Goblins Wear Suits Page 4

  Blood Binder was a calming presence on the board, but he was gone for the week—making a special report to the Fairy Council with the second elf board member.

  “You all are making a big deal over nothing,” the dryad trustee said.

  “Indeed!” said the fairy board member. “I make a motion to grant Firefly a license.

  The wizard panicked. “I can’t tell if I’m being enthralled to vote or not!”

  “You’re fine, Dante,” Ranulf said. “Apricot, Privet. Pull yourselves together,” he snapped, slamming his meaty fist on the table.

  “There’s nothing wrong with us. We simply see the logic in Mr. Weller’s argument,” the fairy insisted.

  “We never should have approved a dryad representative. One vapid fairy is enough,” Luka said.

  “What do you mean by that, trustee Farka?” the dryad said, leaning across the table to glare at the vampire.

  “Only that a board member must be responsible, cunning, and knowledgeable—something neither dryads nor fairies are particularly known for. A second vampire would have been a better choice.”

  “Luka,” Ranulf growled.

  “WHAT?” the fairy and dryad shrieked.

  Hunter chuckled.

  “Stop it. This is exactly what he wants,” the wizard said, his voice tight.

  The rest of the board members ignored him.

  “If you believe the vampires deserve two representatives, you are sadly mistake, trustee Farka,” Elros said, his narrowed eyes framed by gorgeous eyelashes.

  “What sad reason can you cite for such a refusal? The elves have two representatives and the Administrator is a high elf,” Luka said.

  “Elves founded the MBRC. Naturally we have a bigger say in it,” Elros said.

  “Or a monopoly,” the fairy representative said.

  “I beg your pardon?” Elros said.

  Before the conversation could continue, I leaned forward to address Hunter. “If you don’t stop whatever you’re doing, I’m going to kick you.”

  Hunter twisted so he could smirk at me. “I’m trembling in my custom-made shoes.”

  “Hunter,” I said.

  “Fine, fine,” he grumbled. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sure we can come to an agreement,” Hunter said, his voice projecting above the argument.

  The fairy and dryad board members—who were under Hunter’s powers of persuasion—blinked when he released them.

  “What?” the fairy said.

  “You seem to have forgotten why we are here,” Hunter said. “Allow me to remind you: I want a powder license for Firefly. I am not here to ratify or make changes to MBRC board dynamics.”

  Elros glared at Hunter, as if he could skewer him. “The board is prepared to offer you a Type C powder license.”

  Hunter frowned. “Type C is the lowest license which will allow only a small amount of powder to be distributed each day.”

  Ranulf caught sight of me standing behind Hunter. He nodded in my direction, acknowledging my supposed action in the situation. In reality the board gives me too much credit. Hunter is totally a business freak. He wouldn’t let their argument get too out of hand, or they would never give him a license.

  “Firefly has limited business hours, and we would still like to encourage magical beings to make their powder purchases during the day from an MBRC certified seller. A Type C license is the only license we are prepared to grant you at this time,” Elros said.

  Hunter sighed, as if aggravated. “Fine,” he said, turning his back to the board. The barely-there smile on his lips told me he got exactly what he was hoping for.

  “All in favor of granting Firefly of Weller Goblin Enterprises a Type C powder license say aye,” Elros said.

  The board was a chorus of ayes.

  “Opposed?” Elros asked.

  No one spoke.

  “The license has been granted. This meeting is adjourned,” Elros said.

  The board members scattered, eager to get away from Hunter and each other.

  “I am sorry they pulled you in here,” Hunter said, following me back to my desk.

  “No you aren’t,” I said.

  “You’re right, I’m not. I’m glad someone else had to listen to them squabble and argue too,” Hunter said.

  “For someone who got exactly what you wanted, you sound pretty pouty,” I said, gathering my purse.

  Hunter shrugged. “It’s nothing. What are you doing now?”

