Magical Mafias Book 1

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Episode 8: The Purpose of a Lie is to Survive

Raw Audio for Episode (edited audio coming later!)

Text of Episode

Morning routine: Stay under the sheets, maneuver on the wing shields, check glamours. Put on contacts. Avoid casting the pin spell. Still no way to tell if the tenement apartment had scrying spells, and the sheets didn't do enough to muffle Illa's voice. Get out, make the bed just so, wear the next thing in the suitcase, and put on the collar. Thairn had picked the order of outfits in the luggage, and Gabriel didn't care to control what Rhett wore, so it helped hold Illa's mind right. And it was still her collar, Gabriel hadn't tried to replace it yet. Illa was still hers.

He heard someone approach his unit door. He knew that heavy cadence of footfalls. Gabriel. To the door, Illa's fingers on the brass collar to try and hold Thairn's presence with him, all while trying to get into Rhett's head and out of his own.

Rhett answered the door. "You're up early." Read Gabriel in a quick flicker of the eyes, adding up the body language cues. Worked up about something, but restrained. Looking for a pressure release?

Illa felt his face slacken, the breath under that boot coming harder. More?

Falling under. Needed to cling to Rhett's persona. See if he could draw out information.

Forced his eyes open. Licked his lips. "Bad morning?"

Got that boot shoved against his jaw next. Not pressing near as hard--Gabriel really did take care not to damage him--but enough to humiliate, or at least express the intent. Humiliation wasn't much Illa's game, but this didn't twinge any triggers. He took it the way Rhett would, rubbing his cheek right into it, his gaze a challenge.

"The fucking Morleys," Gabriel answered. "Their idiot Malachi is stirring up trouble."

"Never met him personally," Illa only knew so much from Malachi's file, "but rumor is, he's trying out for head of the family."

Illa wrapped his hand around the collar, like Thairn had ordered. Remember warm hands. The silken press of her long hair against his cheek. Her eyes, golden, piercing.

His breathing slowed. His head cleared.

Two knocks and a knob-turn, and Greg came through the door. Probably wanting to know where Illa and his cooking was. Clear from how Greg moved that he'd heard the crack--Greg glanced over at the broken table, little nod like he was adding it to a list, then fixed his focus on Gabriel.

"Sir." Voice clear, steady. Gabriel turned to Greg. Face turned away from Illa's line of sight. Body language nigh-unreadable. But there was something of defeat to the slump of Gabriel's shoulders.

"Eric up?" Gabriel asked.

Greg must have spent the night in their room, because he had an answer ready. "Yessir."

Gabriel nodded. "Gotta talk to him." Clasped Greg's shoulder. Turned his head towards the broken table.

"I've got it, sir," Greg said.

"Good boy." An intentional diminutive--Greg had been at least in his 40s when he'd died, and who knew how long ago that was. "Tell Rhett I'm sorry, when he's in a state to hear it."

"Will do, sir."

A pat to Greg's shoulder--fond, heavy--and Gabriel left.

Greg looked to Illa, assessment in his gaze. Nodded to himself. Turned his whole body to face the broken table and started picking up pieces. Deliberately not paying attention to Illa, giving him space to recover. Space that was needed, even with the collar's aid.

Illa sat there, waiting out his adrenaline. Made sure he had the conversation that had sparked this response memorized. Not the most pleasant way to get it, but it was useful data all the same.

Finally stood up, got out the broom to sweep up the splinters. Greg shuffled to make room for him, still picking up whatever pieces were big enough to be easily grabbed.

"Wanna tell me what happened?" Greg asked.

"Told him Malachi Morley's in the running for the Morley head."

Greg hissed through his teeth. "Yeah, that'll do it."

"He have a history with Malachi?"

"Got two things piss Gabriel off that bad. One's faeries, and one's the Morleys."

That matched their intel. But the shards of table painted a much more vivid picture than their intel ever had. "Sounds personal."

"It is." Greg stood up, bundle of wood in his arms and a fistful of splinters in his hands. "Get me a garbage bag?"

Illa got a couple. Held them open so Greg could drop the bits of table inside.

Greg didn't return to the subject. "Good thing I make a better table than this piece of garbage."

"You do carpentry?"

Greg guffawed at that one, though it wasn't meant to be a joke. "No more than I pick up lumber when Sir takes me out back to the woodshed."

Ah. Kink. "You are furniture?"

"There you go. Make a good spanking bench, I'm told. Nice, soft couch cushion, too." He jiggled his paunch to show.

"Who's into that one?"

"Eric, mostly. Gabriel some. Something you're into?"

