Under Pressure

by Isobella Crowley

  “What is that?” he wondered. “Oh, wait, it’s a cacophony of laughter. Clearly, your people got hours of quality entertainment out of that little stunt.”

  “Yes,” said Riley.

  “That’s good to know. I’m glad that something like that is considered an all-ages community event amongst your kind.”

  They were practically on top of the two holes to the colony’s depths when the squeals and guffaws quieted enough for the fae to notice that they had visitors. A few drifted out from under the earth.

  “Oh!” one exclaimed. “Ha-ha. It’s Remy. Look at him, pretending like everything is normal again! Ha-ha-ha.”

  Remington waved. “Yeah, hi. I fulfilled my end of the bargain. So, now—”

  “Look!” another cried, tears streaming from its small eyes with barely controlled mirth, “the ungainly stupid human is back. He’s wearing clothes now. Oh, but we’ll never forget what he looked like earlier. Ha-ha-ha-ha.”

  Others flew up and out, most of them already chuckling, then pointed and shrieked with laughter when they saw him.

  He coughed. “Okay, yeah, it was a good show. Now give me the fairy dust. I did what you asked, so do as you said you would.”

  A few of those who seemed to be in charge, including the especially large fairy who’d set the terms earlier, gradually gained control of their hysteria and regarded the human with a steady gaze.

  “So be it,” the big one announced. “You have demonstrated—amply—your humility before us. And so we shall bequeath to you our most precious possession. Use it wisely, human.”

  “Oh,” Remy intoned, “I shall, don’t worry.”

  The throng parted and two fairies emerged, carrying a pouch between them made of much the same gossamer green material as Riley’s dress and about the size of two or three matchbooks pressed together.

  He nodded and accepted it. It seemed awfully small, but if the stuff was as powerful as its reputation suggested, they probably wouldn’t need much.

  As he turned away, one of the Fair Folk cawed over his shoulder, “Don’t waste it on making your backside bigger! Ha-ha-ha-ha. It was so small and flat.”

  The others began to laugh again and didn’t stop.

  His jaw muscles had a good workout on the walk back to the car, although his teeth began to ache by the end. Riley rode on his shoulder and put one of her minuscule hands on the side of his neck.

  “You got it. That’s what’s important,” she observed.

  He tucked the pack deep into his pocket well before he was in clear sight of Gilmore’s car. When he climbed in, her mood seemed to have improved.

  “How’d it go?” She arched her eyebrows.

  “Fine.” He buckled his seatbelt.

  Kendra started the engine and added, “I must admit, I’m curious. If you all aren’t insane, then this has at least been an…interesting experience.”

  Her fascination seemed genuine but now, he was the grumpy one.

  “Like I said, I’ll tell you about it later. For now, don’t ask.”

  Bayside, Queens, New York

  “Damn,” Colonel James Russel swore. The lights were off in his townhouse and he stared into the deep gloom that blanketed his living room, which still bore the marks of the tussle the other day. “So the Feds really are in on it. Although I don’t think this Gilmore realizes what she’s gotten into.” He rubbed his nose and suddenly wanted a stiff drink.

  Seated on either side of a low table on which some equipment hummed were two friends of his—one a soldier and the other a civilian employee of the Department of Defense. Both were trained as analysts and neither was retired.

  And yet, there they were because he’d asked them for a favor. Both held earpieces to the sides of their heads and listened to the feedback they received from the bug.

  A hell of a big favor.

  Joe Conason, the civilian currently seated on the left, clenched his jaw. “They said they were Company. The guys who came here, right? If the FBI is cooperating with them, then either they were lying and they’re actually some kind of crooks whom the Feds are protecting for the time being, or they really are from the CIA and we’ve stumbled onto something beyond serious.”

  He took a swig of coffee as the other two men chewed on his words. Then, he continued. “The thing is, I almost think a real Company field agent would have realized by now that he’d been bugged. I’m not entirely convinced.”

