The Goon revved the engine and did a quick U-turn, spinning gravel into the trees. When he spoke again, the earlier anger was missing, replaced by cold intention.
"You ever do that again, I'll make you and your family pay for your mistakes," said the Goon. "Do you understand me?"
"Yes, sir."
The Goon said nothing more the rest of the trip. He dropped Zayn off up the road from the Stack, handing him a roll of bills.
"See you tomorrow," he said before driving away.
Bewildered, Zayn didn't move for the next minute. Then he counted the money, finding four hundred dollars in twenty-dollar bills. There was no way his parents would believe he earned that kind of money doing odd jobs around town, so he decided he'd run by Aunt Lydia's trailer first and give her half. She hadn't spoken to his mother since Jesse's death, so he didn't think she'd start now. The news that he was working for the Goon was safe for now, though eventually he'd have to figure out how to tell them.
Chapter Nineteen
Uncle Larice's Bodega, February 2014
Merlot diplomacy
The doorbell rattled while Zayn was sitting behind the counter in the bodega, Peter Tosh playing lightly on the speakers behind him. The sounds of tires cutting through the icy slush on the streets grew loud before being muted.
"Mrs. Kettle, how was your trip to Tokyo?" he asked.
She slipped her leather gloves off, one at a time, tugging from the tips of the fingers. "Mildly successful," she said, looking a little weary. "I'll be going back in a few weeks to finish the deal. We're selling a new line of enchanted beauty products, but we're stuck on the finer points of who pays for the logistics and port fees."
She looked up, her pinched consternation turning to surprised relief. "But you don't care a bit about boring business deals. How is your uncle doing?"
"Better, he's responding to the treatments," said Zayn. "And for the record, I do care about boring business deals. I don't intend to work in my uncle's bodega for the rest of my life. I could learn a thing or one hundred from you."
Mrs. Kettle gave him an appraising look. "Well, I'm exhausted today, but maybe later this week I can stop by and regale you about patent law and the logistical nightmare of shipping products with an expiration date. It's not as interesting as what the researchers do, but it's just as important."
"That would be solid of you, respect," said Zayn.
He reached under the counter and pulled out a velveteen drawstring bag in the general shape of a wine bottle.
"This is for you, ma'am."
"For me?" she said, holding a manicured hand to her chest. "I don't understand."
"You said you liked merlot, so I found a nice bottle for you. If you like it, we can stock some," he said, watching her reaction carefully.
When her gaze fell upon the label, a little hiss of surprise slipped out.
"Chateau de Chevalier 2008," she said with a perfect French accent. "A Bordeaux? How did you...? Oh, it's divine." She hugged the bottle to her chest, a feralness to her grin. "How much do I owe you?"
"Nothing, ma'am." He winked. "First one's free. Want to make sure you like it."
After purchasing a few other items, Mrs. Kettle left, looking absolutely possessive about her new bottle of wine. What she didn't know was that it had a mild suggestive in it.
During the next two hours, he gave out three more gifts—a package of Lindt dark chocolate bars to Ms. Gonzalez to feed her sweet tooth, a special razor for Mr. Vonla's wiry beard, and tickets to the Raspberry Girls tour for Jenny from the expensive flats. Each gift contained a nearly undetectable enchantment that would make its recipient more suggestible to him. He didn't expect to need it, but it didn't hurt to be prepared either.
During the afternoon lull, Zayn chugged an energy drink—he hadn't slept but a few hours a night for the last week—and put the "Closed" sign on the door.
Using a piece of long string that he'd pre-enchanted, a tablespoon of salt, and a hunk of dark chocolate, Zayn set up a trap in front of the counter. Then he grabbed the final two packages and left the door unlocked.
He jogged three blocks south to the rent-controlled apartment area. By the time he got to the Korean grocery store, his legs were splattered with muddy slush. He knew a spell that would have protected him from the elements, but Zayn the Jamaican wouldn't have known it.
He found Skylar stocking the juice section in back, wearing a New York Islanders hockey jersey with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She wore the frown of a bored retail worker, which probably wasn't an act, especially wearing the least fashionable clothes that he could imagine.
Zayn held his finger to his mouth to signify silence, then pulled a matchbox out of his inside pocket. He struck the match, letting it flare briefly, then blew it out.
As the smoke trailed from the burnt stick, he said, keeping his voice barely above a whisper, "Okay, man. It is safe to talk."
Skylar could barely contain herself. "What's going on?"
"Ji-yeon," he said, using her persona name.
He pulled a baggie from his pocket. He'd found this one in the alley near the bodega. "Have you seen this pattern before?"
Her forehead rumpled with thought.
"Maybe? It looks familiar, like I've seen it before." She shook her head. "No. That's not it. It just looked like something else. Why?"
"Keep an eye out for it."
Skylar sniffed the baggie. "What is it?"
"A drug of some kind. It might give people magical ability, but eventually it turns on them. You know all those weird deaths in the area?" She nodded. "I think this is the cause of it."
"What does this have to do with anything? We need to be focused on getting out of the bottom," she said.
