by Martha Carr
"Fuck off, Jackson."
Turner rocked back on his heels and let out a deep, throaty laugh. "You'll be just fine, Correk."
Chapter Two
"Shake it off, Correk. Feelings may fuel magic, but they can also distract." Turner's pocket buzzed and he reached inside his suit jacket for his phone, holding up a finger to Correk. "Hang on." He turned his back and listened closely.
Jackson had draped himself over one of the heavy patio chairs, his leg hanging over the armrest. "The Fixer gets phone calls to alert him. Not quite as glamorous as you expected, is it?"
Correk studied Jackson, his muscled arms folded across his chest. "I don't see the resemblance. Any chance Mara made a mistake?"
Jackson swung his leg around to the front, a scowl growing on his face. He curled his hands into fists as Correk arched an eyebrow. Let him go first.
"Break it up! Nothing worse than Elven hormones." Turner put his phone away, shaking his head in frustration. "One of the problems with a thousand years of life. You can be a juvenile ass for so much longer. Jackson, stay here if you want and my chef will feed you some of the best Tex-Mex you're going to find while you're on this planet. He has some brisket from Full House BBQ in Georgetown. Melt in your mouth."
"I know that's your way of saying, keep my ass planted right here."
"If I wanted your ass to stay here, I'd make it happen." Turner raised his voice as he waved his arm in frustration, a stream of blue light jetting across the lawn of his estate, knocking Jackson back against the chair. He whipped around and glared at Correk who held up his hands, pressing his lips together and easily seeing it was in his best interests to stay silent.
Jackson's eyes immediately glowed and anger swept through him as he whipped out his hands to create a fireball but quickly thought better of it and pulled back, his arms vibrating from the effort.
"Still a short fuse, I see..." Turner shut his eyes and lifted his chin, breathing in deeply.
"More of your chai?" Jackson felt a dull ache in his back but did nothing to let on he was smarting.
"I think he calls it chi." Correk's eyes were narrowed.
"Don't assume you can help me or know anything about me," snapped Jackson. "You and I have nothing in common."
"Except a very clever Elven woman named Leira." Turner opened his eyes.
"I always could ruffle your feathers better than most. That has to be worth something."
"That's not magic. Just an astute eye mixed with your strong desire to play the jackass most of the time. You were a gifted student."
"Not healthy to live with regret, Turner." Jackson felt the wince from his own words. Turner noticed but chose to look away.
"Jackson, those words are very true. We may possess great magical power literally at our fingertips." He held out his hands and lit up the tips of his fingers in different colors, tapping each one as they played out a different chord, creating a soothing tune. "But even we can never change the past. If you have regrets about what came before, your part in it, then I suggest you make an amends to everyone, including yourself."
Jackson let out an annoyed snort as Correk quietly watched the two Elves, interested in the answer to healing the past.
Turner adjusted the lapels on his suit, taking a moment to let Jackson take in the possibility. Turner understood his old student and knew it was better not to rush him. He looked up at his large mansion, admiring the spires on the top and felt a wave of gratitude pass through him for all the years he had been granted within its walls.
He gave a satisfied smile and said softly, "Make the amends, Jackson by how you choose to live the hundreds of years you have left. If you want to be a father to Leira, be one but recognize it's of a grown woman who just met you. There's a role for you there but you'll have to be open to learning it just like any new father. If you want to be a friend to Eireka, be one. But realize she has moved on and is happy. Support her decisions. If you want to be happy as well, be happy and stop living in a cabin in the Dark Forest and go looking for a mate of your own. Hell, friends even. Get up every day and ask yourself what you can do to live the amends that day."
"Sounds like you've had to take your own advice." Correk shifted his weight and clasped his hands behind his back.
The old Fixer shook his head gently and chuckled. "More than once, Correk. You will see that being the Fixer carries its own perils that you never expect. So many decisions to make with no time to spare. There are hundreds of years with hundreds of thousands of our kind to help. Once in a while things do not go as planned." Turner grimaced and cleared his throat.
