“Why is it invisible? Is it magic?”
“I don’t know. It may be.”
If this guy was Mochazon in disguise, then he was doing a darned good job of hiding it. But how could I find out his real identity? And what was this drug he was talking about? I glanced again at the trash can. An idea hit me.
“You said that Shorty’s men gave you the medicine. Can you tell me who Shorty is?”
“Never seen him. Only his posse.”
“What does his posse look like?”
He knitted his brows. “You sure ask a lot of questions. I’m tired out from answering all those questions. You know, I might be ready for my nap.”
“Chester,” I said. “Please. Can you tell me what Shorty’s men looked like?”
He yawned. “They’re hard to see. Only come around at night when it’s real dark. Down by the harbor. Pier thirteen. Lucky number, if you ask me. Years ago, I would’a liked to be one of those guys. Cloaks and hoods and all, real cool. But now I’m just a tired old man.”
Cloaks and hoods?
Chester closed his eyes. His breathing grew heavy. “That medicine makes me real tired sometimes. I’ll have to take my nap now, Miss Kennedy,” he said.
“Of course.” I patted his hand, noticing the trail marks up and down his arms. “Good-bye, Mr. Chester,” I said softly. I made a stop by the trash can before heading out. If I wanted to know more about Mr. Buxton, I needed to find out what was in his supposed medicine. I found a Kleenex box on the desk and used a tissue to reach for the needle when I paused.
A faint, grayish trace of goblin magic clung to the needle.
I drew back. “Mr. Buxton,” I said, “I’m sorry to keep bothering you, but did Shorty’s men give you this needle?”
“Miss Kennedy, now that’s none of your business, is it?”
I could only assume they had, so I grabbed the needle with the tissue. My intentions were to spellcast it later to determine who had created the enchantment, but when I straightened, a rough hand gripped my wrist. I turned and found myself looking into the angry eyes of Chester. Hadn’t he been sitting in the chair?
“What are you doing with my stuff?” he asked.
“Sorry, but this was in the trash and I thought you didn’t need it. Will you release my arm, please?” I spoke calmly, though standing there with his hand clenched around my wrist frightened me.
“You leave my stuff alone and maybe I will.”
I had no other choice but to drop the needle back in the trash, although he didn’t release my arm. “You can let go now,” I said.
His eyes burned with hate, reminding me of Geth. “What are you doing here? You trying to steal my medicine, aren’t you?”
“No—”
“It’s my stuff, fair and square. I went down to those docks, working the street corner like I usually did, when I saw that light in the water real weird. And that’s when Shorty’s guys showed up—said I reminded them of someone. Maybe they thought I was someone else, I don’t know, but even so, they gave me that medicine. It’s mine. Not yours, not anybody else’s!”
I swallowed down my fear as his grip grew tighter. “Mr. Buxton—”
“They told me to take good care of it, and I intend to do just what they say. Guys like that—you gotta go with what they say, you know? Because I don’t wanna get hurt.”
“Did they threaten to hurt you?”
“Yeah! What do you think?” he shouted.
When he finally released my arm, I backed away, keeping my voice level. “I’ll be on my way,” I said. “Sorry to bother you.”
The nurse wearing the reindeer scrubs appeared at the door and ushered me out.
Thank you, I mouthed to her.
She nodded, gave Mr. Buxton a few firm commands, and then pulled the door closed. The nurse ushered me back to the front desk. “Sorry,” she said. “He seemed like such a sweet old man when he got here, but he’s got a temper for sure. Did he hurt you?”
I rubbed my still-throbbing wrist. “Not too bad.”
She sighed. “Drugs do that to people. I hope you’re okay.”
“I’m fine, just a little rattled.” I took a deep breath to regain my composure. I needed answers. “He claims to go by Chester Buxton. Do you have any information on him at all?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. He’s given us a name and address, although they’re both bogus.”
“So neither the name nor the address exist?”
She nodded. “It’s like he came out of thin air or something. It’s odd.”
I tapped the desk. I could only assume he’d gotten his drugs from Geth—and that the drugs were some form of goblin potion. Did they work to erase the man’s identity? And if so, why had they given him the potion in the first place? Had they—like me—mistaken Mr. Buxton for Mochazon? I needed more answers, but I wasn’t sure where to go next.
“Thank you,” I told the nurse before leaving.
“Of course.”
I stepped outside as the wind picked up. Only one of the homeless men remained huddled at the front entryway. Scanning the parking lot, I instinctually reached for my phone to dial Brent and beg for a ride home but stopped myself.
No, I couldn’t use him anymore. Is that what I’d been doing this whole time? Using him? Well, that needed to stop.
“You waiting for the bus?” the homeless man asked.
“Does it stop here?”
“Yes, it stops on the corner.” He pointed down the street.
“Oh. Thanks,” I said.
“No problem. Should be here any minute now.”
I headed for the bus stop. Cracked asphalt, some of it turned to pebbles, crunched under my Doc Martens. I adjusted my pack, thinking of Chester’s needle that I’d left behind. My plan had been to spellcast it, but with the needle gone, I would have to resort to Plan B—I’d kept the tissue. It had come into contact with the needle, and there was a slight chance that the magic had transferred onto
