Dearest Mother of Mine

I thought back to the last time I'd seen their car split into illusions to confuse any would-be stalkers. "Yeah."



He nodded. "So when the duplicate illusions of the Conroys' car drive past the streamers, they won't make a breeze. We just sit back and make note of the car that does."



"I guess it's not quite as stupid as it sounds," I said. "Are we just gonna sit here and wait until we see them?"



Shelton drove up and down the rows of parked cars, eyes roving. "Nah. I'm checking to see if their limo is even here."



My eyes caught on a leopard-print Hummer with dark-tinted windows and chrome spinner wheels. I saw no sign of a black limousine. "Is there any guarantee they're still using the same car?"



"The illusion spells are charmed into the limo," he said. "It's not a spell someone casts every time they get in." He stopped to inspect a black car. Grunted, and eased off the brake. "They either bought it or leased it from Overworld Security, a company that provides protection to celebrities and politicians. Even if they got another one, it'll look the same."



We finished a circuit of the parking lot without spotting the limo.



"Don't they have a driver?" I asked. "I doubt it would be parked out here."



"It'd usually be waiting in the motor pool," he said, pointing to a line of other cars, stagecoaches, and even elephants waiting to pick up VIPs as they emerged from the Grotto. "But it never hurts to be thorough." He parked the sedan, got out.



We walked to the stables and found Oliver shoveling a massive pile of steaming poo into a dung wagon.



"G'day, guvnahs!" he said brightly.



"Hey, Oliver," Shelton said, patting the boy fondly on the head. "You seen the Conroys around here lately?"



"No, Harry. I saw Miss Ivy and Mrs. Conroy just two days ago, but not since." He heaved a shovelful of poop into the wagon.



"Don't worry about the tracker," Shelton said. "I don't think it'll work on their limo."



"Did they take their car when they were here last time?" I asked Oliver.



The boy nodded. "They came from the arch and went straight to the limousine. I think they were coming from Queens Gate."



That would've been a day or so after school let out for the holiday break, I realized. "They might not come back until school starts again in January," I said.



"Any Darkwater people lurking around here?" Shelton asked.



"Yes, there were several looking for people who match your descriptions," he said, tilting his head slightly. A few brown clods dropped from his shovel as he contemplated something. "Did you do something horrible again, Harry?"



Shelton looked offended. "Why would you ask that, kid?"



"Oh, please tell me about it," Oliver said. "I would so love to hear another of your stories."



Shelton sighed. "Stay away from those bruisers." He waggled his thumb to indicate the two of us. "They want our hides."



"You don't need to tell me that," the boy said brightly. "The one named Kassus sounded very upset."



My stomach clenched. "Did it sound like they had any idea where we were?" I asked.



He shook his head. "I saw several of the brotherhood taking the arch to different locations. I would say they're casting a wide net."



"How did you know they're with the brotherhood?" Shelton asked.



"I hear a lot," Oliver said with a grin. "Most people ignore the stable boy."



Shelton passed him a wad of tinsel, Overworld currency. "Stay out of trouble, kid. And let me know if you see or hear anything else."



"You got it, Harry!"



We walked back to the car, Shelton muttering to himself along the way. "I don't know if we should stake this place out, or leave," he said. "Man, I could really use a donut right now."



I didn't like the idea of sitting for hours in a smelly car with Shelton, but going back home would only make me feel powerless again. On the bright side, it didn't sound like Darkwater had any reason to suspect where we lived if Oliver's assumptions were true.



"Darkwater is headquartered inside the Grotto?" I asked as we climbed in the car.



He nodded. "Don't even think about going near the place. Their security probably flagged our images."



"It doesn't sound like they have pictures of us," I said.



"Nah, but they probably have drawings which will be close enough to tag us."



"I don't want to go home," I told him. "We've got to figure out something."



Shelton pursed his lips. Started the car and backed out of the parking lot. "I've got some ideas. They may not pan out, but it won't hurt to try."



I didn't argue with him.



He drove up the ramp and down Peachtree Street to a two-story building with stretched Hummers, limos, and even an elongated Lamborghini on display in a glassed-in showroom. A sign proclaimed the place as Luxury Transportation. Shelton drove to the back, parked the car, and led me toward an outbuilding without any signage to indicate what lay inside. I saw a simple service bay and gas pump to the rear of the complex.



