Jackson shot to his feet and followed the woman out of the room. For how small she was, and how heavy that bag looked, she sure could move fast. He found himself doubling his stride to keep up. “Misty!” He called after her, “Misty, wait! I haven’t agreed to hire you.”

He caught up to her on the first level as she paused to dig through a file cabinet. “Doesn’t matter,” she said, “I want access to the apartment. I assume if the police are releasing evidence they’re done with it. For historical and research purposes, the occult writing you mentioned needs to be documented properly.” Misty pulled a piece of paper printed in tight, no nonsense text on both sides and shoved it into his hands. “Here’s a copy of my consulting schedule of fees should you and your employer choose to hire me.”

She moved to the library side of the room and ducked between some shelves, Jackson followed her. “I...I’m not sure Mr. Strathom will be pleased with you poking around Euphonia’s apartment...err...documenting things.”

“Your employer doesn’t need to know. Besides, the landlord will hire me to inspect the rooms before they repair them and rent the apartment out again. This is Arkham after all, and nobody wants to be held liable for the damages caused by anything occult.” She stopped next to a wooden cabinet placed between a set of shelves. It seemed to be some kind of card catalog. Jackson watched her as she inspected the floor and walls around the cabinet. It was bizarre behavior and he was about to ask her what she was doing, when she stood suddenly and made for the tall wooden doors.

“I take it that this is not the first time something like this has happened in Arkham?” He asked instead.

“Nope,” Came Misty’s cheerful response as she pushed open the doors and gestured for him to leave before her...

Jackson hesitated, then looked up at the floor above him, before looking back at Misty. “Don’t you need to lock your office?”

She gestured more emphatically for him to exit the room, then closed the doors behind them. She pulled out a set of keys and locked the antique doors with what looked like an equally antique key. “I just did. This entire section of the wing is my office.”

Jackson was stunned as he followed her out of the building.

--

Misty was settled cross legged in the passenger seat of Jackson’s car, thumbs tapping on the screen of her phone. As far as she knew, the only surviving members of the Gate Breakers had belonged to the extended Whateley family, but had died out several decades ago. The antique grimoire in her possession belonged to her great, great grandfather, but while she didn’t take the time to check the contents of the safe it was stored in, the cabinet protecting it hadn’t been moved. The university cleaning staff had to be practically bribed to enter her office and they would never deep clean into the unused corners, so it was easy to tell by the untouched layer of dust on the floor and the cobwebs built up on the sides of the cabinet that it hadn’t been moved. However, that left the other two known copies in Miskatonic’s library. They weren’t part of the library’s circulating collection, but that didn’t mean that someone couldn’t have gotten hold of them. She was rapidly typing a novel length message to Lucas Armitage, the head librarian, insisting that he immediately check the historical collections for any missing items and ensure that the library’s copy of the Necronomicon remained untouched in its hiding place.

She set the phone back into her sweatshirt pocket only once she received a confirmation from Lucas that he would perform an immediate inventory of the university’s collection. A frown crossed her face as she considered what would be worse: the text having been stolen from the university’s library or an unknown copy surfacing in Arkham. Her fingers tapped a rapid staccato on her knee as she finally concluded that both situations were equally bad in different ways. Either someone who didn’t know what they were doing was playing with forces they didn’t understand and were unintentionally trying to bring about the end of the world through sheer selfishness, or someone who did know what they were doing was trying to bring about the end of the world intentionally through sheer selfishness. Regardless, she would have to make sure that West included her in his case and gave her the grimoire when it was over so she could ensure its destruction.

“I’m going to be honest,” Jackson said suddenly, jerking her out of her thoughts, “you’re not at all what I expected.”

Misty ducked her head, hiding a grin, “Most people from Arkham are not at all what you expect.” She rested her elbow on the door and put her head on her hand, studying him, “What did you expect?”

“I don't know. I guess someone twice your age and a snooty academic accent.” He said, his cheeks reddening like he was embarrassed at how blunt his response had been.

She laughed, “No, I imagine I’m not what anyone expects. Throws people off when I show up for trials or consultation with outside police departments. Though, I tend to dress a little more business casual for those situations and I think that helps people take me more seriously in professional environments.” She watched him for a moment, then said, “Go ahead, and ask about my appearance, I know you want to.”

