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# Chapter Two - Emma Qwinn
- URL: https://emma-qwinn-and-the-elders-request.ghost.io/chapter-two-emma-qwinn/
- Published: 2026-07-27T22:49:26.000Z
- Updated: 2026-09-05T00:58:40.000Z
- Description: Emma is about to discover more than she could have ever imagined.
- Author: Pamela Richardson

“Dammit Emma, get off the phone!” the greasy haired bartender shouted at the young waitress hiding near the swing door to the kitchen, his skinny arms flailing wide, “there are customers out here!”

She shot him the middle finger and then covered her other ear against the clanking of dishes and the loud din of the darkened bar, trying hard to listen to the voice on the other end.

An empty whiskey glass whooshed passed her head and broke apart against the kitchen door just as she’d turned and stuffed the cellphone back into her short apron, “You missed jerk!” Emma shouted at the bartender as she stalked by, “and I’m not cleaning that up!”

The bartender glowered at her, “You’re gonna be lookin’ for another job if you don’t watch your ass!”

“Really, Benny?” she snorted over her shoulder, “How many girls you got lined up looking to work in this shit hole besides me?” and without waiting for an answer headed for the tables full of middle-aged troublemakers, who had already had too much to drink.

It was a Thursday night, and the seedy, little bar called The Crypt, was packed with only the finest low-life, losers that Kettle Hill, NY had to offer and sadly Emma Qwinn knew every single one of them by name.

Not that it mattered to her. 

Their money was just as green as the *nice* customers who preferred to visit the *nicer* bars closer to town, and understandably were not harassed or molested, which was a given at the Crypt.

She approached a group of regulars from a local biker club called the Kettle Kobra’s that had a strange assortment of members. Some were reformed criminals; some were ex-military and others were businessmen who stripped off their day suits and ties to become bikers by night. Most of them were harmless, a few of them were not, and Emma had learned ages ago which ones were which.

“Em! We been waitin’ forever, where the hell ya been? Benny looks like he’s ready to kill ya!” a harmless member named Tucan demanded as she reached the table.

“I was on the phone with Randall, so Benny can go stick it in his ass.”

“Hey Emma!” a gruff voice yelled from another table behind her, “Another beer over here!”

“Hang on Ruby, gimme two seconds,” she shouted back, “Sorry Tucan, whatdya guys want? The usual?”

He gave her watery eyed wink, “The usual. Whoa! Hold on,” grabbing her wrist with his meaty paw as she turned away, “what did Randall say?” then jutted his stubbly chin across the table, “Bander was just telling us that your lawyer has an ace up his sleeve to get you out of trouble tomorrow, so what’s the deal?”

Emma searched Bander’s worn looking face, but his hazel green eyes denied nothing, so she yanked her arm back, “Hands off, Tucan, you know the rules,” then shot Bander a dirty look, “Ya know what, Bander? I really appreciate you coming to bail me out that night and giving me Randall Millard’s number, but that doesn’t mean you get to gossip to the rest of these assholes about me!”

Bander, who was retired military, but looked every bit a gritty biker and was also the local bounty hunter for the only bondsman in town, leaned back in his chair and gave her a shrug, “I hear things when I’m at the courthouse.”

“Try keeping shit to yourself for a change!” Emma blasted back and moved on to the next table.

“Way to go Tucan,” Bander huffed a sigh and leaned back into the table, “You know she’s not bringing me back a beer now and I’ll have to go slug it out at the bar! Why the hell can’t you keep your trap shut?”

“Just can’t,” Tucan replied with a shrug of his own, “radio operator, Vietnam, remember?”

“That excuse is getting old.”

Five minutes later Emma was back at the bar putting in a dozen drink orders and nervously ran a hand through her long, blonde hair and fumed quietly to herself while Benny filled up her tray.

She hadn’t really meant to snap at Bander, but the entire reason she wasn’t long gone from Kettle Hill was because of the whole stupid mess she’d gotten herself into, “No good deed goes unpunished…” she muttered.

“What’s that?” Benny barked across the bar top plunking down another foamy beer and glaring at her.

Emma snarled back, “I said you missed one! There should be four drafts, not three!”

He shrugged, “Tap is empty, you’ll have to wait until I change it out.”

“Then gimme a bottle.”

“The difference is coming out of your pay!” he sniped uncapping one and slid it at her carelessly.

She took up her orders with an exaggerated eye roll and walked away.

Emma made sure she went back to the Kobra’s table last and quickly unloaded the tray and gave Bander the bottled beer, “Here, the tap is empty, so this one is on me.”

“An apology?”

Avoiding his gaze, she picked at the faded lettering of the too-tight tank top she was wearing and realized the bar’s name no longer looked like The CRYPT but more like The CRAPT and it was so fitting that it lightened her mood, “Maybe I over reacted,” she admitted, “but you shouldn’t have been talking shit about me, and honestly I’m sick of all it and just want it over with.”

His frown softened, even if the wrinkles didn’t, and gave her a wink, and tipped the bottled beer at her, “I wasn’t talking shit, Emma, these guys care about you – you know that. They were worried about tomorrow… so I was setting them at ease. Randall has it all shored up.”

Emma’s head popped up a little indignantly, “You said that last time, and then the judge postponed it – again! This has been dragging on for months!”

He leaned forward and settled his elbows on the table and motioned her toward him, and as she leaned down the scruff of his short beard touched her cheek as he spoke into her ear, “Old Judge Whittaker is retiring, he wants all of his pending cases closed. I promise tomorrow will be your day.”

She straightened and stared him hard in the eyes, “God, I hope you’re right.”

By 2am the bar was already empty, and Benny told Emma to start cleaning up, which she’d already been doing had he noticed, because she wanted to get home and get to bed so she didn’t look like an exhausted wreck in front of Judge Whittaker at 9am.

Her mind spun as she scrubbed the tables down and stacked chairs away and silently reprimanded herself again for getting into trouble and had nobody to blame but herself, and muttered, “You should have just kept driving… you’d be sitting on a sandy beach on the Texas coast right now and not throwing your entire savings at a damn lawyer…”

“You can’t leave yet, you got bar glasses to wash,” Benny reminded her as he strolled to the beer taps and filled two mugs, placed them on the bar and then casually walked to the back door to let his underage girlfriend in.

