The Devil's Day: The Lucky Devil, #3

By Megan Mackie

Remember, you can always find help at the Lucky Devil.

 

Rune Leveau knew that better than anyone. She'd rebuilt her life at the Lucky Devil bar with her Aunt Maddie's help. Now, in her memory, Rune continues that legacy. But when it is time for the Devil to claim his due, Rune could lose it all as she is forced to defend her claim to the House of Magdalene, including the bar.

 

With time ticking away, Rune and her partner, the cyber-spy St. Benedict, hunt for a way to defeat her challenger, the fire Talent, Abraxas. But instead of a way forward, all they discover are more long-hidden secrets about the bar, the House, and Rune's past. But maybe, just maybe, those secrets hold the key needed to save the Lucky Devil.

 

But no matter what, the Devil will have its Day!

• Language: English
• Publisher: 4 Horsemen Publications
• Release date: Feb 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9798823201056

Megan Mackie

Beyond the smashing success of her inaugural, Amazon bestseller, The Finder of the Lucky Devil, Megan Mackie is the author of The Lucky Devil Series (urban fantasy/cyberpunk), the Dead World Series (Post Post Zombie Apocalypse), The Adventures of Pavlov's Dog and Schrodinger's Cat (Mid-grade science fiction) and the Working Mask series (wannabe superhero).Her other work can be found on the Yonder app, where she has published three web novels, Cookbooks and Demons (paranormal demon romance), Star Courier (speculative Firefly-like fiction), and Novantis (steampunk political intrigue with sky pirates-think Bridgerton meets Black Sails). Outside of her own series, she is a contributing writer for the RPGs Legendlore and Legendlore: Legacies by Onyx Path Publishing and Sirens: Battle of the Bards through Apotheosis Studios.When she isn't writing, she likes to play games-board games, puzzle boxes, RPGs, and video games. She lives in Chicago with her husband and children, two dogs, two cats, and her mother in the apartment upstairs. She also has a thing for iconic leather hats.

Book preview

Table of Contents

Acknowledgment

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Epilogue

Book Club Questions

Author Bio

The Devil’s Day

The Lucky Devil Series Book 3

Copyright © 2023 Megan Mackie. All rights reserved.

4 Horsemen Publications, Inc.

1497 Main St. Suite 169

Dunedin, FL 34698

4horsemenpublications.com

[e-mail]

Cover by J. Caleb Clark

Typesetting by Autumn Skye

Edited by Jamie Garner and Jen Paquette

All rights to the work within are reserved to the author and publisher. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 International Copyright Act, without prior written permission except in brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please contact either the Publisher or Author to gain permission.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022947643

Paperback ISBN-13: 979-8-8232-0106-3

Hardcover ISBN-13: 978-1-64450-725-4

Audiobook ISBN-13: 979-8-8232-0104-9

Ebook ISBN-13: 979-8-8232-0105-6

To my uncle Andy, the original Lucky Devil

Acknowledgment

Thank you first and foremost to my mother, Connie, for my entire life in general and for proofreading my book three times spe cifically.

Thank you to Jamie, my editor, who always has my back.

Thank you to Caleb for being the standard of talented professionalism.

Thank you to my husband and friend, Paul, for supporting me unwaveringly. I love you with all my heart. Thank you to Byron and Alaina for keeping me motivated.

Prologue

Y ou can’t do this! Alf roared. He had never raised his voice to Maddie before in his life. The shock of it reverberated through the bar, so much so that even the kitschy devils on the wall of the bar seemed uncom fortable.

Maddie didn’t flinch, however. Instead, she stared him down, stone-faced. The loan officer sitting across from her in the booth looked back and forth between the two, shifting just as uncomfortably in his seat as the demons did on their perches. Not that he seemed to notice them moving.

Getting no further response from his mistress, Alf turned to glare at the lanky man standing behind her. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, meeting the bar manager’s eyes, but also giving him nothing to work with.

And you approve of this? Alf challenged the man with his perfect Hollywood-movie-star proportions.

It’s her bar. I have nothing to do with this decision, the handsome man answered, using a thumb to push back his Homburg hat from his forehead, revealing curly hair.

