I’d consider . . . malicious. Just a bit mischievous, sometimes.
Detective Ramirez: Let’s move to the market pie theft. There have been multiple incident of pies disappearing, often with no sign of forced entry. Do you have any reason to believe that Odora might be involved?
Elya Eshbern: Honestly, I wouldn’t put it past her to be curious about the pies. She’s . . . very fond of sweet things. But Sully has assured that she never stole anything, nor did she ever played hookey. Like clockwork, she’s always by Sully’s side at the Greebik stop, rather like a little sister.
Detective Ramirez: And you believe Sully?
Elya Eshbern: I do. He’s a good kid. He wouldn’t lie to me about something like that.
Detective Ramirez: Let’s shift to Tod Winnokur’s disappearance. He was last seen on Halloween night, not far from your street. Can you tell us anything about what you and Sully were doing that night, and if Odora was with him?
Elya Eshbern: Of course. It was a normal Halloween night. I stayed home giving out treats, while both Sully and Odora went out trick-or-treating. He was a lumberjack and she was dressed as Little Red Riding Hood, it was adorable.
Since there was a curfew going on, they left around four, and were home by eight. They didn’t go far, just around the immediate neighborhood. They were both in by eight and spent the rest of the night watching a scary movie.
Detective Ramirez: And there was no indication that they had any contact with Tod Winnokur that night?
Elya Eshbern: No. Neither of them mentioned seeing him, and they seemed just as surprised as everyone else to hear about him disappearing.
Detective Ramirez: Did Odora stay the night?
Elya Eshbern: No, Kristy Gelert, her adopted mother came around nine to pick her up. She had to take Odora home by a certain time; something to do with the full moon, I think?
Detective Ramirez: Okay, and just to confirm, Kristy is a lycanthrope? As in, what you’d call a werewolf?
Elya Eshbern: Well, a werewolf on her Mum’s side. Her Dad’s actually a Michigan cynocephaly. You know, a Terrean Dogman. Kristy’s very nice, and very protective of Odora. I’m getting the impression you know this family and about the other “Unusual” citizens from Terra around here?
Detective Ramirez: Yes, Mrs. Eshbern, we’re aware of a few . . . new arrivals in our community. . . . . delicate, let’s just say, we try to understand these visitors as thoroughly as possible, and resolve conflict as peacefully as possible. Now you mentioned Kristy Gelert picking Odora up around nine. Can you describe her appearance that night?
Elya Eshbern: Well, she has a red and white husky’s head– a very expressive one, actually. She was wearing her usual long coat–it’s a dark green sort of corduroy, I’d say. And she had a scarf on, a bright red one. She’s always bundled up, even when it’s not cold. It’s odd, but she says it gets . . . rather chilly in the Orth Woods where they live. She also was carrying a woven wicker, a very large one with a handle, often with a pink fleece blanket. I assume for Odora to keep safe and warm inside of it.
Detective Ramirez: A woven basket. Right. And did you observe anything else unusual that night? Anything that stood out, maybe not related directly for Sully, Odora, or Ms. Gelert?
Elya Eshbern: No, not really. Other than maybe . . . not being able to hear a large group of trick-or-treaters coming up our street until they are knocking at our front door. It’s always like that on Halloween, so it isn’t a new experience. It’s just . . . I always find it . . . rather odd. The noise tends to carry strangely in that part of town, I suppose. Why do you ask?
Detective Ramirez: Just being thorough, Ms. Eshbern. Sometimes seemingly insignificant details can be important. Now, you run a café; correct? “Elya’s Hearth?”
Elya Eshbern: That’s right. It’s just around the corner from here, though it’s closed today, obviously with Mondays being extremely low-traffic days.
Detective Ramirez: And you’ve been running it for . . . how long?
Elya Eshbern: Almost two hundred fifty years now. I bought it as a bit of a fixer-upper. It’s been a lot of work but I love it.
Detective Ramirez: So, you’re aware of the comings and goings in the neighborhood. The local pulse, so to speak. Have you noticed any other unusual individuals or any strange . . . activity in the days leading up to or after Tod Winnokur’s disappearance?
Elya Eshbern: Hmm . . . Well, there’s been more . . . shadows than usual since the last full moon, I suppose. The kind that you only see out of the corner of your eye. I’ve always gotten them around the Halloween season, but they feel more . . . present this time. Like they’re almost solid. But I see odd shifts all the time, so I suppose it might just be me. I don’t know.
Detective Ramirez: Shadows that feel almost solid? Could you elaborate on that?
Elya Eshbern: It’s hard to describe. They’re . . . darker than a regular shadow, I suppose. They seem to move on their own, sometimes, not just with the light. I’ve seen them flicker in the periphery of my vision. Even in the kitchen during the day. They just seem . . . more noticeable, what with everything else happening.
Detective Ramirez: You’ve mentioned shadows and the “Otherworld.” Based on your familiarity with pooka folklore, do you think other entities from . . . that realm . . . could be involved? Perhaps something . . . less benevolent than Odora?
Elya Eshbern: I . . . I don’t know. The old legends . . . they speak of much more malicious creatures. But I’ve never actually encountered anything like that here. And Odora has been nothing but friendly and kind. I don’t know how another creature could be involved in any of this without Odora, or Sully knowing.
Detective Ramirez: It’s possible, Ms. Eshbern, that they may not be entirely aware. Sometimes these entities are . . . subtle in their moments. Now, I’d like to circle back to the October 11th theft of those market pies at the Simargl Bakery. There’s been a recurring pattern with missing fruit filling, especially snowdrop berry ones. Do you have any insight in that?
Elya Eshbern: No, I can’t say that I do. I mean, Odora likes sweet things, sure, but I don’t know what her preferences in filling might be. She hasn’t mentioned a liking for snowdrop berries before. Sully is really the sweet expert between the two of them. Besides, it’s her mother and grandmother that do the baking in their home, not Odora.
Detective Ramirez: All right. Just one last thing, Ms. Eshbern. You mentioned both Sully and Odora go to school there. Is this a normal public school?
Elya Eshbern: As normal as it can be. It’s WrenChester Middle School. Same one I went to as a dragonet. Then humanoid teachers have been very good with Odora; they’re used to . . . Well, unusual students, I think. The community has accepted “anthropes.” of all kinds. But to be honest, Odora is more popular than Sully.
