Heist

by Kezzy Sparks

  “Wow, Mage, that would be so fucking great,” The client exclaimed. And then she added, “And I hear there is a wedding in the works.”

  To which The Mage only responded mystically. “How timely.”

  For that night, the great witch wouldn’t specify how she would make sex difficult between Casey and Megan. It was only after the Mage invited the client to her residence for the final hammering of their contract that she let out the whole scheme.

  “I will take off his dick and balls.”

  The client had to bite her tongue to avoid chuckling in disbelief. How was that possible? She had imagined the wicked sorceress might just cast an erectile-dysfunction curse on Casey—one that would only be active around Megan. Yet now The Mage had a totally different idea. Completely removing a dick and shit…

  “Jove, will you do that?” she said midst a frenzied eye rolling.

  “Dear E, just give me a few weeks.”

  Thirteen

  Sara and I complete her homework. The math was a little on the hard side, us cracking all those geometry problems and then solving the equations. It surprised me how much one can forget in a few years. Wasn’t it only twelve years ago that I was doing the exact same thing? And killing it. Now I struggle with this tenth-grade work, even though I completed high school and graduated from college as well.

  The time is just after nine, and Sara will try and catch the hour-long episode of America’s Got Talent, before she goes to bed. The ten p.m. sleep time she gives is only a promise—who knows what else the teenager will try to catch while I am not here.

  I can’t worry too much about that, though, because I have to head back to the Crooked. Zed has already phoned to say he was going there, but it’s been a while, and so I fear he might already have left.

  I therefore must call him to find out. My bedroom is best to talk without Sara hearing.

  “I’m just about to come,” I say. “You still there yet?”

  “Yes, I am,” he says. “It’s quiet, but I will hang around till you come.”

  “Nice, I won’t be too long.”

  “How is Sara doing?”

  That’s a matter I will definitely inform him about. There sure could be demons or ghosts coming back to hang out at the Western Senior Academy, and they must be dealt with.

  “She is doing really great,” I say of Sara and then add, “I will submit a report about her school.”

  Quite like him, Zed doesn’t press me for details right away, knowing that when it's time, I will give him whatever I have in full. Those broken wards point to something, but for now Casey’s problem is more urgent.

  Like everywhere else in the northern extremes of mainland US, May nights here can be cold. There is no need for that leg-showing skirt and figure-hugging blouse I put on especially for Kay. I slide on a warmer pair of jeans and a cotton shirt. My light jacket is in the closet by the door.

  By the time I leave, Sara already has her eyes glued to the screen. She loves America’s Got Talent so much, even though to me it’s the goofiest show in the reality TV wasteland. Heidi Klum and Simon Cowell make faces at one another while Mel B tries to be the sweet sensible one between them.

  “Going out again?” Sara catches me at the last moment.

  “Yes, stay cool.” I regret I hadn’t told her.

  “Be safe.” She waves me her bye.

  The night is awash with glowing balls. It’s the smoking-lights, that kind of ghostly apparition from souls who perished in fires or whose bodies were cremated. I know how to differentiate those floating phantom lights from regular LEDs or even nature's own little fireflies. Very few people are ever able to see ghosts in any form, but many accomplished witches and witch hunters can. That reminds me: if Sara now has some ability to see paranormal things, maybe I should call her out and test if she can detect anything different in the sky. Unfortunately, I can’t disturb her because now she is immersed in AGT.

  I drive up Union. For some reason, I feel compelled to call Casey or send him a text, but it’s after nine and so let him rest.

  Zed is still there when I arrive. He wears brown pants, black shoes, and a purple checkered shirt. His cheeks are clean shaven, and his short hair is much concealed in his backward-worn baseball cap. You scarcely could recognize him for a coordinator in the paranormal underground.

  “How is he?” he asks, meaning Casey.

  “He must be doing fine, otherwise he would have called.”

  “Troubling, very troubling, this case.” Zed takes in a breath.

