Madison Mosby and the Moonmilk Wars

by Jason Winn

  “What in the world?”

  Shelby walked over to the body in the crocodile and examined the pistol. It was a revolver and all of the rounds had been fired. The top of the crocodile’s head looked like it had been hit with several of the bullets. Across the room, the safe corpse appeared to have a bullet wound to the head. There was another bullet hole in the wall a few inches away.

  How the hell had a crocodile gotten into this room? And what was in the safe that was so important? Worth dying for, even? There was only one way to find out. Gently, Shelby slid the body out of the way. She felt brittle flesh break away from bones as she grabbed the corpse by the belt and slid it off to the side. The hand fell out of the safe, clutching a silvery rock.

  Maybe it was one of those crystals listed on the manifest in the SUV. Shelby reached down to pry it loose. As she held it, her arm tingled. Electricity shot through her body. The world went black. The last thing she felt was falling to the cold floor.

  Chapter 65

  Shelby fell through a kaleidoscope of color. Warm water washed over her, like amniotic fluid. A dizzying, yet euphoric tingling swam through her veins, up toward her head and spun in a circle like a halo. She couldn’t see any part of her body, just the light. All the fears and worries of everyday life darted away from her, leaving a rainbow of vapor trails in their wake.

  Was she dying? The last thing she remembered was falling into a black hole. The fall must have killed her, and in this moment she didn’t care. The warmth and comfort around her shielded her. There was no sound or smell, just blissful nothingness. This was the most peaceful place in the universe, and she never wanted to leave it.

  With a violent whooshing sound, the colors evaporated and she was lying on a cold concrete floor. A sharp pain radiated under Shelby’s skull. And her mouth was so dry it could bleed. She licked her lips and tasted blood. She felt for the blood. It was coming from her nose.

  Her cell phone lit up and buzzed, inches from her face. She flung her hand over toward it. Needles stabbed at her skin as the circulation returned to her arm. She must have been lying on it at some point. Fingers formed a claw around the phone and fumbled at the buttons. For a moment, she couldn’t remember what any of them did.

  As she tried to focus on the screen, the sickness in her stomach roared back. She threw up, thankfully on the floor and not her clothes. The last time she’d felt this hungover was the night she graduated from college.

  The phone screen didn’t make any sense, and Shelby turned away from the infernal thing. She could try to process that later. The events of the morning seeped through the blinding headache. The swimming pool, the SUVs, Switzerland, and the corpses in the room.

  The phone buzzed again. Shelby’s vision cleared enough that she could see the caller ID. It was someone from the office.

  “Hello.” Shelby didn’t even recognize her voice, her mouth was so dry. The single word brought on a violent coughing fit.

  “Agent Painter?” The guy sounded young.

  “Yeah,” Shelby wheezed.

  “Um, are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I just…” Another round of coughing. She wiped her mouth and blood came back on her sleeve. “I just woke up.”

  “Right. Okay then. We cracked that phone you dropped off. The one what had been under water. The thing hadn’t been updated in months, so we used a new exploit to get in.”

  Shelby tried to think about what the hell he was talking about. She didn’t want to let on that she was still trying to sew her brain back together, so she just lied. “Okay, yeah. I remember.”

  “Well, we managed to pull a few numbers off of it, along with some geo data. That tells us where the phone was, based on pinging the cell towers.”

  “Great.” She stifled another round of coughing and slowly got to her feet. The room spun for a moment and then stabilized.

  “It’s a floral shop in Arlington. A place called the Preen’s Floral. Do you know it?”

  The name sounded familiar. Shelby thought about it for a second and remembered the card from the purse. The same place where she found the phone.

  That rock. She had touched the rock. Then she passed out. What the hell was that thing? Uranium, some sort of electrical device, or maybe it was some sort of bug that had bitten her? She hadn’t had a chance to really examine it.

