Magic and Loss

occasional fire-eater. I decided not to drink anything harder than orchid cream soda, just in case a sober head might be needed, since Nessie and Adrian seemed determined to sample every wine, mead, and ale stall they saw. All in the name of epicurean curiosity, of course, not because they’re lushes—or so they kept reassuring me.

The plaza that surrounds the Fly Market was temporarily transformed into a carnival midway, where Kymeran youngsters with Technicolor hair stood in line with their parents to ride the Ferris wheel, and the Flying Bobs. I watched in amusement as a pair of bleating satyr kids clattered excitedly up the metal steps of the Tilt-A- Whirl, while centaur foals rode a carousel outfitted with gaily colored moving stalls instead of merry-go-round horses.

At the far end was a large, raised wooden platform festooned in tricolor bunting, atop which could be seen the members of the GoBOO as well as Lady Syra and Mayor Lash. The assembled dignitaries were reviewing a collection of jars and bottles arrayed atop a long table, while down on the ground level, a nervous group of competing witches and warlocks watched their every movement, eager to find out who would claim the blue ribbon for best potion of the year.

While most of the booths sold concessions and souvenirs, there were more than a few manned by local merchants eager to advertise their businesses to potential customers. One such booth belonged to Dr. Mao, whose red awning boasted gold and black tigers and signage in Mandarin, Kymeran, and English. Behind the counter stood the proprietor himself, dressed in a traditional Chinese tunic and cap. His bushy gray eyebrow, which stretched across his forehead without a break, marked him as a shape-shifter, as did the extra-long ring fingers on either hand.

“Jubilation to you, Serenity,” the old were-tiger said, bowing slightly.

“Jubilation to you and your family as well, my friend,” Hexe replied. “I see you’re putting my former lodger to good use.” He pointed to Lukas, who was at the back of the stall, grinding roots and herbs with a mortar and pestle alongside Dr. Mao’s only child, Meikei.

“Yes, if you call finding excuses to paw my daughter in public ‘working,’” Dr. Mao said acerbically.

“Daddy!” Meikei protested. Lukas quickly let go of her hand, his ears suddenly bright pink.

“Don’t ‘daddy’ me!” Mao said, wagging a long fingernail in her direction. “Don’t forget I’m the boss of both of you! Now grind up some more fossilized dragon bone—we’re almost out!”

As I chuckled at Lukas’ expense, I felt Hexe suddenly grab my arm. I looked up to see Boss Marz walking through the crowd in our direction, flanked on either side by a pair of his croggies. His familiar, Bonzo, rode on his left shoulder, chattering excitedly.

“Get out of here, Lukas,” Dr. Mao said in a quiet yet urgent voice. “I don’t want him to see you.”

“But, Master Mao—!” The youth protested, his eyes flashing like an angry cougar’s.

“You heard me—go home!” Mao’s drooping mustache suddenly became bristling whiskers as dark stripes swam to the surface of his skin. “Meikei and I can handle the booth.”

The young were-cat bowed his head to his master and quickly slipped away, disappearing into the bustling street without a trace.

“I give Lukas a hard time,” Mao said as he watched his apprentice leave, “but he is a good boy and I’ll be skinned if Marz gets his hands on him again.”

Speaking of the Maladanti, I stole another look in Boss Marz’s direction and saw him stop at a Hit the Cats booth operated by a cyclops in a Knicks T-shirt. Although the carnie smiled as he handed the crime lord an envelope, it was clear from the glint in his solitary eye that he was nervous.

As Marz reached out to take the “tribute,” Bonzo screeched and ran down the length of his master’s arm and snatched up not only the payment, but a small plush teddy bear as well, before scampering back to his perch. Marz pocketed the money while Bonzo plucked the eyes off the toy before tearing its head off and gutting it of its stuffing. Chuckling, Boss Marz turned to stare directly at us.

Hexe stood his ground and looked at Marz and his men defiantly, his right hand at the ready, refusing to shrink from view or dodge detection. There was a gleam in his golden eyes, as if some hidden fire was being stoked deep within him, and for a heartbeat it was as if I was staring at Lord Bexe, the Last Witch King of Arum.

