I tell Luis to call me if he sees anything unusual. It’s quiet for the next day, but I’m not surprised. Delicate operations like my breakin can go off whenever, but moving a two tonne granite statue from an unfathomably rich man’s home was a bit more obvious, and whether it’s one familiar or three, you couldn’t turn off all the traffic cameras in the area.

  It’d take something a bit bigger to do that, and thankfully, Salem’s shadow was long. Every friday night the witching hour rolls through, knocking out communications, cameras, blocking satellite imagery with fog- it was when every big move happened, every gang war, every monster attack, every unsightly corporate plot, and every big heist.

  And this friday, we’re waiting to stop that heist.

  Luis doesn’t even have to turn off the cameras, we arrive just as mice night begins. Businesses lock up, pigs flee to brick houses, everyone shelters at home for the night. And then the fog rolls in from Salem, the cameras go dead, and all communications stop working.

  “Luis,” I say, smiling, at his door. “I need another promise from you.”

  “Oh,” he says, staring at the band. It’s me and Vern, Mickey and Red, and her borrower, a skittish looking black man who goes by Rigs. “What kind of promise?”

  “You never saw us, tonight,” I say. “Whoever shows up, you didn’t recognize them, you didn’t hear a name, you don’t know anything useful,” I say.

  “I- promise.”

  “Specifically.”

  “I promise I will say I didn’t recognize any of you or hear any of your names.”

  I tweak my neck, feel the bonds of that promise form between us. “Good boy Luis. And in return, I promise I’ll get you that broomstick.”

  “What?” Vern asks.

  “We never ride them, it’s a good deal,” I say.

  “They’re still worth serious cash,” he says. “Still mine.”

  I stare daggers at him. “Do you see what I just did- I just got us access, I got us deniability, I found the thing, can you give me some slack to work, here?”

  I watch Red and Mickey exchange a glance. Rigs looks away, closes his eyes. Vern frowns at me, gives a look that says this conversation is going to be continued elsewhere.

  “You guys get set up,” Vern says. “Show me where you found it, H-bomb.”

  I take Vern to see her. “One sec,” I say, and duck under the dust cover.

  “Heidi,” Nimue says. Only today she appears as a pirate, a sword in one hand, the other exposing a single breast through her shirt.

  “Oh. Wow. That’s a look.”

  “Anne Bonnie dressed as a man, but would show men she defeated her breast so in their last moments they would know they had been killed by a woman.”

  “That’s- badass,” I say. “I haven’t done the thing with the prop yet- we’re trying to make sure nobody steals you.”

  “You should tell people about the Night Witches of world war 2.”

  “The- there were witches back then?”

  “Yes, but these weren’t. They were russian farmers, fighting the third reich.”

  “Listen, Anne, I love dead Nazis as much as the next girl, but we gotta focus, you gotta come with me to the van,” I say, and slip back through the tarp, where Vern waits. “Come on, now, I know you can move,” I say.

  “It can’t move,” Vern says. “Christ it’s big.”

  “I’ve seen her move.”

  “No, you haven’t,” Vern says, before pulling the tarp down. “You sure this thing is legit? Its not going all vision quest on me.”

  Anne stands fully inert. “Anne?” I ask.

  “You named it?”

  “No, that’s just what she’s named today.”

  “How many times have you met her?”

  “Like twice before,” I say. “I think she needs to be under the tarp to-”

  “So you were just keeping this secret?”

  “I told you about it- just didn’t know it was a big deal till she gave me the skull and Sazwa went nuclear about it.”

  “It gave you a skull?”

  “Yeah, it was a- this.”

  I unsling my backpack, kneel down to retrieve it. He pulls it from my hand before I’ve got it the whole way out, stares critically into its hollow eye sockets. “Sure, yeah, okay,” Vern says. “Does your new boyfriend have a trolley?”

  “He’s not-” I sigh. “Luis?”

  “Yes?”

  “Yeah, Luis, come here a second,” Vern says. He holds up the skull, puts his other hand on Luis’s shoulder. “Look, my associate here is making promises he can’t keep. You want a broom? Fine, if that’s the deal, I’ll take care of you. But you don’t open the gate to people like us unless you want in, so I’m gonna ask. You want in?”

  He swallows. “I-I want in.”

  “Vern, that skull is mine, Luis is- my contact, under my pact, he’s mine.”

  “H-bomb, enough,” he says, a light joking tone that doesn’t quite cover the harshness of his words. “Luis, I’m gonna let you borrow some magic, and you’re gonna do some favours for me. Scratch each other's backs. How does that sound?”.