His cheeks went a brighter shade of red and a smile crossed Misty’s lips. She was greatly amused by his response to her bluntness. Jackson himself was handsome in a classical sense. His dark hair was a little messy, like he normally cropped it short, but hadn’t had time to cut it, his dark brown eyes were warm, but she didn’t miss that they never stayed still, like he was constantly observing everything about him. He walked like a military man; former marine if she had to guess, he was light on his feet for a man of his size, sure footed, and carried himself with the confidence of someone who had been trained to walk like a uniformed machine. She could see the muscle that he carried, but also the softness that had gathered on him with age. He had a body that showed a lifetime of experiences and she wondered how he ended up a private detective from a small town in New Hampshire.

“The tattoos,” He finally asked, “What do they mean?”

She was pleased that he had asked such an interesting question, usually people wanted to comment on her unusual skin and hair. It wasn’t often that people encountered a person affected by albinism in real life and the questions could get exhausting. What else could she say about her body except that it was a genetic condition she had no control over. But her tattoos were a story she had written. Not that she felt he could fully understand the context of the story, but she could explain the language. “They’re mostly protection spells,” she said as she held her hands out in front of her, splaying her fingers so that her tattoos were on full display. “The designs on my hands are a combination of Viking runes and more modern bind runes mixed with some runes that have been found in Celtic ruins located in Southern Europe. The ruins are a more recent find, but occult research has discovered grimoires dated to the sixteenth century that utilizes similar layouts for protection spells of the home and the body.” She settled her hands back down on her knees, “The ones you saw on my arms come from a series of witch grimoires dated to the early 18th century Arkham and Dunwich. They’re also protection spells that seem to originate from an esoteric runic language designed to give written word to the language of the great old ones. The language itself seems to originate from a combination of the hieroglyphs of middle Egypt and more modern Arabic as discovered from alchemical texts located in the ruins of ancient Persia. I deal a lot with dangerous and unknown things - most of which are just natural phenomena misunderstood as something mystical by the peoples of the time - but it brings me comfort to have protection with me wherever I go.”

Jackson observed the small smile that crossed her face as she seemed to fall into thoughts she wanted to keep private. There was something sad about the way she looked down at her hands tucked into her lap. He looked back to the road as the light they were sitting at turned green and felt for a moment that they were kindred spirits. He knew the kind of pains that caused someone that kind of sadness and he knew what it was like to brand wards of protection onto ones skin. "I have a couple of tattoos like that myself." He said, eyes firmly locked on the road ahead, but he could feel Misty's gaze on him. There was a pregnant silence between them for a while, broken only by the muffled road noise. It wasn't awkward, instead Jackson appreciated it. When he was directed to the offices of Dr. Mystery Whateley, Professor of Occult Sciences, he was worried that he would find either someone completely crazy, or an ancient cranky academic. Now he was finding himself pleasantly surprised to have instead found a woman he couldn't quite pin down at first glance, but also someone he felt comfortable around.

Misty broke the silence first, "I have quite a few more that I'm pretty proud of. I designed most of them myself. But I would require dinner and some very strong whisky to show them off."

Jackson started and looked to Misty, "I...err…" He stuttered. A wide grin crossed Misty's face. Add wicked sense of humor to her list of enigmatic traits, Jackson thought.

"You're going to miss your turn." She said.

"I thought you said you weren't psychic! How could you know?" His tone was both laughing and a little exasperated.

"I'm not. I am, however, brilliant, and there are only two major apartment complexes in Arkham. This one is the one closest to Miskatonic and the only one in the direction you were driving." Her grin grew wider as he turned into the parking lot and found a space. "I thought you were the detective, West, and here I am playing Sherlock to your Watson."

She was out of the car with her hot pink gym backpack before he could come up with a response.

--

Misty reached the door to Euphonia's apartment first. He hadn't been far behind and he supposed it wasn't completely clear who was actually leading the way, but he was pretty sure that she knew exactly where she was going. He started coming up with logical ways how she could have known as he unlocked the door, because he was beginning to wonder if she wasn't actually some kind of occult mystery. Misty paused in the hall, pulling out her DLSR and some metering equipment. She also pulled out another box of blue nitrile gloves as well as some dust filter masks and handed them to him without explanation. Normally he would question the caution, but he had also just tucked a book that was possibly bound in human skin into his glove compartment, so instead he followed her lead and put the protective gear on.

