by Paul Neuhaus
“What’s your rush, Thelma? Just let me lay here a minute.” Henaghan closed her eyes and held up her left hand. Molly interwove her fingers with Quinn’s. “Guess what?” Quinn said.
“What?”
“Shit went really bad today. Really bad. By the end, all I could think about was you. I wasn’t concerned for myself. I didn’t care about any fucking statues. I just wanted to get out of there so I could see you again.” She opened her eyes and Molly was there, her face just above. “I fucking love you, Molly Blank, because you are fucking rad.” Quinn crossed the finish line. She no longer felt a conflict in her head.
The brunette made a sound that was both a laugh and a sob. A pure expression. “Well,” she said. “It’s about fucking time.” She closed the distance and kissed Quinn tenderly.
Quinn and Molly reappeared in the bedroom of their apartment, and Quinn stashed the statue of Horus under the coats in the floor of their closet. They then went into the living room and were surprised to find company. Ephraim Zilberschlag sat at their dining room table. When she saw him, Quinn threw back her head and mouthed a breathy “fuck”. Next to the studio exec was Cameron Blank, looking miserable. Ephraim had the elder Blank wrapped in a rope made from sparking light. When he saw them, Zilberschlag was delighted. “Welcome back. Did you forget it was Tuesday?”
They had forgotten it was Tuesday. Worse, they had forgotten to warn Cam they might not be home. Cam glowered up at them. “Would someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?”
Ephraim opened his mouth to speak, but a stream of invective from Annabelle cut him off. The studio executive turned to the birdcage and yelled. “Shut up! Goddam it.” He turned back to the two women. “That’s the most ill-mannered bird I’ve ever seen. She’s been doing that since I got here. I swear, if you don’t make her stop, I’m going to pop her like a soap bubble.”
Cam turned toward his captor and said, “You touch that bird and I’ll chew through you with my teeth.”
Henaghan said, “Quiet, Annabelle.” The bird stopped cheeping.
Zilberschlag turned to Molly. “Sit down. Hands on the table.” He turned to Quinn. “I’m going to make this very simple. Go and get the statue. Put it down in front of me and step back. If those things don’t happen, I’m going to tighten my lasso and bisect your father-in-law. Am I understood?”
The redhead nodded. She went back into the bedroom and got the statue. As she reentered the living room, Annabelle loosed another stream of angry tweets. Zilberschlag’s capture of Cam Blank was pissing her off. Ephraim yelled at her to no avail. Molly said, “Quiet, Annabelle,” and again the bird stopped. Weaving around the clutter, Quinn approached the table. As she walked, she peeled away Horus’ coverings and dropped them in her wake. She placed the totem in front of Zilberschlag and the executive’s eyes grew wide.
“My god,” Ephraim said. “It’s really real. It’s really—”
Henaghan’s eyes flicked toward Annabelle’s cage. With a thought, she opened the little door. The blue bird needed no prompting. By the time it was through the door, it was no longer a bird. It was a blue streak of light. A comet that entered Zilberschlag’s left ear and exited through his right. It looped behind Quinn and reentered its cage. When it reached its perch, it was a bird again.
The whole operation took barely a second.
Zilberschlag, his mouth still shaped to deliver whatever his next word was meant to be, fell forward onto the table, dead, his brain perforated in a precise horizontal line. The magical rope he’d created around Cam Blank sparked and disappeared.
Before anyone could react, Quinn teleported the body out of her dining room and into Zilberschlag’s former office at Celestial. His staff would find it Wednesday morning and wonder what the hell had happened to their boss. “Rest in peace, King Monster.”
Cameron Blank looked down at himself and the ropes that were no longer there. He looked over at Annabelle’s cage and saw the bird puffing out its feathers and shuffling from foot to foot. Then he looked down at the table to the spot once occupied by the late Ephraim Zilberschlag. “Okay,” he said, sounding as gravely and quiet as Clint Eastwood. “Somebody’s gonna tell me what the fuck just happened.”
