Changeling Justice

by Frank Hurt

  “You said you and Rik left the Schmitt Farm and went straight to Duncan’s house.” Wallace anxiously tapped his fingernail the receiver of his phone. “How did you slip away unnoticed from the spy? From that changeling vulture you said was watching you at the farm?”

  Ember’s blood grew cold with realization. Her mouth opened slowly. “Oh bollocks, Wallace.”

  “What?” His voice went up an octave. “What?”

  “I…we…I forgot about the spy altogether.”

  “You what?”

  “I was just so…so fixated. On the lead. On the possible break in the case.” Ember’s voice wavered. She held her forehead in her hand. “I forgot about him.”

  “Do you know what you’ve just done, Ember? You’ve connected Duncan to the Schmitt family. To yourself. You blew your cover.” Wallace’s voice sounded strange.

  Ember felt the room spin around her. “But I…we closed the garage door before we talked to Duncan. We…they haven’t…nobody has come by to arrest me, to pick me up. It’s been two days, if they knew, then why haven’t they—”

  “They may be planning, Ember. They may be waiting for you to be alone, to pick you up when you’re away from your apartment. They might be waiting to see who is working with you.”

  “How could I have been so bloody stupid!”

  “You were thinking with your heart, not your head.” Her former partner sounded anxious, but if he was panicked, he wasn’t letting her know that. “Do you have somewhere safe you can retreat to? Until I can get you out of there?”

  “I’ve got Rik with me now. Here. In my apartment.”

  “That might be the safest place for you to be right now. They will doubtless wait for you to leave so they can make their move. I’ll see if we have any assets in the colony I can trust. It might take a day or two to extract you.”

  Assets. Extract. Wallace’s choice of words, his veneer of calm over suppressed anxiety. Ember felt the walls crumble around her as she imagined being whisked away.

  “What about the Schmitt family?” Ember’s tremulous voice whispered. “What about Rik? What about Anna?”

  Staccato percussion vibrated across the phone line from England as the man thrummed his fingertips against the phone. “Right now, let’s just worry about keeping you alive.”

  “I’m…I’m so, so sorry, Wallace.” Her eyes burned. “I was just following my instincts like you always told me to.”

  “Maybe I was wrong to tell you that. Just as it was wrong for me to send you solo into the unknown. It was wrong for me to let you stay there when we discovered just how dangerous it was. You’re not the only one who’s bloody well messed things up.”

  When the call was over, Ember sat hunched on the edge of her bed, holding her head in her hands as she felt tears form. When she looked up, she saw Alarik standing in the doorway, watching her, worrying a stick of soapstone in his hand.

  “I didn’t mean to listen in.” Alarik rubbed his stubbled jaw with the talc stick. “It sounds like things have gone pear-shaped.”

  Ember sniffled, then glanced away. She looked back at him and slowly nodded as her emotions boiled to the surface. “I cocked up, Rik. I cocked up bad.”

  Alarik wordlessly sat down on the chair next to the bed.

  They sat in silence for the next twenty minutes, alone in their respective thoughts.

  The doorbell startled them both back to the present.

  He leaned forward and hissed through clenched teeth. “It’s not Anna. She’s not coming back ‘til tomorrow morning.”

  Ember blinked wide-eyed at Alarik as the doorbell rang again. She exhaled. “They’ve come for me.”

  28

  It’s an Acquired Taste

  Ember watched from her bedroom as Alarik approached the front door.

  The doorbell rang a third time.

  Lacking a proper kitchen knife set in the spartan apartment, Alarik dropped his soapstone and picked up a paring knife from the dish rack. He gripped the tiny blade tightly in his right hand as he peered through the door’s peephole. It would have been almost comical if the situation was otherwise.

  She tried to summon her mana, to prepare a containment net for the intruder. Ember was so weakened, so discharged of energy that she could scarcely gather a faint glow within her core. Even that minimal effort made her feel faint. She was helpless in contributing to her own defense.

  Alarik retracted from the door. “It’s just a deliveryman.” He unlocked the deadbolt and knob.

