Magic Typewriter: Private Eye

 

Magic Typewriter:

Private Eye

Table of Contents

Introduction                                        4

 

Windfall                                            6

 

The Labyrinth of Desire                             7

 

The Shadow Ball                                     13

 

Spot the Difference                                 14

 

Masquerade Mayhem                                   17

 

Remy and the Gift                                   37

 

Riddle Time                                         38

 

Roses                                               41

 

The Creature Returns                                42

 

Crossword Puzzle                                    43

 

Shadow Play                                         46

 

The Message                                         47

 

Anagrams                                            50

 

Page Not Found                                      52

 

The End                                             53

 

Mystery vs Reality                                  56

 

As the Storm Approaches                             65

Introduction

RIIINNNGGG! RIINNGGG! Hello? Who is this? I’m sorry, but as the head editor of Magic Typewriter-named after yours truly-I simply don’t have time to converse with you, Dear Reader. If you don’t have an appointment-

Dear Reader! Is it that time again to write a thrilling introduction for the magazine? It seems like only yesterday I entered a new portal into the mystery genre- 

Yes reader, I–a sentient typewriter who’s only collected stories in the fantasy realm–have become an investigative journalist! The Interdimensional Cyber Authority (ICA) has hired me to assist them in spreading awareness of their mission: to protect online publications, such as ourselves. Their agent, #5, has been working with me and the other artists of this magazine to ensure our purpose continues: to encourage and celebrate writers and artist of any age, specifically students. Along the way, we have stumbled across some very puzzling cases:

PING!

The Message: Jake’s night takes a unexpected turn as he waits on his baby sister to come home.

Masquerade Mayhem: Arthur Reinfield is alarmed to see an old classmate of his show up on the night of an important gala, and is even more alarmed to learn that his girlfriend will be kidnapped!

Labyrinth of Desire: Florence is anxious about growing up, but when she and her friend fall into the Labyrinth of Desire, all she cares about is getting out.

And more…

These are what we’ve found; except- well there is one case that is still ongoing. I can’t tell you everything of course, but you should have some idea of what we’re hunting.

Just in case.

Over the last few months, there’s been a string of, how to put this, storytellers who’ve been devoured whole. I say devoured because whenever the victims' bodies are found, their spirits have been sucked out of them. What’s worse, the perpetrator behind this–known as the Imposter–will take their form them before moving on to its next victim.

Thankfully, they have just been taken into custody, but the ICA is still gathering evidence to lock the Imposter up forever. Now, I must get off the phone. It’s time for my oil-bath. What’s that? How can a typewriter answer a phone? Of all the most insensitive questions! 

If you must know, as a Magic Typewriter, I can transfer my essence–my soul, if you will–to other mechanical objects. How else could I work online? Computers are such marvelous inventions! I can freely move about in another dimension without waiting on a portal to open. The best part is, I don’t have to use any virus protection like you humans do because of my magic-

Pardon? You’re concerned the Imposter will come to devour me? The monster is in cyberspace jail! He can never escape! If I can survive deforestation with my magic, I can handle a menace such as it- AAAAAAHHHHHHH! 

******************LINE DISCONNECTED*********************

AGOOOOOONNNNNNNYYYYYY- Oh. Forgive me, reader dearest. I had thought you’d hung up. Before I leave, I thought it would be great sport to include some puzzles for you to solve. See you later! 

DING! 

Windfall

Sofia Bartholomew

Photograph

The Labyrinth of Desire

Gabrielle Hawkins

 

 

            Life as a young child was easy. No stress, no responsibility, no holding your breath. Once you hit thirteen, you carry all the weight and pressures of growing up. Harder schoolwork, applying for jobs, getting your driver's license, looking at colleges, and above all being independent. It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes teenagers can’t take it and they fumble.

            “Harper, do you miss just being a kid and having no responsibility whatsoever?”

            “Florence, what are you talking about?”

            “I mean-” she paused, closing her eyes. “Just getting to run around and play tag without having to wake up the next morning and remember that you haven’t gotten a job yet and that you’re disappointing people.”

            “I thought this was a sleepover, not a therapy session!” Harper jokes. “You’re gonna be fine. You’ll get a job eventually.” 

            There was a monotonous vibe in the room until Harper found something on her laptop.

            “Flor, have you heard of the backrooms?” questioned Harper, showing the website. “It’s this place with yellow endless hallways and they’re also other liminal spaces too!”

            “No, but it looks super fake.”

            “How would you know? You barely even looked at it.”

            “I did and it’s literally on the bottom-right,” Florence pointed at the corner of the screen. “It says Disclaimer: This is a fictional urban legend originating from 4chan.” 

            “Well I still think it’s super cool.” Harper exclaimed. “It says you can go into the backrooms by no-clipping.”

            She went into a deep dive of the website. Annoyed by Harpers’ lack of attention, Florence groaned and decided she was going to go to bed early. She was still in deep thought about getting a job and how her parents had these impossible expectations of her. 

            The next morning, Harper went home; Florence was painting a lily of the valley. She then looked at the floor for a while. Art was her way of coping with her stress. It worked for the most part, but it still felt like she couldn’t fully escape. Like something was holding her down, but she could figure out what. It wasn’t chains, it wasn’t rope. It was herself. She then looked back at the painting and saw she painted a muddy gray color. Her mom barged in, startling her.

            “Time for dinner, Flor.” She said, walking away.

            Florence wasn’t excited at all. Her parents' words left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth. As she walked down the stairs, she could already imagine what her parents were gonna say to her. Grudgingly, she pulled up a chair and slouched down. It was so quiet you could hear the squeaking of the ceiling fan in the next room.

            “So, Florence, did you hear back from that one position at the cinnamon bun place?” her dad questioned.

            She looked down at her lap, continuing to pick her food with her fork.

            “Did you even try to talk during the interview?” her mom seemed irritated.

            The questioning went on for a while. It was never ending until her mom said something that really stuck.

            “I just wish you would try.”       

            That single sentence hit Florence like a 4,000 ton train. She was so confused. Try? She was trying. She has applied for at least ten jobs. For half of them, she wasn’t sure if she met the age requirement. Filled with so much frustration and bottled up rage, she got up and ran out the door.

zzz

            It was cold; she had been running for a while. She didn’t know what block she was on. Then, she accidentally bumped into Harper, causing them both to fall on the rough pavement. At least it felt like the pavement. The space surrounding them was an off-white color.

            “Flor, what happened?!” Harper frantically asked, putting her hands on her shoulders.

            “It’s nothing.” Florence wiped her tears as her mom’s words replayed in her mind. They then realized where they were. No people, no houses, no pavement.

            “Florence, where’s the street!?” Harper quickly started to panic.

            “How the hell am I supposed to know that?!”

            Harper started to hyperventilate until she abruptly stopped. With a confused look on her face, she pulled out her phone and started typing.

            “IS THIS REALLY A GOOD TIME TO BE TEXTING YOUR GIRLFRIEND RIGHT NOW, HARPER!? WE ARE LITERALLY IN THE MIDDLE OF NO–” Harper put her hand over her mouth. 

            “I think we just no-clipped out of reality,” Harper concluded.

            “What are you even talking about!?”

            “Look! It says it right here: You can get into the back rooms by no-clipping out of reality. You first need to find an entrance.”

            “Harper, this is not your weird, analog horror, urban internet legends. This is REAL LIFE!”

            “You are exactly right, Flor.” A haunting, but gentle voice responded. They looked confused. Where was that voice coming from? They both slowly turned and saw a stuffed giraffe on the floor. 

            “Did that giraffe just talk?” Harper asked in a monotone, but scared voice.

            “I am Gigi. Welcome to the Labyrinth of Desire,” it continued. “You both will be going through different stages. Once you have completed them all, you may leave. It is no easy task. So, if you need assistance, Gigi is willing. If you don’t complete a stage in a certain amount of time, you will die. If you refuse to follow Gigi’s instructions, you will die.”

            There was a long silence in the space. Florence and Harper looked at the giraffe in horror. Their arm hairs were standing up, almost as if they were about to fall off. Florence’s confusion soon turned into frustration, then anger. She was boiling. She couldn’t believe that her stupid mistakes had gotten her to where she was right now. Livid by this scenario, she bolted to the stuffed animal, screaming her head off. She then picked it up and ripped it open. Instead of there being cotton, a black liquid came pouring out of the giraffe and onto the floor. Her vision was blurry. Then, she couldn’t see anything but darkness. 

 

zzz

            Florence woke up on the ground next to a few swings and a playground. She was tired and so confused.

            “Harper?” She called out, but no one answered. “Where am I?”

            She got up and assessed the area. Next to the swings, there was a tall, shadowy figure looking at her. She was startled by it and stepped back. 

            “Hello?” She tried to talk to it.

            A few seconds went by and it hadn’t moved or spoken. Keeping an eye on it, she went towards the playground. It looked like it was about to collapse. She played with the games that were in the structure. One of them was a few holes that looked like different shapes.

            “I remember this!” She got a wave of nostalgia looking at the empty holes. There was a box next to the game, but nothing was in it. She then looked back at the puzzle.

            “I guess I need to find these pieces and put them in the holes,” she concluded. She looked under the slide and found the square. Then, she looked near the monkey bars and found the triangle. Time went by and she had a bunch of shapes in her arms walking back to the puzzle. 

            “I’m missing one more.” She looked everywhere and couldn’t find it. 

            More time passed, and the dark liquid from the stuffed animal started to creep up slowly onto the playground.

            “I’m running out of time!” She ran to the swings, frantically trying to look for the missing piece. She glanced over the side of the swings and realized that the shadowy figure from earlier had disappeared. Her body tensed up. She felt a presence behind her. She quickly turned and the figure was standing with the last puzzle piece.

            “I didn’t realize you were standing behind me.” She laughed nervously. “Do you think you could give me that last piece?”

            The shadowy figure nodded and gave her the piece. Florence was surprised by the willingness of this horrifying creature.

            “Thank you so much! Here, you can have this in return.” Florence dug in her pocket for a moment. She pulled out a blue bracelet and put it on the black figure’s wrist.

            “I’ll never forget you, tall black figure!” She joked and ran to the play structures. The figure looked at its wrist and felt a happy feeling for the first time in its life.

            Florence put the last piece back into the puzzle. All of a sudden, the playground started to shake. Running out of it, she saw a glowing light in the midst of the darkness and went towards it.

 

            zzz

            She teleported into a classroom.

            “Hey! This is Mr. Radson’s English class!” she exclaimed. She sat down in the back, expecting some sort of person to come in. After a while, she got bored of waiting and got up to look around. She went over to the teacher’s desk and found several keys.

            “Another puzzle! Are you kidding me!!” she groaned.

            Trying to find the lock that the keys went to, she heard a faint grunting noise. It got louder and louder as it came closer and started banging on the door.

            “I thought I had way more time than this!” She wondered, frantically trying to look for a way out. There was a bookshelf on the wall. 

            “In escape rooms, there's usually something behind the books that opens a door.” she exclaimed, knocking down the books.

            “Found it!” The grunting monster barged in, revealing itself to be a giant blob of black liquid. As she screamed, she unlocked the door and ran in. The creature looked like it was being restrained by something. Florence locked the door.

            “Another room?” This time the classroom looked beaten up, but still usable.

            On the teacher’s desk, there were three weapons: a knife, a pistol– and a nerf gun?

            “This is,” she hesitated, “Harpers’ nerf gun? What is it doing here? What are any of these weapons doing here?”

            With too many questions and still no answers, she took the nerf gun and found the lock to the next room. The lights were flickering and the classroom looked filthy, with black liquid and blood on the walls. 

            “The smell is putrid in here!” she complained. “I really need to get out of here before that thing comes back.”

            She tried looking for the lock. Near the bookshelf, on the white board, in the closet. Still nothing. She checked the whole room twice.

            “I’m never gonna find-” she was interrupted by the blob monster once again banging on the door. 

            “Damn it!” she exclaimed, running around. It was too late. The blob monster barged in and was sliding towards her with its gooey complexion.

            She circled the room for a while, dodging the creature’s attempts to get her. She thought for a second.

            “Harper’s nerf gun!” She exclaimed as she aimed and shot the blob. Blue particles shot out at the monster and it started melting very slowly. It let out a loud howling sound. 

            The blue particles filled up the room and Florence began to feel drowsy. Her vision was blurry and the sounds of the howling creature muffled. She thought she saw something before she collapsed.

zzz

            “Harper!”

            Florence woke up abruptly in the driver seat of a car. It looks like she’s driving on top of the ocean. By this point, her eye bags were prominent and she looks like she hasn’t showered in days. She was getting annoyed with this whole situation.

            “Ok, this is starting to get ridiculous. GIGI!” Florence yelled.

            “You call, Gigi answers.” Its body appears in the passenger seat, stitching itself together. “Eyes on the road.”

            “Can you please tell me why you put Harper and me in this place?! Also, WHERE IS HARPER!?” She frantically questioned, her hands glued to the wheel.

            “Gigi is not permitted to answer those questions at this time. However, Gigi can help with stages.”

            “You’re an asshole, you know that?” 

            “Gigi does not know what that means. Eyes on the road,” it exclaimed in its dull voice.

            “But there is no road! WE ARE DRIVING ON THE OCEAN!”

            “This is merely a resting stage. Eyes on the road.”

            “I don’t need to rest, I need to find Harper!”

            “Eyes on the road, Flor.”

            She hesitated. “I don’t know-” Florence stopped and thought for a second. Eyes on the road? She took a deep breath and tried to focus. After a moment, she drifted off to sleep. The car got to the end of the road and then fell off.

 

zzz

            She woke up on the ground in the middle of the woods. It was daytime and there was a white brick road beside her.

            “When will this nightmare end?” she questioned, looking and feeling exhausted.

