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We took Father Killarney and Sister Magdalena to their favorite watering hole, a rollicking Irish pub not too far down the street called The Shamrock. The bartender, a friendly gal named Colleen, knew our order and practically had it out for us before we even found an empty table. The pub's wolfhound decided to rest his shaggy head on Father Killarney's knee as we all listened to the band and pretended for just one night that the world wasn't on the verge of imminent implosion. Stumbling home, we got Killian settled in a sparse, but comfortable bedroom in the old convent at the church, which was now mainly used for spiritual retreats, and called it a day.
While Mindy would never say it out loud, I could see her relaxing a bit when she learned that she was down one less houseguest. I made a mental note to see if there might be more permanent accommodations at Chez Killarney the next time we were in town. What's the old saying, "Houseguests and swamp fairies start stinking after three days?"
The next morning, I picked Killian up in front of the church. He seemed refreshed and relaxed, which I was totally not expecting after the amount of juice he drank the night before.
"Sleep well?" I asked.
He gave me a contented smile and gave a little wave at the stone statues on the roofline. "There is something about knowing there is a security detail of gargoyles watching over you that eases the mind. I think this was the first time I have slept well since I ran from the queen."
I made another mental note to seriously see about getting set up with a permanent room at the convent, because hellz yeah, while shadow elves were badasses, gargoyles were fucking badder.
"Thanks, fellas!" I shouted toward the eaves. Awhile ago, we had helped seal up a hellmouth in Father Killarney's basement and his church turned into a wellness retreat for gargoyles wanting to chow down on their antioxid-evils.
"Well, I'm glad you're back in tip-top shape, because I'm afraid this day is gonna suck."
"When does it not, Maggie?" replied Killian, bemused.
I pulled out the brief, which I had shoved in between my seat and the console. I handed it over to Killian who scanned it over quickly. "Harvey Wasserford... Seems pretty par for the course..." he commented.
I took one hand off the wheel to point again at the folder. "Did you see the part about Harvey Wasserford being a troll?"
Killian shrugged as he closed the cover. "Did I mention that I used to hunt dragons?"
"Not in the last hour," I remarked.
He picked up the folder and swatted my arm. "This will be a piece of sweet bakery goods. We shall drop off the mark, get out of the dodge—"
"Just 'dodge.' Not 'the dodge.'"
"But it is 'the five freeway' not '5 Freeway'."
"Only in Southern California."
He shook his head in amazement at this new knowledge. "I must inform my old professor of all the updates we need to be making to the American Dialects language courses." He glanced at me. "So, where is the mark this sunny fall morning?"
The troll's image was burned into my brain. These briefs usually had something physical that my skip had touched – a napkin, a shred of cloth, a missing finger, etc. Fortunately, this time Trovac gave me a couple plugs of the troll's hair.
Like putting an object in the nose of a search-and-rescue hound, my tracker senses fixated on it and began sorting through all the noise of the people around us until I pinged onto the faint sense of our guy. We headed south on La Brea, popped onto the 10 freeway, and drove east toward downtown.
"Well, I suppose the one positive is that we will not have to go far to drop him off after we pick him up," commented Killian.
"I enjoy it when we have local deliveries."
I found an open-air parking lot and paid the $20 for the hour. I waited as the sliding doors to the minivan beeped and slowly slid open. Inside was our MWAT (Monster Weapons and Tactics) gear and I tossed Killian a talon-proof vest.
He fastened up his tactical belt, getting his collapsible staff within easy reach, and floofed his tunic elegantly over it all to hide it. I slid some silver knuckles into my jacket pocket, double-checked the locks on my neckguard, and we headed out.
My tracker sense led us to a tall building. We stood staring at the vintage neon that stretched from one end of the block to the other. In dazzling red, it read: Milton's Cafetorium.
Back during the Great Depression, Milton's had fed the people of Los Angeles on a pay-what-you-can basis, and never turned a hungry person away. It had been the owner’s dream to turn this building into an oasis of nature in the midst of downtown's concrete jungle. He created a theme restaurant that put Disneyland to shame. In the first part of the building, it was a redwood forest, with faux Sequoias stretching up three stories. You had to wander your way past stuffed deer and a waterfall to the sterile, industrial cafeteria line, which featured items like pot roast, turkey dinners, and berry cobblers, then stroll through the woods again to find yourself a table.
