by Kezzy Sparks
“You pick me up tomorrow.” She’d bade Fred goodbye at the front desk, saying.
“I will,” he replied.
Now more roused, she glances at the time. Most other guests might have checked out, and she therefore must leave, too. They do offer a breakfast here, but it’s the continental variety, and that’s too lean for her. She will probably pass through a much better joint, like Cora or Sunset where she can indulge herself. There, too, she can fill two doggy bags for her felines.
A long shower is in order, but before jumping in, she decides to call Fred and get him ready. The idea being that she mustn’t be held up here too long after she has finished dressing up.
“Come pick me up, soon as you get this message,” she orders.
That follower of hers is crazy. Last night he became so engrossed with that dick. “Mage, please, never forget me.” He badgered her as he dropped her off. “That thing please, that thing.”
Some men are so consumed about size.
As she strolls to the bathroom, The Mage works out what today might stand like. One person to keep an eye out for is that Breaker upstart. They may have scared her last night, but it still would be smart to watch out. The Mage is not entirely afraid of her, but why not just be cautious.
In the shower, she takes off her clothes. She gazes at her crotch, glimpsing the fuzz she keeps carefully trimmed. Has Casey become flat downstairs like all women are? It’s interesting. Perhaps that night, after ripping off the parts, she should have gone back to his bedroom to see how he now looked.
Loyal as ever, Fred shows up just as she finishes checking out. He looks good in a light white sweater and brown corduroys. He checks the clerk at the front desk, a sweet blonde in purple-accented workwear and makeup. Honestly Fred would be a true womanizer if God had been good enough to endow him generously.
“At your service, Mage; I will go get the car.”
Quick, he rushes to bring the Merc to the door, and instantly they drive away. Orchard Park and Alden are roughly twenty miles apart, which would make it a thirty-minute drive in today’s thin traffic.
Savage Road looks tranquil, as always. Fred says his goodbye at the driveway. It’s nice to be back; her family must be waiting.
She produces a key. It’s not needed; the lock is undone.
“Whaat?” She glares at it. “Did I forget, last night?”
No, it’s not possible. She has some precious stuff in there, her familiars, wands, brews, and concoctions, and so definitely couldn’t have. Also not forgetting that big trophy of Monday night: Casey's…
As The Mage enters, shock greets her. Something must have happened in here; the disorder is unimaginable. Lights are on that she is sure she turned off. Dining chairs lie on their sides. Seat cushions are strewn all around. The biggest mess is in the kitchen: cabinet doors are open, there is broken china on the floor, spilled sugar, salt, and spices. A big fight went on; fur balls suggest the felines charged at someone.
“Who the hell was it?” she shakes her head. “And how did they do it?”
It doesn’t take The Mage long to start putting two and two together, even though a rage is building in her. There is that most-coveted thing in here, and she rushes to the drawer she locked it in. Oh damn, the drawer is unlocked and empty! The catcher is nowhere to be seen!
“Jove, tell me. Is this sane?”
Seriously, who might have done it? Could it be The Breaker: fighting to find Casey’s penis? Obviously it can't be. For there is no way in hell she could have known to come to this place. So who then? Fred? Maybe, because he so loved that dick. And he was the only one—but perhaps along with the client—who knew it was kept in that catcher. And furthermore, he actually saw her lock the catcher inside the drawer, which would tempt him to rush here after leaving the hotel and burgle the house to take it. He also was the one who positively knew The Mage wasn’t home.
If it’s him, then that boy must be summoned. But, no, The Mage thinks, as doubt and confusion grip her again. Does Fred have the guts? And even if he has some—which the Mage doubts very much—how did he open the door, because entry wasn’t forced? And what of the drawer? Does he secretly have keys, something she isn’t aware of? By Jove no, that isn’t possible. Fred worships her so much to have done this. Scared of her actually, to be honest.
So who else? “Ah—maybe the client.”
The Mage sits up straight. This is a good assumption. That girl now tops the list of suspects. The Mage and she actually had a minor tiff over that dick. She wanted it, said she had all the rights to it.
“Yes, it’s got to be her.” Anger gels in her insides as the knowledge bites.
“But, how dare she do this?” The Mage rages on. “Doesn’t she know what I can do?”
Indeed who else in this world can walk with a man into his bedroom and then come out moments later with the guy’s fucking dick and balls while he remains alive?
Bad bile rises into her throat. She tries to spit it but can't.
She sits and fumes, wishing she could just fly out and go punish her. It’s only when her rage has subsided, that she sees the need to better take a few common sense steps before calling on Client E with accusations. Having conclusive evidence is always wise, and she will just confirm some things.
Huffing, she paces to the backdoor. It’s locked; the home invasion wasn't done from the back. All windows are closed tight, none broken. Only the front door was unlocked, which could only mean the client, or whoever else the suspect was, came in with a key. Or they could have used one of those inspired, magical door-openers…
Jove, don't tell me someone had the guts to use that at my house.
The Mage has a simple way to check. People with magical door openers leave behind a unique signature that is possible to detect. To do that, a sniffer wand is needed, and being the fabulous witch she is, she has got one—although she hasn't used it in more than a decade, and it might no longer be so sharp.
