Nick had finally finished cleaning. He gazed about the newly purchased loft and couldn't help but smile. It was old, dirty, and needed quite a bit of work, but it was his. Selling his half of the business back on Earth would be worth it. A fresh start, a new beginning, even for a corpse like himself. Rhy'din was a strange place, filled with wonder, terror and confusion. Even still, for a corpse like him it offered opportunity, but most importantly it offered acceptance. New York was never a friendly place to begin with and even less so to one with his condition. These thoughts and others nagged at him as he got up and made his way to the door. It was a heavy metal thing, he'd heard dockside wasn't the safest neighborhood so he'd upgraded the old wooden door that was there before. The paint was dry so there was only one thing left to do; he peeled it back to reveal the words, ?Fallen Cross Investigations.?

It took several days to get the place in order. Buy furniture, office equipment, a computer....a computer. That was some creepy alien technology. He'd even managed to hire a person who knew how to use it. Roni was a huge help, even if she caused him more headaches than she knew. As he looked about the room he smiled. He had a place in this new crazy world he could call his own. A place where he could work and live. He had even managed to get a client, it wasn't much but providing background checks for the small shipping company would bring a steady source of income in addition to whatever else he could find.

He had no doubts he'd be able to hold is own in a city like Rhy'din. He might not be the toughest, strongest or meanest; but he had heart, and that's what mattered, right?

Siobhan woke with a start to the slam of Nick's hand to the table and immediately felt that clench of panic grip at her chest when she didn't recognize where she was. Upon realizing that she was still wearing the clothes she had on yesterday, the panic slowly faded, allowing her to recognize Nick's bedroom. She'd crashed there once before after drinking and watching ridiculous documentaries so she knew it was a safe place.

With a sigh and some slow deep breathes, the panic and tight feeling in her chest was banished after a time while she lay there listening to the quiet television. She watched the ceiling as her thoughts of their conversation and subsequent first kiss came back to her from the night before. Like some silly teenager with a crush, she grinned a silly grin and rolled over, pressing her face to a pillow.

Of course following close on the heels of those warm squishy happy feelings, guilt began to gnaw at the back of her mind...how dare she like a man. It was a man that had done such terrible things so she should hate them, shouldn't she? Yet she was falling for this one despite how awful the opposite sex could be.

On more than one occasion lately, she had to wrestle with the idea in her mind that this was okay...that Nick was different and it was all okay. It was difficult to accept all things considered...but she needed to try, she needed to move past the pain of history and try.

With another heavy sigh, she got up and made the bed up the way she'd found it before wandering out of the bedroom. Spotting Nick on the couch, she smiled faintly, the slightest of curls to her lips, "Morning..." Siobhan murmured as she wandered over and leaned on the back of the couch, scratching her nails into his hair, "...Sleep alright out here?"

One of her dark eyebrows arched a bit at the location of the alcohol, seeing how bothered he was by the thought of it, she scritched his head some, "That's fine."

Hearing that Doli was dead made her smile pull down, while she didn't have much love for Roni's family either, that struck her as odd, "I've not heard of a fae being killed in such a mundane manner before...are you certain it was her?" If it was indeed her, she wondered what sort of consequences would arrive from it.

She sighed and leaned down, hanging her arms down over his shoulders and resting her cheek on top of his head, "You can't blame yourself. That place tricked you with powerful magics...yes, it was a mistake to go alone but how were you to know?" She sighed and kissed the top of his head before pulling away to go raid the fridge.

"When I'm out of sorts, I ride. Clears my head. Might help you too."

Some time in the recent past

Siobhan has suggested that Nick take up an instrument. It was a good idea, something to get his mind off the troubles of the world that didn't involve gambling, or doing something stupid.

He found the battered violin in a pawnshop near the docks. The wood was warped and the varnish was peeling. He felt drawn to it, maybe it reminded him a bit of himself. It was cheap enough, so he took it home.

What the detective didn't know is that the instrument had a history of its own. One that it sung about every time the bow was drawn across its strings.