Detective Ramirez: I see. Thank you for your times, Ms. Eshbern. This has been very helpful. We may need to follow up with further questions later.
Elya Eshbern: Of course, Officer. I’ll do anything to help. I just . . . I hope they find that boy soon. It’s awful.
Detective Ramirez: We all do, Ms. Eshbern. We all do. Thank you again for your cooperation.
[End Transcript]
Conclusion: This initial interview with Elya Eshbern provides valuable context and preliminary information concerning both fare thefts and the disappearance of Tod Winnokur. Further investigation, including interviews with Sully Eshbern and more in-depth looks into Odora’s behavior, will be necessary. This transcript is part of an ongoing investigation, and its conclusion should be considered as part of a larger body of evidence.
(S is for Second Interview)[]
[Begin Transcript]
Location: Hogan’s Gap Police Department
Interview Room 2
Date: November 1st, 2013
Time: 10:15 A.M.
Interviewee: Sully Eshbern (Age: 14, Zmei Dragon-descent)
Interviewer: Detective Sergeant Ramirez
(Detective Sergeant Ramirez sits across a metal table from Sully Eshbern. Sully fidgets with the hem of his bright green hoodie, his normally vibrant eyes looking somewhat subdued. A small bag of untracked pistachios sits between them.)
Ramirez, with a calm demeanor, initiated the dialogue. “Good morning, Sully. Thanks for coming in,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring.
Sully muttering a soft, “Good morning,” barely making eye contact.
Ramirez continued, acknowledging the awkwardness of the situation. “I know this isn’t the most fun way to start a day after Halloween. But we appreciate your cooperation. Can I offer you a pistachio? They’re unsalted, the skirret sergeant in Records always brings a bag.”
He slid the bag closer to Sully, who hesitated for a moment before nervously cracking open a single pistachio, the shell popping softly in the quiet room.
“Thanks,” Sully replied, his voice barely above a whisper.
Ramirez leaned in slightly, his tone shifting to a more serious note. “So, Sully, we’re looking into a few things right now. First off, we’re had some reports about unusually large quantities of pies disappearing from various market stalls last night. A rather . . . peculiar amount. We understand you were out trick-or-treating, yes?”
Sully nodded, his expression shifting as he recalled the night. “Yeah. Usually, I help out The Hearth, but Mom let me out early with Odora along with a few other neighbor kids.”
Ramirez raised a bristly eyebrow, intrigued. “Odora, that would be . . . your pooka friend?”
Sully nodded quickly, a hint of excitement breaking through his nervousness. “Yeah, Odora. She was dressed as Little Red Riding Hood with a crochet red hen hat. Uh, she has a lot of those kind of chicken hats . . . knitted by her grandma.”
Ramirez jotted down a note, his pen scratching against the paper. “A crochet red hen hat. Right. Now, a few witnesses claimed they saw someone matching Odora’s description . . . let’s say, ‘tucking away’ a few of those pies. Did you see her with any pies last night?”
Sully’s gaze dropped to the pistachio shell in his hand, his mind racing. “Uh . . . well, we went to a couple of, uh, no-so-popular Cikavac run stalls. They were kinda . . . offering up their extra stock for free. Like, ‘Here, take our extra sample!’ You know?”
Ramirez nodded, encouraging him to continue. “Right. ‘Offering them up.’ So there were more pies than you could eat?”
Sully’s eyes lit up as he recalled the abundance. “Plenty. We were all stuffed, even Odora . . . ”
Ramirez leaned forward, his brow furrowed with concern. “So, you didn’t see her . . . taking any pies after that?” he asked, his voice steady yet probing.
Sully shook his head, his gaze drifting away as if searching for the right memory. “No. Not that I remember. She was . . . mostly focused on the ‘trick’ part of trick-or-treating. You know, the little . . . pranks? Catapulting fake spiders, cockroaches, ants into people’s hair and drinks. That sorta thing.”
Detective Ramirez nodded, acknowledging the mischief that often accompanied Halloween. “Pranks, yes. We’ve heard about those. Now, Sully, this next part is a little more serious. We also have a missing person report: Tod Winnokur. He was last seen going trick-or-treating last night.”
At the mention of Tod’s name, Sully’s shoulders tensed, and he ceased his nervous fiddling with a pistachio shell.
“Tod? Tod’s missing?” he muttered, his frill rippling slightly.
“Yes. We’re trying to piece together where he was last seen and who he was with. Were you with Tod last night?” Ramirez inquired, his tone serious.
Sully hesitated, his mind racing. “Not . . . not really. We saw him at the beginning, maybe around five-forty, when we were getting candy on Elm Street. He was dressed as a . . . a giant marshmallow robot bunny. It was supposed to be a character from this CGI movie . . . I forget what it’s called . . .” he trailed off, frustration evident in his voice.
“S’mores Giga-Bun,” Ramirez interjected, his hawkish eyes narrowing in recognition.
Sully’s face lit up as he excitedly snapped his taloned fingers. “Yeah, that’s it! He was Marshy 6. I don’t go for that digital stuff, but most my friends watch it. Me and Odora were laughing because . . . ’cause he was bouncing around like an idiot. The friends that were with him were cracking up too.”
Ramirez pressed on, his interest piqued. “Either one of you spoke to any of them?”
“Just me,” Sully replied. “And only to Tod, like . . . ‘Oh, hi there, Tod. Cute costume,’ that kind of thing. He didn’t say anything to us, just continued his Easter Bunny impression. I don’t think he even noticed us. So we just went up High Street toward the Market Way, and he and his clique headed on toward the Feyland Park and the Bridgenia Promenade.
“And you didn’t see him after that?” Ramirez asked, his tone growing more serious.
“Not while we were going along Old Market Way,” Sully admitted, a hint of worry creeping into his voice. “Although we did see several of Tod’s close acquaintances making the rounds at the various shops.”
Ramirez continued, “Did either of you have any interaction with any of them?”
“Yeah, we did,” Sully answered promptly. “We had like twelve kids along with their parents and siblings coming over to say hello and chat.”
Ramirez tapped his pen against his notepad. “Twelve trick-or-treaters along with family? That’s quite a crowd. How long did this interaction take?”
Sully shrugged, cracking another pistachio. “Maybe forty-five minutes to an hour. Odora soon got distracted trying to pin some pumpkin broaches onto her hats.”
The detective scribbled a note. “And their names? Anyone stand out?”
