I stood up, my head feeling mildly groggy. “Nah, Killian’s right. It’s kinda late. I’m tired after a week of…all this nonsense.”
Apollo looked mildly disgusted at the both of us for bailing out so early. “Fine, fine, you both do your thing. I guess I’ll catch up with y’all later.” He headed for the door and stopped. “Anyone up for getting a bite tomorrow? You’re new to Cincy, Andy, and could use some of the local cuisine.”
I shrugged. “I dunno. I’m trying not to burn too hard into my savings before my first paycheck comes.”
“My treat. You too, Killian.” He elbowed her playfully and she glared in response.
“Sure, sure. Maybe Sunday. And hey, thanks for coming, Killian. I appreciate the…uh…support.”
Killian nodded and headed out the door without another word. Apollo walked over and grabbed me in a sudden hug that lasted only a moment. “You take care of yourself, kid, alright? Get some sleep and stuff.” I couldn’t think of a good response and so I just nodded with a smile and started to clean up the pot of dirt as he left.
As soon as I heard Apollo’s footsteps disappear down the stairs, I put the pot down and picked the quartz stone back up. In a moment I had crossed through the kitchen into the second room, getting another look at the shadow of my father.
I studied the shape of him as it slowly came into view again, trying to discern a facial expression or some other detail, but the image was too fuzzy. I followed the shape of his arm with my eyes down to the shadow of the desk, where he appeared to be writing something. I looked closer, but the speckles of light refused to stay still long enough to make out anything being written.
I stayed there for a long time, the room bathed in blue light from the crystal. I was feeling so very conflicted about the figure before me, and even after I had grabbed a chair from the other room to it near the shadow, I couldn’t reconcile the twisted feeling in my stomach.
People had known this man and respected him for work he had never told me about, and the sheer fact that this swarm of glowing particles was here, led to an impression from where he presumably spent a lot of his time, made me irrationally angry. All that time at this desk, and not a single phone call my way? Not a moment or two to even recognize the child that was several states away and wondering where the man had been?
Finally, I could take it no more, and I picked up the chair and walked out, once again with more questions and not enough answers.
Chapter 10
The feeling of not having to get up early was very welcome, especially given that a dinner of pizza and beer had not been the healthiest choice the night before. I untangled myself from the blankets on the floor and groped for my phone, grabbing it and pulling it under the covers with me. After dismissing about 20 notifications and spending an embarrassing amount of time browsing memes, I groaned and pulled out of the blankets and into the real world.
What was the real world, even, I asked myself as I dragged myself to the bathroom. What was particularly real about the world had become particularly vague as of recent, what with the recent addition of a hundred or more things I hadn’t thought were real in the first place. Werewolves. Wizards. Dragons. The thought of it jumbled around my head like a kid in a bouncy castle and made me wonder what treasure troves of secrets I had yet to uncover in my week and a half of being in on the Secret.
I glanced at the hole in the vinyl floor, the back of my mind making a note to get it replaced—or maybe to cover it with a bathmat—as I turned the water on. The hot water brought me back to my senses a little, and by the time I had dried off and changed into something decent to wear out of the apartment I had resolved myself to take the 50 Thousand Employee Handbook, some pamphlets, and do some exploring.
The target of my adventure would have to be the Goblin market, since it was the only place—besides 50 Thousand—where I knew there was a great congregation of Society people. From there, maybe, I might get a better perspective on where else to go. I wondered briefly if there was some kind of secret library with instruction manuals. Or maybe, I considered, I could just explore the city which had now, rather suddenly, become my home.
~
My first stop was, inexplicably, the Library. Cincinnati’s downtown office was a cornucopia of knowledge, when all things were considered, and as a quiet place to study it seemed like an appropriate place to start reviewing things.
