Windslinger

by JM Guillen

  If you go to my old apartment, you’ll find that’s where I’m not. Someone else may be there, but not me.

  Only go there if you are looking for someone else.

  I’ve been making some pretty big decisions lately, and some of those involve you. Included here is the name and address of one E. Serin, our attorney. I invite you to meet with him at your earliest convenience. He will help get things situated for you.

  I know you have questions. He can answer many of them, but not all.

  “Yeah. I have questions,” I sighed.

  “What?” Baxter glanced up at me from the lantern he’d been studying.

  “Nothing.”

  You are far too nosy, after all.

  And of course, bratty girl, you are welcome to stay here. Please make yourself at home. Mr. Serin can help you further.

  Yours,

  Aiden Shepherd,

  super-genius

  I sighed.

  “Well?”

  “He’s okay.” I beamed. “Still being a mysterious jackass, but okay.”

  “Good!” Baxter pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Aiden is a great guy. I was getting a bit worried.”

  “Me too.”

  “What do you think this key opens?” He held it out.

  “Fuck.” I felt my eyes grow wide.

  Simon’s key. The same key he had used to bring me here, so many years ago. Iron and old, and scribed with dozens of Empyrean sigils, it had to be the same. Baxter held it as if it were just another piece of my dad’s weird junk.

  “No idea.” I held my hand out, and he handed it to me. I could feel the soft cascading song of Simon’s sigils on its surface. Just like the earring I used to wear, it practically hummed with secret power.

  I pocketed it a bit nervously. What did this all mean?

  “So what’s next?”

  “Well…” I looked down at the note and thought about ‘my earliest convenience.’ An attorney surely wouldn’t be available over a weekend. That meant I needed to wait until tomorrow— Monday. I felt kinda adrift, at least until Simon got back to me. Dad claimed to be safe, and I had a contact to speak with. Everything felt handled.

  And that meant…

  That meant maybe, just maybe, I could stop stressing out for five minutes or so.

  “I think ‘next’ involves heading back to CONsortium.” I wrinkled my nose at him playfully. “I’ve got half a mind to run these three losers I know through a module of ‘The Uncanny.’”

  “A game? While your dad is missing?”

  “He’s not missing,” I insisted loftily. “He’s just not where I left him.”

  “Jeez.” He shook his head. “Now I know that letter was from him.”

  “I have someone I can call on, come Monday.” I pushed the letter in my jacket pocket, next to the key. “Until then, I have strict recommendations from my mentor to stay quiet and keep out of trouble.” I chuckled. “He even told me to spend some time gaming with my friends.”

  “He did?”

  “Yeah. And as it happens, there’s this convention with some losers I know, and a game I’d like to run.”

  “Yeah, but… supernatural horror?” He skewed his mouth. “I dunno if I’ve got what it takes for all that.”

  “You don’t.” I smirked as I put an arm over his shoulder. “But good news, I do!”

  “You’re going to put me through hell, aren’t you?” He groaned.

  “Yup!” I gave him a cheery smile. “That’s what makes it so much fun!”

  Rules Lawyer

  September 1, 1997

  New York, New York

  I left my Valkyrie at the shop, remembering the impossibility of parking in the city.

  “I guess I’ll be taking the bus more often,” I groused. Every time I came to New York, I forgot about parking.

  At least I didn’t mind a walk from the bus stop in the late afternoon sunshine.

  Finding Mr. Serin’s address proved simple.

  “Huh,” I raised one dark brow as I took in the enormous office building. It soared, an ornate needle piercing the cloudy sky.

  The longer I looked, the more expensive the place seemed.

  “Just how much does this guy charge to afford an office in this place?” I muttered while I rechecked the address from Dad’s note.

  Yep, right place. Shit. While I wasn’t exactly grunged out, my jeans and hooded sweatshirt didn’t quite fit in here.

  For a moment, I fidgeted, my hands in my pockets. Then I shrugged.