You’re supposed to be her husband, Alf snarled.

That’s enough, Maddie snapped, which sounded wrong from her. She never snapped. The sweet, grandmotherly face, framed by white waves of hair, was always smiles and warmth and understanding. The retainer flinched, unable to recall a time she had even been mildly annoyed.

We can do this another time if you would like to discuss… the loan officer attempted as he moved to stand, but Maddie raised a hand for him to stay put.

I’ve made my decision. There is nothing more to discuss. Please, have a seat, she invited. The loan officer found he had no choice but to comply.

You can’t do this, Alf repeated. This is our House!

It’s just a place, Maddie replied as she focused on the paperwork in front of her, wielding her pen as she searched for the line she was supposed to sign.

It’s more than just a place! Alf slammed his small, beefy hand on the table, covering the mortgage papers, which was quite a feat when his head just cleared the height of the table. Why are you doing this?

Maddie sat back again and took a breath.

Seeing a small opening, Alf pressed on. If you need the money, I can get the money. Somehow. I’ll do whatever it takes.

There isn’t time, Maddie said, levelly. We don’t know where she is or what they’ve done to her.

Her who? Alf demanded desperately.

Maddie pressed her lips together. She’s a girl, barely a woman. And that’s all you need to know.

"For a girl? This is all for a girl? You would exchange a Wizard’s House for a girl? Alf shook his head. He knew everything there was to know about Maddie. He knew how old she truly was. Despite her grandmotherly appearance, he had also seen her with a young face and achingly beautiful, but always wise. Why was she doing this? Who is this girl? I don’t understand."

This is really none of your business, little man, the lanky man said, moving forward to intercede, grabbing the bar manager’s shoulder. Heat burned through Alf’s thick shirt from where the lanky man touched him, but he didn’t dare give Maddie’s husband the satisfaction of flinching.

Lucas, Maddie said more gently, laying her own hand on her husband’s unnaturally hot arm. A tense second later, Lucas released Alf’s shoulder. The fabric there had turned black in the perfect shape of his fingers and palm. He moved back to his position behind Maddie, leaning against the wall after readjusting his wings. The loan officer did a double-take, but they disappeared again before he would have gotten a sure look at them, the cosmic microfiber of the feathers blending them away into the fabric of the universe.

Alf, Maddie said, stretching out her hand to grip his still clenched one. Her gaze met his with a more familiar, calm understanding. I do not need your acceptance or your approval, and I will do this without either of them. You serve this House…

I serve you, Alf declared, cutting her off.

Then do as you are told and step back. You aren’t the only person who serves me, and you are not the only person I care about.

"I am sworn to protect you, even if it is from yourself. Which is what you should be doing!" He shot an accusatory finger at Lucas, who didn’t move a muscle. He only glowered back.

Alf, no matter how much you wish it, I will never choose you, Maddie said with deadly quiet, her tired, wrinkled face withering a little with the weighty sorrow of being forced to say what all three knew to be true.

Alf thought he was going to crumble right there, his heart openly bleeding before the only woman he had ever loved. No other held a piece of his heart, not even his ex-wife. But what conviction did he have as her retainer if he folded now? She didn’t mean that. She was only saying it because … he wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. There was too much at stake.

Picking up her pen again, Maddie shook her head. It’s just a place. Like any other.

How can you say that? It holds… He eyed the loan officer. Magic.

The loan officer cleared his throat. I assure you, we have taken the whole value of the asset into consideration before making our very generous offer—

You can’t risk everything like this!

Alf, you are dismissed from my service.

A cold shock washed down Alf’s body as the magic that linked him to Maddie dissolved with such simplistic words. If she had struck him with her fist, it would have hurt less.

No, he choked out, unable to believe what was happening. Behind her, Lucas smirked. You can’t…

I sign here? Maddie asked the loan officer, who still held on by the tiniest thread of professionalism.

Uh, yes. Here and here. Are you sure you don’t want a co-signer? That earned him a pair of black, unamused looks from the two most powerful beings he had probably ever encountered. Sorry, it is company policy to… uh, ask, with big transactions like this…

This is all on my head, Maddie said with such understanding that the loan officer blushed with shame.

