Serve

by Laura Wylde

  “Genuine trolls, I’m afraid. Very nasty and vicious trolls.”

  “What kind of people are you? Your coded files. Your redacted witness statements. What are you covering up? Mutants?”

  Mournful now that he had nothing in his hands, Adrian gripped his knees and shook his head. “Not mutants, exactly. They are a species, just not one that belongs here.”

  “Aliens? From outer space?”

  “They belong to the Underworld,” Thaddeus said, bringing me another cup of tea. “They are here illegally.”

  These guys needed to back up and make some sense. “The Underworld. Like the underground? The black market?”

  Thaddeus had a dramatic way of speaking. “Not underground, underworld. A dimension between dimensions filled with the dark creatures of death and destruction.”

  I was sorry I had brought it up. I clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth. “You’re not going to tell me the truth.”

  “We are telling the truth.” This time Adonis took my hands to demonstrate his earnestness. I felt oddly reluctant to pull away. I didn’t receive the electric jolt, but his hands were warm, and the pleasant feeling traveled all the way into my heart. “We are trying to tell you as much as you can take at a time. First, you must accept, there is an underworld filled with monsters. The trolls are just one example. There are others, more hideous, more powerful than trolls.”

  I was honestly trying, but space invaders would have been far easier to accept than this nightmare worse than Elm Street. I decided to go along with it for now. “Is that why you were researching them before going after them? It could have been a different underworld creature?”

  “Or an interdimensional one. We have a problem with outlaws.”

  I smiled as though I had just heard the most logical statement in the world. “Of course, you do. That’s why you’re a police officer. To dispatch with interdimensional outlaws.”

  He beamed. “Yes!”

  I felt a wave of enthusiasm embrace me with as much concrete force as a physical embrace. I shook off the euphoria. It was wonderful to be treated like a team member instead of an outside agent, but this level of crazy was getting hard to accept. “No, Adonis. I’ll admit, something inexplicable happened, but let’s stick with toxic waste mutants or recessive genes. Interdimensional is asking a lot.”

  Adonis sighed. “I guess we’re just going to have to do this.”

  “Do what?” I asked, chuckling nervously.

  He walked to the middle of the living room, posed his hands prayer-like in front of him that suddenly burst into a flaming, tropical bird. It was gorgeous. It had a curved neck, a long tail and a magnificent wing spread. While I was wrestling with my surprise, the other three team members turned into birds, as well. If they weren’t so beautiful, I would have been as terrified as I had been in the cave. Instead, I was awestruck. Finally, I said hoarsely, “you are phoenixes!”

  Tara

  It was a good thing I was sitting down because my knees would not have been able to withstand my weight. They were knocking together like canasta’s, competing with my teeth for loudest clattering. My reality had just dropped through the floor. In its place, were four preening birds strutting around the room showing off their feathers. Todd was the first to shift back. That’s what they call it – shifting. It was more like a shudder that started at the head and ended at the feet, the molecules changing and rearranging themselves. The whole transformation took about three seconds.

  He sat down beside me, crooning. “Ai, Lassie. It’s a fright the first time, innit?”

  He put one hand on my knees, steadying them. His friendliness was reassuring. “I always thought phoenixes were a fable,” I said weakly.

  “Why, the stories had to come from somewhere,” he said. His voice sounded almost indignant. “Haven’t you ever wondered how the same mythological creatures can occur in ancient texts all over the world?”

  “I don’t think I have,” I said, fiddling with one sleeve of the oversized shirt. “I never read many fairytales. Never believed in princesses, dragons and knights in shining armor. In fact, the first time I cried about a monster being under my bed, my dad said, ‘then pull the damned thing out and kick its ass.’ I spent two weeks staking out my room, waiting for the monster to come back. It never did, and that was the last time I believed in monsters.”

  The others changed back while Todd and I were talking. Adonis took the easy chair across from me and drew it close so that we were nearly touching. “Children notice things through the corners of their eyes. They are taught mythological creatures aren’t real, so their minds won’t accept it if they look a monster in the face.”

