by Daco
The doorbell rang.
“Are we expecting anyone?” Alexa asked.
Someone opened the front door. “Good day, sir,” she heard Sigfred say from downstairs. “Won’t you come in?”
“I thought you said Sigfred took the day off?” Alexa asked.
“I suppose he chose to come in after all.”
Mayor Bobby Baumgartner’s politician’s voice boomed from the foyer and up through the rafters of the house. “I’d be delighted.”
“It’s The Mayor,” Alexa said. “I don’t want to see anybody. Get rid of him.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
As soon as Gladys left her chambers, Alexa went to the full-length dressing mirror. She studied her face and hair, and then untied her robe, letting it drop to the floor. She looked the same as she always did. She stared into her eyes, as if she could find the truth in her image. When the answer didn’t come, she lifted her hands and examined her fingertips more carefully. There was absolutely no sign of burns, exit wounds, or anything else that would’ve suggested an electrical beam of energy had just arced from them. Alexa thought back to the moment when the transformation had taken place.
I was angry, she thought.
How dreadful it would be if this happened only when she was angry. And what if she couldn’t control herself when it did happen? Sigfred had been there the first time, Gladys the second. In their own way, they’d both snapped her out of it before she’d done something too heinous to think about. What if she’d killed those men? What if she’d harmed Gladys?
How would other emotions affect her? She thought about what would happen if she became happy, giddy, and started laughing wildly. Then she realized that any true feelings of happiness might never come to pass, because she hadn’t felt happy in a very long time. She’d suffered the loss of her parents, and her success had come at a great cost. Now, there was this disaster at The Mick.
Worst of all, what was an Electromancer?
Alexa put her robe back on and sat down on the settee. She tried to think of something that would make her laugh. “Come on. Come on now,” she said to herself, but all she accomplished was waking up Miss Marbletop. The cat stretched her front paws, slowly arched her back, and then jumped off the adjacent chair. She meowed and hopped onto the settee next to Alexa, expecting to be admired and stroked. Alexa smoothed down the cat’s fur, while continuing to try to think of something funny.
Miss Marbletop jumped from the settee with her fur standing on end. The cat hissed and raced toward the still-open balcony doors. The cat was ordinarily docile, so Miss Marbletop’s behavior startled Alexa. There was something else—Alexa realized she could hear with an acuity she’d never before experienced, her ears so sensitive that she could detect her cat’s paws padding softly on the carpeted bedroom floor.
Through the open doors, Alexa heard a child shout. She instantly recognized it to be the voice of the young boy, Luke Lauder, who lived next door. He’d just turned nine. Alexa had spent many happy hours drinking tea and listening to him ramble on about fighting giants to their deaths. In many ways, the child reminded Alexa of herself, growing up under the wings of adults and having few friends her own age. Other children had always believed that she’d led a charmed life because she’d never lacked anything money could buy. Maybe that’s why the other children avoided her. But the truth was, she’d so often felt lonely. It seemed to be the same for Luke.
But kids will be kids, and when she or the gardener wasn’t around, Luke would often sneak into her backyard with his fishing pole and tackle to fish for koi in the cement pond. It was called a pond, but it was more like an elaborate mountain lake with vines and waterfalls and stepping-stones and lily pads and frogs and exotic koi fish. At one place, the pond was eight feet deep. It was beautiful, but dangerous for a young child. Usually, Gladys or the gardener saw Luke sneaking into the area, and with his nanny never far behind, Alexa never really worried about his safety. But now, she sensed something was wrong.
Alexa bolted upright from her seat and threw open the dressing room doors, knocking them hard against the walls. The vibration caused a vase filled with flowers to fall from a side table, smack against the wall, and spill in every direction. Alexa moved toward the balcony with a speed she’d never before known. Outside, she found herself at the edge of the balcony, searching through the trees for Luke. When she didn’t see him standing in his usual fishing spot—a large boulder that rose above the level of the water—she began to panic. She heard a smattering of noises, including birds lighting from branches, and the distinct sound of hands slapping water.
