Old Fashioned_Phantom Queen_Book 3_A Temple Verse Series Page 7
So here we were, the fashionable arms dealer and the infamous redcap, about to enter a law office. There was a joke in there somewhere, but probably not a good one. “Do we knock?” I asked.
Robin nodded, then proceeded to knock nine times. Thrice at the top of the door, thrice in the middle, and thrice at the bottom. I shot him a curious look, which he noted only after the locks began to turn. “If you mess it up, the kobolds will try and eat you. It’s not a good way to go.”
I frowned. “Kobolds?”
“Shapeshifting sprites. Think boggart, or brownie. Only German, so they’re always on time and they don’t do small talk,” Robin explained.
I glanced at my companion, trying to see if he was kidding, but couldn’t tell. I hadn’t come across a kobold before, but I’d heard of the other two from my aunt, who jokingly insisted we find one to clean our house for us—because that was something they did. Although, in this case, it seemed as though the kobolds’ duty included taking care of a different kind of trash: unwanted visitors. “What about Regulars who stumble across this place?” I asked.
Robin glanced back at the people strolling down the street behind us and shrugged. “Well, at least they wouldn’t have to worry about whatever legal trouble brought them here.”
Before I could respond, the door opened, and a dapper older gentleman waved us through. He was a sprightly old man with shoulder-length hair, so blonde it appeared white in the dim light of the entranceway. His suit was tailored, but out of fashion by perhaps three hundred years. He checked a pocket watch—a real one, not a hipster knock-off—and smiled. “Right on time. Welcome. Hello, Robin.”
“Hansel,” Robin replied, ducking his head in acknowledgment. “Good to see you.”
“And who is this young lady?” Hansel asked.
“Right. Quinn MacKenna, meet Hansel.”
“Ah, yes. I believe we’ve sent a few notices your way, if memory serves.” Hansel held out a hand to shake. “I hope our requests weren’t too forward.”
I stared at his hand, realizing the letters I’d received from the Chancery must have been drafted at this office. I briefly considered snubbing the man, if only to make myself feel better, but decided that would be childish. Besides, what would you do if a legend whose fairy tale you were raised on wanted to shake your hand?
Yeah, exactly.
“Don’t ye worry about it. Although next time, I’d appreciate it if ye left it in me mailbox instead of puttin’ it on me kitchen table,” I said chidingly, as I shook his hand. “So, Hansel, eh? Like the Hansel?”
Hansel shrugged. “Well, one of them, at any rate. My younger brother and I have the same name. I assume you know our story?” he asked.
“Aye,” I replied, though I hadn’t known he had a younger brother. Hansel and Gretel in a nutshell: two kids are ditched in the woods by their parents, get kidnapped by a witch, do loads of clever shit, and come home to live happily ever after. Oh, but their mom dies. Because it’s a German fairy tale.
“Well,” Hansel continued, “after my sister and I were abandoned for the second time, our mother got pregnant. Sadly, she died giving birth to our younger brother, and my father—who was not a particularly imaginative man—gave him my name as a replacement.”
Yikes. Imagine that, finding out your dad named your baby brother after you because he left you to die? “And the law office?” I asked, deciding to change the subject. “How’d ye end up here?”
“If you’ll recall, we had a wealth of jewels at our disposal once we returned home. Practicing law has always been a noble profession…and it got us out of the woods. My sister has a particular knack for litigation, I believe you’ll find. I, on the other hand, fell in love with copyright law. The fine print fascinates me. My brother’s focus, interestingly enough, lies in genealogy.”
“Is that so? And how much is your retainer?” I asked, idly, wondering what the going rate for a fairy tale lawyer would be.
Hansel’s eyes widened. “Planning on needing a litigator anytime soon?”
I grinned wolfishly. “If there were no bad people, there’d be no good lawyers.”
“Dickens!” Hansel exclaimed. “How delightful.”
I nodded sagely, deciding not to reveal that I’d gotten the quote off a meme I saw last week while playing on my phone at the bar; in my experience, three-fourths of being brilliant was knowing when to shut the fuck up.
The rest was knowing when not to.
“Quinn wants to go below,” Robin interjected.
“Oh, does she now?” The old man’s eyes twinkled in amusement. He looked me up and down, then noted the parcel in my arms. “And you’ve explained the rules to her?”
“Most of them,” Robin said, grinning. “I figured I’d let you do the honors.”
Hansel nodded and waved for us to follow him. I fell in step behind Robin, feeling especially vulnerable walking around without my guns. That had been one of Robin’s conditions. Weapons of any kind were forbidden, and I do mean any kind; Robin had given me a list. Like an actual paper copy.
I’d taped it to my refrigerator as soon as I got home.
Together, the three of us passed through a small waiting room and into one of the three offices, one of two with Hansel’s name hanging on the door. “How d’ye know which is which?” I asked, pointing at the plaques on each.
“My brother’s office can be opened remotely,” Hansel said, indicating the other door, where I noticed a remarkably modern padlock.“ He’s differently abled. To use the newest and most politically correct terminology.” Hansel pulled a ridiculously ornate Secret Garden key out of his jacket pocket, unlocked his door, and waved us through.
