The Wizards on Walnut Street

by Sam Swicegood

  I swallowed hard. “W-werewolf?” I asked shakily.

  She nodded. I could smell her hot breath on my face. It was strangely minty.

  “Did you get the food delivered?” I heard Codwell’s cloven hooves clattering across the kitchen tile behind me.

  “Yes, of course, but—”

  “Next delivery!”

  “But the car—”

  “Yes, yes, yes,” the Puck answered, pushing me a bag of more delivery food, “he does that, yes he does. Go on, go on, no time to lose!” And he was gone again. The kitchen staff turned to get back to work and I was left holding another steaming bag of food.

  ~

  By the time I had finished my first shift, my legs felt (and smelled) a bit like melted butter as I forced them to move, step by step, to the door of the condo. I closed the door and leaned up against it, my breath coming in shallow heaves in my chest. In the course of four hours, I had—in addition to the adventure with the Nøkken—been the victim of several small calamities: I had gotten lost in a building that turned out to be a stronghold run by dwarfs: short, round people with hair and beards that went down to the hem of their garments and who spoke with very fast Swedish accents. I had accidentally insulted a Tiyanak by asking if its parent was home—I had no idea the Tiyanak all looked like creepy children. Most annoyingly, perhaps, I had gotten about six paper cuts over the course of the day.

  I couldn’t have gotten as much done, or quite as safely, had it not been for the Employee Handbook, which I had now gotten in the habit of checking each time I stopped the car (the car, which by the way had been mysteriously repaired and now stayed very quiet when I drove it). For example I had delivered a box full of something wriggling to a creature that the Employee Handbook told me was an Afanc, and had I not checked beforehand I might have accidentally looked at the creature and been tempted to take a nap in its lap[26].

  I practically crawled to the bathroom to turn on the shower, freeing myself of my delicious-smelling garments and flopping into the tub under the stream of the showerhead. I let out a toad-like croak and shivered as the water hit my skin but as it warmed and filled the room with steam I started to relax.

  I let out a sudden shout as a burning heat scaled its way across my arm, and I thrashed around momentarily while a symbol began to appear painfully in the surface of my skin. I tried to grab onto the side of the tub or the sink, but my fingers slipped and I fell back in the tub, splashing water across the floor. When it had stopped, I had a new tattoo webbed on my skin—signifying my new job at Cornucopia, I would imagine—leaving my arm sore and tingly. I tried to catch my breath, spitting and coughing up water, and finally dragged myself out of the tub into the bathroom floor. I laid there for a few minutes, just breathing heavily, staring up at the ceiling and watching it seem to spin.

  One thing I have always admired about humans is that, when we reach a certain point of exhaustion, anywhere becomes a bed. It doesn’t matter if you’re sleeping on a couch or a gravel driveway or if you’re shivering while lying cold, wet, and naked on a bathroom floor; at a certain point it all becomes just another place to sleep.

  Chapter 18

  I think I was having a dream, and it was a good one, but I don’t remember what exactly it might have been about. All I do remember is that I was particularly frustrated to be jostled awake to the sound of a doorbell ringing, followed by a swift knock at the front door.

  The water wasn’t running. I had to have regained consciousness and turned it off in the middle of the night, but I had apparently not regained enough consciousness to actually get out of the bathroom and up to bed. I silently cursed middle-of-the-night-exhausted Andy and the sheer lack of forethought expressed by the performance of this action, because it left currently-on-the-floor Andy sore and wishing for an Aspirin.

  I heard the knock at the door again, but this time it was followed by a familiar voice. “Andy? Are you ok?” It was Apollo. I was momentarily relieved until he added, “I’m coming in.”

  I let out a frustrated noise and pulled my indecent self to my feet. “Wait, hangon! I’m not dressed—” I stumbled through the kitchen toward the bedroom but knew I wouldn’t make it. With rising panic in my throat, I grabbed a baking sheet from the top of the refrigerator and clutched it to myself just as he rounded the corner.