  She looked over to the safe, where the corpse had been. The rock shimmered, even though the only light in the room was from the glow of Shelby’s cell phone. Thoughts of getting shocked and knocked out again forced her to take two steps back. She ran her hand across the floor, found her flashlight and clicked it on. A jolt of fear shot through her as she saw the dead crocodile and the corpse with the pistol.

  Oh, right.

  The computer geek was still talking. “Do you want me to try anything else?”

  “What was the last part?”

  “There were also several calls to a Caymen Darrow and an Alec Graves. All the other calls seem personal.”

  “Text me those names and the address for the floral shop.”

  Her phone buzzed with the text message before the kid said, “Done.”

  Shelby’s head was clear now. The line was clear now, from Trask’s organization to that perfect little flower shop. She needed to get over there and check it out for herself. The cop she’d had watch it said there was nothing obvious going on.

  “Thanks,” said Shelby.

  “What do you want me to do with this phone, Agent Painter?”

  Shelby didn’t care anymore. She almost said “nothing,” but then she had the clarity to ask, “Got a name on the owner?”

  He sounded a little agitated now. “As I said earlier, we were only able to pull the last name, Churchill.”

  “Right, I remember now. Thanks. Just log it into evidence and I’ll pick it up later.”

  “You have a case number?”

  Shelby hung up on him. This operation didn’t have a fucking case number, and she wasn’t going to just make up something up. She picked up her gas mask and flashlight and took one last look into the safe. The rock that had started all of this lay next to the corpse. Shelby nudged it away with the butt of her flashlight. Inside the safe was a brown piece of paper. Ignoring the fact that the last thing she touched from that safe almost killed her, Shelby picked up the paper.

  One side was covered in bazaar symbols, in lines like sentences. Shelby could recognize at least forty different written languages. While she couldn’t read them necessarily, she could identify obscure languages like Pushto, Urdu, Hakka, and even Klingon. But she didn’t recognize this one.

  She made her way back to her car. The sun was setting behind the mountains and for the first time, she wondered what time it was.

  Oh boy.

  She’d been down in that basement for eight hours. Jacob was probably going out of his mind wondering where she’s been. She thumbed through her texts; sure enough, there were three asking her where she was, along with two missed calls and yup, a frustrated voice mail.

  Jeez, take a pill, Jacob. I’m not dead, yet.

  Shelby shamed herself, and chanted that “at least he loves you enough to be worried.”

  Taking the bottle of water from her trunk and half soaking her face, half drinking away the stinging thirst in her throat, Shelby thought for a moment and took stock of the situation.

  One, this place was obviously a jumping-off point to some other operation overseas. There was nothing she could do about that, other than tell Connolly and get his thoughts. Maybe the strike team at Camp LeJune could take care of it. Two, this florist had something to do with all of this. What, she didn’t know, but a stakeout was in order, followed by some questioning. Three, she needed to find this Churchill person and see what other leads they could generate. Last, she needed to get home and calm the family fires. Jacob was tolerant, but eventually she’d get an earful about not being home to see the kids. And in truth, she missed her babies. Maybe they could go to the Crab Shack for d
inner, if she could make it home in time. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d flashed her FBI badge to get out of a speeding ticket.

  ***

  One the way home, Shelby called Connolly. His advice was to pick the low-hanging fruit, Preen’s Floral. At least she knew where that was and the place could quickly be assessed. In the meantime, Connolly would investigate the international connections and see what he could come up with.

  She asked about the individual named Churchill. Connolly’s response: “You’re in the FBI, figure that one out for yourself.”

  He was right. Shelby would need to do some actual detective work on that one. She thanked him and ended the call, spending the rest of the drive home conjuring the lies she’d need to spin around the office, in order to find Churchill.

  Chapter 66

  Madison opened her new package with less than her usual excitement over a new toy. It was the T-shirt she’d ordered, a 1977 Star Wars promotional tee. The one the Fox promo nerds wore to the San Diego comic con with an ugly triangle and “Star Wars” spelled out in a weird font, to drum up interest in this crazy new space opera. It was the right size and it even smelled like it had been washed. But the new treasure wasn’t enough to shake the fear of going to meet Molly in a few hours. Surely a flaming fist would grab her throat and pop her head off.

