by Kezzy Sparks
Kezzy Sparks
HEIST
© Copyright 2019
All Rights Reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording or any information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by
Square Six. Toronto, Canada
A vengeful ex in Buffalo, NY hires a witch to fix her former boyfriend who is just about to wed someone else. The witch, better known in her circles as The Mage, magically removes the boyfriend’s genitals and vanishes...
The case lands in the hands of a powerful witch hunter and wizardess, Mel The Breaker Perkiss, who immediately starts a chase. She thrusts herself onto a deadly trail of treacherous black magic and malevolent beasts.
Will Mel be able to corner the elusive mage, recover the taken ‘goods’ and save a doomed marriage, while bringing the perpetrators to justice?
Contents
Part 1
One
Two
Three
Four
Part 2
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
Thirty-four
Thirty-five
Thirty-six
Thirty-seven
Thirty-eight
Thirty-nine
Forty
Forty-one
Forty-two
Forty-three
Forty-four
Forty-five
Forty-six
Forty-seven
Forty-eight
Forty-nine
Fifty
Fifty-one
Fifty-two
Fifty-three
Fifty-four
Fifty-five
Fifty-six
Fifty-seven
Fifty-eight
Fifty-nine
Sixty
Sixty-one
Sixty-two
Sixty-three
Sixty-four
Sixty-five
Sixty-six
Sixty-seven
Sixty-eight
Sixty-nine
Seventy
Seventy-one
Seventy-two
Seventy-three
Epilogue
Part 1
Gone with the Witch
One
Casey McLong can never know things will go wrong tonight—and that he might be changed forever in a disastrous way. He sits in the Crooked Uncle's bar with a tall glass of Blue Moon, alternately gazing into the liquid bliss, and then the endearing crowd around him. It’s time to celebrate.
In less than a week, he is set to walk down the aisle with his gorgeous Megan. He loves her so much, and she loves him back. The venue is set, flowers bought, and cake ordered. What, then, will stop such a beautiful thing? Nothing, absolutely nothing.
“You’re only turning twenty-eight,” some of his friends have remarked. “That’s way too early to hit the altar.”
His reply to that has always been, “That doesn't bother me in the least bit.”
He anyway isn’t the typical Generation Zer who will delay marriage; and he’s happy with Megan, so where is the gain in waiting?
For a Monday, the Crooked is a little fuller. Couples sit at tables giving one another a knowing look while they swill from their glasses. Waitresses busy themselves weaving through aisles, balancing trays of wings, fries, wine, plus beer. A mood-setting music is cascading down from the ceiling.
Despite that he is alone, Casey is ready to lap it all in. Megan was supposed to come tonight, but some crazy wedding preparations got in the way. It sure would have been nice to have her—and they could have gone perhaps to somewhere quieter and more romantic than this tawdry dance bar, but heck, things just happen sometimes.
Mitch, his favorite bartender, always alert behind the counter, is keeping an interested eye on the goings-on. He stands tall, and his head almost reaches to the array of glasses that hangs neatly upside down on the ceiling rack.
“My bachelor days are at an end, buddy,” Casey says to the bearded Mitch, while showing him the engagement band on his finger. “I’m finally taking the plunge.”
“Cheers to that.” Mitch raises an empty mug, and Casey clinks his glass against it. “No harm in putting a ring on it. Go on.”
It’s ever during unguarded moments like these that the devil loves to pounce. Ask Eve, and she’ll go on and on about what happened in Eden.
Just at that point, a Barbie doll of a young woman sashays in. She wears a chic red blouse she matched with an equally chic red skirt. Her pumps, as well, are red. Prada red!
Only on her head is there something rather curiously out of step, a black Halloween-themed hat with a long point that droops to the side. Her long, golden curls flow out of it nevertheless.
The lights swirl around her, setting her aglow like a mannequin. She has a way of holding eyes. The whole of the Crooked is bewitched, and Casey is left to wonder if this isn’t where the brakes fall off, and the train races itself to destruction…
Little, in fact, does he know that The Mage has arrived.
Two
Barely an hour in, the young lady in red is already knee-deep in action.
Known in Buffalo's secret paranormal community as Mage Extraordinaire, or simply The Mage, the lady is good at her acts. She actually is an assassin for hire, although today she isn’t going for a direct kill.
Yet you could say she isn’t too far from that—because taking away a man’s genitals before disappearing with them forever is as good as killing him. Show me what man can stand a life without. And worse for Casey, a wedding and honeymoon beckon. Holy fuck!
“My name is Geena Starl,” she introduces herself falsely after he has shown some interest. “You?” She shakes his hand.
“Casey,” he says. “McLong.”
That’s only just a play because she knows everything about him already, down to every detail about where he works, where he lives, and that at present he has no car.
“So, what do you do?” Casey asks.
