(Author's notes: I'm so sorry that I haven't posted since June. I can't believe that much time has passed. In my defense, I have been working on this chapter, but I had to rewrite it several times. And even after all the edits, my husband said it wasn't the best chapter. I liked the chapter, but I realize that not everyone gets excited about villain reveals as I do. He wanted the only villain in my story to be Duncan Musman, and I said, "Duncan's and a-hole, but he's more of a first level boss villain." Which is a very accurate description.
Anyway, this chapter isn't as exciting as some, (I call these type of chapter "transitional chapters" since it take us to more exciting chapters) but I still hope it is entertaining. Thank you everyone who is still with me after all this time with this story. I hope to see you next chapter.)
Blue Waltz
Chapter 13: Mystic Chord
200 years ago…
"Don't do this, Moloculo. Please. Can't you see I was only doing this for the family?" Megaera pleaded, holding onto the bars of her prison. "I was doing this for all the Macawbers."
"No, you were doing this for yourself," Moloculo accused, pointing a long fingernail into the prison. "All because of you and your thirst for power, the normals hate us."
"They have always hated ussssss," Megaera hissed. "It's because they fear us. We should use that fear to rule over them."
"We are not made to rule," Moloculo said. "I have seen what happens when our kind tries to rule over the normals. It turns us into the monsters they believe we are. And it is their nature to eventually rise up and destroy monsters. That's what happened to your mother."
"Do not sssspeak of her," Megaera growled, throwing herself against the bars, extending an arm to swipe at Moloculo. "You hated her because of her greatness. And you are a traitor when you let those normals murder her."
"If she had only seen reason, she wouldn't have died in the first place," Moloculo said, taking a step back. "We are but few, and the normals are many. If I had allowed your mother to continue on her path, she wouldn't have just destroyed herself but the entirety of our kind. I regret that I couldn't save her, but I will keep you safe."
"Keep me safe? In a cage?" Megaera cackled. "You're perverse, Moloculo. You make me sick. You'll never lead the Macawber clan. They'll see you for the fraud you are, and when they do, I'll be there to watch you fall."
"I'm sorry," Moloculo said in a cold tone, although he really meant it. He had to be cold. It was the only way he could keep to his word. He had not been the clan's patriarch for long since the death of his father, but he was certain that this was the best—and really the only—way. Monsters and normals must have peace, even if it meant locking up a member of his own family.
"You'll be sorry. Someone will release me," Megaera shouted. "This is not over. I will fulfill my destiny and lead the Macawbers to glory."
"Nobody will even know where you are," Moloculo said and closed the door. He turned the key, locking the portal to a pocket dimension.
The door, a dark, wretched thing, stood for a few seconds before disappearing. The only thing that would summon the door back and the prison was the key. He took out a key ring from his pocket and slid the key onto it with several others just like it. They were all keys to portals, some for other dimensions and some to other parts of the world. He knew exactly which key went to which portal based off his magic.
Megaera wasn't the first prisoner that the Macawber family would be in charge of, and it didn't sit well for Moloculo that among the criminals of the monster world, he had to lock up one of his own blood.
One year ago…
"I must have it. I almost had it. But next time…Next time, it will be mine."
The sorceress paced back and forth, muttering to herself as she schemed her next scheme. Her familiar waited in his corner, trying to sleep. He was unable to fall into the lovely dreams he always had about older times. But it had been so long since he had been in his original shape that his mind had devolved. He still retained the power to speak and some memory of what he was, but now he was a shadow that followed the sorceress wherever she went. She was always promising to change him back; it was her folly that had put him in this state. But it never seemed to be her biggest priority.
"Maybe I'll get some inspiration from one of my spell books," the sorceress said, rushing to her book case. No doubt she would. She could come up with such clever plots from a single spell. There was endless inspiration in her tomes that she had collected throughout the centuries.
The familiar closed his eyes, just wanting to sleep. His memories of when he was younger were melting away as the years flew by. In time, he would eventually be nothing but an old crow and would fly away from the sorceress and not come back. Would what little magic he had left keep him alive forever, or would that eventually run out and he die, never knowing just who he was?
