Chapter 15

Now this was something new to me. It was the food court, but different. The geography was the same, but most of the people were gone. Most of the trucks were still there, but subtly changed, either in shade or shape or name. The same sun shone in the same blue sky, but it was as if the air refracted it differently now, tinting the shadows purple and violet. The NomNom van had been renamed MonMon. Just MonMon, tragically with no waffles. Its pale chartreuse paint job was vaguely nauseating. The counter window was on the opposite side of the truck as well.

I had so many questions. How long had this been going on? Did SPAM know about it? If it was some kind of dimensional pocket, had it been created, or was it natural? As I had so many times, I wondered about the difference between magic and powers. Was there even a difference, and if there was, was it an actual difference or more a matter of semantics? Dash was checking out the area, looking around at the people and the trucks. He turned back to me. “I figured we’d start at MonMon, where Serena said she got the necklace. Can you pull it out?”

I got the necklace out and handed it to Dash. “Is it okay if I take pictures here?”

Dash frowned. “I have no idea. I’ve never tried. Does your phone even work?”

“Let’s find out.” I pulled the phone out of my pocket. It was still powered up but had no signal. I pointed it at MonMon and took a test picture. “Looks good to me.” When I showed it to Dash, he shrugged. “I guess until someone stops us, take pictures.”

I snapped quickly, unsure if anyone would stop me. A few of the people had noticed us. No one approached us, but I could feel the ripple of interest spreading out. I moved closer to Dash. “Is the market dangerous?”

“Never has been for me. Why? Do you feel something?”

I shrugged. “Not sure. Is there any security?”

“Not that I ever noticed. Let’s go ask about the necklace.”

As we approached the window, a woman popped up like she’d been squatting on the floor below it. Her chin barely reached over the counter. “Crazy Eight. Long time no see.”

Dash reached through the window and shook her hand. “Long time, Wanda. How are you doing?”

Wanda’s skin had a yellowish tint to it. She was almost as wide as she was tall, and her frizzy red hair added at least six inches to her height. She was as close to a living Troll doll as a person could be. Hell, for all I knew, she was a troll.

“Doing okay. Can’t complain. Surprised to see you here, though.” Her voice was deep and gravelly.

“Why?” he asked.

She shrugged, a rolling movement that made her hair wobble. “How can I help you today?”

He held out his hand and let the pendant drag the chain down. “I have a client. She got herself into a bit of trouble with a necklace she said she bought here.”

“That the one?” When he nodded, she reached for it, and then stopped herself. “May I?”

Dash looked at me. We had no way of knowing if it would affect her. This was all new to me, so I passed the buck. “Your call.”

“Okay.” Dash let the necklace fall to her palm. “Careful with it, though. It’s powered and we’re not sure how it works.”

She grunted, turned the pendant back and forth in her hand, and then held it up at arm’s length. Then she bit it. She held it up to her ear as if she was listening to it. “When did she say she got it?”

“About a week, ten days ago.”

Wanda snorted. She disappeared below the counter, and we could hear her rummaging around for something.

The back of my neck started to itch. I could feel the eyes on me. Feigning nonchalance, I turned, resting my elbows on the counter and putting my back to the truck. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dash look over his shoulder.

A small crowd had formed behind us. An idea came to me. It was probably a bad one, but oh, well. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, held it up, and made a show of taking pictures.

Most of the crowd seemed curious rather than threatening, but I’d take the pictures back to SPAM, run a little facial recognition, or maybe do some investigating myself. See if anything popped up.

Dash met my eyes when I turned back, but said nothing. Wanda popped back up with a small brown glass vial. She pulled out the stopper and squeezed two drops onto the necklace. The clear liquid sizzled when it hit and sent up a short-lived burst of purple glitter.

Wanda harrumphed. “Well, it’s something alright. Not too strong, though. Doesn’t feel dangerous.” She handed the necklace back to Dash. “But I’ve never seen it before.”

“You’re sure?”

“It’s a pretty distinctive pendant. I’d remember if I’d seen it.”

Dash shrugged and handed it to me. “Well, thanks, Wanda. It was worth a shot.”

