> You Can't Have It All
>  by totallynotabrony
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter 1
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


You Can't Have It All


I knelt awkwardly on the floor of my truck, parked in a multilevel garage somewhere in west Haycago.  There was a camera in my hands, borrowed from the photography department at school.  I touched the darkened screen of my cell phone, lying on the seat beside me.  It lit up to display the time.
I carefully shielded the phone on the off chance that my target might see the light.  He was a unicorn named Dealmaker, and he was a city councilpony who I was convinced was up to no good.  He stood down near the end of the garage level, waiting on something.
Dealmaker was fifty-three years old, married, and had been involved in Haycago politics for more than half his life.  He was a little overweight, and usually wore expensive glasses and other accessories.  Tonight, he had dressed down.  A possible attempt to go incognito, I thought.
Something hadn’t seemed right when I’d started researching him for a project I was writing for the school newspaper about local politics.  I’d finished writing the article and submitted it weeks ago, but kept working on him.  I’d followed him to the garage tonight, and it looked like my work was going to pay off.  Nobody stands around waiting for something in the middle of the night for no reason.
I was far enough away that my parking there hadn’t aroused Dealmaker’s suspicions.  The camera lens was probably on the small side for the distance, but it would have to do.  As I watched, another car pulled up.  It was a shiny Marecedes.
The driver was a hulking stallion who looked…serious.  I quickly snapped a picture of him.  Dealmaker greeted him, and I took another picture of them together.  As if they didn’t want anyone to overhear their conversation, they began walking.  Directly towards me.
I slowly lowered myself to the floor, doing my best not to make the truck rock.  I was careful to get my head low enough that my horns wouldn’t show over the windowsill.  My face was crammed up against one door and my hooves against the other. 
From that vantage point, I noticed a screwdriver under the seat that I’d lost a few weeks before.  It was part of the toolkit that I used to work on my truck when it broke down.
Driving a truck and fixing it when it breaks isn’t very ladylike, but I was glad that I was at least girly enough to sweep the carpet once in a while.  If I wasn’t, I’d be covered in dirt when I got up off the floor.
I heard the murmured conversation of the two ponies approach.  I hoped they wouldn’t find anything suspicious about my out-of-town license plates.  They passed by, and I raised my head enough to look out the window.
Getting into position to take a picture would be difficult now that they were on the other side.  I drove a full size pickup because I find most pony vehicles cramped, but the inside of the cab still wasn’t large enough to make movement easy.
It was darker on the other side of the garage, and the camera flash popped up as I focused.  I couldn’t afford a bright flash of light, and held the flash down with my finger while I took the picture.  Hopefully it wouldn’t be blurry in the low light.
The ponies kept walking away from me, and I waited until they were out of sight before sitting up.  It was time to go.
It only took two tries to start the old truck, and I headed back for campus.  On the darkened streets, I ran my fingers through my hair, checking to make sure the floor had been as clean as I thought it was.  My hair and coat were brown and dark, inherited from my mother.  I wished I’d also gotten her slim build, but not every minotaur can be a delicate flower.
I arrived back at my parking place and got out, heading for the dorm.  To get inside the building at that late hour, I had to present identification.  My ID card had some basic information: Tungsten Tammy, Student, University of Haycago.
Of course, everyone knew me.  You tend to be memorable when you’re tall enough that you have to duck to get through the front door, but showing the ID card was procedure.
I went up to my room, camera in hand.  I planned to download the pictures to my computer and have a look at them before returning the camera in the morning.
The lights in the hallway had been turned down, but I found my door.  The Resident Assistant had created nametags for us al.  My roommate, Cherub, had helpfully placed mine over the door, just about level with my eyes.
The door was unlocked, as Cherub hadn’t gone to bed yet.  “Hey,” she said, smiling as I came in.  Cherub was a pink pegasus with blue eyes and a blonde mane, along with a perpetually cheerful personality.  Her cutie mark was a red dress.  She was at college to study fashion. 
Being a minotaur, I didn’t have a cutie mark but already knew that I was good at journalism.  I just wished it didn’t come with such late hours and sacrifices of time when I could be doing homework.
“Was it a good night?” Cherub asked me, her country Ponyville accent unchanged despite living in Haycago for the last three years.  We were both juniors and had been roommates since day one.
“Not bad,” I told her.  Despite having a completely different set of life goals, Cherub had taken an active interest in my little crusade.
I sat down at my desk, tucking my knees so I could fit.  The dorm furniture wasn’t designed with your average minotaur in mind, much less me.
I plugged the memory card of the camera into my laptop and copied the files.  The pictures looked okay but could probably use some enhancement.  I hoped I had time for that, what with everything else in my schedule.
I got up and grabbed my shower things.  Down the hallway in the bathroom I selected a shower stall, bending my knees slightly to make full use of the showerhead.  Holding that position for a few minutes was uncomfortable, but I’d gotten used to it over the years.  The biggest problem in the bathroom was me accidentally looking over the top of someone else’s shower curtain.
Back in the room, I looked unhappily at my pile of homework and settled down to it.  There was no way I would finish tonight, but not all of it was due in the morning.
I worked at that as the clock grew later.  At some point, I was going to have to sleep.  When Cherub yawned and got up from her desk, I decided that I should also probably call it a night.
I got into bed and curled into the fetal position to keep my hooves from hanging over the edge.  I tucked my tail carefully.  Unlike a pony, a minotaur's tail is sensitive all the way to the tip and it’s always getting in the way.  
Cherub courteously turned off the lights and flapped up to her mattress on the top bunk.
I had a few idle thoughts as I lay there, going over the events of the evening.  I still hadn’t found anything to pin on Dealmaker, but I felt that I had taken a step in the right direction that night.  It was encouraging, and I was asleep in minutes.

The weather website I checked in the morning seemed to indicate that it was going to be a warm September day.  After leaving the dorm I stopped at the cafeteria to have a nutritious breakfast while I leafed through the day’s newspaper.  As a journalism major, I had seen the paper’s outline the day before but it was nice to read the finished product and know that I’d helped create it.
My plates were clean before I finished reading.  I debated getting more, but decided I didn’t have time.  Eating another few bowls of cereal, a plate of hay, and some sweetgrass would take too long.  At least the cafeteria was all-you-can-eat or I’d go broke.
I folded the paper and took it with me to drop off the camera.  After that was my morning job at the newspaper office.
I worked at the advertisement desk that day.  Ads were placed by e-mail, phone call or face to face.  I had processed only a few that morning when two guys approached the desk.
One was a blue unicorn, the other a brown and white griffon.  They both looked like nerds.  Being one of very few minotaurs on an Equestrian campus, I tend to identify with social outcasts.
“We’d like to place an advertisement,” said the pony.
“Good, that’s what I’m here for.  Do you know how you want it to look?”
The griffon took out a sheet of paper and placed it in front of me.  “Can you just scan this page?”
“Sure.”  That saved me the trouble of going through all the fonts and styles with them to design it.  I took out a sample newspaper page with the ad sizes and prices listed.  “How large do you want it?”
They quickly conferred and selected a modest size.  Their decision may have been based on their available money.  I asked if they had any special instructions, and they said no.  They paid to run the ad only once, and I told them it would appear in the next paper.
Once they were gone, I had a chance to look at their ad.  It was for a blog and forums website called the Hay-town Supernatural Society, or HSS for short.  “Haycago’s own paranormal investigation,” read the tagline.
I blinked and slowly read it again.
I had once been a skeptic.  Normal people don’t believe in ghosts and ghouls, after all.  Unfortunately, fate hadn’t let me be normal, especially not in that aspect, either.  In my high school years, I’d inadvertently been witness to a supernatural event that was so shocking that it was far outside the capabilities even pony magic.  My heart began to speed up just remembering it.
A few of the participants had ended up dead.  Some were undead to begin with.  Ponies as a species are big on their magic, but usually within reason.  This was something I had no desire to experience ever again.
Part of my decision to move to Equestria for college came from my desire to be as far away from that as possible.
Still, I reasoned, this didn’t mean these guys were a threat to my attempt to reset my life.  For all I knew, they were making stuff up for money like the History Channel.   My fingers rested on the keyboard of the advertisement computer.  I could just make a quick check on their website to be sure.  But then, what if they turned out to be the real deal?
I decided not to go to the website while I was at work.  I told myself that I was just being prudent, but truthfully I think I was scared to.  It was not something I wanted back in my life.
I waited all day and distracted myself with some lovely classes.  Sometimes my schedule was a blessing.  However, as I hurried back to the dorm room in the afternoon, I was so distracted that I rammed my forehead into the doorframe as I opened the door.
Cherub looked up.  “Aw, streak broken.  You had a good two weeks going there.”
It was lucky that my head was so hard, said everyone who had ever seen me hit it on something.  That was a tired, worn out joke.
I shook the stars out and sat down to do some homework, forcing myself to think of something constructive.  I think Cherub noticed that I was preoccupied, but she didn’t comment.  Rather than check the HSS website before bed and run the risk of going sleepless if it turned out to be legitimate, I decided to wait until morning.

