When it comes to gathering information, there are naturally a few places you’d want to start. The first is friends and family. Makes sense. They’ve taken your whole life to convince you they’re trustworthy, so if you’re looking for information, an early thought is to go to them.

Being an ancient Asian imp, I’m a little short on family. Well. Family that I know of.

The next best thing to do is go to the natural news outlets and see what they say. After all, official news carriers aren’t supposed to lie, correct? At least, that’s the theory.

The official news carriers of the non-human Terran community all hate me. Usually because I’ve got better information than any of them and I beat them all to the good stories.

The last option when attempting to gain reliable information is my favorite; you steal it. Unfortunately, I couldn’t exactly steal the information I was after. Too difficult. Granted, I was a master thief, but some targets were better left unpicked until the opportune moment presents itself.

Thankfully, I had a friend in Romania that was more of an infophile than I was. She was bound to have something. She had a castle that stood older than many buildings around it. It wasn’t previously owned by a vampire. I wasn’t sure who it was previously owned by, but it was powerful for a building, regardless.

Sparrow, the castle’s owner, had infused every brick, stone, column and tile with a different kind of defensive magic. She had used enchantments, defensive spells and all manner of traps. Each one was activated by touch or movement, and one of the traps was even activated by an increased heart rate.

You know those old buildings or abandoned forests that give you the sensation of worms crawling in your stomach as soon as you set eyes on them? There’s a reason for that feeling, and it generally has to do with the residents. Past or present doesn’t matter as much as presence. A long life of strong emotion has a habit of seeping into the place. In response, the habitat begins to project those feelings into any intruders in order to help safeguard their owners. It’s the whole ‘believe that something’s alive long enough and it will be’. Sentience is a funny thing, and sentience bred out of hostility or paranoia can be a very dangerous thing.

All that to say Sparrow was so phobiciliy private, her castle had been assaulted with her constant tin-foil-hat-paranoia. In response, the building operated with a built-in defense system that functioned outside of her personal magic.

Thanks to Sparrow and her castle both knowing and trusting me, all the deep, rattling feelings of fear weren’t present when I magically teleported myself into her castle’s foremost tower. Well, I’m sure the message I sent to her saying ‘I NEED HELP, LEAVE THE DOOR OPEN’ reminded her to lower the defensive wards outside her castle preventing teleportation.

I came out of my portal feet first. My shoes landed on a thick shag rug sprawled across the stone floor. Thanks to the many rugs and tapestries strewn on the ground, very little of the actual stone could be seen; although cold still emanated up from below.

Leaning over the magical vortex that acted as my transporter, I waved a half-gloved hand over the opening. The portal glowed in response to the motion, gave a small pop and folded up into its disguise as a ringmaster’s hat. Call it a security protocol that looked like an innocent top hat.

Most of my magic was the simple manipulation of objects into their full potential. I can make a light brighter, make an empty pen work on any surface, overheat a battery, constrict or loosen the fibers in a rope or a piece of clothing. Things like that. My hat was a special piece of work; it was imbued with the power to transport items magically from one place to the other. Thus, my hat was a portal in disguise.

I plucked it off the floor, brushed off the fraying top, and placed my friend back in her spot on the top of my head. I spied a mirror across the room, and took a moment to observe myself.

I wasn’t being vain, honest. All magic has a price on Terra, naturally gifted or not. The price of using my hat to teleport was the honor of feeling every atom of my existence ripped to shreds, pulled through a magical tunnel, and reassembled on the other side. It’s one of the reasons I told people my hat only works every few hours. A lie in return for self-preservation. Can you blame me?

Due to the fact that my body turns into a puzzle every time I jump, sometimes my features can get a little...skewed. Every once in a while my nose would be tilted a tad to the left, or one of my eyes was the wrong color. Once I came out with neon-yellow hair and had to wait for the next jump to correct it. On the one hand, it’s incredibly annoying, but on the other hand it was a cheap facelift in case anyone was looking for me and I didn’t want to be found.

This time hadn’t been too bad. My hair was still black and vaguely sheepdog-ish. My eyes were still a good shade of ocean-blue, the ringmaster coat still black, close-fitting and kicking around my knees. I was still only about five feet tall, my body still looked fit, and all my lovely features had settled where they were supposed to be on my face.

With that out of the way, I took a glance around. Sparrow wasn’t here yet, so I could take a moment and explore. I had been coming to Sparrow for longer than I could remember, and somehow I always managed to land in a different part of her castle.

