by Al K. Line
"Ivan, you saw the place, it's vast. A few missing things isn't enough. The place needs to be cleared out, and soon, like Carmichael said, or I get the feeling it's gonna blow."
Ivan shrugged. "If it blows, it blows."
I studied this calm man, this sometimes friend, this strange fellow, and I realized he truly didn't understand at all.
"Look, if Carmichael and the powers-that-be decided to move everything not only because we were gonna try to nick it all, but because it was time anyway as everything was getting so unstable it affected the local area, then it means it's more volatile than we imagined."
"So?"
"If the scrubbers are down for hours, maybe days, it won't be a little explosion and the artifacts get wiped out. Which, by the way, most won't because they have potent protection, it will destroy everything else instead."
"A few blown up fields and a lot of dead Hounds is no bad thing. So what?"
"Oh, boy, you need to read up on your magic a little more. If the pressure builds and it remains unstable for too long, it won't just trash a couple of fields. It will be like a nuclear bomb going off. It'll take out miles and miles."
"You're exaggerating."
"I'm not. I don't know how bad it could be, but it'll take out tens of thousand of citizens in the villages nearby, might even reach the city, and the artifacts will rain down over hundreds of square miles. Imagine that, a load of citizens picking up boxes of cool stuff that fell from the sky. It'll be a disaster on a very epic scale. We need to sort this."
"And we will." Ivan stared at me hard, no emotion. "After we get Mikalus' ashes. It's more important. This is bad with the warehouse, but him returning, controlling legions of vampires who will tear the entire world apart, that's worse."
"I guess. Okay," I said, thinking, "I need to make a quick stop then I'm all yours for the rest of the evening."
"We don't have time for breaks." Ivan was snapping, his fuse short, but he needed to learn that he wasn't my boss, didn't get to call the shots and tell me what to do. Plus, this was important. I picked up my infinite bag and bounced it on my lap.
"Well?"
"Stop acting like I'm one of your goons."
"I apologize. I know you're your own man, but we need to move fast."
"And I know that. But this bag, it needs to be protected. If this gets epic, which it surely will, I cannot, will not, risk losing it. I needed it earlier, but I know that opportunity has gone now. If, when, we return to the warehouse, it's gonna take a lot more than me and a big bag to clear the place out. We need everyone involved to make that happen, and that means this is a liability. For me, for you, for all concerned. Mostly for me, as no way am I gonna let anyone nick it. So it needs to be secured. Understand?"
"Fine. Where to?"
"Just drive, I'll give you directions."
Ten minutes later, we pulled up outside Satan's Breath.
Twice in One Night
"I'll be right back." I grabbed the bag, which squirmed, morphing from the inside out as if something large and ferocious was trying to escape, which it may well have been.
"What have you got inside there?" Ivan edged as far away as he could in his seat. I stared at him, waiting for the penny to drop. "What?"
"It's an infinite bag. What do you think is inside?"
"But you don't mean, um, a literal infinite bag. Everything has a bottom. I can see the size of it. What does it do, shrink things or something?"
"No, it doesn't shrink things. Um... Yeah, I suppose it does, kind of, but not really. It, er, it just fits anything you want in it."
"As long as you get it through the opening." Ivan gave a smug smile.
"Listen, don't try to get clever. I mean anything. It opens up to accommodate anything, of any size. That's why it's dangerous. I could put you in it, I could put your car inside. I could put your bloody house in there if I wanted to. It's one of the most important artifacts in existence, and very, and I mean very, dangerous. You could win wars with this, you could lose them too. You could suck an army inside."
"So why don't we do that?
"Because the bag is prone to misbehaving, and expelling what it holds at untimely moments. It changes shape, goes from light to heavy, can be a nice smart satchel one minute, then a bloody huge suitcase the next, and I do not trust it."
Ivan peered at the bag as it twisted and morphed into a canvas backpack fit for a giant. "Hell, get it out!"
