The Sharp Edge of the Veil Ch. 03

"If you are not with us, you are against us," the dickwad said with a sneer.

My jaw actually fell at that point. Was this guy serious? Was he threatening me? A wizard of the Order? Even though my standing with the Order had never been very good, they would still burn this pile of shit into a smoking pile of shit if he did something against me.

"Is that so?" I said, raising my beer glass once more.

On the other side of the bar Mickel was polishing a glass to the point of cracking. I looked up at him and he was shaking his head slowly. I sighed.

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Bohman. But I simply don't have the time. Important wizardry things, you know?" I said, waving my hand over my head.

Bohman looked a bit confused, but then he cleared his throat and nodded.

"Very well then, wizard Gyllenborst. Maybe next year?"

"Maybe next year," I nodded.

*

"Wanna hear something new?"

I raised an eyebrow at Siri who poked her head out of the opening where the radio should have been.

"You? Playing something new?"

Siri smiled.

"A girl can change, can't she?"

I laughed. Then I nodded.

"Go on then."

Moments later a guitar started playing some very familiar chords.

"Didn't know what time it was, and the lights were low," came Siri's voice that sounded very similar to the original.

I couldn't help but smile.

"This isn't new. This was released even before−"

"Are you going to let me sing it or not?" Siri growled in a voice twenty times deeper than her tiny body allowed.

I put up a hand and shut up. You've got to pick your battles with daemons. Siri kept singing. I drove through Malmö and headed north on E6. I needed to make another stop before I headed home.

"There's a starman waiting in the sky," Siri sang as I took the offramp towards Fjelie.

Apparently, she really liked the song, given that it was the third time the band played it. I didn't mind. It's a good song. I pulled up outside the old barn located in the midst of a large sugar beet field. It's somewhat strange that the best enchanter in all of Scandinavia lives in an old barn in the Skåne countryside. But for people who knew the leyline network it was a perfect location.

"Anyone home?" I yelled as I hammered my fist on the barn door.

I heard the banging of something hard against metal and shouted again. The place smelled of old motor oil and burning metal. There was an old Saab standing by the large barn door and there was something strange about it that I couldn't put my finger on.

"Rickard? It's Jakob!"

The banging subsided and a man clad all in black leathers came walking towards me. He pulled his welding helmet off and the dirty face of one of the few men I called a friend appeared. Rickard, like most dwarves, has a huge beard that goes down almost to his belly. He's tall for a dwarf, standing a bit over five feet. His burnished grey eyes watched me intently and a smile dawned on his face.

"Jakob. What have you been up to?" Rickard said and clasped my hand in his.

I did my best not to grimace as he squeezed my hand tight. Rickard never meant to hurt anyone when he did that.

"Not much," I squealed.

He let go of my hand and I massaged it a bit, trying not to look too much like a little bitch.

"Coffee?"

I nodded and followed Rickard to the dilapidated little table that leaned on the wall not to fall over. Rickard poured us each a cup of pitch-black coffee that felt like a rasp as it went down my throat. We talked for a little bit about nothing, like friends do before Rickard put his cup down on the table and looked me square in the eyes.

"What do you need, buddy?"

I raised an eyebrow.

"Buddy," Rickard said, crossing his wide arms across his even wider chest. "You only come to my home once a year, and every time it is because you need something. And I can see it in your face, you have the worst poker-face of anyone I know."

He was right, of course. We only met at the Piper usually. For the equinox and solstice celebrations. Last had been at midsummer. Damn. That had been one party. I was hung-over for six days after that one. It had just been pure luck that I hadn't died of alcohol poisoning. Whatever you do, don't ever have a tequila race with a dwarf.

"So what do you want?"

I looked around to make sure that there was no one else around.

"A tracer."

Richard let out a long whistle.

"You sure about that?"

I wasn't sure about that. But it was the only way I could think of getting anywhere with this damn mess. I nodded.

"Are you sure, sure? Those things are as illegal as they get."

"Do you have one or not?"

Rickard laughed so loud that the old Saab seemed to shudder. A hubcap fell off and clattered to the concrete floor.

"What do you take me for? An amateur? Of course I have one. It's fine to have one as long as you don't turn it on. But you wouldn't keep it turned off, would you?"

I did my best to shrug. Apparently my shrugging game was even worse than my poker-face and Rickard laughed even louder.

"Will you sell it to me or not?"

Rickard stopped laughing and looked at me through narrowed eyes. He seemed to look straight through my head for a while before tapping his finger on his blunt nose.

"I want two."

I raised one eyebrow.

"For six months. My pick."

"Two?" is said, feeling the blood drain out of my face.

Richard nodded.

"For six months?"

The dwarf nodded again. Damn! I shook my head. One at six months was pushing it. Two? I might break my spirit in half if I tried that.

"Could we say fo−"

"No."

"Fi−"

"I said no. I've got what you need. I want two for six."

The last breath left my lungs and I stumbled backwards until I sat down on the hood of the Saab that yielded an ominous creak from the old machine.

"Do you want it or not?"

I sighed deeply. And nodded.