Criminal Enchantment

by Shanna Swendson

  There were a couple of moments when the guy glanced around, like he was aware he wasn’t alone. My veils were good, but they aren’t entirely foolproof with magic folks who know that sort of thing exists. If they know what to look for, they can sense the presence of an invisible person. I doubted this guy was that sharp, but I went as still as I could and hoped my weight wasn’t enough to make the ceiling grid bend. He never focused in my direction, so I hoped he was just edgy because he was up to no good. Fortunately, it was a short trip, just a few floors, so there wasn’t much time for him to notice me.

  Still, I was extra cautious when the elevator stopped and the doors opened. I’d lose him if I flew out and he stayed on board, but I’d get caught on the elevator if I waited too long for him to leave. He might notice me if I moved too quickly. So, basically, it was your classic lose-lose-lose scenario, with only a tiny margin for success. That’s why they pay me the big bucks. I spread my wings, preparing for flight, but making sure I didn’t hit him, and the moment I saw him move, I released my hold and gave a good flap that propelled me into a narrow corridor.

  This wasn’t a high-end office facility. In just about any other city, this would have been where you’d find bottom-feeders and those barely a step above working out of their garages. In New York, I was pretty sure these were the offices of people like lawyers and accountants who weren’t part of a huge firm. I had to be careful not to brush my wings against the sides of the hallway as I flew, and I was glad I didn’t have to walk on the industrial carpet that had seen better days and maybe a few bodily fluids. The doors we passed had windows in them, but they were either frosted or incredibly dirty.

  The door my guy stopped at didn’t have a nameplate on the door, just a number. The guy took a slip of paper out of his pocket and squinted at it before he knocked on the door. I’d alit on top of a fire extinguisher case nearby, so I didn’t get a good look at the paper, but I figured it was what the bookseller had given him.

  A voice from inside called out, “Who is it?”

  My guy said, “Uh, Gandalf?”

  There was a buzz and a click, and the guy opened the door. I barely managed to coast through the doorway after him. In fact, I had to land faster than I’d have liked because I had to pull in my wings before they got caught in the rapidly closing door.

  I found myself in a small, windowless office so cluttered that it made Palmer’s office look like an industrial clean room. There were stacks of boxes along the walls and in the chairs. Books were piled on the desk and on a bookcase, with no attempt at shelving. There were also a lot of papers on the desk, but there the word “piled” would have been inaccurate. “Strewn” was a more apt description. There didn’t seem to be any order to anything.

  I allowed myself one quick flap of the wings—hoping I didn’t ruffle any pages—so I could reach higher ground on a stack of books and get a better view of the proceedings.

  I’ll admit, a part of me had hoped that my guy had led me to the ringleader of the operation, but no such luck. At least, it wasn’t the ringleader I suspected. I didn’t know the office’s resident. He took the concept of nondescript to new heights. If I’d bumped into him on the street and actually noticed him, I’d have assumed he was an accountant. He’d be the kind of guy who did the books for small, slightly shady businesses—not crooked enough for the mob, but not the person you’d hire to do your mother’s taxes. He wore a short-sleeved dress shirt, top button undone and a tie just a little too wide for current fashion, loosened and askew. His thinning hair was plastered down, like each strand being exactly in place would create the illusion of a full head of hair. I was a little disappointed that he wasn’t wearing heavy black glasses repaired with tape to complete the image of a low-rent bean counter.

  Then again, the papers strewn all over the desk looked a lot like spreadsheets, and some of these books were ledgers, so maybe that’s exactly what he was, and old-school at that, since I didn’t see a computer. The question was, did he also sell unauthorized spells on the side? There wasn’t anything in here that looked magical, and nothing was pinging my magical radar. Maybe my guy just needed some help with his finances.

  “Can I help you?” the accountant said.

  “Uh, well, one of your sellers sent me here.”

  “Do you have the key?”

