Gambit: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Solumancer Cycle Book 1)

by J. C. Staudt

  “Isn’t it?”

  She rolls her eyes. “If your best friend is really a shifter, you’d know it’s a common misconception that shifters and therianthropes are at all related.”

  “I’m not suggesting you’ve got family ties. Just that changing from a human into something else is a lot like… oh, I don’t know… changing from a human into something else.”

  She gives me a wry smirk. “Shapechangers have it easy. They can become whatever they want, whenever they want, for as long as they want. They don’t know what it’s like to lust for blood. To feel it under your skin when the moon swells like a ripe tomato. They can’t possibly understand the hunt, or fathom what it means to run with the pack. All they ever do is wear costumes.”

  “Whoa. Didn’t mean to push the spite button.”

  “Sorry,” Felita says. “I get passionate sometimes.”

  “I noticed.”

  “It’s fine if you don’t trust me, or want to tell me what’s going on. As soon as you’re feeling well enough to walk, I’ll send you on your way and I won’t bother you again. But I really do want to help you with whatever you’re up against.”

  “It’s not something you’d understand.”

  She arches her eyebrows. “Really. I’m seventy-seven years old. You think there’s anything in this world you’ve seen that I haven’t seen twice?”

  I scrutinize her. She doesn’t look a day over twenty-five. If she wanted to kill me for stealing her residue, any moment during the last ten hours or so would’ve been a pretty good time to do it. “It’s not a matter of trust. It’s a matter of protecting myself.”

  “I already know you killed at least five people in that homeless shelter. You were going after someone else when you passed out. Who was it?”

  I sigh, glancing at Ersatz.

  “What are you looking at me for?” he says.

  With some reluctance, I recount the events of my weekend, starting Friday afternoon at her place and ending with the real reason why she found me passed out at the Giving Hands Homeless Shelter surrounded by dead vagrants yesterday.

  “Trying to find your dad, huh?” she asks when I’m done. “That’s what started all this?”

  “You started all this,” I correct her. “Summoning a poltergeist into my kitchen was the result of bad decision-making induced by job-related stress.”

  Felita smirks. “Yeah. Keep telling yourself that.”

  “Cade possesses what I like to call a healthy aptitude for histrionics,” says Ersatz.

  She cocks her head. “Come again?”

  “He’s a drama queen.”

  “I’m not a drama queen. I just take comfort in explaining my circumstances in straightforward terms. It helps me feel better about them. Especially when they suck.”

  “When have they ever not sucked?”

  “Pretty much never.”

  Ersatz gives Felita a commiserating look.

  “If there’s anything I can do to help you make them… not suck,” says Felita, “I’d like to try.”

  “I’m still having trouble understanding why you want to help me.”

  “I overreacted, and I got you in trouble, and I feel bad about it. Isn’t that enough of a reason? Simple common decency?”

  “Not these days. These days, everyone’s got an angle.”

  “Oh, I’ve got an angle. It’s called the full moon.”

  “When’s the full moon, again?” I ask.

  “Friday,” she says, no hesitation.

  I study her. “Okay. You want to help? Tell me why everyone in that room attacked me without mercy except the one person I wanted to kill. He ran away.”

  “If I may,” says Ersatz, “I believe the answer is quite clear. The poltergeist you’ve summoned commands a far greater authority than we were prepared for. He is a poltergeist before whom others tremble; one with the wisdom to avoid drawing attention to himself, the clout to command others to do his bidding, and the cunning to know when he should let others fight his battles for him.”

  “That’s why he ran,” says Felita.

  “Indeed.”

  “See? I don’t need your help,” I tell her. “I’ve got Ersatz. I’ll just—” I sit up, then crash back down on the pillow under a wave of pain and dizziness.

  “You took a nasty knock to the dome when you passed out,” she tells me. “Better rest here for a while.”

  “He doesn’t mean it,” Ersatz assures her. “He does need your help, and we accept it wholeheartedly.”

  She smiles. “Great. Where do we go from here?”

  “I think that much is obvious,” says Ersatz.

  “Ersatz likes to say that when something is obvious only to him.”

