by Susan Harper
Monica smiled. “You don’t have to defend your choice to me, Coach Joanne-Jo. I think he’s lovely…not that I’ve met him.”
Joanne-Jo smiled. “Things are changing, my dear.”
“Yes, that seems to be the common topic of discussion I’ve had these days,” Monica said, grinning. “But a conversation I’ve recently had with a troll has made me realize something. Not everyone is ready for change.”
Joanne-Jo returned to her seat at the edge of the desk, crossing her legs and this time folding her hands and placing them gently atop her knee. “Yes, I would have to agree with you. Not everyone is pleased with the way the world is going. I must say, the local sprites had a field day about my husband and I when I moved to Wysteria. But they’ve come around.”
“Have you ever heard talk amongst any of the stadium’s staff about their opinions on mixed-breeds?” Abigail asked, and Monica nodded approvingly at the question.
Joanne-Jo shook her head. “Everyone around here knows two things about me: one, that I’m in charge of writing paychecks and who gets to work at the stadium, and two, that I’m married to a pixie. If anyone working here did have an attitude about inner-mystic relationships, they would be wise not to speak those opinions in front of me. My husband comes here all the time in my support, so I doubt there is a single mystic here who doesn’t know my opinion on inner-mystic relations.”
“Pardon me if this is a bit personal,” Abigail said, slowly making her way from her corner. “But I’ve never seen a sprite and pixie hybrid. Do you and your husband have any little ones?”
“Not yet,” Joanne-Jo said. “But, frankly, I know a few other sprites who are with pixies, and the children are precious in my eyes.”
“Happen to know any other centaur-witch hybrids?” Abigail asked.
“Very few,” Joanne-Jo said. “All of them look very humanoid, though. I suppose that’s why Trapper is such a surprise to me. Usually the humanoid part is a little more evident in a half-breed.”
“Do you mind if we continue to look around the stadium a bit?” Monica asked. “Just want to see if we can find anything to help us out with Trapper’s case.”
“By all means,” Joanne-Jo said, waving them towards the door. “We have nothing to hide.”
Monica thanked the sprite for speaking with them before she and Abigail headed back out into the hall. Coach Joanne-Jo didn’t seem to know anything of use, either. Monica was beginning to realize how difficult of a case this was going to be. There was little way to assert exactly who had known about Trapper’s identity as a half-breed before his death or even to determine whether or not this was the true motive behind his murder. If it wasn’t, that opened up a whole new realm of possibilities, and if it was, it seemed impossible to simply determine whether or not someone held a secret prejudice.
The pair went from room to room, checking out the locker rooms for anything remotely related to what could have possibly happened to Trapper, but to no avail. Eventually, they came across a small office filled with several desks. Inside, Monica recognized Xana, the witch who had refereed the Romp-A-Roo game, along with a wizard she did not recognize.
“So, when are they thinking they’re going to have the field ready?” the wizard was saying as Monica and Abigail entered.
Xana looked up at them curiously. “I’m afraid I don’t know you? Are you one of the new referees?” Xana asked.
“Oh, sorry, no,” Monica said.
The man grinned somewhat flirtatiously in Monica’s direction, and she felt herself instinctively cringe as the gaze seemed to predict some unwanted attention. “Don’t be so rude, Xana,” the man said and stuck out his hand to shake. “Walter. One of the referees here. Is there something I can help you with, miss?”
Monica shook as the wizard continued staring her up and down. “I’m Monica. Coach Joanne-Jo gave me permission to look around. My familiar and I are looking into what happened to Trapper.”
Xana frowned upon hearing the centaur’s name. “Quite a tragedy,” she said. “He was an excellent Romp-A-Roo player. Didn’t know him personally, but I always enjoyed watching him play.”
“You’re telling me,” Walter said in agreement. “Good ball player. Absolutely. So, you a Romp-A-Roo fan, Monica? You know, I used to play.”
Monica shrugged. “Not really. I understand the game and all, but I never really got too caught up in the hype.”
