“Yeah, well, maybe he was distracted by his son being arrested, and did something dangerous to prove your innocence. Doesn’t matter now, does it? I took him to a healer, and they couldn’t help him.”
Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Sammy appeared. “Enforcers are here.”
Ah, crap.
Mort went pale. “What?” He looked around as though afraid he’d left a pile of drugs or guns lying about.
Sammy arched an eyebrow, and said without taking her eyes off of him, “They asked for Finn.”
Double crap.
4
Know Your Rights
Enforcers. Their arrival meant nothing good, even assuming they really were enforcers and not more assassins in disguise. I felt a simultaneous urge to flee and to vomit at the thought of being dragged back into exile and Fey custody.
I turned in a circle, picturing every exit from the house. But even if I managed to escape the enforcers, which was unlikely, I had nowhere to go and would be vulnerable to another attack. Home remained the safest place for me—even if my older brother seemed to be plotting against me, and my father, the one person I’d counted on for help, was exploding doves and spouting gibberish.
“Finn?” Sammy asked.
I swallowed down my panic. It seemed I had little choice but to face the enforcers.
“Coming,” I said, and followed after Sammy.
She glanced back as we climbed the stairs. “I don’t know what’s going on, Finn, but things have changed since you left. Don’t let the enforcers bully you. They can’t force you to do or say anything without good cause, not anymore.”
I’d believe that when I wasn’t exiled again. But the sharp certainty in her tone did calm my racing pulse a bit. “Thanks, sis. How do you know so much about what enforcers can and can’t do? Raising trouble while I was gone?”
“Actually, yeah, sort of.” We exited the stairs into the hall. “I started a support network for mundy women who were dumped or widowed by magicals. You know, some arcana or unicorn or whatever comes along and blows up their mundy reality, then just as they’re learning to deal with the magical world they lose their one real connection with it all. And the ARC likes to send enforcers around, wanting to violate their minds, wipe their memories—” She fell silent, having worked herself up into an unusually emotional state.
“I think that’s awesome,” I said as we passed through the kitchen. “What you’re doing, I mean, not what they have to deal with. I’d never really thought about it before, but—”
“Big surprise,” Sammy said. Then she sighed, and put her hand on my arm. “Sorry. I know you aren’t like the assholes I’m always dealing with. Hell, you’re my brother, I barely even think of you as an arcana, or a man for that matter.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said.
“Any time.” We stopped at the double doors to the entry hall. “Ready?” Sammy asked.
“No. But I don’t have any choice.”
“You’ll be fine. If they start acting up, I’ll read them the riot act.”
I smiled. “Thanks, sis.”
I opened the doors. Two enforcers waited for me in the front entry hall, one an older black man who looked like Louis Gossett Jr.’s angrier brother, and the other a young woman who reminded me of Jo from The Facts of Life. At the time of my exile, enforcers wore enchanted Miami Vice–looking outfits—their way of blending into the mundy world and, I suspect, of looking cool at the Arcana Ruling Council’s expense. Now they both wore black suits and ties like the “enforcer” at my transfer, reminding me of 1960’s federal agents.
One thing that hadn’t changed, however, was the standard-issue enforcer mustache, a long horseshoe Fu Manchu affair with silver-traced beads braided into the dangling ends. The beads meant something, though I didn’t know what—rank, or powers, or maybe enforcer merit badges for being honest, brave, helping bad old witches cross the street into oncoming traffic, and beating the crap out of any arcana or feyblood that broke the Pax or ARC laws.
The female enforcer didn’t actually have a mustache. She had two thin braids instead, one in front of each ear, with the beads dangling near her jawline. Too bad. I would have loved to see how she pulled off a mustache.
With the enforcers stood a tall weathered-looking dude wearing a biker jacket, his receding silver-blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. He sported the mustache of an enforcer, but free of any beads. Biker dude’s eyes locked onto me as I stepped fully into the room, as did those of the enforcers.
“Phinaeus Gramaraye?” Enforcer guy asked.
“Yes.” I braced for a tackle.
