Gator Boyfriend 1 (complete)

    ‘It Never Rains in California’ is playing over the radio, ironic considering it’s raining right now. I’ve been asked by a friend to come help her grandmother. Apparently, the old woman is at death’s door and is seeing things. My friend thinks that somehow I can comfort her enough so she can slip away. I hate doing these kinds of jobs, but right now, work is slim, and I’ve been doing nothing but palm readings for drunks college kids.

    “It pours, man it pours,” and then trumpet solo. Once again, ironic, well, save for the trumpet solo part. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a trumpet in real life. Weird. I come to the nursing home, a familiar place I’ve made frequent visits to, for both jobs.

    “Hey Andy,” the nurse behind the counter says. “Who you here for?”

    I look around the lobby, feeling some sort of strange presence around me. I can’t quite place it, but it feels like when two magnets are close. There is a pull. I glance back at the nurse. “Melinda Tisdale?” I ask.

    She points over her left shoulder. “2B.”

    “Or not to be,” I chuckle.

    The look on the nurse’s face is a mix between a grimace and wet cement. I clear my throat and move away, not explaining myself, just horribly embarrassed. I go to the room, finding it open. Inside my friend is sitting with her grandmother who looks more skeleton than anything.

    “Andy, I’m glad you’re here,” she gasps.

    “It’s ok, Bertie,” I say, rubbing her back. 

    Bertie then takes me to her grandmother’s side. Her eyes are wide open and are twitching back and forth rapidly. I frown, placing my hand over her face, I feel her breathing, but barely. 

    “What’s wrong?” Bertie asks.

    I pull my hand back and reach into my pocket. “Not sure,” I whisper. When I was little, I can remember my own grandfather taking me to the bedside of those who were at death’s door. My grandfather was something known as a sin eater. He would eat a meal left by the dying, taking their sin into them. Needless to say, my grandfather has such a powerful connection to the otherworld it wasn’t a surprise he was one of the foremost wizards in the entire world. Too bad he vanished.

    “Andy?” Bertie whispers.

    I take the chain from around my neck. I dangle the amulet on the end over Melinda’s face. The glyphs on the front start to glow, and Melinda wheezes, her back arches and she starts to twitch. I hold my arm out, stopping Bertie from coming forward anymore. 

    “Wait,” I whisper.

    Melinda twitches and coughs. I then lash my hand out, grabbing something coming from her mouth. 

    “What is that?” Bertie nearly screams.

    I pull and pull, tugging out the eel-like creature. I then toss it down, stepping on it with my heel. It still twitches and writhes.

    Bertie wretches and turns away, bracing herself on the wall.

    “That’s it,” I whisper and pull the amulet away.

    “What is that?” Bertie whimpers after collecting herself. She returns to Melinda’s side, taking hold of her hand as she closes her eyes and falls onto the bed.

    “Sin,” I murmur under my breath. “Or well, what my grandfather called it.” I pick it up, and it turns to ash in my palms. I rub my fingers together, the ashy substance on my hands feels silky and nostalgic.

    “Sin?” Bertie asks.

    I notice Melinda is gripping her hand back.

    “Dark magic,” I reply. “A form of it. Your grandmother should be ok now.”

    Bertie reaches into her pocket and hands you a roll of money. “I appreciate it.”

    I take the roll then remove several bills from it and hand them to her. “Buy her a purple dress,” I tell Bertie. “That’s what she wants. I’ll see you later.”

    I walk from 2B and go to the bathroom, washing my hands. I look up, seeing a shadow moving around my head in the mirror. I used to see the same thing around my grandfather, but it will fade when it discovers I’m not a suitable host. My magic will wear it down, eat it away, and it will finally vanish.

    As I leave the bathroom, I hear a trumpet being played. I turn, glancing down the hallway as the hairs on the back of my neck begin to prickle and stand on end.

    “Entertainment,” the nurse with a face like wet cement, says. “He comes every so often. Don’t know why they like him so much.”

    I stand there, listening to the tune the trumpet was playing. “Somewhere over the rainbow,” I murmur.

    “Not with this weather,” the nurse says. “More like somewhere over the fog.” Her laugh even sounds like a cement mixer.

    I sigh and step outside. The rain has stopped, but as the nurse said, it is so foggy I can barely see. I get into my car, and I feel that magnet pull again. I look up, staring through the windows of the nursing home before I drive off.

    I stop to get gas, but also because my nerves are shot from driving in this pea soup fog. As gas pumps, I twist the amulet between my fingers. I fidget with it, watching as the glyphs shimmer. My grandfather had given this to me, just days before he disappeared too.

    I then look up, seeing red and blue lights glowing through the fog across the street. Cops start walking through the mist, one goes inside, another comes straight towards me.

    “Lucky break!” He gasps. 

    I take the nozzle from my gar and hang it back on the pump. “Is it?” I ask. “What’s going on Rever?” I ask.

