X slid silently through a space that wasn't there. The owner and creator of the non-place was a being of power, and like all such beings, he had his secrets. Secret places, secret things. X was the master of hidden things, and finding hidden things meant finding hidden places, even when those places didn't exist.

A waft of magic brushed across X's face, and he froze. Someone had removed something from the hidden cache. If he wasn't careful, he could get pulled along with whatever Oberon summoned from his closet. That would suck. If he got caught, Oberon could kill him without breaking a sweat, and getting yanked out of the closet would mess his head up enough that the big O might catch him.

While he waited for the disturbance to settle, he checked the tight coil of razor wire in his pouch. His hands tingled, even through the heavy leather gloves he wore to protect himself from the barbs and edges. The disturbance masked the way the wire made the space itself ripple like water.

The disturbance settled, and X slid sideways one more time. Almost every being of Power had things they kept hidden away, most of them items of rare beauty or power; once in a great while, both. The space around X sparkled with a glassy sheen, refracting lights from gems that glowed with their own unearthly light. Oberon's armor was a work of art unrivalled by any before or since. It covered him from head to toe in translucent, glittering plates.

Deep within, X set his snare, then snuck out as carefully as he'd snuck in.

***

Phil glared at the manila envelope in her hand. She'd suspected for months that something like this would show up. Without Micah to juggle the museum's finances, they slipped slowly but surely into the red. She could handle personnel issues just fine, and she was better than he was at picking out new artwork to acquire, but Micah had always handled the finances better.

She looked over them one more time. They’d nearly paid off the mortgage they’d taken out a few years back on the advice of Mr. Daughtry, but she couldn’t afford to make the payment this month. She’d fallen behind on the utilities, but she'd just worked out a payment plan, which bought her another month or so. She’d finished paying off the loan she'd taken for the new security system this month, but payroll would be late. Again.

Fred Smith, head of security in Micah's absence, knocked on the frame of the open office door. Fred stood half a head taller than Micah, with the build of a linebacker and skin the color of a worn biker jacket. Fred's family had worked security for Micah since before he and Phil met. In all that time, they'd never once questioned the occasional strange goings on. Micah had never been away this long though.

"You got a few, Ms. Morgan?"

Phil threw the hated manila envelope back onto the pile on her desk. She took a deep breath, blew it out, and tried to release her frustration with it. That attempted, if not successful, she waved Fred in.

"Sure, Fred. What's up?"

Phil had seen Fred talk normally with Micah. She'd seen him stare down drunk gangbangers who wanted to deface the building. She'd even seen him pick up a pair of college football players and carry them to the door without letting them hurt him, themselves, or any of the displays. For some reason, though, he wouldn't meet her eyes. Now was no exception. He stared at the desk, his hands fiddling with his Maglite.

"Well, me and the rest of the guys have been talking. The new guys, they seen how you put in that high tech security system, and they been goin' on about how you're gonna be layin' us all off."

She couldn't see how Fred could think such a thing. There had always been a Fred Smith at the Leo museum. Every generation came back to replace the last, and every new Fred was welcomed with open arms. Phil stared up at her security chief, trying to keep the tears she felt from her voice.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"And what do you think, Fred?"

"Well, Miss Morgan, I tell you this. You, and I mean you and Micah, the museum... you paid for my college. You paid for my daddy's college before me, and you paid for his brothers and sisters, too. I... I don't know if you'll pay for my son's college, but I'm sure if you don't, it won't be because of a lack of wantin' to..."

Phil held up one hand, and Fred went silent as if she'd flipped a switch.

“I swear to you now, Frederick Smith, son of Frederica Cooper, the second, daughter of Frederick Cooper, son of Frederica N'bele, daughter of an African headman from line of headmen running back further than recorded history, should your son choose to pursue his education, it will be paid for. I will see it done."

"That's what I told them, ma'am. That's what I mean. You always done right by us. Not just me and mine, but all of us here. I don't think there's a man or woman here who chose to stay that you didn't make part of your family here. Yeah, some go. Yeah, some never intend to stay. But those of us who make a home here... you make us family. You take care of your own."

Phil smiled, knowing it crooked, bent by her knowledge of why she thought in terms of taking care of her own, when so many of her peers thought in terms of bottom lines. She'd lived through the time of feudalism. In most important ways, she'd grown up then. Micah had as well. They both looked on the employees at the museum as more than employees; they looked on them as 'their people.'

"Anyway, Miss Morgan, we told 'em you weren't gonna lay us off, but we know you've had a hard time with payroll."

The unspoken accusation stung, and Phil winced with shame at the knowledge that she could do nothing about it.

"I'm... I will get you guys paid," her voice dropped to a mutter, "one way or another."

"Yeah, well. All of us got together, and we decided we're all behind you. You pay us what you can, when you can, and when things get straight you can make it up."

Phil almost cried with relief, but she couldn't show that in front of Fred. Instead, she lowered her eyes and let out a long, slow, calming breath. Once sure of her voice, she looked up at him once more.

"Thank you, Fred. That means a lot to me. I want you to know that I'm going to find a way to get you guys paid, one way or another."

"I know you will, Miss Morgan. We all know you will."

"Is there anything else?"

Now Fred looked embarrassed again. "Well... the custodian."

Phil ground her teeth, an ingrained reaction when that particular woman came up. "You mean Tee?"

"Yeah. Tee. She's standing in the main hall, one hand on the touch screen of the Info Center."

"Is she moving? Responding when you talk to her?"

Fred shook his head, frustration clear on his face. "Nope. We tried everything, but she's totally zoned."

"Is the Info Center still responding to visitors?"

"Y'know, I don't think I checked."

Phil shook her head once more, trying to clear it. "Okay. Cordon her off, put up the performance art plaque. I'll come see if I can shake her free later today."

"We already got her roped off. I'll have the guys put up the sign. I'll go check on whether it's still responding to voice commands." He already had his handheld out, sending messages to the security staff.

"Thanks, Fred."

"Don't mention it, Miss Morgan. I'll see you out front later." With that he left, still working on his messaging.

Phil turned back to Micah's desk. Over the past few months, it had become her desk, and it showed. She still gave Micah’s toys pride of place, but notes and folders covered the surface, three or four layers deep in most places. Right at the top of the biggest pile lay the horrible manila folder that she'd been avoiding. The return address read 'Raynard, Raynard, and Garrison, Attorneys at Law'. Letters from lawyers were never good.

Sighing, she bit the bullet and undid the string holding the envelope shut. A thick stack of paper, stapled together with industrial staples, fell out. Phil picked it up and scanned the first page. What she saw punched her in the gut, and she kept reading through the document with the vain hope that somehow, something would make the first page not true. As she read page after page, her spirits sunk lower and lower. When she finished the document, the light in the room had an unhealthy viridian tinge.

She flipped back to the front of the document. There, in simple letters, it spelled out what the rest of the packet hammered home with merciless finality. Some unknown corporation had purchased all the museum's loans, and now moved to legally seize the museum's assets. No matter how she'd worked, no matter how hard she'd tried, she couldn't fill Micah's shoes. She needed him, and he wasn't here. Despondent, Phil dropped the bundle on top of the envelope it came in, put her head in her hands, and cried.