Cherub was still asleep when I got out of bed and turned on my computer.  I was still unsure if I really wanted to do this, but I dutifully typed in the URL when the browser opened.
The site seemed polished and contained only tasteful advertising.  I clicked through the forums, which allowed people to post and discuss topics related to the supernatural.  Surprisingly, there were several thousand members.
The main page contained information on the latest investigation.  A small sidebar listed popular links and gave a short biography of the two guys who ran the site.  I assumed they were the ones who’d come to place the newspaper ad.  The unicorn was named Transmitter and the griffon was Hickory Stump.
I checked the investigation report at the top of the the main page.  It was about a house in which a grisly double murder had been committed about ninety years ago.  Transmitter and Hickory had debunked any rumors of haunting, however.  I thought it was brave of them to post a negative report when the entire site was based on this kind of thing.  I found a disclaimer at the bottom that reminded people that there were many more supposed paranormal events than actual ones.
I checked the popular topics.  Near the top was “Interview with an advanced magic user.”  I clicked on it.  A mare, who wished to be identified only as Cloud, talked with Transmitter and Hickory about the supernatural.
“I’m a historian, mostly,” she said.  She had what amounted to a small library of resources and old books.  She talked about the discovery of little-known magic and some of its uses.
“Nearly anypony can learn to do it, unicorn or not.  Of course, some are more naturally talented than others.”  That surprised me.  Not that I was interested in learning, but as a non-unicorn, non-pony, magic wasn’t something that often occupied my mind.
The bottom of the page had a color picture.  The mare in it had her face hidden.  It was a high quality photo taken in a well lighted room.  A good picture is harder to fake than a grainy one.  That didn’t prove anything, but I couldn’t easily see anything that indicated it wasn’t real. 
To my surprise, the mare in question was a pegasus.  She was doing something with a ceramic bowl and herbs.  The concoction was giving off a brilliant spark of light, something I had seen before.  The caption of the photo read Cloud performs a simple spell.
I began to feel something strange.  It definitely wasn’t relief, but more like camaraderie.  It was bad that the supernatural world I had been running from for several years had caught back up to me, but it was great that I suddenly wasn’t alone.  There were other people out there who knew about it, too.  They weren’t exactly normal people, but we suddenly had something in common.
I found the “Contact Us” section.  It listed an e-mail address to send messages to.  I opened my e-mail client and copied the address to a blank message.  I suddenly stopped.
What am I doing? I thought.  Trying to start a support group?  If I talked to these people, I would basically be throwing away all the effort I had put into separating myself from the supernatural.  On the other hand, maybe they could help me.
Cherub’s alarm clock started beeping.  I shut the lid on my laptop as she sat up and turned the alarm off.  We exchanged good mornings and she went off to the bathroom to get ready for the day.
While she was gone, I made the decision to go ahead and write the message.  If I read through it and decided it sounded stupid, I could just delete it.  Typing hesitantly, I drafted a brief letter explaining that I had firsthand experience with supernatural activity, but wished that I didn’t.
When I finished, I read back over it.  I altered a few pieces of grammar, but could find nothing else to change.  After hesitating for a few more moments, I signed it “Shorty” and clicked Send.
Cherub returned soon after.  “Can I ask you a favor?” she said, as she patted her mane dry with a towel.
“What did you have in mind?”
“The fall fashion show is coming up.  I have some ideas for what I want to do, but I need a model.”
I waited for a few seconds until I realized she was talking about me.  “Modeling?  I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“You’d be good at it.  You have great legs.”
My face flushed.  “I don’t know.”
“I promise to make you look good.”
She worked on me for a few more minutes and I eventually gave in.  I tried to argue that my schedule wouldn’t allow it, but did agree to participate in the end.  Maybe it was because modeling seemed less extreme than revealing my deepest secrets to strangers on the internet.  It took Cherub ten minutes to get my measurements, hovering around my head and shoulders with a tape measure.
“How much do you weigh?” she asked as she made a few final notes.  Her expression changed.  “I’m sorry, that’s insensitive of me.”
“No, it’s okay,” I said.  I weighed exactly what I should for a minotaur of my height, but I still had more than a hundred pounds on Cherub.  I knew I wasn’t fat, but nobody wants to admit to weighing that much.
“Remember, the show is next Saturday,” Cherub said.  She grinned and went out the door to go to class.
I began to pull my things together.  I hadn’t even left the dorm room that morning and it was already turning into an interesting day.
> Chapter 2
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	I was walking to class when my phone chimed to indicate that I had an e-mail.  It was a reply from the Hay-town Supernatural Society.
Shorty,
I talked to one of our consultants about your problem.  It’s apparently possible to do memory wipes, but they’re difficult to get completely right and you sound like somepony who would object to having that kind of magic used on them anyway.
We’re here for you, though. The whole purpose of starting this website was to make the supernatural community more understandable and less frightening.  If you want to talk, Hickory or I will get back to you. 
Sincerely,
Transmitter
Well, that was encouraging.  I would have liked to have more time to think about it, and maybe send a reply, but unfortunately I had a class to go to.
It was an English class required by my major, one of those classes taught by a young TA who makes the work harder than necessary because they think their class actually matters.  That day, the TA assigned us a research assignment that would require checking books out of the library.
Not having a class the next hour, I decided to go to the library to get the assignment done as early as possible to free up some time later.  I located the book I wanted on the top shelf, picked it out, and took it to a study table.
I was making notes when a stallion walked up to the table.  He asked, “Pardon me, can I use that book after you’re done?”
I looked at him.  He was tall unicorn, and athletic looking.  Kind of cute for a pony, too.
“Sure, I said.  “I’ll just be a few minutes.”
“Do you mind if I sit and wait?” he asked.
“No.”
He took a seat across from me.  “Are you working on an English class?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve probably taken it.  I’m majoring in English.”
“I’m in Journalism, but this is required.”
“Maybe I can help.”
I noticed how friendly and polite he was being.  He knew the material, too.  Somehow, we both migrated around the table to sit side by side.
When I was finished making notes, I offered him the book.  “Thanks,” he said.  “I’m Kicker, by the way.”
“Tammy.”
He stood up with the book.  “I’ll see you around.”  He started to turn away but stopped.  “Actually…would you like to join me for lunch?”
“Um, sure,” I said.
Kicker had a gorgeous smile.  He offered me his hoof.  I took it and stood up.  Kicker’s eyebrows lifted as he realized exactly how tall I was, but he said nothing. 
I slouched a little, trying not to tower over him.  “Let’s get that lunch.”
Alone, I had no problem with people crowding me.  Kicker was nice enough to act like he wasn’t following in my wake.
I got to know Kicker a little better while we ate.  Like me, he was a junior.  He wanted to teach high school.  I tried to keep him talking so I could eat fast enough to finish my larger pile of food in the same time he took. 
As we talked, I realized that I might be attracted to him.  I never thought I’d fall for a pony, but it wasn’t like that was wrong or anything.  Was I really so interested in him?  One way to be sure.
“Could we meet again?” I asked as we were leaving the cafeteria.
He showed me that amazing smile once more.  “Sure.  Let’s trade numbers.”
I went back to my room feeling almost giddy.  Knowing Cherub, she would probably make a big deal of it.
“Yay!  Tammy has a friend!  Let’s go celebrate,” she cheered.
“It’s Wednesday.”
“A party waits for no one,” she said sagely, and pulled me out the door.  Like every college, there were bars nearby.  Cherub had a favorite.
I couldn’t really afford to imbibe on a regular basis, lacking both time and money, but after the first couple of drinks I had relaxed to the point that I agreed with Cherub’s opinion that I deserved it this time.  It had been a long dry spell since I’d dated.
I kept enough wits about me to realize that if I matched Cherub drink for drink, she would be plastered long before I was.  When she began slurring her speech too badly, I decided it was time to go.  It was past midnight by the time we got back to the dorm. 
Cherub was in no condition to fly, and not really even to walk.  It was no problem to carry her in my arms, even if I was a little tipsy myself.  We were giggling like crazy.
“You really should stop being so uptight,” she said.  “Take some risks.  Live a little.”  It took her a couple of tries to get the key into the door lock.
“Maybe,” I agreed.  I hoisted Cherub to the top bunk and made sure she wouldn’t fall out of bed before laying down myself.  I fell asleep with a smile on my muzzle.

Following Cherub’s advice, I sat down to write another e-mail to HSS in the morning.  I felt like talking.
When I had awakened, there a faint twinge behind my eyes.  It was barely noticeable when I was sitting still, so I didn’t bother with pain relievers.
Cherub was in worse shape.  She knew I wasn’t going to drink any more than her, so she had pretty much volunteered for a hangover to make sure I had a good time.  I appreciated it.
When she stumbled off to the bathroom, I began typing.  I could have written the e-mail the night before, but I was wary that I might say something stupid if I was drunk.
The event I had been mixed up in years ago had involved several others.  All of them would probably prefer that I didn’t talk about it.
Now that someone from HSS was listening, however, I felt like I had to get it off my chest.  
I wrote briefly about what I understood of the ancient magic that had been inadvertently uncovered and the resulting near-disaster.  More importantly, I emphasized how many people had worked to get it covered back up again.  They’d made sure to tell me it wasn’t something to talk about to just anyone.  Up until this point I hadn’t mentioned it to a single soul, not even to my parents.  Now that I had found a group that might understand, it was hard to keep it bottled up.
I slowly laid out a few of my experiences and my reactions to them, while concealing as many unnecessary details as possible.  Again, I asked if they knew any way to help me.

