When Frankie came in with the gremlin, Joey was finishing up re-reading his favorite Company Manual, ‘Magical Denizens of the Midwest.’ Dismayed at the interruption, Joey tucked a hand under the back of his dreadlocks and rubbed at his neck.
Frankie’s short, black hair was falling out of its tight ponytail and wisps of it lay against the light brown skin of her face and neck. “Brought you a present,” announced Frankie in her New Zealand accent, shoving the protesting, handcuffed gremlin ahead of her into the back room. The little creature was human-shaped but about half-size, and a lurid green.
“So nice of you,” said Joey quietly, wrinkling his nose. The gremlin brought with it a stench of B.O. mixed with sulfur that immediately spread through the small room. Joey glanced nervously at the many reference books lining the walls, hoping the paper wouldn’t absorb the unpleasant smell. “Why is it here?”
Frankie admonished, “Speak up, bro. I can never hear you when you talk.”
“Why is it here?” repeated Joey patiently.
A heavy Chicago accent came through the open doorway. “We couldn’t categorize it.” Hanging up his bow and quiver on the wall, Mac pushed gray bangs back over his pale forehead and blew out a breath. The grin he flashed at Joey briefly rearranged the wrinkles on his face. “Needed your expertise.”
The gremlin gave a loud grunt. Green goo sprayed from all the pores left uncovered by its clothing, spattering the run-down furniture and bookshelves with a wet splork.
“What the hell!” Joey threw himself over the open book on the desk a fraction of a second too late. He sat up again, grimacing, green goo on the front of his shirt.
“Yeah, it’s been doing that,” said Frankie as if remarking on a mildly concerning sound her car had been making. “So what kind is it?”
Pulling a handful of tissues from the tissue box in his desk drawer, Joey wiped at the goo, first swiping at his face then dabbing at his clothes. The green yuck almost seemed to glow against his dark skin. It also looked as if it would further stain his already-stained shirt. Joey sighed. “Gremlin type 3,” he finally answered. In the corner Mac was using a pocket handkerchief to mop up his arms and face.
“Nuh-uh!” protested the gremlin in a nasal voice. “I’m at least a type 2. Probably higher quality. Probably a type 1.”
Frankie shook the gremlin by its handcuffed wrists. “You’re welcome to shut up any time, buddy.”
“Found it in this guy’s backyard tearing up his patio set.” Mac crossed the room to the filing cabinet and opened a drawer, thumbing through the papers within. “It killed a dog.”
“It’s a type 3,” Joey told Mac, who’d pulled out a form and started scribbling on it with a pen from Joey’s desk. “You can tell because of the shorter snout, and types 1 and 2 have exposed teeth. Can you put it in a Box, please?” he complained to Frankie. “Protect my books.”
“I got it,” said Mac, handing the form to Joey. Grabbing the gremlin’s handcuffs from Frankie, he dragged it into his office to Box it up so they could ship it to Home Office.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” said Frankie once Mac and the gremlin had gone. She flopped into an ancient armchair and fumbled with the sheathed machete on her belt. “Tissues?”
Joey offered her the box, and she pulled some out to wipe down the machete’s handle and sheath. Always the machete. Never mind her clothes, which Joey now observed were spattered with several older splotches of slime. “It’s fine,” he mumbled, sitting back down and pulling the partially finished form toward him.
“Gotta clean the van, too. Reckon we should hire a cleaning service?”
Joey was focusing on filling out the form with the usual information. Contents of Box: Gremlin Type 3. Captured by:…
“Was it you or Mac who caught it?”
“I caught it.”
“Cool.” Joey bent to write this. On paperwork Frankie was identified by her birth name, ‘Airini’. Seven years prior she’d been introduced to Joey as ‘Frankie’ . He had only found out later that her real name was Māori. He’d always wanted to ask why ‘Frankie’, which seemed to have no relation to her real name, but Frankie was honestly a little scary so Joey kept his questions to himself.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Job would’ve been easier if Shay had still been around,” said Frankie, and Joey looked up to see her frowning at her backup knife, also newly cleaned of goo. “We needed a Spy to keep a lookout for the house owner. Dude kept getting in the way when we were trying to take the critter down. Almost got hurt.”
“Yeah,” he agreed softly. They mostly didn’t talk about what had happened to Shay. It had been a grisly business with a rogue phoenix; a vampire had been keeping the phoenix as a pet, but they really were wild animals, not suited to captivity. Shay had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, the bird had panicked, and when phoenixes panic, fire is generally involved. Before Shay had left the burn unit, he’d handed in his resignation.
