“Let me guess,” I said. “There were unhappy campers.”
Erin nodded, looking for words in the depths of her glass. “The leaders were Halflings, hungry for power. They thought Halfling blood strengthened the Fae stock, so they should have more of a say among the ruling councils. Many of the Eternals agreed with them on principle.”
“Junkyard mutts are tougher than purebreds.”
“Right. Mating with mortals kept the Fae from extinction but they created another problem by breeding without educating their mates or their children. Just having offspring without thinking about how to raise them. Without teaching them about magic or the society they’d been born into. Then the Halflings realized they outnumbered the Eternals, and everything turned. Kidnappings. Assassinations. Then the murderers were found dead and the other Dubhcridhe sent out rumors that they’d been killed by Eternals to silence them. That may have been true but it could also have been the Dubhcridhe leadership themselves.
“Each kingdom tried to find the cultists and root them out. Your father assigned squads of soldiers to hunt them and the Halflings were often found dead. They always traveled in small groups and if they were caught, they killed each other and the Eternals were blamed.”
Things must have gotten personal. “Erin, I’m so sorry.”
She continued in measured, sonorous tones like the footfalls of a person walking a slow dog. “The Halflings got support for their cause. It was like the French Revolution in the mortal realm, but with magic and escalating deception. Hundreds of Eternals were killed in raids, especially the ones with limited powers, trying to escape the cities. My mother was killed in her own house, protecting people who were too old to run. The whole Behindbeyond was decimated in what amounted to a civil war, instigated by the Dubhcridhe. The Cult of the Blackened Heart.
“Every death was a tragedy. But, of course, I felt the loss of my mother most.”
Touching Erin’s shoulder, I wanted to remove the pain she was reliving. She fell against me. The room held its breath, respecting her sorrow, while I got lost in my thoughts and lost in thoughts about her.
“Your father stopped them.” I almost didn’t hear what she said.
“He did? How’d he do that?”
“Nobody knows. There was a moment when the threat had reached its peak and in the next moment, the Dubhcridhe vanished. It frightened everyone and the few who dared ask the king what happened were ignored. It took a toll on him. But it’s one of the reasons your father’s held onto power so effectively. What’s known about him is less that what isn’t known and everyone fears to cross him.”
“Great. My dad’s a cross between a birthday party magician and the Sicilian Mafia.”
“Only not as cuddly.”
I smiled, then snickered so she’d know I’d heard her. “We need to find out if the Dubhcridhe have come back,” I replied. “Or if someone just wants us to think they have.”
“Your shoes are wet.”
“That absolutely wins the award for the best non-sequitur of the day.” She’d been looking down at the floor for so long, she’d noticed my sopping footwear. “Not only that, you found out my secret.” In a deep, gravelly voice, I said, “I’m Duckman.”
“Duckman?”
“When I was a child, I was playing hide-and-seek with the girl from the estate next door and fell down a well into a hidden cave full of ducks.”
“That’s Batman.”
“Now I’m faster than a migrating goose, more powerful than a loco chicken, and able to leap tall puddles in a single bound.”
“That’s Superman. How are puddles tall?”
“Don’t tell anyone, but my secret identity is Quack Kent.”
“That one, I believe.”
I got off the sofa. “I’ll squelch my way out. Are you going to be all right?”
“I’ll be fine. Let me go out with you and I’ll dry your shoes.”
“What new miracle is this?”
“Magic with water is my thing, remember?”
I followed Erin around the side of the house where we couldn’t be seen. Erin pointed to a spot on the grass and I stood where she directed.
“I’m a lot faster than a clothes dryer,” she said. “But a lot more expensive.”
“Worth it.”
With a soft song, Erin moved her hands in the air over my shoes and the legs of my pants. A shimmering blue light wavered at the surface of her skin. The magic pulled the excess water out of my pants and my socks and my shoes. It emerged in droplets and came together in a ball of water that floated in the air between her fingers. She guided the water to a bed of flowers and let the water go gradually. It sprinkled in thin rivulets over the blossoms.
