Wolf for Hire

Chapter Thirty Three

The man's name was Yu Jing Desmond.

I found his wallet while rifling through his pockets, turning up his driver's license and a professional-looking business card that identified him as a private investigator. Licensed in Ohio.

Up close, I could make out some vaguely Asian features in his face, mostly around the eyes, and which might explain the dark hair. I doubted he was an ABC, but I'd wager one of his parents was. Probably his mother, given his surname was Desmond. That was an Irish name.

Seemed the good detective was a true melting-pot American.

He was also breaking the law. South Carolina didn't share legal reciprocity with Ohio when it came to private investigators. Further, I was pretty sure PIs weren't legally allowed to trespass. And while this depot wasn't fenced in—which might prevent him from being charged with illegal entry—Mr. Detective Wizard here had most certainly been trespassing in the other depots. Particularly the ones on Veneer and Virginia Avenue, where he'd either found or made a hole in the fence.

Odds were he was trying to keep a low profile, which might work in my favor. Give me some leverage against him.

Boden sat across from me and gave his face a good licking while I sat on top of him. I was straddling him with my knees just beneath his armpits—a standard jiu-jitsu mount that allowed me to pin him and maintain balance without needing to use my hands. From here, I could easily strike, choke, or put him in an armbar, should I choose.

Or I could go for his throat—which the intrusive wolf-thoughts kept suggesting I do. That seemed a little too aggressive for my taste, especially after already giving the poor man a concussion.

I'd gotten the wolf to resign her spiteful little ass to the passenger seat and let me handle any conversations with the detective. She'd gotten her hit in and we now had the dominant position she was hoping for.

She'd been appeased.

In my clawed hands, I held his staff, laying it across my lap. Coy had taken his wand and was currently using it as a chew toy. His gun—a classic Colt 1911, just like my dad's—lay just out of sight behind the man's head, with its magazine removed and emptied of cartridges.

I'd decided that the wolf and I should take on our werewolf form—I figured I might as well talk to him this way once he came to. I wasn't worried about him shooting me anymore, not after confiscating his gun, wand, and just about everything else I could find in his pockets.

Which, I might add, was no easy feat.

The man had a ridiculous amount of crap in there—an actual junk drawer's worth of gear, all tucked neatly into his jacket and pants.

Some of it was pretty standard: a multi-tool, miniature flashlight, pocket screwdriver with interchangeable heads, keychain compass, weather-sealed matchbook, travel-sized first-aid kit, and keys—lots of keys.

There was even a cheap plastic comb and a dog-eared field notebook stuffed with scribbles and loose notes.

I'd rifled through the notebook to see if it was some kind of wizard's spellbook, but, yet again, I found myself disappointed.

It was just a normal notebook, written in normal English.

If he'd written anything in Arcanum, he was much better at obfuscating it than Sandy.

Next came the more specialized bits: a carpenter's pencil, lockpick set, folding magnifying glass, a travel-sized can of WD-40, zip ties, duct tape wrapped around an old credit card, and a downright concerning number of safety pins. I even found a mini sewing kit tucked into one of his side pockets, thread in half a dozen colors.

It got weirder the deeper I dug. A roll of gold-star stickers. Several packets of salt, probably taken from a roadside diner. Tiny bottles of glitter. A bright blue rubber bouncy ball. Three individually wrapped tea bags, a packet of honey, tweezers, and what I believed to be a rabbit's foot keychain—or perhaps a cat's paw.

Many of the items even smelled of magic.

Some seemed pretty straightforward. There was the dog whistle he'd blown earlier. A carved wooden rosary attached to a necklace of prayer beads. A small corked vial of what I guessed was holy water.

But most of the magical items were a bit too esoteric for me to figure out. Like an enchanted pack of Big Red chewing gum. A piece of quartz wrapped in copper wire. A small bag of self-adhering googly eyes—whose stares seemed to follow me. A plastic ring like the kind you got from a gumball machine. A thumb-sized mason jar packed with dried petals. A polished river stone with a hole worn through the center. And a single shoelace.

