by R. L. King
“Because that’s way too close together for Nick. If he gets within about ten feet of that thing, whatever’s going to happen will happen, whether we want it to or not. I wouldn’t even trust the trunk to keep it safe.”
Twyla shudders. “That’s…pretty freaky. If he doesn’t learn to control that, he’s going to be really dangerous around any kind of magic.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. Anyway, we should give this a try. Let’s walk down the street a bit, though, so we don’t do it right in front of the building where you were.” I pull out my phone and text Nick the plan, then point down the street after he reads it and looks at me. He nods and starts off that way.
A couple blocks away, we find a little plaza area—probably where the nearby employees come to get some fresh air or have a smoke on their lunch hours. This time of the evening it’s deserted. Nick’s already there, sitting on top of a concrete picnic table.
“You ready for this?” I ask Twyla. “I warn you—I wasn’t kidding when I said I have no idea what might happen. Nick’s ability is completely unpredictable, at least so far. It might destroy the thing before we get to see what’s in it.”
“No…I don’t see any other choice,” she says. “I’m afraid to take it back home. Even if Nana’s not involved, Selene has ways of finding things out. She always has. She might even have put some kind of tracker on this. Neutralizing the magic is probably the best option we have.”
“Okay, then.” I take the package from her and approach Nick. “Ready?” I call to him. “You sure you want to do this?”
“I’m dying of curiosity. Slide it over, and stand back.”
Wondering if I’m making a big mistake, I toss the package toward him. It lands on the ground a couple feet from the picnic table’s bench. Twyla and I watch, our tension nearly visible in the night air, as he cautiously picks it up.
Nothing happens.
He glances at us, tilting his head in question. “You sure this is magical?”
“I’m sure,” Twyla says. “It was set up so nobody but Mr. DeVries could open it. When I used magical sight before, I saw the aura.”
“Well…nothing’s happening. No smoke, no popping sound, nothing.” He holds it up to prove it. “Do you see anything now?”
Twyla narrows her eyes and leans forward. “No. Nothing. Either it’s gone or I can’t see it from this far away.”
“Or I’m glitching it. What do you want me to do?”
“Try opening it,” I call. “Be careful, though.”
“Yeah. I’m always careful. Nervous, too.” He sets it on the picnic table and cautiously peels the seal up from the flap.
Next to me, Twyla makes a little moan.
“Nothing,” Nick calls, breathless. His shoulders slump, releasing their tension. “I guess this time my power’s behaving itself.”
Twyla hurries forward before I can grab her. “Let me see what’s in there.”
Nick hands it over, and when nothing goes wrong, I join them.
“Another envelope.” Twyla’s already yanking it free of the thicker one. It doesn’t have any kind of seal on it, so she rips it open and stares at the contents.
“Is that…money?” Nick whispers.
“That’s a lot of money,” I agree.
Twyla pulls a stack out, eyes wide. It’s wrapped in a band with $10,000 printed on it in neat, bankerly type.
“Holy shit…” Nick says.
“There’s more.” As we watch in amazement, Twyla pulls out four more stacks just like the first one and sets them next to it.
“Fifty thousand dollars…” I murmur.
“You should probably put that in your purse,” Nick says, glancing around. “We don’t want anybody coming around thinking we’re doing a drug deal or something.”
As Twyla scrambles to shove the five stacks of cash in her big leather bag, I pick up the envelope and look for anything else. Immediately, I spot a single folded piece of paper. “Hey, check this out.”
All three of us lean in for a closer look. Twyla raises her hand, ready to cast a light spell, but I slap it away and shake my head with a sharp glance toward Nick. She catches her breath, nodding and looking scared.
The light in the plaza is enough to read by if we squint and get close. The paper has only a few typed sentences:
This should be a good start. Contact me through the usual channels when everything is in place to begin the next phase.