And this was just the first room.
The building seemed to go on forever. Each floor was themed with different dioramas and magnificent murals.
Killian gazed in awe, soaking in the glory of all the retro kitsch. "Here?" he confirmed, like he couldn't believe how he got to be so lucky.
"He's here somewhere..." I confirmed.
Killian was having such a great time, I decided there was no rush as we wound our way through the wonderland. Our troll wasn't going anywhere without me knowing it, and it was nice to see Killian enjoying himself again.
We emerged into a second room. There with a huge wooden stage tucked against a trompe l'oeil evergreen forest. There were posters touting a swing band and burlesque performers that Friday. Above the dance floor was a glass-lined mezzanine with candlelit cocktail tables and hidden alcoves.
I led Killian up. There was a side room with red, flocked wallpaper and empty tables covered in white linen. A sign said they were taking reservations for afternoon tea. There was a big treasure chest for the rug rats who might be tagging along and a sign that said the well behaved could reach inside to pick a prize.
But my senses were leading me still upward.
As we reached the fourth floor, I finally felt like we had arrived. Our guy was close.
The theme on this floor was midcentury tiki in all its glory. The walls were covered in grass paper and featured bamboo wainscoting. The sound of exotica music played softly in the silent bar. Mood-setting lights flashed like a tropical storm and a wind that carried a scent of rain swept through, rattling the potted palms. You could even hear the tinkling sound of distant laughter bouncing through the PA system. Signage peddled beverages with so many umbrellas in it, I have no idea how anyone got a sip without taking out an eye.
But speaking of taking out an eye, our mark, Harvey Wasserford, was nursing a drink in a corner, trying to fade into the potted plants, which is ridiculous given the size of the guy. Harvey was a troll, rather than our friend Frank, the ogre, but their families definitely once swam in the same gene pool. I gave him credit, however, for wearing a patch to cover up the fact he only had one good eye. At least he tried to pretend like he was just another regular. Even borrowed a bar snacks bowl to capture the drool leaking out of the side of his mouth. I don't think whoever was the bartender had bought it, though, because the entire room was cleared out. Trolls have that gift.
Killian took point as defensive tackle, blocking the entrance in case any wandering patrons stumbled in looking for a Harvey Wallbanger and discovered we were handing out the real thing. I was left to tackle the offensiveness of a troll in some one-on-one coverage.
"Harvey Wasserford?" I said.
His head snapped up, shocked that someone knew his name.
"Our mutual friend, Trovac, would like to have a word." The faux rainstorm decided at that moment to emit a flash of lightning and a roll of thunder. Fucking dramatics.
I probably should have learned something from the shadow elf's attack and gone for stealth, but sometimes I'm a betting woman and like to give a person the opportunity to make the right choice. Unfortunately, Harvey was not interested in talking this out.
He flipped a table, sending oil lamps, silverware, and paper menus flying. As I launched to take him down, Killian sat there stomping out the flames.
It was when I had Harvey's face shoved into his bowl of Blue Hawaiian that I glanced up. A glass case was imbedded into the wall with a really nice display of souvenirs from the original owner's travels to the Mariana Islands. In one of the black-and-white photographs featured a carved tiki god strung on a necklace. Next to it was a little acrylic sign that read "Hei-tiki" and a brief rundown on its history. And next to that was a raised platform where, judging by the faded paint, it looked like maybe the souvenir once stood but was now gone.
"Son of a bitch," I said. I flung the Troll against the wall so I could get a closer gander, ignoring his grunts as I pressed his face into the wallpaper.
So, listen, you hang out in my line of work and you start to understand the interconnectedness of everything, and all the alarms were going off in my head. If a shadow elf was asking us about a hei-tiki and there was a hei-tiki in this case that was missing just as we were here tracking down an old smuggler, there was something I needed to pay attention to. As if reflecting my own thoughts, that faux wind with the tinkling laughter swept through once again, only this time it gave me a little shiver up my spine. Color me crazy, but I was starting to wonder if the wind was a special effect or something a little more sinister.
