High Steaks (Freelance Familiars Book 3)

by Daniel Potter

  A black goat with a pencil in his mouth looked up from the laptop he had been prodding. "H-e-e-e-y freelancers!" he bayed.

  "Hi, Jet." The goat was one of the few residents of the Stables who showed no fear in my presence. I came to a stop and blinked. His horns had been painted glow-in-the-dark green.

  "Nice horns. Really goes with the black," Rudy snickered.

  The goat grinned. "Somebody from above sent us a case of the stuff, and now some of the young 'uns are trying to scrounge up black lights. I'll let you two know when the dance party begins. Gonna be eighties all the way." His ears flicked with amusement, and his tail waggled.

  I chuckled. "As long as it isn't tonight. It's Monday."

  "Yeah! You better scrounge up your peanuts - it's poker night!" Rudy added.

  "Naw, they all need to chew over the arrangements for a while. It won't happen tonight. We got no hands, but we've got time to waste." His ears drooped, though the smile barely wavered. Guilt banged up through my stomach. Any of these folks would leap at the chance to be a familiar, permanent or not, simply for want of something to do with their lives.

  Jet shook his head. "You going to dig Gus out of the tree to play tonight?" he asked.

  My ears flicked as I pondered. I hadn't planned on scratching at the tree house tonight, but Rudy's suggestion of teaching Alice instead of Trevor had started the gears whirring in the back of my head. "Well, it has been a while since I've seen the Blackwings, and I hear they're in town."

  "O'Meara's been in town for the entire time since your contract with Veronica finished. You haven't seen her, either," Rudy chimed in, like my own personal Jiminy Cricket.

  "We've been busy. I'll go see her soon." The words felt oily and sour with the lie. I missed O'Meara more than I wanted to admit to anyone. My contract with Veronica, the leader of the Blackwings, had fostered a hunger for the fire magus’s blunt attitude and loving touch that went bone deep. If I went to see her, I'd find some excuse to bind with her. If I did that, knowing how well we worked together, I doubted my strength to leave her warmth again. My ability to make - and break - mental bonds was unique among all the talking animals, a superpower I needed to use if I was going to find the allies I needed to make magi society less murderous. O'Meara, now a total outcast from the Inquisition, couldn't help with that. Could she?

  "Guess I'll see you tonight, then." Jet's voice brought me back to reality, his bar-shaped eye scanning me up and down, a worried frown at the corners of his mouth.

  I shivered, forcing my ears back to attention. "Sorry, lost in my own world. We'll see you at nine."

  Rudy chirped goodbye as I headed through the Ranch proper and into the tunnels, towards the second great strip of Las Vegas. The one nobody in America remembers after they leave.

  3

  A Visit

  In my sight, everything in Vegas has a very faint purple sheen to it.

  It's more a tint than a light. I cannot see by it, but it's always there. Purple is the color I see when reality is being stressed or bent. This tint is the entire reason that nearly a quarter of all the magi in North America are in Las Vegas at any one time. To hear them tell it, that purple is the entire reason anybody bothered to build a city in the middle of the desert at all. The entire city exists in a Shallowing, an area where our reality meets and blends with another. Such places are usually contested and fought over by the magi because they produce tass - the magical equivalent of gold, but much more useful.

  Vegas seemed barren of that. The two realities blended so smoothly that the frictions that usually produce tass had been ground away ages ago. However, the side effect was that the Veil - the force that policed the line between magical and mundane - did not operate in Vegas. Instead, it whisked away any memories that it objected to as soon as a tourist stepped outside the city. A native mundane had a bit of resistance, but even they would find themselves forgetting about the satyrs who lived next door if they stayed away too long.

  We emerged from the tunnels via the cleanest drainage grate in the country. It gleamed as it swung open on pneumatic pistons. Not bothering with either the ladder or the elevator installed there for the benefit of the hoofed population, I bounded up onto the surface.

