by K. J. Emrick
“Of course not. I have no reason to follow your every step.”
“Then how?”
Lifting one of his big hands, he taps a heavy finger at the side of his nose. “People like us just know things, Miss Stone.”
Uh-huh. I notice he’s putting us in the same group, him and me. ‘People like us.’ I’m nothing like this man. I won’t bother telling him that, because frankly Arnie Chen is the type of guy you don’t argue with, but we’ve got nothing in common.
For one thing, I’m not a criminal.
“What makes someone a criminal?” he asks me, as if he could hear what I was thinking. “I do certain things to make a living which society frowns at. At different times in human history that same definition has included…hmm…bootleggers, scientists, religious figures. People from each of those professions were sent to prison for doing what we now consider perfectly legal. Even heroic. Galileo, for instance. Or Ghandi.”
“So you’re comparing yourself to Ghandi now?”
His laugh is loud and deep. “I knew Mahatma Ghandi. I would never call us equals. The man was an absolute bore.”
Only someone like him could find one of the greatest spiritual leaders of the modern world boring. Wait…did he say he knew Ghandi? Like, personally knew the man? He was assassinated in 1948, more than six decades ago. No way was Chen that old.
Although, that wouldn’t be the strangest thing about him, now would it?
I look at him, and he looks back at me, and it’s me who looks away first. The more I learn about this man the more I realize how out of my depth I am with him. Which means, I probably shouldn’t blow him off.
“Look, Mister Chen.” I drop my arms, and a little bit of my attitude. “I am devoting myself to finding your statue. I do have leads that I’m following up on. The person who took it hasn’t tried to sell it either through legitimate means or on the black market. Something like that, old and rare and made from pure jade and ivory, is going to be worth a fortune but no one has tried to sell it. If it wasn’t stolen for money, that means the thief wanted it for personal reasons. That limits my search quite a bit.”
“Do you think so, Miss Stone? Well, I’d give you a list of enemies for you to start with, but…”
“But that would be nearly everyone in the city?”
He chuckles, even though I don’t exactly find it funny. A man like Chen doesn’t just have enemies. Guys like him have arch nemeses. A list of them, as long as my arm. Checking them all could take me the rest of my life.
So, yeah. Maybe the fact that the theft was personal doesn’t limit my suspect list all that much, after all.
“Just give me a few more days, Mister Chen. As soon as I know something, I’ll tell you.” I try to stay mad at him, because he basically blackmailed me into doing this job for him in the first place, but however it happened he’s still my client. Besides. This statue really does mean a lot to him. “I promise. I’ll have something for you in a day or two. In the meantime, you have to let me do my job. That means taking on other clients when I feel the need. You don’t own me, Mister Chen.”
“Or me, either,” Harry points out, standing there defiantly.
Chen ignores Harry, keeping his eyes on me instead. “Miss Stone, I will choose to trust you for now. I will give you two days to bring me the thief.”
“Let me guess. I bring you his hide, or you’ll have mine in a sling?”
“Precisely. I like you, Miss Stone, but if I don’t hear from you at the end of those two days there will be consequences.”
Without looking, he reaches back and grabs one of the full coffee cups off the table. He lifts it up, right between us, his huge hand engulfing the small cup…and then he squeezes.
The ceramic cup shatters and spills shards wet with black coffee all over the floor.
Consequences.
“Mister Chen,” Harry says, leaning over to brace his palms against the table. “I would ask you not to threaten my friend.”
His hands flex their grip against the table’s edge, and the wood creaks.
That’s my guy. He’s got my back, and I’ve got his.
I think most people who knew they were being told off by a genie would at least have the good sense to be scared, at least a little. Chen wasn’t. If anything, he looked more annoyed than intimidated. Like Harry was a fly buzzing around that huge, round head.
“Don’t test me,” he says, his Asian accent coming out strong and clear. “You are no match for me.”
