Heist

by Kezzy Sparks

  “You were not there,” she explains further in Quimglich, “but last Thursday she followed me, too, to Broadway, up there.” Until now, she hadn’t told them of that, but now she can.

  As far as she is concerned, there is no need to wait anymore. With The Breaker, it’s not going to be that kind of fight like she had with The Boss, although she could resort to that, too, if needed. She instead has conjured something powerful and more lethal in fact: a sigil loaded with the most destructive magic. And the client is going to be the pawn in all this. She will be the runner, the bomber.

  Good, so why not summon E at once in order that training can begin. The sun is low on the western sky and magic lessons can be conducted; that’s been the tradition for centuries.

  Tyrese and Wheeler continue to gape at her like they can read her mind.

  She ignores them for a bit as she searches for her phone.

  “Excuse me guys, I have a call to make,” she says soon as she gets hold of it. “And back to your room; someone will come whom I would like to train.” Although she hasn’t allowed Client E to see her familiars before, the client is a sworn member of the coven who really could be allowed to see magic things, just like Fred.

  The cats scramble up the staircase. She dials.

  “Come to my house, E. It’s important.”

  “You mean like right away?” The client appears to be in the middle of something for herself.

  “Yes, promptly.” Once she orders like that, it will be done.

  The Mage waits twenty-five minutes, and then the door is knocked. She knows who.

  Normally she won’t open doors for minnows, preferring that they do it themselves, but today she will. She walks to the door and pulls at the handle.

  The client's face is a little flushed, and fear is etched deep in her hazel eyes. Last time, her entry into this foyer was met with not one but several slaps, but that kind of punishment is over.

  “Come in, don’t scare.” The Mage beckons.

  “You know I really never meant to do what I did.” The client steps in cautiously, like a puppy treading on thorny ground.

  “Don’t you worry about that, my dear.” The Mage ushers her to a seat, still calming her down. Like she already decided, today’s summons isn’t about exacting more revenge through physical punishment, but to order that the client help in the war against The Breaker.

  Before outlining her demands, though, the Mage thinks it would suit her by starting to gloat about her victory over The Boss. That should help drive home a point.

  “You must see your buddy,” she says. “The Boss is totally destroyed.”

  A veil of terror clouds the client’s face once more. She breathes fast. “You did something to The Boss?”

  “Demolished him, utterly.”

  “Great job, senior,” the client offers, though unsurely.

  The Mage slams a fist on the table. “That is how I deal with betrayal.” She smiles smugly after that.

  Now, however, is time to lay things out. She erases her smile and puts on an authoritative look. “E, from today you serve only me. I give you things to do.”

  Nervously Client E looks up. “Yes, I’ll do anything for you.”

  “Good, I like that.” The Mage nods. “You know there is this upstart who has been following me around, right?”

  “I don’t know, senior, tell me.”

  “She’s called The Breaker, although in my opinion she has never managed to break anyone. Still, we ought to take care of her,” The Mage says.

  Eagerness lights up Client E’s face. “If she’s causing you grief, then we fix her,” she says. “I can’t picture her from the name, though. Tell me, who is she?”

  “The one trying to help Casey. An investigator of some poor sort.”

  “I see.” E’s eyes widen with hints of recognition. “That dark-eyed brunette, sort of petit.”

  “You got her. Did you encounter her before?”

  “Fucker burgled my apartment, and guess what, I catch her asleep on my couch.”

  The Mage’s jaw drops. “Did she actually do that?”

  “Yes,” says the client, “she actually said she was looking for those things of Casey’s.”

  “The penis and testicles. Did you give them over?”

  “No, Mage, how could I?” Client E says. “Are they hers?”

  “Damn right they aren’t, but now we are going to take her out.” The Mage pictures The Breaker crushed like The Boss, and she relishes it.

  “Just show me how to do it.” Client E responds. “Does she have any magic of her own?”

  “Of course all upstarts do have some, but we will obliterate her.”

