“Ow!” The car said with obvious discomfort. “What’s the hurry?”
“I have to get to the Symposium,” I said, frustratedly slowing down to stop for a red light: it had suddenly become that time of day when downtown Cincinnati became a gridlock of people leaving the office and spilling from dozens of underground garages into the main streets at the same time.
“Oh.” There was a pause. “You need to get there fast?”
“Yes, it’s very important.”
“Very fast?” The light was still red.
“Yes. Very fast.”
“Do you want…me to drive?”
I shuddered, thinking about yesterday. “I…I’m not sure. You did sort of try and kill me yesterday.”
“Maybe a little, but I’m a good Nøkken now. You know my name so I can’t hurt you.” The voice was so sweet and not at all sociopathic.
“Is that so?” I said dubiously, opening up my Employee Handbook and flipped to a section that just happened to be about Nøkken. “Nøkken, once identified by name,” I read out loud, “are quite docile creatures who only want to have fun and go fast. Much like a horse and rider, you can find yourself in a very happy working relationship with your car as it does everything within its power to satisfy your requests—” I tore my eyes away from the pages[28] and, satisfied, let go of the wheel. “Fine, but I don’t want you hurting anyone else, okay? No property damage either. Basically…get there fast but don’t break anything. Deal?”
I barely had a moment to register the word “Deal!” blaring out of the car speakers before we had torn around the stopped cars and into oncoming traffic. I screamed and let go of the Handbook, grabbing onto any available handhold as the city of Cincinnati flew past the windshield. I caught a glimpse of a street sign as we turned onto the aptly named “Race Street” and then we were off, the odometer of the car registering a spine-tingling “105” in what was almost certainly a 35 mph zone. It was only a moment before we had cleared three blocks, and, swerving through the 3rd and Race intersection we hit the curb. The instant passed in slow-motion as, to my horror, the car was propelled into the air and left me dangling by my seatbelt.
I would love to say that at that moment my life flashed before my eyes, but it didn’t. In fact, I feel that this moment simply became incredibly slow as my brain fired off zillions of neurons all at once. I felt a connection to this moment, and it was almost as if the connection between everything that had happened to me in the last few weeks was the thing unfolding in front of me. The vault, the drachma, my Dad, Killian, Apollo, The Dragon—all of it suddenly seemed like one huge knot: a tangle of lies that was on its way to becoming unsalvageable. I almost felt like I could reach out and feel or even hold the tangle of people and places and things in my hand. It was a moment of clarity and serenity, which seemed to go on and on and on until—
—until I felt the solid thump as the car landed in the right-hand lane of Interstate 75, still moving at an incredible speed. I barely had the ability to glance at the sign for the exit to I-71 before we hopped a second median and flew down an embankment, doing a full 180-degree turn—
—before landing perfectly in a parking space next to the arena’s front doors.
I sat there, quite still, as the food bag thrashed around on its own, and I took a few long, steadying breaths, reminding myself that the next time I saw I doctor I would probably need to up my anxiety medication by about six thousand percent.
As soon as my whole body stopped feeling like jelly I reached for the door handle and clambered out. “Th-thank you,” I sputtered, and I grabbed both the Handbook and the wriggling bag of food and ambled up toward the doors as the blood started to circulate in my legs once more.
The front gate of the arena was guarded by two very tall, pale-skinned people clad in silver and purple, who were gazing out with hawk-like attentiveness at the people coming in. Many of the people looked completely normal, and I spotted many a Vulnerabl bracelet or Sorcera tattoo as I weaved my way through the crowd. A few, however, were rather unique in their shapes and sizes, and I assumed that it was only the fact that I was in on the Secret that allowed me to see them walking around at all.
At the gate one of the figures towered over me, looking for a badge.
“I’m delivering food,” I said before the guard could question me. He glanced at the bag, which was now softly sobbing, and then back to me. Finally, he looked down my forearm at the tattoos that indicated my entire identity, and he waved me past.
