Mismatched Pair

by J. L. Ray

  “What if I insist?” he asked musingly, swirling the dregs of the ice in his margarita glass and still avoiding eye contact.

  “Insist?” she asked dangerously.

  “What if I do not want you to work with de Groot...at all?” he asked.

  “Why de Groot?” She pushed for an answer. “What is it that has you so determined that I shouldn’t be near him?” She frowned at his bowed head and leapt to the wrong conclusion. “You’re not…you’re not jealous are you?”

  Phil should have been able to control his physical reactions better, but there was some truth in that. Just not the truth she thought she had revealed. He was jealous—jealous that de Groot got to work with her, see her every day. And pissed that Azeem had picked de Groot as the solution to the Newmans’ need to keep Tony’s mind off of her sister for a while.

  He colored as he looked up at her and frowned, but before he could speak, she shook her head. “You know, I really, really like you. I like you more than I want to like you. But that is too much to ask on pure faith.” She reached over and grabbed his hand and added, “If you could just tell me why? Specifically, why?”

  He shook his head. Then he added, head bent back down, “Please.”

  She sighed. Then she got her purse and pulled out a few twenties. She tossed them on the table by Phil’s elbow. “That’s for my share of the tapas and drinks. You take care of the tip. I’ll call a cab.” She paused for a second, hoping he would change his mind and tell her what was going on. When he didn’t say anything, she stood up and leaned over, as if to kiss him good-bye, but instead, she whispered in his ear, “Maybe you had better not call. I don’t think this is going to work.” Her breath on his cheek was warm, and then he felt her press her lips to his cheek. “Good-bye, Phil.”

  Ten minutes later, Tony opened the door to her apartment and fell to the ground, hunched over in dizzy nausea. She lay there for what felt like hours, hoping it would stop. When it did and she crawled over to her bed, she pulled out her f-light and checked. It read midnight. Only five minutes had passed since she had walked in the door and fallen. The episode had been very different from those she’d had after capturing Serena, not that she remembered Serena’s capture. Apparently, she’d not only been hunched over in physical convulsions, but also unconscious of her surroundings, unlike tonight. “What the hell,” she muttered, wondering if she should call someone. She hadn’t told anyone about the bought of dizziness earlier, at the warehouse, worried they’d pull her off the case or make her take the time to check with the doctor’s office. She hadn’t wanted to miss her date. Maybe it would have been better if she had. She had assumed that the episode couldn’t be the same issue as before since it had felt so different. Now she wasn’t sure what to think. And be damned if she’d call Phil to ask. She snorted at the aptness of the thought. Then she remembered how much he liked her snort, and all she felt was sad and let down that he had turned out to be a control freak.

  She’d wanted nothing more than to bring Phil home with her and finish what they had almost started back in the shower, but no one, no one, told her how to do her job. Okay, maybe her bosses. Maybe the D.C. public. She worked for them, after all, as a public servant. But no one else. She didn’t even let her parents, whom she adored, tell her how to do her job, and they had tried. She certainly wasn’t about to let someone who wasn’t even an official boyfriend start telling her with whom she could or could not work. “Shit. I’m even thinking in correct standard English, thanks to that demon. Enough of that! Back to ending sentences with a friggin’ preposition if I feel like it!”

  She should have felt better—the dizziness was fading, the nausea gone, which was great because throwing up after eating at her favorite restaurant would suck. But all she could think of was the glimpse she got of Phil through the window of the restaurant as she waited for her cab, his head bent and his shoulders slumped.

  Chapter Nine

  O’Toole and Theo drove out into the country, heading toward Sterling, Virginia, a small town not far from Washington D. C. Theo had directed O’Toole there where he would meet the Mistress in person for the first time and deliver the boxes that the Sutherlands, or rather Maybelle Sutherland, had ferried through the Tempo. Theo presented the meeting to him as an audition.

  “You want to work for Her more than one time, I think. You muth impreth her with more than juth an eathy portal.”

