The People v. Eleanor Warwick

It never used to happen when he was with the Marines.

The deserts of Iraq were an easy place to lose quite a lot of sleep. Yet, despite how brief his sack time was, Henderson was always quick to rise and be ready to get to work. He’s either getting soft or getting old. He isn’t certain which one he prefers.

When the elevator opens, Henderson steps out into the bullpen. He chugs down the last of his coffee and heads right to the coffee pot in the office. He fills the cup with more of the good stuff.

“Good morning, Henderson,” a colleague says as he approaches with a cup of his own.

“Morning,” he answers, his voice making it clear there isn’t much good about it.

“Congratulations.”

Turning a quizzical look to him, Henderson sits his coffee down. “For what?”

“Grey handed in her resignation. She’s gone after this case is closed. You’re next in line.”

Narrowing his eyes, the agent glances toward his superior’s office. On the other side of the open blinds Agent Grey sifts through report after report, signing some and discarding others. Someone less astute would believe she never left, but Henderson notes the slightly different shade of her gray blazer.

He should be relieved at her departure. Perhaps later he will be, but he has known Grey for nearly three years and as far as he can tell, her job is her life. A sudden resignation doesn’t make much sense to him.

She’s turned down promotions and passed on job offers from private security firms that would have paid her substantially more than a government salary. Henderson likes to think about her dedication to country above her own bank account whenever she makes him angry. The thought makes it easier to take.

The job had even cost her a marriage. She never discusses personal matters, but she wore a wedding ring until about a year ago. It doesn’t take a psychic to figure out what doomed the relationship. Hunting supernatural freak jobs all over the country, working 16-hour days all the while could be devastating to a marriage.

“Ding dong, brother.” The agent’s comment interrupts Henderson’s thoughts. “The wicked witch is dead.”

Henderson offers a slight smirk and a nod as his colleague tops off a cup. “That for Couch?”

“Yeah. I can’t believe that guy is still just sitting there. He might have some kind of magic patience power or something.”

Taking up his own cup, Henderson takes Couch’s from the agent. “I’ll take it to him.”

“Whoa. Wait a minute. You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why?”

“You've been in there a lot. You just spoke to him a few hours ago. Interactions with his kind are supposed to be limited. Eight hours between, at minimum. Grey prefers 10.”

“It’ll be fine.” Walking toward the interrogation room where Nelson Couch still sits, he knows it’s against procedure, but the old man is hardly a threat. If he wanted to use his magic on them, he’d had done it by now.

The table is perfectly clean.

Yet, when Couch drags his finger across the surface, it leaves behind a visible streak. His arcane doodle started as a sun, but he eventually expanded it into a beach at sunset. It isn’t his best work, but not bad considering he only has his finger to work with.

It’s been hours since any of his hosts popped in. He took a nice long nap and then got some exercise by circling the table a few dozen times. At this point, however, even his patience is starting to wear thin.

Luckily, the door swings open and Agent Henderson walks in with a Styrofoam cup and a brown paper bag. “Brought you some fresh coffee and a sandwich.”

“You’re a good man,” Couch answers as he waves his hand over the table, erasing his artwork. Henderson places the items on the table and heads back out of the room. “Whoa. Where you off to so quick? Have a seat. Let’s chat a bit.”

“I’ve got work to do.”

“Oh, come on. You can spare a few minutes. Sit.”

Henderson considers for a moment before closing the door and taking the chair across from the wizard. The agent sits silently as Couch takes a few sips from his beverage. “So, how goes the hunt?”

“Fine.”

“What’s taking so long to bring her in? She’s only one girl.”

“Arresting Warwick isn’t our primary goal.” No sooner has he said it than Henderson grimaces. Everything the agency does is classified. It certainly isn’t the kind of thing to toss out casually.

“Oh, no?” Couch cocks an eyebrow. “So what is?”

“We’re after an artifact called a Tempus Stone. We’re leaning on Warwick to make her get it for us.”

“Interesting. Why does your agency want the Stone? What are they going to do with it?”

Without even thinking about it, Henderson answers. “We have reason to believe that the Stone can be used to drain a wizard’s power, rendering them vulnerable.”

Couch sits his cup down and narrows his eyes. “Well, that is…troubling. And the government would use this to…?”

The agent shifts in his chair, clearly uncomfortable with the line of questioning. Yet, he answers. “Wizard’s will be told that they will fall in line or be neutered.”

Drumming his fingers on the table, Couch puts a hand to his chin. “Why Eleanor Warwick?” he asks after a moment’s pondering.

