"The woman assassinating the Deputy Auditor General sure looks like you." Hilly squinted at her cell phone screen then at me. "When did you get blonde hair?"
"I've always had blonde hair," I muttered as I took the phone from her.
The woman's face in the video was most definitely mine. The problem was, I didn't assassinate the Deputy Auditor General of Myanmar.
"Why didn't they assign that to me?" Hilly whined. "I mean, you're retired!"
"I didn't do it, Hilly," I explained with a sigh for the fifth time in as many minutes.
Well, this was a bit of a nightmare. Hilly had dropped by out of the blue, as she always did. She said she was between gigs at the moment and decided to stop by Who's There, Iowa, the moment she saw the video. Hilly was a CIA assassin, who wasn't an assassin because assassination is illegal and the CIA doesn't do anything illegal—but totally was (because they totally do). She'd spotted the video on social media. It had gone viral—I suspect because Hilly shared it multiple times to her followers.
"How did you get two million followers on Instagram?" I gasped. "The CIA allows you to do that?"
"Of course!" Hilly rolled her eyes. "I have it set up to look like I'm a conspiracy theorist opposed to the agency. They think it's funny."
"Until you post something like this…" I mused. "When did this alleged hit happen, anyway?"
"December fourth," Hilly replied quickly.
I let out a sigh of relief, which was silly since I knew I hadn't done it. "I was here that day." I pointed across the street at my old house. "Running a Girl Scout meeting. With at least nine witnesses."
"We could say we didn't see you," Betty said at my elbow, making me jump.
How did she get into my house? I'd had the locks changed after the last time she barged in. I looked around to see if any of the other girls were with her.
"But you did," I pointed out. "We were outside learning how to make a fire in the snow."
How could she have forgotten that? I never would. Where most people would have trouble starting a fire in the snow, my troop took to it like hardcore pyromaniacs working with highly flammable snow. They nearly burned down the tree in my backyard, and the firefighters showed up. It wasn't very helpful of the fire marshal to suggest that the girls needed "help." He didn't know it, but he got added to Betty's list that day. I hoped she wouldn't use her massive influence with the mayor to get him fired. So far, she hadn't, but Betty was the queen of the long game, so who knew?
Betty looked at me thoughtfully. "Being a witness isn't cheap, you know."
My jaw dropped open. "You're extorting money from me to be my witness?"
I wasn't going to say anything, but it was kind of smart. Had I taught them that?
Betty sat down on the couch. "Is this about that Myanmar hit?"
I glared at Hilly, who didn't seem to catch my drift because she smiled and waved back. "How did you know about that?"
The kid threw her hands up. "How could I not know?"
"I hate this new deepfake thing," I sighed. "Obviously, I can prove I didn't do it…"
"How are you going to do that without our monetized testimony?" Betty started cleaning her fingernails with a switchblade.
"Because it's on my doorbell cam across the street and here," I said smugly.
The girl shrugged. "Those can be faked. I fake mine all the time so my parents will think I'm home when actually I…" She paused and thought for a moment. "Forget I said that, and we'll back you up on the assassination that you didn't do."
I held out my hand. "Deal."
Oh sure, I shouldn't negotiate with terrorists, and Betty clearly was one, but I decided to take my win where I could get it.
"That takes care of that." I brushed my hands together. The look on Hilly's face stopped me. "What?"
"Why doesn't anyone do any deepfakes like that for me?" she complained with an air of disappointment.
Betty jumped off the couch and consulted her phone. "I'll do it. What do you want? Corporate scandal? Political hit job—either real—" she made a gun with her fingers "—or journalistic? Oh, and this month I'm running a special on fighting bears. I found a bunch of videos online of people wrestling them."
"Oooh!" Hilly jumped up and down. "The bear one! Can I win?"
"Sure." Betty shrugged. "It's super easy. I'd say anyone can do it, but obviously it isn't since I'm so good at this."
"Betty," I said evenly. "You weren't the one who made this deepfake of me, were you?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Who's asking?"
I waved my arms around. "I'm asking. I'm literally right here, in front of you, asking."
It was as if I could see the gears grinding behind her eyes. "It was a mistake. I just did it as a joke to show the girls. I didn't know anyone was going to upload it."
"Something like this could get me in trouble!" I explained in my leader's voice.
"With the Myanmar government?" the kid asked.
"No, not with them. They're the last people I'd fear. No, with the US government."
"But your dad's, like, a big deal," Betty said.
