by Sarah Noffke
A sour expression crossed John’s face. “Oh, I know the type. How is a child supposed to breathe and be creative in a place like that?”
Liv smiled inwardly. “Sophia manages.”
“I do believe I’ve learned more about you in the last week than I have in a long time,” John stated.
“Yeah, well, I’m trying. I can’t always be a closed book.”
“You be what you want to be, and the rest of us will accept that,” John said, suddenly stern. “It isn’t good for you to live your life on everyone else’s terms. And hell, no one can be happy living like that.”
And there it was. This was exactly why Liv adored the man.
John set Pickles down and strode over to the cash register, looking it over like he had lost something. “Whatever happened to this place, I can’t find a darn thing.” He chuckled, opening the register and pushing notes around, craning to look in the back of the drawer.
“What are you looking for?” Liv asked.
“I just remembered that some fella came by looking for you last night,” John said, continuing to shuffle things around. “Real good-looking guy, but I forget what his name was.”
“What? Are you sure he was looking for me?”
John laughed. “Yeah, there is only one Liv Beaufont here. I guess he’d tried you at your other job, but he said he didn’t know exactly where that was. He asked me about it, but I told him it was none of my business, nor his.”
John’s face brightened as he pulled a piece of paper out of the register. “Here it is! I promise I didn’t read it.”
Liv reached over and grabbed the note a bit more urgently than she meant to. She nearly tore it in two opening it. There was only one line:
Your agreement to have a drink with me is binding. – Rudolf
Liv reread it five times, swearing that her ability to read had failed her and she was misunderstanding the message. Plato had gotten up from his nap and perched on the table close enough that he could read the message. She’d love to know what he thought it meant, but she didn’t dare glance at him with John staring at her.
“Ummm… This guy, Rudolf—he came into the shop yesterday?” Liv asked, trying to act casual.
“Oh, yes,” John stated. “Does he work with your brother in the acting troupe? He was wearing the most peculiar costume—this red getup. I think it was crushed velvet. Haven’t seen anything like that since the eighties. I hope it’s not making a comeback.”
“Sure, yeah, Rudolf is an actor too,” Liv said, grateful to have John supply an excuse. “Besides the costume, did he look weird?”
John thought for a moment. “Well, he was the most handsome man I’ve seen in a while, but if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it flatly.”
So he’d glamoured his wings and ears. Good, Liv thought.
“Rudolf isn’t all that handsome once you have a conversation with him,” Liv said.
“Well, still, if you need to go see him or your brother or do whatever, I can watch the shop for the rest of the day.” John looked around. “Actually, thanks to that magical force that cleaned the place up last night, I don’t have a thing to do.”
Liv’s eyes widened at the mention of magic. She was about to say something when she noticed the words scrolling across the back of the register. Usually, after a transaction, they read, Thank You for Your Business. Have a Great Day.
However, presently they read, Liv Beaufont’s presence is requested on Roya Lane. Canister Seen.
“You know what, I think I will take you up on your offer,” Liv said in a rush, grabbing her bag and slinging it across her back. She was out the door before John could say another word.
Chapter Seventeen
“What does he mean by binding agreement?” Liv asked as she hurried in and threw her bag down in her still-messy apartment. She could really have used some help from a brownie, but she guessed if she took an extra minute, she could clean the whole place using magic.
Plato poked his head out of her bag, which he’d stowed away in just prior to her leaving John’s shop. “Did you make an agreement with the fae?”
Liv thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. He just insulted me several times, and I made idle threats.”
“It could be as simple as a question,” Plato explained. “Fae take their agreements very seriously, and will hold you to them.”
“Or what?” Liv asked, her heart pounding in her chest. She needed to go see Mortimer, but it would be helpful if she knew what mess she’d gotten herself into with Rudolf.
“Or you have to pay their price, which is usually high and considered extremely unfair.” Plato licked his paw, not appearing at all ruffled by Liv’s plight.
