by K. M. Shea
He smiled, flashing dangerous dimples at me. “Morgan, how I have missed you—”
I slammed the door shut, cutting off his words. I stared at the office door for a few moments before I shook my head and started down the hallway.
The door snapped open behind me. “That was terrible. I took a red-eye flight so I could get here in time for your work hours. You could have at least listened to me call you beautiful or something.”
“Go away, Devin,” I said, walking past a tall, waxy looking guy leaning up against a wall in the hallway.
“Why are you so harsh?” Devin asked, catching up with me. He threw an arm over my shoulder and leaned so close his lips brushed my ear when he said, “You’ll never get rid of me with cruel words. I find them endearing.”
“Cut that out,” I said, shrugged his arm off and pushing him away from me.
“Crabby today, are you? What rubbed your fur wrong?”
“Nothing rubbed me wrong. I was perfectly fine until you showed up,” I said.
“What? What could I possibly have done to offend you?” Devin asked, his throaty, velvet voice laced with falsified pain.
I stopped walking and stared at him. “Are you seriously asking that?”
“Perhaps.”
“Fine. Let’s start with your greeting.”
“What is wrong with the way I greeted you?”
“You spoke in a fawning, cooing voice.”
“I haven’t seen you for months. Perhaps I wanted to fawn and coo over you,” Devin said, his voice colored with amusement. “Would you rather I call you my sweet darling?”
“That’s what I’m talking about. Cut that sweet-talk out or I swear to Administrator Moonspell, I will accuse you of being a pervert in front of the MBRC board and get you banned from here. Again.”
“I don’t understand why my language upsets you so,” Devin said, his voice losing its sappy edge.
“It upsets me because it’s fake.”
“No it’s not.”
“Yes it is! Devin, whenever you called me from Britain you had a pack of female voices in the background, giggling at everything you said. You have the loyalty of a stray tom cat.”
“So what kind of loyalty are you looking for?”
“It’s not the loyalty it’s just—Gah! If you treated me like a normal person I wouldn’t be so angry with you all the time,” I called over my shoulder as I started walking again.
Devin caught up with me, his sweet talk gone. “Did you look at the program pamphlets I sent you?”
“The UK exchange student programs? Yes. I’m not going to study abroad.”
“Why not? It will be a magnificent experience for you.”
“Let me rephrase that: I’m not going to study abroad for all four years of college, and I’m certainly not going to study abroad my freshman year.”
“Why not study in Britain all four years? You won’t get another chance to do this.”
“First of all, it would get way too expensive.”
“The Fairy Council would give you an internship, if not straight-out hire you. They have only a few human liaisons, and several of them are so old they are going to croak any day. They would welcome your presence,” Devin said.
“I don’t know if I want anything to do with the magical community while I go to college,” I said.
“What?”
“It’s not that I am no longer interested in magical beings, and I wouldn’t rule out a career with you all…but…I missed out on a lot of high school norms because of my work here.”
Devin raised an eyebrow. “Like?”
“Well, I didn’t get to hang out with my friends as much.”
“What friends? I recall you seem to have an absurd amount of friends among the members of the MBRC.”
“My high school friends. I mean, I still get to hang out with Fran a few times a week, and all my other friends I see during school, but it’s not the same.”
Devin stopped walking. “You mean to tell me that fifty years from now you will regret that you worked in the MBRC for your high school career, shaping the future of the magical community, because you will be sad you did not spend more time on friendships that very likely won’t last after you graduate high school?”
“I know it sounds stupid.”
“Sounds stupid? It most assuredly is stupid.”
“What do you want me to say? I don’t know what I want to do. I don’t know where I want to go to college, and I don’t know what I want to do with my life! But four years away from everyone I know and love is definitely not it.”
“I would be there,” Devin said.
“Yeah, with your fawning fan-girls. Don’t be ridiculous, Devin. The moment you’re back in the UK you will forget I exist.”
