by Nazri Noor
Whatever the box held was made out of the finest material I’d ever laid eyes on, so delicate and sheer that it was almost totally transparent. It had the shimmer of silk, but seemed even lighter than that. I expected it to tear in half as Beatrice lifted the sheet of fabric to the light, but the cloth was clearly very sturdy – almost supernaturally so.
“This is woven out of spider silk. It’s extremely valuable. Not just any spider, either. Comes from an extremely rare source.” She set the silk down again, shutting the box, slipping it back into the satchel, then depositing it somewhere under her counter. “It cost me – let’s just say that it cost me a lot to acquire.”
“Right,” I said, finding my breath again. “And why did the thief want the stuff?”
She shrugged. “Beats me. But let’s be real. You could walk into any shop on this block and find something worth stealing. Enchanting is a very, very expensive business.” She gave me another one of her grins, cocking her shoulders at an angle as she planted her own hands opposite mine on the counter. “And I’m a very, very busy woman. So, you know, scoot. Git. Out of here.”
I pressed my lips into a thin line and gave her a disapproving look. Beatrice stamped her foot.
“Fine,” she spat, folding her arms, her eyes flashing with menace. “Fine. What do you want?”
“I’m actually in the market for a very special kind of enchantment myself.” I leaned into the counter and cocked my own shoulder, mirroring her posture, then grinned as bright as the sun. “Let’s talk business, shall we?”
8
Beatrice Rex solemnly poured tea into two of the prettiest cups I’d ever seen in my life. She offered one to me, sliding it across the counter. Her atelier was clearly the type of swanky place where they liked to butter you up a little before they gutted you for everything you were worth, like a car dealership that serves free coffee and cookies, or one of those crazy designer boutiques where they pop a bottle of bubbly.
I took a tentative sip of my tea – hmm, tasty. Earl Grey, maybe? Then I waited and sipped some more, holding my breath. Beatrice folded her hands across the top of the counter, stared me dead in the eye, then gave me her price.
“Ten thousand dollars.”
I almost spat my mouthful of tea right in her face. I wiped at my mouth with the back of my hand, stammering as I started to protest.
“T-ten thousand whole American dollars?”
She rolled her eyes so hard that I thought I could hear them squeaking. “Duh. Obviously. What, did you think these things were going to come cheap? Do you even know what goes into crafting a proper cloaking artifact? That takes time, resources, and magic. Lots and lots of magic.”
“Right,” I muttered, somewhat dazed.
“And it all depends on how you want to keep it on your person, too. Now, as someone who specializes in clothing, I would obviously recommend something you wear on the daily. A jeweler might give you a necklace or a ring, so that the cloaking magic affects you all day, every day.” She gave me a quick head-to-toe glance, then grinned out of the corner of her mouth. “I could make them into a snug little pair of undies for you. Boxers? Hmm. Bikini briefs?”
My hand shook as I settled my teacup down, its bottom clattering against the saucer. “Not to sound like a broken record, but give me a break. Didn’t me saving your little box of spider droppings count for anything? A friendly discount?”
“Spider silk,” she hissed, raising a corrective finger in my face. “And that’s already a discounted rate, sweetie. Trust me. I’d only be charging you for the materials.” She twirled her hair around the end of one finger. “And the labor is free, because you’re kind of cute.” She followed that up with the kind of wink that would have had an impressionable boy like me aflutter, but I was too focused on the exorbitant five-figure cost she’d just quoted to feel all twitterpated.
“Why is it so expensive, though? It’s not like you’re making something for me out of solid gold.” I frowned at her. “It’s not because the main reagent is something super skeevy, is it? Like baby’s blood? Please don’t say it’s baby’s blood.”
“Don’t be dumb. I’d have to get some shimmerscale. Really rare stuff, comes from merpeople. And not just any mer, either. Has to be one of the magical ones. Their scales give them the gift of camouflage, and that’s the exact kind of ingredient we need. Of course, you can’t just walk up to one and expect them to rip it off their body and hand it to you.” Her eyes narrowed as they focused on a spot just past my head. “No,” she muttered. “Gotta be more creative than that.”