"With my frame? I'd only be good as a footstool."

"Ah, too bad. It's fun."

Might be a good way to get intel, being furniture for Eric. Gabriel's right hand, lover, part-time sub, part-time co-dom. And, most importantly, the first person Gabriel had wanted to talk to when Illa had brought up the Morley succession.

"Actually," Illa said. "Footstool does sound fun."

Not all the teachers were good about their office hours. Lucía, for one, had dissolved hers in favor of using her students as free potion-trialing labor. More fool her--one-on-one talks with students made for excellent sources of information. Thairn kept hers religiously. On this day, she was rewarded.

A knock to her office door, almost too quiet to catch.

"Come in," Thairn called, to deactivate the wards. She had a set that passed well enough for a human's to any eye but Greta's. Not enough to be worth trusting--they'd be easy to break--but enough that they'd have to be broken to get in, which was better than nothing.

"Do you have a minute?" came a tentative boy's voice. Marco Ascención Quiñones Vázquez. He had black curls, soft in contrast to his sharp jawline, and moved with the awkward caution of a teen fresh off a growth spurt. Not mafia--a magical government connection the Morleys wanted to cultivate. Evident enough from how poorly he managed to hide his nervousness. The mob children were better-trained. More importantly, he was Tricia's favorite student, and he was terrified of fae.

"Of course, dear." The chair in front of her desk moved back to accommodate him.

He startled.

"Go ahead and have a seat." Thairn let go the remote with her foot. Mickey'd lent it to her. It was fun, keeping students on their toes.

"Thank you. I, um... that thing you asked me. You were right."

Thairn rose. Closed the door. Fired the ward in such a way that it would visibly flicker active. All to say, without a single word, It's safe to bring your secrets here. Gestures like that had brought her so much good hearsay already.

She returned to her seat and gestured him to speak.

He looked at the ward another moment. Let his shoulders sag. "Thank you." Held his hands together to try to stop fidgeting with them, which didn't work. "Mrs. Vernon is going to Faerie to get new plants for Herbs."

"Oh?" So Herbs had gone straight to the source.

"I don't think... but I guess, you've been telling us in class, you can't know... but I don't want her to be fae, she's my favorite teacher--sorry--but... What do I do?"

"You stay calm, and you tell me as much as you know. It's possible she isn't fae--" was, in fact, entirely certain, "--but going to Faerie is dangerous, either way."

He couldn't hide the guilty flicker of his eyes towards her gloved hands. Remembering Alanna's scars. Good.

"Tell me, Marco," Thairn said, gentle. "First. How did you find out she was going to Faerie?"

She reconstructed the story with him piece by piece, going backwards and forwards over it like a full interrogation. It suited her guise and her needs equally well. By the end, she knew exactly what Tricia was trying to obtain and exactly what pieces Thairn and Mickey would need for their plans.

"Thank you." Marco said at the end of all of it, voice parched by time and words.

"Thank you for telling me. As for any thanks to me, that can wait until I've managed to find the truth."

"Not just for looking into it. For taking me seriously. Teachers, adults, they don't usually... Thank you." His grip clenched tight on the chair arms as he stood.

"That's a shame, then. All of us should." She rose. Ungloved one scarred hand and offered it to shake. "If you need anything, or if you're worried about anything, you can always come to me. Your friends, too."

"I will." He shook her hand, and she could tell from the straightening of his stance that it set off something proud in him, to be treated like an equal. "I'll make sure the other kids know that you're someone they can come to."

Perfect.

The devil fae had come again to carve another bargain from Greta's soul. That was Greta's first thought when Thairn appeared before Greta's chamber and asked to speak behind a privacy ward. And Greta had to allow it, however reluctantly.

"I'm afraid the excuses you give for meeting my grand-nephew won't work here."

"I didn't expect them to. I have better excuses."

"Oh?"

"One of my students suspects there may be a hidden faerie amongst the teachers. So, I've come to consult you as to your thoughts on this."

"My thoughts are that this teacher is getting tiresome, with all her beating around the bush."

"Oh, not me. Why would I be fae? Marco Quiñones thinks it's Tricia Vernon."

"What foolery are you teaching that boy?"

"Paranoia, mostly. It seemed to suit the curriculum."

"What is it you want then, 'Ms. Abercorn'?"

"Your assistance. Tricia's falling under suspicion because she's venturing to places she shouldn't go to get things I can obtain far more easily. But only if you help me smuggle them."

"This is beyond what we've agreed."

"Actually, it's exactly what we've agreed."

"If you push this, it will break."

