The People v. Eleanor Warwick

“Mahloof?”

Bright light assaults his weary eyes as his lids flutter open.

“Mahloof? You with me?”

The voice is familiar, but he can’t quite place it at first. Once recollection comes, he shoots up in bed. It’s a bad idea. Dizziness strikes him and he collapses back to the bunk.

“Easy there. You’ve been out for nearly 24 hours. It’s going to take a bit for you to get back on your feet.” Eleanor hands him a cold compress. “This should help. How do you feel?”

The cab driver places the compress on his head and groans. “I feel like someone slammed my head in a car door.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I tried to stop her.”

Mahloof lifts the towel from his face. “What?”

“Uh...nothing. I have good news.” The wizard places a large glass casket onto the bedside table. “I found a match.”

Giving the phial a casual glance at first, Mahloof jerks his head back to it when he realizes what he saw. He flinches away from the table violently. “What the- ? What is that?”

Eleanor puts a hand on the top of the flask containing a massive, still-beating heart floating in a light green liquid. “This is a werewolf heart.”

The cursed cab driver calms down and takes a closer look, a sickened expression forming on his face. “That- that’s the heart of the werewolf that bit me?”

“Possibly. I know for certain that it was a part of your chain. He may have bit the wolf who bit you or the one who bit the one who bit you or somewhere on the chain.”

“So how does this work?”

“Well, you have to...uh...eat it.”

Mahloof stares blankly at his host. “What?”

“You have to eat it. All of it.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“I’m afraid so. Every last bite. Sorry, but that’s the only way to end the curse.” Eleanor smiles awkwardly as she sets a knife and fork down beside the canister. “I brought you these. I’ll just give you some privacy. There’s a staircase at the end of the hall when you’re finished. Good luck.”

Eleanor makes for the door before turning back. “Oh, and, uh, don’t vomit.”

“Why not?”

“Well…you see…you have to eat every bit of that heart. Anything you throw up…” she winces sympathetically, “you’ll have to eat.”

Before Mahloof can say anything else, Eleanor quickly scurries out into the hallway. Once there, she covers her mouth and tries not the retch.

Just the idea of having to eat that thing is revolting. To say she feels bad for what Mahloof’s going through would be an understatement, but that’s the Shadow Side for you. It’s never fair.

At least she was able to find a match. Eleanor came to grips a long time ago that some people just had to die. The powers one can acquire on the Shadow Side are staggering. Those insisting on abusing them must be taken out. It’s unpleasant, but necessary.

But then there are people like Mahloof. They’re victims of terrible fates. Yet, they have dangerous powers that are beyond their control. Dealing with them is never as easy, but every bit as important.

If she hadn’t found that match, Eleanor knew she would have had to put the cabbie down. Tussling her hair, she wonders why she ever chose to put herself in such positions. She knows the answer, but sometimes it feels good to remind himself of it.

Eleanor composes herself and makes her way down the plush, carpeted hallway of House Warwick and to the staircase she mentioned to Mahloof. Before she gets to the bottom, the smell of smoke reaches her nostrils.

Silently wishing the House is on fire, she turns into her study and discovers what she already knew. There’s no fire. Unless you count the tiny one at the end of Jessie’s cigarette.

The hellblood sits at the table with her feet propped up. She exhales long streams of smoke in between swigs from a bottle of beer. The sound of large men slamming each other into sheets of Plexiglas draws Eleanor’s attention to the television usually hid behind a bookcase. The Carmadie Ghosts are losing by two goals.

Eleanor takes a deep breath and swears to herself she’s not going to say anything. The last thing she wants right now is a fight. Walking into the study, she takes a seat at the table.

Jessie doesn’t immediately acknowledge her, and Eleanor’s fine with that. The less interaction between them the better.

Yet, despite her desire to avoid tension, every time she tries to focus on the books she’s using to research various arcane curiosities, one thing or another distracts her.

A horn blaring on the television as one team or the other scores. Jessie’s constant spewing of carcinogens. Worst of all, just the way Jessie ignores her. Eleanor can’t figure out why, but it’s really, really ticking her off.

“Do you have to do that in here?” she finally asks.

The hellblood doesn’t bother looking away from the game as she answers. “The smoking, no. The TV, yes. It’s the only one you have.”

“So, if you don’t have to smoke in here, why are you?”

This time Jessie looks at her, her expression making it clear she doesn’t appreciate the interruption. “We agreed I could smoke in the House.”

“I think more accepted than agreed.”

“Whatever. Get me a TV for my room and you won’t have a problem, will you?”

“Is there something wrong with the money I pay you?”

