by J. C. Staudt
“I’ll walk you out,” I offer, and accompany her to the door. “Do you need a ride home?”
“I’ll take the bus.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “By the way, your friend Calyxto needs to ease off on the fake ‘n bake. It’s way obvious. No one tans in the middle of winter.”
I let her out and watch her hurry down the hall, regret burning in my chest. She’s about to put herself and her family in a world of hurt, and there’s nothing I can do about it short of holding her here against her will. But if I have to choose between Paige and my surrogate family, I’ll choose Lorne and Carmine every time. Even if it’s not what the real Arden would’ve done.
When I return to the kitchen, Calyxto gives me a disapproving look. “You shouldn’t have let her go. She’s going to give your name to the police. What are you going to say when they come knocking? They’ll want to know what you were doing in an abandoned lot in the middle of the night. They’re going to ask why you didn’t call them when you found an unconscious girl surrounded by a bunch of thugs.”
“You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know. I’m knee-deep in this whether I like it or not. Nothing I can do about it now except avoid the cops until I find Lorne and figure out how to protect Carmine from these nutjobs.”
“What about the grimoire?” asks Quim.
“It’ll have to take a backseat for now.”
“No, I mean have you read it yet? There might be magic inside that could help.”
“I can help you find the book,” says Calyxto.
“He has it,” says Quim. “Don’t you, Cade?”
Cringe time. “Well, Quim. You see, what happened was—”
“I should’ve guessed. Ersatz never pays the bets he loses. He always rolls them into other bets. That five hundred dollars was yours, wasn’t it?”
“Kinda. Yeah. I’m sorry.”
He nods, but says nothing.
Calyxto glances back and forth between us. “We all good here? As I was saying, it won’t be easy to get the grimoire now that Mottrov has it, but I can help you.”
“For a price, right?”
“I said I’d give you a hand for free. Consider this that hand.”
“Is this what you do for a living?” Quim asks the half-fiend. “Help steal things?”
“I’m a soulbroker,” says Calyxto. “I do favors for people.”
“In exchange for their servitude,” I clarify.
“In exchange for a brief period of their mortal lives,” he corrects. “I’m sure you’ve heard stories about people selling their souls for things like long life or obscene wealth or widespread fame. But what about the folks who don’t need all the bells and whistles? What about the single mom whose twins need braces, or the construction worker who breaks his arm in a touch football game over Thanksgiving? They don’t need miracles. Just favors. Favors they shouldn’t have to sell their souls for. That’s where I come in. I work for the little guy. Some of us specialize in diabolic healing or financial boons. My specialty is locating people and objects. Like most of my cohorts, a soul-sliver is all I take—a miniscule percentage. It’s like skimming your loose change into a savings account. It’s not much on its own, but when you combine it with all the other slivers, it adds up. So no one’s ever selling me their entire soul. I’m just renting a piece of the action for a while. In this business, we don’t need the full package to make gains. The spare change goes a long way. Do you know what I’m saying?”
Quim nods, enthused and enlightened.
“When you make a deal with me,” Calyxto adds, “it comes with my personal guarantee. A contract of service, collateralized by every soul in the underworld.”
“That reminds me,” I say, slapping the Nerve Ring onto the island countertop. “You owe me a service.”
“Yes, of course. One tattoo removal, coming right up.”
When Calyxto put his mark on me, I didn’t feel a thing. Coming off, it burns like hell. I grit my teeth and grunt through the pain. When he’s done, a faint red outline is all that remains of the first mark. I point to the second mark, still fully intact. “What do I have to do to get this one removed?”
Calyxto isn’t listening to me; his attention is on Quim. “Careful with that.”
Quim is turning the Nerve Ring over in his fingers, studying it.
“I concur,” says Ersatz, climbing onto the countertop. “Do be careful.”
“What does it do?” Quim asks.