Where was Luke?
Alexa thought of turning back to call for help, but then she heard a gurgling noise. Her spine burned hot, and she saw what looked like a flash of lightning, though there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. She raced forward with only the thought of getting to Luke. By the time she reached the edge of the balcony, she felt the transformation taking place. Only this time she wasn’t shooting bolts of electricity, she was flying!
And then she heard her father’s voice again: “Electromancer.”
She shot through the air with her arms extended, wending her way through the branches of the silver-oak trees to the pond. There, she descended and landed with her feet firmly planted on the ground. Luke was underwater, thrashing and trying to swim. His legs were caught in an underwater vine.
Electromancer hurried forward, but as soon as her bare feet came into contact with water, she felt an electrical current jolt through her body, and this time, it was painful. Water and electricity do not mix. She hopped back and away from the water.
She had to do something. She couldn’t let the child drown, nor could she electrocute him with her electrical powers. She shouted for the gardener and maintenance crew, but then remembered that it was Saturday, and they were off duty. She called for the child’s nanny and his parents. Her voice sounded different, crystalline. No one responded. Where was everyone?
Then Alexa Manchester’s logical mind seemed to take over for a moment. Electromancer closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. She used every ounce of willpower she had to settle her heart. Soon, she felt like Alexa again. She put her big toe into a small puddle of water as a test. When she felt no shock, she dove into the pond. Alexa couldn’t see Luke at first, but when she spotted him, she swam as hard as she could, wishing that she had the speed that she possessed only moments ago.
Taking a breath, she dove beneath the water and yanked at the underwater plants until they pulled loose. She secured Luke under an arm and brought him up to the surface. He was semiconscious, gurgling.
Alexa swam to the edge of the pond and lifted the boy onto the bank. Sigfred, Gladys, and The Mayor emerged from around the corner and ran toward them.
“Sigfred, attend to the boy,” Gladys said, and he immediately dropped to perform CPR until the boy coughed up the liquid in his chest. She hurried over to assist Alexa.
Just then, Luke’s mother appeared from the far side of the pond. “Luke,” his mother cried. “I’ve been searching for you everywhere. Haven’t I warned you about this?”
“I didn’t think anyone would mind if I went fishing,” Luke mumbled, still dazed.
His mother dropped to her knees, threw her arms around him, and burst into tears.
“He’ll be all right,” Sigfred said.
“Of course he will,” Mayor Baumgartner said. “He’s a tough, strong young man.”
The mother turned to Alexa, who was still in the water, clinging to the edge. “Alexa, words can’t express my gratitude. I should’ve have kept on eye on him. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t saved him.” The woman burst into tears again.
“He’s just doing what children do,” Alexa said. But Alexa had another problem. “If you’ll forgive me, I dashed from my bedroom to get to the boy, so I’m not exactly presentable at the moment.” What she didn’t share was that her transformation into Electromancer had left her
nude again.
Sigfred looked at Alexa with a slight smile, but also a look of concern.
Gladys, always a step ahead of everyone else, said, “Mayor, I’m sure Luke would be honored if you went with Sigfred to see him and his mother home. It’s not every day that a nine-year-old gets to meet The Mayor of Kensington City.”
The Mayor started to respond but obviously realized that, as a politician, this was a possible news story. He and Sigfred did as Gladys had asked. Once they were out of sight, Gladys extended a hand to Alexa.
“What on earth just happened?” Gladys asked.
Alexa smiled. “It seems I can fly.”
Chapter 5
Previously ...
A few hours before Mayor Bobby Baumgartner had witnessed Alexa Manchester save a child from drowning, he’d pulled his metallic gold Lamborghini into the parking lot of the abandoned train depot. Gold was his favorite color and also his favorite medium of exchange. He was one of the few people on earth who believed King Midas had simply been misunderstood. The Mayor thought to himself just how appropriate it was that he was driving such a car on this splendid day.
