High Steaks

by Daniel Potter

  "I'm curious about a lot of things, being new in town," I offered, trying to discern what interest he had in me, but he projected such a degree of noninterest that I felt like I was in a principal's office. He hadn't laid a single hand on Feather. There was an air of tension between the two, like parents that had only stayed together for the sake of the children, or similar nonsense.

  "Cats and curiosity is—" he started.

  "A very old yarn," I interrupted. He quirked his brow, but I barreled on. "I'm not a traditional familiar in any sense of the word, but I'd like to be as apolitical as possible. If you or someone in your house is interested in my services, I'd enjoy discussing the opportunities."

  His smile lay on his lips like a dead fish. "Confident little upstart, you are. Feather will find you very impressive once her dignity recovers. You and her would be quite a pair."

  Feather froze mid-lick. The air in the room seemed to thicken for a moment as her tail gave a single flick, then lay still. I had thought Jules and Jowls - the technomagus who nearly killed the entire population of Grantsville and his fabulous tabby familiar - had a contentious relationship. That had proved to be an illusion once the cards were on the table, a mere odd-couple pairing. Lansky and Feather's loathing of one another was so manifest that it thickened the air in the room to the point that I could have carved myself a slice.

  I decided to change the subject from Feather's love life. "I came here to chat with people who know of a friend of mine, Trevor McKay. He worked in the buffet kitchen."

  "Yes, he has not been at work for the last few nights," Lansky rattled off with a bored expression, as if I had asked him what the weather was while we sat in front of a window. "Feel free to interrogate his coworkers on his whereabouts."

  "Thank you."

  "And if you do find him, let me know. If he is shirking his duties, that is one thing, but I consider all my employees under the protection of the House of Hermes, no matter how lowly. Now, I've answered one of your questions. I'd like you to answer one of mine."

  Feather shifted in her very large and bejeweled pet bed beside the desk. She hadn't made eye contact with me or Lansky this entire time. One ear, however, was fixated on me.

  "I'll answer it if I can," I said.

  He leaned forward. "If you won the black book, what would you do with it?"

  I swallowed. I hadn't really thought about that, as it was a fairly distant possibility. "Uh, set it up so the contents were posted to the Internet in the event of my death? Why? Do you have a better idea?"

  His bushy brows made a momentary effort to escape from his forehead. "That is an interesting threat. Have a good night, Thomas. I extend you the casino's hospitality tonight, but please do not cause trouble."

  The servant opened a well-oiled door on the side of the office. I thanked Magus Lansky for his time and left.

  Instantly, O'Meara's thoughts collided into mine. Thomas! What the hell happened! I woke up and you were gone! I thought the bond had broken!

  "Lansky makes sure all conversations within his office are held in the strictest of confidence," Feather said as she crossed the threshold.

  I watched her carefully as I filled O'Meara in on the last few hours. Hot red anger flowed from her mind to mine. You didn't wake me up to go to Lansky's!? Islands of relief floated among the magma. You get out of there before that cat stuffs you in a box for safekeeping. I'll find Rudy.

  Feather watched me with a smirk. "Is the Ashbringer chewing you out? She has every right to."

  "Done picking twigs out of your fur?" I asked her.

  "You proved you're clever. If you were actually intelligent, you'd have asked Lansky to join House Hermes. Then we'd stand with you. Instead, I will see you out." She stood and walked down the hallway.

  I followed, noting that the doors that lined the hallway bore small knobs - the least familiar-friendly door-opening device imaginable. The polished hardwood floor smelled of the 1920s, somehow, and not a soul stirred. O'Meara crowded to look through my eyes. Not a familiar-friendly place at all, she noted.

  "Lansky's laboratories. All unused in the past decade." Feather's voice answered my unspoken thought. I turned to find her sitting beside me.

  "I get the impression that you and he don't get along. Either that, or both of you are going well out of your way to convince me of it." We came to the end of the hallway, to an elevator that displayed its current floor using a dial instead of a digital display. The down button lit up without Feather touching it.

