The leather cover was smooth to the touch. I lifted the book, feeling the solid weight of it, and opened the cover. Familiar characters and the musty smell of aged paper made my eyes flutter closed and a smile grace my lips. This old volume was sure to contain some excellent spells. This was where he’d probably learned about magical fire, body armor, and whatever he’d done to make his house rock around like a holiday party. I often studied a similar book, though I’d never attempted any of the spells. Or really any magic performed by mages, having spent so long perfecting my own, which didn’t exist in any books.
Where had he gotten this text, I wondered? It must’ve been a recent acquisition, or he would’ve been terrorizing his neighbors some time ago. Thankfully, he’d chosen to hoard the book rather than share it, or we might’ve had a citywide epidemic of mediocre mages running amok. The humans would’ve noticed the magical community for sure.
I glanced around, deciding that a great use of my time, while in the house of this dead man, was to poke my nose into other nooks and crannies. It wasn’t like he’d mind, and I thoroughly enjoyed treasure hunting.
After placing the book in an unmolested part of the room for safekeeping—it blended nicely into a trash pile—I set out through the house, waving my hands in front of me like a blind man, feeling for magic. I repeatedly tapped the floor with my toe, including in the carpeted areas, and checked his shelves and even under his bed. Finally, I looked on his computer, grimacing as I went through his browsing history. The man had some odd tastes, and not a lot of magically relevant information.
Almost giving up, I checked the refrigerator, found a can of soda, and then tapped the floor as I had a drink.
Tap-tap-tap-tonk.
I paused with my foot hovering over a discolored section of linoleum.
On closer inspection, I had another winner.
No magic vibrated my palm, so I peeled back the square of flower-patterned linoleum, which likely hadn’t started out that horrible brown color, and stared down at what lay beneath it—a square of particle board with a small hook in it.
The lack of a protective spell should’ve been my first clue that something was amiss.
I lifted the floorboard to a spray of green goo. I flung myself away, but not in time. Liquid slashed my cheek and splatted on the side of my neck. It immediately started to burn, and not in that great way fire did. This felt more like acid.
“Mother-trucker!” I grabbed a kitchen towel off the counter and wiped the stuff off. The pain lessened into a throb before morphing into a cold sensation seeping into my skin.
I still didn’t feel magic, which meant this stuff was naturally made.
I had no knowledge of natural crap.
In a panic, I rifled through his cupboards for potions or books on poison or a cookbook, anything that might give me some hint as to what he’d made.
The cold burrowed deep into my neck. That was probably bad. The neck was an extremely vulnerable area.
I tore back through the house, aiming for the magical book. Maybe he had notes in there, or a big star marking the kitchen booby trap.
Before I made it halfway down the hall, the front door cracked open.
I dove, rolled, felt a poke of wood in my back, and yanked out my gun. Killing a random person would be bad news, especially if they were human—the human police would be all over it—but hopefully the gun would scare them away. Otherwise, I’d shoot, torch the place, and run. Which was why I didn’t have paperwork. A person with no records of any kind was hard to identify.
“Freeze!” I shouted in a deep voice, trying to sound like a cop.
“Oh!” A big-bosomed woman jerked to a stop in the doorway, throwing up her hands. “Don’t shoot.”
“This is a crime investigation,” I lied, my focus back on my neck.
“You’re the bounty hunter, right? The one I saw outside?” The woman peered through the gloom, staring vaguely.
Just my luck. I was in peril, and a blind person was the only one available to help me find a written spell.
“I’m the bounty hunter, yes. I’m a little busy right now, actually. If you’ll just—”
“Is he dead?” she asked quietly.
“Unfortunately, yes. Hazard of the trade.” I crawled to my feet and felt my neck. To my fingers, my skin felt perfectly normal, but the cold was eating down into my chest now.
Before I could dash for the spell book, a flare of light stopped me short.
I reeled back and covered my eyes, adjusting. It wasn’t until then that I realized why she hadn’t looked directly at me—only a select type of magical people could see in the dark. I was one of those people, but given that there wasn’t a spell for it, at least not that I knew of, mages generally were not.
Big C had been able to see in the dark! I hadn’t noticed because I’d had other things on my mind. How?
My burning curiosity made it even more annoying that I’d accidentally killed him.
“How could you get anything done— Oh no!” The woman dropped the sheet she’d just ripped off the window and rushed toward me. “That’s going to leave a mark, dear.”
“What is?”
“Here. Quickly. Into the garden.” She half dragged me behind her, which was pretty impressive given the difference in our strength levels. She had the drop on me when it came to pushiness.
“I am really impressed,” she said conversationally as we reached the kitchen. “I didn’t think anyone would be able to help us.” She walked me out of the back door, into a well-tended herb garden. Unlike the front yard, this place saw a lot of loving care. “I’ve tried a few others. It didn’t end so well for them. When his house started shaking, I thought that was it for you. Here we are.”
She released my wrist and bent to a plant. After ripping off a leaf, she stuck it into her mouth and chewed. Moments later, she smeared the wet pulp onto my cheek.
I grimaced. “I could’ve chewed that myself.”
The numbness from the slash line receded with cold, tingling pain.
“He became very powerful,” she said before sticking more plant into her mouth.
“I really don’t mind chewing it…”
“Crazy, but very powerful.” She took out the pulpy mess and reached up to smear it on my neck. “It was mostly in spurts, though, his increases in power. One day, heightened power. The next, back to normal. He wouldn’t say why.”
I prevented myself from flinching away from the green spit-wad being spread on my neck. My face felt better now. That was worth the ick factor of having this woman’s saliva on my skin.