Posts Tagged ‘Broommates’

Broommates: Not Gold

Tuesday, August 24th, 2010

Part 18 of the serial Broommates. Start from the beginning or read the previous episode or click the “Broommates” link at the top of the page to see the full list.

* * * * *

Kitty stood just inside the threshold of Parker’s room, encased in a silvery mist that whorled and flickered like flames. Her hair writhed as if each grouping of color had become a separate snake. Parker threw up one shield after another, and Kitty promptly tore each apart like it was made of wet paper instead of ley line-enhanced magic.

“What’s gotten into you?” he shouted, sweat beading on his forehead. Behind him, Lisa huddled on the bed, screaming and trying to press herself into the wall.

Whatever Kitty said in response was unintelligible, but at last, in desperation, Parker threw himself on top of Lisa’s trembling form to shield her from Kitty’s attack. An invisible force gripped him around the waist and wrenched him away, tossing him against the closet door.

The same force lifted Lisa from the bed and proceeded to choke the life out of her.

“Kitty, no!” Parker groaned, feebly exerting himself for one last shield spell. It was dispatched as easily as the rest. Dark spots swam in front of his eyes.

Aqua cade!” A column of water fell on Kitty’s head, and like a wet match, she went out. Lisa fell to the ground, gasping for air. Anthony grabbed Kitty’s arms and Miranda ran to do the same to the fallen woman.

Kitty’s eyes returned to their normal color and she collapsed against Anthony. “Oh, goodness,” she murmured. “I’m so sorry.”

Anthony looked down at Parker. “Are you okay?”

“I got hit by a truck, but thankfully I got the ‘How’s My Driving?’ number.” Slowly, gingerly, Parker climbed to his feet. “Do I get an explanation and–hey, what are you doing with my handcuffs?”

Miranda glared at him. “Your new girlfriend is a cambion, lover boy.” She snapped the cuffs closed and struggled to pick up the unconscious and surprisingly heavy Lisa. “Can I get a hand, my dear, sweet James?”

To her surprise, Parker had no response. He simply limped over and helped, and together they half-dragged, half-carried the half-woman downstairs and laid her down on the couch.

“Should we lock her up in the circle?” Anthony asked, still supporting a limp Kitty.

Booker emerged from the study, book in hand. “It shouldn’t be necessary,” he said. “Cambion aren’t much more dangerous than regular people. They’re just more… persuasive.”

“Well, there’s no sense taking her outside,” Miranda said. “She’s already crossed the threshold and I don’t think I have all the materials for an uninvite spell.”

Parker chimed in. “We can put her in the sitting room. When she wakes up, we question her.” His eyes narrowed. “I’ll question her.”

“We’re not leaving you alone with that… that,” Miranda said. “Come on.”

Within ten minutes, Lisa regained consciousness to find that her hands and feet were locked to the legs and arms of a stiff-backed wooden chair. A single bright light was pointed at her face, throwing the rest of the dusty room into shadow. After failing to pull herself free, she began to scream again, shrill and hysterical.

Parker dropped a chair in front of her, facing backwards, and slid into it, resting his chin on the back and staring into Lisa’s startled eyes. “Hello, Lisa,” he said. “If that is your real name.”

Miranda snorted somewhere behind him. He ignored it.

“James, what’s going on?” Lisa asked. Her voice cracked with fear and the rawness of her throat.

“That is the question of the day, isn’t it?” Parker leaned closer. “Who sent you here, Lisa? What is your mission?”

“I’m not… I don’t…” Her eyes widened and her voice dropped to a whisper. “Do you work for the government? Are you a spy? A Russian?” She gasped, her eyes the size of saucers. “Are you… a socialist?”

Parker slammed the chair against the ground and stood up. “Don’t give me the innocent act, so-called Lisa. I know how your kind operates.”

“My kind?” Lisa wrinkled her nose. “What does that even–”

“You thought you could just waltz in and seduce me! Well, I’m on to your little game. Now tell me why you’re here!”

Lisa burst into tears, her breath coming in hiccuping sobs. “I thought… we were going to… watch a movie…”

“It’s no good pretending, Lisa,” Miranda said coldly. “We know you’re a cambion.”

“No… I’m not!” she protested. “I’m American!”

