Buried Truth

by Frank Hurt

  They hardly looked like calves to Ember. The heifer and steer were nearly fully grown at 800 pounds each and their sharp, ungainly hooves made her nervous, even with the heavy pine corral between the animals and her. They still had the playful behavior of calves, running excitedly to the fence when they saw Maxim and Marta approach.

  “These have got to be the biggest pets a child could ever want,” Ember said.

  A third bovine in the corral hurried over, nudging its wet nose in search of grass or grain, which the kids often offered as treats. Mandrake was a Black Angus steer, belonging to a friend they made in 4H.

  As Mandrake stepped up to the fence, Maxim said, “we’re getting to stay with Mandrake’s person.”

  “Mandrake’s…person?” Ember asked.

  “Elise. She’s our friend from 4H,” Marta explained. “It’s her ninth birthday on Tuesday, and she invited us to a sleepover.”

  Maxim said, “she lives near Palermo. Mom said we could go, but we have to be on our best behavior.”

  “Our best,” Marta agreed. “We get to go Tuesday after school. There’s gonna be pizza.”

  “You two better not wet the bed,” Alarik chided.

  “Uncle Rik! We don’t wet the bed!” Maxim balled up a tiny fist and punched his uncle. For his part, Alarik feigned kidney pain, groaning dramatically.

  Ember plucked a fistful of dried bromegrass and offered it through the rails of the wooden fence. “Is Dee Dee going to have babies someday?”

  “Mandrake and Dexter are steers,” Marta said.

  “Oh. I mean, yeah, but—”

  Maxim stopped assaulting his uncle to cheerfully say, “steers means they’ve had their nuts cut off. They’re not bulls anymore.”

  Ember blinked, then laughed. “Oh. Well there’s no mincing words, right?”

  “So Dee Dee can’t have calves with them,” Marta said.

  “Brilliant. Right. No need to…no need to explain further. Got it.” Ember watched as Mandrake’s huge, pink tongue wrapped around the offered tribute, yanking the bundle of grass from her clutch.

  “But that doesn’t mean Dee Dee can’t have a boyfriend.” Marta looked thoughtfully as her tongue licked her lips. “I think Mandrake is maybe her boyfriend. Yeah, I think he is. Do you have a boyfriend, Ember?”

  “Me?” Ember choked a laugh. “No. No, no I don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I just…I just don’t I guess. Nobody’s asked me out.”

  Marta planted her fists on her hips and looked up at the two adults. “What about Uncle Rik? Uncle Rik, you should ask Ember out. That would probably make her happy.”

  Ember blinked. “Oh…I don’t think that’s—”

  “You know what,” Alarik said. “I think that’s a good idea. What do you say, Ember? Do you want to go out with me? Let’s say, Friday?”

  Ember stood with her mouth open for a moment before she realized she hadn’t responded. “Um…yes. Right. Okay.”

  Marta clapped her hands together and began singing. “Ember and Uncle Rik, sittin’ in a tree. K-I-S-S-I—hey!”

  Alarik interrupted the song with a mock roar. He picked his niece up and slung her over his shoulder, fireman style. Marta protested even as she laughed.

  It was a happy moment, and one of the last such moments she or any of the Schmitts would have for quite a while.

  7

  You’re Just a Punching Bag

  She winced, feeling the stun of the impact. It was harder to get up off the floor with each successive knock-down. This was the fourth time Ember had her legs taken out from beneath her today. It wasn’t yet 7:00 in the morning.

  “Come on, get up off the mat,” the tall, jet-black maned woman yelled. “What’re you gonna do, take a nap?”

  “Well I am tired,” Ember said. She rolled onto her knees and began to stand up.

  “Oops, too slow,” Debra Morgan said. She carved a low arc with her leg, connecting her shin with Ember’s thigh.

  The blonde mage hit the padded floor a fifth time with an audible thud. She grunted and sucked in air. When she closed her eyes, she saw her instructor’s mountain lion subform looking back at her, its tempered bronze colored gaze fixed on its prey. “What the bloody hell, Debra? You can’t even let me get up?”