  “I’m—”

  “Going out to dinner with me. Hello, Morgan,” Devin said, sliding in to my personal space and the conversation with a natural ease. He placed his arm around me and tried to nuzzle my hair. “Did the meeting go well?”

  “It went fine, thanks,” I said, squirming out of his grasp.

  “Councilman, you’re back in the States, I see,” Hunter said.

  “Yes,” Devin said.

  “Even though the Council hasn’t released for its break yet.”

  “Of course.”

  “I should have expected as much.”

  “I’m hurt that you didn’t.”

  Devin and Hunter nodded to each other during the weird exchange. They got along surprisingly well, which is a real challenge for them with their special personalities.

  “Councilman, it’s a pleasure to see you here. Good evening,” Ranulf, the werewolf, said, offering his hand.

  Devin shook it. “Thank you, Ranulf. It is good to be home.”

  “How are things with the Fairy Council?”

  “Well enough. Councilmembers Windstorm and Featherlight are digging in their hooves about centaur herd preservation,” Devin said, wearing charm and power like a shirt.

  Hunter heaved his eyes at the older man. “It was good to see you, Morgan,” he said.

  “Yeah, it was good to see you. What book are you going to use for your British Literature paper?”

  “I’ll probably do something involving Shakespeare,” Hunter said. “You?”

  “I was thinking Pride and Prejudice.”

  “What, not Dracula?” Hunter teased.

  “Hah-hah, very funny.”

  “I thought it was. The first draft isn’t due for two weeks. You know that, right?”

  “Yep. But with all my hours at the MBRC, homework tends to get pushed to the last minute. It’ll go easier if I start thinking about it now.”

  “True. Which reminds me, I brought you something,” Hunter said, placing a briefcase on my desk. He removed a bag of cookies from the interior and passed them off to me. “From Cinna,” he said.

  “Oh my gosh, thank you,” I said hugging the cookies to my chest. Anything cooked by Cinna was to be treasured. He was one of two chefs that worked for Hunter. The best thing about him was that he was a cookie elf. Cinna can bake heaven into a pie. I’m not even joking. And don’t get me started on his donuts.

  Hunter looked amused. “You’re welcome. I’ll see you Monday?”

  “Yeah,” I said, totally absorbed with my cookies. “Bye.”

  Hunter chuckled and left the room with his men. Er, goblins.

  When Devin finished talking to the board members—Ranulf wasn’t the only one to pay his respects, Devin might be a flirt but he was a darn good councilman—he turned to me. “Ready?”

  “Yeah,” I said, finishing my third cookie.

  “What is that?”

  “A red velvet cake cookie. They’re fantastic.”

  “And where did you get them?”

  “Hunter’s chef made them for me.”

  Devin raised an eyebrow. “You accept food from him?”

  “What? It’s not like he’s going to poison it,” I scoffed, securing the remaining cookies in my purse.

  “I suppose so,” Devin said. “You don’t go accepting food from every random being that offers it to you, do you?”

  “No!” I said, outraged. “I’m not that stupid.”

  “Good. Come on. I had to pull strings to get reservations tonight. I don’t want to lose our
table,” Devin said, heading for the door.

  “This place better not be fancy,” I said. “I’m in jeans, and I don’t have a change of clothes with me.”

  “You’ll be fine. Besides, we match,” Devin said, indicating his dark toned jeans.

  “Right,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  Dinner was a new experience. The restaurant entrance was a sewer, which wound deeper and deeper underground before pitching us into a long, narrow tunnel.

  “You had to get reservations for this place?” I said, tripping in the dim light.

  “You’ll understand when you see it. You like international food, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “Good. Here we go,” Devin said when we reached the end of the tunnel. “Two under the Pooka,” Devin said to a thick, trollish guy who guarded the door.

  The troll listened to someone talk on the other side of his headset before he stepped aside and nodded us in.

  Once we were inside I felt suitably more impressed.

