City of Broken Magic

by Mirah Bolender

  “Is there a place or an object in here that you don’t like? Something you want to avoid.”

  “My apologies, but I’m not among the kitchen staff. I’m not familiar with this area,” mumbled the servant.

  “I’m not asking the kitchen staff, I’m asking you.” It sounded a lot like what Mary said earlier, but Clae’s voice held no irritation. He sounded genuinely interested. “You don’t need to have any reason for it. If anything, irrational fear sounds just like the thing we’re looking for.”

  The servant continued to look dubious. “Again, I don’t know this area.”

  “Then walk around it. If there’s anything, tell me.”

  The servant took a step to the side and paused. He stared at Clae as if gauging his honesty, then began to walk. As he wove into the crowd, Laura muttered, “What’s going on?”

  Clae leaned down and whispered, “Once upon a time there were people who could use magic. Not like witches, none of that nonsense, but honest, innate magic. And once upon a time other people started to attack and abuse them, so they fled into the wilderness. In the wilds they met the monsters we fight today, and they lived generations with this predator. Their magic hones their instinct, and instinct says where not to go.”

  “So you’re saying,” Laura murmured, eyes tracking the servant’s progress, “that he’ll pick up on the presence of a broken amulet?”

  “If there’s an infestation he’ll avoid it and hate it, even if he doesn’t know why.”

  “You know a lot about this urban legend.”

  “Of course. Got it straight from the horse’s mouth.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing you’d be interested in.”

  Laura wanted to say that yes, she was interested, but the servant walked up to them again. He made it all the way around the room in record time, without so much as brushing against the maids. Laura was quietly impressed.

  “Well?” Clae prompted.

  The servant was silent for a while, watching them reproachfully. “I don’t like this house.”

  “The whole house?” Clae paused, then asked, “Is that a dislike or a fear?”

  The servant kept his mouth shut. Clae glanced at the cook, who was watching out of the corner of her eye, and leaned closer. “It’s different, isn’t it? The dislike and the fear. What makes you afraid? What, specifically, do you hate?”

  The servant didn’t answer for a while. Laura was convinced he was done talking, but then he sighed, “The refrigerator.”

  “Refrigerator,” Clae echoed, and he gestured for Laura to follow.

  The refrigerator was a converted icebox built into the wall: a big white door with no decoration save for the large silver handle and lock. The servant trailed after them but halted a few feet away. Clae ran his hand over the door, eyes flicking from top to bottom to lock. Laura walked up beside him and held up her amulet. She felt no pull, and frowned.

  “I’m not getting anything.”

  “Maybe they set up a countermeasure,” Clae mused. “Or maybe the refrigerator itself is messing with it.”

  “So what are we going to do?”

  “Open it up, of course.” Clae turned around and started shooing the maids away. “Women, back. I said back up. Get out of this area.”

  Laura assisted him by nudging a few more disgruntled maids away, and soon the entire area between them and the table was empty. The cook squeezed to the front of the crowd.

  “What is it now?” she demanded.

  “You may have an infestation in here. Best to keep a distance if you don’t know what you’re dealing with,” Clae informed her.

  “An infest—You can’t be serious.”

  “I am entirely serious.”

  The cook turned her glare on the servant and growled, “What kind of bullshit story did you feed them, you little—”

  “Hey!” Laura interjected. “He might’ve just saved your life by pointing this out!”

  The cook scoffed. The servant didn’t seem surprised by the hostility or grateful for the interference. He watched dully as Clae reached for the refrigerator handle.

  “Laura, Egg.”

  Laura pulled one out. Clae set down the briefcase. His freed hand disappeared under his coat, presumably gone to the gun holster on his belt. He glanced back at Laura and she flashed a smile.

  Satisfied, he unlocked the refrigerator and yanked it open. It was done lightning quick, and almost immediately he was a few steps back, gun raised. The maids scrambled back farther; apparently his speed spooked them. But it didn’t look like there was any reason to panic. The door made a loud, unhappy screech on its hinges as it slowly swung open the rest of the way and bumped against the wall. Otherwise it was dead silent. The servant drew farther away, practically plastering himself against the table.