He flipped the next page and pointed to another set of lines. Here and here.

No mere girl is worth this!

She signed, and Alf hit his knees beside her. She ignored him and continued signing away their past and their future. For what? Money? For some unnamed girl who had gotten herself in trouble? Maddie had always done everything possible to save others when she could, but this… this was going too far.

You’re exchanging a priceless wonder for quick cash?! Alf barely realized that tears streamed down his face.

Are we done? Maddie asked the loan officer, ignoring Alf on the floor.

Uh, not quite, the loan officer said, diving into his briefcase to pull out his OmniSin reader and connecting it to his chunky laptop. Um, place your card in here, and I will enact the transfer of the funds directly to your OmniSin. You’ll be able to access them within the hour.

Good. Do it, Maddie said, slipping a thick grey plastic card from a pouch sitting next to her. She pushed it into the reader and a small light on the side lit up green. The loan officer hit some more buttons on his keyboard and there was a merry little ding as the light turned blue.

You may remove your OmniSin now, the loan officer informed her, then stretched out a hand to shake. It was a pleasure doing business with you, he said with rote cheerfulness.

Maddie obliged him before removing her card from the reader to slip back into her bag. Thank you very much. Now I don’t mean to be rude, but I do need to open in a half an hour, and I have to reinstate a good many magical charms before then.

I’m sorry? The loan officer shifted in his seat, confused.

We’re a magical establishment, Lucas said, pushing off the wall, heading behind the bar as he spoke. She had to turn off a lot of very important charms in this place to keep from blowing up your little tech box there. So if you don’t want to lose it, I suggest shutting it down quickly.

The loan officer jumped at that, then started initiating shut down procedures with a few taps. Yes… yes, indeed, I see, he muttered.

Standing up, Maddie looked down again on her former retainer, still kneeling beside her. For a moment, he thought she was going to say something to him, but then her feet began to move away.

I, Alfonso fitzMagdalene, Steward of the House of the Magdalene, do acknowledge the Magdalene as my Lady and Mistress, he said too quickly. Instantly, he could feel the magic reverberate between them, binding his mind, body, and soul to Maddie. Her steps faltered as it hit her.

She leaned against the booth, her hand on her chest, breathing heavily from the shock of the magic she had been unprepared to receive.

Are… are you alright? the loan officer asked, stopped midway from exiting with his briefcase in hand and computer bag sloppily hung across his shoulders.

She’s fine. You should leave now, Lucas ordered, startling him into action. While Lucas chased him out, Maddie finally met Alf’s heated gaze.

I said you were dismissed, she repeated, and the magic began to dissipate.

Before it was completely gone, Alf said again in a rush, I, Alfonso fitzMagdalene, Steward of the House of the Magdalene, do acknowledge the Magdalene as my Lady and Mistress.

Alf…

I, Alfonso fitzMagdalene, Steward of the House of the Magdalene…

I do not need a retainer who…

"… do acknowledge the Magdalene as my Lady and Mistress—and yes, you do. Janowski is finally officially leaving soon. I will be the last retainer, and without me, you renounce your claim to this House."

She still has me, Lucas interjected, having cleared the bar of any other intrusion. Alf could feel the darker thrum of magic coming from the doorway. Lucas had locked it down so no one else could enter, probably until Maddie and Alf had resolved their confrontation.

You, Alf scoffed. You’re no retainer. You’re just another…

"I said that’s enough! Silence!" Maddie ordered. Alf felt his bond with Maddie compel him to silence. It was very rare she ever used the retainer bond to do such a thing, but in that moment, he was beyond grateful for the proof that the link was still there.

Maddie passed a weary hand over her face. If I dismiss you again, you’ll just repeat the vow?

Alf didn’t nod or acknowledge her question. He didn’t have to. His determination was written all over his face.

Maddie sighed and then stepped forward to crouch down to be equal with Alf. He didn’t dare breathe.

I dismiss you from my service, she repeated with measured tones. The magic dissipated, and Alf could feel his will to speak return. But he didn’t. In a contest of wills, he knew he was no match for Maddie. In that moment, he realized how foolish he had truly been to try. But before his spirit could shatter in defeat, she saved him again, like she had so many times before.

