Free Agent (4 page)

Liam turned and walked down a flight of steps. “Here.” The dingy neon sign on the door said “Froni's” and buzzed like a giant housefly. Liam pushed it open and the scent of garlic and basil flooded out, along with the sounds of laughter.

Inside, red-and-white vinyl tablecloths covered the tables, and a jukebox in the corner blasted music from the nineties.

Liam grabbed a couple of beers from a crate by the door, and we sat down at an empty table. “Froni,” yelled Liam, “I'll take the big bowl and a couple of brews.”

I think several of the spots on the table were spaghetti sauce, and I eyed the silverware, which had a dull white film on it. “Tell me you don't eat here.”

He took a swig of the beer. “I love it. One of my favorite places.”

I'd always been a red wine kind of gal myself. The cook brought over a bowl of spaghetti and sauce and plopped it down on the table with a couple of plates. I held up the fork. “I'm not using this.” Truth is, I had immunizations for almost every disease known to magic or medicine, but there was no cure for nasty.

Liam squinted at it, picked it up, and touched his tongue to it. “It's soap film. Rinse it off in your beer, it'll be fine. That fork's actually not bad, but you don't need it.” He spooned out a glob of spaghetti, and to my horror, picked it up with his fingers, slurping it down.

When I came to work for Grimm, I spent three weeks learning proper manners and table etiquette. I spent more time learning to use my salad fork right than I did practicing at the firing range. One does not eat spaghetti, or anything else for that matter, with fingers. Only cannibals eat with their fingers, Grimm always said. Of course all three times I'd had lunch with the cannibals, they used forks and knives like everyone else.

“What are you doing? I thought we were going to a show, not flirting with food poisoning.”

He smiled, showing a gap in his teeth. “We're going to loosen you up.”

“With beer?” I looked at the bottle. It was cheap light beer, with the aroma and color of hobgoblin urine. On second thought, any hobgoblin who started peeing that color would have flown straight to the free clinic immediately.

“If that's what it takes. There's a box of wine on the bar if you'd prefer, and Froni did time in prison, so he makes a mean Merlot with just a can of grape juice and a piece of bread.”

I closed my eyes. I'd done a lot of awful things in this job. I'd cleaned up after massacres, hunted serial killers, and dealt with the Internal Revenue Service. I figured tonight might actually displace Grimm's five-year audit on the list of the worst things I'd ever handled. One thing, however, remained true: I always did my job, and did it right. So I took a drink. If I'd rinsed the bottle in the toilet first it wouldn't have tasted worse: warm, stale beer. Hobgoblin urine couldn't have been that bad.

Liam picked up another handful and shoved it into his mouth. “Good. Now take a bite.”

I shivered down inside, thinking about how Grimm would react when I told him about this tomorrow, and picked up a noodle. My arm hurt in anticipation of new immunizations as I reached into the bowl. Slimy spaghetti threatened to escape my fingers, but I eased the noodle into my mouth and swallowed. Anything to ditch the taste of the beer.

He took a long pull on his brew. “You have got to learn to relax.”

So I took another noodle, and then a few at a time. Finally, while he cheered, I picked up a meatball and took a bite out of it, smearing sauce onto my chin and my face. Liam laughed so hard he nearly choked. If he choked to death, Grimm would probably kill me, but Liam had a laugh and smile more infectious than any disease. It warmed a place in my heart I hadn't known was cold. To hell with Grimm's manners, at least while he wasn't watching. It felt good to be with someone I didn't have to act prim around, even if what I was doing here was an act too. I rolled up my sleeves and took another bite, not worrying about the stains.

“There you go,” Liam said, “I like you a lot better when you aren't so ‘proper.'”

“Do you do anything proper?”

He raised his beer and we toasted. “Not if I can help it. I prefer relaxed.”

“I like that too, but my work requires proper.”

“You should take time off. It's done me wonders.”

“One of these days I will,” I said, and I meant it.

When we were done with the meal, which I insisted on paying for, we left Froni's and crossed a bridge, and headed down closer toward the water. This wasn't such a dangerous place; it was just another neighborhood, on just another night.

“Here,” he said, and climbed over the fence. I climbed a lot more fences in my job than you'd think possible. It came with the territory. I knew from experience that “No trespassing” signs gave you a good place to put your foot when you climbed over. On the other side was a playground, and Liam swung on the kid's swing, even though he was much too large for the seat.

“That thing will break,” I said.

He laughed and swung higher. “I promise the steel is good. It's some of my work. All my good memories are of playing here.”

So I sat beside him and we swung. The only thing missing was moonlight, but not even a Fairy Godfather could arrange everything. “You grew up here?”

Liam kicked his legs out and went flying back and forth. “I went to school here as a kid.”

I looked at the worn brick buildings and dusty playground with tufts of weeds. “I imagined you going someplace better.” Too late I realized how it sounded.