When I turned on my phone, I found that I had a voicemail from Kicker.  He asked me out to lunch again.  Unfortunately, the time he was available didn’t coincide with the time I was free.  I had too much in my schedule.  I called him back to tell him.
“Too bad,” he said.  He waited a moment.  “How about dinner?  Someplace nicer than a campus cafeteria.”
It was a big step.  I wavered on the decision, but apparently my reserves of courage had run out with typing the e-mail earlier.
“I’m sorry,” I said.  “I can’t.”
“How about lunch tomorrow?”
“I can do that.”
We made plans.  During the conversation, my phone beeped.  When I hung up, I checked my inbox to find out what I had received.  It was the reply from HSS.  They must have someone watching the computer round the clock.
Shorty,
Are you talking about the Moose Island incident?  Were you there?  We’d love to interview you for the website.
Hickory
My breath caught and I felt like I was having a heart attack.  They knew?  How was that possible?  Had I been hiding something that wasn’t secret at all?
I decided to wait.  I hoped I would either come up with a decent reply later, or at least decide to never talk to them again.
I went to a boring lecture that helped me calm down.  It was not anything I was going to need later, so I tried to sneak in a little time to think about my own project.  In reviewing what I knew about Dealmaker, I decided that I needed to work on that issue a little harder.  It might help me focus on the future instead of the past.
After I finished classes that day, I got in my truck.  It took a couple of tries to get it started and I went across town to Dealmaker’s reelection campaign headquarters.  It was a converted house in an older neighborhood that was slowly moving from homes to commercial buildings.  On the next block, several houses had been knocked down and a sleek glass office building was going up.
I had occasionally staked out Dealmaker’s house.  That had produced decent results, including the photos I had taken a few days earlier, but I didn’t want to overdo it and make someone suspicious.
Although I knew Dealmaker went there occasionally, I had only watched the headquarters on one other occasion.  I had my borrowed camera again and also something caffeinated to drink.
The secretary, or whoever she was, seemed to work late.  Like the last time I had been there, she walked out the front door at seven thirty in the evening.  Tonight was the same story.
The days were still long enough in September, but the sun was nearly down.  I watched as the mare closed the front door and walked to her car.  I took her picture out of habit.
A thought came to me.  She had just closed the door?  She didn’t lock it?  I played the scene back in my mind and realized it was true.  I also remembered that the last time I had been there, she’d also taken the time to punch in a code on the alarm panel next to the door before leaving.  She hadn’t done that tonight, either.
I waited as she got in her car and drove away.  Was she only leaving for a few minutes?  Had she forgotten to lock up?  If yes to either of the previous two questions, if and when was she coming back?
I occupied myself with these thoughts for half an hour.  When the mare still hadn’t returned, I decided to do something very, very stupid.
I slipped out of the truck and crossed the street quickly.  Night was falling, and I instinctively bent over to appear smaller.  There was no traffic, and I hoped I hadn’t been seen.
I got to the door and took a look around.  I didn’t see anyone, so I used the neck strap of the camera as a barrier on the doorknob to avoid leaving my fingerprints.  I didn’t know if pony police were used to dusting for those, but like I said, this whole idea was stupid.
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.  Down the hall from the front door was what appeared to be the former living room.  A few powered-down computers were there and a filing cabinet sat next to them.  There were banners and signs promoting Dealmaker everywhere.
I suddenly realized the full idiocy of what I was doing.  I was trespassing for nothing.  Why would Dealmaker leave something incriminating in his campaign headquarters, which was open to the public?  Even if he did, how long would it take me to comb through all the paperwork and computers to find it?
In for a penny, in for a pound.  I began shuffling a few papers on a desk with my knuckles.  I came across a list of employees who worked at the headquarters.  It wasn’t particularly interesting, but I popped off the lens cap and took a picture anyway.
I sorted the pages a little more and suddenly heard the front door open.  My heart leaped into my throat and I dashed around the corner into what used to be the kitchen as quietly as I could.
I heard several pairs of hooves coming down the hall.  It sounded like they stopped and spread out in the living room.  I glanced behind me.  The back door was located in the kitchen, but it was padlocked shut.
I had heard of the fight or flight response when faced with danger.  My options for flight were unfortunately limited.  I heard whispering from the next room like they were talking amongst themselves about what they were going to do.  I figured that might distract them enough to give me an edge, so I ducked out from the kitchen doorway, rapidly stabbing the shutter button of the camera.
The flashes nearly blinded me, and I was behind them.   In the brief busts of light, I saw four ponies.  From their masks to their shoes they were dressed all in black.
I had almost made it across the room to the hallway when one of them grabbed at me.  I instinctively punched him in the chest and he fell back against the wall.  I ran for the door.
I avoided going for my truck immediately, in the likely event that it wouldn’t start.  Instead, I went for the backyards of the houses in the neighborhood.  In the darkness, I almost ran into a chain link fence, but I managed to hurdle it and kept going.  I didn’t see any sign of pursuit.
After about a block, I doubled back and walked casually up the sidewalk.  I could see that the front door of the house hung open, but there was no sign of anyone around it.  I got in the truck and headed back.
As I drove, I tried to make sense of it.  Obviously, it was no coincidence that the front door had been left unlocked and someone (besides me) had broken in.  The question was, had they been watching like I had, or was it planned and the mare who left the door open was an accomplice?
If they had been watching, it meant they had seen me go inside.  They knew what I looked like, and probably had gotten a description of my truck.  If it was a planned job, then someone besides me was after Dealmaker and had a plant in his headquarters.
Both scenarios raised a whole host of other questions.  If they saw me go in, how come they had come in after me instead of calling the police?  Was there something to hide after all?  If it had been planned and I had stumbled into it, what would they think of that?  Despite the flashing camera, did anyone see me close up?
I sensed I wasn’t going to get a lot of sleep that night.

I had been keeping Cherub updated whenever I learned something about Dealmaker, but I decided not to tell her about this.  If she didn’t know, she couldn’t tell anyone.  Not that I expected her to, but it isn’t a secret if too many people know.  Journalists have to protect their sources.
Speaking of that, I sat down with my computer and went to my favorite search engine.  I set it to only check the HSS website and searched for the phrase “Moose Island.”
There was only one result.  It was a forum thread that was nearly two years old.  Transmitter had made the first post, asking for information.
TransAdmin: Has anyone heard about something mysterious that happened on Moose Island?  I was told that it happened about a year ago.  Anything you can tell us would be helpful.
BiggsBaby: I know a guy out there.  I can ask him to check newspaper archives for anything suspicious.
roro87: Were the Shades involved?
Flooww: what r shades?
Perce: Flooww, shades are one of those mares in black type groups that ponies talk about.  If it’s a conspiracy, they’re in on it lol
BiggsBaby: My friend found a report of a break in at the Moose Island park but nothing else.
Wicked_Windigo: my coven has been to some cool places in lake haycago.  maybe it’s got a power like that
None of the people replying to the topic seemed to have anything to add.  I went to my e-mail and sent a message to HSS.  If they knew enough about the incident to recognize it when I described it, then why hadn’t it ever come up on the site?
Again, the reply was near-instantaneous
Shorty,
We wouldn’t want to publish something that we don’t know for sure about.  Our information came from a friend of a friend.  If you can confirm what we’ve heard before, we might have enough to talk about it.
Transmitter
I was conflicted.  I wanted to tell someone about it to make the burden of carrying the secret lighter, but at the same time I had to look out for everyone else that was there.  They might not like being talked about online.  I had to find out how much HSS knew before I started talking.
I figured the best way to communicate was face to face. I set up a meeting for the next day at nine p.m. in the food court of the nearest mall.  I waited for a few minutes before the reply came.  I figured Transmitter and Hickory were debating.  They eventually agreed to be there.
To make the meeting the next day, I had to spend extra time on homework that evening.  By the time I went to bed, I had almost completely forgotten the break in at Dealmaker’s place.  Unfortunately, it was because I had something else to think about.
> Chapter 3
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	I met Kicker for lunch.  I was excited to see him again.  We talked about things.  Perfectly normal things.  It was nice.  I didn’t know when I would be able to see him again, but said that I would get back to him.
After classes were over, I got in my truck and went back to the campaign headquarters.  I was working on an idea that was almost as crazy and stupid as sneaking in had been.
There was no crime scene tape around.  I didn’t know whether that meant no crime had been reported, or if it had been a short investigation.
When the mare appeared at seven thirty, I got ready.  I had parked behind her car, and I waited until she was almost to the driver’s door before getting out and approaching.
“Hello,” I said.
“Hello,” she answered.  She stared at me for a moment before realizing it was impolite and turning back to unlocking her car.
“I know you left the front door unlocked yesterday night.”
The mare froze.  She slowly turned her head to look at me.  “Who are you?”
“My name isn’t important.  I need to know why you left the door unlocked.”
“I forgot.”
“And someone broke in on the same night?”
“How did you…yes, that’s what happened.”  She opened her car door.
“Listen,” I said.  “Counselor Dealmaker is going down.  He might try to pin this on you as an accomplice.  If you help me, I’ll do what I can to help you.”  I handed her a piece of paper with my phone number on it.  “Please call me if you know anything I can use.”
The mare got in her car and drove away hurriedly.  I had no way of knowing whether she would cooperate with me or not.  She hadn’t denied a break in.  I would have to check the next day’s newspaper, but I hoped to find an article about it.  The same questions from the previous night came back to me.  Was she working against Dealmaker by helping the burglars to get in?  Did that mean she would help me?  Was it part of some ruse by Dealmaker to get his own office broken into?  If so, why?
It was too bad that I didn’t have time to think about it.  I had to go meet Transmitter and Hickory.  I got to the meeting place about ten minutes early.  There were a few people in the dining court who gave me the usual stares as I walked in, but I was pretty much forgotten once I was seated at a table in the corner and slouched in my chair.
A saw the two of them arrive a minute early.  They looked around, not seeing anyone who would obviously be named Shorty.
Hickory was closest to me, and I caught his eye.  He paused for a moment to be sure, bumping Transmitter’s elbow to get his attention.  They came over.
“Hello,” said Transmitter. 
I nodded to the two of them.  “Have a seat.”
“Most females who use the nickname ‘Shorty’ usually spell it S-H-A-W-T-Y,” said Hickory brightly.
Transmitter and I both gave him a look.  “Are you always such a charmer?” I asked flatly.  He went beet red.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” said Transmitter, breaking the moment.
“You too,” I said.  “I was impressed by the website.”
“Thank you.  We’re always trying to find new material.  What happened on Moose Island isn’t well known, but we might be able to bring it to light with your help.”
“There’s a problem.  I wasn’t the only one there.  Everyone else might not want this going out on the internet for anyone to read.”
Transmitter frowned.  “I hadn’t thought of that.  How much are you willing to tell us without revealing any names?”
“A little, I suppose.  Probably not much more than I said in my first e-mail.”
Transmitter took out a tape recorder and placed it on the table.  “Do you mind if I record this?”
I reached into my purse and took out my own recorder.  It was a slick digital model that my parents had bought me when I first went away to be a journalist.  “I don’t mind if you don’t mind.”
We turned on our recorders and Transmitter said, “This is Transmitter and Hickory Stump conducting an interview for the Hay-town Supernatural Society.  With us today is an information source, alias ‘Shorty.’  We will be talking about the Moose Island incident.”  He said the date and time and we began the interview.
Transmitter and Hickory didn’t seem to have any formal training in how to conduct interviews, but they did all right.  I ran through what I had told them before, adding a detail or two.
“That matches pretty close to what we already knew,” said Hickory.
“Where did you get your information?” I asked.
“Somepony we know knows somepony who was there,” answered Transmitter.
“Who?” I asked.
“It’s not our policy to reveal sources.”  I wanted to strangle him and demand to know, but the few other people in the food court would probably call the cops.  Besides, as a proper reporter, I should have been sympathetic.
“It looks like we have a little bit of a standoff,” observed Hickory.  “Our information is secondhand and probably not complete.  If you were really there, you know a lot more, but so far you haven’t offered any proof.  Furthermore, you probably can’t do that without revealing things that you don’t want to tell us.”
He was right, unfortunately.  I sat there for a moment, feeling sorry that I ever sent that first e-mail.  I felt like I’d made a mistake.
“I’ve got an idea,” said Transmitter.  “If you were there, then you know the pony that told our source about it.  It was a stallion.  He was a grey unicorn that had a particular habit for swearing.”
“I know who you’re talking about.”  Hard to forget him.
“If we each write down his name and then show it to each other simultaneously, we can prove that you know him.”
“But if you’re lying to me, you might be tricking me into giving you his name.  Let me suggest something else.  We each write down several names.  If one name from each list matches, I’ll decide to trust you.”  I hated to be so skeptical, but I hated to be made a fool more.
“That’s a good idea,” said Transmitter.  I retrieved a small pad of paper from my purse and two pens.  I slid a sheet of paper I tore out across the table with a pen.  Transmitter started writing and I followed suit.  I wrote down Kicker’s name.  I also wrote down the name of the kid back home who taunted me into beating him up. 
After writing down the name that Transmitter and Hickory were looking for, I decided I needed a couple more for balance.  I put down my cousin and Star, my old Daring Kwon Do instructor.
“Done?” Transmitter asked.  I gave him my paper and he gave me his.  Among the names was the one I was looking for.
Hickory leaned over to read what I’d written.  “Wow,” he said upon finding the correct name.  They both looked across the table at me.
“My name is Tungsten Tammy,” I said.  “Pleased to meet you.”