"Chill out, dude." I grabbed the strap and said, "Behave, or I'll leave you in the locker for years." It shuddered, then flipped upside down, almost like a dog showing you it was subservient, then turned the right way up and returned to its usual form.
"Is it sentient?"
"That, my pointy toothed friend, is a question best left unanswered." I pulled on the handle, went flying backwards as suddenly it was weightless, then regained my composure and headed off.
"Wait for me," said Ivan as he got out and made to follow.
"Oh no you don't. Wizards only. This is private."
"Suit yourself." Ivan shrugged and leaned back against the car, looking dangerous because he seemed so normal, if a bit lanky and pale.
I headed into Satan's Breath once again.
Shocking Flesh
I dashed through the door, preoccupied with the bag, then halted, confused, as a nasty vibe hit me. Then the music infiltrated my mind, a song I'd heard several thousand times as I went to or from school with Vicky and the girls. Pop at its best, or worst, depending on your outlook and tastes. I called it a bloody crime against sound, others had different opinions.
I'd never heard music in here before, let alone such happy, uplifting, make-you-want-to-slit-your-wrists pop. It threw me off balance, and I frowned as I tried to get it to compute.
Then I saw a sight I shall never forget, much as I have tried.
In the center of the foyer, on the threadbare carpet, in front of the counter where the ledger was located, behind which were rolls of moldy, once white towels, was the Turk. He of the huge mustache and even greater girth, the man who frowned from beneath black bushy eyebrows and tried to trick you so you paid twice for your yearly membership, the formidable owner of Satan's Breath who never slept. There he was, eyes closed, twirling like a pop fan who'd definitely eaten all the pies, head flung back, eyes wide, spinning in a circle and doing a disconcerting jig with bare feet.
It wasn't only the fact I don't think I'd ever seen him from head-to-toe before as he was always behind the counter, it was that he seemed so happy as his huge belly wobbled and his stained vest yellowed even more with patches of sweat.
A happy Turk? A dancing Turk? A happy, dancing Turk jigging away to generic pop music sung by a woman banging on about love and showing her boyfriend she was beautiful and he didn't know what he was missing by fooling around? It was mind-boggling.
The atmosphere grew tense, probably because I was emitting potent brainwaves of incredulity. The Turk slowed and his arms dropped as he sensed something was amiss. Then he saw me, and the happiness was wiped away.
"Don't mind me," I said, thinking it best to act casual and never utter a word about this to him or anyone else, at least until he could see the funny side of it. Which, judging by the red creeping up from his chest and the scowl on his face, plus the glare I received, the way his mustache wriggled like it wanted to jump from his face and eat me alive, would be several lifetimes.
"What did you see?" he asked, deep voice full of menace and warnings about keeping quiet if I ever wanted a sauna again.
"Um, nothing. Just saw you checking if the carpet needed updating."
We both stared at the threadbare excuse for a floor covering and then he spoke. "Why are you here? You came earlier."
"Need to drop something off. Sign in?"
"Yeah, you know the drill." The Turk wobbled back behind the counter and I relaxed a little as things returned to normal. "You want a towel?"
"I'm good."
The Turk suddenly realized
that his cheap stereo was still blaring and slammed a meaty finger down onto a button. Terrible silence enveloped us.
"Not. A. Word," he warned.
"Absolutely. Don't know what you're talking about. Will only be a jiffy." I hurried through the entrance to the changing room before he cut off my face or did something really nasty.
You Again
I disappeared into the rear before the Turk decided me being alive wasn't worth the risk of anyone discovering his worrying pop fetish. Nobody knew enough about him to know what he was capable of, but I'd heard the rumors. After all, he definitely wasn't Turkish. He'd come from up north and had the accent to prove it, but who would dare ask?
Relaxing a little, I hummed to myself as I sauntered past ward-protected lockers, the damn song stuck in my head. Wow, what an evening. Kidnap, stealing Telerons, trying to nick everything in the warehouse, murder and magic and vampire intrigue, it was enough to get the juices flowing and no mistake.