Now swear to serve this House and not just to me.

Alf’s eyes went wide. I serve you, he insisted, only for her to press her fingers to his lips.

Swear to me to serve the House. Swear to me that you will defend it, no matter what should happen to me.

He wanted to insist he would never let anything happen to her, his life, his light, yet her eyes compelled him. Her beautiful will. Some part of him intuitively understood what she was asking of him, even if his mind couldn’t form the thought.

I, Alfonso fitzMagdalene, Steward of the House of the Magdalene, do swear to protect… he licked his lips, …this House until the day of my death. I will protect it for my Lady.

Maddie smiled and nodded. He didn’t dare get off the floor, even as she stood up. Thank you, Alf.

Come on, her husband said, sliding up beside her. We need to finish getting ready for Devil’s Day.

And then, like a dream, she was gone.

Chapter 1

Seven Years Later…

T he woman entering the bar looked unsure. It was an older establishment, the wood bar worn smooth on the edges by many hands. Yet, it gleamed with care and wood oil. Kitsch covered the walls, mostly going along with the devil theme the bar took its name from. Sightless eyes from many shapes and cultures of devils stared out into the nearly empty space, giving the woman the shivers all the same.

Are you talking to me?

Asked the four-armed bartender, one of only two occupants in the place. He looked up from drying glasses out of a tray next to him on the bar, before offering her a smile.

She’s going to hear you, Liam said softly, trying not to laugh, before turning to the woman just as described. Come in. The Lounge just opened for lunch, he said, waving her in with one hand as his lower pair selected another glass from the tray to dry.

Her mouth dropped open, looking him up and down with judgment and not the good kind. It was downright comical.

‘Liam, I don’t think she’s been here before,’ the second, or maybe it was now third, occupant in the room mocked quietly. It was obvious she was out of place, a hominal in a place of magic, but then, so was he—

Liam set aside his glass to gather up a menu from a sloppy stack near the second man before answering him dryly, revealing a small turquoise fae that had been hiding under the menus. Thanks for the voice over, Benedict.

"‘Saint Benedict,’ the second man corrected automatically before lifting his glass to drink the dregs still chilling on the melting ice." The Saint then did exactly as he described.

I’ll get you another drink when I get back, the shiva grunted.

You’re a lush, the little turquoise fae pronounced, standing up to drag the paperback, which was a size and a half larger than themselves, to the edge of the counter.

Need a hand, Tai? the Saint offered.

Yeah, can you put me and my book on the floor? I need to find somewhere else to read. You’re too noisy.

Gently, the Saint assisted, setting the book and fae on the ground, who dragged their book off into the next room.

Leaning on the corner of the far end of the bar, the now solitary Saint tucked his head into his arms as if to sleep. Instead, St. Benedict continued to narrate. The mysterious man hid his head to watch the woman as she waited for the unusual bartender to approach her.

Liam shot St. Benedict a look, and the Saint decided the noir narration joke had gone long enough. Still, he continued to observe the interesting hominal woman deal with what was clearly her first non-hominal encounter.

Have you been here before? Liam asked because it was polite, returning her attention to him. His voice held a strained undercurrent now.

The woman shook her head, offering a weak smile before finding her own voice. Uh, no. No, I haven’t.

Well, as you can see, the place is open … so would you like a table or to sit at the bar?

Um, what about there? she asked, pointing a manicured finger at the only booth in the room.

Yeah, sure, the shiva said and led her to Lucky Devil’s booth.

It was a relic transported out of an old-timey diner. The seats were covered in sparkly red vinyl with a black table topped in Plexiglas nestled between. Already there, facing the door, was the Lucky Devil himself. Crafted out of the fiberglass used for carousel horses, the Lucky Devil smiled at everyone who came into his establishment. He was so well-crafted, in fact, that the smile and eyes seemed to follow patrons from the door all the way to the side of his table and even when they sat down across from him. He wore a mustard-colored zoot suit that contrasted with his tabasco-red skin, the whole look complete with a jaunty hat tipped off-center on his head to reveal one discrete horn curling around the brim from a thick mane of black, vinyl hair. If one looked under the table, they would also spot the hooves poking out from the pant leg where the devil’s ankle crossed over one knee. As for his arms, he had one thrown over the back of the booth for those tourists that wanted to sidle up beside him for a photo opp. The other one gripped a low-ball glass.

