I had six names, six personnel files, countless statements by friends and fellow hookers, and in the end just a big lot of nothing. Zero. Nada. The girls were all nice, well-behaved sex-workers — I had it on good authority that that was the politically correct term, thank you very much. The point was that after six hours running around Chicago and visiting just as many brothels I still didn't know jack shit.
Sandra Miller's place was my last stop. I parked my car outside and climbed the stairs to her apartment. The door was locked, but that was easily solved. I checked that no one was watching and with a burst of magic forced the lock open. The flat was small but well kept (certainly tidier than mine). Her book collection surprised me. History, philosophy and whatnot; not the kind of reading material I would've expected, given her profession. It showed how little I knew.
I collected some long, red hairs from the comb in her bathroom and stored them carefully. I'd tried simpler location spells earlier, but they'd been a waste of time. Whoever had the girls knew how to block basic tracking charms. I needed to bring out the big weapons. I rummaged her laundry basket for some underwear. Don't look so surprise; being a wizardess wasn't all sunshine and roses. Some spells required rather questionable components. The tracking charm I wanted to attempt was a fine example. It'd have worked better with blood, but failing that, used underwear would do. As personal items went, it didn't get any more personal.
I drove home as fast as my car would allow it, my mind busy with the finer aspects of the spell I wanted to create. It was the part of my job I loved the most. I practically ran to my lab, giddy with excitement.
"Bob, wake up! We've got work," I called cheerfully, knocking on the top of his skull.
"Quit that," Bob snapped. An orange light flickered in the empty sockets of his skull. "What is it now?"
I brought Bob up to speed with my plan to track the missing girls.
He whistled in something like admiration. "Harry, my dear girl, you've learned from me. That's quite the clever spell." I preened a bit at the compliment. "How'd you get the blood?" Bob asked.
"I didn't," I confessed, knowing that it was a flaw in my plan. "I just hope these will work as a substitute." I showed him the items I had collected from the girls' houses.
Bob's skull rattled the table. "Harry, you brought me dirty thongs!" He was practically drooling, or would have been, had his skull been able to.
"I didn't bring you anything." I cut his train of thought before he got carried away. "They're for the spell."
"A spell you want me to help you with," he reminded me. "Harry, I couldn't love you more than I do this instant, unless... Are you going to use your dirty underwear to anchor the spell?"
"Of course not!" I squeaked. "Just plain old blood."
"Boring," Bob said. "Wait, you can't use the thongs for the spell!"
"Why not?" I had checked and re-checked. It might not be as good as blood but it should work.
"You'd destroy them," Bob whined.
I rolled my eyes. "You'll survive it."
"At least let me take a good whiff first," he begged, trying to move closer.
I pushed his skull back unceremoniously. "You're such a disgusting pig, Bob."
"You want my help or not?" he asked. Skulls shouldn't have an expression, but he looked almost beseeching.
I narrowed my eyes at him and then sighed in resignation. "I'm going to warm dinner. I'll be back in twenty minutes, and all six pieces better be there when I come back."
"Sure thing, boss," he said, remaining remarkably still. It didn't fool me any.
"I don't want to know," I told Bob the moment I came back, forestalling his constant desire to over-share.
"You're such a prude," he complained, but dropped it. To his credit, he did help with the enchantment, pointing out weaknesses in my casting and behaving like you'd think a true Spirit of Intellect ought to.
I finished tracing the last sigils and stepped inside the circle. I nicked my wrist with a small knife, making sure that the blood fell over the clothes and hairs placed over the central sigil. The red drops burned through the lingerie like acid. Black puffs of smoke rose in the air, engulfing me. I breathed it in. The shallow cut on my wrist burned. My vision clouded, and I blinked, trying to clear the fumes from my teary eyes. When I could see again I wasn't in my apartment, but in an old warehouse. Nine metal cages hung from the ceiling; only two were empty. I recognized some of the women from the pictures... and Sigrun, of course. She, too, was naked. The only difference was that while the others were cowering inside their cages, Sigrun was rattling at the bars of hers, trying to break free.
A sudden wave of dizziness shook me, and I lost my balance. When I opened my eyes again I was back in my lab. Someone was calling my name; it took me a moment to realize it was Bob.
"Boss, come on, wake up. You're scaring me." He sounded desperate.
