Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

“Look at this guy,” Drew said, gesturing at the car blocking the parking lot entrance. “He is alone, in an expensive car–they don’t just give VWs away anymore–and he is just sitting there, oblivious, lighting his cigarette with a candle lighter. While blocking traffic.”

“Idiots exist,” replied Lex. “They’re not cryptids.”

“But this guy is a whole ecosystem of idiocy. First, you see he doesn’t care about anyone but himself by how he parks his car. Then you see he doesn’t even care about himself, given the smoking in the car and not even using a proper lighter for it. And yet he is blessed with a luxury car while I’m behind the whee of something old enough to vote for the car president.”

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“Surely you know by now,” Margrave said. “Surely you’ve been listening. When the final ley lines are broken, the final iteration of this town will disappear. The multiverse abhors a vacuum; whomever breaks that last line will be able to create a new Deerton, for every world, perfect in every detail.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” Ruby said, darkly, head lowered.

“It’s been done before,” replied Margrave, airily.

“You’ve seen it?”

A flicker of…something…flitted across Margrave’s face. “No.”

“What if all you’re building is a black hole instead of your perfect world?” Ruby said. “What if it’s all for nothing?”

“My dear, nothing is preferable to this miserable burg as it is. I will remake an eternal, shining, perfect Deerton. But if I do not, I will at least have the consolation of having erased it from existence.”

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“Yes, it’s very important to me,” Tyree said, gesturing to the various crosses painted across the small vehicle, on the edges of its collar panels. “The car gets its power from the sun, and I get my power from the Son.”

“You built it yourself?” Doyle said, craning his neck to see if there was a charge port that would accommodate any of his devices.

“Oh yes, I used to be an engineer before I hear the call to witness,” said Tyree. “Professional grade solar cells on a tube steel frame with an integral trailer. It won’t protect me in a crash–I have the Holy Spirit for that!–but it will run for a hundred miles straight on a cloudy day before it needs a charge.”

“I have to admit, it’s a terrific idea to play on the similarity there of sun/Son,” Doyle said, hoping to butter Tyree up enough to ask about charging from the vehicle.

“It’s no mere wordplay,” Tyree said. “You see, that’s part of what I’m witnessing for. The sun and the Son are one and the same, you see!”

“That sun?” Doyle said, pointing at the fiery fusioning orb overhead. “You’re saying that’s the literal Son of God up there?

“Four hundred passages in the Bible support it, and none contradict it,” Tyree said, grinning. “The way the truth, and the light indeed!”

Suddenly the need for emergency power seemed somewhat less urgent than establishing a safe distance, at least to Doyle. Tyree, thrilled to have a listener, had already launched into the next phase of his solar screed.”

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“What have I got this afternoon?” Dr. Turnbolt asked Peters.

“Well, we have a harpy at 9, but the hygienists are handling her. You’ll just need to look in at the end.”

“Good. If she eats another one of them, though, she’s out of here. I don’t care how good her insurance is. Who’s next?”

Peters tapped on his tablet. “Troll is in at 10, says it’s a soft emergency. Thinks she cracked a tooth on a Welshman’s skull.”

“As my aunt Florence will tell you, they do have awfully hard heads,” Dr. Turnbolt said. “Have Geena get started mixing up something we can use to make a cap. Don’t skimp on the tungsten.”

Making a note, Peters continued. “At 11 we have an elf in for his 50-year checkup. Looks like he was last seen by your predecessor, Dr. Levers, in 1972. Charts should be right there on your desk.”

Dr. Turnbolt picked up the chart and flipped through it. “Looks like we were keeping an eye on a soft spot on 47 and he has a filling on 48 that will probably need to be replaced, as it was made by a blacksmith in 1683.”

“Should I have Geena mix something up for that as well?”

“Yes, but remind her that we can’t use base metals for an elf. It has to be gold or silver. Okay, who is after lunch?”

Peters scrolled on his tablet. “An orc at 1 for a filing, again we can let the hygienist handle that and you can check it, I think.”

“Filing into points, or filing them flat to comply with an orc code?”

“Yes,” Peters said. “He wants the front ones flat and the back ones pointy.”

“Fair enough. Anyone at 2?”