“Well, Lei Kimura the Tanuki girl was dressed in a kimono like her mom and little sis Mia,” Sully began, counting on his fingers. “Mia kept trying to steal other people’s candy. And Jasper Finchley, the Griffin kid– he was wearing fake dragon wings and he kept flapping them in Odora’s face. That’s why she had a difficult time trying to attach the broaches to her hat. Eventually, Jasper’s mom told him to settle down . . .’
Ramirez nodded, jotting down names. “Anyone else?”
“The bird sprite siblings Irek and Griebe Sylvanashade,” Sully continued, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the table edge. “They were covered in glittery dye, and arguing about who got the most candy and prizes. Then there was Benji Mossback, the Kappa kid lugging around his candy bucket like it weighed a ton. Also he kept complaining his shell costume slowed him down.”
Ramirez’s pen flew across the page.
Sully paused, brows furrowed. “Um . . . the twins! Ignus and Brok Meadow Brook. Gnome kids. They kept popping out of the nearby bushes and shouting ‘Boo!’ at people.” He cracked another pistachio absently.
“Oh! And Mara Kelpie– she had seaweed hair extensions dripping everywhere. Complained they ruined her sabertooth tiger fangs.”
Ramirez’s pen hovered impatiently. “That’s eight, Sully. Just the names and species now.”
Sully flushed, counting again. “Right! Um . . . Viktor Stonetusk, the Minotaur kid. He kept snorting whenever Jasper flapped his wings. And . . . Lyra Nixie. She had glowing jellyfish tentacles that kept tangling up with Odora’s hat broaches. I think she even swiped a couple . . .”
The detective’s knuckles whitened around his pen. “Two left. Quickly now.”
Sully gulped. “Finch Sparkwing the pillywiggin buzzing around everyone’s heads. And . . . Ukiah Grimshaw.” He dropped his voice. “The Nye-Am Goth girl. Didn’t even say ‘Hello’ or ‘Trick-or-Treat.’ Just glowered and grumbled under her breath.”
Ramirez scribbled furiously. “Grimshaw. Noted. So, what was the reason for her dark mood . . . or was she just being in character?”
“Well, I asked Lei what was wrong with her exactly,” Sully murmured, tracing a finger along the table’s cold metal edge. “Lei whispered that Ukiah had just had a massive falling out with Tod.” He paused, the pistachio shell crumbling in his palm. “Right before Halloween too. She was furious because Tod dumped her to go out trick-or-treating with Jarvis Giroux’s group instead.”
Ramirez’s pen froze mid-word. “Jarvis Giroux?” His voice dropped, low and deliberates. “The mayor’s son?”
Sully nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. Jarvis’s crew always gets the best candy routes. Tod probably wanted in.”
The fluorescent light above flickered, casting shifting shadows across his elongated face as he added, “Ukiah just stood there, Lei said, staring at Tod’s marshmallow bunny backside like she wanted to laser it with her piercing ‘death glare.’
Ramirez’s pen froze mid-word. “Jarvis Giroux?” His voice dropped, low and deliberate. “The mayor’s son?”
Sully nodded again as he crushed a pistachio shell into fine dust. “Lei also told me . . . Tod’s parents were furious.” He lowered his voice, leaning closer over the table. “He maxed out their credit cards on tacky Halloween stuff– giant inflatable ghosts, imported French chocolate gargoyle fountains, the works. They just found out three days ago and cancelled his party immediately. Wanted him to go to some charity event for the Terrean refugees to teach him some humility, but Tod wasn’t having any of it so he took off in a last minute costume instead.”
The detective’s eyes narrowed. “So, Tod lost his party privileges and his girlfriend in what, seventy-two hours?”
“Yeah, pretty much,” Sully replied with a shrug.
Ramirez’s pen hovered over Ukiah Grimshaw’s name. “And Ukiah was just . . . watching him?”
Sully nodded sharply. “Lei said she could hear Ukiah screaming at Tod across the street in front of her house yesterday evening– something about him ruining everything for just a few ‘useless, wasteful props.’” He mimicked Ukiah’s low growl: “‘You wasted all that money that would have been better spent on a ghost tour or hired monster actors! You’re the perfect example of what happens when a gene pool doesn’t have a lifeguard.’”
The fluorescent light buzzed overhead, stretching the silence between them. Stifling a chuckle, Ramirez scribbled 'POSSIBLE MOTIVE?’
Sully picked out another pistachio. “Lei went on to say that Tod’s parents went all nuclear when the credit card bill arrived. Said his dad smashed one of those fancy chocolate fountains with a sledge hammer.” Sully then crushed the unopened nut as emphasis. “That was probably why Tod was bouncing like a fool. Apparently, dancing out of pure spite.”
Ramirez underlined Uriah’s name twice. “And Ukiah witnessed the chocolate fountain demolition?”
Sully nodded. “Lei said Ukiah watched from their garden hedge while Tod’s dad went full on berserker-mode. Ukiah texted Tod later: ‘Should’ve melted it over your head.’”
Outside, rain began tapping against the solar-shingled roof, a sudden downpour blurring the autumn world beyond the interrogation room’s harsh light.
The detective leaned back, the metal chair groaning under his hefty weight. “All right. Pie theft aside, we’ve got a jilted girlfriend, a spoiled rich kid’s crew, and a missing marshmallow rabbit furry.” He tapped the notebook decisively. “Wanna tell me everything you know about Jarvis Giroux’s group? Routes, habits? Who was with him last night?”
Sully cracked what proved to be a rather stubborn nut, the sound sharp in the sudden quiet. “Honestly, I don’t know much about Tod’s crew other than names.” He frowned, trying to recall fleeting glimpses. “They’re all Luxe-born from the Elite Silverleaf Section in town. Total Toll-Toffs.” He counted off the names slowly. “Besides Tod and Jarvis, there’s Silas Thornwood tall, toothy blonde, always smirking like the Joker. Then twin redheads Aris and Elara Sewellel, impossible to tell apart, even without costumes. And . . . “ he hesitated, searching for the last name. “Oh! Brenner Swift. He’s an archery jock. He takes the whole Tolkien-esque super elf fantasy to the extreme. And Sylvia Vesper. She’s . . . intense horsey brunette. Runs track. I think her folks did some illegal ‘recombinant enhancement’ while she was still in development stages.”
Ramirez scribbled furiously “Silver bloods, you said?”