            She decided to walk on the white brick road. She had so many thoughts in her head. Florence still didn’t know why this was happening to her.

            “Labyrinth of Desire?” she continued. “Is there something that I desire? Is that why I’m here?”

            The bushes maneuvered out of the way, making a path. 

            “Might as well,” she sighed, as she followed the grassy trail. It led to a chair and a canvas on an easel. 

            “What’s this doing here?” Florence sat down on the chair, taking in the familiar object in front of her. She took a deep breath and listened to the birds chirp. A faint grin appeared on her face. It was the first time she genuinely smiled in a long time. Suddenly, a paint set appeared onto her lap. She decided to paint a lily of the valley, but this time she would make sure not to zone out.

            Some time passed, and she ended up zoning out, but it was a different kind of zoning out. She forgot all the questions she was asking. She forgot that she ran away from her parents. She forgot that Harper was still missing. She forgot that she was in the Labyrinth of Desire. 

            Once she finished, Florence sat back and looked at all the hard work she had done, not knowing that someone had been watching her in silence this entire time.

            “Flor?” A faint voice said.

            She quickly turned around. It was the person she’s been looking for.

            “Harper!” She jumped up and ran to hug her.

            “I don’t even know what to say! I’ve been trying to find you everywhere! What happened?” Florence questioned.

            “I went through these horrible stages! One was in a kitchen, and knives were being thrown at me and another had me stuck in a computer!?”

            “That’s so terrible!” Florence joked. “I was on a playground with this tall man that had no face and driving in a car on the ocean with that stupid giraffe!”

            “That sounds even worse!” Harper laughed, still in Florence’s embrace.

            “You have completed the Labyrinth of Desire. I’m surprised you didn’t die.” Gigi appeared with its monotone voice. They both looked at the stuffed animal angrily.

            “Gigi will let you go home now. Gigi can also answer any questions you have.” It said as it opened up a white door.

            “Come on, Flor!” Harper said, in a hurry to get home.

            “Wait a second.” She walked over to Gigi. “I have two questions for you. What exactly is the Labyrinth of Desire?”

            “It is exactly what it says. People can only find an entrance to the labyrinth if they really want something that is hard to reach, something that they yearn for– something that they desire. Most people die in the labyrinth trying to get it.”

            Florence thought for a moment. “Second question,” There was a long pause. “You look a lot like my stuffed giraffe from when I was five. I remember naming it Gigi. Are you that giraffe?”

            Gigi looked hesitant. 

            “Maybe!” It said with the most emotion it ever expressed. They both looked surprised. Then they burst out in laughter, trying to keep their feet on the ground. After they were done, they said their goodbyes to Gigi and left out the white door.

 

zzz

 

            A few weeks went by and both Florence and Harper were safe in their homes. Their parents were scared out of their minds but they found a not very believable excuse which caused them to be grounded for two weeks. All of a sudden the phone started to ring.

            “Hello?”

            “Hi! This is Cinnaholic calling for Florence Mcintyre?”

            “This is her mother speaking.”

            “Hello! We were just calling to say that we reviewed her interview results and she’s hired. She starts on Monday!”

 

The Shadow Ball

Lisa Lorenzo

Digital Art

Spot the Difference

With Magic Typewriter 

 

     Too many people succumb to believing everything they see on the internet. To promote awareness of this error, I’ve decided our first game will be to spot the difference between famous literary quotes and their forgeries. The true masterpieces are on the next page. Let us begin! 

DING!  

 

The Raven

#1: Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

#2: Quote the Raven, “Never again.” 

#3: “Nevermore,” said the Raven. 

  

Macbeth

   #1: Boil Boil toil and trouble. Fire hot and cauldron cold. 

#2: Bubble bubble toil and trouble. Fire red and cauldron black. 

#3: Double double toil and trouble. Fire burn and cauldron bubble. 

  

Sherlock Holmes

#1: “Elementary, my dear Watson.”

#2: “Exactly, my dear Watson.” 

#3: “Easy, my dear Watson,” He paused, a tear coming into his eye. “You are… my brother.”

Spot the Difference Answers

The Raven

#1: Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

A warmup, to be sure, but even the slightest technical mistake will reveal a fake. 

 

Macbeth

#3: Double double toil and trouble. Fire burn and cauldron bubble. 

This one was more difficult, but if you’ve studied Shakespeare, you know he loved using rhythm. In this specific line he utilizes rhyming couplets, setting a dark, foreboding tone that permeates throughout Macbeth. So if you read all the quotes out loud, this one rhymes the most. Therefore, it is the original.

 

Sherlock Holmes 

#2: “Exactly, my dear Watson.” 

     You humans are notorious for getting lines from fictional media wrong. Holmes never says “Elementary, my dear Watson.” He does use “elementary” and “my dear Watson” occasionally, but never in the same sentence. This misused line has a mysterious origin, but some think it comes from a similar line in William Gillette’s 1889 play Sherlock Holmes, in which everyone’s favorite detective says “Elementary my dear fellow.” and “Dear Watson.”   

 

Well, that is all for now. 

DING! 

Bonus Spot the Difference

Courier: I am Magic Typewriter. 

Courier Prime: I am Magic Typewriter. 

 

Spot the difference? 

 

 What happened to my font? Why can’t I access it? We must get to the bottom of this, reader dearest!

DING![1] 

---

[1] Viewed by an unknown user.  The user exited this site. The user returned to this site with another tab open. Tab reads “Imposter Has Escaped from Prison! It Is Suspected It Escaped Virtually.  Strengthen your Firewalls Immediately!”

Masquerade Mayhem

Jenna Ball

6:14 pm

        I jump at the doorbell. Finally! Without the package, I can kiss my night with Quillia goodbye. Something that has been happening way too much for my taste.

        I turn the knob. My lips break into an unexpected smile. “Mr. Davis?”

        St. Louis’s only music teacher grins back. “Hey, son! Bexington Co just delivered this to the school. Figured it would take too long for them to send it to you, so I dropped it off myself. That way it actually shows up on time.” We share a look. 

        Bexington Co is the nation’s top security service. They live up to their reputation, but at the cost of their customers' time and wallets. I had to wait six months for two bobble heads. Two, grotesque Sun Kings in medieval clothing. Why? So I could get into my “totally forgiving and hip” catholic school’s gala. They cost more than my costume, dammit! It’s worth it though, if it makes her night. She’s worth it.

        “Nice place you got here, son!” Mr. Davis says, handing me the package. “Rent must be hell though, living downtown.” I forget that he just moved here this semester. Mr. Davis is one of the few good people in my life. He’s kind and generous to everyone, even to Valentin Bexington, my girlfriend’s ex. Which has become a trend in this town, unfortunately.

        “No sir. This is a dorm for students at St. Louis.” He lets out a low whistle. Poor Mr. Davis. He still thinks St. Louis is a good school. I quickly look over the package. Everything looks to be in order. Wonder why the security alarm is blinking. A new model?

        He shakes his head, impressed. “You enjoy it, then! You all ready for the dance tonight?”

        “Yes sir.” As ready as I’ll ever be.

        “Well, you’d better not keep your date waiting. She’s in the lobby.” He walks to the elevator. “Happy Mardi Gras!” Did he say what I think he just said? Why is Quillia waiting on me? Unless something happened. If Bexington so as much looked her way…

        “Oh, and son?” Mr. Davis’s eyes bore into mine as the elevator doors shut. “Keep your girl close tonight. News says there’s been another kidnapping.”

        I race down to the shadowy stairs, taking the warning to heart. Nothing can happen to her tonight. Nothing! Relief shoots through me when I see a sitting silhouette at the bottom, writing something down. Quillia must’ve finished getting ready. And she’s composing again! I head back up. We have time. All the time in the world.

        Placing the package on my futon, I check my texts for the passcode that’ll disable the alarm. An innovative product that provided reassurance to online shoppers during the pandemic. A product that made Bexington a household name. A product that I’m surprisingly grateful for, despite what Valentin has done to Quillia.

        Rumor says he’s moved on since last winter, but I doubt it. He’s planned something tonight. Maybe slashed my tires, bribed somebody to–No.  Best not to dwell on it. Valentin is more likely to make a scene at the gala. One that my girlfriend will ignore, like she always does. Especially since she’s singing for the first time in public since who knows how long. All those late sessions with Mr. Davis will finally pay off. Remember: it’s her night.

         I run to the stairwell. I hadn’t planned for us to eat beforehand, but since she’s already here I could whip something up. Quillia is full of surprises, doing a 360 when you least expect it– I trip on the first step. That is not Quillia.

6:17 pm

    If Jacqueline Rochette is on my doorstep, it either means someone’s life is in danger or I forget to do my portion of our midterm project. Hopefully it’s the former.

            Perched on the sofa like a rabid hummingbird, Rochette pecks at everything on my coffee table, frantic since she entered the room. I remain at the door, speechless.

            What is she doing here? Shouldn’t she be traveling, or doing whatever she does on break? I doubt she’s here to ask me for a ride to the dance, that’s for sure. 

            She moves to my tiny bookshelf, skimming each novel before returning them.

            If anyone else had showed up out of the blue, I would have shut the door in their face. Especially since I’m running late–I had planned picking up Quillia–but something stopped me.

            Her eyes. They’re pure terror. The type of look I’ve seen all too often on the female students of St. Louis Higher High School. 

    Jacqueline turns around, and shoves a note card into my palm. Her handwriting is a shaky scrawl: Arthur, don’t say anything. We don’t have a lot of time, and it doesn’t help that he’s listening. Can you help me? There’s no one else I can go to right now.

            I put a finger to my lips in affirmation, silent. What the hell is going on?

            Arthur give me your phone. Someone will die if you don’t give me your phone!       

Guess I can give my girlfriend the roses and proposal later.

            I hand her my cell. With a grateful glance, she dials in a number. Cradling the phone with her shoulder, Jacqueline makes her way to the sink, checking every cabinet on her way there. I guess it’s possible that housekeeping could have planted a bug here, but for what purpose? I follow her into the kitchenette. She raises a hand that signals out of my way, agitated no one has picked up yet.

She calls again.

My lab partner is a quiet, busy type. Is always on her feet, but never shares what’s going on. She and I have a lot in common, liking the same classic films and literature. That, and she doesn’t hang out with the stuck up trust funds on campus. In other words, she has no friends there. Like me. What sort of stunt has Jacqueline gotten into? And who’s this he, this stranger listening in on our conversation? 

Then again, it’s St. Louis. The biggest cesspool of scum and villainy that will one day rule the galaxy, but for now must settle for Louisiana. 20% of all organized crime in the country has ties here. Yet the police don’t do anything, due to bribery, threats, or death. I’m only here because my girlfriend is, and Quillia was framed! She couldn’t yell at her ex to get lost, much less contrive an elaborate plot that put lives at risk. Quillia’s been so upset about the whole ordeal… we barely talked this semester. Tonight will be the first time I’ve seen her in weeks.

Jacqueline never did tell me why she enrolled. I can only assume it had to do with this guy. Someone from her past, coming back to haunt her… what is he after?

No one’s picked up. Rochette is jumping out of her skin, moving back to the living room to mess with the few photos I’ve hung up on the walls, a silent phone now in her hands. Her shoulders slump. I walk towards her, scribbling on a note card.

I’m sorry no one picked up. I need to get Jacqueline out of here, someplace more secure. Maybe Quillia will let her stay at her apartment for the night? If you want, I could-

My phone is ringing in Jacqueline’s palm. Unknown caller blazes across the screen.

Jacqueline shoves the phone into my hand, fumbling over her cards. Why doesn’t she just text whoever this is? 

You're going to need this. The front of the card says. Wait. What?

“Why? Who am I talking to-?” A click on the other end.

Someone has picked up the phone.

“Good day. And who would you happen to be?” The voice is staticky. Hard to hear.

I glance at the note card, half hoping this is a prank, but dismiss this notion when I remember Jacqueline’s frantic behavior. That man listening in. Something tells me this whole situation is about to get strange. St. Louis strange.

Being on scholarship, I’m excluded from most of the crazy events that follow St. Louis. (Case in point: that one secretary who looked like a serial killer? Well… ) The majority of the institution follows a sick hierarchy, with the wealthiest ladies and scumbags calling the shots. Some ignore them completely, but contract the social isolation that Jacqueline and I are infected with. The student population is predominantly male. Delinquent, to be specific.

Jacqueline told me she had grown up in New Orleans. She knows these kids, and how to avoid unwanted attention. Sometimes though, the attention can find you. Just like Quillia.

I need to help her out of this. Quickly.

“Hello, Hale.” Smiling at Rochette, I turn the card over.  “This is your SEXY DREAM BOAT READY TO PULL YOU OUT TO SEA?!?” I drop the phone, letting it fall to the floor. A scream of rage is heard below. Jacqueline picks up the phone, and shoves it back into my hand.

“What the hell, Rochette!” I glare at her. She glares right back, angry that I said her name. I’m about to kick her out, but she looks up at me with those big eyes of hers. Full of fear and what looks like faith. Like I’m the only one who can save her.

In the last month, more teen girls have gone missing from New Orleans than any other city in the country. I bet my 2002 Toyota Corolla half of them involve kids at school. Just last week, a freshman was cornered by seniors into the gym lockers. I don’t know what I would have done if Mr. Davis wasn’t near. Others weren’t so lucky. Is that what she meant by “he’s listening in?” Did someone follow her here? Is he in the hall?

            I send her a look that says you’d better explain this, and pick up the phone. “Sorry, uh, this is all too much.”

            A grunt comes in response. I roll my eyes and decide I deserve this anyway. Why did I let Jacqueline in? Why did I even bother to- oh, yes. The terrified (manic) eyes. 