  “It depends,” called out Adrian, who had taken an overstuffed chair all to himself so he could sprawl in it and fiddle around with the photos he had uploaded into his laptop. “Some kids are able to see interdimensional creatures for years before the brain starts programming them out.”

  I didn’t know whether to feel scared or scoff. “Are you saying I did see a monster under the bed?”

  I had lost Adrian’s attention, so Adonis answered for him. “You did, but it couldn’t harm you. It was inside the other dimension. Only children can see inside between the worlds.”

  “The trolls come from another dimension?”

  Todd sputtered. “Not your dimension, not ours, either. They come from the Underworld. The black lords. Hades. Guarded by Cerberus. The place where we fall. We are the upper worlds. This world and the other.”

  “The interdimensional one.” I was doing my best to put my new reality into order.

  “That’s the current scientific term,” called out Adrian from his chair. “Other terms that have been used throughout the ages have been “paranormal”, “the magical kingdom”, “neverland”, “wonderland”, “the mystic valley” … It all refers to the same thing. It’s a world occupying the same space and time as this one, but a different phase.”

  “So, if the interdimensional world is in a different phase, why are you here?”

  “There are portals,” explained Adonis. “What you call mythological creatures, pass through them all the time. Many have been in this dimension for so long the generations go back thousands of years.”

  “Like phoenixes,” said Thaddeus, preening as though he was still a bird, passing a hand through hair so thick and dark, it gleamed like dark chocolate.

  “And mermaids?” I asked.

  I saw Adonis hesitate and glance at the others before answering. “Why do you ask about mermaids? Did you see one in the water?”

  “The Greek language you’ve been helping me translate. I picked out the word ‘mermaid’ when re-reading the M’Rith statement. She lives in the bay. She complains that the ooze gets in her tail and causes boils. She doesn’t work as a mermaid. She is a mermaid, isn’t she?”

  Todd beamed at me. “You’re a quick study. She’s a mermaid, alright. As fine and lovely a one as you’ll ever see. But they like to be called mer people, because there are mermen and mer matrons as well. The mothers don’t like being called maids.”

  Now that we were sharing notes, Adonis became more candid about their connections with New York’s diversified species. “Mer people are high on our list of protected species. Once, they built huge, underwater cities. Now, they have only a few small colonies scattered along the global coastlines. Like the centaurs and dragons, they’ve been hunted nearly to extinction. They are a peaceful race, but they stay away from humans. They no longer trust them.”

  I began to grow restless. Even though I had seen the evidence in front of me, everything sounded too preposterous. It had to be a trick with the lights, maybe a hallucinogenic mixed into the tea and the power of suggestion. Once my agents captured one of the trolls, we would probably find a case of toxic waste exposure creating a group of mutated human beings. And M’Rith… all I had was their coded statement. I’d never seen her.

  After listening to them a few minutes longer discussing vario
us types of shape shifters, I decided I had all the bizarre-o world information I needed to open up a comic book franchise. It was still early enough in the evening to go home, relax with a dinner and a movie and get a good night’s sleep for a fresh perspective the next day. I interrupted to call it a night. Surprisingly, instead of the general relief I usually saw when I was announcing an exit, their faces turned to a uniform expression of disappointment.

  I wasn’t buying into their little freak show, still, it felt nice to be thought of as a member of the gang instead of as Agent Ballbuster. They may have a weird way of getting things done – by fantasizing on the same level others did who yearned to become mythological creatures – but this was New York where fantasies and realities often became one. It was that worn out cliché, it takes a thief to catch a thief. You had to be a mythological wannabe in order to catch one. I wasn’t going to pass judgment on them. I just had no intention on putting on tail feathers.

  The familiar is very successful at pushing the unfamiliar to the back of your mind. For the last eight months, my apartment had been in a quiet eight-plex located just a few blocks from the station. It was nice, as a metal gate skirted it; a clean, solid one I could grasp without zillions of microscopic life forms squirming under my fingers. It had a clean, concrete walkway and solid, wooden steps. I lived on the second floor, well above the ground.