He couldn't even remember his name, not unless the sorceress called him by it. He would hold onto his name for as long as his little, bird brain could handle.
"Let's see what we can find in this book," the sorceress said, grabbing a thick encyclopedia from the top shelf. It was covered with cobwebs and layers of dust. She slammed the book onto her desk, a cloud rising up and making her cough.
The familiar jolted awake at the ruckus she made. He shifted his feet a little, wondering if there would be a quieter perch for him to sleep. He knew there wasn't. He had lived in the hut long enough to know every inch of it, but he still flapped his wings and flew to the top of the bookshelf where it was dark. He ruffled his feathers to warm himself up before settling down.
He stared down at the sorceress and her book, preparing to go to sleep, when something caught his eye. It had been decades since he had been able to read a word, but the pictures in the sorceress's book stirred something in his brain. They were pictures of monsters and symbols of their family crests. Monsters were very proud of their heritage, and there were several major clans and dozens of minor ones all around Europe. As he watched the pictures, his memories flew back to him.
And then the sorceress stopped on a particular picture, her fingers softly fingering the words next to it. "It is too bad," the sorceress said. "If she was still around, we could have gotten Scrooge's number one dime easily."
Just as the sorceress was turning the page, the crow dove at the book, grabbing the page in his claws and ripping it.
"Poe, what do you think you are doing?"
That was his name. Yes. He was Poe. And the sorceress was his sister. And she had turned him into a crow centuries ago. And now that he thought of it, she wasn't as clever as she thought she was. If she was so clever, then she would have found a way to change him back. Either she couldn't or she wouldn't. Either way, he wasn't going to stick around for another two hundred years as her lacky.
Forgetting about the book, Poe flew off, circling the room.
"Stop that racket. I'm trying to work," Magica shouted, shaking her fist at the crow.
He wasn't going to listening. He had to get out before his memories fogged over again. He had to leave and find the woman on the page. He had known her. He needed to get to her.
He flew as fast as he could and rammed into the wooden shutters covering the window.
"What has gotten into you?" Magica shouted, trying to grab her brother. "Come here this instant."
But Poe pecked and clawed at Magica's hands until he was able to wiggle the shutter latch free and burst out of the hovel. He flew in circles around Magica's home, gaining altitude until he was as high as Mt. Vesuvius, the volcano nearby. It took a lot of energy to go that high; crows weren't made for altitude since they never migrated but hibernated in the winter. But he had a long flight ahead of him.
Heading north, Poe flew for days, struggling to keep his destination in his head. The slow, crow brain wanted to forget his quest, to settled down in the nearest small town where he could scavenge garbage, eat snails and nest in a nice tree, but Poe kept pressing on until he arrived in a country that modern maps called Romania. But he had lived in a time where it was called by another name.
There were many castles pocked throughout the land, but he managed to find the right one as his crow brain had a hard time recalling just where it was. Coming to his journey's end, he joined a flock of crows that perched on the eaves, preening in the evening sunlight. His crow-brain settled down, glad to have a flock for once.
In the days that followed, Poe watched the residents of the castle, knowing right away that they were monsters, some having been featured in the book Magica was looking through. It was this daily reminder that kept him from sinking back to an animal-like frame of mind.
Then one day, Poe was watching from a window as one of the monsters, the leader of the flock as his bird brain saw him, took out a ring of shiny keys. Immediately, both Poe and his bird brain locked onto the keys for two very different reasons. Crows loved shiny objects, but Poe had enough memory to know what those keys did.
The flock leader carried a large basket in his other hand as he chose one of the keys and held it up to the empty wall. Instantly, a magical, black door appeared, the key fitting into the lock perfectly. The flock leader turned the key and opened the door.
Without flapping his wings, Poe glided through the door and into the magically summoned room just behind the flock leader. He fought the crow-brain which wanted to panic as he saw there were no windows or any place to perch. He glided as best he could to the nearest wall and lodged his tiny claws into a crack in the mortar between the stones until he hung much like a bat. It wasn't natural for a crow to act this way, and he distracted the crow brain by thinking of tasty worms and beetles.
"I've come with this week's provisions," the flock leader said.