  “Imagine, he’s set to walk the aisle Sunday.” I sigh.

  And now that I have said it, I remember I haven’t updated Zed yet with the little I gleaned this afternoon. “He picked up someone,” I say. “A young lady who wore red.”

  “That’s telling.” Zed notes. “And then what did they do?”

  “They must have gone home together, but I couldn’t confirm that yet.”

  “Home together?” He shakes his head. “Isn’t it you who told me the guy is set to wed.”

  “Yep, he is, but guys will be guys, you know that.”

  “Yeah, admittedly.” He grins boyishly. “But then what did you learn about the woman, in red?” His pen plies the page of his notebook.

  “Not much yet. I intend to keep on asking.”

  “Good, please do,” he says. “But do you see a troubling thing there? Red is certainly not a good sign, worse if the woman was said to be very young.”

  I get his point and had already made the supposition. The perpetrator disguised his or herself to waylay him and then attack.

  “I imagine something like a projection spell.” Zed lets out what’s going through my mind.

  After saying that, his face changes and takes on a heavy look, like he is weighing something difficult. He then says, “I will put out an alert for guys to watch out for this Lady in Red.”

  “That will be a great big help,” I agree.

  Zed scribbles what may be his last notes in his book. “I have already done my scene analysis,” he says. “And so my night is up.”

  “Fine, you're fantastic,” I reply, then add. “I will wait out here a little while, though.”

  I sip at my can. It would help if I could get a hold of that cab driver. Trouble is I don’t know him, and calling Casey to come help me identify him won’t help, because Casey himself can’t even remember a thing.

  A waitress passes by my table—she isn’t Minnie, that one from this afternoon. I decide to interrogate her for clues, imagining she was here last night. “You happen to know some of the taxi guys that ply this place?”

  “Yeah, some,” she says, trying to make sense of where this is heading to. “You looking for someone?”

  “A friend of mine forgot something in a car last night,” I say. “Did you see a guy dance with a girl wearing red? They later caught a cab.”

  “You mean that crazy guy? What a friend you got.”

  “Fun-loving, isn’t he?” I humor her. “Did you see the ride they caught?”

  “Not quite, but Jay, over there, might have been better placed.” She indicates at a hulking bouncer with lip and nose rings.

  I make a small order, then walk to the bouncer.

  “You were here last night, I guess, chief?” It always feel awkward introducing myself. “What a big dance by that guy.”

  “Casey, you mean? Hell of a guy.”

  “He’s my friend, actually.”

  “I’m sorry.” Jay's voice is as apologetic as his face.

  “Did he get into a car with the girl?”

  “Yes, but it doesn’t mean they went to the same place. She could just have been an acquaintance.”

  It’s clear my line of questioning is making him uneasy, and I must consider a way to lessen his guilt about divulging info.

  “Their being together isn’t what bothers me,” I say, to clarify. “Did you see the cab? Casey forgot something of mine in there.”

  “What the heck, of course
I know the driver. I’ll call you when he shows up.”

  After thanking him I walk back to my table. And then, sure enough, after less than ten minutes, Jay finds me. I’m still sipping my Sprite Zero but there is now a packet of Lays Original Salt ‘n’ Vinegar on my table.

  “He is here,” he says and then points at a taxi. “That black Town Car.”

  Quickly, I make my way over, in case someone jumps in and away it goes.

  The driver is Hispanic-looking, oldish. Surprisingly, he has no telltale accent, like many of his age might.

  I speculate on how much he will want to say. Taxi drivers are sworn to protect the privacy of their customers, and this guy might be unwilling to share data.

  “I have a sick friend who lost his IDs.” I start. “I’m told he took this cab home. Did you find anything in the back there?”

  Sympathy teases the man’s lips into a gentle smile. He hasn’t the slightest idea I am aiming for something else different.

  “No ma’am I never saw anything. I drive far too many people in a day; I’m sorry.”

