by C. C. Mahon
Callum watched the newcomers with a face that said quite a lot about the good he thought of beige suits.
“You are?” he asked.
“You and your lawyers will have to wait,” said the leading woman. “This place is now under Customs control.”
“Customs?” said Callum. “We are hundreds of miles from the nearest border…”
“Don’t play innocent. You know who we are, and we know who you are…‘Mr. Denikin.’”
She said the name in a tone that suggested that she did not believe it to be genuine.
When I met Callum in Chicago, he called himself Carver. In Vegas, he was Dimitri Denikin. For a moment, I wondered what his real name was and how many years ago he had stopped using it.
“Who cares?” blew the sword.
She was right.
Moreover, the woman did not dwell on this detail. “We suspect you of having installed a highly unstable device in the basement of your building that caused an explosion and destroyed the neighborhood.”
“I protest!” intervened the other man. “My client is a victim in—”
Callum interrupted him with a wave of his hand. His gaze was fastened to the woman’s face. I only saw her from behind, but she didn’t seem especially impressed. “I guess you want to regain control of the site in order to continue to illegally puncture the ley lines,” she said. “You are liable to severe penalties under Articles I, II, and IV of the Customs Code, paragraphs…”
Callum suddenly abandoned his camouflage, revealing his monstrosity in all its excess. His skin was spotted with green flakes, his spider legs were like a large aura around him, and his eyes… Ew, he had spider eyes, with more facets than I wanted to count. As I had guessed, he was only wearing sweatpants.
Next to Callum, the lawyer squealed, took a step back, and fell in the rubble. He stayed seated but tried to move back as he could without taking his eyes off Callum.
“You look bad,” said the woman. “And you still haven’t declared your magical identity, despite our many reminders. I’m going to have to increase your penalties…”
Callum roared, and the sound echoed in my rib cage.
The woman put her hand in her jacket pocket and took out a box the size of a deck of cards. A shrill sound, as loud as an alarm, immediately bore through my ears and skull. Callum jerked and backed away. Still sitting on the ground in the middle of his paperwork, the lawyer did not seem to be bothered by the noise. He took advantage of Callum’s retreat to get up and get away from it all. The lead woman waved her hand, and one of her companions went after the lawyer.
The shrill sound made my stomach turn and go up in my throat—at least, that was the impression my poor brain gave me. My knees buckled. And I was several meters behind the Customs officer. Facing her, Callum fell to his knees, his head in his hands. His spider legs waved anarchically, and I thought he was going to vomit on the Customs officer’s pumps.
Visibly satisfied with her effect (or perhaps eager to protect her shoes), the woman put an end to the sound. I took a deep breath. My head was spinning.
The Customs officer put the box back in her pocket and said, “You have one week to comply with your legal obligations towards Customs. If you refuse, we will have to take action. Not to mention the suspicions of misuse of magic and endangering the Great Secret, about which our investigation is still ongoing. Of course, your demonstration this morning, in front of a human, will be included in the file.”
She dismissed Callum with a wave of her hand, and I thought he was going to have a heart attack. He straightened up and stepped towards the woman. She took the case out of her pocket again. Callum bit his lips then raised his hands as a surrender. “All right, I’m leaving.”
“Get dressed before you go out on the street, or I’ll have to fine you—again.”
Callum groaned but restored the illusion that camouflaged him from the eyes of the world. As a result, a very chic and angry businessman came out of the site, closely watched by the two women. They followed in his footsteps a few moments later, and I was about to leave my hiding place when I felt the ground shaking under my feet. The two women must have noticed it too, as they stopped halfway out. One of them squatted down and put her hand flat on the ground. The other took out a big phone, or maybe a small tablet, and frantically tapped the screen before showing it to her colleague. Both shook their heads with scowling faces.
“Uh-oh,” commented my sword.
“What do you mean, ‘uh-oh?’ Is the place going to explode?”
