To say that I wasn’t expecting a call from my sister is something I like to refer to as: an understatement.
At sight of the number I fumbled, dropped my phone, and, upon reaching down to grapple with it, smacked my head into the center of the steering wheel—announcing my clumsiness to the entire parking lot with the fervor of a football fan given a sack-full of air-horns.
I also, thankfully, managed to get my hands on my wayward phone before it disappeared under my seat, and without doing anything else awkward, like accidentally hanging up. Fighting against my instinct to duck out of sight and pray no one would realize which car had honked so loudly, I replied before I could finish freaking out about what the heck I was going to say.
“Hello?” I said, mentally cursing the obvious tension in my voice. “Am I speaking to Monique?”
“Is this Special Agent Jeanne Townford?” replied a voice I had never heard before in my life.
As much I was still trying to swallow nerves, this made me sit up straight, a cold feeling growing in the pit of my stomach. And not just because I hadn’t started the car yet. “Who is this?”
No need to be suspicious, I told myself, unconvincingly. There’s probably lots of reasons that someone else would use my sister’s phone to call me. And would refer to me as a Special Agent. Even though I don’t know if my sister even knows what job I have.
“I’m a friend. Of your sister’s.” It was a male’s voice, I was pretty sure, but… indistinct. It was clear enough that I understood what he was saying, but somehow it felt far away, quiet, not truly reachable or touchable. It was hard to pick out any qualities to it—it might have been a deep voice, or that might have just been a trick of the phone.
“Oh? Where is she, by the way?”
“She’s not here right now,” the voice said vaguely. This time, I could tell there was a slight distortion to the voice.
Okay, maybe I did need to be suspicious. “That doesn’t really narrow anything down. Who did you say you were, again?”
“A friend.”
Oh no, not suspicious at all.
“Sure, okay. What can I do for you, friend?”
There was a long pause, long enough that I started to fear they’d hung up on me and left me in the dark, still inexplicably in possession of my sister’s phone. Or at least her number.
“You can trust me,” they said, almost soothingly. “I just have something I want to help you with.”
Hogwash. “Well, you could start by saying something that’s not incredibly vague.”
“It’s just… difficult,” they said after another hesitation. “We don’t mean to alarm you, but we know what you’re up to.”
The cold feeling grew, filling my stomach with icicles. “Oh?” I said, and promptly clamped my lips shut. I was to say nothing, ask no questions until I knew what they meant. “What I was up to” could be anything from having taken pictures of Drake’s lab to hiding a wanted criminal in my house.
“You’re on the case with the silverie, correct?”
“That’s classified information.” Were they connected to whoever had stolen the case file?
“Well, in any case, we know you’ve found out some things that you might consider… strange.”
In the Archives? In Drake’s lab? “Who is ‘we’?”
“A figure of speech. But we want to help you uncover the truth. The real truth, which is being suppressed by your employers.”
Ah, so they were creepily monitoring a government building for ethical reasons. Sure, okay. “The truth about what?”
“If you want answers, you’ll receive a text notification. It will give the address and time for you to meet with us, and we will share what we know.”
Oh, great. “And I assume if I want that information, I need to come alone?”
Another pause. Were they consulting with someone else in the same room? “That would be preferred,” they finally said, as if the polite wording meant anything.
On one hand, this was almost 100% a trap. On the other, I did need information, and I had no idea who these guys were, and, well, sometimes the best way to get information was to spring a trap. I sighed. “When would this meeting be?”
“Tomorrow evening. Any further details you will receive over text.”
Well, I already had to meet with Dr. Laurent in the morning, so it’s not like this was much worse. Or at least that’s what I told myself in a vain attempt to cheer up. “Alright,” I said, not bothering to hide the tiredness in my voice. If they thought I had given up, they might underestimate me—and I was, in fact, tired. “I won’t mention this to any of my colleagues. What’s in it for you guys?”
Again, silence. I was becoming more and more convinced that this call was not just between the two of us.
“We want the truth to come out. No more secrets, no more lies.”
“Mm-hmmm,” I said. “And—?”
“We would like some information on the silverie case.”
There it was. I rubbed my temple. “I’ll see what I can do without compromising my job or my client’s safety.”
“Please,” the voice replied, quickly enough that it seemed to be their genuine reaction. “We both know you’re not all that concerned with your job’s guidelines.”
Now that was just plain insulting (on top of being concerning). I cared very much about being perceived as the model worker, and I usually was when I wasn’t hiding a fugitive or uncovering potential crimes in my own workplace. “Well, I at least care about job safety,” I said, which was true. “And I also care about my sister. Why do you have her phone, and where is she?”
