Smoke and Mirrors

The sale had been filled with the usual sorts. Women, obviously friends of the widow, or those wanting to see just how she was floundering with Bartlett dead, stuffed into the sorts of dresses that ended up on racks in his parents’ shop, used as dress up by them as kids. Thick brocade that would pass as cloaks, cheap nylon that left your skin itching. Men in suits, Bartlett’s contemporaries, one of two eyeing up the widow and likely the house themselves, others already digging through Bartlett’s collection to see what could be bought for a song.

Pale blue eyes had swept over them as he’d worked his way down the tables with a far more clinical method. A magpie looking for a particular sort of shiny thing to catch his eye. There were some practitioners here, he was certain of it, Bartlett had his cronies after all, and more of his own kind, the dealers, mentally slapping maximum bids on things, calculating the profit margins on them if they could get them cheap enough. It almost felt grubby to be amongst them, the itch there to leave if there wasn’t a sign of what he’d come to look for … until he’d spotted her.

The girl was an anathema, standing out like a peacock in a room full of pigeons. Tousled blonde hair, painted lips, what might’ve been a flash of animal print. This was the sort of girl to attract glares from those around her, most born of avarice, especially amongst the old dears packed like sausages into crepe and support stockings. Hips propped against the table, fingers dripping in the silver from the box. A magpie of yet another sort.

Speaking softly, Nicky addressed her. Those pale eyes ticked up from the box, to her fingers, to her own blue eyes and back down again to the box. Given a minute more he imagined she’d have had the entire box on her hands, fingers stiff with those circles of silver. He caught the sheepish smile she shot him, returned it with a congenial one of his own as he carefully dipped his fingers into the box to retrieve what had very much looked like daylight ring to him. Nicky made a low sound as he slipped it onto his own finger. Turning it to make certain it was in fact lapis he was looking at, he looked back up at the girl. ”There’s some nice pieces in it. That carnelian on yer middle finger there’s a good example. Pretty sure tha’s an aquamarine too, art deco.” He hitched his chin at a couple of the rings she still wore.

His comment had obviously prompted her and most of the rings cascaded back down, covering any more that might’ve been of interest at the bottom of the box. Some were left behind, intentionally? Quite possibly, not that he’d call her on it, he’d seen worse in the markets back home. Nicky made a low sound of agreement. He curled his fingers, holding them up to her so the backs of his knuckles were between them. ”You’ve got a decent eye yerself. Lapis lazuli, famed for its powers, if yer believe that sorta thing. It’s supposed to be a stone of protection. If yer somethin’ that goes bump in the night, that is. Are yer?” His brows hitched, an echo of the corners of his mouth. There’s been something on her face as she’d said it, some awareness that spoke of a knowledge most here didn’t have, including the widow Boucher. If she’d known, most of these pieces wouldn’t be here. ”What would yer say to splittin’ the box?” Narrowed blue eyes ticked towards the lectern where the auctioneer was approaching with a stack of papers and his gavel.

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Magpie indeed. Eyes glancing at all that glitter raining back into the tangle of it. Not all returned to where they’d come from though, the avarice holding onto a few, just enough that perhaps she’d thought he wouldn’t notice that they were incongruous with he rest of her. Or she’d thought he might and grab one of those slender hands, thrusting it into the air and shrieking about the theft from the top of his lungs. Like he wasn’t as much an outsider in this place as she was, albeit, Nicky thought, fishing the daylight ring out from amongst the others, a little less light fingered that she was herself about it. Intending on winning the box anyway, she could walk out with them decorating her knuckles. Bastien could do without the few dollars profit they would’ve brought the shop had they tucked them in the window to catch the eye of another like her.

