Hazardous Goods (Arcane Transport) (19 page)

“But look at Arcane. Look at our business. We couldn’t stay in business if people weren’t interested in the occult. And it’s not just a handful of folks. We must be talking hundreds in the GTA alone.”

“Yes, but look to the simple math. When the witch hunts took place, there was half a billion humans on this planet. If you were to assume that all of those people who were executed were practitioners, and you were to apply it to our world today, you would end up with a number in the hundreds of thousands. However we know that a significant number of the trials were politically or personally motivated. So cut it in half. You still end up with a number in the six figures. And that’s practitioners. I’m not including dabblers, or the simply curious.”

I did the math in my head. Couldn’t help myself. Let’s face it, I was running a business here. So, just under six million in the GTA. Seven billion worldwide. Call it one in eleven hundred. So if there were one hundred thousand occult types worldwide, and maybe ten times as many who dabbled or were just plain curious, that worked out to more than 1,000 potential customers in the GTA.

I was going to work out market share, but I noticed Kara and the Prof both looking at me in silence.

“Sorry. Just trying to see how that compared to what I’ve seen so far.”

“And?”

“Sounds about right. Might even be low, if you assume even distribution globally.”

“Well, that’s another interesting point.”

After an hour of chatting with the Professor, I excused myself. My head was spinning with way too much information.

Harper had said we had the run of the place, and a group was settled into the living room, two matching tan-colored sofas on either side of a sunken sitting area, with a pair of wicker chairs pulled up to accommodate the head count. My mother was fussing with a stack of cushions, moving them aside to give Clay more room to sit. I kept my head down, and stepped through the first door I saw. In front of me was a short flight of stairs leading to the basement.

Small bedroom to my right – looked like a guestroom. Washroom. Then a room that smelled of leather and appeared to contain a very large TV set.

My kind of room.

Turned out Clay had real nice taste in electronics. Sixty inch widescreen LCD set. Built-in sound system. Two rows of black leather theatre-style seating, with the works – built in consoles and drink-holders. Small bar in the corner. I wandered over to the bar, looking for nothing stiffer than a Coke. I found a Ginger Ale in the bar fridge. I was checking out some knick-knacks displayed in a glass cabinet on the wall behind the bar when a voice startled me out of my reverie.

“So, what do you think of my little hidey hole?”

Clay was looking better. He still walked with a cane, which made his trip down the stairs awkward. But his strength was improving, and his skin was no longer the dull shade of grey that had given me such concern in the hospital.

“Very nice. Something to aspire to.”

“Heh.” He shuffled over to one of the theatre seats and took a seat. “If you told me forty years ago that I was going to own a color TV, I would have laughed. Now I’ve got three, and every HDTV, HDMI watchamacallit going.”

“Not bad.” I gestured to the cabinet and some of the keepsakes on display. “I like the salt and pepper shakers.”

“Neat, eh?” The shakers were miniature Mason jars, one filled with salt, the other with pepper (go figure). Both bore the Arcane Transport logo, engraved on the side. “We did them up for our 10
^th
anniversary, way back when. Sent a set out to all of our customers. I can dig up a pair for you, if you like. I’m sure we have extras floating around.”

“That’d be great. Thanks.”

“My pleasure. Take a closer look, if you want.”

I opened the glass cabinet and lifted the shakers out. Pretty neat. Must be my geek nature, but I love quirky things like that. As I replaced them, I glanced at the other items in the cabinet. On the same shelf as the shakers, there were a few other items bearing the company logo. Mouse pad, keychain, sleeve of golf balls. The next shelf up was occupied by several photos – one showing the office staff, standing out front of reception. The other two showed Clay receiving business awards. I had seen similar photos at the office, along with the actual awards.

“Is that Mayor McCallion?”

“That’s right. Hurrican Hazel. We won a Board of Trade award a few years back, and she attended the ceremony. Harper had always wanted to meet her, so we caught up with her afterwards, and she agreed to have her picture taken.”

“What was she then? Eighty-five?”

“Eighty-seven. Amazing.”

“No kidding.”