I half expected them to say something like “you’d better be there tomorrow to see,” in which case I would be abusing my privileges as Weapons Specialist to smuggle out a Tommy gun for personal use.
Instead, he said, “we were given permission to use her phone. But she’s not here right now.”
And somehow, that was more concerning.
“Yeah, I got that figured out,” I snapped. “Where is she? I better get some kind of clearer answer, or I’m not coming.”
Silence. “You’ll receive a text from her, shortly.”
“Not good enough,” I said. “What reason would I have to believe that the text was actually written by her and not by someone who had ‘permission’ to use her phone?” It was not lost on me that they’d never said Monique had given them permission.
“Like I said,” the voice replied, frustration seeping into their voice, “she’s not here right now. We can give you more information or proof or whatever you want tomorrow, but we’ll need to get it first.”
“Why would I trust you, when that response almost confirms you were planning to fake a message from her?”
They hung up.
“Hello?” I said, loudly, even though I knew I wouldn’t get an answer. “Ugh!” I smacked my fist against the top of my steering wheel.
Now what?
For a long moment I sat there, considering getting out of my car, going back in, tracking down Stanton, and asking for help. But I couldn’t, could I? That would bring up too many questions that a liar like me wouldn’t be able to answer.
Okay, okay. Think. What did I know? I knew my sister was… somewhere, either having affiliated herself with some dangerous people or else was just being used as collateral, and that someone else had her phone who was claiming to a) know what I’d been up to, b) have super special secrets about… something, and c) be altruistically offering me this knowledge (in return for a small favor, of course).
This was all very vague and very bad. This wasn’t the M.O. used by nice, decent people trying to further the good of humanity. And if my hunch was correct that they were connected to whoever had stolen Talsic’s case file, they were not above violence.
What had I gotten myself into? Or my sister? Here I was, naively assuming that the most dangerous thing I could do was aiding and abetting a fugitive, instead of, you know, carrying out my actual government job.
If this was a hostage situation, some part of my brain wondered, was this going to make reuniting with Monique better or exponentially worse? At least we’d have something to talk about, but if she wanted to blame me for ruining her life, I wouldn’t be able to deny it.
In the distance, I could see more people appearing at CENCA’s entrance, pushing the glass doors open to make their way to their cars, and home; the iron sky overhead overshadowing us all in a grim reminder that there was more to winter than just cold—a snowstorm was approaching.
That was supposed to come tomorrow, wasn’t it? Did Monique’s new friends really want to meet me in the middle of a snowstorm? Oh now that wasn’t suspicious at all. It’s not like snow is great for covering tracks and (potentially) hiding bodies.
But that was beside the point. Right now, it was time to head home before some random CENCA worker or, worse, a non-random co-worker like Moira or Stanton, noticed me sitting in the parking lot and got curious.
And, well, going home was smartest thing to do, anyway. Right now, it seemed like someone out there was willing to go to great lengths to learn about Talsic. So maybe it was time I did some learning, myself.
Ah, yes. Home. The supposed haven against the cruelties of the world, a chance to relax and rest after a long day of work. I stared at the dark blue door from my driveway, the awning overhead flapping slightly in the breeze. It was one of the few downsides of this house: it hadn’t come with a garage, just a little roof under which to park. I didn’t mind overall, but putting chains and winter tires on my car while at the mercy of the cold wind had not been my favorite experience. Still, it was better than before, when I’d had barely a place to live outside of my car. The change was ironic, in a way.
But, house or no house, there was still a peace to be found by sitting in my car that I didn’t get anywhere else. So I sat there a little longer, trying not to feel my growing exhaustion as I reviewed how I should best approach Talsic for information, and what I needed to do to take care of the kittens and Cal. Not to mention I’d have to name the kittens, too. Maybe not right away, but I’d probably want to do that before I saw Moira again, and I didn’t know when that would be.
What did one even name kittens, anyway? There was a black and white one, which was kind of like piano keys if you really stretched your imagination, so maybe something about music? But then that wouldn’t work as well for the brown one. The first possibility that popped into my head for him was “Encyclopdia,” but would that work for a cat? It’d be a little funny, at least.
But I was procrastinating.
I sighed, grabbed my bag, and checked my phone. Sure enough, I’d gotten a message from my “sister,” and—Stanton? Why was he messaging me?