  “Quiet, you. According to the map on the clay dish, the poltergeist has changed locations. You’ve noticed he keeps running from us. I’ll wager we’re going to need more than guns to catch him. We must visit Durlan’s Pawn Shop before we stage another attack.”

  My heart skips a beat. “Why do we have to go to Durlan’s?”

  “To procure an item of great importance in our pursuit. And before you ask, I won’t know what that item is until we get to the shop and see what Durlan has available. We leave at dawn. For now, rest.”

  “I just woke up.”

  “And you can barely move.”

  “I’ll tie you to the couch if I have to,” Felita adds.

  “Alright, fine. I’ll rest. You don’t have to go all cold-blooded on me.”

  Felita goes into her bedroom to catch a few hours’ sleep while Ersatz snoozes above me. I can’t sleep, though I try my hardest. I watch the pre-dawn glow creep over the ceiling instead, dreading our forthcoming shopping trip. If Durlan suspects I stole that vial of demon blood, he won’t hesitate to make a scene about it.

  Around six-thirty, I hear the shower come on. Felita emerges half an hour later dressed in cutoffs and a tank top, her hair freshly blow-dried, holding a pile of folded clothing. I could use a shower myself, but I’ll be lucky if I can stand up straight on solid ground without adding running water to the equation.

  “Oh, you’re awake already,” she says.

  “Yeah, your shower sounds like a thunderstorm.”

  “You’re plenty familiar with my shower, aren’t you?”

  “More than you know.” I nod toward the bundle in her arms. “What’s that?”

  She tosses the clothes into my lap. “For you. Will you be alright getting them on by yourself?”

  “I learned to tie my shoelaces a few years ago. Still getting the hang of the whole ‘dressing myself’ thing.”

  “Just making sure. I’ll give you some privacy. Holler when you’re ready.” She goes into her bedroom and closes the door.

  I sit up and wait for the room to level out. I pull on the t-shirt, then shimmy into the khaki-colored slacks from a seated position, grunting at the pain in my bandaged thigh. The t-shirt is too tight, and the pants are a little big around the waist, but I can’t complain. Nor will I ask her why she has a pair of men’s pants lying around. I give her a shout, and she emerges.

  “How does everything fit?”

  I shrug. “Close enough for rock and roll.”

  She smiles. “Ready to try walking?”

  “Unless you’ve got a wheelchair lying around somewhere.”

  “Stop it. Come on, I’ve got you.” She helps me to my feet. She’s strong, but I expected that. She managed to carry me across town to her eleventh-floor apartment—I assume without anyone seeing—so her strength isn’t at question. “How does that feel?” she asks.

  “Better than before.”

  “Good. You hungry?”

  “You have no idea.” I say it without thinking and immediately regret it. Of course she has an idea. If anyone knows about undeniable, unquenchable hunger, it’s an eighty-year-old werewolf.

  “Alright then,” she says, not missing a beat. “Why don’t you try walking to the table, and I’ll whip you up some breakfast.”

>   “Bathroom first,” I say.

  “Sure.”

  She spots me as I plod over, getting my land legs under me, and enter the powder room in the foyer. When I step in front of the mirror, my reflection shocks me, and I have to grab the sink to counteract the wobble in my knees. Along with my mildly broken nose, there’s a big purple lump along my hairline, a bruise under my left eye, and lacerations on my jaw, eyebrow, and cheek. I got my ass kicked, and there’s no hiding it—nor will there be for the next couple of weeks.

  I wash up, use the facilities, and cross the apartment to take a seat at her table. Now that my head’s had a chance to clear, the mechanics of equilibrium come easier. Aside from my face and thigh and the scratches down my arms, I feel pretty good, considering.

  It’s strange being in Ms. Skaargil’s apartment like this. I’ve come so many times as a housekeeper it feels odd to be a guest. She brings me a glass of orange juice, and I take small sips while I watch her cook. Her movements are precise. She wipes up every drip and stows each dirty utensil in the dishwasher after use.

