Chapter Nine

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“Well, this makes more sense.” There was a look of exasperation from our host as she saw me. “I would have thought you’d be hiding on the other side of the world by now.”

“Ann, allow me to introduce you to Wilma Baxter, proprietor of this establishment and the best magician in Venice Beach. You’re how old these days? Seventy? Eighty?”

Wilma was a hearty woman with blonde hair that flowed messily to her waist. Despite my comment, she appeared to be no older than thirty due to her magic. Magic slowed or halted the aging process for all, but it hit everyone a bit differently. Wilma had looked to be about thirty for at least forty years. Beyond that, she was dressed in innumerable patchwork scarves, robes and bits of cloth and silk that I wasn’t even sure were attached to anything. Her neck and wrist, as well as in her ears, nose and who knows where else held a tacky amount of jewelry of various metals and stones. All of it served as camouflage to cover up one specific charm. To anyone who didn’t know better, she’d look like nothing more than a friendly neighborhood hippie.

“You take all of the fun out of this for me; you know that? All the theatrics, the pageantry; it’s all that makes my front of the shop work tolerable. Let me say I’m a witch if I want to say I’m a witch.” Wilma’s tone was turning south towards the genuinely annoyed now.

“If you’re going to do that, at least get your words straight,” I chided. “Ariadne is Greek, Freyja is Norse, and she takes that whole devotion thing pretty seriously so you might not want to go throwing it around. Besides, why would a hedge witch worship Freyja in the first place?”

Wilma actually scoffed at that. “Like you’d know the first thing about Pagans or Wicca. Hedge witches can worship whoever they’d like. I should know, I probably sell a book or two that says something along those lines.”

“I know enough about them that I don’t sell them garbage!” I shouted, motioning to her visible stock. “Hell’s teeth! You’re not a hedge witch! You’re not any kind of witch!”

“Umm, excuse me, but what the actual hell is happening here?” Ann interjected herself into our conversation with a little annoyance of her own.

Wilma turned to stare at her as if she’d forgotten she’d been there in the first place. Then she turned back to face me. “Her idiot friend knowingly went to work for Freyja? Does that mean Freyja is literally, physically in town?”

“It’s a long story, but yes, and that idiot is also a dear friend of mine, so be careful with your words.”

Wilma made the barest motion of an apologetic gesture with her hands. “And your story is equally long, I take it? Making the jump from a god to a goddess? I would have thought you’d like the time off.”

I barked a laugh at that. “By association, perhaps, but it will be a peaceful day in Tartarus before I go making any more deals like that. Are you telling me you never did anything short-sighted in your youth? I seem to recall—”

Ann stood directly between us now and waved her arms above her as if making sure for our benefit that we could still see her.

“Yes, what is it?” I snapped.

“What’s going on, why are we here, and how is she eighty? I mean, take this the right way, but she looks to be your age. Or like, what age you’d look like if you were human.” This time it was Ann’s turn to snap at me, but her frustration lost steam as it found the intersection of confusing and semantics.

“Oh, you just can’t keep your yap shut when the adults are talking, can you?” Wilma laughed sardonically. “Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?”

Ann blinked at that and adjusted her glasses to look from me to Wilma. “Wait, do you mean her or you, or like, both of you?”

“Everyone relax, I’ll make the proper introductions this time,” I tried to calm the room down, knowing full well I was getting away from our reason for being here. “Wilma, meet Ann. She’s a trusted friend and as of now, my apprentice.”

Wilma snorted at that. “And here I thought I was your only friend.”

I continued. “Ann, this is Wilma. Like you, she’s a magician—”

“No, I’m not,” Wilma interrupted.

“—and over the years she has become a reliable resource and a trusted colleague.”

“Umm, I’m not a magician?” Ann’s voice was somewhere between a question and clarification.

“Neither am I,” Wilma agreed. “And admit it or not, we’re friends.”

Since cutting and running didn’t seem to be a good option, I decided which fight I was willing to dive into just then. “Wilma, you know as well as I that there are names for things with good reason. What you do falls squarely under the title of a magician. You only say you’re a witch for the tourists, why can’t you accept what you are?”

“I never agreed to any rules.”

“Neither did I, come to think of it,” Ann chimed in. “And are we talking like card tricks or sleight of hand or...?”

I wanted to make the argument with her that by accepting my training she was subject to whatever rules I deemed she needed to follow, but I decided to table that particular conversation for later. “I give up, Wilma. You’re a witch, and Ann, you’re a basilisk if that’s what you want. What do I care?”

“Excellent!” Wilma concurred without protest. “And with that out of the way, what can I do for you today?”

