“Goodie? Isaac Montgomery; Montgomery…Goodie, Frank said with a lazy flourish of his hand.

The boy greeted the man, as Isaac, in turn, greeted him.

“So, you’re the young man who found our little treasure here?”

Rather than answer, Goodie asked, “Is it a treasure?”

“Oh, everything’s a treasure to someone; the trick is finding that someone,” Isaac told him. “Which is why you come to someone like me.”

“And on that subject,” Frank interjected before the man could begin to prattle on, “you said you had something?”

“I do indeed, Mr. Sullivan. An interested buyer would be willing to take the item off of your hands; however, they would prefer that no questions be asked…,” Isaac trailed off, his statement ended with an unasked question.

Frank turned to Goodie and told him, “Means the government. They always do it, but it often it don’t mean anything, so don’t worry about it. Their money’s good, regardless.”

“Okay,” replied Goodie, “but that’s if I sell. I’m all for money, but I’d like to know what it is exactly that I’m giving up?”

Isaac spared him a glance as he retrieved a book from the side, then told both him and Frank, “Well, the spirit is of some eastern philosopher. Stable, metaphysically, but not so much mentally. Not violent, though. I don’t know the entity’s specific identity, but its intelligence is pretty evident, as is its ability to converse clearly and with intelligence, as you yourselves have already witnessed. As an advisor, provided you can actually understand its language, I have no doubt that it would prove to be most valuable to anyone in need of such a service. Beyond that, though…?”

“So basically, useless,” Frank concluded. “To us, at least.”

“Well, that would be for you to decide,” said Isaac neutrally, “but yes. Unless you like talking to the philosophical types.”

Frank snorted. He then turned to Goodie and gave him a questioning look.

“I’m still concerned about letting something slip through our finger’s,” the kid replied, “I mean, if these things are as rare…”

Frank held up his hand, saying as the kid stopped, “Yeah, I know, but as I said before, unless you want to learn a new language just to talk to this thing, it’d be best just to sell it. Even if they find another use for it, ghosts rarely ever do anything nice. Best to wash our hands of it and let someone else deal with any mess.”

Turning to Isaac, the kid shrugged his shoulders and said, “Well, guess we’re selling it then?”

The man smiled, then wrote something down in his little book.

As he did, Frank asked him, “What time are we looking at here?”

“It’s the government,” Isaac replied with a sigh. “They’re good for the money, of course, but getting them to part with it is always a tedious affair…you can expect a month or two delay, normally, but in this case, I think they’ll keep things as simple as can be for once. So maybe less? Maybe”

Frank nodded, but said nothing, instead turning to Goodie to flash him a reassuring smile before congratulating him on his good luck.

Ghosts were rare, the force of will necessary to keep an aspect of a person tethered to the here and now such that only the best or the worst of humanity could ever achieve it; usually the latter. Though the real value in them lay with the fact that one could, with a little finagling, get said spiritual entities to continue whatever aspect of themselves their willpower was focused towards.

Thinkers could help you in all manner of things, from the lofty arts, to education, or simply acting as an ear to talk to, to seek advice from—leaders could guide in the ways of politics and talking to people, and so on and so forth…and murderers could very easily be convinced to continue their old hobies.

A rather grim fact, but you never got light without the dark. Not in this life.

But regardless of whatever their little ghost man was intended for, with this particular sale netting the kid roughly ten and half thousand—the majority of which was already earmarked to him and Donny to help them get back in the game, this day was looking to be a very good day indeed.

“Frank? Isaac interrupted, “I hate to rain on your parade, but seeing as you’re about to come in to some money, I feel the need to remind you of your debt.”

“What?! What debt?”

“Something about a Kikimora? You came in several…?”

Isaac cut himself off as a look of pained remembrance crossed Frank’s face.

“Right, right…how much was it?”

“More than enough to remember it off the top of my head,” Isaac told him, “but not enough that it was worth going through legal means to get it.”

“And you only deal in legal?” the kid asked.

The man smiled, and then said, “Only when I need to,” the man then giving a meaningful eye to Frank.

