As they approached Bourbon, a young dusky-skinned girl came bounding up to them. Donald and Lynda stopped as she looked up at them. What got their attention was that her eyes were white. “Hey, mister. I don’t know who you are,” she began, “but you’ve got people following you that want to kill you.”
Donald’s eyes grew wide, and he heard a growl from Lynda.
“Just chill,” the child continued. “They won’t do anything with me here. I’ve seen that. But when I walk away, that’s when they’ll try to kill you. Don’t let them. You’ve got things to do.”
Lynda looked at the child. “Just who are you, young lady?”
The girl grinned.
“I’m Sharon, Sharon Broussard.” She blinked, and the white eyes were replaced by her normal dark eyes. “It seems that I can see into the future sometimes. It has to be for people or things that are important, and I can’t see my future. But I can see a few minutes into the future. If I hadn’t stopped you now, you might or might not have survived the attack. Now, the odds are in your favor. You, mister, use your powers; you can see the bad guys. Now, I gotta go.”
As she turned to go, Lynda called out. “Sharon, when this is over, come see us at the Queens’ school.”
Sharon grinned, waved, and skipped off, ducking around the corner on Bourbon.
Donald took a deep breath and felt the power come over him. He pulled up a powerful shield around the both of them and then reached out, letting his ‘feelings’ take over. “There’s two back up Bienville from us, two across the street and two down at the corner of Bourbon.” He glanced at Lynda. “Do you think we can take them?”
Lynda just grinned at him and nodded. “You take the two back up the street. I’ll take the two across the street. Those two across Bourbon will have to navigate the crowd, so that will give us the advantage. So, what are you waiting for?”
Donald replied with a feral smile, “Nothing. On one…two…” Donald spun, pulling the concealed Glock with a suppressor from the shoulder holster concealed under the vest. Even though his targets had already eased their pistols out, Donald had learned his craft in the hardest arena possible, the battlefield. He’d been in similar situations so many times, he couldn’t count them. In less than two seconds, he’d taken them both out with double-taps each, one to the chest and one to the head.
Even as Donald spun towards his targets, Lynda ducked and dodged between two of the parked cars, screening herself from the two across the street. She shifted into her lion persona in moments, accelerating beyond normal human speed and dove towards the parked cars on the other side of the street. The two shooters had ignored her, thinking she was just Donald’s date and not a threat. That was a fatal mistake. The men were firing at Donald, the rounds impacting harmlessly against his shield. Bewildered, they continued to fire, focused entirely on Donald, oblivious to their surroundings…and Lynda. Lynda glanced through the car windshield and out the side windows to where the men were standing just a few feet away. A jump and she hit the hood of the car and cleared the car’s roof, ripping into the two would-be killers. In seconds, they were down.
By now, the tourists on Bourbon had started screaming and running in all directions, making it hard for the final two shooters to get a shot at Drake. They were trying to work through the crowd, but were definitely being delayed. Donald saw them coming and considered shooting them, but the problem was the crowd. It would be so easy for a round to miss, to hit someone by accident.
Shaking his head, he holstered his pistol and, strengthening his shield, just waited for them, his powers now focused on the two men. Amazed and somewhat worried, the two came to a halt some ten feet from Donald, glanced at each other, and then began firing. Once again, the rounds impacted his shield and fell uselessly to the ground. Lynda, meanwhile, was working her way around behind them. Donald caught her eyes and shook his head, raising one hand to stop her.
Focusing his mental powers, he reached out and took control of their minds. Donald could see that they were aware and yet unable to move. That was fine; he just needed a couple of minutes. Keying his cell phone to record, he put pressure on one, then the other. “Tell me,” he demanded. “Who ordered this? WHO?”
Unable to resist, the two spilled out the name of their boss, his address, everything they knew. The mysterious Mr. ‘Jones’ was no mystery anymore. One more push with his power, and both men had sudden, fatal brain aneurysms. He wasn’t going to leave them alive, not after trying to kill him and Lynda.
