David just gave me an odd look for a minute. Then he turned to the publicity photo and admitted, “I almost feel a little ashamed for including this one. Avery Flute is another local cele—“
“Wait, Avery Flute, the DJ for WKXMG?” I asked. “Millie raves about his voice all the time. Wonder if she’d be disappointed if she found out this is what he looks like.”
“Career radioman with thirty years in on the job,” David confirmed. “He uses that anonymity to stay in the shadows; very unlike Nebula in that respect.”
“Does he know any of the Gloomy Arts?” I asked. Roald Dahl was right about how most witches lived ordinary lives and worked ordinary jobs just as Avery Flute did.
“Please,” David replied at my suggestion. “Near as we can tell, every ritual he’s performed to date has been something of a bad joke. One of my constables ran him in last week for going sky-clad in a ceremony that involved four chalices and a certain ‘magic wand’ between his legs.”
“So, why is he on the list again?”
David sighed. “Because of another report I got. He was seen publicly wooing Nebula at the Moon, and she laughed in his face.” The Fingernail Moon Alehouse — you could always count on it for throwing up some kind of information relating to a case. So much human interaction, so many drinks, plentiful displays of heartbreaking honesty, confessions, and flagrantly revealed secrets; all were poured out at the Moon.
I felt my own face harden at the mention of Nebula’s unkind rejection. It was one of the cruelest ways to let any man know you weren’t interested in him. But it was par the course for Nebula-resting-bitchface-Dreddock.
“I have one final suspect, but we haven’t been able to get a positive identification on him,” David said, pulling out a sketch. It showed a man in his mid-to-late forties, longish dark hair, a full beard to match and with a distinctly Slavic cast to his feature.
“We wouldn’t know about him at all if it wasn’t for the golem,” David said. “He came to see Nebula a few days before she died. They carried on an entire conversation in a language the golem didn’t recognize.”
“Could it have been something out of Eastern Europe or Russia?” I asked.
“The golem had no way of knowing,” David acknowledged. “She just knew that it wasn’t in English. She described him as wearing Mainland fashion, having a pot belly and having a real fondness for dragon bacon. All my officers have been looking for him since this sketch was made.”
“Quite a rogue’s gallery we’ve got to sort through,” I said as David put away the various pieces of information he’d pulled out. “Although I have to confess, I’m surprised there aren’t more suspects.”
David let out another sigh and said, “Hattie…I’m going to feel terrible for asking this, but frankly there’s no one else I can.”
“What is it, David?” I asked, bracing myself.
“Would you be able to give the golem a place to stay for a few days?”
Even with the bracing, his question caught me off-guard. “I thought you said that—“
“And, normally I would,” David admitted. “But, we just got word from Talisman about an embarrassing lawsuit working its way through the court by the SPCA on the subject of golem enslavement.”
“And, naturally, because the suits in Talisman don’t want to give the Supernatural Protective Coven Association political ammunition, you can’t keep the golem on such a high-profile case,” I said with a sinking stomach. There’s a reason I hate politics. And, leave it to the Coven Isles administrative capital; Talisman, to highlight this sentiment further.
“Of course, if I gave the golem directly to you, it could be argued that the 'it' is still technically in police custody through a consultant,” David said, drumming his fingers. “So, what I’m thinking is ... what if I have the golem delivered to Millie in the morning?”
“I bet that the lawyers will see through the ruse,” I said as we both got up from the table. “But Talisman is tediously predictable about the letter of the law. I think it could work.”
David gave me my second unexpected hug of the day. “I could kiss you!”
Being in those strong arms of his made kissing him sound like a really good idea. Then he broke off the embrace, and I turned my mind back to business.
“When can we expect her?” I asked.
“I’ll have her brought by first thing in the morning with the shift change,” David said, his cheeks a little flushed while he fiddled with his glasses. “Thanks again, Hattie.”
I told him that he was welcome, saw him to the door and told him goodnight. I started feeling pretty warm at the memory of the hug. Then, I remembered that I had an apartment full of cats who’d want to know details, and so I shelved my euphoria and went upstairs to be with my troupe. I glanced at the time. Good, Midnight would probably still be here. Just.
My newest guest was waiting just outside the back door the next morning with a constable escort.
“Ms. Jenkins?” the constable asked with a Glessie drawl. “Chief Trew wanted me ta deliver this…person ta Ms. Midge this morn.”
“Millie should be here shortly, constable,” I said, giving the golem a good look over. The golem gave me a blank stare back, not hostile but definitely not friendly.
Right on cue, Millie came around the corner, humming Rasputina’s “Trust All-Stars” in a merry tone. The humming was cut short when she spotted the golem and constable.
“Oh,” Millie said when she saw the golem. “Is there some trouble with the shop?”
“No, miss,” the constable assured with a tip of the hat. “Chief Trew just wanted—“
“I have been placed in your care for the time being,” the golem interrupted. “During this period, I shall serve you as I have served the one before me.”
Millie raised her eyebrows at me.
“She’s Nebula’s golem,” I explained. “David wanted you to be the one who is officially responsible for her.”
“I’m not sure if I should be grateful or terrified,” Millie admitted with a half-smile.
