by August Li
Three.
Beyond it was a massive warehouse with ceilings so high they were lost in shadow. Shelves reached dozens of feet above us, all of them filled to the brim with wooden crates. Larger statues and vases sat on the floor around them, fantastical creations in ivory, jade, and terra-cotta. The path we were to take was clearly marked with thick yellow tape stuck to the smooth concrete floor, but more than that, it was easy to follow the current of magic flowing beneath our feet. It was cold and bitter, and it smelled of death—old death, dusty and stale, long after the scent of rotten fruit had faded.
We reached another archway, intricately carved and supported by tall stone pillars. Beneath it, two lacquered red doors lined with gilded studs were set into the smooth rock of the foundation… though I sensed much more beneath our feet, and I was not eager to explore anything farther than necessary. Jet stopped in front of the doors and drew a deep breath before looking over their shoulder at me. “Ready?”
I did not like the idea of being trapped, of being cut off from the air and the sky, surrounded by metals that numbed my senses and dulled my powers, but as we had no choice, it made little sense to complain. “Let’s go.”
What we found inside reminded me of a temple, and perhaps that had been the intention of the mortals who had constructed it. The floors were made of stone polished to the sheen of glass, and red-and-gold silk covered the walls. A few benches of intricately carved teak sat at the edges of the long corridor, and two guardians—each of them three times our height and carved from stone and embellished with gems and metallic paint—stood watch on either side of three steps that led to a dais. I could not imagine how the mortals had transported such heavy objects here—certainly not by way of the narrow and winding stairs we had taken—and I needed little more proof of their power. Both statues wore tall hats that added several feet to their height, and both had ghostly white faces, their onyx eyes lined in crimson. One wore a patterned black hanfu and held a thick silver chain. Ebony hair flowed down his back, and his red tongue lolled out. The other was just the opposite: ivory-robed, ivory-haired, and holding a fan. Passing beneath them made me feel uncertain—as if I was in the presence of beings whose power might rival my own. Their magic pressed down on me like water, making movement and breath an effort. Now that was an unfamiliar sensation, one as intriguing as it was terrifying.
On the platform, a long table sat atop a fancy rug. Though there was room along its benches for probably a dozen diners, only the chairs at the head and foot were occupied, and nothing but a dish of pomegranates sat between a woman in a dark pantsuit with her hair in a severe bun and a man in a white faux-fur jacket with wispy curls almost as light as my own hair.
I waited a few feet behind Jet as they pressed their palms down to their sides and bowed low, a gesture that exuded both anxiety and instinct. Though it pained me to prostrate myself before these mortals, I mirrored the movement. I had to seem as though I was one of them—meek and servile.
The woman steepled her fingers on the table in front of her. “Where do your loyalties lie?”
“With the future,” Jet answered, straightening.
“And what do you imagine the future holds?” The man leaned forward and rested the side of his face in one cupped hand.
“Cooperation,” Jet said, their voice clear and strong in vast space. I was almost proud of their bravery. “Cooperation between old and new.”
“This interests us.” The woman dipped her head. “Speak your request.”
“It is only an inquiry at this point,” Jet said. “My associates are curious about the price of what you can offer.”
“And who is it that needs to learn of the impermanence of all things?” The man raked his fingers through his limp curls.
“There’s someone posting things to the internet, things we would rather he not post there. ESM disables them, but they find a way around everything we try. We would like it to end. Permanently.”
“Nothing is permanent,” the woman said.
“Of course. But a solution…. What would something like that… entail?”
“For your people, we will accept nothing less than a trade,” the man said with an unctuous smile.
“What kind of trade? The people who sent me to you will want specifics.”
“A service of equal value,” the woman answered. “We all have our strengths, and as you said yourself, cooperation is the future. Do you agree? If so, the contract can be drawn up. We can begin work on your problem.”
Jet held up their hands. “I’m just the messenger here. I’ll have to deliver your terms to the people who sent me, but I have a few more questions.”
