Do Better: Marla Mason Stories

by T. A. Pratt

  I nodded. I’m not particularly psychic, but long years working in my specialty had attuned me to certain vibrations, and my teeth were practically buzzing out of my head. “Oh, yes. Have you ever heard of Archibald Grace?”

  “Nope.”

  “He’s a sorcerer, mostly based out West, but he travels all over the world. He’s been around forever. They say he consorts with monsters, steals treasures from the vaults of gods, that kind of thing. The lover-and-a-fighter adventuring type. He’s something of a legend in certain circles. One of his many magical specialties is the same as mine.”

  “He’s a locksmith?”

  I sniffed. “He’s an opener of the way, little miss. A door is the difference between inside and out. He opens doors... sometimes to places that don’t even exist until he opens them.”

  “Pocket dimensions.” She nodded. “Secret sanctums, wizard caves, bits of carved-out space.”

  “Exactly! Grace is said to have those little hidey-holes all over. I’ve even heard rumors that he has a vast tower hidden somewhere, with a basement in the roots of the world and a rooftop garden in the clouds.”

  “I am getting bored. When I get bored my knife entertains me.”

  I held up my hands. “Grace spent some time in the city about fifteen years ago. I heard a whisper of a rumor, did some research, borrowed money from your boss so I could buy a hairbrush that once belonged to Grace at a secret auction, hired a divination expert to use the brush to do a spell that would let me see every step Grace took in the city, and then painstakingly retraced his steps until I felt the right kind of twinge.” I pointed to a patch of rocks. “Right here. Grace opened a passage to a hidden space. I did more research, and figured out how to open the door. Unfortunately, the portal is time-locked to certain astronomical conjunctions, and it’s only accessible once a year.... and that day is today.”

  “Wait. So this is a heist? You’re going to steal from a legendary wizard who has sex with monsters. You think that’s the best idea?”

  I glanced around, as if afraid Grace might be hiding in the shadows. “The word going around is that Grace is losing his mind. Forgetting where he is, what day it is, who he is, stuff like that. That kind of dementia can be a side effect of some life-extension magic, and he has been around an awfully long time. I’m pretty sure I can empty his bolthole of whatever treasures he’s hidden inside and he’ll never know the difference. Besides, I used his hairbrush to make a Grace-detector that should let me know if he gets within a hundred miles of the city.”

  She nodded. “Seems like you’ve thought this through. What’s in the vault?”

  I lied. “It’s a cache of cash. Gold, actually. Smart sorcerers know to put a little something aside here and there in case they ever need to go on the run.”

  “How boring. I was hoping for relics or artifacts. Something magical.”

  “Being able to turn lumps of yellow metal into ownership of your own private island is magical, Marla.”

  Another eye roll. I wanted to slap her, and not just for the usual reasons. “How much longer?” she said.

  I took something that had started life as a silver pocketwatch, but was now encrusted with coral-like growths of purplish gems, from my jacket. The jewels pulsed with light, and the quarter of the clock face that was visible showed the second hand sweeping toward a conjunction of the minute and hour hands. “It opens... now.”

  Absolutely nothing happened, but my teeth stopped vibrating.

  “You could at least have pulled a rabbit out of hat,” Marla said. “Or conjured some doves.” She drew her knife.

  “Patience, whippersnapper.” I reached into my other pocket and took out my keyring, a circle of iron with half a dozen highly enchanted keys rattling on it. The key of onyx and malachite seemed most eager, so I held it in my hand, thrust it into empty air in that delicious familiar stabbing motion, and twisted. The air resisted at first, but I’d enchanted the key well, and it turned with an audible click.

  A rectangle of darkness appeared before us, the size of an ordinary doorway. I took a step forward, and Marla’s hand fell heavy on my shoulder. “You’re not going in there without me.”

  I made a great show of wincing. “Sure, of course. Ladies first.”

  She frowned, grabbed on to my wrist with a grip of adamant, and then stepped into the darkness, dragging me after her.

  Grace’s hidden bolt-hole consisted of a ten-by-ten platform of scarred wood floating in darkness. The only furnishing was a wooden table that held a lit hurricane lamp and a rectangular metal box no bigger than a briefcase, etched all over with drawings of eyes.