Harry blinks. I swear to God, he actually blinked. Then his shoulders droop, and his stern expression slips away, and even though his gaze never leaves Chen’s there is no doubt that he believes he would be the underdog in this contest.
Once, Harry had described his powers to me as ‘nearly infinite and solely limited by the bounds of imagination.’ That’s some serious firepower he’s carrying around in those bulging biceps of his. Power that I’m still only beginning to understand after months of him living with me.
Now consider this…a guy with that kind of phenomenal magic power literally at his fingertips is backing down after just a few words from Arnie Chen.
I study his pudgy face, and I wonder again. Who, exactly, is this guy?
“Well,” he says, straightening his bowtie against his three chins. “I’ll be going now, Miss Stone. I believe this has been a most productive meeting. I feel like we’ve come to a better understanding of each other.”
His eyes drift over to Harry again, and I realize there’s several levels of meaning behind his words. He knows I have a genie. He knows I used a wish to keep Harry safe from whatever magic Chen can throw around. That’s the better understanding he was talking about. He knew it was never my choice to work for him in the first place, even if I am cashing his checks. But now, he knows that I’ll never be someone he can control. Not totally. Not the way he wants to.
He wants me a subservient employee, bowing and scraping and doing everything I can to please my employer—my master.
Well. I ain’t that kind of girl.
“I’ll do everything I can for you, Mister Chen,” I tell him as I walk over to my door. I open it for him, and stand back, clearly showing him it’s time to leave. “What I won’t do is turn my life upside down at your whim. When something happens, you’ll know it.”
“Will I, now?”
“Yes.”
“And just how will I know?”
“Ever seen a tornado rip through a trailer park?”
His big lips scrunch into a frown. “As a matter of fact, yes.”
“That’s me when I’m working a case. Don’t worry. You’ll know.”
There’s a flash of color in his eyes, just the faintest hint of red, like the reflection of fire. Then he smiles, and steps past me into the hall without another word.
When he’s gone I shut the door. I lock the door. I turn the deadbolt back into place. For good measure, I look through the peephole to make sure he’s gone…
And an eye stares back at me from a freckled face full of worry and concern.
“Gah!” I jump, because I sure wasn’t expecting that, but in the next breath I realize it’s Molly Knowell, come to see me this morning just like we set up yesterday. “Why would you do that!”
She squints, shaking her head back and forth. She can’t hear me very well through the metal-core door. Probably for the best, because I don’t want a potential client to see me freaking out just because there’s someone at my door. Bad for my reputation to be that jumpy. Guess I’m still a little tightly wound after that unexpected meeting with Chen.
“Hmm,” Harry murmurs. “I smell a witch.”
“Yeah, that’s definitely her.”
“It would seem your next story is here.”
“Case,” I correct him again. “This is our next case.”
“Ah, so then you are going to help her?”
Was I? I hadn’t really decided. Not yet. “Maybe. I’m still not sure. Let’s see what she has to say
first, okay? She’s a witch. That doesn’t exactly scream trustworthiness.”
Shadows deepen under Harry’s eyes. He’s got a very expressive face, and he always wears his emotions out there for everyone to see, but I’ve never seen him look that disappointed. “You sound like you’ve already made up your mind about her, just for being who she is.”
“No. It’s not that. It’s just…she’s a witch, Harry. You know. Hexes and curses and bad juju, and all that.”
“Oh, my lady. That is a very bigoted opinion.”
“What? I am not a bigot.”
“Hmm. Do you think Molly is a bad person simply because she is magically endowed?”
“No. It’s not like that.”
“Then you think ill of her just because she’s a witch?”
“Well, no. I mean, you’re magic, and you’re a good person.”
His smile chases the glower away from his face. “Thank you for that. I have always tried to live the life of a good person. First as a human tasked with defending the people of my village, and even now as a genie bound to perform the wishes of my master. Magic doesn’t make you good, and it doesn’t make you bad. How you use it determines the good that resides within you.”