“My name is Reggie, and this is Jo.” He nodded to the female enforcer. “We’re here on ARC business. Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”
“Huh?” I responded cleverly. I’d expected the enforcers to throw me on the ground, slap binding cuffs on me, and drag me away, regardless of what Sammy had said.
Jo—I wondered if she’d picked that name—gave an impatient sigh. “We understand something unusual happened during your transfer from exile, and we’d like to ask you about it.”
“Oh, uh, sure, in here.” I waved them back into the dining room. I followed them in and closed the double doors behind us, leaving Sammy in the entry hall. When I turned back around, biker dude grabbed me by the throat and shoved me up against the doors, lifting me up to the balls of my feet.
“What the hell’s going on?” he asked in a voice so gravelly it gave my ears road rash. “And don’t lie to me, fool. I can read lies.”
“Zeke, stop,” Enforcer Reggie said, his tone making clear the command was more form than substance. “I told you we’ve got new rules now.”
“Yeah,” Zeke said without taking his eyes off of my face, which no doubt turned interesting colors as I gasped for air. “I heard. But I ain’t an enforcer no more, am I?”
Sammy pounded on the door. “Hey! Finn, you okay in there?”
“Reggie,” Jo said. “I know he was your partner and all—”
“Zeke,” Reggie said. “You still gotta respect the rules, or I’ll get busted for it. Please put the bad necro down.”
Zeke grunted, and stepped back, letting me drop back to my heels. Sammy opened the door, but I waved her back. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I didn’t want her involved. She frowned, and closed the door again.
I rubbed my throat. “I’m not a dark necromancer,” I said and coughed.
Jo glanced at Reggie, her eyebrows raised. “I didn’t detect a lie.”
“You read his file, rook,” Reggie said and smiled at me. “The evidence was overwhelming. Sometimes, the truth gets hidden behind the words. He says he’s not a dark necromancer, but maybe that’s because he thinks he’s a holy warrior using evil to fight evil, or he’s a savior releasing their spirits, or thinks he really changed in exile.”
“I didn’t attack anyone, period,” I said. “I was framed.”
“Interesting,” Reggie said. “And I’d love to figure out just what you think that means in your funny little world, but we’re not here to discuss your past crimes or hold a retrial, Mr. Gramaraye. So why don’t you tell us what happened tonight?”
“You mean with the transfer?”
“Yes.”
“Somebody attacked us,” I said. “Somebody glamoured to look like an enforcer. I managed to get through the portal before it closed. I came here hoping to figure out what’s going on and what to do next.” All true. I just left out the part about finding a dead body in my trailer.
Zeke’s eyes narrowed. “Do you know the person who attacked the transfer?”
“No.”
Reggie crossed his arms. “Did you in any way help to coordinate or have knowledge of the attack before it happened?”
“What? No! That’s crazy! Why would I attack myself?”
“The spell targeted the Fey but had no effect on human spirits. You were in no real danger.”
“You’re sure?” I asked, confused. Had I
just been in the wrong place at the wrong time?
No. Felicity’s death wasn’t a coincidence. She’d been killed, silenced with necromancy, and left in my home for the enforcers to find, probably with my resonance somehow planted on her. But then why attack the Fey at all?
“We’re certain,” Reggie said. “Another arcana being transferred from exile was struck but unharmed.”
“Unharmed my ass, that attack hurt like hell!” Zeke said. “And I barely made it through my portal.” He jabbed a finger at me. “After I survived twenty-five years getting mind-humped by a bunch of Fey, you came along and messed up my homecoming, fool. I didn’t get no memories, I don’t know nothing about the fool job he left me, and I’m on the hook for my warden and changeling gettin’ toasted. I wanna know what’s going on!”
“Look,” I said, my palms as sweaty as a three-hundred-pound jogger in Florida now. “I honestly don’t know what’s going on, why the attack happened, or who the attacker is. I hope you catch whoever it is, I really do.”
The enforcers exchanged looks. Jo gave the slightest nod, and Reggie sighed. “He’s telling the truth, Zeke.”
