The Conspiracy of Unicorns

by Michael Angel

  Then came the really interesting details. The discovery of the spiral stairway beneath the dungeons. The hidden crystal cavern far below the palace. The ‘bridge’ that led to Crossbow Consulting’s warehouse. Archer. Harrison. The thing that slept inside the Ruby Crypt.

  My voice faltered a bit from there on. Shelly got up and put her hand on my arm for a moment, steadying me. I spoke about the escape to my house. Esteban’s arrival. The horrific gunfight that took Vega’s life. The fight that would have meant my death had it not been for Magnus’ spellcraft, Shaw’s strength, and Queen Nagura’s terrifying power.

  Fitzwilliam looked deep in thought as I finally wound down. Shelly picked up a jug of ice water where it sat sweating next to the hospital bed. She poured out a full serving into a plastic cup and handed it to me. I sipped at it as the King spoke.

  “Mayhap I have misjudged the worth of your Hakseeka friend. She seems to have proven her loyalty to you. Might she extend that loyalty to my kingdom as well?”

  “It’s possible,” I said, as I finished my cup and set it aside. “Nagura is what the Court Wizard has called ‘a superbly rational creature’. That’s about as strong a recommendation as I’ve ever heard from him.”

  “But what does this ‘Queen’ want?”

  “Your Majesty, Nagura has asked me to avoid using that title in public, for she makes no claim to rule anything but her own destiny. All she wishes is to find others of her kind. She’s stranded three thousand years beyond her own time. I can’t imagine how isolated and alone she must feel.”

  I then updated the King on the series of mysteries that had led me on a wild chase until this morning. From examining bees to speaking with the wyvern queen. From asking about time-related spellcraft to locating information on specific human wizards. And of course, from confronting the Wizard’s Guild to discovering that the ‘Deliberati’ were nothing more than talking statue heads.

  Fitzwilliam took in everything stoically. But while his complexion was no longer haggard, his eyes still looked tired. I heard it in his voice as he spoke.

  “That is enough adventure for a fortnight,” he remarked. “Yet all I can say is…that once again, you have acted in the best interests of Andeluvia. And you have given me much food for thought in the meantime.”

  I inclined my head. “Thank you, Sire.”

  With that, I promised to follow up with Magnus about how much longer he would tolerate ruling in his stead. Then I bid my lord goodbye for the day. Shelly, to my chagrin, gave a much better curtsey than I’d ever mastered during my time in Andeluvia. My friend’s face remained aglow with wonder as we left the room and headed down the hall towards the exit.

  “Dayna, I hope you didn’t mind my droppin’ in,” she said, as she primly adjusted her pince-nez glasses. “It’s just that…you don’t get to meet a king just any old day. And he does have a certain something, that’s for sure. My momma would’ve called it ‘good breeding’.”

  “You’re not the only one noticing that he has a ‘certain something’,” I sighed. “Give him another week, and the nurses would let him start a new kingdom over here.”

  “Speaking of noticing things, I have to admit, I am curious about your new hairstyle myself,” Shelly admitted. “It’s not something Alanzo’s been asking for, is it?”

  “New hair style? What are you–”

  Suddenly, I had an awful feeling that I should’ve done more than a quick brush-up this morning. I broke away from Shelly and dove into the women’s restroom before we went any further. I practically ran over to the closest sink and peered into the mirror.

  Style wise, my locks looked as tousled as always. I did my best to use shampoo, conditioner, moisturizing hair masks, even oils made from tropical fruits with unpronounceable names. But my hair still stubbornly did its own thing depending on the humidity and outside wind speed.

  Then my brain finally processed the information it was getting.

  My hair had turned the bright green of pistachio ice cream.

  It wasn’t an even shade everywhere, either. I still had some natural black left at the crown and temples. But the longer tresses, especially at the ends? I looked like a teenage girl that had just stepped out of a Japanese cartoon.

  Immediately, I thought of that strange tingle of magic I’d experienced during our fight at the Wizard’s Guild. I’d been hit with a ‘cantrip’, a low-level spell that Galen had called ‘more laughable than lethal’.