It wasn't until then that Poe could see that most of the room was behind a wall of bars. He could feel it in every feather that the bars were enchanted, the magic making his skin crawl. Beyond the bars was a figure in shadow.
The flock leader went to the bars and picked up a basket similar to the one he held and dropped the other one. By the way he held his body, the first basket was much heavier than the second.
"Aunt Nasty made sure to make you a hot meal," the flock leader said. "You deserve at least one a week."
The form inside the bars said nothing and didn't move.
"Is there anything else you need?" the flock leader asked. His voice turned softer but it was still firm. "Or is there anything you'd like to say."
"Nothing," a voice from the dark part of the cell said. "I want nothing from you. Leave me."
A thrill ran through Poe at the sound of her voice. He wanted to fly to her, but he refrained. He must do nothing until the flock leader was gone.
The flock leader hesitated. "Megaera, it has almost been two hundred years. Your confinement has been punishment enough, but I cannot let you out unless I know you have reformed."
The creature in the cell chuckled then hissed. "Do not pretend to be concerned about me. If you wish me dead, then just kill me. Then at least you won't have to hide me away any longer. Locking me up is your burden to bear. I will not yield."
"Very well," the flock leader said, his voice hardening. "Have it your way." He turned around and used the key to open the door once more.
"Say hello to your pretty daughter for me," Megaera said mockingly, her eyes glittering red.
The flock leader didn't look back as he closed the door. Then it disappeared, leaving no way out.
Poe's crow-brain tried to panic as it had no place to flee. It was trapped. But Poe kept in control until it calmed down. Then he let go of the mortar and fell gracefully, opening his wings to glide up to the bars of the prison cell. When his feet came in contact with the metal, he shivered at the magic infused bars. It wasn't good magic. Whatever the spell did, it didn't affect him, but he could still feel it crawling through his feathers. But he ignored it. Instead, he turned his head so he could look at the figure better.
In a flash, the figure slithered at him, striking faster than a snake. Clawed hands snatched him from the bars. Even if the crow brain was in control, Poe wouldn't have moved fast enough to escape.
Megaera's eyes glowed red with hunger, and her beak parted, showing two long fangs.
Poe couldn't keep the crow part of him quiet any longer. He struggled and flapped his one wing that wasn't restrained, cawing over and over again.
"Megaera!" he managed to cry out.
Megaera stopped mid-bite. "You are no ordinary crow," she said, examining him closely. Her grip was tight and wouldn't let him go. Carefully, she turned him around, pinning his other wing in the process. "You've been transformed. Who are you?"
Poe quieted down as he felt magic flow around him. It was weak, but it was merely an examination spell which used very little energy.
"Poe?" Megaera whispered, her voice soft and cracking. "Is it really you, darling?"
"Caw," was all Poe could say, but he nodded his head.
Megaera's pressured grip loosened. "Is this why you haven't come to my rescue earlier?"
Poe nodded again. He was now free, and he stood on Megaera's hand like he had with his sister.
"Who did this to you?" Megaera hissed, her tongue flickering out and her pupils shrinking to slits.
Poe cawed and flapped his wings, struggling to use words. "Magica," he called.
"Your sister?" Megaera hissed. "How? Why?" But she received no answer. "It must be hard for you to speak, my love." She held him close in a gentle hug, nestling him into her feathers.
It had been so long since he received any affection, his crow half didn't even bother to protest the contact. Shadows of memories echoed through his brain, but nothing really clear came to him.
"How clever you were to find me," Megaera said, running a clawed finger down his spine. "Now that we are together, we shall save each other." She slithered on her snake tail to the back of the cell where Poe could now see that it contained a living area. It wasn't much, a simple bed, a stool, and a shelf that contained a few books—no spell books—and other objects. She pulled half a dozen books out, revealing a box behind it.
"This prison was made to drain a monster's magic. The spell on iron and stone is strong, but not strong enough to take everything from me," Megaera said, opening the box to reveal something glowing inside. "I hid it here where Moloculo wouldn't find it. I was saving it when I found a way to break out of my prison. Although, I was tempted to use it to kill Moloculo. But it's not enough for either. But now that you're here, I can use it to free you."
