“What exactly are Through Ports?” I asked Bertrum. The paranormal seemed to do better when he was explaining something he knew a lot about, so, ignoring the dirty look Keegan sent in my direction, I decided to let him explain something, even though Dacer had already told us about the Through Ports. I also wanted to ask Bertrum about the letter we had received from Public to see if he could tell us what Sip might have thought of it. The tone certainly hadn’t been hers, and I wasn’t worried that she’d had anything to do with writing it, but this was college. How could they possibly expect nothing to go wrong? For the moment, I decided to go with the safer of the two topics rather than the one that would probably just get me in trouble.
“Through Ports, or TPs, are a new form of identification that is being tested using the college students at Paranormal Public,” said Bertrum, sounding unimpressed. His tone might have been due to his topic, but it was just as likely to have been because of his audience.
We were, or at least I was, pretending interest in what Sip’s aide was saying, but even thus encouraged, Bertrum had very little use for us and even less patience. He tolerated us, if that’s what you could call it, because he knew Sip cared, otherwise he wouldn’t have bothered to speak to us if we were the last paranormals left on the planet. Right now he looked back and forth between the two of us, letting his disappointment show. “Truly, stone is more engaging.” Apparently we weren’t doing a very good job of faking interest.
“Go talk to a stone then,” Keegan muttered. He liked Sip’s assistant about as much as her assistant liked him.
“Rake is arriving shortly to accompany you to the TP office and then to campus. You should cross paths with many other students while you’re presenting yourselves.” His lip somehow turned up slightly, even as the rest of his face remained unchanged. It was as if he’d just been forced to lick a lemon, and now he regretted it. “I should add that I will also be accompanying you and Rake to the TP office.”
“Nothing in the world would make me happier,” said Keegan dryly. “Except for all of the things I can think of that would make me happier.” Bertrum glared at the tree sprite, but Keegan wasn’t finished. “When we’re done at the office, do we get stickers and lollipops if we’ve been good?”
“You get to not get a swift kick to the arse,” Bertrum huffed, finally goaded into replacing his usual stiff formality with slang.
Even though, or perhaps because, Bertrum was Sip’s personal assistant, Lisabelle hated him, which for Bertrum, even if he didn’t know it, was all the job security he could ask for. Sip would have kept him around just to annoy her best friend even if he hadn’t been useful to her in a hundred other ways.
I had the distinct impression that he used to fight against his fate – working for an unruly president with a dangerous best friend, not to mention the motley rest of the crew his employer ran with. But recently I had been getting a different impression: Bertrum had apparently concluded that sacrifices must be made for the sake of the paranormal world, and it just so happened that working for the Quest presidency was one such sacrifice, one that he himself could make. For the good of all paranormals, he had decided to sacrifice the sort of plush private sector job he could have had given his education and intelligence in exchange for the greatest paranormal good. Specifically, that included putting up with Sip’s mad demands and the mad state of the paranormal world at this time. It also meant that he talked to me a lot, a fact that I think both of us regretted.
Sometimes I felt sure I could measure his steely interior by how ramrod straight he kept his back. It didn’t matter how put upon he was, he would never let the sagging of his spirits show in his posture. If Sip didn’t sag, neither did he, no matter how much Lisabelle taunted him or sent him on mysterious or useless errands trying to get him fired.
After the conversation died out, Bertrum stood staring at his watch while he absently drummed his toes on the stones to an imaginary beat. But Rake arrived precisely on time, nodded and smiled at Bertrum, then moved to shake first Keegan’s hand and then mine. The sharp wind carried away Bertrum’s gusty sigh.
My return to Paranormal Public had begun.
Chapter Five
The town that had sprung up around Paranormal Public when reconstruction began was filled with life. Bertrum had thought that keeping the TPs as close to Public as possible was a good idea, so that’s where he had located the TP office. Charlotte and I had had a brief conversation with Sip about it not long before it was time for me to head to Public. The werewolf hadn’t been so sure about the idea, since she wanted to keep government and education separate as much as possible, but Bertrum had been insistent.
“It gives him confidence if I listen to him every once in a while,” she had said over a cup of tea. Charlotte and Sip were visiting the castle, and I had joined them for part of their conversation. It wasn’t long after the part about the TPs when Dacer had started yelling about damned dogs ruining his shoe collection, so I had to run off and deal with Crumple. I had been sad to go, since unsurprisingly the president of the paranormals knew a lot of good gossip that I wanted to hear. But if I hadn’t gone to take care of the dog, it was entirely likely that Crumple and Dacer would have had a confrontation, and I wasn’t sure which of the two was more likely to survive.
Surround was so named in order to be an example of strength. The residents may be transient, the name was meant to imply, but that doesn’t mean they should be taken lightly. The ebb and flow of commerce in the town reached its peak at midday, and another wave swelled when workers returned after a long day of working on the new and renovated buildings being constructed at Paranormal Public.
As we approached the makeshift town, various other groups were also arriving. The crowds made my heart beat a little faster after the peace and quiet of a summer at Dacer’s castle. Charlotte had offered to do her sisterly duty and meet me at the outskirts of the town, but it was the kind of offer where she knew as clearly as I did that it was a bad idea, so we settled for her making up an excuse about why it wouldn’t be the best idea, and me letting her, and feeling some amount of relief as I did so.