  Nestled between a bar (newly renamed the Booze Farm) and a tiny grocery store (Phil's), the alleyway smelled mostly of fresh pavement with the mingling of animal and human smells. Both buildings had doors with big, friendly handicap buttons right on the alleyway that would open the doors. Unlike most of the residents of the tunnels who avoided this area of town, excepting employment opportunities, the Grantsvillian representatives had taken to lobbying the Merlins’ Council for accommodation and supplies. To everyone's surprise, the council did not transform them into toads but instead acceded to Grantsville's demands. Turned out it was quite agreeable to accommodations in return for nobody obviously inhuman panhandling on the casino strip. In time, this alleyway had become the intersection point for those who had escaped above to interact with those still below.

  Five towers lined the strip. Over them all loomed the black obelisk of the Merlins' Council, its top burning with the pure white of raw magic. The towers of the major houses flanked it on either side. House Hermes, composed of white marble, loomed above the other four. In its shadow stood House Erebus's tower, bone white and completely featureless, no doors or windows; you had to go underground to access the tower of the magi that studied death. Both houses on the other side of the council's tower had taken a more colorful approach: House Picatrix used a swirling series of colors and patterns to illustrate the fourth dimension, giving all who viewed it a vague feeling of vertigo.

  The last tower - the one we were going towards - wasn't a tower at all.

  A magnificent tree the size of a skyscraper grew in the middle of Vegas proper. In it, the magi of House Morganna lived like termites within the trunk. As I made my way towards it, I couldn't help but imagine how grand it would be if the thing had leaves. As it was, it looked sinister with its thick limbs spidering out in all directions. Despite being withered and weathered, the tree did not look dead; rather, it gave the impression of waiting for something. Supposedly, the state of the tree reflected House Morganna's tenuous position on the council, but I stayed as far from that as I could. Generally, I didn't even walk this street if I could help it. The council was currently down three members, two of which were my fault. Not directly, but I did let the dragon out, who then ate them. Since nobody would be able to bring a dragon to trial, that sword of Damocles hung between my pointed ears instead.

  Rudy chuckled to himself as I turned towards the tree. I glanced back at him to find him holding his iPhone and swiping furiously.

  "Hey," I said, "No need to tell them we're coming over."

  He paused and gave me a look. "You want to drop by on a cabal of Morganna magi without warning them first? Your funeral, buddy."

  "Veronica's more generous on instinct. If we give her time to think about something first, she'll say no."

  I chuckled, thinking back to my six months with Veronica and the Blackwings. We'd trekked all over North America, hunting elementals and beasties that had escaped from their proper planes of existence for tass. Most of the time I didn't get anything more than a new flavor of mud to clean out of my toes. Yet when we had hit pay dirt, Veronica and I made for an impressive team.

  The interior of the building had an odd odor of oak sap mixed with military-grade disinfectant. The walls were bare wood, shiny with sap hardened into amber. Inside, they made a show of their magical poverty: electrical wiring ran along the ceiling to power artificial lights that replaced the now-withered organic lighting fixtures. Figures huddled on benches along the walls of the lower floors, coughing or burbling. No matter what the ailment, from the common cold to an exotic venom that is slowly erasing you from space and time, someone in House Morganna could probably cure it. For the right price. And lately, the prices had gone up. Only those with tass got seen by the healers.

&nbs
p; Rudy and I joined the stream of traffic that knew where it was going and crowded onto the vintage 1940s elevator to the magi apartments at the top of the tower. Top-ish, that is; Blackwings were at the bottom of the House Morganna flock, but as magi, they rated most of a floor to themselves.

  I swatted open their door and went in. Nobody had bothered to change the ward on the lock. Inside, other than the oddness of wooden surfaces everywhere, the layout of the Blackwings' apartment would be familiar to anyone who's ever been in a college dorm: a central living area with individual bedrooms lining either side. Furnishings in the central room were sparse to make room for a large casting circle. In the corner, several oval pet beds were clustered around a small TV. On the largest - which had been mine two months ago - lay a small black cat who watched us through slit eyes.

  I nodded at him. "Hey, Gus. The mistresses about?" The nose said no, but it was polite to ask. Rudy dismounted my harness to squint at the casting circle.

