How should our heroes investigate?

I'm sorry I haven't posted in a while. It's been an incredibly busy week, and my character sketch of Auggy somehow deleted itself just as I went to post it. :(

Next question: How might our heroes and heroines go about investigating Cy's attack? Also, please see the questions below, and chime in with any of your thoughts or ideas.

I'm reading a Victorian murder mystery to get some idea of how people investigated crimes prior to modern forensics and fingerprints. My ideas thus far go like this:

1. Report the matter to the police. Would our characters do this? The police won't do much for a poor hybrid living in the slums of Slag City, but if they do investigate, they might discover Cy's and possibly Auggy's criminal activities and/or our characters' involvement with the rebels.
2. Try to find out what Cy's remembers, which is...? He's having memory problems and would only have a flash or two at this point in the novel. More memories would emerge throughout the investigation process.
3. Examine the scene of the crime for any evidence. What should would our characters find? To refresh your memory: Cy's left jaw and the left side of his ribs were shattered, his left eye and left arm were destroyed, the arm partly by fire. His faerie arm, which was also on the left side, was cut off and taken. Then the building was set on fire around him. What's left of the building? Where was he? What was he doing there?
4. Question the people living or working around the scene of the crime. Who lives/works there? Who should they encounter? (This is an excellent opportunity to introduce any characters that you might like to add into the novel.) What might they have seen? Or how else could they help or hinder the investigation?
5. Track down and question/investigate any enemies Cy or even Auggy (as Cy's employer) might have. (This is another great opportunity for including any new character ideas.) Who might these people be? What involvement did they have in Cy's attack, with the gnomes, or with the collection of Cy's essence of fey? How might they help or hinder our heroes and heroines?

Please let me know if you have any ideas concerning the above questions or another other ideas for methods of investigation. Murder mysteries are not my area of expertise. Thank you!

Chapter 2, part 2

A gasp escaped the woman's lips as she turned in the sidhe's arms. The faerie's hands dropped away, and she swayed, gazing up at him in open-mouthed wonder. Auggy wondered what image she was seeing because it sure as hell wasn't the same thing he was. No, definitely not, he thought as she moved to kiss the creature. The faerie's lip curled and he blurred. He was there one moment then two steps away the next, staring down at the woman with the look of supreme disdain that only the fey could manage. Then suddenly Auggy saw the woman disappearing into the crowd, moving with in the vacant manner of a human entranced. I'm losing time, he realized. That's not good.

The sidhe glided toward him, and the sounds of the bar faded away. Auggy dug his nails into his palm and the sound returned with a pop. Get it together, Taggart, he lectured himself. Now is not the time to-- The faerie stopped within touching distance and looked down at him with... respect? No, surely not. But the look in those creepy red eyes appeared to be both wary and approving. It had to be another glamour. Auggy was seeing things that weren't there.

The creature sat across from him in a flourish of silk. How do they do that? Auggy wondered. The sidhe wore a white, sleeveless tunic and matching pants. There wasn't enough fabric there for a flourish. Auggy so needed to learn that skill. He leaned back in his chair, pretending that the sidhe's presence didn't affect him, and propped his foot up on his other knee. He wanted his favorite knife within reaching distance, although he loathed to admit it. "Are you always this melodramatic?" he sneered. "If you want to talk to me, cut the faerie crap."

The sidhe laughed, and his eyes twinkled with honest-to-God mirth. Mercurial little shit, Auggy thought, even as that mesmerizing voice made his heart sing. He fought the urge to make a joke just so he could hear that laugh again. The sidhe shrugged. "It is our nature to push back," he said, as if that make a lick of sense. The he frowned. "You are surprisingly resilient for a human. That's... troublesome." He looked like he was about to say more, but cut himself off.

The sidhe was tamping down his magic though, and Auggy breathed a sigh of relief. His breath still felt like frost, but it was bearable now--even pleasant if the truth be told, a nice reprieve from the summer heat. He wondered if the faerie was doing that on purpose. He studied the creature's achingly beautiful face, but couldn't tell. "Sooooo," Auggy drawled, "messing with strangers in a human bar seemed like fun tonight, huh?"

"We're not strangers, Augrum Taggart," the faerie said, his voice low. "We run in the same circles, you and I."

