by King, R. L.
This situation only got worse when the Evil moved in and took over. Now, the unwitting or the unlucky not only had to worry about being rolled in an alley for their wallets or being shot for witnessing the wrong shady transaction in some dark alleyway, but also about being drained for sustenance by someone who might look like a cop or a kindly grandmother or a small child. Not that they did worry about such things, since the Evil did an admirable job of keeping their heads down and their presence hidden. Aside from the Evil themselves, the Forgotten, and a few mages here and there, no one else even had a clue of what was going on right under their noses.
The driver of the cab Stone and Verity had hailed outside the Obsidian a half-hour ago hadn’t wanted to take them to the address they gave him. “You sure about that, man?” he asked, frowning. “That ain’t a nice area. Not safe, y’know?” He glanced sideways at Verity as if to emphasize his words: what are you doing, taking a young girl to a place like that?
“Just take us there,” Stone said.
“Okay,” he said dubiously. “Just sayin’—you’re lucky the sun’s up. If it was nighttime, you’d have to get yourself another cab.” He pulled out into traffic.
Stone went back over Madame Huan’s words as they turned off the Strip and headed east. “It’s not the sort of place you’d want to go,” she’d said. “The location is dangerous, from what I understand, and the people who frequent the area are more so.”
“Mages?” Stone asked. He had no idea how many genuine mages lived in Vegas, but last time he’d spoken with Trevor Harrison, he’d gotten the impression the number wasn’t high and that most of them worked for him in some capacity or another.
“Some,” she said. “It’s not an individual shop, but more a…small collective. It mostly caters to black magic practitioners, though they’ll deal with anyone who has money. They get a lot of out of town traffic.”
“We’ll be all right,” he assured her. “We’re not staying long.”
“Still,” she’d said, “I wouldn’t advise it. If I have what you need, I can put together a package and have it to you first thing tomorrow morning. Anything I don’t have, I can get in the next day or two.”
“More people might be killed before then,” he said. “We can’t afford to wait. It’s a magic shop. We’re customers. We’ll be careful.”
Now, in the cab, Verity glanced at him, but didn’t say anything.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked her.
She nodded. “I’m good, right? You said so.”
“You are,” he agreed. “Just stick to the script, and we should be fine.” They’d already gone over his plan this morning in the room before they left. It was risky, but mages (punk kids notwithstanding) didn’t generally bother each other as long as everybody stayed civil.
The cab took another right, drove half a block past a series of abandoned shops, and pulled up in front of what looked like a large, defunct supermarket. It was at the back of a vast parking lot containing perhaps a dozen cars, most of them clearly nonfunctional.
“Here’s the place,” the cabbie said, his head swiveling around as he tried to keep everything around them in sight at once. “You sure this is right?”
Stone checked the address again. “I’m sure. Here’s what I want you to do, and there’s a hundred dollars in it over your normal fare and tip if you do it right. Leave us off here and go wherever you like, but come back in a half-hour. If you don’t see us, do the same thing and come back half an hour after that. For every half-hour you have to return, you get another hundred. Got it?”
Even with that financial inducement, the cabdriver didn’t look enthusiastic. But he nodded. “Yeah, okay. But if I come back here twice and you guys still don’t come out, I’m bailin’.”
“Fair enough,” Stone said. He paid the fare and tip with his credit card, and handed over a black hundred-dollar chip. He’d picked up a stack at the Obsidian earlier that morning, and had several of them hidden in various parts of his coat. “There’s the first installment. Half an hour. Don’t be late.”
Verity looked around as the cab rolled off. “This place looks like some kind of postapocalyptic wasteland. I guess I never thought of Vegas having stuff like this.”
Stone nodded. “Stay close,” he said. He pulled himself up to his full height and strode across the gravel- and weed-strewn lot toward the building. His heartbeat quickened—if anyone saw through his façade, he wasn’t sure Verity’s magic alone would be enough to save them. But he’d played this part enough that it was second nature to him. He kept his mind firmly fixed on both Verity and the Forgotten back at the Underground. They were depending on him. He could do this.
Next to him, Verity was doing the same thing. She moved with an easy grace, her face set, her eyes fixed straight ahead. No hesitation, no nervous looking around. She walked like she owned the place, just like he’d instructed her to do.
Sometimes, when he stopped to pay attention, Stone was amazed by the transformation she’d gone through in the last year since they’d found her huddling in a camp with another group of Forgotten, terrified that something was after her and she didn’t know what it was or how to hide from it. Back then, she’d been a frightened teenager with no idea what was wrong with her brain. When he’d taken her on as an apprentice, she’d been grateful for his help in vanquishing her mental issues, uncertain of her own abilities, and willing to follow anything he’d told her to do. With a less scrupulous master, that willingness could have been a recipe for the kind of exploitative relationship that some mages fell into with their charges, and could have done irreparable harm to her.
