“If any of us could afford red meat,” Kelsie said with a wistful lilt, and she nodded toward the pictures. “But you’re burning cash on a few extra eyes.” Ming wasn’t going to apologize for investing in her own success, but she wasn’t sure the extra eyes were enough to get a lead.
She knew about the group from Walter’s that had dropped the charm – four women, one a bit older and larger than her waifish friends, and a well-groomed man. And now she knew of this bowler-hat man, as well. She had been in contact with one of her old collaborators earlier that morning, too, which had resulted in the procurement of some enlightening news. Elicia had stopped taking jobs from Ming about two years back, but she had called Ming at Jase’s house to tell her about an encounter with two “clean-pressed eggs“ who had been asking around about mage-hunters. Apparently, their questions had not been softly phrased.
“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” Ming asked when Elicia revealed that this had happened over a week ago.
“I was in the hospital.” Ming’s heart sagged. She understood why Elicia had tried to get out of the business and make a less risky living for herself. It appeared her dark past had followed her, though, and her safer job now in a hotel laundry room did not pay as well. Those medical bills would probably follow the woman to her grave.
But Elicia described what she could of her interrogators. Both had been wearing plain white coats, well-tailored but otherwise unadorned, and hats shaded most of their faces. Elicia had still been able to see that both were white with short, wavy blond hair. The man was fairly average in stature, if a little delicate in the shoulders, and the woman was tall and rotund. And, according to Elicia, the burns on the bottoms of her feet given to her by the tall woman had not come from a match.
Elicia told Ming how those beasts had treated her. She couldn't say how these brilliant white fiends had found her, but they had come at her at home – a little shack on the north edge of Soot City, near the bleak, wet farmlands. The man, the whimpering beau, had held a pistol that he reportedly never aimed nor fired, and his fearsome miss had been unarmed entirely.
“That's how I knew these people were there to waste me,” Elicia reported. Her words sunk Ming's gut. This was the first time she and her people had dealt intimately with magicians, but even a fool knew to be wary of a predator so certain that it didn't even bare its teeth.
Elicia recounted how the pair had cornered her in her own dining room, and the second she went to grab a chair to swing at the young fellow's head, tendrils of light had erupted from the tall woman. The snaking wisps of glowing white had gripped Elicia by the wrists and waist, knocking her into the very seat she had attempted to weaponize.
“It didn't hurt,” Elicia said, but that was no comfort to Ming if these beasts had tortured the poor woman, anyway. The tendrils had only pinned and tied her to the chair, it seemed, leaving Elicia prone to the woman's interrogations.
Ming didn't want to know the bloody details, but she had to know what she was up against. Elicia, to her credit, never wavered while she recounted the ordeal.
The white woman had fired questions regarding their assault at the Gin Fountain, Elicia told Ming. There had been no violence at first, only urgent curiosity. Who had ordered the attack? Who had been hired to carry it out; how many accomplices did they bring? What or who were they after? And poor Elicia, who was just trying to clean up her act and move on with her life, couldn't provide satisfactory answers. And the magician woman either didn't believe Elicia's ignorance, or she thought a bit of pain might bring up some tangentially relevant facts. If the latter, she hadn't been wrong.
Elicia retold her experience with the white woman's more aggressive magic, from flames licking the soles of her feet to an invisible garrote that had wrapped around her neck, applying pressure to her throat until she could only breathe enough to give a hoarse shout. Her interrogator would break in this assault if her victim came too close to passing out, giving Elicia a chance to breathe and answer. If the magician didn't like her answers, she would redouble her efforts with a new tortuous spell. Her beau, supposedly, only stood by shifting nervously while his partner plied her skills with a quiet smile. In about an hour of this exchange, Elicia said, the interrogator managed to ask a question about Ming that resulted in information that satisfied her. Elicia was released from the tendrils, left there alone and suffering, unable to even hobble to her phone to call for help, her poor feet burned as they were. It wasn't until her teenage daughter came home and found her there that she was able to be escorted to the hospital, some several hours after the incident.