“Maybe,” Zeke said, and squinted at me. “So what happened to this mystery attacker?”
“He was gone by the time I had control of my body.”
“Anyone else there?” Reggie asked. “Other arcana?”
“No.” Truth, technically. Arcana were human magic users. Felicity was not an arcana.
Reggie’s eyes narrowed. “Any feybloods?”
Crap. Feybloods were the nonhuman magicals in our world, created centuries ago when Fey spirits crossed to our world and blended with people, animals, even plants. They included everything from unicorns to elementals to waer creatures. They also included witches, like Felicity’s clan.
But Felicity had been dead when I found her in my trailer, her spirit moved on. So technically, she still wasn’t there either. At least, that’s the thought I held firmly in my head as I said, “Not another living soul, I swear, unless you count the wildlife.”
“I see,” Reggie said. “Any idea why someone would attack the Fey during your transfer?”
“No.”
“Any guesses?” Jo asked, her polite tone now strained.
“Because the Fey suck? I don’t know. I thought maybe the Króls were seeking revenge on me, but you said the attack wouldn’t have harmed me, so now I don’t know.”
“Revenge?” Zeke snorted. “Thought you said you didn’t do nothing, you’re all innocent.”
“I am,” I said, feeling my own anger rising. “And you guys sent me into exile anyway. So as far as the Króls and everyone else are concerned, I’m guilty, right?”
The enforcers exchanged glances again.
“He appears to believe what he’s saying,” Reggie said as if I weren’t standing right there. “Maybe we shouldn’t focus on the Fey attack. There’s the matter of his—”
“Seriously?” Zeke said. “You can’t tell this fool’s hiding something? Give me five minutes with him, and—”
The doors behind me opened, and a tall gentleman let himself into the room. From his outfit, I wondered if he’d just left the men’s club—in the 1960s. Gray suit pants, a double-breasted navy sports jacket with gold buttons, a red handkerchief and tie. His conservative haircut was slicked back and waxy looking. It took me a second to recognize him, helped by the fact that his manner and appearance reminded me of Grandfather.
“Jimmy?” Jimmy Grayson was a necromancer two years older than me, and a Talker. Jimmy’s mother died in some kind of accident when he was a child, and he’d never known his father. He got fostered out to a family with no Talker to train him, so Grandfather tutored Jimmy alongside me for several years. He’d idolized Grandfather, and we’d been friendly, but not friends. He was too quiet and withdrawn. And he completely lacked a sense of humor. “Nice outfit, Jimmy Jam.”
“I’m addressed as Magus Grayson now,” he replied. Still no sense of humor, it seemed. “Hello, Finn. I trust these enforcers have been treating you properly?”
I glanced sidelong at Zeke. “Uh, yeah, totally.”
“Good. Enforcers,” Grayson said, nodding to them. “And Mister Wodenson. I understand there’s some concern that Finn here’s involved in a crime? Surely that’s a mistake. He’s only just returned.”
Reggie stepped forward, and bowed his head briefly to Grayson. “Magus,” he said, and glanced behind him. “Zeke, why don’t you wait in the car. Jo can keep you company. And please close the doors behind you.”
Zeke looked between me and Grayson, then huffed from the room. He glared at me, unblinking, as Jo closed the doors behind them.
Reggie waited until the doors closed, and said, “Magus, there was an attack on the Other Realm during the transfer. And the enforcer assigned to monitor the transfer is missing.”
“So I’ve heard. And don’t you think perhaps you should go out to the transfer site and investigate before harassing Mr. Gramaraye here?”
“We did.”
“Really?” Grayson sounded dubious. “And?”
“And we found no sign of anyone but Gramaraye and his changeling.” He glanced at me. “If someone else was responsible for the attack, they erased their presence completely. Or somehow masked their resonance to Gramaraye’s here. At least, as far as we could determine—the investigation has been complicated by mundy involvement.”
“Mundies?” Grayson frowned. “Why would they be involved?”