“I am a fashion and entertainment student at Erie College,” she lies, and then she goes on to give him the rest of the bait: that she is nineteen, lives in another part of town, but is only alone here because her aunt and uncle whom she is visiting won’t stand to spend quality time in cursed clubs like this one. They are religious and not fun, but still they are family.
Enchanted, Casey is all ears to that.
I mustn’t mess this, she whispers to herself. I have to deliver to the client who hired me.
Tonight’s episode, in fact, began hours ago, long before she materialized at this venue. She summoned him to this bar by means of magic, telepathically suggesting the reasons to have a drink out. Truly there were a host of other feasible things he could have done. Like just going to see his bride-to-be. Or meeting with his own groom team. Or even just lying at home with a glass, thinking about what little ends still needed to be tied.
The booze flows. There is champagne, there is whiskey. There are even the dry shots of vodka, but the Blue Moon Belgian White seems to be the clear favorite of Casey's.
“Drink, Geena. Have fun. Life's short.” He has a voice that darkly reminds her of the ex-husband she blasted off the planet years ago.
“You are the man, honey.” She pretends to take a sip, bathing her lips in froth.
This whole job has been months in the planning, and today will be a culmination. She staked him out, surveying his home to see if there were any magical defenses like wards and protection circles. One or two threats showed up, but she is going to overcome them.
Unlike her husband she murdered, though, Casey is lucky in that he will live to get married—if you can call going into a marriage without a penis lucky, that is.
Anyway, back to action. The Mage raises her eyes over her glass to take a careful peek. Guy is drunk but probably not enough. She now can't make him guzzle his Blue Moons faster. Alcohol helps a lot in delicate operations like these. First, it opposes reason, causing the target to take more risks; and second, it fuzzes memory, making it even harder for victims to remember how it all began.
All lights have been further dimmed, and a loud music now blares from a PA on a stage to the north of the barroom. A TV screen is centered above the speakers, and in a dazzle of color, broadcasts the lyrics to the songs. Presently, a short fat woman with a pixie haircut is caressing the mic, lost in the supposed beauty of her voice.
The Mage doesn’t care much for her. Her eyes are glued on Casey. She will always remember tonight. One of her very best, it will be.
The hook spell is working; she has him looking at her breasts. And working, too, is the disguiser. The face and clothes that Casey, as well as everyone else in here apparently, is seeing aren’t real. She wears a red dress—coven scarlet, they call it—but none of it is that fancy Prada stuff people think they are gazing at.
Even more deceptively, the sexy hotness of a nineteen-year-old that she is projecting is false. The Mage isn’t a teenager anymore but is turning forty, and even though she still looks pretty, it’s only in the harsh, time-worn way that those who have been on earth for four decades commonly do. Indeed after things get ugly, and Casey tries to remember, he will be way, way off. Everyone else in here, too, should they ever care to recollect.
And better yet, there is no magician or wizardess around able to see through her disguises… and raise alarm.
Still, I can’t afford to be reckless.
The magical process to lift off body parts, all things considered, is exceedingly difficult, which is why it’s so rarely performed. One tiny mistake can blow everything up, harming the doer. Only once has The Mage tried it: she amputated the finger of a man who had to be warned not to pry. Things didn't go smoothly, and she was engulfed in dangerous energy. And even though she didn't maim herself, she was very sick afterward and had to retreat to seclusion for months. She still keeps the finger as a memento.
Casey pays her a longing gaze. “Geena, you’re special.”
“And you’re such an amazing guy.” She returns him the favor with a come-on eye.
Dude is now taking in the projected beauty with gusto, unlike at first when he showed restraint. He isn’t bad-looking at all himself, and actually can be called handsome, with his shock of sandy hair, blue eyes and a strong chin. His face is roundish, and he is of medium height, although it could be said he is a little meaty.
“Your prettiness, isn’t it sad I didn't get to meet you first?” he says.
“It sure is. But then, here I am.”
“Awesome. Let’s get more drinks.”
He stands up, looks around, and then pads in the direction of the restrooms. His step is steady, so amazing for a guy who is spellbound and has drunk a bit.
For now, The Mage needs to collect his saliva, which is needed to lubricate the rest of the process. She has a special goblet to contain that, and the saliva she takes doesn't have to be pure. A small diluted amount will do. Casey has left his empty glass with still some beer foam at the bottom, and that remnant might carry enough. Truly, she had been thinking she might have to kiss him and suck the required amount before spitting it into her goblet, but now no. She only needs to secretly pour.
She takes a brief look at the restrooms hallway, in case Casey comes scurrying back. She knows the bar rules about not improperly transferring drinks from one container to another, but Casey’s glass is almost empty, and pouring the small amount into her goblet would not be a violation. Still, it is better if she isn’t seen doing this.