I didn't want to call too much attention to what had caught my attention, so I jerked my head at Killian to get over. He jerked his head toward the troll, like he wasn't sure if I wanted him to take over or what. So I jerked my head toward the display. And he seemed to get it.
I flipped the troll over and punched him in the eye as Killian squinted to read everything. He nodded his head, impressed, then took my cell phone out of my jacket pocket to take a picture for later.
Harvey seemed to be done with playing nice, however, because while I was distracted with Killian, he reached out with one meaty paw, picked me up by my neckguard and flung me across the room like a toy doll.
I hit a table, tipping it over, and rolled ass-over teakettle until I slammed into the empty hostess stand.
I groaned as I struggled to my feet. Fortunately, Harvey was more interested in getting out than getting even, and he bee-lined it toward the door. Killian swept his leg and the monster went down, his skin rippling with the reverberations of a Richter scale-registering fall.
Killian tossed me a plastic box filled with garnishes and I leaped on top of Harvey's back. I pulled out a lemon wedge and squeezed it into the troll's eye. He roared with pain, but all the fight went out of him.
"You can't take me back..." he moaned as he clutched his socket. "Trovac will kill me..."
"Shouldn't have crossed him," I replied, knowing that odds were someone would be doing this to Killian and me someday when we accidentally fucked up, too.
"I didn't mean to... I didn't mean to..." he blubbered.
His fall was the thing that finally attracted the attention of the restaurant staff, because I looked up and a couple snappy dressers were rushing into the room.
"Oh man... you have got a trip and fall hazard here. This floor is like an ice rink! Did you have a grease spill?" I chided as I helped Harvey to his feet. Killian clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "This is my brother, a handicapped veteran who lost his eye on the battlefield protecting your freedom. I'm going to have to talk to a lawyer about this."
And, ignoring all the damage in the bar, the restaurant staff began fawning over us, rushing forward to see what they could do to make it all better.
I waved them away indignantly. "We just need to leave..."
They tried to get the manager and tried to have us fill out an accident report, but with pained huffs of outrage, I walked Harvey out the door. Killian hung behind to smooth things over, assuring them all that everything would be fine, I was prone to dramatic outbursts because I cared so much about my "brother." And fortunately, even without the elfin glamour of yore to convince them, they bought Killian's angle with relief and gratitude.
I piled Harvey into the back of the minivan. I was glad I had left all the seats folded down, otherwise he might not have fit. Seeing his pleading was getting him nowhere, he had clammed up. I think he figured as lousy as being caught was, it was a day he knew was coming and it could have been a lot worse.
We pulled up to El Diablo in the Toy District, Trovac's Other Worldly coffee shop. It was down a long alleyway strung with twinkle lights, but Harvey was having none of the festive mood. He began to struggle from the moment we got close and didn't stop until Killian and I were dragging him by both legs into the shop.
In other news, I hated being a hired thug.
There was a horned barista working the bar inside the turquoise room. It had a little corner stage for local musicians and poets, and papier-mâché masks lining the walls. There were a couple new ones. The barista was looking at the troll like he was about to paint a portrait. For the first time, I wondered if the masks were based upon the faces of people who had crossed our boss. Sort of an El Diablo version of a banned list. Harvey wasn't going to be hard to remember.
"Other Siders out back!" stated the barista as he wiped a pint glass, as if we didn't know this rule from all the other million times we'd been here.
We hauled the troll out onto the patio and dumped him by the bar. He whimpered as he crab-crawled away on his hands and feet.
Trovac was sitting at a cane table, poring over a stack of spreadsheets and file folders. He looked up as we burst into the scene and then leaned forward, grinning, chewing on the end of his slobbery cigar with excitement like the floor show was about to start at a peek-a-boo room.
He waved his hand and two goat-headed bouncers came in to make sure the troll understood the error of his ways. I tried not to feel completely sick to my stomach as they invited him behind the building for his job evaluation. I'm pretty sure they weren't going to be having a heart-to-heart about strategic goals for improvement. More likely an exploration of his strengths and weaknesses.