And yet, despite all this, or maybe because of it, I was feeling rather chipper. I thrived on this utter insanity. It hyped me up, let the magic flow easier, and damn but it was exciting. Not that I wasn't angry, pissed off in the extreme, and still hurting from the abuse I'd taken, but all that was as nothing compared to the joy consuming me. I was alive goddammit and this was why. Fighting the bad guys, letting loose with magic, and running around like a nutter getting into bother.
Would I ever grow out of it? Doubtful. Just look at Valera and Nohr. They loved this stuff, couldn't get enough of it. So, while I had the chance, I'd enjoy myself. In between getting annoyed and angry, of course, or maybe that was part of it too. That without the emotional roller coaster it wouldn't be half the fun.
I released the wards to my locker, stashed the bag and Carmichael's Teleron, kept mine in case of emergencies, battled as the bag tried to make a break for it, then slammed the steel door shut and put the wards back up before it, or anything else stored inside, had chance to escape.
Satisfied, and feeling even better about the whole thing, I whistled the damn song as I made my way back to the foyer.
I stopped dead in my tracks, dread creeping up my spine at a sound so horrible, so fear-inducing, my heart raced and I broke out in a cold sweat.
Hair dryer.
Oh, no, not again.
I stormed around the corner to where the sinks and mirrors were located, not a part of the room used much as wizards hated surprises, and I quickly averted my gaze as a familiar sight tried to burn my retinas.
One old wizard? Check.
Scrawny, with a potbelly? Check.
Hairy, spindly leg up on the sink? Check.
Blow drier in hand and turned to full speed? Check.
Disgusting, misshapen balls swinging to and fro through a forest of gray pubes, assaulted by said blow dryer? Check. Check. Check.
I yanked the cable from the socket and had a good mind to wrap it around the offending dangly bits and squeeze until they dropped off and then stomp on them. But I didn't, although I'm not sure why.
"Hey, I was using that," said the frowning wizard as he glared at me.
"Put your bloody leg down and cover yourself up. What is wrong with you?"
"It's just natural."
"No, it's totally unnatural. You've got issues," I warned. "You've been told about this. If I tell the Turk he'll ban you."
"Haha, no he won't." The smile widened and the mad old fool grinned at me like a, well, like a mad old fool.
"You saw him, didn't you? Made him let you use the dryer if you kept quiet?"
"Sure did. You saw him too?" I nodded. "What did you get?"
"Nothing."
"Idiot."
The old man grabbed the cord, plugged it back in, and continued his ball-drying obsession.
I had to get out of there, so made for the exit with all haste, speeding up as I heard shouting from the Turk.
I emerged into the foyer to see him almost purple with rage, gesticulating wildly and shouting, "You can't be in here. Wizards only. Get out. Get out now!"
"I merely wanted to hurry Arthur along. We have pressing business."
"Yeah, I heard. All that nonsense at the warehouse. Good way to get yourself killed if you ask me."
"Nevertheless, I require Arthur's assistance in a delicate matter and I don't want him falling asleep on me."
"You mean because of the ashes?" asked the Turk with a sneer, seemingly forgetting he wanted Ivan out.
"How do you know"? Ivan stepped forward.
"I'm the Turk," he said, as if that explained everything. Which it kind of did as he knew everyone's business. No better place for gossip than a wizards-only sauna.
"Hey, guys, what's up?" I said as I emerged, knowing this could get ugly very quickly. The Turk had rules, and so did wizards, and if they knew a vampire was here they would not be amused.
"This... this man was just about to tell me how he knows so much of my business," said Ivan as he stepped even closer.
"And I was just telling this... this bloodsucker that this is wizards only. And," he added, "that I know so much because you lot, you bunch of degenerate wizards, are blabbermouths."
"Okay, I think it's time we left." I got between the two and raised an eyebrow at the Turk, a subtle reminder of what I knew.
"Fine, but don't let it happen again." The Turk retreated behind his counter and busied himself writing in the ledger.
