Duncan rubbed his head gingerly as he helped Hilda to her feet. Yuri was certainly much more powerful than he had initially assumed, considering how he could still feel the dispelling charm’s power in his bones even at this moment. Where did she get such potent magic?
Despite Yuri’s seemingly lengthy explanation earlier, Duncan had a nagging feeling that the woman was still hiding something. Her sense of ‘urgency’ to stop Miguel seemed forced as well. It felt more like she was worried that someone might catch them instead.
But any musing had to wait for now. Best figure out which part of the world that magic spell had thrown them into.
To his surprise, a familiar sight greeted him. Or rather, a puff of cigar smoke did. Duncan backed away from the scantily clad woman grinning seductively at him, blowing smoke in his face as though it would reel him closer.
He was back in London, alright. To be precise, he was in London’s most seedy street: Soho. Or rather, what was more commonly known as the Red Light District.
Duncan backed away immediately, almost stumbling over his feet in the process. Prostitutes stood half-hidden in the shadows, cheap decorations for the closely packed slums behind them. Pimps and drug dealers skulked around in the alleys further back, keeping a relaxed but watchful eye on their turf.
“Hey there, good sir.” The blonde woman winked as she ran a finger down Duncan’s tie. “Oh my, here’s a handsome lad. Come on into our place; I’ll give you a discount.”
The prostitute pulled him by the tie, much to the horror of Hilda watching from behind. Duncan blushed slightly, still trying his best not to push the woman away by her chest in case she got the wrong idea.
“W— Wait, I’m not here to—” he sputtered as the rosewood doors opened, revealing an ordinary-looking brothel instead of the abandoned hospital earlier.
Duncan gawked in shock; that cult base was in a liminal space?
“Dad!”
Both the prostitute and Duncan turned back in surprise as Hilda stomped up to them, mock indignation all over her face.
“How dare you come here!” The girl grabbed him by his arm and began dragging him out of the brothel. “You better come home with me right now before Mom finds out!”
Duncan flashed a sheepish grin at the pouting prostitute as he scurried close behind Hilda. Thank god the kid was quick-thinking enough.
The two of them practically ran onto the streets and didn’t stop until they were at least several hundred metres away from that alleyway. Hilda stopped to catch her breath, leaning up against a wall as though she had sprinted a whole kilometre instead.
“My thanks, lass.” Duncan patted the girl on the back. “Those ladies would’ve eaten me alive.”
“Aren’t you five hundred years old?” Hilda rolled her eyes, still wheezing like an asthmatic patient. “What are you, still afraid of women?”
“They didn’t use to be this aggressive.” Duncan shrugged lamely. “Women in this century can be pure terrifying. Back when I was a wee lad, a lady used to be far more demure and—”
“Alright, gramps. I didn’t ask for a history lesson.” Hilda finally mustered enough stamina to stand up straight. “What was that back there, anyway? How are you acquainted with my mother?”
Duncan creased his eyebrows. “Remember the warlord I was telling you about on the Witch’s Train? His daughter is your mother. My elixir of immortality was originally meant for her, but she clearly doesn’t need it anymore.”
It was Hilda’s turn to frown. “Mother… Duncan, please! We have to help her!”
“Yes, yes. Worry not.” Duncan placated her. “I have questions of my own as well. But clear and present is the ‘site’ near the English Channel that your mother was talking about. I reckon we’d stand a high chance of seeing her again if we head there as well.”
“What are we waiting for? Let’s go!”
“Not so fast, Hilda. I may be a Sorcerer, but I can’t protect you all the time.”
Hilda stomped her feet like a child. “No. Absolutely not. You’re not sending me away as well. I won’t be shunned again!”
Duncan blinked, slightly taken aback by the overreaction. But then again, it was a completely understandable response from a girl who had spent most of her life alone.
“I am not saying that I’ll do that.” He gave her a gentle smile. “Besides, we’ve come too far for you to be out of this. Come with me, girl. Let’s get you protected for what’s coming.”
“How?” Hilda tilted her head curiously.
“I’ve got friends on the other side.”
~ ~ ~
Duncan’s next stop didn’t take too long to reach on foot. Fifteen minutes was all it took for him to turn into yet another rundown street. But in all honesty, this neighbourhood just looked worse than it really was.
Scores of identical, dark grey, five-storey apartments crammed together in small clusters of blocks. Most of their windows appeared to have been broken at some point, as evidenced by the poor patchwork of plywood sheets on the glass.
The unswept footpaths outside weren’t any better. Dozens of homeless people scattered themselves on both sides of the road. Some of them were lounging around in broken-down cardboard boxes, while others slept the day away in torn sleeping bags.