Either the detective was some kind of boy scout—always prepared for both the magical and the mundane—or he was a hoarder with magically deep pockets.

Column A, column B, perhaps.

Unlike the puppeteer's magic, I didn't find the smell of the detective's magic particularly unpleasant. It reminded me of pencil shavings and coffee beans. A benign odor that became more complex the longer you paid attention.

I wasn't sure if the way I perceived magic was determined by some objective metric, or my own subjective worldview, but my gut told me I shouldn't underestimate the detective.

Then again, I had domed him with his own staff. So maybe I risked overestimating him too.

He started to come to right about the time I was finishing pilfering his jacket and jeans of their contents.

"You feeling alright, Yu Jing?" I asked, patting him lightly on the cheek, while Boden continued to apply tongue directly to his forehead.

The man groaned, raising a hand to the bridge of his nose. He rubbed his temples, blinking himself back to consciousness. He likely had a headache from the blow to the head I'd given him. The one the wolf had made me give him.

Once again, she'd made me culpable for assault and battery—all in the same night.

Just one more thing to the list. At this rate, I was going to need a punch card.

"Ugh... just call me Eugene. It's easier to say," he muttered. He pushed Boden's head away and wiped his face with the back of his hand.

Yu Jing like Eugene? Well, that just seems tacky, I thought.

"It's a family name. Hey, would you mind getting off—"

He started to say, then got a good look at me. His eyes went wide.

"—Oh Jesus Christ!"

To his credit, his eyes went straight to my teeth—not my chest.

My more human-like anatomy hadn't been enough to distract him from the fact that there was, in fact, an honest-to-god werewolf sitting on top of him.

Good to see he had his priorities straight.

Reflexively, he reached for his holster—wincing as he twisted his bandaged wrist—only to find the gun missing.

I gave him a sharp rap on the wrist with the tip of his staff. "None of that now. I'm not here to hurt you, Eugene, so I suggest you offer me the same courtesy."

"You struck me in the back of the head," Eugene snapped.

I shrugged. "That was an accident. I was actually aiming for your ass. But I missed."

His scowl deepened. "You working for Kirkland?"

Eugene tried to shimmy out of the position I had him pinned in, but that only brought him closer to Boden and his tongue.

"Kirkland? Like the Costco brand? What does that have to do with anything?"

I wondered if he was talking about the puppeteer. I half expected him to have a more villainous-sounding name. Like Maestro, or Marionetti. At least something Italian—they always had such good villain names.

Then again, I may have watched one too many mafia movies.

But still—Kirkland? That just sounded so... mundane.

A brand of villainy that brought you wholesale value and free samples.

I suppose when V told me that witches were still normal people, it applied to wizards too.

"If you're not working for him, then who are you? Why are you here?"

I leaned forward a little, tapping the staff against his forehead. "Ah-ah-ah. I'm the one asking the questions here, Mr. Detective. Or is it Mr. Wizard? What are you exactly?"

"Just a man of many talents," said Eugene, and threw his left arm forward.

He must have sensed an opportunity to take back his staff, but I reacted faster, quickly lifting it above my head. That didn't stop Eugene, who began to chant something that sounded like Latin.

"Venu al mi—"

I let the staff slip from my grip as I felt its weight suddenly increase, and instead focused on driving my knee into his arm, repositioning it slightly. Just enough for the falling staff to miss his hand and smack him right in the face.

Needless to say, he didn't complete his spell.

I winced as the staff hit with enough force to bounce—right off his nose—with a popping noise that might have been cartilage breaking.

I grabbed the staff as Eugene grabbed his face.

"God damn it!" he cursed, his voice a little muffled as he squeezed his nose. I could smell the blood.

Yep, he'd broken it.

"Didn't think that one through, huh? Mr. Man of many talents," I prodded, propping the staff over my shoulder. Better to keep it out of reach in case he tried to be clever again.

