by J. L. Ray
After his last outburst, she hadn’t thought she’d be able to work with him as easily as yesterday, but he had settled down and sorted through reports without a complaint and without any more extreme emotional reactions. They had been working for several hours trying to find something to give them a direction to go in so that they weren’t stuck waiting for a call. That he had been patient and able to do that had impressed her. As much as she wanted to keep some distance, it wasn’t practical given that there would be times that they worked together. And she just wasn’t the kind of person to hold a grudge. Still, she needed to make sure he understood her boundaries.
“I’m sorry I’ve seen so much of it, too,” she told him. “I hope you’re going to keep a better control of it during the rest of this case. I hate the fact that we just brought yet another Changeling over to do who knows what kind of awful slavery in our town, and now we can’t find the Beings who are doing this and shut it down.”
“We will find them,” Baz said earnestly, looking down into her green-gray eyes. “I will get back to the reports.”
She nodded and turned back to her own display. “Me too.” She really wanted to catch these folks, and soon. Phil or no Phil, she needed a vacation.
“Now, y’all tell me again.” Maybelle put one hand up and looked at her new French manicure. Then she looked across the table. “What’re our names?”
The man on the other side of the table sighed. “Ma’am, you are Angela and Jacob Orr.”
“Oar, like on a boat or somethin’?” she asked incredulously. “I don’t think I want our new last name to be somethin’ off a boat, honey.”
“O-r-r,” the officer from Witness Protection told her. “Not like a boat. It’s a common last name in southwestern North Carolina, where we are moving you.”
“Can’t we be Angela and Andrew or somethin’?” she asked, patting her husband on the shoulder. “Mickey and I are used to having the same initials!”
The US Marshal, Dan Miller, held onto his temper with both hands. He had worked in Witness Protection for over twenty years, and frequently the people he helped hide were innocent folks in the wrong place at the wrong time. The Sutherlands were not that kind of assignment. He glanced down at his file on them. These two were major players on the Mundane side in a fairly sophisticated smuggling operation that brought in quite a few destructive and dangerous artifacts from Fairie. He had a hard time buying their innocent act. He’d seen more than his fair share of those over the years.
Miller wasn’t a huge fan of the Fairie Realms. Having grown up with the Great Change in place, he should have been well adjusted. But he had never felt comfortable with magic and preferred working with what he considered his own kind, so these two really punched all his buttons. They worked with the Fairie creatures and brought in dangerous items that harmed Natties. They hadn’t seemed all that upset about the consequences of their work when they were brought in for questioning by SCIB. He had watched a tape of their interrogation. Their reactions looked completely fake to him.
Right after their interrogation, the Sutherlands had gone to ground. The SCIB officers who had impersonated them had apparently almost had their cover blown because of information these two hadn’t shared about how the operation worked. But that same night they had ducked out, the Sutherlands had resurfaced, turned themselves back in to the Mundane police, offering to testify against their smuggling partners. They said they’d had a change of heart, but Miller suspected that they had gotten wind of a plan to kill them. After they came in, Witness Protection had sent out simulacra of them. Two hours later, those simulacra had been “murdered”, which wouldn’t have surprised anyone normally. That was how WitSec worked in this new world of magic. One way or another, the Marshals’ job was to make those seeking protection appear dead. Usually they orchestrated a fake car accident or a heart attack. Fake murders were harder to deal with. But murder had been the plan for the Sutherland golems. However, this “murder” hadn’t been orchestrated by WtiSec, which meant that someone really had meant to kill the Sutherlands. And now, they’d have to figure out who that was.
Lieutenant Azeem had been informed about the simulacra, the “murder” that was being investigated, and the decision to put the Sutherlands in WitSec, so he had been put under a compulsion by the U. S. Marshals’ magical practitioner to say nothing about it. The fewer who knew about the people placed in WitSec, the more likely those people lived to testify and justify the expense of protecting them.
