“Holy crap, Tate!” Vanessa gasped, genuinely surprised. “Talk about getting some strange! Does Mrs. E know about this?”
“No, she doesn’t. Besides, there’s nothing for her to know. I haven’t even kissed this guy yet.”
“Okay—I believe you. But have you fucked?”
“Nessie!”
“I’m just kidding, Tate. But, really, you can tell me—have you?”
“No!”
“Do you wanna?”
“God, yes,” I groaned. “Wait until you meet him. He’s handsome, kind, intelligent, generous, and he actually thinks about something other than himself.”
“He sounds perfect—except for being a warlock.”
“He’s not that kind of wizard,” I insisted. “He doesn’t curse people—he’s a healer.” As I glanced up from our conversation, I suddenly realized we were no longer headed in the direction of my house. “Hey—wait a minute!” I yelled at the rickshaw puller. “This isn’t how you get to Golden Hill Street. Where do you think you’re going?”
In response, the satyr lowered his head and started running, causing the rickshaw to jounce across the cobblestoned street. I was so mad at myself, I didn’t have time to be afraid. I had been so eager to show my old friend around Golgotham to prove to her that it was “safe,” I went against my better judgment and ended up played for a nump.
“What’s going on?” Nessie yelped.
“We’re being kidnapped,” I shouted, fighting down the panic that was finally starting to rise in my gut. I didn’t know where the man-goat was taking us, but I knew we didn’t want to find out. “Jump!”
“But we’re going so fast—!”
“Don’t argue with me, Nessie—just grab your purse and jump!”
Marshaling my courage, I leaped over the side of the wildly bouncing vehicle, rolling as best I could upon landing on the street. Sitting up, I saw the rickshaw disappear around a corner, the satyr still cantering along.
Vanessa was on the other side of the narrow street from me, grimacing as she clutched her left ankle. The locals barely glanced in our direction as they went about their business, as if the sight of women jumping out of runaway rickshaws was a common, everyday occurrence in that neighborhood.
“Are you okay?” I asked as I hurried to her side.
“I think I sprained my ankle.”
“Oh, God, Nessie—I’m so sorry about this!” I exclaimed as I helped her up.
“There’s no need to apologize,” she grunted. “I’m the one who insisted on riding in the rickshaw, even after you said no. Where are we?”
I looked around, trying to get my bearings. “I think we’re on Ferry Street. We’re not that far from where I live. I need to get you off the street, in case goat-boy comes back.” I pointed to a nearby bar, the sign for which read BLARNEY’S. “That looks like a good place for you to get off that ankle.”
“You’re not going to leave me there alone, are you?” Nessie asked fearfully.
“Of course not,” I said reassuringly. “I’ve got my phone on me. I’ll call this cabbie I know to come pick us up. ...” As I opened the door of the pub, the sound of Flogging Molly played at near-deafening volume greeted us.
“Is this an Irish pub?” Vanessa asked.
“You could say that,” I replied as I stared at the child-sized, green-clad men lining the bar.
“Oi! What are you lot doing here?” the bartender snapped. Like the other leprechauns, he was dressed in green and had bright red hair. “Clear off! We don’t serve numps!”
“My friend’s been hurt,” I explained. “She needs to sit down while I call a cab. We won’t be any bother, I promise.”
Upon catching sight of Vanessa’s coppery locks, the bartender’s demeanor softened slightly. “You there, the ginger—what’s your last name?”
“Sullivan,” she replied.
“Very well, you can stay,” the bartender said grudgingly. “Just keep your distance from me reg’lars.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said as I seated Vanessa on a stool better suited for a day-care center than a pub.
The bartender merely grunted and returned to his customers, all of whom glared at us while muttering darkly among themselves. I noticed that those leprechauns not carrying shillelaghs clutched fistfuls of darts, and all of them had a drink in their free hands. Fifteen tense, Celtic-rock-infused minutes later, I received a text informing me our ride was waiting for us outside. I wasted no time in getting Vanessa back on her feet, allowing her to use me as a human crutch as she limped out the door.
