Goddess, it was hot; a sultry, relentless kind of hot. Between the squeaking of the ceiling fan and the sweat trickling down my back, I was about to bug out. I reached for a cold drink but remembered that I didn't have one. The cooler was bare and had been for a while. To fill it, I needed some cash and for that I needed a case. I cast an eye toward my altar and a bronze statue of the Horned One. He seemed composed despite the heat. I smiled. "I admire your ability to take all of this in stride," I told him, "but it wouldn't hurt to have a paying client, if you catch my drift." He offered no words of comfort. By the way, I suppose I should introduce myself. The name is Lodestone. Nick Lodestone. I'm a pagan and I'm a private eye. When the job calls for someone who can walk between the worlds, I'm your man. My reality is an exotic mix of mysticism and sensuality; of spirit and of flesh. Let’s just say I've seen a few things.

I mopped my brow and took a swipe at my back with a carved rowan branch that was sitting on my desk. After a few seconds, I stopped in mid scratch and started lookin’ around. Something didn't feel right to me. At first, I thought it was just the heat but it was more than that. I had a nagging feeling that something was looming. Something… unpleasant. Over the years I'd learned to trust these premonitions and this one was a whopper.

I was trying to get a handle on the feeling when the phone rang. Usually, I can hear things in the ring of my phone. Sometimes it sounds like a well-heeled client with an easy case. Other times it's a promise of mystery and intrigue. Today, the ring sounded like the other shoe falling. I picked up my medicine bag, lit a hand rolled smudge stick and made a grab for the receiver. As sometimes happens, I managed to hold on to it. "Lodestone Detective Agency," I said, laying out my standard spiel, "You've got Nick." As a detective, you learn how to mask your feelings when you talk to people. This time I was hiding a major case of the shakes. I wasn’t sure what to expect. Maybe the Grim Reaper was calling to confirm our appointment. It’s hard to tell with premonitions. I was pleasantly surprised by the sultry sound of a woman's voice. It was one of those voices that made me stop breathing so I could listen to hers. She got right to the point, which always impresses me.

"Hello Mr. Lodestone. My name is Earthsong and I hear that you’re the man who can help me. You see, I believe someone has taken my familiar."

I shook my head. Pets. Goddess, I hate doing pets. People are always so weird about their pets, and familiars are the worst. It was really too bad that this Earthsong had such a great voice, because I could tell I was already on the verge of doing something stupid. Odds were seven to three that I would jump on this one. The case, you sensualists. There was also the matter of liquid capital. I didn’t have much at the moment. OK, so I didn’t have any. Pet or not, I needed this case. Plus, the woman was a pagan and I try never to turn down pagan clients.

"Ok Earthsong," I said, trying not to sound too eager, "I need to ask you a few questions. For one thing, how long has your familiar been missing?"

"She’s been gone for about 5 days."

"And this is pretty unusual?" I asked calmly.

"Oh yes," insisted the anxious woman, "She’s never strayed beyond evening. She’s very attuned to her feeding time." I made a mental note that "she" had an appetite.

"Could you describe your…"

"Cat. She’s a cat."

“OK. Could you describe your cat?” I continued.

“Um, she has smoky gray fur with lighter markings on her belly. Her feet are white around the toes. Oh yes, and she has a white crescent above her right eye.”

“She sounds pretty. That white crescent should be easy to spot, too. What else can you tell me?”

“She’s kind of big for a cat and has a little bit of a rambunctious streak. Normally she’s pretty even tempered.”

“Rambunctious,” I muttered and paused before continuing. “Precisely how big are we talking here?”

“Last time I weighed her, she was just over 26 pounds and she appears to have gained some weight recently.” Mama. That was one big damn cat.

“I’d like some additional detail on kitty’s personality. You used the phrases ‘rambunctious streak’ and ‘normally pretty even tempered.’ Sounds like kitty occasionally has a temper.” Earthsong started sounding steamed. “OK, OK. She got into this little thing with the postman, once. That’s all.”

“How little a thing, exactly?”

“Just a trifling little squabble really. Almost nothing.”

