by Rena Rocford
“I can’t take your money.” I said it automatically, but deep down, I knew exactly what I wanted.
“Bull pucky. Take the money. It’s nothing but paper to me anyway.” She extended her hand, fingers wrapped loosely around a roll of cash. “My father gave it to me,” she added.
That clinched it. She probably hated the money just because it came from her father. Well, I wouldn’t want to distress her with unnecessary exposure to unwanted money.
I took the wad and unraveled it, discovering a hundred dollar bill wrapped in three twenties. More than my mother gave me for my birthday. I ducked into a store selling bomber jackets. I’d always wanted one, and I finally needed one. I also grabbed some gloves.
Even if we hadn’t found any trolls to interrogate, at least we had some awesome clothes to go with the awesome–cold–car.
“Now what?” Beth shrugged into her new jacket and tossed the bag into the trunk. The blue fabric set off her green eyes. She twisted her hair into a bun and slapped on a new hair tie, courtesy of The Accessories Store. Three inches of bright blonde hair stuck out at wild angles, but the wind-blasted car look would probably go well with the poky end-of-the-ponytail look.
“Honestly, I have no idea. We need to find Steve. Either that, or we find his body. Do you think we could risk the other mall?”
“No, the unicorns will have dropped any hope for a tribunal. They’ll be out for blood after what happened to Dr. Targyne.”
I shivered, and it had nothing to do with the cold. Pulling my hair into a ponytail at the nape of my neck, I divided the thick coils into three parts and braided. My hair draped down to my butt, so braiding took a while; a long while. When I’d finished, I opened the driver’s door and slid into the seat.
“Where to, boss?” Beth asked, folding the cover and stuffing it behind the seats.
“I–”
The dashboard buzzed, then stopped. I raised an eyebrow at Beth before watching the dashboard again. It buzzed, rattling the hinges of the glove box.
Beth grabbed the knob, and the compartment fell open. Inside, a cell phone lay next to a lug nut wrench. Beth handed me the phone.
The screen said ‘Dave.’
My heart jumped in my chest. My father’s name was David. David Takata. The shock of the idea shot through my chest. My heart beat too hard for my lungs to work, hammering against my chest. This could be–
No, there were millions of Daves in the world. How could this one be him?
The phone buzzed in my hand again.
This was my father. It had to be.
My whole body went numb as I tried to hit the talk button. I got it on the third try, but my mouth turned to cotton. My arm was stiff, moving like a slab of wood instead of my own body, as I moved the phone to my ear.
What would I say? What could I say?
My father was on the other end of the line. I opened my mouth, but all my questions crammed into my mind at the same time. Why did you leave? How come you never talked to us? Was there something wrong with me? Why?
I cleared my throat to speak.
“Agnes! Thank god!” His voice rang through the phone in a deep bass and a thick English accent, relief lifting his tone. “Don’t talk, I don’t have much time. I need you to destroy the key. They’re looking for you. I think they know what we’ve been doing. Get Cathy and Allyson out of the US. Tell her it’s an emergency. Tell her it’s time to go to Ireland. They’re coming.”
He paused as a door on his end opened with an ominous creak.
“Ah, Mr. Takata, there you are,” another voice said. The new voice was higher in pitch, younger sounding. “How is the new market?”
Something moved over the phone, like someone had covered the voice pick up, but I could still hear the muffled conversation. “The new Kirin supply is coming along, Mr. Stein. I believe they’ll have a full shipment, sooner than I thought. I’m arranging it now.” Then, as if he’d been interrupted, he spoke back into the phone. “And don’t forget to have the shipment by the twenty-sixth. Pier 22 1/2, at a quarter to midnight. Do you understand?”
“Dad?” The word escaped my mouth as if pulled by some magnetic force.
He gasped. “What?” The stunned response pretty much summed up our whole conversation.
“Mr. Takata, if you are done, I believe we have something to talk about,” the other man said.