I talked for quite a while with Transmitter and Hickory.  I didn’t have much more to say about what happened on Moose Island, at least not until I made sure everyone else was okay with it, but I learned quite a bit about the two members of HSS.
Transmitter was a senior studying prelaw.  Hickory was a sophomore in statistics.  They were both born and raised in Haycago, and had gone to the same high school.  The website had been online for nearly three years.  Much like I was, they had been surprised by the rapid growth. 
“Anything we post seems to have at least five or six thousand views in the first week,” Hickory said.  “Lately, those numbers have been trending upwards.”
Despite the lack of obnoxious advertising, the steady traffic did generate some modest income.  They used it for operating expenses.
At the mention of money, I expressed my desire to one day become a journalist at a nice newspaper.  They traded glances, as if they were both thinking the same thing.
“What?” I asked, suddenly apprehensive.
“Have you done any journalistic work before?  An internship or something?” asked Transmitter.
“I work at the school newspaper,” I said.
“Would you be interested in writing for us?  You seem to know a lot about the unknown, supernatural kind of magic.”
Talking about it was one thing.  Authoring articles was another.  “I don’t know.  I guess I could help you out, but this is not exactly what I wanted to do with my life.”
“We run the site with our spare moments.  It wouldn’t take much of your time.  If business picks up a little, we may even start turning a profit.”
I read a study once where people were asked if they believed in ghosts.  About half said they did.  Despite that, most of them would probably be skeptical of things they found on the internet.  Apart from the few thousand users of the HSS site, most people would think I was crazy if I told them I worked with the site.  I was a little concerned that might come back to bite me if I applied for a job somewhere else.
“I’ll think about it,” I told Transmitter and Hickory.  I collected my things and got up to go. 
I went back to campus.  As I was walking up to my dorm, I saw a stallion standing at the corner of the building.  He looked a little old to be a student.  I felt his eyes on me.
I was distracted and hit my head again.  Cherub looked up from some shoe catalogs sympathetically.
I came in, rubbing my forehead.  Cherub said, “I’m almost finished designing your clothing and I’m picking out the accessories now.  They actually do make decorative shoes for cloven hooves.  I want you to help me find something nicer than steel shoes.”  
I had forgotten the fashion show.  “I can’t really help you pick anything if I don’t know what the outfit looks like.”
“You can at least give me some ideas.”  She shoved a few catalogs at me.
I flipped a couple of pages.  “I don’t think they have anything in my size.”
“Maybe they have some at transvestite supply stores.”
I took it for the joke it was and laughed.  “Those exist?”
She shrugged.  “If nothing else, I can look online.  What kind of heels do you like?”
“High heels?  Me?  Do they even make those for minotaur hooves?”
She took the catalogs back.  “Hmm.  This might be more difficult than I thought.”
I left her to her work while I got ready for bed.  Our conversation distracted me from my earlier one with Transmitter and Hickory.  Otherwise, I might be up all night thinking.

I was back at the newspaper in the morning.  We didn’t publish on the weekend, so Fridays were usually relaxed.  I had time to consider the offer from HSS.
Transmitter and Hickory said that they were making enough money to cover expenses.  It was possible that whatever I might add to the site would bring in more readers and increase revenue enough to make profit.  I had enough money to cover everything I needed at college, but extra wouldn’t be bad.  Writing for HSS would also give me experience working on the internet, which might come in handy if I didn’t get the newspaper job I had in mind.
I still didn’t feel confident in putting my name on something HSS published.  A future employer might stumble on it while doing a simple internet search.  If HSS didn’t mind me using a penname I might be more open to the idea.  That created other problems, though.  What if HSS became respected enough that I might want to put it on my résumé?
I put off thinking about HSS for the moment by searching for information about the break in at Dealmaker’s headquarters.  The Haycago Tribune was delivered to the school newspaper office, and I paged through it.
The article I found was tiny and buried deep within the paper.  It merely stated that there had been a break in.  No suspects were mentioned.  Nothing about a minotaur either, thank sun and moon.
After classes, I went to the Daring Kwon Do club meeting.  I had lapsed on practice for a few years after moving away from home and had only recently started again, managing to squeeze it into my schedule.  Club meetings were held at the student sports center on Friday nights.
After three years of classes back home, I only had a brown belt.  “This isn’t a factory,” Sensei Star had said.  “If you’re my student, you’re going to earn belts.”  I left for college before getting a black one, but that didn’t necessarily mean I couldn’t handle myself.  I wasn’t the best in the club, but I won more sparring matches than I lost.  Having long arms helped.
I came out of the club meeting room at eight o’clock.  Kicker was there in the gym.  Despite his name, he was shooting hoops.  He was a little sweaty, but it was a pleasant surprise to see him.
“Hey,” he said.  He ran for a layup and missed, but managed to catch his own rebound.  “Do you play basketball?”
I almost gave him my standard response when someone asked me that question, No, do you play miniature golf? but I held back.  He hadn’t meant it that way.  I just don’t like minotaur stereotypes.
“I used to, but not since middle school,” I said.  That was when everyone began to complain that playing with me was unfair.
He bounced the ball to me.  “Show me what you got.”
I dribbled a couple of times.  I hadn’t even touched a basketball in a year or more.  I hesitated a moment, deciding what I could do.  I was still wearing my white martial arts ghi.  In my size, it had to be custom made, but that meant that it fit well and wouldn’t get in my way.  My shoes were not designed for polished wood floors, but I thought they had plenty of traction.  I decided to go for a layup like Kicker.
I took off towards the basket, old memories coming back to me, telling me what to do.  At the last moment, I realized I was capable of more than layup and before I could stop myself, I jumped.   My fingers brushed the rim as I dropped the ball in.  It was no Air Dash, but it would have been a fair basket in any regulation game.
Kicker caught the ball.  “That was amazing.”
“Thanks.”  I could feel myself blushing at having outdone him.  “I’ve got to go shower.  See you.”
I hurried away.  More than a few people had tried to get me to join intramural basketball.  I hoped Kicker wouldn’t, because I didn’t want to have to tell him no.
Also, there was no way I could fit that in my schedule.

