by P. S. Power
Heather covered the far walls in a scanning motion. She was Special Service after all, and trained to guard the King from all threats that might come. Ferdinand wasn't there, so she was apparently going to substitute the woman from another world for the time being.
"What's the sit-rep?"
It was military sounding, but came from the wrong world. Gwen had watched enough television to get it however.
"Three men snuck in here, and attacked. I was stabbed once, with something like an ice-pick, or some other thin blade. They had null radiatives on, and I was taken by surprise, stabbed before I woke up. Winslow came in with a crin when I screamed fire, and shot a couple of them in the feet. The field didn't cover them there." Waving her hands she tried to explain the idea. Beth nodded, and knelt down to take her hand. She was in slacks, but looked to have thrown her gear on in a hurry. She had no makeup on her face, which was practically a sign of being a heathen in the Western Kingdom.
The animal.
"I'm so sorry, Gwen. This is awful. Can you stand? We should take you to the hospital. Or back to Central, where we can guard you properly. Why hasn't anyone taken you already?" Her blonde friend glanced at the others, but she was just worried, not angry.
Gwen winked, getting the move right, she thought. It was a thing she'd been working on. For the first few months there, not having a clue she was doing it, she'd been scrunching half her face up trying to do it. That was a thing there, but one that was mainly used by dirty old men to hit on girls less than half their age. Everyone had thought it was hilarious, at the time. At least Beth had finally let her in on it, so she'd worked on fixing the move.
"Peter came and healed me. Field healing, but it's enough for now. It wasn't a bad wound, as far as that kind of thing goes. This means that I get to be in on the questioning for once. How cool is that?"
Billy, who actually understood what she meant, being from the same world, grinned. It was kind of sinister, but heartfelt. That was the kind of thing he did. Almost everyone thought he was more than a little cray-cray. She did too, because he really was. One day it would be a problem, but not yet.
Not while he had fun things to do.
"We can both do it. Family bonding time. Hurray. Let's go. We don't want them to fall asleep or anything."
Gwen needed help up, Beth acting as a crutch, so she wouldn't fall down, but honestly Gwen felt fine. A bit of pain, but nothing too bad. She'd felt worse.
Hey, as far as this went, these guys hadn't even bothered to call her names. Given her life, that was an improvement over what she would have expected.
Chapter two
There would be no beatings in the library that day.
It was a bit of a shame, but Gwen hadn't counted on it. Not once Bethany had gotten there. Not that her best friend wouldn't want to punish the men that had stabbed her. That idea was so silly that Gwen didn't even have to consider it for more than half a second. Beth would have killed them in the right circumstances.
Just for hurting her. It was a shocking thing to think of, but she was certain of it, after all they'd been through together.
That wasn't going to take place however. For one thing, they were in the locked pantry, not the library at all. It was where they kept the cheap liquor and expensive foods that people might steal to sell on the black market. Not that any of their people would do something like that.
It hit her then that a lot of people in the room they entered would have done the same thing. They would have killed these men, to get revenge for her, if it came to it. Even the cops that came, two detectives from the local constabulary, might well have. Gwen understood that when one of them sneered, raising his right hand for a tremendous backhanded blow to the face of a footless man. Nothing landed however.
Because Beth was there.
"I believe we can question him in a more efficient fashion, Wilbur."
The man, who was young still, being in his mid-twenties, and thinner than he had been when they'd met, a single year before, spun.
"Bethany? I..." What he did was blush, and look away.
Gwen knew the story there, so didn't have to ask, for once. It was a rare thing for her in this new world. Normally she was half in the dark, or more, floundering for an explanation as to what the hell was going on. Not in this case, for once.
The last time that any of them had met Detective Wallace had tried to kill them both. More than that, since he'd been about to do something to Beth, who was tied up face down on the sofa when Gwen had gotten there to stop him.
His pants had been down at the time, so even a person as isolated and naive as her had gotten the idea.
That part actually would have been fine, if it hadn't been for Emma Forster being there, too. The girl had been the protégé of a psycho that had wanted to bring the Elder Gods into the real world. She'd also been mind controlling the young male Detective, which meant that no one blamed him for what he'd nearly done.
Except, it was kind of clear in the moment, himself.
Just to short circuit the apologies that were probably not needed anyway, Gwen raised her right hand, and then nearly doubled over in pain.
"Fuck. Sorry." That apology was for the language. Even the hardened men in the room all glanced away from her use of it. Even the would be assassins did it. Like those pricks had a leg to stand on, as far as judging her like that. Then, as she looked down, she shut her lips, and didn't say that out loud.
It was one of the major problems of this world. A girl couldn't express herself hardly at all without everyone acting like she was insane.
Explaining, she tried to seem serious. It was hard, which shocked her a good bit. Really, she should have been so angry that her go to move involved killing some bastards, but she really wasn't. If anything she just felt a bit numb, inside. Not in her middle though.
