Buddy sank down into his office chair with a satisfied groan, scratching his mustache as his other hand removed the folder from within his hidden sleeve. Behind him, the evening sun filled the room with a gentler light, framing his desk just right. Laying the folder onto his desk, he flipped through it again, taking out the photos. From a desk drawer, he shuffled out a blank sheet of paper stolen from the lobby printer. Few used the dust-covered apparatus anyway.
Taking one of his pencils, he began jotting down notes. First bullet point: Given the range of sightings, the critter was clearly mobile yet stayed within the limits of the park. Second, it was cognizant enough to know to hide. Almost every photo had it behind something. Third, it was a children’s toy.
After glancing through his bullet points, Buddy arranged a few possibilities near the bottom of the page. He didn’t have too much information, so his guesses could be wrong. But that was just part of the business.
The three points led to two options. Either this was a wizard’s awry attempt at bringing a childhood friend to life, or it was a Haunt. Buddy circled Haunt. Limited sighting area, hiding, toy? Sighing, he rubbed his forehead with his pencil hand. Going back to the paper, he flipped it over to write on the back what tools he’d probably need.
Self-binding rope—that was easy. A glance tossed at Arnold. That reminds him… Standing up from his chair, he approached the inanimate mannequin, squatting down. Touching the forehead postal stamp, he felt it warm. Standing back up, he rubbed his finger with his thumb. Looking between Arnold and the window, he estimated what time he had left. Halfway through it, he decided it was better to be safe than sorry. Buddy hoisted the mannequin by their torso to take them back to the duffel bag, which sat right next to his door.
Wooden limbs clattered together as Arnold was dropped into the bag. Posing them to fit was an easier process without them struggling. Zipping up the bag, he kept them close to the door. Wouldn’t want to forget them here. The fabric bulged a little, a hand’s impression visible on the side.
Rope secured, he sat back down at his desk. What else? Ah, yes, trackers. Of course, he’d want two, one for general magic and one for Haunts. Just in case. Looking over the photos, he’d have to hope the impression captured was sufficient enough. Tapping the paper with his pencil, he sketched a few quick designs. He went for an old favorite. Emergency flares. Did he have any left? His mind blanked until he looked at the duffel bag. A trip to a boating shop, then.
As he sketched the idea, he considered the enchants. Hiding the flame would be necessary if heading to a park. That would be rough. The closer an object worked for its ‘intended’ purpose, the easier it was to enchant or twist that purpose. Making a flare’s flame hidden worked greatly to counteract that purpose. At the end of the day, an emergency flare was about finding a thing. Typically, that thing would be you, but the idea of ‘finding’ was there. That’s why he liked them for trackers. Things were created with purpose. Buddy just took advantage of what humans intended.
The more he molded the idea, the firmer the shape. The sound of pencil scratching filled the small room as sunlight dimmed further. Stealth, tracking, anything else? One thing was clear: it would burn quickly. Another few taps later, and he added the idea of a lure. Yeah, that’d work. Flares were meant to draw attention. Staring at the stealth part, he sighed. Have to keep the job under radar, he reminded himself as he pushed the now sketch-filled paper into the folder. Standard manila, probably taken from the police department.
After taking a final look at the folder, he returned it to its earlier resting spot in his overalls. Tidying up, he made sure his office was in good shape before he left. Slinging the duffel bag with Arnold inside over his shoulder, he closed and locked the door behind him with a tinny click.
The hallway was dark, the lights off. Ahead, he could see Matthew Dane leaning against a wall, right next to one of the thrift-shop paintings. In one hand, he had his phone out. In the other, he was spinning a keyring around his finger. Hearing Buddy’s approach, he clicked his phone off and slid it into his pocket with a slight frown.
“Mr. Pall, we were meant to close several minutes ago.”
Buddy nodded, adjusting the duffel bag.
“Had to finish up some business.”
“As usual.”
Matthew pushed off the wall, keys still jingling.
“After you, sir.”
Buddy was happy to leave the choking citrus. With Matthew following behind him, he opened and held the door for the young man, who didn’t bother with a thanks as Buddy let the door close after them. With one of the keys, they locked the front doors with a sigh—a purely symbolic gesture. A brick through the glass and you were in.
