Fiction River: Hex in the City

by Fiction River

  Jean glanced at Laverne who nodded.

  “She is working on the third floor of the Golden Nugget. Tall, skinny, very young and very smart.”

  “Blind camera spot end of the hall,” Stan said, “against the wall across from the elevators.”

  I nodded and jumped with Patty to that spot.

  Five

  Faint music played in the hallway and it smelled like the carpets had just been vacuumed. Down the plush hallway to our right was a maid’s cart, so we headed in that direction.

  As we neared the cart a tall woman with red hair appeared wearing a maid’s uniform and carrying an armload of towels. She smiled at us, then dropped the towels into her cart. She was very young and hadn’t yet seemed to grow into her body or her face.

  It was clearly Dee. Under the sleeves of her shirt I could see signs of tattoos and another tattoo peaked out of her high collar.

  As she started to turn back to go into the room I said, “Dee, we need to talk with you.”

  She stopped, suddenly looking puzzled. Her bright green eyes got very round.

  “I am Poker Boy, this is Patty Ledgerwood.”

  Patty extended her hand. “Great to meet you,” Patty said, giving the young superhero her best calming power.

  Dee shook Patty’s hand and seemed to relax a little. I didn’t add in my calming power just yet, but I had a hunch I was going to need it.

  “Your boss, Jean, says great things about you,” I said.

  Suddenly Dee looked panicked again. I remember early on in my superhero starting months, I thought no one knew I was secretly a superhero, so I was always shocked when another person knew that. Like me, she was going to be surprised as she learned just how many superheroes and gods there really were.

  At the end of the hallway, the elevator dinged and the door started to open. So I slipped us out of time and into an instant between moments of time so that we wouldn’t be disturbed. Since we were in a hallway and couldn’t hear any traffic noise outside, nothing seemed to change, so Dee didn’t notice.

  “How do you know Jean?” Dee asked, looking first at Patty, who was still smiling and then back at me.

  “We know many of the different gods,” Patty said. “I work in the hospitality area and Poker Boy here works in the poker area, just as you work in the cleaning area. We are all at the same level, just under different departments.”

  Dee nodded and relaxed again. This girl really, really was the nervous type, of that there was no doubt.

  I decided since Jean and Laverne and Stan were watching, to just jump to the problem. “Dee, are you scheduled in two days to clean Floor 14 here?”

  Panic flipped across Dee’s face and I sent calming waves at her, just as Patty was doing, trying to help her stay under control. I could feel my calming and trust-me power boosted a little as well, more than likely from Stan.

  Dee calmed down and then nodded. “It’s the 13th floor and I’m deathly afraid of it. I don’t know what to do.”

  “We can help,” Patty said, smiling as both of us kept aiming our combined calming powers at the young superhero. We were hitting Dee with so much calming juice, we could have put a horse to sleep smiling.

  “But it’s part of my job to clean that floor,” Dee said, looking like she was about to burst into tears.

  Suddenly I had another idea.

  “We can help with that if you let us,” I said. “We can help you never fear anything with the number 13 again.”

  “You could do that?” Dee asked. “And Jean wouldn’t mind?”

  “If it’s going to help you do your job,” Patty said, “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind at all.”

  Dee stared at me, then at Patty for a moment. I could feel Stan boosting my “trust me” power I was pouring at Dee.

  Finally Dee nodded.

  “Stan, bring Screamer,” I said into the air.

  A moment later Stan and Screamer appeared.

  Dee jumped. “Are you gods?”

  “He is,” Screamer said, smiling at Dee as he pointed at Stan. “Great to meet you, Dee.”

  Screamer extended his hand and the moment he touched Dee, she froze.

  Patty and I kept our calming powers aimed at Dee and turned up to full power.

  “Need help to clean this out, Stan,” Screamer said.

  Stan nodded and touched Screamer’s shoulder. I knew at that moment in time they were both inside Dee’s mind, working to clear out her fears of the number thirteen without really hurting her or changing her in any way and leaving no trace they had been in there.

