Songs of Lilith | ONC2024

1: Dead Man, Garden Boy

Do you know what makes the perfect cup of coffee? Four shots of espresso. Oat milk. Caramel syrup. It had to be piping hot—with steam fighting its way out of the spout. The heat should pierce through the cup and intimidate foreign hands. Finally—most importantly—you need a god-damn peaceful day to enjoy it.

The cup in my hand had gone cold and earned itself a second place on the list of things ruining my day.

The first position belonged to the body spread out across the living room floor. His face wrangled in an unidentifiable expression. His top half was almost completely separated from his bottom half. They clung to each other as if they were too scared to let go. Even in death. His eyes were still open and turning white. They were fixed on me. Taunting. Tempting. As if he knew he would become the bane of my existence. They stared at me similarly the last time I saw him. Still one whole person. Complaining to Captain Hughes and me about an inadequate security detail. Citing all the figures removed from his accounts to pay for the service. He truly prided himself on being an obnoxious prick. No more, though. Elijah Laing was dead. 

Blood soaked through his blue velvet carpet and stained it purple. His mouth was left agape, and two of his front teeth were chipped. His final breath had, at some point, bolted from his lips and hung itself along his walls. If I listened closely, I could almost hear—

A gentle hand on my shoulder brought me back to the present.

"Detective Hale?" There was a young officer behind me now. The words 'Yes?' Or 'I'm listening' did not find their way out of my mouth, but I'm sure my eyes communicated them clearly because she proceeded with her info dump anyway. "The victim is seventy-three-year-old Elijah Laing. He was an activist of mysticism—"

"I know," I said. "I am—I was familiar with him."

She moved to say something else but remained silent. Her shoulders fell instead, and her eyes broke contact with mine. Her nervousness pierced through my chest, pulling my heart into the pit of my stomach.

"Sorry," I brandished the cup I held in my hand, "cold coffee. Is there anything else you wanted to share?"

She forced a small chuckle, "Yes. There is a young man outside. He hasn't spoken to anyone since we arrived, but we think he might have seen something."

She gestured out the front door to a crowd of people gathered by the front of Elijah's house. The young man, I assumed, was isolated to the end of the garden. There were two uniformed officers by his side, but he didn't seem to be giving them much attention. He was scruffy and unpleasant looking, while the sun made his hair look more blond than brown.

"Thank you,  officer..."

"Bailey."

"Thanks. I'll go talk to him," Officer Bailey turned to leave. "Hey, officer," she spun around at my behest, "do you think you could get me another cup of coffee?"

***

I didn't make a point of questioning Officer Bailey's intention for sending me after the kid. It was no secret that I am Fae-born by way of my father. I was registered as a magical being at birth, so almost everyone knew of my lineage and my ability.

Just like Officer Bailey and her nervousness from being in my presence, people and creatures can't hide their feelings from me. So, the precinct made it a habit to have me get answers from places they couldn't. Even though I refuse, it is the one part of myself that I cannot control.

"Hi there, I'm Detective Hale. It's nice to meet you." I took my glove off and held my hand out for him to shake. He didn't budge.

"I'm not going to touch you, fae," his voice mirrored his outward appearance. Rugged and harsh. Despite this, his youth was more apparent up close. He couldn't have been older than nineteen.

"I'm not really fae now, am I?" I put my glove on with haste. Although it would have been helpful for the precinct, I was grateful he did not touch me.

"Fae-born, fae. What's the difference?" He asked. "You touch a fae-like thing; you give them everything to know about you."

"They told me you didn't speak."

"What am I doing now?"

"Fair."

He locked his brown eyes with mine. His breath was quiet and calm, and his pulse was steady under his skin.  His confidence—no—his cockiness was palpable. I figured I could weaponise it against him.

"Did you know Mr. Laing?" I matched his level of eye contact.

"Yeah. I worked around the place. Did the gardening and stuff."

"Did he pay you well?"

"He paid like shit."

I offered him a slight smile. He didn't return the expression.

"What's your name, kid?" A brief look of contemplation flashed across his face.

"You fae-born, you say?" I nodded. "Not full fae?" I shook my head. He paused before saying, "Eric."

"It's great to meet you, Eric. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Eric let out a shallow grunt and looked off to the side. I followed suit. There were at least four gardens surrounding Elijah Laing's hillside mansion, and each of them was massive. Massive, but well kept. The closest house, from what I remember, was several kilometres away.

"Do you live close by, Eric?" I asked.

"Eh," he turned his gaze back to me. "The old man let me stay on the compound. Said I would get the work done quicker that way."

"So you're here all the time?"

"Eh."

"Did you talk to Elijah this morning?"

"I couldn't say that I had."

"Couldn't or don't want to?"

His confidence was beginning to wane and be replaced with something else. A more bitter and guarded emotion. I wanted to pry. A part of me was tempted to grab him with my bare hands and see everything I needed to. The other part of me knew better than to put myself through that.

"Do you know if there was anyone who would want to hurt Mr. Laing?"

"A lot of people wanted to hurt the old man."

I tried to search deeper into his gaze. For some sign of what else he knew. There was an instinct. What some would call a gut feeling—but really, was my discernment working against my will.

"Did you see anyone else at the house today?"

His confidence dropped entirely. He stared at me as if I had threatened to reveal a secret he was trying his hardest to bury.

"I couldn't say that I saw anyone."

Finally. The crack in his bravado revealed itself. His pulse betrayed him, and his breath grew shallow. He was lying.