Matthew had that glimmer of light again when they turned around, eying the hand print in Buddy’s bag.
“Not smuggling people again, are we?” Matthew joked. Buddy partially unzipped the bag to reveal the wooden limbs; the secretary seemed both relieved and disappointed seeing them. Out of the building, any veneer of professionalism was gone. “Still cleaning weird stuff outta houses, ey?”
Buddy shrugged.
“It’s good business.”
“Alright, Mr. Pall. See you tomorrow.” Still spinning the keyring, Matthew took off in a not-quite-jog for the parking lot. Buddy watched them go before adjusting his bag for the final time to head back to his own car.
The walk was short, full of fresh evening air. As he walked past the daisies, he took a moment to appreciate them. He’d take one, but it didn’t feel proper. They worked to survive in a place like this. Once past the asphalt-grown flowers, he was at his car. Unlocking it, he opened the back door and tossed the duffel bag across the backseat.
Sitting down in the driver’s seat, an errant thought commented that it was a lot quieter than before. Fiddling with the radio knob, it was still static with hints of maybe music— nevermind, just a commercial jingle. Muting it with a press, Buddy pulled out into the street, pushing on the gas a little. The car clock informed him it was 6:26.
Good, the boating shop should still be open then. Remembering the direction, he utilized back roads again to try to bypass the traffic of everyone returning home. He watched as a few cabs sped by, having the exact same idea. Shaking his head, he kept his car at a steady pace all the way to the boating shop. Parking on the street, he waited for a car to pass before getting out.
The boating shop had a flickering neon sign above its doors, a blue tilted bucket with bubbles, and a yellow-lit fishing hook hooking the handle. The shop itself was shoved right in between a barber shop and a tiny granny and pop burger joint.
After a plastic bag with a few emergency flares was resting on the car floor, Buddy was sitting down in that joint, going for a table near the windows. An old lady with joints you could hear and a worrying wobble to her step took his order. With a “Thank you, dear” in the voice of a person who’s been smoking packs their whole life, she shuffled back through the kitchen swing doors.
A few other patrons sat around on bar stools or booths, matching the look of the burger joint: plaid, reeking of beer, and generally unkempt. One of them, a greasy-looking fella, was staring right at Buddy. Buddy met their gaze before the old granny returned with a glass of ice water.
He made to thank her, but she was already off to chat with one of the other patrons, laughing as she leaned against the pub counter. Seeing that, Buddy took to his thoughts while waiting. Was this indulgent of him? Setting his cup down, he decided not. Several hours had passed, and this was a matter of convenience. Cooking something at home was a hazard anyway.
The greasy man was still staring at him, and Buddy had to suppress a sigh. Even from this distance, he could recognize the glint in the man’s eyes. Worse yet, he could see the growing smile. So they had clocked him as well.
Bringing his attention back to his glass, he kept watch of the man in his peripheral. So far, they didn’t make any attempts to approach him. Yet. He would prefer if it was kept that way. He blinked when he realized his water was empty. Looking at the ice cubes, they reflected the light from the shaded bulb above as he slowly rotated the glass.
A moment became three, and he was presented with a plate and a burger. Smelled good, looked cooked. Good enough for him. His constitution would save him if there was a problem. Eating was a mechanical process, getting the food in so he could leave. As he ate, he felt the stare of the greasy man who had hardly looked away this entire time. Yet another reason to get out.
Finishing off his plate, he concluded that the burger was alright. Not bad, but not worth being in a place like this. The granny came around soon after, asking if he wanted seconds or was ready to pay. Not wanting to deal with cards, he instead wrote her a check. Something she looked at and then snatched away, pushing it into a fanny pack. He could see the paper crease and crumple.
Standing up, he took his plate to the bin and made to leave. As he was about to exit, he heard a voice speak up. Ignoring it, he pushed through the doors as two men entered the establishment, sharply dressed and wearing shades. At night. Buddy grimaced as soon as they passed by, catching a whiff of clay.
Not his business.