The silence that followed was broken only by the occasional sniffle from the handcuffed woman. Parker looked at Anthony, who shrugged, then at Miranda, who shook her head. His gaze fell at last on Kitty, who looked tired and confused.

“See anything you want to mention, or should we let you finish choking her?” he asked.

Kitty’s cheeks flushed pink. “She’s… she thinks she’s telling the truth.”

“What?” three voices asked in unison.

“Kitty,” Parker said testily. “Are you saying that you almost killed my girlfriend, who is now cuffed to a chair being interrogated like a criminal, and that she is in fact completely innocent?”

“Well, she’s still a cambion,” Kitty murmured.

“Gods Above,” Miranda groaned, while Anthony covered his eyes with a hand.

Lisa looked up at Parker hopefully. “Does this mean you’re not going to hurt me?”

Parker knelt down next to her and unlocked the cuffs on her ankles. “I’m so sorry, Lisa.”

“Someone has to explain to her about what she is,” Anthony said.

“And why that means she has to keep her mouth shut about us, too,” Miranda added.

Parker released her hands, and Lisa rubbed her wrists reflexively. “So I’m your girlfriend?” Lisa asked. Parker shrugged and grinned sheepishly.

Lisa slapped him, hard. “The absolute nerve!” she shrieked. “You tie me to a chair and you think for a second that I’m–UGH! I can’t believe you!” She stormed out of the room, Parker trailing behind her with a mouthful of apologies.

Booker flipped on the overhead light and turned off the lamp. Anthony sat Kitty down on the chaise and took the wooden chairs back to the dining room, politely ignoring the fight in the foyer and retreating again to the sitting room.

“I have to admit,” Miranda said. “I do feel a little sorry for Parker right now.”

Booker and Anthony exchanged a glance and shrug. “Typical Parker.”

* * * * *

Part 19: Dead Again

Broommates: All That Glitters

Friday, August 13th, 2010

Part 17 of the serial Broommates. Start from the beginning or read the previous episode or click the “Broommates” link at the top of the page to see the full list.

* * * * *

The relative calm that had settled over the big old house shared by six amiable, rational adults was utterly destroyed by a blood-curdling scream from the ladies’ bathroom.

Anthony was upstairs and breaking down the door with a speed and strength aided by adrenaline and already taxed nerves. Unfortunately, he did not expect to find Miranda standing on the other side of the door in naught but a flimsy towel. Sure enough, he did not find that, because the broken door had knocked her clear into the tub.

“Jesus wept, Miranda, what was that scream about?” he asked, torn between wanting to help her up and trying not to accidentally see anything he shouldn’t.

Miranda groaned. “I’m going to have bruises on my bruises. Did you have to go and firefighter your way in here?”

“I thought you were in trouble!”

“I was,” she said, “hit full in the face by very cold water and some kind of spell. Do I look all right?”

He glanced at her, then averted his eyes. “Yes, you look fine.” Frowning, he did a double-take. “Wait, since when are you a ginger?”

She scrambled to her feet with a scowl. “Parker! Get your narcissistic backside here this instant or I’ll–”

Parker poked his head through the doorway. His once-black hair was now platinum blond. “Sorry, no time to chat, I’m meeting Lisa at the restaurant at seven.” He withdrew, then returned. “Thanks for letting me use your bathroom by the way. And nice hair.”

Miranda and Anthony traded a look. “Who’s Lisa?” they asked simultaneously.

“My girlfriend!”

* * * * *

Miranda, now fully clothed but still regrettably red-headed, stalked into the library, where an informal base of anti-Grant operations had been set up. Booker sat at the big wooden desk, tapping away at his computer keyboard. Anthony stood behind him, staring at the screen. They both looked up. Anthony’s face reddened.

“What have you got?” Miranda asked.

“An idea,” Anthony said. “Remember how you said it was crazy that Grant’s karma hasn’t caught up to him in all this time?” She nodded. “Well,” he continued, “Booker’s been doing a search for places where a lot of bad things or good things happen.”

Miranda stood next to Anthony and leaned over, peering at the list of news stories Booker was perusing. Anthony coughed and stepped away. “You think he’s shunting his karma off to other people?” she asked.

“Or trying to balance it by helping them, or both.”

