Fire Weaver (Fall of the Fey #1)

Chapter 14

Faux showered and pulled on one of his many pairs of black slacks and a black, button-up, long-sleeved shirt. He looked at himself in the mirror and shook his head. 'Too much black,' he exchanged his black shirt for a deep red that complimented his hair and regarded himself again before slipping on a vest. He walked toward his dresser and opened the silver lined wooden box that sat on top. Inside were all the trinkets he had gathered over the years he'd been alive. He pulled out the only pocket-watch he had ever owned and tucked it into his vest pocket.

His eyes caught the cuff links that Cherise had brought him as a wedding gift as well as the silver chain he had given her in return. He gently closed the box and turned away.

On the way out of his room he picked up the jacket, that matched his pants, and his fedora. He hated the hat but his hair was like a beckon that seemed to attract trouble like moths to a flame when he wandered the streets at night. Maybe the street-rats have half forgotten memories of the red-headed Djinn who used to cause them hell. He pulled the hat down low and strolled out of Deadly's Sin bleeding into the background of the dimly lit street and going unnoticed by the few people brave enough to face the dark. It was a skill he had perfected over the years, the ability to be invisible.

He walked block after block of Damnati looking for his victims. He saw the first curled up next to a wall trying to block out the slight chill in the night. His white beard was a tangled mess where it rested on the rag of a shirt that covered his chest. He looked up when Faux crouched so he was level to the man. If a man is what the old bag of bones could be called.

'What do you want?' The man asked his voice rough his vocal cords were ruined from years of smoking. Faux wanted to withdraw as soon as he caught sight of the homeless man's rotten teeth. He was an addict. An easy target but it didn't make Faux feel any better.

Faux pulled his hat off of his head and smiled at the man, 'if you had three wishes what would they be?'

'What?' The man asked his discomfort turning into annoyance as he frowned and shifted slightly away.

'If you had three wishes, what would they be?' Faux stated again.

'I wish for you to fuck off.' The man said harshly. He turned his head and spat. Faux had to fight his own disgust to keep the smile on his face.

'That's only one.' Faux told him.

'What is your problem?' The man asked him, starting to get aggressive.

Faux sighed. He knew he was going about this the wrong way but he didn't care. 'I'm a Wishmonger sent here to make yours come true.'

'Prove it.' The man said.

'Fine,' Faux told him. 'I will give you one wish for free. There are however limits. I can't bring back the dead and I cannot mess with freewill.'

'A million dollars.' The man said. That is one of the first things people go for. Money, like it was a cure all.

'You have to say 'I wish'' Faux told him. The man rolled his eyes and said it again and Faux could sense his disbelief. Faux clicked his fingers and a pile of money wound up in the man's lap. Snapping his fingers was just for show. His magic did it's own thing without his input or control all he needed was the words 'I wish.' Faux didn't even need to give three wishes, one was all it took, the other two were really just to alleviate his own guilt. The people who asked for things from him were the desperate types who usually had no alternatives.

'Holy shit!' The man cried out. So caught up in what he just witnessed to noticed his soul was taken from his body. It was always a surprise to Faux that they can never tell that someone in them is no longer there. That thing that made them the people they were. Soon this man will rot from the inside out, go crazy in one way or another. That was unless something or someone killed him first.