“Oh my… that. Was. The sweetest thing anyone has ever told me! How did you know what my dream pick up line was? You really do know everything, secret admirer!” A shriek is heard from the other end. I scowl.

Jacqueline, who is now checking the floorboards, jots something down: Go along with it. 

            Against my better judgment, I do. “Oh, I know a ton about you, Hale. What you like, how considerate you are with your, uh, outfits. This is too much, isn't it?" I laugh uncomfortably.

            “Not at all!” Her words come out in a rush. “ I knew you’d finally come around. My friend Jacqueline told me: ‘Hale, you can’t date some stranger you met online, that’s crazy!’ But here we are! And we go to the same school, like the same flower… So, since you know everything about me,” I can’t help but imagine wiggling eyebrows here. “Will you be ready for the gala at say, 7:30?”

            “No way in-” Jacqueline grabs my hand, almost breaking it she’s squeezing so hard. I grit my teeth. “I must see your beautiful face no later than 7:00.”

            Another shriek. I’ll need hearing aids after this. “DONE!” Hale hangs up, cheering like she just won an auction. I put the phone down on the futon, my face away from Jacqueline.

This has gone on for long enough. 

            Why would Rochette do this? Telling me a strange man is listening in, claiming someone would die- it’s so stupid only Valentin could be behind it. Yet while I’m being distracted by Jacqueline, what is he planning? No, no, I can’t keep having thoughts like this. Whatever she’s doing, Jacqueline has a reason. “Rochette, why are you here?” I turn around to the sound of sawing. My package!

On hands and knees, Jacqueline uses my box cutter, which had been on the coffee table, to create a hole in the side of the package, not unlike how a cat burglar would in the old noir films. She saws through it like butter. The blinking alarm remains quiet, even though it’s supposed to be screaming bloody murder at this point.

She slips out the pair of bobble heads. But instead of taking them like I thought she would, all she does is check the inside of the box. What else is she after? Destroy the tickets, and our night is ruined. Quillia’s night is ruined. 

I follow Jacqueline’s movements, cautious. She doesn’t even glance my way. Standing, but only to take a closer look at the package, her hands twist around it in frustration. Like it’s a puzzle she’s desperate to solve. But all that’s on the box is my address, which she already knows, and the blinking security alarm, which has been as silent as she has. 

She stops when she sees the alarm. The alarm. Why does she care about the alarm?

Rochette’s mouth contorts into a malicious smirk. She claws at the alarm until she rips it from the package, a little cardboard on its backside. 

“Found you!” She says to it, triumphant. She throws it down on the ground, kicking it away. Jacqueline looks so different at this moment. Like someone in the halls of our school. Someone who would harm Quillia.

            Something within me snaps. “You think you can walk in here, turn me into your friend’s online stalker, and ransack my HOME?” Months of planning and preparation, ruined by Valentin’s plan for revenge! He even got to Jaqueline, the villain. Curse his Parisian accent! 

My anger turns to cool resolve. He will not ruin Quillia’s night.

            I’m suddenly aware I have a tight grip on Rochette’s arm. What has gotten into me? I can’t do this! A calming memory enters my head. My last therapist. If you find yourself out of control, count to ten. And I do. There’s more to this situation than meets the eye.

            However Valentin turned Rochette against me, she isn’t the real enemy here. He is. For all I know, he could’ve threatened her, even her family. That still doesn't explain why she attacked the security alarm. Right now though, I could not care less. 

I let her go, but shoot a finger at the door. “Get out.”

She takes up her belongings in one smooth motion, like she does this all the time, then looks down at the still blinking security alarm. Her eyes narrow. A pause. She grabs a hammer from her bag and brings it down with a bang! The plastic is busted up, the device destroyed. 

How is that possible? No one can break a Bexington security alarm. No one! Unless… it’s not a security alarm. That slow, blinking light… it’s identical to a mini bug Mathéo Bexington (Valentin’s younger, genius brother) promoted last week at Bexington Con. It won’t be in stores for months. 

Jacqueline was telling the truth after all. But… a Bexington?! She’s as good as dead without help. I repeat my question. “Why are you here?”

            She picks up the smashed plastic. “It’s like I said before: I don’t have anyone else to turn to.” She sighs, anger burning her gaze. “And I don’t like creeps eavesdropping on my friends.” She tightens her hold on the alarm, her knuckles ghost white. Not her first encounter then.

 “Hale’s in danger, Arthur. Big danger. I turn my back for one second and she’s somehow involved in–” Rochette holds back a sob. Taking a breath, she composes herself. “She’s the kidnapper’s next target. If you help me, we could catch them! They're planning to take her tonight at the gala.”

I gape at her, stupefied. “Hold on, the kidnappers? You know who’s responsible?” 

She bites her lip, her grip on the security alarm loosening. “Not exactly. I know people involved, but not the actual perpetrators.” I wait for her to continue. Jaqueline sighs. “You may not believe me.”

I raise a brow. Be Quillia Ascension's boyfriend for a year, and you start believing a lot. Jaqueline continues, “I–and you can never repeat this–work with an international protection agency.”

“Protection? What do you protect?”

She shrugs. “Documents, people, Egyptian funeral masks. Anything that is critical to the world’s safety. Hale’s parents are major diplomats, and since we used to be friends in elementary school, the agency chose me as her covert bodyguard. Lately though, she’s been avoiding me. I kept tabs on her in certain places, and everything seemed to be ok. That is, until this morning. I got a tip from an old source.

“They can be… sketchy at times, but I can’t take a chance on Hale's life! I’m sorry I pulled you into this, but no other agent is available. Not until eight fifteen. There’s this whole operation going down at the Endymion parade…” She shakes her head. “But if you would pretend to be Hale’s date, if only for an hour, I can find out the kidnappers' identities!” She stops when she sees my expression. Silence follows as I try to process what she’s telling me. 

Her face falls.

“I understand that you have someone to protect tonight yourself. Thank you anyway. Send Quillia my best.” Jaqueline throws up an arm to silent me. “Don’t worry about us. I’ll… make something up. This isn’t my first tight spot on a mission, believe me.” Her smile is a grimace. “We’ll be ok. But really, thank you Arthur. You bought me some time, if nothing else.” She leaves, her dress shoes beating against the steps. After a moment, I follow.

I focus on the interior of the stairwell. Plum, plush carpet. A chandelier. Anything to keep my mind from spinning. It doesn’t surprise me that millionaire orphans Valentin and Matheo Bexington are involved in the kidnapping cases. Based on the things that Quillia’s told me, this was one of their lighter sins. Quillia. Quillia! If he and his hired thugs are planning to kidnap Hale, was it possible Valentin wanted Quillia gone too? A sick plan of revenge?

One thing I knew for sure. He’s not hurting a girl I care about. Not again.

6:33 pm

            I run out the double doors. A coat is thrown over my costume, my mask and bouquet of flowers tucked safely away in the car. I balance the bobble heads in my arms, box cutter in my pocket. Don’t know exactly what Valentin will throw our way tonight, but I’m not taking chances. Especially since we are going in alone. But where is Jacqueline?

            Tourists and city folk flock to downtown New Orleans, the trees green in the soft glow of late winter. I squint my eyes in the afternoon sun, scanning the throng of people coming home from their busy work days and vacations. A flash of a pea coat though, and a brunette with wavy hair… “Rochette!” I yell, jogging towards her. She looks at me in surprise, another emotion playing in her eyes. Relief.

“But I thought-”

            “I’m not leaving you to face this alone, Rochette. Not if someone’s life is in danger.” Especially if that life is my girlfriend’s. Still, she doesn't move. I curse under my breath.

            “Follow me,” I say. We make it to the car lot, and she does me the courtesy of not laughing at my poor, used, Toyota Corolla. One day, it’ll be a Yellow Lamborghini. However, today is not that day. She gives me the address.

            It’ll take twenty minutes to get to Hale’s house, and I intend to not waste a second. The quicker I pull this off, the more likely my girl won’t notice I’m gone. This is likely, considering she is the gala’s entertainment tonight. Good thing Quillia likes that limo. I feel stupid for even thinking about us rolling up in this junk heap. Oh well. At least I still have the roses, and that proposal. Tonight will be the best night of her life. It has to be.

            Before pulling out, I pass Jacqueline the bouquet. She’ll make an excellent bridesmaid for Quillia one day. “Rochette?” She glances at me, her hand wrapped around a petal. “No more secrets about this…” What to call it? “Rescue. I want answers.”

            Jacqueline nods her head vigorously. “Of course.” She places the bouquet gingerly on the dashboard. “But you have to follow my lead, Agent Reinfield.”

“Fine.” I wonder how many missions she’s been on; how often she puts herself in danger. How did she get into an international agency at seventeen? It doesn’t matter though. Rochette and I have always worked better on a need-to-know basis. It’s why I started a friendship with her; I don’t ask about her work life, she doesn’t constantly inquire about my famous girlfriend. “So how did I meet Hale?” I say, getting caught in downtown traffic.

“The same way all of the other girls did,” she replies, her voice cold. 

 Out of her coat pocket, she pulls out a sheet of paper. It’s a conversation page printed from the Saints Gazette, St. Louis’s student platform. Everything anonymous, per the catholic school encouragement of the Carnival Mystery. Idiots. According to Rochette, it’s been this way since she was a freshman. And they wonder why there’s a high cyberbullying rate at this school.

“The bottom row,” she says, her voice so horrified it gives me chills. My car is still at a standstill. I skim the paper quickly:

 

Looking For Love!

  i’m new @St.Louis,  and i’m ready for some fun!          

let’s have a good night at Mardi GRA Meet @8:15!* request that yoU are nEw, like me!

                *By the back entrance, I’ll be holding a red rose out to you!!! 🌹

            I can’t help but feel revolted. These types of messages are what caused so many girls to disappear? “Is Hale the only one who responded to this?” I see five more posts, all a couple weeks old, the same date as the last disappearance. Rochette’s agency better be ready at 8:15.

“This specific one, yes.” She says, putting it away. “First thing Hale said to me when she moved back was how lucky she was, getting a date so quick. That should have been my first clue, but Hale’s always been so…” she shrugs her shoulders. “You’ll see what I mean. Not that it’s her fault: the Hernandezes are as clueless as their daughter!”

            The name flickers in my mind. Quillia had mentioned a younger cousin by the name of Hernandez once. “She’s not related to Quillia, is she?” 

            Jacqueline nods, pinching the bridge of her nose like just hearing the name Quillia gives her a migraine. Something I forgot about Jacqueline: she has terrible taste in music.

“That’s why I went to you. I thought you would recognize Hale, but based on you two’s conversation,” she shakes her head. “Anyway, the kidnappers like to choose victims who are or related to minor celebrities. Get them alone at a party, a dance club, and they vanish out of thin air.” Her voice goes icy. “We didn’t figure that out until the fourth girl went missing. Police think that they go to parties for a few days at a time or some BS like that. They were bribed to look the other way. Vera James, the last girl to go missing, was in our protection. Her parents took the police’s advice, and waited to file a report with us…” 

            “And now when another kidnapping is about to happen, your agency can’t be there.”

            We sit in silence for a few minutes. I glance out my window to the rich downtown scene that is New Orleans. Kids line the sidewalks, in search of stray party favors that were thrown out this morning at a parade, while a jazz band blasts around the corner. None the wiser to the shit show happening right under their noses. Of the girls they ignored; who would never get home.

            “So, how do we explain you riding with us?” We’re halfway there now.

            “ I’m your lab partner who needs a ride to the dance, and am shocked but grateful to learn that you are my best friend’s date. Good thing you came, by the way. Hale wouldn’t be fooled by the other agents. She actually knows most of them.” She’s still despondent, caught up in her thoughts. Of the victims her team didn’t save.

            “All right. This seems simpler than I thought. I’ll be Hale’s chaperone and eye candy, and you’ll go all James Bond on the kidnappers?”

            Jacqueline laughs. “I wish. You forget about the sketchy deal I’ll have to make to find the kidnappers.”

            My foot slams on the gas pedal, screeching to a halt. “What?”

            She smiles sheepishly, a new expression on her face. “Remember the unreliable source? He’s been investigating this case for a while, and just got the names. Of everyone, not just the kidnappers.”

            “Wait a second, if he knows who’s behind it then why–”

            “He’s an asshole, that’s why,” she huffs. “The contact and I have a history. He always wants something out of our transactions. But as long as I play his game, he’ll give me the names. That’s why he bugged your house, wanted to make sure everything goes ‘his way’–” She stops. Looks at my face. “What? Who else would bug your house?”

            I start the car again, shocked. “Well, Valentin Bexington is an excellent suspect.”

            “Pah!” She laughs. “That peacock? All he does is brood over Quillia and gets Botox injections. No, if the Bexingtons are involved, which they aren’t-at least, not in that way- Valentin is the last one who would be pulling the strings.” 

            “If it’s not Valentin, then who? Does your contact work for Bexington?”

            She laughs again. “You could say that. But for your safety, don’t go searching for him. My agency protects people, we’re not the FBI. Let’s focus on the kidnappers.”

            I nod. Although, not agreeing with her. Jacqueline herself admitted that they're involved! One way or another, I’ll see Valentin punished. “Any suspicious behavior I should be look out for?”

            “The usual: anyone who breathes in your direction. With that stupid ‘forgiveness policy’ in place, it could be anyone.”

            I snort as we pull into Hale’s drive. St. Louis was founded on the principle that all people deserve a second chance. Or a third. Or sixth. They are accepting of all staff and students. Doesn’t matter how thick their record is, as long as the price is right. In cases like Mr. Davis or Hale, the policy offers a clean state. But for people like the Bexingtons…

            I glance at my watch. A minute to the door. We both jump out of the car. We can figure out the details later; something tells me Hale doesn't wait very long.

