Hazardous Goods (Arcane Transport)

by John Mackie

  It took me a good five minutes to clean the liquid off the rack, the box and the floor, most of it spent lying stretched out on my side, squirming to reach the damned puddle at the bottom. Once I was finished, I managed to locate a plastic zipper bag for the package, wiped off the guck I had managed to get on my hand and wrist, and headed out front to look for Kara.

  She was chatting with Jamar in the reception area, the two of them standing and sipping coffee.

  “Hi guys.”

  “Hey man.”

  “Hi Donnie.”

  Jamar looked his usual self this morning. Maybe the curse on his ring was wearing off or something. Kara, on the other hand – I don’t know whether she was wearing more mascara or had changed her eyeliner, but she was looking even hotter than usual. Her eyes had a definite ‘come hither and thou shall have a glorious time’ look about them. I paused, waiting for her to speak, but she just stared at me.

  “Um. Can you check with a customer for me? I knocked over this package, and something leaked through the wrapping.”

  “Sure.” I held out the package, but she put her coffee down and stepped towards me, closing the gap between us to paper thin.

  I have to say, standing a few inches away from a hot babe is not something I should complain about. God knows it sel­dom happens to me. But we Elders have our issues with per­sonal space, and Kara had invaded mine. I tried to lean back without causing any offense, but found myself bumping into the reception desk.

  “Here you go.”

  She ignored the package in my hand, now trapped be­tween us. I could feel a hot flush rising up the back of my neck and my ears.

  “Kara?”

  “You are so hot.”

  I snorted and looked to Jamar. I will admit to being gul­lible, but the quizzical look on his face suggested he was not in on the joke. So I looked back to Kara.

  Problem was, I could feel the heat coming off of her. Her cheeks were red, eyes wild, nostrils flared, lips engorged. Jesus. I pressed back into the reception counter, now worried that she would notice how my slacks were beginning to bulge below the waist. However, that was the last thing I needed to worry about.

  One moment we were frozen, inches from one another. The next, she launched herself at me, arms and legs wrapped around my hips and shoulders (arms to shoulders, legs to hips – pervert). And her lips. Those sweet, sweet lips.

  I admit it. For what seemed like an eternity, I just went with it. My whole being was focused on her lips, pressed to mine, then her tongue thrusting into my mouth. I made a tentative move with my own tongue, and she vacuumed it into her warm mouth. I groaned in pleasure and that seemed to ramp it up even more. Now her hips were thrusting against me, and I could feel myself responding. It took every ounce of decency in me not to throw her onto the reception desk and start pulling off clothes.

  Finally we both needed to breath and our mouths separated, just for a moment. And in that few seconds, the sheer lust which had overwhelmed me was beaten back just enough for me to act.

  “Hang on, hang on. I mean—”

  She was on me again, lips on mine, tongue exploring. And she smelled so good. Florals, vanilla, and a primal musk. Despite myself, I pushed her shoulders back, leaving her latched onto my hips and trying to pull herself forward with her arms. Her hair was feral, blond strands curling down to her lips.

  “Kara?”

  Her eyes were glowing embers.

  “Babe?”

  I looked around us, desperate to find a way out of this paradox of pleasure and pain.

  “Jamar!”

  “Dude.” He was halfway out the door, having concluded that spectators were not welcome.

  “Get her off of me.”

  “What?” He looked at me as though I had grown a third eye.

  “I know, I know.” I swear I sobbed. “Please.”

  He didn’t say anything, but I think he knew. Something was wrong about this. So very, very right. And yet wrong.

  “Kara? Girl?” When she ignored him, he locked his arms around her waist from behind and pulled, with me pushing on her shoulders. I had a very bad feeling someone was going to walk in on us and conclude that the premises were being used for a low budget porn flick. It took a fair amount of work, but he pried her off of me and got her seated in one of the recep­tion chairs.