“Could you maybe be more specific?” I nudged, concerned by her reluctance to come clean.

“Well,” she sighed, “the postman was having trouble getting something into the mailbox and I guess Bastet, that’s her name, thought he was maybe playing with her and she, well, she went for his leg.”

“She went for his leg?” I asked incredulously, “Cats will do that?"

“Look Nick, I paid for his pants, and my insurance covered the surgery and the rehab. Could we just drop the subject? I don’t see how this is going to help find my little Bastet.” She was right of course. I was starting to go weak in the knees thinking about this cat. One more story like that one and I would chicken out completely. As it was, the odds had started shifting in favor of me punting this case before my shredded body turned up in a cat box somewhere.

“Nick,” she said, sensing my apprehension, “If you could just drop by my place, I have a few pictures of my cat and I know that once you see her, you’ll take the case.” Her voice was filled with a sweetness and a desperation that I was powerless to resist. “Plus,” she added, “if you take the case, I was planning on giving you $200 up front and $500 on the safe return of Bassie — along with whatever expenses you require, of course. Would that be satisfactory?”

“That might work, “ I replied coolly. “Tell you what. I’ll swing by in an hour or so and we’ll talk some more. I’ve got a few errands to take care of before then.” Earthsong set me up with the directions to her place and thanked me warmly. In fact, I’d gotten so warm I had to loosen my collar. I was looking forward to meeting her. Usually, I’m not a sucker for a pretty voice, but this one had me goin’! Before she hung up she added, “Oh, and Nick…..whatever you do, when you talk to her don’t call her kitty. It really pisses her off.” Even as her receiver clicked in my ear, a chill crawled down my spine. Some disturbing mental images were coming to mind — images of me struggling for dear life with a feline maniac the size of a raccoon. In my little reverie, I didn’t much like the way things were turning out. My sense of foreboding was starting to take on a physical form. It said, “Meow.”

With a shudder, I opened my desk drawer and dragged out a half-empty bottle of Honeyfyre mead. I use the stuff mainly for medicinal purposes, of course. Feeling the need for fortification, I pulled out the cork with my teeth and proceeded to take a long swallow. The brew set fire to my insides, but it was ambrosia. The name Honeyfyre was definitely on the money. The label even had a picture of a flaming honeycomb. Not to brag, but it’s brewed by an Asatru pal of mine in Minnesota. He knows his mead, too. He sends me a case every Yule. Otherwise I could never afford it. It’s hard not to love a guy like that. After a couple of swallows, my courage came crawling back. I recorked the elixir and thought about my next move. Before I made a call on Earthsong, I needed to check in with Benny Loneoak. He’s the proprietor of the local Druid watering hole called The Holly King. Benny owed me a C note and had gotten scarce now that I was looking to collect. Benny has what you might call a sixth sense in such matters. It was all a gag with him, though. He has more greenbacks than he knows what to do with. I think he mostly just enjoys busting my chops. He’s really a pretty good lad, that is, when he’s sleepin’.

Besides serving up an infamous potion known to his enthusiasts as “King’s Bane,” Benny also had a reputation as a broker of valuable information. He wasn’t cheap, but he was good. Real good. I figured that just for grins, I’d see what he had on Earthsong. If there were any red flags, Benny would be the guy to know. I noticed that I was feeling more relaxed. The mead had finally taken the edge off. I laughed away my earlier fears. After all, what could go wrong? This case would be a lead pipe cinch, right? I continued with my little pep talk for a while. I was feeling better but not as much as I wanted to believe. That sense of foreboding was still lurking back there somewhere. Damn premonitions. I tried not to think about it. I’d just have to keep going. In my line of work, danger’s a constant companion. There’s no getting around it. And I was realizing something else, too. I really needed to hit the casa de potty.

