Changeling Justice

by Frank Hurt

  ACCESS RESTRICTED: PERMISSION DENIED

  “What the bloody hell?” Ember performed additional queries. She could bring up personnel records for recent years, but nothing older than three years, and nothing at all related to disability status nor anything containing the term “Mandaree.”

  Cold realization set in. Someone had pulled her clearance to access the files she needed. Duncan. It had to be Duncan.

  If there was one certain way to rile the anger of Ember Wright, Associate Investigator, it would be to stand in the way of her sense of justice. She couldn’t be sure what happened with the industrial accident at Mandaree in 2001, but she had a hunch that the disabled changelings were connected to it. That the Senior Investigator was preventing her from finding out raised serious red flags. Duncan might as well have set up a neon sign: “clues found here.”

  Wallace needed to be informed immediately. Ember logged out of the computer and reached for her satchel just as someone knocked on her office door.

  “Ms. Wright?” The sizable Malvern man at the door stood over six feet tall. His hair was receding, grey with some hint of black and a salt-and-pepper mustache to match. His skin was uniformly tanned, though it bore no freckles or spots. The pale suit looked striking against his toned skin. The thing that Ember noticed first was his aura, though: bright, powerful, and unblemished by any shadow. This man was a Level Six mage, and a strong one at that.

  “I’m Ember, yes.” Ember blinked at the man’s bright aura. She had never met someone with such a strong presence. It was overwhelming her senses.

  “I’m Elton Higginbotham, Director of Wellness. I was told you wanted to meet me?” The man leaned against the frame of the door, his figure seeming to barely fit. His voice was high and cheerful. The mouthful of bright, white teeth looked nearly fluorescent when he smiled. “I see they stuck you in a corner office. Downright lavish quarters, these.”

  It took Ember a moment to realize that the man was making a joke. “Oh, these…well, yes. I suppose an interim auditor doesn’t quite warrant something posh.”

  Elton pressed his lips tightly together and crossed his arms. His face formed a charming expression that could have been stolen from Rob Lowe. “Posh. Now there’s a word we don’t use around here very often. How are you settling in? They treating you okay around here?”

  Unsure how much she could—or should—reveal, Ember hesitated before answering. Though the director had no smudge over his aura, she couldn’t trust too readily. “It’s…okay, as you say. I can’t blame anyone for being less-than-thrilled to have an external auditor roaming the halls.”

  Elton laughed, loud enough that it startled Ember. She hoped he hadn’t noticed.

  “Speaking of, how is the census audit going, anyway?”

  Ember glanced at her computer screen before saying, “It’s early yet. Just getting started.”

  “Well if you need anything, you just let me know. Will you?”

  “That’s quite kind of you, sir. Actually…there is something I wonder if you might be able to help me figure out?”

  The director uncrossed his arms, revealing the glint of a sparkling tie pin. “If it’s in my power, then I am at your service. What can I do for you, Ember?”

  “As I said, I’m just now starting the audit, but I noticed that between yesterday and today, my access to the government database has been restricted.”

  He furrowed his brow. “Mmhmm, I see. Restricted how?”

  “Yesterday, I was looking through files from 2001, for example.” Ember pointed at her monitor, though she had already logged off. She hastily added, “Just random personnel files. Standard process for these audits. This morning, those same queries are resulting in ‘access denied’ messages.”

  “I’m sure it’s just a computer glitch. Sometimes these systems can be all kinds of cockamamie like that. Even the servers know that the weather is beautiful outside and they have trouble focusing.” He laughed loudly at his own joke.

  Ember smiled politely. She watched Elton laugh and made a mental note that his piercing, icy blue eyes never left her. His gregarious laughter, his toothy, bright smiles—but, his eyes told her that his lighthearted demeanor was superficial. The man was lying to her. His is a shark’s grin.

  “But seriously, Ember, as I said I’m in charge of the Department of Wellness. You need to talk to the boys one floor above me, in the Department of Information. They can get you sorted out, okay?”

  She nodded, hiding her disappointment. “Of course. Thank you for clarifying. I’m sorry you had to come downstairs for nothing.”