  “My friend,” I continue, “had been, well, over-served, so to speak. He was in the company of a girl, in red—but with a black hat.”

  He scratches his chin. “Now I remember. You mean that guy who lives five minutes from here.”

  “Yes,” I say.

  The driver inhales deeply like he isn’t sure if he should reveal. “I dropped him off with the girl at his address, but I never saw anything he left behind.”

  “Listen, buddy.” I lower my voice. “Truth is I’m interested more in the girl. Do you know her? If you saw her again would you remember her?”

  “Yes, I could try, but like I said I carry far too many people.”

  “No problem, but just be on the lookout.”

  His answers haven’t pointed to much, but he agrees to help.

  I give him both my numbers. “Call me if you ever see someone like her.” I say. “Check, too, with your driver buddies. If anyone reports anyone like her, please don’t hesitate.”

  “Yes, I will, Miss. Sorry for your loss.”

  Next is to just confirm that I can get a trace of that magic signature in his car. I can’t sniff openly, though, while he looks.

  “Would you mind if I just take a peek inside your car?”

  “Yes. I’m not rushing anywhere, but there is nothing in there.”

  We walk to the car’s back door. He opens it.

  I lean in almost full length, with my sniffer in my pocket. It whips about a little.

  It’s confirmed. The little Lady in Red is the owner of that signature. I at least have one lead. Maybe it’s time to go home for the night.

  Fourteen

  “Kids, we aren’t going prowling tonight because Mom is busy and tired,” says The Mage to her cat familiars in that ancient spirit language, Quimglich, “and frankly she isn’t feeling too good, as well.”

  The cats purr softly and turn their heads real slow. She understands all that. The felines are showing sympathy because mother said she is unwell.

  “I know you did something you didn’t tell me.” The third one of her familiars speaks, also in Quimglich. It’s Ratan, the horned spirit that others might call a demon. He exists in a dense shadow form that you can actually see and touch if you are endowed enough with magical gifts. To ordinary folks though, living here in Buffalo as well as anywhere else, he is perfectly invisible.

  The Mage eyes Ratan and stretches a lip to give him a mischievous smile. “Yes, I was up to something, and that’s how I got hurt,” she says. “My right shoulder here burns—had a nasty fight.”

  “And you brought something back home. I smell it.”

  “Excuse me, are you getting jealous, Ratan?”

  The demon may be a spirit familiar, but truth to tell, he also acts like a husband. He protects her and guards the home. Now he is queasy about that dick of Casey’s that is in the catcher. “I must be let to know of some things.” He growls.

  “Easy there, Mr. Ratan; now for your food.” The Mage knows how to soothe him.

  She starts to unbutton her blouse and undoes the clasp of her bra, letting the straps slide off. Tyrese, the striped, brown feline, and Wheeler, the totally black one, retreat to a corner where they cannot see Mom partially undress herself. The whole scene is unfolding in the prayer room where the whole family usually gathers after dusk.

  The demon, always excited at this point, circles his arms around her.

  She teases him. “I knew you were hungry.”

  Unlike the felines who eat the same things as humans do, Ratan is a spirit and does not require nutrition in the normal sense. His shadow mouth finds a nipple, and he sucks at it. That act is called taking a soul bite, and he only needs a few of those to sate him.

  There is an icy tingle to his touch. His horn extends to one side of her chest because of the way he is oriented. The suckling feeling tickles her as well as it pains some. The soul bites don’t harm her in any way, though, physically or spiritually. Whatever the demon draws will self-replenish.

  “You give good nutrition, Mage,” Ratan says when he is satisfied. He disengages himself and then goes back to sit on his stool, allowing The Mage to cover herself up once more.

  Tyrese and Wheeler emerge from their hidden corner and rush to twine themselves in between his legs. Tyrese’s gray stripes match well the shadowy, dark foam of Ratan’s.

