Street Magic

back at her. "But you keep it."
    "I really don't think I'll ever have need of this. I
hope
I won't, at the very least," Pete said. "Maybe you could use it to break the ice at parties or something."
    Jack sipped his coffee and grinned. "You won it fair and square in sorcerous combat, Pete. Keep it. It's yours. And when I did parties, I usually called up a few poltergeists or minor demons. Bit more flash. Speaking of which, I could use some help with this bit if you're not too knackered."
    "Show me what to do," said Pete, shutting the bathroom door behind her.
    "Come into the kitchen and have one of these overpriced pastries and I'll explain things," Jack said.
    After Pete had stirred a cup of espresso for herself, Jack slid into the seat across from her and held out a black velvet sack. "Got this for you, too."
    Pete slid out a small crescent charm on a plain silver chain. It was cool to the touch and when she held it the constant undertone of magic that hissed to the hidden part of her mind quieted.
    "It's a talisman for dreamers," said Jack. "It will keep you safe from sundown to dawn."
    Pete admired the way the half-circle caught the light. "Will it."
    "That's the theory, anyway," said Jack. "Really, it depends on you."
    "How do you mean?" Pete said. She put the charm around her neck and felt the silver kiss her clavicle. It felt like dipping a hand into cool water, with cool stones beneath and the moon reflected above.
    "Do you
want
to stop dreaming?" Jack asked.
    "This particular dream, yes," Pete said emphatically. "And I could do without being haunted, as well."
    Jack's mouth quirked. "I'm afraid while you hang around me there's always a bit of ghost-light about," he said. "But the bugger shouldn't be able to get to your mind so easily with that."
    "Ta," Pete said, smiling a bit herself. Jack looked pleased, like he'd picked out a birthday gift in the proper size.
    "Kid stuff. Don't mention it." He extinguished his Parliament in the remains of his coffee. His hands shook but a little, and he collected a pen and started drawing on scraps. "Now, this is what calling the demon should entail, and what I need from you…"

----
Chapter Thirty

    A few hours later, Pete followed Jack through the aisles of a DIY shop, collecting supplies from the hardware department. "You're joking, right?" she said. "This is where we get the supplies for a demonic ritual?"
    "Some of it, yeah," said Jack. "Magic isn't all eye of newt or skinning black cats."
    Pete jerked her trolley to a stop. "I am not killing a cat."
    "Dagon in a rowboat, Pete, relax. The demon we want doesn't accept animal sacrifices. It would be terribly offensive."
    "Facts I'm sure will come in handy in my day-to-day life," she muttered, following Jack as he picked out a roll of copper wire.
    "Will if you keep on with me," Jack said with a shadow of a grin. He picked up a box of roofing nails and tucked them into his jacket pocket. Pete cleared her throat vigorously. Jack gave her an exasperated look, one dark eyebrow cocked.
    Pete pointed to the trolley basket. "In."
    "They're fifteen quid!" Jack protested. "For a box of ruddy nails!"
    "I'm sure all the girls at Fiver's would swoon over your criminal behavior," said Pete. "But if we get pinched we're never going to track down this ghostie or beastie or whatever in time, so put the bloody nails in the trolley and grow the bloody hell up."
    Jack glared at her, but he dropped the box in the basket and stalked off, leaving Pete to pay for everything.
    "Where are we going now?" Pete demanded. She was trailing Jack through the Kings Road, passing between tourists with cameras and pimply children in tight black jeans and Mohawks trying to grasp on to the heyday of punk outside what used to be Sex.
    "Picking up a few last odds and ends," said Jack, turning down a narrow flight of steps to a nameless shop with a black door.
    Pete stopped just short of the entrance. "Jack, this is a dodgy porn shop."
    "Among other things," he agreed, opening the door, causing an obscenely pleasant bell to jingle.
    "Bloody hell," Pete muttered, following him inside.
    "I got what I needed from the spellcrafter's supply when I bought your talisman," said Jack. "Just need to see a friend about one last thing."
    The shop was gray—gray carpet, walls that had once been white but lay coated with a decade's worth of grime, grim fluorescent tubes overhead like a morgue. Even the covers of the magazines and videos looked deflated and drained of