Poe flapped his wings, excited. Yes, he would finally return to his old form. Monster magic was different from sorceress magic, and he had been right to abandon his sister to find Megaera. Monster magic was more equipped to transform him back.
Reaching into the box, Megaera cradled the power in one hand, holding it above Poe. She muttered a few words before pouring her cache of magic onto Poe. It cascaded around him like fine sand, covering every inch of his black feathered body.
And then Poe only knew pain. His bones were on fire. It felt as if his flesh was being flayed away and his feathers pulled out all in one instance. He opened his beak to scream, but it wasn't functioning as it should. Instead he retreated into his unconscious, embracing the darkness which was better than the pain.
When he woke once more, his body ached as if every muscle had been worked to their limits. He was tired and dizzy and nauseous. His body told him to rest, but his mind was a confusion of images as his old memories flooded back to him. He was so startled, he tried to flap his wings to fly away, but found that he only had arms. Gazing around with wide eyes, his breathing accelerated as panic seized his chest.
"Shhhhh, it's okay, darling," a calming voice whispered into his ear.
Warm arms surrounding him, pulling him to a body. A blanket was wrapped around him, covering his nakedness. It wasn't until then that he realized he was shivering, not out of cold but from shock. Breathing deeply, Poe lifted up his hands to stare at them. He had hands again. He had fingers. What a wonder that such complex maze of joints, ligaments, tendons, blood vessels and muscles that lay under his skin and feathers.
Fatigue was what kept him the most passive until he could finally talk.
"Megaera," he whispered in a voice that hadn't spoken in almost two hundred years. It wasn't the uncouth, clownish voice of his crow tongue, but a rich, deep tone splashed with the accent of his Italian ancestry.
"I'm here, my love," she whispered into his ear.
He turned enough that he could look into her red eyes, run his fingers through her hair which had been twisted into several thick braids, imitating the live snakes from the ancient gorgons which Megaera often reminded normals, which is why they feared her so much. Those who saw her for the first time turned away, afraid that she would turn them into stone, but Poe knew better. To him, her appearance only made him feel love for her.
He pulled her close and kissed her, his first act back as a man. "You are the most beautiful sight," Poe whispered when he broke away.
"You were always the charmer," Megaera said with a smile. "I knew you would come for me."
"I would have been here sooner, but…well…" He stopped talking. Not all his memories had returned. There were blank spots all over. "I'm not sure what happened. I know I tried to rescue you earlier, but…something went wrong."
"That doesn't matter," Megaera said, stroking his cheek. "Now we're together. And you can help me get my revenge on my family."
Megaera had always been impetuous. She was fire to his ice. It was why he loved her so much. And he hated that he had to quell that inferno that was in her eyes.
"Not yet, my dear," Poe said, placing a hand over hers. "We are both too weak. We'll take advantage of the prison they have put you in, make them think that you are still under their thumb, but soon we will rise. Together."
Megaera smiled. "Together," she repeated.
Poe smiled too, thinking about how he had found his other half in just the right time. It was almost two hundred years since they were both at the peak of their power. Two hundred years. This time, they wouldn't fail.
Present day…
Sept, 22 Cont.
It had been easy to dupe Moloculo. After figuring out how the pocket dimension worked, Poe had created one of his own, one that occupied the sub-space between the mortal realm and the Nega-dimension, over the city known as St. Canard. If they were discovered, then that would be the one place that Moloculo wouldn't look for them. And Poe had been right. Not only were he and Megaera able to recover their magical abilities in peace, but they were able to observe the modern world and even communicate with it.
Megaera only had to return to her cell once a week for Moloculo's visit where he delivered a basket of water and food that they disposed of since they had much better faire to consume.
And it gave time for Poe to find all the ingredients he needed. There was still plenty of time until the deadline, and he had intended to wait a while longer before escaping, but now was as good as later. They had been cooped up long enough and needed to stretch out their legs.
Not to mention, that no good rat who had "ratted" them out to both FOWL and SHUSH needed to be taught a lesson. He knew that they were powerful organizations, but wasn't too worried since neither were known to be contenders in the magic-using game. But the fact that more and more people were becoming aware of him—even if they didn't know who he was—was enough to irk him.
