by Frank Hurt
Peggy’s rough voice interrupted again. “Dammit, Roy, she’s trying to help us. Why do ya gotta think everyone’s got an ulterior motive?”
“Because she’s a Malvern. That’s what they do.” The bald man only briefly looked back at the others before he returned his glare to Ember. “They don’t give a shit about changelings.”
As arguments flared up among the gathered changelings, Ember tried to think of a way to salvage this meeting. Maybe this wasn’t brilliant, meeting with them all at once. I don’t even know that I’ll get any useful information, anything I might be able to act on.
A shrill whistle pierced the air, followed by its source speaking. “Hey! I know as well as anyone how we’ve been treated by the Malverns, and especially by the Malverns in government. There’s good reason not to trust them. Trust has to be earned, and it’s easy to lose it.” Alarik looked over at Ember pointedly. “Just give her five minutes, that’s all I’m asking. You are already here, on the Fourth of July. Just give her five minutes, and then if you still don’t trust her, then you can go back out to the Quonset with everyone else.”
Roy still stood, his bald scalp red and his posture combative. Kenneth fidgeted in his chair, chewing his nails, and staring at the shaggy carpet at his feet. A few of the changelings looked at one another uneasily. Everyone was waiting for someone else to make a move, one way or the other.
Show time. Ember took a breath, then stepped between the flanking towers of Alarik and Anna. She walked right up to Roy. A vein in the man’s temple visibly pulsed. She could smell the alcohol on his breath.
She looked into his bloodshot eyes unflinchingly and spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. “You don’t sleep very well, do you? You haven’t had a proper night’s rest in, what, nine years, have you? You have to take medication or maybe you drink yourself to sleep, only to suffer from terrible dreams. It’s the same nightmare, every time: that your animal subform is trapped, and you can’t reach it. You can’t help it.”
Peggy Barth’s ragged breathing was now the only sound in the room.
“Each of you is having the same nightmares, aren’t you?” Ember walked past Roy to the center of the room. “And it happened after you came in contact with the toxic fog at Mandaree. Don’t you think that’s a little more than coincidence?”
She spread her hands wide, showing her palms to them. “Now I don’t know what happened. There’s no formal active case. But if you help me piece it together, I might be able to help find out what happened. Then, we can find someone who can cure you.”
“I need to have your word that nobody will talk about this conversation.” Ember made a point of looking at each person as she spoke. “There’s a reason you haven’t had support from your government, and I’m working to find out why that is. I can’t tell you any more in part because of safety—yours and mine both—but also because at this point, I honestly don’t know.”
Roy turned around. His voice was subdued, no longer combative. “You’re asking a lot. Asking us to trust you.”
“I know I am. You’ve each been living with this for nine years though. It’s eaten away at your health. It’s taken something from each of you. It’s taken something from your families. You’ve already lost so much. So, in trusting me, you might ask yourself: what have you got to lose?”
Some seconds of silence followed. Arnie nodded, then said, “I trust you. I promise to keep all this a secret.”
One by one, each of them acquiesced. Roy returned to his seat on the orange-and-brown couch and offered a shrug.
Anna and Alarik looked at one another. An unspoken exchange happened between the two siblings. From Ember’s angle, their body language looked like an amalgam of relief and surprise.
The Associate Investigator retrieved a yellow legal pad from her satchel. Ember asked similar questions to what she had asked of Peggy and Kenneth fifteen days ago, with similar responses. They were sent in to investigate the fog surrounding the town of Mandaree in February 2001. They were each told to proceed in their animal subform, and each of them had forms which were ideal for scouting unnoticed: dogs, elk, deer of varied species, and coyotes. They recalled the fog was bitter cold and tasted metallic, and a buzzing noise met their ears before they succumbed to it. When they each awoke, it was in their human forms, in early September 2001. The fog lifted around them as they struggled to figure out where they were and what had happened.
