Maker

Chapter: 7-2

He was sitting back in a chair with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He was wearing a shirt that was unbuttoned, and his chiseled pecs and abs had just enough sweat to glisten in the afternoon light. Female fey were gorgeous, breathtaking, and no real woman looked like that. It was like seeing a perfectly photoshopped i********: come to life. Male fey just looked ridiculous to me. Not only did no man look like that, but even pictures of men didn’t look that good. It was like watching a perfectly formed work of art come to life and start trying to sell you a car—hard to take it seriously. He glanced at me with impossibly green eyes.

“I’m busy,” he said as the blonde smiled and walked out of the room.

“Get unbusy.” I snapped back. It was still early afternoon, and despite the bandage, my leg was hurting again after tripping over whatever that was in the outer room. I didn’t get angry; as far as I could tell, I felt practically nothing in comparison to most people. I was just having a crappy couple of days. To the fey thing’s credit, he picked up on it.

Soaka smirked and didn’t speak further. He gestured to a seat, and I waved it off. “Food? Drink?” I shook my head no.

Stupid formalities.

I’d have to be crazy to accept food or drink from a fey—even half of one. May as well start smoking crack and quit at life—it was that good—probably better. There was an entire population of humans in outland because they, or one of their ancestors, had sampled that food or wine and felt such elation at first taste they never left.

“What can I do for you?” He asked.

“I got hit by some warlocks last night.”

“You look good for a dead man.”

“Who was it?” I growled.

“What makes you think I—”

“They had automatic rifles.” I snapped. “If you didn’t import them, then you know who did.” The smirk on his face told me nothing. I was supposed to take it as an admission of guilt, but with a being this old there was no assurance that his face would tell me the truth. His body, on the other hand, never moved. Since he didn’t shift positions, that meant he was still comfortable—which suggested that it was an act.

“Maker, I’m flattered that you think so highly of me.”

“Save it.” I said leaning forward on his desk. “Playing coy doesn’t work when men do it. Those bastards nearly killed me.”

“I feel the need to remind you that our agreement doesn’t include information on any of my contacts outside the dominion of Vermillion Falls. You wanted to help the Martinet in their war. I have no obligation—”

“AKs!” I interrupted again. “They had AKs when they hit me last night. I’ll find them with or without you, but if you choose not to help and if I trace them back to you, then I’ll have recourse for a summon. Merlin will forgive me if I sell it as self-defense. I can’t kill you, I can’t even put you out of business, but we both know trolls work cheap. I’ll have you kidnapped and thrown into some goblin dungeon for a few hundred years. Not even Titania could get you out of there, that’s if you could get her to give a s**t in the first place.”

Titania and Oberon had been at war forever, but they were also married. They would feud, their armies would slaughter each other for a few decades, then they’d forgive and forget until the next time. Here I thought my relationships were complicated.

The queen of the night and the king of all fairies separated their whole plane of existence into Outland and Faerie—the borders of which were fluid and changed with each of their powers. Every fairy wanted the strength to impress Oberon and the grace to attract Titania’s attention, even if it was only for a moment.

They would talk endlessly to friends, neighbors and complete strangers about the time Titania glanced in their general direction, or whispered to them a secret in a time of need. There were worse insults among fairies than implying they weren’t worth Titania’s attention, but not many.

To prove this, Soaka’s face grew darker by the word. The odds of me actually doing any of that were slim at best. Besides, I liked Soaka… well, maybe not “like,” but we did have a good working relationship.

“I don’t currently have an order for any warlocks,” he said. He narrowed his eyes slightly, and his jaw was clenched tight. No doubt he was deliberating on what would be the most satisfying way to kill me.

“You’re lying.” I said.

“I can’t lie. You know that,” he said.

“Bull, I don’t care what name they put on their order or what they told you the weapons were for. I want a copy.” Fey were predictable. They couldn’t tell direct lies, but they could talk their way around the truth better than a southern belle politician. It never seemed to fool me. The ways around the truth were all predictable. Besides, not knowing when someone was lying could get you killed. I knew that from bitter experience.

“And how do I know this will satisfy you? How soon until you are back in my office making threats and demands?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “My pride is bruised. I’m out for blood, and until I get it, expect threats and demands.” Soaka sat back again and sighed.

“Banter and posturing aside, I suppose I understand your anger. Three commissions.”

“None, and I’m still getting your full cooperation. Everything you know now or learn in the next year about any warlocks.”

“Two then. I know quite a lot about my clients.”

“None.” I snapped. “I don’t have to give you s**t!”

“Actually, you do.” He growled. “I’m not going to yield to blackmail, so piss on your threats. I won’t give anything away for free. Ever! One commission or get the hell out.”

I liked anger. Whenever you could get someone emotionally involved it always felt like they were being more genuine. It wasn’t true in every case of course, but as a general rule, the more emotional someone got, the less time they spent thinking.

It was a mistake to fall into any assumptions about a being that was hundreds of years old, but I felt like I knew Soaka well enough to believe this outburst. Fairies couldn’t give anything away. The concept of a gift was abhorrent and did something terrible to them I couldn’t understand. Suffice it to say giving or getting anything without reciprocation was akin to spitting in their face. Soaka was a halfling, so it shouldn’t have mattered… but he was an unusual halfling.

From what I could gather, the rules of the fey held him more tightly than most. He’d never elaborated on what those were, and I didn’t ask because I knew he wouldn’t tell me.

“One it is,” I said. “No more than three months of work. I’m not gonna be slaving away for another year on whatever you can dream up.” He nodded and shuffled through the papers on his desk and handed me one of them.

“Warlocks 101 will have to wait, as I suddenly find myself in need of relaxation.”

