by Sarah Noffke
“Then here’s my last piece of anecdotal evidence, which I think might mean we’re dealing with something much bigger than Big Brother,” Christine said in a conspiratorial voice. “According to Personality Disorder Number Four, every time he’d pick his girlfriend up from work, as soon as she got in the car, our song would start playing.”
“Your song?” Paris asked. “Like, the one that you and he listened to romantically when you were together?”
She nodded. “With or Without You by U2. Which, looking back, said a lot about our relationship.”
“Yeah, that song isn’t as romantic as one might think,” Paris agreed.
“No, it’s perfect for codependent lovers who also like to play the hot and cold game,” Christine stated. “Which pretty much defined our relationship.”
Paris twirled a strand of her hair around her finger. “I don’t understand. What’s the significance of the song coming on when the girlfriend got into the car?”
“Well, Train Wreck was one of my old best friends until she stole my boyfriend.” Christine nodded. “Yes, I get how my poor decisions are all starting to come out and hit the fan now. Anyway, Train Wreck knew that was our song together. Strangely, even though Personality Disorder Number Four said he didn’t have With or Without You on any of his current playlists, it would always switch over when his girlfriend got in the car. He would try and explain that it was a fluke, but it happened so many times that she finally got fed up with him, keyed his car, and hit on his best friend, who turned her down.”
Christine sat back proudly. “I mean, who says we can’t get our happy endings? I feel like everyone got what they deserved.”
Paris laughed and glanced at Wilfred. “Can you confirm any of this correlational data by looking into the back doors of FriendNet?”
“I’ve already been doing that during this discussion,” Wilfred answered. “According to my research, a year ago, the person who Miss Welsh describes as Personality Disorder Number Four, posted on FriendNet that the U2 song, With or Without You, was his anthem to her. Furthermore, I found evidence that FriendNet powers the music app that Personality Disorder Number Four uses.”
Paris’ mouth popped open. “So it’s entirely possible that the beast that is FriendNet has the information and capability to create drama for couples.”
“Moreover, Miss Beaufont and Miss Welsh,” Wilfred continued. “Using discreet and illicit means—”
“Meaning you hacked,” Christine interrupted.
The magitech AI butler nodded. “Yes, and I discovered that there is an exponentially high number of words exchanging in chat messages, posts, and related apps owned and operated by FriendNet. Everything from negative restaurant reviews to services is on the rise.”
“That’s right,” Paris said with sudden realization. “FriendNet runs that review site, Yap.”
“There’s also strange activity on that app in particular,” Wilfred explained. “Many of the most recent reviews mention how poor service or food ruined a date.”
“I contend that if two people have chemistry, they’ll make the most of a bad restaurant,” Paris argued.
“Yeah, but it does seem as though someone is messing with multiple factors that would affect relationships.” Christine absentmindedly petted Casanova.
“Many of the reviews mentioned that they were given gift certificates to restaurants based on contests they entered on FriendNet,” Wilfred informed them. “However, even having a free meal didn’t undo the bad experience.”
“How can FriendNet or whoever is behind this make service and food bad?” Paris questioned.
“Good question,” Wilfred stated. “I looked into this, and there are several factors that seem to be of interest. Some of the gift certificates were part of dating apps connected to the social media platform. There’s also a high proportion of people who were given and used gift certificates for cuisines that they later mentioned weren’t their favorites. In other incidents, people randomly ran into exes, rivals, or enemies who contributed to them not having a good dining experience.”
“Whoa,” Christine said, her eyes wide. “Someone is pulling a lot of puppet strings and causing a ton of heartache for people.”
Paris nodded. “The questions are, who is it? Why? How do we stop them?”
Christine suddenly looked overwhelmed. “I don’t know, but they seem very powerful, using a lot of information and resources to create chaos and break people up. This isn’t a coincidence.”
“Yeah, the love meter proves that,” Paris stated. “We need to proceed with caution. I think what we need is another reconnaissance mission.”
A smile lit up Christine’s face. “Are you thinking we disguise ourselves again and sneak into FriendNet?”
Paris matched her grin. “The best way to find out what’s going on is at the very source.”
Christine rubbed her hands together eagerly. “Oh, I want my disguise to be good. Something repulsive and annoying.”
“You want to be a hippie?” Paris questioned.
Christine nodded. “Yeah, that will work. My name can be Rainbow or Clover or something ridiculous.”
“Great, and maybe I can be—”
“My support dog!” Christine exclaimed.
“Wait, I can’t do that type of transformation work yet.”
“You haven’t tried yet,” Christine argued. “You’re brilliant at it. Your sidekick knows how to do transformation work, obviously, so he can help. Or Mae Ling can.”
Paris chewed on her lip. “I don’t know…”
“Even with magic, it’s going to be hard to do covert investigating at a powerful place like FriendNet,” Christine countered. “But let’s say I show up under the guise of a consultant, and my support cat or llama or parakeet gets away. They won’t question that animal when they find it pecking at the keys of the CEO’s computer or whoever we need to investigate to find answers.”
