The Wizard's Butler

by Nathan Lowell

  Shackleford nodded. “I understand.”

  “You hardly know me. What makes you think I’ll keep the place after I get it?”

  “Well, technically, the Foundation will own the building, unless my niece manages to break the will. You may decide to bag it all, take whatever money you can, and go off on a round-the-world tour.” Shackleford shrugged. “To be fair, you could do that any time you wanted without sacking the treasury to do it.”

  She frowned and stared at Shackleford. “You’re basically wanting me to be a pixie-sitter?”

  He shook his head. “No, Ms. Griffin. I’m hoping that you’ll see the potential in being the Shackleford-in-residence. The house is special. Its roots run deep into the land. You’ll find resources there you won’t find anywhere else. You have talent. I can introduce you to a cadre of people who can help you do more than you imagine.”

  “I can imagine a lot,” she said. “You’re sounding like this is going to be the studio production of My Fair Wizard.”

  He laughed and nodded. “I’m sorry. That’s true. I suppose I am.” He shook his head. “Just come up to visit. You have Mulligan’s number. Arrange at least a few days. Perhaps a week. You don’t have to stay in the house. I would prefer you not do anything you feel would be dangerous.”

  “If I might suggest, sir?” Roger said.

  Shackleford looked at him and nodded.

  “Perhaps a guide who’s not us?”

  The old man frowned. “Who are you thinking? Pettigrew?”

  “No. Ms. Necket.”

  “Fidelia?” Shackleford’s eyebrows shot up as his eyes opened wide. “Of course.”

  Griffin snapped her fingers. “Gentlemen?”

  Shackleford nodded. “Pardon us, Ms. Griffin. One of my oldest and dearest friends is Fidelia Necket. She’s talented. Very connected in the community. Even if you decide to pass on Shackleford House, knowing her means you’ll be tapped into the wider network of talented people.”

  “Worldwide wizards,” Roger said. “Ms. Necket is an amazing woman. I’ve only met her once but I think you’d like her.”

  “What’s it to you?” Griffin asked, looking at Roger. “Job security?”

  Roger sighed and looked down at his hands. “My contract ends soon. I don’t know what I’ll do after that.”

  She blinked. “You’re not part of the deal?”

  “I’m employed by Ms. Patching at the moment.”

  “He’s being defeatist,” Shackleford said. “I’ve offered to buy out his contract, but his deal is good and I have no qualms about letting my niece spend her treasure on a war I intend to win. I’ll offer him a job as soon as his current contract pays off.” He glanced at Roger. “I don’t know if he’ll take it, but I’ll offer.”

  Griffin kept her hands folded in her lap and tilted her head to one side. “What would you do instead?”

  He shrugged. “I’m looking into butler school.”

  She blinked. “Butler school?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Finishing schools for butlers. I think I’d need to get an undergrad in hospitality management first, but after ...” He paused. “After everything else I’ve done, I’m finding the job at Shackleford House to be rather satisfying.”

  Shackleford looked at him. “You might find it to be quite different with a larger household. You only have to look after me now.”

  Roger shrugged. “A larger household means a larger staff. A cook. At least one footman. Possibly doubling as chauffeur or valet.”

  Shackleford turned in his chair and stared at Roger. “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”

  Roger shrugged again. “I like having options and I’d just as soon avoid the adrenaline-driven ones.”

  “How do I contact this Ms. Necket?” Griffin asked.

  “Let me touch base with her and see if she’s willing to do it first,” Shackleford said. “She’s probably hip deep in the Fête d’Étoile right now.”

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “Annual ball for the rich and talented,” Shackleford said. “She’s the chairman of the organizing committee this year.” He glanced at Roger. “She hasn’t contacted you yet, has she?”

  “Me, sir? No. Why would she?”

  “She’s notorious for borrowing staff,” Shackleford said.

  “Would that be a problem, sir?”

  “Just let me know if it happens.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “This is sounding more and more like My Fair Wizard,” Griffin said, her lips pursed. “It’s not helping your case.”

