Right Hand Magic (12 page)

“I appreciate your concern, old friend.” Hexe smiled, placing a hand on Dr. Mao’s shoulder. “But I’m not afraid of Boss Marz, and I don’t think you are, either.”

“Marz!” Dr. Mao’s face twisted in disgust, as if the crime lord’s name were foul to the taste. “He can—how do the young ones say it? Ah, yes. He can kiss my butt!”

“I like you, Doc,” I laughed. “You’re not afraid to say what you think.”

“I wish I could claim to be a brave man,” Dr. Mao said, blushing slightly. “But the truth is I’m simply too old to care about what others think anymore.” He motioned for Lukas to follow him. “Come along, young one. I must inspect your feet.”

Lukas hobbled across the room and sat down in a traditional Chinese horseshoe armchair. Mao’s daughter reappeared, carrying a tray with a blue-and-white celadon tea service on it. Placing the tray on a table next to the chair, she poured a measure of hot tea into one of the delicate cups and handed it to Lukas.

“Th-thanks,” he stammered.

“Meikei, please prepare the young man’s feet for inspection,” Dr. Mao said matter-of-factly.

“Yes, Father,” she replied dutifully.

Lukas’s eyes widened as Meikei knelt before him and began unlacing his shoes. He reached out to stop her, his cheeks burning bright pink. “You don’t have to do that!” he blurted.

“But I must,” Meikei explained, smiling up at him. “I am my father’s apprentice.”

Lukas sat transfixed, staring down at the young girl as she removed his shoes and socks. Once she was finished, Meikei frowned upon seeing the untouched cup of tea still in his hand.

“Is there something wrong with the tea?” she asked.

“Oh! No!” Lukas assured her, shaking his head vigorously. “It’s delicious!”

“But you haven’t even tasted it,” she pointed out.

Lukas quickly downed the contents of the cup and held it out for her inspection. “Yes, I have. See? It’s delicious!”

“Enough silliness,” Dr. Mao said, shooing his daughter out of the way. “And as for you, young man, stop ogling my apprentice and let me examine your feet.”

The healer squatted down and cradled first Lukas’s right foot, then the left, in his hands, as if weighing them. “Does it hurt when I push here?” he asked, probing the scarred flesh with long, nimble fingers.

Lukas winced in response and nodded his head.

“How about there?”

The wince became a grimace, and the were-cat involuntarily yanked his foot away. Dr. Mao leaned back and pensively stroked his long, drooping mustache.

“How bad is it, Doc?” Lukas asked nervously.

“I will not lie to you, my young friend. The damage is quite extensive. Fortunately, while silver might kill a shape-shifter in the form of a knife or a bullet to the heart, lesser wounds made by such weapons are not permanent. However, they
are
extremely slow to heal. I am going to prescribe a course of treatment requiring special ointments, plasters, and foot baths that should draw the silver from your wounds over the course of the next few weeks. You are to take the treatments in both your human and cougar aspects. I am also prescribing a special diet to help restore your strength. I will have my daughter deliver these medicinal meals every day, so no one will see you coming and going from my apothecary.”

“Does that mean I’ll be able to run again?” For the first time there was something like hope in the young were-cat’s voice.

“Don’t worry. We Children of Bast must stick together. I’ll soon have you back on your feet,” Dr. Mao said, stroking Lukas’s head as he would a house cat’s. “And you’ll need all four of them in perfect shape if you want to escape beyond Boss Marz’s reach.”

“Do you think she likes me?”Lukas asked breathlessly as we climbed back into Kidron’s cab. Barely an hour ago, the young were-cat thought life was barely worth living. Now his eyes gleamed with excitement for the future. Funny what a smile from a pretty girl could do.

“It certainly looks that way,” I replied.

“I can’t believe I’ll get to see her every day!” The grin on Lukas’s face was suddenly replaced by a frown. “I need to get some real clothes. I don’t want her to see me in those pajamas.”

“What’s wrong with them?” Hexe asked. “They used to be mine.”

“Did you ever score while wearing them?” I countered.

“Point taken,” he conceded. Hexe glanced at the BlackBerry’s screen as it began to ring. A worried look crossed his face. “I just got a text from Kidron. He says he thinks we’re being followed.”