Nicky tilted his head as she worked her way in, blue eyes dipping to the deeper blue of the stone in the ring on his finger before rising back up to watch her. Looking for some sign of understanding, of knowing on that guileless face. His brows rose slightly as she looked up to meet his eyes, his lips quirking as she smirked in return. Oh yeah, this one knew. There wasn’t any hiding it behind the bright edge of that red rimmed grin. ”S’possedly,” he agreed, giving his fingers another little wiggle. ”’s a lot of stories out there ‘bout this sorta thing. Most are pretty wild but I guess some’ve gotta ‘ave a ring of truth, dontcha think?” His voice dropped lower, his head canting so he could peer at it from beneath lower lids. ”Witches brewin’ up all sorts of things in return fer favours.” True, every word of them. Not that he’d ever brewed one up. He knew the theory behind it though and that was as important as the deep blue stone itself.

Clicking his tongue against the back of his teeth, Nicky studied the lectern, considered letting the ring drop back in the box before he made his way to his seat. He doubted it would still be there by the time the auctioneer’s assistant held the box up for everybody to have a look at though. Snug around this one’s finger as she clomped out of the house in her shoes and an extra couple of ounces of silver maybe. Wanting it more than he would admit for the minute he offered a proposition instead. Fine lines sprung up around the corners of his eyes as he looked back at her. She was considering it, beaming in fact. Nicky’s grin curled wider, freezing as she dropped her own proposition right back in his lap. ”You’re sure of yerself, ain’t ya…” he drawled lightly. He was nodding though, sucking a breath in through his teeth as he worked the ring off of his finger and let the ring drop with a little thud back into the box. ”I’d say you’ve got yerself a deal.” Winking one eye to let her know that he knew, Nicky watched her drop all but the last ring back in the box. She could have that one.

He lifted his other hand, curled it over the arm that had slid through his. Patting it lightly, Nicky made his way towards a seat towards the front of the group. Usually he’d sit towards the back, a quiet presence focusing only on the pieces he’d specifically picked out. This time he slipped into the third row, nodding to the auctioneer as he nudged Cassie into a seat ahead of him. ”Not quite cattle auction fast but I ‘magine he’ll give yer a good show,” he confirmed. Settling next to her he crossed his legs, tugging the card he’d been given when he’d signed up at the door front his jacket pocket to set it on his knee. Catching her introduction Nicky took his fingers off of it, offered his hand to her with a chuckle. ”’s a bit of a mouthful. How about you call me Nicky instead. Your British, ring-auction-friend’s been to a couple of hundred of these things by now. Yer spot anythin’ else back there that caught yer eye, Cassie?” Nicky tilted his head back in the direction of the tables. She had a decent enough eye and what he suspected was enough knowledge of what Boucher had been into to have spotted something he might’ve missed.

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You covered the special with the everyday, veiled the magical with the tat. It had been a method that’d kept his family’s business flying under the radar in the bustling sprawl of Camden for generations. You didn’t advertise what you did. You don’t go to school and start telling stories about witches and warlocks, vampires and werewolves, even if you knew full well they were all walking around the city like they owned it. When your magic came in you didn’t splash that around either. It was all a finger’s tap to the nose, that dusty drop cloth of a disguise cast off only when you knew it was safe. Their dad had pretty much droned it into him and Darcey for as long as he could remember, Darcey probably getting a good dose of it even before he’d come along himself. Nicky knew even in this town he was better off doing that. He hadn’t been out to paint a target on his back or hang out his shingle with the sort of honesty that would’ve had eyes swivelling in his direction.

There’d been enough here though and as he’d fished the ring out of the box and hinted at his provenance the girl had fixed onto it. Suggesting back just enough for them to fall into that nose tapping, surreptitious little dance. Offer and counter-offer, a deal that had her bouncing on her toes, excited like Mandy always was on the day he got back home. God she reminded him of her. Nicky supposed that was what had him striking the deal with her and offering up the partnership on the lot she’d been picking her way through when he’d spotted its value. The ring still on her finger would be paid for that way too. The numbered card clutched familiarly in his fingertips as they’d settled into their seats almost the guarantee of that.

