by K. M. Shea
“That scumbag,” I growled, tossing the magnifying glass aside.
“What are you going to do?” Nick asked.
“I’m going to find Administrator Moonspell, and I’m going to kick him in the shins,” I said, storming out of my office.
Nick, Ed, and Harrison were hot my heels.
“Couldn’t you just refuse to sign?” Nick asked.
“No, he’s gone too far,” I said, striding down the hallway.
Ed chuckled as he scurried to keep up with my fast pace and Nick’s long stride. “This should be a sight.”
“Morgan,” Nick said, catching my wrist. “As much as I would like to see you take on Administrator Moonspell, I cannot, in good conscious, allow you to do this. He’s a powerful being.”
Behind us Harrison cleared his throat and stared at my wrist that Nick held. Nick glanced at the bodyguard and let me go, taking a step back.
I smiled at Nick. “Thanks for your concern, but this guy needs a wakeup call. He has it coming.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Nick said, taking out his cell phone.
“I don’t, but I know injustice when I see it, and I’m not about to let it slide,” I said as we entered the main MBRC chamber. “Harrison, where is Administrator Moonspell right now?”
“Phoenix floor, heading for the staircase of the main MBRC chamber,” Harrison said.
I set off towards the described destination.
Ed trotted with and asked, “How do you know that?”
“Occupational secret,” Harrison said.
The phoenix floor was a flight up, so I had to climb some stairs. But when we reached the central chamber, I could spot Administrator Moonspell and his minions at the far side of the room, observing the chamber from behind a railing.
Administrator Moonspell is unfortunately gorgeous, like his sons. He has Asahi’s golden sunshine hair, and Aysel’s silver eyes. He looks like he’s in his early forties, and is probably Aysel’s fashion model as he wears robes and stuff, but he’s super stiff. He moves so squarely and evenly he resembles a graceful robot.
“I see him. Wish me luck,” I said before stalking off.
“Take him to the streets,” Ed advised, selecting a good vantage point.
Nick acknowledged my comment with a wave as he called someone on his phone.
Administrator Moonspell didn’t acknowledge me until I was a few feet away, but his peons saw me coming halfway across the room, stalking the walkway that snaked around the perimeter of the room.
A few of the minions shrank back, and an elf leaned in to whisper into Moonspell’s ear.
“Miss Fae, what part of immediately did you not understand? You arrived at the MBRC well over half an hour ago,” Administrator Moonspell said, his voice elegant and careless.
I held the contract up so he could see it. “This was the contract you wanted me to sign, yes?” I asked before I shredded it in half.
The minions gaped at me with slack jaws and horrified expressions. Administrator Moonspell narrowed his eyes—showing me who Aysel inherited his glares from. “You disrespect me?”
“Yes, because this contract is bogus,” I said, tossing the two halves to the ground. “Not to mention it’s, like, totally illegal.”
“You are in the magical community, Miss Fae. Your petty government requirements do not apply here.”
“Yeah, but common decency should!”
One of Administrator Moonspell’s eyebrows twitched. “Must you shout like an unschooled banshee?”
“I’m not shouting,” I said with gritted teeth. “And you can be sure I will not be working at the MBRC in the future. I might have—before you pulled this stunt. Now you can forget it.”
Administrator Moonspell deigned to sigh. “If you mean to threaten me, Miss Fae, it will not work. You have been nothing but a thorn in my side since your arrival—it was not I who wanted to keep you employed here. Leave whenever you wish, I care not.”
“I will finish my contract! But if you think I was a ‘thorn’ before?” I chuckled darkly. “Imagine what kind of a pain I can be, with all I know and all the beings I am in contact with now. I promise, you’ll be hearing of me soon—and it won’t be about any of my classes,” I said, turning on my heels and marching away.
My glorious exit was almost ruined when I barely missed walking into Harrison. Harrison edged out of the way in time, avoiding the collision. As I walked away I heard Administrator Moonspell speak to his assistant.
“Evearan,” he said.