“I think I might have some leads on who you should inspect,” Wilfred stated. “My research shows that many of these new trends on FriendNet are linked to a specific programmer, although I need more time to look into this.”
“You’re brilliant, Will,” Christine said excitedly, turning her attention back to Paris. “What do you say? Will you be my support chimp?”
“No,” Paris answered at once. “But how about I bring along my support squirrel, and he can do the investigating while we cause a diversion? Faraday is much better at hacking and all than me.”
“Fine, but maybe one day you’ll be my purse dog.” Christine pouted slightly.
“I can’t believe that’s a dream of yours.” Paris was about to say something else when she was interrupted. Through the glass-paneled doors of the sitting room, she watched as a group of strangers strode through the entrance of the mansion, marching down the hall. They weren’t fairy godmothers, but their starched black suits and serious expressions told her right away who they were—agents for FGA.
Chapter Thirty
Although Paris knew she and Christine needed to devote their time and attention to the FriendNet case, they also couldn’t ignore the sudden appearance of a bunch of agents from FGA.
“What do you think they’re all doing here?” Paris whispered to Chef Ash over lunch from across the dining room table.
He glanced toward where all the guys in matching black suits were filing through the buffet line, about to take a seat for lunch. “I’m not sure, but I don’t like it at all.”
“Maybe Agent Topaz got lonely since we all have personalities, and he wanted his boring friends with zero senses of humor to join him,” Christine teased.
Hemingway slid his plate onto the table next to Paris. He also focused on the preponderance of agents across the room.
“Hey, there you are,” Paris murmured when he sat.
He nodded, his gaze still on the agents. “How did it go last night?”
“I met a stag,” she said so only he could hear her.
His e
yes widened, and he bent close to her. “There aren’t any stags or anything close to that in the Bewilder Forest.”
“There is now,” Paris whispered back. “His name is Edison, and he’s like Faraday.”
“In that, they both have names of scientists?” Hemingway questioned.
“They both can talk,” Paris answered.
He shook his head. “You have the strangest friends.”
“I count you among them.” She grinned. “How did everything go for you last night?”
Hemingway glanced down at his sandwich, ambivalence written on his face. “About like usual.”
“I’m not sure what’s usual about your situation.”
He shrugged. “We will have to talk about it later…like, much later. For now, it seems we have other fish to fry.” His eyes drifted up to the agents on the other side of the room. “Any word on why they’re here?” Hemingway asked the group.
“Not a clue,” Chef Ash answered.
“I heard one of them mention that Saint Valentine would be arriving soon,” Penny said in a meek voice, looking around self-consciously.
“Does he visit Happily Ever After College often?” Paris asked.
“Never,” Chef Ash answered.
Becky Montgomery leaned over from a few seats down. “Mother says that the FGA agents are here because Agent Topaz has found too many questionable practices here at Happily Ever After College.”
“Like, that we’re educating aristocrats who care more about their selfish gains and reputations than about creating love for all?” Paris jibed.
Becky narrowed her eyes. “As in we’re educating magicians and considering allowing technology into the college and changing curricula which have served us for ages.”
“I don’t know,” Christine said, a mock look of uncertainty on her face. “I think all that sounds like a good evolution for the college. I’d contend the problem is educating snobs and allowing them to spread their arrogant attitude in an establishment meant to spread love.”
“I know what you’re insinuating,” Becky fired back.
“Oh, I hope so, or you might need to think about dropping out of Happily Ever After College because you’re not bright enough,” Christine teased. “I hear Tooth Fairy College is looking for students, and all they have to be able to do is tie their shoes and stomach watching bad reality television. Do you think you can handle that?”
Becky gawked at her. “As if! I’d never be caught dead at that college.”
“Yeah,” Christine reasoned. “I didn’t think you could get in either.”
“Make your insults now,” Becky threatened. “You wait. The FGA agents are going to do their assessments. Then Saint Valentine will come here and make changes.”
“I happen to know that Saint Valentine is very open to evolving the college as well as FGA practices,” Chef Ash stated.
“Well, then maybe he’s part of the problem,” Becky retorted. “Maybe once the agents make their assessment and give their recommendations to the board, it will be to do some serious trimming, starting with those at the very top.”
Paris didn’t know enough about the structure and politics of FGA and Matters of the Heart, Saint Valentine’s office, but she knew enough about corruption to conclude there was a power game operating. She didn’t know which side was right, but she heavily suspected that those who didn’t want change served only their purposes. It should have been about love, but it appeared that over time, FGA had lost its mission. She only hoped that she could be a part of the change that created love instead of inhibited it with rules and outdated practices.
Chapter Thirty-One
Paris would have spent her afternoon working on the FriendNet case, attending classes, or spying on the FGA agents. However, when Father Time messaged you and granted you an opportunity to see your long-lost parents, you didn’t delay.
After hurrying down the tons of stairs to the basement of the Fantastical Armory, Paris was nearly breathless when she got to the bottom. To her surprise, the basement wasn’t dark or full of furniture or a roaring fire like before. Instead, it looked a lot like the apartment where Uncle Clark and Aunt Alicia lived.
