Triad Soul

by Nathan Burgoine

  “I don’t know,” David said.

  Anders grinned. “Doesn’t matter. If we’re talking sleazy on-the-down-low deals with black market shit, then we know what to do…”

  “Wheeler.”

  Both Anders and David said the word. But while Anders said it with amusement and a grin, David said it as if trying to clear his throat of some particularly recalcitrant mucus.

  Curtis was looking between the two, his eyes wide. “What’s that?”

  “Not a what. A who. And Wheeler is our next stop,” Anders said, rubbing his hands together. He was grinning. Luc realized the demon was very much looking forward to meeting with this Wheeler fellow. Luc looked at David, and the disgust on David’s face was obvious.

  This already felt like a terrible idea.

  Nine

  “Wow,” Curtis said, looking at the faded sign above the storefront. Cracked and peeling paint spelled out “Wheeler’s Pawn Shop” over a barred window smeared with what looked like a decade of dirt. Inside the window, the arrangement of junk on display wouldn’t have been enticing to anyone: a VCR, an ugly lamp, a few glass bottles, and other stuff Curtis wasn’t even sure he could identify. Despite the snow, the whole building seemed dirty, and nothing about the place said “come inside.”

  “Isn’t it great?” Anders said.

  Curtis stared at him.

  “What?” Anders said.

  “It’s filthy,” Luc said.

  “You guys need to loosen up.”

  “This isn’t loose,” Curtis said, pointing at the store. “This is…” He waved his hand. “Wide open. Wait. Is it even open? It’s pretty late.” The neon “open” sign wasn’t lit.

  “Wheeler’s always open. He just keeps it looking like this to make sure no random idiots walk in off the street, though I’m sure it still happens. He runs a pretty solid business through here for one of the Families. And he can get stuff you need.”

  “You’re sure Wheeler works for the Families?” Curtis said.

  “I think he was an Orphan, like you. But one of the Families scooped him up. So his loyalty is…negotiable.”

  “Which likely means we shouldn’t trust him in the slightest,” Luc said.

  “Oh, this is fun,” Curtis said.

  “Look, he’s got his fingers in all the dicey stuff that comes and goes through the city, so he’s the one we need to talk to,” Anders said.

  “You never said how exactly you know all this about him,” Curtis said.

  “He got some stuff for me once. Before I met you.”

  “Some stuff.” Curtis raised his eyebrows. “Care to elaborate?”

  Anders reached for the door and pulled it open. “Nope.” He went inside.

  Curtis hesitated, looking at Luc. The vampire shrugged. “I don’t know anything about this man at all.”

  “Fantastic,” Curtis said, and opened the door. He gestured with one hand. “After you.”

  “Merci, lapin.”

  They went inside.

  *

  Curtis fought off a sneeze. The word “dusty” didn’t cover this place. All around the walls of the narrow store, shelves were piled high and haphazardly with all manner of junk, while two rows of glass-topped display tables ran down the middle of the open floor. The glass of the tables was streaked and stained with coffee rings. The floor was sticky. Not much illumination from the streetlights got through the dingy front window, and the only other light in the room was a single overhead orb yellowed with age.

  No one was around, though a little doorway led to what Curtis assumed was the back room, behind a counter that ran the full length of the rear of the store. A computer monitor facing away from him was the only item in the entire room that didn’t look completely obsolete and useless.

  Curtis shared a glance with Luc, who stood still, as though afraid any movement might cause some of the grime of the shop to brush off on him. Curtis commiserated. When he got home, he was taking a hot shower.

  Anders walked up to the counter and rang a grimy silver bell. The ding seemed very loud in the small, crowded store.

  The door opened, and an older man shuffled through with pained effort. Whipcord thin, his plain grey pants and white collared shirt seemed a size too large for him, as though he’d once fit in them but had since shrunk. The faded blue sweater-vest he wore added nothing to his presence, except to exaggerate how lean and spare the man was. His hair, a dirty bone white, was still full but looked unkempt, and he bore a wicked widow’s peak. A pair of glasses hung on a string around his neck. He squinted at Anders with reddened eyes, his lips pressed firmly together.

