1 Chapter 1

“Oh, there they are!” someone shouted from the crowd.

A titter passed through the line-up for The Electric Wand club which went around the corner of crowded street. Since it was the first commotion outside of the ordinary that Sheamus O’Mallory had heard in the last hour, he glanced up from his worn notebook. The woman who had shouted had bright green hair, dark skin, and a hand-bag that was clearly made of mermaid skin. Not who he was looking for, and since no one emerged from the crowd that fit his numerous descriptions from his notebook’s case files, he turned back to his reading in the safety of his van.

Sheamus was in the middle of rereading the profile for Jake Ohk, escaped werewolf, when something made him look at the club again. Nothing had changed, but something about the people in front of The Electric Wand club didn’t seem right. The Electric Wand was a chain club that specialized in the mixture of both supernatural and human species, but it wasn’t one of the easy pick-up spots that specialized in salacious sex. Those places were branded clearly and had their own app system to keep track of patrons, since prostitution was still illegal. A series of loopholes about supernatural or robotic creatures not counting as ‘official’ prostitutes or johns still allowed for cross-species or cross-human relations to be exchanged for money, but the clubs who facilitated those sex acts were discrete. They had a proper clientele to cater to, and everyone always valued their privacy.

Not so much at The Electric Wand, as Sheamus could tell right away when he followed a lead to the club this evening. The Electric Wand club was almost old school; aside from the neon and chrome outside the entrance, and its numerous colorful and eccentric patrons waiting to come inside, it was practically like the gay bars of Sheamus’s youth, complete with outlandish queens now calling themselves High Priestesses or Cosmic Witches. He smiled a bit at the latent memories, now so long gone from his current waking world of supernatural petty crime and the mission he was on tonight.

Still, he couldn’t shake his old regular police instincts. Something wasn’t right about the club. Sure, there was no sex trade—but maybe something was off about the bouncers? They were at least seven feet tall, perhaps more, which made him wonder what other magical creature he might be forced to tangle with by the end of the night. And what sort of licensing violation—or worse, rights violation—the club was taking part in to keep the giants working. He was about to text the search order to his assistant at his private eye headquarters—perhaps there was an insurance scam or a drug operation he could take down at another date—but a new flurry of movement at the front of the club caught his attention.

“There they are again!” the same woman shouted. Her eyes were the size of marbles. “Oh, Joey.”

The colors—even brighter than the green-haired woman—caught Sheamus’ eye first. A pair of hot pink and baby blue pants shimmered as a person walked out of the club’s back door and onto the snow-covered sidewalk near a turn in the line-up. The crowd instantly moved to give the person space and to marvel at their presence with more shouted praises. Their face was round and moon-shaped, framed by long blond hair, and their features gave no hint of binary gender. The high cheek bones sparkled with highlighter and the lips were painted on in purple. Their silver top shimmered alongside their vibrant pants under a dozen flashing lights from those waiting in line taking photos with their phones. The person was surrounded by several other people, some who seemed invited into the person’s entourage and others who were definitely hangers-on. While some of the seven-foot tall body guards attempted to hold back the unwanteds, Sheamus realized that not all of the shimmering was from customer’s flashing phones. From around the corner in the adjacent alleyway, paparazzi emerged, swarmed the obvious celebrity, and took a dozen pictures a second.

“Fuckin’ vultures,” Sheamus muttered under his breath. He recognized at least four of the seven paparazzi from his secure van across the street. Most of the monster paparazzi started out in law enforcement. There was only so long someone could be on the force before arresting invisible men or shape-shifters became a comedy show. It felt like even more of a circus when Toronto rebranded itself the Neon City and became a marked refuge for the supernatural creatures that now came out of every single corner and traveled on every single highway toward their new sanctuary. Why bother arresting witches for traffic violations or gargoyles for drag racing? It was better to film it and profit later. So many of Sheamus’ colleagues had left to become bottom feeders in this brave new world, while others, like Sheamus, became PI’s in order to enact some sense of justice. Even supernatural. Sort of like that whole superhero or villain quandary, all depending on perspective.Too bad so many of his former friends like to chase what they couldn’t touch and attached a price to their repeated invasions of privacy.