“Who sent you these apples?”

The man wandered around Dante’s office, obviously no serious problem plaguing him. Gwen sat off to the side, paper pad in hand, writing down everything. Or at least Dante hoped. He looked over to the basket on the table and shrugged.

“I don’t know. Gwen, who sent them?”

Gwen looked over at him, eyebrows raised. Dante raised his back, and finally she got up to check, though her jaw set and eyes narrowed.

“Is there even a… yes. It says, ‘from Nyx.’”

“Who’s that?” the man asked. His name was Carl or something, Dante couldn’t remember.

“Greek goddess of night, I think,” Dante said.

Carl tilted his head slightly. “A greek god sent these?”

“Goddess, technically,” Dante said. “And no, it’s just someone using the name.”

“Or that is their name,” Gwen said, examining the tag some more. “Oh, could you imagine, what a sexy name to-”

Dante looked over at her, waiting for her to get the message. She looked over at him and stopped talking. Setting her jaw forward, she bit her tongue and returned to her seat.

“Regardless,” he said. “I don’t know who it is, and I don’t care.”

Carl, or whatever his name was, picked one of the apples up and examined it. “Well, can I have one?”

Dante shrugged. “I’m not going to eat it.”

Carl threw the apple up and caught it, as if to claim it as his own. He didn’t bite into it, though, instead keeping it close to himself, carrying it like a fancy walking stick.

“I’ve heard you’re good, witch-”

“Warlock.”

“- but I’m not sure you’re good enough for my problem. Of course, I’d be willing to pay you exceptionally well if you’re able to fix it. But, of course, only if you were able to.”

Dante bit his tongue until the sarcastic remark subsided. “I only take payment in advance, of course. But I will let you know before any money is exchanged if it’s a problem I can fix.”

“We shall see,” Carl said. He took his apple over to the couch, like he might finally sit down. He didn’t, of course, instead leaning near it, like he was too good for sitting. “How confident are you in your abilities?”

“Well, that rather depends,” Dante said.

“On what factors?”

“For one, you’re human, so my magic-”

“Human? Aren’t we all human?”

“A mundane,” Dante said, keeping his voice level to hide his irritation. In the corner, Gwen made a soft snort as she wrote. “Not a supernatural. So my magic will be less effective on you. That-”

“And I heard you were so good. I suppose what they said about you was wr-”

“That doesn’t, of course, mean that it will be ineffective. It also means you will be less affected by other magic, so your problem shouldn’t be so great that I can’t fix it. So, in answer to your question, sir, I’m very confident in my abilities.”

Carl looked at him, watching him steadily for a moment, as if trying to see if Dante would waver. Of course he wouldn’t, though. There was no problem this man could possibly present to him that he couldn’t fix.

“Alright, then, here it is.”

He took a deep breath, like he was about to reveal some deep, dark secret. He then lifted his right leg and held it there. Gwen stopped writing to look, peering over the top of her paper to see what was going on. When Dante looked back to Carl, of course, nothing happened. And nothing would happen unless Dante asked what was going on.

“Well?”

“You don’t see it?” Carl said. “This leg is longer — far longer, in fact — then my other leg. It’s unsightly. I can’t buy a pair of pants without having to hem one leg shorter. I can’t keep going out like this. Something needs to be done and frankly, sir, if you can do anything about it, then no one possibly can.”

Dante’s blood boiled, but he could control it, now. After years of the conceited coming to him for cosmetic purposes, he’d finally managed to control the rage which build up inside him. People thought problems revolved around looks. They thought they could fix all their worries with a bit of cosmetic surgery. All it took to be happy in the world was money and good looks. Dante hated these people. Hated them more than he hated the high council and every rejection letter they had sent or ever would send him. He’d once been a black haired, blue eyed boy. A little tall for his age, but a decent build. Some meat and muscle on his bones. Now he was a sickly skeleton, but that wasn’t the problem. He could wear contacts, dye his hair, and do any number of things to make himself appear bigger, but that didn’t solve the problem. They were only symptoms. And this man’s too-long right leg was only a symptom of his conceit.

“I’m sure I could fix that for you,” Dante said. “But it will be a very hard, very tiring procedure, and I’ll have to reschedule my other clients for the next week or so. You’ll very much have to make it worth my while.”

He left it open for Carl to decide what kind of money he’d pay. Dante’s estimate might be far lower than this man with too much change in his pocket. And if he didn’t go high enough, Dante was sure he could squeeze a bit more out of him.

“I’m prepared to pay you ten grand for the procedure,” Carl said. “Five grand up front, and five more should all go as planned.”

Gwen pen dropped to the floor, and the two men looked over to her. Her jaw hung loose, hitting her chest. She looked at Carl, stunned.

