Of Mice and MacKays: Maggie MacKay: Magical Tracker, #10

Chapter One

The earth shook beneath our feet.  You could see the undulations spread across the soft, brown hillside.  A crack opened through the vineyard and tore through the ground.  It ran under the winery, causing the entire building to drop into the chasm. 

Well, I guess that means no after work drinks, I remarked.

Don't whine, Maggie, Killian stated.

Are you making puns at a time like this? I asked him.

Perhaps, Killian replied.

A large creature crawled out from the tear in the earth.  He was made of mud and rock.  His hands were the size of a Smart car.  Judging from the size of his bitty head, that was about as far as the smart metaphor extended.

I am not sure he will appreciate my humor, however, Killian remarked, his pale face paling even more.

Aw!  Don't be sour grapes, Killian, I said, socking him lightly on the arm.  The earth monster smashed the villa with his fist and began throwing the umbrella tables across the parking lot.  Screaming people ran for their cars.

There's still plenty of fun to be had!  I said.  Ready to die?

I thought you would never ask, he replied, steeling his resolve.  Let us see how cruel Mother Nature can be.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

My name is Maggie MacKay.  I'm a magical tracker.  This all began about two weeks ago at a crappy tourist trap off the 405 freeway in Torrance.  An evil faerie king named Mad King Cole had left a nugget of magic beneath a faux Bavarian shopping center.  It infused the place with crazy magic, causing a guy to be able to bring wood carvings to life, but not in a heart-warming Pinocchio sort of way. 

Business had been sucking, so to speak, so the shop owners decided to do business with creatures of the night who enjoyed sucking, too.  Realizing that while business had been dead, it wasn't DEAD dead, said shopkeepers sought help ousting their vampire clientele by turning to a bigger bad, namely some sirens. 

Now, these sirens figured out that Little Bavaria had thin spots in the boundary, openings to the land of faerie, and they decided to call over Mad King Cole for a shotgun wedding.  Meaning, the shotgun was aimed at all of humanity as they tore down the boundary using their brother Mortimer's musical talents to blow Gabriel's Horn. 

And man, did it blow all right. 

I got sucked into the boundary.  And then was pulled out of the boundary. 

But the boundary stayed up, we beat the bad guys, I beat Mortimer with a priceless interdimensional artifact, and Killian and I got some free beer.  So, all in all, it wasn't a terrible night.

Killian and I now sipped our complimentary beverages from our complimentary souvenir steins.  We were sprawled out in a great white tent pitched on top of a parking lot.  The bandstand was once devoted to the fine art of the oompah band, but all the musicians had fled.  Even the accordion players.  I don't know if you've ever been serenaded at a restaurant, but just imagine the level of fucked-up-ness it would take to scare one of those bastards off.  Picnic tables were tipped over.  Plastic cups filled with beer and blood sat abandoned.  Bodies of dead vampires littered the ground.  Even the fairytale castle backdrop behind the bandstand was a little bit more like a nightmare. 

Meanwhile, my former boss at the beverage distribution station was directing his crew in clearing the wreckage like it was just another day, another dollar.  He was throwing me dirty looks. 

I raised my stein to him. 

He canned my ass and tried to feed me to some vampires.  Fuck him and his minimum wage paying job.  I was enjoying my severance package.  

All the faerie folk had cleared out.  Getting trapped in an inner dimension tends to make World Walkers a little cranky, and they knew to lay low.  There was only one otherworldly type hanging out and that was my six-foot-four elfin partner Killian. 

And we had ourselves a problem. 

As a tent full of vampires tried to dogpile on me, Killian took off the locket that hid him from the elfin queen.  So, ding dong, the bitch now knew he was not dead.

So, how long do you think we have until she pinpoints where you're at? I asked.

He kicked his long, lederhosen-clad legs into the asphalt aisle and leaned his elbows back on the aluminum picnic table.  She will probably have her Shadow Elves here before I reach the bottom of this stein.

Well, sip slowly and enjoy, I replied.  If the Shadow Elves were after us, we were done for.  They were an elite group of elfin assassins.  If they wanted you dead, the best you could do was choose the playlist for your wake.

But we finished our first beer.  And I filled up our steins again and we got through that one, too.  By our fourth beer, it dawned on us perhaps no one was coming to get us. 

You think she's found herself another man? I asked Killian.

One can only hope. His glassy eyes lit up.  Evidently, another effect of the locket was he was mortal and could no longer drink me under the table.  His face fell.  Perhaps she is just unable to locate World Walkers to transport her across the boundary, though.

I had never thought of that.  All the good World Walkers were here on Earth.  All the rest were lackeys of Stan, the president of the now-defunct World Walker's Association.  And Stan was on Mad King Cole's payroll as part of the Bringers of Light Organization, a polo-wearing club of yuppie faerie evil. 

So, this might be the lager talking, I said, but Gabriel's Horn sealed up all the holes to the faerie realm.  What if it sealed up all of the holes to every realm?  I mean, it couldn't do anything to the permanent portals, but what if no one can make it through unless they are on Stan's guest list?

The enormity of that thought hit us both.  We both took a long drink.

I shall not remove the locket until we confirm that hypothesis, Killian stated, pulling the necklace out of his tunic and opened it to give it a good look.  From the amount of beer we had consumed, he had to look at it with one eye.  Whatever it was, he wasn't happy.  He closed it and started to put it away. 

What?

The nothing is growing.

"Is this a poorly timed reference to The Neverending Story or do we have a situation on our hands?  I leaned over and grabbed the necklace.  Oh.  Nope.  We have ourselves a situation."

The spec of void Killian carried in the locket was bleeding out of the edges.  He scooped up the black ether, forced it back into its container, and snapped the lid shut.

