by Byrd Nash
“Just say what you want and stop dancing around what you want from me. I don’t find this amusing.”
“I want you to watch your bondmates and keep me informed about their movements.”
“Do you take me for a snitch? A bog sprite? I’ll have you know —.” Brigit stopped herself just in time from revealing her royal ancestry. Fuming, she began again, “When I agreed to you helping Logan, I stipulated that our deal could not harm me and mine. ‘Mine’ means my bondmates. And being a tattle-tale is harm in my book.”
Paul was older and more experienced. Fae temper did not irritate him. “Remember, your name, your ID, was used to access admin areas of the library.”
“As I’ve said to Frau Burkhalter, that has nothing to do with me.” Brigit moved as if to shove past, but Paul stopped her.
“Your eotan friend, Granite, is enrolled in the class which had the tests stolen.”
“Big deal. That’s a basic, required class we all have to take. Why single Granite out?”
“Do you think it is a coincidence?” Paul said in that lazy drawl which she found so infuriating. “That your ID was used in a break-in to access tests for a class that your bondmate is taking? That gives you two connections to what happened at the library.”
Brigit had a fantasy of using her necklace to detach Paul’s head from his body. She controlled herself barely.
“Prove his innocence, and I shall call our debt Expletus.”
Brigit knew Granite had struggled last year in math. But would he risk his scholarship and a place on the wrestling team to cheat? She didn’t think so. But he might have seen it all as a prank. And the eotan loved questionable jokes.
“Granite isn’t smart enough to use computers in that way,” Brigit said, her voice becoming weary. The night had not been how she imagined. “It’s just not his thing. If you told me Granite drew mustaches on pictures of Greek goddesses in books, I might believe you.”
Paul gave her a non-committal stare before telling her, “Not only were the electronic copies of books deleted, but the physical copies have also disappeared. It’s as if they have never existed. Even the librarians have forgotten their existence. Only a fae could cause this type of strange vandalism.”
“Granite doesn’t have the know-how to do that,” Brigit protested. “Sounds more like a Doppelgänger to me. Someone with power over time and memory.”
“Prove it. Convince me your bondmate is innocent.”
“Fine, I will,” the dryad snapped, a stabbing headache between her eyes. “But who do you want to catch the most? The one who stole test questions, or the one who destroyed valuable library property? Because that seems like two different goals to me.”
“I will be satisfied with the destroyer.”
“Will Frau Burkhalter?” asked Brigit. She wanted the particulars of the debt repayment to be crystal clear. She would protect Granite if she could.
“If I’m satisfied, so will she,” promised the Doppelgänger.
She had no other choice.
“Is that all? Are you done with me?”
Before the Doppelgänger could answer, a voice, magically enhanced, rang throughout the building.
“The bard is to come to me now!”
Gatecrasher
His party was everything François Auguste Bandemer could have wished. At least in the beginning.
The food by his favorite Michelin star French chef, who was catering the event, was well received. Yes, he had to supplement the woman’s fee from his coffers, but you could not serve cheap food to those you wanted to write checks. Besides, Bandemer also had to eat it, and as everyone knew, his stomach was sensitive.
A stroke of brilliance was the wine tasting. Since the library was showcasing illuminated manuscripts, having wineries with a connection to religious orders were arranged for select guests to sample. Those he felt wavering, or those who had committed to a donation, Bandemer took to the vestry. Opening the curtains with a spell, he poured for them as he explained each bottle’s providence.
The chancellor had a discerning nose from centuries of tasting liquors of all types produced in the human lands. He had also made use of Paul’s talents of shifting time to retrieve some vintages that no one had seen in over a hundred years.
All in all, it was shaping up to be quite a satisfying evening.
“A satisfying evening,” the chancellor told Anna Burkhalter. Frau Burkhalter’s wore a man’s tuxedo coat with black cigarette pants. Her honey-blond hair was slicked back into a braided bun. The only jewelry she wore was diamond earrings. Her makeup was refined.
