I crossed my arms; I was undeterred. In one day I had lost all my leads, my job, and one of my only friends. I had come to the rather firm conclusion that I was taking absolutely no more nonsense. “Well you’re not being very helpful. You’ve been following me around this whole time, keeping secrets, and washing yourself in my tub…I mean, I’ve never owned a dog before but a part of me wants to swat you across the nose with a newspaper.”
It snarled, baring its teeth. I heard Apollo off to my left responding in whisper to the chittering sound coming from the spider that had now climbed its way onto his head. “Alright, human,” the dog snarled at me with its vicious teeth gnashing, “First off, you don’ own me. I own you and what yer doin’ is pissin’ me off. I been givin’ ya hints, keepin’ a closer eye on ya than I normally do with yer kind, an’ maybe a little show o’ gratitude might be in order, but no, ya stand there with yer stupid human face and yer stupid human hair and yer stupid human stupidity, and ye have the audacity to act like I’m some common house mutt? I ain’t havin’ it. You want me to help you? I’ll help you, but you will offish’ly owe me one.” It presented its paw.
I glanced over to Apollo. He was standing in a very frightened stillness, and his expression was entirely obscured by Iktomi, who had decided to crawl across his face. I turned back to the dog and shook its grimy wet paw. The Moddey Dhoo then stood up and raised itself up to full height.
“Stay,” the dog said, and I obeyed.
The dog vanished, and I was left in the awkward silence with Apollo and his spider. “So. Um. Iktomi, huh?”
Apollo nodded slowly, the spider still covering his face.
“And you’ve known each other since you were born?”
Another nod.
“That must be…nice.”
The silence went on for another long and nigh-unbearable minute while I waited for whatever was coming. It was finally broken, however, by the sudden return of the wet and smelly dog and a companion.
I was taken, momentarily, by surprise at the creature’s height: nearly a foot taller than me and robed in a silky black cloak. Emerging from the collar of the cloak was a goat’s head with large, spiraling black horns that twisted sinisterly and glittered in the dim light of the lobby. I heard a chittering squeak and out of the corner of my eye I saw Iktomi retreating into a dark corner and Apollo scooting back against the wall.
“Greetings, child, and fear not.” the creature said, looking me up and down as though cataloguing my appearance, “I am Eratosthenes, the Master of the Archives of the Dead. The Master Dhoo has…let us say…called in a favor and as a result I am here to answer your questions. But pray, be wary, for I shall answer no more than three.”
The Moddey Dhoo stared at me to fiercely that I could almost feel my face beginning to burn. I forced myself to meet its gaze while it waited expectantly. I sighed and held out my hands in defeat. “Fine, fine. You’re a good boy.”
It puffed out its chest smugly. “Damn right I am.”
Apollo crept up to my side, the initial shock of the creature’s appearance apparently having worn off. Iktomi now rested comfortably in the back of Apollo’s shirt. “You’re a Phooka,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
“I am,” it replied simply.
Apollo saw my confused expression and explained. “Phooka are powerful creatures of mischief. Really old, and really smart, and almost never helpful. But when it is helpful…and willingly…oh man…” He put up his hands in surrender, shaking his head.
The Phooka didn’t seem particularly offended by being talked about in front of its face. “Indeed,” Eratosthenes said. “You will follow me to the archives. Do not tarry.” It turned and quickly started off toward one of the staircases, gliding up the marble without making the slightest sound. I hurried behind, not wanting to disobey directions or get lost somewhere in a secret facility underground. The stairs became a long hallway, lined on both sides with rusty filing cabinets, and lit with an unearthly glow that seemed to have no immediately recognizable source. We stopped about thirty feet into the corridor, which seemed to stretch on as far as I could see.
