Free Tomorrow Wendell (White Dragon Black) by R. M. Ridley Page B

drudgery of doing nothing, St. Dym’s was the place.
    He had been contemplating whether or not he would need such an escape just the other day, after he had sent those corporate zombies to a restful death and had been forced to wonder just how upset the company behind them might be.
    St. Dym’s also served as the only place he could go when he found himself drained dry and tapped to the very core of his bones after too many nights summoning up the power to fuel spells and enchantments.
    It was his sanctuary. The one place he could regain a balance with an addiction that left him cradled in warm pudding while sharks tore chunks from his flesh.
    For him it remained the quiet space where he could battle with a need deeper than breathing, fucking, and smoking combined. A place to face himself, while riding a lustful high that should be reserved for ancient gods with hidden faces and bloody hands.
    The changing of Bao’s speech cadence brought Jonathan back to the here and now. It seemed offering a free meal and his most sincere, heartfelt apologies wasn’t going far enough for the restaurant owner regarding this matter.
    He swore to them both separately and together that he would stop his business transactions with the particular company who had supplied him with those cookies. He said he would find another supplier—one who took the job seriously and was staffed by solemn, dedicated people.
    Jonathan couldn’t let Bao carry on any further.
    Not only was his distress and attempts at unwarranted reconciliation beginning to make his other customers worried, Jonathan knew damn well the cookie manufacturer had nothing to do with Wendell getting his fortune. He knew that fortune had not only never been shipped from any cookie company, it had also never even been received by Bao’s restaurant.
    Jonathan assured Bao switching companies was unnecessary, but only defused the situation by quickly and quietly explaining the issue that had brought Wendell Courtney to Jonathan.
    Bao, being a clever devil, immediately told Jonathan he must follow him to check the other cookies. He said perhaps it would help Jonathan solve Wendell’s problem.
    Jonathan thanked Bao and, making sure his client would be all right alone for a couple moments more, followed the restaurant owner.
    Bao led him past the swinging door and into the secret, steaming world of the kitchen, where he showed Jonathan the bin full of fortune cookies.
    Jonathan took one look at the pile and knew he’d find nothing irregular there. Instinct, mixed with the magic eating away at his self-control, was enough to know it.
    Jonathan also knew Bao, though, and Bao would worry until assured that the rest of his customers would only get the banal predictions they were supposed to.
    Jonathan sighed. One day, and he’d already had to twice rip the scab off the wound that was his addiction. This case was going to be a bitch.
    First, he grabbed a random cookie from the bin, tore off its wrapper, and broke it open. Jonathan tugged out the slip of paper and after reading ‘Happiness was the best gift one could give,’ he passed it to Bao.
    The older man hummed, nodded almost sagely, then looked to Jonathan, apparently to see why he hadn’t started doing his thing yet.
    Realizing he wasn’t going to be getting out of it, Jonathan began to rub his ring and middle finger against each other. He decided on a Mayan incantation to show the presence of ill omens and evil intent.
    As he summoned, the ripe and pulsing life of pure energy rushed through his veins. His mind expanded in a whirlwind of sparks and his flesh sung in unison with a universe hidden in ultra-violet. The power of the White Dragon thrummed in him.
    A garish, viscous orange liquid began to seep out of the pores of Jonathan’s fingers and wrap itself around their length. The stuff then began to flow and swirl, like a length of rapids in miniature. He dipped his fingers into the container of cookies, glad of the individual