Lynda walked up, glancing down at the two as she walked past, and then up to Donald. He looked her up and down. “No blood,” he remarked with a smirk.
“Nope, just broke their necks. Didn’t want to mess up this blouse. I just got it, and it survived the change,” she replied, grinning. She sobered up. “We need to go before the cops get here.”
Donald saw the flashing lights as the police car crossed Bourbon on Bienville. “Nope. Too late. Just relax.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folding billfold, flipping it open to the ID and badge, keeping both hands clear as the police began storming the scene.
One of the officers walked up, pistol drawn but pointing away but wary of the two standing in front of him. Before he could ask, Donald handed him the ID. The officer looked at it, and then did a double-take. His head jerked up, looked back at the ID, and then back at Donald. The ID said, “Special Agent; Office of the President of the United States” with the Presidential seal. The badge matched the ID.
“Uh, sir, I’m going to have to get my lieutenant here.” The officer paused and then handed back Donald’s ID.
Lynda glanced around at Donald. “Office of the President? Special Agent? What the hell?”
“I’ll tell you later. For now, just go with the flow,” he replied softly. Lynda raised an eyebrow but nodded. He raised his voice, addressing the policeman.
“That’s fine, officer. I think our night on the town has been pretty much ended, but not how we wanted it,” Donald replied. “We’ll be right over here,” motioning at one of the cars. They eased over to the car and leaned against it. As they watched, crime tape was being strung, first on the side where they were, and then across Bienville when other officers found the bodies of the other two men.
“I’m sorry, Lynda,” he began. “This is absolutely not how I wanted tonight to go.”
“Don’t apologize, Don. After all, this is the most excitement I’ve had in months.” She gave him a sultry smile. “And besides, the night is still young.”
More and more police showed up along with detectives, and then a lot of phone calls were made by various police officials. Finally, a detective came up to the two. “It took a call to the White House, but someone there verified that your ID is real.”
Donald nodded and pulled out his cell phone, opening up the recording. “I’m the first agent, but I won’t be the last. Now, pull out your pad. Here’s who set this up,” he began, starting the recording.
***
Mr. ‘Jones’ was busily shutting down his office. He hadn’t crashed the computers yet; they were still sending the last of his data to his boss’ system, located in a nondescript office building in the D.C. suburbs when the door crashed in. “Hands up! Step away from the computers!”
His head snapped around, and his hands reached for a command preset to destroy all evidence but he was spun away as several bullets hammered him, leaving him dead, the computers available for the authorities to analyze.
***
Later that evening, Lynda was snuggled up next to Donald on the back porch. Her head leaning on Donald’s shoulder, she sighed.
“Okay, ‘secret agent man’, out with it. What’s going on?”
Donald leaned over and kissed Lynda on the forehead. “A couple of things you need to know. First, I’m not ex-military; I’m still in the Army, on detached duty. Yes, they wanted me to be trained, but they also wanted me to find out what was actually going on here in the school. Some people are ver
y antsy about all the changes, the powers that people have, the beings that have come into existence again.”
“Now,” he continued. “My handler started putting pressure on me to lie about what was going on, so his boss could push the government to declare Sherry, the school, and everyone here a threat to national security. I couldn’t, in good conscience, do that, so I made some calls and got in touch with Robert James, who is the Director of the Office of Magical Beings, Actions and Analyses and works directly out of the White House. One thing led to another, and, ta da, I’m a Special Agent working for the office of the President, assigned to James’ office.”
He sighed. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t be straight with you on my background, but…”
“You had your orders,” she finished. “Look, you know my background. So many others have similar experiences, so you’re not unique.” She paused for a moment, the only sounds being the cicadas singing in the trees. “Do Sherry and Rafe know?”
“Yeah. I sat down with them back when I got back from New Orleans after getting with Director James and explained everything. They’re cool with the situation.”