“Yeah,” Jessie responds sharply, dropping her feet to the floor and turning to face Eleanor. “It’s not enough.”

Eleanor stares at her incredulously for a moment before speaking. “Not enough? You pay nothing for room or board. It’s plenty for the services you render.”

“Well, you never said those services involved putting up with you being such a pain in my ass. Every damn thing I do, you’ve got a fuckin’ problem with.”

The two square to each other like gunslingers, table in between them. Both stare with equal parts indignation and annoyance. Eleanor doesn’t want to back down, but she knows Jessie won’t. They’d end up staring at each other for hours.

Breaking eye contact, Eleanor shakes her head. “Forget it. Do whatever you want.”

“Gee, thanks.” Jessie answers sardonically. Turning back to the television, she ignores Eleanor as the wizard raises from the table and heads out of the room.

Warwick

Eleanor turns back to her. “What?” she asks impatiently.

The hellblood raises a curious eyebrow as she looks at her. “What?”

“You just said my name.”

“Uh, no, I didn’t.” Dismissing her claim, Jessie returns focus to the hockey game.

Slowly, Eleanor turns her gaze to the stone fireplace. The one with the portrait of Gerald Warwick, founder of her House, above it. The one that hides a secret passageway. She knows what lies beyond.

The Dark Force.

An opaque sphere of darkness. The sinister orb brims with dangerous powers. It’s an object of Faustian properties. It gives incredible power to those who seek it, but at a heavy price.

According to legend, the power they crave would slowly, but certainly destroy them. Ever since Eleanor had first laid eyes on the sphere, she sensed its presence throughout her House. It isn’t simply a force, a magical energy. There are many things in House Warwick that possess that. This presence moves with what feels like purpose, consciousness.

“Warwick.”

Jessie’s voice pulls Eleanor from her thoughts, but not enough to look at her. “Yeah?”

“I know you don’t want me in here, but do you have to hover?”

“I’m not hovering.”

“Whatever. You’ve been standing there for ten minutes.”

With a roll of her eyes, Eleanor turns to her. “I have not.” No sooner has she finished the sentence, than she notices the television is now displaying the Ghosts’ post-game show. They got another goal but still lost the game 4-3. “Your game is over?”

With an intentionally audible scoff, Jessie comes up from the table. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get out of your precious fucking study. So sorry to inconvenience you.”

“Well, that’s not what I meant, but if it gets your smoke out of here...”

“Oh, it will,” Jessie answers as she leaves the study. “In fact, it might get out of this whole damn House!”

Eleanor follows her out. “Promises, promises!”

Stopping at the base of the stairs, the hellblood turns back with a hard glare. “Fuck you!”

“Real original!” Eleanor calls after her as Jessie ascends and turns into the hallway.

Usually, this is when Eleanor calms down and laments their continually dissolving relationship. At the moment, however, she doesn’t have time to think about that.

Heading to the television, she clutches the remote and rewinds the live feed. When the game returns to the last moment she recalls, the Ghosts are down 3-1 with almost nine minutes remaining in the third period.

Thinking back, she recalls getting up from the table, walking toward the foyer and then turning back at the sound of her name. After that...

Jessie accused her of hovering.

Jessie was right. She stood there, staring at the fireplace, for roughly ten minutes. It felt to her like only a matter of seconds. She lost time like that before. Each time it had something to do with the hearth that housed the Dark Force.

Turning off the TV, she slides the bookcase back in front of it and flees the room before the fireplace can grab her attention again.

As soon as she enters the foyer, the front door opens and Henry steps through. Entering with him is a short, squat man Eleanor had never seen before.

Her mentor removes his hat. “Excellent timing, girl. This is Marvin Towles. The fellow I told you about.”

Marvin extends his hand. “Nice to meet you. Nice place.”

Eleanor hesitates a moment before accepting his greeting. She didn’t expect Henry to bring his P.I. friend right into the House. “Likewise. Henry tells me you can help me out with a little information gathering.”

“That’s right.” Henry jumps in before Towles can speak. “Marvin here is extremely reliable.”

“Thank you, Mr. Willard, but I should probably hear what the job is first.”

“Of course,” Eleanor answers. “Why don’t we step into my- .” Deciding distance from the Dark Force would be wise, Eleanor cuts herself off, “On second thought, here is good.”

Henry narrows his eyes but remains silent. Despite it, Eleanor knows her mentor noticed her unusual aversion to entering the study. That discussion will wait.

“What I need, Mr. Towles, is someone to look into certain activities, or lack thereof, in Boston.”

