by Rita Webb
The VIP pass I purchased gives me the chance to
look around before the performance, but it doesn’t
give me much time. I need to find my target and
get out. The map Spyder gave me included a few
hotspots where Alistrad might stash something—
his office, a secured dungeon, and a hidden
compartment in a storage shed.
Planning to check the storage shed first, I turn to
find myself face to face with the youngest elf I’ve
ever seen. Maybe eighty or eighty five. Elves don’t
let their youths out in public before they are at
least a hundred.
“What is a kid like you doing here? Shouldn’t
you be safe with your family,” I ask.
“I’m a rebel.” He grins, looking as fierce as a
baby bunny.
I roll my eyes. “But why here?”
“Isn’t that what the humans do when they are
rebellious? They run away and join the circus.” His
grin widens until I’m sure his thin face will crack in
two.
“Sure, kid. You’re a rebel.” I shake my head.
Where did he get this crazy idea? “Your parents
probably miss you. Why don’t you go home?”
He waves a hand of dismissal. “They’re busy
with their research. They probably haven’t even
noticed I’m gone yet.”
“How long have you been gone?”
“A couple months. Isn’t this place awesome?”
Somehow, his grin actually grows a little wider. “I
heard humans like to use that word. It means
something is cool or rad. You know what I mean,
dude?”
“Yeah, kid.” I sigh. “I bet you know this place
pretty well. Think you could give me a back stage
tour before the big performance?”
“I’m not supposed to …”
“Come on, you’re supposed to be a rebel,
right?” I feel bad about getting the kid in trouble.
He takes me around to see the menagerie of
animals. I pass by cage after cage of wild fae and
magical beast, all of them wearing black collars. My
stomach churns and my blood boils.
I want to tear the locks off these cages, rip the
bars open, and let these creatures run free.
Many of them are chimera, and the humans in
the crowd stare at them like they’re animals at a
zoo. Nauseated, I clench my hands into fists.
Someone should do something about this.
Unlike the elves with their family ties and
storage rooms full of gold and jewels, the chimera
are a simple people, living in tribes and dwelling in
communion with nature, much like the Native
Americans.
Most chimera aren’t predators like me, and like
the Native Americans, their simple life makes them
easy prey.
After I get a complete tour, a dwarf stops the elf
kid. “You’re supposed to brush the unicorns. No
one else can get near them.”
“Esmie can. I’m showing our guest around.”
The dwarf snorts. “You know Esmerelda won’t
get her hands dirty.”
I smirk. Everyone knows only virgins can touch a
unicorn. With a bow, the elf apologizes to me and
disappears into the crowd with the dwarf.
Now free of the rebel without a clue, I wander
toward the shed. A twinge inside me feels the
target close by. I track by scent, but the reason I’m
the best, the reason the Usurper wanted my
services, is because I have something else inside me
leading me straight to what I’m looking for. Like
how a compass points north. It gets me close
enough to find what I need.
When I get near the shed, very few people are
around. No patrons meander about, only a few
workers who give me odd looks.
The shed is an unassuming structure made of
wood and looking like it will disintegrate if I should
huff and puff and blow it down. Or if I merely
unfurled my wings.
The magical twinge inside me says it isn’t here.
That leaves the office and the dungeon.
A cough behind me catches my attention, and I
turn to face a swamp hag, her stench stinging my
nose. She stinks of snake and mildew and every
foul thing that crawls in the earth.
She smiles, showing the gaps in her teeth. “The
Ring Master would not want you here. This area is
not for visitors. Come into my parlor—” She
gestures toward a tent. “—and let Ellafarsia tell
your future.”
“No thanks. I already know my future. Just point
me back to the main area.” I already know my way
back—every inch of the map is burned into my
memory—but it doesn’t hurt to play my role as
sightseer.
I head back into the crowd and weave my way
toward the office, located in a tower at the far end
of the compound. The closer I get, the stronger I
feel my target. This has got to be it.
Standing at the base of the tower, I look up at
the windows of the upper floor. A man with dark
hair stares out at the crowd, his pale skin stretching
over a gaunt face.
The king overlooking his empire.
My blood boils with my hatred.
All these caged creatures—many of them my
own people—and here the culprit stands. I want to
wrap my hands around his neck and watch the light
die out of his eyes.
But no, I’ve got a job to do.
I can’t stop this evil. All I can do is survive from
one day to the next.
Damn, I could use a drink about now.
