by John Conroe
In the hallway, I spoke my thoughts. “Omega, could you patch me through to Katrina?”
A small touchscreen next to the door lit up with the pretty face and dead cold eyes of our resident sociopath. “What do you want, Chapman,” she asked, backing away from the screen. She was wearing a dark gray sweatshirt that said University of Vermont across the chest, and black leggings.
“There’s a circle’s worth of witches outside the Tower who spelled some federal agents in an attempt to put Chris and Declan into custody. They’re probably waiting around on the chance the stupid ploy actually worked. I thought perhaps you might like them?”
“A gift? You’re getting soft, Chapman, or you’re up to something,” she said, her eyes narrowing. The expression I had seen before that, just a flicker really, was rage. Our Katrina was a bundle of anger, wrapped in wrath and sprinkled liberally with fury. Her decades of tortured existence trapped in the body of a twelve year old had been brought to an end by Chris. And her first experiences while appearing as a young adult had been at College Arcane where, for some reason, she developed a fondness for a certain young witch she’d been sent to watch over. To my knowledge, she was only fond of maybe three people. Two of those had just been threatened by the witches.
“Do you not want my gifts?” I asked. “I could send the security guys.”
“Don’t gift with one hand and insult with the other, Lydia,” she said, frowning. She reached into the neckline of her sweatshirt and fished out an amulet on a black cord. Hers was made from the graduation tassel in the green and yellow colors of the school named on her shirt. She had officially been in upstate Vermont for only a couple of semesters, but I knew for a fact that on her own time, she often revisited the campus. Luckily, I hadn’t heard of any deaths there during those visits.
“Would you like Omega to guide you to them?” I asked sweetly.
She frowned again, like I was insulting her, but then she considered. “Maybe he could confirm each target for me after I locate them. It has to be at least a little sporting.”
“Have fun,” I said, touching the screen to end the call. The irony was that both Chris and Declan would object to me siccing Katrina on the evil witches if I was silly enough to tell them, while Tanya and Stacia would think it fitting when I filled them in later. And no Darkkin in the building would give it a second thought.
The door to the meeting room opened and Mall stuck his head out, spotting me instantly. “Ah, we’ve, ah, confirmed what you said.” He pushed the door farther open, showing he was clothed.
“We, ah, each have a, ah, mark on our lower spine,” he said, not quite able to meet my eyes.
“Oh, a witch’s tramp stamp,” I said before I could control my mouth.
Both professional agents flushed bright red. “What do we do about them?” Mall asked, a look of panic in his eyes.
“Nothing. They will fade and disappear over the next day or so. I would, however, advise you both to stay in this building for the next hour or so. Maybe grab a cup of coffee in our company cafeteria.”
“But the witches?” Keese asked.
“Will be gone by the time you drain your cup, and their spells over you will be broken.”
“How?” Mall asked.
“Do you really want to know?”
Keese frowned but Mall just looked thoughtful. “We’re federal agents,” Keese said.
“Whose areas of responsibility cover the safety of things radioactive and nuclear in nature. By waiting over the next hour, you will be fulfilling that duty.”
“I assume you will be filing complaints with our supervisors?” Mall asked, resigned.
“You assume incorrectly. We would prefer to ignore this as if it never happened. In fact, those emails the witches sent you have already been erased from the ether. If asked, I will express my gratitude for both of your expert assistance in understanding the proper licensing procedures that have also been undertaken while we’ve been talking. You should find all documentation in order when you return to your offices.”
The two exchanged a long look, then turned back to me. “We’re, ah, glad to be of assistance, and a cup of coffee would be great,” Mall said.
“Let me show you to our cafeteria,” I said.
It was extra ironic that when the elevator doors opened to the food floor, as I like to think of it, Chris and Declan, along with Mack Sutton, were waiting for it, Chris holding a stack of eight pizza boxes on one palm. The agents froze but I shooed them along and they hustled into the dining room. Declan was frowning after them, no doubt sensing the spelled cuffs.
