Got Luck

by Michael Darling

  “The girl who was probably naked under all the hair!” I snapped.

  “You’re either an idiot or that’s a real crummy defense mechanism you have there,” she replied. “Please tell me you always make jokes when you screw up.”

  “I always make jokes when I screw up. Better?” My head was about to explode.

  The lilacs stirred and Blue Tiger slinked in through the arbor.

  “How is. Everyone?” she asked.

  “Peachy,” I said.

  Erin remained quiet, her arms and legs and probably her toes crossed by now.

  “Oh,” Blue Tiger made a pouty face. “Not a happy. Honeymoon?”

  “There is no honeymoon,” I said.

  “This is not a honeymoon,” Erin said.

  We both spoke at the same time and the word “honeymoon” came out simultaneously. In other circumstances, it would have made me laugh.

  “Oh, yes. Ye are so. Incompatible.”

  “Please leave, Béil.” Erin’s voice was glacial.

  Blue Tiger remained unfazed. “I just came so. He could thank. Me,” she said. She looked at me and gave a little curtsy. “Art thou. Not going. To thank me?”

  I played dumb. “For what?”

  “For teaching. Thee. Respect.”

  “Ah. If only I could,” I said. “Unfortunately, I am prohibited from expressing thanks for anything. King’s orders.”

  Béil licked her lips. “Thou art learning,” she said. “Very good.” She reached a finger toward my chest. I stood up and moved away. She giggled at me and I felt a shiver like ice water down my back. My head was trying to beat me over the head with itself. Béil probably liked drowning puppies in her spare time and I wasn’t eager to see what her touch would do now that I had been Quickened.

  “Back off!” I was very pleased to see a sudden look of shock and fear on her face.

  Erin, unfortunately, had a similar expression.

  I looked down and saw the knife in my hand. I don’t remember pulling it out of my pocket. Why was my head pounding? Why did my hand hurt?

  “Thou darest?” Béil hissed. “Fool!”

  Erin was shying away from me too, looking at me like I had a handful of rattlesnakes. I looked again. The knife seemed to be glowing with an aura of dark purple. Looking at it made me feel nauseated.

  “Goethe,” Erin said. “That knife is steel. It has iron in it. Throw it away. Please!”

  I didn’t throw the knife away. I took a step toward Béil instead and jabbed at her with it. She said no words I could understand but she gasped and snarled at me. I backed her through the arbor. “Leave us alone,” I said.

  She threw a baleful—Ha ha! Baleful!—grimace in my direction and tip-toed away with as much of her dignity as she could retain.

  “Put it away,” Erin begged.

  Feeling suddenly sheepish for no good reason, I slipped the knife back into my pocket. My headache flared. I tried to think of something competent to say.

  “I wish to make amends,” I said. They were the only words I could come up with besides, I’m sorry.

  Erin looked at me, but I couldn’t read her. “Go home,” she said.

  I knew I’d wounded her but I couldn’t think of anything else to say that would be of any real use. “All right,” I said.

  I abandoned her to the lilacs and the finches in the arbor. I called, “Midnight Dreary!” and the raven came from some nearby shadow and settled on my shoulder. She rapped on the top of my skull a few times with her beak. It didn’t hurt but I got the message. “Yeah, I know,” I said. “I’m a knucklehead. Please show me the way back to my home.”

  The raven took off, circled above my head once, and flapped in the direction of the morning sun.

  * * *

  I emerged from the silver gate, righting myself around that ninety-degree angle. The column of pale blue light winked out and all the objects on the floor were now nothing more than a mess waiting to be swept up. It felt like I had been gone for hours, but the light outside had not changed, as far as I could tell. It was the same day. While I hadn’t noticed the exact time when I left, my best guess was that I had been gone for a few minutes and no more.

  I pulled the knife out of my pocket again and dropped in on the nearest table. Instantly, my head stopped hurting.

  Well crap. I was affected by iron now too. How many things were made of iron? Like my beautiful car, for starters?