Jackson stood up and headed toward the mansion. "Go and help the needy, you two. I'll check out how the better half lives and put your chef to good use."
"Help yourself to whatever you need," said Turner, his mind still distracted by the memories.
Jackson lifted a hand and waved but didn't turn around. He didn't want anyone to see that his eyes were shining as he curled his hand into a fist. An entire lifetime, missed. That's going to be a large amends to make.
Correk waited patiently for Turner as he sucked in his lower lip and watched a crane settle gently on the lake. "A good reminder," he said at last. "Come, we have a task. A good project for your first time in the field. A Witch must be saved from one of her own spells."
Correk tried to hide his surprise and failed.
"We don't select only those who need our help through some virtuous act or peril, Correk. Get over that notion," Turner said, brusquely. "The Fixer doesn't offer forgiveness or impart punishment. Fuck..." He rubbed his face with his hands, feeling the weight of nearly a thousand years of work. "We fix things and leave the petty judgments to others."
"Like the Silver Griffins."
Turner shrugged. "They serve a vital purpose. It would be chaos without them. But our paths do not always align. They are the reason why we must get a move on this morning. If they get there first the Witch will think a misguided spell was the least of her concerns." Turner hunched his shoulders and swiftly created a ball of light in his hands, opening a portal to a suburb in Seattle, Washington.
Correk looked through the rapidly growing portal at the tall pines and realized it wasn't Oriceran. "A portal used across Earth," he said in awe. "The Silver Griffins must not fully appreciate you either."
"There is a mutual admiration and wink and a nod to keep our hands off each other. We came to a kind of agreement a long time ago long before I was the Fixer, and it has been abided by to this day. Come on, step lively." The Fixer quickly followed Correk, stepping more easily through the portal than Correk expected, pulling his cane in behind him. Tricky old dog.
At the corner was an ornate cement sign painted white with black lettering practically hidden by bushes and pines. Fay Bainbridge Park. The street was full of large homes with neatly trimmed front yards and large SUV's in the driveways. The older houses were set back from the road and hidden by old growth.
"We are going to the newer section. To that dark grey Colonial at the end of the block. The one that has a green noxious cloud emanating from it at the moment. Not good. Like a smoke signal for humans to worry and the Silver Griffins to rush in and erase everyone's memory while dragging off the Witch. Not that she hasn't given them reason." Turner kept walking even as he lifted his cane and aimed it at the cloud like a rifle, whispering into the handle. The cloud curled around itself till it resembled a putrid green icing from a cupcake. He shoved his cane forward in the air and back again as the curl unfurled and raced toward the tip, disappearing into the cane.
"Pretty neat trick, wouldn't you say? Part one, done." Turner was pleased with himself as he hustled down the street with Correk easily keeping stride alongside him. "Keep watching and this will all make sense shortly."
"Is that how you know when to show up? You get a phone call?"
Turner let out a laugh. "Fuck no! Did you think that was the Witch calling me for help? That was a dinner reservation for later. I got a tab
le at Uchi's. Not easy to do but I have a lady to impress. Can you imagine if I had to wait for a phone call to know a magical being was in trouble? Then I'm just a magical 911 operator." He tapped the ground with the cane, pushing it along the ground. His focus was on the destination as he looked for the next sign, picking up his pace to a slow run.
They got to the house and Correk followed Turner down the side of the house, past a row of azalea bushes. They got to the back door off a covered cement patio and Turner pulled in just enough magic to unlock the door, his eyes glowing briefly. Correk took a look around to see if anyone might see them and noticed a mother pushing a stroller along the sidewalk, a small terrier on a leash leading the way. She was busy cooing to her child and passed by without looking up just as a minivan pulled up to the curb. Correk slipped into the house behind Turner, whispering, "The Silver Griffins are already here. We only have a few minutes at best."
"Thank goodness they are such rule followers. They'll start by knocking on the door." Turner shut the door behind them and locked it. He sent out a current of energy ahead of them, easily finding where the noxious gas was coming from.