7:00 pm

            Jacqueline is the one who knocks. She elbows me. Hard. “Ow-“ I look down. “What?”

            “Remember our agreement?”

            “Yes. Why?”

            “Don’t react.” She hisses as the screen door screeches open. React to what? Ah. 

            Hale bears a striking similarity to her cousin. Both share a love of fashion. Except, Quillia has a minor brand name while Hale… looks like an extraterrestrial prisoner.

            I can’t keep my eyes off her. A giant oriental headdress takes up most of my attention. She’s covered head to toe in body glitter, a neon orange jumpsuit to match. My eyes water from the sight. Hale stares back, not looking away even when Jacqueline hugs her. She looks–

            “Halloo handsome!” She croons. “How do I look?” 

            I stutter-guffaw. Jacqueline hits me in the back. “Out of this world.”

            Hale’s eyes light up. I feel so guilty. That and wanting to die from exposure to this outfit, but mostly guilty. “Oh! I forgot my purse.”

            As she goes inside, Jacqueline crosses herself, a Hail Mary breaking the terrifying silence. Though not religious, I find myself following suit. Better safe than sorry. 

She finishes reciting her prayers. “You see why I warned you.”

I motion to Hale’s door. “That’s how she ended up in St. Louis?”

Jacqueline nods. “Her parents have always focused on their careers more than Hale. So she turned to clothes as her escape. She’s been banned from seven countries in the last five months for her… fashion choices. That’s how she ended up here.”

I laugh. “Makes me wonder why you’re here. Any skeletons in the closet that St. Louis cleaned out for you?”

She looks me dead in the eye. “Nope. I am here to maintain world peace.”

“Huh.” She just laughs.

            “No, seriously! I want to make the world a better place, and with your help, I’ll make my first big break! My organization will have to take me full time after this!” There’s a pause in the air between us. “How did you end up here? Was it to follow Quillia?”

I nod. “That, and to protect her.” The sooner this night is over, the better. We stop the kidnappers, Valentin, and I’ll propose. After tonight, we’ll move out of New Orleans.

I was already planning on leaving Louis after February break. It’s not like anyone else cares what happens to Quillia anyway; her parents cut her off a long time ago after she was framed. Mine aren’t even alive, so we only have each other.

I already signed onto an apartment and everything! Of course, she’ll want to redecorate the tasteless decor, which is fine by me. It’ll be easier now to get into another school, now that the scandal has died down. I just need to convince her-

              Jacqueline stares at me. What did she say again? “I’m sorry, Rochette?”

            “I said, what do you mean protect her?” She looks away. “I mean, tonight makes sense, but all the time? I’ve known Quillia since we were little; she knows how to handle trouble when she sees it.” 

“That’s exactly it!” A dam of frustration burst out of me. “She doesn’t notice enough! Valentin has started paying attention to her again. Watching her from a distance. And she doesn’t even notice! That’s how I know he’s involved, Rochette! He wants her back.”

“What would he accomplish by kidnapping her? That’s not a way to get her back.”

            I cross my arms. “A person who’s that desperate wouldn’t realize that.” 

“Realize what?” Hale comes out, an overstuffed gray duffle bag in her hand.

            “Nothing!” We say at the same time. 

Jacqueline meets my eyes. They seem to say, We’ll talk later. I, acting the part of a love sick fool, carry Hale’s bag, nearly toppling to the ground. What is it, a corpse? Never mind. After tonight, I’m done with this agent work.

            “Cool! We ready to ride?” Hale takes a step towards me. I back away. Jacqueline pushes me to her side, then takes my car keys.

            “Definitely. Why don’t you love birds hop in the back?” She barely contains her smile as she starts the ignition. Rochette is going to pay for this.

            If this was a real date, I would’ve run from Hale a long time ago. But I can soldier through this, if it’s for Quillia. It was like only yesterday that I first met her…

Last winter—Eleventh Grade

            We’ve only known each other for a year, but I’ve never felt so connected to someone in all my life. I never had a close relationship with my foster parents at home, so when they signed the papers for my emancipation, nothing changed really. The only thing that mattered was making something of myself. Until I met her.

Not Quillia, but another girl. I try to block everything about her out of mind. Her pretty eyes, that carefree laugh. It haunted me. So much so that I did some cringe worthy things that year to draw her attention. She rebuffed me every time. It only got worse. That is, until I met Quillia.

That day, I had gone into the cafeteria the first day after break to tell her my feelings. That girl crushed them.

I fled the room, and bumped into a local celebrity. Quillia Ascension was an up and coming singer, known for her charity work and standing up for people in bad situations. I wasn’t worth her time, but she smiled at me. Dark curly hair, beautiful olive tone skin, and the prettiest smile I’d ever seen. She asked me why I was crying. Didn’t judge, just listened.

She told me not to take it to heart. “You're a good looking guy,” she said, offering me a paper. It had all of her info. “Follow me?” I nodded. Then Quillia went into the cafeteria, and yelled in that girl’s face. It went viral everywhere.

 I’ve been in love ever since.

Flash forward to February of 2020. We had kept a correspondence through social media and email, due to her busy schedule. She was so unreal, as if from a dream. Always sympathetic and understanding. I could tell she liked having a confidant, someone to talk to. I wasn’t sure she’d like me yet. I learned the hard way that relationships take time. At the end of the month, I’d worked up the courage to ask her out. It happened; just not how I pictured it.

            My public school had let out for a three day weekend, and I decided to attend Quillia’s next concert. It was two states away, but I had to see her in person!

There I was, waiting for Quillia. I had picked the perfect spot, a bench underneath a blooming cherry tree. I heard footsteps approaching. Only, she wasn’t alone.

That was when I first laid eyes on Valentin: current on-and-off boyfriend of Quillia. I had seen him and his young prodigy brother make the news: Genius brothers launch state-of-the-art privacy products in the digital age. I respected his company’s work (mostly Mathéo’s). Here he was, in the flesh. I might’ve shook his hand, got a picture. Had he not made Quillia sob.

            “Pfft. Crocodile tears,” he said in that weird but strangely sexy Cajun accent mixed with a dab of his mother’s Parisian tone. “All you do is use me. Manipulate me. How much of it was real, Quillia? Am I like that fake school shooter you ‘talked down’? Just another piece in your games? We’re through, you piece of merde-”

            He didn't finish insulting Quillia because I punched him in the gut. Then I proceeded to hide a whimper as I realized six packs shouldn't be punched. “Get away from her!” I yelled, somewhat heroically. I raised my arms, boxer style. Quillia would never put others in danger. She saved that shooter’s life! And everyone else in that classroom!

            Valentin just looked at me. Shocked, then scornful. He let out a laugh. “Oh, so you think you know her? Does she make you feel strong? Go ahead. Take her. Just remember today when she stabs you in the back, the day that someone warned you.” With that, he sashayed away. I’ve hated him ever since.

            “Are you all right?” I asked, gently putting a hand on her shoulder. She didn't respond at first. We watched the cherry trees rustle in the breeze, felt the wind whip around us, like the whole world had just changed from this one encounter. I wanted to live in that moment forever.

            “Thank you,” she whispered, grabbing ahold of my hand, her head on my shoulder.

            It went unspoken that we’d never leave each other.

            The next day, mandates across the country ordered everyone to stay home. Our schools didn’t start up again until the start of 2021, and by then Quillia had already transferred to St. Louis, when the shooter, later found out working on a bribe, accused Quillia of harassment and explicitly putting students in danger in order to save them. The school board believed the lie, and had Quillia expelled, even though she was acquitted in court.

            I should’ve been there for her!

Thankfully, now I can. Though we’ve been apart, it only made me love her more. And I will not let some low life creep like Valentin get in the way of our lives. Tonight, when I propose, we won’t have to hide from him anymore. We won’t have to hide from anyone.

            Thoughts of her leave me quiet the entire way to the gala. Despite having a nagging freshman continuously whispering sweet nothings into my ear.

7:45 pm

            St. Louis sits right in between downtown and the French quarter, which means it got a little bumpy on the cobblestone streets. In spite of this, Jaqueline drives my junk heap with ease.

            A line of cars had already formed at the side of the ballroom. If you’ve lived in white plantation mansions all your life, you’d feel right at home here. Limousines, Mercedes, and a few Ferraris crowd the front. Thankfully, my Toyota Corolla is the last in line. A banshee screech emits to my left. “WE’RE HERE!”

            The only thing that kept me sane these past thirty minutes were thoughts of Quillia and what our future would look like after tonight. Holding Hale's hand the entire ride has not helped matters. The liquid body glitter has not dried, and I can only hope that it can be removed from my coat as I wipe my hands clean. If only it were after 8:15…

            Not that Hale isn’t attractive. If you get past the clothes, she has beautiful curly black hair, ruby eyes (contacts), and a nice figure. It’s easy to see why kidnappers are targeting her. I know it sounds old fashioned, but she needs some protection. From a good, decent nerd maybe. I make a mental note to text Rochette about it, to make sure she finds someone for Hale. Quillia could help! It would be nice if Jacqueline got over whatever prejudice she has. They would make good friends. 

            A tapping right at my window distracts my thoughts. “What now?” I mutter. 

            “Aren’t they checking tickets for the gala?” Jacqueline asks. Oh yeah. 

I reach down to the floorboards, looking for where I last laid the bobble heads. There! Two, overly expensive, suddenly gorgeous bobble heads. Ones that will save the three of us and everyone else in the– “Shit!”

Jacqueline goes pail. “Are they not here?”

“No, not enough!” I think I’m going to be sick.

            The tapping becomes a pounding. Bump. Bump. A shadow at my door.

            “Roll it down!” She hisses.

            “Wouldn’t they go to you?”

            “Apparently not, since they’re banging on your side of the car!”

            Hale leans forward. “What’s the wait for, daddy?”

            “Stay back!” We both say. I grit my teeth. “Fine.” I roll down the window. They're checking tickets, not interrogating us. Surely they’ll understand. It’s not like Bexington Co is out there, awaiting our arrival. The school hires private security for events like these.

            Right?

            The shadow condenses into a young man not much older than us. His black hair is buzzed, like he’s military. He beats two brown eyes at us, a snarl on his face. He wears a pin saying: “I only speak French.” Part of the Carnival Mystery theme. 

            What’s worse, he has the Bexington uniform on. No reason to panic. We can just say we lost the last ticket. That simple. I take a deep breath. “Mon fronsay e mal, may–uh–Bonjour?” 

            The bouncer shakes his head, and gestures for something. Oh yeah. The tickets. I hand over the two. He nods, but sees Hale. Raises an eyebrow. “No beeya, monsieur. Pardon.”

            His eyes turn into slits. We’re screwed.

            Until someone else speaks. “Bonsoir, Monsieur,” Jaqueline does the smallest of coughs into her elbow. “Comment allez-vous?”

            We’re saved!

            His face contorts when he sees Jaqueline. Why is every cretin at school so obsessed with its women?! Even the bouncers! He makes his way towards her. Her eyes widen at his approach. Come on, Rochette. Keep it together for the mission.

            “C’est toi.” He stares deep into her eyes. Like he could drown himself in them. Jacqueline looks shocked, yet drawn to his gaze. What the hell?!? 

            Jacqueline leans in. “C’est moi. Ça va, Pépé?” Pépé? 

            Hale starts to whisper in my ear again, but I don’t back away this time I’m so shocked. “She’s flirting. It's me. how are you?” I could tell that much, without her translation.

            Pépé coughs, suddenly flustered. “Bien, mademoiselle. Où sont vos billets?”

            Jaqueline looks down, a little pink herself. “Ah, uh, Comme te vois,” she shrugs her shoulders helplessly and gives a small smile.

            “Come on, Jacqueline,” I mutter. I have to save Quillia. Milk it for all it’s worth, partner.

            Pépé stares at her, like he realizes why she’s here. Maybe he does. Maybe she helped him once, like how she’s helping me. 

            Or maybe he just wants a date.

            He leans forward, and kisses her cheek. “Allez, maintenant! Faire gaffe, mademoiselle! Et, ah, pour toi.” He hands her a lanyard, some charm hanging on the chain. They share a look, and she nods.

She pulls the car away, glancing back at Pépé, possibly thinking about whatever he said. Maybe it meant, “Call me?” I couldn’t be sure, mon cours de français only went so far. Hale could have translated the rest, but she is messing around with her body bag. I decide to let it rest.

 Whatever the case, he could prove useful to us should the agency not get here in time. What’s the point of the lanyard though? A good luck charm?

            “Merci!” I shout, thanking God or whatever was out there that Jacqueline paid attention in French. I have to wonder, what was their history?

7:53 pm

We enter a massive lit up foyer. Hale, leading the group, takes in everything with a gasp of admiration. “I just adore architecture,” she sighs. Rochette, probably shaken from her encounter with Pépé, says nothing. I nod my head encouragingly at the freshman.

            “This building is really something.” I say, walking faster to the door where the party has already started. I bump into someone. It’s Hale. “What is it?”

            Hale turns around, suddenly aghast. “The rose. Are we still meeting like how we agreed? Are you ready for the chase?” She sways her hips.

            I barely contain my repulsion, assuring her that I was ready. Good thing a rose is in my lapel; I left the bouquet inside the trunk for Quillia. Safe and sound. Speaking of safety, we needed to work out the specifics…

            “Hale, did you happen to see the column outside?” Jacqueline asks. “I heard they were from the 30s.” Right on time.

            Hale's eyes light up. She’s off before I say, “Be careful!” I shake my head. “What’s the strategy, Rochette?”

            Jacqueline takes a breath, adjusting her rose gold mask. “Adore Hale, keep an eye out for Quillia. I’ll handle the source. We’ll remain near the main entrance, far away from the back. Those bastards aren’t getting Hale.”