He got to his car with practiced calmness as he heard a commotion behind him near the burger joint. Getting behind the wheel, he reminded himself: not his business. As he was about to pull out, someone knocked on his window. Hands tightening around his wheel, he looked to see who it was—yup, it was one of the shade-wearing men. So an encounter was inevitable.
Rolling down the window with the driver’s side button, he loosened his grip on the wheel.
“How can I help you?”
The shade-wearing man just stared at him for a moment. Buddy stared back, trying to keep their expression neutral.
“Apologies. There was a misidentification. You can carry on.” With that, the man walked away to leave Buddy alone. Rolling up the window, he stared ahead. Not often you see homunculi. One talking to you was not a good sign. Thoughts bounced around, and he gave himself a minute to collect before driving.
As he got onto the road, traffic had died down after his dinner. Pushing the encounter to the back of his mind, he focused on the drive until he blinked and was parked in an unassuming spot on an unassuming street.
He took the duffel bag and his purchase of flares out of the car with him, approaching one of the squatter buildings. It was a forgettable block of bricks, dull green painted door at the front. He walked right past it and into a little alleyway with steps that led underneath the street level.
Ah, home sweet hole in the ground.
Walking down the concrete steps, there was a grated drain at the bottom. The acoustics ensured that every step on it could be heard. The walls were bare, the only character being a small antique bulb behind black wire frame. Its light was warm against the cool of the underground. This underground hallway wasn’t long, really no more than five feet, six if you felt generous. And narrow too. With the duffel bag, there was no room to turn.
At its end was a metal door. The grey paint was peeling, especially around the bottom. It spoke of unfilled landlord promises and “I’ll do it later”s. Putting the plastic bag of flares down, he reached for his keys. He could hear the rumble of a car driving past as he did so. After unlocking the door, he grabbed the handle. It took a hefty twist to open and you could hear the latch thunk.
The door swung inward, asking to be oiled. Stepping inside, Buddy reached for the nearby light switch, flicking it on to reveal his home. It was a concrete box of walls. The one to his right was partially exposed (that was to say, half of it didn’t exist), with metal piping showing and a few tufts of insulation. The floor was wooden, with a few rugs—some of the only color down here. On the ceiling, bare bulbs hung down to make up for a lack of windows.
That would’ve been a deal breaker, but Buddy put up with it because no one else knew this place existed, outside of the landlord of course. It was private, discrete, and, most importantly, cheap.
Letting both bags drop to the ground, Buddy sighed and rubbed his forehead. While massaging his temples, he was trying to un-scramble his thoughts. Despite how he tried, they continued to dart through plans, enchant designs, and questions about earlier. As thoughts rose, the door closing behind him interrupted him.
Dropping his hand, he looked around his living situation. It wasn’t all that large. He was in the central room, with the kitchenette to his left and a bare-bones bed near the far wall. Past the kitchenette, a door led to the bathroom. Thankfully it was furnished with all the essentials.
If you didn’t mind walking past the exposed pipes and taking a turn, there was a small room behind the half-finished wall he had purposed into a workstation. Thinking of his workstation made his hand twitch. Shaking his head, he headed to the kitchenette. He poured himself a glass of water, staring into the stillness—a grounding action. A chug later, he was rinsing and drying it off. Putting it back into its small cupboard, the duffel bag began to make sounds as something moved inside it.
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“Is anyone there- where am I? Hello?”
Buddy stood at the cupboard, hand still on the knob. His thoughts debated, but he reminded himself he needed to get that binding geas. Letting go of the knob, he approached the bag and squatted down to free Arnold.
The mannequin was all too happy to be away from the synthetic fabric and darkness. That happiness lasted up until they registered their surroundings. Arnold paused in their movements, turning their head to look at Buddy. There was a silence before they asked their question.
“I thought I was being allowed to live?”
“You are.”
Buddy looked around the room, considering where Arnold would be best put. Anywhere near the bed was a no go. Maybe in his workstation. Arnold was mirroring their look around, raising a finger then lowering it before raising it then lowering it.
“Out with it.” Buddy grunted, working on undoing their restraints. Once their arms were free, Arnold gave them a testing wiggle.