They found a Witch in the family room in the back of the house wringing her hands over the remains of a large egg and a large dark red lizard rubbing its face. There was a gooey sheen still surrounding most of its body. Correk stepped closer, his eyes widening. It had been awhile since he'd seen one.
"A gargoyle..." he gasped. The thin, wet membrane was clinging to the gargoyle, pinning back its wings but not for long. "What the hell..."
"I was just trying to keep it safe for my cousin. It wasn't supposed to hatch for weeks!" The Witch's voice came out in a squeak.
Turner let out a sharp laugh. "What part of that story makes it okay that you brought a live gargoyle's egg to an American suburb? Tell me, dear Anne, how many gargoyles have you taken care of before?"
The Witch looked like the suburban Mom she was on most days wearing jeans and a cable knit turtleneck, her long brown hair cut in layers around her face. "This is my first one. Look, my cousin was desperate. She said they were stealing the eggs and she wanted to save as many as possible."
"There are more? How many, where?" Turner let the energy flow through him as the symbols on his arms appeared, floating into space and hovering over the gargoyle, soothing it.
"I don't know. Maybe a dozen. The rest of them were buried somewhere. I...I don't know where. Am I in trouble?"
There was a hard knock at the front door.
"Not if we move fast enough. Don't answer that. Correk, gather up the gargoyle. Don't worry, he's in a magical torpor."
Correk looked around and grabbed a pale cream blanket off the back of the couch, ignoring the faint whimpers and protests from Anne. He shook it out and gently gathered up the gargoyle, careful to not rub against the sharp talons and jagged teeth. He held the gargoyle close, holding it tight. "There, there little warrior."
The gargoyle looked up and opened its jaws wide, letting out a long yawn and another puff of green gas.
Correk's head whipped back from the smell and he squeezed his eyes shut. "That is worse than a troll fart. I didn't realize that was possible." His eyes watered from the stench.
The knocking grew more insistent and a woman's voice shouting, "Anne, we know you're in there. Answer the door, please. Don't make us come in there after you. That will only make it worse."
"Thank the two moons they're so damned polite," grumbled Turner. He moved his fingers around, manipulating the gold, sparkling symbols in the air as the shells of the egg lifted up, floating in the air. They came back together as an egg as the slime along the floor slide inside just ahead of the last piece fitting into place.
Turner churned his hands, one over the other creating a miniature hurricane of swirling, sparkling light that grew into a portal, opening swiftly to the size of a door, perfectly placed against the ground. "Time to go! Anne, get the door as soon as we're gone before they enter by magical force. Remember, nothing ever happened here. Let them look around as much as they want but you stay here. Go Correk!"
Correk didn't have time to think and stepped through the portal, still holding tight to the swaddled gargoyle. He found himself standing on a large estate and could see a tall black iron fence on the far side of the trees marking the property line. He turned around to see a startled grounds keeper in green coveralls holding a gas leaf blower. Correk looked at Turner coming through behind him. "Is there more trouble?"
"What?" Turner looked over and gave a wave. "Thank goodness! Jimmy, just the man I'm looking for today. I have a special delivery. Correk, hand him the package."
Correk gently moved across the uneven ground, still softly talking to the gargoyle. "There, there. Welcome to the world."
Jimmy set down the leaf blower, tilting his chin down and looking at Turner Underwood. "Can't keep storing all your problems here. What is it this time?" He took the bundle from Correk as the frustration faded and his eyes opened wider. "If this don't beat all. Is that a gargoyle? You brought a gargoyle here? After the last time? You know dragons and gargoyles don't mix well. You have some real balls there, Turner."
"I trust you know what to do, Jimmy."
"Don't I always." He said it like a fact and not a question. "Man, this is bigger than the time you brought the nest full of harpy eggs. At least they were still in their shells. Gave me a chance to get them back to the Dark Forest with no one the wiser." Jimmy looked at the long, red narrow face and smiled. "Where's the large momma gargoyle that is usually close behind one of these little things?"