  Russel inhaled. “You make a good point, Joe. The guy seems sloppy. Either he’s a brand-new agent in way over his head with deep-cover stuff, or he’s a shiftless goddamn moron.”

  “Well,” quipped Rory Valdez on the right, who was Army, “whoever these people actually are, this is some crazy, ridiculous shit. I mean, come on. Witches? Fairy dust? Ancient Biblical spells to control vampires? These people are insane. And aside from Gilmore, they actually seem to believe all this.”

  The colonel did not respond and merely pushed his glasses up his nose. Something had happened to him, and it was damn hard to explain. Scary stuff, yet it was, at least, the most action he’d seen in years. His ass had been parked in a chair at a desk for too long.

  Even slipping Remington the bug, to begin with, felt like getting something done to a greater extent than he’d accomplished in the last decade.

  “Gentlemen,” he told Joe and Rory, “I’ll make another pot of tea. If I have to run this kind of operation—if you can even call it that—out of my own home, it’s the least I can do.”

  Valdez nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

  When he returned a few minutes later and refilled all three of their cups, Conason turned to him with his brow furrowed.

  “Sir, what exactly will we do? We probably ought to report all this crap to the higher-ups and let them make the decision.”

  Russel’s eyes were distant but sharp. “I’m not sure yet, Joe. But whatever we do, it sure as hell won’t be nothing.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Cochran Mortuary Services, New Rochelle, New York

  Riley was in a pestering mood, Remington decided. Then again, after what he’d gone through, he supposed he was easily pestered.

  “How long,” the fairy inquired, “will you try keeping Kendra in the dark about all this? How long do you think you can?”

  Remy kept his hands on the steering wheel and his eyes on the road. “I’m fairly sure we’ve had this conversation before.”

  “Yes,” she conceded, “but we never finished it. I still don’t understand, and I don’t think you’re making the right choice. Why are you so determined to keep the rest of the world hidden from her? Why not simply tell her about the preternatural so she knows?”

  He shrugged. “She’s seen things that are almost impossible to explain according to normal human knowledge. If she paid enough attention to other shit we’ve said and done and opened her mind a little wider…well, she’s smart enough to work it out.”

  “Maybe she only needs a little push,” she suggested.

  “She might push back,” he responded. “You know, a backlash—an equal and opposite reaction. She’d get angry, totally deny everything, and finally decide that we’re all wackos and she should report us to her bosses and let them swoop in. If that happened, our hands would be tied while Moswen took over the city.”

  The fairy folded her arms and hunched on the dashboard to pout in annoyance and confusion. He left her to her thoughts for now.

  After Kendra had taken them home, they’d managed to ditch the agent and fobbed her off on Taylor and Alice.

  “I think,” the witch had stated, “that it might be helpful, Agent Gilmore, for you to know more about the occult foundations that we suspect are involved in Moswen’s cartel. Now, you might not believe in magic and such, but they certainly do. Know thine enemy and all that.”

  While Remy watched, Alice and the vampire had exchanged a quick glance.

  “Agreed,” Taylor had said. “Come, let’s head to the library.”

  The ag
ent might have realized that she was being separated from him by design, but her curiosity had become more important, so she’d complied. Then, Bobby had moved in and guided him by the shoulder to the other side of the house.

  “Okay, you have it, right? The dust?” the receptionist had asked.

  “Of course.” He made himself smile.

  She’d nodded. “Good. Leave it with me. The werewolves”—she’d nodded to Presley and Conrad—“will stay here for our protection. There’s one other thing you can get, though. Dead man’s blood. There’s a mortuary in New Rochelle, fifteen minutes down the road, that should be perfect.”

  “Thanks,” he’d responded. “It’s so comforting to know that my friends are doing their part to send me to the morgue.”

  So, after he’d swallowed a half-cup of coffee and splashed water on his face, he’d set off once more, again accompanied only by Riley—and a syringe with a nice plastic cap for the needle.

