The Wizard's Butler

by Nathan Lowell

  “He’s got you, my dear,” Fidelia said. “Take it or he’ll just deposit it directly to your bank.”

  Barbara reached out and took the envelope, holding it in both hands and staring down at it for a long moment. “Thank you.” She swallowed and nodded. “Thank you. I’ve certainly had an education over the last few days.”

  “The Fête d’Étoile is in a few weeks,” Fidelia said. “If you’d like an invitation, I can send you one.”

  “You could come up and stay with us,” Shackleford said. “You always have a place here.”

  Barbara took a quick breath and slipped the envelope into her purse. “I should get going. The car is waiting and it’s a long drive.”

  Fidelia offered her hand, shaking Barbara’s in both of hers while giving her a cheek kiss. “It’s been lovely to meet you. You know how to reach me if you need to, right?”

  Barbara nodded. “I do. And do send an invite to the Fête. Thanks to this week, I can probably afford to attend without embarrassing myself.” She gave Fidelia a little grin that carried as much excitement as self-deprecation.

  Shackleford’s smile tilted a little more toward sadness as he stepped up beside Fidelia. “I’m just a foolish old man, but I’m sorry to see you go. Anytime you want to come visit ...” He shrugged and held out a hand.

  Barbara took his hand and pulled him in for a hug, planting a solid kiss on his cheek. “A handshake isn’t enough, old man,” she said, drawing back to look into his eyes. “Neither is ‘thank you.’ You’ve opened my eyes to a world I never knew existed.”

  Shackleford patted her back and nodded. “Please come back to see us when you can.”

  She pulled back from him, almost reluctantly, before turning to Roger. She straightened and tilted her head back a little, a pretend princess at court. “Thank you for everything, Mr. Mulligan.” She held out her hand.

  Roger stepped up to shake her hand with a small bow over it. “A pleasure working with you this week, Miss Barbara. I look forward to your return.” He had a little lump in his throat that just wouldn’t swallow away. “Let me get your bags.” He stepped to where the luggage waited and took it in hand.

  Shackleford himself stepped up to hold the door. Barbara led the way down the path to the waiting limo at the curb.

  “He really didn’t have to do this,” she said over her shoulder. “I could have rented a car and driven myself.”

  Roger shook his head. “You know better, Ms. Barbara. He’s a bit odd, but his sense of duty runs deep.”

  The trunk popped open as they reached the gate and a liveried driver came around to hold the passenger door. “Good afternoon, miss. I’m Yvonne. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to make your ride more enjoyable.”

  “Thank you, Yvonne.” Barbara slid into the car and gave a little final wave to Shackleford and Fidelia standing on the stoop before Yvonne closed the door with a solid chunk.

  Roger slid the bags into the trunk, nodding to Yvonne who came back to settle them where she wanted them. With a final nod, he went back to the sidewalk, watching as the limo pulled out onto the street and disappeared in the distance. With a sigh he returned to the house, the lavender between the stones reminding him of the first time he’d walked the front path. Shackleford and Fidelia waited for him on the stoop. Together, they re-entered the house.

  “It’s going to seem quiet without her here,” Fidelia said.

  Shackleford nodded. “I hadn’t expected to become quite so fond of her so quickly.” He sighed. “Suppose she’ll come visit?”

  Fidelia shrugged. “Fate is funny, even when we’re the butt of her jokes.” She paused. “You know, I should head home, too.”

  The old man sighed. “I know. I’ve imposed on your better nature for a week. Thank you for this, Fidelia.”

  “I want you to attend the Fête this year,” she said.

  Shackleford sighed and opened his mouth to speak but she shut him down.

  “No excuses, Joseph. You’ll be among friends. You’ll know most of them.”

  He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Not many of them know of my little problem.” He patted his chest. “I’d just as soon keep it that way.”

  “It’s still a few weeks away. Perhaps between the two of us we can find a solution that doesn’t kill you in the process.”

  Shackleford snickered and offered his arm to her. “Well, back to the library then. We should figure out where to look.”

