Shattered by Magic

by Rebecca Danese

  “Something like that,” Agnes says quietly. “Curtis will have to fill you in, but we’ll see each other soon enough.” She gives us a cursory nod before donning her raincoat and sliding open a window that leads onto a balcony. “Oh,” she says, turning at the last moment, “say hello to the wizard for me when you see him.” Within moments she’s gone, and none of us bother to follow her.

  “Was it just me, or was she weirder than usual?” I ask no one in particular.

  “Definitely weirder. Do you think she and Enzo are back together?” Jer asks Lou, who is still staring out the window Agnes left through.

  “Hmm…maybe. Not that it matters.” She waves her hand dismissively and fixes her eyes on me. “You’re wanted back at the ATU before you go home, Curtis. Miss Banks’s orders.”

  I get that horrible, sinking feeling in my gut when I have to be in a closed room with Miss Banks. It’s all very well her talking to me through an earpiece, but in the flesh she’s a whole lot scarier.

  “Damn. I was hoping I could turn in after all that.” I nod in the direction of the unconscious man on the other side of the room.

  “Nope. Debrief first, and then I think she wants to ask you a few questions.”

  “It’s that or she wants to rip your head off for nearly killing Mulberry back there,” Jer jokes.

  I smile, but I’m worried he’s right. “Either way, it’s not something to look forward to. What do we do about him?” I ask, gesturing to the chauffeur.

  “Call it in. Maybe Crossley can come back and pick him up,” Jer replies.

  Adam Crossley is our supervisor, but he calls himself our babysitter. When I phone him, I get the impression that he isn’t too excited to come back to the house, but he returns within the hour while Lou, Jer, and I keep an eye on the slumbering driver. By the time he gets to us, we’ve managed to drag our captive down the two flights of stairs to the entrance hall. A quick search of his pockets reveals that his name is Ewan Michaels, that he holds a standard UK driving license, and that he has a loyalty card for his local coffee shop. Other than his debit card, there’s nothing to show that he is anything other than what he appears to be: a chauffeur with a lot of muscle.

  “Is he an Augur?” I ask Jer.

  “Yep. He reeks of magic; he must be a strongman. At least that explains why he was so tough to put down,” he says, wrinkling his nose.

  “Sure, babe, whatever makes you feel better. Just remember that I was the one who got the drop on him in the end.” Lou laughs, slapping him playfully on the back.

  “God, did you drag him down here?” Crossley asks when he sees the chauffeur, his suit dishevelled and his cap lost somewhere on the second floor.

  “We made sure not to bang him about too much,” Lou replies, rolling her eyes. She and Crossley don’t get on, but I like the man. As well as working for a secret government organisation responsible for stopping Augur crime, he happens to be a good guy.

  “Sure, sure,” he says disbelievingly. “Help me load him into the van, and then you lot can ride back together,” he instructs. Another van turns up, just as we are leaving, to pick up the computer equipment on the floor above us, and we take the circuitous route back to the ATU headquarters, an hour’s drive from Sloane Square. It gives me plenty of time to fill Jer and Lou in on what Agnes warned me about.

  “So, let me get this straight: Mulberry broke into one of the Duke’s properties that Edward, his own son, has been using as some kind of storage place for a bunch of dusty computers?” Lou says, driving only slightly less recklessly than usual.

  “Seems like it. She also repeatedly told me to stop working for the ATU and Miss Banks,” I say, sighing heavily.

  “Easier said than done, mate,” says Jer, turning round in the front seat to give me a sympathetic smile. “We’re all in it now. I mean, David and Mumbe didn’t sign their lives away, but us three and Marco? We break our contracts with them, and isn’t the fine something in the millions?”

  That’s my fault, and I know it is. I put them in this impossible position a few months ago, and although they tell me not to worry about it, the thought that I forced the hands of my only friends to work for a group that they hate often comes back to haunt me.

  “You’ve lost him,” Lou says, interrupting my guilt trip.

  “Hey, Cur, don’t do that,” Jer says gently. “We knew what we were doing, alright? We might not always like it, but sometimes we have fun running around chasing bad guys. It’s not all terrible.” He turns and hits me on the knee jovially.