“Have you thought about narrowing the search to the area where Lydia…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

“Good idea,” Booker said, typing quickly. He hit enter and three faces moved closer to the screen.

“Hello, unexplained accidents and disappearances,” Miranda said.

“Hello, three lottery winners in a year,” Anthony said.

“Hello, what are you three doing huddled around the computer like that?” Parker said. Miranda and Anthony straightened up abruptly, knocking their heads together.

Standing next to Parker was what could charitably be described as the most gorgeous woman any of them had ever seen in person. Her rich chestnut hair fell in loose curls down her back, her full pink lips turned up at the ends in a Mona Lisa smile and her wide hazel eyes peered intently into the room. Somewhere, a sculptor was dreaming of her body only to wake up in despair because he could never hope to replicate it. They were each of them stunned by how, well, stunning she was.

“This is Lisa, everyone,” Parker said.

“Hallo, everyone,” she murmured. “Pleased to meet you.” Her voice was like candle wax on bare skin.

Miranda found her own voice, which was more like a public radio announcer’s. “I thought you were going out to dinner?”

“We thought we’d get take out and watch a movie here instead,” Parker replied.

Lisa smiled broadly and laid a perfectly manicured hand on Parker’s arm. “James has such an interesting collection of foreign films.”

“I’m sure James does,” Miranda said with a smirk.

Parker coughed. “Right then, see you all later.” He looped his arm around Lisa’s waist and guided her toward the stairs. Anthony and Booker craned their necks to watch her walk away.

“Am I the only one who finds that a little suspicious?” Miranda asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Anthony chuckled. “What, you think she’s some kind of secret agent sent here to seduce one of us and infiltrate the house?” He and Booker laughed until they saw that Miranda wasn’t joining them. He shook his head. “He’s been taking it easy since you moved in, but this is typical Parker. Don’t let it worry you.”

“I don’t know… there’s something about her that sets my teeth on edge.”

“Is that a little green-eyed monster I see rearing its ugly head?”

“Yes, very funny. Can we get back to figuring out when and how we’re going to find Grant and make sure his karma catches up to him?”

The front door opened and closed, footsteps skipping lightly down the hall. Kitty peeked around the corner, sniffing the air.

“Mmm,” she said. “I know that smell. It’s like–”

“Lavender,” Anthony said.

“Pumpkin pie,” Booker said.

“A cambion!” Kitty exclaimed.

Miranda frowned. “Are you sure?”

Kitty tapped the tip of her nose and winked.

Anthony and Booker shared a look of horror. “Do you mean to say,” Anthony asked, “that Parker is up in his room right now cavorting with a half-succubus?”

Kitty’s cheer turned to alarm in an instant, her eyes flashing from brown to silver. Without a word, she vanished. For the second time that day, someone screamed upstairs.

“Did she just…?” Anthony asked.

“Impossible.” Miranda shook her head. “Teleportation isn’t–”

“Kitty, stop!” they heard Parker shout.

“Gods Above.” As one, they made for the stairs, hoping they would be in time to keep someone from getting hurt.

* * * * *

Part 18: Not Gold

Broommates: Dead Man Talking

Friday, July 30th, 2010

Part 16 of the serial Broommates. Start from the beginning or read the previous episode or click the “Broommates” link at the top of the page to see the full list.

* * * * *

Everyone but Booker sat around the magic circle in the basement, holding hands and waiting for the seance to begin. The room was lit by the soft glow of a dozen candles ensconced in the stone walls, along with a single candle in front of each person. Kitty had drawn a pentagram within the circle and sat at the top point of the star, with Miranda to her right and Beatrice to her left. Inside the pentagram were representations of the four elements: a bay leaf, a dove’s feather, a small candle and a shot of whiskey.

“Ready?” Kitty asked. With her multicolored hair and bright smile, she looked like she should have been teaching art to children instead of summoning the spirits of the dead.

Anthony nodded, his warm hand gripping Miranda’s a bit too tightly for comfort. “Might not work, though, like I said. The wards on the house–”

“Are supposed to keep everything out, including ghosts,” Miranda finished, rolling her eyes. “If we have to relocate this to the yard then we will, but let’s try here first, shall we?”

“Not afraid of a little spook, are you?” Parker asked. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe.”

