"Hello again,” Philip says. “I’ve a bone to pick with thee, you shitty little punk.”

“Hey, Philip," you says to the Ogre. "How you doing? Everything alright?"

Philip scowls, the beginnings of a growl bubbling up from the depths of his throat.

“No, you’re right,” you admit. “Stupid question.”

You examine Philip more closely, noting how his wounds –– the wounds you and Fausta left on him –– have been stitched together and wrapped up in clean white bandages. “They’ve been giving you medical attention?”

“Faith,” Philips says. “Thou art a churning cistern of dumb-ass questions.” His eyes, half-lidded, flicker back and forth. "So. What shall it be? Wilt thou set me free?"

"I dunno," you say. "Are you going to free the real Philip and send him home to Mr. Lynn?"

Philip stiffens up. "I’ve nothing to do with that pipsqueak," he tells you coldly.

You raise an eyebrow. "Bold words for someone who stole Philip’s life.”

“Ha!” Philip barks. “I stole his life?” He bends his head down towards you, white smoke rising from his flesh as he strains against the cold iron chains. “I was a Prince of the Sidhe, you dullard of a sorcerer!” he tells you. “Nectar and blossom was my repast, fields of flowers my bower, armies and crowns my right. I had it all…”

A shadow passes over his face: “…until mother decided to trade me for a fashionable human boy.”

"…Oh," you say.

“Yeah,” Philip replied.

You’d never thought about it that way before. A cuckoo lays their eggs in other bird’s nests to make other birds raise their chicks...but what must the cuckoos feel about the mothers who leave them behind?

You grunt: “I suppose I’m supposed to feel bad for you now, huh?”

“I need not your pity, lickspittle!” Philip says with a sneer.

“Good,” you say with a huff, “because I don’t have any to spare.”

The sneer of Philip’s lips slips away. “What,” he says.

“You’ve been flapping your lips a bunch,” you tell him. “Mama abandoned me. She doesn’t love me. Boo Hoo.” You clench your teeth tight. “But you’re still trying to run back home to mother, aren’t you?”

“You don’t know jack about me, miscreant,” Philip tells me.

“You were trying to board the train to Fairieland at Cold Iron Crossing,” you say. “That’s why you came to Cryptatown, isn’t it?”

“I came here to get vengeance,” Philip insists.

You snicker: “But you’re still trying to get dear old mom to notice you, aren’t you?”

“What care you for my vengeance, little ape?” Philip asks. “It is none of thy concern.”

“True, true,” you say. “I don’t work for your mother. I work for your dad.” You raise your voice: “You know, the guy you beat half to death?”

A sickly grin splits Philips grey face. “He still breathes, then?” He says. “Who knew the old geezer had so much life in him?”

“Shut up,” you snarl, raising your sword and setting your blade against his throat.

Philip falls silent.

“Mr. Lynn loved you,” you tell him. “He loves you. He hired me to keep you safe, even after everything you did.”

“Who would want love from a sad old failure like him…urk!”

You lower your sword, the tip strained with Ogre blood.

“The way I see it,” you whisper, “you threw away the parent that loves you for the parent that doesn’t. What’s sadder than that?”

Philip just stares mutely down at you, eyes wide with panic, the nick on his throat oozing fresh flood with every hoarse breath he takes.

Hmmm: how strange. Why are you feeling so ashamed, Diesel? Is it because you let your temper get the better of you? Or …

You flick your jian to the side a few times, trying in vain to get the stick ogre blood off end of your blade. “Look,” you say at last. “I’m not here to make you love Mr. Lynn. Just have a peaceful talk with him, let him say goodbye…and then you can go to hell for all I care. That sound good, Philip?”

Philip says nothing.

“Fine,” you spit. “Be that way.”

You turn to go.

"Grobach," you hear the Ogre say.

You stop in your tracks.

"My name’s not Philip," he whispers, almost too softly for you to hear. "It’s Grobach. Philip’s the name of Lynn’s kid, the kid my mother took."

“…Grobach,” you say, turning your back on the Ogre. “I’ll remember that.”

As you walk way from the changeling, you realize people are staring at you––the Police officer in the dog cage, the fish-man floating inside the tank, and most especially the Dame you’d been talking to.

“Sorry, ma’am,” you tell the woman as you approach her cage. “Things got a bit out of hand.”

“You’re Dieselnoi Worawoot, aren’t you?” The Dame says, keeping her voice pitched low. “The wannabe Private Eye?” She looks you up and down. “Well. You’re certainly dressed the part, chum.”

“...Have we met?” You ask her. “I think I’d remember a Dame like you.”

The Dame wiggles her hand back and forth: “Yes? No? We’ve got associates in common.”

She locks her dark, deep, doe-like eyes with yours. For a brief second, her left eye glows with a bright neon light, flaring and flickering like the pulse of a firefly.

Your blood runs cold. The cocky, devil-may-care noir movie phrases die on your lips.

This Dame’s a Private Eye.

The Alder’s Private Eye.

“I’m guessing you’re still on probation?” The Dame asks.

You keep your mouth shut.

“I see,” she says with a sigh. “Very well. I’ll follow your lead, Diesel. But your big bold rescue mission messed up my operation something fierce. I’ll make sure to tell the Alder about that."

Your stomach twists with nausea, a creeping dread that you’ve bungled your chance at getting your P.I. License.

(You feel relief as well, relief that you won’t have to take the final test).

“I think you have me at a disadvantage, miss,” you say hoarsely. “I don’t know your name.” You look her up and down. “Or what you really look like.”

The Dame blinks. Then she smirks.

“Huh,” she says. “Guess you’re not all hot air, chum.”

She waves her pinky in a quarter circle; the magical illusion around her body dissolves into a cloud of smoke and dust.