Calyxto tells him. He uses the opportunity to launch into a retelling of his sob story with Helayne. It’s the extended version. In return, Quim shares his own heartache over Felita. By the time he’s halfway through I’m drooling with boredom and hunger, so I dig into a bowl of Charms while he finishes. Ersatz leaves the counter briefly and returns with a fat beetle he picked up from who knows where. He crunches down as I slurp my fruity sugar milk. It’s a Kumbaya moment for all of us; Ersatz and I are in heaven, Quim and Calyxto are commiserating over lost love.
Quim glances around and shakes his head. “Look at us. We’re all a bunch of pathetic losers. My girlfriend hates me, yours can’t remember you, Ersatz doesn’t have one, and Cade’s in love with his sister.”
“She’s not my sister, man. And stop calling me Cade.”
“Sorry, Ardy.”
I close my eyes. “You know I hate that.”
Quim pats Calyxto on the shoulder. “Tough break about Helayne, dude.”
Calyxto shrugs. “Alas, life is toil. Even for a hellion such as myself.”
“Why not wear this?” Quim sets the Nerve Ring on the counter.
“Oh, it won’t work on me. I have no heart. Not one that can be broken. Why don’t you take it?”
“Me? Really?”
“Absolutely. I want you to have it. It’ll lighten your load until you’re mentally prepared to face this.”
“Quim, don’t be an idiot. Deal with your breakup like a normal person. You’ll get over Felita. All you need is time.”
“Actually, all he needs is this ring. It’ll compress those long dark months of pain into a single tolerable event.”
“So instead of getting pinpricked every day for the next few months, he’s going to get ballista’d through the chest all at once.”
Quim’s eyes gleam at the prospect. “That’s what I want. I can’t do this, Cade. I’m not strong enough.”
I ignore the fact that he just called me Cade again. “Distract yourself from it. Focus on something else, like helping me find Lorne.”
“I’ve tried. It’s not enough. I need this.” Before I can say another word, Quim slips the Nerve Ring onto his finger.
“Why did you do that?”
He slaps himself on the cheek. “Wow. That didn’t hurt at all.” He lays one hand flat on the counter and pounds it with his other fist. “Oh my god. That doesn’t feel like anything. I mean, I can feel it, but it doesn’t hurt. And I’m not sad anymore. Who cares? Who cares about anything?”
“You do,” I tell him. “You’re going to care like crazy when I rip that ring off your finger.”
I circle the island, but Calyxto stops me. “Sorry, Prince Cadigan. The only person who can remove the Nerve Ring is the one who wears it.”
“Wanna bet?” I shove past him and grab Quim’s hand. He struggles against me as I grasp the ring and yank. Once he sees it isn’t going anywhere, he stops struggling. All my pulling doesn’t faze him, or seem to hurt him in the least. I stop.
“There, see?” Quim says confidently. “I’m invincible now.” He punches a hole in one of the kitchen cabinets. His hand goes through a stack of ceramic bowls and comes out bloody. “That didn’t even hurt.”
“You’re hurting yourself, you idiot. You just can’t feel it.”
Quim pales. He looks at Calyxto. “Is that true?”
Calyxto looks sympathetically at Quim’s hand. “Fraid so.”
“Oh, no. Oh, no.” Quim rushes to the sink, turns the faucet to full blast, and starts pulling
pieces of earthenware out of his knuckles. “It doesn’t feel like it hurts.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s how the ring works, remember? Here, let me see it.”
He steps aside, hand hovering over the sink.
I shut off the faucet and assess the damage. “I’m going to need tweezers for this.”
Quim makes a gurgling noise in his throat. “Gross. I think I’m about to be sick.”
“Just don’t look, you big baby. And if you’re going to throw up, don’t do it on me.”
Chapter 12
I understand why the Nerve Ring appeals to Quim. Having known him since high school, I can attest to his fear of all things medical. He hates being sick, he’s scared of being injured, he won’t go to the doctor unless forcibly persuaded, and anything that gives him the slightest psychological discomfort is enough to throw him into a tailspin. The guy went out of his way to find an apartment as far from every hospital in town as possible.