  "Naaaw." The little cat yawned, futilely trying to hide his mouth behind his tiny paw. "They're out getting dinner. If you'd phone like normal people, maybe they'd be here to deal with yas." His eyes closed.

  "Eh, that's fine. We're here for you, anyway!" Rudy said, still edging around the casting circle.

  "Me!" The eyes snapped open. "What’d I do?"

  "Heh, relax," I soothed. Trotting over to the TV area, I availed myself of the next-largest bed, which stank of a certain wolf I knew. Gus kept a close eye on my feet until I was safely off them, even though I'd only stepped on him once. In the very corner of the room sat a tall cat tower; the plastic scent of newness spread from it like oil over water. I rolled onto my back and stretched. "It's Monday. Poker night. All we want to do is fleece you of all your pocket change."

  "Oh." Gus's head sank down onto his paws. "You can find somebody with pockets to fleece then. I ain't going all the way to the Stables tonight."

  "Aw, it's not that far." Rudy hopped up on the edge of Gus's bed.

  "Says the rodent who rides his own personal transport everywhere! It's more than two miles! Most of it through those damn tunnels."

  "Aw, come on! Scared of losing again?" Rudy taunted.

  Gus sprang to his feet. "I'll beat you any day of the week, squirrel." The sudden movement brought the smallest wince to his face and revealed that he'd been lying on a hot water bottle.

  I remembered that bottle and several more like it. Veronica insisted on her familiar being in top physical condition for hunting. Apparently, her exercise regimen did not discriminate on account of size. I chuckled sympathetically. "How goes the training? Has she introduced you to the bear yet?"

  "Bear?" Gus's bravado fled with the speed of a gunshot.

  The door to the suite opened. "His training is none of your business, you whiskered mule." Veronica strode in, a tiny smirk on her black lips. Her raven hair was piled high on top in thin braids, while her white dress shone with silver sequins. Like superheroes, magi tended to have strong personal styles. Veronica's reminded me of an older goth about to get married.

  Gus gingerly trotted over to her. With a sweep of her arm, she scooped the tiny cat up.

  I gave her a customary feline greeting/attempt to shed as much fur as possible on her dress as I encircled her legs. Gus glowered possessively before I retreated to a more polite distance. Or would have had I not been bowled over by two overly enthusiastic fur balls.

  "Thomas! Thomas! Thomas!" Tack, the German shepherd, assaulted me with his tongue. I attempted to dodge, only to find another sloppy kiss waiting for me from the grey-furred Morie, the wolf.

  They barked. I hissed. The battle was joined. The world became a whirl of fur and fang. I was bigger, stronger, and faster, but they were two and I was one. No sooner had I pinned one than the other would nip at my ear or bite my tail. Then the feverish whirling would start all over again.

  My hissing answered their growls until my heart felt like it would give out, and I collapsed. My pulse pounded so hard in my ears that they threatened to burst, and my tongue hung out of my mouth as if I had become a canine. Yet my blood sang in my veins.

  "We win!" the pair sang before joining me on the relatively cool hardwood floor.

  "Did not!" I answered, and looked up to see the rest of the Blackwings had filed into the room. The two canines dragged themselves to the feet of their mistresses, Tack to lie on top of Rinoa's tall boots while Morie wrapped himself around the hem of Naomi's summer dress. The two stood nearly shoulder to shoulder. It'd be impossible for an outsider to realize that this group had nearly torn themselves apart six months ago. Thanks partially to getting stranded in an alien hell, the cabal had worked out their differences.

  Mostly.

  The fourth member of the cabal stood by the door, arms crossed. Dorothy had been distant for most of my tenure as a Blackwing and clearly hadn't quite forgiven me for leaving. Fee, her black lab familiar, wasn't paying me any attention at all, instead talking animatedly with Rudy. Probably arguing the merits of cashews and peanuts.

  The magi made small talk while I recovered from the impromptu tussle. Once I climbed back to my feet, Veronica cut straight to the quick of the matter. "I hear you two have been busy trying to create your own little magi House among the refugees."

  Rudy snickered. "Your sources really haven't seen the talent we're left to work with down there."