She displayed a sophisticated style; Bandemer felt she did not disgrace him.
“So it appears,” the librarian agreed.
He had exceptional hearing, so heard her slight sigh.
“Do I hear a hint of doubt in your voice, madam?”
“I’m just glad the vellum is protected. As it is, some of our guests have asked if they can access our vaults and see the other pieces not ready to be displayed. Everyone seems especially keen to view the papyrus fragment from the Library of Alexandria.”
The chancellor chuckled. When Bandemer used it, he had a nice laugh, throaty, and full of good humor. He had perfected it. It gave certain people a false belief that between them existed a shared camaraderie.
“Yes, I’ve been priming the pump all night with that tidbit,” said Bandemer smugly. “We shall show them the Aristarchus's commentaries on the Histories of Herodotus perhaps next year. But only to the lucky. And by lucky, I mean the ones who pay until they get a nosebleed. Those who open their wallets the widest, get the first peek at our little papyrus treasure. That is for the future. When the time is right.”
Burkhalter raised her glass in a salute.
“Ever the master manipulator, chancellor.”
They sipped together in silence, listening to the strains of the music. Even without Glamour, the abbey had beautiful acoustics.
“However,” she began, “does it not concern you that the security system in the library is still lacking? We’ve just discovered someone has hacked the library’s database.”
“Computers? Who cares about them,” scoffed the chancellor. He raised his glass to acknowledge a passing group.
“All of our collection has an electronic component. Scans, photos, collection data that must be maintained,” Burkhalter continued. “If those are harmed, the locks to our vaults are also at risk. And illuminated manuscripts, especially those on vellum, are rare, thus valuable to the black market.”
Bandemer was beginning to grow bored with the conversation. If Frau Burkhalter were as diplomatic as the Doppelgänger, she would have changed the subject. Instead, she persisted.
“We need to upgrade the entire library.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” snapped the chancellor. “I fully understand your need for funds. That is why I am here. Tonight, I have doubled the restoration fund for the abbey. And what thanks do I get for it? Nothing but nagging.”
Bandemer showed his back to her as he walked away, a storm cloud was brewing on his countenance. Looking about for something to distract him, something which would provide more pleasant conversation, the chancellor hailed the maestro.
“Kados Géza, thank you for providing the entertainment for the evening.”
When Géza didn’t reply, the chancellor stopped his progress, curious. He always found the Hungarian displaying a set of old-fashioned manners, which Bandemer found exceptionally pleasing. This was an anomaly.
It was not like Bandemer was easy to miss. The chancellor was wearing a 17th-century coat of spring green silk over a salmon-pink waistcoat embroidered with a criss-cross lattice of green ivy with red posies. He had brought a fan. The gesture of opening and closing meant people couldn’t help but notice his emerald ring.
“Why Herr Géza,” repeated the chancellor more loudly, “I’m so glad you were able to attend my little soiree.”
The maestro startled. He took notice of the cha
ncellor’s presence.
“Yes, thank you. Yes.”
The chancellor knew it was not easy to discomfit the maestro. The conductor’s reputation for intimidating others was almost as well-known as Bandemer’s. Of course, he didn’t have Bandemer’s level of savoir-faire, but Bandemer could forgive Kados the lack, since, after all, he was human.
“This event was by invitation only?” Géza asked him. The maestro’s stare was fixed and penetrating, right over Bandemer’s shoulder.
“Are you concerned about gate crashers, my dear maestro?” The chancellor repeated his laugh, hoping it showed to better effect. “Point them out to me, and I will be sure to have them tossed out on their pointed ears.”
“I just —.” began the maestro again. He stopped, considering what he was going to say. Kados did look pale, but perhaps it was the white hair?
Bandemer found a tinted face powder, and a bit of blush, helped the complexion of the mature gentleman, like themselves. He was about to suggest it, when Géza told him, “Look over there. At the man in the robe. You see him, don’t you? He isn’t one of the library ghosts, is he? One of the ghostly monks that haunt the university?”
