by Frank Hurt
“What kind of place doesn’t stock Marmite? Uncivilized, that’s what it is,” she complained to her fridge. When It didn’t answer, she swung the door shut and reached for the embassy-provided cell phone in her purse. She needed to make an emergency call.
“Wright residence.”
“Mummy. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Darling, not at all. Your father and I have only returned from a little outing with friends.” Her father’s voice rose in the background, followed by her mother’s muffled response. “I don’t know, Olly. She hasn’t said, and I haven’t asked yet.”
“Asked what?” Ember balanced the cell phone with a shrugged shoulder as she filled a Styrofoam container with tap water. It was one of the containers of microwaveable ramen noodles she bought yesterday. Though it was labeled with a foreign name, it was essentially the same flavored Pot Noodles that she lived on back home.
“Your father wants to know if you’re still planning on coming home?”
“About that.” Ember gave the gaping maw of the microwave an offering: the Styrofoam cup with its paper lid peeled back. She closed the door and tapped the keypad, its high-pitched chime betraying her culinary actions.
“Emberly, are you eating those horrible noodle cups again?” Her mom scolded, “You know you can’t live on those things. You’ll positively atrophy.”
Ember couldn’t help but smile at the familiar chiding. “Yes, Mum. And they’re Pot Noodles. Food of the gods, really. Anyway, I decided to stay in the colony a bit longer. I was just a little stressed and homesick when I phoned last. I’ve got a job to do, and I will see it through.”
“Very good, darling.” Benedette repeated the conversation to Oliver. “I told your father that you’d probably change your mind after a day or two. It’s not you to flee trouble, after all.”
“Yes, Mum. You know me well.” The microwave beeped happily, announcing that the offering was ready. “I’ve got to go, but there was another reason I rang you. I have a favor to ask. It’s vitally important. Critical, really.”
Benedette grew serious. “I’m listening, Emberly.”
“Would you please send me a box of Marmite, post haste? If I’m to stay, I’ll need my victuals. The people at the grocer didn’t even know what I was talking about when I asked them. Can you believe such nonsense?”
Her mother sighed. “You can be such a dramatic brat, daughter.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s true. Does that mean you’ll help me with this vital procurement?”
“I’ll pass along your request for procurement from the resident bureaucrat.”
“Oh goody! Please tell Daddy ‘cheers and kisses’ from me.”
“Goodnight, Emberly.”
Ember smiled at the feigned exasperation she heard in her mother’s voice. When Benedette Wright trotted out the faux formalities, Ember knew she could expect her wish to be granted.
“And now, it’s your turn.” Ember licked her lips and stirred in the packet of flavoring. It may not have been her Pot Noodles, but this imposter would do just fine after an exhausting day.
While she messily slurped her feast, Ember dug through her purse, cleaning out a couple convenience store receipts, paperclips, and a candy wrapper. She found a business card and smiled at it.
Her phone was still warm from the previous conversation. She dialed the number penned on the back of the business card.
The phone rang just twice before a man answered. “This is Coop.”
“Hello, Cooper.” Ember smiled then, a game forming in her head. “This is Cooper Severson?”
“It is, yes. Who am I speaking with?”
“Cooper Severson, Detective with the Minot Police Department?” Ember read the card with a formal tone.
“The same.” Cooper’s voice sounded slightly less friendly. “Who’s calling?”
“Oh, I just have one question for you. One terribly important question.” She could almost feel him holding his breath. Ember spoke now like a TV game show announcer. “Detective Cooper, for one million dollars, why is Minot called the Magic City?”
He hesitated for a few seconds, then blurted, “Ember? Is that you?”
A giggle erupted from her throat before she could suppress it. Great, now I sound like a schoolgirl.
“Ember, you little shit. You had me going there.”
“Little shit! Really, manners Coop.” Ember grinned through her lecture.
“In 1886, the Great Northern Railroad stopped in what was to be Minot.” Cooper spoke as though he had been practicing this for days, which Ember supposed he probably had. “A tent town sprung up, almost overnight. Like magic. That’s when the nickname formed, and ‘Magic City’ persists to this day.”