  He looks like an old librarian, Curtis thought. Whatever he’d been expecting of a black market peddler who dealt with dark magic for the Families, this wasn’t it.

  “Yes?” he said. It wasn’t unfriendly, but it certainly wasn’t warm.

  Anders grinned at the old man. “Hey, buddy.”

  “Don’t ‘buddy’ me. What do you want?”

  Curtis flinched. One day, he would meet someone Anders knew who didn’t seem to have some sort of grudge against the demon. Today, though, was once again not that day. He took a deep breath.

  “We were hoping you could help us with something,” Curtis said.

  Wheeler turned his eyes to him. Red-rimmed and rheumy, they were nevertheless sharp. Curtis reminded himself Wheeler was a wizard. Just because he was an adopted Orphan, it didn’t mean he didn’t have serious power.

  “Not in the business of helping,” Wheeler said. “I’m in the business of buying and selling.”

  “Of course,” Curtis said. He took a breath. “I don’t know if you know who we are, but—”

  “I do. You’re the wizard who pissed off Stirling by hooking up with a bloodsucker and this piece of shit.”

  Anders grinned.

  Curtis blinked. Okay. That was one way to put it, he supposed. “Uh, yeah,” Curtis said.

  “Not a bad move,” Wheeler said. “Getting out from under Stirling’s thumb. From what I hear, you’ve got a lot of talent. He would have made sure you ended up a Stirling, that’s for damn sure.”

  Curtis fought off a shiver at the thought of being “adopted” by the Stirling family. He doubted he’d have been allowed to hang out with Matthew at the Stirling family chantry. Back to the matter at hand.

  Curtis said. “I take it you’re not a fan of Malcolm Stirling?”

  “I’m an Orphan,” Wheeler said. Curtis took it as a good sign. He looked at Anders and Luc. He didn’t feel much through their odd link, so he assumed they were okay with what he was saying so far. Both nodded at him, Luc without expression, Anders with his grin firmly in place.

  “We’re here about Duane Faris,” Curtis said.

  Wheeler blew out a disgusted breath, and it turned into a dry cough. “Don’t much like him, either,” he said, recovering.

  Curtis exhaled. “Faris might have attacked someone.”

  Wheeler’s thin grey eyebrows rose. “Who’d he kill?”

  “You assume he killed someone?” Luc said.

  Wheeler laughed. “Duane Faris is a conniving little shit who likes to prove how big he is. Who’d he kill?”

  “A demon,” Luc said. “What we don’t know is why. And we’d like to find out.”

  “Why do you care?” Wheeler said. Curtis flinched at the casual dismissal of a man’s life. Demon or not, it seemed to Curtis murder should always be something people cared about. Not for the first time, he felt a little sick knowing how commonplace death seemed to be for the Families.

  “The death is unusual,” Luc said, not supplying details. “Faris brings wares to you, correct?”

  “He’s a runner. Brings stuff into the city often enough,” Wheeler said. “Don’t put his shit on me. I got a business here. What he does or doesn’t do isn’t up to me.”

  Anders smiled. His big, sexy smile. “Come on, you old flick. I know you better than that. When people want to hook up with things without the Families knowin
g about it, you’re the one they go to. If Faris is your runner, you know where he’s running.”

  Wheeler’s lips narrowed. He coughed again, a dry, painful sound. “I arrange meetings, that’s all. What people do at those meetings isn’t up to me to police.”

  “And you hold stuff in the meanwhile,” Anders said.

  “That’s what a goddamn pawn shop does, genius. Holds stuff.”

  “We assure you, we’re not here to cause you trouble,” Luc said. “If anything, we’d like to sort this all out without any bother for anyone.”

  Wheeler turned to Curtis. “I hear you got a pair of glasses.” He paused. “Special ones.”

  Curtis felt his face heating up but managed not to jump at the old man’s attention. “Yes, I do.” He’d enchanted his glasses back before he’d even met Luc and Anders. He supposed they were special, yes. Casting a seeing spell took a lot of power. Using the glasses didn’t.