Kidron was standing patiently at the curb, awaiting our arrival. “Good afternoon, ladies,” the cabbie said politely, tipping his hat in greeting.
Vanessa balked at the sight of the centaur. I suppose it was only natural for her to be hesitant after her narrow escape from the satyr, but I could not help feeling a little embarrassed by her reaction to Kidron.
“It’s okay, Nessie,” I assured her. “He’s straight up.”
“Tate informed me of your predicament, Miss Sullivan,” Kidron said solemnly. “I hope it will not taint your view of Golgotham and of those of us who live here. Not all half-beasts are as untrustworthy as satyrs.”
“I sent Hexe a quick text, to make sure he was home,” I said as I gave Vanessa a boost into the hansom. “He’ll get you fixed up right away.”
“Who’s Hexe?”
“He’s that Kymeran healer I told you about,” I explained. “He’s also my landlord and one of my housemates.”
“Who are the others?”
“A geriatric soothsayer, a were-cougar, and a demonic familiar.”
“You know, my ankle doesn’t really hurt that bad. ...”
“C’mon, Nessie.” I grinned. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
Hexe was standing on the front stoop as we arrived, a concerned look on his handsome face. Vanessa grabbed my arm. “Is that him?” she whispered.
“Uh-huh.” I nodded.
“He is dreamy!”
Before the cab could come to a halt, Hexe hurried down the stairs to meet us, his golden eyes intent on me. “Are you all right?” he asked. “Your text said something about an accident—”
“I’m okay,” I replied. “It’s my friend here who’s hurt. Vanessa, I’d like you to meet Hexe. Hexe, this is my old college roomie, Vanessa.”
“You can call me Nessie.” She smiled.
“Pleased to meet you, Nessie,” he replied, helping her out of the cab. “What seems to be wrong?”
“I sprained my ankle.” She abruptly grimaced in pain as her left foot touched the sidewalk.
Hexe produced a thumb-sized, tea bag-like pouch from his pocket. “Stick this under your top lip, against your gum, and let it sit there. It’ll help with the pain. So how did you come to injure yourself, Nessie?”
“It happened when we jumped out of the rickshaw,” she replied. The pouch under her lip made it sound as if she were talking around a chaw of tobacco.
“Rickshaw?” Hexe turned to look at me, his previous concern replaced by alarm. “What in seven hells were you doing riding in one of those?”
“I thought it would be safe if there were two of us,” I explained. “I was wrong. The satyr pulling the rickshaw tried to kidnap us, no pun intended.”
“Satyrs can be extremely dangerous,” Hexe said grimly. “You and Nessie could have ended up in a lot of trouble.”
“Oh, I get it,” Vanessa giggled, her pupils the size of dinner plates as Hexe and I helped her up the front stairs. “Kidnap, because he’s part goat. Ha!”
“What exactly did you give her?” I asked. The last time I’d seen her that loopy was after a couple magnums of bubbly at her kid sister’s wedding.
“Just some smokeless cannabis, mixed with a couple of special herbs from the garden,” he replied. “Don’t worry, she’ll be fine.”
“Ooooh look, a kitty!” Vanessa exclaimed as we entered the parlor, pointing at Scratch, who sat perched a
top the horn of the antique Victrola.
“Great. Another nump,” the familiar said sourly. “Allow me to befoul myself with delight.”
Hexe and I carried Vanessa to his office, where he carefully examined her ankle to make sure it wasn’t broken.
“Has anyone told you that you have a marvelous touch?” Vanessa said with a blissful smile on her face.
“It’s merely a sprain,” Hexe announced. “I’ll boil up some fenugreek leaves and wrap them around her ankle with some elastic bandages. She’ll be good as new in no time. Do you want to help me make up the poultice—?”
“I think I’d better stay here with her—in case Scratch decides to taunt her some more.”
The moment Hexe left the room Vanessa turned around to look at me, her mouth hanging open in exaggerated disbelief. “He is sooo hot!” she whispered.
“I know,” I groaned.
“And you’re telling me you haven’t even kissed? Girl, what are you waiting on?”