There’s no signature, but at the bottom of the note is what looks like a muddy, vaguely circular ink smudge about an inch in diameter. It’s impossible to pick out any detail, though.
“That’s probably a sigil of some kind,” Twyla says, leaning in closer. “A magical way to identify the sender,” she adds for Nick’s benefit. “Your power probably mucked it up too.”
I sit back, letting my breath out. “So Selene’s giving a big pile of money to this guy DeVries. I’m guessing it doesn’t have anything to do with this video he’s supposed to be helping with?”
“Why would it? Why would she keep that secret from me?” Twyla’s looking troubled. “I didn’t even know she had that kind of money, at least not that she could get her hands on in cash. And besides, the type of video we wanted to make wasn’t anywhere near complex enough to cost that much.”
She shivers. “Bron…what am I gonna do? I don’t want to carry fifty thousand dollars in cash around in my purse. And we can’t give it to DeVries if we’ve opened the package. He’ll tell Selene I know what’s in it, and that can’t be good. He’s probably already called her back to report to her.”
Nick is staring off into space. “None of this makes sense. If Selene was having you give this money to DeVries, why would he drug you? You’re just the messenger. It’s in his best interest for you to stay healthy so you can deliver it.”
“And what about the cannibal zombie thing?” I add. He’s right—none of this is holding together.
“Could he have suspected you were holding back?” Nick asks Twyla. “Is he magical too? Maybe he read your aura and figured out you weren’t going to give him the money?”
“I don’t know. We didn’t talk about anything magical, since I didn’t know what Selene told him. I didn’t see any magic around him or in his office. All I was supposed to do for Nana was talk about the video. The money thing was separate.”
“I think we need to talk to DeVries.” I get up. “Twyla, you and I need to come back here tomorrow and insist he talk to us. I’m sure you can make that happen, right?”
“Oh, yeah. Especially if he really doesn’t have any magic.” She sounds more determined now, and looks more angry than nervous.
“What about me?” Nick asks. “You want me to come along?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. If he’s magical—or even if he isn’t, probably—Twy will need to be able to use her magic. Having you along will make things too unpredictable. Sorry, Nick,” I add more gently.
He waves me off. “No, no, it makes sense. I have a reading tomorrow anyway that I probably shouldn’t blow off. You will tell me what happens, though, right?”
“Oh, yeah, for sure,” Twyla says. “You’re involved in this now.” She lets out another sigh and clutches her bag closer to her. “This is all turning into a mess—and I haven’t even had time to be terrified about what almost happened to me tonight. What’s that say about how crazy this whole thing is?”
I can’t argue with her. When nearly being turned into a cannibal zombie is the least terrifying that’s happened to you on any given day, it might be time for a good long nap.
“Okay,” Nick says. “I guess I’ll head back to my car, then. I’d ask if you two were gonna be okay, but, well—yeah. Call me tomorrow, okay?”
“Promise. Thanks, Nick.”
“And be careful.”
“Yeah, that’s the plan.”
I watch him jog off, back toward the lot where we left his car, but I don’t move to follow him.
&nb
sp; Twyla tilts her head at me. “Any reason we’re staying here?”
I don’t want to say it—hell, I don’t want to do what I’m about to suggest—but when does that ever matter? I continue to watch until Nick’s shadowy figure disappears into the distance, then turn back to her. “I don’t want to go back yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because I want to have a look at DeVries’s office now, when nobody’s there.”
Her eyes widen. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was. Will you help? I can’t exactly do it on my own.”
“But Bron, that could be dangerous.”
“It could—but I doubt it. He’s not there right now, and even if he is a mage, I’m guessing he’s not much of one.”
She shivers in the light evening breeze. “Why do you want to look in there now? And why without Nick? He could be useful if there’s magic.”
“He could—or he could cause the whole place to blow up. You’re right, what you said before: he’s got to learn to control that power of his before I’ll trust him in any situation with magic. I need to talk to him about that. But right now—are you with me?”