One of Marz’s croggies started to raise his left hand, only to have his boss swat him like a parent correcting a child acting out at the supermarket. The Maladanti goon quickly stepped down, placing his left hand in the small of his back. The trio then turned away and proceeded down a nearby side street.

“That was a close one,” I sighed in relief.

“Don’t let him ruin the Jubilee for you,” Hexe said, slipping his arm about my waist. “Marz isn’t going to do anything that will bring the PTU down on him—not while he still has tribute to collect.”

I smiled and nodded in agreement, but seeing Boss Marz wandering about the festival was like splashing about at the beach, only to have a shark brush your leg with its tail. Glimpsing the hesitation in my eyes, Hexe dragged me over to a nearby booth, where he spent the next fifteen minutes and twenty dollars throwing rubber rings at upright soda bottles in order to win a plush toy white gorilla wearing a plaid tam-o’-shanter.

You know how some women get excited over their men giving them jewelry? Well, in my case I get the exact same way when someone wins stuffed toys for me at carnivals. Needless to say, much kissing and squeezing followed.

As late afternoon turned into dusk, the Jubilee began to undergo a gradual sea change as Golgotham’s darker denizens gradually joined in the celebration. Vanessa, Adrian, Hexe, and I were sitting in a beer garden when a group of trolls ambled past, muttering among themselves in their thick, unintelligible language, lashing their heavy, ropelike tails as they sniffed the air with big, bumpy noses the size of knockwursts.

“Gracious! Look at the time!” Adrian said, pretending to look at a wrist watch. “Nessie and I must be getting back home! I need to be ready for work in the morning, you know.”

Vanessa frowned. “I thought you said you had arranged with the head of your department to get tomorrow off—”

“Yeah, but he changed his mind,” Adrian said quickly as he helped his wife up from the table. “Remember, I told you I got a text from him this afternoon—?”

“Huh?” Vanessa’s frown deepened for a second; then her gaze fell on the gaggle of goblins, their bare, paddlelike feet slapping against the cobblestones like wet laundry. “Oh, yeah! That’s right!” she said, gathering up her purse. “I was having such a good time I totally forgot!”

As a pride of sphinx moved through the street fair like lions on their way to a watering hole, Adrian and Vanessa hurried in the opposite direction, eager to return to the humdrum hazards of lower Manhattan.

“Well, that wasn’t awkward at all, was it?” I sighed.

“Nessie and Adrian stayed a lot longer than I gave them credit for,” Hexe said as he sipped his musket of barley wine. “Jubilee can be overwhelming even for Golgothamites—especially after dark. And it was good to see you enjoying yourself with your friends, especially after you’ve pushed yourself so hard at work. It’s time you relaxed, kicked back, and had some fun.”

“Sitting downwind from Ghastly’s food stall is making me queasy,” I said, pointing in the direction of the gaunt, bat-nosed ghouls lined up in front of the booth belonging to Golgotham’s worst cook. Given the clientele, I really didn’t want to know what was listed on the menu board.

As we wandered along Perdition Street, I realized what Hexe said about the Jubilee after dark was right— the feel of the festival had definitely changed with the setting of the sun. All the families—human and otherwise— had disappeared, surrendering the field to the more dedicated revelers and those citizens of Golgotham who normally shunned the sun’s rays.

As the moon rose, a group of nymphs cast aside their flimsy chitons and began to run naked through the streets hand in hand, weaving in and out of the crowds like living daisy chains, giggling like mischievous schoolgirls. An amorous frat boy made a grab for one of them, only to have her slip free of his arms in the form of a cloud, her laughter tinkling like a silver bell.

It was not long before the nymphs were joined by maenads, who spun about, crying out in ecstasy, wineskins in one hand and drawn knives in the other, their eyes blazing like funeral pyres. A herd of satyrs quickly fell in among them, adding wild piping and the crashing of cymbals to the merrymaking. Suddenly one of the