At least it would be a week before Moloculo and his family found out that Megaera was missing, maybe longer if he could convince her to keep up the charade. It was getting harder and harder to convince her to return to the cell even for a few hours. She had recovered a substantial amount of her power, but each time she visited her prison, it drained a lot out of her.
"It is time," Poe said. Whatever happened in the future, he and Megaera wouldn't be returning to the pocket dimension they had been living in for almost a year.
He placed a hand against the wall and opened the portal. Unlike Moloculo, he didn't have to use a key to create a door. Unfortunately, it drained a lot of energy from him, unlike the monster. He had never figured out how to make an amulet for portals out of an object.
The door opened into a dirty, dark alley, the lights of the city shining like diamonds against the black sky, and a siren of some sort screamed in the distance.
Poe had been in cities before, but this was the first time he saw a modern one that wasn't through crow-eyes. Megaera had seen pictures before, but not been anywhere but the pocket dimension since Poe's transformation, and she looked around, not hesitantly, but greedily, drinking in the sight.
"You promised that I can take care of Musman myself," Megaera said with a gleeful hiss. "You're not going to go back on your word."
"Perish the thought, my dear," Poe said, kissing his girlfriend's cheek. "He is no longer useful to us. Hunt him down to your heart's content."
Megaera's tongue flickered in and out, and she hugged him tight enough to squeeze out his breath. That was such an endearing trait with her how she could prove that she could easily kill him with her strength but never would. There were few who survived Megaera's embrace.
After another look into Poe's eyes, Megaera slithered away, squeezing down a storm drain where she could travel underneath the city without being watched.
Poe knew she was ecstatic. It had been far too long since Megaera had been allowed to hunt. She would be rusty, which would give Musman a slight advantage. It might take her a couple of days to find and kill him. And when she was done, she would find him. Their magic was so in tune with each other, they could find the other no matter where they were in the world.
As for Poe, he was going to find a residence for the two of them, maybe something a bit bigger than the pocket dimension. He hoped he could find something to suit his exquisite tastes what with the real estate market in St. Canard so competitive even with people living on top of people in the small, cramped apartments. But there was bound to be something that suit his needs.
And to gather the ingredients for his spell.
He still had time. The two hundred years hadn't passed by completely yet.
Shaking and sweating, Duncan put the phone back on the cradle. No. No, this couldn't be happening. Did the man on the other end just threaten his life? It must be a joke. Nobody threatened him. He wasn't someone to be reckoned with.
But he didn't know who the mysterious man was. Could the guy just be some crazy person who threatened anyone who gets under his skin? It was possible. How powerful could the guy be if he wasn't using his own name? But then again, FOWL had contacted him. If Steelbeak had found any information, wouldn't his friend inform him?
He picked up the phone again, quickly dialing a number he had memorized, an unlisted and untraceable number that if someone dialed accidentally would hear a recording for a proctologist. Anyone associated with FOWL knew the answering machine message was a plant, and they would leave a message for Steelbeak.
Duncan listened impatiently through the false doctor's message before hearing a beep. "Damn it, Stealbeak. What did you do?" he shouted into the receiver. "He knows we are working together. Now get your ass over here before the psycho murders me, and if that happens, I'll make sure you and your precious FOWL go down with me." He slammed the phone down.
Not that Duncan could backup that threat, but he intended to set up a system that if anything happened to him, all his blackmail information would miraculously end up in the hands of the most blood-thirsty journalist. He always liked the idea of going down in a blaze of glory—and he knew it would eventually happen—and taking all the jackanapes he had done business with down with him. Nobody stayed on top forever. However, his idea of a "blaze of glory" was being arrested, perhaps using his knowledge to get a sweet plea bargain or benefits in prison, but he never thought that he would die so soon.
Once again, he was in a position that required him to wait. Wait and see who gets to him first, his comrade or an assassin. And normally, Duncan was a master of waiting, but when it was his life on the line, he suddenly was more jittery than an eight-year-old after drinking a six-pack of Mountain Dew.