  Blood rushed to my face as feelings of anger and embarrassment washed over me. Without thinking, my fingers balled themselves into fists. My hair had already suffered so many indignities over the last few weeks. Styling. Sausage curls. Even pink ribbons and pinned dunce cap hats!

  Laughable? I felt close to bursting into tears.

  With a supreme effort, I turned away from the mirror and took a couple of deep, slow breaths until I felt more-or-less under control again. This was ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous, and I was a fool to let it bother me.

  There was a knock at the door to the restroom. Shelly’s voice was muffled from the other side.

  “Dayna? Take all the time you need…but there’s a nurse out here who’s been lookin’ for you.”

  “I’ll be right out,” I called back.

  I grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser, drying the corners of my eyes where a couple of stray tears had threatened to fall. I could deal with this for the moment. After all, I’d convinced everyone at the hospital that I was part of the wonderful, wacky world of show business. Green hair wouldn’t rate much more than a second glance with people who didn’t know me.

  Three breaths and change later, I stepped back out into the hallway. Shelly waved me back over to the nurse’s station, where the bubbly-looking blonde I knew as Margaret was busy going through a form on a clipboard. I went over to them, a bad feeling percolating through my bones as I did so.

  “Good morning, Dame Chrissie,” Margaret said brightly. “It is ‘Dame’ Chrissie, right?”

  My stomach did a somersault all on its own as I heard my title. “Um…yes?”

  She let out her trademark tinkly little giggle. “Fritz let slip your character name one time, I hope you don’t mind. He said that it means you’re the best ‘knight’ in his fantasy kingdom!”

  I came close to letting out a nervous little giggle of my own. “Oh, that! Yes, that’s the role I auditioned for. It’s…ah, kind of a hassle. But I’m stuck with it.”

  Shelly rolled her eyes at that, but bless her, she kept quiet.

  “I can only imagine!” Margaret squinted at me for a moment, puzzled. “You look different, somehow. Oh! You got a makeover, didn’t you?”

  “Sort of, yeah. At a place called ‘Cantrip’s’.” I waved my hand, changing the subject. “I understand you’ve been looking for me.”

  “Yes, I was hoping I’d get lucky enough to bump into you!”

  “You were?”

  “We contacted the actor’s union, but they were unable to locate Mister William’s contract. Since he’s effectively uninsured, the burden of payment has been shifted.” Margaret held up her clipboard and handed it over. “If you look at our patient intake forms, you agreed to take over compensation for his treatment.”

  Numbly, I took the clipboard and went through the forms. I’d brought King Fitzwilliam to the ER with seconds to spare. Then I’d collapsed in the lobby, exhausted from my efforts to fight off a wyvern assassination. When Margaret and Doctor Kwambe had approached me, I’d blindly signed every form put in front of me as I did my best to talk my way out of things.

  “I included the number of our finance department,” Margaret helpfully added. “They should be able to work out a monthly payment that you can afford. But that has to be in place before Fritz can check out.”

  My mouth went dry as I finally got to the charges. Line upon line of services rolled down the sheet. ER services. Ongoing IV drips to flush the poison out of Fitzwilliam’s system. The days of full medical care in his indi
vidual hospital room.

  All necessary, of course.

  But the total amount to be paid? The sum was triple the worth of my house. And that was when it had been in salable condition. Before it had been shot up by a bunch of mercenaries, half-obliterated by a wyvern queen, and declared ‘uninhabitable’ by my home insurance company.

  Just my rotten, effing rotten luck.

  Chapter Twelve

  I didn’t get into work until after lunch.

  My work record had been purged of all misdeeds by McClatchy’s crazed meddling. I decided to take advantage of that fact – plus four hours of accumulated time off – to head back to Shelly’s and try to remedy my ensorcelled hair color.

  Hairs were basically protein filaments growing from follicles deep within the skin. The outermost layer of a strand was porous, which allowed it to soak up chemical dyes or other agents. I knew that green hair typically came from a combination of hard metals like copper mixing with chlorine. The metals got oxidized by the chlorine and then stuck to the hair strands.

