Spellweaver Page 8

  He raised his head to look at me, and that’s when I noticed his eyes.

  Catlike green irises stared up at me. Odd, but not the yellow eyes of Mochazon. Honestly, they looked more like cheap contact lenses. Not what I’d been hoping for.

  Mr. Doe sported a newsboy-style cap, a white button-up shirt, and polyester brown pants. His thin frame bordered on anorexic. He gave me a slight smile.

  “Are you Miss Kennedy?” he asked.

  “I am. May I have a seat?”

  He pointed to the mattress. “Go ahead.”

  I sat on the foot of the bed. “Dr. Hill told you I was coming?” I asked.

  He nodded. “He said you help people like me.”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether you qualify as one of my patients.”

  He laced his thin, bony fingers together. “And how would I qualify?”

  “Well, Mr. Doe—”

  “It’s Chester,” he said. “Chester Buxton.”

  “Mr. Buxton,” I corrected. “This is usually the time I would ask if you have any collections, especially of the dragon, pixie, or elf types.”

  He let out a quiet chuckle. “Does it look like I have any belongings?”

  I inspected the near-empty room. A tatty army-green backpack sat in the corner, and a pair of scuffed Reeboks lay beside the bag. I also spotted a used needle in the trash can. Hopefully, he was diabetic.

  I turned back to him. “Good point. Let’s start over. Do you suffer with any mental disorders? Depression, bipolar disorder, narcissism—”

  “Miss Kennedy.” He leaned forward. “My memory isn’t what it used to be. You’ll forgive me if I don’t understand a word you’re saying.”

  My shoulders slumped. This wasn’t going to be easy. “All right—do you ever feel very, very sad? So sad you wish you were dead?”

  He tipped his cap. “I don’t have to feel sad. I’ve got my medicine.”

  “Medicine?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Shorty’s guys gave it to me. For free.” He laughed. “And they keep giving me my medicine. So you see, I feel okay. Long as I have my medicine.”

  “May I see your medicine?”

  He drew back. “No one can see my medicine. Only me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it looks invisible to everyone else.”

  I pressed my eyes closed. I’d dealt with visitors to Faythander, but this bordered on a whole different level. Maybe even the he-needed-to-be-admitted-to-St.-Joe’s-psych-ward kind of level. “It’s invisible?”

  He nodded vigorously. “Now you’re getting it!”

  “Why is it invisible? Is it magic?”

  “I don’t know. It may be.”

  If this guy was Mochazon in disguise, then he was doing a darned good job of hiding it. But how could I find out his real identity? And what was this drug he was talking about? I glanced again at the trash can. An idea hit me.

  “You said that Shorty’s men gave you the medicine. Can you tell me who Shorty is?”

  “Never seen him. Only his posse.”

  “What does his posse look like?”

  He knitted his brows. “You sure ask a lot of questions. I’m tired out from answering all those questions. You know, I might be ready for my nap.”

  “Chester,” I said. “Please. Can you tell me what Shorty’s men looked like?”

  He yawned. “They’re hard to see. Only come around at night when it’s real dark. Down by the harbor. Pier thirteen. Lucky number, if you ask me. Years ago, I would’a liked to be one of those guys. Cloaks and hoods and all, real cool. But now I’m just a tired old man.”

  Cloaks and hoods?

  Chester closed his eyes. His breathing grew heavy. “That medicine makes me real tired sometimes. I’ll have to take my nap now, Miss Kennedy,” he said.

  “Of course.” I patted his hand, noticing the trail marks up and down his arms. “Good-bye, Mr. Chester,” I said softly. I made a stop by the trash can before heading out. If I wanted to know more about Mr. Buxton, I needed to find out what was in his supposed medicine. I found a Kleenex box on the desk and used a tissue to reach for the needle when I paused.

  A faint, grayish trace of goblin magic clung to the needle.

  I drew back. “Mr. Buxton,” I said, “I’m sorry to keep bothering you, but did Shorty’s men give you this needle?”

  “Miss Kennedy, now that’s none of your business, is it?”