As soon as I had settled in front of a computer, I started seeing what I could dig up. I tried to find records of 50 Thousand Consulting, or anything even tangentially related to the company, by looking through public records of Hamilton County. At first, I found nothing: every satellite image, every photo, every single construction permit and tax audit showed that the lot where the emerald building stood was nothing more than a simple parking lot.
I moved away from the computer and found a desk in a far corner of the library where I spread out my study material and went to work. The Employee Handbook had become my closest friend in the last 48 hours, and I was determined to have a better understanding of the world I was now inhabiting. I took copious notes.
The phrase “I’ll explain later” had become my biggest pet peeve, but the Handbook, in its generosity, was always full of answers. Things that had been nagging at my mind were explained in short, plain paragraphs, such as the reason why I was not allowed to say I worked for 50 Thousand: As Killian had mentioned in Casting, only a few head honchos worked for the firm because their debts and ownerships were inexplicably tied to the firm. This was important when dealing with goblins, for example, who might try to call the whole company on a debt owed by one person if everyone worked for the company.
I also looked up the Vaultkeeper position. The Employee Handbook only mentioned it once, and the description of the job was a very brief sentence: “The Vaultkeeper oversees the removal and return of any of the valuables in the 50 Thousand Vault.”
I was thumbing through the index for more useful keywords when I heard someone approaching and I looked up to see a mousy-haired young woman holding a piece of paper. A library employee ID hung from around her neck bearing the name Nanette. “Hello,” I said politely, sliding the Handbook closed.
“Hello,” she said, offering me the paper. It had a long list of books on it. “I saw you were reading that Handbook. And I know it has a long ‘additional reading’ section, but you won’t find any of those books here. There’s a bookstore across the river that has some of them, but a lot of them are actually available online, link I wrote there at the bottom.”
I looked down at the list and then back up at her. “So…so you’re…?” I gestured with my hand, wondering if it would be rude to ask “what are you?” but she seemed to read my mind and gestured to a gold Vulnerabl bracelet on her wrist. “I spotted your tattoos when you took off your hoodie earlier. Hope I didn’t bother. You just looked a little…lost.”
“No, not at all. I mean, yes, I’m lost, but no, you didn’t bother.” I folded up the paper. “I really appreciate your help.”
She waved good-bye and headed back among the bookshelves with a quiet smile on her face. I didn’t have much time to contemplate, however, as I checked my watch and saw that my lunch date with Apollo and Killian was coming up. Grabbing my book and papers, I headed for the door.
~
“OK. So I don’t get it.” I looked down at my plate dubiously.
“What’s not to get?” Apollo looked particularly offended at my response to what had been ordered and placed before me. A “Three-way”, it was called, and despite getting over the initial shock of Apollo’s proposal to get them in order to sample local Cincinnati fare (“Who wants a three-way?”, Killian explained, was a poor choice of words in ordering such a dish, coming from an Incubus, which had led to a brief argument about stereotyping and language) I continued to be cautious.
“It’s chili on spaghetti.” And not just any chili, mind you, but a thin, soupy substance Cincinnatians seemed to call “chili”— with cheese
. “It just seems weird.” I picked up my fork and pirouetted the noodles around my fork.
“It’s classic,” Apollo retorted, and gestured to my fork. “Also, you’re not supposed to do that. You’re supposed to cut it with a knife and shovel it in your mouth with the fork.” He demonstrated this with a scoop of off his plate of nonsense.
I resisted the urge to gag and reached for a cheese fry from the shared plate. “So different subject here. What do magical people do in their spare time? Where do they go?”
“Depends,” Killian interjected. She had shown up for our lunch plans a little late, but looking completely different than I had ever seen her. I’d done a full double-take as she had approached, her conservative business attire replaced with a loose black Led Zeppelin t-shirt, torn but form-fitting jeans, and motorcycle boots. I hardly believed she was the same person as she had walked up to join us, and Apollo had politely reminded me not to stare.
