Then it disappeared.
“Okay that was creepy,” Tweety said, leaning in to study the wall. “What just happened?”
A barely audible click answered. Then a door appeared where the wall had been.
“I knocked,” I said, reaching for the doorknob. “Bob says ‘come on in.’”
We stepped into a hoarder’s paradise. The room itself was gorgeous with textured paint, high ceilings, crown moldings, priceless crystal chandeliers, dark hardwood floors, and the whole nine. Too bad only glimpses of its beauty could be seen around piles of junk. Everything from old newspapers to cereal boxes to antique toys was stacked chest high to separate walkways leading deeper into the building.
The guys paused at the door looking horrified. I ushered them in and closed it behind us.
“Oh, and Bob’s a bit of a collector. Of everything,” I said.
“You should have warned us,” Tweety said, his eyes wide as he studied a pile of what appeared to be clothing from last century. “I think something in this pile just moved.”
That wasn’t the only thing I should have warned them about. I giggled, knowing Tweety was about to freak the hell out and loving every minute of it. “Trust me, nothing unwelcome would be stupid enough to venture in here.”
“You’re not making me feel any better,” he complained.
“Don’t touch anything and you’ll be fine.”
“Uh, Romi?” Demarco asked.
I grabbed his hand and smiled at him. “It’s fine. I’m just having a little fun with the griffin. Trust me, we’re safe. And don’t think for one moment we’re not going to discuss what happened with those guys out there.”
Demarco nodded.
Projecting my voice, I called out, “Pizza delivery. Anyone home?”
The crisp, clean scent of animal magic drifted over the lingering scents of Bob’s collections, followed by the almost inaudible sound of blades slicing through the air.
“What was that?” Tweety asked.
My smile widened. “We’re safe, but you both need to duck when I tell you, okay?”
“What?” Demarco stared at me.
The slight clink of metal preceded the whoosh of wings flapping.
“Duck!” I shouted, dropping to a crouch.
Demarco and Tweety both joined me, their eyes wide.
“What’s going on?” Tweety asked.
Some things couldn’t be explained with words. You had to see them with your own eyes to understand. I pointed up and then leaned back so I could see.
Wing’s flapped, stirring up a slight breeze and unsettling a few lighter objects on the tops of the piles. Wisps of hair whipped around my face as a blur of gold, brown, and white swept by in an increase of clanking metal. With one final metallic wing flap, the majestic creature landed on a perch beside the door.
“We can get up now,” I said, standing to gawk at the bird.
I’d seen Blades plenty of times, but he still managed to take my breath away. Crimson circled his eyes and colored the tuft of his head, before bleeding into the various shades of gold, brown, and white layered across his massive wingspan and three-foot-long body. What made Blades truly unique, though, was the metallic glint and razor-sharp edges of his feathers.
Tweety grabbed my arm. “Romi! Is that a… a…”
“Yes.” I patted his hand. “Tweety, Demarco, meet Blades, Bob’s door guard and quite possibly the coolest creature on earth.
“HELLO ROMI,” BLADES said. His deep, rich voice held a hint of some sort of European accent I couldn’t place and sounded strange coming from his beak. His gaze fixed on Demarco. “Your friend is armed. Does he mean to attack my master?”
“No.” I slid my pack from my shoulders and riffled through it until I found a box of saltines. Opening a fresh sleeve of crackers, I said, “This is a rough neighborhood. I always wear my daggers to protect myself, you know this.”
“But I know and trust you. I do not know and trust your companions.” His gaze swept over Tweety. “Either of them.”
I held out a handful of crackers. Blades glanced at the offering, but did not move to accept it.
“Come on,” I whined. “Have I ever brought trouble to your doorstep before?”
His head bobbed up and down. “I seem to remember a troll…”
“He was following me, and I only brought him here because I knew you could handle him and I worry about you growing bored and rusty.”
“Rusty?” Blades sounded offended as he repositioned himself on the perch. “Never. But the troll was quite tasty.”