A father had given the instrument to his son who had just joined the navy. A parting gift so the boy would always remember where he came from. The young man played it often. On the long journeys the crew would often sing, dance and drink to pass the time. The soothing sounds of the instrument easing their minds and touching their souls. Over the course of several years the young man and the violin touched the lives of everyone they met.

A time of war. A great battle. The young man was older now, in command of his own vessel. The smell of smoke as the cannons fired. The excitement and fear of desperate men. The violin was there throughout it all even as the cannon fire tore the ship apart, and as the ship sank to the silent depths below.

Some time later an old fisherman was walking along the shoreline. He came across a violin half buried in seaweed, warped wood, scratch and peeling finish. Still the fisherman took it into his hands and smiled. He gave the violin a home. He lovingly repaired and restrung the instrument. A fresh coat of varnish gave it new life.

The old fisherman was a widower. He had no children. He was alone. Every evening he would sit on a rocking chair on his front porch looking out towards the sea and play. They were always sad songs. Songs of pain, and lost love. Songs of things the fisherman believed he would never experience again.

The fisherman died in his sleep. There was no one to remember him. The violin remained lost for a time. In the fisherman's closet. Forgotten.

It took a couple of weeks for anyone to find the old fisherman's body. Since he was alone, his estate went to the state. His home and meager belongings auctioned off to the highest bidder.

In this way the violin came into the hands of a young woman. Purchased for her by her new husband. Her skill was awe inspiring. She loved to play happy songs. Songs of love. Songs of life. She would often play for her friends, for her husband. She joined a string quartet. In this way she was able to bring in a small income.

After several years the woman came to be with child. All her dreams were coming true. Soon she would have a family. All this time she played the violin. Pouring her heart, soul, and joy in the the music.

As things in life often do, everything changed in an instant. The pregnant woman had been hired to play at a wedding. It was the rehearsal, everything was going well, until gunfire was heard. The shooter fired at the bride, the groom, then the guests at random before turning the gun on himself and taking his own life. The woman felt the burning of the bullet as it passed through her belly. The violin fell to the floor first, then the woman. The blood from her wounds flowed onto the floor and soaked into the instrument.

When the husband found out about his dead wife he went into a deep despair. The violin was placed in the attic where it would remain for many years nearly forgotten. The man succumbed to his pain, gave into drinking, gambling, anything that would help him to forget. Eventually his vices led to the loss of work.

He pawned the violin for just enough money to buy another bottle of whiskey.

It was no surprise that the detective, A man who wears his pain like a suit of armor would be drawn to such an instrument. He smiled as he paid the man and walked a ways down the street where he signed up for lessons.

Some time later, as the detective was sitting at his desk. The detective swore he could hear music. A song of long lost forgotten love.

October 4th 1:30 AM

The A-Team was was blaring on the Television, but the detective was not paying attention. He stared at some imaginary point beyond the screen. He was a man alone with his thoughts, and those thoughts were dark, dangerous.

In 1972 a crack commando unit was sent to prison by a military court for a crime they didn't commit. These men promptly escaped from a maximum security stockade to the Los Angeles underground. Today, still wanted by the government, they survive as soldiers of fortune. If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them, maybe you can hire the A-Team.


His time in Tartarus had not gone well. It was a mistake to go alone. However it was not the torture that bothered him. It was the experience of the club itself.

"I ain't flying Hannibal!"

Getting into the club had been the easy part. Once he was in though. The music, with it?s heavy bass thump, the red lights, the smell of booze and sweat, that got to him. It was hard to ignore, but he?d managed to shove it aside. It was when he had that first drink that he was hooked.

Guy?s not long for this world!
I?m not sure he was ever in it!

It was like finding a long lost friend. He had not felt alcohol?s embrace since he had died three years ago. In life alcohol had been his crutch, his friend, and often his only company. That?s the thing about being an alcoholic, it never really goes away. That had made it that much easier to have one drink, and then another, and to keep going until you forgot the pain. Yet, the pain never really goes away. So you just keep on drinking, your goal always in sight, but never in reach.