"I'm fine," I tried to say, but my mouth wouldn't obey. I closed my eyes again, waiting for the nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach to settle. An invisible cord tugged at my heart, like the pull of a leash. A quiet beat that called, "North, north, north," echoing the pain of my throbbing wrist.
"Bob, I won't be able to rescue anyone like this," I finally admitted.
"The spell will lift after you find the place, or at sunrise. Whichever comes first," Bob reminded me.
Right, I only had until sunrise to find that warehouse.
North. North. North.
I couldn't drive like this. Fuck, until the spell ended, I'd barely be able to move. So much for my original plan.
I had one option left; one I didn't like it.
I pulled myself up by sheer will and staggered to the living room. Another wave of nausea hit me. I swallowed the urge to throw up and let myself fall on the couch. I picked up the phone and dialed Marcone's number.
"Harry," Marcone's voice came after the third ring. "Did you find something?"
"Need a car," I croaked. "My place. Now. A driver you trust." I almost asked for Hendricks. I hated the idea of anyone seeing me this vulnerable. At least Cujo would keep his mouth shut after he reported to Marcone.
"On its way," Marcone said. "Is someone threatening you?" he asked in a low voice. Was he worried?
There was a witty comeback there, waiting for me to hurl it at him, but I was too dizzy to engage in our usual banter. "I'm peachy. Just get me that car."
I hung up and waited for Marcone's minion to arrive.
Op is still tickled to pieces by this. With plot! And magic!! And underwear!
And would like to circle back to the first part to say how awesome it is that Susan is still Harry's ex. Fuck yes, thank you for doing that *hand gestures*.
I may have been playing too much Echo Bazaar, but my first thought on reading A quiet beat that called, "North, north, north," echoing the pain of my throbbing wrist. was your awesome is increasing.
Blessed was the day I discovered this fandom, exactly one month ago: at the same time I discovered this kinkmeme and a whole lot of good writers. This is a wonderful beginning: funny, plotty, with perfect voices. I do love me a good storyteller who knows what is important in a story. I can't wait for more!
PS As for PWPs, sometimes a story is better off without them... IMHO, they often tend to spoil the structure. Unless it is a PWP pure and simple.
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For a price 2/?
(Anonymous) 2011-03-07 11:22 pm (UTC)(link)Sandra Miller's place was my last stop. I parked my car outside and climbed the stairs to her apartment. The door was locked, but that was easily solved. I checked that no one was watching and with a burst of magic forced the lock open. The flat was small but well kept (certainly tidier than mine). Her book collection surprised me. History, philosophy and whatnot; not the kind of reading material I would've expected, given her profession. It showed how little I knew.
I collected some long, red hairs from the comb in her bathroom and stored them carefully. I'd tried simpler location spells earlier, but they'd been a waste of time. Whoever had the girls knew how to block basic tracking charms. I needed to bring out the big weapons. I rummaged her laundry basket for some underwear. Don't look so surprise; being a wizardess wasn't all sunshine and roses. Some spells required rather questionable components. The tracking charm I wanted to attempt was a fine example. It'd have worked better with blood, but failing that, used underwear would do. As personal items went, it didn't get any more personal.
I drove home as fast as my car would allow it, my mind busy with the finer aspects of the spell I wanted to create. It was the part of my job I loved the most. I practically ran to my lab, giddy with excitement.
"Bob, wake up! We've got work," I called cheerfully, knocking on the top of his skull.
"Quit that," Bob snapped. An orange light flickered in the empty sockets of his skull. "What is it now?"
I brought Bob up to speed with my plan to track the missing girls.
He whistled in something like admiration. "Harry, my dear girl, you've learned from me. That's quite the clever spell." I preened a bit at the compliment. "How'd you get the blood?" Bob asked.
"I didn't," I confessed, knowing that it was a flaw in my plan. "I just hope these will work as a substitute." I showed him the items I had collected from the girls' houses.
Bob's skull rattled the table. "Harry, you brought me dirty thongs!" He was practically drooling, or would have been, had his skull been able to.
"I didn't bring you anything." I cut his train of thought before he got carried away. "They're for the spell."
"A spell you want me to help you with," he reminded me. "Harry, I couldn't love you more than I do this instant, unless... Are you going to use your dirty underwear to anchor the spell?"