Bandemer turned his attention to where the conductor had indicated. He immediately saw what the problem was. The man was not wearing formal dress. How irritating! Especially after he had been so specific with his hand-engraved invitations.
Did the man think he could show up in a ratty brown bathrobe as if this was a fancy dress Samhain party? That a monetary donation to Leopold Ottos, would mean Bandemer would ignore his gaffe?
“I will deal with this,” said the chancellor grimly, his fingers tightening around his fan.
“Be careful,” the maestro warned him.
Oh, for the days when Bandemer could position his monocle and with a pinch of snuff and a sneer put such effrontery in its place! Sadly, though, no one understood social niceties anymore. Society had degenerated. Now only blunt speech made these rascals realize their missteps.
As he approached his target, the chancellor saw that he had been wrong. Probably due to his nearsightedness, he had mistaken the man’s clothing for a bathrobe when in reality, he was wearing a monk’s habit. The guest, if he was one, must have theme-dressed for the occasion.
What a fool! Nothing gave Bandemer more contempt than someone who dressed wrong for an occasion. Even wearing an outfit that was of poor fit or color could be excused. Proper tailoring could be taught; taste could not.
The man’s face was of an aged human, haggard almost, with little hair, just the barest wisps around his ears. Maybe this being was entering its dementia years? He had heard humans lost their cognitive powers as their faces wrinkled.
Regardless, being senile was no excuse for ruining a party — especially the first formal event of the school year hosted by the chancellor.
If his royal Doppelgänger had been at his side, the chancellor would have requested that he turn back time so no one would have to see this disgrace. Well, he’d deal with this matter himself, and punish the sloppy security later.
“Were you invited?”
“Invited? I am the guest of honor, fool.”
Bandemer could appreciate arrogance. Insanity had some charms, but insults held nothing of worth. Bandemer decided to talk to the human as if it was a two-year-old. “The only guest of honor tonight is our vellum manuscript.”
“Exactly,” said the other with such an arrogant smugness that it was only through sheer willpower that Bandemer restrained himself. As it was, his grip on his folded fan tightened until the fan’s sticks broke.
What was this creature? Bandemer could see no Glamour upon it, but something smelled of deception. It could be a shapeshifter, but who heard of a shapeshifting monk?
“I see you lack the wit to understand me,” sneered the thing that looked like a monk. “Summon your bard. He will explain. He plays one of the musical instruments. Call him to judge my truth.”
Furious, Bandemer raised his hand above his head, stopping everyone from talking with his magic.
“The bard is to come to me now.”
At his Summoning, one of the musicians in the string quartet stood up, interrupting the music. Laying his violin on the seat along with the instrument’s bow, a young man walked through the frozen crowd.
As the bard approached, the chancellor recognized him as Logan Dannon. How vexing! How did he not know this boy was a bard in addition to being related to a goddess? When he located the Doppelgänger, he was going to have a stern talk with Paul.
The fae king waved his broken fan above his head. Everyone resumed talking as if the Summoning had never occurred. A woman with messy hair quickly ushered someone into Dannon’s empty seat, reforming the quartet.
“Boy,” the chancellor addressed Logan, for anyone younger than 200 was a youth to him, “this —” he gestured at the creature standing at his side, not sure what to call the poorly dressed irritant, “tells me you are a bard.”
“Yes, sir,” said the student, looking embarrassed. His politeness scored some points with the chancellor. The talking irritant interrupted their discourse, causing Bandemer’s pale countenance, worn like old marble, to flush with high color.
“I am the guest-of-honor. Confirm what I say is the truth, bard.”
Logan looked between the chancellor and the man in a monk’s robe, wearing rope sandals. If he agreed with the monk, the chancellor was not going to be pleased. However, Logan had learned a lot about the many facets of truth last year. Dealing with the fae had taught him much; he took his time before replying.
