Pockets of Darkness Read Free

probably came from the bar; laughter from some dive apartment directly overhead; a car door slamming; someone yelling in Spanish. Cojones , he made out that word. “ Estás barracho ,” he heard following something shattering upstairs.
    Elijah heard his heart, too. It pounded and threatened to ride up into his throat. Was it nerves, or the result of a spell she was working? A handful of weeks ago he would’ve laughed at the notion of magical spells, witches, and the like. But not now … now he knew they existed in the city’s dark heart, hidden and almost impossible for the Average Joe to find.
    Expensive to find.
    Three thousand by the hour, she’d said.
    He’d already dropped thirty grand just getting to this point.
    The bar music changed. Something old and gravelly like a Louis Armstrong rip-off. More cars went by. The siren faded. Adiella talked louder, her words sing-song now, and still nothing familiar, though certainly not Spanish. Lady Lakshmi said this woman was the very best.… if only she could be persuaded to help. And apparently he had persuaded her with his promise of money.
    Three thousand an hour.
    She hadn’t even asked him what he needed. Did she know? Could she see it? He looked down and to his right. Was she just filling time with her mumbo-jumbo to bilk him out of money? Or maybe Lady Lakshmi had told her about the … thing. Maybe traffickers in magic gossiped.
    The ceiling creaked. Someone walking overhead, something else shattering—a plate maybe. A second set of footsteps, heavier. A shrill cry, then laughter, a hush, and moments later rhythmic banging; a headboard against a wall, he guessed.
    Adiella’s voice grew louder still.
    Time passed and the banging overhead stopped. An angry car horn blatted out on the street. He heard shouts from an argument and then the horn barking again, but he didn’t step away or turn his head to glance out the window. Elijah intently watched Adiella.
    Her fingers drifted off the page and gestured like a conductor might to an orchestra. Finally the candle flames moved and smoke trailed up from them—diaphanous serpents rising to join the patterns on the painted tin ceiling. She trembled and her face practically glowed with a fine sheen of sweat. He watched her gulp in the fusty air. Her chest heaved.
    Another tune came on across the street; he recognized Wynton Marsalis’ Root Groove . Another siren wailed. The couple upstairs giggled and turned on a television.
    Adiella coughed and slumped forward, hands splayed across the spread in the book and small body quivering.
    Is she all right, he wondered, or is this a part of some elaborate act? He opened his mouth, then thought better and waited quietly.
    After a few moments she righted herself and reached to the wall behind her, flicked on the lights and blew out the candles. She closed her eyes and let a silence settle between them. In it he listened to an argument out on the street and what he thought was either a gunshot or a car backfiring. Theme music from an old sitcom trickled down from upstairs.
    “You have acquired a demon,” she pronounced.
    Elijah pushed away from the counter. “A demon? You know for certain that’s what it is? It’s a demon? A real demon? Fire-and-brimstone from hell?”
    “An old demon, a soul beast.” She shook her head, more wisps of white hair coming loose from her scarf. Definitely some age to her. Maybe sixty, shrunken from the decades. Maybe she could appear whatever age she wanted.
    “Can you see it? This demon?” He didn’t bother to hide the incredulity in his voice. “Did your … spell … whatever it was you did … let you really see it?”
    “See it? The beast is here? In my shop?” Her eyes went wide, a mix of surprise and anger. “You brought a demon into my shop? You dare?”
    “Of course it’s in your shop.”
    “You dare! You brought it with you?” Her face drew forward into a point. “You dare!” She shouted at him and made the sign of