by Scott Colby
Eyebrows raised in surprise, Kevin exhaled. “You’re really not going to turn me in?”
“No. In fact, I think you may be our best chance at dragging my ward out of his doldrums. He’s already improved by leaps and bounds in the few days you’ve known him. However, there’s still that matter of the little thing that I want. Rest assured, you’re perfect for the task. I’ll start the paperwork.”
Before Kevin could press Mr. Pemberton for more information, Donovan grabbed his hand. A burst of hot energy rocketed up his arm and into his head and knocked him into oblivion.
— CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO —
Kevin woke feeling more refreshed than he had in days. Sitting up, he stretched, yawned, and glanced over at his alarm clock. Nine in the morning. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this good this early.
Then, as the events of the previous evening solidified in his memory, he growled a curse and violently dropped his head back onto his pillow.
“Just once,” he grumbled to no one in particular, “I’d like to go to the bar and not get knocked the fuck out.”
Food and coffee would help, as always. Rolling out of bed, he thanked whatever deity happened to be listening that Driff and his damn dust hadn’t ruined his mother’s penchant for cooking delicious breakfasts. Somehow that part of his mother had proven more fundamental to her identity than her previously stalwart faith. He wondered where it came from; Abelia had never told him much about her life prior to her conversion. She’d always politely brushed his questions aside, and he’d eventually given up asking. Maybe, given her change of attitude, it was time to try again.
Kevin pondered his trip to Donovan’s as he climbed the stairs. He had no memory of getting home; the night ended after Mr. Pemberton promised to start some paperwork and that damn Donovan Pim shocked him unconscious. As if his life hadn’t already become complicated enough, now he had to worry about meeting the reaper keeper’s demands—whatever the hell they might turn out to be. What could a man like Mr. Pemberton want? A generic stereotype of a devoted manservant, Kevin had never even imagined he might have an agenda of his own. Did he want help running errands or pressing his impeccable suits? Perhaps he needed someone to cosign on a loan for a new car to replace the Lincoln? It made no sense.
Abelia was waiting for him at the kitchen table, a cigarette in hand and three butts already deposited in a clam shell beside her elbow. Breakfast, to Kevin’s chagrin, was nowhere to be seen.
“Need your help with something,” she growled, obviously frazzled and annoyed. “There’s one hell of a breakfast in it for you.”
“Now what?” Kevin grumbled in return. He’d had enough vague implications of trouble recently to last him the rest of his lifetime.
Abelia replied with a forceful puff of smoke and a glare that would’ve stripped the paint off of a car.
“Fine. What can I help you with, oh dearest Mother?”
“Follow me.”
Mrs. Felton led her son up the back stairs to the second floor. Kevin couldn’t remember the last time he’d been up here. Consisting of a large master bedroom, two smaller bedrooms, and a large bath, the second floor had always been distinctly Abelia’s—even more so than the rest of the house. As they traversed the narrow hallway that ended in the door to the master bedroom, Kevin was surprised to find the two other rooms completely empty. They’d once been loaded with antique furniture and Christian bric-a-brac, meticulously cleaned and cared for as they awaited guests who never appeared. More victims of Driff’s insidious dust.
“I’m thinking about taking on some tenants,” Abelia said dismissively. “Might as well use this dump to make a few bucks.”
Kevin gasped. His mother never would’ve considered renting out her home, and she certainly wouldn’t have ever called it a dump. He supposed he should stop being surprised by how the dust had changed her, but he couldn’t help himself.
“What?” she asked, catching his shocked expression. “Would you rather pay the rent I could be making all by yourself?”
“Not particularly.”
Reaching the end of the hall, Abelia whipped the master bedroom door open with a flourish. The once-immaculate space looked like it had been hit by a bomb loaded with clothes. Abelia’s shirts, pants, dresses, and undergarments covered the floor like a second layer of carpet. The blue walls were speckled here and there with lighter colored spaces that marked where various pictures and decorations had once hung. Only the framed photographs of her son remained: four-year-old Kevin building a sand castle at the beach in Florida, Kevin in his pee-wee football uniform, Kevin looking gawky and awkward on his first day of high school, Kevin with Mickie Epstein at the prom.