  The tunnel pitched us out past the shores of Lake Michigan, and the restaurant was built underwater. The ceiling and most of the walls were glass, letting customers look up into the sky hazed by several feet of water, and peer into the depths of the lake. What really wowed me were the tables. Each dining table was set on top of a rug. Customers would eat sitting down on the rug, which floated, like Aladdin’s carpet. Like, seriously, they moved around the room. The rugs—which weren’t driven by anyone I could see—seemed to have some sort of magic intellect that kept them from running into each other. The restaurant was quite big, so there was a lot of space to float around and up and down in.

  “Wow,” I said.

  A small fairy the size of a water bottle fluttered up to us. “The Pooka, party of two? Right this way. Your carpet is ready for departure,” she said, zipping through the crowd.

  Devin and I hurried after her, stepping onto an indigo and gold patterned Turkish rug.

  “Please remain seated at all times while onboard your dinner rug,” the fairy said. “Your food and drinks will be brought to you while you are in the air. If, for any reason, you need to return to the ground, please inform one of our employees. My name is Mayberry, and I will be your server tonight. Please enjoy your flight, I will return once you are airborne to take your drink orders,” our small waitress said as Devin and I sat on the plush rug.

  “This is awesome,” I said when the rug lifted an inch off the ground, gradually rising higher.

  Sitting on a floating rug is a lot like sitting on a water bed that moves up and down like a reaaaalllyyy slow kiddie ride at a county fair. It felt a little eerie to be floating twenty feet off the ground, but it was smooth and gentle, even if the rug surface rippled like water.

  “Strictly speaking this is a chain restaurant—similar to your Olive Patch,” Devin said.

  “Olive Garden,” I corrected.

  “ However, Chicago is a no-fly zone for magic carpets and most methods of flying. So it has become unusually popular here,” Devin explained. “Also, because the MBRC attracts a lot of international magical beings—who find it difficult to blend in with human society to eat—its menu has become increasingly more popular as well.”

  “Either way, it’s incredible,” I said as we floated along a wall, lazily passing Lake Michigan fish on the other side of the glass.

  I caught Devin’s thoughtful expression in our dim reflection cast on the glass walls. “Okay, Devin. What’s up?”

  “What is up?” Devin repeated, amused.

  “Why did you bring me here?”

  “I thought you would enjoy it.”

  “No way. At least, that wasn’t your primary motivation,” I said.

  “I’m hurt by your accusations.”

  “Devin.”

  The Pooka was rescued by our fairy waitress wielding a tiny pad of paper. “What would you folks like to drink?”

  “Water, please,” I said.

  “I’ll have a Pan’s Pint. She’ll take a Honeydew Bubble Tea,” Devin said.

  “A what?” I asked.

  “Great, I’ll be back with your orders in a few minutes,” the fairy said, fluttering off.

  I stared at Devin.

  “It’s a sweet tea drink from Taiwan. With your passion for Jamba Juice there’s not a chance you won’t love it,” Devin said.

  “That’s not what I want to know.”

  Devin looked around the restaurant and held up one long finger, asking me to wait.

  A few minutes later our drinks arrived—Devin’s in an icy mug, mine in a clear, plastic cup. My drink was light green with a fat straw and black bead things at the bottom of the cup.

  “Are you ready to order?” our waitress asked after our drink deliverer—a small dragon the size of a large dog—flew away.

  “Morgan, do you trust me to order, or do you want to see a menu?” Devin asked.

  I was inclined to ask for a menu, but a sip of my drink changed my mind. “You can order,” I said before sucking down my bubble tea. It had a creamy, melon flavor and the black beads had the consistency of unflavored gummy bears. The drink was weird, but it was totally delicious.

  Preoccupied with my drink as I was, I missed what Devin ordered before the waitress flew away.

  “Now. Why have I brought you here?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “You won’t believe me if I tell you it’s only because I want to spoil you?”

  I chewed on one of the jelly beads and stared at Devin.