“You believe you’re the guest-of-honor, sir,” agreed Logan diplomatically.
“Ha!” snapped Bandemer. “If I believed I was the Queen of Sheba and said as much it would appear as truth. You bandy words about, stranger.”
“I eat words,” sneered the monk, his protuberant eyes glowering. “Especially those used poorly or if they lack veracity.”
During this fractious conversation, Anna Burkhalter and Kados Géza appeared behind the chancellor. The librarian requested in a low voice, “Gentleman, can we keep our voices down? This place of learning requires we all act with decorum.”
The monk gave a glare at the head librarian. His stare was as mad as Rasputin’s.
“This a place of learning? A bastion of perversion. I would rather call a donkey’s fart a pearl of wisdom. And you, madam, the lead donkey.”
The Swiss woman, being now of one mind with the chancellor about their visitor, suggested, “The griffins?”
The chancellor replied, his voice vibrating with such restrained anger that the glass in the windows trembled, “The griffins are called only as a last resort. Unless you want to be weighed on their scales of judgment like your predecessor? It is not a task to undertake lightly.”
Logan gave a small cough. “Truth is like a faceted diamond. There is never only one side.”
“Explain,” demanded the chancellor.
Logan looked at the strange person standing beside the chancellor.
“I don’t think what is standing here is human.”
Before anything further could be said or done, the monk under discussion disappeared.
“Thoroughly routed!” declared Bandemer, glad to see his problem gone. “Fellow couldn’t handle being exposed as a charlatan.”
Handing his broken fan off to Burkhalter, he requested Logan accompany him for a promenade.
“But the music, sir,” Logan began.
Géza told him to go on; a request from the chancellor was not to be ignored.
As they walked off together, Bandemer commanded, “Now, boy, tell me how you came to be a bard.”
The chancellor snapped his fingers, and a waiter appeared with a fresh glass and a platter of canapes.
“Full details. Hold nothing back. I wish to know everything.”
Between Friends
Logan knew Brigit was avoiding him. When he came back from classes, she was either not at
home or was going out the door. Ever since the party, things seemed broken between them. He didn’t know what he did wrong or how to fix it.
Celia might have some idea, so when she asked if he could help in doing some work on her new place, he jumped at the chance. Brigit would be at work, allowing him plenty of time to talk privately with the naiad and get her opinion.
Taking the alley to Celia’s warehouse apartment, he ran into Granite.
“Good to see you, human,” the fae wrestler hailed him.
“I see you survived the summer,” returned Logan.
“Plenty of fun. And girls too. I’ll bring you home with me next time,” the eotan promised. Granite grabbed him in a crushing bear hug, lifting him off the ground.
Granite was rather like a Great Dane who knocks you over and licks your face. While physically he could be overwhelming, he was so friendly you forgave him the excess.
“Are you two done? We have a long workday ahead of us,” Celia called. She was standing at the top of the ramp with a paint roller in hand. Celia was wearing an orange- and lime-colored headscarf over her wavy curls, ripped and paint-splattered jeans, and a sloppy sweatshirt that was slipping off one collar bone.
She looked like a model. Self-conscious, Logan looked away only to meet the cynical gaze of a girl with purple hair, standing behind her.
“Oh, hi. Are you Celia’s new roommate?”
“Yes, she is,” said Celia, introducing the two. “Em, this is Logan, bondmate to my friend Brigit. I’ve told you about them. Now, is everyone ready to get started?”
Logan wasn’t sure what to make of the new girl. Emma hadn’t said much when he had arrived. However, her expression made him think she wasn’t thrilled with him or Granite being there.
She wore clothes ready for the dirty work: an old t-shirt and faded jeans. Over her purple hair, she had a baseball cap that kept her bangs off her face. The hat was pulled down and hid her eyes. Unlike Celia’s outfit, her clothes did not look like they were from the cover of a magazine.