  “Fine, then, let’s do it.”

  The Mage stands up, but the client seems to have something to remark. “Sorry it might be a diversion, but Mage I really have to thank you.”

  “About what again?” she wonders.

  “The wedding was aborted yesterday. What you did worked.”

  “Is that so, who did you hear it from?”

  Client E bites her lip, perhaps to suppress a sinister chuckle. “I asked a guy to just take a look. The bastard was away from his home for days, but my guy followed the sister right to the banquet hall.”

  “Smart of you to do that. And then what happened?” The Mage can’t wait; this is juicy.

  “He stormed off right in the middle of things. Indeed I can’t thank you more, Mage.”

  The Mage rolls her eyes. “I can’t imagine the fucker would do that. He hung on till last minute, even though he knew he had no dick?”

  “Nor balls.” Client E snickers. “Imagine the desperation.”

  “Crazy,” says the great witch. “The Breaker must have fed him false hopes. But from now on, it stops.”

  The Mage retreats upstairs, picks up her witch’s bag and then comes back down. As a way of beginning, she will gift the client with something important.

  “We will start with a very basic tool,” she says. “A door opener.” She fetches one from the bag. It’s a rusty wand like thing about five inches in length, sharp as a nail at its front, but with the stem’s butt curved in on itself to form an eyelet.

  “That thing, for sure.” The client narrows her eyes at it. “You mean it’s a master key?”

  “Works the same way, but this one is magical, and awesome.”

  “Good, Mage, I’d like to have it.”

  “It’s the classic marker of rank,” adds The Mage. “Girl, you have risen.”

  Quite amused, the client reaches for it, then clutches it like she has been given a lifeline. “Excellent, senior.”

  “No sweat, and here’s another factoid.” The Mage really loves to explain things. “If you guessed that it’s made of ferrite you’re right, but its proper name is a ferritic piercer.”

  “Amazing,” says E, “and mystical.”

  “And effective,” The Mage amplifies. “Any lock with the element iron in it will pop at the touch of that. All you need do is concentrate all your energies on the keyhole, and boom, the job is done.”

  “Good.” The client gives the wand a little wave. “But how about other lock types, like brass or aluminum?”

  “You can’t open those,” The Mage tells. “But the great thing is that there’s so few of them. With this piercer, you have access to ninety-eight percent of doors, if not more.”

  Carefully Client E tucks the piercer into her own witching bag she brought. “I don’t know how to thank you Mage. I regret everything I did to you.” She bows her head with appreciation.

  “No, you don’t have to worry. We’re back in the same team.”

  The Mage leans back into her couch, and the cushions squeak. “Now onto the next part,” she announces. “You are to go on a mission; remember I spoke of The Breaker.”

  “Anything you command, Mage, I’ll do so.”

  “You will be the one to hurt her.”

  “Yes, please, but how?”

  “I am coming to tha
t, and in fact, it’s the most interesting part. Have you ever been introduced to sigils before?”

  Client E shakes her head. “I’ve heard of them but never worked with one.”

  “I’ll give you the experience.” The Mage pulls her bag closer to her, peeps inside, then brings out a shiny piece of golden paper. “Gold is a powerful metal, in case you didn’t know,” she announces while looking at the sheet.

  With a bit of care, she tears off a rectangular piece then hands it to E. “Take this, we will write on it later, but perhaps let’s practice on something else first.”

  The Mage now lays on the table a sheet of regular writing paper. She already has a pencil and an eraser, which she gives to the client—who expectantly waits for the next instruction.

  “I want you to write Jove, pray, I want The Breaker maimed or killed, says The Mage. “And enclose the wish in quotation marks as if you are actually saying it.”

  “That isn’t hard. Sure I can do it.” The client scribbles.

  “Then to construct the sigil, we eliminate the vowels and remain with only the consonants. After that, you unravel each remaining letter into strokes and then use the strokes to construct a figure of unique shape.”

