Prelude to Poison

by Morgan W. Silver

  “No. I’ll be fine. Show me what you were working on.”

  “First get a towel and dry yourself. Otherwise you can’t enjoy it.”

  “So I am going to enjoy it, then? Sure you’re not trying to kill me?” Too.

  “Come on, I have a lovely birthday surprise. Just go and get a towel and I’ll wait in the shed.” He trots off excitedly.

  “Wait,” I sign, but he already has his back to me. I hurry inside trying my best not to leave a disastrous amount of water in my steps.

  “The raptor again?” My mother asks as she eyes me over the rim of her tea mug.

  I grumble incoherently as my high heels make squishy sounds with each step. In the guest room I dry myself off and change into a new outfit.

  Instead of going back to Dad’s shed alone, I take Lovelace with me. Hopefully her stay here will make her lower her guard. Maybe even my dad can get some more information out of her. Either way, my dad is one of the best Illusionists I’ve ever seen and his surprise will no doubt be beautiful. I have the feeling Lovelace could use something like that. She follows me obediently, holding my hand again. Despite never having been particularly fond of children, I find this quite touching and I squeeze her hand reassuringly. My mother stays in the kitchen, flipping through a magazine and wishing Dad hadn’t made her throw out the coffee maker.

  We enter the shed. Lovelace frowns as she looks around the large space, then she looks at me.

  “It’s larger on the inside, yes. You’re not mistaken,” I sign.

  Her mouth opens.

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet.” My dad is turned away from us so I have to tap him on his shoulder. He turns around with a smile, then adjusts his glasses to peer down at Lovelace.

  “You haven’t had a child, have you?” he signs as he speaks along.

  “No,” I sign back. I introduce them to each other and let them spell their name to each other. Lovelace asks him how long he’s been deaf.

  “For a long time. You?”

  “I got sick when I was three,” she signs.

  “I’m sorry. Don’t worry. You’re in good hands. Monday is the best. The only downside is that she’s afraid of dinosaurs.”

  Lovelace sniggers.

  “I’d like to see how you do in the face of a dangerous predator.”

  Lovelace just smiles shyly at me.

  “Now, my surprise, please,” I sign to Dad.

  My father holds up his finger, then turns his two armchairs away from the fireplace and towards us. “Sit down.”

  As soon as I do, my ChronoWatch beeps. I jump up. “Sorry, Dad. I thought I had time, but it waits for no woman. Please take care of Lovelace for me and ask Mother about my day. You’ll want to hear it. If you wish, you can show the surprise to Lovelace without me, but I’ll leave that up to you,” I say, knowing my dad can read my lips.

  Then, to Lovelace, I sign goodbye and let her know I’ll be back for dinner. She waves and looks at my father expectantly, much like I did when I was her age. They’ll get along just fine.

  THE UNPARALLELED AFFAIRS building in Sheffield looks exactly like the one in York. In fact, all buildings across the country do. They do it so that even from afar it is recognisable. It has occurred that a stranded agent ended up in the wrong place and time. Without any bother they can find their headquarters, no matter what division they are in.

  I tug on my sleeve and adjust my fringe. The Chrono Unit is always on the twelfth floor, so I take the lift up. It is filled with four other people. Based on their demeanour, outfit, and watches, I can tell what division they are in. For instance, the man dressed entirely like a burglar is from the Narcotics Unit. He is wearing gloves and a ski mask that only shows his eyes. They are currently battling a drug that makes you instantly addicted just by touching it, hence the outfits. As if confiscating such a drug isn’t challenging enough, it doesn’t help that their officers stick out like a lighthouse on the shore. I smile at a man who is clearly from the K-9 Division. He winks at me as his irises transmogrify into a golden colour.

  I am the only one to stop at the twelfth floor. The first desk I come across is of the receptionist. “Monday Moody. I’ve been called in.”

  The woman’s—her name tag says Susan—eyes grow wide. “Monday Moody, as I live and breathe. You look even prettier in real life. You were in the newspaper for fighting off a werewolf during an arrest.” She gets up from her chair and walks around her desk to face me. Her round body is complemented by a dark blue dress that flares out at the bottom. She clasps my hands. “How did you feel when that happened?”

  “I was rather upset that he was trying to eat the perp I was about to arrest.”

  She chuckles. “Yes, I’d imagine so. Goodness, you’re funny. Listen, Janine from Level 2 wants to meet you. I told her you were coming and she had to fan herself. I promised her you’d give her your autograph. You’re kind of her hero. In fact, I think you inspired her to kick out her husband.” She leans in, her breath minty. “He cheated on her. Nasty business.”

  I glance at the door marked LEVEL 1, hoping someone will pop out and rescue me. I’m eager to learn what this new case is about and why they need me, but if everybody from the CU thinks of me like Janine does, that might explain why they’d request my help. Somehow I doubt that, though. “Sure,” I say with a warm smile.

  We head through to the LEVEL 2 section, which is a long corridor filled with doors and their different tags. We pass Wars, Famous People, Deaths, Inventions, and then stop at Crimes and Criminals. Susan swings open the door and immediately the smell of smoke and lemons assault my nose. In the middle of the room sits a thin woman. She’s typing on her typewriter, which means she’s discovered an anomaly and therefore a reason for Level 3 officers to investigate a possible Alteration.