“Looks like… Oh, no, it’s calming down.”
The vibrations decreased until I couldn’t feel anything, but the Customs officers didn’t move. After a few minutes of immobility, they suddenly came to life, straightened up, adjusted their suits, and left the site without comment. The smell of magic was tightening my throat, and I followed them as soon as I thought the coast was clear.
6
I STRODE BACK to my motorcycle, put my helmet on, and straddled my machine, but I didn’t start the engine. Too many ideas were jostling in my mind.
If I believed my sword…
The weapon sent me an acidic vibration, like a snub. I reconsidered.
According to the excellent explanations of my sword, Callum’s eyes had been bigger than his stomach and gotten himself a nice bout of indigestion from incompatible magics. And from the scene I had just witnessed, he was desperate to fill up with raw magic to help him digest his excesses. Only Customs was keeping him away from the magical leak…for the time being. I could hardly believe that Callum would be deterred by the supernatural equivalent of an ultrasonic whistle.
On the other hand, I had the impression that Customs officers had seen worse than Callum. At least they weren’t impressed by the first monster to rear its ugly head on the Strip. Maybe Customs had more resources than I imagined?
But there was above all the problem of the leak itself: the magic was still gushing, and the jolt I had just witnessed was not reassuring…
Fortunately, the neighborhood was deserted, both by its inhabitants and by the site workers. Why? I wondered. And for how long?
I finally decided to start the engine and drove towards the club at a slow pace. I had just stopped at a red light when a newspaper vending machine caught my eye. Placed on the side of the metal box, the front page of the day announced, “Explosion site: all work stopped.” Below, a heading crossed the page: “Is the site haunted?”
I stopped the bike along the sidewalk and bought a copy. I got on my bike again, but only so I could spread the newspaper on the tank and start reading. Johnny hadn’t exaggerated; a backhoe had indeed gotten away, and the workers who had witnessed the scene refused to come back to work. It was assumed that toxic fumes could explain the workers’ “hallucinations.” The city authorities had decided to close the site until further notice. I wondered what “authorities” we were talking about and if it was Customs that had quarantined the place. After all, when you wanted to keep the supernatural secret, you avoided letting machinery come to life in front of witnesses. Not to mention the tremors I had felt. Was the site dangerous? Were we at risk of a ground collapse or even another explosion?
I was dying to go directly to the Water Authority building and talk to the Customs officers. Except that, just like Callum, I still hadn’t registered myself as a “supernatural.” Was I going to have to fill out a whole bunch of paperwork because Odin promoted me to Valkyrie? On the one hand, the idea seemed grotesque. On the other hand…compared to the rest of my life, filling out a three-part sheet on my magical status was quite prosaic.
Back in my loft, I took the time to call Lola on her cell phone but only managed to talk to her answering machine. I asked her to come by the club that night. We needed to talk. I couldn’t hide it from him any longer that her boss, “Oliver Dale,” was actually a god. I didn’t know how to tell her, and I would have preferred Odin himself to spill the beans. But Lola was my friend, and if I had to choose betwee
n my friend and a temperamental god…well, my loyalty would go to Lola.
After coming to this conclusion, I finally collapsed in my bed.
7
I DREAMED OF earthquakes and a tidal wave that drowned Las Vegas. As the city was still stuck under Customs’ invisible magical cordon, Vegas turned into a giant snow globe, with multicolored sequins as snowflakes.
I woke up with my nose in my pillow, relieved to find that my bed was not floating in the middle of a magical flood. Then I started my stretching session to loosen my back and wings. Finally, I sat in the middle of my bed and looked up at the glass roof of my loft. The sun was descending towards the horizon, and the Las Vegas sky shone like Elvis’s suit under the effect of the ambient magic. The show would have been enchanting if it hadn’t reflected the extent of our leakage problem.
I showered and grumbled every time my wings bumped into the walls of my bathroom, grumbled again as I tried to dry my feathers without ruffling them too much, and continued in the same tone while looking in my closet for a tank top that I could put on without dislocating a limb.