  “Maybe Serin will spill.” I grinned and stepped up to the doors. I just ignored the fact that the men and women nearby were all dressed a few tax brackets above me. I caught the door as a stern woman with a briefcase walked in before me, all the while pretending I wasn’t silently freaking out.

  Attorney fees were notoriously expensive, I knew, but Mr. Serin must have been a bit further up the food chain than I’d thought. I had to admit, I didn’t expect my dad could afford a place like this.

  I knew I couldn’t.

  “Please be more than just a stuffed shirt,” I begged. “Please know something. Anything, really.”

  The marble, gold accents and fountain in the main foyer didn’t help.

  “Just awesome,” I muttered, seeming not all all like a crazy person. “And here I am dressed like a gully dwarf.”

  I held myself as straight and tall as I could, and walked straight in, past men in suits and professional women alike. Once at the elegantly decorated elevators, I perused the directory and found Mr. E. Serin, Attorney at Law’s floor number.

  “Twenty-third.” I nodded. That sounded easy enough.

  I stepped into the thankfully empty elevator and headed up to floor twenty-three of thirty. As the elevator moved, I noted my trip was accompanied by an acappella version of—

  “Is that ‘Cotton Eye Joe’?” I stared up at the speakers in disbelief. “Seriously?” Twenty minutes from now I’d still be singing this damned song. I sighed. “You’d better be worth it, Serin.”

  Upstairs, I walked past several ornate doors before approaching a plain office door at the end of the hall. “Serin” had been printed in a no-nonsense script on a nearby frosted window.

  “Here we go.” I took a breath and pushed onward.

  “Mr. Serin?” I called, knocking as I cracked the door an inch. Stupid, I thought the moment I called out. Office like this, the man probably had a fleet of secretaries. There was no way he would personally—

  “Enter,” a deep, rolling voice replied.

  I pushed the door all the way and stepped into a plush office. A thick, charcoal and rust rug covered the already carpeted floor which lent a luxurious feel to every step. Low, round backed armchairs stood to either side of a mahogany bookshelf full of leather backed tomes.

  Every lawyer in the world has those same books, I mused. Does anyone ever read them?

  Ahead and slightly off to the left sprawled an oversized mahogany desk. A large calendar took up most of the center space while three meticulously neat stacks of papers of varying sizes used most of the rest.

  A dark-skinned man in a classically-tailored suit stood off to the right and gazed out of his window.

  I took a moment to study him in his carefully crafted pose. Tall and slim-waisted, he held his lithe form in perpetual readiness like a confident and well-fed predator.

  I waited.

  He waited. The quiet grew heavy.

  Fine. I scowled, after a full forty seconds passed. I cleared my throat, meaningfully.

  “Mr. Serin?” I took a step forward. “I’m Liz Shepherd. I believe you represent my father?” Mentally I crossed my fingers.

  “Ms. Shepherd,” he stated. He spun slowly on his heel and crossed to his desk in a few long, unhurried strides. Once there looked me up and down before extending his hand.

  I took it. Serin gave a good handshake, the kind that didn’t try to break my bones.

  “I wondered how long it would be before I met
you. Your father spoke of you often.” He seemed a touch formal, almost remorseful as he sat down.

  “Has he spoken of me lately?” I blurted. “I mean, do you know where he is?”

  “What?” A flash of confusion, almost irritation showed in his eyes, banished in an instant. “I haven’t been in touch with Mr. Shepherd in several weeks.”

  “So you don’t know where he is?” It was my turn to be irritated with him. Stupid lawyer double-talk. Why couldn’t he just say he didn’t know?

  “I don’t.”

  “Damn it.” I sank into the nearest armchair.

  “You don’t know where Mr. Shepherd is,” he mused thoughtfully. “I take it your father left you some instructions, and these led you to me.”

  “Yeah.” I sighed. “A letter, in his shop.”

  “I see.” He ran one hand through his well-cared-for hair. “It is typical to call first, you know. Set an appointment.”

