Armageddon Rules (11 page)

Mikey bit his bottom lip, but not before it could quiver.

“Cheer up. We all have to play our part. Hey, you want me to make reservations for your date tonight?” I figured I could toss the kid a bone.

“Got it covered. Liam gave me directions to a killer Italian joint before he left. I’m taking Steph there.”

I was so glad I’d already swallowed my coffee. I knew exactly where Liam had recommended they go. My best theory was that some form of magic prevented the health inspector from finding the place. Reaching into my desk drawer, I pulled out a pair of wrapped plastic forks. “Take these with you.”

When Rosa and Mikey left me alone with Ari, I finally leaned back and relaxed. “You want to come over and watch a movie?”

Ari blushed. “I’m so sorry, M. Wyatt is taking me out on a date tonight. Someplace romantic.”

Ari’s idea of romantic would be the vegetable section of the grocery store, because she’d never quite managed to nail down normal princess behavior. Normal meaning “flail helplessly while waiting for a man.” I completely approved, and had trained her so that anyone who laid a finger on her would either get punched, spelled, or ventilated with a gun that could punch holes in concrete.

“So when do I get to meet Mr. Right?”

Ari’s smile fell away and she looked afraid. “When you can be Marissa, my friend who owns a bookstore, or Marissa, my accountant. Not Marissa, my boss at The Agency, partner of the Fairy Godfather. People understand Godfather. They think
mafia
. Fairies, they think Elton John. You put the two together and people don’t understand.”

“He’s going to find out,” I said. “Better he find out from you than discover it the hard way. Like if you bring him home after a date and he meets Yeller. Think the fact that you have a hellhound as a pet might not be a tipoff?”

Ari glared at me. “We’ve already had that discussion. He’s an Aleutian hairless with chronic mange.”

“You shouldn’t lie to him.” I worried a little bit about the fact that she’d obviously given her story some thought. Truth is like a jury summons. It has a nasty way of showing up when you least expect it.

Ari swung her purse onto her arm and headed out at a run. Up front, the security system chimed as Rosa armed it, meaning that the lobby now contained several hundred live asps. Grimm had them brought in from Egypt, along with his monthly shipment of cursed artifacts.

I went to grab a stack of expense reports from our enchanter, figuring I’d get some of the paperwork done. Most of them looked normal. Frogs transformed back into princes, a few hexes laid on a parking spot. I wasn’t looking, and when I noticed Grimm watching from the mirror, I almost screamed.

“Evening, Marissa. Friday night, and here you are working. It almost feels like old times.”

I have a silver bell on my desk, and he was supposed to ring it to let me know he wanted to talk. “Just trying to get some paperwork done. New enchantress is overcharging us for frogs, and judging from these spell reports, there’s a parking spot at Macy’s that’s like the ninth circle of hell.”

“Leave the paperwork for Monday, my dear. It will still be here, and you can keep yourself busy as Liam requested. Doing safe things.” Grimm’s words reminded me of my promise.

I closed the file. “I’ll take some time off when you do.” Fairies don’t sleep. They don’t eat, really. They work night and day at whatever their goals are. Grimm’s goals were the collection of magic made solid (Glitter) and preventing the kobolds from forming a professional soccer team. The second was really a hobby.

“Why don’t you do an errand for me, then? I have a package that didn’t get out in time for the post. It needs to go to Middle Kingdom. You could have dinner there. Watch a parade. Generally speaking, enjoy yourself.” Grimm gave me the same stern look he used back when he could order me around.

“Fine.” Kingdom on a Friday night was going to be like a rock concert, street parade, and monster mash all in one. Not normally my cup of tea, but package delivery for Grimm almost always involved bullets. “What kind of ammo should I pack?”

Grimm frowned. “I thought I made it clear I want you doing safe things. Leave the gun here. You won’t be needing it. In fact, not carrying a weapon will make you more cautious. I gave Liam my word I’d steer you toward less dangerous activities.”

I slipped the nine millimeter out of my purse. Leaving my gun behind was like putting one of my kidneys into the drawer instead of a hunk of steel meant to spew death. “What are you going to do?”

Grimm’s eyes lit up. “I’m going to reverse the transformation on a few frogs and give them the directional test.” The directional test didn’t involve up or down. It involved being able to follow the signs saying “Service Exit.” Those who walked through the normal exit to the front lobby would be allowed to test their asp resistance.

“Night, Grimm.” I picked up a box from outside his office, snuck out the service entrance, and headed out into the city.

By the time I finally
got
to Kingdom, the party was already under way. There were princes drinking champagne, a parade of impromptu floats making its way down the main street, and since it was Friday, even the no-human types were allowed to come out and live a little in Upper Kingdom.

No one powerful, like the fae, thank goodness. The fae were about one step down from fairies in terms of pure power, and thank Kingdom, they mostly stayed to themselves. One of them took an interest in my life, once, and the result put me in the hospital for three days.

If you were mostly human, you could mostly come out in Upper Kingdom, particularly on Friday. I waited for the parade to pass so I could head down to Middle Kingdom, where Grimm’s package belonged. Middle Kingdom doesn’t even come close to touching our reality. It was where almost everything that couldn’t pass for human lived.

The parade went on for blocks. Princes in sports cars. Princesses throwing out bead necklaces. The moment I saw those, I waded into the crowd and elbowed an old lady to get a spot. By the time the car passed me, I was the only person who hadn’t mysteriously fallen or gotten pushed over. I caught three of the necklaces.

Think of it like Mardi Gras, except the beads actually had a purpose. I touched my tongue to one and immediately puckered my lips. Yep, these were hangover beads. I was busy adjusting my necklaces when I realized the cheering crowds had grown silent. With that much alcohol in the crowd, there was only one thing that could cause it: The queens had joined the parade.

