Enthusiasm Over Authority

Chapter 1

Enthusiasm Over Authority

Tuesday, 1st September

Thunder rumbled in the distance as the 10am news playing on the radio went unnoticed past the boil of a kettle. Among the wooden crates and old furniture stacked upon itself, three people occupied their 12-by-18-foot workplace on the second floor of their section of a converted mill. Disregarding the weather faithfully dull for the North-West of England which was threatening the city past the old fire escape doors at the far end of the room, a tall redhead listened to the incessant bickering of her two colleagues as she waited for her morning fix to brew. The back and forth of questions and complaints had been going on for the past hour or so now, and there was no sign of it letting up any time soon.

Waving his arms up, the short man at the end of the cluttered office ran his hand over a mop of thick, ashy hair. Filled with frustration, the apparent authoritarian collapsed within himself with his umpteenth huff that morning. Closing tired lids at the notion, he turned his nose up and the words fell flat in a middle-class London accent, "how many times do I have to say no?"

A full-figured blonde wearing all black sparked the end of her vice. Sat at one of the mismatched wooden chairs tucked under the long table that would have been big enough to fit eight if not for all of the books, scrolls and irreplaceable bric-à-brac, the woman pushed back. "'Til it turns into a yes." Balancing dangerously on the back legs of her chair, the fair-haired female croaked. Voice resonating with her low, husky tone, she peered left, and to the man in front of the balcony doors. "I've fought ogres, poltergeists, and skin-walkers; how is this any different?"

Scrunching his round features, the shortest flapped his arms in exasperation, as if it should already be clear. "Just because they're called Fairies, doesn't mean they're mythical, and light, and sparkly." A low rumble carried through the air, shortly followed by sheets of white splitting the slate sky.

"Isn't everything we deal with so-called mythical?" A muted Northwest drawl came from the minuscule kitchen space by the door to the blonde's right.

Glare shooting to the Amazonian woman brewing her morning dose of breakfast tea, the eldest bit his tongue from calling her out right there and then. Reigning himself in, he tried to plead with the blonde, textbooks as his evidence. Staggering across the cluttered space, he shoved a thick book in her face, urging her to take notice.

Recoiling with a grimace from the stench of the yellow-tinged parchment, the blonde threw her head back in defence. Choking on the stale whiff she got from the artefact, she jabbed her cigarette towards the crinkled pages in threat. Shooing her leather-gloved hands and returning all four legs of her seat to the scuffed floorboards with a hefty thump, the woman frowned and garbled on a stronger version of the redhead's accent. "That fuckin' stinks. Get it away!"

Regardless of worrying for the antique, he smacked the woman with the open centre and gurgled, "Alex, look at those pictures." He shoved the gruesome illustrations right into her face until the pages hit her nose accidentally. "Those are real fairies."

Swatting the book, and the pest, she spat in a flustered tizz. "I can't fuckin' see anything when it's that close." Turning away, her 18th century perch hitched over a chip on the floor well in need of varnish. Or perhaps a carpet, considering what the room housed. Or just a new room entirely; the place was a scabby hoarder's wet dream.

At his wit's end, the male with his hair peppered grey skulked back to his desk at the far end of the room in despair. Peeking up with a pitiful expression, the oldest held out for his last line of defence. "Domino, please tell her."

Turning around with a fine China cup filled with the best tea on that side of the Atlantic, the towering redhead grumbled at being put on the spot. Glancing between her employer and her best friend, the woman carefully rested her drink on the cluttered table. "Jules..."

Past impatient over an hour ago, the only male nipped at the stuffy air with each word. "Just say it already."

Giving him a warning glance, Domino already knew that he wasn't going to like the answer he'd pleaded for. "It's not the medieval times, Jules. It's not like we're drowning in cases like this and I hate to say it, but you're not fighting off customers who are brawling each other for oil paintings of some incestuous, small-pox ridden Lord from the 1700's." Giving a small, apologetic shrug at a specific portrait leaning against the wall, she sat at the head of the table with her back to the window which overlooked the art warehouse below. "We're running low on funds."

Closing his eyes in a temper, Jules - or rather, Julian Darby, as he was professionally known - turned his nose up and threw his book down on his desk, causing a stack of other texts to fall off the side. "How did I get stuck with a pair like you?"