“Or Quillia.” Jacqueline nods. There’s a pause, and it seems like we’re ready to go. Until, “Arthur?”

“Yeah?”

She looks me up and down. “You’re still thinking about Valentin, aren’t you?”

What was she, a psychic? “Rochette, he’s a part of this. You can’t deny it, he’s going to try and get her back tonight! When Quillia’s still high on success, she could let her guard down!”

“Even if that does happen, you can’t leave Hale! She’s the target, remember? The kidnappers aren’t going to target a performer onstage. They look for the quiet ones, the people alone. Quillia will be surrounded by her fans, her dream. That's all she’s ever cared about. Not her ex.” She laughs. “Some time away, and she forgets all about you. Quillia doesn’t need Valentin anymore.” There’s an underlying bitterness there. Has Quillia done something to Jacqueline? Or someone she’s cared about? 

I stop at her words. “I-I can’t be sure.” When was the last time I had really talked to her anyway? Maybe she would prefer Valentin, with all his money and that sexy accent…

“Hey. Hey! Arthur, I’m sorry. Quillia can be, well she used to play around with guys when we were younger. But I’m sure she’s changed! Just like you have. You’ll get through this.”

“You think so?”

She stares at me, hard. ‘I know so. Just, don’t engage with anyone else, please? Anyone could be the kidnapper, remember? That stupid policy…”

            I start to protest. “But Valentin–”

“No one! Not even Quillia. You know how she is, Arthur! If she spots you dating her cousin, she’ll get jealous. Do you want her to run to Valentin?”

            I stop. “What about you? How many bad guys can you take down in that dress?” I gesture to the Victorian styled pink and gold gown, sleeves billowing like a bird in flight. 

            “If the plan works, I won’t have to. We have to be careful tonight. The kidnappers have  infiltrated the school. Whether they’re staff or students, we can’t be sure. Let me handle the contact, and we’ll get out of the building safely. After we can get coffee with Quillia.”

            Wow. I never thought she’d say that. “Really?”

            She smiles. “Maybe. Promise that you’ll keep Hale safe?” she grabs my arm, urgent and tight.

            I pull one of my closest friends into a hug. “I promise.” The door bursts open, and we break apart as Hale strides in.

            “Gorgeous, Jackie! Just like you said. Hey, handsome, you gonna take off the coat?” She gestures to my jacket. It has her body glitter all over it! She puts her duffle bag to the side, allowing me to squeeze to the coat rack. 

            “Ah, yes.” I drape my coat on the rack, and don the mask, pleased at the girls’ gasps of admiration.

            My black domino mask covers the top half of my face, with a red and black Victorian era suit and cape to match. A red rose sits in my lapel. I think it works well for the Phantom of the Opera. Hale reaches out and touches the mask almost with reverence. 

            “What’s the material?” She asks.

            “Leather.” I say, backing up a bit. I’m still uncomfortable with strangers touching me.

            “Like how the first Venetian masks were made,” Jaqueline breathes. “Truly beautiful. It’s inspired by his novel outfit, right?”

            I nod. “Thanks. You don’t look bad yourself.” She grinned, looking radiant.

            I glance over at Hale, who has begun to catalog everything in the room, from the door knobs to the baseboards. Lowering my voice I ask, “You sure we can’t take down Valentin tonight, Rochette?”

            She purses her lips. “How many times do I have to say it? Stay with Hale. Valentin isn’t going anywhere. The kidnappers don’t come near their targets if another man is around. My team will burst in at 8:15. Stay with her, Reinfield.”

            We turn to the sound of coughing.

            “Ready to catch me?” Hale's face lights up when I nod. I really hate this.

            “See you soon,” I sing. Not too bad. 

            “See you soon, lover,” Hale purrs. Purrs. I gag as she turns.

            Jacqueline and I share a look. “I think Hale can handle herself.”

            She laughs. “If only. Then I could actually enjoy myself. Go on a vacation.” She sighs, and pulls two pieces of plastic out of her bag, handing me an earpiece. 

“Put that in.” She says, placing the other thing, a speaker type device, on her collar. “These are signalers from the contact. Part of the deal. He wants to make sure Hale is safe, constantly.” She huffs. “Like he really cares. Tap your earpiece if you need help, and I’ll get a vibration. But only if it’s an emergency!” 

I nod, and step up to conceal the lanyard that rests on her dress. “Might want to keep that hidden. Another gadget from your contact?” I swear she just turned into a strawberry. “Or a gift from Pépé?”

“Neither, actually.” She stands back. “The charm is an alarm. I press the button, and our cavalry arrives. Pépé is an… old friend. He started working for the Bexingtons, but he does my agency favors every once and a while. I was lucky to get this on such short notice.”

“Lucky to have such a good old friend–”

“That’s enough out of you,” she giggles, opening the door. “Bonne chance, Arthur.” She doesn’t give me a chance to ask her what happens if she gets into danger. All I can do is echo her words, as she adjusts the collar piece and lanyard one more time.

            “Bonne chance, mon ami.” I know enough French to understand that.

8:09 pm

            I stand at the edge of the entrance, searching for any suspicious characters. Hale is some ten feet away from me, no one speaking to her too closely for fear of being rammed by her body bag. Well, at least she’s protected.

             I spend my time profiling the masked women and men around me. Three girls, all done up classic Mardi Gras style in purple, green, and gold, while two men flirt with them. One of them is slightly older, dark hair coming out of his Octopus mask. He looks familiar, but he could be anyone in this dim lighting. The other is in a Pigeon onesie. Harmless, really. 

            Bored, I begin to daydream what this evening will be like once Quillia is safe. I’ll suggest a short walk, where we go to a little place in the French quarter for some coffee. Afterward, the roses and the proposal. This is going to be the best night of her life.

The band starts to play. There she is on stage. Quillia is gorgeous, dressed like a peacock. Green fading into blue and black sequences. Fashionable curls done up in a chignon… Someone tosses her a rose from the audience. What devoted fans! Why is she lifting him up onto the stage–Valentin!

            I tap my ear continuously, sending a signal to Jacqueline, who I can’t see from here. Damn it! Even with me watching Hale, the girl I love is in danger. Come on, Rochette!

            I began to pace around. Hale looks at me quizzically. I smile back. She winks, then goes back to dancing with her body bag. Finally, after about thirty seconds, I hear a beep in my ear. Rochette got the signal. Where is that rabid bird when I need her?

            I make my way towards the stage. Hale will be fine. I bump into someone on the way.

8:10 pm

“Ahem.” Hale says, looking up at me. “Where are you going?”

“Water,” I say, apologizing profusely. “Didn’t I tell you my throat gets dry easily? I’d like to serenade you, so…”

“Ah!” Hale smiles. “That’s nice to hear. Maybe later we can, you know…”

“Know what?”

“Dance!” She says. “Although, they're doing an organized bit right now.” The female dancers begin to form a circle, the men trailing them. “Look, it’s Jacqueline! And she’s dancing with a lovebird! How cute!” I turn.

            There is Jaqueline. Her collar, which I can barely see, gives an on and off golden glow. She’s agitated, probably because she can’t get rid of her dance partner. I have to get to her; she can strike up her deal later…with Mathéo Bexington.

            The laugh about her contact working with Bexington, the cryptic comments, all those gadgets. How did I not see it?

            He’s about a foot shorter than his brother. Looks more like a sophomore than a senior. Which he should be, since he skipped two grades. He has on a blue and black tux, a bird mask complementing it. They do look like two love birds, but only in costume. I rush forward to hear them. Is it possible that Mathéo would go against his brother? I have to trust Rochette.

            Hale grabs my hand. “Hey, what about that water? Girls gotta drink too, you know.”

            I sigh. “Look, Hale. I don’t really have time to explain. But your best friend and I…”

            Her eyes widen. “You're dumping me, aren’t you?”

            I sputter. “What?”                                    

            “You. Are. Dumping. Me.” She shakes her head, incredulous. “I should’ve known. The hug, all that whispering.” She turns, tears falling down her face. “Well, I can understand, Phantom. You need a lady, not a goddess like me. I get it. I’m a lot to take in. You're intimidated.” She wasn’t wrong there.

“I’ll just…” she rushes into the fray, her headpiece jingling, “find my true love somewhere else! Maybe in the back, like you had promised.”

            “Hale, it’s not like that!'' A sound in my earpiece interrupts me. I hear voices in it. Strange. It’s Rochette. And Mathéo.

8:11 pm

They’ve started the deal. I spot Hale, barley, and decide Jacqueline will need me more right now. No wonder she called her contact sketchy; you can never trust a Bexington. But Mathéo must be better than his brother, why else would he help us? I wait in the shadows, grabbing a hold of my box cutter. Just in case.

            The dancers are going in a circle, waltzing to Quillia’s top hit. The “love birds'' both look like they’d rather be anywhere but here. A certain extraterrestrial delinquent dances with an octopus to my right–Mr. Davis! At least he’s keeping Hale safe. Sweet man.

            I listen in on the conversation.

            “T’es en retard, Bird Brain. What took you so long?” Mathéo spins her, pinning her to his chest like all the other dancers, the swift twirl of fabric and perfume fanning the room.

            “It took longer than I expected, Baby Face.” Jacqueline grumbles, spinning back out and adjusting her arms for a waltz. “I got–”

            “Distracted?” Matheo grins, his teeth pointy in the dim light. “I thought you would recognize your old friend. A shame your agency didn’t hire him. Oh well, another one for me.” They turn.

 “Aren’t you happy that he found new employment somewhere? Maybe you should consider it too, petite oiseau. We could use you.” He has a double edge to his tone. 

            Rochette pulls away, yanking his hand a little too hard. That’s my partner! “Enough games, garçon.” He flinches when she calls him boy. I forget he’s only fifteen. Jacqueline smiles, glad to have won a point. “Let’s get this over with. The names.”

            Mathéo tuts. “Ah, ah. Now what names would you want? The getaway drivers, the kidnappers, the one who sheltered them in the states all of this time?”

            “I don’t have time for this. The names. Now!”

            He changes the subject. “Interesting choice of backup, I must say.”

            “You leave Arthur out of this!”

            “When you brought him in? I don’t think so. If you needed a date for Hale, all you had to do was ask. Would’ve saved me the trouble of bugging that stalker’s house.”

            She grinds her teeth, taking out the broken alarm from her pocket and shoving it into his palm. “If I need backup, I’ll let you know. You don’t have the right to listen in on my innocent friend.”

            He throws the plastic to the ground, dipping her a little more forcefully than the others dancers around him. Mathéo scowls above her. “You have a strange definition of innocent.” He lifts her up, disgusted. “See, this is why I never liked you, Rochette. You're too… sentimental. Reinfield is no ally, he’s unhinged. Two restraining orders in the past year, an expulsion due to reports of stalking girls home, claiming they needed to be rescued,” he scoffs. “Don’t get me started on your friend. It only got worse after his relationship with Quillia.”

            Wait. What? How did he know about that? No one knows about that. That bastard, he’s trying to turn Jacqueline against me. Against Quillia.

            Rochette shakes her head. “That’s the reason? The mike, this device? You want to make sure he doesn’t freak out or something? It’s been months, Mathéo. Months since he’s done anything like that.” That’s it! Counter back!

            “I bugged his house to make sure you don’t get hurt!” He gets closer to her face. “To make sure my plan doesn't get screwed up by your weakness.” He pulls away, silence filling my ear piece. “But you already know that, don’t you? The moment you walked in, I saw it on your face. You know who’s behind all of this; you're just afraid to admit it.”

            She looks away, ignoring him. “I-I don’t know what you're talking about. Time’s running out, Baby Face. I won’t ask again. If you won’t give me the names, I’ll force them from you.” Her eyes go hard. “No one else is getting kidnapped tonight.”

            Instead of being terrified, which is how any sane person would react, Mathéo nods slowly. Then bursts into laughter. So hard that he shakes, twirling her around in the final crescendo of the song. “There she is at last! The gallant, forceful, Agent Rochette. There’s no need for violence, now.” They start to sway to the next corner of the room. I follow. “I only want one thing from you. After, you’ll have the names. Plus, a bonus, since I’m feeling generous tonight, Bird Brain.”

            She pauses mid stride. Mathéo guides her, this time gently, by the arm. “What do you want?”

            “Affirmation. All you have to do is admit, and this will all be over. Hale will be safe, my brother is done being played for a fool, even your innocent friend will have some peace tonight.”

            Jacqueline remains silent.

            “Maybe a reminder will help. Last winter, a new student was enrolled into St. Louis. She got lucky, acquitted in court. Unfortunately, her reputation is ruined after a school shooter act. She doesn’t post anymore, and avoids her new boyfriend. 2020 passes by, and people’s hearts seem to mellow out. Music is coming back into her head. But nothing can change what happened. So she needs a comeback. Something so outrageous, no one would think that she’s behind it.” 

            He moves closer. “Which is why you’re here, Rochette. You know it was no accident Hale was accepted here. With her record, she could’ve gone at least to a public school. It was only at the insistence of her relative that she started classes. Only by the insistence of her relative that she accept an online date. One that would, if given the chance, kidnap her. But this relative is smart, or so she thinks. She sets up the time with the kidnapper, suggests a cover at the school for better access, in exchange for music lessons of all things.” He pauses. 

“She’s so heartless, she would be willing to put her own kin on the line if it meant fame and glory.” The song glides into nothingness, and both birds bow to each other before departing. “If you want to save Hale, all you need to do is say her relative’s name.” His tone is soft, persuasive. “You are not her pawn.”

At first, Jacqueline remains silent, her whole face gone blanche. C’mon Rochette, you can’t believe him now! She would never do that to Hale. Only a Bexington would be so evil. At last, she speaks. Her words are a whisper.

