by A. L. Knorr
"Goodnight, Miss Butterfield."
He watched her stride purposefully down the street as a light autumn mist began to fall. Halos surrounded each street lamp and dead leaves rustled across the cobblestone road. She turned the corner at the end of the street and disappeared just as the two men from the booth passed Chad with a "G'night."
A bad feeling soured in the pit of Chad's stomach as the two men walked quickly in the same direction as Angelica.
Chapter 2
Chad swore under his breath and strode after them. Archie would be pissed that Chad was leaving his post, but that couldn't be helped. Archie would never fire him.
Chad kept is his footfalls soft as he rounded the corner. Angelica's reedy figure was small in the distance, and her white hat was the most visible thing through the mist up ahead, bobbing like a buoy in the water. The two men tailing her were rapidly closing the gap. Chad picked up his pace. The men had intent—it was as obvious as a flashing red light.
The fire living in Chad's torso crackled to life and he winced. When had he last had a glass of water? He flexed his hands against the pain.
The two men were upon Angelica now, walking on either side of her, conversing. Their voices carried away on the wind. The three figures disappeared around a corner, and Chad heard a womanly cry of surprise.
He ran, his footsteps beating against the stone. He rounded the corner and into the street, eyes flashing around. The street was empty, the houses quiet. He cast about, heart thumping. He heard voices coming from an alley. He turned into the alley to find one man with a forearm around Angelica's collarbones, and the other rummaging in her bag.
"We ain't gonna hurt you, sweetheart, we're just gonna relieve you of..."
"Nothing," said Chad, walking up to the threesome. "You're going to relieve her of nothing, except your arms."
The men looked up in surprise. Chad nodded to the one with his arm wrapped around her from behind. Angelica was stiff and breathing shallowly, her breath leaving puffs of vapor in the air.
"Drop the bag," he said to the other.
"Come on, man. We're two and you're one. We ain't gonna hurt 'er," said the man with his hand in her bag. He pulled out her wallet. "I done made bugger all in the fortnight since the pit closed. I got kids, mate. Lookit her. She's a rich bitch. She can do to spare a coupl'a quid."
"I said," Chad spoke slowly, but the fire snapped and the heat intensified. His eyes grew hot. They'd be lit like glowing coals. He could tell from the way they felt. A headache began to creep round his temples. "Drop the bag, mate."
"Shiiit, Lenny. D'you see his eyes?" said the man with his arm around Angelica. He released her. "We was just leavin'."
Angelica took the opportunity to step forward and kick out a long leg. She hit her bag out of the shocked burgler's hands and it did a loop in the air. The scarf-wrapped knife, her wallet, some big black rectangular device, and a bunch of paper came flying out and scattered all over the alley. The Damascus blade she had paid so much for landed with a clatter at the man's feet. Lenny snatched it up and held it toward Chad. The knife’s tip quivered as his hand shook.
"Stop," Angelica yelled, putting out her mittened hands. "Put the blade down!"
"Are we going to have a problem?" Chad cracked his knuckles. His eyes flared like kerosene lamps. Lenny's friend shuffled sideways, along the wall.
"Don't you cow out on me, Ollie," said Lenny, without taking his eyes from Chad.
"No one was supposed to get hurt. That's what you said," replied Ollie, his voice low and shaking. "I ain't no street scrapper. 'Specially with that there...whatever he is."
"Don't fret, Ollie. It's a trick. Isn't it, mate?" Lenny cocked his head. "He's taking the piss, ain't you, Wendig? Them's those contact things. Right?"
The fire leapt and danced inside Chad. He opened his palm outward and sent a stream of white and orange flame toward the knife, swallowing the blade. The alley lit up with the light of the fire. Shadows appeared stark and spooky against everyone's faces.
Angelica blinked and squinted her eyes but to her credit, she didn't scream. Chad guessed she wasn't the screaming type.
Lenny was. He shrieked and dropped the blade to the stones. He clutched his burnt hand to his stomach and screamed again. Spit flew from his mouth. The two men took off running down the alley. Ollie barreled into Angelica on his way past and she staggered. She recovered herself and squatted, reaching a hand toward the knife.
