by K. F. Breene
A pulsing sort of magic vibrated across my palm. A defensive hex, surely.
I didn’t bother using my sword as a medium this time. With no one to witness and then possibly tell on me, I was free to openly use my unique sort of magic.
Fire sprang to life along the floor, but it wasn’t wild, like the kind the mage had created with a spell. This was concise, as hot as liquid magma, and completely controlled. A blast of it would melt a normal person’s skin off. Not even leather would survive. I knew from experience. While my skin was fireproof, I’d once ruined a perfectly good pair of pants.
Glowing red-orange flame ate through the section of floor in a matter of moments. I clenched the air over the fire and pulled my fist away, shifting the fire into the air for a moment as I surveyed what was in the hole.
A leather-bound book with some sort of ancient scrawl greeted me. “Well hel-lo, gorgeous.” A defensive hex throbbed around it, promising a blast of pain should anyone touch it.
I lowered the fire back into the hole, increasing the power but decreasing the heat. Too hot and I was liable to make the spell explode. Something else I’d learned the hard way.
My fire peacefully ate away at the magic. I extinguished the flame and drifted my hand over the hole again, making sure all the active magic was gone. The coast was clear.
The leather cover was smooth to the touch. I lifted the book, feeling the solid weight of it, and opened the cover. Familiar characters and the musty smell of aged paper made my eyes flutter closed and a smile grace my lips. This old volume was sure to contain some excellent spells. This was where he’d probably learned about magical fire, body armor, and whatever he’d done to make his house rock around like a holiday party. I often studied a similar book, though I’d never attempted any of the spells. Or really any magic performed by mages, having spent so long perfecting my own, which didn’t exist in any books.
Where had he gotten this text, I wondered? It must’ve been a recent acquisition, or he would’ve been terrorizing his neighbors some time ago. Thankfully, he’d chosen to hoard the book rather than share it, or we might’ve had a citywide epidemic of mediocre mages running amok. The humans would’ve noticed the magical community for sure.
I glanced around, deciding that a great use of my time, while in the house of this dead man, was to poke my nose into other nooks and crannies. It wasn’t like he’d mind, and I thoroughly enjoyed treasure hunting.
After placing the book in an unmolested part of the room for safekeeping—it blended nicely into a trash pile—I set out through the house, waving my hands in front of me like a blind man, feeling for magic. I repeatedly tapped the floor with my toe, including in the carpeted areas, and checked his shelves and even under his bed. Finally, I looked on his computer, grimacing as I went through his browsing history. The man had some odd tastes, and not a lot of magically relevant information.
Almost giving up, I checked the refrigerator, found a can of soda, and then tapped the floor as I had a drink.
Tap-tap-tap-tonk.
I paused with my foot hovering over a discolored section of linoleum.
On closer inspection, I had another winner.
No magic vibrated my palm, so I peeled back the square of flower-patterned linoleum, which likely hadn’t started out that horrible brown color, and stared down at what lay beneath it—a square of particle board with a small hook in it.
The lack of a protective spell should’ve been my first clue that something was amiss.
I lifted the floorboard to a spray of green goo. I flung myself away, but not in time. Liquid slashed my cheek and splatted on the side of my neck. It immediately started to burn, and not in that great way fire did. This felt more like acid.
“Mother-trucker!” I grabbed a kitchen towel off the counter and wiped the stuff off. The pain lessened into a throb before morphing into a cold sensation seeping into my skin.
I still didn’t feel magic, which meant this stuff was naturally made.
I had no knowledge of natural crap.
In a panic, I rifled through his cupboards for potions or books on poison or a cookbook, anything that might give me some hint as to what he’d made.
The cold burrowed deep into my neck. That was probably bad. The neck was an extremely vulnerable area.
I tore back through the house, aiming for the magical book. Maybe he had notes in there, or a big star marking the kitchen booby trap.
Before I made it halfway down the hall, the front door cracked open.