  I could only assume they had, so I grabbed the needle with the tissue. My intentions were to spellcast it later to determine who had created the enchantment, but when I straightened, a rough hand gripped my wrist. I turned and found myself looking into the angry eyes of Chester. Hadn’t he been sitting in the chair?

  “What are you doing with my stuff?” he asked.

  “Sorry, but this was in the trash and I thought you didn’t need it. Will you release my arm, please?” I spoke calmly, though standing there with his hand clenched around my wrist frightened me.

  “You leave my stuff alone and maybe I will.”

  I had no other choice but to drop the needle back in the trash, although he didn’t release my arm. “You can let go now,” I said.

  His eyes burned with hate, reminding me of Geth. “What are you doing here? You trying to steal my medicine, aren’t you?”

  “No—”

  “It’s my stuff, fair and square. I went down to those docks, working the street corner like I usually did, when I saw that light in the water real weird. And that’s when Shorty’s guys showed up—said I reminded them of someone. Maybe they thought I was someone else, I don’t know, but even so, they gave me that medicine. It’s mine. Not yours, not anybody else’s!”

  I swallowed down my fear as his grip grew tighter. “Mr. Buxton—”

  “They told me to take good care of it, and I intend to do just what they say. Guys like that—you gotta go with what they say, you know? Because I don’t wanna get hurt.”

  “Did they threaten to hurt you?”

  “Yeah! What do you think?” he shouted.

  When he finally released my arm, I backed away, keeping my voice level. “I’ll be on my way,” I said. “Sorry to bother you.”

  The nurse wearing the reindeer scrubs appeared at the door and ushered me out.

  Thank you, I mouthed to her.

  She nodded, gave Mr. Buxton a few firm commands, and then pulled the door closed. The nurse ushered me back to the front desk. “Sorry,” she said. “He seemed like such a sweet old man when he got here, but he’s got a temper for sure. Did he hurt you?”

  I rubbed my still-throbbing wrist. “Not too bad.”

  She sighed. “Drugs do that to people. I hope you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine, just a little rattled.” I took a deep breath to regain my composure. I needed answers. “He claims to go by Chester Buxton. Do you have any information on him at all?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing. He’s given us a name and address, although they’re both bogus.”

  “So neither the name nor the address exist?”

  She nodded. “It’s like he came out of thin air or something. It’s odd.”

  I tapped the desk. I could only assume he’d gotten his drugs from Geth—and that the drugs were some form of goblin potion. Did they work to erase the man’s identity? And if so, why had they given him the potion in the first place? Had they—like me—mistaken Mr. Buxton for Mochazon? I needed more answers, but I wasn’t sure where to go next.

  “Thank you,” I told the nurse before leaving.

  “Of course.”

  I stepped outside as the wind picked up. Only one of the homeless men remained huddled at the front entryway. Scanning the parking lot, I instinctually reached for my phone to dial Brent and beg for a ride home but stopped myself.

  No, I couldn’t use him anymore. Is that what I’d been doing this whole time? Using him? Well, that needed to stop.

  “You waiting for the bus?” th
e homeless man asked.

  “Does it stop here?”

  “Yes, it stops on the corner.” He pointed down the street.

  “Oh. Thanks,” I said.

  “No problem. Should be here any minute now.”

  I headed for the bus stop. Cracked asphalt, some of it turned to pebbles, crunched under my Doc Martens. I adjusted my pack, thinking of Chester’s needle that I’d left behind. My plan had been to spellcast it, but with the needle gone, I would have to resort to Plan B—I’d kept the tissue. It had come into contact with the needle, and there was a slight chance that the magic had transferred onto it. If so, I would find out.

  But first, I needed to turn my attention to Mochazon’s whereabouts. Maybe paying a visit to the second client on my list would turn up some additional information. Thomas Clayton, the hoarder, definitely fit the profile of a Faythander visitor. What he had seen in Faythander may be the very clue I needed to find Mochazon—and to find the lost Everbloom.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The visit to Thomas Clayton’s was a bust. While he qualified as a hoarder and had definitely visited the fairy world, his time spent in Faythander revealed no clue as to Mochazon’s location. Mr. Clayton’s escapades were ones I wish I could erase. He had a particular liking for Wult barbarian women with loose morals.