  It was orderly. It breathed in subdued, familiar colors. It was modestly decorated with some horse book-ends holding together a collection of books, a scale-model ’64 Thunderbird I had put together myself, two woman’s league baseball trophies, and some framed family photos with Montana’s mountains in the background. It was all solid, familiar, the pieces of my life I carried from place to place to remind me of who I was and where I came from.

  Even the artwork on my walls was solid, familiar. Two wildlife paintings; one with a bear raising up on its hind legs, and another portraying an elk standing over a canyon. I didn’t have a single piece of fantasy, pop or abstract art; with one exception. Several years ago, I had picked up an Escher art print. There was something about the pattern of black and white wild geese flying in opposite directions that held my eye. Maybe that had been the subliminal thought that triggered the image of phoenixes. Escher had left an imprint and the shocking sight in the tunnels had fired my imagination.

  Now that I knew the culprit, I felt far more capable of handling the situation. Reason and logic returned. I took off Todd’s oversized clothing and threw it in the machine and heated some dinner while I changed into something that catered more toward small people. The denim jeans had given me nostalgia. I had changed out my rough and tumble gear for the tailored suits women agents seemed to like to wear in New York. I rummaged through my wardrobe until I found a pair of battered denims. I rubbed my hands along the worn knees that were beginning to fray and sighed with contentment. The jeans were familiar, too.

  I pulled my dinner out of the microwave, considering what I should watch for the evening. Nothing came to mind. I must have pumped my energy levels into overdrive, because I felt I couldn’t stay still. I finished my heated ravioli with disinterest, feeling what I really needed was a nice, brisk walk.

  My feet found their way down the most familiar street I knew other than the way to the precinct station. Murray’s Pub had a way of picking me up when I was feeling down. I’ve never paid much attention to my nationality. As far as my dad was concerned, we were American and didn’t need to know anything more, yet it was just one more thing that made me feel apart from everyone else. Everybody’s something; English or Irish or Polish or French. Groups get together and compare notes on who makes the best Italian dinner or the most genuine Mexican salsa. Murray’s was a typical Irish pub with billiard tables, two televisions tuned to sports, a small stage and dance floor squeezed into one corner, and large, plastic shamrocks pinned above the collection of alcohol displayed behind the bar.

  The people who frequented it were either Irish, checking out the Irish or, as dad would say, just Americans looking for a good time. The owners had a way of making everyone enjoy themselves. Call it atmosphere, but they wrapped it around you like a warm, fuzzy blanket.

  For a week- night, it was busy. The billiard tables were all in use, cue sticks clattering and voices pitching excitedly as balls clicked together and rolled into the pockets. In the middle of the room, a birthday party was in full swing, with several tables pushed together and chairs crowded around them. A solitary couple swayed to the jukebox music that splashed out onto the dance floor.

  A half-dozen people occupied the bar stools, including the three musketeers plus one. Making no effort to hide my annoyance, I hitched myself up on an empty stool next to Todd and said, “what gives?”

  He turned as though surprised, a smile splitting his face when he saw. “A beer if you’ll have one! Or would you druthers a shot of Jameson?”

  “A beer,” I said automatically, then frowned as he gestured for the bartender. “I mean, what are you doing here? Have you been following me? Did you see where I was headed and decided to get here first?”

  “Following? Oh no! How could we know you would come here?”

  The beer was a dark amber color with a frothy head. The flavor was deep and surprisingly smooth. “Maybe you’ve been spying on me since I started working the case. This beer is very good. What’s the brand name?”

  “Tap beer,” said Todd with satisfaction. “But our Irish reserves. My uncle cooks it up himself.”

  “You don’t cook beer, you brew it.”

  “That he may do. I never asked his details. See how it sparkles? That’s our special ingredient. Leprechaun dust.”

