“Tomorrow,” Ty said, getting up and turning off his tablet, “we go get ourselves a sorcerer too.”
Chapter Seven
THE SORCERER LIVED in a basement.
It wasn’t even a quaint, turn-of-the-century house basement. Dank and run-down, it was a subterranean apartment in a Mission District tenement, with a separate back entrance that opened to a narrow alley. Ty lead the way down the scuffed stone staircase and knocked on the door, while Cary braced himself against the smell of mold and wondered why the hell all these supposedly powerful people lived in such shoddy conditions.
On the third knock, the door opened, seemingly on its own accord, and Cary followed Ty into what appeared to be essentially a dark cave. Inside, there was a strong smell of perfumed smoke—most likely some kind of sweet wooden incense, but he wasn’t sure. It made his nose itch, though the scent wasn’t unpleasant.
It was a single room, its walls covered in tapestries and heavy velvet curtains. It created an illusion of shabby opulence, enhanced by a collection of antique furniture and silk-covered sofas, illuminated only by sparsely placed table lamps. If one looked closely, it became apparent that everything was in a state of mild disrepair. There were nicks and scratches on the wood, and the silk was threadbare in places. But the overall effect was still incongruous with the decrepit urban landscape directly above.
A man was lounging on one of the sofas, wearing a brocade dressing gown. Like everything else in the room, it had seen better days. He motioned for them to sit with a broad, imperious gesture. His skin was ivory-pale, his eyes an almost translucent blue. Long black hair and sharp red-lacquered nails completed the look, which was quite striking, overall. Cary had no idea what a sorcerer was supposed to look like, but in his opinion, this guy could pass for a leading man in a fringe theater production of Dracula. He looked around discreetly, but there were no overt magical or occult objects on display anywhere in the room. It looked like a down-on-its-luck antique furniture store more than anything.
“Hi, Bas,” Ty said. He sat down on the other sofa, facing the sorcerer. After a moment’s hesitation, Cary joined him, perching on the edge of the seat. There was a low coffee table between the sofas, covered with a dark red tablecloth. A pitcher and three glasses were arranged on a round etched brass tray, as if their host had been expecting guests.
“This is Sebastian Monroe,” Ty continued, introducing their host, who was staring at Cary with unblinking eyes. “And this is Cary Westfield.”
“Nice to meet you,” Cary said. The intense scrutiny made him uncomfortable, and he couldn’t stop himself from fidgeting.
Sebastian turned to Ty. “Nice to see you back in Frisco, darling. It’s been too long. But I see it’s not a social call. What do you want?”
Subconsciously Cary had expected some sort of an exotic accent, given the odd surroundings, but Sebastian’s speech was no different from what he would hear anywhere around the city.
“I have a lucrative proposal for you,” Ty said, settling more comfortably into the cushions.
“Is it anything like the last one?” Sebastian inquired.
Ty shook his head. “Nothing like that, no. It’s all very conventionally proper this time.”
“He had me crawling around catacombs under Kaposvár,” Sebastian complained, turning his pale eyes to Cary. “Do you know what centuries-old, sealed catacombs smell like, darling? There’s not enough perfume in the world to get rid of the stench.”
Cary had no idea where Kaposvár was, but it had an Old World ring to it, and he wondered if traveling that far and wide was really in Ty’s job description.
“There was no crawling,” Ty said. “And smell aside, that sword you helped me uncover made us both a good deal of money, as I recall. Anyway, do you want to hear more, or not?”
“I’m listening.”
Ty took his time answering. He took out a cigarette from the inner pocket of his jacket and lit it with a snap of his fingers, making Cary jump a little. He didn’t ask permission, but the extra smoke would hardly make a difference with all the incense.
“This time, I have a heavily-staked, high-profile poker game I want you to win.”
“Huh,” Sebastian said. He sat up and poured an amber liquid from the pitcher into the three glasses.
Cary realized both men were stalling. But it was their game, and, not being sure of the rules, he stayed quiet. They seemed like friends, or at least longtime acquaintances, but he knew only too well that business and friendship didn’t always mesh well. He took the proffered glass and tasted the contents gingerly. It was apple juice.
