Gooseberry Bluff Community College of Magic: The Thirteenth Rib

by David J. Schwartz

  “No. No, nothing. I swear.”

  “OK. I mean, it’s not that simple; we’re going to be here awhile. But I don’t have any reason to suspect you, so we should be fine.” She set the file on the table and flipped it open. “Ready? Your name is Hector Árbenz Ay, and you were born in Escuintla, Guatemala, in 1975, is that correct?”

  Hector put up his hands. “What, are we going to go through my entire biography?”

  “Pretty much. And the sooner we get started, the sooner we can both go home and get a good night’s sleep. All right?”

  He closed his eyes. “All right.”

  Hector answered questions for an hour, until his throat went dry from talking and he had to ask for a glass of water. He had hoped that Joy would let up on him after that, but she didn’t. Hector answered question after question about his family, his education, his childhood, his medical history, and his reading habits. Joy Wilkins — if that was her real name — stared at him intently the entire time, as if she were not just studying his face but tracing his outline mentally. She was, Hector thought, very odd.

  Agent Gray leaned against the wall through all of this, sometimes glancing in Hector’s direction but mainly studying his nails. Hector knew most truth-tellers heard lies rather than saw them, but a little bit of eye contact would have been polite.

  “Gray, you satisfied so far?” Joy asked after an hour had passed.

  “Yes.” Gray sounded bored. Hector gave him the finger under the table.

  “Let’s talk about the security at the college,” said Joy.

  “Do you mind if I stand up and move around a little bit?” Hector asked.

  “Go ahead,” said Joy. “Who maintains the wards?”

  Hector got out of the chair and stretched. The vertebrae in his back snapped into position. “I do,” he said, “according to President Fitzgerald's specifications.”

  “And what is the nature of those wards?”

  “They’re only active while the school is locked. The outer one is a simple sleep ward. Walk through it without a password and you’ll start looking for a soft spot to lie down. Occasionally a drunk or a teenager wanders onto the grounds; we just roust them in the morning.”

  “What about in the winter?”

  “Well, it doesn’t happen as often then, for obvious reasons. If it does, we have extra detection set up, and we can call up the sheriff to help collect them. Honestly, though, I think if one of them just curled up under one of the pines they’d be fine even overnight.”

  “What if someone came prepared with a counterspell?”

  Hector chuckled, but it turned into a yawn. “It wouldn’t work. The spell’s too strong. It’s amplified by the school’s own reservoirs.”

  “What reservoirs?”

  Hector gripped the back of the chair he had been sitting on and leaned on it. “Well…I guess I’m not sure exactly. “That’s how Philip — President Fitzgerald — explained it: a reservoir. All I know is that I cast a pretty straightforward sleep ward every two weeks, and something makes it strong enough to knock out an elephant on coke. Something about the building or the grounds makes it a couple of orders of magnitude stronger.”

  Joy turned to glance at Gray, who was looking at Hector. “He’s not lying,” Gray said after a moment. “It might not be true, but he believes it.”

  “Thank you for that vote of confidence,” Hector said.

  “All right,” Joy said. “What about the inner ward?”

  “Just an aversion spell. Fear. Anyone who makes it through to the front door will fly into a panic and start running as soon as they put a hand on it.”

  “It’s activated by skin contact?”

  “No. Pressure and heat. You can’t fool it with gloves.”

  “And counterspells?”

  “I’m telling you, you’d have to be Merlin to get past those wards without the keys. And if you did, I’d know it.”

  “Yes.” Joy stretched out the “s” as she closed his file. “I’m very curious about that. There aren’t any cameras on the grounds, are there?”

  He shouldn’t have said anything. “No.”

  “Hold it,” Gray said. “He’s not telling the truth.”

  “Yes I am. There aren’t any cameras.”

  Gray stepped away from the wall and leaned across the table. “That’s literally true. But there’s more to that answer.”