“Go on,” the woman drawled.
“Well, my friends, they want me to ask if… if it always has to be the, uh, the most extreme solution.”
“Say what you mean.” The man leaned forward, stretching lanky arms out in front of him. When his wrists extended beyond the cuffs of his coat, I noticed colorful tattoos, similar to the artwork around us, completely covered his skin. “There is no danger of us being overheard. That is impossible here.”
“Okay.” Jet bowed their head slightly. “Would you be able to maybe kidnap this person? Deliver them somewhere. You know, so we could talk to them?”
“This work is actually more difficult,” the woman said. “It creates problems. Loose ends that need to be tied off.”
“Right. Like getting rid of any witnesses. Or so I would imagine,” Jet hurried to add.
The woman sat a little straighter, and I feared my companion had pushed too far. It was eerily silent in the underground room, without even the whisper of the wind. Time felt frozen until the woman finally spoke in a soft, even voice. “Yes. People often see things they should not see, things they do not understand. We take care of these problems, but we are not quick to be the cause of them.”
“So, uh, theoretically, if someone else did the kidnapping, you’d come in after and clean up?”
“Every situation is unique,” the woman said. “Because every life is unique. People rarely share the same fate. Tell your friends a simple solution is usually best.”
Jet nodded. “I will relay that. I don’t doubt they’ll be amenable.”
“They had better be.” The man’s pale eyes glittered in a way I didn’t like. “We do not appreciate having our time wasted.”
“That won’t happen.” Jet was shaking, their hands curled into tight balls. “I-I’ll just go. Deliver the message.”
“Then go,” the woman said, her voice like the wind through brittle grass.
“I… I just…. Would you mind?” Jet walked to the wall and ran their hands over the elaborate depictions of suffering. “I just wanted to see them up close. The artistry is so remarkable.”
I tensed, imagining my offense if someone had touched those treasures I most adored, and I prepared to take us away from this place. I was not finished with Jet, and I wanted to experience the wonders they had promised to show me.
Surprisingly, the man grinned. “We agree. They are exquisite.”
“Xièxiè.” Jet bowed again. “Thank you for hearing me, and for allowing me to be close to this beauty. I am humbled by your kindness and hospitality.”
“We are always pleased by a visit from your guild,” the woman said. “We will anticipate another soon. And hopefully, a mutually beneficial partnership. This is something we have desired for some time.”
Jet bowed a third time, and I followed suit. As soon as we exited the temple area and reemerged into the warehouse, I had to jog to keep up with Jet as they rushed to vacate the shop. They did not even stop to say a word to me until we had distanced ourselves from the importer by over two streets.
Jet collapsed onto a bench in a small park, and I sat down beside them. “That all seemed fairly pointless,” I complained. “A waste of time.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” Jet laughed and pressed some nubs on one of the bracelets they wore. “Look.”
; I leaned in to watch the tiny pictures moving across the surface of the device. They were magnificent, as real as life. I saw the man in the white coat and the woman in the dark suit, still seated at the table.
“How is this possible?” I asked.
Jet winked. “I put a very small, almost microscopic, camera and transmitter on the wall. I used a simple spell to mask it. I don’t think there’s any way they could detect it, not with magical or conventional means. Besides, these people are predictable; most people are. They won’t expect us to even try, so they won’t be looking for it.”
“Can others access this information?”
Jet shook their head. “Closed circuit.” They took the rectangular device from a pocket and held it up. “Everything comes directly to me, and I’ve made sure to encrypt it so it can’t be intercepted in transit. It’s all stored in here. Nowhere else. I also have a program running to isolate anything relevant and file it for me so we don’t have to sift through hours of footage. And now that I have a foot in the door, it’s even possible I’ll be able to plant some false data into their systems. You know, mess with them if nothing else. No matter what it looked like with the statues and tapestries, they have to use computers and cell phones the same as anyone else. That means they’re vulnerable.”