She laughed. “Have you been going mad, holding that in, yeah?” The Druws who discovered the Ley Line here were nothing if not blindingly clever in creating this cover story.
“Well…yes. It’s about time you called. I don’t know if I could have lasted much longer. I’m probably going to get a brain tumor from all the stress you’ve put me through. How are you finding the Magic City, speaking of which? Everyone treating you well at your new job?”
It took Ember a moment to realize he was referring to the spa. “Oh, yeah. Yes, it’s all been fine. Lovely people there, really. It’s quite a nice facility. Very posh.”
“Posh,” he repeated, then chuckled. “Sounds like just the sort of place I probably wouldn’t visit. So, to what do I owe this call, lovely lady?”
“I just wanted to hear a friendly voice, I suppose.” She dropped the empty Styrofoam container in the trash and stretched out on the sofa, laying on her back. “In addition to learning the answer to that million-dollar question, naturally.”
“Naturally. So, when can I expect the check for one million dollars?” He emphasized the word, just as she had.
“How do they say it? ‘The check is in the mail?’ Yeah, so if it doesn’t arrive, do blame the post.”
They talked for the better part of an hour. Ember’s cheeks began to grow sore from the constant smiling, the banter between them.
It seemed too soon when he said, “I hate to end this chat, but I’ve got a place I need to be in a few minutes. I would be tempted to invite you along, but it wouldn’t be an appropriate first date. It’s a get together with some buddies. It’s for a friend of ours, who passed a couple years ago.”
First date. Ember blushed, just hearing him make such a pronouncement. She admonished herself for latching on to that part of his statement. “I’m so sorry to hear of your loss, Coop.”
“Thanks. It’s been a while, but Jacob touched a lot of lives. He was my partner when I first made grade. I learned more from my brief time working with him than from the academy, any workshops, or conferences before or since. It was a big loss to the department—hell, the whole community of Minot.”
Ember sat up on the couch and shifted the phone to her other ear. “What did he die from, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Cooper exhaled. “It was a cancer. Pancreatic. Moved quickly, and there’s no cure I guess.”
“That’s pretty rough.”
“Yeah, it is.” Cooper sighed. “Jacob was so good at interviewing suspects. He called them ‘casual interrogations’ where he would make the suspect feel so at ease with him, they started thinking of him as their friend. Before they knew it, they had hung themselves—metaphorically, of course. Defense attorneys hated him.”
“That’s a skill that’s hard to teach.” Ember quickly added, “I mean, I assume.”
“It is. There are cases to this day where I find myself wishing I could just ask Jacob for his advice. Just to ask him for guidance on the hard cases. You know, like…if I could just talk to his ghost.”
Ember felt like a lightning bolt just shot through the ceiling of her apartment and grounded with her. She felt her pulse quicken. She stood up at once, the cell phone nearly slipping from her grip. Brilliant!
She couldn’t be sur
e she wasn’t being watched, though she made a point of closing her eyes and scanning every bird, cat, and dog she jogged past. So far, so good.
The toil of the long day had her both physically and emotionally exhausted. Dusk was settling in, and she had initially planned for a hot shower and her warm bed. Yet, now she was running with vigor, reenergized by the inspired suggestion her NonDruw friend had unknowingly instilled in her.
She returned a friendly wave from a young couple walking a Beagle on a leash. Beneath the overhead lamps lining the paved walking path, she could see their warm smiles. The man offered an obvious observation, “Gorgeous evening for a run!”
“Gorgeous. Right.” She managed to agree between breaths before she was out of earshot.
The nearest graveyard was about a mile south of her apartment, and she soon arrived. The well-kept grounds of Rosehill Cemetery were enclosed by a low chain-link perimeter fence, separated by stone gate columns facing the street. Cottonwood, ash, and spruce trees grew in copses throughout the acreage. Straight, paved lanes formed a grid throughout the 50-acre parcel.
“Now to test my luck,” Ember exhaled as she slowed to a walk.
