Got Hope

by Michael Darling

  “Lord Moldyfart?”

  “I don’t like it either. Give me your name and I’ll make fun of that.”

  The mist kept churning. Tendrils of black trailed into the air like wisps of lace. Breathing echoed down the rat pipe. Long moments passed. “It’s just business.”

  “I feel zero percent better.”

  “We have connections to someone you know. Caimiléir.”

  There it was. That name. The blood in my veins turned to ice. Or strawberry-pineapple smoothie. Either way, I felt the shock. Caimiléir was quite possibly the most dangerous man I had ever met. Our previous run-in had nearly killed both of us. However, in exchange for saving his miserable life, he had promised he would cause no harm to come to me or the people I cared about for one hundred years. But here I was in danger again and here was his name. Again.

  “Did Caimiléir tell you to target me?” If he had, he’d broken his promise.

  The voice rumbled. “No. We know about you and Caimiléir. Everything that happened. We tried to contact Caimiléir, but we haven’t heard from him.”

  Neither have I.

  “We needed somewhere for Hope to explode.”

  “You thought it would be spiffy to eliminate me as a favor to your buddy Caimiléir?” I remembered the video with a fake Hope and me. “And somehow frame me for an affair with Hope? Marcus gets what he wants, you get a payoff, have fun like only a Fae can, and the man who probably hates me more than anyone in the world owes you a huge favor. Is that it?”

  The voice tumbled down the pipe. “That was the plan. When it didn’t work, I gave Ciaróg and Feithid permission to eliminate you in their way. Then locate Hope, and kill her.”

  “I see.” The cold shock in my chest was warming, turning dark and red. There had been more than one attempt to harm last night. Hope was in my care. She wouldn’t be a target. Not anymore. “Someone also took a shot at Hope last night, with a gun. Was that you?”

  “Why would we use anything as inelegant as a gun? Is Hope all right?”

  I ignored the voice. It was time to push the conversation in a direction that was helpful to me. “What do you want from me? Why are we even talking?”

  The wind behind the voice sounded weaker. “We have a proposal.”

  “Do you want me to embarrass your thugs again? Put them down for another nap? Done.”

  “Take Hope to the Behindbeyond.”

  “I don’t think so. Hope is safe here.”

  “Is she? Your home is well-guarded, but no place is completely safe. Not from us. We will find a way to reach her. You can’t make her stay there for the rest of her life.”

  The voice had a point. My house was a fortress, but even the city of Troy had fallen eventually. And no one would want to be a prisoner in someone else’s house. Still, by reflex, I remained opposed to anything they wanted just because they wanted it. “Forget it.”

  “Take Hope to the Behindbeyond and we will stop trying to kill her. And you.”

  Unexpected.

  “Place her under your father’s protection. With the Alder King as her guardian, she’ll have a longer and richer life than she’ll ever have in the mortal realm.”

  She’ll still be a prisoner. Just in a different prison.

  “We’ll pay you. Half a million dollars.”

  I felt myself start to burn again. “See? That’s your other mistake. I don’t care about your money. I won’t exile an innocent woman. It’s against everything else that’s important to me.”

  “No one is that innocent.”

  She’d shoplifted water. “Murder and defamation. Two wrongs don’t make a right and more wrongs just make it more wrong. I’m not going to help you.”

  The mist-of-nauseous-foreboding churned the air. It was smart to hide behind the black cloud. I couldn’t get a decent read on the individual speaking through it, which was infuriating.

  The voice down the rat pipe said, “So be it.”

  Yikes. When the Emperor says that, it’s never good for the Skywalker.

  Tweedledumb stepped back to snap his fingers at someone around the wall.

  The rat pipe echoed, “If you’ve developed an appetite over the past few minutes, please join our special guest for lunch.”

  That’s when Hope came around the corner and sat down.

  Chapter Fourteen: Oz, Not Great but Terrible

  Hope smiled. I stared.

  What is she doing here?

