Maker

Chapter: 6

Chapter: 6

I did brush them when I woke up.

Converting an attic into an apartment gave it the appearance of a studio. The sink, toilet, and shower were all in one corner. My workstation was in the opposite corner, next to my bed.

To reach my toothbrush I had to make my way past all my notes, failed experiments, stacks of books, lots of plants, and a refrigerator full of potions, chemicals, and magical components, that had never even heard of food. It was still a bit before sunrise; the sky was dark but getting lighter, and there didn’t seem to be a cloud in it. My only window up here was an air vent, and it was quite tiny.

I had only slept a few hours, but I slept like a rock. Sleep was always peaceful in my apartment. Occasionally an attacker tries to surprise me elsewhere, but not at home. No one ever attacked me here. My apartment was strong enough to stop a rogue angel.

I lived in an old Victorian house that had been built sometime after the Civil War. I stayed in the attic apartment upstairs with a family downstairs that had six children and one more on the way. The house had remained in that family since it was built. All devout Roman Catholics—generations of them.

The family alone made for a formidable threshold. Add in my magic wards, and it was highly unlikely anything would be getting in anytime soon.

Why would the Masons let a heathen wizard live in their attic? Well… they don’t know I’m a wizard of course. One of my wards renders me kinda invisible. Everything I do merely fades into the background.

I’m essentially stepping over a threshold that isn’t mine; but because I’m mortal and I never meant them any harm, I get to keep my meager magical abilities. Might also have something to do with paying rent. Thresholds had never been made entirely clear to me. The universe ran on rules, but it was under no obligation to tell you what they were.

The wards only work when I’m home, though. That’s another reason it works so well. The same power, the same magic of that family powers the wards. My spells channel it into powering them.

That was how I did everything. Using one thing to power another. It’s the reason I lived where I did; it’s why I never left. Four hundred years ago or so, someone planted a seed from the first tree in what is now western North Carolina. It was unremarkable forest at the time.

Now that seed is a tree of massive strength. Once every couple years or so, I went to tend it in a long ritual spell that helped maintain its growth. I wasn’t entirely benevolent—I got a wand out of the deal.

I turned from the sink and sighed. The walls were piled high with boxes. Everywhere on the floor were open books and papers dotted with things I’d been working on. My table in the far corner held my laptop, an old spectrometer, some of those empty small glass bottles and a few other things. There were more on the shelf above that were full; fourteen to be exact.

I could take things out of my pack with a thought. Putting things in took time and effort—time and effort I hadn’t taken in the last few weeks.

Last week I felt like a procrastinating, unproductive, douchebag. Now I was a little glad for it.

There were a few other things in the clutter strewn about the room.

A pair of slippers that let me walk on walls, but didn’t always work. A small spring that worked quite well, just not the way it was supposed to; it let me put a minuscule force on something at a distance. I wanted high force at a short distance. What I got was almost no force at distances I couldn’t even see.

There was my pen that never ran out of ink; it was one of the first things I’d made. The ink also disappeared and reappeared whenever I wanted. A plastic fork that could stab through almost anything. A balloon made of solid lead that could provide enough lift to get me off the ground for a few minutes. Unfortunately, after it did, it spent the next few days being immovable. A concrete block with the consistency of clay that was heavier than a cinder block should be. That was just a dismal failure.

There was a compass that I would always know the direction of, but could not tell direction. The soup bowl that dehydrated everything down to a powder—except for milk and coke. There was a pot with a plant in it that worked perfectly, watering and feeding whatever was put into it. I’d made lots of those for my dozens of plants. I spied the sugar cube that made everything bitter. A prototype of my pack that transformed whatever I put in it into more packs. At least it wasn’t the wooden goose I’d enchanted to lay golden eggs. It laid regular eggs on demand for almost a year before it failed. Miles was happy with it at least.

