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The ballroom was pretty run-of-the-mill, especially compared to what was filling it up this weekend. Typical hotel decor that tried to appeal to both the wedding and the corporate crowd. The carpet was burgundy and paisley, highly industrial while also trying to convey a sense of upscale charm. The walls were cream with wainscoting and air-wall dividers.
There were tables set up in long rows, however, filled with lowbrow art, mashups of popular culture and tiki tradition. Women were selling hair fascinators and vintage clothes, guys were selling hand-carved wall art and custom-built bars. The heady scent of real flower leis cut through the recycled air of the HVAC system.
As I stumbled in my platform heels, Killian smoothed his cargo pants. "Stop admiring my backside, Maggie. I understand it is very distracting when you are trying to walk."
"Do you even understand how many weapons you can store in those pockets?" I replied enviously as I rearranged my ever-riding-up skirt. "Meanwhile, I'm stuck with what I can strap to my legs or shove down my bra."
As we passed a woman in a floor-length caftan, Killian's eyes lit up and he piped helpfully, "Perhaps some personal shopping might be in order."
The caftan had a lot of possibilities. The loose skirts and yawning armholes could hide so much. I had a sinking feeling in my wallet I was about to make my mama so proud of my new aesthetic. But before I succumbed to the tempting allure of lightweight fabric and ability to move, I challenged, "Is this merely an excuse to get yourself a Hawaiian shirt?"
"Yes."
"Were you thinking we would get something that matched?"
"Yes."
"Killian..." I warned. "We can't be twinsies."
"Think of it as a new team uniform," he pitched enthusiastically, motioning to the yawning racks of outfits like we were on some sort of demented game show and I had just won a showcase of rayon print wear. "For camouflage!"
I took his arm and steered him away, not entirely sure if it was for him or myself. However, my senses started tingling as we passed by an antique booth featuring glass fishing floats and carved vases. It wasn't "bad" tingle or a "here's what you're looking for" tingle. Just a "there's a bunch of stuff here that has power" tingle.
We gave a friendly nod to the various other vendors. Never have seen a happier group of people. Didn't seem like they were under any sort of thrall. They appeared to just naturally be that way. Freaks.
"Ahoy, skipper!" one of them shouted at Killian, who generously gave him a little tip of his pith helmet.
"I enjoy the friendliness of the people very much," he commented.
Then I saw all the empty plastic booze cups sitting in their booths and got an inkling of what was helping to buoy their welcoming mood.
Our table was next to a bank of windows by a garden courtyard. The view was of a private, secluded stretch of green that focused on a grass-thatched wedding gazebo.
Our table was covered in a basic black skirt and, just as the valet had promised, all of our goods were stacked up safely behind it. Killian and I looked at each other, bracing ourselves to find out what Trovac had passed along for us to hawk.
"About that shopping suggestion..." Killian offered.
"No," I replied. It was like ripping off a band aid. The sooner we got it done, the better. "Open it."
"Trovac was your contact originally. YOU open it."
"He's an elf," I replied. "You open it."
Killian touched his ribs and winced. "Ow."
"And you are a baby." I screwed my face at him, pulled the lid off one of the cases, and sighed.
"What is it?" Killian asked, peering over my shoulder.
"I think it’s a bunch of crap Trovac has stolen and is trying to use us to move," I answered, pulling out a spear.
"Ah," said Killian. "Nothing like a little contraband."
"We are so getting shut down..." I muttered, shoving it back. I was not selling weapons to this crowd. I opened another box. "Oh! And mugs. We have tiki mugs."
He picked up one. "Interesting vessels." He then looked closer, sighed, and put it down. "Elfin vessels. He is having us sell earthen works from elfin artists."
Killian always wanted to be an artist, but that queen of his pushed him into diplomacy instead because elfin artists are spell casters. They, literally, make something from nothing and in it, magic becomes infused. Currently, we felt she blocked his career growth in this area because she saw a hundred years or so ago that Killian would be the only elf powerful enough to stand up to her.
Like playing three-dimensional chess with that one.
He still retained some of his magic, but certainly wasn't trained.
THESE items, however, were made by elves who knew what they were doing, and I shuddered to think what they might be capable of. I shut the case. "Maybe we'll keep these behind the table, too, unless someone asks for them," I suggested.
Killian nodded, both in horror and in awe. "How did he gather such a number of vessels?"
"And why did he give them to us?" I hissed. I opened another box. "Oh. And swag for his coffee shop."
I pulled out a retro-styled El Diablo t-shirt. The Diablo guy had been drawn as a tiki god, so it wasn't half bad.
Killian relaxed. "We can sell those."
"Okay," I replied, on board with this plan and unloaded the merch. Trovac had branded bobble heads, barware, and posters. I also pulled out the least charged artifacts he sent along, and I tried to set them up in an appealing way.
