Ideworld Chronicles: The Art Mage

Act 3, Chapter 18: Late night chats

Day in the story: 6th January (Tuesday), around 11.45 p.m.The vet came toward Loki, putting on disposable gloves from the pockets of his coat. He reached for her back gently, trying to get her attention.

“So what exactly is happening?” he asked Caroline, while he continued to examine the dog.

“She is withdrawn, doesn’t want to eat. Looks sad.”

“I see. Please help me move her to my consultation room,” he asked Caroline, and she casually grabbed Loki in her arms.

“Woah. You are dedicated!”

“She’s my baby. Of course I am.”

“I wish more people treated their companions the same way,” he said, and we followed him to the room in the back. The entrance was right next to the stairs leading up—most likely his living arrangements.

“You work alone?” I asked.

“Yes. I tried getting some help, but couldn’t find anyone with enough experience to feel easy leaving them alone.”

“Must be difficult if you are open all the time.”

“I am open, but it doesn’t mean I have clients constantly. I slept when you came in. It’s my life. I can’t imagine it being any other way,” he answered, while Caroline put Loki on top of the examination table. Goldilocks dropped onto her side, looking like she was on her deathbed. She was such a good actress it was incredible.

The vet pressed his hands to her tummy, trying to look for any abnormalities.

“It must be difficult, trying to be a good person, when everyone around you wants to abuse your kindness,” Caroline said in an apologetic voice. It seemed she noticed the same thing I did.

“What are you saying?” he asked, looking away from the dog, more wariness in his gaze now. He also moved back a bit.

“There have been some gang fights reported in the neighborhood. Shooting, blood on the street, people scared for their lives, hiding in their homes. Loud music too.” She hit her finger on a nearby desk.

“Oh. Those people do not bother an old man like myself,” he replied, relieved.

“I bet they don’t. You are untouchable to them by some miracle, right, Jess?” I nodded to her, while she hit the desk again—stronger now. “Papers and computer on the front desk and everything perfectly clean, while you are open twenty-four seven. Not a single lock on the door, and yet you feel perfectly safe to sleep at night like that in a gang-ridden area. Telling.” She did, in fact, notice things. I’d need to be more careful around her.

“You a copper?” he asked. “I told you guys that I do not work with criminals.”

“Work with?” she asked. “That ain’t what I am saying at all. I think you help save those who are in grave danger. You have a good heart, after all. And they leave you alone for that. Protected even, judging by the fact that you are careless about your own safety.” She moved her hand from the desk and pointed right at him.

“I do not treat humans,” he said, moving back from the table completely and sitting in the corner on a chair.

“And yet, there were no admissions to the hospitals after the shooting, so either they patched themselves up—which is unlikely—or you helped them. And since your practice comes up often in investigations, I bet it’s the latter.”

“I told you already. I don’t treat humans.”

She seemed hesitant at first, as if weighing her options, until finally she made a decision, placing her hand with an open palm on the desk again and tapping a finger lightly now. “Loki, scare,” she whispered, but I felt the Authority those words carried. An order had been issued, and the golden retriever stood on the table on all fours. Gone were the pretenses of being hurt.

Her fur stood up as if electrified, shadowlight running through it. Her muzzle twisted in a grimace of anger, canines showing fully, seemingly longer than was anatomically possible. Darkness oozed from those calm eyes, as if its vastness and coldness could consume one whole.

The man took one look at the creature and slumped in the chair, suddenly smaller than natural. He covered his face with his arms, trying to gesture for Loki to stop whatever it was doing, while he whimpered like a little baby. Tears mixed with wails as his composure broke entirely.

“What’s this? Take it away, away… please. Take it!” he finally managed to say, but Caroline and her companion were relentless. The feeling of fear started reaching me as well—a cold shiver running up my back, an anticipation of something about to happen. Something dreadful, but without any clear indication of what it could be. “I haven’t done anything wrong! Please.”

“Come with me.” Caroline motioned to me and we left the guy alone with the dog. “Scare more,” she said as she closed the door behind us.

“Damn, girl, I don’t think this guy’s little pump is going to survive that. I could feel it.”

“He is lying. No way he’d be able to live here like that if he wasn’t involved. Go sniff around while I keep the man from going into cardiac arrest, as you suggested. We need some clue about Rhythm’s or his victims’ whereabouts.”