After the “murders”, Miller had expected the Sutherlands to be more motivated to cooperate in saving themselves, but Maybelle, or rather Angela, seemed more interested in her new nail varnish than in the details of her new life in Andersonville, North Carolina. And Mickey, or rather Jacob, expressed interest in nothing at all except his wife, as far as Miller could tell.
“Look, people,” Miller said, slapping the file down so it made a loud noise and then looking into the startled gazes of Angela and Jacob Orr. “You need to get with this program, or else it will actually be you in the Potomac, instead of magic dummies. Do you understand?”
Jacob, who seemed to spend a lot of time being agreeable, nodded and added, “Yes, sir.”
Angela wasn’t that easy. “When you say ‘git with the program,’ what exactly do you mean?”
Miller resisted the urge to put one hand to his head, though he felt an ache right at the back of his head where tension seemed to gather when he was stressed. Angela was pushing him, trying to get something, and when she realized he was breaking, she’d go in for the kill. She reminded him a little of his first ex-wife, a persistent little woman who always got her way. “Ma’am, I mean that you and your husband cannot have matching initials. Mickey and Maybelle had matching initials. You need to avoid anything reminiscent of Mickey and Maybelle.” She started to interrupt and he held up one hand to stop her. “You need to be in different occupations, in a different kind of housing. You cannot wear the style of clothing you used to wear. You need to change your hairstyle. And we have to work on your aural signature so that a magical snoop spell cannot pick up on you.”
“Well!” Angela sounded offended. “If we’re supposed to be that different and all, why are y’all moving us to a place not two hundred miles from where we grew up? It’s just one state over and all. Why ain’t we agoin’ somewheres else, like Las Vegas?”
She had been arguing for being moved to Vegas for hours. Miller rubbed the back of his neck. “We want to put you in a place where you can blend in. In Andersonville, you can blend in. It’s large enough to cover you, and small enough to be easy to get to know. Your accents will sound local. Your new jobs will work for you. It should be a good fit.”
“We wouldn’t ‘stand out,’ ” she put air quotes around the last two words, “in Las Vegas, sugar-lump. Ever’body from all over goes to Vegas. We’d fit right in. I could be a dancer and Mickey” when Miller winced she corrected herself, “Jacob, I mean Jacob, could be a bouncer.”
Marshall Miller sat for a second, wondering if the rest of his day was going to be this bad. He’d been up all night working on this set up for the two. He’d been brought in after the MP set up the simulacra. He had seen those two things out the door. He found the Sutherland golems creepy beyond belief. And after all the work he’d done, those two were still yanking his chain. He was beginning to think the fake versions of the two would hold more charm. At the very least, they would obey fucking orders.
“Y’know what,” he told them, “I’m going to go talk to my boss, see what I can do for you. How about that?”
Angela looked at him, triumph all over her face. “See, sugar, I knew we’d git somewhere if ya’ll just listened to reason. You and your boss can set us up real nice, and we’ll tell you all about those bad ole smugglers, startin’ with their names.” As Miller left the room she added in a rush, “Now remember, sugar-pie, I want to be a dancer!”
Miller walked out, hoping his boss would break it to Angela that mos
t of the dancers were either under thirty-five years old or Supers. If there was one thing he was sure of, he knew that he didn’t want to be the one to tell her that at her age, she’d be more likely to be a dealer on the floor than a dancer on the stage.
Chapter Nineteen
The weather calmed enough for Phileas to agree to go without setting up a dry spell, the storm having subsided to more of a mist than anything. Naamah went out to help release the balloon and see them off. She hugged Phileas, and then walked over to Cal.
“Calvin,” she told him, “I can place a very small spell on you for the rest of the trip, if you like, that will make the fear go away.”
“You can?” Cal’s face, which had tightened up as they headed out to the ship, lightened. “That’d be great, ma’am. I’d really be able to work better if you did that. I mean, nobody’s intimidated by an airsick ogre, am I right?”
