The People v. Eleanor Warwick

If they plan to wait him out, they’ll fail.

Mr. Couch has always been incredibly patient. A small smirk forms on his face as he thinks of all the customer service representatives that thought they could make him hang up. His persistence particularly frustrated one fellow from MasterCard. The customer is usually the one to get aggravated enough to swear. Not on that occasion.

He drums his fingers on the tabletop and tries to get comfortable in a very uncomfortable chair. The interrogation room is a boring place to spend six hours, give or take. Every so often one of the suits that arrested him come in to refresh his coffee, but they remain silent. He considered demanding a lawyer. Something about the situation told him they would ignore his demands.

Voices on the other side of the door announce the agent before he enters. It’s the first time Henderson appeared since they arrived at the station.

The tall, stocky man places a fresh cup of coffee in front of the wizard before immediately doing an about face and heading back out of the room.

“You aren’t really FBI.”

Henderson stops short and turns back to him. “What makes you say that?”

“Because you turned around,” Couch answers with a slight smirk. “Sorry. If you’re not allowed to talk to me, I understand.”

Henderson’s face remains passive. The agent returns to the table and places his hands on the back of the chair across from the wizard. “Actually, no one’s talking to you because you’re irrelevant. You’re only here because you associate with the wrong people.”

“And who do I associate with?”

“Eleanor Warwick.”

Couch nods. “I had a feeling that kid was gonna be trouble.”

Sliding the chair out, Henderson takes a seat. “Then why associate with her?”

“I knew her grandmother, Olympia. Smart lady. We knew each other quite some time before we realized we were both...special.”

“You can say it. We know what you are.”

“An entrepreneur?”

“A wizard.”

“Ah. And how long has Uncle Sam been aware of this?”

“I’ll ask the questions.”

The wizard crosses his legs and rests his hands on his knee. “By all means. Better than just sitting here.”

“Have you been inside Warwick’s House?”

“I have.”

“What’s inside?”

“Basic things, I suppose,” he answers with a shrug. “TV. Bookshelves. Staircases. A very nice piano.”

“I’m sure there’s more than that.”

“Well, I’ve only been on the ground floor.”

“Uh huh. Tell me about Warwick. What does she want?”

Couch raises an eyebrow. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Why does she do this? Why go out there every night running around like some kind of vigilante? What’s she getting out of it?”

“Well,” reclining slightly, Couch ponders the question a moment, “I don’t really know for sure. Why do you do it?”

“What?”

“You’re a government agent, aren’t you? That can’t be a fun or high paying job. Why do you do it?”

Taken a back for a moment after the sudden reversal in focus, Henderson quickly composes himself. “Because it has to be done. There are only a few that are capable and even fewer that are willing.”

“Maybe Warwick does it for the same reason. I bet you and she are very much alike.”

“Right,” the agent answers after a chuckle. “I’m sure we’re peas in a pod. Let’s get back to her House.”

Couch narrows his eyes. “What exactly do you think she has in there?”

“There are all sorts of rumors.”

Leaning forward, Couch speaks softly enough to make the agent lean in as well. “You mean like a dangerous arcane super-weapon?”

Henderson’s brows peak. “Yes. Exactly that.”

The men lock eyes. Couch stares with a hard, unflinching gaze until a small smirk edges his lips and then stretches into a smile. As the agent shakes his head and relaxes in his seat, the old man chuckles and claps his hands together.

“Just messin’ with you, son. Rumors are a dime a dozen around here. Every House thinks every other House has something they don’t. Makes me glad I don’t have one.”

“So Warwick doesn’t have this weapon?”

“I think I would have sensed such a thing while I was there.”

Henderson searches the wizard’s face, but it remains passive. “All right, fine. What about- ?”

A loud knocking on the two-way mirror cuts him off. Both men look to the dark glass and then back to each other. “I think that’s for you,” Couch says.

“Yeah.” Rising from his chair, Henderson smooths out his blazer and heads for the door.

“Put in a good word for me.”

He glances back and only nods before exiting. Couch laces his fingers and reclines. He knows they’re still watching, so he keeps the worry from his face, but the interview was quite troubling.

Despite their efforts to prevent it, talk of the Dark Force and its probable hiding place persists. If the government can confirm its existence, they will surely stop at nothing to acquire it. Granted, that would be preferable to someone like Jon Lassiter getting their hands on it, if only just.

Couch is truly sitting there by his own choice. If he wanted to leave, these agents couldn’t stop him. Yet, for the time being, he’ll play along. Perhaps he can get a better idea of what they do and don’t already know about the Dark Force.

The eyes of all of Henderson’s colleagues follow him from the interrogation room to the observation room alongside it. He knows what awaits him within, but does not hesitate to open the door and step in to face his superior.

Grey doesn’t look away from the detainee in the other room. “I assume you have a reason for interviewing Couch without my go-ahead.”

“We’ve had a source of first-hand intel on Warwick and her base of operations sitting around for six hours. Eventually he was going to lawyer up or just spell himself out of here. I thought- .”

“Thinking is what I do.” Grey turns her cold gaze to her subordinate. “You follow orders. Clear?”

Normally, Henderson would have to bite back some venom in such situations, but he knew this would happen and prepared for the admonishment. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. We’ll have plenty of time to sift through House Warwick’s various amenities once we’ve taken her into custody.”

“Understood.” With a conceding nod, Henderson turns to depart.

“Henderson.” Halting, he turns back to face her. “These rumors about a super-weapon. Where did they come from?”

“It’s been talked about for a long time that a necromancer called Deadman Durbin had hidden away an artifact. One that has limitless arcane power. Lots of people assumed that Warwick’s father was involved in its disappearance, but nobody’s ever been able to confirm anything. I’m not sure this artifact even exists.” Henderson can see his superior pondering the possibilities. “I could take a few agents and see what we can find out.”

After a moment of consideration, Grey shakes her head. “No. We can’t waste our time investigating Shadow Side gossip.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Couch sighs in relief.

These agents certainly know of sorcery, but that doesn’t protect them from it. The spell he placed on Henderson while they were talking went completely unnoticed. For a brief time and a limited range, Couch can hear everything the agent hears and see everything he sees.

His boss seems content to let the rumor of the Dark Force remain just that. At least until she arrests Eleanor and searches her House.

Confident that will not be as easy as she thinks, Nelson relaxes and waits for his next visitor.