Anthony glared at him. “If a demon comes through, I’ll be sure to tell it how delicious you are.”

Parker opened his mouth to answer but a hush fell over the room as if the sound had been sucked out. All eyes turned to Kitty, whose head was bowed as she gazed into the center of the pentagram.

“Hear me, shadows from beyond,” she intoned. “With these gifts we seek a bond. Send to us the one we name: Lydia Papas do we claim!”

The candles in the walls snuffed out in unison, leaving only the five candles at each point of the pentagram and the one inside to illuminate the faces around the circle. The walls of the room seemed to recede, but there was not so much a sense of expansion as one of absence. Even the earthy smells of the basement and the acrid smoke had evaporated.

“Is she here?” Parker whispered. His voice was oddly flat and lacking resonance.

As if in answer, the shot glass levitated about five feet from the ground and the liquid inside vanished. Kitty closed her wide brown eyes. When she opened them again, they were blue.

“Miranda?” Lydia’s voice asked with Kitty’s mouth.

“It’s me,” Miranda said. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat.

“Randy, damn it, I’m so sorry,” Lydia said. “I tried to stop him but I didn’t catch on until it was too late.”

“So it was Grant? What was he doing?”

Kitty shook her head slowly. “You wouldn’t believe it. He recruited a bunch of girls for a damn bacchanal. I don’t know where he got his hands on the texts because I thought they’d been buried for centuries at least.”

“What would he want with a bacchanal?” Miranda asked.

“He changed it somehow. Instead of pouring libations to the god, he took them for himself. Just before–” Kitty inhaled sharply. “Before I was killed, it looked like he was getting younger. Fast.”

“Gods Above,” Miranda murmured. “Let the girls crank themselves up and then sit back and suck up the energy like some kind of psychic crack addict.”

“Too right.”

“Did you find out anything about where Grant is living now?” Anthony asked eagerly.

Kitty grinned. “Who’s that, then? Your man Anthony Singleton? He sounds pretty dr–” Suddenly, Kitty threw her head back and her mouth fell open in a silent scream. The bay leaf and the feather disintegrated and the tiny candle flame shot up into a pillar of fire. Anthony’s grip on Miranda’s hand tightened so that she almost cried out. When Kitty lowered her head again, her hair floated as if in water and her eyes glowed scarlet.

“Sssingleton,” a deep voice rasped. It sounded as if it were around them despite coming from Kitty’s mouth as Lydia’s had. “I have been waiting for you, Sssingleton.”

“Well, don’t stop now,” Anthony retorted. “You’ve gotten so good at it.”

“I sssee you have brought friendsss thisss time, Sssingleton,” the voice hissed. “But they will not sssave you.”

“Oh, won’t they,” Miranda said. “Raise your arms, everyone.” They obeyed, though she had to tug on Anthony’s because he was busy staring at Kitty, and Kitty’s because she was busy being possessed.

“Spirit, unsummoned and unclean,” she intoned. “Depart as uninvited as you came. By our will and joining was this circle cast, and by our will you are purged.” She lowered her arms and the others followed suit, but they struggled as if pulling against a heavy counterweight. Miranda and Beatrice tugged on Kitty’s arms, which were like iron bands.

Kitty laughed, a sound like wet brakes grinding. “Next time, Sssingleton. Next time…” The flame in the pentagram went out and Kitty’s arms fell.

“Now, break the circle!” Miranda ordered. She dropped Kitty’s hand, and so did Beatrice. The walls of the basement reappeared with an almost audible rush of air, the candles in their sconces still burning as they had when first lit. Kitty crumpled forward, eyes closed.

Parker punched Anthony in the shoulder. “What the nine hells was that about?”

“An old problem,” Anthony muttered. “I’ll take care of it.”

“I’m so sure.” He pitched his voice deeper. “I’ll get you next time, Gadget… next time!”

“Ha bloody ha.”

“I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” Miranda murmured.

“Gods, Mir.” Anthony furrowed his brow. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s done.” She coughed politely. “Can I have my hand back?”

Anthony dropped it and watched in dismay as she massaged the palm. “Sorry,” he repeated, scrambling to his feet.

Kitty groaned and opened her eyes, back to their usual brown. She blinked sleepily and smiled at the tense group around her.