  O’Toole had nodded in agreement, but he couldn’t help wondering what else she wanted from him. Access to the portal itself ought to be sufficient cause for them to form a mutually beneficial business arrangement. It wasn’t as if an easily used and accessible portal, one not under the control of the PTB, occurred frequently. And his family’s portal was perfect for moving merchandise. O’Toole and his mother had perfected a way to move items across the Divide, undetected, by using Natties, a nullification spell for the magic items so they didn’t trigger the Geas, and that modified portal that his mother could open and close at will from the Fairie side of the Divide. He assumed that this was why he had been hired by the Mistress for this run. His past success in ferrying magical items had come to Her attention.

  Tooley’s Mum Pernella had discovered that, contrary to the days before the Great Geas, a Natty could now cross the Divide with magic items, under the right circumstances. The process of Pernella’s discovery had started back in 1987, when an insurance salesman named Walter Smith had slipped through a portal carelessly left open by a pack of vacationing pixies. Smith had been trapped in Fairie for ten years when Pernella Packlead met him. Early during his time in Fairie, the Great Geas had been invoked, and suddenly, getting back to Mundania got even tougher. It would have taken several years of paperwork for the PTB to let the supposed Natty through a legal portal. Pernella felt so sorry for the homesick, and regrettably handsome, man, that when she got access to a stray legal portal, she swiped it and reworked it so it appeared to be a Tempo while operating, changing its magical signature to keep it under the PTB’s, and the Geas’, magical radars. She then used that portal to try to send Smith back to Mundania, which he had begged her to do, citing his need to get home to his poor old mother. Pernella identified with that all too well. However, Smith had not refrained from eating and drinking while in Fairie, so he couldn’t just cross over. The Tempo reacted to him as it would to an actual Super. Smith had been heartbroken, so Pernella, always a sucker for a pretty face, consulted with her son Tooley in Mundania, and they created a medallion that cancelled out any stray magic in him or clinging to him so that he could go through the portal.

  Unfortunately, Pernella found out that his sad sack routine had been just that, a routine. It turned out Smith had come to Fairie on purpose to try to find a fortune and gotten stuck. When he figured out what Pernella and Tooley were making in that medallion, the lying little shit had snagged a few memorabilia of his time in Fairie, and when he crossed to Mundania with the medallion, he had taken those items back across the Divide as well. After noticing some familiar magical items for sale on the Dark Market, Tooley told his mum. Pernella realized then that the medallion nullified more than Smith’s magic. It also nullified the magical signature on the Fairie goods Smith had stolen from her. The combination of medallion and his Mundane blood had aided him in crossing unscathed. When she found out what he had done, she had to send Tooley after him to clean up the mess he had made in Mundania. She needed to make certain that she, her sons, and her very illegal portal weren’t discovered. Luckily, despite his meddling with her medallion, he didn’t seem to know what he had. Tooley was able to shut down any magical mojo Smith had initiated before anything world-shattering happened and steal back the medallion and the artifacts Smith had hi-jacked. In doing so, Tooley and Pernella had discovered a way to create a reusable portal and a way to send items through with Mundanes, as long as those transporting the items were not full-blooded creatures of Fairie. Over time, Pernella had become almost certain that one of those medallions would also allow a full-b
lood Super to pass through the Tempo, but she hadn’t tested her theory yet. By that time, she and Tooley had already been talking about moving her other son, little baby Bogey, to Mundania to save him from the Witches’ Council.

  Before the Great Change, Pernella had traveled to Mundania frequently. A visit to France at the turn of the century had left her fixated on films, and in the 1930s, when talkies came out, her fascination moved to specific stars. She had gone back and forth between the realms and had tricked one particular favorite actor into a night of passion that had left her with a baby, O’Toole, a male with magical abilities. Since he was half Mundane, his magic-wielding had not caused him to be born a wizard, a state that led good, sane witch mothers to kill their male children. At first, Pernella was even able to hide his magic, so he presented as a mere magic-holder, a perfectly respectable witch’s boy, rather than a magic-wielder, and thus a threat to the sisterhood.

