by Amy Hopkins
"He looks like the villain of a Bruce Willis movie," Cisco commented.
"If he has done what we think he's done, he might as well be." Crenel absentmindedly reached into the pocket his cigarettes had been in, then grimaced. Irritated, he stood up, strode to the minibar, and grabbed a tiny bottle of whiskey.
"You know that's probably going to cost you forty-five dollars?" Amelia asked.
"Jesus Christ, what is my wife bribing you with?" Crenel shoved the bottle back into the minibar and slammed the door. He turned to face Amelia, arms crossed over his chest. "Is there anything else you want to complain about?"
Amelia giggled. "Come on, Agent Crenel. You know we’re only doing it because we care."
Still scowling, Crenel continued the briefing. "We came close to nabbing Nevins a couple of years ago for his alleged involvement in the ivory trade. We couldn't make it stick, though."
Penny picked up the file Crenel had discarded on the table and began flipping through it. “There are rap sheets for his whole family here. Are we just after this guy, or will there be others involved?"
Crenel shrugged. "At this point, we don't even know if it is him. If it is, we believe he will be working alone—or at least, not with his family involved." He took the papers again and shuffled through them, this time pulling out a sheet of typed notes. He read from them, eyes scanning the pages as he picked out the pertinent details.
"The sister was arrested two years ago. She's still serving time. The father died under extremely suspicious circumstances a few years back, but the case was never solved. Nevins’ mother has been moved to a nursing home. Her health is failing, and from what I understand, they don't expect her to last much longer. The only other family member listed here is a brother, Silas, but he’s off the table."
Penny held her hand out for the page of notes. "What do you mean?"
"He's been in his own trouble. He’s one of those vegan terrorists, but not this new wave. He had a few arrests from the nineties: breaking into pig farms, causing trouble at research labs, that sort of thing." Crenel shook his head. "There's every chance that guy is out breaking the law somewhere, but he won't be involved in a Myther poaching ring."
Penny looked up at the agent. Something was bothering her. "Why us? I know the bureau is short-staffed, but this is an international case. And a huge one, if all this is right. Surely there must be hundreds of agents, both here and back in the States, itching to be in on something like this?"
Crenel gave a deep sigh. "Like I said, it's complicated. Nevins has already been caught harboring Mythers on US soil. The problem is, this happened before any laws were passed to make it illegal. Since then? No one has seen him."
Penny chewed on her bottom lip. Those laws had only been passed recently in America — and only a couple of months ago in Australia. "So, we not only need to find him, we need to prove that he has creatures that he caught after the bans were put in place? How are we going to do that?"
Crenel took a seat and folded his hands in his lap. "There is another option," he told them in an even voice.
Penny leaned back, folded her arms and scowled. "Like what?"
He’s too calm, she thought. Whatever is about to come out of his mouth, I’m going to hate it.
Crenel's eyes darted toward the sunken spa bath in the corner of his room. While the students had been waiting for Crenel to collect himself, Boots had wriggled straight over to it, flicked the taps on with her tail, and chewed the lid off a travel-sized bottle of bath foam. Now, she frolicked in the frothy water, occasionally sneezing as bubbles got up her nose.
Sensing the attention, the splashing stopped as Boots lifted her head out of the mountain of froth she had created. She hissed at Agent Crenel.
"No." Penny slammed her hand palm down on the coffee table. “No!”
“We would take every precaution.” Crenel raised his hands defensively. “Come on, Penny, you know me. We’d keep her safe, I promise.”
Penny shook her head resolutely. "You're not using her as bait."
"Agent Crenel, does your wife know about this plan?" Amelia asked haughtily.
"As a matter of fact, yes, she does," Crenel shot back. "And anyway, it's not set in stone." He turned to Penny, his face serious. "You don’t have to decide now. There’s every chance that we’ll get there and find all the evidence we need to arrest this bastard. But if we don't, all I ask is that you keep it in mind."
There was a splash from the corner of the room as Boots flicked herself into a stunning dive and plopped back into the water.