  “Welcome back to the mortal realm, sir.”

  I jumped. A little.

  “Sandretta!” I said. “I’m . . . uh . . . that’s quite the mess. On the floor.” Is it okay to say I’m sorry here?

  “Not a problem, sir. I’ll be happy to clean it. Max and I have been waiting for this day for many years. You are one of us now.”

  Sandretta and Max and I had always had a comfortable working relationship although, clearly, I had never gotten to know much about them. They were both Stained with ribbons in different shades of blue, though, and I’d always thought of them as special. The fault for not knowing them better was entirely mine. I was unpredictably home, except to sleep, and I confess I took them both for granted.

  Now that we were all in the same club de Fae, I wasn’t sure how our relationship would change. They probably had powers that could toast me to a cinder, and for all I knew they were centuries old. They could be, in every respect, my superiors. The Mama had always taught me that respect for one’s elders and superiors was paramount. Of course, I was the lowest creature on Earth, which is another thing I was taught by The Mama. So everybody was my superior.

  With new eyes, literally, I took stock of Sandretta. She was always immaculately dressed in functional clothing that didn’t seem dowdy but still let her do what she needed to do through the day. She had wrinkles at the corners of her hazel eyes that were laugh lines, not crow’s feet, and smiling came easily to her. Her hair was always pulled back in a smooth chignon that would be at home at a cocktail party.

  “I appreciate you, Sandretta.” I didn’t know what else to say, but at least it made her smile and she gave me a nod.

  I looked at my home. The home my apparent father provided with all the fine construction and the fine people to care for it. My father had given me everything I needed.

  Except a father.

  I noticed the folded up napkin on the counter. I had forgotten about the bullet casing and the design I had drawn earlier.

  “Hey, Sandretta,” I said. “Can I show you something?”

  “Certainly, sir.” She folded her hands together and waited.

  I scrounged around in the drawers and found a plastic baggie. I let the bullet casing slide out of the napkin and into the baggie and then I sealed the baggie shut. Evidence preserved. With the napkin folded, I approached Sandretta. As soon as I opened it, her hands went out in front of her like she wanted to push it away.

  “Oh no.” She turned her head, looking to the side. “Take that to Max, outside in the garden.”

  Her reaction prompted me to look at the design again. The symbol was just some standard ink on crummy paper and there hadn’t been anything of note about it when I had drawn it. Now there was a dark aura around the symbol. I watched as it twisted and writhed on the paper like a living thing trying to escape. Tortured and seeking freedom, the symbol was like a Stain that wanted to fulfill its own purpose and it was surrounded by an undeniable wrongness.

  I went outside. The garden had tons of vegetables, a slew of herb plants, and exactly three citrus trees: orange, lemon, and lime. Max used the produce to make some amazing dinners, and I think he liked being out in the yard. The garden kept him from getting bored. I found him putting some mulch from a wheelbarrow around the fruit trees. He was dressed in lightweight overalls, with a white t-shirt that showed his tanned arms, and a safari hat. He looked up as I approached and took his ha
t off, giving me a little nod. The action was habit for him and I had never found it annoying until today.

  “Max, can I have you look at something?” I started. “You may be able to tell what it is.”

  “Certainly, sir,” he replied.

  I showed him the design.

  Max didn’t ask me where I’d seen the symbol or how it had gotten on the paper. He just shook his head and in his deep voice said, “I recognize this. Very dark magic. Dark magic used to control the will of another. This makes a person a puppet. Anyone under this symbol will do anything the caster asks. Even kill or jump off a building or walk into a lake and drown. Anything. They will not be able to resist.”

  That sparked another question. “Will they even lie still while someone stabs them in the heart and cuts them open?”

  Max nodded curtly, “Yes. They will feel the pain but they will lie complacent and unmoving if the caster asks them to remain so. Inside, they will want to scream and run away. Outside, they will remain still.”

  I couldn’t imagine the nightmare Barry Mallondyke must have endured before he’d bled out. Death must have been a welcome release.