“She’s something that crawled out of hell,” Elicia added once she finished her recounting. There was a scratch of static over the phone line as her voice finally began to crack. “That man at least looked back once when they left, with something akin to emotion in his eyes. That she-devil, though, she was all storm and bluster until she found an excuse to whip out the mean magic. Then she just went cold.” There was a long pause as Elicia gathered her courage back up. “They're out for your blood, Roxy. You watch out for yourself.”
“Thank you, Elicia. Let’s hope these fiends are done with you, and you can make a recovery.” It was a bland sentiment, but Ming had gone too icy inside to manage much better. She hung up the phone.
When Ming passed the story on to Jase, he nodded along with the descriptions. “There was a big magician woman at the Gin Fountain. She was pale and blonde and well-dressed, too, with a pretty, matching boyfriend tailing her. You remember?” Ming wasn’t sure, but she remembered two people like that at Walter’s.
The photographs now in front of Ming had been taken a few days after that magician’s interrogation of Elicia. Most were just of random people who resided in the general neighborhood that Johnston had pointed Ming to, and a few so blurry that it was difficult to discern if there were people in the image at all. This was the first chance that Ming had to look them over, though, and it wasn’t as though she had much better to do at present.
“I don’t think Johnston will care for us harassing every possible magician here,” she muttered to herself.
“We need to leave enough alive to vote for him,” Arnold said.
“I’ve a thought,” Jase said, smoothing the bandage over his arm. “You said you found these magicians to begin with because of a magic charm. But most magicians don’t use those, do they?”
“No. It’s a different kind of magic, from the Yen nations. It’s different from what most everyone else here practices, is all I know.”
Jase rolled his shoulders. “Seems to me like it would work best in Johnston’s interest to target this magician dabbling in foreign arts.”
Ming shook her head. “I need a martyr. I’m already banking on people sparing sympathy for a magician – going after one that’s too ‘foreign’ is going to push it with the moderates.”
“Moderates aren’t smart enough to know the difference between one type of magic and another,” Jase said. “And if you go after this one who’s different, there might be less retaliation against us from the other magicians. They aren’t like the easily spooked upper crust that Linden is courting – they’re like us. Underhanded because they have to be. We don’t want to ruffle too many feathers with these people. They have their own networks and their own bullies, and they’ll come after us if we keep going after their own. They might not consider some folk mage a part of them or worth getting into blood feuds over.”
He had a point. Keeping connections was important, and Ming wouldn’t have minded having a few magicians in her corner. If she kept shooting up speakeasies, she might well burn every possible bridge she had there. It wouldn’t matter for this job, but Johnston wasn’t paying her enough that she’d be able to retire once this was done, especially if every nickel went toward saving her house. She needed to keep avenues open.
“Fair. In that case, I need to find whoever dropped the charm – one of those in that group at Walter’s.”
“Th
e girl we tried to snipe?”
It kept coming back to her, didn’t it? Aside from that girl, the woman that Jase had accidentally shot, and the older magician and her beau, there had been two other young women at Walter’s. Ming glanced down at the photos beneath her hands. Several depicted young women traveling along the sidewalks, dressed for either labor or office work. She began browsing through, looking for any shots of any members of the group see had seen at Walter’s. What she found, instead, was no less interesting.
“Here’s our bowler-hat friend, again.” One photograph, taken from behind the corner of a building that crowded a third of the image, depicted the man standing outside a café holding a paper bag and speaking to a young woman while looking mildly annoyed. Probably on his lunch break.
Jase stood and circled around the table to peer over her shoulder at the spread of images before taking the one she examined from her hand. “Do we know her?” He tapped the likeness, a scrawny lass with pale skin and bushy hair. That was one of the women at Walter’s, wasn’t it? Or was Ming just desperate to find connections between these folks? No, no, Ming had seen her at the Gin Fountain, too, hiding behind the woman in white when the chaos broke out.