"Maybe give it a second to cool," Chad said, bending to pick up her scattered belongings.
She pulled her hand back and began to gather her papers instead. "How did you do that?"
At the same time, Chad asked, "You alright?"
She nodded. "I'm fine, thanks to you."
"You might not want to flash your cash about. Gives tossers like them ideas." His hand fell on the large hand-held phone. Chad had only ever seen one in the movies. "Is this what I think it is?"
She looked up from sorting the damp pages. "Yes, it’s a mobile phone. I need to be able to talk to my daddy during the bids."
"Your...daddy?" He mimicked her Canadian accent.
She snatched the phone and a dimple appeared. "It's not like that. My father is my business partner."
Chad picked up a wrinkled page. It was a black and white printout with a photo of a pocket watch on it. A description blurb entitled '18ct gold, chronograph pocket watch. C1884' and $1800 - $2100 in a handwritten scrawl graced the corner.
"What kind of business?"
She took the printout and piled it with the rest. Chad caught images of other random items.
"Antiques." She stuck out her mittened hand. "We haven’t properly introduced ourselves. I’m Angelica Butterfield. Procurement. Radar Antiques." Just then her teeth chattered. Her blond hair, now wet from the misty rain, was stuck to the sides of her face.
He grasped her mitten, feeling her cold fingers even through the fabric. "Chad Wendig. Bouncer. Templeton's Bar. How about we get you out of the rain?"
She nodded and they collected the rest of her things.
"I'll walk you to the King's Arms," he said, handing her the Damascus blade wrapped in her scarf.
"That's kind of you. Your boss won't mind?"
Chad shrugged. "He'll understand. So, what are you doing here? I can't think that frequenting dodgy pubs in small-town England will gather you many great antiques."
"You'd be surprised," she answered. "Someone told me I had to check out the Scout at Templeton's, so I popped over after a late dinner. I didn't anticipate procuring a Bulat Damascus blade. I'd love to know how it came into that man's hands."
"How do you know it’s that valuable? Seven hundred quid seems daft for a knife." Their boots splashed through the growing puddles in the uneven sidewalk.
Her eyes went round. "Oh, it’s worth way more than that. This blade will go for double what I paid."
Chad's jaw dropped.
"It's such a shame he lost the sheath."
Chad snapped his mouth shut.
"I could cry when people lose things like that. So irresponsible." She shook her head like a kindergarten teacher clucking after wayward schoolchildren.
"Is that how you justify underpaying? That it’s better off in the hands of someone who knows its value?" No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he regretted them. Chad was the last person who should judge someone for underpaying, skilled as he was at applying the old five-fingered discount when he needed something but couldn't afford it.
Her cheeks colored. "This is how I make my living. If someone undersells, that's them not doing their homework." She didn't seem angry, but it was clearly a sensitive subject. "We're the most honest dealers in the business, make no mistake. But we're still a business."
"I didn't mean to imply—"
"No problem," she cut him off. "Anyway, I'm in town for the Taite and Copperwaite event. Do you know of it?"
"At the old place outside of town? Copperwaite Manor?"
She nodded. "That's
the one. They're having an estate sale and an auction." Her eyes sparkled, and it seemed that any offense he'd given had been forgotten. "It's going to be a blood-bath. Starts on Friday."
"A blood-bath?" He laughed. "I'm not sure I've ever heard that term in the context of shopping for antiques. Isn't it basically a garage sale for rich people?"
She gaped at him. "You have no idea. Dealers and collectors come from all over the world for these kinds of events. This one is particularly hot on the wires so there is no way we'd miss it. I haven't booked a container yet, but if I get half of what we want, we'll have to book a whole sea-can."
"You and your father, you mean?"
She shivered and pulled her hat down over her ears. "Yep."
"Why isn't he here?" Chad wondered what kind of man would send his young daughter, who looked barely out of high school, to navigate a 'blood-bath' event on her own.
The corners of her mouth turned down. "Dad is losing his vision. He can't read things the way he used to."