  “Kara? Babe, what are you doing?” Jamar held her down in the chair, trying to make eye contact with her. Her hair had a wild, post-coital look that won hands-down over any sleek sophisticated hairdo I’ve ever seen. I remained at the reception desk, tucking in my shirt and trying to rearrange the lap of my slacks.

  “Jamar.”

  “Kara. You OK, girl?”

  “Let go of me.”

  He glanced back at me and I shrugged. What the hell was going on?

  “I’ll let go of you if you promise to be a good girl.”

  “I don’t want to be a good girl.”

  Oh my God.

  “Babe?”

  “Please, Jamar. I need him.”

  The way she said that, I almost shoved Jamar out of the way and jumped her.

  “What are you talking about, girl?”

  “Why don’t I just get a few things done in the backroom?” I turned to go, and the screaming began.

  “No! Donnie, I need you. I NEED YOU!”

  “Run!” I swear, that’s what he said. It was like Jamar was the guy in the horror movie that decided to sacrifice himself to save his friends. Only this monster was five three, blond, and in heat.

  I ran.

  She had been talking dirty to me for fifteen minutes before Jamar was able to get through to Professor Irving.

  I was trapped, sitting with my back against the inside of the door to the Lost and Found Room, listening to a smoking hot woman tell me what she was going to do to me if I would just open that door. It was like she had snuck into every private fantasy I had ever had, and was now offering to make them real, describing every act in explicit, excruciating detail. I was shaking like a heroin addict watching his last fix go down the toilet.

  “Jamar!”

  “I got it!”

  “— and then I’m going to pour butterscotch syrup all over your—.”

  “Got what? What?”

  “He says there’s an incense stick in there with you. Third shelf from the floor, left side.”

  I stood, and the door shook as Kara threw her shoulder into it.

  “Which one?”

  “Blue, with a white wax tip.”

  OK. Got it.

  “Slip it under the door to me.”

  “— I can wear a uniform, anything you want. I can put on a nurse’s outfit, with the—.”

  I was feeling lightheaded. I swear I thought I would pass out. It was as though my primitive brain was scrabbling to override the slim thread of decency that was holding me to­gether. I dropped to my knees and slid the candle under the door to Jamar.

  “Hang on, big guy.”

  “— just want to run my tongue all over—.”

  I heard a match strike, and Jamar’s calm voice.

  “Breath this, babe. Take a deep breath.”

  “I don’t want to breathe your stupid—.” Kara’s voice petered out.

  “Jamar?”

  I listened for a sound, anything that might indicate what was going on.

  “Kara?”

  I could hear her voice. A whisper. “What —? What was —? Oh.”

  I opened the door and peered around the corner just in time to see her turn and sprint to the front of the shop, hands to her face and tears streaming down her cheeks.

  If it wasn’t clear to me earlier, it was clear to me at that moment. God has every intention of ensuring that the Elder family name comes to an end with Ted and me. No wonder my mother always seems so unhappy.

  I suppose I could at least be thankful that it was Maggie’s day in the office. In her fifties, Maggie had a son who was nearly as old as Kara, and a daughter just a few year
s younger. She also had a kind face and a soothing voice.

  Jamar was kind enough to bring her up to speed, so a few minutes later she was able to talk Kara out of the wash­room and calm her down. I figured staying out of the way was a priority, so I used the time to stock the van, all the while mulling over what had just happened.

  “You OK?”

  I turned, and Jamar had a strange look on his face. Half smile, half concern.

  “Yeah. I mean, it’s not like I could complain, is it?”

  We both chuckled softly, trying to avoid Kara hearing anything.

  “Is she OK?”

  “She’s embarrassed. I think she’s scared you’re going to fire her.”

  “What? I’ll go talk to her. It wasn’t her fault. It was the potion.” That was one thing we had figured out. The liquid I had spilled by the racks was some sort of a “love potion”. At least that’s what Professor Irving told Jamar. When things qui­eted down and I had a chance to check the package it would all start to make sense. Destination: Hidden Pleasures.