  “Wait, I didn’t order anything.” Ember felt a wave of fear as the door swung open.

  A man in a brown uniform and matching cargo shorts stood in the hallway, holding a cardboard box. “Oh good, you are home. I’m glad I didn’t have to lug this thing back downstairs. I just need your signature.” He produced a handheld computer from its holster on his hip, scanned the package’s barcode, and handed a stylus to Alarik.

  Alarik held the door open with his left hand and reached for the stylus. He still held the paring knife. “Oh, sorry. I was…just making supper.” He tucked the knife in the back pocket of his jeans.

  While he scrawled a signature, the deliveryman rocked on his heels, still holding the box. “I deliver packages to your next-door neighbor all the time. They’ve given us blanket permission to leave them without having to sign. If you’re ever interested in that, just go on our website and set up an account.”

  “Thanks,” Alarik murmured as he exchanged the stylus for the box. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “You have a good day now.”

  The door closed and deadbolt latched, Alarik sat the mid-sized box down on the kitchen counter. He sniffed the package as he read its label. “It’s from the U.K. From, um…Wor…Worsess—”

  “Worcestershire.” She sighed as the pendulum of emotions swung from dread to cheerful anticipation. “It completely slipped my mind. I know exactly what this is. It’s a care package from Mum.”

  Ember reached her hand into Alarik’s back pocket and retrieved the paring knife, which she used to slice into the box. She ripped the packing tape loose, tearing noisily through the corrugated cardboard. “You, my chap, are in for a real treat. Have you ever tasted the jam of the gods? No? Well, step right up, mister.”

  She tucked into a box of crackers from the cupboard and selected a happy, rotund jar from the box. It was identical to the ten others within the shipment, but she christened it as special, for its new role in satisfying her fix. A handwritten note was included, but that could wait.

  When she opened the jar, Ember used the yellow, plastic lid to waft the familiar soy aroma into her nostrils. She closed her eyes and shuddered in an ecstasy that was only partially embellished. “Nothing rivals a fresh jar of scrummy Marmite.”

  “I can think of a few things that might.” Her skeptical companion scrunched his nose.

  Ember slathered a healthy layer of the deep brown, sticky paste onto two crackers, offering one to Alarik. She tapped her cracker as a toast to his as he squinted, unconvinced of what he was about to taste.

  That first bite was every bit the treat she knew it would be. Her eyes rolled up and she moaned, chewing slowly to savor the salty brewer’s yeast. The first taste was meant to be savored; there would be unladylike gorging later when she had no witnesses. Ember held her eyelids half closed, caught in the hedonistic dream. She chewed purposefully and watched the initiate sitting across from her.

  Alarik was chewing slowly as well, but his expression couldn’t have been more unlike hers. His whole face was fixed in a grimaced expression. He swallowed, then at once went for the kitchen sink. Two glasses of water later, he sputtered, “That has got to be the nastiest thing I’ve tasted in my life. How can you eat that stuff? I mean, seriously, have you no taste buds?”

  Ember grinned with blackened teeth. “It’s good for you! Packed with Vitamin B12 and folic acid. I suppose it’s an acquired taste.”

  “Acquired taste?” Alarik refilled his glass beneath
the faucet. “No, beer is an acquired taste. Coffee is an acquired taste. Punching yourself in the face could be an acquired taste. This…this stuff is on a whole ‘nother level. If we fed this to Lucky, the first thing she would do is lick her butt, just to get the flavor of this out of her mouth.”

  “Rik! Really!” Ember threw the yellow Marmite lid at him. It hit the edge of the countertop instead and fell to the floor with a clatter. “Speaking of a foul mouth!”

  He shook his head and smirked. “Great, now the cover is dirty. Maybe it will improve the taste somehow.”

  “I won’t need the lid anyway. This jar might not make it through the night. I just wish Mummy would have sent me more than ten.”

  “Seriously?” The man pointed accusingly at the opened box. “This right here is a lifetime supply. For a small army. Preferably an enemy army.”

  Ember shrugged and dipped a fresh cracker into the jar. “Not everyone is equipped to handle high culture, I guess. Your loss.”