Sully nodded, dusting shell fragments from his hoodie. “Yeah, got themselves kicked out of the same boarding school three years ago– something about illegal fireworks and one of the headmaster’s prized hunting spaniels. Public school’s their ‘last resort’ punishment.” He snorted softly, expelling a smoke ring. “They may not be old enough to drive or vote, but that doesn’t stop them from acting like they own the place, and bullying anyone they think is weaker and least likely to fight back.”
Ramirez’s pen paused. “Bully them?”
Sully’s jaws tightened. “Usual stuff, you know? Spreading vicious rumors, gas lighting, blackmail, calling them demeaning little nicknames like ‘pukey,’ ‘gooper,’ ‘mutt cakes,’ or ‘null rats.’ And lets not forget the classic dick moves– tripping them in the crowded hallway or an elbow jab sending their books flying.”
He stared at the pistachio bag, voice dropping. “Jarvis Giroux’s probably the worst. Tod’s shadow. Always whispering in his ear, egging him on. Looks like polished marble– perfect hair, perfect teeth. Acts like he’s breathing some exclusive air that’s just too good for the rest of us.”
The detective flipped a page. “Delinquencies?”
Sully shrugged. “Heard rumors. Setting off AXE cologne stink bombs in the library stacks last year. Got suspended. Before that, something about forging his mom’s signature on a waiver for a banned Inscriber device for homework enhancement.” Another pistachio was skillfully cracked, its shell snapping like a tiny bone. “But his mom’s the mayor. Stuff just . . . disappears.”
Ramirez’s expression hardened. “Stuff disappears. Right.” Then changing the subject. “These five others– Silas, Aris, Elara, Brenner, Sylvia. Did you happen to overhear any heated arguments between them? Did Tod clash with any of them recently?”
Sully shifted uncomfortably. “Not that I saw. But Sylvia . . . she looked kinda annoyed when Tod was bouncing around in that rabbit suit. Like he was embarrassing her.” He mimicked a stiff posture, nose in the air. “She’s super serious. Probably hated the whole marshmallow bunny thing.”
Ramirez tapped his pen some more. “So Lei Kimura didn’t mention anything else troubling Tod?”
Sully shook his head, pistachio dust dripping from his sleeve onto the metal table. “Nah, that’s pretty much it. Although Lei would have talked our ears off about the curfew being so unfair if her mom hadn’t pulled her away. Then shortly after that, everyone else started to head up Old Market Way while we hung out near the shops. Odora soon got her broaches sorted out, then we grabbed some pumpkin-shaped lollipops from Mrs. Gable’s candy shop, and decided to head back down High Street toward home.”
“What time was this?” Ramirez asked, jotting down the route’s details.
Sully glanced up at the overheads as if recalling moonlight. “About seven forty, I reckon. The street lamps were flickering on when we left Old Market Way.” He brushed the shell fragments into a small pile. “Odora wanted to hit one more stall near the Lantern Pathway– said they gave out cursed caramel apples last year that made her tail glow purple for a week. But we didn’t see that particular stall so we just turned down High Street.”
Sully’s fingers stilled over the shell pile. “The bridge with all the street lights,” he murmured. “The arched one over Willow Maid Creek, just before the Feyland Park entrance. We were cutting through the shortcut by the old oak– the one with the carved dryad face.” He traced a wavy line in the dust. “He was alone under the middle street lamp, that stupid rabbit head tilted back like he was staring up at the moon. Or maybe just catching his breath. The suit looked . . . different somehow . . . like heavier than before. At the time, I thought it was just a trick of the light and the way he was standing.”
Ramirez’s pen hovered. “Alone? Jarvis’s crew wasn’t with him?”
Sully shook his head firmly. “No one. Just Tod in that bulky costume, standing under the lamp like it was a spotlight. And it was also . . . really quiet. Like dead quiet. Usually, you hear crowd noises or concert music from the park, but there was nothing. Like someone had sucked all the sound out with a vacuum.” He shivered despite the room’s stale warmth. “Even the frogs and crickets stopped. Also the scenery seemed faded and blurred, like an old photograph.”
“How long did you both watch him?” Ramirez pressed, his voice low and intent.
Sully frowned deeply, cracking a pistachio slowly. “Not long. Maybe like twenty minutes? Then Odora whispered to me, ‘Tod looks bushed, think I’ll go wake him up.’ But I didn’t think he looked ‘bushed,’ he looked . . . frozen. Like a statue. Before I could even open my mouth to warn her, she was already scurrying forward toward the middle section where he was standing.”
Ramirez leaned forward, elbows digging into the table. “Facing her directly?”
Sully nodded, eyes fixed on the pistachio dust. “Dead on. Those painted rabbit eyes, blank as buttons, staring right into Odora’s face. She froze mid-whoosh. Didn’t even breathe.”
The detective scribbled furiously. “And then?”
Sully grounded a shell in his palm. “Odora jumped back like she’d touched a live wire. Her fur puffed out everywhere. Then she hissed, low and scared-like, something I’d never heard from her before.” He rubbed the fragments between his fingers. “That’s when Tod . . . laughed.”
Ramirez’s pen stopped mid-sentence. “Laughed?”
“Yeah, laughed,” Sully whispered, his gaze distant. “Not a real laugh, though. More like . . . gears grinding. Hollow and metallic. It echoed over that bridge like coins rattling in a tin can.” He wiped his palms on his faded jeans. “Then Odora scrambled backwards, tripping over her own tail. She landed hard on the pavement, her eyes wide as saucers.”
Ramirez’s thick knuckles tightened around his pen “Did Tod move toward her?”
Sully shook his head sharply. “No. He just . . . stopped laughing. Just went all still again. That rabbit head tilted back up toward the moon like nothing happened.” A bitter laugh escaped his throat, along with a spurt of flame. “Odora hissed, ‘Not funny, Tod!’ But he didn’t twitch. Didn’t seem to breathe even. Just stood there like a . . . prop.”
Fanning away the smoke, Ramirez scribbled 'prop' in his notepad. “Then?”
Sully leaned forward, voice dropping to a raw whisper. “I watched as Odora scrambled to her feet, fur still bristling. She backed away slow, never taking her eyes off him. ‘Sully,’ she called out, really quiet-like. ‘Something’s wrong with Tod.’ And that’s when I noticed it too.” He swallowed hard. “The street lamp above him . . . the light wasn’t touching him right. It slid off the suit like oil. Left him standing in his own little pocket of shadow.”