And yet, despite how shady the place looked, there was no gang presence in this area. Most homeless people were too poor for any vices, and it was pointless running a protection racket in an area where nobody had anything to lose. But that wasn’t the biggest reason why not even the gangsters dared not step foot in this place.
It was because someone else already owned this neighbourhood. Or rather, something else.
Duncan strolled across the street while Hilda scurried close behind, looking more and more apprehensive by the minute. He stopped outside a building right in the middle of a block that looked just like all the others.
One set of steps led up to the front door of an empty lobby area. The other disappeared below the street level to an overly decorated green door, covered in a set of ornate locks that looked way too expensive to belong to anyone living on this street.
Duncan trotted down the stairs and rapped on the door in three different patterns. Two long, one short. Short, long, short. Three long, one short.
It was a code of sorts. And it just so happened that it was a code that every witch knew, along with a small portion of the supernatural world. After all, this wasn’t a place one would normally go for a vacation.
It was a place one would go to prepare for a fight.
There was a brief silence followed by some hushed shuffling that resembled the sound of leaves rustling in the wind.
“Sorcerer Duncan Ward.” An ethereal-sounding voice echoed in his head, sending shivers down his spine. He never got used to such invasive mental magic. “And guest?”
“Hilda Harvey,” Duncan said out loud, and Hilda turned to him in confusion.
“Huh? What is it?” she asked. “Why’d you call for me?”
Duncan ignored her, waiting for the voice to respond telepathically.
“Hilda Emiko Harvey.” The voice affirmed Hilda’s full name. “No history of unwarranted violence against mystical beings. Guest accepted. Is this a social or a business visit?”
“Business.”
The green wooden door swung open on its own as if an invisible butler had been waiting to let them in. Duncan walked in silently, and Hilda followed close behind, too confused to even ask any more questions.
The darkness seemed to retreat as the duo walked along an endless corridor, and a pale red light with no obvious source steadily grew brighter the longer they walked.
And then, without warning, they were in an empty tailor shop. It had red carpeted flooring as well as fancy wooden walls, all lit by a singular red bulb in the centre of the ceiling. A switch flipped somewhere, plunging the room into darkness.
Then another light flashed on, a normal white bulb this time. The tailor shop was properly furnished all of a sudden, filled to the brim with coat hangers and covered drawers.
Duncan resisted the urge to roll his eyes at all the unnecessary theatrics. The faefolk had always been the dramatic lot.
“Good afternoon, Doctor Ward. It has been quite a while.”
An unfamiliar woman dressed in a dark blue suit was standing behind a counter, having seemingly materialised out of thin air. She was on the petite side, as far as humanoid creatures went— her body was only about as big as a prepubescent teen.
But for a fae, that was an average-sized build.
Her skin was also an impossible white, and her eyes were a little too round and big. Her head was almost a perfect sphere, which made her slightly off-putting to humans. Two rows of pointed teeth jutted from her gums, sharp enough to gut an elephant.
“What’s going on?” Hilda stuck close to Duncan as she eyed the woman nervously.
“She’s— uh— a tailor.” That was the simplest way he could put it.
“I’ve never seen a tailor before, but I know she ain’t one,” the girl blurted out before Duncan could stop her.
His heart raced. Faefolk were normally the temperamental sort, and they were also naturals at powerful transfiguration magic. Not exactly a harmless combination, especially when they were offended.
Duncan shuddered at the memory of an entire platoon of soldiers that had been transformed into apple trees for decades. It had taken him three days and three nights of non-stop talking to finally persuade the faefolk to turn them back.
But thankfully, this fae didn’t seem the petty sort.
“Welcome back to The Atelier.” The woman flashed a horrifying yet professional smile. “As you are already aware, I will be your Seamstress for the day.”
“I would like a fitting,” Duncan started as he snapped his fingers.
A green light ran through his clothes, transforming his outfit into something that looked like it belonged to a mediaeval movie set instead. Various magic patterns were now visible on different parts of his clothes. Some of them flashed, while others hummed.
“Certainly.” The Seamstress’s eyes glowed a bright red as she scanned his clothes from top to bottom. “May I know the scale of this event?”
“Intimate.”
“Guests?”
“Colleagues and family.”
“Any friends on the guest list?”
Duncan paused. “I am not expecting any.”
“Will do.” The Seamstress walked out of the counter with a jagged branch in her hand. “Will your companion be part of the event?”
“Yes, she’s a friend.” Duncan nodded.
The fae’s eyes nodded as well, clearly having understood every codeword Duncan had just used. Her eyes burned a light blue as she flicked her branch casually. “Room Eight Two Eight. Friends only.”
“Of course.”
“What’s going on?” Hilda asked again as the Seamstress opened a cabinet to reveal another room. It resembled a dressing room, and two female faes were standing in each corner.