  “What, you think a bad guy cares if you’re tired?” The instructor shuffled her feet, her lean, muscular figure charged with refined energy. “Do you think a burglar breaking into your apartment is going to give you a minute to wake up, to catch your wits? No. You need to be able to cope. To adapt. Now get up.”

  Ember scowled but obeyed. She brought her hands up to guard her face. She blocked the first punch, but the second landed on the padded headgear she wore. For a moment, her vision went white.

  “Bloody hell, Debra! That hurt!”

  “Yeah, that’s kind of the idea, girly.” The instructor kept up the offense, landing a low kick on her student’s shin. “Why aren’t you blocking me? I know you’re better than this.”

  “I told you,” Ember huffed. “I’m tired.”

  “Yeah? Well, that sounds like a personal problem. I’m not your priest. I sure as hell ain’t your shrink. So, get your head in the game and quit wasting my time.”

  Ember brought her hands up again, only to have Debra slap them away. The Krav Maga instructor was taunting her student.

  Debra flashed a humorless grin. “Oh, does that piss you off? When I slap your hand like that? Too slow.”

  “Knock. It. Off.” Ember spat the words out. A vein in her temple pulsed and her face flushed red. Her nostrils flared as she tried to catch her breath.

  “Okay, hotshot. You’re the youngest ever Senior Investigator. I mean ever. You single-handedly took down a serial killer. Famous around the world for hunting the hunter. And you’re letting me knock you down?” Debra feinted, then slapped Ember’s headgear.

  “Bloody hell, Debra, you’re a pain in my butt.” Ember stepped back and straightened the padded gear.

  “Oh, that makes you angry?” Debra stepped forward to slap Ember’s gloved hand again. “What’re you gonna do about it? You gonna take me out? Or are you gonna just stand there and take it?”

  Ember didn’t hesitate. She jabbed at Debra’s head with her right fist, followed by a wide left hook.

  Debra pivoted on her heel, strafing to the side as she kept her right foot planted. She grabbed Ember’s forearm and encouraged the student’s forward inertia. In a split second, Ember was on the mat once more.

  “Alright. Now you’re just a punching bag.” Debra shook her head, waving her long, jet-black ponytail. “I’ll give you a moment to tell me what’s going on.”

  Ember rolled over and slapped a hand on the mat. She squinted up at the changeling. “No, you’re right. You’re not my therapist.”

  “Suit yourself.” Debra shrugged, then stepped into a fighting posture. “If you don’t wanna talk, then get your butt up, my little blonde punching bag. If this is how you want to start your Monday, that’s fine by me.”

  “Right. Yeah. Let’s talk.” Ember exhaled slowly as she sat up. She unclasped the protective headgear and tossed it at her instructor’s feet as a defeated combatant might submit her shield and sword. It was the only way Ember could be sure the changeling wasn’t going to persist in sparring. At least, she was reasonably sure.

  “Do you know why I knocked you down this last time?” Debra crossed her arms over her chest. The skin-tight tank top bore hardly any sweat.

  “Because you’re quicker than me.”

  “No. Well, I am, but no, that’s not the reason.” Debra shook her head. “No, it’s because you didn’t control your anger. It controlled you.”

  Ember rubbed her thigh, wincing at the fresh bruise. “I got sloppy.”

  “You did. I don’t care if it’s anger or fear or sadness or whatever it is you’re feeling. If you’re not in control of your emotions, then they’re in control of you. If you let your emotions run things, you’ll ge
t knocked over every time.”

  “Sometimes it’s helpful to get angry,” Ember countered. “Anger can be a powerful motivator.”

  Debra bent at the waist and touched her toes. She held the stretch for a moment before slowly straightening her lean figure. “No doubt. But only if you control it. If you’re ever in a fight with someone who’s being ruled by their emotions, then look out: they’re as much a danger to themselves as to others.”

  “First rule of Krav Maga is avoidance,” Ember said. “So if I come across someone like that, avoid them.”

  “Right. But if you can’t avoid them, then try to use those emotions against them.” Debra nodded once. “Like I did to you; I just let your momentum do the work.”

  “I knew better than to do that, too. You’ve taught me that time and again.”