When I went down to the bar, Johnny was already there. He was cursing while taking an inventory of the bar’s supplies.
“A problem?” I said.
“It’s those damn feathers coming back to upset me.”
He pulled the collar away from his apple green shirt to reveal his neck. His skin was red, and he had small blood marks. “I found three feathers while shaving tonight.”
I debated for a moment whether I should tell him that he had forgotten a fourth and found it wiser to keep quiet. He replaced his collar with a sharp gesture. “And I thought I was rid of all this bird stuff.”
“Do you know why they suddenly grow back?”
He shrugged his shoulders, and his chin jumped forward, like the head of a bird. “These ley line problems, I guess. It brings out the peacock in me.”
“Basically, you’re all human?”
“As far as I know. But if you spend seventy years under such a powerful spell, it leaves a mark. The problem is, it hurts to tear off a feather, and I don’t want to spend my days doing that. I’ve seen ads for depilatory creams. Do you think it could work?”
“On magic feathers? I wouldn’t risk it.”
Johnny resumed his work and his grumbling, and I continued to prepare the room. Gertrude was on duty that night, but she wouldn’t arrive until well after dark. Matteo, on the other hand, should have been here by now…
“No cook tonight?” Johnny asked.
“He should be here,” I said. “He’s late.”
“Maybe he too had to pull his feathers out before he came. Or his car turned into a pumpkin…”
My phone vibrated to tell me that it was officially dark. It was time to open.
“Is your bar ready?” I asked.
“Like a Boy Scout!” replied Johnny.
I activated the intercom that relayed the bar in the basement and the club entrance on the street.
“Nate?” I said. “You can open the door.”
“It’s about time,” groaned Nate. “People are queuing up to the corner of the street!”
Nate cut off communication.
“Here’s another one that’s in a bad mood,” Johnny commented. “I must say, if he had to shave his grizzly bear fur before he came to work…”
The first customers were already coming down the stairs. Some of them commented on the new entrance to the room, which was enlarged by Nate. But for the most part, the faces were closed, and the conversations were conducted in a low voice. The leak of magic seemed to weigh on everyone’s mind.
I served alone in the room for half an hour until Gertrude arrived. The customers all seemed to have decided to come to my club for dinner, and of course, without Matteo, I could only offer them a few peanuts. Hunger did nothing to improve moods.
The room was already full of hungry customers when the ground shook. Everyone froze. Did the ley lines just explode?
A massive silhouette framed itself in the entrance of the room, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief; Gertrude had just arrived, and her troll steps had made the floor vibrate.
“Hello, boss!” said the troll with a wide smile. “That’s nice, this bigger entrance!” she continued, putting on her apron. “What does Matteo have for tonight’s specials?”
“He hasn’t arrived,” I said. “We don’t have anything to serve. We even ran out of peanuts.”
Gertrude frowned. “Is there something wrong with him?”
I felt the heat coming to my face. I was so focused on my own little annoyances that I hadn’t even worried about Matteo. What if the vampire had had an accident?
I dropped off my tray and picked up my phone, calling him. “Matteo?” I said. “It’s Erica. Is everything okay…”
“Yes, it’s okay, I’m coming!” barked Matteo.
And for the second time in the evening, one of my employees hung up on me.
“He is alive,” I told Gertrude. “But in a terrible mood.”
“Maybe that’s normal. Everyone is nervous right now, and Matteo is feeling the emotions of others.”
“Only those of humans,” I said. “And for humans, everything is normal.”
“Except for a possessed backhoe and a haunted construction site,” Johnny intervened.
Gertrude shrugged her massive granite shoulders. “I don’t know. We trolls are much less sensitive to all these things.”
She began her service, slowly and diligently. It seemed to me that her presence soothed the customers. Perhaps they were simply too impressed by Gertrude’s mass to dare be impatient.