With more grace than I would have expected, she climbed up on a tall bar chair. “What was it used for?”

“Attempted murder,” I said, feeling antsy for some reason.

“And you are?”

Dash answered. “Sorry. Wanda Weeks, Special Agent Harlan Dean, with SPAM. Harlan, Wanda Weeks. Owner of the MonMon and keeper of all knowledge.”

She rolled her eyes. “Save it.”

“Wanda, we’re trying to find who sold this to the woman. He’s the person of interest. He or she, I should say. The seller may have had some type of illusion or look-away spell on them.”

“I’m sorry. I have never seen it before.”

“Would you mind asking around, Wanda?” Dash asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t like stirring things up, you know. People are kinda jumpy as is. You still have that Magic 8-Ball?”

“Yes.”

“D’you have it with you now?” Wanda seemed very invested in the answer.

Dash shook his head. “Nah. I’m not even sure where it is, to tell you the truth.”

Interesting. I knew it was in his bag.

“Like you’d know the truth if it bit you on the ass, 8-Ball.” A tall, thin man with dark skin and light eyes said as he sauntered over to us. He wore an L.A. Dodgers baseball shirt, faded jeans, and rubber sandals. Each of his wrists sported at least a dozen braided yarn bracelets in all combinations of colors. The ones closest to his hands looked dirty and faded, barely hanging together.

Dash turned and crossed his arms over his chest, expression blank. “Gael. Still alive? Too bad.”

The guy, Gael, grinned, displaying a smile that showed he had too many teeth to be anywhere in the vicinity of genuine.

“Time for my break,” Wanda said from behind me and then closed the shutters over her service window. I’d completely forgotten she was there.

“Who’s your friend, Dashiell?” Gael asked.

“None of your business.”

I got the feeling Dash didn’t like this guy.

Gael’s grin dimmed. “I don’t much like your manners, Dash.”

Dash snorted and shook his head sadly. “Don’t blame you. I don’t like them myself. My mother despairs over them regularly.”

Gael pulled a hand-rolled cigarette out from behind his ear. “Do either of you have a light?”

“No. If I did, I’d use it to set you on fire.”

Gael laughed. “Now, that’s no way to treat a friend.”

“I don’t treat my friends this way.”

Gael pulled a plastic Bic lighter from his pocket and lit his cigarette. The tip glowed red, and he took a deep pull on it and exhaled a stream of smoke in our direction.

The scent was unexpectedly pleasant, somehow reminiscent of a campfire burning under a crisp, clear mountain sky. I had a brief flash of a camping trip Dash and I had taken to the Canadian Rockies years ago.

Dash waved the smoke away. “Bye, Gael. It wasn’t nice seeing you. Let’s not do it again.” He touched my arm and gestured with his chin for me to leave.

“Wait.” Gael grabbed Dash by the wrist before we could take a step. “What have we here?” He was looking at the necklace Dash was in the process of shoving in his pocket. “Well, well.”

Dash and I shared a silent exchange. I raised an eyebrow. He might know something.

Dash frowned. “He’s a dick.”

I acknowledged that with a tilt of my head and a small shrug. “Your call, but someone is trying to kill me.”

“Fine. But I don’t like it.” He sighed and yanked his arm away from Gael. He lifted his hand and let the necklace dangle from his fingers. “You recognize this.”

Gael gave a genuine smile and reached for it. He stopped before he touched it. “May I?”

“No.” Dash’s fingers tightened on the chain.

“Dash.” It was obvious he didn’t trust Gael, but we needed all the information we could get.

He shook his head. “You’re killing me.” He looked at Gael. “I’m not giving this to you. I’m letting you hold it for thirty seconds to examine it. You’ll tell me what you know about it, and then you’ll return it to me of your own free will, unchanged. Deal?”

Irritation flashed across the man’s face. “But it’s my necklace.”

Holy shit. This might be a genuine lead. “Do you know how it came into possession of one of my agents?”

Gael took a breath, and Dash pointed a finger at him. “Don’t answer that!” He shot me a look. “Harlan, let me do the talking.”

