Monarch Falls (The Four Quarters of Imagination Book 1)

by Lumen Reese

  “Right,” I said, making sure they knew I was still with them.

  “I think that’s it.”

  Isaac said, “I think that covers it.”

  Kayla, though, leaned closer to me where she was perched on the edge of Jericho’s desk. “Jericho told you we were looking at some others, didn’t he?” I nodded. “We’ll let you know if we send someone else in, but you’ve got the jump on them, and I’ve got a good feeling about you.”

  She was smiling. She had an honesty about her, the same way Jericho did, and Isaac was not off-putting, either. I could hardly believe the three of them were responsible for such a large faction of the modern slave-trade. Which led me to believe I was missing something fundamental about them, or about the Four Quarters. I decided that as soon as I had Jericho alone again, I would ask him bluntly about the discrepancy. It wasn’t very like me, but I had -somewhere around the time I signed the life insurance form-decided that I was not going to act like myself while I was in that place.

  Because Stella Grady could not walk among people who had sold themselves and chase a fugitive and succeed. So I would play a role, like the rest of them, starting the moment that I stood and Jericho offered me a gun from inside a locked case on his desk. Extra magazines, too, which I put in the satchel beside simple-made clothes.

  “Where can I change?”

  “Use my private rest room, just there-,” Jericho indicated a door I hadn’t noticed which blended in almost seamlessly with the solid wall.

  I went in and, as I had expected, it was the nicest bathroom I had seen in my life. The size of Joey’s living room, grey tiled floor, a different, granite tile on the walls. A massive shower with glass doors at one end of the long room, a toilet on the other end behind an alcove, and a long mirror and sink between the two. I changed into the white blouse and black pants, and draped over my arm the jacket of simple-made brown leather.

  It was far too warm for the thing in New York. Was it always snowy in the Hollow, even in the summer?

  I ran fingers through my hair, and looked into the mirror at my dark-rimmed green eyes, and realized how tired I was, not only in the micro sense of the word. I joined the head designers in Jericho’s office again, and they perused me.

  “Not bad,” Isaac said.

  “She’ll blend right in,” Jericho agreed, looking proud. “I think it ’ s time to go.”

  A stairway through another almost invisible doorway just alongside the elevator led the two of us up to the roof. We left Isaac and Kayla behind down below, and up above the wind stirred at my hair. I had never been up so high in my life, and the black helicopter waiting a stone’s throw away was only going to take us higher. My heart was starting to pound again for the first time that morning.

  I told myself it would be just like using an elevator but part of me worried it would be cramped inside or that I would end up vomiting inside the machine which surely cost more than what could have yesterday bought my life. But I was not acting like Stella, anymore, and I climbed inside without hesitation when the pilot opened the back hatch up for us.

  It was sleek inside, not crowded at all. I watched out the window though I could feel Jericho’s eyes on me as the pilot climbed inside and the propellers started spinning.

  “Seat belt,” Jericho prompted, just a bit forcefully.

  “Right.” I secured the straps across my chest. Then, faking aloofness I asked, “Will it really matter, if we crash, though?”

  “Probably not.” He gave a sheepish smile. “But for your life? Let’s not risk it.”

  The blades had to be making a gargantuan whir as we began to rise, but I couldn’t hear it, or the wind either, only the sound of the pilot speaking to someone through his headset.

  “I don’t get it,” I began, glancing over at Jericho. I had to ask it, then, or I would have lost my nerve. “You running this place…”

  He looked like he had known it was coming, and nodded slowly. After a moment he said, “It’s not as bad as they make it seem, but it’s not as good as I wish it was, either. I count it as a necessary evil. It has its moments of pure evil, in fact. Occasionally we get a client who’s ultimate fantasy is to kill a black person, and there’s no dancing around it, no matter how in denial they are or how much we dress it up. Isaac and Kayla are the same way, it’s difficult to take. The fact is, you need money to change this world. Playing pretend is the way I cope, I thought other people would pay for that ability, too.”