"You're not going to drug me this time. I'm going to keep my eye on you."

His drunken fugue had made him all the more susceptible to the hedonistic atmosphere of the club. He had blacked out, but he remembered in brief flashes. More flashes seem to come as time passed.

"Uh, Murdoch, what's going to happen?"
"Looks like we're going to crash."
"No, what's 'really' going to happen?"
"Looks like we're going to crash and 'die'."

Flashes of dancing. Flashes of women. More drinking. Images of a night he could barely remember burning itself into his mind piece by piece. It was like he was alive again. It all had happened, but none of it was real. So why did he find himself yearning to go back?

He picked up the remote and turned off the television, the A-Team silenced before they even had a chance to finish their mission. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial of green tinged liquid. The woman at the apothecary had told him it should allow him to sleep. It was magical so she said.

Sleep?.possibly in his grasp for the first time in years. A way to hopefully forget his troubles for a time.

He pulled out his phone and sent a quick message.

He smiles at a thought as he uncorked the vial and poured the contents down his throat.

He waited.

And he waited.

Then darkness.

It had definitely not gone as plan. The potion he had taken had done something, but it wasn?t at all what the Corpse Detective had expected. He had wanted to experience sleep one again, and while the potion had shut down his body it failed to shut down his mind. So there he was, alone in the darkness totally unaware of the outside world with nothing to keep him company but his thoughts.

For the moment, his thoughts were not a place he wanted to be. They kept dragging him to that night at Tartarus, and the subsequent days of torture that followed. All he had wanted to do was help his friends, and in the end it had been someone else that had done that for him. What good was he to anyone if he could not help protect those he cared about? He had become a private investigator so he could help those in need and not have to worry about all the politics and red tape that came with being a police officer. Yet where had that got him? Eri and Mallory still imprisoned in a hellish nightclub and him locked in a room unable to do anything at all.

Rhy?din was a place of magic and mystery. Where did he fit in? What did he bring to the table that made him stand out among the gods and monsters? He thought for a while, and came up up with nothing.

Not all his thoughts upset him. He thought of the, Siobhan. The stoic dullahan that had wormed her way into his heart. Having her around had been a blessing. He could use all the blessings he could get. Not that he deserved them. Yet, just holding her hand was enough to make the pain seem far away. It was a good feeling, but it was one that scared him.

There was a part of him that felt he didn?t deserve to be happy. To be loved. That these were things that belonged solely to the living. That it was wrong to not be alone. Matters of the heart had never gone well for him. There was a part of him that wanted to run away. That wanted to escape before things went south. Maybe the pain would be a little less.

He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. He couldn?t let himself fall into that trap again. He could do better. He could be stronger. All he had to do is try. He was not alone. He had those that cared for him. That loved him. They would help him to be the best person he could be.

When he awoke the first thing he saw was Siobhan?s face. He was happy.

October 9th, Morning

It was a gray, rainy morning when Mallory St. Martin showed up at the Fallen Cross.

She kept her sweatshirt's hood up and her head down for the walk over, looking up enough to see her surroundings, but not so much that she seemed anything other than small, easy to ignore. The clothes she'd picked were old and well-worn, not so ratty that passerby would worry she'd thrust a bowl in their face, but old enough to be counted among the thousands of unlucky nobodies in this town. She left no visible sign of her many tattoos, and the only trinket she wore was a silver ring on a necklace, tucked securely inside her shirt.

She didn't lower her hood until she'd passed through the detective agency's door and pressed it shut behind her. Vibrant green eyes searched the premises warily, with the kind of attention that could only be gained by years on the street, where everyone was out to get you. Had the detective been good to his word? Was she alone with him?

"Detective Cross?" she ventured carefully.

The office was empty except for the detective. He was quietly doing some paperwork and looked quite different from usual. He wasn?t wearing his hat at the moment, his hair was neatly brushed and parted. He wasn?t wearing his coat, jacket or tie either, just a plain white button up shirt with the top several buttons undone. A piece of the rune carved over his heart was visible. It looked oriental in nature, and pulsed slowly with a dull red light. His sleeves were rolled up. He certainly was not displaying the neat image that he normally preferred.