  “Not at all! I wanted to meet our guest regardless. But the offer does stand: if there’s anything I can do to help, you just let me know. Tech support notwithstanding, that is.” He extended his large hand and stepped forward.

  Elton Higginbotham was as charming as a politician, attractive as any actor, and his aura was more vibrant than any she had ever seen. Her hand disappeared within his palm. He closed his tanned fingers, adorned with oversized, bejeweled rings. She smiled and looked up at his eyes. Such icy blue eyes, to match his periwinkle gemstone tie pin. The shark smile beneath his mustache broadened, and his grip tightened around hers.

  Ember felt lightheaded, then nauseous. I should never have eaten so many pastries this morning.

  When the director released her hand, Ember leaned against her desk. She brought her hand up to the side of her head.

  “Are you alright, Ember?” Elton’s voice sounded cloudy, as though he was talking to her from a distance rather than right next to her.

  “I’m…yes, I’m just knackered. I think I didn’t get enough rest last night, that’s all. Jet lag, you know.”

  The foggy voice said, “Of course, of course. Why don’t you take an early lunch and go take a nap? That will freshen you right up.”

  “That sounds like a good idea.” Ember collected her purse and satchel before exiting.

  “It was nice meeting you, Ember.” The foggy voice laughed.

  Ember walked past the front desk and called the elevator.

  Joy chirped, “Oh, your meeting is over! Isn’t Director Higginbotham such a nice man? See, I knew you’d like him!”

  Ember nodded without looking back at Joy. She wanted to say something, but she couldn’t think of an appropriate response. She walked back toward her apartment, and the nausea seemed to subside. At one of the crosswalks, she noticed a crow perched atop the traffic lights. She closed her eyes and now she saw an adult man sitting on the traffic light. When she opened them, there was the crow, again. Why am I bothering looking at a silly bird?

  A subconscious thought tugged at her, but she couldn’t focus enough to make sense of it. When she arrived at her apartment building, she unlocked the door to the embassy-provided car. Opposite side. This is going to be an unusual driving experience.

  The Honda started, and Ember maneuvered down the unfamiliar streets. She headed south on the main thoroughfare. She glanced at her satchel and recalled the notes she had written yesterday. She struggled to make sense of what she was doing, where she was going. She felt disconnected from herself. It was as though someone else was controlling her actions.

  No, that’s not quite right. It feels like I’m watching myself. Like I’m watching myself on television. Like I’m not quite here.

  Ember glanced in her rearview mirror before making a lane change. She did a double-take when she saw it: a shadow surrounding her face.

  Her blood chilled and she struggled to regain her focus lest she crash the SUV. She was outside of the city limits now, where the land quickly transitioned to suburbs and then open fields. Ember turned off and parked on the shoulder of a gravel road. A cloud of dust billowed around her.

  Gripping the rearview mirror with both hands, she looked at herself, wild-eyed through a dirty shadow which seemed to roil and move around her. She felt the nausea return with a vengeance.

  The queasy woman barely got out of her car before the contents of
her stomach began to force their way out. She retched painfully, squeezing her eyes shut as she vomited onto the gravel road. She fumbled for the side of the car for support, slipped, and landed hard on her knees. The world seemed to swirl around her as another wave of bile emerged.

  Her nostrils stung and her throat burned from stomach acid. Another wave of retching. It felt like she’d just been kicked in the abdomen.

  “Bloody hell,” Ember groaned. Tears dripped from her cheeks. She opened her eyes to see black vapors rising from the dispelled contents. She scrambled to back away from the unholy steam.

  Ember shook her head and blinked, trying to focus on her arms, her legs. A vise loosened from her temples, and she could feel as well as see the smudge dissipate from her aura. She struggled to her feet and looked in the mirror again. If I didn’t look like hell before, I sure do now.

  But, her aura was clean again. The shadow was gone.

  Ember sat hunched in her car, her feet still on the rough gravel road surface. Her thoughts became her own again as clarity returned.

