SkinThief

by Sonnet O'Dell

  Magnus unbuttoned his suit jacket, laying it over the back of the chair, and rolled up his shirt sleeves before daring to rest his elbows on the table. He took a few bites, swallowed and then stared at me thoughtfully.

  “You know, there’s a big event coming up at the theater next month.”

  “Oh, that should be good for business,” I said, only half interested as I picked at my panini. Magnus had never taken me to the theater as a date, I guess because he didn’t want to come back after working there all day. However, he did use big events at the theater as an excuse to say he wasn’t going to see me for a week and a half.

  “Actually, I’m surprised the vampire never brought it up. The opening night of a new play next month—they bought out the first night and are sending the tickets to all the influential people around town and holding a big gala afterwards at their club.”

  Suddenly I was interested. If I knew Aram, and I did quite well now, then I would have to be involved in it somehow.

  “Any idea why?”

  “Word is that the sovereigns, like the ones who did that interview, are supposed to ingratiate themselves to humans. The voting for the vampire rights movement’s proposals is in March. They have just over a month to get as much positive press as possible.”

  “So big kiss and schmooze sessions with anyone who has any influence in local and national politics?”

  “Seems like. I got a million different things to check—the vampires are financing the whole shindig, and ’cause of that they think they get to make a million requests and have them all met.”

  I took a large bite of panini and leaned closer to him, aware that we might have sparked the interest of the couple at the next table. Magnus turned his chair slightly so that his back was more to them.

  “Do you think it will work, though? There’s still a lot of ill feeling toward vampires because of the whole drinking our blood thing and the work of the shadow vampires.”

  “You mean the ones who think living creatures are just Happy Meals on legs?”

  I laughed and Magnus smiled at me. His mouth was dotted with crumbs, so I gently brushed at his face with my napkin.

  “You eat like a small child.” He gave a huge grin, took a dob of mayo from his plate and swatted it onto my nose. I reeled back from him, cussing, and wiped it with the napkin.

  “I could get that for you.” He laughed, poking out his tongue, and I whacked him hard in the chest as I finally got it all off with the napkin.

  “Behave yourself.” I chuckled, nudging him in the ribs, and he went back to stuffing food into this face while I leaned back in my chair and stared up through the leaves. Where they were touched with light you could see the shadows of the snowflakes on them. The snow lined the branches like white caterpillars crawling across the brown bark. It may have been cold, but it was still peaceful here.

  I remembered the first time we had come to this café—it had been breakfast time, and the sun had streamed through the leaves, bathing the place in a soft green light. In the end it had sort of been a date, or at least Magnus had seen it that way, as had Aram. It had been wonderful, as I had never known before that this place existed on this side, a monument of natural beauty in the heart of a city. I smiled pleasantly at the sky and wished for those warmer times. I was a summer person through and through, a fire sign, an Aries, and I adored the heat. Unfortunately, living in a country like ours where you were more likely to experience torrents of rain than anything else, I was inundated with water and now snow and ice. Magnus was like earth, wholesome and natural—it came from the elf blood in his veins. It was dark elf blood, so sometimes I worried about him being more like oil, and with me being fire I was more often afraid I would burn him up. I had set him on fire once, but it hadn’t been my plan to do so; sometimes when things got a little hot between us, they literally got a little hot.

  Aram, on the other hand, was like air, which was bad and good in equal amounts. If I were only a small flame, like a candle on a birthday cake, a simple breath would be enough to put me out. If I was a smoldering flame, he could feed me, help me grow stronger, become more than I am. But he too ran the risk of the inferno, of being consumed by me. I had never met someone who was like water; I had the feeling I would not like them at all. Fire does not like that which can put it out completely, drown it in endless waves of blue. I grew lost in my thoughts until Magnus started to jab my shoulder with his finger. He jabbed again and again until I rolled my eyes to look at him as if he had woken me from the most beautiful of dreams.

  “Your phone is ringing,” he said through a mouthful of bread and cheese, which was more or less charmless. I reached into my coat to pull it out, flipped it open and put it to my ear.

  “Cassandra Farbanks, you have my attention,” I said a tad snippily.

  “Is that any way to speak to someone returning a call? You said it was urgent,” came the voice on the other end. It was melodious and soft, and I knew it almost instantly.

  “Tru. Yes, thank you for getting back to me. I need to talk to you about an amulet, one that might be able to swap people’s insides.”

  “I have heard of such magics. Come to the shop; I will put my private library at your disposal.” I smiled at the phone and knew she wouldn’t have seen it.

  “That’s brilliant. I can be there in”—I looked to Magnus, who held up his arm with his watch on it so I could see—“twenty minutes or so. Will that be all right?”

  “That will be fine. I will see you then, my friend.”

  We hung up simultaneously, and I slipped the phone gently back into my pocket and returned to my panini, eating a little faster than I had been. Magnus swallowed, wiped his mouth and cleared his throat with a swig of his juice before questioning me.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To Grimoire,” I said, but I wasn’t polite enough to swallow first. I didn’t like to be late for people like Tru. She had a lot to do running her own business, which she would be taking time out of to help me with mine.

