Anne’s a superb cook. She told us that she grew up doing the cooking for her house, and it shows—she can make a meal out of literally anything and it’ll taste good. Luna isn’t bad, but she’s accident prone. The bad luck from her curse may not affect her, but it works just fine on everything else, and putting her in an environment filled with lit fires, sharp knives, and potentially poisonous substances is just a really bad idea. Her last attempt at oil frying is the reason I’ve got a CO2 extinguisher mounted on the wall. Variam is terrible. His dishes come in three flavours: scorched, charred, and burnt to a crisp. I have the suspicion that he makes it awful on purpose just so he doesn’t get asked to do it again, but I can’t prove it.
Anne met me with a smile and a plate of delicious fried stuff. “Anne, I love you,” I said as I took it from her.
Anne laughed. “You probably say that to any woman who feeds you.”
“I didn’t say it to the last woman who used this kitchen before you and Luna.” I sat down at the table and started eating. It tasted as good as it smelt.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” I said between mouthfuls. “Turned out she was working for a guy who wanted to kill us. She helped catch me and Luna so he could have a try at murdering us both. Was one of my more spectacularly dysfunctional breakups.”
Anne paused and looked at me. “You’re not joking, are you?”
“I’ll tell you the story sometime,” I said. “Vari gone out?”
“He went for a run.” Anne took the remainder of the sausages, hash browns, and bacon from the pan and divided them in two. Half went on her plate and the other half in another pan, which she closed carefully.
I nodded at the pan. “For Vari?”
“Mm-hm.” Anne took her plate over and sat opposite me. She had just as much food as I did. Anne may be thin, but she eats a lot.
“It really annoys Luna that you’re always so nice to him.”
“I know,” Anne said with a rueful look. “I keep telling her I don’t mind.”
I laughed. “You never mind being nice to people.”
“Well . . . maybe sometimes,” Anne said with a quick smile. “Vari can be bad-tempered, but he’s not a bully. He never tries to control anyone. And . . . he’s a little nervous at the moment.”
I looked at Anne in surprise. “Why now?”
“He’s worried we’ve been looking for a master for too long,” Anne said. “We’re not really supposed to be in the apprentice program, are we? Vari thinks that the longer this goes on, the more chance someone will start paying attention to us.”
Well, that spoiled the fun a bit. I didn’t answer, but Anne was watching me and I knew she could already tell from my reaction that Vari was right.
One of the reasons I’d invited Anne and Variam to stay with me last winter had been for their protection. They’re not recognised members of magical society, but I am (just about), and the idea had been that I’d try to find them a master. Unfortunately that had proven a lot harder than I’d expected. It turns out that if you add up the number of novice mages in Britain looking for a master, and the number of qualified and respected Light or independent master mages looking for an apprentice, there are way more applicants than places. And Anne and Variam’s record only made things worse—to most Light and independent mages, being associated with a Dark mage, a rakshasa, and a murder investigation is sort of the equivalent of being a illegal immigrant, a terrorist, and a registered sex offender all at once. By this point I’d been at it for more than half a year and it was starting to feel depressingly like job hunting, right down to the we regret to inform you rejection letters and the creeping sense of futility.
The one bit of good news was that Anne and Variam were still enrolled in the Light apprentice program, a kind of university structure where apprentices are taught in small classes, meaning that even if they don’t have a master they still have opportunities for study. Problem is, you’re not supposed to be allowed into the program unless you’re sponsored. Jagadev had arranged for Anne and Variam’s entry, and when the two of them had moved into my flat people had assumed I’d taken over their sponsorship, even though officially I hadn’t. If I petitioned I might be able to manage it . . . but then again I might not, and whether or not it worked it would draw all the wrong kinds of attention. “Do you want to push harder?” I asked Anne.
“How?”
“You know why you’ve been turned down so much,” I said. “It’s the whole history with Sagash and Jagadev.” I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. “There are mages who’d be less concerned by that.”
“Dark mages?” Anne said quietly.
“Not all of them,” I said. “It’s just . . . Look, so far I’ve been pretty picky about the mages I’ve approached. If anything’s made me even a little bit twitchy, I’ve steered clear. I could change that. It’s not something I want to do, but . . . as things stand right now, you and Vari have absolutely no rights under mage law. Living with me gives you a little protection but not much, and it’s not like I’m exactly short on enemies. I don’t like the idea of you guys signing up with a mage I don’t trust, but in the long run it might actually make you both safer.”
Anne had listened quietly as I spoke, watching me closely. As I finished my food, she thought for a second and shook her head. “No.”
“Not all of them are going to be bad. They’re just ones I’m not sure about.”
“Then I don’t want to go near them. I don’t want to be apprenticed to a mage I don’t trust. I’d rather have no master than a bad one.”
“It might take a while—”
“Then I’ll wait,” Anne said. “I don’t care how long it takes. I was Sagash’s apprentice once and I’m not doing that again, not ever.” Her eyes were set and there was an anger there that brought me up short. “As long as there’s any chance they could be like that, I’m never going with them.”