Matteo arrived very late, walked through the room without looking at me, and kicked the kitchen door open.
Gertrude joined me immediately. “Boss, maybe it’s better if I talk to him tonight.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“He may tell you things that he will regret later.”
“And not to you?”
“I think he’s less sensitive to troll emotions.”
So I let Gertrude manage my angry cook, and I continued my work as a waitress in a club full of supernaturals on edge.
8
WHEN LOLA FINALLY arrived, she had dark circles under her eyes and looked pissed off. I offered her a Green Ghost, her usual cocktail.
“No way,” she growled in response. “I’m sick of ghosts! Give me a good old-fashioned beer.”
I waved to Johnny. He poured Lola’s beer and went back to the other end of the counter, where other customers were crowding in. I perched on a stool next to Lola and asked, “What’s this about ghosts?”
“This town has gone crazy. Just today, I received three different people who wanted to file a complaint against a ghost…”
“The same one?”
“No. A guy claims his mother-in-law is watching him in the master bedroom. The mother-in-law has been dead for three years. Another thinks his house is haunted. He had it built a couple of years ago, and no one has ever died there. And a curio shop owner told me something about her merchandise coming to life… I must admit that I didn’t listen to everything.”
“The magic that leaks in the atmosphere makes people nervous,” I said.
“‘Nervous’ is the right word. In the last few days, we’ve been overwhelmed by reports of bizarre incidents.” She carried her glass to his lips and drank half of her beer. “Ah,” she exclaimed as she rested her glass back on the counter, “I’ve been dreaming about this beer all day.”
“These bizarre incidents,” I said, “are they also related to the magical leak?”
She shrugged her shoulders and took another sip of beer before answering. “I don’t know. On the one hand, they are ‘normal’ incidents: fights, traffic, or domestic accidents. But on the other hand… There’s this guy who used to beat his wife. We’ve never been able to do anything about it because she refuses to press charges.”
“And?”
“This t
ime, he’s the one who got beaten up. In the emergency room, he said his assailant was invisible. He accuses his wife of casting a spell on him.”
“He probably took a blow to the head.”
“Maybe. There was also a car accident that cost the driver his legs.”
“Ouch.”
“Yep. The thing is, a few years ago, the same guy caused another accident. At the time, it was the other driver, a young girl, who had both legs amputated.”
“Karma?” I suggested.
“Possible. Or I’m nervous about this leak, too, and I’m imagining things. How’s it going on your end?”
“I saw Callum this morning—”
“WHAT? Is that why you wanted to talk to me?”
“No, I—”
“Tell me about it anyway.”
I summarized my visit to the site of the magical leak, Callum’s arrival, and the scene that followed.
“So he has trouble controlling his powers?” Lola looked satisfied. “Serves him right. I hope he explodes all over the city.”
My friend’s fervor made me smile and reminded me of the promise I had made to myself: I should no longer hide from her the nature of her boss.
“Lola, the thing I wanted to talk to you about—”
Someone came into the room and rushed to the counter. “Erica!” shouted the newcomer.
I recognized Jenny from the pack of meta-coyotes.
“Erica! Your bouncer went crazy!” she added.
“Nate?” I asked. “What’s wrong with him?”
“A fight. With one of the meta-wolves. In the middle of the street.”
On the ground floor, the atmosphere was electric.
Nate had left his post at the door, and anyone could have taken the opportunity to enter the club. But everyone seemed engrossed with what was happening outside. I pushed through the crowd.
As Jenny had said, Nate and one of the meta-wolves were facing each other in the middle of the street, surrounded by a small crowd of enthusiastic spectators. The opponents were still on both legs, but anyone would have understood that they were not entirely human: the meta-wolf had a carnivore’s dentition, and Nate had three-inch-long claws at his fingertips. Both growled and danced around each other at a speed that would have made a boxing champion jealous. The air smelled like magic and testosterone.
