Page 3 of Icy Heart, Empty Chest
“See you later, kid. Those vases won’t restore themselves.”
Finneas spent his waking hours as a restoration specialist in the city museum. His access was near unparalleled. He had offered to get me a job there but I had declined. Despite knowing the place inside out, I just couldn’t be there without thinking of Dad.
At six when my shift ended, I hung up my apron and punched out.
Stepping into the cold air, shivering, I wished I had brought a jacket. I started the run back to my apartment. As soon as the dash was done and the door shut firmly behind me, I headed to my computer and downloaded all the files Finneas had sent me. I had homework to get to.
Generally, I stayed away from anything health based. It just seemed like too big of a minefield. Illicit potions promising unending luck, youth or vitality could easily blow up on you. I’d only really heard of a handful of kelpie hearts in history. Probably because the whole process would be insanely intricate. First, find one that was willing to part with it for whatever reason. Then perform the spell to open their chest and remove it. Store the organ in a padded box specifically meant for this twisted purpose, preferably on ice if transfer was imminent. Someone tried to explain it to me that kelpie hearts were metaphorically like the most common blood type; they could go to anyone, no matter the species. I hadn’t asked but the gnome kept blathering anyway.
He said that even the most magic-less kelpie had enough magic in them to keep their blood flowing without it. It was only supposed to be a temporary thing. As a species in general, kelpies were amazingly immune to many common diseases because of the regeneration of their cells. They rarely got the sniffles and stomach bugs. That didn’t mean, of course, that they were infallible. They could still develop things like heart failure, cancer or certain illnesses of the mind: the bigger stuff. I asked him what the recipient could do with the heart when they got it and he just shrugged awkwardly, hypothesizing that they could eat it like an apple. I remember blinking a few times and walking away from his ramblings. If this was real, it would definitely be interesting. I thought back with a pout to the last time someone had wanted to try to move one. In hindsight, meeting across thestreet from a slaughterhouse should have been a clue that they would try to scam me but, youth and hubris.
After I quickly pointed out that, while not knowing what a kelpie heart was, the big flopping thing was the size of my head and smelled like my most recent cheeseburger, the elf got a red face and no money was exchanged.
I stared at the glow of the screen, contemplating. I had a witch to visit tomorrow.
But first, a trip to the shadier side of things. I walked my way to the diner, waving at the kitchen staff, and pushed into the area labeled “Staff Only,” finding the “broken down” fridge with the caution tape stuck to the sides and opening it, revealing the hidden staircase.
The bouncer saw me and let me by. Anyone who stumbled their way down and wasn’t on the official guest list, which was, off the record, anyone with a criminal record and several members of the health department. There were a score of familiar faces in the sprawling area. The small diner enjoyed a healthy amount of steady clientele on its legitimate side. The multiple rooms included darts, a few pool tables, a large bar and several areas for business deals. The detailing was immaculate. Silver appliances on the marble bar, plush carpeting, bookshelves filled with old tomes, immaculate leather couches, clean high tops.
The bartender passed me a beer wordlessly and I collected it, heading over to Finneas’s spot.
We saluted with our bottles and I wedged myself onto the small stool.
“So, real?”
He nodded. “Very. The witch that took the pictures is a friend of Filla’s. Thought the information may be tantalizing for the right price.”
I snorted. She clearly didn’t know Finneas very well. Prove what you had or get out.
“So, speaking as someone who has never done one of these before, what do I have to look forward to?”
He squinted at me. “You gotta convince Filla to get rid of it first. That’s priority number one.”
I rubbed a spot on the back of my neck. “Depends on what mood she’s in. Might be a challenge.”
He raised a thin eyebrow. “With her it’s always a challenge. She’s never not in the mood for a fight.”
I let out a small breath through my nose. “I mean, you’re not wrong. I always feel like I’m going to get shocked out of my skin near her. She feels feral.”
He drained his drink, placing the bottle on the coaster. “Feral’s a good word for it. What’s your angle?”
I thought for a second, placing the bottle down. “Probably a variation on the sunk cost fallacy. You put a lot of time and effort to taking this thing out. I’ll take it off your hands, give you a chunk of change for it, keeping a bit for me, and now I can move this thing to someone who can use it.”
He nodded.
“Gotta say, I don’t love the body parts thing. Feels too much like trafficking.”
He shrugged. “You don’t need to love it, kid, just move it and split the profit.”
I glared at him.
“What do you want me to say, kid?”
“Maybe no more like this after this one.” I drained my beer, willing it to dissolve some of my tension.
“OK, I get it. One and done.”
He passed me a profile in a beige envelope. “I’ve seen some unbelievable things in my time. This is the buyer.”