“I never forget you,” Devin said.
I stopped walking again and waited until Devin looked me in the eye. “Then there’s something going on that I don’t understand. I don’t know if it’s fairy politics or what. I’m telling you, Devin, I don’t get it. And there’s no way I’m going to put up with it.”
Devin sighed and ran a hand through his luxurious hair. “What are you doing this weekend?”
“Saturday morning I’m hanging out with Fran. In the evening the MBRC board has a meeting with the Chicago branch of Weller Goblin Enterprises.”
“I’ll take you out to dinner after the meeting,” Devin said, turning and walking in the opposite direction.
“But—Devin!” I called after his retreating figure. He ignored me and kept walking. “GRRRR. That Pooka!”
“Finally our field trip to the Museum of Science and Industry has been okayed by MBRC administration,” I said, clicking the remote so a picture of the museum flashed onto the overhead screen.
My students clapped and released various noises of approval.
“It’s been too long since we’ve gone on a field trip,” Madeline said.
“That’s probably because the last one ended in disaster—no thanks to you,” Frey said.
“It wasn’t my fault that child lost its tooth when it did,” Madeline objected.
“Yeah, but you didn’t have to scream like someone shot you and faint,” Perseus—one of the young centaurs who acted as my private technical support team—snorted.
“We didn’t even get to go inside. It would have been our first amusement park visitation,” said one of several drabby fairies in my class with a great deal of wistfulness.
“It was my fault. I should have known it was too early to take you all to Six Flags,” I said. “Perhaps in another year. Or two. Anyway! This field trip has been approved for next week Saturday. Bring your human money and disguises or you will have to remain behind.”
“Yes, Morgan.”
“That’s it. You’re dismissed,” I said. As my students dispersed I grabbed a small box from my podium and approached one of my students, a shy werewolf named Frank.
Frank was busy itching his collarbone as I approached.
“Hi Frank, I have another necklace for you,” I said, opening the box to reveal a black band with a buckle.
Frank stopped itching long enough to smile. “Thank you, Morgan. My last one busted when I transformed into a wolf. I’m sorry,” he said, hanging his head.
“I’m just glad you like wearing them. It,” I said, handing the “necklace” to Frank.
“Yeah, it’s become something of my trademark in my pack. They’re all jealous,” he said before itching his scalp.
“I’m glad, let me know when you need another,” I said, edging away from Frank as he strapped the necklace around his neck.
“Okay, thanks again.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, retreating to the far side of the room. What Frank didn’t know was that his “necklace” was actually a flea collar. Frank belonged to a wild, rambunctious pack, and as a result he often went frolicking in state and national parks—getting himself infested with fleas, ticks, and other parasites.
Perhaps
it was cruel of me to hide the truth from him, but at least my class wasn’t going to break out with fleas.
I was packing my jump-drive in my backpack when I was grabbed from behind in a bear-hug and hauled into the air. “Morgan! How you doing, Chicka?”
“Hi, Esmeralda,” I said, greeting one of my former students.
Esmeralda was a vampire, like Madeline, but she had been turned into one in the past decade and had a good handle on being human. She attended my classes more as a way to meet other magical beings. Since growing more comfortable with her new companions, she spent the past year or so traveling. (She was the student who went to Atlantis.) She was a beautiful teenager with olive colored skin and a fiery temper.
“You’re back from…?”
“New Zealand. They’ve got loads of elf clans out there. I have lots of pictures and some video footage. Do you wanna see them sometime?” Esmeralda asked.
“I would love to,” I said. “What kind of elf clans?”
Esmeralda made a funny face. “Just about everything. There’s some high elves, and a fire elf clan since there’s lots of hot-springs and inactive volcanoes and stuff. I also ran into this totally weird, hippy elf clan. I don’t know what kind of elf they were, but they were bizzaro. Like, the Madeline version of elves.”