He had one more card up his sleeve. He picked up the phone once more and dialed a number. This time, someone picked up.
"Darkwing Duck."
"If you don't get to my apartment this instant, your secret identity will be tomorrow morning's headlines," Duncan demanded.
"Who's this?"
Duncan could tell that the masked hero knew but was pretending he didn't. "Don't mess with me. Get over here now or the press will know everything."
There was a pause before Darkwing replied, "It'll be twenty minutes."
In the meantime, Duncan poured two fingers of whisky, downed it, and poured again. Normally he didn't drink whisky; he only kept it around for when his father visited, which was rare, but necessary. The man was insufferable unless he had a few drinks in him.
Watching the clock, Duncan drank two shots more when twenty minutes had come and gone. Curse that Darkwing Duck. Didn't he know that his life was in danger? Nobody would benefit more than the masked hero if Duncan died. He had most his blackmail material recorded and backed up, but he hadn't written anything down when it came to Drake Mallard's secret. He had no proof, no pictures, nothing to show what he knew. It suddenly occurred to him that his power over the hero was tumultuous at best. The only thing keeping Darkwing Duck in check was his daughter's safety.
Forty minutes after making the call, Darkwing Duck knocked on Duncan's apartment door, this time taking the elevator.
"About time," Duncan snapped when he opened the door. He was woozy and couldn't walk straight. Was he drunk? When was the last time he was drunk?
"What do you want?" Darkwing demanded, marching into the apartment.
"I need you to be my bodyguard," Duncan said, careful not to let his words slur. How could he be so careless as to be drunk at a time like this?
"You can't be serious?" Darkwing said, folding his arms.
"As serious as…as…something serious," Duncan stuttered. "You better do what I say or I'm gonna to tell the world about you." There was that threat again. He definitely needed to back up his mouth.
Darkwing sighed. "Fine. Tell everyone."
"What?" Duncan's eyes widened.
"Tell the world who I am," Darkwing said with a shrug.
Duncan didn't know what to do. Nobody had ever said this to him. And the alcohol was making it hard to think. "Don't think I won't. I'll tell everyone, and then you'll never get your daughter back. Nobody would ever give a child to a dangerous vigilante."
Darkwing grabbed Duncan's collar and shoved him against the wall. He wasn't tall enough to lift the mouse up, but he got his gist across. "I'm tired of a pathetic parasite like you threatening my daughter. The only reason I played along with your blackmailing in the first place was because I hoped to get some information on whoever hired you to take my daughter. I never intended to do anything you asked me, especially to not spend my every waking moment watching over you because you picked the wrong person to poke."
Duncan's eyes bulged, his brain working past the several drinks he gulped down to find a solution. "Wait, we can help each other," he gasped since Darkwing's fists were against his Adam's apple. "The guy who wants me dead, he's the one who wants your daughter."
Darkwing's eyes narrowed but he loosened his grip on Musman. "Go on."
Already feeling the fool, Duncan broke Darkwing's grip on his suit, fixing the wrinkles as casually as he could. He couldn't let the situation slip away. He had to exude confidence. "After I failed to get your daughter, he cut ties with me, refusing to let me try again or to even pay me. Instead of cutting my losses and letting it go, I asked a…friend to investigate for me. Apparently my friend wasn't as stealthy as I liked. The guy wasn't happy about my snooping and said I was dead."
"Who is he?" Darkwing asked, the only information he really wanted.
"I don't know," Duncan admitted, shrugging as if it didn't matter. "He contacted me through the mail with pictures of your daughter and a phone number. That's all I know."
Darkwing nodded. It must have been the number Charity gave him.
As if Duncan's thoughts were on the same wavelength, he eyed Darkwing. "The guy on the phone said something about SHUSH getting involved. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
"Maybe?" Darkwing said with a smile.
That explained that, but there was still something that didn't make sense.
"Who gave you the phone number?" Duncan asked, his fists clenched. As far as he could tell, none of his people would have dared to betray him.
"I found it," Darkwing said. He didn't know what Duncan would do if he found out Charity had been in contact with him. "I have a lot of contacts."
