Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Identity

by Lydia Sherrer

  Ignoring Sebastian’s jibe, Mallory repeated her question. “Can you sense my father’s raven construct?”

  With exaggerated movements, Sir Kipling nodded. It was more of a headbob, coming from a cat, but the message was clear.

  “Can you sense it now?”

  The cat cocked his head as if listening, and Sebastian felt a sudden sickening swoop in his stomach. Before that point, he hadn’t thought about the dratted bird for months. Had it been hanging around the past few weeks, helping Agent Scumbag? But Lily or Aunt B would have known to keep an eye out for it, right?

  At a deliberate head shake from the cat, Sebastian’s worry eased, but he mentally berated himself. This wasn’t some thug or even a brazen witch they were dealing with. This was a powerful, crafty, resourceful wizard who had been running his own little criminal operation for decades. Sebastian couldn’t afford to be careless, any more than he could let himself be distracted by anger, fear, or worry.

  “Great, so we don’t have a magical tail—at least, you and I don’t,” he amended, flashing a grin at Sir Kipling. “Now, can we get going already? The clock’s ticking.”

  Mallory, as was becoming her habit, ignored him and addressed the cat instead. “Do you sense any other danger we should know about?”

  Slowly, as if not as confident in his reply as before, Sir Kipling shook his head a second time.

  It seemed good enough for Mallory, though, and she began packing up her laptop while she gave Sebastian new driving instructions. With an impatient grumble, he turned back toward the front and got the car started again.

  Five minutes and several turns later, they were driving down a gently winding road with a pine forest on their right and businesses and the occasional warehouse on their left. Eventually, Mallory signaled him to turn into the parking lot of one of the low, gray buildings. The lot had grass growing through cracks in the asphalt and there wasn’t a single vehicle to be seen. Sebastian parked, then got out and followed Mallory toward an unmarked door in the side of the corrugated metal building. The day had gotten brighter since they’d left Atlanta, and a brisk breeze blew across the lot, making Sebastian shiver and pull his leather jacket closer. Ahead, Mallory walked with an unhurried but purposeful gait. Though her head did not turn from side to side, Sebastian had no doubt she had already scoped out their surroundings. He did a casual once over of the lot and building himself as they walked, noting more signs of neglect—faded parking space markers and rust around the foundations of the building—and a suspicious lack of signage or any other identifying mark that might clue visitors in as to what in the world the building was for. That in and of itself was suspicious. Sebastian made a mental note to suggest to whoever was hiding out here that a thoroughly weathered and out-of-date sign for something totally innocuous—toilets, perhaps—might be useful to throw passersby off the scent.

  He didn’t get a chance to look around further before they reached the door and Mallory pressed a dirt-encrusted button by the door handle. They stood waiting long enough for Sebastian to start bouncing on the balls of his feet in agitation. Trista, of course, didn’t move a muscle, not even to readjust her backpack or shift from foot to foot. There were no surveillance cameras to be seen, but he knew such things could be hidden in plain sight if need be. He was in the middle of considering if he should send Sir Kipling to scout around back when there was an audible click of a lock disengaging, and Mallory hauled open the door with a screech of protesting metal. Sir Kipling slipped in right away, beating Mallory to it, and neither of them waited for Sebastian. He barely managed to catch the handle as the door swung closed behind her. After giving their surroundings one last glance, he followed her in.

  The interior was dim after the brightness outside, and Sebastian followed Mallory mostly by sound for the first few steps as his vision adjusted. Once it had, he realized there wasn’t much to see. The warehouse, or whatever it was, stood empty except for a lonely pile of boxes and the rusted shell of a truck sitting on four crumbling cinder blocks. It was quite dim, the only light being what seeped in through various cracks in the wall and what looked an awful lot like a grouping of bullet holes in one corner. The copious amount of dust covering the floor was undisturbed except for the tracks Mallory was busy making through it, which somehow made Sebastian even more suspicious.