The woman undid the buttons of her winter coat so she could sit down opposite the fake devil, placing herself squarely in front of the menu the bartender had set there. She then eyed the tiny bucket that held scraps of paper along with bits of pencil sitting at the end of the table next to the napkin dispenser and the fully stocked condiment caddy as if they were all suspect.

Can I get you anything to drink? Liam asked. It was obvious she was trying not to stare at his extra arms, but she was failing miserably.

A shot of bourbon, she said, more to his chest than his face.

Any appetizers?

Uh, gimme a minute. That ended the encounter, and the woman blew out a breath as soon as the bartender was far enough away to not be immediately aware of it or offended. The woman stared at the Lucky Devil as if she was debating something with herself. Then, like a million patrons before her—including Saint Benedict himself—looked down at the instruction sheet slipped under the Plexiglas of the table.

The instructions were simple enough.

Fingering the scrap of paper in her pocket, the woman stared at an old vintage cigarette vending machine complete with pull stops behind the Lucky Devil, displaying coins of various sizes and types. It took so much of her nervous courage simply to leave the booth to look at it. She glanced back at the bar, relaxing the tiniest bit when she didn’t see the bartender anywhere. Her eyes passed over St. Benedict, though he wasn’t doing anything much to be noticed. Prejudices are funny, considering he was a bigger threat to anyone on any given day, far more than Liam.

Stiffening her jaw, she slid her OmniSin into the modern slot and pulled out the memo note from her pocket to study. She grabbed the first stopper with too much force and began to pull the secret sequence according to the instructions. There was a click and whirl inside the machine as the lights over the other coin slots went out. A single green light blinked on with a small clicking sound as a secret compartment slid open. The woman’s eyes rounded at the sight of the small, carved jade coin resting on a dark-red velveteen pedestal.

Furtively, she looked over her rapidly rising and falling shoulders.

St. Benedict held his own breath, keeping still, peeking under his arm.

Nothing and no one else moved.

Licking her lips, she snatched up the coin, pressing it against her chest so hard it was like she was trying to push it into her heart. The machine returned to normal, even if the woman’s breathing did not. She started back to the table, then reversed to retrieve her payment card out of the machine.

She dithered so much he found it tedious to watch her.

Following another review of the instructions, she drew one of the pieces of scrap paper and a tiny pencil toward herself. Once she was satisfied with her note, she folded it up and slipped it into the statue’s front jacket pocket. Finally, she pursed her lips firmly together and let the coin drop into the Devil’s glass, plinking sharply.

Instantly, the statue came to life. Its eyes glowed as the sound of a pre-recorded laugh echoed out of the working jaw. In stiff, coordinated movements, he lifted the glass to his insensate lips, pouring the jade coin into his mouth. As he laughed again, a burst of smoke rose from his sleeves and jacket collar, then the statue returned to its original position, going still.

The woman stared at the devil for a full minute. Nothing more happened.

She screeched as Liam set the shot of bourbon she’d ordered down in front of her. Flailing her hands, she knocked it over and across the table, splashing the shiva bartender.

Oh, my God. I am so sorry, she said as she covered her mouth with her fingers, her eyes wide as she surveyed the damage.

It’s alright, the bartender said graciously, slapping at his pants with the spare towel he was carrying. I didn’t mean to startle you.

I will pay for that. I am so sorry, she assured, attempting to take the towel from him to try to clean herself up, but he slipped it out of her grasp easily enough.

No, no, it’s fine. I’ll bring you another one; no worries. On me.

He picked up the knocked-over glass and headed back into the other room, leaving her alone again with the Lucky Devil.

This time, she leaned forward to look into the devil’s pocket before jumping back with eyes wide.

It’s gone, isn’t it? St. Benedict asked, from where he still sat at the bar.

She jumped again before meeting his gaze, as if only then seeing him for the first time. He used his fist to prop up his groggy head.