  “Yeah, well—,” he looked away, and I sensed he wasn’t telling me something.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Jamar – I am going to go talk to her now. If there is something you know that will assist me in not digging myself deeper into this mound of steaming shit, I would appreciate it if you told me now.”

  He looked at me as though weighing my intentions.

  “The fact is, I think she likes you. But she’s got a boyfriend. Which just makes all of this even worse.”

  Shit.

  I was elated. Deflated. Frustrated. I had a chance, and I may have just blown it. Because I was a clumsy oaf.

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah. No kidding. So she’s mortified by what hap­pened. Plus it was all a bit, you know, a bit raunchy. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

  “Shit.”

  It was all I had to say.

  I went out front a few minutes later, intending to tell her everything was OK. But she couldn’t look me in the eye. And to be honest, my hormones started raging the second I got a whiff of her perfume. I swear my mouth started watering.

  So I kept it simple. Told her I was sorry about screwing up. Didn’t intend to spill the stuff. Never imagined something might have that effect on a woman. I respected her as a person, and as a colleague. Try to put it behind us. She kept quiet the whole time, though I sensed she wanted to say something.

  So I headed out back to get on with the morning deliveries, leaving both of us to spend the next few hours mulling over sixty seconds of rapture.

  When I returned from lunch, Jim and Harold didn’t seem worried. I could hear them laughing in the lunchroom from the back of the loading area. Kara and Maggie had stepped out to go for a walk, leaving me to feel like a huge pile of steaming horse doody. Fortunately, Jamar was at the desk. He reassured me that Kara didn’t hold anything against me. If anything, she felt horrible and was worried I would hate her for the events of the morning.

  The look on my face said it all.

  “I know, man. No guy in the world will ever hate a woman for jumping his bones.”

  Laughing, I returned to the back to grab my sandwich and a few minute’s peace. But Jamar paged me before I could get in a bite. I sighed and grabbed the wall phone.

  “Hey.”

  “It’s your lucky day. You’ve got the guys from BOA again.”

  Great. Just what I needed.

  “Can you tell them I’m out?”

  “They spotted you pulling in. I have a sneaky feeling they were waiting for you to return from your route.”

  I sighed, then went out to meet with the BOZOS, as I had come to think of them. I would have to make a serious effort to be polite.

  “Folks.”

  It was Spitzer and his female colleague again. Same uni­forms, though this time both wore black gloves and camo ballcaps in deference to the cooler weather. Spitzer glared at me with a look just short of open hostility.

  “We understand someone made use of a Class 1 Re­stricted agent this morning.”

  So much for the niceties.

  “Guys. Class 1? Class 2? I still don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  Spitzer stared at me as though trying to determine whether I was an idiot, or just stubborn. Fact is, I can be both.

  “This morning,” his colleague was back to her notebook again, “around oh-seven hundred hours, a Class 1 mixing agent was used to initiate a spell on these premises. The medium utilized is unknown, however we believe it may have involved a potion, unction or incense.”

  “Unction?” My eyebrow went up. These guys were weird. “I have no idea—.”

  Wait a second.

  “What time did you say?”

  “Oh-seven hundred.”

  Shit.

  “OK. Around seven a.m. I accidentally knocked over one of our delivery packages, and spilled a few drops of the contents in our backroom.”

  That caught their attention. Spitzer flipped to a new page, and pulled a pen from his back pocket.

  “What, if anything, resulted?”

  “Well... “

  They stared at me.

  “We had an incident. One of the staff became somewhat affectionate. To me.” Christ, this was humiliating.

  The woman spoke, a nasty tone of sarcasm in her voice.

  “And was this ‘staff person’ aware she was under the influence of magic?”

  “What?”

  “Was she aware she was under the influence of magic?” Voice was getting a little shrill... “Or did you just bang her on this conference table and leave her to wonder what had happened?”