  “High culture? If we go digging through the expired take-out boxes in your fridge, I’ll bet we could find more high culture in the form of mold. I might even be tempted to eat that to help me forget the Marmite.”

  “Poor Rik. Too bad Lucky’s not here. Then maybe you’d have another palate-cleansing option.”

  When evening arrived, Ember asked Alarik if he would stay the night. She was still feeling weak and his presence was reassuring. She was relieved when he accepted.

  He slept on the couch while Ember sat at the kitchen table with her laptop computer. A pad of paper was covered with scribbled notes, cracker crumbs, and smudges of Marmite. She fixated on the glowing screen, following a series of internet searches for the two names she had obtained from Duncan. Her obsessiveness kept her up through the night, plotting her destinations on the North Dakota state highway map.

  “I need to borrow your pickup, please.” She made the request to a blustery-eyed Alarik. He had been sleeping.

  He sat up on the couch, blinking as he looked at his watch. “It’s not even four in the morning. Why aren’t you asleep?”

  “I’ve been up all night.” Ember gripped the legal pad as she paced back and forth in front of the sofa. “I’ve been doing some digging online. Tracking down the names Duncan gave us.”

  “Huh? Ember, Duncan never told you any names. I was there, remember?”

  “Right. No, he did, Rik.” Ember tapped the paper for punctuation. “You just mustn’t have heard it because I was inside the tent.”

  “Okay, now you’re making even less sense.” He glanced at the partially-consumed jar on the table. “How much of that shit did you eat? Is this what an overdose looks like?”

  “Don’t be silly. I know how this sounds, but he did talk to me.” Ember pointed at the names on her notepad. “Dominic Hershel. Born in 1966. That would make him…43 now. He lives on a farm near Mott, in the southwest part of the state.”

  Alarik squinted and scratched his scalp. “Dominic Hershel? I don’t—”

  “The girl who was with him, she’s Katrina Berg. Best I can find, she’s about 32 years old. She went to North Dakota State University. Geology Department. Lives in Pembina, which is northeast of here, right at the Canada border.”

  “I know where Pembina is, sure. But why do you—”

  “The towns are on opposite ends of the state, but I think I can visit both places today. I just know they will have some clues. Duncan told me they knew about the fog. A lot about it, he said.” She continued pacing. “It’ll be a long day, to be sure. I’ll need to leave soon. That’s why I woke you up.”

  “Ember, you want me to drive you to Pembina? Now?”

  “No, I’ll get there myself. I’ve thought about it, and I think that would be safer. If they come after me, they might still think I’m operating alone—after all, you’re officially my boyfriend. So, it won’t raise any suspicions that you’ve been visiting me. I can’t let them think you’re a part of this.”

  Alarik rubbed his eyes and yawned. “Ember, if that buzzard did follow us to the Senior Investigator’s house, he saw us together. They already know that I’m a part of this. Whoever ‘they’ are.”

  “My mistakes have already put you and your family in danger, Rik.” Ember cast her gaze to her notes. “You still have some deniability, if they do question you. If I tell you more or get you even more involved by talking to witnesses then—”

  “Then what? They’re going to throw me in prison? For what, exactly?”

  Ember shook her head slowly and looked pointedly at his sleepy, umber eyes. “Not prison, Rik. These people might kill you. And not just you, but Anna, too. Probably Arnie. Maybe more.”

  Alarik swallowed. “Damn. That took the wind right outta me.”

  “You see? If I take your vehicle, if I do get caught you can just say I stole your keys, or that I borrowed it but didn’t tell you where I was going.”

  “What will they do with you?” Alarik was morose. “If you get caught, what will happen to you?”

  Ember took a deep breath, then sat down hard on the couch next to him. She chewed on her lower lip. The silence answered for her.

  He studied Ember. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “I don’t want to. I have to.”

  “Then we’ll distract them.” Alarik murmured. “I’ll call Anna and have her park at St. Leo’s. I’ll make a show of leaving here, and you can go through the tunnel and take her car. She can walk to the coffee shop down the street, and I’ll pick her up there.”

