by Zari Reede
“What in blazes?”
Shading her eyes and squinting, Winnalea gestured at the glow. “You’ve nay seen this?” she asked a second time.
“No!” I cried out, the light buzzing in my ears. When I levitated, panic set in. Never trust an ORB. They appear benevolent and then they attack, as that awful Ortharos mouse did on my last mission. I shuddered, remembering the fangs.
“I think I know why I am here now,” she said, nodding as if she had solved a puzzle she had worked on after a nice afternoon tea.
“Okay, Winnalea, cut it out, and put me down,” I said through tight lips.
“Oh, ’tis nae me that’s doing that.” Her finger pointed at my surrounding glow. “’Tis you, dearie.”
“M--Me? I didn’t start t--this,” I stammered.
“I can help, but only if you let me use my magic.”
“Sure, Winni, whatever, just stop the glowing!”
“As ye wish.” Holding up her arms, she flourished an imaginary wand. Chanting in a foreign dialect, she then said, “Boo!” The light vanished and I stood limp on the shag carpet. She giggled. “Oh dearie, that was fun!”
“How do you do that, Winni?” I demanded.
“I nae did a thing, Mums. ’Twas all you! I was having fun with ye. ’Tis your own confidence. When your heart is pure for a chivalrous cause, ye glow with it. Maybe ye have nae been radiant because ye nae felt sure of your cause.” Winnalea tilted her head to the side and giggled. “I only said ‘boo’ to startle ye.”
“Winnalea! This is no time to fool around. That imp is in Burbank, California, and I need to catch him!” With a rueful glance at Kee Kee still perched on the couch as Winni wiped off the latest poo deposit, I picked up the cage once more. I turned to Winni and wished I knew how to contact the ISMAT closest to Burbank. “What am I going to do?” I practically wailed. As she grinned, she waved an imaginary wand and giant, translucent wings glittered in her arms. “You aren’t serious?” I questioned.
Hands on my hips, I rolled my eyes heavenward. I admired the delicate, golden gossamer, but I couldn’t imagine flying to California with them strapped to my back like one of Sammy’s dolls. Winnalea clapped her hands, and the wings vanished just as quickly as they had appeared.
“No, dearie, just havin’ a tug at ye now,” she answered with a laugh. I scowled. “Grab my hand. I don’t want ye leavin’ wi’t out me. I nae have the power to go such a distance.”
I contemplated whether I should take Winnalea or not, but how would I get there and back if I didn’t? I reached for her small delicate hand and looked at her, not knowing what to expect.
“Now think about the exact spot in this Burbank you wish to travel to. Focus on the imp you seek, and we should be there in no time.”
Her eyes twinkled as she smiled at me. I wondered if I should trust her words.
“No matter what ye do, let not your mind wander or we may end up under a Ronderdack or worse,” she warned with a shudder.
“What’s a Ronderdack?”
“Let’s just say, it’s good ye nae know ’til we arrive safe.” She winked and squeezed my hand. “Now concentrate on this Burbanks, and the imp!”
Winnalea’s voice rang out like a fairy godmother. If she sings “Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo,” I will lose it. I smothered a giggle. Through the now deafening humming, I struggled to concentrate on the Tonight Show studio and the purple imp dancing with the Brady mom. Clutching the cage tight in one hand and Winni’s small hand in the other, I let my body relax as a whir filled my ears. My head ached. Dammit, Winni! I need more help than hippie platitudes! Irritated, I clenched my teeth hard. I dreaded the next dentist appointment.
With a blinding flash, I stood motionless on the main stage of the Tonight Show with an astonished Carson staring back at me. The purple imp cavorted with Florence Henderson, chattering gaily as she squealed with pleasure. I dropped the cage that was oddly heavy now. Jumping on Florence’s head, the imp screeched and pointed to me. Perplexed, I looked at the cage. Inside, folded at an odd angle, Winnalea’s face pressed hard against the bars. She glared at me. I echoed the Imp’s screech. “Oh no, Winni! What happened?” I gasped.
“Apparently someone envisioned me in this cage,” she said with a bit of a temper.
“Oops!” I replied lamely.
The live audience roared with laughter.