Duncan didn't really care. As long as Darkwing was going to be his ally—albeit a reluctant one—he wasn't going to push the masked duck. "So, how you going to do this? I don't suppose you're going to move in. As much as I want to live, I'm not loving the idea of getting a roommate."
Darkwing shrugged. "I'm not really experienced to be anyone's bodyguard." He moved to Duncan's balcony, opening the door and taking out his grappling gun. "Tell you what, I'll sleep on it and I'll get back to you." He attached the grappling hook to Duncan's balcony railing.
"You can't be serious," Duncan shouted, grabbing Darkwing's arm. "I could be dead by then."
Darkwing wasn't the type to take death seriously. How many times had he saved a villain while trying to fight them at the same time? He may not want Duncan dead, but he wasn't going to give the mouse a reason to have an easy night's sleep. "Then you should probably check into a hotel. And knowing your reputation, the seedier the hotel, the better. Nobody would expect you to stay some place near the airport. Or better yet, the docks. Good night."
Duncan clenched his teeth as Darkwing rappelled down the side of his building. "Curse you, Darkwing Duck," he shouted, shaking his fist. Usually he wasn't prone to such fits of drama, but that was some powerful whiskey.
Sept 23
Gosalyn looked up at Charity as they pulled into the carpool lane. There were a dozen cars ahead of them, so it would take a few minutes before Gosalyn could get out. And while nobody could call Gosalyn the most observant child—that title would have to go to Honker—it didn't get past her that Charity was still in her pajamas.
"So…is it casual day at school?" Gosalyn asked, knowing exactly why the lovebird was dressed the way she was. But if she could get Charity to talk about her suspension at work, then Gosalyn wouldn't have to watch what she said. There were already too many secrets she had to protect.
"Oh, this," Charity said, not covering up her disappointed tone enough. "I decided to take a couple of vacation days. I've been needing some time off, so I'll be picking you up directly from school."
"Oh, that's cool," Gosalyn said, wondering if that was honestly true. Did adults get to have vacations? Her dad never took one, not unless it had something to do with a case. Or camping. But camping totally didn't count as a vacation. "So, what are you going to do? Are we going to go somewhere?"
"No, I thought I'd just chill at home," Charity said. "I do have a life besides being a social worker." Her voice became wistful as if she wasn't sure if that was true.
"Well, at least Bunny will be happy. I always feel sorry that he has to stay behind every day," Gosalyn said. She had grown attached to the short-legged dog. It would be hard to say good-bye to Bunny when she went back to her dad.
Charity didn't respond. She tried hard to carry her side of each conversation with Gosalyn but today she couldn't muster more than the minimum. She wouldn't change the past for anything; she was proud that she was able to spy for Darkwing Duck and plant that listening device. But a large chunk of her life was gone—or at least suspended—because she helped the masked duck.
After dropping off Gosalyn, she returned home, sensing how surreal it was to be at the apartment during the day on a Thursday. But if there was one thing Charity knew how to do, it was how to keep herself busy. There were several projects she had been meaning to do. She could finish that mystery novel that she had been working on for years. She hadn't touched it since Gosalyn came into her life. Or she could learn how to crochet, knit or cross-stitch. She had been attracted to those arts since her mother knew them all blindfolded. And even though the apartment looked clean and neat, there were several corners that could use some deep-cleaning. Or she could go through her storage locker in the basement where she shoved all her holiday ornaments and other belongings that didn't fit in her apartment.
There was plenty for her to do.
Yet, she couldn't help but fall on the couch and stare out the sliding glass windows that led to her balcony. Bunny sat next to her feet and put his head on her knee for her to scratch his ears, which she didn't almost unconsciously.
She knew there wasn't anything she could do. She had to live with Duncan's edict. She had lived with his rules, with his sleazy dealings and his neglect for years. She had learned to live with a lot because she knew that quitting would only hurt the children and families she worked hard for. And she couldn't stand the fact that if she left, that would mean Duncan won.
And he won this time. He won big time.
Charity knew she should move on. Duncan couldn't keep her on suspension forever, and then she would return to her job. And meanwhile, children were disappearing every day. And she was supposed to just sit back and wait for the police or Darkwing Duck to find all those children at the same time as working a dozen other cases.