A woman sauntered by with her husband. He was dressed in a leopard-print lounge jacket and jaunty fez. She picked up one of the El Diablo pint glasses.
"Ooo! This would go great in our bar!" she gushed.
"You should bring it home with you," Killian urged seductively.
I had to turn away to keep from rolling my eyes. He might be working with modified glamour, but from the speed that woman whipped out her pocketbook, it was enough.
"You know..." she said as she dug around, unloading lipstick and pressed powder cases onto the table as she found her wad of cash. "We're hosting a room party tonight. You should come!"
"It'll be a swinging time!" her husband said, giving his martini a swirl.
I got the impression that they meant swinging in all the definitions of the word.
"I would be delighted!" Killian replied. I'm not sure if he caught the undercurrent of their question, but I'm sure Lacy would straighten him out if the confusion persisted.
Killian kept a stream of gab flowing as he packaged up the glasses, talked them into some clothing item impulse buys, and sent them on their way with their bag of stuff elegantly wrapped in tissue paper. The woman waved her fingers merrily at Killian as her husband guided her away.
"Well, you're a natural salesman, Killian," I complimented, slapping him on the back.
"Oh... you just need to know how to talk to people," he stated modestly.
I gave him the ol' squint-eye. "Yeah... I don't know if you were all talk."
Killian smiled. "Jealous?"
"Absolutely not."
"I would wager I am able to sell more objects with my natural talents than you with your talk," he said, taking out more stock and folding a shirt primly.
"That would be a sucker's bet, and I'm not even taking it because I've already lost."
"Well, if you have already lost, perhaps you could procure us some of the ambrosia people seem to be enjoying. Preferably a beverage in a hollowed-out pineapple. I think it might help with our quest."
I squinted. "How is that going to help?"
"How is it NOT going to help..." he offered.
The elf had a point.
"Think of it as camouflage." He pointed around the space. "We will blend in." When he was seeing I wasn't buying it, he went low. "To help with my injured rib. Ow."
"Sure thing, partner," I replied, socking him in the side where I knew he was faking.
I walked out of the conference room and over to the poolside where the party was going full tilt. The bar was swamped. The bartender was flipping cups and playing them like bongos. When he took a mouthful of alcohol and set it on fire inside the grass hut, I decided to make my way to a more boring bar on the other side of the courtyard.
I was stopped in my tracks, however.
That strange wind blew through.
It brought the same hint of rain and stormy smell I had felt at Milton's Cafetorium. It almost felt as if it was checking me out, like it was almost sentient.
"If you're a ghost, I swear to god I'll have my mom cross you over so fast you form a vortex..." I muttered.
The wind seemed amused. It ruffled the trees, causing the spirit creatures Killian and I had spotted earlier to chatter, and then it struck a windchime.
But as it hit the windchime, it drew my attention to one of the garden beds. There was this massive statue of an alligator-shark-man standing next to the faux waterfall. He was carved of wood, stood on two legs, and had rows of spines down his back. I could have sworn I heard a deep rumbling in the dark shadows of the bushes. Creeping tendrils of fear reached out toward me. This was the dude that had smacked me down for probing the ether earlier.
But suddenly, the bushes rustled and out came a familiar person pushing a dolly. His dark brown skin was shining beneath a sheen of sweat in the southern California heat. I couldn't help a massive smile from breaking across my face. "Jeff!"
"Fucking hell," he replied. "What are you doing here?"
I worked for Jeff at the Firebrand Studio. He was a fawn who had lost his husband to the vampires and had been bent on revenge ever since. He also had access to the Firebrand Studio Prop House, a warehouse filled with the kind of magical artifacts any vampire would have given their eye-teeth to steal. Unfortunately, until recently, Firebrand Studio was controlled by a conglomerate of fairies under the leadership of Mad King Cole. I was glad Jeff was working the inside to keep the evil out.
He strode over and gave me a great big hug.
"Ew! You're all sweaty!" I laughed.
He stepped back and took in my floral getup. He gave a low whistle. "Are you in some sort of hostage situation, Maggie? Blink twice if you need me to rescue you."
"Pretty close," I replied, adjusting the garden on my head. "I got a job."
Jeff groaned. "I don't even want to know," he said, holding up a hand to stop me. "Because if you're here, it means shit is about to go down and I don't want to be here when shit goes down."
"Good to see you, too, Jeff!"
He sighed. "So... what exactly are you up against? And how is this going to ruin my life?"
I opened my mouth, ready to tell him everything, and then thought about what happened to Harvey the troll. Trovac didn't have us sign an NDA, but friends don't let friends get hauled into coffee shops and beaten up by goats. Sometimes it's best not to go into the details. Any details. "Just here to take part in the festivities."
