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A loving wife has a problem to solve, with help of a friend.

My jaw dropped when I saw Mikey standing there, crisp polo and all. I kicked out the seat opposite me for him and he sat down, straight backed posture as his hands fiddled with some nonexistent rogue thread on his slacks.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, confused and a little suspicious.

"I was looking for you. You seem like a decent enough fellow and as I said before, there aren't too many usual looking fellows in our side of the world. Besides, as a newbie, you aren't bogged down in the politics that plagues the enlightened community," he said this last part reluctantly, almost sheepish, like it was something he felt obligated to tell more than anything else.
It took me a second for my brain to kick into gear and when it did there was one question burning in my mind.

"How in the blazes did you find me?" I question, suspicion growing.

"It's kinda my family's thing. Finding things that is. Our heritage, passed down from generation to generation in an unbroken line running four hundred years, back to the sundering and creation of the Veil. The official title for what we do is dowsing, but everyone just calls us bloodhounds."

"That's pretty cool. My middle school mascot was the jackrabbits. Not sure how that's relevant, but there it is anyway."

He stared at me incredulously. "It's meant as an insult. Like we're nothing better than common dogs sent to hunt things down for our 'masters'."

"That's your frame of reference. To me, bloodhounds are awesome ass creatures that can hunt down fugitives with uncanny accuracy, and in one animated instance drive me to tears with a tragic story. RIP Copper. Or was it Todd...? I never could keep them straight. What was I talking about again? Framing! That's right. People are only able to bother us when we let them in, when we let them decide the frames with which we view ourselves. Does that make any sense?"

"A little," he said his face scrunched up in concentration.

"It shouldn't. At least ninety percent of what I just said was bullshit, and the other ten percent was self importance. That's something you should know if you hang around me. I come with very little filter and a healthy dose of sarcasm."

He contemplated my sanity for a moment before letting out a measured chuckle.

"I think we're gonna get along just fine, Jonas."

"Seeing as how I'm new and all I'm gonna assume that you won't take offense at any potentially impertinent questions." He indicated I could go on with an inclination of his head. "Good. So," I said, leaning forward onto my knees, growing a scosche more serious. "How does the magic thing work? My instincts says it's a far cry from the whole Harry Potter 'swish and flick' thing."

"For the most part you are correct but there are certainly a wide assortment of tools utilized by various factions in a large array of methods. The only paranormal ability I'm intimately familiar with is my families." Reaching into his pocket he pulled out the engraved cast iron rods that had greeted me at the door when I first met him. Handing them to me, their weight surprised me, and I hefted them in my hands for a second before examining them more closely. Gold filigree was worked into delicate runes that curled into one another across all nine inches that bent ninety degrees as the ran into unadorned handles, unique in their spiral design. The two rods were mirror images of each other, one set of symbols reflected perfectly onto the other. After I was done looking at them I handed them back to Mikey, who then started talking again.

"The way it works for me is I get a sense of the object I'm planning on searching for.

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