“Is this your murder dungeon?” Buddy stopped untying their legs to glance up. The mannequin shrunk a little. “What- I don’t know what you do.”
“This is my home.”
“This is your home?”
Buddy could hear AJ’s voice in that question. He nodded, finishing up with the leg restraints. He pocketed the ropes after ensuring they wouldn’t tangle. Arnold made a hesitant attempt at standing up. As they wobbled upward, they spoke.
““I know the Registry pays poorly; they didn’t even pay me at all, but this- oh, how they fallen. They used to have great employee benefits you know? Not like I was allowed to them. But I knew others who-”
Buddy tuned them out, before clearing his throat.
“The geas, Arnie.”
The sudden silence was deafening in contrast. Arnold twitched their head to look at Buddy.
“Ah yes. The geas. The one I agreed to. I don’t suppose that just staying down here is sufficient.”
“Nope. You see a speck o’ sun after tomorrow, and I have the Registry breathing down my neck, poking wands into my back.” Buddy said, clasping their hands together. “And I’m half certain they’re already roaming the streets.” That gave Arnold pause.
“What?”
Buddy went to go collect the flares, giving himself a moment before he responded.
“Ran into some homunculi earlier. A pair of them. Went after another wizard.” Holding one of the flares in his hand, he could catch the waft of clay again before it faded.
Arnold creaked, holding the sides of their head with their hands.
“Oh that’s not good-” Buddy didn’t let them continue, lifting a hand.
“I want the geas, if I’m to keep you around.”
Another pause.
“Fine.”
Arnold stood up straighter, letting their arms drop. They made an awfully human sigh.
“I’ll do the geas. Just, let me have permission to see sometimes.” Buddy gestured with the flare. He’d consider it. If the mannequin proved more trouble than they were worth, a nighttime visit to the incinerator would do and he could put it behind him and carry on without worrying about pissing off the Registry. Whatever Arnold knew, it better be worth it.
“Not really a response…” Arnold grumbled, but they dusted off their torso and looked at Buddy.
“I, Arnold Librarian, willingly and magically swear that I will keep myself to blindness unless instructed otherwise by…” They paused, waiting for a name. Buddy supplied it, gesturing with the flare again. “Buddy Pall.” There was a short pause.
“Unless instructed otherwise by wizard Buddy Pall.”
A nearby bulb flickered, a constricting feeling around the right side of his chest where his heart was. The feeling faded, the geas having taken ahold.
Arnold wobbled again, attempting a step forward before deciding against it. They muttered something about the unnerving darkness.
“Say, as a gesture of goodwill, can I see?”
“Yes.”
The mannequin paused, blinking if they could’ve.
“Alright then.”
Buddy left Arnold to it, taking the time to put the duffel bag away near his bed, and took the plastic bag of flares into his workstation. In there, an electric lantern hung from one of the pipes instead of anything official. When he entered after ducking his head, a motion sensor turned it on. The space was cast in pale white LED light.
Said light illuminated a thick desk accompanied by a stool with many drawers on either side. Setting the bag atop the desk, the plastic crinkled as it sat right next to one of his notebooks in the corner. Like his office, everything was in its place. A calm collection of things and tools. And also like his office, the smell of cedar was strong here. The stool squeaked as he sat, hunching over his desk.
Taking the same flare he was originally holding, he began to look for a good place to start. He reached for one of the jeweler’s loupes he kept in the top right drawer, the magnification tools useful for his work. He preferred the handheld kind, the small LED working up until he heard the creaking of Arnold poking their head in.
The loupe clicked as it was laid against the desk, Buddy turning around on their stool.
Arnold was in the middle of looking all over when Buddy turned around, pausing when they noticed his stare.
“So, Buddy Pall, was it?”
He grunted. Arnold took a step inside, the electric lantern dimming a little. Buddy made a mental note to fix Arnold’s overflow problem later. The mannequin in the meanwhile, seemed transfixed by his desk.
“Fascinating workplace. You’re an enchanter?”
Another grunt.
“That would explain the rope’s handiwork. It was very thorough.” Arnold’s tone flattened near the end, and then they course corrected. “Of course, my compliments to you; you just have to understand what it’s like on the other end.” Arnold’s ‘gaze’ had moved down to presumably Buddy’s pockets, where the aforementioned ropes were.