  She took his arm and they strolled across the foyer to the stairs. “I think there’s something in those two books that we haven’t figured out yet,” she said.

  “I’ll bring a tray up momentarily, sir. Coffee or tea or both?”

  Shackleford looked to Fidelia with a raised eyebrow.

  “Coffee would be fine, Mulligan. Thank you,” she said.

  Roger made his way to the kitchen, already missing Barbara Griffin’s presence in the house. He couldn’t put his finger on it but the house just felt emptier, maybe a little sadder, without her there. “Madam Dionysia, indeed,” he said to the empty kitchen. He pulled an empty saucer down from the cupboard and put it on the counter as a reminder to give the pixies a treat later.

  * * *

  Julia Rexwood—an imposing woman in late middle age, wearing a dark business suit, her brunette coif shot with gray—met them at the courthouse and took them through the metal detectors. “Just try to relax,” she said, taking Shackleford’s arm. “They’ll pass you.”

  Roger and Fidelia followed behind as witnesses. Roger couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for Barbara, waiting by the phone back at her home. Rexwood explained for everyone’s benefit. “This is actually a preliminary hearing to determine if your niece has cause to become your guardian and whether or not there is sufficient evidence for a full hearing.”

  “I appreciate this, Julia,” Shackleford said.

  “You’ll appreciate my bill, too, Joseph, but that’s for later.” She grinned at him. “We’re up in about half an hour, but I have a conference room where we can wait.” She looked at him. “Are you feeling well?”

  Shackleford shrugged. “Nervous. Silly, I suppose, but there it is.”

  She patted his arm where hers linked with his. “We’ve got this part nailed. Just consider that the judge has the authority to pull the plug on the whole thing, but not the authority to find against you. Your worst-case scenario after the hearing is that you have to undergo some court supervised testing and come back for the official hearing. Best case is that it ends today.”

  Shackleford nodded, but Roger didn’t like the way the old man was breathing.

  Rexwood led them down long corridors dotted with groups of people in suits interspersed with uniformed officers keeping an eye on everybody. A middle-aged woman and surly young man sat on a bench along one wall. A group of people stopped talking as Rexwood approached. One of them nodded to her. She nodded back, but didn’t speak. Eventually they came to a door which she opened and held for them. “Here we are.”

  The room held a table with a half dozen chairs around it. Rexwood parked Shackleford in the closest one, and crouched by his side. “Nobody should come through that door but me or a uniformed officer of the court,” she said. “Anybody else comes in, you don’t speak to them, understood?”

  “Understood,” Shackleford said, swallowing hard.

  She frowned at him. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Just a little light-headed,” he said. “All the excitement, I guess.”

  Rexwood glanced at Fidelia and stood. “Keep an eye on him?”

  Fidelia and Roger both nodded. “He’s safe with us,” Fidelia said.

  Rexwood took another frowning look at Shackleford who waved her off. “I’m fine,” he said, frowning back. “Take care of the legal pieces. That’s enough for you to worry about.”

  Fidelia crossed to take the chair next to Shackleford. “We’ll just amuse ourselves for a while, Julia. Thank you.”

  T
he attorney still frowned as she left the room, taking one last look at Shackleford before closing the door behind her with a click of the latch.

  “Don’t fuss, Delia,” the old man said. “I’m fine.”

  He didn’t look fine. Roger counted the old man’s breaths while watching the second hand tick on the big clock on the wall. The old man looked pale and kept swallowing hard.

  “What should we do about Ms. Griffin, sir?” Roger asked, trying to get Shackleford’s attention.

  The old man looked up at him. “Do about her, Mulligan? What do you mean?”

  “Are you considering changing your will, sir?”

  Shackleford nodded and his frown relaxed a bit. “I am. I need to do that this week. The house seems to like her, don’t you think, Delia?”

  “I’m not as tuned to the house as you are, Joseph. She is a lovely young woman. She’ll grow into Shackleford House given time.”

  “Grow into?” Shackleford asked.

  “Having a house like that is rather a large responsibility, don’t you think? Especially for somebody who never had to manage a household beyond her apartment before.”