  “Two reasons,” Devin said, holding up two fingers. “First I wanted to confirm the MBRC has warned you of Fidem.”

  “Yes. Aysel told me. He said it was nothing to worry about.”

  Devin raised his eyebrows. “He’s trying to sugarcoat it, is he?”

  “Huh?”

  “What did Aysel tell you about Fidem?”

  “That it’s an isolationist, anti-human political group. They’re the magical beings version of rednecks.”

  “Rednecks? Hardly,” Devin said. “Fidem is a military group. They haven’t been destroyed because they are too big for any one group to take down. If the seelie and unseelie courts united with the Fairy Council it could be done. But it is more likely that Madeline will learn to enjoy blood before that happens.”

  “A military group has threatened the MBRC?” I exclaimed, my melon bubble tea sitting wrong in my stomach.

  “Not quite. A member of Fidem personally issued the threats. His name is Krad Temero. He is a very dangerous dark elf and is responsible for a branch of Fidem’s military power,” Devin said, tapping the table with long fingers.

  “So he’s got a personal vendetta?”

  “It is more that as a captain of Fidem he sees it as his responsibility to eradicate rehabilitation centers,” Devin said. “Most authorities hope it is a personal threat, and that he does not seek to involve his underlings from Fidem in the battle.”

  “How strong is he?”

  “Magically speaking? Quite. There have been several attempts against his life and he has survived them all. Only one of the Fairy Council’s soldiers was ever able to lay a particularly nasty curse on Krad. The curse is still on him—it thankfully limits a bit of his power.”

  “Why are you telling me this? Madeline and Aysel both assured me I would be fine,” I said.

  “And you might be. But I want you to be well informed of the situation. Fidem, for all its strength, mostly lurks in darkness. It is not entirely unusual for its leaders to make political statements, but it is rare that they would launch an attack. The magical community is doubtlessly hoping Krad’s threats are empty promises.”

  I sighed. “Great, that’s really encouraging. Do you have any other depressing news?”

  “Partially. I want to be certain you are not letting the MBRC—or the Moonspell family—enslave you in the future.”

  That made me sit up straighter. “What?”

  “I don’t think you realize what a commodity you are. T
he MBRC is not going to easily let you walk away if you choose to leave the Chicago area.”

  “You mean they’ll wipe my memories?”

  “No, I mean they will do everything they can—by bribery or deceit—to keep you as an employee,” Devin said.

  “Why?” I asked. “I’m not Dr. Creamintin. I can’t help magical beings figure out what they have to do to fit in. All I can do is present them with information about every day stuff. If they used Google or Wikipedia even halfway decently they could find way more info than I could ever tell them.”

  “How many magical beings do you know can use a computer, much less competently use a search engine?” Devin asked.

  “More than you would think. Almost all the wizards and enchanters have tablets and laptops. Toby and his hobgoblin friends are all pretty good at using search engines, and I know a few centaur kids who have more technology than me,” I said.

  “But the wizards have better things to do than to surf the internet, and while Toby might be able to track down data, it doesn’t mean he will correctly interpret it. As for the centaurs, their abilities with technology are vast, but it doesn’t translate to common human knowledge. They don’t know social norms, and they don’t know how to interact with humans,” Devin said, leaning back, propping himself up with his arms. “Not to mention you are one of only a handful of young humans that know about us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s a well known fact you are the youngest human employed by the MBRC, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Only a dozen or so normal humans—not magicians or wizards in training who live separately from human society—under the age of thirty legally know of magical beings. That makes you a product that is in high demand,” Devin said. “And it’s not like the MBRC can yank another high schooler off the streets to help. The only reason you were allowed to keep your memories is because of my protection. To let a human remain knowledgeable of the magical takes a great deal of political power.”

  “Alright, I will admit that a bunch of other start-up rehabilitation facilities have been trying to lure me away, but why are you concerned that the MBRC might enslave me?”