Bound by Chris Michaels, Reema Farra Page B

“hypothermia,” but Hannah trekked deeper into the city. Jason was going to save her.
    She passed through the Working Quarters. Half-made metal monsters peaked from behind coverings. Coils of electrified copper wire snaked between the constantly hissing steam pipes carrying heat into the ramshackle warehouses. The buzz of electricity, whir of cogs, clicks of automota and hiss of steam sang a strange symphony of progress. She’d never heard anything like this in the Trenches. Cold wind whistled past the brick buildings. She rubbed her arms, hoping to create some kind of warmth with no success.
    One foot in front of the other , she told herself. Attention to detail. Look for Jason’s next clue.
    Hannah found comfort in her lullaby, their secret song.
    Sing to me a song little child.
    That I may know your secrets and your fears.
    Hold you close through the night.
    And chase away all your tears.
    A train whistle punctured the soundscape. She made it to a rail-line.
    Storm clouds were building in the sky. Hannah had to get indoors.
    Derelict buildings slouched on either side of the street. No canal flowed here, but the smell of fetid water hung in the air like an ever-present watchman. She noticed a sign hanging from a post above the door. The third image: a lonely tree assaulted by lighting. Beneath the image, in crooked, broken letters read, “The Electric Lounge Wayhouse and Pub.” The face of the building sagged, covered with peeling and splintered paint, creating the vague form of an unhappy face.
    She stepped onto the porch, wood creaking eerily like a warning. Hannah took hold of the knocker.
    I hope you know what you’re doing, Jason.
    She knocked three times.

CASPER
    We’re talking about lots of money. Plus the fame of stealing the un-stealable.
    COL. LOCKLAND
    We’re also talking about trusting you. Hasn’t worked out in the past.
    CASPER
    True, but you’re a gambler aren’t you?
    COL. LOCKLAND
    Tell me about this brilliant plan.
    – Film “Casper’s Heist” / Act I

CHAPTER NINE
    T he back room of Hidden Jack’s Lost Treasures intensified Cabbot’s hate. She followed Snyder inside, glowering at the piles of forbidden and dangerous artifacts. Majickal artifacts. Copies of the Treatus, spellbound swords, looking glasses, charms, potions, idols and crystal balls. Each stack was meticulously cataloged with tags written in flawless, curving script.
    “Don’t deal in majick anymore?” she asked sarcastically, toppling a roll of parchment.
    “What are you going to do? Tell the Grey Wolves?” Snyder replaced the scroll and rotated it to match its dozen-or-so cohorts. “You’re a walking curse.”
    Fury shot through her eyes.
    “Sorry.” He held her gaze. “A scowling curse.”
    Cabbot casually swiped a stack of wands from the desk to the floor, stepped over the clutter and paused.
    A stuffed bear stared up at her from the pile of relics. It was tattered and used with sof looking fur. Its right eye had been lost and carefully replaced. The toy looked like it was once loved by a child even though a few Treatus Runes ran up down its leg.
    Majick was insidious; it hid everywhere.
    She turned away from the bear. “All right Snyder, show me this power.”
    “Show me the coin.”
    Cabbot pulled out a gilded contraption and pressed a button. It clicked open. She laid a stack of becketts on the desk. Snyder thumbed through the money, pocketed it and walked to a cabinet. The door squeaked open as he retrieved a small object and looked at Cabbot again.
    “What do I have to do?” Cabbot asked. “Chant a spell?” She fingered the blade hanging from her belt. “Take a life to prove I’m worthy?”
    “Don’t be stupid,” Snyder snapped. “This isn’t a fairy tale. You’re not selling your soul to the devil, although you might as well.”
    Cabbot was not impressed.
    “All the charm requires.” He held out a tiny golden dagger. “Is blood from you, the Binder. And a desperate, foolish