Bigfootloose and Finn Fancy Free (23 page)

I shook my head at Heather. “I can't afford healing potions, and I'm guessing neither can you.”

Heather shrugged. “And I'm guessing he'd be willing to give them to you for free, or at least very cheap.”

“Absolutely,” Ralph said. “Anything I can do to help you out.” He winked at me. “Being my friend has its advantages.”

“Uh, maybe if you have something I can use to protect myself against a jorōgumo, something that is cheap even without your friendship discount? All I have on me is forty bucks, and a quarter Thoth of mana.”

“I have just the thing,” Ralph said, eagerness in his tone. He turned and hurried though a curtained doorway to the back of his shop.

I looked at Heather. “I won't take advantage of his ‘friendship.'”

“Why not?” Heather replied. “You don't think he takes advantage of other people? Or feybloods?”

“We're already in dangerous territory legal-wise,” I said. “But so far, all we've done is ask him some questions. When the ARC busts him, and they will, I won't have him telling how we used the love potion to steal from him.” And I wasn't going to leave him believing love had made him a fool.

“You need to wake up,” Heather said. “You've got not just one world but three working against you—the human, the feyblood, and the Fey—and you need to look out for yourself, because nobody else is.”

“My family is.”

“More like you're looking out for them. Which is why you should do whatever is necessary to protect yourself, and them. Just think of it like one of those video games you love, where you go into a shop and take whatever potion you find in the chest. You need to take the merchant's potions to help you survive.”

“Life isn't a game,” I said.

“Shows how much you know,” Heather said. “Life is a game, and believe me, we're not the players, we're the pawns.”

“And all is fair in love and war. I get it. If we're done with the cliché-a-thon, can we discuss what we're going to do?”

“We?” Heather snorted. “I plan to get as far away from this disaster as I can, right after I send a message to the ARC turning this guy in as an Arcanite and black marketer. Hopefully, that will earn me a little credit toward avoiding exile, at least. I have no clue what you're going to do.”

“That makes two of us,” I said. But even as I said it, I realized what I had to do.

The crow was probably toast after that explosion, and if not was hardly a credible witness. I had no evidence of what I thought I knew; and what I thought I knew still didn't make any sense. I'd learned Romey was the jorōgumo, and she clearly wanted to cause Silene's brightbloods some trouble with the ARC, if not kill them outright. But why? And who was helping or controlling her? Was this tied to the Arcanites in some way after all, with the mana drug, or was that a coincidence? I just kept coming up with more questions.

I'd learned just enough to know how screwed I was, but not enough to get unscrewed, or help anyone I'd promised to help. And I only knew one way to get the answers I needed, to truly clear Silene and her brightbloods, to get me and my family free of the danger of an unknown enemy, and gain my brother some good will.

I had to capture and question the jorōgumo.

“Most heinous,” I whispered.

Ralph returned. He held a jar of what looked like Pepto-Bismol. “Are we still going for lunch, just you and me?” he asked, an edge of jealousy in his tone as he glanced at Heather.

“Uh, what do you think?”

“I think we definitely are,” he said.

“Well, there you go then,” I replied.

Ralph's face lit up, which given its florid state looked like a very pink and unhealthy glow. “I know this great new Mexican place. You're going to love it.”

“Sounds great.” I sighed.

“Unless you don't like spicy foods. I know another place—”

“No, that's fine,” I said. “I love spicy. Look, I—”

“Oh man, I'm the king of spicy,” Ralph said. “I can eat practically anything! Here, uh, watch this!” He grabbed a nearby candle, and shotgunned the melted wax down his throat.

“Ahhhmmmphh!” He exclaimed, and began coughing and turning bright red, dropping the bottle he'd brought for me onto the counter rather than the floor, thankfully.

I looked to Heather. “Can you help?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I could.”

I rolled my eyes, and started to move toward Ralph to slap his back; but he waved me away, and fumbled at the potions on the shelf behind him as he continued to cough and gag. He found a bottle he liked, pulled the cork, and downed the potion with a good deal of gagging and spitting.

