by Kezzy Sparks
“Don’t ask.” She winks. “Just know I could lend it to you for a day or so, at my pleasure, of course. You serve me, you get to use it.”
Astounded herself, she gapes at the augmentation works. The fit is so perfect even a doctor could never tell there were two sets of things combined there. Absolutely not the tiniest bit of misplaced flesh. No seams or stitch marks. It’s as though Fred was exactly born like this. Supersize!
“I will do anything for you, Mage; please don’t let anyone else know. Okay?” The follower, ecstatic, wants to dress up and run away with it.
“Jove, no rushing please.” The Mage grips him by the hand. “I didn't say forever. Only one day at a time.”
“No problem, Mage, no problem. Just always think of me.”
“Good, okay.”
There is no need to perform another erection test because the thing is already hard as Fred looks at her longingly. Gosh, she might have to bolt out of here right now, or he will rape her. The Mage touches the cock and gently pulls to confirm it’s holding fast and won’t fall off in use. Oh perfect, it’s stuck on tight like Fred was born with it.
It’s really nice stuff, but she must also check how snapping it off will work. Is the gluing on so hard to the point that she needs to repeat those tortuous steps she had to with Casey? She hopes not, because if it is, then it's a big problem. Detaching has to be fast and easy for the biz to do well.
She will try. “Back to square zero.” She grabs the dick and pulls at it. It doesn’t come off at first, but she has an idea. It needs a tiny magical chant, almost just like a breath.
She whispers softly, while she only gently holds. Instantly, the set snaps into her hands, and Fred returns to the man he was, no gain, no loss.
“Mage, please, won’t you consider again?” He gapes loathingly at his penis. “I need that thing so, so badly, please, please.” He points desperately while bowing in supplication.
The Mage ignores him; everything has worked for her. Dick ‘n’ Balls For Rent will function perfectly.
Now maybe she should get business cards made but, uh, probably not, she thinks. Someone might get careless, and then the card might fall into Casey’s hands, and that won’t be good. The best would be to get an artist to paint the company’s logo on the catcher, DB4R, and that would be the only thing.
She is pretty much set, and some hard cash could come rolling in, but The Mage intuits it won’t be money all the time. It might benefit her, too, to sometimes loan the set for free to trusted coven men. That would buy her lots of loyalty. Presently, she is more feared than respected. A free gift of a supersized dick, a day at a time, would change that.
She will see how things go.
Fifteen
“Now, Fred, we get on to the next task of tonight.”
Her follower looks up at her puzzling what that is, but that’s fine; The Mage doesn’t have to give details all the time.
Given last night, she has to start on some preventive action. Everyone in the practice knows a hit like the one she executed always attracts an investigation. And right now a witch hunter or two could be searching for her.
So why not get ahead of the game by getting to know who the actual hunter might be? That is what they will do tonight. And this follower will be the one to drive her to the Crooked, because quite naturally, Casey would have told any investigator that it was there where everything began.
“We’re going back to that same place,” she says.
“No problem, Mage, I’d be happy to take you. Just don’t forget, I will always need that thing.”
Fred’s begging is not to be taken too seriously; they better just go. Before they are out, however, The Mage makes sure to leave the catcher in a locked drawer in a chest in the living room.
Alden and Cheektowaga aren’t incredibly far apart, roughly thirteen miles between downtowns. It shouldn’t take long to get there.
“Which way?” Fred asks when they are out, even though he knows where the bar is. The Mage is a tough boss who insists on being consulted on which roads to use.
“The most convenient for you,” she says unexpectedly. Tonight she feels so good about herself and won’t bother to dictate.
Out of the little neighborhood streets, Fred finally gets to Broadway. All indications are he might avoid making unnecessary turns and go straight to Union—which The Mage has no qualms about—but at the intersection with Dick, she suddenly gets a different idea. “Turn here,” she barks.
“Want me to go up Dick, Mage?” Fred’s voice quivers.