“And we got such a kick out of the way his eyes bugged out of his head when he saw you. Never seen a troll move that fast before.” I giggled at the memory.
Amusement lit up Blades’s eyes, and I knew he’d let us pass.
“I wouldn’t bring Demarco or Tweety here if I could not vouch for their good behavior. You know I value Bob and need to continue trading with him.”
“Tweety is a griffin,” Blades said, staring him down. “I’ve not seen one in quite some time.”
“Yes. He’s also my friend. I thought you might like to meet him.”
Blades cocked his head to the side in that weird and seemingly uncomfortable way birds do, and Tweety mirrored the gesture. They stared at each other for a long moment, neither blinking.
“Why do you hide yourself?” Blades asked.
“To travel amongst humans.” Tweety replied. “And to get through doorways.”
Blades seemed to accept the answer with a nod. “You mean my master no harm?”
“None.”
“And you?” Blades asked Demarco.
“No sir.”
Blades bobbed his head up and down. “Did you bring him a gift?”
“What am I new?” With my free hand, I pulled one of the two bottles of wine out of my pack and held it up. “Of course I did.”
“You’re always such a delight, dear girl,” Blades replied. “Bob is on his way up. You will be allowed to pass, but if you harm my master in any way, I will kill you.”
And I didn’t doubt that he would for a second. Whether through contract or choice, Blades was firmly bound to Bob and unfailingly loyal. After issuing his threat, he dipped his head to accept my crackers. I scooped out a few more, handing one to each of the guys before stuffing one in my own mouth.
I’d once read that sharing a meal with someone evoked Xenia, an ancient hospitality magic which forced a certain amount of respect and good conduct on both host and guest. Humans must not be bound to honor Xenia—history provided numerous examples of hosts and guests turning on each other—but mythological beings faced untimely ends if they broke faith with the ancient pact. Although he was deadly, Blades was also honorable. Since we’d munched crackers together, I could turn my back on him without having to worry about him skewering me with one of his feathers. At least for this visit.
I offered the bird a few more crackers and rubbed the soft down under his beak, the only spot on him that didn’t look like it’d turn my fingers to hamburger.
“You know what he is, right Romi?” Tweety asked.
I nodded. “Do you?”
Tweety straightened, looking somewhat offended. “The Ornithes Areioi, also known as the Birds of Ares, guard the shrine of Ares. They’re most notorious for their run-in with the Argonauts in their quest for the Golden Fleece. It’s said they can fling their feathers like deadly arrows.”
“You do realize I’m in the room, correct?” Blades asked.
Tweety ducked. “Sorry.”
“He’s young,” I explained. “And learning.”
“Bob isn’t Ares, is he?” Tweety asked.
Blades and I both got a good laugh out of that while I gave the bird one final scratch under the beak.
“Are you molesting my security system again, Romi?” asked a grumpy voice from behind me. “How many times do I have to tell you he’s a dangerous creature? You could lose a finger. Or an arm.”
Bob stood in the doorway, hand on a hip as he chastised me. Just shy of four feet tall, his narrow face was crowded by large squarish hazel eyes and long pointed teeth, keeping his mouth from closing properly. Thinning pale hair brushed the tips of elfish ears, and he looked like he had a basketball stuffed beneath his shirt.
No introductions were made and nothing else was said before he waved us back. The guys both looked at me and I shrugged. “What? That’s like red carpet roll out around here. Come on.” We followed him through the doorway.
Even amongst mythological creatures, Bob was an oddity. Because it would be considered rude to ask him what the hell he was, I’d done my research and as near as I could tell, Bob was half Kobalos. The Kobaloi were mischievous little gnome-dwarfs whose very existence was used to frighten naughty children into behaving. He wasn’t pretty to look at and he had the personality of a grizzly bear with a toothache.
But the most disturbing evidence of Bob’s parentage came from an ancient painting he kept in the hallway. As we passed it, I turned to once again ponder the stunningly beautiful human woman perched on a rock beside a stream. I’d asked Bob about the painting before, and he’d called her his mother and confirmed she was, in fact, very human and long-since deceased. And for the life of me, I could not get past the horrific image of a human and a Kabaloi getting it on.