I took the half second I needed to completely let the previous discussion go before I continued, hoping no one noticed. As helpful as Wilma had been in the past, she had a habit of getting under my skin. “Before we get into all of that, I have to know one thing. Have any of the Abbot’s people been through here?”

Wilma’s lips curled slightly at that. “Those chumps with the Symphony of the Attuned? No, we steer clear of each other for the most part. Muscle Beach is our unofficial border. They stick to their side of the boardwalk, and I stick to mine. Oh, east is east, and west is west, and never the twain shall meet.” She recited that last sentence from memory with a prideful flourish. Just so long as she didn’t continue to the rest of the verse, I was content to take her meaning.

“Really? You’ve never seen any of them around your shop and your customers? I was under the assumption that the Abbot took a measure of pride in having eyes and ears everywhere in Venice.”

“And that’s the trick, isn’t it?” Wilma asked. “You could have passed half a dozen of them getting to my door, and I wouldn’t have known. How could I? I don’t see any of their obvious members at least, the ones chanting on the beach with their crystals, doing their yoga in the sand or whatever it is they do. But the Abbot has the numbers, far more than just the pets he keeps in his home; an army if you believe the compound is real. If it is, and if he really wanted to, he could make one phone call and just run me right out of town. But he knows what I do and who some of my clients are, and I suppose that makes him content to steer clear of me just to be on the safe side. Is that what brings you here? The Abbot?”

“Him, some fighting if I’m unlucky, and maybe the Salt and Straw if we have the time.” Wilma was mostly trustworthy, but she didn’t know about the existence of a Battle Born, let alone the price on its head or who was after it. She wasn’t likely to get me intentionally killed, but I couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t repeat the information. Something this big might be something she’d try to leverage later.

Of course, there was also the lie detecting charm around her neck.

Unfortunately for her, it didn’t work on a spectrum. It heard a lie, or it didn’t. If she asked you if you’d like to include a dollar on your tab to support the spiritual awakening of Venice Beach charity fund, and you say you just donated when you bought your Venice Beach fanny pack and t-shirt combo on your way here, she knows you’re lying and not just because she made up that fundraiser to scam a few extra bucks from the normies and tourists. But it had to be specific. Leaving out information, keeping it vague, or even just being sarcastic would get around the charm. It’s why Wilma had been so surprised when Ann mentioned that Elana made a deal with Freyja. Getting no alert was the biggest surprise she could receive.

“I see. And you’re here to shop?”

“Yeah, but we’ll skip the candles and essential oils if it’s all the same.”

Wilma’s face contorted with something like annoyance and she moved to lock the front door. “The secret menu it is then. I hope you brought a list and you’re not just here to browse. And I hope to high heaven you can pay this time. This is why we make appointments; I need to close up shop whenever we do this.”

Having locked the front door, Wilma made her way into the backroom first to take down the various wards that were set up to keep anyone who wasn’t herself out. Like myself, she didn’t use invisible strings of magic, lacing the room with evocations as traps. She stuck to the old-fashioned way of doing things; her wards were more of a repellent. I could have probably crossed them if I’d really wanted to, but I’d be violently ill for the rest of the day. I always wondered why she didn’t use magic, and my best guess was the mere inconvenience of the thing. There’s only a certain amount of energy anyone has access to at any given time, and with the crafting she did for a living, it may just have not been prudent to cast and recast every time she wanted to bring by a customer. Or maybe she was just afraid of a crowd of tourists being too much for her to keep track of, and then she’s having to explain why one of them was immolated while looking for the bathroom. Easier to explain why they have the runs.

For a backroom filled with riches and wonders, it was surprisingly drab. For all of the splendor and showmanship that filled the main room of the shop, there was none to be found here. Barren white walls that would have fit better with an accountant’s office and plain shelving and tables housed various scrolls, amulets, potions, and a few bags that I probably didn’t want to open.

“Dude! Really?” Ann’s mouth hung open in amazement. “Okay, if she can do all of this, I’m inclined to call her whatever the hell she wants to be called.”

“It’s impressive, no question,” I replied as Wilma moved some boxes to make standing room for us. “But remember, you’ve created a spell book. You could create anything in this room given enough time to learn how.”

Wilma immediately stopped what she was doing and sighed, uttering a swear under her breath before speaking up. “You created a spell book?”

Ann nodded in agreement. Wilma’s question came with a level of frustration that seemed to prevent any unnecessary conversation immediately.

“Do you happen to have it with you?”

Ann nodded again.

“Well, may I see it?”

