“Moira, thank god.” The voice on the other end of the line sounded resigned, more than relieved, but Moira was used to that. “I thought you were dead.”
“You and the board wished I was dead,” She grumbled. “Hello, Pierre.”
“Hello, Moira. How are you?”
“Not dead.”
Pierre, her attorney, sighed.
“So, what are you blowing my phone up for?” She asked, then plowed on before he could answer. “I know you don’t need help dealing with the board. Have they made arrangements for donations to the Red Cross or something like that?”
There was a beat of hesitation, then, “Yes.”
“I read the emails about the talks with some of the other companies about organizing a fundraising fashion show.” Moira glanced up as the door into the garage swung open, and Derek stepped through. He held two duffle bags in one hand and a backpack in the other. She gave him a smile when he raised his eyebrows. “Sounds good. There’s already some hype online. People are interested to see what sort of design concepts come out of it and how they will be influenced by the ongoing apocalypse. Good job marketing that.”
She was met with silence on the other end of the line.
“You’ve been handling the actual operations just fine for me since Dad died.” Moira stood up from the bike she’d been leaning against so that Derek could work on strapping the duffle bag to it. “You don’t really need my input.”
“It’s good input, you know,” Pierre finally said.
“Almost like I’ve been going to school for this,” Moira sighed. “Charitable donations aren’t exactly rocket science. I trust you and the board.”
“I was calling to make sure you were alright.” Pierre swerved off-topic.
“Aw, did I worry you?”
“Let’s not get sentimental,” He scoffed, but Moira could hear the smile in his voice. “I just needed to make sure you were still alive. Otherwise, there would be some paperwork to shuffle.”
Moira rolled her eyes. “My Aunt and Uncle are dead.”
“I know. Your cousins have been pestering us nonstop. That might be half of the motivation behind my nonstop pestering of you. Condolences.”
Her cousins hadn’t even called her once, even though they knew she was there at the party the night their parents died. Maybe they figured she died too and was buried under the mansion of rubble.
“Hey, listen.” Moira turned away from Derek to prop her hip against the workbench along the side of the garage. She picked at a splinter of wood along the edge where the paint had been worn away. “I was thinking about creating a more utilitarian line. You know, like, in response to the actual events. I just think we can do more than a donation to the Red Cross, you know? And I think we need something…I think all this is going to change the world long-term, and getting a line out to match the new world is going to be really important.”
There was another one of those beats of silence when Moira really wished she could see Pierre’s face to gauge his reaction. Then, in a mildly surprised voice, he said, “What do you have in mind?”
“Well, um.” Moira broke a piece of wood off and rolled it between her thumb and forefinger. “I don’t know how to do it yet. But I was thinking that, you know, magic is a thing now. So, we could, like, make a line of enchanted clothes. Like, runes embroidered into the lining of coats to make them warmer or waterproof or have protection spells or stuff like that.”
“Runes?”
“Yes.” Moira flicked the piece of wood away. “Listen, did you know about…the council?”
“The council?” Pierre sounded absolutely flabbergasted.
“Yeah, like a council that my dad was on?”
“Moira, what are you trying to get at?” Pierre asked. “Your father was on lots of boards and councils and things like that.”
“Yeah, but this one…” She frowned. “You would know what I meant. Never mind.”
There were another few stunned beats of silence.
“Are you sure everything is okay, Moira?”
“Peachy.” She glanced over at Derek, who’d finished strapping the duffels to the bikes and was standing on the other side of the room, speaking quietly to Juan. “Just maybe get a team together to try and figure out how to enchant clothes like that. I think it would go over well.”
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“I’ll bring it up to the board for you.”
“Thanks, Pierre,” she said. “I’ve got to go now.”
“Take care of yourself, Moira,” Pierre said quickly. “Keep in contact.”
She hung up and meandered through the cars and bikes to join Derek and Juan. Juan was showing off some part he’d ordered for one of the cars he was working on. It sat shiny and new on the workbench, the box it came in pushed to the side with all the wrappings and warranties and whatnot sticking out of it. Derek loomed, impressed.
“Are we ready to go?” She asked.
“Just waiting on you, baby.” Derek’s eyes swept over her, and a smirk crawled onto his face.
“What,” she spat.
“Nothing.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Are you taking a more active role at the company?”
“No, just letting Pierre know I’m not dead. Gotta give him some suggestions to maintain my image as the crazy lone family owner left on the board.” She turned to Juan. “Thanks so much for letting us crash for a few days.”
“No problem.” Juan waved her off. “Let me go grab your helmets.”