He looked me up and down again. "Did a vampire knock you too hard on the head?"
"I'm working as a vendor."
He squinted at me, still not buying it. "What? You working for a different studio? Costumed character? Catering? How much are they paying you? Because whatever it is, it is not enough." He reached up and tapped the plastic hula girl on my hat and I could hear her hips rock back and forth.
"You're in luck, Jeff. I'm not here to scoop your business." I motioned to the bar. "But I'm more than happy to stand in as your cocktail waitress. Can I buy you a Mai Tai?"
Jeff wiped his mouth. "Sounds awfully good after hauling all this stuff around, but it's a bit early."
"We're on island time."
He laughed, relenting, and then motioned with his arm to lead the way.
"So, what are you doing here?" I asked as we strolled over to the quieter grass-thatched outdoor bar. The bartender was doing something blended with whole fruit, ice, and a lot of alcohol. I decided to order the kiddie version for Killian and me, while Jeff went for the full test.
Jeff shook his head. "Things are a little slow since you burned the studio down."
"Technically, the bad guys burned it down. I was just a catalyst."
"Well, I've had to pick up some side hustles and the convention hired me to dress this place." He pointed to all the tiki huts and festive decorations. He grabbed the glass from the bartender and put a couple bucks in the tip jar. He took a sip and smiled. "And this makes it worth the drive."
"You hanging out?" I asked.
"Are you shitting me? If you're here, it means I should get on the road now and start filing the insurance claims for lost goods as soon as I hit the LA border."
I rolled my eyes. "I promise not to harm your precious tiki huts."
"You're going to set them on fire, aren't you?"
"I swear, Jeff! Just here as a vendor!"
He gave me the side-eye. "You're totally going to set them on fire."
"I'm here do to some selling," I reassured him, and then paused. "And also... some... purchasing..."
"Oh. I get it." He folded his arms and regarded me with curiosity. "You're undercover. Smuggling Other World artifacts. You're a runner, aren't you?"
I waved his deduction away. "Nothing that fancy. It's just a job."
"A job that is going to get you killed and my shit destroyed." His face darkened with some legit worry. "Are you the one who keeps moving things around?"
"Huh?" I replied.
He pointed at the alligator. "That statue? Stuck it by the pool. Found it by the lagoon. Don't go moving my shit, Maggie. I have an itemized list if things go missing."
That's when my senses started tingling. Listen, I have seen a caber toss and knew the strength it would take to move a hunk of wood that size. And as I observed the bright young things around us, I didn't see anyone who fit the bill.
Jeff continued, "And there's all sorts of stuff that has been showing up that I did not bring. That's what made me wonder if you had been hired to decorate, too."
I lowered my voice, not sure who or what was listening. "What sort of stuff?"
"Authentic stuff. Polynesian artifacts. Not like... the midcentury things. Like... old. Like, should be in a museum instead of a drunken festival."
We were suddenly interrupted by a sparkling, feminine voice. "Pardon me..."
I stepped out of the way and turned to see if the person coming through had a legit reason or was wanting to make sure we didn't talk about what we were talking about.
It was a young, twenty-something Guamanian woman dressed in a towering pageant crown, Esther Williams bathing suit, and bedazzled sash that read: "Miss Hukilau."
"Sorry!" I said, hustling to the side.
She reached out her brightly tattooed arm to steady my drinks. "Careful! Spilling those would be a national tragedy."
"Maggie, you getting in the way of royalty or what?" Jeff joked.
She adjusted her rhinestone tiara with one hand. "Do make way." And then she laughed and stretched out her hand. "Maia Attau."
"Jeff."
"And I'm Maggie. A vendor, your majesty," I replied. I jerked my thumb at all the décor. "Jeff works for the studios and set this place up."
Maia seemed genuinely impressed. "Well done! I especially like this guy!" she said, motioning to the problematic alligator statue. "It's been a long time since I've seen a Taniwha."
Just saying the name caused whatever energy was lurking in the shadows to growl again. It must've been an Other Sider thing because while Jeff and I jumped, Maia acted like nothing had happened.
"A what?" I asked, needing some clarification on what monster was going to try to eat my face off tonight.
Maia smiled a dazzling smile. "A Taniwha. It's a New Zealand guardian. It's kind of a cross between an alligator and a shark."
"And what does it do?"
She shrugged. "Well, it's a protective spirit usually attached to a tribe or their belongings. Like a spiritual Lo-Jack."
I found myself chuckling nervously. "Wow! The things you learn! Um... just out of curiosity... do legends say how dangerous they are?"
"Oh, they are incredibly powerful!"