“How heavily staked?” Sebastian asked.
“One hundred thousand entry, five players, and the host is a notorious crime boss.”
Ty had spent nearly all night and a good part of the morning gathering intel on Giordano’s gaming habits. Cary had fallen asleep watching him chain smoke and consume countless cups of awful motel coffee as he talked on the phone—sometimes switching to other languages—and worked on his tablet. But by the time they’d had their bagel breakfast at the coffee shop across from the motel, he had nearly all the information they needed regarding Tony’s monthly weekend Vegas trips, like the one he was planning this Friday. He’d drop in for an evening of poker in a private room with his long-term East Coast buddies, but sometimes they’d invite newcomers (usually wealthy businessmen or influential political figures) to join them for new cash inflow or making useful connections. That created a window of opportunity to insert an outsider into Giordano’s immediate vicinity. The tricky part was getting Tony to select the right person, and making sure that person was up to the job.
The crucial bit would be up to Cary, though. Since Ty couldn’t show his face anywhere Giordano could spot him, Cary would have to be the one to go undercover and extract the amulet—which meant he’d have to pick the man’s pockets while he was sufficiently distracted during the game.
Sebastian stood up and started pacing the room, expertly avoiding the haphazardly arranged furniture. The long hem of his robe trailed behind him like a train.
“Where?”
“The Venetian.”
“Classy.”
Ty shrugged. “I have folks there who owe me a few favors. I can pull some strings to set things up.”
Sebastian made a sound of approval and then gestured vaguely in his direction. “Be that as it may. You are one of my oldest and dearest friends, darling, and I do want to help since you ask so nicely. But what’s in it for me?”
“You get to keep all the winnings.”
The sorcerer halted and squinted at Ty suspiciously. “Now I gotta ask what’s in it for you?”
“The game is just an opportunity. The crime boss in question stole a rare magical object we believe he plans to use during the game—an object that can captivate his companions. We want it back.”
“Now it gets interesting,” Sebastian drawled. “And the catch?”
“The mark might have a sorceress there to help him wield it. And maybe some other practitioner we don’t know about. He also has a ring that makes him immune to external magic. Which he also stole, if I may add.”
“Yes, I remember that one,” Sebastian said. “So sad for you to lose it, darling. Very sad.” He paused, as if in thought, and then looked from Ty to Cary, and back again.
“You two are fucking,” he said suddenly, apropos of nothing.
Cary nearly choked on his juice. Ty drew on his cigarette and gave Cary a sidelong glance before looking back to Sebastian.
“Can you blame me?” he asked casually.
The offhand compliment was oddly satisfying, and Cary fought to suppress a grin. It wasn’t entirely correct. They’d only done it once, and it wasn’t technically fucking, but it was nice hearing Ty owning up to that. It made him recall the feel of Ty’s solid body, the smoky scent of his skin, the little sounds of pleasure he’d made in the darkness. Cary shifted uncomfortably, hoping his body’s involuntary reaction was
n’t apparent.
“I’m not faulting your taste. I’m faulting his,” Sebastian said, nodding to Cary. “Don’t pretend he can’t do better. But back to the matter at hand. This entire endeavor sounds sufficiently unfeasible. I’m in.”
“Never doubted you for a second, Bas,” Ty said, taking one last puff and putting the cigarette out on the brass tray.
“I accept your terms, then. Shall we seal the deal in blood and semen?” Sebastian looked expectantly at Cary.
“I…what?” Cary said, unsure if he’d heard correctly, and if he had, what exactly it had meant.
“Cut it out, Bas,” Ty said. “Nobody’s impressed with the traditional Fae shit. No touching, and definitely no bodily fluids.”
Sebastian shrugged.
“Oh well, you can’t blame a guy for trying,” he said apologetically and winked at Cary.
“WHAT WAS HE on?” Cary asked as they emerged from the basement into the (comparatively) fresh air after giving Sebastian all the details of Tony Giordano’s Vegas itinerary. The slight chill was welcome after the stifling perfumed warmth of the sorcerer’s abode.