  “Luis, no, you work for me. You want that broom, you want magic, I’ll get you some-”

  “Harvey! Fuck off!” Vern yells. He puts a hand on Luis’ neck, tilts his head to break eye contact between us, talks gently: “He’s a borrower, he can’t do anything for you, you want the real magic, you gotta come to the source, and that’s me. So what do you say?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I want- I want magic, I can work, I can- there’s a trolley in the shed, I’ll grab it, for sure.”

  “What you’re gonna do first is you’re gonna kill this bug,” Vern says. The tattoo on his neck glows and squishboy emerges, crawling down his arm to rest on his finger. “You’re gonna grab it in your hand, you’re gonna bite down on it hard.”

  “Don’t-” I call. I know what this is. The dinner party, the hundred coin flips, the promise fulfilled, I know the rituals. That skull is a seed, to be planted in Luis the same way the yarn was planted in me, to grow into the spell I wield now. “Luis you don’t even know what kind of magic that is-”

  Vern looks me in the eye and says “Shut up.”

  Blood thunders in my head, I open my mouth to make my rebuttal and my throat gets tight. I see it suddenly, the thread of promise in his hand, follow it up to the sensation around my neck. He never released the promise that I couldn’t speak, from the night before.

  Luis takes the bug. It crawls into the palm of his hand and he grips it.

  “Kill it. Tooth and claw.”

  Luis, hands shaking, eyes locked on Vern, squeezes down, then in one motion opens his mouth and takes a bite.

  He tries to chew briefly, as squishboy’s wings flutter, filling the room with an insect blear that quickly gives up. Luis covers his mouth and gags, white and black and green gore leaking between his fingers. And the skull crumbles to dust in Vern’s hands. “Good man, Luis, good man,” Vern smiles, puts his hand on the back of Luis’ head, runs his fingers through his hair, bone dust painting the man’s black hair grey.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  It hurts so much to watch, but I can’t look away. Vern puts his forehead to Luis’ forehead, clasps his shoulder, holds him in that intimate embrace for a moment, then finally releases him.

  “Luis, Harvey, Rigs, get this thing in the truck,” he orders.

  Rigs and Luis snap to work, and I follow, cause if I was capable of making a noise it’d be a sob or a scream. I can’t stay here, can’t stand still.

  Luis was mine, that skull was mine, the avatar was mine. Vern was mine. To hold me to that promise- to intentionally leave the thread hanging, just in case he needed to shut me up- I look back at him over my shoulder.

  “you can talk if you have to,” he says. “Don’t make me do that again.”

  We strap Anne into the trolley, and she’s still inert, unmoving, untalking, like everything that happened under the tarp was a trick only I was dumb enough to believe. Mickey has his cargo van backed up, metal ramp locked into place, and we’ve got Anne halfway up when we see the bush rustle. I see a little white rabbit ear.

  It’s there for an instant before Red’s fox chases it away.

  “We’re not alone!” Red yells from the balcony.

  “Just get it in!” Vern yells.

  Me and Luis push from the bottom while Rigs pulls, laying the Avatar flat on the ground of the truck.

  “Luis, catch that fucking thing, we’re not getting tailed.”

  Luis looks wide eyed, then nods, jumping out of the back of the van and chasing on foot.

  “Anyone see a crow?” Vern yells.

  A gunshot rings out from the balcony. “Winged an owl, no crow yet!” she yells. “Arleen come on out, I don’t want to shoot you but I will!”

  “Get the fuckin thing strapped down,” Vern says. “No use in it if it’s broken.”

  “Movement!” Red yells. “At the gate!”

  I frantically throw blankets and straps around Anne’s body, and from around the truck I hear Ali’s voice.

  “Gentlemen, Ladies, folks,” he begins, confidently. “I think we’re having a little misunderstanding here, no cause for any violence.”

  “Piss off,” Vern yells. “I found it, it’s mine. Not giving it to you or your dumbass coven.”

  “The coven has no interest in keeping it. You’re Mister Vern, right? Mister Vern let’s just take a deep breath, get on the same page.”

  Vern whistles. I drop the strap I’ve got half tightened, jump out of the van, line up behind him obediently.

  All the street lamps are off, Ali stands by himself in a little pool of flickering light, a candles flame hovering in his open palm.