Trovac, however, was pleased as punch. He pulled out a velvet sack and dropped it on the table in front of Killian and me. I could see Killian eyeing the size of the bag and itching to pick it up. The elf had a weakness for glitter and shine.
I stared at Trovac like I couldn't believe the fast one he was trying to pull. "Elfin gold is useless to us."
"It will not always be..." that snake tempted.
I picked up the sack and threw it back at him. "Don't even try. We want USD legal cash tender."
He sighed. "Even with the exchange rate what it is, I was providing you a very lucrative payment."
"You mean inflation being what it is, that gold is practically valueless until the Queen stops deciding to throw her civilization off a cliff."
Trovac shrugged with a knowing smile. "You cannot blame me for trying. No chance I could interest you in some Iraqi dinars?"
"USD. Legal. Cash. Tender. And preferably before you force me to figure out how tender your crochital region is."
"Fine... fine... no need to resort to violence..."
As Trovac pulled a wad of cash from his front pocket, I could hear the pained groans from around the corner as his bouncers decided to show Harvey what billy goats do to trolls who live under their bridge. Trovac made sure to lick his tobacco-stained fingers each time to count out every bill before laying them out on the table and smoothing them with a sweaty palm.
"And don't think that sliming up all that paper is going to make me think it's less gross to choose the gold."
"I can never pull a fast one on you, Maggie," he said.
"It is rather gross," Killian pointed out.
"Not helping," I muttered under my breath.
Finally, Trovac gathered up all the bills, tapped the sides to get them nice and tidy, wrapped it up in a rubber band and handed it over.
"You're a real pal," I said, putting the wad of cash into the pocket of my leather jacket. "Also, you may want to go over to Milton's Cafetorium and do a little cleanup work."
"Ah. Messy?" Trovac asked, entirely too happy that Killian and I had some trouble hauling this guy in. We had a complicated relationship with Trovac.
"Harvey had mixed feelings about coming in to talk."
Trovac snapped his fingers and another goatman appeared. He leaned over and Trovac muttered something into his furry ear before the goatman trotted off. "Handled. I do so appreciate the service at Milton's. It would be a shame if they suffered for one of my employee’s failings. I shall make sure to take it out of Harvey's paycheck."
I heard another distant cry. I really hoped they weren't on a barter system.
"Are you ready for another job?" he asked. His fingertips tapped a file at the top of his stack.
I looked at Killian and he looked at me. We both didn't want another job. We both wanted to end our association with this asshole as quickly as possible. However, this asshole was keeping us alive and we needed to have the resources to disappear as soon as we could.
We turned in sync to face him, both resolute in sucking it up and doing what we had to do.
However, seeing I was having trouble coughing up the smarmy lies, Killian took the lead. "Always available if the price is right."
"Excellent," Trovac replied with a slimy smile.
But before he could hand us the job, the goat came out and shook his head. Evidently, whatever they wanted from the troll had been a failure. Trovac turned to us. The anger that flashed across his face made me kinda hate the thought of what was coming our way if we messed this up. It's one thing to get beaten up by a goat if you've got some Other Side strength to carry you through. It is an entirely different thing if you're feeling a little under the weather because you're carrying around a piece of nothingness that was sapping all your strength, like Killian.
"We sent the troll for a retrieval job. He failed and decided to get that drink instead of reporting back immediately. He said the object was never there."
As I saw Harvey get dragged out, I think I probably would have sat down for a drink first, too.
"There is a hei-tiki from the Mariana Islands. It should have been at Milton's, but Harvey was stuck in traffic and missed the opportunity to put in my bid and secure it. We believe the hei-tiki has now been transported to a convention in San Diego to be sold to a competitor," Trovac informed us. "I need you to get it and bring it back."
Okay, so the pieces were starting to fall into place. All the elves around me seemed to be wanting this hei-tiki and I'd be willing to bet they were all hankering after the same one.
"No chance you have a picture of it?" I hazarded.
"Just a little stone carving on the end of a necklace."