She paced up and down each neat row, softly calling out as her hand contacted each headstone just briefly. “I’m calling for a Malvern. Any Malvern will do, please. Is there a Malvern here?”
If anyone living saw her, they might be forgiven for thinking that they were watching an obsessive-compulsive person. Ember walked between each headstone, touching two at a time when she could, as she called out. I’m not actually crazy, but I must sure look the part.
She recalled the first time she talked with a ghost. It was shortly after she began working with Wallace as a Novice Investigator, on one of their first cases in fact. She had accidentally called upon one Frederick Kempster, who she later learned was famous for being the tallest man alive—or rather, who once was alive. Even in that accidental call, that giant’s ghost proved helpful all those dozen years ago.
Wallace was never one to allow a latent talent to go to waste. They didn’t have many homicide cases, but when they did, her ability to call upon the deceased was utterly invaluable. They still had to form a proper chain of evidence to cover the fact that they had a “cheat code” in Ember, but it wasn’t so difficult to work backward and find tangible clues when you’ve got the victim helping you out.
Ember was at the last row of grave markers in the third cluster she searched, still with no spirit answering to her call for a mage. If she didn’t find one tonight, she would need to go to the next cemetery on the map. Just then, a familiar, faint shimmer formed in the air near an old stone cross. The temperature dropped appreciably, and goosebumps formed on Ember’s skin.
The ghost’s form was faint, and its voice was a hoarse whisper. The halting whisper it offered was like nails on a chalkboard. “Who…disturbs…the dead?”
Ember winced. Calling on the ghost of someone who was recently deceased felt different than when the ghost was long since buried. With the latter, the experience was so much more unpleasant. There was a sort of temporal disconnect, she surmised, with the passing ages. I suppose if I was dead a long time, I’d be confused too.
“I do. I call you.” Ember tried to sound more confident than she was. “Are you a Malvern?”
“Let…the dead…rest.” The ghost hissed its advice.
The hair on the back of her neck stood, but that might have been from the chilling air temperature. Ember hugged herself and wished she would have thought to bring a jacket. “You will answer my question. All of my questions.”
The ghost hissed its acquiescence. “Malvern…yes.”
“Brilliant. I’m looking to speak with a deceased Investigator. Preferably one which was high-ranking when he or she was alive. A Senior Investigator, if you please. Do you know where one might be buried?”
The ghost’s form was less abstract now. It began to coalesce into a form resembling something humanoid. Ember glanced at its headstone and saw the name:
Dr. Rufus James Corwin
1832-1901
Ember knew that the birth date was likely fake; this mage was probably closer to 200 years old when he died, assuming he died of natural causes. It wouldn’t do to let that truth be etched in stone, however—not where NonDruws would see it.
“Investigator?” The ghost of Dr. Rufus James Corwin hissed. “Not…an Inquisitor?”
“An Inquisitor? I’m not sure what you’re going on about, Rufus James Corwin.” Ember purposely used the ghost’s name. Doing so always seemed to help spirits gather themselves to the present. Or future, from their perspective.
The ghost’s form materialized further. She could see his face, the turn-of-the-century suit he was buried in. The vacant, lifeless eyes made her shudder, though she’d seen it countless times before.
“Please answer me, Rufus James Corwin.” Ember kept her arms crossed and she tapped her ASICS running shoes against the stone cross, as though that would somehow encourage the spirit to comply.
“Inquisitor. Someone…higher ranked. As…you asked.” The ghost of Rufus Corwin spoke in halting hisses, though his mouth never moved.
Ember tapped the fingers of her right hand against her forehead, the percussion knocking loose the line of questions she needed to ask this stubborn spirit. “OK, fine. Inquisitor. I suppose that’s what you called Investigators in your day? No matter. Tell me who was the most senior…Inquisitor, as you say, buried in the Magic City.”
“Grand…Inquisitor…Barnaby…Harrison. Not…in Minot. His remains…were in…Surrey. Died…a few years…before me. His was…a tragic…construction…accident.”
