Hidden Charm
Page 7
Zel’s contribution was the neatness and the furniture, all done in various shades of blue. The occasional tables were littered with books—the ones she meant to read or was reading—and just beside the front door was a modern electrical fireplace that she had once thought would never replace the real thing. (She had been wrong.)
The sword lay on the empty hardwood floor in the exact center of those four comfortable spaces, underneath the skylight. The sword was pointing down the hall leading to the bedrooms. Nothing about the sword looked magical now. If anything, it seemed a bit faded and dull, as if Sonny hadn’t touched it in decades.
But he ran his hand over it every single day, and it always flared to life, as if it were greeting him, as if it valued his touch.
The house was silent, except for the hum of the air conditioning. The only other thing out of place besides the sword were her breakfast dishes, which remained on the island, right near the farmhouse sink.
She had gone to work before Sonny had gotten up, and had come home for lunch, which she almost never did. Lunch was early, compared to most people’s, because she had to be to work by 4 a.m.
Something had been bothering her all morning, and she had just wanted to see Sonny. He would just have been getting up about the time she arrived—only he hadn’t been getting up. He’d disappeared. Only his sword remained, out of place and faded.
“Walk me through it.” Selda said. She had entered only a moment after Zel. Selda’s entire gaze took in the room, and Zel couldn’t tell what she thought of it—the long old plank table in the dining area, which still had the original wallpaper. The ugly addition that led to the beautiful bedrooms—hers and Sonny’s.
Now she was going to have to tell everyone that she and Sonny slept separately—they had always slept separately, but they had both agreed that it was no one’s business but their own. And back in the 20th century, it had been essential to tell no one, for Sonny’s sake.
He had escaped the prejudice in the Kingdoms—which would have gotten him killed—only to arrive here and find some of the same threats. Only they were easier to overcome in the Greater World; all he needed was a pretend wife.
She hadn’t really been a pretend wife. They had been married for decades. She was a real wife, just not in all ways. They were friends who were legally bound to each other, and that had worked well for them.
Not as many people judged, and almost everyone who had come with her probably knew that Sonny was gay. But that didn’t make it any easier for her to share the secrets she’d been keeping for decades now.
She glanced at Henry, who had entered as well, and was standing slightly to her left. Tank was floating just inside the doorway, her wings doing that buzzy thing that hummingbird wings did.
Zel didn’t want to walk through the house yet. So she was ignoring the “walk me” part of what happened.
“I’m, um, came home for lunch,” she said. “I don’t normally, but today I did.”
Henry frowned just a bit, and Tank glanced at Selda, who ignored her.
“I entered the house from the laundry room,” Zel said, gesturing at the hallway door, “which is how I usually enter. I walked past Sonny’s room.”
She felt her face flush, and now she wasn’t going to look at anyone. She and Sonny hadn’t actually discussed whether or not she could reveal his secrets, even though he had become more and more open as the years had gone by.
She hadn’t felt like those were her secrets to share, and yet here she was. Sharing them.
“The door to his room was open, and his bed was unmade. It usually is if he has just gotten up. At that time of day, I would expect to find him in the kitchen, but the house felt…off.”
She shrugged, looking down at that sword. If anything, it looked even older now than it had before, as if it was gathering rust.
“I came through the hall door, there”—she pointed at the arched opening, a second time—“and looked at the kitchen. It was really quiet in this area here, and it usually isn’t. We leave music on all the time, and there was nothing playing.”
She could still feel that moment, that huh of surprise, even though she had no real sense of Sonny in the house.
She had stood near one of the blue chairs she had just bought. From there, she had been able to see directly into the kitchen. The island had been a bit messy from her breakfast, but the La Cornue range that they had splurged on gleamed. The cabinet doors that concealed the workings of the hideously expensive refrigerator had been partially open, as if Sonny had been getting something out of the fridge when he was interrupted.
She hadn’t even seen the sword right away. Not until she walked toward the kitchen, glancing left at the French doors leading to the back patio, where Sonny sometimes ate his breakfast.
He hadn’t been there. He hadn’t been anywhere.
And she wasn’t going to tell the people here about the panic she felt as she searched, panic that hadn’t really made sense to her until she realized (consciously—it had probably been subconscious before) that the sword was on the floor.
“The refrigerator door was open, a little,” she said, “and then, there was the sword.”
She didn’t want to tell them that she had walked past it twice (or maybe three times) as she paced the house, searching for Sonny. She had even checked the back, that private oasis they had built and Sonny used the most, with comfortable chairs and a perfectly draped dual canvas awning that kept the sun from bleaching everything white.
This place had been such an oasis, and now—
Now, she was doing everything she could so that she wouldn’t sink back into those feelings she had inside that tower.
“Tell me about the sword,” Selda said.
Zel frowned, not quite sure what Selda meant.
“I know Sonny,” Selda said, her voice soft. “I know how essential that sword is to his identity. But I didn’t live with him. Where did he keep it? When would he use it?”
