Magic Street Boogie

by T. R. Cameron

  “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that.” She frowned.

  The detective shrugged. “Whether or not it should exist is above my pay grade. But using it to avoid bloodshed on the streets? Yeah. I don’t have a huge problem with that.”

  “And tracking me accomplishes that?”

  “I didn’t put you into this, Caliste. That was all you. If you’d wanted to stay off the radar, you could have simply let Jarten go.”

  Her lips twisted in a grin. “Jarten who?”

  The other woman laughed. “Well, I’m glad we had this talk. You should consider letting me meet your backup, though. I have good instincts about people.”

  Cali rose and raised an arm to indicate the stairs. “As fun as this conversation has been, I should probably get back to work.” She followed the detective up to the main floor, grabbed a tray, and headed over to take care of her charges. Her glance strayed to the bar as Barton said her goodbyes to Zeb and departed.

  After the urgent needs were addressed, she found a moment to chat with the bartender. He still looked preoccupied. In fact, more so than before she’d headed to the basement with the detective. She frowned. “What’s going on with you today?”

  He shook his head. “I liked the city fine the way she was. The idiots trying to change her are too concerned with their own needs and fail to understand that they’re part of a whole.”

  “They know they’re part of a whole. It’s only that their definition of who that includes is far smaller than ours.”

  “Yes. Which is a recipe for trouble.” The dwarf shook his head. “You be careful. Don’t let the man with the inferior beard get you hurt.”

  “No worries.” She laughed. “I already told him I’ll leave him behind at a moment’s notice.”

  “Good girl.” He grinned but it didn’t reach his eyes. “See that you do.”

  She knew that he knew she wasn’t capable of such a thing, but she nodded and smiled anyway. “Right on, boss.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Zeb locked the door behind Cali and threw the extra bolts that would keep it secure against most humans. A Kilomea might get through but would regret doing so when the defensive wards reacted to the intrusion. Years of practice and exploration had taught him how to craft spells sensitive to the nature of an invader. This allowed him to use deterrents strong enough to affect a larger creature without worrying that they would accidentally kill a smaller one.

  He invoked the tavern’s normal defenses, which glowed in his sight as they came to life. As he always did, he traced them with his eyes to ensure that none had been broken or compromised. They were fine, as expected. A wave extinguished the lights and turned off the warming oven. He carried the heavy half-full pot of stew to the basement and set it down in the middle of the floor. With a two-handed gesture, he telekinetically lifted the crates piled against one wall and floated them out of the way to expose a bare brick surface.

  Unhurried, he placed his hands on two particular protrusions and pushed his magic into them. The wall shifted inward and slid aside. Lights warmed slowly around the large rectangular room beyond as he carried the stew forward and hung it on a hook inside a stone fireplace. A flick of his fingers darted a fireball into the wood beneath, and the resulting blaze immediately started to banish the damp chill.

  It took a great deal of magic to protect this hidden space from a variety of threats. First, from the elements that battered constantly against its boundaries. Second, from magical intrusions by those allies who knew of its existence. And third, from those enemies who might seek to discover it. A complex spell threaded through the walls of the common room above siphoned minuscule traces of arcane power from his patrons to keep the room’s defenses active.

  A round table dominated the center of the chamber, with a couple of feet of clearance all around except at the far end. That portion of the area, a square the width of the room, was reserved for portals. A shimmering barrier that only he knew how to lower enclosed it in all directions to ensure no one could get out of the landing area without his participation. A cupboard stood tall on the wall opposite the fireplace, and he used magic to move bowls, utensils, and cups from it to the places at the table.

  It was large enough to fit ten comfortably but tonight, there were only seven chairs. The representative of the Atlantean gang had declined his invitation as she always did. It was likely for the best this evening, given that her organization, along with the human criminal group, would be the main topics of discussion.

  The Light Elf was the first to arrive. Everything about him was pale, from his light hair to his suede boots. He was the newest member of the gathering, appointed after the previous designee made the decision to return to Oriceran. Zeb waited until his portal vanished, parted the barrier so his guest could step into the main part of the room, and snapped it into place again as soon as he cleared the boundary.

  “Malonne. Thank you for coming.”

  The elf inclined his sharp chin. “Of course. It’s a pleasure to be invited.”

  The dwarf pointed at four casks resting on a deep shelf on the room’s entry wall, which had slid closed again. “Red wine, white wine, hard cider, and soft cider.” His guest took a cup from the table and headed over. His host’s attention was pulled away from watching his selection by the opening of the next portal.

  Ten minutes later, everyone had arrived, filled cups and bowls, and taken their seats. The most senior of them, an elderly white-haired wizard who could often be found holding court in the common room above, nodded toward him. “I’d like to thank Zeb for hosting us, as always.” The others murmured agreement to the formality.

  He continued, “Our main topic of conversation today is, of course, the growing influences of the Zatora and Atlantean gangs in town. They have refused all entreaties to desist. As a collective, we must choose a path forward in the face of this escalating situation.”