Boden began administering kisses to heal the wounded detective. Eugene groaned, trying to avoid the tongue's embrace.

Boden, hold, I projected, and the licking ceased.

"How about you quit with the tricks and the Latin, and I'll make sure you don't suffer any more insult or injury? Sound good?"

"It was Esperanto, not Latin," growled Eugene.

"I don't care if it's Klingon," I said, leaning in close, flashing a toothy, forced smile. "You try any more magic, and I'll do more than just have this ball of fluff water-Boden you."

"Water-Boden?" Eugene managed, blinking.

"Yes. It's like waterboarding, but with Boden," I said, then turned back to the dog. "Boden, give him another demonstration."

Boden eagerly resumed his assault, tail thumping as he slobbered all over the man's face again.

The fact that Eugene was now forced to breathe out of his mouth—on account of the blood in his nasal cavity—left him vulnerable to being frenched by Boden's massive tongue.

He'd either have to suffocate or face indignity.

Who needed torture when the threat of humiliation was more than sufficient to make one talk?

A little slobber to loosen one's lips.

I let it go on for a bit—just long enough to drive the point home—before mentally instructing Boden to relent.

The detective sputtered and coughed as he tried to wipe his face clean with the sleeve of his jacket. Then, with a flick of the wrist, he produced a tissue, which he held to his nose to sop up the blood.

"Hey, I said no magic."

"Just sleight of hand. You didn't empty my sleeves," said Eugene.

"Bullshit, I—"

"It was you, wasn't it?" Eugene said, cutting me off. "The one who compelled all the animals and killed those thralls."

"Thralls?" I glanced toward the dead dogs. "You mean the cursed dogs?"

"Cursed, enthralled, same thing," Eugene replied.

"And what gives you that idea?"

"Well, they weren't shot or killed by another dog, but by something with quite a bit of physical strength. And the howl that summoned the animals had quite a powerful telepathic compulsion behind it."

Eugene gave me a pointed look. Though, the effect was kind of muted by the fact he was holding a bloody tissue to his face.

"Seems to me, you fit the bill."

"Yeah? What makes you think I have telepathy?"

"Because I can hear you broadcasting your thoughts. Even the ones I don't think you mean to. If I had to guess, you're a bit new to this, aren't you?"

It took me a second to process what Eugene had just said.

And the moment it sank in, I suddenly felt very exposed.

Sure, I didn't have any clothes on, but that didn't really matter since I wasn't in human form—one of my many were-privileges. As long as no one knew what human-me looked like—such as some kids who filmed me in their swimming pool—I could get away scot-free.

But if someone could hear my thoughts, they could learn all sorts of things about me. Deeply personal and private things.

In school, I'd always feared the idea of classmates hearing my thoughts. How mortifying it would be if they learned who I had a crush on, or knew what sort of things I fantasized about when I was bored. It was irrational, sure, but it was enough that I would curate my thoughts constantly.

Because you never knew when the day would come that you crossed paths with a mind reader.

Now it seemed I had.

A childhood phobia made manifest.

Then again, maybe he was just screwing with me. At least, I hoped he was screwing with me.

Eugene raised his hand—the one not holding the napkin to his nose—in a pacifying gesture.

"Look, it's nothing to be ashamed of. Most inexperienced telepaths don't know how to shield their thoughts when they first acquire the ability."

This would have come across as reassuring, if his tone hadn't made it sound like he was talking to a child.

The bastard was making fun of me.

"Sure, I can speak to dogs, and some animals. But not humans."

"No, that's still telepathy. Just a form more suited for animals than humans."

Then how are you able to hear it? I projected at him, testing whether he could actually hear my thoughts or was just good at guessing.

"Because I'm just a good listener."

You mean a good eavesdropper, I thought to myself. At least, I hoped it was to myself.

"It's not eavesdropping when you broadcast your thoughts the way you are. It's like you're thinking through a megaphone."

"God damn it."

Well, that pretty much confirmed it.