The detective’s pen paused. “And Tod?”
Sully slowly shook his head. “Didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just waited. Odora reached my side, shaking. Then she grabbed my sleeve. ‘We gotta go,’ she whispered. ‘Now, ‘” He mimicked her grip, fingers tightening on his cuff. “We turned to run back toward High Street. That’s when we heard it.” His hands started to tremble. “Footsteps. Slow. Heavy. Like boots dragging through gravel. Right behind us.”
Ramirez leaned in. “How close?”
“Too close,” Sully whispered. “The sound didn’t match the distance. Like he was three steps away, but sounded like he was breathing down our necks.” He shuddered. “We didn’t look back. Just ran. Full sprint past the oak tree, up the hill. But the footsteps kept pace. Never faster, never slower.” His fists clenched. “And that laugh started back up again. Fainter now. Like wind whistling through a cracked window.”
Outside the interrogation room, the precinct’s fluorescent lights buzzed to life, reacting to the encroaching gloom.
Ramirez watched Sully trace protective glyph patterns in the dust pile. “Did Odora say anything while you ran?”
Sully nodded. “Between gasps. Kept repeating ‘Not Tod. Can’t be Tod.’ Her tail was now sparking– little blue static burst. Never saw that before. Wondered why we weren’t shifting into Beast Mode, like we were stuck in anthrop. second gear.” He rubbed his eyes. “Halfway up High Street, the footsteps stopped cold. So did the laughing. Just . . . gone.”
Ramirez clicked his pen several times. “And the bridge? Anything left behind?”
Sully’s shoulders slumped. “Odora’s treats bag. Spilled out on the pavement where she fell.” He hesitated. “Lost my bag and fake hatchet somewhere uphill.”
“And . . . the shadow under the street lamp?”
“It stayed. Even when we looked back from the hilltop.”
The pen skidded to a halt. “What do you mean, ‘stayed?’”
Sully’s voice dropped to a whisper, “Like black oil spilled on concrete. Didn’t move. Didn’t fade.”
“And was Tod back under the street light?”
Sully shook his head. “No. The bridge was empty. Just that oil-slick shadow pooled under the lamp.”
“And what was Odora’s reaction to all of this?”
Sully fidgeted, picking at a loose thread on his cuff. “She stopped running, just stared bug-eyed at the thing. Tail kept on sparking. Blue flickers. Like faulty neon. Started muttering about ‘wrong angles’– how Tod’s shadow hit the ground all crooked.” His fingers shook as he cracked a nut. “Said it looked . . . folded.”
The pen scribbled 'folded shadow?' “You also witnessed this particular shape?”
Sully nodded, expertly cracking open another pistachio, the shell flying across the table like a tiny projectile. Popping the nut into his mouth, he chewed it slowly as if it could somehow calm his racing thoughts. With each crunch, he glanced around the room, his eyes darting like a squirrel caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. “It didn’t even look like a shadow of a bunny suit. More like dark, crumbled-up mass with these ugly, green lines squiggling through it.”
Ramirez leaned forward, his chair groaning under the sudden shift of weight. “And how long did you and Odora watch it?” he pressed, his voice low and steady, cutting through the stale air of the interrogation room.
Sully’s fingers stilled over the shell pile. He blinked, as if pulling himself back from the moonlit hilltop. “Don’t know,” he murmured, rubbing a hand over his scaly face. “Felt like forever. But maybe eight to ten minutes. We just stood there, halfway up High Street, staring down at that . . . thing. It didn’t twitch, didn’t fade. Just sat under that lamp like one of those Rorschach inkblot things.” He swallowed some nut fragments hard, the memory tightening his throat. “The air suddenly smelled like wet asphalt and ozone. Odora’s fur was still crackling.”
Ramirez scribbled rapidly '8 to 10 min observations' as Sully’s voice hitched. “Then Odora screamed.” He flinched at the phantom sound, shoulders hunching. “Not a scared little scream. A raw, tearing one. ‘It’s moving!’ she shrieked, claws digging hard into my arm. ‘Off the bridge! Heading uphill’” His knuckles creaked as he balled one fist, as if holding on to his fraying sanity. “I looked where she was pointing. The shadow wasn’t under the lamp anymore. It was sliding across the pavement toward the hill’s base. Fast. Like ink spreading on wet paper.”
The detective’s pen came to an abrupt halt. A large droplet of black ink hung precariously from the nib poised over the notepad. The phrase he had been jotting down–'subject witnessed--' lingered incomplete, an unfinished though on the page. The pen’s motionless mirrored the paralysis of his mind, which had gone blank, unable to grasp the dreadful truth that had just been revealed.
With its clinical surfaces and buzzing overheads, the room seemed to bend and twist. His stomach clenched into a painful knot as a chilly, prickly sensation crept up his spine.
For several long minutes, he sat there, frozen in disbelief, in a nearly catatonic state as his mind struggled to restart, to comprehend the unimaginable. The only movement was the slow, relentless fall of the ink droplet from his pen, a dark tear landing on the white paper with a soft, final splat.
“Uphill?” Ramirez squeezed out the words passed numb lips. “Toward you?”
Sully jerked a nod. “Yeah. And it wasn’t just sliding, it . . . pulsed. Those green squiggles inside it? They flared, bright as poison. Made the street lamps flicker.”
His other fist crushed a large nut, dust particles drifting like ash between his clenched fingers. “Odora yanked me backward so hard I stumbled. ‘Run!’ she howled. ‘Don’t look back!’” So we ran. Again. But this time . . .” His words now came in a rush. “This time, the air tasted like burnt sugar and rusty pennies.”
Ramirez leaned in closer, his voice now a low rasp. “What happened when you reached the main street?”
Sully’s gaze darted to the one-way mirror, as if expecting the shadow itself to seep through. “Then suddenly, we burst out into the sidewalk near Mrs. Gable’s shop. Right back where we started from Old Market Way. People were still milling about, laughing, chattering, buying last-minute treats. Normal. Safe.” He gave a shaky laugh. “We almost knocked over a buck-toothed kid dressed as a scarecrow. Odora was panting now, and jabbing her finger back down the hill. ‘It’s coming!’ she screamed at the crowd. But nobody looked up. Nobody reacted. Everyone just kept moving like she was part of the Halloween background noise.”