  Shackleford nodded. “I understand. Tell you what. Can I hire you?”

  “Hire me?” she asked. “You’re already hiring me and your time is almost up.” She glanced at an ornate clock on the wall above the door.

  “Fair enough. How much would it take for me to hire your services for a week?”

  “A week?”

  He nodded.

  “You know my rate,” she said. “Or he does.” She nodded at Roger.

  “A hundred dollars an hour,” Roger said.

  She nodded.

  “So, twenty-four hours a day, seven days. What’s that?”

  Roger did the math in his head. “A hundred and sixty-eight, sir.”

  Shackleford nodded. “So, at a hundred an hour that’s seventeen thousand in round numbers?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He nodded again. “Very well. Ms. Griffin, I’d like to hire you for a one-week exclusive engagement in the city. I’ll double your rate and pay you thirty-five thousand for the week plus expenses.”

  “How much?” she asked. Her eyebrows nearly reached her hairline.

  “Thirty-five thousand. I’ll even give you half up front, if you like. Half at the end of the week.”

  She sat back in her chair and laughed. “This just gets weirder and weirder. What do I need to do for this money?”

  “Come to visit Shackleford House for at least an hour each of the seven days. Meet Fidelia Necket.”

  “Just meet her? I don’t have to do anything with her?”

  “Or with us, if you don’t want to. I just want you to come see what it might be like if you owned Shackleford House. As a bonus, meeting Fidelia would widen your contacts in the talented world.”

  “She sounds too rich for my blood.”

  “If she is, you never have to see her again,” Shackleford said.

  Griffin frowned, looking first at Shackleford and then at Roger. “In writing.”

  “In writing,” Shackleford repeated.

  “Do you have a wingman?” Roger asked.

  She blinked at him. “A wingman?”

  He nodded. “Somebody you trust? A friend you hang out with? Somebody to watch your back?”

  “Nobody who knows my talent,” she said.

  “Anybody you’d trust to tell?”

  “Your mother?” Shackleford asked.

  Her eyes widened at that suggestion. “What? No way.” She shook her head.

  “Anybody?” Roger asked.

  “You’re thinking I should bring my own witness?” she asked.

  Roger lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Somebody who knows you and knows what you’re doing enough to help you escape if you feel like you need to.” He paused. “You don’t have many friends, I take it?”

  She glared at him. “That’s a little personal, isn’t it?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not judging. I’m with you. It’s hard for me to make new ones after—you know.”

  She frowned, the glare not relaxing one iota. “You thinking you’ll be my friend?”

  “No, ma’am. I might be your butler, depending on circumstances, but that’s as far as I go.”

  The frown relaxed a bit and the glare receded. “I don’t have a wingman, no.”

  “What can we do to make you feel safer in this?” Shackleford asked.

  “Contract, in writing. Half up front. Half at the end of the week. No shenanigans. You pay my expenses—foo
d, hotel, clothing, everything I buy while I’m there.” She settled back in her chair, a half smile on her lips.

  “No,” Shackleford said.

  “No?” Her eyebrows went up again.

  “That’s a blank check I’m not writing,” Shackleford said. “You could buy a house. You could buy a hotel.” He shook his head.

  “You can’t afford it?” Her voice held a hint of challenge.

  He shrugged. “Depends on the hotel, but they’re a bad investment.”

  She blinked.

  “Food, lodging—up to a thousand dollars a night—and a clothing budget,” Shackleford said.

  She blinked again. “Wait. Would I need a clothing budget?”

  Shackleford shrugged. “Possibly. Knowing Fidelia, she’s going to want to introduce you around.” He shrugged. “Seven, five, add food. Round it up to fifteen thousand in expenses plus the thirty-eight thousand for your services? I’ll need receipts for the expenses.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. “Make it seven thousand a day for seven days. No receipts. Same amount but I get to keep it all without screwing around with paperwork.”

  “Five thousand a day,” Shackleford said.

  “Six,” she said.

  He grinned. “Seven it is.”

