The People v. Eleanor Warwick

“All right. Before you start getting any ideas, this was a mistake. Okay?”

Jessie pulls her pants up over her hips and fastens the button. It took her only a few seconds to get a pair of shoes away from being fully dressed. Grabbing her sneakers, she spins to a silent Marvin Towles.

“Okay?”

“Yes, yes!” he answers, rubbing his temples. “Mistake. Got it.”

“Where’s my jacket?” she asks sifting fervently through the apartment.

Towles picks up the garment from the kitchen floor. “Here it is.” Snatching it away, Jessie immediately heads for the door. “Wait. Look, we both know it was a mistake, but do you have to rush off? Have some coffee or something. I think I have some waffles.”

Holding up just outside the doorway, she turns back to him. “You are not understanding just how big a fuckin’ mistake this was, are you?”

“Yeah.” Towles offered a soft, awkward chuckle. “Totally. So, can I call you?”

Jessie’s arms drop in aggravation. “No! Mistake! You understand that word, don’t you? I’m speaking English, right?”

Towles gingerly nods. “Yes.”

“Good!”

Without another second’s hesitation, Jessie turns away and heads down the stairwell, cursing herself as she goes. How did she allow this to happen?

The preceding night is something of a blur. She remembers listening to Jimi Hendrix, then telling some half-true story about something she can’t recall and then...nothing. On the plus side, her hangover is not as bad as she expects given how much she drank. Yet another perk of demon blood perhaps.

Swinging open the door of Marvin’s building, she recoils from the natural light. She’s never been much of a morning person. It hasn’t been an issue lately. Apparently, morning on the Shadow Side is about four in the afternoon.

Raising a hand to the sun, she tries to get her bearings and figure out how to get back to House Warwick.

“Jessie.”

The hellblood stops in her tracks at the familiar voice. Turning slowly around, she cocks her head to the side. “How the fuck do you always know where I am?”

Eleanor shrugs. “I didn’t. I was going to ask Marvin what time you left his place. I wasn’t expecting you to stay the night. I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t gotten into trouble. You look kinda rough.”

“Thanks,” she responds with ample sarcasm. “Just drive me home.”

With a nod, Eleanor steps aside and clears a path for Jessie the Hornet parked at the curb. Before they can get far, Marvin bursts out from the building clutching a women’s undergarment.

“Jessie! You forgot your- ,” he freezes as he sees Eleanor standing with her, “bra.”

Jessie closes her eyes and places her head in her hand. Eleanor slowly turns from Marvin to her, a dumb smile forming on her face. “Uh huh.”

“Shut up!” She grabs the brassiere from Towles. “Give me that!”

Eleanor stares at Towles as the investigator staggers backward toward the door nervously. “I, uh, we just...watched...uh...I gotta go.” He spins of his heels and flees back into the building, bumping into the doorframe as he goes.

“Well.” Eleanor casually paces toward the driver’s side on the Hornet. “I guess we know why you’ve been in such a bad mood.”

Jessie softly bangs her head repeatedly on the roof of the vehicle. “I swear to God, Warwick,” she warns.

“Maybe it’ll improve now.”

“I’m not laughing!”

“That’s okay. I’ll laugh enough for both of us,” Eleanor answers, getting a look at the generic white bra. “Funny. I would have pegged you for a black lace kind of gal.”

“Will you just- ?”

Two black SUVs and two police cruisers, sirens blaring, cut off Jessie’s angry plea, coming to a screeching halt inches from the Hornet. Eleanor turns to face them, a bewildered look on her face.

Within seconds, a dozen or so men pour out of the vehicles and point a dozen or so guns at them. A chorus of shouts ring out, each saying something a little bit different. The overall message is put you hand up, and it’s clearly not a request.

A growl escapes Jessie as she sneers at the officers. Eleanor looks her way. When their eyes meet, she offers a discouraging shake of her head. The hellblood eases off the demon and raises her hands to her head. Eleanor turns back to the officers and does the same.

“What seems to be the problem, officers?”

Eleanor has a hard time getting over how sticky the bench feels.

She shifts uncomfortably on her perch in the CPD 8th Precinct station house. The discomfort of the bench is only superseded by having her hands cuffed in front of her and the inescapable noise and ruckus of the offices.

It’s nearly half an hour since the officers brought them in. They separated her and Jessie immediately. Where they took Jessie, she can only speculate. She just hopes the hellblood doesn’t do anything crazy.

