Page 11 of All Out of Flux
“Uh-oh. What’s this, now? What’s happening?”
Another deep breath, and when I exhaled this time, it came in a sigh. “Another dragon appeared to me today.”
Max whistled. “Well, well. Look at Mr. Popular over here.”
“I wasn’t going to tell you at first, because — well, I don’t know why myself, to be honest. Maybe I’m worried that I’m overdoing it. Is there such a thing as too many dragons?”
“Pretty sure you’d know if you were overdoing it.”
I glanced down at my hand, but said nothing.
“And I told you,” Max continued. “It’s okay. I won’t judge you for taking a different path in magic. For taking what might even be your ideal path. I mean, you’re a witch. Abruho. Communing with spirits is just another part of your toolkit. But communing with dragons? Come on. How badass is that?”
I smiled, adoring the side of his face in the midday sun. Sometimes I wondered if I deserved him. “It was Bahamut this time.”
“Bahamut. Bahamut.” His forehead furrowed. “Nope, not ringing a bell. I’m sure they’re super powerful and badass, though.”
“He,” I corrected. “He appeared as a man along with Tiamat in my apartment. One of the sea serpents from the creation myths. Carries the world on his back, you know the drill.”
“Damn. So, earth magic, maybe?”
“Dunno. Haven’t given Emanation a shot yet. But I figured whatever it was Bahamut could bless me with, it might help us fight the Quartz Spider.”
Max’s face hardened. “Damn straight. Speaking of which — fuck. I missed another turn.”
I laughed. “It’s no big deal. We get to spend another five minutes in here shooting the shit, and I get to grill you about why you didn’t get me three more pints of that peanut butter and chocolate ice cream.”
He repressed a huge, goofy smirk, scratching the end of his nose. “I said I was sorry.”
“Don’t be. Totally joking. So what did you find out about the statuette, anyway?”
“Not much, honestly. We know it’s worn down and mostly featureless, kind of like those old fertility goddess statues you see in museums. But that only makes it harder to pick the one we’re looking for out of a lineup. So I scoped out one of Gustavo’s most popular shops, and guess what? Not a statue in sight.”
I narrowed my eyes, my gaze flitting between the road and his face. “And that’s — a bad thing, is it? I can’t tell with you sometimes.”
“Hard to say, but I would have expected Tío Gustavo to flood the market with replicas by now. If he found out that I was after it specifically? God, I couldn’t even imagine. We’d never find the genuine article. I suppose if Roscoe focused hard enough, he might be able to detect something.”
I shook my head. “I’ve talked to him a couple times about how he does that. It’s a nifty trick, but the way Vera describedthe statuette to us, its enchantment is too faint to really stand out. Ross is awesome, but he’s not like a magical metal detector.”
“We’ll just have to keep our eyes peeled, track the thing down the old-fashioned way. Two heads are better than one and all that. Oh, look. We’re finally here.”
“And you didn’t even miss the turn. Third time’s the charm.”
Max carefully pulled into a parking spot, pulled on the handbrake, then smushed his entire hand right in my face. I sputtered between his fingers, fighting to slap his hand off, laughing.
We’d arrived at our destination, all right, one of the last places I’d expected. A craft supply store, the kind of place where sweet old grandmas sold bundles of yarn and rolls of washi tape to other sweet old grandmas. The only sign that anything was amiss was actually the sign above the store itself.
“Snitches Get Stitches,” I read out loud. “Geez. You think it’s like a front for a criminal operation? Maybe one of the other great families has its fingers in the old crafting supply pie.”
Max shook his head. “Highly unlikely. If Vera sent us here, that means this place is affiliated with their Mother Spider. This is very likely a modern temple to Arachne.”
Pretty chimes tinkled as we pushed the door open, a blast of balmy air rushing out of the shop. It smelled like sugar, candy, and mints, and other things that grandmas liked. I clenched my fingers tightly over the plastic bag of fortune cookies we’d acquired for the communion, a couple dozen of the things that Arachne liked.
You wouldn’t know immediately from looking, but this place was definitely dedicated to the Mother Spider. Her symbol lined the shelves, hung from the ceiling, on the walls, only disguised as cute things for decorating the home. Elaborate lace doilies, beaded and feathered dreamcatchers, a woven basket. Each contained the shape of a spiderweb.
Snitches Get Stitches was a world apart from the Jade Spider and her cohorts, the job-givers who held court in swanky bars and seedy pubs. But it all made sense. Even in the arcane underground, a place of open magic, it still didn’t hurt to keep a low profile. That was why the spiders could see and hear so much, lurking, watching, and listening.
We stepped up to the solitary person at the counter. I felt a thrill of delight when I saw that it was, in fact, a lovely old lady in charge. In a fluffy pink cardigan, the ruffles of her yellow shirt peeking out through the sleeves, she was the very picture of delight.