Henaghan looked at Molly and Molly shook her head. “Oh, no, sweetie. This one’s on you.”
After Molly made a quick dinner and Cam left for the evening, the two women dressed and drove over to Hollywood Boulevard. Taft’s Books was set to reopen under new management and with new decor. When they got inside, Quinn was surprised to find the place absolutely packed. In fact, there were enough people inside that there was a spillover effect onto the sidewalk and in the hollow made by the two front windows. Folks—industry types and film geeks—stood holding Solo cups while talking and laughing.
“Looks like your boy’s got a hit on his hands,” Molly said. Blank wore a short deep-blue dress that matched her eyes. She looked like two million bucks, and Henaghan had told her so twice on the drive over.
Hand in hand, they wove through the crowd and into the tightly packed store. All the work inside was complete. Somehow Brad had achieved a more modern look while interjecting a bit of thirties deco feel. Once Quinn saw everything in play, she had to admit Taft’s looked like Hollywood by way of Apple (and that wasn’t a bad thing). Her final judgement was that Taft himself wouldn’t have hated it, and that was the most anyone could ask for.
At only five foot two, Henaghan had a hard time navigating the crowd. Molly had met Brad a couple of times and she knew what he looked like. Eventually, the taller woman took over and she steered them toward the man of the hour.
When they broke through the crowd, Brad’s face lit up. “Quinn! You came!”
“Of course I came. I told you: this place is like church to me. No matter what happens, I’m still gonna need the occasional dose of that old-time religion.” She handed the younger man the two cartons of doughnuts she’d been laboring under. “I couldn’t get hookers on such short notice,” she said.
Brad took the cartons and popped the top of one of them, taking a doughnut for himself. “This is almost as good,” he said. He put the boxes down and, smiling, reached under the counter. He withdrew two twenty-ounce bottles of Mountain Dew and handed one to Quinn. Quinn laughed and accepted the soda. She and Brad twisted off their caps and knocked the bottles together. “To the old and the new,” the storekeep said.
The redhead’s smile grew wider. “To the old and the new.”
When Molly and Quinn got home, they were exhausted. Neither of them had slept since leaving for San Francisco. Henaghan in particular was sore and humbled from the trip. Before they turned in, the redhead got a text. It was David Olkin, her former boss. ”I’ve got an idea about how you can get off the radar. Interested?”
Quinn was exhausted enough that she didn’t know quite what he meant. Even so, she typed “Sure” and hit send.
“Tomorrow morning?” he said.
“Sure.” To avoid any further entanglement, she turned off her phone. Without a word and without even brushing their teeth, the two women trudged into the bedroom, abandoned their clothing and got under the comforter. They were both asleep within seconds.
The next day, Olkin showed up bright and early. Molly was already in the living room and she had coffee going. After she’d given the agent a cup, she went in to roust her partner. She shook Quinn and Quinn awakened with a start. “I dreamed I was a duck,” she mumbled.
“You are a duck,” Blank replied.
“You’re a duck,” Henaghan said to her girlfriend’s retreating back.
The brunette reentered the living room. Olkin was sitting at their table perusing their newspaper. “She’ll be out in a minute. She dreamed she was a duck.”
“Hmm,” David said, not looking up from the paper. “I see her more as a woodchuck.”
Molly stopped on her way back to the kitchen. “God, you’re right. My girlfriend looks like a woodchuck.”
Again, Olkin didn�
�t look up. “Lucky. My girlfriend looks like she lost a fight with a weed whacker.” He was referring, of course, to Mia’s partly-shaved head.
Quinn entered wearing yoga clothes and sneakers. She hadn’t showered. She also hadn’t combed her hair. It shot off in all directions and looked altogether Bowie-esque. “Hey,” she said, still not ready to drop her reticence around Olkin. “What’s this about staying off the radar?”
The agent drained the last of his coffee and stood up. “You up for a quick trip to the Astral Plane?”