They were sent in two groups. The first four included Arnold Schmitt. They went in together at a location far north of Mandaree. Their handlers dropped them off at a trailhead, and they slipped into the quarantine zone using coulees and bullberry thickets for cover.
The second group was sent in some days later. They were six scouts, split into three pairs. The pairs entered on the same day, approaching from three different directions: north, west, and south, across the frozen Little Missouri River.
They described their handlers as the Investigators from the embassy: Duncan, Roseanne, Neal, and Jackie. Ember wrote notes on her legal pad, though she took care not to leave evidence of her conclusions. Each of the Investigators is not-so-coincidentally under the effects of Higginbotham’s Deference Spell. But is Higginbotham the puppet master? Is he doing this alone? Or is he following someone else’s orders?
When they awoke following the dissipation of the fog, they were dazed and confused. It took several hours before they were each able to realize where they were and to recall what brought them there. None could shift back into their animal subforms, and the effects of that loss were immediate.
“That’s when I lost it,” Arnie whispered. His red Solo cup was empty now, but he continued to go through the motion of sipping from it. His expression was distant, vacant. “I had Stephanie to go home to, and two little babies waiting for their father. That’s the only thing that kept me from just bashing my head in with a rock right there in the patch of thistle I awoke in. They’re the only thing that keeps me from doing that even now.”
Heads bobbed in silence. Kenny gnawed on his bloodied fingernails. Anna looked over at Alarik with wet eyes. Her brother stood with his arms crossed while he stared at an empty space on the pool table.
Ember chose her words carefully. “No judgment here. Have…have you each had such thoughts since then? Of ending it?”
One by one, each of the ten changelings offered a nod. Only Roy didn’t, though he was leaning forward with elbows on his knees, holding his head in his hands. His palms cupped over his bloodshot eyes, offering Ember only his trembling, pale scalp to study.
“This is what I hope to help you with,” Ember said. “I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to, but I will do all that I can.”
She looked over her notes. “None of you remembers anything that happened otherwise during your time in the fog. Did any of the Investigators ever follow up with you when you…when you returned, in September?”
“The Senior Investigator did.” Peggy coughed. “That…Duncan…Duncan What’s-his-face.”
“Duncan Heywood,” Ember offered. “Is that who debriefed each of you?”
It was.
Peggy coughed again. “But we didn’t have much to tell him. Just what we’ve told you today, really.”
The others nodded, except Roy. He muttered something at his knees.
“I’m sorry, Roy, I couldn’t hear you.” Ember craned her neck. “Could you repeat that?”
“I remember something.” Roy looked up at Ember. His face was pale, except for his reddened eyes. “I don’t know if it’s important though.”
Roy gestured at the recliner and the overweight man with a mustache leaning back in it. “Marv and I, we were the pair that came in from the south. We came in from the south shore of the river—the Little Missouri. It was frozen over, so we had no trouble crossing it. Until we got into the fog, that is.”
“Like everyone else, when I got a whiff of the fog, I went under, so to speak.” Roy aggressively rubbed his eyes with his palms, causing a distu
rbing squishing noise as they moved within their sockets. “Problem was when I came to, I was in the river. Marv was too, though he was upriver from me. Ice chunks were all around me, and it was colder than a witch’s tit, but I managed to make it to shore. I tried shifting into my elk form, but I couldn’t. It hurt so bad, feeling that…knowing that part of me was suddenly missing.”
“So, I curled up right there on the muddy shore, surrounded by cattails. I thought about going back into the icy water—I hear that freezing to death isn’t such a bad way to go. But then I heard it: a woman’s voice.”
“My clothes were wet, sticking to me while my teeth chattered. I poked my head out from the cattails. I saw a man run down from the butte above the river. Run right past me. He kicked off his shoes and headed to the water. A girl ran after him—blonde, but darker hair than yours.” Roy stuck his elbow out at Ember. “She kept calling out his name, trying to get him to stop, I think. As I told that Heywood fella, these two weren’t Druws—I could smell that much. They weren’t dazed, either. They were running out of the fog as if it didn’t even bother them, as though it hadn’t affected them.”