“Me too, but life doesn't always bring you the things you want.”

“So true,” I said. So very true.

“I believe it does bring you what you need, Marissa,” he said, flying off his seat and stumbling as he landed. He walked over and caught my swing, looking down at me. “I wanted you to know where I come from. How I live.”

I knew it was time. I stood, letting his warmth radiate out into me. I kissed him. I don't mean I fulfilled my part of the assignment. I kissed him like I meant it, because I did, and wrapped my arms around him and put my head up against him. He smelled of wood smoke and deodorant. Grimm told me I was always supposed to say cologne, because princes didn't sweat, but it wasn't. I didn't care.

I stood there for longer than I can say, imagining what it would be like to do this every night. I knew I was in trouble. It's not that I hadn't had that thought before. I think it crossed my mind on every second date. The problem was, my heart wasn't asking what it would be like to have someone. It was asking what it would be like to have Liam.

Lost in the war between desire and duty, I didn't even think as we took the train back, and he walked me home.

I stood at the door to my apartment building, not ready to go in. I shivered as clouds moved in and the air began to fill with mist. Liam took off his jacket. “I remember you were cold last time,” he said as he handed it to me. It smelled of him, and I wrapped it around me like a blanket.

“So this is good night?” he asked.

I thought about it. Something inside me wanted to open the door and invite him up to my apartment. Otherwise, I'd have stuck to the script and had him leave me at the office. The part of me that ate noodles and rode carousels and dreamed of someone of my own had plans for taking Ari's prince and letting Grimm punish me however he wanted. Then I thought of my sister, Hope. I wasn't actually afraid of anything Grimm might do to me. But he could take her part of the wish back. If that happened, I could never face my mother again.

I gave Liam one last kiss, long enough to make sure I'd remember, and pulled away. There wouldn't be any more kisses, and there'd only be one more date. “I'll call you. I pick the restaurant next time.” I went inside. The sinking feeling in my stomach wasn't the elevator. It was the certainty that the next time I met Liam would be the last.

In my bathroom, I started the shower and washed my face, and waited.

“Marissa?” Grimm said, not appearing. At times he could be downright polite.

“It's okay,” I said, and his face appeared in my mirror, looking out at me.

“I trust everything went well?” It was half question, half command.

“It went fine, Grimm. I kissed him, he showed me his neighborhood. He'll call again tonight, or tomorrow, and probably every day after that.” I sighed.

“My dear, I've been doing this longer than your family has been on this continent, and I know that sigh. I've heard it many times, from many young ladies. Are you going to be able to complete this?”

I could. I had to. “Yes, Grimm. I'll get the job done, Ari can swoop in and mend his broken heart, and they can live happily ever after.” We don't usually mention the HEA bit, but I was tired and my mind was wandering. “When I'm done with this, find someone else to play the wrong girl.”

“I'll see what I can do. You know it won't always be like this. Even normal people sometimes manage to find love on their own, and in my view you are far from normal.”

He was right. I knew it somewhere I didn't want to look right now. Finding true love was a lot easier with the help of magic, but normal people did it all the time. Just not me. “I'm tired. I'll be in to work on time.”

He left me alone with my wishes.

ON THE WAY
in, I passed Ari, jogging on the sidewalk around the block. Behind her came a hellhound. It watched everyone who so much as looked at her like they were made of ham.

“I thought you were done with hounds,” I said as she went by.

Ari stopped and petted the dog on the head until it began to scratch itself and thump wildly, leaving gouges in the concrete. “I was kind of worried running alone. I fed Yeller a poodle and he's been my best friend ever since.”

It took me four months of training to be able to control hellhounds and even after that they still didn't like me. Ari reached down and put her hands on either side of its gaping maw. She spoke to it like a toddler. “Who's a great big demon dog?”

It wagged its scabrous tail and grinned at her, then followed as she jogged off.

I can't stand princesses.

I went inside and made a cup of coffee strong enough to chase the smell of princess out of my nose. As I drank it and read the
Times
, Evangeline came in. She was tall, at least six feet, and the rumors around the Agency were she had djinn blood in her on her father's side. The fact that she always wore a scarf and veil outside Kingdom played off the rumor. Her hair was braided into a single long cord that hung down to her waist. It would have taken me hours to care for that hair, but I suspected Evangeline had pixies she paid to do it. Waste of Glitter in my book.

Evangeline sat down on the corner of my desk. “Heads up. We're going to Kingdom.”

“Why?” I didn't go there much, and I worked for the Fairy Godfather.

“Last mile delivery for Grimm. He's had a package held at the Kingdom Postal Service.”

I loved going to Kingdom, but I detested the KPS like any rational person, for both normal and personal reasons. When I left, Ari was still jogging in circles around the building, followed by the incarnation of torment and pain who adored her. We took the subway and walked to the gates of Kingdom.

