Archive of Our Own

A knock on the door jolted me out of my paperwork-induced haze. The stuff always seems to pile up, and I was taking advantage of a quiet period to make a dent in the stack that was currently swamping my desk. The knock promised something more interesting than pushing papers. Work had been scarce recently, and I welcomed the interruption.

I was less pleased when I saw who had been knocking. Dirk Bradford, right-hand man to Victor Maxwell. Maxwell owned a half-dozen businesses, legitimate and otherwise, and had his hands all over most of what went on in the city. I wasn't too hot on getting involved in whatever he had cooking. On the other hand, I supposed I should be grateful to see Bradford, who usually kept things business-like, rather than Maxwell's hired muscle. From what I'd heard, they tended not to be so polite in their requests.

Bradford was a compact man, with a round face and watery blue eyes. "Marie Slade?” he asked, looking around my office with a distinctly unimpressed air.

"That's me. What can I do for you?"

"I'm here on behalf of Victor Maxwell. He wants to acquire your services."

Not a surprise, considering Bradford's presence in my office. Still, I'd never worked for the man before. I try to avoid the big players. Makes it easier to keep your vitals where they belong. What did Victor Maxwell want with me?

I asked as much, and Bradford frowned. "I assume you can be discreet, Miz Slade?” At my nod, he continued. "Mr. Maxwell is very concerned. It's about his daughters."

Maxwell had always wanted a son and heir to succeed him, but all he ever managed were daughters. Two wives and half-a-dozen mistresses later, he finally stopped at twelve. All were unmarried and still lived with their father. Rumor had it that he planned to marry them off for his own benefit, business or financial, but no offers had yet come forth that he considered worthwhile.

"What about them?"

Bradford shrugged. "There's something wrong. They go to bed each night, but wake up more tired than ever. They're listless during the day, no appetite, that sort of thing."

"Sounds like you need a doctor, not a private dick."

"Tried it," he grunted. "Nothing doing. The doc has no idea what's wrong with them. Besides, that's not all. It's their shoes. This has been going on for less than a month, and they've gone through dozens of pairs of shoes. No one knows what to make of it. They’ve been through a handful chaperones, but none of ‘em have noticed a thing. So Mr. Maxwell asked me to find someone who could work it out."

"And you thought of me?” I wasn't convinced. A lot of men don't think a woman can handle this business, like the complexities of finding a lost watch or proving your girl's not cheating on you are too much for our feeble lady-brains. Did Bradford come to me because he wanted me to fail?

"Yeah, I had a cousin, Tommy Roberts. You helped him get out of a murder rap a while back. And I thought someone who wasn't too well known, you know? Don't want Mr. Maxwell's enemies getting wind of this.” Or any potential suitors, he pointedly didn't say.

The whole thing seemed fishy. I remembered Tommy Roberts, but he’d never mentioned having connections with any of the big players. Bradford seemed on edge, his eyes darting about the room like frightened fish. I knew I should just walk away.

A glance at the stack of bills sitting on the edge of my desk had me hesitating. Money had been scarce since Terry left. I couldn’t blame him - the life of a PI isn’t exactly conducive to a healthy marriage. My last couple of cases had been for a nominal fee, and I needed the dough a case like this would bring. And those girls needed help.

"I'll need access to the house, and the daughters. And anyone who works there - maids, housekeepers, whatever."

"You got it. This mean you'll take the case?"

"I'll do it."

We discussed the particulars - when I planned to be at the house, what the daughters knew about the situation, etc - until I had everything finalised to my satisfaction. Negotiating my fee took a little longer, but we settled at a price high up on my scale of usual charges. I figured Maxwell could afford it.

I rose to my feet as Bradford stood to leave, and we shook hands. "Oh, one other thing," he said with a barbed-wire smile, "you have three days."

“Triple the fee,” I shot back immediately. He nodded, tipped his hat and was gone.

I sat in silence for a few minutes after he left. Three days! Setting time limits on investigations rarely gets the best results. Bradford had taken pains to dicker over the fee at first, but he obviously had free rein when it came to finances. Maxwell must be desperate, parting with that much money. Having him owe me a favour could be useful.