  Veronica sat down in a weathered-looking recliner, her skirt twisting out of the way without the aid of her hands. "If you two are doing any training at all, then that's worrisome. You don't want anyone looking at the refugees down there as a threat."

  I rolled my eyes. Magi, even the ones I liked, tended to view the world as a zero-sum game. "Veronica, the recruiters have already been through. I've got five awakened folks with weak anchors who I'm trying to get to the point of passing an apprentice test. They'd never be able to get through a traditional apprenticeship."

  "That might be a good reason not to train them, then." As she said it, Gus squirmed out of her lap and pulled himself onto the armrest, where he fixed his mistress with a glare. After a moment, she averted her eyes. I let my tail tip give a twitch of amusement. Gus had run the Grantsville garage along with Jet and was quick to defend his fellows. "Although I suppose they might find work as minor artificers," she conceded.

  "It's not my students I'm really concerned about. It's the Stable residents," I said.

  Dorothy shot a grin at Rinoa and Naomi. "Told you it wasn't a social call." The pair shrugged, although Tack's tail stopped whacking on the floor.

  I continued, "There are a hundred potential familiars down there hungering for something to do with their lives. My five awakened students? They can move on and at least get jobs, but those ungulates in Moo-town can't move on. A few of them have real potential, too." A good familiar and an untalented magus could essentially invert their roles, something I could see Alice and Trevor doing very easily.

  "And how do you plan on convincing magi that farm animals make good familiars?" Veronica raised an eyebrow.

  "I need a fey chain. Would there be any way you could place one in my paws?" I gave her my best big-eyed look. Fey chains formed temporary, easily breakable bonds between two souls. My ability to bond anyone came from a dragon essentially welding one to my spine. "I can only bind one person at a time, but with a fey chain, I could train pairs. And if it works, the technique could be reapplied to House Morganna's training methods."

  Veronica looked thoughtful for a moment before shaking her head. "Is there nothing you'll leave well enough alone, Thomas? You've been a familiar for barely more than a year, and now you're qualified to train apprentices?"

  Rudy chimed in, "More of a magus kindergarten. Thomas shows them how to stay in the lines of the coloring book before passing them on to wiser hands." He made a sweeping gesture towards Veronica from his perch atop Tack's head.

  "As a bonded pair, no doubt. Conveniently creating a magus-familiar pair that owes nothing to the TAU," Veronica sai
d, shaking her finger at me. Shorthand Veronica for I see what you're doing there, cat.

  "The TAU can still match-make the upper tiers. But with a fey chain, I can help the lower ones. Hopefully find matches between those that the Talking Animal Union is ignoring," I said.

  Veronica released a quiet laugh as she stroked Gus's fur. The cat looked startled at first, but by the third stroke, Gus's eyes were threatening to roll back into his head. "I will inquire, but you know who has the majority of the fey chains?"

  "Who?" I asked tentatively.

  "The TAU." She smirked

  "So they're about as accessible as the moon without a rocket!" Rudy said, beating me to a quip. I settled for groaning out loud and covering my muzzle with my paws.

  "Even if we have one, it won't be cheap. The crones will want serious tass for it," Rinoa said.

  "Fine. Tell me if you have one, then me and nut-brain here will knock over a casino." I tilted my nose toward Rudy.

  Rudy flashed a thumbs-up. "Time and place, toothy. Those casino misers won't know what hit 'em!"

  Naomi failed to contain a giggle, no doubt imagining Rudy and I as the suave cast of a heist movie. "If you two are going to break into any tass vaults, I want in and I want a cut." For a moment, Naomi's eyes seemed to glitter.

  "Right! Give you a call the next time I'm feeling desperate and suicidal," I replied.

  Rudy bounced over to the table by Veronica's side and claimed the remote. "Oooh, heists! Who's up for a movie? I think Ocean's 11 is totally relevant to this conversation!"

  There were no objections, and I settled in for a pleasant evening among the Blackwings. A movie and then gentle catnapping to get Gus down to the poker game afterwards sounded like a good plan to me. Yet even as I sprawled down with the dogs in front of the TV, I couldn't quite shake the feeling that I had forgotten something important.