"I supposed I don't need to ask you to show me where the occult symbols were graffitied," She said by way of assessment as they entered the apartment. The symbology in question was impossible to miss, as it was painted onto every blank surface.

"Yeah," muttered, voice muffled by the mask, "One hell of an art project."

Misty snorted a laugh, "Was that a pun?"

"Uhh…" He stuttered, "Not intentionally. Sorry."

She shook her head as she set up a tripod and started taking pictures of everything in the room. "Don't be. Black humor comes with the territory." He wasn't certain if she was referring to her job, or his, or both. He settled himself as out of the way as possible in the kitchen as Misty documented the room by snapping photos, scribbling notes down onto a steno pad, setting up and checking metering equipment. As he watched her work, he found himself vaguely impressed. She was doing a better job tracking details than many of the seasoned crime scene techs he had worked with in the past.

Finally, after he was getting uncomfortable with staying out of her way, Misty walked into the kitchen area and leaned against the counter next to him. She was scrolling through the photos she had taken, frowning at the display. "That's not the face of someone with good news," He said.

Misty turned the camera off and looked up at him. She was very short, coming up only to his chest, so she ended up more craning her head and leaning back than she did looking. Jackson decided to take pity on her by pulling one of the dining table chairs out and sitting in it backwards. Now she was closer to eye level. "If you were hoping for a case of 'young adult has a psychotic break and runs away from home, but will turn up after she gets it out of her system' then yes, I have bad news." She rubbed her chin in thought. "Euphonia either has advanced knowledge of this particular cult and their symbology with a clear understanding of how it's meant to be utilized. Or someone is grooming her...and considering Miskatonic would be the only location in the world where she could obtain that kind of knowledge and I'm one of the keepers of the materials she'd need…" Misty trailed off, her tone clearly implying she thought it was the latter.

Jackson sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, "The TA who led me to your office said there aren't very many people registered in the program. Could it be one of your students?"

"Not likely," She answered without thinking hard, "as you said, not many students, even fewer with a focus on Eldritch lore. You would need to be pursuing an advanced degree in the program with that as your focus to accomplish something of this magnitude. The majority of my students are really focused more on demonic occultism and religious symbology. Either they're looking to focus on academic careers in history and anthropology or looking into careers in criminal justice. I did message a colleague of mine at the university's library to see if someone was attempting to access the sort of materials she might need to design something like this. But..." She reached up to pull on the strings of her sweatshirt hood as she trailed off. He waited for her to continue "There's a level of intimacy in the work done here that implies something greater than impartial academic knowledge. Did the police test the paint?"

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

Jackson nodded, "Luminol testing turned up organic materials, but none of it human. It's not uncommon for certain paints to have organic components."

He watched her jaw work under the mask as she appeared to chew on her lower lip before she said, "I would hazard a guess that the paint wasn't strictly commercial. It's pretty common in Eldritch rituals to mix paint with animal urine, blood, ground up bone, and feces. Squirrels are a pretty common animal to use." She held up her gloved hands, "One of the reasons for the protective equipment. It's probably not a huge risk, but it also can't possibly be healthy to be touching and breathing animal waste. And...Well...like I said back in my office, you can at least pretend you're not actually touching the stuff."

"Well...Fuck." Jackson finally said, "I don't think I charged enough for my retainer."

Misty laughed at that, "Better contact your employer after we finish up here and reevaluate your payments. Might also want to convince him that having me on as a consultant would be beneficial. In my professional opinion, your girl didn't just have a break and run away from home, she's being groomed by a particularly dangerous cult."

Jackson sighed, “No idea how Strathom is going to take that.”

Misty shrugged as she pushed off the counter and put her photography and documenting equipment away and pulled out what appeared to be an evidence kit, complete with swabs and labeled containers. “Arkham has been and is home to many cults. Most of the current ones are pretty harmless. We still have active witch covens here, so the occurrence isn’t actually all the strange.”

“Witch covens? Seriously?” A few hours ago, Jackson would have been absolutely certain she was kidding.