Blue eyes studied her as much as he did the auctioneer. New for her and as eye catching as a tiger in a zoo, a nose practically pressed to the bars to study the exotic beyond. Nicky made a low, querying sound in his throat as he followed her glance down to the card in his lap. ”Had to if I wanted to bid on anythin’ up there,” he told her, dipping his head slightly towards the auctioneer as he gestured with the card. ”They announce the lot, start the biddin’ off and you indicate with this to mark yer bid. You just haveta know not to go too early.” You never went in on the first bid, you waited, like it was a game of chicken until it dropped to the bargain basement level and then there was that thrilling ride back up, if you were somewhere people actually bid instead of an auction so slow you’d almost fall asleep.

This was gonna fall somewhere in the middle he imagined, folks here not having a clue what the late Mr. Boucher had been into. He’d have company if the pace dropped off at least, his ring-auction-friend as Cassie had put it. Nicky shook her hand formally, although his grin softened it a little as she let go quickly enough. ”’s my line of work,” he explained. ”Well, not just the morbid bit of the dead people’s stuff. Sales of all sorts, even what do you call it here … garage sales? Yard sales? There’s always somethin’ different about the estate sales though.” Especially when there was a chance that buying Aunt Bessie’s ugly Staffordshire dogs meant that they’d come complete with Aunt Bessie herself to forever haunt the shed where you stuck them hoping they’d increase in value.

There was a chance Boucher was still hanging around too. From all reports Boucher might’ve been a warlock himself. If he was he’d have been on the other side, probably pissed that his widow was flogging off all his stuff. Maybe the man should’ve thought about that before his double dealing with women likely brought on his heart attack. It meant that the ring wasn’t likely the only thing here. Dropping the question of what she’d seen in his temporary partner’s lap Nicky watched her twist around to look over her shoulder at the tables still strewn with the numbered lots. His eyes were on her still, one brow arching as she looked back, that excitement still on her face. ”A tweed jacket you say,” he drawled with some amusement at her misunderstanding. He twisted slightly himself, staring at the rack of clothing he hadn’t bothered going through himself. Another item on the list to buy. He had the funds and the amusement at watching her face light up at it.

Biting his lip, he held back the chuckle as she finally twigged to what he said. Nicky’s grin tugged the flesh from the bite of teeth as he shook his head slowly. His brow arched again as he looked back over his shoulder. ”I didn’t mean a new wardrobe, no,” he managed lightly. ”A grimoire?” Another look. That he’d missed as he’d thumbed his way through everything, his exploration cut off by that ring. ”The rings and me. I’d say the same for you.” He looked back at his confirmation, bobbing his head slowly. ”You’ve a decent eye. How about you tell me when those lots come up and we’ll call the jacket my payment for your expert advice?” His voice dropped as the auctioneer rapped his gavel against the lectern to get them started. Nicky nodded his head to encourage her to watch the man, to pay attention as the first lot … a pedestrian pair of silver candlesticks, European and decent enough he supposed but boring, were held up, the price coming in at a hundred and fifty dollars before rapidly going into the rollercoaster ride of rise and fall, prices called out by the auctioneer in a musical roll.

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Nicky’s lips curved, his fingers tapping the click surface of the card lightly. In a hot salesroom, somewhere like New York or London, not in the sleepy backwater in Virginia he’d found himself calling a temporary home, people would’ve been holding onto them like a dragon onto gold. There was no room for beginners there, the unpractised bound to either fall into the trap of spending far more than they had ever intended to or coaxed into buying a bit of worthless tat. Here it had been more a matter of disapproval. It didn’t take a genius to see how Cassie had been looked at. In their minds she didn’t belong, a cuckoo in the nest. Too loud, too garish … but thanks to him she was about to school them all.

He leaned in an inch, one brow rising as he offered her a half smile. ”Good thing for both of us, ‘cause this is what’s gonna let us walk outta here with every bargain possible.” His eyes swept the crowd around her, the smile turning polite as he caught a look from a man in the row behind. Nicky nodded politely enough before dismissing the man. There were plenty of antique shops in town and in those surrounding Mystic Falls. They’d all be out for blood over certain pieces, but Nicky doubted it’d be anything he’d looked at. It rarely was. ”They were always car boots back home,” he admitted as he looked back. ”Houses clearances, auctions, car boots. Guess you wouldn’t even call ‘em that here.” Trunks and not of the old, heavy luggage sort either.

