"Doc," Margaret Bates—Josefine's self-proclaimed assistant—hurried back from unlocking the four bolts on the door into Dr. Josefine Wolfe's office and apartment for the morning, her voice low, "there is a body on the sofa." Josefine blinked slowly at her, her brain's processing ability halved by lack of sleep or caffeine in her system.
"Did you check for a pulse?" She murmured the question as she glanced past her at the man's shoes propped up on this end—a nicer brand, but they looked like they'd been resoled at least once, so more for show than because he actually had money.
"Of course not, you said to never disturb a crime scene." That's right, Josefine did remember saying that before.
"Don't worry," She took her time pouring her first cup of coffee for the day, "I'm pretty sure I know him." The words did little to reassure Bates because Josefine could hear her going through the rack of cooking utensils behind her as she took her mug into the little waiting area they'd put together when she'd set up shop as a PI. The man wore a three-piece suit, though the jacket hung over the arm of the sofa under his head—outdated and faded grey with patched elbows—his vest was unbuttoned with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows with a well-worn hat over his face; Neirin Elisedd looked like he could be a journalist or a detective, but the only things Josefine had seen him write in years were forgeries. She took a sip of her too-hot coffee before kicking his feet off the sofa and startling him awake.
"Come on, Josie," he complained, rubbing his eyes, "let me sleep some more." She watched as he flipped the hat back on his head to hide unruly dark hair similar to her own; they really did look like siblings.
"In a minute. When did you get here?"
He shrugged. "Late?"
Josefine's laugh was dry at that; if he'd been late, he'd have met Wolf—the literal Monster in her head—when she came home with blood under her jacket. "I got home late, but you weren't here then," she paused to take another sip of her coffee before she decided that line of questioning didn't matter, "never mind that, what're you doing here?" He started to answer with a sheepish expression when Bates edged forward with a skillet raised like a bat.
"You really do know him?" Josefine gave her a tired nod, eyeing the skillet for a moment as Neirin's expression shifted like a switch had been flipped into a con artist's smile as good as her own.
"Apologies for the scare, darling, I'm Josie's big brother, Neirin Ellis," he offered a hand to shake.
"We grew up in the same group home," Josefine corrected almost on reflex behind more coffee as Bates gave his hand a wary glance, "and knock it off, I don't need you running any cons on my housemate." Bates lowered the skillet, something conflicted in her eyes as she looked between them trying to process information neither of them usually shared, if only because it didn't often come up and tended to make people uncomfortable.
"I—I am sorry," Bates finally said softly before excusing herself to return the skillet to the little kitchenette in the corner.
"For what?" Wolf laughed, "That you didn't deal with them sooner?" Josefine ignored the sympathetic itch in the scars beneath her sleeves and the old ache in her bones and returned her focus to Neirin where he watched Bates go with a wary gaze.
"So, what brings you back to Otsha?" Hazel eyes flicked back to meet her grey for a split second before he focused pointedly on her nose; he'd seen Wolf in her eyes back when they were kids and hadn't risked a second glimpse since.
"I got a problem," the soft Welsh of his accent bled just a little thicker as he lowered his voice, leaning forward on his knees.
"When don't you have a problem?" She muttered the words behind her coffee and he flashed her a sheepish smile before he continued.
"Thing is, I'm innocent this time." Josefine raised an eyebrow; that really was new. "You still got ties with the Irish, right?" She nodded slightly, "Then you heard their last shipment was robbed?"
She finished off her cup as she thought it over before pointing at him through the handle. "And you were involved how?"
"I'll get you more coffee," he avoided her gaze altogether now as he took the empty mug from her, "it's a bit of a story."
"Of course it is," she muttered the words and watched him join Bates in the kitchen.
#
The story as Neirin told it went as follows: he and Bastian Moller—his latest business partner—were entrusted by the Irish to oversee a shipment the contents of which they were not privy to. Things went fine until they got to port and Anna Manhattan claimed something was missing. Neirin and Moller split in different directions rather than risk her cracking down on them, but he's not sure where Moller went to ground if he got away or what was stolen.
The story was all well and fine except Josefine knew Neirin and therefore only trusted him about as far as she could throw him so she went to Pluto's Hardware and Accessories—where the 'accessories' were the alcohol—to speak with Anna. Anna Manhattan is the Irish king of half of Otsha's underground, dealing mostly in smuggling, gambling, and speakeasies, though she dabbled in other crimes too from time to time. Josefine had looked at her with equal parts fear and respect as a kid and that hadn't changed as she got older so she was nervous about having to speak with her now about such a tricky situation.
