Got Hope

by Michael Darling

  I watched a red SUV drive past the “Do Not Enter—Construction” gate.

  “On your toes, everyone. This could be it.”

  We waited. My pulse hammered harder in my chest and head, anticipating what needed to happen. Feeling the momentum of events converging now. Two figures got out of the SUV.

  “One’s a woman,” Erin said.

  Garbage.

  That meant we might need Erin for our plan. I was hoping she’d be able to stay here where it was safe. Erin took photos as the pair went inside.

  “Okay.” I took a deep breath. “Remember, Bromach will blink us over to a dark corner.”

  “I don’t blink,” Bromach said. “I shift.”

  Fine. “Bromach will shift us over. Oz will hide us behind an illusion. We’ll study them in case we need to impersonate them later. We’ll find out what we can and if things go wrong, Bromach will get us out of there. Remember that the illusion doesn’t keep sound in. Don’t talk. Or sneeze. Okay?”

  Everyone nodded. I had purchased a briefcase that matched the one Marcus had used at the bank as closely as I could find, and I picked it up. It was full of plain paper. We watched as the new players walked up the side stairway and found Marcus. I said, “Let’s go.”

  Shift.

  Nope. Hate it.

  Blink.

  There we go.

  Bromach put us in the room adjacent to Marcus and his guests. We froze while Oz started his spell. When he motioned us forward, I went to the doorway with Erin beside me.

  It felt so wrong to be looking at Marcus in what should be plain sight. The light hit my shoes and faded as it went up my pants and shirt. I felt exposed, yet nobody looked my way.

  Marcus was doing his greasy cat routine. “So good to finally meet you. Thank you for coming all the way down from Boston.” He reached out to shake the man’s hand, but it was the woman who responded.

  “The boss sends his regards.” She shook hands with Marcus. “But I’m glad to be here.”

  Marcus was caught in a social faux pas, assuming not only that the boss had made the trip but also that the man was in charge. His recovery was relatively smooth. “Even better, Aoife. Even better.”

  The woman was as tall as Erin, with auburn hair and a nose that had been broken once and set imperfectly. She had green eyes and an Irish lilt to her voice, and I imagined Marcus found it more than a little appealing, which would be why the boss had sent her.

  “You have no concerns about the situation, then?” Aoife asked. “Hope’s body is unfortunately not recoverable.”

  “No concerns at all.” Marcus swept his hands out to his sides. “That idiot investigator Luck did you a favor. He tried to run me down last night—almost killed me—screaming about how Hope was dead and it was all my fault. Why would he do that if he wasn’t sure?”

  Aoife scanned Marcus’s face as he spoke. She assessed everything Marcus said and did before she replied. “Good. Glad to hear it.”

  “Since Luck can’t prove Hope’s alive now, we should release the video of him killing her. I would dearly love to see that jackass in prison.”

  Aoife paused again. “We’ll take action when the time is right. You have the money?”

  Marcus nodded magnanimously, not pushing on the issue of getting me arrested. “Of course. The money’s right here.” His bodyguard had the briefcase. Marcus took it and held it so Aoife could lift the lid and look inside. Marcus cleared his throat. “There’s five-hundred-thousand dollars in cash and one-thousand, four-hundred fifty cashier’s checks, each for ten-thousand dollars. The total is fifteen million. As promised.”

  Aoife fingered the stacks, checking them while Marcus waited. He looked at the stacks and then back to Aoife with a stupid half-grin like he was waiting for approval. Or a doggie biscuit. If he’d been born with a tail, it would be wagging.

  “Looks good.”

  “Excellent.” Marcus closed the briefcase and put it on the ground, reaching his arms out to give Aoife a hug. Did he have to get his mitts on every woman he ran into?

  I nudged Bromach with an elbow. The goods have been examined and now they were sitting untouched on the floor. Our fake briefcase waited at our feet.

  Aoife planted her hand in the center of Marcus’s chest and while everyone watched Marcus get rejected, nobody watched the briefcase.

  Blink.

  The change was subtle. Bromach’s spell was incredibly precise. I caught a flicker at the edges of the briefcase. My fake briefcase was close enough to take the place of the real one.