“What’d I miss?”

* * * * *

Part 17: All That Glitters

Broommates: Widening Gyre

Friday, July 23rd, 2010

Part 15 of the serial Broommates. Start from the beginning or read the previous episode or click the “Broommates” link at the top of the page to see the full list.

* * * * *

Ὦ ξεῖν’, ἀγγέλλειν Λακεδαιμονίοις ὅτι τῇδε
κείμεθα, τοῖς κείνων ῥήμασι πειθόμενοι.
–Simonides

Lydia did her best to keep her face hidden in the hood of the purple robes she wore. The other girls around her were dressed the same, but she was easily the eldest in the group of a dozen or so college students. Sorority girls from the local university, old enough to approach the idea of magic with cynicism but young enough to hope it might work. The air was thick with the smell of swampy earth, pine needles and the heavy smoke billowing off the bonfire in front of them. Lydia resisted the temptation to wipe sweat off her forehead.

The leader, Cynthia, stepped forward when the moon had reached its zenith; Lydia felt more than saw it because it was the new moon, black as a corroded coin. For her part, Cynthia was every inch the authority figure for this crowd: her long blond hair hung in loose ringlets to the middle of her back, and where everyone else wore robes, she wore a shimmering white dress that showed off her perfectly tanned arms.

“My sisters,” Cynthia said. “Tonight we have come to seek the blessing of the goddess. May her bright power give us strength and wisdom!”

Bright power my soggy bottom, thought Lydia. It was the wrong night entirely for this kind of spell, and that made her uneasy.

The girls spread out to encircle the fire and the ceremony began. There was chanting, and arm-raising, and waving around of ritual wands, but Lydia began to think that maybe her source had been mistaken. There was no real magic here, and certainly not–

But wait. Now Cynthia was passing around a cup with two handles, polished to look like white gold. Every girl was sipping the liquid inside, which Lydia couldn’t see until it reached the girl next to her. Red wine? Now it was her turn. As soon as she grasped the cup, she knew that it wasn’t made of gold, and the liquid inside was more than wine.

Bone and blood, she thought, pretending to sip it. Mulled with herbs; myrrh and something else. Honey? Already she could feel the energy rising as the mixture took effect on the others. Where they had stood placidly, now they fidgeted and weaved as if they’d gone from zero to drunk in the past five minutes. No one spoke, but teeth were bared, flashing white in the darkness. Hoods were pulled down so the girls could shake out their hair. Lydia went from uneasy to nervous, and then to downright concerned when she saw Cynthia disappear into the surrounding trees with the remaining contents of the cup, returning with an eerie smile a minute later.

Then the drumming began.

Euoi!” screamed Cynthia, her cry answered by a chorus of voices. The girls stomped their feet to the insidious rhythm, waving their arms and throwing their heads back. In unison, they began to dance counterclockwise around the fire–widdershins, thought Lydia, tuathal, not good at all. She did her best to imitate the wild gyrations of the others, because she knew what would happen if they thought she hadn’t abandoned all inhibitions to the frenzied ecstasy. She also knew that Cynthia was busy dancing, so who was playing the drum? If only she could somehow get out of the line and make a dash for the trees…

Now the girls were tearing at their robes, ripping them apart so their bodies could flail and contort more freely. Lydia reluctantly followed suit, although the last thing she wanted was to end up naked in the woods surrounded by a bunch of maenads. It didn’t help that she was, as her mother had said, of the sisterhood of Sappho, and she knew this could devolve into quite the frat boy’s dream given the right push. She had a feeling that their mystery drummer had no intention of pushing it in that direction. And that was when she remembered something incredibly important, and her skin went cold.

Oi moi,” said a voice behind her. She turned to see a kindly looking old man grinning at her. The flames of the fire contrived to flicker his expression between sheepish and wolfish.

“My dear,” he continued. “I’m afraid we have a slight problem with your performance. You’re doing a bang-up job with the dancing but you overlooked one minor detail.”

“I’m not a virgin,” Lydia murmured. Mentally, she calculated the distance to her car.

