Okay so most people are focusing on Dev losing his memories, but I want to talk about Dale real fast and losing his.
So he definitely lost his, but he still has that Project H board.
He could easily look at it and find out that fairies exist again. I mean, all he has to do is erase the layer of blue that Dev put there. Or simply read it, it's still quite legible.
Except maybe this time, I think he'll try honing in on Cosmo and Wanda since it states that they "are magic".
With this in mind, my prediction is that he'll team up with a type of paranormal researcher to get to the bottom of it.
But the there's actually two he can pick from: Mr. Wells (Hazel's dad) and Mr. Crocker.
There's a lot of potential to be had with both of them.
Mr. Crocker may be seen as a bit of a loon, but he has an actual history of hunting fairies specifically.
Mr. Wells may be more credible and smarter, but he may have better equipment from being a trusted paranormal researcher.
(Also Dale could easily provide some funding/money for resources to whichever he chooses cuz you know he's rich.)
Or worst case scenario, Dale hires both.
I also find it entertaining how different Mr. Wells and Crocker are from each other.
Crocker wants to catch and expose them, but Mr. Wells wants to genuinely learn about anything supernatural.
It's really a 50/50, and I'm leaning towards him choosing Mr. Crocker just because of how much more knowledgeable he is on fairies.
Although, it'd be really interesting to see Crocker and Mr. Wells interact.
Plus, now that Antony and Hazel's friends are aware that Cosmo and Wanda are fairies, they could help with steering Dale away from them.
Mr. Wells is the ruler of the planet Ocean. Ocean is a planet much like Earth, except all the world governments are part of one government. Magic exists, but it is outlawed. Mr. Wells wants to be in control of all the magic in the world, and he will capture anyone he sees using magic.
Mr. Wells owns properties all over the world, but his main stronghold is a well-protected mansion in London. Though it seems like any other lavish mansion, it has rooms in which Mr. Wells holds people prisoner. He forces them to do things for him, using them as slaves and scapegoats.
Mr. Wells scrutinized the Christmas party from his strategic post.
The party was in full swing. Tables and tables of international cuisine, live performers on a piano and cello, a constant rotation of waiters, every part as carefully curated as a pruned garden. There was a steady buzz of conversation and laughter. People were doing impromptu dances and taking photos.
To most guests there, the party was a time to relax and have fun, but to Mr. Wells, it was a trap. The end of the year was the time to wrap up old deals and plot new ones. He had invited many people whom he knew would be influential, and a few who were insignificant but liked the illusion of power.
Mr. Wells knew the rhythms of parties. He knew when to watch and when to strike. He couldn’t see past the towering Christmas tree, but he knew that this biggest confidant, Mrs. Sharpe, was also surveying the room from another corner.
He spotted his target and made a move, striding past bejewelled women in floor-length gowns and children with ribbons in their hair.
A black man with a rose in his lapel smiled at Mr. Wells as he approached. “You’re not here to talk business, I hope.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Mr. Wells asked.
After a second, the man said, “The oil deal went through. I can’t believe how much luck I’m going to have next year.”
“I wish you as much good fortune next year as you had this year,” said Mr. Wells.
“Same to you,” said the man.
“How long are you staying in England?” Mr. Wells asked.
“I’m flying off tomorrow,”
“Really? Pity. Call me when you’re over jet lag. We can catch up. I can even help you double-check the deal.”
“Good, good,” said the man.
Mr. Wells’s personal assistant tapped him on the shoulder. It was time for him to open presents in front of all the guests. This was the pivotal moment around which the entire party revolved.
Mr. Wells went on stage while the party fell silent. He found Mrs. Sharpe in the crowd quickly, even though she wasn’t near the front. She was in a slinky green gown, her hair fashionably curled. She raised her glass to him.
The mound of presents in sparkly wrapping paper was almost as tall as Mr. Wells himself, and those were only the ones that were interesting enough to unwrap publically.
Mr. Wells opened them one by one, keeping a steady stream of jokes and banter. The gifts were predictable: expensive watches, wine, new suits, fountain pens. His polite smile never faltered. It was the promises behind the gifts that meant the most to him.
Then he opened a black cocktail shaker shaped like a king chess piece.
Now he actually began to get excited. He said the same empty words of praise and made a show of trying to open the shaker. He grunted and chuckled. “I’m going to get a workout from this!”
The audience laughed aloud.
Mr. Wells put the cocktail shaker aside and opened the rest of his presents.
Finally, he was through. While the servants cleared everything, Mr. Wells told his personal assistant to start handing out the Christmas crackers, picked up the cocktail shaker, made brief eye contact with Mrs. Sharpe and ducked into a room.
Inside, he locked the door and opened the cocktail shaker, which took some time to come apart. Inside, as he had anticipated, were a few small cones of incense.
Mr. Wells put the shaker back together and hurried down to the mansion’s sublevels, communicating with someone through his smart watch.
The lower levels of the mansion were off-limits. There was no carpet here, no priceless paintings on the walls. He entered an office room and sat down.
Mr. Wells didn’t have to wait long. Two men wheeled out a wheelchair with a teenage boy in it. His legs and arms were cuffed to the chair.
“Merry Christmas, Kidlat,” said Mr. Wells.
Kidlat didn’t respond, looking at Mr. Wells with contempt.
Mr. Wells held out the cocktail shaker, with the incense.
“I’m not doing it,” said Kidlat.
Mr. Wells bent down to look at Kidlat eye to eye. “If you don’t do this spell for me, I’ll be very upset with you. And I can just get someone else to do it. One of your other friends.”
Kidlat groaned, then gave Mr. Wells a small nod.
The men unstrapped one of Kidlat’s hands. Mr. Wells put one of the incense cones in Kidlat’s palm.
Kidlat closed his eyes and inhaled. Green light ran through the veins under Kidlat’s skin.
Then the incense lit up with a green flame. A strong smell that only Mr. Wells could sense filled the room. He sniffed delightedly.
In an instant, the cone of incense vaporized.
“Another year of good fortune,” said Mr. Wells gratefully. “Thank you, Kidlat.”
Kidlat said nothing as the men wheeled him away.
“Couldn’t wait, could you?” Mrs. Sharpe had come down after Mr. Wells.
“You know me and magic.” Mr. Wells put his arm around her. “I’ll do one for you next time.”
Mr. Wells and Mrs. Sharpe paused before ascending the steps. As soon as they reappeared upstairs, they probably had about a minute before a guest interrupted them.