He sat in a space that had three desks, separated from the rest of the loft by wooden dividers. He looked up at Mallory with a smile as he put the paperwork away. ?Mallory, I?m glad you could make it. You want something to drink? Water? Coffee? I?d offer you booze, except I threw it all out.?

Some of the tension relaxed when Mallory's gaze only found the detective, but she was far from completely at ease. She stared at the eerily glowing rune on his chest, a form of magic that she wasn't personally familiar with, for a long moment before she simply replied: "Water." Water was easier than coffee, and meant she'd end up spending that much less time in this office, stewing over the recent past with the stranger she'd involved in this mess.

He set the papers aside and stood, only to go to the door and lock it so that they wouldn?t be disturbed. He moved past the dividers to an area that serves at the kitchen. Sinks, cabinets, refrigerator, range, coffee pot, table, and even a dishwasher. He motioned for Mallory to follow. The rest of the loft could be seen from the kitchen. Large windows looking out one side with heavy steel bars over the glass on the outside.

It was rather sparsely furnished: an old couch sitting in front of a small television set, a long twin bed neatly made and looking like it was hardly ever used pushed against one wall, and cabinets and shelves lining the rest of the wall space. The shelves were filled with various knick-knacks and, catching the witch?s eye, a fledgling library with books on many different subjects, a whole section devoted to the yellow Dummies books mostly involving modern technology, books on various supernatural creatures, books on law, and books on magic. A couple appeared as if they might contain spells.

She followed him at a distance, taking note of the windows, the lack of other doors... and his little library. Lips thinned into a thoughtful line as she trailed him to the kitchen.

He had a box of donuts on the kitchen table. He motioned to them: ?Help yourself. This isn?t exactly a business meeting after all. Make yourself comfortable.?

"No thanks," she said, folding her arms and leaning against a counter, in lieu of making herself comfortable. The thought of eating made her feel as sick as the thought of revisiting the events of Tartarus.

"What do you want to know?" she asked, when she found her voice again.

He grabbed Mallory a bottle of water from the fridge and sat down at the kitchen table.

?My initial involvement in Tartarus was only because I was looking for Eri. I knew something was up, but I wasn?t exactly sure how bad until I saw her dancing in that club. That experience? Well, it?s left me shaken. It wasn?t the torture. I?m dead, familiar with pain. It?s happened before, and it?ll probably happen again so long as I keep poking my nose where people don?t want it.?

He paused for a bit to go grab himself a Coke from the fridge before sitting down and speaking again.

?I appreciate what you did for me, Mallory.? He cracked open the bottle and took a sip.

?The fact of the matter is, I wasn?t ready for whatever it was that happened to me in that club. It was simultaneously?..the most wonderful and the most terrifying thing I have ever experienced. I got to remember what it was like to be alive, but it was also a lie. I shouldn?t have gone by myself, maybe I shouldn?t have gone at all. But dammit, they had one of my friends and I wasn?t going to just sit there and twiddle my fingers.?

He took another drink of his soda. He sat silently for a few moments as he gathered his thoughts. It was clear that the ordeal had upset him.

?I need to make sure this doesn?t happen again. This isn?t New York, where magic is new. This is RhyDin and it?s a thousand times more dangerous. If I?m going to make my home here, I?m going to have to learn about magic, and find ways to defend against it. With the type of enemies I can make here, I really need something else in my arsenal besides a smartass mouth and a good right hook.?

Mallory was silent for a long time, unscrewing the cap on her water bottle, screwing it back on, over and over, listening to and digesting his words.

"...I'm sorry they did that to you," she said. "I was desperate for help, and... thank you. For going. For trying to help her."

But there had been no questions about it on his part, no prying into the Adder angle, no question as to what Mallory's part had been in all of this, and the witch felt immensely relieved. She took a few gulps of the water, set it down in her lap, and looked up to study him closely.