"There was no time to question the nervous guardian. We will have to circle back on this one."
Correk looked up at the large, old oaks and looked through the trees, trying to figure out where he was standing. "Some of your rescues don't clean up as easily as others..." he muttered.
"Often the case, Correk. Come on, we need to get back. Jimmy knows what to do from here."
The gargoyle lifted its small head out of the blanket and let out a whimper, looking at Correk and letting out another small, green noxious cloud.
Turner chuckled. "Damn smart little creatures. It's bonded with you. Calm down." Turner held up his hands. "It's not like a troll. But gargoyles are smart. You know that. That's why they make such great postal workers on Oriceran. That gargoyle will remember you forever now. If you two ever meet again hundreds of years from now that gargoyle will remember you."
"You want to name it?" Jimmy held the gargoyle out to Correk.
Correk smiled. "What about Lucky? He escaped the fate of the rest of his nest."
"Yes... troubling. We will circle back. All may not be lost just yet. That's a good name. Sometimes, in the middle of all this magic a little luck occurs and that is what actually carries the day." Turner drew in energy and the symbols lit up along his arms, floating up into the air and spinning around till they created a whirl of light, opening a portal, exactly aligned with the ground in the shape of a door.
"You'll have to show me how to do that." Correk looked back one more time at Jimmy. He was carefully chucking Lucky under the chin and laughing every time Lucky snapped at his finger, barely missing. Correk shook his head and stepped through, back onto Turner's land in Austin, Texas.
"That and more, my young Fixer. It's a safer and faster way to open portals to anywhere you need to go. Less chance of a rip in the veil and an eternity in the depths of the world in between."
Correk felt the first real thrill of excitement about the idea of being the Fixer since Turner Underwood had asked him. "When do I start?"
"You already have, my friend. Next stop, I'm going to show you some of the secrets of a Fixer and how I can hear the cries for help."
"Make it so."
Turner arched an eyebrow and scowled at Correk.
"Sorry, too much late night TV with the troll."
Chapter Three
Charlie Monaghan made himself take deep breaths as he paced back and forth in hi
s study. His wife was at a meeting of the Daughters of the American Revolution and he was alone in the large house in Richmond, Virginia.
How could this be possible? No one loses that many employees in another world. "In one fucking day!" He took another deep breath and walked more slowly. Heel, toe, heel toe. "Raaarrrrrrhhh!" He tilted his head back and let out a roar, holding out his clenched fists, shaking them with all his might. His head felt like it could split in two from the pulsing pain. The blackouts were increasing and growing longer and the confusion was only adding to his frustration and misery.
Turning up in Austin, Texas with no recollection of how he got there or what he was supposed to be doing there put a fear in him that settled into his bones. He was unwilling to travel very far from his home after that day and hired a valet to look after him with the added duty of discreetly making sure he didn't wander too far away. Thank God silence has a price.
He took in small sips of air, checking the watch on his arm. It was time for the conference call with his board. "Not going to be pretty," he grumbled, rubbing the top of his head with his knuckles, willing the pain to subside. It wasn't working.
Charlie pressed enter on the computer's keyboard, connecting him to the cameras in the boardroom that let him see the entire group surrounding the table, all at once. He was dressed in what he considered casual when he wasn't headed for the golf course. A sports coat made just for him and grey slacks with brown leather loafers. Charlie glanced quickly around the table to see who was in attendance, forcing his trademark smile on his face. All of his pearly white teeth were showing even if the smile didn't quite make it to his eyes. He felt a pinpoint surge of pain as he spotted Pearson Cowley's large figure settling into a chair, a croissant by his steaming cup of coffee.
Charlie still blamed Pearson for the vote that forced Axiom to at least appear to be working with the Feds to recover artifacts. Thank goodness he was always prepared with a Plan B and had set up a rogue board. Things went on as usual. "Until that damnable Wizard," he muttered.