I gave Killian a meaningful look. He gave me a look that meant something along the lines that I was an idiot for letting Trovac know we might be on the trail of the same thing. I gave him a look that meant if he didn't show the fucking elf the fucking picture and we headed out looking for the wrong necklace, I'd be highly irate.
So, Killian pulled out the phone and showed Trovac the image of the empty display. "Is it this?"
"Ah! Yes! That is it." Trovac glanced at me sharply. "You did not happen to... find it... while you were there?"
I squinted at him, letting him know that even hinting we were the type of people who would engage in a double-dipping double-cross was unacceptable. "No. We didn't just let Harvey take the fall so we could sell some random necklace we just found out was important on eBad. There was an empty case."
Trovac sighed sadly. "Well, it would have made everything so much easier. But at least now we know Harvey was telling the truth." He called over one of the goatmen and whispered something else to him. This time I could overhear it and I'm pretty sure I heard Trovac bleating. I hoped he was saying something along the lines of "stop beating on the troll".
"Soooo... what exactly is this thing?" I asked as Killian put our phone away.
Trovac flipped through his stack of files, pulled out a folder, and slid it across the table toward me. "During World War II, many of the men who were stationed in the Pacific theater..."
As I reached forward to take it, Killian asked, "Theater? Were they doing musicals."
"'Theater' is the human word for 'battlefield'," Trovac informed him.
Killian turned to me, seriously. "I do not wish to see a Broadway show anymore," he stated.
Seeing as how our bank account looked like it had been through a war, I didn't bother correcting the misunderstanding.
Trovac continued, "They fell in love with the islands and many of them came home with art and artifacts. This was one from the Mariana Islands. Most of these things you find are just tourist junk. But some had magic. This one certainly did."
"Huh," I said, peering at the file a little closer.
Trovac snapped his fingers and one of his goatmen came running forward. He bleated something at him, and the goat dashed out the back, scaling the wall like it was an Alpine cliff. Trovac said, "Bring your car around. We will need to put supplies in your trunk."
"It's not the troll's body, is it? Because we don't do disposal."
Trovac inclined his head. "Noted. However, this is a part of the job." He pushed the folder across the table toward us. "The place we believe the hei-tiki will be sold is at a gathering of people in San Diego who are enthusiasts of Pacific island culture and history. They will have a marketplace. You two will pose as vendors and intercept whoever is trying to sell it. We will place your supplies and disguises in the back of your vehicle."
I groaned. As if being the hired muscle wasn't a lousy enough job, now we had to do retail?
"Any idea who lifted it?" I asked. "Any leads at all?"
"You are the tracker, are you not, Maggie?" Trovac asked, getting up. "You tell me."
Killian folded his arms and regarded Trovac with growing skepticism. "If Harvey was supposed to retrieve this item, how did you know he would fail and we would be here to complete the task?" he asked quizzically.
Trovac took out his cigar and pointed it at the elf. "I did not get to where I am today without always having a Plan B. Let us just say I did not have the confidence in Harvey that I have in you."
Harvey limped away from the side of the building. I gave the troll a little wave, and he gave a little salute back. No hard feelings. We all knew what we were signing up for, even if we didn't exactly understand and were all hanging our hopes on never gaining the visceral knowledge Harvey now had.
Trovac couldn't even be bothered to look at the guy. Instead, he just returned to his pile of spreadsheets and said, "Time is wasting. Do not be late like Harvey."
I took that as our cue. We stood and headed out. The barista watched us as he dried a cup and put it on the shelf, as if making sure we wouldn't try to double back or steal from his tip jar. From the emptiness of the room, I have a feeling that tip jar was more subsidized from the activities on the patio than any local caffeine addicts.
We grabbed the van and I pulled it around to the alley of El Diablo. A gate opened, which allowed me to reverse in to the loading dock.
"Such a strange coincidence," Killian commented as he typed Mindy's address into the GPS and tossed the phone onto the dashboard.
"I'm starting to believe there are no coincidences in this job," I mused, getting a little irate with the world. Not that it was anyone's fault, but sometimes I just felt like a chump. "That the shadow elf who attacked me in Griffith Park after we met with Trovac said something about a hei-tiki, and then Harvey was looking for the hei-tiki for Trovac. And that this might be the one thing that might make your life a little easier, too. What is it with this artifact? It feels like elfin catnip."