“Well, could you think me out?” Winnalea grumped, and Carson’s devotees howled. I closed my eyes tight, focusing on Winni right-side up and by my side. Within an instant, she was there. Relieved, I knelt and hugged her tight. On some subconscious level, I must have wanted her in the cage. I would explain later, but right now I needed to catch a purple fuzzy imp off Henderson’s head.
I grabbed the last stuffed toy from my back pack and waved it in the air before throwing it into the bird cage. The stubborn imp shook its head. Apparently, you couldn’t fool them twice. I looked at Winni, wondering what to do and then an epiphany. I needed to think him into the cage. Behind me, Carson blathered, ad-libbing as though all was planned.
Wearing the imp for a hat, Florence wobbled and laughed, playing up to the audience during the impromptu comedy. The studio was a continuous wave of laughter. My glow flashed and within a blink, I caged the purple comedian. Carson introduced us as the newest magician act premiering on the Tonight Show. Winnalea and I bowed and, with great concentration on our return, we were back to my apartment. Instead of returning to my living room, we landed in my bed, where this whole thing began.
Mother screamed beneath us, awaking to a scene from her worst nightmare as a furious imp thrashed and spat from the cage. Stress loosened its bowels, and a glob of poop splattered on the center of my shirt. I let out a long sequence of curses before I tried to explain. Winni, wanting nothing to do with it, hopped from the bed and, with an icy glare, scampered to the kitchen. I suspected she might be incensed by my earlier displacement.
As I scrambled to my feet, I jostled the bird cage which rolled off the bed onto the floor. The chattering ended in a loud squawk when it hit the ground. The imp went silent. Jerking it upright, I tossed Jim’s robe on top of the cage, hiding the crumpled form. From my hasty look, I was pretty sure I accomplished the “destroy” part of my mission in the case of this ORB.
Mom sat up clutching her chest. She plucked her black, cat-eye glasses off the end table and perched them on her nose. “You took ten years off my life, Melinda!”
“Sorry. I was talking to Winnalea about the, um...new bird I got and I tripped,” I improvised.
Skeptical, Mom frowned. “You needed me to get up in the middle of the night because you needed to make an emergency trip to the pet store?”
“Mom, it’s complicated--” I began.
“It always is with you, dear,” Mom interjected.
“And job related,” I added.
Mom rolled her eyes. “Oh, speaking of job, did you see the note I left you?”
I followed Mom out of the bedroom, past Winni, who had resumed dusting. She led me to the kitchen where the phone sat at the far end of the counter. While I unrolled a handful of paper towels and attempted to clean my shirt, she picked up a piece of paper with a flourish, and waved it at me. “Your boss called,” she said handing over the note. The word “urgent” blazed at the top in bold letters. It was underlined three times.
I picked up the phone and dialed the number from memory. The secretary answered and transferred me.
“Where the hell are you?” the chief bellowed before I could say hello.
“Home,” I said, then corrected myself. “Working.”
“Detective Nichols, first, that was a rhetorical question and second, what the hell do you mean working?”
“My mom is here, sir,” I said, hoping he understood I couldn’t talk.
“Are you too busy having a family reunion to get your butt in here?” Chief Chapman snipped.
“No, sir. On my way.” Sighing, I hung up the phone. I pondered thinking myself into th
e office, but that unconventional arrival would piss off the chief even more and I didn’t know if I could do it without Winni’s help. I grabbed the cage and told Winnalea to hold tight until I returned. Producing the last of the imps, might convince the chief to go easy on me.
“Please stay, Winnalea. I know you are upset I thought you into the cage, but right now isn’t a good time to be anywhere else but here.” Trying to sound sincere yet firm, I hoped she wouldn’t wander. I didn’t want Winni to be exterminated.
I changed then took a cab down Canal, through the business district, to ISMAT headquarters. I left my car for my mother in case she needed to go somewhere with Sammy. I didn’t know how long I might be.
The ordinary building read Draper, Jones, and Philmore on the front door. Disguised as a lawyer’s office, a professional-looking receptionist at the front desk greeted visitors.
Trained to redirect any foot traffic to other legitimate firms, they also did security checks on all agents entering the fourth floor.
