Title: Changeling, Part Two of Four

Author: Emma

Characters: Canonical Torchwood Three members… sort of.

Rating: Some chapters definitely not safe for work.

Disclaimer: Oh, please. If I owned them, would I let some of those idiots write the scripts? And if I were making any money off them, would I be where they could find me?

Summary: A young girl’s mysterious history could bring disaster to Cardiff and Torchwood Three…

Author’s Note: Jack is speaking Scots Gaelic: Gonadh. An robh iadsan cuthach? means Damn. Were they mad? Or at least that’s the best I can do. srah_scottydog , if I screwed up the grammar, please let me know.

            “You all right, Gwen?” Jack asked.

            “Yeah. Its’ just that… if anyone had told me two months ago I was going to be eating sweets made especially for me by the Bishop’s cook and drinking tea with the Bishop’s witch hunter I would have chucked them into a cold shower to sober up.”

            He grinned. “Stick with me, baby and you’ll go places.”

            “Ask lots of questions before you accept.” Kathy Swanson swept into her office. “I didn’t and look where it got me. This is Aaron ben Joseph, my assistant. He was primary on the Pierce investigation.”

            “I am primary half the time,” the young man said in tones that would have done Ianto proud. “There’s only two of us in the office.”

            “Hush,” Swanson said. “Sit down and tell them what you told me.”

            “Yes, ma’am.” He plopped down on the chair, more like an overgrown puppy than a grown man. “The accusation was nonsense, of course. Whatever is going on with Jasmine Pierce has nothing to do with dark arts. But…”

            “But you think there’s something wrong.”

            Ben Joseph looked at his boss, who growled, “All of it, Aaron.”

            “According to the girl who brought the accusation, Jasmine seduced and then killed two men using dark arts. The mother, who is…”

            “An imbecile,” supplied Swanson.

            “Indeed. The mother alleged that the girl’s beauty had to be some sort of spell. We tested for every possible sort of dark magic and the girl was as clean as Mother Katherine herself. Those two went off to their confessor with their tails between their legs, let me tell you. Father Anselm is not one to hold his tongue. That ended the our office's official involvement. But there were some details in the girl’s story that tickled my memory so I did some research on my own.”

            “And you found?” Jack asked.

            “Two men were reported missing during that month. One, William Goodson, was a convicted pedophile. He was last seen at Cardiff Hospital PICU, trying to get himself committed. He told them he was being followed by spirits. The attending physician had just had to certify the suicide of a young boy and he was not in the mood for what he called histrionics. He told Goodson off and had him chucked out. His body was found four months later… in the woods where Jasmine plays.”

            “And the other man?”

            “Peter Jones. A sad loser with a history of bad choices. Lived with his mother and worked at a video store. Was a photography nut, and, I think, could have made something of himself if he had been more likely to take pictures and less likely to get pissed every night. He’s never been found. I visited his mother and found a stack of photos. A lot of them were of children, candid snapshots, rather sugary calendar stuff. Among them were four pictures of Jasmine.”

            “You said something had tickled your memory,” Gwen said. “What was it?”

            “The girl said the men were killed by stuffing their throats with rose petals.” Jack’s harsh intake of breath had him nodding. “I see you’ve heard of it too.”

            “What is it?” Gwen asked.

            “There’s an obscure Scottish legend about a man who dared lay hands on a child of the sidhe.” ben Joseph said. “He was punished by being choked to death with rose petals.”

            “No legend.” Jack said. “It happened a few miles from where I was born and it was my grandfather who had to untangle the mess.”

            “Ah.” ben Joseph seemed to file the information away. “The thing is, when they found Goodson’s body there were rose petals all over the place… including this mouth.”

            Jack stood up, extending his hand to the younger man. “Thank you, Mr. ben Joseph.”

            “My pleasure. I’ve been wanting to meet you for years.”

            “Get that look out of your eyes, Jack Harkness.” Swanson snapped. “I’m not losing any more staff to Torchwood. Aaron, off with you.”

            “This isn’t good, is it, Jack?” Swanson asked once the door closed behind her laughing associate.

            “I don’t think so, no. I’ll keep you informed, Kathy.”

            Traffic was still light and Gwen let Jack indulge his passion for fast driving – after making sure both her shoulder and lap belts were tightly secured – without complaint; well, except for the time where he squeezed between two lorries, shooting past them and leaving behind a number of inventive curses in both in Welsh and English. At that point she tried to verbally take a strip of hide or two off the man, but he just laughed at her. 

            When they got to the Hub they found Owen and Tosh still deep into research. Jack stopped cold and looked around. “Where’s Ianto?”

            “Archives. He’s still on his organizing kick.” Tosh said. “And I have two puzzles for you.”

            He took off his coat and tossed it negligently on the sofa. “Tell me.”

            “First puzzle: why would a successful musician destroy his career by moving and changing his name?” She pushed a button and a man’s face filled her monitor. “This is David Pierce McCrimmon, piper and harpist, originally from Inverness. According to my information the McCrimmons are famous musicians?”

            “You could say that,” Jack laughed. “They are considered the greatest piping clan in history, hereditary pipers to the McLeods of Dunvegan for about a thousand years. I have a McCrimmon for a great-great grandfather.”

            “Well, this McCrimmon married a nice Welsh girl and took her back home. Two years later, soon after the birth of his first child, he moved his family back to Wales, dropped the McCrimmon, and became just Pierce.”

            “Umm. And the second puzzle?”

            “How does a family that registered a son, David Pierce McCrimmon the second, in Inverness, arrive in Cardiff with a daughter, Jasmine Elizabeth?”

            Gwen looked up from the book she was leafing through. “Are you sure?”

            “Absolutely. Why?”

            “I’ve been thinking about what Estelle and Aaron ben James said.” She checked off each item on her fingers. “An exquisite girl who attracts a lot of resentment from other girls, who spends a lot of time in the woods, who doesn’t seem to care if her Mother doesn’t pay any attention to her, who may have a protector who eliminates anyone who is a danger to her…”

            “You’re thinking of a changeling.”  Jack said. “But why hide? If a fairy steals a child, there are ways to force its return. A McCrimmon would be sure to get a hearing in front of the Seelie Court, even the Unseelie Court if it comes to that… Gonadh. An robh iadsan cuthach?"

            “Who were mad?” Ianto asked as he came out of the tunnel leading to the Archives.

            “The McCrimmons. Pierces. Whatever. Tosh, do you have a picture of Jasmine?” She nodded. “Put it up, would you?”

            The image was of a tall, slender girl with masses of silver-blond hair cascading to her waist and long, elegant limbs. She looked as if she would glide instead of walk. There was a distant look in her dark blue eyes as if she were listening to far-away voices. 

            “Estelle was right.” Gwen said. “She is stunning. Jack, are you all right?”

            “No.” Jack’s voice was hoarse and he reached out a hand to Ianto, who clasped it between his own. “Tosh, audio link to Mainframe, please. Mainframe, file, Harkness, Jack, personal, document, fairies, sub doc Mab. Split screen with current image.”

            The side-by-side images could have been different versions of the same person.

            “You were right, Gwen. We’re talking about a changeling. Except that it wasn’t the fairies who stole a boy and left a girl. The McCrimmons stole a fairy child and left their boy in her place. And not just any fairy child. The drawing is of Queen Mab of the Unseelie Court. That’s her granddaughter, who went missing eleven years ago.”