I TRADE DESIRES FOR POWER

3

Behind the dust-coated glass window of No. 13 Blackfriars, Gavin Calloway stood buttoning his black vest.

"Your magic core is stable at five percent," Abraxas’s voice droned lazily from the chandelier. "But don't go celebrating just yet. At midnight tonight, this shop will collect 'rent' for your life. If you don't have a fresh transaction in stock, it'll start leeching your own blood."

"I know," Gavin replied shortly.

He stepped toward the mahogany desk. Atop it, the Soul-Ledger slid open quietly. The fine black rune lines on Gavin's right arm pulsed softly—the subtle residual effect of the Shadow Step Level 1 skill now bound to his bloodstream.

 

The door hinges groaned softly. It wasn't a violent slam like Division 9 or Vespera the night before. This was a hesitant tap, followed by the quiet rustle of a small body slipping through the crack in the door.

Gavin leaned his shoulder against the counter, his eyes narrowing.

A young boy in threadbare clothes slipped inside. His leather jacket was a patchwork of scraps, his trousers torn at the knees, and his face smeared with factory soot. His thin, nimble fingers clutched a rusted pocketknife. The boy's eyes darted wildly, sweeping the room before settling on a silver lantern resting on a shelf beside the desk.

The boy tiptoed forward, moving soundlessly like a alley cat. His hand was already outstretched, ready to snatch the lantern.

"That lantern is warding a flesh-eating curse," Gavin's voice shattered the silence.

The boy jumped out of his skin, nearly dropping his pocketknife. He spun around instantly, dropping into a defensive stance and pointing the small blade at Gavin. His breath came fast, his eyes wide with sheer terror.

"Stay back!" the boy snarled, his voice cracking with a high-pitched rasp. "I just want junk! Don't call Division 9!"

Red text floated instantly above the boy's head in Gavin's vision:

 

[Name: Pip "Sparrow" Higgins ]

[Category: Street Urchin / Soho Black Market Informant ]

[Assets: High Agility, Alley-Rat Intelligence Network ]

[Mental Condition: Severe Trauma, Chronic Fear ]

Gavin walked calmly behind the desk, unbothered by the little knife pointed at him. "If I were going to call the police, kid, you'd already be swinging from the Tower of London."

Pip gritted his teeth, his eyes darting frantically to find an exit. But the heavy wooden door behind him suddenly locked tight with a sharp CLACK.

"Open the door, dammit!" Pip panicked, pounding on the thick wood behind him. "I don't have anything! I only have three copper pieces!"

"I don't need your cheap copper," Gavin said, settling into the high mahogany chair. He gestured toward a small wooden stool in front of the desk. "Sit."

"I don't want to!"

Gavin flicked his fingers casually. A dark shadow stretched from the corner of the room, slithering across the wooden floorboards like a viper, coiling around Pip's legs, and yanking him down hard into the wooden stool opposite Gavin.

"Agh! Shadow magic!" Pip shrieked, clawing frantically at the shadow chains binding his ankles. "Mercy, mister! I didn't know this shop had a wizard! Don't kill me!"

"I said sit, not scream," Gavin said coldly. The shadow loosened its grip slightly, though it remained coiled around Pip's ankles. "What's your name?"

Pip swallowed hard, his face pale as death. "P-Pip. People call me Sparrow."

"Alright, Pip. You came in here to steal. In this shop, thieves who get caught pay a fine." Gavin leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands. "But I'm going to make you an offer."

Pip eyed Gavin with a mix of deep suspicion and dread. "What kind of offer?"

"I need eyes and ears on the streets of Soho. You need food, a place to sleep, and protection from the street gangs that beat you up." Gavin patted the leather cover of the Soul-Ledger. "You work for me as the shop's official informant."

Pip let out a bitter laugh, though his voice still trembled. "Work for you? Mister, I'm on the Bone Hand gang's hit list. If they find out I walked into their turf, they'll turn my guts into shoelaces!"

"They won't touch a hair on your head as long as you're under this shop's wing," Gavin said flatly. "But to ensure you don't run your mouth or take off with the shop's secrets, you need to pawn something."

Pip patted his empty pockets. "I don't have anything valuable! Even my clothes were scavenged from a dump!"

"I don't want material goods." Gavin offered a thin, cold smile that sent a shiver down Pip's spine. "I want your 'Fear'."

"Huh? My fear?" Pip blinked in utter confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I'll extract the fear that makes you tremble and panic every time you look at someone powerful," Gavin explained. "In exchange, you get a clear mind, cold logic, and full protection from this shop for thirty days. When the contract expires, if you've done good work, you get your fear back—or you can renew."

Abraxas cackled from above. "Turning a scared little rat into a cold-blooded wolf! What a sweet emotional transaction!"

