“Tracking down people who don’t want to be found takes up a lot of my time, so I’m usually busy working. I visit supernatural cities constantly, though there’s usually no time to enjoy the sights and scenery. I’ve never been in a city so full of magic.”
Yeah, it’s something else. The carnival grounds stretch across the courtyard in a dizzying array of tents, booths, and attractions all alive with magic. Way more appealing than the sad, rusted human carnivals I’d sneaked into as a teenager.
“Let’s see,” he continues as we walk. “I’m from a small human town. You’d think it’d be easier to hide werewolves somewhere with space and fewer people, but more than half thetown is part of the pack or related to a shifter. The pack forgets about secrecy. Wolves would shift to chase away raccoons from the trash or howl at the moon in human form. Not exposing our secret to the rest of the town was basically a full-time job for the Alphas. Anyway, I moved to Brighton four years ago, and when I’m not working, I’m a regular guy. Howling at full moons, hunting bunnies, ripping off my shirt in a dramatic fashion and shifting into a beast.”
I do a double take and shoot the wolf an incredulous look. “You call that being normal?”
Is that a smile on his face? “Just checking to see if you were listening.”
“Are you trying to tell me you have a wild side?”
He ducks his head, and it’s not cute. “Nah, not really. Some of us get enough action on the job. My idea of a good time is a night in with a glass of good scotch and classic literature.” Now that’s definitely a real smile on his face when he looks at me. “It’s alright, you can tell me I’m boring.”
Maybe it should sound exactly as dull as I already know the stone-faced detective to be. But it sounds kind of… appealing. Most of my life has been spent on the road, always running from one place to the next, staying ahead of the strange creatures chasing me. I’ve never had one place to just slow down and relax. A home.
I’m about to do as expected and make a smart-ass comment anyway when something catches my attention: music. But unlike anything I’ve ever heard before. The notes seem to shimmer in the air, visible as tiny glimmers of light.
I follow the beat of an otherworldly bass guitar to a stage where a band of what I can only describe as magical creatures are playing. Their music leaves me speechless.
The notes have color. Have shape. Have life.
A faerie with translucent wings strums a harp, releasing notes that transform into silvery birds that fly above the crowd. A goblin pounds on drums that create ripples of color with each beat. A tall, willowy being with bark-like skin plays what looks like a flute carved from crystal, and the melody spirals upward in ribbons of green and gold.
“This is...” I trail off, unable to find the right words. Music and magic. It’s incredible.
“Something else,” Harper finishes, standing beside me. In the shifting lights from the music, his face looks softer and younger.
I find myself offering up a little story of my own. “Music is the one thing that’s always made sense. My older brother would stay up with me after my aunt went to bed and play me his favorite songs. He taught me all about different genres and how to read music, even started teaching me how to play the guitar, until he left. I still have the headphones he gave me for my birthday.”
Harper doesn’t say anything, just listens. Maybe it’s the magic in the air or the music… or even the man next to me that makes me keep talking.
“When I started seeing things—monsters, ghosts, strange, glowing holes in the world, I’d hide under my covers with those headphones and just... disappear into the music. Didn’t matter what kind. Rock, pop, oldies, some folk songs, anything with enough feeling behind it.”
The music flows around us, and I let myself get lost in it. For a moment, I’m not a necromancer on the run or a guy with a cosmic connection to a werewolf detective. I’m just me, standing beneath a sky filled with music made visible, feeling something close to peace.
~
Dodger
When Harper and I venture to the games section after the performance, he locks onto a prize floating in the air above a game stall, one of those strength-testing games where you swing a hammer to ring a bell.
“Step right up, step right up!” calls the carnival worker. I had no idea they really said that at carnivals. He’s a burly man with small horns peeking out from beneath his cap. “Show your strength, win a prize!”
Harper hands over the required cash to play with a confidence that makes me roll my eyes. He takes the oversized hammer from the attendant, hefting it like it weighs nothing. With a controlled swing, he brings it down on the target, and the marker shoots up, hitting the bell on his first try.
“Am I supposed to be impressed?” I ask with a smirk. “Your werewolf strength makes this pretty easy.”
Harper sends me a sharp look that clearly says ‘shut up,’ but it’s too late.
“Ah, a werewolf!” The attendant leaps on the new information. “Should have mentioned that earlier, my friend. We have a special version of this game for supernatural beings with enhanced strength.” He gestures to another High Striker machine off to the side. “This one has enchantments to accommodate for supernatural advantages and ensures the game gives you a real challenge.”
Harper’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t back down. “Fine. Let’s go again.”
I tug on his sleeve. “Harper, you don’t have to—”
“Your boyfriend will be fine,” the carnival worker assures. “If a satyr like me can do it, he should have no trouble.”
“Uh…” I don’t even know what part of that sentence to tackle first.
