by A C Spahn
THERE WAS AN EMAIL waiting for me from Bane Harrow. Subject: Higher Pay for Job Offer. I slammed my laptop shut and considered hurling it across the room. Unfortunately I couldn’t afford to replace it if it broke.
Instead I brewed a pot of lemon tea and rummaged in my mini fridge until I came up with some leftover rice and fish. I heated them in the microwave and stared at the half-tire on my worktable as I ate. It still wasn’t speaking to me, and in my agitated state I didn’t think I was capable of making anything beautiful anyway.
When I’d calmed down enough to avoid smashing anything, I returned to my laptop and began hunting for the message boards frequented by the enchantress. Kendall turned out to be right. Of the dozen boards I found, seven used a red-and-black color scheme. Four of those had buttons labeled “reply,” “new,” and “refresh.” None of them matched the font and design I’d seen in the vision from the bracelet. Still, I poked around in the various online discussions, hoping some stray comment would provide a lead.
An hour went by before I realized I’d re-read the same paragraph three times without absorbing it. The long day and the confrontation with Maribel had tired me. I needed rest. Reluctantly, I closed my computer. The internet would still be there in the morning.
Sleep was a long time coming that night. I lay in bed, wondering about the new victims Maribel had accidentally revealed. How many people? Who were they? Had the enchantress found them on the arcane message boards? Why these victims? Why did the enchantress have so much magic that she needed so many? Even if I found her, would I be able to defeat her? My faceless foe loomed in my thoughts like a cloud hanging over my bed.
Finally I drifted off. Smoke and fire and haunting laughter troubled my dreams.
Dawn streamed through my window, pounding my eyelids like an unwelcome houseguest. I groaned and pressed a pillow over my face, cursing myself for forgetting to close the shades. Well, I was up now. No fixing that. I drank the rest of my now-cold lemon tea and brought a bag of plantain chips and a thermos of shrimp soup with me to Crafter’s Haven. Desmond opened at nine on weekdays, and I wanted to have some of my new shirts on display when the first shoppers came in.
Neither Desmond nor Kendall were in yet, so I went to my shop and turned on the overhead string lights, though the natural sun through the windows provided enough light to work. I pounded metal grommets into one of the shirts and threaded velvet ribbon through them to make laced sleeves. By the time I finished, it was 9:15. Still no sign of my friends.
Frowning, I pulled out my phone. No texts, no voicemail. I called Desmond and got his inbox. Same with Kendall. Where were they?
When 9:30 came and I had to turn a customer away from the store, I became truly worried. I locked up and drove to Desmond’s apartment. He lived in a one-bedroom flat on the bottom floor of a big complex. Handmade wood furniture, stained and sealed, sat on his patio alongside a huge cross-section of a tree he used as an outdoor table. I hopped his patio fence and rapped on the sliding glass door. “Desmond!” I called. “You in there?” No reply.
Peering inside, I made out an unfinished bowl of cereal on the table, alongside a dog-eared spy thriller and a pile of unopened mail. Dishes piled in the sink. Video game controllers scattered on the table and couch. Shoes strewn haphazardly on the floor. I grimaced. Though his woodshop was always pristine, Desmond was a slob at home. This was why we never hung out at his place.
After I knocked a few more times and he didn’t answer, I concluded he was out. Probably doing something on Union business. With another grimace, I returned to my car and drove to Kendall’s.
Kendall lived with four other girls in a gorgeous piece of historic architecture. The house was built in the 1920s and featured three stories, a circular balcony topped by a spire, marble pillars supporting a gigantic porch, and honest-to-god lions flanking the brick walkway. It was also falling apart inside, which was why they could afford to rent it. No air conditioning, no dishwasher, and the wood floors had last been refinished when the space race was undecided.
I rang the doorbell, and after several minutes one of Kendall’s roommates answered. She had black hair dyed blue at the tips, cut in a pixie style. Coupled with her button nose and big eyes, she looked like a videogame character. I didn’t know her real name, but she was a theater kid and the other girls called her Ophelia.