“Mostly on what society you’re a part of,” Killian was saying. “Sorcera tend to end up doing your normal mundane stuff—shopping, socializing, all that stuff. Vulnerabl—correct me if I’m wrong, Apollo—do that a lot too if they can, but there’s also a couple magical-friendly places around the city that attract traffic. The coffee shop, for example.”
Apollo nodded. “Yeah, and Vulnerabl like our high-class joints, too. Restaurants, parlor parties. We’re uh, sort of…” He searched for a tactful word
“Bitchy?” Killian offered.
“No—”
“Yeah, we’ll go with that. Then of course with the internet people can connect with each other more, and I think that’s led to a lot more people just staying in. The Kobolda don’t have a way to really blend in easily so they tend to keep to themselves and spend time connecting online. When they do get together it’s usually coordinated through social media. It’s pretty wild.”
Apollo took another bite of his chili spaghetti and nodded eagerly. “And Kobolda parties are friggin awesome—they rent out abandoned factories and such on the north side of Cincinnati and throw huge things with lots of drinking, dancing, all that stuff. Like werewolves! They love throwing barbecues, for example—I highly recommend you go to one, by the way. The local pack has, like, an industrial smoker. It’s out of this world. Pork that just melts in your mouth.” He turned to Killian. “Remember that one time we went to—”
“Yes,” she interrupted apathetically.
“—and you got so drunk that you—”
“I know.”
“—and you got in a fight with that—”
“I remember, Apollo.” She shot him an icy glare and he resumed his spaghetti consumption.
I looked back and forth between the two, my suspicions about them all but confirmed at this point but swallowed my curious questions as Killian moved to change the subject. “So. What’s next on your investigation route? Figured out what you’re going to do with that coin?”
I swirled my spaghetti around my fork (eliciting an irritated glare from Apollo) and contemplated my answer. “I don’t know. I’ve been trying to figure out why it was hidden under the floor in the first place.” I took the coin out of my pocket, now sitting comfortably inside a tiny plastic bag. “Is there some kind of magical forensic testing I can do? Please tell me there’s a wizard’s version of CSI.”
Killian shook her head. “Not really. The Dragon has a police force of his own appointment—they work for a city office called the Constabulary. But you never want to get involved with them: they can screw your life up hardcore and have a license to do basically anything they need to do. The last thing you want is for them to know your name.”
“Do you think they are investigating my dad’s death?” I pressed.
“Didn’t you say,” Apollo interrupted, “That you were going to let your investigating chill for a bit so you could get some foundation? Yeah, we did some scrying and found a clue, but the clue’s not going away and getting the Constabulary involved is definitely not the best way to go. Don’t get me wrong: I want to help you however I can, but that also means telling you, as your friend-you-met-only-a-week-ago, that you need to chill.”
Kilian took a sip of her coffee. “I literally told Andy the same thing about a half-hour after we met.”
I deflated slightly as I put the fork down. “Alright, alright. So what are we doing today, then? Anyone have plans?”
“Actually, I do,” Apollo said poignantly, rising from his seat. “Not that you two aren’t just lovely company, but I’ve got errands, and not everyone works a Monday-Friday. Coffee to make, customers to flirt with. See ya, kids.” He flashed a characteristic smile and headed up to the register to pay for all the food.
I looked over to Killian, trying not to look desperate. “And you?”
She fixed me with a gaze as she sipped her coffee, and I couldn’t tell whether she was trying to decide whether or not continuing to spend any time with me at all was worth it. Finally she set her cup down. “You don’t know anything at all about Hedging, do you?” I shook my head. “Do you know how to throw a punch?” I nodded. “OK, that’s a start. See, I have this feeling that you’re going to continue to get yourself in oodles of trouble and I only have so many hours in the day I can stand between you and somebody dangerous. So I don’t do this often, but if you want I’ll give you some pointers.”
I shrunk slightly in my seat. “You’re going to teach me how to fight?”
