Beneath the gleaming skyscrapers and picturesque facade of the City of Redemption lies another city; a community of dark and ancient magic populated by creatures of the night. Strephon Bellman, a semi-immortal half-fae, has been commissioned by the Faerie Queen to investigate fae activity in the city. He has learned of one such person, a fae named Ferner who has ties to the werewolf community.
Dark Redemption is an Urban Gothic Fantasy which will be running in weekly installments Wednesday evenings. Previous installments can be found linked at the Dark Redemption Index.
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Chapter 14: A Chat With Miss Cooper
In Which Strephon’s powers of charm and affability are put to the test and he learns a little about werewolves.
Strephon spent much of the day following Melchior’s party brooding over the events of that evening. At least, that’s what he told himself he was doing; but his thoughts kept straying to the peculiar dream with the featherbunnies. That he and Cassandra had shared the same dream, he had no doubt; but had she wandered into his dream, or had he invaded hers? It wasn’t until late in the afternoon that he realized that he had forgotten all about the lead Devon had given him about Miss Cooper. Bother. Something else for Devon to nag him about. Well, it would have to wait until tomorrow.
These thoughts still lingered in Strephon's mind the next day when the cab he was riding in pulled up in front of Ferner Cooper's flat. "Here you are," the driver said.
Strephon paid the fare and hefted himself out of the back seat with his canes. "Ah, my chair, if you please?" The cabbie grunted and reluctantly ambled to the trunk and unpacked the wheelchair. Usually Tobias drove the cab which picked Strephon up; Tobias knew him and could anticipate his needs. Strephon realized how much he had come to depend on the cheerful Jamaican. Unfortunately, Tobias had his own life and other fares to carry. Strephon made a guilty note to himself to tip him a little more next time he saw him.
The hospital had been less than helpful. Yes, Ferner Cooper did work there. No, she usually worked the evening shift and besides today was her day off. No, they're sorry but they don't give out that kind of personal information. Well, if she is a relative of yours... Strephon had to exert a considerable amount of his faerie charm to persuade the receptionist to divulge Ferner's address.
A young woman answered the door. "What is it?" she asked. She wore a tattoo -- not a glamour, but actual ink on flesh -- of a wolf. She must disguise it with a glamour when she went to work; hospitals, Strephon knew, tended to frown upon that kind of body art; it might upset the patients. Her aura glowed like moonlight and her suspicious glare had a feral gleam to it. She really had gone native, Strephon mused; she seemed as much wolf as she was fae. Could she be the source of the Reavers' magic?
"Good day, Miss Cooper. I apologize for intruding. My name is Strephon and I heard there was one of my kin come to town. Since I see too few faces from the Unseen Court in this realm, I thought I would call and pay my respects."
"I have nothing to do with the Court," Ferner said harshly.
"Ah. Well, as you can see I am something of an exile myself. May I come in?"
"No."
"I... see. Well then, may I use your telephone? My cab has already left and I shall have to call for another."
Ferner narrowed her gaze. Strephon smiled pleasantly in return.
"What does a fae need a phone for?"
"I am half mortal, as you can no doubt see. This infirmity of mine," he indicated his chair, "is no disguise. Are you really going to leave a poor crippled man alone to his own devices?" A pretty blatant play for sympathy, and she knew it; but she snorted and allowed him to come into her flat.
"So why are you really here?" Ferner asked.
"Why to get to know you better, of course."
"I said really."
Strephon paused, considering for a moment, while maintaining his smile. "As I said, to get to know you. To ascertain where you fit in the scheme of things. You run with the wolves, do you not?"
Ferner frowned, picked up a smartphone from the counter of her kitchenette and slapped it down on the table next to Strephon. “Here.”
Strephon regarded the device warily. His own telephone was a touch tone he had purchased in a moment of extravagance back in the 1970s. Still, he had seen people using these devices and assumed they must operate on similar principles. He gingerly picked it up and made a pretense of calling a cab. "The cab should be here shortly," he said, placing the phone back on the table.
He looked around the flat. He saw little sign of fae magic here, and no sign of any silver collars or bracelets such as the Reavers wore. "A pleasant place you have. Quite cozy."