  “Don’t I know it.” Debra fixed her pale eyes upon her student. “So, what’s the problem? Being tired isn’t the whole issue, I can tell. What’s changed in your life recently?”

  Ember shrugged. “Bugger all. Right, I mean, I did get asked out on a date yesterday.”

  “And I’m sure she’s a lovely girl. Are you obsessing over her?”

  “It’s not a girl. I mean he’s not a girl. He’s a man.” Ember blushed. “I’ve told you before, I’m not into women.”

  “Uh huh. That’s why you get so defensive.” Debra shrugged. “Regardless, are you obsessing over this…gentleman?”

  “Obsessing? No, I wouldn’t say that. I mean I do think about him. Sometimes often, I guess. But I’ve known him for a while. We’ve become really good friends and I—”

  “So, you’re not obsessing over him,” Debra said. “Are you obsessing about a case at work?”

  The mage shook her head. “There’s no open cases right now. Nothing of any consequence at least.”

  “Well, there’s your problem.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “It’s like this, girly: when I get pissed off at the world—which happens quite a bit—I need something to punch.” Debra assumed a fighting pose and shadow boxed an imaginary target. “I go to the gym. I spar. Especially against someone bigger than me. It makes me feel better.”

  “Are you saying I need a punching bag?”

  “No, that’s what I do. What you do is different. You’re an obsessor. You’re happiest when you’ve got something to obsess over.” Debra jabbed at the air. “What you need is a case. Like the serial killer.”

  Ember chewed her lip. “I hope I never come across another case like that one.”

  “Okay, fine, it doesn’t matter what the case is. A lost cat. Graffiti under the railroad bridge. Who’s been stealing Dennis’s lunch from the Security office refrigerator and replacing it with shaving cream?” Debra smirked. “Whatever it is, you need to find something you can focus all this nervous energy on. You’re a Senior Investigator—so go get yourself a case to work on.”

  Ember raised an eyebrow. She thought about Debra’s coworker, the mountain of a man who took pleasure in annoying the women who worked in the Parker Building. “Why have you been stealing Dennis’s lunch?”

  Debra blinked. Though they were the only ones in the dojo, she lowered her voice. “Okay, you got me, Investigator. Maybe I just like watching that arrogant, bearded dick lose his shit. The shaving cream is just an added bonus.”

  Ember’s lips quirked into a smile. “Brilliant. That seems fair to me.”

  8

  Pretend I’m Not Even Here

  Is there anything worse than pointless meetings?

  Right, maybe cornering an armed murderer in a small room. That was worse. At least in a gunfight there’s a possibility of quick death. Here, it’s torture-by-Roman numerals. Ember studied the clock on the wall above her seat. I swear the minute hand on that bloody thing is ticking slower with each new agenda item.

  A bona fide meeting moth even before his promotion to Director of Investigation, Duncan Heywood’s affinity for mandatory assembly made him fit right in among the other department heads. What’s worse, now as a full-time staff member, Ember could no longer conveniently skip the meetings.

  Ember watched Duncan’s lips move as he addressed those seated around the Third-Floor conference room table. He’s so boring, my brain can’t even hear what he’s saying. It’s trying to preserve my sanity by muting the meeting moth’s voice.

  It was the same every weekday morning: gather in the conference room and discover what new forms of torture Duncan had invented to burn up 90 minutes of his staff’s life.

  She studied each of her fellow inmates. There was the youthful office secretary, Joy Hilliker. A changeling whose animal subform was a sugar glider, Joy bubbled with an abundance of effervescent energy. She sat with her back against the wall, furiously moving her pen over clipboard-bound papers. Ostensibly, she was taking notes. More likely, she’s sketching cartoon characters. By now she must have drawn volumes of comic books.

  The scarlet-maned woman with a freckled face and upturned nose was Associate Investigator Jackie Roberts. A tall, slender woman with perpetually manicured nails and an affinity for animal print, she was an average Investigator at best. Ever since Ember had released her from Elton Higginbotham’s Deference Spell, Jackie had proven incredibly loyal. No matter the task, Jackie would volunteer if it meant a chance to assist Ember.