"Not that big a deal that he could rescue me from an international incident."
"Fine! I'll take it off and print a statement saying it was faked." The girl stomped over to the door. "You happy?"
"No." I folded my arms over my chest. "I'd have been happy if you hadn't done it in the first place."
Betty shook her head. "After all I do for you!" She slammed the door behind her.
"How did she get in here?" I looked around.
Hilly shrugged. "Do you think I should win in the fake video or let the bear win? I don't know which is more politically correct."
Just when I thought things were dying down from the whole Museum of Murder fiasco… Now I was being pegged for an assassination I didn't commit. My name is Merry Wrath, and I'm a former CIA agent who was "accidentally" outed by the vice president, who was on a mission to get even with my dad. Retiring before thirty isn't for everyone, and I'd wanted to at least stay in the spy biz until fifty. Instead, I came home to my small town in Iowa and started the Girl Scout troop that spawned Betty the Hellion.
Hilly and I were just about to head to the kitchen when the front door opened and Ron and Ivan, my idiot Chechen brothers-in-law, burst in.
"Has anyone ever heard of knocking?" I complained.
"I have heard of knocking," Ron said slowly, as if this was a trap. "But back home it would be confusing."
"No one has heard of knocking there," Ivan added. "You are supposed to howl outside door, like wolf, and then they let you in."
"What if it's really a wolf?" I wondered.
"That is problem," Ron nodded. "One of three times is wolf and homeowner is eaten. Very sad. Is even worse if wolf eats goats."
"Also, since most houses are made of sticks held together with mud," Ivan said brightly, "knocking on door can make house collapse."
"Why are you guys here?" I pressed them.
"Oh!" Ron got excited. "Babies are now performing miracles!"
Ivan spoke up. "Blasto Blasto is sending Holy Mud Man to confirm. We need the Great Pook Snork to be there!"
I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes. Wally and Azlan, Ron's and Ivan's newborn sons (who both shared the first name of Blasto), were apparently prophets at the ripe old age of six weeks and had, in their creepy, unblinking way, designated me to be the Great Pook Snork, Defender of Injustice Against Goats.
I'd kind of forgotten about it because I wanted to forget about it. I was already a Bird Goddess with the four angsty teens in the Cult of NicoDerm. I didn't need another imaginary thing on my resume.
"Is big deal," Ivan gushed as his huge muscles swelled with pride. "Holy Mud Man coming here at this time of year!"
"Takes him away from duties!" Ron said solemnly.
Hilly literally could not help herself. "What does a Holy Mud Man do?"
Ron and Ivan rolled their eyes as if it was a stupid question. I was glad the assassin asked it, because I wanted to know myself but didn't want my in-laws to think I was stupid. I'd been undercover with them and their strongman, Wally, years ago. Was this something I should've picked up on, or was it new?
"Holy Mud Man is most religious person!" Ron bowed for some reason. "He must bless the mud every year, and this time is busy."
I decided to throw my reputation to the wind. "Why does he need to bless the mud?"
The Chechens stared at me before Ivan said, "If mud not blessed, anything used for will not work."
"Houses of sticks will not stick together." Ron nodded. "Grass will not grow for goats, and they will eat stick houses. They might start with toilet room!" The big man shuddered.
The gist seemed to stem from a problem with building materials and the goat threat to such things. How did this affect the Great Pook Snork, I wondered?
"What kind of miracles are the babies doing?" Hilly asked.
"Giant miracles!" Ron waved his arms around as if that proved it. "Enormous!"
"Wally found missing mitten," Ivan said proudly. "And Azlan made ball float through the air!"
Hilly's eyebrows went up. "A mitten? That's impressive!"
Most people would think she was saying that ironically. Let me be the first to tell you, she wasn't.
"He levitated a ball in the air?" My question was full of skepticism that was probably lost on these three.
"Yes!" Ron started bouncing up and down. "He threw ball, and it went through the air!"
"Like it would with anyone throwing a ball?" I asked for clarity and to kind of be a jerk about it.
"Was amazing!" Ivan looked starstruck. "And he sang Chechen national anthem!"
"He can't even talk yet!" I argued.
Ron and Ivan lost their enthusiasm and glared at me.
"Some the Great Pook Snork you are!" Ron said as he stormed out.
Ivan went to the door to follow him but turned back. "But you will be here for confirmation of miracles, yes?"
"Yes," I said. "Of course I will."
Who'd want to miss the Holy Mud Man blessing two infants as they located a lost mitten?