Lynda reached up and turned his head, giving him a deep kiss. As she drew back, she asked the question Donald dreaded.
“So, what happens with your position in the military?”
“I’ve been moved to the Army Reserve. Oh, by the way, I got a promotion. As a federal agent, I now hold the rank of Captain. As far as the other goes, I’m now a federal employee, assigned as a permanent agent working with Director James, as well as Sherry,” he finished.
With Lynda snuggled into his shoulder, Donald looked out across the yard, lit from the stars and the moon. Even this late, people and magical beings moved around. Fairies were visible, flitting around the trees. He thought back on his life. He’d joined the Army right out of high school since he couldn’t afford the ridiculous costs of college. The military would pay for him to get an education, so that was his answer. In his career, he’d fought beside some of the strongest and best men and women the Army had to offer, all in what was effectively a millennia-long civil war in Iraq and Afghanistan. He’d seen what the Islamists did to those who rejected their viewpoint, but in the Army, he couldn’t do a lot to stop it; there were too many politicians with differing agendas to do what was really necessary.
But here, he was needed. He’d found that out tonight. He’d found a fellowship among the other beings, the other magicians, and even the people with very minimal or no overt powers who had come to the facility. For the first time since high school, he had found a home. And, just perhaps, working with the people here, he might be able to do more to clean up the messes the politicians routinely left for the military to clean up.
So, now, he thought, my conscience is clear. I can fulfill my oath to the United States as well as my individual oath to protect those who need protecting, those who are now around me.
He turned and pulled Lynda into his arms, kissing her deeply. After years of moving from one place to another at the whim of the military, he’d found a home.
Roger D. Strahan has lived a varied life. A real estate appraiser and broker, he has also performed on stage, been a semi-professional lighting designer, written scripts for technical lighting productions, and written several books. His most recent series is The Witch of New Orleans, which follows the exploits of Sherry Martin through the city of New Orleans.
A native Texan, Roger now lives with his wife, Paula and pups in Port Charlotte, Florida. He can be found on his website, roger-d-strahan-author.com, or by email at [email protected].
How Jon Came to Put Chickens on the Ceiling, as Told by Master Magician Roberto the Wise
By Barb Caffrey
This story takes place in the Elfyverse, a place of enchantment and multiple universes. This is a prequel story to the two novels of Bruno (né Jon) and Sarah, AN ELFY ON THE LOOSE and A LITTLE ELFY IN BIG TROUBLE. The name “Elfy” comes from the fact that these magical beings are shorter than the Elfs. (Yes. They’re Elfs in this universe, because “elves” is a swear-word in their language. Long story.)
Author’s note: I’d always wondered how Bruno (then named Jon) put the chickens on the ceiling. (It’s referred to by Lady Keisha, and discussed in passing later by Bruno and his love, Sarah, in the two extant Elfy books.) Now I know…and you’re about to find out. – Barb Caffrey
How Jon Came to Put Chickens on the Ceiling, as Told by Master Magician Roberto the Wise
“Dammit, Keisha, I want to pull my hair out.” Roberto, called the Wise by his students and others, sighed, and sank into one of his sister’s cozy chairs in her lavish private apartment set just apart from the rest of her priestly order.
“Why?” His sister, the renowned priestess-Adept Keisha Madhrogan, stared at him. “Oh, settle down, brother. I’ve never seen you this upset about anything. What’s wrong?”
“The school. What they’re having me do to the kids, especially young Jon who just lost his parents a few, short years ago…it’s disgraceful, sis! I swear, they mustn’t want the poor child to grow to be an adult. And they’ve got him thinking he’s so much younger than he is, too…”
“Spells?” Now his white-haired sister perched alertly on the edge of her seat, like a bird checking for crumbs. “Are they Dark?”
“Possibly. But they say not. And if I speak up, I’ll lose my place.” He sighed again.
“You could go anywhere,” his sister said, bluntly. “Any school would love to have you. But I know you want to stay at Robin Goodfellow…and I’m guessing young Jon’s a part of why.”