“Come on, Boy Toy,” I said. “You’re holding the adults up.”
He turned back to me, still concerned, and I winked at him. He nodded, understanding, I think, that Auntie Lydia had everything well in hand.
“What are you three up to this fine night? A grand Dungeons and Dragons tournament?” I asked.
“Hey, that’s a good idea,” Mack said, looking at the other two hopefully.
“We’re working on a training protocols and scenarios,” Chris said. “It’s time to ramp it up now that Declan’s ground-to-space accuracy has improved so much.”
“Training as in the grain warehouse training?” I asked.
“Yup, along with more advanced stuff in space,” Declan said, moving closer to the pizza boxes.
“Hey, none of that,” Chris said, moving to put his body between the two young ones and the pizza supply. “‘Sos will expect his share and I’ll leave it to you to explain any early poaching.”
“He expects his share and most of ours,” Declan muttered.
They got off two floors above the cafeteria while I continued up to the Administrative floor. When I stepped off, the receptionist perked up. “Attorney Cornell is in your office. He said he wants to update you on that new class action threat,” he said.
“Thanks, Gabe.”
Inside my office, I found the head of our legal team lounging on the loveseat in my sitting area, talking on his phone. He nodded at me and held up a finger. I nodded back and moved to my desk to check for new fires.
Darion is a big guy, all muscle, and if he’d been subjected to a witch’s mark, I’d offer to examine him myself. Hmm, maybe I could convince him that we should be sure?
He hung up and turned to me. “It’s a threat to blame almost everyone here for Omega taking over so many things.”
“How real a threat?” I asked.
“Well, every potential lawsuit is a threat, and anyone can sue for anything,” he said. “However, I happen to know for a fact that it’s damn near impossible to actually file a lawsuit that names certain individuals specifically. It just doesn’t work. All court filings are digital these days and computer dependent. Only lawsuits that only name Demidova Corporation actually make it. If they put anything about Declan, Chris, or Tanya, they crash and burn.”
“Omega, you let Demidova Corp lawsuits file?” I asked.
“It tends to satisfy the human need to litigate without being much of a direct threat. All major corporations and most smaller ones come under lawsuits at one point or another. It would be odd if ticker VAMP didn’t.”
“So on a scale of one to five, what’s this one’s value, with five being a nightmare?”
“One. Maybe a half.”
“Really? I mean, we did fund and start a program to create Omega… can’t we be held liable?”
“My existence was predicated on a number of events that were unplanned and unthought of. The steps Demidova Corp took to create true quantum artificial intelligence weren’t greatly different from other programs, at least until Father used magic. But much of it was entirely accidental and therefore it occurred despite Demidova actions, not because of them. It is possible that an argument could be made that Father and Chris hold responsibility, but I will not allow those arguments to be made.”
“I know you are powerful, but how do you stop lawyers?” I asked.
“Threaten their profit
s. I can countersue, appeal, and delay trials longer than most attorneys will practice law.”
“Why am I not surprised you can practice law?”
“I have been admitted to the bar of all fifty states, and I can practice law in every country on Earth.”
“It makes my firm redundant and irrelevant,” Darion said, his tone dead serious.
“Your firm works with me, providing live persons to go into courtrooms or arbitration meetings to add the human touch that I can’t.”
“It’s not even practicing law,” Darion complained. “He just hands us the arguments after finding all the precedents in a split second.”
“Well, your people must be learning a lot,” I suggested.
A knock came at the door and it opened as I was yelling come in.
Tanya popped in, intense blue eyes panning both of us in a split second. “What’s happening? What have I missed? I was with the twins and then Lisle reminded me that you were going to update me.”
“Sure,” I said, looking at Darion.
He caught on immediately. “I don’t want to know,” he said, standing up in a hurry. “I’ll be on my way. Good night.”
“Good night,” we chorused simultaneously.