“Yes, she was there that night at the clubs. Maybe the charm is hers?”
“She’s got the look of an addict,” Jase said.
“That mutually exclusive with being a magician?” Ming asked, but Jase shrugged with an “I dunno”-sounding grunt. “Well, we can be fairly certain that she’s part of the group that lost the charm – and she’s chummy with our bowler-hat man.” He had summoned some kind of otherworld beast – was that Yen magic, too? He had looked much too pale to have ancestors from that continent. But even if he wasn’t connected to the charm, maybe he would make a good enough martyr himself.
Jase shook the picture in his hand, nearly fanning himself with it as Ming could see the gears cranking and turning in his head. “Well, we know where we can find this miss around lunch hour. I say we have a little chat with the young lady.”
Chapter 12
Vinnie didn’t live far from the industrial district where their office and speakeasy were located. Daisy arrived shortly after noon on the front steps of a clean but aging townhouse between a nearly identical house to the left and an empty gravel lot on the right. There was a mailbox nailed to the wall near the door with “Bartos” painted in neat, fading white letters on its front. That was Vinnie’s last name, right? She knocked, and there was little wait before the door pulled open and a boy of about twelve years peered out at her.
“Oh, I…” Daisy nearly thought she had the wrong location until she remembered Jonas mentioning that Vinnie had a younger brother. He had the same muted brown skin and hard eyes as Vinnie, though Daisy did wonder if the Stripes’ bartender had ever been quite so scrawny in the arms as his little brother. “Hello. Is Vinnie home? I’m a friend of his from work.”
The boy regarded her with the sort of bored disinterest that children his age tended to have for unknown adults before turning his head to shout aimlessly into the house, “Vinnie! Your girlfriend is here!” Daisy could hear Vinnie’s stomping footfalls racing down from the upper floor of the little house, and he appeared at the door behind his brother in a rushed blur.
“Marisa, hel… Oh.” Vinnie wore the same plain white shirt and practical brown pants she had seen him wear at work, but he had been nearly unrecognizable to her for a moment there with a shy smile on his lips. It melted the instant he realized who his visitor was, though the expression that took its place was not unfriendly. “Miss Dell, hello. What brings you here?” He waved his little brother along, and the child seemed satisfied enough to wander off.
Daisy couldn’t quite bring herself to get right to business. “Marisa, hm? Who’s that?”
Vinnie’s lips pulled downward – now his expression was unfriendly. “Nothing – no one. What do you want?”
“I’ve a… bit of a crisis I need help with. Can we speak inside?”
His ire disappeared, understanding her implications. Glancing past her and into the street, he quickly scanned the area before gesturing her inside. “Please, come in.” A cracked voice from a room beyond the tiny foyer called out in a language Daisy didn’t know as Vinnie closed the door, and he shouted back in similar fashion. He turned then to Daisy. “Sorry, my grandmother does not speak much of the trade language. We can talk in my room.” He led her upstairs to a plainly adorned little space with a window facing the street, situated right next to a similar room where Vinnie’s brother had already settled on his bed to read.
Although Vinnie gestured for her to sit on his bed, she shook her head. He didn’t make a fuss about it, but he crossed his arms over his chest. “What is this crisis of yours?”
“Well, this may sound a bit lopsided, but I’ve got a faerie hiding away in my apartment right now.”
Vinnie squinted behind his dusty glasses. “Is that… some kind of code?”
“It’s a long story, but I have come into the care of a literal, actual faerie. Mr Swarz is watching over him now. But I need to get him back to his realm.”
The bartender shook his head, making no effort to hide how lost he was. “And how do I help with this?”
“I was hoping you might know something about faeries. I know Boltivic folklore has a lot of knowledge about their kind, and since you were born in Boltivic…”
Vinnie arched an eyebrow, his typically stony face betraying what looked like aghast offense.