“Yes, sir?” his elf assistant said.
“You said the Pooka recently returned?”
“I did.”
“I can tell,” he said, his voice dull and dead before we were out of hearing range.
I stalked back to Nick—who was still on the phone—and Ed.
“Yes, she’s still alive,” Nick said to the phone. “I think she has as good as resigned once her contract is finished, though.”
Ed beamed as he patted me on the back—knocking air out of my lungs. “Good show,” he said. “Last time Moonspell scowled like that, a fairy clan was exiled from Chicago.”
Still angry and infuriated, the gravity of my actions hadn’t yet sunk in. “Someone really needs to put him in his place. What?” I said when Nick held out his phone.
“It’s for you,” Nicks aid.
I cautiously picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“I love your fire, Morgan. But don’t you think you could have reacted a little less impulsively?”
“Devin,” I said, recognizing his smooth voice. “Nick called you?”
“He did. I’m glad you took heed of my warning.”
I shifted, aware of Nick, Ed, and Harrison, and the way all three stared at me. “You aren’t the type to frighten easily. Thanks, by the way.”
“You’re welcome. Have you given further thought to your future?”
“Devin.”
“It was worth a shot. You have your advance placement class shortly, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Excellent. Run along and attach yourself to Asahi.”
“You think the Administrator will retaliate?”
“I don’t think, I know. It’s only a question of when.”
“Why? It’s his fault. Besides, I’ve gotten away with things before.”
“Perhaps, but then again you’ve never called him out in front of the entire MBRC.”
“No one noticed,” I said, glancing down at the main chamber. It was the usual busy, chaotic mess.
“I beg to differ. No one reacted.”
“Whatever. I’ve gotta go.”
“Take care. And try not to pick any additional fights, please.”
“Yeah, yeah. Bye, Devin,” I said before ending the call. “Thanks,” I said, passing the phone back to Nick.
“My pleasure,” Nick said. “I’m sorry, but I really should return to my office, if you have no further need of assistance.”
“Nah, I’m good. I’ve got class in about twenty minutes and I need to start preparing for it. Thank you. Both of you,” I said, looking to Ed to include him.
“Anytime,” Ed grunted.
“Do not hesitate to call if he offers you another contract,” Nick said.
“I won’t. Thank you, goodbye,” I said as we split up and set off in different directions. I glanced over my shoulder. “You okay back there, Krusher?”
“It’s Harrison, Miss Fae.”
“Yeah. Will you tell Hunter about this… incident for me?”
“Yes, Miss Fae.”
“Thanks.”
“Of course, Miss Fae.”
On Thursday, I was accosted by a dwarf—which was a new experience for me.
I was on my way to my office, edging through the central chamber of the MBRC. I didn’t notice anything out of place, but Harrison was hovering.
Normally Harrison stays about ten feet away in crowded places like the MBRC chamber, and about twenty or thirty
feet away in empty areas like hallways or streets.
But now he stood so close the sleeve of his expensive suit brushed my arm.
“Is something wrong, Krusher?”
“It’s Harrison, Miss Fae,” Harrison said, taking his sunglasses off as he looked behind us.
“What is it?” I asked.
Harrison said nothing, but he frowned and placed his arm on my lower back, gently pushing me forward.
“Harrison?” I asked, my heart beating faster. Was Administrator Moonspell about to extract his revenge?
“We’re surrounded,” he murmured.
I nonchalantly looked around the chamber, my eyes skimming over the crowd. Sure enough, a ring of buff, burly dwarves was closing in on us. “What do we do?”
“I suggest we get to the stairs,” Harrison said, still guiding me.
We made it to the base and were about to climb the staircase when a deep, booming voice spoke. “Morgan L. Fae.”
I whirled around, and found myself face to face with a dwarf. He had the typical squat, sturdy build of a dwarf, and was plenty hairy. His blonde hair exploded in braids everywhere, but his wore a brilliant crimson tunic, and, oddly enough, sported a gold tuxedo bow tie at his throat.
“Yes?” I said.