  After a moment Stan nodded and dropped his hand from Screamer’s shoulder. Then Screamer let go of Dee’s hand.

  “So what can you do to help me?” Dee asked, staring at Screamer and then at Stan.

  “Do you still fear the number thirteen?” I asked.

  She frowned for a moment, then shook her head. “No, I don’t. Wow, you guys are good.”

  “We’ll let you get back to work now,” Patty said, touching Dee’s arm one more time to really leave a calming and pleasant feel with the young superhero.

  “Thanks,” Dee said, smiling. “I hope to see you again.”

  As I dropped the time shield and jumped all of us back to my office in the air over the MGM Grand Hotel, all I kept thinking about was that I had no doubt we were going to see more of that young superhero in the future. I had a hunch she might just be helping the team down the road at times.

  I guess that was my way of seeing into the future a little.

  Madge was waiting for us with freshly made milkshakes. Laverne and The Magician and Terri appeared a moment after we did.

  “Jean thanks you all,” Laverne said. “As do I.”

  “I thank you as well,” The Magician said, bowing slightly. “Your quick thinking and action has saved illusionists everywhere from a very difficult black eye.”

  Smiling, I slid into the booth and Patty slid in beside me as Terri gave Screamer a big kiss and then joined us.

  It had seemed like hours ago that my French fries had disappeared from the table, but actually, this time, we had saved the city in just under a half hour.

  “Madge,” I asked, smiling at her as she placed the last milkshake on the table, “is there any chance you could make those French fries reappear?”

  “Make that two orders,” Lady Luck said, sliding into the booth beside her daughter.

  “Three, if you don’t mind,” The Magician said, pulling up a chair.

  Madge laughed and turned for the door to the Diner. “I had a hunch you would want some after lunch got shortened, so four orders of fries are cooking right now.”

  “Seeing the future again, Miss Madge?” The Magician asked, winking.

  She smiled at him and winked back. “Depends if you have enough magic up that sleeve of yours to handle a future me.”

  “Have I ever failed you, Miss Madge?”

  Madge laughed like a young girl and disappeared through the door.

  All Patty and I and Screamer and Terri could do was just stare open-mouthed at The Magician as he sipped on his milkshake, smiling.

  Lady Luck just shook her head as I tried desperately to clear the image out of my mind of a tall, skinny elf and an overweight waitress together.

  I have a hunch it’s burned there forever.

  Introduction to “Dead Men Walking”

  Annie Reed has a thing for dead people; they keep getting out of their graves and throwing themselves at the living. Perhaps she is a Necromancer? When I first read, “Dead Men Walking,” I knew it had a place in the collection. The world she creates, where magick is real and regulated by the government, also has the potential to become a series.

  Annie is an award-winning writer of mysteries, science fiction, and fantasy. Her most popular fantasy stories take place in Moretown Bay, a Seattle-like place filled with magic. “Dead Men Walking” introduces a brand new series character in her Moretown Bay stories. She writes:

  “I have a deci
dedly odd sense of humor, and given my background in the legal profession, I tend to take things literally. Like those late-night television ads which implore viewers to call an attorney ‘if they’ve suffered injury or death.’ The invitation to Hex in the City gave me the perfect opportunity to write about the perils of placing a poorly worded ad in a world where magic works.”

  Dead Men Walking

  Annie Reed

  Dalton Garvey had just hit the meat of his closing argument when the dead man burst through the courtroom doors.

  For a moment, no one in the courtroom moved except the corpse, who headed straight for the plaintiff’s table where Dalton’s client sat. Kathy Ruiz screamed. Dalton didn’t blame her. Her husband had been dead for nearly two years and he was more than a little ripe. He also moved damn fast for a dead man.

  Dalton got Kathy out of her seat just in time, and together they backed away from what was left of Julio Ruiz. The dead man groaned as he tried to climb over the wooden railing behind the counsel tables. That was enough for the jurors. They scrambled out the far end of the jury box without waiting for the judge to dismiss them.

