“I don’t have what you want,” I lied. I could feel the wand’s heat against my wrist where it remained hidden inside the plastic telepathic dagger. Could they feel it, too? I didn’t want to stick around to find out. Very carefully, I slid my feet back in teeny tiny steps as I typed a message into my phone. My eyes stayed firmly affixed on the squadron of glowing folk across from me.
Where did you park?
Parking garage around the corner. C3, far side.
“That is not what our spell says,” the leader said. “You are trailing wand magic, Miss Hargitay.” Shit. “We tracked the same magic from the Fairytale Endings factory, your place of business. Since we have no record of your acquiring your own, perfectly permitted wand, we have reached the conclusion that the wand is in your possession. You are required, by law, to relinquish it to us. Now.”
Meet me there, I typed. It wasn’t until I was almost across the bridge that I realized the squad hadn’t begun to cross. I didn’t have time to wonder why, for the whole thing began to shake and thump under my feet. Impossible, my brain said. It wasn’t the kind of bridge that should be able to do that, more a floor that had space on either side and waist-high walls to ensure no one fell. Structurally, it should be as sound as the rest of the building.
As my brain separated itself from the situation with cold, hard supposition, my body was left to deal with the quaking that accompanied a roar of rage. I dropped to the floor, one knee to the ground, my hands over my ears as the roar intensified. A second later, the bridge shuddered as an eight-foot-tall monster threw itself onto the empty space in the middle. From where, I had no idea. One minute the bridge was empty except for me, and the next, boom! Troll. Its fat legs bulged with muscle beneath a shaggy kilt that looked like it wore a small herd of yaks as a belt. On its head was a dented bronze helm with a single horn jutting from the side. Aside from that, its brown-green, largely hairless body was bare.
“Trespasser!” it bellowed. “You have not paid Flogmount, Keeper of the Bridge, for passage. You in trouble now!”
The squad leader glanced at the floor. With a minute movement, he eased his foot back so that his toes were no longer on the bridge. “Forgive us, great hairy one. It was accidental, I assure you. We were merely speaking to her…” He pointed a long, rather girlish finger straight at me. “WHIRA business.”
“Only one law matters on Flogmount’s bridge—Flogmount law!” But he was turning even as he said it, peering under his meaty arm at me. His face was human…but kind of like the pug equivalent. His nose was upturned as if he’d smashed into one too many windows in one too many cartoons. His eyes were too far apart. His lower jaw jutted out beyond his top teeth, giving him an automatic snarl.
“Godmother paid. Good costume, Godmother. Flogmount approves.” And then those big, mossy eyes were back on the squad. “You, though. You no fun. You feel Flogmount’s fists now.”
The troll ambled across the bridge, his wide frame taking up most of it, swaying from side to side like an ape on two legs. As the squad leader raised his hand, a bolt of lightning erupted across the space. Flogmount knocked the spell aside like a noisome fly to blacken a spot on the ceiling. At the same moment, he broke wind. Like an explosion of sulfur and methane, it slammed into me and knocked me flat. I choked, gagged, worked hard not to vomit as the whole world turned into a miasma of rotten eggs and cow pies. Unable to see where I was going, I dragged myself off the bridge.
I hit fresh air and lay there gasping for what was probably only two seconds. But the cool, clear air refreshing my nostrils, eyes, and throat made me think perhaps I had died and the eternity stretching out beyond was heaven. Heaven smelled like oregano and rotisserie chicken.
“Right on!” a character with spiky blue hair said from my left, shattering my delusion. A wall of con-goers had formed at the edge of the bridge, every one with a phone out and recording. For a moment, I lay there wondering what their cameras actually recorded. Surely not the golden sparklers and bronze fireworks. Probably not the real troll, either. How far did magic go to maintain the illusion for mundanes? Did they see a normal-sized man in a troll costume? Or did they see the real thing but their minds somehow convinced them it was totally normal?
I didn’t have time to ask. As my brain caught back up, finally clear of troll flatulence, I scrambled to my feet and pushed my way through the crowd. It was pretty deep. Mueller could have been two people away and I never would have seen him.