“Take it from what I’m getting,” Goodie told Isaac.

“Woah, kid, I can settle my own debts,” Frank said in response.

“I’m sure you can, but we’ve got enough problems right now. And Mr. Montgomery? Please take a bit extra…whatever you feel is fair?”

Frank was about to say something, but Isaac got there first.

“I’m not going to say no, but you don’t have to; late payments are more or less part of the business.”

“Well,” Goodie replied, “I’ve got this thing about owing people, and with Frank and me being partners now, his debts are also mine. And as I said, we don’t need any more trouble. Even if you’re not going to make a fuss, the little things tend to add up, so having it out of the way is just a small peace of mind for me.”

“Hm,” Isaac said, noncommittally, before turning to Frank and asking, “Trouble?”

Frank waved him off.

“It’s complicated.”

“Isn’t it always?” asked Isaac.

Frank snorted in reply.

“Well…thank you, young man, I’ll see to everything and contact you when the transfer’s completed then…?” Isaac’s words trailed off into another unasked question, the man digging to see if he could drum up any more business.

Goodie looked to Frank, who in turn looked back to him, both asking the same question of each other.

Not getting an answer, the kid turned back to the proprietor and asked, “Mr. Montgomery, I realise Frank’s probably already asked, but would you perchance know of any magical items we could acquire for ourselves?”

Leaning on the counter in front of him, Isaac rested his chin in the palm of his hand as he just looked at the scar-covered boy, a half-smile crossing his lips, to then turned to Frank and say, “Oh, that is just adorable.”

Goodie frowned.

“Kid, Donny and I already told you, you can’t get your hands on real magic. Not easily, at any rate,” Frank told him.

“But we’re literally in a magic shop? There’s a box of charms right over there!”

“Those are one use items. To con the tourists and the desperate,” Frank bluntly stated.

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Goodie’s eyes shot to Isaac, the man showing no sign of having been offended by Franks assessment of his wares, though, upon seeing his Goodie’s reaction, did say to him, “He’s not wrong.”

The kid grew visibly confused, but rather than address it, he continued with the original conversation.

“Well, even if they’re one use…”

“No-no-no, Kid,” Frank waved at him. “I know what you’re getting at, and we all think the same thing when we start out: that you only I’ll only use them when needed, that it’ll only be for now until you find something better—but trust me, it’s not a road you want to go down.”

He then pointed to the very charms that Goodie had pointed out earlier.

“All these? There a quick and easy solution, one that always ends up being an addiction, no matter who you are. They make magic convenient, and magic is far too dangerous a thing to be made such. Before you know it, you’ll be dead broke, mutated and willing to do anything for just a little more help, a little bit more of an advantage. And there will be plenty of people in this city to give you that edge…in exchange for everything else you have.”

“Well, unless you have an alternative, what would suggest?”

Frank merely raised his hands and replied, “Look, I’m not saying you don’t have a point, I’m just warning you, of where you’ll end up if you go down that road. Seen it a hundred times; been there myself, even—helped Donny when he went through his bit…”

Goodie looked at him, then frowned, then looked to Isaac when he noted the man nodded along to Frank’s words.

“If they’re so dangerous, then why sell ‘em?”

“Because if I don’t, then someone else will. Better the money end up in my pocket than not,” Isaac answered.

“Fair enough,” the kid whispered.

The two men looked at him, Frank indicating that they should go, unless the kid had something more to say.

Thinking a moment, Goodie once again turned to Isaac and asked, “Mr. Montgomery, would you by chance have any goods that are near their expiration or something, or something we could buy at a bulk discount, perhaps? You know I’m good for it?”

The man exhibited another half-smile, then gave Frank a look, who, in turn, gave his own smirk.

…

The small warehouse that the rear of the shop led to was a mazework of overstuffed shelving and dust, the musty smell in the air near overpowering as the two freelancers wandered around, inspecting the various charms and trinkets that had lain unused for years.

“Isn’t this dangerous?” asked Goodie.

“Hm?” Frank asked, “What?”

“All this magic.”

“Magic’s always dangerous,” he told the boy, but then lowered his voice to a whisper, “but I’d imagine you’d have to use most of this lot altogether to do any real damage.”