  Becoming invisible, sneaking up to Molly’s front door, and dropping off her order was out of the question. The Predator’s Cloak potion vials now smelled like rotten potatoes and even if she was able to down the entire dose, her stomach would hurl it back up, before the effect would make her invisible. Sarah was flipping through notebooks, trying to find out how to make a new batch or someone who knew the recipe. Another thing to curse Langston over. He’d never mentioned that the shit went bad. Had she known that, she would have robbed a few armored cars before the expiration dates.

  Wrench would be waiting at the Starbucks in an hour to go on their date, and she hoped that he wouldn’t mind going by her friend’s house for a few minutes. Molly might be a particularly powerful sorcerer, but there was a very low probability that she’d use her powers in front of a stranger. It was the only play Madison felt would work. Sure, the flaming bitch would be mad, but in the end she needed her Moonmilk.

  “I can’t find anything on this stuff, Maddy,” said Sarah as she dropped the notebook with a huff. “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was an invisibility crocheted shawl in the Shiloh Library. Probably a lovely lime green and burnt umber.”

  “Well, on the plus side, the new kitchen is working out.”

  That was true. The place was quiet and so far, they’d managed to churn out almost as much as they did at the Blue Dreamz shops. Madison has listened to Jane’s advice and installed steel reinforced doors and gates behind the blacked-out windows. Sean had put in a state-of-the-art security system too that would notify all of them, in the event of a break-in. And just for good measure, motion sensors lined the ceilings in the event there were malicious sorcerers out there, who could walk through walls.

  “You going to wear that on your date?” asked Sarah as she pointed to Madison’s new shirt.

  “Yes. What? You don’t think he’ll like it?”

  “I mean, it’s Star Wars. Most guys like Star Wars. I guess.”

  “I’m wearing it.” Madison stomped over to the hallway mirror so see if it made her look fat. It didn’t and that was that. She was wearing it. “What are you doing tonight?”

  “Daddy’s back in town for the weekend. He wants to take me out to supper.”

  Madison caught sight of Sarah out of the corner of her eye. She was biting her lip, staring down at her hands. She thought that was odd. Was Sarah scared to see her father? They didn’t exactly have a traditional relationship, Girl Scouts and stuffed-animal tea parties. Madison thought for a second. She hadn’t had that either. The idea of doing things like that seemed alien, with her redneck dad. Did any little girl actually do that stuff with their dad? Or, was that just some more made-up American dream bullshit? Madison dismissed it and turned to look at Sarah, who promptly sat up straight.

  “Something wrong?” asked Madison.

  “No.”

  “Ask old pops if we can buy a few cases of machine guns.” That was a joke, but not really. Sarah didn’t immediately respond, only looked away.

  “Sure, I’ll ask him.”

  That reminded Madison, she needed to call an Uber to go meet Wrench. As she typed in her destination, she stopped. It was time to show a little more to Wrench. She grabbed the key fob for her Audi and made for the garage. He would have to learn eventually. That’s what second dates were for, right?

  ***

  Wrench’s face lit up when he saw Madison stroll through the front door. That put her at ease. At least this was going right for her. Hopefully that would carry through the little trip to Molly’s.

  “Cool shirt,” said Wrench. “Never seen that one before.”

  “Thanks.” She tried to sound as modest as possible.

  “Where’d you get it? Target?”

  Oh oh. Telling him she’d spent almost a thousand dollars on a nerd trophy might make him a little suspicious. Or, worse yet, overly interested in her wealth.

  Time to redirect.

  Madison threw him a wide grin and feigned offense. “That a sexist comment? We don’t all shop at Target.”

  Wrench’s head jerked back. “No, I...”