On my way, his return text read.
I left behind the people recording what they probably believed to be the best LARP experience ever and headed for the parking garage. Only at Comic Con…
My legs and feet were sweaty and uncomfortable in those boots by the time I made it to C1. Chafing wasn’t far off. I considered magicking them back to sneakers, changing the costume back into my street clothes, but I doubted Amy would be happy with that.
Amy.
Had she gone into the ballroom? Would she get her interview? From the sign outside the door, I had gathered that a few lucky participants would be given the chance to earn a coveted spot with the company after the presentation. If I couldn’t convince my brother to give her one of them - since I had failed miserably at it - then maybe I could improve her luck enough to land one. What sort of spell would that be?
In the middle of the parking garage, dressed as a purple-clad comic book character, I stopped, spread my feet in appropriate hero stance, and closed my eyes. “With all my heart and all my magic, I send her luck and remove what’s tragic,” I breathed, surprising myself. I hadn’t intended to say anything. The words just came out, all rhymey and right. I flourished my dagger with the wand inside and watched in delight as a purple bubble erupted from the tip. It lit the parking garage with glittering purple light as it danced through the air, spinning and bobbing until it escaped into the open sky and disappeared.
“Go me!” I shouted, my voice echoing across the otherwise silent garage.
From the floor below mine, I heard someone say, “Did you hear that, sir?”
Whether it was the wand squad or not - there might have been military personnel in attendance, right? Or at least people pretending to be? - I ducked behind the nearest car. As quietly as I could, I wove through the parked cars with one ear turned toward the stairs.
I found Mueller’s truck exactly where he said it would be, and tried the handle. Like a responsible adult, he’d locked it.
I took a deep breath to calm my heart and steady my hand. “Unlock,” I whispered, waving my dagger-wand. To my shock, I heard a gentle click.
Before I could climb in, slam the door, and magic the engine on, the sound of many hard footfalls arrived. They couldn’t have been walking; I would have heard them approach. Had they flown, or merely camouflaged their steps? And if the latter, why let me hear them at all?
“I am required by law to inform you that resisting magical object remittance is punishable by incarceration, sentence to be determined by a judge at a later date. The wand does not belong to you. Remit, Ms. Hargitay, or be taken into custody.”
They advanced on Mueller’s truck, all seven of them moving as one. Well-trained, each with an expression that most would probably characterize as resting bitch face, but which I saw for what it was—emotionless duty. Whatever sort of magical folk these were, they weren’t human. That emptiness went all the way down. For all that they looked like people, sounded like people, talked like people, these creatures were all commitment, all duty, all regulation, and no compassion. There was no reasoning with duty and regulation.
I rested my forehead against the door frame of Mueller’s SUV, weighing my options. Option One: Refuse to give up the wand so I could stand a chance of helping Amy and saving my mom (and everyone else) from the sleeping sickness…but end up in magical Folk prison. I had no idea what that might be like when magic could do all kinds of things humans couldn’t, and that was more than a little worrisome. Or Option Two: Relinquish the wand, stay out of magi
cal jail where I would probably be considered lucky if I was stuck talking to animated furniture for eternity…and lose the chance to save anyone but myself. People might tell me I didn’t need a wand to do magic, but I could barely manage to change one set of clothes into another without doing semi-permanent damage to the wearer. Whatever they said, I needed this wand to do the magic I needed to do. It would be several months before I received my own wand; did my mom have that long? I still had no idea how a sleeping curse worked.
Then again, I couldn’t save anyone from jail…
I was about to make up my mind when four sharp heel clicks resounded like gunshots across the parking garage. A familiar, cool voice asked, “Is it not enough for you to tear apart my factory and bring the mundane police down upon my head, Egeus? You must now assault my employees in broad daylight, as well?”
“It is not your place to intervene, Miss Zent,” Egeus, the squad leader said flatly. “This woman has an implement that does not belong to her.”
“It’s Ms. Zent,” she said, hissing the double-z sound like a snake with a forked tongue. “You would be wise not to forget it, minion.”