  Mallory looked neither right nor left as she strode across the empty concrete floor, heading for what looked like an office in the back. Sebastian snapped his fingers at Sir Kipling—who had hopped inside one of the empty boxes and was sniffing about—and then hurried to catch up with Mallory. Into the office they went, past a rusted desk, and up to a dented door with a lopsided “bathroom” sign hanging from a single screw. Here Mallory paused, glancing behind as if to make sure her motley crew was following. Then she pulled open the door and gestured inside.

  Sebastian stared at the tiny bathroom, complete with seatless toilet, questionable yellow stains decorating the floor, and a chipped sink that looked like it hadn’t been used in decades. Catching sight of something, Sebastian leaned forward and wrinkled his nose at the smell of old, stale urine. “Why are you telling me to go into a bathroom from hell, and why is there a grotesquely mummified mouse in the sink?”

  “Stop wasting time and get in,” Mallory said, the faintest hint of a growl in her voice.

  He wanted to protest further, but then Sir Kipling trotted past him and jumped up on the edge of the sink to investigate the dead mouse. Sebastian knew he’d never live it down if the cat told Lily he’d been afraid of a dirty bathroom. So, with a huff of annoyance, he stepped forward and turned, scrunching himself into the corner between the toilet and the wall. Mallory followed, pulling the door closed behind her and plunging them all into complete blackness.

  For a moment, nothing happened. Then the “click-click-thunk” of a turning lock echoed ominously in the cramped space.

  “Uhhhh, am I the only one deeply disturbed by being trapped in a redneck version of The Shining?”

  A sarcastic meow sounded from somewhere on his right.

  “Shut up, both of you,” Mallory’s low voice sliced through the darkness. “The more you complain, the longer he’ll make us wait.”

  Sebastian bit his tongue and fell silent, chafing at the needless delay. He wanted to slap Mallory silly until she at least pretended to hurry. Since he didn’t want to die young, however, he simply consoled himself by imagining all the funny stories he would tell Lily when he found her. If he ever found her… With that sickening thought for company, he forced himself to stand as still as possible, trying not to touch any of the disgustingly tacky-with-congealed-bodily-fluid surfaces in the dark.

  After what seemed like forever, he heard a distant grinding of gears below his feet, and then the entire room gave a lurch, throwing him off balance. His hands flew out in the dark, one finding purchase on the cool porcelain surface of the toilet tank, the other brushing the grimy wallpaper. He drew his hands back almost as soon he’d flung them out, but even so he could feel a sticky film on them. Sebastian shuddered and scrubbed his hands furiously on his pants, noticing as he did that the shaking had evened out into a gentle vibration, and that they seemed to be moving downward. He muttered some choice insults, then asked in a stage whisper, “What kind of insane individual puts a toilet in an elevator?”

  “The kind who hates visitors. Especially chatty ones,” came her cool reply.

  Sebastian took the hint and shut his mouth, concentrating on keeping away from the walls as their bathroom elevator slowly descended into the earth. They kept going down and down until Sebastian began to get nervous. He knew the area was famous for its abandoned mines, and the squealing grind of gears above and below didn’t exactly fill him with comforting thoughts of fuzzy blankets and frolicking puppies.

  They finally reached the bottom of wherever they were going, no worse for wear if you didn’t count his sticky hands and pants. The lock clicked again, and Mallory opened the door without comment
, heading out and down a roughly hewn passageway that looked like a cleaned and renovated mining shaft. Bare bulbs hung in a single row down the length of the ceiling, and Sebastian thought he could hear the distant hum of a generator. Sir Kipling, seeming uninterested in the scenery, jumped down from the sink and sauntered off after Mallory. Sebastian followed, only glancing over his shoulder once to shoot a dark look at the dingy bathroom. He sincerely hoped they wouldn’t have to return the same way they had come, though he had a feeling he wasn’t going to get that lucky.

  Their destination seemed to be the end of the corridor, which ran at a slight downward angle a good hundred yards or more in front of them. Sebastian could see what looked like a bunker door at the far end. He was just picking up his pace to come level with Mallory, when she stopped abruptly. One arm shot out to catch him as he nearly stumbled past her.