“It’s my job to be thorough.” Buddy turned around again, returning his attention to the flare. Now, did he want to start at the base or near the cap? As he thought, Arnold interjected with,
“Say, is your middle name Chum?”
“What?” Buddy paused picking up the loupe.
“Nevermind then. Just a curiosity.” Arnold tapped their fingers on one of the pipes, making a ringing sound. They jerked at that, mumbling something and then left Buddy to sweet silence. Mostly. The folks upstairs were using water again and he could hear it.
Shaking his head, he put the loupe against his eye. Inspecting the flare, he noted the quality of it. That’d make layering what he wanted easier. Turning the flare over, Buddy let his eyes unfocus. What he was looking for was just a little beyond the material.
The desk lit up, pale white etch work spiraling across the entire surface. The red of the flare looked dull in contrast. Pressing his finger near the cap, his skin appeared almost translucent. The finger bone was replaced with a shimmering silver line, a fine point at the tip. Said tip rested just underneath the flare cap.
His breathing slowed as he began to trace wide-open eyes flowing into each other in a loop. His first pass was light, getting a sense of the shape before the silvery needle-point lowered, now carving grooves into the papery material.
As he worked, he kept a firm mental image in his mind: The flare was burning, a photograph fed into it. The smoke and red flame began to jerk in a direction, pointing Buddy toward his target. It was a familiar image, one easy to keep steady. Breathing out, the first loop around was done. Buddy began work on the second, still holding onto the same idea.
With enchanting, the more you repeated an idea relative to the object’s size, the stronger and more cohesive it would be. Buddy could cover the entire thing with the idea of ‘find’ but if he did that? Well, experience would tell him that the flame would detach and fly to its target.
You had to be careful. Enchant something too much, and it became overzealous in its purpose. He could detail a few horror stories about overbearing protection wards, but that’d be a distraction. In the meantime, he finished the second loop. As he worked, he left room for the stealth layer he would have to do.
Two loops became three, the eyes widening the lower he got. Retracting the needle-point, he inspected the flare body. The lines were clean, even as he brought the loupe to bear. Good, good. Letting his eyes refocus, his desk lost its luminescence. The flare looked unaltered in this state, but he could feel the itch in the back of his mind as he held it. With that confirmation, he resumed his work.
Working in between the space he left for himself from his prior pass-through, he began to etch out the exact opposite of what he did before. A ring of closed eyes interwoven with the open ones. A careful pattern, one required so they didn’t interfere with one another. As he worked, a slight buzz grew. With every wrap-around, he redirected the flame to be visible only to the magic spectrum.
A hidden, seen only to a few.
This one required deeper grooves, the idea wrestling with the base concept. As Buddy kept the needle moving, he had to coax the magic. It would still be seen. He wasn’t snuffing it out. Bit by bit, it complied. A buzzing sound began to die down. Pulling his hand back, he looked over his work. Again, there was that itch, a sensation of purpose. A good sign.
Staring at the rest of the flare, he considered just how to work in the final enchantment. Starting from the top, he drew down four lines in equal distance from each other, looking like teardrops from the closed eyes.
That’d be his connection point. Working from those drawn lines, he continued the eye theme and drew open eyes again. Though instead of staring straight ahead, these ones turned their gaze to the teardrops. The idea was that anything that could see the light would be transfixed. The buzzing sound came back, and the flare’s essence wavered, a smoky apparition derived from the base object.
In contest to this, he kept his idea firm. Flares were meant to draw attention. This was giving it back its purpose. The invisible flame would not hide it from its intended target. When he was done, he had opened his sketchbook, tracing the designs with pencil. This would be a field test to see how this iteration worked.
Closing the notebook, he stood up from his desk, leaving his workstation. Most importantly, he needed a glass of water. Heading to the kitchenette, he found Arnold staring at his laundry basket. Using the same cup he cleaned earlier, the sound of running water drew Arnold out from their reverie.
Jerking upright, they turned their head to face the sound. Seeing Buddy, they made a sound akin to that of a cough.