“Hey,” I said. “Is Kendall here? She’s late for work.”
Ophelia cocked her head. “Oh. I thought she stayed the night at your place.”
A cold fist clenched in my gut. “She didn’t come home?”
“No. At least, she wasn’t here when I went to bed or when I got up. Since she was gone the night before, too, I thought you guys were having a work party or something.”
“I haven’t seen her since yesterday evening.”
Ophelia shrugged. “She might be at office hours? It’s finals, so everybody’s studying.”
“Thanks. I’ll check.” I was already backing down the walkway, thoughts churning. Kendall was almost certainly not at office hours. Putting aside that she’d be skipping work, something she wouldn’t do, Kendall hated studying and always procrastinated until the night before. If she wasn’t at work and wasn’t at home, something was wrong.
Nervous fingers scrabbled inside my stomach as I called Desmond again. Still no answer. I left a message insisting he call me, then sat in my car and stared at my phone. I had one more number I could call, one more person who might have some idea of where Kendall was, someone whose job it was to keep track of paranormals. She might deign to give me some information, if I could stomach the idea of asking for her help. And if she didn’t just start yelling at me instead.
Gritting my teeth, I pulled Maribel’s business card from my purse and called the number printed on it. As it rang I read the rest of the card. “Maribel Kilby. Standard Systems Ltd. Personnel Supervisor.” I rolled my eyes and wrote “and executioner” on the end of her job title with a red pen.
Finally a voice said, “Maribel Kilby. Leave a message.” The phone beeped. I ended the call. Contacting her had been optimistic anyway.
Don’t panic, I thought. There was an easy way to track Kendall down. I drove back to the store and found a duct tape penguin sculpture Kendall had made to decorate the bathroom. I plucked it off the shelf and brought it to my crafting table, where I quickly set up a tracking enchantment, using the penguin as a focus, a red ribbon as a channel, and a silver necklace with an amethyst rhinestone pendant as a target. I drew in some of the magic in the air and chanted, Find the person who made this art. Point in her direction. Guide me her way.
Power swirled into the penguin, gaining a sense of Kendall’s essence, the part of herself she had put into her art. Then the magic flowed through the ribbon and into the necklace. Once the magic finished channeling, I picked up the necklace, waiting for it to spin so its pendant pointed in a particular direction.
The amethyst spun, round and round, the necklace lazily untwisting and retwisting. It showed no sign of stopping. Impatient, I unwound it and held the pendant steady, pointing toward the back of the store. When I released it, the amethyst continued to point at the rear wall. Frowning, I turned so the pendant aimed at the glass doors. It held steady, pointing whichever way I aimed it, with no inclination to turn itself.
The enchantment wasn’t working.
Either I’d done it wrong—but the magic drumming inside the necklace made that unlikely—or Kendall was in a place with too much ambient magic, and it was confusing the tracking enchantment.
Bottom line, I couldn’t use magic to find her.
Now thoroughly worried, I returned to my car and traced the route Kendall would have taken to That Place On The Corner. No sign of her. I went inside, scooting between a few oldsters there for the early bird lunch.
Near the kitchen entrance I found the server I was looking for. “Cameron!” I called. The dark-skinned young man turned and smiled when he saw me. Cameron was a high school senior,
and one of those super-driven people who would definitely become CEO of something. He was on the varsity baseball team, played clarinet in the band, and it was a tossup whether he’d be valedictorian or salutatorian. Desmond, Kendall, and I always left him a good tip for his college fund, and he repaid us with stellar service.
“How’s it going?” he asked when I came close enough to chat.
“Did Kendall come by here last night?” I asked breathlessly.
He frowned. “You okay?”
“Fine. Just tell me if Kendall came back to get her wallet.”
“Yeah. She dropped in around eight. She’d left a tin of mints and a thing of hand sanitizer too, so I set all her stuff in a takeout bag in the back.”
“Did she seem all right? Was she with anybody?”
