5. An Unusual Case #3
Of course, there was no shortage of charlatans claiming to be porters.
But the only thing they transported was cash.
They left their gullible marks stranded.
Usually in compromising positions in unsavory locations.
The stories about their bold scams were legendary.
But real porters were so rare that some shifters questioned whether they ever existed at all, and if they had, whether they might be extinct.
Will might as well have claimed to be a unicorn, or a dragon.
As far as Arthur knew, the handful of real porters that remained worked exclusively for the Society and a few of the wealthiest witch dynasties. He wouldn’t put it past Buffalo Westabrook to have a porter on staff, though. Certainly Buffalo wasn’t someone to be trifled with.
Suddenly, the quirky PA made sense.
“FYI, I came in through your pantry, which could really use a restocking. Good call on the cereal run,” Will said. His tone turned more serious. “Buffalo sent me for you.”
Maida Westabrook. Arthur’s mind had been playing catch up. Only now did the name register.
“What does Buffalo’s Ordinary daughter have to do with the Mudpuddle?” Arthur asked.
“She’s the rightful heir.” Will threaded his way past Arthur and into the living room.
He examined the tie. “Seems like the whole situation is a half-brined pickle. The Society wants it sorted ASAP, because of the sensitive nature of the Arcane Archives below the house. Without Minerva there to watch over the property, another caretaker needs to be assigned immediately. Only the owner can do that.”
“But she’s Ordinary. How are they going to get around that?” Arthur knew how protective Buffalo was of his Ordinary daughter. He was curious to hear Will’s solution.
“We’ll have to tell her some version of the truth.”
“Isn’t her father worried that will damage her?” Arthur raised an eyebrow. Sudden exposure to the magical world never ended well for Ordinaries. Even when they didn’t lose it immediately, they often went mad over time.
“Maybe not the whole truth,” Will amended.
“It’s a delicate situation. That’s why we need a crack lawyer who’s familiar with witch, shifter, and Ordinary laws.
We’re hoping to keep it simple. If we can quickly get her to sign over power of attorney and then get someone from the Society to muddle the memory, she should be okay.
Buffalo’s been trying to reach you all day. Do you even listen to your voicemail?”
Will picked up the bottle of wine and poured himself a glass.
Arthur sunk back into the couch. “So that’s why you’re here? To offer me a job?” He topped off his glass and set out another coaster for Will.
“Not exactly. Buffalo recommended you, but he’s not the one in charge.
I have your mission summons here.” Will pulled a small parchment scroll from his pocket and tossed it towards Arthur.
It drifted just above the coffee table, languidly unfurling itself.
The signature line bore the official Society for the Protection of Natural Magic seal. Arthur read the short notice below.
They expected him to report to the West Coast headquarters by seven thirty a.m. local time the following day for a full debrief.
“This is crazy.” Arthur stared at the notice in disbelief. The Society had never summoned him before. “How can they expect me to be in Los Angeles tomorrow morning? I’m not even sure I can get a flight with such short notice.”
“Not a problem. I’m going with you!” Will held up his wine glass, as if to invite a toast. “To an epic mission, partner! Are you ready?”
“You mean now?” Arthur set his glass down.
“I do. Technically, I’m not supposed to drink port and port, but between you and me it would not be the first time. I’m sure it will be fine!” Will smiled impishly.
“Absolutely not,” Arthur shook his head. “I have a daughter. I have to make arrangements.”
“But time is of the essence!” Will objected.
“How long does it take you to port to LA?” Arthur asked.
“Sixty seconds or less, depending on the weather.” Will puffed out his chest a bit.
“Then there’s no problem. We’ll go first thing in the morning,” Arthur said.
Will’s chest deflated. He drained his wine glass.
“The thing is, I’m not that much of a morning person.” Will pouted.
“Figure it out.” Arthur stood and crossed to the front door to hold it open. The icy night air blew in through the door, chilling him and making him long for his other, thicker skin. “I’ll meet you in Primrose Alley tomorrow at ten a.m. But right now, you need to go.”
“Fine.” Will stood and placed his empty glass beside the coaster. “Ten a.m. it is. But I’m not leaving that way.” He turned towards the pantry. “Be sure to pack light. Nothing bigger than that thing.” He pointed to Arthur’s briefcase on the dining table.
And with that, Will stifled a small burp and stepped into the pantry. A moment later, the front and pantry doors slammed forcefully, as if sucked shut by a powerful vacuum. By the time Arthur reached the pantry to check inside, there was nothing left to see except half-empty shelves.