  She grimaced at the memory of Elton Higginbotham’s strong handshake. He was so charming, his aura so bright and strong. She failed to recognize when his spell seeped into her, taking over almost immediately. She wasn’t sure what it was that he spelled her with, nor how she managed to counter it. This thing that’s infecting everyone is no disease at all. It’s a spell. A powerful, ugly spell.

  Ember leaned out and spat, attempting to clear her mouth of the foul taste. The road dust was settling now. In the fields around her, she heard pheasants call and meadowlarks sing. A crow perched on a barbed wire fence, almost as if it was watching her.

  A crow watching me. Why am I feeling a sense of déjà vu?

  She looked again at the crow, then closed her eyes. Inside her eyelids, a man appeared where the crow was; this bird was a changeling. It was the same changeling that was watching her from the streets of Minot.

  Ember was being followed.

  11

  How Fast Can a Bloody Crow Fly

  The Honda raced down the road as quickly as Ember dared to drive. She was pushing her luck, driving 80 miles per hour in a 70 mile-per-hour zone—in an unfamiliar vehicle, on the “wrong” side of the road, no less.

  “How fast can a bloody crow fly, anyway?” Ember thought aloud. “Supposing he can see a lot farther and he can get way up high, how far until I lose the arsehole?”

  There was no way to know for sure who the changeling was working for, but it was a safe bet that it was Director Higginbotham. He would want to keep an eye on Ember, to make sure his spell—whatever it was—took root. She would need to lose this tail without tipping her hand; Elton had to believe that his spell was a success, or she would blow her cover.

  Elton. Ember practically spit when she thought of the man and his dark, nauseating spell. A Healer is supposed to help people, not harm them. How bloody dare he! She gritted her teeth and hit her fist against the steering wheel. If Elton’s aim was to discourage her from investigating his dubious activities, he couldn’t have done worse. What was little more than an assignment had now become personal. She burned with righteous anger.

  The state roadmap laid partially unfurled on the center console beneath Ember’s right arm. She glanced down at it. She said to herself, “Highway 83, heading south. I need to watch for Highway 23.”

  Mere minutes passed since she emptied her stomach on the side of the road, ridding herself of the shadowy spell that clouded her mind. She thought about turning back for Minot, to call Wallace and update him on this turn of events. Ember would do that eventually, but first, she had more pressing business gnawing on her mind. She needed to know what Elton didn’t want her to see.

  Without access to the database, she had only the case number itself as her sole tangible proof of the Mandaree Incident’s existence in the Viceroyalty’s computer system. That wouldn’t be enough to put together this cover-up that the Director of Wellness was orchestrating. She needed to know more.

  A name and a place stood out among all others in her memory: one Arnold Schmitt, from Plaza, North Dakota. By coincidence, she realized she was heading in the right direction when she came out of the spell the director had cast on her.

  When she took the right turn at Junction 23, Ember peered out her window, scanning the sky for any sign of the crow. It was impossible to make out what would be a tiny, dark speck in the otherwise open sky. She would continue to Plaza, regardless.

  The drive was long enough for a plan to form. To the tune of the Pilot’s rubber rolling along Highway 23’s miles of straight asphalt, Ember hoped her extemporaneous plan would work.

  Plaza registered more as a village than a proper town—but then, so many settlements in this expansive prairie fit that definition. A total of 167 individuals called Plaza home, according to the chart on her 2009/2010 North Dakota road map. With a population so small, Ember hoped that she could find someone who could point her to where Arnold Schmitt lived.

  On the edge of town, along the main road near the public school, a tidy, grand two-story cottage stood proudly. The charming abode was painted yellow, with white trim. It looked like something straight out of a children’s storybook, except for the fact that a pair of American flags flew in the yard. Red and blue bunting clung to a white picket fence encircling the property.

  The other houses sprinkled around Plaza ranged from old farmhouses to newer trailer houses. Some yards were well cared for, while others had junked out vehicles parked on unkempt lawns. If there was a covenant or homeowner’s association, it wasn’t apparent. This was a town which seemed populated by individualists.