Kingdom is what you are probably thinking of when you think of fairy tales. The gates to it stand at the edge of the Avenue on the far end of the city. It's basically an additional layer on top of the city. Normal city blocks and High Kingdom overlap like ghosts. The only things keeping them separate are the gates.

Think of the gates like a freeway interchange. If you are magical, you take the overpass and wind up in High Kingdom. Normal folks go straight and turn up the Avenue. If you walked down that street, you'd pass everyday shops and everyday stores, and the businesses inside deal in stocks and bonds like normal banks. If I turned down that street with my Agency bracelet, everything changed. The buildings were still there (real estate is expensive), but the shops weren't dealing art anymore. They're all armor or swords or charms. Greenbacks weren't worth a dime in Kingdom; the whole damned place ran on Glitter.

There's a third road here too, a kind of an underpass to a third layer, but I'd never taken it. I only knew about it because Grimm had lectured me. Glitter was magic made solid, according to him, and it's basically pure hope. If you turned that corner and passed the gates with not a single hope or dream left on you, not a single bit of love or happiness, you'd find yourself someplace very different—Low Kingdom.

Grimm warned me about it on my first trip, when he gave me the vial I wore around my neck. That vial is probably the only real magic I possess, absolutely unbreakable, a tiny trinket when I wore it and a full-sized bottle in my hand. Like my Agency bracelet, it came back to me if I got too far away, and even if you turned it over, not a single drop of Glitter would escape. I remember him giving it to me that first day, completely empty. Then a single speck materialized in the vial.

“That's your freedom,” he said, “and one day it will be yours, I promise. As long as you have this vial, you will never be without hope.”

So I couldn't accidentally wind up in Low Kingdom. The dark alleys, where ogres made their homes and witches weren't bound by contracts. In the city if you parked illegally they'd tow your car. In Low Kingdom they'd have four trucks tow you in different directions at once.

I stood at the gates and took a deep breath. I'm sure the people pushing their way past me couldn't figure out why I stopped. Passing the gates
hurt
, since I wasn't magic or related to a royal. While my lineage had three percent Neanderthal DNA in it, that qualified me for teaching high school physical education, not to enter High Kingdom.

Similarly, I didn't have any famous serial killers in my family tree, I didn't dine on human flesh more than once a year, and I'd never worked for the Internal Revenue Service. I just wasn't evil, so Low Kingdom was out for me. Grimm's magic made the difference. It cost him to get me in, like a toll, and he paid by the minute to keep me in the place. I took a deep breath and walked forward, keeping my eyes open.

Three steps in it hit me like an electric shock, jolting over my body, but I kept my eyes open. I never wanted to miss this part. I took one more step forward and the world changed. It was like I stood in a river of color that swept outward from my feet. The normal folks faded out like ghosts, and the streets rippled and became shining gold.

Banners hung from the buildings and in the sky above wyverns circled, hoping a stockbroker or two might jump. They went by the five-second rule—if it's going to hit the ground in five seconds it was fair game. I let my gaze follow the buildings up. Normal buildings in the city were never more than sixty stories high. In Kingdom they went up even farther, built on top of the shells of their normal counterparts.

The crowd on the streets cheered as a prince came riding by on a mustang (the car), his hair waving in the wind. He'd probably killed a monster on the field of battle, or killed a witch in her lair, or maybe made a killing on the stock market. It was hard to tell with princes.

Evangeline knelt down and picked something up. “Hey, someone dropped a quarter.” She didn't care about the sights or sounds or smells of Kingdom. Did I mention the smell? The whole city always smelled like one big urinal to me. Kingdom smelled like someone ground breath mints into the concrete. I knew one day my vial would be full and I'd pay my debt. The Agency bracelet would only be a gold chain on my wrist. I'd gain my freedom and lose the ability to walk into Kingdom. It was a trade I'd make any day, on the spot.

We strolled down the main street together, past crowds laughing and toasting each other. My bracelet thrummed, asserting the magic needed to pin me here instead of in the middle of a midday traffic jam. The street vendors lined the sidewalks.

“Fresh auguries,” said one crone, catching me looking at the rabbits. If I needed an augury I'd ask Grimm. When I spent my Glitter, I did so with care.

“Animal companions,” said another, with a cage full of wide-eyed rabbits and squirrels. No doubt all of them talked, and would be happy to follow me around making cute jokes and conversation. I got lonely sometimes, and often thought about buying another companion. I say another because Grimm got me a cat from here when I first started working. To the best of my knowledge I didn't have it anymore.

“Weasel grease,” cried an enchanter, holding up a bottle. “Slip any fetter, break any bonds.”