She’d read between the lines, had fixed on what he’d said with just a little hint of emphasis. Nicky chuckled lightly, the sound a rumble in his throat as he lifted a finger and tapped it against his lips as he winked at her. Discretion certainly wasn’t one of Cassie’s talents. Nicky made a low nose in his throat. ”That’s usually the aim,” he confirmed. He nodded subtly, gesturing towards the widow in the front row. ”Rumour ‘as it he was. Don’t think the widow knew but there’s definitely ‘nough of a practitioner’s stuff amongst all of that to have me certain the rumours were true.” It explained the daylight ring in the box he’d be leaving with and the grimoire Cassie had spotted.

That treasure had bypassed his own poking around in what was spread across the tables but Cassie had obviously seen it, dismissed for the jacket she’d spoken about first. Caught up in what others would’ve seen as even more tat than the book and the rings. These were serious folks, looking for the sorts of things that would look good displayed in a window or gracing the mantlepiece of one of the posh piles dotted around town. He’d questioned her about it, found his lips quacking again as she’d nodded at him like one of those little dogs, a bop on the head and they’d confirm anything you wanted.

Cassie stared at him as she stopped, dark brows raised as he regarded her with those cool blue eyes. Calculating? Maybe. Questioning why he’d decided to team up with her? More than likely. He grinned back at her as hers broke through though, not bringing up the flush that hit her face or the way her smile suddenly beamed. ”Glad to hear it, wouldn’t wanna be classed as the worst … ‘specially as there’s only one in that field.” Nicky’s brow furrowed, eyes chilling as he looked around at the sudden hisses around them. He ignored them, patting the girl’s side fondly as she pulled away. ”You just lemme know when it comes up.” Undoubtedly the jacket would go cheap, a bargain for him for the help.

It wasn’t up first though. Candlesticks instead. A dime a dozen, even in a place like this. There’d been enough imports when the market had boomed a good decade ago. Americans looking to try and make the nouveau riche look like their money went back more than a single generation. Not on his short list and ignored, although Cassie’s commentary had him snorting faintly. ”The good stuff’s never up first,” he murmured to Cassie, eyes on the auctioneer. Those were always dropped in the middle, once bids had warmed up and before everybody was spent out. He saw the candlesticks set back on the table, watched with narrow eyed interest as a necklace was brought up, its amulet like pendant interesting enough that Nicky craned forward as Cassie swivelled around.

She was grumbling then, a sharp comment on some guy. Nicky made a questioning sound in his throat, frowned as he glanced back around her. Bidding was starting on the necklace, his own card going up absently as bidding started out at just fifteen dollars. ”Hmm? Which guy?” Nicky shifted, twisting around to face Cassie as she began to chant low, the words prayer like. ”Do I have thirty dollars for this silver piece? 1950s but finely made? Thirty dollars?” He lifted his card again, knowing he was stumbling into that beginner’s territory he’d carved out for Cassie. ”What’s wrong?” There was tension to his voice now, a hand reaching out to touch the girl’s shoulder lightly. Not just a disgruntled buyer, worse.

Nicky sucked in a breath as she looked up at him, her eyes wide, something like regret in them. ”Mr. Boucher’s here? Where Cassie?” It seemed like the warlock had a little more junk in his trunk than he’d expected, or the veil here was thinner than even he’d imagined. Most supernaturals, like himself, went to the ‘Other Side’ when the time came, were separated enough from this world not to be able to interact with it. They could watch, could rage or sob but it was all at that distance. He drew Cassie a little closer, frowned into the back as the auctioneer clacked the hammer down. ”Thirty dollars it is to Mr. Reid.” The auctioneer nodded to his assistant, the necklace set back into place as he started into the next lot. Completely unaware of his audience, unaware that trouble was likely to kick off at any moment. If Boucher was visible to a young witch, something that shouldn’t have been possible, then the randy old bugger was probably more powerful than anybody had realised.

