Now is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.
—Winston Churchill,
longtime critic of the Imperium upon hearing
of Chairman Okubo Tokugawa’s demise, 1932
New York City, New York
3 Months Later
He had to admit, this really was a pretty spectacular office. From the top of the Chrysler Building he could see the dirigibles docking at the Empire State Building, and every inch of the place was pure, polished opulence. “I’ve got to hand it to the old coot. He certainly knew how to live.”
“Yes, Mr. Stuyvesant,” the new UBF vicepresident of finance said as he flopped onto the overstuffed leather couch. “You know why your grandfather used to say that he liked this building the best?”
Francis Cornelius Stuyvesant II turned from the glass wall, picked up the bottle of fine wine from his marble desk, and walked over. “No, why is that, Mr. Chandler?”
The accountant laughed as he held out the empty glass. “He said it was because it was pointy.” Francis poured him another refill. “Can you believe that?”
He sat on the couch, uncomfortable in his new tuxedo. He’d inherited the most powerful company in the world. He’d gone toe to toe with the most dangerous wizard in history. He’d survived direct hits from two Tesla superweapons. He was a telekinetic and also happened to be a member of a magical secret society. “I can believe just about anything.”
Chandler inhaled the drink in one gulp and gave a contented sigh. “Well, now that we’ve gotten the legal aspects taken care of, and all the papers are signed, UBF is all yours, Francis.” The accountant usually only called him by his first name after he’d had a few too many. “What’re you going to do now?”
Francis swirled the wine around but didn’t really feel like drinking. “I don’t know . . . I’ve got so much responsibility. I can run this company the way I always thought it should have been run.”
The accountant shook his head. “I meant about the other thing.”
The five UBF men who’d survived the Tokugawa had all been paid buckets of money and sworn to secrecy. “Well, in the papers I’m a famous billionaire playboy. I suppose it isn’t really practical for the head of UBF to go out and battle evil . . . Hmmm . . . Maybe I could wear a disguise when I fulfill my Grimnoir duties . . . Like a mask or something.”
“That is perhaps the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Chandler laughed. “You’re a hoot.”
Francis grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, that is pretty ridiculous. So, what are your plans now that everything is under control?”
“Me? I’m a bookkeeper who drinks too much, is always in a foul mood, and hates coming to work. But since you’re paying me lots of money because of my refreshing honesty, I’m not going anywhere.” He stood and walked to the door, but paused on his way out. “Though I have given some thought to trying my hand at writing . . .”
Francis chuckled. “Good night, Ray.” The accountant gave a little salute with two fingers and closed the door behind him. It was a rare man you could trust with either a Thompson or a general ledger. Francis stayed on the couch, enjoying being alone and the quiet lights of the city. “It’s been a long day . . .” he muttered to himself.
“No kidding!” Faye said as she appeared directly in front of him.
“Gah!” he spilled the wine all over his pants. “Don’t do that!”
Faye clucked disapprovingly and put her hands on her hips. “It ain’t my fault you don’t have a head map. Sheesh. Look at that, you’re gonna be all stained.”
It was then that he realized Faye was wearing an honest-to-goodness evening dress. And her hair was done up. And she was wearing jewelry. And lipstick? How scandalous. “I . . . I . . .” He was speechless. “Well . . .”
“Yeah, I do clean up pretty good, huh?” Faye smiled. “Jane helped me.” She twirled for him. “Not bad for a hick, huh?”
“Not bad at all,” he answered truthfully.
She beamed at the compliment. “Like I was saying though, super long day. Rumor is that there’s Iron Guards up to something in Alabama, and Lance is gonna go check it out, but then some Active kids got rounded up by a mob for nothing but being Active since folks are still all riled up at us, and they’re having a sham trial, so Heinrich’s going down there to help ’em, and Jane and Dan’s wedding is coming up next week, and they said you have to come, don’t care how busy you are, and Mr. Browning says hello from France, and his telegram said that he’d be honored to be in charge of the American knights, but the stupid elders still won’t give up Mr. Rawls, and still nobody knows where Mr. Sullivan went off to but he said it was real important so it must be, and that reminds me, Mr. Southunder called and said thanks for the new fancy blimp, and—”
Francis put his finger on her lips. Nothing stopped Faye when her head got to spinning. “We’re going to be late for the play.”
“I can fix that real quick!”
He was hesitant. After she’d Traveled an entire dirigible, Faye had slept for a week straight. Her Power had been severely overtaxed, nearly burned out, and she was still recovering. It turned out that even Faye had limits. “Can’t we take the elevator?”
Faye’s grey eyes twinkled. The Traveler may only have worked her way back up to a small part of the magic she’d tapped during the battle, but nothing could keep Faye down for long. She took his hand. “Elevators are for chumps!”