  Ember slowly maneuvered the SUV down the narrow, rough streets of the small town. She intended to find someone out in their yard, working their garden on this bright summer day.

  She practiced her introduction aloud. “Hello, I’m Ember, how do you do? I’m doing research for my family’s genealogy, and I have a distant cousin in town here. Do you perchance know where Arnold Schmitt lives?”

  It didn’t take long to find the center of town, where a tan building housed Plaza’s only bar: the “Grub and Pub.” It was as good a place to start as any. She pulled into the small parking lot, next to a rusting Chevy pickup.

  Two off-shift oilfield workers sat at a table, tipping back bottles of beer in silence. Tall stools lined an empty bar. Ember climbed onto one of the stools, which swiveled as she pushed her feet against the base.

  The country song on the jukebox was in its chorus:

  Indian Summer,

  The wonder,

  The hunger,

  And the sound of distant thunder.

  Indian Summer.

  The barmaid approached, and Ember ordered a bottle of water—something to wash the foul taste from her mouth. She took a long swallow before she asked, “Is it safe to assume that you’re a local?”

  The barmaid studied her customer. She was several inches taller than Ember and outweighed her by at least twenty pounds—most of it muscle. She was a full-figured woman who wore her dark blonde hair in a braid down the middle of her back. Her eyes were dusky with a wary intelligence. She had a peculiar habit of looking for a second before her head turned to follow her gaze. She gave Ember a hint of a smile to go with her nod. “It’s safe to assume you’re not.”

  Ember mirrored the smirk. “Fair guess.” She tried to appear nonchalant as she tipped her bottle of water back for another swig. She managed to spill half a mouthful down her shirt.

  “I’m Anna,” the woman behind the bar said between chuckles. She handed Ember a napkin. “I hope you don’t mind my saying, but I think you might have a drinking problem.”

  The jukebox blared, I wonder where we’d be if I never scored that last touchdown.

  Ember sighed with embarrassment as she dabbed with the napkin. “What do you mean? This is how we consume beverages back where I come from. I’m Ember, by the way. I’m here working on a family tree project. I wonder if you
might happen to know my distant cousin?”

  “If she’s from around here, then yeah, I probably would.”

  “Brilliant! It’s a he, actually. My cousin’s name is Arnold Schmitt.”

  Anna’s smile melted into a frown. She leaned over the bar menacingly.

  Ember’s eyes went wide. “I’m sorry if I—”

  “Cut the crap, Malvern.” Anna hissed. “What do you want with my brother Arnie?”

  “Your brother?” Ember closed her eyes. Before her, a magnificent golden eagle appeared, its predatory glare inimitable. When she opened her eyes, she noticed Anna’s aura. In the dim light of the bar, she missed that telltale sign earlier. Ace situational awareness, Ember. The Legend would be so proud.

  “You’re a changeling,” Ember whispered. The twang of the jukebox gave cover, but Ember whispered anyway. “And Arnold Schmitt’s sister. Small world.”

  “Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. Small town.” Anna glowered. “So again, what do you want with Arnie? He’s been through enough already from you people.”

  “Anna, I don’t know what happened with Arnie. That’s exactly why I’m here. I want to help.”

  There was no humor in Anna’s laugh. “So, you’re telling me you’re not from the embassy?”

  “No. Well, I am, but only by way of the High Council.” Ember looked around to make sure nobody was listening. The Indian Summer song reached its conclusion, and another song had taken over. “Something happened in 2001, and I think it involved Arnold—Arnie—somehow. I’m trying to figure out what happened, but I need to talk to him.”

  Anna’s expression became pained, and she looked away, her head turning a moment later to follow her focus. “I can’t talk about that, here. It…it just hurts too much. You’ll need to talk with my other brother, Rik.”

  “Rik? Where can I find him?”

  “Alarik,” Anna said as she clicked a ballpoint pen and began sketching lines onto the back of a disposable coaster. “He’s our big brother. He’s the one you should talk to. I’ll call ahead so he knows to expect you. He’ll be working at his farm today.” She slid the map into Ember’s hand.