“The archives contain all information that was, that is, and that could be.” It paused, and turned to look at me with those fiery, glowing eyes. “And no, I cannot tell you who killed your father or about the circumstances of his death. Those records are sealed—”
“—by the Dragon. Yeah, yeah…” I said the words before I could stop myself. Clapping a hand to my mouth I glanced up at the Phooka. “I’m sorry…that was really rude of me…”
“Yes, it was.” The simplicity of the statement shook me to my core and I instantly felt ashamed to even exist. I looked down at the floor and tried to steel my resolve with a deep, lung-piercing breath that turned into a cough as I inhaled the dust. I shook the cough off and heard a yelp behind me; Apollo’s spider Silencer was now trying to force its way past his belt and into his pants while Apollo pulled it back. “No, stop! Just behave!” He hissed through gritted teeth.
I gave my attention back to the Phooka. “OK. If you’re still willing to answer the three questions…” It nodded. I paced back and forth a short distance in the hallway, thinking of potential sources of information. “OK. Question one: Who was my dad’s silencer when he was killed?”
The Phooka reached out a hand from its cloak. The hand was wrapped in bandages but otherwise looked perfectly human. He stroked the file cabinet with his finger, making a scraping sound with his fingernail that echoed down the chamber. The file cabinet began to shudder, the contents within making a sound like an electric card sorter, and then it stopped. The top drawer opened and the Phooka took out a single sheet of paper and read it. “Thomas LaFayette was at the time of his death Pro Veritate.”
“Pro Veritate?”
“I told you about that,” Apollo said. He had succeeded in keeping the skeletal spider out of his pants and it was now clamped tightly to his left leg. “It’s when you do something really big and the Dragon honors you by calling off your silencer.”
“So my dad didn’t have any witnesses to his death. Dammit, another dead end.”
Apollo patted me lightly on the back. “Well maybe we can find out why he was killed. Ask about the coin, maybe.”
I nodded slowly and formulated a question. “OK. So I found a coin—a silver drachma. My dad owned it. How did he get it?”
The file cabinet shuddered again the Phooka retrieved a second paper. “Thomas LaFayette was the Vaultkeeper of 50 Thousand Consulting and had access to the vaults. He stole it.”
Alright. That wasn’t exactly the answer I had expected, but it at least gave me an understanding of how my dad had slipped past the massive vault security of 50 Thousand’s underground chambers.[24]
“OK,” I said, standing up straight as I determined my last question, “What will happen if the silver drachma isn’t returned?”
The file cabinet shook for much longer this time, and the paper that was pulled from it looked slightly thicker for some reason, but I may have been imagining it. “If the Silver Drachma is not returned to either the vault or one of the managing partners of 50 Thousand, then their protective spells over The Most Venerable Todd will fail, and then the Dragon called The Harrow will become the new Dragon of Cincinnati and impose a new iron rule upon the Queen City.”
“Who is ‘The Harrow’?” I yelped in surprise.
The Phooka put the paper back. “Your questions have been answered to the satisfaction of our agreement. If you’ve no further business to attend at Empyrean, perhaps you should leave.”
I sighed in defeat and thanked Erasthenes for his help, staring my way back down the hall toward the Exit. Apollo moved quickly ahead of me, a new spring in his step having manifested at the notion of us leaving the union hall. Before long, we were back out into the daylight of Cincinnati, the noontime sun beating down on the brilliant sidewalks around the Betts House.
“Come on,” Apollo insisted, taking my arm and leading me
away, “Before you start getting all caught up in your own head about your dad again. Let’s go get some food and I’ll help you find a new job. I know some people who are always hiring. Also, do you need some money to tide you over for a bit?”
I followed, trying to think of a response and contemplated the young incubus who was being so undeservedly generous. “Dammit Apollo, why are you being so nice to me? You’ve already said you’re not trying to get in my pants. So I feel like there’s some motive—”
He stopped walking and put up a hand to stop me. “Don’t even go there, ok? You’re feeling that way because Killian had an ulterior motive for being your friend. I’m not like that. See,” He reached out and brushed a cobweb off my shoulder. “I see two kinds of humans come through my coffee shop—the ones who have grown up surrounded by magic and the ones who haven’t. And the ones who have, get everything—the have the knowledge, the leg up, the connections. Like that guy you were talking about, Assbag Johnson—”
“—Oh, Devin?—”
“Yeah, that’s what I said. He’s one of those guys. They don’t even need to be wealthy or influential. They just have more to start with. Then there’s humans like you: don’t know about all of it. They find out somehow—a friend, or an accident, or something—it happens. Sometimes people get hired for specific skills. But whatever. Those folks are struggling just to get onto even ground.”