Harrison stepped in front of me and crouched into a defensive position as his venom green eyes glowed.
The bow-tie dwarf raised a bushy eyebrow. “Is the guard dog necessary?”
“That depends on what you want.”
“We wish to speak with ye.”
“About?”
The dwarf’s eyes gleamed. “Administrator Moonspell,” he said.
I swallowed and took a step up the stairs. “Harrison,” I said, my voice tight.
“The princess is in a pinch. I repeat, the princess is in a pinch,” Harrison said. (His goblin earpiece must have an ungodly long range.) He then reached out and wrenched a metal pipe from the stair railing, ripping it free with brute strength.
The dwarf blinked. “What? Wait a moment. Settle down, pup. I don’t think yer understanding what we desire. I’m from the Silver Heights dwarf clan. Here be my card,” he said, passing a business card to Harrison.
Harrison took the card and inspected it. He slid his sunglasses on and flipped it around a few times before handing the card to me.
“It’s good to meet you Mr.…Growintork?” I said, trying to pronounce the hazardly spelled name.
“Grogrintork,” the stout dwarf gently corrected me.
“Representative of the Silver Heights Clan,” I read.
“Aye,” the dwarf said. “We be from New Hampshire,” he said.
That struck me as a rather odd place to find dwarves, but my years with the MBRC has taught me that magic can be tucked away in the most unexpected places.
“How can I help you, Grogrintork?”
“I was hoping I might talk to you in a more…private location.”
I cast my eyes to Harrison. He was no longer standing as if he might throw himself at Grogrintork, but by no means was he relaxed. “Harrison?”
“Your office, Miss Fae,” he said before muttering something—probably to his correspondents hooked up to his earpiece.
“This way…gentlemen,” I said, glancing at Grogrintork’s cronies before taking the lead.
When Grogrintork gestured, three of his companions—who were pretty much walking armories since they were covered in a variety of weapons—separated from the ring and followed us up the stairs. The rest of the dwarves dispersed into the crowd.
We reached my office, thumping in with quite a ruckus since Grogrintork’s associates clanked when they walked.
“Miss Fae…,” Baobab trailed off, watching the dwarf procession troop past her desk. She hesitated. “Shall I get some coffee for your…guests?” she asked as Grogrintork plopped down in a chair—making it buckle.
“That would be awesome. Thanks, Baobab,” I said as Grogrintork’s men pushed their way through my office so they could stand behind their leader. One of the weapon covered dwarves would have knocked several pictures off the wall, but Harrison reached out and secured the frames as the dwarves scooted beneath him.
Baobab nodded before she fled, closing the office door behind her.
“Okay. How can I help you, Grogrintork?” I asked, seating myself at my desk. I glanced at Harrison when he silently took a spot at my left elbow.
Grogrintork knitted his leathery hands together. “We’re approachin’ ye on behalf of the dwarves of the MBRC.”
“For?”
“We’re officially requestin’ yer help.”
That was not what I expected. “Oh. Do you need help with rehabilitation—classes, maybe?”
Grogrintork shook his shaggy head. “No. We need representation.”
I drummed my fingers on my desk. “Where?”
“In the MBRC.”
“I assume you mean places like the MBRC board, and the administrator’s staff?” I said—it was a common complaint.
“Sort of.”
I held in a sigh. “Grogrintork, I’m afraid to say you aren’t alone. The MBRC board represents only a fraction of the creatures in the MBRC. The trolls, cyclopes, giants, sirens, hobgoblins or goblins—none of them have representation on the board. The board has to be small. It can’t have a member of every magical race or nothing would ever get done,” I said.
Grogrintork listened. When I finished he again shook his head, making his gristly hair fly. “We understand that. We have the same problem at clan gatherings. But I wasn’t just meanin’ the board. There’s not a dwarf in a single ‘ppointment of power here.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s two dwarf janitors and a couple o’ tunneling experts. That’s it. In the whole MBRC there’s less than six hired dwarves.”