Emma watched Benny’s three-hundred-pound girlfriend jiggle to the bar stool wearing way too tight jeans and a halter top that made Emma cringe. She offered the girl a half-hearted nod as they passed each other, “Hey Heather.”

Heather glared back with porky little eyes that reminded Emma of raisins pressed into cookie dough, “Hey back, Orphan Annie.”

Emma ignored the nickname Heather had saddled her with way back in elementary school and started washing the last of the glasses.

“So,” Heather smirked picking up her mug and slurping down half, “I read that old Judge Whittaker is going to throw the book at you tomorrow in court.”

Emma shrugged as she began drying and racking the glassware, “Read that in the Papersaver, I bet.”

Heather belched loudly making Benny laugh, “Yep, and I for one hope he does,” the smirk growing wider, “this entire town would love to have the *orphan* out of their hair once and for all.”

Emma’s silvery blue eyes sparkled with disgust, but replied evenly, “That’s going to happen no matter what the judge decides, Heather. The second I can leave Kettle Hill behind, I will, and this whole town can kiss your fat ass and have a parade when I do.”

“We will,” she sneered and then slid her empty mug down the rail, “but in the meantime, get me another beer.”

Emma obliged, then looked at Benny, his pinched face and greasy black hair poking out from under a dirty ballcap completing his ugly stare back, “I need to go, so can I have my money?”

He grinned wickedly, “Got an attorney to pay? I docked you for your time on the phone and the bottle of beer,” then flung an envelope at her.

“How do you know I wasn’t on the phone with Sammy?” Emma questioned catching the envelope with ease and counting the meager contents.

He glared at her hard, “Because *I was* on the phone with Sammy bitching about you!”

Heather cackled, making her double chin wobble, “Oh, poor Orphan Annie! Sammy Ag will be whomping on your ass next – maybe he’ll fire you and even if you don’t go to jail… you’ll still be stuck here! No job, no money, and no way out!” then sobered a bit, “You’re such a stupid bitch! I mean seriously, why the hell would you stop and screw with Officer Dale? Like, who gives a shit, if he was hustling some homeless guy out of a store front? I certainly wouldn’t care! Maybe now you’ll finally learn to mind your own damn business!”

Emma bent down and grabbed her belongings from under the bar and pulled on a tattered black leather jacket, “Officer Dale is a bully, just like you Heather. And he wasn’t just hustling the homeless guy, he was beating the hell out of him - not that I need to explain anything to you or anybody else about that night.”

“Pretty sure you’re gonna have to explain it to Judge Whittaker tomorrow, dumbass.” Heather sneered back.

Emma shoved her tips into her pocket and headed for the back door, “I’m the dumbass? I’m not the one sitting on a barstool at 3am with a thirty-year-old degenerate who lives with his mother. Maybe it’s time for some self-reflection, Heather, because you’re the one who’s trapped here – not me.” and with that Emma stalked out of the bar.

Quickly scanning the parking lot, Emma’s eyes dug into the shadows, searching for any scum bags who might have lingered, but didn’t see anyone. 

Nevertheless, the hair stood up on the back of her neck because something didn’t feel right.

And her instincts were never wrong.

The lot appeared empty except for her battered Jeep Cherokee and Heather’s maroon Saturn that sagged dangerously to the left on broken springs. 

Usually, Benny begrudgingly walked her out but given his mood tonight and the fact that she’d just insulted his girlfriend, Emma knew not to even go back and ask. 

So, she folded her fingers around the small canister of pepper spray in her coat pocket and struck off across the poorly lit parking lot, her long hair flapping behind her in the slight breeze, while the sound of her boots crunching in the gravel filled her ears and felt relieved when she reached the driver’s side door – then froze when a distinct cough came from behind her.

Emma knew she should climb in and lock the doors, but there was something so cowardly in that option, she simply couldn’t bring herself to do it, so instead she turned around and leveled annoyed eyes at a very unsafe member of the Kettle Kobra’s.

They called him Jarhead Jag, a former marine that had been kicked out for too many infractions to count, although breaking a superior officer’s jaw in a fistfight had finally sealed the deal. 

Emma was a little surprised to see him, “Hiya Jag, thought you were still doing time upstate for smacking your girlfriend around?”

“Good behavior,” he grinned rolling to a stop at the back of her Jeep, then fished a fifth of whiskey out of his back pocket, “Want some?”

“No thanks,” Emma answered, trying to sound polite, watching his bicep muscle bulge under his leather jacket as he took a swig.

“You sure?” he asked again, holding the bottle out, his dark blue eyes more jittery than she remembered. 

“Thanks, no. I’m good,” again trying to keep it polite, so she offered, “Benny’s still inside, I’m sure he’d get you a beer this late. Heather is in there too.”

He leaned his tall frame into her truck and stared back casually, “Nah, I’m good right here.”

Emma’s eyes flickered passed him for half a second, making sure he was alone and grew more annoyed. All she wanted to do was go home, eat a grilled cheese sandwich and crawl into bed with her dog and go to sleep. Yet in the space of only an hour, there was another stupid guy keeping her from doing just that, “Well, you’re gonna have to go lean on Heather’s car then, because I gotta go.”

“Go where?” Jag asked, a creepy smile growing on his lips.

“Home, duh.” she answered shortly.

“Sounds good, I’ll drive. Give me the keys.”

“Hell no.” Emma answered coldly.

He straightened and took a step toward her, “You know I’ve always thought you were real pretty Em, so let’s not make this difficult.”

“I’m not sure what kind of drugs you’ve been sniffing tonight, Jag, because I don’t give a shit how pretty you think I am, I’m not giving you my keys and you sure to hell are not coming home with me. Clear?” 

“Why you bein’ sucha bitch?” he asked, taking another unsteady step, “I said we’re hanging out.”

Emma took a step backward, “And I said we’re not ‘hanging out’, so unless you want me to call Bander, I suggest you piss off and leave me alone!”

“Bander?” he asked with a little surprised laugh, “That old dog is nothing,” then grinned wickedly and took another step, “pretty sure I’ll be done with you before he could get his old, saggy ass outta bed.”

Emma raised her chin and glared up into his face, “*Done* with me? You’re never even gonna get started!”