It appeared that this time, I had landed in one of the taller towers, and the broken tracks at the very top of the domed room combined with the sheer size of this place suggested that the room used to be an old bell tower. Large planks covered the windows, and various languages from Terra and a few other places were scratched into the wood.

The characters glittered in the darkness. It was the castle responding to my teleportation. After a moment, the light began to move, slithering up into the surrounding walls and ceilings as the castle began to re-weave its defensive spells.

Oh good. It decided it didn’t want to try and kill me this time.

I’m telling you, sentience bred out of paranoia is dangerous.

Crammed into the remaining space of the room was the biggest display of furniture-eating paper I had ever seen. What I could only assume was a midget labyrinth made from tables stretched out from the center to the walls, each and every vertical surface drowning in paper, trinkets, stones, weapons, inkwells, and various writing utensils from across the ages. A number of papers and scrolls had fallen to the floor where they appeared to have multiplied, making the floor of the little labyrinth slippery and crunchy at the same time.

It was an impressive display of Sparrow’s scholarly packrat-ness, a quality I admired in others because I had a very similar nature. Most of the things in Sparrow’s vaults were so old most of humanity had forgotten they existed, which is usually why she collected it in the first place. It’s why I consulted with her often, and why I was calling upon her now.

I had recently gotten a request from an old friend. She wanted me to help her figure out the implications of an alien bloodline she recently discovered. After a few dead ends, I finally managed to nail down a time to meet Sparrow and pick her brain on the subject. After all, alien bloodlines should be something easy for Sparrow to track, right?

Something slammed behind me. My feet propelled my body over the nearest table and across the room before I even knew what happened. I had a sheet of camouflage halfway pulled from my jacket pocket before I managed to survey the room for danger. Damn instincts taking over before my brain had a chance.

The round door leading into the tower was thrown open, a figure standing next to it. With a shuffle, the figure slammed the door shut and ominously stared at me from beneath a black cloak. Large, brown eyes stared from the darkness, fringes of brown hair marking the borders of an unseen face.

I let out a nervous breath, silently berating myself for letting instinct take over.

"Sparrow," I huffed, relaxing and shoving the camo sheet back in my pocket. "Do you have to scare me every single time?"

A phantom movement resembling a smile proceeded a little laugh before the figure shook the hood off her head. Her childish eyes glinted at me as her plump face was revealed, hidden under a mop of unruly brown hair. Her size and impish face made her look about ten or twelve, and the little stunts she pulled to scare the water out of me never ceased to have a mischievous undertone.

"Rod." She greeted me with a bow, her voice coming out as a tempered giggle. "I can’t help it. You’re so easily shaken."

Despite the young appearance, there was a very dangerous, angry edge to her eyes. Some days I swore she was a dragon that learned shape-shifting magic. It would certainly explain the item-mongering she was so proficient at.

"You’d be skittish too, if you’d led my life," I said under my breath, remembering my manners and returning her bow. “Here,” I said, pulling out an old leather-bound notebook. “Have a look at what I’ve got.”

I tossed the journal to her. Her little hands caught it with a clap and slid it open in one smooth movement. She glanced down at the page spread for a moment or two before snapping it shut and looking back up at me.

"This isn’t Terran," she stated. "Elvish. But not Terran. Do you know what this is?"

“It’s why I came to you, love.”

"This is a creature characterization notebook combined with a letter and instructions for the recipient, the half-blooded child."

"You could tell that in one glance, could ya?" I asked, crossing my arms and leaning back against a table.

She nodded, one of her eyes changing from brown to a deep blue. “I’m an expert at alien languages, remember? The author of the journal wishes the Half-blood well, and bids her to live faithfully and happily with her human caretaker. He requests she does not throw her life away looking for revenge, and assures her that she will understand in due time." Sparrow’s eyes narrowed. "Why do you have this book, Rod?"

I smiled and gave a careless shrug. "I’m a thief. I like to steal things."

"You should not have stolen this," she said, holding the journal up. "It was not meant for you."

I chuckled. "Nothing is meant for me. That’s the point."

Sparrow threw it back at me and spoke with an even tone. "Keep the book. It is not mine to take either."

I peeled the leather off my cheek and slipped it back in my pocket. “Fine, but I don’t have much else in way of barter. I was hoping the journal of a Koanni elf would be enough trade for info on a Koanni bloodline.”