  Waiters wearing aprons brought food. The situation felt wrong as wrong could be, like I’d walked onto a stage in the middle of a play and everybody had a script except me. The deal had gone from a negotiation to one completely out of control.

  This is Plan B.

  Whatever was happening was going to be bad. The waiters didn’t seem to pose a threat, going about their work. There were just too many of them. I counted five. The one opposite Hope wasn’t doing anything except watching. The one on the end, over my right shoulder, was Stained. Ribbons of jagged blue swirled around his torso like runes with saw blades. He glanced at me, long enough to meet my eyes, then studiously looked away. He kept his hands behind his back. His lips kept moving, ever so slightly.

  The waiters placed slabs of undercooked meat in front of me and Hope.

  Hope hates red meat.

  The voice said, “Are you sure you won’t eat, Mr. Luck?”

  I ignored the food. It looked like a slice of something that once had fur and a name and collar. I stared at Hope instead. Unease threatened to turn to panic. My heartbeat pounded in my ears. She wore new clothes, not Erin’s altered ones. Her hair was the same style but her makeup was different. It wasn’t the makeup I’d bought her. Her eyes weren’t the same bright shade. Her wrists . . . her wrists?

  What had the voice asked me a minute ago? Thoughts clicked. Mental magnets flipped, aligning north and south poles, drawing themselves together. I jumped to a conclusion because there were very few reasons these people would want Hope and me in the same room. And all the reasons were bad.

  “You need to get out of here,” I told the woman.

  The Hope that wasn’t Hope smiled. “I know. Take me with you.”

  I leaned in, whispered, “Your life is in danger. You need to run.”

  Hope put her hand on my face. “I’m sorry for everything.” She spoke too loudly. The words weren’t her own. She’d been told what to say. “Forgive me and I’ll go with you.”

  I drew back, trying to get a wider view. Movements behind me added to the confusion.

  Strong hands pulled on my chair. Pulled on me.

  A gun appeared in front of me and fired.

  The shot filled my ear with deafening sound. The woman who looked like Hope had time to register a moment of shock as a bullet carved a crimson fountain in the middle of her forehead. Blood erupted from the back of her head as well, decorating the sleeping Marcus.

  In the stunned silence that followed, everything froze in time. Everything and everyone except Hope who was not Hope. She slid sideways, the blood floating, falling.

  I swung around, catching snapshots in my mind.

  Waiters shocked, eyes wide.

  Tweedledumb sneering, unsurprised.

  The last waiter, his hands covering his mouth, fingers leaking blue magic.

  Tweedledumber, holding the gun—wearing my face!—grabbing my shoulder.

  Freeze-time ended as I threw an elbow into Tweedledumber’s nose. It cracked. I brought my fist down on his wrist, no holding back, and it snapped. The gun fell to the floor as he screamed. Blood gushed from both nostrils.

  I called the magic inside me. “Tine!” A stream of orange flame lashed out at Tweedledumb across the room. He recoiled, preparing for pain, but the fire blossomed outward before it hit him.

  He’s warded. Untouchable.

  I threw a second lash at Marcus and the black mist. A sudden wind thundered from the heart of the vapor and pushed my fire away.

  Marcus’s hand rose like a marionette’s and he ga
ve me the sign of the carnivorous bunny. Chomp, chomp, chomp.

  Holy snot and boogers.

  My flame splashed into the tablecloth and it caught instantly, fire reaching toward the ceiling with an intense heat.

  That meat is going to get done.

  An alarm sounded. In a moment, the sprinklers in the ceiling would go off.

  Time to go.

  The waiter with the Stain was frozen in place. His shocked expression hadn’t changed, but his fingers no longer showed signs of magic. Tweedledumber had fallen to the ground between me and the waiter—and between me and my exit. He struggled to get up, gore dribbling down his face. I kicked him in the head and punched him to the ground. Stepping over him, I grabbed the waiter by the neck and shoved him toward the door. He staggered.

  Overhead, the sprinklers popped, unleashing a minor monsoon. I ran into the waiter like a linebacker, bulling him toward the door.

  “Run or burn!” I yelled.