  Hector bit his lip as Joy stared at him, eyebrow cocked. Finally he said, “It’s something I’ve been working on, and it isn’t perfected yet. If I tell you about it, I may not be able to publish it. This is a matter of intellectual property, you understand? It’s not illegal, and it has no bearing on your investigation.”

  “Just because you believe that doesn’t mean that’s the case,” said Gray.

  “No. No. No.” Hector paced back and forth for a few minutes. They were waiting him out. It was Interrogation 101; the longer you go without speaking, the more the subject feels compelled to fill the silence. But Hector hadn’t been hired to run security without knowing some things about the field; he wasn’t going to give it up that easily.

  “I won’t talk about it without a nondisclosure agreement signed by both of you, by your boss, and by the secretary on behalf of the bureau.”

  Gray made a noise of disgust or disbelief or both, but Joy Wilkins smiled. “If your technique is that groundbreaking, we can cut some sort of a deal. At the very least we could attach your name to it, credit you as a consultant. The fee would likely be nominal, but it’d be good for your career.”

  “Maybe. But it would be better if I could publish first and patent the technique. This is New American Spellbook material.”

  “Ooh,” Gray said, sounding unimpressed.

  “You can still do those things,” Joy Wilkins said.

  “I want guarantees.”

  She shook her head. “This is going to take time. Do you have an attorney for this sort of thing?”

  “Yes,” Hector said, and then, before Gray could interject, “I’ll get one. Look, I’ll answer any questions unrelated to this specific technique, OK? What else have you got for me?”

  Joy picked up her file and stood. “I’ll let you know when I get back,” she said, and left the room.

  Hector wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. Gray was staring at him now; Hector had liked it better when he was being ignored. He paced a little more. When a few minutes had passed and Joy hadn’t returned, he decided to make conversation.

  “Are you married?”

  The scowl Gray had been wearing fell away, replaced by slack incomprehension. “What?”

  “I was just wondering if you’re married. Or is the whole relationship thing tricky, with the truth-telling and stuff? I suppose on the surface it seems like it would be ideal, but then sometimes — there are just certain truths, small truths, that it’s probably better not to spend your energy on, right? And with kids—”

  “I’m divorced. No kids.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I mean, what with your job, too…that’s probably a factor, right? Here you are, it’s after midnight, you’re at the office. It’s understandable that could become a problem. I mean, we all like to think of ourselves as understanding people, but everyone has their limits. Not that I’m assuming that it was your job that broke up the marriage or anything.”

  Gray folded his arms across his chest.

  “I talk when I’m wired. Wired like overtired, I mean. Not wired like — I’m not a spy or anything. Boy, it’s a good thing you can tell that I’m telling the truth, right?”

  “I would like it if you stopped talking now,” said Gray.

  “Right. Right.” Hector walked from one end of the room to the other twice. “The thing is, I have a lot of things on my mind, and if I were home I would probably be pacing back and forth in my living room talking to myself, because that’s what I do when I have a lot of things on my mind. And this security problem at the school isn’t even the worst of it, if you want to kn
ow the truth. I mean, in the global sense, in the job security sense, in every sense beyond the personal, it’s much worse. But do you want to know what’s really driving me crazy?”

  “I really don’t.”

  “I know you don’t, and I apologize, but I’m stuck in here and I guess so are you, so I’m going to keep on talking. What’s driving me crazy is that there is this amazing woman that I work with — well, she works at the same place I work at. The college. We don’t work together, we’re in different departments. There aren’t any rules about it or anything. We’re both unimportant, you know? But…” Hector sighed. “She is really something. She is—” He struggled for the right words and realized that he was making odd, meaningless shapes with his hands: claws, splayed fingers, shadow puppets without light.

  “You like her.”

  “So much. I mean, she is…trust me, she is gorgeous. I like a woman you can hold on to, you know? And she has such a wonderful laugh, and she is so smart…and she's avoiding me. She is not answering her phone, she is not returning my calls, she doesn’t go to the cafeteria, she is never in her office when I try to drop by, you know? And maybe…maybe she thinks it was a mistake, I don’t know. We slept together, did I tell you that?”