  I would assume, from understanding the principles of his species, that Apollo had likely seen many different people in various stages of undress. It was terribly amusing, therefore, to watch his eyes go instantly wide and a rosy hue flush the dark skin of his cheeks; mine, I’m sure, were equally red. He spun instantly, putting his back to me. “Oh. Um. Hey.”

  I coughed awkwardly, sidling across the kitchen toward the bedroom with the pan gripped tightly to my skin. “Yeah. Hey.”

  “I thought you were—”

  “—Yeah, no—”

  “—and I got your texts—”

  “—right, that’s fine—”

  “—and I thought you might be—”

  “—it’s cool—”

  “—and I didn’t realize—”

  “—no problem—”

  I finally reached the doorway and threw myself through it, slamming it behind me. I leaned against the wood of the door, catching my breath and trying to dismiss the burning feeling in my face, which I’m sure was a deep crimson by that point. Shaking myself mentally, I put on some clean clothes that didn’t smell like food and took my morning anxiety medication before going back to the door, staring at it and trying to will myself to have the courage to open it up again.

  On the other side of the door, I heard a distinct sizzling sound and a few seconds later a delicious aroma crept under the door. My stomach immediately began to curse at me, and I pulled the door open.

  Apollo looked up at me from the stove. “I’m diffusing the awkwardness with breakfast,” he said matter-of-factly, cracking an egg single-handedly into the fryer, “and you tell me about the weird stuff that happened to you yesterday. I’m really sorry, by the way—my phone died and I didn’t get to charge it until this morning.”

  I leaned against the kitchen countertop and recounted my misadventures of the previous day. As I did so, I watched Apollo, with the same graceful movements he used when pulling a shot of coffee, making a full breakfast at the stove that he plated up with the precision of a chef. The utensils danced in his hands, and I even paused my storytelling more than once because I was just transfixed by the grace of his movements.

  I got to the part where Killian had replied to my text and he stopped to look at me, looking mildly insulted. “Did she say anything else?”

  I shook my head. “No, just that. I texted her later but I didn’t get a response back.”

  Apollo shrugged, but the move looked stilted as though he was forcing himself to not care. “She hasn’t talked to me either, so I dunno.”

  The food was plated and handed over into my still-slightly-numb hands. A single bite of the fluffy, syrup-drenched pancakes was enough to jump-start my tastebuds and, by extension, my brain. I jabbed my fork into a bit of egg and then into a piece of ham before dragging the whole forkful through a glob of syrup and then shoveled it into my mouth. “Ohh my gaaawh. Murry meh, Apowwo.” Bits of food dribbled from my lips.

  He seemed particularly pleased with himself as he stacked the dishes in the dishwasher. “So onto other news. Are you going today?”

  I swallowed the food and tried to reclaim my dignity by wiping my mouth with a napkin. “Going to what?”

  He blinked at me. “The Symposium. It’s, like…today. Are you going?”

  I looked down at my plate of food and moved my eggs around thoughtfully with a fork. “Better not,” I said after a few moments, “or I might go chasing after more ghosts and dead ends. The whole ‘almost finding the answer’ thing is getting old. Are these matcha pancakes? And what is this, lemon curd?”

  “And what about The Harrow?”

  “Oh jeez, I don’t even care. I rea
lly just do not even care.” I jabbed my fork into some more pancake. “Who cares if there’s a new Dragon? Seems like it’s not going to affect me anyhow. In a week I’ve gone from office worker to delivery driver. Who’s in charge does not matter.

  “I can see why you’d see it that way,” he replied with perhaps the slightest bit of frost in his voice. “But the Dragon makes some pretty big decisions that affect everybody, even you. But you’re right…you’ve been through a lot, and you don’t need extra worries on your plate.” He dried his hands on a hand towel. “I need to go. There’s only two Lilin who live in the whole city, and the other one…well, she doesn’t like crowds. So I have to go play crowd control.”

  “She?” I was suddenly curious. “The other Lilin is a succubus?”