When an officer comes and sits a young boy on the bench with her, she tries to find out what’s going on. She’s ignored.

Accepting she could be there a while, Eleanor tries to relax. She hasn’t done anything wrong. At least not anything the police would find out about. So, it’s just a waiting game.

Taking notice of the boy, Eleanor sees him watching a couple being processed in the nearby bullpen. The man and woman yell enough expletives at each other to put Jessie to shame. The boy stares at them with watery eyes. The look of misery and the physical resemblances are enough to tell Eleanor the raging couple are his parents.

“Hey.” Eleanor gives the kid a nudge. “Want to see a trick?”

The boy only stares for a moment before offering a slight nod. Eleanor holds her shackled hands out in front of her. “Watch carefully.”

The wizard pulls against the restraint until the chain linking the cuffs together pulls taut. “One.”

And again. “Two.”

“Three.” The third time, her right wrist passes unhindered through the metal manacle. The cuffs dangle harmlessly off her left wrist. The boy’s mouth falls open as he stares at the half-empty restraint.

“Impressive, huh?” After the kid’s nod of approval, Eleanor glances around the station with played-up caution. “I should probably put them back on before I get in trouble.”

Swinging her wrist in a tight circle, she sends the cuff into a spin around its anchor. At just the right moment, she places her free wrist into the path of the swirling shackle. When the two make contact, the cuff snaps back around her hand. Again, she pulls the chain taut. “Ta da.”

The boy’s smile and childish giggle chase away his sorrows. For the moment, at least.

“Warwick!” Eleanor flinches at the forceful booming of her name. A man in a dark suit stands at the doorway to one of the station’s interrogation rooms. He aggressively points a thumb toward the chamber. “Let’s go.”

Taking a final glance at the yelling couple and then back to the boy, Eleanor gives him a reassuring smile. “Hang in there, kid.”

The boy nods back and Eleanor rises and heads for her interrogation.

Things don’t change much within. More waiting. At least it’s quiet there. She resists the urge to look into the two-way mirror, imagining that to be the kind of thing the guilty typically do.

After about 20 minutes, the door finally opens. A woman in a charcoal gray suit and black blouse enters. The minute she lays eyes on her, Eleanor knows this woman is the reason she’s there.

There’s something about the way she walks in that tells Eleanor she doesn’t take orders. Not around there anyway. She gives them. Eleanor saw Penny move around the same way. The woman drops a thick file onto the table and walks toward the corner of the room.

Reaching up, she unplugs the room’s security camera. Eleanor rolls her eyes. She’s heard of such scare tactics. She isn’t buying it.

Returning to the table, the woman pulls out a chair and sits down. She silently opens her file and arranges a few things. Eleanor is content to watch her and learn.

She’s organized. She’s left-handed. Judging from the size of the file, she pays attention to details. She isn’t carrying a gun.

Not a cop, she surmises to herself. A bureaucrat.

“Good morning, Ms. Warwick. My name is Evelyn Grey,” she finally says without looking up from her paperwork, her voice completely free of emotion. “You can take those off if you like. I know you can.”

Eleanor shrugs. “What makes you think that?”

“For starters, I saw your little show out there. Very sweet of you, by the way.”

“He seemed like he needed cheering up.”

“Secondly,” she finally looks up, staring at her with unreadable eyes, “you are a wizard.”

Eleanor tries to keep the surprise off her face. If she failed, Grey makes no reaction to it. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about. That was just a parlor trick.”

“Well, I imagine you do know a thing or two about handcuffs.”

“What’s that’s supposed to mean?”

“The name Nora Chen ring a bell.”

“No.”

“Ms. Warwick, this will go much quicker is you’re honest with me.”

“I honestly don’t know who that is.”

Grey tilts her head slightly. “You really don’t. Perhaps you know her by her professional name: Mistress Kim.”

Eleanor stiffens. “Uh…”

“Did you think that was her real name?”

“Well…not Mistress, obviously, but Kim…maybe?” She shakes her head. “Look, I don’t know what you’re after, but I find it hard to believe you really care about my kinks.”

“You are correct.” Grey plucks photos from her file and slides them across the table. “We’ve been keeping an eye on you for a while now, Ms. Warwick. You and all your associates. Jessica Blackwell, Henry Willard, and Penelope Morneau primarily. But Marvin Towles and Nelson Couch as well.”