“What are you expecting to find in there?”
The truth is, I don’t know what I expect to find. Maybe nothing. But if we can discover something definitive that links DeVries and Selene, maybe Twyla and I can take it to Nana. She might be older than God, but she’s the most powerful mage I know and one of the smartest. She’ll know what to do.
Unless she’s involved in whatever Selene’s up to, of course—but that thought is too terrifying to contemplate right now. One step at a time.
“I just want to look around. I promise we won’t stay long. Are you in?”
She sighs. “Yeah. Of course I’m in. I want to know what’s going on as much as you do—maybe more. The idea that Selene is doing something under the table scares me—especially if my dream’s right and she had something to do with—”
Her voice falters, and I put a hand on her arm. “Come on, Twy. We don’t know that. Let’s take this slow and smart, okay?”
“Yeah. Okay.” She pulls her bag closer in. “Let’s go before I lose my nerve. And I’m not letting this money out of my sight.”
Chapter Ten
When we get back to DeVries’s building’s parking lot, I see Nick’s car is gone. I still feel guilty about lying to him, but right now safety trumps full disclosure. I briefly consider asking Twyla to move her car, but I don’t—it’s been here this long, so if there are any cameras around, it’s already on them.
“Where’s his office?” I ask her.
“Third floor, in the back.”
“Okay, come on. Let’s go in through the back door, if there is one.”
I’d be lying if I say I’m not nervous, especially since I’m essentially a mundane. I don’t even have my gun. Getting a concealed-carry permit in California is next to impossible, so I usually leave it in a locked box in my nightstand in case anybody breaks into my apartment. Sometimes turning my back on magic can be inconvenient, but it’s not like the whole thing was my choice. Even if I wanted to cast a spell, between my PTSD from the incident and my lack of practice, I’d probably do more harm than good if I manage to get anything to work.
Depending on Twyla makes me even more nervous, though. She’s not a fighter and never has been. She’s smart and capable, don’t get me wrong, not to mention a damn good mage. But she’s always been about the fun side of life: parties and flirting and being a social butterfly. I can only hope being transformed into some kind of cannibalistic monster, combined with her recent dream, has spooked her enough to kick her out of her comfort zone.
Especially since I’m counting on her magic to get us through this.
We’re in luck with one thing: the building’s old enough that it doesn’t have electronic locks on the doors. Mages can get through them without much trouble, but it’s messier and leaves evidence in logs.
Twyla has no trouble popping the back-door lock. As I step inside, a sense of foreboding hits me—instead of walking through a physical door, I’m taking a metaphorical step through into somewhere I can’t turn back from. I’ve broken into buildings before, but only ones that were either abandoned or I knew something bad was going down in them. This time, there’s no ambiguity about it—this is illegal. If we get caught, we could go to jail.
Ah, well—I’ll have to remember to ask Nick to feed Rory and check in on Alice if that happens.
“Where are the stairs?” I whisper, looking around for cameras. I don’t see any, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there. I try to remember not to touch anything, since neither of us is wearing gloves.
“I don’t know. I took the elevators. They’re just up ahead.”
I sigh and keep going. I don’t want to take the elevators for several reasons, but fortunately as we reach them I see a nearby door labeled STAIRS. I point at it, then stick my hand inside my jacket sleeve and pull it open.
It’s only three stories up, but the trip seems to take forever. Our footsteps echo on the concrete stairs, and the harsh fluorescent fixture at the top of the stairwell makes our shadows dart around like dark ghosts. More than once I tense, looking down to make sure nobody is following us. This wouldn’t be a good place to get caught unaware. I try not to think about where those cannibal zombie creatures came from, or wonder if there might be more of them out there somewhere. Or in here. I can almost hear my heart pounding.
When we reach the top, Twyla holds up her hand. “Let me make us invisible,” she whispers. “I can’t hold it for more than a couple minutes, but it should be enough to get us in.”