Ferner ignored his attempt at small talk. "What do you have to do with the wolf packs?"
"Oh, not very much. Except that a few of them attacked me and a lady friend of my acquaintance the other night." He tilted his head shrewdly. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
"Are you accusing me of attacking you?"
Strephon sighed. "It would be a remarkable coincidence if you did. However, it occurred to me that, having connections in the lycanthropic community, you may have heard something about the incident."
"I don't have that many connections. I used to run with the Reavers, but that was a long time ago; back when Kel Reeves led the pack." Strephon sensed bitterness in her tone. She obviously held no love for Blanka, the Reavers' current leader.
"What brought you back?" Strephon said quietly.
"Why should you care?"
Something about her answer struck a chord in Strephon. She needed something. He doubted that he could turn his back on her once the full moon rose, but his instincts told him that she was allied with neither Blanka nor Melchior. He made his decision.
"I'd like to help you if I can."
Ferner looked at him squarely trying to see if his offer was real or not. “Why should I trust you?” she scowled.
Strephon sighed. “Put that way, I suppose you can’t. But I hope you will at least listen to me.”
She locked eyes with him with a suspicious glare that suggested she’d much rather toss him out of her flat, wheelchair or no wheelchair. After a moment or two of hostile silence in which she seemed to be making up her mind, she leaned back and folded her arms. “Fine. You have half an hour to explain why you want my help. Then you will phone a taxi and leave. If I decide to help, I will get back to you. Clear?”
Then she had noticed him faking the phone call after all. Here he had thought he’d handled that so cleverly. Ah, well. “Then if I only have half an hour I best get started, mustn’t I?” Strephon said calmly.
"As for why I need your help," he continued, "It's a bit complicated. As I mentioned, a lady acquaintance of mine and I were attacked two nights ago by Reavers. An unpleasant occurrence, but these things happen, I'm told, in the Big City. Now, I hope I can be forgiven for taking an attack on myself personally, but there were one or two other curious things about this particular attack I found noteworthy.
"To begin with, the attack took place in Little Kingston. I'm sure you're aware that the neighborhood lies under the protection of Grandma Simms, as I believe it was back in your time as well. She keeps her neighborhood protected with spells to ward off werewolves, vampires and other creatures of the night. Terribly unfair, I know, to lump wolves and vampires together, but as both prey on mortals, I'm afraid she makes little distinction between the two."
"The fae prey on mortals too," Ferner replied. "What does she think about you?"
"Oh, we have an understanding. We trade biscuit recipes and so she grants me special dispensation. But the curious thing is, how did the Reavers come to be in Grandma Simms' territory in the first place?"
"What about the other curious thing?"
"That is more complicated. The attack took place within a few hours of my visit with Melchior Dusk. Are you familiar with the man?"
"Should I?" She frowned. "The name sounds vaguely familiar. Melchior?"
"Yes. Lord Melchior. He too is a fae slumming among the mortals, as we are. As you well know, if a Lord of the Fae spends much time away from the Court, it can only mean he is plotting something behind the Queen's back."
"I don't like politics," Ferner growled. "That's why I left."
"I heartily agree with you. Would that I could avoid courtly entanglements myself. Unfortunately, a Royal Command is a Royal Command, and she is my favorite aunt. Anyway. The Queen requested that I look in on Lord Melchior and see what he was up to. It seems he is manufacturing computer games utilizing fae magics in order to corrupt the souls of mortals. Not that morals need much corrupting, but he wished to corrupt them in such a way as to benefit him. You know how things are."
Ferner wrinkled her nose at him. "The clock is ticking. Get to the point."
"Well. Lord Melchior is also building alliances here in Redemption. He does business with at least one of the more powerful vampires of the city and I have reason to believe he has connections with the Reavers as well. The Reavers have been utilizing fae magic. So you see how the timing of my attack is suggestive."
"You think that Melchior ordered the attack?"
"As I said, the timing is suggestive. So I am looking for information. I would appreciate any help you could give me."
Ferner thought for a long time, watching him warily. "Listen," she finally said. "I don't know this Melchior guy. I've never met him before, I've never heard of him before. I don't think he ordered your attack, though. Blanka has been giving his pack magic charms; collars and bracelets with silver runes. They allow his pack to pass through magical protections."
