Hexed

Emas.”
    “The Golden Snail.”
    “I will pay well.” I reached into my hoodie and showed her the money, just a hint, but it was enough.
    “Keong Emas is powerful magic.” The old woman stared at me. Her eyes were cold like two pieces of coal.
    “Makes it easy to recognize a fake,” I told her.
    She let out a short little grunt and called out something in Korean, too fast to follow. “You go inside now.”
    I stepped over a small crate containing a pair of frightened rabbits, and went inside. Cages lined the walls. Monkeys, dogs, birds. Big frightened eyes. They screamed and shied away from the bars at my approach. I clenched my teeth. I just had to get the snail. Just get the snail.
    An adolescent boy came through the curtained doorway and waved to me. “Come this way.”
    I didn’t want to go that way.
    The boy waved at me. “Come! Come!”
    Crap. I followed him through the curtain. A long dark room smelling of blood. Great. We kept going, farther from the street, deeper into the house. I was probably walking into a trap, but I had to get the snail. This was the only way. As long as Jim stayed awake, he would get me out. He would. Of course he would.
    Another set of curtains and I stepped into a large room lined with tables, supporting a medicine man’s smorgasbord, as if a dozen street vendor carts had vomited their contents into the room. Boxes, wicker, wood, and plastic. Bloated glass bottles, skinny glass vials, jars containing powders and liquids. Dried herbs, in bundles and packets. And bones. So many bones: bear bones, wolf bones, tiger bones. Bastards.
    An Asian man sat at the table, wizened and old, dressed in dark clothes. Behind him a white man leaned against the wall. He was tall and beefy, and his fatigue jacket made him look rectangular, like he was made out of bricks. A short reddish beard hugged his chin. A red NC State baseball cap covered his hair.
    In the right corner a large cage sat covered by a tarp. A blond woman stood by it, leaning on a baseball bat. She wore jeans and a huge man’s T-shirt with an oversized blood drop and the words DONATE BLOOD on it. The T-shirt was threadbare and patched in a couple of places.
    Something moved in the cage. I could hear it breathing in long, labored gasps. People moved in the outer rooms, too, to the right of us and behind, making small noises. A lot of people. At least eight, maybe more.
    I just had to get the snail. That’s all. Just get the snail and save Jim.
    The old man regarded me. I wouldn’t bow to this asshole. My back would break.
    “You want to buy Keong Emas.”
    “Yes.”
    The boy who brought me here walked over to the far table and brought a wicker box to the old man. The man opened the box and removed a glass tank with five snails inside. Each had a dull brown shell.
    The old man offered me the tank. “Choose one.”
    This was it.
    I reached into the tank and passed my hand over the snails. The smallest one tugged on me, tiny needles of magic prickling my skin. Gently, I plucked it from its leaf and held it in the palm of my hand.
    A faint glow lit the snail from within. It lingered for a second and burst, painting the snail’s shell with brilliant gold.
    “Only powerful magic can see Keong Emas,” the old man said. “White tiger magic.”
    Oh shit. I clamped the snail in my hand and felt it slide into its shell. “How much?”
    “Take her.” The old man nodded to the guy in the red hat.
    Red Hat peeled himself from the wall. Behind me a man and a woman moved from behind the curtain, cutting off my exit.
    “You shouldn’t have come here,” the old man said.
    “Jim!” I yelled.
    “He won’t help,” the old man said. “Nobody will help.”
    I dashed left, but Red Hat’s hand gripped my shoulder and he jerked me off my feet with superhuman strength. I kicked at him, but he batted my legs aside and carried me back to the corner, where a woman pulled the tarp off the cage. A man knelt in the cage on all fours, filthy, wearing rags smeared with old blood. Plastic ties forced his wrists together, and above them a ragged cloth with a holding spell scrawled in ink bound his forearms. A leather muzzle clamped his whole face, leaving only the narrow strip of space around his eyes visible. Bandages hid his head and all I saw was one eye, mad, furious, and brilliant turquoise.
    There was a second cage next to him. An empty cage.
    Panic squirmed through me. I kicked and thrashed, but the cage kept coming closer and