Age Twenty-Three: Here Comes Your Man
Only forty-eight hours had passed since Lane placed his life before the mercy of the sea and he was already restless. Thursday he’d jumped from his crew’s Jayhawk. Two surfers in distress got pulled out in a riptide off Huntington Beach. Friday he’d only wished to have jumped out of an airplane when his direct flight from LAX to Santa Fe was canceled. Lane of course did the sensible thing; rerouted from Orange County Airport to Albuquerque that afternoon. Late afternoon. That further devolved into a connecting flight, another delay, and finally driving a rental to his family’s estate in the ballpark of one in the morning.
“Keep a low profile,” Lane’s father had told him long ago.
“But, we’re magic,” An eight year old Lane argued, “Shouldn’t we be, um, High Profile?” Obvious from a child’s perspective. Magic supposedly meant you could do anything. You were special and that status was coveted in the good old United States… Right?
His father had gripped him firmly on the shoulder and with a grave tone gave Lane the one and only warning he’d ever needed; “You are not magic, son. We’re not magic. We ask permission to borrow power only when it’s the right thing to do. If you abuse power that isn’t yours, the source will annihilate you. Not punish, not harm: wipe you clean from existence.” Lane’s father blew a smokey breath across his palm and wiped his hands clean to further emphasize the point. Crisp menthol hung in the air but the ashes were blown away.
“Now,” Dorian Albert Woods offered his son one of his rare concealed smiles from under a dusty blonde mustache, “Go finish your ice cream.”
Shaking off the memory, Lane lazily thumbed through the Santa Fe New Mexican pretending to care about the sport’s section. Seated at the kitchen table closest to the bay window he glanced up from the paper at his younger sister.
“You could have teleported,” Katrina huffed. She was cleaning off a plate of egg whites and salmon over fresh cut spinach. “Uncle Dan did it. He does it all the time.”
“He’s uncle Dan,” Lane said dryly. “He’s earned the privilege to do whatever he pleases.” His coffee needed a top off. As Lane rose from his chair and crossed over the hexagonal Saltillo tiles, the pot had already been claimed by his twin.
Apollena drank straight from the carafe. Her most recent case had required another all-nighter to close. After swallowing, she turned to Lane offering to refill his cup. She hadn’t bothered to tie her silk bathrobe closed or wear anything underneath. Her dark, humble breasts were barely concealed by the forest green fabric. Lane didn’t so much as wince at the open display. Most of their family had long become accustomed to their magic’s occasional cost of casting spells: a strong will could survive contact with magic, clothing could not.
On the other hand, Robyn wretched and covered her eyes, “Luna! Clothes, please?”
Apollena lazily closed her robe and half-assed a knot with the silk sash, “Breath, dearest sister. Not everyone is blessed to be as… Conservative in dress as you.”
Katrina stuck out her tongue at her younger sister and pitched her voice up mockingly; “I’m Robyn, I only wanna see my girlfriend’s vagina, everyone else’s yucky.”
Robyn shot Kat a scowl, “That’s right, Kat, I do only want to see my girlfriend’s vagina. A little modesty wouldn’t kill Apollena.”
Apollena almost snorted out her coffee at the word, “Modesty?” Carefully swallowing without laughing out her dark roast, “I’d rather not tempt fate with an attempt.”
As his sisters continued to bicker, Lane returned to his seat to finish the paper. No screens before breakfast had been a house rule before his parents vanished. He took it upon himself to enforce the small traditions. Small reminders that his father and mother had tried their best.
Last to arrive in the kitchen that morning was the infamous Uncle Dan himself. Even on a Saturday, the man dressed to the nines; pressed suit, waistcoat, and polished Oxfords. Freshly shaven, his rough hand stroked his chin as he observed the room.
“Good Morning, Uncle Dan,” Katrina chimed while taking her plate to the sink.
Uncle Dan simply gave her a smile and headed for the coffee pot. Without saying a word, he simply held out his mug and Luna poured up to the rim.
“Thank you, darling,” said the older gentleman, voice groggy but appreciative. “What’s on the agenda for everyone today?”
“It’s Saturday,” Robyn bemoaned, “There’s not supposed to be an agenda for the weekends.” She shoveled another spoon full of cereal into her mouth. The faster Robyn ate, the faster she could FaceTime her girlfriend.