  “You are not thinking of using this?” Max asked. “Adding magic will awaken it.”

  “No, Max. It was found on someone. They were murdered.”

  “Using this is punishable by execution,” Max said. “Better for them if you catch them here and not in the Behindbeyond.”

  “Okay.”

  “Please. Destroy this paper as soon as you can. It can only bring evil.”

  He made perfect sense. “I will, Max.”

  Chapter Eight

  Milly in the Sky with Diamonds

  I stood in the middle of the bank lobby, appreciating the fact that there were no giant liondogs, no fluttering faeries, and no blue guys. Just the magic of commerce at work. I inhaled and took a deep, delicious breath of capitalism.

  Driving over hadn’t been too bad. Sitting in my car, I could feel the hum of iron surrounding me, but the padded seats and all the non-iron components insulated me from any ill effects. I was able to crank up the music—Tom Waits, “Long Way Home”—and enjoy the ride.

  In the bank, I remembered I should make a call.

  Nat answered the phone himself.

  “Iron Foundry,” he said.

  “Hey. Me.”

  “What’s going on, Luck?”

  “The office. They replaced the window already.”

  “That’s good.”

  “I’m cashing the check from Milly Mallondyke right now.”

  “That’s good.”

  “If it bounces, I’ll be worried she’s the one who shot at me.”

  “Not good.”

  “Can you think of any reason a kid would go up to the office and leave a bullet casing on my desk and then sneak out?”

  I let Nat try to think of any reason.

  After a while, he said, “Nope.”

  I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Under other circumstances, I’d be telling my best friend that I’d just gotten married. Under the circumstances I had to live with, I couldn’t. I was sure he’d be happy for me. He might not even be mad that he wasn’t invited. All I said was, “Okay. Good man talk.”

  I hung up.

  The check didn’t bounce.

  * * *

  So, back in the real world, safe and sound. I hoped the lovely Erin was back too. Also known as the enchanting Fáidh. Also known as the newly-minted Mrs. Luck.

  I needed someone to look at the bullet casing. I should give it over to the police. There could be fingerprints leading to the shooter and, if I found the weapon, it could be matched to the firing pin. I’d rather saunter back over to the medical examiner’s office and see if someone toffee-eyed and leggy could check it out for me. I should send some flowers first. Even then, I’d feel stupid walking into her office and asking for a favor after all that had happened today. I’ll probably just take a chicken approach and submit it to the police.

  In the last twenty-four hours, I had been shot at, attacked by an enormous magic beastie from Nightmareland, and been brainwashed into going to a Faerie realm where I was almost strangled to death by my own nascent magical power. Then I broke my nose, got healed, and accidentally got married. What a party. The next twenty-four hours should be epic.

  Plenty of daylight left.

  * * *

  Barry Mallondyke’s office was on the eighth floor of a nice building with lots of windows in Miami Beach. The address came from Milly’s business card. The receptionist’s desk was set facing the elevator, and behind her was a broad, brilliant view of the Atlantic Ocean. There were no chairs to sit on in the receiving area, but there was artwork on the walls showing a lot of diamonds and other gemstones cut and set and looking priceless. The receptionist wore an eggshell linen blouse, buttoned up to the neck, and square hipster glasses that were too small for her face.

  “Good afternoon, may I help you?”

  She looked invitingly into my eyes and actually sounded like she wanted to help.

  “May I speak with Ms. Mallondyke please?”

  “Sure. Is she expecting you?”

  “I don’t think so. She gave me her card and told me I could get in touch with her if I needed to.”

  “Okay. May I have your name please?”

  I thought about using one of my patented comic aliases. Skip Tracer was one of my favorites. But the darn receptionist was being so nice.

  “Goethe Luck,” I replied. “Most people just call me Got. Or Mr. Luck.”

  The receptionist gave me a half-smile and looked over her glasses at me. “Got Luck? Why not Good Luck? It’s closer to ‘Goethe’ isn’t it?”