People call me a genius of magical theory. What they don’t realize is most of the things I make are failures. If I make something that’s crap, and just so happen to find a use for it, it’s still crap. Like fertilizer. Ha! Some of the things in my armory are downright nasty, but I didn’t make any of them.

Even the best things I made had limits. Anything could burn out after a few uses, and I’d have to make it again. I often had to carry copies of things. A real wizard only had to make something once and it lasted forever.

I sighed again. Time to suit up. I threw on the same clothes from yesterday. They were clean, pressed, and a slightly darker shade of black after a night on the floor. All the rips and tears from last night had been mended; even the bullet hole I put in my jacket had repaired itself. That was a useful enhancement. My pistol went into its holster under my arm.

I had an old satchel and shoved in the potions from the shelf, the spring, the pen, the sugar cube, bowl, compass, and my staff which had somehow made it into my pants cargo pocket. I didn’t remember putting it there, but between the tumble, the fatigue, and getting shot in the face, a lot of fine details from last night were foggy, or downright missing. Last, I packed the sheet with the blonde cadaver in it.

All the potions were the real pain. Without my pack, there was no way to keep them organized. Some of them were the same thing at least. I never cooked just one potion—that was inefficient.

The only other things I had to help me reclaim my pack were what I was wearing. Everything I wore was a magical tool, even my socks. I’d had some problems with foot fungus in the past.

At the moment I was most happy with the sports bandage wrapped around my midsection. It had done its job well while I slept; taking the power from the air and using it to repair cells and nerves. I didn’t feel like I was dying anymore, so the internal bleeding had to have been repaired. I had four more smaller bandages in my pack. Sure wish I had them now. Even though those were single-use items, like potions. I had a dozen scrapes and pains that were more than simply annoying.

It was still dark, about an hour before dawn. I already wasn’t limping as bad as I had been, but I popped two more aspirin anyway. The swelling on my leg had gone down a lot—now there was just a dull ache when I walked rather than a sharp twinge on every other step. Hairline fracture at worst; I guess someone up there still likes me.

I unwrapped the ace bandage and wrapped it around my leg since that was the second biggest injury of last night.

I told myself I wasn’t hungry, but ended up walking into Miles’ place anyway. There was no sign of the old man, nor anyone else, but I knew the drill by now. I threw on an apron, a pot of coffee and a flat of bacon. As it fried, I swept the place even though it didn’t need sweeping. By the time I was done the bacon and coffee were making the place smell like a lower level of heaven.

Zora came down with hair standing up everywhere from the rat’s nest of a braid she sported. She looked red-eyed and groggy and went straight to the coffee. She was scrambling eggs by the time I put the broom away.

“Toast?” I said, barely audible.

She just grunted in a way that said no. She’d likely say something about carbs or some such.

“Carbs,” it was raspy, tired and right on time.

I had eggs, bacon, and toast with some-berry jam. Coffee with enough cream and sugar that you couldn’t taste the vile, bitter brew beneath. I drank coffee to wake up; to keep me sharp. The taste had never grown on me, so I piled on the cream and sugar and drank twice as much.

Zora and I sat silently, staring at our phones. I was reading a pdf of an old book on witches and theriomorph tigers in 1960’s India. The woman who wrote it was obviously a wacko, but it was also obvious that she had experienced something supernatural. Whatever it was drove her insane, and her ramblings were recorded in a medical journal.

I looked over Zora’s shoulder and saw her staring at a schematic for what looked to be a linear accelerator.

“Send me that.” I said.

“Mmmph,” she grunted back. I got the link after another moment or two and added it to my already ridiculously long reading list.

“Vamps have been quiet. See what you can find out today. Also, try and scout out that north side haunting we heard about. No risks. Take a peek and get out.”

“Mmmph,” she responded. “I’ll get someone to do it…got a date tonight.”

“Grant?” I asked. It was hard to keep all her men straight at times.

