Abandoned houses in the middle of nowhere were plain creepy. Doubly creepy if you were there alone. Tallis flinched as the old home creaked and snapped in the wind. It felt like the house was rolling its shoulders and trying to dislodge the unwelcome visitor inside. It was crazy, sure. On some level he knew it was just an old house and there was nothing out to get him, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. Moving helped, so he kept himself busy with chores. He wrapped the body in the bed sheets and drug it outside. There was no hope for the mattress, the straw was soaked through with gore, so he hauled that outdoors too and burned it. A shiver wormed up his spine, something still wasn't right, something still had him feeling on edge. Giving the place a good dusting didn't help. Giving the horses a quick brushing didn't help. Tidying the kitchen didn't help. 

Unwittingly, he found himself back in the bedroom. "Did I miss something?" he asked himself. The scene hadn't changed. It was still a mess. Even with the body removed, the smell of death still hung in the air. Blood was splashed everywhere, most of it in arcing patterns high across the walls and ceiling. What wasn't on the walls was dribbled onto the floor leaving a trail from the bedroom to the hallway. 

Following the blood trail, he shuffled out of the bedroom and into the hallway. There was a dark stain on the wall. He must have missed it in the commotion earlier. Running a hand along the wall, he found a small hole hiding in the center of the stain. 

"Hello," he said. "What are you?" He took a knife off his belt and worked the point into the hole. A squashed bullet fell to the floor with a dull thud. "So, you hit whatever came through the door, but it wasn't enough."

He walked down the hall and out into the front yard. "We're still missing the why of it all. What brought the devil down on you?" 

Stepping into the cramped shed, he bent for a closer look at the magical materials. It was novice level equipment, basic manuals, and a collection of hastily written notes. Tallis breathed a sigh of relief. If there had been anything more complicated tucked away he would have been out of his depth, and magic you didn't understand was the most dangerous magic.

He scanned the notes. The handwriting was bad enough it doubled as encryption, but he was fairly sure the writer was trying to practice a light spell. It was a good one to know, especially so far away from street lights and civilization. If he had to live all the way out here, he'd want a little something extra to beat back the night too. It's too bad they hadn't written down the results of the spell. A magical misfire could have brought any number of monstrous things down on the house. 

When he came out of the shed, he found Allistair crouched in front of the heap of coals where Tallis had burned the mattress. The sergeant arranged a few small branches on the smoldering remains of the fire. He had managed to shoot a rabbit while he was out. It wouldn't be much of a feast but at least it was better than nothing. 

Allistair unsheathed his knife and got to work skinning dinner. “I hope you found a lead while I was out.”

“I turned the place upside down and didn’t manage to come up with much,” said Tallis with a shrug. “Someone was teaching themselves some spell craft in the shed, and there was some kind of blood stain on the wall in the hallway. It wasn’t human blood. I think that someone let off a bungled spell and it pulled in a Pinebarren Devil. They're drawn to magic.” 

Allistair dug his knife into the rabbit's belly, spilling its guts and laughed. There was no joy in the sound, only derision and scorn. “That is rich, boy. That. Now, that is really a good one. Someone cast a spell and a gods damned fairytale creature swooped down and murdered a man.” 

Tallis shifted his weight from foot to foot, and kicked a stray pebble towards the house. “I thought it was a good theory.” 

“What’s the motive then? Don’t tell me, I can guess.” Allistair finished cleaning the rabbit and set it over the coals to roast. “The Devil came through the window to steal three magic beans from the farmer? We'll take that back to the captain right now and put up wanted posters for devil's, hob goblins, and wooly-boogers.” 

Tallis sat heavily next to the fire. He felt just like the rabbit, gutted. Self doubt churned in his stomach, hot and jagged. He belonged in the office digging up files, not out here digging up clues. At least he was good at filing. He drew his knees in closer to his chest. What in all seven hells had made him think he could do any better than Allistair?

The older detective had years of training and even more years of experience. Who was Tallis compared to that? A nobody, that’s who. 

“You know the Pinebarren Devil isn’t real, right? It’s something ol’ grandmothers tell kids to keep them inside at night.” 

“I thought they were real,” Tallis mumbled. “There was a farm that lost all it’s sheep back in ‘72. The farmer said he saw something with wings carry the last one off.” 

