by Frank Hurt
Marcus hated talking to people. It drove him nuts, having to deal with inferior beings—and face it, everyone was inferior to him. The Director loved to schmooze, which was why he had the supervisor position. Davies could keep the job, too, for all he cared; Marcus envied the compensation, but not the duties. Yet here he was, doing the man’s job for him, without seeing anything extra on his paychecks. Davies is just milking his son’s death. He’s just looking for excuses to make me do his job for him.
It was just yesterday morning when an alert was waiting in his inbox for a restricted search performed in the Department of Investigation. Normally, Davies made those alerts high priority. It was an unwritten policy that all such checks be handled by Davies personally. But, the way things have been since the Director’s mongrel son got himself killed, well, inevitably the chore would be shoved off onto Marcus’s lap.
It was serendipitous, then, that the Senior Investigator had left a message on the Department of Information voicemail overnight. He had said that the search was just a typo. Nothing to worry about. The sniveling bureaucrat even apologized for inconveniencing the good folks on the Seventh Floor.
Davies would want Marcus to investigate, anyway. The prick. Marcus deleted the voicemail message, then deleted the restricted search alert from the database. And just like that, his plate was cleared. His boss would be none the wiser, and Marcus could go back to the solitude of his file servers. Everybody wins.
It was empowering, having this secret power over his supervisor. It was trivial—Marcus was no fool—but still, it made him feel good about himself. It made him think about the last time he felt such satisfaction. That coyote bitch was so pathetic, the way she whimpered and groveled. It was satisfying, but she had to ruin it by shifting back to human form. He should have known the cur wouldn’t be bright enough to follow instructions.
The rush he felt of putting that varmint down, of driving all the way up to Grano to dump the body, that was something to be proud of. Marcus hadn’t counted on the body being found, especially so soon. It was good that he had such foresight to toss it out so far from his farmstead.
Still, he could have been smarter about it. He should have buried the thing. Maybe he could have chopped it up first, fed it to some hogs or something. I should buy a couple of pigs for that purpose.
The idea formulating in his head gave him a new rush. He owned an abandoned farmstead by Berthold, a good 25 miles south of his home. There, he could set up a small hog pen with automatic waterers. He would only need to check them once a week, and then if he ever had another project he needed to discard, he would have a built-in disposal system. Marcus, you clever bastard. That’s goddamn genius.
He spent most of Thursday sketching a hog pen and making a list of what he would need to line up. The old farmstead had a water well—the water was poor quality, but it’s not like stupid pigs would know any better—and he had an old bronze water cistern there that he could hook up, once he patched up the crack in its wall. The garage out there was about ready to fall down, but if he could get a season out of it, that would be good enough.
His mind inevitably wandered into daydream territory then. The fans in his computer hummed their lulling melody, whispering its familiar white noise, inviting him to distraction. Marcus logged into the embassy’s personnel database on Friday, spending most of the morning looking for potential projects. Then he found it: the perfect one.
Times like this made Marcus believe in a higher power. Here in the search results was a changeling coyote, single, lived alone less than a half hour away from his property, and he owned a mobile welding business. He could get the cur out to his Berthold farmstead, have him weld up the cistern, then subdue him. Marcus would have his next project lined up and he would get free labor out of the deal. Genius.
Marcus picked up the handset on his desk and punched in the numbers shown on the Changeling’s file. He cradled the receiver against his ear, adjusting his black-rimmed glasses so his earlobe wouldn’t get smashed in the vise. It would be an unfortunate price to pay, having to talk to the beast. Even that held a certain twisted thrill, though. It was like playing with a puppy you planned on drowning. It’s funny, the things that bring back fond childhood memories.
“Schmitt Brothers Welding. This is Arnie.” The whining growl of a chop saw cutting through steel blared in the background.
“Arnie?” Marcus frowned at his computer screen. “I was looking for Alarik Schmitt.”
“Yeah, Rik’s my brother. He’s busy at the moment. What can I do for you?”