“Takata out,” my father said
The line went dead.
“Wait! Dad? Dad? Are you there, Dad? What’s going on?” I fumbled with the phone, and hit the call back button. It went straight to voicemail. “Shit.” I pounded the steering wheel, and my hands shook.
“Talk to me,” Beth said.
“It was my dad. He thought he was talking to my aunt.”
Beth grabbed the official Tribunal Notification and handed it to me. “Write everything down, before you forget.”
I flipped over the heavy paper and wrote everything I remembered, but I finished writing all too soon. It seemed like the first conversation I ever had with my dad should last longer than a few seconds. And he hadn’t even known it was me. What would he have said differently?
I should have let him know sooner. I had my father on the phone, and I didn’t say anything.
My entire life, I’d dreamed of the day I would meet him and what we would talk about if he ever called, and our first conversation was meant for my aunt?
Why did he want Mom and me to leave? What was so important about not being in the US? Kidnappers? If those were the kidnappers who took Steve, then we needed to find them.
Beth took the paper from me. “Not good,” she said when she finished reading.
Beth had a way with understatements.
“And?” I was only half paying attention.
“Kirin, it’s an Asian unicorn.”
I shook my head to clear my disappointment. “Unicorns? How do you know this stuff?”
“I was pretty much raised by monohorns, and they really wanted to impress upon me the awesomeness of their history and diversity.” Beth spit over the side of the car. “In short, something’s going on with your dad and some unicorns. And if I don’t miss my guess, your dad is a dragon.”
“That would explain the scales and the fire breathing.”
Beth rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to be half to manifest the gifts. Quarter, eighth–they had someone who was a thirty second manifest–but the stronger the gifts, the closer the tie.”
The image of purebred dogs flashed into my mind. “Do they try to breed for it, like with sheep? Arranged marriages, that sort of thing?”
“The unicorns are as inbred as a pack of poodles.” Beth fiddled with the official papers. “So, I guess we try the other mall?” She folded the papers and held them up. “According to the decree, I only have two weeks to prove I didn’t kidnap Steve and feed him to a dragon.”
“No,” I said. “No matter what else happens, we need to actually find Steve. If my father knows about who is ‘supplying unicorns,’ we need to talk to him.”
“You are insane.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “How are we going to do that?”
“We’ll meet him at Pier 22 1/2 at midnight.” The wind blew again, pulling strands of my hair into my face.
“Running won’t help my case any.” Beth picked at the trim around the window as her jaw muscles clenched and released. “And how do you know that last part was the truth? Is he really meeting people at that pier?”
“His boss was there; would he have lied with his boss in the room? That would be awkward, right?”
“That’s pretty flimsy.” Beth finished plucking at the trim and looked at me.
Tapping the steering wheel, I shook my head. “Do you have any material evidence to indicate you don’t associate with dragons or trolls?”
“Well, no, but–”
I held up my hand to cut her off. “What will they do if they find you guilty at this tribunal?”
She wilted. “Kill me.”
“Right, so we’re going to the source. We’ll find my father and get some answers out of him. Besides, you said unicorns hate dragons. Maybe my dad can help you.” It sounded so simple like that. Just walk over, and say, “Hey, could I have a word with you?”
“I think this is a really bad idea. You don’t even know where Pier 22 is. What if–?”
“San Francisco,” I said.
“San Francisco is not the only port city with pier numbers.”
A tumbleweed rolled by and popped up over the decorative fence around the parking lot. The aloe plants swayed in the wind, and leaves swarmed in the breeze like it was fall, not late March.
“Look, there’s somewhere else I need to go, in Nevada,” I added.
“Where? What’s there?”
“I don’t really know, but it could be important.” Yeah, like my inheritance, or a secret decoder ring or something. Unlocked by a key my father wanted my aunt to destroy.
“I’m supposed to follow you on a gut feeling?”
