by Scott Colby
“Just what do you think is going to happen in this place?”
“I have no clue,” the elf said somberly, “and that’s the problem.”
In the pocket of his leather jacket, Kevin fingered the Donovan’s matchbook nervously. What if this trip was Mr. Gregson’s latest, most convoluted attempt to fuck with him? Did the scheming pixie hate Kevin enough that he’d send him somewhere legitimately dangerous? It certainly seemed possible. For a brief moment, Kevin considered coming clean with Driff. If they were walking into some sort of trap, the elf needed to know—if only because he was Kevin’s best and only possible form of protection against magical threats. But Driff was already on edge and would certainly be prepared anyway, so why bother risking his wrath? Mr. Gregson had also demanded that Kevin keep their meeting from the Council of Intelligence. Drawing the ire of both the elf and the pixie would certainly make Kevin’s life far too difficult.
Driff turned the Jag right onto Holland Street, heading south down the narrow road that would take them toward Woodville and the mysterious Donovan’s. What would a bar full of magic assholes look like? Was it even inside of a building, or was it out in a field or a forest somewhere, hidden from prying eyes by deceptive sorcery? He should’ve asked Nella when she came to visit that afternoon, but at the time there’d been more important—and much more fun—things for the two of them to do.
Rather than stare out the window at the Holland Street version of Harksburg’s scenery (which, by the way, looked just like that surrounding the town common: tall Victorian houses maintained reasonably well situated on moderately sized lots), Kevin decided to take advantage of this rarest of occasions and flipped open the glove box. He’d never been inside of the Jag without Ren’s supervision, and there was no telling what manner of embarrassing paraphernalia his friend had hidden in that vehicle. Sadly, the glove box contained only an owner’s manual and the vehicle’s registration. Kevin slammed it shut with an annoyed grunt and leaned forward, reaching under the seat to continue his search.
“You won’t find anything,” Driff said calmly. “I looked.”
Undeterred, Kevin continued groping along the rough fabric. “What gives you the right to poke around Ren’s personal effects?”
“It’s got nothing to do with ‘right’ and everything to do with making sure nothing in here was going to make my life unnecessarily complicated.”
“You thought the Jag was bugged?”
“Or worse.”
“Worse?”
“Worse.”
“Like, gnomes?”
“Much worse.”
Tallisker, Kevin thought. Driff didn’t trust the Roberts family’s business connections either. Sitting up, he shot the elf a conspiratorial glance. “Got any plans tomorrow night?”
“Let’s focus on tonight,” the elf said, his voice surprisingly warm—like a Little League coach giving his young squad a wholesome pep talk. “We’ve got a job to do, and we’ll be that much better at it if we don’t give in to distractions.”
Kevin took the hint. Although Driff had searched the car to the best of his abilities, he wasn’t completely convinced it was a safe place to talk—or perhaps he’d found some sort of bug he hadn’t been able to deal with and thought it best to leave it intact. Regardless, Ren’s Jaguar wasn’t a good place to discuss strategy.
A palpable feeling of dread froze Kevin in place and drained the blood from his face. Assuming the car really was bugged, how long had someone been listening? He and Ren had discussed a lot of very personal things in that vehicle. Did Tallisker have a recording of that particularly bad LSD trip during which Kevin had become convinced that he was a hockey puck? What about that time he’d bared his soul to Ren and admitted that he may have gotten Holly Thompkins pregnant? The thought of Tallisker possessing a record of his private fears and most embarrassing moments was disconcerting to say the least.
“Stop it,” Driff snapped. “I didn’t find anything in the car. Your precious secrets are safe. I was serious when I said we need to take care of one problem at a time.”
Kevin snorted derisively, hoping it would mask his relief—and his embarrassment. “I knew that. I was thinking about how angry Ren will be when he finds out we took the Jag without him.”
“Sure.”
The scenery around them turned treeless and expansive, the countryside opening up like a blossoming flower. Empty fields of rolling grass stretched toward distant hills on either side of the road. Kevin had seen small groups of cows and horses wandering the area on occasion, though there was no farmhouse or stable in sight. A full moon hung ominously above the forest ahead.