I dove, rolled, felt a poke of wood in my back, and yanked out my gun. Killing a random person would be bad news, especially if they were human—the human police would be all over it—but hopefully the gun would scare them away. Otherwise, I’d shoot, torch the place, and run. Which was why I didn’t have paperwork. A person with no records of any kind was hard to identify.
“Freeze!” I shouted in a deep voice, trying to sound like a cop.
“Oh!” A big-bosomed woman jerked to a stop in the doorway, throwing up her hands. “Don’t shoot.”
“This is a crime investigation,” I lied, my focus back on my neck.
“You’re the bounty hunter, right? The one I saw outside?” The woman peered through the gloom, staring vaguely.
Just my luck. I was in peril, and a blind person was the only one available to help me find a written spell.
“I’m the bounty hunter, yes. I’m a little busy right now, actually. If you’ll just—”
“Is he dead?” she asked quietly.
“Unfortunately, yes. Hazard of the trade.” I crawled to my feet and felt my neck. To my fingers, my skin felt perfectly normal, but the cold was eating down into my chest now.
Before I could dash for the spell book, a flare of light stopped me short.
I reeled back and covered my eyes, adjusting. It wasn’t until then that I realized why she hadn’t looked directly at me—only a select type of magical people could see in the dark. I was one of those people, but given that there wasn’t a spell for it, at least not that I knew of, mages generally were not.
Big C had been able to see in the dark! I hadn’t noticed because I’d had other things on my mind. How?
My burning curiosity made it even more annoying that I’d accidentally killed him.
“How could you get anything done— Oh no!” The woman dropped the sheet she’d just ripped off the window and rushed toward me. “That’s going to leave a mark, dear.”
“What is?”
“Here. Quickly. Into the garden.” She half dragged me behind her, which was pretty impressive given the difference in our strength levels. She had the drop on me when it came to pushiness.
“I am really impressed,” she said conversationally as we reached the kitchen. “I didn’t think anyone would be able to help us.” She walked me out of the back door, into a well-tended herb garden. Unlike the front yard, this place saw a lot of loving care. “I’ve tried a few others. It didn’t end so well for them. When his house started shaking, I thought that was it for you. Here we are.”
She released my wrist and bent to a plant. After ripping off a leaf, she stuck it into her mouth and chewed. Moments later, she smeared the wet pulp onto my cheek.
I grimaced. “I could’ve chewed that myself.”
The numbness from the slash line receded with cold, tingling pain.
“He became very powerful,” she said before sticking more plant into her mouth.
“I really don’t mind chewing it…”
“Crazy, but very powerful.” She took out the pulpy mess and reached up to smear it on my neck. “It was mostly in spurts, though, his increases in power. One day, heightened power. The next, back to normal. He wouldn’t say why.”
I prevented myself from flinching away from the green spit-wad being spread on my neck. My face felt better now. That was worth the ick factor of having this woman’s saliva on my skin.
“Unlike those shifters, you came prepared.” She stepped back and analyze
d her handiwork.
“Not all that prepared. I got sprayed with freezing goo.” My cheek started to itch.
A brief nod and she was scrutinizing me as a person. “I haven’t seen you before, but you seem experienced. It would take someone powerful to outmatch John. Are you a mage?”
“No. Just a do-gooder.” I stopped myself from itching my face. “When can I take this stuff off?”
“A few more minutes.” Her eyes narrowed as she assessed my pouch. “That is a small fanny pack. You can’t have much in the way of supplies in there…”
“This is not a fanny pack. It is a pouch. A very cool pouch. The nineties are over, okay? I know that.” Garret’s constant taunting was ringing through my head. He liked to make fun of my pouch to no end.
I adjusted it so it was off to the side a little. “I’m not a mage, like I said. I don’t need supplies.”
“But I saw you cast spells.”
“I bought those spells. That’s standard procedure, even for me.”
Her brow furrowed suspiciously. I was a terrible liar.