Later that night, I sat alone in the dorm room.  Cherub was somewhere else, perhaps drinking.  I sat with my computer and decided what to do about the offer from HSS.
I hadn’t developed any new arguments either for or against the job.  I would definitely do it under an assumed name, but that might create problems later if I tried to prove it was me.  Maybe I could just abbreviate my own name.  I sent an e-mail explaining how I felt about that.
In the morning, I left to dorm to get breakfast.  The same too-old-for-school pony I had seen Thursday night was hanging around again.  I began to get a little suspicious.
After breakfast I went to the newspaper to finish some work for the Monday edition.  When I left later, I turned my phone on, finding a reply to the e-mail I had sent last night.
Tammy,
When the site goes down for scheduled maintenance on Sunday night, we can add you to the admin list.  If the regular readers see a new author, they’ll want to know about you, so you might have to post a bio or something.
If you have any ideas for stories, let us know.  Otherwise, we can give you one to work on from our ‘to do’ pile.
Hickory
It was all happening so suddenly.  It hadn’t even been two days since I introduced myself, and it seemed like they already wanted to make me a full partner.  I thought that I might be in too deep to get out, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.
Luckily, Kicker saved me from thinking too much about it by calling to ask me to lunch.  When we met, I carefully avoided mentioning basketball in our conversation.
He said, “The dorm floor I live on was giving away tickets to the aquarium.  They’re good for next Sunday.  Would you like to go?”
OceanWorld it wasn’t, but I liked the Haycago aquarium.  Better yet, I didn’t have anything to do that day.  “Sure, I’d like that.”  We made plans to meet. 
Kicker asked when we could have dinner together.  I said I would call him.  He seemed to imply that when we did eventually go for dinner, it wouldn’t be in the school cafeteria.  With all the big changes that had been happening to me lately, I still wasn’t sure I was ready for that.
I told Kicker I had to do homework this Sunday, which was true.  I said I didn’t know when we’d be able to get together again.  I was beginning to sense that he didn’t like spur-of-the-moment plans.  I was trying to be less difficult, I really was.
Sunday went like I thought it would.  It was the closest to a normal day I’d had in about a week.  I’d neglected my homework for the past couple of days, and now I was paying for it.  At least I didn’t have anything else planned for the day.
On Monday, I sent an e-mail to a reporter at the Haycago Tribune.  I was convinced that I was right to suspect that Dealmaker was up to no good, but I wanted to see if a real investigative journalist would do things any differently.
The reporter’s name was Font Courier.  She wrote many of the pieces related to crime.  In the e-mail, I said that I worked for the school newspaper and that I wanted to ask her a few questions.
When I checked my e-mail after class that day, I saw that she had replied telling me it was okay to come and meet with her.
I drove to the newspaper headquarters and found the right office.  Since Font had a glass door and everything, I assumed she had some seniority.
She invited me to have a seat and seemed to be enthusiastic to talk.  I didn’t know what her age was, but her mane was going grey and a few wrinkles were appearing.  Her eyes were bright behind her glasses, though.  She asked me what I wanted to know.
“Do you do many investigative pieces?  Have you ever had something you worked on for a while, like a personal project?”
“Mostly I just write the crime reports as they come to me.  I occasionally have to do some research to get more information.  We do have some contributors who do only investigative things.”
“Well, I wrote an article about the city council a few weeks back, and something seemed unusual about one of the councilponies.  I started doing some looking, and kept finding more things that didn’t seem right.”
“Have you tried looking at any other council members?”
I hadn’t.  “No.  Why?”
“If you did, you might realize that if you go looking for connections, you’ll find them whether they’re there or not.”  Font said it as nicely as possible, but it was evident that she thought I was on a wild goose chase.
“Are you saying it’s not possible that a politician could have a personal agenda?”
“No, I’m just saying you need to take a step back and decide if you’re grasping at straws.”
In desperation, I pulled out my phone and showed her the picture I’d taken of Dealmaker and the unknown pony in the parking garage.  I’d copied it to my phone for safekeeping.
“This is Dealmaker, right?” she said, looking at the picture.
“Right.  I saw him meet with this stallion.”
“Who is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“It could have been just a friend of his.”
“In a parking garage in the middle of the night?”
Font shrugged.  “It’s just circumstantial evidence.  This alone doesn’t prove anything.  Granted, it does look unusual, but unless this pony is a criminal and you can prove it, it won’t get you anywhere.  If you can’t prove it and you publish it, you’ll get sued for libel.”
Font’s tone changed.  “If you want, you can give me a copy of that and I’ll show it around the office.  I’ll crop Dealmaker out of the picture so no one knows what you’re working on.”
“Thanks.”  I e-mailed her the picture and left my phone number with her. 
Walking out of the office, I decided that it had been a worthwhile meeting.  I didn’t learn anything about the investigation, but she did give me some solid journalistic advice.
Before I got to the front door of the building, I received a text from Cherub asking what my favorite color was.  I stopped to reply.  Walking and texting was dangerous for me, because if I tripped it was a long way down.  “Pick one for me,” I typed.
I put the phone away and looked up.  Across the street at the corner of a building was the same guy who I had seen hanging around my dorm.
I had stopped short of the front doors of the Tribune building.  The afternoon sun slanted through the glass, but I was standing to the side, in the shadows.  With the glare of the sun on the glass, I hoped he couldn’t see me.
Even still, I took a couple of steps backward.  What was I supposed to do?  If I called the police, I had no concrete evidence that he was following me.  He might even wise up and disappear as soon as he saw a police car.
Well, if he had only wanted to watch from a distance then it was time to give him a shock.  I turned and went for the back door of the building.  It took me several blocks of walking to get behind him without being spotted, but I can walk as fast as most ponies can trot.
The sun was at my back, casting a long shadow.  I let it fall on the sidewalk beside him.  After a few seconds, he turned.  I had my phone ready and took his picture.
I stepped closer so he had to look up to my face.  “Stop following me,” I said.  He nodded slowly, his eyes wide.  I walked past him back to my truck.
I felt smug, but that started to change to worry.  The obvious question I should be asking was why.  I couldn’t imagine that it wasn’t somehow connected to the Dealmaker investigation.  Next question: how did he find me?  It was possible that he could have staked out the dorm and followed my truck from there, but how had he figured out where I lived in the first place?
I put it out of my mind for the moment and went to Dealmaker’s campaign headquarters.  It didn’t look at all like it had just been broken into.
I sat there for a few minutes, just watching.  I saw a curtain move.  The mare I had talked with before peered out, glancing around and seeing my truck across the street.  She stared for a moment and appeared to be speaking.  As she turned away from the window, I saw there was a phone to her ear.
Realization hit me like a lightning strike.  I hadn’t heard or seen anything that might cause a curious person to take a look outside.  That meant that someone had called the mare and told her to look out the window to confirm that I was there.
I drove away, even more upset than when I’d spotted the stalker at the newspaper office.  I was somehow being tracked.  This was not good.
When I got back to the dorm, I rolled under the truck and checked everything.  If they’d managed to bug it with a tracking device at the scene of the robbery, they wouldn’t have had much time to install it, and it should be easy to find.
But what if they’d come back later and replaced it with a better-hidden bug that would be more difficult to find?  Or was I being ridiculous and paranoid?
After nearly an hour, I had found nothing.  I even checked the interior and under the hood.  That meant that if there was a bug, either I would never find it, or it was on me rather than on the truck.
The most likely choice would be my phone.  I’m no techie, but I had heard you could track someone’s phone from the internet.  Actually, that made sense as I had given the woman at Dealmaker’s office my phone number, so they could find me.
I pulled the battery out and put the phone in a metal box in my closet.  I didn’t know if that would help, but it made me feel better.
> Chapter 4
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	When I left the dorm the next morning, I kept my eyes moving.  I didn’t see the pony I’d busted at the newspaper office, or anyone who looked like his replacement.  I hoped that meant whoever was tracking me had gotten smart and stopped having people follow me.
Several times, I reached for my phone until I remembered that I didn’t have it.  I was hoping Font Courier would call me. 
When I got back to the dorm after classes, I didn’t figure there was any harm in turning on the phone.  If they had been tracking me with it, then they already knew where I lived.  What if that tracking also involved listening in?  Was that possible to set up remotely, or would they actually need to get a hold of my phone?  I decided to take the chance.
The phone displayed two voicemails.  I listened to them.  The first was from Transmitter asking if I would like to come see the HSS office.  He gave me the address.  I was surprised that they had an office, much less one off campus.
The other message was from Font Courier.  She said that she hadn’t managed to find out who the pony in the picture was, but she had some details from the break in at Dealmaker’s office that weren’t printed in the paper.  The only things taken were a few files of campaign donation records.  As I listened, a few things seemed to fall into place.
If Dealmaker was receiving funds from the mysterious stallion he met in the parking garage, he might stage a break in to wipe out his campaign records so he would have an excuse if someone took a look at his numbers and found that they didn’t add up.
If the mare who worked there had been involved in setting up the break in, and I strongly suspected that she was, then giving her my phone number had been a huge mistake.  From the number, they had been able to find me and learn who I was.
So, they knew my name and where I lived, and probably had a good idea of what I was after.  I could disable the phone, but by now they knew what my truck looked like so I couldn’t come and go as I pleased.  I also stuck out in a crowd.  This had gone from bad to worse.
I decided to call Transmitter back.  The HSS office could be a good hangout for me, as there was little chance that Dealmaker’s goons knew about it.  Getting involved with HSS was starting to look like a better idea.
I drove most of the way there, carefully watching my mirror for signs of pursuit.  I didn’t see any, but I parked a few blocks away and took a roundabout route, walking quickly.  The building was new, although not in a high rent district.  Hickory greeted me at the door and showed me inside.
The office consisted of a front room and a back room.  It was sparsely furnished, but nice enough for two—or three—people to work.
“When you mentioned operating expenses, I didn’t think that included rent,” I said.
Hickory shrugged.  “We have a niche audience and advertisers flock to that.  Even still, we just barely break even.”
Transmitter, who appeared to be the more computer literate of the two, showed me how to log into the website as an admin and make changes.
“You’re in the system,” he said, “although we haven’t changed anything on the public pages to show it yet.  I suggest you work on a short introductory note that we’ll post as your introduction.”
I told him I’d work on it.  The two of them then invited me to an investigation they’d scheduled for the next day.
“It’s a weird house,” explained Transmitter.  “That’s what we’ve taken to calling those places where the owner reports any number of strange little things happening.”
“How often do you find those?” I asked.
“A couple of times a month.  Remember, almost all of our tips come from the website.  Someone tells us about this stuff.”
“How often do you actually find evidence that something supernatural is going on?”
“Less than half.”
“I like those odds.  Okay, I’ll go with you.”  We organized a few details and then I left.
Without giving it much thought, I took a back entrance to the dorm in case anyone was watching the front.  It was strange how the security measures I was taking were quickly becoming routine.
In the room, Cherub surprised me with a sample of cloth.  It was a teal and gold floral print.
She held it up to compare with various parts of my body.  “I think it’s a good match to your coloring and eyes,” she said.  “We’ll add a couple of accessories and it’ll look great.”
I was happy that she had such confidence.  I didn’t.  I didn’t want to disappoint her by using the excuse that I couldn’t work the show into my schedule.  Much as I didn’t want to walk the runway, I was stuck with it.