In any case, I had gone too far to back out now. I had agreed to do the work, and I never backed down from a challenge. I couldn’t afford to, not and keep my reputation as a PI. Reputation was everything in this game, and a woman had to work twice as hard to prove that she could handle it. Besides, those girls were counting on my help.

I opened the bottom drawer of my desk, and pulled out the bottle of whiskey and tumbler I kept there for times like this. I unscrewed the cap and sloshed a generous measure into the glass, then threw it back. I looked longingly at the bottle for a moment, then replaced it in the drawer. Despite how much I wanted it, I couldn't afford the luxury of getting drunk right now. Plenty of time for that once the case was over.

The first stop on my list was a visit to my old friend, Sam Wise. Also a detective, Sam busied himself with the supernatural side of the business - curses, spirit summonings, all the stuff I tried to avoid. Sam was a mage himself; he could handle it. In fact, I sometimes sent a case or two his way myself, when it was obvious from the outset that something more than the mundane was going on, and he reciprocated by sending his everyday clients to me when he was bogged down in the otherworldly. A good man, Sam, and a good friend.

Sam's office was five minutes' walk from mine, on the seventh floor of a pock-marked office block that listed like a drunk. This time in the morning, he'd likely be in. I grabbed my hat from the coat rack by the door and headed out.

Sam frowned as I told him what I knew of the situation. "It's unlikely to be magic," he said when I wound up.

"Really? That seemed like the most logical explanation to me. I was hoping you could give me a hand."

He shook his head. "No mage has the power to do something like this. To one or two people, sure, maybe even a handful, but not twelve. Not all at once."

"More than one mage, then? Working together?"

A bark of laughter. "Mages working in groups is like trying to get your wife and your mistress together to choose curtains - not likely.” I frowned at the simile, and he shrugged apologetically.

"Could be one mage working with summoned creatures, spirits or demons or the like. He'd be taking his life into his hands, though: one wrong step and they'll turn on you in an instant. And the number of creatures you'd need to get this much power? No, I think you'll find that whatever's going on here, there's a mundane explanation for it. No idea what it is, though."

I thanked him, and turned down his offer of a drink. I still had work to do.

*

Jimmy "Two-Fists" Johnson was a petty thief and small-time con artist. He insisted that his nickname referred to him always being ready for a fight, but gossip on the street held that it had to do with an incident involving a prostitute, a ball of twine and a counterfeit banknote. I hadn’t enquired any further.

I'd helped Jimmy out of a tight spot a few years back, and in return he occasionally gave me info on a case. I'd managed to track him down in one of his usual haunts, a bar downtown, and after looking around to make sure no one was watching, he agreed to talk to me.

"I ain't heard much about Maxwell recently," he said, pocketing the double sawbuck I'd slipped him. "He's been pretty quiet lately, no major deals going down or nothing."

"Is there anyone who'd want to get at him like this?"

Jimmy laughed, an irritating, nasal giggle like the squeal of tires on wet road. "Who doesn't want to get at him, you mean? Maxwell's pissed off every one of the major players at one point or another, not to mention his legitimate business rivals.” He said 'legitimate' like it was a dirty word.

"Yeah, I know that. But have you heard about anyone in particular? Any recent threats, any deals gone south?"

"Nah, I don't know nothing about any of that. Like I said, Maxwell's been pretty quiet lately. If I was gonna bet on it, though, I'd put my money on Jack Quinn. Quinn owns half the city-"

"And Maxwell owns the other half," I finished for him. "Have they been getting into it over something recently."

"No more than usual. But Quinn's one ruthless bastard. He'd go after a guy's family for sure, wouldn't turn a hair. And unlike Maxwell, he employs mages, and you know what they can do."

People who weren't well acquainted with magic-users believed that they could do anything - rip a man's heart out of his body from a mile away, even summon the Devil himself. Fortunately for the rest of us, there were limits to what they could do, even if the mages themselves didn't like that being advertised.

"Thanks, Jimmy," I said, slipping him another twenty. "Do some sniffing around for me, will you? Let me know if you hear anything?"

"Will do.” He tipped his homburg to me, and turned back to his drink. I let him go, confident that if there was something to be found, he'd do his best to find it. In the meantime, I had more people to ask.