  “Yeah, and before you start getting weird ideas, no we haven’t ever misbehaved. She’s not really my type. She’s all into that Anime stuff and spends way too much time writing nerdy erotic fanfiction on tumblr. Honestly,” he added with raised eyebrows, “I think she can feed off of shipping characters together.”

  “Gross. But yeah,” I returned to the subject at hand, “I have to work today. And the Symposium is a big event, right? Like Super Bowl big.”

  “The biggest,” Apollo agreed. “The Dragon Symposium happens once a year. The hosting city gets overflowed with magical creatures from all over—a lot of whom are going to be staying in hotels and ordering food.” I stifled a groan from deep in my stomach; this was going to be a very long second day on the job. “All the more reason to be fed and rested.” Apollo added, sliding another pancake off his plate and onto mine. “You have a crazy car to drive, fancy food to deliver, and some sanity to keep. So don’t worry about dragons or conspiracies or anything, alright? I’ll come by around lunchtime and say hi.”

  I was really grateful at that specific moment for Apollo. After all that had happened, I had felt like the entire world and everyone I knew had abandoned me completely. But then, there was Apollo, who for no other reason than wanting to help a falling friend, went out of his way to just be a bro.

  ~

  The Cornucopia was, if anything, busier than we had anticipated. I got there early, hoping that I might get a couple extra deliveries in as the day started, and Codwell was more than happy to oblige. I actually made my first two deliveries before my shift was scheduled to start, both to the Cincinnatian Hotel down the street. I only caught a glimpse of the other delivery drivers on their way out the door to their respective delivery cars, and both seemed particularly unhappy to be working today despite the extra money from so many deliveries.

  As I walked through the kitchen on my return, I had started to feel a little bit more confident in my job. Plus, I didn’t have dusty files to sort. I wondered, briefly, if Carrie had reassigned someone else to that job, or if the 50 Thousand File Room was destined to remain chaotically disorganized. Of course, now that my mind was on 50 Thousand, it drifted to my old coworkers, Carma and Jake, and then to Killian. I wondered if she was able to just continue doing whatever she was doing, day after day, without giving me even a second thought. I still hadn’t really been able to sort out our brief friendship—or the masquerade of one, as it supposedly was—and figure out how I felt about her as a person. And her text the previous day that saved me from certain doom certainly didn’t come from the hands of someone without a little bit of heart.

  I dismissed my thoughts of Killian as Chef Mulligan came over and patted my shoulder. “Ah, you. I seen that look. You’ve got that look. I seen’t it sometimes.” I was somehow impressed with how her accent was so purely Kentuckian despite her fangs. “That kind of longing. Got someone on your mind? Boy or girl that’s broken your heart?”

  Before I could protest, she continued. “Listen, I don’t want to hear it. I’m gonna give you some advice my momma told me back in the day and you’re gonna listen good. If someone breaks your heart, the best thing to do is to claw theirs out with your bare hands and eat it under a full moon.” She winked and gave me a sage smile.

  “I…no. No, that sounds like a really bad idea.”

  “Suit yourself,” Mulligan said, shrugging and walking away.

  Codwell appeared from nowhere, his hair untidy and his ears flopping. “Andy, Andy, Andy. Got a call about you, yes I did yes I did. Fellow from yesterday, said you were great. Filled out a customer survey, so we sent him a coupon in his email—anyway, anyway, anyway, here’s the order. Go on, be quick.”[27] He handed over a bag that smelled like the rat food from yesterday.

  One short ride in a Nøkken later, I was back at the apartments of the rat man, knocking on his door. He opened it, grinning. “Oooh! You’re back! And in record time! Please, please, come in, yes, please come in!”

  I gave the rat man a smile, setting the food down on the table as before and starting to open the containers. “How is everyone doing?” I said, gesturing to the computer.

  “Oh we’re great. We’re thinking of collaborating and writing a book. Right now we’re brainstorming ideas.” I considered telling him that I, too had once wanted to write a book, but had determined that writing for a living was a terrible life choice, but I decided to keep that to myself. “You know, most of the delivery people here just leave the food outside, knock, and walk away.”