Ember frowned. Grand Inquisitor? Was that what they called Senior Investigators back in Rufus’s time? “Barnaby Harrison. Brilliant. I don’t know where Surrey is, but I will find it. I hope he will prove worth the trouble of tracking down.”
The ghost stared at her with vacant eyes.
“Thank you for your assistance.” Ember waved farewell at the spirit. “Rest now, Rufus James Corwin.”
The ghost of Rufus James Corwin sighed. Its periwinkle translucent form faded until it disappeared. Where his silhouette was, dozens of fireflies flickered, briefly forming the shape of a man. Then their lights went out and Ember stood alone in the dark graveyard.
14
Jest with the Dead
It was a new one, this spy following Ember. A second changeling spy.
She was out for her early morning jog, after yet another rough night of poor sleep. Ember needed to work through her options, especially since she no longer had a car of her own to use—not to mention the fact that she was being watched, constantly.
Case in point: the appearance of a not-too-subtle turkey vulture in downtown Minot. The large bird had an impressive wingspan which made it impossible to hide when it lifted off. The vulture had done just that when she was doing her stretches in the parking lot. A quick blink was all she needed to confirm that it was a changeling. She supposed the buzzard thought it was being clever by circling high above her on unseen thermals as she jogged.
Ember should have been insulted by the lack of subtlety. Director Elton Higginbotham was having her tailed so overtly, choosing such a changeling as this. He still thinks I’m under his spell, so there’s no need to be so cautious with his spies.
Yet, the man clearly had enough foresight to keep tabs on her, despite believing his spell had taken root. She made a mental note not to underestimate her foe.
The burner phone was tucked inside her fanny-pack, and she intended on using it away from her apartment—which could well be bugged. She just needed to figure out who she was going to call.
Since the chilly meeting with the ghost of Rufus James Corwin last night, Ember had been formulating her next move. It was an inconvenience that this Barnaby Harrison was buried in a small town ten miles outside of Minot. It didn’t help that she had no car.
She thought about jogging there, but she would be sp
otted and followed for a certainty. This morning’s spy affirmed that suspicion.
She could rent a car, but that, too, would be difficult to conceal from Higginbotham’s spies. She wasn’t even entirely sure she would be eligible to rent a vehicle without an American driver’s license.
So, that left her with the unattractive choice of calling in someone to help ferry her around. There was Cooper Severson; Coop knew the local area well, and he had already hinted at wanting to spend time with her. Maybe she could frame the request as a date?
But, Coop was a detective and a NonDruw at that. She couldn’t take the chance that he would figure out that she was hiding something from him. No, Coop was not an option.
Ember thought about the other helpful local who had shown an eagerness to help: the manager at the Magic City Spa. Josette was privy to the Druwish world as she was a halfling herself. That doesn’t mean she can be trusted, though.
She jogged through the windy riverfront trails of Oak Park. She wasn’t the only runner enjoying the crisp summer morning, but she was reasonably sure that she was the only Druw in the tidy, green park nestled in the oxbows of the Souris River. The jogging trail weaved between cottonwood and elm trees, and she inhaled the pleasant scent of morning dew. She realized then that she was beneath a dense canopy, and that she couldn’t see the circling buzzard high above her—and that he could not see her. Time to make a quick call.
Ember chose a massive Y-shaped cottonwood away from the path, where she could keep watch while she made her call. She flipped the burner phone open, and almost without thinking redialed a recent number. I guess I choose you.
Alarik picked up on the third ring.
“It’s Ember. I hope I didn’t wake you?”
“Oh, hi. No, I get up at 4:30.” Alarik cleared his throat. “What can I do for you, Ember?”
The way he said her name made Ember close her eyes. An involuntary smile formed on her lips. She imagined him on the other end, perhaps sipping coffee as he made himself breakfast of eggs and bacon. She had to shake her head to remind herself that she couldn’t risk a lengthy call—not when she knew she was being followed. “I have a huge favor to ask of you, Rik. They took my ride, and I’m being followed and watched constantly. But, I need to get to Surrey to meet a contact. Someone who might be able to help with your brother’s case.”