"Well... you've got the important part down. Based on everything I hear, based on the stupid **** I see newcomers doing, based on the cautionary tales I read from other places and how much deadlier they are in RhyDin... you're right, that everything's more dangerous here. But magic is... big.

"It can be subtle, or overt... weak, or powerful... benevolent, benign, malicious... drawn from the soul, or derived from a dark pact, or performed by learning and bending all the little rules like I do. Saying you want to protect against magic is like saying you want to protect against weapons.

"I think... the best way I can help you... is to help you learn to sense it when it's coming. How to feel its effects. The little tricks to shrugging it off, when it's anything more subtle than a fireball to the face.

"That rune," she said, an abrupt turn in the conversation, pointing at it, and curling that pale, slender finger in the air. "How does it feel? Can you feel it?"

The detective thought for a moment. ?It feels warm. When I get injured it gets hot. Burning hot, if I?m injured badly enough. I got it after an encounter with Renna. It was sort of an experiment. It probably worked too well. As for the magic, I?ve been trying to figure this stuff out on my own, but it?s proven difficult. Last time I tried, I thought I had somebody following me for weeks. I would always see them out of the corner of my eye.?

Nick took another sip of his soda.

?Either way, somebody is going to be surprised the next time Renna and I get into an argument.?

He frowned and looked down at the table, ?My condition has made me a little more reckless than I used to be. Look, I want you to know I?m not playing a game here. No lies, no half-truths, no omissions. Not on my part. This is me, grasping at straws towards anything that might help ensure my survival. Not that I?ve figured out how to kill me yet.?

Mallory nodded slowly, again seeming more at ease, the more he professed an interest in matters other than Tartarus. It was a surprise, to be sure, but one that she welcomed.

"Everything magical has... threads. They curve and bend, loop around each other, tie themselves into knots, and can be very sensitive to other magical effects... like a fly landing in a spider's web, sending ripples across the silk," she said with a slow wave of her hand, wiggling her fingertips, and all the glasses in the kitchen cabinet chimed as if a crystal chandelier was spinning in the air between them. She smiled at him, and it was a slow, sly, wicked thing.

She was a witch. It came with the territory.

"Do you feel that? A chilling little thrill, a change in that steady warmth? It started before my spell could even take hold."

He frowned a bit, his unease apparent. ?A tingle down my spine. A slight sense of unease, like something is about to go down.? He looked around the room, as if to make sure they were still alone. His gaze slid back to Mallory: ?What did you do??

"Parlor tricks," she said simply. That feeling was already fading, as her hand settled on the table. "Useful for scaring people and ****-all else." Then she leaned forward at the table, angling her head to stare hard at him. "But we can use harmless little spells like that to help you practice... for a couple of hours today, and once a week from now until you get the hang of all the little tricks I can teach to someone like you."

Her posture relaxed somewhat, and she let out a breath as she looked up at the ceiling. "In exchange... I'd consider getting you into that ****ing mess at Tartarus making us nearly square. Only other thing I'd ask is a look at those two spellbooks on your shelf, the ones that gave my spine a tingle when I laid eyes on them. Just a long enough perusal to transcribe anything useful.

"Fair?" she added, raising her eyebrows.

?Fair.? The detective nodded. Out of habit, he didn?t extend his hand to shake, well aware of how uncomfortable his condition made some people. He went to the bookshelves, pulled out the indicated tomes, and set them in front of Mallory.

?I trust Eri, Eri trusts you. So I?m going to trust you, too. At least ninety percent of this job is about building relationships with people. Moving to a new world set me back years, probably. But it?s been worth it. You need my help with anything you just ask, and I?ll try not to run off half cocked and bite off more than I can chew.?

?I?ll try not to be in a position where I have to beg for help in code again, but? no promises,? she sighed, and managed a smile, in spite of everything. She dragged the spellbooks a little closer, glanced over them, and pushed them aside.

?Have a seat. Get comfortable. The first lesson is always the longest.?

((Many thanks to Mallory with whom this post was written!))