Bad Seed

by Gareth Vaughn

  Dane had another drink.

  “I’m going to stop you there. It had to be the smoothie. It’s what Ned saw, it’s what the cops are fucking investigating. What are the odds she ate something else before she died that wasn’t also in her car?”

  “Not good.”

  “Exactly. My instinct says it’s the smoothie.”

  Sean sighed loudly and reached for the rice wine.

  “Then I guess we have to go confront the witches again, because I see no alternative. You going to go bragging about how you gave me a rug burn?”

  Dane grinned. He did have the urge to boast. Some witches liked to try seduction tactics—appeal to base instincts or some spiritual shit like that—and he loved flaunting his lack of desire. Informing them he’d spent his no-good Decrypter seed up in some otherwise benign person’s ass where it couldn’t be used to control him, well—Dane found that entertaining.

  “Witches understand possession,” he said. “They respect it.”

  Sean let out a groan of disgust.

  “Look, sometimes they target us. Apparently Decrypters have bad seed or something, they like it for anti-Decrypter spells—”

  “Dane, I’m eating. And don’t tell me whatever the hell ‘bad seed’ means.”

  “It’s tainted, they say, with violence and death. True for all sexual secretions. Good for nasty spells, the rumor goes. Like it’s poisoned.”

  Sean stopped eating abruptly again.

  “It’s the witches,” he blurted. “It’s definitely them.”

  Dane waited for him to be finished with the bottle, then drank while Sean explained.

  “The reason why the murder weapon isn’t matching up is because they didn’t poison Bethany with a liquid or potion for sale through their business—no, that would be too obvious. Too direct a path. But this—this points to them in such a way that it looks like someone was trying to frame them. They used the poison in its original form, I’m guessing apple seeds. Into Bethany’s additive blend, from there to the smoothie, she drinks it, dead. Literally they gave her bad seeds.”

  “Great,” said Dane. “Why are you still frowning?”

  “Because I don’t know how they got the seeds in the mixture, and I really don’t know how it was enough to kill her. I overheard Sandra saying you’d need to eat hundreds of seeds—and not only would hundreds not have fit in a sole smoothie, Ned said there was smoothie left when she died. How did they get that level of concentration?”

  “They’re witches. I don’t give a fuck how they did it. I like your logic. We’ll confront them, get a confession, and I’ll go through the long, annoying process of reporting them and waiting for direction.”

  “Thanks.”

  Dane scraped the last scallion off the bottom of his box. He doubted Sean would be all that pleased about what he’d have to say next.

  “You’re going to need protection.”

  “I brought some. Figured we might have a quickie—”

  “No, asshole, from the witches, not me.”

  “That’s why I have you,” said Sean. He finished his food, too, set aside the empty box, and stared longingly at the bottle as though just remembering he was driving. Dane rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  “On you. When you visit. In case they pull anything. Is there any weapon you know how to use?” At Sean’s blank stare, Dane sighed. “Great. Perfect.”

  “I have you,” said Sean again.

  “Nice try.” Dane was annoyed, but he wasn’t so stupid as to bring someone out into the field with him with no way to defend himself. Not when he was looking to piss off a few witches and get a confession, or a threat, or a threat-confession combo.

  “I trust you.”

  “I don’t. Trust me. Shit, don’t give me that look. Professor—Sean—we’re going to be instigating, as you put it. It’s best if you can take someone on your own. I’m not about to babysit your ass, and you’re going to need a weapon moving forward, too, since I’m not going to follow you around campus or sleep at the foot of your fucking bed every night.”

  Sean looked like Dane had just smacked him. He opened his mouth, shut it again.

  “Your own fault, asshole. When I go through the proper procedure, it takes weeks. A pissed witch could decide to take matters into her own hands anytime in the next two months, and you’re more of a target than I am. Since I can’t be around you all the time, you get a weapon.”