Hansel’s office looked like a turn-of-the-century lawyer’s wet dream; leather-bound books lined the walls from floor to ceiling on all sides, each one a uniform height and color, their spines embossed with gilded lettering that might as well have been written in braille for all the sense they made to me. A thick oak desk—complete with a quill, a horrifically inaccurate globe, and a lantern—took up most of the room.
“To be certain you understand, Ms. MacKenna,” Hansel said, shutting the door behind him, “let me review our expectations of you once more. The first rule is the most obvious; you will not reveal the whereabouts or entry conditions to anyone who is not already a member of the Chancery, knowingly or unknowingly.”
“No talkin’ about Fight Club, got it,” I quipped.
“Quite. The second rule, which I’m sure Robin explained to you, is that no violence is permitted once you have descended into the lower level. Frankly, I’d prefer you keep the violence outside my building entirely, but one cannot have everything.”
I snorted. “Aye.”
“Lastly, to enter you must state your intentions, and you must do so clearly. I would recommend being as honest and forthright as possible with us, for your sake.”
“Remember the kobolds?” Robin said, nudging me.
I grimaced, considering what Death by Housekeeping would even be like. Probably something involving detergent. And bleach. “So that’s it?” I asked. “All the rules?”
“The ones worth mentioning, yes. Of course, there’s social etiquette to consider. I trust you’ve come prepared on that front?” Hansel asked, gesturing to the bundle.
I sighed. I’d really hoped Robin had been lying about that part. I peeled off the tape sealing the parcel and unfolded one corner to reveal a racy black dress I’d bought on my way home—per Robin’s suggestion. I’d always hated dresses, ever since I was a little girl; I’d always come home with tears in my skirts and bloody knees, begging my aunt to let me wear pants so I could play the way I wanted to.
Rough.
“So, where can I change?” I asked.
“First, state your intentions,” Hansel said, idly studying the dress I’d chosen. “No sense ruining a perfectly good dress if you insist on lying. I’m sure Gretel would be glad to hem it, should you end up not needing it after all.”
I took a deep breath. They’d asked me to be as honest and forthright as possible, after all.
“Me intentions,” I said, staring down the two men across from me, “are to find me friend and his family so I can protect him from anyone who would hurt them, includin’ ye Fae bastards. I plan to discover what ye lot know about the Jack the Ripper fucker who’s out there killin’ people in me town. And, most importantly, I plan to tell your superiors to go fuck themselves if they even t’ink about usin’ me as a bargainin’ chip.”
The room was very quiet after that.
But I didn’t end up getting attacked by malevolent housemaids, so…bonus?
Chapter 12
Hansel considered me for a moment, while Robin tried his best to pretend I didn’t exist. Had I embarrassed him already? Oh well. The woodcutter’s son barked out a laugh as he sat on the lip of his desk. “I think you and my sister would get along very well.” He plucked a small white stone out of thin air and tossed it to me. “I think you may find much of that more difficult to accomplish than you think. Keep that, just in case.”
I turned the stone over in my hands. It was smooth and round. Unremarkable. “What does it do?”
Hansel ignored me, walking around to the other side of the desk to fiddle with the quill and a bottle of ink. “Come, sign here, acknowledging you’ve understood the rules as I’ve explained them to you.”
I frowned but did as he asked after briefly glancing over the contract, which seemed remarkably straightforward. I’d been prepared for a Willy Wonka style agreement, full of legalese and fine, nigh unreadable print. I signed it, awkwardly, flinging ink off the tip of the quill as I went, cringing at the scratching noise it made. Ironically, it reminded me a lot of the difficulties I faced when trying to sign an iPad with my finger.
Ballpoint pens for the win, all I’m saying.
“Now,” Hansel said, after I finished, “once below, you may change in one of the adjoining locker rooms. I would, however, advise you not to wander into the shower area.”
“The what?”
“Trust him,” Robin said, nodding along, his eyes haunted. “There are some things you can’t unsee.” Then he physically shivered.
With that, Hansel spun the globe. I wobbled, gasping as the entire room began to descend. The mechanism made hardly a whisper as it took us down. For some reason, none of us spoke. The elevator effect, if I had to guess—the natural instinct to avoid potential conflict when in confined places with relative strangers.
We reached the bottom in under a minute, which didn’t tell me squat about how far down we’d ended up. It didn’t really make much difference, though; if I had to drill my way out, I was already fucked. Robin hopped off first, landing a foot further down on a hard marble floor that reflected light from up above. The chamber was otherwise dark.
I began to say something to Hansel but felt the old man’s firm push at the small of my back, sending me over the edge. I stumbled off and, by the time I turned around, he was already heading back up, waving. “Don’t wander off!” he called.
“Whatever ye say, Doctor Who,” I muttered, under my breath. Now that Hansel was ascending, the light from his office was retreating, leaving us in a dim, cavernous space. I frowned. “Ye know I can’t see in the dark, right?” I asked Robin.
“Give it a minute.”