The next day, I got a message from Font Courier.  She’d somehow matched my picture to a pony.  His name was Dockside, and he had connections to crime. Her tone seemed to indicate that she was now more receptive to my theories about Dealmaker’s activities.
I did a search for Dockside.  There were a few links that seemed relevant.  One, however, made me sit up and take notice.
There had been a property deal that went through.  Dealmaker had been in charge of a city project to create a new park.  It was to be made from a couple of old industrial properties near Lake Haycago.  Most of the properties purchased had belonged to Dockside.
So what was this?  “I’ll contribute to your reelection campaign if you buy some land from me?”  If I had found the public record of the sale in a simple internet search, had Font?  Would she talk to me about it?  I decided to put it off for a day in order to collect more information.
I met Transmitter and Hickory after class.  We rode in Hickory’s old car.  It was a little cramped, but manageable as long as I got the front seat.  The owner of the supposedly haunted house met us at the door.  He had submitted his place to the website, and was expecting only Transmitter and Hickory.
They quickly explained that HSS was expanding and the site was a little behind in being updated.  I introduced myself by my chosen penname, W. Tammy Minotaur, and explained that I would be appearing online soon.
We asked him to repeat what he’d written on his post to the site.  Strange things occasionally happened around the house, he said.  No particular pattern, no particular things.  I saw Transmitter and Hickory exchange a glance.  Evidentially, they had heard that story before, although I couldn’t tell whether that was good or bad.
The pony said he would leave us alone to work.  Transmitter opened a satchel he was carrying and dug through it.
“We’ve got magnetic anomaly detection and sound recording in one unit,” he said, pulling out two handheld devices taped together.  One of them looked like a tape recorder.  The other had a digital readout and looked similar to what I had seen ghost hunters on TV use.
“Of course,” Transmitter went on, “the magnetic read/write on the tape interferes with the detector, so these are mostly just for show.”
Hickory took the satchel from him and pulled out a few crystals with small pieces of fine chain attached.  “Our expert Cloud hooked us up with these.  They’re a lot better than electronics.”  
I wondered briefly why she wasn’t on staff, but decided not to say anything.  “How do they work?” I asked.
“It depends on what you’re doing.  These stones are fairly versatile and can be used in many ways.  For us, they just indicate when something strange is going on.”
He picked one up by the chain and swung it around a bit, letting gravity settle it down until it hung straight down.  Transmitter shrugged.  “Nothing here.”
Hickory handed me one of the crystals.  It looked like a lump of quartz with half a necklace glued to it.  I took it rather dubiously.
“Don’t be surprised if this turns out to be a dry hole,” said Transmitter.  “We get some good tips, but to be honest, our site has a way of giving ponies paranoia.”
As if to spite him, the crystal dangling from my fingers began to twist slightly.  I almost dropped it in surprise.  It was only a faint movement, but I definitely wasn’t causing it.
“Nice, you’ve got something,” said Hickory.
“How come you two don’t?” I asked.  Both of their magic detectors were still.
“Random chance,” said Hickory, shrugging.  “Sometimes it has to do with your personality or if you know what you’re looking for.”
“I don’t have any idea what could be causing this.”
“It could also be natural talent,” added Transmitter.  “When Cloud’s with us, she comes up with results nearly every time if there’s something there.”
I didn’t want to be a witch, and damned if I was going to let some little crystal tell me I was.  We made a slow tour through the house.  In the basement, the detector was almost completely still.  Starting up the stairs to the second floor, Hickory started to get some movement too.  As we approached the ladder to the attic, my crystal stopped swinging and began steadily tugging me forward.
In the attic, buried under some insulation and a loose board we found a small metal box.  It looked like it might be big enough to contain a baseball, and the lid had an old padlock on it.
“Don’t touch it with your bare skin,” advised Transmitter.  “There’s obviously something strange about it.”  That seemed like wise advice.  Hickory pulled a towel out of his satchel and lifted the box, wrapping it up.  We took it to show the homeowner.
“Never seen that before,” he said.  “Where did you find it?”  Hickory explained the location and Transmitter explained the method of finding it.  The pony didn’t have a key for the lock, so Transmitter and Hickory promised to report back to him when they got it open.  We left.
They dropped me off back at the dorm.  During the trip, instead of the box we had found, I had been thinking about the connection between Dealmaker and Dockside and what I wanted to do about it.  I supposed it wouldn’t hurt to have a look at the property that had changed hands.  Maybe I could discover if it was really worth what the city had paid for it.

Thursday evening, I was picked up by Kicker.  He drove an SUV, something with plenty of room to stretch out in.  I had asked him to drive me around so I could take pictures of buildings for something I was working on.  After that, we could have dinner together.  He jumped at the chance.
If my truck wasn’t so conspicuous, I wasn’t sure I would have asked him along.  I supposed if we were going to move this relationship along, now was as good a time as any.
I had the addresses written on a piece of paper and a camera.  I asked Kicker to drive slowly and took a couple of shots of each building, making sure to take them from different angles.  Hopefully, I could find someone who knew about construction and find out what they might be worth.
I saw lights on the second floor of one of the buildings and asked Kicker to stop.  It was one of the few that had windows on the second floor, although they were mostly covered over by translucent plastic sheeting.
The lights could be on for security, but it was still unusual to see in a building that should be abandoned and ready to be torn down.
“I want to take a look in there,” I said, indicating the building.
“Isn’t that trespassing?” asked Kicker.
I said nothing, but slipped out of the car, camera in hand.  We might have to skip that dinner, I thought.  It was already late enough for the sun to be down.
Behind me, I heard Kicker get out.  “What are you doing?” he asked, catching up to me.
“I want to know what’s in that building.”
“All the windows on the ground floor are covered.  The doors are probably locked, too.”
That was true.  The ground floor windows had been covered with plywood and metal, probably for security.  The upper windows, though, were merely protected with sheets of plastic.  Looking at it, I got an idea.
“Come here,” I climbed on top of a few empty metal barrels placed conveniently beside the building.  I gave Kicker a hand to help him up.
“Now give me a boost.”  Kicker seemed bewildered, but took a stance and let me stand on his back. Our combined heights plus the barrels let me just barely reach the tape holding down the plastic sheeting covering a window.
After I peeled the one corner of the tape back, I hooked my hands on the window ledge and pulled myself up, scrambling against the side of the building.
“Tammy!  I don’t think this is a good idea!” said Kicker.  A little late for that, I thought.  At least he kept his voice down.
I got my elbows over the edge of the window and hauled myself inside through the gap I’d opened.  I checked to make sure my tail had made it through and then turned to have a look around.
In the part of the second floor where I had ended up, there were a few industrial machines installed.  I couldn’t tell by looking what they might be used for.  All of them looked like they hadn’t been in operation for a while.
I checked the camera to make sure I hadn’t damaged it, and then crept along the wall towards the other end of the building where the light was coming from.
There were a couple of new-looking filing cabinets against the wall, completely at odds with everything else in the building.  I took a slow look around before crossing the floor to them.
None of the cabinet drawers were marked.  I opened a few quietly, snapping pictures of the contents.  A few files were marked, many weren’t.  I hoped the click of the camera’s shutter wasn’t too much noise.
Near the bottom of the second cabinet I searched, I found a folder at odds with the rest.  The printing on it was much neater than the rough scrawl on many of the others, and it had a small sticker of the Seal of the City of Haycago.
I quickly opened it.  It was the missing donation records from Dealmaker’s office.  I spread the papers out and quickly began taking pictures of all of them.  When I was done, I shuffled them back into the folder and reached farther back into the drawer to see if there was anything else interesting.
I had to pull the drawer out further to reach the back.  I accidentally pulled it out too far and it pulled out of the track it sat in.  It hit the floor with a clunk.
Muttering under my breath, I tried to slip it back in, rattling it a little to get it to fit.  I heard something and stopped to listen.  It sounded like an exchange of voices from the floor below.
I went back to trying to put the drawer in as quickly and quietly as possible.  My heart jumped as I heard someone start up the stairs to the second floor.  Luckily, the drawer caught the tracks just then, and I closed it silently.
In a split second, I had a decision to make.  Should I go back across the floor and head for the window, or hide behind the row of filing cabinets?  It would be quicker to hide right away, but if whoever was coming up the stairs checked the other side of the cabinets, I was in trouble.  I decided to risk being seen as I crossed the floor again because at least that way I had a head start on my escape.
I heard the hoofsteps level out at the top of the stairs just as I reached the first piece of equipment.  I ducked down behind it and crouched motionlessly.
The steps stopped for a moment, and then began again as if the pony was searching around the cabinets.  I took the opportunity to edge closer to the window using the sound of the steps to cover my own movement.
The hoofsteps continued, as if checking the cabinets themselves.  I was almost to the window.  I hoped the movement of the plastic wouldn’t be noticed and I peeked out.  Kicker was still standing there.  I motioned quickly for him to be quiet, and then dropped the camera for him to catch.
Behind me, it sounded like the footsteps were getting closer, as if checking between machines.  I realized I was running out of time.  I rose up from my crouch and slipped awkwardly out the window.  It was easier getting in than getting out.
I hung from the ledge until I felt Kicker take my hooves.  I gradually eased my grip until I was sure he had me.  Then I patted the tape back down and signaled for him to lower me.
We climbed down off the barrels and snuck back to his SUV.  I felt excited, for some reason.  It was a little thrilling getting away with something like this without being spotted.  I quickly reminded myself not to make these things a habit.
When we were both back in the vehicle and belted in, Kicker and I let out a simultaneous sigh of relief. 
“How about that dinner?” he said.

Kicker took me to a Neightalian restaurant that, for some reason, was still open at that time of night.  It was great food, and I was grateful to him for faithfully sticking around while I infiltrated Dockside’s building, but I really wanted to get back to my computer so I could review the pictures I took.
Fortunately, I realized how selfish that sounded, and willed myself to take an interest in the conversation.  Something about having to force myself to do that seemed wrong, and a faint trace of doubt showed itself in the back of my mind.  Kicker was polite, charming, but if I really liked him, then why did I put him second priority to everything else in my life?  I was still contemplating that when he dropped me off at the dorm.
“Dinner tomorrow?” he asked.
“I don’t usually eat before Daring Kwon Do club.”
“Can I escort you there, then?”  He was really trying hard to fit into my schedule, and I felt that I had to make some concessions.
“Okay.”  I told him my room number and when I would be leaving.  He drove away.
I went up to my room and sorted through the pictures.  They had turned out all right, but I didn’t know what to look for in the campaign records.  Maybe Font Courier knew an accountant who could make sense of it.  I sent the pictures to her.  I left them hi-res, so it took a couple e-mails to send them all.
Cherub wasn’t there.  With a jolt, I remembered that the fashion show was fast approaching.  Well, the only way to deal with that was to get it over with.  I went to bed.

