“Who is it?” She’s craning her upper body in what has to be a painful spiral to get a better look at the screen.
“Well how about that,” I grunt, still not sure what to make of it. I never expected this particular call.
I answer with a mix of trepidation and amusement. The conversation is short and one-sided, and when it’s over I click off and roll out of bed. I have to roll over Lisa in the process, and she gawks at me with an open mouth until I reach back and pull her after me.
Three
An hour later I’m showered and dressed in my cleanest running shoes, well broken-in but still presentable jeans and an emerald green button-up short sleeved shirt, the closest I’ll come to formal dress these days. My life doesn’t lend well to loafers and slacks.
My outfit isn’t lost on Lisa, sitting next to me in the booth at Jack’s Flaps, a 24-hour breakfast joint a few short blocks in from the Bay, far enough inland not to hear the breakers but close enough to smell the salt water. Jack Cohen was born here in town and only left to attend the Culinary Institute of America in New York, only to find that he was naturally ahead of most of the instructors. His confidence validated, he quit after three months, came back home, and unleashed his inborn talent for drool-inducing breakfast foods on the palates and waistbands of his hometown.
All of that talent was natural, I learned to my surprise. No magic involved. I’m thankful for this, because if his food was magically enhanced I wouldn’t be able to savor each mouthful the way I am. Lisa eyes me with a blend of awe and disgust as she watches me cut into a third Belgian waffle, this one with whipped cream and sliced strawberries, and shakes her head.
“You keep that up and you’ll go up a pants size.”
“Don’t worry about that. These things are so light you can practically breathe them.”
“So much for your abs.”
“Couple of crunches and they’ll be as chiseled as ever. Like I said, the only thing holding these down on the plate is the syrup.”
She checks her watch and looks around, now unconcerned with meeting anyone’s gaze. While out in public she wears specially designed contact lenses that cover the lethal iris of her eyes. “He’s late.”
I check mine. One minute until nine. “No, he’s not.” I take a bite and chew as I watch the seconds roll away and the moment the hour officially turns over I point blindly towards the door.
Lisa follows my point. “Damn.”
“Punctuality is a big thing in his family.” I wipe my mouth and wait for him to reach our table.
I’m over the surprise of his phone call by this point, but it’s still curious to see Calvin Reese sitting down across the table from me. He’s about six feet tall even without the boots, about two hundred pounds and not much of it muscle. He carries himself with a forced air of nobility that even strangers can tell is antithetical to his true nature. He’s actually younger than me by almost five years, but his lacquered black hair has already begun to thread with silver. He’s wearing what in his family must be considered slovenly: a black golf shirt, neatly pressed khakis, and polished black hiking boots. Who polishes hiking boots?
While Calvin looks like someone who’d have trouble getting a good seat at the movies he actually represents a fair amount of local influence. The Reeses are one of many families, corporations, clans, flocks, prides, packs, herds, and unions who have settled in Superstition Bay over the last few months, and they’re by far one of the most successful. They made their name around the world as mystical chemists, not born with any magical abilities themselves but supremely talented when it comes to making magical components. For three generations the Reese family has made ingredients for some of the finest spells, potions, and magical powders in the world, and charged accordingly for them.
They’ve also accounted for a lot of my activity lately, at least in part. That’s a separate story.
“Calvin,” I say as he sits down just out of handshake range. It’s a relief. I don’t want to shake his hand, and even though it’d make me feel like a heel I’d turn down the offer of one.
“Ian,” he answers. He regards Lisa with cool disdain. He doesn’t introduce himself.
“I’ve got to get to work,” she says. She pushes herself away from the table and gives me a quick kiss. “Call me later.”
“I will,” I promise. I watch her walk away, both for the pleasure of watching her move and to make Calvin wait for my time. She hates the tan shorts, which do nothing to make her legs look longer but do show off her well-toned calves to great effect. A white polo shirt with the logo of her employer, Freewater Physical Therapy, across the left breast completes the uniform. I’m not the only one whose eyes track her, though Calvin’s eyes stay firm on me. Guess he’s not exactly moved by her shorts, either. Once she’s slipped out the door I allow him my undivided attention.
“This is unexpected,” I say casually. There’s nothing in his posture that suggests immediate trouble, other than his basic presence, but right now I’m not ruling anything out. He’d been half of a quarrel I’d broken up a month ago, and while he hadn’t done anything as melodramatic as vowing eternal revenge there was no mistaking the raw anger in his eye. I’m definitely not the person he’d most like to be sharing breakfast with.
“For me too, I can assure you.”
He fidgets in silence for a moment, giving me my first clue that he’s actually got something serious weighing on his mind but he’s being damned recalcitrant about it. I have to speed up the process.
“Why did you call me, Calvin?”
He catches the arm of a passing waitress and orders coffee. She has a pot in her hands so a moment later he’s sipping from a cup and looking none too thrilled at the quality.
“You’ve stuck your nose in how many of our affairs?” he asks.