“Yes,” said Allistair, nodding. “The great sheep massacre of 1872. Quite a fuckin’ calamity. You see, that ol’ farmer sold a bad batch of shine to some cowboys the month before. They came back and rustled the whole herd. And when the law come a calling instead of getting his self thrown into the jail for bootlegging he spun a  yarn. A damn good one too. Scared seven shades of shit out of everyone.” The older detective shot Tallis a look that could have peeled paint. “So when I ask you if you got any leads. Next time you had damn well better spin a better story than a yokel who is three sheets to the wind on his own shine.” 

Tallis kept his eyes locked on the dirt between his feet. “Yes, sir.” 

The tension between ran so thick and icy it could have given a passerby frostbite. Unable to bear it, Tallis stood and walked into the cellar, coming back with two of the least dusty jars he could find. The blackened rabbit and sour pickles made for a poor meal. Tallis made a promise to himself that as soon as he got home he would have his dad, Ed, cook him a proper steak or piece of venison. Allistair was just as happy as could be. The old bastard always seemed content so long as he was proving that he was better and smarter than someone else. 

The sergeant reached into his shirt pocket and drew out a thin stack of envelopes. “While you were here dreaming up ghost stories, I found some facts. The kid had a tree house just at the edge of the woods.” 

Tallis turned the letters over in his hands. “What kind of stamp is this? I don’t recognize it.” 

“It’s an old Faerunner mark. Not one they’ve used in a few years. Seems like it’s making a comeback.” 

“Did you read any of them?” asked Tallis, opening one of the envelopes.

“Not too much of a reader. But what I saw was interesting to say the least. Our corpse sounds like he was a mean son of a bitch. probably deserved what he got.” 

Tallis scanned the letter in his hands. “Right.” He finished his food and headed indoors. “I’m going to turn in,” he called over his shoulder. “I might go through the letters here and see if I can find anything useful.” 

Allistair dismissed him with a wave. “You are the reader, after all.” 

Reading the letters was like listening to half of a conversation. They were responses from someone, each one was signed a friend, but there was enough to piece the story together. The anonymous friend didn’t have much to offer in the way of advice but they had plenty of commiseration to share. Both of them seemed to be in a similar situation. They were both outsiders in some way or another. Neither one felt like they fit in. Neither one had a great home life. Both of them seemed to want to get away. The last letter was short, written in a different hand than the others. The Changeling must have written it but never had a chance to send it. 

It was a simple note: if you’re sending someone, please don’t hurt my father. 

Tallis leaned back on his bedroll, staring at the ceiling. He had made a bed for himself in the living room, as far away from the bloodstained bedroom as possible. What the hell had happened here?

He spent the better part of the night in a fitful sleep, plagued by nightmares full of blood and death. He startled awake and wiped the cold sweat from his brow. The old house groaned in response and something creaked by the front door. Climbing to his feet slowly, Tallis picked up his gun and shrank back further into the room. The moons were full tonight, bathing the forest in a ghostly silver glow and sending strange and twisting shadows splaying across the walls. Crooked shadow fingers clawed the walls. A black shape sped past the window. Tallis cocked the ppistol. 

He was being foolish wasn’t he? Jumping at shadows in the night was childish, wasn’t it? He grit his teeth. He was better than this. He was stronger than this. The icy knot of fear in his chest disagreed. With trembling fingers he fished a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it.

Everything was fine, he thought to himself. 

Heavy steps thudded across the porch. Okay, maybe that was a lie. Maybe something was out there. He took a shuffling step into the hallway. Someone knocked. 

“Wh-who’s there?” he stuttered, his voice barely breaking the silence. 

The door swung open and a demon ducked through the doorframe. It was heavy with muscle and fat, with two curling ram’s horns on either side of it’s head, and eyes that blazed in the reflected moonlight. The demon sniffed the air and snorted, like it smelled something foul, and reached under it’s long coat.

"Put the gun down," it said. "And we will have no problems." 

A sharp, metallic click echoed behind it. 

“Cold Iron Detective Agency,” said Allistair. “We’d like to ask you some questions.” 

Tallis raised his gun, doing his best to stop his hands from shaking, and nodded dumbly.

The demon spun on its heel and sprang away into the darkness. It was fast. Faster than anything that big had any right to be. 

Allistair took off after it. “Come on,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Move!” 