Abigail snorted a bit, and Walter shot her an annoyed glance. “Well, Xana, my familiar’s waiting for me out back,” Walter said at last. “I’ll just catch you tonight at the meeting.”
“Sounds good, Walter,” Xana said with a slight laugh as the wizard made his way out. Xana grinned in Monica’s direction. “You’ll have to forgive Walter. He is a bit of a flirt. He means well, but he was in a relationship for a long time that sort of blew up in his face. He’s forgotten how to flirt, I think.”
Monica smirked. “He’s a handsome fellow,” Monica said. “I might have returned the flirtation some if I wasn’t in a relationship.”
Abigail huffed. “Yeah, but you know that’s temporary.”
Monica gave Abigail a less than friendly nudge. “You’re rotten.”
“What a pleasant familiar you got there,” Xana said, shaking her head. “Mine can be a grouch too. She’s a little burrowing owl. Won’t leave the house with me if there is any sign of bad weather.”
“It’s been sunny all day,” Monica said.
“There was a bit of a breeze, and she swore up and down it was going to rain,” Xana said with an eye-roll. “That rotten little thing thinks she can predict the weather.” Xana glanced down at Abigail. “Why are you so rude to your witch? Not like her new boyfriend?”
“I like him just fine,” Abigail said, though this was the closest thing to kind words Monica had ever heard Abigail say about Brian. Abigail shrugged a bit. “I just don’t think it will last. He’s mortal and doesn’t know she’s a witch.”
“Mortal?” Xana asked. “That’s…interesting, and he doesn’t know you’re a witch?”
“No, not yet,” Monica said. “Waiting to see where the relationship goes before I get permission from the Sorcerer’s Council to reveal the mystic realm to him. Not exactly one of those first few date conversations.”
Xana smirked ever so slightly. “Yes… Mortals shock easily, so I’m told. I couldn’t imagine actually dating one…” There seemed to be a slight hint of judgement in her eyes.
For the first time, Monica realized that some mystics might actually have a problem with Brian. While her Aunt Wilma adored mortals, Monica had more family than just her aunt and sister. What would the rest of the Montoya family think? What about her mystic friends she had grown up with? While Xana was trying her best to be friendly, Monica could still sense the woman’s discomfort with knowing that Monica, a witch, was seeing a mortal. The thought of one of her family members giving her that same look made Monica’s stomach suddenly drop.
“Well, if there is anything I can help you with, let me know,” Xana said, picking up a few files from her desk. “I’ve got to get this order out for a new podium. We would probably in any other case have just used a spell to grow the top half of the podium back, but Coach Joanne-Jo wants the rest of it completely removed. She thinks it’d be disrespectful to Trapper’s memory or something to leave it up.”
“I can see that,” Monica said.
“For now, I’ve got to go,” Xana said. “Like Walter, I’ve got to get back to my familiar. I’m going to tell her she was wrong about rain. Uppity little know-it-all…” And with that, Xana headed out the door.
“You all right?” Abigail asked as she jumped up onto Xana’s desk. Abigail was staring, her head turned slightly, making her seem like she was actually a cute little cat for a moment.
“Yeah…fine… I’m fine,” Monica said, waving her off. “Let’s see if we can find anything…”
Monica began roaming through some of the desks, but she didn’t find much. Just pa
perwork on equipment orders, scoring sheets, and evidence that one of the referees liked to put something other than pumpkin juice in a flask he kept in one of his bottom drawers. However, something in Xana’s desk did provoke her interest. Tucked within a book, she found an odd-looking brochure. At first, Monica thought the writing was runes, but upon studying it a bit further, she realized she was unable to decipher it. “What is this mess?” Monica asked. “These aren’t runes?”
“Wait, let me see that,” Abigail said, and Monica set the pamphlet down and turned it around to face Abigail, who was still seated on top of Xana’s desk.