  Her face blanked for a moment. “What?”

  He shrugged. “I just wanted to see what you’d say. Forty-nine thousand for seven days of your time, Ms. Griffin. Half up front, half on completion. You’ll make your own travel arrangements and pay your own expenses.”

  “In writing,” she said.

  “Do you have some paper?” the old man asked.

  “You’re serious,” she said.

  He nodded, a happy smile on his lips and a light dancing in his eyes. “Very much so.”

  She stared at him, her eyes narrowing, for several long moments before standing up and going through a door into the next room. She returned with a half dozen sheets of plain white paper and handed them to Shackleford. “Will this do?”

  He nodded and stared at the top page for a moment before swiping his hand down its length. An elegant embossed, colored Shackleford House letterhead, complete with address and phone number, appeared at the top followed by a simple three-paragraph contract. At the bottom, signature lines with room for a notary block. He handed it to her.

  She took the document in a hand that trembled just a bit. She read it and nodded. “I’ll want this checked by a lawyer.”

  “I would expect nothing less,” he said. “Would you like to do that now?”

  “What? Today?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Do you have another appointment?”

  She glanced at the clock. “Yes, actually, but my afternoon is clear.”

  “We can wait. I suspect you’ll want your mother’s attorneys to vet it? Or do you have your own?”

  “You know where she works?” Her frown came back hard and fast, almost a scowl.

  Shackleford shrugged. “Yes. And your father. I found you through your genealogy, remember? I wanted to find out more about you before I came down here.” He shrugged again.

  “And you’re happy having this contract go through that firm?”

  “Lawyer-client privilege,” he said. “They’re bound by it. I’m a wizard but that doesn’t mean I don’t have to follow the same legal rules as everybody else.”

  She glanced at the page. “I suppose,” she said. “It does make disposing of the bodies a bit easier, though.”

  Shackleford looked up, his eyes wide in shock.

  She grinned at him and he laughed.

  “Lemme make a call,” she said, taking the pages into the next room.

  Shackleford smiled and hummed a little tune, looking around the room as if seeing it for the first time. “This is brilliant,” he said as an aside.

  “What is, sir? Having her come visit?”

  “Oh, yes. That, too, but I was referring to this setup.” He waved a hand around. “A thoroughly modern wizard.”

  “You’re not playing Pygmalion with her, are you sir?”

  He shook his head. “Not intentionally, Mulligan. I can see the potential, but she’s a relative. The granddaughter I never had.” He glanced at Roger. “Why? Thinking of setting your cap for her?”

  Roger shook his head. “No, sir. She’s out of my league.”

  “Why? Just because she’s a wizard?”

  “Well, that’s part of it, sir, but if she’s your heir apparent, I’ll be her butler. That just wouldn’t be right, sir.”

  Shackleford shrugged and gave him a small smile. “If you say so.”

  Griffin returned with the pages still in her hand. “Two o’clock. I assume you know where?”

  Shackleford nodded and stood. “We do. Thank you, Ms. Griffin. Or would you prefer Madam Dionysia?”

  She offered her hand and a smile. “Barbara is fine.”

  Shackleford shook her hand and headed for the door. “Two o’clock,” he said.

  Roger stood and gave her a small Jeeves bow. “Good morning, Ms. Griffin. A pleasure to meet you.”

  She nodded back. “Mr. Mulligan.”

  A wave of her hand clicked the door open. Roger held it for the old man before following him out and pulling the door closed behind.

  When they stepped out into the bright morning sun, Shackleford glanced at Roger with a grin. “That was well done, Mulligan. I wouldn’t have asked you to do that. Couldn’t have.”

  Roger shook his head. “It was nothing, sir.”

  “It might have made the difference between success and failure, Mulligan.”

  “Then I’m happy to be of service, sir.” He glanced up at the window. “She’ll bring a breath of fresh air to Shackleford House.”

  Shackleford looked up, too. “That she will, Mulligan. That she will.”