"Koanni is of personal interest to me; I wouldn’t accept payment from you, anyway. Besides, that’s not the only alien thing you have on you." The other eye turned blue as she stared at me, waiting for me to remember.

Right. Somehow, she managed to see through my jacket and pick out the shape of another recent acquirement. It was quite an accomplishment, seeing as how my pockets are bigger on the inside and you normally can’t see inside of them or get any idea of what I’m hiding.

Reaching in, I found the handle of a broadsword and tugged it free. The silver blade lit up as soon as metal hit air. Blue light pierced the room and casted sharp shadows against the walls.

I had seen it do this before, back when its Half-blood owner pulled it from its scabbard to show it to me. But I was told it was only in response to moonlight...and the last time I saw it light up, it wasn’t this bright.

The handle was suddenly white-hot. I screamed and released it, my palm throbbing with the echoes of a burn.

The shadows around us jerked as the blade hit the floor, then began curling and twisting on their own. The sword began vibrating. Silver chattered against stone, the light shifting to focus itself on the ceiling. It reached up into the air like a spotlight, a pillar of blue emanating a deathly cold.

Sparrow moved two steps away. One eye began shifting to a vibrant green as she watched.

A figure began to emerge. Blue light shot in towards the form, twisting itself until the silhouette of a person could be seen inside. The shadows jerked towards the beam and wrapped around the body, clothing it in slick, black robes.

A glow began to stretch across her form, creating the illusion of skin. It twisted and thinned around her face to make ears and a nose, submerged itself around delicate cheeks and deep-set eyes. Searing white light exploded out the back of the head, entwining itself into the shape of long, flowing hair. As the hair began to drift around a very female neck, it began to shift colors, stopping at pale yellow.

There was a flash that blinded me for a moment or two. When it faded and I could see again, a fully-formed woman stood before us. She was pale as fine china, the white of her skin offset by the robes of the grim reaper wrapped tightly around her.

She hung in the air for a moment, eyes closed and chest barely moving.

She was a ghost.

She was a ghost.

A ghost came out of the Half-blood’s sword.

I took off again, scrambling my way across the room to press myself against the farthest wall, pulling at my camo sheet as the ghost slowly descended to the floor. Not a sound was heard when she landed, except the anxious wheezing of a paranoid magician.

It’s not that I had anything against the ectoplasmic community. I just don’t like ghosts. They can get in your head. Make you do things. I had seen my share of supernatural happenings, and almost every one ended badly. Why humans had such an obsession about them, I’ll never know.

The ghost was now standing over the sword, body straightening up from a hunched position. Her body heaved and shuddered as she moved, as if it wasn’t quite sure what it was supposed to be doing now that it was in our realm. Her shoulders sagged, her head lolling to one side and then the other.

The light in the room dimmed, replaced by the multicolored glow of the castle’s runes. All of them shone out in various shades and colors, giving the room a low-budget disco lightshow. The ghost suddenly straightened, her back ridged. Her eyes flew open and she drew in a deep, ragged breath resulting in a fit of coughing.

Sparrow stood by as the ghost finished with a final, rasping cough. She drew herself upright again and reopened her eyes. Wisps of golden hair drifted around her face as a set of forest-green eyes illuminated her gaze. She looked directly at Sparrow. They stared at each other for a moment, Sparrow’s eyes changing color to match the ghost’s.

The ghost took a gentle step around the sword, bringing her feet together and bowing low.

"Thank you, young scholar, for freeing me." Her voice was as light as air and creepy as a haunted mansion.

"It wasn’t I who brought the sword here," Sparrow responded with a return bow. "Your rescuer is behind you."

The ghost’s glowing eyes scanned the room. By all rights, she shouldn’t have been able to see me. Camouflage is meant to disguise you with your surroundings. Magically activated, it became an invisible cape.

Despite my trickery, the ghost spied my hiding spot. She gave a slight smile and repeated her low bow.

"Of course," her voice whispered. "The thief with the delicate hands. You would have been the one to steal us."

Us? Did she mean...

I pulled the cape down so that my head popped out of my cover and stared at her for a moment, silent but curious.

She smiled, the motion slow and careless. "I’ve watched the whole adventure." She reached down and plucked the sword from the floor, holding it up and pointing it lazily at me. "Why else do you think the blade glows as it does?"