  “The boss will be in touch,” Aoife said. She headed for the door as her bodyguard picked up the case and followed. Marcus watched her go. He stared at the empty doorway for a moment and shrugged.

  “Set the bomb and let’s get out of here.”

  The bodyguard knelt by the briefcase Katie had brought and opened it.

  “Make it three in the morning,” Marcus said. “That will give us time to get to the keys before it goes off.”

  The bodyguard worked the buttons in the briefcase.

  “I wish that idiot Luck was here.” Marcus started pacing. “We’d hook him up to this one and he’d be toast.”

  The bodyguard was short on words but long on guffaws.

  “How far did she say this one could be moved?” Marcus asked.

  “Four feet. That’s how far the GPS will track.”

  “I’d like to see Luck try and take this one somewhere.”

  “Katie said it will only damage this floor.” The bodyguard pushed more buttons. “We can watch from the street if we want.”

  “Didn’t you hear me? We won’t be anywhere near here when it goes off.”

  “Okay.” The bodyguard was disappointed. Who doesn’t love mass destruction? “Set.”

  Marcus clenched his fist. “Damn. I needed to tell Aoife the combination for the case with the money.”

  He hurried to the exit while my heart tried three different ways to express the word “conniption.”

  Is Aoife still here? She left a minute ago.

  I calculated how long it took to walk out to the car. Stow the briefcase, get in, start the car, drive away.

  She’s probably still here.

  Erin whispered to Oz. Marcus was halfway to the stairs. He’d tell Aoife the code to unlock the briefcase which wouldn’t work because the briefcase I’d brought didn’t have a code. They’d open the briefcase and find out it was full of paper instead of cash and checks.

  We’re screwed.

  Erin shoved Bromach to a dark corner and whispered to him.

  What’s she doing?

  I pulled out my gun as Erin strode to the hallway. Oz cast a new spell and Erin became Hope. She called, “Marcus? Marcus!”

  Heartbeats passed. Marcus cursed in Spanish. I could only imagine what he was seeing. A woman standing in the shadows of an empty building, calling his name. Could he tell it was her? Could he see Hope’s face?

  The bodyguard had his gun out. I moved quietly to the side of the doorway eyeing both the bodyguard and the door. I took aim. If the bodyguard raised his gun, he was dead. Marcus reappeared, framed in the other doorway, walking slowly up the hall. Then I caught Erin. Erin as Hope. The return of Fauxpe. She’d retreated to our doorway, moving so smoothly it was like she was floating.

  “You shouldn’t have killed me Marcus.” Fauxpe pointed a finger at him.

  I froze.

  It wasn’t my choice.

  My gun vanished out of my hand. I couldn’t move, like I was encased in concrete.

  Bromach must have sensed everything was turning south. Just as we solved one problem, we had another problem. Fauxpe, Oz, and Bromach vanished.

  Blink.

  Bromach did what he’d been told. He got everyone to safety.

  Everyone except me.

  I found out why a moment later.

  Marcus’s head dropped to his chest as a cloud of ink-black wrongness materialized behind him. Vapeman. Ur the betrayer.
<
br />   Marcus shuffled into the room, asleep on his feet but still moving even though I was stuck. His bodyguard was stuck too.

  I could speak. “Hello, traitor.”

  The voice came down the rat pipe. “Glad to see you are well, Prince Luck. Pity the mortal girl is not. But, as they say, you should never lose Hope. Ah. Too late.”

  “Did you practice that, Ur? Make sure you could say it without giggling? Must be hard to talk with extra ventilation in your chest.”

  Pause. “I grow weary of you, Luck. How about another battle to the death? I may be wounded, but I’m still the superior Halfling.”

  Marcus’s bodyguard moved, hitting me in the face. The impact knocked me free of Ur’s spell. I threw a punch of my own, but froze again in mid-swing. My side lurched as the bodyguard hit me in the ribs. My shield coin blocked most of the impact, and I staggered free of Ur’s grip again. The bodyguard stepped in and dropped a hammer on my shoulder. He’d been aiming for my neck but I had moved just enough before Ur’s spell caught me again.

  My shield expired.

