by Kat Quinn
“You don’t want to hold onto them?” Monty asks.
“Nah, nobody’ll find her if we don’t want them to,” Miss Fern replies, tapping the inside of the door affectionately. “Besides, don’t want to carry around a purse if we’re going on a rescue mission. Just need my pimp stick and a strapping young lad’s arm for the full effect.” Sliding open the door, she leaves her oversized bag on the seat. “Now, who’s up for a stroll?” Miss Fern asks, chipper and smiling.
We amble out of the vehicle, bodies complaining in various ways at having been kept cramped inside long past sunrise. Throughout our journey, the only one to not take a nap of some sort was Monty, never once complaining to be behind the wheel for nearly a full damned day.
“Lead the way, madam,” Lin says as his arm swoops out while bowing, the other elbow bent and displayed for Miss Fern’s support.
“What’s the play here?” Monty asks. “We split up and snoop around each place we can without raising too much alarm, or just go full wrecking ball and smash through everywhere as a group?”
Lin raises his free hand to his chin in thought, “As satisfying as it may be to charge straight ahead, perhaps we should employ the more deft option?”
“What if they recognize us?” Dizzy asks, distinctive purple curls on full display. “We’re not exactly subtle, y’know?”
“Ah, fair point,” Lin responds. “It’s simple enough for me to conceal and manipulate the truth to anyone I come in contact with. Truth in all its forms is my speciality, after all. Should be able to coerce information from anyone who has it.” Looking to the woman whose arm is linked with his own, “What do you say, Mother, the two of us are just out on a casual shopping trip to get our affairs settled and a new home stocked? I’m sure we can both handle feigning innocence for an hour or so, no?”
Miss Fern smiles wide, eyes crinkling warmly. “Well, sonny boy, I could use a healthy snack and new winter coat. It’s so kind of you to take your feeble mother out on her errands!”
I choke back a scoff. The two deviants together are sure to cause a fuckload of mayhem right under their victims’ noses.
Arms crossed, Monty considers for a moment before nodding. “I’m not over the moon about the idea, but if their ambush taught us anything it’s that they definitely know who we are. But you’re not going in without backup.” Looking to me, “Kier, you good to climb the roofs and shift? Looks like they’re close enough you could jump from store to store and still keep an ear out.”
“Hell yeah, I’ll do it,” I reply, already kicking my shoes off.
“Good. Swap shirts?” Monty asks, yanking off his colorful, patterned polo, then pulling his dreadlocks into a tight, neat bun. “I’ll set up at a table outside the cafe, keep an eye out from there, too.”
Makes no difference to me, so I toss my plain white tee to him without a second thought. I keep the kilt on, at least until I’m on the roof.
“Z, Diz, why don’t you snoop around out back? See if one of these alleys leads to their dumpsters and loading areas, maybe we’ll get lucky and see something out of place.” Monty rubs at the stone bracelet on his wrist, “I know we’re practically right on top of him. Let’s not blow it. Connor’s counting on us to get him back.”
Plan set, we slink, stroll, and prance off to our various tasks.
63. Lin
“Well, Mommykins, it seems as though our business in town is sensationally near to concluded, don’t you agree?” Thankfully, nicknaming someone is not technically classified as a lie, even if it is a tiny bit dishonest to give them such a misleading monicker. I can only manipulate the truth, after all, not its counterpart.
The bracelet on my wrist pulses back and forth, maddeningly reassuring, yet maddening all the same. It’s like someone pushing and pinching my soul over and over again, and yet I can’t quite see where the assailant keeps coming from.
“Oh, my sweet cherub son, I’m sure we’ll get everything on our list done if we just stick to it.” Miss Fern has been an incredibly clever and conniving asset. Never before have I seen someone pretend to be feeble so convincingly; perfectly mimicking exhaustion and near-fainting to provide adequate time for me to feel out buildings and people for the secrets they may be keeping. It’s almost terrifying how easily the old woman’s able to pull people off their guard and make way for my own misdeeds.
Why, I may have developed a bit of a crush on the fellow deviant. Purely appreciative in nature, of course.