Ann looked to me for approval for some reason, and after digging through her pack, she produced her spellbook and handed it over. Wilma raised an eyebrow at the title and began to flip through the notebook, her brow furrowing in interest or concentration as she did. I started to offer some explanation, but she waved me off without looking up before stumbling over the pronunciation of Ann’s written onomatopoeia. A moment later a dozen or golden motes of light floated up and around the little room before popping in brief bursts of light.

“I quit,” Wilma said flatly.

“I’m sorry?” Ann asked.

Wilma turned her attention to me. “The girl created a working spellbook. And I can read it! How long has she had her magic?”

“Two months?” I said with a shrug, looking to Ann for confirmation. She tried it on for size and seemed to agree.

“Give or take, yeah. I’d say two months,” she agreed.

“We can call it two months,” I said definitively.

“And let me guess: Self-taught? No, don’t answer that. Can you see how this is not okay? I mean, it’s fine, I-I’m not going to... you know what? Let’s just move on.”

“No, don’t be like that,” I offered. “Everyone has their own talents; I’m sure you’ll make a spellbook one day.”

“I said it’s fine. What did you need?”

I thought about it for a second and realized that her ego didn’t need coddling so much as it required stroking, so I got right into it. “A ghost whisper for starters would be helpful, maybe something to help with defenses? Potions would be great; whatever you have there is just fine. Oh, and if you have any of those beads from before, the ones with kinetic energy stored in them. What did you call them?”

“Kinetic beads,” Wilma confirmed.

“Right! Yes! Exactly. If you can spare any of those that would be brilliant. But most important of all, and I need you more than anyone else for this because no one does it better. I need a couple of glamours. Top shelf, best you’ve got.”

“Christ, Chalsarda, what are you really fighting?” Wilma exploded. “Because this is not all for the Abbot, and don’t try to dance around the answer.”

“It’s not,” I admitted. There was no sense in pretending it was, but dancing around the answer happened to be a specialty of mine. “I’ve heard from a reliable source there are a couple of dangerous people who may try to hurt us, bounty hunters named Birdie and Caleb Duquesne.”

“I’ve heard of them both,” Wilma said slowly. “But neither of them is the type to work with the other. In fact—”

“It gets worse, Wilma,” I interjected, cutting her train of thought before she could piece together anything from that bit of knowledge. “It’s Alistair. He’s back. He threatened me, and he hurt Ann. Poisoned her. Alistair knows I’m free and I think he’s toying with us simply because he can.”

Wilma’s eyes snapped to me as if I’d slapped her. They’d grown full with something a half-step removed from fear. “He contacted you? Directly? He’s here?”

“Yes, to all counts, I’m afraid.”

Wilma blew out her cheeks and seemed to look off into the middle distance. “You’ll need a lot more than your shopping list to deal with him. But there is one thing that’s bothering me in all this, though. One thing you seemed to leave out intentionally. You’re going to see the Abbot. Or lay siege to his home, I’m not sure which. But you haven’t told me why.”

I chose my words carefully. “He has something that I need, and I don’t think he’s willing to give it up without a fight. And more importantly, it’s something that can help Ann. What he did to her is a one-of-a-kind sort of deal, and it can’t be cured by you, me, or anyone. So this is something we have to do ourselves. Ann’s dead if I don’t.”

I hoped that Ann didn’t take those last few words too personally. That didn’t make them any less accurate, but I felt terrible exploiting her all the same. If only because she was in earshot.

Wilma seemed to consider this. “Fair enough. I’ll outfit you. But not for free.”

“I never expected anything less. What do we owe you?”

“There’s what you will pay me, and there’s what it will cost you.” Wilma made sure to emphasize the difference between the two.

I sighed as she said it. “I thought we were past the dramatics. Can’t you just ring us up?”

“No dramatics here, I’m deadly serious. Unless leaving the service of a Celtic god comes with a nice severance package, I don’t think you can afford a single item in here. Unless of course, you’d like the friend discount?”

“I suspect we’re not walking out of here without it,” I remarked.

“It’s a shame the friend discount only applies to friends. So before we move forward, I’d like to hear that we are friends. Or, if we’re not, I’d like to hear that as well. My little charm aside, you and I both know you can’t lie. So beyond what you will pay me, this is what it will cost you: An honest answer.”

“Oh dang, what?” Ann whooped from behind, momentarily taking the air out of the situation. “She got you though.”

I whipped my head around in response, shooting her a look that did nothing to dissuade her heckling. Wilma was still waiting for a response, however, and time was a factor. “Okay then, this is my answer. I have been slow to trust any acting as an agent or a contact of my former employer, and for that matter, I have had precious few people that I would consider a friend. Not only in my past service, but in my life. Given the nature of my charge and for reasons I hope you will understand, I have refrained from ever calling anyone I worked with a friend. However, of anyone I have worked with on a professional level I can say that you are the most trusted person I’ve ever encountered, you are someone who has become the closest thing to a friend that I have allowed myself to have.”

