work with.” I sat at my desk, alternating picking at my cuticles with stabbing rats who came too close. “Normally it’s an instrument that magnifies your volume and projects your power out.”
Beth began to hum “Auld Lang Syne,” and the rats got down off my desk. Fast learner, that one.
“Do you know anything about poodles?”
Beth hummed a “No,” causing a wave of rats to jump into the air.
“Let’s do the litmus test.” I reached into my desk and took out pictures from a recent infestation. I found the one I wanted, a toy poodle. Big one, maybe two or three pounds, perched on the back of the man he’d killed, growling. “Cute or not?”
Her lips curled upward in a smile, when what I really needed was a snarl. I put my head down on my desk. “Fairy Godfather will never let me live this down.” I shoved the picture toward her, but instead Beth took my hand.
“You hypocrite. You lecture about me having tattoos, you’ve got a little ink yourself. Got a tramp stamp too?” She held on to my left hand as though she’d found the murder weapon in a Sherlock Holmes mystery. Beth wasn’t the first person to make that mistake. The morning I woke up and found the scars had turned inky black, I nearly had a breakdown.
“That’s not a tattoo.” I pointed at the raised edges. Together, they formed a picture of a rose in a ring of woven thorns. “That’s a mark. The handmaiden’s mark.”
“It looks a lot like a tattoo.”
“It’s the symbol of the Black Queen. If and when you start having to deal with Kingdom folks, I wouldn’t mention her. She’s been dead for more than four hundred years, and folks are still terrified.” I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my fingers over the scars.
Beth was no idiot. The look she gave me clearly said she was calling bull on my claim. “If she’s been dead that long, how’d you get her mark?”
“Dead doesn’t mean gone. A few years ago I went through a mirror, picked a fight with a fairy, and killed her using the Black Queen’s own hand. That’s like killing a black hole with a garden rake, in case you are wondering.”
I have to admit, the look of fear on Beth’s face made me quite pleased. I expected people to treat me with a little respect, and to accept that around here I knew what I was doing. If I hadn’t been a teenager so recently, I don’t think I could have stood being in the same room with one. “Any more questions?”
She kept her eyes off me, but finally she spoke up. “What’s Kingdom?”
I smiled, went to the door to grab my jacket, and opened my office door. “You look hungry. Grab that kazoo and let’s go get some lunch.”
Beth stood, but to her credit, I could see the defiance still in her. She reminded me of myself in that way. “What is Kingdom?”
I had to get her on board with helping me with this year’s Poodling. It wasn’t about the money, or the magic. It was about the fact that everything pointed to this being the worst year for poodles in a decade at least. I gestured to the door. “I think you need to see it for yourself.”
Seven
WE DROVE DOWN to the Gates of Kingdom, at the far edge of the city, and sat there, watching people turn up the Avenue. Beth was an East Side girl, according to her application.
She watched the crowds move back and forth, humming on her kazoo to pass the time. “You want to tell me what we’re doing here?” Every time she hummed, the pigeons around us began Irish line dancing a version of Gutterdance .
“You ever drive up that street?”
She looked over at me. “I don’t have my license.”
That wasn’t a bad thing in my book. “You’ll never be able to turn that corner again as a passenger unless the driver’s got magic too. If you pass through the gates and he doesn’t, you’ll hit the concrete at full speed.”
The look she gave me said I was more than a little crazy. Given what she’d lived through since she first started attracting rats, it was likely
Beth began to hum “Auld Lang Syne,” and the rats got down off my desk. Fast learner, that one.
“Do you know anything about poodles?”
Beth hummed a “No,” causing a wave of rats to jump into the air.
“Let’s do the litmus test.” I reached into my desk and took out pictures from a recent infestation. I found the one I wanted, a toy poodle. Big one, maybe two or three pounds, perched on the back of the man he’d killed, growling. “Cute or not?”
Her lips curled upward in a smile, when what I really needed was a snarl. I put my head down on my desk. “Fairy Godfather will never let me live this down.” I shoved the picture toward her, but instead Beth took my hand.
“You hypocrite. You lecture about me having tattoos, you’ve got a little ink yourself. Got a tramp stamp too?” She held on to my left hand as though she’d found the murder weapon in a Sherlock Holmes mystery. Beth wasn’t the first person to make that mistake. The morning I woke up and found the scars had turned inky black, I nearly had a breakdown.
“That’s not a tattoo.” I pointed at the raised edges. Together, they formed a picture of a rose in a ring of woven thorns. “That’s a mark. The handmaiden’s mark.”
“It looks a lot like a tattoo.”
“It’s the symbol of the Black Queen. If and when you start having to deal with Kingdom folks, I wouldn’t mention her. She’s been dead for more than four hundred years, and folks are still terrified.” I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my fingers over the scars.
Beth was no idiot. The look she gave me clearly said she was calling bull on my claim. “If she’s been dead that long, how’d you get her mark?”
“Dead doesn’t mean gone. A few years ago I went through a mirror, picked a fight with a fairy, and killed her using the Black Queen’s own hand. That’s like killing a black hole with a garden rake, in case you are wondering.”
I have to admit, the look of fear on Beth’s face made me quite pleased. I expected people to treat me with a little respect, and to accept that around here I knew what I was doing. If I hadn’t been a teenager so recently, I don’t think I could have stood being in the same room with one. “Any more questions?”
She kept her eyes off me, but finally she spoke up. “What’s Kingdom?”
I smiled, went to the door to grab my jacket, and opened my office door. “You look hungry. Grab that kazoo and let’s go get some lunch.”
Beth stood, but to her credit, I could see the defiance still in her. She reminded me of myself in that way. “What is Kingdom?”
I had to get her on board with helping me with this year’s Poodling. It wasn’t about the money, or the magic. It was about the fact that everything pointed to this being the worst year for poodles in a decade at least. I gestured to the door. “I think you need to see it for yourself.”
Seven
WE DROVE DOWN to the Gates of Kingdom, at the far edge of the city, and sat there, watching people turn up the Avenue. Beth was an East Side girl, according to her application.
She watched the crowds move back and forth, humming on her kazoo to pass the time. “You want to tell me what we’re doing here?” Every time she hummed, the pigeons around us began Irish line dancing a version of Gutterdance .
“You ever drive up that street?”
She looked over at me. “I don’t have my license.”
That wasn’t a bad thing in my book. “You’ll never be able to turn that corner again as a passenger unless the driver’s got magic too. If you pass through the gates and he doesn’t, you’ll hit the concrete at full speed.”
The look she gave me said I was more than a little crazy. Given what she’d lived through since she first started attracting rats, it was likely
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