Madison Mosby and the Moonmilk Wars

by Jason Winn

  This little bout of terror reminded her that she needed to get better security for the place. For too long she’d relied on the fact that no one, save for a handful of people, knew who she was or where she lived. What if that had all changed now? She needed some cameras and motion sensors, all that high-tech stuff.

  What about the river? Fuck!

  That was a whole new dimension. She flew down the picture-lined hallway and into the kitchen. Through the windows she could see the north lawn, and beyond that, the Potomac River and eventually the DC skyline. Frogmen could be making their way from the water, crawling along the tree line, up to the giant back porch, and eventually into the ballroom.

  There wasn’t much to see, other than the dark green lawn and the shimmer of the DC lights on the river. The fireflies sparkled across the grass.

  “Get your shoes on,” she muttered.

  Twenty seconds later, Madison was gunning her Audi down the driveway dialing one courier after another. She was greeted with one voicemail after another.

  Chapter 33

  Tires screeched as Madison came to a stop in front of Vincent’s house, a few miles from the mansion.

  The street was quiet, save for the random commuter pulling into a driveway, checking their mailbox and scurrying inside. Kids played on a big lawn a few houses down, running around with fireflies in jars. The whole neighborhood had a convincing facade of normalcy.

  Vincent’s McMansion stared down at Madison like a monster waiting to swallow her up. Her neck throbbed and ached as her heart slammed away in her chest. Black windows glinted in the streetlights. The garage was closed tight and there was no way to see if his car was inside.

  A thought struck Madison. She didn’t belong in this quiet, affluent neighborhood. It felt like Sarah’s parents’ place, where everyone probably knew every car that drove up and down the street. Curiosity and fear compelled Madison to the front door, but a little voice in her head told her to get the hell out of there, the faster the better.

  She tried to see through the windows, but all she could make out was a few blinking lights from home electronics. The front door looked too sturdy for her to kick in, so she did the only thing left: she knocked.

  Nothing happened—no heavy footsteps toward the door, no lights flicking on, no “coming” in Vincent’s British accent.

  Madison waited a moment and looked out to the street, hoping to see a glimpse of Sarah’s car coming to meet her. All she could see or hear was the little girls playing with their fireflies.

  As she turned back toward the door to knock again, the door swung open and a powerful force pulled Madison off her feet and into the house. Air whipped past her ears right before she met the tile floor, hard.

  The darkness swirled for a moment before Madison’s eyes could adjust and make out rough shapes.

  Something hard and cold pressed against her temple.

  “Don’t you fucking move,” a voice said.

  Immediately Madison thought about the pistol in her belt. She fought the urge to go for it and even the odds, but the tiny, rational part of her brain stopped her.

  “Don’t shoot,” she shouted. It was more of a reflex than a coherent thought.

  The gun barrel pressed harder, driving Madison’s head to the floor.

  “Boss, boss,” said the man holding the gun. “I’ve got someone. Some girl, don’t recognize her.”

  Heavy footsteps sounded from back of the house. Madison’s vision was acclimating to the dark and she could make out a doorway to what looked like a hallway. Terrified, knowing the “boss” was coming, Madison wanted to jump up and flee out the front door. Was it Preen? If so, she was dead and might as well go for her gun—at least she’d die fighting. But what if it wasn’t? Maybe it was someone she could bargain with.

  A thick-legged person rounded the hallway door and stood right next to her. She couldn’t see up to look at their face.

  “Aw bloody hell, Madison,” said Vincent.

  “Get him off me,” said Madison, trying to throw the man off her. He didn’t budge.

  “Oh, shit. Is this the boss lady?” asked the man.

  “Yes,” said Vincent. “Get off her, Colin.”

  “What? You can’t answer your phone?” Madison shouted. “I’ve been calling you for ten minutes.”

  “Been a little preoccupied, packing.” He held up an empty duffle bag.

  “You running away, now?”