  Sean’s eyes darted toward the gleaming blades on the wall behind Dane, the various silver-coated ropes and other assorted weapons. He looked beyond concerned now, bordering on terrified. Great. Just fucking great. Dane was not looking forward to crash-course teaching him how to use his weapon of choice.

  “I don’t want your hands on mine,” he said.

  Sean blinked at him.

  “You figured out the worst weapon I own is a kitchen knife, right?”

  “Then we’ll get you one. You got a budget for emergencies, you’re a fucking professor, of course you do.”

  Dane stood, crossed to his desk with the rice wine in hand. He accessed the Order database on the tablet and did a search.

  “Buying a lethal weapon is not what my emergency funds are for!” Sean stood. “Dane—where am I even going to get something effective against a witch?”

  “The Order generally has suppliers scattered around. I usually ask them directly to send me shit, but we can visit the nearest one for this.” He paused, pulled up the name and address of the nearest weapons supplier. “Huh. That’s weird. There’s one right in town.”

  “Weird? Good weird or bad weird?”

  “Just weird. She looks like our person, though. Operates out of a garage on the edge of town, gotta have a cover. Are you good to drive yet? Let’s go see what Lynne has for sale.”

  Chapter 21

  He parked near a line of ruined cars, sitting around for parts or scrap or whatever car people did with them. Sean turned off the engine but sat, staring, at the poorly-lit lot, which turned out to be a patch of weedy land next to the actual garage. The sign that read, “Lynne’s,” in dated-looking blue cursive was only lit on one side, which didn’t give him a lot of faith in the place’s ability to fix anything. Dane got out and still he sat.

  “Hey,” said Dane, leaning back down into the car. “You wanna get off your ass any time in the next year?”

  “You going to tell whoever works here we’re fucking?”

  “Bother you if I did?” Dane sounded pleased. He paused, then relented. “No. Now come on.”

  Sean got out, slammed the door, and shoved his hands in his pockets.

  “I don’t want to kill anyone,” he said as he followed Dane to the door.

  “Hopefully that doesn’t come up. Hey, is Lynne here?”

  A worker who couldn’t have been much out of high school looked up and then pointed back to a windowless door. The paint on it was stained and peeling, and the entire garage smelled stale and oily, faint traces of gasoline in the air. Sean was uneasy, but Dane looked like he didn’t care. Of course, he fit right in, tough and tatted and tanned, while Sean…Sean knew he looked very much like a professor even when dressed in jeans and tee.

  “You’re too fucking stiff,” said Dane as he moved up to the door and knocked. “And not in a fuckable way. Relax. You’re fine with self-defense.”

  He looked over and Sean forced himself to nod.

  “Yeah.” In theory. Going over to someone’s home armed and looking for a fight didn’t seem much like self-defense, but he was aware Dane knew what he was talking about.

  After the third knock the door opened and a Hmong woman in her fifties appeared, the smell of old, burned coffee rolling out behind her in a warm gust. She was holding a spear Sean could have sworn was an ancient Greek javelin and she gave him a very suspicious look before turning to Dane.

  “Decrypter down at Crypt Coffee?” she asked, and Dane grinned almost flirtatiously. He had to be caught off guard. She pulled back the door. “Let’s talk
.”

  When Dane stepped through she tried to close the door on Sean.

  “Hey—”

  “We’re here for him,” said Dane.

  She glared at him for a full minute before pulling the door back open for Sean.

  “Thanks,” he muttered, ducking through. Inside was an office that looked, well, like a typical office at a garage. Scuffed floors, old battered desk piled with papers, landline phone, even a crooked cheap calendar on the wall. A pot of old coffee sat slowly burning its flavor away on top of a gray, dinged-up filing cabinet, and the way Dane wrinkled his nose spoke to how offensive he found the beverage.

  The woman locked the door, crossed to the pot, and poured herself a coffee into a business mug with the Lynne’s logo on it.

  “You drink coffee?” she asked, and Sean mumbled a no thanks and looked for a seat.

  “That shit?” asked Dane. “No fucking way. Are you Lynne?”

