Spectacle
Stealing Supernatural
Jas
Bond, #2
by
Gretchen S.B.
Genre:
Urban Fantasy
Magical
break-ins abound…
The
two nearby stores owned by supernaturals are broken into. The Fix 'n'
Find, my store, is not. What I have instead are suspicious magical
handprints on the front windows. Combine that with a weird set of
glasses that let the wearer see every type of magic and we have a
serious conundrum. Luckily, my ex-fiancé Violetta, is a powerful
witch and willing to help me figure out what could possibly be going
on.
Find
out what some magical items and good old-fashioned spell work can
uncover in the Spectacle Stealing Supernatural
Green
Goo Goblin
Jas
Bond, #1
My
life is one giant cycle of group deniability…
As
a magic-less son of a witch owning a store full magical objects isn't
easy. But with my unhelpful rottweiler Bailey and a handful of
supernatural staff, we've sold everything from elfin wedding china to
a life-size dwarven statue we don't like to talk about. Everything is
going smoothly until a goblin customer starts coughing up a
disgusting green goo. Little did I know as I watch that liquid spew
from his mouth that his presence and that goo was going to send my
life into a tailspin, leaving me in the crosshairs of a murder.
Check
out the goblin and the goo he produces in Green Goo Goblin.
The goblin nods and grunts once before pivoting and getting two steps toward the door. He begins hacking and coughing.
I take a large step back, toward where Bailey lies against the wall.
The hacking becomes so severe even Bailey stands up and trots around the opening in the counter so she can stare at the goblin. She gives three quick barks which sets my adrenaline on fire.
"Sir, are you okay?" I ask cautiously but I know I can’t help him.
One of the many reasons I adopted Bailey is she can sense active magic. If someone does a spell in her vicinity, she knows about it. If she gives those three quick barks, it means whatever is being done to the goblin is magic and not allergies.
The goblin doubles over, hacking harder. Soon, a thick green foam spews from his mouth with the force of each cough.
"Dammit," I mutter as I grab the walkie-talkie from under the counter and click it on. "Sven, I really need you out here. Something's wrong with a customer."
The line crackles. "I don't want to be involved," answers Sven's absurdly deep brogue over the walkie-talkie.
"Sven, seriously," I hiss into the walkie-talkie.
There is a huff. "Fine."
"Sir, are you okay? I'm calling the paramedics. Our type of paramedics," I qualify so he knows I am not calling human EMTs. Because who-knows-what would hit the fan if that happens.
I throw down the walkie-talkie and wrench my cell phone out of my back pocket before hitting the supernatural hotline I have on speed dial in my phone.
"Supernatural helpline, what is your emergency?"
"This is Jas Bond at the Fix ‘n’ Find. I have a goblin here coughing so hard that instead of coughing up a lung, it's a foamy green liquid. I don't know enough about goblin anatomy to know how bad that is." I try to keep my voice calm, but unease and panic are setting in. And I hope whatever it is isn't contagious.
"Thank you for that information, sir. I am dispatching two emergency personnel now. They should be there within the next fifteen minutes. Is there anything else I can do for you?"
I hate calling the supernatural hotline; for whatever reason supernatural beings live so long the idea of emergencies doesn’t seem to register with them.
"Not unless you can help this guy through the phone," I respond frustratedly.
"All right then, have a good day," she answers chipperly before hanging up.
Disgusted, I put my phone down on the counter and begin rummaging through one of the top drawers behind the desk. I have a collection of health pendants somewhere in one of the drawers. My ex-fiancée gave me a handful of them before we broke up.
"Aha!" I exclaim as my hand clasps around one of the ruby red and gold pendants. I slam the door shut and run around the counter, catching myself before I trip over Bailey who decides to move between my legs mid-step.
"Take this." The man has now coughed up so much bubbling green foam it can fill the small trashcan I keep behind the counter.
The man seems too distracted to hear me, so I reach across the puddle and pry open his free hand, ignoring the scratch I get across my palm from his overly sharp nails and smash the pendant into his hand, re-curling his fingers around it. I watch as the amulet glows bright, getting brighter the longer he holds it.