  The room holds nothing but the table, chair, and one filing cabinet. Janine doesn’t look up. Instead she finishes her final sentence with her cigarette bouncing up and down between her thin lips. “And done,” she says in a soft-spoken voice before she looks up. She lets out a yell when she spots me, dropping her cigarette on her lap, and immediately rushes over to hug me. She smells just like the room itself. It is an unpleasant combination, at least for me. But I’ve never particularly liked cigarettes or lemons.

  “Monday Moody, as I live and breathe.” She looks at me as if I’m the prodigal daughter who has finally come home. She’s also clearly thick as thieves with Susan. I smile at them both as Susan looks on proudly.

  “It is indeed me,” I say. “Here.” What else can I say? Good for you on leaving your husband? That werewolf wasn’t that big? I’ve faced bigger and hungrier creatures? Do you have biscuits?

  “How was it? Killing that rogue werewolf? It must have been terrifying.”

  I gasp for air so I can give some vague, general answer, just like I did when I was interviewed after the incident. Paige Pageant, a reporter who now has her own talk show, eagerly shoved her microphone in my face and made the whole ordeal seem ten times more exciting than it was for me. In hindsight, after watching it myself, I realised I could have acted a tiny bit shaken. However, it made me a hero for a few weeks. Now, two months later, I hope most people have forgotten.

  “I bet you were shaking in your boots, but you saved that person’s life, even if they were a criminal. I mean, that just shows the world that us pencil pushers can be dangerous as well. We may not see a lot of the action, but we are also heroes.” Janine smiles.

  I nod, understanding now why she cares so much. Why anyone cared. I just wanted to move on as quickly as possible, uncomfortable with the sudden attention, but everyone wants to be a hero, right? And I reminded them that even normal people can be heroes. Except that I’m not normal. But they can’t know that.

  As I sign a piece of paper for her, the file cabinet shoots open and Janine jumps up. “Oh. Again?” She walks over to the cabinet and pulls out the file. “Bonnie and Clyde again. They are so popular.”

  “Altering it so they
survive?” I ask.

  “Yep. This is the third time.” She types on her typewriter, immediately logging the new information and any possible suspect, though they rarely make the file. Not because there aren’t any, but it’s difficult to track Travellers near a Time Scene. Each Warning puts Travellers into the system, but there is no device made that can actually track their location. Not unless they leave a rip, and even then we may know who did it, but not where they are at that moment. She swipes on the holo-screen and sends the info along to Level 3, who then dispatch their people as quickly as possible to undo the Alteration. Some events are meant to be, and cannot be Altered.

  “For all we know it could be the same person, but so far they haven’t caught anyone. Level 3 is too distracted to fix the damage rather than arrest the Traveller responsible. I don’t like it.”

  Susan nods her head. “They should make a Retrieval Unit for rogue Travellers as well. I mean, it wasn’t bad before, but there are more and more Alterations, not to mention any insignificant changes.”

  “You’ve noticed that as well,” I say, thinking back to the amount of Warnings I’ve had to give in the last month alone.

  “Anyway, dear. Thank you for your autograph,” Susan says. “We’d best leave Janine to it.”

  By now she’s furiously typing, a drop of sweat on her forehead. “I’m so sorry, Monday,” she says as her fingers fly across the keys. “I wish I could spend more time with you, but time waits for no woman.”

  With that we return to Susan’s desk. She resumes her duties behind the typewriter, her fingers flying over the keys with the speed of a peregrine falcon. “P. Hosokawa. Monday Moody here for you,” she murmurs into the chunky office speaker phone. “Wait here, dear. And thank you for obliging me.” She winks and resumes typing.

  “You’re welcome.” Not befriending the receptionist would be a bad move on my part, even if I’m only here to stay for a short while.

  In a few seconds a man pushes open the doors to Level 1. He strides purposefully and keeps his warm eyes on me. When he reaches me he breaks out in a smile and holds out his hand. I shake it. “Perrin Hosokawa,” he says. “My father was Japanese and my mother English, hence the unusual clash of names. You are Monday Moody,” he says before I can introduce myself. “Daughter of Eleanor Moody-Parker, who has worked as a Level 3 officer for the UA, and Pip Moody, a well-known Illusionist.”

  “Indeed I am.” Damn, he’s done his homework. It shouldn’t be a surprise since he requested me. I would have done exactly the same. Still, I better be extra careful.

  “Excellent. I knew you were coming, and not a moment too soon. We have quite the situation on our hands.”

  “I see.” I pause. “You’re still holding my hand.”

  He looks down. “Ah, yes. That does seem to be the case.” He slowly lets go, as if with reluctance. Then he sticks his hands in his pockets and smiles again. It is a charming smile.

  “What’s the problem?” I ask.

  “There is a problem with the original Chrono Unit here.”

  Hmm. That indicates he isn’t part of the usual six people who work here. “A problem? Are they in trouble?”

  “Quite.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Is it serious?”

  “I’d say so. They’re rather dead.”

  “Yes, I do hear that is a serious affliction.”

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  About the Author

  I considered writing this bio in the third person, but my other voices wouldn’t let me. My name is Morgan W. Silver. I have a BA in English Language and Culture and a Master’s degree in Creative Writing. Which means I have a licence to write, and it will be extra awkward if I make spelling eroiers. Oops.

  All my novels contain mysteries, but the subgenres may differ. There are, however, always shenanigans and quirky characters, as well as a dash of romance.

  Read more at Morgan W. Silver’s site.