Dead Man's Deal Part 4

"But it's not shut down. I can see it . . . moving . . . underneath the paint."

I squinted at the symbol, but didn't see anything. It might have had something to do with the fact that she was looking at it through the eyes of a cat, but she was right. It wasn't completely shut down. I could feel the energy humming around it. "I mean, shut down against you, me, and Trixie. You're safe." To prove my point, I walked over to the stairs and gently picked her up. She growled at me, but didn't move, her eyes locked on the symbol.

Sofie was right. It was a dangerous spell and not very discerning. If the spell lashed out at her, it was going to get me as well. When someone entered the room who wasn't supposed to, it attacked violently and the results were always lethal. If anyone entered while I was away, I wouldn't find a dead body at the bottom of the stairs. I would find mangled body parts and a lot of blood.

I had installed the protection spell when I was younger and didn't know as many spells as I should have. It was the most dangerous and strongest spell I knew. I had picked up a few others over the intervening years, but I had never bothered to change it simply because this one, while frightening, was still the best.

With a half smile, I picked Sofie up and cradled her against my chest while rubbing my knuckles gently against her cheek. Slowly, the muscles in her body started to loosen and her breathing evened out.

"Better?" I asked.

Sofie took a deep breath, rolling one shoulder and then the other. "You're insane, you know that?"

"Have to be to try to escape the Towers and expect to live," I said. "Do you want me to put you on the floor or on the table?"

The cat tore her eyes from the wall to look around the room, taking in the three walls of cabinets and the makes.h.i.+ft, chest-high table against the far wall. "Table."

Keeping her close, I carried her to the table and set her on the flat surface amid the random flotsam I had collected over the years. There were bits of twigs, half-burned candles of every imaginable color, a row of old baby-food jars holding pieces of chalk arrayed in a line of colors, feathers, and a few dead animal parts-magic, as with potions, wasn't always the prettiest of things to watch. Crystals of different shape, size, and color hung from leather thongs along the back wall.

There was also an old, wooden box at the back edge of the workbench. I could hear it humming as if resonating in time with some silent song that rose from my soul. The locked box held my wand. I had told the council that it had broken in my battle with Simon. I had even shown them the remains of a wand I had used a couple times and then snapped. I knew that if they allowed me to leave the Ivory Towers, I couldn't let them take my wand. Regardless of what sanctions they put on me, I knew I would need my wand in order to survive a witch or warlock attack. I rarely took it out, rarely used it. The risk was too big.

Now I prayed that Sofie didn't notice the box, couldn't hear the humming. Sofie and I were friends, but I knew better than to try to push the friends.h.i.+p too far.

"Nice collection," the cat said as she picked her way across the table. She leaned down, sniffing here and there, but always careful not to touch anything. "Albeit a little messy."

"I don't exactly have a housekeeper doing rounds down here," I muttered. Rolling my shoulders, I forced my jaw to unclench and relax. I told myself that I didn't have anything in common with other warlocks, but it was a lie. I didn't know of another witch or warlock who was comfortable with someone else touching their collection. It was like letting a stranger rummage through your underwear drawer while reading your diary. "I don't get to spend much time down here."

Sofie paused and glanced over her shoulder at me. "That is probably for the best." She continued on, stopping at the end of the table, where I had a large stack of black hardback journals. "What's this?"

"Notes. For the most part, it's potions that I've come up with for one thing or another."

Sofie jumped up and sat on the top journal while staring at me with wide eyes. "And the parts that don't fit in your 'most'?"

Leaning against the table, I crossed one leg over the other and smiled at her. "Take a wild guess."

"Gage," she said sternly.

"Oh, come on, Sofie!" I angrily waved one hand at her and the journals. "Did you expect me to quit? I can't. I can't quit magic any more than I can quit breathing. At first, it started out with me making notes, listing all the curses, wards, enchantments, and charms that I learned while I was with Simon. It wasn't about learning anything new. I didn't want to forget anything that I had learned."

"But . . ." she prompted when my voice died off.