This wasn't going the way I was hoping. I needed to make sure I didn't let him dominate the conversation or ask too many questions. Lest I give an actual detective all of my secrets.

I mean, I was supposed to be the one in control here—with the claws, the teeth, and the whole looming werewolf thing.

"So, you were the one who killed the thralls?"

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

"And what if I was?"

"Then I suppose I should thank you. My last run-in with them almost got me killed."

"You mean last night, at the depot by the commerce building?"

His eyes narrowed. "How long have you been following me?"

"Enough questions from you. That's a trade secret. But… I will say this: you should choose a different cologne. It smells like you bought it on clearance and you use too much of it. Makes you easy to track."

"Well, at least I'm not the one who smells like a trash heap. You live in a dumpster or something?"

"There's no way you can smell that right now."

"I could smell you just fine until you broke my nose—"

That's your fault, not mine, I thought at him, which earned me a flat look.

"Thought the smell was coming from the bodies at first. But they're not that decayed yet," he finally said.

"Alright smart-ass," I said, baring my teeth a little. "How about you keep the commentary to a minimum and focus on answering my questions. I'll start with an easy one: Why are you here?"

"Why are any of us here?" replied Eugene.

"Boden," I said with mock seriousness, "if you would."

"Wait—mph," His protests turned into muffled gurgles as Boden went full wash cycle on his face and applied tongue to mouth.

Hopefully, that enchanted gum of his was meant to dispel bad breath. He was going to need it.

"I'm on the clock, Eugene," I warned once I gave Boden the order to relent. "So how about you drop the smug and be straight with me. Why are you here? What are you looking for that has you skulking around rail depots in the dead of night? And why has Boden been following you?"

"The first part's a long story, but the Boden part's easy. He stole my dinner, and now he won't leave me alone."

"You call a cheeseburger dinner? God, you must be broke."

"Tight schedule, tighter budget. What can I say? Look, what do you want from me? Are you trying to stop me, help me, or what?"

"I'm just trying to get my dog back."

"This big boy? Fine by me. He's all yours. I don't see what the fuss is about," he gestured at his head and at all his things I'd scattered around, "or the mess."

"The fuss is that, one, I had to make sure you wouldn't shoot me—couldn't depend on you not being a little jumpy with enthralled dogs running around. And two, I had to go on a city-wide goose chase to track him down because Boden's been tailing you—you, who stuck your nose into something nasty and could have gotten him hurt."

"Oh, that's rich. Sounds more like you lost track of him. Bit of a you-problem," he said.

A snarl rose low in my throat.

But that hadn't been entirely me.

I didn't like being verbally cornered. Neither did the wolf, apparently.

She'd voiced her disapproval.

"Do you really think it's wise to push my buttons?"

Eugene didn't flinch.

"Believe it or not, your dog is the only reason I'm not dead. I would've gotten jumped by those thralls if he hadn't been there to warn me. He's not the one in danger."

"Oh? And what if he had gotten bitten? Then what? A dog his size, suddenly going full Cujo? Would you have shot him too?" I retorted.

"He was bitten. Multiple times, in fact. But not a scratch on him. Nor does the enthrallment have any effect on him."

"What? Really?"

"Yeah. Because he's not a real dog... But you already know that, don't you? That's why you're so eager to get him back, isn't it?"

Ah. So he'd noticed something was different about Boden.

He was wrong, though—Boden was a dog. Or at least, half-dog. His mother had been a sweet ol' Bernese, whom he clearly took after.

His father, however... well, Sandy didn't seem to know what he had been. In fact, the only reason she knew anything was from what she'd been told by whoever passed Boden on to her. Her notes mostly amounted to observations of his stranger characteristics.

Aside from his huge appetite and unusual growth, he seemed to be just a normal dog. One of the less unusual oddities of the menagerie, in my opinion.

I'd always figured she'd been conned into taking care of a mutt that some breeder didn't want. But now it seemed I had some external confirmation staring me in the face.

