by K. M. Shea
I had been kidnapped.
I didn’t know why. I didn’t know by whom, although it was probably safe to assume it was the work of magical beings. I didn’t know how or when I would get home, or even if I would ever be able to leave.
I had been kidnapped.
I could feel the hysteria setting in as tears started to pool in my eyes. Why me? What about school? What would my parents think? And Fran! But what were these people going to do to me? Would they hurt me? I heaved a dry sob before hugging myself.
“Calm yourself, Morgan,” Aysel dryly decreed from his couch. (I wanted to pinch him hard when he said that.) “There is no need to panic.”
“WHAT? I have just been kidnapped, and you don’t want me to panic? This situation doesn’t just call for panic. It calls for mass hysteria, hyperventilating, and lots and lots of tears!”
Aysel impatiently sighed and put his notebook aside. “Listen to me, human. We are perfectly safe. I expect we will be released in approximately forty-eight hours, not at all worse for the wear. Eat your dinner and go back to sleep if you insist on being hysteric. I have no desire to hear your whimpering sobs.”
My mouth dropped open. “We’ve been kidnapped, and you want me to sleep?”
Even I couldn’t believe Aysel had the gall to say that.
A door opened, and one of the purple-y, fake FBI agents entered the heated warehouse. “You’re awake,” he rumbled, adjusting his sunglasses in the florescent lighting. “Do you need anything? An extra blanket? Some chips?” he said, smiling at me with very white teeth.
My mouth remained open as I stared at him. It occurred to me that we might have been kidnapped by some freaky group of High Elf worshipers.
“I’m sorry, we can’t let you go,” fake FBI agent guy said. “But we have contacted the MBRC Administrator, and the negotiations are underway, so you can expect to be released by tomorrow or Sunday.”
“What?” I squeaked. We were hostages? They were making a case against the MBRC Administrator?!
“I require the latest Magic Journal Sentinel,” Aysel said, returning to scribbling notes on his notebook.
“Very well,” our kidnapper said before turning back to me, hunkering down in front of my couch. “And you, Miss? Is there nothing you want?”
I licked my dry lips. “Why are you negotiating with the MBRC Administrator?” I croaked.
Pasty man tilted his head. “Who else would we talk to? Administrator Moonspell is the one holding up our imports contract.”
“Huh?” I said.
“She’s human. She hasn’t got a clue about current events,” Aysel said, infuriating even when being held hostage.
Pasty man frowned. “We knew she was human. We have to tell our King about her…eventually.”
“King?” I parroted. “Imports contract?”
“They’re goblins,” Aysel loftily said, as though I were stupid for not noticing. “They’ve been wading through paperwork for months to try and get a contract that will allow them to import pixie powder and sell it for cosmetic and glamour purposes to MBRC members. They finally got it passed by the board, but the MBRC Administrator needs to sign off on it, and he’s been dragging his feet.”
“Yes,” Pasty Man, aka a goblin, acknowledged. “You are our reminder to the Administrator that he needs to sign it.”
“You’re no goblin!” I accused. “You look perfectly human! Well, except for your waxy complexion.”
“I am too a goblin!” Pasty Man said, outraged.
“Are not! You might be bald, but you have nice teeth, and you aren’t at all disfigured! Plus, you don’t look gnarly!”
“We have a good dental plan, and why would I look disfigured?”
Aysel rolled his eyes.
I shook my head. No way. No way could goblins look so…human! He had to be lying. Maybe he was only half goblin and didn’t want to admit it. “Why would the MBRC Administrator care if you kidnapped a High Elf and a random human girl anyway?” I demanded, folding my arms.
“Because,” Aysel dryly said, “he’s my father.”
I froze. “He’s WHAT?”
For the second time that day, everything started clicking.
That’s why everyone at the MBRC raved over the fact that I was teaching Asahi. I always thought they adored the sunny elf, but of course they would know about him if he was their leader’s kid!
That also explained why Devin had to cut a deal with Aysel to get me back. As the son of the MBRC Administrator, he could ask his dad, and BAM, it was done.