I didn’t question further, and disappeared into the crowd, pulling out my phone. Apollo had already texted to ask where I was. I’m inside I replied.
me 2. Third floor. Vulnerabl only, tell them you from Italy or something
I ducked out of the throng of people still rushing toward the area seats and hit the button for the elevator, my heart racing. I still needed a plan at this point, because I figured that interrupting the Dragons’ symposium was going to be a little more difficult than just popping up and saying, “There’s a conspiracy!”
There was a small crowd on the lift to the third floor, and I did my best to not gawk at the others riding along with me. The door of the elevator hadn’t even finished opening before I had darted through arms and jackets and out into the hallway—right into another purple-clad guard.
“Hey now, hey now. This area is for Vulnerabl only.” He pointed at my Society tattoo.
“I’m delivering food,” I said, more confidently than I had before.
He crossed his arms. “Unless you’re an ambassador’s assistant—”
“Italy!” I choked out. “I’m with the Ambasador from Italy! This food’s for them.”
The guard glowered. “What ambassador from Italy?”
I didn’t know what to say but I choked out a response. “Lord…Marinaro.” I felt instantly ashamed at my name choice, and feared instantly that any
The guard, however, straightened up. “Lord Marinaro is here? No one told me. Fine, fine, go on then, but be quick about it.” I watched, amazed, as he turned and headed back down the hall in the other direction. I shook myself mentally, amazed at my luck, pulling out my phone again to text Apollo. On the 3rd floor. Where are you?
“Right here,” I heard off to my right as I passed an intersection in the corridor. Apollo was standing by the entrance to what looked like a conference room full of people. “Come on, quickly. And hey,” he added as he glanced surreptitiously to the people behind him and then whispered urgently in my ear. “I am about to say some things you might think are insulting, but you need to play along, or you will get caught. Put your delivery bag down and give me your hand.” I did as I was told, and Apollo dragged his index finger across my palm, leaving a red, spiky mark traced there as if it had been tattooed. I didn’t have a moment to question it before Apollo took my arm and steered me into the room.
The conference room was filled with the most incredibly beautiful people I had ever seen in my entire life. I had no choice but to feel completely inadequate as I scanned the room, looking from one perfect face to the next—people of all races, shapes and sizes but each and every one of them was sublimely perfect in their construction. It was like walking through a garden of statues crafted by only the most skilled sculptor of all time.
“Apollo!” one voice chimed out from the crowd, and a svelte, braided-haired young woman strode up to greet us at the door. “Good to see you’ve joined us! We were just talking about you. Your biceps, specifically, if I must be honest. And who’s this morsel?” She had turned to me. “Have you brought treats to share?”
“This one,” Apollo indicated the mark on my hand without looking at me, “Is my property, and is to be referred to as ‘Andy’. It is not for sharing and it is not to be touched or hassled.” My eyes went wide. Excuse me? Did I just get called ‘it’?
The woman looked disappointed. “Ah, such a shame. You have lovely taste in pleasure dolls.” Pleasure WHAT now?
Apollo seemed entirely u
nfazed. “Speaking of that,” he said with an icy tone, “I will be excusing myself briefly with my Doll. You understand, right, Carlissa?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course, Apollo, of course. This one seems far tamer than your last one, at least. What what its name? The redheaded one.”
“Killian?” I said before I could stop myself. Apollo glared at me and I fell silent immediately under his fiery gaze.
“That is none of your concern,” Apollo addressed Carlissa. “As I said. I will be gone a short while with my Doll. If anyone requires a Cincinnati Lilin, then Agatha is only—”
“Agatha is so…distasteful,” Carlissa interrupted with a crinkle of her nose. “Come now Apollo, you can play later. There are people you absolutely must meet—”
“I will remind you,” Apollo growled through gritted teeth, “That Agatha is the Princesse de Cincinnati and is owed your respect. Unless you want to risk her restricting your feeding rights inside the city…”
I found myself staring, almost slack-jawed, at the person standing next to me. I could hardly believe it was Apollo at all with how commanding his presence had suddenly become, and I was both intrigued and terrified by his new fierce glare and intimidating posture.