She rushes upstairs to get it and then comes back. Sniffing is good, too, in that it will eliminate Fred entirely, because he is no magician, and therefore can’t leave behind a signature. Unless of course he was in the company of some wizard.
The whole living room and kitchen has a magical wake, typically left behind by a very powerful warlock. The Mage is confused and angry again. It can't be Fred, but then it can’t be the client, either, because she has only started to dabble, and hasn’t acquired so powerful a signature yet. A tiny baby in Magicland, you could call her.
Now she will check the door. The magic type used to defeat the lock is unique. Truly, a mighty wizard was at work here. And that’s not even all: another careful look with the naked eyes shows further evidence. There are tiny wisps of mysterious powder in the keyhole and also on the lock pad. How very devious, the people who came here. They not only used magic to open the door but activated a powder that has a potential to weaken and confuse spirit familiars. Ratan therefore never got involved in the fight.
What does this all mean? Maybe it might not be the client who did it, because she can’t manage that kind of magic. Or maybe it was her—with the help of someone big…
Jove, those people have started a war. She doesn't know that big someone yet, but she will call Client E and raise hell. Just wait till she gets to her phone.
Twenty-two
At about the same time, still deep in Bryant, a long-lost lover of Client E’s is showing up at her door. And being eagerly welcomed inside.
“Long time, no see, E,” Ty smiles.
“Yeah, sure,” replies the client. “Please take a seat. Want a beer?”
Tyler Skinyard stands at five feet eleven, but has all the frazzled looks of a once-ambitious actor who has now lost his mojo. To be honest, however, the client isn’t doing too well herself. We’re in the same boat, she remarks to herself wryly.
She checks him again; he isn't even a bad-looking guy. He is almost handsome, with a honey complexion and a fine head of straw-colored hair. He
has a bit of muscle to him, too, although his height makes him look lanky. The only disappointing thing about him has been that down there he is not of great size, and he doesn't possess the great stamina needed to pass a hot, needy stripper's between-the-sheets performance check.
“Please take a seat.”
“Thank you,” he says as he lowers himself, then asks, “So, what have you been up to?”
“Not a lot.” She giggles.
Anxious to begin, she darts to the fridge and grabs a beer for him. For herself she will have a wine, one different from what she had last night because that bottle is finished. She grabs another, a particularly classic type she remembers buying eighteen months ago during her heartbreak—to wash away her tears of pain. Today instead she will be washing down tears of pleasure.
“Ye, Eve, why did you take so long to remember me?” Tyler asks after taking the first gulp. “You know I have the thing for you.”
The client just loves those words from a man. She glows, as a hot feeling takes hold in her belly.
Not wasting too much time, they soon are at it. She kisses and caresses him. He smells nice; grooming alone was never one of his problems.
They undress. He’s having a little trouble getting hard.
“Do you have one of those little blue pills?” he pants.
“Oh, you mean Viagra. No, Ty my love, don't worry. I have a better solution.” She steps away from him. “Just a sec.”
She has stowed the pink case under a lace covering on the chair. Casey grows big and hard in her hand, the moment she retrieves him.
“Jesus, E, what’s that?” Tyler’s jaws split.
“Some big, fun thing. It’s a real dick.”
“Wow.”
“I’ll put it on you.”
“You can do that? Hold on Eve, you got to be real.”
“Just you wait.”
This is where some magic is needed. She brings Casey’s pop rocket to Ty's groin. Having been in a coven for more than a year, she knows some things. She opens her mouth to whisper a little attaching tune. Before she even can let out a breath, the things snap on.
Ty is miraculously upsized, there is nothing out of place anywhere—everything just so perfect.
“Hey, Eve, this is fun but scary.”
“Come on, you are now a new man.”
“Really, girl, is this possible or am I dreaming?”
“Don’t waste time. Now touch me.”
A hot unstoppable need spirals in her crotch. She has got to have it; she seriously never felt this worked up after Casey was gone.
Just as bigger Ty is about to jump her, her phone rings. Something is wrong. Never has she been startled by her phone like this; it’s as though the buzz carries a hangman’s voice. Ice trickles underneath her skin.
“Just one moment.” She rushes to glimpse the ID.
It’s The Mage.
***
“You’re alright there, senior?” She starts with all the nervousness.
“You fucking come here right now.” The Mage’s voice drips pure venom. “You know what you did.”
“Really, Mage, what is it?” she fights to sound calm, even if she is breathing hard.
“Don’t waste my damn time. You know me well.”
Now real panic engulfs her. She must go see The Mage at once. To her credit though, she doesn’t forget one important thing: that giant throbbing dick dangling on Tyler is hers. She must take it off before she goes.
Would removing it be the song that it was on attaching, however? Hope it is.
“Sorry, I have to go,” she says to Ty. “But perhaps let’s just keep things like they were, until I come back.” It’s still a struggle to appear calm, but she manages.
She bends on him like she would perform a b-job, then again before she has whispered anything, the things are off, and into her hands. Ty is back to his usual self. And big Mr. McLong is going back into her box.