Shelton went inside the small building and up to a counter. He dinged the bell. A short man with glasses came to the front. His eyes narrowed when he saw us.



"Harry Shelton," he said in a neutral tone after a moment's pause. "I haven't seen you in a while."



"Yeah, took a break from the bounty-hunting biz." Shelton shrugged. "This is my friend, Justin. Justin, this is Walter Lerner."



"Justin Slade," the man said.



"You know my last name?" I asked.



He nodded. "The security business has been good with everyone scared to death of you and your gang."



"My gang?" I asked. "What kind of things have you been hearing about me?"



Walter shrugged. "The vampires have their PR people going all-out to portray you as a dangerous lunatic. There are some on the Arcane Council trying to blame you for the Grand Melee incident."



"They're lying," I said in protest. "We saved their lives."



"You don't have to convince me," Walter said, propping his elbows on the counter. "That's just politics. Right now, it's good business."



I looked around the room at the blank walls, the lack of furniture. "What exactly do you do here?" I glanced at Shelton. "Isn't this a nom business?"



"I cater to noms as well as supers," Walter said. "Wouldn't be enough money in this business otherwise."



"Walter here provides secure transportation to the high muckety-mucks in the Overworld and for the noms," Shelton explained. "He sends his vehicles to places like Overworld Security and has them add other enchantments."



"Even for noms?" I asked.



"Oh, sure," Walter said. "But only things they'll never notice." His eyes met Shelton. "Why are you here? I know it isn't to socialize."



"Fair enough," Shelton said. "I need some information on the concealment illusions like they use on the high-end limos."



"Like what?" Walter asked suspiciously.



"How long do the illusions last? What kind of scripted behavior do they have?"



Walter dug behind the counter and tossed Shelton a folded brochure. "It's all in there."



"Is it accurate?" Shelton said.



"Yeah, by the Overworld truth in advertising standards."



"I need it to be accurate," Shelton said, not moving to pick it up.



Walter sighed. "It is. Anything else?"



Shelton took the brochure and looked it over for a minute. He nodded. "Yeah, does Bruce still work at the OTA?"



"I wouldn't advise talking to him," Walter said. "Not after the little stunt you pulled. He almost lost his job over that."



"It wasn't me," Shelton said. "Someone there must have overheard him talking to me and blabbed."



Walter held up his hands. "Don't tell it to me," he said. "We done here?"



Shelton stared at the man. "What the hell is going on with you? Last time we did business you seemed plenty happy, especially when I steered clients your way. Now you're treating me like I'm diseased."



The other man chewed on his inner cheek. "It's Cyphanis Rax," he said after a moment of consideration. "He's still upset about you trying to hunt him down, and now that your old man isn't around to protect you, he's put out the word that it's bad for business to do business with Harry Shelton."



"He's threatening you," Shelton said.



"Of course he is," Walter replied. "He knows who helped you track him, and he's made sure to let each and every one of us know that."



"How in the hell could he possibly know who helped me?"



Walter shrugged. "All I know is if he catches wind that you were here, it could spell trouble for me."



"Maybe we should go," I told Shelton.



He growled. "The man is dirty, Walter. I should have finished the job I started."



"You never had enough proof to lock him away," Walter said. "With your father gone, he'll probably be the next Arcanus Primus."



"Is that bad?" I asked.



Walter snorted. "Rax makes Sager look like the poster boy for ethical behavior," Walter said.



"Hey now, that's my father you're talking about," Shelton said.



The other man looked surprised. "Since when did you develop a love for your old man?"



Shelton clamped his mouth shut.



"Kind of a sensitive subject," I said.



"Thanks for the info," Shelton said, and headed for the door.



"Keep my involvement to yourself," Walter called after us.



We left and ventured a few miles to a section of town with rolling terrain and residential houses. Nestled in an industrial stretch of road sat a squat windowless building with what looked like totem poles arrayed in a circle outside. The sign proclaimed it as Antique Emporium. A smaller sign on the door indicated it was closed. Shelton rapped on the door.