“Hmhmm,” she hummed, “They mostly dabble in school bake sales and cooking up really good edibles….err as two separate endeavors. The woman in charge of the middle school PTA is head of the local coven.” Her tone was conversational as she laid out the parts of her evidence kit, as if a witch coven operating in the open was something that happened everyday in small town America. “Much of the actual cult activity is pretty harmless too, usually takes the form of weekly meetings discussing current events that they believe are propagated by the great old ones and spell the end of the world. Sometimes they perform alchemical science experiments that aren’t any more weird or dangerous than making a baking soda volcano in your kitchen. One dedicated to Azathoth meets every other Wednesday in the local coffee shop to knit scarves and hats with Eldritch symbols to see once the tourist season picks up around late September.” She handed him some swabs and a marker with which to label their containers. “Can you help me grab some scrapings off the symbols? I have a buddy in the biology department who can run a spectral analysis on the paints used here. She can also probably grab a sample of the leather on that grimoire and run an analysis to see if it actually is human skin.”

He took the equipment and followed her into the apartment to help grab samples. “It seems strange to be following up on evidence the police should have looked into themselves.”

“Is it thought?” Misty said from the opposite side of the room, “Arkham PD has its own issues, like any police department, but is it really all the unusual for any department to see this kind of living space covered in deranged material and assume that the person just had a bad trip and wandered off? I’ve consulted on enough of these investigations to know that without signs of foul play, detectives are too busy managing their own serious crime case loads to go chasing after an adult that has every right to go missing.”

Jackson sighed, “No, you’re right. I just...this scene, this city, this entire case was not at all what I was expecting.”

Misty finished taking her samples and helped him label his before packing her equipment away. “Arkham has long been home to some incredibly strange things. You could say that each of its residents has a shoggoth on their roof and I’m only mostly speaking metaphorically.” She shouldered her backpack and started heading for the door.

Jackson stared at her pink backpack for a second before following, “Wait! What’s a shoggoth?”

“It's a giant amorphous mass of eyes and teeth, kind of stupid and ugly, but incredibly destructive.” She shot a grin over her shoulder, “You’ll probably meet a few while you’re here...well metaphorically speaking.” Then she was gone and Jackson was left to wonder again who this strange woman was and what exactly he had signed up for.

He caught up to her at the car where she was bent over the driver side door, inspecting the trim around the window. The backpack was now at her feet. “Something wrong?”

“The door’s unlocked and the glove compartment is open.” She answered without looking up at him, “Don’t see any indication that the door was forced, but I’m also not certain what I would be looking for.”

“Shit.” He made his way to the passenger side and looked into the glove compartment. “The book is gone.”

Misty shot up straight and stared at him, an expression of alarm crossed her face. “It was in your pocket when we left my office, right? So you put it in when we got here.”

Jackson nodded, “Someone must have seen me do it.”

“You locked the door?”

He patted the front pocket of his trousers to confirm that his key fob was there. “Recent model, it locks automatically when the key fob gets more than a foot away from the vehicle. There probably wouldn’t be signs of forced entry either. It’s not exactly difficult for someone with a little technical knowhow to crack the signal code of these kinds of fobs. It’s how dealerships can program backup key fobs.”

“That doesn’t sound like common knowledge,” Misty responded, opening the back door of the vehicle and tucking her backpack carefully on the floorboards between the seats.

“Well...err...no, not exactly common, it’s possible to jimmy the doors open using a type of inflatable wedge. It’s how a lot of locksmiths get into vehicles people have locked themselves out of.”

“That doesn’t sound all that common either.” She said as they traded sides and she climbed into the passenger seat.

Jackson frowned, “No. I guess not. Not sure what you’re implying though. Someone used magic to get into the car?”

“I’m not implying anything, but it isn’t good that the book is missing, it’s dangerous in the wrong hands.” She pulled out her phone and started dialing a number, “Regardless, it prioritizes the need to get this evidence to the biology lab for analysis.”

The detective turned onto the main road and then glanced over to Misty. “I still haven’t been given authorization to hire you on.”

A confident smile flashed across her lips, “You’ll make the case for me, I’m sure.” Then the phone connected, and she turned her attention to the call, “Yes, Doctor Halsey? Misty Whateley, I’m hoping you can do me a favor….”

--

Jackson dropped Misty off outside the entrance to the biology lab building and agreed to wait for her while she dropped off the samples with Doctor Halsey.