  “You were right,” I admitted. “So now, phase two? Be a benevolent ruler?”

  “That’s the idea,” he said. He had that meek smile. “I don’t blame you for being skeptical. But I started out with nothing, my father was a working man and he died when I was very young. And you’ll learn, once you get that paycheck… when you start with nothing you never forget it. Sure, that has to spur some to be crueler, make sure they never go back… but that’s not me.”

  “…My dad was a cop. He died when I was young, too. Joey, my foster-dad says that men like him don’t get statues, those are just for men like you, no offense. For men like my dad, and Joey, we are their only legacy. It won’t be me, either, if I get that paycheck.”

  “You will.”

  “You’re so sure. So don’t bother hiring anybody else.”

  “Mm-hm,” he intoned, smiling again. “We’re just covering our bases.”

  “I don’t blame you for being skeptical.”

  He paused a moment, looked down at the passing building tops. When he looked at me next, he was almost grinning, “So do I have your vote in the fall?”

  “Sure, it’ll look good on resumes, that I worked for a governor. And I guess I mostly believe you about changing the world.”

  “Thank you.”

  I hadn’t thrown up, and I had come off as cool, or at least I thought I had. Honestly I was impressed with myself, especially considering I couldn’t remember the last time I had spoken so much to someone who wasn’t Joey. We had nothing else to say, and so I bundled my satchel up under my head and leaned against the chopper door, and shut my eyes. Sleep didn’t come for a long time, but eventually I slipped into a light doze.

  I woke once, but hadn’t really forgotten where I was and still felt heavy-lidded. I looked over at Jericho and saw him leaning on his window with his arms crossed and eyes closed. I looked out the window and saw that we were no longer over the city. There was barren land passing underneath us, hard looking dirt. I closed my eyes and slept again.

  Next I knew, I was being gently shaken, and I started; Jericho held up a hand apologetically, I let out a big sigh.

  “…We’re almost to the drop point. You must’ve been tired.”

  “What time is it?”

  “It’s three o’clock.”

  “Yeah, I guess I was tired.”

  “I’m sure this is stressful, but I know you can handle it.” His tone was comforting, and I did feel comforted. “Remember, nothing and no one who’s part of the Four Quarters will harm you. We’ll be leaving you in the woods, a mile outside of the village.”

  The sky was grey above us, and the ground below was a blanket of white, broken by thousands of scraggly, dead, brown trees. The chopper was rocking in the air as it stilled over a clearing, and as we descended some of the snow there whipped up under its blades. We touched down and the pilot looked over his shoulder at us. The blades of the chopper were still spinning, and when Jericho pulled the door’s latch and heaved it open, bitter wind gusted inside.

  I flinched, tugged on the leather coat they had given me and slid past Jericho to set shaky feet down in the snow. It was ankle-deep only but I was thankful for the boots. Jericho leaned out after me, pointed in the direction the chopper was facing, and said, “The Village is that way. Any developments, keep in touch. I’ll do the same.”

  I nodded. He shut the door, gave a wave through the window, then they began to rise and I watched until they were a spot of black against the rolling grey clouds above.

 
; When they had gone all the sound had gone with them; it was deathly quiet in the clearing, yet I still felt there were eyes on me. There were cameras in the Four Quarters, that I knew, but were they everywhere? Even in the woods?

  I was gawking like an idiot, and I knew it, but the only trees I had seen were under glass in Central Park, to control air quality and keep them alive. The air was fresher, in the woods around the Village. It smelled of pine and didn’t make me feel dizzy to breathe it in deep. So I moved to the nearest of the dead trees and put my hand flat against its bark, rough under my fingertips. For the first time I understood that while I was somewhere hostile and heartless in nature, there were going to be things which made it appealing; that there had to be things which made it beautiful. I knew it was going to test me, and I knew there would be more to see and experience before the day was over. So I began walking, and tugged my satchel up higher on one shoulder, and let my other hand snake out to trace over every tree that I passed .