The top shelf appeared to be personal items – a pottery jar, Eskimo soapstone bear and a glass bowl. The jar immediately caught my eye. Black on black, with matte images carved into the polished surface. The decoration reminded me of some of the Pueblo art I had seen in the past.

“Where did you get the—,” I reached out to lift the pot from the shelf.

“
Don’t
!”

“Huh?” Too late. I spun, just managing not to smack the pot on anything.

“Oh! I’m sorry, Clay. Didn’t mean to presume.” I reached to place the pot back in the cabinet.

“No, no. It’s OK. Just – don’t worry about it. Feel free to take a look.”

I glanced at him and noticed he seemed a little flustered. Not a good thing in his condition. I was debating getting Harper when she descended the stairs.

“
There
you are! I wasn’t sure if you’d gone to lie down, or – oh, hi Darnell.”

“Hi Harper.” I glanced down at the pot in my hands, to give her and Clay an opportunity to talk for a moment. She was no doubt checking in on him to make sure all was well.

The pot was maybe four inches tall by five inches wide, and seemed to be half-full with salt or something similar. The polished parts of the clay surface were so reflective that they served as curved mirrors, and I could see my own face looking back at me. Several bands had been etched into the circumference of the pot, with geometric representations of various animals, reminiscent of the totem poles of the Canadian Pacific Coast.

I was still taking in the remarkable artistry of the piece when I noticed that Harper and Clay were not talking. A glance confirmed their silence, and I saw both were staring at me.

“Uh, I wasn’t supposed to take this out of the cabinet, was I?” I turned to set it back in its original resting spot. “What, is this thing worth a small fortune?”

“No, no.” This time it was Harper. I turned back, now wondering what the hell was going on.

“Somebody want to explain what’s going on? I feel like I’m missing something here.”

They exchanged a look, and Clay seemed to make a decision.

“When you spilled that potion, did it have any effect on you?”

OK. That was from left field. More than a little embarrassing, too. It seemed I was never going to escape that incident. It would have been nice not to have to discuss it in front of Harper, though.

“No. Not that I noticed. I mean, it was a little difficult to tell.”

“And in the Lost and Found Room?”

“The Lost and Found? Oh the fearstone, that. Nope.”

Seemed like I wasn’t the only one noticing a few odd things. I hadn’t even told them about the events with Crazy Lady Lucas from the day before. Wasn’t sure I wanted to, but I didn’t have any choice now.

“Maybe we should ask Huguette and Sol to join us?”

Harper headed back up the stairs.

“OK. Now you’re starting to freak me out, Clay. Did I do something wrong?”

Clay studied me – that’s the word,
studied
– and shook his head. “Nothing wrong, kid. Just the opposite, in fact.”

Now my mother and Sol were clumping down the stairs, followed by Harper. I could hear my brother’s voice from the living room, then the sound of laughter from the remaining guests. I suspect he had determined that I was in a shitload of trouble. Which remained to be seen, but was always a possibility.

“OK.
Somebody
tell me what the heck is going on.”

My mother gave me that look. The one that says don’t you swear in front of others, even if it is a grade two swearword. Then she saw the pot in my hands and paused.

“Is that – is that the pot from Santa Fe?” She had turned to Harper, who nodded in confirmation.

“But I thought —.”

“I know. Clay?”

Now they were all staring at me, and I was distinctly uncomfortable. I put the pot down on the bar and took a swig of my Ginger Ale.

“Anybody?”

Sol stepped forward.

“I believe – correct me if I’m wrong Clay – I believe that pot is a protective talisman that Clay and Harper were given by a Pueblo Indian medicine man when they visited New Mexico. What, ten years ago?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

The Professor was standing in front of the bar now, studying the pot.

“So, I wasn’t supposed to pick it up?”

“Well—.”

I sighed, and they could all tell I was exasperated. It was my mother that answered, oddly enough, and for once her answer was clear and to the point.

“You shouldn’t
be able
to pick it up.”

I had moved around to the front of the bar, and was perched on one of the leather stools. The others had settled into the theatre seats, making me feel like I was facing a jury.