“There’s a brunette out front that’s to die for.” I said. “I’d start there.” With that, I turned and left.

The brunette that I tripped over the stool for was the reason I could treat Soaka like a second-class citizen. Often, halflings that chose to be human did so for love. They would fall in love with a human and not want to watch that person grow old and die. As a commission for him, I’d pulled a Dr. Frankenstein and created a vessel that could hold a human consciousness. It wasn’t hard per se, but it took me over six months, drained my staff from full to zero several times, and left me unconscious or lethargic for weeks on end. He’d since shaped that vessel into the form she wanted. It was almost four years old, and in twenty or thirty years or so, she’d need another.

I wondered what he’d want made this time.

I didn’t look at anything on my way out. Keeping my eyes on the marble floor was great for my balance. Stupid orgy-having fey.

I was in the elevator before I took the sheet out and looked at it. A boat had arrived in Wilmington last night, and the shipment was due for pickup this evening. Good timing. The address was a parking garage downtown, and I had all the time in the world to get there.

Still, no reason to dally.

I dodged security again and hailed a cab. The fatigue of the last couple days was piling up and I submitted to my biology’s demand for a nap. I was startled whenever a semi-truck sped by. It was gonna take a while to get over that.

The occasionally interrupted nap had the advantage of making the trip seem shorter, and I could certainly use the rest. The cabbie dropped me off outside the parking garage. I handed over a few bills and thought longingly of my truck, which was in the shop for repairs.

Careful to avoid any cameras, I walked into the garage. Reaching out with my magical senses was just a form of concentration; a way of noticing large pockets of energy or areas devoid of it. The stronger the magical thing was, the easier it was to detect. I found the van pretty quick: a white panel van, simple in the extreme.

I felt for enchantments, and there was one. “Not taking any chances today,” I sighed. I crawled under a truck a couple spaces down just in case someone came along. From there I was able to study the spell. Took me almost an hour before I fully understood it. Not only was the van forgettable; it also cast a spell on anyone who touched it. “Stupid fey magic.” I sighed. I hated mind magic. There wasn’t much chance of my getting in. I could probe all day and not find a way around. Besides, there was no telling when these people would come to pick it up. I went down to a mom and pop hardware store to pick up a few things.

When I got back, the truck was still there. That was a relief.

I laid some copper wire down in a circle around the truck as best I could. Circles were the preferred tool for blocking or manipulating magic. The more perfect the circle and pure the material, the better it worked. Magic was like electricity in that it liked to gather at pointy places. A perfect circle made from an atomically precise material could theoretically dissipate an infinite amount of magical energy.

Unfortunately, a perfect circle was physically impossible. This material was cheap copper wire from a hardware store, so I wasn’t holding out much hope for the purity either.

I bit down hard on my thumb and pressed the pooling drop of blood to the copper ring. It amplified my meager magical abilities into… something slightly less meager. I wanted all the help I could get.

Have you ever tried to bite yourself so hard that you broke the skin? It’s difficult; there’s a trick to it, one that I’d learned at the tender age of twelve. I shook off the memory. I did that a lot with my childhood.

With an exhale I gathered my power and closed the circle to magical energies. Someone could physically walk across, but any magic discharged inside would stay there… theoretically.

I took out the pad I bought and scribbled something down, then put the pad in my pocket. Next, I took a handful of washers and threw them at the truck. Not to damage it, but to trigger the spell. Nothing happened. I was afraid of that. The spell was designed to be triggered only by a living thing.

If two people had come to pick up the truck, one could trigger the spell and the other could get in and drive once the spell was gone. Pretty clever actually. The washers landed randomly inside the circle under the truck. That would help to disperse some of the energy as well.

Not much, but every little bit helps. I took a deep breath and reached for the handle, the spell discharged, and I was knocked on my ass.

“Dammit,” I sighed. This wasn’t working. It was futile trying to get in at all. How many times have I told people—reminded myself—that these guys could be Martinet? They were strong enough to be one of Merlin’s personal crew of wizard assassins. I was way out of my league for this. Screw it; they could have the pack. I’m done.

I was five steps away when a sharp metal something stabbed me in the leg. Reaching down, I pulled out a wire ring notepad that I didn’t remember having. The words “Don’t Panic” were printed in large, friendly letters on the yellow cover. I didn’t laugh. I was low. I was gonna go curl up in a ball somewhere and sleep for a week. I flipped it open as I walked. The first page was the only one with writing.

Dear Maker,

ROB THE DAMN TRUCK!

Love,

Maker

The spell shattered and tried to take a few pieces of my mind with it. The pain sent me to my knees, but was gone by the time I got there. I would’ve screamed, but there was no time. Not even a throb to say that the white-hot knife in my skull had just been ripped out. I grunted after the fact, but that was more for the shock than anything.

It took me a minute, but I was able to catch my breath and stumble back to the truck. It was easy to see now that the spell was broken. The copper wire was burned black in a conspicuous oval shape. I looked in the window. The keys were on the seat.

I moved the truck to a different spot a few spaces down. Whoever came for it wouldn’t pass the burned black circle on the way in now. Maybe it wouldn’t’ve raised suspicion, but no sense taking chances. Checking the back, I found three wooden boxes. I pulled the white sheet out of my pocket. After dispatching the body yesterday, it would still have plenty of room in it. I threw it over the wood boxes. Funny how useful a kid’s party trick could be.

“Disappear.” The last item I had bought at the hardware store was a can of green spray paint. I spray painted “Phantom Lorde” on the inside of the truck and got out, feeling like a badass. I placed my compass in the cab behind the seat. With that I went home; it was gonna be a busy night.