Sully dropped the crushed nut, only to squeeze another, the popping sound sharp in the quiet room. “I grabbed her shoulder, and spun her around. ‘Look!’ I hissed. Back down that sloping hill, where the bridge was . . . nothing there now. Just the empty street lamp, its light all normal-looking. No shadow. No Tod. Like it had never been there.” He tightened his jaw against a sudden, unwanted tremor. “Odora went all still. Really still. Her fur smoothed back down, but her eyes . . . they were still huge. Terrified. Then she whispered, ‘It’s still coming, Sully. I can feel it. Cold. Like winter breath on my neck.’ And then . . . we both smelled it.”
Ramirez stopped writing. “Smelled what?”
Sully’s nostrils flared as if catching the phantom scent again. “Rotting pumpkins and apples,” he whispered, the words thick with remembered revulsion. “But sharp. Chemical. Like something sweet left to fester in a metal trash bin,’ He dusted his palms together, scattering crumbs everywhere. “Odora then gagged, doubling over. ‘It’s here,’ she choked out, her voice strangled. ‘Right behind us!’”
Sully’s eyes darted wildly around the sterile interrogation room. “I spun around, fists up, ready to swing at . . . nothing. Just the teaming crowds, the chatter, the smell of frying doughnuts from Gable’s shop. But Odora was trembling like a leaf in a storm, her tail coiled tight against her back.
The pen carefully scratched out 'olfactory hallucination? 'Shared trauma response?'
“And the smell,” Ramirez’s sharp gaze fixed on Sully’s pale face. “Did it linger? Did anyone else react?”
Sully shook his head, causing his frill to rattle. “Gone in a breath. Like a door slamming shut. Odora then got up out her crouch, and was scanning the oblivious crowd. ‘It’s playing with us,’ she hissed in my ear. ‘Hiding in the noise.’ Then she latched onto my arm again, her claws nearly tearing through my sleeve. ‘We need to get home. Now’” He mimicked her grip, knuckles white.”So, we pushed through the throng, not running, but walking fast. Every laugh, every rustle of a costume behind us felt like . . . reaching fingers.”
Ramirez scribbled 'paranoia?'But kelp his voice neutral. “And the journey home? Any further incidents?”
Sully shakily cracked yet another pistachio, the sharp snap echoing. “It got quiet again when we went from Old Market Way,” he muttered. “The same dead quiet like at the bridge. The usual shortcut through Willow Lane, we avoided it. Took the long way around the park, part of the Old Finchley Tram Route. Kept under every bright street lamp we could find. Odora kept glancing over her shoulder. Her ears up and twitching at every sound. Once a paper bag blew across the road in front of us, she nearly jumped out of her fur.” Inserting the nut into his mouth, he chewed slowly and reflectively. “Didn’t see anyone which I thought was weird although the air stayed normal with the usual autumn food stuff and fishy harbor smell. But Odora . . . she kept shivering.”
“And what time did you reach home?”
“Eight,” Sully murmured, green dust clinging to his knuckles. “Should’ve been fifteen minutes tops to The Hearth with how fast Odora was practically dragging me. But the walk . . . it stretched.” He stared at the flickering overhangs as if seeing the harbor’s mist-choked lamps. “Like walking on a treadmill. Our footsteps echoed too loud, too hollow, like we were the only souls left. Every shop window we passed showed our reflections . . . and something else flickering just behind us in the glass. A smear of darkness where our shadows should’ve been.”
The pen halted, a dark blot spreading after 'Discrepancy in perceived time.'
“Distorted reflections?” he queried, his voice carefully controlled.
Sully nodded, hands tightly clasped. “Yeah. Not every window. Just . . . some. Thee Olde Butcher Shoppe, The Badger’s Den and Antiquarium. Places with real glass, not that modern bioplax stuff.”
Shuddering, he brushed shell fragments off the table. “Odora saw it too. She stopped dead outside EarthCraft Goods, staring at her own reflection. Her fur went flat and tight against her skin. ‘It’s pacing us,’ she whispered. ‘Keeping to the dark spots between the lamps.’ That’s when I smelled it again– rotten apples, pumpkins and that sharp, chemical bite, and then this fog rolled in thick and sudden, swallowing the street lights whole.”
Ramirez’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Fog? Like from the harbor?”
Sully snorted as he shook his head. “Not sure where exactly. Harbor Walk never got fog like that. Not in October. Not ever. And this stuff . . . it clung . . . like one of those pea-soupers. Cold and greasy, like wet ash. Couldn’t see three feet ahead of us.”
He mimed pushing through it with his hand. “Odora then grabbed my wrist so tight it hurt. ‘Don’t let go,’ she hissed. Her tail was sparkling again. Little blue flares that barely pierced the gloom. Then she dragged me behind a display cart just off the pavement. After we both crouched down, she made this low whistle– the kind she used to call stray cats with. Next thing we knew, three alley grimalkins slunk out of the fog, fur on end, spitting at the surrounding fog.”
Ramirez nodded. “Grimalkins? Those feral shifters near the old docks?”
Sully nodded back. “They circled us, tails puffed out. One growled in the direction we just came. That’s when we heard it– a wet, tearing sound. Like Velcro ripping, but meatier.”
He mimed the motion near his ribs. “Odora was shaking so badly her teeth chatted. Said, ‘He’s shedding. Oh gods, he’s shedding!’ Then we heard this heavy dragging sound close by, and as it passed, the street lights began flickering out block by block toward the River Walk. Then as soon as the sound passed, the fog just vanished. Poof! Gone. Like flipping an off switch.” He snapped his fingers. “We were now standing just a few yards away from Elya’s Hearth’s garden gate. We could see the porch light glowing, the pumpkin lanterns grinning away. Normal. Safe. Home-Safe-Home.” He gave a brief shudder”We then bolted for the gate. Didn’t stop till we were inside the Hearth. Odora puked up in the restroom, then just curled up tight in the living room, tail wrapped around herself like armor.” Sully paused, staring down at the table. “And she stayed like that until her mom came to get her around nine that was how terrified she was.”
He looked shamefaced at Ramirez, “I didn’t tell Mom what really happened. I just put on a Vincent Price movie as an excuse, and told her that Odora was scared of that.” He swallowed hard. “Yeah, I know I should have come forward earlier when I first heard the news that Tod was missing. Mom would have immediately called in the Watch if I’d told her about the Warped laughter and ‘Evil Dead’ possession-like shit, but Odora begged me not to. Said her family’s foreign residency permit barely passed last renewal. One ‘hysterical fae kid’ rumor . . .”