I was hot and sticky so I grabbed a shower. I also felt a need for protection, so I dressed in basic black. I put on my spiral goddess pendant and donned my favorite earring. It was an image of Kokapeli. I feel like he’s a kindred spirit because he’s a flute player and a trickster. I fancy myself as both of those things. My close friends might take issue. Finally, I grabbed my travel pack and headed for the door. Before I could get the door shut, I remembered that I was out of smudges, so I ran back and grabbed a pack. I use cigarette papers to make them and more than once I’ve been entertained by the local boys in blue. You’d think they would cut some slack for a PI, but it doesn’t work that way. I headed out a second time, stopping short again because I didn’t have my hat. I don’t go anywhere without my hat. It’s a beautiful felt job with a silver pentagram pinned on the right side of the band. That hat has made it around the wheel a time or two. I was dragged from my reverie when I noticed the time. I needed to make tracks. If I hurried, I’d make the 3 p.m. transit.

After an uneventful tram ride, I hopped off down town and made my way to the Holly King. As pubs go, the King is one of my favorites. From the outside, it looks more like a church than a bar. The windows along the front of the place are all stained glass. In one scene, a milk-white stag is leaping over a dark stream. Another spot shows the Green Man watching a Druid circle from the shadows. It was nice work. So was the front door. You never saw so much Celtic symbolism in your life. I could spend hours just staring at it. Each door had its own window — also stained glass. The left-hand panel pictured a golden sickle; on the right was a sprig of holly. Celtic music drifted down from a small speaker secreted just above the door. I didn’t want Benny getting an ego on my nickel, but I really loved his place.

I pushed through the ornate doors into a haze of incense smoke. I breathed it in slowly. Dragon’s Blood with a touch of Sandalwood. Very nice. The music shifted from some Irish instrumental tunes to the exotic brooding sounds of Loreena Mckennitt. It didn’t get much better than this. I walked up to the bar eyeing the crowd as I went. It was an interesting crew. One group of leather-clad maidens had captured my eye when a sarcastic voice behind me says, “Well, if it ain’t the shaman shamus. What brings your sorry hide into my establishment?”

“Benny,” I replied coolly and turned slowly, “Nice to see you, too. I think you know why I’m here.” Benny smiled brightly.

“Yeah. It’s one of those rare occasions when someone owes you money instead of the other way around.” He had me there. I smiled right back at him and said, “Don’t worry yourself, Loneoak. You’ll be getting off easy. I need some information and we all know how expensive that is.” Benny seemed to find that amusing. He laughed for a while and slapped the bar. Then he grabbed my hand in his big mitt and shook it with some affection.

“It’s good to see you, Nick. Where you been keepin’ yourself lately?”

“Oh, here and there. Haven’t had much work lately so I’ve been catching up on my reading. I also did some time at the Sanctuary a few weeks ago.”

“Good for you,” said Benny. “I should do more stuff like that. Seems like this place keeps me too busy for the finer things.” Benny poured me an ample shot of mead, on the house.

“Hell, Benny. You got more sacred space here than most places I know. You don’t have to go anywhere to find it.” I wasn’t suckin’ up, either. The Holly King was one big shrine. You could feel it when you walked in. I never left the place without feeling better than when I got there. I was hoping today wouldn’t be the exception. “Look, Benny,” I began, “The main reason I came by today is I need some dope on a sister who’s trying to hire me. Her name is Earthsong.”

“Earthsong,” repeated Benny dragging out the name with a theatrical flare. “Earthsong. So why are you thinkin’ about getting tangled up with her. Don’t tell me. Someone finally took an elephant gun and finished off that cat, and you’re going to find the killer. Am I right? Please tell me I’m right.”

“You’re warm,” I replied, dropping heavily onto a barstool. The cat’s missing and she wants me to find it. I’m supposed to drop by her place later."

Benny smiled knowingly and chuckled, “Nick. Nick. Nick. What have you gotten yourself into?”

“I dunno Benny. I came here so you could maybe help me figure that one out.” Benny grinned with friendly mischief.

“Tell you what I’ll do, Nick. For 30 ducats I’ll enlighten you. But I’m warning you, lad, you’re not paying for good news, just the facts.” I took a slug of the mead. I could tell I was going to need it.

“Yeah, I know,” I said. “Go ahead and take it out of the C note you owe me.” Benny nodded slyly,

“Oh I already have, Lodestone, I already have.”

TO BE CONTINUED