"Of course not!" I squeaked. "Just plain old blood."
"Boring," Bob said. "Wait, you can't use the thongs for the spell!"
"Why not?" I had checked and re-checked. It might not be as good as blood but it should work.
"You'd destroy them," Bob whined.
I rolled my eyes. "You'll survive it."
"At least let me take a good whiff first," he begged, trying to move closer.
I pushed his skull back unceremoniously. "You're such a disgusting pig, Bob."
"You want my help or not?" he asked. Skulls shouldn't have an expression, but he looked almost beseeching.
I narrowed my eyes at him and then sighed in resignation. "I'm going to warm dinner. I'll be back in twenty minutes, and all six pieces better be there when I come back."
"Sure thing, boss," he said, remaining remarkably still. It didn't fool me any.
"I don't want to know," I told Bob the moment I came back, forestalling his constant desire to over-share.
"You're such a prude," he complained, but dropped it. To his credit, he did help with the enchantment, pointing out weaknesses in my casting and behaving like you'd think a true Spirit of Intellect ought to.
I finished tracing the last sigils and stepped inside the circle. I nicked my wrist with a small knife, making sure that the blood fell over the clothes and hairs placed over the central sigil. The red drops burned through the lingerie like acid. Black puffs of smoke rose in the air, engulfing me. I breathed it in. The shallow cut on my wrist burned. My vision clouded, and I blinked, trying to clear the fumes from my teary eyes. When I could see again I wasn't in my apartment, but in an old warehouse. Nine metal cages hung from the ceiling; only two were empty. I recognized some of the women from the pictures... and Sigrun, of course. She, too, was naked. The only difference was that while the others were cowering inside their cages, Sigrun was rattling at the bars of hers, trying to break free.
A sudden wave of dizziness shook me, and I lost my balance. When I opened my eyes again I was back in my lab. Someone was calling my name; it took me a moment to realize it was Bob.
"Boss, come on, wake up. You're scaring me." He sounded desperate.
"I'm fine," I tried to say, but my mouth wouldn't obey. I closed my eyes again, waiting for the nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach to settle. An invisible cord tugged at my heart, like the pull of a leash. A quiet beat that called, "North, north, north," echoing the pain of my throbbing wrist.
"Bob, I won't be able to rescue anyone like this," I finally admitted.
"The spell will lift after you find the place, or at sunrise. Whichever comes first," Bob reminded me.
Right, I only had until sunrise to find that warehouse.
North. North. North.
I couldn't drive like this. Fuck, until the spell ended, I'd barely be able to move. So much for my original plan.
I had one option left; one I didn't like it.
I pulled myself up by sheer will and staggered to the living room. Another wave of nausea hit me. I swallowed the urge to throw up and let myself fall on the couch. I picked up the phone and dialed Marcone's number.
"Harry," Marcone's voice came after the third ring. "Did you find something?"
"Need a car," I croaked. "My place. Now. A driver you trust." I almost asked for Hendricks. I hated the idea of anyone seeing me this vulnerable. At least Cujo would keep his mouth shut after he reported to Marcone.
"On its way," Marcone said. "Is someone threatening you?" he asked in a low voice. Was he worried?
There was a witty comeback there, waiting for me to hurl it at him, but I was too dizzy to engage in our usual banter. "I'm peachy. Just get me that car."
I hung up and waited for Marcone's minion to arrive.
op Re: For a price 2/?
And would like to circle back to the first part to say how awesome it is that Susan is still Harry's ex. Fuck yes, thank you for doing that *hand gestures*.
Re: op Re: For a price 2/?
(Anonymous) 2011-03-08 12:21 am (UTC)(link)He, I'm actually happy that you liked that, because the fact that Susan is indeed Harry's ex is going to become important in the next installment :)
Re: For a price 2/?
f5f5f5f5f5f5f5
Re: For a price 2/?
(Anonymous) 2011-03-08 12:48 am (UTC)(link)Re: For a price 2/?
(Anonymous) 2011-03-08 03:00 am (UTC)(link)Re: For a price 2/?
This is a wonderful beginning: funny, plotty, with perfect voices.
I do love me a good storyteller who knows what is important in a story. I can't wait for more!
PS As for PWPs, sometimes a story is better off without them... IMHO, they often tend to spoil the structure. Unless it is a PWP pure and simple.