Tallis rushed out into the night after them. The cold air burned his lungs with every breath and he struggled to keep his footing over the rough ground. Stumbling, he cursed the darkness and slowed to a stop. Allistair and the demon were gone. He took a deep shuddering breath and turned a slow circle. The trees crowded close, glowering down at him. A heavy silence stalked the underbrush, every bit as oppressive as the press of trees. Fear wormed its way through his heart again. He fished a small stone out of his vest pocket and mouthed a silent prayer, hoping that he was wrong about the Devil in the woods. His fingers brushed the surface of the stone and a tingle rolled up his arm. He steeled his mind, guiding the potential energy and filling the stone with power. The spell twisted at the last second rolling out with a sharp snap and a greasy trail of smoke. The gem flared to life, lighting with a sick yellow glow. A wail split the night and the forest filled with the dull thump of massive wings beating the air. The sickly sweet stench of rotten meat rolled on the breeze. Tallis gagged. Red eyes blazed in the darkness, and a low growl crept towards him. 

The Devil had come to call. 

The monster stepped into light, all teeth and claws and matted fur. It folded its leathery wings and reared up on its hind legs, roaring. Something else crashed through the trees behind him. He turned and the demon skidded to a halt behind him. Caught between the devil and the demon, Tallis hurled himself to the ground and did his best to make himself as small as possible. He crawled into a hollow under a fallen log and covered his head with his hands. The two creatures clashed behind him. There are a scream, a tearing sound, the sickening thud of steel striking flesh, a gunshot, and then a long heavy silence. 

Something lifted the fallen log and grabbed Tallis by the scruff of the neck, hauling him to his feet. 

“You are safe,” said the demon. “For now.” 

“What the hell was that thing?” Tallis snapped, his voice high and tinged with panic. 

“A predator. Something that belongs in my world, something that should have stayed there.” 

Tallis did his best to brush the dirt from his clothes. It was a hopeless task. He let out a frustrated sigh and looked the demon up and down. It had long almost equine features and was dressed in a mix of modern clothes and simple buckskin leathers. Sudden comprehension dawned on him. This thing wasn’t a demon at all. It was one of the Fae. 

The Fae noticed him staring and looked down at itself. “A bit different than the pictures in your story books, no?” 

“You could say that.” 

The Fae jabbed a thick finger into the badge pinned to Tallis’ vest. “Are you going to arrest me?” 

“I, um, I don’t know.” 

“That will have to do for now,” said the Fae. He bent and pulled a long knife from the dirt, sheathing it on his belt. “You will help me slay this monster. It's not something I can handle on my own.” 

Tallis shook his head. “No. I can’t! What the hell am I going to do against something like that?” 

The Fae looked him up and down. “I need someone to help split its attention while I deal the killing blow. A deal then. You help me, and I will tell you everything you want to know about this house and the boy who lived here. I know it's not much but it might help your investigation."

Tallis swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Okay. Deal.” 

The Fae smiled. “Good.” He waved for Tallis to follow. “Do you have a name?” 

“Tallis.” 

“You can call me Callan.” 

Together they set off into the night. Callan moved through the forest like it was second nature to him. He was silent, and swift, and barely left a single leaf out of place wherever he went. Tallis was the opposite: loud, slow, and he cut a swath of broken branches where he traveled. 

“Do you have some kind of plan?” he asked. 

“No,” said Callan. “Best to keep the plan simple. The beast comes, we kill it. Easy.” 

“Oh, sure,” said Tallis. “Easy. This is a great plan assuming it doesn’t swoop down on us and tear us to bloody ribbons.” 

A patch of blackness fell from the night sky above them. 

Callan whipped a sawn off shotgun from under his long leather coat. He emptied both barrels into the darkness, and laughed. “This will be a good fight.” 

The devil screamed and hit the ground. Hard. It rolled to its feet with a shriek and lunged forwards. Tallis pulled in a sharp breath and held it, squeezing the trigger. The tiny pistol let out a pop and kicked in his palm. The monster flinched and tumbled to the ground. He fired again, and again, pulling the trigger until the gun ran dry. The devil wasn’t finished. It lurched into motion again. Moving stiffly with jerking steps, it closed the gap and lashed out with a backhanded slap. The blow caught Tallis in the ribs and sent him sprawling. It was like being hit by a train. The air left his lungs and he tumbled head over heels through the dirt. Callan’s shotgun roared again and the Fae roared with it. 