  “Ah.” Oops. “Of course, Mr. Serin. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  “I have some time.” He smiled. “I take it you were concerned to the point that you did not think.”

  “Well, yes.” I paused, searching for words. “I don’t know how long my father has been missing. His message stated I should come talk to you.”

  “He did.” Mr. Serin regarded me steadily until I squirmed under his gaze. I watched him notice the bracelet on my wrist; he seemed quite focused upon it.

  I covered it with one hand. I couldn’t say why it interested him so, but the thought made me nervous.

  The faintest smile touched the edge of his thin lips.

  “Mr. Shepherd left instructions for me when I saw him last, approximately three weeks ago. He shared with me that you might visit soon, and if you did, I had very specific instructions to follow.”

  “He did?” I leaned forward. Finally, some answers.

  “Specifically,” he cleared his throat and pulled some paperwork from one of his drawers, “I was to pass full ownership of his real property, his financial accounts, and Knucklebones, Inc. to you upon your visiting my office.” He toyed with a pen I thought probably cost more than my entire outfit. “Immediately.”

  “Immediately.” My heart sank at the word.

  “Yes, Ms. Shepherd. He was quite clear.”

  “I… see.” What could possibly have happened to my father?

  “Fortunately, the paperwork is mostly completed, and all quite standard—”

  “Is he dead?” The words felt like slivers of ice in my chest.

  For a moment, silence.

  “I cannot possibly know, Elizabeth. I wasn’t led to believe he might be, however.”

  “Liz,” I countered numbly. My thoughts spun frantically in my head. What did this all mean?

  As I worried, Serin continued, “I am also to function as your business manager for the duration of time it takes you to adjust to your situation. I am on retainer for a period of two years, with an account set aside to allay those expenses.”

  “That’s good,” I blurted as I glanced around. “I don’t see myself able to pay whatever you bill per hour, Mr. Serin.”

  “I was informed that your financial status would be unknown to you.” He shuffled the papers, pulled two of them out, and set them before me.

  “My status?”

  “Mr. Shepherd made certain I would provide access to several bank accounts created specifically for this instance. The investment accounts are being managed for you by a team of investors of my advising.”

  “Investment accounts,” I stated flatly. “I think you have the wrong Aiden Shepherd.”

  “While you do have the right to access the funds at any time,” he continued, “it is my professional opinion that you should leave its operation to the professionals at your disposal and heed any advice they provide. They are quite good at what they do.”

  I have professionals at my disposal. I glanced around at the richly appointed walls, stunned.

  “Here is a listing of all physical assets and real property currently owned by Aiden Shepherd.” He slid a short list across his desk to me. “As you can see, when it comes to tangible assets, the list is quite short.”

  “That’s about what I would expect.” I glanced at the paper and noted that most of these things I had already seen within Knucklebones. “I just never expected to inherit his things so soon.” Tears brimmed in my eyes. First Mom, and now him too?

  The thought hit like a physical blow.

  “Elizabeth.” His low, caring tone surprised me. “Take a deep breath. Keep hold of yourself. You are understandably concerned for your father’s welfare. That’s perfectly natural and right as a doting daughter.”

  “Right.” I sat in the chair, stiff as a rod.

  “You have no proof that he is in any danger at all. Let your breath out. Calm. Stay calm. Don’t let your emotions get the better of you. If you do, disaster follows, doesn’t it?”

  Did he glance at the bracelet on my arm as he said the last? I thought perhaps he did.

  “Of course.” I took a breath. Then another.

  “I never said your father was dead. Aiden is a very careful man. He simply told me he had some affairs to look into, and if you showed up here it might mean he had been detained. In that instance, I was to pass control of his holdings to you.”

  “Okay.” I nodded and tried to relax. He’s not dead.

  “Onto the matter of more liquid assets. The papers here outline the various investments and holdings that your father’s advisors have recommended.” He set his hand on a stack of papers. “I advise that we look at these, but perhaps another time.”