He wandered back over to the apartment, where they’d left the helmets after trying them on earlier in the day. Derek had wanted to use a car, but Juan’s only working vehicle at the moment was his truck. Derek’s own had been wrecked when he crashed, but he latched onto the idea of stealing one of Moira’s uncle’s cars. Juan and Moira had convinced him that the roads were often not passable by car, so they should take the two bikes Juan had sitting in his garage.
At first, Moira felt a little bad taking the man’s bikes because, with the rate at which they were going through vehicles, he would never see them again. But he’d assured her they were nothing special. All his collectibles were at his place down in Texas. With the way things were going in Texas, they might also never be seen again.
Juan also seemed to think aiding them was a great way to stick it to the council, which he was a part of but apparently not fond of. Moira guessed the benefits of being a member probably outweighed all the bullshit. Plus, it was probably like a gang. You couldn’t get out even if you wanted to – not knowing a secret like theirs. Now that the secret was out, Juan seemed to be getting much enjoyment out of the Council’s panic.
And, oh, were they ever panicking. Juan and Derek had weathered a barrage of calls, emails, and texts over the past couple of days. Derek’s came mostly from his parents. Juan appeared to be the resident problem-fixer in this region. Sean was not the only one who kept him on speed dial for when things started to go awry. Leon was flipping out about his ruined restaurant, and the rest of the council was all worked up about the hit team that had gotten taken out. Juan seemed to think the whole thing was hysterical. Neither he nor Derek responded much, and Moira was pretty sure a carrier pigeon would show up soon if the council didn’t hear back from them. These weren’t people who were used to being ignored.
The reality of an ancient order of people who guarded the secret of magic turned out to be a lot different from how Jeremy seemed to have envisioned it. Moira, having known many of these people growing up, was less surprised. She was glad Jeremy decided to pursue other avenues. Now, she just had to keep Derek from getting wrapped up in all the drama.
Derek was still leering at her from behind his hand, so she glared at him.
“Your legs look really good in those biker pants,” he said.
“Oh, fuck off.”
“Why can’t you learn to take a compliment? You’re so fucking hot for finally calling your lawyer to make sure he’s taking care of your business right and instructing him what to tell the board like that.”
Derek pouted as he said all this, which was totally fake. She could see the corners of his mouth straining into a smile no matter how hard he tried to look like a kicked puppy. She scrunched her nose up at him, which he must have taken as a sign that she wasn’t really upset so he could say something serious off-hand while they were joking in hopes that it would go over well.
“You always do that,” he pointed out. “Wait until we are practically walking through the door to make a call that you had all morning to make.”
“I’m a procrastinator, Derek.” Moira flipped her hair to one side and dragged her fingers through it to get all the kinks out. “Why do you feel the need to point that out? Do you have a problem?”
Derek’s fingers drummed on the top of the car he stood beside. “No problem. Just pointing it out.”
“Well, why point it out unless you have a problem with it?”
“Why are you trying to pick a fight?”
Moira finished twisting her hair into a braid and snapped the hair tie around the end of it with a flourish.
“You’ve been mad at me ever since I got out of the hospital,” Derek said this like a fact. It was a fact. So was what he said next. “You’ve been procrastinating fighting with me.”
“I’m just…” Moira crossed her arms and looked at the corkboard wall filled with tools and extension cords and repurposed coffee cans filled with nuts and bolts. She tried to remember all the words she planned to say to Derek, but it all really boiled down to one thing. “I can’t believe that you were keeping such a big secret. Such a big part of your life – and mine – just hidden from me.”
Derek mulled this over, fingers still drumming away. “You don’t trust me anymore.”
“Well, it’s not…” She stopped the instinctual word vomit and made herself take a second to think about it. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, I do, but I also don’t. I don’t know. It’s hard. I don’t know.”
Juan chose that moment to come back into the garage, holding a helmet in each hand. It took him entirely too long to retrieve them, which meant he was probably waiting to see if the fight would peter out or escalate. Then decided to interrupt when it veered into serious talk land.
“For you.” He handed a helmet to Derek and then to Moira. “And you. Have fun on your road trip. Plenty of time alone together to work things out, right?”
He winked at them, then leaned back against the doorway with his arms crossed.
Moira hoisted her backpack over her shoulders and jammed her helmet over her head. “Thanks again, Juan.”
He gave a little wave and went to the front of the garage to open the door for them. Then she and Derek mounted up. She hadn’t ridden a motorcycle in a while. She and her dad used to go for rides on his old Indians sometimes, much to her mother’s chagrin, but she hadn’t been on a bike since he died. She squeezed the handles a few times and took a deep breath before starting the bike and revving the engine.