“Come on, demon,” he snarled. “Time to meet the foul hand that spawned you.” 

Tallis struggled to his knees. Everything was fuzzy at the edges and the world game to him in splintered bits and flashes. The deafening boom of a shotgun. Screaming. A tangle of claws of horns rolled across the forest floor. Gunshots. Endless gunshots. Through the fog, numb fingers turned the cylinder on the banker's special and worked the ejection rod, sending spent shells tumbling out through the loading gate. A rough hand dragged him out of the fray. A mountain of muscle and fur loomed over him. 

He pulled the trigger and his pitifully small gun made the worst sound possible: a muted click. 

Claws whistled through the air. 

Callan screamed. He came at the devil like a bighorn sheep and hit it horns first. Bones crunched. The devil wilted, and died with a whimper.

Allistair straightened and pulled the second revolver off his belt. Tallis blinked in confusion at the sergeant. Where had he come from?    

Allistair flicked a switch on the back of the gun, and pulled the hammer back, readying the pistol to fire a shotgun blast from its second barrel. “Hands up,” he said. 

Callan slowly raised his hands. He had a purple stone clenched in his fist. “Tallis,” he said. “Check the loose floorboard in the shed.” He clenched his fist and the gem crumbled to dust. A cloud of violet dust surrounded him and glowed with an inner light. Allistair fired. When the dust settled, the Fae was gone. 

Allistair cursed and kicked a tree root. “Damn it all to hell.” 

Tallis stared in silence. He felt like his mind was still a few hours behind the rest of him. Allistair passed him a lit cigarette. He scowled down at the empty space where Callan had been, and fished a smoke and a match out of his pocket. 

Allistair waved a hand in front of Tallis' face. “You’ve already got one goin’ there, partner.” 

Tallis slowly shook his head, took a long drag on the cigarette in his mouth, and scowled down at the second one in his hand. “Oh. Fuck.” He flicked the second smoke away. 

Allistair untied his bandana and pressed the cloth to Tallis’ forehead. “You’re bleedin’ quite a bit. Must’ve taken a good clunk on the noggin. Let’s get you back to camp.” 

They made it back to the homestead as the first rays of gold began filtering through the trees. There was a canvas tent pitched by the smoking dregs of last night’s fire. Allistair had slept outdoors, apparently. Tallis sat heavily on the front step, still holding the bandana to his forehead. Everything was slowly starting to come back into focus, and a torrent of pains both great and small came with it. He felt like he had been chewed up and spit out. 

Allistair busied himself packing up the camp while Tallis rested, and had them squared away and ready to move within a couple of hours. “Ready to go?” he asked.

Tallis winced as he stood up. Something in his knee gave a soft crackle in protest. “Did you check the floor in the shed?” 

“What are you talking about? I think you need to sit down for another little while. Your cheese had been knocked clear off your cracker.” 

“No.” Tallis shook his head and regretted it. A wave of dizziness threatened to spill him to the ground. “The Fae said something about a floorboard before he disappeared.” 

“Fine,” said Allistair. “I’ll take a look.” He came back a few moments later with a small leatherbound journal in his hands. “This what he was talking about?” 

Tallis took the book and opened it. A small trail of violet dust spilled out from between the pages, along with a battered detective's badge. “I’m not sure. It could be. He didn’t say what was under the floor.” 

Allistair bent and picked up the badge. "Interesting," he said. "Looks like one of ours but I dont recognize the unit. Captain might know more." He climbed up onto his horse. “You did good out there.” 

“I am not sure I would call getting lost in the woods and knocked out good.” He swung up onto his own horse and followed Allistair away from the homestead. 

“You weren’t all the way out of it though. Were sitting there looking at nothin’ when I showed up but you still had enough sense to try and reload. We need to get you a second pistol. Then you can just throw one down and keep blasting. Works a treat for me.” 

“Sure,” said Tallis. “Hey,I thought you said the Pinebarren  devil wasn’t real.” 

“Aren’t supposed to be real. Never been any way to prove they exist until now I guess. Shit. That means I owe an old farmer a drink and an apology.” 

“Do you think it really was a devil that took all sheep then?” 

“Do now. Wonder what brought it out.” 

“Do you mean now, or the one back then?” 

“Both. Take a few days off when we get to the city. Then, dig up the files on that sheep case when you’re back in the office.”