Uncle Dan snorted in bemusement, then turned to Katrina.
“Oh, I’m heading to the gym, but I’ll be free after…” Kat checked her watch, “Noon, maybe one? Are we thinking maybe lunch at the house together or do we want to go out…?”
Lane shrugged, flexible and not eager to drive the agenda. There was hardly any real pressure for him to haul the reins of patriarch of the family. Occasionally Uncle Dan would offer a sharp remark. A little kick of encouragement to lead when the four of them argued in circles. Lane had suggested Uncle Dan, being an adult, take more of an active role in the family. At least stay in New Mexico until their parents return?
He always politely declined.
Apollona sighed, leaning against the kitchen counter top and adjusting her robe “As long as I’m not required to do or say anything for the next two days or so, I’m willing to go with the flow. What about you, Ursa Major? What sounds like fun on your weekend off?”
Lane was once again deep in thought, idly rereading the same sentence over, and over–
Knock, knock, knock.
The idle chatter dimmed as all eyes turned toward the hallway that led into the living room and the front door beyond it. Such a perfectly timed mechanical knock on a door that any normal person shouldn’t have been able to see or touch.
Uncle Dan cracked his knuckles, “While you decide on what to have for Lunch and where, I shall pop back up to Washington and check on the ole’ Enigma Lodge. Weekend tourists are always more loose with their wallets when it comes to impulse buys.”
Lane raised an eyebrow at Uncle Dan’s seemingly dismissive attitude, but the gesture went unnoticed.
With his nonchalant declaration of bending physics to his will, Uncle Dan lifted up his ebony Rungu; an East African throwing club, but a bit longer than the traditional hunting weapon. This surprisingly deadly walking stick began to bleed a viscous cherry liquid onto the floor. The liquid quickly engulfed the elderly gentleman and with a puff of rose petals and sandalwood dust, he’d vanished. The glyph burning on the floor tiles crackled then faded away.
Knock, knock, knock.
Lane rose up from his seat and strode toward the door. Apollena followed. The thick frosted glass window on the door showed a single figure waiting patiently within arms reach of the door. Black shoes, black suit, black tie, and black shades. His black hat was held in his off hand as the dominant hand extended outward to knock again. The man was a lefty, Lane chuckled.
“Good afternoon,” Lane said before a third knock came.
The man’s hand paused, then slowly returned to his side, “Good afternoon,” came his reply in a neutral, masculine voice. “Mr. Dorian Woods?”
Apollena raised an eyebrow at Lane and took her brother’s hand in hers.
“I’m afraid he’s not in,” Lane answered. “Who might you be?”
There was another pause. The man did not sway or adjust his stance. As the atmosphere around his silence thickened, the same neutral voice inquired, “Lane Guster Woods, would you have a moment to talk about an incident on the afternoon of June Twelfth, last year?”
Lane racked his brain quickly; that was the day Katrina had dropped the big news, they’d gone to the pier while he was on weekend leave, kayaking to Newport Pier–
The FIRE Incident.
Lane had almost forgotten.
“We’d like to go over the facts of an ongoing investigation and hope you could offer some insight,” Once again the man’s voice was patient as if he had all the time in the world.
“Badge and warrant?” Lane asked with a scoff.
Without any sign of discontent the man withdrew a badge from his jacket pocket and pressed it against the frosted glass. Apollena pressed her finger tip against the glass and slid it downward, minimizing the one-way distortion for them to clearly see the man’s credentials.
Apollena whispered the badge name and number to herself then quickly jogged back up the hall toward the family computer in the living room; “Keep him talking.”
“Not my first rodeo, Ursa Minor,” Lane called back. Turning his attention back to the door, he asked the man, “No warrant?”
“No warrant. We just wanted to chat,” the man in the black suit replied. Something spread across his face that resembled a smile but certainly felt like a threat.
“Must be an awful long flight out from Quantico just for a chat under the desert sun?” Lane asked.
The man shrugged, “I wouldn’t be opposed to talking inside, presuming there’s air-conditioning or a cool drink of water perhaps?”
