Last Car to Annwn Station

by Michael Merriam

  Jill shrugged. “I know. I’m just telling you what the office gossip is. Apparently you’ve never shown any interest in their clumsy attempts to flirt or their cheesy pick-up lines.”

  Mae closed her eyes and shook her head slightly. “Back up. There was flirting and pick-up lines? When?” she said, opening her eyes.

  Jill laughed softly and turned to her food for a minute, chasing onion-sauce-covered mashed potatoes around, and occasionally off, her plate with her fork. Mae took the opportunity to take a real bite of her food. It was a good salad, but nothing special.

  “I’m serious!” Jill said after she swallowed her food. Her face took on a sly smile. “Are you seeing anyone you haven’t told me about?”

  Mae nearly choked on her salad.

  “I’m sorry,” Jill said, raising both of her hands in supplication. “I shouldn’t pry.”

  “Jill, we’ve been friends for over a year. You’re allowed to ask a personal question. You just caught me by surprise. That’s more of a pre-date question, really, and no, I’m not seeing anyone. I’d tell you if I was.”

  “So, is this a date?”

  “No, it’s lunch. Why, do you want it to be?” Mae fired back, Jill’s easygoing demeanor and utter lack of table manners setting Mae at ease. “I take it from your familiarity, you’ve also been on the receiving end of those clumsy attempts to flirt and cheesy pick-up lines?”

  Jill rolled her eyes and took a last bite of her food. She nodded her head in an exaggerated manner while she chewed. “Yeah,” she gasped out after she swallowed. Jill gave the corner of her mouth a dainty dab with her napkin, an act wildly different from her eating style.

  “Would you like a to-go box?” the waitress asked as she cleared their dishes.

  Mae looked up at the woman. “No, I’m finished.”

  The young woman set the bill on the table. On impulse, Mae snatched it up before Jill could make a move.

  “Hey, I invited you out to lunch,” Jill said.

  Mae dug through her bag for her wallet, finding it and producing a credit card. The waitress immediately vanished with Mae’s credit card and the bill.

  “I’ve got it,” Mae said.

  “At least let me pay my half.”

  “Next time,” Mae said. She felt some of her earlier confidence fade. “If you want there to be a next time.”

  Jill reached over and placed a reassuring hand on Mae’s arm. “Of course.”

  Mae felt a pleasurable jolt go through her body. She looked away from Jill, afraid she might be blushing, and tried to find something to change the subject to or at least provide a distraction. She was saved by the return of the waitress with the credit slip. “We should, um, get back.”

  Mae and Jill stepped out into the cold October afternoon. They started back toward the Government Center, joining the press of pedestrians going about their daily business, Jill chattering on about bits of office gossip.

  The ringing of a bell made Mae look over her shoulder. Coming toward her along Fourth Street was one of the big yellow streetcars. Mae gave the pavement a quick glance. There were no tracks.

  “Mae?”

  Mae looked up at Jill. She realized they were about to cross the street toward their building. Mae was not sure how they had ended up so far down the street without her noticing. “Yeah?”

  Jill turned to face her. “Where did you go?”

  “I—ah—I was just—” Mae looked over Jill’s shoulder at the streetcar passing through the intersection. Faces both beautiful and grotesque peered at her out of the yellow car’s windows. Mae shuddered.

  “Are you all right?” The concern in Jill’s voice was plain.

  “Yeah. I was just thinking about one of the cases I’m working on.” Mae turned and watched the streetcar continue through the intersection.

  The walk sign changed, giving them the right-of-way. Mae took her eyes off the streetcar that should not exist and followed Jill across the street. They made a final dash inside as the winds picked up again, swirling papers and other debris around their legs.

  “Thanks for buying lunch,” Jill said as they rode the elevator up.

  “Thanks for the invite,” Mae replied as the door opened to her floor. She stepped off and turned to Jill, who gave her a little wave as the elevator doors closed.