  “I guessed it.”

  “And we were both a little drunk, so maybe I thought it meant something that it didn’t. But I have admired her for so long, and she always blew me off, so I gave up. And then at the faculty reception last week, we end up in the same little conversation knot. You know how at a party, sometimes a little group forms, and then all of a sudden it dissolves, and you’re left standing there with someone you don’t know how to talk to? It was like that, except somehow it didn’t happen that way. Somehow I managed to make the awkwardness my ally. Believe me, no one is more surprised than me. I managed to be charming even though I was convinced that she hated me, and instead of walking away in disgust she laughed, and we started talking. And then we had some more wine, and we talked some more, and then I walked her home because we were both too drunk, and, well. As I am a gentleman, I will not elaborate further.”

  “I would appreciate if you elaborated nothing further.”

  Hector ignored that. “The next morning I make her breakfast, I tell her how beautiful she is, she laughs at my stupid jokes. At the door, she kisses me. She initiates a kiss, you understand? I go home feeling like everything is going to be perfect from now on. I cleaned my bathroom — I hadn’t cleaned my bathroom in months. I took out the garbage, I was humming a little song, you know? I sent her flowers, after I spent two hours debating whether there was something more original I could do.”

  “Are you even approaching a point here?”

  “Yes. My point is, I never heard from her. Granted, this was Thursday night, it hasn’t been a month or anything. But I am completely messed up about this. One day, two days, yes. I sent the flowers, I expect nothing. I call her Saturday morning, it goes to voice mail. ‘Hey, it’s Hector, maybe you would like to go to dinner this week, my friend runs a place in St. Paul, call me back.’ She never calls. OK. Maybe I need to make a better offer. Monday I stop by her office, but she's not there. I leave a message with the assistant — I hear nothing. Now this is where it is tricky — perhaps she was not in the office at all on Monday, right? If I had not stopped by, I could have called her at home, or sent an e-mail. But I can’t do those things because I already stopped by, you know? If you do that it seems a little spooky.”

  “Creepy.”

  “What?”

  “I think you mean ‘creepy,’ not ‘spooky.’ ”

  “Ah, OK. No. What? Anyway, maybe she didn’t get the message until Tuesday. But still. Nothing yesterday, nothing today. I am beginning to think that I am just a booty call.”

  Hector sat down at the table. He was suddenly very tired.

  “Maybe she’s been seeing someone else,” said Gray, and sat down across from him.

  “I suppose that’s possible.”

  “I’m not trying to cast aspersions, you understand. There could be extenuating circumstances. Maybe it’s a long-distance thing. Maybe it’s a guy who’s not treating her right, you know? Maybe she just doesn’t know how to say no to him. Maybe she likes you, but…” Gray shrugged. “Maybe she’s not into you that way, you know.”

  “She was plenty into me that night.”

  “I’m not saying you don’t know what you’re doing. I’m just saying, maybe she goes for taller guys, or blond dudes, or something. Sometimes the chemistry just isn’t there. Sometimes it’s just a no, and you have to accept that.”

  Hector picked at his teeth with a thumbnail. This was not something he wanted to hear.

  “Let me put it to you this way, Mr. Ay. Professor Ay. Agent Wilkins; what do you think of her?”

  Hector shrugged. “She’s pushy.”

  “I mean on a completely superficial level. And by the way, if you tell her we had this conversation I will deny it.”

  “Superficial…she’s a little bit skinny for me, I guess. Not unattractive, but—”

  “Not your type.”

  “You’re saying the problem may be that I’m just not Zelda’s type.”

  “That’s right. Women have choices too. But if you’re not satisfied with that, I would suggest that you dial things back to coffee, and try to tell her what you’ve been telling me. The worst she can do is say no.”

  They were leaning toward each other; when the door opened they both jumped. Joy Wilkins squinted at them, but AD Flood pushed past her, his attention on a document he was holding. He slipped a copy of it in front of Hector and began reading.