Auggy scowled. This couldn't be good. He leaned forward and pointed at the sidhe with his silver-smeared fingers. "One, I'm not a dog. Two, I've never seen you before. And three... well, you get the idea."

The faerie didn't respond right away, entranced by the glimmering dust that still coated Auggy's fingers. Then he shook himself and met Auggy's gaze again. "Of course you haven't," he said. "I'm not that sloppy. A spider does not miss."

Auggy's breath caught. A few choice words ran through his head as he sat back, and his fingers danced on the hilt of his knife. It was pure steel, not as good as cold iron, but still enough to burn a faerie, even kill him if he sliced deep enough. Better than the gun at his side; this sidhe looked capable of dodging bullet. "A faerie assassin," he breathed and then slapped his thigh with his other hand. "Well, just truss me up and slap me silly. What a perfect end to a perfect day."

The faerie gave him a tight-lipped smile. "I don't play with my prey, Mr. Taggart. I simply kill them. Perhaps it has escaped your notice, but you are very much alive."

"Then why did you even mention it?"

"Because I don't appreciate being played either," the faerie said. He drummed his claws on the table, looking skyward as if searching for a word. Then he snapped his fingers and smiled. It was a heart-wrenchingly beautiful smile, just like the rest of him. "Fair warning, I believe humans call it. So you know not to double-cross me, as you have so many others."

Auggy raised a brow but then cracked a grin, part in relief and part in humor. "Hey now. I can't help it if the people whose tech I 'borrow' want it back. I sell my services, not my loyalty. So you're looking to employ me then?"

The faerie nodded. If Auggy's immorality bothered him, it didn't show. Hmm, Auggy thought. Maybe I could grow to like this creature, given enough time and booze. "You realize my specialty is steam tech," he said. "Didn't think faeries had much interest in that."

The sidhe curled his lip at the thought. The sheer level of repugnance in his expression made Auggy laugh. The faerie's face lightened as he watched, and soon his eyes were shining with mirth as well. He waited for Auggy to finish before speaking again, which Auggy thought was odd, but then, faeries were odd creatures. "I seek knowledge," he finally said, "not metal." He said metal as if it were a dirty word. Auggy grinned.

"All right," Auggy said, "so what do I call you, oh great sidhe-man?"

The faerie shrugged. "I don't particularly care, but most humans call me Raine."

Raine. I know that name. Auggy picked the gear up from the table and twirled it around his finger again. Fidgeting helped him think. Raine watched the glinting metal without a word, and Auggy realized that he probably thought he was taunting him. He set the gear down. "I've heard of you," he finally said, "but I thought you were a braider, some sort of magic healer who knits flesh back together or something."

The faerie sighed. The sound skittered around them like wind through the trees, except there were no leaves in the bar. Creepy. "I am many things," he said. "Spider, braider, healer, whatever you wish to call me, but today... Today, I became a mesher. I attached a mechanical arm and eye to a living creature."

Auggy gaped. "Willingly?"

Raine gave him a wry smile. "No, I was held at gunpoint." His tone was drier than the sandpaper Auggy had stashed away in his pockets. It made Auggy think of Cy again, with his dry sarcasm and wry humor. The ache returned to Auggy's chest, and he rubbed at it. There wasn't a damn thing I could have done for the boy, he told himself, but the pain didn't ease.

"So you meshed some steam tech parts to someone's flesh," Auggy said, "and you... what? Want me to steal them back for you? That's kind of twisted, you know. Even for me."

Raine's eyes flashed, and suddenly Auggy's breath was shards of ice scraping through his throat. Mercurial son of a-- Auggy's thoughts scattered as he struggled to breathe. This is how he kills, he realized. Not with a blade but with magic.

"I did not save a life only to have it taken away again by the likes of you," the sidhe hissed.

"Didn't intend to," Auggy choked out. "Let up, would you?" Wasn't I thinking just a few minutes ago that I could actually like this creature? I must be insane. The magic receded as the faerie settled back in his chair. Auggy hadn't even seen him move, and that scared him. Fair warning indeed.

Raine waved a hand as if brushing off a trivial matter. Auggy swore at him silently in his head. "I'm told the arm is powered by steam pulled from the man's blood," Raine said. "I want to know who created it and how far this technology has spread."