“So, what’s a bar for magic people like?” Kevin asked.
“It’s kind of like a bar for un-magic people, only the fights are more interesting,” Driff replied.
“If there’s a fight, I’ll stand behind you.”
“If there’s a fight, you won’t be able to see me.”
“Brave.”
“Smart.”
Kevin chuckled and shook his head.
“What?”
“Sorry. It’s funny how much you remind me of Ren sometimes—and it’s not just the house you’re living in or the car you’re driving.”
An oddly twisted smile crept across Driff’s face as if he simultaneously wanted to choke his passenger and give him a high five. “I hope I haven’t caught something.”
The dense woods closed around them, blocking out most of the stars and the glow of the full moon. The Jag’s headlights cut stark swaths across the battered gray pavement. An increased rattle from the tires signaled the town line. Woodville was sparsely populated in its center. Out here on the edges, houses were even fewer and farther between, set back from the road via long driveways and hidden behind the thick trees.
“This part of town’s always been boring and it’s always going to be boring,” Kevin said to no one in particular. He’d always hated this stretch of road, though he’d never traveled it regularly. Uncle Fred and Aunt Tammy lived in Gratton, two towns and twenty minutes of bland, 40-mile-per-hour road past the other side of Woodville.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Driff replied. “It reminds me of a few places back home.”
Kevin struggled to remember the name of the elven city. “In Elfertanki?”
Driff didn’t bother to correct him. “I suggest we take a slightly different approach this evening.”
“And that would be?”
“Let Billy take the lead. We’ll play support roles. We’re there for moral support and helping him sell himself to interested parties.”
“Gosh, Driff, is dating always that romantic where you’re from?” Kevin added a snort for sarcastic emphasis.
“Keep it up and you’re walking home,” the elf snapped.
“Throwing a fun, friendly woman at him didn’t work so well last time. I suppose this is worth a try.”
Satisfied that he’d gotten his way, Driff pushed his spectacles up on his nose and focused on the road. The Jag barreled down the razor-straight road at close to fifty miles an hour, but they’d passed two, maybe three driveways during that conversation and hadn’t seen another pair of headlights since they’d left the center of Harksburg. That early in the week, there was little reason for the residents of either sleepy little town to be out and about at that hour.
The thought gave Kevin pause. If there were no humans out and about, did it stand to reason that all of the nonhumans had stayed home as well? The evening’s excursion would be a complete waste of time if they were the only three people in Donovan’s.
“Think it’s going to be busy tonight?” he asked.
Driff nodded. “The sorts of people we’re going to meet in Donovan’s don’t typically work nine-to-fives.”
“Oh. So, what do they do, then?”
“In some cases, they do what they were meant to do—like your little blue girlfriend. Most of them just do whatever they want.”
Kevin shook his head. That wasn�
��t particularly helpful. He let the matter drop; learning more about the secret subculture Driff, Billy, and Nella inhabited had seemed important a few days ago, but it had proven to be difficult and confusing—especially when anti-social magic assholes refused to give him the whole story. He wondered if Driff and Mr. Gregson had attended the same class on giving half-assed answers. The two were probably old study buddies who still kept in touch on occasion.
Driff flipped his right blinker on and slowed. Confused, Kevin looked around. “There aren’t any turns coming up.”
The elf smiled, cranked the wheel to the right, and floored it. The vehicle lurched forward and turned, slamming Kevin sideways and back into his seat. He only had a moment to curse Driff and stare in wide-eyed horror at the thick stand of pine trees suddenly filling the windshield. Wincing, he jerked his arms up in a feeble attempt to protect his face and leaned as far back into the seat as he could go.
The Jag continued on its way, apparently unharmed. Kevin slowly lowered his arms so he could see. They’d turned onto a narrow road paved with some sort of sky blue asphalt that glittered in the bright starlight streaming down from overhead. The stars themselves seemed to have multiplied, the sky dappled with dense swaths of twinkling lights. On either side of the road, spindly trees with thick red leaves and narrow white and gray bark seemed to beckon them forward as they swayed gently in the breeze.
