house means the witch does not have to force the apparition to travel a great distance. Being close to the house also means that the residual magic of the wards kept you from feeling the magic emanating from this rosebush. "You or your friend can, I am certain, break the spell easily enough."
Looking stunned, disbelieving but so painfully hopeful, Micah reached into his jacket and extracted what was often called an alchemist's travel kit. It contained all an alchemist needed to do the most basic and common of spell work. He knelt in front of the rosebush—
"I would not do it quite yet," Johnnie said. "There is something rather curious about all this, that I do not think you have realized."
Micah frowned, and reluctantly stopped what he was doing. "What do you mean?"
"A sorcerer or a witch might be able to change the shape of something, but it would require a spell circle, and as whoever it was changed her here, there should be evidence of a spell circle on location—but I see no chalk, no remains of work in the grass and dirt, nothing. Not many abnormals are so magically powerful they can change the shape of something. Demons certainly, a good enough necromancer or sorcerer … and imps."
"What—"
Johnnie ducked as the imp swung, then threw his arms out and caught the imp at the legs, sweeping the imp off his feet. Reaching into his coat, he pulled a small silver dagger and held it to the imp's throat. Without looking away from the imp, he said to Micah, "How long have the two of you known each other?"
"A-a-couple of months," Micah said, staring wide-eyed, looking confused and hurt and uncertain.
"Do not move," Johnnie said to the imp, "and I would not try magic if I were you, either. One nick of this dagger will cause you a great deal of pain."
The imp stared at him. "How did you know I was part of it?"
"I would wager you are all of it, actually," Johnnie replied. "The plan was never to hand the cane over to the wealthy man you pretended to be. I would wager that as Micah's friend, you eventually would have convinced him to give it to you for safekeeping or some such. Am I right?"
"How did you know that?" the imp demanded.
"You are an imp," Johnnie replied. "Any self-respecting imp would have seen that rosebush was false. I have no magical ability whatsoever and I knew immediately something about it was off. It was also the way you encouraged him to give up the cane; that is not like any abnormal when it comes to objects of power. Abnormals have killed and died to protect far less than a plane-crossing cane. The only thing I do not know is why. Perhaps you are not a free imp, as I first thought. Perhaps it is simply money."
The imp snarled at him. "Do you know how much someone would pay for an object which can travel the planes? The chance to unravel its making is worth a fortune."
"Money, then," Johnnie said lightly. "But you would not work for months to obtain something on the chance you could sell it, so you must have been paid in advance. Who is paying you?"
"That is none of your business," the imp snapped. "Kill me, go ahead, but I promise that you will regret it."
Johnnie threw his head back and laughed, then abruptly withdrew his dagger, sheathed it, and reached into his pocket to extract one of his business cards. He threw it on the imp's chest and stood up. "Take that, and give it to your master, and inform him that if I want to kill his imps then I will do so at my leisure and do not care if he takes issue."
Frowning, the imp sat up and looked at the card—then went pale. "You said your name was Goodnight."
"I lied," Johnnie replied lightly. "You may go, on the proviso that you never trouble anyone here again."
The imp fled.
Micah stared after him, then at Johnnie. "I—I don't even know what to say. I thought he was my friend."
Johnnie's mouth twisted with bitterness, and he agreed by saying, "An open foe may prove a curse/But a pretended friend is worse." He motioned to the rosebush.
Looking stunned, disbelieving but so painfully hopeful, Micah reached into his jacket and extracted what was often called an alchemist's travel kit. It contained all an alchemist needed to do the most basic and common of spell work. He knelt in front of the rosebush—
"I would not do it quite yet," Johnnie said. "There is something rather curious about all this, that I do not think you have realized."
Micah frowned, and reluctantly stopped what he was doing. "What do you mean?"
"A sorcerer or a witch might be able to change the shape of something, but it would require a spell circle, and as whoever it was changed her here, there should be evidence of a spell circle on location—but I see no chalk, no remains of work in the grass and dirt, nothing. Not many abnormals are so magically powerful they can change the shape of something. Demons certainly, a good enough necromancer or sorcerer … and imps."
"What—"
Johnnie ducked as the imp swung, then threw his arms out and caught the imp at the legs, sweeping the imp off his feet. Reaching into his coat, he pulled a small silver dagger and held it to the imp's throat. Without looking away from the imp, he said to Micah, "How long have the two of you known each other?"
"A-a-couple of months," Micah said, staring wide-eyed, looking confused and hurt and uncertain.
"Do not move," Johnnie said to the imp, "and I would not try magic if I were you, either. One nick of this dagger will cause you a great deal of pain."
The imp stared at him. "How did you know I was part of it?"
"I would wager you are all of it, actually," Johnnie replied. "The plan was never to hand the cane over to the wealthy man you pretended to be. I would wager that as Micah's friend, you eventually would have convinced him to give it to you for safekeeping or some such. Am I right?"
"How did you know that?" the imp demanded.
"You are an imp," Johnnie replied. "Any self-respecting imp would have seen that rosebush was false. I have no magical ability whatsoever and I knew immediately something about it was off. It was also the way you encouraged him to give up the cane; that is not like any abnormal when it comes to objects of power. Abnormals have killed and died to protect far less than a plane-crossing cane. The only thing I do not know is why. Perhaps you are not a free imp, as I first thought. Perhaps it is simply money."
The imp snarled at him. "Do you know how much someone would pay for an object which can travel the planes? The chance to unravel its making is worth a fortune."
"Money, then," Johnnie said lightly. "But you would not work for months to obtain something on the chance you could sell it, so you must have been paid in advance. Who is paying you?"
"That is none of your business," the imp snapped. "Kill me, go ahead, but I promise that you will regret it."
Johnnie threw his head back and laughed, then abruptly withdrew his dagger, sheathed it, and reached into his pocket to extract one of his business cards. He threw it on the imp's chest and stood up. "Take that, and give it to your master, and inform him that if I want to kill his imps then I will do so at my leisure and do not care if he takes issue."
Frowning, the imp sat up and looked at the card—then went pale. "You said your name was Goodnight."
"I lied," Johnnie replied lightly. "You may go, on the proviso that you never trouble anyone here again."
The imp fled.
Micah stared after him, then at Johnnie. "I—I don't even know what to say. I thought he was my friend."
Johnnie's mouth twisted with bitterness, and he agreed by saying, "An open foe may prove a curse/But a pretended friend is worse." He motioned to the rosebush.
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