  At that moment, there was a wood-splitting bang on the front door. Madison turned just in time to look up and see it fly open, slamming into the wall. A pair of masked men stormed in, pistols raised. They opened fire. Vincent fell backwards. The weight of the man on Madison’s back went limp and slid off her like a sandbag.

  Madison’s temporary relief of seeing Vincent shot away under the acidic fear of being shot next. She tensed up, waiting for the hot bullets to end her life, while fumbling for the pistol wedged in her belt. Four ear-cracking shots barked from the hallway. The gunmen doubled over and fell to the floor.

  Sarah wheeled around from the hallway, a huge pistol in her hand. She reached down and grabbed Madison arm.

  “Maddy, get up.”

  Madison stood and followed Sarah out the back door.

  Chapter 34

  Madison stopped the Audi halfway down the mansion driveway, close enough to see the glow of the front windows, got out, fell to her knees and vomited. A tremor rattled her arms and legs and a cold sweat bathed her skin.

  “Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ,” was all she could say, over and over.

  Finally, she used the car door to pull herself to her feet. The image of Vincent West dying so close to her wouldn’t go away. She closed her eyes tight and saw his dead body, in its pajamas, framed by an expanding pool of blood. The shirt on her back reminded her of Colin’s dead body lying on her. She noticed red stains all over her clothes. She hadn’t been shot, so it had to be Colin’s blood.

  The thought roiled her stomach again.

  In a frenzy of ripping, she tore her shirt off and threw it into the trees. Then, the driveway filled with bright lights and without considering who it was, Madison yanked her pistol from her shorts and aimed it right at the oncoming car. Whoever it was, was getting shot. She pulled the hammer back on the compact, high-powered pistol and steeled herself for gunshots from the driver.

  The car stopped and Sarah dove out of the driver side.

  “It’s me, Maddy,” Sarah screamed. “It’s me.”

  The pistol suddenly weighed a hundred pounds and fell to the ground. Madison followed it, ending up on her knees, squinting and shielding her eyes to see Sarah.

  “Sarah. Come here.” She sounded so desperate.

  Sarah appeared in the light, like an angel, reaching down to pick Madison up for the second time that night. Madison immediately wrapped her arms around her only friend. She didn’t want to let Sarah go. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her arms wrapped around Sarah’s thin body as if she were a kid again, hugging her favorite stuffed animal.

  “All right, all right, Maddy. Let me breathe,” said Sarah as she pushed Madison away.

  She’s alive. Holy shit, we’re both alive, she thought.

  In her most motherly voice, Sarah whispered, “Let’s get you inside, Maddy.”

  “Let’s get a drink,” said Madison.

  “I think I’ll join you for once.”

  Even though Sarah’s arms were thin as sticks, they felt strong around Madison’s shoulders. The two trudged the rest of the way toward the safety of the mansion.

  ***

  Once inside, Madison felt her pocket buzz. She pulled out her phone.

  “Shit, it’s Wrench,” said Madison.

  “Your new boyfriend?” asked Sarah.

  “I don’t know, anymore.”

  “Well answer it. He’ll think you’re ignoring him.”

  The last thing Madison wanted right now was to “explain herself” to someone. Couldn’t the world leave her alone for a f
ew hours?

  Knowing Sarah wasn’t going to leave this alone, Madison answered. “Hey.”

  “You all right?” His voice was cheery, with a hint of concern.

  Sarah disappeared to give her some privacy.

  People kept asking her that, and it was getting a little annoying. But she held her tongue with Wrench. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Then she remembered their date tonight, and there was no way in hell she was going to let him see her like this, sweaty, half-naked with blood splattered on her arms and face.

  “Well, that’s good. I was worried when you didn’t show up.”

  “No. I’m fine. But, I can’t...I’m sorry, I can’t do it tonight.” Tears came again. This only brought on anger. She balled her fist, driving her nails into her palm, until the pain shot up her wrist. Why did she have to start with the waterworks over a canceled date? He would understand. Wouldn’t he? She didn’t feel confident in that sentiment.