  “I think you got bad intel, Doorman. There’s no gold here.”

  “Grace enjoyed playing with space.” I made sure to sound a little bit worried. “I bet that little case on the table is way bigger inside than out. It probably has hundreds of gold coins inside.” I took a step toward the table, and, as I’d predicted—teenage girls are so predictable, it’s one of the many things I love about them—Marla tightened her grip on my wrist and dragged me back from the table. Her body briefly brushed up against mine, and I wondered if it might be possible to get the treasure out of here and have some fun, but it doesn’t pay to be overly ambitious. After I left this place, I could have all the fun I wanted.

  “I’ll see what’s inside the box.” Marla shoved me back toward the rectangle of darkness that led to the greater world. She stepped forward, touched the case....

  And triggered Grace’s trap. Dozens of dark filaments shot forth from the shadows, wrapping around Marla’s hands, jerking them away from the case. She struggled, but the tendrils pulled her inexorably around the table, more dark lines lashing out to wrap around her waist and her chest, dragging her toward the edge of the platform... and whatever lived and hungered in the darkness beyond.

  She didn’t yell “Help me!” or “Please!” or anything, which was disappointing. I always like hearing pleas. She did twist around enough to stare at me, though. “You shit,” she said. “You expected this.”

  I took a bow. “Thanks for being my living minesweeper. I thought I was going to have to lure some filthy hobo in here to trigger the traps. I didn’t know what kind of defenses Grace had, but I knew there’d be something.” I opened up the case on the table. Inside was a circlet of pale gold, a thin metal tiara with an oval in the center engraved with the image of a spider. I lifted the artifact out reverently. “This is the treasure I wanted. The Crown of Jorōgumo. Do you know about Jorōgumo?”

  Marla snarled and tried to pull herself free to reach me, but the tendrils were tipped with barbs that cut into her flesh, and the black threads wrapped around her more tightly, dragging her back into the shadows. I didn’t know the precise nature of the monster that had grabbed her—my researches had indicated only that it was something Grace found during his travels overseas—but it seemed up to the task of holding the little witch back.

  I held up the crown admiringly. “They’re a kind of yokai, Japanese demons. Jorōgumo are immense spiders, but they can disguise themselves to look like beautiful women. They use their power to lure their victims.” I put on the crown, stared hard at Marla, and my vision shimmered. I looked down at myself, and was pleased to see I was wearing her chunky boots, and her cloak, and had her long-fingered hands. When I spoke, my voice was Marla’s. “I have to confess, I have a certain fondness for beautiful women myself. Especially ones about your age, or a bit younger. Do you think, if I look like you, I can lure Jenny somewhere private? Do to her what I’ve done to so many others?” I chuckled, watching Marla struggle. Half her body was already lost in the dark “I usually have a little more fun before I leave girls like you to die sealed up in forgotten rooms.” I smiled, beaming at her with her own face. “Enjoy being eaten alive by monsters in the dark, little girl. I’ll be wearing your skin, and after I get tired of it, maybe I’ll make myself look like Jenny instead. I can move secretly through the city, and no one will suspect a woman of doing th
e things I like to do. I’m looking forward to settling down in Felport.” I stepped forward, lifted the glass hood of the hurricane lamp, and blew out the flame. The room plunged into darkness, and I stepped through the doorway back to the real world.

  The passageway closed behind me. I was feeling pretty pleased with myself... until I patted my pockets, and found the watch, but not my keyring. Do you know that feeling of cold horror when you realize you’ve lost your wallet somewhere? It was like that, but a thousand times worse. I’d spent literally decades enchanting those keys. They weren’t my sole power—I knew other spells—but about eighty percent of my abilities resided in the enchantments on the keys or the ring itself, and replacing them would be the work of many years. I looked fruitlessly around the rocks, but the keys were gone. Had I somehow dropped them in Grace’s secret sanctum?

  Oh well. It wasn’t like I needed the keys. I’d learned how to open doors and pass through walls to get out of the kind of trouble my hobbies seemed likely to get me into, but now that was all changed. The crown was an artifact of vast power, its illusory capabilities too strong even for powerful sorcerers to overcome. I could look like any woman in the world, so I could steal almost anything, get close to almost anyone. Life would be easy now.

