by R. J. Blain
“These matters,” Than said, “are complicated. What solution will you apply?”
“Right now I’m just trying to put out fires so I can say yes. Really say yes without worrying about it.”
“Into that ‘other life out there’?”
“Yeah. Vacation. I want to go. But Ordinary keeps pulling me back.”
“Of course it does.”
“Of course?”
“You are a part of it. A part of this land’s earth and stone. It will always draw you back.”
“Terrific.”
“Are you asking my advice?”
Was I? “I think I shouldn’t ask you to solve my problems.”
“And yet,” he said, his hands spreading out in front of him, palms upward. “Here we are, you and I.”
The suffering on his face made me smile. “Okay,” I said, “I’m game. What would you do if you were in my shoes?”
“I would not go on vacation.”
My heart sank. “Really? Why?”
“In my experience, one’s peaceful vacation time will be taken up by persons complaining about having to take time away with the one they love. Having to live life.”
He delivered it so cooly, so drolly, that it took me a minute. And then I couldn’t help it—I gasped. “Did you just throw me some shade? That was me you were talking about in that hypothetical vacation, wasn’t it? Did you just tell me I’m being a drama queen?”
“You have an overzealous imagination.” He strode past me toward the door. I didn’t know that I could be more impressed with a non-answer that simultaneously answered everything I’d asked.
“You really shouldn’t make a habit of giving people life advice,” I noted as I followed him.
“I shudder to think I would ever desire to do so.” He flipped the Open sign to Closed and put his hand on the door handle. “Will you stay for more tea?”
“No thanks,” I said. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Where shall we meet?”
“It depends. Where are you going to store the powers? At home? Here in your shop? Somewhere else around town?”
He paused. I could almost see the calculations flashing behind his blank expression. “Will Frigg accompany you?”
“Yes.”
“Here, then. I will see you here in the late morning.”
“Good. Great. I’ll be here before noon. Can’t wait.”
He nodded, just once, in that way he did that almost looked like a bow. “Are you prepared?”
“For?”
“The storm,” he said.
A chill ran down my skin, prickling on little feet across the nape of my neck. “What storm?” I knew there was a demon king who wanted to get inside Ordinary. All signs pointed toward war. Did Than have information about that? What if the demon was waiting for me to leave to attack?
Than rolled his eyes. “The weather, Reed Daughter.” Rain buffeted the glass. Wind snapped and bit.
“Right,” I said, “that storm.” I zipped my coat, pulled up the hood and snapped the neck close under my chin. “Yes. Totally ready for it. See you tomorrow.”
I took a step, expecting him to open the door, but instead he said, “Delaney?”
“Yeah?”
“It is always best to follow one’s heart in these circumstances.”
“Leave town no matter how bad things are?”
“Is that what your heart wants to do?”
“Yes. No. Yes.”
“There you are,” he intoned like it was the best advice ever given.
“And for your information,” he added, “I would be an outstanding counselor for anyone’s life. I am Death, after all. I know how it all ends.”
With that, he opened the door, and the big bad storm huffing and puffing outside rushed inside, catching and clawing at the bright bits of fabric, twisting and turning the jungle canopy of creatures above us, wild and reckless and fierce.
He pressed his blunt, boney fingers into my shoulder and gave me a little push out the door. I opened my mouth to say something, but there was a lot of rain slapping me in the face, so I took the high road.
I fled to the Jeep and ducked in quick. Dragon pig was nowhere to be seen which meant it had popped back home. I didn’t blame it. There was a cozy gas fireplace, an overly friendly dog, and a pile of toys it had gathered for its hoard. A much nicer place to weather the storm than in the cold front seat of the Jeep.
I pushed back my hood and grabbed the towel I kept in the glove box. I wiped my face, then paused. Something was different. Something about the shop.
I didn’t turn over the engine yet since I wasn’t sure what had snagged my attention. I scanned my surroundings, starting with my rearview mirror. No one and nothing in my back seat. No one around the vehicle. The parking lot was empty. The shop was still glowing like it was lit from the inside by Christmas lights.
But something. Something was different.
The creep of evening rubbed the details off the bushes, trees, and other buildings in the area. If it were just a little brighter out, I was sure I’d be able to see what was bothering me.
Then it hit me. The light—or rather, the lack of it. It was darker outside than when I drove up. And not just because of the thickening clouds and setting sun.
The light pole was missing.
There should be a shepherd’s crook light pole on the corner near the shop. It had been there when I drove up. I narrowed my eyes and stared at where the light post should be.
Nothing.
Was it raining hard enough to obscure the light post or was the light itself shorted out?
“Dammit.” I pulled my hood back on, got out of the Jeep, and jogged to the corner.
Welp. Shorted light wasn’t the issue. There was no post there at all. The round metal footing set into the concrete was still there. But the pole and light were gone, leaving a hole in the center of the footing with twisted bits of wire sticking up out of it.
Someone had stolen the light pole.
I turned a full circle. If the thief was in the area, they should be pretty easy to spot. Those light poles were heavy and long. It would take more than one person to move it, and possibly even heavy equipment to remove it from the concrete.