  “I know someone who’d be interested in them,” Wheeler said.

  Curtis blinked.

  “Is that your price?”

  Oh. Curtis got it. Wheeler was negotiating for his help. Crap. He slid a hand into his jacket and felt the glasses in his pocket. He could make another pair, sure. It, would take time and effort, but they could be replaced. And given his bond with Luc and Anders, he could probably make a better pair these days, given how much more oomph he could feed into the spell. He remembered how moments ago he’d been disgusted someone wouldn’t care about the murder of another human being, and felt guilty about not wanting to give up the lenses. He pulled them out of his pocket. Wheeler’s eyes fixed on them.

  Okay, Curtis thought. Someone really wants these.

  “If you use them too long, you end up with a really bad headache,” Curtis said. “Just a fair warning.”

  Wheeler grunted.

  “So you’ll tell us what you know about Faris?” Luc said.

  Wheeler held out one arthritic hand.

  Curtis gave him the glasses.

  “I can tell you he came here, and I can tell you he arranged a meeting with someone. But that was the last I think I’m going to hear from him.”

  “What?” Anders frowned. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “Faris came back for the stuff he’d brought and stored here. And then stole it. All of it.” Wheeler’s voice was flat with anger. “Son of a bitch knows better than to come to me again. If I see him again? I’ll kill him myself.”

  *

  Stepping through to the back room of Wheeler’s shop was like entering a completely different building. It was almost the size of the storefront itself, except clean and organized, with a sturdy wooden desk forming an island in the middle of rows of shelves. A banker’s lamp was lit on the desk, upon which was a closed laptop and a large ledger. Alongside a fire door on the back wall was a small kitchenette, with a fridge, microwave, and a single oven range.

  Apart from the complete lack of windows, the room wasn’t entirely unwelcoming.

  Wheeler led them to his desk and lowered himself painfully into the modern looking desk chair. He closed his eyes and breathed as though in pain, then opened his laptop, keying in a password and then navigating through directories with ease.

  Curtis eyed the shelves while the older man worked. Metal lockboxes of various sizes sat evenly spaced on the shelves, each labeled with letters and numbers it didn’t take him long to understand. Letters were shelf units, and the numbers denoted rows and columns. He noticed subtle etchings on some of the boxes. To an untrained eye, they’d look like simple patterns or a fancy design, but some of the symbols were familiar to Curtis. Magic had been worked on more than a few of the lockboxes. Bind runes, obfuscations, and other wards.

  This, Curtis figured, was the real Wheeler’s Pawn Shop. Everything on the other side of the door was camouflage.

  “Here,” Wheeler said.

  Curtis joined the others behind the older man. He tilted the laptop screen and with a tap of his finger on the touchpad, a black-and-white video began to play. It was the back room, from an angle over the fire door. Curtis glanced back and, sure enough, he spotted a small red light.

  On the screen, the door broke open, barely visible in the bottom corner of the field of vision, and then a large, hairy humanoid figure burst into the room. It wore pants and a jacket, but there was no denying the shape of its head. Or the claws. It was blurry and hard to make out any details, though.

  “I figured this was Faris,” Wheeler said. He shrugged.

  “Why is it so blurry?” Curtis said.

  “Best I can figure? A goddamn veil spell, but my cameras have special lenses.”

  “Oh.”

  “Faris was a lone wolf,” Luc said.

  Wheeler looked up at the vampire, frowning. “So?”

  “Most lone wolves can’t manage hybrid form,” Luc said. “I don’t know much about packs, but I’ve met a few lone wolves. A lone wolf appearing fully human or fully wolf is commonplace. The hybrid form of the two takes more strength and effort. Most werewolves can’t manage it without drawing on a pack. Is Faris known for being strong?”

  “He’s known for showing up and paying me. Though not anymore.”

  On the screen, the bestial creature walked straight up to one of the lockboxes. It struck out with one fist. Light flashed on the screen. Whatever wards were on the lockbox had definitely delivered their intended effect. When the camera recovered from the sudden saturation, the werewolf had its hand tucked against its chest.