  A wolf pads up to Vern, tails down, eyes drooping, ears folded, holding a rabbit in its jaw. And then it turns from its small grey lupine form into a naked and shivering Luis, on all fours, gagging blood and fur. His face and the dead rabbit almost look painted, so vividly wet and red.

  “We’re taking the avatar, you can’t stop us.” Mickey steps out of the van, shuts the door, spins the barrel of an enchanted revolver.

  Beep-beep! The van’s lights flash and its locks click.

  Sazwa must be nearby, doing that feather trick. Ali grimaces, then speaks with an unconvincing attempt at confidence: “Not without your keys, you’re not.”

  “Just leg him or something, red.” Vern orders. There’s no reply. “Red?” Vern calls.

  I chance a look and see her slumped on the balcony. “They’re behind us!” I say.

  “Just our sandman, no harm done-” Ali says, grimacing as Red teeters and plummets from the balcony. Mickey lunges to catch her and gets crushed by her limp form.

  Rigs checks his repeater, turns around, aiming between the dozens of windows in the mansion, then a look crosses his face that I can instantly relate to as the thought: ‘I forgot I’m magical.’ His shadow explodes over the wall like a squid squirting ink, it expands across the front face of the building, paints the lights and drips from the dead cameras- standing freely to cover windows and doors in an impenetrable black, blocking any vantages. He runs to attend Red and Mickey.

  “Hey Luis?” Vern asks. There’s a twinge of nervousness in his voice. Surrounded, down two, no backing out now. He nods towards Ali. “Kill that guy.”

  Luis bows his head back down, takes a sprinting posture, and bolts towards Ali, turning into a gangly wolf three paces out. I shout something, this wild escalation out of control, but before I even put together words Ali casts his candle flame down, making a wall of fire between them, wrapping it around himself with a flourish, light spreading to the feet of Sazwa and another of her coven in the street. Ali raises his eyes to Vern, the victor of the exchange.

  And then Luis jumps through the fire.

  Both of them wrestle on the ground, both catch light, but the wolf easily overpowers Ali, fangs and claws dig into the chubby professor’s body, he goes down screaming, and that shout is mirrored twice- the first is by Sazwa herself, hands trembling.

  The second is by her crow.

  Twice the size of any bird I’ve ever heard of, shedding black features as it transforms into a massive eagle, it swoops into the firelight, pulls Luis off of Ali and soars out of view with the wolf clutched in one claw like no more than a rat.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Sazwa yells, she’s smothering the flames on her husband with a jacket, summoning ice packs and first aid supplies in tufts of black feathers. “Arleen!”

  A woman slinks out from behind our group, completely naked. She’s old the way a tree gets old, sinew and jowl, white hair out of order, in front of her face, reaching down to her knees. She frowns as she steps slowly, trailing sand from her hand, daring us with her cloudy eyes to make a sudden move. Rigs and Mickey and Red are all asleep in a pile. The old woman approaches the fallen Ali, sighs as if inconvenienced, and lays hands on him.

  The blood flows back into his wounds.

  “Stop getting in our way,” Vern says, pointing a baseball bat at the naked old lady. It’s just us two left, and I’m panicking cause they’re taking their victory lap and he’s still escalating. “This goes to Henrietta, you’re not taking it for yourself.”

  “That’s who we’re taking it to!” Sazwa screams.

  “Bullshit!”

  The old lady, Arleen, raises her eyes to us, and everything goes quiet. Mickey, Rigs and Red jolt awake in one pile. Arleen picks up the rabbit Luis killed, holds it towards us, turning it to reveal a patch of snow-white fur among all the matted blood. She speaks in a voice like rust and spiderwebs: “Henrietta sanctioned our collection, had us accompanied by her familiar to see for herself that it went peacefully.”

  Mickey holds his head, looks up at the dead familiar, and says with a badly bit tongue: “Oh we’re fucked.”

  Vern looks back at Red, at Mickey, at Rigs, and then at me.

  “You said that bitch was going to steal it,” he says, pointing to Sazwa.

  “She is!” I yell.

  “She was giving it to Henrietta,” Vern says, enunciating each word with malice.

  “Who’s Henrietta?” I shout. “Should I know who that is? Should I know any of this? I’ve been your borrower for six months and I know as much as fucking Luis- is Luis dead?”

  “Unbelievable,” Vern shouts. “Unbelievable work, H-bomb.”

  “This is not- this is not my fault!” I say, and a petrochemical stink wafts from my mouth with the words. My heart is thundering, my heartbeat fills my ears. Am I having a stroke? “This isn’t my fault you never tell me anything!”