"And it is so strange in all of my centuries, I have never heard of it," Killian replied.
"Mariana Islands..." I mused. I grabbed the phone and tapped out a text to Father Killarney with the information and hei-tiki picture. "Hopefully Father Killarney or Xiaoming can figure out what exactly this is."
Trying to switch the conversation from the doom and gloom to the more positive aspect of having regular work, Killian asked, "What shall we do with our newfound wealth, Maggie?"
"Well, evidently, we have a baby shower to organize," I said, glancing into the rearview mirror as the goats slid in the first roughneck box. "Knowing Pipistrelle, my sister's bank account is going to need an infusion."
"It is strange that the elves would lay the trap in the nursery," Killian mused.
"Strange? In what way?" I replied. "Want to hit us where it hurts and nothing delivers a message like booby-trapping a kid's room."
Killian shook his head. "No. You and your family are meaningless. My queen knows your human lifespan is short and you will die of natural causes in what is the elfin equivalent of a few years."
"Um... thanks."
He shrugged in an 'it is what it is' kind of way. "She is here to capture me. Except, if they were targeting me, they could have put it in the kitchen or somewhere easier to retrieve. But they targeted the child's room. It just seems odd. Why would I have been in an unborn child's nursery?"
I fell into thoughtful silence. "Huh. I hadn't thought of it that way."
"The shadow elves are efficient assassins, but they are not cruel. They would not harm a child or family members out of some sort of retribution."
"That shadow elf was covered in that tar-like ick," I reminded Killian. "Maybe the Dark Dimension's power is twisting the elves' sense of right and wrong."
Killian rubbed his bottom lip thoughtfully. "I do not know, Maggie," he replied. "Something about it has felt wrong."
The goatmen finished packing the boxes, and one of them came over to my driver's side window. He tapped on the glass with his front hoof. I pressed the button and the window rolled down. He baaahed right in my face and I held back from telling him he needed to take up chewing on some mint. Gotta maintain some office harmony when you only have one source of income.
Instead, I stated, "I don't speak goat."
Stuck between a cloven hoof was a little slip of paper. He shoved it over as he bleated in a close approximation to human speech, "Show up. Work tomorrow. Aliases inside baaaaahxes. If yoooou fail, we will see you sooner raaaather than laaater."
I gave him a little salute of understanding. Killian and I exchanged glances, both definitely hoping for the laaater or the neeeever.
But before we could get too wrapped up in the implications of what we had just signed up to do, my phone buzzed again and it was Father Killarney. I turned and smiled at Killian. "I believe we have ourselves what those in the business refer to as a 'lead'."
I began to type in our new destination.
"The M-Team comes through again," he replied as he lazily lifted his arm for a high-five. We missed, tangling more pinkies than slapping palms, but came close enough to buoy our spirits.
Little did we know how short it would last.
Father Killarney was waiting by the rectory door as we pulled in. He waved us over, but motioned for us not to say a word. We all knew the importance of keeping our conversations to places where wandering ears would not hear, so it didn't raise any alarms. He had info on a missing artifact. Best not to let the bad guys know we knew stuff they didn't know.
He walked briskly through the robing room, into the church, and then led us down the stairs to the mausoleum. Its white marble halls were empty of mourners. At the far end was the hidden door. He pulled on a brass vase, and what appeared to be a row of tombs swung open as one to reveal a messy library with a spell circle in the floor and all the stuff Father Killarney used to vanquish evil.
As well as Lacy, everyone's favorite Other Side corrections officer.
"What are you doing here?" I exclaimed, thrilled to see one of my best friends.
"MAGGIE!" Father Killarney chided as he closed the door behind us.
Lacy and Killian decided to forego words and raced together, her blue limbs entwining with his pale ones. I pretended to be very interested in Father Killarney's selection of relic skulls as some very disturbing mouth sounds came from across the room. Listen, it's hard to maintain a long-distance relationship when you're on the run and I decided to let it slide this one time.