  “That hurt,” Wheeler said.

  They watched the werewolf approach the displaced box warily. He reached out with his other hand and hesitated just before touching the lockbox. Though the video was silent, Curtis could almost imagine a growl coming from the huge creature.

  “Looks like it has a bit of the knack,” Luc said.

  Wheeler grunted.

  Curtis looked at Luc.

  “A minor gift with magic. There’s a shared history with some werewolf packs and some of the continental magical bloodlines.”

  “Faris warded his own packages,” Wheeler said. “So did I.”

  Curtis filed that away for future research.

  The wolf’s back was mostly to the camera, and the angle didn’t let them see exactly what the werewolf did. Less than a minute later, the wolf gripped the box and tore the lid from its hinges. Curtis flinched. Werewolves were strong. He remembered the ripped and chewed corpse David had shown him and had no trouble imagining this creature doing that kind of damage.

  As Curtis watched, the werewolf took a few objects from the ruined box. Whatever the stolen objects were, they were wrapped in paper or cloth, so he had no idea what was being taken.

  Wheeler tapped on the laptop, and the image froze. “He took off with everything he brought—or at least, all the stuff that hadn’t already been picked up.”

  “What was in the packages?” Anders said.

  “I don’t know. I almost never know. Part of the service. Faris and his contacts? Some of them pay me a lot not to know what they’re on the list for.”

  “And you didn’t tell anyone about this?” Luc’s voice made it clear he was skeptical. “What were you going to do when Faris’s clients didn’t get whatever it was they were paying for?”

  “Most of his deals had already gone through, and the items changed hands. Only those three things were left. Those people wouldn’t know Faris already gave me the stuff. And if they did, they wouldn’t drop by and risk being seen.” Wheeler obviously wasn’t in the least bit worried. “Though if I’d known he was going to come and snatch his stuff back, maybe I would have taken a peek and arranged for a few new deals myself. But his clients aren’t mine. He does his own talking, his own dealing. I just keep things safe.”

  “Is that what you think happened?” Curtis said. “He changed his mind and didn’t want to deal with the buyers?”

  Wheeler sighed. He regarded them, his rheumy eyes narrow, and seemed to be deciding what exactly
to say. “Faris and me had a system. He bought space from me to keep his stuff safe while he arranged for someone to meet him and pay for it, and then that someone would come and pick up the package. Faris let me know who’d be coming ahead of time, but nothing was set in stone. He had a habit of quoting different prices, I think, depending on how tough his trip had been. He always gave me the go-ahead once things were paid for. Until I got the go-ahead from him, nothing changed hands. When he got here with all the goodies in that box, he wasn’t pleased to learn one of the people he was supposed to meet with couldn’t make good after all, and he wanted me to give it back to him so he could find another buyer in another city. He said he shouldn’t have to pay my storage fee, since he didn’t move whatever it was.”

  Wheeler coughed again. It took him a moment to recover. “We disagreed. So I figured he wanted to take it all back to be spiteful. Stupid goddamn wolf.”

  “You think he was upset?” Luc said.

  “Don’t much care. He’s the one fucking me over. And what was the point in me making any noise about it? He only took what he’d brought. Faris arranged the deals. So what’s in it for me to tell anyone? I don’t need people knowing someone managed to get past my wards and snatch something from me, and his buyers wouldn’t know he’d ever brought their stuff to me if he never met with them to arrange the price.”

  “Who changed their mind?” Luc said.

  “What?” Wheeler frowned.

  “You said one of his buyers didn’t want to make good.”

  “No, I said couldn’t. Buyer got himself killed.” Wheeler crossed his arms. “By you.”

  Curtis swallowed, but Anders spoke.

  “Renard?”

  Wheeler grunted.

  Curtis managed not to close his eyes with an effort of will. It hadn’t been Luc who killed Renard. Or at least, not the final blow. That had been Curtis himself. But it served them all well to let everyone think it had been Luc. His role as the Duc of the vampires of Ottawa was, in part, based on a slight mistruth.

  “And you don’t know what any of the whatsits were?” Anders said. “What Renard wanted?”