“Pick up your jaw, dear,” Dante said. “And your pen.” He looked back to Carl, trying to cover up her shock. “I’m terribly sorry, but she’s my new assistant. In training.”

“That’s quite alright,” he said. “I assume that means my offer would be sufficient.”

“Seven grand up front,” Dante said. “And you have a deal.”

Carl stopped and watched him, calculating his risk. Dante just waited. “Six,” he said. “And not a penny more until I see it go as planned.”

Dante shrugged. “Alright. How do you intend to pay?”

“Check,” he said. “Assuming you take them.”

Dante just nodded.

“I’d have given you money if I wasn’t so worried you, or others, I suppose, would simply rob me blind.”

“Come now,” Dante said, hiding his irritation as best he could. “I’m sure I’ve built up a better reputation than that.”

“Sure, you have,” he said. “But not all supernaturals are like you.”

His eyes edged towards Gwen at this, but he didn’t look right at her. Dante didn’t care, of course. He didn’t blame the man. Gwen might even have robbed him had he had the money on him.

“Check it is,” Dante said. He didn’t say anything beyond that, waited for the man to clue in. Finally, Carl pulled out his cheque book, sticking the apple he still carried under his arm, and signed the six thousand over to Dante.

“You realize, of course,” Dante said as the cheque changed hands. “That if this check bounces, I can easily bounce your leg back.”

Carl gave him a confident nod. “And I give you ever right to do so, should it bounce.”

Dante nodded and looked down at the check. Six thousand from Carlos Peterson. So it wasn’t Carl. Too bad.

He shoved the cheque in his pocket and looked back to Carl. Carlos. He glanced over at Gwen to make sure she was writing. Her nose stayed buried in her notepad for a moment, until she realized the room was quiet. She looked up, and Dante looked away.

“Let’s begin, then.”

The procedure was easy. Incredibly easy. So easy Dante struggled to make it look hard for show’s sake. He focused on the leg, felt at ever molecule he needed to manipulate or send off on its way. He held that there, playing around with everything to keep Carlos waiting. When he figured he’d waited long enough, he got to work moving everything back into place, just an inch shorter. He felt the other leg, to see how long it was, to make sure the lengths matched, then adjusted the long leg one more time before pulling his magic out and looking to the brand new Carlos.

“What do you know,” Dante said, looking to Gwen. “One leg was longer.”

“Fantastic!” Carl said, admiring how the pant of his right leg now hung too low over his heel. “Simply incredible! You did it! You actually did it!”

Of course I did it. If you really didn’t think I could do it, why the hell did you come here? “I assume, then, that this means you’re satisfied?”

“Oh, very much so!” he said, pulling his chequebook out again. He stuck the stolen apple in his mouth this time and held it there until he’d finished writing his cheque. “Vewy thatithfied inteet.”

He ripped the check out and stuck the book back in his pocket. He bit the apple, letting it fall into his now empty hand, and handed the check over to Dante.

“I shall not be forgetting this soon, my good friend,” he said, swallowing the last bit of apple. He looked down at the fruit and smiled. “Very good. Whoever gave these too you must be quite a fan. I’ll have to send some myself I daresay.”

Oh please don’t, Dante thought as Carlos laughed to himself. I hate apples.

“Well, then. I do believe I must be off. Places to go and all that. You take care of yourself, now. Cancel your other appointments and get some rest. You deserve it!”

“I’m sure, thanks.”

Carlos nodded and headed for the door, an ear to ear smile on his face. He stopped about halfway, though, and Dante cringed at the idea of him turning around to say even one last thing.

He didn’t say anything, though, just stood there, staring at the door. Then he bent at the middle, and fell to his knees, coughing and choking with his hand to his chest. Dante rushed over to him as he rolled over onto his back, heaving.

“You!” he said as Dante reached him. His face was bright red as he fought for air. “This is your fault!”

“No,” Dante said as he felt around, trying to find the source of the attack. He felt magic in the man, magic other than his. It sat in his stomach and seeped out like a poison. On a hunch, he checked for traces of that magic elsewhere in the room. Not surprisingly, he found a match in the apple now rolling across the floor. “I think you were poisoned.”

“Help me!” he said, still angry at Dante, still gasping for air. Dante sighed and focused his energy. This was harder than changing the size of the man’s leg, but it could be done, of course. He reached in for the magic and tried to pull it out. It resisted, a lot more than he thought it would, but eventually he got it out. Air rushed into Carlos’s lungs as he bolted upright.

“Poison me?” he said, his face now red with anger. “Who would try to poison me?”

“No one.”

Both Dante and Carlos turned to see Gwen in the back of the room, now standing up. She didn’t look to Carlos, eyes only for Dante. “Those apples were a gift to you,” she said. “Someone was trying to poison you.”

Next Chapter: Dante