“He’s not wrong,” Isaac called out.

Frank ducked his head with a wince.

‘Ear’s like a bat,’ he thought, making sure to not actually utter the opinion.

“No,” Goodie told him, “I mean, should it all be together like this? Wouldn’t the…fields or whatever of the magic interfere with each other?”

“No…why would it?” Frank asked, his brow furrowing in confusion at the strange question.

“Okay,” the kid said then, a nervous doubt present in his tone, “just don’t wanna go boom, is all…”

“Isaac’s been in the business a long time; if he ain’t gone ‘boom’ by now, then I doubt this lot’d go off now.”

“Why is there so much stuff, anyway?”

“People take to magic like everything else; always going after the new thing. Whatever’s shiny…y’know? And what’s new quickly grows old, and magic doesn’t—as you put it earlier—have an expiration date…well, it does, but also doesn’t—sometimes it grows stranger, sometimes it doesn’t change at all, and…well, just don’t try to apply rules to magic, kid, you’ll only give yourself a headache. Point is, things stop selling, hence Isaac and his little warehouse.”

“But otherwise, this stuff’s still good?”

“Ehhhh…,” Frank mouthed as he waggled his hand.

“Ignore him, kid, it’s good,” Isaac called out from up front.

Frank rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

They went on like that for a while, the kid occasionally asking some questions and either him or Isaac answering, with the occasional purchase.

Isaac’s inventory was not bad, but it was focused more towards novelties meant to impress the tourists and the uninformed.

Still, the kid found some things to amuse himself with, as did Frank. They would have to send Donny by some time to not leave him out, but Frank believed they had already snagged the best of what was on offer.

“What this?!” the kid called out.

“Gonna need some description, kid, not a psychic,” Frank called back.

“Big box with ‘JAP CRAP’ written on it?!”

Frank’s mouth opened his mouth to answer, but then paused when he realised that he had no clue about what the hell Goodie had just told him. Well, he got what ‘Crap’ meant, but so did the kid. Probably. Some of the things Frank thought were something even a child could understand would sometimes go right over the boy’s head, so he was not just being snarky in his questioning of the boy’s knowledge.

“Oriental stuff, Isaacs called out from up front. “Some island out there called Japan. That’s all the stuff I got from the lot of them that’s come over!”

“Right, you can you ignore it, then!”

“What?! Why?!”

“Donny told you about patterns?” Frank asked, lowering his voice as he walked towards Goodie, tiring of having to shout everything.

“…you mean their frequencies?!” Goodie yelled, not seeing Frank rounding the corner.

Fran shook his head. ‘Donny and his weird explanations…’

“Yeah, something like that. Well, every person’s pattern is different, and that difference offers everyone some protection?” Frank asked, repeating more or less what Donny had told Goodie.

The kid nodded in understanding. “Yeah?”

“That difference between us, between you and me, is just our natural difference, which is mostly just biology—hair colour and blood and stuff. When you bring other stuff into it—culture, beliefs, even the language you speak, that difference grows all the greater. But it’s not just making it harder for people to put the hex on each other, it makes using other people’s magics near impossible. And before you ask, it doesn’t matter if you learn the language or the culture…okay, it would help, but for the most part, you just won’t be able to connect with whatever they do with their mysticism.”

“So, your saying it’s not impossible, it’s just not worth the time and effort.”

“More or less.”

“Hey, Isaac? How much for the box of Jap Crap?!”

Frank gave the kid a look of bewilderment, parting his hands in a way to silently ask the question": “What the hell?!”

Goodie returned the gesture.

“About the same as what Frank owes me! But you take the lot and I’ll sell it for half off,” Isaac shouted from the front.

Goodie immediately pulled the large crate off of the shelf, the weight of it nearly driving him to the ground as he did so. As he pulled himself up to take it to the front, Frank gave him another look as he passed, incredulity washing over his face, but said nothing, just shaking his head as he watched the boy shakily shuffle off.

‘The kid’s money’s the kid’s money,’ he groused.