That was deep. It rang true, and I suddenly felt ashamed because I actually had been judging Molly before I really got to know her. All I really learned about her yesterday was that she’s a serious pet lover. I mean, that whole thing about having to run back to her car for her dog was a little weird, am I right?
Don’t judge, is what Harry’s telling me, and I guess that’s good advice no matter who knocks on your door. But if Molly’s a witch, like Harry said, then why did she need my help?
Knock, knock.
Oh, right. She’s still at the door. Guess if I wanted to be smart about this I’d just ask her directly, instead of standing here and running endless questions through my mind.
With a whoosh of displaced air and the pleasant perfume of flowers, Harry is gone. I didn’t have to see him leave to know it. I almost called him back, but then I’d have to explain who the strange man living in my apartment was, and for all I knew there was some blood feud between witches and genies that Harry had forgotten to tell me about. Better to ease into these things.
But I swear to you, Harry’s going to sit down with me later and tell me everything he knows about all the People of Magic who live in Detroit. I’m getting tired of being surprised all the time!
Undoing the locks that I’d set just a couple of minutes ago, I open up for Molly. “Hi. Come on in.”
“Thank you, Miss Stone…I mean, Sidney. Thank you.” Her hands are wrapped tight around her arms, the long sleeves of her dress hanging loose at her wrists. She looks just as upset as she did yesterday. Maybe even worse, if that was possible. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t stay yesterday but I had to go. Everything is…everything is upside down and I just need your help so bad.”
“That’s my specialty. Helping when things get upside down. Um. I know. Why don’t we come sit at the table and we can talk there? There’s fresh coffee.”
Molly seems to like that idea. She nods, still rubbing at her arms, and walks around the little half wall into the kitchen area. She stops when she sees the coffee cups. “You’ve got two cups here. Were you expecting someone else?”
Oops. Harry had made himself disappear, but not the cups of coffee that he set out for Chen. I scan the floor frantically for the cup that Chen had smashed but it’s gone. Harry must have poofed that away with him when he left. The spilled dark coffee, too.
“Er, well yeah.” I lied. “I figured this was going to be a long story and the coffee would help. It’s Turkish. Really good. So let’s sit down and we’ll get started. You said your boyfriend had something stolen from him, right? Something that was a matter of life or death.”
Molly nods, biting at her lower lip as she does. “It is a long story. It really is. It’s kind of a weird story, too. I know you’re the one to listen to it. Oh. You have Pop Tarts, too. Do you mind if I…?”
She sits down in the chair where I’d been sitting earlier, wrapping her hands around one of the coffee cups, and eyeing the toaster pastries hopefully.
“Sure,” I tell her. “Help yourself.”
“Thanks. I haven’t really had time to sit down and eat anything because I’ve been trying to help Kurt. Mmm. Blueberry. These are my absolute favorite.”
I sit in the chair across from her, dragging the remaining coffee cup over to my side. “Kurt?”
“Mm-hm. Yes. Kurt Dachiana. That’s my boyfriend. Fiancé, really, but what do labels matter, am I right? Kurt’s in trouble. Real trouble, Sidney. He needs your help. You’re the only one—”
“The only one who can help him. Yes. You keep saying that. Let me ask you something. You’re a witch, aren’t you?”
She chews as she says, “Yes. I’m a witch. Well, technically I’m a pixie witch.”
“I’m sorry, a pixie witch?”
“Yeah. There’s all kinds of witches, with different kinds of power and abilities and stuff like that.” She takes another bite of the pastry, and a sip of the coffee, murmuring with pleasure as she licks the froth off her lips. “As witches go, I’m way low on the scale of power. I can do a little things with my magic, but not a lot. I’m useless at changing the weather or turning people into animals, but I’m great at casting illusions. Small stuff like that.”
I watch her as she snaps off a piece of the Pop Tart and dips it into her coffee. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that. Turning people into animals? Changing the weather? Just…damn. “Witches can do that sort of stuff? Like, for real?”