“Sure, partner,” I replied, and walked further in, leaving her to enter the examination room again. If anything curious happened in there, my ear on Loki’s collar would hear it anyway.

I moved toward the closed door in the back, pressed the handle, and opened it inward. The room was dark, but I quickly found the light switch, flooding it with illumination. It was an oversized closet with bags of food, medical materials in neatly organized containers on the shelves, litter boxes and litter bags, some bins with bags put in them. Two were left open, with just a bit of gauze in them, some blood—nothing major, not a single thing that would indicate that someone bigger than a cat had been treated in here. I tore apart the one bag that was tied, revealing some used syringes, empty drug containers, and more gauze. Again, nothing incriminating.

I moved through the cabinets, checking one after the other, but they too didn’t reveal a single thing out of the ordinary.

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I moved out and up to the man’s living quarters. There were doors at the top, but despite having a lock, they were open now. Maybe he kept them closed when he slept in there, but didn’t bother to do so when we entered, or he never closed anything at all. As I was going through his bedroom, I focused on what I could hear from the room Caroline was in.

“As you can see, my dog is back to normal now, but what you’ve seen was just a small glimpse into her true nature. She is a demon incarnate and she eats liars, so please take special attention to what you are telling me.”

Caroline’s voice was firm, devoid of any of her usual cheerfulness. She was pressing the man with her words.

“I had no choice. It was either help them or get my practice burnt to the ground!” he shouted back at her. His room was full of various books about animals, some National Geographic magazines too. There was a laptop as well, but it was password protected when I opened it up.

“Whom did you treat this morning?”

“It was this biker gang’s new kid. They go by the Road Snakes. Big boy, muscular too. But his body was smashed with something blunt, like a big flat hammer. Never seen so many parts damaged all at once. Maybe he fell from a big height? I ain’t a coroner—I wasn’t sure. He’d been breathing, but barely. I stopped hemorrhaging wherever I could, but told them that he will die soon if they don’t go to a hospital or a real doctor.”

“Where can we find them? You know?”

“Yes. There is a pub at the end of the street. Neon red sign: Rosalie’s Den. Harleys are plenty outside—you will know it—but it’s not safe for two women to go in there.”

“Have you forgotten about the dog already?”

“This retriever? Won’t scare them one bit!”

“You did…” she gasped. “Fuckin’ reality,” she exclaimed, while I was going through the bathroom but found nothing in particular. He was really good at cleaning after himself.

“What?” he answered, surprised.

I was already moving back toward them, having found absolutely nothing of substance upstairs.

“Doesn’t matter,” she said. “What did they do with the broken man?”

“They brought him out the back door and left. I don’t really—” he started, but I entered the room at that moment and was immediately hit by an awful stench of urine and feces. It came from his direction. He’d soiled himself, and it lay pooled on the floor beneath him.

Caroline turned to me the instant I stepped in. I shook my head in a gesture of denial.

“You don’t really what?” she pressed.

“I don’t know where they took him. Probably to their warehouse or somewhere else. Maybe his home?”

“Warehouse?” she echoed. “You mentioned a pub earlier.”

“Yes. They spend a lot of time there. But once, I was called to help one of them in a warehouse on Ellis Street, by the marina.”

“You should’ve started with that. What were they saying when you treated the guy?”

“About what?”

“About what happened to him.”

“I… I can’t remember much. My head is spinning just trying to piece it together.” He swallowed hard. “Something about having to get rid of that… man.”

“Man?” Caroline repeated. “Why do you stress that word like that?”

“They used another word,” he said quickly. “A less flattering one. I’m no racist. I’m not going to repeat it.”

“Thank you for your help,” Caroline said, her tone suddenly warm again. “I think my beautiful dog is feeling much better now. Aren’t you, Loki?”

Loki wagged her tail enthusiastically and hopped off the examination table, padding over to Caroline’s side.

“You did very well, doc.”

“I… did I help her?” he asked, still shaking.

“Of course,” Caroline replied. “Why else would we be here?”

“Yes,” Goldilocks chimed in brightly, looking him straight in the eyes. “Why else?”