The Dame’s ears grow a little larger and longer. Her figure goes from emaciated to full and curved. Spiked horns sprout from the crown of her head, covered with soft fuzz and winding bands of copper jewelry. Her filthy shirt changes into a turtleneck sweater, tin badges with political slogans pinned to her shoulder like a soldier’s medals.

Her ratty sneakers vanish outright, replaced by slender brown hooves that go ‘clip-clop’ against the cage floor.

“The name’s Sarah,” the Deer-Woman says, giving you a Girl-Scout salute that bumps against the edge of her horns. “Sarah Mankiller.”

“Um…” You say.

Sarah chuckles suddenly. “Relax, chum!” She says. “It’s an old Cherokee name, that’s all! Not that I didn’t burn a few bras back in the day…”

“That’s…” You say.

Sarah’s ears twitch. “Damn,” she whispers. “It sounds like they’re wrapping up the bidding outside.” She taps her knuckles against the cage’s glass. “Don’t suppose you could get me out of here?”

“Um,” you say. “Yeah. Sure.” You hold your sword aloft and chant: “Gremlina, Kumara, Zoavita…”

“I found the keys, Diesel,” Mandrake Kayne says, twirling a key-ring around his finger as he walks your way. “And I jammed the cafeteria door’s lock. It should buy us enough time to get the humans out….”

He notices Sarah and the way you’re brandishing your jian. “Ah,” he says. “A Deer Woman. Are you planning to silence her?”

You stare at Kayne and say nothing.

Kayne sighs slowly. “This isn’t the time to be a bleeding heart, Dieselnoi,” he says.

“I’ve not leaving anyone behind to be eaten,” you tell him, tapping your sword against the cage’s padlock. The lock falls apart into its base components, springs and pins and screws falling to the ground with a clatter.

Kayne takes a step back, hand falling to the hilt of his sheathed dagger. “And what if this …creature… decides to eat the people you’re trying to save?” He asks.

“I’m a vegetarian, asshole!” Sarah snaps, pushing the door open and striding out of her cage. “Being a Cryptid doesn’t mean that I eat humans!”

“I’ve eaten humans!” Grobach shouts from the back.

“Not helping!” You hiss at the ogre. “Look,” you say to Kayne. “We don’t have time to debate…”

“I know,” Kayne says, clutching the key ring tight to his chest. “Which is why I’m not going to help you set the foxes lose among the hens.”

“Fine,” you groan. “Be that way.” You flip your sword into a reverse grip and hand it over to Sarah hilt first. “I put a breaking enchantment on the sword,” you tell Sarah. “It should take care of the door locks.”

Sarah hesitates momentarily, then reaches out and slides the sword out of your grasp. “Okay,” she says, throwing a glare Kayne’s way. “Don’t take too long with your lovers spat, alright, chum? I don’t fancy becoming venison in someone’s freezer.”

She walks over to the Police Officer in the dog cage.

“You’re not going to eat me, are you?” The Cop stammers.

Sarah rolled her eyes. “I dunno,” she says. “Are you going to violate my civil rights?”

The Cop scowls indignantly. “I’m not one of those Cops, lady…!”

“Exactly,” Sarah says, swinging your sword down and shattering the cage lock. “Let’s both try to avoid jumping to conclusions, okay, chum...?”

You jerk your attention away from Sarah’s little dialogue and turn to meet Kayne’s disapproving glare. “Are we going to have a problem?” You ask.

“I have a problem with anyone who would choose the welfare of monsters over their own kind,” Kayne tells you.

You can’t fault his passion. You really can’t.

You’d had that same passion not too long ago.

A passion like that can’t be argued with.

Not with cold facts, at least.

“I’m not choosing between them,” you insist to Kayne. "And no one’s going to eat anyone here today."

“I dunno,” Grobach calls out. “Methinks that cop in the cage would taste fine. All that greasy food and donuts …yum, yum!”

“You shut up!” You bark at Grobach. “Correction,” you say to Kayne, “No one here is planning to eat each other, with the exception of that ass of a Changeling back there.”

Kayne smiles bitterly, wrinkling the fabric of the bandages around his face. “You think these monsters are your friends?” he asks. “Your pets? They’re creatures, Diesel. They’ll eat you the moment they get hungry enough…”

“Look around, Kayne,” you say softly. “Does anyone here look hungry?”

Kayne looks around the cafeteria at the occupants of the cages. This time he sees what he missed earlier.

The stout bellies, the love handles. The feeding tubes snaking up the nostrils of the coma patients.

No one’s grotesquely obese, but everyone is filled out.

You hear Kayne inhale sharply...and that’s when you know he gets it.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “They borrowed a page from the Brothers Grimm, with a dash of Upton Sinclair.”

Kayne growls under his breath in disgust. “Why do you defend the predators when you know just what they’re capable of?”

“I don’t,” you say, “because nobody here’s is a predator.”

“I am a predator, thou blackguard!” Grobach shouts from the back.

“Nobody here’s a predator,” you repeat. “They’re all in the same boat: cattle waiting to be sold and butchered.”

You gesture to the cages around you and their quietly terrified occupants. “They’re the people we’re supposed to be saving from the big, scary monsters. Meat is Murder, right?”

Truly, you have shown me the error of my ways. My eyes have been opened. My entire worldview has been overturned. I was wrong about everything! I see now that not all monsters are bad…

Is that what you wanted Mandrake Kayne to say, Diesel? Was that what you thought he would say?

No, you’re not that foolish. You know full well it take more than a rousing speech to change someone’s mind.

A thump comes from the double-doors on the far side of the cafeteria. Then a loud series of knocks.

“Damnit,” Kayne whispers, drawing two trench knives from the depths of his coat. “We’re out of time.”

Next Chapter: Episode Eleven: Rescue Missionary (Revised)