  The rules of the group awarded speaking priority by circling the table clockwise. To the wizard’s left was the Light Elf, who declined to speak. The witch beside him, a brunette in a Tulane sweatshirt and faded blue jeans gave her opinion in an unexpectedly raspy voice. “We should band together and wipe them both out. If they’re not with us, we should get them out of our lives.”

  Zeb laughed, as did several others at the table. Delia was always one to pursue the aggressive path. It had long served her well, usually to the benefit of those who followed her. Those who survived the battles she started, anyway.

  The Kilomean male who was next in line shook his giant head. Brukirot’s people tended toward physical labor when in the city but spent the majority of their time in the swamps, surviving off the land. “While we shouldn’t permit them to encroach on those areas we consider ours, as long as they are fighting over human territory, why should we care?”

  Nods and head shakes were offered in response. It was a common question, and those on either side were generally unwilling to cross the line. Zeb took his turn and simply reminded the others that all their livelihoods were tied to those of the humans in the city, however much they might prefer to deny it.

  Next was the Drow, Invel. He walked the boundary between legal and illegal activities with impressive grace and procured and sold items of questionable providence without concern for anything other than the profit to be made. His long straight hair was the color of cold ashes, and his skin was mottled with patches of light among the dark. Zeb suspected he’d faced discrimination from his own kind over that—or over something anyway—because he tended toward open-mindedness where the other species were concerned. His voice was the opposite of Delia’s, smooth and unchallenging. “It seems to me that in the face of these bold moves, we can’t remain neutral. We need to act to maintain stability.” Unspoken but understood was the knowledge that his business flourished best when things were stable and predictable.

  The last person at the table was a gnome. Scoppic was energetic and almost frenetic. His job required him to be qui
et, as he was in charge of maintaining the collections and organizations for all the libraries in the city. Zeb often imagined that his constant motion at the gatherings was the yang to his occupation’s yin. He bounced slightly in his chair and took a deep drink of his cider before he spoke. “We surely must take action of some kind. But to do so requires more information than we possess. We have to gather intelligence on them both. Is there any reason we might not have time to do that before deciding?”

  The wizard, Vizidus, shrugged. “We have far more unknowns than knowns. I believe we must act to deter their expansion, but my friend here is right. We need to find out more, also. I suggest we do both. We can make small moves to corral the spread of their territories while seeking information to guide us in the question of greater involvement. Is this agreeable?”

  There were grumbles, especially from Delia, but ultimately, everyone acquiesced to the plan. The conversation turned to other matters and after an hour, his guests departed, all save Invel, who was wont to stay and chat. Zeb liked the Drow personally and moreover appreciated his thoughtful stance on the various issues the group debated. The Dark Elf tended to view things in economic terms, but that was a useful perspective for many decisions. He limped slightly as he brought two mugs of hard cider back to the table and sat down beside Zeb with a sigh. “So, that went about as well as one could have expected.”

  The dwarf nodded and drank half the cup. “Agreed. Some people simply will never change.”

  “Do you think this situation can end without us all being drawn into the fight?”

  Zeb shrugged. “Only if we choose to hide and let the humans deal with it on their own. And if we do that, which of us is next to be abandoned? The city will only be strong if we are prepared to come together. Talking about ‘they’ and ‘them’ doesn’t make us safer or more stable.”

  Invel nodded and sighed into his drink. “It was easier before the human gangs consolidated and the Atlanteans changed.”

  He laughed. “Well, sure. But remember, chaos is invariably good for people like us, who provide specialized tools for protection and alcohol for celebration or regret.”

  “So declares the most peace-loving of us all.”

  “Always look on the bright side of life, isn’t that what the movie says?”

  The Drow groaned as he rose. “Fantastic. That’s the earworm I needed to make my day complete.” He tapped his feet together and made a small bow. “Until next time, my friend.”

  As he mounted the stage and portaled away, Zeb gave him a wave. Once he was gone, the dwarf sighed. “It’ll get worse before it improves, I think,” he announced to the empty room. “I guess I’d better make sure the wards are topped off.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Now that Fyre had revealed his ability to speak, he wouldn’t shut up. Cali growled irritably. “Would you let me think for a moment, please?” He had expounded on the fact that her apartment was really too small for them and they should spend more time out walking together.

  After a half-hour of wandering, she faced a difficult decision as his nattering had caused her to lose track of time. She could either run home, drop him off, and dash to the dojo for her morning tasks, or bring him along and trust him to behave. They’d agreed she didn’t need to see his dog illusion, so where others saw the boxer, she perceived the Draksa in his natural form. She stopped and stared at him. “Look, if I leave you tied up outside the door of the Aikido studio, can you hang out without causing trouble for a few hours? Otherwise, I’ll have to take you home.”

  He nodded enthusiastically. “Can do, will do, happy to do, most definitely want to do.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re deliberately trying to wreck my sanity, aren’t you? Why would you be like this?”

  His laugh was a strange sound but conveyed the idea of “laughing at” versus “laughing with” really effectively. He was doing the former at the moment but stopped and sat primly. “I would never, ever, do such a thing. You wound me.”

  I swear to heaven, he’s a cat in a dragon’s body. She shook her head and jogged toward the dojo.