“Yes, I say.”
It was on this road that it all happened, and she may want to see the place again. Fred does as is told. Dick Road winds slightly, curving progressively westward as they go.
“Slow down a bit,” she says when they get closer to Casey's house.
It’s all quiet; there are no cars in the driveway, but upstairs, one light is lit. He is by himself most likely; nobody came to console him. The Mage can’t see that angel she pinned last night, but the other one that didn’t belong here would have long left after recovering from the stun.
Different from last night, protective waves—distinctly magical—now radiate from the house. Casey has had the scruples to ask someone to put up a defense, but that’s all too late. And furthermore, The Mage knows all about wards, anyway, and if she wanted to attack this place again, she could conjure a way around them.
Oblivious to everything, Fred coaxes his Merc up slowly, and they soon get to Genesee where they turn left. Union is at the next light, and the Crooked itself is not too far down.
“You now suddenly like this place, Mage,” says Fred, unaware of what they are going to do at the bar.
The Mage swings her gaze to him briefly. She wants to tell him the path to lifting that dick he so much wants started here, but she doesn’t.
Up on the patio, it’s not as packed as it was last night. Smokers are dragging lungfuls from their cigarettes. A few others just sit in the hardwood chairs.
“Want to relax and have a drink?” Fred hazards to ask, still unsure what they are here for.
“No, not so soon, let’s see first.”
Suddenly she notices something—they probably arrived at the right time. That taxi cab of last night is here, and standing next to the driver is a youngish woman in jeans and a light jacket. This scene is worth paying all attention to.
Fred, totally without a clue, wants to get out.
“Hands away from the door, boy, and sit very still,” The Mage instructs, but with her voice lowered to a whisper.
“Sorry, something wrong, Mage?”
“Just do as I say.” She doesn’t mean to be rude, but this moment could be decisive.
The youngish woman is glancing about a lot. She takes unusual peeks at things, even this Mercedes. The cab driver opens the backdoor, and she leans deeply in, like she is looking for something.
Gosh, she must have some link with Casey. If she needs a cab, why doesn’t she just jump in and away they go?
“Do you know her?” Fred finally catches a hint that something is up.
“No, I don’t,” she whispers. “How about you?”
Fred regards the scene intensely but doesn’t say anything.
The cryptic woman must be saying something very important to the cabby. She gestures and pleads. Then she writes something on a sticky note and gives it to the driver before walking back to the patio.
“Ah, now I remember her,” Fred later says, with a glint in his eye. “The Breaker!”
At that, a tingle of nervousness creeps through The Mage but she conceals it. “Wow, what does she break?”
“She’s a ghostbuster of sorts,” answers Fred, “and a witch hunter, too.”
“Ah, right, those fuckers,” The Mage smirks. “I should have known.”
“They sure can be a pest,” Fred offers.
“No, her type don’t bother me, really.” The Mage smirks again, pretending to be brave. In reality, though, she reaches into
her bag for her witch-scent suppressor bracelet, which she dons. It’s wise to take good care, and she will stay concealed for now.
“Jove, what the hell could she be looking for here?” Fred asks, starting to get concerned himself. “See how she is peeking everywhere?”
“Yes, I see,” answers The Mage. “But she is just a load of dirt really. Don’t worry about her at all; trash does turn up anywhere.” The Mage gives again that pretend smirk. “She's probably looking to get laid for cheap.”
“Tramps sure will do that, and I agree with you.”
Back on the patio, the tramp sips at a drink and then looks like she will go. She heaves a bluish tote, then heads for some parked cars. Hers is a run of the mill Crown Victoria.
“Follow her.” The Mage has a plan. “Discreetly.”
They drive behind her, but at a reasonable gap. She is going down Union and doesn’t turn. It’s very easy to follow a Crown Victoria because its taillights are big and easy to distinguish. Fred sometimes lets one or two cars come in between.
The Mage has a question. “Just for interest’s sake, Fred, how do you know her?” “She can be trouble,” he says. “I recall she silenced The Stealers.”