He rounded on me, and for the first time, I could see something that looked like anger behind his eyes. “Then, there’s your old man. He knew about it. He was probably born into it. He then chose, for whatever reason, to deprive you of that better opportunity. So now you’re double-screwed, because you not only don’t have the knowledge, but people expect you do. It’s a mess and it’s not right.”
I furrowed my brow. “If you’re right, then maybe he…maybe he wanted me to appreciate it more.”
“Why are you defending him?” I don’t know if Apollo had meant to raise his voice, but he immediately corrected himself. “I’m sorry. I’m just…I don’t understand this. And I’m not trying to stress you out. But from here, it looks like your dad wasn’t a nice guy. And I hope that I’m wrong, but you ought to hear it outright. Maybe you’ll stop trying to get yourself into the middle of it if you stop putting your old man on a pedestal. Maybe, you will finally start taking other people’s advice and focus on yourself for a bit, huh?”
I glowered. I honestly wanted to just last out…scream, yell, maybe even hit him—but I knew that wouldn’t accomplish anything and, the more I thought about it, he was right. All signs pointed to a person who abused the system and tried to hurt everyone with the benefits of his station. My dad wasn’t a good guy, and the longer I kept waiting on a third-act redemption plot, the more disappointed and frustrated I was going to make myself.
“OK,” I sighed finally after a few steady breaths. “Where can I start looking for a job?”
Chapter 16
I found The Cornucopia online, just like I had found 50 Thousand. It had solid reviews, too—people complimenting the “diverse” and “accommodating” menu, and the fact that they helped serve people with “alternative palates”. These phrases, Apollo had explained, were code phrases used by restaurants that had special selections for magical creatures, particularly Vulnerabl who might want to go out and get a bite but were, for example, actually a Clurichaun and unable to imbibe anything that wasn’t made of sheep or alcohol.
The most popular of these restaurants was The Cornucopia. Not only did it offer dining room seating exclusive to the magical populous, it also offered a rare bonus: delivery service. To the often-intelligent but monstrous members of the Kobolda, this was a distinct luxury, or so I was told. A good delivery driver at a non-magical place could make decent money if they were fast and polite, so it seemed logical to me that if I was at a more exclusive joint I would have an even better chance of staying afloat.
That was particularly important given that my mail had now started to pile up in my condo’s entrance hall. My severance package I had gotten from 50 Thousand would have been fine to ride out on for a little while, but I discovered the hard way that Sorcera society does not like rogue wizards running around without jobs. The first letter had been a polite reminder that I had thirty days to find new magically-inclined employment, and included several places to look for a job as a matter of “convenience”. The second letter, which had arrived the next day, had escalated so fast it would have made a fine Ron Burgundy meme—it let me know that at the end of 30 days Sorcera would be revoking my license and tracking me down to wipe my memory.
So it was then that I went to The Cornucopia, dolled up in a nice polo and slacks with my best fake smile and my short hair done all up in a spiky thing that used far too much hair product. I walked in the door with confidence that I could get a job here, which would at the least get the Silencers off my back for a while.
“I would like a job,” I announced to the host, a tired-looking young man who had to be under 25. I spotted one of those Vulnerabl bracelets on his wrist and felt assured that I was, in fact, in the right place. He looked at me for a moment, as though trying to figure out what I had just said, and then reached up to pull the earbuds I hadn’t noticed before out of his ears. “I said ‘I would like a job.’”
He nodded and grabbed a plain generic job application from under the host table and passed it over to me. I reached into my pocket for a pen, but before I could find one, I glanced at the paper and watched as it began to fill itself out. I took in a deep breath, trying to stifle another gasp (really, I should have been over this stuff by now), as my name, address, telephone number, and a dozen other fields started to auto-populate in the sheet as if being typed by an invisible typewriter. I frowned at a few of the fields (Next to the box which asked if I had ever committed a felony, it populated with “Yes, but I didn’t get caught, so it’s OK”) but handed it back, fully completed. The teenage host took the application and pointed to a staircase nearby. He then put his earbuds back in and continued to stand there looking rather stoned.