“Bas? He wasn’t high; he’s always like that,” Ty said. He put his hands in his jacket pockets and walked briskly toward the parked car.
“What was all that talk about ‘Fae shit’?” Cary asked, catching up.
Ty sighed. “There are other realities besides our own,” he said. “Realities populated by other creatures. Fae, for example. As a matter of fact, my mentor was a bit of an expert on the Fae. From what I’d gathered, they’re not a very benign folk. But they do place a whole lot of significance on oath keeping and bargaining rituals. Anyway, it was just a joke.”
“Right,” Cary said skeptically. He wasn’t sure if he believed in the existence of magical fairies, but he supposed it was no stranger than some of the other stuff he’d already witnessed with Ty around. He shook his head and went back to the subject.
“How do you know him, exactly? Because I still don’t see how he’s gonna help us.” Magic or not, there was no way this Bas fellow would weasel his way into a private high-roller event at a prestigious venue. He was too much of a weirdo, for one thing, and high stakes meant large amounts of cash. No one at that table would accept checks or antique furniture as collateral. Cary felt dizzy simply thinking about the threshold entry sum.
“Bas is a showman,” Ty said. They got into the car, and Ty pulled into the busy Monday morning traffic. “I’ve known him for years, and I’ve worked with him before. He’s a drama queen, and he likes to play. Not just gambling, but you know…toy with people’s perceptions. He’s a bit kooky sometimes, but he knows what he’s doing.”
“Can he pull a hundred grand out of thin air?”
Ty gave him a look. “Your problem is you’re afraid to think big.”
“That basement sure didn’t look big to me, and you’re not exactly staying at the Hilton,” Cary pointed out peevishly. He was beginning to regret getting entangled in this mess. And he couldn’t afford pouring any more money down the drain. Aside from a few hundred bucks in his cash account, he didn’t have any more funds. Maybe he should rethink the whole cutting his losses thing before it was too late to back out. “Excuse me for worrying about insignificant little details like money.”
“This is why I like working alone,” Ty muttered.
“Well, it isn’t exactly a picnic for me either! Why would you even want to work with me if you don’t bother explaining what it is that we’re working on?”
There was a pause as Ty visibly reined in his annoyance.
“Okay, fine,” he said curtly. “Bas will take care of the money. Don’t let appearances fool you. He’s worth more than he lets on, and he’s willing to shell out some cash if it means he’ll get a chance to have some fun and a fat return on his investment. Besides money, he’s there to create a distraction. Bas can get close to Tony, and if he uses the amulet, he will know. You and me, we’re neither of us sorcerers, and we need some serious magic to tip the odds in our favor.”
“You know, so far, all the sorcerers I’ve met have displayed strong criminal tendencies. It’s almost as if having unlimited power makes you disregard the law or something,” Cary said.
Ty shrugged. “Oh, you know. Things have a way of catching up with you,” he said with a wry smile.
“No shit. Those things are usually called ‘cops’.”
Ty snorted. He glanced at Cary, and then reached over and opened the glove compartment. He shuffled around in there, eyes still on the road, and finally fished out a silver quarter, which he tossed to Cary.
“Here, try this,” he said. “You’re used to performing magic tricks, so this should be relatively easy for you.”
The shiny coin caught the sunlight as Cary flipped it around his fingers. He knew enough parlor tricks, but those relied purely on dexterity. “Is this another magical artifact? What does it do?”
“It’s a magic coin. It lands on the side of your choosing,” Ty said, his attention on the surrounding traffic. “Now, remember—your mistake in handling the amulet was that you allowed it to draw energy from you. And that’s very dangerous. A thing like that could easily tap you dry. You’re not supposed to act as a source, but as a conduit. The energy is all around us. All you have to do is let it pass through you into the artifact. Even people with little to no magic talent can use them, but it’s risky. A common can only serve as the source of the energy, with no ability to channel it from elsewhere. It’s like using a sniper rifle—even a person who’s never held a gun in their life can shoot it, but only a sniper can hit a mark from a thousand feet. Magic works better if you’re attuned to it, and if you know what the object in your hand is supposed to do when used right. That thing,” he nodded at the coin, “doesn’t require a whole lot of energy to operate, unlike your medallion. Just focus on it, let the energy flow through you and don’t overexert yourself.”