I leant back in surprise. “Okay. I guess we’ll cross off that plan.”
Anne stared right through me, and for just a moment I wondered where I’d seen that expression of hers before. A memory flickered through my head: green light flashing off bones, a body falling . . .
Then Anne seemed to realise what she was doing and the moment was gone. “Um . . .” She brushed her hair back, turning her face away, suddenly embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean . . . Is it okay us still staying here? I don’t want to . . .”
“Oh, it’s fine,” I said, though inwardly I was curious. What had triggered that? “Look, you guys have been here long enough to see how active a social life I usually have. It’s nice having people to talk to.”
“You don’t mind being so crowded?” Anne asked. “I mean, this flat’s not that big.”
I shrugged. “I’m kind of the self-contained type. As long as you guys don’t start sleeping in my bedroom I’m fine.” Though come to think of it, I always used to have trouble sleeping if anyone else was in the flat. For some reason Anne and Variam didn’t trigger that reflex.
Anne smiled, but it faded quickly. She looked like she was working her way up to asking something. “What is it?” I said.
“Um . . .” Anne said. “It’s just . . . You don’t get uncomfortable when I’m near you, do you?”
I looked at her in surprise. “That’s a weird question. No, why?”
Anne looked away. “Mages . . . usually don’t like it if I’m close to them.”
“Why not?”
“You know . . .” Anne stopped and started again. “People show their feelings in their bodies. The tension, the way they move . . . If they’re afraid or uncomfortable I can see it.”
I looked at Anne, puzzled. “Okay.” I had the feeling she was trying to tell me something, but I wasn’t sure what.
I heard the sound of the back door from below. “Vari’s back,” Anne said before I could check. She
got up, taking the plates to the sink. I thought about asking more, but I could already hear Variam running up the stairs and decided to leave it for another time. A second later Variam came in, and by the time we’d sorted out who would get to use the shower first I’d forgotten about it.
chapter 2
Anne and Variam’s appointment was for eleven o’clock; they were seeing a mage who’d been recommended to me as someone who might be able to help out with their finding-a-master problem. After they were gone I went to wash up, found that Anne had done it already, and went downstairs to open the shop.
My day job when I don’t have anything life-threatening to deal with is running a business called the Arcana Emporium, the name of which is a long-winded way of saying “magic shop.” I don’t publicise that I’m a mage, but I don’t exactly hide it either, and one of the odd things I’ve learnt over the years is just how much you can get away with if you’re blatant enough. Hide something behind smoke and mirrors and make people work to find it, and they’ll tear the place down looking for what’s there. Put up a sign up saying magic shop, and no one believes you.
I still don’t know where most of my customers come from. I don’t advertise and I’m off the main street, so most of it has to be word of mouth. Every now and again I’ll Google my shop to see what people are saying about me and I swear I get the weirdest results. There are people out there who think I’m everything from a reincarnated angel from the pharaoh dynasties of Egypt to a thousand-year-old half dragon who’s secretly sponsoring a quest across time and space in an attempt to kill himself. (No, I don’t know why.) I suppose I should be grateful there isn’t any slash fiction. On second thought, I’m not going to look too closely just in case there is.
Anyway, the result of all this is that I get a pretty bizarre mix of customers. The biggest group are the tourists and curiosity-shoppers, and they’re pretty easy to deal with. They take for granted that magic isn’t real, and so for them it’s a simple business transaction. I get money, and they get something weird to take home, where they’ll tell stories about the funny guy who pretends to sell magic items. Mixed in with the normals are the clued-in—sensitives, adepts, apprentices, and even the odd mage. They’re the ones my stock is actually for, and they’re definitely the only ones who have any idea how to use it. I like talking to these guys.
The problem customers are the ones in between. They know that magic’s real, but they expect it to behave like . . . well, like what they mean when they say “like magic.” Now don’t get me wrong, magic can do some pretty impressive stuff, but it has limits and it has rules. If you try to mess with it without knowing what you’re doing, it’s far more likely to complicate your life than it is to help. It’s not a universal solution to whatever issues you might currently have.
None of which stops people from coming in here expecting me to fix their problems for them.
* * *
The man stepped forward and slapped something down on the counter with a thump. Then he glared at me. “Well?”
“Um,” I said.
He pointed. “Do you know what that is?”
I looked at the thing on my counter. It was covered with silver scales, and it smelt. “It’s a fish.”
“Do you know where it came from?”
“I’d guess the sea.”
“It was on my chair. That’s where it came from.”
“Okay,” I said. “Does this happen often?”
“This is the third time!”
“So . . . you’ve attracted the attention of a compulsively generous fishmonger?”
“What?” The man stared at me. “What are you talking about?”
“Sorry. What seems to be the problem?”
“The problem,” the man said, speaking slowly and clearly, “is that it’s a curse.”
“Ah,” I said. “And you know this because . . . ?”