I pursed my lips. “No, but here are the facts: my father was talking about a new supply of unicorns; the trolls we met asked if you were bringing me in, and they asked if I was unicorn because ‘they’re common round these parts.’” I paused to sum up my thoughts. “What if those trolls are working for the guy my dad was talking to, and they stole Steve? If that’s the case, then we can ask my dad about it.”
“That’s really far-fetched.” Beth fussed with her hair.
“Aren’t dragons supposed to be really smart?” I asked.
“Wise. You’re supposed to inherit wisdom. Smarts are earned.” She looked around at the corporate buildings across the street, as if she could see the future in the gleaming glass. “This is the wrong choice; you know that.”
“Is a wrong choice worse than no choice?”
eth gave a long-suffering sigh. “Fine, let’s go with your plan.”
“Yes.” I pumped my arm in the air. “So, where do we start?”
Beth snorted. “A map.”
“We could just use Google or something,” I said.
Beth shook her head. “Nah, do you really want to be driving through the desert in the middle of the night and find out there’s no reception? And, should we take 40 or go up to Shiprock? We need a map. And some gear for camping.”
“Camping? This isn’t a field trip.”
Beth blinked as she rolled her eyes. “And who do you think will rent a hotel room to a couple of teenagers without a credit card? Besides, it’s still five days until the twenty-sixth. How long does it take to drive that far?”
I’d driven that far a number of times, but never in a straight shot. Whenever we took off from a place, my mom and I only drove a few hundred miles a day. Then, one day, she’d make up her mind, and we’d be off to some specific city in no time. “A day or two. Three, tops. So that would be four days. We could sleep in the car for four days.”
“Do you know how to put the top up? I haven’t even seen a top, and it’s still snowing in Taos. Do you want to sleep in that?”
“Point. We have some gear at the apartment,” I said.
“No, by now, the monohorns will be swarming everywhere. They have rules. They delivered something saying I have to show my face at the tribunal in two weeks, and unless they can officially put another piece of paper into my hands, they’ll stick to it. So, lynched now, or lynched later: I pick later.”
I turned the key and revved the engine. We made it back to the freeway–sans bunny hop–and I drove to the one store I knew would be fully stocked with camping gear in March: REI. I eased into a parking lot crowded with people, tables, and harried staff. It was a scratch and dent sale. In less than thirty minutes, we had sleeping bags, a tent, and some funny-looking hats with earflaps. Before I got into the car, I put on my ushanka–the hat with the earflaps–and felt the blessed warmth return to my poor ears. Bomber jacket and Russian hat; I was really going to tear up the fashion scene if we stopped anywhere longer than ten seconds.
A short stop for gas, and we were on the road. Sitting in what would normally be the driver’s seat, Beth unfolded the map while I tried to navigate yet another intersection without sending the car into convulsions.
“North, to Farmington. We’ll get there by late afternoon, early evening.”
I’d already looked at the map; I knew the way by heart. Farmington to Moab, to 70, to 80, then Reno, Sacramento, and San Francisco. I’d need to take a detour to get to Ely. It was just a speck on the map, but the key burned in my mind. Was it the same key my father was talking about? As I turned onto the highway, my heart suddenly began to beat faster. This was it. I had two exits to turn back, take the car to my apartment next to the school I hated, and erase the whole afternoon.
And never know my father.
I floored it.
Beth almost lost the map in the wind and quickly folded it up, stuffing it into the glove box. “You crazy?” she yelled. “Do you want a speeding ticket?”
I pushed down on the gas, accelerating the car, and we bumped over the pavement, signs rushing past. I let go of my irrational need to outrace reason, and let the car coast into traffic, a fox hiding among hounds. Just north of Albuquerque, we turned onto a smaller road and drove northwest.
Wind battered the car, and the road rarely curved. Red, sandstone bluffs rose up out of the desert. The land stretched on forever, but the MGB ate the distance in a ground-turning pull for the horizon. We stopped twice along the lonely road: once to put up the rag top–we admitted further defeat since we couldn’t even find the top–and once to give the car more gas.