  "Very astute." She stood aside to let me pass into the mirrored interior of the elevator. As I walked by, she whispered very quietly, "I'm trying to help you."

  Turning, I met her eyes and found them both very old and very lonely. "You're trying to cage me," I told her.

  "You can't avoid being caged. The trick is to have a copy of the key."

  "Have you managed that?" I asked her.

  "I did, but now the lock is rusted shut. Good luck." The doors closed.

  28

  Dinner with a River

  "So, did you get lucky? Or did you get your drooling tongue burned?" Rudy's voice scolded before I even had one paw off the elevator. He perched on O'Meara's shoulder.

  "She toyed with me like a bored house cat," I conceded before shoulder-checking O'Meara's thigh in greeting. Not going to say, "I told you so,” either? I thought at my bond.

  In response, she thumped my side. You're not bleeding, and as far as I can tell, Feather is more of an ally than an enemy. If anything, I'd play up the hapless kitten bit. They're not going to join the hunt, so let's call it a win for now.

  "Come on. Let's get to the kitchens and see if that gets us anywhere closer to Trevor," I said.

  The kitchens were hot, steamy, and populated mostly by people that had two hands and two feet and not much else in common. They had employed Trevor as a hauler, taking the finished food out to the buffet line and trading it out for trays that had been picked clean by customers. Trevor's boss, a satyr with a Californian accent, spoke mostly about his bad attitude. "He didn't want to be here. Said he was going to be a magus. Loser couldn't even make change."

  He waved over a stout woman who appeared to be composed of constantly churning water. Brightly colored fish swam through her in a vague imitation of blood flow. The satyr introduced her as Mama Torrent.

  "Welcome, masters and mistress." Her voice was a burbled whisper against the cacophony of the kitchen, but clear. I suspected a spell similar to that which gave me a voice. "Are you hungry?"

  "Always!" Rudy volunteered for the rest of us. "Never turn down food from an elemental who works in a kitchen," he whispered.

  "Then I'll fix you all something while we discuss the tragedy that was young Trevor." Mama Torrent turned and plucked a large chunk of raw beef from a counter where a young chef was seasoning it and a dozen others then extended watery tendrils to an assembly line for salads. Veggies, nuts, and potatoes flowed into her, then began to circulate through her, the fishes swarming around some ingredients while others bubbled as if the water around them boiled.

  "You knew him, then?" I asked, trying to look at where her eyes should be and not at the roast that circled her hips.

  "I cooked for him as I do now for you. Troubled and young. Pining for things he could not have. Scheming for naught. It is a sad story. A common story." Her laugh was the bubbling of a tea kettle.

  Someone pushed a table in front of us. "How'd you know he died?" O'Meara asked. Her own eyes were fixed on the particular way a school of fish were mashing a potato in her shoulder.

  "Cats don't come down here unless somebody's either dead or shortly will be." Six chestnuts gathered in her fist. Their spiny shells cracked open as globes of golden liquid were shepherded down her arm by a school of nearly transparent fish. The honey was then forced into the cracked shells, and bubbles began to froth from the nuts.

  "Did he tell you his plan to get out of the kitchens? How he planned to become a magus?" I recalled those noteb
ooks full of fragmented thoughts. I mentally kicked myself for so studiously staying out of the kid's mind.

  "The boy saw the wealth around him but could not feel the gold in his own pockets."

  Mama Torrent's body broke like a wave over the table. All three of us flinched back, but the water elemental reformed before us in the space of a second, arms spread wide behind the three dishes in front of us. The chestnut shells bloomed like flowers, revealing honey-laden pools on top of the mashed nuts. The bangers popped as their skin cracked; they lay on a steaming pile of mashed potatoes, while in front of me sat a shoulder of beef that sang on my tongue from two feet away.

  I swallowed down a sudden flood of saliva. Please tell me this isn't one of those times where I have to refuse a meal because she'll own my soul or something, I thought to O'Meara, who was already spearing one of the sausages.