  I left with the advice that he clean his house, throw out all his collectibles, and focus on more important things in life. There was a whole world out there with good people who could use his help, and immersing himself in self-indulgences would never lead to happiness. Maybe some would disagree with me, but his curiosity had become an all-consuming drug that had overtaken his life.

  On a brighter note, Doc Hill’s office finally saw fit to pay me, which I used for the rent, utilities, cat food, and a few groceries. I almost felt normal again.

  After the visit to Mr. Clayton’s, the bus dropped me off at my apartment at half past eleven. I’d hoped to get home sooner, but the bus, I found out, wasn’t as efficient as Brent.

  Pulling my sweater tight, I climbed the stairs to my door. A flickering yellow streetlamp was my only light as I stuck my keys in the knob.

  I heard footsteps behind me and turned, half expecting to see Mr. Yen, my elderly neighbor, climbing the stairwell, but the landing was empty.

  Off in the distance, I heard the insistent barking of a dog. Fog shrouded the open courtyard below me. If someone were hiding down there, I’d have no way to tell. Staring into the fog, Fan’twar’s words came to me. Geth searches for the magical bloom. He will not rest until it is destroyed. He will not hesitate to kill you. A sudden chill made me shiver, and I quickly entered my apartment and locked the door behind me.

  Han Solo greeted me with a long mewl as I unstrapped my backpack. I gave him a pat on the head, somehow wishing I’d picked a large Doberman as my house pet instead of my harmless, lovable kitty. In his defense, he did make a fearful predator to my yarn collection.

  The sound of the dog’s barking outside became more insistent. I glanced at the window, though I couldn’t see anything through the curtains. A gust of wind howled outside, making leaves and debris dash against the glass.

  I wasn’t sure my Earth magic was powerful enough to use in creating a defensive spell. Would I have any chance against Geth’s men if they attacked? My only choice was to rely on Earth magic. I hoped it was enough.

  The wind died down. I stood, frozen, gazing at the window, my hands balled into fists. The faint hum of Earth magic throbbed through my fingertips.

  Nothing’s out there. Let it go.

  I exhaled a steady breath and let the magic dissipate, praying I wouldn’t need it tonight.

  Looking for a distraction, I sat on the couch and opened my backpack. I still had to spellcast the tissue from Chester’s room. Hopefully, there was some sort of residue left. I found the tissue and held it carefully as I tried to detect the magic.

  A very faint, almost-imperceptible, grayish glow came from the tissue. At least I’d found the magical trace. But what now? How would I discover what had happened to Chester?

  An idea struck me, and I laid the tissue aside to pull out my mirror case. Could I try and use the tissue to replay Chester’s memories? I’d never tried anything like that before and wasn’t sure it would work. For one, I’d have to use Earth magic to initiate the spell, and for another, I’d only ever used actual people to replay lost memories, not objects. But if it worked, it would lead me closer to Geth, and possibly to Mochazon.

  Popping open my case, I stared into the mirror and then placed the tissue in front of the screen. I already knew goblin magic had been at play, and because the goblins had used a potion—which would have been created before the loss of magic—it could still be a viable source of power.

  I removed the coordinating goblin figurine from my case and placed it on top of the tissue. Nothing happened, although I wasn’t surprised. My mirror’s Faythander magic was gone, so I gently shut my eyes and let my mind relax, focusing on the amber-white Earth magic inside me.

  It flowed slowly, but eventually, it rose to the surface and I released it into the tissue. Opening my eyes, I watched as the magic combined with the goblin’s potion. In the mirror’s screen, an image began to form, and soon I got sucked into the vision…

  Chester walked along the sidewalk near the harbor. It was so dark that the only light came from the dull orange glow of his cigarette’s ember. As he walked, the sloshing sound of lapping waves beat a steady rhythm in the distance.

  He stopped, staring at the long boardwalk that spanned toward the ocean. “Someone there?” he called.

  No answer.