  “I don’t deserve you guys,” I murmur, smiling to myself and shaking my head.

  “You don’t, but it’s okay because you’re family,” Lou says, turning off the main roads and into the industrial estate that houses the ATU complex beneath the ground.

  There are several entrances, including the warehouse that I was held captive in last year and subsequently escaped, thanks to Lou. The irony that I work for the people that the Duke was trying to keep Augurs away from isn’t lost on me. The facility beneath this part of London spans across nearly a quarter of a mile underground, separate warehouses acting as entrances to each department, with over a hundred government employees in total. Everything feels very temporary though. The furnishings are completely basic, and although I’ve never gotten a straight answer out of anyone, I don’t think they’ve been up and running for long.

  “Debrief shouldn’t take more than a few minutes. Want a ride home when she’s done with you?” Lou asks, letting me and Jer out of the car.

  “Best you go straight back after. Maybe Marco can explain whatever Agnes was chatting about. I’ll get a lift from someone going in that direction,” I say, giving her a wave as she pulls away. Our rented apartment is government property, like everything else in our lives right now, but I’m grateful she let us stay together. I think it’s kept me sane in the weeks that Ella has been missing.

  “We should debrief together, right?” Jer says as we take the lift down a few levels.

  “Probably. But step one is a quick visit to Dr. Lindhurst’s office for a patch up,” I say, pointing to my bloody knuckles.

  Unfortunately, she’s not on duty, and after waiting around for twenty minutes her assistant gives us each a cursory exam and sends us on our way with a couple of painkillers. I ditch them at the first opportunity.

  “Don’t be a martyr, Cur. If you’re in pain, take the pills,” Jer says.

  “That’s just it. The pain wears off really fast these days. Lindhurst said it was something to do with being healed so much by David’s magic,” I reply, stopping in a bathroom to wash the blood off the backs of my hands.

  “That’s handy.” He smiles, checking his own face for bruises in the mirror. Despite being thrown around a fair amount, we’ve come off surprisingly okay.

  “Where do you think we ought to be debriefed?” he asks as we set off back through the labyrinth of corridors.

  “The interview rooms, I guess?” I say, shrugging.

  Every time we’re allowed out into the real-agent world, we’re supposed to tell our direct senior everything that happened. But this is a first for us, and I’m not sure what it entails.

  “Crossley is supposed to do it, right?” I ask Jer as we follow the signs to the debrief area.

  “Yeah, but he’s probably still locking up the chauffeur, so who knows who’ll be there to greet us.”

  Other than Buxton, our personal trainer, and perhaps Miss Banks, there aren’t many agents who tolerate our presence, and the idea of being grilled by someone who isn’t our direct senior makes me a little nervous.

  The debrief room reminds me of a police interrogation cell like you see on TV. A metal table, a few uncomfortable plastic chairs, an audio/video recorder, and one grumpy-looking middle-aged man is all there is to welcome us.

  “Mayes, O’Donnelly, have a seat,” he says, pointing to the chairs on the side of the table farthest from the door. I wonder if that’s so he can stop us from running awa
y, should we ever get the idea.

  “I’m Agent Foster. Agent Crossley is finishing with the detainees and will join us shortly.” He clears his throat and opens a paper folder that I recognise as a mission brief. It’s usually no more than a few pieces of paper, some photographs, and anything relevant to the case, but Foster takes an age to read through the notes, as if he hasn’t sat here for thirty minutes doing just that. He clears his throat irritatingly, raising his bushy eyebrows once or twice in surprise.

  “Says here that you’re related to the Duke,” he says abruptly, eyeballing me.

  “Everyone knows that already,” I say sharply. Everyone here knows he’s my half-aunt’s ex-husband. A tenuous connection at best, so I can’t work out why he’s bringing it up.

  “Well, how does that make you feel? Being related to the man who kidnapped your…let me see.” He flicks a piece of paper dramatically. “Ah, yes. Your girlfriend. Do you not think you might be a bit biased to be on a mission such as the one you’ve been given today?”