  I strolled along the waterfront, and suddenly Jenny Click descended from the sky and settled before me. “Marla! Why did you stop answering me? Is your earring broken?”

  Ah. They’d communicated through enchanted jewelry. The crown let me mimic Marla’s appearance and clothing, but didn’t recreate those enchantments. “Sorry, it stopped working.”

  Jenny looked around. “Where’s the Doorman?”

  I shook my head. “He was smarter than I thought, and faster. He opened up a portal of some kind and slipped through it, and I couldn’t follow him.”

  Jenny clucked her tongue. “Artie’s going to be annoyed.”

  “I know, I know.” I turned to look back down the street. “Come with me to the spot where he vanished? Maybe we can find a clue about where he disappeared to.”

  She frowned. “I’m not much for finding evidence, more for destroying it, but I can try if you want.”

  I started walking, Jenny at my side. The old thrill was rising in me again. I knew just the spot to take her: a burned-out building, very secluded, with holes in the floor leading to a water-filled sub-basement where I could toss her body when I was through. I’d have to knock her unconscious to keep her from using her fire powers on me, which would limit my enjoyment, but it was better than nothing, and depriving Artie of both his girl apprentices would please me. “The Doorman was kind of cute, don’t you think?” I said.

  “Ew. Since when are you into the alcoholic stepdad type? His nose looks like a cherry tomato, it’s got many burst blood vessels.”

  I forced myself to keep smiling. “I think he looks... distinguished.”

  She glanced at me sidelong, and I decided maybe I was pushing things too far, so I pointed. “It’s just through—”

  Marla stepped out of the shadows. “You forgot your keys.” She held up my keyring, then made it vanish back into her cloak. “Actually, I picked your pocket when you rubbed your gross body up against me. I used them to let myself out.”

  I stared. How had Marla escaped Grace’s monster? I knew she was formidable, but apparently I’d underestimated her. I pointed and shouted, “Jenny, it’s some kind of doppelganger! Kill it!”

  Jenny did not blast Marla with fire. She took a step away from both of us. “What’s going on here? Who’s who?”

  “I’m me!” I said. “I don’t know what that is.”

  Marla rolled her eyes. “He’s the Doorman, Jenny. He stole some crown enchanted with illusion magic. Bastard tried to double-cross Artie and leave me for dead.”

  “It’s lying, Jenny, I’m me.”

  “This is stupid,” Marla said. “Jenny, just ask him my boyfriend’s name.”

  Jenny focused on me with her ferocious stare. Flames began to dance around her head, a wild aura. “Well?”

  I thought quickly. From everything I’d heard, Marla was abrasive, mean, single-minded, and obsessed with developing her skills of violence and magic to the exclusion of all other subjects. I said, “Trick question. I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  I guessed wrong. Jenny roared at me and unleashed a torrent of fire from her palms. I cursed, dodged out of the way, and started running. I regretted leading Jenny to such a secluded area. I needed to find a crowd so I could change my appearance and vanish among other people. The diabolical duo wouldn’t be able to track me then: the crown should hide me from magical divination.

  Fireballs struck the side of a ruined building just feet away from me. I dodged toward a gaping doorway. I’d killed someone in there once, and knew there was a decaying staircase that would lead me to the second story. Then I could run out the hole in another broken wall, and onto an adjacent rooftop. From there I could—

  Tendrils shot out of the darkness and caught me around the throat. Tiny thorn-like barbs dug into my skin, and when I tried to tear the tendrils away, I nearly ripped my own throat out in the process. I whimpered as more strands wrapped around me, dragging me down to the floor. A figure stepped out of the shadows: a teenaged girl, dressed in a white shift dress, her face pale, her hair alive and writhing in a snaky cloud around her. The tendrils that held me... they were her hair.

  Marla and Jenny entered the dark building and stood on either side of the strange woman. “What—what is she?” I gurgled.

  “That crown you stole was named after a kind of yokai.” Marla inclined her head toward the strange woman. “She’s another sort of yokai, brought along to guard Grace’s treasure. She’s a harionago. They wander remote areas, and sometimes snare men with their hair. Of course, the stories say they attack innocent men, but me and her had a little chat in Grace’s treasure room, and she tells me her kind actually hunt evil men. The kind who do bad things to women in remote places, when they get the chance. She heard what you said, before you left, and realized I wasn’t the enemy: you were. Plus, she swore to Grace that she would protect the crown, so....” Marla shrugged.