The walls and floors were all white, but the furniture had some color, although still the modern vibe. The ceilings were high, with elegant chandeliers, and many windows let in cheery sunlight. Outside the windows where there shouldn’t have been a view was a balcony and scenes of West Hollywood where Uncle Clark’s apartment was.
Paris paused, spying her parents standing arm in arm and looking out the bank of windows, her mother’s head on her father’s shoulder. Sensing her standing there, they turned, but not with the reflexes that she felt they possessed but rather dulled ones as they got reacclimated to this time dimension.
Liv’s face brightened at the sight of her, and she rushed over at once, hugging her tightly. When she released Paris, her father was next to hold his daughter in tightly.
He peeled back, and her mother must have sensed the confused expression on her face. “This is how our old…well, our home looked. Papa made this for us to help us reenter the real world.” She held out her hand, indicating the large open floor space and oversized furniture.
“It looks like Uncle Clark’s place…but with color,” Paris admitted.
Liv grimaced. “Yes, that’s our old place. It appears that my dear brother has redecorated in his boring way as only he can.”
“This is what your old place…our old home looked like?” Paris felt a sudden pang of nostalgia.
“Well, there’s a lot of history to it. This was my place from back in the day. When I left the House of Fourteen, after my parents were killed, I got the job working for John at the electronic repair shop. He rented me a one-bedroom studio above the shop for practically nothing. Then, once I went back to the House of Fourteen and got my magic reinstated, Clark and I started to renovate the studio apartment using magic.”
“I have a lot of history to catch up on it seems.” Paris felt overwhelmed as she looked around.
Stefan nodded. “Your mother has had quite the wild ride when it comes to life.”
Liv scoffed at him. “You’re one to talk, demon hunter.”
“About that.” Paris looked intently at her father. “I forgot to tell you that much about the showdown with the Deathly Shadow.”
“I don’t think it’s as much forgot as haven’t had a chance yet,” a familiar voice said at Paris’ back.
In front of her, Liv gasped. A smile broke across Stefan’s face. Paris whipped around, spurred by the excitement exuding from her parents.
There, standing in the middle of the bright white marble floor and contrasting boldly, was the magical and mysterious lynx—Plato.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Liv rushed around Paris but stopped short of the black and white cat. She stared down, vibrating with excitement, but it seemed like she didn’t know how to proceed.
“Plato.” Liv smiled at her familiar.
“You want to hug me, don’t you?” he asked dryly.
Liv jerked her head to the side, her nose in the air. “Of course not. I mean, I was only gone a day.”
“Yet, you still missed me,” Plato said.
She scoffed. “I didn’t.”
A Cheshire grin spread on the cat’s face. “Well, I missed you.”
“Starting when?” Liv joked, crossing her arms over her chest. “When I’d been gone ten or so years?”
“Starting the day you left, and it appeared you might not come back for an uncertain amount of time.” Affection seeped into his tone.
Liv gave him a fond and gentle look. “I missed you too. It never takes long.”
Stefan stepped forward, his hands on his hips. “In fifteen years, it appears you haven’t aged a single day.”
“I’m more mature on the inside,” Plato stated smugly.
“Oh, like you’re going to stop cheating at board games finally,” Liv joked.
“I said mature
, not stupid,” Plato retorted and glanced at Paris with a twinkle in his eyes.
“Hey Plato,” she said in greeting.
“I hope you don’t mind me crashing your get-together,” Plato said to her.
She grinned. “Not at all. I guess you finally got clearance from Papa Creola.”
“Strange that he relented when he did,” the lynx said coyly.
Liv laughed. “Papa said that his food has quite literally been disappearing right in front of him all day.”
Stefan nodded. “Yeah, his sandwich vanished from his grasp while he was putting it in his mouth. He grumbled about starving to death although I think that’s impossible.”
“He gets really grumpy,” Liv imparted. “Well, grumpier than usual. So, Plato, you wouldn’t know anything about the food bandit on the loose, would you?”
“I can’t say that I do,” he replied.
“Is that a piece of pastrami on your whisker?” Liv pointed at the cat’s face.
He lifted his paw and wiped it away. “Probably. It had too much lettuce on it for my liking, but beggars can’t be choosers.”
“More like stealers can’t be choosers,” Liv teased. “I’m glad you wore Papa down. It makes me feel normal to see you again.”
Stefan nodded. “Hopefully this means we’ll see others soon too.”
“None of them have really changed,” Plato offered dryly.
“It’s been fifteen years,” Liv argued. “Clark and Raina are married to Alicia and Fane. Rory is a best-selling author. Sophia has saved the world a dozen times over, most likely. John is a pretend fairy and a detective. Rudolf…well, he’s probably still brain dead.”
Plato gave her a wise look. “For the most part in life, circumstances change. Rarely do people.”
“Oh, nothing has changed about your cynical nature,” Liv sang. She turned, grabbed Paris’ arm, and tugged her toward the couch. “Now, you were going to tell us about the showdown with the Deathly Shadow, which I’m still amazed that you fought and won against.”