While Abigail looked at it, Monica opened the book the brochure had been in. It was just a book on the history of Salem, Massachusetts. Monica snickered slightly at what Xana would have thought if she had realized that Monica’s familiar was in fact the Abigail Williams from the notorious Salem witch trials. “Interesting,” Monica said as she flipped through the book. “Didn’t realize there were actual witches other than you anywhere near Salem during those trials.”
“Boston,” Abigail said. “That’s why I fled there when the trials went south… Monica, I think we have a problem.”
“What’s that?” Monica said, putting Xana’s book down and looking at Abigail. Immediately, Monica could tell that this little brochure had stirred something uncomfortable within her familiar. “Can you read it? Do you know what it is?”
“Yeah… It’s Cinur,” Abigail said.
“Cinur?” Monica asked. “Wait… Cinur is a made-up language. I remember studying that in history class in high school. A cult of witches and wizards created it for secret messages or something, right?”
“Right,” Abigail said. “Cinur is the written language of the Remembrance.”
Monica’s eyes widened. “Remembrance? You mean that group that tried to close the breach between the mortal and mystic world? They’re long gone, aren’t they?”
Abigail looked quite anxious. “Yes, they’re gone…but that doesn’t mean there aren’t mystics out there who study their nonsense teachings.”
Monica looked down at the pamphlet. “What did they teach?” Monica asked. “I mean, I know they didn’t like mortals…”
“Not just mortals, Monica,” Abigail said. “The Remembrance killed half-breeds and punished their parents for bringing them into the world. That cult was the worst thing to ever come out of the mystic world, and that referee has a pamphlet sitting in her desk with their secret language scribbled all over it.”
“But…no one knew about Trapper being a half-breed until after he was killed,” Monica said. “Except the Sorcerer’s Council.”
“But if we can prove that Xana found out, I do believe we found our killer,” Abigail said. “If she’s a Remembrance follower, I have no doubt in my mind that she killed Trapper.”
13
Monica and Abigail decided that before heading home to Bankstown, they were going to pay one final visit to the Sorcerer’s Council to see if they could get any more information from any of the members who had been present at the time of Trapper’s murder. Monica felt as though they were far too close to figuring out the case now to simply turn in for the day. Once Monica and Abigail landed outside of the courthouse, Monica left her broom seated out front where a number of brooms were waiting on their owners inside. “Be back in a bit,” she told her broom, and the thing shook a bit before she and Abigail headed in.
“Do you think we will be able to get another hearing one day?” Abigail asked as they walked across the marble floor of the lobby.
Monica sighed. “I sure hope so, Abigail. I wish things hadn’t have turned out so poorly for you the last time. I was hoping we could try to get your sentence cut in half during that last hearing.”
Abigail nodded. “Well, it was my own fault, really. I snapped at that mortal, revealed myself as a familiar, and threatened her too. They were so close to reducing my sentence thanks to your character witness statement, and I ruined it. I’m the one in deep need of an attitude adjustment.”
“First step on the road to recovery is admitting you have a problem,” Monica teased. “You have issues with mortals, and you need to work on it.”
“I know, I know,” Abigail huffed. “You think the past nearly three centuries would have burned that lesson into me by now.”
“One hundred and seventy-four years to go, Abs,” Monica said. “Time will fly by.”
Abigail groaned. “Believe me, it won’t. I’m hoping I can get another chance at reducing that sentence.”
“You have to work on you and show the council you’ve changed,” Monica said. “We can work on that together.”
Abigail sighed dramatically, as was her typical fashion. “Yes, yes, I suppose. Got to learn to be a good little girl. Not exactly my specialty.”
Monica snickered. She could hear voices coming from just around the corner, and she spotted Nud walking alongside a mermaid who was being wheeled about in an oversized fishbowl. “Yes, I’ll be sure to get all that paperwork taken care of, Merida,” Nud was saying.
“Thank you, as always, Nud,” the mermaid said, her head poking up out of the bowl seated on the cart. “You know how difficult it is for me to get to and from the courthouse.”
“Anytime, Merida, honestly,” Nud said. “You can’t be expected to make quick trips here like the witches and wizards. Not until that portal is fixed. How is your mother, by the way?”