Roberto nodded and wished his sister couldn’t read him so accurately.
“Someone has to look after the lad. As it is, every time Jon shows a spark of magic, they have me douse it. I have to tell him he’s doing it wrong, and I hate it. I swear, the boy’s going to be an Adept-class, and you know—far better than I, sis!—that Adepts work magic far differently than the rest of us.”
“We can, yes. It depends on a lot of things. But the boy was replicated, wasn’t he? To have that age difference, and him not know?”
“Yes,” Roberto admitted. “But even if they allowed me to, I couldn’t tell him. He thinks replicas are the lowest of the low.”
Keisha twirled her white hair, and thought. “They’ve completely bollixed things up. He’s potentially quite strong, they’re afraid of him, and they’ve had you get in his way.”
“Yes. It’s surprising that he remains so good-hearted.” Just thinking about how Headmaster Carlito had mistreated young Jon this past year made Roberto want to spit nails. Flaming ones, even—directly at Carlito. “The worst part is, because he thinks he’s much younger than he is, he won’t be prepared when he hits the Age of Ascension. And soon that’s exactly what’s going to happen. They’ll throw him out, saying he’s too old, and he’ll be bewildered, angry, and hurt, with no place in the worlds at all! That’s why I need your help.”
“Calm down, brother. Of course, I’ll help.” She twisted her ring of office, a small onyx dragon, ‘round and ‘round her finger. “I can at least look for a way to save him, to get him away from the School. That should allow him to find his talents and grow into manhood unscathed.”
“Would you? Please? I swear, this kid is good, but he’s been so squashed…he only has one friend…” And that Leftwich is no prize. Though he does have a cheerful heart, and a cute dog, too. Hellfire, Jon even liked Leftwich’s dog Annbess, even though Jon was the one who, most of the time, had to walk the poor thing, as Leftwich kept getting thrown on punishment detail and couldn’t. Jon, at least, had been spared that, mostly because of the sinister hints he’d given to Headmaster Carlito.
Too bad the rest of them hadn’t worked, he thought. That’s why he’d come to talk to his sister, one of the most powerful women he knew in any Realm. If she couldn’t help Jon, no one could.
“You do know who his parents were?” Keisha asked idly.
“
Not really. They were high muckety-mucks, or Jon wouldn’t have been able to be replicated. Much less sent to St. Robin Goodfellow’s School.”
“I love the school’s name,” Keisha said, snickering.
Yes, the full name of the school was “St. Robin Goodfellow’s School for Scions of the Nobility and Other Unfortunates.” Sometimes Roberto wondered if he, himself, was one of the unfortunates, especially as he’d been educated there himself, many years ago.
Keisha broke into his thoughts. “I know who they most likely were, if you want—”
“Don’t tell me, sis. My head hurts enough as it is. No one should be treated this way. Not a ditch-digger, not a street rat…no one. His parents aren’t relevant. At least, not yet—right?”
“I agree.” She frowned, and drummed her fingernails on her oaken desk. “So, you’re here. You must have some ideas for the poor lad. What do you think you should do, and more importantly, what do you want me to do?”
“I’m going to do whatever I can. But I’ll need backup, sis. He’s in big trouble. Headmaster Carlito hates him. Most of the boys follow Carlito’s lead, and play nasty tricks on him. And as almost all of his magic up until now has been doused by me, or ‘redirected’—” Roberto hated that word with a passion “—he can’t even respond! It’s wrong. Can’t you help?”
“I can. But it may not be easy.” She thought for a minute, wrote something down, and then smiled. “Have you ever had any visitors from the Human Realm at the School?”
“We do every year. Why?”
“I want to send someone in specifically for young Jon. Someone talking about Northern California—”
“Where your good friend lives.”
“Lived. Yes. She’s dead now, is my sworn-sister Jelena, but she has relatives there. And I think one of them might even be Jon’s age…”
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