As best I could tell, all the kings in the royal families did was negotiate treaties, decide who went to war with who, and run the businesses. All the real power belonged to the queens. Every last one of the seven original royal families has a queen, and all but one of them loved to exercise their authority.

The crowds would cheer for the High King, but they’d bow before the High Queen. Incidentally, there’s no matrimonial relationship between High King and High Queen. It’d been tried a couple of times, and that much power concentrated in one relationship made everyone nervous. So the kings negotiated High King however they did it. Queens negotiated High Queen however they did it, and everyone stayed out of the queen’s way.

Sure enough, a fleet of convertibles came rolling down the street. The first was empty. That one was reserved for the queen of the First Royal Family, who never took part in festivities. In fact, I don’t think anyone had seen her in the last twenty years. It was okay. There was enough bitchiness in the other six to make up for it.

I spent so much time watching the first one go by that I almost missed the second. I wish I had, in fact. I looked out at the next convertible knowing damn well who I was going to see. She stood in the passenger seat, a single hand raised to the crowd. As she passed, they bowed. While I’m not one to grovel, in this particular case, I hit my knees faster than a priest who just found an issue of
Playboy
.

From the corner of my eye I watched her. Tall, sleek black hair, a complexion that was only possible with a ton of makeup, and eyes like black pits. Her thin face and slight build reminded me more of a straight razor than a person. I could break her in half in a fistfight, but it would never come to that. This was Queen Mihail, of the Second Royal Family. The backseat of her convertible was empty. Normally her sons and daughters would ride with her. Of course, I’d sort of made sure that wasn’t possible.

See, her son took up with an older woman. Sort of a Mrs. Robinson situation. The son was thoroughly repulsive, completely disgusting, and completely typical for a prince. Incidentally, Ari was supposed to have married him. That didn’t exactly work out. Prince Mihail got the bad end of a magic apple, and when last I saw him, he looked like the thing from the black lagoon.

I chanced a look up at the queen as she passed, and froze. It wasn’t possible. In a crowd of thousands, her eyes couldn’t possibly be fixed on me. But they were. She kept that icy stare fixed on me until the procession carried her out of view. I let out a sigh and realized that somewhere in the process I’d clenched my fists until my nails left marks in my palm.

Queen Mihail had promised me wrath, if anything happened to her son. Not only had something happened, I was directly responsible for that something. So keeping clear of her was on my to-do list.

The third car came into view, and I immediately stood up, a lone figure in a crowd of kneeling drunks. I had a hunch who was in the third car, and I wanted to make something clear: I had no respect for her. The third car belonged to Queen Thromson, queen of the Third Royal Family. Ari’s stepmother. The Mrs. Robinson who Prince Mihail had taken up with.

Queen Thromson has also tried to kill me. In fact, the list of people who have tried to kill me was disturbingly long. Some days, it seemed like every new face I met was either going to be my new best friend or my new best enemy. I had enough enemies.

Queen Thromson had gray hair where it wasn’t white (courtesy of me), wrinkles like an old leather bag (courtesy of me), and a clutch of red-haired princesses in the car with her. For the record, I had nothing to do with the princesses.

The wrinkles and the hair were because when she tried to kill me, she used magic, and at some point it starts taking quite the toll on you. Also, I might have fired a spell shaped like a bullet at her. Twice.

Unlike Queen Mihail, Queen Thromson found everyone else interesting to look at. She avoided me like I had eye chicken pox. I spent the better part of a year trying to get her arrested for taking up with an evil fairy and nearly killing Ari and myself. Too late I found I’d filed charges in the wrong court.

After four more convertibles passed, the rest of the parade contained nothing but princesses and lesser royal families. Like cockroaches, princesses tended to show up everywhere and proved impossible to get rid of.

I made my way out of Upper Kingdom, delighted to finally be free of the crowds. Middle Kingdom looked like something from a storybook. Thatched roofs, quaint stone chimneys, and the smell of open sewers. Every once in a while I’d get a call from some parent desperate for help with their son or daughter.

It was always the same story. An obsession with role-playing. A closet full of costumes that would look silly on a superhero. Attempting to play the lute. Renaissance fair attendance constituted the final step in this addiction. The idea that somehow, if we went back eight hundred years, everything would be better.

I had a cottage down here for such cases. Drop them in Middle Kingdom for a week and let the wee lad or lass discover that kinder, gentler times didn’t have running water. Or toilet paper. Or grocery stores. “I’m sorry. You’ve failed your saving throw against lice,” was usually the point at which they came home, bought smartphones, dressed in denim, and never looked back.

I finally found the place I was looking for, on a narrow cobblestone road way down in Middle Kingdom. The building looked odd for Middle Kingdom. Huge arched roofs, and what I’d almost have sworn was a steel roof. I knocked on the door, walked in, and nearly killed someone. Someone small. Someone about two feet tall, to be exact. A gnome. The building was packed with gnomes.

Gnomes ran the Kingdom Postal Service during the week, and during the weekends, well, I’d never actually thought about what they did. It appeared they gathered in large buildings, in orderly lines, and waited for instructions.

I stepped over and around gnomes, making my way up to the front desk. “I have a delivery here, from the Fairy Godfather.”

The counter gnome looked at the box. He looked at me. Then his eyes went wide. “Death Bringer Marissa? Is that really you?”

Ten

“SIGN FOR THE package, please.” I dropped the package on the counter and fished in my purse for a pen, painfully aware of the murmurs going on around me. Back when I was first learning to drive, I ran over a gnome. It wasn’t my fault; he was sleeping in a pothole.

Afterward, the gnomes made sure I didn’t get a single piece of mail from Kingdom for the next four years. They even jiggered up my regular mail, threatened to saw me into pieces, and once nearly got me bitten by asps.