  In that moment, I knew two things. The bodyguard was going to destroy me and I couldn’t keep thinking of him as “the bodyguard.”

  I managed to ask, “What’s your name?”

  “Matt.” He slipped in and caught me in the gut. I fell back a step and got stuck again. “I don’t know why, but I want to keep hitting you,” he said. “Why don’t you fight back?”

  “I’m trying.” It hurt to breathe. “But my middle name’s ‘Molasses.’” It was as believable as anything else I could say.

  Matt caught me in the face again and I staggered back and tripped.

  Over the bomb.

  The briefcase skittered across the floor.

  We’re dead.

  I fell. My thought was to get to the next room. Then to the street. Then to somewhere in South America. But I was paralyzed.

  Matt stood over me, landing another punch.

  Ow.

  The bomb hadn’t exploded but it had moved. We’d missed deep-fried doom by inches. On the other hand, it looked like I was getting fist-in-face doom right now.

  “Matt.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can you stop hitting me for a minute?”

  “Uh . . .”

  “Remember the bomb?” There was no way to be sure if Ur knew about the contents of the big briefcase. Talking about it could be a mistake. On the other hand, one of us kicking it again would be fatal.

  Matt cursed. He remembered.

  Ur’s voice drifted out of Marcus’s slack mouth. “He can’t help himself,” Ur said. “Swear an oath to the Dubhcridhe and I’ll let you live.”

  My insides were bruised. My face was swelling. I was bleeding. I looked at the miasma of darkness behind Marcus and nearly threw up. I looked away. “I can’t swear an oath to you. I’d be turning my back on my father. Like you turned your back on the Máithrín.”

  “Your father doesn’t need to know. Not yet.”

  “I’ll know.”

  “Very well. Die with your convictions intact.”

  Stall. Think. That advice was somewhere in Private Investigating for Dummies.

  “What’s the money for, Ur? Can’t spend it from the Behindbeyond.”

  The voice echoed through Marcus. “The money will be used to find your brothers and sisters, dearest prince.”

  Matt looked confused. That was okay. He’d stopped hitting me.

  “What’re you talking about?” I wanted to move. The concrete floor was . . . concrete.

  “Eternals discard their Halfling children, casting them into the mortal realm. You know that as well as anyone. We will find them. With the millions of dollars we received from Marcus, we will succeed.”

  Not with the briefcase Aoife has you won’t.

  There had to be hundreds of Halflings in the mortal realm. Thousands. Many of them kids. The thought of them falling under Ur’s control terrified me. “You want to recruit them,” I said.

  “Recruit them and build an army. Many Halflings don’t know their heritage. Have no idea their father or mother are Fae. We will find them. Train them.”

  “Doot-doot-do-do-do-do-doot-doot-do-doo,” I dooted.

  “What is that?”

  “The traditional song of the calliope, letting everyone know the circus is in town.”

  “You mock us.”

  I made my voice as rat-pipe as I could. “You mock us,” I mocked.

  Blink.

  Bromach returned. I saw him out of the corner of my eye in the other room. I wanted to keep Ur talking. Needed to.

  “You’re worse than the Eternals, Ur. You talk about their injustice but your disregard for lives is criminal. If your Dubhcridhe want to die for you, I guess that’s up to them. But Hope died for no reason, except to save me. At least Halflings know who’s using them. Mortals have no idea.”

  Marcus’s head got twitchy. Ur took a shot and it was cheap. “If you had feelings for the mortal woman, you have only yourself to blame.”

  Matt came at me again. Another cheap shot.

  Block-kick-punch.

  Ur’s hold on me broke. I felt my arm put into position to deflect Matt’s fist. Instantly, a force jammed my foot like a piston into his midsection. Something wrapped around my hand and directed a punch to his throat like a freight train.

  Matt backpedaled, choking.

  He vanished. I felt him behind me. Ur caught me in a vise. A millisecond later, I blinked, ending up behind him. Matt’s punch swung through the empty air. Before I could think about it, punch-punch-punch. My fists went to his kidneys and the back of his head.

  I looked at Bromach. He nodded at me.

  Well all-righty then.