“But there were other witnesses,” Ramirez insisted. “Those grimalkins Odora called. Those shifters saw it too. Did they–?”
Sully cut him off, eyes wide. “They scattered when the street lights died. Like smoke. Odora tried whistling for them again near the back dumpster earlier today, but nothing came.” He shivered. “Who knows? Maybe that Thing got them as well. Lately, people’s pets have been going missing around here, including some of the witches’ familiars.”
Ramirez flipped over a fresh new page. “This ‘shedding’ and ‘footsteps’ sound. You said it going along the River Way?”
Sully nodded, tracing a crack in the table. “Yeah, right back toward the park where the old ‘Founder’s Oak’s stands. The one with the hollow trunk.” He paused, voice dropping. “Odora thinks it left something behind. A . . . A husk.”
The detective’s eyes widened. “A husk? Like discarded skin?” Sully shivered. “She smelled it this morning. When we went there to look before going to school, but school was cancelled on account . . . Well, you know . . . because of what happened yesterday.” He grounded still more shells into dust. “Burnt sugar and wet rancid earth and blood. Stronger. It’s still there. Hidden in the roots.”
“Sully, listen to me,” Ramirez said, his voice low and urgent. “You and Odora witnessed something very dangerous. Something that probably took Tod, and maybe several others of his circle as well. But you told no one of what you just witnessed. Not even to someone you trust the most who could possibly help you in this major crisis.”
Sully’s gaze darted nervously to the one-way mirror, then back to the detective. “Who’d believe us anyway? Odora’s a Terrean-born pooka. I’m just a half-zmei. And Tod’s family’s on the town council. They’d just say we made it all up to cause trouble for the Highborn. Or . . . or that Odora ‘did’ something to get back at Tod.”
Ramirez nodded, then clearing his throat. “The skin husk under the Founder’s Oak. You’re certain it’s still there?”
Sully nodded, another shiver running through him. “We didn’t touch it. Just . . . saw the roots disturbed. Fresh dirt. And that smell– like rotten fruit and caramel left out on a hot stove.” He swallowed hard. “Odora wanted to dig it up and toss it into the Orth. Said it was bad luck to leave dead skin just . . . lying around. But I stopped her. Evidence, right?”
Ramirez’s gaze sharpened. “Smart call. But you still told no one? Not even after a night’s sleep?”
Sully’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Odora’s little brother Pip had night terrors. Woke up screaming about ‘a bag monster with a lot of eyes and teeth.’ Her mom thought it was just indigestion from all that Halloween candy he consumed. Gave him some chamomile tea and sang old Terrean lullabies. Gee, how do you say, ‘a skin-stealing, mutant grocery bag ate my bully in a lullaby?”
Ramirez considered Sully’s question a moment before shrugging with a laugh. “I wouldn’t know,” he replied. “I’m just here for the facts.” Then turning serious again. “You’re quite sure it’s undisturbed?”
Sully nodded, fiddling with another nut with trembling fingers. “We piled wet leaves over the roots. Like camouflage. But the crows . . .” He stuttered. “They gathered at dawn. Six of them. Just . . . staring at the covered place. Not cawing. Not moving even when Odora threw pebbles. They didn’t flinch.”
Ramirez’s pen scratched a dark line across the page. “Crows are drawn to power. Or carrion.” He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “You understand what this means? If this thing shed Tod’s skin there, it wasn’t just passing through. It marking territory. Claiming hunting grounds.”
Sully’s eyes widened. “The park . . . it backs out onto the old cemetery. Where the Veil’s supposedly thin. That’s also where some of Tod’s family’s buried.”
Ramirez nodded. “Exactly. Thin places tend to attract thin hungry things. Things like these need anchors– something familiar to wear, something sacred to defile.” He studied the dragonette for a moment. “Sully, think hard. Did Tod ever brag about his family crypt?”
Sully paled. “Last month. He flashed this old iron key at Odora. Said it opened the Winnokur mausoleum. Told her she could ‘guard it’ for him like a dog.” His fist clenched. “She refused. He tripped her into a mud puddle. Me and Alex Thompson threatened to punch his lights out.”
Ramirez frowned deeply. “Where’s that key now?”
Sully’s shoulders slumped despairingly. “Dunno. But . . . Odora told me later that she also smelt grave mold on the wind right after that Thing crawled by us.” He shrugged. “Of course, who’d believe us halfies anyway?”
Ramirez’s expression softened, the hard lines around his eyes easing. “Kid, you’re talking to a halfsie right now. Terrean/ or Hispanic/ Hawaiian on my father’s side and Nye-Am on my mother’s side. I grew up in Curtisville, a small town full of halfsies and rife to the eyeballs with the paranormal. Saw my cousin’s reflection wink at her in a mirror while she brushed her teeth. Watched a large otter mimic my dad’s voice, trying to lure me into the reeds. Even had a possessed grain bag pay a visit to my dad’s toolshed. Gave us all horrific nightmares for two weeks. Adults just dismissed these things as ‘figments of the imagination.’ But I knew. I ‘always’ knew.”
Ramirez leaned closer, lowering his voice. “When I first joined the force, they assigned me to the ‘Lore Records Section’– a small basement office with just a desk and a filing cabinet next door to boiler maintenance. I read every detailed report: shadows moving on their own with visible sources, laughter and voices coming from empty locked rooms.”
He tapped his pen against Tod’s name on the page, “One of Tod’s uncles had filed numerous complaints, three in the last year alone about ‘graveyard disturbance’ at the family plot. Council simply dismissed it as bear scratches. But I went there. Saw the claw marks across the insignia on the mausoleum door– too deep for any ordinary animal.”
Sully’s breath hitched. “Then you believe us?”
“Kid, I smelt that sweet, sick rot on the wind walking here this morning. Same stench blowing in from the Orth Marshes just north of town where the bog-lanterns and ba’wis hunt.” Ramirez slid a mid-sized evidence bag across the table. “Give this to Odora. Tell her to keep it close– skin stealers hate the taste.”
Sully stared at the bag full of what looked like iron filing. “What is it?” he whispered, turning the gritty pouch in his hands. The metal bits glinted dully under florescent lights, salt crystals catching like minuscule stars. He remembered Odora’s grandmother whispering about such charms– “Iron for binding, salts for cleaning. They bite the shadows that wear stolen faces.”