  Sean winced, but she laughed.

  “Only to the muggles,” she said. “Decrypters call me Javalynne.”

  Sean groaned. Dane shot him a look.

  “What?”

  “That’s a javelin she’s carrying,” he said. The expression on Dane’s face could only be interpreted as astonishment. Lynne, however, seemed to warm up to him considerably at that. At least, the open hostility in her eyes when she looked at him completely vanished.

  “The fuck?” asked Dane, complete question encased in those two words. Sean leaned back in his folding chair and arched a brow at him. Well, sometimes he wasn’t as boring as he appeared.

  “Remember when I said I teach Greek mythology? I dabble in Greek history, too. I can recognize a javelin when I see one. Do you use the amentum?”

  “Only when I go after anything large,” said Javalynne. “Which is never these days.”

  “A what?” asked Dane.

  “Sort of a throwing strap,” said Sean. “Makes it easier to—”

  “You fucking nerd.” Dane paused. “Don’t know what I expected.”

  “I am a professor. Technically amentum is the Latin word for it—the Greek is ankyle—”

  “Feel free to shut up about it.”

  Javalynne tapped the floor with her javelin and they both looked over at her. She picked up her mug, had another drink, and gestured to Dane with it.

  “Explain why you’re here.”

  “Obvious, isn’t it?” asked Dane. “Here for weapons. You’re in the Order database.”

  “And the nerd?”

  “They’re for him.”

  Javalynne shook her head, not looking pleased with that sort of answer. Sean swallowed. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, really—he wasn’t a Decrypter like Dane, not part of this world, and now that he thought about it, there was a good chance she’d decide to report him if Dane wouldn’t. Sean could get his mind wiped anyway. Any ease he’d felt from lapsing into his interests vanished.

  “I’m not supposed to sell to anyone not in the Order, you know that.”

  “Oh, come on,” said Dane, shoving his hands in his pockets. “He’s been helping me out and I don’t wanna get him killed.”

  Javalynne laughed.

  “You expect that to mean anything? Normally nobody brings around any non-member they’re not screwing.” She eyed Sean and he felt even worse. “The Order doesn’t do protection for lovers. Gets too messy. Distracts you.”

  “You think I’m fucking him? I’m training him.”

  “Without authority? I’m not buying that.”

  “Look, it’s fine,” said Sean, standing. If this got him a visit from the Order, he’d fucking kill Dane. “I don’t need—”

  “You do,” said Dane. “You got any more of those Greek javelins?”

  “I can’t carry a javelin around campus.”

  “Why not? It’s for authenticity in your classroom, schools love shit like that.”

  “The college does not love shit like that,” said Sean. “They don’t allow me to concealed carry, either.”

  “Thought anyone could in this state.”

  “Yes, but schools set their own terms. Look, Dane—”

  Javalynne banged her javelin down again to interrupt.

  “I completely believe you’re not screwing,” she said. “Next time you want to sell that to someone, don’t argue like you’ve been married two decades.” She paused, eyed Sean again. “Sad thing is I like you.”

  “Then you’ll sell to us?” asked Dane. Javalynne finished off her coffee and set the mug down on a pile of papers.

  “What the hell,” she said, then, “Are you actually going to have him apply to the Order or will I have to report you?”

  “You wouldn’t report me, would you?” asked Dane, leaning in and smiling. Sean was expecting to feel jealous, but instead Dane flirting just annoyed him.

  “That’s not going to work on me,” said Javalynne, then led the way to a second door at the back of the office. “Make it quick. I’m a busy woman.”

  Sean entered last and Javalynne shut the door behind him. Dane was already striding purposefully across the dull concrete floor, examining the displays. There were weapons of every sort, more than Dane’s collection back in the Lair, although only a few were silver here. Sean was completely out of his element.

  “Get your ass over here,” said Dane, pulling something off a shelf. “You don’t know how to handle weapons—you know how to punch?”

