Mrs. Smith-Locke’s office had a couple of arm chairs, a desk, and an executive chair. A window lined the wall opposite the door. Files were stuffed in a cabinet, a couple of their papers peeking out, and a few posters with detailed maps of Massachusetts hung on the wall. One of the posters displayed ‘Plymouth County,’ which was probably the area Mrs. Smith-Locke represented.

Photo frames hung on the wall next to the desk. Mrs. Smith-Locke’s smile was the same in each of the pictures. One picture had her and a few women in it at a table, another one was with a boy and a few girls, another of her giving a speech on an overcast day in a rain poncho. But one picture stuck out like a sore thumb. Mrs. Smith-Locke was with a man and a boy, that same soulless smile on her face. The man smiled what seemed like a genuine smile with one arm around Mrs. Smith-Locke and the other squeezing the boy’s shoulder. His head was closer to the boy’s. The boy was properly dressed with finely combed hair and a half-smile that wreaked of despair. The man and boy must’ve been Mrs. Smith-Locke’s husband and son.

Vincent’s left hand sat on his belt, his slender finger tapping the thick leather. The boy would be a decent catch once Vincent was inside Mrs. Smith-Locke’s head. Mrs. Smith-Locke would probably have the same smile on her face as Vincent would groom her son to be everything the Darkest Fairy wanted. Despite that children were easy to work with, their soul would be worth a decent amount – even more than the officers – because their potential to create bring down the souls of others was great.

Mrs. Smith-Locke’s child would be an easy win, especially because he’s in a fractured family. Vincent had only met with weak families. Was this what most relatives were like? If that was normal, then what was the opposite of that?

“Hiya,” Mrs. Smith-Locke said. “You must be Mr. Sinclaire.”

“Mrs. Smith-Locke,” Vincent said, extending his hand. “Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to meet with me. I assure you, your time will not be wasted.” Their eyes met, and Vincent peered into her soul. His gut felt like it had been hit with a brick, then it throbbed. His head numbed and the lower half of his body burned passionately. Mrs. Smith-Locke was just as spiritually ill as Vincent had expected. Since she was an influential women, her actions had a lot of potential to disrupt the souls of others, like a domino effect. That’s the trait that would make her soul fill the Soul Gauge a hefty amount. Much unlike Jovi Russo, who was even less average than the officers.

“Absolutely.” Mrs. Smith-Locke shut the door behind her and took a seat at her desk. Vincent sat in one of the chairs, propping his foot on his knee and folding his hands in his lap. “So you want to support the campaign?”

“Mhm,” Vincent said. “Running for governor is no easy feat. I applaud you for your courage. Do you have any ideas of what you want your campaign’s theme to be?”

“My current constituents were thinking of something unifying, maybe teamwork, sportsmanship, or community. Something to really motivate all people, especially our future generations. I tend to support bills that support our school systems, since our younger generation is our future.”

“I love that idea,” Vincent smiled, his eyes glittering at the likely hypocrisy. “In fact, I’d be happy to go along with what your other donors have in mind, but I would like to know, just how spiritual are you?”

“I believe in God, yes. More than half of our population is religious, so it could be worthwhile to mention this in the campaign, but it doesn’t need to be our front and center focus.”

“Ah, yes,” Vincent placed his foot on the ground, his hands spreading across his knees. “And do you believe in spirits? The soul, for instance?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Smith-Locke said, almost taken aback. She began to nod. “That is what I believe, yes.”

Brrring. Mrs. Smith-Locke’s cellphone’s vibrated and played a happy ringtone. Vincent managed to sneak a peek. It was her child – the one in the photo – but much younger, with a broad smile.

“Excuse me,” Mrs. Smith-Locke said, turning the phone upside down. “What did you have in mind about religion for the campaign?”

“I’m asking you these questions because I want you to understand the power I can provide you with. Some say I’ve given them the greatest gifts in their lives, but they deny who I am.”