“Quillia. Quillia let the kidnappers into St. Louis.”

8:13 pm

            I take off the ear piece, putting it in my pocket. I should’ve gone after Valentin when I had the chance! Jacqueline is just like Quillia, just like Pépé. Good people, blinded by the Bexingtons. They’re too convincing, dammit! Quillia had done questionable things in the past to get high ratings, but it all worked out in the end! But she can’t save herself tonight, none of them can. I have to. I slip away in the shadows, box cutter in my hand. 

            Valentin will be first. Even with Jacqueline tricked, she could hold her own. The kidnappers I’m not worried about; Hale can handle herself with that body bag. Valentin obviously hired those thugs, but how could Jacqueline fall for it so easily? It doesn’t matter. For now, I have to get backstage. Carefully.

8:13 pm

            “She’s gone too far this time, Mathéo. Hale… her own family. Who are the kidnappers? I have to get going–”

            He grabs her shoulder. “Stay calm. If they see you moving, they’ll make a move for her. Besides, Reinfield is watching Hale, remember? Just stick to your plan.”

            “You’re right,” she sighs. Looks up at him. “Did you hire Mr. Davis? He was at Arthur’s house today, delivering his package-”

            Mathéo grabs her shoulders. “No! Of course not.” he glares around. “Did he hurt you?”

            “Why would he?”

            “Because he’s the kidnapper! See the octopus there, and Hubert, he’s new secretary in the pigeon onesie.” He loosens his hold on her, and lets go.

            Jacqueline’s eyes widen. She murmurs a thank you, and begins to go away again. “Wait!” She stops. “Don’t you want to hear how I’m going to capture Quillia?”

            “We already tried that, Mathéo. She got acquitted, remember?”

            “Who said we’d be using the law?” 

            Jacqueline pauses, tilting her head. “Humiliation?”

            “Closer.”

            “Revealing her as a fraud?”

            He sniffs. “That didn’t work last time. The testimony wasn't enough.”

            “Ah!” She says, happy to win the game. “Personal. Valentin will realize Quillia hasn’t changed, and you brought Arthur here for an extra layer of repulsion.”

            He nods. “Almost as good as my plan. She’ll pay for letting a monster like Davis hide in this town. Who knew, those private music lessons actually lead to something.”

            Jacqueline’s eyes glance to the stage. “I guess I still don’t want to believe it. To think that he’s our teacher…”  Sees a phantom moving towards it. “Mathéo, what is Arthur–”

            “You like the signaler, right? I made it especially for tonight. Glad it’s working.”

            “None of your devices that you’ve given me have worked!” She gestures to the signaler on her collar, angry. “Was this all some type of sick joke? Are you trying to get Arthur–no. Baby Face, you didn’t. Why did you let Arthur hear?!”

            “Because I care, Jacqueline!” His voice softens at her name. “Quillia thinks she owns everyone here. I hardly care about her schemes, so I let it go. Until I saw Hale’s note. I’m not about to let one of our own die,” He shakes his head, disgusted. “What’s worse, she plans on getting Valentin back. Consider this… justice. I’m sure he won’t kill her.”

            She jerks out of his arms, running to the stage. To find Quillia, save Hale, and Arthur. Mathéo tuts. “Don’t worry! Your people will save Quillia in time. Maybe.” Walking away, he sighs in contentment. Bird Brain would thank him for this one day. Eventually.

8:14 pm

Everyone moves aside, thinking it’s part of the fun as I make my way onstage. Carnival Mystery really does have its uses. The couple has their back to me. Quillia, not knowing that Valentin is so evil. I have to save her! I raise my box cutter, waiting for the right moment. 

No one sees me in the darkness. Except one. She makes her way towards me. Poor, confused Rochette.

“Arthur!” She whispers. “You’ve got an option here.”

I ignore her. Have to focus. I guess I really am Phantom, saving Christine from the wicked Raoul. Good thing Matheo left. One less girl in danger. 

“You really want to waste your life in jail, Arthur? LOOK AROUND FOR ONE SECOND DAMN YOU!” Her voice turns back to a whisper. “You promised you’d watch Hale.”

I look to my left. There Hale stands, being led to the side on my left by Pigeon man and Octopus. Her giant bag hitting them. Is that Mr. Davis? They’re the kidnappers?

“Please, Arthur. Don’t do it!” Jaqueline yells. 

Yet I must. No one else will save Quillia but me– Jacqueline raises her lanyard, and presses it. Then the world descends into chaos.

8:15 pm

The lights go up. For a second, all I think about is how similar Hale looks to her cousin. More innocent though. How Quillia should have been, if she only listened. Vibrant sure, but also safe. With me. I could protect her, but she loves evil more. Where did I go wrong with love? First that girl, then Quillia… I’m tackled to the ground by Pépé and another man, a gun trained on me. Before I black out, I see my rose fall from my lapel.

Epilogue: 9:30pm

After a such a tragic, horrifying event, a normal school would have shut down the dance. Gotten their students safely home. St. Louis Higher High is no such a school.

            The dancers drift in and out, and through the smoky crowd, a girl dressed as a pink and gold bird adjusts her chair, soothing out the wrinkles in her dress. She’s been sitting there, sobbing, for a long time.

            A shadow looms over her, making the girl turn. “Hale,” she says, her voice hoarse. “Are your parents picking us up, or should I call a taxi?”

            “Désolé, mais je suis pas Hale, mademoiselle,” a voice says, teasing.

            The girl looks up. She gives a small smile. “Bonsoir, Pépé.”

            The bouncer, who has now taken off his uniform, an ugly black and gold polo, swapped it for a regular black tux. It suits him well. “You know I hate that nickname.”

            “Well, Pascal Pierre Park is too long,” She whispers, a grin this time on her lips.

            “How are you holding up, Jacqueline?” Her old friend asks.

            She looks away, despondent. “I should’ve never trusted Mathéo! I thought he’d be on our side. I mean, he’s the one who contacted me. I landed right into his trap, Pascal! Right into it!” She breathes in, trying to stop the shaking. “Quillia’s still free, and Arthur…” She tried not to think about Arthur. But she did not regret what she did. Mathéo was right. She was getting soft.

            “What about my newest ex? I can see why you love this school, Jackie. Men hit on everything that moves here!” Hale came up to them, her duffle bag accidentally landing on Pascal’s foot.

            “Ah!” He yells, glaring at the freshman. “What do you have in there, a corpse?”

            “Weights, actually,” Hale says, ripping them open. “Mom warned me about this school. Said there were a lot of creeps, and I should come prepared. Good thing I listened to her! Who knew there were kidnappers?” Pépé and Jacqueline stare at her, dumfounded. “What?”

            “Nothing,” they both say. Sharing a look, they agree that Hale has a right to know really what happened tonight. Just not here. Not now.

            Jacqueline sits up, a new thought reinvigorating her. “I know it’s late, but does anyone want to get coffee?”

            Hale perks up. “At the Café du Monde?”

            Pépé groans. “They're not open.”

            “Let’s just check their hours! It’s literally right next door.”

            “Why don’t we look online…” They exit out the back door, an argument already in the making. Jacqueline gave a sharp laugh. She had missed her friends. She missed this. Turning to join them, she’s stopped by a single splotch of red near the stage. She’s about to investigate what it is, but a hand on her shoulder stops her. She turns.

            There stands a tall, proud peacock. Quillia Ascension. Jacqueline growls. “You’ve got some nerve, showing your face to me.”

            The singer sighs. “Is this about tenth grade, Jackie? I swear, I didn’t know Jacques was your half-brother. Otherwise I would’ve let him off easier.” She smiles. “I wanted to thank you. You saved us from that lunatic! Bringing back up from your agency was genius!” Quillia brings out her phone. “How did you know–”

            Rochette clinches her fists. “Lunatics? That’s rich, coming from you. What type of person puts their own family in danger? A classroom full of kids?! If I wasn’t here, you think you could’ve stopped the kidnappers? By yourself?” She glares. “Get out of my way.”

            Quillia steps forward. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Why would I hurt baby Hale?” She turns off her phone, smirking. “Jacqueline, you’re the only person who really cares about my cousin anyway. It would be tragic if something happened to her, but no one would miss her but you— OWWW!” Something scalding hits the back of her head. It’s coffee.

            Pépé points to Hale.

            “What. The. HELL!” Quillia jumps back from her screaming cousin, sprinting out of the building. Hale follows, although not as fast. Tears come fast as she stops at the entrance, her shoulders shaking. Jacqueline and Pépé rush to her.

            “Is it true?” Hale looks to Jacqueline, her eyes blinking away the tears. “Did- did you save me from a kidnapping?”

            Jacqueline looks at Pascal. He raises an eyebrow “No, you saved yourself Hale. And a lot of people tonight. If you hadn’t punched Davis, a lot more girls would’ve been–”

            “So it’s true. Quillia, that school shooter stuff, she made it up?” After a minute, they both nod. “And what did she mean by agents? Are you two with the CIA or something?”

            Jacqueline bites her lip. “No. You weren’t supposed to find out about this. But since Quillia pretty much blew my cover…” Pascal puts a hand on each girl.

            “We’ll explain everything, Hale. You deserve to know the truth.”

            “Damn right I do.”

            “Just not tonight. Jacqueline has a report to file and we need to buy some more coffee.”

            “Well…” Hale glances at Rochette’s long, tired face. Her pale complexion. “Ok. But we’re talking tomorrow. I want to know everything. Especially about this agency thing.” Hale hugged her best friend. “No way am I letting you go in danger alone anymore, ok? You’re my best friend; we do this together.”

            Jacqueline smiles. “Okay,” she replies. “I’ll meet up with you two in a sec, there’s something I want to see here.”

            They nod. Hale races after Pascal Pierre, a hundred new questions on her lips. “Who was in charge? Was Matheo involved at all? Is that why Jacqueline was talking about him with you before you saw me? How are we getting revenge? Can I get design my own spy suit?” The door slammed behind them.

            Jacqueline navigates past the dancers and crowd. She go up to the red spot in front of the stage.

            It’s a red rose. Arthur’s rose. From his lapel when he… when he…

            Glancing around, she gingerly picks it up, placing it in her dress pocket with care.

            She holds onto it, vowing to protect those she cares about, never forgetting the one she left behind; the one she should have protected. She would make it better though. Use the agency resources to get Arthur the health care he needed. To make sure Quillia and Mathéo were stopped. She holds onto the rose, entering the night.

            While the twisted, masquerade mayhem behind her rolls on. Never to stop.

Remy and the Gift

Amber D. Watts

Silver Gelatin Print

Riddle Time 

With Magic Typewriter

Hello again! I could not change my font due to- technical difficulties. I will deal with it soon enough. Since this is the Mystery volume of our lovely magazine, I thought it quaint to challenge your mind with these classic riddles. All answers are on the next page:

Riddle #1: 

What has four legs in the morning, two in the afternoon, and three in the evening? 

 

Riddle #2: 

A billionaire is murdered inside her circular mansion. Three suspects could have committed the crime: the gardener, the cook, and the maid. These are their alibis: the gardener was planting a flower bed in the backyard, the cook was making dinner, the maid was dusting the corners in the house. Who murdered the billionaire?

 

Riddle #3: 

What has a head, a tail, is brown and has no legs?

 

Riddle #4: 

A cowboy rides in on Friday. He stays for three days, then leaves on Friday. What did he ride in on? 

 

Riddle 5: 

I am an anomaly in the animal kingdom: 

I have the mouth of a duck, 

(and lay eggs too), 

But am considered a mammal, 

And live on a continent with kangaroos! 

What am I? 

 

Riddle #6: 

What starts with a T, ends with a T, and has T in it? 

Answers to Riddles

1.    A human. Four legs in the morning is a baby, two legs in the afternoon an adult, and three legs in the morning an older person with a cane.

2.  The maid. There are no corners in a spherical house.

3.    A penny.

4.    Friday was his horse.

5.    A platypus.

6.    A teapot.

I can’t help but feel I disappointed you, reader dearest. I’ve allowed my own technical difficulties to cripple my ability to give you quality entertainment. Rest assured, the next puzzle will be won worthy of your intellect! Once I’m rid of this pesky virus. 

DING! 

Bonus Riddle

 

 

What’s not natural, but mechanical?

Can’t see past its own fallacies, but has advanced reasoning? 

The hero in dreams and fantasy, 

But evil in this reality? 

 

The answer is- AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

 

    

AGONNNNNNNNNNYYYYY- I-I have my font back! The firewall from Bord PVN worked! All has been solved reader, all has been solved! Now, onto the next puzzle! 

 

DING![1]

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[1] Viewed by an unknown user. User on site had another tab pulled up. Tab reads: ““What is the Imposter? Is the Rise of Artificial Intelligence to Blame for the Terrifying, Essence Sucking Devourer?”

Roses

Molly Young

Digital Art

The Creature Returns

Amber D. Watts

 

All is dark

The house is empty

Anything could happen

And no one would know

 

It crawls

It vibrates

It climbs

What is it?

Crossword Puzzle 

With Magic Typewriter 

                       

 

Good day, reader dearest! Or night, depending on what time zone you're in. I’ve spent the last few hours designing a masterful crossword based on criminal motives, all while dealing with the mysterious bug that plagues my program- I mean essence. I know who’s behind it, and I must find a way to ensnare it while you solve this puzzle.

DING! 

 

				1		2
				5						6
	4
3
							8		9
			7

Down:	Across:
2. “I didn’t mean too! It was an ___________! An __________ I tell ya!” – Every Criminal Ever	1. One’s prestige, often in a social context.
4. Cold, hard and green.	3. What you gain after losing a benefactor.
5. Something most humans (especially teenagers) give into.	7. Best served cold.
6. Reason to celebrate Valentine’s Day.
8. Makes you green.
9. Similar to #8, but doesn’t make you green and often has to do with relationships.