  “That little occult shop, down King’s Passage?”

  “Yup, it’s run by a friend. She’s going to help me with my case. She knows her magical trinkets.” Magnus finished off his food and juice before delving through his wallet for enough to cover the meal. I wanted to pay half, but he never let me. It was romantic in a way, old-fashioned custom; I often forgot that Magnus was twice my age. He aged slower because of his half elf status.

  “I’ll go with you,” he said, sliding his jacket back on and helping me to my feet.

  “Shouldn’t you be heading back to work? Big ole vampire gala and whatnot?”

  “It’s daytime—they’re asleep. It’s not like any of them can come bitch at me for skiving off for a bit with my girlfriend.”

  I smiled as he slid his arms around my shoulders. He might as well tag along; that way he could be prepared if things got turned upside down.

  Chapter Twelve

  Grimoire’s was a black-fronted store down a side gate behind an art store. It was in a small courtyard guarded by two little brick walls. The courtyard was cobbled in gray and yellow stone to make a tribal sun design that was very eye catching if you happened to look down at your shoes.

  The windows were large columns that looked like hexagons cut in half to each side of the door; they had curtains made of thick red velvet that bordered the pristine clear glass. One held a display of pagan symbology, a skull with a fresh red rose—enchanted to never fade—and a goblet and ceremonial blade carved with the phases of the moon. I always thought it was very impressive. The other window was a box seat behind a cash register; it was deep red to match the curtains with black throw pillows. The open sign across the door was written to look like blood, and “Grimoire’s” was spelled out in big gold letters over the fascia in an antique script.

  “It’s very dark,”
Magnus said, taking in the appearance of it. I smiled, trying not to laugh.

  “It’s themed. It’s what norms expect; the actual magical community finds it amusing. Come on.” I pushed open the door, and a tiny bell rang out to alert Tru. In front of the door was a case that held small pieces of jewelry, expensive one-trick ponies. Each item had a spell on it, simple things like glamour to make your hair shiny when you wore it or a protective spell to ward off muggers or those that would do you harm. It was better than pepper spray, if you were targeted by ill will; any evildoer would get within ten feet and suddenly be directed away. The mugger wouldn’t know what hit him—you’d seem like the perfect target until he closed that distance, and suddenly he’d want to do anything but get any closer.

  Against the shop window that was blocked off as a display stood a table full of different type of crystals with little string-and-paper tags for prices. Very old school. The ground floor contained a few bookcases lined with occult books about vampires, witches, crystals, tarot, angels, basic demonology—all pretty tame material written by quacks and charlatans and easily Googleable on the web. There was also a small bookcase against the wall with the crystals that contained self-help books written by all shapes and sizes of gurus.

  At the back of the store, iron steps were roped off with a small sign saying “restricted material.” Beyond were ancient tombs full of actual, potent magic and ancient scriptures about the true underworld, which told you how to summon the fae. You didn’t want to go about summoning the fae, though—it tended to piss them off, and they could hold a grudge for a really long time while waiting for revenge. Vindictive creatures.

  The second-floor gallery was like a small offshoot of the special collections owned by the library, except these were privately owned by the owner of the store, as were the small cases of more powerful talismans that couldn’t be bought by just anyone. They were seriously expensive. Tru scoured the world for them; she was rich and cornered the market.

  “Cassandra, it’s so nice to see you again.”

  I looked up to the top of the stairs and smiled at the woman looking down at me. Well, I say she looked at me; it was very hard to explain how she saw me. Tru—Truth Charity Mallory—had been born blind, and not just couldn’t see blind; her eyes were completely white, which could be disturbing when you first met her. I felt Magnus tense beside me. Apart from her blindness she was a beautiful, graceful woman. She had shoulder-length brown hair that was tied back behind her, loose so that it sort of bowed around her face, showing she would look as pretty with shorter hair. She wore a simple white sweater over a floor-length black skirt that she lifted as she started down the stairs, revealing her button-up Victorian boots. She had one hand on the railing as she strolled down, lifting the rope out of her way and re-securing it behind her.

  Although Truth could not visually see, she had been born with a second sight that allowed her to see the truth about people, which was I think what led her parents to choose her name. She had once told me she had an older brother named Valour. Rich people gave their children such weird names. She walked toward us between two bookcases, one of which was entirely stocked with different colored and scented candles, and extended her hand toward Magnus.

  “And who is this?” She gave a dazzling smile that lit up her entire face enough to make you ignore the eyes, though they were beautiful in their own way, framed by such long, dark lashes that curled like those of an old-time silver-screen starlet. Magnus took her hand, shaking it gently, and she placed her other hand over his. She smiled at him and then looked at me.

  “He has a very clear red aura, you lucky girl.”

  I blushed a little while Magnus just smiled politely. I had done a little study on auras. A clear red aura was powerful, energetic, competitive, sexual and passionate. She could tell with her second sense what kind of person he was. Her power allowed her to see the true aura of a person, so even someone pretending to be nice couldn’t hide if they were a truly awful person. And she could almost see people as heat signatures, so even people casting an invisibility spell could not hide from her. At some level, she could even see through spells. She was the one who had helped me develop the balm I used to see the spirit inside a person. To see people like that not only told you whether they were who they claimed; you could also see their inner pains and secrets or if they were under a magical compulsion.

