You guys and mom are my favorite people in the world, but I feel like we’re falling apart just like Jacob’s Bell is. How can you build something better when the foundation is so unsteady?
“Are you okay?” her father asked.
“Meh,” she said. “Not really.”
“You can put that entire world behind you, you know. You don’t have to get involved. Just… reach out. Find help, don’t feel you have to tackle it yourself.”
Both her dads had been there to hear the prophecy.
Twice more. Blood, darkness, and fire.
Hundreds would die.
No, it wasn’t that easy.
“I’ll be in my room,” she said. “Love you.”
He put his hand on her shoulder, letting it fall as she walked away.
She reached her room, turned on her laptop, and plopped herself down in her computer chair. She picked up a fat gold coin from the shelf above the computer.
One of the Rescuer’s coins. Retrieved from the man who had tried to save her from the goblin attack back home.
Yeah, even now she still thought of it as home.
A kick sent her skidding over to the cardboard box.
Buttsack glared at her as she opened the flaps, a post-it note stuck to his face, a rune on the front. The inside of the box had runes for metal on it.
The silence rune on the post-it was from her binder, the metal ones were from Padraic.
She flipped the coin, then caught it, flipped it, then caught it again.
Heavier than it looked.
She couldn’t carry it around with her all the time, but she appreciated the weight it had, in more than one sense.
No matter what her dad said, she couldn’t just ignore it all.
She left the post-it in place, debating what to ask for. Did she press for more details on his past victims, in hopes of helping someone out? It was good to build up goodwill, but as power grabs went, it was weak, and she wasn’t sure he would share details all that easily.
Was it better to ask for techniques? Tricks?
Expand her repertoire?
The computer bleeped, interrupting her thoughts. She spun around and kicked herself back to the desk, rolling.
An email, notifying her of a message on her wall.
Maggie,
A situation came up. I’m going head to head with the biggest name in Toronto, and there aren’t many people I can call on for help. You have your field of expertise, and I have my hands on something that’s not small potatoes. If nothing else, could I get you to call me? It’d make a big difference in figuring this out. Our previous deal stands, whatever you decide.
This was the deciding moment. She’d read most of the contract, and it was what they’d outlined outside the school. Lessons, borrowed books, trinkets, safety and access to their properties. Tutoring lessons.
It was, she suspected, exactly what her father wanted her to do. It meant allies. People who could back her up if everything went to hell.
Not that she wouldn’t hold on to her notes.
Blake, though, had something related to goblins, something that wasn’t small? A moderate goblin?
The old deal stood. She helped him out, he gave her access to books.
It wasn’t enough.
“Sorry, Blake,” she said.
“What’s that?”
Her dad stood in the doorway.
“Guy we met before needs help. But it’s not worth the trouble. Would mean angering a lot of locals.”
“That’s what was making you look so down at dinner?”
“Part of it,” she said.
“Listen, there’s nothing in the fridge. I think the potato bar is still open, if-”
“Yes,” Maggie said.
“-You’re hungry.”
“I’m hungry. Yes,” Maggie said.
She practically bounced as she stood from her chair, pausing only to lock the laptop so it would go straight to low-power mode. She shut the box and hurried downstairs.
“You don’t have to act that enthusiastic,” her father said, as she reached the ground floor.
“Real food,” she said, just a touch breathless. “Ridiculously thick milkshakes. There’s two or three things that are tolerable about this town. Those milkshakes and that greasy food are them.”
She had her coat on before her dad was even downstairs.
“Can we buy some junk food at the magazine store on the way back?” she asked. “I want to torment the goblin by eating it in front of him.”
“I’m not paying for you to torture another creature, goblin or no.”
“Torment, not torture.”
“No tormenting either. Yes, you can get junk food, but you pay for it yourself.”
Maggie grinned, grabbing her backpack and slinging it over one shoulder. Her wallet was still within.
“And you do your homework after,” her father said.
She rolled her eyes.
She, her dad and her father ventured out into the dark side streets. In the dead of winter, the only light was from the street lights, and they were intermittent, with whole streets cast in ominous pitch darkness.
Her thoughts about the state of the city gave her pause. She turned on the flashlight she kept in her coat pocket.
The potato bar was part of the little stretch of stores in the ‘downtown’ area. A third of the storefronts were empty and desolate, others were only open in the summer and looked empty and desolate, and the others had dingy signs. Even though it was downtown, only three cars passed them as they made their way to the bar. One completely ignored the stop sign.
She held the door for her dads. In the time they blocked her view of the dark block of parkland opposite the bar, a pair decided to appear.
Maggie held the door open as they approached. A woman and a child. Both so beautiful they could be models. Neither were human.
Ev and Padraic, both wearing glamour. Pretending to be a twenty-something mother and her young child.
Maggie joined her dad, remaining keenly conscious of what the Faerie were doing. She was focused enough she needed a nudge before she could give her order.
The food arrived fast. Chipped chicken in poutine and a chocolate milkshake so dense the mug could probably be used to bludgeon a bear to death.
Padraic used a high child’s voice to order a milkshake, little legs kicking as he sat on his stool to Maggie’s right.
The five of them and the one cook were the only ones in the dim bar.
Maggie ate her poutine as fast as she could without burning herself on the hot grease. Poutine wasn’t good if it got cold.
She’d kick herself if she got into something with Patrick and let this rare treat go to waste.
Fortune prevailed, and she was largely done when the cook disappeared into the back, clattering with dishes or something.
She wiped her mouth, then asked, “Did you want something, Patrick?”
“I want a lot of things,” child-Patrick said.
“What?” her dad asked.
“I said I want a lot of things,” Patrick repeated himself. “I want freedom, I want to go home. I want sweet, cold revenge.”
The words were chilling, coming from someone who looked and sounded like a small child.
“What does that have to do with me?” Maggie asked. “I’m enjoying time with my dads. I don’t want hassle.”
“What makes you think I came here for you?” he asked.
“Tell me you didn’t.”
Patrick didn’t reply. Instead, a smile crept across his face.
“I think we’ll step away,” her dad said. Her father nodded in agreement.