  “You knew better!” Vern yells, as he snatches the keys to the truck from Sazwa and gets in.

  “And- you’re- you’re just taking her away? What happened to keeping her- what happened to- to- sticking it to the big shots-”

  “Harvey!” Vern says. “Shut up. Get in or get out of the way.”

  Red and Mickey and Rigs have got in the back, finished strapping Anne in. Everything is suddenly moving so fast. I stare at the truck, standing in front of it stupidly, in shock at it all. Vern hits the horn and doesn’t let go.

  I let the truck pass, and Vern leaves me behind. Ali is hoisted up by Sazwa, who is joined by the Arleen, and a third member of their coven, and taken away. And I’m left behind at the manor gate, with nothing but the dead rabbit, and a hole in my heart.

  I wander for hours, not sure where I’m headed, not sure what to do, knowing some gang of xenowarrior skinheads in a battle bus could come crashing out of the fog at any second to end my night. Or a vampire, a werewolf, the dragon of Salem itself.

  Eventually I sit down, just on the curb in the middle of a plaza. I’m not supposed to be where I am. A failure, all alone, hated by even the people I worked my ass off to keep happy. Not a witch, not powerful enough to shape my own destiny, just a borrower, addicted to the taste of magic, waiting to become a victim to the seed planted in me.

  A cart rattles down the sidewalk, out from the fog, pushed by an old white woman with greasy grey hair under a babushka. She’s buried in layers of jackets, barely keeping herself vertical, tutting and muttering to herself in what I think is Russian.

  I try to keep my eyes off of her. Try to keep them dry. Apparently I fail.

  “Are you alright, little one?” she asks me, as she passes.

  I nod. Blood thunders in my head, my fists ball, that gas station stink rises in my throat. I don’t know why.

  “Oh, lying to an old lady?” she tuts at me disapprovingly, wags a crooked finger “there are those that would punish you for such naughtiness.”

  I pull out my phone. No connection, I write in it: “Just a bad breakup.” And it’s only as I type it that I begin to cry. This is a breakup, isn’t it? Me and Vern, me and magic, me and my whole life as I know it. I don’t like starting over from nothing. I’ve already done it twice.

  “Oh, sweet boy, sweet boy, no tears, no tears,” she says, and runs a bony hand over my head. “No tears for bad girlfriends.”

  Is he bad? Or am I just a fuckup? I crumple in on myself. The old lady coos gently to me. Everything I did for Anne, and he just wanted the credit? Just wanted a favor? She was mine- she was weird but she was nice to me, and she was fascinating, and I said I’d make sure they don’t steal her. I sniffle, type on my phone for a while, then show it to her.

  ‘He said he would help me help someone. I promised her I would help. Now it’s worse than it was.’

  “A promise is a powerful thing,” the old lady says. “Much can be done with a promise.”

  I stare dubiously up at her.

  The old lady pokes my nose and giggles. “Sweet one, I tell you a- how you say- I like?”

  I raise an eyebrow.

  “A how you say- like piece of cake, geek the mage, break a leg, you know- people say this to me all the time, all the time they are saying Baba please, Baba no, Baba I didn’t mean it, so much they are saying this that now the others say it for me.”

  I stare, slowly lower my eyes to where her shopping cart’s four chicken legs move restlessly against the cold pavement. I stand up, getting ready to flee, and she does the same. I barely reach her shoulder, despite the fact she’s hunched over at nearly a right angle.

  Her hand is wrapped all the way around my shoulders, and I don’t know when she put it there. Her breath smells like cabbages, the inches between us are pierced by one knobbly finger she gestures with. “This is my favorite how-you-say: Hell hath no fury like a hag scorned,” she says, and then cackles uproariously, and returns to pushing her cart down the street.

  I sit on the bench, wide eyed, until she’s long gone. My heart thunders, and suddenly I’m grateful I couldn’t speak, couldn’t accidentally say something stupid- make a wish, a promise, something I’d regret. Her passage through my life was a brush with death I didn’t even know about until after she left. And given time, that’ll be me.

  Today I was a fool who’d got stuck in my own spiderweb, outplayed by literally the dumbest man I know. But the ball of yarn that man planted within me would grow, and its full stature was as twisted as that woman, with thorns just as sharp.

  Pact binder. Deal maker. Trickster. Hag. I might not have fire or fangs, but Vern gave me the kind of spell Borrowers aren’t supposed to get, the kind of magic you don’t see coming till it’s too late. And I was going to use it for all it was worth.