“This magic is useful,” I admitted. “But what if that machine is lost or stolen?”
“Heh. The odds of that are astronomical, and the odds that they could bypass my security measures are even smaller. Nobody outside of ESM could do it, that’s for sure. Besides, I’m constantly backing up anything relevant.”
“How?”
“It would be hard to explain, and pretty boring, I’m afraid.”
We sat quietly as snowflakes spiraled lazily down, landing on the heads and shoulders of the people trudging past us, too wrapped up in the mundane details of their lives to even look our way.
“Hey, you up for a bit of a walk?” Jet eventually asked, resting a hand on my knee. “I know something I think you’d like to see.”
SANDWICHED BETWEEN two ordinary buildings was a place that seemed cobbled together from bits of magic, as if some extraordinary mortal had plucked snippets of wishes and dreams from the ether and jigsawed them into depictions of such beauty that they took my breath away. With Jet following, I wandered the labyrinthine corridors, running my fingers over metallic tiles, bits of ceramic, and even pieces of mugs and plates. One wall was made entirely of blue and green bottles held together by mortar, and other bottles hung down like a chandelier. These I could not help loving, their cobalt color, the way they caught and bent the wintery sunlight, the sound the air made as it skipped along their open mouths… the happiness and wonderment stored within them, aging like wine, gaining in potency.
The ground I stood upon was adorned with patterns, bits of stories written on clay, pictures of eyes, lips, animals. There were flowerpots, spoked metal wheels, fountains…. People had left things: dolls’ heads, small sculptures, bits of metal. Coins. “Magical,” I whispered, stopping to rest my palm against a column covered in swirling prismatic designs. “To transform these objects in such a way…. It is almost as if we have wandered into a dream or a spell, as if we are no longer in the same realm.”
“I thought you’d like it,” Jet said, sitting down on the edge of an ornate metal chair. The wall beside it read Slowly but Surely, and the figure of a prone woman built entirely of tiny squares stretched out above, the words Essence of Existence meandering along her torso, a crack bisecting her face, and a sun-colored square framing her head.
“Who created this? A mage, surely. Certainly someone with the blood of my people. To see things in this way is beyond the abilities of an ordinary mortal.”
Jet took a clear pouch from their pocket and began eating what looked like pastel worms coated in white powder. “That’s kind of an arrogant way to look at it. You shouldn’t underestimate us.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Most mortals have no vision. They are basically blind.”
“But not all.” Jet shoved a wad of the worms into their mouth and chewed. “What I think is, most people’s thoughts follow a similar pattern: they associate things with other things in the same way. Linear, I guess. But some people can make the associations other people miss, and they put things together in ways that would never occur to most.” They gestured to an archway a short distance from us. “I could show you more. Something even better.”
“Even better.” When I was freed from the girl’s summons, I was going to find the mortal who had constructed this and take them to my lands to build something similar for me—but bigger, better. A whole city constructed in this manner. I wondered what else I might find to keep and store away. I should start collecting items, average things mortals treasured: a lucky coin, a broken bit of a mother’s earring, a sugar spoon that recalled tea and biscuits with a beloved aunt. Those things, in the hands of this artist, would combine to create something with a resonance more profound than I could even imagine. All that stored emotion interacting, overlapping…. I scratched at the stiff collar around my neck. “But can I take off the glamour?”
“What, does it itch?” Jet chuckled.
“It is tiresome. Glamour can be amusing, but it is also a lie, and lies are only entertaining for a time. After a while it becomes a burden to remember the details.”
“Huh.” Jet stood and brushed some snow off their snug trousers. “It probably doesn’t say anything good about me that I completely understand that.”
“So?”
Jet hooked their elbow with mine and led me toward the place where this magnificent little world intersected with the much larger, much duller one. I wondered if the mortals crossing that threshold appreciated their escape from the mundane. To enter this place was to be an animal let out of a cage for a precious free gambol. “Leave it on just a little longer. Just until we get where we’re going.”