“Oh, thank God!” Jenny Reilly said from atop the king-sized bed. “I thought you were never going to wake up.”
Confused, Kevin frowned and surveyed the scene. What the hell was Jenny Reilly doing in his mother’s bed? Why was she wearing such an ill-fitting leather corset? And why the fuck was she handcuffed to the bedposts?
“We lost the keys,” Abelia said disinterestedly.
A rather loud voice in Kevin’s head wanted to scream, swear, and stamp his feet. It wanted to tell Abelia to grow the fuck up, turn on its heel, and leave Jenny trapped right where she was for the rest of her useless fucking life because that would fucking teach her. Somehow, Kevin managed to tell that voice to shut up. His mother was a grown-ass woman and she could do whatever she pleased—and given everything she’d been through and everything she’d done for Kevin, she deserved his support, regardless of how much her activities made him want to vomit.
Besides, she couldn’t keep this shit up forever, could she? Surely it was just a phase, a temporary side effect of having her memory microwaved by a self-important asshole with a pocket full of magic dust. It had to be. Right?
“I’ll get the bolt cutters.”
After Kevin freed Jenny Reilly, Abelia treated them both to a huge chocolate chip pancake breakfast. As the two women made innocuous, awkward small talk about the weather and traded gossip about the rest of Harksburg, Kevin kept his eyes on the table and tried his best to shrink into his chair. The day had certainly gotten off to an inauspicious start. He hoped it wasn’t a sign of things to come, especially considering he was due to meet with Tallisker that evening.
Kevin spent the rest of the day online, researching the mysterious corporation behind Driff’s mission with the reaper and the Griffin Group’s buyout of Noonan, Noonan, and Schmidt. He wasn’t able to find much of use. Tallisker’s main website was a slick, classic example of a good marketing department’s talent for using a lot of important buzzwords and stock photographs to pump up the company’s success while revealing nothing of any real relevance. News and opinion pieces about Tallisker were complimentary to a fault. Analysts crowed about the company’s bright future and the desirability of Tallisker stock, the price of which consistently ranked among the top ten in the entire world. Agile, socially responsible, and perched atop a solid foundation of excellence, Tallisker stood proud as a shining example of capitalism done right.
But Kevin knew a load of horse shit when he smelled one. No business could be that perfect. Regardless of how they operated, all publicly traded companies had their fair share of critics and detractors. That Tallisker had worked so hard to silence theirs indicated a deep insecurity—and, more likely than not, a terribly dark secret worth exerting considerable effort to protect.
After a quick tuna noodle casserole dinner, Kevin ransacked his luggage to find his best suit, the gray one with the pinstripes that Kylie had picked out for him at a downtown Chicago consignment shop run by some French guy in skinny jeans and a red beret. Harksburg didn’t present many opportunities that required formal attire, so he hadn’t bothered to unpack any. Upon finding said suit, Kevin cast it aside angrily and instead selected a plain black one he’d gotten on sale at Macy’s, the one Kylie always said reeked of clearance rack. Kevin sniffed it tentatively but couldn’t detec
t any particular aroma. He grabbed a blue-and-black-striped tie and a white shirt and got to work.
A shit, a shave, and a shower later, Kevin was ready to go. He stopped to check himself in the mirror hung on the inside of his closet door: conservative and inoffensive, just as he’d planned. A good little Republican. Perhaps a future CPA. Maybe a successful Cadillac salesman. No one who was going to rock the boat or question the authority of his betters. Perhaps most importantly, no one who deserved a thorough dusting or needed to be taught a lesson by finding his blue girlfriend’s severed head waiting for him at the end of his driveway.