But all I saw was rain.
“Well, hell.” I pulled my phone out and took a few quick photos. I didn’t want to waterlog the electronics.
Something moved at the edge of my vision, and I spun toward it. A shadow moved about half a block down, but it was impossible to see who or what it might be.
I jogged back to the Jeep, started the engine, and with my lights on, made a quick turn to follow where the shadow had been headed.
There was nothing but rain, houses, bushes, and wind.
Chapter Four
I drove the streets for an hour, looking for any sign of that shadow, or any sign of the missing traffic light or light pole. The list of suspects was growing longer the more I searched.
Who in town was strong enough to rip a light pole out of its base?
Well, since we had an entire family of werewolves in town and a clan of vampires, not to mention most of the mythical or fantastical creatures the stories had ever dreamed up, probably half the town would have the strength or magic to do such a thing.
So maybe a better question was: Who would want to do such a thing? In the middle of a storm with night coming on?
That was where I drew a blank. Infrastructure just wasn’t that valuable to any of the people who lived here. I mean, everyone liked having functioning traffic lights and light poles, but no one gained anything from stealing them.
It was possible it was just a prank, a dare. Mrs. Yates’ penguin had been stolen on multiple occasions. Enough to grant it its own celebrity status that drew curious tourists into town to take selfies with it.
Those multiple thefts had begun with the high school seniors carrying off a prank.
This was bigger than just a prank.
The dragon pi
g was a possibility. It ate metal and had gotten its little piggy mouth around a fire hydrant once before we put the kibosh on that.
No, the dragon pig had been following the rules. Plus, a few days ago, we’d let it go to town on an old abandoned school bus on the outskirts of town.
It could be our local kleptomaniac, Bigfoot. But he tended to be nocturnal and wasn’t really a thief of all things. More like a sticky-fingered collector of light bulbs.
Light bulbs. Not whole traffic lights and poles. I mean, maybe he was upping his game, but in all the years he’d been in town, he hadn’t ever stolen anything bigger than a fluorescent tube. It wasn’t his style at all.
So who would need a light that big?
I had no idea. But I knew who I should ask.
I pulled off the street and texted my sister, Myra.
Where you at?
It only took a moment before she replied.
Library. Why?
Need to talk to you.
About your vacation?
I sighed. Work. The string of thefts.
We have a string of thefts?
We do now.
I’ll put on the coffee.
Be there in ten.
When Dad died, he’d left the job of being the Bridge to Ordinary to me. Along with that job came the family library which was the secret location of all the books, spells, scrolls, tablets, and knowledge the Reeds had accumulated over the generations.
I loved the library, but not nearly as much as Myra did. She basically lived and breathed books and scrolls and all magical information.
So Dad had left the library to her, and I couldn’t be happier about it.
From the road, the magical library looked like a little pump house set up in the trees. No one really went up here, as it wasn’t developed, wasn’t good for hiking, and offered no views of the ocean.
And if anyone did happen to wander by, the pump house would be, in fact, a pump house. That was part of the magic of the place.
The only time the big magic was triggered was when Myra visited. She didn’t have a key to the library, she was the key.
She also had the family gift of being in the right place at the right time. Which was why I wasn’t at all surprised that the moment I drove up and parked the Jeep on one side of the mossy stones that acted as a gateway to the pump house/library, Myra opened a door.
Even in the rain, even in the ever-dimming light, it was magical to see an entire building manifest around her as she stepped out onto the covered front step. The library looked like several fairytale wooden cabins stuck together, all peaked roofs and multi-pane windows.
The light behind her was bright and welcoming. I ducked out of the Jeep and sprinted to the overhang of the step.
“Hey,” I said, dripping and cold, the wind shoving me sideways. “Can I come in?”
Myra was off duty today and was wearing a red sweater and black polka-dot leggings. Her rockabilly hair was pulled back with a simple black bow headband. Her eyeliner was winged away from her light blue eyes, making them even wider.
The library didn’t allow anyone over the threshold unless Myra permitted it. To date, she’d only allowed me, Jean, and for some reason beyond me, Than, into this treasure trove of information. She hadn’t even allowed Bathin in, and he was the demon she was dating.
“Yes, you are welcome here tonight. Get in.” She tugged on my shoulder.
I yelped as I basically tripped over the threshold. She shut the door behind me.
The main room was wall-to-wall bookshelves, crowded from floor to ceiling with every kind and style of book imaginable. A flicker of spirits and sparkles of magic floated and peeked between bindings, shimmering in the ragged shadows of spines.
Several ghost-like spirits of the library’s volumes were hanging out here, as they usually did. A young boy lay sprawled on the floor, his head resting on a big, ghostly wolf behind him. Two regally dressed men sipped tea in the corner, leaning close to each other with secret smiles. A woman with a battle axe across her shoulder was throwing dice with an elfin creature and a cat in a top hat. Near the stairwell, a lizard made of blue fire ate berries out of a selkie’s fingers.
All of them ghostly. All of them spirits of the books held safe in this space.