Was she raped? Or did she willingly have sex with someone who looked like Bob? How did a union between Kabaloi and human even work? These questions plagued my mind every time I saw the painting. I shuddered and tore my gaze from the it.
“Stop treating my guard like a pet,” Bob grumbled. “You’re not supposed to touch him.” He stopped long enough to waggle one crooked finger at me. “He’ll kill you the second I give the order. Never you forget that.”
“You like me, Bob. You’re not going to order Blades to kill me.”
Bob harrumphed and opened a door. We followed him down rickety wooden stairs, circling around a central pillar. Both Demarco and Tweety had to duck to avoid braining themselves, and even short as I was I could barely stand up straight. The stairs let out into a storeroom only slightly less cluttered than his house, with shelves full of all things imaginable, and several which weren’t.
Bob stopped at the bottom and turned to face us. “What do you want?”
Forcing back a smile at his blunt question and borderline hostile demeanor, I replied, “It’s nice to see you, too. How’ve you been?”
“Busy. Now tell me what you need.”
Couldn’t blame a girl for trying. I let out a mock sigh and shook my head. “We need fake IDs that list us over the age of twenty-one.”
He nodded. “Payment?”
I pulled the bottle of wine from my pack again.
Bob’s eyes sparkled and his lips turned up in the closest thing to a smile he could offer. According to The Lowly Pawn’s Comprehensive Guide for Surviving Amongst Gods the Kobaloi were companions of Dionysus, the god of wine. Whether true or not, vino was clearly Bob’s preferred currency. He had yet to refuse a single job I paid for in Sémillon wine.
Still, he wouldn’t be Bob if he didn’t posture. He raised his chin. “One bottle?” he spat. “I won’t do it for less three.”
I shook my head. Same ol’ Bob. “Two.”
“Two?” The sparkle in his eyes brightened, but he snorted as if disgusted. “Three. One for each ID.”
“Sorry, but I only got two.”
His face twisted in mock outrage. “Not enough. Takes time and material to make IDs. Do you think I magic this stuff out of thin air?”
“Yes. I think that’s exactly what you do. I mean technology helps, but yeah, you’re a magical crafter. Kinda why we’re here, Bob.” I stuffed the bottle back into my pack. “But if you don’t want these two bottles of Sémillon, I guess we’ll be on our way.”
I stood and Bob stopped me before I could turn around. The level of unbridled desperation in his eyes made me feel awful. I was taking advantage of his addiction to get what I needed, after all. But I couldn’t feel too bad. It wasn’t like I was the one who’d turned him into an alcoholic. No doubt Bob had been destroying his liver centuries before I was born, and if he didn’t get it from me, he’d get it elsewhere. Besides, it wasn’t like I was doing this for kicks… I had a son to save and needed the IDs.
None of which made me feel even a smidge better.
“Give me the wine,” he demanded, sounding both angry and defeated. “I’ll do it.”
“Come on, Bob. What do you think I am? A rookie? No payment until after I get the goods. Three believable IDs, crafted immediately, in exchange for two bottles of wine. Do we have a deal?”
Bob glared at me. “Wine first.”
Crossing my arms, I held his glare. “ID’s first.”
If I handed over the bottles now, he’d drain them and be passed out in his workroom within the hour. I’d made that mistake once… never again.
“I work faster with a little incentive in my system,” Bob replied. “It’s like fuel.”
I snorted. “Bullshit.”
“One bottle now, one when I finish,” he negotiated.
“One glass now,” I amended.
“Two glasses.”
I rolled my eyes. “You could have had the IDs done by now. Instead, you’re standing here arguing with me.”
“Two glasses,” he insisted. “And you’re arguing with me.”
I could have negotiated him down further, but didn’t feel like wasting more time. “Fine, but I pour and you drink while you work. We’re in a hurry.”