Perhaps that was also why Aysel was so obsessed with his brother’s education. Maybe he and Asahi were both aiming to be future leaders of the MBRC?
And finally…this was probably why Aysel is such a brat. How could you be the son of a highly-esteemed administrator/politician and not be spoiled? (Asahi is the exception!)
I made a mouse noise in the back of my throat as I sank into the cushions of my couch.
“Miss, are you okay?” Pasty Man asked, anxiously leaning forward.
Just outside the warehouse someone roared, “YOU DID WHAT?!”
The warehouse door violently banged open, almost as though it were blown off its hinges.
“Oh,” Pasty Man said, standing up. “The Goblin King. Someone must have told him we grabbed you as well.”
I was still collapsed in my couch, on the verge of laughing my guts out because of the absurdity of the whole situation. I didn’t notice the Goblin King until he was twenty feet away and storming closer.
Again I rocketed upright. “Hunter?”
My classmate froze, as though I had shot him. “Morgan?” he said, his amber-topaz eyes widening.
Aysel actually tossed his notebook aside. “You know each other?” he asked, his voice thunderous.
“Yeah, we’re classmates,” I said before turning on Hunter. I stood up and stalked the remaining few feet towards him. “Goblin King, Hunter? Really? Not a chance. I could see you being magical, but you’re no goblin.”
Hunter closed his eyes and rested two fingers on his temple. “This is what I hate about Fairy Tales. They’re so stereotyped, people have a hard time accepting the truth.”
“But you look human! You’re not oddly colored, or short and scary looking! None of your guys have pig tusks or animal parts either!” I argued.
“Those are European Goblins you’re thinking of,” Hunter said, dropping his hand to look me in the eyes. “Those worthless gits were concerned about keeping the goblin lineage pure, so they did a lot of intermarrying and inbreeding. Didn’t turn out so well for the bloodline. Because of them, everyone is convinced Goblins are fat, ugly creatures,” he said, disdain rolling off his words.
“But you’re not even bald like the rest of your goblin guards,” I protested.
Hunter rolled his eyes. “My men shave their heads because in our culture it is a symbol of fierceness. My hair is too gorgeous to be sheared off.”
“Hunter,” I said, reaching out to grasp the sleeve of his trench coat. “What is going on?”
Hunter sighed and twisted his wrist so he gently clasped my hand. His skin was soft but very cold. He squeezed my hand once and let me go. “Get that leash off her, now,” Hunter said, his voice icy as he turned to address his men. “She’s coming upstairs with us.”
Aysel stirred behind us. “She will not leave my sight,” he said.
Hunter and I turned around to stare at him.
Aysel was frowning, his eyes narrowing. “Morgan L. Fae is under the protection of my family. I will not allow you to take her without me.”
Hunter rolled his eyes, unimpressed with Aysel’s show of possession. “Very well, bring the elf with,” he gestured as his men snapped my cuff off like they were breaking a pretzel.
I gaped at the show of strength before Hunter called. “Come along, Morgan. You haven’t eaten dinner yet, right? Aren’t you hungry?” he tempted, walking away from me.
I hurried to follow him as some of his cohorts
released Aysel, who gathered up his notebook. The High Elf trailed behind at a more sedate pace, escorted by four goblins.
Hunter led me to a staircase, which I paused before going up. It occurred to me that I should try and run since I was free…even though it was Hunter who accidentally had me kidnapped, I still trusted him. He was still my friend. He wouldn’t do anything to harm me. Plus, Aysel wasn’t at all worried. He wasn’t any crabbier than usual. So, I had a feeling things were okay, if not a little confusing.
“I’m serious, Hunter. What the hell is going on?” I cranked, climbing the stairs.
“I thought Logan explained the situation to you? I had Aysel kidnapped to remind his father that he needed to sign our contract,” Hunter said, reaching the top of the stairs.
“Yeah, so Pasty Man mentioned. But did you really have to go to such an extreme?” I panted, hopping up the last step.
Hunter wrinkled his forehead in a display of royal confusion. “It is common practice,” he said.
“Huh?”
“I believe this is the fourth time we have kidnapped Aysel, correct, Logan?” Hunter asked Pasty Man.