  Pernella was not meant to be the sister to carry the line, but her sister witches had let it be, until she had Bogart. She hadn’t meant to have Bogey, but his dad had been pretty persuasive. She had to use a spell on herself to make their short-lived relationship possible, but in the end, she and one of the handsomest giants she ever met had danced in the moonlight, almost destroying acres of habitat in their enthusiasm. Though he had said goodbye reluctantly, the spell wasn’t permanent, and the relationship couldn’t have lasted. Their height differential put a whole new spin on “long-distance” relationships. But she got her sweet little Bogart out of it.

  Unfortunately, her sisters had not felt a lot of sympathy for her insistence on getting children out of her trysts. The old wives’ tale about witches and sex wasn’t exactly true. In fact, the idea that only one sister had a sex life and produced a line of children was a tale created by the old witches, a way to help protect them from the malice of the general populace. It wasn’t that all the sisters couldn’t indulge in a little fun. They just liked to keep their family secrets. They also liked to control the number of boys, given the chance of unleashing hell if one of the boys turned out to be both a wizard and crazy, an almost universal combination of traits.

  Witches also liked to keep their family lines pure and tended to have a xenophobic reaction to cross-species mating. Pernella’s one dalliance in Mundania had been overlooked. Her wild gamboling with a giant in Fairie was not. She was banished from her home and hearth, and so raised her second child outside of the usual witch culture. This exile was what had made her turn professional smuggler, with the support of O’Toole, who dearly loved his old Mum and baby brother. Tooley, who had been living in Mundania when the Geas triggered, had been helping his mother exchange Mundane merchandise for magical items for almost a decade on a far less regular basis before Bogey was born. His considerable powers lessened by the effect of living in Mundania, Tooley stayed off of the Geas’ radar with his minor crimes and out of the way of the larger number of witches and certainly out of the way of his aunties by living across the Great Divide. In turn, he got to follow his own passion, theatrical stage performance. When he wasn’t helping his mum, he was usually in one show or another. For reasons he didn’t understand, but appreciated, this seemed to satisfy the Geas.

  O’Toole had moved to Washington D.C. a few years ago and smuggling with his mother had become a more regular business. As Bogey got older and tougher to hide from the Witches’ Council, his family became desperate to make more money faster. Tooley had contacted the Sutherlands, who had been recommended to Mum by her favorite bartender and his loser boyfriend, and they had gotten Tooley in touch with Theo, who represented the Mistress. He hadn’t told Mum about Her yet, and he dreaded it. But here he was, about to walk into his biggest payday ever. He was quite desperate to make enough money to be able to bribe someone to let Mum and Bogey immigrate. They’d all be happier in Mundania, and no matter what, Bogey would have a better future here if they could just pull this off. Mum hadn’t said anything, but Tooley had heard rumors that a certain half-breed giant might be a target for the witching community back in Fairie. Bogart had been overlooked as a baby, but now that he was almost full-sized, they wouldn’t overlook him any more. And Tooley wasn’t about to let anyone hurt his brother.

  “Pull in there,” Theo said and pointed to the parking lot in front of a strip mall.

  “This is a bit public, isn’t it?” he asked nervously.

  “Pull around to the back. Then go to the thervice entrance of ‘Crythal’s Veil’ and back up to the door.”

  “Go to the what?” Tooley asked, assuming he had to have heard incorrectly.

  “Not to The What. Go to Crythal’s Veil.” Theo looked at him in challenge.

  “O-kay,” he muttered, wondering what idiot had come up with that name. It didn’t even make sense. He followed the goblin’s instructions, and they pushed the rusted doors of the ancient minivan open with twin squeals and walked back to the docking bay door. Just as they arrived, it roared open, a sound that startled Tooley so completely that he almost fell backward. Theo had been expecting it and simply kept walking. The Being who emerged had Tooley wondering if he should get back in his car and go.