  “I’m sorry, but is this a debrief or a psych evaluation? Because I’m pretty sure I read that the ATU doesn’t do those,” Jer interjects before I can answer.

  “You ask that as though you have something to hide, O’Donnelly,” Foster says, narrowing his eyes.

  “Who are you really, Agent Foster? Because I’ve certainly never seen you around here before,” I retort. It doesn’t look like he’s going to answer, but eventually he snaps the file shut dramatically and arches his large hands on the table in front of him.

  “As far as the records will show, this is not a psych evaluation. It should be, because from what I can tell, neither of you have ever had one,” he says, giving me a disgusted look. “But I’ve simply been tasked with verifying that you’ll be fit for active field duty in the future and that your emotions and possible prejudices will not endanger your country.” He seems to be trying to keep his voice level, but his upper lip quivers with irritation at having to explain himself to people that are evidently beneath him.

  “So, there’s no debrief?” I ask.

  “Are you normally so concerned with protocol, Mayes?”

  “Do you always answer every question with another question, Agent Foster?” I tease.

  “For your information, I work for the Civil Defence Minister and was ordered to interview you as soon as humanly possible,” he replies, self-importantly. A chill runs down my spine. No one dares go against what Ms. Angeles requests, but I also don’t want to sit here being asked irrelevant questions that will do more harm than good right now. I don’t want to be angry right before a meeting with Miss Banks. That won’t end well for anyone.

  “I think we’re done here,” Jer says, standing up and tugging my arm.

  “I think you need to sit down before I have you detained for defying a superior,” Foster says, pulling out a notepad and pen from inside his jacket pocket and making a few aggressive notes.

  Jer looks at me questioningly. “Shall we make a break for it?” That’s what he wants to say. I shake my head ever so slightly, and he sits back down, but I can see his fists are clenched beneath the table.

  “O’Donnelly, are you aware of any trust issues you might have?” Foster asks, as if the last minute didn’t happen.

  “When it comes to shrinks? Absolutely. Did you know that Carlton Munday was a psychiatrist? He experimented on me and over a hundred other Augurs, including children, all for his own gain. Did you read that in my file?” Jer replies coldly.

  If Foster is phased by the reply, he doesn’t show it, but his pen scratches against the paper of his notebook slightly harder.

  I look at Jer with surprise. He usually refuses to mention his time at the Facility, so this guy has obviously gotten deeply under his skin.

  “Given the choice between protecting your girlfriend and protecting your country, Mayes, which would you choose?” he asks rapidly.

  “Why do I have to choose? Why can’t I do both?”

  “That doesn’t answer my question. I need to evaluate where your priorities lie.” He smirks.

  “Well, if I had to choose, I would say that I would always find a way to do whatever I see is the best course of action for all involved, and ultimately for the greater good of the people,” I say, trying not to sound too robotic. It’s a line from one of the early-on ATU classes, and if Foster is the fake agent I think he is, then he won’t know that. I watch him for any sign of recognition, but he simply gives a satisfied nod.

  “Hmm. And what are your priorities, O’Donnelly?”

  “What he said,” Jer says with a completely straight face. A small nerve under Foster’s right eye twitches, and I brace myself for a possible outburst. I don’t think this particular shrink is used to people treating him like this, and it shows. His face goes a deep shade of plum, and his bushy eyebrows knit together while he attempts to compose himself, but just when I think he might explode, the door bursts open.

  “What the bloody hell is going on in here?” Crossley asks, giving Foster a look that could almost knock a man unconscious.

  “I have orders from the Civil Defence Minister to evaluate these gentlemen—”

  “I don’t care if you have orders from the Queen herself. These men aren’t under your jurisdiction!” Crossley is a badass at the best of times, but right now I could hug him. Foster stands up, almost nose to nose with the senior agent, and gives him the best glare he can manage in an attempt to force Crossley to stand down, craning his neck to appear taller but failing.

  “This is very unorthodox,” he says in his clipped English accent.