“Followed? By whom?”

Lukas moved to stick his head out the carriage window, but Hexe quickly restrained him. “Don’t look!” he snapped. “There’s an easier way of finding out.”

Hexe reached inside his jacket and retrieved a smaller version of the scrying egg he had used earlier on Mr. Ottershaw. He muttered something in Kymeran and exhaled onto it, fogging the crystal’s surface with his breath.

Holding it between thumb and second ring-finger, he raised the egg so that we all could see the images inside. The figures were greatly reduced, and the reception limited to black-and-white, but it was obvious that a Malandanti goon—this one with two arms—was following thirty feet behind Kidron’s cab, riding in a rickshaw pulled by a satyr.

“They know I’m here!” Lukas yelped. “They’re coming to get me!”

“I don’t think so,” Hexe replied as he returned the scrying device to his pocket. “If that was true, they would have attacked us the minute we left the apothecary. No, I suspect Boss Marz has his men keeping an eye on any young male who goes to see any of the neighborhood healers.”

“What are we going to do?” I asked.

“I have an idea. Give me a second.” Hexe’s fingers flew across the keyboard of his BlackBerry. “I don’t want to lead Marz’s man back to my place. I’ll ask Kidron to make a detour. ...” He glanced up from his texting and gave Lukas a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, kid. It’s all under control. Look at it this way—you’re finally going to get in a little sightseeing.”

 

 

Lukas shifted about uneasily in his seat, fighting the urge to hang his head out of the moving vehicle. “I don’t understand—what’s so special about this place we’re going to?”

“In ‘ye olde’ days, traffic between humans and Kymerans had more of a stigma attached to it than it does now,” Hexe explained. “I’m not saying humans didn’t seek out magic back then—far from it. They were just a lot more circumspect in how they went about it. That’s why Kymeran ghettos, no matter what city they’re in, are always within walking distance of the seat of power. It’s all about easy access.

“In the 1800s there was a grand playhouse called the Park Theatre located on Park Row, just east of Morder Lane, which, at the time, was the farthest boundary of Golgotham. The theater overlooked what eventually became City Hall, and for several decades it was the only theater in the entire city. Every night the cream of New York society would go there to be entertained.

“Back then, Witch Alley was nothing more than the service lane for carriages bringing customers to the theater. The carriage drivers would drop their wealthy passengers off at the front door, and then park behind the theater to wait for the play to end. A few enterprising Kymerans started working the alley, offering good luck charms for sale to the drivers. Eventually the fine men and women who owned the coaches began sneaking out the back door during performances. Upstanding citizens who would never set foot in Golgotham proper had no problem ducking into Witch Alley to pick up a love potion or lay a quick curse on a rival.

“The Park Theatre burned down in the 1850s and was replaced by a block of storefronts, but by then Witch Alley had become its own destination. Since those days, it’s become one of the biggest tourist attractions in Golgotham—and the street with the worst traffic. It’s the perfect place to lose an unwanted tail.”

“I
still
don’t understand—” Lukas suddenly fell silent and cocked his head to one side, a quizzical look on his face. “What’s that sound?”

A second later my human ears detected the buzz created by the voices of a large crowd off in the distance. As the cab made the turn off Beekman toward Morder Lane, the low hum developed into boisterous shouting, until at last the different cries became distinct, and the air was filled with the din of a thousand different voices all bellowing at once.

Witch Alley was a long, narrow street sandwiched between the unglamorous backsides of old crumbling buildings. Although a few doors opened onto the alley, no windows looked onto it, adding to the air that whatever transactions occurred there went unseen. Despite the close quarters, the alleyway was jammed from end to end with street sellers, purchasers, and tourists. The hubbub that accompanied the crowd was deafening, the Kymerans who worked the alley all crying their wares with the full force of their voices, each fighting to be heard over the next.

Despite being packed together like sardines in a can, the occupants of Witch Alley parted before Kidron’s cab, allowing it to enter the backstreet. The moment the carriage was completely inside the alleyway, the various street sellers surged forward, putting a wall of living flesh between the cab and the rickshaw following it.