  Chapter 15

  The Wyverstone and Wrayvern offices occupied a spot in a rehabbed strip mall halfway between town and burb. A black logo of linked Ws covered the upper pane of the glass door. Vertical blinds filled the main window, blocking the view into the building. Roger looked down the line of storefronts which all seemed to hold some kind of office with the exception of a coffee shop/bakery on one end and a Korean take-out restaurant on the other. He parked the Mercedes one row out from the front of the building and checked the time. “It’s 1:50, sir.”

  Shackleford glanced at Featherstone. “This the place?”

  Featherstone nodded. “Esther should be coming back from lunch any minute. She takes a late lunch to cover the phones while the two lawyers are gone.”

  Shackleford nodded. “I thought this strip-mall idea had died out.”

  “Some have,” Featherstone said. “Indoor malls and the big boxes cut into their business, but that coffee shop cleans up with all these offices. And Kim Bap there on the end keeps a fleet of drivers busy running Korean food into offices in town during the day and to the burbs at night. Whoever set this up was on the ball.” He nodded at the Korean place. “There she is.”

  Roger watched an older woman in a gray pantsuit over a jewel-toned blue blouse stride along the sidewalk. She wore her hair pulled back and carried a black bag that matched her low-heeled shoes.

  “She have talent?” Featherstone asked.

  “A thread,” Shackleton said. “Barely there. I doubt she’s aware of it.”

  An older Ford compact, its navy paint faded and sporting a dent in the back bumper, pulled into one of the slots right in front of the office. Barbara Griffin unfolded herself from the car, reached back and pulled out a large bag before slamming the door. The car chirped as she locked it. She smiled at her mother and met her halfway with a hug.

  “So, they get along at least,” Shackleford said. “Let’s do this.”

  “You want me to wait in the car?” Featherstone asked.

  “Anything you need in there?” Shackleford asked.

  “Not that I can think of.”

  “Then yes, I think we can handle this. Rel
ax.”

  As Roger got out of the car, he took note of the spicy aromas of Korean food mingling with the scent of exhaust in the chilly afternoon air. He walked around to the passenger side to hold the door for Shackleford. The two women turned to look at them, Esther Griffin with eyes wide and Barbara seeming to pay more attention to the car than the men.

  “Would you like me to wait, sir?”

  “Come with me, Mulligan. I’m a frail old man and you make a nice bodyguard.” He shot Roger a crooked grin.

  “Very good, sir.”

  Shackleford struck off toward the two women, Roger a half step back and to the side.

  “Good afternoon, ladies,” Shackleford said, nodding at Esther. “You must be Barbara’s mother.” He held out a hand. “Joseph Shackleford.”

  Esther shook Shackleford’s hand after a quick glance at Barbara. “Good afternoon, Mr. Shackleford.”

  “Mum, this is the man who wants to hire me for a week.”

  “I gathered,” she said looking Shackleford up and down before giving Roger the same treatment. “And you are?”

  Roger gave her a short bow. “Roger Mulligan, ma’am. I’m Mr. Shackleford’s butler.”

  The woman’s eyebrows rose. “And chauffeur, apparently?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Also cook and doorman.” Roger smiled. “Shackleford House keeps a very small staff.”

  “You,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She nodded. “Well, let’s go take care of business, shall we?”

  Roger stepped to the door and held it open for them, following behind Shackleford as the group stepped into the carpeted foyer. A potted ficus stood guard just inside the blinds, surrounded by a phalanx of easy chairs. A solid metal desk held a computer, a potted African violet, and a handful of framed photos.

  “Let me tell Patty you’re here,” Esther said. She glanced at Barbara. “You’ve never met her, have you?”

  “No. Olivia did the paperwork for Dionysia.”

  Esther stashed her purse in the bottom drawer of her desk and disappeared toward the back of the office down a short corridor. Roger heard voices but couldn’t make out any of the words. She reappeared with a smile and a smartly dressed woman in tow. “Patience Wrayvern, this is Mr. Joseph Shackleford and my daughter, Barbara.”