Dressed and ready to go, Kevin prepared to hoist himself up into and through the Pussy Hatch when an odd thought delayed his exit. Thanks to his mother’s change of personality, there was no longer any reason to sneak out of the house. He could stroll right out through the front door and Abelia wouldn’t even grunt. It was, he realized sadly, the end of an era. At least it meant he didn’t have to worry about ruining his suit. With one last wistful look toward the tiny window that had served him so well over the years, Kevin headed upstairs. Exiting through the front door felt dirty, like cheating on a pretty, middle-aged girlfriend with a hot blonde supermodel ten years younger.
The Roberts estate wasn’t far. Kevin quickly looked both ways before jogging across the street. He slowed his pace when he reached the common, watching the stars as he walked. There’d been so few above Chicago, and the novelty of a vibrant night sky hadn’t yet worn off. After the sky he’d seen the night before in Donovan’s, the simpler Harksburg iteration he’d grown up with was warm and reassuring. A strange thought furrowed his brow: somewhere out there in the cosmos, did one of those distant suns warm a planet teeming with creatures oblivious to their own shadowy subculture of magical assholes? Maybe, he thought, scientists searching for sentient life on other worlds should stop wasting their time on radio waves and start looking for bursts of ridiculous sorcery.
He wasn’t surprised when Council of Intelligence Driff appeared to his left, matching his pace stride for stride. No words of greeting passed between the two of them.
“Be careful tonight,” the elf said. “Our hosts are not to be trifled with.”
Kevin snorted. “I figured. I’ll be on my best behavior. This isn’t my first fancy dinner with important business people.”
“Who said they’re people?” Driff asked.
Kevin didn’t rise to the elf’s bait; he’d been expecting the Tallisker representatives to be some kind of fairy such-and-such. “Whatever they are, what the hell is the point of all this? Why come all the way out to Harksburg just to meet me?”
Driff shifted uneasily. They reached the far side of the common and stopped to check for oncoming traffic before crossing. “I’ve been thinking about that. We’re dealing with a pack of egotistical megalomaniacs who just love lording their superiority over the rest of us.”
“Sounds familiar.”
The elf sighed. “As I was saying, we’re about to dine with a bunch of pompous pricks who revel in being pompous pricks. Thing is, they don’t often make house calls. They usually prefer to make people come to them.”
“So? Maybe they were in the mood to take a trip.”
“I think they’re in the mood to send a message. This is most likely a performance review of sorts, Kevin—and I don’t think our employers are happy with our progress.”
A chill ran down Kevin’s spine. That wasn’t so far from Mr. Gregson’s assumptions. He attempted to cover up his fear with humor. “So we’ll set some new goals for the next fiscal year and agree to an action plan. Business as usual.”
“Right.” The elf pulled a vibrating cell phone from his pocket and frowned at it. “I don’t know how the hell your mother got my number, but tell her to stop calling me,” he snapped as he stashed the phone back in his coat. “I’m not interested.”
Kevin blushed. “You’re the one who just had to dust her. Thanks again for that, by the way.”
Driff shrugged. “She won’t interfere with our affairs if she’s busy screwing all of your friends.”
“Fuck you.”
They turned left onto Hampstead Street, the private way that lead to the Roberts estate. Square, squat lanterns powered by stored solar energy lit the perfect black asphalt with islands of strangely fluorescent glow, each pair spaced exactly twenty feet from the previous. The long pine needles that covered the ground along either side of the road somehow seemed organized, as if Nature herself didn’t dare make a mess of the only route into or out of the Roberts estate. For as much as Kevin liked Ren, he’d always wanted to drop trou and take a big shit right in the middle of his fancy-ass road. If things don’t go well tonight, Kevin decided, I’ll do just that.
“Tallisker doesn’t know about you and Nella,” Driff said suddenly. “They think you’re just a useful local I recruited to the cause. They don’t know this bullshit is all your fault.”
Kevin stumbled in surprise, quickly regaining his balance. He’d assumed that Driff was a staunch company man, a dutiful soldier reliably feeding every piece of relevant information to the corporate machine. The fact that he’d hidden that particularly important fact was reason for both relief and alarm. On the one hand, it would make him much less of a target in Tallisker’s eyes. On the other, Driff surely hadn’t withheld information from their superiors out of the goodness of his heart. The elf certainly expected something from Kevin in return.
