The Wizards on Walnut Street Read online

  I booted up my resume and started the application process.

  ~

  I had gotten my call a few days after sending in my application, and a notice of my scheduled interview with the company followed in the mail. I was directed to show up with a pencil, paper, and several copies of my resume. I was also directed to bring “Nothing made of silver, or silver alloy, including jewelry.[1]” Armed with my best business-casual outfit and having succeeded in finding a parking space that cost less than $4 a day, I made my way to Downtown Cincinnati in search of the address in the email.

  The Queen City, I had to admit, had a certain charm about it, in the semi-Germanic architecture and the way that the homeless people seemed to space themselves out so that you could catch your breath after dealing with one before the next one came along. I was particularly impressed with the Gothic architecture of many of the older buildings, and I mused to myself how much Cincinnati’s town hall looked like a vampire’s castle from a horror movie.

  Finally, on Eighth Street, I found the address, and I double-checked the email on my phone to be sure. The place was a coffee shop, and a small and dingy one at that; I furrowed my eyebrows together and started toward the door, terribly confused. A multi-billion-dollar firm, and it was holding its interviews here? Something was amiss for sure.

  Inside, the warm smell of coffee and cinnamon hit my nose and I couldn’t help but stop and breathe it in. The mild chill outside had been unexpected (And, having not been warned of Ohio weather, I didn’t realize that the daily forecast could simply be summed up as “subject to change”) but within this shop it was a cozy and inviting bubble of quiet contemplation. A few people dotted the small tables and I intentionally paid them no mind—because the last thing I needed was to be caught ogling some hipster with his decaf soy vegan no-foam skinny latte—and confidently strode up to the counter with a smile on my face.

  Behind the bar was a single barista, finishing a single pull of an espresso shot for another patron. His skin was the color of the coffee he pulled, and his hair, hanging around his face in loose dreadlocks, swayed slightly as he practically danced to the groove of the coffee-brewing experience. I must admit that my romantic preference has always swayed towards women, but at the moment I found myself entranced as if under a spell, and I couldn’t help but get caught up in the moment of the sculpted man’s grace and elegance as he served the coffee and returned to the register. Now, he was saying something, and his voice was deep and rich, and his eyebrows were furrowed slightly. It took me a moment to realize he had just asked me for my order and I was standing there like a fool.

  “Oh. Um.” I dismissed my smoldering thoughts and composed myself. “I have an appointment for an interview, and I thought it was here—”

  He held up a hand to stop me with a smile. “Of course,” he said. “Have a seat over there while you wait. Can I get you a water or a coffee on the house?” I shook myself mentally—the spell had appeared to have worn off.

  “Yes please.” I seemed to have rediscovered my voice. “I guess they do a lot of interviews here?”

  “All of them. Nice, relaxing place. Good for morale.” He picked up a coffee cup. “What’s the name I’m putting on here?”

  “Andy.” I looked around and didn’t feel compelled to stare anymore, as though a spell had been lifted; I focused again on my interview which was due to start in—I checked the clock on my phone—fifteen minutes. I took the coffee and glanced at the barista’s name badge. “Thanks, Apollo.”

  “Don’t be a stranger,” he said with a wink, and then turned his attention to the next person in line. I turned and considered the size and shape of the coffee shop, wondering if I needed to sit somewhere specifically. A few of the spots offered better light, or a slightly more open spot that probably would be more comfortable to interview in. I looked back and forth between a few before selecting my seat and waiting patiently.

  My wait was not long; a few minutes went by before I was joined at the table by a short, scornful-looking woman with long grey curls, one of which draped lazily down her face. Her expression gave the immediate impression of someone who had been denied coffee this morning and possible had needed to cover up a murder or two.[2]

  “Andy…LaFayette.” The woman leered down at her leather-bound notepad and spend an agonizing moment reviewing her notes. I tried my best to put forward an appearance of patience and complete presence of mind, but underneath I was roiling with massive amounts of nervousness that I couldn’t shake off. I still had no idea what this firm did, what my job would be, or even if I would be able to do the work. I only kept hoping, relying on my strong façade of confidence.