The day was overcast and cloudy, more fall than summer. Evenings were already crisp, relentlessly unforgiving of summer’s attempt to commandeer any more sunny days for itself. The ground was still damp from the rain we’d had the night before, and there wasn’t much of a breeze, just wisps and hints of wind when we stood still.
There was lots to look at. The town was encircled by a wooden fence topped with stakes pointing high into the air. The gates were made of crude wood, and they were wide open when we came up to them. As far as I could tell, there was no one on hand to watch them. A shack sat next to the entrance, but its windows were darkened, so for all I knew Sip and Lisabelle could have been standing right there and I would have had no idea. We passed through the gates uneventfully.
Inside, I could see that the houses were low to the ground and practical-looking. They were all painted a sort of earthy brown that made them blend easily into the landscape. All around I could hear people talking, carts being pulled, and the breeze combing through the trees.
“What’s that?” Keegan asked, obviously nowhere near as enthralled by what he was seeing as I was.
“What?” I replied, almost tripping because I was so absorbed in looking around.
“The yelling,” Keegan said.
Now that he had brought it to my attention, I could indeed hear a man’s voice shouting. In fact, it was getting louder by the moment, finally drowning out pretty much every other noise. Neither Rake nor Bertrum looked concerned.
“Keep your knees up!” called the voice. “Look sharp!” The wind didn’t need to carry for me to hear the voice calling out commands. Sounding a little wild, the man cried, “You never know when the darkness will return! It’s only a matter of time! We must be prepared! KNEES UP!”
“He’s angry,” said Keegan with a lopsided grin.
Rake glanced at us over his shoulde
r and rolled his eyes, his face taking on the expression of a long-suffering mother hen.
“The leader of the local militia,” he whisper-yelled to us.
“AH HA,” Keegan yelled. Rake had said something Keegan understood, even though I didn’t. He turned to me with excitement. “Herio Cumpertrumpet. This is going to be great.”
The man who’d been yelling did indeed turn out to be one Herio Cumpertrumpet. Rake and Bertrum seemed totally unfazed by Cumpertrumpet’s antics; they didn’t even slow down as the militia leader’s racket increased. I had heard that Surround had a local militia, but Dacer had said it with a roll of his eyes, as if it wasn’t worth his time or breath, so I didn’t know anything more about it. Now I knew why Dacer had rolled his eyes. Given Keegan’s love of drama, I could see why he was excited.
As the four of us turned a corner, we found a group of locals slowly milling around in front of us. The locals didn’t seem surprised by the loud yells, but it was also clear that they didn’t want to get trampled by the wild foolery of their local militia.
Rake didn’t look impressed either, but he was so obviously sick of Bertrum that at first he didn’t even notice that Keegan and I were directing questioning looks his way. When he finally turned his attention to us his smile was rueful, but he still didn’t speak, so all we could do was trudge onward after him. I would have thought that some of the people in the crowd would look at us, but not one so much as turned a head in our direction, let alone went to the trouble of making eye contact. I decided they were already thoroughly jaded by town life.
“This is ridiculous,” said Keegan out of the corner of his mouth. “What are we doing here?”
“Um, trying to get an education?” I offered.
Keegan rolled his eyes. “Like that’s a good answer.”
For a town that had only recently sprung up out of nothing, Surround looked awfully well settled. It was already dug into the countryside around Paranormal Public University, which until lately had always thrived in the middle of nowhere, far away from distractions. That was all changing, it seemed, so that as summer faded into fall, any surviving remnants of the old Public were fading too. Unlike the changing seasons, I had a feeling that the way of life my sister had known would never return.
“How far along is the work at Public?” I asked, hoping Rake would at least answer a direct question. Charlotte had told me that Public was ready to open again, which of course was why I was in Surround in the first place. But by no means did that mean that the rebuilding was completely finished. In fact, according to Charlotte, the whole place was still more like a construction zone than a fully functioning college. I could see now that the planners, contractors, and builders employed by the university weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. What I had envisioned as a temporary project looked as if it was there to stay, and I said so out loud.
“That’s probably why they think having a local militia is a good idea,” Rake mused.
“You don’t agree?” Bertrum asked sharply.
Rake briefly closed his eyes, clearly regretting his decision to speak. Keegan ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, trying not to look too entertained. But before Rake and Bertrum could get any further, the same voice that had been yelling since we came into earshot boomed out, “The Militia is Necessary!” We had come upon the marching regiment.
Cumpertrumpet – the shouting man couldn’t be anyone else – glared at us mulishly. He and his band of followers stood in the middle of the street, right where we wanted to walk. The street was surfaced only with dirt, or as of this morning, mud, and my shoes were making a sticking noise every time I raised a foot. Cumpertrumpet paid the mud no mind; he merely sighed gustily at the sight of us, giving no sign that he recognized my companions as paranormals who belonged in the forefront of the Quest government. His mouth moved as if he was chewing something, but his lips stayed firmly pressed together. He looked like he was speaking to Rake as one would speak to a bug under his foot. I imagined that if he had been a dragon, flames would have been coming out of his nose by this point.