  I hadn’t been swimming in any public pools lately, but I remembered the strange, bleach-like smell and taste when the cantrip hit me. I decided to assume that the spell worked the same way. If I was right, all I needed was a moderately strong acid or base to get the green out.

  A quick check of Shelly’s refrigerator didn’t turn up any fresh lemons for me to juice, but she did have an industrial-sized bottle of ketchup. I considered it, but part of me worried that with my luck, I’d smell like a hot dog condiment for the rest of the day.

  I continued digging into the kitchen cupboards until I found Shelly’s baking shelf. Way at the back was a yellow box labeled ‘baking soda’. I pulled it out and took it to the bathroom.

  Scooping out a half cup and change of the powder into a bowl, I mixed in water to form a thick paste. I couldn’t help but think of Lady Behnaz’s efforts to set my hair as I slathered the paste over the greenest strands and worked the mix all the way down to my scalp.

  A quick rinse in the shower, followed by normal shampoo plus conditioner, and I was done.

  I toweled off and, with a trembling palm, wiped the mirror clear of warm shower mist.

  My hair wasn’t green anymore.

  Now, I was a blonde. Sort of.

  Dammit!

  The parts of my hair with the lightest hints of green had faithfully returned to black. But the greenest bits along the side had turned a bright, champagne gold. Great. Now I looked like a ‘dirty blonde’ Valley Girl who hadn’t learned how to properly peroxide her hair.

  I cursed out the mirror for a bit more before I finally ran out of steam. It looked dumb, but at least no one would stare. And ever since first coming to Andeluvia, I’d learned that was about as good as things got sometimes.

  At least Shelly didn’t make any more comments. Of course, by that time we’d moved down to the morgue to perform an autopsy together, so my hair was safely tucked away. Shelly made the Y incision with an ease that came from years of practice. When she was done, I got out the shears to cut through the sternum and keep our progress going.

  The strangest thing about the whole procedure was how relaxed it made me feel. Shelly and I hadn’t worked together in quite a while. I hadn’t gotten a case for so long that hadn’t been chueco, messed up with magic, or anything else out-of-this world, that it was refreshing.

  Shelly performed the organ extraction and measurements while I jotted down the readings. She read out the latest set of findings from examining and weighing the heart. Then, once I had written her words down, she threw me a look.

  “It ain’t going to be so bad,” she said. “You keep worrying about things, your tail feathers are going to come right off.”

  “What?” I asked, caught between thoughts. “I mean, worrying about what?”

  “I’d say ‘life’ as a whole. But there’s more specific things than that where you’re concerned.” Shelly began returning the organs she’d removed back to the body cavity as she spoke. “For starters, I wouldn’t worry about Fritz costing you too much. They’ll work out some payment plan, trust me. ‘Sides, he is a king, after all. One who owes you his life. I’m betting that he won’t leave you twistin’ in the wind.”

  “You’re probably right. Probably. In the past, he’s left me to fend for myself more than you’d think.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Because he didn’t care about you? Or because he did care, and couldn’t show it because the kind of people around him would exploit it?”

  That stopped me. Fitzwilliam had, in fact, confessed those very things to me. But that had been in a private, intimate moment. It wouldn’t be like him to also tell Shelly.

  I kept my eyes riveted on the form I was filling out. “Why, did he say anything to you?”

  “That man’s buttoned up tighter than a cowboy’s fleece coat in a blizzard. But you only got to look in his eyes, Dayna. They speak pretty darned loud. I bet even Alanzo has seen it.”

  “If he has, then they’ve already talked about it. I came to the hospital a few days ago and found him and Fitzwilliam having a grand old time discussing their battle scars.”

  “Men! They don’t change, no matter where they’re from.”

  “The funny thing is, they seemed to have come to some sort of agreement before I showed up. That’s okay, I guess. But it felt like a peace treaty was signed. And all without me being a party to it.”

  Shelly let out a short laugh. “That’s to be expected, since you weren’t a combatant. Your role was more like…well, let’s say a ‘mission objective’.”

