Page 34 of Hex and the City
And what that script basically boiled down to was “Sorry, you weren’t cool or wealthy or important enough to be granted the privilege of paying an arm and a leg for a small bottle of fancy liquid. Better luck next time.”
Hey, no judgment. I was one of those fools myself. Atomica really did sell some excellent fragrances. I just wished they weren’t so damn difficult about the selling part. Still, nothing sold product faster than scarcity, or the impression of it. Exclusive. Limited edition. While supplies last.
“No, no,” I said, shaking my hands and my head. “That’s not it at all. I’m aware that Diablo 69 is out of stock. I’m on your newsletter. I read every email.”
Somehow I’d expected that to impress her, at least get a positive reaction. Nope. The lady looked as bored as ever. I knew the type because I’d met so many people like her. The put-on airs, the veneer of sophistication, but most of all, the apathy. Atomica very likely hired the most snobbish and disinterested people they could find.
It fit in with their brand, for one thing. The human equivalent of a velvet rope, really, the person at the front door of the hottest club in the city holding the sacred clipboard. Cerberus guarding the gates, except Cerberus would at least make a passing attempt to seem engaged, nibble on you a little, bark in your face.
“An initial batch of a hundred bottles, huh?” Leon swiped at his nose with his thumb and leaned on the counter. “That’s interesting and all, but why not issue sixty-nine bottles instead?”
The woman blinked. “I’m sure I don’t understand what you mean.”
“Listen,” I said, eyeing her breast pocket for a name tag, only to realize she wasn’t wearing one. Really broke my stride. I leaned on the counter, basically copying Leon’s pose. Damn it. “So listen. It’s really important that we get a look at this list of yours. We have it on good authority that there’s a troublemaker on the roster. A lot of your clients are public figures, anyway. You’d just be making our job easier.”
“That is entirely confidential, sir, and it would be a grievous breach of the trust that our customers have in our brand. Likely violates privacy policy, too.” She tilted her head as she studied my face, eyeing me sidelong. “Are you a cop? Do you have — I don’t know. Do you have a warrant?”
I gaped for a moment, realizing that neither of us actually knew what we were talking about. I didn’t watch enough normal human programming to ever pick up on police procedure. Would the Masques need warrants? They’d just knock out everyone on the premises with a series of stunning spells, delete their memories for cleanup.
But the Masques generally wouldn’t concern themselves with perfume-related crimes in the first place. Well, not unless those perfumes could harm the general populace, or maybe turn them into mind-controlled zombies. There had to be an enterprising arcane villain out there, stirring up batches of evil perfume.
“Listen,” I repeated, slipping my hand into my jacket, somehow forgetting that it wasn’t where I kept my wallet. “It really is very important. I can make it worth your while.”
She seemed to consider it for a moment, but the steely flicker in her gaze told me that her willpower and morality had triumphed over the promise of financial gain. Also, the way her eyes flitted suddenly up to the security cameras basically told me that she was far more concerned about job security.
“It’s no big deal,” I said, patting my jeans pocket this time. “I can buy something small, slip you a couple extra bills while I — ”
“Really so sorry that I couldn’t be of more assistance,” she said, gluing on a cheery yet incredibly artificial smile as she reached for her earpiece once more. “But please let me know if I can assist you with any of our fine merchandise.”
That was that. A summary dismissal. Eyes lowered so she could pretend not to hear us, earpiece worn so she definitely wouldn’t have to hear us. For all she cared, Leon and I didn’t exist anymore. I slunk away from the counter in defeat. Leon followed me with a smug smile on his face.
“Don’t say it,” I grumbled.
“Well, what now?” He ambled over to the door, charitably skipping the part where he got to torment me about everything I’d said outside, all that stuff about being so charming.
I paused by a display stand of perfume bottles shaped like pointed crystals, each nestled on a little wooden stand. They reminded me of test tubes, if test tubes were somehow shaped like — well, like pointed crystals. I raised one to the light, examining the transparency and clarity of both the bottle and the fragrance within.
And then it struck me.
“You head back to the car. I’ve got an idea.”
17
LEON
My breath turned into wisps and puffs as I lurked across the street from Atomica, waiting in the darkness of a parking lot. I tapped my foot, checking my phone for the time, watching as the perfumery’s lights stayed lit.
“Hurry the fuck up, already,” I grumbled, shoving my phone and my hands in my pockets.
I’d gotten roped into some pretty weird shenanigans since I came to Dos Lunas, but this had to take the cake. The sales assistant had slipped on her earpiece before we’d even left her counter, eager to get back to her podcast or audiobook or three-hour yodeling album.
Whatever. Point was that Max ushered me out the door, but never actually left Atomica himself. He tapped the end of his nose, then pointed across the street, to the very same parking lot where I was sort of freezing my ass off.
I was born in the tropics, okay? Even with a jacket, California evening cold could be too much for me sometimes. I hugged my elbows, craning my neck to try and spot Max in the store. No sign of him, just the sales lady still sitting there.
Where the hell was he, and what was he planning to do?
Not that I could have done much myself. I didn’t have much sleeping salt left over. Besides, it wouldn’t have worked, anyway. The sales assistant was obviously raring to go home, but that didn’t mean she was tired enough to get knocked out.
