Dark Wizard's Case

by Kirill Klevanski

No. No. Leave. Now! a voice yelled in Alex’s head.

  But he used to be friends with Robin Loxley. He couldn’t respond to an offer like that with anything other than: “Sure. I’d love to treat you.”

  Chapter 47

  The Schooner was usually empty during the day except for the staff and the occasional detective stopping in for some stereotypical doughnuts. They were made quickly, they stayed warm and fresh for a long while, and they were the most reasonably priced in all of downtown.

  “Oh, Alex! Hi!” Cherry flitted out from behind the counter when the small (and authentic) ship bell rang.

  Cherry was the real (and legal) name of the red-haired, round-faced, and big-eyed girl with the slender body. Her slightly-above-average looks came with immense charisma and sex appeal that made her a magnet for guys. And those guys brought with them nighttime brawls and scuffles Doom had to sort out.

  “Ah, Doom,” a tall, skinny black guy with dreadlocks named Jay called with a wave. “You’re early today.”

  “Oh, you brought a guest,” Cherry said, smiling the part of a welcoming hostess. “What would you like?”

  “A double latte and an éclair, please,” Perriot replied as she sat down at the nearest table.

  “Sure.” Cherry rushed toward the bulky, grumbling, and sometimes clogging coffee machine. “How about you, Alex?”

  “I’ll do his.” Almost elbowing Cherry away, Jay stepped over to the plain electric teapot and plugged it in. “Black tea with lemon, yeah?”

  “Thanks,” Alex said.

  Perriot’s choice of the table in the farthest corner was fine with Alex, so he walked around the upturned chairs on the genuine, authentic ship crew tables to sit across from her.

  “What’s wrong with that guy?” Leia was watching the pair behind the bar closely. “He practically hit the girl. Does he really hate her that much?”

  “Quite the opposite.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The guy’s name is Jay, and he’s in love with the girl. But she friend-zoned him.”

  Perriot gestured vaguely.

  “That’s dumb.”

  “Not really,” Alex drawled with a sly smile and fell silent.

  When the pause drew out too far, Perriot rolled her eyes.

  “Stop it, Professor Dumsky. Can’t you just let a girl enjoy a bit of local gossip?”

  “Sure, sure,” Alex said, holding up his hands. “Cherry—that’s her name—um…plays for the other team. Jay doesn’t stand the slightest chance.”

  “Does he know that?”

  “If he knew, he probably wouldn’t be acting like a jerk.”

  Leia frowned.

  “Why don’t you tell him?”

  “Because I’m a jerk,” Alex replied, his sly smirk turning bloodthirsty.

  To his surprise, Perriot laughed out loud instead of telling him off.

  “Oh, Alex is a god of humor.” Throwing sexy fluids around, Cherry flitted over to their table to set down a tray with their order. “Alex, are you in the kitchen or the main hall tonight?”

  “Main hall. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, some police officer is celebrating their birthday. So…”

  “Don’t worry, you femme fatale. I’ll make sure none of the co—…the brave officers badgers you.”

  “Thank you.” Cherry leaned forward, opening her low neckline, to peck Alex on his bristled cheek before flitting away to the kitchen.

  She really was a young girl of about eighteen. Rather fickle (going out with a different girl almost every week), she was…good. (If it’s appropriate for a black wizard to describe anyone as good.)

  “So, you really do work here,” Perriot said in astonishment. “I always thought that was just gossip. But why? I wouldn’t think a bar hand would make more than a professor at First Magic University.”

  Alex’s smile faded. I can’t forget.

  “Miss Perriot,” he said in his coldest and most distant voice, “your coffee and éclair are here, and I have nothing but my tea and cognitive dissonance. So, please be so kind as to hold up your end of the deal to resolve the situation.”

  Perriot was taken aback by the abrupt transition from friendly small talk to business, but she got over it quickly.

  “As you probably know from the rector, Professor Dumsky, your student group consists of the first and only graduates of Project Rizen, a boarding school for Light children with unique gifts. Honestly, I have no idea why you were appointed their supervisor.”