The group flinched as one. “We are not minions,” Egeus corrected, a slight wrinkle in his aquiline nose. “We are respected members of WHIRA with power and responsibility in our own right.”
She waved an imperious, long, red-nailed hand. “Give a toad a crown, it’s still a toad.” Bronze sparks danced around the short guy in back, but she ignored him. Instead, my boss turned her pointy-toed pumps toward me and asked, “Do you have what they want, Ms. Hargitay?”
I couldn’t read her. Probably because she scared me. I had seen enough on her computer to know she wasn’t one of the good guys, and the lack of movement from the wand squad told me she was at least as magically scary as a bridge troll. Then again, he’d been kind of nice. Even complimentary. Mallora Zent hadn’t said two nice words to me all week.
Her gaze swept over me appraisingly. This time when her sculpted black brow arched, it seemed to approve. “You’ve done well. Why do you not bring this side of your talents to work? Add to the company’s reputation instead of detracting from it?”
It took me a moment to wet my mouth and throat enough to speak. “You want me to dress like a superhero at work?” I croaked.
She laughed. Actually threw her head back and laughed. With real warmth. So much warmth, in fact, I thought the parking garage actually got a few degrees hotter. Across from me, the squad members were shaking their heads, hands over their ears. All except Egeus, who didn’t take his eyes from me for a second.
To Ms. Zent, he said, “Your petty enchantments will not work on me, witch. I must inform you, according to Article 6B, subsection 22, that you will be subject to sentencing by a judge if you continue to interfere in official Wand, Haberdashery, and Implement Regulation Agency business. The wand must be relinquished. Now.”
The statuesque woman took a step toward me, her black gown rippling like the shadow of a flag on a windy day. That was…not reassuring. Quietly, while most of the squad was still befuddled, she murmured, “Give them what they’re asking for, Ms. Hargitay.”
My knees trembled. To my abject mortification, my chin actually quivered. “I can’t.” I glanced at Egeus and made my decision. “I don’t have it.” I didn’t really sound like I believed me, but it was all the self-assurance I could manage.
“Certainly you have something you can give them?” She stared at me with the sort of slow head lean that meant I was supposed to be understanding something.
Not pretty and not intelligent. Great. She was really going to want to keep me employed at this rate. I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came to me. My voice was as silent as my brain.
Ms. Zent pinched the bridge of her nose and said with a carefully moderated tone, “They are required to take any potentially magical object back to headquarters for immediate testing. Isn’t that right, Egeus?”
“According to Section 11 of—”
“Exactly. You must have something that will satisfy their superiors?” She leaned closer. Close enough to whisper, and for me to smell the faint trace of cinnamon and smoke of her perfume. “That’s the thing about minions. They must follow their orders whether they like it or not.”
“We are not minions!” Egeus shouted, a crackle of electricity making all the tiny hairs across my bare arms and neck stand on end.
The tall woman raised to her full height and brushed her night-black hair over her shoulders. “My mistake.” She glanced sideways at me, flicking her fingers at Mueller’s car behind her back.
Something to distract them, I thought. Something that will satisfy their orders. What in the world did I have that minions would find distracting? I glanced down at the ample cleavage revealed by my leotard. Nah. If that worked, they wouldn’t have made it across the convention center so easily. So…what?
Come on, Hargitay. Think!
Except I couldn’t. My mind was full of images of the people I was failing. My mom in her flimsy hospital gown and sterile room. Mueller, his dark glare calling me an idiot in my own head. Amy, drifting peacefully in a sleep tank while her archeress lived her life for her.
Maybe I should just give up. Hand over the wand, give up the responsibility. Let what was going to happen, happen. Accept that I couldn’t hack it. Not as a photographer, not as a godmother. Not as anything that most people regarded as worthwhile.
“I had no idea Maysie’s standards had slipped so far,” Ms. Zent said with a strange edge of disappointment. “Once upon a time, her new hires were forces to reckon with.” She sighed as if I had let her down, too. “But then, she did always favor the underdog. Some nonsense about their magic being more powerful. Suffering and despair making them stronger women. What do you think, Egeus? Do you think Ms. Hargitay here is stronger than her traditionally chosen contemporaries?”