The leader of the Surround militia wore a frilled white shirt, a battered, dark blue coat, and brown britches, while the paranormals flanking him and idling behind him wore coats of a lighter blue. Clearly they had put a lot of thought into their outfits. Some carried wands that looked like they’d been salvaged from dumpsters, while Cumpertrumpet wore a hat with a feather in it.
“Do you think he and Dacer go shopping together?” Keegan asked.
“Don’t let the Duke hear you talk that way or I have a feeling he’ll never let you past the gate at Duckleworth again,” said Rake.
Chapter Six
Three recovered artifacts go missing. A powerful dream giver thought to be working with the Hunters.
Artifact count: One hundred ten.
“Who goes there?” Herio boomed. Some of the militia standing behind him, covering a wide range of paranormal ages and types, exchanged apprehensive glances. One, a potbellied paranormal of about the same age as Herio, with ruddy cheeks and a spreading white beard, grunted, “I don’t believe we’re supposed to be challenging any old paranormal who isn’t exhibiting threatening behavior.”
Clearly he had said something to set Herio off. The leader of the militia turned around slowly. “Threatening behavior, is it?” he said menacingly. “Did President Malle show threatening behavior when she lured Charlotte Rollins to near certain death? What about Premier Erikson, who took young Keller under her dark wing! And now Lisabelle Verlans . . .”
“I’m rather certain, point of order, that Lisabelle shows lots of threatening behavior,” Keegan muttered to me, but I was sure that Herio didn’t want to hear reasonable arguments. He just wanted to yell wildly and confront all strangers, which of course was what he was doing. It was clear from the expressions on the faces of many of those standing behind him that they agreed with the second paranormal who had spoken up, but didn’t dare say so.
For a split second another of the militiamen caught my eye; something in the way he paid attention to us made me uneasy. He was small, with a red hat and bright blue eyes. The second he noticed me looking at him he melted back into the anonymity of the group.
Given that Herio held a bayonet-style weapon, I didn’t really blame them.
“We must always be prepared for any and all eventualities,” he cried. “Who are these ruffians coming into our town! Walking on our streets!”
“I dare say they’re students,” ventured the paranormal who had stolen Santa’s beard.
“You know who I am,” said Rake dryly. “And this one too.” He pointed at Bertrum.
“Now see here,” said Herio, bustling forward with his pot belly stuck out importantly. “You can’t just wander around town without supervision or permission. Besides, I have a lot to say to your boss” – he pointed at Bertrum – “and yet she won’t return Contacts. There’s a whole lot she needs to know around here and I’m the only paranormal who can tell her!”
“I’m Bertrum and this is Rake, if you’ll remember,” interjected another voice. Sip’s secretary had clearly tired of listening to these paranormals, who were so obviously below his considerable intelligence, and he had stepped forward to put a stop to it.
Sadly for Bertrum, he was slight of stature, pale, bespectacled, and just generally not very intimidating. Unlike his employer, who didn’t need height, or a tan, to make it clear how important she was, or to convey that she must be listened to or else, Bertrum couldn’t muster intimidation. He probably couldn’t even have bought it on the open market, if anyone had been willing to sell it. In short, Cumpertrumpet paid him no attention whatsoever.
When the Surround militia continued to stand directly in our path, arguing vociferously with each other and completely ignoring Bertrum and the rest of us, Rake stepped forward. Rake, unlike Bertrum, was intimidating: he was a vampire, and he was huge. In fact, his size was his single clearest characteristic. When he decided to speak with
authority, his voice was well suited to his size; in short, he put Herio’s booming shouts to shame. Keegan was so delighted when Rake took over that he was practically dancing.
“MOVE! NOW!” Rake’s voice carried down the makeshift street and reverberated off the walls. Bertrum’s shoulders came up so high he looked uncomfortable. I had never heard a paranormal yell that loudly before.
Not only did the militia stop in its tracks, but so did all the other paranormals in the street. Jaws were slack and many eyes went wide with shock. Even Keegan was shaking a bit, and Rake was his second favorite paranormal after Lisabelle Verlans.
Rake barely appeared to notice. Herio, giving Rake an angry and narrow-eyed glare that was half furious and wholly intimidated, stepped aside to let us pass.
No one’s eyes left the massive vampire as he lumbered forward, then glanced around at the rest of us. “Well, let’s get on with it!” he said. Any wisps of patience he had left were gone now that he’d had to force the crowd to part just so we could walk down the street.
“If you want to be brutish about it,” sniffed Bertrum, “I can’t stop you. You could have drawn more attention to us, but you would have needed fireworks.”
“I suppose you’d want to draw up a contract and have a meeting to get them to move,” said Rake. “The meeting on the matter will be at ten thirty, please bring your own pencil.”
Bertrum rolled his eyes as if he was hoping something would magically appear to save him from the likes of Rake. “I don’t need meetings to get my point across,” he said.
“No, you just need me,” Rake said, a grin slashing his face.
Elemental Havoc (Paranormal Public Book 11) Page 4