  I was never going to get a straight answer from Todd. I needed someone who shot straight from the hip. Leaning over the counter, I asked Adrien, who was using his multi-functional device to record the champion billiards player, then play back slow -motion close-ups of the hand movements, “Why are you here?”

  “Free beer,” he said, without looking up. “Todd’s got it covered.”

  Thaddeus shrugged with his hands outspread and opened his mouth before I had to ask him a thing. “It’s a good place to pick up information. Leprechauns have incredibly good hearing.”

  That left Adonis, who was suddenly very interested in the folded paper napkins. “And you?”

  “It’s like the others said. Todd’s got it covered. It’s a family owned pub. His family.”

  The beer glass slipped from my fingers. I caught it again just as it clattered to the counter, pulling it up firmly by the handle. “You mean that sweet, adorable couple are Todd’s parents?”

  “Me aunt and uncle,” Todd corrected cheerfully, waving for another round. “My folks run the pub out in Brooklyn. It’s classier.”

  Adrien put away his device, apparently deciding to join us for a change. “You would call a Chinese laundry classy if it was located in Brooklyn. Don’t listen to Todd. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I like the Queens one better. They incorporated a virtual game center.”

  Todd bumped glasses and laughed. “That was my younger brother’s doing. Ma nearly laid a golden egg! She likes things old-fashioned. It took six months of argument to get her to agree to putting flat screens in all the pubs. But Patrick likes to look at the future, so we let him try out his new idea. Young people like it a lot, but it doesn’t draw much of the older crowd.”

  “He’s making money, isn’t he?” Asked Adrien.

  “He’s making bank! We could take you there sometime, Tara, if you like the virtual experience.”

  Tara! Not Agent Winslow. I felt that warm flush of companionship I had hungered for when I wandered to the pub. It made sense that they were family. They all had the ability to make everything seem brighter as soon as they appeared. “I think the virtual experience would look pretty shabby compared to what I went through today,” I chuckled. “How many pubs does your family own?”

  “Five,” said. “Or four. One’s a nightclub.”r />
  “They must make a lot of money.”

  “Well, we’re leprechauns. Gold clings to us like pollen clings to bees. We couldn’t be poor if we wanted to be, but why would we want? The more luck we draw together, the more we can pass around.”

  “You mean that in the same way you mean trolls, mermaids and phoenixes?”

  Deciding the conversation was becoming far too private for casual eavesdroppers, Todd spread out his broad arms, gathering as many of us in as possible, and led us to a booth inside a small, partitioned room. “Yep,” he said as we all sat down. “I have both the luck and the blessing of the Irish. We are a family of leprechauns and I am the first of my kind to be born a phoenix.”

  “How did that happen? Don’t phoenixes rise up out of the ashes, reborn?”

  “They have to be born sometime. Frankly speaking, the phoenixes were getting a bit sedate without producing wee ones.”

  “That’s not all of it!” Thaddeus roared, forgetting a moment he was in public. He came half-way out of his chair before collecting himself. “Five hundred years ago, the gate keepers decided they needed more guardians. The underworld and the forces that allied with them kept growing greater in numbers, while the number of immortals never changed. By immortal, I include shape shifters who are immediately reborn again. That’s us. Adonis and I have memories of Hannibal stomping into Rome. Very memorable, I might add. But Todd here is just a spring chicken.”

  “I’m old enough! I’ve got me a few hundred years under my belt so far,” said Todd, patting his stomach. “If I’m a spring chicken, Adrien is an egg.”

  Adrien sputtered something about leaving the mother’s nest, which was firing Todd up for a reply when I interrupted. I had already seen their plumage display. Now I wanted the rest of their performance. “Prove it. If you’re a leprechaun, prove it.”

  “Fine,” he said, straightening up. “Fine.” He took off his shirt and handed it to me, letting me check for wires or gimmicks. Underneath, he was wearing a ribbed tank top. The straps were thin enough to get a bold view of his piled triceps, and the material thin enough to leave very little to the imagination. “You agree I’m carrying nothing?”