“C’mere, you little bitch!” he slurred lunging at her, but Emma spun away and aimed the can of pepper spray right at his nose, causing all six foot four and 250 pounds of rippling muscles to fold over like a five-dollar chair. 

Emma stared down at the label for a second and smiled, “Huh, maybe they outta call this shit instant crybaby.”

She watched in amusement for a moment as he staggered around, buckled over with snot and saliva spattering through his fingers clamped over his face, while he swore every curse word imaginable. 

Then Emma began to move at him purposefully as he stumbled about and warned him, “Don’t ever come looking for me again Jag,” then drove her boot into the side of his knee and he collapsed to the ground, “Bander warned you that I was off limits,” she reminded him as he lay on his back clutching one hand to his face and the other holding his leg, then aimed her boot at his groin, “But I’ll make sure he knows you didn’t listen.”

Unbothered by the incident Emma drove home to the little, gray brick house with the dingy white trim that she had called home for almost three years. Abraham was going postal on the other side of the door, and she swore sometimes the dog could tell time, like he knew she should have been home over an hour ago. 

Still the little mutt practically knocked her down coming through the door with his enthusiasm, “Easy killer, you’re going to break a bone or throw a hip out,” she said giving him a loving scratch on the head, “I think you forget that you’re older than dirt, Abraham. Come on then,” she said, locking the door and tossing her coat at a nearby chair, “Mommy is making grilled cheese sammies, and you lucky man, get one too!”

Emma woke up so late the next morning that the notion of “dressing up” nice like her attorney had asked wasn’t even a remote option, in fact there was so little time left that she had thrown on her jeans from the night before, a clean white tee and ran out of the house with her coffee sloshing over her hand and her boots untied. 

Arriving twenty minutes late she found her lawyer outside of Courtroom A and rushed up to him slightly out of breath and said, “Sorry Mr. Millard! I woke up late and then trying to get through the metal detectors downstairs was a nightmare!”

He smiled, “You missed the whole thing!” striding toward her in his twenty-dollar brown polyester trousers and baby blue button up shirt, “It worked!”

“Miss what? Is Judge Whittaker pissed?” she demanded skittering to a stop.

“No, not pissed, dismissed!” he said laughing at his own joke.

“Huh?” Emma’s face pinching up in confusion.

“Our surprise evidence flattened everybody in there.”

“What surprising evidence?”

“I told you last night on the phone about the video footage from an anonymous source… across the street from the apartment above the hardware store,” he answered back looking a little confused, “The kid with the camera phone…”

Emma shook her head at him dismissively, “I couldn’t hear a flippin’ word you were sayin’ with all the noise in the bar, but never mind that, tell me more.”

“You’re wrecking my moment here Emma,” Randall grumbled a bit deflated, “The video shows everything. The cop roughing up the homeless guy, how you stopped and confronted him… it was brilliant.”

“So now what?” Emma asked.

“Now,” he said, snatching up his briefcase, “We go eat while I riddle you with all the glorious details of my fastest fifteen minutes in court and your full expungement.”

Her silvery blue eyes grew huge, “So, I’m off the hook? For everything, all of it? Even the whole resisting arrest and disorderly conduct crap?”

“All of it!” his big toothy smile almost infectious under his coke bottle reading glasses that were perched on his hawk shaped nose, “Done! Just like that!” he said with such delight Emma thought he was going to start dancing around the hallway, “Now let’s go downstairs and get some breakfast and I’ll describe the look on the prosecutor’s face! It was hilarious!”

Emma beamed with delight and for the first time in months felt the weight of doom lift away.

Dr. Nathaniel Mitonka, on the other hand, was sitting in his conjured BMW i8, feeling nothing but doom and sighed deeply as Shade emerged from the small convenience store, her trim arms ladened with every snack the Humans had to offer.

“Here,” she said, handing him a large coffee as she climbed in, “I fixed it just the way you like – no magic.”

“Thank you,” he replied gruffly, peeling back the plastic tab on the lid and giving it a sniff, “And you’re certain you used sugar this time and not salt.”

She gave him a sideways glance, “I learned that lesson.”

“Indeed, now if all the other lessons you should have learned by now were so easy.”

“You are not drawing me into your sour mood, Mitonka,” she quipped, ripping open a bag of potato chips and quickly stuffed one in her mouth while simultaneously tapping her iPad to life. Then seemed to remember something and dug around in her bag of goodies, producing a packet of Sour Patch Kids candy and tossed it at him, “maybe this will help you.”

“What would help me is finding what you lost!” he huffed, “We’ve been searching for twenty-two Earth years!”

“That is not my fault!” she huffed right back, “That blame lies squarely on Abigail for not staying put where I left her and the baby.”

He gave Shade a long look, “You expected that terrified woman to stay in some barren forest, toting an infant in freezing cold temperatures, while you awaited your sentencing?”

“Of course not! But had she stayed in the general vicinity then the Menders that Elder Mary had sent to find her would have, it’s like she literally left the moment I did.”

Mitonka sighed again, reconsidering things, “Perhaps it’s all for the best, if she had been discovered back then, the outcome may have been worse than it is now.”

“Worse how?” Shade exclaimed, her green eyes flashing with disbelief, “Worse than rendering my entire Mending race pointless? King Trayden’s revenge to separate the Mending Realm from the Elf Realm? Worse than all of the Elfish Elder and Menders leaving the Mending Realm, because what was the point of useless existence?”

“Like yours?” he offered with a shrug.

“Not the same,” she countered, attacking a small packet of cookies, “I fully accept my punishment for helping Kahren and Abigail, but the other Elfish Menders received the same sentence only because King Trayden is a cold-hearted brute!” She shook her head in disgust, “Can you imagine what it must be like in the Elf Realm now, after twenty-two years without the help of Menders?”

“Dicey, I suppose. I can only hope that Trayden regrets making good on his threat and convincing the other Elfish Kings to cut us off forever.”

“We may never know, but I don’t know how it could be any worse than this.”

“You could have been sentenced to the abyss or still trapped in the Binding Garden.”

“I hate that garden,” she mumbled through a half-chewed cookie and poked at her iPad again.

“Elder Mary could have declined my request to bring you to the Earth Realm for re-training.”