  “Brilliant. They would think I was still in my apartment, sick.” Ember ruminated on the proposal. “I’ll close the curtains, keep a light on and the TV blaring. Even if they break in, they won’t know where I went.”

  “We’ll stay in Minot until you get back.” Alarik scratched his stubbled chin. “I want you to call me, give me updates. With that other phone of yours. The one they don’t know about.”

  “That’s really not necessary—”

  “That’s the deal, Ember. Non-negotiable.” He crossed his arms. “I need to know you’re safe. This works both ways, you know.”

  Ember paused as she considered his demand. “Then I’ll be calling you from the road. We should probably get started. We’re burning daylight.”

  29

  Herman, We Have a Visitor

  The terrain was almost perfectly flat in all directions in the Red River Valley, creating few obstacles for I-29 to weave around. Trees grew taller here in the rich soil and were much more plentiful than their cousins in the western half of the state. The sprawling farms were populated more with sunflowers, potatoes, and sugar beets, with far fewer cattle operations.

  The border town of Pembina arrived like a mirage on the windswept northern plains. As Ember turned off Exit 215, a wheat-colored tower lined up with her view. The black letters on the side of the building proclaimed, in all caps, “PEMBINA STATE MUSEUM.”

  She flipped open her burner phone and hit the first number in her contacts list. It rang once.

  “It’s me. I’m just turning in to Pembina.”

  “What took so long? It should have only taken four hours.”

  “Oh, I had to stop a couple hours back.” Ember looked both ways before she accelerated onto Stutsman Street. “There’s a pleasant rest area outside of Demon Lake. Brilliant location, so said my bladder.”

  “Devils Lake,” Alarik corrected. “I know where that rest stop is. The deal was that you would call before you stop anywhere. Anytime you leave the car.”

  “It was just a quick stop.”

  “Every time you leave the car. No exceptions.”

  “Yes, Father.” She peered through the side window, trying to read the street signs as she slowed the car. “No, I’m sorry. No, you’re right, Rik. I’ll not take any chances. I’ll call you after I leave Pembina. I’ll need to stop for petrol before I return, anyway. There’s a fill station right at the exit I just left.”

  “All right. We’re standing by.
Good luck with your interview. I hope this Katrina lady is helpful.”

  She flipped the phone shut and dropped it back into the open maw of her purse. The borrowed Ford Taurus idled down Second Street until she found the house she was looking for. She parked in front, then glanced over her notes to verify she had the right address.

  The lot which hosted the petite, cream-colored house was well taken care of. Along the boulevard, a row of mature ash tucked their toes beneath a carpet of manicured turf, their branches creaking and groaning as they resisted the northwest winds. Songbirds chirped happily throughout the canopy, flitting overhead as they paid little attention to the blonde woman below.

  There was no answer at the door. “Come on Katrina, don’t tell me you’re at work.” Ember murmured as she stepped back from the front steps. An oblong pot of marigolds hung from an open window’s sill, the vibrant flowers’ aroma teasing her nostrils. She leaned against the black, iron railing while she scanned the neighborhood. The quiet town was a hardwood forest with large lots and wide spaces between residences, and very little traffic. A dog barked somewhere down the street, answered shortly by the howl of a hound a block away.

  She would need to camp out in front of the house and wait for the woman to return home. Before she returned to the sedan, she walked a circuit around the house. Her feet sunk into the plush lawn, leaving evidence of her trail as she walked. Ember felt a little guilty for her trespass, given how much the homeowners obviously cared for their yard.

  As she stepped around the corner, she saw a woman crouching in a nascent vegetable garden. Ember’s heart rate increased for a moment until the woman sat up and held the small of her back, stretching.

  The gardener was an elderly woman, wrinkled and grey beneath the broad, straw sun hat. She squinted against the bright afternoon sun and called out. “Herman, we have a visitor.”

  Ember noticed the old man before he computed his wife’s announcement. He was trimming an arborvitae bush with hand clippers. His faded denim bib overalls were rolled up at his ankles, and he walked with a stoop.