Lane scoffed again. Whoever the suit was, he didn’t take the bait; neither confirming or denying he was actually with the FBI as his badge suggested. Apollena came rushing back and squeezed her brother’s hand. Her hand trembled slightly which for Luna, was practically impossible. There was the one exception. Men from institutions more concerned with efficiency than humanity had left a scar that had never healed in the deepest chamber of Apollena’s heart.
“Badge checks out,” She whispered, “Federal. Top Secret clearance, but everything else is redacted even with our level of clearance.”
“Are your sisters, Apollena and Katrina also within the residence?” The man asked.
Lane waited a beat, then with the same even tone answered, “At this time we’d prefer you come back with a warrant. Thank you.”
Lane blinked.
The man in the pressed suit placed his black fadora on his head and vanished.
In the same instant behind them, Robyn yelped.
At the sound of shattered ceramics, Lane and Luna sprinted toward the kitchen. They both skid to a halt once they saw their younger sister frozen in mid throw. Following her arm’s trajectory, Robyn had also been held in place, seated at the table drenched in fear. The youngest sister still had her fists up in defense, mouth hung open, but unable to scream.
Apollena’s cheerful cadence dropped to a predatory growl; “You are not welcomed within our home.” She raised her hand up ready strike.
Seated at the table in Lane’s chair beside the bay window, the man in black took a sip from a glass of water. Savoring the cool refreshment and swallowing, he set the glass down on the table beside Lane’s cup and slowly replied, “Welcome or not, I have questions that require answers. My superiors would be greatly disappointed if I returned empty handed and I’ve developed a reputation of consistently delivering information. Please, be seated.”
The man gestured for Lane and Apollena to sit with an overly polite wave of his right hand. Two of the chairs closest to the twins slid outward silently across the red tiles.
Lane’s heart was beating out of his chest. His mind was in over drive. There were exactly four different wards that directly surrounded their estate:
Protection against spirits.
Protection against illusion.
Protection against demons.
Protection against witchcraft.
If this man was inside their home, that eliminated a lot of options for whatever this federal agent was using against his family. Lane glanced back at Katrina still frozen in place. It looked as if she’d thrown her glass of grapefruit juice at the man the moment he’d arrived. Their webs of invisible spellcraft should have prevented his arrival entirely. Yet, there he sat.
“Please, I don’t intend for this discussion to take up much of your time. I only have three questions about the incident on the pier,” The man again nodded to the seats pushed out for Lane and Luna.
As Lane studied her further, Robyn wasn’t entirely frozen in place. She could still breathe at least. Her eyes also moved as she looked from the man in black, then darted back at Lane and Luna. Her eyes continually shifted back and forth before finally locking on to her older brother.
With a sigh, Lane took his seat.
Apollena scoffed, but also sat beside her adopted twin, “Awfully selective in your etiquette; you’ll push a chair out for a lady and remember to say please, but barging in uninvited and wearing your hat at the breakfast table? Half-measured politeness may as well be none at all.”
There was no reaction or change on the man’s face, only that plastered on Cheshire smile.
“You have a captive audience,” Lane said. “Ask your questions and be gone.”
The man again smiled and nodded mechanically; “There was a team of federal agents making a routine patrol at the Newport Beach pier and surrounding areas on the afternoon of June Twelfth last year; did you willingly impede their investigation?”
Apollena pursed her lips, “What evidence do you have that places us at the pier at all?”
“Apart from the dozen of witnesses we’ve already detained, video evidence recorded from the scene uploaded to social media, and our own satellite imagery showing you both and…” The man’s eyes flicked over to Katrina, “And your sister all entered the premises. This is not in dispute. My primary concern is who instigated contact first?”
Lane nodded. Testimony rarely swayed a jury, but the cell phone video of the girl who’d filmed them should have corroborated their testimony. Using satellite imagery however was problematic. They would have seen Katrina casting her spell on the roof. Even if she was obscured by the deck umbrellas, Lane operated under the assumption that they could at least detect an energy surge once the alchemy circles were activated.
“If you’ve seen the video, then it’s pretty clear that your agent approached us first,” Lane said confidently. “If you intend to court marshal your agents for inappropriate conduct, a jury summons in the mail would have been sufficient.”
The man took another sip from his glass of water, “We do intend to take appropriate action to hold our agents accountable. However…” Holding the glass just above the table with his right hand, he gestured to Katrina, “Could you detail by what means your sister was able to disable our agent’s weapons?”
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