I shrugged, my eyes dropping to the sundry bits on the top of the table. I picked up the severed leg of a raven. The claws were turned inward, still looking as sharp as the day I found it in a potion ingredients shop. "I started remembering things that Simon did, but didn't necessarily teach me. With a little time and thought, I pieced the spell together. Others, I thought of on my own, so I made note of them. Sometimes, magic comes easy to me. A lot easier than tattooing ever has."

"Why did you leave?" Sofie shook her head at me. There was a sad note to her question. She lay down on the top book, tucking her paws in at her chest. "Learning magic would have made you so happy. You've got such raw, natural talent. You could have been great."

"And I can't be great now, as a tattoo artist? I could only achieve greatness as a warlock?" I teased, but Sofie wasn't amused as her ears flattened a little against her head.

"I don't know what a tattoo artist can achieve, but I know what you could have done as a warlock."

"I loved learning magic," I admitted. "When I held my wand for the first time, it was like all the buzzing around in my soul and along my skin settled and found a direction, or like music notes lining up into a symphony. But I couldn't be a warlock if it meant being like Simon or any of the others that I knew, and I had to do that if I was going to survive in the Towers."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do. If you want to be a warlock, you have to be willing to kill. You have to kill other warlocks and witches to get ahead. You have to kill other creatures to use their organs in potions and spells. You have to kill innocent people or risk them not fearing you. The Towers survive on two things: power and fear. To achieve both of those, you have to be willing to kill."

Sofie remained silent when I finished talking. She was staring at the far wall, looking at one of the cabinets with the gla.s.s-and-wood front. There were locks on each of them. If someone managed to get past the protective spell, I didn't think the locks would stop them. They let me sleep better at night.

"How did you do it?" I asked softly. "You were there for years, but you were the only one I ever saw who didn't beat the s.h.i.+t out of an apprentice if they failed to cower before you. You seemed nice."

The cat sighed heavily, closing her eyes. "At first, I was no different than you described. I killed, constantly and indiscriminately. I think that might be how I stayed a little sane while there. Young and old. Helpless and powerful. I killed them all without blinking an eye, and nearly all were for no reason. I told myself that G.o.d didn't need a reason to kill any of them, so why should I? But when I reached my second century, I started to mellow. I killed less, though when I did, there didn't need to be a reason. I no longer had anything to prove to anyone. That may be why I seemed nicer than the others when we met."

I tried to smile at Sofie, but the corners of my mouth weren't working properly. I didn't know if she was any saner than the ones who lived in the Towers. She had found a way to deal with the violence that that life required, but her way wasn't the answer. Gideon was closer to the middle ground, but I felt his underground movement was progressing far too slowly. The Ivory Towers had to stop. Stop being overlords for the world. Stop demanding abject fear and total obedience.

Magic wasn't about being powerful and controlling the world. Magic was about tapping into something beautiful and about becoming more than a fleshy meat bag if only for a couple seconds.

"Would you go back if you had the chance?" I asked.

Sofie c.o.c.ked her head to the side as she looked up at me. "What do you mean?"

"If you were human again, would you go back to living in the Towers? You weren't exactly escorted to the door. You could go back now if you wanted and no one would stop you. If you were human again, rather than a cat, would you go back?"

The cat stood and arched her back, stretching while extending her claws briefly to scratch along the rough surface of the book. "It's going to be a long time before I see skin again, if ever."

"But if you could?"

"I don't know." Sofie sat on the book and looked at me. "It's been several years since I was last there. I've lived with a human that I depended on for several years. I've lived with you and Trixie for a while now. I honestly don't know if I could return to that life. I've changed and I feel like I'm too old now to change back to the way I was when I was living in the Towers."

"I'm glad," I said with a smile. It was a good answer. It was one Gideon could accept. If he could get Sofie changed back to a human, he would have someone safe who could train his daughter if she proved to have magical talent.

Sofie made a noise. She was either scoffing at me or coughing up a hairball. I prayed it was scoffing. "You make me sound soft."

"No, just a good person."