I nod and take her arm, waiting for her to do her thing. Invisibility is a tiring spell, I remember that from the early days of my apprenticeship—and using it on more than one person at a time is even harder. I notice a faint glow around a bangle bracelet she wears, and wonder if she’s using a power crystal to make it easier. When she finishes, I can no longer see either of us, but a tug on my arm pulls me forward with her.
We pause a moment outside the door. The small plaque next to it reads DeVries Multimedia Productions. So far so good—but anybody with fifty bucks and access to one of those mall memorabilia shops can fake a plaque.
“Let’s go,” Twyla’s disembodied voice whispers. “I can’t hold this much longer."
I can hear the strain; she’s not lying. “Go for it.”
A tiny click indicates she’s opened the lock. I cover my hand again and push the door open.
Inside, Twyla lets the invisibility spell go with a whoosh of air. “Useful spell,” she pants. “But I’ve never met anybody who can do it for very long.”
I’m looking around, barely listening. We’re standing in a standard business-office lobby, maybe a bit more upscale than usual; in the dim light I can make out leather sofas, a modern, glass-topped coffee table covered with magazines like Variety and The Hollywood Reporter, and a tall plant in an urn in the corner of the room. Two framed movie-poster prints, Casablanca and Metropolis, hang on the wall behind one of the sofas. The receptionist’s desk is, of course, empty, and another door beyond it is closed.
Next to me, Twyla goes stiff. “Something’s wrong,” she whispers.
“What do you mean?” I look around again, but I don’t see anything out of the ordinary. “Looks fine to me.”
She’s got the characteristic fuzzed-out look of magical sight. “No.” Her voice sounds half-strangled now, and her heavy breathing isn’t from fatigue anymore. “Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”
Damn, I wish I could do what she’s doing, but this isn’t the time to try to force it. “Should we go? Do you think somebody’s in here?”
“No…I don’t think so. This feels…older. Like something happened earlier.” Moving tentatively, she crosses the room to the door and stands to the side of it. “Let’s look in his office. I think whatever it is, it’s in there.” She turns to me, and her eyes are haunted. “Br
on…I think it’s bad.”
Great. The visions of the cannibal zombies return, but I figure if any of those are in there, they wouldn’t wait quietly for us to come in. I move to the other side of the door and motion for her to open it.
As the door swings open, I tense, crouching, waiting for something to jump out at us.
Nothing does. The whole place remains as silent and undisturbed as before.
Except for the smell.
It’s dark inside DeVries’s office, but the odor that comes rolling out through the open doorway is hard to miss: a coppery stench mixed with something else—something even less pleasant.
Suddenly I’m thinking that being here is a really bad idea.
Twyla apparently thinks so too. I can hear her breath rattling in her throat, and she takes an involuntary, staggering step backward. She’s probably still using magical sight, so she’s getting whatever I got only ten times worse.
“Bron…?” she whispers.
“Yeah.” Cautiously, I creep forward until I’m standing in the doorway. I can’t see much—the window coverings block out any light from outside, and the faint moonlight coming in from the reception area’s windows isn’t enough to reach in here—but I don’t need to.
The smell and the dark, oddly lumpy shape behind the desk are enough to get the general idea.
“Oh…my God…” Twyla breathes. She’s standing behind me, peering over my shoulder. Before I can tell her not to, she summons a light spell around her hand and holds it up.
You have to understand—I love horror movies. The gorier, the better. I can sit through things like Saw and Hostel without breaking a sweat, munching away on popcorn and guzzling soda like I’m watching Sesame Street. Movie gore does not bother me, no matter how realistic it is, because in the back of my mind on some level I always know it’s fake. I’m more likely to be admiring the artistry of the makeup people and props designers than repurposing my popcorn tub as a barf bucket.
Right now, my dinner is taking the express elevator to my throat.
I swallow hard and barely manage to keep my tacos where they belong, but it’s a close thing.