That’s why his haste to put on the ring doesn’t surprise me. Clearly he misunderstood Calyxto’s explanation, believing it would make him invulnerable not only to pain, but to injury as well. Lessons learned the hard way. I’ve been able to talk him out of—and into—plenty of things over the years, but I’m not liking my chances with this one.
It takes me ten minutes to remove the crockery from Quim’s hand and wrap it in a gauze bandage. He’s distressed over the injury, but the ring keeps him from jumping as I clean the cuts with hydrogen peroxide. I keep looking at the hole in the cabinet and wondering how I’m going to get it fixed. I’ve seen one apartment destroyed already; I’m not about to lose another—especially one that isn’t technically mine.
Quim flexes his fingers under the bandage. “I can take the ring off anytime I want, right?”
“That’s right,” says Calyxto. “You’re the only one who can.”
“I recommend doing it now. The longer you keep it on, the worse it’s going to be when you take it off.”
“I can’t take it off now,” Quim whines. “My hand’s all cut up. It’ll hurt real bad.”
“Thanks for this, Calyxto.”
The half-fiend grins. “Still want me to find that magic book for you?”
“I’ve got a pretty good idea where the grimoire is. Kaz Golug and his goblin buddies said it would be at Mottrov Manor. What I could really use your help with, if you’re genuinely going to do me a favor with no strings attached, is finding my father.”
“You don’t know where your father is?”
“Have I never told you he vanished when I was seven years old?”
Calyxto wrinkles his mouth. “Don’t think so. On that kind of timeline, the chances of finding him are almost nil. I would need a cherished possession he’s interacted with recently.”
“Like the house key you found Arden’s corpse with.”
“Right.”
“The Book of Mysteries is the only possession of his I still have.”
Calyxto shakes his head. “Even if he valued the book above all else back then, sixteen years have weakened its bond to him considerably.”
“Let’s find Lorne, then. Paige thinks he’s being held at the old Civic Center, but given how little she remembers about the past weekend he could be anywhere.”
Calyxto holds out his hand. “Spit.”
“In your hand?”
He nods.
I shrug and do as he says.
Without the slightest hint of disgust, Calyxto swishes my saliva around in his palm like he did with the clay dish when I first met him at his market stand in the Department of Monstrous Vulgarities. “Now all I need is something belonging to Lorne Savage.”
I hand Calyxto the slip of paper with Giga Motts’s name on it.
“You found this in his garbage can, which means he threw it away. There’s no bonding with a discarded item.”
“It’s all I’ve got, aside from whatever gifts he might’ve given Arden when he was alive.”
Calyxto wipes his hand on his pant leg. “Gifts don’t work either. It has to be something he owns and values. Something more substantial than a mundane piece of paper.”
“Crap. I guess I’ll have to take a rain check on that freebie.”
“You’ve got eleven months until the end of the Gregorian calendar year.”
“I’m sure I’ll find a use for it by then.” I laugh. “You had my spit on your hand for nothing.”
He glares at me. “I’ve had things on my hands that would make your worst nightmares feel like a trip to Candy Land.”
“My worst nightmares are about to come true; Paige should be getting to the police station any minute now. Before the SWAT team blows down my door and cavity-searches me with a Benelli, I’d better call Carmine and warn her.”
Carmine answers on the first ring. “Ardy,” she says with a sigh. “Any news?”
“Carmine. Listen, you need to stay away from the Order of the Raven. Do you hear me?”
“The Order of the what?”
Her answer catches me off-guard. “The Raven. The meetings you’ve been going to.”
“The meetings I’ve been going to are planning huddles for a fundraising gala to aid flood survivors in Indonesia.”
Quim is making kissy faces and groping gestures in the background.
I shove him by the face and retreat to the living room. “Who’s sponsoring this fundraiser? What group are you working with?”
“Mottrov Multinational.”
I snap my fingers. “There you go. Don’t go anywhere near those people. They’re bad news. I can’t explain everything yet, but you’ve got to trust me.”