  “I suppose.” I found my gaze drawn to the small stack. How much money could Dad possibly have in there? He owned a gaming store. That wasn’t exactly big ticket money.

  “The checking accounts are something we should discuss now, however. They only await your appearance at the Bank of Yorke to be accessed.”

  “My name is already on them?”

  “There is a small amount of paperwork that accompanies the transferal.” He smiled. “Fortunately, that paperwork has been completed, and only requires your signature.” He slid a form across the desk.

  To my naked eye, it was a lot of legalese mumbo jumbo, but after a moment’s perusal, I got the gist.

  Serin flipped to the next page and there, at the bottom, lay my father’s looping signature.

  I couldn’t help but tear up as I saw it. I blinked, and then added my scrawl to the document.

  “I’ll file this with Bank of Yorke immediately.” He nodded. “In the meantime, Mr. Shepherd left me with a copy of the ATM card. It is active. He claimed you would know the PIN, but if not, it’s in the paperwork.”

  “No. I know it.” I felt certain it would be my birth year.

  “Now, Elizabeth—”

  “Liz.”

  “Miss Shepherd, the funds in this account are yours to access. You will find, however, that the bulk of them rest within the business accounts of Knucklebones, Inc. This is a wise move on your father’s part, as there are different laws for a corporation than there are for an individual.” He cleared his throat. “By keeping the bulk of assets within the company, he allows you to maintain control over them, even in the event of his passing.”

  “I see.” I raised one eyebrow.

  “As the owner of the corporation, you have to keep records of your expenditures. For instance, this money could not buy you a new dress, but it could provide a budget for a valued employee to acquire appropriate attire. You may not buy yourself a new BMW, but it is certainly reasonable to decide that Knucklebones requires a company car, to be driven only by employees.”

  “A company car?” I furrowed my brow. “Okay, this is crazy. Exactly how much is in this account?”

  “Well…” Mr. Serin flipped through a few papers. “It appears it had a balance in excess of seven hundred thousand dollars during its creation two months ago.” He nodded. “Your father felt this sho
uld be more than adequate to see to any needs you may currently have.”

  “He…” My mouth was agape. “What now?”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Um, yes.” I reeled. “Seven hundred thousand… dollars?” I sank back in my chair. “That’s in dollars?”

  “Yes, Ms. Shepherd,” Mr. Serin drolled. “United States dollars.”

  After everything, this was the final match to the boiling bucket of gasoline I tried to keep under control.

  There’s no way he had this much money. I shook my head, completely blown away.

  What mess had my father gotten into?

  “Shall I continue?”

  “No.” I almost stammered. “Where did he get that kind of money?” My mind whirled with questions as soon as the words left my mouth.

  “Miss Shepherd, I’m afraid—”

  “Is….” I leaned closer. “Is it illegal? Is that why my dad has gone missing?”

  “I can assure you—”

  “Hang on. Two months ago? These accounts were created two months ago?”

  “Yes, Ms. Shepherd. He’s been planning for some time now. The last time I actually spoke with your father was approximately three weeks ago, when he expressed that it might be time to put some of his plans into action.”

  “What plans are those?” I leaned even closer, a touch of fire in my tone.

  “That isn’t my business. He seemed quite agitated to provide for your welfare in the event of his disappearance. Together we came up with this arrangement as the best solution to his problem.”

  “The best solution to his problem,” I echoed, temper rising. “His problem? His problem is that he’s mysteriously wealthy, and now missing! What do you propose is the best solution to that?”

  “Roll diplomacy/social interaction, Liz.” I could almost hear Rehl’s voice.

  “Easy,” I crowed, tossed my dice, and looked at the result. “One!”

  “Ms. Shepherd, it is not my place to keep track of my client’s whereabouts at all times.” Serin remarked coolly.

  “Look,” I snarled and shot to my feet. “I don’t care—”

  “Liz,” he growled, his low voice like the purr of a great cat.