Trickster by Jeff Somers Read Free Book Online Page A

felt the power move gently outward from Hiram, and when I looked at the girl again, she looked back with calm, unfrightened eyes.
    “I’m sorry about that,” I said, my voice wet and thick. “The, er, body, I mean.”
    She shrugged, as if it were nothing to get excited about. She was still and calm, her face blank. Like a film had been inserted between her and the world, everything now at a safe distance. Hiram’s penchant for stealing had given him ample experience in calming people down with a drop of gas and a well-chosen Cantrip.
    “My dear,” Hiram said, kneeling down by the tub and reaching in. “I am going to undo your gag and let you speak. Do you promise not to scream or make any noise?”
    She nodded again, watching him placidly. When the ball had been removed from her mouth she worked her jaw a bit and then looked at me. “That was terrible,” she said.
    Her voice was flat and unaffected. She sounded bored and tired. I studied her, something in my gut twitching. I tried to imagine if the girl who’d attemptedto assault me while hogtied in the trunk of a car was capable of faking this kind of calm.
    Finally, I nodded.
    “What is your name, dear?” Hiram asked gently, reaching for the razor in the sink and bending down to attend to her bonds.
    “Claire,” she said, still sounding like she’d always expected to end up locked in a trunk and covered in blood. Hiram’s spell was subtle but effective. “Claire Mannice.”
    “Claire,” Hiram said in that gentle way, “I have cut the ropes binding you. Please stay in the bathroom until I come for you. You can clean yourself up, but please do not leave. Can you do that for me?”
    She nodded again. “Sure.”
    Hiram stood and reached for a hand towel from the rack. Wiping the blade of his razor carefully, he folded it and returned it to his pocket, then held the towel against his wound momentarily. He looked at Mags and me and sighed, tossing the towel at the hamper in the corner.
    “Come, gentlemen, let’s discuss your other problem.”
    •   •   •
    We’d laid the Skinny Fuck on his stomach, because Mags didn’t like looking at his face. Hiram mixed us all drinks at his elegant little bar in the corner while I told him the story from the beginning, from Neilsson to Heller’s to the dandy in the parking lot. It all sounded crazy, but that was the way with magic, sometimes.Coincidence was just magic running wild, like a vine that envelops your entire garden, your house, creeping in through your windows. Sitting in one of Hiram’s high-backed plush chairs, I could feel sleep creeping over me like a spell.
    Hiram’s study was like the rest of the house: crammed full of interesting things. Or at least things Hiram found interesting. There were four identical chairs, deep and soft, the kind you slid down over the course of an evening before eventually falling to the floor. The walls were lined with heavy-looking built-in bookshelves, each filled to capacity with a variety of tomes, some old and massive, some new, cheap paperbacks. In front of all the books were little knickknacks: dolls, snow globes, small sculptures—anything that had caught the old kleptomaniac’s eye at some point. The floor was covered by a thick Persian-type rug with a gold fringe. Between the chairs was a massive wooden coffee table littered with more things: a chess set and board carved from some dark, glossy wood, a thick glass ashtray, a fiddle of uncertain vintage. Taking up the last of the floor space was a huge old-fashioned globe in a wooden frame, the colors faded, the borders out of date, the Communists still in control.
    No matter how long it had been, when I walked into Hiram’s house, I felt choked.
    When I was done telling the tale, Hiram drained his gimlet and sighed, gesturing at the body. “All right. Let’s have a look. Roll him over.”
    Mags leaped up like a puppy and scampered to thecorpse, flipping him faceup. His arms flopped out onto the rug,