"This is our ticket out of the bottom," he said. "If there's a drug on the streets that creates magic, then this is major. It could change everything. Figuring that out would put us at the top."
Skylar nodded slowly. "But why did you come here, instead of telling me back at the Hold?"
"I think some of the other teams have been spying on us," Zayn lied.
"I'll keep my eyes and ears out," she said.
What he'd said was partially true. He didn't know if the other teams were spying, but if the instructors were then they would be in trouble. He was certain that the instructors knew more about the strange drug that gave people magic abilities than they were letting on, which was why Allgood had told him to stop worrying about it. But he had no plans of doing that. Not only for Academy reasons, but because he didn't want to see anyone else in the ninth ward get hurt.
When Zayn returned to the bodega, the salt was scattered, the piece of chocolate was missing, and the length of enchanted string was shorter than when he'd left it.
Privately amused by what the unsuccessful trap had told him, Zayn cleaned up the mess, flipped the sign to "Open," and moved behind the counter as the late afternoon rush began. Despite the exhaustion that went down to his toes, Zayn felt better than he had in months.
Chapter Twenty
Second Ward, March 2014
Charm school dropout
"Today you're going to practice the art of magic in espionage," said Instructor Pennywhistle, crossing her arms across her electric blue bodysuit.
The rest of the class looked equally dressed up. Before they'd left to travel across town to the second ward, Instructor Pennywhistle had unlocked a new room in the Hold filled with rows and rows of clothes. Skylar had practically fainted in excitement.
Now they stood inside a side room next to a repurposed high school auditorium. Thin panes of glass in the door revealed hundreds of tables with a chair on either side, typically filled with a man on one side and a woman on the other, though some had a male-male pair, or two females. They were congenially chatting, but there was a nervous air to the room.
"That looks like speed dating," said Keelan.
"Right you are," said Instructor Pennywhistle. "Raise your hand if you think magic can be
helpful for espionage."
Twenty-nine students considered the question before slowly raising their hands.
"What might you do to steal information from a diplomat, should you be given the opportunity?" asked Instructor Pennywhistle.
"I would enchant them into giving me the information," said Charla, giving the rest of the class a salacious wink.
"Yes, you could, and then they would know you took it from them, they would file charges with the embassy, which would cause an international incident, and the information would be worthless because they would know you had it," said Instructor Pennywhistle, and Charla's shoulders sank.
"Why would you teach us all these charm and influence spells if we're not supposed to use them?" asked Skylar.
Instructor Pennywhistle smiled at Skylar, then lifted her chin and asked, "Would anyone else care to try?"
There were no takers, until Andrew spoke up. "I would get a hotel room next to theirs and use a dream thief spell to sneak inside their mind while they sleep and get it that way."
"Except most diplomats are trained in the arts of dream fighting. They would likely identify your presence, trap you in the dream, and break your will until you were a gibbering idiot," she said. "Though I suppose that would be an improvement upon the answers I'm being given. Anyone else?"
"For starters, I wouldn't use any magic," said Zayn.
Most of the class looked back at him as if he had defiled the room with his voice.
Instructor Pennywhistle raised an eyebrow. "Explain."
"I would assume that important people understand the power of magic and would prepare accordingly. And even if you could figure out a way around their defenses, there are these rocks I read about that the maetrie use, quazaefs I think they're called, and if you have one in your pocket, you can tell if someone has cast magic on you," he said.
"Those are good points, but they don't explain how you would get the information," she asked.
He hesitated because he hadn't thought through the answer to its conclusion, but the way Instructor Pennywhistle was standing at attention, watching him closely, gave him the encouragement that he was on the right track.
"I...I might..."
Their stares felt hot on his cheeks. What would he do?
Someone muttered, "Country boy," drawing laughter from the rest of the class.
Zayn swallowed hard, trying to loosen his tongue from the roof of his mouth.
"I might find leverage over them. Possibly blackmail them into giving me the information. Maybe something about their family, or something awful they did in their past. Then they would want to hide the fact that I knew it, even from their bosses, so they didn't get in trouble too," said Zayn.
He knew he'd said the right thing when a tiny curl of a smile caught the corner of Instructor Pennywhistle's lips. He was the only one to see it because she returned to her studious mask once everyone looked back to her.
"For once, Zayn is right," said Instructor Pennywhistle, "though I wouldn't go so far as use blackmail. Too crude, and usually backfires. Better to find reasons for the target to give you the information freely, because they want you to have it. Now watch as I convince one of you to do what I want."
With everyone's eyes on her, she strolled across the front, curling around where Eddie was standing. As she moved closer, he stood up straighter. She put her hand on the back of his neck, and his face went through contortions of concern and pleasure.
"Instructor...?"
She smiled sweetly at him, showing her teeth, licking her lips. Instructor Pennywhistle whispered to him, lips nearly grazing his ear, sending waves of jealousy through the room. Eddie blushed like the breaking day, pink and red, before glancing at the rest of the class as if he'd forgotten they were watching. He looked back to her with a question on his face, and she nodded slowly.
Eddie shook his head as if he couldn't believe he was about to say what he was going to say. "The eagle has landed, the fat man walks alone."