All I saw was “Hey Townford, is this still the right number? I was wonder—” before I panicked and shoved the phone into my pocket, adrenaline spiking and flushing my cheeks half with surprise, half with nerves. It wasn’t unusual for him to text me, but he hadn’t since the night I’d tried to portal Cal away. Had he found something out? Was he going to ask too many questions about why I hadn’t talked to him in the Archives? Worse, was it not a coincidence that he was texting me at the same time as my sister’s new best friends?
Okay, that felt a bit out there, even for me.
Whatever it was, I couldn’t deal with it right now. I had a silverie to manage, kittens to take care of and name, an antsy dragon to wrangle, a strange magical device to set up in the basement, and suspicious strangers to negotiate a meeting with.
But my mind couldn’t let it go. Of course, I could pretty easily dispel my worries by looking at the text, but then I would have to open the message and I didn’t know if he could see that, and, depending on what was going on, it would be fishy to read the message and then ignore him.
Between trying to figure out what in the 4-D chess to do there, the earlier phone call and concern for my sister, general tiredness from work and my bad night of sleep, and some corner in my head trying to figure out the right questions to ask Talsic, I didn’t notice the voices until I closed the front door behind me.
I froze with my hand on the doorknob behind me, arms full of the Deprehendor and my messenger bag slipping down my shoulder; my injured arm chose this moment, too, to start aching palpably. Dropping everything to careen down to the basement wasn’t exactly an option—not only would it make a lot of noise, but, well, I didn’t know how fragile the Deprehendor was. But the other reason why I wasn’t moving, why I stood rooted to the spot with a sudden nauseating burst of panic, was because I knew both voices.
The rush of blood in my ears blurred their words, made the room sway; I clutched the Deprehendor numbly.
The first voice was fine. I didn’t know silveries well enough to tell if this was weirdly early for Talsic to be up or not. But he, at least, was supposed to be down there.
Cal was not.
Hands already trembling, I set everything down on the ground, gently, silently, and reached for my Rimloc. Guest or not, if I had to defend Cal against Talsic, I would do what I had to. Ideally we could all come to an understanding and violence would not be necessary, but I had to be prepared for anything.
Oh, heavens have mercy, I couldn’t cover up a murder.
Could I?
No. No, I couldn’t think that way before I even knew what was going on.
With my stomach half-way up my throat, I kept one hand on my gun, trying to look non-threatening in case I needed to deescalate the situation, and walked straight for the stairs. There was no use in hiding. Both of them had good enough senses to know I was here.
Reaching the top of the short staircase, another shock hit me, mixing and twisting in my head: they were laughing. But that was wrong. That wasn’t what I was supposed to be hearing. Yeah, it was much, much better than, say, screaming, but what was going on?
“Yeah, I think I agree with you that that could have gone better,” Cal’s voice said a second later, still laughing, the resonance indicating he was not kitten-sized right now. “Oh, hey, I think Jeanne’s here!”
Mentally I groaned. He should have known better than to give away my position, but, well, he was little more than a teen.
Also, did I smell meat? Like… a barbecue? What in the actual nine hells was going on here?
I came down the stairs before Talsic replied, stepping down into the dark basement—unlit except for a small fire in the fireplace. There was a click, and one of the lamps flickered on, shining like an interrogation light onto the floor in front of me.
“Good afternoon,” Talsic said pleasantly from his seat on the couch. “Or would it be good evening?”
Cal was curled up on the chair across from him, roughly Dalmation-sized. He waved a wing at me. “Hi Jeanne. I was just… uh…” He trailed off suddenly, wing drooping, eyes widening in sudden realization. “I was talking with Talsic,” he finished, cringing slightly.
Had he just… forgotten? There was no way he was that dumb.
At a loss for words, I just stood there at the foot of the stairs, looking from him to Talsic, the cool metal of the Rimloc handle in my hand the only thing that seemed real right now.
“We met a little bit ago,” Talsic clarified, as if that changed anything, spreading his hands as if to emphasize his open honesty.
“Cal?” I said, and I could hear my voice shaking, like it belonged to someone else.
“It’s… it’s my fault,” he said quietly. “I thought, that since Talsic was asleep—”
“You thought what?” I demanded, half-furious, half-desperate.
“That it would be… safe.” Cal lowered his snout, shrinking down a few sizes. “I… missed the fireplace.”
A confusing cocktail of emotions crashed around in my stomach like an ocean, battering against the growing seawall of blankness in my mind—fear, relief, anger, disbelief. All I could do was stand there.
