The Changeling's Ghost (Thirteen Gates #1)

The Gambit

      So I make a beeline for my... uh, the guest room... as soon as I get back. My wheelies clack through the house with fierce determination in the places where they hit hardwood instead of carpet. If I'll miss nothing else about this place, I at least appreciate the classy wood as opposed to the plastic marble stuff at the Academy. Dang. I can't really say there's too much about the Academy I've been missing. Thinking about, sure, but missing? Not so much. Plus, there's always the problem of duty.
   
     As an agent of the American government, my primary operative is sticking my nose where it doesn't belong and becoming entangled in other people's business. Tonight, I stood in the barracks as my companions won a battle, but this is trench warfare, and me and my soldier boy are here to win wars. Honestly, I have a lot of operatives right now. Another would be fixing my phone, because I think it broke when we were under that dank sewer bridge. Do people in this town even use phones? I'm fairly sure they all communicate by slipping messages under each other's doors or something.
   
     Whatever. Phone later. Desperate plan now. I open the door to the guest room (which someone must have unlocked... that's concerning) and notice the huge hole in the wall hasn't budged at all. Well, that's unfortunate.
   
     "Where are you going?" asks Asher.
   
     "Into my room," I say, gesturing inside. I can see my laptop on the bench. It's calling to me.
   
     "Gus, we just bloody almost died, and you're leaving me again?" asks Asher. I can't tell if he's joking or if he's legitimately under the impression that I'm going to roll out of his house through the guest room hole (which I don't even know if he's seen, given that he's not blowing up at me about destroying his house right now) and never speak to him again. I guess this would be a good time to go for another hug, but honestly, I'm so numb at this point that all my Asher Wrangling skills probably also got pushed under a bridge.
   
     "Uh, for five minutes," I respond. I grab for his ring, and he draws back his hand as far as it can go, leering at me. "I need this. Greta would understand. It's in the name of duty."
   
      "You've been muttering about 'duty' for five minutes now. What in the blazes is wrong with you?" Asher says. When he doesn't get a response out of me, he follows, "Are we sure her soul isn't still in there?"
   
     "I mean, it could be, but that's none of my business. Just trust me when I say that I can fix everything and all you need to do is give me that ring," I say, clenching and unclenching my hand. "Trust me. This is about your brother's safety, too."
   
     "Right. Sheryl still wants his head on a plate," Asher says, "Your caretaker is absolutely horrifying, you do know that, right?"
   
     "Gimme the ring," I respond.
   
     Asher drops it into my hand. I give him a winning grin, which probably reads as well as his facial expressions did when he was drunk. "I must admit I never figured I'd be getting a ring from you this early in our... partnership."
   
     Asher's face blushes. Yep. He looks like a mess too. "Hey, Gus? I'm alright with being friends again, but can you please stop... making jokes like that?"
   
     "Like what?" I ask.
   
     "You're impossible. You're not dropping hints or something?" he asks tentatively.
   
     I open my mouth. "Oh! Oh, oh, oh! Yeah, sorry for that! Back at home, it was totally acceptable for dudes to act like we were... but I'm not... I mean... I've never actually done anything with anyone, but back home we kind of flirt with whoever. Not in a romantic way or anything. We're all totally straight... By home I mean America, not this room. You dig? Yeah, you dig." Sheesh. "Sorry, it's early, I look like a swamp monster and I've kind of just undergone at least two moments of mortal panic. First your brother breaks in, then you almost burn alive... that's a lot, even for me. Trust me, I handle crazy nights, and this is at least the third worst."
  
     "You're not going to tell me about either of those, are you?" asks Asher.
   
     I wink. "Maybe later."
  
     Asher begins doing the thing with his hands again. I caught his brother doing it earlier. Guess it runs in the family. Sorta. However I'm going to think about this. "Are you sure this is going to work?"
   
     I take another nice long breath. My lungs are getting a real workout this morning. "I don't know what I'm going to do, Asher. I just know that I'm tired of running, and I want more out of this place. I've been everywhere. Seen about everything. I know these joints. I thought I'd know this town inside and out before we were done, but no one maps the place. Everything is a violation, and it's new and chaotic and kinda cool. I want to do something really dangerous. I want to do it with you." I put a hand on his shoulder. "Okay?"
  
     "O-okay?" Asher blubbers. "I'm getting-- I'm going to-- go find my parents, check they aren't panicking, and then sleep until the world ends. You do whatever thing you cooked up and so help me if it doesn't work out I'm sneaking you into the woods."
   
     "I wasn't aware you wanted me around that much," I say, tossing him my classiest finger guns. We're talking military-issue guns. Almost as good as my pecs. Those kind of guns.
   
     "Stop talking," Asher seethes.
   
     I call down the hall, "That wasn't too flirty, right? I'm trying to respect your boundaries!"
   