Marcus tapped on his keyboard. Arnie’s full name must have been Arnold Schmitt, as the personnel file announced itself on the monitor. Son of a bitch. This one’s a coyote too!
“Hello? Did I lose you?” Arnie’s voice shouted through the speaker in the handset.
“Oh, yes, I’m here,” Marcus tried to contain his excitement. This was all just so perfect. “I’ve got an…an emergency project. I hope you and your brother can help me out this weekend?”
“We’d love to, but we’re booked up solid, to be perfectly honest.” The grinding noise dampened into the background as Arnold moved to a quieter location. “We’re on a job site right now. You know how things are going with this boom.”
Marcus frowned. “That’s really too bad. I’d pay extra.”
Arnold laughed, “you don’t know how many times I hear that every day, buddy. Every company man and toolpusher in the Bakken wants to throw money at us. There just aren’t enough welders to meet the demand.”
“Oh. I see. I’m not in the oilfield, I’m just a poor pig farmer.”
“You’re a local? Where do you farm?”
“I’ve got a place just south of Berthold. I’ve got a bronze water tank that’s leaking, and I need to get it fixed so my hogs don’t die.”
“Ah, shit, that’s a tough one, huh? Brazing takes a fine touch.” Arnold paused. “I tell ya what, Rik and I try to take care of the locals whenever we can. We know this boom won’t last forever, and we don’t want to be like those guys who turn their backs on their neighbors just to make a quick buck.”
Marcus leaned forward in his chair. The smile returned to his lips. “That’s quite forward-thinking of you. So you think you can fit me in?”
“I’m not very good at brazing, but Rik is.” The sound of paper shuffling drifted through the telephone signal, of pages being turned in a booklet. “I’m looking at our schedule, and I think he could come up there Tuesday to look at your water tank.”
“Is there any chance you could come with?” Marcus ran a finger along the temple edge of his thick glasses. “It’s…um…it’s in a pretty awkward place, where the leak is. And I’ve got a bad back, so I won’t be of much use.”
The man on the other end was silent for a moment, then finally answered. “If you were anyone but a fellow North Dakotan, I’d say no, sorry. But…like I said, we try to look out for neighbors. I can shuffle stuff around here. So…yep, we can do that. How’s Tuesday morning sound?”
“That sounds doable,” Marcus trembled with excitement. “I’ll need to find someone to cover for me at work, but I can do that.”
“Oh, where do you work?”
“In Minot. Just a boring, dead-end job. It’s the only way I can afford to farm.”
“I hear ya. Okay, give me directions to your place, and we’ll get your tank fixed up so your pigs can drink again.”
Even though he’d have to wait a few days, there really was nothing quite so exciting as starting a new project.
26
Stop Being a Bloody Creep
The lounge Anna introduced Ember to was an upscale wine bar on Main Street—on the opposite side of the same block as the Parker Building in downtown Minot. Off The Vine boasted an extensive cellar of wines, domestic and imported beers, and a menu which dubbed its appetizers as tapas.
They were seated on padded swivel bar stools at a tile-inlaid table opposite an unlit fireplace. Ember leaned back aga
inst the horizontal steel rails of her stool’s back, gazing up to find a double-stepped tray ceiling, itself painted ocher to match the textured walls. Along one length of the narrow space was a cherrywood bar lined with stools matching those Ember and Anna sat on. Approximately two-thirds of the establishment’s seating was claimed by lunch hour customers, mostly downtown office workers.
“Look at the selection of bottles,” Ember gestured at the wine racks mounted on the wall behind the bar.
“They’ve got even more in their cellar,” Anna said.
“How am I only now finding out about this place? It shares a bloody alley with the Parker.”
“Some people find OTV a little stuffy,” Anna shrugged as her watchful gaze flitted over the fellow patrons. “I wasn’t sure if you’d like it.”
“Are you joking? This place is ace!”