It’s a loaded question, and one that opens a lot of doors. I know exactly what he’s talking about, of course. Before his disappearance Remy Danaher had owned a significant chunk of Superstition Bay either through legal or supernatural means. He’d owned land, businesses, and most importantly he’d had his fingers in a great many people’s magical pies. After I’d broken his plans he’d vanished into thin air, leaving a major power vacuum in his absence. Without his influence the town became unstable even by its own standards, and stability is rarely a word used to describe Superstition Bay on a good day.
It’s said that Nature abhors a vacuum, and Supernature agrees. There’s been a lot of squabbling lately as the pieces of the town have been picked, squawked and fought over by the magically inclined citizens of the town and a whole host of newcomers. Too often the disputes have come close to violence, so I’ve been kept busy for a while now. Fortunately for all involved, my negotiating skills (augmented by my well-known association with the Aegis) have kept the fires from burning out of control, at least so far.
Several of those fires were caused by members of the Reese family and the other prominent group to settle here in town: the Gamagori clan. Though the family is rooted in Japan, Sota Gamagori and at least two dozen of his extended family relocated here from their estate in France to take advantage of both the magical and meteorological weather. Much like their rivals, the Reeses, the Gamagori are, by definition, only human. Neither family have any inborn magical abilities, but they’re all skilled artisans.
While the Reeses focus their attention on the esoterica of spellcraft the Gamagori have a matchless talent for gathering ambient magical energy and using it to enchant objects – wands, amulets, fetishes, talismans. Being two similar fish in a fairly limited pond, at least as far as customers who have magic on their minds, the two groups had their share of conflicts when they lived on opposite sides of the world. Being thrown into proximity here in the same town had predictably only served to escalate their conflict. I take a moment to think before I speak.
“It took what, two weeks after the Gamagori arrived for the first scuffle to break out? That one was small and simple, a two-on-two bar brawl. I
wasn’t there for that one, but I heard about it later. A week after that a dispute over the ownership of a downtown store front led to a visit from the fire department. I came in after the fact for that one. I think one of yours and two of theirs got arrested in connection, am I right?”
He nods, his face a stony mask.
“First one I got a call about was your older brother Carter when he got jumped by two of the Gamagori out by the hardware store. The store owner called me when he saw two guys pointing wands at the guy with the double handful of foaming vials. Not the way to keep a low profile. Call that the first time I got involved. I guess it was about two weeks later when one of your cousins greeted one of the Gamagori with a racial slur at a gas station and everyone started chesting up. Blind luck that I was there at the same time, but I managed to keep everyone from accidentally setting a fire by the gas pumps, so I’ll call that number two. That time in the restaurant when your families wound up seated next to each other and I got called in again to break you all up was three. That was the time I knocked you on your ass, remember?”
The look on his face tells me he remembers.
“Then someone from one of your crews watched West Side Story too many times…”
Calvin’s eyes narrow at me.
“… and about twenty of you all met over at the docks down by the Crawl for a good old-fashioned rumble. I really thought I was going to have to shoot someone before everyone got the hint and went home. So, I guess the answer’s four. Four times I’ve had to step in and keep you assholes from killing each other and any innocent people in the area, since for the most part you’re all too damn stupid to keep your beefs out of the public eye.”
“There was actually five,” he says over the rim of his cup. “In between the third and fourth times you mentioned. My father Clive and I were in a real estate office downtown, just about to finalize a deal for a parcel of land. The land contains at least fifty Atakapa Indian graves that aren’t recorded on any survey, and they give off some serious power. We were about to sign the papers when that old bastard Sota Gamagori and his cold-blooded daughter stride in like emperors with a higher offer. We were about to let our frustrations out on them when you walked past the window with your pretty little girlfriend. You never even looked in the window, but after that nobody was willing to throw the first punch.”
“I feel like Batman,” I say. “I never knew I could stop a fight with just my face.”
“I’m not here to feed your ego.”
“Fair enough.” I push my plate away and ease back in my chair, business-face on. “The point’s waiting for you to get to it.”
“I know that with the exception of your pet monster you have no love for us magical folks. You’ve spent your adult life fighting us in one way or another. But I also know that you have a soft spot for helping someone who needs it.”
I hope he feels my gaze in the back of his head. “You call her a pet again and you’ll find out that she’s the nice one in our relationship.”
He doesn’t apologize, but he has the grace to look embarrassed.
“I’m not a fan of most of the Grey, true,” I go on, “but what I really hate is a bully. Most, not all, but most, people with magic use it to get over on people who have none. Even if it’s not in a harmful way, they use or exploit non-magical folk to their own ends. I hate seeing someone victimized by someone with too much power, and that’s all a bully really is. Someone with too damn much power. Now since you’re lowering yourself to talk to me I’m guessing you’re feeling the boot for once and you can’t handle it yourself. Am I right?”
At least a dozen emotions flash across his face before he can pull himself together. “Not me,” he says in a low harsh tone. “My younger sister, Celeste.”
I’ve heard of Celeste, but I’ve never met her, which in itself tells me that she isn’t one of the rowdier members of the family. I’ve heard that she’s college-age but doesn’t go to school and that she’s a staple of the local night life, an eventual train wreck always flitting from one bar or club to the next like a vodka-fueled butterfly. “What’s the matter?”