Well, that's not good, I stated, taking another swig of my beer, because what else are you going to do.

The locket may not be able to hold it if it continues to grow, he replied.  He knit his brow thoughtfully as he pondered the potential implications.  I do not know if I wish to be wearing it if it overflows.

Last thing Killian needed was for that thing to stain his magical signature like indelible ink.  Did you notice it starting to grow? I asked.  Like, did you feel it?

Killian shook his head.

Well, for the record, I noticed it making my life a whole lot more lousy, I replied, trying to be helpful.  Maybe we just pinch off a little bit for you to carry around and keep the rest in a box in the back of the closet or something...?

What if it continues to grow and envelops your world? Killian asked, his eyes getting almost as big as Pipistrelle the Brownie.

"Let's not go all The Blob on this thing until it starts eating cars, I replied.  But the worry was now firmly planted in my brain.  So much for sleeping.  And, for the record, I was beat.  It's late.  Let's head back to Mindy's."

We have paid for a room for two weeks, Killian pointed out.  We could stay here.

I'm gonna be honest with you, partner of mine, I'm thinking I've had my fill of beer and German wieners.

I never thought the day would come that I would hear those words come out of your mouth, Maggie.

Let's just say I prefer not to die in a dirndl.  Let's grab our shit and blow this joint, yeah?

Killian pulled himself up and stretched.  May I keep my lederhosen?

I eyed him up and down.  We had both gotten traditional Germanic garb for our jobs at Oktoberfest, but as a result, we had been tied into a sort of indentured servitude with the constant threat that we needed to work until we paid them off.  Fuck it.  Let them come after our paychecks.  How many centuries since you were seen in public without tights?

Many, he replied.

I guess it's kind of like being incognito.  I clapped him on the shoulder and steered him towards the flap in the tent.  Sometimes it's a good idea to try new things.

We could try not having any run-ins with vampires for a change...? he suggested.  Perhaps we could retire to a nice little cottage by the sea.  Surround ourselves with some of Father Killarney's gargoyles.  He paused, noting my shiver.  Gargoyles were good guys, but frickin' scarier than the scariest evil that evil can manifest.  And I've faced quite a bit of evil in my day.  Killian reassured me, As our own private security system, Maggie.  And lawn decorations.  We would not have to invite them to supper.  Think about it!

Sounds pretty dreamy there, Killian, but I think I'm going to pass, I replied.  My old boss shouted something at me about the beer stein I was stealing as we left.  I gave him a one-fingered salute to let him know I heard him.  Besides, you'd get bored.

"You would get bored," he challenged.

Shut up, you would! I replied, shoving him with a laugh.

He coughed and bent over, holding his ribs.  Mmm...

It had been a rough night for everyone.  Ooo... you take the beatings but you do not keep ticking, do you, Killian?  I winced in sympathy.  Maybe Father Killarney or Xiaoming know someone with an ambrosia hookup...?

That would be a lovely way to spend the next 24-hours, he sighed, slowly straightening up.  A day at the beach, a glass of ambrosia in hand, blazing sunlight to keep all the vampires away, and perhaps learning that all the portals have been slammed shut and we shall never have to deal with creatures from the Other Side or elsewhere for the rest of our natural lives.

You really think you'd be happy hanging out here on Earth until the end of time?

You place too much emphasis on excitement, Maggie, he stated, shuffling off towards our hotel room.  When you are an old man like me—

Old! I laughed.  Elf years are like dog years.  But in reverse.  And if we're talking maturity-wise, I'm pretty sure I've met some sixteen-year-olds who come out ahead.

Killian pointed to the corners of his eyes.  Look!  Look at this!  The void in the locket is giving me wrinkles!

Crow's feet, I stated.  Laugh lines.  Dehydration.  Most likely the result of too much beer.  Not magical powers. 

We entered into the small German shopping center of Little Bavaria.  There was a small church in the center courtyard that recent events battling the sirens and Mad King Cole had thoroughly trashed.  Windows were busted.  Plants were ripped from the garden by their roots.  And Killian was worried about post-mature aging.

Ever since I started wearing this damnable—

Language, Killian! I laughed.

This locket, he pronounced, pulling it out of his shirt to wave at me, I feel as if I am living in mortal years and all of my centuries are catching up with me.

Ooo.  That's not good, I said.

He shook his head.  We shall have to hope I do not collapse into a pile of dust like a vampire subjected to the early morning rays.

Mortimer, the male siren, was standing beside the clockmaker and the cranky lady who dressed Killian and me.  I gave a little wave as we passed.  I hoped Mortimer would leave his musical career behind him.  I was so tired of having to save the world from that particular virtuoso.  It sounded from the conversation as we passed, though, that they were considering giving Mortimer a regular gig playing for the tourists on weekends.

Some people never learn... 

If it wasn't for the fact some Shadow Elves might be on their way to snuff out the core partnership of the M-Team, I would have cared more.

Killian and I made our way over to our terrifying hotel rooms, which seemed positively homey after the evening we had survived.  We showered, packed our shit, and sobered up for the drive.  I pulled my long, black hair into a messy bun, securing it by stabbing it in place with the complimentary hotel pen.  And let me state for the record, this hotel frickin' owed us.  I even stole the pad of paper by the telephone.  We loaded up my dad's car and headed towards my sister's house in Pasadena.  Killian was still feeling the effects.  Poor, old, underutilized, elfin liver.

It was late enough that there were only two traffic jams on the way over to my sister's house in Pasadena.  It's a thing in the LA Metro area.  For some reason, the city planners decide that, rather than just close down a lane or two, they should shut down an entire freeway and not let you know until you are being merged by orange construction cones onto a totally different highway.  It makes you feel momentarily bad for the tourists just trying to get home from Anaheim.  But then you're in the