“Just so.” His smile widened. The drumbeat quickened. “I’m pleased as punch that you didn’t share the cup, by the by. Would have spoiled everything. All this preparation and nothing to show for it but a bunch of tuckered out teenagers. But now…”

Lydia backed away, watching his face. Had his skin smoothed a bit on his forehead? Were the lines around his mouth less deep?

“Now,” he said. “I get two for the price of one. A ritual frenzy, and a blood sacrifice.”

Euoi!” the girls behind her screamed, and then they fell on her like a swarm of locusts.

* * * * *

Miranda hung up the phone, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Lydia’s dead,” she told Anthony. He squeezed her shoulder awkwardly.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“She saved my life in Nigeria, once,” Miranda murmured.

“The werehyenas. I remember.” Anthony stared at the wall, his expression hardening. “So phase two is a bust. We’ll have to find out what Grant’s up to some other way.”

“What?” Miranda said. “Oh, no, we can still ask her. I’m just sorry she died in the process.” She wiped her face with her sleeve. “I’ll go have Kitty get the basement ready for a seance.”

* * * * *

Part 16: Dead Man Talking

Broommates: The Best Defense

Friday, July 9th, 2010

Part 14 of the serial Broommates. Start from the beginning or read the previous episode or click the “Broommates” link at the top of the page to see the full list.

* * * * *

Anthony was helping Booker shovel the remains of the botched group dinner into separate plastic containers when Miranda stepped into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. She watched them in silence, trying not to fidget, but finally gave up and began to wash the dishes they stacked on the counter.

“Thanks,” Anthony said.

“Don’t mention it,” Miranda replied.

“Fine, I won’t.”

Miranda stopped to give him a dirty look but saw his smirk and rolled her eyes instead.

“How’s Kitty?” Booker asked, timidly laying another plate on the stack.

Miranda shrugged. “Fine. She’ll sleep until noon. Beatrice and Parker are up there with her.”

“Speaking of strange and foreboding prophecies,” Anthony said, “does Kitty do that often?”

“We weren’t talking about–” Miranda started to protest, then remembered what Kitty had said about not trusting each other. “No. She’s only done it twice before since I’ve known her.” Third time’s the charm, she thought. There’s an omen in that. Her reflection in the dark window over the sink stared back at her with furrowed brow.

“I don’t suppose she’s told you anything else that might help us understand what she said?”

She shook her head. “I’m in the dark, too.”

Anthony grinned and grabbed a newly cleaned dish out of the drainer, drying it off with a towel. “You know the old saying: better to light a flamethrower than curse the darkness.”

“What are you proposing?” Miranda asked, mentally holding her breath for fear that Anthony would drop the dish.

“How about a bit of detective work, Nancy Drew?” He grabbed another dish. “We know who’s behind the cockatrice, sure. But how did he get it in here?”

“Good point. Oh, give it here,” she said, reaching for the bowl he was fumbling. It slipped through her fingers and shattered into jagged white pieces on the wood floor.

“Did I say Nancy Drew?” Anthony snickered. “I meant Inspector Butterfingers.”

“I’ll get the broom,” Booker murmured.

Miranda stared down at the broken bowl, soap dripping from her fingers into the sink. A thought was trying to get her attention but it was like a friend at a baseball game waving on the other side of the stadium. White shards, cracked and broken. Some slightly curved, like… like…

“Eggshell,” she said. “Booker, you said the cockatrice was a baby?”

Booker nodded as he swept the broken ceramic bits into a dustpan. “They grow pretty fast in the right conditions, but it was a juvenile, yeah.”

“So where is its egg?”

Anthony ruffled Miranda’s hair and she glared at him. “We’ll make a proper sleuth of you, yet. I’ll get Parker, he’s a whiz at dowsing.”

* * * * *

Parker stood in Miranda’s room, simultaneously trying to look for the cockatrice in her closet and not actually look at it. He was half succeeding.

“It’s perfectly safe, I told you,” Miranda said. “Do you want me to get it?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Parker muttered. “Be my guest.”

Miranda stepped over to where the lizard-bird had assembled its nest of old socks and stolen clothes. “Gods, you little– I loved that shirt!” It turned a baleful eye to her and hissed. She hissed back, examining the area around the nest until she found what she was seeking.

“Here you go,” she said, handing it to Parker. “One cockatrice feather, fresh from the source.”

