Page 10 of Skulk of Foxes
Once inside the toilets, I darted into the nearest cubicle and dropped the lid so I could sit down then I used my teeth to tear open the plastic bag. I shoved my wallet into my back pocket before carefully drawing out the sphere.
I’d never really paid it much close attention before. It was about the size of a golf ball, with a smooth, glistening, silver exterior. It felt slightly warm to the touch but there was nothing that indicated it was an object that had the power to destroy worlds. Not, of course, that such destruction was its main aim.
Apparently the dragon Chen had created it in order to draw magic from other demesnes into this one. He’d wanted new ways to locate treasure for himself. Unfortunately for humanity, bringing such a flood of magic would unbalance this world. As a technology-driven demesne, it couldn’t cope. I didn’t know the specifics but I was aware that using the sphere would tip this already precarious place into an event of apocalyptic proportions. The world’s population would be decimated.
Rubus wanted the sphere because using it would re-open the borders to Mag Mell, the faery homelands. He didn’t care what happened afterwards in this demesne.
I hefted the sphere from hand to hand, rolling it through my fingers and thinking. In theory I could have swallowed it but goodness only knew what it would have done to my intestines. Irritable bowel syndrome or saving the world? It was a tough choice. Perhaps I should explore other avenues first.
I could conceal it in other body cavities. There were two likely possibilities. Neither particularly appealed although, given what I knew of Rubus’s distaste for germs, it would be rather enjoyable to see him try to get hold of the sphere and use it after it had been, erm, intimate with me. I pursed my lips. Given that he’d happily rip me apart to retrieve it, it probably wasn’t a suitable option.
I considered leaving it here. Maybe I could find a dusty corner somewhere to hide it in – but Rubus could easily send in his many minions to locate it. I tapped my mouth. No, I needed to be clever. Luckily, I was; I just had to think a wee bit harder and a solution would present itself.
The outside door to the toilets opened and I heard footsteps followed by a trundling wheel. A moment later, there was a deep sigh and the tinny sound of music. I heard the scoosh of a spray. Curious, I stood up and unlatched the cubicle to peek out.
A young woman stood with her back to me. She was wearing grubby overalls and using a yellow cloth to wipe one of the mirrors over the row of sinks. I used my intense powers of deduction and relaxed slightly. A cleaner. Admittedly, a cleaner with blue hair, a slim figure and appalling taste in music, but not anyone I should be afraid of. She knew how to dance as well, wiggling her body in time to the beat as she rubbed at a particularly stubborn streak.
Her earphones meant that she couldn’t hear me but my reflection caught me out. She jumped, startled at catching a glimpse of me in the mirror, then shot me a dazzling grin.
I stood up, flushed the toilet and ambled out towards the sinks. The woman, who couldn’t have been older than twenty-four or twenty-five, made room for me so I could wash my hands. Just before she turned, I spotted her identification badge: Charlotte Page. Pixie Dust Cleaning Services.
I almost crowed aloud. Well, then. It was simply meant to be.
I dried my hands and spoke. ‘Cool hair.’
She didn’t hear me. I tapped her on the shoulder and she glanced up, surprised. She took out the earphones and tilted her head questioningly towards me with a small smile that made dimples form in her cheeks. She had a snub nose that was incredibly cute and added to the overall effect of sweet wholesomeness. No wonder she worked for Pixie Dust Cleaning Services; she was less like the drug I was renowned for selling and more like something I wanted to put in my pocket and carry around with me.
‘Cool hair,’ I repeated.
Charlotte grinned. ‘Thanks. I love blue. Did you know that it’s been proved that weight lifters can lift heavier weights in blue-painted gyms?’ I stared at her as she laughed and flexed her arms. Then she leaned in towards me and tapped her nose. ‘I’ll let you into a secret about my hair.’ She paused. ‘It’s not natural.’
I laughed more than I should have done. I also relaxed even further. Little Miss Charlotte Page had a northern accent that couldn’t be faked. This was no glamoured-up faery; she was human through and through. She was also just what I needed.
I stumbled slightly, feinting left. As expected, Charlotte put out her hand to steady me. The moment she did so, I dropped the sphere into the large pocket at the front of her work tunic.
‘I’m so sorry! I’m hopelessly clumsy!’ I said.
She smiled at me again. She was beginning to annoy me now that she’d served her purpose; she was almost too winsome for words, despite the daft hair. Maybe, I pondered, this was why us faeries always had green eyes. Jealousy seemed to be a running theme.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Charlotte burbled.
Yep, far too cheery for her own good. Still, she was going to be an excellent mule. I congratulated myself on my genius-level plan and strolled out of the bathroom. I’d done all that I could for now.
Chapter Four
Fun as it would have been to skip happily towards Carduus, I couldn’t let him realise that I’d temporarily disposed of the sphere. As his figure came into sight, I dropped my happy amble in favour of a stiff-legged shuffle. I needed to appear as reluctant to reach him as possible. The sphere might be safe for the time being but I certainly wasn’t.
At least there was no sign of Viburna. That bloody Fey lawyer had done enough damage.
I was almost at the door when DC Jones caught up to me. She grabbed my elbow, causing me to whirl round and almost smack her in the face.
‘Sorry,’ she said, not sounding sorry at all. ‘I just wanted to catch you before you left. I think what you did what was a good thing. That doctor of yours gives me the heebie-jeebies but we can’t argue with a court order.’
It wasn’t an arsebadgering court order, it was a magicked-up sheet of blank paper. ‘What good thing did I do?’ I enquired irritably. It wasn’t her fault that she was human and had been fooled by faery machinations – but I was still going to hold it against her.
‘You helped that man,’ she said. ‘Mr Mickelson.’
For a moment I didn’t have the faintest idea who she was talking about. I scratched my head before abruptly realising. ‘Oh, you mean Charrie the Bogle.’