“Sorry, sorry. I was just admiring the enchantments. You make everything in this place?”
Buddy took a swig before responding.
“If it wasn’t collected, I did it myself.” He finished the rest of his glass in a second swig as Arnold was left processing that.
“So you made this basket?”
“Enchanted it, yes.”
“Of course of course, that’s what I meant. It’s been a while since I’ve seen clean lines like the ones here.”
Buddy wasn’t sure what angle the mannequin was playing at. Either they were trying to butter him up, or they’ve been around piss poor enchanters. Drying off his cup again, the second option wasn’t too unlikely. Most went for evocation magic and it showed.
“Just some simple cleaning. Nothing fancy.” His words were accentuated by a cupboard closing.
“And it folds. I’d say that’s fancy.” Arnold said.
Turning around from the cupboard, Buddy looked at Arnold now. They shrunk a little at the eye contact.
“What?”
A moment of consideration, then, “Good eye.”
“Well, I’d hope I’d have that.” Arnold tapped their head, a wooden thunking sound. “I’ve seen all sorts of enchantments and magic script.” They waved a hand in the general direction of the basket. “You could show me anything and I could tell you what it does.”
Buddy grew a smile.
Well, he’s been intending to show off his tools.
----------------------------------------
Arnold was sitting down, head in their hands. Barricading them was a ring of objects, seemingly originating from an open toolbox, a cheery red despite the wear and few scratch marks. Buddy sat across from them. In his hands were a pair of bolt cutters.
The mannequin was, in fact, passing his impromptu pop quiz with flying colors, even with the few tools that Budd had obscured. And that, was interesting.
Enchantments and enchant designs work based on meaning. That’s why using symbols was helpful. Now, the symbols varied slightly from person to person and how they interpreted them, but the consensus was that you needed both genuine belief and consistency.
Some enchanters would create their own hieroglyphic-like languages in order to make it harder to discern an object’s enchanted purpose. He himself? He’s dabbled a bit. Mainly for when he knew he was going against something truly intelligent.
Arnold moved their hand away from their face, staring at the bolt cutters with a heavy sigh.
“That destroys touched objects. Fascinating design but I would appreciate having it far away from me.”
Buddy put the cutters down back onto their foam compartment, nodding to himself.
“Do I pass?” Arnold asked, their voice tired as they rocked back and forth a little. Buddy nodded, resisting the urge to rub his hands together. Oh, he had some things he had collected his job that he was real tempted to put in front of this mannequin. But that would come later, when he felt a spark more trust in the wooden puppet.
“I don’t know about you, but I’d like a break.” Arnold was granted it with a wave from Buddy as the man went around to collect his tools and put them back into place. The toolbox fit more than it really should, having several layers and compartments. After it was all closed up, he gave a little pat on the top.
Arnold stood up in the meanwhile, finding a wall to sit against. Their motions were more subdued, quiet. Their head tilted forward, staring at the ground. As they went seemingly dormant, Buddy set his toolbox down nearby his bed. Calling out for Arnold to switch off their sight, the mannequin grumbled but Buddy could feel the tug of compliance. With that done, he stripped to his under wear and undershirt, tossing his overalls into the laundry basket.
Walking over to flip off the lights, the only source of illumination became the green digital clock of the oven. Satisfied, Buddy walked over to his bed, flopping down and pulling up the single sheet.
Perhaps it was risky to leave Arnold out and about. But Buddy was a light sleeper with a few plans in place. Relaxing his muscles, he let the closest thing a wizard could get to sleep claim him.
Closing his eyes, he entered a soft grey room. There were no entrances nor exits, no windows or lights. Just quiet grey. He could conjure something here. Instead, he laid on the floor, looking up at the ceiling. It was monotonous. It was calming.
In the back of his mind, the ticking of time lost meaning. He had a mental alarm set for a few hours, but that was the worry of a future self. Idle plans about tomorrow would occasionally bounce, but he discarded them after a moment or two.
His checklist was complete. He had the rope, the trackers, and everything else. Against a Haunt? It was the most prepared he could be within a day. Staring at the grey, he wished for a dream.
As usual, he didn’t get one. Wizards never did.