“Where is that?” I asked.
“You’ll see.”
Chapter Twenty-One
EMRYS USED the GPS on his phone to guide us to a posh suburb: all big yards, pseudocolonial houses, and streets wide and clear of cars due to the attached garages. Dante suggested we park several blocks away so our piece-of-shite truck wouldn’t attract attention, and I trusted him to know what he was talking about. He was the criminal in our little band, after all.
I was bloody sick of the winter, the wet and the snow. What I wanted was a beach, some sunshine. Normally it would’ve been easy enough to maneuver myself into a situation where I’d be able to enjoy both… and probably a lot more. As we walked and the cold numbed my face and stung the edges of my ears, something peculiar happened. I was thinking it would be lovely to find myself a rich cougar and convince her we needed a Caribbean cruise when I remembered I couldn’t soak up her energy even if I did. The desperation for it had gone, that crazy, obsessive hunger just a dull ache in my gut now, but I was sad. What was the point of going on if I could never taste that again, that spicy-sweet perfection of someone else’s absolute adoration? It was like I could only ever eat plain oatmeal—for the rest of my life. And my life was a damned long time. It was as if all the color drained out of the world and I stood in a grainy black-and-white photograph.
But then I turned to Dante, and he was so bloody bright. His warm golden skin clashed hard against the gray of the sky and leafless oak trees, and his brown eyes were rich, saturated—all the color sucked out of everything else concentrated there. The scant light gleamed off the leather of his coat, and his worn hoodie looked as soft and lush as velvet. The cold had drawn a dusky rose to the surface of his cheeks, where a downy coating of whiskers lined his jaw. The shadows his eyelashes cast. The chapped skin at the edge of his lower lip.
And I knew. I didn’t want to leave him. He wasn’t going to have sex with me—I felt that as sure as I felt the cold water seeping into my canvas trainers—but I wanted to stay with him, see that good things happened for him, see that he was ha
ppy. But what was making me want it? It didn’t make sense. I wanted what others wanted me to want, and this kid sure as fuck didn’t want me hanging about like a nursemaid. But damned if that wasn’t exactly what I yearned to do.
Even if it meant trudging through this frigid slush with my bollocks trying to retreat into my belly, instead of finding someone wealthy and horny to whisk me off to the Bahamas.
Blossom’s chicanery must’ve sent me round the bend.
Emrys interrupted my self-assessment. “Because of whatever spell was used to keep anyone from tracking the car, Jet couldn’t get us an exact address—said they might not have been able to even without the spell, since it depends where the driver parked. But they narrowed it down to a two-block radius.” He looked down at his screen. “Which means we have eleven houses to check.”
I shook my head. “Bloody hell. This could take forever. How are we even going to get inside?”
“This is a wealthy area,” Emrys said. “These houses will have security. It won’t be a simple matter of breaking in a back door, I’m afraid.”
Dante stared off down the street, his hands in his coat pockets. Then, like a cat who’d seen something move, he took off like a shot. After a quick glance at Emrys, who seemed as lost as me, I jogged after him.
Someone had left a Valentine’s Day wreath on a tripod in their lawn near the walk. Typical bored rich person project, likely something inspired by a guest appearance on a morning show, it featured uneven strands of pink and white tulle, plastic roses, and faux baby’s breath. Nestled among the fabric and foliage, some papier-mâché cherubs plucked harps and blew gold-painted trumpets. They’d been outfitted in glittery tutus for modesty, and wings formed from iridescent cloth and wire stood out from their backs. Dante crouched and traced a finger along one figure’s tangled chenille hair.
“These remind me of the dolls Ros makes. She’s really brilliant. I wish I had paid more attention to the stories she made up for each of them. King Oberon and Ariel and Cobweb…. I always just pretended to listen. There was always so much else to do.”