Fine with me. It was clear there were things I didn’t know about this blackish fairy-adjacent market. A chill ran down my spine. As an investigator, my job was to weave a story from a collection of facts, educated conjecture, and my impressions of the situation. The picture forming in my head at the moment was not one I was ready to consider. Magic or powers? Either way, I was out of my depth.

Dash turned to face Gael. “Do we have a deal, Gael? I let you examine the necklace for thirty consecutive seconds while you tell me what you know about it. After the thirty seconds, you’ll return it to me, undamaged, with no conditions attached.”

Amusement danced in Gael’s eyes, and he grinned at Dash. “What do I get in return?”

Dash was stone-faced. “If it is really yours, I’ll get it back to you as soon as it’s not evidence in an attempted murder case. How’s that?”

An orange spark flared in Gael’s eyes. “Ooh, murder. That’s the first interesting thing you’ve said since, well, since I’ve known you.”

How long was that, I wondered?

Dash gritted his teeth. I could see him weighing his urge to leave just to annoy Gael against our need for information. “Do. We. Have. A. Deal?”

Gael smiled and patted Dash’s shoulder condescendingly. “Yes, yes, Dashiell Bucur. I agree to your terms. And more than that, I promise no lies and no tricks. Is that acceptable?”

Surprise showed on Dash’s face. “Yeah. Huh. Okay.” He held out the necklace. “What can you tell me about this?”

Gael took the necklace with a smile. He studied it as he rubbed his fingers over the largest of the turquoise stones. “Home again, old friend.” Then, much to my surprise, he handed it back to Dash. “It’s mine. I lost it in a poker game in Dakar many years ago.”

“What does it do?” Dash asked.

Gael shrugged. “Whatever it wants.”

“Damn it, Gael. This is important. You said no lies.” Dash was almost at the end of his patience.

“And I’m not lying. I crafted it when I was young on a whim, and since then it goes where it wants and does what it wants.”

“How old is it?” I asked, not sure I really wanted to know.

Gael gave me a grin. “Younger than I am, but older than you are, Special Agent Harlan Dean.”

If he was trying to shock me, he was about one electric eel and one trip to wherever we were too late. Later, when Dash and I were back at the office, we would compare our thoughts, sifting through everything we’d seen and heard and felt to try to make sense of it. Only then would I consider the implications of everything Gael said. For now, I was simply collecting information.

“Can you tell me more about how it works? It’s important.” I doubted it was important to him, but I had to ask. If it was dangerous, it might have to go into SPAM’s deep storage.

He crossed his arms and stared at me for a second. “I only agreed to tell Dash what I knew while I was examining the pendant, but since this is your first time here, I’ll give a free one. One of its favorite tricks is to give the wearer what they most desire. For good or ill.”

“So, like a monkey’s paw artifact?” Not that I’d ever heard of anything like that existing outside of folktales, but it was becoming clear there were more things in heaven and earth and San Francisco, etcetera. Maybe I should study some of that theory Dash liked so much.

He shrugged. “Similar, but less malicious. More… capricious.”

Well, that fit with everything that was going on. I hated it. My entire profession depended on the fact that human beings were, as a whole, creatures of habit. We were predictable. We liked routine and patterns. That’s how people could profile criminals.

If things happened randomly or for no reason, how was I supposed to figure out what the fuck was going on?

“Do you know how it might have come into the possession of a young girl who claims to have bought it here?”

“No idea. Like I said, I haven’t seen it in years. But I would venture to guess that ultimately it was due to the influence of you and Agent Dean together. You do have a way of attracting the attention of fate, don’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dash said.

“I’m sure you don’t. But I bet Agent Dean and his employers do. And now that they’ve finally captured you, you will learn more.”

“Captured?”

Gael shot me a look, his eyes cataloging my face in a way I wasn’t sure I liked. Was it my imagination or was his chin sharper, his cheekbones more prominent than they had been?

“I heard your people are very interested in people like our Dashiell. People with, how shall I put it? A personal connection to fate.”

Great. So, I hadn’t been wrong to keep Dash off the radar all these years. And now, by his association with me, he was back on the board. I could almost feel SPAM’s attention turning and searching for him, like the Eye of Sauron searching for Frodo.