  It was impossible to know if it worked. The woman, whose name I don’t think I ever even asked, and who only more sour as the moments wore on, started down the lists on my resume. The Maryland schools I had gone to and the college where I got my associate degree. The classes I had taken at a four-year college that, ultimately, I had not completed. My first jobs, my more recent jobs…nothing particularly notable. This was far from my first job interview but something about the way the questions were asked unnerved me beyond measure; as though the woman was peering into my very soul and trying to pry deep, real answers from beneath the surface.

  “Given who your father was,” the woman said with no amount of softness in her voice, and I momentarily tried to decipher if she had added unnecessary emphasis to the word was, “I assume you understand the kind of work you’ll be doing.”

  I slowly shook my head, my cheeks burning. “The job posting was very vague,” I admitted, “but since I met or exceeded most of the qualifications I felt it would be a good fit.” Oh man, more job-interview pseudospeak was pouring out of my mouth and this woman could see right through it. The logical part of my brain was telling me that this whole scheme would never work. I would never find the answers to Dad’s death and I would spend a life wondering. I was such an idiot for even thinking—

  She closed her notebook. “Do you know what kind of firm your dad worked for?” She lifted a finger and twirled it in the air, like she was writing on an invisible chalkboard. She blinked in surprise. “Hmmm…Oh dear. Alright, tell me this: how exactly did you hear about this job?”

  I produced the business card I had been given and, with a shaking hand, passed it over to her. She examined it with narrowed eyes and then put it into her notebook. “I need to make a call. Don’t go anywhere.” She got up and walked out of the coffee shop with her notebook, leaving me with the most awful anxious knot welling up in my chest, my breaths coming in shallow gasps as I tried to retain my composure. I waited there, my fingers curled into fists under the table, not sure if I should just stand up and leave. Had they figured out why I was here? Had I already crossed a line?

  She returned and resumed her seat, her face aggravatingly masking whatever was going on inside her sour-faced head. “There’s been a small mistake, and unfortunately we won’t be able to continue the interview process.”

  My heart felt like it had been hit with an icicle. Inside I was utterly deflated, but outside I tried to retain my composure. “I…um…”

  I was about to wish her a good day and leave, but at that moment I heard a deep voice in my ear, as though coming from directly behind me. It was soft, and dark, and sent a chill down my spine. “Say no.”

  I straightened and resisted the urge to look behind me. “I…I don’t…”

  “Tell her you wanna continue the interview.”

  My heart began to beat fast in my chest. I didn’t know what was happening, but the voice was so soothing and silky that it filled me with a wild, illogical courage. “I would like to continue the interview, please. Even if I am not qualified for the job.”

  The woman narrowed her eyes, analyzing me for a long moment. I had just said something really…odd, to be honest, and I didn’t know how she would react. I cannot explain, even now, how I continued to keep her gaze, but she leaned forward, intrigued. “You want to conti
nue the interview for a job you don’t know anything about, that I am telling you you’re not qualified for?”

  I swallowed hard, and I felt a bead of sweat dripping down my face. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Before I could even think of a proper response, I heard the voice again. “Tell ‘er you agreed to come here in return for an interview, and you ‘spect that promise to be kept.”

  What a ridiculous thing to say. And yet, the words spilled from my mouth before I could even consider their meaning. “I agreed to come here for an interview. I expect that promise to be kept.”

  The woman nodded and opened her notebook again as my mind record-scratched to a halt. This made absolutely no sense. This had to be some kind of psychological trick, or a test to catch me off guard. Maybe I was simply in a stress-induced hallucination. Was I even at this coffee shop at all? Was there even a coffee shop?

  “I see, you do have proclivities for the science. Either that or your silencer’s whispering good counsel in your ear. Either way…It’s odd that you’re so uninstructed, but not entirely unheard of.” She checked off something in her notebook and removed a piece of gold-lined paper. “Sign this non-disclosure agreement and we’ll begin.”