“That was awesome.”
“You helped me water my dianthus.”
“Last time I watered the dianthus outside somebody’s house, I got served with a restraining order.”
Finally, I saw a crack in Erin’s melancholy as she gave me a legitimate smile.
“Are you going to be all right?”
“You asked me that already. I’ll distract myself by making dinner.” She shrugged.
“Okay. I appreciate your help. Medical. Historical. Aquatical.”
“Aquatical isn’t a word.”
“I know. And puddles aren’t tall. But I can still leap them in a single bound.”
Erin slid her arms around me. “Yes you can, Got. Like no one else.”
I hugged her in return and didn’t want to let her go. But I did. We came around the corner and I saw a shadow on the driveway. Heartrate shifted to panic mode.
I said, “I’m sure Max will want to put some dianthus in our yard. I’ll have him call you.”
“What?” Erin replied.
“Oh. Hey Blake.” I waved at Blake, who was standing with his arms folded, staring at Erin and me. Be calm. I looked back at Erin. “I said Max will want to put some dianthus like yours in our yard. He’ll call you.”
“Oh. Okay.” Erin caught what I was trying to do.
“And my client will be very interested in anything else you can find out about that bug.”
Blake drilled me with his eyes. There was enough heat in his gaze to melt steel. I’d never heard of Blake getting abusive and the last thing I wanted to do was tick him off or make life rough for Erin. I’d given Erin some conversational ammunition at least to deflect any concerns Blake might have. I hoped he’d believe I’d brought the bug on behalf of a client and we happened to start talking horticulture.
One thing was clear. Staying would make everything worse.
“You guys have a nice night.” I got in my car and drove away, enjoying the feeling of a bugless back.
Once out of Erin’s neighborhood, I called Nat. “How’s the game?”
“Second half.”
“Dolphins winning?”
“So far.”
“Sweet. Be there in a few.”
The lights from the stadium beckoned in the distance. Driving toward the shimmering sky, I hummed Eddie Money’s “Two Tickets to Paradise.”
Chapter Nine: Games
My pass waited at the V.I.P. entrance and I strolled in like I owned the place. Or at least a seat in the lower bowl off the northeast corner of the end zone. The seat was lousy but still worth many pennies and sitting sounded like a great idea. With my morning tour to the Behindbeyond and my afternoon excursion to the Everglades, I was exhausted. A thirty-hour day would do that, and it wasn’t close to being over.
The Dolphins were up ten points and the crowd was loud. The air hummed with voices fueled by testosterone, beer, and the subconscious desire for a victory that would validate the hundreds of dollars spent to be present for it.
Walking along the concourse was eerily like walking up the ramp in my father’s castle leading to the chamber of the condemned. The circular arena had a similar feel, only on a grander scale and the judgment and condemnation were more sportsmanlike.
Dismissing phantom memories fr
om my overtaxed mind, I stopped at the top of the concourse and there, I found Hope.
She cheered from the near end of her group and I realized my ticket put me as close to her as possible. An usher came over and asked if I needed help. I showed her my pass and she said I had full access so I went down to the field. Who needs to sit in a seat? Not me.
Hope was a natural performer. Every cheerleader had a suitably toothy smile and enough energy to power a small municipality, but Hope didn’t even have to try. It wasn’t clear how dozens of girls in skimpy outfits waving pompoms and dancing were supposed to help a sports team win a game. I was equally fuzzy on sports anyway since I’d never been allowed to play as a kid. Football was a culturally acceptable euphemism for war and I was glad that, mostly, the warriors went home in one piece when it was over. I did like to watch our guys play, even if my personal identity didn’t hinge on whether the Dolphins won or lost. There were athletes I admired, mostly for using their wealth and influence to help the sick or less fortunate.