Mrs. Smith-Locke shook her head. “I will absolutely not deny who you are, or what your beliefs are. There is no room for that in this office or in Massachusetts.”

“Very well, Mrs. Smith-Locke,” Vincent said, leaning forward so his elbows sat on his knees and his hands folded between his legs. A glimpse into her eyes left Vincent feeling hollow, much like how he usually felt. “I am not a human being. I am a fairy: something between a human and a spirit. And I can give you anything you want in the world, as long as you entrust me with your soul.”

“A fairy?” Mrs. Smith-Locke’s eyebrows scrunched a little. “As in, you follow the folklore and traditions that revolve around it?”

“I do not celebrate the folklore so much as I am it. Moreover, what I am is different than what you read in your history books…”

“So then you act –” Mrs. Smith-Locke began, only to be interrupted by her son again. Her face scrunched more and she put her phone down onto the table with more force. “Excuse me, he knows I’m working at this time. I – this is new to me, and beyond fascinating to meet someone like yourself. Can you tell me more about your worship?”

“Mrs. Smith-Locke,” Vincent said, tucking his chin into his neck ever so slightly, “listen to me carefully. I am not a mortal. I have supernatural capabilities beyond your comprehension, but I do not intend on doing a magic trick to prove it to you…”

Mrs. Smith-Locke fell back into her chair. “I’m just confused. How – how can you help me, as a, uh, fairy?”

“It’s quite simple. I will create a contract for us to sign. You tell me exactly what you want, I will do what I can with my infinite wealth in this material world, and you promise me that once you die, I can have your soul in the afterlife.”

“But that sounds an awfully like a deal with the devil,” Mrs. Smith-Locke shook her head. “I can’t do that. I’m a Christian.”

“I am not the devil,” Vincent smiled, taking her reaction as a compliment. “I’m a fairy. But I will not lie, I do communicate with demons. They exist. However, we do not have jurisdiction over where your soul goes after your death. All I will do is accompany it to where it needs to go, similar to an angel.”

The phone rang again.

“I think you should pick that up,” Vincent said, sitting up. “It seems important.”

Mrs. Smith-Locke stared at Vincent expectingly, but he remained unmoved. She rubbed her temples and sighed, letting her phone ring a couple of times before she took it to her ear. She smiled, just as she did in the picture, and said, “Hi, Junior! I’m at work right now, but what’s up?”

Vincent stared at Mrs. Smith-Locke. There was no point in pretending like he couldn’t hear her. Mrs. Smith-Locke glanced at him and then looked out the window, her blonde hair shielding her eyes.

“What did she say to you?”

Vincent heard muffled irritation from the cellphone and made out a few words. “I was a stupid… I want a new nanny! I hate her!”

“I understand, it’s hard to find someone who is understanding of our situation. I’ll make it a priority, OK?”

“Are you really this time?”

“Yes, yes,” Mrs. Smith-Locke grabbed a scrap paper and scribbled ‘Look For Nan’ on it. “Your father can help, too. Let me know if something else happens, OK? But text it to me. I’ll look at it.”

“You look at it before you leave, it’s so late,” the child said.

“I will look at it this time. I’m with a client now, so I have to leave. I love you, OK?”

“Yeah,” the kid said. And the call ended.

Vincent couldn’t wipe his smile off his face. How troublesome, he thought, giddy at himself and poor Mrs. Smith-Locke’s broken family. “Seems that you have your hands full,” Vincent said. “Why don’t you help me lighten the load?”

Mrs. Smith-Locke finally looked at Vincent. A knock sounded on the door; the secretary called out for the congresswoman’s name. Mrs. Smith-Locke said, “We’ll keep in touch.”

“Very well,” Vincent stood, holding his hand out. Mrs. Smith-Locke shook it, her grip soft at first then tightening. Vincent went on his way to his next destination, smiling, but feeling as empty as that child’s smile.