  Back at her desk, Mae settled into a quiet routine of reading files for her pending cases and reviewing ongoing issues, making notes on a legal pad, moving from one case to the next for two hours.

  A soft tapping at the side of her door made her look up. Donald Leftwich, director of the department, stood in the opening. The cuffs of his white long-sleeve shirt were rolled back past his wrists. He looked tired, all red-rimmed eyes and five o’clock shadow.

  “Mae, do you have a minute?”

  Mae nodded, filled with unease. Any time Donald asked if you had a minute, it meant trouble. “Sure. What can I do for you?”

  Donald slipped the rest of the way into her office and settled his thin frame into the one cheap folding chair Mae kept as a courtesy. He looked around her cramped space, examining everything on the walls. “I want to talk to you about the Arneson case.”

  Mae made a quick search of her desk, finding the Arneson file, which she had snuck back in that morning. “I think we’re in a strong position heading into—”

  “There’s not going to be a hearing.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “There’s not going to be a hearing. The case has been settled. The Arneson child will be returned to the custody of her mother, under the supervision of the court.”

  Mae went quiet and still inside. “I see.”

  “I’m sorry about this, Mae,” Donald said.

  Mae doubted his sincerity. She supposed her look told him that she was having a hard time believing him. Donald lifted his hands in surrender.

  “It wasn’t my call.”

  Mae’s frown deepened. If Donald was telling the truth and he was not the one who had interfered with her case, then that could only mean the county attorney had made a decision without Mae’s input. “You’re trying to tell me Backstrom intervened on behalf of the mother?”

  Donald gave another shrug. Mae felt the urge to dive across her little desk and take him by the throat. She made a noise somewhere between a growl and a sigh.

  “I don’t like this, Mr. Leftwich.”

  Donald straightened in his chair and glared at her. Mae knew going formal on him made him feel his authority was being challenged. She did not care. The safety of a twelve-year-old child was being compromised because her bosses were making backroom deals. Mae was not so naive as to think that wealth did not matter in situations such as this, but she was damned if she’d be intimidated.

  Donald stood and loomed over her desk. “It doesn’t matter what you like, Miss Malveaux. The matter is closed. The case is closed. I expect that file to be closed and on my desk before you leave the office tonight. Do you understand, Miss Malveaux?”

  “Yes, sir. You’ll understand if I place a formal letter of complaint in the file, stating that I disagree with the decision made by the county attorney?”

  Donald exhaled. “Of course. You should cover your ass in case this all goes bad.”

  “Sir, I—”

  “I don’t want to hear anymore, Mae,” he said, raising a hand to stop her next outburst. “I’m sorry about this. I know it’s unfair. Just leave the file on my desk at the end of the day.”

  Donald turned and left her office without giving her a chance to argue the matter more.

  It took Mae an hour to write her letter and finish closing out the file. As she walked toward her boss’s office, she made a detour on impulse. Several minutes and dozens of photocopies later, she left the case file on Donald’s desk as ordered.

  A copy rested in her bag.

  She knew she could be fired for what she had done, but her instincts screamed that it was critical she keep an eye on this girl’s welfare, no matter how hard County
Attorney Backstrom tried to bury the case. Moving quickly and quietly, Mae slipped out of the building, nervously looking over her shoulder, expecting someone to stop her and demand to search her bag at any moment.

  Dear Wall,

  Elise did not notice the writing, even when I stood underneath it to make her look. If Elise can’t see it, then I’m not worried about Chrysandra or “Mother.” Mr. Hodgins is another matter.

  I tried to get another message out at lunch. Someone had placed an arrangement of flowers in the center of the table. I hoped they could be my herald, but Mr. Hodgins saw what I was trying to do and threw them into the fireplace.

  I hate Mr. Hodgins. I hate him for making me wear Chrysandra’s face. I hate him for making me speak in her voice. I hate him for turning me into her twin. I hate that I’m not strong enough to break his magic. Someday I will learn his true name and I will catch him with his iron off of his finger. Someday.