“Yikes, did she do that?”
“Yep, it’s underground news I followed. She arrested some and sent them to trial.”
“Oh really?” The Mage’s heart tingles a bit, but she won’t be too unnerved because she is already taking measures.
The so-called Breaker keeps guiding the beat-up Crown Vic further down Union. As they approach Broadway, The Mage gets the eerie feeling the stupid witch hunter might turn left and head for Alden. What is this? Has she already sensed where Casey's family jewels are hidden? Some hunters can pick up magic scents and track them. This Breaker, though, doesn’t seem capable, but the direction she heads is ominous.
At the intersection, the Vic goes straight, leaving Broadway behind. The Mage gratefully releases a stored breath. This huntress might become a pest, but truth to Jove, she is no match, regardless of what Fred said she did to The Stealers.
The Crown Vic is now cruising toward the Southgate Plaza, but doesn’t reach it. It turns just before the mall into Seneca Street and then drives a short distance west, before turning left again and then onto a little street named Emerald.
The Breaker brings it to a stop at a house. She doesn’t get out right away but remains parked in the driveway, as though she has sensed she is being followed. Is she to call 911?
The Mage must work fast. Which attack would be better, a magic one or a plain hit? She goes for plain and she will let Fred do the job. Magic might later be traceable, so it’s inadvisable at this point.
“Go attack her,” she says.
“How, Miss?”
“Anyhow, Fred. Don’t waste time.”
Apparently Fred has a ball-peen hammer he keeps in his Benz’s glove box. Its solid metal head gleams in the cab light. He darts toward the Vic, and then utters something through the Breaker’s window, but there is no response.
In a flash, he swings the hammer, and down it comes. There is a bang and a thousand splinters must have flown in the darkness, many at the Breaker’s face... Right now, there must be blood.
Sixteen
It’s almost eleven, getting really late. E frantically waits for her phone to ring. The Boss said he would call when he was on his way, but up to now, he hasn’t. Surveillance at The Mage's place must start tonight.
The box she bought this afternoon still sits on her right nightstand, and it gives her unbearable urges. Casey will live here, right in that box. Always by her bedside, never to vanish again.
Shortly her phone rings. Her heart pumps up and she breathes faster. It’s The Boss.
“Come, I’m waiting outside,” he says.
“Great, Boss, but won’t you come in for a little talk?”
“No, E, grab everything you need and let’s go.”
The Boss hasn’t got time to waste. The client would have wanted just a minute to discuss precautions and also how the surveillance should go.
Anyway she is the one who started this, so she should be going. Her handbag is on the couch. The work to raid The Mage’s citadel finally is beginning.
Best yet—someone left the elevator right at her floor. It motors down, and in a moment, she is out. The Boss has his four-way flashers going. She takes the passenger seat. The big warlock is not quite as hurried as he sounded on the phone, and there might be an opportunity for some strategizing.
“So this is what you decided?” He greets her. “An operation at The Mage’s.”
“Right on, Boss.” There is no need to dither.
“Good, let’s go see then.”
The Boss maneuvers his red Cougar out the lot. He goes north on Elmwood, probably meaning to take Summer St and then Best to Walden.
“Any hints what you want to pick up there?”
“Boss, I thought tonight would just be some magical surveillance,” she says. “You think we can actually get to...”
“Yes, spying is the main thing,” says the big man. “But you know what, I just got a spark that says we might see more action than a mere stake out.”
“What?” the client sucks in a breath. “More action, really?
“Yep, a fight-like thing—violence.”
“That’s something.” A tight feeling creeps into her chest, but she isn’t afraid. “If we are sure to get into a clash, then by hell we should.”
The Boss casts her a dark glance. “What you want must be very desirable, then.” He smirks. “For you to be that determined.”