  Clae took a few small steps closer, and when nothing happened, sped up. He edged around it, pointing his gun at the cold foods inside. It was mostly dark and Laura couldn’t see much of anything, just part of a bowl with something draped over it.

  “Well?” she called.

  Clae lowered his gun, stance relaxing as he looked back.

  “Do you have a set of tongs?”

  “Tongs?” the cook repeated, bewildered.

  “Yes. Get some.”

  There was a slight pause before all the maids rushed away in search of tongs. Laura didn’t sense much urgency in Clae’s stance, so she approached.

  “Does that mean something’s in there?”

  He set hands on her shoulders and guided her in front of him. “It’s in the back corner. On the left. Hard to make out, but there.”

  She squinted. For the longest time she couldn’t see anything in that corner, but then there was a small wink of red. She inhaled sharply.

  “How big?”

  “Not very. Look, I’m going to reach in there and pull it out. You douse it with kin.”

  Behind them someone managed to get ahold of some tongs. There was a scuffle as the maids squabbled over who would hand it over. Somehow they forced it onto the servant, and he slinked forward with a sour expression. Clae grabbed the tongs from him without a word, and he hurried back to the crowd.

  After testing that they worked right, Clae went up to the refrigerator and stuck the tongs inside. Laura shook the Egg as she waited, fidgeting. There was a clinking noise as Clae fished around, and he backed up. As he got clear and turned, Laura could see the amulet.

  It was four inches tall and an inch thick, rounded; she couldn’t tell any other details, as the infestation happened to be oozing all over it. At the touch of light the little monster began to quake, tightening its grip on the amulet and thinning down as if that would make it invisible.

  Clae set it down on the floor and hissed, “Quickly!”

  Laura dropped to her knees and cracked the Egg on the floor. The fractured glass began to drip right away, but she held it over the amulet and used the nail of her thumb to open the crack wider. Kin liquid poured out onto the creature. Immediately it let out a shriek, and the amulet wobbled precariously. It wasn’t a very big creature, and the kin was already burning it away. The creature’s surface spat and boiled like hot water; thin blackness wafted from its injured form.

  Laura watched this with some relief, which quickly turned to horror as it jerked hard enough to tilt the amulet. Blackness surged out from under glittering kin. A tangle of burning tarry arms swelled up to whip at the tile. One caught Laura’s belt hard enough to knock her off-kilter. It curled about to get a grip, but she scurried away before it properly identified her. Clae pulled out his gun and aimed a bullet at the arms closest to her. It missed, but the resulting bang and flash was enough to cause the limbs to jerk backward. The maids shrieked and scattered. Laura pulled out her second Egg and lifted it so Clae could see.

  “Where’s the best place for this?” she called.

  Clae let out a grunt as he circled closer. “Keep that ready and stay out of reach. We nee
d to cram it back in first.”

  He doubled over to avoid one of the tendrils; it crashed into the table behind him, causing everything atop it to rattle. By doing that, the creature seemed to reveal a soft spot. Clae raised his gun again and concentrated his fire on the amulet. The central mass had overshadowed its root amulet completely; it jolted back at the force of the bullet, and its arms squirmed back for protection. More bullets made it tumble, flash after flash chasing it to the corner by the refrigerator door. Darkness swelled and smoked there, convulsing at each blow.

  “Get it while it’s pinned,” said Clae.

  Laura cracked the Egg against her amulet and tossed it. The bubbling liquid glowed as it flipped through the air, and landed dead center. As soon as it hit the monster, glass shattered and kin surged out. The monster screeched as it burned away.

  Laura used one hand to yank up her bandana to cover the lower half of her face, just in time. The creature squealed and let out the same dark wave as the last one. While on a much smaller scale, it carried the same stench. Laura caught a whiff of it. She was glad she hadn’t eaten that soup or it would probably be coming back up. Behind them two maids collapsed in a dead faint.