I still wasn’t clear on what my crime had been, or for that matter what the potential penalty might be. But apparently it had something to do with the pot in my hands.

“So tell me that again?”

“We were given that pot in ‘98 by a Pueblo Indian who was a medicine man. It was a gift for letting his daughter stay with us during her senior year at Ryerson.”

I nodded, half listening and half checking out the faces of the others in the room, in particular my mother. I kept expecting her to signal her displeasure with me in some way, for not paying attention, or picking up the damned thing, or simply being here. But she was listening intently to Harper, and when she glanced in my direction, it was with a solemn look on her face.

“He lived in a tiny village fifty miles outside Santa Fe. Paranoid about big cities, crime, that kind of thing. When he gave us the pot, he claimed that it was a protective talisman, that it would prevent unwanted visitors from entering our home. I don’t know if it works. Suppose we never will, unless someone tries to rob us one night. But he also cast a ward on it, to ensure no one other than Clay or I could remove it from the house.”

“OK. And this ward is supposed to prevent anyone from taking it out of the house? Well, I haven’t—.”

“Not just take it out of the house. No one is supposed to be able to
touch
it.”

I must have had a skeptical look on my face, because this time my mother scowled.

“Maybe the ward has worn off?”

Professor Irving piped up. “I don’t think so. These types of spells aren’t supposed to have a shelf life. Excuse the pun.” Not sure I could. It wasn’t very punny. “Certainly the last time I tried to pick up the ward it seemed to be working just fine.”

“What does it do?”

Sol glanced at the others and apparently concluded he was the one best suited to show how it worked. Sighing, he wrestled his way out of his leather nest in the second row and headed my way.

“Why don’t you put it on the bar. Make sure it’s not near the edge.”

“Sol, you don’t need to—.”

Sol patted Harper on the shoulder, and continued toward the bar. “I think it is well worth it, if we can prove that the ward is still working.”

I moved aside to let the Professor stand at the bar. Up close, I could see that drops of sweat were forming on his forehead. He gave me a quick grin, but I could see in his eyes it was much like the smile a patient gives his dentist just before the root canal procedure begins. Then he reached out his right hand, the fingers trembling ever so slightly. He paused for a moment, just a few inches from the lid of the pot, then closed the gap.

The Ontario Science Centre was one of my favorite places to visit as a kid. And one of the exhibits I looked forward to most was a Van de Graaf generator in the Science Arcade. A big aluminum sphere, the generator always made me think of a metal mushroom. Operating at 500,000 volts, the device was terrific for introducing kids to electricity and its effects. I just loved watching the girls get up there. When their hair stood on end, they looked like giant dandelion puffballs. And I remember how, if you got up close, you could
feel
the charged air around you, and the hair on your arms would stand up.

Sol’s finger was about three inches from the pot when a spark jumped through the air. This was no carpet spark. I swear a mini-lightning bolt formed in that room before our very eyes. There was a crack like an axe splitting a log, and the room lit up. I think I may have yelped like a startled puppy. I know I hopped back a few steps.

The ladies both cried out in surprise, and Clay fell back in his chair with a thump.

What was three or four seconds felt like thirty. Finally, my voice seemed to work.

“Are you OK?”

Sol was staring at his finger, inspecting it for burn marks. The pot seemed to be rocking ever so slightly on its base.

“Yeah. I’m OK. Jeez, that’s the third time I’ve done that. I should know better by now.”

“Everyone OK down there?” That was Jamar’s voice, I thought, calling down from the living room.

Harper called out in response. “All good. Just crossed the wrong wire.”

More laughter upstairs. Ted was no doubt mocking the old folks in the basement.

“That seemed a lot more powerful than last time.” Clay’s eyes were filled with concern for his friend.

“Yeah, that had a bit of pop to it, that’s for sure.”

“You sure you’re OK?”

“Yeah.” He smiled, first at me, then at Clay. “Well, it seems to be working just fine.”

Which raised an obvious question.

“Then why didn’t it zap me?”

Two shapely legs descended down the stairwell and a moment later Kara’s eyes met mine. Right behind her was a pair of significantly less shapely legs, covered in dense hair. Those belonged to Ted.