I gave myself a mental shake. What the hell was I thinking? My imagination was running away from me. This Gael person was getting under my skin, which was probably his intention all along. I knew a shit-stirrer when I met one.

Gael looked between Dash and me with a malicious glee. “Well, gentlemen, my work here is done. I suggest you head home. Time is speeding along, as it does.”

He moved up next to Dash, cupping his cheek with one hand, while the other slid seductively down Dash’s arm. He whispered something, and Dash shoved him away forcefully. Gael laughed, slithering around Dash’s body before giving us a jaunty salute and disappearing into the crowd that had suddenly formed around us. When the crowd parted, he was gone.

“Fuck that guy,” Dash said emphatically. “Come on. This was a dead end. I need a drink.” He walked away without a backward glance.

I followed. “I assume you’ll tell me all about him later?”

Dash just grumbled under his breath.

“Dash.”

He sighed. “Yes. Later. I promise. In the meantime, let’s see if DT has come up with anything useful. Someone should have.”

“I hope so.” This was officially the oddest case I’d ever had. And I’d dealt with a gang of rat drug runners. By which I mean there was a gang of rats being controlled by a man who called himself The Pied Piper (very original) who was using them to smuggle drugs.

Dash pulled off his jacket, in preparation for putting it back on right side out, I assumed. I did the same. Then someone called his name.

A girl ran over to us. She appeared to be about eight years old. A tiny girl, her head was level with Dash’s elbows. She had bright green eyes, new copper-penny-colored hair in a pixie cut, and freckles all over her face. She grabbed Dash’s hand and smiled up at him. “Hey, Dash.”

“Hey, Thistle. What’s up?”

“I saw you talking to Wanda. And then Gael!” Her eyes were wide. “Are you in trouble?”

He laughed. “Not this time. How about you?”

She shook her head hard, and I heard tiny bells chiming. “Not right now! I heard you were asking about a necklace?”

Dash sighed. “News travels fast around here.”

“Are you?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Can I see it?”

He pulled the necklace out of his pocket and showed her. “Know anything about it? A friend of mine said she bought it from MonMon, but Wanda said she’d never seen it before.”

Thistle nodded vigorously, setting the bells chiming again. “I do! I saw some shifty-looking guy with it over by MonMon give it to someone who wasn’t Wanda the other day. Who wasn’t Wanda!” She shook Dash’s arm in emphasis. “It’s always Wanda.”

This could be an actual clue. “What did the man look like?” Dash asked her as he pulled his tiny spiral notebook out of his jacket pocket.

Her nose wrinkled as she thought hard. “Like a man. A white man. Old, like you two. About as tall as your friend. But bigger. Like,” she spread her hands wide, “big.”

“Big with muscles or fat big?”

“Both. And he had no neck.” She tucked her head down and hunched her shoulders up, like a tortoise going into its shell. “He could probably lift everything.”

Dash wrote that down. “That’s really helpful, Thistle. Can you remember anything else?”

“Like what?” She screwed up her face.

I squatted down to be closer to her height. “Like, did he have a beard or glasses? A funny hat?” She giggled. “Did he walk funny or have an accent?”

“I don’t think he had a beard. Brown hair that was sticking up from his head like he was a hedgehog. It looked stupid.” She giggled and then frowned. “He smelled bad. Like my Uncle Louis. But he gave that necklace to the person who wasn’t Wanda. And then a lady came and bought it from him. I don’t think that was right, because it wasn’t his necklace. It was Gael’s. Was that helpful? Did I help? Was I good?”

Dash smiled at her. “That was very helpful, and you were great.”

“Yay!” She jumped up and down, clapping her hands. “Can I have chocolate then?”

“Of course you can.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. Then he leaned close to her and stage whispered, “My friend Harlan here, he wants chocolate, too. He’s never had Market chocolate.”

“Never?” She turned sad eyes toward me. “Never?”

“Never,” I confirmed.

“Well, you’re going to love it. Let’s go!” She dragged Dash forward. He laughed as we let her lead us to the chocolate seller.

She was right. I did love it.