As we near the doorway to our next destination, Miss Fern’s strong, steady gait becomes a slow toddle. She hunches her back and leans heavily on her jewel-topped cane, never letting go of my extended elbow. Her smug smirk morphs into a gentle, warm, approachable smile. Despite naturally being a beautiful, shimmering silver, her hair somehow dulls and looks like a natural gray. If I hadn’t become intimately aware of the farce over our last hour and half of espionage, I’d have fully overlooked the woman and outright accepted this as her truth. Amazing.
“Be a dear and get the door for your feeble old mother, would you?” Miss Fern winks at me, pausing so I can step ahead and handle the laborious task of opening the daycare’s thin, glass door.
“Welcome to Bright and Shiny Daycare, how can I help you?” A young woman behind an upsettingly sterile desk welcomes us, not a single child in sight or earshot, this entryway completely isolated from the building’s innards. Doesn’t take a man gifted in sniffing out secrets and truth to know something’s not quite right here.
Donning a winning, flirty smile, I slowly guide my ‘mother’ to the white, plastic, modern desk, leaning against its raised front. “Yes, this beautiful young woman and I have just arrived in town, and we’re looking at options for some sweet little babies. A neighbor recommended we inquire within?” Subtly, I send out the suggestion that we are just two unknown patrons that have never been here before, and therefore, are unfamiliar and completely trustworthy. It is, after all, the truth. Mostly.
The young woman looks almost curiously at us before mechanically donning an unconvincing, practiced smile. “And who do we have to thank for bringing such a lovely family to us?”
“Oh, it’s been such a long day with so many new faces, I’m afraid I can’t quite remember who it was, to be honest. Mother, what about you?” I turn my attention to Miss Fern, subconsciously directing the receptionist to focus on her as well.
“Ah, well, let me see, we started off by unpacking the silver. Your father did so love the engravings on their handles,” Miss Fern starts. I casually place one palm on the cold desk, nonchalantly resting my head in the other hand while I adopt a languid pose. As Miss Fern continues, I see what there is to unlock from the contact. “You know, his father’s father crafted them himself as a boy while apprenticing for a blacksmith. Or was it a jeweler? I suppose it doesn’t matter, because the end result was the same. Your father didn’t want me to give them to you as your wedding gift, the old scrooge, but I reminded him that my family’s set was even more historically significant and he balked at the idea I pass them on. Seems we’ll both be getting our way in the end, rest his soul.”
Unsurprisingly, irritation blooms from within the stiffly-smiling receptionist as Miss Fern barrels through our imagined history. Each time the receptionist attempts to interject, Miss Fern waves her off and says she doesn’t mind finishing her story, as if she were assuaging the poor barraged woman of any notion that her continued attention was an inconvenience. With each new layer of absolutely unrepentant lie, Miss Fern somehow resets the receptionist’s internal resistance timer, convincing her to pipe down and settle in for the tale.
I start my search by directly seeking secrets within this room itself, nudging the desk to reveal hidden compartments or echoes of things it was present to overhear. Inanimate objects have a memory all their own, and this desk has been brushed up against by thousands of patrons, each touch remembered in its polished surface. This desk has said hello more times than it recalls saying goodbye.
&nb
sp; “Back in my youth, I remember block parties the likes of which you youngins will never know. Why, one woman up the street would always take us kids in and set us to decorating cakes and cookies for half the day, just to get ready for all the excitement. Of course, we realized later it was a way of keeping us out of our parents’ hair, but that was before we had enough fine establishments like this to stay out of trouble. And poor little Gerald, he was half-blind and had a terrible tremor—have you ever tried to decorate a cake like that? His was always the ugliest of the bunch, but golly if his shaky, blind self didn’t try harder than everyone else…”
Beyond her mild irritation and slight bafflement, the receptionist’s walls are up high. It takes a while to find a crack large enough to grab ahold of and hoist my consciousness over, but once I do, the view on the other side is of little help. There’s a duality to her internal workings, not uncommon for those leading secret lives. I get the distinct, sickening feeling of something dark and thick, blanketing whatever light hasn’t been completely snuffed out. Flashes of children, countless children, whose hands she holds as she leads them through the door behind her. She smiles the same, mechanical smile at them as she’s sustained in our direction. Not a single ounce of feeling lives inside those images, they are merely an echo of fact.