  Shackleford nodded and looked at his feet . “I hadn’t thought of that. You’re right.” He glanced at her with a grin. “As always.” He patted her hand and then reached up to massage his left shoulder, rolling it around a little.

  “Trouble, sir?” Roger asked, not liking what he saw.

  “Musta laid on it wrong last night,” Shackleford said, sitting upright and rolling both shoulders. “Just a little sore.”

  Fidelia raised an eyebrow at Roger who gave her small shake of his head. A bubble of worry edged up inside him, but simple stress on the old guy could account for all of it.

  “Do you think her plan for a bed and breakfast has merit, sir?” Roger asked, trying to steer the conversation back to Barbara.

  “I do,” he said. “I’m not sure it’s on the mark just yet.” He patted his chest. “I usually know when the answer is right. It’s close, but not quite.”

  They looked up at a tap at the door and Rexwood came back in. “We’ve got about ten minutes before they’ll call us. How are you doing?”

  “I’m doing just fine, Julia,” Shackleford said, an edge to his voice. “Stop worrying about me. I’m old but I’m not going to keel over on you.” The outburst seemed to leave him panting for breath.

  Roger took half a step forward. “Sir? Are you all right?”

  Shackleford looked up at Roger, a scowl on his face. “Didn’t I just say I was fine, Mulligan?”

  “Yes, sir, but you don’t look fine.”

  The old man’s eyes suddenly squeezed closed and he curled in on himself. He would have fallen to the floor if Roger hadn’t been close enough to catch him and put him on his back. He pressed a finger to Shackleford’s neck before putting his ear to the man’s chest. “Cardiac arrest. Call 911,” Roger said, his training kicking in as he tilted the old man’s head back, checking his airway. No breaths. He placed his palms together on Shackleford’s chest but felt the amulet under the shirt and realized he needed to get that out of the way before compressing. He glanced up at Rexwood. “Go! 911. Now.”

  The woman broke for the door and pulled out a cell phone.

  “Door,” Roger said, stripping the old man’s shirt off his chest, exposing the necklace.

  Fidelia jumped over Shackleford’s legs and pulled the door closed.

  “Stay there. Hold it shut,” Roger said. He lifted the amulet up and pushed it over Shackleford’s shoulder.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I need room to work.”

  “Take it off him,” she said.

  “What? No. He’ll die.”

  “He’s already dead, Mulligan. Take it off him or I will. We can bring him back.”

  “You’re mad,” he said. “How did he get it through the metal detector?”

  “They’ll take it off him at the hospital and God knows what will happen then,” Fidelia said. “It’s not metal, Mulligan. It’s magic. Take it off him now.”

  The ticking clock reminded Roger that time never worked in the patient’s favor. She had a point. They’d never leave the metal necklace on him once they got him into the ER. It wouldn’t be the first thing they did, but they’d pull that metal off before they did very much. He took a deep breath and pulled the necklace up over Shackleford’s head. The chain seemed to slither out from under the old man on its own.

  “Yes,” Fidelia said, lunging for the necklace. “Give it to me.”

  Roger looked up just in time to avoid Fidelia’s grasping hand. He pushed her away with his free hand and held the necklace away from her. “No.” He only got the one syllable out before she came for his face with her nails. He batted her away and she fell, tripping on her heels and sliding a bit on the polished linoleum. Without thinking, Roger took the chain and looped it over his head, tucking the amulet into his shirt pocket to keep it from swinging.

  “What did you do?” Fidelia asked, pushing herself up from the floor.

  Roger started compression, counting in little grunts. He ignored her question, but kept an eye on her as he pressed and counted. He paused and gave two rescue breaths. “You could help here,” he said, getting back to compressions. He counted aloud, focused on his hands, the movements. The old man’s bones felt brittle under his skin, but Roger kept going.

  Fidelia moved to Shackleford’s head, holding his head at the right angle. “Sorry. I got it.”

  Roger nodded and hit his count, pulling his hands back.

  Fidelia blocked Shackleford’s nose and gave him two breaths while Roger caught his.