  Ikehara Goro was already there when she arrived, seemingly lost in thought as he walked a slow square around the mat. When the door swung shut behind her, he broke from his reverie and smiled. “Caliste, I have been waiting for you.”

  She looked at her watch. “Am I late?”

  He shook his head. “No. As ever, you are on time. Please, come into my office.”

  Cali had never been in the small room at the back of the studio before. It was always closed and presumably locked, although she’d never tried it. Her tasks were clear and specifically did not involve that area. He opened the door and ushered her inside, where an exact copy of his front table filled most of the space and the metal chairs and file cabinets occupied the rest. In silence, he sat behind the open laptop that rested on the table and motioned her to the chair across from him.

  “So, I have not asked too many questions about you before, which makes this somewhat awkward. But I believe this was you. Am I correct?”

  He spun the computer to reveal a high-angle view of her battle with the men in the van outside the dojo. Cold fear swept through her at the sight and the realization that someone she considered one of the rocks in her life might react badly to her actions. They watched the video in silence. When it paused at the end, she swallowed hard against the dryness in her throat. Lying wasn’t an option, not to him. “Yes. It was me. How did you know?”

  The sensei chuckled, spun the laptop into its original position, and lowered the lid. “We have trained together for some time. Did you think I wouldn’t recognize the way you move and the way you fight? Even if I had doubts, how you used the sticks would have eliminated them.”

  She nodded. “I should have realized that. Although I didn’t know you had a camera. Not that it would have made a difference.”

  He gave her a soft smile. “With the increasing pressure from all sides, a security system seemed a smart idea. However, it only comes to me and will be automatically deleted shortly—unless you’d like a copy.”

  Cali laughed and his joke eased her tension somewhat. “No, Sensei. I’m good, thanks.”

  “That’s quite the partner you have.” He raised an eyebrow. “And you are yourself skilled in magic if I followed the battle correctly.”

  “I’m learning. My teacher would say slowly but surely.”

  “The sticks—are they magical? Or do you simply use magic on them?”

  “They have their own magic—transformation and the ability to return to my hand if I will them to.”

  He nodded as if he’d expected the answer. “May I see them?”

  She wasn’t capable of distrusting Ikehara so she stood, pushed the sleeves of her sweatshirt up to show the bracelets, and willed them to turn into weapons. They flowed over her hands and assumed their proper shape. His eyes widened at the sight but he didn’t respond. She flipped the right one and held it out to him, then did the same with the left. He examined them closely and peered along each etched groove as if it had secrets to reveal.

  After several moments, he shook his head. “These are beautiful and weighted perfectly. What are the rings for?”

  Cali smiled. “Touch those ends together.” He complied but nothing happened. She frowned. “Hmm. Maybe they don’t have enough magic.” She touched one with her finger. “Try again.” Once more, the sticks refused to perform. “Huh. I guess when Zeb said they were mine, he really meant they were mine.” She grasped them and pressed the ends together, and they snapped into place and became a single jo staff.

  “Wonderful,” Ikehara whispered and spun it carefully overhead. “Let’s go out onto the mat.” He returned the weapon with a smile that showed no envy, only joy for her good fortune. Her teacher crossed to the wall that held the school’s weapons display and selected his own escrima sticks, then nodded to her. “If you intend to take an active role in the doings of this city, you must train harder,
Caliste.”

  She split her weapon, the process happening automatically at her will, and barked a short laugh. “Yes, that seems to be the general consensus, Sensei.”

  “Excellent. Practice blocking.” He shuffled in and brought his weapons around for slow strikes from every angle. Soon, the speed tripled and she sweated to keep up. He paused, and she recovered her balance. “Good basics but room for improvement. Now, hit me.”

  There was no chance of her meeting that demand, but that wasn’t the point of the exercise. She attacked conservatively and guarded against a counter. At first, he simply deflected the blows. Then, he changed strategies and used blocks angled to impede her following attack. He launched an occasional riposte that required her to dodge out of the way but mainly, he seemed to be testing her. Finally, he stepped back and lowered his sticks to his sides to signal a stop. She panted as sweat dripped from her face.

  “From now on, you come thirty minutes earlier to prepare the space. Then, we spend an hour with the sticks before class begins. Your skills are good, but you have the potential to be far better. When you show progress with them, we’ll add the staff and the sword.”

  She bowed with deep respect. “Thank you, Sensei.”

  He grinned as her gaze lifted. “Wipe your sweat from the mat and prepare for class. You’ll need to eat more and drink more from now on in order to maintain your energy.”

  Cali sighed and decided she needed to make sure Ikehara and Emalia never met one another, or her to-do list would stretch to infinity.

  Given the success of their time at the dojo, she decided she could probably bring the Draksa to the tavern without any undue ruckus. She checked first for the usual issues—could he handle being indoors that long, could he deal with the noise and people, and could he avoid eating the dwarf behind the bar except on command? He grinned throughout, sat primly on her bed, and replied, “I would like nothing more. Your room is boring. Perhaps we can discuss a better one with your owner.”