John Mackie - Hazardous Goods

So true. My number one concern about Arcane was the fact that my mother was close to Clay and Harper. In fact, she had spent more time talking to Clay in the week prior to my first day than I had.

“Did you even check this guy out?”

Sure I had. I was going into partnership with the guy. But I could tell Ted wasn’t going to let this go. For him, the Internet was the root source of valid information worldwide, never mind that the latest hot stock tip came from a pizza delivery guy in Winnipeg, typing a blog in his basement. In his underwear.

So I decided to humor the idiot.

I moved over to the desk, pulled up a browser, typed in “Arcane Transport” and hit return. Up popped the results — 1 of 10 of about 117. Not much, but at least someone had heard of them. Fact was, I knew Clay had no real presence on-line — it was one of my priorities for the coming months.

At that moment a chunk of greasy pastry dropped onto the keyboard.

“Watch the crumbs, man.”

Ted stood behind me, watching over my shoulder and munching a croissant. I tried to pry the flakes from between the U and the Y, but only managed to work them further into the bowels of the keyboard.

“Put it in your mouth, fathead.”

“There’s the website. Second one down.”

I double-clicked and the screen faded away, morphing into a black page with the name “Arcane Transport”, the company logo, address, phone number and the words “Premium Courier for Unusual Goods. Est. 1975.”

“Click on the name.”

“Nah. That’s all they’ve got — just the introduction screen.”

“Kinda sucks.”

Another clump of croissant fell, this time right down the back of my shirt. It felt like a moist lump of butter had dropped smack between my shoulder blades.

“Would you bug off!”

“Jeez. Lighten up.”

“ Just eat the goddamned thing. Don’t spray it on me, don’t drop it on the keyboard, don’t leave crumbs all over the floor. Got it?”

He mumbled. “Sorry for living.”

I hit the back button, then tried the first item on the list. This one was a chat thread. A local forum, chatcentral.ca. The thread was Occult — Shopping.

“What’s this?” Ted leaned in to give it a read.

Anyone know of a reliable delivery service in town? I just sold a double-headed axe to a guy in Oshawa, but he wants it tomorrow and I don’t have a car.

Mitch (Fantasy Blades)

Hey Mitch. You might try Arcane Transport. They’re in the phone book. Very dependable. Is it an enchanted blade, or for simple rituals?

Azure Helen

I modeled it after one of the axes used by the dwarf in Lord of the Rings. It’s got a great leather grip.

Mitch

Might want to try FedEx.

AH.

“What’s that all about?”

Ted must have been finished with the croissant, since his question wasn’t accompanied by a rain of pastry crumbs.

“Haven’t figured it out yet?”

I checked three other websites, all of them standard phone-book type listings. The next site was for a bookstore, Northern Sanctuary. Clay and I had picked up a package from them on Monday. The shipping link said “All deliveries through Arcane Transport — Premium Courier for Unusual Goods.”

Then I flipped to their home page. Northern Sanctuary, your source for books on the occult. There were links for black magick, Celtic magick, druidic magick, sex magick, and so on. I had no idea why they spelled magic with a k, though I was already a supporter of their store, since I am a firm believer in the magical properties of sex.

“Okaaaaay. Donnie’s working for the Hogwarts FedEx. With a bunch of loonies .”

I nodded my head, saying nothing. God knows, Ted could well be right. Either way, I resolved to do some reading about the occult, if for no other reason than to be able to understand Arcane’s customers. In the meanwhile, I was going to do some thinking about Niki the Bull, and his friend Maxim Legenko. Something told me our paths would cross again very soon.

I didn’t have much of a chance to consider the relationship between Maxim Legenko and Niki the Bull during my next two days on the job. Wednesday was “drive like hell” day. And on Thursday, I didn’t even make it out of the office before trouble showed up.

Kara paged me as I was stocking the van with the morning deliveries.

“Donnie, there are some visitors at Reception for you.”

The tone in her voice told me that something was up, so I grabbed the phone off the wall and buzzed her.

“Hey, it’s me. What’s up?”

“The guys from BOA are here.”

“Who?”

“Sure. I’ll ask them to take a seat in the conference room.”

The line went dead, and I stared at it. Something was going on. BOA? Where had I heard that before?

A moment later, Kara stood in front of me.

“Who are these guys?”

“BOA. Bureau for Occult Activities. Kind of a cross between Neighborhood Watch and the Guardian Angels. Volunteer police force for the paranormal community.”

“OK, and they’re here because…?”

“No idea. But they can be a pushy bunch, so I thought you should be warned.”

“Thanks. How did Clay get along with them?”

“Well, he didn’t like them and I think they knew it, but he cooperated with them. Clay felt they could be of some use from time to time.”

“Well, let’s go see what’s on their minds. Uh, one thing-.”

She smiled, bringing out the matching dimples in her cheeks. I felt a ridiculous grin cross my own face, like some love-sick teen.

“I’ll give them ten minutes, max, then I’ll interrupt and say you have to deal with an emergency.”

“Thanks.”

I grabbed a few of my business cards, then followed Kara out to the front. I tried not to focus on the sway of her backside.

She introduced me to two members of BOA, a wiry fellow by the name of Switzer, and a stern looking woman named Candice.

The three of us took seats in the conference room, Kara placing several bottles of chilled water on the table. I nodded at her, exchanging a glance, and she closed the door as she left the room.

“So, how can I help you folks?”

“Mr.-,” Spitzer glanced at my newly minted card. “Elder. Thanks for meeting with us.”

I nodded, waiting to hear what was on their minds.

“OK. Has anyone told you about our group, or our activities?”

“Not really, no.”

Switzer launched into a rehearsed script. “BOA was formed in 1927 by a bookstore owner in San Francisco. At the time, it was like Neighborhood Watch. Community members working together. Over time it evolved into what it is now — a volunteer organization that patrols communities to ensure that any activities involving the use of magic are monitored. Where we consider someone’s activities to be a threat to the Paranormal community as a whole, we step in.”

“How do you do that?”

“Think of it like a citizen’s arrest.”

“So you’ve expanded from San Francisco to Toronto?”

“And New York, Chicago, London, Paris, Tokyo, Shanghai. We also have new offices in Las Vegas and Orlando, Florida.”

The last one made sense. Need to ensure that Mickey and Goofy aren’t calling on the forces of evil.

“All of you wear the same uniform?” I nodded at their outfits — grey and white camo anoraks, black military-style pants (the ones with countless pockets in weird places), and black combat boots.

“Yup. With the BOA crest on the armband or chest pocket.”

OK . I had a feeling Mr. Spitzer here had earned his Master Geek Merit Badge to go with that BOA crest.