"Let's exhaust all other options first," Penny said. "What else do we know?"
The situation was indeed complex. According to Crenel's sources, Nevins had not only smuggled Mythers from the United States over to Australia, but it was also rumored that he had a number of local creatures as well. Rather than selling them on the black market, however, he’d opened his “sanctuary,” a safari experience mostly populated by native Australian animals, with a few magical creatures as the drawcard for wealthy guests.
Penny's stomach clenched, her fury fanned by the idea of the magnificent creatures born of myth and legend being trapped in cages and paraded like curiosities. “I can’t believe he gets away with it.”
"The safari expeditions he runs aren't exactly advertised to the public," Crenel told them. "But I have a man who might be able to source us some tickets. It might take me a couple of days to get in touch with him, but he'll come through."
"Wouldn't it be more profitable just to sell the critters?" Red asked. "Keeping them all in one place and letting strangers in to look at them seems risky if they've all been poached."
Crenel shrugged. "He could be relying on the fact that most of the creatures were taken before laws came in preventing it. And he may be using the zoo as a showcase for animals he's actually selling on the side. Who knows, maybe the attraction of magical creatures in a high-end resort experience is worth more than we think."
It only took Agent Crenel a day to get in touch with his source. "There's an event coming up in two days. It's invitation-only, and my friend just happens to have five of them."
"And that gets us?" Penny waited for the punchline.
"That gets us access to the man who can sell us tickets to the magical outback experience at the Flying Crow Eco Resort." Crenel's mouth curled into a snarl as he said the words. Penny knew the very idea of exploiting Mythers disgusted him.
"I take it this is something we'll need to dress up for?" Amelia asked. She darted a triumphant glance at Penny.
"It's the kind of event that will only be attended by billionaires, celebrities, and possibly the Mafia.” Crenel looked more uncomfortable about the billionaires than the Mafia. “So yes, I'd say you have to dress up."
"You could have warned us," Penny complained. "The clothes I bought are more suitable for trekking through the bush than going to parties."
"I did warn you!" Crenel shook his head. "I told you to be prepared for anything."
“Anything in the Aussie outback,” Penny reminded him. “We don’t do soirees in the scrub!”
"It's okay," Amelia assured her with a smirk. "I came prepared. Not just for me, but for all of you." She spread her hands in a wide shrug. "You didn't think all the stuff in those suitcases was for me, did you?"
"Yes." Red bore the slap to his midriff rather well. "I've seen your wardrobe, Milly. I know you like to dress nice wherever you go. Why would this be any different?"
Rolling her eyes, Amelia turned to Penny. "Look, I brought a couple of things suitable for a party like this. I even packed a couple of dresses that would fit you—but I didn't have a lot of room. When it comes to it, just remember, beggars can't be choosers."
Penny cringed inwardly, wondering what kind of skimpy, see-through, sequined ensemble Amelia was planning to inflict on her. "What about shoes?"
"I have ‘em." Amelia grinned. "Lighten up, Penny. It won't be that bad."
Chapter Three
Penny stepped out of the Uber, clutching Cisco's hand for balance as she wobbled on the pair of impossibly high heels Amelia had loaned her.
"I thought you said it wouldn't be this bad?" she pointed out acerbically.
Amelia rolled her eyes. "Don't whine. It doesn't go with the dress."
Penny had to admit, it was a nice dress. The silky emerald-green fabric draped around her neck and hung open almost to her belly button. If not for some strategically placed tape, she wasn't entirely sure how the dress would have stayed on.
"I think you look amazing," Cisco reached back into the car to help Boots out. His suit had been freshly pressed that morning, and his usually messy hair was stylishly slicked back.
Penny fought to keep the color from rising in her cheeks. Although they had spent the last two days together, moving between the hotel pool and bar during the day and sharing a bed at night, his compliments still made her blush. She busied herself with settling Boots on her shoulders, draped like an artistically placed shawl. "Be careful you don't wrinkle the dress, sweetheart," Penny murmured. “And for God’s sake, don’t dislodge the tape!”