“Brian. New guy,” she said with a yawn. “Grant and Tyrone are history. Being great in bed gets old quick if you have the IQ of a garden slug, and Tyrone asked about the scars.” Sometimes it sucked being a wizard. You could never get too close to anyone. Sooner or later you’d have to tell them what you did for a living.

I knocked a few articles off my reading list while we ate and caught up on all my web comics. I was procrastinating and I knew it. That was the worst kind of procrastinating.

Miles appeared after about an hour and grunted towards us both on his way to the coffee. By the time he’d plated up breakfast for himself, I was done eating.

“Maker, almost forgot,” Zora didn’t look up from her phone “Rania called last night. Said she needs to see you today. Sounded panicked.” I nodded, dropped a few bills on the counter, and walked out.

I stood just outside the door taking deep breaths and trying to think about quarks and muons to relax. It was going to be a hard day, but at least there would be lots of sunshine.

I could hear Miles and Zora strike up a conversation the moment I stepped out.

“Well, if you’d read the last FDA study I sent you, or even bothered with the internet…” I tuned out. It was clear they were going at it about nutrition. The fundamentals of milk this time. Or should I say, again.

Two seven-year-old boys and a girl not much younger came running around the corner of the block and ran past me into the diner, all tossing me a “Hi Maker,” along the way. Marcus, Anthony, and his little sister Natalia screamed “PANCAAAAAAAAAAKES!” in unison. You could tell they had practiced this.

I smiled, and listened to Zora yelling about noise in the morning, and Miles asking them all about school. I didn’t know exactly how many grandchildren he had, but it was easily over twenty. Must be nice having so much family you could barely keep track of them all.

Kids.

“Damn you, Rollo,” I growled. Rollo didn’t know about Tema—at least I’d never mentioned her—but the idea of leaving two children to the whims of whatever horrors the supernatural could conjure hit home hard.

I rationalized that this aligned with my interests, but I still felt forced into going. They were either taken by vampires or the new warlock cult. Theoretically, I guess, it could be anything, but those were the usual suspects. I caught a cab to the north side of town, once again lamenting my truck being in the shop.

The cab took me out of downtown, past NC State College and towards the northwest end. When we finally started getting close, I handed off a couple of twenties, got out, and walked the last three blocks. Trying to look inconspicuous and likely failing.

The house was straight out of a suburban fairy tale, right down to the white picket fence. Rollo had done exactly as he’d promised and kept everyone out. There was a patrol car out front with no one in it. That meant there were two cops around somewhere. Didn’t take long to spot them. One was walking the perimeter of the house and the other was standing near a side door. I shrugged. If I wanted to sneak around, I should’ve come last night.

I rooted around for the right potion and found it after a few moments. Felt like forever.

I felt the charmer potion start working instantly. There was a warm humming sensation in my throat, and it slowly spread to every joint in my body. It was uncomfortable to be suddenly aware of every place in you where bone met bone.

I ignored it and walked right up to the house. I nodded to the officer and said something in greeting. He nodded back and asked if I was sure I wanted to go in. Of course I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t say that—just walked right past him, looking grim. I shut the door behind me and waited. The officer didn’t follow me in.

I took a deep breath of stale, dead air and let it out. I felt it immediately. The magical equivalent of a mouth full of sludge. It was coming from the right, and it took great effort not to look. It felt like a threat. The worst filth in the world and it felt like it was on the verge of consuming me.

All the shades were closed. I waited for my eyes to adjust to the dimness. The stairs went up in front of me; the living room was on my right. Straight past the stairs were a kitchen, dining room, and a door out to the manicured backyard.

The field of magical energy that surrounds every mortal home settled on me tight and clingy as I crossed the threshold—like walking into a giant bubble and feeling the residue on your skin. I was human; a threshold wouldn’t inhibit my magic, but I was also a wizard, so I could still feel it. Some supernatural beings could cross, but they left their powers at the door. Others, like vampires, couldn’t cross unless invited, and still others couldn’t cross at all.