The Sugar Express Train Depot was named for the vast crops of sugar beets and apples that were grown in the region and also for the many honeymooners who began their life journeys from these tracks. The station sat immediately above the river and had a panoramic view of the Kensington Valley. The mountains loomed in the distance. The structure had been built in the Norwegian national romantic style, an exact replica of the train depot in Bergen, Norway, with its light stone walls and high arching ceiling of glass and steel. Passengers once strolled its platforms, watching the trains roll inside to pick them up and drop others off. Until the end of the twentieth century, the station was a place not only to embark or disembark, but also to gather for coffee, tea, and scones. But in the past decade, it had fallen on hard times. Now, many of its windows were broken out and the tiled portions of the roof were in tatters. The doors barely hung upright on the rusted hinges.
Calling the place an eyesore, The Mayor proposed that the Sugar Express Train Depot be demolished. The building would’ve been reduced to rubble by now but for the intervention of the Committee Against Baumgartner’s Obliteration of Sugar Express—CABOOSE, for short. Made up of a group of people who loved all trains—from electric to high-speed railroads that carried freight and passengers—CABOOSE vehemently objected to the demolition of the depot. They claimed that the station was protected by a Parliamentary law designating old railway stations historical landmarks.
The Mayor disagreed. Through one of his dummy corporations, he intended to acquire the land cheaply and build a high-rise retail-and-luxury condominium complex. The money that he’d received from the Electromite would help realize this objective. Then he’d finally kick those CABOOSE fuddy-duddies in their collective caboose.
The Mayor parked his car next to the front doors of the depot and waited. Fifteen minutes later, Bitterman drove his faded but custom-painted white-and-turquoise sedan into the parking lot, the tires spitting up debris. He brought the car to a stop alongside The Mayor’s Lamborghini. The Mayor reached inside the pocket of his jacket and touched the handle of his Smith & Wesson Monster Magnum—a big gun for a big man, The Mayor thought. He didn’t anticipate trouble, but he’d learned long ago not to count on anyone.
Bitterman glanced at The Mayor, who nodded for him to come over. When Bitterman emerged from the sedan, he looked disheveled, except for his jet-black hair, which was neatly slicked down from the front of his head to the back. His clothing hung on him as though he’d just come out of an industrial washing machine, wrung dry and wrinkled. When he waved to The Mayor, a ring with a center stone the size of shooter marble caught the sunlight, flashing a brilliant red.
“Nice morning, Mayor,” Bitterman said, grimacing as though it pained him to be hospitable.
Once satisfied that Bitterman had come alone, The Mayor released his hand from his weapon and got out of his car. “It’ll be a nice morning when we make the exchange.”
“You’re quite a worrier, Mayor. It’s not good for your health.”
“Let’s get on with it.”
Bitterman headed toward the trunk of his car and popped open the lid.
When The Mayor peered inside the compartment, he saw a trunk load of gold—his gold. Bitterman grabbed a brick and handed it to The Mayor.
“To your liking?” Bitterman asked.
The Mayor smelled the brick as though he were judging a fine wine and then knocked it against the side of the trunk.
“Hey, that’s my car,” Bitterman said.
“This isn’t a car,” The Mayor said. He inclined his head toward his Lamborghini. “That’s a car. Now load it in my trunk.”
“What do I look like, your footman?”
The Mayor shrugged.
“Show me the Electromite first.”
The Mayor led Bitterman to the trunk of his car. When he opened it, he lifted the lid to the steel case containing the Electromite.
“How do I know it’s the real deal?” Bitterman asked.
“I’m not exactly hard to find if you’re dissatisfied. And I’m no fool—I’m dealing with The Momaxita.”
“It’s true, Mayor ... you’re not hard to find. So, point taken.”
The Mayor closed the lid on the steel case and lifted it out of the car. “I’ll just hold on to this for a bit longer. Until I have confirmation that the wire transfer went through.”
“I don’t have any control over that, Mayor.”
“I do. It’s called a simple phone call.”