Anna’s raptor eyes slid back toward Ember, her head turning forward a second later. “Their dessert lineup is short, but ‘scrummy,’ as you’d say.”
“Are you suggesting I have cheesecake and Moscato for lunch, Anna? Don’t think I won’t.”
They each did order a glass of Moscato but paired it with lettuce wraps instead. Ember proclaimed this choice as evidence of their mastery of “adulting.”
“So, I went target shooting last week with Josette from work,” Ember announced. “Turns out, I’m not half shabby at the range.”
“Look at you, Annie Oakley!” Anna held up her glass. “And you said you never shot a gun before?”
“Never. Well, never before arriving here in the States.”
“You’re a natural sharpshooter then.”
“I wouldn’t claim that, yet. I’m just happy that I can hit a piece of paper four meters away. What about you, what’s new?” Ember sunk her teeth into the lettuce wrap, crunching through the romaine shell to find thin-sliced, roasted chicken drizzled with a spicy sauce.
Anna smirked. “I bought a new combo sander I’m pretty happy about.”
“Oh, that’s…that’s exciting.”
“Liar,” Anna laughed.
“Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask if I could commission you.”
“Commission me?”
Ember chased a bite of green onion down with a sip of sweet wine. “The wooden farm sets you design and build. The animals you carve. I’d like to purchase a full set from you, if you please.”
Anna contemplated her half-glass of wine. “I’m not sure. I mean…I’ve never sold them to anyone before. Why would you want wooden toys?”
“I’ve got two nieces back in England. I’d like to bring them an American farm set, hand-crafted by my friend.”
“Bring them?” The eyebrows over Anna’s raptor eyes lowered. “You mean mail it to them?”
“I don’t think I’ll be stationed in North Dakota much longer. The audit is all but done. I think they’ll let me stay here while I work this case until we find…him.” Ember kept her voice lowered. “But once that’s done, I don’t see how they can justify keeping me here.”
Anna nodded slowly. “I…see. So we’re going to lose you, then.”
Ember closed her eyes briefly. A golden eagle stood on the stool across the table. Her friend’s subform was an intimidating predator, and she had observed first-hand what that hooked beak and those sharp talons could do. She raised her eyelids to find Anna once again. The frown on her friend’s face had softened to thinly-veiled disillusion.
“You’re confident you can catch him?” Anna leaned forward and spoke low. “You really think he’s targeting us? The Changeling Hunter, people are calling him.”
Ember nodded once, her expression serious. “I do. I wouldn’t have stirred the pot by warning you and everyone else, otherwise. Though I wish Rik would have taken my concerns more seriously.”
“You don’t think he did?”
“He just seemed dismissive, that’s all. He said that he and Arnie look out for one another.”
“That’s true, they do,” Anna chased a piece of chicken around her plate with a scrap of lettuce. “He keeps a pistol under the seat of his welding truck. He knows he’s often out in the middle of nowhere, and there’s the potential for danger. In all the years he’s carried it though, I don’t think he’s ever had to pull it out. Rik’s not one to live in fear.”
“I don’t want him to live in fear. Nor Arnie, or you, or Stephanie, or anyone else.” Ember flicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and waited for the waiter to pass out of earshot. “I can’t be sure what the common factor is among these victims so far—other than that they’re being targeted because of what they are.”
“Let’s say you do find this guy—”
Ember straightened. “I will. You can be sure of that. I won’t stop until I do.”
“Okay. I believe you. So, let’s say you do, then what? You’re packing up, heading back to England?”
“I won’t have much choice, sadly. Even if Wallace or I can find an official reason for me to stay, my travel visa ends in exactly one month. I’ve already milked this audit as long as I can.”
Anna’s voice rose. “But what about Arnie’s condition? What about the other scouts?”
Ember held a hand up, signaling her friend to maintain a discreet volume. “Doctor Rout is working with them. She’ll continue developing a treatment, and—touch wood—she’ll find a cure. There’s not much else I can contribute to that effect.”
“She won’t be here much longer, either.”