Duncan gestured for her to walk in. “Don’t worry. They will take good care of you.”
He entered the mini liminal space as well, right after Hilda disappeared behind an almost invisible shimmering veil.
An array of magical artefacts greeted him this time, all displayed neatly on shelves as though they were mere jewellery. The Seamstress, on the other hand, had magically teleported behind the counter.
“I’m aware of your past fondness for defensive magic. But as they say, the best defence is a good offence.” The Seamstress pulled out a glowing mace. “The Mace of Mercy, guaranteed to only knock out any family member of yours, no matter how hard you swing it. In the unlikely scenario that you encounter friends, rest assured that they will not be accidentally killed by your magic. Colleagues, however, may prove slightly more difficult to subdue, depending on their physiology.”
Duncan picked up the weapon and tested its weight. “Interesting. I’ll take it.”
“What’s next?”
“I need something else for an unfamiliar liminal environment. Something versatile and handy.”
“Liminal environment, versatile, handy…” the Seamstress repeated, nodding as she thought hard. “Might I suggest the Transylvanian Darting Daggers?”
Duncan received a pair of twin daggers that somewhat resembled Japanese flying knives, except that they were slightly more slender and looked a little closer to stakes.
“Attunement required for privacy purposes, should a family member of yours happen to pick it up,” Seamstress explained. “Their locations are magically entangled, so either dagger can teleport to the other instantly. Handy for getting out of messy situations. However—”
She raised a slender finger to emphasise her point. “—Does not pierce the human skin too easily, I’m afraid. If you insist on using it like a normal dagger, I would recommend using a lot more force to drive it deep enough.”
“Fascinating,” Duncan breathed. The Atelier had certainly updated its catalogue since he last visited it about a century ago. “Are there any limits to its teleportation?”
“Not much. In fact, waypoint magic is nestled between the two daggers, which means they can teleport without borrowing magic from the air. In other words, no amount of magic interference can stop it from tunnelling out of its location. The only drawback is that it can only carry two people at a time.”
“Brilliant, I’ll take that as well. Thank you.” Duncan nodded. “Could you recommend something for the closing ceremony? Preferably something bold and bombastic.”
The fae unlocked a cabinet behind her and pulled out a Chinese-looking fan. Duncan grinned in recognition.
“Rakshashi’s Fan,” Seamstress said. “A simple flick creates powerful whirlwinds up to two hundred knots, sending everything around its wielder flying. A non-lethal classic, especially when dealing with your colleagues. Or anything big in general. The only drawback is that anyone who picks it up can wield it as well.”
“I’ll be sure to hold on to this, then.” Duncan received the weapon. “How much do I owe—”
“As always, our services are complimentary.” The Seamstress broke into a polite smile. “The Fae Kingdom owes you an eternal debt for ending our civil war and preventing the extinction of our kind, after all.”
“I’ll return the gear in one piece,” Duncan said. “Just one last thing, could I get a refitting for my attire?”
“Consider it done. Every protective charm on your outfit has already been refreshed.”
“Thank you.” Duncan snapped his fingers as a green light ran through his clothes and transformed them back into his regular civilian tuxedo. This Seamstress certainly lived up to The Atelier’s slogan of ‘Exemplary Service’.
The cabinet beside him opened right on cue, and Hilda walked out of her ‘fitting room’, looking pretty much the same but thoroughly confused. The two fae, who had apparently been attending to her, walked out as well, looking extremely pleased with themselves.
Duncan, on the other hand, almost physically choked on the aura of protective charms stacked on Hilda’s clothes. Did those two fae attendants just spend the whole twenty minutes casting defensive spells on her?
“Holy Blessing, Infinity Barrier, Extra Life Essence, Holy Wall, Double Potential, Intuitive Invisibility, Paranormal Sense, Further Resistance, Mantle of Indomitability, Triple Luck, Zero Penetration, Draconic Hardening, Blessed Aura, Shock Absorption, Manaward, Warden’s Seal, Arcana of Immortality,” the fae finished with a big grin. “I daresay no mortal magic can hurt her now.”
That’s a little excessive.
“Exemplary service,” Duncan muttered. “Exemplary service, indeed…”
“Will that be all, Doctor Ward?” the Seamstress asked with a note of finality in her voice.
Duncan glanced at Hilda, who scurried closer to him right on cue. “Yes. Thank you for your service.”
“It is our pleasure.”
Red light flickered in the fae’s eyes. Duncan held Hilda close to him as he felt the magic in the air begin to shift around them.
“Oh, Sorcerer Ward?”
He turned to the Seamstress, who was already beginning to blur into the background with the teleportation magic swirling around him and his companion.
“Do enjoy your event."14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVfpkHtplwz
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