“It’s not hot in your room,” Cal added, in one last bid for sympathy.
“You need to lie in ashes?” I said, aware of my voice rising. “You should have told me so I could have done something about it!”
“If I may,” Talsic said politely, standing up and bowing.
I wanted to say that no, he mayn’t. But I didn’t move or speak.
“I was already aware that he was here,” he said. “My kind are attuned to Mithae, you see, and as a dragon he creates a rather strong nexus around himself.”
“You already knew?!” I repeated, stupidly. “And what about CENCA’s instruments? Could a device just track his Mithae signature? Show the higher-than-normal levels of magic in my house? Then we have to— to— to—” I trailed off, gesticulating like I had something to convey. But I had no actual thoughts, everything trailing away into the feeling that I should start panicking again. Did the Deprehendor track mithecal influences? I couldn’t remember. I had just brought in our death warrant, hadn’t I?
“Perhaps you should sit down,” Talsic said diplomatically, presumably in lieu of telling me to get a grip.
I obeyed mechanically, muscles practically locking into place as soon as I took my seat, the energy draining out of me like I was in danger of fainting. Maybe I was. I hadn’t done it in a while, so I wasn’t familiar with the signs anymore.
“Would you like something to drink?” Talsic offered magnanimously, as if he were the host.
“No, I don’t drink,” I mumbled automatically, though the sentiment of “needing a drink” was intensifying. My mind was somehow simultaneously far away and far too aware of the ticking of the clock upstairs.
“I think he means water or tea,” Cal whispered, across from me, as if he were trying to speak to me privately. He looked at me timidly over the tail now wrapped around him and over front of his snout. With the awkward angle of his wings, stiff at his sides, I got the impression that he was resisting the urge to hide behind them.
“Oh.” Somehow I hadn’t expected losing my mind to be such a dissociative ordeal. “Yeah. Water. No, tea. No, never mind, just water.” Distantly, I realized I was being sucked into some kind of clinical version of shock. My tongue was painfully dry.
I had to think, figure this out, ask questions, but, instead, I just sat there until Talsic came back with a glass of water and ice, gazing into the nothingness over Cal’s chair and only slightly noticing his nervous movements.
Talsic went into the sunlight to get me water, I observed, but I couldn’t remember what that meant just yet. Somewhere between his leaving and returning, my brain had finished its metamorphosis into overcooked oatmeal.
With the glass of water, he handed me what looked like a meat kebab, which smelled very much like the barbecue sauce that had been in my fridge since time immemorial.
“I suppose it’s good that we did a little cooking,” Talsic said, sitting on the other end of the couch.
The coldness of the water felt good in my hand, sliding down my throat.
“How much, exactly, do you know?” I asked Talsic, grasping for some kind of way to spin this. Maybe we could just deny everything and he’d think that dragons are really private, and not at all fugitives. My mouth was full, I realized. Oh, that was surprisingly good. More flavor than just the barbecue. What spices had they used?
“As I understand what he told me,” he said slowly, “our young friend here is being accused of a crime he didn’t commit, and is staying with you while you clear his name.”
“Cal,” I said, sighing, knowing I should be more angry.
“I think he’s trustworthy,” Cal mumbled.
“We’d better hope so. No offense,” I added to Talsic.
He nodded. “None taken. It is a rather delicate situation. However…” he eyed me. “Maybe we should adjourn for now. I suspect we both would like to have a more in depth conversation about this, but I take it you’ve had a rather tiring day.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” I replied, chewing another chunk. My brain was still floating in the stratosphere, but my physical body was beginning to feel more grounded. “We do have to talk, and not just about Cal. I think someone’s trying to hunt you down.”
Talsic did not look surprised. Maybe the break-in from the other day had given him a clue. Cal, however, let his wings stand on end. “Why?!”
“I’m still working on that.”
Talsic regarded me thoughtfully for a while, waiting while I finished the kebab and the water. “Perhaps, after you rest, we can reconvene over tea?”
Part of me wanted to insist that no, we should get on with this now; time was of the essence; I was perfectly fine—but he was right. I was still recovering from both the phone call and Cal’s new social life (to say nothing of everything else that had happened today), so I could hardly say that I was in a great headspace for taking in information. And, besides, despite not having done much physical exertion today, I was feeling the increasing need for a hot shower.
I stood up.
“Thank you,” I said, gesturing with the now empty kebab stick. I’d have to get the recipe later. “That was really good. I’ll be back in an hour and a half.”
To Be Continued….