  Truth turned her head to me and tilted it. She looked me over from head to toe with a strange, confused expression; she was peering at me like she was trying to get a better look at me. I coughed, and she straightened.

  “I’m so sorry. There just seems to be something different about you, that’s all. Well,” she said, clapping her hands together, “what is it I can help you with?”

  “I need you to help me find out more about a talisman. I think it might swap around people’s insides.”

  Truth looked intrigued and very pleased by the prospect of some research.

  “Well, that does sound interesting. I’ve heard of such talismans, but I have to say they are one of those rare items that are hard to find and, once found, even harder to procure.”

  “Why?” Magnus asked.

  “Well, with magic like that, there’s a lot of mess you have to clean up, and that all depends on how many times it’s been used by the owner. You would have to right everything, get everyone back to where they should be before it will be of any use to you.”

  “You can’t use it till then or something?”

  “Oh, you could, but ethically,” she said with a smile, “we are on the white side of magic here, despite the décor.” I put my hand on her shoulder and she turned her head in my direction, acknowledging that I was about to talk to her.

  “Magnus isn’t magically inclined,” I said, and Magnus looked slightly embarrassed.

  “But he’s half elf, if I’m not incorrect,” she said, confused. I shrugged and then realized she wouldn’t have seen the gesture.

  “Yes, but he doesn’t do magic.”

  “Such a pity, to have a direct line to magic in your blood but to be unable to utilize it. I’m sorry.”

  I gave Magnus a look that told him not to be offended. Truth had a very specific view of people who weren’t able to utilize the deep forces of magic that were gifts from mother earth itself, empowering the chosen few. She was even worse around normal humans, which was why she tended to run this shop alone—she couldn’t find someone who could put up with her worldview. Also, she had a tendency to treat humans like butlers. The rich came from an entirely different world, and it was hard for her to adjust—if she was even trying to. She wasn’t like that with me because she respected my level of power. Magnus gave me an indulgent smile.

  “Shall we get started?”

  “Yes. I’ve got a picture of it, so that should help a little,” I said, reaching into the inside pocket in my coat. Truth took it from me and ran her fingers gently over it. She whispered some words, and it was like the picture became a relief; she ran her fingertips around it taking in the size and shape of it. Her fingers traced over the jewel in the center.

  “It’s a nice piece; what’s the jewel in the middle?”

  “An emerald.”

  “Lovely,” she said with a slightly greedy little smile and handed the photo back. “Follow me.” She started toward the steps up, and Magnus’s phone began to ring in his pocket. He apologized and walked slightly away from us to answer it. Truth stopped in the aisle, waiting patiently.

  “Okay, I’ll be back as soon as I can, just give him some refreshments and sit him in the foyer till I get there.” He hung up his phone, pocketing it again, then trotted over to me and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

  “Honey, I’ve got to go—that daytime emissary from the vampires showed up with another long list of things they want done. I have to go meet with him. Call you later.” He hurried out the
door, the little bell ringing again, and disappeared from my sight. I sighed. Truth’s hand came down on my shoulder, making me turn toward her. She smiled at me.

  “Come on, let’s get to work.” She led the way up the stairs, tracing her finger up the railing, across the balcony and to the shelves of books, stroking the spines of worn books.

  “You mentioned that the talisman had a specific name.”

  I dug around in my pocket for my notepad and pulled it out, flipping through till I found my notes from talking to Mr. Silverman.

  “Amulet of Taish. It seems it was picked up in a trunk of odds and ends by a normal antique dealer.” Truth made a disgusted clicking noise with her tongue.

  “Travesty; he probably didn’t even know what he had. And now you tell me it’s in the hands of a criminal.” She shook her head disapprovingly, pulling a book from the shelf and passing it to me. I held it carefully, wiping dust from the cover so I could read the title. Transposition magic.

  “Start with that; I’ll look at the index of magical implements.”

  I dropped down to sit Indian style, letting Truth have the one chair. She rested the book gently in her lap and whispered some word that made the words on the page rise off to stroke across the palm of her hand. I hadn’t seen her read before, and it was fascinating to watch each word as it rolled over her skin. She repeated the words with her lips, quietly reading to herself. I opened the book, rested each cover against my knees, and started flicking through the pages, looking for any reference to the amulet. The pages were dusty and old; I was very careful when turning them, as I didn’t want to cause any tearing. Truth would probably make me pay for the repair. We were friends, but she was a businesswoman first and foremost.

  Transposition magic is the magic of switching things, changing them from one form to another, or even things like shape shifting by magic. There were certain things, like a belt made from a werewolf’s hide, that when inscribed with the right kind of runes and charged magically could allow a normal person or witch to turn into a werewolf. It worked with most animals whether they were normal or genetic shape shifters. I had never met someone who could hold a werewolf in his wolf form for long enough to skin him. I mean, he would have to be alive at the time, because a dead werewolf reverts to its human form.