Now that I know where the item is, I need to
determine the guards schedule and the best way to
cause a distraction. With the teleportation coin, I
have no need to worry about an escape route, but I
plan one out anyway.
An ogre and a hill giant patrol the grounds. I
watch their movements, but I can’t detect any kind
of set pattern to their rounds. However, the giant
frequently visits one of the cages near the front of
the complex. The next time he stops, I meander
behind him.
“Pretty,” he says, stopping to stare into a cage.
After several minutes, he looks around, guilt
written clearly on his simple, guileless face. The
milling people of various races scramble out of his
way.
Typical hill giant subtlety. They’re known for
being the shortest and also the dumbest of the
giant races, kind of the inbred cousins.
I move to see what fascinated him. Peering into
the cage, I see a gorgeous woman with green hair
against pale skin and eyes filled with sorrow. The
sign on the cage says:
A siren — one of three sisters cursed by a jealous
sorceress to sing forever. Known for seducing sailors
to their deaths.
Cursed never to enjoy love or companionship.
It’s a story every good mother tells her children
to warn them of the dangers of attracting attention
from those more powerfu
l than themselves.
It’s a lesson I wish I had learned.
Perched on a rock, she combs her long silky
green hair. She wears nothing but a collar and
wears it well, her ample bosom drawing the
attention of every man there and a few of the
women too. I look away, the sight of her filling me
with sorrow. I had perfection and lost it.
I wonder who she was before she became
cursed. I can’t help but feel sorry for her. Always
alone. Always hurting. Just like me.
Of course, she and her sisters also caused the
death of thousands, as the men could not resist
their call and followed them starving or fighting
each other to get closer, and if they managed to
reach them, they drowned.
Yet, this one is silent. This sorcerer is not to be
taken lightly. It takes a lot of guts to bring a siren so
close to a city.
I think I’ve found my distraction.
I finger one of the devices Jasper gave me, now
hidden in my pocket. According to Jasper once the
device activates any, active spell within twenty feet
should be toast.
Should being the operative word.
Magic doesn’t always do what we expect it to.
Especially when tied to a physical object. Granted, a
one shot is less likely to decide to liquefy you than
an ancient artifact, but there’s always a first. Since
I’m not a wizard, I have to hope and pray Jasper
really is as good as our community claims.
The device is on a five minute delay. Activating
it, I casually drop it near the siren’s cage and walk
purposefully toward the tower. My senses tell me
my target is still straight ahead.
I stop at the last tent, and staring up at the
tower, I wait for the siren to sing. The windows are
now dark and empty.
A few moments later, the siren screeches, the
sound raking at my ears even from this far away,
and the gaunt man leaves.
This is almost too easy.
His wards are impressive. Even though I can’t
see them, I can smell the magical layers. They
would fry me to a crisp if I touch them.
Fortunately, Jasper designed a ring to make me
invisible to wards. There is always the chance some
magic user can cut through it with the right spells,
but in the eight years I’ve had it, I have yet to have
it fail. I activate it and head inside.
The tower is much larger on the inside. A large
summoning circle, consisting of four rings of glyphs,
intricately wrought in silver, gold, platinum, and
electrum, fills the center of the room. To the left,
an old coin operated carnival booth boasts the
name of Zoltar the Fortune Teller. Darkness
congeals around it, shifting and hungry.
A golden staircase circles the room as it leads up
to an upper balcony. I sniff the air. The sting of
magic burns my nose, and I catch the whiff of the
sorcerer. He stinks of demons and blood. And
something else tickles my senses, but I can’t quite
catch what it is.
I take another whiff. I smell the bracelet I came
for and overwhelming power, like a deep reservoir
of magic.
This feels like a trap, but I climb the stairs
anyway. Finish the job. Go home; get a drink.
Something to take the edge off.
At the top of the stairs, I inspect the golden door
for traps, but I find none. Lewd and disturbing
pictures of demons and young women cover the
door like the walls of a pharaoh’s tomb.
I feel sick. The sooner I can get out of here the
better.
An intricately carved mahogany desk dominates
the room. Behind it, I find a modern electronic safe.
Unusual but not really unexpected. I get to work,
hacking into it. I figure I have about three more
minutes before they have the siren under control.
That will be cutting it close.
Two minutes later the safe opens, and within it,
I find a more traditional arcane safe, about the size
of a jewelry box. Now this is more what I expected.