“It is, sir,” Pasty Man/Logan confirmed.
“He’s kidnapped all the time. We are hardly the only organization to use the Administrator’s children as collateral. Let’s see, the Chicago Banshee Confederation took him once or twice; so did the South End Satyrs. The Blood Fang vampire coven has taken him several times. I think the Chicago Cathedral Gnomes took him once. He told us last time he was here that we are his preferred kidnappers—which we should be. We let him do MBRC work and use our high-speed internet,” Hunter said, watching Aysel’s progression up the stairs.
Aysel, hearing us refer to him, glared up at Hunter with his beautiful moon eyes. “Ah, but his brother is kidnapped even more frequently. Isn’t that right, Aysel?” Hunter called down to the High Elf.
“Who?” I blinked.
“His twin brother. Sunny guy, he’s got a million-watt smile and dresses like a genie. We’ve never kidnapped him, but he’s always in the MBRC Daily Sentinel,” Hunter shrugged.
“Asahi!” I said. “People kidnap Asahi?” I wondered how they managed to do that. They probably didn’t have hearts. “Wait, Asahi is your twin?” I gaped as Aysel and his guards joined us.
“Asahi, yes, that’s the younger twin’s name. It’s insane how often he’s kidnapped. I have to wonder if he’s very smart. Not like I’ve met him though—we have never kidnapped him,” Hunter said, strolling over to an elevator, pressing the up button.
“And who is we?” I asked, planting my hands on my hips.
“The Chicago goblins. Officially we’re called Weller Goblin Enterprises, the Chicago branch,” Hunter explained as the elevator opened with a chime.
Hunter got on, motioning for me to join him. I did, and so did Aysel and two of the goblin guards.
“Hunter, you can’t seriously be the Goblin King. You’re not even sixteen yet! I had to give you a ride to the store after school in September when we were getting supplies for Homecoming decorations!” I accused as Hunter selected a floor.
“You’re right. I’m not the Goblin King of America. That’s technically my father. However, I am the leader of the Goblins in Chicago. Everyone simply refers to me as the Goblin King because I run our organization’s Chicago branch. So, as far as the employees here are concerned, I am the king. One of my older brothers runs Las Vegas, the other Los Angeles. My older sister has Boston.”
“What about New York?” I dryly asked.
“Oh, that’s my Father’s base. Mother is fond of Times Square,” he shrugged.
“You can’t be part of the goblin mob!” I said, folding my arms across my chest. “You sit next to me in school. We did a biology project together last year. This has got to be a joke! Frey should have picked up on you being magical.”
“Ah, the werewolf,” Hunter smiled handsomely. “Yes. I did have a difficult time hiding it from him. In the end, all it took was a little extra persuasion, and the problem was solved,” he shrugged as the elevator dinged and the doors opened. “We goblins are some of the most persuasive beings on the planet,” Hunter told me before exiting the elevator.
I followed him. “You’re good at debating?” I asked as Aysel and his guards followed me.
Hunter chuckled and smiled fondly at me. “Not that kind of persuasion, Morgan. Just as fairies have glamour, goblins have persuasion. Using our eyes and voices, we can influence anyone—people and magical beings alike. We also have a rudimentary form of magic,” he said, leading the way down a hallway. It looked pretty nice, almost how you would picture the hallway of a ritzy hotel. It didn’t resemble the parking garage at all.
I stopped next to Hunter, who paused in front of an ornate-looking door. “Wait, is that why no one clearly remembers you?”
Hunter nodded and opened the door. “Yes. In order to remain undercover, I use my power of persuasion to persuade people not to notice me, or even not to befriend me.”
“Why would you do that?” I asked. (That explained why Hunter was always alone, even though he was good-looking and decent—well, besides the whole goblin mob thing.)
Hunter shrugged. “I go to a human school because it was a requirement Mother set when Father gave me the Chicago branch. As it is unwise to stick out in a human environment, I try to cloak myself,” he said before sweeping into the room.
“I bet that persuasion stuff comes in handy. No wonder teachers never call on you,” I complained, hushing when I entered the room.