“Don’t let old man Marsh bully you away from the building,” she warned, “He does his best and Miskatonic doesn’t really need campus security, but he gets in moods sometimes. If he gives you trouble tell him you’re waiting for Misty.” She closed the car door, paused outside, then turned and opened it again, “On second thought, get him started on fishing and he’ll forget to bother you at all.” Then she was gone, jogging up to the entrance of the building. Jackson shook his head as he watched the tiny woman dressed in black, dwarfed by the giant hot pink backpack.

He decided to take the time to call his employer and see if he could get authorization for an increase in funds plus a retainer for Misty. She was right; he was out of his depth. He wasn’t one to give into any sort of small town panic regarding satanic influences or occultism. In his experience, small town police departments loved to jump on anything particularly weird to break up the mundane, especially when it involved pretty girls with rich fathers who could get them some attention. It was a little concerning that the detective he liaised with was so quick to dismiss Euphonia’s disappearance as a young adult testing her boundaries. “Probably ran off with a boyfriend,” the police detective had drawled in an accent that he was beginning to associate with northeastern Massachusetts. “See it happen all the time, especially since the hippies came in peddling their weed. Can’t believe they made that legal here. Crime’s been up, I’ll tell you what. I ain’t got time to be chasing after some girl when there’s no sign of foul play. Give it a week or two, she’ll show back up when she needs money.”

That meeting had taken place a week back, three days after a welfare check had been made on Euphonia and her apartment was discovered in the state that it was in currently. Except for the occult symbols painted everywhere and a fridge left mostly empty like someone might do when planning a long trip, the apartment looked to be completely normal, lived in, but otherwise tidy. But her father was convinced that such a trip would never be made without Euphonia at the very least informing her best friend back home in New Hampshire and weed didn’t suddenly make you an expert in occult symbology, or have random psychotic breaks where you might run away from home. Something sinister was going on and he was out of his depth, he would need Misty's help.

He pulled out the consultation paperwork that Misty had given him earlier and his phone to make a call to Thomas Strathom. He was going to have to make a case for an increase in his expense account plus explain why he needed a retainer for an occult researcher. Thomas Strathom was a prominent New England real estate broker, the kind of no nonsense businessman who would probably not be thrilled at the notion. On the other hand, Thomas had seen photos of the apartment and knew he was getting nowhere with the police, the case for more cash might not be a difficult one to make. Jackson sighed, he was stalling. He hated making these calls.

"No time like the present," he muttered to himself, pulling up his contacts list and dialing Strathom's number. "Mr. Strathom? Jackson West…"

--

The call had been surprisingly painless, Strathom was stressed of course that his daughter was still missing, but had overall seemed satisfied with his progress on the case. At the very least he seemed pleased that Jackson had found a consultant who had worked similar cases before. Jackson had played up Misty's initiative to enlist contacts who were capable of forensic analysis outside of the Arkham Police Department whom Thomas had some very choice thoughts about. Thomas had assured Jackson that the increase in his fee and the consultant retainer for Misty would be wired to Jackson's account as soon as their call ended.

That accomplished, Jackson sat back in the driver's seat of his car and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He was lost in thought trying to process what he knew when Misty returned to the car. "I explained the urgency to Doctor Halsey and she says she'll prioritize our samples in the spectrometer as soon as it's available. She probably won't get back to use until late tomorrow, but I'm hoping she can confirm some of my suspicions regarding the pain compound. If she can narrow down the type of animal the organic materials come from, that might help me narrow down a short list of contacts who can…" She paused as she was climbing into the vehicle and cocked her head at him. "Are you ok? Did I startle you?"

Jackson blushed, "Err...no? I was just….thinking." He cleared his throat. "Mr. Strathom approved your retainer. You're officially on the case if you want to be."

Misty flashed him a smile as she settled in the car. "Excellent work, Mr. West, I knew you could do it." She said it like he was doing her a favor. Briefly, he wondered if it was about the money, but he quickly dismissed the thought. She was clearly genuinely interested in the case and seemed intent on solving the - no pun intended - mystery. "Listen," She said, interrupting his thoughts again, "are you already settled in town?"

"No," He responded, "Little ways out northwest in the direction of Dunwich. It's a motel off the interstate. It was cheap and in a somewhat centralized location for the area."

Misty wrinkled her nose, "Ugh, that dingy place off exit 85?"

Jackson nodded. "I guess I could move closer since so far it doesn't look like there are any leads taking this case out of Arkham."