Sofie wouldn't look at me. She jumped down from the table to the dirt floor. The air directly above her seemed to grow a little hazy. I stood and looked over at the symbol, but the protection spell was quiet. As I looked back at the cat as she crossed the room to peer in one of the cabinets, the misty haze above her solidified slightly so that it looked like I was seeing a ghost. But it wasn't a ghost. It was a misty image of Sofie as she looked when she was human. She was right. There was a lot of powerful magic down here.

"Who cursed you, Sofie?" The cat or the ghost didn't look over at me, but I could see her stiffen. It was the first time I had ever asked her that question. Sofie didn't talk about the attack and I respected her privacy, but I had someone who might be able to help her.

"It's none of your business, Gage," she said in a low voice.

"I know, but tell me anyway."

"Why the sudden interest?"

"Because I know of someone who may be willing to help you."

Sofie jerked around and quickly padded closer to stand in the middle of the room. The freaky thing was that I could see hope scrawled across the face of the ghost as she peered at me. "Who?"

"Gideon."

"You've spoken to Gideon?" The ghost's mouth hung partially open and it was only then I realized how much I had gotten accustomed to trying to discern Sofie's moods by her tone of voice and the expressions presented on a cat's face. I was beginning to think that I was wrong . . . a lot.

"Yeah, we're not exactly mortal enemies, though I can't say that I would trust him with my darkest secrets. He's indicated to me that he could help you if he knew who cursed you."

Sofie moved away from me. She sat and then stood as if she meant to pace around the room, but she didn't move. "Her name is Victoria, though I liked to call her Vicki to p.i.s.s her off."

"It worked." I snickered.

"That wasn't why she cursed me."

"I hope not. I don't want to think about this lunatic running around using magic. Last name?"

"Tremaine."

"I don't remember her."

"She didn't spend much time in the Tower you were living in. You wouldn't have met her."

"Would it help Gideon if he knew why she cursed you?"

The ghostly Sofie frowned at me. "If he needs to know, then he can talk to me."

I threw up my hands and smiled at her. "That's fine with me. I don't need to know."

"Why is Gideon doing this? Particularly now after all these years."

"That's something you'll have to discuss with him, but I will give you the same warning that he recently gave me." I shoved my hands in my pockets and leaned back against the table. "Things are getting bad in the Towers. Lot of unrest and anxiety, from what he tells me. I'd keep your head down as much as possible."

"What does that mean for you?"

I sighed, my shoulders slumping. "Nothing good. As it stands, I'll most likely lose Gideon as my a.s.signed guardian soon unless he hands the council my head on a pike. From there . . . well, I'm sure you can imagine the s.h.i.+t storm that's going to follow."

"I'm sorry."

I shrugged helplessly. There wasn't anything I could do about it. "Thanks. I would appreciate it if you could keep this info to yourself. I don't want Trixie worrying yet. You know how slow the council can be at times. It may be months before anything happens."

"Or days."

"Even so, she has her own problems, things that we can do something about. For now, we have to sit with our thumbs up our a.s.ses until something is decided in the Towers."

"Agreed."

I pushed away from the table, stretching my arms above my head. "Thanks, Sof. We better get back upstairs before Trixie comes looking for us."

Sofie started to walk beside me then paused. "I thought you had some things you needed to do down here."

I stopped with one foot on the bottom step and smiled down at her. "I did. Gideon wanted me to talk to you and I didn't think you'd want to discuss this in front of Trixie."

Sofie purred as she headed up the stairs. "You always were a smart boy."

I snorted at her, but kept my mouth shut as I followed her. For such a smart boy, I seemed to be in a h.e.l.l of a lot a trouble with few ideas on how to get out. As soon as the cat reached the main floor, I waved my right hand at the symbol on the wall and, with a little push of energy, reactivated the protection spell. One thing at a time. First, Trixie and the elves. Then, free Bronx from Reave. And if there was anything left of me after that, I'd find a way to wipe my memory from the Towers.

Yep. I was in big trouble.

5.