"Just lucky, I suppose," Alex snorted out a bloom of smoke; it was almost a laugh at her own joke as she glanced to Domino, but all she got was 'the look' to shut up and stop tormenting the man who was constantly on the receiving end of her morbid jesting.

Flicking a stack of papers aside with the tip of his nails, the ashen-haired man threw a tantrum as if he was a toddler who just had its favourite toy taken away. "You're both absolutely mad." He was a full grown man of forty seven - forty eight come Sunday - and he was on the verge of pouting. Very close. One more quip and she'd have him.

Domino glanced to her friend, making sure she knew it was her fault that the man was pissy before taking a sip of her prized tea. Savouring the flavour, the tallest jut her jaw out, attempting to mentally prompt the blonde. Getting the simple hint from the redhead staring at her, Alex heaved in a breath. "Jules..."

"No." The addressed huffed instantly, his back to the pair. Cerulean irises fixed on the grey-scale scene of the dilapidated urban jungle through the spanning panelled windows he was stood in front of. "No, I refuse to be-"

"-Julian, we're going to do this whether you like it or not." Rooting through the Manila folders and loose sheets of paper in front of her, Alex hunted for an ashtray, the second-skin leather gloves simply sliding off the papers. Easing up out of her seat a little and leaning over, she carelessly pushed the scraps aside. "You can either let us die, or you can tell us how to kill the fuckers," her voice strained with the final few words as she flopped onto her stomach to reach the item she was after.

Spinning around, and knocking everything around him over in the process, the man threw his arms up with a shriek. "You can't kill a fairy!" Pale eyes surrounded by dark circles and middle-age wrinkles were on the verge of popping out of the skull they belonged to.

There it was. She loved seeing him get so worked up. "I'm presuming you mean figuratively," a lackadaisical half-confirmation came from the blonde. Before he could catch the smirk on her face, she dropped her rear back into the insanely expensive piece of furniture with an unladylike grunt and hung her head to hide her glee.

Palms sweating at the mere thought of the woman's idea, Julian spun off into a tangent. Shoulders raised like an angry cat and neck veins visible in vexation, the stout man's vocal pitch pushed out several notches higher than usual. "Never mind breaking a mirror, killing a Fairy is the worst luck of all."

Both women glanced up to him in unison whilst wearing the same expression of subtle disbelief before they went back to their vices. "You say that to the person whom the universe bestows cataclysmic bad luck upon regularly." Alex began rummaging through her surroundings again, this time with Domino holding her cup up as if her friend wasn't behaving like the March Hare.

Recoiling with a sudden stoic expression of thought, the mousy blond held his chin. "Will it really make a difference?" Wondering out loud, the brains of the outfit thought about the unorthodox way things already were. "Really, would it change anything?" As if struck by an epiphany, the man spun around with an odd look on his face. It was the kind of look where everyone involved was unsure of if the preceding remark was a question or statement, including the man himself.

Unwrapping a lollipop she had taken from the dish on top of a stack of books across from her, Domino blocked out the fantastical pirouetting. Clearing her throat with two quick coughs, the honey sopped tone floated towards the female sat two seats down from her. Voice lowering as her elbows rested on the very edge of the platform, the taller woman spared a second-long peek to her companion. "If this is as dangerous as he says this is - which it always is - please don't do anything rash."

Scoffing out the smoke of her vice, the blonde hovered her hand over the brief space between them. "No matter if I had to go up against the fabled Hell Hounds, or even a God, we can't afford to pass up anything over a grand."

Pulling the lolly from her mouth, the redhead frowned. "Don't pull us into suicide jobs."

"If I thought there was any chance of you getting hurt, I wouldn't bring you along."

"Oh, that really fills me with confidence."

"I already told you before," Flicking her ash with more force than necessary, the blonde's features twitched. "I would never let anything bad happen to you again."

"I kno-"

"I would die before that." She stared the woman in the eye and her frame tensed. "I mean it, R-" Pulling her senses to her forefront, the blonde corrected herself before any of her past mistakes could be repeated. "Dom, the moment you stop trusting me, we're all screwed, and I'm as good as dead." Forcing a lopsided smile, the older woman cocked her head to the right quickly and then faced away as to make a point it was the end of that conversation. Making a noise anyone else would confuse for a brush-off, the redhead went back to sucking her lollipop. "When's the deadline?" The blonde called out to the back of the man still having a spasm.