Jasper gave me tools for this too. It’s only
another thirty seconds before I crack it using my
artifacts, but I pause before opening the lid. This is
all too easy.
It feels like a trap.
I look around the room, studying everything.
Nothing out of place. No sounds of breathing or of
a heartbeat. And I can feel the close proximity of
the object I’m looking for, the magic inside me
twinges in response, but I’m too close to pinpoint
exactly where it is. It’s like sniffing out a single
rose’s scent while standing in a rose garden.
I grab Plan B out of my pocket—Jasper’s new
toy, the spell shield—and activate it just in case. It’s
nothing more than a freaking stone with a rune
etched into it.
Holding my breath, I swing the lid open.
The stone grows hot and crumbles in my hand,
and my arms go rigid as a binding curse wraps
around me. So much for Jasper’s new supplier.
The safe falls out of my hands; the shrunken
head within tumbles to the floor and rolls.
I hear clapping behind me, and I try to turn
toward the sound. The more I struggle, the tighter
the curse squeezes me.
A gaunt, pale man, well over six feet tall, strolls
forward into view, and with a gesture my body
pivots to face him. “Most impressive, I have had
many thieves attempt to steal what is mine, but
few had your speed and talent. With the proper
training … and motivation—” He smiles, and I
shudder. “—I could use you.”
Chapter 7
~ ANGELINA ~
Sitting on the top shelf, the black cat licks her
paws. “You want to give someone pimples or a bad
hair day? Nobody is creative any more. Nobody
wants to turn someone into a frog or a tasty
mouse.”
“I wouldn’t do anything like that to anybody.”
Hearing voices wasn’t enough; now I’m arguing
with cats. All the symptoms of a paranoid schizo.
Next, I’ll have delusions of super powers and
believe helicopters are spying in my windows.
She leaps down, landing precariously on a
wobbly pile of books, before jumping down to the
floor, the books slipping down behind her. “Cows
are more useful. You can get milk from them.
Wonderful for making cheese and chocolate
fudge.”
“I’m lactose intolerant. And I have no place to
keep a cow.”
“More’s the pity.” Her shape shimmers and
warps, stretching and growing, until a squat old
lady scowls at me. Her back is bent and her gray
hair sticks up everywhere as if she stuck her finger
in a light socket. “Aren’t you an odd looking girl?
Does your mother let you dress like that? Those
pants are too tight, and your hair is too straight.”
&nbs
p; “There’s nothing wrong with the way I dress.”
“If you want to look like a pelican …” She shrugs.
I turn on my heel and head toward the door. I
don’t have to put up with this kind of abuse.
She cackles, and suddenly, she blocks my way,
giving me a toothless smile. “So sensitive. Let’s find
something special for you. A special book to solve a
special problem, yes?”
Yesss, the voices whisper.
“Yes,” I croak out.
Mumbling to herself, she moves to a book shelf
and runs her hands along the spines. Some of the
books are upside down, some backwards, and
others piled in stacks rather than neatly arranged in
the usual upright manner.
The bookstore is a mess—cobwebs clinging to
the corners, dust covering everything, books piled
everywhere. I pick up a few books. Moonlight
Potions by A. A. Alcott. 1001 Uses for Mushrooms
by Alex Longthews.
No rhyme or order to the placing of these
books. Someone needs to come in here with a
broom and a bucket of soapy, hot water and give
this place a good scrubbing. The books should be
shelved by topic and organized by author’s last
name. How does anybody find anything here?
“So what problem do you need fixing?” She
holds up a glass bottle. “Cough into this.”
“Why?”
She shrugs. “You never know when a spell needs
a good cough.”
I give a little cough.
“No, that’s too small. Don’t be so ladylike.”
I cough louder.
She slams the lid down on top of the jar and
peers inside. “That will have to do.”
She shoves the jar onto a shelf with books,
colored bottles, and what looks like mouse
droppings. A cloud of dust billows up.
“So what about this one, dearie?” She holds up
a ragged book with faded lettering. Something
green stains the cover, and I can barely make out
the title— Original Book of Curses by…
I squint at the letters. “Who is Abba Yoga?”
“Do you children never read your fairy tales?
Baba Yaga is a friend of mine. She knows all the
best curses—except for me, of course. I taught her
a thing or two.”
No idea who this Baba Yaga is. “I really should
be going. My friends are probably looking for me.”
“I have potions for everything, to change your
hair or eye color, to make you invisible, to cure
warts or athlete’s foot.” She looks me up and