“What name was she calling out?” Ember felt excitement bubble within her. She didn’t know why exactly, but her instincts told her that these witnesses were important. “Do you remember the man’s name?”
Roy closed his eyes and frowned. He shook his head. “You’d think I would, but I don’t. I know I remembered at the time. I told Heywood the guy’s name when he debriefed me.” Roy opened his eyes. “But I remember he had a scar on his face. A curved scar that cut across his cheek through his facial hair. Hard to forget a look like that.”
26
A Price to Countering Dark Magic
“So, what do you think?” Anna asked.
The ten disabled changelings were filing out of the basement. A few of them nodded at Ember as they passed by. Peggy Barth squeezed Ember’s shoulder with her leathery hand, offering a weary smile before she walked up the stairs, leaving the smell of menthols behind.
Arnie was the last in line. He lingered with his siblings as they waited on Ember.
Finally, the Investigator said, “I think one of you needs to give me a ride to Minot.”
“What, like right now?” Anna’s eyes looked at Ember a moment before her head followed.
Arnie pointed up the stairs. “We’re already late for lunch.”
“I need to talk to the Senior Investigator, to find out what he knows.” Ember stuffed the legal pad back into her satchel. “I need to talk to Duncan.”
“What makes you think he’ll tell you anything?” Alarik crossed his arms and leaned back as he watched her.
“It’s called ‘Investigator’s Instinct.’ I think I can get him to talk.”
Anna began to protest, but Alarik held up a hand. “It’s alright, I’ll take you. Anna, you brought her here, so I’ll take her back. Ma probably could use your help with the guests, anyway.”
Alarik took the back roads to Minot, coming in from the west. They hadn’t yet reached Highway 2 when he began grilling her.
“Tell me why we have to do this today?”
Ember pinched the bridge of her nose and squinted. “Honestly? Because I won’t be able to rest until we have.”
Alarik bared his teeth and began to chuckle until he glanced at her. “You’re serious. You really care about this case that much?”
“I do, but it’s not just that. It’s that there’s an injustice. I can’t let it continue.” Ember shook her head. “Rik, it’s like I can’t move on. I can’t look away.”
He frowned as he considered her explanation. “It physically bothers you?”
“It does. And this one is an especially big affront to the Investigator’s Creed, so I guess it bothers me even more.” She closed her eyes and recalled the faces of the ten changelings she had just interviewed. “However much this bothers me, it’s a fraction of discomfort compared to the pain your brother and the others have been living with. For nine miserable years.”
Alarik said nothing for the rest of the drive into the Magic City.
Ember imagined the conversation with Duncan, how she would need to get close enough to implement the counter-spell to temporarily lift the Deference Spell. She would have only enough time to ask one question, so she needed to get it right. The Senior Investigator was merely an unwilling pawn in this cover-up, but one who had access to those who pulled the strings. She needed to find out who those puppet masters were. Who is working with Elton Higginbotham? She mentally practiced the counter-spell posture and hoped she was ready.
As the cityscape emerged in the windshield, Ember recited from memory the address from the envelopes she found on Duncan’s desk.
“And then what? What’s the plan, Boss Lady?”
“Then I need to use magic,” Ember sighed. She had to explain as simply as she could without telling Alarik the truth. He couldn’t know about the Deference Spell—nor the danger of attempting to lift it. “I have to exercise a spell, to force Duncan to tell me the truth.”
“You can do that?”
“I think so. That’s the theory, anyway. I’ve never done it before.”
“So, it’s like you’ve got Wonder Woman’s Lasso of Truth?”
“That would be handy. But no, I’ll only be able to ask him one question. It won’t last more than ten or fifteen seconds. If he’s standing when I talk to him, I’ll need you nearby to catch him after I release him.”
“Won’t he be pissed off when you release him?” Alarik took the off-ramp from the divided highway into Minot.