  “What are you—”

  “If you want to survive the next hour, get your idiotic head out of the clouds and start paying attention,” she snapped, pointing at their feet. “Paranoid old bastard,” she muttered to herself as she carefully stepped over a nearly invisible tripwire.

  Sebastian crouched down to examine it while Sir Kipling went to sniff daintily where it disappeared through a hole into what appeared to be a craftily concealed box set into the rock. “I don’t get it. If your supplier let us in, why is he trying to kill us? Or does this tripwire release pink bubbles and rainbow glitter when you pull on it?”

  As usual, Mallory didn’t answer his question, simply turned and walked on. Having a healthy sense of self-preservation, Sebastian scrambled to follow, though this time he was careful to watch closely and step where she stepped. They avoided two more tripwires and several suspicious-looking stones poking up from the floor before they finally reached the bunker door. Sebastian expected her to at least knock, but she simply grabbed the massive handle on one side and heaved it toward them. Despite the door’s obvious age, there was no metallic squeal of protest, and the massive hunk of steel swung open smoothly on silent hinges.

  3

  He That Seeketh

  The sound of the generator’s hum grew louder, accompanied by the high whine of some sort of shop tool that abruptly shut off. Before Mallory could finish pulling the door all the way open, a booming voice echoed out into the passageway.

  “What in the blazing hinges a’hell are you doing here, kid? When I sent you off last month, I thought I wouldn’t have to see your ugly mug again for a good long spell.”

  “I’ve got fresh meat for you, Chief,” Mallory yelled back, completely unfazed as she motioned Sebastian through the bunker entrance.

  For a moment Sebastian didn’t move, too shocked by what he’d heard from Mallory. It wasn’t so much her words as her tone. She’d sounded like—well, like a normal human being with feelings. Where had the stone cold “Grumpy McGrumperstein” gone?

  “Fresh meat, you say?” came the booming voice again. “I like myself a good steak just as much as any self-respecting Texan, but what’d you have to go bringing him down here for? I just hosed off the floor from the last one.”

  Sebastian cut his eyes to Mallory. Her expression was as smooth as glass, but he thought he detected an evil smirk dancing behind her eyes. She jerked her head in the direction of the bunker’s interior and made a “hurry up” motion with her hand. Swallowing, Sebastian stepped through.

  It wasn’t what he’d expected.

  Instead of a cramped, dim space full of crazy survival equipment and shelves of canned food, he was met by an open floor plan, the low ceiling supported by columns placed at regular intervals. The walls, floors, and ceiling were finished, showing no signs of the mining tunnel the room had no doubt been expanded from. In contrast to the run down and rusted condition of the warehouse above, the room and its contents looked orderly and well-cared for. To his right was a long worktable covered in tools and scraps of various materials. Attached to the table and along the wall were several different machines he didn’t recognize, but all of them looked like they tooled or crafted metal in some way. Barrels, boxes, and crates were lined up underneath the table and on various shelves along other walls. In the far back of the room was a living space that included a kitchenette, bed, armchair, and weightlifting bench. A door in the very back corner probably led to a bathroom, while the hum of a generator came from behind another door. There was even a TV on a low table in one corner. Behind it, black cables climbed the wall and disappeared into the ceiling.

  But none of that occupied Sebastian’s attention for more than a few seconds. What really caught—and held—his eye were the rows upon rows of weapons lining every square foot of wall on the end of the room closest to them. Daggers, swords, pistols, shotguns, rifles, machine guns, and even larger and more deadly ordnances that Sebastian didn’t recognize, were arranged on neat groupings of pegs.

  “Whut’d the cat drag in this time? Looks like he was inside the outhouse when the lightning struck.”

  Sebastian spun toward the bass growl, muscles tense and ready for action. The man that belonged to the voice—Sebastian wasn’t sure if Chief was his name or his title—came out from behind his worktable. Sebastian would have taken a step back if Mallory hadn’t given him a not-so-gentle shove forward so she could close the bunker door behind them. He hoped Sir Kipling had already slipped inside and was poking about in the shadows, because he had a pretty strong hunch he was going to need backup on this one.