“For Christ’s sake, don’t be a spoilsport, E. Isn’t it you who called me over?”
“Please calm down now; I told you I’ll be back. Have another beer and hang tight.”
She lays the box on the couch.
The Mage is sure in a rage. Her threatening voice, even without mentioning it, has ordered the client to bring back everything she burgled, but no, E isn't going to do that. She will keep the heist. Whatever punishment she takes, she will never yield, unless The Mage threatens death, of which it doesn’t seem like she would.
She reaches into her handbag and retrieves the couple grand she'd intended to bribe the witch with yesterday. She would try the same thing again, purchasing her forgiveness.
Because the envelope is too big for her wallet, she sticks it into her pocket. The handbag can remain, but she must bring along the wallet with her.
“Stay cool, Ty, I will be back.” She blows a kiss, “And, sweet thoughts.”
The Kia waits in the lot. Dreading what’s coming, the client fires it up. She avoids taking the same route as they did with The Boss. At Walden and Central, though, she must turn right to get to Broadway.
For the first time around, the name Savage has a potent meaning. She turns onto the road. It has a dead end, and any who enter it might never be able to turn around and come back.
She parks in the driveway, and then her heart beats even more furiously as she trundles toward the porch. The jack-o-lanterns sit in a menacing stance; it’s as if they have teeth.
Her fingers tremble as she knocks.
The door flies open. A slap thunders across her face as she enters. A murderous black void is opening up to swallow her, and stars burst from nowhere. A hard, cold hand drags her in and closes the door, and suddenly she remembers those vicious cats…
Twenty-three
A couple hours earlier, I have arrived in Orchard Park, but I am having some troubles. A careful look on my map shows the lines I drew cross on a piece of unoccupied city ground. The result is a bit frustrating, realizing how hard it would be to find the Lady in Red on said open space.
Did the locate give me the wrong coordinates outright, I wonder. That is hard to imagine, because a dropper’s pointing can’t be wrong. The wand always points accurately when used the right way, like I know I did.
So, what then could have happened? Did I perhaps introduce a location error through inaccurate drawing? Or did the error lie in measuring wrongly with a protractor and a campus. Yes, those two could be possible, but I am pretty sure I did them right.
What then is the exact source of the problem, I rack my mind. Another reasonable possibility is that there aren’t any measuring or drawing mistakes, but just that the perp was on the move when I did the locate. That factor always gives bad results, because the wand’s pointing will always change depending on the suspect’s position at any given moment. It’s a tricky thing, and the only way to avoid it is to try and guess when a suspect is at rest and not travelling, and then do the locate. In my case, though, I have only just begun to chase the Lady in Red, and I don’t know much about her yet: where she lives, what time she sleeps, where she goes during daytime, and so the first locate is only just one big try. I will only be able to fine tune things as I learn more about her.
An important question to ask at this time would be that if a suspect has moved away from a location, why not repeat the process so as to find his or her new position? That surely would be great if it were possible, but then things are never that simple. Drop wands only function reliably when used to do one locate a day, after which they become discharged and powerless. So, even as I stand here wondering where the Lady in Red could have gone, I can’t do another locate. The dropper is now useless until tomorrow.
My options are thus limited, but I mustn’t get discouraged too early. There is my sniffer I can play around with; let’s see what I can get. I bring it out of the tote. It dangles completely dead, but about that I am not surprised. The suspect has long gone from here, I already knew.
God, what shall I do now
—call it quits? Hell no, let me just give things one more careful look.
As I say that, my eyes suddenly land on this area hotel, one so nearby, the Courtyard Inn and Suites. Could my suspect have gone there..?
My interest is suddenly piqued. I must go there and try a check.
“My name is Melanie Perkiss. I need to have a look inside,” I say to the lady behind the desk.
“I am sorry I can’t let you in without proper authorization; what’s your business?” she demands.
Like usual, this is where we get stuck. Witch hunting is only a legitimate profession in the eyes of the Bureau of Paranormal Investigations and Enforcement, the BPIE, and of course also our guild, but certainly not in the eyes of the regular government! Neither the City, nor the State, nor even dear Washington for Christ’s sake, recognizes us. We are a prohibited secretive group of people, a pariah. I therefore have no legal means to force entry.
To my interest though, even as I stand here, my sniffer is vibrating while it’s hidden in the tote. The Lady in Red is either still in here or just passed through not so long ago. The locate I did wasn’t that much in error. That open space I visited is almost the same place as this inn, and so the drop was accurate.
Feeling my wand continue to kick, I desperately need to get in.
“What if I have a friend who’s booked in, can’t I just get in?” I try hard.
“You know you can’t do that. Your friend would have to call and clear you. Now please I am busy.”
It’s all just a lot of trial. Even if I am allowed to go in, or at least managed to sneak past this desk, I still won’t be at liberty to hunt in such a space open to people. Guild rules are very clear on that. I can’t alarm citizens by using magic devices overtly like that.
My wand, though, doesn’t stop its secret vibrations, but I know that’s not going to help. The only possible thing left is for me to go outside and wait in the car hoping something might happen.