  Strands of barbed hair writhed around my face and ripped the crown from my head, the harionago drawing the artifact toward herself. I felt the weight of my old form return. I tried to face the girls with dignity. “What now? Do you deliver me to Artie?”

  “Ha.” Marla’s laugh was flat. “Artie just wants money, and guess what? I’ve got your keyring. That’s worth more than what you owe. Nah, now you and Artie are square. He’s pretty amoral in a lot of ways. He’d probably call it even, maybe have me and Jenny rough you up a bit, and then let you go. The people you’ve hurt and killed, he’d probably figure that’s none of his business.” She crouched down and looked into my face. “I don’t claim to be a defender of the downtrodden, but plenty of guys like you have tried to prey on me in my lifetime. I’m gonna give you to her.” She pointed to the harionago. “She says she could use some company in the vault. Catch.” Marla tossed something, a small stone, at my face. I was too pinned by the monster’s hair to even flinch. The enchanted stone touched my cheek and I lost consciousness instantly.

  I woke in Grace’s secret room, bound to the wooden table with rope. I whispered a spell to let my body phase through the rope, but without my enchanted keys, my powers were too weak to let me escape.

  Marla stood looking down at me, face impassive. “Enjoy your stay. You left me in the dark, but I’m going to leave the lamp burning for you. I want you to be able to see when my friend comes out of the darkness to visit you. In the meantime....” She leaned forward, almost close enough to kiss. “Just lay here and think about what you did.”

  She left, the doorway to the world beyond closing behind her. There’s a certain irony in being the master of opening doors, trapped in a place with no doors at all.

  I didn’t want to do what Marla said, but I couldn’t help it. I’ve been here all this time, hours now,
thinking about what I did, how I got here, what I could have done differently. I can’t think of anything. Maybe I needed to be someone different.

  I hear scuttling in the shadows every few minutes, and a sort of whisper that could be long hair, brushing against the floor. I think of how much I liked it when the girls I had tied down on tables begged for mercy, and for their lives, and I resolve not to beg, not to scream, not to weep. I can die with dignity, at least.

  Then she comes out of the shadows, wearing the crown, and her face shifts and changes, so she looks like every girl I ever hurt or killed, one after another, and my resolve is gone, and I begin to scream.

  Mommy Issues of the Dead

  We jump forward a bit in time now to Marla’s days as a freelance magical mercenary, after her crew broke up and her boyfriend and Jenny Click are both long gone... but also after she acquired the special white-and-purple cloak that was her most powerful weapon for many years. Here we find her doing dirty jobs—but not for money, as you’ll see.

  “It’s not an assassination, precisely.” Viscarro, the subterranean sorcerer who dwelt in the tunnels and vaults beneath the seen-better-days city of Felport, tinkered with an oddly beautiful contraption on his desk, all brass gearwheels and copper spheres on articulated arms, all together no bigger than a football. “It’s more that I want you to physically inconvenience someone by tricking him into putting high explosives inside his chest cavity. But it’s not murder, because Savery Watt is already dead.”

  Marla Mason propped her feet up on Viscarro’s desk, because it annoyed him. “I’ve got nothing against the dead. Dead people don’t bother anybody. You, on the other hand...”

  Viscarro bared his hideous teeth at her. “Do you want to engage in pointless banter, or do you want to find out about the job, you insolent child?” He had the patience of a trapdoor spider when it came to plotting, planning, and scheming, but he got irritated quickly when dealing with people who didn’t just nod and say “Yes, master.” He had about fifty apprentices, pale cowed creatures who filed his vast archives, sorted the mountains of junk he bought from auction houses and estate sales in search of magical artifacts for his collection, and—for all Marla knew—competed for the honor of giving him nightly massages complete with happy endings. Of all the sorcerers she’d worked with in Felport, Viscarro was her least favorite—and competition for that spot was fierce—but he paid well for her mercenary services. Marla didn’t ask money for these jobs: she asked for knowledge and power, and Viscarro had promised to teach her a trick and tell her a secret in exchange for this job. She knew what trick she wanted. She was still thinking about the secret.