  She fell silent.

  If Alex hadn’t been a jerk, he would have kept quiet, too, but…

  “It’s my sterling qualifications,” he replied with a venomous smirk.

  The éclair in Leia’s hand paused in midair.

  “I spent six years of my life with those kids, Professor. That probably beats your qualifications.”

  “Still you’re sitting there with your éclair, while the B-52 group is officially supervised by me.”

  Perriot returned her dessert to her plate, wiped her lips with a napkin, and was making a motion to transfer credits from her account to the Schooner’s when Alex coughed.

  “Breaking a deal with a black wizard is a very bad idea, Miss Perriot. And we do have a deal.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “I’m prepared to accept your challenge to a duel whenever you like, Miss Perriot. But in the meantime, I’m just stating a fact. The deal is: coffee and éclair for Leo Stone’s info.”

  “And the other students? Don’t you need their info, too? They’re also unusual wizards.”

  “Not unusual enough to leave a burn on a Light Master’s arm.”

  “But maybe enough to leave one on a Dark Mystic’s.”

  Alex’s smile turned into a bloodthirsty grin, the shadows behind him beginning to move. Perriot edged backward and shuddered.

  “Forgive me, Professor Dumsky.” She pushed her cup of coffee away. “I forgot that I’m talking to a black wizard.”

  “It’s okay, esper.”

  Leia’s eyes flashed with evil fire, though she contained her anger. That’s a shame. Nothing ruins a relationship as well as being cursed so badly in a magic duel that you spend a month in the hospital.

  That move had never failed Doom before.

  “As the rector told you already, he has a split personality, to put it in laymen’s terms. The trigger that brings Leonard out is when he or one of his friends takes damage.”

  “Damage? Got it. And what can you tell me about Leonard as a person?”

  “Have you seen the Silence of the Lambs?”

  “Sure,” Alex replied, a bit stung by the suspicion that he might not have.

  “Take Hannibal, remove everything but his extreme cruelty and intelligence, and you have Leonard Stone.” Alex sensed no fear in Leia’s voice, only the kind of extreme concentration a trainer surrounded by tigers experiences. “His upper limit is unknown, and—”

  “How’s that possible?” Alex interrupted.

  “It just is. His potential is different every time he comes out. Some doctors think the upper limit of his power is directly proportional to the perceived level of the threat.”

  “Wow,” Alex drawled. “How did he come to have that?”

  “His parents.” Leia said the last word with outright hatred.

  “They had the same kind of split personalities?”

  “To some extent,” Miss Perriot replied, her eyes on the bottom of her coffee cup. “When he was seven, Leo first tried a dress on. And they…beat him up. With a belt. An iron-studded one. When he was ten, they got a call from school to tell them he’d been spotted kissing a boy. And…he got seventeen fractures, Professor Dumsky. Over forty stitches.”

  “Was it his dad?”

  “And his mom.”

  Doom contained his urge to swear. Robin had taught him not to use foul language with ladies present.

  Although, to be fair, that had never stopped Alex before.

  “And that
happened in enlightened Myers City.”

  “Not-so-enlightened High Garden,” Leia corrected. “In case you didn’t know, it’s a district in the city slums inhabited by…well, all sorts of scum. That’s where Leo grew up. And Leonard with him.”

  “What happened to his parents?”

  “You haven’t guessed yet?” Perriot asked. “When they decided to give Leo some more of their special discipline, Leonard woke up and… Leo still thinks his parents died in a house fire.”

  That time a swear word did escape Alex’s lips.

  “The other kids’ lives weren’t much different, Professor. Jing’s whole family was destroyed by ancient relic hunters. Travis has amnesia—no memory of anything that happened to him before the age of ten. For eight years now, he’s been trying to find a trace of his parents. Elie…was born out of wedlock. Her mother died at the door of the hospital without getting any help, and her father took her in just to avoid tarnishing his reputation. And Mara…she’s a half-blood. I think it’s self-explanatory why she would jump at the first opportunity to move to Rizen.”