  Matt blinked away once more. I blinked to him a moment later. Time didn’t change but there was a sudden, frantic flow, like a ballet on six gallons of energy drinks. Matt was well-trained and knew how to fight, but Ur’s trick wasn’t working anymore to give him a chance. In the time it usually took to throw a punch, I threw three. Some decisions were mine. I landed a beautiful right cross that stung like a bee. Other decisions just . . . happened.

  I gave myself to the flow. The Zen of Tao, if there was such a thing. My body felt at peace, with no pain, as if I were wearing Sir Siorradh’s armor but floating down a rushing river. Matt could only blink away, his attempts to hit were too slow without Ur to bind me. The room was a blur, streams of light and color as Matt and I danced, lightning bolts at war.

  I caught a glimpse of Bromach, his hands aglow, his eyes half-closed, barely moving as he moved me. Ur screamed frustration down the rat pipe and Matt followed suit. Another flurry of fists and Matt went down.

  Moments passed as I listened to my own breathing. Panting. We’d only fought for ten seconds, if that, but I felt like I’d run ten miles. I kneeled over Matt’s still form and checked his pulse. I’d struck him hard and fast. Bruises, cuts, fractures, bleeding.

  Ur opened Marcus’s mouth. “Is he dead? Did you kill him, little prince?”

  “No. He’s going to be all right.”

  “Is he?”

  Marcus blinked. My panting grew worse as I scanned the room and found him.

  The bomb. Marcus had it.

  “Don’t move,” Ur warned. “Moving is deadly, or so I hear.”

  “Put the bomb down,” I said.

  “Who is helping you?” Ur asked.

  “Nobody. I learn quick.”

  “Liar.”

  “Hypocrite. Put the bomb down.”

  “Save yourself, little prince. Shift to safety. You and whoever is with you. I have no need of these mortals any longer. Let the bomb take them.”

  It was the Súilfirinne all over again.

  “So you’re willing to prove me right? Huh, Ur? You’re willing to kill more people who don’t have a clue why they’re dying?”

  “Higher purpose, Prince Luck. Higher purpose.”

  Marcus and the bomb were more than thirty feet away. L
onger than the world’s record for a long jump.

  “You don’t care about these people anyway.” Ur said. Wherever he was, he was sneering. “These people are criminals. They brought harm to you. Don’t pretend you care for them.”

  In my peripheral vision, I saw Bromach stepping sideways to look. I held my hand out, warning him to stop. If the bomb went off, we were all dead anyway but any noise he made . . .

  “You’re right, Ur. I don’t like Marcus. He hurt me and he hurt people I care about. But that’s where you and I are different. Because right now, I’ll do whatever it takes to save his pathetic mortal life.”

  I wanted to blink. And I did. I crossed the thirty feet in an instant and I hit Marcus in the face with a haymaker as big as Texas. Marcus fell back, the bomb hanging in the air for a millisecond that felt like a millennium. I caught the bomb as it dropped, cradling it before it could hit the floor.

  The building shuddered as Marcus went down. Silence reigned for a second, then two.

  The only thing that went boom was Marcus.

  With a deep breath, I stared into the black abyss. “It’s over, Ur.”

  Down the rat pipe, Ur’s hatred and venom spilled out. “There is another under my sway. You will lose everything and it will come sooner than you think.”

  “Hey, Ur. Ní stopfaimid go dtí go mbéarfar orthu.”

  Shreds of blackness drifted away, vapors shredded by a phantom breeze. Ur was gone.

  The pronunciation had been mangled and the grammar wrong, but I’d delivered my message. I won’t stop until I hunt you down.

  Bromach came in as I gently placed the bomb on the ground. He looked smug. Or maybe wise. Or maybe tired. Didn’t matter.

  I put my hand on his shoulder. He smiled.

  “Do you have enough power to uh—shift—these evil-doers to safety?”

  “Will their automobile machine be sufficient?”

  “That’d be perfect. And it was incredible how you shifted me right to Marcus when I needed to.”

  “About that, sire,” Bromach replied. “I could not see Marcus. I had no line of sight. I was about to move but I stopped at thy command. Therefore, it wasn’t I who shifted thee.”