Henaghan nodded.
“You gonna comb your hair?”
The girl shook her head. “Who’m I gonna run into in the Astral Plane?”
“Good point,” Olkin conceded. “Bring your friend Horus.”
Quinn returned to the bedroom and returned bearing the bundle she’d brought back from San Francisco.
“That him? Can I see him?”
The redhead pulled back Horus’ coverings to reveal his head and shoulders.
“Huh,” David said. “Looks kinda cheap to me. You sure that’s the genuine article?”
Henaghan flashed back over the events of the past couple of days. “Pretty sure,” she said.
Olkin came over and stood next to his fellow Atlantan. He summoned a portal that swallowed them both and soon they were hovering inside the Astral Plane. “I know you got the crash course,” David said, his voice dopplering. “Did you ever have this place explained to you?”
Quinn cocked her head. “Darren said the Astral Plane is metaphorical. Something about convergence and possibility.”
“Mmm. As good an explanation as any, I guess. I gotta be honest, I still have trouble getting my head around Multiverse theory. Anyway, there are currents flowing through here. Eddies of time and circumstance. Can you feel them?”
Henaghan closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She could feel them. The currents of When and How. “I feel them,” she said. Actually, she was now more intimate with the fabric of the Astral Plane than any Channeler that had ever lived. But she didn’t want to spoil Olkin’s fun.
“Good. Since you’re aware of them, be careful. Sometimes Channelers come in here, get themselves in a Zen state, and get swept away.”
As soon as he said it, Quinn knew why he'd brought her here. She smiled and unwrapped the statue of Horus. She again closed her eyes and attuned herself with the Astral currents. She sensed a strong tide converging with many others and she released the statue into it. The black bird was carried away. Going, going, gone. Henaghan opened her eyes.
“Bon voyage,” David said.
When they got back to Quinn’s apartment, Molly was sitting at the table reading the paper. She’d refilled Olkin’s coffee cup and poured Quinn a fresh one. Blank didn’t even look up from the paper when the duo reappeared. Both newcomers sat down as if nothing had happened.
Olkin took a long drag from his coffee and Henaghan broached a topic in need of broaching. “So… How’re things at the Guild vis a vis leadership?” She was probing him, uncertain whether he was aware of Ephraim Zilberschlag’s very recent demise.
“Leadership?” David grinned. “You’re looking at it.”
“Jesus, that was fast.”
“One of Ephraim’s assistants became aware of Ephraim’s sudden disappearance from the magical grid. That guy passed it on, and a few people reached out and verified his conclusion. The Guild had a kind of magical teleconference last night before I texted you. Of course they found his body in his office this morning. Was that your doing?”
Quinn nodded. “Congratulations.”
The agent sighed. “If you say so. God’s honest truth, I’m thinking of a gradual downsize followed by a dissolution.”
Henaghan nodded. “That sounds like a good idea to me. Reginald Verbic’s gone. Why perpetuate his legacy?”
Olkin rubbed his front teeth with a finger and looked at the finger. “I wish it was that cut and dried. Truth be told, the Guild’s mostly a ceremonial thing at this point. We’re like a magical moose lodge. I’m more concerned about Fleur-de-lys—which I also inherited. I’m afraid I’m gonna crack that nut open, and I’m not gonna like what I find.”
Quinn winced. “How does the phrase ‘Full Disclosure’ strike you?”
“I dunno,” David said. “How does a position on the board of directors strike you?”
The redhead raised her coffee and the two of them clinked cups.
From behind her newspaper, Molly said, “My lady the executive.”
“Jealous, Thelma?” Molly didn’t respond. Henaghan turned back to Olkin, “What about—?”
“Your money?”
Quinn nodded.
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that and, more and more, I’m falling in line with the late, not-particularly-lamented Ephraim Zilberschlag. I mean, for real, why should you earn a wage from a job you no longer perform?”
Henaghan’s shoulders slumped. Molly folded down the top of her paper with a snap and glared at Olkin.