“Not yet, I kept it open because of your 3:30 with Rustwyrm the Imperious. You can use the extra time to get there or we can squeeze something in if you want.”

“Not that old dragon again,” Turnbolt sighed. “What is it this time, another lamb stuck in his tooth? Or am I melting down some of his horde to make another grill?”

“No idea. But he’s paying quadruple out-of-pocket, so it hardly matters.”

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Deadlier than a blank page
A pile of things I want
Another of things I need
Both undone, both to do

It is within my power
To do them all, today
With time to spare
And less stress

And yet I delay
Until it is dark
Keys tapping
Desperately
As the day
Slowly
Ebbs

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1. Do not call in orders ahead of time or have them sent by a doctor; bring your prescription slip and force the pharmacists to make your medicine on the spot.
2. Idle by the window for at least 90 seconds after receiving a prescription to test the resolve of others in line.
3. No cars are allowed in line if there is not already a line; the line must be either absent or wrap around the building.
4. It is not only permitted but encouraged to circle the building like a hungry shark waiting for the line to shrink.
5. Pedestrians cannot use the drive-thru window due to liability concerns even on Sundays when the walk-up counter is closed.
6. Pedestrians crossing the line of traffic, on the other hand, is mandatory for entrance to the building.

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“You’re not the mayor,” Ruby said.

Margrave folded her hands over the mayoral desk and smiled. “What makes you say that, my dear?”

“You didn’t run, you didn’t illegally stay in office after you lost, and you’re not even a citizen of the town.”

“Such hurtful things,” said Margrave. “But borne from ignorance rather than malice. The town charter says that whoever wins the election should be mayor. Should is not must; that’s just basic first-grade English. So the city council has elected me to serve as Acting Mayor to let poor Linda have a break from all the stress, spend more time with her dogs.”

“Someone needs to stop you,” Ruby replied. “You’re a pied piper, coming in from outside and leading the town to its doom.”

“I’d be better at handling spoilt children if that were so,” said Margrave. “If I must be stopped, well…” her voice dropped a note, lip curling. “Why don’t you just try?”

Ruby, fists clenched, stood there facing the mayoral desk.

“Oh, go on,” Margrave said, reverting to her smooth, polished tone. She picked up the receiver to the desk phone. “I have a direct line to Deerton PD right here. Shall I call them before, or after you try to stop me?”

Shaking with rage, Ruby shook her head. “I saw what you got them to do before,” she said. “I know what that would mean.”

“What I got them to do? Child. Please. What I gave them was hardly even a nudge; the rest was all there already.” Margrave leaned forward. “And you’re wrong. I’m as much a native as you are; I’ve seen more of this city than you could even conceive of.”

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“1647 votes cast out of 2891 eligible voters, and I’ve lost by 99,” Linda said glumly, staring at her screen. “I can’t believe it.”

Margrave walked over, her heels clacking loudly on City Hall’s wood floor. “I can’t believe it either,” she said. “Frankly, I’m suspicious.”

“What do you mean?” Linda said. “The numbers are right there.”

“Lies, damn lies, and statistics,” Margrave replied. “You’re doing a bang-up job, Mayor Soderquist. I’ve done my research, and your administration has done more for Deerton than any other since the war.”

“Yeah,” Linda sighed, wistfully. “It’ll be hard to let it go, but I suppose it means spending more time with the dogs.”

“Or letting the town go to the dogs. Think about it, Mayor Soderquist: you’ve done a magnificent job despite all the challenges, all the chaos and disorder and agitators, and you lose by exactly 99 votes?”

“The number does seem awfully round,” Linda said, squinting at the screen.

“And where did this number come from? A voting machine? Who’s to say it couldn’t have been tampered with, or that the old ladies working the polls didn’t let people vote illegally.”

“Do you think we should have an investigation?” Linda asked. “Maybe we can get the cheaters thrown out. If they cheated, that is.”

“There’s no doubt in my mind, Mayor Soderquist,” said Margrave, who perched on the edge of the mayoral desk. “You can’t let them assume power, not when these important questions are still hanging over the process. With the power of the mayoral office, they could cement themselves in power despite, as you said, cheating their way into it.”

“What should I do, then?” Linda said. “Does the town charter say anything?”