  Then there was the pale-skinned nasal drip of a mage, Associate Investigator Neal Page. The goatee he wore made his pointy chin appear even longer, exaggerating his already triangular face. If Neal was capable of having original thoughts, he never provided evidence of such. He relegated most of his thinking to the butch Malvern seated at his left.

  That would be Associate Investigator Roseanne Nelson. The squat, stout woman kept the hair above her square face spiked. Whatever the reason, Roseanne loathed Ember, and she didn’t hide her feelings.

  While Duncan and Jackie had been freed, the latter two Associate Investigators still lived with Elton’s Deference Spell. A dark smudge of a shadow blurred their auras, restricting their words and actions. As the only living mage capable of actually seeing auras, Ember initially had been terrified to see what she originally thought was a disease of some sort infecting the various Investigators in Minot.

  It felt like years had passed since Ember learned the technique for countering the Deference Spells. In reality, it was merely four months ago when she freed Duncan and later Jackie.

  Both Wallace Livingston and Duncan Heywood had insisted on keeping the others under Elton’s Deference Spell. Ember reluctantly agreed, seeing the merit in their argument.

  “We need to look at the bigger picture, Ember,” Wallace had said in his slow highland drawl. “As long as Elton thinks he’s in control, we have room to maneuver, to learn who he is working with. If you release others from the Deference Spell and they slip up, Elton will know his cover has been blown. Backed into a corner, there’s no telling what he might do. Until we know who his co-conspirators are, it’s just too risky to expose more players.”

  Ember had bristled when he told her that. She said, “players? These are people, Wallace. Not pieces on a board game.”

  Wallace had been unmoved. “We’ll have time to debate the ethics of our decisions after we root out the corruption. Until then, we’ve got to exercise caution.”

  Duncan had agreed with Wallace. As they were each 140 years older than her, Ember chose to defer to their judgment. They had lived entire lives, had brought in countless bad guys before she was even born. Though she possessed powers they lacked, she recognized that it was no substitute for experience.

  So, she stuck to the plan and freed no other mages…for a while. When a serial killer started targeting her friends, all bets were off. That’s when Ember stood up to the overly-cautious Duncan. She released Jackie from the Deference Spell so that the fellow Investigator could help her track down the man who would be known as the Changeling Hunter.

  For her part, Jackie continued to act as though she was still
under the Deference Spell—just as Ember and Duncan did. The difference between Duncan and Jackie was that Duncan also acted as though he had forgotten who liberated him.

  But that’s what freedom looks like. Freedom means allowing others to live how they want, not just how I want them to live.

  It made Ember contemplate the morality of allowing Neal and Roseanne to continue living with the burden of the Deference Spell. It felt, at times, that by allowing this to continue they were all becoming little more than accomplices in the continued bondage of two souls. Are we really much better than Elton, using dark magic for his own benefit?

  She shook her head in an attempt to break up the inner monologue.

  Duncan noticed and stopped his presentation. “I’m sorry, Wright, are you in disagreement?”

  “Um…” Ember glanced at the paper on the table in front of her. “Where are we at?”

  “We’re on Planet Earth, princess,” Roseanne Nelson said. “At least some of us are.”

  She lacked the energy to respond to the taunt. Though Ember had solved a major case and now outranked her, the stout, spiky-haired Associate Investigator’s attitude hadn’t improved one bit. I accept that respect has to be earned, but in Roseanne’s case, it’s probably going to have to be taught.

  “We’re on the third item on the agenda, Wright.” Duncan tapped the paper with a yellow, plastic mechanical pencil. “I’m about to go over some examples for proper syntax when submitting case files.”

  Ember turned the agenda over to glance at a stack of sample forms. “Have people been filling them out wrong?”

  “Not exactly. This is just review.” Duncan’s gruff smoker’s voice paired well with his military-style buzz cut. “Some of us are new to the staff. A review of procedures is warranted.”

  “Some of us. You mean me.” She was weary of the charade. “Is it entirely necessary to go over each of these samples? Couldn’t you just give them to us and we can reference as needed?”

  “I just think it would be clearer if I explain point-by-point,” Duncan said.