  Wrench sighed. “It’s okay, Madison. I don’t mind. We can get together tomorrow if you like.” His voice was warm and forgiving.

  At least he sounded sincere. Or, he was a great actor. Madison prayed for the former, but the latter gnawed away at her.

  She wished he was there to give her a hug. She wanted to hug him, and kiss his neck, and thank him for being there for her. Then collapse in his lap and sleep for days. But that wasn’t going to happen.

  “Please don’t hate me.” She sniffed, grabbed a bottle of vodka from the bar next to her, opened it, and took a long pull.

  “What? I don’t hate you. You got caught up in something and forgot. I’m sure you’re just busy or something. It happens to everybody.”

  He sounded like he was rambling, trying to say anything to get her to stop crying like a pathetic girl.

  “Yeah, I got caught up.” In a hit gone wrong, she thought. That happens to everyone. I almost died tonight. That happens to everyone. A man I never met before tonight got killed, while he was sitting on top of me. That happens to fucking everyone.

  Madison took another pull of vodka and desperately wanted to end the call now. She was getting too “up in her head,” and that needed to stop before she went into an emotional tailspin.

  “We can talk about it if you want,” Wrench offered.

  And, we’re done.

  “Nah,” said Madison. “Look, I’ve got to finish up a few things,” she raised the bottle to measure how long it would last her, which was maybe twenty minutes at this rate, “but let me get back to you tomorrow. We’ll get together, in the next day or so.”

  Wrench finally conceded. “Cool, just text me.”

  “Will do. Bye.”

  She hung up the phone and took two more swallows. The happy juice was finally working its magical eraser on her brain. The artificial warmth filled her head and soul.

  Madison stared out the ballroom doors, into the night, considering what Wrench thought about her after that. He was probably on some dating app right now, looking for someone without a train of baggage behind them. Wondering, Is she a functional alcoholic with secrets? or, Does she look like the type to play games?

  Maybe, I should call him back. She stared at her phone. That wouldn’t be weird, right? She could do that. Take another swing, maybe try to meet up somewhere for a drink. Or, better yet, show him the mansion. He’d never seen it. Maybe he’d figured out her address and looked it up on Google Earth. He lived in a townhouse out in the boonies.

  “Don’t fucking kid yourself,” she said to no one, wandering into the poolroom. She wanted to be with Sarah, but she wasn’t in her usual nesting chair by the pool.

  It was stupid to consider calling him back and asking him to come over. What would she tell him? “Sorry, I’m a wreck. I was almost killed, until my teenaged pothead friend came in and killed two men with the speed of a cobra.” Yeah, that would fly. Madison could only imagine the look on Wrench’s face, something between “get the hell outta here” and “I’m outta here, you crazy bitch.”

  At this point she may as well break it off with him anyway—it wasn’t like she could ever tell him she was a magical drug dealer. And what if one of her enemies found out about him? Could she really expect to hold her shit together, seeing him get killed, like Reese? It had taken gallons of booze to blot that memory out. And yet, here she was thinking of him again.

  Fuck, I miss you. Sorry, baby. I’m such a horrible person. I want to be with you, wherever you are, sometimes. Just put the gun to my head and click, I’m with you.

  In four huge swallows, she finished the bottle and staggered toward the ballroom bar to find another. The booze was kicking her ass way more than normal, given that she was drinking on a completely empty stomach. Her phone started ringing. She ignored it, letting the caller go to voice mail purgatory. It couldn’t be anything important. The worst had already happened.

  The side of the wall jumped out and hit her in the face. Madison recovered, pushing herself away, only to get hit by the wall on the other side of the hallway. The floor began slanting in strange directions and Madison’s knees buckled. A chair broke her fall and the empty bottle rolled under a side table. Her phone rang again.

  Madison freed her phone and looked at the caller. It was Dana. She answered.

  “What?”