“Kidding!” David said. “Totally kidding! God, you should’ve seen your faces.”
Both women groaned. Quinn picked up a piece of the newspaper, wadded it into a ball and threw it at the man. Olkin ducked and the ball flew over his head.
“No, we’re going to do what we were always going to do before Ephraim went all cost-conscious.”
“Not to mention misogynist.”
“That too. We’re gonna pay you your wage. We’re also gonna give you a raise. Couple that with the money you’ll be making as a board member at Fleur-de-lys and you’ll be doing alright.”
Molly and Quinn looked at one another, beaming.
“But you’re gonna earn it,” Olkin said. “One of the first things you can help me unravel is the mystery of Tricolore.”
“What’s a Tricolore?” the redhead asked.
“It’s a company. A rival company to Fleur-de-lys. It’s been around for decades and it seems to exist for one reason and one reason only—to get the drop of Fleur. We have no idea who owns it or why they made it their business to outmatch Verbic at every turn.”
Quinn shrugged. “I’m game.”
“But all that can wait,” David said. “In the meantime, why don’t you move out of here and into a bigger place?” He looked over his shoulder at the maze of furniture and boxes. “I mean come on. This is ridiculous.”
Epilogue - One Month Later
Kiki’s former home was big enough to accommodate a tasteful redistribution of Quinn and Molly’s respective furnishings. (Molly’s couch ended up in the living room while Quinn’s found a home on the screened-in back porch.) The women spent their time leisurely unpacking boxes—there was no hurry, after all, since the house was now theirs—and most of the decor came from Kiki. They worked in separate rooms to cover more ground and occasionally passed one another in the halls with smiles and fingertip touches. Quinn still felt the lingering wrongness she’d picked up during her adventures in the Resolute temple, but it came and it went. She thought of it like a trick knee, only manifesting itself during the rainy season.
Even in the midst of their home purchase and the subsequent move, they’d cultivated a relationship with Josie Taft and were settling into their role as the funky aunts—a position both of them relished.
The first day they’d taken up residence, Quinn had laid down a magical ward like the one Reginald Verbic had had at his Mulholland Drive house. The spell wouldn’t repel a serious invasion but it would zap people who got too close and warn Quinn of their presence. With that formality addressed, Henaghan could get down the serious work of nesting.
She and Molly broke every day at dinnertime, rewarding themselves with bottles of beer and a walk out to the porch to watch the sunset. That night, they stood close as the light dimmed from yellow to orange. Blank bumped Henaghan with a shoulder and said, “What do you think, Batman?”
The smaller woman grinned and took a pull from her beer. “Not Batman,” she said. “Just Quinn.�
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QUINN HENAGHAN WILL RETURN in MESSIAH of BURBANK
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About the Author
Paul was born long, long ago in Cincinnati, Ohio. He had a normal childhood and did moderately well in school. When he came of age, he went to numerous colleges, starting with Ohio State University in Columbus and culminating at Kennesaw State College north of Atlanta, Georgia. That’s right: mid-college, he moved South where he indulged in fatty cuisine and intolerance for his fellow man. He received a BA in English which, sadly, benefited him little. Paul, in his early years, lacked a teacher’s temperament and professional writing jobs were few and far between. Undaunted, our hero returned to school where he received a degree in Computer Animation. For the next decade, he worked in the video game industry. During that ten year span, he relocated from Georgia to sunny Southern California. He also took a wife and — much to society’s regret — he produced twin offspring. In addition to his stint as an artist for games, Paul has also worked in fast food, retail, writing (some fifteen years after getting his English degree), video editing, and — most recently — teaching.
Paul enjoys reading, writing, and watching movies. He is, to this day, shockingly intolerant of his fellow man.
Also by Paul Neuhaus
Company Town - Book 1 of the Quinn Henaghan Chronicles
Messiah of Burbank - Book 3 of the Quinn Henaghan Chronicles (Coming Soon)