PART I
Essentially all humans have the capacity for magic in one form or another. The onset of the manifesting magic comes in a endless variety ways, no one person has the same experience. Merlin (yes, that one) came up with the theory that during puberty emotions are running high as the body goes through it’s changes, helping along the manifestation of the dormant magic.
Talk about a double whammy.
Magic is run on emotional energy and the raw will of the user.
What happens during that time is a deeply personal thing. Like me, most magic users don’t talk about their experience. So it’s best to not even ask.
Those that embrace the change, some go on to become powerful wizards, other's delve into ‘the black’, or there are guys like me. Quick and dirty magic is more my style. For me, my magic is just another tool in my investigators kit - like the roll of duct tape I kept in the trunk of my car. Though there are those out there that believe that I’m misusing my magic or that I’m make a mockery of it.
I consider myself progressive as far as magic goes.
So I make no attempts to hide my use of magic, which might explain the Conclave hold me in such low regard. “Regular” humans should be kept in the dark as far as the Conclave was concerned. So when I use my magic out in the open like that most humans think I’m off my nut. Then I get thrust into the “He’s Fakey McFakerson” category. I don’t mind that much, unless it’s shitty press. There are a few reporters in this town I’d love to meet in a back alley, just to show them that yes magic does indeed exist.
That’s why a majority of my clientele are from the Supernatural community. There are just some places that mortals just wont go, their minds can’t wrap around what the Supernatural throws at them.
Those tend to end up in State run hospitals, with a nice cushioned apartment.
I didn’t have anyone around to teach me how to use my magic in the beginning. Believe me when you’re already going through puberty - and magic comes knocking it makes for some shitty teenage years. I met an older Wizard just after I turned 21, he took me under his wing and helped me when he could. When I could find the time, I’d go out to his place deep in the heart of the Rogue Valley to study and practice. Which hasn’t been lately since business picked up.
Magic is broken down into four disciplines. Fire, Air, Water and Earth. Here in the northwest it’s mainly earth magic, do I have to point out how green it is around here?
Because I didn’t know any better at the time, I developed skills in all four. Which doesn’t happen if the Conclave is aware of it. They’d find you a Wizard and you would spend years upon years learning just one discipline.
I’m a Jack-Of-All Magic, master of none. But in the Wizarding part of the business, I am very rare thing indeed.
Magic is one of the reason’s I got into being a Private Investigator in the first place. All the more reason for the Conclave to hate me just a tiny bit more.
I employ the use of magical items, more than I do my spells.
I’d rather expend the energy needed at home, than out in the field when it could mean life or death. That way I could fully recover, instead of going to the well one to many times - to find myself empty handed when I needed it most.
I was just about done creating a new shield ring, I had lost my other one about a couple years before during a brief ‘Interview with a Vampire.’ I couldn’t find it in the aftermath.
I had finally been able to take the time to make another.
Then the phone rang, which broke my concentration - sending a jolt of magical energy back up my arm to my brain. It’s like the wizards version of brain freeze, though you do feel like your frontal lobe is going to make a quick and painful exit through my forehead. I murmured something not so polite under my breath as I stumbled for my phone. The theme to “Law & Order” blasting from my cell.
I growled into my phone.
“Aesop’s Fabled Investigations..”
“Alistair it’s Fin.”
Fin was a homicide detective with the Portland Police Department.
“Oh, hey. What’s up Chuck..” I said still grimacing from the Deathstar size headache that was building behind my eyes.
“Nobody like a wise-ass Shepperd” he deadpanned. “I’ve got something here that might be right up your alley.”
Fin was famous for calling me in on case’s that he would classify as ‘weird shit’. In past couple of years, we’ve worked several strange cases together. Honestly each case we’ve worked, shit has gotten weirder and weirder. Like someone was cranked the weird knob up to eleven, then proceeded to rip the knob off.
How cliche is that?
“Gotcha, normal rates Fin. A guy’s gotta eat. Got an an address for me?”
“Don’t forget your I.D. badge-the mayor is getting twitchy about these things, and we all know you’re not going to be on his Christmas card list anytime soon. I already have a feeling I’m going to catch shit for bringing you in on this.”
“Tell Mayor McCheese to take a Valium or ten. I already apologized for crying out loud.”
“Seriously Shepperd? I don’t have time for you and the Mayor’s little soap opera. This is a active crime scene, getting older by the second and even before you ask, no I’m not going to give you any details. I want you to see it for yourself.”
I jotted down the address and hung up with Fin.
The house was located up in the West Hills. Which is one of the swankier places to live in Portland.
I glanced over my shoulder eying my unfinished ring and sighed.
My office wasn’t large put it served my purposes. It was sandwiched between a Party Warehouse type store, you know the ones - party favors and costumes on the cheap and Water Ave. Coffee. The coffee is outstanding, also my office smells of roasted coffee-which is an added bonus (for me anyways, I’m a coffee junky). Plus they let me piggyback on their WiFi signal. I went to my desk and reached in the top drawer to grab my keys.
My desk and I had been together for years, it’s made completely out of teak found here in Oregon - and has a very organic look to it. As if it had grown that way. It was an office warming gift from a friend of mine.Other than that my office was more “Goodwill Chic” than anything else. It’s not like I’m getting rich doing this line of work. But, I enjoy my job and I know there are a lot of people out there who hate going to work everyday.
Key’s in hand I reached for the bottom drawer of my desk. At first glance, it looks like a normal desk drawer. I waved my hand over it as I murmured a few words. Rune’s and sigils lit up with a pale lavender glow. The drawer opened revealing my new MRI Baby Desert Eagle 9mm. Runes on the grip of the pistol also glowed a pale lavender.
As soon as the butt of the gun was in my hand, the runes switched to a dark emerald green glow and then faded out. I’ve put a trio of spells on my sidearm. I can make it nearly invisible (nothing is every truly invisible.), only I can use my gun - anyone else tries and they’ll be in for a big surprise. And because I watch to many movies and I’m a huge nerd, like Thor’s hammer - my gun will always return to me. Though that particular feature hadn’t been put to the test…yet.
I picked up the clip sitting next to it, and slammed it home in the butt of the gun. Pulling the slide back I chambered a round. I slid it into a hip rig on my right side, murmured again making the Desert Eagle disappear on my hip. The I grabbed my gray great coat. Even though it was summer - I could see a big storm cloud headed towards Portland proper and I was headed up to the West Hills.
Its good to always be prepared and such. And no I wasn’t a boy scout.
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