  Now, they were almost there.

  “Ugh,” he lamented, “mortuaries are such depressing places. They’re like a cross between a hospital and a museum. I’m surprised we didn’t have to take a field trip to one back in school.”

  The morgue came into sight, a building of pale sepia stone with lightly decorated, carved accents near its corners and entrance. He drove past it to do a quick scan of the place, then looped around and parked in the lot of a nearby shopping plaza.

  They got out and locked the car—the Lincoln, this time since Taylor hadn’t given him permission to take a Tesla.

  “Okay,” Remy stated, “we’ll kind of circle it on foot like we’re confused where to go in and maybe go to the front desk, then—”

  He stopped as he noticed the fairy gazing intently at the line of stores across the asphalt.

  “Riley,” he said, in a gentle but firm voice, “please remember what you said. We have a job to do here.”

  For a few seconds, she was quiet.

  “No,” she whispered.

  Remy felt the beginnings of tension and anger before he realized she was talking to herself.

  “No. I’ll do what I know is right. What will really make me happy.” She turned toward him in midair.

  He smiled and extended an arm. She perched on his hand, climbed up to his shoulder, and sat there, holding the collar of his jacket.

  A short walk brought them to the morgue. He strolled around the north side, pretended to be confused as if he’d expected the entrance to be there, and returned to the south side before he approached the front door on the east face. There were at least a few nice big windows on each side.

  The investigator stepped into the formally furnished lobby and a receptionist greeted him at once.

  “Hello,” the young man behind the counter said, “welcome to Cochran. How can I help you?”

  Remy glanced quickly around. A woman in a suit dress waited in a chair off to the left. Somewhere behind the receptionist, it appeared that a few other people bustled to and fro.

  “Hi,” he said and almost smiled but deciding it would be inappropriate here, “I have a family member who’s near the end of her life and I’m looking for someone to provide the necessary services. I was a medical student for a while, though, so my standards are exacting. Would it be possible for me to tour your facility?”

  The receptionist frowned a little. “Um… That’s not a common request, but it might be possible. I’ll have to talk to someone, okay?”

  “Sure, fine.” he straightened his tie.

  The young man got a message on one of his screens and looked over to the woman in the chair. “Ms Halpern, you can go in now.” He reached down and pressed a button, which resulted in a beeping noise.

  The lady stood and opened the door leading into the rear of the facility. As the door swung shut, the receptionist released the button. He looked at Remy.

  “Please wait here while I consult with my manager.” He stood and left.

  As soon as he was gone, he whispered to the fairy, “Fly through that slot in the glass and push the same button he pressed. Keep it down until I’m through that door then release it right away.”

  “Okay,” she agreed, flapped off his shoulder, and vanished behind the desk.

  He positioned himself near the door, and the beeping sounded only a moment later. Quickly, he turned the knob and stepped through and the noise ceased.

  Beyond the door was a small maze of hallways. A sign reading cold storage pointed left, so he went that way, Riley fluttered up to him as he made the choice.

  “Riley. If you can detect…uh, dead human bodies, point me in that direction.”

  They started to turn a corner, but it looked like someone was walking through the hall beyond so they ducked back and waited. Silence settled around them. He crept around and the fairy pointed him toward a particular door about a third of the way down.

  Remy put his hand on the lever and waited a moment in case anyone was nearby, but the coast was clear. He sidestepped into the room and shut the door gently behind him.

  The chamber was, predictably, kept at a cool temperature. Still, it contained no fewer than four human bodies on tables covered by sheets, so it nonetheless smelled a little dank.

  He whispered to his minuscule companion. “Keep watch at the door. Or…uh, listen, I mean. Let me know if anyone comes.”

  She nodded and levitated off his shoulder to remain where she was as he advanced into the room. He withdrew the syringe from his pocket, uncapped it, and advanced on the first corpse.