Eleanor looks over the surveillance photos with growing concern. At the bottom of the stack, she slides out a picture of a tall, leggy redhead. Her stomach tightens.

“Oh. Angela Bowe.” Grey slowly plucks the picture away and returns it to the file. “Recently deceased. I didn’t intend for that one to be in there. I’m sorry.”

She isn’t.

“It’s fine.”

It isn’t.

Grey resumes. “I can go on if you’d like. But once names like Morgan Cross, Jon Lassiter, Vincent Chandler, and Francis Hines start coming up, you might have some awkward questions to answer.”

Eleanor’s giggle takes Grey slightly aback, but she doesn’t show it. “What is so amusing?”

“Hines’ first name was Francis?”

“So you know Mr. Hines, also recently deceased?”

Eleanor stares passively. “No.”

Eleanor looks as confident as she can, but the situation is becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Bureaucrat or not, Grey did her homework and knows of the Shadow Side and her personal activities, many of which are highly illegal.

“Okay, Ms.- ”

“Agent.”

“Agent Grey, assuming I am a wizard, as you say, or had any idea what you were talking about, what exactly would you want from me?”

Agent Grey returns to her file. “I represent an agency with a very specific focus. We deal with threats that are better left, shall we say, in the shadows.”

It’s worse than Eleanor thought. She always suspected the government is aware of the Shadow Side. She just hoped they would stay out of it. The more they get involved, the greater the chance of exposure. Unfortunately, staying out of things has never been the government’s game.

“What I want from you,” the agent shows yet another picture, this one of a small stone adorned with a circle crossed with a diagonal line, “is this. I assume you know what it is.”

“It’s a Tempus Stone.”

“Correct. We have reason to believe one was recently smuggled into the U.S. It’s a very dangerous artifact, as I’m sure you know.”

“Allegedly know.”

“Of course.”

“Assuming I was willing to track it down; what exactly would you be expecting me to do with it?”

“Turn it over to the authorities.”

“Which would be you?”

“Precisely.”

“Well, as much as I’d love to help out Uncle Sam, I’m going to have to pass.”

Once again, Grey’s blank expression holds firm. “Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Unfortunately, Ms. Warwick, it wasn’t a request. You will find the Tempus Stone and you will hand it over to me.”

Eleanor sits forward in his chair. “Or what? You’ll throw me in jail? This is a really nice photo album, but it seems the only thing you have on me is that I visit a dominatrix, which I’m not ashamed of.”

Grey only stares coldly.

“Okay, I’m a little ashamed of it, but not enough for you to blackmail me into running errands for you.” She looks back over the pictures. “I’m not seeing any incriminating evidence.”

“Welcome to the new America, Ms. Warwick. We don’t need evidence anymore.”

The cool demeanor Grey displays while making such bold threats bothers Eleanor more than she wants to show. She does anyway. “Listen, lady! I know my rights! We’re done!”

Eleanor rises to leave the room. The agent’s ice-cold voice stops her before she takes a single step. “Of course, I could save myself some time and just pay Alexander Blackwell a visit.”

The stunned look on Eleanor’s face slowly turns into a scowl. Grey stares into it without a hint of aversion. “Sit. Down.”

The wizard slowly complies.

“You have 72 hours to find the Stone and bring it to me. If you fail, I will put you in a hole so deep you will be looking up at Hell. And Jessica will get a little visit from her father. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to see each other again. Understand?”

There are plenty of unpleasant things Eleanor wants to say to the robot of a human being she’s sitting across from, but she swallows them. She was way off on her. Evelyn Grey is no bureaucrat. Eleanor has no trouble believing she will back up both threats.

“I need her,” she finally says.

“Jessica?”

“You want the Stone in three days, I need her.”

“Of course,” Grey answers with just the slightest hint of pleasantness. “She deserves the same chance to avoid her fate as you.”

“So, I can go now? I apparently have a lot of work to do.”

“Yes. You will be processed out in a few minutes.” Grey gathers her folder and tucks them under her arm. She stands and taps on the door. After a moment, it opens from the outside.

She starts to make her exit but stops halfway through the door. “Oh, and Ms. Warwick; don’t allow yourself to think for even a second that we can’t take down a wizard. If you have any doubts, ask your grandparents.”

Eleanor shoots out of the chair so fast it topples over. “What?”

The door slams shut before there can be any answer.