Oh. Yes… she started to say, but the front door opened, and a gaggle of five people entered on a wave of laughter, talking at the top of their lungs. Like some spell had been broken, more people tumbled in from the other room, and Liam, with a hominal-looking waitress in tow, began to tackle the lunch crowd, the woman’s bourbon apparently forgotten.

Feeling magnanimous, St. Benedict interceded, reaching over the bar to snatch a bottle and a pair of glasses before coming over to the booth. He easily slid into the seat next to the Lucky Devil, seeming like the disheveled, down-on-his-luck younger cousin of the creature made of red and yellow-brown.

Have you decided what you want for lunch? Last chance if you want to get your order in before the crowd, the four-armed bartender asked belatedly, even as he exchanged an acknowledging glance with St. Benedict. Liam had enough on his plate, so it was no trouble to pour the freaked-out woman a drink. The Saint’s own tab was prepaid up at least months ahead anyway, so he could add it to that if there was a problem.

I’ll have the bacon avocado sandwich, the woman said, reading off the first thing on the loose sheet of lunch specials.

Sounds good, Liam nodded, then turned. And how about you, St. Ben?

Still fine, thanks. Then he took a swallow from his glass and regarded the woman. Sorry. I should have asked first. Do you mind if I sit?

Uh, sure, she said, sounding anything but. What was she going to say? It was too late anyway, and she didn’t seem to appreciate the subtlety of his humor.

She kept staring between the statue and himself. I’m not the devil, if that’s what you’re wondering, he supplied good-naturedly. We both just happen to like hats.

She hesitated as she struggled to say what she was thinking, though her darting eyes said it all. Are you…?

I’m guessing you are looking for some help? he asked smoothly, flashing his award-winning smile. She almost returned it, looking down involuntarily in a way that gave her a cute, shy-girl appeal.

Yes. I… I was told this was a place where someone could find help they can’t get anywhere else. For a price, of course, she looked up through her eyelashes. Okay, this was someone who used looks and appeal to get an advantage. Guess he couldn’t fault her for trying?

Oh, and now he had a wicked idea.

It is, he reassured.

She lifted her head higher, and for the first time, the light of hope sparkled in her gaze. Who are you? she asked in hushed awe.

Someone who can help you, her table companion said, pouring himself another generous drink from the bottle.

She furrowed her eyebrows at that. "Yeah, but who are you?"

He clinked his drink with Lucky Devil’s glass, poignantly smirking at her.

Her eyes grew wider. But—you said you weren’t the Devil…

Let’s call me, his grinned deepened, the Saint of Liars. He raised his glass to his lips. If you need help, I’m willing to hear you out.

This would be fun. What else did he have to do today?

The woman picked up her drink, obviously buying herself some more time to think on his offer, downing her portion in one practiced go. He picked up the bottle to refill it.

I’ve been watching you since you came in. You have that look of desperation and determination.

I’m not desperate… she started, but he cut her off.

It’s all right. It’s a good thing. He took another sip. The desperation means you’re willing to open your mind to new solutions. The determination means you’ll have the strength to see them through. He saluted her with his glass. You’re my kind of client.

The compliment worked. Her tense shoulders dropped a little with relief. Sometimes all people needed was a sympathetic ear. And he had a good guess what was wrong.

Someone’s bothering you at your job, he said confidently.

Her eyes rounded.

How did you know?

He chuckled. There was no way he was going to tell her the truth. She already believed in magic, so he let her assumptions carry their weight.

How do you think? You came here for help; I’m not going to disappoint you.

She leaned forward eagerly and proceeded to spill her whole story, barely breathing or talking above a library tone as she did so.

It was exactly what he expected. A young, talented woman, making her way up the corporate ladder, only to be stopped by someone powerful enough to think they could get away with a little casual sexual harassment. To her credit, the woman had tried to solve her own problem more than the average corporate worker typically did. But following the dictates of the corporate rules, filing a complaint with her HR, attempting arbitration, and engaging a lawyer only forced her company to take action. Against her.

I had to say I was filing a false report, pay a fine, and formally apologize or lose my job.

