At first it seemed like another normal hunt. I got a call from a friend of a friend, informing me animals were going missing on their farm. They reported hearing unnatural howling at night, bad luck around the farm, and other signs of possible Fae. Milk curdling in the fridge in record time. Feelings of lost time. I drove over, prepared for perhaps a leprechaun, perhaps something worse. There was no leprechaun. All I found late at night, gorging on one of this associate's horses, was a large grey beast. Perhaps a wolf, perhaps something else. I never got a clear look at it. Within a heartbeat, I had impaled it with the spear I now carry, after that last job. I prepared to clean the blood off my spear, but as I looked down, the wolf was gone....and for an instant, so was all the light in the room....as if it had been sucked into the spearhead. It felt...wrong somehow. The runes along the weapon's length seemed to pulse in tune with the beat of my heart, and for just the smallest of moments I heard a growl over my right shoulder. When I turned, though, I saw nothing. After a minute there, uncertain in the dark, and wary of the weapon I held in my hands, the lights came back on. Yet as the light came back on, the spear was gone from my hands. In its place was a necklace, a thin chain with a pendant of a wolf on the end of it. Not too long after that, I figured out that if I wanted it too, the pendant seemed to sense my thoughts and turn back into that...weapon.  Whatever this spear is,  it clearly isn't natural. And its tricks remind me too much of the things I hunt. But for now I'll use it, this Wild Hunt marked relic. It has great power. But I'll keep an eye on it, and research its origins as well. If it proves to be....one of them, I may need to break the damn thing apart one day. 

Getting my life together again since that last “hunt” has been a bit difficult. It’s not easy to travel without my pickup. Some of the guys have been kind and have given me some rides out to do my odd jobs, but it’s tough to make a living up here in the mountains without a reliable way to get around. I’m also starting to think that maybe I should move. There aren’t many Fae left up here in the Rockies, if any at all. The occasional sightings of pixies dried up months ago. 

I’m thinking I might have to move back to where it all began. Back to Europe. Back to Ireland.

It won’t be an easy move. Europe isn’t exactly known to be especially friendly to immigrants, and Ireland can be a tumultuous place. It’s certainly a little less rural than out here in the Rockies. Not to mention, I’d technically have to start the process of applying for British citizenship. My grandfather would be sick at the thought.

He passed on a long time ago, though, and frankly there are just some things a man has to do. I won’t let those THINGS get away with erasing Tristan’s memory from history. And if I can’t find ‘em out here in the Rockies, then I’ll just have to make the move to their turf instead. But before I make that move, I need to find Mr. Universe. That bastard has a lot of questions to answer. Like what this spear is doing to me, and why it seems to hum, contentedly, when I start pulling up the map of the other side of the sea…