“I resent that implication,” Madeline said, latching on to my arm.
“I think it was a good explanation,” I said as we started for the door. “I’ve got to drop some stuff off at my office. Do you want to come with, Esmeralda?”
“What? You don’t ask me? I’m hurt,” Madeline said as we left the classroom and started down the hallway.
“I assumed you were coming with whether I invited you or not.”
“You could still invite me to avoid hurting my feelings.”
“Yeah, I would love to come with. Is Baobab still your assistant?”
“Yep. I’m not giving her up until MBRC wrenches her from me,” I said.
“Awesome, I want to catch up with her. Where was Asahi tonight, anyway? I didn’t see him among your students.”
“He left a few minutes early. I hope he remembers to tell Kadri about the field trip,” I said.
“He’s still dating her?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m surprised they’re not married yet,” Madeline said.
“No kidding. It’s been two years since they started that elvish courting thing,” Esmeralda said.
“They’re still young. They can’t be older than, what, 23 or 24-years-old?” I asked.
Madeline hooted. “Are you serious? No way. Asahi is in his 40s.”
“…he what?”
“Elves live longer than humans, remember? High elves in particular. In human years I suppose Asahi would be about 21—but that’s typically when elves choose their spouse anyway,” Madeline said.
“Yeah. I wonder what the holdup is,” Esmeralda said, glancing over her shoulder as we climbed a flight of stairs.
“Devin is back in town,” I said.
Madeline puffed up like an angry cat. “He what?”
“Yep. I saw him right before class—he was waiting for me in my office.”
“It’s a wonder Baobab didn’t take a stapler to his head,” Esmeralda said. “The Pooka dated one of her sisters for, like, two weeks. It didn’t end well.”
“What did he want?” Madeline asked.
“Nothing in particular. He gave out the usual sappy story and wondered why he wasn’t in my good graces,” I said.
Esmeralda glanced over her shoulder again. “Um, guys, I hate to be a party pooper—”
“A party what?” Madeline asked, crinkling her button nose.
“But I think we’re being followed,” Esmeralda finished.
“By whom?” I asked.
Esmeralda discreetly tipped her head backwards. “Purple-y looking guy back there. Looks like he’s in his early thirties, and is wearing a suit,” she whispered.
I looked back at the guy trailing about thirty feet behind us. “Oh, no. It’s not what you think. That’s just Krusher. Sorry, I forgot you left before he started coming around here.”
“It’s Harrison, Miss Fae,” the man—who was in all actuality a goblin—called.
“Harrison?” Esmeralda blinked.
“Yeah. Hunter assigned him to me about three months ago. He’s my bodyguard. He trails me all day long,” I said before gesturing at Harrison to come closer.
“This is one of my former students, Esmeralda. Esmeralda, this is Krusher,” I said, making the introductions.
“It’s Harrison,” Harrison said after nodding to Esmeralda.
“Why do you call him Krusher?” Esmeralda asked as the goblin retreated to his customary post—which was about thirty feet behind me.
“Because Harrison is totally a terrible goblin name,” I said.
“No it’s not. All the goblins I’ve met have been similarly named,” Madeline said. “They customarily have elegant and refined names.”
“Yeah, but I mean by fairy tale standards it’s a terrible name. I mean, I could call him Harry for short. But then he’s like Prince Harry. A goblin is supposed to be fierce and frightening to behold not a…” I turned around to narrow my eyes at Harrison. “Handsome, sophisticated, James Bond type.”
I didn’t know much about Harrison, and not for lack of trying but because he’s dead boring. He conversed about as well as a stick. And he—just like every other American Goblin—was a terrible fairy tale let down. The only thing otherworldly about him was his somewhat purplish, waxy complexion and his unnaturally white teeth. Before meeting modern day goblins, I thought they were supposed to be gnarly creatures with pig tusks and grotesque faces.
I am telling you, historical literature and poems have totally failed us in accurately describing mythical creatures and beings.
