Hexomancy

by Michael R. Underwood

  Ree’s heartbeat stirred. This isn’t exactly doing a good job of keeping my eye on the ball, she admitted in a guilty-not-actually-guilty fashion. “You’re healthy. I knew you’d make it. Unless of course I’d been completely misreading signals and what everyone else was saying and you actually weren’t interested.”

  “Of course I am. . . .” Drake looked up again. “Wait. Who would ‘everyone else’ be, in this case?”

  “Pretty much everyone. There’s this thing that happens when people who have chemistry don’t get together, which mostly involves amusing and annoying everyone that they both know. They share significant glances and gossip behind the would-be lovers’ backs. I’ve been on the outside of that several times, and it’s hilarious.”

  Ree continued, “Sandra and Darren were ‘friends’ for about two months before they hooked up. We all met him at a party that one of Sandra’s friends threw. They talked all night, and then they started circling immediately. He came over to hang out, they’d go see movies together, shop at bookstores, and even did the ‘meet on a Saturday morning to go shopping at a farmer’s market then hang out all day and cook stuff from farmer’s market for dinner’ thing, and it wasn’t until Anya and I told her to make her move that she even considered it. She thought he was too preppy for her, what with the ‘oh no, he’s a doctoral student and I’m a washout’ angst. I wrote that shit into a rom-com called Matriculation. Didn’t go anywhere, though.”

  “I see,” Drake said. “I’m very glad that they had an easier time of it. It does seem rather preposterous that so many of us are unable to see what is clearly in front of us.” Drake pressed a button and set the device to a consistent buzzing hum, the lever shaking on the platform. “I’m uncertain how long it will take to calibrate, so we will have to come back and check on it.”

  “What, this one doesn’t go ding when there’s stuff?” Ree asked.

  “For unknown reasons, I was not able to get such an alarm to sound at anything less than seventy-three decibels, which is rather too loud given the close proximity of neighbors.”

  “But just how soundproof is this apartment, then?” Ree asked, eyebrows raised.

  “This, like many things, requires experimentation.” Drake crossed toward his bedroom, then turned and extended a hand. “Shall we?”

  “I love science,” Ree said, taking Drake’s hand in hers.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Private Inquiry

  A beautiful forever later, Drake stumbled out of bed to go check on the tracking device. Ree watched him go, letting out a happy sigh.

  Another way that Drake proved himself old-fashioned was his stance on running the bases. Ree had assumed she was in position to go straight for a double, but Drake waved her off at first base. Not that first base was anything bad, as Drake brought the same creative, slightly melodramatic gusto to kissing as he did everything else in life. A little much at times, but a little much was way better than not enough.

  Every two people had their own specific way of kissing, the middle ground between each person’s personal style. Just like each relationship was its own thing. Ree and Drake were still definitely setting those boundaries, figuring out what worked. And it was the best kind of exploration imaginable.

  Quite happily disheveled, Ree settled into the bed, looking at Drake’s bedroom. Where the living room had been completely converted into a laboratory, his bedroom was relatively spare, appointed with antique-style furniture (maybe it actually was antique, but it seemed really sturdy), including a gorgeous carved and lacquered bed and headboard.

  Those would be very useful if/when (hopefully when) Drake gave the go-ahead on more.

  Drake returned a minute later. Light from the living room framed him in silhouette, shirt untucked, hair mussed. And damned if he didn’t look every bit as marvelous as the sunrise on the first day of summer.

  “I have good news, and less-good news.”

  Ree flipped through several lascivious dialogue options before settling on the comparatively mild, “Which one applies to our most recent scientific endeavor?” she said, patting the bed.

  “The good, fortunately. The less-good news is that the calibration failed, and I will need to try another method, which will require the device to work all night.”

  “Oh no, what will we do with a whole night of waiting?” Ree said, planting the back of her hand on her forehead as if swooning.

  “I imagined that might be your reaction. Resetting the machine will take several minutes, I’m afraid. But then I promise to continue our experiment. Replication of results is important for rigorous inquiry.”

  “Rigor, eh?” Ree gave her best Groucho eyebrows, tipping a fake cigar.

  “I shall return.”

  “You better,” Ree said, leaning back into the bed.

  She took a long, satisfied breath.

  About. Goddamned. Time.

  Ree fished her phone out of her discarded jacket, and dialed Anya. It was nearly 3 AM for her dad, and even though he’d be elated to hear her good news, she didn’t want to wake him. But Anya was on a night schedule already, due to rehearsals, and she was always down for some kiss-and-tell.

  “Hey, what’s up?” Anya answered.

  “You done with showbiz for the moment?”

  “I wish. Madame Wesselman just gutted the entire second act. We’re on break while she tears the stage manager a new one.”

  “Shit,” Ree said. The opera director was legendarily draconian and was the subject of many of Anya’s favorite “Show Business Is Crazy” stories.

  “I just had to call and request telekinetic high fives.”

  “And how high were those fives?” Anya asked, giving the countersign. The Rhyming Ladies had a custom of sharing their excitement about dates, hookups, and all things love life.

  “High, but not super-high,” Ree said. “Not too surprising when high-fiving a temporally-displaced Victorian adventurer.”