"What makes you think Boden's not a dog? You use the magic litmus paper of yours?" I asked, remembering the paper with the dog's blood Eugene had burned.

I wasn't doing a stellar job at playing an interrogator. Kept getting off topic and following inquiries out of curiosity rather than direct intention. But Eugene knew things about magic that I did not. Things I wanted to know.

Might as well pump him for information while I had him disarmed and pinned beneath me.

"Thaumic Assay paper," said Eugene.

"Huh?" I blinked.

"The litmus test you were referring to. It's called a Thaumic Assay. And yes, I used that and a few other tricks to evaluate Boden after I detected a magic aura coming from him."

"And what did they tell you?"

"That he's not a dog."

"Really? With all your detective and wizard skills, that's all you could come up with?"

"Only thing conclusive."

"Alright, tell me your speculations then."

"Look, his aura doesn't match what should be possible with a normal dog. That's all I can really say. These tests are more exclusionary than definitive."

How conveniently vague. And frustrating.

But also… intriguing.

"Is that just because he's a familiar?"

"No. Familiar is more of a title than a type of creature. They can be magical, or they can just be normal animals. It really just comes down to whether the animal is compatible with the familial bonding process."

Huh. The more you know.

Eugene gave me a quizzical look.

"So, was Boden your familiar?"

"No," I replied. "I'm just the one in charge of looking after him. It's my job."

"Employee of the month, are we?"

"You bet your ass I am. And I've spent all day hunting through the city for him to prove it. Now how about we circle back to my first question. Why are you here, and what are you looking for? If it's a long story, then SparkNotes it for me."

Eugene took a long sigh, as if deliberating on something.

I sent a thought to Boden, who leaned in close to Eugene, his tongue a mere centimeter from his face.

"Fine. Fine." Eugene finally spoke. "I'm just a detective. One hired to track down a smuggler. A man named David Kirkland. That's all."

Yeah, right. Sure. And I was just a big scary puppy.

I didn't need more than two brain cells to know there was a lot more to that story.

"A detective who's also a wizard? What? Is that some kind of coincidence? You drop out of Hogwarts and decide to strike out on your own as a PI?"

"I'm just a detective. One that just happens to have a skillset that makes him good at finding people and things."

"Sure. Okay, what kind of stuff is Costco-man smuggling that would get a man of your talents on his case and not just, oh, I don't know, the cops?"

"Well, he's smuggling reagents used for magic rituals. You know, classic stuff—eyes of newt, graveyard dirt, powdered bone, a splash of blood here and there."

Eugene had that tone again. That condescending way of talking. Was he trying to piss me off, or was this his social default?

Maybe it was a sarcastic stress response—the kind of hole that dug itself.

"So, what? Is he unlicensed, or not paying taxes? How does transporting what basically sounds like random-ass commodities get you in trouble with the law? Or is witchcraft still illegal?"

Despite mirroring Eugene's sarcasm, I was genuinely curious. Was witchcraft still something that would get you burned at the stake?

"No, you're right. Most magical reagents are quite commonplace. Hell, you can find most of them at your local home and garden or grocery store. The only restrictions are for those used in darker magics—think human sacrifices, blood of virgins, necromancy. Spells that harm people and require harm to be cast. That sort of thing."

"Like these thralls?"

"Close, but not quite. Imagine it being used on a person instead of a dog. That's the kind of thing that gets you in serious trouble."

"So torturing dogs doesn't?"

"No. Animal cruelty is still a crime, regardless of whether it's done with magic or not. But Kirkland's biggest charges come from what he's transporting."

I pondered this.

I'd already accepted that magic existed, so naturally, it seemed reasonable there would be people using it—and an economy to support that use.

And where there was demand, and laws restricting trade, there would always be a black market.

Because, wherever there's money, there's people breaking the rules to make more of it.

This slid neatly into my worldview—which had already been recalibrated to accommodate my lycanthropy.

No need for any existential crises. Not yet, anyway.

Humans just being humans. With magic.