“Well, if you’ve it well in hand…” the constable suggested.
“Of course, constable,” Millie said, turning her smile up to its full megawatt intensity. “Thank you.”
Another tip of the hat and the constable was gone. I stood aside so that Millie and the golem could come in.
“What needs to be done first, Mistress?” the golem asked Millie.
“Oh, honey,” Millie said with a little laugh. “If you’re going to call me anything, call me Millie like everybody else.”
“Very well, Millie,” the golem said. “What needs to be done?”
“Well,” Millie said, thinking it through. “The floors could use a good mopping, and we’ve got a few minutes before we open. Think you can get the job done in, say, fifteen minutes?”
The golem walked to the front of the store and gave it a thorough scan. After she was done, she said, “I can get it done in six.”
“Great!” Millie said, looking like she could jump for joy. She really hates mopping.
“I can show you where the supplies you’ll need are,” I said, feeling skeptical about this cold imitation of a human being. “Follow me.”
The golem didn’t budge, just looked at Millie for confirmation.
“Hey, when it comes to running this shop, Hattie’s the boss,” Millie said, holding up her hands. “So anything she says to do, do it.”
I made a note to thank Millie later for her quick thinking as I and the golem walked to the back of the store.
For obvious reasons, the mop in our shop is kept separately from Grandma’s broom. I opened up the small locker that held it, the battered aluminum bucket and various all-natural cleaners made from family recipes.
The golem zeroed in on the right bottle for the mopping job, holding it up to the sunlight spilling in from the upper window.
“This is Green Man’s Cleanse, is it not?” the golem asked.
I was suit
ably impressed. It must have shown on my face because the golem added, “Mistress Nebula always despised this cleaner, said it didn’t cut through the grease.” I’d usually be offended. My homemade range of cleaning products was simply stunning, even if I said so myself. But, Nebula not liking them? Par for the course. I shook it off.
“And, what do you think of it?” I asked.
“It is like me,” the golem said, grabbing the mop and bucket with her free hand. “It does its job without unnecessary fuss.”
“We use a water pump out back,” I said, pointing her towards the back door.
“Do you not have indoor plumbing?” the golem asked while we went out that door.
“Sure,” I said as we got close to the pump. “But, something about the water from the pump always tends to get the cleaning done better. I think that my Grandma might have enchanted it or someone further down my family line did, perhaps.”
The golem set the bucket down. “So, this is a family business?”
I nodded as she pumped. The impossibly clear water came out in record time, filling up the bucket with crystal fluid.
I frowned a bit and asked, “What’s your name?”
Pouring in the Green Man’s Cleanse, she replied, “I have no name.”
She picked up the bucket, mop, and cleaner and walked right back inside without another word. I was too stunned by the answer and the golem’s subsequent abrupt exit that it took me a minute to catch up.
Millie was doing her usual dusting while the golem was starting her mopping. None of my cats were in the vicinity. This time of the morning, they were usually sinking into an even deeper sleep than the one they had the night before. It was unlikely I’d see any of them until at least before eleven.
“Let me ask the question another way,” I said, trying again. “What are you called?”
As I said this, I realized that Grandma, had she been standing there, would have told me that was the question I should have asked the first time. Giving out your True Name is stupid for a lot of reasons.
“Mistress Nebula called me many things,” the golem said, not looking up from her work. “Depending on her mood or what I was doing, I was called ‘bitch,' ‘moron,’ ‘idiot,' ‘fugly,’ among other things.”
The matter-of-fact recitation of the insults she had suffered was more infuriating to me than the names Nebula had called her.
“So, you don’t really have a name of your own?” Millie asked, sad that this was so.
“Not yet, Millie,” the golem said, continuing her mopping. “A golem earns such a name through service. When enough service has been done, the name can then be conferred.”
“And, then you never have to serve others like Nebula Dreddock again,” I inferred.
“Correct,” the golem said. By this point, half the floor was finished, and positively gleaming.
“So…what will you do when you are free?” I asked, still not quite getting it.
“I will figure that out then,” the golem said. “Now, I serve.”
Not satisfied at all with that answer, I pressed with, “But if you’ve known nothing but servitude your whole life, how would you know what to do with freedom? Wouldn’t you just go back to being a slave?”
I heard the mop handle crackle as the golem tightened her grip on it. “I am a servant, not a slave. There is a difference between the two.”
“Not from where I’m standing,” I said hotly.
“Hattie,” Millie said, jumping in before things got too intense. “Didn’t you have an order to fill for that Unawakened customer who was coming by?”
I drew in a breath and nodded. I had been putting that order off so that it could be as fresh as possible. But it also gave me an excellent excuse to leave this tense situation with some grace. I decided to take Millie up on that.
I went to the front of the shop to gather the ingredients I’d need. As I pulled out the ingredients and leafed through Grandma’s recipe book, I wondered what it was about the golem that got under my skin so much. She was a little rude but was basically respectful. She was honest to the point of brutality about the facts of her existence, but she had no desire to take them out on anyone else. Yet, I kept pushing her to the point where she came close to losing her temper…not smart. Golem rampages are infamous even in Unawakened lore for the sheer damage and carnage they can inflict.