“Bitter as always,” Merida said with a laugh. “She’s gotten so rotten with her age.” Merida paused and tapped Nud on the arm, nodding toward Monica and Abigail. “No doubt they’re here to see you.” She turned to the dwarf pushing her cart. “Do you mind getting me out front, Reggie? I have a sprite friend of mine who is going to get me back to the riverside.”
“Of course, Councilwoman Merida, I’d be happy to,” Reginald said, pushing the cart holding up Merida’s fishbowl towards the exit.
“Good day, Ms. Montoya, Abigail,” Merida said with an approving nod.
Monica smiled politely as the councilwoman was carted off. “How did she know that we were coming to see you?”
“You have spoken to me every time you’ve been here since the death of Trapper. It’s not exactly a secret you and your little familiar are looking into what happened to the lad,” Nud said. “What can I help you with, Ms. Montoya?”
Monica smiled. “Yes, well, we are pretty adamant about helping out.”
“I see that,” Nud said. “As am I.”
“Can you tell us anything about a group called Remembrance?” Monica asked.
“I’m sure you can find information on that in a history book,” Nud said. “Violent sort. It’s been illegal for the organization to gather for centuries.”
“Really?” Monica asked.
“Why are you asking about Remembrance?” Nud asked.
“We came across a pamphlet written in Cinur during our investigation,” Monica said.
“Cinur?” he asked. “That’s quite alarming to hear.”
“I’m starting to wonder if perhaps Trapper becoming a public figure for the centaur community might have been why he was targeted. There is no doubt a cultural shift happening, but as I was told by a troll recently, there is often pushback when it comes to cultural progression. Do you think Trapper might have been targeted because he was a mixed breed? Or even simply because he was a centaur playing a sport that used to belong strictly to witches and wizards?” Monica asked.
“It’s certainly possible. Trapper had only recently come out as being part-wizard. Many in his own community still didn’t know it. He was starting to use his platform a bit. He had just shared with me not but a month ago some of his plans for helping with the movements. He was doing a lot for centaur and onocentaur relationships already between the two communities, and now he was looking into mending some broken relationships between non-humanoid mystics like centaurs and humanoid mystics like witches and wizards. I thought he would become the next centaur representative for
the Sorcerer’s Council one day. He was a wise soul far beyond his years,” Nud said.
“So, he was interested in politics?” Monica asked.
“Very much so,” Nud said. “Like I said, I certainly could have seen him running for my position when I retired. I do hope to see another young centaur step up in the way that he has for his community. I think being part-wizard might have given him a bit of confidence, but I do hope his outspoken nature has inspired something in other young centaurs.”
“I believe it has,” Monica said. “We visited the centaur herd that lives just on the outskirts of Wysteria recently, and I was blown away by the difference I’ve seen since my last visit just a little over a month ago.”
“We certainly have mystics like Trapper to thank for that,” Nud said proudly. “Times are changing, no doubt. I truly believe that Trapper would have turned out to be an excellent spokesperson for inner-species relationships. I am so saddened that the lad is gone. The differences he already made are paramount compared to even myself. That boy has done more in his brief time as an athlete than I feel like I have done half my career as a member of the Sorcerer’s Council, and I have been at this for a very long time. Why, at the game, I was just telling Xana what Trapper could mean for—”
“Xana?” Abigail interrupted.
“Yes, the witch who was referring the game,” Nud said. “We were talking about Trapper. She was very impressed with his athleticism. You don’t usually see centaurs playing Romp-A-Roo. I explained to her that he did have a bit of wizard in him, and she asked me a bit more about it. I told her what all he had been doing at his herd and mending onocentaur and centaur relations, and I told her a bit about Misty. Sweet girl, that Misty is. I told her that I expected Trapper to do great things for inner-species relations, as he was planning on revealing to the world about his mixed heritage to further his platform. I must say, I am very impressed with his youthful concern for mystic culture. Xana was quite supportive, I dare say.”