“Of course not, darling,” Carlissa replied, a nervous shudder making her straighten up slightly, “I will find Agatha if I have any need.” She turned on her stiletto and gracefully meandered to the next conversation while Apollo dragged me from the room. I grabbed my bag of delivery food as we headed down the hallway.
As soon as we had cleared earshot of the conference room, he spun and let go of my arm. “Okay, I am so sorry. Like, terribly. I didn’t have any other way to explain your wandering around.”
I shrugged. “I get that. Are you, like, important or something? Why does everyone in there know you?”
“Sort of,” he said, and we were off down the hallway again. “Remember the succubus I mentioned this morning? Well she’s the head of the Vulnerabl in Cincinnati, and technically she’s my wife, which makes me her second-in-command.”
“You’re married?” The idea was surprising on a deep level I couldn’t quite place my finger on. “And if she’s the ‘Princesse’ does that make you—?”
“A Prince, yeah, but only symbolically. Same with the marriage, it’s political and I don’t like talking about it. Like I said, I’m not really interested in Agatha, so we keep our distance and don’t bother each other. I’m only her default husband because I’m the only Incubus in the city.” I didn’t reply. I wasn’t sure why, but my stomach felt slightly sunken at this revelation, but I had no choice by to push the thoughts aside as Apollo stopped at an elevator and hit the button to go up. “On the other hand,” he added as the doors opened, “Being Prince de Cincinnati gives me a little bit of privilege during symposiums…” he swiped a card across the electronic keypad and hit the button for the top floor, “…including access to the Dragons’ floor.”
I grinned as the doors closed and the lift started to rise. “No way! Alright, that should make this really easy. I thought it would be much harder to—” The elevator stopped on the very next floor and the doors opened, revealing one of the last people I wanted to see.
Killian.
Dressed in her finest JNY suit, with her sword glittering at her side, she appeared to keep any surprise she might have hidden and paid us no mind as she joined us on the elevator. As soon as the doors closed, she rounded on me. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, as Apollo put out an arm to stop her. I thought she was going to throw a right hook at me.
“I’m d-doing my job!” I choked out, holding up the bag of food and retreating into the corner of the elevator.
“So am I!” She retorted, “I’m working security and I don’t need you causing trouble!”
“Me causing trouble?” I bristled. “You’re the one who joined the bad guys.”
Apollo tried to pull Killian back away. “Hey guys—”
“I had good reason!” She spat as Apollo continued to hold her back. “And you kept getting in the way!”
“You pretended to be my friend so you could just steal that coin—”
Apollo cleared his throat. “Guys—”
“Well you gave me a fake coin!” Killian shouted, trying to wrestle out of the Incubus’ grip.
“The Black Magisters killed my dad—” I shouted, dropping the bag of food and grabbing for Killian’s collar.
“No, they didn’t,” A voice interrupted our scuffle, and both Killian and I turned to see why Apollo had been trying to interrupt us. The elevator had reached the top floor, and greeting us at the elevator door was none other than the Dragon of Cincinnati himself. He glanced at the three of us, entangled violently in the small box, and gave us a look of scorn so severe that we all let go of each other almost simultaneously and backed against the wall.
“I killed Tom LaFayette,” the dragon announced.
First Day
It was going to be a good day.
Six years! Six years of schooling and studying and rubbing shoulders. It had been a grueling six years, Tom thought to himself as he walked through the brass doors of his new job. Six years, all for this wonderful opportunity. He was dolled up in his best suit, his briefcase in one hand and a cheap cup of coffee in the other, which he drained in a few gulps and dropped in a trash can.