On Friday, I attended all my classes, but my mind wasn’t in it.  Between thinking about my next move to get at Dealmaker, wondering what was in the box HSS had discovered, and worrying about the fashion show, I had enough things to think about.
After class, I dug around in my photo archive and found the picture of the list of employees at Dealmaker’s campaign headquarters.  There were two female names.
I did an online search and found the phone number for the campaign headquarters.  I put the battery back in my phone and dialed.
“Hello.  Campaign for Reelection of Dealmaker.”
I was in luck.  It sounded like the mare I had talked to.  Given a choice between the two names listed, I picked the younger sounding one.
“Fresh Face?”
“Yes?” she said, sounding confused.
“This is Tungsten Tammy.”  I paused to let her think about it.  “You need to listen to me.”
“How do you know my name?” She actually sounded a little scared.  I pressed on.
“That’s not all.”  I read from her information on the employee listing.  “I have your address.  I have your home phone number and your cell.  I know what car you drive, and what you look like.”
“Are you stalking me?” Her voice came out like a squeak.  I hoped she was the only one in the office.
“I don’t see why I shouldn’t.  I’m being stalked.”
“I’m not doing it!”
“But you know who is.”
“I…”  She seemed to be in shock and unable to come up with anything to say.
“Let me put it this way.  Do you remember when we first met?  I told you that Dealmaker was going down.  Tell me everything you know.”
“No, I can’t!”
“Don’t forget that I know how to find you.  I’m not going to stop until everyone knows what Dealmaker is up to, and it’s your decision whether you want to help me or go down with him.”
There was silence for several seconds and then the phone was hung up.
Well, I wasn’t sure what I had accomplished, but it felt like I was on the offensive for once.  I decided to wait one day for her to call me.  After that, I wasn’t sure what would happen.  I already had a lot to do.
I checked my e-mail and found a reply from Font.  She said it would take time to figure out what all the records meant.  She also said she didn’t want to know how I had found the missing records.
Just then, there was a knock on the door.  I got up to answer it.  Kicker had arrived early.
“Sorry,” I said.  “I’m not quite ready yet.  I’ll get changed.”  I thought about asking him in, before I realized he’d have to stand in the closet or something to let me have privacy.  I ended up awkwardly shutting the door in his face.
I put on my uniform and practice shoes.  I hadn’t yet disassembled my phone and put it away, so I took time to do that before going back out to where Kicker was waiting.
Like a gentlecolt, he accompanied me to the gym.  “I’ll be here,” he said, grabbing a basketball.  And he was, when I came out later.  He didn’t ask me to play ball this time.
“What’s your schedule look like tomorrow?” he asked as we walked back.
“I think I’ll be available in the afternoon.”
“I’ll call you, then.”  He gave me that trademark smile of his and left me at the dorm.
> Chapter 5
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Saturday morning, Cherub was up early.  “I’ve got so much to do before the show,” she said, buzzing around the room.
“You’re not the one who’s in it,” I reminded her.
“But I have to get everything ready.  And believe it or not, even if I’m not on the runway, I have to at least look decent.  By comparison, you have it easy.”
I doubted that, but said nothing.  “The show starts at noon,” Cherub instructed.  “Be there by eleven.  Make sure your hair is nice.”  She zoomed out of the room.
I had time for a leisurely breakfast, but followed it with homework.  Doing my hair would take time, but I figured untangling and making sure it was shiny would be good enough.
I was inside the building where the show was being held by eleven a.m., but I was still afraid of being late.  There were people rushing around everywhere.  Adding to that was a virtual maze of things backstage.  I was lucky to run into Cherub.
She grabbed my hand and led me quickly to a changing room.  “I’ve got everything here.  Get dressed and come out so we can make final adjustments.”  She thrust a paper bag into my hands.  “Don’t mind my stuff in the bottom of the bag.”
I went into the room and shut the door.  I didn’t know what was in the bag, and I felt the excitement at seeing something you’ve never seen before combined with the disappointment of getting something you don’t think you’ll want.
It was a simple dress made of the teal and gold material Cherub had shown me.  It fit quite well, but the neck and hems were racy enough to make me slightly uncomfortable.  Also in the bag was a simple necklace made of gold beads, a tan purse and teal shoes.
I had no problem with the other accessories, but the shoes nearly gave me a heart attack.  At first glance, the heels didn’t look all that high because the shoes had to be proportionately large to fit me. 
I dug into the bag and found Cherub’s things.  Pulling out her measuring tape, I put it to the shoes.  The heels were five inches.  Dear sun and moon.
When I had everything on, I opened the door and promptly hit my head on the top of the frame, forgetting to compensate for the shoes.  Despite that, Cherub clasped her hooves together and her face lit up.  “You look even better than I hoped!”
“I can’t wear this,” I muttered, rubbing my aching forehead.  “I have no idea how to walk in high heels.”
“That’s why you’re here so early.  Come on, I’ll help you practice.”  She walked me up and down the row of changing rooms until I could move without threatening to topple over, although it wasn’t long before I was drawing a crowd.
Before the show began, Cherub gave me a little polishing.  I hadn’t thought there was anything wrong with the clothing or my hair, but she worked me over anyway.
Standing backstage as the music cued up and the lights went down, I started to feel nervous for the first time.  The outfit wasn’t really skimpy, but I was unused to dressing that way.
I didn’t have much time to dwell on it, though.  I was lined up to be one of the first.  I walked out.  The announcer called, “Tungsten Tammy wearing an outfit designed by Cherub.”  Great, now the whole crowd knew my name.
I walked slowly, head up like Cherub had shown me.  The sound of the crowd changed when they saw me.  There were even a few hooves pointed.  If I wasn’t concentrating so hard on not tripping over my shoes, my face probably would have been red.  When I got to the end I turned around and headed back.  It was a challenge to not speed up my walk to get behind the curtain more quickly.
It was a relief to get out of sight again.  Out on the runway, I thought I heard the sound of my phone receiving an e-mail.  I had put it and the rest of my things into the purse for safekeeping.
When I checked the phone, I found that I had forgotten to turn it off.  The e-mail was from Transmitter.
We opened the box.  You need to get to the office ASAP.  It’s an emergency.
He might want me to get there quickly because of the good news of opening the box, but the mention of an emergency set me on edge.  I figured it was something bad.
The show would go on for at least another hour.  I might be able to find Cherub in the crowd, but I had no idea how busy she would be.  From the tone of Transmitter’s message, I didn’t know if I had time to change out of the clothes.
With a sigh, I headed outside to my truck, wobbling on the heels.