Armed with the feather, a regular chicken egg and a dowsing rod, Parker sat in the magic circle down in the basement and attuned himself to the energies of the house.

“How’s he going to find it standing in there?” Miranda whispered to Anthony.

“He’s spirit dowsing, it’s faster.”

“Oh, astral projection, hmm?” Miranda was impressed but did her best to hide it. Parker’s eyes rolled back into his head and his breaths grew shallow and far between.

Within minutes, he was back in his body. “The damn thing ate most of the shell when it hatched,” he said. “But there are a few bits left. Behind the hot water heater upstairs.”

Anthony and Miranda raced each other up, with Anthony’s long legs winning. He threw open the doors to the closet and sure enough, there were the eggshell pieces. They were more leathery than brittle but otherwise looked like a chicken’s.

“Now we can get to the real fun,” he said.

Miranda grinned and thumped his shoulder. “Come on, then. Don’t want to keep our mystery guest waiting.”

* * * * *

Tiny Wort was having a devil of a morning and no mistake. He’d been digging around for grubs happy as you please down by the lake when a great damn swan had chased him off, honking and hissing and flapping its wings like one of Below’s own Furies. Most other animals he would have given a kickin’ and had done, but swans is swans and here it was coming up on midday and he was still starving. He’d about resigned himself to digging around in the bigjobs’ garbage when he saw it.

Hot and fresh and inexplicably left on a plate in the middle of the grass: a loaf of bread that smelled of rosemary and butter and ye gods but it was going in his mouth toot sweet. Part of his brain wondered whether he shouldn’t be checking the teeth on this particular gift horse but the rest of him was zipping straight as an arrow toward yeasty ecstasy. He’d already grabbed two fistfuls before he felt the sizzle of a magic circle closing behind him, trapping him inside.

“Ain’t doin’ nothin’!” he squeaked, flitting about looking for an escape route. The heavy thud of human feet approached and he hid behind the bread, breathing in quick gasps.

“Come out, you,” a voice boomed. “We just want to talk.”

“Leave me ‘lone, ye bylen,” Tiny Wort squeaked. “Kans mil molleth warnas!”

“What did he say?” another voice asked, a woman’s.

“Not a clue. Listen, fairy, we want to ask you some questions.”

Bramm an gath, it was the magickers from yon big house. How had they found him? “I’m not a fairy, I’m a piskey. I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ less you promise to let me go after.”

Two human faces popped up behind him and he shrieked and flew straight up into the invisible roof of the magic circle, banging his head painfully.

“We’ll let you go for five questions answered truthfully,” the man said. “Deal?”

“One question,” Tiny Wort said. He may have been trapped but bargains was bargains.

“Three questions and you can keep the bread.”

His stomach answered for him. “Fine, ask yer questions.”

There was a brief conference between the humans. “How did you get that cockatrice egg into our house?”

Tiny Wort grinned. Right smart idea it had been. “Got m’self swallowed by yer pussycat, I did, egg an’ all.” He almost kept talking but remembered his mam’s counsel to only answer the question directly when dealing with oaths.

More whispers, then, “Why did you agree to do that?”

Oh, that was a bad one. He squirmed. “Promised to get me through to m’folks Below, he did. And he gave me a spool of ribbon.” He grinned again. “And it was fun sneakin’ around in the big house.”

The big man was about to say something when the woman, squinting at him, asked, “What’s your name, anyway?”

A-barth an pla, tebelvenyn!” Tiny Wort shrieked. “Jowles! Molleth Dyw dhe vab dha vamm!” Oh, she was a crafty one, but he might have been able to outcan her if not for his oath. He wore himself out swearing until he finally muttered, “Name’s Tiny Wort.” As soon as he answered, he felt the magic circle drop and he raced off, forgetting the bread entirely.

“A piskey, hmm?” Miranda mused. “Doing Grant’s dirty work for ribbon. I’ll never figure out those little blue bastards.”

“And you got his name,” Anthony said. “Clever.”

“Yes, we might need him later.” She shaded her eyes with a hand. “Think he’ll come back for the bread?”

“I’d bet money on it. Come on, let’s get back to the house.”

Miranda grinned. “Phase two?”

“Phase two.”

* * * * *

Part 15: Widening Gyre