Right Hand Magic by Nancy A. Collins Read Free Book Online Page A

of hellfire. It burns hotter than natural fire, and once it gets on you, it burns clean to the bone.”
    “Is that the best you can do, Zack?” Oddo sneered, drunkenly pushing up the sleeves of his shirt. “I’ll show you some real slingin’!”
    Suddenly the wail of an approaching police siren could be heard. The drunken warlocks exchanged worried looks, their reason for their duel forgotten.
    “Some fecker called the PTU on us, Oddo!” Zack exclaimed, genuinely surprised that someone might take offense at his hurling balls of molten death in public.
    The drunken wizards linked arms and lurched up the sidewalk in an attempt to escape before the Paranormal Threat Unit arrived. They had barely managed to stagger a dozen yards before a black paddy wagon, a flashing blue light on top and pulled by a centaur outfitted in a PTU flack jacket and riot helmet, rounded the corner at a dead run.
    The paddy wagon came to a halt and a half-dozen uniformed PTU responders, a mix of human and Kymeran law enforcement agents, jumped out of the back, spells and riot gear at the ready.
    “Hands behind your backs! Hands behind your backs!” a Kymeran officer shouted. “Put your hands where I can’t see ’em!”
    The fleeing drunks did as they were told, dropping to their knees as they placed their hands in the small of their backs.
    “It’s safe to go now,” Hexe said, stepping out of the doorway. “The PTU have it under control.”
    “Does that happen a lot around here?” I asked.
    “Not as often as it used to. The Paranormal Threat Unit does a good job of keeping the duels off the street. Some resent their interference, viewing it as humans trying to force their ways on our culture, but it’s what has kept the NYPD out of the neighborhood so far.”
    “What’ll happen to those two?”
    “They’ll take them to the Tombs to sleep it off, then fine ’em for public dueling. Which means Zack will be knocking on my door tomorrow, wanting his usual hangover cure. Speaking of which, I need to harvest some herbs from my garden. Would you care to join me?”
    “You have a garden?”
    I was genuinely surprised. Open green space in New York City is a rarity, especially in the older neighborhoods like Golgotham. Hexe’s only response was to smile mischievously at me.
    Although the boardinghouse stood in the middle of the block, there was a long, narrow passageway between it and the building next door. Hexe ducked down the alleyway. I had to turn sideways to follow him. After about thirty feet, the passageway widened enough for us to move normally, although still in single file.
    After another fifty feet, he came to a halt in front of a metal door. As I looked up, I realized the brick wall ended six feet over my head. I glanced back the way we came and saw the back of the boardinghouse looming over us. Hexe fished his jangling key ring out of his pocket and inserted a green key into the lock.
    Like the house itself, Hexe’s garden was far larger than it appeared from the outside. Just inside the entrance was an undulating walk, bordered by monkshood, verbena, and hydrangea bushes that led to thyme-covered steps that ended at a bed of lavender. Moonflowers as big as my hand wound about pieces of classical statuary, interlaced with honeysuckle vine that filled the night air with its sweet perfume.
    “Hexe, this is incredible!” I gasped. “This belongs to you?”
    “It belongs to the house,” he replied. “I wouldn’t dare claim it as mine. Uncle Jack originally designed it. ...”
    “The one who went upstairs?”
    “And didn’t come back. Yes, that’s him.” Hexe stepped inside a small wooden shed built next to the garden wall and returned a moment later with a pair of work gloves and some pinking shears.
    “Cool.” I stared in open amazement at the neatly trimmed hedge maze at its center. “Gardens are like works of art. They’re meant to be experienced, not just looked at. You can’t create a garden without its