*

By the time I made my way back to my office, the shadows had lengthened and the sun had already dipped down behind the city skyline. I had been all over town talking to my contacts, chasing up rumors and looking for leads. I'd gone through as much shoe leather as the Maxwell girls, and had nothing to show for it. No one I spoke to knew anything concrete. Maxwell had enemies, lots of them, but I had found no reason to suspect any of them of whatever was going on with the daughters.

I checked my desk for messages and found none. Shoving my car keys in my jacket pocket, I headed out for the Maxwell mansion. Maybe a night of keeping watch on the girls would clear everything up. I could only hope.

Maxwell and his daughters lived on a block of land just outside the city limits. The wall surrounding the place was high, with a wrought-iron gate that I assumed was meant to be imposing. The gate swung smoothly open as I arrived. Impressive.

The house was huge, almost ridiculously so. A dozen families could have lived there with room to spare. I parked around back, and made for the service entrance.

My rap on the door was answered by a stout, thickset woman, with greying hair pulled back into a severe bun. She frowned down her nose at me. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Marie Slade. Mr. Bradford should have told you I was coming?"

She blinked. "Oh yes, the detective. Come in."

I followed her into a long, dim passageway, with doors lining either side.

"I'm the housekeeper, Nora Mason. You can call me Mrs. Mason. What do you need from us, Ms. Slade?"

"Nothing at the moment," I replied, and she relaxed slightly. "I want to spend the night watching the girls, preferably without them knowing I'm there. In the morning, though, if I haven't found anything useful, I'll need to interview you and the rest of the staff, and search the house."

She nodded sharply. "Have you eaten?"

Not since lunch, a hotdog I grabbed from a street vendor and ate as I walked. I shook my head.

"Fine. You can sit in the library. I'll get the cook to whip something up for you."

I was about to protest, but my stomach rumbled embarrassingly, and I gave in with good grace. Mrs. Mason showed me to the library, and about ten minutes later a maid showed up, bringing with her a massive sandwich stuffed with cold meats, pickles and cheese, and a glass of homemade lemonade. I thought about asking if she had something stronger, but she seemed so nervy that I let her go without more than a thank you.

As I ate, I considered the behavior of the workers I'd met so far. They seemed tense around me, but I had that effect on most people. There was no hint of anything more than slight nerves, however, meaning that either the people I had met had nothing to do with the situation, or that they were talented actors. Without a more in-depth interview, there was no way for me to know.

I finished off my meal and sat for a moment longer, making notes on the observations I had made in my worn leather notebook. A knock at the door heralded the arrival of Mrs. Mason. "You're done? I suppose you'll want to be shown to the girls' room."

She seemed somewhat unhappy about the situation, and I wondered if she disapproved. A detective hiding in the bedroom of a dozen sleeping girls could seem a bit shady, if you were the sort of person whose mind went places like that. Still, she led me there without too much of a fuss, and showed me a wardrobe where I could hide. "That one's full of winter clothes," she observed as she pointed it out. "No one will be going in there tonight."

I thanked her politely and began to survey the room. There were twelve single beds, headboards up against the wall, in a row that ran the length of the room. Each bed was perfectly spaced from the ones on either side, and I wondered fleetingly if they had someone with a measuring tape who checked every morning that nothing had been moved. There was a small table next to each bed, the only point of difference between the daughters' domains: many held books, a couple had knitting projects, and one had a partially embroidered cloth with the needle still in it. A row of wardrobes lined the wall opposite the beds, save for the center, which held an enormous fireplace.

I snooped around a bit, looking under beds, rummaging through wardrobes, flicking through books, but nothing seemed unusual or out of place. I examined their shoes closely, as an obvious symptom of the problem. Bradford hadn't mentioned it, but it became obvious to me that only certain types of shoes were showing unusual amounts of wear, the soles almost worn through while the straps and tops looked almost new. The shoes that seemed to be affected were all dress pumps, the kind you would wear for a night out or a special occasion. I wasn't sure what it meant yet.

The clock on the wall chimed the hour, and I realised that the daughters would be heading to bed soon. I made myself scarce, burrowing into the clothes in the wardrobe I'd been shown and sitting cross-legged on the bottom. There was enough of a gap between the doors that I could see out, so whatever happened that night, I would be ready for it. All I had to do was wait.