  The woman who stepped out was dressed in the worst of oversized 1970s hippie earth mother Indian cotton. The gauzy fabric wasn’t opaque enough to leave her figure to the imagination, a fault that kept Tooley’s eyes determinedly forward. The mix of patterns in the different parts of the dress, not to mention the mix of colors, could cause migraines in a healthy person, and the scent of patchouli came off her body in a palpable wave. The assault on Tooley’s eyes and nose left his eyes watering, and he was almost ready to turn tail, money or no, when the woman finally spoke.

  In a rich voice, deep and honeyed and a balm to his jangled senses, the woman said, “Welcome to my shop, Mr. O’Toole. I am Crystal Winkowski, the proprietor. Shall we talk price before we unload the packages?”

  “Just O’Toole, madam. No mister. And that…that would be fine,” Tooley told her, relieved. He had expected a witch, but he read no magic signature from this woman. This couldn’t be the creature he had contracted with through Theo. “Are you…I mean, I thought…that is…Theo led me to believe—”

  She interrupted with a throaty laugh that made Tooley catch his breath. “Let us say that I represent the Mistress here in this Realm, shall we?”

  She smiled at him and he felt like he’d won the lottery. What the bloody hell was happening? He shook his head and cleared his throat. Her smile made him think of knives and pain, and at the same time, he would die to see her smile just one more time.

  She turned to the goblin. “Theo, darling, go make sure that the area I have set up for the largest package is...ready,” Crystal said. “Check the packages and then move them to my office.” She touched Theo’s arm and he smiled beatifically. “You can leave when you finish. It is almost time for your shift at the hospital.”

  He nodded and headed into the shop.

  Crystal turned and took Tooley’s cloak-draped arm. “What a lovely cloak! Black velvet lining?” She reached up and ran her hand along the inside of the lining next to his chest. He tried very hard to refrain from flinching. Despite her incredible voice, the patchouli had him on the verge of sneezing, and the neckline on her dress was positively indecent. He didn’t want to see any more of her, he really didn’t. And yet he couldn’t look away. Oh, dear. He had a feeling that despite being Mundane, Ms. Winkowski might have gotten her clever little hands on the kind of spell his mother had used on his father. He couldn’t seem to stop staring at this woman. He wanted this woman. And he wanted to run from this woman. This was bad. This was very, very bad.

  Phil sat at the table at Oyamel, his third margarita sweating in front of him, untouched. He had spelled the table to keep the staff away, afraid that if one more person asked him if he needed anything, he’d explode. Morosely, he watched lines of condensation roll slowly down the glass and puddle at the bottom and thought about Tony.

  He had wanted to
answer her question. He had a perfectly good reason for asking her to avoid de Groot. However, he also was under a compulsion, a small geas, one that made it impossible for him to tell her or anyone else for that matter, his reason for asking her to avoid Baz. Unless she figured it out on her own, she would never know that his reason was, essentially, reasonable. But how likely was that?

  He looked over at the money she had put on the table and frowned. First dates should not end like this. He wished she could just trust him. He looked up and saw the lovely hostess and then looked away and grinned. Perhaps she had good cause to assume the worst about him. Still, she was the one who talked about the need to avoid assumptions, to look deeper. He reached out and picked up the drink and took a sip, then made a face. Watered down so much the hibiscus was barely discernible. He would have had to have known the ingredients in the first place to be able to tell it was even in there. As he finished that thought, he sat up straighter. He looked at the drink and smiled. A detective—he was dating, or rather trying to date, a detective. And a detective needed clues to figure things out. For that matter, so did de Groot. He might have to start with an ingredient list, just to get her on the right track, but if he could get her to see beyond her Mundane assumptions to the Fairie possibilities, then perhaps he still had a chance. It had to begin with being able to see her again.

  With a wave of his hand, Phil removed the privacy spell and paid his bill. He made a point of thanking the hostess on his way out the door.

  “No, no, sir. Thank you for what you did for my mother,” the young woman told him, smiling shyly. “I wouldn’t be here without the help you gave her.” She looked into his eyes. “I really thought the favor we owed would be more...” she paused and blushed. “More difficult.”