“But I don’t remember agreeing to anything,” she explained, her voice turning shrill.
“That’s the thing,” Plato said. “If you would have asked me, I would have warned you to stay away from the fae. They are incredibly deceptive creatures. One minute you’re having a casual conversation, and the next you’ve promised them your first-born without realizing it.”
“Well, where were you when Rudolf offered his help and conned me into a conversation with him?”
“I was nearby, and I remember the whole thing rather clearly.”
“Then tell me what I agreed to,” Liv urged.
Plato ran his wet paw over his head. “I don’t recall that part, to be honest. Just shows that it must have been expertly worded.”
Liv sighed. “Great. Now I’m in a binding agreement with a fae, and John is growing more suspicious about what’s going on around the shop. How am I supposed to keep him in the dark with fae showing up at my work and my magician brother stopping by the shop? Oh, and Rory pretending he’s just a very large man?”
Plato nodded. “I fear it’s only going to get worse for you. Hiding the magic in your life won’t be easy, not now that you’re a Warrior.”
“Well, I’m not quitting my job,” Liv said flatly.
“Then you might want to consider compartmentalizing your life a bit.”
Liv eyed the cat for a moment. “Yeah, maybe. But not right now.” She created a portal to Roya Lane and stepped through.
“Oh good, you got my note,” Rudolf said as soon as Liv set foot on the cobbled street. He looked her up and down, a dissatisfied expression on his face. “Really, you could have worn something a bit more provocative.”
Liv peered down at her black leather pants and jacket. “What’s wrong with this?”
“It’s so overrated. All the wannabe heroines wear that outfit.”
“Well, there you go,” Liv stated matter-of-factly. “I’m not a wannabe heroine, I’m a reluctant Warrior.”
“Still, it’s an awful choice for where I’m taking you,” Rudolf said, holding his finger in the air and tracing her form. “Let me put you in a ball gown. Maybe something from the sixteenth century with a corset that controls your—”
“Finish that sentence and I’ll put your head through a sieve,” Liv threatened.
Rudolf held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, so no corset. I don’t really think you need it.”
Liv blinked at the fae dully for a moment and then scanned the area around him. Roya Lane was just as packed as before, and there were still strange interactions happening between various races of magical creatures. “What is this binding agreement I entered into with you?”
Rudolf laughed. “Oh, a magician’s memory is a fickle little thing. I forget that you don’t have the benefit of the fae’s powers of recollection. We live so long that our memories become rather exceptional, helping us to keep up with all the things mortals and magical creatures promise us.”
Liv stuck her fists on her hips. “I didn’t promise you anything.”
Rudolf held up a finger and wagged it. “Oh, but you did, Ms. Liv Beaufont, Warrior of the House of Seven. Before you entered the brownies official headquarters, I said, ‘We should grab a drink sometime,’ to which you agreed.”
Liv narrowed her eyes at the man before her. “That’s what this is about? A stupid drink? I have real responsibilities and things to deal with, and no time to sit across a table from you and listen to your insults.”
Rudolf laughed as if she’d told a charming joke. “Oh, I agree that time for you is dwindling. What do you have—a hundred, maybe two hundred years? That was why I went to see you at the shop where you work; to ensure you didn’t forget and pay the price of ignoring our agreement.”
“First of all, don’t go back to that shop unless you want me to spend the rest of my remaining years on this Earth trying to figure out how to end your life,” Liv stated. “And secondly, what dumb price would I pay if I didn’t go and have a drink with you?”
Rudolf glanced at his fingernails like they suddenly were of great interest to him. “Let’s see, a disregarded level-three agreement would cost you a dozen years of servitude to me.”
Liv laughed, making a group of sour-looking gnomes turn around to scowl at her. “I’m already serving a dozen-year sentence at the House of Seven, so go ahead and get in line.”