Detective Ramirez paused at the door, his silhouette tense against the one-way mirror. “A failsafe,” he said without turning “If that thing should try to follow you home, if it tries to wear your smile next . . .” He finally looked back, his eyes shadowed. “Sprinkle it between you and any doorway or window. Thresholds are weaknesses when something’s hellbent on hunting skins.”
Sully pocketed the iron-salt mixture the weight grounding him. “Detective?” His voice steadied. “You don’t need to worry about Odora or me tonight. My mom’s a full-blooded Zmei, descended from the Zmei Gorynich lines. When she gets into full-on protective-mode . . .” Sully crushed a pistachio with deliberate force. “Let’s just say skin-stealers would find her kitchen spoons hotter than dragon fire. Last time a Nanmore witch debt collector threatened me; she melted his gold filling with just a stare.”
Ramirez’s hand paused on the doorknob, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “I’ve seen her handle rowdy lycanthrope at closing time. Threw a drunken were boar out by his tusks like he was trash day.” He nodded, respect in his gaze. “Still. That charm isn’t just for Odora. Your mom’s tough, but even zmei scales can’t stop a blade dipped in hoodoo grave-rot. Keep it on you at all times.”
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting long shadows that seemed to twitch at the corners of the room.
Sully’s fingers tightened around the charm bag, the iron filings gritty against his palm. “What about Tod?” he asked, the name tasting like ash. “If it’s wearing him . . . or what’s left . . .” He couldn’t finish, picturing the hollow-eyed crows and the stench of burnt sugar and rotting fruit.
Ramirez’s expression turned grim. “We’ll sweep the oak later with Veil-sensitive units. Quietly. If that husk is there, we’ll bag it before the council’s lapdog catch wind of it.”
He opened the door, the hallway’s fluorescent glare cutting across the floor. Then pausing, he said: “Go straight to home. Don’t stop. Don’t look back”
(S is for Street Gossip)[]
12:40 P.M.
Outside the precint, the morning had faded along with the rain, the sky had deepened into a bruised purplish-gray, casting a quiet, somber light over the cobblestone streets. Streetlamps were already beginning to flicker to life, their sickly yellow light barely cutting through the encroaching gloom.
Sully pulled his hood up, the rough fabric rubbing his scaly neck as he surveyed the deserted sidewalk. Leaves crunched softly under his sneakers, their rich orange and brown muted by the subdued light.
The air felt crisp but heavy, the kind that hinted at more rain to come. It was also thick with the aroma of wet stones and distant woodsmoke-- and underneath it all, faint yet unmistakable, the sickly sweetness of burnt sugar and decay. His footsteps echoed too loudly in the unnatural stillness, each slap of his sneakers against the cobble stones making his heart thump harder.
He'd barely turned the corner onto Fair View Street when a familiar voice suddenly called out. "Hey Sully! Sully!"
Sully stopped in his tracks, a smile spreading across his face as he recognized the voice. He turned around to see the portly, curly-haired form of Bill Dobbins, jogging toward him, waving excitedly.
"Hey Bill! How've you been?" Sully exclaimed as they met in the middle of the sidewalk, sharing a hearty fist bump.
"Okay," Bill said, catching his breath. "Doin' alright. Same old, same old. Can't say the same for Lei Kimura or her lil' sister Mia though."
"Oh?" Sully pricked up his fringed ears. "Why is that?"
Bill practically vibrated with suppressed excitement, his eyes wide and fever-bright even in the poor light. "Sully! Holy crap, it's all over the freakin' news now! Even BBC's picking it up! Halloween's going to be totally ruined ! It's going to be all lame 'trunk or treat' in parking lots and handing out raw vegetables and gift certificates . . . like in the Hualau neighborhoods!"
"What?" Sully exclaimed, impatiently. "Was it something that Tod did?"
"Dude, I don't really know," Bill replied with a baffled shrug. "I'm just going by what I heard, except . . . Well, it just doesn't make any sense to me."
"Well, what doesn't make any sense?" Sully demanded.
"Well, Tod and his top tier crew," Bill explained with a troubled frown. "They may be Highborn purists jerks, but they don't strike me as attempted murderers."
Sully stared at him, thunderstuck. "What? Someone killed Lei and Mai last night?"
Bill shook his head. "No, Lei's okay," he muttered. "It's Mai who's got the worse of it because she ate the most . . . "
"So what happened exactly?" Sully asked, a sinking feeling growing in his gut.
"Mai, and a few other kids got sick by tainted candy," Bill's voice was now a harsh whisper, raspy with urgency. "They all got rushed to Mercy General this morning-- had to get activated charcoal and their stomachs pumped!" He leaned closer, his breath smelling faintly of sour gummy bears. "Word is it was a batch of 'GhoulGummies' that Tod's crew had gotten earlier. Mai said that she pilfered some of them from their bags, all wrapped in shiny orange and green wrappers . . . tasted like metal, brown sugar and bad pennies. She told this to the nurses before passing out. Bill shuddered, his gossip-fueled thrill. "Whole neighborhood's buzzing. People are tossing their candy sacks straight into the dumpsters or getting it checked out by Detective Waverley-- she's got that old grimoire data base for poison detection charms."
Sully froze. The iron-salt charm suddenly felt like ice . The Ghoul Gummies-- he remembered a few weeks prior Tod's typical sneer as he'd tossed a handful onto the pavement near Odora's feet, glittering round wrappers catching the weak autumn sun.
"Try some, halfsie," Tod had jeered, nudging Alex Thompson hard in the ribs. "Bet it's fancy Terrean stuff. Or maybe it'll turn your oversized ears furry."
Alex ended up slugging Tod hard in the upper arm before tossing the elf's newsy cap into a nearby fountain.
Sully's blood ran cold. He hadn't seen Mai or any other littlle kid scoop up the scattered gummies that day. . . but he had seen Mia, hovering near the older kids' treat bags last night, her tiny fingers quick and darting as a bird's beak. A practiced thief lifting specific pieces-- the shiny round ones, the ones Tod and his cronies had gathered earlier. Sully's leathery skin prickled with sudden gooseflesh. The metallic tang Bill described echoed the legendary sack's stench-- the nightmare-sack-- and the burnt sweetness clinging to that false Tod-thing. A chill deeper than the autumn air seeped into Sully's bones as he wondered which one of Tod's group was the intended target . . . or was it all of them?
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