I keep wanting to write something based on the idea of a serial killer going after hedge witches, based on the plot to the Dresden Files novel White Night, the first of the Dresden Files I read. I enjoyed White Night enough that I made a Mage: The Awakening character based on the impression of Dresden I got from just that one book and the memories of the old TV series. But the plot really zigs when I wanted it to zag, and ultimately the killing of the dabblers in magical practices is just sort of a red herring for larger political machinations between vampire factions. The transphobic stereotype villain is also completely unnamed and dies unceremoniously. Still, I keep coming back to the idea of a serial killer who goes after hedge witches. I've been trying to make that story work for ages.
This character, Hayden, is based on that old Mage character, who was based on an impression of Harry Dresden from one book. They're also extremely trans coded, which is another thing I want to add to it. My version of the witch hunting serial killer is that they're also someone with supernatural talents and they're killing witches, psychics, and other people with a single foot in the supernatural as a form of repression. Because I think the supernatural makes for a good queer metaphor, I keep joking that my villain is a serial killer Blaire White.
I don't actually remember writing this particular version of it, but I sure did go ham on the Noirisms. I also experimented with having the character be trans without just saying "this character is trans". The whole thing with trying to convey to the audience that there's different levels of magic is a very Mage: The Awakening thing, but it comes off as really annoying here, so it's something I'd have to work on more.
It was a dark and stormy mid-afternoon when a client barged into my office and said “someone is going to kill me”.
That’s not exactly an introduction I could ignore, so I got up from my desk and set to helping her calm down, starting with a cup of coffee in a paper cup. She was a nervous woman, understandable considering the circumstances. Plump and taller than me, though that’s not saying much, and in her mid-twenties if I had to guess. Her hair was a fading blue with brown roots, and plastered to her face by rain. She looked like the love interest in some indie movie, and I wondered if someone thought she was their manic pixie dream girl and wasn’t taking no for an answer.
“Who’s trying to kill you?” I said, handing her the coffee cup.
She seemed normal enough, but when I touched her arm to lead her to the one good chair in the office, I could feel the tingle of energy that said she was just a little more than that. She took the plush client’s chair, her coat getting it wet, but I didn’t bother to say anything. It wasn’t that nice a chair in the first place. Meanwhile, I leaned on the edge of the scratch covered glass top desk.
“I don’t know, I just, I know that I’m next.” She didn’t really seem interested in the coffee, but held it in both hands with her purse in her lap.
“Have you been to the police? They’re usually the ones who handle these things.”
I’m not the police. For one thing, I won’t shoot your dog. But people tend to go to them first. A private investigator is a little further down most people’s priority list, and usually one like me isn’t even on that list. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve, but I’d be a terrible bodyguard with my far from intimidating height. I get people wanting someone to work a birthday party more than I get people who want me as muscle.
“Miss--er, mister Emmerich.”
I couldn’t help but wince as she stumbled to ‘correct’ herself, and held up a hand to cut her off. “Hayden is fine.”
She noticed my discomfort and had the decency to look like she’d been caught doing something embarrassing, like talking in the movie theater, or urinating in public. An honest mistake, even if it stung.
You get used to it.
After a hastily mumbled apology, she continued. “Hayden, I’ve gone to the police. They don’t take me seriously, they think I’m just stressed. That I’m being unreasonable because of my friends’ death.”
“Your friend died? Was it the same person who’s after you?”
“Yes!” she shouted, finally glad to have someone believe her. “Two of my friends. That’s what I keep telling them, they said it was suicide, and an accident, but that can’t be true, not so close like that.”
“Okay, I think you need to back up, start from the beginning here. Let’s start with your name.”
Her name was October, or at least that’s the name she gave me. I could already tell that it wasn’t her real name, but its not like Hayden is mine, either. In the circles I run in, names have power, and you tend to use fake ones if you can get away with it.. She and her friends were part of what she called a book club. October and her friends--given names May, August, and December--were interested in the occult, which is why she came to me. She was embarrassed to say it out loud, even to me, but she was a witch. The proper term was hedge witch, actually, but I didn’t correct her. She and her monthly friends were a coven, and they got together every week to discuss the occult, and eventually they started to actually tap into power.
I didn’t correct her here, either. You see, we mages are pretty particular about what we call magic and what’s just magic. October and her friends had stumbled upon low magic, sometimes called magick, with a k. It wasn’t the raw power of creation or anything, but it could still be pretty dangerous. The months had dabbled with simple charms and spells. I could tell they hadn’t gotten into anything too troublesome, otherwise I’d likely have heard of them before now.
A few months ago, December had started to get spooked, and said she was worried that they’d summoned something they shouldn’t have. I perked up at this. Low magic may not have been the big stuff, but it was still more than capable of summoning up all manner of ghosts and demons and nasty spirits. It was within the realm of possibility that they really had summoned up some tulpa or other nasty without having first hit on the radar of anyone big.
The others weren’t quite as worried, though they’d agreed to tone it down a bit, and not try summoning anything at all, not even the simplest nature spirits. That changed when December was killed. Everyone said it was an accident, that she tripped down the stairs, but October and the others were worried it was whatever had been stalking her.
Then, May started feeling like she was being watched as well. The group focused only on charms and talismans to protect each other, but a week later and May supposedly killed herself. There was a note and everything, but October refused to believe it, saying she had so much to live for, and that she wouldn’t have left her and August alone.