I headed up the stairs, confident and excited. I took them two at a time to start, but then changed back to one-at-a-time as I made my way up the third and fourth flights. Around and around I kept going up this staircase, quickly feeling my legs turning to jelly then then to hot, sweaty jelly. I stopped climbing for a few minutes, immediately reconsidering my chosen course of action, but the thought of some Sorcera suit stealing everything I had known about the Secret world drove me onward and upward until I arrived at a single wooden office door with a nameplate: Brenda Michaels, Proprietor. I lightly rapped on the door and heard it unlock.
Pushing the door open, I immediately thought I must have been teleported to a countryside cabin: the floor was covered in mismatched rugs, the walls with stained but vintage wallpaper, and the entire room was filled with cushiony and plush chairs. I took a moment to stand there and catch my breath, looking around the room from the empty birdcage to the shelf full of fine china. And the cats! I spotted the first one basking in the sun that streamed in through the cottage-style window, and I quickly saw them all around the room—under and behind furniture, resting on shelves, and even one sitting relaxing inside the bowl of the lamp hanging from the ceiling. I coughed, trying to clear my lungs of the gunk it had accumulated on my way upward. “H-hello?” I choked out
“Oh ‘ello dearie!” I heard a voice from the other room, and a moment later an old woman emerged in the adjacent doorway, clutching a knobbly wooden cane and dressed head to toe in black robes trimmed with white lace. She beamed a great old-lady-smile and gestured to one of the couches. “Please, please, have ya self a seat. Want a spot of tea?”
I carefully made my way to the couch and took a seat. “Um…no thank you. I’m really just here for a job.”
She handed me a cup of hot tea that I’m sure she didn’t have in her hand a moment ago. “Oh nonsense. Everyone could use a spot of tea. Now what are you ‘ere for?”
“A job?” She took a seat across from me, causing two of her cats to scatter.
“Yes ma’am.”
“Where?”
“Here.” I took a tentative sip of my tea. It tasted like mint and licorice and, to be honest, was kinda awful.
“Oh, a job here? Oh maybe, maybe…” She seemed to be suddenly holding my resume in her hand and looked it over. “Oh, look at that. You worked over at 50 T’ousand. But only for a week? Still, still…shows you’ve got potential or a lot of luck.”
I tried to keep myself from looking suspicious and wondered if the old lady could read minds. I had kept my little piece of onyx on me just in case.
“What else can you do? Know any magic? Be honest now, be honest now…”
“I cast a spell once,” I said proudly. “And I have some…hedge magician training?”
Her eyes went wide in surprise. “Oh a Hedge Mage! Why didn’t you say so? That makes this much, much easier.” She picked at her chin for a moment in thought. “I suppose I’ll have to call Empyrean and check with your silencer—”
“No need,” came the black dog’s voice from behind me. “I’m here, mad’m.” The Moddey Dhoo stalked across the floor, did a few circles, and then flopped down at the old lady’s feet.
“Moddey!” She seemed genuinely excited and reached down to scratch behind its ears. “Well well, that’s a nicety, now ain’t it? I haven’t seen you since I retired. Hope ya have been well, eh?”
“Quite well, Most Ven’rable,” it said with a sort of catlike purr in the back of its throat.
I glanced from the Moddey Dhoo to the old lady. For one, it was good to see that the Moddey Dhoo was, in fact, not a figment of my imagination since up til now it had only appeared when I was alone. Secondly, I recognized the title. “Most Venerable?” I inquired. “That’s the Dragon’s title, isn’t it?”
The Moddey Dhoo nuzzled against the old woman’s leathery hand. “Tha’ it is. But Todd wasn’t always in charge of the city, ya see. This old bat was in charge til tha…what was it? The 30’s?”
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