I blinked at her, dumbstruck. “Wait. Merpeople exist?”
She nodded. “Oh, yeah. Sure. There’s a whole colony of them that hangs out by the Santa Monica Pier.”
“Really?”
“Of course not,” she said, laughing. “They’re much harder to find than that, and it’s why this is going to be so expensive. Don’t be so gullible. Oh my God, you’re like a baby. Poor little dumb baby. Emphasis on poor. And dumb as well, I guess.”
“I can’t afford that,” I said, steadying myself against the counter with one hand, suddenly woozy. “I can’t even pay rent this month.”
Beatrice blinked, then shrugged. “Come back when you’re saved up enough, I guess? And before you ask, no. I don’t do installments.” She sighed, then folded her arms. “Listen. I appreciate what you did to help me. I really do. And I’m sure you have your own reasons for wanting to keep yourself so hidden, but you seem like a nice kid. I don’t see a wanted fugitive here, just some guy who doesn’t know why he’s running and doesn’t want to be found.”
I glowered back at her, hating that I couldn’t stop myself from pouting like a child. I didn’t appreciate the fact that she was seeing right through me and calling me out for what I wanted to do with my life. Was normalcy really so bad? It wasn’t cowardice. I just wanted a regular life, one that meant I could walk the streets without risk of being cornered by a cabal of demons.
But I told her none of those things. “Forget it,” I grumbled. “Thanks for the tea.”
Beatrice shook her head and sighed again. “Again, I really am sorry. But if you scrape together what you need, you know where to find me.” She reached towards one end of the counter, then handed me a cream-colored card. “You can call me here, send me an email, whatever.” Our fingers brushed for the briefest moment when I reached for the card, and to my surprise, she clasped my hand, her palm warm against my skin. “Take care of yourself.”
And with that, Beatrice Rex turned to one of the mannequins behind her counter, pinning and poking things into place, and it was like I never existed. I sighed, finished the last of my tea – man, what a crappy reward – and turned to leave. But that was when I caught my second glance of the man in the shop, the one who was looking at all the coats. We locked eyes for a second, and he nudged his head over his shoulder, the universal body language for “Psst, c’mere.”
“Psst,” he said, with his actual mouth. “C’mere.”
I shrugged and obeyed, dragging my feet as I joined him at the far end of Beatrice’s workshop. I’d wasted enough time at the Black Market. Why not waste a little more?
“Listen,” I told the man as we went into a little huddle behind the rack of coats. “This day really isn’t going my way at all, so if you could hurry this up, I need to head down to that notice board they have over at the hub and look for some quick cash. Maybe someone will want to buy my kidneys.”
“Shush,” he said, lifting a finger to his lips. “That’s why I called you here. I overheard you talking to Beatrice. Maybe I can help you out a little. I may have heard of someone who needs a little errand completed.”
I stepped back a little, only far enough to give the guy a once-over. He was handsome, I guess, in that fey kind of way. His longish hair fell a little past his jaw, brushing his shoulders to suggest that he didn’t care that much about styling it, which was why he styled it that way. You knew that he came from money, too. He would
have fit in outside at Silk Road, at least with the way he dressed. Sharp clothes, and an even sharper look in his eyes, a kind of cunning. He looked no older than Beatrice herself, about his mid-twenties, if I had to make an educated guess.
The man tucked a lock of hair behind one ear, his eyes assessing me as he smiled warmly. “Let me buy you a drink. We’ll sit somewhere and talk.”
I rubbed my forearm, watching him warily. “Just to be clear. You’re the guy who needs work done?”
“No. I just happen to know someone who could use a little extra muscle.”
I scratched the bridge of my nose. “Will they give me ten thousand dollars?”
The man’s laughter was musical, and it had the oddest effect of immediately putting me at ease. “Ten thousand is conservative.” He draped one arm across my shoulders, leading me out of the atelier. “Come on. Let’s get you a new pair of undies.”