Naamah smiled. “You are right, Calvin. Turn around and I’ll do this.”
He turned around.
“Now, shut your eyes.”
He did.
Through all of this, Phil had stood, his arms folded, trying to decide what Naamah was up to. He didn’t think she did that type of magic, at least, she hadn’t in the past. When Calvin turned his back to her, she looked at Phil and put one finger to her lips to tell him to keep quiet. Then she reached up high and thumped Cal between the shoulders. He jumped a bit.
“There! Since you have to get Phil out of here in twenty hours or less, that should take care of the fear until you have left in Fairie.”
Calvin turned around to thank her but Phil shook his head. Even with old friends, one didn’t say “thank you” to a Fairie creature in the Realms. It had a tendency to end badly. Calvin winced. He was a very well brought up ogre, by Mundane standards. It really bothered him not to thank someone. But even Naamah had to work by the rules, and she also shook her head at him as well.
Cal settled for telling her, “You have a good heart, Naamah. I won’t forget you!”
She smiled and patted his arm. “Go on now, you big softie. Good fortune to you.”
Cal climbed into the basket and Phil walked up to hug his former lover. Whispering in her ear as he hugged her close, he asked, “Now what was that all about? You don’t have that kind of magic.”
She pulled back from his embrace so he could see her. Her current incarnation in the form of a comfortably plump little old lady gave her plenty of room for lecturing young men. She told him primly, “I, my dear old friend, have been reading some of those amazing psychology books from Mundania. They are quite fascinating. Your ogre suffers from a phobia, and by giving him a reason to believe that the fear has been eliminated, I am providing him a way to avoid being scared and a way to conquer his fear. Magical Practitioners in the Mundane Realms do this all this time. I believe it is called a placebo. He can now be exposed to heights and feel immune—desensitizing is the term.”
Phil laughed and hugged her tight again. “You always were the best at fixing problems.”
She heard the wistfulness in his voice and pulled back again to search his face. “What is wrong, my dear?”
He shook his head. “Nothing you can fix with a placebo, I am afraid.”
“Is it your lovely detective?” she asked him kindly.
He grimaced. “She was mine, almost.” He shook his head. “It cannot be fixed, Naamah.”
“Nonsense! Pish tosh. Everything can be fixed. As long as you are still alive, you can make things right.” Pulling her arms back and grabbing his upper arms and giving him a shake, she added, “It takes a little effort and sometimes a lot of apologies.”
He shook his head.
“Perhaps some groveling?” she asked. “Or begging?” He shook his head. “Large gifts?”
He smiled, but it held no joy. “I do not think so, not this time.”
“Hmph.” She pulled him back in a hug and whispered, “Don’t give up. I have a very strong feeling about Detective Tony, very strong indeed. You must find a way to resolve this issue, whatever it may be.”
He sighed, hugged her once more, and then let go. “I also have a message for you from Lieutenant Azeem. He asked me to give it to you in private. Hold out your hand.”
She did, and he pressed his palm to hers, transferring the message without the use of any f-light.
“Do you need to check this message before we leave?” he asked.
She closed her palm and her eyes for a minute or so, smiling before opening her eyes again. “Oh, this one has no bearing on the case.”
Phil shrugged, wondering what the lieutenant would have to say to her, but then Azeem had been involved with Lilith, who, along with Naamah, had been one of the four Queens of Hell while living in the Mundane Realms. They must have known each other for a very long time.
Naamah walked Phil over to the balloon’s ladder, waited as he climbed into the basket, then stood back and untied the last two ropes. “Good fortune and weather to you all! I am glad you came to visit!”
Cal and Phil waved as Phileas handled the steering, barely avoiding a grove of ancient oak trees near the humble cottage Naamah now called home.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am!” Cal called out.
“I hope to see you again, old friend,” Phil added.