I opened my pouch and dug out an empty casing. “Here. You can have that.” I put it into her hand. “Nothing unusual about a non-mage using a mobile spell. I’m just like any other bounty hunter.”
I barely stopped myself from itching my cheek again. “Not that I’m vain or anything, but is this going to scar?” I pointed at my cheek.
“I think I got to it in time.” She minutely shook her head. I could tell the wheels were still turning regarding my ability. Time to go.
“Right, then. Thanks for this.” I waved my finger across my face. “I need to grab a few things, including Big C”—she’d just said his real name, but I’d already forgotten it—“and head out. I have rent to pay. You know how it is.”
I headed to the kitchen first, because I wanted to see what was in that hole. That green goo wasn’t magical, but it was still a defense. He was protecting something.
She followed closely behind me. “How is someone as skilled as you not permanently employed by one magical faction or another?”
“I like to keep my options open.” Back on the dirty linoleum, I stayed as far back as I could and peered into the hole, just in case. It was too deep, though—I’d have to get closer to see anything.
“Forgive me for saying…” She edged around me so she could see my face. “But bounty hunters are usually hiding from something. What are you hiding from?”
“You watch too much TV.”
She eyed the thin, holey curtains, then my face again, squinting in the low light.
Dang it! The darkness. I kept forgetting. This was why I didn’t work with other people.
I snatched the curtain and ripped it off. Light flooded into the kitchen. “I am definitely hiding from something. Coworkers. They get in my way. Have you ever met Garret in the New Orleans Magical Division?” I paused and ducked my head closer to the mouth of the hole before quickly pulling it back. Nothing spat out at me. “He is no picnic, let me assure you.”
“No man is an island,” she said.
I bent forward again, for a little longer, before pulling back. The hole held something canvas coated in green goo, containing small bumpy-somethings. Dropping my hand right above it, I could feel various currents of magic, mostly mediocre in power.
If that danged hole hadn’t been so deep, I would’ve felt the magic a lot sooner, and wouldn’t have had a run-in with the goo. Nor this inquisitive, chatty lady.
Too bad kicking a dead body was in bad taste.
I hunted through Big C’s drawers until I found some tongs. “Men aren’t islands because they want someone to do all the domestic stuff for them.” I peeled back the canvas, realizing it was a sack. “They leave their islands for the promise of a lazier future. But there are a bunch of women islands. We’d rather be alone than take on the role of life secretary and housemaid.” Or so my mother had always said. I wouldn’t know.
“I suppose you have a point. If my ex-mother-in-law had raised her son to lift a finger, I might still be married,” she groused.
“Reason number two for being an island—I don’t care.” I opened the bag and found what I’d expected, a bunch of various-sized casings in good condition.
Thank you for the cache of mediocre spells, Big C. I will use them in your memory.
She laughed. “Honesty is good. I can support honesty.”
“Awesome,” I muttered. I grabbed a paper bag from under the sink and emptied the spells into it, the transfer a bit awkward what with the goo and kitchen utensils. I didn’t want to touch that stuff again. I didn’t need another spit bath.
“You’re taking his spells?” I could hear the uncertainty in her voice.
“Finders keepers, Ms.…”
“You can call me Margaret.”
“Great. Finders keepers, Margaret. With mediocre risk comes mediocre treasure.” I bunched the top of the paper bag to keep everything in, abandoning the goo-covered sack.
“You’re really capable, which is good, because I should warn you that he had friends.” She hurried after me as I stalked down the hall. “I’m not sure I mentioned that on the listing with the agency.”
“You’re not sure, huh?” I stopped in front of the bedroom door and stuck my hand out. “Stay here.”
I could tell she was trying to see what I was doing in the bedroom and, judging from her squinting, having a hard time of it. I grabbed Big C by the back of the shirt and carried him over to where I’d hidden the book. Concealing my movements behind Big C’s bulk, I slid the book into his shirt.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Minding my own business.” I tucked his shirt in to keep the book put, then hoisted him up and draped him over my shoulder, thankful for the daylight outside, which would mean no vampire could come and steal my mark.