Fast, she lifts Casey’s glass, but then an alert server at the next table looks in her direction. Too bad, The Mage must wait for her to turn away, and then as soon as that happens, she sticks the glass between her thighs. Instantly she yanks her silver goblet out of her bag so she can pour. Everything under the table. The drips won’t flow fast enough.
The nosy server comes up. She tries to smile, but her face is stern. “Ma’am, can I help you?”
“Please go away. I don't need you.”
“Ma’am, that is not allowed.”
“Just get the fuck away from me, okay.”
The waitress scampers away. The Mage's heart beats hard. Security might be called. She closes the goblet and plops the empty glass back on the table just as Casey, beaming with self-satisfaction, is heading back toward her.
“Another fucking Belgian for me.” He suppresses a burp. “You?”
“Not quite finished yet, handsome.”
“Takin’ it easy, are you?” His shoulders are broad. Very attractive. No wonder the client who hired her for this job can’t bear to forget him.
She quirks a lip and then sips at her drink.
The next thing wanted is a few of his body cells, dead or living. Nail clippings are the easiest to collect without causing pain, but how can she get him to accept a clipper? She has brought one along, but in this circumstance, clearly it is useless. Now she will have to gouge him with her fingernails—but what would he think of such an abrupt action? Oh Jove, how is she going to do this?
The place is getting packed, a small blessing. She ogles a couple that is swaying belly to belly near the stage, all to give him a hint. While dancing, she might get a chance to scrape his skin hard.
“You wanna try?” Casey says as she looks. He holds out his hand to her.
She stands up, managing to look half-shy. Then as he drags her past a packed table, she fakes a slip. He tries to hold her by the arm, but she continues her orchestrated fall, and while she does that, slashes him with two of her nails. Gotcha.
“You okay?” He winces.
“Not too bad, sorry, handsome.” Her heart pounds again. He might think her weird and send her away. Yet now she has to wash down those cells into the goblet.
He shakes his hand that now has two gouge marks, one starting to glisten with some red.
“You aren’t used to this,” he whimpers. “Perhaps it wasn't a great idea.”
“Take it easy, honey, just give me time to dust myself up.”
She dashes off to get her bag, then runs to a restroom sink, where she lightly lets water run off the two nails into the goblet. Now it’s time to assemble the bomblet.
No one should see her do this. She darts into a stall, which is reeking because it's been recently used. Crinkling her nose, she opens her handbag fast. The other two things she needs are in there: tobacco from a cigar and a sheet of gold paper.
Tearing off a piece of the sheet, she utters the first incantation. Then she takes the tobacco grind and sprinkles some onto the piece. She wets the tobacco and paper with the goblet’s contents, and then she wraps everything up, uttering a second chant. The bomblet is as small as a crumpled envelope label. Size, though, doesn't matter.
“Now, Casey, here I come.” She promenades out of the stall and straight into the hallway.
Placing the bomblet is the trickier part. If the target notices, things could get nasty
.
Casey watches her, more concerned about her welfare. Good guy, ordinary people might call him, but The Mage never judges things that way. He wronged a sister; that’s all this is about.
“Now gimme what you owe.” She indicates at the dance floor.
“You sure you’re okay?”
She nods. All she should do is plant the little magical arsenal on any part of him. Into his socks, pockets, or inside his shirt, pants, or better yet, the underpants. The bomblet must stay on him long enough to let the amputating energy flow to his crotch.
They head to the dance floor. Casey wears tight jeans that hug the butt. They dance to Ed Sheeran's “I’m in Love with Your Body.” She takes moments to let him feel the push of her breasts on his chest. He pulls her tightly to him.
To get him used to her touch, she gropes his back and butt. Then she frees one hand and fishes for the bomblet in her side pocket.
“Gosh, why you stopping?” Casey moans.
There still is a danger he could realize what’s going on. His collar is loose enough, but if she slipped the bomblet in through there, would he not feel it and ask? This is tough. His back pockets are tight, but she takes the risk and sticks in the hand.
“Baby, you make me hot.”
She tickles him and lets her fingers stay in there, tucking in the little magic cache. Then as the dance continues, she conjures a move and slips her hand out.
“Phew,” she sighs. “Time for a parting shot, and this one's on me.”
“What, baby, you aren’t going nowhere without me.”
Before The Mage can sit, the DJ starts to play “Lady in Red,” a popular Chris De Burgh throwback. Casey is ecstatic. He pulls her to the floor again. He is a great dancer, but The Mage takes more interest in feeling the black energy accumulate in his downstairs.
You’re coming with me guys. She almost clutches his balls.
Three
Casey is lost in a dreamland. The whole world has taken on a surreal view. The muted bar lights cast blissfully drunk shadows on the floor. A haze like he has never experienced sits enthroned in his brain.
This has gone way more than he thought. Geena, the girl said her name was. She is entirely in her own league. Young, adventurous, sexy!