*

I woke suddenly, my head aching and my mouth dry and cottony. The quality of the light coming through the crack between the doors was different, brighter and sharper than the electric lights of before. I listened for a moment, then cautiously eased the door of the wardrobe open. The bedroom windows were wide open, morning sunlight streaming through, and the girls were nowhere to be seen.

The hands on my watch showed that it was just after ten. I muttered a litany of curses. I'd never fallen asleep during a stakeout before, never. And judging by the slight lightheadedness, I'd had a little help this time. Drugs maybe, or magic.

I stormed out of the room. I'd already wasted half the morning, now I needed to start getting things done. If I didn't start making progress on the case soon, Victor Maxwell might start questioning why he'd hired me, and that seemed unlikely to end well.

I found Mrs. Mason in the corridor near the kitchens. "I need to interview the staff as soon as possible. All of them," I growled. "And I'll want to see the daughters after that."

She seemed a little shocked by my sudden appearance, but soon regained her equilibrium. "I'll arrange it, Ms. Slade. Will you need to see the gardeners and outside staff as well?"

"I said everyone.” I was in no mood to be gentle. "Where can I do the interviews?"

She showed me to the library I'd eaten dinner in the previous evening. "I'll send in the maids first," she said. "They've got work to do, so don't keep them too long."

I grunted, and she took it as all the assent she would get. She left the room, and I took a moment to smooth down my hair and make a few more notes. Then the first of the maids arrived, and I set to work.

The interviews were very straightforward, and utterly useless. None of the staff seemed to know anything about what had been going on with the daughters. A few of them admitted to not being entirely satisfied with their jobs, but none seemed disgruntled enough to take things further, and there were no rumors or accusations of it either.

I closely questioned both the cook and the maid who had brought me my meal; if anyone had slipped me a mickey, they were the most likely candidates. Neither of them seemed suspicious in any way; both were well-liked by the other staff, and the maid had a reputation as a particularly hard worker. I questioned the cook closely about preparing the meal. She was vague, and when I pressed harder she became flustered, but she wasn’t hiding anything from me. It was possible that someone had interfered with her magically, but she was getting on in years, and a couple of the maids had mentioned that she could be forgetful. I had no way of knowing which it was. By the end of the interviews I'd seen everyone from Mrs. Mason to the gardener's boy, and none of them had told me anything I could use.

Mrs. Mason offered me lunch before I saw the daughters, but I turned it down. No sense offering myself up for another attack. Ignoring the emptiness of my stomach, I called in the first of the girls.

The daughters seemed equally in the dark. The youngest, Susan, was nervy and had to be coaxed to talk. Patricia asked a hundred questions about what it was like being a detective, and I answered them as best I could. Maybe someday she'd get out from under her father's thumb and find a job she enjoyed, and why not detective work? Gina seemed utterly unimpressed with me, and did her 18-year-old best to make me feel like I wasn't worth a nickel. It didn't work. The twins, Patsy and Charlotte, finished each others' sentences, and giggled to themselves about some private joke.

The last daughter I saw was the oldest, Evelyn. In her mid-twenties, she was tall and slender, with a long, wavy mane of red hair that she left to fall down her back unbound. She took a seat in the chair opposite mine, and offered me a cigarette.

"No thanks," I said, waving her off.

She grinned and took one for herself, lighting it with a bright red lighter and drawing in a deep lungful of smoke. "The others have told you they don't know anything, I bet," she said. "Unfortunately, neither do I."

I raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Really? You're okay with sharing a room with your younger sisters, then. You don't ever want to get out, have some fun?” I knew the answer, but I wanted to see if she would level with me.

"I do get out," she said with a saucy smile. "Most of us older ones do. Daddy doesn't know, of course. But no one would ever take the younger ones with them. I wouldn't allow it for a minute."

"And you haven't met anyone recently, maybe a guy who was into you but you weren't so keen on? Someone who might have a beef with you?"

She thought for a moment. "Can't think of anyone. And none of the others have mentioned anything like that, and we tell each other everything. Well, all the interesting stuff, anyway. No one's been out since this all started, either; we're all too damn tired."