“It’s complicated, Nessie. I’m still getting over Roger. ...”
“Bullshit! You’re just scared of taking a chance and putting your heart on the line—just as I am with Adrian.” She blinked, a look of surprise on her face. “Whoa. Did I say that? What just happened?”
“It’s called an epiphany,” I said, patting her shoulder. “You’re also as high as a kite.”
We fell silent as Hexe reentered the room, carrying a small bowl of steaming fenugreek leaves in one hand and a roll of Ace bandages in the other.
“This should bring the swelling down right away,” he explained as he began applying the warm poultice, massaging it into her wounded ankle. “However, I don’t want you walking on it too much for the next day or so. Try and keep it elevated when you go to bed tonight, as well.”
“Are you sure this stuff will work, Doctor?”
“Please, don’t call me that,” Hexe said as he wound the length of bandage about her foot. “I’m not a man of medicine. I’m a hedgewitch, an herbal healer, if you will. But as to the efficacy of this cure, you can ask Kidron if it works or not. I brew up poultices like this all the time for him and the other centaurs who work for the cab company. Their fetlocks become swollen from walking on pavement all the time.”
“Too bad you’re not a doctor,” Vanessa said, batting her eyes as he pinned the bandage into place. “I’d love to check out your bedside manner.”
Hexe glanced up at me, his cheeks flushing bright pink. “Yes, well ...”
“I think it’s time I escorted you back home, Nessie,” I said firmly. “I’m sure Adrian is worried sick about you.”
“How much do I owe you for the, uh, hedgewitchery, then?” Vanessa asked, reaching for her purse.
“On the house.” Hexe smiled, wiping his hands on his shirttail. “Any friend of Tate’s is a friend of mine. Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I really have to get back to work. I have a cyclopean client with a bad case of pink eye.”
A couple minutes later, as we were climbing back into Kidron’s cab, I delivered a quick punch to Vanessa’s shoulder. “Ow!” she yelped, in surprise. “What was that for?”
“ ‘I’d love to check out your bedside manner,’”I said, mimicking her voice. “What the hell, Nessie?”
“Oooh! You are serious about him, aren’t you?” she giggled. “Sorry about that—don’t mind me. I’m hopped up on goofballs, or something.”
“So—what do you think of Hexe?” I knew that Vanessa’s initial assessments of my boyfriends were always correct. I might not always follow her advice, but at least I was certain she would never steer me in the wrong direction.
“I think he’s absolutely incredible. And I’m not just saying that because he isn’t human. I’ve never seen any of your exes look at you the way he does.”
“How does he look at me?” I asked. It was as if we were back in our old dorm room, eating cookie dough ice cream while talking about boys.
Vanessa paused for a second as she tried to find an analogy. “He looks at you—the same way Adrian looks at me. But, if you decide you’re not gonna hit that, let me know”—she winked—“just in case things on my end don’t pan out. ...”
Chapter 16
And so it came to pass, after what seemed like an eternity of hard work, that the gallery opening was finally at hand. A week before the show, I received a call from Derrick Templeton, owner of Templeton Gallery. I had not seen him since the day he agreed to book the show, and I had spoken to him on the phone only once, as most of our correspondence since then had taken place online.
“How’s my favorite sculptress? Is everything ready?” he asked, somehow managing to sound both laid back and anxious at the same time.
I automatically glanced at the gleaming Cyber-Panther , which I had finished only the night before. It took sixty hours to complete, once I had all the parts I needed. It measured two feet high and was five feet long from nose to tail, weighing in at just under a hundred pounds.
“Yes, everything’s ready, Derrick. There are six pieces.”
“How much do they weigh, total?”
“Around six hundred pounds.”
“Very good,” he muttered. I could hear him scribbling something on a piece of paper. “I’ll send a van around to collect everything. Give me your address again. ...”
“Yeah, about that . . . I’ve moved since we last spoke. I’m living in Golgotham now. Is that going to be a problem?”
“The company I use isn’t licensed for cartage in that part of town,” he said flatly. “You’re going to have to arrange transportation to the Relay Station on South Street. My guys can do pickup from there.”