"Stuck, like a pig, so you know, ow. Anyway, you gentlemen were about to explain this? I really don't enjoy being woken up suddenly. Did I offend you in some way? You got that awful Kat Vernor song stuck in your head, and decided my early demise was the only way to get it out? If so speak up now, since it's the only thing that might save you." It wouldn't, but it was a horrible little tune. Part of a terrorism safety course.
Billy, who was standing at the door of the small space, which looked to be a mud room, or coat closet, other than the locked chests along the back wall, gave them all a very blank look. His eyes were cold, and dead. Ice blue, and like death should fear him. The round scars on his cheeks and neck gleamed a silvery pink. Like an evil clown.
Then he sang a bit. He wasn't good at it.
"What do you do if a bomb goes off?"
It was almost cute, but half the people there responded, including one of the men that was tied to the sturdy wooden chairs with thick rope. Wilbur was one of them that sang along. Everyone had been brainwashed with it, even the foreign sounding prisoner. The one that still had both feet.
"Find the threat, and protect the kids!"
Gwen nodded, her lips twisting into a smile easily. So much so that she wondered why she didn't do it all the time.
"That's the one. It's really not good at all, so I can sort of see it, if that's why you wish me dead. I swear, I didn't write it though. I'm not sure, but I think that was Countess Goebbels?" There was a hiss at the door, which sounded feminine and a bit prissy.
That got everyone to stare in that general direction, and the footless wonder in the center, Stabby the Goat Fucker, to swear.
"Blast." It wasn't a very good curse, and not a magical spell at all, but it sounded heartfelt.
Gwen blinked, and looked at Ethyl Vernor, and then back at the man in question.
There was just a bit too much connection going on there, when the man looked at the lady in the door. She was dressed already, which probably made it seem like she'd been up for the day, even though that wasn't going to be the case. If it was three in the morning, Gwen would have been thrilled. On the good side, when they got this thing figur
ed out no one would really be all that put out if she went back to bed. Regardless of the hour.
Then it was stabbing day, which she decided meant she got to sleep in from then on.
She waved at the man, to get everyone's attention.
"Beth, go into telepathic state, and read this man, please."
The Westmorland protocols were pretty strong, and the woman was used to taking direction from her that way. Technically Gwen was even her official assistant when in the field, but just saying the words, or asking her to go into B state, would have gotten her friend to start reading minds at any time.
The trick there was that, other than say yes or no, and perhaps a few other simple things, Bethany needed to be asked to give up the needed information directly, or to be brought out of state after the work was done. That way she could report on whatever she'd seen there. It wasn't so much about protecting everyone else from her mind reading abilities as much as keeping Beth sane. It seemed that knowing what everyone thought was enough to screw up almost anyone, after a while.
Gwen was glad she didn't have that power in particular. Oh, she could have learned it, but knowing how hated she was didn't thrill her all that much.
The dapper man in the center, dressed in a nice and slightly shiny black suit, like the other two were, sneered derisively, and then went blank. As if that was going to save him from a Westmorland Detective.
Heather, who for lack of a better word was Gwen, if from the world they stood in, stepped forward. She was also a Special Service operative, and a bit more intimidating than Katherine Vernor had ever been. Also good looking. That part may have been Gwen playing favorites, since it was, more or less, what she should have looked like in her real life, instead of the warped monstrous thing that she'd been.
The Westmorland was lovely though. She had two eyes, one on either side of her head perfectly spaced, and a nose that while a bit upturned was cute, rather than leaning to the right by nearly an inch.
The only fair thing about it all was that Gwen had a younger, and in many ways, prettier, body now. It wasn't hers, and she felt a bit bad about keeping it, but since her real body had been killed, she couldn't exactly give it up. Part of that was her being selfish however. She really didn't want to, since it was fun, having others look at her and smile, like they often did now.
Her other self, if that was the right way to think of it, moved toward the man, taking over the questioning rather efficiently. It made sense. She was used to working with telepaths, where the Constabulary Detectives really weren't, and having the victim asking for information about an attack probably wouldn't hold up in court very well.
If any of these men were allowed to live that long.
"You stabbed Gwen. Were you supposed to do that? Did someone send you for that in particular? Who do you work for? What were you planning to do with Gwen after you attacked her?"
The man didn't get a chance to speak, but to everyone's surprise he cleared his throat at the end, and then stared.
"I... Wasn't supposed to stab the young one. It was dark, and I made a mistake. An error that is... Forgive me, Miss." He looked at Gwen, and gave his own pained nod. Having your feet taken off like that, while very effective, had to hurt. No one had even bothered wrapping the things yet, being they were nearly perfectly cauterized at the stumps.
She didn't respond to the words, Heather jumping in again, speaking so fast her strawberry blonde pony tail jumped a bit. She was in uniform, so had on blue slacks and a shirt, which looked more like a person to answer than a white floor length nightgown did.
"Your target was Ethyl Vernor? Who sent you?"
The man shook his head a little, and then made a face that seemed to indicate he understood a lot more about what was going on with Beth than most people would have, in the same situation. There were mind readers in this place, but the fact was most of them were so crazy by the time they were in their twenties that what they said wasn't allowed to be used against a person. No matter how good it sounded at the moment. The only time that was really a thing that could happen was when a Westmorland, or at least an incredibly well trained person, did it.
