CHAPTER TWO
THE SOVEREIGN’S BOTTOM DRAWER
In the bottom drawer of Glen’s desk was a bottle of very special Irish whiskey that he kept on hand for late visits from Ram. When other members of A Team were away, he would stop by for surprisingly deep conversations on metaphysics and philosophy.
Once Glen made the mistake of asking, “Why are you here?”
Ram said, “Who do you think you’re talkin’ to like that? You may have these others fooled into believin’ you’re Sovereign of Jefferson Unit, but to me you’re the dog walker.”
Glen decided that being put in one’s place occasionally was critical in promoting a balanced life and healthy attitude. So he made a point of stopping what he was doing, no matter how busy he was, to have a drink and a talk with the legend himself, whenever Ram came calling at his office door.
On that particular night, Ram noted that Glen looked more troubled than usual.
“Is the catastrophe impendin’ or is it already here?” Ram asked as he leaned back in the armchair across from Glen’s desk.
“What makes you think there’s a catastrophe impending or otherwise?” Glen said.
“Known you since you were a teenage skirt chaser. That means I can read doom and gloom all over your pretty werewolf snout.”
Glen turned the glass around in his hand. “Was that a racial slur?”
Ram snorted. “I have nothin’ against werewolves and ye know it. Why are you dodgin’ the question, Sovereign?”
“You know Sir Finngarick?”
“Oh, aye. I was no’ fond of him after what he pulled at the Battle. I’ve ne’er felt like I could leave my family for my mother’s birthday celebration since. But he did apologize and I had a chance to get to know him a little better durin’ Rosie’s trainin’ camp.” Ram scowled. “Why? Is he up to no good again?”
Glen shook his head. “No. Just the opposite. It turned out that his assigned partner was his mate.”
“Know that. The women like to gossip.” Glen smiled indulgently at that, having figured out somewhere along the way that men were even worse, but didn’t correct the elf who’d been like a foster father. The good kind. “Seemed like a good match.”
“Yeah. Problem is we lost her.”
Ram shook his head slightly looking confused. “What do you mean lost her?”
“They were on assignment in Dublin. She disappeared in the passes. Now Finngarick is about to lose his mind.”
Ram set the glass down on Glen’s desk and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Great Paddy. I can no’ begin to imagine the hel of that. ’Twould be torture.”
“Yeah. Well. Rosie is in a tizzy. Finngarick is close to needing a straightjacket. And there’s not a thing I can do about it.”
“There is. If she’s lost, we can look for her. Just like when Stormy…”
Glen was shaking his head. “Rosie’s granddad and that angel say word is that a demon’s got her.”
Ram, who’d been leaning forward, forearms resting on thighs, sat up straight looking considerably more worried. “What’s that mean?”
“We’re not sure yet. They’re going to try to get her back, but apparently there are protocols.”
“Protocols!”
“I know.”
“Great Paddy.”
“It’s a music demon.”
“A music demon? What the fuck is that?”
Glen waved his hand around. “I’m no expert. I’m just hearing about this and, at this point, you pretty much know what I know. Apparently we’re manipulated through music all the time. By demons.”
Ram looked worried. “Paddy,” he said quietly as he considered that. “No’ metal though?”
“Yeah. Metal, too.” Glen laughed, but then sobered almost instantly. “Thing is,” he looked at his glass and rotated it almost a full turn before speaking again, “it’s not just Finngarick. The sister is almost as beside herself. I guess there’s some mystical kind of bond thing with twins.”
“There is.” Ram nodded. “Elora and I have seen it over and over with our girls. It can be strange enough to weird you out. I can see how the one left behind would be feelin’ crazy as a whirlin’ dervish.”
“What’s a whirling dervish?”
“I do no’ know. But my grandmum was fond of sayin’ it. So even if ’twas no’ a thing, ’tis one now.”
“I’m going to write that down in my log of quotable Ram quotes.”
Ram looked interested. “You keep a log of my sayin’s?”
Glen laughed and shook his head. “No.”
Sir Hawking shrugged that off and stood to leave. “Thanks for the whiskey. I better be gettin’ home to the missus. She’ll be wonderin’ if I have a girlfriend.”
He punctuated that with a wink, but both men knew perfectly well that mated elves define the term monogamous. Elora might be worried about whiskey consumption when he was out of sight. But the last thing she worried about was Rammel being attracted to someone else.
Turning back at the door. “If you change your mind about a search party…”
Glen was nodding before Ram could finish the thought. “You’ll be first call.”
“Okay then.”