Page 23 of Hex and the City
“Coffee?” I asked, slipping out of bed, wishing he hadn’t covered his eyes so I could wag my ass as I walked away, throw one last playful punch.
He mumbled something in the affirmative, a muffled, sheepish “Yes.”
I filled the electric kettle and set it to boil, pulling on some clothes as I waited. Not long before we had to make a move, anyway. The Jade Spider’s intel had never failed me before. She said we needed to stay in a crappy motel and wake up at some unholy hour to catch a bag thief, and I had no objections.
Max started getting dressed as the kettle went into a full roil. I set up our paper cups with their sleeves, pouring in the sachets of instant coffee, setting aside sugar and creamer so he could make his coffee to taste. See? Perfect gentleman.
We brought our coffees out into the hallway, stepped into the elevator, taking opposite ends. The elevator shuddered and creaked as it began its descent. I blew on my coffee, sipped, and blew again, wishing I’d added more creamer. Max stared glumly into his cup.
I cleared my throat. “You know, you had your hand on my hip, too.”
Max glowered. “Would you fucking shut up about that already?”
I blew on my coffee and laughed.
12
MAX
“Any minute now,” Leon grumbled, staring at the pale glow of his phone’s screen. “Time’s a-wasting.”
My hand darted for his, my palm and fingers scrambling to cover the screen.
“Will you put that thing away?” I hissed. “You’ll give away our position. Here. Look at this instead. You do know how to tell time, don’t you?”
I brandished my wristwatch, its face staring into his face. I snuck a glance myself. Three fifteen and still nothing.
The two of us were huddled behind some broken bits of enormous pottery down in Naranja Plaza. This thing was big enough to hide a man standing at full height, once. Vandals got to it eventually, and now we were crouched among the shards on the ground, waiting for a sign of — well, something.
“Of course I know how to tell time,” Leon hissed back. “They still teach that shit in school. I’m not that much younger than you, old man.”
“And I’m not that much older.” I glowered as his insult clicked. “Wait. Just how old did you think I was, exactly?”
“Shut up, shut up,” he said, holding back a victorious grin. “Look. I think I see someone.”
Or something. Again, we still hadn’t come any closer to learning anything about the bag thief. There it was at the far end of the plaza, moving in that same stilted, jerking pattern. A shadow puppet stripped of all its grace and fluidity, a marionette with severed strings.
I couldn’t shake the assumption that it wasn’t entirely human, putting me so much more in mind of a creature than a person. The way it jerked as it moved, as if in defiance of the rules of reality: stuttering and slow in places, then quick and clean, practically at random.
Like something out of Japanese horror, in fact, the awkward stop-start of movement, an animated film with too many frames cut out. Yet other signs pointed to the figure being human, or at least humanoid. Again the perpetrator had chosen to dress like the arcane underground version of a cat burglar. Same outfit, same material.
The black body-hugging garments wouldn’t look out of place in a spy movie or a sci-fi video game, something a stealthy assassin might wear. It seemed to suck in the light from around it, possibly enchanted to make the wearer more difficult to spot, giving the body the consistency of solid shadow, of oily smoke.
And those goggles were positioned exactly where a human’s eyes would be. I got a better look this time, my initial hunch that the lenses were crafted out of crystal proving correct. They gleamed green, orange, and red, then faded to transparent crystal again.
Clear quartz, at a guess, the colors shifting as the goggles activated their magical equivalent of night vision. If we could get an opening, we could rip those goggles off, maybe tear off part of the mask, too, expose the thief’s face. Assuming they had a face to begin with, of course.
“What now?” Leon whispered.
“Sneak up on them,” I answered. “I’ll go real quiet-like, restrain them, and you — hold up. Something’s happening.”
The thief pulled something familiar out of one pocket. Something red. There it was, our missing bag. They pulled the drawstring loose, reached in for a pinch of dust, scattered it over the ruined plaza.
Another anomaly? This was it? First some random tree in a quiet park, then a mostly abandoned public plaza. I’d congratulate the thief for experimenting someplace safe if I wasn’t so sure they were building up to something flashier, and much more dangerous.
“Pale gold dust,” Leon said, mouth hanging loose as he observed the thief. “And a bit glittery, don’t you think? No wonder the Smiths handed it to their daughter. Make something pretty with some white glue and construction paper.”
“If only they knew. Look.” I pointed at where the thief was sprinkling the powder, pacing along the plaza as they outlined a wide rectangle. It was almost ritualistic. “I’ve got a hunch what the stuff in the bag might be.”