  He made the executive decision to take his business elsewhere and bolted for the exit. He was running, at least, but he was running blind.

  “This way!” I grabbed him, pulling him toward the kitchen. House security would be all over us in a minute and we stood a better chance of escaping down the service elevator. We dashed into the kitchen. Steam hit us in the face from a dozen boiling pots and the air was filled with the aromas of fresh seafood and hot spices. The cooks hollered at each other in Spanish, asking what was happening.

  I’m happening. That’s what.

  I pushed the waiter ahead of me, past a row of freezers, and into the waiting elevator.

  Lucky me.

  I jabbed the button for the ground floor and the doors. Slowly. Rumbled. Closed.

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” The anger in my chest threatened to erupt again.

  “Are they following us?” The waiter’s voice trembled.

  “Are you Fae? Or Halfling?”

  “What?”

  I grabbed him by the shoulders, trying to keep fire out of my hands. “Listen carefully or I will burn you from the inside out and there will be nothing left of you except a dozen charred happy meals. Understand?”

  He nodded.

  “I need to know if you can help us get out of here. Are you Fae? Or Halfling?”

  “Halfling.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Oz.”

  Oz?

  “What kind of magic were you doing?”

  “What—”

  I pushed him against the wall. He banged his head on the edge of the light fixture and part of me was delighted. “Ask me ‘what?’ again, Oz, and you’re literally toast.”

  “I heard you!” His voice went up an octave. “I was trying to ask ‘what do you mean?’ Like, what school of magic? Or single-casting versus channeling? Or what exact spell? You know? What do you mean? Okay?”

  Oh brother.

  I sighed. The elevator was running on sloth power. “What exact spell were you casting? Is that better?”

  “An illusion spell. I make things look like something else.”

  A lot of hazy crap suddenly came into focus. My mind raced ahead. “Can you think of anything that will help us get out of the building?”

  Oz was losing it. His eyes were on me but he wasn’t seeing me. “I can’t believe she’s dead. She’s dead. It’s my fault.” He shut his eyes tight.

  I smacked him in the face. Not nearly as hard as I wanted to. “Come on, Oz. Think on your feet or you’re dead too.” The shock of my slap got his attention and his eyes were wide. “Do you understand?”

  Oz nodded, a quick down-and-up.

  I said, “I’m sorry she’s dead. After we get out of here, we’ll cry together, okay?”

  Oz nodded again.

  I let him go. He looked at the floor while I looked around the elevator. “I could burn that hatch overhead to open it and then lift you up to the roof. But then you’re stuck on the roof and, no offense, I don’t think you’re strong enough to pull me up. Think, Oz. Can you use an illusion spell to get us out of here?”

  The little Halfling met my eyes again, the wheels of his mind starting to turn. Maybe I could help them turn faster. “Can you make us look like different people?” I asked.

  Oz shook his head. “Too complicated because I don’t know you. And I can’t do it to myself.”

  “Well, in about a minute . . .” Why was this cursed elevator so slow? “. . . or an hour, those doors are going to open. If someone’s waiting for us, I’d like it if they didn’t see the two of us standing here like goobers with our hands up and our pants down.”

  “How about the wall?” Oz said. “It’s simple.”

  “You could make us look like the wall?”

  Oz turned around and took a step back. “Yeah. It’s a plain stainless-steel wall.”

  “Okay.” I reconsidered the hatch in the ceiling. We couldn’t both get out that way—but the Tweedles didn’t know that. I whispered “Tine,” and cranked up a long blowtorch out of my fist. It burned through the lock and handle in seconds. I jumped up and punched the door and it flipped open.

  The elevator was finally stopping. I fell against the wall. The iron in the metal buzzed on my bones but I told Oz, “Do it.”

  Oz faced the door and pressed himself against the back of the elevator. Blue power flared at his fingertips as he started to chant.

  The doors trundled open.

  “Is it working?” I hissed.

  Oz didn’t answer. Or couldn’t.

  I guess we’re about to find out.