  “Ooooh, I see,” Anya said, voice low. The phone was quiet for a moment. “Shit, we’re back on. High fives, and good luck!”

  “Right back at you. Remember, murdering your director never got anyone ahead in showbiz.”

  “I’m sure that’s not the case, but thanks.” Anya hung up, and Ree looked at her phone, seeing the red battery. If they were going straight for adventuring in the morning, she’d need to get her workhorse acharging.

  “Now, where are you, little charger?” Ree said, rummaging around in her pile of stuff, a patented mix of purse goods and geeky crime-fighting gear.

  When Drake returned, Ree was scrolling through Tumblr, phone charge climbing back out of the red zone.

  “Science under way?”

  “From one experiment to another. Science waits for no man,” Drake said, climbing back into bed.

  “Try hard enough, and there may be a Nobel Peace Prize in it for you. Goodness knows the world could stand to hand out more prizes for good sex,” Ree said.

  Drake froze, like a deer caught in the headlights going “Shit, what am I doing? I should have stayed home and eaten the berries there!”

  Fuuck. “Sorry. Overeager again.”

  Drake’s whole body relaxed. He slid forward, running a hand through Ree’s hair, tugging ever so slightly at her roots before letting go. “For now, let us resume the experiment, and see what further inquiries the results invite.”

  “Deal,” Ree said, wrapping her arms around the adventurer and pulling him close.

  Despite all efforts to the contrary, morning eventually rolled in with an alarm sounding some weird version of reveille.

  “Whaaat?” Ree asked, pawing at the sound.

  Drake sat up in bed all at once. “Oh, bother.”

  “Bother?” Ree mumbled, still holding tightly to sleep, a woman doomed to waking but not ready to give up the label of asleep.

  A
s Drake slid off the bed, Ree sprawled out, taking the space he’d warmed in the night. They’d slept with their clothes on (most of them), and while the experimentation had never passed first base, Ree hadn’t had a night of makeouts that good since she was in high school.

  The floor stretched with Drake’s steps, proving just how shoddily the building was put together. Spring floors were great for dancing but made quite a lot more noise when people were padding across the floor silencing alarms.

  “Why is it so morning right now?” Ree asked.

  “It’s already half-nine, Ree.”

  “I roll to disbelieve. Come back to bed.”

  Three more squeaking moans of the floor brought Drake back to the bed. He placed a kiss on the back of her head, then said, “I shall prepare breakfast. Do you prefer griddle cakes or omelets?”

  “Pancakes,” Ree said, then fell one more step toward waking. “Wait. Cook?” she asked. Certainty was indefinitely suspended before coffee, but she’d never heard of him cooking before. He was the king of carryout and delivery.

  Drake changed his socks, tucked in his shirt, and pulled down an identical brown duster from his closet. “I am apt enough for these few dishes. But shall I retrieve you a cappuccino first?”

  “Marry me,” Ree said.

  Beat.

  “I should not hold you to anything said before caffeine, should I?” Drake asked.

  “Nope. Thank you.”

  “I shall return presently. You needn’t leave the bed.”

  “Mm hmm,” Ree said, burrowing further into bed.

  Some indeterminate amount of time later, Drake returned, announcing his return. “I come bearing caffeine, my slumbering companion.”

  “Not slumbering anymore. I’m merely draped coquettishly in repose. Or something.”

  “Truly? This is a wonder to which I must bear witness.” He stepped back into the bedroom, a takeout cup from Stardust Coffee in hand. Stardust was barely half as good as Café Xombi when it came to bean quality, but for her first drink of the day, the caffeine content was more important than the taste. Plus, it was coffee in bed. This was very rare in her world, and was to be savored.

  She took a long sniff, the first vapors of caffeine hitting her system like the chill of a polar-bear swim upon first plunge. She popped the top off and took a sip, then a gulp of the cappuccino. The foam was better than she remembered. Someone had leveled up.

  “This is really well made,” Ree said.

  “I told the proprietor that I was bringing the drink to the most beautiful woman in the land, who happened to also be a veteran barista. I rather think the barista took it as a challenge. She sent me off with a ‘Go get her, tiger.’ Are tigers associated with virility here? I rather thought they were more directly associated with Asia and Europe.”

  “If the barista was a redhead, then it was a comic book reference.”

  “She was blond. Or, the blond of bottles.”

  Ree took another sip. “Probably still a comic book reference. But she did a damned good job, regardless.”

  A memory struck her as fog fell from her mind. “How’s the doohickey?”

  Drake’s head quirked to the side, almost birdlike. “I did not check. One moment.”

  “Curses!” Ree said. “I mean, forget that terrible thing and come keep me warm. It’s too cold in here!”

  “I shall turn on the heat,” Drake said, voice carrying through the apartment.

  “That’s too expensive!”

  “I do believe you are trying to have one over on me again.”

  “Guilty. So, what’s the word?”

  “We are ready to proceed.”

  Ree climbed out of bed and slid on her pants, which had been strategically dumped by the heater. She walked out into the living room.

  “Not quite. I was promised griddle cakes.”