I leaned back in my chair. “You are not like the cyclopes, who opt not to work at the MBRC?”
“Nope. Our folks have tried fer ages to get hired here. It’s near impossible to get in.”
My mind buzzed as I tried to recall seeing—or meeting—any dwarf employee. I couldn’t, which was pretty odd. Besides Hunter’s goblins and the cyclopes, the MBRC hired dozens of every sort of magical being I had ever met. But even though there were no cyclops or goblin employees, there were still liaisons. Harrison was considered a liaison—he even had the paperwork to prove it. “The MBRC won’t hire any of you? It’s not just excluding a certain, erm, clan?”
“Nope. There’s a hirin’ freeze on dwarves in general, and we’re sufferin’ fer it,” Grogrintork grimly said.
“How?”
“Without dwarf employees and coordinators, it’s wretched hard to get rehabilitation news. We’re always behind. Sides the dragons, dinosaurs, ‘n chimeras, we’re the worst rehabilitated magical being there is.”
‘There are other rehabilitation centers,” I said.
“True, but the MBRC is the biggest, ‘n all the other centers are taking their cue from it,” Grogrintork said as Baobab returned with a coffee pot and a tray of mugs.
“Thank you, Baobab,” I said as she gave me an insulated coffee thermos I kept in my office. I clicked the thermos open and sipped. “They fixed the cappuccino machine, finally?”
“Yes, but the latté machine is dead now,” Baobab said in her caramel voice as she poured a mug of coffee for Grogrintork.
The MBRC is…ok at getting their beings used to human food—I mean, they have cookie elves in their ranks. They can out bake and out cook some of the best human chefs on the planet. What I’m referring to is they’re so-so at introducing magical beings to ordering and eating in fast food restaurants, Chinese takeout places, bakeries and the like. The one aspect of public human restaurants they have whole heartedly accepted, though, is coffee. Seriously, there’s a cult for Starbucks among the hobgoblins.
As magical beings love their coffee, the MBRC cafeteria is fitted with state-of-the-art lattè machines, cappuccino machines, coffee bean grinders, F
rench presses, tea steepers; you name it, they have it.
The downside is that although they can competently run them, MBRC employees are really bad at fixing them, so half of the time they’re out of order, and the MBRC spends big bucks purchasing new ones more often than necessary.
Baobab looked to Grogrintork’s buddies. “Would you care for some coffee?” she asked after a moment of hesitation.
Two of the weapon covered dwarves shook their heads—the motion barely visible thanks to the huge axes strapped to their backs and the cannon balls fixed to their shoulders. The third dwarf, though, clanked as he stared at Baobab.
At first I thought he was nuts for coffee like the rest of the MBRC, but I noticed his eyes—which were the only things besides his large, round nose that was visible in the rat nest of his hair—were hinged on Baobab, and they glowed.
Somebody was crushing.
I hid my laugh by sipping my cappuccino as Baobab uneasily shifted.
Grogrintork glanced over his shoulder at his crony. “He’s fine,” he assured Baobab.
“I’ll just go take these back,” Baobab said, eager to leave the office.
When the door closed behind her I asked, “Is there a reason why you aren’t getting hired?”
If dwarves made poor workers I wasn’t going to force them on the MBRC, but at least I could see about getting a couple of liaisons in place.
“The high elves,” Grogrintork darkly said.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Dwarves ‘n high elves don’t rightly get along,” Grogrintork said.
I frowned. “You mean that’s not just part of the fairy tale we humans made up?”
“Nope,” Grogrintork said, resting his hands on his belt. “We’re great chums with fire elves, and we get along with the cookie elves ‘n wood elves, and most all elf races—even the Beer Brothers! The high elves are the only kind ‘o elf we’re at real odds with.”
“Is there a particular reason for that?”
Grogrintork scratched his chin through his beard. “Might have something to do with all the practical jokes we’ve played on ‘em over the centuries. The gits don’t have a sense of humor. But best as I can tell, they just don’t like us. We’re too different, and now they have it in their silly heads that we’re enemies.”