  “What was that?” the cook choked, eyes watering.

  “Defense mechanism. It’s just a smell,” Clae explained, slightly muffled by his own bandana.

  Hacking and coughing, the cook stumbled closer to get a better view of their work. She looked even more troubled.

  “That’s not one of ours.”

  The amulet was a little carved totem pole. There weren’t any protruding pieces, but it was brightly colored. The paint was extra vivid against the smear of black left on the floor and wall. Clae scooped it up.

  “The ones we use in the kitchen are white. They look like seashells.”

  Laura leaned in to get a better look at it. “I guess Mary was right?”

  Clae hummed. He glanced over to the crowd of maids. “Anywhere else that felt like this? And don’t lie.”

  The servant looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. He shook his head quickly.

  “You’re sure?”

  “There’s none I know of.”

  Clae nodded and pocketed the amulet. “Good. Laura, come on.”

  He hefted up his briefcase again and strode toward the door. Laura followed Clae down the hall. He was quiet, and he looked contemplative.

  “Since we found one, does that mean this job is finished?” she asked.

  “Where there’s one there might be more.”

  “Your gray-eyed buddy said he didn’t feel any others.”

  “He said he hated this house.”

  “So?”

  “If he hates it and now realizes it’s in danger, what’s stopping him from ‘forgetting’ and allowing this place to be destroyed?”

  Laura’s step faltered. “That’s kind of extreme, isn’t it? Besides, he’d die too.”

  “Maybe that doesn’t matter. You know, when Magi are out in the world on their own, it’s not usually because they want to be.”

  “So he’d lie about this.”

  “There’s a chance.” His eyes were pensive. As he walked, the hand in his pocket opened and closed his pocket watch in a slow series of sharp clicks. “Not everyone has a perfect life, certainly not a perfect family. When it gets bad it can drive you to lengths other people can’t understand.”

  Somehow she got the idea that wasn’t just about the servant.

  “Besides,” Clae continued, “I recognize the amulet. It’s definitely a mobster job. The Mad Dogs, specifically.”

  Laura sucked in a breath. The Mad Dogs were notoriously bloodthirsty, but they tended to operate only in the lower Quarters. “How would you recognize it? Is there a signature?”

  “Nothing like that. This amulet was stolen out of the Sweeper stores decades ago. The ex-apprentice who did the deed works as one of the mobster Sweepers now. They probably stored it to fester. Must’ve recycled it a few times by now, of course. That new infestation was pitiful.”

  He’d mentioned before that the mobs had something of a Sweeper force of their own, but she’d never thought there was any crossover. The knowledge weighed like a dark cloud.

  “Can we report this ex-apprentice to the police?” she asked. “If we could catch him—”

  “Say that again and actually think about it. Let’s report a mobster.”

  Dangerous, for one, and also useless. There were plenty of mobsters whose identity had been revealed in the press but remained at large. Many arrests were attempted. Very few succeeded. Most ended bloody. With the MARU defunct it wasn’t like there was power enough to do anything with the mobs.

  “Then what can we do?”

  “Not much beyond dismantle any bombs. As much as the city likes to pretend, we’re not the MARU. We can’t afford to run after a pack of murderers. Focus on the here and now.”

  They searched the rest of the mansion. Many more oddly placed passageways and vent covers were discovered, along with more amulets and a room full of taxidermy animals where Laura found a canir; it looked menacing even when dead, and Laura was only the height of its shoulder. There was nothing out of the ordinary beyond that.

  They wound up back in the main entryway, looking down at the door from the second floor. It was close to three thirty.

  “Where do we find Mary?” Laura sighed. “I think we can safely say we’ve checked all those nooks and crannies.”

  “God knows.” Clae sounded disgruntled. He ran out of patience somewhere around the taxidermy room. “Someone’s bound to come through here eventu—Hey!”

  He sprang forward to lean over the rail. On the first floor a maid with a duster shrieked in surprise.