While I mulled all these things over, I found the correct recipe I needed:
Sleepytime Drink
One cinnamon stick
1/4 tsp grated nutmeg
1 cup milk
One tsp raw honey
1) Gently boil the milk with the cinnamon stick in it.
2) Pour heated milk into a mug (with the cinnamon stick still in it).
3) Grate the nutmeg on top.
4) Add a teaspoon of raw honey. And, stir.
Notes: Also good to bring out the chills through sweating. Cinnamon and nutmeg helps make you sleepy but watch the nutmeg! In large enough quantities, it’s downright hallucinogenic. I found myself smiling at Grandma’s handwriting while I made up the drink. She was always experimenting with different concoctions, even the known recipes, to see what else they could do. She’d found out that bit about the chills one time I was laid up for a week with the flu. I went back to the kitchen to mix and heat the formula.
“Hey, boss lady, how’s tricks?” a voice I hadn’t heard since the visit to Nebula’s house asked as I was grating the nutmeg.
Sure enough, Shade was right behind me when I turned around.
“Just getting an order filled right now,” I said, trying to pass it off as no big deal.
“The way you’re grating that herb, it looks like you wish it were someone’s head instead,” Shade said with a nervous chuckle.
I sighed in frustration. “Onyx is the house psych, Shade, and I barely tolerate his probing into my head.”
“Hey, can I help it if I just happen to note that you’re agitated or that there’s a distinct whiff of something I recognize from the Dreddock death scene?”
The nutmeg was overflowing by this point. Annoyed that I had wasted that much of the spice and fearful what it would do to my client, I looked around for a container to hold some of the overflow.
“It’s the golem, right?” Shade asked as I found a plastic baggie to put the extra nutmeg. “Still got a trace of that lavender on her.”
“Why is that the only thing you talk about when it comes to her?” I asked in annoyance, finishing my cleanup of the nutmeg.
“Well, I’d tell you that she smells like clay too, but that’s kind of obvious when it comes to golems, right?” Shade pointed out, carefully walking just out of my reach as he gave me his observations.
I sighed. “Oh, I’m not going to hurt you, you big oaf, even if I am in a bad mood.”
“I know you’d never hurt any of us. I’m just being careful while you look so … amped up.” Shade said with a little laugh as I doled out the honey. “I think you might want to know about one detail that even the cops missed at Nebula’s.”
Mention of a possible clue instantly calmed my nerves down. I wondered why, but I figured I could sort that out later.
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense,” I said. “What was it?”
“There wasn’t anything in Nebula’s place—from plants to cosmetics to shampoo—that had any lavender in it.”
I felt a letdown that brought my bad mood back a little. “That’s it?”
“Hey, I can see some rock-for-brains constable making the argument that the stuff I kept smelling was just some of Nebula’s makeup regimen,” Shade said, sounding hurt. “I thought that was an important detail to bring up.”
While I stirred the honey into the milk, I said, “And, it is. I just…”
I shook my head as I pulled out one of my smaller mason jars.
“I just wanted it to be more,” I admitted while I poured the mixture from the bowl into the jar. “I want to show David that having me on this case wi
th him is an actual help.”
“Millie’s right, you know,” Shade said with a tease back in his voice. “There ARE easier ways to get a date with a guy you want to go out with.”
I made like I was going to lunge at him, but I was grinning as I did so. Shade chuckled as he took off across the room. Then I heard a crash in the front. I groaned at the sound because I knew it could only mean one thing.
As I was walking towards the front, Shade yelled, “Hey, don’t forget to cap the mason jar!”
I nodded and quickly did just that. I took the jar with me as I went back up front.
The second I saw the scene in front of me, I immediately put the pot below the counter. It wouldn’t take long for me to remake Grandma’s tea but it would be a major pain in the ass if Jet busted it in one of his catnip fueled scamperings.
The clock told me that we had been open for business for about ten minutes. Millie was doing her best to catch Jet or at least spray him with the “kitty discipline bottle,” as she called it. He was too hopped up on his morning dose of catnip to sit that still. The golem, on the other hand, was stock-still, her eyes tracking Jet’s movements. The cleaning supplies were in a corner behind the corner to my right.
I was just walking forward to deal with the situation when Jet darted in front of the golem. With speed I didn’t know she had, the golem grabbed Jet and held him up.
“Hey!” Jet shrieked. “What’s the idea, you big, clay galoot?!”
“Millie,” the golem said, holding Jet up in the air between them.
My most hyper cat’s eyes widened as Millie took aim with the water bottle. In the ensuing onslaught of mist, Jet wasn’t able to get free from his captor’s grasp, no matter how much he wriggled to get free.
“Hey! Stop! Quit it!” he yelled as he got finely sprayed. “This isn’t funny!”
A few feline titters from the stairwell apparently disagreed with him.
“Given how much antipathy you have towards golems, Hattie,” Onyx said as his laughter died. “I must say that this one fits right in.”
The Infiniti Investigates: Hattie Jenkins & the Infiniti Chronicles Books 1 to 5 Page 5