  The silverware is real silver. I’m starting to make a connection with it. I could hear a humming sound coming from it, but I couldn’t tell if it was because of me or them.

  I’m sorry I didn’t write earlier, but Chrysandra stayed in my room all morning. We played and I read to her. Chrysandra is funny at times, and much better than being alone all day. She’s kind of slow-witted and smells, but it was nice having her here.

  They worked on me again. I don’t know why they made me eat dinner if they know I’m going to throw up after their little chant sessions. I got most of my vomit on the red-haired woman, right on her shoes. You’d have thought I’d stomped on the mage’s toes, the way she screamed in panic. I’ll have to remember that. After, Mr. Hodgins called Elise to take me back to my rooms.

  I wish I had a window. I haven’t seen the sun, the grass or a tree in weeks, and I’m starting to get sick from being cut off from the world. They know better than to let me outside.

  Elise and Mr. Hodgins are ever watchful. I heard them outside the door talking about tomorrow. Elise is supposed to make sure I’m presentable at dinner.

  I’d kill Elise and run for it except for the iron ring she wears. I can’t get near her if she doesn’t want me to. They all wear the rings—rings charged with magic against me. My mother’s blood is too strong inside my veins for me to resist their magic.

  Chrysandra seems better today. More like a real girl. She seems almost aware, and the smell is not as strong. They must have freshened her up a bit. I wonder why they would use that much magic on her?

  I wonder how she died?

  Mae dug around in the refrigerator, looking for something quick and easy for dinner. She pulled a can of diet cola and a sealed container of leftover lasagna from the fridge, dished the cold lasagna onto a plate and placed it in the microwave. She hit one of the preprogrammed timers and popped open the soda and took a long drink. The microwave dinged and Mae withdrew the plate of heated lasagna.

  The high ringing of a bell made Mae look outside. She glanced down from her third-floor window to the street below. Parked in front of her building on Lagoon Avenue was one of the yellow streetcars. As she watched the car, its bell rang twice.

  Mae kept her eyes on the streetcar. “I don’t think so.”

  The bells rang again.

  Mae frowned. She knew she shouldn’t but…

  She grabbed her cell phone from the kitchen counter and dropped it into her bag. On impulse, she shoved the copy of the Arneson file into it as well. She shrugged into her coat and picked up her bag. Checking her pocket full of coins, she started downstairs.

  The streetcar was waiting for her, its red front door open. Taking a deep breath and wondering if she was mad, Mae stepped aboard. She dropped her dime into the fare box and took the slip of paper from the conductor, jamming it into her pants pocket.

  Mae turned toward the back of the car, expecting to find an assortment of faerie creatures and animal spirits.

  All she found was Death.

  Death smiled at her, the universe in his eyes. “Good evening, Maeve Kathleen Malveaux.”

  Mae licked her dry lips and grabbed the back of a seat to steady herself as the car started rolling. “Death, are you here for me tonight?” she asked, heart pounding.

  “No. My business is elsewhere.”

  Mae was silent, more than a little nervous. She was unsure how to start a conversation with Death. It seemed she needed a better lead-in than something like, “So, how about those Vikings? You think they’ll make the playoffs this year?”

  As the streetcar passed by the silver shimmer of Lake Calhoun, Mae plunged ahead. “If you don’t mind my asking, people die constantly, but here you are, riding a streetcar like you have all the time in the world.”

  Death smiled. “That is not a question. However, I understand your point. To answer your unasked query, Maeve, I am unencumbered by mortal concepts of time and space. They simply do not apply to my existence.”

  “Oh.” Mae cringed on the inside at her inability to articulate. She gathered herself and made another attempt. Waving her right hand around, she asked. “Why? Why ride on one of these if you can exist anywhere, everywhere, anytime?”

  Death’s smile grew wider and he leaned toward her. “I do not need to ride these cars, Mae. I do it because it amuses me and I enjoy contact with those who I do not have business with.”