“Wow. You’re strong.” It sounded like another accusation.
“I think there was a vampire in my lineage somewhere…”
“Vampires can’t breed.”
“You know what I mean.” I pushed past her and hesitated at the mouth of the living room.
“No, I’m not sure I do,” she said, still watching. “Oh heavens, is that him?”
“The vampire thing was a joke, and yes, it is. I don’t cart dead people around when I go on jobs.” After a quick decision, I set Big C on his stomach so he was still hiding the book, and darted for his laptop. Weird porn searches aside, the machine was pretty new, and I’d make good use of it. Once it was stowed in its computer bag and slung over my shoulder, I bent for Big C again.
Margaret started, giving me room, her eyes somewhat glassy. Clearly she’d known him before he’d gone crazy, and now she seemed to feel a bit squishy in the middle from his passing. But I didn’t have much sympathy for someone who’d tagged a bounty notice with dead or alive. She’d made her bed, and I’d help her lie in it.
I started for the door. “All right, then. Have a good one.”
“Wait, you’re taking his computer?”
“Evidence,” I mumbled as I hastened down the steps.
At the sidewalk, I grabbed my duffel bag. I would put my weapons and everything into it later. I didn’t want to give Margaret time for more questions.
With a body on my shoulder that, happily, wasn’t leaking blood, I quickly headed down the street. I went a couple blocks away, making sure I wasn’t followed, before stopping by a sprawling bush. I set the dead body on the ground and jabbed my app for Lyft, the ride-share service that made my life so much easier. That done, I stowed all my weapons and rearranged Big C so he looked like he was lounging near the plant. Finally, I sat down next to him, really hoping the person whose yard we were crashing wasn’t home. That’d be an awkward conversation.
When the driver pulled up, I hopped to my feet and opened the back door.
“Can you pop the trunk?” I asked innocently. “I have a couple bags.” Thank heavens Lyft drivers never helped with the bags.
<
br /> “Yeah, sure.” He bent for the button.
I moved quickly, picking up the body and stashing him in the clean trunk. I followed that up with my duffel and pushed down the lid. I slid into the back seat, adjusted my seared tank top so a nipple didn’t accidentally pop out, and waited.
“Hi,” the driver said, glancing back at me, also waiting.
“Hi. I’ve loaded the destination.” I pointed at his phone.
“Right, yes.” He studied his phone to communicate his knowledge of the coordinates before glancing back again. “Is the other guy coming too, or…?”
“What other guy?”
Confused, the man turned his girth in order to check the back seat, and then looked out the passenger window. “Oh. Wasn’t there someone laying in the grass?”
“No?” I made a show of looking out the window. “Where? Just where I was sitting?”
“That’s…” His brow furrowed. “That is so weird. I could have sworn you had someone laying next to you when I pulled up. I thought maybe he was drunk or sleeping or something. Ha! But yeah, he’s gone. Wow. That’s a trip.”
“I hope it wasn’t a ghost.” I rubbed my arms and gave a dramatic shiver. “Yuck.” I pulled my tank top up again. I had a sneaking suspicion I’d flashed Margaret without knowing it.
The car pulled away. “That’s crazy. I really thought I saw someone. Like, a solid form, too. I specifically remember thinking—”
The ride consisted of various ghost stories and his growing certainty that he had, in fact, seen a ghost.
At the office, I took the body out of the trunk, set it on the street behind the car, really hoping the guy didn’t randomly back up, and picked up my duffel. I stepped to the side and waved. “Thanks again. Hope you don’t see any more ghosts.”
He waved, laughed, shook his head, and took off.
I grabbed the body quick-like and hurried to the side, but there was a flash of taillights in my peripheral vision. He’d seen me in his rearview, and now, instead of a ghost, he’d always wonder what he’d transported in his trunk.