“No, she was by herself.” Cameron folded his arms, looking thoughtful. “But now that you mention it, she did seem a little weird. I thought she was just tired, since all of you looked beat the other night, but when I gave her back her stuff, she mumbled something about horses. I asked what she meant, thinking you guys were doing some kind of project, but she just left. She looked dazed.”
“Horses,” I muttered. I had a feeling I knew where she had gone. What I didn’t know was why. “Thanks, Cameron.”
“No problem. What’s going on?”
“Hopefully nothing.” I tried to give him a reassuring smile. “Kendall’s been stressed. Finals are getting to her.”
The concern in his eyes eased. “Yeah, I know that feeling.”
“Good luck,” I said, retreating toward the door. He waved as he opened the door to the kitchen.
I returned to my car and drove toward the freeway, wondering what could have possessed Kendall to return to the abandoned ranch, and why she hadn’t come home afterward.
The dilapidated “for sale” sign was gone when I arrived. The ancient wooden gate was barred shut across the entry, the rusty metal K still hanging from it by a whisper. I peered down the dirt road to where a corner of the barn peeked out between overgrown fields. I could just see a bit of sticker-covered truck fender poking from behind it. Kendall.
Leaving my car on the side of the road, I hopped the fence and hurried toward the barn. I hadn’t reorganized my purse or swapped out the enchanted gear carried in it, but I fished around inside and came up with my shield ring, a ring that would create fog, a bracelet for reducing my perception of pain, and a necklace that would wrap around and trap anything I threw it at. It wasn’t a well-composed arsenal, but it would have to do if the enchantress had—
I rounded the barn and skidded to a halt. A hub of activity buzzed around Kendall’s truck, men and women rushing here and there, talking and pointing. Caution tape marked off a broad area next to Kendall’s open driver-side door. Someone was dusting the door for fingerprints. Someone else was collecting samples of the dirt.
At first I took them for police. Then the lack of uniforms and the quiet, furtive way they spoke sank in. When I spotted a familiar face, I knew for certain this squad came from the Void Union. “Axel!” I shouted.
Bane Harrow’s bald bodyguard turned. His eyebrows rose when he saw me. He sprinted across the yard, ducked under the caution tape, and took me by the arm. “Get out of here.”
“What’s going on? Where’s Kendall?”
“The Union will handle this.”
“The enchantress got her, didn’t she? Kendall’s been abducted.”
“It’s none of your business.”
“It is my business!” I wrenched my arm free, drawing stares from the other Voids. “A rogue magic user has taken my best friend! I’ve been trying to help this whole time and you keep blocking me. Now it’s personal. You have to let me into your investigation.”
“No,” said Axel simply. “We don’t.”
“Where’s Desmond? Let me talk to him.”
“Desoto is busy.”
“But he is here.”
Axel grimaced. “Run away, girl. Stay out of this.” He ducked back under the caution tape.
“What if I agree to work for your boss?” I asked suddenly, surprising even myself. “What if I took Bane Harrow’s job offer?”
Axel paused. “That’s up to him.”
“Great. Call him.”
“He’s not available.”
Of course he wasn’t. “But what if—”
“Get lost.” Axel stalked back across the yard and disappeared around the far side of the barn. Several Voids near the perimeter kept wary eyes on me, no doubt ready to stop me from following.
I headed back down the road, cursing under my breath. The crime scene disappeared behind me, obscured by the barn and tangled fields. Wind whipped through the chest-high grass and blew dust into my eyes. I rubbed the grit out of them and stopped to think.
Desmond was here somewhere. Axel had all but admitted it. Desmond might be Union, but Kendall was his friend, too. He’d tell me what was going on.
I crouched and crept into the grass. With my short stature, I didn’t even have to crawl to lose myself in the overgrown plants. I picked my way toward the far edge of the field, pausing to don my sensory ring and listen to the bits of chatter drifting from the Union investigators. The words “abduction” and “fleshwriter” confirmed my fears. They had reached the same conclusion I had about Kendall’s whereabouts.
