Greg had the best damn night of sleep he’d had since he was a kid. He wasn’t sure he could ever go back to sleeping without that knockout-tabasco tea. Even his mood had improved. There wasn’t even crust in his eyes!
Stretching, Greg slid to the edge of the bed and checked the time on his phone. He had slept for quite a while, considering he fell asleep around twelve hours ago. Also, Taz had apparently plugged his phone into the charge for him.
We’ll need to get him a phone at some point. Speaking of the demon, Greg spotted the door to the bathroom open, Taz on his knees in the doorway. He wore jeans and a tee shirt with the logo of a band that Greg vaguely recalled Mark having liked. Taz was smearing some white-speckled black substance on the pale-yellow tile floor with his right hand, while sipping a smoothie he held in his left.
“Whatcha got there?” Greg asked.
Without looking up, Taz replied, “A smoothie. Raspberry Red, from the Jangle Sluice a couple of blocks over.”
“Cool.” Greg got up. “Don’t turn around for a bit, I gotta get changed.” Taz grunted in assent, returning to his finger painting. Taking fresh clothing from his bag, Greg quickly dressed himself, tossing his dirty laundry in a trash bag he had packed for that express purpose.
“So, are you going to tell me what it is you’re doing? Oh, and you can turn around now, I’m done.”
SLURP. “Yeah,” SMACK, “I’m beseeching the lesser Essence of Commerce and Trade for good fortune. Basically, I’m buffing our luck when it comes to finding and getting a good deal on an apartment.”
“Really? Sounds great.”
“Eh,” he waved his goop-covered hand, flinging a bit on the door. “It’s a minor buff. And it might not even work. Kinda cheaped-out on the offerings.” He looked over his shoulder at Greg. “You don’t happen to have some gold or silver on you, do you?”
Greg shook his head.
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“Thought not. Anyways, we’re basically begging for a handout since we don’t really have anything of value to offer up.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But it’s still worth it. Might let us find a slightly less awful place for a slightly better price.”
“Why does that sound like you’re bending reality a bit?” Greg asked. “This doesn’t sound like a luck thing, more like… creating new opportunities or changing them slightly.”
Taz snapped his fingers. “Sharp. You’re right. The short of it is, reality is more… subjective than one might think. It certainly is not completely based on one’s own perception, but there is some sway. People forget things, places and things go unobserved for extended periods of time, that sort of thing. There’s wiggle room. And while you or I might not be able to significantly modify things in that wiggle room, since by definition that would ‘erase’ that blank spot in reality, higher powers can. By calling on entities that do not reside nor visit this lower plane of existence, they can affect changes that we lowly insects never could.”
That was… a lot to take in. “So, it’s like, what? Quantum mechanics? The Double-Slit Experiment?”
“Ehhh, a close enough comparison, I suppose.” Taz set his drink precariously on the lip of the sink, wiped his hand off, and took out some loose change from his pants pocket. He placed the pile of cash in the center of the circle of runes and cleared his throat.
As it was with all mystic tongues Greg had encountered thus far, he did not recognize a single word of it. However, this time, he understood them, the meaning coming through despite his inability to translate them.
“Oh spirit of wealth and exchange, oh Embodiment of Value and Meaning, I present this meager offering to your magnanimous self. In return, I humbly beseech thee for a speck of your good fortune, a single crumb of your Opportunity. Even if I am denied, please take this offering as a gift for having listen to the words of this unworthy mortal.”
The runes Taz had smeared across the floor of the cheap motel glowed.
“ASSESSING VALUE,” a monotone voice boomed in their minds.
Greg blinked. “What.”
Taz shooshed him.
“VALUE DETERMINED. MINIMAL THRESHOLD ACHIEVED. PREPARE TO RECEIVE MINOR BLESSING, PITIFUL MORTAL.”
There was a pop, the stack of loose change and smaller bills vanishing in a puff of multicolored dust particles.
“Hold on, I have questions,” Greg stated pointedly, frowning. “Why did that sound like an automated voicemail?”
“Because it was. Kind of. You get what you pay for. If we had something of value, we’d get a representative to talk to and a more targeted blessing.”
“Ok, next question: where did you get that money?”
“Oh, that. I looted your house while you were getting your stuff.”
Greg wasn’t sure how he felt about that. On the one hand, it seemed a bit callous to take from the dead. On the other, it would have burned up if Taz hadn’t taken it.