As she waved goodbye, Naamah snickered. “Oh, I’m sure you will!” she called out cheerfully. She went back into the cottage and began working on her dinner for that evening. She missed cooking for more than just herself, but her dear husband, for whom she had assumed the form she kept now out of nostalgia, had died many years ago in a freak lightening storm. He had been the caretaker of the nearby oak grove.
She had just begun to soak a large bunch of rampion for a salad when a knock on her door interrupted her. It was a messenger, an official from the PTB, who first had her hold out her hand for magical verification of her identity. How she looked held no bearing over who she was. The right types of magic-wielders could look like whomever, or whatever, they wished.
Once the messenger, a young centaur, was certain of Naamah’s identity, she said, “I have a secure message for you, sent from the Mundane Realms.” She handed Naamah a walnut, which Naamah then cracked to receive the information.
The spell put the message directly into her mind, and Naamah shook her head as she took it in. “Blood and Bones! That’s rather inconvenient.” She looked at the centaur. “This message is for official guests from the Mundane Realms who have just left here. I must get ahead of them before they reach their next destination. Are you willing to take me to The Willow?”
The centaur, a filly named Mildred who just recently finished training to be a messenger, wrinkled her nose. “My dam always says to stay away from that place, but I have to admit, I’m curious. I’ll take you there. If it’s official business...”
Naamah nodded her head and said grimly, “Oh yes, it is. Let me grab my bag and then we can go.” She looked at the centaur. “Oh, how will I, um…?”
Mildred laughed, a lilting whinny that made Naamah grin in response, despite the worry now on her mind. “Just hop up behind me.”
After stuffing a few things into a knapsack and surreptitiously dropping a lanyard around her neck and tucking it into her bodice, Naamah got herself up with a hand from Midge who added, “You can hang on to my coat.”
Naamah grabbed handfuls of the navy-blue jacket that the centaur wore to mark her as an official courier and, therefore, sacrosanct from magical interference.
“Thank you, Lady Centaur!”
“Call me Midge!”
As Tooley drove, he wondered where best to go when they got into the city. He needed to contact his mother and brother, and he usually did that at the warehouse. He could signal Pernella by first throwing magic coins thrown into the fountain in the sculpture garden on the Mall, and then going to the warehouse and sending a walnut through the family Tempo. The coins acted as a toll, but to whom, he had no clue. His mother had told him this method years
ago. He thought is would be safe to go to the warehouse. He didn’t think he had mentioned its location to either Crystal or to Theo, and he had met Theo at a 7-11 on the way to Crystal’s shop, so he felt confident that they had no idea where he brought in merchandise across the Realms’ divide. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of air flowing in from the passenger-side window.
“What are you doing?” he asked the girl beside him.
“You made this go up with magic?” she asked, and before he could answer she said anxiously, “I just made it go down!” Then she added, “I don’t know how.”
She was leaning against the door panel, so he assumed that she had pressed the window control. He wasn’t sure he was up to explaining electronics to her. Honestly, he was a bit hazy on it himself, despite having lived in Mundania for almost fifty years.
“There is a magic button,” he said, after a brief hesitation spent wondering if he should couch it in terms she would understand or if he should try to explain. He went for expediency over full truth. “You should probably put the window back up. It’s a little loud to have it down on the Interstate.”
“Interstate?” she parsed the word in question.
“A large road that is used by many vehicles to transfer people and goods in the Mundane Realms,” he told her.
Just then, a Mack truck started passing them on the passenger’s side, and she shrank back in her seat.
“Is it going to attack us?” she asked, one hand creeping to her sword hilt, which she had tossed in the window before climbing into the car.
Tooley grinned. “Only if we go too slow and make it late for its appointment.”
“Do not make it late,” she breathed, her eyes big as she watched the big semi pass.
Tooley looked over at her and suddenly realized that other than nicknaming her Strawberry Shortcake, for that amazing shade of hair, he had no idea what to call her. “You don’t know your name?” he asked her gently.