The squad leader seemed to be working hard not to answer, to retain his composure and perfect, blond-haired, lapis-eyed facade. Something about the pale-skinned witch won him over, though. Magic I couldn’t sense, maybe. Or possibly she was just that commanding a presence. Unlike me. “Union godmothers do tend to be more…” he hesitated, as if afraid of offending me, and then went ahead and did it anyway, “…put together.”
Irritation chased away the edges of my depression, thawing my brain some. Who did he think he was? “I bet most of them have training and the support of someone who knows what they’re doing and not just a bunch of doors being slammed in their faces,” I snapped, unable to stop the words.
“Perhaps,” my boss murmured, her voice somehow both chastising and encouraging at the same time, “you simply need to learn to recognize a helping hand when it is offered?”
I looked at her perfectly painted face with its sharp nose and chin somehow softened by blush and who knew what else. Probably magic. I couldn’t deny that she looked like the witch Egeus called her. The pretty kind that cajoled unsuspecting fools into their lair, never to be seen again. Was she cajoling me now? Using a spell to make me feel the tiniest bit grateful for the words as sharp as her nose? Or did I really feel grateful she was helping me?
For now, it didn’t matter. I glanced at Egeus and nodded slowly. “Okay. Let me get this…this thing for you.”
I climbed into Mueller’s driver’s seat backwards, buying myself time to think with slow movements. I didn’t want my boss thinking I was a complete moron, but I still wasn’t sure what she meant. Something to satisfy their orders… Their orders were to take Maysie’s wand, right? So to satisfy that without giving them the real wand…
My forehead connected with the seat more harshly than I intended, but I deserved it. How dense could I be? The answer was, literally, right in front of me.
With dramatic flair, I made a show of digging through the accumulated junk in Mueller’s back seat, pretending I had hidden the wand where I thought no one would find it. Truthfully, I was pretty sure the depths of the cache of free toys, empt
y pop cans, sticky beef jerky wrappers, and moist McRib boxes was one of the best hiding places for anything small enough to get lost in it. The roll of antacids I found that expired three years ago made my case for me.
After a couple minutes of digging, I selected a wand box, made sure the toy was still inside, and slowly sat back up. I held it to my chest like it mattered more than anything in the world to me. “She told me not to give it to anyone,” I said. That part wasn’t a lie, at least.
“Nostalgia is a godmother’s greatest weakness,” Egeus replied, stepping forward to extend his hand expectantly.
I started to hand it to him, but hesitated as something occurred to me. “But don’t you think, maybe, she expected to come back to reclaim it? Like she was asking me to hold onto it until she was done doing…whatever it is she’s doing? Because she never said goodbye, and wouldn’t that be the nostalgic thing to do?”
Egeus wrapped his long, elegant fingers around the free end of the box and tugged insistently. “I am not authorized to engage in supposition.”
Ms. Zent let out a feminine snort of derision. “What did I tell you? Minions.” She waved him away. “You have what you came for, Egeus. Now shoo. Back to your mistresses.”
The blond man narrowed those gleaming eyes at her. Electricity sizzled up the box to zap my fingers. I let go with a squeak of surprise and stuck my tingling fingers in my mouth.
“A minion would not be able to tell you that he would be returning in three hours should this prove to be a fake. Nor would he suggest the possibility of foul play in such circumstances as a free agent godmother passing on her wand for safekeeping.”
My boss’s eyes widened innocently, a look that didn’t really fit her face. “Yet they do seem to refer to themselves in the third person…”
Egeus glared at her, but said no more as he deftly placed the wand box into a blue velvet bag and pulled the drawstring tight. When the squad had taken up formation again, he said to me, “The Wand, Haberdashery, and Implement Regulation Agency thanks you for your cooperation, Miss Hargitay. A representative will be in touch regarding a replacement implement. Have a sunny day.” Except the way he said it suggested more rain in my forecast than sunshine.
One Good Wand Page 35