    Rever was a police officer who I had gone to the police academy with. We had remained friends, even after I left the force to become a PI. He had used me several times and had been my primary source of income for a long time. I owed him a good deal.

    “Dead body,” he says and shakes his head. “It doesn’t look good.”

    “Do any dead bodies?” I ask, stuffing my hands into my coat pockets. “What’s up?”

    He sucks air through his sharp teeth. “Ain’t the first one,” he admits with a hushed voice, stepping closer to you. 

    I tilt my head and furrow my brow. “Ok then,” I whisper. 

    “The first one we found at the picnic area at Musing’s Camping Grounds,” Rever says, scratching his cheek. “She was young, not even twenty.”

    “What killed her?” I ask.

    “We aren’t sure,” he says. “The thing is,” he looks around, “she was nineteen, but she looked four times that. Cause of death was ruled as complete organ failure.”

    My eyes widen, and I stare him down. “So-” I whisper. “This one too?” I point towards the blue and red lights glowing in the fog.

    “Same thing,” Rever huffs. “They look almost seventy, but their idea says they’re twenty-one,” he replies.

    I fidget. “Another girl?”

    “Guy,” Rever’s ears twitch. 

    I huff and kick a pebble on the ground. 

    “Rever!” A gruff voice calls through the fog. “Is that the mind reader?”

    Rever twitches and he ducks his head down. He fidgets with the brim of his cap then glances back towards his commanding officer. “No, it’s the private-”

    “I know who it is,” he growls. Captain Solomon was an intimidating man and was notoriously hard to work with. As he comes up to us, he looks down on Rever and me. “What are you doing here, Magnus.”

I motion to my car. “Getting gas,” I say as a matter of factly as I can. 

Solomon’s lip curls, showing off the sharp teeth behind his lips. He’s a gargoyle, sleek and dark purple skin that shimmers with tiny scales. “I don’t need you mucking up our work. Make yourself scarce.”

“Sure thing,” I say with a shrug.

“But Captain,” Rever starts then flinches as Solomon turns to him. “Maybe she can help,” his voice trembles. 

You glance up at Solomon, his white, blue eyes flashing in the dim light. You see the frustration on him, anxiety, and despair.

“Did you know this young man, Captain?” I ask.

Solomon glares at me, but I don’t move. I meet his vicious glare until he snarls, his nostrils flaring and he turns away.

“Maybe,” he growls.

“Captain,” Rever whispers under his breath. 

Solomon glares at me again. “Come on,” he snarls. “Tell me if you see anything.” He starts walking across the street, and we follow behind him.

As we cross the road, I see headlights blaring ahead of me. They don’t stop until inches away from me. I look up at the car, not able to look into the car from the headlights. 

Rever pounds on the hood. “Watch it!” He snarls, and we cross the street.

I turn back, watching as the car goes down the road. I turn back, going over the silver traffic barrier and into the tall, wet grass. We trudge through it until we come to a circle of lights where cops are roping the area off. There’s one trying to snap photographs, but finding it hard through the fog. 

I go under the yellow tape with Solomon as Rever remains at the edge. He leads me up to the body, and I have to jerk away.

“Too much for you?” Solomon growls.

I shudder and gulp hard, taking a deep breath. “No,” I whisper, glancing back at the body. I am overwhelmed by the magic coming from the body. It is drowned in it, suffocated and drained by a powerful magic force I have never sensed before. I gasp, cupping my hand over my mouth, afraid to breathe it in. How were the rest of them able to stomach this? I feel weak and ill. This isn’t right. Whatever killed these people were using a toxic form of magic that sucked the very life from them.

“What is it then?” Solomon snarls.

I drop my hand, unsure how to explain it to them. If they couldn’t sense it, then they would never believe me. I glance around the body, opening my magic up to see more. I rub my amulet between my fingers, and I see a trail. It leads from the road and towards the body. There was a struggle, but it wasn’t much. The path then leads away, going into the woods.

I follow it, going into trees with Rever and Solomon close behind me. I can still feel that toxic magic. It clings to me and sticks to me. It stinks and feels heavy, and I feel like it is trying to drag me down. 

I come across a clearing in the trees that is entirely covered by brown pine needles. It looks like a sleek, beautiful carpet. Here, I feel that magnet pull again. As I step into it, I see the headlights of cars on the other side. 

As I step onto the pine needle carpet, I hear something snap. I look down and dusting through the pine needles I bring up a bone.

“Oh my god,” Rever whispers.

I open my eyes wider, my magic working to give me extra sight. I look through the pine needles and to my horror, I see dozens and dozens of skeletons buried under the pine needles. I wrench back in horror, and Solomon calls in backup. 

I go home, trying my best to ignore the toxic magic that is clinging to me. I know I’ll be called back, they’ll want me to investigate the mass grave I found buried under the pine needles. I go into my office, which is also where I live.

All around me are a variety of antique and thrift stores, I am the sore thumb amongst all these places. My little sign sticks out, something my dad made ages ago. “Empty Night Investigations,” it reads. “Private Investigator Magnus.” Originally, PI Magnus had been him. Now it was me.