  For what was the first time since she had boarded the streetcar on Hennepin Avenue in downtown, Mae wondered why she could see and interact with the streetcars while other people, like Jill, apparently could not. She glanced out the window and watched the shops along Excelsior Boulevard go by. They seemed dark and alien to her, not at all a part of her normal, everyday life. Mae frowned to herself.

  “You are troubled, Maeve Malveaux,” Death said.

  “I don’t understand why I can ride these cars when other people don’t even notice them.”

  Death stood and shrugged. “I do not have the answers you seek, except that the cars are both a part of and apart from the mortal world, and any who interact with them must be as well. That is why the spirits and fae folk are able to use them. As to why they have revealed themselves to you, I do not know. This is my stop, Maeve Kathleen Malveaux. Good evening to you.”

  Mae saw they were near Methodist Hospital, about to cross Minnehaha Creek, heading into the little suburb of Hopkins. His form disappeared into the darkness when the streetcar rumbled forward again. She looked at the interior. She was acutely aware of how alone she was. Mae sighed. She had not stopped to purchase another can of pepper spray. She settled back into her seat and cursed herself for wandering off unarmed into the night on a vehicle that technically did not even exist.

  She watched the night scenery go by. The car traveled through downtown Hopkins, past its string of antique stores and family-owned bars and restaurants, and turned slightly north. Mae realized the car was heading toward Lake Minnetonka.

  She withdrew the illicit file from her bag and checked the address listed for the Arneson family. The senior Arnesons lived in Excelsior, just off the lake in a section of the metro where old money held sway. Marie Arneson had returned to her family home, living with her parents after she finished drug rehab.

  The streetcar stopped at the end of a long driveway. The back door opened. No one climbed aboard and the car made no motion to continue on its path. Remembering Ellie’s statement about the cars getting you where you needed to go, Mae realized this was her stop. Thanking the conductor, she glanced at the name embroidered on his uniform.

  Lowry. It was the name of the man who had been the driving force behind the creation of the modern streetcar system in the Twin Cities over one hundred and forty years ago.

  She gave him a startled look. He tipped his hat to her and turned back to the front door, ready to greet any rider who might climb aboard. She stepped into the cold night air.

  She found herself facing a Victorian-style mansion. Mae realized this was probably an actual Victorian, not one of the replicas that had been cropping up alo
ng the lake, built by the new rich. This structure had likely stood on this spot for the last one hundred forty-odd years.

  Mae walked up the driveway, past the elaborate grounds, the snow-covered topiary, the marble statuary. The fountain at the top of the circular driveway was turned off and drained, likely in preparation for the harsh Minnesota winter. Lights shone brightly and Mae took note of the small fleet of luxury cars parked along the drive. She recognized a couple of the vehicles by their vanity plates.

  Mae noted the address again as she approached. She gave the huge mansion a sour look. Well, she was here, no sense in not ringing the bell.

  The solid-looking front door was answered by a stern, gray-haired woman in a black skirt that reached her ankles and a white blouse that was pressed to razor sharpness.

  “Yes?” the woman asked. “May I help you?”

  “My name is Mae Malveaux. I’m with Child Protective Services. I wondered if I might have a word with Marie Arneson.”

  The woman frowned, looking Mae up and down. “May I tell her what this matter is about?”

  Mae smiled, hopefully in a winning way. She realized how rumpled she must look. “It’s just a small matter that I need to take care of before I can sign off on her case.” Mae was lying through her teeth.

  The woman stepped aside to allow Mae entry. “If you would follow me, Miss Malveaux.”

  Mae was led to a sitting room and left alone. She stood, looking at the elaborate decorations and antique furniture. She suspected the contents of this room alone were worth more than an entire year of her salary. She gave herself a quick check in the mirror hanging on the wall, straightening her blouse and smoothing wrinkles from her slacks. She tried to make her limp hair do something besides look stringy and unwashed. It was a failing effort.