Pip looked at the desk, then back at Gavin. His mind was in a violent whirl. Life on the streets of Soho was living hell. Every night he slept clutching his knife, terrified of being beaten to death by the Bone Hand gang or hauled away by Division 9.

"I... I won't go crazy if you take my fear, right?" Pip whispered softly.

"You won't go crazy," Gavin answered. "You just won't panic anymore."

Pip took a long, steadying breath and balled his trembling hands into fists. "Do it."

Gavin pulled an empty cork-stoppered glass vial from the shelf behind him and gestured toward the Soul-Ledger. "Press your thumb here."

Pip pressed his thumb against the parchment page. A faint blue flame flared briefly.

Gavin reached across the desk, touching two fingers to Pip's forehead. The black runes on Gavin's arm vibrated subtly. A dim gray mist was pulled from Pip's temple, streaming like thin vapor before being trapped securely inside the glass bottle in Gavin's hand.

POP.

Gavin sealed the bottle with the cork and placed it on the restricted shelf behind his desk.

Pip blinked a few times. His tense shoulders suddenly dropped and relaxed, his breathing turning steady and measured. The terror that had clouded his eyes completely vanished—replaced by a sharp, calm, and intensely analytical gaze.

Pip looked at the pocketknife in his hand, folded it with casual ease, and slipped it back into his pocket.

"Unbelievable," Pip muttered. His voice didn't shake anymore. "My head feels completely clear. That shaking in my chest is gone."

"That's the effect of Desire Extraction," Gavin said, feeling his Magic Core absorb a tiny fraction of residual energy from the process. "Now, Sparrow, your first assignment."

Pip crossed his arms over his chest, looking up at Gavin without a trace of hesitation. "What do you need to know, Boss?"

"The Vane Clan," Gavin said, his voice turning ice-cold. "I want to know what London's magical newspapers are saying about the death of Gavin Calloway three days ago. I also want you to find out where Cassian Montgomery and Arabella Vane are."

Pip nodded briskly, his mind firing like a newly oiled machine. "Easy enough. The London Arcane Times hits the streets of Soho every morning. I can get internal dirt from the newsboy union kids. Give me two hours."

"Go," Gavin said with a wave of his hand.

The lock on the front door released itself. Pip stood up, straightened his shabby jacket, and stepped out into the thick Soho fog without the slightest flicker of hesitation.

Two hours later, the door to No. 13 Blackfriars opened once more.

Pip walked in carrying two magical broadsheets—their surfaces filled with animated silver-toned photographs—and a small scroll of notes. He tossed the papers onto Gavin's desk.

"Just like you guessed, Boss," Pip said flatly, pulling out a chair and sitting down casually. "The Vane Clan spun a damn neat narrative."

Gavin read the front-page headline of the London Arcane Times:

 

[TRAGEDY IN MAYFAIR: GAVIN CALLOWAY KILLED IN FATAL RITUAL ACCIDENT]

[LADY ARABELLA VANE HEAVY-HEARTEDLY TRANSFERS CALLOWAY CLAN ASSETS TO MONTGOMERY CONSORTIUM TO MAINTAIN CITY STABILITY]

The moving picture in the newspaper showed Arabella Vane dressed in a black mourning gown, dabbing away fake tears in front of reporters, while Cassian Montgomery stood beside her with a look of solemn concern.

Gavin let out a bitter laugh, his eyes blazing with pure hatred. "A ritual accident. What a charming story."

"It gets worse, Boss," Pip continued, pointing to his scroll of notes. "Arabella and Cassian plan to liquidate your clan's remaining land assets at a secret Arcane Auction two weeks from now in Mayfair. Your ancestral Emerald Ring is going under the hammer too, to inject capital into their new consortium."

Gavin gripped the edge of the newspaper so hard the enchanted paper tore beneath his fingers.

"Two weeks, huh?" Gavin hissed.

"I found something else interesting, though," Pip offered a cold smile—the smile of someone who no longer remembered what fear felt like. "Cassian Montgomery just invested the Montgomery clan's entire weekly cash flow into an illegal shipment of magical crystals down at the Docklands. Their current liquidity is stretched razor-thin."

Gavin leaned back into his mahogany chair, his fingers beginning a slow, rhythmic tap on the desk. The blueprint for his retribution was starting to take form.

"Sparrow," Gavin said.

"Yeah, Boss?"

"You know the street kids down at the Docklands?"

"I was king down there before I moved to Soho."

"Good." Gavin curled his lips into a terrifyingly cold smile. "Leak Cassian's smuggling route to the dockworkers' union and Division 9's informants. Get them to clash. I want Cassian's cash flow short by fifty thousand Sovereigns before the week is out."

Pip stood up, matching Gavin's icy smirk. "Consider it done, Boss."