  It may sound complicated, but carefully under supervision the client does what she is told. She comes up with an eight-sided figure that has several curls and squiggles inside it. The Mage examines the symbol and is happy with it. “Good, you learn fast. Now draw the same thing on the gold paper I gave you.”

  As the client again does as told, the Mage allows herself to remember that this foil is the same kind she used to wrap up the bomblet that neutered Casey. Gold is indeed a powerful metal.

  Client E glances up to show she has finished. The loaded symbol looks perfect.

  “Fantastic, now focus and concentrate all your hatred and venom on it as much as possible.”

  The client does. This part is easy, because as a way of her initiation into the Scarlets, she would have been introduced to the power of meditation.

  “The English part is now complete,” says the great witch mystically. “I will now supply the Quimglich underlayer.”

  “I know very little of that.” Client E shrugs.

  “Don’t worry, I will teach you more of the language over time,” she says. The Quimglich part is the one that will take a while to learn so she must help. “Okay, look at me again as I add the underlying magic.”

  That language is very powerful, and every magic system out there has a connection to it. The Mage knows all the words and symbols, and to what the Client has drawn, she adds more mystical squiggles and then after that, she starts to chant calling on Jove and all those who live in the Depths to help in this mission.

  The Breaker must be destroyed.

  She hands the little note back to E. “Now you can crumble it; it’s packed,” she says. “When you get to Mel’s home, throw the sigil into your mouth and let it collect as much saliva as possible, then spit it into her door. After that, add this powerful and wicked phrase Lais Melanier da mortatish et injuriam grav.”

  The so-called Breaker is totally finished from now. Nobody starts a war with The Mage and wins.

  Forty-six

  With a reverend hug, the client bids her mentor and commander goodbye, then walks out. Her Kia waits. Today, after she got the sign the frosty relations between her and the dark witch had thawed to something amicable, she parked it right on The Mage’s driveway.

  The evening is surreal. She is on her way to stardom and can’t wait for that time when she will be able to see the unseen. There are ghosts and demons out there, visible only to the endowed and attested, and she will meet up with and talk to them soon.

  Things are certainly on the uptick, and tonight will be her first to launch a magic that has the power of destruction. She sucks in a breath; how interesting that’s going to be. She glimpses the door opener she has been given, one she tucked into her witching bag there on the console. The Mage said magic things cannot be let out unnecessarily and so in the bag is where it will stay. Until she needs to use it...

  ***

  Long after she is back home, and the time is creeping toward twelve, it’s time to go.

  “Breaker, here comes trouble,” she says to the air around her.

  The attack on Mel should be sweet. Apart from that she is working for Casey and Megan, making herself an enemy number one of the client’s, she is also threatening The Mage, an icon the Client is now sworn to protect. Added to that, Client E has her own beef. The little bitch had the nerve to force herself into the client’s apartment and snooze on her couches. What kind of brazen arrogance was that? And then she accused the client of having stolen: in her words—a cock. A direct affront, if there ever was one. Melanie will sure pay for that.

  She starts her drive, whistling a tune of victory. Since the May nights are still relatively cool, she is dressed in gray leggings and a thick sweatshirt. On her head is a black witch’s hat that is kept tight on her by a strip of elastic.

  It’s now after midnight. Union Road leads into Seneca Street, and then from there it’s St David’s. According to the information she has, Mel lives on Emerald Drive, just behind the Southgate Plaza.

  “The Breaker is usually home after eleven,” said Fred.

  Excitement and fear grip her. Anything could happen. The Breaker might be awake and aware what’s going on, so there could be a confrontation. How will retaliation magic feel if Mel is to activate return fire? The client will see how those things go. It’s all part of becoming a great dark mage herself in years to come.

  She is nearing her destination but takes her time checking out some nearby streets, so to learn the layouts. It’s important to know that, in case she must beat a hasty retreat.

  As she is going around, she spies The Breaker’s home as well. The porch light was left on, but there is absolutely nothing from behind the windows. Everyone probably fast asleep by now.