At the HSS office, I knocked on the door.  There was no response.  I tried the knob and it turned.  Transmitter and Hickory were there.
“What’s going on?” I asked, taking a step forward.  I felt a shock like electricity and hit something I couldn’t see in the door frame.  I jumped back, nearly falling.
There were a few pieces of printer paper laid out on the computer desk.  Transmitter grabbed one and held it up.  I read the letters on it written in black marker.
We opened the box and it set up some kind of force field.  He turned the paper over.  No sound in or out, no objects in or out.
Okay, so we couldn’t hear each other, I couldn’t get in, and they couldn’t leave.
You need to bring Cloud here, said Transmitter’s sign.
I dug in the purse and found my notebook.  I wrote, Couldn’t you have e-mailed her instead?
No computer.
So call her.
No phone, either.  Besides, wireless signals can’t leave the force field.  He turned the paper over and continued writing.  We were only able to send e-mail to you because the office computer is connected with a wire that leads out.
OK, so where is she?
He gave me her address.  Hickory added, What’s with the outfit?
Long story.  I left to go find the Cloud.  I waited until I was away from the office to turn on my phone again, punching the address into a GPS application.
It was an apartment.  I’m not sure what I was expecting.  A cave, maybe.  Anyone without a phone or internet might as well be living in one.  I knocked on the door.
A pegasus mare with a curly mane and thick glasses answered.  She looked up at me, surprised.
“Hello,” I said, trying to be as friendly as possible.  “I just started working with the Hay-town Supernatural Society.  Transmitter and Hickory got into some trouble and they sent me to get you.”
“What kind of trouble?” she asked.
“There was some kind of box we found.  They opened it and it created something like a force field in the office.  They’re stuck there.”
“I guess I better come.”  She turned away from the door.  “Come in,” she said over her shoulder.  I ducked my head and stepped in.  The apartment was furnished strangely.  It almost looked like an old zebra alchemist’s hut from the movies or something.
Cloud appeared from another room holding a messenger bag.  “I’m ready.  By the way, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Tungsten Tammy.”
“I’m Cloud.  Did you drive here?  I don’t have a car.”
“I’ll drive you to the office.”  We left the apartment and walked outside.
As we drove I said, “So, you’re a witch.”
She shrugged.  “And you’re a monster.”
I almost grabbed her by the neck and beat her senseless right there in the truck.  That is something you do not say to a minotaur.  It took me a second to realize that it had been a counter-insult, though.
I cleared my throat.  “Sorry.  I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s all right.  Just avoid the w-word in the future.  I find it demeaning.”
“So, you’re a librarian?”
“That’s right.  I see you read the article on the website.  Transmitter convinced me to do it.”
“You know him personally?”
“He didn’t tell you?  We’re dating.”  Rather than leave me with the awkward job of responding to that, she asked me to describe more about what was going on at the HSS office.  By the time we got there, I had told her everything that I knew.
When Cloud opened the door to the office, she spent several minutes communicating in writing with Transmitter and Hickory.  After that, she began unpacking things from her bag.  Several minutes later, she had the barrier dismantled and the two of us were able to walk through the door with no trouble.  Well, almost no trouble.  I ducked, but caught my horns instead of my forehead.  Those shoes were terrible.
Cloud examined the box and made comments while Hickory took notes.  It would be something interesting to post on the site.  Which reminded me that I didn’t yet have anything to write about.
When Cloud and I left, Transmitter and Hickory were hard at work figuring out how to manipulate the box to be more user-friendly.  I could see a couple of ways how it could be helpful to have a barrier that kept sound and people both inside it and outside it.
“How long have you been working for HSS?” asked Cloud while I drove.  “Transmitter hasn’t even mentioned you to me.”
“Just a couple of days.  I’m studying journalism in college, and I thought it would give me writing experience.  I’m looking for my first story.”
“If you’re stuck, try writing about what you know.”
“Well, I know what happened on Moose Island, but we decided not to publish that as a courtesy to the others involved.”
“Really?  You were there?  Small world, I know somepony else who was.”
I figured she was the one who had told Transmitter and Hickory about it.  Judging by the response to their post on the forum, not that many people knew about the incident.
“We might write about it eventually, but for now I’m looking for something else,” I said.
“Well, what’s going on in your life right now?”
I found myself telling her about the Dealmaker investigation.  Cloud listened until I had finished.
“Did you know you can make listening devices magically?”
“No.”
“I actually have some lying around I could give you.  It sounds like you’ve got a lot of incriminating evidence, but you need just a little more to seal the deal.”
At her place, Cloud found the things she needed.  There were apparently several ways to make remote listening devices.  Like with her magic detectors, Cloud liked to use crystal.
“After all, you can make non-magic radios with them,” she explained.
That made sense.  As much as magic could make sense, I thought.  “How am I supposed to use them?”
“Put this one where you want to listen,” she said, indicating a clear, glass-like prism. “This is the receiver.”   She pointed to what looked like a piece of white quartz.
“Do I…stick it in my ear or something?”
“When you hold it, you can hear the sound.  I’ve boosted the listening to be extra sensitive, while not overpowering.”
“Can I record things?”
“Sure.”  She produced a fine chain that looked similar to what the magic detectors had been made with.  “This will bring the recorder into the loop so it will respond to magic.  Make sure the chain encircles the recorder.  After that, just hold the crystal close to it.”
It sounded complicated to me until I realized how difficult it must have been for her to figure out how to make magic and electronics play nice.
“What do I owe you?”
“I usually cut HSS a deal, but if you’ll talk with me for a moment, I’ll let you have them at no charge.”
“Talk about what?”
“You.  I’ve been doing some psychological study lately, and you represent a new and interesting subject.”
“Psychological study?”  I wasn’t sure whether I should be insulted.
“I don’t have many hobbies,” she said, shrugging.
“Am I really that fascinating?”
“Have you ever met anyone as unique as you?  How did you get to be the way you are?”
I started with a few details, but before I knew it I was telling Cloud the story of my life.  I hadn’t intended to, but she was a good listener and managed to get the story out of me just like she had with the Dealmaker investigation.
I talked about my younger years and basketball, but not too much.  While I didn’t like to remember Moose Island, it ended up being the biggest thing that ever happened to me.
“How do you feel about that?” Cloud asked.
I detected the psychiatry aspect of the question, but answered it anyway.  “I guess I’m a little resentful.  I was just there to protect my cousin and I never knew any of that was going to happen.  I didn’t even believe what was happening until the necromancy started-”
I stopped suddenly and took a breath.  “Sorry.  I saw bad things happen.  Ponies used to think of minotaurs as monsters, but that night I saw what real monsters look like.
“I guess I wanted so badly to get away from that, from being a part of that, that I moved far away and tried to become someone completely different.  I’m doing everything I can do.  I’m staying busy.”
Cloud paused, as if making a diagnosis.  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Tammy, but you’re kind of moody and hassled.  I think you would enjoy life more if you would let a few things go.”
“How am I supposed to do that?  How do you make things seem so normal despite the fact that you’re a wit—sorry—magic user?”
“The trick is strategic sacrifice.  You have to learn to let some things go.  For instance, I’m sacrificing an active social life by keeping this library.”
It was then that I realized we had been talking for the better part of an hour.  I had to meet Kicker.  Cloud wouldn’t let me leave until I promised to at least think about making some sacrifices.
The first thought that went through my mind was Okay, but no goats or virgins.  That would have been terrible and monstrous of me, though.
I wanted to get back to the dorm and change clothes before I called Kicker.  Unfortunately, he was waiting for me when I got there.  I had told him which room was mine, after all.
“You’re looking good today,” he said as I approached.
“My roommate forced me to,” I said, briefly explaining about the show.  “I haven’t had time to change back yet.  Let me at least get out of these shoes.  These things are killing me.”  I had had enough of being fashionable for one day.
We went to dinner at the cafeteria and afterwards Kicker walked me back.  “I’ll see you at noon tomorrow for the aquarium,” he said.
That left me plenty of time in the morning to get things done, although I didn’t mention any of them to him.
That night, I had time to think about things to sacrifice.  I was already giving up a shot at a basketball career for an attempt at being a normal member of society.  I thought I could balance school and HSS well enough without giving up on either one.
My thoughts turned to Kicker.  He was a great guy, but I realized that I felt no connection to him.  It might be nice to have someone to hang out with, but it seemed like we were both looking for something more.  I certainly had enough trouble working him into my schedule.
I had never initiated a breakup before, but I thought about it now.  Maybe the next day after going to the aquarium would be good.  Going out on a good note.  I suddenly felt sorry for Kicker.  I hated to do that to him, but I hated to lead him on even more.
The next morning, I got up and drove to Dealmaker’s neighborhood.  I parked several streets away from his house.  It was early and the sun hadn’t come up yet.
Dealmaker usually parked his car in the garage attached to his house.  I figured it was too much to ask to get inside and plant the crystal near his telephone, but maybe I could slip it into the car.  He might say something incriminating during a cell phone call, after all.
I figured he had an alarm system.  Nobody with a house that nice didn’t.  I didn’t want to break in if I could help it.  I crept around the house, avoiding windows and trying doors.
There was a side door attached to the garage.  In comparison with the security I expected, I was surprised to find an outward-opening door with a cheap lock.  It could be opened with a credit card.
Still, what if physical security was lax because an electronic security system was in place? I had an idea to counter that.  I crept around the corner of the house so I could see the front door and the large windows that flanked it.  Cherub’s phone was in my pocket, taken from her purse while she slept.  I was still undecided whether I would tell her that I swiped it or not.  That was a bridge to cross later.  Now, I needed a secure way to make a call.
I dialed a number.  After several rings, a sleepy Fresh Face answered.
“This is Tammy.  I need a favor from you.  If you help me out, you’ll never hear from me again.”
“This is like extortion!”
“Maybe, but are you listening?  Do this one thing, and I’ll leave you alone.”
“What is it?”
“Call Dealmaker and tell him that you’ll be at his house in a few minutes.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
“What am I supposed to tell him?  He’s going to wonder.”
“Tell him it’s a secret and you can’t say on the phone.”
“I don’t have his home number.”
I really, really wished that I’d burned Fresh when I’d first gotten the chance.  After I got her to call Dealmaker, I might do it anyway.  “I don’t believe that, but I’ll give it to you just the same.  Get ready to write it.”  I told her the phone number.
“Call him.  Do it right now.”  I hung up.
Within a few minutes, a light came on upstairs in the house.  Shortly after that, a light came on downstairs and I saw Dealmaker move towards the front door.  He deactivated the security alarm, and stood peering out the window.
I moved back to the side door of the garage and used my student ID card to slip the bolt of the lock back.  The door swung open silently and I moved to Dealmaker’s car.  It was simple work to open the door, place the crystal under the driver’s seat and close the door quietly.
Back at my truck, I checked to make sure the other crystal was plugged in to my jury-rigged listening device.  My digital recorder was able to add more memory with replaceable memory cards.  With a couple of cards to rotate in and out, it could record nearly indefinitely.  Hopefully, it wouldn’t take that long to get something good.

When Kicker came by, he was apologetic.  “Sorry, I had to park in the garage across campus.  It’s a bit of a walk to get there.”
“It’s all right.  I’ll drive.”  I grabbed my keys and we went outside.
As we traveled along the lake shore road, we made small talk.  It was a good thing, because my mind was somewhere else, mentally rehearsing what I would say to Kicker when we were on the way back.  Something along the lines of I like you, but there’s just something missing.  Sorry.
Kicker had just said something, but I wasn’t paying enough attention.  “Sorry, what?” I said.
“I wish you would put more time and effort into this relationship,” he said.  Wait, since when was he the one displeased with how things were going?
“I’m doing what I can.”
“It’s almost like you don’t need me.”
I suddenly didn’t like his tone.  “Are you implying that I should be dependent on you?”
“I just want you to open up,” he said.  “The more I get to know you, the more I realize that you’re keeping me at arm’s length from your personal life.”
“I’ve known you for what, two weeks?”
“Well, is there a set time amount of time that has to pass before you trust someone?  It’s not very ladylike.”  His expression immediately changed as if he’d realized that he had said too much.  I wasn’t about to let him get away with it, though.
“Ladylike?  I’ve been trying to deal with it, but in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a mare.  Maybe I’ve got issues, but if you were a decent guy you’d help me deal with them.”
“Since when is this about me?”
“It wasn’t, but we can go there if you want.”
“Hang on—”
“Do you want someone that you can keep under your hoof?  Someone who’s going to roll over for you?  Am I not that person?  Do I intimidate you?  Is it because I’m too tall?”
“Well…”  He didn’t say no.
I slammed on the brakes and pulled the truck over to the side of the road.  Other motorists honked at me.
“Get out,” I said to Kicker.
“What, here?”  We were miles from campus.
I pulled the forgotten screwdriver out from under the seat and menaced him with it.  He quickly opened the door and exited.  I drove away.
“Aww, a breakup.  That’s sad,” said Cherub when I got back.  “Let’s go get drunk.”
“It’s Sunday.”
“The liquor stores are open.”
It was a tempting idea, but I figured that if she tried to match me drink for drink this time, she’d probably get alcohol poisoning.  Besides, I had an errand to run.  Between Dealmaker’s goons and Kicker, I needed to get a new cell phone number.
I drove to the mall where I remembered there was a cell service shop.  I parked and walked into the building.  There were the usual kiosks and directories near the door.  A few newspaper machines and junk food dispensers filled in the empty spaces along the walls.
An electronics shop near the door had their large TV’s on display, all tuned to the same sports channel.  I stopped in my tracks.  Haycago University’s basketball team was playing.  It was a close game and the timer had only a few minutes left.
The store’s glass window suddenly fogged in front of my nose.  I hadn’t realized that I was leaning so close.  Taking a step back, I looked around.
The basketball players had bright jerseys with numbers and their names on them.  They were on TV for entertainment.  The nearby newspaper machine showed a paper’s front page.  The text was small and the reporter byline at the top even smaller.  Facts and truth cost a few bits per copy.
I stood there for a little while longer than simple realization should have taken.  What did I want?  What did I want most?
I walked over to buy a newspaper.  I decided that it was something I wanted to have.

When it was finally published two months later, the story of Dealmaker’s shady business made the front page of the Tribune.  It was authored by Font Courier, but I was given credit as a contributor.  It was true that I had provided most of the incriminating evidence, while she had actually penned the article.  Besides, an unknown getting a headline story would be a story in itself.  At this point, I was content keeping a low profile working for HSS.
The trial was long and public, but Dealmaker eventually went to jail.  Less publicized were the convictions of Dockside, Fresh Face, and a couple of others involved.
Unfortunately, Haycago didn’t change much with the loss of only one corrupt politician.  I suppose that means I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me, but why confine myself to just one city?  I’ve been talking with Transmitter and Hickory, and with careful work HSS may be able to host a kind of crime fighting network in addition to our normal supernatural news.  Cloud thinks we may be stretching ourselves a little thin.  She says we can’t have it all.
I’ve spent more time with Cloud, and chosen to abide by her ideas on sacrifice.  I’ve probably given up a basketball career to pursue journalism, but I’m okay with that.  I’ve also given up attempting to be normal.  Normal people don’t try, they just are.  I can either redefine my definition of normal, or I can accept that I will never be it.  After all, being able to reach the top shelf is pretty cool.