Claudia Jenkins was an older woman with a thick afro that reminded me of Florida Evans of the series, Good Times. She wore big, metal hoop earrings and a flamingo pink vest over a peach silk blouse. “What are you doing in here today? Aren’t you off for Mardi Gras?” Claudia shimmied her shoulders, sending the beads around her neck clattering, and her Cross Your Heart bra into over-time to contain her overlarge bosom.
“Yeah, no, I mean, not anymore.” I held up the covered birdcage.
Claudia clicked her tongue and shook her head in dismay, as if I were a wayward child. “Go on in, child,” she said, pushing the button to let me in.
I walked through, holding the cage in front of me, feeling like a criminal going to sentencing. My tennis shoes squeaked a horrible musical rhapsody as I walked down the long hall. I opened the door after two short knocks. I wanted to get this over with. The chief never conducted personal talks with the agents, so if you were called in, prepare for a good ass chewing. How would he know what happened? I had no contact with ISMAT.
“Nichols! Explain why every network in America is clamoring for this woman’s identity?” He thumped his desk with his fist. On top was a glossy black-and-white photo of me, a caged brownie, and Florence Henderson wearing a purple imp as a hat.
“Oops!” I offered lamely.
“You bet your ass, oops!” Chief Chapman bellowed. “Now I want a real explanation!”
“I went to bed with my husband. A Blink occurred. A Cyclops and five imps Blinked to my apartment. As POT dictates, I shot the big guy and, after oozing on my wood floor, he evaporated. I watched a rabid dog eat five of the imps just off Toulouse in an alley. Those little buggers are fast because the last one was in Burbank within the hour. I then--” Ugh, I didn’t want to share my other new talent with my boss, but I had no other choice, except-- “That little dwarf lady transported both of us to catch the imp, and here we are,” I finished with verve, setting the cage on top of chief’s desk. Pulling Jim’s robe from the top, I smiled expectantly at the chief. He wasn’t smiling.
The imp was gone. Crap! Of course it was. I had jarred it to death either from rolling off the bed or running here. When ORBs extinguished, they disappeared. I turned pink with embarrassment and suffered a few moments of dumbstruck paralysis. “I...umm...” I stuttered. “The purple imp was here, but must have died and Blinked en route,” I finished and shrugged my shoulders.
“And the dwarf?” Chief Chapman stared, studying my response to gauge the truth of my elaborate story.
“She’s gone too,” I lied, refusing to allow her to suffer the same fate as the imps. Winnalea was harmless. Maybe that’s what Winni meant, when she said, I hadn’t felt chivalrous about my cause. Doubts always nagged at me about whether ISMAT was doing the right thing. The Cyclopes did attack, but the imps and Winni surely didn’t need to be destroyed.
“Okay, Nichols, good work. Jim should be waiting for you when you get home. It will be hard to cover up this Carson shenanigans, but I’ll put Claudia and Trish, the Dish, to work on it immediately. Just stay off the grid a few days and no more appearances on national TV. Understood?” His voice rose with authority, and he eyed me once more with suspicion.
“No problem.” I smiled and nodded not quite looking him in the eye.
Letting out a breath of relief, I scurried for the door. I needed to get home, and figure out how to get Winni back to her realm.
Chapter 6
The Brownie
The mistress returned exhausted. Poor lass lay in bed and I tidied and cleaned the home. Such glee! I have never felt so happy or so needed. The bird Mums must have bartered for dinner was a wee scrawny thing, but I wrung its neck and plucked the feathers. I think she called it a keekee. Other birds alit on the sill. If I snared four or five to serve with the keekee, at noonsies, we would feast.
I wondered how my mistress fared--both of them. I worried most about Princess Phrysia. Her sister’s betrayal wounded her and, with the many lost countrymen and family, she must miss me keenly. Her compassion was admirable, but her sister’s deeds were heinous. Sisters, yet so different. I was betwixt in desires. Here, I’m useful and I loved Mums and Little Miss at once. The bonding had begun and unless I returned to Ortharos soon, I would cease to be my family’s brownie.