  If that's true, she wouldn't be working in the kitchen. O'Meara bit into the sausage and shared the savory deliciousness and spice that poured over her tongue. The taste threw open the gates of childhood memories; I caught a flash of a burly man with red hair and a greying mustache bent over a stovetop through young, hungry eyes. A simple tube of meat really had no business tasting that good.

  Unable to resist, I tore into the shoulder before me. The tender protein melted on my tongue as if it were a pat of butter. The sweetness of the meat had zero parallel, and it had been salted just enough to make my taste buds sing. My mind reached for something equivalent, but found nothing. No memory, even those colored with the rosy tint of time and family, could compare. It was simply the best meal of my life. Even after I had cleaned the bones, curling my tongue around to get every last bit of flavor, I found that tiny holes had be drilled through the white bone. Through these I sucked out custardy marrow for dessert.

  All three of us staggered back from our emptied plates. Rudy flopped on his back, stomach so distended that he looked pregnant. Had some nefarious thing happened at that moment, I doubt any of us could have put up much of a fight. Pink fish swam into Mama Torrent's cheeks, and she beamed down at us like a sun on a beach.

  "That was—" I started.

  "Beyond yum!" Rudy declared, thrusting a paw into the air and then groaning.

  "Thank you very much." O'Meara wiped tears from her eyes. "I don't get food like that anymore."

  "I've never had it anywhere," I said.

  "It is a joy to cook for a cougar again, Mr. Khatt. Feather has not graced me with her appetite for years. Now, why don't you tell me what this is all about?"

  And we did. The kitchen seemed to fade from view as the three of us took turns telling her about Trevor and Jet then about Death and his game. Mama Torrent listened, nodding at points. When we finished, she leaned back with a frown. "That is a sad thing, them folks from Grantsville. I didn't know this Jet, but he sounds like as good a man as any goat can hope to be. Trevor, though, supped with me the night before he disappeared. The poor boy wasn't right in the head. Thought he could blackmail his way to power. Never understood how fast they could boil away his life." She shook her head sadly.

  My heart surged. "Do you know what happened?"

  "No, but he told me a story. Every Tuesday night, that Doug takes a car out into the desert. Occasionally, Miss Feather also joins him. He convinced himself that they were sneaking away from their magi. He did not come back after his afternoon shift last Tuesday."

  "Thank you so much, Mama Torrent," I said, my mind whirling. The long-distance microphone. I recalled seeing the empty case in Trevor's apartment. It wouldn't even work with familiars' voices, but he apparently hadn't realized that. If he had been caught eavesdropping on Doug or anyone else, then it would be case closed.

  "Was there anyone else here that Trevor was close to? Or chatted about?" O'Meara asked, leaning forward as my own instinct was to say goodbye. She had given us a new piece of info; my own brain wanted to slink away and digest it, ponder it. O'Meara simply filed the tidbit away for later, the inquisitor in her still smelling more morsels held by the elemental.

  Mama Torrent's chuckle bubbled up her throat. "Did I overfeed the wrong guest?" She pointed at Rudy, whose eyes had closed, chest rising and falling with the slow swiftness of rodent sleep. "No, the boy chatted of how he would master his flame and grow it bigger. If there were a man or woman who needed a light, young Trevor would leap across the room to demonstrate the tiny flame he could conjure. But there was no one here besides me who felt him die."

  O'Meara tried several other lines of questioning, but it appeared Mama Torrent's well of info had dried up. The pair of us said our goodbyes, Rudy making a light groan as O'Meara scooped him into her bag. Once back in the limo, O'Meara and I hastily constructed a ward before I finally allowed my thoughts to wander.

  Doug had lied about it. If he had caught Trevor spying on him, then there would be no need to lie. Yet Trevor was awakened, no matter how weak; he had rights, and the protection of the Inquisition. If Doug was either a vampire or had one as a pet, then it would be better if he simply disappeared.

  Then Jet, through sniffing around, also got eaten, O'Meara thought.