  “Nice.” Bitch. “As it happens, one of my colleagues assisted me in defusing the situation until we were able to obtain aid in neutralizing the, uh, unction.”

  “Is it safe to assume that the affected person was your receptionist, Miss—” she checked her book “Sinclair?”

  The look on her face suggested she was interviewing a convicted rapist. As if I wasn’t feeling bad enough, I was starting to feel like one.

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re saying this was accidental.”

  “Yes.”

  They both gave me the same look my mother used to give me when I came home from a party and denied having anything to drink. At least when that happened I was too drunk to care.

  “How were you affected by the spell?”

  Me? Well, I got jumped by a pretty girl.

  “I wasn’t.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I’m not sure what you’re asking. I wasn’t affected. Kara was.”

  They traded a look, again making me feel like I was being excluded from their little club.

  “I thought you said this incident was not deliberate?”

  “It was an accident. If I wanted to get involved with her, I would just ask her out.”

  Silence.

  “And then she would reject me, and that would be that. Anyways, I’m not about to do that kind of thing.”

  “You’re saying you have no interest in a relationship with Miss Sinclair?”

  “No. Well, yes.” Now I was going in circles, I think. I rubbed my eyes, and sighed.

  “Let’s move on, shall we?”

  After they finished questioning me, the two of them insisted on waiting for Kara to return in order that they could meet with her. I wanted to wait for them to finish with her, to make sure she was alright. But we were already behind, and couldn’t afford more delays.

  Maggie seemed convinced the whole thing would blow over, that there were no hard feelings, just embarrassment.

  “What a nightmare.”

  “Well, it could be worse.”

  I squinted at Maggie, trying to see how that was possible. All I could see was a glint in her eye that suggested mischief.

  “Imagine if Jamar hadn’t been here to help.”

  Oh, I was desperate
ly trying not to imagine that.

  I asked her to call me when Kara got out of the BOA session, to let me know she was alright.

  I trudged to the back, feeling lower than I had felt in a long, long time.

  By six, I was exhausted. Big Jim and Harvey had finished for the day, and Maggie had left after checking one more time that Kara was alright. Jamar was helping me tidy up in the back, while Kara waited at reception for her ride home.

  My brain should have been able to put one and one together when Maggie told me Kara had gotten a ride in that morning and would be picked up by a quarter past six. Should have, but I guess I wasn’t thinking all that clearly.

  So when I heard voices out front, one soft and calm, and the other harsh and escalating in volume, I figured it was none of my business. At least, not until a tall fellow wearing a dark suit, blue shirt, striped tie and black shoes stormed along the corridor from reception, past the bullpen and into the garage where Jamar and I were finishing up.

  Things became a little clearer when that same fellow strode up to me and planted a right jab hard on my chin.

  I spun and fell to a knee, as much shocked as anything else.

  “Chad! No! I told you – it wasn’t his fault!”

  “Yeah, right!” Chad grabbed the collar of my shirt and pulled me back to my feet, turning me as he did so. “Sonofabitch.”

  Another punch, this one glancing off my cheekbone.

  Behind the angry boyfriend, I could see Jamar holding Kara, tears running down her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry. Look, it was an accident—.”

  He was still throwing punches, with me bobbing and moving my head to lessen the impact. No damage so far, but the last thing I needed was to open up the cut on my forehead or aggravate my concussion.

  Finally, Jamar stepped forward and took hold of Chad by the shoulders, dragging him out of the fray. He took a couple of elbows to the face in the process, though I don’t think those were deliberate.

  “Asshole!”

  “It was my fault, and it never should have happened.”

  I tried to explain, but by then Kara had taken hold of him and was angrily maneuvering him to the door. By the time they were in his car – a slick BMW M3 convertible, of course – I was seated in the bullpen with a bag of ice pressed to my cheek.

  Time to call it a day.