“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?” Kevin snapped.
“It’s not my fault humans can’t see through a basic cloaking ward,” Driff replied nonchalantly.
“Are we still in Illinois? I’ve never seen stars like that. Is that the Milky Way?”
The elf nodded.
“But…how? We aren’t near any major cities, but the light pollution still blocks a lot of the night sky.”
“According to Donovan’s dossier, he’s a devoted amateur astronomer.”
“That’s why, not how. Are you saying there’s no light pollution here because this Donovan dude…removed it?”
Driff nodded again.
“That’s insane.”
“And expensive. Supposedly that’s why the drinks in his club aren’t particularly cheap.”
“Hmm. I only brought twenty bucks.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll find a nice troll that thinks he or she can get into your pants by plying you with alcohol.”
“You’re a real pal, Driff.”
Kevin leaned forward and watched the red and white trees whip past, his nerves still frazzled. The magic he’d seen thus far had been small and localized—and downright puny compared to that which cleared the night sky above Donovan’s. He hadn’t realized magic was capable of such things. It made him feel insignificant in comparison. How could someone without even a fraction of that sort of power hope to function in such a world and deal with its denizens? He doubted his charming personality would be enough to see him through.
And what chance, really, did someone like Kevin Felton have of keeping a woman like Nella? She’d grown up around magic, she’d dated a reaper, and who knows what else. Kevin possessed no power over life and death. He couldn’t turn invisible, levitate annoying neighbors, or eliminate light pollution. Nella didn’t seem like the kind of girl who would be impressed by his ability to balance a checkbook or make a snazzy pie chart in a spreadsheet.
“Can you teach me some magic?” Kevin asked. He immediately wished he’d stopped himself.
Driff responded with a sound that was something between a sigh and a growl and kept driving.
Embarrassed, Kevin crossed his arms across his chest and returned his attention to their surroundings. The narrow blue road became a wide parking lot, and Kevin was relieved to see a dozen other vehicles parked there. Beyond, a towering wall of red vines blocked the way deeper into the forest. As the Jag pulled into the parking lot, Kevin noticed that those vines were trimmed with thorns that looked for all the world like big, red shark teeth. Beside the wall stood a podium manned by a hulking figure in a black, pinstriped suit.
Driff pulled the Jag into an empty spot beside Mr. Pemberton’s Lincoln and cut the engine. Billy, perched atop the Lincoln’s trunk so he could stare up at the stellar light show in the sky, glanced back over his shoulder to nod a hello to Driff and Kevin as they exited Ren’s vehicle.
“Nice night,” Kevin said.
“Par for the course out here,” Billy replied. “You should see it during a meteor shower.”
Driff ignored their small talk and headed toward the wall of thorns. Billy slid off the car and fell into step beside Kevin, the two of them trailing the elf by a few paces.
“You come here often?” Kevin asked.
Billy nodded. “Several times a month, usually. I haven’t been since Nella left me. This is where we met, you know.”
Shit, Kevin thought. He’d been hoping that wouldn’t come up. He needed Billy in as good a mood as he could possibly be, bringing up his former fiancée probably wouldn’t turn him into a ray of sunshine.
“Don’t worry,” Billy said, noticing Kevin’s discomfort. “She rarely ever came here on her own. We don’t have to worry about running into her.”
Kevin stumbled over his own feet but quickly righted himself. He hadn’t considered that possibility. Nella knew they were planning a trip to Donovan’s, so surely she’d be smart enough to stay away—unless, of course, she had some reckless plan to try to help, similar to her appearance at the Felton residence to meet his mother. “That’s a relief. I…uh…don’t want to drag you into an uncomfortable situation.”
Billy zipped up his black windbreaker and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Wouldn’t be your fault.”
I beg to differ, Kevin thought, flashing back to his first encounter with Driff in the Works.
“Billy, my friend!” a deep, rough voice bellowed joyously. “Long time, no see! Donovan was thinking about putting the machine in storage!”