“There,” Zel said, pointing to two empty wood holders on the wall near the hallway entrance. “He kept it there.”
The empty spot looked obvious to her, but probably not to other people, not with all the weaponry gracing that wall. There were dozens of swords of various makes and models, things she knew about only because Sonny had enthused about them. Rapiers, katanas, broadswords—many made by established masters, some of whom Sonny had met. He had studied the others.
She almost didn’t see the various swords any more. They must have looked startling to everyone else.
“One last question before we proceed,” Selda said. “If someone was coming after Sonny, would he go for his sword?”
“Go for?” Zel didn’t understand the question.
“Would he run for it?” Selda asked.
Had she never seen Sonny fight? Had she never seen him with his sword?
“He would whistle and hold out his hand,” Zel said, not quite sure why Selda didn’t know this. “Isn’t that the way it’s usually done with magical swords?”
“No,” Henry said definitively, almost as if he knew from experience. “So, he and that sword have a bond.”
“And the sword’s alive,” Selda said.
“Great, just great,” Tank said, rising above all of them. She fluttered near Zel’s shoulder. Zel could feel a slight breeze from Tank’s wings. “This is a royal mess.”
“Yes,” Selda said. “That’s why we have all hands on deck.”
She ran a hand over her face, then looked at Zel. “I should have asked this at the Archetype Place, and I’m sorry I didn’t. Have you tried conventional methods to reach Sonny?”
“Conventional?” Zel asked. She didn’t have enough magic to know what conventional meant.
“The technology that the mortals use,” Selda said. “I assume you have them as well, since you work in the mortal realm. Cellular telephones, laptop computers and the like.”
Selda spoke the old-fashioned terms with just a touch of disdain.
More secrets. She didn’t want to say everyone he had a relationship with. Sonny had flings, and those flings usually flamed out. But sometimes he returned to his favorites, and since he was Sonny, each one of those flings remained a friend.
Sonny collected friends like he collected swords.
The tears were back. Who would go after Sonny?
“Everyone he knew,” she said finally. “At least that I know of. He has a lot of mortal friends.”
“You can use a cell phone?” Henry asked.
“I don’t have a lot of magic,” she said, and he shook his head slightly. Apparently a man like him couldn’t understand someone with limited magic. “Even so, I went through two phones this morning trying to call people.”
One of her phones actually exploded. She hated it when that happened. Magic and technology did not mix, and that irritated her too.
“He doesn’t use wearables?” Henry asked.
Zel let out a small laugh. “You mean like a smart watch? He’s got more magic than all of us combined. He could barely make a phone last longer than a day.”
“So that’s a no,” Henry said.
She nodded.
“I take it none of his friends have seen him today,” Selda said. “Mortal or otherwise.”
“And he missed some planning meeting,” Zel said. “It was for some big deal organization that he’s on the board of. He doesn’t miss things like that. Sonny’s extremely responsible.”
“Is that what made you come to us?” Selda asked.
Zel shook her head. “I—I know you sometimes work with him, and I—he—sometimes he gets into dicey magical situations, and he says you’re a great resource, and I couldn’t think of anyone else who could help, because I’ve never really asked Sonny which of his friends are magical and which ones aren’t and even if they were, they’re usually running from something. He’s the strong one, not the rest of us. He takes care of everything. He’s amazing and we wouldn’t know what to do if…”
She ran out of words. She felt humiliated enough. She had no real magic, except what little she put into her work, and she couldn’t find her missing husband, and she was terrified of the people who wanted to help her.
She was an absolute mess.
“If?” Henry asked quietly.
Henry, who hadn’t looked at her directly since she started talking. She wasn’t sure why that was important to her, but it was.
“If he’s dead,” she said, the words finally out.
“Why in all the Kingdoms would you think he was dead?” Tank asked, as if that very idea made Zel seem crazy.
She pointed at the sword. “It’s aging.”
“So?” Tank asked.
“It didn’t look like that this morning,” Zel said.
“Is it linked to his life force?” Henry asked.
“I don’t know,” Zel said. “But it’s the most vibrant thing in this house, next to Sonny.”
They all looked at the sword. No one could call it vibrant now. It didn’t look vibrant at all. It looked old and uncared for, and more than a little filthy.
Henry clasped his hands behind his back, as if he was preventing himself from moving. His gaze on that sword seemed intense.
“Is it dying?” he asked Selda.
She made a dismissive sound. “I have no idea. What I know about swords could fit into my little finger.”
Zel’s muscles tensed even more. She had come to these people for help. And they didn’t know anything?
“The sword’s a good thing.” Tank lowered herself so that she faced Selda. “We can use it to trace Sonny.”
“Process and procedure, Tank,” Selda said. “We’re not going to do anything until we know what happened here.”
“Then get to it,” Zel snapped, surprising herself. “Because there’s something wrong here, and Sonny’s missing, and you’re the only people I know who can help me.”