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That much light and laughter in the gutting of his collection had probably pissed Mr. Boucher off without much trouble. Spirits who decided to linger after death weren’t always angry about something, not this early on, but most had unfinished business of the sort that left them unwilling to move on to wherever it was they were meant to go after. Given the interests reflected in the collection that was now being sold off bit by bit it was no wonder Boucher was there. There wasn’t a sizzle in the air the way Hollywood might’ve painted it but something had snapped between the thing and the girl beside him, leaving her more like childlike than she had been.

All that exuberance suddenly crammed back into a pocket as she eased deeper into his touch. Her sudden quiet after all that bright babble leaving him concerned, Nicky’s stomach twisting itself up as she pressed closer to his side. Just like Mandy had done as a little girl, on those trips home. Storms and the dark pressing in on a girl who hadn’t let a damn thing frighten her in her life, not then anyway.

Blue eyes scanned the rows of chairs behind him, most empty. The sale hadn’t exactly drawn dozens in to buy. To gossip, sure, there was still plenty of that going on around Mrs. Boucher. Women clucking in sympathy one minute, shooting each other knowing looks the next. Nicky looked down at Cassie as she started, brows knotting tighter as her eyes squeezed shut, his hand tightening on her as she cringed closer, not looking away, just that finger pointing him out. ”You can hear him,” he said quiet, no question to it. Witches weren’t like psychics, mediumship was rare. Some had a bond to the ancestors but Mr. Boucher hadn’t a thing to do with the girl as far as he knew, other than the knowledge that she could see him.

Nicky kept his eyes on the space over the girl’s shoulder but dropped his chin as she hissed, pulling her hand back in like the spirit had burned her. The arm he had on her slipped tighter around her, his voice slipping out low, like that would do anything to prevent the spirit from hearing him. ”I do, don’t you worry now. Just hold on. This might get a little hairy, they never like this. It’ll push him.” It would literally salt the ground around the girl. Not enough to dispel Boucher forever but for a moment’s peace at least. ”Take your rest Mr. Boucher, it’s not worth it to your wife and the girl now.” A low voice, a hand slipped into the inside pocket of his coat for that small metal case. Nicky flipped it open, cast the combination of rock salt and iron filings into the air, enough will behind it to have it tearing through the spirit.

A woman stood on the other side of the aisle squawked, brushing at herself, shivering visibly. Nicky huffed out a breath, already patting Cassie’s shoulder lightly. They wouldn’t have long before the spirit was back, probably more pissed than ever but there wasn’t a thing he could do for the moment, he didn’t know where the man was buried, if the spirit had clung on to something here at the sale, that would take a day most likely and burning most of what was there to figure out. The man had been a hoarder after all. ”Breathe easy for a minute, love. We’ll get these bits and get out. You gonna be OK til then?” There was a softness in the blue eyes, sympathy wrapping the low tones.

The auctioneer’s assistant was already lifting what Nicky presumed was the grimoire Cassie had spotted among the tables of tat. Scooting forward slightly on his seat, Nicky already had the paddle he held up, not giving the man time to call out a starting price for it. Lips tilting in a smile, he wiggled it. ”I’ll save yer some time. Five hundred dollars for that, the box of jewellery back there and …” He looked down at Cassie again, tilting his head towards the rack of clothes she’d been fiddling through when he’d first seen her. ”…which one was it?” The auctioneer was already grumbling under his breath but Nicky was raising dark brows at him, daring him to cut him off. It wasn’t like the sale was jumping hot, probably one of the reasons why the old man had decided to splutter in the girl’s ear about it. Pissed off, at the sale, at death for claiming him in the middle of his indiscretion, maybe even for the fact that the girl was the only one who could hear any of it.

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