Now, at least, I had the answers I was looking for—or at least the ones I cared about.

But I still had other questions. One in particular was eating at me.

I glanced at the three dead thralls, the cursed dogs I'd killed, and a flare of guilt stirred inside me once again.

"Was there any way to save them? The thralls, I mean."

I wasn't sure I wanted to hear the answer—even if it vindicated my actions.

Eugene thought about it for a moment before responding.

"No," he said finally. "Probably not. If they'd been caught early on, then maybe. But at this stage, their minds would have been mostly gone."

That implication terrified me.

"You—um, said they can do it to people too? Is that what Kirkland is doing?"

"Uh, no, I was just using that as an example. Besides, most of your... darker mages wouldn't use this type of enthrallment on another human. Ruins higher functioning thought. Usually not desirable, and it's too easy to identify. Better to use something more subtle. But if you need attack dogs under complete control, you don't need subtle."

"And he sent them after you when you got too close to what he was hiding?"

"I assume so. But I still don't know where his cache is or where he's operating from. I do know he's using cargo containers to stash his goods and hide himself. Somehow, he's able to get shipping manifests so he can stash his stuff with existing shipments."

"How's he pull that off?"

"Magic."

"Boden?" I asked skeptically.

"Wait, wait. It's not a quip." Eugene raised his hand defensively. I instructed Boden to spare him.

"He uses his magic to bypass locks and move unseen."

"What kind of magic?"

"No point explaining. It's magic, alright."

"Try."

Eugene sighed heavily.

"Fine. Imagine a magic that lets you move outside the physical world. Travel via shadows. Through walls or across great distances."

That tickled something in my brain, reminding me of what Nevermore had said earlier.

"So he can cross into Abandon—the Upside-Down. Or whatever you want to call it."

Eugene blinked.

"Oh... okay. Guess I don't need to explain after all. Yeah, he can cross into the Abandon at will. That's how he hides his activities from most authorities."

"But not well enough."

"Nope. He got sloppy. Took something he shouldn't have. Now the powers that be know about him. That's why I'm here. Since I can track someone through the Abandon, I was contracted to find him, and I've been following him down the east coast."

"Okay. So what happens when you find him?"

"I'll call the cops and report him."

I blinked.

"You're kidding. If the cops couldn't find him before, how will they help now?"

"Well, it's not like I'm calling 911. I'll be reaching out to the local branch of law enforcement that deals with magic crimes and the supernatural."

"Those exist?"

Eugene seemed puzzled yet again.

"You know about the Abandon but not of arcane legal affairs?"

"Hey. Look. Everything I know about magic, I've literally learned in the past two days. So enlighten me."

"Okay, okay. If I find Kirkland, I'll report his confirmed whereabouts to the SC-DOA. The..."

He hesitated.

"South Carolina Department of Occult Affairs."

I gave him a flat look. "DOA? Really? What, do they have a high mortality rate or something?"

"I swear I'm not making this up."

I sighed. This didn't fit as easily into my worldview, but I could make it work.

If there was a magic economy and black market, that meant regulations. And, therefore, a regulatory organization. Maybe even a governing body—an American Ministry of Magic, so to speak. One that worked with or alongside local governments.

Smugglers, black markets, illegal magic... that made sense.

So, I supposed the existence of magical law enforcement would too.

Same old game, weird new rules.

And someone had to handle the jurisdiction between the magical and the mundane. Charleston PD probably didn't cover crimes that extended beyond physical reality.

"You know what? Fine. I don't care if you're telling the truth. Either way, I'm good with not being involved any further."

"Well, then, if you don't mind, I'd like to get up and collect my things. I too am on the clock, and I'm no closer to finding Kirkland. This chit-chat of ours is costing me time."

I knew I said I didn't want to get involved, but I realized I knew something he didn't.

This meant I had an opportunity to flex on the good detective.