  “I’m kidding.” She punched him on the shoulder. “It’s just a reproduction of an early one. I got it on Etsy.” The remark cheapened the experience. “You can’t get this” is the thrill, not “some hipster made it and sold it to me for twenty bucks, plus shipping.”

  “The movie isn’t for another hour and a half,” she said. “Want to grab a bite to eat?”

  “Sure. There’s the new Thai place a block away from the theater.”

  “Mind if I make a stop first? I need to drop something off for a friend.” Wrench’s face was placid, no wince of “what is this crazy girl dragging me into? I’m not ready to meet any of her friends yet.”

  Instead he just said, “No problem.”

  “Great. It’s just a few miles out of our way.”

  She led him out the door and he stopped so quickly, he almost pulled Madison’s arm out of the socket.

  “Oh, shit. Sorry, babe. Can I go look at something real quick?”

  “Sure,” she said as more of a question that an affirmation.

  He jogged down the street, which was in the same direction as where Madison had parked. She pulled out her phone to check the time: 8:15. They had time. Looking up, Madison found him leaning over her car, stroking his chin.

  No way.

  She walked up to him and took his hand.

  “I’ve always wanted this car, fucking—sorry—Audi S7, Prestige package. It’s even got the sport seats. See?” He pointed. “Oh, man. This thing does zero to sixty in like three seconds.” He tore his gaze away from the car, a huge smile plastered on his face. “Are you a car person?”

  “You might say so.” With that, Madison reached into her pocket and hit the unlock button on the key fob.

  Wrench stepped back, looking in all directions for the owner.

  “Hop in,” said Madison.

  “No fucking way!”

  She replied with a giggle. “You should see your face.”

  They got into the car and were off.

  “Okay, so what do you do?” asked Wrench.

  Another question she wasn’t prepared to answer. She really did need to start thinking ahead with him. She probably looked like a total rich bitch. Or, maybe there was a boner the size of a Louisville Slugger in his pants right now.

  You don’t even know him. He’s liable to be more scared of you than you are of him anyway.

  He ran his hands over the wood trim. “Tell me this has the sports package.”

  “I have no idea. I’m sorry.” And she was. Here
she was, behind the wheel of Wrench’s dream whip, and she was downplaying it with the same contempt as if it were a half-drunk soda.

  “You just get this?” He ran his finger over the plastic coating for the center console display.

  “About a month ago.”

  “How fast you get her up to?” He was looking all over now, like a dog in a new house.

  She flashed a wicked smile. “One twenty-seven on the Key Bridge the other night.”

  “Nice.”

  The traffic light at the intersection of Prospect and 33rd turned yellow and normally Madison would gun it, but she didn’t want to make Wrench uncomfortable. She bore down on the breaks and waited as pedestrians strolled across the street. An engine revved next to her and a goofy-looking white dude with mussed hair turned and smiled at her. He wore sunglasses even though dusk was giving way to night.

  The Audi stood a good chance of taking this douchebag, but Molly would be pretty pissed if her Moonmilk arrived in broken containers, after being flung all over the trunk. Against her devil’s judgment, Madison watched as the light turned green and Mr. Sunglasses sped off down the street.

  Wrench made a mocking tsk, tsk, tsk sound and said, “I think you could have taken him.”

  Ten minutes of small talk later, Madison pulled up to Molly’s brownstone in Georgetown on N Street, a federal-style home with green wood siding and white trimmed windows.

  “Your friend owns this pace?” he asked.

  “Yes. I’ll be quick. Can you help me get this thing out of the trunk?” She needed Molly to see Wrench, to know she wasn’t alone. Miss Fire Fist would be less apt to pull Madison’s heart out, à la Temple of Doom, if she saw mister big and strong standing on the curb.

  Wrench joined Madison by the trunk as she opened it and exclaimed, “Oh, never mind. I think I can manage.” She pulled out a pair of reusable shopping bags with Trader Joes’ logos on them and made for the front door. “Can you wave to my friend when she comes to the door? She’s very friendly.”