"Oh, shite." Red lifted a polished shoe that dripped gutter water. "Yuck. It's seeping into my socks."
"Red! I can't take you anywhere." Amelia pulled him onto the footpath and slid her arm through his. "Where is the old man? He said he'd meet us here." She looked around, a small frown deepening the crease between her eyebrows. "For that matter, where's the party?"
"Three doors down." Agent Crenel appeared from around a corner, looking, well, expensive. The tight curls of his hair appeared to have been freshly trimmed, and instead of worn and aging, the streaks of gray gave him a distinguished look. "And for future reference, I'm not that old."
"Well, you'd better be at least old enough to be my dad," Amelia pointed out. "Because that's the cover story we came up with."
Crenel lifted an enquiring eyebrow at Penny. "’Cover story?’"
Penny shrugged. "You know the rule. Always be prepared."
"Whose father am I supposed to be, exactly?" he asked.
"Mine and Penny's," Amelia told him. "Think about it. You're too pale to be Cisco's dad, but you're not pasty enough to be Red's."
"I'm not pasty!" Red protested.
"And the fact that I have one daughter with an American accent like mine and another that sounds like she was raised on an Australian cattle station?" Crenel asked.
Penny yelped. "I'll have you know the nearest cattle station was at least thirty klicks down the road from where I grew up, thank you." She turned to Amelia. "He's got a point, though. You know I can't pull off an American accent, and there's no way either of you could blend in with the locals here."
Crenel looked at Cisco. "Looks like I'm adopting a son."
Cisco shrugged. "It'll pass. Amelia, your tan is about nine shades darker than when we arrived. If anyone asks, we take after our mum."
"As long as I don't have to pretend to be his sister," Amelia said, jabbing a thumb at Red. "That would raise some eyebrows.” To illustrate her point, she gave him a kiss.
"Aye, that would be awkward." Red wrapped an arm around Amelia's waist. "So, where are we going? I hope we didn't get this dressed up for nothing."
Penny spun, counting the dark, closed up doorways that lined the backstreet they had been dropped off in. "Three doors down would be that one there," she said. “Number one-seven-one?”
“That’s it,” Crenel confirmed.
The door in question looked like all the others—peeling paint, grimy edges, and a big fat deadbolt locking it shut.
Crenel approached the door and knocked twice. After a pause, he knocked once more.
"Are you serious?" Cisco muttered.
Penny heard the snick of a lock opening, and a crack of yellow light illuminated the street. Crenel spoke to the person at the door and handed him a brilliant white envelope. The door opened all the way, and a very short man ushered them in.
Penny eyed the bouncer as she walked past him. She almost could have believed he was human. It was the clothes that tipped her off.
"Nice shoes," she commented.
The leprechaun glanced down at his pointy black shoes adorned with big gold buckles, then up at Penny. "Nice snake."
“Thanks.”
The leprechaun led the way down a narrow corridor. Penny trailed her fingers over the wall, brushing the painted brick surface.
"Ew, don’t do that. It looks dirty," Amelia complained when she noticed. "You know, there are only two kinds of parties a grotty entrance could lead to."
"And what kinds are they?” Penny asked, humoring her.
"We’re either going to find a bunch of grotty teenagers snorting cocaine out of ashtrays, or the most luxurious soirée you’ve ever seen." Amelia patted her hair. "Going by what agent—uhh, Dad said, we’re heading for the latter."
Their guide ignored them, eventually pushing open another heavy door at the end of the hallway. Music spilled out, a sweet, rhythmic tune from a stringed instrument.
Penny stepped into the room behind Amelia, immediately feeling underdressed for the occasion. All around her, women floated by in expensive cocktail dresses, glittering jewelry draped from their necks, ears, wrists, and fingers. The men had the polished air of millionaires in their immaculate suits and sparkling cufflinks.
"Whoa" Cisco gripped Penny's fingers with sweaty hands. "I was feeling pretty good about myself until I walked in here. Every single person in this place is more beautiful than I am."