“A foolish lie to bring me here, I don’t need re-training. You should have just told Elder Mary the truth.”

He chuckled darkly at that, “Oh right! I should have just said, ‘See here, Elder Mary, your favorite Elfish Mender forgot to tell you about the BABY that Kahren and Abigail had while they were hiding here in our realm – and we’d like to take a wee stroll back in the Earth Realm to see if we can find it’. To which she would have replied, ‘Of course, Nathaniel! It’s perfectly fine that Shade never mentioned she’d taken Abigail AND a baby back to the Earth Realm, by all means take Shade and toddle off to the Earth Realm to find this most impossible and unprecedented BABY – and do make sure it doesn’t possess all the qualities of an ACTUAL Mender. I needn’t remind you of the terrifying implications if the baby is gifted’.”

His impression of Elder Mary was quite good and Shade gave him a quelling stare, “Elder Mary might have been reasonable; you never gave her the chance.”

“I couldn’t risk it, not that it matters now. We’ve made our decision and we’re sticking to it. We will complete this week’s list of communities to investigate and if we come up empty again, which is a high probability, we’re going back to the Mending Realm to confess everything to Elder Mary and accept our consequences, agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“Do you have your map ready on your silly gadget?”

“I do; it’s a quick drive over to the next town.”

Mitonka eased the BMW i8 out of the parking lot and allowed the growl from the engine to sooth him as he matted the gas pedal hard.

“It doesn’t look like much,” he asked, pulling his tall frame out of the tiny sports car, and drew a deep breath of late spring air, surveying the town square of Kettle Hill, NY and then regarded Shade over the shiny white roof, “does it?”

“A bit unattended,” she replied, shutting the car door and surveying the craggy sidewalks and abandoned little shops as they strolled off toward the courthouse.

“Another small town with small money – there is probably one judge, one sheriff and one lawyer in this entire place.”

“Not true,” Shade answered as she buttoned her crisp black jacket over her matching pencil skirt, “There are four judges and a fairly large compliment of law enforcement,” then added with a shrug, “compared to some of the other places we’ve been.”

“Good, then there should be some content in their public archives and not just one giant, moldy book like that horror show we were at yesterday.”

“Either way, I’ve no hope we’ll find anything,” Shade sighed, “Fate is silent and does not want us to find Her creation, so let’s be about it.”

“Agreed,” Mitonka replied pulling at the door of the courthouse and filed into the vestibule behind her, “That baby is a grown woman now and Fate has made Her choice very clear,” and turned toward the security check in, quite prepared to spend another fruitless day pouring over birth records, tax records and old newspapers certain they wouldn’t find the name Abigail Snowe or Cassarah Alicia Rayne or any version they’d tried over the years.

They signed in and took their visitors passes, “Ugh, all the old records are in a basement archive,” Mitonka huffed while studying the small, printed map of the courthouse, and followed the signs to the elevator, “another windowless day in the dark…” 

As they waited for the elevator to take them downstairs, he gave her an admonishing stare, “Please don’t start… I can see your brain from here.”

She shrugged, “It’s my favorite daydream.”

“It’s a loud *delusion*,” he snorted as wispy images from Shade’s mind played through his own, “A twisted version of King Trayden forgiving his only son and accepting his Human wife and all of them living some splendid life together with Cassarah and even the Prigg! Your head is full of fairytales!”

“It might be why we’ve never found Abigail or the baby,” she whispered, refusing to give it up as her imagination continued to wander.

“Pah!” he huffed, walking into the elevator as the doors opened, “King Trayden would never have been so smitten! Now you have him making silver crowns for Abigail and Cassarah with his own hands! So, stop with your nonsense already, you’re giving me a headache!”

She smiled and followed him in, “Not until there’s no longer hope.”

An hour later Shade looked up from the stack of newspaper articles and stretched her neck. She stood and checked her pockets for change and then headed off in search of Mitonka. “Can I have some of that paper money?” she asked finding him four aisles over thumbing through local high school photo albums.

“More cookies?” he asked without looking up, “you’ll want coins if you’re going to the vending machines.”

“I already have a fistful of coins, but I actually wanted to get some tea too, and the cashiers get annoyed when I count change. Do you want anything?”

“Yes,” he said, handing her some bills, “Coffee, and remember, no salt.”

Shade left the archives and followed the long corridors back to where she was certain she had seen a place to eat, then finally found a sign that said *cafeteria* and rounded the corner right into a fast-moving man wearing dark jeans and a thick, black leather vest. 

The coins flew from her hand and bounced loudly against the polished floors, as he shot his arm out and caught her so that she wouldn’t follow, “Shit, lady, I’m so sorry!” he insisted steadying her at once, his concerned hazel green eyes filling with embarrassment. 

Shade shook her head and smiled, and while Shade still had trouble reading Humans, she could tell that he was sincere, “It’s fine, I should have been more careful.” 

“No, I shouldn’t have been rushing around blind corners.”

“No worries,” giving the graying haired man a kind smile as she stooped to pick up the coins.

“Here let me help you.”

Shade pushed her long, dark hair behind her ear and smiled again, “I can pick them up, you go ahead. You’re obviously in a hurry, and I was just on my way to get some tea.”

He stood then and offered his hand, “I am not leaving you here to pick change off the floor,” a look of sincere regret on his aging face, “At least let me buy your tea for being such a clod.”

Shade smiled at him again and took the hand he offered and this time she pushed a little further into his mind and saw strange images; a man in handcuffs, another man laughing, a woman holding a baby, a dog barking… just a stream of random thoughts that held no real meaning to him, making her wonder about his Human, “That would be very nice, Mr.…”

“Bander, ma’am, everyone just calls me Bander.”

“Well thank you very much Mr. Bander, my name is Shade,” and the two of them strolled around the corner making small talk and had nearly made it to the cafeteria down another semi crowded hallway when a young woman came into view, and Shade could feel this Bander mentally hold his breath and brace himself as the girl drew closer. 

Shade studied the petite human girl at the other end of the hall walking next to an older gentleman who was explaining something with great animation. 

Suddenly the girl’s eyes spotted them through the crowd and her face lit at once as she yelled down the corridor, “Hey Bander!” and came at him at a run, “You were right! You were right!” and she jumped into his arms like a little girl and threw her hands around his neck.