9
Granted, it wasn’t exactly the most auspicious start. The man had heard everything that Beatrice and I discussed, up to and including the part about a snug pair of enchanted bikini briefs being my best protection against the darkest – and brightest – supernatural powers of our known earth.
But the more Quill talked, the more I found to like about him. At least he was being direct, forthright, especially when it came to matters of his name. I tapped the table just to the side of my latte, the drink that Quill had offered to buy. We were back out in the real world of Valero, having a casual, simple getting-to-know-you at one of those artisanal, hip coffee places that I hated to admit that I loved so much. Poor nephilim, expensive taste. Just my luck.
“So,” I said. “What kind of a name is Quill?”
He chuckled, taking a quick sip of his own coffee – an Americano, I noticed. “It’s short for Quilliam. Quilliam J. Abernathy.”
I laughed, then cut myself off abruptly, not meaning to be rude. “Sounds like the kind of name that crazy rich people give their kids. You live in a castle, don’t you? What are you, like, a bazillionaire?”
“Not at all. My parents were just really bad at picking something I could spell and write easily.” He waved his hand and cocked his head. “Joke’s on them. Now I’m the best magus I know.”
“Sorry. Magus?”
“Think of me as someone who specializes in magical scrolls and books.” He tapped the side of his head and grinned. “Knowledge is power. Quite literally, as I’m sure you’re aware. Just how things work for people like us.”
“Cool, cool.” I rested my chin in the palm of my hand, one eyebrow raised. “What’s the J in your name stand for?”
He furrowed his forehead. “It stands for ‘just drop it.’ Never you mind. I’m not proud of my middle name. But that’s enough chitchat, I think we’re as acquainted as we should be.” He clasped his hands together, resting his bottom lip on the tips of his steepled fingers. “Let’s talk business.”
“Ten thousand dollars, you said.”
He raised a finger. “I said that it was a potentially feasible fee. There’s a distinct possibility that you could earn even more.”
I slapped my open palm against the table. “I’m in.”
Quill blinked at me. “I haven’t even told you the nature of the job.”
“Don’t care,” I said. “Well, I mean, within reason. I don’t have to kill anyone, do I?”
Quill rubbed his chin, his eyes going distant as he considered the question. “Actually, that depends. The main objective of the job is for you to retrieve something. An artifact.”
“Go on,” I said. “I’m familiar with this kind of racket.”
I really was, too. Back when I still lived with the boys of the Boneyard, our boss – the lich – liked to send us out on missions to locate and extract valuable magical artifacts and relics. Sometimes it was specifically to keep dangerous objects out of the hands of people who didn’t know what they were meddling with. More frequently, though, it was to add to his growing collection of curiosities – for research, as Carver liked to put it. I narrowed my eyes as I waited for Quill to continue. In some ways, he did remind me of Carver. Maybe it was their shared interest in finer clothing. Far likelier was the fact that Quill was similarly very interested in the acquisition of arcane power.
“I’ll give you the elevator pitch. Your potential client, Leonora, has had something precious of hers stolen. And judging by what you did to help Beatrice Rex back there, I’m inclined to believe that you’re the kind of guy who would be good at retrieving wrongly stolen possessions.”
“That’s a fair assessment. So why are you helping her, exactly? And don’t say that you’re doing it out of the goodness of your own heart.”
He flinched convincingly, placing a hand over his chest. “Oh, you do wound me, Mason. It’s because Leonora is far past her prime. She’s still well in control of her faculties, but she can’t exactly go traipsing around the Black Market hoping to run into able-bodied young would-be thieves, can she?”
I nodded. “All right, point taken. And I guess you can’t just walk over to the job board and put up a notice looking for a cat burglar.”
Quill tapped the side of his nose. “Exactly. You’re catching on.” He picked up his coffee, draining the rest of it in one long, deliberate sip. Soft, brassy jazz music filled the silence as I waited for him to finish. “So,” he said, setting the empty cup back down. “Are you interested? Will you come and meet her with me?”