Despite Frank’s assessment that there was nothing more to be had, they still spent some more time in the warehouse looking through the ancient history of Isaac’s store, mostly for having nothing better to do for the day, but also for fear of missing out on some long-forgotten gem.

But eventually, boredom drove Frank to talk about anything just to fill the air.

“You remember that girl, Nancy? The one I went out with? Yeah, well, she got herself in a tizzy over the whole kidnapping thing. Got it in her head that maybe freelancers aren’t all a bunch of money-grubbing good-for-nothings.”

Frank heard an undisguised snort from up front.

Ignoring it, he went on, saying, “Anyways, she now thinks those penny dreadful stories they sell on the corner are now gospel, and that I’m some type of hero.”

Isaac outright laughed at this point, stifling himself as quickly as he could, but still visibly chuckling.

Frank could not even find it within himself to be antagonised by the man on that one; the woman was reading far too much into nothing, romanticising the truth until it is anything but. Frank was many things, but never a hero.

After all, heroes die only once.

“Well,” Frank began once more, ignoring the still chuckling man upfront, the man’s silent, jerky movements more than likely looking to anyone on the street like a moment of extreme vulnerability, Isaac cradling his face within his hands, “As I was saying, she’s got it in her head to be my sidekick. Trouble, I know, but not without benefits. That car that’s been following us? Well, she says she can help us rundown the registry markings Donny got us.”

“Wouldn’t that put her in danger?” the kid asked.

“Can’t see how; they're all on public record. The only thing she’s doing is saving us the actual ‘leg work’ in the legwork, and I figure it’ll keep her busy enough to stop her from putting her nose into actual trouble, you know?”

“Okay?” the kid replied, obviously confused as to the point of Frank telling him all this.

Seeing his unasked question, Franks answered, “Just telling you what’s what, kid. You’re a partner, remember? Keeping you updated’s part of the job. Speaking of which, that’s supposed to go both ways. Donny’s told me about your little habit of going off on your own.”

Goodie rolled his eyes, and said, “And I’d be happy to oblige, but I can’t exactly tell you lot what I don’t know myself.”

“Fair enough,” replied Frank. Despite his partner’s general lackadaisical posturing, Donny was the one who was big on planning things out; as far as Frank was concerned, as long as they got ahead in the end, then playing things by ear was perfectly fine.

That he tended to go off on his own far more than the kid could ever do did not even cross Frank’s mind as being the reason for his unwillingness to address his new partner’s behaviour.

Nor did the small joy he got at annoying his old partner at times.

“Frank?” asked Isaac as he walked into view.

“Yeah?”

“This trouble you lot have? It have something to do with those two men outside giving me the stink-eye?”

Issuing a defeated sigh, Frank walked over to where he could see to the front, where he then leant over to look outside, where could now see the same two goons that had been stalking them this past week loitering just outside the store.

“What’s going on, Frank?”

“You heard about those missing girls?”

Isaac’s eyebrows rose as he now realised just how serious this situation was.

“Donny’s thing’s dragging us into it,” Frank went on.

“And they’re the ones doing it?” Isaac asked, worry clear on his face.

“No-no,” Frank waved his hand, “someone’s playing games. That one on the left? Saved me the other night, when I ran into something.”

Isaac frowned in slight confusion at the strange situation that Frank then described to him

“So, we’re looking for a job. Plenty to do locally, of course…”

“But you want something to take you away from everything?” Isaac realised.

“Yeah… ‘course, we could just skip town for a bit, but…yeah”

“Running costs money,”

“…yeahhhh…we have it, obviously. But we got caught up in that museum disaster…”’

Issac winced.

“…exactly. Spent most of what I had to get out of that, Magic wise. Donny too. Hence the kid asking about it earlier. If we keep sacrificing, we’re gonna end up in the poorhouse, sooner rather than later.”

Both men were silent for a time, Frank for being frustrated at it all, and Isaac from just taking it all in.

“Well…,” Isaac said a moment later, “if you’re really that desperate, you know what time of year it is?”

“Eh,” Frank replied, half-turning away.

“What time of year is it?” asked Goodie.