  Like only she knows, when The Mage chooses a place to live, there has to be at least one good tall tree nearby. Ratan does not make his home in regular buildings, especially houses, but prefers to live in trees, although a deep hole in the ground will sometimes do. He only comes in here to sit by or to communion with The Mage for a couple hours at a time.

  In a moment, he signals he is ready to return to his favorite haunts. He stands up. The prayer room door opens for him on its own without even a touch. It closes when his shadow disappears.

  Family communion is over; those who want to go prowling can. The Mage will not go on the hunt tonight but use the time to perform some important tasks, not least being to continue checking on how DB4R, Dick ’n’ Balls For Rent, will work. The thought makes her giddy like a teenager.

  “Bye, guys, sleep well,” she says to her felines, as she also gets ready to depart the prayer room.

  Tyrese and Wheeler meow their acknowledgement, jumping about to show their gratitude for the way she looks after them. They then scurry to their cots. Milyn has never been in here and doesn’t know there are actual cot beds in this room.

  The felines go quiet. The Mage blows out the candle that had been lit—because when they are holding communion, no electric lights can be on. Ratan, especially, says his eyes get itchy if he is too near to modern lighting.

  She exits the door, then pads to her bedroom. Her red catcher is in her witching bag.

  This morning she already showed that Casey’s wiener can go very erect, and there is no doubt it can work the insides of a vagina so well as to please everyone participating. What remains unproven is how easily it can be attached to another man’s crotch so he can use it. That clearly is one of the biggest magical hurdles to DB4R. If the dick can’t be attached so it holds fast, then there is no business.

  Indeed she has to test this. She will call again her most trusted follower and driver, Fred. Naturally that minion is the best to experiment on, because he once pestered her for magic that could up-size his genitals. And as far as that was concerned, he actually showed her how disadvantaged he was. “See how fate cursed me, Mage,” he said.

  Unfortunately for him, at that time, she wasn't able to do anything. But now there is something.

  She dials Fred, while at the same time, she is heading downstairs with the witching bag.

  “Boy, come here as soon as possible,” she says. “And cancel everything you might have planned tonight, for I could need you for a very long while.”

  “You mean like right away?”

  “Yes, come now.”<
br />
  “No problem, I am on my way.”

  It's good that Fred is loyal and won’t demand to know what he is needed for. While she waits, she goes over the other minor issues involved. Continued vitality isn’t likely to be a problem because Casey’s genitals should be magically preserved and will remain alive until he dies, according to what she knows. As proof, she has that finger she amputated years ago that still hasn’t gone bad—although to be careful, a finger and genitals aren’t the same thing. DB4R should be able to go on for years.

  Only fifteen minutes, and someone is knocking.

  “Fred, oh Jove, you are so fast.”

  “Right here to serve you, Mage.”

  “Good boy, I have something we must take a look at.”

  The Mage’s heart pumps a little because what she is going to try is something she has never done. The magic required to attach one penis over another so the two became one single throbbing flesh might be too hard to accomplish. Or it might be just as easy as a whisper. She'd see.

  “Take off your pants.”

  “What for, great Mage?” The confusion and fear all over Fred's face is palpable.

  “I have a small bonus you might like.” She teases him with a smile, even though she doesn’t like being questioned in the manner he did.

  A curious grin appears on Fred’s lips. Hesitantly he unzips and then lowers his pants down to his ankles. “This, good enough for you?”

  “The undies, too.”

  He bites his lips. “Really, Mage, what is this; you want to blow me?”

  The undies get peeled off just as quick. The guy is of small manhood like she once saw. He does get hard, however, as The Mage looks.

  The witch turns aside briefly and then brings the catcher to hand. Fred gazes as she opens it. “Now you get to wear this. Let’s try it on.”

  Her follower gasps. “Dear Mage.”

  “Quiet, boy, please.” She brings Casey’s things to his crotch. The set instantly snaps into place as if by magnetism. Wow, it doesn’t take any energy to accomplish, not even an incantation.

  Fred’s jaw drops. “Really, is this for me! How did you do it?”