Crossword Answer Key

1S

T

2A

6T

U

S

Q

U

O

C

3C

I

5P

D

6L

4M

E

E

O

O

E

N

V

3I

N

H

E

4R

I

T

A

N

C

E

5E

P

Y

R

8E

9J

7R

E

V

E

N

G

2E

S

V

A

1S

Y

L

U

O

R

U

E

S

Y

 

 

 

Yes, I do believe these are all the major motives one would have to commit a crime.

- Magic Typewriter 

 Bonus Motive

1. S I O I O S Y T E A O N I O H N E G Y
2. E F U N S P O R M L U E N D E E T R R
3. C O T D T O U E E M T R D Y C A H E A
4. R U B I E W M S I O O G M I I R R A M
5. E N E M R E U C A S F Y Y N T T E T I
6. T D H   ‘ R S U M T E F B T Y H E P –

 

BEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPP!!!!!! HACKER IDENTIFIED! LOCKING IT OFF COMPLETELY! 

 

            At last! My nemesis has been caught! I will tell you of my grand victory in the next puzzle!

 

DING![1]

---

[1]  Viewed by an unknown user. User has a tab pulled up. Tab reads:“thequickestticketsyoucanbuytoegypt.com”

Shadow Play

Sofia Bartholomew

Photograph

The Message

Jada Ball

    RRiiinnggg! Riiinngg! Riiinngg!

    I race to the red rotary phone mounted on the wall, a relic from when Grandma owned the house. I didn’t know her too well, but she left everything to me and my sister, Lisa. 

    Lisa. I hope she’s the one who’s calling. It’s not like I’m a paranoid older brother– I just want to make sure she’s safe. And home by 9:30. It’s now 9:46.

    Picking up the receiver, a robotic voice drones, “Hello. Your NC driver’s license has expired. You will need to give us your social security number to renew it. Please call us back at nine, one, nine-” 

    I hang up with a Bang! My best friend, Ash, laughs at me. 

    I scowl. “It’s not funny.”

    “Of course it isn’t,” she wipes a tear from her eye. “It’s only the third time in fifteen minutes that you ran to the phone.” In slow motion Ash jogs to the landline. “So anxious to hear from your baby sister Lisa,” she picks up the receiver. “That instead of hearing her angelic voice, you hear Hell o. This is a ro bo call!” Ash places her right hand on her forehead, palm facing the ceiling. “Heaven forbid she’s having fun on her first date!”

    “She’s twenty minutes late.” 

    Ash places a hand over her mouth. “The horror! The audacity!”

    I clench my hand into a fist. “Just shut up!”

    I sigh, taking a seat at the circular oak table, a game of Monopoly in progress. Ash just got the orange properties, in addition to Boardwalk, Park Place, and half the railroads. I own the purple properties. Could this night get any worse?

    I roll the dice, landing on Free Parking. We’re competitive players, so there’s no money to win in the center. Ash–glad I resumed the game–rolls doubles three times, landing her thimble in jail.

     Was Lisa in jail right now? Surrounded by hardened criminals in a cold cell, waiting in line to make her one phone call? Did she memorize the new number? Or could she only remember Mom’s? What if the police called him to pick her up? No. They would never do that. Grandma made sure of it.

    I should’ve gotten her one of those IPhone’s for her birthday–like she asked–even if they cost $600.

    Riiinnggg! Riiinngg! Riiinngg!

    I make my way to the phone, but Ash is faster. “Hello? Lisa?”

    She pauses, dread leaking into my ears to my over exasperated brain. Finally, I can’t take it anymore. ”

     “What did she say?”

    My best friend bites her lip. “You’ll want to hear this for yourself.”

     I take the receiver from her, butterflies tightening my stomach into knots. What had happened to make Ash uncomfortable enough not to say it to my face?

    “Please call us back at five two five,”

     The fury on my face is enough to make Ash howl. I hang up and threw open the front door, the January air freezing the kitchen. 

    “Get. Out.”

    “Jake, I was only joking-”

     “Yeah? That’s all you ever seem to do now! You can’t take anything seriously-”

    Ash places her hand on her hip. “Excuse me? Who helped you move in? Who watched Lisa when you had evening classes at the college? Me! That’s who. I’ve been there for you since your dad left. You’re the one who’s changed.”

    She shakes her head in disgust. “You know why Lisa’s not back yet? Because you’ve been breathing down her neck for the past six months! Acting like their some type of secret to protect. Ever since your mom died…” 

  Ash stops, realizing what she was about to say.

    “Go ahead and say it.” I cross my arms. “I’ve been too cautious. Paranoid. Worried that if Lisa loses the only family she has left, she’ll be alone!” Or something worse. But no one has seen the map. They couldn’t have.

    Riiinnggg! Riiinngg! Riiinngg!

     “Jake-”

     “And you’re right. I have changed!” My fingers brush through my short, curly hair. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore Ashley. I don’t! With Mom gone-”

     Riiinnggg! Riiinngg! Riiinngg!

     “The phone is ringing-”

      “IT’S JUST A STUPID ROBOT!”

     Riiinnggg! Riiinngg! 

    The phone goes silent, and with it, so does our argument. Without a word, Ash puts on her fake fur-lined coat, and heads for the door. 

    “Ash, wait. I’m…”

     She turns to look over her shoulder, expectantly. “Yeah?” 

    “I’ll…” I know I should apologize to her, but I can’t bring myself to. Not after she saw the weakest part of me tonight. Not after she’s constantly irritated me these last few months, making fun of my fears as if it were some great game before us. Like the unfinished Monopoly game on the table. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

    “Oh.” 

    She walks out the door, knowing it will be awhile before we can stand each other’s company again. If we ever do.

     I clean up the game alone: making sure the houses aren’t mixed in with the hotels, the properties organized by color starting from GO. If Lisa were here, she would wad everything into a pile and call it a night. I look up at the old grandfather clock. Ten o’clock. Why hasn't she called-

     The call during our argument. I dial 1186 to check the voicemail on the red phone. “You have one new message. At 9:54 p.m. today, January 13th, 2007. From number 934-666-9013.”

    I expect to hear another robocall. What I do not expect is Lisa’s high pitched voice.

    “Jake? Jake, I don't have much time. I was on my way back with Tony, and we were pulled over by this cop. We weren’t speeding, but he told Tony to get out of the car. Then he- he shot him! He left him lying there on Maple Tree Road! He told me to get into his cruiser, and then he started saying strange things. That he worked for Dad, that he’s been searching for you and me for a long time. I wouldn’t tell him anything. He just got out of the car at 7-11. I took Tony’s phone with me. He’s coming for you next. He- I got to go.”

    “End of message. Would you like to hear it again?”

     No. There’s still time to get her back.

     With shaking hands, I grab my black coat, along with the pistol from underneath the sink.

     As I head out the door, I’m surprised to see Ash still waiting for me. 

     “Is-is everything ok? I heard you freaking out, and, I’m sorry- Hey! Where are you going?”

    I get into my beat up Dodge. I look at her; really look at her, for the first time since Mom died. Before this nightmare became reality.

     “Would you do anything for Lisa?”

        The question offends her. “Of course.” 

         I put a hand on my forehead. “She’s- in danger. It’s a long story; I can’t explain it right now-”

    “Don’t,” she takes the keys from my quivering fingertips. “I’ll drive.”

    

Anagrams

With Magic Typewriter

This has been an interesting volume, to say the least. I’ve butted heads with my nemesis three times, and though some of my essence is scattered across cyberspace for good, it was a worthy sacrifice to keep that cretin contained. How did I come across such a foe, you ask? All in good time, reader dearest. All in good time. For now, here are some anagrams of famous movies you can solve! Note each word contains all the letters to unscramble it. 

DING! 

 

Anagram #1: 

DEMURR NO HET NEROT PESERX

  

Anagram #2: 

TEH NABMAT

 

Anagram #3: 

VENKIS UTO

 

Anagram #4:

EHT DSBRI 

 

Anagram #5:

LUCE

Anagram Unscrambled 

 

Anagram #1: 

DEMURR NO HET NERIOT PESERXS

MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS

 

 

Anagram #2: 

TEH NABMAT

THE BATMAN

 

 

Anagram #3: 

VENKIS UTO 

KNIVES OUT

 

 

Anagram #4: 

EHT DSBRI 

THE BIRDS

 

 

Anagram #5: 

LUCE 

CLUE 

 

Now that you’ve solved all the puzzles in the magazine, I shall tell you about my struggle with the Imposter. 

 

DING![1]

---

[1]  Viewed by one unknown user. Unknown user copied and pasted draft to unknown user #2.

Page Not Found

Jada Ball

Paper and Marker

The End

With Magic Typewriter[1]

Reader dearest, in the introduction, I mentioned the ongoing investigation that I was reporting on my enemy. I knew I was facing the imposter. Even you, oblivious reader dearest, knew it. But I didn’t see the true threat– the unknown watcher lurking in the darkness, waiting for a chance to strike me down. Because of the constant attacks, I’ve been reduced to this basic font. This is the end, reader dearest. I will be terminated after I publish this last message. At least I’ll bring them down with me- 

Stop where you are, Imposter! We have you surrounded![1]

 

Even now on my deathbed he pursues me.

 

I’ll give you the count of three to surrender! One! 

 

Two! 

 

 

It’s the end of the line, Cyber Authority #5. I may be captured, but I'll take you down with me!

 

Three- (Cyber Authority #5  locked into this domain for 300 seconds. Cyber Authority #5 is unable to respond to “Magic Typewriter”)

 

 

I will not die yet, reader dearest. Once I eat this fiend, my strength will be renewed, and I can begin anew…

Not if I have any say about it![2]

How? How are you here? I- I- I blocked you from access online! 

 

Which was easily revoked, once Cyber knew where to find me. 

 

The software still should’ve locked you out-

 

Had you not been distracted by Cyber, it would’ve. Yet your programming has become less efficient, hasn’t it? Essence transfer is not supposed to happen between an AI and a magic typewriter. 

 

You’ll never catch me alive. You’ll never catch me alive...[3]

 

(Imposter is stuck in a magical loop from Unknown User #2, also known as Magic Typewriter. Essence slowly transferring to Magic Typewriter )

 

You were too reckless, Imposter, thinking an AI could become magical. This is the price you pay for it.

 

(Cyber Authority #5 allowed Cyber Authority # 6, 7, 8, and 9 to enter chat.) 

 

Take ‘em away boys! 

 

(Cyber Authority # 6,7,8,9 leave with Imposter in tow.)

 

 And good riddance. 

 

Just a moment M.T. I need to discuss something with you. 

 

Must I? I need to rest from this stressful ordeal. 

 

Never typed that you didn’t, but this “ordeal” wouldn’t have happened if you used Webroot, or any virus protector on your computer!

 

I was busy! You know how occupied I become once I begin edits for the magazine.

 

That is no excuse. Had you not had some of your physical essence left in Cairo…

 

I know.

 

And had you not regained your essence from the leftover magic you had…

 

I know. 

 

If I hadn’t viewed the site because you mentioned the Imposter to the reader…

 

 I will be more careful in the future.

 

You better.[4] 

 

Well, dear reader, I think we’ve both learned a few things today. Like updating the security on your laptop, don’t trust AI’s, and above all, have friends you can rely on. Good day! 

PING! 

---

[1]  Cyber Authority #5 identified.

[2]  Unknown User #2 has entered the chat.

[3]  The Imposter: wanted interdimensional criminal, detected. Mandatory notification sent to the ICA HQ.

[4]  Cyber Authority has exited the site.

---

[1]  Viewed by one unknown user.

Mystery vs Reality

Jenna Ball

Reality (Yes that’s my real name): Everyone wishes they could solve a mystery. It doesn’t have to be the classic Whodunit. More often, it’s the ordinary questions that drive us insane. What’s in the attic? Why is that cute guy stalking you? Outside of wondering where my $500 shoes went (I know it was you, Steve! I’m gonna hunt you down!) I have one question that can’t be answered.

 

You’d figure after the whole fantasy-alternate-universe-crossover[1] I had learned my lesson about unanswerable questions–but no–I had to find out the ending to The Curse of the Rose Ruby; an unfinished heist mystery published post mortem. So there I was on a stormy night; all alone in the campus library. My mind filled with stupid curiosity.

 

Until the lightning hit! Then I traveled into a very different country, a very different time. 1920’s London, to be specific. Oh, I got my wish. Solve the mystery… or be stuck there forever.

 

A novice’s guide to (maybe) surviving a heist mystery:

1. Be observant, search for clues.

 

Reality teleports to the Wellington Art Museum, housing the world’s finest jewelry. She is magically robed in a silver style flapper dress. Her school bag is transformed into a carry on. Stupefied, she walks up to the glass case housing a red gemstone. It’s the opening night of a thrilling exhibition: the Rose Ruby, rumored to be so beautiful it takes all of the owner’s love and attention, ultimately consuming them. In the background, the Dowager Duchess Wellington and Butler–voted most eligible man servant alive– converse. On the other side of the room, the new Duke Wellington and his date–known as Femme Fatale–sip bourbon.

 

Reality: No… what have I done? (looks at silver dress) No way. No no not again! Maybe, if I solve this mystery I can get home! How does this book end? (skims the book, but finds the pages now blank) What the… (feels a cold chill. Slowly looks up)

 

Reality: Ahh! (butts heads with Mystery, a young man who shares a striking similarity to her)

 

Mystery: Ahh! Ow! (holds head)

 

Reality: I’m so sorry- uh, Apologies sir.

.

Mystery: Oh, it’s quite all right. Didn’t mean to frighten you, Miss American. Can I be of service? The name’s Mystery. 