Penny turned to him, pulling him close. With a cheeky grin, she kissed his nose. "Nobody in this room is more beautiful than you are. Richer, maybe. Nicer car? Almost certainly. But I bet none of them have organized a first date involving Mexican on a rooftop, and a personalized display of water sprites."
"I wouldn't be so sure about that." Cisco's eyes had been searching the room as she spoke, and now rested on the source of the sweet music. “Uhh, what’s the story with that?”
Penny looked over and blinked. A lady in a blue ball gown sat with her eyes closed in concentration as she strummed the instrument in her hands. It was made of an oversized jawbone. The teeth were strung with fine black fibers that hummed as she plucked them.
Even more surprising than the instrument itself was the audience it drew. A tiny sparrow sat on her left shoulder, and in the crook of one arm, a mousey nose sniffed the air. At her feet sat perhaps the strangest assortment of creatures Penny had ever seen.
Pristine white rabbits sat next to scruffy river rats. A fat pigeon with worn, dirty feathers and a chipped beak nestled beside a perky bluebird. "What the hell?"
The gentle hiss pulled Penny's attention toward Boots, who stared at the musician, mesmerized. Penny tapped Boots’ head. The serpent coughed, shook her head, and looked back at Penny.
"That has to be a mythological artifact," Cisco murmured. “Unless Disney princesses have made it across the Veil?”
“I’m pretty sure that if Cinderella and Snow White had popped up, it would be all over the news in an instant.” Penny nodded at the musical instrument. "And that isn’t a princess harp. I wonder what it is."
"That, my dear friends, is a kantele. It belonged to the legendary Väinämöinen." The man who stepped between Penny and Cisco, draping an arm around each of them…wasn't a man. His brilliant green eyes and tightly furled ears took Penny's breath away.
“You’re…”
“An elf?” He dipped a low bow. “Santa’s favorite helper, at your service.”
“You don’t work for Santa! You’re too…” Red waved a hand at the elf. “Pretty.”
The elf just chuckled. “No, I don’t. But I find it far less offensive than people thinking I spend all day babysitting hobbits.” He stuck a slender hand out. “Tarathriel Inaydar.”
“So, what kind of elf are you, then?” Amelia asked. “Other than one who sounds like he was named by one of those computerized name generators.”
“The ge
neric sort.” Tarathriel winked. “Devastatingly handsome, expert with a bow, and friend to all living creatures.”
“So, the rodents came with you?” Red asked, scowling.
Tarathriel nodded. “The kantele isn’t from my branch of mythology, though. It attracts my little followers, but the local…well, rodents seem to be just as drawn by its music.” He reached for Penny’s hand. “As am I, if not as strongly. Would you and your beautiful companion like a dance?”
“I’m fine, thanks.” Cisco folded his arms, eyes roaming the room uncomfortably.
Tarathriel smirked. “I was talking about—”
“He knows,” Penny interjected. “I’m sorry, I don’t dance with strange elves.”
Glancing over Tarathriel's shoulder, Penny could see Agent Crenel talking to a thin man with a hooked nose. They were deep in conversation, and Penny didn't expect them to be done any time soon.
Tarathriel followed Penny's gaze. "Your chaperone?" he asked.
Penny shook her head. "He's my boyfriend’s father."
Tarathriel lifted a slender eyebrow. "Right. Do you know the man he is talking to?"
Shaking her head a second time, Penny searched for a distraction. Tarathriel's questions were making her uncomfortable, and she didn't want to blow their cover. As if sensing Penny's distress, Boots darted her head against the elf's shoulder.
Tarathriel ducked his head so he could look into Boots’ gleaming eyes. "Hello, ancient one." He bowed his head respectfully. “My apologies for not greeting you first.”
Boots hissed in return, then heaved herself off of Penny's shoulders into his arms. Coiling her head up, she tapped her nose against his.
Tarathriel grinned. "It is different on this side of the Veil. Before the tearing, those of us born of Myth and Legend kept with our own kind—the Greeks, the Celtic myths, the Indian deities, the new creations. Oh, we crossed paths every now and then, but not like now."
