Clair McIntyre

Excerpt from Night of Redemption

 

Book One of the Halsin Chronicles

 

It had been four days from that moment, whereupon the truth of my plight hit me. I had been out of my

world for too long and too many people had suffered for it. In my clearing mind, I saw that Nia really was the woman for the job when it came to making plans despite her own self doubts. Though one still plagued me. She was still an enigma, and I wanted to know about the woman behind the facade. It seemed odd at first when the thought occurred to me. She was my kidnapper, and possibly wanted by a few paranormal agencies. Actually she was wanted by my family business, that I knew for a fact. And it wasn’t for my kidnapping alone, she was the person behind the case I was working. I remember that case so well.

 

The case involved a man suspended from a bridge in Madrid, Spain. He hanging by shoe laces, if I remembered correctly. What had caught my attention, was the report from the authorities that a ghost had done it. Apparently the man was madder than a hatter, as he ranted on about the Fairies dancing at midnight. At least that is what the police officers thought. The translation was rough to say the least, but now I think he was cursing the ‘Midnight Faerie,’ another name for the leader and chief justice seeker of the Faerie council. The position, I knew had to be Nia’s. This sounds pretty straight forward I know, but what was utterly unbelievable was the actions that occurred.

 

Apparently the man had been thrown over three cars, before he fell over the edge of the bridge. From here, he shot forty feet into the air, before he started to rant and rave words that no bystander understood. There were also reports of strange whispers on the wind. I assume these words were of the ancient Fae speak that very few people can understand. Myself, excluded, I knew only one person who could speak them, and that was my mother. But since she died ages ago, and since I was not present, I could only imagine that Nia could speak those words. After the strange whispers, the man plummeted down once more, to dangle ten feet under the bridge. That is where the police found him.

 

How on earth was that possible? In the time it took for the police to respond, which had to be five minutes or so, to the initial attack, how did she get the information she sought? Nia must have planned the events for weeks, and covered every variable. But that still left a slim chance for success. I had to know how she did it. When she came to serve dinner next, I aired my musing.

 

“Nia? I need to know something. How did you get to that man in Madrid?” I asked.

Desperate for a reply, even if it was scorn.

“What man?” she asked perplexed.

“The report I was puzzling over, when you kidnapped me, spoke of a man ranting about ‘Faeries dancing at Midnight’ . I know, it sounds like a ranting lunatic, but he was dangling ten feet under a bridge in Madrid, by his shoe laces. The rant was a rough translation by the police, but meeting you, I remember that the head of the council is called the ‘Midnight Faerie’ . So how did you do it?”

“Oh him? He was easy. Best ten minute planning, I have ever done, I think.” she responded.

This time I was perplexed, no that’s not right. I should say, I was down righted shocked.

 

Noticing this, she waved a hand in front of my eyes and made me blink rapidly to get rid of my glassy eyed look.

“Changelings are essentially creatures of habit. Take their fighting styles, or daily habits, for example, it will always be the same. Here I’ll tell you about him. I bet he got up at nine, was at work by ten, home by three, ate dinner by five, drove into the city at eight, hunted Faeries until one, whereupon he’d return to his home and be asleep by two. It would be the same everyday. Do you understand now?" Nia told me looking directly into my eyes.

I nodded, as she smiled and continued.

 

“But you know Aidan, I’ll admit one thing to you. You are the very first Changeling I’ve met who doesn’t schedule himself. Who will wake up at odd hours in the day, and work until odd hours at night. The only Changeling I know, who does not hunt Faeries, and turn them over to the Wretch.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because Aidan, it is obvious that you do not buy into stereotypes. You have the look of a true hunter. Judging prey by their true colours and not by the hatred of others.”