“It’s nice being friends with a Goblin King, huh?” Madeline said.
“In what way?” I sourly asked.
“He’s pretty hot,” Esmeralda said, drawing an eye roll from Madeline.
“I like Hunter. I could do without the baggage he brings with him, though,” I said, starting for my office again.
The reason why the MBRC board dragged me into every meeting that involved goblins was because I was on great, if not complicated, terms with the Goblin King of Chicago: Hunter Weller.
Hunter was my classmate from school, and a good friend. Our relationship had occasional strains—he once kidnapped me for a weekend, and in a strike of retaliation I signed him up for the yearbook committee our junior year—but in general my presence was enough to assure better behavior from him.
Plus I’m totally immune to the goblin power of persuasion, their main magical strength.
“Does the Pooka know about Harrison?” Esmeralda asked, twisting around to waggle her fingers at Harrison.
“I think so,” I said. “I’m pretty sure he would have said something earlier today if he didn’t.”
Esmeralda shook her head. “Your life is so weird. You know that, right?”
“Thanks for the ego boost.”
“Welcome!”
3
Warnings Issued
The Saturday meeting was boring. I sat in a chair at a desk with a special plaque that read Human Liaison. The MBRC board was seated around a horseshoe shaped table. Hunter stood at a podium placed in the opening of the horseshoe. A goblin advisor and a pack of bodyguards loomed behind Hunter, motionless and silent.
The board members listened carefully to Hunter’s presentation—a request to give a pixie powder license to a special, goblin funded, magical being only nightclub. (Pixie powder is a legal ingredient used by magical beings to supplement glamours and disguises, but the MBRC has a tight limit on how much can be imported into Chicago, and who can distribute it.)
As the discussion took a turn from boring (the necessity of pixie powder sellers) to dangerously mind-numbing, I leaned back in my chair and yawned.
“—assure
you, there is great need of another pixie powder vender. According to our studies only two other sellers are open during the hours our nightclub operates. Both are situated far away from Firefly,” Hunter said, referring to his nightclub. “Clearly there is a need and a market.”
“Mr. Weller. We do not care about supply, product demand, profits, and economics as much as we are concerned with responsible vendors,” Luka Farka—the vampire representative board member who owed me big time for that nightmare of a driving lesson—said. His s’s were soft hisses.
Hunter gave Luka his business smile—flashing his white teeth. He hadn’t worn sunglasses to the meeting, so his eyes glittered like polished topaz gems. “If that is the case, Weller Goblin Enterprises is the perfect vendor. Most of the pixie powder available in Chicago is imported by us. You already trust us to be importers, why not vendors?” he said. His voice was coaxing and warm.
Luka did not look impressed, but the fairy and dryad representatives were enthralled.
“Mr. Weller does have a valid point,” the fairy board member said.
“I agree,” the dryad said.
Elros Gloriath—one of two elf representatives on the board—scowled. “Get your head out of the clouds. He’s using his magic on you.”
The wizard representative straightened up in his chair. “He is?” he said, his voice shaded with a touch of panic. He had a blindfold tied around his head so he couldn’t see Hunter’s eyes. (Apparently Hunter’s persuasion magic had terribly affected him in previous meetings, before I came along.)
I stood, accidentally thumping my knee on my desk, and strolled towards Hunter and his cronies. No one seemed to notice or care when one of Hunter’s bodyguards—Logan, I knew him quite well from the weekend I was kidnapped—stepped aside so I could take his place behind Hunter.
“Don’t be a twit, Dante. He can’t affect you as long as your eyes are covered,” Luka said.
“Perhaps,” Hunter said in his velvety voice.
The wizard squeaked and huddled in his chair.
Ranulf, the werewolf of the board, rubbed his eyes. “What I wouldn’t give to have Blood here,” he said, referring to the Blood Binder, the dragon board member who was the acting representative for all magical creatures.