Here Beth was, also dressed to impress, in her blue on blue. If you were a smart person, you could work out what that meant.
So the man didn't even try to hide anything. It still didn't help. You couldn't part with information you didn't know, which showed a certain level of professionalism that Gwen hadn't expected from the stab brothers.
"We were contracted to take out the older lady here. Our information sent us to the wrong room, or I imagine things would have gone a bit more smoothly. That's one of the hazards of using magic for things like this. We ended up where we were supposed to, not where we should have. Well, it won't really matter, now. None of us know who hired us. We of the brotherhood never do. The mets were placed in an account, by people unknown to us, with the needed information, as to target, and," There was a pained gasp, but no complaint about the conditions he was being kept in. Whoever this man was, he knew better than to bother with that. "It really won't do you any good to read our minds. We don't have the information you want, other than the target. It's rare for us to fail, and rarer still for one of us to be captured. I trust that won't happen again, gentlemen?"
This seemed to be for the other men, and then, almost as one, they all slumped over. Only the ropes were holding them up.
No one screamed, but there was a gasp from more than one person as Billy jumped in and started to check pulses at the neck. After several seconds he rolled his eyes and looked directly at her.
"Dead. Probably some kind of magical training used as a failsafe." He spun to glare at Ethyl, though it was clear there was a hint of a smile under the stupid little pencil mustache he was currently growing. It was stylish, but made him seem creepy. Creepier, she decided, patting Beth on the arm.
"Go back to normal now, Bethany? I think this part is done." The thought that her poor friend had to have been in the man's mind as he died occurred to her, but she didn't say anything, since it was far too late for that now.
Pointing a lean finger at the nicely dressed hyper wealthy Mrs. Vernor, Billy continued. He was, after all, nothing if not improper, as a rule. A big part of that was down to the fact he was from a different world. They had different rules, and when you got down to it, people from back home were just so much more casual than they were here. The other part had to do with how he'd grown up. Being tortured by their mother, who'd been trying to develop super soldiers of her own. In short, he'd spent sixteen years with a crazy, psychopathic bitch, that had used him as a tool to do what she wanted. Right up until he killed her. It was a thing that they probably needed to talk about some day.
Beth distracted her by sighing, as he spoke. Billy was practically laughing by the time the words came out.
"All right, Ethyl Vernor. What planet are you really from? The Men in Black don't come out for just anyone."
Gwen got that one, having seen the movies. Plus she'd kind of liked the idea of aliens being real, so had read a lot about the topic back home. She was about to explain when her brother, the sibling of her body from her own world, laughed.
"Sorry, it's a bit of a joke. If they were after aliens they would have gone for me, or Gwen. The look they have going on is pretty distinctive, so I was poking a bit of fun at them. Anyone have any ideas who they were?"
Detective Wallace flipped both palms up, his face a bit annoyed.
"Men in Black. That's the look they were going for, if they aren't the real thing. Sometimes the organization is called the Undertakers, I believe, thanks to that. Also The Brotherhood. Assassins from Europa. You could tell that much from the accent that fellow had. It was faint, but there."
Beth and Heather both nodded, as if that was simply correct. Ethyl made a gasping sound from the door, and turned as if to run out, getting away from the bodies or the threat, but then froze.
Trapped by the fact that someone had tried to kill her. She
didn't know where to run, Gwen had to guess. Not if magic was being used to find her. Poorly, but they'd gotten close enough to endanger her daughter. Magically there was a link that way, along family lines, which might have messed things up.
Thankfully.
She was far more used to pain than Mrs. Vernor could be. Plus, when she was stabbed, her go to move was to fight as hard as she could. Ethyl would have simply screamed, and died.
Gwen moved over toward the older woman, who was far from old, being in her forties, and gave her a hug. It was the kind of thing she'd always wanted to do, but hadn't since most people didn't really want to touch her. Only now, the rules were different. Even with the drying blood on her loose white gown, the woman didn't shy away.
"Let's get some tea, and let someone else handle the bodies? Beth, Heather, could you come with us? Winslow, could you have something brought to the casual sitting space?" That one had a proper table to sit at, and was less likely to be stained by blood, the chairs being made of wood. A bit like the ones that the dead men were tied to.
It was funny, but the idea that someone had tried to kill Ethyl, her adopted mom, was having a much larger impact on her than when it had just been about her. A lot of people had tried to kill her over the years after all. Even when she'd just been Gwen the crippled girl it had happened a few times a year. Ethyl was off limits though. Not just because she knew Gwen either. Her husband, Robert, was one of the richest men in the world. He controlled air shipping for three or four continents and had dealings in most of the others.
Which, no doubt, would end up being why someone had tried to kill his wife.
It would also be why whoever had done it was going to have to pay. Otherwise he might just do a lot of damage to the world, trying to take them down himself. He was a smart man, but also loyal. If he had to lose everything in order to protect his wife, Gwen had no doubt that would be what happened, without the fellow even blinking about it too much.
Gwen took a deep breath, not letting herself notice the pain.