"Well, Mr. Detective Wizard, do I have a surprise for you. Costco-man's hiding out at the paper mill. Not sure how, but you'll probably figure it out. As for what he's hiding, I'm pretty sure it's at the northern terminal. Hundreds of containers to stash stuff in."

For the first time all night, he actually looked caught off guard.

Score one for the big bad wolf.

"How do you know that?"

Wouldn't you like to know, Magic Man, I thought.

"Yes," Eugene said seriously. "Yes, I would."

I wasn't sure how much I wanted to tell him. The more I talked, the deeper I dug myself in. And what I knew hinged on things I didn't exactly want to reveal.

But keeping secrets? That just made him ask more questions. And if what Eugene said was true, that I was unintentionally projecting my thoughts—even the ones I didn't mean to—then it wouldn't matter if I wanted to answer or not.

Damned if I did, damned if I didn't.

But if I wanted to stay out of this mess, it was probably best to divest myself of any useful information and be done with it. Give him no reason to pry further.

If I couldn't keep a secret, then transparency would be my defense.

"Look, I followed the scent trail of the dogs that attacked you. The ones you shot last night. It eventually led me to a utility building at WestRock—that's right next to the North Terminal. I figured you'd make your way there sooner or later. That's why I picked this spot for our little get-together—I figured you'd be nearby."

"How'd you know which of the dogs were thralls?"

"Same way you did."

"I very much doubt that."

"Okay, fine. I can smell magic. Or, at least, I perceive it as a smell. Either way, it let me identify which dogs were thralls and which were just afflicted."

"What else do you know?"

More than I care to, I thought, before I could stop myself.

"I'm trying to do an investigation here. Anything you know—"

"No," I cut him off. "You look here: I'm not here to help you. I am not your sidekick. I'm just here for Boden. I won't get in your way, but no more questions. And I'll let you go, but only if you promise to leave me and my dogs alone."

"Dogs? You have more?"

"Yeah. Boden here." I gestured, then thumbed over at Coy, who was still chewing on Eugene's wand. "And that nimrod over there."

Eugene looked over at Coy and frowned.

"Why am I not surprised that that little bastard is one of yours too. I take it the raven accompanying him is also yours."

"Oh, so you've met Nevermore. Where is he?"

"Yeah… he's—um—in my glovebox."

"What?"

"Nimrod over there kept letting him into my truck, and he wouldn't shut up. Kept coming up with these shitty limericks. So I put him in my glovebox."

You know what? That was fair.

"Yeah, so Coy and Nevermore are off-limits too. Got it?"

"You lose a zoo or something?"

"More like a menagerie. Now, promise me you'll leave us alone."

"Fine."

"Make it a magic promise."

"You're joking."

"Magic man can't make magic promises?"

He sighed. "Look, I can't promise to leave any of you alone—especially considering your dogs won't leave me alone. But I can promise that I won't harm any of you."

"Alright. Then do it."

Eugene closed his eyes for a moment before speaking: "I swear I won't shoot you or harm your animals in any way."

I felt the magic settle into his words like a thread pulling taut, making them seem more solid. More binding. Like the words had weight.

So that's what it felt like.

Words you couldn't take back. Magic pulling on them like fishhooks.

Made my skin crawl a little, if I was honest.

"Happy now?" Eugene asked, crossing his arms.

"More or less," I replied.

I stood up, taking my weight off him. Eugene started to sit up, but sensing another opportunity to flex a little—and curious to test my strength—I seized him by the lapel with one hand and hauled him to his feet.

Just a little reminder that I could be the real deal if I wanted to. Not that flexing was smart. But damn if it didn't feel good sometimes.

Then I patted him down, shaking the dirt off his jacket—a polite gesture to offset my more hostile behavior.

Couldn't have the detective thinking I was here solely to antagonize him.

Eugene seemed a little taken aback at being hoisted so easily, wobbling as I let go. He placed a hand against his Bronco to keep his balance. In the other he still held the tissue against his nose. Though it seemed the bleeding had stopped.

Maybe a little syncope from standing up too fast. A nosebleed. And maybe from being clocked in the head. Twice.