  “So is the fact that you don’t even have clearance to be in this part of the complex,” Crossley retorts. It’s like being back at school and watching two of the older kids prepare to fight. If they do decide to throw a punch at each other, I know my money would be on my boss. But rather than take a swing at him, Foster folds up his notebook, slips it back into his pocket, along with his pen, and picks up the file from the desk, straightening his jacket before pushing his way past Crossley toward the door.

  “Ms. Angeles will be notified of your uncooperative attitude, Agent Crossley,” he says in parting.

  “I’m sure she will, Agent Foster,” Crossley replies with disdain.

  As soon as the man is out of earshot, I pat my superior on his arm.

  “Thanks for coming to the rescue, boss.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. Miss Banks wants to see you in her office, like now,” he replies gravely.

  “I’m guessing I’m not part of this little meeting?” Jer adds hopefully.

  “You guessed right. You’re done for the day as far as I’m concerned, so the rest of it is yours.”

  I feel a pang of jealousy for Jer, being allowed to go home with his girlfriend, put his feet up, and act like everything is right in the world. Of the two of us, I feel like I drew the short straw.

  “Come with me, Curtis,” Crossley beckons, and I follow, after tossing a dejected wave to Jer.

  We navigate the creaky lifts and concrete corridors, using our access cards where needed, until I spot Sunglasses Steve standing outside Miss Banks’s office. We’re at least fifty feet below ground, and he’s still wearing his Ray-Bans, so I’ve concluded that he must have a terrible case of pink eye. Permanently.

  “...I understand Ms. Angeles, but I think I made the right call.” I hear Banks’s voice through the thick metal door. She must be on the phone, as the conversation is one-sided, and I only feel guilty for a second for eavesdropping before curiosity gets the better of me.

  “No, I don’t think he’s a risk. I think he’s the best chance we have at finding them… Well, they’re family, after all… No, still no Magic Circle update, I’m afraid… They’ve all but disappeared…”

  My pulse races at those words, uncertain whether I should mention that Edward was at the property just days before we were. If my eavesdropping is correct, then I’m on the Civil Defence Minister’s radar too, which I don�
��t like the sound of.

  Sunglasses Steve and Crossley both clear their throats loudly, and I step back from the door, embarrassed that they caught me listening in.

  “I understand, ma’am. I’ll do everything I can.”

  It sounds like the end of the conversation, and I look at Steve to see if the coast is clear. He holds up his hand to stop me, just as Miss Banks calls out my name.

  “Curtis, you can come in.”

  I open the heavyset door and find her behind her desk, looking more than a little strained.

  “Stay outside, both of you. I need to see Curtis alone for a few moments.”

  Not that it will make much difference. Her door seems to be far from soundproof.

  The whole room, much like the rest of the complex, is grey. Utilitarian is the word I think of when I see it. Her desk is made of metal, just like all the others, and the furniture in the room is functional but ugly. As we’re underground, there are no windows, and the only splash of colour is from a huge painting of a green rainforest on the back wall. I’m not a big fan of it. The last time I was in here, I stared at it for so long I began to see faces obscured by the leaves and trees. I avert my eyes and wait for her to offer me a seat, but instead she chooses to stand, walking around the metal desk, her heels clacking on the concrete floor.

  “How much of that did you hear?” she asks, crossing her arms and perching on the edge of her desk.

  “Enough,” I reply curtly.

  She nods, pausing to see if I have anything else to say. When I don’t volunteer anything, she picks up a file from the top of her desk and hands it to me, gesturing for me to open it.

  The pictures of Giles Mulberry, which must have been taken in the past couple of hours, are a mess. His face is bruised where I hit him, and one of his eyes is closed over.

  “You gave him quite the beating,” she says, and I can’t tell if she’s impressed or annoyed.

  Weeks of training have told me to keep my mouth shut unless asked a direct question. The first few days of being here, I had a retort for everything, and I think it drove the other agents up the wall, so I’ve learned to have a little patience with Miss Banks in particular. Crossley doesn’t seem to care too much if I talk back at him every few minutes, which probably comes from having small children of his own.