“No. He won’t remember anything—not the minutes leading up, nor for many minutes after.” Ember thought about the lesson Barnaby had given her, how he explained that the target’s memory would be a blur for the duration. That is if I execute the counter-spell correctly.
Alarik slowed the pickup as he approached a traffic light. “What’s the question?”
“Hmm?”
“You said you have time to ask him only one question. What’s the question?”
She couldn’t tell him about the greater conspiracy, about Director Higginbotham’s involvement, nor the suspicion she and Wallace held that others may be involved. She lied again. “I don’t know yet. I’ll think of something.”
Duncan Heywood’s residence was a white, 1960’s ranch-style house with a single stall attached garage. The yard was ungroomed, with as many clumps of weeds as there was grass. An overgrown hedge surrounded the lot.
Who is working with Elton Higginbotham? Ember recited the question as she walked up to the front door of the house with Alarik.
She knocked on the door and rang the doorbell. Nobody answered.
The garage door had three narrow windows to invite in sunlight, so Alarik walked over and cupped his hands against the glass, peering into the garage. He shook his head. “No car in there. He’s out.”
They returned to the Ford, and Ember instructed Alarik to park a couple of houses down, facing Duncan’s house. They reclined the tall seats in the pickup back, unclasped their seatbelts and waited.
“Maybe he’s not even coming home tonight, Ember. What if he’s out of town entirely for the holiday?”
“Then we’ll wait and find out.”
A scratching noise brought Ember’s attention back to the driver’s side. Alarik held something small and pale in his hand, and he was working it over with his thumbnail.
“What’re you doing, Rik?”
It took him a moment to realize what she was asking. Alarik grinned and showed her his hand. In his palm was a slender stick, glossy smooth except for the edge his fingernail had carved. Fine, white talc powdered his palm. “It’s a soapstone. I’m never without one. Tool of the trade; I use it to mark steel where I need to make a cut or to show where I need to lay a bead. It wipes off easily but doesn’t melt away on hot iron.”
“Mmmkay.” She picked up the slender stick. It felt brittle, at once polished yet soft and m
alleable. She dug her fingernail into the material and drew a line, carving a tiny furrow. The residue on her skin felt like a bar of dry soap. “Is this just a nervous habit you have?”
“I wouldn’t say nervous. Just a habit.” He accepted the soapstone and resumed his absent whittling. “Helps me think, I guess.”
As the sun set, fireworks crackled and boomed in the sky. The vibrant municipal show in the distance at the fairgrounds outcompeted scattered personal displays around the neighborhood. Ember and Alarik watched it all from the front seat of the Super Duty, windows rolled down to let in the warm evening air.
“How long do you want to wait?” Alarik scratched his stubbled chin as he peered at the unlit house two doors down. “I know you’re a skinny little bird, but we just skipped two meals. Plus, I do have work to do in the morning. I’m guessing you do, too?”
Ember looked at the illuminated clock on the dash. “Let’s give it until midnight, yeah?”
“It’s really that important for you to talk to him tonight?”
“I think it might be.” She combed her hair with her fingers and leaned back in the passenger seat. “I’m not excellent at patience, Rik.”
“I’ve noticed. You’re more than a little obsessive, too.”
“I’ve never claimed to be otherwise.”
The clock on the pickup’s dashboard showed 11:36 pm when the light in the garage sprang to life and the overhead door began climbing. A white Jeep turned into the driveway and waited for the garage door to finish its ascent.
Ember sat upright. She hissed, “that’s him. Follow me.”
They hurried along the sidewalk, and across the unkempt lawn. She led the way, with Alarik close behind. Trying to be stealthy in the shadows proved more difficult than she would have guessed, as she tripped and took a tumble on the grass. She landed on her side, the fall cushioned by the lumpy turf. Why didn’t I let him lead? A coyote changeling would have seen better in the dark.
Alarik helped her up, but the commotion hadn’t gone unnoticed.