  Ready for the kill, she now parks close to the home and turns off her beams. The house is small, with a single garage. Stealthily she gets out of her car, and steps on the driveway. Everything stays quiet. It’s time to give the sigil one last dark-energy boost.

  She remembers the Quimglich words she was taught by The Mage. What a power language. Lais Melanier da mortatish et injuriam grav.

  “Let my enemy be doomed. Let peril visit her,” she adds an English overlay.

  The sigil gets hot with energy in her hand and might burst into flames since it’s made of paper. She spits venomous saliva onto it.

  “By this, The Breaker will perish,” she chants.

  Now she will deploy it inside the home. Her bag is left in the car, but she has the door opener, right in one pocket.

  This is going to be a great first attack, and her heart pounds. She watches the door in case someone opens it and comes out rushing. Could she run away fast? Oh Jove, the adrenalin is rising to her chest.

  Not waiting for a moment longer, she points the opener at the keyhole and concentrates all her energy, but then something powerful wrings her hand, and she stops. Hot pin pricks travel from her fingers ending in her elbows. She steps back, gasping and wincing, while the piercer drops to the porch concrete. There is nothing on the door that she can see. So what could have wrung her hands like that? Perhaps it was just a mishap. She will try again.

  She picks up the ferritic piercer and once more brings it to the lock. Incredibly, something flaming coils like a helix around her hand, and her fingers are twisted to face sideways. She suppresses a burning scream. Then before she knows it, a force repels her back. She isn’t fast enough going backward, and she missteps and crashes. Pain explodes at the back of her head, the hard pavement biting into her skin and skull bones. The piercer flies away from her grip.

  “Dear fucking Jove, what is this now you’re putting me into?”

  She lies dazed like that for a little while, then later struggles to stand up. A cloud of pain and bewilderment surrounds
her, but she fights through it and searches around for her opener once more. She can’t abandon that gift from The Mage even though this trip is a disaster, and the mission should be aborted. She gropes around some more, and then she clutches it.

  Her car sits quietly by the road; thank God it’s unaffected by the forces that almost broke her hand. She stands up and clambers back to it. Inside she feels a little better and begins to think clearer. A low rage mixed with humiliation overcomes her. How could she fail on the first outing, and against an enemy she so much wants to destroy?

  Better call The Mage and ask what happened.

  “It’s just wards, that’s all.” The Mage shows she has all the knowledge. “Some kind of magical protection.”

  “Now how do I overcome that?”

  “You need to be a pro, and you shall be in future.”

  “It’s so scary, Mage, but how do I finish?” She glares at her piercer and then out to Mel’s door. It would be a real hazard to try again. A hot pain still circles around her wrist.

  “Be strong,” says the Mage. “And try this.”

  No way in hell is she going back to that door, but the trouble is she can’t refuse The Mage. “Please go ahead, try what?”

  “Put more energy into your sigil and leave it on the driveway. Tomorrow when the Breaker drives over it, we will hear what happens.”

  “Yes, I will do that.” It sounds easy.

  Braving pain, she opens her door and walks out again, leaving her opener behind. She tiptoes to the driveway, her heart racing. She stands over the pavement and whispers those Quimglich words into the air. She spits more saliva onto the sigil then places it down. It has power, and it sticks; it’s magic will filter into the asphalt. It won’t matter then, should it be later carried by the wind. The energy bomb would stay on the pavement and will still work just like she’d wanted it inside the home. And then Mel will drive over it…

  Forty-seven

  I wake up; it's Tuesday. Just like yesterday, I will not bother charging the dropper, and that trend might go on for a little while. Reason is that the wand is causing me to constantly chase after Casey’s attacker rather than devote my energies to find the goods. If there is any lesson that Sunday’s events taught me, it’s that recovering the parts is far more important than catching and punishing the Lady in Red. Given that, then, the dropper takes a rest, and I can concentrate on the reveals.