  While the judge banged away with his gavel demanding order in his court, the bailiff finally caught up to the late Mr. Ruiz and grabbed him by one flailing arm. He snapped a handcuff on the dead man’s wrist just as Julio managed to get one stiff leg over the railing. The cuff flared bright green as the magic-inhibiting spell infused in the metal took hold.

  Robbed of the magic that had reanimated him, Julio collapsed in a heap of rotted flesh and the remains of his burial suit.

  Nothing like this had ever happened to Dalton in his two decades as a trial attorney. Court rules forbid the use of magic during trial, and wizards like the judge currently bellowing orders from the bench, enforced those rules to the letter of the law. Everyone, even people like Dalton who had no magic of their own, had to wear some type of magic inhibitor in the courtroom. While courtroom stunts weren’t unheard of, reanimating the dead was a felony. Even the most flamboyant attorney wouldn’t risk getting thrown in jail and losing his license by reanimating a dead man just to prove a point during trial. A picture of the deceased on the courtroom’s overhead projector, combined with a kickass closing, was usually all it took.

  Kickass closings were Dalton’s specialty, and he’d had the jury eating out of the palm of his hand during this one. He’d already been counting his share of his client’s million-dollar verdict for the wrongful death of her spouse, but he could kiss that money goodbye, at least for now. The judge would declare a mistrial, which meant they’d have to go through a whole new trial, and that was bad enough. What really worried Dalton was the upcoming criminal investigation.

  Unlike for Plain-Jane criminal acts, the law did not provide a presumption of innocence where magical crimes were concerned. If Dalton’s client had anything to do with the sudden reappearance of her dead husband, Dalton would have to rebut the presumption that he was an accessory to the crime. Kathy Ruiz didn’t strike him as the type who’d do whatever it took to help her case along, but even smart people got stupid when serious money was on the line. She wouldn’t be the first client who thought she knew better than her attorney.

  Before the official investigators came sniffing around, Dalton had to make sure his client was clean. The last thing he wanted was to lose his nice, successful life over a dead man.

  ***

  Dalton met with his own investigator for a late lunch at a busy Irish pub two blocks from the courthouse.

  Roxie had worked for him for the better part of fifteen years. Roxie wasn’t her real name, but she was part elf with a little bit of goblin thrown in her lineage somewhere along the way, and her real name was unpronounceable. Like most elves she was slender and strong and graceful. She turned heads with her flawless beauty—right up until she smiled. Even after all these years, Dalton still wasn’t used to her subtly pointed teeth.

  Roxie was dogged and persistent and curious as all hell, and she’d signed a confidentiality oath when Dalton first hired her without batting an eye. Thanks to her unique family tree, she was also more acutely aware of magic, especially the darker arts, than most elves. Put that all together, and she was the perfect person to investigate whether Kathy Ruiz had screwed herself —not to mention her attorney—by reanimating the corpse of her dead husband.

  The pub was a favorite getaway place for trial attorneys who needed a place to conduct hushed strategy meetings with their clients during trial. It also served the best Shepherd’s Pie in the Pacific Northwest. After the events of the morning, Dalton didn’t think he’d have an appetite, but he surprised himself. He’d almost polished off the last bite of his lunch when the dead man bulled his way through the restaurant directly to the secluded booth where Dalton and Roxie sat.

  If it hadn’t been for Roxie’s quick reflexes, the dead man might have yanked Dalton right out of his seat.

  While Dalton sat stunned and frozen in place, Roxie struck out with a tiny silver chain, deftly whipping it around the dead man’s wrist. When the ends of the chain touched each other to complete a circle, a harsh green glow emanated from the chain and the man flopped down on the table, reanimated no more.

  “What the fuck?” Dalton wiped at his mouth with his napkin and repeated the curse. The stench rising off the dead man turned his stomach. Only the thought that he’d never live it down if he puked in front of his colleagues let Dalton keep his lunch where it belonged.