  Shit.

  “So, what, Miss Perriot? You want me to feel bad for the kids? All I can say to that is that shit happens. To everyone. I asked you to tell me about Leonard so my conscience will be clear if I ever have to kill the bastard. I wasn’t looking for all the ins and outs of the poor orphans.”

  Perriot jumped up.

  The chair flew farther than it would have if the only kick it had been given was from mere inertia. Perriot’s peach hair was twitching again.

  “You really are a black wizard,” she hissed.

  “Absolutely.” Alex held his mug of tea up to her as if it were a glass of wine. “In full regalia. I can show that regalia to you, by the way, but I’d have to strip naked for that.”

  “I wonder how you haven’t been caged yet.”

  “Your Leo hasn’t either,” Doom replied with a shrug. “I’m no worse.”

  “Bastard!”

  “You’re not wrong.”

  Slapping the table, Perriot shouldered her bag and hurried off toward the door. When she got there, she turned with a hiss.

  “Keep them away from the tournament, Professor. Or else…”

  “Or else what?”

  “Or else I’ll kill you.”

  The small bell jingled as her peach hair vanished around the corner.

  Cherry, radiant and smiling, sat down across from Alex.

  “Do you really like her that much?”

  “Oh, get lost.”

  ***

  “So, ladies and gentlemen, I think our first practice session could be described as anything but good.”

  The silent students watched their professor as he stood behind the desk in lecture hall B-52.

  “Before we move on to the next one, I have a task for you. Remove your lenses and put them in this box. Over the next week, you’ll be attending all classes without them.”

  “What?!”

  “How can we…?”

  “That’s imposs—”

  “I don’t care,” the professor interrupted, “if it’s possible or not. If you’re serious about winning the tournament, that’s what you’re going to do.”

  Chapter 48

  Alex dropped the kickstand and habitually flicked his cigarette butt into the trashcan at the bus stop.

  “Fop,” Gribovsky said.

  Alex hadn’t heard from the Guards the whole week he’d spent messing around with the fosterlings of Follen School’s light counterpart.

  “I was hoping you kicked the bucket,” Doom replied, his face as dark as a thundercloud.

  Snorting, Gribovsky stepped away from the sports car he’d been leaning against. He walked past Alex, clapping him on the shoulder and mumbling sympathetically.

  “Tough luck, pumpkin. Tough luck.”

  Rolling his eyes, Alex followed the lieutenant.

  Farrokh had negotiated access with his contact, just as promised. It was time to get answers to a couple questions, as trivial as that might sound.

  The week-long hassle with a bunch of wizards who were no different from mortals once they removed their lenses had been a real mess. Alex couldn’t have imagined how much trouble he’d have training what appeared to be capable students.

  The address Farrokh had given him was in the outskirts of the central district, somewhere in the middle between the giant skyscrapers of downtown and Amalgam Street.

  It was a fairly fashionable spot with boutiques where the prices could have easily been mistaken for phone numbers.

  16 7th Road was a small, four-story, and rather decrepit neo-gothic building with gargoyles and heavy bas-reliefs. It looked a bit out of place.

  “Simon Shulman,” Gribovsky recited, tossing colored candy drops into his mouth on the go. “Antique dealer and seasoned smuggler. Wanted by the police in at least nine Old Earth countries on suspicion of relic export fraud. A black wizard, for sure. No doubt about that.”

  After ascending the stone stairs, Alex and Gribovsky entered a spacious room somewhat resembling bald Bromwoord’s shop. The only difference was that it skipped the cheap smuggling stuff in favor of real and heavily protected artifacts. They were secured under adamantius-splattered glass covers (a separate license was required for each) and enveloped in whirlwinds of serious magic shields. The amount of magic they contained had them glimmering.

  There weren’t that many items on exhibit in the hall. Everything else was presumably only available on order for regular and trusted customers.

  The bulk of the goods, Doom guessed, was only sold to members of the Abyss in exchange for gold coins.