  “I am not one to break my promises.”

  Ree made her way to the kitchen, padding along the cold floor, wishing she’d stopped for her socks.

  “Good man. I can help, too. This isn’t a bed-and-breakfast; I can pull my weight around here.”

  “Foul woman,” Drake said, following her. “You put me in an untenable position. I cannot deny a guest, but neither can I allow a guest to do their own cooking.”

  Ree pulled Drake’s one spatula out of the mason jar of cooking implements and leveled it at Drake. “Then how about I cook your breakfast, and you cook mine?”

  “Brilliant.”

  If it weren’t for the imminent chase and fight scenes she expected to follow shortly, Ree would have declared it a perfect day at 10:15 AM. Every bit of the fun, energetic banter was still there, but now with added makeouts and proximal comfort. Instead of trying to dance around each other in the tiny kitchen, they happily glided past each other, moving like dancers in and out of the embrace.

  Fucking heavenly, it was.

  But when the pancakes were done, the dishes washed and put away, there was nothing left to distract them from the tracking machine, lights blue and expectant, ready to guide them on a wild-goose chase.

  “I guess we should get going, then?” Ree asked, pointing at the machine, the broken-off lever sitting atop the machine’s dish.

  “Indeed. It seems likely that Madame Lachesis will want to make another attempt on Eastwood before the season passes its zenith tonight.”

  “Shit, that is tonight, isn’t it? Guess I’ll skip the shower, then.”

  “Knowing our luck, we will be bound once more for the sewers,” Drake said, collecting his weapons.

  Ree put all of her Geekomantic tools back in order, but that still left her without a good winter coat.

  “You got another coat in that bag of holding? Or at least a sweater, maybe?” The buff jacket could pass in a pinch, as long as they went inside every half hour and the Hoth levels for the day were low.

  They weren’t. Her phone showed a high of 17, a low of 5, -12 with windchill.

  “It is not fitting for your beauty, but this should be of assistance,” Drake said, handing her a PU hoodie.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “It was left in the apartment when I moved in. Will it fit?”

  Ree slipped the hoodie on. It smelled vaguely of motor oil. “Did you use this as a work rag?”

  “Oh. Just the once.”

  “It’s all good. Just wanted to make sure it wasn’t leftover from the original owners.”

  “That would be rather more unsettling, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yep. You good to go with the trackamagigger?” Ree asked, gesturing at the machine.

  Drake pulled off a piece that looked like the controller for an RC car, then turned with it in hand, pulling out an antenna. “Ready to go.”

  Off on another wild-goose chase. Drake walked out the door. Good company, though.

  Now just make sure he doesn’t die or you don’t fuck it up, her brain told her.

  Fuck you, brain. Let’s go fight things.

  Word.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Defender’s Creed

  Drake’s RC tracker led them west, past the U-District and toward the water.

  The adventurer stopped on a street corner, staring intently at the tracker’s readout.

  “How we doing?” Ree asked, stamping her feet. Her second-string boots were for going out and dancing, not for turning aside winter.

  Note to self: Inquire about all-season muck-proof boots. No price too high.

  Amended: Many prices are too high. Still a priority.

  “The source appears to be leading farther still to the west, into the industrial district.”

  “Great, straight into gangland territory,” Ree chattered, teeth rattling.

  “So it would seem. It is likely, however, that most of their number will just be wak
ing up now, and less likely to go chasing after strange adventurers.”

  “Yeah, but what about me?” Ree asked, winking.

  Drake resumed, crossing the street. This time, he managed to wait for the light. “Your protestations of normalcy have been noted and will be attended to with all appropriate consideration, filed under ‘Owner of three complete sets of the Star Wars films.’”

  “That’s totally reasonable. The VHS set, a Laserdisc of the remastered but not special edition trilogy, and the second edition of not-quite-as-terrible special edition DVDs. Also, magic.”

  “None of the above is lending any credit to your case for normalcy.”

  “Okay, I give up. Plus, the weird adventurers have more fun.”

  “I would think this rather more fun were we not forging through weather more frigid than the outposts on Europa.”

  “No disagreement on that here.”

  Forty bone-chilling minutes later (including a ten-minute thawing break in a coffee shop), they reached a warehouse building two blocks in from the wharf.

  “The signal originates somewhere in that building, give or take twenty yards.”

  “Okay, how do you want to enter?”

  Ree walked down the street, taking the building in through her peripheral vision, in case Lachesis had surveillance running. The building was three stories tall, with double doors on the ground floor, and probably a back entrance on the wharf side. Some Spider-Mojo could get them up onto the second or third floor, but a lot depended on who else was there. Bad thing about being a hero (aka a moral human being) was worrying about collateral damage.

  “Breaking and entering is rather more your area of expertise.”

  “Are you saying that because I’m Latina, or because I’m the one with the lock-picking skills?” Ree joked.

  “I was thinking more of your bold, aggressive combat style.”

  “I’ll allow it. Looks like there may be another way in around back, probably less guarded. If we pop inside for a minute, I can run a reverse yellow pages search on this address, see what businesses pop up. Maybe we’ll get lucky and she’ll have left a paper trail.”