  Ersatz comes to nibble off my plate when she delivers the scrambled eggs and sausage. I know it isn’t his preferred dietary arrangement, but a dragon’s got to eat, and he’s too polite to complain. With a full belly and a clear mind, I’m feeling much better. Tired and nervous, but better.

  I gather my things and we leave the apartment.

  In the lobby, a familiar voice greets me. “Hey there, Mister Cade.”

  “Levi,” I say, shaking his hand at the front desk. “How was your weekend?”

  “Better than yours, looks like.”

  “Yeah. I had a little accident.”

  “Ain’t in no trouble, I hope.”

  A whole heap of it, my friend. “Nothing a little antibiotic ointment can’t fix.”

  “You left out of here awful quick the other day,” he points out. “Will I be seeing you on Friday?”

  I look at Felita. “I’m taking a couple weeks off. For, uh… vacation.”

  Levi smiles. “Good for you. Hard-working fella like you deserves a vacation once in a while.”

  “Aw, I don’t know about that. You deserve one more than I do.”

  “Vacation? I don’t know the meaning of the word.”

  I laugh. “Good to see you as always, Levi.”

  He nods. “Y’all take care, now.”

  We exit Reiney Towers East into a Monday morning street packed with commuters. The rain has let up, though clusters of gray clouds still hang low overhead. Felita takes us across the street to her parking garage, where we get into a beige Lexus sedan and zip across town to the ratty old shopping center in which Durlan’s is located.

  Before the shop is in sight, my hands are clammy. Ersatz is going to be pissed if he finds out I stole that vial of demon blood. He and the dwarf have a good rapport, and he knows there’s no better source in the whole city for the sorts of materials a dragon wizard and his apprentice might require. Ersatz trusts Durlan, despite Quim’s total lack thereof.

  We park out front and greet Grenda on our way into the shop Between, where we find Durlan dusting a shelf of crystal balls. My breath cuts short as he turns toward us and catches sight of me. “You,” he says, aiming his fluffy brown feather duster in my direction. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

  Chapter 17

  I gulp, unsure how to respond. “Hey, Durlan,” I manage in a pathetic, quavering tone.

  Durlan comes close, the feather duster tickling my nose. He stares up at me, bushy red eyebrows lowered. Then he notices my injuries, and his frown lifts into a balking stare. “What’s happened to you, lad? Did the imp’s blood prove unwieldy?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Say it, boy. If it’s tainted, I’ll know of it at once.”

  “It wasn’t the imp’s blood,” Ersatz says from my shoulder. “It was the—”

  “The gorgon’s dust,” I interrupt. I open my backpack and, careful not to reveal the vial of demon’s blood, I withdraw one of the five vials the poltergeist didn’t destroy—a vial of gorgon residue Durlan sold me six months ago. “It’s this stuff. It’s bad. Terrible, actually.” I hand it to him.

  He turns the vial over in his hands, frowning. “I’ve sold plenty of this. Never heard any complaints.”

  “Your customers are too nice. It’s awful. Flagrant, I’d go so far as to say.”

  He purses his lips. “My apologies. I can’t imagine how this happened. I’ll provide a full refund.”

  Ersatz looks perturbed, but he continues. “We’d like to purchase an item capable of storing powerful magics for later use.”

  “Ah,” says Durlan, lifting a finger. “I’ve just the thing. Follow me.”

  He takes us down cluttered aisles to the depths of his shop, where he pulls something from the back of a low shelf. It’s a belt, thick and wide, of hand-tanned leather with a silver buckle. “This is a spellvault,” he explains. “Cast a spell, deliver it into the buckle, and its wearer gains access to that spell whenever he needs it.”

  Felita takes a step back when she senses the silver.

  “Can it hold rituals?” asks Ersatz.

  “It’ll hold any manner of spell you feed it, from the simplest cantrips to the most powerful rituals and enchantments.”

  “How much?”

  Durlan flips the price tag around. It’s marked at $1,499.99.

  “Too much,” says Ersatz. “We’ll give you eight hundred.”

  Durlan’s cheeks redden. “Do you imagine I’m running a flea market? These are rare and valuable goods I sell. One of a kind, this is. My prices are fair, and not to be degraded. You offend me, sir.”