Bitterman shrugged and began loading the gold into the trunk of The Mayor’s car. When he finished, he walked over to The Mayor, who was leaning against the side of the Lamborghini. After The Mayor was satisfied that all of the gold had been loaded in the trunk, he made a quick call on his prepaid cell phone to his offshore bank to check on the wire transfer. Everything was in place.
The Mayor handed the steel case containing the Electromite to Bitterman. The moment he turned to open his car door, shots suddenly rang out.
Cursing, The Mayor ducked for cover. Bitterman was so short he had only to bend his knees to be hidden by the vehicle.
“Are these your guys?” The Mayor asked as he drew his gun and aimed it at Bitterman’s forehead.
“Whoa,” Bitterman said, drawing his own weapon—a big gun for a small man. “I have nothing to do with this.”
As Bitterman fired off some random shots, The Mayor got into his car, turned over the ignition, and slammed the car in reverse. Rocks and stones kicked up as he spun the car around, putting it in drive. Shots continued to fly, but none hit his Lamborghini. When The Mayor was leaving the parking lot to enter the main road, he glanced into the rear-view mirror. Through the smoke and airborne particles of crushed gravel, he saw that Bitterman was still shooting. That was a good and bad thing—good because it meant that the powerful Momaxita organization hadn’t double-crossed him, but bad because it also meant that persons unknown might be after him.
About a mile down the road, The Mayor spotted Chief Constable Pete Petaud speeding toward him. No doubt the Chief would recognize The Mayor’s vehicle. And he sure did when he held a hand out of his window to flag The Mayor down. The Mayor slowed to a stop.
“Morning, Mayor Baumgartner,” the Chief said. “You’re up early.”
“I have an appointment with Alexa Manchester. I want her to brief me before I address the media.”
The Chief nodded sympathetically. “Big disaster at The Mick yesterday.”
“Have you seen the river today, Pete? I just took a drive alongside it. There must’ve been rain or snow in the highlands. It seems that the water level is rising.”
“The weather report says it rained. Of course, the weather report says it’s been raining for a while now.”
“The worldwide drought and climate change have created some odd patterns. Let’s hope we’re through the worst of it
. At least we’ll have enough water to operate the generators. Won’t need ... The Magpie. Silly name. But it’s what Ms. Manchester’s father called it, so she does, too.”
The Chief tipped his custodian’s cap. “You didn’t happen to pass the Sugar Express Train Depot on the way?”
“No. I took the intercontinental highway. What’s going on?”
“We got a call that some kids were down there shooting out the windows again. What’s left of the windows.”
“You and I have to get together and figure out what to do with these hooligans. If the problem keeps occurring, neither of us will be reelected.”
The Chief shook his head in disbelief. “I’ll see you later, Mayor.”
The Mayor watched until the Chief’s car disappeared, then let out a sigh of relief. Another problem avoided.
The Mayor considered himself a lucky man.
• • •
The Mayor was rethinking that sentiment when he arrived at the Manchester mansion twenty minutes later to find the household in a commotion. He got saddled with the task of escorting home the pesky, foolish neighbor boy who’d nearly drowned in Alexa’s pond, throwing his schedule off entirely. The child’s mother and father had been major contributors in his last campaign, however, so he put on his politician’s face and set about escorting them as quickly as possible.
When he returned to the Manchester mansion after walking the boy home, Gladys had him wait for Alexa for a second time. What made cooling his heels a bit more pleasant was that this time, he was at the dining room table enjoying the delicacies that Chef Yon Yurdlemon had whipped up that morning. The Mayor couldn’t have been more pleased. His own chef was like a prison cook compared to Yurdlemon. Once he and Alexa were married, he’d feast on such splendid meals daily.
After The Mayor had devoured the plate of scones, along with most of the blackberry jam, he rang the small bell on the table.
Yurdlemon dutifully appeared and placed a plate of food in front of The Mayor. “Your eggs Benedict, sir. I hope it is to your liking.”