The mention of the Walking City brings a wide-eyed stare to the investigator’s face. “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Does this have anything to do with the Blackwells?”

“Yes. How did you know that?”

Marvin turns to Henry with a stunned look. The wizard sighs. “If I told you, you never would have come.”

“No! No, I wouldn’t have!” Marvin shakes his head fervently. “I am sorry, Ms. Warwick, but I don’t want anything to do with them! Forget it!”

Before Marvin can make for the door, Henry places a firm hand on his shoulder. “Now, now, Marvin. This is a huge pay day we’re talking about here.”

“I don’t care!”

“Mr. Towles.” The investigator turns to Eleanor. “I completely understand. If you don’t want anything to do with them, I can hardly blame you.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. Thank you for coming.”

With a nod, Marvin reaches out and grabs the doorknob. Before he can turn it, he hears Eleanor’s voice behind him. “Jessie?”

Towles freezes. Jessie. As in Jessica. As in Jessica Blackwell. He suddenly feels numb. He slowly turns to face the heated discussion.

“What are you doing?” Eleanor asks as the hellblood quickly descends the staircase, pulling on her black hoodie.

“What the fuck do you think I’m doing? I’m getting the hell out of here!”

“Wait a minute. Where are you going?”

“I don’t give a shit! Somewhere you aren’t!”

“Listen, Jessie. I didn’t mean that earlier. I don’t- .”

“Bullshit! You say it once, maybe you don’t mean it! You say it seven or eight times, you fucking mean it!”

“Hold on! You say some pretty nasty things to me too!”

“Damn right! But I don’t insult your intelligence by pretending I don’t mean it! You know damn well I do!”

“I do not insult your intelligence!”

“Oh, of course, not! Eleanor Warwick never does anything wrong!”

“What are you talking about? I just admitted- you know what? Fine! Go! Have a great time!”

“Oh, I will! I’m gonna see if I can drink enough to forget you exist!”

Henry watches the two shouting in each other’s faces with a hand to his chin. He’s glad to be correct about the girl’s mistake of letting Jessie stay there, but it’s worse than he expected. He hasn’t seen Eleanor so agitated since the night Angie was killed.

Marvin watches the verbal train wreck as well. He doesn’t want to, but he can’t look away. Of course, Jessie’s appearance helps. She has the same raven, red-streaked hair he saw in her mugshot. Her lithe figure captivates him.

The sudden realization he’s checking out Alexander Blackwell’s daughter nearly makes his heart jump up into his throat. Without taking his eyes off her, he fumbles about trying to get a grip on the doorknob again.

“Wait a minute, Jessie,” Eleanor replies, quickly composing herself. “You can be violent when you’re drunk.”

“Or sober,” Henry adds.

“If you get drunk and lose control, you could really hurt someone.”

“Sucks to be them!”

“Jessie, you don’t want that.”

“Don’t tell me what I want, Warwick!”

“I have beer.” Marvin doesn’t even realize he said it until the three Shadow Siders all turn to look at him. “I...uh...I m-mean...I have...drinks at my, uh, apartment.”

“Fine!” Jessie turns back to Eleanor. “I’ll go drink with this guy!”

“You don’t even know him.”

“Who cares?” Returning her gaze to Marvin, he tries not to appear incredibly nervous. “You! Let’s go!”

Quickly fiddling with the knob, Marvin finally gets the door open and holds it for Jessie. Giving Warwick a seething glare, she walks out of the House.

“Jessie.” Eleanor takes a step forward, but Henry cuts her off.

“Let it go, girl.” As the door slams shut, Eleanor looks to her mentor expectantly. “Marvin is harmless. Besides, he’s a lonely fellow who doesn’t get much attention from attractive women. Two drinks in and he’ll be far more willing to look into our Blackwell situation.”

“I suppose.”

“Just let her blow off some steam.” Placing his hat and coat on the nearby rack, Henry strolls into the study. “So, where’d that bile come from? I want to hear all about it.”

Eleanor starts after him, hesitating as she reaches the doorway. Taking a deep breath and swearing to herself she will not even look the direction of the fireplace, she enters the study.

By the time Marvin awkwardly opens his passenger side door for Jessie, they are photographed almost 20 times.

The camera lens shutters repeatedly from the van down the street from House Warwick. Lowering the device, the man behind it lifts a radio and speaks into it.

“Blackwell is on the move.”

A scattering of static follows before a voice answers him. “Copy. Tail her. Continue surveillance. Another unit will cover Warwick.”

“Copy.”

Setting the radio aside, he fires up the vehicle and begins a cautious pursuit.