They didn’t put a black mark on your file? he asked.

It was part of the deal that they wouldn’t. She looked guilty, and for a moment, he had a real pang of sympathy for her. I would be completely unhireable. I did what I had to do.

And why don’t you find another job now? he asked, as her lunch appeared. He ignored the look Liam gave him.

I can’t, she said, her expression souring at the question. I have a non-compete agreement, and since the company funded several trainings for me, I would have to pay those back if I leave the company now. It’ll be three years before I’m allowed to leave without that fine too, and that’s if they don’t require me to do more trainings.

How long is your non-compete agreement?

Five years, she admitted. And the trainings were at least five hundred thousand dollars each. I’m living month-to-month right now, and I’m already up to my eyeballs in debt.

Everyone was. It was the price of even being a part of the corporate system. Corporate serfdom, really. Mortgaging your future is the only way to attain financial freedom was the lie everybody was fed.

So, who do you work for? You haven’t actually said.

She did that checking-over-her-shoulder thing again, as if anyone would be spying on her in this bar. Kodiak, she whispered.

His smile turned brittle. Of course you do.

She narrowed her eyes at him. Why? What’s wrong with that?

I think you just got through telling me what was wrong with that. So… He straightened in his seat, slapping the table hard enough to make some liquid jump out of his glass. Settling back, he draped an arm over the top of the booth, becoming an exact mirror of the statue beside him. How much are you willing to do to get out of your situation?

The woman, rightly, eyed him. I guess whatever I have to do. I mean… whatever it would take… if I can.

Beg, steal, lie… his eyes crinkled wickedly as his voice resonated low, murder?

She swallowed. Murder?

He chuckled. No, actually. I don’t think murder is required to get this done. Maybe just the other three. He opened his palm to the woman. Giving me your OmniSin will do for now.

Why do you want that? she asked, recoiling a bit.

He shook his head. No questions. If you want help, then you can’t ask me any questions. Only do what I say when I say, and this will be fine. Then he tapped his ear. The less I say out loud…

Her eyes went wide again. Damn, this was too easy. But… how much…?

Nothing, he replied quickly, rolling his fingers in a magician’s flourish. If you give me your OmniSin.

Still, she hesitated.

All you’ll owe me is a big favor to be named later. Or you can leave right now. It doesn’t really matter to me either way.

He could count on one hand how many seconds it took her to dither. She gave up the card.

Good, he said, slipping it into one of the secret inner pockets in his coat, designed to hold spy tools of the trade. I’ll contact you soon. Go home. Take a bubble bath, watch some TV. Try to do something nice for yourself. He started to get up.

Wait! she said belatedly, putting up her hand to stop him as he rose. Don’t I need that? I mean, that’s my ID and everything.

Do without it for now. Don’t worry. I’ll get you a cab, and dinner is on me, he answered as if it was that simple. Then he slipped a hundred-dollar bill out of his pocket and pressed it into her hand. Thank God, cash was still in circulation, despite the rumors a decade ago the credit system would make it obsolete. He knew what he was asking her to do, but it was necessary.

But I…

People lose their OmniSins all the time. The world still functions without them. Just wait until the day after tomorrow to report it missing. I’ll have done what I need to with it by then, he said as he walked away from the table, leaving the woman sitting there stunned, unsure of what had just happened.

***

"What happened?" Rune cried as she entered the flower shop. The large troll lay sprawled out in the middle of the room, rubbing the crown of his head.

Nothing, I am just being stupid, Christopher responded as he shoved a box off himself from the stack that had fallen.

Are you okay? she asked, rushing forward to try to help, letting the front door shut with a clatter of chimes. Dressed in a long winter coat, Rune wasn’t much help to her friend as the lower part of said coat started to topple another awkward stack of collapsing cardboard that she had to catch instead.

No, I’m not alright, but it’s not because of the boxes. The troll straightened in time to fail to stop the torn box from losing the myriad of papers within. Instead, they went everywhere across the floor. Christopher growled.

Rune surveyed the showroom. There were dozens of things occupying what should have been flower-covered spaces. Instead of blooms, there were dusty boxes of paper mixed with a cornucopia of supplies, everything from new shears to plant tape to holiday decorations. How long was your grandfather in business? she asked.