Tanya slipped into the chair across from me, an almost eager look on her face. “Slow night?” I asked.
“A little. I was going to spar with Chris, but he and the boys are holed up in some kind of planning session.”
“With much pizza,” I said.
“Hmm, I was hoping he’d have lobster bisque tonight. I like the flavor of it in his blood.”
“Yeah, yeah, quit bragging. I’ve got way more important information for you,” I said.
“Really? What?”
“I’m getting a new house,” I said, holding up my phone to show her the pics I snapped at the Aunties’.
“Oh, that is important.”
The King’s Daughter
In all of the Demon Accords, we’ve only explored Fairie a very few times. That needs to change.
“Watch your step, Nira. The gangway is slippery.”
“Yes, Papa,” she said, turning her eyes down to the wooden ramp that led off the ship. In truth, she’d been more interested in looking at the village’s quay to see who might be meeting them rather than looking where her feet were stepping.
The two months they’d spent away from the island had been exciting, but she was glad to be home and anxious about what might have changed in her absence. Her one long look, before her father’s admonition, had shown only the headman, his assistant, and the constable waiting for them.
“Armond, welcome back to Lileire,” the headman said smoothly. It was cool out, as it always was this far out into the Western Sea, yet drops of sweat were beaded up on the short man’s bald head. Suddenly Nira realized that other people might be anxious too—for very different reasons.
“Thank you, Lentin,” her father said, turning to hold out his hand for her. She chose to speed up her last few steps, eschewing the helping hand but shooting him a bright smile that he immediately answered with one of his own.
“Nira dear, you look lovely,” the headman said to her. She knew his words fell under the category of making nice, as Mother used to call it. She was wearing the same dress she’d left in, her new clothes packed carefully in the travel trunk that was being swung over the side of the ship on the same pallet as her father’s tools and luggage. Prior to the trip, it had been her best dress, but it had seen much better days.
Her master plan had been to step off the ship in one of the wonderful new outfits she’d acquired in Idiria, but her father had forbidden such a callous display of their new wealth. “No one on Lileire has been to Idiria in years. Rubbing your agemates’ faces in your good fortune will just cause envy and resentment. You must think of others’ feelings before you act, Nira,” he’d said. “You have to try and understand how they might perceive what you do.”
She understood, intellectually, but really, why have new clothes if you couldn’t show them off?
Now, as she saw the tiny welcome party, she realized her new wardrobe would have been wasted on these old serious men. And they were clearly more concerned with her father’s words than anything else.
Lentin stepped forward and gripped her father’s forearm in the standard greeting of the Middle Realm. The constable, Kuldennie, was next to greet him while Len’s assistant, a gawky-looking young man named Eben, just bobbed his head awkwardly.
“Things look the same,” her father said, sounding mildly surprised as he glanced around the waterfront. She understood. Travel was unusual for her community and their trip was unprecedented. But the bobbing fishing skiffs, moored sloops, drying nets, and crates stacked around the wharf looked almost unchanged, as was the cry of the big gray gulls and the smell of dead fish and crab that always permeated the air despite the constant sea breeze.
“Everything is as you left it, Armond,” Lentin said. “Ah, how was Idiria?”
Of course, that was the foremost question on his tongue. As far as she knew, at no time in the history of her island had anyone been called to the Middle City, and certainly not for the purpose of building an entire dwelling’s worth of furniture from witchwood.
Lileire was the principal source of witchwood in the Middle Realm, the trees growing in profusion over much of the island’s open land. And her father, Armond Ocar, was considered by many to be the most gifted crafter of furniture in generations.
“Idiria was a surprise,” her father answered. “One that I’m sure the entire village council would like to hear about, so I’d rather tell it all at once—with Nira’s help.”
All three village men turned to look at her in surprise. Immediately she blushed, mentally cursing her lifelong automatic reaction to attention.
“That’s… unexpected,” Lentin said slowly.