  Okay, scratch the “just needed some help with his finances” theory. Asking for the key proved this was part of the spell network.

  My guy pulled on a cord that hung around his neck, lifting a small key out from under his shirt. He started to drop it back into its hiding place, but the accountant waved his hand, and I felt the magic as the cord unknotted itself, the key slipped off, and it flew into the accountant’s hand. He examined it closely, squinting at it, and I felt him use magic to test it. “It seems genuine,” he said. “But why did you come to me?”

  “You get the spells first, don’t you?”

  “They have to come through me to reach the distributors. But that doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

  “I hear there’s something new, but it’s not on the streets yet. I also hear that I could get a jump on things if I cut out the middleman. Do you have it?”

  “It’s not ready for distribution.”

  “I don’t care about getting it disguised as something innocent-looking. The raw material is fine. No one’s watching you sell this to me.”

  It was a good thing my invisibility veil also muffled sound or they’d have both heard my snort of laughter. Little did they know . . . You’d think shifty magical folk would have had some way to check for magical intruders, but unless they’d set me up for a big-time sting and they were playing it ice-cold, there was no sign they knew I was there. This was why we employed magical immunes. Even the flakiest immune would have known to at least ask if there was supposed to be a gargoyle sitting on top of that stack of books in the corner. These guys didn’t follow even the most basic magical security protocols.

  The accountant guy did glance around, but it was more like it was second nature when engaged in underhanded dealing to make sure he wasn’t being watched, even in his own private office, than any kind of security routine, since he never engaged his magical senses. But I guess it made him feel good, so he handed the guy’s key back to him, stood up, took a keyring out of his pocket, sorted through it to find a particular key, then bent to unlock and open his upper desk drawer.

  I was at the wrong angle to see what was inside. All I could tell was that he’d opened a folder. He glanced up again at the guy, frowning, before apparently coming to a decision. “It’ll cost you extra,” he said. “I’m not supposed to release this early. And you can practice it, but don’t use it until Saturday. If it shows up in use early, they’ll know where it came from, and if they come after me, I’ll come after you. You’ll still be ahead of the game even if you wait.”

  The guy nodded eagerly. “Sure. Yeah. I mean, it’s only a couple of days, and it’ll work better if I practice it some, right? And I’ll be able to use it while everyone else is just starting to buy it, so I’ll get a jump on it before anyone cracks down on it.”

  The accountant froze, and the top of the folder fell closed. “Cracks down?”

  The guy winced, probably mentally kicking himself for mentioning it. “Well, that hide-your-loot spell got overused, and I heard at least one guy got caught. MSI is on to it, it seems. That’s why I wanted something new.”

  The accountant went pale—even paler than his usual pasty skin. “MSI is on it?”

  “Relax, they won’t get back to you. They’re just foiling the guys who screw up when they use a spell, and I think most of it’s been dumb luck.”

  I don’t know who he was calling “dumb,” but I wasn’t the one making shady magical deals without checking to make sure no magic was in use in the room.

  Still frowning, the accountant opened the folder, took out a sheet of paper, and went over to an ancient photocopier in the corner behind the desk. He had to mov
e some books—coverless paperbacks like those on the bookseller’s table—off the top of it in order to lift the lid and lay the sheet on the glass. He ran off one copy, returned the sheet to his folder, locked it back up in the drawer, and said, “Okay, a hundred bucks.”

  “A hundred bucks? Seriously? Those spells only cost twenty.”

  “The previous ones, yes. This one is going to go for fifty. And you’re getting it early.”

  “Not fifty bucks’ worth of early.”

  “Then if you don’t want it, or if you want to wait until it hits the street on Saturday . . .”

  “No!” The mook came halfway out of his seat, reaching across the desk for the sheet of paper, before apparently realizing at the last second that the accountant might not take that well, and although he looked pretty meek, he did deal in nasty underground spells. The customer fell back into his seat with an audible thud, and he clasped his hands in his lap. “What I mean is, I’ll pay, but I don’t carry that kind of cash.”