“My cat told me.”
“Your cat,” I said. “Right. It’s all starting to make sense now.”
The man rolled his eyes. “You know what, forget it, I’ll do it myself. Where are your spell components?”
I pointed. “Second rack in the corner.”
The man turned and walked off. “Hey,” I called. “Could you take your fish with you, please?”
The next three customers wanted a knife, a selection of herbs, and a crystal ball, respectively. The fourth harangued me at length about why the shop had been closed yesterday even though the sign said that it didn’t close until five and did I know how much travelling time I’d cost her? By the time she’d finished threatening to report me to the Office of Fair Trading and stormed off, a queue had grown up behind her.
Luna came in just as I was dealing with customer number . . . something or other, a bearded guy in a worn leather jacket. He smelt of beer and was taking much, much longer than he should to get the message that I was not going to sell him a love potion. “Hi, Alex!” Luna called over the sound of the bell.
“I already told you, there isn’t a formula,” I told the man. “If there were, Chanel would be selling it already . . . Where have you been?”
“Duelling class ran late,” Luna said, weaving between the customers. As she moved I saw the invisible silver mist mould itself to her body, clinging in a tight, dense layer on top of her exercise clothes instead of reaching out to the people in the shop. Once upon a time Luna could never have gotten that close to a crowd—she would have stopped at the edge and hesitated—but she’s been my apprentice for more than a year and she’s done a lot of growing. Not just in magical skill, but in confidence too. “I can use the shower, right?”
“Huh? Yeah, sure.” Luna disappeared into the corridor leading to the stairs up to my flat, and I turned back to the man at the counter. “Look, man, you got to help me,” the man began again.
“Look,” I said. “Even if I could make you a love potion—which, by the way, I can’t—have you any idea how unethical this is? You’re screwing around with someone’s emotions. It’s not something you do without a really good reason.”
Luna stuck her head back into the shop. “Hey, Alex? Is there supposed to be a fish out here?”
I covered my eyes. “No. There’s not.”
“What should I do with it?”
“Look,” the man started again. “You got to help me.”
“No, I don’t,” I told him, and turned to Luna. “I don’t care. Put it in the freezer or something.”
“Are you sure?”
“Why?”
“Isn’t that supposed to spoil the taste?”
“Look, man, I really need this,” the man said.
“I don’t care,” I said to both of them, then looked at Luna. “Put it wherever you’re supposed to put it.”
“Where’s that?”
“How should I know?”
“Well,” Luna said logically, “are we having this for dinner, or is it for something else?”
“I don’t care! Just get rid of it!”
Luna disappeared with the fish. “Um, excuse me,” a boy in his twenties said. He’d been waiting behind Love Potion Guy for five minutes, tapping his foot. “Do you have—”
“No,” I said, and turned back to Love Potion Guy. “I can’t help you, and I guarantee that if you try to go through with this plan it’ll make things worse. Just sort things out the normal way.”
Love Potion Guy stared at me hopelessly. “I can’t.”
Mr. Impatient started up again. “Excuse me, I need—”
“I don’t have them,” I said.
Luna stuck her head back in. “Hey, Alex?”
“Now what?”
“There’s about a dozen more fish in your bedroom.”
I closed my eyes. “Please tell me you’re making this up.”
“Yup.”
I opened my eyes and stared a
t her. Luna was grinning. “Couldn’t resist, sorry. First fish was real, though. I put it in the fridge.”
I took a deep breath, mentally calculating throwing angles between the items within reach and Luna’s head, but she beat a quick retreat. “Listen,” Love Potion Guy began again.
“No,” I said. “You’ve told me that story twice and a third time’s not going to help.”
“I need—” Mr. Impatient began.
“I already told you, I don’t have them.”
“You haven’t—”
“Doesn’t change the fact that this isn’t that kind of shop.”
“But—”
“They’re real, not fake, and just because I sell knives doesn’t mean I sell cards.”
“Look—” Love Potion Guy said.
I looked back and forth between Love Potion Guy and Mr. Impatient, answering the questions without waiting for them to ask them. “No, no, yes, no, it wouldn’t help, yes every day, it doesn’t matter because I still wouldn’t do it, I’ve already tried that, just try talking to her, first because they’re not profitable enough and second because I don’t care, if you do it’s because they’re trying to con you, the Magic Box on the other side of Camden and here’s one of their cards.” I dropped a business card into Mr. Impatient’s hand and looked between them. They were staring at me. “Are we done here? Because there’s a guy behind you who wants to find out how much money he’s been left in a will and he’s not going to take no for an answer either.”
We weren’t done. Getting rid of the whole crowd took the best part of an hour, but at least the crazies all left at more or less the same time, possibly because of some weird kind of magnetic principle. By the time Luna came back, the shop was empty. I was slumped in the chair and gave her a glower. “Sorry,” Luna said in an I’m-not-sorry-at-all tone.
Alex Verus Novels, Books 1-4 (9780698175952) Page 86