"Oh. I'm sorry," said Chad, digesting her phrasing as they turned up the walk toward the King's Arms Hotel. "I guess you don't only mean reading books?"
She nodded. "He's the reason we're called Radar Antiques. My father had the most incredible ability to spot valuable items, it's like he has this amazing built-in radar." Her eyes got a faraway look. "Well, everything changes. Doesn't it."
She shook off the haunted look and smiled up at him. His heart did a little flip.
"Come in for a second and warm up,” she said. “They've always got a fire going."
He hesitated. Fire was the last thing Chad needed. What he needed was a glass of water and to get back to the bar. But she was so...good. So unlike anyone else in his life. "Just for a few," he said, and followed her inside.
Chapter 3
"So, what about you?" Angelica turned to him once they had their jackets off and were seated in front of the fireplace in the small lobby.
Chad looked around. The place smelled like musty carpet and incense. There wasn't another soul to be seen. A grandfather clock ticked loudly against the wall. Chad spotted a water dispenser just beside the lobby desk and almost shouted for joy.
"Can I get you a drink?" he asked Angelica.
Angelica shook her head and shivered. "The last thing I want in my body is cold water, but you go ahead."
He took a wax paper cup and drank, and drank, and drank. The water instantly cooled Chad's throat and stomach, and his dry tissues soaked up the liquid. With every swallow, the pain eased, and after a dozen refills, Chad threw the cup into the wastebasket and walked back to Angelica.
"You were thirsty," she said from her overstuffed chair in front of the fireplace.
Chad gave a sheepish grin and sat across from her, feeling much better.
She took off her mittens and rubbed her hands together in front of the fire. "How did you make that fire? In the alley way."
She asked it so casually. Her eyes were wide and guileless, unsurprised, and nonjudgmental. Every person who'd seen the fire up to this point had immediately disappeared from his life, except for Archie, who'd immediately offered him a job. The fire was why he had no friends.
"Why don't you seem more freaked out by it?" he asked.
One corner of her mouth turned up. "I saw a ghost once, when I was about twelve. I've also had a nasty run-in with a poltergeist. Seems they like antiques even more than I do. It's not such a big leap to go from a poltergeist to a human who can conjure fire. You're both paranormal, right?"
"Poltergeists are real?" He shuddered.
She laughed, and the sound rolled over him in a wave of pleasure. "Your eyes glow and fire shoots from your hands but a poltergeist freaks you out?"
"Well, you can't see them, can you. They lurk about and throw things at people. I don't like what I can't see."
"You and everyone." She gave him an appraising look. "You seem far too nice to be working in a place like Templeton's."
"Oh, don't worry, I'm not."
"What, working at Templeton's?"
"Nice."
She dimpled. "Yes, you are."
Chad smiled but shook his head. Not many people who grew up in Sedgley were 'nice,' especially once the mine had laid off eighty percent of their staff. Desperation made people do things. Chad had done things – small-time things, but sometimes they still kept him up at night.
"When I saw them follow you, well..." He trailed off, gazing at her. "I couldn't just let them..." His throat was suddenly dry. No man in his right mind would ever stand by and let someone hurt a good girl like you, he thought. He cleared his throat.
"Well, I owe you,” she said. “That much is for sure." She opened her bag and dug around for her wallet. "I'd like to give you a reward. After all, I wouldn't have any of this left if it wasn't for you. And probably not the knife anymore, either."
Chad knew he looked like he could use the cash. His knee poked through a hole in his jeans, his fake-leather jacket was worn and too small - it had been his father's. And his big toes each poked through their own holes in the ends of his trainers. Yes, he could use the money. But he didn't want it. Not from her.
"That's not why I helped you," he said, quietly.
Something in his voice made her stop. Her blue eyes tracked to his and an awkward moment the space of three heartbeats passed. It was her turn to clear her throat.
"What then?" She looked suddenly wary.
"Well," he began, his heart thudding inexplicably. "I don't want to bounce for the rest of my life, and I was never much for school. I'll be damned if I try to get a job in the mine. You seem to do well at the antique thing. What if I joined you at the estate sale and you...taught me the tricks of the trade?"