I heard several disembodied voices murmur, “Welcome,”
“Delaney,”
“Bridge,”
“Eldest,” as the magic of the books recognized me.
“Delaney Reed,” a strong male voice said. “How good to see you.”
I looked toward the kitchen area.
Harold stood there, smiling. He was much more solid than any of the other book spirits and looked like Cary Grant, suit and all. He used to be an index in the Library of Alexandria. As luck had it, he’d been thrown away, rescued from the fire, and was now caregiver to both the Reed magic library and the magical Reed responsible for it.
“Hi, Harold,” I said.
“Would you care for coffee and cookies?”
It felt like I’d been eating and drinking non-stop, but it was still cold and wet out. Coffee equals good. “Yes, please.”
“Excellent. And you, Myra? Tea?”
“I’ll have coffee too.”
His eyebrows went up and so did mine. Myra was a tea lover through and through.
“He made chocolate, chocolate-chunk, extra-fudge cookies,” she explained. “Coffee’s gonna go great with that.”
“Will you be in the sitting room?” he asked.
Myra smiled at him. “Upstairs, yes. Thank you.”
“Carry on. I’ll be up in a moment.”
I pulled off my coat and hung it to drip on the coat rack behind the door. My phone in the coat pocket vibrated, so I pulled it out and glanced at the screen.
Ryder.
Dinner? Promise no more brochures.
No more than a dozen?
He sent a smile face, an angel, and a globe. Then: Don’t forget it’s your day to feed the dragon pig.
I sent a thumbs up and stuck the phone in my pants pocket. I’d need to go pick up that rusted fence Aaron was holding for me.
“Thefts?” Myra led the way across the room to the stairs and started up.
“You know about the missing traffic light?”
“Yeah. Jean told me this morning.”
“Now the light pole outside Than’s kite shop is gone.”
She slowed and glanced back over her shoulder. “The light pole.”
“The light pole.”
She raised her dark eyebrows and took the last few steps to the upper level, heading straight to the sitting room, which was really more of an inviting little space with soft couches and a clutter of loose-leaf letters and booklets scattered on shelves and small tables.
She took the couch. I flopped down into the comfy chair across from her, the wooden coffee table, polished to a deep shine, between us.
“Did Than report it?” she asked.
“No, I was there. Frigg wants to transfer the powers and it’s his turn.”
“Well, that’s gonna be fun to watch. So you noticed the pole missing?”
“It was there before I went in and when I left, it was gone.”
“You didn’t hear anything?”
“Storm.”
She nodded. “All right, talk me through it.”
It wasn’t a long story, but I recited everything that had happened and pulled up the photos on my phone.
“Who would want a streetlight?” she asked.
“That’s why I’m here.”
Harold came in with a tray holding two coffee mugs and a plate of small, chocolatey cookies.
“Thanks,” I said. “Are you going to join us?”
“As much as I like a good mystery,” he smiled, “and I certainly do, there seems to be a discrepancy in the inventory I am excited to ferret out.”
He walked out of the room. I threw Myra a look.
“What are you missing?”
“Not
streetlights. It’s just a book that isn’t on the shelf where it’s supposed to be. It’s still in the building,” she said before taking a huge bite of cookie. “We’d know if it were really gone.”
From the room below came a thunk followed by a laugh. Harold’s voice floated up from the living area. “William, Dashiell, what have I told you about lobbing volumes at Edgar? Pick that up and help me find your missing shelf mate.”
There was another thunk and the fast tap of shoes running.
Myra just rolled her eyes. “Books.”
I tried the cookie. “These are fantastic.”
“He found the recipe on the internet.” She grinned. “He’s determined to find the best version of every kind of cookie, no matter where he has to go to get the recipe.”
“Good man.” I washed the chocolate down with a gulp of coffee. “Light post.”
“Well, there’s Bigfoot,” she said. “He loves light bulbs.”
“I thought about that. Has he ever escalated to this level before?”
“No. Not that I know of.”
“So we can talk to him, but it’s not really his M.O.”
“Is it possible we have another dragon loose in town? It could have taken the shape of anything it wanted to be. Now it’s eating metal?”
“Possible. I’ll ask dragon pig to look for it. But both items are big public lights. If a dragon wanted to eat metal, there is more easily accessed metal objects in town. Park benches, garbage cans…”
“… fire hydrants,” she added.
“Yep. Not to mention cars and sheds and fencing. And since nothing else metal has been reported missing, I’m thinking dragon number two isn’t our suspect.”
“Worth asking about.”
“I will.”
She finished off her cookie and pulled her coffee mug into her hands. “It’s not like they’re easily sold or shipped. Can’t strip them down for anything valuable.”
“Copper wire?”
“Not enough to make it worth the effort. That shadow you saw out by Than’s shop. How big was it?”
“Hard to say. Bigger than a human, I think.”
The problem with that was we had leshiye and giants and all manners of larger supernaturals in town. To live among the non-magic humans, many of the big supernaturals carried a spell to change their appearance, or otherwise used their powers and abilities to make people see them as something that fit in with the common world.