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Don’t worry—most of our guests never experience anything unusual.  Otherworlders, such as faeries, vampires, and ghouls, are quite adept at hiding within the shadows.  Many are also skilled at erasing memories.  You may wake in the night screaming, but you won’t recall why.  Be glad that you don’t remember—you are one of the fortunate ones.

If you do encounter something unnatural, we recommend the services of Ivy Granger, Psychic Detective.  Co-founder of Private Eye detective agency, Ivy Granger is a relatively new member of our small business community.  Her offices can be found on Water Street, in the heart of the Old Port.

Miss Granger has a remarkable ability to receive visions by the act of touching an object.  This skill is useful in her detective work, especially when locating lost items.  Whether you are looking for a lost brooch or missing persons, no job is too big or too small for Ivy Granger—but you may be on her waiting list for awhile.  Hopefully, you are not in dire need of her immediate services.  After her role in recent events, where she was instrumental in saving our city, Miss Granger’s business is booming.

If matters are particularly grim, we can also provide, upon request, a list of highly skilled undertakers.  If you are in need of their services, then we also kindly direct you to Harborsmouth Cemetery Realty.  It’s never too early to contact them, since we have a booming “housing” market.  Demand is quite high for a local plot—there are always people dying for a place to stay.

What do the names ghost light, friar’s lantern, corpse candle, aleya, hobby lantern, chir batti, faerie fire, min min light, luz mala, spook light, ignus fatuus, orbs, boitatá, and hinkypunk have in common?  They are all names for wisps.  Corpse candle?  Now that was bound to give a girl a complex.

I had recently discovered that I was half fae.  My faerie half is wisp, as in Will-o’-the-Wisp—my father, king of the wisps.  It was a lot to digest.

Dealing with my newfound princess-of-the-wisps status was stressful, but business was booming and I didn’t have time for random panic attacks.  I used to see a therapist to help deal with my anxiety.  Lately, I visited Galliel at Sacred Heart church.

Galliel wasn’t the priest at Sacred Heart, though I usually stopped and said hello to Father Michael while there.  Father Michael had helped me with my recent demon trouble, but spending time with him didn’t relieve my anxiety like Galliel did.  It wasn’t Father Michael’s fault.  He was a good priest, as far as I could tell, but he was only human.  Galliel was a unicorn.

I was indulging in my guilty pleasure, Galliel’s adoring head resting in my lap, while Ceff spoke with the priest.  This was bliss.  I had always wondered what true happiness was like, but never thought I’d have the opportunity to experience it for myself.  Somehow, during a catastrophic week that nearly brought my city to its knees, I had found my own.  Galliel was a big part of that.  So was Ceff.

If I were looking for love on Craig’s List, my singles ad would begin something like, “Must Love Unicorns.”  Of course, I didn’t have to look for love online.  My heart now belonged to Ceff.

Ceffyl Dŵr, or Ceff, was a kelpie.  In fact, he was king of the local kelpies.  Since discovering my wisp princess birthright, that seemed somewhat fortuitous.  It was also extremely dangerous.  The kelpie king had plenty of enemies.  He also had a murderous, sociopathic wife.

I didn’t care.  For the first time in my life, I felt like I truly belonged.  I had so much to be thankful for; a gorgeous date; an amazing best friend, business partner, and roommate; a wonderful mentor; fabulous new friends; numerous clients; and a pet freaking unicorn.

I should have known that something bad was coming.  I have said it before and I’ll say it again; Fate is a fickle bitch.

Most people have skeletons in their closets.  I wasn’t born yesterday, and I am fully aware that my boyfriend was born more yesterdays ago than I can count.  Since Ceff is a few millennia old, I expect some dusty bones lurking behind the perfectly pressed shirts, faded jeans, and tailored suits—no shoes of course.  What I didn’t expect was for Ceff’s skeletons to come storming from the dark corners of his closet with finger bones raised in anticipation of clawing my eyes out.

Ceff was married once.  To put it nicely, the woman was a freaking bitch.  I’d say the chick was a harpy, but that would insult harpies everywhere and I didn’t want to piss off potential clients.  Melusine, Ceff’s ex-squeeze and former queen, was pure malicious evil.