  “I don’t take checks or plastic, so you’d better find the cash.”

  The customer pulled out his wallet. “Let’s see . . . I’ve got forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven bucks in cash. And what about my watch? It’s gotta be worth at least fifty bucks.”

  “Great. You can take it to a pawn shop, get fifty bucks for it, and come back with the cash.”

  “Or you could take it as a guarantee. I just have to run to an ATM to get the cash. I’ve got the money.”

  “You can go get the cash and come back. The spell’s not going anywhere.”

  The accountant hit the buzzer to unlock the door, and the would-be customer took the sign that it was time to go get his cash. I decided I was better off staying where I was than following the guy I was tailing, since I knew he’d be coming back and getting in and out alongside him without him noticin’ was a bit of a challenge. While he was gone, I tried to see what I could learn about the accountant.

  He locked the original spell and the copy up in his drawer and went back to work on what seemed to be actual accounting. He hummed under his breath as he worked, slightly off-pitch, and that made enough of a racket that I wasn’t too afraid to move around. The problem was that there wasn’t much to see. I didn’t spot anything that gave any sign that this was a magical operation. Whatever he had, it was in that locked drawer. The book police could possibly crack down on him, since it looked like this was where he slipped the spells into the books, and therefore he had a supply of stripped paperbacks, but I couldn’t find any evidence of his dealing in shady spells or of where he got his magical goods.

  The accountant stopped what he was doing and looked up, frowning. If I’d had a normal human kind of heart, I might have had a heart attack. Bein’ a magical creature to begin with, just existing means I exude a certain amount of magic. Without it, I’m nothing more than an extremely handsome block of stone. Add all the magic I use to make myself invisible, and someone paying attention would be able to detect me.

  I might have sighed in relief if I weren’t being perfectly still when the accountant sniffed and made a face. My eyes and ears are keen, but my sense of smell leaves something to be desired, and even I could smell the combination of body spray and sweat the customer had left behind. So, that’s what got the accountant’s attention. At least, I hoped that’s all it was.

  He bent and opened a lower drawer on the desk, one that didn’t require a key, and took out a can of air freshener spray. He stood and came around the desk, heading toward me. In the cluttered office, I didn’t have too many options. If I stayed where I was, there was a good chance he’d trip over me. If I moved, he might notice that he wasn’t alone. My leg muscles aren’t great, since I do more flying than walking, but I jumped with all my might, only letting my wings flap ever so slightly, just enough to get me out of the way and on top of a nearby box, a split second before the accountant walked right through the space where I’d been. He gave the guest chair and the area around it a good spray of something pine-scented before going back to his desk.

  He was barely back in his chair when there was a knock on the door. A voice on the other side called out, “I’m back!” The accountant buzzed him in, and he entered, waving a handful of bills. “Here’s your cash,” he said, breathing hard, his face red and sweaty. He must have sprinted to the nearest ATM. This guy really wanted that spell. I wondered why, if he had a hundred bucks in ready cash—or did this mean he wouldn’t make this month’s rent if he didn’t score big using the spell?

  The accountant counted the money and used one of those counterfeit-detecting pens on it, then waved his hand over it, the faint sense of magic suggesting that he was checking it for signs of a spell. Finally, satisfied that the cash was the real deal, he unlocked the drawer and took out the copy of the spell.

  He hesitated before handing it over. “Remember, you can’t use it until Saturday.”

  “Got it, nothing until Saturday.”

  “And you didn’t get this from me. You don’t send anyone else my way.”

  “I’ve never heard of you.”

  The accountant paused, then finally handed the spell to his customer. “Now, get out of here. I don’t want to see you again.”

  The customer was busy staring at the sheet he held, like he was already trying to learn the new spell, but at the accountant’s words, he jumped, recovered his wits, and folded the spell up, sticking it in his shirt pocket, before standing to leave.