“But of course, the mailman had no idea he’d been delivering it to the wrong address for years! Bless him, but some folks’ heads don’t stay on right once they get up there in age. Not like me, mind you, my memory’s fitter than a fiddle! Don’t worry sweetheart, I’m sure a pretty young thing like you is plenty keen, we’re both way better off than ol’ Larry.”
Shifting slightly, I let my pinky dangle just enough to loosely graze against the back of the opened laptop in front of our dear receptionist, direct contact not necessary but certainly simplifies the path of my investigation. A vice grip clamps down on my mind, blocking my ability to even remotely feel it out by crushing my wherewithal to think through the brutal defenses. As casually as possible, I close my eyes and train my face to a sleepy, calm, relaxed expression. Every single muscle craves to tense in distress. Just barely, I’m able to stave the instinct off while attempting to squeeze through the minutest of gaps in the bear trap around my mind. For a moment, I almost think I’ll pass out before finding anything; the effort required to breech through so much armor dizzying. Lightheaded, barely a lick of will left in my own thoughts, I’m given a terrible reward.
If they hadn’t been the subject of my study for the last few days, I may not have understood or recognized the few, quick flashes of spreadsheets that reluctantly flicker into view. Like a rubber band, I snap back into myself completely, the relief almost instantaneous. My vision clears quickly as I blink, not willing to risk our chances by asking for a tour as originally planned.
“Well, mumsy-wumsy, I think we’ve taken enough of this kind woman’s time, don’t you?” As if it’s nothing at all, I reach across the desk and cup the receptionist’s shoulder like we’re good friends happy to have seen one another. “It was so kind of you to give a nice, forgettable couple directions to the nearest gas station after their vehicle was left on the side of the road. Which direction is it, again?” I ask, pushing this reality as her new truth. For a moment, she resists, irritation and confusion strong enough to guard against my influence. “You really have been such a godsend, we don’t know how to thank you enough.”
She blinks, eyes slightly unfocused as her soulless smile shows the tiniest hint of real warmth. “Oh, it’s no trouble at all. Remember, just keep going that way for a couple of blocks, you really can’t miss it.” The receptionist points, and we waste no time in following that direction right out of the building.
The moment we’re out of sight, Miss Fern straightens her spine once more, comfortably looping her arm through my own. “Bingo?” She asks.
“Grand prize,” I reply, nodding subtly at Monty across the street before heading back towards the van, Zeke and Dizzy already waiting for us inside.
64. Kieran
Yanking at the straps of my retrieved kilt, I tighten it before dropping down from the fire escape, landing on all fours with a dull thud. Casually, like shirtless, shoeless, mongrels are the absolute norm in this yuppie fucking town, I stroll out onto the sidewalk, owning this damned shit. Nobody bats an eye anyway, my tromp towards the old lady van uneventful.
“We came to the same conclusion,” Zeke says as I near.
“Yeah!” Dizzy shouts, petering out to a whisper at the end and hunkering down like she knows she should be subtle but hasn’t figured out how to, yet. “Their dumpster was basically empty, but everywhere else was overflowing with gross.” Her shoulders shoot up to her ears as her upper body shudders, tongue darting out in the center of a scrunched-up face. “So much half-digested yuck. Everywhere else the trash walls were all sludgy with slime and stank, but not at that bright and shiny place. Nope! Looked like it was either power-washed every hour, or never got yucked up in the first place.”
Zeke nods. “Unusual.”
“Quite,” Lin agrees, arm slung over Dizzy’s shoulder while they sit side-by-side in the back row, Miss Fern the other piece of bread to this Dizzy sandwich. “Similarly, there was a distinct lack of daycare available for display in our dear daycare.”
Resting my arms on the roof as I lean into the open side door, “Yeah, I noticed that while you were there, too. Smelled empty, sounded empty, except for what was up front.” Crinkling my nose, “Felt sterile, like a mainstream hospital. Totally unnatural.”
