The day grew sluggish as they drove off back into the street, much like Ruth’s thoughts that came in uncertain, second-guessing bursts. This whole affair was growing more disorientating by the moment. She glanced out of the smudged window, hoping for a distraction.
Not all that long ago Browning’s Market had been a traditional affair. Stalls and the occasional shop had lined the streets selling everything from radishes to nails. But the area had been modernised. Now it only sold promise and neon light from a thousand shopping centres and amusement towers. Ruth knew the place better than most - her brother Malcolm had snagged a job around here and wouldn’t stop bragging about it. Fortunately the wizard’s business was not in the market itself. Jennifer mumbled out a series of directions that took them deeper into the recesses of Whitechurch.
Beyond the facade concrete and chipped paint once again came to dominate the cityscape. Behind Browning’s Market crouched a mass of office blocks buzzing with unseen activity. The change was sudden and unsettling, like scraping off a slate of tree bark to find a coven of squirming woodlice plotting beneath.
Ruth shivered involuntarily and glanced at Jennifer. Her eyes were glazed, fixed down at her lap with a subtle melancholy. Before she could make any more of it, the wizard perked her head up.
“Here we are. On the right.”
Indeed there was a scruffy, squat building no more than four stories tall. Another office block seemingly converted from an abandoned factory; an old brick chimney still poked out of the building’s roof. The lower section looked wide and cavernous - now no more than a storage facility - while above could be spotted skulking shadows wandering behind the windows. Some business seemed to be taking place at least.
Jennifer was already getting out of the car and ambling her way towards the tower. Once again Ruth could do little more than follow.
“Would it be too much to ask what business you have in this rough place?”
“Yes,” Jennifer replied bluntly, not slowing down, “it will be easier just to show you.”
What was once a floor filled with bustling industry was now quiet and cold. Scraping open a rotting set of double doors, Jennifer led the way deeper into the complex. Ruth had guessed right, this was now little more than a home for forsaken clutter. A series of crumbling modern vaults had been thrown up against the walls; cast-iron paddocks for private storage. The only noise besides their footsteps came from the concrete staircase at the end of the hall. Shouts and obscenities echoed down to this lower level. Some kind of argument was being had in the floors above.
The elf had grown skittish. Ruth had seen this behaviour before in her friend. It was never danger that made her act in this way; of course not, that was momentary and exciting. No, it was only dread that made Jennifer shrink into herself. A hint of that inexplicable anxiety began to crawl over Ruth as her companion came to a stop before one of the dark grey vaults. It was almost identical to the others except that this vault’s grated window had been boarded shut. The wizard was already taking out a jangling set of keys.
For a second Jennifer paused; thinking.
“Apologies,” she said, her voice serene amongst the gloom, “all the polite apologies, but could you please turn away for this part?”
There was something strained about the request, as if the wizard was forcing out the niceties in one blocky, over-practised sentence. That creeping dread grew.
“Please, Ruth,” Jennifer asked again, poised before the vault, “I can explain later. For now you’ll have to trust me.”
For a second she thought to argue before Ruth’s curiosity got the better of her. She turned her back to the wizard and heard a small sigh, next the turning of a key and finally the screech of the vault door as Jennifer forced it open.
Far above the sounds of an argument still carried down the stairs. Ruth could have sworn she heard someone cry out in shock just as Jennifer swore violently in a language the human did not understand. Despite herself, Ruth turned around and stared into the wizard’s vault.
It was empty.
She turned to the elf who was pacing; hands pushing into the back of her head.
“What was in here that was so important?” Ruth mustered.
“Someone dangerous.”
“Someone?”
Glancing back the vault was still vacant. Like a gaping hole.
“Hang on,” Jennifer was shaking her head and rummaging through the inside of her patched cloak, retrieving what looked like a bulky flashlight. Pushing past Ruth she flicked the thing on casting a purple beam over the chamber. Jennifer swore again.
“Nothing invisible. Let me… hmm, all right. This might work.”
Ruth felt like a ghost only able to observe as her friend stepped into the vault. With darkness casting her face in an almost frightening shade, the wizard crouched down to her knees. A stick of bone white wax was produced and she began scribbling out a complex pattern of overlapping runes that quickly overtook most of the floor, all the while muttering furiously under her breath.
Back when they were both students living less than a street away, Ruth had only seen the wizard at work twice before. The first was at a gathering of friends - nowadays it would be called a party. They had been egging Jennifer on to do something, something magical with all her fledgling skill. All of them were a little, just a little, drunk by this point. Except Jennifer of course. She never drank. Still, the ritual sputtered out and Ruth was left disappointed.
The second time was late one evening in Ruth’s dormitory. After a bit of persuading Jennifer reluctantly agreed to show the fruits of her studies. Carefully drawing out the runes and whispering all the correct words of power, the wizard smiled. The room buzzed with energy and in her outstretched palm appeared a single wilting lily-of-the-valley. It was painful to look at as if light was being contorted in a rough, unnatural fashion. When Ruth reached out to touch the flower it proved insubstantial. In a moment it had flickered out of existence. That night she dreamt of a thousand dancing, leering lights with an eerie beauty that rushed forth to blind her. Ruth never asked to see Jennifer’s magic again.
Now, after three decades, a part of her was curious to see how the wizard had progressed. Another part was terrified.
The air quivered as Jennifer’s incantations grew faster, less coherent, as if she were spewing out some kind of code. A hint of brilliant light sparked along the runes and the greasy electric lamps overhead flickered. Ruth covered her face in a reflexive jerk.
And then nothing.
And then nothing.
After a moment Ruth allowed herself a look inside. Jennifer sat in the middle of the quiet vault seemingly entranced. Peering closer, a cascade of flickering images could be seen bursting in front of the wizard’s pupils.
From up the staircase that roaring argument had fallen silent. The only noise came from Jennifer’s whispered vocals for a long time until eventually the images faded. She opened her eyes and suddenly a little older, a little less sure of herself.
“Ruth,” her voice rang out in the dismal chamber, “could… could I ask you a favour?”
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