“That’s what I thought.” I sighed. I’d run into problems moving my stuff into Golgotham; now it looked like I would face stumbling blocks getting things out as well.
“Is that going to be a problem for you?” Derrick’s laid-back tone was completely gone, leaving only anxiousness. The last thing I needed was for him to decide to get cold feet about the show.
“I’ve got it under control,” I assured him. “I know a guy.”
After I finished talking to Derrick, I dug around in my purse until I found the business card I needed. After a couple of rings, the receiver on the other end picked up.
“Faro Moving!”
“Hey, Faro, this is Tate. ...”
“Sorry, but I’m not in the office right now! I’m in Greece on my honeymoon! I’ll be back in two weeks! Please leave a message after the beep.”
“Damn it!” I slapped my cell phone shut in disgust. “I knew that was too easy!”
I headed downstairs to find Hexe. He was sitting at his desk in his office, polishing his scrying crystals. He motioned for me to take a seat.
“What’s new?” he asked without looking up from his work.
“Did you know Faro got married?” I queried, swiveling so that my legs were draped over the arms of the easy chair.
“Yeah, I just heard about it last night. Turns out he and Chorea hooked up at my birthday party, and now they’re honeymooning on the Aegean. A real whirl-wind romance, apparently. Lafo’s pissed because she left without giving any notice, so now he’s short-staffed at the Calf.”
“Chorea? The maenad?” I grimaced involuntarily. “Isn’t that sorta dangerous?”
“Yeah, well,” Hexe replied with a shrug, “Faro likes living on the edge.”
“I should get them a wedding present,” I said, eyeing the paperweight made from a monkey’s skull.
“I’d wait to see if the groom survives the honeymoon, first.”
“I’m happy for them, I guess.” I sighed, “But this honeymoon of theirs really puts me in a bind. I hate to keep bothering you for favors, but do you know anyone else in Golgotham with Faro’s teleportation talent?”
“There are a couple, but they’re nowhere as good. Teleportation is a tricky business. Faro makes it look simple, but it’s real easy to make mistakes. One little mix-up and poof! Your stuff is at the b
ottom of the Mariana Trench or orbiting one of Saturn’s moons.”
“Crap. I was afraid you were going to say something like that.” I scowled.
“What do you need moved?”
“I’ve got to get my sculptures to the Relay Station, so Derrick’s guys can pick them up and take them to the gallery.”
Hexe looked up from his work. “Who’s Derrick?”
“Derrick Templeton. He owns the gallery I’m showing at.”
“Oh.” He nodded to himself and returned to his polishing. “Why don’t you give Kidron a ring? His brother is a Teamster. They run the Relay Station. I’m sure he can arrange a pickup for you.”
“Thanks, Hexe. I appreciate your helping me with this. You must really be sick of me asking you for help all the time. ...”
“It’s not a problem.” He smiled. “Besides, I like helping you.”
“What exactly is the Relay Station?” I asked.
“It’s this huge distribution hub over on South Street, near the Brooklyn Bridge, where goods going into and out of Golgotham are switched from trucks to Teamster wagons, and vice versa. Pretty much everything from the outside has to come into the neighborhood through the Relay Station.”
“Sounds like a real pain in the ass.”
“It is a pain in the ass,” he conceded. “But it’s also what keeps Golgotham the way it is. The Golgotham Business Owners’ Organization made sure the city charter outlawed automobiles in the neighborhood shortly after they were invented—otherwise they’d have widened the streets and put in subway tunnels a long time ago. It also keeps the centaur population gainfully employed.”
I swung my legs back around and stood up. “I think I’ll go call Kidron and see what I can work out with his brother. Once again, thanks for everything.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied, returning his attention to the crystals. “This Derrick guy—how old is he?” He was pretending not to look at me as he turned the larger of the scrying eggs over in his hands, studying it for flaws.
“I dunno.” I shrugged. “Thirty-five. Forty, maybe.”
“Is he married?”
Right Hand Magic Page 15