  And now Death's serving us up on a platter. I leaned against her knees and received a good scratch for my troubles. The day was over, and I had to make a decision soon. Tuck my tail between my legs and spend a hopefully longer life watching the shadows? Or figure out how to defeat a magus with more tass than I could count, her vampire familiar, and several packs of spell dogs?

  29

  Rudy's Wizard Phooey

  When we climbed into the limo, I had every intention of discussing how the hell to get out of this. But the weight of the day crashed down on me then. Adrenalin had sustained me through the crisis-packed day, but sleep claimed the debt. I don't remember the ride or arriving home.

  Then next memory I have is the sharp scent of sulfur and a sharp tugging on my ear.

  "Hey, Thomas! Wake up!"

  I groaned and curled myself into a tighter ball. There was daylight through my eyelids, and I wanted no part of that. A flick of my tail and the world went dark.

  "Dude! You are not a house cat! We got too much to do for you to sleep eighteen hours a day. Besides, house cats only sleep that long because they're bored out of their mouse-lovin' skulls." Two tiny hands grabbed the tip of my tail and peeled it from my eyes. The black of my inner eyelids became red. "Your life is a lot of things, but it ain't boring!"

  Reluctantly, I peeled open an eyelid. Rudy loomed up into the too-bright view. "Wakey wakey! Eggs and bakey!"

  I sniffed, desperately hoping that there was more to Rudy's sing-song than high-pitched notes. Grease hung in the air; sausage grease. Beyond him, O'Meara dangled an overloaded paper bag.

  "You should have seen the look I got when I ordered twenty sausage McMuffins, hold the muffins." She grinned. I rose to pounce on her, but she tossed the bag at my nose. Catching it between two paws, I tore into the contents with glee.

  Cheap sausage, egg, and cheese was no Mama Torrent beef shoulder but a guilty pleasure all its own.

  "Okay, okay, okay! Now that the beast has supped, on to the main event!" Rudy's tail was twitching so much I'd almost call it a wag. He perched on the island counter in front of something that had been covered with a towel. Two halves of a lumpy soccer ball, the soft grey glow of tass suffused through its structure. Probably half of what we had gotten from Ceres. "While you two were snoring through the floorboards, I was working my fuzzy tail off on our secret weapon!" Rudy bounced around, circling the thing. "With this little nutcracker on your back, no magus is gunna want to get within a ten-mile radius of ya."

  "What're you going to do? Spray me with skunk juice?" I eyed the thing suspiciously.

  O'Meara gave a tiny snort as Rudy chittered.

  "Oh, ha ha. Just get a load of this!" Rudy attempted to whip off the towel, but it snagged on the thing and nearly toppled it onto him. With a grunt of frustration, he jumped up onto the thing and hauled the towel up like a curtain, re
vealing the shiny black thing beneath.

  It appeared to be two domes with a squirrel-sized basket in the middle. The surfaces of the domes were festooned with short barrels. "I present the Wizard Phooey Mark I! Guaranteed to save the tail of a certain cougar who doesn't appreciate true art!"

  Confusion ruled for a moment, then I saw that beneath the domes lay my old service dog harness that I used outside of Vegas. He intended me to strap that thing, laden with tass-infused explosives, to my back. Mentally, I replayed the last time I'd seen the squirrel use one of those. It had projected a column of flame that had burned a hole through a warded steel wall. And there was a lot more than that loaded in that harness.

  Rudy whipped out his sewing needle sword and started pointing at the various tubes. "We've got antiward rockets, magic sight-obscuring smoke screens, rear-mounted matter bombs, antigravity jump assistance, conventional kinetic weapons, and..." Rudy tipped back the chair to reveal a wooden ring carved in tiny Greek letters - a spell I instantly recognized as the ancient druid travel spell we had used to rescue the Blackwings from their other-dimensional prison. “An emergency spatial warp drive!" He wagged his finger. "One time only, right back here...ish. Give or take a block."

  Whipping his phone off his back, he swiped the screen, and the domes spun in unison. "All controlled by an encrypted data signal that is totally unhackable." He beamed with pride.