“It says that the mayor should be elected by a free and fair election, and that the mayor should step down the day after the results are counted if defeated.” Margrave smiled. “Should. Not must; should.”

“I’ll stay in office until I can investigate these irregularities,” Linda said. “There’s too much important stuff going on to have any questions, yeah?”

“An excellent decision, Mayor Soderquist,” Margrave said.

“Won’t the state election folks have a problem with that, though? They might not have all the facts like we do.”

“All they’ll care about is whether you have the same letter next to your name as they do,” Margrave said. “You just leave them to me.”

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“Deerton has never needed a library,” Margrave said, her hands folded. “Did you know that maintaining the library in Cascadia costs each taxpayer $265.53 per year? That’s a 73 cent per day tax burden that people around here don’t need to worry about.”

“73 cents per day?” Karl said. “We should have gotten rid of it years ago.”

“Where are you getting hose figures from?” said Gil, quietly. “I want to see the tax records.”

“You’ll have to take that up with the city solicitor’s office,” Margrave continued. “Besides, if people in Deerton want books, Amazon is right there for them with two-day shipping and low prices. Kids with no pocket money use the school library, which your taxes are already paying for. It just makes sense.”

“And people with no money to spend on books?” Ann said.

“They can borrow them from their friends, of course,” Margrave smiled. “Who needs a building and paid book-wranglers to keep track of that? Our people are smart, let’s give them a little credit.”

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The other members of the Deerton City Council were gathered for the meeting. On the right side of Linda, there was Karl Obendorfer, owner of the Rifle Rack bar, who wore the same ball cap he always did, matching it with a blazer for the occasion. Ann Muncie, the general manager (or, as she liked to say, “general manger” because all were welcome) of the Baptist Church, was to Karl’s right. Though not the preacher, no preacher had ever lasted more than two years at the church, so she was as good as.

On Linda’s left, the other two council members were filing in. John Watterman, the owner of TubeTron, was in his usual suit and tie; he instinctively wrinkled his nose on seeing Karl’s outfit. Gilbert Sanderson brought up the rear; a teacher at Deerton High, Linda could never remember what subject he taught, only that he’d been elected as a single-issue candidate to help pass the school bond issue. When that had failed, he had largely become a gadfly, raising issues the others had an unspoken agreement not to broach. Linda shuddered at the three-hour discussion that had emerged from Gil asking to rename Slashing Creek. That shocking name, inherited from an old logging camp or “slashing,” was the only thing besides the Roundhouse Festival that brought any tourists to Deerton.

Linded looked over at Mr. Margrave, who was hovering nearby with papers and taking notes. The other councilmembers didn’t react to her presence; she might have been Jane for all they seemed to care.

“Looks like we’re all here, so let’s come to order,” Linda said. “Now, you should all have an agenda-”

“I want to know why the warehouse was demolished,” Gil said.

“New business comes at the end, Gil,” Linda said. “You know that.” As the council’s most prolific generator of new business, she certainly hoped that he did, anyhow.

“It was demolished without permits, notifications, bids, or contracts,” Gil continued, as if the mayor hadn’t said a word. “I went out there today and it’s just a grassy field. Like there was never a building there in the first place.”

“I can field that one, Mayor Soderquist, if you like,” said Margrave.

“Oh, uh, by all means,” Linda said, relieved to not have another knock-down drag-out fight with Gil over something that had already happened.

“The proper permits were filed and bids taken through a new state apparatus designed to discourage corruption and waste,” Margrave said. “The contract went to a scrapping company upstate, which works very efficiently. You might have heard of their work disassembling the bridge upstate in Omaniwak. They re-sod the area afterwards to prevent heavy metal pollutants from leeching into groundwater.”

“I’d like very much to see the paperwork on that,” Gil said. “It didn’t look like any sod had been put down, it was like a mowed field.”

“Come on now, Gil, I’ve seen some sod jobs that look natural as all get-out the next day,” John Watterman said. He should know, with what was by Linda’s estimation the second-nicest lawn in the city.

“Also, who cares?” said Karl. “Miss, did the City of Deerton pay for the demolition of that warehouse?”

“No it did not,” Margrave said.

“Well there you go. Eyesore removed, for free, and they even planted grass,” Karl said. “You get that paperwork, Gil, you should write them a thank-you card.”

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