Shade felt genuine shock and happiness emanating from the man named Bander as he hugged the girl back, and just then, the girl lifted her chin off his bulging shoulder and stared Shade dead in the face, and time seemed to stop. 

The girl’s simple, quizzical look rooted Shade into place as the pair of silvery blue eyes that had haunted her every day and night for the last twenty years - were finally looking back at her once again.

“I was just coming up to wait and see how you made out.” Bander said, setting Emma down.

“Mr. Millard kicked it, just like you said.” Emma snorted out a laugh.

“Congrats Randall!” Bander offered his hand and then began pumping the attorney’s scrawny arm, “That’s great news, Em.”

“You eat yet?” Randall asked, “I was going to give Emma the details over breakfast.”

“No, I was just buying this nice lady here something to drink,” Bander answered, jabbing his thumb back at Shade, “I knocked the poor thing over in the hallway and sent her coffee money flying everywhere.”

Shade recovered herself a bit when she realized they were all staring at her now, “That’s fine Mr. Bander,” Shade said, “You go ahead with your friends.”

“Not a chance, you’re joining us,” he countered, pulling at her arm, “Come on, let’s go before all the good tables get taken.”

“Sure, sure *Mr.* Bander,” Emma mocked, “It’s not every day that you get to mow down a long- legged super model in the courthouse *and* get to take her to breakfast.”

Bander rolled his eyes at the back of Emma’s head as she turned and sashayed in the cafeteria.

“So, what’s your story lady?” Emma asked with a mouth full of fried egg sandwich, “You a lawyer?”

“Geez Emma, could you be a little more subtle?” Bander reprimanded and threw a napkin in her direction, “and wipe your chin.”

As the two women regarded each other over the table, Shade was doing her best to remain calm, but inside she was twisting wildly. She knew without any doubt this was Cassarah, the more she searched her face the more she saw the perfect blend of her parents in her beautiful features and jumped at the opportunity by stretching her hand out, “My name is Shade, and no I’m not an attorney.”

Emma stared at her hand for a moment, then politely shook it, “Emma Qwinn. Nice to meet you.”

Shade blinked back and hid her concern behind a smile, because never in all her years as a Mender had she touched something that was so *blank*. Even the infamous, and still missing Prigg, his breed, notoriously difficult to read, still had a *pulse* that could be felt. 

To a Mender like Shade, Emma Qwinn had the energy signature of a corpse, so Shade busied herself with her tea, giving it another stir and just as she lifted the rim to her lips said, “Emma Qwinn, that’s a pretty name. Your parents did a good job.”

“Yeah, a fabulous job.” Emma replied dismissively, then after a quick swig of juice asked, “So if you’re not an attorney, what are you all dressed up for? Are you applying for the witness protection program?”

“Emma!” Bander snapped while Randall gagged on his toast.

“What?” she said innocently, “Gawd, you guys I’m just kidding! Take a joke, would ya?”

“I’m actually working with a private investigator, as his assistant.” Shade interrupted with a half-truth.

“PI? Wow, that’s a tough gig, that takes a lot of leg work.” Bander replied, admiration filling his deep voice.

Shade shrugged it off, “Well I have really long legs, so that helps,” she answered, pulling one out from under the table for him to inspect, completely missing the meaning of the expression.

Bander choked on his coffee and Emma blew up laughing, “Easy lady,” she finally managed, “or you might kill Bander here with your sense of humor,” pounding the biker helpfully on his back.

Shade looked completely confused for half a second and quickly re-crossed her legs then offered an apologetic smile at Bander.

Emma watched him turn on the charm, explaining in painful detail why he preferred freelance work over a traditional job, obviously trying to impress the super model, who was kind enough to let him.

But after about five minutes, Emma decided she really couldn’t hang around to watch Bander’s male ego get tramped under the supermodel’s high heels and decided it was time to leave, “Well I gotta bolt folks,” she announced standing up and throwing a ten-dollar bill on the table, then handed Randall an envelope, “we’re square money wise, ok?”

Shade took this cue, and stood as well, “I need to get back myself. You can’t imagine how many hours of research I still must get through, but it was really nice meeting all of you,” and with a soft smile at Bander, “and thanks for the tea.”

“Pleasure was all mine,” Bander replied, standing up and fishing a business card from his vest pocket, “and here take this, you never know when you may need some extra help picking up change.” Shade thanked him sweetly and Emma watched the super tall lady, with the super long hair in her perfect pencil skirt turn the head of every man in the cafeteria as she made her way out.

Only Randall seemed unphased as he tipped the envelope in his hand back at Emma, “Cash?”

Emma patted him on the shoulder, “It’s the only way I roll,” she said grabbing her coat, “Oh hey Bander, we need to talk about Jag.”

Bander sat back down and toyed with his earring, still staring off in the direction Shade left in and asked off-handedly, “Why? Jags in jail.”

“Apparently he got a good behavior voucher and I left him curled up in a ball outside the bar last night, with an imprint of my boot on his crotch and a face full of pepper spray,” she replied with a shrug and stuffed her arms into her jacket, “so I’m fairly sure he’s pissed about that and will no doubt be looking for my ass later.”

“What?!” Bander practically shouted swinging about, “You did what? Sit down! What the hell, Emma!”

Emma’s face scrunched up at once, and remained standing, “What? I didn’t do anything wrong! That drunken moron came at me! He brought it all on himself!”

Bander leaned forward and poked his finger into the table, “Sit!”

Emma rolled her eyes and sat down giving him a dark look, “What?” she insisted, flipping her hands up at him.

His hazel eyes shifted about for a moment, making sure there were no big ears listening then said, “What if he had a gun, Emma? He could have shot you in the head!”

“Could have, but that’s kinda hard to do when you’re rolling around on the ground holding on to your crushed nuts,” she countered smartly, then with a stern face added, “Lookit, I’m not listening to a lecture, OK? I just want you and Tucan to be aware because Benny’s probably still pissed at me too, so I’m going to need somebody to walk me out after work until Jag gets over the whole girl-putting-a-whooping-on-his-ass thing.”

Randall looked appalled, “Why the hell didn’t you report it, Emma?”

“Why? What good does that ever do?” she countered with a hard laugh, “We’re talking about *Jag*. He goes to jail more often than folks go to Walmart and they keep letting him out!”