It was too much for her. She stood up and went to her phone. She searched through a rolodex and pulled out a number, quickly dialing a youth shelter that helped children and teens who lived on the street. The shelter worked separately from DCF, but often referred many homeless kids to Charity for help.
"Hey, Ray," Charity said once someone picked up. "Are you needing a volunteer? Oh, for the next few weeks or so. No, I still have my job. It's just that I have a lot of vacation time on my hands, and I thought I'd give you a break."
Duncan went into the office hungover. He was grumpy due to the whiskey. And the lumpy mattress at the Holiday Inn. And because of the 747s continuously soaring over his head throughout the night.
But at least he was alive. That's all he cared about.
And soon he wouldn't be in St. Canard. He had determined that his best bet was to get out of dodge, preferably to the Caribbean islands where he could hide in a tiki lounge, sipping drinks with umbrellas. He just needed to get some liquid assets.
Duncan was fine with his job, but it didn't let him live the life he wanted. The luxurious life. So he had started blackmailing and extorting. Pretty soon, he was used to a certain level of living, which required more blackmailing and extorting. It didn't leave much room for building a nest egg.
If he wanted money fast, he thought to sell the name of Drake Mallard to Steelbeak, which would have been the most lucrative. But no matter how many messages he left his old friend, the FOWL agent hadn't returned his calls.
Duncan had to rely on his other methods of getting money fast. He pulled up DCF's computer files on the closed system and looked up the newly acquired files. There had been four new files made yesterday, all of them of children who had either been placed in foster care or were under investigation due to someone reporting a concern. Two were teenagers, but the other two were of the right age. He scribbled down their names and their schools before he tapped out a phone number on a burner cell phone he had in his desk.
As before, when the call was picked up, there was no voice, no sound. Just silence and the feeling that someone was definitely listening.
"Jerald Cumberbun. North Creek Middle School. Melissa Vann. St. Canard East Elementary," Duncan said into the receiver. "And send the payment now by messenger." Then he hung up and put the phone in his pocket for it to be permanently disposed. And that was that. A simple transaction. The best kind. And better yet, it wasn't half as messy as the kurfluffle with Gosalyn Mallard.
No witnesses. No evidence. Nothing to trace back to him.
He was wholly unaware that someone had been listening in this time.
Duckburg. The bright, blue skies. The clean, fresh air. The wholesome vibe.
Steelbeak hated it. He longed for dark, dank St. Canard and its criminal element.
Say what? Duckburg had the Beagle Boys? Please, as if they held a candle to FOWL. In Steelbeak's opinion, they were broken bulbs compared to Megavolt. Sure, their arch nemesis was the richest duck in the world who had every resource imaginable at his disposal, but even a broken clock was right two times a day. Those bungling fools should be able to boast about stealing something from Scrooge McDuck, instead they can only show off the award for most times thrown in prison.
However, the fact that they also have the most successful escapes from prison under their belt wasn't something to sneeze at. Scrooge McDuck might want to think about donating some money to the Duckburg justice system rather than in his costly anti-burglary alarms. It might actually save him money.
Luckily for Steelbeak and his crew, they were not there to mess with the billionaire.
Steelbeak drove his rental car down the street, watching the house numbers as they passed by. When he came to the property lot he was looking for, he cocked his head in confusion.
No, this couldn't be it. Surely the genius behind the Gizmoduck suit didn't live in this dingy, little shack. While the house was small and simple, the property was large and littered with pieces of junk all over. Not just any junk, but abandoned cadavers of high tech machinery, some with the grass charred around it or simply lounging in a crater of its own making.
Not long after Steelbeak arrived but a gangly, hunched-over figure raced out of the house clutching a basketball sized device in his hands. He appeared mild-mannered and simple by his clothing and the untarnished, child-like glee on his face as he flung the device in the air. When the device floated up higher and higher, the smile on his face was wider than FOWL's pocketbooks.
"This doesn't look like it's gonna to be a problem," Steelbeak said with a grin. "Not a problem at all."