The class burst into laughter, and Eddie laughed along with them. He looked back to Instructor Pennywhistle for confirmation, but she was standing in front, picking through his wallet. When she pulled a condom packet from the back, the laughter doubled.
"This looks like it's been here a long time," she said with a wink.
"Hey!" said Eddie as he ran up to retrieve his wallet.
"Did anyone see me take his wallet?" she asked, to which no one replied. "I didn't think so. I got you to focus on me, on what I was doing with my lips and face, and while I leaned over to whisper in Eddie's ear, I took his wallet, which he didn't feel because"—she looked to him—"what did I say?"
"Say the eagle has landed, the fat man walks alone, or I put this knife into your back," he said.
"I had no knife, but I kept my fingernail shoved into his lower back and slipped the wallet out while he was focused on the potential for evisceration, all without a breath of magic." She clapped her hands, then held them in front of her. "Now for today's challenge. In that room of a couple of hundred horny twentysomethings are twelve students from the Academy, upperclassmen of course, and none that you've met before, properly disguised and with back stories. As much as you don't know them, they don't know you either. Your task is to figure out who is a fake and who is really here to find a date. If you think you've found one, give the Academy student one of these business cards."
She handed the business cards out. Before they got to Zayn, Vin raised his hand. "But they're blank."
"Exactly," said Instructor Pennywhistle. "You're not here for a date. If the person across from you is an Academy student, then they'll get up and leave with you. If you're wrong, and they look at you like you're an idiot, then you're out, and you have to leave and return here. If they figure out you're an Academy student, then you're out. If anyone detects you using magic, you are also out. There are twelve fakes out there, and twenty-eight of you. Next week's rankings will depend on how well your team does today. Good luck."
The room descended into chattering as each team plotted strategy. Zayn joined his team. The glances from Vin and Skylar that said "you're not going to screw this up too, are you?" were obvious.
"We're going to get this," Zayn said confidently.
"I don't know how you can be cocky," said Vin. "We're still in last place. You know if you hadn't decided to come back, Instructor Allgood was going to give us another member for the team."
"That doesn't matter. Today we're getting out of the bottom," said Zayn. "So going out there looking like our dog just died is not going to get us any dates."
"We're not here for dates," said Vin.
"Of course not, but you can't let them think that," said Zayn.
Exasperated, Vin said, "Let's just go. I want to get this over with."
The others filed out, though Portia gave him a nod before she left. After they were gone, Zayn filled out a profile on the speed dating app, creating an alter ego that he thought would be believable. He was memorizing his information when he realized most the groups had left.
"Shit," he said, hurrying into the auditorium.
There was a quiet hum of conversation, and the room was awash with hormones. Zayn was studying everyone's faces until he remembered he was supposed to be looking for a date. He opened up the app on his phone and started looking through the faces and profiles for clues on who might be an Academy student.
There had to be at least two hundred people in the room, not including Academy first years, which made taking a random guess out of the question. Realizing that he was standing back for far too long, Zayn pressed a couple of faces that seemed interesting and was surprised by a confirmation and a table number.
He found table forty-two on the far side of the auditorium, resisting the urge to study people along the way. A petite girl wearing a tight green dress and too much eyeliner was seated across from him.
He offered his hand, pausing to shape his words correctly and without his Alabama accent. "I'm David William
s. It's lovely to meet you."
"Sarah Overton," she replied, giving a nervous sigh. Her forehead was strained, and she glanced around the room. "This has been more than I expected. Not a place for introverts."
"You're my first date, or meet, or whatever we're supposed to call it," he said, giving what he hoped was an appropriate nervous laugh.
"Are you an introvert or an extrovert?" she asked, studying him intently.
Am I? Or is David Williams? Shit. This is a question I should know right away, which means she's an Academy student, and she knows I am too.
The words careened through his head. "I like to think of myself as an extrovert, but wow, this is a lot. So maybe I'm really an introvert. Today at least."
Feeling as if he'd bungled his answer, he adjusted the collar on his shirt.
"Really?" she asked with her head tilted.
Sensing that he was busted, Zayn reached into his pocket for a blank business card. If he gave it to her before she called him out, then he'd be okay.
"Yeah," he said, holding the card under the table. Should he give it to her? Was he making a mistake?
He shoved the card back into his pocket. "I'm sorry. I'm fibbing a little. You said you were an introvert, and I felt bad that I'm not. I'm definitely an extrovert, but a bad liar."
When her glossy lips broke with a grin, he knew he'd saved it, and that his initial read had been incorrect.
"Thank you for being honest," she said, leaning forward. "I could tell that you're not an introvert. Like right away."
He had a pleasant conversation with Sarah, and then the timer on the table dinged, and he moved on, giving her profile an interested tag. While he was studying the app for his next "date" Keelan walked out of the room with a stunning redhead behind him. She carried a blank card in her slender fingertips and a barely concealed scowl.
And almost as soon as Keelan had left with the Academy student, Eddie got up from his table cursing, bringing the eye of everyone in the room. His date looked bewildered as he marched out. She gave an exaggerated shrug.
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