Once Hansel’s platform had completely risen, shutting off all light, torches bearing balls of brilliant white light erupted in a wave along a long corridor that disappeared around a bend. I shielded my eyes, then glanced at Robin, who’d put on sunglasses. “Ye could’ve warned me,” I hissed.
“You could have warned me you were planning to come here and start a war,” he chastised. “I thought your business was with Christoff?”
“What can I say,” I replied, “I’m a multitasker.” I took a long look around, studying the beautiful, seamless marble floor and the elaborate torches. “Where does the smoke go?” I asked, looking for some kind of ventilation system.
“The smoke?”
“From the torches,” I said, pointing.
“Oh. Yeah, not torches. Those are will-o-wisps.”
I blinked, then approached one of the sconces on the wall and the ball of light floating above. It pulsed, as if sensing my attention. I drew back. “And they, what, work here?”
“They had to go somewhere,” Robin said. “Modern electricity makes it impossible for them to run around on their own. Too conspicuous. Anyway, it’s this way.” He took off down the corridor, his sneakers squeaking as he went.
“So, what should I expect?” I asked.
“Once you get inside?”
“Aye.”
Robin chuckled. “It’s best if you don’t have any expectations. You won’t believe half of what you see, and you really shouldn’t believe the other half. This is the closest you will get to Fae in the Manling realm.” A thought seemed to occur to him. He glanced back. “Whatever you do, don’t accept a favor. Of any kind. Even if someone offers you a glass of water, turn them down. You don’t want to owe these people anything if you can help it.” Robin turned back around.
“Is that how ye got involved, then?” I asked, sensing he had more to say on the subject.
“We all get roped into working for someone, one way or the other. If not for the Chancery, then for someone else. Keeping to yourself in this world isn’t an option for one of the Fae. Eventually, the Manlings will cover every inch of this world, provided they don’t destroy themselves, first. And then, we’ll only have places like this left.”
“So, d’ye like the way they do business, then?” I asked, genuinely curious. I wasn’t sold on Robin Redcap’s backstory. Sure, it was possible he worked for Christoff on Ryan’s recommendation, even likely. But if I knew anything about the way the world worked, it’s that everyone wanted something, even the Fae. Ryan had been all about the party; he enjoyed women and booze and making friends. Once you knew that about him, everything else fell into place. But I still wasn’t sure what made Robin tick, or why he was helping me. And, call me a cynic, but unless I knew what was in it for them, every helping hand looked like a begging hand.
“I think you have a warped idea of what the Chancery is,” Robin said. “You think we run this city, right? That we police it and control it?”
I shrugged, not disagreeing.
“Well you’d be right, but that’s only one part of what the Chancery does. We also offer asylum. We’re basically our own nation, taking in refugees. Freaks and Fae alike. We find them jobs. Housing. And yes, the higher ups monitor activity in the city, but it isn’t about playing Big Brother. It’s about keeping us safe. Exposure is the enemy, but it becomes less and less of a concern every year. Manlings have made science their god, and science can’t explain us, so we’ve been able to hide in plain sight.”
“But isn’t that a problem?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“A friend told me that ye lot draw your power from our kind, and vice versa. That, in Fae, Faelings tell Manling tales to their children the way we tell fairy tales to ours. If we cease to believe, won’t ye cease to exist? Or lose your power, at least?”
Robin sighed. “That’s a debate we’ve been having for decades, now. You’ve heard there’s friction in the Chancery, right?”
I nodded.
“Well, some of us prefer anonymity to power. We’d rather live comfortably
with Manlings than return to our former glory. It’s easier for Fae like me,” Robin admitted. “Before, I haunted castles and murdered people. It was in my nature. But the longer I’ve been away from home, the less murderous I’ve become. I don’t live to kill or guard or serve. I live to live. And I don’t want to give that up. But there are others among us, those whose power far exceeds my own, who crave their former glory.”
“And who’s in charge?” I asked, wondering which faction I’d be forced to contend with if I wanted to get Christoff back.
“In charge?”
“Aye. Like who should I speak to? Will I have to find a clerk or somethin’? Is there a judge I should speak to?”
Robin glanced back at me. “Sort of. But that’s not exactly how the Chancery works. You’ll see. You should get changed, though, before someone sees you.”
I muttered obscenities under my breath.
These Fae and their riddles were going to be the death of me.
If I didn’t kill them first.
I met Robin at the entrance.
“What the fuck is this, then?” I asked, indicating the double doors and the sign that hung above, which read El Fae. I’d changed into my dress and already felt uncomfortable, not the least of which because I’d had to conceal the disc, tucking it up into the underwire of my bra. I’d had to apply plenty of makeup to mask the bags under my eyes; even if I hadn’t been hungover, I was sure I’d have woken up in a cold sweat, my skin clammy, my dreams lurking in my subconscious like a virus. Sadly, that was becoming more and more common lately; I’d begun drinking every night to cope. Still, I guess I looked alright because Robin—who’d donned a stylish pinstripe suit and a blood red fedora—whistled in appreciation upon seeing me.
“Ready?” he asked, ignoring my question.
I rolled my eyes but waved him forward. “Fine, then.”
Robin turned, kicked the door with his heel—it didn’t so much as rattle—and then stepped away.