I tucked the feathers in a strange, transparent sack I found. Soon there’d be enough for a proper feather pillow. This place perplexed me. Wonders of wonders and yet, of the simplest of magic, these beings knew not.
I sensed sleep eluded ones who needed it and set to humming a song of slumber. None I cared for would be denied what they needed.
There was so much to do. I rubbed my hands together and grinned.
Though not of this world, there was much here I could fix. I had time to make a fresh loaf of bread for breakfast and clean the great pile of clothes by the white boxes. Afterward, the street below needed sweeping, and the windows washed--goodness. Were there no brownies on Earth? A brownie wouldn’t allow such a state. Imagine, a world without the wee brown ones. How sad for them and for those that have none to serve. This world could use my people and my people would thrive here. I sang a song for happy dreams and wished for all that those I served desired. When the ones I served are happy, as am I.
Chapter 7
Jim
Never thought I would be standing beneath some chick’s balcony. Missed my cue. Should have said my name’s Romeo. Perhaps then I wouldn’t be trying to climb up a hair ladder in some crazy fairy tale. Timothy Leary, eat your heart out! LSD is for pussies! I twisted a shank of golden hair around my forearm, pulling myself up higher. The kicker is, I don’t even know why I am climbing Castle Rapunzel other than I don’t know what else to do. Climbing up a chick’s hair in my underwear stinks of Freud.
“If I am in the funny farm, my synapses are seriously misfiring!” I yelled as I struggled to free myself of the hair clinging to my sweating arm. This is not fun!
“I’m sorry. What did you say?” Rapunzel bent at the waist, cupping her hand to her ear. I plummeted a foot. My hands slid on the silky hair, burning when I tightened my grip enough to halt my descent.
“Could you please not move?” I like to think I shouted, but it might have come out as a squeal. I am not into heights.
’Punzel backed up, and I soared at least five feet, bringing me high enough to grasp the window sill. The hair enveloped me, clinging like corn silk. I admit, I was panicked to the point of hyperventilation. I did not care about the tangles I created thrashing to free myself, nor the way I tried extricating myself from the blonde strands. I had one goal...well, more than one. But foremost was to survive this, followed closely by getting back to my life, my wife, and my child. I reminded myself of this when ’Punzel knelt before me and cleavageliciously begged me to tell her I was okay. I’m married, not dead. Though boob-struck, I managed to assure her I was okay. ’Punzel’s hair retreated of its own accord and coiled at her feet. Sentient hair? Scary thought.
She
swept up her locks and twisted them round and round her body, tucking the tips into her belt to walk unhampered. I couldn’t help but ask. “Why don’t you cut that stuff?”
She gasped in horror. “Cut my illustrious hair? I can’t!”
She brought me a glass of water, which I gratefully drained. As I drank, I looked at my hands. No strands of hair.
I gathered my thoughts and manners. “My apologies, ma’am, I am lost. Please tell me the best way to get back to New Orleans.”
Hey, it’s a long shot, but I have to start somewhere. Puzzling. Studying my clean hands and legs, I marveled that somehow all the slime, grime, sweat, and dirt on me had disappeared. I couldn’t pinpoint the exact time it happened because earlier I was too busy trying not to pee my pants. Hell, maybe I did, and it disappeared with the rest of the gunk.
“I am so sorry, sir. I fear I know not where New Orleans abides. Even if I did, I cannot leave the tower.” ’Punzel sniffed and a teardrop slid down her cheek. It was wiped gently away by a lock of hair. Creepy.
I studied my new surroundings. The place resembled an efficiency, except round. It was a living room with no bed. I assumed she either slept on the couch or a hide-a-bed. The kitchen area boasted a fireplace instead of a stove and a table with two chairs on which we sat. ’Punzel must have poured my water from a tapped cistern, and I suspected the screen in one corner housed a crude lavatory.
I gestured to a shut trap door in the center of the room. “Lock yourself in?”
She avoided answering my question. “Oh, but now you have come, and I am saved!”
She was good at this, I mused. Rushing to my side, she embraced me. The freaky hair slid away from her cleavage, so the tops of her breasts pressed firm against me. “It is such a little thing I ask. Merely bring me a rope from yon stables so I might escape this place. I would be so grateful.”