"Oh? I thought you wanted me to keep your grand-nephew out of trouble."

"Is she involving him?"

"No."

"Then how will helping you smuggle do anything I've asked you for, when it comes to Mickey?"

"If you don't want him heir, someone else needs to be."

"Tricia's not up for the heirship."

"Lucía is."

How was Greta supposed to react? She wanted Lucía for the succession--it was a sure way to finally have her venom removed from the family. But Greta couldn't say that or imply it. It was a secret bound in chains tighter than even this debt to Thairn.

"I know you've a family rivalry," Thairn said, taking the silence for an answer, and a better one than Greta could devise with words, "but you can't think Lucía would be worse than Malachi."

There, an out. "I'll grant you that."

"So, if we want Lucía to win, her research needs to succeed. If it's to succeed, she needs the herbs she's requesting and not obtaining."

"And that's what Tricia's trying to get?"

"Oh, no." As if anything could be so uncomplicated. "That's what Tricia's refusing to give. But if I get Tricia things she wants, she might give me things Lucía wants."

"Are they dangerous?"

"They're vegetables. Rare here, but only because the people who know about Faerie aren't exactly lining up to demand exports."

"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"If they have any magic, you'll See it. Won't you?"

Greta gave a grudging nod. "Fine. But once I've smuggled them, how will you explain them? You won't be hiding that they're from Faerie."

"Dear Alanna, when she escaped her terrible imprisonment, was not sure how she would survive, if she couldn't find her way back to the human world. So, clever, she stole seeds from the family gardener. Found a way out through the border forest and never put them to use. She's not sure what they are, but perhaps the kind Herbs teacher would like to help? That they're just what Herbs wants, well, that's a convenient coincidence."

"If you're foolish with this, Tricia won't believe the story. If you pick the wrong season or seeds that wouldn't be stored in the same place... they'll have to look the right age, too, since you're claiming you took them years ago."

Thairn paused, considering. "You're right. Which means I have another request for you."

Damn her for trying. Greta should have just let this faerie fall to error. "What?"

"I don't have the right codes for getting the message across about ordering these seeds, not with all these factors. But, I can set you up a meeting with a go-between, and you can explain to them what I need and make sure they get it right."

"No. I'm in deep enough."

"I suppose I could always ask your grand-nephew. He'd be willing."

A chill settled over Greta. "Do not pull him into this." Not another of theirs, owned by the fae. Not the one person she was trying to protect from all of this.

"Too late for that."

"This is not in what we bargained."

"It's not against what we bargained, either."

"He doesn't need to know about this."

"Like I said, Greta. Too late. Do you really think he'd get this deep into plotting with some random teacher?"

"What have you done?"

"It's his doing, actually. He's clever, your grand-nephew. He figured me out, asked for my help."

"You've pulled him into a bargain."

"His proposal."

"What?" Fear pounding through Greta now. She never should have let things get this far.

"We kept things generic. He helps me, and I help him."

"That's against our bargain."

"Not as far as you've told me. After all, you think his succession will endanger him. Meaning that keeping him out is helping him, isn't it?"

Greta wasn't sure how much she risked by saying it, but, "Yes."

"Good." With piercing eyes, like Thairn was seeking something further.

"Why even tell me? I've seen how good you are at lying. Unless this is a lie?"

"No lie. You can ask Mickey himself, if you want to show your hand."

"Then why?"

"I don't think you'd believe me."

"Try anyway."

"I like him. And he isn't sure whether to trust you, and that's left me to wonder just enough what it is you really want."

"I want you to protect him. That's the honest truth of it."

"Is that the whole truth of it?"

"More than you know." That was far enough to make the chains of oath bite. Further and Greta would risk her magic entire.

Thairn nodded to herself, as if she'd reached some decision. "Very well, then. Now, here's what you'll need to do..."

Illa sat on a bus, collar back to being buttoned beneath his shirt. He'd spent long enough at the tenement that the light and air and broadness of the world outside had become new, strange and overwhelming. Nobody was forcing him to stay in the tenement building, technically. But they had asked where he was going. (His story: a medical appointment.) And he was pretty sure he had a tail. The local changeling had agreed to meet Illa at a doctor's office waiting room just to fit his cover.

The doctor's office was on the fourth floor of a towering office building. Inside, Illa settled into the corner of the waiting room hardest to see from the reception desk and pretended to fill out paperwork. Filling in the answers with code--his mission report thus far.

At three o'clock exactly, a patient with one eye covered in gauze padding sat down next to him. Too timely. Obtrusive appearance. Illa was endlessly frustrated with this local changeling.