I tugged the bottle from my pack and followed Bob into the next room. His workshop was stuffed full of computers, cameras, printers, and every other sort of machine necessary to counterfeit all things human, helping the wolves blend in with the sheep. Bob situated himself in front of the computer and the guys lingered in the doorway while I hunted down a corkscrew and used a grease rag to wipe down a glass. I splashed in about three fingers of wine and set it by Bob’s desk.
“What the hell is that?” Bob asked.
Rolling my eyes, I replied, “A glass of wine.”
“Not a glass, that’s a shot.”
I ignored his complaint and asked, “What do you need from us?”
“Photos,” Bob said, pointing toward the camera resting atop a tripod and wedged in the corner beside a blue backdrop. I set up the camera and then gestured the guys over. We took turns snapping headshots, and then handed the memory card off to Bob.
“Names, heights, weights, dates of birth,” Bob ordered.
I swiped a sheet of paper from the back of a printer, found a pen on the floor, and went to work. We guessed at most of the information, but names… names were complicated. Demarco’s mom had given him a full name—Demarco Javonte Barre—but all I had was Romi, a nickname I’d given myself when I’d realized Shade named me the Greek word for “payment.” Tweety, however, was all sorts of screwed since his birthname wasn’t even pronounceable. And claiming the name my son had given him was likely to get the griffin beat up at a bar.
“You guys could take my last name,” Demarco offered.
“Thanks but…” Using the tip of the pen, I circled around our group. “The three of us don’t exactly look related.”
He leveled a stare at me. “We could be married. And uh…” He angled the piece of paper to see which of my suggestions Tweety had decided on as a first name, “Logan?” he asked.
Tweety nodded. “Yeah, like Wolverine.”
Demarco chuckled. “Logan here could pose as our wayward nephew who we currently have guardianship over. The story’s not all that far from the truth.”
But still, just a story. So why did it kick the butterflies in my stomach into overdrive and make me feel both hopeful and vulnerable?
“Thanks, but we better keep it simple… and something we don’t have to take time to explain.”
I jotted down Romi Anne Smith, and for Tweety I wrote Logan Michael Carter. I showed the pape
r to Tweety and he nodded.
“You’re right,” Demarco replied. “Makes sense.”
Ignoring the blacksmith’s frown, I took the paper to Bob, who immediately pointed at his empty glass.
“Try to splash some wine in there this time, will ya?” he asked.
Tweety snickered and I shooed him out of the room, not wanting the kid to encourage Bob’s complaining. If Bob had an audience, he’d never stop grumbling. I poured a second glass, dropped it off with Bob, and then took the remaining one and half bottles into the storage room to see what sort of trouble the guys were getting into.
“THIS ROCK IS strange,” Demarco said, tapping the uneven stone wall of Bob’s storage room. “I can feel the metals in it, but I can’t feel anything beyond the first layer. It’s almost like there’s nothing out there, which is strange since we’re underground. Is this like the Pythia’s hallway?”
As the son of Hephaestus, Demarco had the unique ability to sense and manipulate metals, but he was still learning about all the ways gods and mythological beings manipulated reality.
“No.” I studied the rock, but it seemed normal to me. “The Pythia probably held us on a different plane. Bob doesn’t have that kind of power.”
Tweety joined us and ran a hand over the wall. “It’s enchanted,” he said.
Demarco scraped at the rock with a fingernail. “Enchanted to do what, exactly?”
Tweety sniffed the rock and shrugged. “Not sure, but if I had to guess, I’d say to hide this room from humans.”
“So humans can’t enter?” Demarco asked.
“I don’t know if they can or not,” I replied, thinking back to the painting of Bob’s human mom and suppressing a shudder. Hopefully no humans ever ventured into Bob’s abode. “The enchantment is probably more to hide this place from satellites and surveying equipment. I don’t know much about the capabilities of human equipment, but I know certain technology enables them to find underground caves and such. Bob probably wants this place to stay off every human radar.”
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