nancy werlock's diary s01 - episodes 8 by julie ann dawson Read Free Book Online

Like a Kick in the Head
    September 15 th ,
     
    Nothing good ever comes from someone pounding on your front door at 4:30 in the morning.
    I throw on a robe and remind myself, again, to buy some real pajamas. I stumbled down the stairs and look out the peephole to see my friend Steve and another man I don’t recognize who is carrying a small black case.
    I open the door and start to speak, but Steve interrupts me. “We need to come in,” he says as he gently but firmly pushes pass me. “Brynwolf’s gone to ground.”
    Joshua Brynwolf, more commonly referred to as Lord Advocate of the Eighth of the Nine, had apparently been responsible for the death of Houston’s mother. Since Vivika revealed that tidbit of information, the Council has been running an investigation. Apparently Brynwolf caught wind of it. Considering the fact that he is a Rank One Psion, this really should be a surprise to no one.
    I close the door behind them and wave a hand toward the living room. They both collapse onto the couch. Neither of them looks like they have slept in days. “How long ago?” I ask.
    “Not sure,” replies Steve. “College of Psionics only told us this morning. But he may have been gone long before that. Houston here?”
    “As far as I know. I’ll go wake him.”
    My newly hired house brownie sticks his head out the kitchen door and exclaims “Oh goodness! Nobody is supposed to be awake yet! I haven’t finished dusting!” He nervously removes the scarf holding back his mane of fire-engine red hair and wipes it over the back of his neck.
    “Its fine, Harlan. Could you put a pot of coffee on for my guests, please?”
    Harlan nods his head so rapidly I fear he might hurt himself. “Yes! Of course! Right away!”
    “Flugalmorph Agency?” asks Steve.
    “Yeah, they just started the service this week. Poor dear. I hope he isn’t too startled.” Brownies are rather peculiar about people actually watching them work. It’s really only been the last century since they even allowed the people they clean up after to see them at all.
    I go upstairs to wake Houston. He doesn’t respond to my knocking, so I slowly open the door. His bed is empty. His phone is still sitting on his dresser, however.
    “He’s…not here!” I yell downstairs. I hear Steve’s footsteps racing up the stairs.
    “When did you see him last?” he asks as he starts searching the room.
    “Around 10 pm. Before I went to bed. He was playing some stupid video game.”
    The other man now enters the bedroom with the case. He opens it up on Houston’s bed and removes a silver ball from it. He twists the top off and the bottom starts to spin and emit a faint light. He tosses it into the air and it floats around the room, scanning for any residual energies. When the scanner finishes surveying the room, it floats back to his hand. He looks at Steve and shakes his head.
    “That’s a good sign, at least,” Steve says. “Nancy, I’m sorry. This is Justicar Stewart Hannity.”
    “Madame Warlock,” he says with a slight bow. “We apologize for abruptness of our intrusion.”
    “That’s fine,” I say as I pick up Houston’s phone. There is nothing unusual on it. Some goofy texts between him and Eric regarding their first trip to the Hellsmouth the other night. A text from Lee about some new girl working out at their gym (which, admittedly, generates a brief and irrational pang of jealousy). But nothing bizarre.
    “The…um…the coffee…it is ready!”
    “Harlan, did you see Houston leave?” I ask as I go back downstairs.
    “Um…well…oh dear.” The poor little thing is shaking.
    “Harlan, it’s OK. There is no reason to be so nervous.”
    “I just started with Flugalmorph and I don’t want to mess up!” His violet eyes are huge with concern and make his face appear even more doll-like. I want to hug him.
    “You haven’t,” says Steve reassuringly. “We just need to know when Houston left.”
    Harlan takes a deep breath and clenches