All the same, Illa made the pass. He set his clipboard down on the magazine table. Went to get a replacement pen. Came back, and picked up the clipboard now sitting on his chair. They'd been swapped. The new clipboard had information from the changeling, all in code.

Mission criteria still the same. Scatterings of information on Malachi's clashes with the Wingless. Malachi was picking up the pace, perhaps hoping to turn the turf war into a path to the heirship. That explained some of Gabriel's agitation. Other information here, too, all things Thairn had gathered while embedded in the Morleys. Illa did his best to sop up every detail, so he could flesh out Rhett with better background knowledge. And, finally, he glanced at the Patient Address. The drop location for his new clever.

Illa left the clipboard behind for the changeling to dispose of. Made his way to the bathroom on the 12th floor of the office building and picked the correct stall. Tucked up into the toilet paper dispenser was a small bag. It held the new clever. Illa switched it out for the old one, relying on the privacy of the stall. The old one went into the bag, for pickup. The bag also held a band-aid. Huh? Ahh. A section on the changeling's medical clipboard that had made no sense suddenly did. Intramuscular injection of testosterone, thigh or glute. Illa stuck the band-aid on an appropriate spot. The "injection" would be his excuse for the medical visit, if needed.

Illa pulled his pants back on now that the clever and band-aid were both set in place. Reaching down to adjust himself and feeling nothing there was disconcerting. Just a sensory illusion. Everything was fine. He'd get used to it eventually.

Illa hated clevers, of either sort.

Michelle went to Mr. Morley's shadow magic tutoring sessions. It was too good of an offer to pass up, even if she didn't trust him. No one else had ever been able to teach her much. He could, and did. Guided her through visual tricks and solidwork. Taught her to attune the shade to interact better with magic or with the purely physical realm. Gave out answers to whatever she had a question about and whatever he came up with to have her try.

But then there was Jenna.

It started out because Jenna asked so many questions. After every Evocation lesson, she had a million of them, and she trotted into office hours just to ask. What was fueling wizard's fire? Where did the heat energy go when they used ice magic? Mr. Morley didn't have all the answers, but he'd gamely chat about it and help Jenna come up with wild ideas for experiments that probably would only involve controlled explosions and most likely wouldn't light her twin puffs of coily hair on fire.

Michelle pretended at first that she was just there for questions, too. Not that there was anything wrong with the tutoring, necessarily. Mr. Morley was a magic teacher. He was teaching Michelle how to do magic. But life had long taught her to keep everything silent. Magic wasn't real, her weird shadow was just a trick of the light, her parents did boring things for a living, and no one ever died in the process. Besides, how would Jenna react, anyway? The tutoring was special treatment, right? Jenna would probably be jealous, either of the tutoring itself--Jenna got so excited about learning magic--or of Michelle getting extra attention from Mr. Morley. Half the girls in class had a crush on him. (Ew. No.) Though Michelle hadn't heard Jenna participating in that chorus, at least.

The third time Jenna showed up to ask questions, she started asking about what questions Michelle had come in with, because of course Jenna was curious about that, too, and thought getting the answers to questions she herself hadn't even come up with yet sounded like an amazing idea. Mr. Morley gave noncommittal responses and redirected to Michelle whenever Jenna directly asked him, even though he probably could have come up with something a lot better than Michelle could, dammit. Michelle struggled through the next half-hour, coming up with questions she'd never intended to ask, like, um, could they turn the fire different colors or, uh, did the ice magic make snowflakes? Jenna didn't seem to notice Michelle's stumbling, at least. So, maybe Michelle had pulled it off okay?

When Jenna finally left, hoping to catch Ms. Abercorn's office hours, Mr. Morley leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming along the handle of his cane-wand. He looked like he wasn't sure whether to congratulate her on making it through all of that... or laugh at her.

"What?" Michelle asked.

"How about, instead of going back to standard shadow work, I tutor you on lying? It's also one of my specialties."

Her shadow started to form snakes again, and she pooled forth darkness to cover them. "Fine."

"There you go, first lesson. When you do that, you look like you're hiding something."

"I am hiding something."

"And the only way to do it well is to look like you're not."

"I can't just do that."

"No, you can't. Especially not in the world you and I live in. But you can look like you're hiding something else. Redirect. Pull their attention to what you want them to see."

"I don't know what else I can make you see when my shadow is turning into snakes."

"You're thinking too straightforward. Start at the conclusion and work backwards. What is it you want me to think?"

How could he just ask that? Agh. "Are you kidding me?"