I frowned, then continued with the questions. Can you think of anyone who might want to hurt you? Or your father? Have you seen or heard anyone making threats? Have you noticed anything unusual recently? Anything missing or out of place? Are you sleeping well at night? Do you remember your dreams?

There were no answers to be found there. None of the girls had noticed anything unusual or threatening. They all slept like the dead and woke exhausted. And none of them knew what was going on.

"Thank you for your help," I said finally, bringing the interview to a close. Evelyn hadn't given me anything to go on, but she seemed like a good kid, and it wasn't fair that she and her sisters were having to go through this.

"Thank you, detective," she said, eyes wide with sincerity. "We really appreciate your help, all of us. Even Gina."

I grinned wryly. "I'll do my best to find out what's going on, miss. You have my word on that."

"I believe you," she said. "And I want you to have this.

She held out a pendant, crafted from copper and small chips of semi-precious stones, with arcane symbols carved into it. I took it from her hesitantly.

"You wear it around your neck," she explained, "and when you hold it in your hand, you become invisible."

I was startled, to say the least. "Your father..."

"Daddy would have kittens if he knew I had this," she agreed. "But it could come in handy for you, and right now, you're the only hope we have. Anyway, I have the right to it. It was my mother's.” Maxwell's aversion to all things magical took on a whole new meaning.

"Thank you," I said, slipping the pendant around my neck and tucking it under my shirt. "I'll return it to you once this is all over."

Evelyn Maxwell smiled. "Thank you, Ms. Slade."

*

I spent the next few hours exploring the Maxwell property, looking for any signs that might lead me towards some answers. The task was enormous. An army of detectives could go over the place and still miss an important clue. I did my best. There was no sign of disturbance outside the windows of the girls' bedroom, and the gardeners hadn't seen anything unusual in the flowerbeds there. The earth was soft and moist, and would easily have picked up footprints if anyone had been sneaking around. None of the doors or windows showed any sign of forced entry, and there were no scratches around the locks that would have indicated that someone had tried to pick them. I took a cursory look around the servants' rooms, and the dayrooms where the girls spent most of their time, but nothing seemed amiss. After another day of work, I still had nothing.

I drove back to the office to check on things there. The secretary I shared with the other businesses on my floor had left a number of messages up on my desk, but none of them held any useful information. Jimmy Jones had called with a list of Victor Maxwell's potential enemies; he'd expect another twenty bucks for that. A couple of my other contacts had left messages saying that they had seen nothing unusual in Maxwell's business dealings. Sam had called with the names of some books I could check in case magic turned out to be involved in the case after all. Still no solid leads. I resisted the urge to bang my head on the desk in frustration.

I grabbed a candy bar from my desk drawer and poured a mug of coffee from the half-full percolator on top of the file cabinet. The coffee was cold and sludgy - I couldn't even remember when it had been brewed - but it would keep me awake for another night of watching. I kept the last bite of the candy bar to take away the taste.

Then it was time to head back to the Maxwell house. Hopefully by the end of the night I would have some answers. This case was like trying to swim through molasses, in a race with invisible opponents and an unknown finish line. All I could do was keep pushing on.

*

I crouched once more at the bottom of the wardrobe in the girls' room, determined to stay awake this time. I hadn't eaten or drunk anything from the house, and I had snuck in using my lockpicks and Evelyn's pendant. With luck, no one even knew I was here, and there would be no chance of them getting to me again.

The girls had headed to bed, and the room was lit only by the moonlight pouring through the thin curtains. It was a few days from being full, but there was enough light to see by. I settled in for a long night.

After what seemed like hours, the clock on the wall chimed midnight, and it was like flicking a switch. The girls rose from their beds, moving unhurriedly, their expressions blankly indifferent. They dressed in eerie silence; no words were spoken, they never so much as looked at each other. They were like puppets in a theatre, and I wondered who or what was at the controls.

Soon all were clothed in bright dresses and heels, looking like they meant to go out to a party or a dance. Then there came a low rumbling sound that vibrated in my very bones, like the deep-throated growl of a pitbull before it leapt to attack. I couldn't quite fathom what was going on. In single file, the girls began to move towards the fireplace. I couldn't see what was happening - the angle was wrong - so I risked easing the wardrobe door open slightly, my other hand clutching the invisibility pendant. None of the girls reacted; they seemed hardly present at all. I got the door open far enough to see that the fireplace had vanished. In its place was a black opening that led down, to where I didn't know. The girls went through it one after the other.