“What’s the catch?”
“No catch. I promised Nella I’d make sure nothing happens to you. I’m just fulfilling that promise.”
Kevin was taken aback until he remembered the circumstances surrounding that promise. “What exactly did she do to your hand?”
“She joined my water to hers. Never, ever let that happen to you if you can avoid it.”
“Sounds…sticky.”
The elf snorted. “‘Sticky’ isn’t the half of it.”
“But why make that deal?” Kevin asked. “You don’t seem like the type who’d bet his life on someone else’s. If joining your water to Nella’s was the cost of my assistance, why didn’t you just feed me to Billy and go home, mission accomplished?”
“Because that’s what those Tallisker fucks would’ve done,” Driff grumbled. “I’m not above manipulating people to get the job done, but I’m not a murderer.”
Kevin scratched his chin, thinking. He supposed that made sense. Elves, like humans, had to look themselves in the mirror every morning. Assuming, of course, that they had reflections.
“Who is Tallisker, really?” Kevin asked softly. They were still several minutes from the glittering lights of the Roberts estate, but he felt the need to be cautious. “They’re obviously not just another huge corporation with a hard-to-describe business model.”
The elf hesitated. He seemed to want to explain, but he didn’t. “Better for now that you don’t have all the details. If it seems like you know too much about them, they’ll get suspicious. As far as you should logically know, they’re the people employing you to do a really strange job.” Driff smiled. “If you’re interested, just ask them. It won’t seem out of character, and they’ll probably tell you. Like I said, they love showing off.”
“Typical executives.”
“Pretty much. How’s your head?”
“Fine now,” Kevin replied quickly. He didn’t know how much, if anything, Driff knew about his encounter with Donovan Pim and Mr. Pemberton. “I guess Donovan’s special was more than just shitty beer.”
“Uh-huh,” Driff replied, obviously not convinced.
“Muffintop didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“I think he killed a few brain cells I wasn’t using, but I’ll live.”
The blurry white light at the end of the private way on which the two of them walked began to coalesce into a sprawling McMansion. Built fifteen years ago when Ren’s father was promoted to some esoteric vice president position, the Roberts residence put the homes in Lordly Estates to shame.
Nine thousand square feet of dark red brick and stark white mortar rose three stories high from an immaculately groomed lawn. The architect had included all kinds of strange angles and clefts that served no useful purpose. The resulting structure was a jagged castle of sorts, either the imposing home of a mad scientist with a ton of grant money or an evil necromancer who’d hit the lottery.
“Looks like a prison I once visited in the fairy capital,” Driff said thoughtfully.
“The neighborhood kids never want to trick-or-treat here,” Kevin replied. Did elves celebrate Halloween? He wasn’t sure, and Driff’s non-reaction didn’t give him any clues.
Soon they could discern a figure in the glare, standing maybe ten feet in front of the stairs leading to the front porch. A woman, Kevin thought, long and lean and wearing a silver gown that glittered in the mansion’s harsh external lights.
“Who’s that?” Kevin muttered. “It’s too tall to be Mrs. Roberts.”
“Is Mr. Roberts married to a woman half his age?” Driff asked.
“No…”
“Then that sure as hell isn’t Mrs. Roberts.”
Six-inch stilettos cracked across the pavement like gunshots as the woman sauntered forward to greet them. Kevin knew that stride. It meant business. It meant impatience. It meant its owner knew exactly what she wanted and how she was going to acquire it.
“Hello, Kevin.”
Kylie looked just as beautiful as he remembered. Her dress hung loosely off her runner’s body, her toned and tanned arms and shoulders on prominent display. Golden ringlets of blond hair dangled around her neck like taut springs in a style she only wore for important events.
Kevin’s angry reply chickened out and dove back down his throat. He gagged and offered a weak wave. What the hell was she doing in Harksburg? Was she connected to Tallisker somehow?