  I reconnected to my power, just in case.

  Oz’s chanting dwindled to a whisper and I saw a face and a gun. Then another of both. Monkeydogs and piggycats. The Tweedles had come down. I had time to wonder if I should burn them, but they started checking the space.

  Like it was empty.

  I froze. Tweedledumb stepped into the elevator and moved his gun along the same path as his eyes. My stomach felt like it was trying to hide by trading places with my heart. Tweedledumber said, “They’re not here. They must have got off somewhere. Doubled back.”

  Tweedledumb wasn’t convinced. “He’s got Oz with him.”

  “Sure. If there were a couple of guys in here, we’d shoot them no matter what.”

  “What if Oz does other things besides faces?”

  “You ever see him do something else?”

  “Doesn’t mean he can’t.”

  If they guess our strategy . . .

  “Fine. If there was a couple of potted palms, we’d shoot them too.”

  I felt the need to cover Oz somehow. I raised my arm slowly and started to creep in front of him, hoping I wasn’t mucking up the illusion. I heard him whisper, “Don’t.” I stopped.

  Tweedledumber stared at Tweedledumb. Finally, he raised his pistol and shot blind into the elevator. Bam, bam, bam.

  The sound was like three sticks of dynamite echoing against the walls. Oz jumped next to me but didn’t yell, which was miraculous.

  “You happy now?”

  Dumb looked at Dumber, then around the elevator. He looked up and swore.

  “They burned the hatch.”

  Dumber looked too. “They must be upstairs.”

  Took you long enough.

  The bug brothers sprinted down the hall, trailing curses in multiple languages.

  I elbowed Oz and we quick-toed out of the elevator, which was like tip-toeing, only fast. I guided Oz against the wall. My arm was going to have a new bruise where Dumber had shot me.

  “Did he hit you?”

  Oz shook his head. “I thought he did but I didn’t feel anything.” The blue glow emanating from his hands grew dull, shrank, flickered out, like a candle flame deprived of oxygen. “Oh no. My power is gone. I used it all,” he said. He wrapped his arms around his stomach like he had a cramp.

  “You did great,” I said.

  If we need another illusion, we’re screwed.

  I rubbed hard on the s
oreness of my arm.

  Oz saw me rubbing and figured it out. “The bullet bounced off you. How?”

  “Living in the mortal realm, doing what I do, I’ve picked up some things. I always carry a magical shield to protect me from guns and knives and old ladies with baseball bats.”

  Oz nodded. “What’s a baseball bat?”

  “It’s like a cricket bat on weight watchers.”

  “What?”

  “Forget it. Let’s get out of here. If we don’t get shot, you can have a shield too.”

  It felt like my car was ten miles away, and if we ran into anyone else wanting to shoot us, Oz was going to be zero help. Thinking about it made my gut ache worse.

  We edged up to the end of the hallway. Around the corner, I saw the lobby.

  We’d never make it out the front. There were security guards and a police car with flashing lights. It wasn’t evening yet, but the sky had darkened with disconsolate clouds pushing shadows. I assessed our lousy options. We were on the north side, where the utilities and maintenance were located. That area wouldn’t be open to the public but might not have security cameras either. I scanned the wall.

  On the other side of a large potted tree, I spied a gray metal door. It was unmarked and had a heavy handle and an imposing lock.

  I felt the need to impose.

  I nudged Oz and pointed. “We’ll try getting out through that door.”

  Oz didn’t respond. Tears streamed down his face and it looked like it was all he could do to keep from sobbing. He stared over my shoulder at the lobby and I followed his gaze.

  The paramedics had arrived with a gurney.

  Chapter Fifteen: Sarah, and Despair

  The paramedics were here already to get the fake Hope’s body. I felt terrible for Oz, but we were so far from being out of the woods. I tried a softer approach. “I know what you’re going through, Oz. This is a bad moment. But we need to concentrate on getting out of here, okay? We don’t want to end up like her.”

  It took a second or two that felt like slow elevator seconds, but Oz nodded with that quick down-and-up.