  This was where things got tricky for me. I had to get out the door at the same time as my quarry, but without him noticing me hot on his heels. I barely made it—in fact, the door caught the tip of my wing and bounced back, but neither of them seemed to notice anything amiss. The elevator was a little easier going down, since I knew where he was getting off and I could time my flight accordingly. Once we were outside the building, I stuck to him. I didn’t for a moment believe he’d wait until Saturday. It wasn’t as though the accountant had any idea who he was or how to find him, so what was he gonna do if the spell got used early, if he even found out? I was pretty sure that’s exactly what was going through my guy’s head.

  Meanwhile, I called HQ and got someone assigned to watch the accountant. If he was a distributor, he might be our best bet for finding the source. I’d have stayed on him myself, but I doubted he was goin’ anywhere soon, and I wanted to see what this new spell did when my guy either practiced it or used it.

  The guy went straight to a coffee shop and ordered a plain cup of Joe—the cheapest thing on the menu. He sat at a table in the back corner, where no one could look over his shoulder. Unfortunately, that included a certain gargoyle. There wasn’t a thing behind him I could perch on or cling to. I had to settle for standing on the chair across from him and watching him read. His lips moved slightly, but not enough for me to tell what he was reading.

  There was a hairy moment when someone asked, “Are you using this chair?” and nearly pulled it out from under me. I had to flap furiously to get airborne before the other patron noticed that the chair was way heavier than it should have been. My flapping created a stir that fluttered the spell. It flew out of the mook’s hands and onto the floor right in front of me, face up, even, but I barely got a glimpse before he dove to retrieve it.

  Figuring that he was gonna be awhile, I followed a patron out and found myself a good spot on a lamppost where I could watch the door. I got ahold of Palmer on the phone. “Any word from Rowena?” I asked, though by now I was pretty sure what she’d have reported.

  “He was selling spells, including one that sounds like the one we’ve been seeing. I wish we’d thought to tell her to buy one, but she didn’t think of it for herself. Though I suppose he might not have sold to her without that key our prisoner mentioned. We need to get one of those keys.”

  “I’ve got my guys lookin’ into the middleman. I don’t know if he’s got a direct connection to the source or if he just gets a fax every so often. At any rate, he’s gonna have a new spell out Saturd
ay. I only got a glance at it, but it looks like it involves some kind of mind whammy, not just an illusion.”

  There was a sharp gasp on the other end of the line. “Oh, that’s not good.”

  “Yeah, which is why I’m stickin’ to this guy so we can see what he does with it. I’ll keep you posted.”

  Much to my surprise, when my guy left the coffee shop, he headed home—or at least what I presumed was his home. He went into an apartment building and didn’t come out for a long time. That’s where bein’ a gargoyle comes in handy. I found myself a comfortable perch and settled in.

  By the middle of the next morning, I was startin’ to think he’d slipped out a back door. It was well past the time most people would have headed out to work and I’d yet to see a sign of him. I’d been sure he was so eager to use the spell that he’d have been out at the crack of dawn. It was nearly lunchtime by the time he finally emerged. I guess he was sticking closer to his promise than I expected. He looked a lot more bright-eyed and bushy-tailed than he had the day before—and I mean that figuratively. I don’t think he was experimenting with that kind of spell—and he’d spiffed up a bit. He wouldn’t blend in on Wall Street, but the sight of him wouldn’t make security guards sit up and take notice, either. Whatever he planned to be up to, I doubted it involved magically shoplifting junk food.

  I called it in to HQ before I took off after him. After walking a few blocks, he went into a bank, looked around, picked up a brochure, and left. I couldn’t tell if he was casing the joint or looking for a safe place to stash his ill-gotten loot. He did look a bit unsettled as he left, pale and with beads of sweat on his forehead. He wiped his face with a handkerchief and leaned against the wall outside the bank, breathing hard. After a few minutes, he shoved himself away from the wall and joined the flow of pedestrians heading toward downtown.