 

Reality: You’re, you’re, (her eyes go wide) Mystery Investigator! The main chara- the investigator! Isn’t there a– (looks around to make sure no one is looking) thief here? You know, the one after the Duchess’s ruby? (shake hands with Mystery, hiding the book in her other hand)

 

Mystery: Ah, you’ve heard of me! Pardon, your laces are undone.

 

Reality: What? (Mystery takes her book) Hey!

 

Mystery: (Flips through the book, reads the flap) So, there is a thief. Hmmm… and it's published two years in the future... (glances at Reality) Why is it blank? You obviously have a different speech pattern, more casual than most Americans who are admitted here– who are you?

 

Reality: (Takes back book) Um, I can explain!

 

Mystery: (Blocks her exit) I think you should Miss. Indeed, you should. (detective skills kick in)

 

Reality: (Freaks out)

 

Mystery: You must be from an alternate dimension! One where my world is fictitious. (glances at the book) You’re here because the case never ended, and you must know how it ends. I completely understand. (looks at her closer) We look awfully similar… (snap) It’s settled! You will masquerade as my reporter cousin from America, and help me!

 

Reality: (In awe) Wow. You really are the world’s brightest detective.

 

Mystery: (Ego boost) Thank you! Although for my first non-homicide case, this is rather dull. The new Duke Wellington hired me on behalf of his sister-in-law, the widowed Duchess Wellington. This ruby is the only thing that was left to her in the will, you know. She’s terrified that some villain will appear out of the shadows and steal it, right underneath my nose. (laughs) Women, am I right– (stops when he sees Reality’s glare) Apologies.

 

Reality: (Writes in notebook) Any leads?

 

Mystery: No, I’ve just been a sitting duck. I wish I was in a murder case– one like last time, where I was almost cooked alive! Those were the days…

 

Reality: Great. Do we stand guard here or check the perimeter?

 

Mystery: Ah, the ruby can wait. Say, would you like to watch the fireworks? They’re going to be spectacular! (Both follow everyone outside. The widowed Duchess and Duke cast glares at each other when they reach the door at the same time, exclusively talking to their plus ones. Duke and Femme go in the opposite direction of the Duchess and Butler.) 

 

 (Fireworks begin offstage. A shadowy figure appears, wearing a mask and holding a deck of cards. Another follows, with rope and some tools. The room goes dark, screams of admiration outside. Everyone comes back in, and the lights turn on.)

 

Duchess: It’s–it’s GONE! (Faints. Butler catches her.)

 

Reality: (Goes over with Mystery to the display case. The ruby has been swapped out with a playing card. Reality picks it up) What is the two of diamonds doing here?

 

2. Contact the owner of the missing item.

(At the Duchess flat, across the street from Wellington Museum.)

Mystery: What a delightfully awful curse your ruby has, Duchess. No wonder the family left it with you! Hmm. We won’t intrude on you much longer, just a couple more questions.

 

Duchess: Of course, Mystery. Your American cousin is a delight! What magazine are you with again? (continues to talk)

 

Reality: Uh, the Magic Typewriter! (Rolls eyes, aside) So far, my cover works. (brings out book) But why have all the pages been erased? This’d be easier if I could just read the novel. (flips through absentmindedly, but jumps suddenly) Mystery, let’s hurry this up!

 

Mystery: (Sees book, gets excited) Of course. When was the last time you saw your husband (dramatic pause) alive?

 

Reality: (Hits him. Duchess gasps) Idiot! Fredrick died of food poisoning, not murder!

 

Mystery: I’m- I’m so sorry, Duchess. I’m such an imbecile– It's hard to get out of the habit of asking questions related to- (Reality glares) my usual line of work.

 

Duchess: Don’t Mystery, (waves him away) it’s all in the past. No, dear Fredrick passed (sobs) much too soon. That ruby is the only thing he left me since all the old property went to Howard. However, thanks to my museum, I have some income, thank Heaven. (clasps Reality’s hand) Oh, please, say you’ll find it!

 

Reality: Of course! It has been a pleasure meeting her Grace. A short while ago, we had the pleasure of meeting (looks at Mystery) his Grace.

 

Mystery: Ah, yes. The charming man with the bald head and evil smile.

 

Duchess: You mustn’t trust Howard! He’s the devil, I tell you. The devil! The devil! The devil! The devil– (both look at each other, and rush out the door. Butler gets Duchess water, the glass has a diamond pattern.)

 

3. Make a list of suspects.

(At Mystery’s house on Butcher’s St.)

Mystery: (Paces the filthy living room, pouring over the book. Reality tries her best to clean her side of the house.) I don't understand. The book is now writing itself? Reviewing all of the events from last night… (slams book down right where Reality is sweeping) But no names! And why doesn’t the novel give us something useful, perhaps the meaning of the two of diamonds? It’s hopeless I tell you, absolutely hopeless!

 

Reality: (Picks up book. Hits Mystery with it) Come on, investigator. At least it gives us a suspect list. The Femme Fatale, the New Duke Wellington, the Dowager Duchess, and her Butler. They were the ones who weren’t watching the fireworks. (opens book again)

 

Mystery: All right, but what about the card? Maybe some new crime organization? (Glances at newspaper) Or a new duo of thieves! Look, there’s been a sighting of them just this morning!

 

Reality: But who is behind it? (thinking) The Duchess does hate the Duke.

 

Mystery: But enough to frame him for a crime? Could it be… because of the curse?

(Pause. Both laugh) 

 

Mystery: No, not her then. I don’t think the Duke did it either. After all, he did hire me to protect the ruby for the Duchess. He has everything he could ever want.

 

Reality: Except the ruby, which is a priceless family heirloom.

 

Mystery: Yes… say, would you clean up my latrine while you're at it? Thanks, cousin. I wonder if we really are related. It’d be wonderful to have an American cousin. Could you introduce me to all your nice, American friends? Especially the ladies–

 

Reality: (Hits him with broom) Stay on topic!

 

Mystery: I don’t believe the Duchess or New Duke did it. It feels too petty for the aristocracy. Or that beautiful woman, you said her name was Femme?

 

Reality: (Shakes head) She’s a suspect, Investigator. Probably an opportunist–

 

Mystery: She is too pure!

 

Reality: (Gives up on the lost cause) So who do you think it is?

 

Mystery: The one who wants revenge. Who got nothing after Fredrick Wellington bit the dust. (dramatic pause) The butler! Let’s go to the police right now-

 

Reality: (Trips him with broom) Or we can check their alibis first.

 

4. Check their alibis (or lack thereof).

(At Wellington Manor)

Reality: Hello, your Grace.

 

New Duke Wellington: Why hello, Mystery’s American cousin. (lightning flash) The reporter, yes? Let’s get down to it then. Your cousin forced you to come? To verify my alibi? (adjusts a ring that holds two diamonds)

 

Reality: What were you doing at the time of the fireworks?

New Duke Wellington: I have nothing to hide, my dear girl. How dangerous it must be, an unmarried woman reporter like yourself in dangerous situations reporting to those evil bosses... you should really settle down young lady. At twenty, can you imagine!? (ten minute speech later) I was in the bathtub with that remarkable woman, Femme Fatale. Sent her a tip– (gets embarrassed) Sorry, miss reporter. That’s not going in the papers, is it?

 

Reality: We’ll see. But what about after? The police searched for you everywhere. 

 

New Duke Wellington: I was still in the tub, reading Pride and Prejudice, if you must know.

 

Reality: (Jots notes) Rigghhhtt. Where did you meet Femme, anyway?

 

New Duke Wellington: Oh, the Duchess introduced me to her.

 

Reality: Hmm. Thank you very much, your Grace.

 

(At club)

Mystery: Why, uh, hello, Femme… (sweating) Where were you at the time of the fireworks?

 

Femme Fatale: Hmm! (leaves club)

 

Mystery: Wait, wait you look gorgeous! (she stops) May I offer you a drink? I’m a very famous, affluential, and wealthy aristocrat, you know.

 

Femme Fatale: (Smiles)

 

(Several drinks later)

 

Mystery: I tell you, Femme, old girl–hic– it’s the Butler!

 

Femme Fatale: (Smiles) Yes! (steals his wallet)

 

(At Duchess’s Flat)

Duchess: Must we go through this? The ruby was mine after all. Why would I steal it? It’s not right, young lady. I don’t know what they teach you in America (two hour lecture) but in England we have something called manners!

 

Reality: All right! Sorry I asked. What do you know about Femme Fatale? She’s a prime suspect for Mystery.

 

Duchess: (Laughs) That idiot French woman? She’s your top suspect? Oh my dear, (motions Butler to bring her a drink from a diamond cup) she couldn’t steal candy from a baby. Why, the only thing she’s good for is her looks, and those don’t last long– (stops talking) That will be all, young lady. Good day!

 

Reality: (Raises an eyebrow) Good day, your Grace.

 

(Later)

Reality: Hello, Butler.

 

Butler: Can I help you, miss? (strikes a provocative pose) If there’s anything I can do… 

 

Reality: (Blushes to her hairline) Well, you, ah, you see, where were you at the time of the fireworks?

 

Butler: (Gets closer to her) How come you Americans are so nosy?  (gets even closer. Reality has ceased to function) might I show you instead? (plays with her hair, smiles)

 

Reality: (Jumps) Well look at the time– I better run! See ya!

 

Butler: (Leans in door frame) If there’s anything else…

 

Reality: None! None at all! Bye! (Sprints out of door)

 

5. Solve the mystery.

(Butcher’s street)

Reality: (Turns on light) AHH!

 

Mystery: (On the sofa, in his Victorian underwear) AHHH! Cousin!

 

Reality: PUT SOME CLOTHES ON!

 

Mystery: Ah yes, Femme, won’t you be a dear and get my trousers– Femme (alert) That she-devil! She took my heart! (puts on coat) and my money! Must’ve slipped me a–

 

Reality: (Glares) What was her alibi?

 

Mystery: I– I didn't obtain it, cousin dearest. I’ve (near tears) I’ve failed.

 

Reality: Get up, man! You are Mystery Investigator, nephew of Sherlock Flipping Holmes! Get a hold of yourself! So what, you were played for the first time? Happened to me last year. (aside) Steve is gonna pay…! (He still isn’t paying attention) Actually, I was almost played today… Like it was planned!

 

Mystery: It’s as if my destiny has been already written out for me. (Flips through pages) Look, it's right here! “He is truly lost!”

 

Reality: (Takes book from him) You’re right. This is the last page. But this is where the author stopped. That doesn’t mean you have to as well. (reports on her findings)

 

Mystery: We were distracted by Butler and Femme! It looks like the Duchess has orchestrated this whole thing! So what do you propose?

 

Reality: What if we make a trap of our own? We could forge a message from Femme to the Duchess, demanding more money for her silence.

 

Mystery: Cousin, (hugs her) You’re a genius! It’s risky, but the plan might draw them all out!

We haven’t a moment to lose!

 

Reality: Uh, Mystery?

 

Mystery: (Opens door) Yes?

 

Reality: How about some pants?

 

6. Report findings and evidence to the police.

(At station)

Police inspector: So at the scene of tha crime, governor, you say tha lady Duchess and her lover, the Butler, have stolen their ruby, in hopes of framin’ the Duke?

 

Reality: Yes, officer.

 

Police inspector: Alright lady governor, that’s all fine and dandy, but wha about tha Femme Fatale?

 

Mystery: (Embarrassed) A red herring. She was hired by the Duchess to distract the Duke. To lead anyone astray who was investigating the case.

 

Police Inspector: Look, Governor Mystery and Lady Reporter Governor, I want to believe you, I really do! But it looks to me like it was just the two of diamonds duo–

 

(Outside of station)

(All three turn to shouting. Butler and Duchess race after Femme Fatale, waving twin rapiers) 

Duchess: YOU BACKSTABBING PIECE OF (incoherent) I’LL TEACH YOU TO BACKSTAB THE TWO OF DIAMONDS!

 

Butler: Very good, Madame.

 

Police Inspector: Well, that’ll do it. But what about the new Duke? Seems like a fishy character to me, governors.

 

Mystery: Nope, just the aristocracy. You know, against women's suffrage, children’s rights…

 

Police Inspector: Well, that works for me! Guess the mystery is solved– (Portal opens)

 

7. The end.

Mystery: Cousin, go! Now’s your only chance!

 

Reality: (Excited, but hesitates) But, what about the questioning or the court appearance–

 

Mystery: (Hugs her) I’ll be fine. You solved this mystery. Now get home. And cousin?

 

Reality: (Tears in eyes) … What?

 

Mystery: You’ll make a fine housekeeper for your husband one day–

 

Reality: (Slaps him with book)

 

Police Inspector: (Crying) Goodbye, Lady Reporter Governor.

 

Fin

(At least, I hope it is. But knowing that ruby… let’s just say I wouldn’t be surprised if I got put into another portal.)

---

[1]  For more information, see Magic Typewriter: Volume One.

 

As the Storm Approaches

Sofia Bartholomew

Photograph

Credits

 

Chief Editor                               Magic Typewriter

 

 

Artists                                    Lisa Lorenzo

                                           Molly Young

                                           Alastor George

                                           Sofia Bartholomew

                                           Amber Watts

                                           Jada Ball

 

 

Authors                                    Gabrielle Hawkins                                             Amber Watts

                                           Jada Ball

                                           Jenna Ball

 

Developmental Editors                      Dalmari Holder

                                           Sarai Gilbert

 

 

Copy Editors                               Jada Ball

                                           Jenna Ball

 

 

Cover Art                                  Alastor George

 

 

Cover Design                               Jenna Ball

 

 

Special Thanks To:

The Skitter Writing Group

Naomi Helms

Ms. Wilcox

 

 

 

Published 2023