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A scrawny man in his late twenties slunk into the room, while one of my father’s acolytes kept a close hold of his arm. The man glanced around, clearly unsure what to do, until the guard pushed him down to his knees.
My father stared at him from his position on the raised sofa. “What’s your name, young man? And what can we do for you?”
He kept his eyes on the floor. “I’m Paul. And there’s this woman at work…”
“Love potion or curse?” There was no judgement or emotion in Dad’s voice. He was just a businessman doing a deal.
“I want her to love me. I don’t really believe in magic and stuff. But I’m desperate. And I met a guy in the pub who insisted you’re the real deal.”
“Have you thought about going to the gym and getting a better haircut?” Liam asked.
Mum glared at him, and I tried not to laugh. Poor Paul didn’t reply.
“It’ll cost you,” Dad said, as though Liam hadn’t spoken.
Paul’s head slumped down. “I don’t have much money…”
Dad shrugged. “Who could ever put a price on finding love? Our magic works. If you live on bread and water for the next year and don’t buy yourself anything new, won’t it be worth it when she’s yours?”
Paul nodded frantically.
“I’ll need a payment upfront. Then a further one every month until the debt’s paid. And believe me, it will be paid.”
Paul reached into his pocket and took out a wad of notes. The acolyte guarding the left corner crossed the room to take them from him, then reverently handed the money to Mum. She counted it, nodded, then slipped the money into a secure box on her knee.
Some of this was for show. One of my parents’ acolytes would have explained the exact costs and payment schedule outside the room, so my father didn’t have to get too far into the grubby detail. Five thousand pounds or so tended to be the going rate for this sort of thing.
“Bring him forward,” Dad ordered.
The man twisted his head back and forth, seeming suddenly uncertain, but everything was moving too fast for him to back out. Colson propelled him to the front of the room.
“Chrissie, darling, will you do the honours?” Dad asked.
My sister reached into her bag and pulled out a vial of love potion. “Drink half of this now. Then dab a little on your wrist and neck every time you see her. It won’t take long for her to succumb.”
None of the family needed potions, for love or for anything else. Magic was everywhere in the air and the earth around us, and we’d been born with a connection to it. All we had to do to get the things we wanted was to use our minds and our will to channel it. The more complex the desire, the more mental control was required. Potions, charms, and invocations were a shortcut to achieving the same ends with less concentration and allowed us to give humans a little taste of magic.
“Give me your arm,” Dad demanded, once Paul had taken the vial. “We need to make sure you pay up, after all.”
Paul complied, though his arm was shaking. Dad closed his meaty fist around the man’s underdeveloped bicep and squeezed. I saw the swirling black lines of magical energy that Dad dragged from the air and channelled into Paul’s arm, but lacking the sight, the customer would have seen nothing, only been aware of a mild burning sensation.
When Dad took his hand away, a perfect black line encircled Paul’s upper arm. He rubbed it gingerly.
“The lien mark will remain until the debt is paid.” Dad was all smiles. “And if it’s not paid, there will be consequences. But I’m sure that won’t be a problem. So, in the meantime, I hope you have a wonderful time with your new girlfriend.”
Colson led him out.
The next two were straightforward. A man and a woman, both already bearing lien marks, arrived to pay the next instalment of their debt. She’d wanted to advance at work. He’d longed for a baby. They both seemed satisfied with the outcome and paid up with no issues.
The next participant was dragged into the room by two acolytes, trying to lash out but immobilised and silenced by their magic.
His lien mark was visible even through his long-sleeved shirt. It glowed red, in the tell-tale sign of someone who’d tried to renege on a deal.
“You’re two months overdue with your payments, Mr Gibbins,” Dad said. “And we can tell when someone who has a debt to us tries to exit the Dome.”
One of the men holding Gibbins snapped his fingers, and the debtor managed to speak. “It’s not like that. I was just having a weekend away. I was going to pay on Monday.”
Dad waved his arm towards Gibbins in an almost dismissive gesture, and, immediately, Greenfire surrounded the unfortunate man. He screamed as my father’s magic burnt through him.
