Nobody got paid for this.
“Feel free to take what you like,” James told me wryly. And then leaned over conspiratorially. “I’ll cover for you.”
“Very funny.”
I reached into the crate, and pulled out one of the pathetic-looking orbs inside. The real things were perfect balls of shining silver that broke open to release a cloud of white smoke so thick and so dense, it counted as its own patch of fog. The best ones could cover a block or more, allowing you to lose anything in it—including yourself.
They were great for when a fight got too intense or backup arrived unexpectedly, and you needed to peace out. I usually paid five hundred a pop for one of these babies, which is why I never had any damned money. But I wouldn’t be taking James up on his offer.
I did squeeze it, sad misshapen thing that it was, and watched the pale steam it contained filter weakly out the sides.
I waited.
James looked amused.
Fin didn’t look like anything, because he’d wandered off somewhere. I spotted him over by the selkies, frowning some more. Probably at their thinness, because to trolls that’s practically the worst thing in the world. Knowing Fin, he’d be wanting to borrow my car to go get them Long John Silver’s or something.
Which, no; he couldn’t see over the steering wheel.
But I had no trouble seeing him. And the mages and the selkies, and everything else. Because the orb had finally given its all, and its all sucked.
“Are they all like that?” I asked James, who was sneering at the little thing the way a wine connoisseur looks at Two Buck Chuck. Which wasn’t a bad analogy, because that’s what these things were: the magical equivalent of Ripple.
“Pretty much.” He batted some weak-ass fog away. “You’ve got your potion bombs barely stronger than human acid; your shield charms that might deflect a single spell, if you’re lucky; your ward-detection bracelets, which don’t; your vamp-detection bracelets, which also don’t, although they did go nuts over my dog—”
“Secret were?”
He snorted. “I wish. Then I could get the bastard a job. He’s eating me out of house and home.”
“You took these home? I thought you just found them.”
“This batch, yeah. But we ran across another yesterday, in the last place your boy hit, and one a week ago in a warehouse raid. Looks like the guys with no portal access are branching out.”
“Into this?”
He nodded.
“And it’s selling?” I couldn’t imagine anybody spending good money on this crap.
“It’s pretty general knowledge that we might have to fight the fey,” James said. “And people are freaking out. Plus, there’s a crackdown on the legit stuff. The Circle’s trying to keep the other side from cleaning out our dealers, and using our own weapons against us. Any big orders are flagged and held up until we verify the purchaser. It doesn’t affect the guy on the street, just buying a few things to protect his family, but you know how people are. The directive caused a panic and sent prices skyrocketing.” He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Hope you’re stocked up.”
Shit.
So much for restocking on a budget.
“And with demand outstripping supply, even this stuff is selling like hotcakes,” James continued. “And getting ripped off.”
“Ripped off? People are stealing that?”
He chuckled. “You sound like the old man. He was outraged, too. But, yeah, the batch from last night was traced to a truck robbery in Jersey City. We don’t normally watch this sort of thing—it’s not powerful enough to worry about—and the criminal element knows it. So they’ve started stealing what are basically gag gifts, repackaging them as legit weapons, and selling them at a premium.”
“And nobody’s noticed?”
He shrugged. “It’s a new problem. Plus, most people aren’t likely to use anything they buy. They just want some insurance.”
“So how good it is, is irrelevant.”
“Until they actually need it, and realize they’ve been had. False confidence can get somebody—”