  There’s no reason to be picky, he concluded and aimed the needle toward the bare, withered foot that protruded from under the covering. One dead person is as good as another, right? The spell recipe only said it had to be a dead man’s bl—

  He stopped. The tag on the cadaver indicated that this had been a woman in life.

  Shit. Does it actually have to be a man’s blood, or were they speaking euphemistically? The spell was probably written in the days when humankind was referred to as “Man,” I would think.

  He opted not to risk it and advanced to the next corpse. This one was definitely male. Hurriedly, he stuck the needle into the center of the foot, pushed it in, and pulled back on the plunger. The liquid that filled the tube was dark, cold, thick, and sluggish, so different from that of a living thing.

  A shudder rippled down his neck and back as, unbidden, he wondered if Taylor’s blood was like this.

  Riley’s small whisper sounded behind him. “Remy! Someone’s coming.”

  Jolted from his brief rumination, he pulled the needle free, capped it, and put it down his pants, willing himself to not be grossed out by having it so intimately close to his body.

  He hurried to the door but froze before it. If whoever was coming was merely passing by, it would be better to remain there rather than emerge and be seen. If they planned to enter the room, though, he’d have to think fast.

  The footsteps stopped in front of the door and the handle turned.

  “Whoa!” he exclaimed as the door swung open and did his best impersonation of someone who was embarrassed by their obvious error. “Sorry. I obviously have the wrong room. I was looking for the crematorium. Excuse me.”

  A short man of about sixty-five with a bushy white mustache stared at him, dumbfounded, as he pushed his way past, stepped over the threshold, and ambled down the hallway. The fairy clung to his collar.

  He looked up, about to congratulate himself on his quick thinking, when he noticed a beefy orderly at the end of the hall blocking his exit.

  “Hey!” the man called and pointed at him. “You’re not supposed to be here. What the hell are you doing?”

  Crap. It was nice while it lasted.

  His arm snapped out to open the nearest door and he practically teleported himself into the chamber beyond before the orderly could react. Still, by the time he’d slammed the door shut, the heavyset man was already pounding the hallway floor as he advanced.

  He was in some type of office wit
h desks and chairs and file cabinets. More importantly, it also had a nice big window on the far wall, which even faced in exactly the direction he’d need to run in order to get out of sight and reach his car.

  The orderly’s brief jog came to a stop and the handle clicked as it turned.

  The investigator was already beside the window. He unlatched it and heaved it upward. It rose easily at first but seemed to get snagged about halfway to fully open. There was still enough space to crawl through, however, so he ducked and stuck his head and arms through.

  The orderly was in the room and only a few feet away.

  Speaking to the fairy, Remy urged, “Put that guy to sleep.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Riley dart out of sight while he forced his torso through the gap. The angle of his body was as awkward as hell and made his head almost spin.

  Behind him, though, he saw the edge of a silver flash.

  The orderly’s voice rose and fell. “Hey! Whuh? Uh…” The protest trailed off and his body slumped with a thud.

  “Hah!” He laughed. “Good work. Now, I only need to get—”

  The words seemingly fell straight down his throat into his stomach as he pitched forward, having tilted his balance slightly too far in that direction. For a split second, the earth below blitzed toward him before he landed and for another second, the world was nothing but weird spots in his vision and a vague stinging in his face.

  He made himself scramble to his feet, wobbled, and almost fell again, but his vision was already clearing. Thankfully, he’d only fallen about three or four feet. Riley streaked past and turned to face him as she drew ahead. He followed her in a rambling, awkward sprint across the lawn, the street, and around a couple of buildings.

  The fairy seemed overjoyed. “We did it. It wasn’t even that hard.”

  Angling toward the lot where his car was still parked, Remy felt the half-numb sting turn into a sharp ache. “It was hard enough,” he grumbled. “Is my face messed up?”

  She squinted at him. “Yes. It looks like someone punched you.”