She took in a sharp breath, shocked at the amount of anger she felt. She was furious. She hadn’t been this angry…ever, maybe. Not that she could remember, anyway.
“All right.” Selda’s voice seemed calm, but she was staring at that sword, and frowning. “I’d like you to stay, if you don’t mind, but this might be difficult to watch.”
Zel wasn’t sure what this was or what she had to watch, but she nodded just the same.
“Whatever it takes,” she said. “Just find Sonny. Now.”
Chapter 9
If only finding someone was as easy as giving a command. Henry had seen a lot of people come into the Archetype Place, searching for a loved one, and often those people left unhappy and empty-handed. He’d seen a lot of tragedy while he worked there, and mostly he had tried to immunize himself from it.
His frog self was one way. His sarcasm was another. He almost never stood in a magical crime scene and felt the urge to help. But the anguish in Zel’s voice drew him.
Or maybe Zel herself did.
She stood beside him now, staring at that sword as if it could help her. He wasn’t sure what could help her, but he had a hunch the sword wasn’t it. Not entirely.
Something was at the edge of his consciousness, something he had overheard or something he had witnessed at the Archetype Place, but not really paid attention to. He didn’t want to say anything about it until he could remember exactly what he had been thinking of.
“I start,” Tank said, fluttering in front of Selda. “And we’re doing it my way.”
“Just the sword, Tank,” Selda said.
Tank shook her head. “I think the sword could be misdirection. I say we do the entire house.”
They were going to keep arguing, and that wouldn’t help. Zel shifted, clearly not understanding what they were discussing.
Henry knew: he’d seen this before. The faerie dust that Tank and her posse used would get all over everything. But the information they would bring out might be more valuable than whatever magic the faerie dust covered over.
“Tank’s right,” he said. “Do the entire house.”
“Do what?” Zel asked.
“They’re going to mess up your house,” he said quietly. “It can’t be helped.”
The cleanliness of the house had startled him the moment he walked in. Even the books, scattered on the occasional tables, were in a perfectly lined up pile. He had never seen a home that was obviously lived in, but spotless.
It also didn’t look like anything he would have expected to see Zel in—not that he knew her well. But the swords, which she didn’t seem to know about; the up-to-the-minute furnishings; the state-of the-art kitchen—those all seemed like something Sonny would want.
Only the books didn’t fit the picture-perfect house. And, Henry would wager, the books belonged mostly to Zel.
Zel’s lips moved in a sad smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Sonny would hate that,” she said, with a bit of a laugh. “As if he gets a vote right now.”
“Tank,” Selda said. “We should—”
“I’m in charge of this part,” Tank said. “You don’t get a vote.”
And then, before Selda could say anything else, Tank clapped her tiny hands together.
With a buzz of wings, Tank’s posse appeared around her. At least twenty faeries hovered for just a moment, all of them looking at Tank.
Henry couldn’t count them all, partly because they were clustered so close together and partly because a number of them just zipped back and forth around the edges of the group, as if the act of hovering made them nervous. He wasn’t sure if he counted some more than once, or if he counted them at all.
“We’ll blanket the whole interior on the count of three,” Tank said. “Formation first. Then I’ll begin the count.”
The faeries zipped ou
t of the circle and scattered around the house. Some headed down the hall. Others reached the dining room before Henry could even blink. Still others moved into the kitchen so fast that it seemed like they had just appeared. And a few hovered near the French doors on the other end of the room.
Tank herself moved to the area around the skylight. She wasn’t directly above the sword, which Henry realized was a very smart move. She didn’t want her magic to interfere with any of the magic below. She also didn’t want to get caught in any magical currents that might be coming off that sword.
Tank hovered in that classic movie position—one foot pointed down, one bent at the knee—looking just like she had been drawn by Disney. (For all Henry knew, she had.) She looked completely motionless, which was an optical illusion because her wings were moving so fast that they looked like a solid block.
Then she glanced to her right and to her left. Her gaze then met Henry’s and he felt a jolt, as if she was asking him for permission. But he had no idea why she would do that. This entire event had nothing to do with him.
She glanced at Zel, who tensed, and then at Selda, who had a massive frown on her face.
“Three,” Tank said, tone defiant.
Her posse straightened in unison. They looked like they were performing some kind of aerobatics trick for happy crowds.
“Two,” Tank said, and extended her arms directly in front of her, palms down.
The posse made the same movement at the same time.
“One!” Tank said and clapped her hands together.
So did the entire posse, again, at the same time. Had the faeries been full-sized, the sound would have echoed around the entire building, and maybe down the street. As it was, the sound was as loud as a single person clapping their hands together hard.
The air filled with sparkling purple dust. It glistened everywhere, floating and hovering just like the posse itself. The sharp scent of grape Kool-Aid filled the air. (He had always wondered about grape Kool-Aid, whether or not it contained faerie dust. The same with grape bubble-gum. But he had never tested that theory.)