The Consumption of Magic (Tales From Verania 3)

Mama’s office hadn’t changed much since I’d been here last, when we’d been tracking down a lead on Gary’s horn that proved to be false. Mama’s tastes were… well, not refined, per se—the nude paintings of her favorite courtesans in risqué positions adorning the walls didn’t really allow for it—but it was so distinctly Mama in that it was classy and pornographic all at the same time. The chandelier that hung from the ceiling was made from the finest crystal, cut by a master craftsman. The floor-to-ceiling bookcase was filled with everything from philosophy and biology texts to spit-roasting and triple-penetration smut that Mama would read while sipping rosé wine out of a chalice shaped like a veiny black cock.

She was a study in contradictions, and I cherished the ground she walked on.

Randall was the first person I saw, standing near a window, his distaste evident on his face. While vocally known to be sexually adventurous in his youth (much to my horror), I didn’t think he appreciated the finer aspects of being in a whorehouse in Meridian City. Knowing him, he had probably been complaining the floors were sticky.

The next two people caused me to stutter in my steps, only because I wasn’t used to seeing them face-to-face, especially given how ruthless they were.

Feng, the arms dealer and gang leader, stood near the bookcase with his arms across his chest, watching me with shrewd eyes. His skin was dark, his black hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. He had a thin mustache on his upper lip, neat and trimmed, and a patch of hair that curled at the ends on his chin. He smiled at me as I kept my face carefully blank, his gaudy gold tooth flashing in the candlelight. He was a barrel-chested man, shorter than me, but much wider and bulkier. He skirted the line between muscle and fat, as if it would tip one way or other with the slightest of pushes. He had a scar across his throat, thin and white.

A woman leaned against a wall near the doorway, left foot propped up against the wall behind her, cigar smoke curling around her face as she chewed on the wet stogie. She wore an eye patch on her right eye, the straps wrapped around the back of her face. The eye patch itself was glittering in the light, having been encrusted in precious stones in green and yellow and blue and white. It was ostentatious, and overtly so, but this was Letnia; it was how she was. She was older than Feng by a good twenty years, probably into her early seventies, but she was beautiful, her porcelain skin practically glowing in the sunlight pouring in from the windows. Her long white hair fell upon her shoulders, luxurious and thick. Had it not been for the cigar and the eye patch, she probably could have been someone’s kindly grandmother.

Mama sat behind her desk in her high-backed carved wooden chair, looking regal as always. She wore a long black wig, the hair straightened severely around her face, resting against her shoulders. Her makeup was dark and smoky, her lipstick black, a startling contrast with the hint of white teeth underneath. Her eyelashes were long and kissed her cheeks as she blinked slowly and deliberately. She wore a low-cut red-and-black corset cinched tightly up the front, the ties dangling on her breasts, which I was beginning to think more and more were real. Over the corset was a red leather coat, the collar of which was high around her neck. Her black-lacquered nails shone as she clicked them against the surface of the desk in an erratic beat. She was laughing quietly, a rusty sound that made me smile more than I cared to admit. I knew who she was. I knew what she was capable of. And I adored every single inch of her. Maybe one day we’d turn against each other if our ideals became too conflicted, but I’d worry about it then. For now she was my friend, and I worshipped the ground she walked on.

And so here they were, three of the most terrifying people in Meridian City (and quite possibly Verania), gathered for a supposed threat against the people by a dark man in shadows connected to Randall and Morgan and, by proxy, to myself. And yet, I immediately fixated on the other person in the room, the one who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. That expression didn’t change when he saw me. If anything, it probably got a little worse.

Once upon a time, this man and I been enemies, only because he was an asshole and had everything that I wanted. But given the divine laws of fairy tales, the knight had realized the errors of his ways and had confessed his love for the kickass wizard, leaving the evil prince behind.

Except the Prince wasn’t evil.

Mostly.

And even if there was still a little evil left in h

im, we’d gotten past that! We’d had adventures together! One night he’d even let me braid his hair, his beautiful curly hair, while we gossiped about boys! (Granted, he’d been asleep when I started doing this, but he’d woken up rather quickly and threatened me with pooping in a bucket for the rest of my life while I kept trying to talk about how many different types of laughs Ryan had. Semantics, really.)

And here he stood now, next to a pimp and whorehouse-owning drag queen named Mama, his curls falling wonderfully around his face, looking regal as all fuck, a disgruntled and frankly rather horrified look on his face as he listened to whatever Mama was telling him (or, more likely, whatever Mama was propositioning him with). I hadn’t expected him to be here.

And he must have felt my happiness at seeing him here, because that façade, that mask he hid behind to allow people to think he didn’t care at all, deepened so it looked like he might actually despise me.

But I knew better.

“Whatever you’re thinking of doing, you better stop right now,” Grand Prince Justin of Verania warned me. “I mean it, Sam. I know that face. That’s your feelings face. And I hate it.”

“You know me so well,” I whispered reverently. “Because we’re best friends 5eva.”

“No,” he snapped, looking around wildly like he wasn’t trapped in the office without anywhere to run, just how I liked him. “You stay away from me. I mean it!”

“You came here because you missed me and wanted to make sure I was safe and also wanted to be a part of this adventure,” I said, taking a step toward him.

“I think I liked it better when you two weren’t friends,” Ryan said.

“We aren’t friends now! And I didn’t miss him. I didn’t even want to come here!”

“We have to hug now,” I demanded, ready to rush around the desk.

“Godsdammit, Sam! I will see you beheaded if you even think about touching me—oof!”

“It’s okay,” I whispered in his ear, hugging him tightly. “I know there’s a lot of people in here and you need to keep pretending you don’t like everything about me. Do what you need to do. You and I know the truth.”

“Oh my gods, what are you talking about! I command you as the Prince of Verania: let me go this instant!”

“The more you fight it, the longer it goes,” Morgan said idly from somewhere behind us. “Trust me, I know that from experience.”

“The fact that you know that from experience makes me question the gods placing such a task on the shoulders of someone like him,” Randall said. “Actually, many things make me question their judgment in this.”

“What is dis?” Feng asked, voice low, accent clipped and blunt.

“This is how Sam says hello,” Mama said, silky smooth as always. “It’s quite charming, for the most part. As long as he doesn’t mess with wigs, makeup, or outfits, I allow it. He’s far too precious for this world. Which makes it all the more surprising that there are those who don’t quite understand his special brand of… existing.”