As she’d grown in power and knowledge, though, their relationship had changed. Now she was a confident young woman, proud of her abilities and how far she’d come. She had no qualms about pushing back when she disagreed with something Stone tried to teach her, or didn’t know the reasons for it. She stood up to him and to her brother, and, Stone had no doubt, to any romantic partners she might find. This time, he’d gotten it right, unlike his disastrous last attempt at taking on an apprentice—the one that had left him wondering if he would ever be fit to do it again.
“You see those two guys behind that car, right?” Verity murmured to him.
“Yes, and the one over there by the dumpster. Just keep walking.”
They’d almost reached the building now. It did indeed look like it had been a supermarket sometime in its distant past—its wide display windows were long gone, replaced by sheets of plywood.
“No graffiti,” Stone observed. That was odd in itself—such huge canvases should have been an irresistible temptation to every tagger in the area.
A bank of doors stretched across the center part of the building, eight in all; however, all but two were blocked from behind with more plywood, boxes, and other stacked items. Of the two that weren’t, one stood open and the other was closed. “Wards?” Stone asked.
Verity paused a moment to look. “Yeah,” she said. “There’s one on the open door. Doesn’t look like much, though.”
This could be a problem. If they’d keyed the wards to only allow the magically talented inside, then Stone’s cover would be blown before they started. Still, that sort of ward was difficult to produce, and beyond the talent of all but the most potent black mages. Kolinsky could do it, he knew—but he doubted any mages of Kolinsky’s caliber hung out at blasted-out supermarkets in the bad ends of Las Vegas. Then again, Kolinsky’s own shop didn’t look much better from the outside.
“Let’s try it,” he said. “You go first.”
She squared her shoulders and stepped through the open doorway. She didn’t disappear, which was a good sign. Stone took a deep breath and followed her.
Nothing happened. He didn’t feel a buzz, and nothing hindered his progress or tried to zap him. “Probably just the magical equivalent of a cowbell on the door,” he sai
d. “Come on.”
Inside, the place no longer resembled anything close to a supermarket. The vast open space had been carefully compartmentalized like some kind of open-air marketplace, with wooden stalls, areas masked off with massive hanging tapestries, and even the occasional plywood cubicle. The area smelled of dust, smoke, and a heavy overlay of incense.
“I think we found Vegas’s Magi-Mart,” Verity observed.
A figure drifted out of one of the stalls a short distance ahead. They couldn’t see it clearly in the dim light, but it looked like a heavy woman dressed in a long, flowing robe or gown of some sort. She made no move to approach them, but simply leaned against the edge of her stall, crossed her arms over her ample chest, and regarded them in silence.
Here goes. Stone strode forward, projecting the confidence he felt when at the height of his power. “Good morning.”
The woman had skin the color of dark chocolate, stark-white hair, and eyes so pale she almost looked blind. “We don’t usually get customers so early,” she said in a lilting African accent. She lowered her arms, revealing a brightly printed caftan.
“Yes, well, we’re only in the area for a short time,” Stone said. “We need a few things, and you came highly recommended.”
The woman looked Stone and Verity up and down, not even trying to disguise the fact that she was using magical sight. Stone hoped his aura, which apparently remained impressive even after the loss of his magic, would fool her into taking him at face value.
“What kind of t’ings?” she asked at last.
Stone looked around. “How does it work here?” he asked. “I’ve never been in a shop like this before.”
“You can look around if you like,” she said. “Not many here now, though. Too early. Tell me what you need. Maybe I can help you, maybe not.”
Stone pulled his list from his coat pocket and handed it over. She held it in her ring-bedecked hand, her gaze flicking back and forth over the lines. Then she looked up at Stone. “These not your standard ritual supplies,” she said. “Whatcha buildin’ with all this?”
Stone smiled. “Now, honestly, you don’t expect us to answer that, do you?”
She chuckled. “You never know,” she said. She looked at the list again. “Gonna cost ya, though. Some of this stuff hard to get.”
“But you’ve got it?” Stone asked.
“Oh, sure. Somewhere.”
“We’re in a bit of a hurry,” he said. “There’s a premium in it for you if you can locate it quickly.” He handed her a twenty-five-dollar chip—a quarter, apparently, in Vegas parlance—from another pocket in his coat. “A deposit, to show we’re here in good faith.”
She took it and squirreled it away in one of the pockets in her caftan. “You go down that way,” she said, pointing down a narrow aisle running through the middle of the space, flanked on both sides by booths and draped tapestries. “Take your first right, and go to the second booth on the left. Talk to Waldo. He maybe can help you.” She handed the list back.
“Thank you,” Stone said, and passed it off to Verity.
The woman nodded toward her. “Who’s the pretty one? She yours?”
“She’s my apprentice,” he said, emphasizing the last word. “She’s the one who needs the supplies. For a—class project.”
“Too bad,” she said. “You might be able to get Waldo to lower his prices, you give him a little alone time with her, ya know?”
He felt rather than saw Verity stiffen next to him. “We’re just here to buy,” Stone said evenly. “Come on, let’s go,” he said to Verity.
They started off down the aisle the woman had indicated, past booths and cubicles draped with colorful fabric and lettered with mystical symbols. Most of them were closed and empty. When they got far enough that the woman wouldn’t hear them, Stone said under his breath, “Still all right?”