Wilma nodded her head at that. “I’ll take i—”

“I’m not finished,” I said, putting up a hand to stop her. “While I’m telling you the whole truth, I would be remiss if I didn’t also add that you are one of the single most obnoxious, frustrating, cavalier charlatans I have ever been forced to endure!”

We held each other’s gaze after that for a tense moment before we both burst into laughter. Ann studied us quizzically, apparently not in on the joke. “Y’all are weird,” she said to herself, gaining no reaction from either of us.

“I’ll consider the cost settled,” Wilma began, after regaining her composure. “Now for what you will pay.”

“The answer isn’t ‘Dearly’ is it?” Ann questioned.

Wilma finally showed her displeasure at being interrupted. “It is not, but since you seem intent on being a part of this deal, welcome to the conversation. Chalsarda has covered her half, and I’ll allow you to cover the other. This is for your benefit, after all. So tell me, how much cash do you have on you? And I’ll remind you not to lie to me.”

Ann looked nonplussed at the question, but she pulled out her wallet all the same. I remembered the tenner she had given to the homeless woman, but apparently, that wasn’t everything she had on her, just what she had loose in her jean pockets. She produced a series of crisp twenty-dollar bills and counted them to herself. “I’ve got two hundred forty bucks.”

“There you have it, Chalsarda. A magical boon for the low price of two hundred and forty dollars.” She locked eyes with Ann as she said it.

My friend’s face fell knowing she had to foot the bill but that she wasn’t in a position to complain or barter.

“Chin up, you’re getting a bargain,” I commented.

“That was my rent money,” she sulked as she handed it over.

“You have cheap rent,” Wilma replied, folding the bills in half without counting them and stuffing them away.

“That was part of my rent money,” Ann clarified.

Wilma grinned and added, “At least it wasn’t your pudding money.”

Ann looked to me for some kind of hint as to what Wilma could have possibly meant by that statement, not finding the idea of two-hundred-and-forty-dollars’ worth of pudding plausible or humorous in the least. Wilma’s grin faded into disappointment as her joke or reference fell flat. “Watch the front of the store while I get you loaded up,” she said by way of transition. “I won’t be long.”

Not long translated into ten minutes or so and, when she returned, she held several small drawstring pouches. “Okay, here we go. The blue bag is the Kinetic beads. I don’t have to tell you, but I’m going to tell you all the same. Do not let this bag spill unless you want to make a spectacular mess. One at a time should be plenty for most people. The white bag is the potions. I’m giving you five of them because five is the number of samples I had left over. I stored them in those little mini liquor bottles you get on airplanes, but don’t let that scare you. They’re all clearly marked, and one-hundred percent guaranteed to work.”

I opened that bag to examine them, and sure enough, she was right. The glass clinked as I opened it to reveal our prize. I grabbed a couple to get a closer look. A pair of fifty-milliliter bottles, the first a Goldschlager with a sticker placed on its front that read Steelskin, the liquid swirling inside of it resembling mercury. And another potion, a bottle of Grand Marnier that read Slumber. Purple milk would be the most accurate description I could come up with. The red color of the glass obscured it, but I’d seen it before. I’d examine the rest later.

“And finally, in the red bag, we have your ghost whisper. Don’t open it until you want to hear it.”

“USA! USA!” Ann quietly chanted. Seeing our expressions, she added, “Because of the colors? Like our flag? Then again, those are also the colors for France. And Yugoslavia. And even North Korea. Okay, sorry. Please continue.”

“I think we’re good here, actually,” I said quickly. “Once again Wilma, you have my sincere thanks. You have been most generous.”

“Well, that’s not all. Your glamours, right?” Wilma opened up a fist over my hand, and two minuscule scrolls fell into my palm. “And I don’t need to tell you, but only use any of this as needed. Your new friend here may not know the value of this work, but I’m sure you know exactly the kind of deal you got today and why I probably can’t do this for you again for a while.”

“I’m aware,” I agreed as Wilma crossed around the counter to open the shop again. “But why are you helping us? To this degree, I mean?”

The door chimed as she opened it and turned to face me. “Because Alistair is a prick. Because Ann created a spellbook without trying and I’d hate to see that potential go to waste. But most of all because as much as you can be thick headed about who actually cares about you in this world, I want you to know that I’m your friend, and if you died out there I would be upset for reasons that didn’t involve the loss of a customer. So understand this: I’m not going anywhere anytime soon and hopefully, neither are you. So that means you gotta back here in one piece and maybe return the favor sometime. Good luck, my friend.”

***