Finally, his breathing and color returned to relatively normal.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Hundred percent,” he said, his voice a bit scratchy. “It, uh, just went down the wrong tube.”

“Uh huh. Look,” I said. “You don't need to prove anything to me, really.”

He flushed pink. “Oh man, you must think I'm pathetic, desperate. I'm not, I swear. I have lots of friends. And I'm very confident. Here, look,” he said, turning and starting to unbuckle his belt. “I even got a tattoo—”

“Stop!” Heather and I both said at the same time.

I raised my hands. “I believe you. Really. So is that the jorōgumo potion?” I pointed at the bottle he'd dropped on the counter.

“Oh, yes!” He rebuckled his pants, and grabbed the bottle. “Here, it's a gift.”

Heather moved close to the door, and cocked her head as if listening.

I took the potion from Ralph. “I can't accept it as a gift. But I will pay for it, as agreed.”

“I think it's safe to leave,” Heather said, her tone one of mixed amusement and disgust. “Or at least, to make a run for it.”

“Wait!” the alchemist said, and grabbed my arm. “You can't just go out there. You should wait until we know for sure it's safe. We could … talk more.”

I shot Heather a desperate glance. I had reached the limit of my tolerance.

She shrugged. “Love isn't a game, remember?” she said.

“Clever,” I said, annoyed. “But you didn't seem to think that when you seduced me for Grayson.” I winced inside as soon as I said it. I knew it was a jerk thing to say.

Heather stiffened. “Hey, potion pusher,” she said without turning her face from me. “Your wards only work against feybloods?”

“The ones I have up, yes,” Ralph said.

“Great. Good luck,” she said to me, then turned and left.

“Heather, wait! I'm sorry—” I moved to follow.

“Let her go,” Ralph said, and grabbed my arm again. “She's obviously high maintenance.”

I shrugged off his hand. Guilt, weariness, and irritation all conspired to put patience in a choke hold. “Bad news,” I said. “I called 1-900 Corey and Corey, and they're my new best friends, so we'll have to take a rain check on the whole lunch thing.”

“What?” Anger swelled up in Ralph's voice. “You can't just go changing plans like that.”

“Watch me.” I turned to exit the shop.

“No, I—!” Ralph grabbed me again, spun me around, and kissed me.

He smelled of cigars and love potion, and tasted like ashes.

I jerked away, and wiped at my mouth.

He fell back a step, a confusion of emotions warring across his expression. “I—excuse me.” He fled through the doorway to the hidden back of his shop.

*Shame, I thought things were about to get interesting at last,* Alynon said.

Now is not the time for your jokes,
I thought.

*I was not joking. Far as I have observed, sex is sex and it all feels good. Don't be so repressed.*

I'm not repressed. I'm worried
he
is.

As a rule, arcana weren't particularly religious, but that didn't mean we were immune to all the other ways in which people were made to feel shameful of their natures.

Throw in a love potion, and things could get ugly. If someone had been repressing certain urges they thought were “wrong” or “sick,” and the love potion caused them to act on those urges, then when the potion wore off they could experience the kind of deep shame and self-loathing that results at worst in serial killings, and at best in fanatical campaigning against any sex that didn't involve the missionary position between a married man and woman for the sole purpose of procreation (and possibly birthdays).

I sighed, and headed to the back room to reassure Ralph he'd done nothing wrong.

Ralph stood with tears streaming down his jowls, his head tilted back as he drank milky fluid from an hourglass-shaped bottle. A forgetting potion.

It probably wouldn't counter the lingering power of the love potion. But it might reset the effects, so that Ralph would fall in love with the first person he saw after forgetting about me.

I quickly closed the curtain, dropped payment for the potion on his counter, and flipped the
OPEN
sign around to
CLOSED
on his door. Hopefully, he wouldn't go out, and nobody would come in, until the love potion wore off.

I stepped out into the early evening light, the jorōgumo potion held ready.

Unfortunately, Heather was nowhere to be seen. Phew! Fortunately, neither was the jorōgumo.