Images of the covetable beauties she saw at The Mage’s place re-form in her brain. “Yes, very likeable,” she mutters. “And sweet…”
***
They cruise along Walden. Something tells her The Boss wants to continue that way until he gets to Centre Road, where he will then find some other ways to get to Savage. What she now would rather prefer is to take the same way she used this afternoon, tracing her own tire tracks, in a way.
“Turn right at Dick,” she says when they get to it. “I like it that way. I like to use Dick.”
The Boss pays her a mystified grin, unable to pick the hint.
After a couple more turns, The Boss gets to Railroad Street. He then slows down and points at something. “See those two figures, in the grass?”
The client peers. “No, I don’t see a thing.”
“Baby, you’re still far too junior,” he teases. “Your eyes aren’t opened. When were you initiated, by the way?”
She has no clue what The Boss sees. She hopes, though, that it’s nothing that could stop them from doing what they must. “What are the figures, man? Never mind that I can’t glimpse them.”
“Two ghosts.”
“Ghosts, really?” A bit of fear seeps into her heart. Perhaps those things are in league with The Mage and could hinder them from achieving what they are going for. “Will they bite?” she asks. “Or will they be the cause of the little violence you spoke of.”
“No, they don’t bite anyone, not unless provoked.”
How strange life is. There is always something mysterious going on in the underworld. It teems with supernatural things. Magic sure is real, and it accomplishes unimaginable things. The client never would have believed it before she joined the Scarlets.
Savage Road is quite dark when they turn onto it. The lighting is probably bad all the time, but she has no way of knowing for sure, because she has never been here this late.
Well before they get to The Mage’s, The Boss stops. He opens the car door but doesn’t get out yet. Unknown tingles travel down the client’s back as the dark loaded air wafts in. The crunch time is here.
“We now proceed without lights.” He flicks the switch, and the darkness multiplies. All the houses nearby become like ghostly abandoned structures. Only far down is there a few hazy beams flickering, and that can only be the jack-o-lanterns at The Mage’s place. So she did light
them tonight; Jove, is that her practice?
Muttering incoherently to himself, The Boss slowly guides his blinded Cougar toward the house. The jack-o-lanterns flicker menacingly as if to give intruders a warning to stay away.
“Gut feeling, The Mage isn’t home,” The Boss finally murmurs something meaningful after the spate of gibberish.
“I wouldn’t tell,” says the client. She has no knowledge of the Mage’s late-night practices, but she imagines the great witch might like to prowl the neighborhoods when it gets really dark. Her absence tonight, though, is no assurance of an easy job. If her home is being burgled, she might pop back any time to unleash violence.
The Boss avoids driving right into The Mage’s driveway, but carefully, and still in darkness, turns around and parks in such a way that they face where they came from. It’s a smart move, because Savage is closed on the other end, and should they need to beat a hasty retreat, they now don’t need to complete a U-turn, of which they would have needed to had the Boss not done what he did ahead of time.
“Let’s go.” He slings onto himself a bag that is very much like a baby carrier because it rests on his chest, with the straps tied behind his back. The bag gives him a weird look, and the client can’t avoid an amused grin—even though the darkish air around suggests danger to come.
Together they tiptoe to the door. She lets The Boss try the handle.
“Locked,” he whispers. “But I came prepared, smart me.”
“You are fantastic.” E smiles darkly.
The warlock fetches from his bag something that is hard to see at first. “My little door opener,” he hints.
At the same instant, a beam from one of the jack-o-lantern flickers in their direction, and momentarily, the lighting gets better. The tiny object The Boss holds is a carved piece of wood, shaped into the size and look of an actual key. Then again from his carrier bag, the boss retrieves a bottle with a murky powder in it.
Truly, this man is given to unusual devices. He utters a chant before dipping his wood-key into the bottle. In a moment, he has partly inserted the powder-glazed wood-thing into the keyhole. Then without even trying to turn the wood-key, The Boss whispers a second chant. He then leans his face down to blow the powder into the keyhole, and suddenly the lock bolt pops. The door swings on its own.