"Why did you not return my calls?" Killian asked. I heard an underlying tone of hurt beneath his question, and I wondered if Lacy caught onto it.
Evidently not. She brushed over it with a breezy explanation, "I was trying to lay low, ya big moose. That's some witch of a woman that you are tangled up with."
"The Queen..." Killian replied with fear. "Has she harmed you?"
I gave Lacy a little finger wave. "Hey!"
Her eyes narrowed. "And don't you go pretending you didn't get us all into this mess. If it wasn't for you bringing this hunka hunka to my front door I wouldn't be sitting here, locked up in Father Killarney's basement. Might as well just slide me right into one of those mausoleum tombs. Just stick me in a box and slide me inside and don't pay me no nevermind."
Father Killarney explained, "You were not the only ones who were threatened, Maggie-girl."
Before he could finish, Lacy interrupted. "There was a shadow elf in my shower! Like some sort of a nightmare out of gawddamned Psycho."
"Are you unharmed?" Killian asked, grasping her arms as he scanned her face with concern.
She gave him a wicked smile. "Honey? You think after a lifetime hauling monsters into the Other Side prison system I can't protect myself? I ain't Janet Lee."
Killian let out an audible sigh. "It is just... they are shadow elves..."
"They are a bunch of high-minded criminals who think they can flout the law because they have got that Queen of yours pulling their string," she corrected.
I groaned. "Did you kill the elf?"
She seemed disappointed. "He got away. But not until I took a chunk out to make sure he always remembered me."
"Which means he knows where Lacy lives and we need to keep her on the move," Father Killarney explained. "I've reached out to Trovac and have secured a safe house for her until you two are able to find her more permanent lodgings."
"I don't care what Trovac is doing or not doing." She jabbed a finger at Killian's tunic. "You, my knight in shining armor, need to keep my ass from getting dead since it is YOUR ex who has flipping flipped out on us."
Killian nodded with a shaky, fearful inhalation. Poor guy. You think you're signing up for a fun, summertime fling and end up being in a sort of "until death do you part" situation.
I, however, was highly irate at our elfin boss. "We were RIGHT THERE. You think Trovac couldn't have mentioned this ONCE during our conversation?!"
"I swore him to secrecy," Father Killarney added, trying to peel me off the ceiling.
"Like that's a reason. He probably thought if we were worried about Lacy, we wouldn't take his job," I hypothesized. "I hate that fucking elf."
"As do I." Killian rubbed Lacy's arms bracingly and she cuddled into him, happy to let him play the big, strong man for a little while. "The sooner we get out of town, the safer everyone will be."
I turned to Father Killarney. "Any good word on that tiki necklace?"
Father Killarney picked his way through his messy office and reached over the piles to grab an ancient book. It seemed like it had seen its fair share of foul weather. The pages were warped from water and it smelled of the sea. In case you think that's romantic, "smelled of the sea" is a euphemism for dead fish.
He flipped through the hand inked text and diagrams where the writer tried to capture the things he could not put into words — maps of islands and drawings of strange creatures who proooobably should have been on the Other Side. Finally, Father Killarney stopped on a page with a small drawing of a hei-tiki. "I believe this is what you're looking for."
Killian hauled out the phone. It matched the picture he had taken. I leaned over to read what the author had to say. There was talk of an island culture who believed they had command of the wind and the waves and he noted a bizarre set of coincidences where it would seem to the unscientific eye that they had done just that. This hei-tiki supposedly had an invisibility aspect to it, but nothing he could see. Whoever wore it was visible to him just fine. Made me wonder if perhaps the hei-tiki shielded the wearer from a different set of eyes existing on a different plane, which would come in handy if you were trying to hide from a World Walker or a shadow elf.
"Huh. Interesting. I wonder what Trovac wants with it?"
"That I could not say, Maggie-girl," replied Father Killarney.
"Well, it's something."
"How are we going to find it?" Killian asked.
I smiled as I placed my hand on the cover of the book and felt the energy signature of the writer. I sorted through all the images and knowledge of the pages until I landed on the hei-tiki. I locked onto it, memorized the feeling, and smiled. "Killian. That's what we do. We're trackers."