  He took a step toward the boardwalk, when a cloaked form materialized at the end of the pier.

  “We have been looking for you, Mochazon,” came the man’s voice.

  I recognized that voice. Nehor—Geth’s second in command.

  “Who are you?” Chester called.

  Nehor walked forward without answering, his cloak billowing and his booted feet making heavy thumps against the creaking boards. Chester backed away when the man emerged, and I understood why. Nehor carried an elven gun—a basita—a weapon that sent shivers down my spine. I’d been shot by one once and didn’t care to let it ever happen again. The guns looked like streamlined swords, although instead of hilts, they had a row of mechanical gears that could be set to stun or kill.

  Without hesitation, Nehor pulled the trigger. A blinding pulse of white light shot Chester in the chest, and the homeless man screamed before hitting the ground. Nehor stood over Chester when another of Geth’s men appeared at the end of the pier.

  How are they able to materialize so quickly?

  “It’s not him,” the second man said after arriving at Nehor’s side.

  Nehor cursed as they looked through Chester’s pockets. The homeless man writhed but wasn’t able to do much else.

  “Are you sure?” Nehor asked.

  “Yes, this man is human. Look at his eyes. He’s covered them with an Earth substance.”

  “Then we’ll have to kill him and toss the body into the harbor.”

  “No,” the second man answered, “a corpse will only cause suspicion, which we do not need on this planet.” He pulled a vial from his pocket. “Here, this potion will alter his mind so that he will incorrectly remember tonight’s events. He will not remember the elven weapon, and he will be no harm to us.”

  Without warning, the scene went black. I sat in my apartment, staring at an ordinary mirror, feeling my magic completely drained from my body, when a wave of dizziness overtook me. Right as Han Solo leapt onto my lap, I reminded myself never to use Earth magic to fuel my fairy mirror again. My head grew so dizzy I had to close my eyes to keep the room from spinning, and I passed out to the sounds of Han’s purrs.

  ***

  I woke with a headache pounding through my temples. Rubbing my forehead, I looked through bleary eyes at the digital display on the microwave. 5:45. Had I really been passed out
for so long?

  The spellcasting hadn’t gone as smoothly as I’d liked, but at least I’d gotten some answers. As I’d suspected, Geth’s men had mistaken Chester for Mochazon. Chester’s medication was nothing more than a memory-altering potion. They’d used a basita weapon to stun him and had altered his mind so he wouldn’t remember. They’d even erased his identity in an attempt to cover their tracks, which was smart on their part. Had they killed the man, an investigation would have been launched to find the man’s killers, but since they’d only altered his memories, no one paid Chester any attention.

  Except my OCD boss, Doc Hill. Thank goodness for his over-the-top obsessiveness.

  Last night’s spellcasting had led me to the conclusion that Geth was closer than I’d suspected; it seemed he was one step ahead of me. But even with the revelation that Geth’s men were on Earth, I still didn’t know where to find Mochazon, and it seemed that neither did Geth, which left me at a dead end—at least where Chester was concerned.

  But I still had one client left to visit—Miranda Hawkins, the University of Houston basketball player.

  My bones ached as I showered and dressed. I couldn’t shake that fearful feeling that I’d gotten last night while standing outside my apartment. Like I was being watched. Like Geth was waiting for me to find the magical bloom so he could steal it away.

  It made sense.

  He wouldn’t have to do any work as long as I did it for him, just watch me until I found the bloom, overpower me—an easy task, what with his magical abilities that still apparently worked—and take the bloom for himself.

  Simple, really.

  I pulled on a pair of jeans and wore my charcoal gray sweater. I found my red knit scarf and slung it around my neck, hoping it would help with the chill.

  The rest of my spare change went into filling up the Thunderbird. After my stop at the gas station, I made the hour drive up to the University of Houston. The trip went by quicker than I’d expected, but that was mostly because my mind was a million miles away.

  I missed Kull. I wanted him here with me right now. If he were here, I wouldn’t worry about Geth and his men stalking me. I’d just let Kull finish the job he’d already started in the cavern when he’d taken Geth’s hand.