"Well, this can't be good," Sven comments from where he now stands next to me.
I didn’t hear him coming from across the shop, so I jump when he speaks.
After several seconds, the goblin’s coughing slows and the liquid stops coming out of his mouth, for which I am extremely grateful for, because now that I am standing here, the smell is getting to me. It is something between wet dog and microwaved fish.
"Do you know what would do that?" I murmur to Sven.
Sven shakes his head as he strokes his long beard, making the two beads hanging in it clack when they hit each other. "No. But my knowledge of magic isn't great. At least not this type of magic."
We both stare at the goblin as his coughing slowly turns more toward wheezing. I look away from him long enough to glance at Bailey, still standing, peering around the counter. The expression on her face and the fact her hackles are still up concerns me. Normally once magic subsides, she goes back about her business. The fact she is still watching sets off warning bells in my head. Not to mention the smell is getting stronger and I have no idea what the best way to clean whatever it is up. I don’t even want to think about how long it is going to take to clear the smell from the shop.
2
Letting a couple of magic dowsers in here to comb through things and prove you don't have anything that can make a goblin sick could go a long way."
Anger and frustration flash through me. Even in my mid-thirties, my temper still flashes when the supernatural world looks down on me simply because I was born without magic. Knowing Blake is not to blame for this prejudicial thinking, I divert my frustration. "Are you kidding me? Dousers leave the biggest mess out of the entire supernatural police department. They go through everything and get their grubby hands everywhere. Last time they checked anything of mine, I spent weeks trying to find everything, let alone clean everything they touched. And that's not counting the half a dozen items that went missing because they have doubts or because you-know-who is a sticky-fingered dwarf, we all know he has a theft problem." My voice begins growing louder.
"Yeah, but he is the best at his job."
I glower at Blake, quickly thinking through the possible scenarios here.
I let the dowsers into the shop to rummage around and clear me as the prime suspect in a goblin murder or I deal with higher-ups in the supernatural police department who are hellbent on pinning this on me simply because as a male child of a witch I must have a large chip on my shoulder and therefore want to murder supernatural beings.
Sighing heavily, I pull out the walkie-talkie and click the button a few times to get Sven’s attention. "Sven, got some bad news. I'm being accused of killing that goblin earlier and now some of the magical dowsers have to come to check out the store."
There is crackling over the line as Sven let out some very explicit and physically impossible Dwarfen curses. "If they don't keep their hands away from the stuff in my office, I am going to rip Red Beard's fingers, one by one, from his palms."
Looking up from the walkie-talkie I make eye contact with Blake and give him a fake smile. "Well, I think that's the all-clear to let the dowsers in."
Blake looks at me warily, and a little relieved. "Do you need me here to help protect Red Beard from Sven?"
"I mean, only if you care about dwarf-on-dwarf violence,” I say with a shrug.
"I’ll call it in and get them out here. But I'm getting you a containment crew first, because that crap freaking smells to high heaven.” Blake pivots and walks straight out of the store.
"Red Beard’s not allowed in here unless I'm watching him like a hawk."
I jump, startled by the sound of Sven's voice right behind me. The man needs a bell. He is incredibly stout and appears to the world, thanks to his glamour, like a short, plump, heavily wrinkled man in his seventies
The rest of the time he has long, white-gray hair and a matching pointed beard, a large wart above the right corner of his mouth and only about half as many wrinkles as his human-looking counterpart does. He is also stouter and healthier looking than the glamour would let people believe.
"I'll be here too, as will Blake." I try to sound nonchalant as if he didn’t just scare me out of my wits.
Sven starts muttering something under his breath about no one being able to watch a dwarf as well as a dwarf as he turns around and heads back toward his office.
"This is shaping up to be a fun afternoon," I complain to no one in particular.
Gretchen
spawned in the Puget Sound region. After some wandering she returned
there and now lives with her husband and the daintiest Rottweiler on
the planet. When not drowning herself in coffee, as is custom in the
Greater Seattle Area, Gretchen can be found at her day job or sitting
at her desk in the home office, flailing her arms as she dictates to
her computer.
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