“Because somebody set fire to Gramaraye’s little feyhole.” Reggie looked at me. “Which was going to be our next topic of discussion.”
Crap. No mention of Felicity, at least, and he hadn’t asked me about her before, even when I mentioned the Króls. That much had gone right, at least.
Grayson turned his frown on me for a second, though his eyes focused elsewhere. “Was the fire magical in origin?” he asked finally.
“No, it looks like a propane explosion,” Reggie replied. “But obviously—”
“In other words,” Grayson said, “you have no legal justification to further harass my friend here?”
Reggie’s jaw twitched. “Not yet,” he said.
“Well then,” Grayson said. “Why don’t we go out to the site and take a second look? I’ll arrange to have some of our people in the FBI step in, give you cover as consultants or whatever you need. Then we can find what you missed, and prove Finn’s innocence rather than interrogating him in his home, hmm?”
Oh crap. “Jimmy—I mean, Magus Grayson—it’s fine. I completely understand why they questioned me. I mean, it’s not like they’re throwing me in a cell for the night. Uh, you’re not, right?”
Reggie arched an eyebrow at me.
Grayson moved to stand beside me. “Finn, you and your family have been through enough already. I will not have you spend your first hours of freedom under suspicion and the constant threat of arrest. It borders on persecution.”
Reggie crossed his arms. “Persecution would be letting Zeke beat the truth out of your friend here. Mr. Gramaraye is our only suspect, after all, and the only one we can verify as present during the attack.”
“Wait,” I said. “Are you arresting me?”
“No,” Reggie said. “However, I’m giving this investigation seventy-two hours. If we don’t have the answers we need by then, we’ll take the necessary steps to get them.”
“And what does that mean?” Grayson asked.
Reggie shrugged. “Most likely, we’ll go in after the changeling’s memories.”
I touched my forehead. “But I thought that couldn’t be done? That they were walled off by Fey magic and arcana magic both?”
Grayson narrowed his eyes. “It can be done, but it will most likely cause damage to your mind, and probably destroy your own memories.”
“Maybe,” Reggie said. “Maybe not.”
I took a step back from both of them. “But I didn’t do anything!”
“You’re hiding som
ething, I’d bet on it,” Reggie said. “And we’re talking about an attack into the Other Realm. You do realize what’s at stake here?”
“Yeah,” I said. “My freedom. Again.”
“More than that. The destruction of two changelings and Fey wardens? And a missing ARC enforcer? Wars have started for less.”
“War?” Grayson asked. “You really think it might come to that?”
“Do you want to find out?” Reggie responded. “Under the Pax, we have six days to resolve any breach of border security before the Fey are given jurisdiction in our world, and things get messy fast.” He looked at me. “Until and unless I find solid evidence pointing to your guilt, I’m giving you three of those days to enjoy while we continue our investigation and deal with the mundies, which is frankly more generous than I’d like to be.”
I could see Grayson’s frustration clearly on his face. But in the end, there was only so much he could do. Enforcers were part of the Arcana Ruling Council but not under the direct control of the magi due to the ARC’s checks and balances. Just one of the many fun and exciting facts of the arcana world I’d learned during my summers at arcana school.
Grayson met Reggie’s stare for a second, then said, “Very well. I’m sorry, Finn. He’s right. It seems you must remain a suspect. But we shall get this whole mess cleared up as quickly as possible. Nobody is going to go tromping through your head.” He looked in the direction Zeke had gone. “In the meantime, I expect Mr. Gramaraye to be treated with the respect due an arcana, and a Talker, is that clear?”
“Of course,” Reggie said. “But if I were you, Gramaraye, I’d avoid any necromancy until this is all cleared up. If someone really is out to get you, don’t give them any help.”
“At this point, I’d be happy to never touch magic again,” I replied.
“Right,” Reggie said. “Well, if you suddenly remember something new about the attack, or the trailer fire, or anything else I might need to know, contact me.”
He produced a business card and handed it to me. I wiped the sweat from my hand before taking it.
Finn Fancy Necromancy Page 4