Cary tossed the coin and caught it on the back of his hand. It landed on heads. It looked like any other quarter, and once again, he wondered if Ty was having a laugh at his expense. He could go on and on about magic, artifacts, and flowing energy, but Cary wasn’t a magician, or a sorcerer, or whatever the right term was. Not a real one. He stuffed the coin in his jeans pocket and returned to staring out of the window.
“What got you so upset this morning? You’ve been on edge ever since we left the motel.”
Cary wasn’t sure he liked Ty being able to tell he was upset. He thought he did quite a good job at pretending he wasn’t.
“I got a call from the theater while you were busy,” he said. “They want to hold me to my contract. Five more shows, otherwise I’ll have to pay a penalty.”
“We got a few more days of preparations,” Ty said. They stopped at a red light, and he looked at Cary. “You can still make it, and get on with the gig after we get back.”
“Get real,” Cary said. “I can’t really do this without the amulet. I mean, I could, but nobody is gonna want to come see it.”
All he could do was rehash the old illusions he’d learned from his granddad, since the magic that had attracted the crowds wasn’t his own. As good as he might have been on stage, no one would come simply to watch him do card tricks and pull twenty-dollar bills out of oranges. It would take him years to work on his act and get to the same level of success, if he was lucky.
“We’ll just have to get it back, won’t we?” he said without much hope.
Ty said nothing, concentrating on his driving again. He glanced in the rearview mirror and frowned, and then took a random left turn.
“What’s wrong?”
“I think that car is following us.”
Cary twisted in his seat to get a better look. “Which one?”
“The white Honda.”
The car in question didn’t look at all suspicious to Cary’s eyes. He couldn’t make out the driver’s face, as he was wearing sunglasses, but it was definitely a man in some sort of a dark blue
parka. A few moments later, the car shifted lanes, indicating a right turn while they continued onward.
“I don’t think it was anything,” Cary said, turning back around.
The only one who’d potentially have any interest in their whereabouts was Tony Giordano, and Cary seriously doubted the mafioso would bother with a tail when he could simply order their legs to be broken if he considered them to be any kind of a threat.
Ty huffed noncommittally, but Cary could tell he wasn’t convinced by the way he kept checking the mirror. They didn’t see the white sedan again, and the rest of the way back to the motel was spent in silence, with both of them preoccupied with their own thoughts.
Chapter Eight
IT WAS JUST the two of them driving to Las Vegas. They’d decided Sebastian would arrive by plane. A limousine service had been arranged to pick him up at the terminal, true to his cover as a wealthy businessman coming to unwind and have a bit of fun at the poker tables.
Cary was quiet for most of the drive. Ty thought he’d have more questions, being plunged as he was into a world he hadn’t known existed merely days ago. But Cary had said nothing. Maybe he was preoccupied with the dismal state of his finances, or worried about the potential outcome of their little adventure. Either way, his bad mood seemed to persist.
Usually, Ty would have been fine with the lack of meaningless chitchat, but he found the silence oppressing. Besides, he was kind of surprised to realize he actually wanted to know more about Cary, beyond the basic facts his recon research had yielded. He still didn’t know any of the important stuff, like why Cary had decided to become a performer. Everything in his records indicated a deep rift between him and his magician grandfather (of whose existence Ty had been aware, even if Cary thought otherwise), so why would he choose to follow in his footsteps? If Ty had to venture a guess, he’d say it was Cary’s inherent affinity to magic that was partially responsible. Cary, much like his late grandfather, couldn’t help but be drawn to it, like a moth to a flame. A flame that, in this case, he couldn’t even see, that he had no idea was even there.
A Touch of Magic Page 6