Evangeline snorted. “Don't bother. I tried it once.” She was ten years older than I, and had the scars to match it. The business was hard. In Kingdom she could take the scarf and veil off. She did so now, revealing a ruined mass of wet, red flesh that never healed. Rumors at the Agency said that she'd gotten into a fight in Lower Kingdom and lost. However it happened, from then on I always played the wrong woman.

We picked our way past the shops and the banks, which had enough Glitter to free me a million times over, and finally got to a squat marble building. “Kingdom Postal Service” said the engraving over the door.

The door-gnome spotted me from across the street and already had that look on his face.

I stopped at the curb. “I hate this place. Couldn't I go to Inferno instead?”

Evangeline grabbed my hand and dragged me across the street. “You don't hate this place. You hate the fact that every gnome in Kingdom has your face taped on their fridge with the words ‘Beware of Killer' underneath it.”

Inside, white marble floors reflected the light from massive chandeliers. The lobby had velvet seating and a butler, but it was still a post office, so of course it had a line. At the front of the line a man argued, and his tone said he was a prince.

No third-string prince or second stringer. He was the real deal, and the shine seemed to run off him like a river. “I don't think I made myself clear,” he said. “I will personally deliver it.”

The postal gnome leaned over his counter and shook his head. “No unauthorized pickups.” He pounded a tiny fist on the counter with each word.

The prince was obviously accustomed to getting what he wanted, which meant he obviously wasn't accustomed to dealing with the postal service. The KPS was the only organization I know of that actually got along with the USPS. I'd always believed that every normal postman had to have a mandatory gnomish blood transfusion to qualify for the job.

The prince glanced around the room and I got a look at his face. Chiseled nose, black eyebrows to match that gorgeous raven hair, and pale skin that said he'd never spent a day at the beach. Disgusting in my book. “I don't believe you appreciate who I am.”

The postal gnome obviously shared my feelings, because he rang the bell and said “Next.”

We waited in line like proper cattle. The prince swept up his papers and started one of those regal “storming out” things they do, and he glanced at us. Well, at Evangeline. Men don't look at me, they look past me. Evangeline might have been thirty-five, but her curves left men bent, and she was used to it. He approached and she gave him a coy glance over her shoulder.

It wasn't her shoulder his eyes were riveted to, and that was fine by me. His gaze made me feel like I needed a shower, like his eyes had slime-ray vision. If so much as one of those carefully manicured fingers touched me, he was going to need dental work.

He gave us a slight bow. “My ladies, I would like the pleasure of your names. I am Prince Vladimir Mihail, of the Second Royal Family.” Of the seven royal families, the second was now number one on my most detested list. It's actually a lengthy list.

Evangeline played it to the hilt, waiting till the last moment to turn enough so he could see her face. He flinched and jerked his hand away, then got it under control enough to give her hand a kiss. She made no secret of wiping it off.

He kept his eyes on the ground, avoiding her face. “I beg your pardon, but duty calls.” When he was gone the air no longer reeked of roses.

I watched him walk out. “Jerk.”

Evangeline gave me a half smile that's as close to the real thing as she could get.

I looked at her, looking at the cuts. Three long slices lay on each side of her cheeks, the edges tinged with rotten green. On one side, her teeth showed through the gashes. “Did you ever ask Grimm about—”

“About fixing me? These aren't just cuts, M. They're wounds from magic.” Magic wounds were like magic spells—it wasn't easy to set magic against magic, like pushing two magnets together the wrong way. Magic could only counter magic with the greatest of wills and effort. Even then things didn't usually turn out right.

She put a hand up to her face, tracing the gouges. Her voice cracked as she spoke. “Most of Grimm's agents have worse before they're done. You'll get your own eventually.”

“Next,” said the postal gnome, and it was our turn.

Evangeline presented her Agency bracelet, and the gnome scanned it. “I'll be right back. It's in a secure vault.” I have no idea what a secure vault actually entailed. KPS hallways had guards with guns and dogs and Kingdom only knew what else. The secure ones, on the other hand, I had heard only rumors about. Rumors like the doorway to the vault was actually a portal to the surface of the sun. Some of their gates had musical codes, and you had to play the right song on a flute or get devoured by a pack of rats. Those were the easy ones. The high-security ones, you had to play Mozart on an accordion, a feat that wasn't even possible with the proper number of fingers.

The gnome came back looking a little singed, carrying a book-sized brown paper package as tall as he was. With a final shove he dropped it on the counter. “Sign in septuplicate, please.”

I signed my name. And again. Over, and over, and over. “What exactly do you do with all of these?”

He looked at me as he spindled, punched, and folded my carefully written slip. “Orange copy goes to records. Green copy goes to tracking. Chartreuse copy is for my trophy wall in the office, Maniac.” He leaned over to the gnome in the next window and whispered, “I met the Maniac of Eighth Street and lived to tell about it.”