"Jo?" Josefine looked up at the familiar voice to find obsidian eyes studying her beneath black curls, "What brings you here today?" Faint French colored his accent and she painted a very convincing fake smile across her lips.
"Anthony." Anthony Cane returned her smile with a genuine one of his own. "How've you been holding up?" He shuffled his shoes, glancing down at them with a shrug before raking long, callused fingers through his curls and glancing up at the stage where the rest of his band was setting up for a pre-opening sound check.
"Oh, you know," his voice dropped into a whisper as his expression went grim, "staying grounded in reality and keeping out of the hospital, you remember how bad the hospital is, it's a hell of a motivator." then he brightened some, "The music helps." Josefine nodded, shaking off the sympathetic bone-chilling cold that came with her memories of her time in the psychiatric ward.
Unlike her, Anthony's diagnosis of paranoid-type schizophrenia was actually accurate, but hospital treatments like ice baths and chemically induced seizures didn't do much more to help him than they had her.
"Hey listen, I'd like to catch up, but Neirin got into some trouble and I'm here to see Anna."
His brow furrowed. "Oh," he rocked back on his heels, "Neirin's back in town? He's been getting into trouble since we were kids, how long are you going to keep bailing him out just because he says your siblings? By his logic, all three of us are siblings."
Josefine hummed quietly to herself but didn't make an argument either way. "Do you know where Anna is?"
Anthony looked like he wanted to press the issue, his brow furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line, but he relented quickly, "Yeah, she was watching us set up at the front table."
"Thanks. Let's catch up after this is over, I'll come to see you play while you're here." With that farewell, Josefine pressed a cigarette to her lips and lit it, inhaling deeply in an attempt to ease her nerves before she moved closer to the stage where she found Anna sitting languidly at a table in the front row, liquid mercury gaze alert and fixed on the musicians in stark contrast to her posture. At her side, half melted into the shadows rested a massive Theron Hound—a breed of wolf-dog more monster than dog—who shifted with interest at Josefine's approach. Liquid mercury eyes flicked her way a half-second later as if sensing her proximity, no real expression in their depths beyond mild curiosity.
"Anna," Josefine began and a knowing and predatory smile bloomed across Anna's lips.
"You've come to discuss the matter of your brother?" Anna gestured for Josefine to take the seat across from hers but nerves and Wolf's instinctual urge to flee her presence kept her upright.
"He's not my brother, we just grew up in the same group home," she found herself correcting behind another nervous drag on her cigarette; Anna knew this, she'd been there when Josefine was a child and still looked just as otherworldly and dangerous as she had then. "What did he take… allegedly?" She smiled wide as if watching a child try to strike a winning deal with the devil.
"A book," she said, thick Irish mixing into her medley of accents Josefine had never been able to consistently place, "an important book that I would very much like to have back," she paused, smoothing long, pale fingers across the deep red fabric of the tablecloth as if thinking something over, "Word is you've started a detective agency, so I'll tell you what, little Wolfe." Josefine swallowed hard as the pressure in the room seemed to increase, resisting the urge to flinch when one of the musicians snapped a string and a glass shattered against the floor on the other side of the bar as if to say they were feeling it too. "I like you, so I'll grant you two a reprieve. Return to me what was stolen, find me evidence that it was not your brother who stole from me all within thirty-six hours," the smile turned predatory and a chill ran down Josefine's spine as she started to find it harder to breathe, her cigarette burning close to her fingers, "or I will be... collecting him." The way Anna said it made it sound like Death planning to collect a soul so she swallowed any arguments or attempts to bargain she might have had and nodded slightly in understanding. Then Anna's smile softened and Josefine found herself suddenly able to exhale again as the immense pressure in the room eased considerably and the cigarette burned her fingers so she flinched, dropping it onto the floor and shaking out her hand, "Let me walk you out, I'd like a spot of fresh air." Anna had risen to her feet when Josefine looked up again and the two walked in silence through the hidden door into Pluto's Hardware and Accessories proper and continued out onto the street. Anna looked up at the sun, shielding her eyes against the light after the gloom of the speakeasy. She pointed up at a series of crows sitting on a wire, one apart from a line of seven, "One for sorrow and seven for a secret never to be told," she almost sang the words in tune with a familiar nursery rhyme before she paused and lowered her hand. A moment later she continued in a thoughtful murmur, "but who's sorrow and who's secret, they do not say," Anna turned a knowing smile on Josefine, "I wonder." Then she was gone, quickly lost in the fog of the street, only the quiet melody of the hummed rhyme trailing in her wake.