by J M Guillen
Of course the room didn’t really go on forever, but with the only light filtering from the large round window overlooking the street, I hadn’t been able to see the far end. Now shelves upon shelves formed a long corridor that abruptly turned to the left, cut off by a beat-up leather couch with a badly preserved leopard skin draped over it.
“What’s all this crap?” Bax asked.
“Like I know?” I stepped past the couch, where the shelves opened before me like a forest clearing.
“It’s just hard for me to imagine your dad thinking ‘Man, I want to hoard a bunch of old garbage above my gaming store.’”
“No, I get it.” I moved further in and dodged random clumps of furniture that sprouted like toadstool rings. Various overstuffed chairs and tables crowded together, away from the more unusual items.
Abruptly, I stopped in place.
“What?” Baxter’s breath tickled my neck as he nearly stumbled into me.
“I’ve… I’ve seen that before.” I pointed.
A man-sized birdcage, empty, sat tastefully atop a violet-striped fur rug.
“Where?” Baxter stepped aside and toyed with the slightly ajar wardrobe door. When opened, the wardrobe revealed a wealth of canned and jarred foods, prepackaged dry goods, and three plastic jugs of coffee grounds.
“I… it was a long time ago. Something that happened with Simon.” I shook my head as I fingered the thin bars. “It was a different one. It had to be.”
“I assume you weren’t in the cage.”
“You may assume.”
True to form, Baxter bent over and opened the mini fridge. It held hot dogs, cups of pre-cut fruit, and a twelve pack of soda.
“Want one?” He held up a soda.
I grabbed it and popped the tab, then surveyed the rest of the massive room.
A large, unmade bed—with a lacy canopy, no less—had been shoved into one corner. A pedestal sink and vanity littered with an old fashioned man’s shaving kit, toothbrushes, and various hair-care tools hovered near the bed.
“He… lived here?” I turned to Baxter.
“It’s not like I was around all the time, Liz. How would I know?” He shrugged before picking up a book.
The thought of my father, living in an attic filled with detritus and old trash unsettled me.
I stared at a pile of maps taking up a rather large section of an otherwise clear area of floor. Off to the left stood a large wall of tiny, locked drawers, each neatly numbered.
My brow wrinkled. The set up seemed familiar…
“Safe deposit boxes,” the words spilled from my lips.
“Like from a bank?” Automatically ghosting along behind me, Baxter pulled his nose out of a leather-bound book to give the wall a passing glance.
“Uh huh. Anything in the books?”
“I’ve only opened a few. The first two were tax ledgers or something. This is an old book on New York real estate.”
“Exciting,” I groused.
“Oh, hey, a desk.” He ambled off, opposite from the safe deposit boxes, toward a cherry wood secretary desk on the other side of the room. “Maybe that’s his office.”
I followed, glancing at an easel between the desk and a heavy black door. An old, beat-to-shit wooden artist’s case sat tucked under the easel legs. Full of paints and brushes, I assumed. Dad always did have a fondness for older ways.
“Uh, Liz?” Baxter gestured to the desk.
The moment I looked, really looked, I thought I might pass out.
The same. My mind boggled at the idea. It’s the exact same attic. I scuffed my foot against the floor, casually noting the Aegis of Dudael inscribed there. Small blue stones had been set into the wood around it.
My fingers trembled.
“Are you okay?”
“No.” I whirled around and gaped at the odd bits of furniture and crowded shelves. My heart pounded in my chest.
“We’re in someone’s attic?” I glanced around at a labyrinth of dusty bookshelves. I couldn’t see far in the dim light, but it appeared that a man-sized birdcage had been pushed into one corner.
“Someone’s,” he chuckled. “Yes.”
Simon and I had sat here, in this very room, waiting for the Silent Gentlemen to move along. We had talked for a couple of hours and left the way we had come.
Had Dad been downstairs the entire time? How was he connected to Simon?
How could he be?
“He knew. He knew exactly what he was doing.” My fists balled up.
“Liz?” Baxter queried.
I waved off his concern. “Nothing. Just thinking.” Actually, my mind raced.
“You keep that on and go to your dad’s shop. You’ll stay with him all nice and safe for a few days, and then I’ll be back.”
“You expected my dad to be here,” I muttered under my breath, “didn’t you?”
But Simon had been wrong.
Perhaps this explained why he had never been interested in my family or personal life. If Simon had kept this from me—if Dad had kept this from me…
Acceptance would have come easier if Simon hadn’t lied, hadn’t pretended to not know Dad.
“Um, Liz, I think you should see this.” Baxter gestured.
Prominently displayed on the center of the orderly but crowded desktop sat an envelope.
With my name on it.
I set down the soda and picked up the envelope. It had an unexpected weight—something solid inside slid as I tipped it.
“Here,” Bax offered.
I glanced up.
He held out a letter opener in the shape of a dagger. I had to smile. Dad opening his mail with a Father’s Sword replica was completely his style.
Slicing the envelope open, I dumped out an ornate key and a short note.
Baxter picked up the key, then eyed the black door next to the easel.
I pounced on the note and devoured it:
My wayward daughter,
It’s important that you know nothing is wrong. In all probability, I am quite fine, even if I am a bit out of reach just now.