I shrugged. “At this point, what have I got to lose? Like I said way, way earlier: I’m in. As long as I don’t have to kill anyone.”
He threw his arm over the back of his chair, crossed his legs, then filled the air with his easy laughter. “Like I said, Mason. That all depends. Finish your latte, then we can drop by and see her.”
I thought that Quill meant we were going to Leonora’s house, wherever that would be in Valero. I was imagining quaint lodgings, a comfortable one-bedroom apartment that a senior might enjoy, or even a huge mansion filled with doting servants. As Quill and I stepped out of our hired rideshare, I realized that I hadn’t at all entertained the possibility of going to a retirement home.
“Aww. Oh, man. I wasn’t expecting this at all. It’s making me kind of sad.”
Quill stuck his hands in his pockets, raising a questioning eyebrow at me. “How do you mean?”
I shrugged. “I guess I just, I don’t know, wouldn’t want to stick my parents in a place like this. That is, if they had ever survived to grow old enough to belong.”
The smile that Quill gave me was strange. Not quite sad, but not quite sympathetic, either. “Mothers and fathers are precious things, aren’t they? I’m sorry you no longer have either of your parents around.”
I chewed my lip and shrugged again, this time with just one shoulder. “It is what it is. But thanks.”
“And you shouldn’t worry about Leonora. She’s perfectly happy living here. It’s a good place for her, plus when she’s unhappy with the service, she still has enough magic to make them, shall we say, disappear.”
“What? I don’t think I like the sound of that.”
Quilliam laughed. “Oh, I don’t mean that she kills them. Just causes enough trouble for them to get fired. Plants some jewelry in a nurse’s purse, just magics some way to get them out of there.”
“Oh my God. Quill, that sounds terrible.” I wasn’t sure I wanted to work for someone who did that, but hey, again, I needed the damn money, didn’t I? Beggars can’t be choosers. Well, they can, if they like not having beds and sleeping in cardboard boxes. Never again.
“Oh, you know,” Quill said, looking up at the facility’s signage as we approached. “It is how it is. That’s just how brujas are.”
Bruja? I knew that word. I stopped walking and squinted at Quilliam, suspicion building in my chest. “Wait. You never mentioned that before. Leonora’s a bruja?”
Quill stopped walking, too, fixing me with a blank, innocent smile. “Oh, come now, Mason. You’re not afraid of witc
hes, are you?”
10
You wouldn’t have known at all from just looking that Maria Leonora Rodriguez, as was her full name, was a bruja. That was the Spanish word for witch, or a very specific kind of witch, found in traditions as diverse as the South Americas, even the Philippines. On first glance, Leonora looked like a sweet old lady, wearing those thick cat’s eye spectacle frames that old ladies love, a woven shawl draped across her lap for warmth. Your grandmother, basically, or abuela, which was a word I learned from one of my pals at the Boneyard.
Incidentally, that was also where I learned what bruja meant. I’d only known one bruja before, but she was from the Philippines, where the magic followed a different tradition. They spelled it bruha, with an H. I realize it’s a difference of a single letter, but you change one letter on the word ‘witch’ and you’ll quickly come to understand my personal opinion of them in general. It was a witch, after all, who started the chain of events that led to me working with Belphegor and eventually leaving the Boneyard.
But Mama Rosa, the Boneyard’s resident Filipino bruha? She was cool, treated me like a son. I could only hope that Leonora was as sweet and motherly as the vibe that she gave off. You can never be too sure. Her room at the home was fluffy and pink, nearly every surface trimmed with tatted lace, the air itself smelling faintly of powder and roses. But again: you never know when it comes to witches.
Quilliam’s laughter filled the room, joined by the unbridled, almost braying guffaw that came out of Leonora’s tiny lungs. They were joking with each other in Spanish. Something about a donkey. Quill spoke fluently, drawing even more interesting parallels between himself and my old boss, who spoke probably over twenty languages. I don’t even know anymore, I lost count. Carver had a natural talent for tongues, but granted, being functionally immortal gave him a marked advantage over your average human polyglot.