"I've got a place a little way outside of the city with plenty of room. It's cleaner and I stock much better coffee." She grinned at her own joke, "Plus it'll make it easier to work together on the case. It also might be safer, considering someone already broke into your car. I have a pretty intense security system." Jackson raised an eyebrow at that. "What? I have quite a bit of proprietary research and valuable items in my possession. Whatever I have is better than a motel room's security."

"I don't want to be an imposition." He muttered, but a nice clean home sounded much better than the motel room. And she was right, any security system was better than no security system.

"Pssh, not a chance you are," She laughed, "This is the most excitement I've had in months and if I'm working this case, the dean will get off my ass for a bit about this study I'm supposed to have sent off for review next month. I hate working on journal articles, but it's required of the job. Solving a missing person's case looks good for the University though and attracts donors to the department. So really, I'm imposing on you."

"Alright," he chuckled, "No need to twist my arm." His stomach chose that moment to growl. He glared down in the direction of the offending noise and then gave Misty an apologetic shrug. "So...I haven't had anything since a donut and a cup of coffee this morning and it's getting pretty late. Is there a good place to eat in town?"

"Best Chinese this side of Essex County delivers to my house. I'll plug the address into your phone and put the order in on the way. You can lay out the rest of the case for me and check out my system…" She paused and he stifled a grin as her cheeks turned bright red. "That uh...wasn't meant to be a euphemism."

He couldn't hold his laughter in at the look on her face. "Uh-huh, you sure my private dick charisma hasn't won you over?" That terrible pun earned him a smack on the shoulder.

"Shut up and give me your phone," she griped, but the smile she was trying to hide gave away her amusement. Jackson got his laughter under control while she typed her address into the map app and put it in the dashboard holster. "Just for that, you're paying for dinner."

"Seems only fair if I'm going to be checking out your...Hey! No hitting the driver!"

--

Misty's home was an absolute antique, a three story colonial farmhouse about two miles out of town. Two miles outside of the Arkham city center apparently meant thick woods and a single lane, mostly unmarked road. The countryside was gorgeous and the farmhouse was the best of both worlds, close enough to the city proper for an easy commute, but the secluded silence of the country. Clearly a few modern amenities had been added to the house, including a fully automatic gate that Misty was able to control with a remote she pulled out of her backpack.

Jackson furrowed his brow, "Can't believe this didn't occur to me earlier, but...did you leave your car at the University?"

Misty nodded, "It'll be fine. You can drop me off there tomorrow to pick it up while you move out of your motel room. I mean...assuming my uh...system sways you to stay here, of course." They shared a grin. "I'll get you a remote for the gate. There's a CCTV system monitoring it and key places around the property. Some of the inside too, nowhere private, of course, but I'll know if you bring home a smoking hot double agent to interrogate."

Jackson parked the car in the gravel drive, just in front of the house. An automatic security light clicked on and illuminated the drive and entrance to the house."If only my life was that exciting, but I promise if it does happen, I'll keep it to my room and put a sock on the door so you won't disturb us."

Misty stuck her tongue out at him as she got out of the car. Jackson shook his head and followed. He ducked into the back seat to grab his satchel and Misty's backpack when a shout startled him.

"By Cthulhu and all the great old ones, Shoggoth! Get off the damned roof! How the fuck do you keep getting up there?!"

"Woof!"

Jackson stood from leaning into the backseat of his car to see Misty shouting up towards the roof of her home. He looked up and saw a beige and dark colored dog prancing back and forth on the shingle, wagging its tail. "So," he said, walking up to stand next to Misty. "You really do have a Shoggoth on your roof."

Misty threw her hands up in frustration. "I love that dog to death, but I have no idea how she keeps getting up there. Every time I figure it out and fix it, she finds a new way." She took her backpack and dug out her keys. Jackson watched her stomp up to the door and let herself in, then looked up in time to see Shoggoth disappear to one side of the house. A moment later the dog, some kind of retriever shepherd mix came bounding up to him.

"Woof!" Greeted Shoggoth as she sat in front of Jackson and offered her paw.

The detective shook the dog's paw. "Nice to meet you, Shoggoth."

"Woof!" agreed the dog before turning to lead him into the house. Jackson shook his head. The tattooed, albino, Professor of Occult Sciences was a very, very strange woman, but he couldn't say she wasn't interesting.