And this guy was somehow walking himself down to the lagoon whenever anyone's back was turned. I made a mental note to start researching how to protect yourself against one as soon as I got back to my room.
And then she continued, "But a bit like a guard dog. Fine as long as you don't go threatening their boss." She pointed to a series of rooms on the other end of the pool. "There's a bunch of seminars on the cultural history and folklore of different Pacific islands I'll be leading over the weekend. You should come!"
"Absolutely!" I replied, grateful for any insight into what the heck was going on here. "I do, however, need to get back to my table. Official duties." I managed an awkward curtsey with my hands full of the two pineapple cups.
"You are dismissed!" Maia replied with a nod of her head as she played along.
Jeff raised his glass to me before turning back to Maia.
I wandered back, hoping Killian hadn't gotten into any trouble. I dodged my way into the ballroom, somehow managing to do it without spilling a drop of our festive beverages, even when I tripped on a pink plastic flamingo. I'm pretty sure it qualified as a special skill.
The vendor floor was crowded and filled with a cheerful buzz. I slowly wound my way around, looking specifically at the tables filled with jewelry and Polynesian antiques. There was definitely some magical something happening, but I wasn't catching the 'ping' that had drawn me to the convention center in the first place. Where had it gone? Were we too late? Had it already been sold?
Trovac was going to be fucking pissed if we fucked this up.
Killian had somehow managed to gather a crowd and was currently enthralling them with the kind of sales skills that would put a Ginsu knife demonstrator to shame. I mean, the stuff was cute, but it wasn't that cute. Killian's charm was selling more than the inherent value of the product, for sure. Our table was downright depleted. As he took a fistful of dollars from a lady and traded her one of the shirts, I sidled up next to him.
"Good day?" I asked.
"Very good," he replied, counting up the wad of cash and writing down the sales.
"Maybe I should give Trovac a call and tell him we need more stuff," I noted, setting down our beverages and pulling out another box to restock.
"Find out what our cut is of the haul," Killian said.
"My guess is zero. Zero percent."
"I am sure you are correct," Killian replied with a sigh. He took his pineapple and sucked down a big gulp. He closed his eyes with pleasure. "Mmm... Refreshing."
I suddenly noticed a stack of carefully folded, floral rayon beneath the table.
"Ah! Assuming our cut was nothing, I did some bartering and we now have matching outfits in exchange for four bobble heads modeled after Trovac. Enjoy your caftan."
I didn't know whether to hug or hit the guy. Hit, because I knew Trovac would be deducting the cost of the missing merchandise from our bottom line. But, man, it was going to be nice to take a full step without getting hobbled by my tight skirt. I opted to raise my beverage to both toast and roast him. "Thank you. We shall look fabulous when the goatmen visit for reimbursement."
"Our bruised and battered bodies will never look better!" Killian replied, drinking to that. "I made sure to pick out shades that go well with black eyes and scraped knuckles."
At the top of the hour, a bunch of lectures and seminars started, and the crowd died down to a sedate lull. We finally had a chance to speak.
"Did you find that object we are looking for?" asked Killian.
"No," I replied, "but I did run into Jeff."
He was delighted. "Ah! Our friend from Firebrand Studios! What is he doing here?"
"Well, things must be rougher than they seem if he's pulling graveyard shift doing set decorating at a convention." I crouched down to grab another box, but it was those damn tiki mugs. I could feel them itching to get out, but I was unleashing none of that nonsense. Especially if Trovac wasn't going to cut us in. "However, he said some weird things were happening."
"Like what?"
"His props were moving themselves. Actual Polynesian artifacts were showing up that he didn't bring— Speaking of which! I met Miss Hukilau and this woman knows her shit. She's going to be holding a lecture that might be helpful. We should go—" I stopped myself and pointed. "Wait! There she is now!"
We both turned as she entered the floor, but suddenly the glass door behind us flew open. Now, this wouldn't be so weird, except there was no wind inside the convention hall and the doors blew out into the garden. And as they did, that same strange wind came through the room, bringing with it the sound of the ukulele orchestra and that tinkling laughter I had heard before. All the vendors around us shrieked and hung onto their wares.
But the wind seemed more interested in Miss Hukilau. It wrapped around her, blowing her Veronica Lake-styled black hair like she was a 1980s model in a fashion shoot. But then something really weird happened. Unless you were looking for it, you would have missed it, but she gave the wind a friendly acknowledgment and then shooed it away.
And it fucking obeyed her.
It cleaned up after itself, too, bringing all of the debris and leaves from the outside with it.
But as it slipped away, it left a small rock on our table. I leaned forward and realized it was a carving of a turtle, a symbol of unity, peace, and rest.
I regarded Maia Attau and wondered if maybe there was something more to this queen's crown than just some rhinestones and a sash.