  Chapter Five

  After I had been trudging through the snow for probably half an hour, the ground began to slope upward and at the crest of the hill the trees were at their thickest. When I made the top I was standing over an oblong valley full of log cabins with smoking stone chimneys. In the center of the village was a well. A few dozen people milling around seemed to notice me all at once, like I was a beacon, and it stopped all movement in the tiny town. Frozen that way for a moment, snow-dusted and rustic, the place looked like something from a storybook.

  In a moment they had started churning again.

  I began a careful trudge down the slope.

  On the walk up Main Street, I felt eyes on me that I could never locate upon looking around. A sign for an inn made me turn in and shove the door open. A few heads perked up on a bench seat stretching the length of a room bursting with warmth from the fireplace. I closed the door.

  At a bar along the back wall, a busty woman waved me over.

  “Welcome to the Hollow, Ms. Grady. We can speak, there’s no buyers, here. Poor thing, you must be frozen. Get you a drink? Are you hungry?”

  “Yes, I am hungry. No drink, though.”

  “Frances, bring the investigator a bowl of stew.”

  Behind me a man lumbered over to the fireplace and scooped a ladle of brown stew out of a cauldron hanging there. He brought it over and set it in front of me. I tipped my head and said, “Thanks.”

  “My husband,” the woman said, and offered me a spoon. “I’m Dorothy. You’ll be sleeping in one of the rooms upstairs, while you’re here with us.”

  “Thank you. You know about the fugitive.”

  “Yeah, we’ve all heard things. Frances has a friend who was on a hunt, and claims he saw him in the woods.”

  “Someone saw him?”

  “Supposedly.”

  “I need to speak to him.”

  “Frances, go get Pete.”

  The man heaved out a sigh, tugged on his jacket and went.

  “Try your stew,” Dorothy prompted.

  I took a bite. There were real chunks of beef, potatoes and carrots, and as soon as I could taste them my stomach gave a pained twist. It had been nothing but bread for me, for the last week, trying to stretch my last savings until the month was out. I had to force myself to go slow, mulling over every bite, savoring it.

  She let me eat for a minute. “He can’t be in town, here. It’s too small. We would know. So either he’s out in the woods, still, or he moved on to another Quarter, continued his joy ride.”

  “Joy ride?” I said incredulously, taking another bite.

  She looked taken back, but gathered herself quickly and said, “Nobody goes hungry in here.” And she reached across the bar with a cloth in her hand and dabbed at the corner of my mouth.

  I felt the sting of embarrassment, but the door opened mercifully a moment later, and Frances stepped in, followed by a trim, leather-faced man of about thirty. They both reported to me, standing shoulder to shoulder.

  “Hello,” I said, standing up straighter. “You saw the man I’m looking for?”

  “Think so… Just a glimpse of him. Was out on one of the weekly wolf hunts, with a bunch of the others. I was the only one to notice.”

  I could smell alcohol on him. I nodded, taking in that fact. “Describe what you saw?”

  “White man. Not tall. Smaller build. He was moving like a hunter, totally quiet. I only caught a flash of him because of his clothes. They were modern. Blue sweater.”

  “That’s all?”

  “He was far away. I couldn’t describe him to a sketch artist, if that’s what you mean. Couldn’t pick him out of a lineup of one.”

  “And you saw him in the woods. Where?”

  “East on the trail toward the wolf’s cave. About three quarters of a mile in.”

  “And when was this?”

  “Two days ago.”

  I looked back to Dorothy. “Do you have a map?”

  She went into a room back behind the bar, came out a minute later, and spread a handmade map on the bar. It showed the whole town, every building of importance, and landmarks in the woods around for several miles. I had come from the south. At the east, there was a trail which led to a peak called Dawson Cliff on Dawson Lake. And beyond that, there was another few miles of forest, and then a long canyon which stretched the length of the map.

  “Thank you.” I looked at Pete and Frances, then. “Thank you. What time does the sun set, around here?”

  Dorothy said, “You won’t make it there and back before sundown. An hour, maybe. And you won’t find a fugitive, stumbling around in the dark. Have to wait until morning. Eat your stew.”

