Cursed (5 page)

“U
m …” (giggling)

“Can I help you?”

“We’re looking for—” (more giggling)

“…”

“Have you got, um …”

“Take your time.”

“…a wand?” (chorus of giggling from all three)

“No. And my name’s not Harry and I didn’t go to Hogwarts.”

(yet more giggling)

“Um … hee hee … what about …”

“…”

“Do you know how to find any vampires? Like, the really hot ones?”

“I
want a refund for this spell.”

“Which spell?”

“This one.”

“Hmm … ‘A Spell to Make You Win the Lottery.’ I’m going to go out on a limb and say it didn’t work.”

“I want my money back.”

“Your money, right. How much did you pay?”

“Fourteen ninety-nine.”

“Uh-huh. How much would you expect to get from a lottery win?”

“At least a million.”

“…”

“…”

“And you don’t see a problem with this.”

“What?”

“Okay. The first problem is that you’ve got a product here with a sale value of fifteen pounds—”

“Fourteen ninety-nine.”

“Fourteen ninety-nine, sorry, which is supposed to win you over a million. Now, stop and think how that would work.”

“I don’t care. I want a refund.”

“Right. The second problem would be I never sold you this spell.”

“I bought it from this shop.”

“That would be quite impressive, given that I don’t sell spells.”

“I know my rights. If you don’t give me a refund I’ll sue you.”

“If your understanding of the legal system is on par with your grasp of economics, I don’t think I’ve got much to worry about.”

“Oh, is that right? I’m going to call the police! I can get this shop closed down, I think you’ll find!”

(stomp stomp stomp SLAM)

“…”

“Um, hello? Excuse me?”

“Yes?”

“Uh, could I get one of those spells to win the lot-tery?”

“H
i!”

“You again?”

“Yeah, I decided I didn’t want to go all the way across Camden. So what tricks do you sell?”

“We don’t sell tricks.”

“Okay, okay. So what ‘magic’ do you sell?”

“Could you not make a hand gesture in the air when you do that?”

“Sure. Whatcha got?”

“Just what you see.”

“Okay, okay.”

“U
m, hi.”

“Hey. What do you need?”

“I heard you can … uh … find out things?”

“Who told you that?”

“Uh … it was … can you find out something for me?”

“Not likely.”

“But I need to know! It’s really important!”

“Fine. What is it?”

“I … I need to know if my girlfriend’s cheating on me.”

“Probably.”

“What! Why?”

“Because if you’re asking that question, the answer’s probably yes.”

“S
o is there any way to use magic to talk with people who’ve … passed on?”

“Passed on?”

“I mean, died.”

“No.”

“But all those psychics say—”

“Psychics make their living telling people what they want to hear. Magic can’t let you talk to someone once they’re gone, and as far as I know neither can anything else.”

“So … there’s no way they can send a message?”

“No.”

“Nothing at all? Once someone’s dead, that’s it?”

“Yes.”

“And they couldn’t tell anyone how they died, right?”

“No, they—wait. Why do you want to know this again?”

“Um, no reason.”

“…”

“…”

“That death spell won’t work.”

“Wh-what? I-I wasn’t …”

“…”

“Could—”

“No, I’m not going to teach you how to do it.”

“H
ey, man.”

“Oh, for the love of God.
Why
are you still
here
?”

“Look, I’m just curious. Now, I know you don’t sell tricks over the counter—”

“We. Don’t. Sell. Tricks.”

“Hey, what are you so angry for? I’m just asking.”

“I’m going to go through this one last time. This is a shop. There are things on the shelves. You want to buy the things on the shelves, bring the things on the shelves to the counter.”

“C’mon, I’m not that stupid. I’ve seen loads of guys coming up. You must have some good stuff, right? I mean, for people in the know?”

“And you want to know the secret?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. It’s a secret.”

“Fine, I get it. I’m going.”

“…”

“Oh, one more thing—”

A
fternoon edged into evening. It had been raining all day, but as evening drew near, the clouds became thicker and the rain heavier. By five o’clock the light was dim, the window was translucent with running water, and the raindrops were drumming so hard on the pavement outside that I could feel the vibration through the legs of my chair.

The weather had finally driven the customers away and only one was left, a guy in his twenties. He circled the shop a couple of times before drifting over to the counter. I didn’t lift my eyes from my paperback. He cleared his throat.

“Can I help you?”

“Oh, hi. Yeah, I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

“I don’t sell spells.”

“…Okay.”

I turned a page. “I don’t sell spells, and I don’t sell tricks. I don’t carry illusions or marked cards or weighted coins. I can not sell you an endless purse or help you win the lottery. I can’t make that girl you’ve got your eye on fall in love with you, and I wouldn’t do it even if I could. I don’t have a psychic hotline to your dead relatives, I don’t know if you’re going to be successful in your career, and I don’t know when you’re going to get married. I can’t get you into Hogwarts or any other kind of magic school, and if you even mention those stupid sparkly vampires I will do something unpleasant to you.”

“…Ookay?”

“Good. Now that’s settled, what do you need?”

“You’re Alex Verus, right?”

“That’s me.”

“Hi, good to meet you.” A hand appeared above my book. “Martin.”

I looked up and got my first good view of Martin. He was twenty-four or twenty-five, slim, with small blue eyes and dark blond hair that was spiky from gel and swept in a fashionable style from left to right. I guessed most women would have found him good-looking. He was wearing a button-down shirt and trousers, with a coat slung over one shoulder, and moved with a sort of casual confidence that made me think of money.

I disliked him on sight. I probably would have disliked him anyway, but the haircut made it a lot easier. I said, “Hey,” and reached out to shake his hand.

In the fraction of a second before our hands touched, I focused on Martin with my mage’s sight. The technique isn’t really sight—it’s a whole other sense, separate from the five—but for whatever reason sight seems to be the way all mages interpret it. It lets you perceive magic directly rather than just the vague feelings a sensitive or adept gets, all the wisps and auras and strands that make up the currents in the world around you. Most are so faint you have to strain to see them but anything really powerful, like a mage’s spell, is dazzling. If you’re good—and I’m very good—you can pick out what the spell does, how long it’s been there, and even the nature of whoever cast it. I didn’t need any skill to recognise the silvery mist around Martin though. It was Luna’s curse, and it meant he’d been close to her. The mist was only a thin layer swirling gently around his skin. Despite all the time I’ve spent around Luna I’ve rarely seen her curse in action, and I wasn’t sure how long it would have taken for Martin to pick this much up. I didn’t think it was enough to put him in serious danger, but it might be.