Quit crinkling your nose.
“Shut up,” I murmured, nose crinkled.
If you’re reading this, then you probably believe I am missing. I assure you I am not. I happen to be exactly where I last looked. If, once in a while, you would look for things where they are, you might find them.
“Smartass.” I couldn’t stop smiling as my eyes teared a touch. I hadn’t realized how worried I had been.
If you go to my old apartment, you’ll find that’s where I’m not. Someone else may be there, but not me.
Only go there if you are looking for someone else.
I’ve made some pretty big decisions lately, and some of those involve you. Included here is the name and address of one E. Serin, our attorney. Meet with him at your earliest convenience. He will help get things situated for you. I know you have questions. He will answer many of them but not all.
“Yeah. I have questions,” I sighed.
“What?” Baxter glanced up at me from the lantern he’d been studying.
“Nothing.”
“Riiiight.”
You are far too nosy, after all.
And of course, bratty girl, you are welcome to stay here. Please make yourself at home. Mr. Serin can help you further.
Yours,
Aiden Shepherd,
Super-genius
I sighed.
“Well?”
“He’s okay.” I beamed. “Being a mysterious jackass, but okay.”
“Good!” Baxter pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Aiden is a great guy. I was getting a bit worried.”
“Me too.”
“What do you think this key opens?” He held out the ornate key from the envelope.
I felt my eyes grow wide.
Iron and old, and scribed with dozens of Empyrean sigils, it had to be the same key Simon used to bring me here, so many years ago. Baxter held it as if it were just another piece of my dad’
s weird junk.
“No idea.” I held my hand out.
When he handed it to me, I felt the soft cascading song of Simon’s sigils on its surface. Just like the earring I used to wear, it practically hummed with secret power.
I pocketed it a bit nervously. What did this all mean?
“So what’s next?”
“Well…” I glanced down at the note and thought about ‘my earliest convenience.’ An attorney surely wouldn’t be available over the weekend. That meant I needed to wait until Monday.
I felt kinda adrift, at least until Simon got back to me.
Dad claimed to be safe, and I had a contact for more information come tomorrow. Everything felt handled.
And that meant…
That meant maybe, just maybe, I could stop stressing out for five minutes.
“I think ‘next’ involves heading back to CONsortium.” I wrinkled my nose at him playfully. “I’ve got half a mind to run these three losers I know through a module of ‘The Uncanny.’”
“A game? While your dad is missing?”
“He’s not missing,” I insisted loftily. “He’s just not where I left him.”
“Jeez.” He shook his head. “Now I know that letter was from him.”
“I need to call on some lawyer named Serin come Monday.” I pushed the letter into my jacket pocket next to the key. “Until then, I have strict recommendations from my mentor to stay quiet and keep out of trouble.” I chuckled. “He even told me to spend some time gaming with my friends.”
“He did?”
“Yeah. And as it happens, there’s this game I’d like to run.”
“Yeah, but… supernatural horror?” He skewed his mouth. “I dunno if I’ve got what it takes for all that.”
“You don’t.” I smirked as I put an arm over his shoulder. “But good news, I do!”
“You’re going to put me through hell, aren’t you?” He groaned.
“Yup!” I gave him a cheery smile. “That’s what makes it so much fun!”
Rules Lawyer
September 29, 1997
New York, New York
Come Monday afternoon, I regretted leaving my Valkyrie at the shop despite the utter impossibility of parking in the city. At least I didn’t mind the walk from the bus stop in the late afternoon sunshine.
I’d planned an early start, but after gaming all night, my body had demanded sleep before answers.
But answers were more than due.
Finding Mr. Serin’s building proved simple.
“Huh.” I raised one dark brow as I took in the enormous office building. It soared, an ornate needle piercing the cloudy sky.
The longer I looked, the more expensive the place seemed.
“Just how much does this guy charge to afford an office in this place?” I muttered.
I rechecked the address from Dad’s note.
Yep, right place.
Crap.
While I wasn’t exactly grunged out, my jeans and hooded sweatshirt didn’t quite fit in here. The men and women nearby were all dressed a few tax brackets above me.
“Just awesome,” I muttered, seeming not at all like a crazy person. “And here I am, dressed like a gully dwarf.”
For a moment, I fidgeted, my hands in my pockets. Then I shrugged.
“This’ll do them good. ’Sides, maybe Serin will spill something juicy.” I grinned and stepped up to catch the door from a stern woman with a briefcase, all the while pretending I wasn’t silently freaking out.
Squaring my shoulders, I held myself as tall as possible and walked straight in, past professional men women in what I presumed to be bespoke couture.
The marble floors and columns, gold accents, and gurgling fountain in the main foyer didn’t help my nerves.
Attorney fees were notoriously expensive, I knew, but Mr. Serin must have been a bit further up the food chain than I’d anticipated.
I had to admit, I didn’t expect my dad could afford anything in a place like this.
I knew I couldn’t.
Once at the elegantly decorated elevators, I perused the directory and found the floor for Mr. E. Serin, Attorney at Law.
“Please be more than just a stuffed shirt,” I begged as I pushed the button. “Please know something. Anything, really.”