August, on the other hand, abruptly moved out of the city. She tried to get as far away from the coven as possible, and last October heard, she was safe and living with an old boyfriend in Palm Beach. But now whatever had gotten the other two was after October, and she had no one else to turn to. The police ruled it a suicide and an accident, and they had no intention of opening either case.
“That’s why I came to you, Hayden. I’ve heard about you, at the cafe they say you’re a real wizard. That you can help people in situations like this.”
She was right, I can help people in situations like this. Though I’m not a wizard. I’m a mage, to be particular, and mages can be very particular. Where October and her friends were able to dabble with low magick, I could tap into the real power of creation and shape it to my will. Its not all its cracked up to be, but because I could help people like her, I felt like I should help people like her. Must have heard that Spider-Man thing a few too many times.
October and her absent friends were in a precarious position. Just in the know enough to get themselves in trouble, but not strong or Wise enough to actually have any real protections. Mage society really only concerned themselves with other mages, but all sorts of supernatural predators from mages to vampires to faeries and beyond were interested in mortals as servitors or snacks, and toys with talent were much more appealing than the usual flavour.
I knew the cafe she mentioned. More like an old public house, the Dragon’s Dogma was a local hangout for the supernatural, a little bookstore coffee shop with the kind of occult books and novelties that Sleepers could get themselves into trouble if they tried really hard, but nothing that threatened the veil so much that the powers that be would need to crack down on things to keep the secret society secret. It served as a good neutral ground for major players to discuss matters of importance without the fear of backstabbing or murder, though never the unkind words that always get thrown about at such things.
It also managed to avoid anyone’s ire by having good coffee and paninis. Mana beats caffeine for efficiency, but mages still love the drug the same as everyone else.
With a little prying, I got real names out of October, but I’ll stick with their aliases for here. I also got pictures of her and the others, and places they had in common other than the Dragon’s Dogma. It seemed like the only time they ever interacted with each other was there. Despite being good friends, they didn’t know each other well beyond their practice of magick. That’s not uncommon among the supernatural crowd. The people who know you best might not even know your real name. We keep a lot of secrets in this world.
After two hours, I felt like I had as much as I could.
“Do you have somewhere safe where you can stay?” I asked, closing my notepad.
“I… yes, maybe. A sister.” she said, digging her thumbnails with their chipped polish into the rim of her cup.
“Alright, go there, stay for a few days while I look into this. And if anything spooks you, feel free to call me,” I said, giving her one of my cards.
October declined my offer to walk her home or let her wait out the rain, and headed back out into the storm. I wonder if she thought that whatever was stalking her might have trouble following her in the rain.
Meanwhile, I set to work making calls.
As I expected, mundane leads turned up nothing. It was getting late, and the rain was starting to let up, so I threw on my coat and headed for the subway. The biggest lead I had was Dragon's Dogma. It was the only place that the months had in common, and the only place they really hung out outside of their respective homes. They didn’t really have anything like a sanctum, just bedrooms and basements. That wasn’t uncommon for hedge witches, who don’t have the resources of more powerful--and less scrupulous--mages. Hell, even my own sanctum was little more than a concrete bunker carved out underneath my office.
They wouldn’t have been doing magic at the Dragon’s Dogma, but it was the place they met and got together. If anyone had seen them, and seen someone stalking them or giving them trouble, it would be there.
Like all the best things in Ashcroft, Dogma was beneath the streets, left over from when the street level was raised to keep the town from sinking into the mire of the marshland. Despite being on the underground, you got to the cafe from ground level, or if you knew the right way to go, a little tucked out of the way side entrance just off the metro.
I did happen to know just the right way to go, and saved myself the hassle of walking in the rain any more than I needed to.
When I got there, the place was mostly empty, save for a few other patrons huddling solitary or in groups and waiting out the rain more than they were enjoying drinks or dinner.
Dragon’s Dogma has more in common with pubs than most cafes, even beyond the lack of natural lighting. While there are regular tables and chairs, there are also plenty of couches and loveseats and coffee tables. Its the perfect place to read or study. Or just sip coffee, looking cool, if you were into that sort of thing. Normally there’d be a few people who were, but not with the weather the way it was. It had already started up again, and I could see people doing the calculus of whether to leave and brave the rain or stick around for what could be hours. With the day drawing on, I imagined most of the remainders would tally up in favour of the rain if they ever wanted to get home to bed.
“Hey, Juste!” the friendly blonde dyke behind the counter said with the kind of cheerfulness that couldn’t be stopped by something as pathetic as bad weather. “It’s been a while. Breakfast melt?”
Without waiting for my answer, Anders slapped her brother with a hand towel, “chop chop, get Hayden their usual.”
Snapped out of his daydreaming, the big lug next to her finally noticed me and blushed. Malcolm had been sweet on me even before I started looking the way I do, and if anything being more feminine just made him all the more fond of me. It was kind of cute. He wasn’t bad looking or anything, but he could barely look me in the eye. That does tend to put a damper on a relationship.
I couldn’t help but appreciate the attention, though, and sat down with a just slightly flirtatious “Hey, Mal.”
He turned red, and couldn’t hide his smile. Damned if it didn’t make me feel special. “Hey, Hayden. Haven’t seen you in a while, I worried you’d found somewhere else to make you breakfast at ten PM.”
“I could never,” I promised, “but I’ve been busy lately. Ghosts are always wanting something, and when they aren’t, the Archivist does. I will take a sandwich, but unfortunately I’m still busy.”
With that, I pulled out my phone, and brought up the pictures, showing them to Anders and Mal. “Do you know these girls? They used to come in here once a week.”