  “Lemme guess,” Chief said, intruding unpleasantly on Sebastian’s thoughts. “He’s some lily-livered mud brain got in over his head and now he’s scared’a the big bad wizards and needs some protection?”

  “Close enough,” Mallory replied, not even looking at Sebastian as she ran her fingers in a feather-light caress over a pair of short, curved swords hanging on the wall. “These are new, aren’t they? Why do you keep taunting me with such beauties? My bank account is still in shock from the last sword you sold me.”

  Instead of answering Mallory’s question, Chief leaned back against his worktable, arms crossed, and squinted at the “lily-livered mud brain.” The burly man was five or so inches taller than Sebastian, with a dusting of stubble across his square jaw and long gray hair pulled back in a ponytail. His chest and arms were thick with muscle, but he sported some generous padding around his midsection. That plus his lined face gave the impression of a formidable man who was now fighting the inevitable decline of age. Not that it was any comfort to Sebastian, of course, since he figured the man could spit him like a pig in the blink of an eye with any of the dozen or so blades within arm’s reach.

  “You vouch for this fella?” Chief asked in a tone that made Sebastian wonder uneasily what Plan B was in case Mallory didn’t.

  Mallory gave him a long look, and Sebastian wished he knew what was going on behind those dark eyes. Finally, she gave a grudging nod. “He’s a pain in the butt, but his money is good. Plus, he’s the noble sort, not the kind of backstabbing lowlife who’d rat you out to his wizard friend, so...” She shrugged, leaving it at that.

  “Whoa, now, back up there, lil missy. Whaddya mean wizard friend? I don’t deal with no hoity-toity initiates or wizard-boot-licking maggots either. I thought you said he was decent?”

  Mallory’s response cut off Sebastian’s hot and extremely rude retort. “His wizard friend saved me from a...bad situation. She’s a self-righteous, pretentious prick, but an honest prick. I—I owe her one.” Mallory sounded like she’d had to drag the admission kicking and screaming from her mouth, but drag it she did, and at her words the suspicion faded from the man’s expression.

  “Humph,” Chief said, but after one last glower at Sebastian, he turned his full attention to Mallory. “You can never have enough weapons, kid, that’s my motto. Them swords came in last week straight from Tokyo. I ain’t finished putting the ironwork on ‘em yet, but once they’re done they can be yours for a purty fifteen grand.”

  Sebastian nearly choked at the figure, but Mallo
ry didn’t seem at all surprised. At least now her exorbitant job fee seemed a bit less outrageous.

  “Another day, maybe. Today I need to take you up on that custom Beretta you’ve been trying to sell me. Plus I’ll need a full load of ammo, a box of those iron-salt grenades you told me about, some iron restraints, and of course something for him.” She jerked a thumb at Sebastian.

  “Uhhh, you sure about that?” Sebastian asked, giving the rows of firearms around him a dubious look. “Me and guns don’t get along too well.”

  “If you want to live long enough to save your friend, you’ll get over that pretty quick,” Mallory told him as she approached the worktable and started rifling through the items Chief was currently piling on it.

  “No, I mean we don’t get along. Like, they don’t work for me. I think it has something to do with my, uh—” He glanced at the big guy currently wrestling with a heavy box. “My little green friends, if you remember?” he finished, hoping Mallory did remember.

  “What’n tarnation is he going on about?” Chief grumbled, then straightened with a grunt, corded muscles flexing as he lifted the box onto the worktable.

  “He’s a witch. Bargains with the fae.”

  “That a fact? Demons too scary for a maggot like you, eh?”

  “No,” Sebastian said, gritting his teeth against an insulting retort that would most likely get him punched, stabbed, or shot. “I’m just not stupid. If you’d ever actually practiced demonology yourself, you would know that only three kinds of people dabble in that madness: the desperate, the stupid, and the terminally overconfident. I was desperate once, but I learned my lesson. The fae are a much safer bet.”

  Chief grunted, but said no more. Sebastian caught Mallory eyeing him, but she turned back to her sorting as soon as he met her gaze.