*   *   *

I called Reggie on the drive home.

“Finn?” he said.

“Yeah, hi. I—”

“Son, I think you must've been cursed at birth or something the way you attract trouble.”

“I see you heard about the fun at the DFM holding area,” I replied.

“For starters. Someone also just called in an incident with some Greek Fire over by an alchemist's shop—the same alchemist involved with your feyblood friends. Please tell me that's a coincidence?”

“Well, I can tell you I didn't throw any Greek Fire,” I dissembled.

*Indeed,* Alynon said. *You would throw Geek Fire, inflaming a burning desire to play those terrible fantasy movies and computer games you inflict upon me.*

“That's a pretty specific answer,” Reggie said. “Which tells me you're hiding something.”

“And that's why you're an enforcer,” I replied. “I was attacked again by the jorōgumo.”

“Damn it. We've been trying to locate her, but shapeshifters are hard to get a lock on normally, and this one, well, for some reason she's more slippery than most. She may even be unregistered.”

I told him about her being Romey, and of my need to question her.

“Well,” Reggie said, “that explains some things. And she seems keen on you. Maybe she wants to make you her next slave.”

“Slave?”

“Yeah. Remember Enforcer Cousar? She must have black-widowed him. Well, jorōgumo-style anyway. That explains why he attacked you all like that.”

Of course. Jorōgumo were rumored to be masters at conditioning men and women to be their slaves. It usually involved seduction, though sometimes it was more a case of torture, and either way was said to include using their venom somehow to enhance the effects.

“I don't think she wants to make me her slave. I think she just wants me dead.”

“Well, then, maybe we should set a trap.”

“With me as bait?” I said. “Um, I was more hoping you could check out the local Shadows steading for me and see if you can get a lead or something?”

“I tried that and didn't get far. But with you there, we might get lucky.”

“We?” The Shadows brightbloods would be even less happy to see me than the Silver had been. Words like “evisceration” and “marrow-sucking” ran through my head, leaving little bloody footprints and the echo of mad laughter behind.

“You've seen the jorōgumo. If you're there to stand as witness, I can justify really questioning them, and I can do an unmasking to see if she's hiding among them.”

“Of course.” I sighed. “Fine, let me stop home and grab a couple things. Where should we meet?”

“The Shadows steading nearest to you is out on Bainbridge.”

“Okay. See you there in … two hours?” That would give me time to eat some dinner at least.

“So if you didn't throw the Greek Fire, who did?” Reggie asked.

“What?”

“You were clearly avoiding my question earlier. What aren't you telling me?”

“How about you ask me that question in, say, two days?”

Reggie was silent for a long moment, then said, “Fine. Probably better for my blood pressure if I don't know anyway. Certainly better for the paperwork. See you soon.”

I touched my coat pocket for the hundredth time to confirm the anti-jorōgumo potion had not somehow disappeared. I regretted for a second leaving payment for it. If Heather turned Ralph in like she'd said, it wasn't like my forty bucks was going to help him much. But I still felt better knowing I hadn't cheated him.

Even fake love was complicated.

*   *   *

It was just shy of five thirty when I entered the house through the back entrance and into the smell of hot oil and garlic.

My stomach growled.

I strode up the hall and pushed my way through the swinging kitchen door.

Mort flipped a perfectly golden tortilla in a cast-iron pan. It took me a second to understand what I was seeing, but he was actually up, dressed, and cooking food.

“Uh, hi!” I said. “What's cookin', doc?”

“Me,” Mort said. “And don't make a big deal out of it.”

“I wouldn't dream of it. Okay, I lied. Wow, this is kind of a big deal! I don't think I've seen you cook once since I've been back.”

“I'm making vegetable quesadillas, with Mother's tortilla recipe. They're Mattie's favorite.”

I don't know why, but I was surprised that Mort was actually right about that.

“That's awesome,” I replied. “She'll love that. Though I'm not sure she likes
huitlacoche
.” I nodded at the opened can on the counter.