His eyes on the ground, Kevin had completely missed the doorman as they approached the wall of thorns. A seven-foot-tall, four-hundred-pound troll leaned casually on a wooden podium, smiling a toothy, tusky smile full of crooked teeth. A pinstriped suit strained against the beast’s girth and an old bowler hat sat atop his head at a jaunty angle, looking three sizes too small for his massive cranium. A tiny gold plate attached to his suit above his heart declared his name to be Ulliver.
“What’re you staring at, pal?” the troll asked, its black eyes locking on the human.
Remembering Driff’s warnings about the place, Kevin tried to play it cool. “Your hat’s crooked.”
With a stubby finger the width of a shot glass, Ulliver tapped his hat a little to the left. The hard fabric moved across his thick, scabrous hide with a sound like sandpaper on stone. “Better?”
“Much.”
Ulliver grunted. “Now that the fashion police has had their say, I need ID from everyone who isn’t an avatar of death.”
“I wasn’t expecting an age requirement,” Kevin said as he fished around in his wallet. “Can’t imagine the state has any clue about this place.”
“Who said anything about age?” Ulliver asked incredulously. “Here at Donovan’s, we want to make sure we don’t let the wrong kind of people in. You aren’t the wrong kind of people, are you?”
“Depends on which ex-girlfriends you ask,” Kevin replied as he held up his license so the troll could get a look, nervous Ulliver would break it if he actually took possession of it with his muscular hands. This would’ve been the point in the conversation when Kylie would’ve stamped her foot and insisted they relocate to an establishment where the help wasn’t so mouthy.
“Hmm,” the troll muttered as he scanned Kevin’s ID. “Felton? Where have I heard that name before? Ah, right! Thisolanipusintarex’s neighbor! The annoying little shit!”
“Thiso-whosits?” Kevin asked. Recognition dawned a moment later and he chuckled a little. “Ah, Mr. Gregson.”
Ulliver nodded. “Anyone that gets that stuck-
up twit’s gossamer wings in a twist is okay in my book. Now, what about you, bookworm?”
As Kevin stowed his license, Driff handed the troll a little round badge made of some sort of blue metal. Ulliver ran his thumb over it carefully, then tossed it in his mouth and bit down hard.
“You ain’t no ex-pat, buddy,” the doorman grumbled in between bites. “I can smell a fancy pants city elf from a mile away. Every last one of you reeks like week-old pork. Show me the real one, please.”
Kevin gave the air a quick sniff but couldn’t detect the aroma the troll described.
“You’re chewing on my real ID,” Driff replied haughtily.
“Tastes like a phony. London—no, Manchester vintage, perhaps a 2004. Sulfur trim rather than phosphorus. Piss-poor workmanship, elfy. Probably shouldn’t use this forger again.”
“Killed him,” Driff said nonchalantly. He clapped his hands together, held them there for a moment, then slowly drew them apart. As he did, he spread wide a bright band of blue light glittering with yellow and green specks. His name and title percolated into the band in fits and starts like bubbles rising to the top of a soda but never popping.
Ulliver leaned forward to sniff Driff’s light show. “Now, there’s the real thing! We don’t get many elven politicians ‘round these parts. Pardon my insistence on viewing your true credentials, Your Eminence.”
“Can you make that show other messages?” Kevin asked, hypnotized by Driff’s beautiful identification.
The elf glared at him. “The aurigh is a manifestation of my magical connection to the Combined Council of Evitankari,” Driff snapped. He turned to the troll. “Forgive my companion. He’s a little…behind.”
Ulliver chuckled. “I kind of like him.” He reached into his pants pocket and withdrew a thin slip of pink paper, which he handed to Kevin. “Here’s a free drink, kid.”
Kevin’s eyes lit up as he snatched the coupon and shoved it into his own pocket. “Thanks!”
With a fist the size of a small ham, the troll hammered the top of his podium twice. In response, a roughly circular section of the wall of thorns slithered open with a soft crackling sound. One of the red vines beckoned them through coyly.