  I stopped unpacking. “Wait, really? That’s awful.”

  “Well,” the rat man said, plopping down in his computer chair, “Kobolda get pretty used to it. We deal with Vulnerabl and Sorcera who think of us as just monsters. It’s gotten better in recent years, but some people just don’t want to ruin their day by looking at someone like me.” He gave me a very knowing look, or the closest thing to a knowing look that I figure a rat man could give, and gestured me closer. I tiptoed near. “I am not sure if you’ve noticed, but I am actually a giant rat.”

  I almost replied by saying something dismissive, like “I never noticed” or “That doesn’t matter” but I caught myself. The fact of the matter was, he was a giant rat, and pretending he wasn’t would actually be pretty rude, regardless of whether the rat might be offended by the sentiment. “You are. You’re a giant rat, and that’s perfectly OK.”

  The rat looked taken aback. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” I said, unpacking more food, “That the fact that you are a giant rat does not give anybody the right to just ditch you and avoid you. They should just deal with it.”

  The rat blinked at me for a few moments. “That’s just what Todd said! Like a few years ago.”

  “Really?” I straightened up a little; I hadn’t thought I possessed the wisdom of a dragon.

  “Yeah. He gathered all the Kobolda together and told us that the way we had been treated in the past was going to change. That’s how so many of us got these apartments and such—the Dragon pays for it, he makes sure we have food and drink—oh, and then he pays for our internet so we can talk to each other and learn about the outside world without bothering the non-magic people. He gives basically tries to make the world as accessible as possible. Does that make sense? To show our appreciation a lot of us keep the underbellies of the city cleaner and safer and protect the normal people from bad things from below.”

  I had finished unpacking the rat’s food, and now stood with a stone face. I hadn’t realized that Todd himself was behind this little setup, and the fact that this rat man seemed…well…happy with his life had given me a slightly different perspective on Todd. I had only seen him briefly, in the heat of pomp and circumstance, but it seemed that the Dragon was, at least, compassionate about his subjects.

  And The Harrow was a threat to that. The Harrow was a threat to the way of life of not just this Rat but all Kobolda society. And other societies, certainly. If the Black Magisters had indeed found a way to overthrow the Dragon of Cincinnati, then the results might be far worse than I had originally considered.

  Silently cursing myself for being so selfish, I thanked the rat man for his kindness and excused myself politely before dashing d
own the hallway and back to the car. Where is the symposium actually taking place? I texted Apollo madly as I turned the key.

  us bank arena he replied. am i still meeting you for lunch

  No. Meet me at the arena.

  My phone gave the little “…” symbol of Apollo writing a message and I watched it disappear a couple times as he presumably deleted and retyped a response a few times. Finally it popped up: if your really doing this then im with you but you cant get in without a good reason

  Got that covered I typed. Also: you’re*

  Chapter 19

  I think I mildly frightened the acid-spitting dishwashers on my way through the back door of Cornucopia, on account of how quickly I was moving and the fact that one of them started coughing as I went by. I didn’t have time to lose, though, and I skirted past a frustrated looking Mulligan carrying a large stockpot to get over to the delivery desk where Codwell was waiting impatiently. “Do you have any food going to the Symposium?” I stammered through heavy breaths.

  “Well yes,” he replied, sorting through tickets expertly and his fluffy head bobbing as if to keep all of the orders he had rattling around inside his head from spilling out, “But I wanted to give those to the more experienced drivers who—”

  I didn’t let the fluffy Puck finish before I lunged. “I’ll take one!” I grabbed a ticket before Codwell could protest and dashed out the door with a bag full of something that started making a gurgling noise as I ran back through the kitchen to the car. I practically threw the bag into the passenger seat and before the Nøkken could even say a cheery hello, I had slammed the car into drive and burned out of the parking lot with a horrendous screech from the tires.