Auggy's brows rose. "Is that even possible? Pulling steam from the blood, I mean." Then he started thinking about the implications and clutched his stomach. "I think I'm going to be sick," he muttered.

Raine tipped his head to the side as he studied Auggy's reaction. The movement reminded Auggy of a falcon eying his prey. Auggy moved his shoulders and cracked his neck. He didn't like that look. Then the sidhe smiled... or something. Auggy didn't have a word for that expression. It was more a baring of teeth or a grimace of shared pain than a smile. "You realize the danger," Raine said. "Good. I feared you wouldn't."

"Yeah, I get it," Auggy said. He had seen too much of the dark side of humanity not to expect the worst from people. Corruption. Betrayal. Murder. He'd seen it all, and God, he was sick of it. This is my last job, he realized. I can't take this anymore. Aloud, he said, "Some corrupt SOB is going to start using people's bodies to power his machines. They'll make mechanical monsters made of people and metal. There will be oppression, slavery, war." He ran his fingers through his hair, clutching the spiky ends. "This is a freaking nightmare." He glared at Raine. "Thank you ever so much for bringing this to me. Blissful ignorance would have been a nice change of pace."

The sidhe smiled, totally unrepentant. Damn faeries. "Will you take the job?"

"Yeah, I'll take it. If the payment is right. I don't work for free, you know."

Raine pulled a black silk pouch from his waist and dropped it on the table. Gems spilled out: diamonds, sapphires, a glowing ruby. Whoa, Auggy thought. "Is this enough?" the sidhe asked.

"Yep," Auggy said and gave him a shit-eating grin. He glanced around to make sure no one had noticed the gems--he didn't want to get jumped in the street again--then pushed them back into the pouch and pocketed it. He supposed he should feel bad for taking advantage of the sidhe. Faeries didn't understand money the way humans did, which is why Cy had never managed to save a single copper of the money Auggy paid him. But somehow, Auggy just couldn't bring himself to give a damn today. "Where did you get all of this?" he asked.

"That is not your concern."

Auggy rubbed the back of his neck. Yeah, he could learn to hate this sidhe. "Okay," he said, "so who's the poor sap who got the mechanical arm?"

How did Moxie know who to seek out to save Cy?

Next question: How did Moxie know who she should go to for help saving Cy? Please post your ideas in the comments section.

I've been pondering this question for a while now. I had assumed that we had at least two villains (or groups of villains): the ones who tried to kill Cy and the ones who helped save him in order to collect his essence of fey. I think our readers will assume that as well because why try to kill Cy and then turn around and heal him? It makes no sense until you realize that they must have built the mechanical arm and had it ready when Moxie came to them for help. She wouldn't have had much time: Cy was wounded and dying. And something as complex as his mechanical with its apparatus that distills his essence of fey couldn't have been built in an hour.

There are only two reasons that I can think of that they would have had the arm, which by the way, had to be pretty close to the right length for his body.

1. They're doing this to a large number of people. I think that's unlikely though because the fey have such an aversion to metal that they wouldn't willingly submit to having mechanical parts put on to them no matter how grievously wounded they were.
2. Our villains intended the arm for Cy, which means they were the ones who orchestrated the attack, making sure that his left arm was rendered useless, requiring amputation.

This leads us to a few conclusions:

1. Our villains orchestrated the attack on Cy.
2. Cy is somehow unique, which is why our villains targeted him specifically rather than a full-blooded faerie.
3. Our villains cut off and how have his faerie arm.
4. Our villains had some contact with Moxie prior to the attack, which is why she went to them for help in those moments of desperation.

So what contact was this? What did Moxie know prior to the attack on Cy? Did she know one of the villains or their minions (for more than a few days, I mean), and that's why she'd gone to him/her for help? Or did our villains approach her a few days earlier and tell her just enough to make her seek them out when Cy was injured? What do you think? What ideas do you like, or do you have other ideas you'd like to share? Please do. I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Brainstorming: Essence of fey?

We need to create our villains, so I'm attacking it from a few different angles. Here's the first. Cy's essence of fey is being distilled from his blood into a vial inside the mechanical arm he has unwillingly required. What might our villains do with his distilled essence of fey? Go crazy. Outlandish works.

