As usual, I found Mary in the park near the empty playground that was originally built for the kids of factory workers at Babylon Steel. The area used to have green grass and bushy trees and lots of colorful monkey bars and swing sets. Back then, America was still the capital of the steel empire begun by Carnegie and his cronies. But starting in the 1960s, the steel manufacturers’ hubris caught up to them when some Chinese alchemists revolutionized steel processes and took advantage of the deregulation of foreign imports. It wasn’t long before the steel industry here collapsed completely and ushered in a more dubious threat to the fabric of America: the magic industry.
Sure, magic had existed throughout our history books, but mostly it had been framed as the superstitions of less educated societies. However, after an alchemist changed the economy of America, modern scholars and scientists took the old wives’ tales and studied them for the first time using scientific methods. Turned out all the witches who were burned in the Middle Ages hadn’t been just the innocent victims of the Catholic Church’s war on women. Sure, magic had always existed, it’s just no one really understood how it worked. That was until a scientist named Ezra Green discovered the genetic marker for magic was tied to left-handedness.
Now, five decades later, everyone and their mothers used “clean” magic to wash their clothes and add zip to their sex lives. Instead of steel and iron funding America’s power, magic was the currency that kept us going. But the damage to Babylon and the rest of the Rust Belt towns couldn’t be undone. Especially since the illegal dirty magic industry had set down its black roots in our soil.
The park I stood in had once been a symbol of Babylon’s bright future, but now it was nothing more than a barren scrub lot filled with bent, rusted sculptures exploring the theme of urban decay.
I continued to make my way toward Mary. Her back was to me, but the alto of her lullaby floated to me on the breeze. Her hunched shoulders curved protectively around the burden strapped to her flat chest.
I hesitated, worried I might be interrupting nap time. Little Man was always so grumpy when he hadn’t had his morning rest.
My footsteps on the gravel path gave me away and she turned, ready to defend her precious burden. Mary’s misshapen head reminded me of old-timey illustrations of Humpty Dumpty, except covered with random tufts of long brunette hair. Despite the deceptively large cranium, her brain had the mental capacity of a toddler.
Speaking of toddlers, the baby carrier strapped to her chest was custom-made and filled with alternating bands of salt slabs and body armor. From his perch on Mary’s chest, Little Man watched my approach through drooping lids. A blue knit cap perched on top of his small bald head. His tiny mouth opened into a yawn before he spoke.
“The fuck you want, Prospero?”
I looked into the homunculus’s eyes and said, “How’s it hangin’, LM?”
His mouth twisted into a jaded grin too mature for his chubby-cheeked profile. “Low and to the left, as usual. Wanna see?” His chubby hand made for the waistband of his diaper.
To the passerby, the pair probably looked like a hulk of a woman with questionable personal hygiene carrying a creepy baby doll. Instead, Little Man and Mary were actually conjoined twins. Their mutations were the result of their mother’s addiction to fertility elixirs. Unfortunately, she hadn’t survived pushing out the twenty-pound baby Mary.
On the other hand, Little Man started as what appeared to be a mole on his sister’s chest, but eventually he grew into the homunculus she carried everywhere. Any advantage Mary had over Little Man in size was mitigated by the fact that he got all the brains.
I grimaced and shook my head. “Got a few questions for you.”
“Come back later.” His infant-sized lips pursed into a pouty moue. “It’s almost time for sleepies.”
I pulled my wallet from my pocket. His eyes widened. That kind of money could buy a large pack of diapers or some special time with a discount whore.
“In that case, let’s retire to my office.” He motioned his tiny fist at Mary.
She pivoted her large body like an ocean liner executing a wide turn and lumbered toward a nearby bench. Even sitting, the giantess loomed over me, which meant Little’s face was even with mine.
“I assume you’re here about that junkie you smoked?” he snapped.
I nodded.
“Rough business,” LM said, his high-pitched voice a facsimile of sympathy. “Word is you shot his dick off. That true?”
“Thought you knew better than to listen to rumors.”
LM shrugged. “Every rumor holds a grain of truth.”
“The challenge is finding that one little grain in the pile of bullshit,” I said. “Anything you can tell me about a new potion making the rounds?”
He wrinkled the bald skin where his eyebrows would have been if he’d had any hair. “Like you said, I know better than to listen to rumors.”
I raised the bills and rubbed them together. “Tell me anyway—just for shits and giggles.”
Little raised a hand to indicate Mary should lean closer to me. I paused and then played along, leaning close enough to smell Mary’s body odor and the diaper cream on LM’s ass. “People been talking about a unique new package.”
I kept my expression poker blank. “Who’s putting this package out?”
He shook his head. “No one’s naming any names. Either way, that new shit? The Wolf? Nasty.”
The wound on my arm throbbed. “Tell me about it.”
“Hear it makes the user crave human flesh.” Little Man ran a speculative glance over my blackened eye and the bandage peeking from under my shirtsleeve. “You know anything about that?”
“Maybe,” I evaded and changed tactics. “Back up a sec. You expect me to believe you don’t have a theory about who’s cooking this potion?” I looked in his heavily lashed blue eyes. “Stinks like shit, LM.”
The laugh that came from his mouth was a bizarre, squeaky cackle. “That’s why I like you, Prospero. You understand that 80 percent of the Cauldron is illusion.”
“So what’s the real story?”
“Honestly? If it’s a new wiz, he’s got titanium balls. Unless…”
“Yeah?”
“The potion’s not from a new source at all.”
“Preliminary tests say it’s alchemical.”
“Heard that myself.” He shrugged. “Could be a low-level cooker looking to make a name.”