I walked out onto the field, deep thoughts notwithstanding, and I had to admit, it felt cool. The cheerleaders started another routine which consisted primarily of shaking their backsides and then looking over their shoulders like they were trying to catch people noticing. Hope danced smoothly, flinging her hair and whipping her pompoms with precision. She had covered her wounded wrist with a pale blue sweatband but if her injury was bothering her, it didn’t show. She was in her element, doing what she was born to do, like Picasso in the middle of a painting or Pavarotti in the middle of an aria. If those comparisons were ridiculous, on some level, they were nevertheless accurate. We are all given different talents in life, and Hope had everything she needed to be artful instead of artificial doing this.
She saw me, about twenty yards away. I think she tried to wink at me, but it looked more like a quick wrinkling of her nose. Her talents didn’t extend to perfect facial gestures then. Not the worst shortcoming.
Spectators were also fun to watch, focused on the contest in the middle of the field, on their food, or on talking. I didn’t see Nat but I didn’t expect to. We’d discussed the people threatening Hope and what they might be capable of but I hadn’t given him details. Hope would be safe out on the field and I knew Nat was nearby, doing whatever would be most useful.
Hope’s husband had a suite. The stadium had 216 of them and Hope told me that his was on the opposite side of the field over the spot where his new cheerleader girlfriend performed. Hope used to cheer on the southwest corner, but with the divorce she’d arranged to work as far away from her former spot as she could get.
Nobody was going to tell Marcus he had to pick a different suite.
With my enhanced sight, I could see Hope’s husband from where I stood if I tried.
I tried. He was Stained.
Strolling down the side of the field toward the fifty-yard line gave me a better angle since the suite was closer to the end zone than the curve of the corner. My stomach started tying fresh knots. I was accustomed to seeing Stains on certain people like Erin. I saw Stain on everybody in the Behindbeyond, but in the mortal realm and on a mortal person, it was a shock. A human with a Stain was never a good thing, as I’d learned with Blake. Mentally shaking myself by the scruff of my neck, I focused on the people in the suite. None of them were Tweedles. Instead, two adults and a younger man.
Before we’d left the house to run the Indy 500 with Nat, I’d grilled Hope about what to expect at the game. She’d told me her husband’s latest conquest had been born to a Puerto-Rican father and a Filipino mother. They had to be the couple in the suite. Below them, on the field, was a pretty cheerleader with flawless skin and her mother’s cheekbones who looked like the older sister to the young man in the suite. Pigeons slotted into their holes. Score a field goal for the private detective. They smiled and chatted and ate sandwiches that looked delicious. I remembered I hadn’t eaten anything since this morning. My stomach snarled around the knots and I’d be content at this point with grubs and berries.
A sudden motion. A flash of white and blue and metallic light heading toward Hope. I woke my power without thinking, ready to burn. Fear bloomed in my chest, tinged with anger. I looked for a target and discovered the Bills’ quarterback had thrown a pass high out of bounds. The receiver had lost track of the sideline and thundered into the crowd, which parted to let him run blind into the cheerleaders. Most of the women stepped out of his way, but Hope was waving to the crowd, unaware. I yelled her name. She turned and saw the ball and the running back converging on her.
Instinct kicked in. She stepped back and caught the ball between her pompoms, then straight-armed the stumbling running back, Heisman-style, and shoved him down.
Hope was not only ready to be a football player but a bullfighter too. Olé.
To be fair, the receiver was falling already. Hope just gave him some help. But those who saw what happened leapt to their feet like she’d made an actual interception instead of avoiding personal injury. The spectators in front of Hope cheered and gave each other high-fives. The receiver got up and trotted back to the huddle, shaking his head and pulling chunks of grass out of his face mask. When the instant replay appeared on the screens, everybody who hadn’t seen the excitement stood and cheered. A cameraman zoomed in on Hope and her sorority sisters who were laughing and touching Hope on the shoulder. Hope held the ball in air with one hand while she waved at the crowd. She turned and tried to find someone to give the ball to, but there was no referee or sideline staff nearby so she shrugged and blushed and got more laughs.