Hot palms gripping the window sill slick with the condensation brought about by the difference in temperature on either side of the single-paned glass, Julian tried to stick out the situation he was faced with more often than he'd like to admit. He hoped the women would change their minds and drop the case which had been sketchy from the start. He knew it was never going to happen, but he wished all the same. Silently praying to any God and deity who may be listening, he asked for something to change their minds. Even a damned house-elf’s help at this point would be brilliant.

"Jules, ya'know if you don't tell us, we'll go anyway..."

Spluttering upon the remark, he came to realize that his mental pleading was futile. And that if there were such things as actual Gods, then they must be pricks too. Dropping down into a crouching position, Julian snatched up the book he had been brandishing earlier. Shooting up just as quickly, he threw the slab on the long table in between the pair. "You're a horrible bunch."

Flicking to where the tasselled bookmark was dangling from, the redhead turned the item around so she could fathom the words. "Latin," a groan of contempt rumbled past rouged lips when she realized it wasn't just her dyslexia messing with her. Sticking her tongue out to wet her lips, the younger woman began reading the beginning of the coded passage. "Faeries are hostile and aggressive towards outsiders. They feed on emotions, and depending on their lineage and inclination, they can use..." Domino stopped to stare at the man with his arms folded across his head and nodding in an 'I told you so' fashion. "...illusionary traps before poisoning their prey, or worse, taking them to their native realm and feasting on them for decades..." Growling, the taller woman smacked the bulk of the book to her left. "What the Hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Fairies have been known to take non-Fairy hostages for slaves, possess other Earth-world beings - humans, mostly - and even hypnotize with little more than a touch." Barely holding back from smiling triumphantly upon seeing the redhead's look of discontent, Julian held his nose in the air. "They're very territorial, and usually kill by placing their foes in a dream-like state which leads to starvation. They also have venomous bites."

Hacking a bitter chuckle, Domino drummed her crimson stiletto nails on the itchy page. Wobbling her head madly, she rolled her eyes while sarcasm cooed. "That's so charming. It makes me wonder why I've never built a fairy garden for them."

Lounging back, Alex contorted her arms over the top of the backrest behind her, as if she was being held prisoner. "You mean aside from the fact you don't have any form of garden? Come to think of it, is there any grass whatsoever within a five-mile radius of your place?" The blonde interjected flatly as she stared up at the high ceiling covered with peeling ecru paint and a giant water stain caused by the previous business tenant above leaving the water running. Whoever thought to have any form of Turkish bath on a third floor was a good idea was as dim-witted as the people who paid to go to the plastic surgeon two doors down.

Continuing reading the passage in ignorance to her friend's sass and the obvious clue to her mentally berating people as her eyebrows flickered and the asymmetric dimples beside her mouth came to the light of halogen, Domino came across something of interest amongst the history. "Despite their love for fresh dairy cream, Faeries become drunk from it." Smile tugging at her lips, the redhead glanced up and tapped the paragraph with her nail. "Along with that, recently harvested grains have to be picked up one by one before they can cause any trouble."

"Snap." Stating her borrowed word from the card game, Alex shot a grin to the eldest, as if she'd just won something he'd failed to. Standing up whilst stretching her arms above her head, her large breasts almost spilling from the sides of the muscle tee three sizes too big (clearly not one of hers), the woman glanced to the tattered watch peeking past the snug leather glove on her right hand. Regardless of being right-handed, she had always kept that same timepiece on that side. She knew it was supposed to be on her other hand, but whenever she was attacked, she always used her left to defend herself. Worried for the leather strapped memory, she kept it out of unprovoked danger as much as she could.

Unhooking her matching jacket and purse off the standing coat rack, the older of the two women put on her outerwear at the sight of the downpour falling from seamless ecru clouds, racing down the window and bouncing off the old brick buildings from the golden era of Manchester's industrial revolution. "It's 10:40 now. We'll be back around noon-ish." Shoving her cigarettes and lighter in her left pocket, she made for the door without waiting for another topic to be brought up.

"And if not?" Julian called out to the pair of backs already out of the office door and stood on the steps leading to the warehouse.

A pace behind the redhead, Alex peered back with a dark grin. "Call the cavalry."

Sweat racing down his forehead, Julian's stomach twisted. "We don't have any back-up..." The sound of the pair jumping off the second to last step in unison out of habit left a bad feeling scratching at his gut.

Updated: 21st July 2021 - 19:57