“Arden, there’s nothing dangerous going on. We’re organizing a two-hundred-dollar-a-plate dinner at the Civic Center. Do you remember a few months ago when I told you I felt like I was floundering? Like I needed some kind of purpose or direction, something to do with my life? Well I’m trying. I’m trying to find my ‘thing,’ and I think maybe I’ve found it. I thought you of all people would be proud of me.”
“I am.”
“Then why doesn’t it feel that way?”
“I’m not trying to take away from what you’re doing. I’m warning you. Lorne didn’t skip town or take an extended vacation. Someone took him. He’s in real trouble. I didn’t want to worry you until I knew more, but this is urgent. You need to cut ties with these people, get somewhere safe, and stay there.”
“Who took him? Who has Lorne?”
“I don’t know. I have a theory. It’s got something to do with this group you’re part of.”
“I’m not part of any group,” she says with an incredulous laugh. “I’m helping out on a temporary basis. If this is that serious, I made a mistake asking you to find Lorne. We should call the police.”
“I figured you’d say that. It’s already taken care of.” This is a fib I may later regret, but for now it’s about keeping her calm so she doesn’t do anything rash.
“Do you know why these people kidnapped Lorne?”
If I tell her Lorne got abducted while snooping around in her business, she’ll flip. She’ll demand to know more. She might even feel guilty. So I tell her the only thing that’ll get her to stop asking questions. “His new company. Something about their business relationship with Mottrov Multinational and its president.”
“Giga Motts?”
I pause. “Yeah. You know who he is?”
“Sure. I know him. He’s a great guy.”
“You know him personally.”
“He’s been at every meeting so far. He’s got a real presence about him. He’s hilarious. And cute. You don’t want to hear me gush over some megacorp bigwig, I know, but—”
“Carmine. Stay away from this guy. I know he’s charming, and funny, and handsome, and all that, but—”
“Jesus Christ, Arden. Do you even know Gilbert? Have you ever had a conversation with him?”
“No, but I know what kind of a person he is.”
“You’re posit
ive he’s behind Lorne’s disappearance. You know it beyond a shadow of a doubt, and you can prove it.”
I hesitate. “I have it on pretty good authority that Lorne was abducted by someone with ties to Mottrov.”
“With ties to Mottrov? That doesn’t mean anything. Mottrov has ties to tons of people. He’s rich, and successful, and he knows everyone who’s anyone in this city. He was friends with Dad. Did you know that?”
“I had no idea.”
“It’s true. He says he looked up to him. Arden, if Gilbert wanted to hurt me, he’s had plenty of chances to do it by now. I’m not going to sit here and let you accuse him on a whim.”
“It’s more than a whim. I—”
“Then where’s the evidence? I think it’s a little unfair for you to judge him based on what you’ve seen and read in the news. Gilbert wouldn’t hurt a fly, and I think if you met him in person, you’d see that. Matter of fact, what are you up to this week?”
“Going to a concert at Megatavern tomorrow night. Work’s been keeping me busy otherwise.”
“Are you free Friday night?”
“I’ll probably have to work.”
“Stop working for once and come to the gala. I can’t back out of it now; I have a ton of stuff to do before Friday. I’ve been worried sick over Lorne, and planning this party is the only thing keeping me from going insane. If you’re that concerned about Gilbert, come meet him. It’s going to be a great night. Please, Ardy. We need to be here for each other at times like this. Your support would mean the world to me.”
I should say no. Gilbert Mottrov is currently in possession of two things I want—my brother, and my book. What’s more, Friday feels ages away; if I haven’t succeeded in obtaining one or both of those things by then, it probably means I’m dead. If by some miracle I’m not, a face-to-face showdown with Giga Motts could change that in a hurry. Yet Carmine’s simple, genuine request tugs at my heartstrings, and for all my doom-and-gloom posturing I can’t think of a single aboveboard excuse for declining her invitation. “I’ll be there. What time?”