“So this is it, The Scholarism’s Spell for transference to and from the hidden dimension,” a man in a slouch hat and thick leather coat said as he spun the dusty leather book half way around to a woman in a black watch cap and matching wool turtleneck.
Whisky craned her neck around and placed a hand on the book, to flatten its pages on the corner booth’s table between them, and pulled back just as suddenly, bursting into laughter as the heat of the runes shocked her hand. “This really is the real deal and the key to all our ‘shipping’ problems, then…a bootlegger’s dream that’ll keep the coppers off my tail and the bootleg and the money flowing.”
The man nodded, but seeing the glint of avarice in Whisky Nicolaysen’s eye, added “But it’ll take a mage of the finest cut to set up and place the spell and counter-spell in brass and stone, and near enough to the water source; anything less ensures disaster, which is why my fee is so high.”
Whisky leaned back and drew on her cigarette, and smiled, thinking that, yes indeed, all the women in this speakeasy were strong, but the was gin even stronger, all the men were good-looking, but the band was much hotter, and if children had been allowed into her speakeasy, they’d all be above average in whatever they attempted.
But this was her joint, and once that brass plaque and the counter-spell were placed, this arrogant hick from the Scottish highlands would be made to disappear permanently.
© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2022)
To get back to the serial’s start, click here for Part 1
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