It had to be Hunter’s office. It was carpeted with plush, red carpet and expensive-looking rugs. The room was lined with ornate bookshelves that held rows upon rows of books and magical items. There was a gas fireplace, a flat screen TV with a surround sound system, a black leather couch, and three laptops. There was a huge, ornate desk positioned directly in front of the window—which took up most of the back wall. A black desktop computer, a cell phone, and an office phone were meticulously placed on the desk. “Whoa, sweet room,” I said, turning around.
Hunter didn’t acknowledge my comment and instead spoke to his men. “I don’t want that elf in here. Put him in the conference room across from us. Fasten him to the wall again and make sure he’s fed. And remove that wretched truth-spell necklace he keeps on him. I don’t want a repeat of the last time we kidnapped him. That will be all,” Hunter said, dismissing them.
“If you harm her, you will pay,” Aysel warned, his eyes flickering to my face.
Hunter looked amused. “You needn’t worry, Moonspell. I know her far better than you do. Good night,” he said before closing his office door in Aysel’s face.
I found the situation somewhat amusing—Aysel being put in his place was something I had never seen before—but unlike those stupid twits that are the usual heroines of paranormal fiction, I was street smart. It did not amuse me that I was alone in a room with a goblin who could pretty much persuade me to do whatever he wanted. It was actually a little frightening. Even though I knew Hunter, finding out about his powers was a little disconcerting.
Hunter strode across the room and plopped down in a chair behind his desk.
“What were you talking about with Aysel and a repeat of last time?” I asked, nonchalantly wandering closer to the door as I glanced out the window. The sky was black; it was probably late in the evening.
“Aysel is his father’s son. Being a true politician, he wears a truth necklace. It bespells anyone he talks to so they can only tell truths,” Hunter dryly said, texting someone with his smart phone. “During one of his previous stays with my organization, one of my men ended up spilling the story of his love life. It was quite embarrassing.”
A truth necklace? No wonder I couldn’t keep my mouth shut and play nice whenever I was around that brat! I was being spelled to tell the truth! “That jerk,” I hissed.
“Morgan. I have very patiently answered your every question. I would like you to do the same for me. Tell m
e how you know Aysel Moonspell and how you came to be aware of magical beings,” Hunter said, folding his hands on his lap.
I didn’t think Hunter was persuading me to tell him. I didn’t feel compelled to explain everything to him…but a part of me yearned to dump about the MBRC and explain it to an outside person.
So, I leaned against a bookshelf and spilled my guts. “It started with Frey and my substitute Spanish teacher…”
About fifteen minutes into my story—right when I was telling Hunter about the cyclopes—a goblin entered the room, pushing a silver cart that held a steaming plate of shrimp alfredo.
“Eat,” Hunter said as the goblin set the plate before me.
I paused my story and suspiciously poked at the food with my fork and knife. Hunter rolled his eyes with noble grace and plucked the fork from my fingers, scooped up some of the pasta, and ate it himself.
“See; it’s fine. Now continue. You were championing the cyclopes?” Hunter said, once again folding his hands across his lap.
My story went on for a full hour. I told Hunter about everything: Frey, teaching Asahi, the Cuckoo Ward, the museum fieldtrip, anything at all magical.
When I finished, Hunter thoughtfully nodded. “I am disappointed in myself,” he announced.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because I knew the werewolf was at our school, and I knew you were friends with him, but I never guessed he had blown his cover. I also knew the Pooka briefly visited our school and that a human was teaching Asahi, but I never made the connection,” he sighed.
“So, what now?” I asked after several minutes of silence. “You’re going to release me, right?”
“Yes. But unfortunately, I can’t right now. Not while I’m negotiating with Administrator Moonspell,” Hunter said with a handsome smile.
I did not smile back. “What do you mean?”
“I simply can’t, Morgan. If you leave, Aysel will flip out—not to mention the administrator will complain that we’ve released you and not his son,” Hunter said, his voice as sweet as honey.
“That’s a load of crap, Hunter,” I said.
“See, that’s why we’re friends. Because it is impossible for me to persuade you,” Hunter chuckled.