“Oh sure. If they have enough talent or strength or sometimes if they have the right magical charm. Magical objects can amplify powers. Not for me, though. I’m strictly small time little stuff. Like you.”
I stop turning the coffee cup in circles to watch the foam spin and look up at her sharply. “Whoa. Hold on, now. I’m not a Person of Magic.”
She stares at me blankly. “A what?”
“Person of Magic. It’s what I use to refer to people like you, or…anyone who uses magic.” I leave off telling her about Harry. That secret needs to stay hidden until I know I can trust her. “Anyway, what I mean is I don’t use magic. No spells for this girl.”
Molly giggles, obviously amused by what I said. “Not that kind of magic. You have your ESP, or whatever it is. The magic that lets you see things that are about to happen.”
That’s not exactly what I do, but I won’t bother arguing about it. That’s close enough. What concerns me is that she knows about it at all. “Who told you I can do that?”
“Who told you I’m a witch?” she counters.
“I…I hear things,” I tell her. I heard it from Harry, of course, and for now he’s going to remain my little secret.
“Well, there you go.” She shrugs, and her piece of pastry drips coffee onto the table before she remembers it’s in her fingers and brings it up to slurp it into her mouth. “People know about me, because I’m special. Lots of people know about you for the same reason. We are magic users. Word gets around in our circles about who’s in the club, so to speak. We’ve heard about you, and so when I needed help I knew you would be the one to listen to me no matter how crazy it sounds because you know about magic and crazy stuff and things that other people think is impossible. How else do you think I found you?”
I bring Harry’s coffee up to my mouth and gulp half of it down in one swallow. Turkish coffee is meant to be sipped, and swirled, and enjoyed slowly. Right now, I don’t care. I needed something to take the edge off the thrumming that’s started inside my skull. There’s a People of Magic community chat line here in Detroit, apparently, and it turns out that they know all about me. They know I can see into the future, even if they don’t know the specific details. I’m betting that Molly here doesn’t know that I can’t see the future where it involves her. That isn’t magic anyway, but that’s not
the important part.
Arnie Chen said he knew all about me the first time we met. He said he always kept track of extraordinary people. Now I knew what he meant. How many other people knew about me? The thought of it made my skin crawl, as if I was being watched by a hundred different eyes, under a microscope, naked and exposed.
For a girl like me who tries to keep her private life to herself, that’s not a very comfortable feeling.
With a sigh, I set the coffee aside, and focus on the moment. However Molly heard about me, and whatever she thinks she knows about me, she still needs my help. “All right. Let’s get back to you and your boyfriend. I mean, fiancé. Tell me what was stolen, and I’ll tell you if I can help.”
She nods, looking down at the half of the pastry she has left. “His necklace was taken from him. It’s…it’s kind of a family heirloom. I brought a picture with me to show you. I thought it might help.”
Pushing aside her snack she reaches into the right-side pocket of the cute brown leather jacket she’s wearing over her plain, flowered dress. There’s one huge bundle of contradictions packed tight into her tiny frame. A girl-next-door dress, under a bad-girl jacket. Nervous and shy, but she’s brave enough to come here seeking out my help. Freckled face, but I can tell she’s no innocent child. She’s got the sharp eyes of someone who knows that bad things happen to everyone.
I like complicated people. Phony people are simple. Good, honest people are complex.
When she reaches her hand across the table to me there’s a photograph in her fingers, obviously printed off from a home computer on regular paper. It’s a very unprofessional snapshot of a gold chain made of bulky links. The sort of thing that a guy wears. Manly jewelry, if you will. At one end of the chain is a clasp. At the other end is a round disc of beaten metal that’s probably no bigger than my palm. There’s a spiral engraving that starts at the edge and winds its way to the center, to the raised impression of a dog’s head, with its snout uplifted like it’s barking at the moon.