“Yeah,” she said, and snorted. “I’d like to see the little perv try anything. My lightning bolts need a little refining.”
“Let’s try to keep things civil,” Stone said.
“I will if he does.”
“That’s all I can ask.”
They continued deeper into the cavernous building, following the woman’s instructions. “Can you read any of these signs?” Verity asked, pointing at one to their right.
“They’re warnings, mostly, and lists of what each place sells. I’d imagine if you look at them magically, you’d see more.”
She tried it, and nodded. “Yeah. Still can’t read it, though.”
“Probably more dire warnings. I wouldn’t mind spending some time here just looking around, but we need to hurry if we don’t want to miss our ride.”
When they made the last turn, things were a bit livelier. Three of the six stalls along both sides of the narrow aisle had lights shining from them. The second on the left, larger than the others, was one of them. As they approached, Stone studied the sign above it. It was fancier than some of the others, and bore the legend Professor Waldo’s Emporium of Oddities written in large, gold text, along with several other brief notations in the strange magical script.
“What’s it say?” Verity whispered.
“He’s got general supplies,” Stone said, “but also some fairly nasty black-magic stuff. And offers…other services. Stay close, and keep your wits about you.”
They stepped inside. Stone didn’t feel any wards this time; likely they’d been deactivated for business hours.
The double-sized stall looked like a cross between a Middle Eastern bazaar booth and something out of a flea market. Tables lined most of the walls, each covered with a different color cloth and arrayed with various items: crystals, books, candles, bottles of all shapes and sizes. A large glass case near the center contained an array of gemstones and jewelry, and a rack off to the side hung with various cloaks and other clothing. Two scantily-clad women lounged on a sofa along the right-side wall, both studying the newcomers with languid interest. Neither spoke.
Verity touched Stone’s arm and pointed. He followed her gaze to another table, set back from the others and draped with a black silk cloth. It was spread with a more grisly selection of objects: everything from what looked like mummified animal body parts to what uncomfortably resembled human bones etched with magical sigils.
A curtain at the back of the stall opened and a man entered. “Good morning, good morning,” he said cheerfully, but his eyes were anything but cheerful. Short, stocky, and balding, he had a bushy mustache and was dressed in a black silk shirt and dove-gray trousers. His gaze quickly took in Stone, and then slid over to examine Verity with more interest. His smile turned to a leer. “And what can my humble shop do for you fine folks today?”
As they had agreed, Verity took point. “I need some supplies for a project I’m working on.”
“Oh, indeed, indeed,” he said, his head bobbing up and down as she spoke. “And what might those be?”
She pulled the list from her pocket and offered it to him, then snatched her hand back as the man’s fingers brushed hers when he took it.
He tittered as if he’d gotten away with something, and leered at her again before bending his head to examine the list. “Hmm…” he said. “Hmmm. Interesting. Interesting indeed. This must be quite a project you’re working on.”
“Do you have the items?” she asked.
“Oh, yes, of course we do.” He looked up again, first at Verity, then at Stone. “Why don’t you come with me into the back and we’ll see what we can find.” He tittered again. “You can leave your…friend…out here.”
Verity glared at him. “I don’t think so. We’re kind of a package deal.”
The man—presumably Waldo—glanced at Stone again. “Oh, really? That’s unfortunate.” Then the smile was back. “But then,” he added, addressing Stone directly, “I’m sure we could find something to interest you as
well.”
He nodded toward the two women on the couch, and both of them flowed gracefully to their feet and glided over. One took hold of Stone’s arm and lounged against him, her eyes full of sensual invitation. “Our…services are top-notch.”
“Thank you, no,” Stone said. He extricated his arm from the woman’s grasp. “Please get the items my apprentice is looking for. We’re in a bit of a hurry.”
“Your apprentice.” The man’s eyebrows rose. “Ah, then it’s you I should be speaking to.” His gaze cut sideways again, toward Verity.
“No,” Stone said. “This is her project. This is part of her training.”
“Yes, of course…her training.” The way he said it, it sounded like something dirty. “All right, then…let me see what I can find. Wait here, please.” He disappeared back through the curtains.
Stone stepped away from the two women, who were still eyeing him with their strange, hopeful expressions. “Thank you,” he told them, “but we’re just here for the supplies.”
They looked disappointed, but slunk back over to the sofa and sat back down like a couple of annoyed cats.
“I need a shower,” Verity muttered under her breath. “Are all black mages that creepy?”
“Just hold it together,” he muttered back. “You’re doing fine. We’ll be out of here before you know it.”
Waldo—if he was in fact Waldo—took his time returning. By the time he came back carrying an oversized black tote bag in one hand and a metal cauldron the size of a football helmet in the other, they only had ten minutes left in the thirty before the cab would return. “Here we are, here we are,” he said. He waved his hand and a folding table flew away from the wall, unfolded itself, and settled on the floor. He pulled a black silk cloth from the bag, spread it over the table, then set the bag down and began pulling the items out.