"He seems nice. Very... aromatic," said Ivan as I bustled him out of the door.
"Watch yourself around him. He's not what he seems."
"If you say so."
We got into the car and Ivan drove off, carefully, of course.
Annoying Secrets
"This has gone on long enough," I blurted, unable to maintain the silence that had enveloped us for the last fifteen minutes. "Where the hell are we going and where are the ashes buried?"
"All in good time. Don't be so impatient."
"I think I've been more than patient. Now I want to know. I need to be prepared."
"You are ready now. And I'm thinking of your safety, Arthur. The less you know the better. If you get captured again, and I hope you don't, then you won't be able to tell them anything."
"There's a major fucking flaw in that reasoning, and I've never understood it." I adjusted Grace, better to scowl at Ivan, and continued. "You see it in movies, read it in books all the time. Don't let those with you in on the secret. So if they get tortured they won't be able to give the game away."
"Yes, it's a good idea. You can tell the truth and not give anything away. You know nothing."
"No, you, and everyone else, have it wrong. What will happen is they'll torture you, you'll swear you know nothing, but they won't believe you and they'll keep on torturing you. But, if you know the secret, you can tell it, then they'll stop with the excruciating pain. That's a win in my book."
"But... If you tell... What if..."
"See, that's how it should work. None of this secrets business."
"But you wouldn't really tell, would you?"
"Would I betray friends or family? Never. Would I sing like a canary about where stupid bloody ashes were to save my own skin? Of course. Then, once I escaped, I'd get them back, teach everyone a lesson, and cause some damage."
"And that, my treacherous friend, is why I won't tell you."
"Fair enough."
Conversation dried up again as we drove further away from the city. Where would he hide them? Why didn't he keep the ashes close so he could keep an eye on them? Why did he keep them in the first place? And how? Yeah, how the bloody hell did he do it? I saw him scoop them up then watched as it all blew away. It wasn't magic. He couldn't do magic, could he? No, so a trick then?
"Okay, spill it, it's driving me nuts," I finally said, unable to contain my need to know.
"What are you talking about?" Ivan squinted through the windshield as the headlights illuminated a short stretch of road. Rain came down heavy in a sudden explosion and
visibility shrank.
"How did you trick us into thinking you let the ashes blow away? I want to know. I need to know."
"Why do you need to know? I have them. But not for long," he said grimly, leaning forward as if that would help him see through the crap weather any better.
"Because it's bugging me. How did you do it?"
"Aha, a magician never reveals his secrets. It was magic. Yes, let's call it magic."
"Bull."
"You don't tell me how you do what you do. I don't explain how being a vampire works. Not that I'm sure how it does, mind you. And shifters, they don't know the ins and outs of that. Why should I tell you how I did my magic?"
"Because it's damn annoying, that's why. And I know for a fact it wasn't magic, not proper magic."
"Oh, and what's proper magic?"
"It's real, that's what it is. Not a trick. What you did was a trick, had to be. So come on, tell me."
"If I tell you, do you promise never to tell another living soul?"
"Scout's honor." I saluted.
"Were you ever a scout?"
"Do I look like I was?"
"No."
"Then that answers your question."
"So scout's honor means nothing?"
"It's just a saying," I snapped, exasperated. "I promise I won't tell."
"Not even if you're tortured? Like, with electrodes clamped to your nuts?"
"Maybe I'd tell then," I admitted. "But I don't think anyone's going to torture me just to discover how you played a trick."
"Or would they? Who knows?" Ivan smiled a devilish smile. He was playing with me. Screwing around. At least he could be calm at a time like this, which boded well for us seeing this through.
"Aw, come on, tell me."
"Why is it so important? What difference does it make?"
"Because I'm a bloody wizard! I'm the one who does magic, not you. You tricked me and it's annoying."
"Then I'm afraid—"
"Yes?" I asked, leaning close like he'd whisper it.
"I'm afraid you'll just have to live with not knowing."