“I’m sorry, I know how it sounds! But his faerie ring was destroyed, and I need to know how else I can get him home. He’s frightened and injured and I’m desperate! I have to find someone who knows more about faeries.”
“Not me. I have lived in Ashland since I was Colin’s age. I know as little about faeries as any native.” He frowned at her. “Or less. How did you come across this creature?”
Daisy slumped. She didn’t see much point in telling him, since he appeared to have nothing to offer by way of assistance. “I don’t have time to explain. I just need to get rid of this faerie, before he puts us in danger.”
Vinnie took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “Danger? And which ‘us’? You and Swarz, or–?”
“Grandmamma knows about faeries.” Daisy and Vinnie swung their heads at the same moment to find his little brother peering through the open doorway. He had a battered comic book clutched in a roll in one fist, and his dark eyes locked onto Daisy with an intense curiosity.
“Colin, get out. This is adult business.” Vinnie’s admonishment didn’t chase the boy off, and Daisy tried to pull Vinnie’s attention back before he got too distracted by Colin.
“Vinnie, please. If your grandmother can help me in any way, I need it. It has to do with the, uh…” She glanced toward Colin, who still watched her. “All the big stuff that’s been going on with the company lately. Please, I know this is such a strange request, but–”
Vinnie waved a hand. “Yes, yes. OK. You need my grandmamma to tell you… what, how to send the faerie home?” Daisy nodded. “Very well. As I said, she really only speaks her mother tongue, so I will need to translate. And you.” He jabbed a finger in Colin’s direction. “Do not stick your nose into this. Go back to your room.” Colin ducked away, but he didn’t scurry at Vinnie’s harsh tone. It seemed he was used to his brother’s stern manner. Once he was out of sight, Vinnie shook his head and sighed. “And here I hoped having a day off would mean having a day off.”
“I’m so sorry. If it helps any, you can blame Mr Swarz.”
“I will do just that.” With that, he led her back downstairs to the living room, where a short, stout woman sat in an overstuffed chair with floral upholstery. A small table was set out before her, covered in the colorful pieces of a landscape puzzle she worked on. Vinnie pulled over two wooden chairs from a larger dining table on the far side of the room and greeted his grandmother as he and Daisy settled next to her.
The old woman bobbed her head as
her grandson went off in Boltivician, speaking slow and a bit more loudly than his normal voice. She didn’t look up from her puzzle as she responded to him. When Vinnie began asking her questions, he would pause after her answers to translate for Daisy.
“She says she knows many stories about the faeries in Boltivic. They used to visit only Ashland, before the volcanoes. When the big one, Onaol, erupted and fell into the sea, destroying the land of the fauns and the human nations once on this continent, they began coming to our realm through the faerie rings in Boltivic.” He shrugged, indicating that he was now giving his own opinion. “Maybe they were drawn back here when the humans returned to this land.”
Vinnie’s grandmother gave a gravelly sigh and shook her head as she rambled on, her voice pitching lower. Vinnie grimaced when he began to translate. “It cost the faerie folk to find new portal locations. They used to come to our world more often, and it took so much energy that they took to, uh… devouring humans for theirs.” Daisy didn’t comment – considering what she knew faeries could do with human life-force, this detail of the story was hardly surprising. It might have even been true.
“The faeries used to get along with our kind, and they did not like that they had become our predators, so they came to the human realm less and less, until they forgot our language. But the humans were not ready to see them go. Some were desperate enough that they sacrificed their own kin to fuel the visits of the faeries, and when the faeries answered the summons, they granted these people with gifts of power. In Boltivic, these summoners are called…” He frowned. “They are called faeya laskvets, which is like… ‘faerie lover,’ I suppose.” He looked at Daisy with the same kind of watchfulness that Colin had earlier heaped upon her. He didn’t know much about her magic, she was sure, but Vinnie was probably clever enough to make the connection between that, her current situation, and his grandmother’s folklore.
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