Seeing Hope going about her day as if nothing had happened was perfect. As if there hadn’t been a bomb. Coming to the game had been a good decision.
Marcus and his guests were paying attention to the action on the field as well. Marcus had a pair of binoculars, and he zeroed in on Hope from the other side of the stadium. If he was smart, he’d drop his suit against Hope. She was about to become a celebrity. The clip of her catching the football and knocking the player down was going to be on every sports highlight show in the country and there would be millions of views on YouTube within the week. The Dolphins organization would never consider firing Hope now.
Take that, Marcus.
The Bills, looking at fourth and long, punted. The ball sailed just behind the ten-yard line and the Dolphins special teams got a respectable run, getting stopped at their own thirty. The game returned to its usual level of chaos and noise.
Hope looked in my direction, returning to her own chaos and noise. I gave her a thumbs-up and she smiled and shrugged as if saying, “Reflexes. What can ya do?”
The Dolphins marched down the field and scored to increase their lead. The Bills got the ball with four seconds left in the game. They played safe with a hand-off that gained them only two yards before time expired.
The cheerleaders lined up and filed off the field and Hope gave me a head nod to indicate I should follow.
In the tunnel, I said, “Nice catch.”
“That was fun!”
“You could have a second career as a wide receiver or defensive end. Your pick.”
“I know! That ball come down hard and I thought it would hurt. But I hardly felt a thing! And when I hit that guy, it didn’t hurt either!”
That would be the enchanted shield coin at work.
I changed the subject. “Did you see your father?”
“At halftime. He’ll be in one of the V.I.P. rooms right now. Come meet him.”
“Okay. I’m starving. People were eating empanadas and croquetas. Can we get those?”
Hope smiled. “Got ya covered, Got.” I followed Hope down a quiet hallway. We stopped at a plain metal door with no number over it. Inside there was a small reception room with a giant television screen and tables with chairs. Along the wall stood a popcorn maker and a shave ice machine and a dozen steaming trays piled high with hot food, including empanadas. My stomach loudly said hola.
Several veterans and th
eir caregivers had arrived already. I looked to Hope for a cue but she didn’t pay special attention to anyone. People expressed their thanks and I guessed Hope had something to do with arranging their tickets as well as mine and Nat’s. She told them she was happy to help.
The door opened again and a man rolled through in a wheelchair, his caregiver pushing. He had a mane of silver hair and his smile was a manlier version of Hope’s. His legs had both been amputated below the knee.
“Daddy!” Hope slipped her arms around his shoulders.
“Hello, young lady,” he said. He patted her arm, his voice a rugged bass that rumbled.
“Did you see me catch the ball, daddy?”
He nodded and smiled and I realized he didn’t really know what she was talking about.
To Hope, it didn’t matter. “It was so much fun. I’m so glad you’re here.” She motioned me over.
He shook my hand. There was the strength of a vibrant past still lingering in his grip.
“Daddy, this is Goethe. We call him Got. And this is my daddy, James Gallatin.”
“It’s a pleasure, sir.”
“Got’s a private investigator. He’s going to dig up some dirt for me.” Hope looked at me. “Is it all right for me to say that?”
“Sure. Dirt-digging is my specialty. There’s a whole chapter on it in the book Private Investigating for Dummies. I read that chapter twice.”
Hope smiled at her dad. “Got’s a comedian too.”
James didn’t get the jokes, but he was kind enough to smile.
For the next twenty minutes, Hope gave her father the full measure of her attention, prompting him to tell stories from his younger days. My stomach posted growly reminders that it was empty but it would be rude to step away. She was so attentive and his stories made her laugh. I’d be lucky one day to have a daughter half as devoted as Hope. Finally, the caregivers started wheeling the veterans out. It seemed their bus would be leaving in a few minutes. Hope gave her dad another hug.
“I’ll see you soon, daddy. Love you.”
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