**********

We moved out toward the pub the guy had mentioned, led not by Loki’s nose, some fantastical ability of Caroline’s, or a rod of divination—no, we used Google Maps for that. She input the name and we were given the address. Caroline began recounting what the man had told her while I was away, and I listened without a single interruption, taking in every word as if it were the first time it reached me.

“We might get some trouble from the guys in the pub,” she added at the end of her story. “Maybe it would be better if you entered alone at first, since you are—there is no better way to say it—white. I will sneak in later, or if Loki hears you’re in trouble.”

“That’s fine with me. I’ll try to get something out of them. I’m used to working with scum like that.”

“Good. I mean—not good for you, for having had to work with bad people… before.” She turned into this awkward middle-aged lady who suddenly didn’t know what to say. It was kind of hilarious.

“Keep trying,” I replied, which sobered her up from that state.

“I am trying to connect with you.”

“I feel your vibe. But I have one small addendum to that plan, something I feel needs to happen.”

“That is?”

“Loki goes in with me.”

“Sure, that actually makes a surprising amount of sense to me. I’d feel better if she’s in there with you as well,” she answered with a shrug of her shoulders.

“You can hear what she hears?” I replied, a strong suspicion forming.

“No, but I will sense if she’s in a fight or in a dangerous situation. I’d know.”

“I want to go,” Loki answered, wagging her tail happily. “I like Jess.”

“Oh, I like you too,” I said, dropping to my knees and patting her on the head, while my second brain suggested that my affection for her was grossly exaggerated. “Wait a moment,” I added, listening to that second thought-strand as I stood up. “I didn’t even think about it before, but it makes sense. You’re enhancing her cuteness as well?”

“Whatever works better on people,” she answered, smiling.

“It seems that every mage I meet is doing some mind-bending mental warfare.”

“It makes more sense to fight that way when you can, don’t you think?” she said, looking at her phone. “Just a hundred yards ahead. When powerful forces oppose one another—and mages are that, especially archmages—it’s far more reasonable for them to act through intermediaries and indirect influence than through open, full-force confrontation. Just look at geopolitics—nation-state behavior and M.A.D. protocols, where power is exercised subtly, strategically, and often through proxies rather than direct conflict. No one wants to go nuclear on another mage, risking losing everything in retaliation. You will come across manipulators often, in many forms.”

“I need to rethink how I’m using my powers. Are archmages really nuclear-level powerful?”

“Some. The more powerful you become, the more difficult it is for them to exert that direct kind of power on Earth too, as Reality will oppose them quicker and with more power than you or me. So most spend their time in Ideworld, or rule by what I’ve just described.”

“Rule?”

“Yes. Most of the powerful ones do not sit idly. They want more and more power, be it magic or influence.”

“Tale as old as time.”

“Better get used to it. Your power over space is quite formidable, but there are mages who could turn you into paste with one look, or something far worse. There are even creatures in Ideworld—or even on Earth, for that matter—with so much Authority that archmages have trouble overcoming them alone.”

“Are they really? I’ve spent some time in there. Spoke to some shadows, and it’s much safer overall than everyone keeps saying. I’m beginning to feel like this is a gross over exaggeration, or some scare tactics, or even hazing in the case of the Hexblades.”

“You think shadows that can return to life after death would have the same attitude toward what’s scary or dangerous as you? Of course you can walk through New York in Ideworld with relative safety, especially during the day, but it’s only because that’s a city. Most people feel relatively safe there, and that’s why it’s like that in Shadow World. At night it’s a different story. And if you stumble upon some god-awful splinter, you can be dead before you know what hit you.”

“Good point about the death part. I can also see how splinters can be dangerous. Can you get an opening directly into a splinter?”

“Yes, it’s rare, but it happens. Most of the time you’re pretty screwed when that happens—” She stopped for a second, then whistled. “Oh well, you can just teleport out anyway.”

“Screwed? Can’t you just turn back through the opening?”

“That’s the thing. If you get into the splinter, there is no opening back on the other side. But that doesn’t really stop you, does it?”

“No. Most of the time it does not.” Although it explained what happened during my second venture through an opening, ever.

“We are here,” she said, stopping by the wooden face of a nearby house and pointing toward the pub a few yards further. There were a lot of bikes parked in front of it, and even more noise coming from inside the building. “If you are ready, girls, I’d appreciate it if you two got your asses in there and found out something more. Will ya?”