“What do you mean?” Ember tilted her head. “Gloria? What makes you think she would leave?”
“Because she said as much. She’s not told Arnie and the others, as she doesn’t want to discourage her patients, she said. But she told us that she was running out of options. The artifact remained useless to her beyond serving as a simple sleep aid. She said that unless she had what she needed to unlock its energy, she could provide no further benefit.” Anna’s eagle eyes locked on her. “Those were the doctor’s words.”
Ember leaned forward and dropped her chin to her chest. The carved coyote pendant hung from its leather cord, its face peering up at her from its place against her sternum. She murmured, “I don’t know how, but I’ll get Gloria what she needs.”
Dennis was leaning against the front desk in the lobby of the Parker Building, engaging in what he must have thought was flirtation. Amee/Ami was the unlucky focus of his romantic gestures.
“How do you get it to do that? All…that?” The giant pointed with three meaty fingers at the mocha-skinned girl’s scalp. He raked his fingers through the air.
The Half-Druw woman sat at her desk, barely tolerating the leering man. She rolled her hazel eyes up at him. “They’re called ‘cornrows.’”
“Cool. Cool.” Dennis bobbed his bearded head. “Is it alright if I touch it? It looks all, like, spongy.”
“Smiley, stop being a bloody creep.” Ember had entered the building from the alley entrance.
“A creep?” Dennis shifted his weight, straightening his back so he towered over both women. “I’m just being friendly.”
“Right. What you call ‘friendly’ is what girls call ‘creepy,’ Smiley.”
The receptionist flashed Ember a smile.
Ember changed course from the elevator. She approached the desk, shaking her head. “Nuh uh. No, you’re on my list, girly.”
“Your list? Me?” Hazel eyes blinked rapidly.
“Yeah, you. You and your dodgy sister. Your little charade made me think I was losing my mind. Twins. I mean, really. How long were you planning on keeping me fooled?”
Dennis guffawed. “You didn’t know they’re twins?”
“Yeah, laugh it up, Smiley.” Ember crossed her arms and looked back at the receptionist. “So, which one are you, Ami with an ‘I’ or Amee with no ‘I’?”
“Um,” the young woman swallowed. “I’m Amee. With no ‘I’s’.”
“Uh-huh. So, from here on you’re Amee-no-eyes, and your sister is Ami-with-an-eye.” Emb
er pointed at Amee’s scalp. “Look at her hair, Smiley. Can you even begin to imagine how long it must take for Amee-no-eyes to stitch those braids? And you think she’s going to let you, what, pet her?”
“Pet her? No, I uh—”
“I mean look at her hair. It’s brilliant, isn’t it?”
Dennis turned toward Amee and stammered. With his attention successfully diverted, Ember passed her hand down to the man’s waist. With a flit of her wrist, she unclipped his name badge and slipped it into her purse.
“Well, some of us have work to do. I’ll leave you two to your flirting.” Ember spun on her heel and fast-marched to the elevator. She called the elevator using her own key card.
When she made it inside, she kept her head down and dared not look up to see if she was being watched. The doors closed, she selected the “LL” button and rode the car down one floor. Only then did she finally allow herself to breathe.
Ember checked both the medical center and the morgue to confirm she was alone. She returned to the elevator and brought the stolen key card out. Holding it by the metal, spring-loaded clip, she slid the magnetic stripe through the thin channel next to the door leading to the sub-basement. The LED light flashed green, and Ember pulled on the handle.
A briny, damp air met her face as the door swung open. The lighting along the staircase must have been motion-activated, as the stairs were splashed with white illumination. About two dozen grey steps descended before her, turning at a right angle and disappearing beyond.
The first step was the hardest to take. Ember gripped the frigid, steel railing and all but pulled herself down the first step. Her shoes were glued to the floor, requiring purposeful effort to leave the disinfected, white tile of the lower-level floor. The unsurfaced concrete of the staircase spoke to the limited access the sub-basement was intended to see.