  I took it and scanned it briefly. Despite the fancy writing and the expensive paper, it was a rather ordinary agreement, and I tentatively picked up my pen.

  In that moment, with my pen poised above the paper, I had a sudden and overwhelming feeling that is hard, even now, to describe. It was the stirring feeling of watching a stack of dominos fall, or spinning top begin to slow; that anxious, expectant feeling that builds up right before a satisfying conclusion to something that is already in motion; the instants before a storm breaks. But more than that, I felt like I was one of those falling dominoes or raindrops, and that by signing this paper I would be pushing forward toward that inevitable, unavoidable fate. I shuddered and looked up at the woman in front of me, and something glittered in her eyes—a look of anticipation and something slightly more disturbing—almost like a hunger for me to sign this paper. All these feelings together began to tie up my stomach, and even my breathing, which had suddenly, I noticed, become quite rapid.

  Clearly, I was about to have another massive anxiety attack, and I simply could not afford to do that right now. Trying to keep my fingers as stable as possible, I signed the paper and handed it back quickly. As if on cue, a rumble of thunder sounded outside, and a torrent of rain began to slam down on the roof of the shop.

  I suddenly became aware that the other people in the shop were all staring at our table, and I immediately wanted nothing more than to melt into the chair and slither off in a puddle.

  “Now,” the woman said, rolling the paper up, “Let us discuss what you’ve just done.” She tied the paper with a white ribbon and slid it into her bag. “You have sworn never to reveal the mysteries of The Secret. You’re lucky, you know—” She twiddled her fingers together menacingly, and I froze in my seat, unable to look away from her deep, cold eyes. Her face, no longer sour, now seemed to be nearly inhuman with its wicked smile full of teeth…so many teeth. “—not everyone has the proclivity for it. But the blood of the parent courses through the veins of the child. Now…give me your hand.”

  I trembled, sweat beading down my face. I extended my hand out obediently, my mind feeling foggy to the point where I don’t know if I could have resisted the suggestion. But she took my hand softly, delicately, and traced the folds of my palm with a long pink fingernail. When she spoke, her voice seemed deeper and bolder than it had any moment before, and I could tell that they were more than words…there was power behind them. “In the name of the Ancient and Cryptic Societies, I bind you to the Great Treatise, never to reveal this Secret so long as you live.”

  She let go of my hand and I pulled it back quickly, feeling dazed, confused, and nauseous. I tried to bring words to my lips but my whole throat was dry. The room was spinning around me, and I desperately held onto my senses to keep from passing out…

  I yelped as my arm suddenly blazed with pain. I looked down and watched, in horror, as a black series of lines, like a bar code, burned its way across my forearm, making a stripe of clear markings over my skin and forming the shape of a strange cryptograph I had never seen before. I gasped out words and could feel warm bile rising in my throat.

  I felt an arm touch me gently on the shoulder and I heard a familiar, smooth voice in my ear. Apollo? “Breathe, Andy. Just breathe.”

  I sucked in some air into my lungs and felt a cooling sensation filling my chest, dampening down the fire that had suddenly welled up. I couldn’t fight the encroaching darkness any longer, though, and the last thing I saw was the woman’s mouth full of far-too-many teeth before the whole room went dark.

  Chapter 2

  I awoke to the sound of light jazz music and found my face buried deeply in a plush pillow. My head felt like it was utterly full of rocks or possibly soft cheese, and I moved only with the greatest reluctance, so that I could breathe slightly better.

  With my head turned to the side, I could see that I was still in the coffee shop, and by the looks of the window outside it was still rather dark. I was stretched out on a long sofa along the far wall, and the entire room was empty except for Apollo, back behind the counter with a cleaning rag, humming to himself as he finished his barista duties.

  I took in a few long breaths, my brain still struggling to move properly. The events with Madame Sour-face seemed like a far-of dream and in the fog of my head I couldn’t quite put it all together as events that actually occurred. Maybe I had showed up, fallen asleep on the couch, and dreamed it? That would mean I had missed the interview…right? Things weren’t making sense just yet.