I went upstairs first. I could feel the magic still flowing in the place. I knew what Rollo wanted me to see was in the living room. I also knew I didn’t want to see it.

Heading upstairs was like getting a breath of fresh air, magically speaking. It was more innocent up here, more wholesome. The air certainly didn’t clog up in my lungs with the wrongness from downstairs. I looked around and saw four rooms. One was a nursery and craft room that appeared to not be in use.

One was obviously the girl’s room, Theresa’s. The right wall was pink slashed with purple. She did like math; there was a whiteboard on the wall filled with numbers and equations. Basic algebra, and elementary calculus. At twelve, that was rather impressive.

There was some cartoon character I didn’t recognize on the perfectly made bed. The desk had little on it to interest me, but was cluttered with all the things one would expect of a young girl slowly putting away the regalia of a child and moving into adolescence.

I saw a hairbrush of hers and pulled out all the hair still on it. Those went in my pocket. If there was a fresh enough one, I could make short work of all this. I wasn’t strong enough for a tracking spell, but I had voodoo doll in my pack that could do the job. It was especially easy with blood or a fresh enough hair; you just had to tell the universe “find the largest concentration of deoxyribonucleic acid that looks like this.”

Now, I just needed my pack to track down the kids and get Rollo off my case. Not to mention reclaim dominion over my conscience.

The next room was the parents’. It was immaculate. Everything in its place. I didn’t go in. I took a long look from the hallway and wondered where they were. Rollo hadn’t said anything about what happened to them. I assumed they were dead, painted all over the walls downstairs; or worse.

Ryan’s room was in similar order. Filled with baseball everything. The bedspread was baseball, as were the posters on the wall. On the desk, there was a baseball pencil holder with pencils shaped like baseball bats.

On the wall were quotes by what I assumed were famous baseball players. Baseball wasn’t my sport, so I only recognized two names.

“Every strike brings me closer to the next home run.”

—Babe Ruth

“The more I pitch, the stronger my arm will get.”

—Satchel Paige

I took one last look and walked out. I was getting angry and that was good—anger killed fear and self-preservation. At least it did with me. I cared less about my safety and more about whatever was happening to those children. Whether I was angry or not didn’t change what I would do, but at least I’d feel better about doing it.

I didn’t want to look in the living room as I came down the stairs, so I didn’t. Whatever ritual, blood rite, or spell that had been done had no business in my head. It was a horrible, twisted thing, whatever it was.

The thought occurred to me that it would be better to burn the place. Fire worked in every dimension; it was a force of destruction, and therefore, renewal. Nothing touched by a hot enough flame could ever be the same again. It would wipe away any trace of whatever that was. I stood there feeling it slither up my senses, leaving that foulness feeling behind. Didn’t take me long to decide.

“Fire.” The flame shot from my palm and caught the carpet. It was a special type of flame. I was crap with evocation. Fire, lightning, and all the “go boom” magics. I’d invented this spell to make a flame that sought to consume magical energies. In addition to wood, paint and drywall for fuel, it sought out anything unnatural—that included all things magic.

I wasn’t strong enough for it to make a good offensive spell, but for non-living things it did ok. I had another that was just difficult to extinguish, but that primarily went into potions.

The fire ignited and spread across the floor like a liquid. When the officer outside ran in, it was licking up walls that were covered in blood, feces, and the entrails of small animals.

“What happened?” The officer demanded. I hadn’t looked at him on the way in, and I didn’t do so now. I ran past him before the fire came after me. Not only was I a wizard, but I was under the influence of the charmer potion.

“Some kind of booby trap,” I yelled back. “Get the fire department out here now.” The officer ran back to the patrol car, screaming for his partner to get away from the house.

The thought occurred to me that I had done this family another small favor. Insurance would actually cover this. The panic rose quickly as neighbors left their homes to watch the action.

I melted away in the confusion. I wasn’t a part of that nicer world where something burning down or blowing up was a fascinating spectacle to be watched. Besides, I had one more favor to do.