"Must be handy for a wolf," Strephon commented.
"If they don't mind bonds of slavery," she snarled. "And the burning touch of silver. I heard that a few of the pack ventured into Little Kingston and were driven off by an old man in a wheelchair who killed one of them. Evelyn, her name was."
"A friend of yours?"
"No." Ferner's expression seemed to say but she could have been... "There was talk of hunting down the man in the wheelchair and teaching him a lesson, but apparently Blanka forbade it."
"Hm..." Strephon said, stroking his chin. "Then perhaps I owe Blanka my thanks. Well, that certainly argues that my attack was not orchestrated."
"You sound disappointed."
"Oh, I'm not. Any information I can get at this point is helpful. But there is still one important piece of information you can still give me."
"What's that?"
"What do you want?"
"Me?"
Strephon placed his fingertips together and leaned forward. "I said I would help you if I could. A gentleman keeps his word. You answered my questions, so I am prepared to keep my side of the bargain. What is it you are seeking in Redemption and how may I help you find it?"
“What am I seeking in Redemption” Ferner repeated almost like in a trance then shook her head. “Why do you even care in wanting to help me? And don’t say it’s because of your word; because gentleman or not, you’re still Fae; and no Fae I know has ever kept their word.”.
Strephon understood what she meant. One of the few things that could bind a fae was a promise, but because of that weakness the fae had practiced for centuries finding loopholes and tricks so that a faerie’s word almost always meant something different from what one thought it meant. “Well, as I said at the beginning of our talk, I am something of an exile myself, and Fae or not I always keep my word.” Strephon said quietly.
Ferner sighed and walked over to her fridge. What was going through her mind, Strephon wondered. She pulled out a bottle of red wine. Would you like some?” she offered, “or would you rather have something else?”
“If you don’t mind, a cup of tea sounds lovely right about now”
“If I had minded, I wouldn’t have asked, but tea it is.”
Ferner went and put the kettle on, taking out some of the tea to make a fresh pot. Then she poured a cup for Strephon and a glass of wine for herself.
“Very well. I will tell you. But I swear: you use this against me and, favourite of the queen or not, you will pay.” Ferner growled, and a feral gleam came into her eyes. She steepled her fingers together, imitating Strephon, and took a deep breath to prepare herself.
“About five years ago, Luna, my life Partner of ten years, disappeared. It was this very flat that we stayed in. I went to work one night and when I got home she was gone. She took no clothes, no money, nothing. I thought that she was maybe out; after all it was the day after the full moon; but I was wrong. She never came back. Didn't phone or anything.
"So, I did the only thing I knew. I went to the different packs in the city. They knew me, and we had run together on many occasions, but they hadn’t seen Luna. I tried the Fae in the city, even going as far as the council.” Ferner snarled this part in hate and disgust. “But they were more concerned about helping themselves than anyone else. And so I left Redemption, traveling across the world trying to find if anyone had heard of her. As you can see, Strephon, I had no luck.
"I returned here to find that not only have many of my friends been killed but that the whole structure of the city has changed.” Taking a sip of her wine she studied his face trying to see for any reaction to her tale. “So you see, it doesn’t matter what I want, for I will never be able to get it.”
Standing up gracefully, she added, “I will bid you a good day, sir. As I said earlier, the phone is over there.” Pointing to it, Ferner made her way to the balcony, wiping away what might have been a single silver tear rolling down her cheek.
Strephon watched sadly as Ferner turned her back on him. Poor creature. She truly was like him in many ways; she belonged to neither one world nor the other, and straddled them uncomfortable and alone.
He called for his cab. Then he picked up the biro by the phone and in a neat hand wrote down the address of a convenience store on Fitch Street and its phone number. He thought for a moment and added, “Tell her Strephon sent you.” Perhaps Grandma Simms could not help her; the trail of her friend was so cold; but he could think of no other aid he could offer; nor even that she might accept.
"I apologize for the intrusion. Thank you very much for your time." Strephon made his excuses and wheeled himself to the door to wait by the curb.
NEXT: Forgive Us Our Trespasses