“You should have called me!” Randall insisted, “I could have filed a restraining order if you’d called the authorities!”

Bander shook his head at Randall, “No, Emma’s right. The Kobra’s will need to take care of this, our way. Jag doesn’t care about doing time or restraining orders, it means nothing to him,” he gave Emma a concerned look, “I really wish you hadn’t tangled with him, Em.”

“He came at me while I was all by myself at 3am behind the Crypt… so I took care of him *the way you taught me*,” she replied firmly and got up again, “So, you deal with him *your way*.” Then bent down and planted a feathery light kiss on Randall’s cheek, “Thanks Mr. Millard,” then with a wink smiled back at Bander, “See ya tonight, buddy, my shift starts at 7pm.”

“Yes, you will – tonight, and every night for a while!” Bander called after her then shook his head at Randall gravely.

Shade on the other hand, once safely around the corner, had sprinted back to the archives and shouted, “Mitonka! Where are you! Hurry!” and then practically collided with him coming into a small intersection of old periodicals, “I FOUND HER!” she shouted into his surprised face.

“Found who?”

“I found Cassarah! I swear it is her! See?” grabbing his arms hard and pressing her memories of the last thirty minutes into him forcefully.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Mitonka cringed, “Slow down…I can’t sort your thoughts out!”

“Sorry, but I know it’s her!” Shade insisted, taking a collected breath and then very carefully began sharing her memories again and his face relaxed but appeared unconvinced a few minutes later, “I don’t know Shade…”

“It’s the eyes Mitonka, look at her eyes!”

“Yes, her eyes are strange, but I get no sense of her at all in your thoughts, it’s like she’s a ghost.”

“I know! She’s completely blank!”

“Wait,” he amended, squeezing her hand and reshuffling Shade’s memories back and forth in his own mind, “there is something there, but fiercely protected, so refocus on the precise moment you took her hand and introduced yourself.”

Shade closed her eyes and followed his instruction, then frowned, “There’s nothing there.”

He closed his eyes as well and helped her, “Try again. Your skin touched hers…a vibration occurred just for a millisecond…find that instant.”

She grinned, “Yes! I felt it that time!”

“Let’s follow that.”

“I know this feeling…it’s familiar…”

“Yes, it is.”

Shade’s eyes flew open, “It’s the same feeling I get when Fate urges me in some direction… or when She whispers to me…”

Mitonka opened his eyes as well, but became even more concerned, “And now we know that it was Fate you felt inside this girl, if only for an instant, and She allowed it.”

“Why didn’t I sense it before? Why did it take both of us to analyze it?”

“Why indeed?” Mitonka asked, his forehead furrowing up as he walked off and began pacing, his mind brewing intensely, “Sensing Fate is something we just do… it just happens…like breathing.”

Crossing her arms and thinking hard, Shade searched for an answer and then wondered out loud, “Maybe that’s on purpose.”

“What do you mean?” he asked without looking her way.

“It could be Fate’s way of keeping her concealed, no Earth Mender accidentally crossing her path would ever suspect.”

“That’s a bit of a stretch.”

Shade frowned for a long moment and then latched on to another idea, “Or maybe it’s because Emma Qwinn is a trifecta…”

“Who?”

“*Emma Qwinn*, that’s her Human name.”

“Yes, yes…” he waved his hand dismissively, “what do you mean by trifecta?”

“Well, she’s three parts. Part Elf, part Human and part Mender, right? Between you and I, WE are Elf and Human and Menders…so, maybe it takes both of us to understand her?”

He stopped pacing and stood still for a long moment then looked at her over his shoulder, “Your reasoning, both intrigues and terrifies me.”

“I think I might be right.”

“I think you might be too.”

“Now what?”

His head slowly turned and scanned the massive room filled with rows and rows of file boxes, “I think we’re right where we’re supposed to be… if Emma Qwinn is indeed Cassarah Alicia Rayne…I don’t believe this was a chance encounter. Fate has her hand in this, and some of our answers lie right here in this room.”

“Well, I know just where to start,” Shade answered, hurrying back to the table and grabbing up her iPad.

“You do?”

“Little Miss Emma Qwinn got herself into a pile of trouble, which is why she was here in court today,” Shade answered, scrolling her finger across the screen, “Found it!” and flipped the glowing screen at him.

“The Kettle Hill Paper Saver?” he questioned with a frown, “It’s hardly the New York Times!”

“It’s a start, so let’s get digging!”

Two days later Shade and Mitonka sat across from each other at a narrow table with lopsided stacks of newspapers, yearbooks and manila folders piled between them, each threatening to topple over at any moment.

“I think we have everything,” Mitonka said with a sigh, leaning back deeply into his chair and rubbing his eyes away from the glare of the overhead lamps.

Shade looked beyond sad, “It was not the life I had hoped for her,” as her imaginary daydream cascaded apart in her mind.

“That was a wanton delusion,” he replied, “be thankful she was found and at least cared for in the time she’s been here.”

“Where the hell is Abigail?” Shade fumed, “These articles are all about an abandoned baby that some hunters found lying in the trees with an enormous bird nearby!”

“We already know who the bird is, so be thankful they missed when they shot at him.”

“Yes! But how did the bird…I mean, the *Prigg* get here?”

“The Paths are only broken to the Earth Realm, perhaps he used the Paths from Baylor’s Moon.”

“But how did he get out of the Mending Realm at all?” she demanded, looking beyond perplexed, “Somebody helped him!”

“Fate.” Mitonka answered with a disinterested shrug and studied his notes, “The Prigg is irrelevant right now, what we need to do is go speak with this Admeda Proctor, who wrote the bulk of these articles about Emma Qwinn. She has more insight than reason, I believe.”

“I don’t want to meet her!” Shade snapped, tossing an old article at him, “She reports garbage! Her article over twenty years ago to ‘come name the orphan’ at a Kettle Hill Square? Who does that? I think we need to talk with some other townspeople first.”

Admeda Proctor was a large woman with thin, graying hair and impressively droopy jowls, who seemed annoyed that she’d been disturbed when she answered the door, “If you’re here to peddle religion or some kind of subscription then please go away.”