  “The woman who raised me told me every day that I was anything but good,” I replied.

  “That still doesn’t sound like a real name,” she said.

  Just can’t win.

  “Wanna see my driver’s license?”

  The girl shook her head. “I’m sure Ms. Mallondyke will vouch for you.” She tapped on her computer screen and spoke into the nearly invisible headset she wore.

  “Ms. Mallondyke? A Mr. Luck to see you.”

  After a moment, the receptionist looked back up at me. “She’ll be here in a moment. Would you like a juice? Wine? Some coffee or tea?”

  “Sure a juice would be great. Pineapple if you have some.”

  She rolled six whole inches on her chair and opened a mini-fridge under her desk to find a can of pineapple juice and a chilled glass. Nice. She poured, then served it on a napkin with great efficiency, and covered what might have been an awkward wait. Especially since some overpaid business analyst had probably told them that chairs in a reception area were passé and open space was feng shui and thus, no place to sit. Not that I minded. This place had style and I didn’t mind standing in it.

  “Mr. Luck,” said a voice. Doesn’t sound like Ms. Mallondyke. I turned to see a slender guy wearing a summer jacket over a t-shirt and khakis standing in the hall. In his hand, he had a cane with a silver handle shaped like the head of a snake. “This way.”

  His face was fine-boned with small features, his hair was very blond, slicked back tightly over his skull, and he had a miniature soul patch under his lower lip. The soul patch, in contrast to his hair, was bright red. His look was intended to be chic to impress people who might look down on him as Milly’s administrative assistant. He had that sour expression indicating that, whoever I was, I shouldn’t be wasting his boss’s valuable time.

  I followed the guy, who walked slowly, using the cane for support as he limped. I stayed a few steps behind, sipped my beverage and resisted the urge to walk ahead of him.

  As we proceeded up the hall, the offices got bigger, along with the titles. The first doors were for managers, then directors, and then vice-pr
esidents. People looked up from their work as we passed, and I got the feeling they hadn’t gotten a lot of visitors lately. Milly’s office didn’t have a title on the door, but it was next to the president’s office, which was empty.

  Milly sat in a chair by the window. She was wearing a white silk blouse that was long and a black skirt that wasn’t. Her hair was held up with a dozen mismatched hair clips and there didn’t seem to be any organization to the arrangement of her tresses. Somehow, she pulled off the look. I was also struck again by the virulent and ugly Stain that wound around her like serpents bearing a plague.

  As a kid, I didn’t have anyone to talk to about Stain, except The Mama, but wondered a lot about why some people had Stain and some had none. Why some Stain was beautiful and some was ugly. After a while, I just got used to seeing it and didn’t wonder so much. Now, looking at such a sweet girl as Milly marked by such a nasty Stain, I was starting to wonder again.

  The room didn’t have a formal desk but there were a couple of low tables and an extra chair. A few papers were on one of the tables, but Milly was busy assembling them into a folder. She looked up and smiled thinly as I came in.

  “Have you found something already?” she said. I was surprised again by her husky voice.

  “I have,” I replied. “I also wanted to see where Barry worked and see how you are getting along.”

  “How thoughtful. Please, have a seat.”

  “If it’s all right, I’d like to take a look at Barry’s office.”

  “Sure, but everything’s out of there. All that’s left is the furniture.”

  “Okay. It still might give me a feeling for how he spent his time.”

  Milly thought about it for a moment. “How about you tell me what you’ve found first and we’ll go in after?”

  “That’s great,” I said. “By the way, this juice is delicious.”

  “I’m glad you like it,” she replied.

  I finished it off and I was about to hand the glass to Milly’s assistant but changed my mind. The poor guy looked like he was about to fall over already. The added weight of a glass might topple him. I put the glass on the floor and rubbed my hands together to remove the condensation. I reached into my pocket and brought out the folded napkin. I kept my eyes on the guy in the jacket and said, “It’s probably best if we keep this between ourselves,” I told Milly.