She gave a small intake of breath, and her eyes widened. Chad couldn't tell if he had asked too much, or if she was excited.
"Wouldn't it be easier to move to London and look for work?"
"I tried that once," he admitted. "I can't stand city living. The noise. The stink. All those people elbowing you on the tube." He squirmed.
She digested this, her eyes roaming his face. "You're really that interested?" She shifted forward to the edge of her chair and sat up straighter.
Chad nodded and his heart leapt with hope. She'd just made more in one night on the Damascus blade than he made in a month, assuming it wasn't too hard to find a buyer. He guessed she had buyers lined up. If some of her expertise could rub off on him before she went home, well, maybe he could take a crack at this buying and selling business. He was in the right country for it. England was full of random old furniture and curiosities. He even had a few things passed down from his dad that might be worth something.
She looked at him thoughtfully, chewing her lip. Then she began to speak quickly, all business. "It's a deal, but you have to keep up. If you so much as yawn or dawdle, I'll send you home. The sale starts on Friday and the viewings are tomorrow. The doors open at six a.m. People start to line up at five-thirty. Meet me out front tomorrow at five. Unless you have a photographic memory, bring a notebook."
Chad's draw dropped. Five in the morning? He'd be lucky to get an hour of sleep. By the time Templeton's closed and the bar was clean, it was usually after three. He closed his mouth with effort.
"Oh, and wear something nice." She held out a slender hand.
He blinked into her sincere blue eyes and took her cold hand in his warm one. There was no way he was going to let this opportunity slip through his fingers. "Five," he agreed.
Chapter 4
Chad crossed the street toward The King’s Arms and saw Angelica waiting for him in the mist. The sky was still black but the air had the fresh tang of morning. A shiny red Mini Cooper sat at the curb. Angelica lifted the edge of her black leather glove with a finger and checked her watch. She was wearing a trench coat, high-heeled black boots, and dark tights. Her hair was pulled back behind her ears and she wore a black beret. Her makeup was minimal but perfect. She looked like money.
"Am I late?" Chad asked, his breath puffing out in a cloud.
"Almost," she sniffed.
"So, I'm on time then." He grinned and hopped up on the curb, displaying more energy than he felt. He'd gotten all of forty minutes of sleep. Archie punished him for disappearing by making him scrub the men’s toilet, but Chad couldn't be too upset because Archie stayed up and did the ladies’ toilet.
Chad had pulled out his Sunday best for Angelica, which consisted of his father's black Oxford shoes (too small), his father's pleated black wool dress pants from teaching at a theological college in Cambridge in the seventies (too big), and a gray button down shirt - the only items aside from his socks and underpants that were his own. He threw a black double-breasted wool coat (a little thin at the elbows) over the lot and called it good.
He stepped close to Angelica and smiled down at her. "Ready, boss."
"You look tired. Your eyes are puffy." She narrowed her eyes.
"I haven't been up this early in..." He paused. "I've never been up this early. You look fresh as a daisy."
She dimpled. So, flattery worked, then.
"Let’s go, Mr. Wendig." She went around to the left side of the car, stopped abruptly when she realized the steering wheel was on the right, and kept circling. She blew out an anxious breath.
"Want me to drive?" Chad offered.
She slumped in relief. "Would you? I'm a menace. I'm not sure I'll ever get the hang of driving in Britain. Surprising," she muttered. "Been here often enough."
"With pleasure." He opened the passenger side door for her.
"You know the way?" She slid into the seat, flashing a long hose-clad thigh.
"Everyone knows Copperwaite. Never been, but I always wanted to see inside." He closed her door for her and went around to the driver side, sliding behind the wheel and grunting at the lack of space. He slid the seat back. The hair on the top of his head brushed the car's ceiling.
He started the little car and pulled into the empty street. The car's windows immediately began to fog up from their body heat. Well, from his heat, anyway. Chad's hands gripped the freezing steering wheel, the cold felt lovely against his hot palms.