  I tried to figure that one out as my friend went to the sink to rinse off. Shelly had just peeled off her wet gloves when the phone buzzed from its cubbyhole along the side wall. She waved me over for my turn at the sink as she tossed her gloves in the biohazard bin before picking up the receiver.

  “Morgue. Richardson.” She paused, and then leaned against the wall. An annoyed look crossed her face. “Yes, and you don’t have to spell it out like that, either. She’ll be there.”

  Shelly hung up the phone with a firm clack.

  “Remember where I told you it ‘wasn’t going to be so bad’?”

  “Yeah,” I swallowed as I rinsed and peeled off my own set of gloves. “Let me guess…forget that bit of advice?”

  “Well, yes and no. That was Bob. He’s got the Internal Affairs guy they sent down from Sacramento in the upstairs meeting room. They want you up there, pronto.”

  “Great. Just great,” I grumbled.

  “Remember,” Shelly said. “You’ve got a bigger, better world out there that needs you, no matter what happens here. Not to mention that special dinner we have planned for tonight.”

  Her words warmed me like the sun. “Any other advice?”

  She crooked a grin at me. “Stay strong. Don’t give the bastards an inch.”

  With that, I finished de-gowning and headed upstairs. Despite Shelly’s encouragement, my mind couldn’t help but add its two cents to things.

  I’m not worried about the inch, my inside voice helpfully put in. I’m worried about McClatchy and the Internal Affairs agent taking the whole darned mile.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The second-floor OME conference room looked depressingly familiar.

  Chief Robert McClatchy – Deputy Chief at the time – had summoned me to this exact same room several months ago. I’d been called up before a board of probation. A good chunk of my current problems with the officers of the LAPD stemmed from that meeting.

  Everyone expected me to be called on the carpet, when in the end it was McClatchy who ended up with a frowny-faced note on his record. Word then got around that I had some kind of witchy street-smarts. That somehow, I’d twisted things around to walk out scot-free.

  Yes, Bob had gotten ‘wrapped around the axle’ by things I had said to provoke him. But I’d had an ace up my sleeve that day. That ‘ace’ was a mind-reading pooka named Destry. And I didn’t think I’d be see
ing that Gallic son-of-a-mare anytime soon.

  The last thought that crossed my mind before I pushed through the conference room’s doors was something that Detective Vega had told me. She’d spoken out of anger, out of hurt. From her two brothers’ distant betrayal – one that echoed all the way through her life until just before her death.

  “You better do the listening,” she had threatened me. “Internal Affairs has already been sniffing around the LAPD brass, and they’re coming over to the OME, sure as anything. You called out the sharks on McClatchy, and they’ll eat you, too.”

  Well, at least today’s shark from IA didn’t wear a gray suit like Archer or Harrison.

  The conference room had been restored to its normal configuration of a single, well-scuffed wooden table placed at its center. McClatchy sat brooding in a chair at one corner as if he were part gargoyle. Dark circles looked as if they’d been stamped under his eyes with pitch. He still wore the service-black suit that only Lady Behnaz would have approved of. Next to him, patiently sorting through a pile of forms, sat a broad-shouldered man with a thick crop of mahogany-brown hair.

  Unlike McClatchy, the IA officer sported a khaki colored, long-sleeved shirt and a pair of casual slacks. A pair of cheap sunglasses peeked out from where he’d stashed them in a shirt pocket. At first glance, the only things that marked him as part of the police force were his dark blue necktie and gleaming gold tie tack.

  Otherwise, the man looked as if he were ready to step out of the office, grab a tackle box, and head out to fish for largemouth bass.

  That impression changed when I moved a few steps closer. I spotted a badge and a holstered gun at his belt, half-hidden in the shadow of the table. Internal Affairs didn’t make their mark by pounding the pavement like beat cops, but this agent evidently believed in being prepared.

  McClatchy nodded in my direction as he spotted me. If he noticed the change in my hair color, he didn’t mention it.

  “Glad you could make it on time,” he said, in a friendly, joshing tone that I didn’t buy for a nanosecond.