It dinged and I stepped into the, thankfully, empty elevator, heading up to floor twenty-three of thirty. As the elevator moved, I noted my trip was accompanied by an acappella version of—
“Is that ‘Cotton Eyed Joe’?” I stared up at the speakers in disbelief. “Seriously?” Twenty minutes from now I’d still be singing that damned song. I sighed. “You’d better be worth it, Serin.”
Upstairs, I passed several ornate doors before approaching a plain office at the end of the hall. Serin had been inscribed in a no-nonsense script on the frosted window near the door.
“Here we go.” I took a breath and pushed onward. “Mr. Serin?” I called, knocking as I cracked the door an inch. Stupid, I thought the moment I called out. Office like this, the man probably had a fleet of secretaries. There was no way he would personally—
“Enter,” a deep, rolling voice replied.
I pushed the door open all the way and stepped into the plush office. A thick, charcoal and rust rug covered the already carpeted floor which lent a luxurious spring to every step. Low, round-backed armchairs stood to either side of a mahogany bookshelf full of leather-covered tomes.
Every lawyer in the world has those same books, I mused. Does anyone ever read them?
Ahead and slightly to the left sprawled an over-sized mahogany desk. A large calendar took up most of the center space while three meticulously neat stacks of papers of varying heights occupied most of the rest.
A dark-skinned man in a classically-tailored suit stood off to the right and gazed out his window.
I took a moment to study him in his carefully crafted pose. Tall and slim waisted, he held his lithe form in perpetual readiness like a confident and well-fed predator.
I waited.
He waited.
The quiet grew heavy.
After a full forty seconds passed, I scowled. Fine. I cleared my throat, meaningfully.
“Mr. Serin?” I took a step forward. “I’m Liz Shepherd. I believe you represent my father?” Mentally, I crossed my fingers.
“Ms. Shepherd.” He spun slowly on his heel and crossed to his desk in a few long, unhurried strides. Once there, he looked me up and down before extending his hand.
I took it. Serin gave a good handshake, the kind that didn’t try to break my bones.
“I wondered how long it would be before I met you. Your father spoke of you often.” He seemed a touch formal, almost remorseful as he sat down.
“Has he spoken of me lately?” I blurted. “I mean, do you know where he is?”
“Pardon?” A flash of confusion, almost irritation showed in his eyes, banished in an instant. “I most recently spoke with Mr. Shepherd last month.”
“So you don’t know where he is?” It was my turn to be irritated with him. Stupid lawyer double-talk. Why couldn’t he just say he didn’t know?
“I do not.”
“Damn it.” I sank into the nearest armchair.
“You are unaware of Mr. Shepherd’s current location?” he mused thoughtfully. “I take it your father left you some instruction which led you to me?”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “A letter, in his shop.”
“I see.” He ran one hand over his well-tended hair. “Typically one calls first, sets an appointment.”
“Ah.” Oops. “Of course, Mr. Serin. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“I have some time.” He smiled. “I take it you were concerned to the point that you didn’t think.”
“Well, yes.” I paused, searching for words. “I don’t know how long my father has been missing. He stated I should talk to you ‘at my earliest convenience.’”
“He did?” Mr. Serin regarded me steadily
until I squirmed under his gaze. Then he noticed the bracelet on my wrist and become quite entranced.
I covered it with one hand. Even with no idea why it interested him, the thought made me nervous.
The faintest smile touched the edge of his thin lips as I pulled my hands into my lap.
“Mr. Shepherd left instructions for me when I saw him last, approximately three weeks ago. He anticipated that you might visit soon and issued very specific instructions for this contingency.”
“He did?” I leaned forward. Finally, some answers.
“Specifically…” He cleared his throat and pulled some paperwork from one of his drawers. “I am to pass full ownership of his real property, his financial accounts, and Knucklebones, Inc. to you upon your visiting my office.” He toyed with a pen I thought probably cost more than my entire outfit. “Immediately.”
“Immediately?” My heart sank at the word.
“Yes, Ms. Shepherd. He was quite clear.”
“I… see.” What could possibly have happened to my father?
“The paperwork is all quite standard—”
“Is he dead?” The words felt like slivers of ice in my chest.
Silence.
“I cannot possibly know, Elizabeth. However, I have no reason to believe so.”
“Liz,” I countered numbly.
“I am also to function as your business manager,” Serin continued as I worried, “until such time as you decide to relieve me. I am on retainer for a period of two years, with an account set aside to allay my expenses.”
“That’s good,” I blurted as I glanced around. “I don’t see being able to pay whatever you bill per hour.”
“I was informed that your financial status remains unknown to you.” He shuffled the papers, pulled two of them out, and set them before me.
“My status?”
“Mr. Shepherd entrusted me to provide access to several accounts created specifically for this instance. Your investment accounts are managed for you by a team of investors of my choosing.”
“Investment accounts?” I stated flatly. “I think you have the wrong Aiden Shepherd.”
“While you do have the right to access the funds at any time,” he continued, “it is my professional opinion that you should leave its operation to the professionals at your disposal and heed any advice they provide. They are quite good at what they do.”