Mitonka offered up a cordial smile and assured her, “No ma’am, we’re private investigators. My name is Dr. Nathaniel Mitonka, and this is my assistant, Shade. We’ve been looking into the matter of Emma Qwinn and saw your name in several articles during our research at the courthouse,” he paused for effect then added, “You are Admeda Proctor?”

Her dark brown eyes remained suspicious, “I am, but I don’t understand why you’re on my doorstep.”

He smiled again, “We’re just trying to corroborate the data we’ve collected, in fact we’ve already visited with several other folks this morning and your name came up more than once. I hope you don’t mind us showing up unannounced.”

“I do actually,” she replied tersely and then pulled the door wide irritably, “but come in and let’s get this over with.” 

She closed the door behind them and waddled into a cramped front room, “Please ignore the mess, I don’t get a lot of visitors,” she explained clearing a space off a worn, velour couch and then settled across from them, “I’ve recently retired and have found my penchant in life isn’t housekeeping.”

Mitonka smiled graciously, very aware that the stuffed bookcases obscuring every wall with sagging shelves, were ready to crush them under a mountain of Kettle Hill history. And prayed as he sat down next to Shade, that they wouldn’t die along with Admeda and her collection of debris in the old Dutch colonial she called home. 

“I promise we won’t take up much of your time, Ms. Proctor.”

Her reserved demeanor from the front door had not changed, and her red capri pants and bright pink shirt were a harsh splotch of color against the brown, swivel recliner she rocked slowly back and forth in while squinting at them suspiciously, “You’re not the first ones to fish around over the years, ya know. There’ve been plenty of *your* sort that have come sniffing about, hired by some hopeful relative that the Kettle Hill orphan was their long-lost *somebody*,” an unnecessary edge to her voice, “but it’s never panned out.”

“How long ago was the last inquiry, from our sort?” Mitonka wondered, hiding his instant dislike of this woman.

She shrugged, “Five years ago maybe?”

“And did those other inquisitors wonder why you’ve written over a hundred articles about her? Did they approach you or anyone else from the Paper Saver regarding any ambiguities?” Shade interjected.

She stopped rocking, and her face became granite, “Ambiguities? My writing is spot on, miss. The subject matter on the other hand, well, you can only make do with what you’re given.”

“Perhaps I’m using the wrong word,” Shade explained with a tightened jaw, wishing she could slap the nasty expression off the woman’s face, “the very first article you wrote regarding *how* Emma Qwinn was found, doesn’t mention, for instance, *where* she was found. It just says "in the forest.”

Admeda produced a long, bored look and countered, “then the word you’re probably looking for is elaborate or perhaps *expound*?” and began rocking again, “And no, nobody else ever asked and nobody cared about the particulars back then, so why don’t you both just get on with what you want to know?”

Mitonka produced his notebook and flipped it open giving Shade a hard glance that clearly said, *‘I will take it from here.’*  Then smiled, “I appreciate you cutting to chase, as it were, Ms. Proctor, where exactly was the baby found?”

“I don’t see why it’s relevant, but as I recall, she was lying about 500 feet into the woods from the backside of Kessler’s Feed and Grain, thankfully the owners had closed up early that day to hunt rabbit, at the time they owned hundreds of acres behind the feed store; otherwise, she would have frozen to death.”

He nodded thoughtfully, “None of your articles mentions a search of the area, just that the baby was taken to the hospital for exposure and then remanded to child services and placed into foster care.”

“Well, there was no need to mention it, Dr. Mitonka, the entire town had turned out to look for whoever had left Emma there. All 720 residents at the time.”

“Oh my, Kettle Hill has grown some, hasn’t it?” Mitonka remarked with false interest, “There are nearly three thousand residents now according to the last census.”

“Grown and gone to hell if you ask me. Kessler’s is long gone… torn down and all the land sold and filled with crappy looking apartment complexes and strip malls,” her rocking became a bit more pronounced, “the spot where they found Emma is nothing more than parking lots now.”

“The price to be paid for progress,” Mitonka replied then quickly added, “so there was nothing ever found of her parents or any signs of struggle?”

Her rocking slowed again, “No, nothing. It was like that giant bird had dropped her out of the sky.”

He made a quick note, “Can you tell me why you held a baby naming contest for her? That seemed incredibly odd.”

Admeda’s face flushed crimson until it was brighter than her shirt and leaned forward, “That wasn’t *my* idea and yet I’ve been gossiped to death over that shit for years!”

Mitonka remained perfectly stoic and suggested, “I imagine your editor wanted to drum up some action, get a bunch of folks to buy as many papers as they could.”

She sat back and fumed, rocking furiously, “That moron, Edgar, it was all *his* idea!”

“Do tell?”

“It had been months since she’d been found and it was obvious the sheriff’s department weren’t chasing down any leads about where she’d come from, so Edgar decided to exploit that and made me start a contest in the Paper Saver to give the baby a name. Oh, he consulted with the case worker and every idiot involved agreed, so we ran weekly updates for two months and over 600 suggestions poured in! Then on the *big day* we all assembled in Kettle Hill square and the mayor himself pulled the winning name out of a giant, glass fishbowl, and that was the day she became Emma Qwinn.”

Shade looked beyond horrified thinking how she had complimented Emma on her name the other morning, “A fishbowl?”

“Of sealed entries that had never been opened or scrutinized! I was horrified later when we sorted through some of the suggestions! It was a stupid idea and one that I’ve lived to regret for over twenty years!”

“Was this Edgar character also the reason you wrote about her every other month?”

“Of course, he was! I had no interest in her or any of it. It was obvious Emma was left by some teenage girl hiding a pregnancy, or some drug addled parents that got high and forgot where they left her… it was old news! And there I was, every six weeks, submitting an update on Emma Qwinn.”

“Our research shows she was placed with Ben and Brenda Sifler,” Mitonka nodded, checking his notes, “and was never adopted – even by them?”

Admeda shrugged, “The money dries up if you fall in love and make them your own, Dr. Mitonka, surely you know that, but they took excellent care of her, in fact, I would see her from time to time playing with the other foster children in their front yard,” she shook her head a bit at the memory, “and hard to miss with that shimmery blonde hair and the strangest colored blue eyes I’ve ever seen in my life, and it was a damn shame nobody wanted to take her off our hands.”