I slipped out of the wardrobe, trying to move as silently as I could. As Susan, the youngest, began her descent, I followed her. Beyond the opening was a stone staircase leading down into blackness. I could hear the sounds of heels striking the stone, but still no one spoke. I followed as best I could, one hand on the rough stone wall, the other on the pendant.

Eventually the stone steps gave way to a grassy meadow, bathed in a strange greenish light that seemed to come from nowhere. The girls continued onwards, one after the other, and although the earth was soft, they left no footprints. This was certainly not a normal place, and I was well out of my depth. All I could do was try to get the girls out of there, and be prepared for anything.

Soon the line of girls came to a halt, as if obeying some inaudible signal. They fanned out and stood still, waiting. From the shadows crept forward a dozen creatures, skeletal and red-eyed, with black, leathery wings and inch-long fangs. The green light showed the outlines of each rib in their cadaverous chests, and they reached with clawed hands towards the waiting girls. The girls showed no reaction to the hideous sight, and I wondered what they were seeing, or if they saw anything at all. A hooded figure followed the creatures, his raised hand holding a red jewel on a chain, barking an obvious command. I didn't recognise the language, but I did recognise his voice: Dirk Bradford.

The creatures hissed at him, groping towards the girls. It seemed they were unable to touch them without his permission; the hissing devolved into snarls. "Soon," said Bradford, now speaking English - perhaps he didn't know the language he was using beyond simple commands. "After tonight, the ritual will be complete. Then they will be yours.”

The snarls had abated slightly at his words, but the creatures did not seem pleased; I wondered how complete his control over them was. Bradford gestured towards empty air, and a silvery dust began to float from the sky. More and more heavily it rained, amassing on the grass to form an intricate pattern of lines and symbols. He spoke a word I didn't recognise, and the creatures moved forward, each grasping the hands of one of the girls. It was all I could do not to cry out. But I needed a plan, something that would give me the advantage. Rushing into things would achieve nothing more than getting me killed. I groped for the gun at my hip, its presence reassuring.

The creatures and their unknowing partners began to dance, slowly at first, then becoming faster, until they were whirling breathlessly through a series of complex steps, weaving past each other and over the patterns on the grass in movements I could barely follow. It was eerily quiet. There was no music for the dancers, no voices spoke, just snatched breaths and the muffled sound of footsteps on the soft earth. Bradford had pulled back his hood, and was watching the display with unfettered glee. I had no idea of his motives - revenge against his boss, a takeover of the business, whatever power this ritual would give him - but it seemed obvious that whatever he wanted, it was working. And if his words were to be believed, after tonight he would have what he sought and the creatures would take the girls.

I couldn't let that happen. I didn't know how long the ritual would take. There may not be time to go back for reinforcements. I had no idea who among the household staff I could trust, and I couldn't go to Victor Maxwell talking about magic - I'd be lucky if the least he did was throw me out unheard. I needed to deal with this now.

Keeping a firm grip on the invisibility pendant, I stretched out a foot and scuffed at the nearest line of silver powder, blurring it. I did the same in a few more places, taking care to stay well away from the dancers. I wasn't sure it would have an effect, until one of the creatures stumbled slightly as it made a turn. It was a small thing, almost imperceptible, but I hoped the ritual was being weakened. When it happened again, Bradford noticed it too. He raised the jewel in his hand, frowning.

That was the key, I realised. Whenever Bradford commanded the creatures, he gestured with the jewel, almost unthinkingly. Sam had spoken more than once about objects that could be used to focus power or increase a person's magical abilities. While there was no way for me to be positive that that was happening here, I was sure enough. Perhaps if I could get the pendant away from Bradford his control over the creatures would be broken. I had no idea what would happen then, but it was worth a try.

As silently as I could, I made my way towards Bradford. I had to be careful. I would only have one chance at this. He was still focused on the ritual taking place in front of him, watching intently for further signs of disruption. I held my breath as I came close.