The opportunities were endless! He thought back to those long hours, filling out formulas and brewing foul-smelling potions. He considered, briefly, the good times spent in a library researching an ancient artifact or an impossibly dangerous creature. And then, of course, it had seemed that every year had ended with a calamity of some massive proportions that was solved within the last few days of the semester and ended with nobody the worse for wear. Yes, those three million minutes at Sorcery School had been three million minutes of adventures, crammed full of danger and insanity. But now, it was over, and an even bigger adventure was about to begin: The corporate world. Yes, for sure, it was going to be a good day.
“Hello,” He cheerfully said at the front desk to a surly-faced security guard, “I’m Tom. I’m your new wizard.”
The guard hit a button without changing a single wrinkle of his expression. “Floor 12.”
Tom wasn’t even fazed by the security guard’s demeanor and headed off to the elevator with a spring still firmly planted in his step. This was going to be the newest chapter of his life. A wizard, working in a prestigious wizardry firm, with other wizards. How much better could it get? It was certainly going to be a good day.
The elevator stopped at 12 and he nearly pounced out into the elevator bank, trying to contain all of his sheer happiness that was filling his stomach like a stack of hot pancakes with syrup. Nothing could deflate the balloon of optimism. If only he could run into—
“Blake!” Tom threw out his hand as he ran into the shaggy-haired young man.
Blake beamed a great smile and clasped Tom’s hand. “Tom! You got the job. Well you’re gonna love it here. They’ve got a lot of opportunity for bright minds like you and me. I’m glad the referral went through. How’s the wife?”
“Great. Got a little one on the way, even. Not sure if you’d heard!”
“That’s great, Tom. Just great. I’ve gotta run to a meeting, though, your desk should be right around the corner there.” He pointed before clapping Tom on the back and walking away the other direction. My desk! Tom thought, heading around the corner. How would a wizard even decorate his desk, he wondered? And as he entered the place where his desk should be, his smile faltered for the first time this morning.
Rows and rows of cubicles. Each and every one alike and labeled with names. Feeling suddenly cautious at the quiet, fragmented only by brief sounds of shifting paper, he picked his way along the cubicles looking for a name. And there it was: LaFayette, T. The cubicle was bare save for a single huge CRT monitor and a keyboard. He set his briefcase down and looked around.
“Hey there,” he heard a voice
and spun to see someone standing up from the next cubicle over. “I’m Carl. You must be the new sorcerer.”
“Y-yeah!” Tom forced his smile back onto his face and shook hands. “Tom. Is this my—uh…”
“Cube? Yessir. Just for you. The drawer has your cabinet key, UNIX database password and your copy of the Employee Handbook.”
Tom tried to keep his smile, but he felt the tips of his lips faltering. “So my j-job is…?”
“Paperwork, mostly. Here we’re in Disposal and Containment, but we don’t actually do any field work. We fill out the C-738s for the Society, along with entering data into the database for queries and searches. Oh, and sometimes, we get to organize pictures into folders. So that’s nice.”
Tom swallowed hard. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I thought there would be…you know. Spells and things…”
“As a new hire? Not really. You went to Sorcery school…so they mostly use your book knowledge unless you can get your foot in the door with the Wizards.”
“But I am a wizard.”
Carl cringed. “I mean…yeah? I guess we both have that title. Technically. But you don’t really do that job. Not in your first year or two anyway.”
Tom nodded, and his smile came back. “So it’s just a matter of working up the corporate ladder, then.”
Carl raised his eyebrows. “Yeah. Sure. But I mean…don’t count on that, eh? I’ve been here six years and just got my first raise. Anyway, welcome to the job.” He disappeared behind his cubicle wall and Tom continued to stand there like a fool. After a few minutes he took a seat in the chair and steadied himself with a few breaths. He reached for the drawer and pulled out his Employee Handbook and HR paperwork with post-its on it to show where he needed to sign and initial. It all seemed so mundane.
“I’m a wizard,” he announced to no one in particular.
“Yeah,” Carl said from over the wall. “Keep telling yourself that.”
It was going to be a good day. It was a shame his cubicle didn’t face a window.
The Wizards on Walnut Street Page 21