End Game

... but not a cat lady

Had Emmeline Dunstan been a witch (as she would have been, had reality been just a little different from what it is), and had she been the sort of witch to have a familiar (absolutely her kind of witch), then her familiar would have been a cat. She was simply feline by nature. No, not a cat lady. Feline as in sleek. Sly when the need arose. Intensely curious. A natural hunter with impeccable grooming.

And patience. She waited and she waited. In the shade. Finally rewarded by the sight of a young man and a young woman emerging from the building.

"Hey, you two. Do you work in there?"

"Sure do," said the young man, far too brightly given the heat of the day.

His friend gave him a tut-tut sort of look. "You know you just signed an NDA that says you're not allowed to tell anyone that?"

"It probably also says we're not allowed to tell anyone about the NDA. I guess that makes us even." He paused, uncertain for a moment, as if reviewing what he had just said. Then he smiled inanely.

"Probably?" Emmeline asked. "You signed an NDA without reading it?" With a weary shake of her head, she held out two of her business cards. "My name is Emmeline Dunstan, freelance journalist. You can call me Emmy-Lee."

"What's wrong with Emily?" asked the young man. When Emmy-Lee did not deign to reply, he just shrugged. "A journalist huh? Cool." The young woman watched on, observing her friend with a disdain not unlike that she had been showing toward Emmy-Lee, only with something extra. A hint of amusement perhaps?

"Would one of you happen to be PerkyPen08?"

Now it was the young woman looking defensive.

"The whole point of a pseudonym is that nobody is supposed to know it's you."

"Sorry dear, that only applies if you're a nobody yourself."

The young woman started to say something, but stopped. Compromised on a belated, "Huh?"

"You didn't realize? Your fifteen minutes of fame just happened. That sighting you posted on Melon Husk... It's been noticed."

"Oops," said the man. "Mr. Husk is not going to be very happy about that."

"So, Husk is in there?"

"I didn't say that." The man placed a hand over his mouth.

"All I did was post it on my Ef-book page," said the woman. "When the goons gave me my phone back it had already gone. They must have taken it down."

"Nevertheless, it was up long enough to come to my attention. I have contacts in certain places, algorithms that prowl for just this sort of thing. That's how I found you. Tracked you down to this place."

For someone who had presumably posted to get noticed, the young woman didn't seem very happy about this news. "Husk's trail has been cold for quite some time now," Emmy-Lee added. "Nobody has seen him for several years. A sighting now, if confirmed, would be of great interest to certain people. Information is money, you know?"

"Tough luck that we signed the NDA, then. We can't talk about it. Come on Tim, I think we better be going."

"Sure," said the young man. "Bye."

Watching the pair walk off toward the main road, Emmy-Lee repeated her earlier gesture – a weary shake of the head. Then she counted up her winnings: she had confirmation of Husk and she had an address. That was progress. There were people prepared to pay for information like this. Just not very much. On the other hand, if the man himself was inside, if he was up to something – the master plan he had boasted of before disappearing... Details of that could be worth considerably more.

She studied the building from which the pair had emerged, felt irritation at its blank exterior. Of course, a cat would have found its way inside. But Emmy-Lee was not a cat, only cat-like. Nor a witch – not really. She was a human being, and humans have their own way of doing things. Where cunning fails there is always brute force. If you can't sneak around the back, you can always crash in through the front. Or perhaps some other part of the building ...

Emmy-Lee did a very un-feline thing: she phoned a friend.