Here are a few ideas I've thought about or that others have tossed around before:

• In mythology, the sluagh (pronounced "slooa") are the worst of the faeries. They're the damned Host that flies through the air at night, maiming or killing basically whatever they encounter. In our novel, I'm thinking the sluagh should be undead faeries. When faeries die, especially if they are murdered, they sometimes turn into sluagh, basically an evil, ravening horde with uncanny intelligence and a thirst for blood. The king of the faeries (Finvarra, for anyone for reads mythology) may be dying and starting to turn. Distilled essence of fey could reverse or delay the process.
• The faerie essence could be used to make or power more powerful steam tech machines.
• It could be a component of some terrible magic.
• It could be a black market drug.
• Or the cure for a disease running rampant amongst... whoever our villains are.

What are your thoughts? Do you have any ideas? Do you like any of the suggestions above and/or do you have any ideas to flesh them out?

[Post script, "I'm discouraged" note deleted. I apologize; that's very much not like me. Just had an exceptionally bad day.]

Chapter 2, part 1

Twirling a copper cog around his finger with feigned nonchalance, Auggy rocked his chair back and pressed his boot against the beer-stained table in front of him. The hilt of a blade peeked out from his boot. A fight was spreading through the saloon. It looked like fun and Auggy was debating whether or not to join in. He spotted Mixie, Moxie's twin sister, through the crowd. She appeared to be having a grand old time.

Mixie dodged a punch then delivered a staggering blow to her opponent's solar plexus. The air whooshed out of him and he stumbled back, grasping at Mixie's clothes as he went down. Her tight-fitting half-bodice and bare midriff gave him no purchase, however, and his hands skidded down her front until they caught on the thick leather belt of her baggy pants. Mixie kneed him in the jaw, dislodging him before he found whatever weapons or treasures were hidden in those folds. She looked up and caught Auggy's gaze. Grinning, she gave him a finger wave. Brass knuckles glinted around her fingers.

Auggy grinned back but shook his head when she motioned for him to join her. Mixie raised a brow in surprise and then puffed her lower lip out in just about the cutest pout Auggy had ever seen. He laughed and waved her off, motioning to his empty beer mug as if he wanted another drink. Mixie gave him one of her dazzling smiles then slugged the man beside her. He looked like the good, law-abiding type, just the sort who would set Mixie off into a tirade about the injustices of the corrupt republic in which they lived.

Auggy's smile died abruptly. Maybe I should tell her that Cy's dead, he thought. He sighed and tossed the cog he had been twirling onto the table. The clatter of metal on wood was barely audible over the din of the crowd. Nah. Let Moxie do it. Playful, creative, tough-as-nails Mixie he could deal with, but a grief-stricken, sobbing Mixie demanding answers he didn't have? Hell no. Auggy had brought Cy's dying body back to her sister, and that had been bad enough. He'd done his good deed for the day. If Cy's God really was up in the sky keeping a tally, then Auggy may have even tipped himself over to the side of good today. Well, we can't have that. He made a mental note to commit more nefarious deeds this week to tip the balance back to where it should be.

Auggy patted his hands down his sleeveless leather coat, perusing the lumps from the multitude of trinkets, weapons, and lockpicks hidden amongst all the pockets and straps, and drew one out at random. It was a hollowed-out pocket watch with a grinning face on the front of it, worn smooth from years of finger oil and absent-minded rubbing. Auggy ran his thumb over the face then popped the case open. Damn. Inside was that chunk of strange white metal that Cy had given him a few weeks back because, apparently, when people found odd things, they thought of Auggy. Go figure.

He felt a pang, looking at it now. Was that... grief? No, surely not. Guilt then. Yes, guilt. He and Cy hadn't been friends; Auggy didn't have friends. He simply collected people who weren't as stupid or corrupt as all the rest. People like Mixie, clever little steamwright that she was, and Cy, who had become something like that damnable conscience that Auggy had discarded years ago. The boy had been gutter trash when Auggy had met him: a destitute sixteen-year-old forced to steal or starve because no one would hire a half-breed, no matter how pretty he was to look at. People are sick, Auggy thought. And that boy should know better by now. It had been eight years since Cy had tried to lift Auggy's wallet (he might have even succeeded had Auggy not been wearing an obscene number of pockets), and Auggy had watched him debase himself over and over again trying to find "honest work," just to stay on the right side of his morality, if not the law. Auggy had plenty of work for him, albeit of the illegal kind, and damn if that boy hadn't become the best lockpick he'd ever employed. Machines worked for Cy--or fell apart in his hands as the case may be--with uncanny ease. Auggy had never regretted hiring him, Cy had made sure of it. He worked hard and fast, and everything he did, amoral or not, he did with that wry smile, as if poverty and contempt were his due and he was somehow escaping it by working himself into an early grave. It pissed Auggy off to no end.