Rudolf dropped his hand and smiled discreetly at her. “I’m afraid fae law trumps that of magicians. The last magician who tried to get out of one of our agreements and appealed to the House found himself abandoned, and he is still paying our high prices. There is simply nothing the House can do to us, although they try every century.”
“This is very fascinating and all, but I actually have business with the brownies,” Liv stated. “I’ll have to take a raincheck for that drink. Say in about a hundred years?”
Rudolf puffed out his pink lips and clicked his tongue three times. “I’m afraid that won’t work. You have until the end of today to make good on our agreement or I’ll have to enforce the fine print.”
A growl escaped Liv’s mouth. “How can there be any fine print when I didn’t sign anything?”
The fae gave her a sinister glare. “That’s the beauty of our agreements. They are full of all sorts of fine print that you never read but is set in stone. You agreed to have a drink with me, and are obligated to do so. Otherwise, I’ll be sad to see you become my chambermaid, but grateful that I’ll have the company of your face for the next dozen years.”
Liv couldn’t believe that she was about to jeopardize her family’s place in the House of Seven once again. She couldn’t lose her position because of something silly with this Fae. If she became a slave to this self-absorbed dimwit, the Beaufonts would be removed from the Seven, and it would be all her fault.
“Fine. Can I meet you in an hour or so somewhere?” Liv said, defeat heavy in her voice. “I’ve presently got a meeting I have to attend.”
“I could go with you,” Rudolf offered, his face tilted to the side.
Liv shook her head quickly. “Nope. But I’ll meet you wherever you want.” Catching the mischievous look on Rudolf’s face, Liv shook her head more forcefully. “Any pub on Roya Lane that you want. No weird brothel-type places or whatever other gross establishments you have in mind.”
Rudolf’s grin fell away. “Oh, too bad. I know of some devilishly good places. Alas, I’ll meet you at the Wishing Well.”
“That better be a legit bar and not some fae trickery,” Liv warned.
Rudolf nodded. “It’s completely innocent—a simple pub run by elves. Quite boring, but I’ll be there. That always makes it interesting.”
“Fine, but one drink and then I’m done with you, right?” Liv asked.
“For now,” Rudolf said with a wink.
Before all this magic business, Liv would have had time to watch Netflix and veg on nachos. Her stomach rumbled furiously as she made her way down the hallway to Mortimer’s office. She hadn’t eaten enough today, and it was starting to take a toll on her. Maybe if she crammed chips piled high with meat and cheese ungracefully into her mouth, Rudolf would leave her alone for the rest of her seemingly short life.
Liv knocked and simultaneously opened the door to the brownie’s office. He wasn’t behind his desk when she entered, as she’d expected.
“Umm…hello?”
“I’m here,” a squeaky voice called from behind a stack of books and papers in the corner.
“Are you okay?” Liv asked, trying to peer around the mess to find the brownie.
“I’m fine,” Mortimer answered. “Just sorting. Applebee, go over here. Smuthers, here. And Carnago, here.” Papers slipped onto the tops of three different stacks that were nearly touching the ceiling.
“Ha-ha-hachu!” The brownie’s sneeze sent the stacks in all directions, papers spiraling through the air. Liv shielded her face, accosted by a barrage of paper that struck her lightly.
“Oh, pond scum!” Mortimer exclaimed, looking around as the papers settled on the floor. “That’s the third time that’s happened.”
“You’re joking, right?” Liv asked.
He stared at her seriously. “What do you mean? Of course, I’m not. I’ve caught an awful cold, and it keeps messing up my attempts at filing.”
“Might you consider a different system?” Liv offered. “Maybe one where you don’t file the papers on precarious stacks that tower up to the ceiling?”
The brownie blinked at her as if she were a sudden apparition, then laughed. “You’re a funny magician. Thanks, I needed the laugh.”
Liv shook off this strange behavior and knelt to help Mortimer pick up the papers. Strangely, there was nothing written on them. They were all blank, but he kept muttering to himself as if they weren’t.