Their jobs were dangerous; they all knew that. Joey was just glad that he was the Researcher—he’d never been in the field, and never wanted to be. Left to his books, he’d be happy, thank you very much.
Frankie crossed to sit on the desk, facing away from Joey, and Joey grumbled a quiet complaint as she sat on one of his open books. She barely took up any of the desk space. Sometimes he forgot how small Frankie was compared to him. She seemed to dominate every space she inhabited. But then occasionally, like right now, something would make her pull into herself and Joey felt like the giant he really was next to her: his 6’2” bulky frame next to her 5’3” wiry muscled one.
While Frankie projected an aura of immense size, Joey did everything he could to make himself seem small. He had always been big for his age, mistaken for an adult even as young as 13, and early on developed the habit of slouching to appear shorter, much to his parents’ dismay. It helped that he’d always been bookish and quiet—he tended to fade into the background, hiding in quiet nooks in the back of the library.
“I miss him,” admitted Joey, referring to Shay, and Frankie nodded, silent for once. “I’ll ask Mac if we’re getting a new Spy.” Frankie nodded again.
A crash came from the direction of Mac’s office. Joey and Frankie met eyes, and she said, “You go. I’ll start cleanup out here.”
“No chemicals,” said Joey. “Only water. And only on the outsides of the books. And gently,” he insisted, and Frankie waved a dismissive hand as Joey crossed to Mac’s office door.
When he peeked around the door frame, he saw Mac still wrangling with the gremlin, which had managed to slip loose from his hold and prop itself up in a corner of the ceiling. There was a fresh spatter of goo on the walls. Mac had a broom in the air and poked at the gremlin with it, trying to dislodge it from the ceiling, to which it was suctioned by the surfaces of its hands and feet.
“How can I help?” said Joey, trying not to panic, and Mac glanced over at him.
“Box.”
“Right.” Joey grabbed one of the devices from the top of the shelves against the wall. He’d never used one before but he knew the basic idea. The metal Box was warm in his hand from the magic that powered its insides. It was dwarfed by Joey’s hands, and he fumbled with it for a minute before finding the catch that would open it. A bright light shone out of it where the four triangles that made up the side of the Box had popped open.
“Boooo,” complained the gremlin. With shaking hands, Joey angled the light toward the gremlin, stepping closer but holding the Box as far away from himself as possible. The Box vibrated against his fingers as it drew the gremlin into it, and though the process itself was silent, Joey imagined he could hear a slurping noise, as though the Box was sipping the gremlin through a straw. The gremlin’s distorted, stretched features quickly disappeared into the Box, which snapped itself shut and grew even warmer in Joey’s hands.
Joey turned the Box this way and that, squinting at it. “Weird.”
“Give it here,” said Mac, and Joey handed the Box over. Mac tucked it into a regular cardboard box with several Boxes already stacked inside from previous gigs, then settled himself in his desk chair, exhausted. “Thanks, kid. Getting a little long in the tooth for this job.”
“Frankie wants me to ask if we’re getting a new Spy.”
“Fax just came through, let me check if it’s that. I sent in a request three weeks ago already.”
That made sense. “Home Office?” asked Joey.
Raising his eyebrows, Mac gave him an amused look. “Home Office,” he agreed. Mac made grabby hands at the fax machine in the corner and Joey retrieved the papers for him. Examining them, Mac said, “Yeah, we’re getting a Spy. Coming in Friday.”
“Who are they?”
“Just gives a name, ‘Indira Khatun’. Ugh, they always do this. I’ll have to send in a request for her personnel file. Again. Hey, can you do me a favor and send my order in to the deli? My usual.”
Mac’s ‘usual’ was a bologna sandwich with brown mustard and banana peppers. He usually asked Joey to send in the orders for the deli because Mac himself was uncomfortable with modern technology. The computer in his office hadn’t been replaced since 2004; it was still running Windows Vista, which Mac swore by. Joey had decided not to judge him.
“Sure, Mac,” said Joey, and turned to go.
“After that you can take off. Don’t worry about the paperwork for tonight. You can finish it tomorrow.” Back out of Mac’s office into the back room, where Frankie was just finishing a haphazard job of wiping down the spines of the books. Contrary to instructions, she was using all-purpose cleaner. Joey sighed and reached for the paper towels.