  “I suppose I do,” said Sean.

  Dane grabbed his hand and slid something cold onto the fingers. He shuddered, looked down.

  “There you go. Brass knuckles. Should be good in a close fight, even for you.”

  “Are these legal?”

  “That’s basic,” said Javalynne, stepping forward. “I do have upgraded versions. Hardened in various bloods, coated with silver…”

  “This’ll do,” said Dane, then to Sean, “More or less. Let’s get you some knives, too.”

  Sean wandered helplessly around Javalynne’s selection of ways to kill people, wishing he could just relax. He didn’t like the thought of carrying around an assortment of weapons, and he very much didn’t care to use any of them. Not even a little.

  Which was probably weird, considering when he thought back on it, Dane had been pretty hot hacking away at the pine trees trying to crush him. But maybe Sean was remembering the situation from a distorted view due to loss of air.

  “This should be enough,” said Dane, handing him a hunting knife that looked much like the one Dane himself carried, only a lot less silvered. Sean stared.

  “I already have throwing knives.”

  “You gotta have something more than that. This won’t let you down. Trust me.”

  Sean sighed and relented. When Javalynne tallied it up for him, the cost came to something his jaw dropped at. Dane clapped him on the back.

  “Welcome to Decrypting, where all your take-home goes to booze and weapons.”

  “Your name will show on a list where the Order can find it if I run your card,” said Javalynne as Sean held the bit of plastic out toward her. “Cash instead?”

  Sean stared at her. He rarely carried more than fifty dollars at a time. Javalynne’s eyes strayed over Sean’s shoulder to Dane and Sean turned to him.

  “Pay you back?”

  “Oh fuck you,” said Dane, but he handed over his card. He then helped Sean figure out how to properly carry the things, eventually giving up and swearing.

  “I’ll keep them in my messenger bag,” said Sean eventually.

  “Better than not having them, but not going to help much in a crisis.”

  “What do you want me to do? Tuck a throwing knife into the back of my tie?” The moment Sean said it, Dane’s eyes lit up in a way that told him he was thinking something filthy.

  “Better. I can show you how to use it in a situation.”

  “Not in my garage,” said Javalynne, pointing them to the door back to her office with the javelin. “If you’re done here, yo
u can get out.”

  Sean went immediately and Dane stalked out behind him, the smell of bad coffee assaulting their noses again. Sean privately wondered how Javalynne could drink the stuff. Dane didn’t.

  “You want any decent coffee?” he asked as Javalynne moved to pour herself another mug. “I do run a coffee place. Brews good shit. We could work something out—I supply you a steady drip, you send me regular shipments of silver bullets.”

  “You have a problem with the way I drink my coffee?

  Dane snorted.

  “Surprised you don’t,” he said.

  Javalynne narrowed her eyes.

  “Get out.”

  Dane shrugged and went for the door, but Sean hesitated. The moment he left, she could do anything from go back to drinking her terrible coffee to sending a special report to the Order. He needed to know. He’d record everything again, and he could make Dane promise to tell him everything should his mind get wiped, but he needed to know just how much he should be panicking.

  “Javalynne,” he said, and when she turned to look at him, her scowl faded. “I was wondering…”

  “I’m not going to report you yet,” she said. She shook her head and took a drink of coffee. “But get your act together soon, or I’ll have to. You seem decent enough, but we can’t have people running around with no oversight in this business. You understand. It’s not personal. It’s safety.”

  “How long do I have?” Sean figured being straightforward was best.

  “Until I report you? I give everybody two weeks.” She paused, considered. “Might give you three. That’s enough time to make a decision and request paperwork.”

  Sean nodded. He wished she’d drop it like Dane had, but that was probably too much to hope for. Still, this gave him a little time. Dane looked pissed.

  “You’re shitting me. You can’t let him slide?”

  “Dane.”

  “I won’t risk my ass,” said Javalynne. “I’m in good standing.”

  “I don’t give a fuck about your standing.”