  “Something happened at the bakery.” Dana sounded frantic.

  “Chill out. What bakery?”

  “Yours. You know, Blue Dreamz. Are you all right?”

  “No. I think I’m a little drunk. But, I’m on the floor, so it’s cool. What’s wrong with the bakery?” Madison closed her eyes. It was too hard to keep them open and deal with Dana’s screeching. Why was she yelling, anyway?

  “The bakery, on Wilson Avenue, is on fire.”

  That was bad. Someone would have to deal with that. “Well, put it out.”

  The phone fell from Madison’s hand and all she could do was try to blot out Dana’s yelling. Jesus, that girl needs to have a drink or get a boyfriend or something. Always yelling about something.

  Chapter 35

  All five Blue Dreamz bakeries had been destroyed by fire. The police were clueless, telling Madison and the Outfit that the local security cameras hadn’t picked up any good images of the perpetrators. They were going to have to wait for someone to brag about it and maybe they’d get lucky.

  I’m not lucky, Madison replied in her head. Whoever had attacked her knew exactly how to hurt her, the places where she laundered her money and cooked up the base formula for Moonmilk. If she didn’t do something quick, the wound could turn fatal.

  And now, she stared at the smoky outline of Carl, the armorer, as he paced back and forth in the mansion’s ballroom, his hands on his hips. The ghostly representation of Carl wasn’t a perfect replica of the man, but it was detailed enough that Madison could see a frown on his face.

  “Please tell me you will have my order ready on time.”

  “No. It’s going to be at least a week late.” And then some.

  “No, no, no. We can’t continue business like this, Madison. I have customers.” He stopped pacing and stared at her. “Ones who are insistent they get their get their order on time. It’s not like they can go anywhere else. How are you going to make this right?”

  “Look, I understand you’re pissed. But...”

  Carl cut her off. “I do not care about your excuses or your problems, Madison. I am not going to jeopardize my reputation, my life, or the life of my family because you can’t make a simple delivery. You assured me that this order wasn’t too big for you to handle. I made commitments, based on your word. Some of my clients work for governments. This is serious.”

  The last line about governments sent a chill down Madison’s spine. What the hell did that mean? And which governments? She never gave much consideration to what her clients did with their abilities. They left with the Moonmilk and she stared at a pile of cash.

  Carl was right though, and she knew it. He’d taken a chance on her when she was just starting
out in the Moonmilk game. He supported her and got her on her feet with orders. Discovering Nancy Mosby’s recipe would have been meaningless without the first customer. Over the months, Carl came through with bigger and bigger contacts. Every time, he delivered on his end and Madison on hers. Now, she was the first one to fall short on her commitments and he was right to be pissed. Beneath the fear lay guilt for what amounted to a double-cross brought on by greed.

  Carl continued. “They don’t deal with tardiness, or misunderstandings.”

  “What about a discount on the next order?”

  Carl started laughing. “You think a coupon is going to make some general or a syndicate boss or a CEO forgive delaying their plans? They solve misunderstandings with force.”

  Madison was stunned at the thought. She’d wanted to be Miss Badass gangster, but with Langston gone and several couriers dead, she had few pieces left on the board.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” said Carl, “who did you think sorcerers work for? It’s not public schools or hospitals. The money in magic is with conflict.”

  “I’m sorry. We lost a kitchen. Someone burned it down.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You have to get your operation in order, or someone will do it for you.”

  Madison looked away from Carl. What a stupid gamble she’d made, thinking Carl would just be okay with waiting or forgetting about their deal. Now she was looking at pissing off some terrifying people. “We’ll get it to you on time. I’ll figure it out. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

  “Good. Because while I take precautions, I don’t know if any of my customers have tried to find out who my supplier is. Don’t contact me any more with problems—just solutions.” With that, Carl’s figure evaporated into the still air of the ballroom.

  Madison didn’t know how to take his comment about “Carl’s supplier”—as a threat or a warning?

  ***