“She was deemed to be capable of getting the job done while also being pliable. It was determined that she could be pressed into service by threatening her friends.”

“Is that all?” Couch asks, sensing hesitation.

“House Warwick is the oldest and most powerful House in the city. Or was, at least. Warwick herself has made quite a few enemies. Our plan is to take her into custody, drain her power, and hopefully drain the magic from her House as well. Once the wards are down, we’d move in and secure everything she has hidden in there. Once we’d done that, we would then release Warwick.”

“You’d throw her to the wolves.”

Henderson wipes sweat from his forehead. “We’d make an example of her, yes.”

Couch frowns and pops his knuckles. All the waiting has finally paid off. Before they even brought him into that room, Couch was subtly plying the agent with his magic. The small things at first. It prevented him from leaving the room when Couch would speak. It allowed him to eavesdrop on his conversations, and most importantly, it prompted Henderson to return time and again.

Its final task was to drag out some frank answers to Couch’s questions. It refutes his earlier relief about the possible discovery of the Dark Force. His confidence Eleanor would be much more difficult to bring in than the agents anticipated was predicated upon her being able to use her magic. If she were powerless, they would have a much easier time and the dangerous artifact would likely end up in their hands and the young wizard would be finished.

He isn’t prepared to let either of those things happen.

Before Henderson can say anything else, the door flies open as Agent Grey storms in. Henderson flinches as she bursts into the room. Confused, he looks at her as though he has no idea who she is.

Gripping her Glock 29 with both hands, Grey points it directly at the wizard. “Henderson, get out of this room. Now.” Her voice is calm, but hard and demands compliance. She turns her attention to Couch. “And you; you even move a muscle and I will kill you.”

Couch stares past the weapon and into the woman’s eyes. There’s no doubt she’ll follow through on her threat, but he’s waited long enough. The time for patience is over.

With a sudden gesture of his hand, Couch summons unseen forces and shoves Grey to the side, driving her into the two-way mirror. The Glock slips from her grasp as she crumbles to the floor. Henderson, his mind clearing, rises from the chair, drawing his 9mm sidearm in the same motion.

Another swipe of the hand from Couch flips the table onto the agent. The force knocks Henderson to the ground.

Not waiting for his captors to recover, Couch quickly makes for the door. Out of the corner of his eye, Couch spots Henderson lifting his gun. By the time the agent lines up a shot, the wizard vanishes.

Eyes wide, Henderson shoves the table off him and scrambles to his feet. Rushing into the bullpen outside the interview room, he holds his gun at the ready. “Down! Everybody down! Now!”

Officers and agents alike do as their training demands. They drop to a knee alongside the nearest cover and draw their weapons. Friendly fire no longer a concern, Henderson slowly scans the room, the barrel of his 9mm leading.

He has seen wizards teleport before. That’s not what happened. It’s more likely Couch turned invisible and is trying to slink away.

The agent’s keen eyes typically miss nothing, but in this case, there’s literally nothing to see. His allies peer around and above their cover, but can’t understand what he’s looking for.

“Stand down, Henderson.” Grey emerges from the room, sliding her Glock back in its holster. “You’ve already given away sensitive intelligence. The last thing we need is- .”

The scuffing of a chair prompts Henderson to snap toward the sound and fire off three rounds. A few shocked outbursts follow as some of the officers had begun to rise when Grey gave the order to stand down. Henderson, fire in his eyes, stares in the direction he fired.

Slowly, Nelson Couch materializes. The old man clutches his chest. All three shots found their mark. He desperately tries to summon his magic to heal himself, but he can’t focus enough. He lifts his hand from his wounds to find it dripping with blood.

If his end came ten minutes earlier, he would have died with no regrets. He’d lived long and he had experienced much. He’d loved and lost. He’d raised children and buried friends. He’d fought for his country and started his own business. He likes to think that through it all, he has been a humble and decent man.

Now, however, he passes from life with the burden of vital information that can help a friend weighing on him. Darkness creeps around the edges of his vision as he collapses. Blood trickles from his mouth and pools on the dirty tile floor.

As uniforms swarm around the body, Henderson holds his position. A slight sneer forms on his face. He’s oblivious when Grey steps up beside him.

“Agent Henderson, lower your weapon.” After the agent ignores her, Grey takes a more forceful tone. “Agent Henderson, I will not tell you again, lower your weapon. Now.”

The agent glances around to find more eyes upon him, each staring with a condemning gaze. Looking to his superior, he sees her hand on her pistol.

With a deep breath, Henderson lowers his gun.