  “Who’s there?” she cried.

  “Where’s Mary Sullivan?” Clae called.

  The maid looked around wildly. For some reason she didn’t think to look up. “I-I’m warning you, don’t threaten me—”

  “Oh for god’s sake, just tell me where the woman is and get going!”

  The maid squealed at the tone and covered her head in fear. “The parlor!” she wailed.

  “Then go get her!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  The maid dashed out of sight.

  “Look at her go,” Laura remarked, impressed by her speed. “I wonder who she thought you were?”

  “As if I care. Come on, she’ll probably come by sooner than later.”

  They took their time descending the stairs, and were nearing the bottom step when Mary walked in. Her expression went from haughty to exasperated at the sight of them.

  “So it was you,” she grouched. “Do you enjoy scaring young girls so they think an evil spirit is talking to them?”

  “Is that what she thought I was?” Clae sounded completely uninterested.

  Mary sighed and massaged her temples. “Forget it. Did you find anything?”

  “We did.”

  Her head jerked up in surprise, and Clae pulled the amulet out of his pocket.

  “This was sitting in the refrigerator in the kitchen. Your chef confirmed it’s not one of yours. We got rid of the creature that was inside.”

  “But where did it come from?” gasped Mary. “I mean, who—”

  “That’s not my job. I told you, terriers. Call the police already.”

  “Is there any way to prevent more from getting in? To stop this from happening again?” asked Mary, sounding desperate.

  A muscle jumped in Clae’s cheek. The truest response was that it was impossible to stop the spread—wouldn’t other cities have figured that out and created the grand utopia Amicae painted itself to be?—but Clae chose the next option.

  “Stop the source. You want the Mad Dogs to stop lobbing monsters into your house? Have Daddy-in-Law stop pissing them off.”

  “The Mad Dogs?” The mention otherwise shocked her into silence. It took a moment for her to recover and say, “There’s nothing else we can do?”

  “Absolutely nothin
g.” Clae pocketed the amulet again. “And now there’s the matter of payment.”

  “Yes.” Mary folded her hands together and schooled her face into neutrality. “Did you find something, or will I be supporting you?”

  “Oh, I found something.”

  Laura eyed him with surprise. She hadn’t noticed him mention or linger over anything. What he might’ve wanted, she had no idea. She was sad there wouldn’t be a pay raise, though. Sweeper pay was decent as it was, but not quite enough for her to be confident buying that new apartment.

  “What is it, then?”

  “That servant of yours. You know, the one with the gray eyes. He’s got hair about this long.”

  Clae gestured somewhere around his waist, but neither of the others said anything. They were too busy staring at him in incredulity. A person? He was asking for a person? Amicae hadn’t dealt with slaves in near one hundred fifty years; people couldn’t just be traded around like that.

  “Are you serious?” Laura laughed uncertainly.

  “Completely.” Clae kept his eyes on the other woman. “You said anything, and I want him.”

  Mary was nervous. It didn’t take a genius to know, since she made no good effort to hide it. She wrung her hands in distress, avoiding eye contact. “Are you sure there isn’t anything else? A vase, a chair…”

  “No.”

  She fretted even more. “He’s not really mine to give.”

  “That didn’t stop you before. You were willing to give me anything of your father-in-law’s, even his favorite chair.”

  “But that’s a chair, not a person.”

  “Anything. A body is a thing. A person’s a body, so it counts.”

  Flawed logic. Definitely flawed logic. The ridiculousness of it made Laura want to smack him. She wanted to smack them both, because this conversation shouldn’t even have happened.

  “Are you trying to argue with slave logic?” Mary squawked.

  “He wouldn’t even be here if you weren’t keeping him like a slave.”

  “For your information, the Sullivans have been nothing but kind to that boy!” cried Mary, puffing herself up. “They took him in as a child, fed him, clothed him—”

  “Abused him.” When Mary faltered, he hissed, “Did you think it wasn’t obvious?”