A neon sign glows in the front window advertising ‘tarot and palm readings’, yeah that’s me too. And right now it was what had been getting me my paycheck. It’s not something I like to do, but beggars can’t be choosers.

As I walk into my office I go to my desk and sit down, I place my head in my hands and growl. I still feel so uneasy. Whatever magic was used to kill that poor kid, it wasn’t right. I had never come across something like that before. Most of my career I have dedicated to keeping track of the magic here. Unbeknownst to most of the citizens, and even the police force, there is a magic underground here. A Goblin Market as it’s called. It’s an underworld of dark magic and creatures. My family has worked to keep it under wraps and under control for ages. Right now, I am the only Magnus capable of the job. 

Rever has an inkling into what I really do. Back when we first worked together, he witnessed my powers quite often. He doesn’t understand it, really, but he knows I am capable of things. He doesn’t question it. Despite being a good cop, he’s surprisingly timid. Well, whenever he comes across something that he and the other cops can’t explain, he always calls me.

More than once, I have had to go to the Goblin Market. I’m not too well liked there, no Mangus has ever been genuinely welcomed into the Goblin Market. My grandfather especially. Boy did that hate my grandfather with a passion. It took my dad ages to work through that and get himself into the Goblin Market without being attacked for being “the son of Cepheus Magnus.” They still look at me, sneering and calling me blood of Cepheus. 

As I sit down at my desk, the door opens up, and I feel the magnet pull. The hairs on my body stand on end, and I look up, my hair falling partly before my face as I see the hulking figure walking through my door.

I stand up. “Can I help you?” I ask warily.

“Detective Magnus?” The voice is gruff and growling, a touch of an accent I can’t place right away.

I swallow and nod. “That’s me,” I murmur. 

He steps forward, coming into the light better. He’s a big guy, he must be at least eight feet tall, considering how his head brushes the ceiling. He has broad shoulders and a barrel chest that keeps his flannel from being completely buttoned. He’s green, his skin a mix of leather and scales. His eyes are sharp and golden, his face mostly flat. His mouth is filled with rows of sharp, terrifying teeth. His arms look like that could rip metal to shreds. His thighs are tree trunks. 

He smells good, like fragrant spices and salt water. As he stands there, as hulking as he is, I don’t feel nervous as I should. In fact, there is a sense of tranquility around him.

“Aye,” he says. “I need your help.” His accent sounds cajun.

“How?” I ask, walking around my desk. I feel minuscule standing before him. I also notice that the lingering feeling of the toxic magic is waning.

“My friend is dead,” he growls. “I went home and found him dead on the stairs.”

My eyes widen, and I feel a deep, painful dread inside. “Did you call the police?” I ask, my throat feeling dry.

“I did,” he growls. “But they don’t see it.”

I reach up for my amulet and twist it between my fingers. “Even though it was suffocating?” I ask.

His eyes widen, and he nods slowly. “Yeah,” he growls. “I felt sick standing near him. I couldn’t even touch him if I wanted to.” He takes a deep breath, and he shakes his head.

His eyes look pained, his expression reads like a book. I reach into my desk, taking out two glasses and the bottle of scotch inside. My grandfather did this, so did my dad, they didn’t drink much, but they always kept some glasses and a bottle of liquor in the desk to offer to clients. They found it made things easier when trying to get information.

“Here, I offer the big guy a glass.

“Thanks,” he murmurs. The tumbler looks like a shot glass in his big hands. Maybe I should have just given him the entire bottle. 

He rolls the glass around in his hand and sighs. “I grew up in Louisiana,” he then chuckles anxiously. “I know that sounds silly, but growing up there I saw magic there, all kinds.” He then scowls and looks down, his eyes narrowing. “What I saw on my friend…” He hesitates and shudders. “It wasn’t anything good. I have seen darkness before,” he mutters. “I have felt evil magic. But this-” he hesitates and squeezes his eyes shut. “I saw your signs,” he says. “I was wondering if you could help me.”

“I need to know something,” I take a breath and set down my glass. “Did your friend look much older than they actually were?” I ask.

He lifts his eyes, looking at me. “Aye, cher,” he says. “How’d you know?” Those golden eyes of his are beautiful. It is from them that I feel the magnet pull the strongest. I take an involuntary step towards him, feeling safer and safer the closer I was to him.

He steps closer as well, and my heart feels oddly calm, especially after finding a mass grave in the woods.

“Two other bodies have been found in that condition. Maybe more,” I grumble. “Your           friend could be the victim of a serial killer.”

He tilts his head. “Well fuck.” 

“Yeah,” I sigh, crossing my arms against my chest.

“I’m Marv,” he says and holds out his hand. It’s enormous and tipped with sharp, black claws. I take it, shaking it.

“Hi Marv,” I reply. “I’m Andromeda. But you can call me Andy.”