I wish I knew. He never gave me the same date twice, and I never cared enough to go look it up in the Magic Guild Business Bureau records. Now I’m going to have to. That turd of an accountant ‘took care’ of everything else.

She couldn’t blame Christopher for being sour. From what the florist told her on the phone, the man who had been his accountant, before being arrested for embezzlement and malpractice, had screwed up the shop’s paperwork. It was looking more and more like he had been fleecing Old Morris, Christopher’s grandfather, for going on a decade.

The young troll straightened himself, retucking his neat, over-sized dress shirt into his fine, grey pants before readjusting the dark green florist apron back into place.

Well, I’m here to help. Where do you want to start? she asked, trying to sound cheerful.

Christopher stared into space, rubbing one of the tusks coming out of his lower jaw in a nervous gesture. He’s only been gone two weeks… he started to say. Rune knew what her friend meant.

In her own mind, Morris, the old troll, still sat at the front counter of the floral shop, waiting to take phone or com crystal orders while supervising his other two employees—one of whom was his grandson—who never cut the flowers right. Not that Old Morris had done much better any more since his hands had become too arthritic for even healing crystals to help. They could stop the pain, but not restore the strength he needed to snap shut a pair of shears.

Now, he’d never work with flowers again.

His office is in the back. There’s more of this mess there, too. I thought if I brought it out here, it might make things easier. Sighing, Christopher restacked the boxes of paper, surveying the jungle of stuff in the small room. I kept thinking, one of these weeks, when we were really slow, we would sort and clean out all of this mess.

Yeah, but… Rune drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Wouldn’t your grandfather have put something as important as his will in a safer place? Like a bank box or even under his bed?

I already looked under his bed and between the mattresses and through his nightstand. You don’t want to know what I found there. Despite his warning tone, a simple, sad smile crossed the florist’s face. Rune knew, without knowing exactly, what his grandfather had hidden up there, and there was something sweetly mortal about the idea. And you are right; he did have a safe deposit box. It had a will in it, but he said that he wrote up a more recent one, leaving the shop to me.

Who did he leave it to in his old one? Rune asked, moving further into the earthy smelling office.

My mother, Christopher said bitterly. Rune winced.

Okay, then. Never fear, the Finder is here. Let’s find your grandfather’s corrected will and get this sorted out. Though, to be honest, I feel a little bad charging you for this service.

Don’t be. It’s only right that I pay you. Though I have to say, I am shocked that it turned out to be you. When I went to the Lucky Devil looking for help… I don’t know what I expected, but I never thought it was going to be you.

Yeah. I’m still kind of in the closet about being a Talent and everything, Rune said, sheepishly.

Isn’t that illegal? Christopher asked, sitting down in a worn office chair that squeaked under his larger weight. To be unregistered and practicing?

Part of the reason the closet is still so nice, Rune replied. I have some people trying to help me work it out.

I don’t blame him for leaving it to her, Christopher said, abruptly returning to the previous conversation. Rune didn’t mind. Christopher was one of those genius types who carried on three conversations with the same person simultaneously. Each subject just rotated in his head and it was best if the listener learned to go with it. He technically should’ve been working for SpaceX or something, but after acquiring three masters and being most of the way to his Ph.D., he quit, burned out by the backstabbing politics of the academic world. And he had always liked flowers.

There’s still more in the office, Christopher said, moving toward the back. She followed.

He wrote the original will fifteen years ago when grandma was still alive, and she made him follow through on doing things the ‘correct way,’ he continued.

Passing into the office, the mess was worse than what Christopher had already dragged out. Nodding, Rune spun slowly about in the room, surveying everything. She agreed that there had to be at least fifteen years of stuff here. Some of it even useable, such as the unopened packs of plastic cups and paper napkins with the advertising from five years ago all over it. With the loss of his wife, Old Morris must have reverted into being a hoarder.

She never knew Ms. Amarantos, though Old Morris had talked of her often enough with Rune’s great aunt Maddie that in some ways Rune felt she had. Now, with Old Morris’s passing, she felt that she had