And I let that boy die.

Growling, Auggy stuffed the odd white metal back in the watch case. He had been rubbing the metal without even thinking about it, and now a fine sheen of silver coated his fingertips. He cast about for a cloth or something to wipe his fingers with and found himself staring into the plumpest, most perfect pair of breasts he'd ever seen. The bar maid reached across him, giving him an even better view of her bodice-enhanced cleavage--good Lord, how did those things stay in place?--and swapped out his empty beer mug for a fresh one. Foam spilled over the side, wetting the creamy skin of her delicate hand.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, sugar?" she asked. She gave one long, slow lick to the froth on her hand, keeping her brown-eyed gaze locked with his. Then her tongue flicked out, tasting the foam on her lips. "Anything at all?"

Auggy almost whimpered. Now, he knew he was a handsome man, what with his black hair, easy smile, and those soft, southern cheekbones and enchanting hazel eyes that he'd inherited from his mother, God bless her. Auggy used it to his advantage all the time, and he couldn't count how many women he'd bedded because of it. But this was ridiculous. This woman didn't even know his name, much less his reputation. Or did she? Auggy looked her up and down, from her old-fashioned bodice made modern with copper boning to her short ruffled skirt that showed too much leg, and then back up to her lovely face. He also noted the dagger hidden at her waist and the poisonous flowers pinned to her lapel. This little sex kitten had probably taken one of the contracts out on his life. His enemies were insidious that way.

Auggy gave her the sweetest smile he could muster and tossed a gold mark on her tray. "Yes, actually," he said, "there is something. How about you take the night off, sugar, and stick to serving beers?"

Outrage flared across the woman's face, rounding those kiss-me lips into a perfect O. Auggy gulped. Was he mistaken? Had his paranoia gotten the better of him--again? But then her palm slapped his cheek with a resounding smack, and he decided he didn't give a damn. "How dare you... you... mongrel!" she sputtered. "I am not a--"

"Leave."

Auggy blinked. The voice that had spoken felt like spidersilk brushing across his skin. It tangled up inside of him, muddling his brain, then smoothed into a most disconcerting caress. Cy? he wondered. His heart did this weird little leaping thing. The front legs of his chair hit the floor with a resounding thump as he clutched at his chest. What is this? A heart attack? I'm not that old.

The bar maid--assassin?--turned as if in a trance, and Auggy saw the sidhe standing behind her with his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. Not Cy then. This faerie's long, slender fingers were ghostly pale and tipped with razor-sharp claws. Silky, white-blond hair fell past his waist, framing a lean body and a face so lovely that it was painful to look at. Cy's faerie presence merely gave the unsettling impression of sunshine and autumn leaves brushing the skin; this creature made Auggy feel as if he had plunged into the icy depths of a lake on the blackest of nights. He shivered and clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. He had forgotten how alien these creatures really were. The sidhe's eyes had no whites, only pure black irises floating like beetles in pools of red as dark as blood. Black gashes cut across the sidhe's arms, baring flesh that should never have seen the light of day. They weren't injuries, but a natural part of his body, the faerie defect that showed just how twisted their magic had made their race.

A gasp escaped the woman's lips as she turned in the sidhe's arms. The faerie's hands dropped away, and she swayed, gazing up at him in open-mouthed wonder. Auggy wondered what image she was seeing because it sure as hell wasn't the same thing he was. No, definitely not, he thought as she moved to kiss the creature. The faerie's lip curled and he blurred. He was there one moment then two steps away the next, staring down at the woman with the look of supreme disdain that only the fey could manage. Then suddenly Auggy saw the woman disappearing into the crowd, moving with in the vacant manner of a human entranced. I'm losing time, he realized. That's not good.

[To be continued]