  “Two in one day,” Roxie said. “That must be a record, even for you.”

  Dalton pressed himself against the far wall of the booth, breathing through his mouth, and tried to ignore the screams and shouts from the other diners as they fled the pub.

  This couldn’t be happening, not again. Julio Ruiz at least had some connection to Dalton. This dead man’s face still looked enough like a face that Dalton should have recognized him if he’d known the man, but he didn’t.

  When the corpse showed no signs of coming back to life a second time, Roxie went to work on him, doing what she did best.

  “No wallet,” she announced after she’d searched the dead man’s jacket pockets. “No anything.” She climbed up on the table, nimble as always and with just a little too much eagerness, and leaned over to reach into the pockets of his pants. “Nothing.” Then she frowned and reached deeper. “Well, well, well...what have we here?”

  She pulled out a wadded-up piece of yellow paper no bigger than her thumb.

  “It’s been spelled,” she said. “And a clever one at that.”

  She smoothed out the paper, and a too-wide smile stretched her flawless features into something out of a child’s nightmare. Whatever she’d found couldn’t be good.

  It wasn’t. The small bit of paper was part of a page ripped from the advertising section of a local phone book. Dalton had paid a good amount of money for the advertising on that little piece of paper. The ad was part of an extensive campaign he’d designed with the help of a media consultant for the sole purpose of attracting clients with bigger cases to his firm.

  Living clients, not dead ones.

  Roxie turned her nightmare smile on him. “Think he can afford your fee?” she asked.

  ***

  Dalton and Roxie managed to get out of the pub before the authorities arrived and started asking questions he didn’t want to answer.

  They checked all the phone books they could find in a four-block area around the courthouse, and picked up a freebie newspaper aimed at the arts and entertainment crowd. Dalton’s ads in every single one had been spelled.

  “Here’s your problem,” Roxie said, pointing a graceful finger at the slogan that appeared in all his ads.

  If you or a loved one has suffered a serious injury or death, contact Dalton Garvey today!

  “Simple but effective,” Roxie said. “Not only reanimates the dead loved ones of anyone who sees your ad, but compels them to contact you.”

  Okay, sure, he’d purchased a low-level su
bliminal spell for his television ads, but all that spell was supposed to do was embed his name and phone number in the viewer’s subconscious so they’d be compelled to call him if and when they ever needed an attorney. Nothing illegal. The big law firms did the same type of ads all the time. That’s where Dalton had gotten the idea in the first place.

  None of his print ads were supposed to be spelled. At all. Especially not with a compulsion spell so strong it reanimated the dead, thanks to a poorly written slogan. The regulations governing the licensing and use of magic were designed specifically to prevent this kind of thing from happening.

  Dalton balled up the freebie newspaper they’d been looking at and tossed it in a curbside garbage can. “She screwed us both over,” he said.

  Roxie arched an eyebrow.

  “Shelly,” Dalton said, answering Roxie’s unspoken question. “My wonderful media consultant.”

  Who, coincidentally, had written all the ad copy.

  Which Dalton had approved. In writing.

  Hello, felony indictment. Two counts, to be specific, and maybe more. Exactly how many phone books were there in the city? Copies of the freebie newspaper? How many recently dead? He could be facing the rest of his life in jail for something he never intended to do.

  Unless he could get Shelly to admit all he’d wanted was a simple subliminal spell and she was the one who’d screwed up all by her lonesome. Easy enough to do if he was grilling her in court, but he hoped things never got that far.

  No, what he needed was a little insurance policy just in case the authorities tried to pin responsibility for reanimating the dead on him.

  Dalton eyed Roxie. “I need to use some of your equipment,” he said. “Covert job. What have you got?”

  She chuckled, clearly more amused at the situation than he was. “Everything,” she said.

  ***

  Smithson and Associates Media Consulting occupied an interior suite on the fifth floor of a downtown office building forty years past its prime.