  I obliged, taking a bite. The two men moved away to sit back at the dining table. Chewing, I thought. “I’ll go first thing in the morning, then.” There was a nagging fear in the back of my mind that I tried to steady before I spoke in a low voice. “The wolf… they killed it on their hunt?”

  “They did. They always do. Or, the buyer does. They ship in a new wolf the day after, but you don’t have to worry about that. It’s controlled from headquarters, like everything else.”

  “Controlled,” I said, and the word came out tight. I suppose I was tense, at the thought of it lurking in the cave outside town, and myself having to go poke around it. “What do you mean by that? They keep it chained?”

  “No. It’s altered. It does what it’s told, like the rest of us.”

  Somehow it didn’t lessen my fear any. “I’ll go first thing in the morning, then.”

  “Shouldn’t go alone. The wolf won’t hurt you, but the trail is vague, if you aren’t familiar with it. You could get lost. Or you could fall, the cliff is steep. You should go and see Henry Haskell. He’s the town sheriff. He should be the one to take you up there. He certainly doesn’t have anything else to do, no other criminals to round up.”

  Frances chuckled somewhere behind me, and Pete too.

  I looked at the map and found the sheriff’s office toward the north end of town. “I’ll go pay him a visit, then.”

  I started to turn away but Dorothy cried, “Hold on! It’s past five, Henry will have gone home by now. Sit down and finish your stew, I’ll have Frances go and get him.” Frances groaned loud but before he could say anything she snapped, “Go!”

  “Woman!” he cursed, though he did jump to his feet and stalk to the door.

  I ate some more, and soon I was scraping the bottom of the bowl, my stomach felt warm and full. Dorothy took my dishes.

  “Is he your real husband?” I asked suddenly, unable to stop myself. “Or… fake?”

  That made her chuckle low. “Real. We came in together. Package deal.”

  “You two add a lot of character to the place. I’m sure the designers appreciate that.”

  “I hope so. I want to be earning my keep.”

  I asked, “What do you really think of it all?”

  “It’s my job. My life.” She shrugged. “Main characters get to have all the
fun, but I’m not jealous. I’m a worker bee, I always have been. And it’s nicer in here. The air, the food, the schools for children, if we have them.”

  “You don’t mind living under someone’s thumb?”

  “Not really, no. At least we chose it.”

  It was another few minutes before Frances returned with another man in tow. It struck me instantly as Henry Haskell ducked under the door frame that he seemed stripped off the cover of a romance novel. Broad, tanned, dark hair and stubbled jaw as sharp as a knife. He advanced to me and he was so big that his stride was inherently threatening.

  He offered his hand. “Henry Haskell, nice to meet you.”

  “Stella Grady.” Henry’s grip was surprisingly soft.

  “You need to check out the mountain trail and the wolf’s cave. I’ll take you up there, first thing tomorrow.”

  “Thanks. You’re the sheriff here?”

  He shrugged. “It’s mostly just a title, being that there’s never any crime. I have training. I play the law when story lines call for it.” He leaned in just a bit, and his dark eyes twinkled as he murmured, “Although sometimes I’m the villain. -There’s nobody better to take you up there, though. I lead hunts pretty regularly, when I’m not the one they’re hunting. I know every path, I know a bit about tracking, and the wolf and I have a certain understanding. You’ll be safe with me.”

  “Hm,” I mused. Dorothy was grinning as she wiped down the bar. “That’s funny, they told me I’d be safe around the wolf, no matter what.”

  Henry chuckled bashfully. “Well… that’s true, but you’ll be extra safe with me.”

  “I bet. So you’re supposed to be a werewolf, is that what you’re telling me?”

  “Sometimes. Sometimes, I’m just a distraction.”

  “Alright, so, you’ll meet me here, at dawn?”

  He hissed. “Dawn? I was thinking more like nine. Have a little breakfast, up the mountain, back by noon?”

  “I can’t waste any time, this fugitive could be dangerous.”

  “Okay. Dawn.”