     "Gus, stop talking!"
   
     I can't suppress the huge smile that's crept across my face the whole time we've been talking. Asher has a way of doing that to me-- suddenly, no matter what we're doing, I'm the happiest I've ever been and my jokes are funnier to me than I've ever found them before. It's that energy that lets me boot up the computer even though the person I see in the blank screen looks like a wraith and start working. I pull up every paperwork form, get out the entire Gatekeeper Intl. Rules and Policies pdf file, which by the way, is roughly 1000 pages long, and start drafting all the paperwork I am legally licensed to touch and then some.
   
     When I finish, I'm not sure what time it is. The crack in my room says 'daytime' and my computer has a bunch of blurry little lines on it that I think are numbers. I close it and stagger upstairs, catching distant muttering from the den. Hopefully Asher doesn't get grounded indefinitely. That'd throw a wrench in our plans, wouldn't it? At least Conway might be around.
   
     I don't think I'd mind seeing Groot again.
   
      Sheryl has six pins in her mouth when I see her. She's got twenty more on a map, which is half slashed out in red, and she's mumbling under her breath. When her eyes catch me, it is with little to no malice, only disappointment. "You've been rerouted onto a later plane and been awarded another probationary strike for slipping out last night. Continue to defect and we'll continue to up the consequences. This is a game of no loss for me and near infinite risk for you, Washington. Choose your next move very, very carefully."
   
     I want to believe I have. I fold my hands, with the ring clutched between them. "Sheryl, I'm electing for a transfer."
Sheryl raises a single eyebrow.

     "You are, now? Under whose authority?"

     "I'd like to make... a deal with you. So, the thing about this case is? It's been solved."

     I hold the ring in my fingers. "See this? This is the integral of Greta Ersteche. Run it through the databases. You'll find I'm right, and I'll bet the entire Gatekeeping branch of England on it, as well as my new position in it. I did all the write-ups on the case, all the paperwork for my transfer, and I've put in my forms for a six-month transfer extension in order to more peacefully resolve existing conflicts here, in accordance with international law as well as custom. I have an entire thesis prepared on why I'd be a good candidate to--"
   
     "Stop," Sheryl says.
   
     I stop.
   
      "Do you really want this?" Sheryl asks.
   
     I nod.

     "Hand me the ring," she says.
   
     I do.
   
     She looks it over, giving me a quick appraisal, and then she takes my laptop from me and begins scrolling the paperwork. "This is an exceptional level of coherency for someone who's been up all night."
   
     "What time is it?" I ask.
   
      "It's three in the afternoon," Sheryl says. "You've been down there all day. I would have stopped you, as I heard you and the younger Northcott enter, but I elected to stand by the parent's wishes one final time. I suppose I was more interested to see what you'd done. You've neutralized the will-o-wisp?"
  
     "And the dryad," I say.
 
     "Really," says Sheryl.
   
     "Yeah. Neutralized. No longer a threat."
   
     Her lips curve into a smile sharper than Greta's knife. "That so," she says, and the closest thing to an agreement that might ever pass between us takes place in the span of heartbeats. "Your paperwork is all in order. I assume you'll want damages on that phone? I can ship one over, but I also require regular updates, monthly check ins, and we'll track all your activity, naturally. However, I must say that for the first time in our partnership, you've managed to surprise me, Washington. Completing a task like that overnight? That's quite a feat."
   
    "I barely did anything," I say.
   
     "Except for sneak out of the house and locate Asher on your own, assist in neutralizing a sinister fifth-level nature spirit, if not much higher, and convince a will-o-the-wisp to rescind her wrath. Not to mention the dryad, who you..." The disparity between the written word and the truth is going to haunt me my whole life. The disparity between the written word and the truth is going to haunt me until I'm closing my eyes to die, and still, I'm sure that I did the right thing by doing the wrong thing. "Neutralized."
  
     "Thank you, ma'am," I say.
  
     "I'll need to look over your paperwork again to check for discrepancies in your work you might need to fix. As long as the problem is attended to, I guess we're done here. Correction-- I am done here." She pulls the map from the wall.
   
     We do not hug. We do not touch.
   
     Sheryl gives me a curt nod.
   
     "Thank you, ma'am."
   
      There's something I need to do. I rub up my right arm, which is still covered in slightly damp art. I rush downstairs to my half-filled suitcase and get out my strings, tying and cutting with my unsanitary teeth, and I weave myself a future out of three pieces of string: blue, white, red. I wind our colors around each other like some kind of voodoo, tying us tighter and tighter until it's no longer just American colors, but a promise: blue, red, blue, red, red, blue. I take a diamond weave and tie it off at the end, just large enough for his tiny wrist (kid needs to eat more), and I know that after every journey I've ever been on, this one is by far the best friendship bracelet I've ever made.

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Written by ChronaLilly