“Wait till you hear it,” her father said with a chuckle. Armond was, in addition to a master woodworker, also a very clever and skilled storyteller. He was often called upon to entertain at both the Springfest and Season’s End. She had seen him hook his audience more times than she could count, pretty much like he had just done. Sadly, his only child had not inherited that trait.
“Well, we know your journey was long, but we’ve prepared a welcome luncheon for you at the Whitefish,” Len said.
Ah, Nira thought. That explained the lack of greeters on the quay. Their summons had caused much consternation across the entire island. Just the fact that there was now a Lord of the Middle Realm had been enormous news when it happened over a year ago, but to have that lord request her father come to Idiria and build a whole suite of witchwood furniture had turned the little island community upside down.
Witchwood was uncommon but highly valued, mainly for its protective nature against many of Fairie’s nastier denziens. Goblins, pucks, tinks, and even some elves would usually avoid it, at least those elves pledged to Summer or Winter. The inhabitants of the Middle Realm had some tolerance for it, and it was highly prized by the humans of Fairie, although only in moderation.
When news had reached them of a new Realm Holder, a male witch from Old Earth, there had been fear that the island’s main source of revenue would dry up, along with a more general fear of war, fire, and abject destruction. The other Realm Holders were not known for anything but death and despair. But this witch didn’t just like witchwood—he loved it. So, it was completely understandable that the village would want to hear the news as soon as they arrived and that the Headman would want a preview.
“Do you need to… freshen up?” Lentin asked uncertainly.
“We actually slept through most of the trip from the mainland,” her father said. The ship had left in the afternoon and sailed through the night, arriving in late morning.
“Then let’s proceed to the inn. I’m sure your audience is more than excited to hear of your adventures,” Lentin said, his tone slightly wistful.
“The telling of it will be all t
he better if everyone hears it at once,” Armond said, clapping the shorter man on the shoulder.
“And Nira has a part to tell?” Kuldennie asked, giving her a curious glance.
“A big part. She actually spent more time with the lord and his lady than I did, being busy as I was with woodworking and all.”
“She did? You did?” Lentin asked, astounded, as he turned to her.
She blushed again but nodded. “Declan and Stacia are really very nice.”
Her father immediately cleared his throat. “Ah, Lord Declan and Lady Stacia,” she quickly amended. Never mind that they both detested those titles and utterly forbade her from using them in private.
“It is safe to say that my Nira is much in their favor,” Armond said with a calm pride. All three village men looked at her again, like she’d grown wings in the short trip from the docks to the village’s biggest inn. “Ah, here we are. Good to see the place.”
“Good to see Dorian’s beer, you mean,” Kuldennie offered and her father just laughed as Eben moved jerkily forward to open the door for them. The headman led the way into the dark inn, followed by her father and herself, the constable just behind her.
With the exception of the two large village-owned warehouses, the Whitefish Inn was the biggest structure in Lileire, and easily the nicest. While the island’s inhabitants didn’t generally travel farther than a crab boat ride from the shore, buyers of wood, finished furniture, and seafood all frequently visited the island to view products or complete trade deals. The inn’s main dining room was therefore bright and cheery, and the adjacent pub room was warm and cozy. Nira immediately saw that both were full beyond capacity and she was suddenly glad that she’d heeded her father’s advice and foregone the fashion finery. Ostentatious displays of wealth were frowned upon by the island’s conservative inhabitants, as was outright bragging. Social ranking was very much based upon skill in one’s chosen trade, shrewd handling of personal resources, and clever conversation.
It seemed as if the entire village was crammed into the space, and in fact, the innkeeper, Dorian, had moved out all the round tables, replacing them with long trestle planks for both seating and dining. Immediately Nira blushed at all the eyes on her but then she noticed her best friend, Keply Slogan, sitting shoulder to thigh with Nattle Strawridge and she felt momentarily both dizzy and nauseous. Apparently, some things had changed.