  But even the few items displayed for everyone to see…

  A small red notebook. Not the one used by Tom Riddle to write his secrets in, sure, but still containing an evil spirit. A conditionally permitted artifact priced at 248,000 credits. Who would buy that? Only a crazy collector, I guess.

  The bell jingled over and over as it was slapped by the guardsman’s merciless hand. Gribovsky had walked by the glass cases and shelves as if nothing there was worth his attention, and he soon confirmed that with a comment.

  “Stop gaping, Alex. Nothing really special here.”

  “Nothing? But—”

  “Pumpkin, if you behave, I’ll get you a pass to visit the office’s storage space. It has tons of shit like this.”

  Doom had no doubt that the Guards’ bowels did indeed have tons of shit, but before he could say that aloud, a new character appeared on the stage. He appeared out of the dark corridor leading from inside the building in response to the doorbell.

  And a colorful character he was.

  Short, balding, with a crooked nose and a monocle on his shifty, greasy, and brown right eye, his left eye was poor-quality glass that presumably held sentimental value. Alex couldn’t think of any other reason the owner of a shop like that one would walk around with it instead of buying a better one.

  He was wearing a bespoke (Alex’s practiced eye detected that immediately) three-piece suit, he had his thumbs in his pockets, and he looked around with the air of someone who can sell yesterday’s trash to a landfill.

  In a word, he was stereotypical, which was somewhat disappointing to Doom. The latter knew for sure he had Solomon’s blood in him, too.

  Some of it, at least.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Shulman.”

  “It was good, guardsman.” The antique dealer’s speech was completely devoid of any particular accent, which spoiled the picture. “But when you walked in, the shittiness meter jumped from a zero to a ten. And that’s a five-point scale.”

  “I wouldn’t say your business is that—”

  “My business is fine,” the balding Jew interrupted. “You’re in no position to discuss my business with me anyway, young man. If you were, you wouldn’t be working for secret offices or running errands.”

  Gribovsky held up his hands.

  “Do you have what we’re here for?”
<
br />   “Shit, you mean? Ask your office for that. I just heard you say they have tons.”

  Despite the old dealer’s rude tone and reply, Gribovsky just smiled and chuckled under his breath.

  Alex looked at his hands. After the week he’d spent trying to teach kids who’d never practiced magic without their lenses how to do it unassisted by technology, he’d gotten somewhat better at sensing magic himself.

  And right then his fingers were tingling.

  It could have been the defensive magic around the artifacts. But on top of that, Alex distinctly smelled sulfur and wet leaves.

  “Mr. Shulman.” Gribovsky seemed to be enjoying their little duel. “Farrokh sent us, and you know that. So, let’s stop beating around the bush. We need information about Poseid—”

  “In this world, young man, even the shit you mentioned earlier has its price,” the antique dealer interrupted, adjusting his monocle. “So, if you need something from me, please be so kind as to throw around some credits.”

  “How much is some?”

  “Twenty-five thousand, and I’ll sing you all the songs you want.”

  “Twenty-five thousand? That’s absurd, you crazy old Jew!”

  During the heated haggling that ensued, Simon and Gribovsky alike cited each other’s genealogy, going all the way back to distant generations. Alex walked around the items on display.

  Everything seemed absolutely normal. No cracks in the floor, not a speck of dust in the corners. All the spells in perfect condition. Each glass cover polished to a shine. Even a fire inspector stopping by to demand a bribe wouldn’t have found anything to pick on.

  Never before had Alex seen a business the Atlantis fire inspectors wouldn’t have been able to find something wrong with.

  The degree of perfection they were always looking for just didn’t happen in real life.

  No magic could have swept the place into such flawless condition.

  …at least, not unless that flawless condition wasn’t real.

  “Shit,” Alex hissed. “Not that again.”

  He pulled a handkerchief out of an inner pocket and, making sure neither of the two other men was looking at him, wrapped it around a cigarette. That done, he stepped over to the counter.