“Oh, those were Burt’s,” Alex said with a grin. She took a puff, then held out the cigarette at arm’s length.
“Thanks, Burt,” she said with mock sincerity. “Now, let’s take care of this.” Circling the desk, she opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a heavy steel box, dropping it on the table with a clank. The top of the box was plain, with the exception of an engraving depicting an elaborate geometric shape.
“It’s me,” she said, leaning close to the lid. “Open up.”
The rune on the lid glowed with a purple light and an audible click sounded from inside. Alex watched as the rune’s light faded. The edges of the engraving were already getting fuzzy and indistinct. Runes were a temporary form of magic, after all. Most disappeared immediately after being used. A talented runewright could make them last longer by using more expensive materials when making the rune, and even engraving it into something. Eventually, though, the rune would lose its magic and disappear, needing to be rewritten by the runewright.
This was what made runewrights the poor cousins of magic. Sorcerers could cast real spells, laying powerful and near-permanent enchantments on whatever they chose. They were rare, of course. Only big cities would have a sorcerer, and most were required by law to serve their governments. America, however, gave sorcerers the same rights as anyone else, so there were more sorcerers in the US than anywhere else. New York had six, each soaring high above the city in their flying castles. If Alex had been born a sorcerer instead of a runewright, he’d never have wanted for cash.
The other branch of magic was alchemy. Alchemists brewed their magic slowly into potions and elixirs. Sorcerers and runewrights mostly dealt with enchantments, making objects magical. Alchemists dealt with people, with their bodies and health. A good alchemist always had work, customers with ready money who needed remedies for everything from gout to baldness. Like runewrights, alchemists kept their recipes secret, passing them from master to apprentice. That meant that some alchemists were quacks and frauds, possessing only a few weak recipes, while others could brew miracle cures in a bottle.
This was the same reason Alex’s Finding Rune was so much better than anyone else’s. His book of runes had come to him from his father and his grandfather and his great-grandfather. When his father died, Alex’s training had been picked up by a British Doctor, Ignatius Bell. Between his family book and the doctor’s training, Alex knew some very good runes.
The lid of the strongbox popped open and Leslie inserted the bills in a small stack of cash, in proper numerical order of course. She counted them twice, then made a note of the amount on a pad in the bottom of the box.
“That’s rent and my salary for this month,” she said with a satisfied grin.
“Wait. What about me?” Alex protested with only the trace of a grin. Leslie picked up the paper that Alex had set aside on her desk and handed it back to him.
“You have a date with the Police and a dead guy. Do a good job and maybe you can buy your own cigarettes.”
Alex took the paper and sighed. The police didn’t like consultants, and they especially didn’t like paying them. They almost never allowed him to cast an expensive rune and he had to give them a hefty discount on his hourly rate if he wanted to work with them at all. Leslie scowled at him when he looked up from the paper, daring him to complain, so he put on a smile.
“It’s better than looking for lost wedding rings, I suppose,” he said. He turned toward his office, but Leslie put her hand on his shoulder in a firm grip.
“Don’t worry, kid,” she said, her hard shell melting away into one of her rare, genuine smiles. “We’ll catch a break one of these days.”
“I know,” Alex said, and sighed. “One big case would do it. Get my name in the papers and then real clients would start piling up.”
“So many that we’ll have to start turning them away,” Leslie agreed, her smile somehow managing to show more teeth. Then her face became serious. “It’ll happen,” she said. “I believe in you.”
“Thanks, doll.” Alex smiled back at her. “And thanks for keeping this place in the black. Even if it is with lost dog jobs.”
Her face slid back into the sardonic smile he knew so well. The mask that hid the real her from the world. “Work is work,” she said.
“Work is work,” he agreed.
Alex made his way to his office while Leslie returned the strong box to its drawer.
The inner office was just a smaller version of the outer. Alex’s desk sat across from the door, facing it, with a large window behind. A row of filing cabinets stood against the right wall, leaving the opposite wall bare, and two overstuffed chairs sat facing the desk. The chalk outline of a door, complete with a keyhole, adorned the blank wall, exactly in the center.
Alex pulled a pasteboard notebook with a red cover from his jacket pocket and began flipping through the pages. The paper was thin and fine, like tissue paper, so he had to be careful. Each page had a rune carefully inscribed on it. Some were simple, only a few lines drawn in pencil. Other were intricate, delicate even, their lines glistening in inks infused with gold, silver, or powdered gemstones. Some had taken Alex a few minutes, while others took days of careful work. All had been infused with magic, waiting patiently for him to release it.
He found the rune he wanted, a triangle with a circle on each point, drawn in silver ink, and tore it from the book. Alex unceremoniously licked the back of the paper and stuck it on the wall in the middle of the chalk door. He touched the paper with the glowing tip of his cigarette and it erupted in flame, vanishing almost instantly. The rune hung in the air, gleaming silver now that the paper was gone, then vanished as well, melting into the wall. As soon as it was gone, a door of polished metal appeared where the chalk outline had been. No hinges were visible, just a brass plate with a keyhole in its exact center.
Alex produced an ornate steel skeleton key from a ring that also held his apartment key and the one to his office. Sliding it in the keyhole, he turned it smartly and pushed the door open. There wasn’t anything particularly special beyond Alex’s wall, just the neighboring office. But beyond the door was a good-sized room with workbenches, cabinets, shelves, and all manner of glassware and equipment. This was Alex’s vault, an extra-dimensional workspace he could summon whenever and wherever he needed it. The rune to make a vault wasn’t that complex but a runewright could only have one vault at a time. If he made a new one, the old one and all its contents would vanish. Such was the nature of magic.
Alex flipped a switch on the wall and magelights throughout the space warmed up to a bright light.
Leaving the door open, Alex crossed to a large secretary cabinet. He could shut and bar the vault door if he wanted, but if it were locked from the outside, he’d be trapped in the vault forever. Only the runewright who created a vault could open it from the outside.
He pulled the secretary cabinet’s foldaway table down, then opened the upper doors. Inside were a row of three leather bags resembling a doctor’s valise, and rows and rows of stoppered bottles above them, containing every imaginable substance. Below the bags were pigeonholes filled with stacks of varying papers, and drawers that held pens and pencils. These were the tools of his trade.
Without a pause, Alex pulled down a battered, brown valise. The top opened down the middle and had a hinge so it would fold out ninety degrees. Under one side, his oculus and breathing mask were held in place by elastic straps. The other side held smaller versions of the stoppered bottles, just not so many. In the bottom of the case were his multi-lamp, pencil box, a tube with a selection of papers, a few other odds and ends, and a Colt 1911 semi-automatic pistol in a shoulder holster. He stripped off his jacket and slung the holster in place, settling the weight of the gun just under his left arm, and checked the magazine.