“Forkspeed goes over here, and Sleuthgrove over here,” he said, retrieving the papers and reassembling the stacks.
“You sent a message for me to see you,” Liv stated. “Have you found something?”
Mortimer looked up from his filing, his wrinkled face full of confusion. Apparently he’d momentarily forgotten that she was there. “Oh, right. Yes, but nothing much yet. One of my brownies said they’d seen a canister of magic enter a dwelling they clean.”
Liv’s fingers nearly crumpled the paper she was holding. “What? That’s great news. Where is it?”
“Uttercert goes here, and Loylolla over here.”
“Mortimer!”
The brownie looked up suddenly. “Right, right. You’re still here. I always get lost in the task when filing.”
“Well, maybe you can pause for just a moment. This is important. The canister?”
“Yes, good news. It’s been spotted. The bad news is that the brownie I spoke with can’t remember where.”
Liv deflated. “Really? How is that possible?”
“I assure you that it’s very possible. We brownies clean many a home in a night sometimes. Hundreds of homes a year, and over a—”
“I get it,” Liv said, cutting him off.
Mortimer’s large eyes fell on the paper in his hands and he began to read.
“So what do we do?” Liv asked, trying to keep him focused.
“I’ve got him thinking about it,” Mortimer replied, undeterred. “I suspect the location will occur to him sometime soon. But I wanted to give you the good news.”
Liv stuck the papers she’d gathered on the overflowing desk, careful to stay hunched so she didn’t hit her head. “I’m not sure that is good news.”
“Well, that’s not all of it,” Mortimer said. It appeared to be quite difficult for him to keep himself from continuing to file; his gaze drifted back down to the papers in his hands.
Liv picked up the green ball on his desk and tossed it in the air. That grabbed his attention, making him drop the stack of papers and waddle over to where she was. He held out his palm flatly, a demanding look on his face.
She set the foam ball in his hand and smiled down at him. “Please tell me more, then.”
“Well, I got to thinking about your predicament with the giant’s sword protected by magic,” Mortimer began, striding around his desk, slipping on papers and nearly falling. “Your little incident in the Natural History Museum didn�
��t go unnoticed by my brownies.”
“Or a few others, it would seem,” Liv stated dully.
“Anyway, once we knew the location you were referring to, I had my brownies do some investigating,” Mortimer said. He started to throw the ball at the door and catch it again. “One. Two. Three.”
“What did they learn?” Liv asked, nearly flinching every time the ball whizzed dangerously close to her face.
“That the lower lobby is a complete pig’s pen,” Mortimer said, throwing the ball faster as if he was suddenly charged by the topic. “There’s a fine layer of dust on the animal exhibit, and there’s a case of tools that is absolutely disgusting.”
“I meant, what did they find out about the sword?” Liv asked. “Or were they overwhelmed by the unkempt exhibits?”
“Nearly. Museums aren’t generally under the brownies’ jurisdiction. Mostly it’s homes. Sometimes stores, as in the case of your friend John’s shop. But museums don’t belong to a person per se, so they don’t get our attention. There are rare examples of groups of residents in nursing homes and similar places, but not usually public places such as that one.”
“Although this is fascinating,” Liv began, “I’m wondering if your brownie found anything of use, or is this another case where they know something but can’t remember it?”
Mortimer paused before throwing the ball again. “I think you’ll be pleased to know that they learned that although the wards prevent giants from trespassing into the sword room, and prevented you from touching the case, that same magic doesn’t work on brownies.”
Liv didn’t breathe for several seconds. Only once Mortimer continued throwing the ball did she cough out a breath. “So the brownies can get to the sword? Does that mean that they will?”
Mortimer paused and looked at her seriously. “Are you asking us to aid you in an effort to steal a sword that belongs to mortals?”
“Well, no, but… I mean, you said yourself that you have no loyalty to the particular mortals who run the museum. And the sword does belong—”