“She needs help, and I can’t give it to her.”
I turn that one over in my mind for a minute. Something about Calvin and his story rings true. He’s too uncomfortable here with me for it to be anything but the truth. On the other hand, I know there’s more coming. With the resources at his family’s disposal they should be able to handle almost any thorn in the family’s side without anyone’s help, especially from a fellow thorn like me. Calvin’s looking at me, waiting for a reaction that isn’t coming.
“You finally got me interested,” I say. “Tell me more.”
“She’s being held captive,” he says. His mask is crumbling the longer this goes on. Concern has chipped away at the corners of his eyes, and fear has squeezed the blood from his lips.
My surge of interest fades. This is now beyond my limited scope of authority. “Then call the cops. It’s their job to find kidnappers. Ask for Adam Farelli. He’s clued in, somewhat. He’s a good guy. He’ll help you out.”
“I know why that’s your first reaction, but they can’t help her no matter how magic savvy they are. She’s out of their reach.”
“Who would have the balls to hold Clive Reese’s daughter hostage? Oh,” I say, getting it just as I finish speaking. “Never mind, dumb question. It’s Sota Gamagori.”
“No,” he says, his eyes falling. “It’s our father.”
Four
The sunlight streaming in through the shop’s windows seems too bright. I stir the remnants of my breakfast around on my plate, listening to my thoughts. I hate to admit it, but my interest is returning.
“Your father,” I say. “Is he in the habit of kidnapping his own children?”
“He’s in the habit of doing whatever he thinks is necessary to protect us.”
“Kidnapping is protection now? What was she doing that was worse than that?”
He waves off the waiter, who has target lock on his now empty coffee cup. Once he leaves Calvin continues. “Celeste has always been, well, a free spirit. She cares about the family business, of course, but she doesn’t have much patience for the actual business side of it. She’s more comfortable when she’s working on a spell or a potion, and she’s a natural. Father says that generations of working with magic imbued her some of her own.”
“Sounds harmless. Maybe even beneficial. Not everyone has a head for business, but it seems she can still be part of the process.”
“If it were only that it’d be no problem. The problem was her off-duty activities.”
“What kind of activities? I know she’s big on the party scene but that’s not exactly harmful. I’ve never seen her at any of your family rumbles, for instance.”
“She’s only nineteen, Mr. DeLong. She hasn’t learned yet that sometimes your family has to come before your own desires.”
I let out a frustrated breath. “Calvin, if you don’t stop double-talking and get to the damned point I’m going to stab you in the thigh with my fork.”
The sheath of worry his face had been struggling under is wiped away by the rush of anger, but he tamps it down with an effort. “She met someone,” he seethes, “and despite all our efforts she absolutely insists on staying with him regardless of how dangerous it is for all of us.”
I have a flash of insight, and it’s simply too good to be true. “Don’t tell me…”
“Yes. One of them. A Gamagori. Kenta Gamagori.” Then he sees what I’m sure is a very self-satisfied expression on my face and switches gears. “What’s that look for?”
“I had that pegged,” I admit with a smile.
“What are you talking about?”
“You looked like I was peeking at your cards when I mentioned West Side Story. Then when you immediately started talking about the problem being with your sister it wasn’t too big a jump to the conclusion that she’d been getting personal with someone from the other camp.”
“He’s the same age as her, and the two fools are still young enough to actually think that true love overcomes all. Father tried persuading Celeste to break up with him. Then he tried bargaining. Then threatening. Finally, he had her locked up in her room until she came to her senses.”
“And that was?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“So just wait it out. Dads are like that sometimes. Sooner or later he’ll cave in.”
He laughs. “You’ve never met Clive Reese. The only reason she’s still in there is because it’s taken this long for him to make arrangements to send her away.”
“To where?”
“Our home in Colorado. Nobody’s been there for years, and it took him a while to get it fixed up and select the live-in staff, all of whom would obviously be under strict orders not to let her out.”
“Forever?”
“Supposedly only until he’s sure that this infatuation of hers has passed, but likely a little more after. Father is a cautious man, but Celeste is amazingly headstrong. We could be talking years.”
My fingers have been drumming on the table without my permission. I still them. “I just don’t see why you need me. It’s tragic that this is happening to her, but it’s not like she’s in danger.”
“No, not strictly speaking.” He takes a deep breath, bracing himself. “But he is.”
“The boyfriend.”
“Kenta Gamagori.” Calvin looks disgusted at having to speak the name. “I’m pretty sure Father is going to have him killed.”
“Even after he’s shipped Celeste away?”
“Like I said, he’s cautious. He’s thought about making the boy disappear before, he just hasn’t found a way to do it without being blamed. He’ll wait until Celeste is comfortably out of town long enough to take him out of immediate suspicion, then he’ll give the quiet word. He doesn’t like leaving anything to chance, including the possibility that Kenta might find where she is and go mount some stupid rescue attempt like a fairy-tale hero.”
No More Devils: A Visit to Superstition Bay Page 3