He was shorter than I expected. Only an inch or two taller than me—when I wasn't hunched.

I looked over at Coy, who was still chewing on the wand.

"Alright, Coy, give our magic man back his wand."

Coy just stared at me, jaw working steadily, and continued chewing.

"Coy. Drop it. Now."

Coy deliberated, his jaw pausing briefly—then resumed gnawing like I hadn't said a damn thing.

"Seems to me you're not as in command as you let on," Eugene said, righting himself and brushing off his sleeves.

"Never said I was. And I wouldn't be in this position if I were."

Eugene flicked his wrist, and a Milk-Bone appeared in his left hand. Coy's ears perked up immediately.

"Do you have a pocket dimension I missed or something? Or, like, a vending machine tuck up your sleeve? Where did you even get those?"

"From Petsmart, actually. The one off Rivers Avenue," said Eugene, holding the bone out to Coy.

"You know that's not what I meant."

"Hear me out. What if I told you it had to do with magic?" he said, deadpan.

Fuck you, Eugene, I thought.

That seemed to put a grin on his face.

It was no wonder Boden and Coy liked him. He probably had all sorts of snacks and toys hidden in that jacket.

The wolf, of course, did not approve. She simmered, watching this stranger influencing her packmates with food.

But I was beginning to think she was just jealous.

"You know that'll only encourage him to play keep-away, right?"

"Not going to be a me-problem much longer, will it?" Eugene said, trading the treat for his wand in a quick toss-and-grab.

After wiping it off on his pant leg, he flicked it. The scattered items I'd tossed around began to float into the air, then zipped toward him, neatly tucking themselves back into his pockets and sleeves.

"Just a detective, he says," I muttered, wishing I could do something like that.

Sure, I could talk to dogs—which was cool and all—but I couldn't make my clothes fold themselves or a house clean itself.

Such magical automation would vastly improve my quality of life.

And he was using it to stuff his pockets with junk.

Pearls before swine, I supposed.

"A man of many talents," Eugene said as the last of his paraphernalia tucked itself away.

"Alright, Mr. Fantasia."

"I like to think of myself as more of a Jedi," Eugene said, tucking the bloody tissue in a pocket, freeing his right hand. He pointed at his gun.

The gun and its components rose up, reassembling themselves—bullets sliding back into the magazine, the magazine locking back into the stock.

Guess one of his talents was showing off.

"Well, they're both Disney powers. I'll give you that." I said, watching the gun fly into his right hand—with apparently more force than intended.

Enough to remind him that his wrist was still broken.

Eugene cursed as pain flashed across his face, fumbling with the weapon. He managed to catch it with his mind magic again, guiding it more gently into his holster.

"Force a little too strong in the one, eh, Obi-Wan?" I prodded.

Eugene gritted his teeth, cradling his injured wrist, and didn't respond. He flicked his wand, and it vanished up his sleeve like everything else.

"My staff, if you would," Eugene said, extending his uninjured hand.

"Oh, right." I glanced down at it, realizing I was still holding it. I tossed it to him.

He caught it gingerly.

"Thanks," he said, inspecting it briefly.

"Alright, now release Nevermore so I can go."

I turned to Coy and Boden.

We're leaving, you two. Time to go home.

I'd assumed that the two of them would, after a moment of hemming and hawing, follow the wolf and me—I their caretaker, and the wolf their packleader.

But neither of them moved.

And it was the wolf who alerted me that something was off.

She noticed that neither Boden nor Coy were paying attention to us.

They were watching Eugene, and Coy's posture had stiffened.

I spun back around to see Eugene pointing his staff at me.

At that moment, the wolf seized control. We leapt at him, her instincts detecting a threat and choosing fight over flight.

But she wasn't fast enough.

"Leviti!" Eugene commanded.

A bright violet flash lit up the space around us.

The wolf and I felt our body slow mid-air until we came to a complete stop. But our feet didn't return to the ground.

We were floating.