  “Put away your umbrage,” Ersatz soothes. “We know one another too well to let indignation sour a spirited negotiation.”

  Durlan nods. “As you say, dragon.”

  “Twelve hundred.”

  “Fourteen seventy-five.”

  “Twelve fifty. That’s as high as I’ll go.”

  The two haggle back and forth until they settle on a price of $1,400.00. All the while I’m stuck wondering where Ersatz is going to find the thin air he intends to pull this money out of.

  “Very well,” Ersatz finally agrees. “Cade, pay him and let’s be on our way.”

  “Excuse us for a moment,” I tell Durlan before taking my dragon into the next aisle.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper. “You know I’m broke.”

  “You’ve got this month’s rent money, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. It’s for the rent.”

  “So we can continue living in the uninhabitable disaster area you call an apartment?”

  “So I can keep the landlord from swinging by to check up on me.”

  “Mr. Montpellier is the least of your problems. This belt will allow you to store the banishment ritual until the moment you need it.”

  “I get that. I still don’t like the idea, though.”

  “Over the past few days you’ve had one bad idea after another. It’s high time you started listening to someone else’s for a change. Now pay the dwarf and let’s get going.”

  I can’t argue. As much as I hate to spend the last of my money on a magic item, the thought of expelling the poltergeist from the mortal realm with an instant banishment spell is enticing. Besides, if I need some emergency funds to tide me over until I find a new job, I’m sure Felita will let me clean her place.

  Durlan takes us to the register, where he refunds the gorgon dust—which works just fine, by the way—and takes payment to cover the remaining cost of the spellvault belt. When we leave the shop, I’ve got pennies in my bank account and a newfound sense of dread, yet I can’t help but feel relieved he didn’t catch me out for stealing the demon blood. One of these days I’m going to pay him back. Somehow. I’ve got a lot of people to pay back, I reflect, glancing at Calyxto’s mark on my hand, and the list is growing longer by the minute.

  We return to Felita’s car, where I don the belt an
d spend several minutes performing the banishment ritual. I release the spell into the belt buckle, careful not to touch anything else down there. I’d hate to banish things I’d rather keep around.

  That done, I consult the clay dish to find the Arden-ghost’s current location. My GPS tells me he’s now at a children’s home on the west side called The Charles Altuna Hope Center. “You’ve got to be kidding me. An orphanage?”

  “Seems he’s altered his tactics,” says Ersatz. “Rather than shielding himself behind zombified hobos, he’s using live innocents as fodder.”

  “I’m not killing any children. I’ve got enough blood on my hands as it is.”

  “We have the banishment ritual now. All you need to do is get within sight of Arden and we can end this.”

  “Do you know how much damage I could cause if I catch those kids in the blast?”

  “I am quite aware. So see that you don’t.”

  As Felita’s car hurtles down the streets of New Detroit, I can’t help but wonder what the poltergeist has in store for us this time. Going into battle against an evil spirit with the power to command other evil spirits makes me think I should take every precaution before we get there. My mind wanders to the contents of my backpack. “Can we stop somewhere and find a bathroom?”

  “Sure,” Felita says.

  She pulls over in a fast food parking lot, where I shoulder my backpack and go inside, leaving Ersatz in the car. I’m sure my dragon is suspicious as to why I need my backpack to use the restroom, but I can’t let that deter me.

  Locking the stall door, I fish out a syringe and peel open its plastic packaging. I retrieve the vial of demon blood and draw about a third of its contents—no more than one mL—into the syringe. The thick black blood fills the stall with its raw-sewage-and-lavender odor, which feels strangely appropriate for a public bathroom. I cringe inside and almost reconsider what I’m about to do.

  I hope this isn’t as dangerous as it feels. It’s not like I’m mainlining the stuff. If I inject it subcutaneously—beneath the skin instead of into a vein—it should produce a powerful effect at a much lower risk. Should being the operative word here.

  I unbutton my slacks and slide them down to my knees, then pinch and pull the skin of my uninjured thigh between my thumb and forefinger. Don’t try this at home, kids. I breathe, then stick myself and push the plunger all the way in.