“Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…”
Laylah tiptoed down the hall, cradling a cup between her hands. The hot, black liquid sloshed dangerously back and forth, splashing onto her fingers and she bit back a yelp. But she held on, not wanting to risk the fragile ceramic mug, and reaching her destination, she set it down safely on a small table.
With a contented sigh, she plopped down into a plush leather armchair beside it. The cushions embraced her, and she practically purred in contentment as she pulled the heated blanked-up over her. She idly stared around the room as she enjoyed the crooning of the magic box.
Outside, the snow was falling fast and she watched the snowflakes flutter down. It wasn’t quite the first time she’d seen snow - when she was still a child, her father had once taken her on a business trip to the Northern Plateau, where snow and ice were common features of life. But aside from that, she’d lived her life in and around S̆addānu; there, the only time you might encounter snow was in the tricks of a traveling mage.
She nestled deeper under her blankets and, taking a long sip of coffee, sighed contently. The snow was pretty enough to look at, but Laylah didn’t particularly like the cold. That didn’t mean it was entirely without its merits though. There was something about the bitter cold outside that seemed to heighten the cozy comfort of her small apartment.
Tearing her eyes away from the snow, she stared at the pine tree that Jacinda - or Jaz, as she preferred to be called - had insisted on erecting. Cutting down a tree just to drag it inside struck her as a rather strange custom, but she had to admit that the lights and spun glass ornaments that festooned the pine were rather festive.
*Brrrz* *Brrrz*
The little black box sitting beside her mug - a phone, she reminded herself - vibrated, shaking the whole table and sending more coffee sloshing over the side of the mug. Cursing, she dragged herself out from beneath the blankets and fetched a towel. She carefully wiped the table dry and then checked the phone.
Laylah couldn’t read the squiggles of text in the message - unfortunately, this world had no system to help her magically learn the language and her progress in mastering English had been slow - but she unlocked the screen and, typing in her code, used the helpful text-to-voice feature Jaz had installed on it.
“Hey Laylah, this is Darren with the Consortium.” The man spoke quickly, as if there was some prize for spitting out his message as fast as possible and she struggled to follow along. “Jaz gave me your number, said you’ve been doing some odd jobs around town to help out. Don’t know if you’re interested, but I had someone come through my office earlier today that needed a bit of help. Didn’t sound serious enough for the Consortium to handle, but I thought maybe you could check in on them. I could authorize a small consulting fee if you chose to help out. Let me know.”
She listened to the message two more times, scratching notes down in her own language, before she felt certain she understood. A job? Laylah eyed the cozy chair where the heated blanket and coffee still waited for her with a bit of regret. She had no desire to leave the comfort of home behind for the whirling snows of the storm but, though Jaz hadn’t charged her rent thus far, she felt a bit uncomfortable leaving on the other woman’s largesse. I guess I can hear him out.
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An hour later, her ride pulled up to a huge building, one large enough to put the royal palace to shame, although nowhere near as fancy. Hundreds of cars surrounded it on all sides and a steady stream of people flowed in and out of the doors. Getting out of the cab, she stopped beneath the doors and sounded out the letters carefully. “T-W-E…” Twelve Oaks, she finally decided in relief. It was the right place.
“Oof.” Someone slammed into her from behind. She turned her head to find a young man rubbing his shoulder gingerly. “Damn girl, are your bones made of metal?”
“Sorry-“ she started to apologize, but he shook his head. “Nah, it’s cool. I wasn’t looking. Have a good day now.” Picking his bags up, he brushed past her into the building.
Following him in, she shivered in delight as the warm air gushed over her. She strolled down the wide corridor aimlessly, taking in the multicolored lights, the bustling crowd, and the rich, sweet smell of cinnamon and roasted nuts. A sudden, intense craving took hold of her, and she paused long enough to purchase a few bags.
Feeling a bit guilty about spending more of Jaz’s money, Laylah resumed her search for the contact in interest, munching happily on her bag of hot almonds.
A few minutes later, she found her objective. The corridor she’d been falling merged with another hall, creating a wide open space in the middle occupied by what appeared to be a small cardboard village. A rotund old man whose cheeks were stained with the ruddy flesh of alcohol and excess sat on a throne, surrounded by a few scrawny courtiers dressed in bright green and red outfits. Must be the local lord. He seemed a bit unfit to be a warrior, but the long line of people waiting to see him suggested that he was a fairly popular ruler. She watched in surprise as a small child clambered up on his lap and whispered into his ear. What an odd custom.
But forcing herself to focus on the task at hand, her eye roved over the garishly dressed courtiers again. A small, thin man with curly brown hair and piercing green eyes stood beside the throne. His hands moved nervously and his body twitched as he led the child away from the lord, to be replaced by another.
She waved at him, but he ignored her. Waving her hand more vigorously, she called out this time. “Gareth?” His face wrinkled in confusion as he looked up at her, but he still didn’t move. “Gareth? Darren sent me.”
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His eyes squinted, examining her more carefully, and then he leaned over and spoke to his lord. The noble graciously allowed him to depart, and the brightly-colored man weaved his way through the crowd over to her.
“You said Darren sent you.” He looked her up and down skeptically.
“Yes, from the Cons-“
He grabbed her arm, squeezing tightly. “Lower your damn voice,” he hissed. He glanced around nervously and then dragged her toward a much smaller hallway that branched off of the great corridor.