  “Hector Ay, you affirm that you have no involvement in the trafficking of nameless demons, past, present, or future, through your place of employment, Gooseberry Bluff Community College of Magic, and you further pledge to cooperate with the Federal Bureau of Magical Affairs by sharing any information that you come upon involving said trafficking, up to but not including certain methods of security magic that you claim as intellectual property, to be delineated by subsequent documentation. You further pledge not to share information about this investigation or Agent Wilkins’s employment as an agent of this bureau with any individual not approved by this bureau. If you agree to all of the above, please sign and date the document and verbally affirm your agreement by stating ‘I agree.’ ”

  Hector reread the document twice. “I agree,” he said, and signed the paper.

  Flood handed over a second paper. “This is to notify you that by signing and verbally affirming the points of the previous document, you have acquiesced to a magical gag, which is now in effect.”

  “What? That was a dirty trick!”

  “Standard operating procedure, Mr. Ay.” Flood kept the smile off his face, but Hector could tell from his voice that he was enjoying himself. “It’s not going to affect you unless you try to talk about the case with someone you shouldn’t be talking to about it.”

  “Like, say, my lawyer?”

  “Just tell the lawyer you need a nondisclosure agreement drawn up, and give us the contact information. We’ll get in touch and explain the situation.”

  Hector put up his hands. “I feel like you’re steamrolling me.”

  “We’re the United States government, Mr. Ay. We’re not the enemy…but yes, we’re steamrolling you. Sign the paper, please.”

  Hector signed, and Flood took the paper. “You’re free to go,” said Flood, glancing at Gray and Wilkins for confirmation. “Unless the agents have anything else?”

  “No,” said Gray. “Good luck, Mr. Ay.”

  “We need to get back,” said Joy Wilkins. “Ready, Mr. Ay?”

  Hector was, but he also felt like he didn’t have any choice.

  At four a.m. Friday morning Joy sat on her bed in the dark, wearing her most practical dress shoes and her second-best suit. It was a rich shade of purple that contrasted nicely with her yellow silk blouse and the coppery brown of her skin.

  She had pic
ked out her clothes before she’d gone to bed the night before, knowing that she’d wake up too bleary to make fashion decisions. Joy was accustomed to doing without much sleep; she could get by on five or six hours a night for long stretches. But this had been her third night in a row of seriously disrupted sleep. She’d already drunk half a pot of coffee, but it didn’t seem to be having any effect.

  Her crystal rang, and whispered to her when she grasped it: “Your portal is open. Return within three hours.” She cut the connection, straightened the pleats in her trousers, and walked out of her house and into Aberystwyth, Ceredigion, Wales.

  Aberystwyth was a city on the west coast of Wales: bright, temperate, and six hours ahead of Gooseberry Bluff. Joy stood in the shade where she had emerged, on the landing outside a church, letting her eyes and her internal compass adjust. Private portal companies like Globe Gate made sure that all their entrance and exit points faced due east, but the FBMA wasn’t about to spend a little extra time and money to spare their agents a few seconds of vertigo.

  The church faced a row of two-and-a-half-story houses. Joy scanned them for the address she wanted: 12 Stanley Road. She hurried down the stairs, opened the churchyard gate, crossed the one-way street, and knocked on the apple-red door.

  A small gray woman answered the door; gray not like dust, but like sharpened steel. Her hair clung to her scalp in tight curls, and her face was all sharp angles — her skin was wrinkled and sagged in places, but she didn’t seem to be carrying a spare ounce of fat on her. Joy was bad at faces, but she recognized a fellow runner when she saw one.

  “Amanda Drake?” she asked. “My name is Joy Wilkins. I believe you just had a call from my office.”

  “From the Americans, yes. One could wish for more notice.” The woman’s accent was not Welsh, as Joy had expected; she sounded more French than English. Her aura was orange yellow: a perfectionist. She pulled the door open and motioned for Joy to enter. “I’ll put on some tea.”