“And relieve you of your monthly assignment all at the same time,” Shade observed growing more annoyed.

Admeda shot her a dark look and sneered, “Well, look at you, *expounding* on my comment.”

Shade ignored the quip and asked, “So, she’s been with the foster family all these years?”

“Until the day she turned eighteen,” Admeda answered flatly, “Emma packed up what little bit of shit she had into that old, rusty Jeep that Ben had gotten for her and left with her dog for a real shithole rental house on Steel Lily Lane, which is where she still lives.”

“She has a pet?” Shade asked curiously.

“Yes, a little mutt that she calls Abraham.”

“Has she had the dog for a long time?”

“Most of her life anyway,” Admeda said as she began rocking again, “I think she was five or so when they told me he’d just wandered into the yard one day and wouldn’t leave Emma’s side.”

“Interesting name, Abraham.” Mitonka commented, “From the Bible perhaps?”

Admeda grunted a laugh, “I doubt it. Emma went to church every Sunday with all the other foster children, but given her escapades over the years, I don’t think any of it stuck.”

“Escapades?”

“Clearly you didn’t read all of my articles, Dr. Mitonka.”

“There were far too many of them, Ms. Proctor.”

“Well, *had* you read them and spent more time on *your* research, you’d know that Emma Qwinn is a rebellious, hot-headed girl that lacks gratitude for everything this town did to provide for her.”

“I find that statement confusing, Ms. Proctor, if Emma Qwinn is as ungrateful as you say, then why, three months ago, would she stop to help a homeless man being assaulted by a police officer?” Mitonka countered with a heavy frown.

Admeda rolled her eyes, and her color grew once again, “Officer Dale wasn’t *assaulting* anyone! Emma Qwinn stopped because she likes to draw attention to herself, like she always does, it’s something she’s been doing for years!”

Mitonka leaned forward slightly, “I’m not understanding why you’re getting so upset, Ms. Proctor-”

“Because Emma is nothing but a bully!” Admeda interrupted hotly, “And it annoys me to no end that she’s never been held accountable – until now – Judge Whittaker will make sure of that!”

Mitonka held up a quieting hand and tried to sound reasonable, “Has it occurred to you that your perceptions of Emma weren’t really true and that the reason she’s never been held accountable, as you put it, was because the truth was on *her* side?”

“Truth? Give me a break! All she’s ever had to do was bat her dead doll eyes and smile pretty to worm her way out of anything – like a true manipulator!”

“I find your thinking quite slanted, as we’ve already spoken with several of the parents regarding some of the incidents you wrote about over the years, and they’ve happily admitted that Emma Qwinn was not in the wrong, but it was their *own* children at fault in many case.”

“Name one!”

“I can name several, if you like,” he retorted flipping back through his notes, “on Wednesday, October 2nd, 2002, you wrote that ‘*Emma Qwinn punched Jeremy Gabston in the nose on the play yard at recess.’* but you never balanced the article with the fact that Jeremy had been extorting the other children for lunch money so they wouldn’t get beat up by him or his band of miscreants. On December 15th, 2003, you wrote that Emma set the classroom Christmas tree on fire and burned all the students’ presents, when in fact, it was a faulty light bulb that had shorted and caused the fire.”

“Emma plugged the tree in.” Admeda replied firmly.

“Yes, at her teacher’s request,” Mitonka snorted, “you took the tiniest bit of truth and exploited it. I have dozens more examples, shall I go on?”

Admeda shrugged, “Edgar wanted sales.”

“So, you’ve been writing half truths about her for over twenty years?”

Admeda grew still, “I did what my editor said to keep my *paycheck*!”

Mitonka’s face grew quite grim, “Only a soulless wretch would try to make money at the expense of another human being and the truth, I wonder if his conscience lets him sleep at night.” 

Admeda became visibly uncomfortable at the indirect reprimand, and then he pressed on, “Do you suppose they will write a retraction for the misinformation that you printed about her encounter with Officer Dale?”

Her jowls quivered as she demanded back, “What misinformation?”

“The finding of the court the other morning is contrary to the very last article you wrote in the Paper Saver, Ms. Proctor. Randall Mallard gave video evidence of the homeless man being beaten and Emma Qwinn trying to intervene.”

“Video evidence?” she snapped, “Probably doctored up by her scumbag lawyer!”

Mitonka shut his notebook, and stood abruptly, making Admeda sit back warily, “For the sake of your soul, Ms. Proctor, I would highly advise you to do some real research and write a *truthful* retraction. In fact, given the slanted nature of everything you have written about Emma Qwinn over the years, I would also encourage you to publicly apologize,” and offered his hand to Shade and helped her off the couch, “but only after you’ve addressed whatever personal vendetta you have by a trained psychologist, nonetheless I will thank you for your time. Good day, madam.”

Admeda twisted about in her chair trying to get to her feet and when she did, followed them to the door, “How dare you! I wrote the truth!”

Mitonka opened the door for Shade and found a heavy-set girl strolling up the sidewalk, who stopped in her tracks and demanded, “Aunt Admeda, what’s going on?” throwing Mitonka a filthy stare as they descended the steps.

“Nothing, Heather. These idiots were just leaving.”

“Who are they?”

“I said never mind!” she hissed.

Heather looked confused but got quiet and took up a protective spot next to her aunt as they watched Mitonka help Shade into the car and started around it himself, when Admeda decided to volley another shot, “Don’t think I won’t be filing charges of harassment against you!”

Mitonka stopped mid step as Shade encouraged him to just get in the car, but he didn’t.

Instead, he strolled back to the sidewalk, aware that several neighbors were now curiously watching and set a hot glare at Admeda and announced loudly enough for everyone to hear, “I encourage you to summon the police to your heart's content, because it would be my absolute pleasure to prove you are a prolific liar and a cheap fraud in a court of law. I find you beneath contempt and if I were Emma Qwinn, I would have sued you off the planet years ago for defamation!”

Admeda’s eyes grew wide with astonishment, and her voice shook with indignation as she shrank back toward Heather looking completely appalled, “You are wrong!”

He smiled, then turned and walked away as he called back over his shoulder, “I’m not, but go ahead and tell yourself that tonight and every night for the rest of your life while sleep *eludes* you.”