He laughed. "No. That's another lesson. There's no point hiding things that are obvious. It'll just make people wonder what else you're hiding."

"Is this some extended metaphor about Jenna and the tutoring?"

"It's that, too. I'm a good multitasker. Let's work on lying with your shadow, first. Then, we'll talk."

"And if I don't want to talk?"

"I'll take my own actions without consulting you, which you don't want. Now, shadows first. What is it you want me to think?"

Dammit. "That I'm feeling calm."

"And?"

"That I respect you and treasure your wisdom."

"Ha, that might be too bold a lie to pull off."

Was it? "I do. Sort of. You've been teaching me useful things, and you know a lot about them. And you're not bad at tutoring, or at least you're willing to get better at it."

"There. Lying lesson three. Sometimes honesty is the best policy."

She just gave him a flat stare.

He held up his hands. "I'm not kidding! Picking truths to tell the right people is essential if you ever want anyone to trust you. And if you don't want anyone to trust you, there's no point in getting good at lying."

"Can we get back to my shadow turning into snakes?"

"Sure. Lesson four: know your audience. What do you know about me?"

She was smart enough to not actually say her answer out loud. But she thought, long and careful, though it was hard to concentrate with him watching her face for whatever it might betray.

What did she know about him?

He had a vote in the Conclave same as Jenna's mother did. He was in the mob and under consideration for the Morley heirship. He had competition--Dr. Morley and two other people who didn't teach. Michelle's parents had warned her it was important to stay on his good side, deadly to get on his bad side. In fact, these were all things her parents had told her. She didn't know anything else. She didn't know nearly enough.

Come on, something else. He was their teacher for Evocation, the channeling of raw power. He was good at shadows and tearing down wards. He seemed to actually enjoy teaching. He had to have a lot of respect for Ms. Abercorn, because he mentioned her ideas all the time when he answered obscure theory questions. And he had to get along okay with Mrs. Vernon, because she'd left those wards up for him? Or had she done that to get in his way?

"I don't know anything that would make you feel happy with my shadow turning into snakes."

"Tut. You really do need to build up your connections, kiddo. Or do something to hook yourself up with information. Information keeps you alive."

"Alive?"

"Ah, sorry, that sounded like a threat, didn't it? I slip into the habit sometimes. I wasn't meaning to threaten you. I just mean that if you stay involved with your family's affairs, or even if you try not to, things will be dangerous. We're born to it and we're stuck with it, I'm afraid."

And wasn't that the exact thing she constantly tried not to think about. "What's the information I should have had on you?"

"I like snakes."

"...that's it?"

"I also have a couple of serpentine connections, but you'll have to suss those out yourself. Consider it a homework assignment."

"I... okay. So. You like snakes."

"Yup."

"And all this time, I could have just made it look like I was flattering you?"

"Exactly."

"Auggggghhhhhhh."

"Oh, it's frustrating from this side, too. But far funnier for me than it was for you."

"I hate you."

"Popular opinion. But, you don't. Lie better."

"Fine. So, what's this... you obviously wanted to talk to me about Jenna."

"And the tutoring. Yes."

"Okay."

He said nothing. And it took Michelle an embarrassingly long time to realize he probably wanted her to put it together herself.

She thought back over the lying lessons. "You're saying you want me to tell Jenna about the tutoring."

"If you could, please, yes. Otherwise, I will."

A clench of fear. "But what if she hates me?"

He considered that with an inquisitive expression. "Why do you think she'll hate you? We can come up with something to address it."

"Because I'm getting tutoring from you and she isn't."

"Oh, that's easy, then. I'd love to tutor her. Wards are one of my many custom-bred specialties. She comes to office hours for nearly that long anyway."

"But... I thought... I haven't seen you tutor anyone else."

"It's early into classes, and I'm still learning the ropes. First time teaching? I never had any intention of tutoring only one student. You can take joint lessons if time runs short. There's a lot both of you can learn from attack and defense."

That he'd never intended Michelle to be his only tutoring student was a relief. "What if Jenna spreads rumors? Since you have been tutoring only me."

"Michelle, dear. I hate to break it to you, but there already are rumors. That's why I want you to stop making this a secret I never intended to keep."

"You want me to tell everyone?"

"You don't have to go out and spread the word, and you can pick a different form of evocation to claim I'm tutoring you on. But you do need to tell people who ask that you're getting tutoring. Stop pretending you're here just to ask class questions. Nobody's buying it, and you're making me look creepy."

Ouch. "Sorry."

"Think about how your lies affect your allies. That's a good lesson five."

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