The field bordered a neighbor’s cherry orchard, divided by a hedge of thick evergreen shrubs. On the other side of the trees, little red fruits bedecked the trees and studded the dirt below. On my side, white paint flaked off an aged wooden fence separating the field where I hid from the rest of the property. I crouched by one of the fence posts and peered through the rest of the unkempt grass. From here I could see everything behind the stable. Hitching posts and decrepit wooden benches lined the stable’s rear wall. A small, empty hovel constructed of wire mesh looked like it had once held chickens. In the distance more fencing marked off a dirt ring for exercising horses and a broad sand arena for riding. Gravel covered a wide open area between me and the arena. The Voids had set up their activities here. Half a dozen cars were parked on one side of the gravel patch. Beside them, a folding table held an array of bagged evidence. Little numbered flags poked from the ground throughout the area, like photos I’d seen of crime scenes. People hurried here and there, carrying evidence or huddling together to talk and point at important-looking clipboards.
The Union knew how to appear as a legit police force, I’d give them that. If any of the neighbors poked their heads through the hedge, they’d think these people came from the sheriff. They’d assume all was under control and overlook the stranger things happening. Things like the not-quite-humans being moved from the stable.
Axel supervised a group of Voids dragging a metal water tub out through one of the open-air stalls. The fish-like woman still sat in the tub, glassy eyes staring straight ahead. Behind the stable, the crazed wolf-man-thing clawed at a muzzle and fought against the harness restraining him to a hitching post. The remaining enchanted creatures were caged, and in various states of distress. One of the Voids was quietly stroking the head of one of the horned former-kitten-things.
Several minutes crept past while I watched. No sign of Desmond. Either he really wasn’t here, or he was inside the stable. I slipped back into the field and wove my way to the outside stalls I had used to sneak in before. Crouched by the stall door, I listened to muffled voices, catching words like “victims,” “lair,” and “abduction.”
Finally in the midst of the quiet dialogues, a familiar voice rose. “She’s my friend!” Desmond insisted. “If we can’t do anything ...” Someone hushed him, and his voice dropped too quiet to hear.
I had to get a signal to him. I rummaged in my purse until I found a glitter pen and a scrap of cardstock. I drew a glue gun in orange glitter, fanned it dry, and waited until the voices moved to the other side of the building. Then I slipped the card under the stall door and waited some more.
Metal creaked
as the Voids pulled open the stable door. Footsteps pattered outside, and the door slammed with a rattle of dusty wood. I waited in silence, holding my breath. When the stall door swung suddenly open, I jumped about three feet.
Desmond held up my glittered message. “Subtle.”
I tried to smile, but couldn’t conjure one. “Is Kendall dead?”
“I don’t know.” He clenched his fist around the cardstock. “Nobody knows. The Union bought the ranch so they could deal with the captives in the barn. When they came in, Kendall’s car was here. Her footprints led to another set of tire tracks that drive off and end at the road. She’s gone.”
“No!” My own vehemence caught me off guard. I lowered my voice. “Can they track the car that took her?”
“No. They have no idea what they’re doing. They haven’t even figured out the identities of these enchanted victims. All this activity is just bluster.” Bitterness colored Desmond’s tone.
I swallowed. “I can do something.”
“They won’t let you.”
“Just don’t tell them. What Maribel doesn’t know won’t hurt Kendall.”
“Maribel’s not even here. I’m guessing Harrow pulled her off the assignment because it was getting too personal. But it doesn’t matter. Axel and the others aren’t going to help an enchantress, even if it’s the only chance we have to find Kendall. Axel’s not a bad man. He does whatever he sees as the right thing. But he thinks the right thing is avoiding you as much as possible.”
“Then you have to help me.” He tensed, and I hurried my words. “Please, Desmond. It’s me. I know you had to keep me in the dark about the other victims—”
“You know about them?”
“Maribel let it slip.”
He cursed. “It wasn’t too bad. Just a couple sorority girls who wandered onto the ranch during a game of capture the flag. They picked up some of the leftover enchanting gear, and it backfired on them. One has a nasty case of acne, and the other lost feeling in her left hand. We think the magic will wear off eventually. We’ve locked up the rest of what the enchantress left behind, where it can’t hurt anyone.”