“No.” Her eyebrows punctuated the finality of that statement. “I’m going to try to teach you how to avoid getting hurt.” I had a feeling that in her head Killian was mentally adding a string of irritated condescending statements. “Most wizards don’t bother with hedging because they don’t go out in the field and interact with things, or people…because they’re insular, exclusionist, self-important windbags. You, on the other hand, seem like the kind of person who knocked over mailboxes in middle school and spent half your high school years in detention. No offense.”
I balked. “How is that not supposed to be an offense?” It had really been more like six months in detention, and like, one mailbox. Maybe two.
“Hush.” Killian drained her coffee cup. “Finish your spa-ghetto and then we’re going shopping.”
I looked down at my plate of chili-spaghetti. “I think I’ll pass. Shopping it is.” We headed out of the restaurant, with me following Killian to her ride. “Hey…is that your Harley?”
She threw a leg over the bike and started it. “You bet your ass. Get on.”
I furrowed my brow. “I don’t have a helmet.”
Killian finished strapping hers on and reached into her jacket. A moment later she was holding another helmet and I just stared, unsure of what just happened. She explained as I put the helmet on tentatively: “Pocket space. It’s a pretty simple enchantment and one we’ll work on later. For the moment, get on the bike.”
I obeyed and a moment later we were zipping down Vine Street toward the Ohio River. Across the water, I could see the flashy buildings that formed the Kentucky town of Newport. I held onto Killian for dear life, probably making it very clear that I had never ridden on the back of a motorcycle before. She didn’t comment, however, as we rode across the bridge into Kentucky, nor after we had stopped and parked down near the water. “We’re not going to the Market?” I asked.
“No.”
I followed behind Killian as we strolled under the bridge we had just driven across. There, painted in the concrete wall, was a grey patch of paint on the otherwise plain concrete wall. I watched, curiously, as the redhead took out a piece of red chalk and drew a small circle on the side of the painted patch. Before my eyes, the circle began to protrude from the wall until it had turned into a cement doorknob, which Killian turned. The door swung inward, revealing a set of brightly-lit stairs.
Killian caught me with my jaw dropped and gave me an exceptionally judgmental look. “Oh come on, if you keep gasping at every bit of magic you see you’ll end up hyperventilating. You would think,
eventually, you’d just stop…being surprised or something.”
“Sorry.”
We descended the single flight of stairs and emerged into a small tiled landing: several store fronts were labeled and had large, glass windows with clothes and various survival gear behind them. Around, here and there, people moved about—no one appeared to be the slightest bit magical, but I glimpsed the dark marks of Sorcera tattoos on a few bare arms. The entire place gave the impression of a small shopping mall very much, save for the air of secrecy and lack of a Cinnabon.
Killian pointed to a few of the stores. “Bookstore. Great for research because it doubles as a library. Potions are that way—good place to start until you brew your own. That place sells magical protective gear, which we’ll probably go to…and then there’s the clothes place.” She shot me a sidelong grin. “Because kicking ass and looking good aren’t mutually exclusive.”
I looked down at my clothes, which looked okay, I suppose, but certainly weren’t good for anything but lazing around or getting weird food at a Cincinnati restaurant. “OK, where first?”
An hour or so and a couple hundred dollars later, we walked out of the underground shopping mall, with me carrying the fruits of our shopping catharsis. “That should do you for a while,” Killian remarked, kickstarting her bike, “Next weekend we’ll actually do some training. For the moment though, I gotta jet.”
I looked around. “You’re leaving me here?”
“Take the bus back across to Cincinnati,” she replied, starting to pull her bike away and onto the road. “Just be careful. See ya.”
~
Mildly irked, I trudged up to the bus stop and waited, my bags of stuff under my arm. I took a seat and poked through the bags. I had picked up some defensive one-time-use trinkets, like potions to help me escape or hide. The first step in fighting Dark Magic, Killian had remarked, was avoiding fights at all in the first place.
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