“Oh, absolutely. And yet, despite being blatantly irksome, it appears to have been accepted as absolutely par for the course in this area. Do we suspect the town oblivious, or compliant?” Lin ponders.
“So they’re suspicious, but that doesn’t mean they’re our suspects,” Monty reasons.
Lin tuts, “Dearie me, did I forget to mention their excessive psychic shielding? Perhaps I neglected to recall the brief revelation of their records aligning with those that Whisper provided previously? Or need I meticulously describe the countless numbers of people who appear to have entered, but never left.” Tilting his head, cocking an eyebrow, Lin continues. “Or is that not enough? Perhaps I should mention that not a single other location piqued my interest beyond small-time theft and illicit affairs between coworkers in broom closets? Bright and Shiny may as well have had an enormous neon sign stating ‘bad guy evil lair here!!!’ right out front.”
Monty holds both hands up “Okay, okay, fair point. I didn’t see what you saw, was more concerned with keeping eyes on you and Miss Fern than reading neon signs.”
“Which was very kind of you, of course,” Miss Fern comments, nodding with a smile.
Monty shrugs, “Then what do we want to do? Go in now, or keep up surveillance to try and get a better feel for their comings and goings?”
“There is some merit to acquiring additional information,” Lin offers. “After all, with such impenetrable defenses on just the computer up front, I shudder to think what should await us were we to attempt a physical breach.” He strokes the center of his chin with one languid finger.
I sneer, pounding both fists on the van’s roof, “We’ve wasted too much time with this shit already! Connor needs us to take our thumbs out our asses and snatch him back, or rip apart the fucks that thought they could yank him away in the first place.”
“Or both,” Zeke adds. Hell yeah. I’m game to rip some bitches apart. With respect, I nod at the spell caster of few words; a warrior who I’m damn well proud to fight beside.
“Diz? Fern? Thoughts?” Monty asks earnestly, not trying to guide any decisions.
The older woman shrugs. “I go when we go.”
Biting her bottom lip, fingers twiddling in her lap, Dizzy weighs the options. “Well, if we go in all big bang boom, that’s basically all the shot we’ve got. No reloads, don’t pass go, the bank’s gonna snatch that $200 you hoped to collect. BUT, and this is a pretty important but, we don’t want
to go barreling into an empty bank vault, our cash already blasted by the baddies.”
Her nose twitches, she takes a slow breath, brows furrowing. “Both?” Dizzy’s head pops up, eyes bouncing around all our faces, the tiniest flame of hope flickering in her golden eyes. “Watch for a bit, then sneaky sneak? Like, maybe an hour or two? Maybe we snatch the desk lady as she goes to leave, if she goes to leave? Or someone else, if there’s someone else?” Dizzy reaches a hand up towards her neck, pausing before withdrawing awkwardly when her fingertips aren’t met by a bushy black tail. Her face falls, eyes dulling with doubt, insecurity tugging at the tender tip of my heart from her end.
“That’s a fuckin’ great idea, Fireball!” I encourage. As much as I’m a fan of charging head first into the fray, I’m aware that thinkers get smoother results than doers. Unless the thinkers never fuckin’ do, but like hell I’ll let us stall forever. I might not have one of those fancy stone bracelets to keep tabs on Connor, but instinct tells me we’re still not too late. We can afford to take a few tactical breaths, I tell myself, hoping reason will slow the insistent need to act thrashing around in my gut. Just for a bit.
Relief palpable, Monty releases a quiet breath. “I’d be more comfortable if we had enough info to make some sort of plan. Worst case, we do barge in and bust some heads, but it can’t hurt to take a minute to see what we can see.” Glancing at the clock on the dash, “Just a couple of hours, after dark, when they should be closing up? I agree with Diz, we should make our move when the front desk woman goes to leave her post. Objections?”
Climbing into the van, I settle into one of the middle seats, eyes, ears, and nose trained intensely on the stupid fucking daycare.
No objections.
65. Monty