  Apollo spotted me moving and picked up a nearby cup to bring it over. “Hey there, sunshine,” he said, sitting down and putting the steaming mug before me. “You took that a little harder than some folks I’ve seen, I’m not gonna lie. I thought you were a goner for sure.”

  “I…I’m sorry I fell asleep on your couch. I’m so embarrassed.” I yawned and clumsily made myself twist into a sitting position, the inside of my head still tumbling around like a stack of books toppling over. I went to say something else, but I spotted the marks on my forearm, which had lightened into a muted red, and I stopped, a gasp of air rushing into my lungs and my eyes snapping open wide. I grabbed my forearm defensively as though to cover the lines in my skin. “Oh god. It happened. It really happened. What…what was that?”

  Apollo scooted the tea closer. “Tea first, take a sip, calm your butt. Come on.” I took the tea obediently and gulped down some of the hot liquid. I didn’t even care that it scalded my mouth. “You,” Apollo continued after I had set the cup back down, “have just been granted entrance into a very exclusive society. From the looks of how completely confused you are you’ve got no clue about any of it, so I’ll be your welcoming party and give you the Readers Digest version.”

  I held up a hand. “One second.” I focused on maintaining my breathing, closing my eyes until I could feel my heartbeat starting to relax.

  I could almost envision him tilting his head. “Anxiety?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. I take meds for it, but it’s been a…” I breathed in and out again. “…tough couple of days.”

  Apollo said nothing until I had again opened my eyes and nodded my assent for him to continue. “So…where do I start…Okay, many myths and fantasies you’ve ever read or heard about have some kind of basis in truth. Not complete truth—and there’s far more fake stereotypes than real ones—but enough truth. Monsters, wizards, magic, the works. All of it. I’ll give you a second to take that in. Feel free to pass out again.”

  Andy.exe had encountered a problem and needed to close. I opened my mouth and some noises came out, but it was probably an embarrassingly long couple of minutes before they converted into actual words. “And….m-my—”

  “Your Dad was a wizard.” Apollo was very matter-of-fact
about the ridiculous words coming out of his mouth. “Bit of a reputation, too…He did a lot of work for the city. I never met him myself, but I recognize the name. Of course, from what I’ve heard some people weren’t very sorry to hear he’s gone. Which I assume is why you’re trying to get a job at 50 Thousand, too.”

  I nodded slowly, my head starting to clear up and the cogs moving forward again. “We were told it was a random killing. Some gang-related thing. But no one told us how, or why, or where…I just think it was something more than that. I think it was targeted.”

  “What makes you think that?” he said in what sounded like a purposely neutral tone.

  I opened my mouth to respond but didn’t really have an answer.

  “Just a feeling?” Apollo raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. You’re not the only one. But nobody’s looking into it yet because they’re waiting to see what the Dragon does.”

  “Dragon?” I took another gulp of tea and tried to not choke on it.

  “Yeah. Every city has one…every city that’s got magic in it anyway.[3] They set the rules for how all of us act and operate in the area.”

  I stared at Apollo for a long moment. “Us? You’re a wizard?”

  He laughed. “No, no, not at all. I’m an Incubus, which means I don’t fall into the same society as wizards do. I follow slightly different rules. See,” He leaned forward. “There’s six big societies. We can cover them all later, but the one you’re in is called Sorcera and it’s made up of normal humans like you who learn magic. You all,” he gestured vaguely in my direction, “Have to get licensed to operate. Speaking of which…” He pulled some papers out of his pocket. “These are for you. The Baga Yaga you were interviewing with left them behind for you.”

  I took the papers and looked them over. The first was an invitation from The Societas Sorcera informing me of the date and time of my licensure examination. The second was a welcome letter from 50 Thousand Consulting, congratulating me on the beginning of my employment as a “Casting Technical Intern (CTA) I”.