The signs along the road warned that we were approaching Farmington, which was great. My hands were frozen to the steering wheel, and I no longer cared how dorky my bomber jacket and ushanka looked. Tomorrow, I’d drive with a blanket in my lap.
The sun sank behind the rocks to the west of us, and the glare on the road made me wish for some sunglasses. I might need them just for the wind. My eyes were dry enough to towel off a whole swim team. And we still had to set up camp. I scanned the road, looking for likely places to camp as we came up on a delivery truck riding in the left lane. Bright yellow letters proclaimed the truck to be Martin’s Movers. Wind caught the van and it swerved into the right lane before settling back down in the left.
I pulled into the opposite lane and stomped on the gas. I didn’t want to be behind this whale of a truck if it was going to wobble all over the road. Better for the thing to fall into someone else’s way.
As we reached the passenger cabin of the van, Beth threw herself sideways in the seat, covering her head with her arms. “Crap!”
“What?” I asked. “What is it?” Some instinct drew my foot off the accelerator, and the MGB drifted back into the backwash of the giant truck.
“That was them,” Beth said, still trying to hide under the dashboard.
“Them who?”
“The kidnappers. The trolls from the mall.”
An icy chill spread through me, and I whipped the car into a tight tailgate position, out of view of the side view mirrors. In the backdraft of the huge truck, the wind finally relented: it blasted us equally from all sides, seeming to slacken its forward drive.
“Now what?” Beth yelled over the lashing wind.
“We can’t follow them forever!”
“They have to stop sometime!” Beth pointed at the truck. “They might have Steve! We get him and head back to the monohorns. We could be done by midnight.”
I still wouldn’t know any more about my father, but I nodded agreement. It’s not like the two of us could take out three trolls. We were outnumbered, and Beth couldn’t even manage to fight Mr. June in the parking lot. How could she manage trolls?
As far as plans went, I had nothing better.
“Okay.” I nodded. “We can follow them until they stop. Then we sneak into the back of the truck and take it from there.”
Beth narrowed her eyes. “And what do we do if
there’s more than one person in the back of the truck?”
Yeah, and where would Steve sit in this car? It only had two seats, and there was barely enough room for the tonneau cover behind the seats, let alone a kidnapped unicorn. “Let’s take this one step at a time. Maybe we can get the cops involved if it’s like a big operation or something.”
She nodded like a bobble head doll. “Yeah, okay, that sounds good.”
“Besides, we might not be able to get in.”
“We’re getting in.”
I stole a look at her.
Jaw set, eyes ahead, the half troll had moved into business mode.
Great. If we did manage to pop open the truck, we’d only be legally stealing, and likely to piss off three giant dudes who healed quickly and didn’t mind a face full of fire. The plan was Grade A crazy. USDA certified.
The trolls drove most of the way through Farmington, following the way we were planning to go as well. Just at the north end of town, they pulled the van into a grease-covered gas station. Tumbleweeds rolled by, and I had to bite back the urge to whistle the theme from The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.
Well, they had ugly covered; the only thing left to determine was whether Beth and I were the good or the bad.
I pulled away from the truck, and parked the car on the far side of the service station. The last rays of sunlight squinted out, and the temperature dropped. My skin tingled from the sudden lack of wind on my face. Even the area covered by the giant bandage felt like the hairs had taken on a life of their own.
We slunk around the corner of the service station, and I tried not to think the guilty thoughts of a criminal. After all, I’d already stolen a car today. What would be the big deal if we managed to steal back some kidnapped people?
The fluorescent lights over the gas pumps flickered, and two trolls walked into the convenience store. That left one at the truck. I scanned the area. A troll stood with his back to us, holding the pump nozzle. We darted out from behind a pump and got to the back of the truck.
A padlock held the rolling door closed.
“Fan-freakin-tastic,” Beth whispered.
“What, can’t you just snap it off?”