In one swift movement, I snatched the jewel from his grasp. I leaped back as he roared and groped for his unseen opponent, and then it was too late for him. Even as I staggered further back, the creatures were already closing in on him, their claws outstretched. He screamed once, an awful, wet sound that seemed to last forever, then was abruptly cut off in a choking gasp. Then there was nothing but the terrible sound of tearing flesh and cracking bones, and the guttural snarling of the creatures as they took their revenge.

I held tightly to the invisibility pendant, and tried to hold onto my stomach. Soon, though, I was vomiting my candy bar and coffee onto the grass. In a cold sweat, I wiped my mouth and stood up. The daughters were still standing where the creatures had left them. They had shown no reaction to seeing Bradford get ripped apart in front of them, although those who were closest to him were now splattered with blood. Their expressions were chillingly indifferent, as if their souls had vacated their bodies entirely. I shivered.

The sounds of the massacre began to die down, and I knew things weren't over yet. I wasn't sure if the markings on the ground would protect the girls, or if the jewel would protect me: I had no magical power for it to work with. For that matter, I didn't know if the invisibility pendant would work on the creatures, or if they even needed their sense of sight to find me. I drew my gun, waiting.

When the first creature straightened from its crouch and made for the girls, I let go of the invisibility pendant and shot it in the chest, two-handed. It staggered back, but didn't fall. Another one followed it and suffered the same fate. As one, the remaining creatures turned towards me, eyes glowing red. I took two more shots, hitting the mark each time. The gunshots seemed to bother them - the ones I'd hit were struggling, moving sluggishly - but they were still coming. They were getting close, and I had nowhere near enough bullets for them all.

I changed tactics, and went for the head. This produced immediate results: the creature's head exploded in a spray of green ichor, and it collapsed to the ground. Howling, the other creatures froze. I dared a step forward, wondering as I did so if it was the last thing I would ever do. My show of bravado worked. The creatures turned and vanished into thin air with a series of pops, like a kettle of corn. I was left with a dozen dazed girls, the corpse of a dead creature and what little remained of Dirk Bradford.

The girls still hadn't moved. I walked up to Evelyn, called her name, waved my hand in front of her face, pinched her. Nothing. It was like talking to a statue. Taking Evelyn's hand, I led her gently over to Lois and put the hand in hers. I did the same with Carmen, then put Gina on Evelyn's other side, and so on until I had a line of twelve girls all holding hands. They stood there completely non-responsive; there was no one home behind their eyes. With a sinking heart, I grasped Susan's hand and began to lead them back towards the surface.

Our arrival sent the entire household into an uproar. Leaving the girls in their room, I banged on the first door I saw, rousing a maid who went to fetch Mrs. Mason. Mrs. Mason had the rest of the staff mobilised in minutes, and they bustled around clucking over the girls and suggesting various remedies and treatments. A few minutes later, I found myself before Victor Maxwell, struggling to explain what had happened. He initially refused to listen after I mentioned magic, but once reports began coming back from the servants of the world behind the fireplace, he allowed me to tell my story. Then I was summarily dismissed, and told never to return. My last sight in that house was of Maxwell, in his dressing gown and slippers, going from one daughter to the next and begging them, pleading with them to speak to him, to look at him, that he would do anything if they would only say something. Their faces stayed resolutely blank, not so much as a flicker of life passing over them.

And that, as far as I was concerned, was the end of my involvement with Victor Maxwell. I never did get paid for the work I did, but given the circumstances I wasn't about to argue over it. I hear he's retired completely from public life now, and spends all his time searching for a cure for his daughters. Since he still refuses to so much as mention magic, it's likely one will never be found. I also heard that the first thing he did the morning after was order his mansion bulldozed to the ground.

My life has continued much the same as always. I still get good business, still do my best to avoid magic wherever possible. Sometimes, though, I get a picture in my mind's eye of those girls, all so beautiful, so alive. Then I see them as I saw them that last night, as close to gone as they ever could be, while their father wept over corpses that didn't know they were dead yet and would never live again.

Should I have done things differently? Maybe, but I don't know of anything that would have worked. By the time I came on the scene, things had already gone too far for someone like me to make a difference. But I still ask myself, sometimes, when I feel Evelyn's pendant hanging cold and heavy around my neck. I can't return it to her. She doesn't remember it, or me, or how I used it to save her and damn her in one stroke.