He stopped at a door and, after punching a few buttons on the handle, swung it open. He stuck his head inside, then waved her in. “Here - it’s empty. We can talk in private.”
The room was empty save for a single large table with a chair on either side and a small object in the upper corner of the room. Taking his brightly colored cap off, he tossed it over the black object before plopping himself into the seat.
“Here, have a seat. Sorry about the room,” he apologized. “It was just the closest one.”
She cocked her in confusion. “Is there something wrong with it?”
“Well, it’s an interrogation room,” he started. He paused and a light entered his eyes. “Oooh. You’re one of those.”
Laylah blinked in confusion. “Those? Those what?”
His eyes squinted tightly and he sat up in his chair. “You did say Darren sent you, right?”
“Yes, from the Consortium,” she repeated.
He laughed. “Man, you are some hick. You not grow up around normal folk? You know, humans?”
She paused a moment, unsure what hick meant, but decided to answer the second part of his question. “Until coming here, I hadn’t met any humans. But now I’ve met a few like you.”
“Me?” The man looked startled. “You’re telling me you can’t see through my glamour?”
Laylah bit her lip in frustration. Damn it. Jaz had largely kept her away from the community of “magical beings” as she called it, but from her few interactions, Laylah had surmised that the magic here was quite a bit different than in her own world. It was far rarer, surprisingly stronger, and decidedly more hidden. But the most distinct difference was the prominence of illusion magic, or as the community preferred to call it, glamours.
Illusion magic certainly existed in Corsythia, but it was rare. Of the many races she knew of, only the Fey had any particular talent with it, and even they put relatively little value in it. Illusion magic was perceived as weak and lacking in combat, not to mention the fact that most high-leveled warriors and mages could see right through the illusions as long, at least as long as they had enough points in vision.
On earth, though, it had been elevated to an art form. Almost every mage or magical being seemed capable of at least enough illusion magic to hide themselves from the humans they lived amongst, or if they did not, then they paid through the nose for someone else to provide that service. The magic seemed stronger too; despite having a reasonable amount of points in vision, she had quickly discovered that she was unable to pierce through their glamours.
“No-o.” She admitted frankly.
“I suppose, living so isolated from humans, there was no need to use glamours where you grew up. Except…” A frown crossed the man’s lips. “You seem pretty skilled in using them. I can’t pierce your glamour.”
“I don’t have one.”
His frown deepened. “You’re saying you're human?”
Laylah shifted in her seat, her impatience rising as the conversation, which she struggled to understand, stretched on. “Do you need my help or not?”
He stared at her suspiciously, then drew a black box of his own out of his pocket and dialed a number. “Hey Darren…”
A brief conversation later, he hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair. “So you’re an outworlder, eh? I suppose this is pretty confusing.”
She nodded politely but asked again. “Can I help you?”
The man shrugged. “Well Darren vouched for you, so why the hell not?” He twitched his fingers and the illusion dropped away.
Laylah stifled her gasp as she stared at the odd, funny-looking creature that now sat opposite her. His skin was somehow wrinkled and saggy, his ears flopped down nearly to his shoulders and his nose seemed a bit too large for his face. His size too had shrunken down by nearly a foot, closer to the size of a durgu - not that she’d ever met one of them. After a moment’s hesitation, though, she decided that the creature fell into the category of so ugly it was cute.
He chuckled at her startled reaction. “I’m guessing you haven’t seen my kind before. I’m a brownie.”
The word meant nothing to her, but she gestured for him to continue.
“Now since you’re not from around here, you wouldn’t know, but back in the old days, brownies weren’t exactly at the top of the ladder. A couple of weeks ago, a new guy showed up in town, a redcap by the name of Callum. Unfortunately, he’s nothing like his name. The dude grew up in one of those isolated communities where the old traditions are still kept and turned up on my doorstep demanding tribute.”
“We don’t do that here, and even if I was willing to pay him, I straight up don’t have the money.” The man gestured to his brightly colored uniform. “I told him, ‘Like damn, dude. I am working as an elf in a mall. I don’t have the money to be paying no tribute.” He yanked up the sleeves of his outfit and showed her a dark mass of bruises on both shoulders. “We didn’t exactly see eye to eye. I need you to scare him off, take care of him, whatever.”
Laylah hesitated. “What about your lord?” She asked. “Surely he should bear the responsibility of caring for his courtiers?”
“My what now?” The man stared at her in confusion for a second, then started to laugh. “You think that old lush is my lord? Nah, girl, we just playing a part. It’s just a show for the kiddies. You know, Santa Claus?”
She focused on the part she understood. “So he’s not your lord?”
“No, we don’t have lords around here. That’s the whole problem. This damn Redcap sweeps in and thinks he owns the place. Can you help me or not?”
“I guess so…” she agreed slowly. She didn’t understand the situation at all, but Jaz had set it up and that was good enough.
The man grinned. “Great. It took a little digging, but I managed to find his address. Give me your number.”
“My number?”
“Your phone,” he clarified. She scrolled through the odd device until she found what he was looking for and read it out and a few seconds later it vibrated with a new message.
Standing up, the brownie twitched his fingers again and the illusion reassembled. “Man, I don’t have a lot of money, but if you can get this guy off my back, I’ll owe you one. Seriously, it will be a goddamn Christmas miracle.”