  It seemed like hours, but within five minutes the building EMTs showed up and took over from Roger and Fidelia. Uniformed officers moved them out of the small room and into the corridor.

  Rexwood stood at the front of the small crowd, eyes wide as she tried to look into the room. “How is he?” she asked, pulling Roger and Fidelia aside. “What happened in there?” She lowered her voice and looked around to see who was near. Looking back to Roger, her gaze focused on the black chain running around his neck and traced it down to his pocket. “What have you done?”

  Roger looked at Fidelia. “Is she okay?”

  Fidelia nodded.

  “If he comes back, they’ll take him to the nearest ER where they’d have taken it from him without knowing,” Roger said.

  “What do you mean ‘okay’?” Rexwood asked.

  “He wanted to know if you were talented,” Fidelia said.

  Rexwood seemed to see Roger for the first time. “My God. You’re not.”

  Roger shook his head. “Definitely not. I doubt I could even do a decent card trick and don’t ask me to sing.”

  “But you’re his butler.”

  “Yes, and trust me when I say it’s been a learning experience, but that’s not really important right now.” He turned to see that the EMTs still bent over the old man, but he heard the charging whine of a defibrillator just as one of the officers closed the door.

  “Is he going to recover?” Rexwood asked, glancing at the door.

  “He may not. Cardiac arrest isn’t something you get over, as a rule. We don’t know the rules of engagement for this.” He patted his pocket. “Was he dead enough already that removing it wouldn’t matter?”

  “Spill,” Rexwood said. “What happened in there? I was coming back with the EMTs when something nearly knocked me down.”

  “It was that,” Fidelia said, nodding at the necklace. “As soon as it came off him, I felt it, too, and tried to grab it.” She colored. “I—I don’t know what came over me.”

  “You didn’t feel it?” Rexwood asked, looking at Roger.

  “Nope. Cold metal. I took a chance and put it on.”

  “How’s it feel?” Fidelia asked.

  “Heavy, but I don’t feel any different, other than I’m burning through an adrenaline spike and my hands are going to start shaking soon.” />
  “You know you can’t take it off,” Rexwood said.

  Roger looked down at it and shrugged. “I wore dog tags for years. It’s only a little bulkier.”

  Fidelia looked at him hard but before she could speak, Rexwood’s phone rang.

  “All right, then, this is going to throw a wrench into the docket, but I suppose unconsciousness and cardiac arrest count as a valid excuse.”

  The EMTs opened the door and rolled the gurney into the room to take Shackleford, still apparently unconscious, out to the waiting ambulance. One of them came over to the little group. “You were with him when he collapsed?”

  “Yes, sir,” Roger said. “I’m his butler, Roger Mulligan. This is Fidelia Necket, close family friend.”

  “Either of you have power of attorney?”

  “I do,” Fidelia said.

  “Can I get a consent to treat?” he asked, thrusting a clipboard into her hands.

  She took it and signed in a flowing script. “Where are you taking him?”

  “Mercy Medical,” he said. “It’s closest.”

  “Will he make it?” she asked.

  The EMT shrugged. “He’s breathing on his own, but his ticker is complaining. We’ll do what we can but we have to roll.”

  “Of course,” Fidelia said.

  The EMT hurried down the corridor, speaking into his shoulder mic as he wove between the puddles of onlookers still clogging the passage.

  “Come on,” Rexwood said. “They just called our number.”

  “We still have a hearing?” Fidelia asked, eyes wide.

  “We’ll have to appear. Fastest way to get the delay while he’s recovering. The hearing will go on, so we’d better get there before Naomi has the judge convinced we’re a no-show.”

  Chapter 20

  The hearing room wasn’t exactly what Roger expected. The judge wore her robes like she’d been born to them, but she waited in a high-backed office chair at the head of a long table. The room smelled of floor wax and despair. Naomi sat beside a lawyer-looking guy at the judge’s left hand. She had a stack of documents in front of her.

  Rexwood led them to the other side and took a seat beside the judge. “Sorry we’re late, Your Honor.”