I gazed out the window of the carriage, taking in the riotous spectacle. Over here was a charmer walking with a long pole slung over his shoulders, from which dangled numerous different amulets and good luck charms. Over there a potion pusher showed off her wares from a tray held in place by a leather strap about her neck. Next to the pusher stood a Kymeran dressed in a traditional patchwork coat playing a hurdy-gurdy, doing his best to draw the attention of passersby to his own selection of magical goods. Meanwhile, yet another competitor darted through the crowd, potion bottles jutting from his side pockets and layers of charms dangling from his hands and neck.

To my right was a secretary on her lunch break, her purse clasped tightly under one arm as she perused love charms laid out on a tray; to my left a businessman in a three-piece suit wiggled his way through the crowd, nervously avoiding eye contact. Stirred into the mix of buyers and sellers of quick, cheap magic were several dozen tourists dressed in I ♥ GOLGOTHAM T-shirts, happily snapping pictures of the chaos that surrounded them.

Hexe, a sad look on his face, gazed out at his fellow Kymerans as they strove among themselves to make a living. “Most who work the alley either have no steady clientele or can’t afford the rent at the Rookery,” he explained. “I don’t begrudge them a living, but so many humans see us as nothing more than rapacious spell-slingers who’d curse their own mothers if the price was right. ...”

Just then a tall, rangy Kymeran with a pistachio green handlebar mustache, smelling strongly of citrus and spice, hopped onto the running board of the cab and thrust a bar of Fast Luck Soap under Lukas’s nose.

“Need some luck, kid? Need it now? Just wash yourself head to toe and hey, presto! You’re lucky for the day! Comes in Springtime, Ocean Breeze, and Regular! Ten spot a bar! Whattaya say, young sir?”

Lukas recoiled, unsure of how to react to the peddler’s hard sell. Hexe leaned across the cab and gave the charmer a hard stare.

“He’s not interested,” he said firmly.

The charm peddler’s eyes widened in surprise. “Please forgive the intrusion, Serenity! I didn’t see you sitting there.”

“It’s quite all right, Bozz,” Hexe replied. “I see you’re still running a special on micturition. How’s your mother doing?”

“Passing fair,” Bozz said. “She’ll be tickled you asked, Serenity.” With that the peddler hopped back down and rejoined the throngs of Witch Alley.

“Perhaps we
should
have bought the soap,” Lukas said. “Maybe if I bathe with it, it’ll change my luck and Boss Marz will leave me alone?”

“I seriously doubt a bar of Fast Luck Soap would do much good,” Hexe said with a shake of his head. “Once you start forcing good luck, the bad will follow on its heels—and it’ll be even
worse
than normal because you’ve tampered with the order of things.”

“What’s with this Bozz guy calling you ‘Serenity’?” I asked.

“It’s nothing,” he insisted. “Just a nickname.”

“It sounded more like a
title
to me.”

“We can discuss that later,” he replied. “After we make our transfer.”

I looked in the direction Hexe was pointing and saw another enclosed carriage, this one drawn by a beautiful sorrel centauride, headed our way down the opposite side of the alley. The female centaur was dressed in a halter top that looked like one of Madonna’s bras, with a garland of daisies atop her auburn head and a Bluetooth headset clipped to one ear.

“That’s Kidron’s stablemate, Wildfire,” Hexe explained. “She’s our ride back home.”

The alley was barely wide enough to accommodate one cab, much less two, but somehow the vehicles managed to pull up alongside each other, with barely three feet between them. Wildfire pulled a cord affixed to her harness, and the door of the empty cab swung open. A second later the door to our own cab swung open as well.

“Hurry up!” Kidron shouted over the din of the street sellers. “Before the rickshaw enters the alley!”

Lukas quickly leaped into the empty cab. I jumped in after him, closely followed by Hexe, so closely, in fact, that both of us were knocked to the floor of the carriage.

I rolled over to find myself pinned under Hexe, my limbs tangled with his, staring up into those amazing, catlike eyes. The feel of his weight resting against my body made my skin flush and other, less public, parts of me tingle. I looked down and realized a six-fingered hand was planted firmly on my right breast.