AFTER LAST NIGHT'S cl.u.s.terf.u.c.k, I was relieved to find that tonight was quiet at Asylum. Sofie had settled on the gla.s.s counter at the front of the shop, lounging between the cordless-phone charger and the framed article proclaiming Asylum the top tattoo and potion parlor in Low Town for 2012. It was the third year in a row we had won the local award. We didn't get anything for the t.i.tle besides a nice certificate and an increase in business. I preferred to display the article rather than the certificate, since it contained a cheesy photo of Bronx, Trixie, and me sitting in the lobby of the shop.

Business was steady, but far from hectic. Trixie finished up her appointment with a banshee in a matter of minutes. From what I overhead of the conversation, the death wailer had recently gotten a job at a nursing home. Unfortunately, she had been bemoaning the dying so much that she had gotten a sore throat, which was threatening to give way to laryngitis. Instead of a tattoo, Trixie gave her a mixture to be steeped with tea daily and advice to get a job at a day care.

From there, I tattooed a drake with an antiseasickness potion. Apparently the cannibalistic ogre was going deep-sea fis.h.i.+ng with some friends off the coast of Florida in a few weeks but was having problems managing boat trips. I kept my mouth shut for most of the tattoo. Drakes, who are not related to dragons as many people believe, are more likely to take a bite out of you than hit you if you p.i.s.s them off. Trixie enjoyed lightly teasing this one despite my glares, but then a pretty girl could get away with so much more than a guy.

Trixie then handled a pair of goblins wanting matching tattoos to express their love for each other. At least they didn't want to get each other's name tattooed on their shoulders. But I wasn't being fair. From what I heard, goblins were among the few races that were good at relations.h.i.+ps. Once they bonded with a mate, it tended to be for life and they were happy with each other the whole time. Humans couldn't even come close to understanding something like that.

I was finis.h.i.+ng up a tattoo on a young werecat when Bronx came in. The werecat had wanted a tattoo on her hip that would keep her from getting pregnant for the next five years. She'd still go into heat every season, but the ink would protect against pregnancy. There were special waivers required for that particular tattoo since I didn't want to be sued in case something was off. I had yet to have that one come back to haunt me, but I wasn't taking any chances.

The troll settled onto his stool with only the softest of grunts. The swelling had gone down in his face and there was only a slight discoloration around one eye. Otherwise, he looked normal. He was moving a little slower than normal, but most wouldn't notice it.

"You know you could have stayed home tonight," I said after the last client left the shop.

"So you said yesterday," Bronx grumbled. He set up his station with his usual meticulousness, checking to make sure that he had all the supplies he had put aside the previous night.

Trixie flit across the room and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, laying her head on top of his. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," Bronx said, patting one of Trixie's hands.

"I knew that Gage would be trouble. I don't think you should hang out with that bad influence any longer," Trixie continued in her best doting-mother voice.

At that, Bronx finally smiled. "Yes, Mother, but he's my only friend."

"No, dear, you'll always have your mummy," she said, earning a bark of laughter from me. Trixie kissed Bronx's cheek and then walked over to where I was lying back in the tattooing chair in my station. She put a knee between my legs, a little too close for comfort. "What are you laughing at? I'm old enough to be a great-great-great-grandmother to both of you. Sometimes I think I need to take you over my knee, spank some sense into you."

I placed my hands on her hips and tried to pull her closer, but she grabbed the top of the chair, halting her descent. "I could be up for that."

"Good grief," Bronx muttered under his breath with no small amount of disgust. I laughed. For the most part, when Bronx was in the shop with us, Trixie and I maintained a somewhat professional atmosphere. Well, as professional as it ever was before we started dating. Every once in a while I let something slip to make Bronx shake his head.

The chime for the front door sang through the lobby as someone walked in. "Saved by the bell," I said, starting to push Trixie back.

"So it would seem," she said with a glare before easing into a smile. "Stay. I'll get it."

I nodded and then watched her walk toward the front. Turning, I found Bronx relaxing on his stool, his back leaning against the counter behind him. He looked tired, both physically and maybe even a little emotionally. I opened my mouth, but he held up his hand, stopping me.