Quintas strode around the art gallery, his gray gloved hands neatly folded behind his back, his silver rimed glasses perched perfectly on his Romanesque nose. There were indeed several objects of interest here, just as Cleo had said there would be. He hadn’t found the one he was looking for exactly yet, but he was enjoying looking at them none the less.
Some objects were harder to identity than others try as he might. He looked around to see if Cleo had arrived yet, she could identify these so much quicker than he could.
“That’s an actual papyri jar that the idiot has tried to refit to look like that Baghdad Battery the kooks are on about.” The refined British accent spoke behind him and Quintas managed not to jump. He hated how she would sneak around just to surprise him. He fixed a pleasant look on his face and turned calmly to face her.
Glossy brown hair bounced around a cheerful pale face set with mischievous amethyst eyes. Cleo Emerson-Peabody was truly pleasant to look upon. Quintas spent a moment admiring her simple beauty before bowing a greeting to her. It was that simple beauty that had caused her long imprisonment and almost cost her sanity. Quintas was eternally grateful that she’d been able to escape to the light again. She was quite effective to work with.
“What is a Baghdad Battery?” He asked as she moved around the horribly mauled and heavily modernized Egyptian pottery.
“Some in the fringe community believe that the Egyptians manged to master electricity and powered their mythical machines with batteries made from copper wire and vinegar wine.” She grinned devilishly at him. “That or aliens brought them such advanced technology.”
Quintas arched his groomed eyebrows.
“The Egyprions had mastered electricity and they didn’t share? How inconsiderate of them.” Quintas couldn’t help returning her smile, however slight his was. “But were is the Jar?” Cleo nodded merrily.
“Figures you would want to get to meat of it.” She turned and lead him down the wide room cluttered with more of the ‘artists’ mutilated artifacts. Quintas was impressed with how thoroughly the creator of the objects manged to dissect the artifacts in order to drill wires, electronics, and even pump water through them.
“How did he get a hold of all these artifacts?” Quintas asked as they passed a baboon headed Canopic jar who’s eyes were replaced with glowing green LED lights. It’s minuscule jaw had been sliced off and rewired, then attached to a small motor that caused it to flap slowly up and down. A small Fez had been glued to it’s head and the arms of some mechanical monkey riveted to it’s side. The cymbal clapping in time with the jaw. Quintas knew that image would haunt him for a while.
“Kermit Cliffs is a very resourceful collector,” Cleo said. “I’ve sold him a few, and I know several competitors who sold him pieces.” She rounded on him with her finger to her nose and one eye closed. “I also know he’s not above ‘finding’ pieces himself.” She made quote marks in the air. Quintas nodded. “I’m not sure what bout of insanity inspired all this, but…” She stopped before a large display and gestured at it as if reveling a true work of art.
On the display, set just above eye level, was a large Rube Goldberg like contraption. Various bits, bobs, and lengths of rope, tubing, and metal track splayed outwards from it connecting to something else odd and out of place. All of it leading towards the center of the display where a rather unimpressive jar sat, one clamp on the blue wax sealed lid, and a second on the brown glazed base. From what Quintas could put together the machine was designed to twist the two ends of the jar apart and pour out the innards. Alarm bells screamed in Quintas’ head.
“I wasn’t sure at first,” Cleo said. “But looking at your face I can tell its the actual jar.”
“Jack-jaw.” Quintas said reverently.
“Do you like it?” a new voice said beside him. Quintas mastered his face again looked at the scrawny man addressing him. He was rail thin, scruffy, unkempt with his dark hair fluffed out around his head in what Quintas assumed was a modern hairstyle.
“I do, what is your asking price for it?” Quintas decided to get to the point. If he could still sweat it would have been cold and running down his back. The man only grinned.
“It’s not complete,” The man moved to the side panel of the display showing the giant red button that said ‘GO’ in white letters. “At eight o’clock I’m going to turn the machine on and see what’s inside the jar.”
“See what’s inside?” Quintas repeated the words as if the man was insane. Misunderstanding the situation the man preened.
“Oh yes, The name of this show is ‘Opening the Forbidden’. This jar, like all the objects in the room, is strictly forbidden to be opened. Supposedly in the late 1800’s an American settler was able to catch a fire spirit in this jar using ancient Native American magic.”
“Which tribe?” Quintas asked the man mid sentence. It caught the man off guard and he stumbled verbally.
“W-what?”
“Which ancient Native American tribe’s magic did he use?” The man blinked letting his brain catch up with his words, then he smiled and waved a finger at Quintas.
“That’s a minor detail. What’s more important is that the legend says if the jar is ever opened, it’ll release the fire spirit. Also, supposedly the jar is unbreakable, it has to be opened with intention!” This time the man gestured at the contraption. “I’ve supplied plenty of intention.” Quintas let his gray eyes rove over the contraption again and then fixed them on the jar.
“And if I wanted to buy the jar unopened?” He knew the answer before the man gave it, he’d dealt with overzealous artists before.
“The piece isn’t complete till the jar is opened, I couldn’t possibly sell it before that.” The man grinned idiotically and Quintas stiffened studying the man like a hawk about to pounce.
“You’re not Kermit,” Cleo said trying to distract Quintas from simply killing the man on site.
“Oh no, Mr. Cliffs is my patron. He donated most of the items in the room. I’m Hayden Neely.”
“Most of the items?” Cleo moved to stand between the two men. Hayden eyed her lewdly.
“I was able to find the jar on my own.” He stuck out his chest in an obvious attempt to garner Cleo’s attention and began regaling her with the story of his acquisition. Quintas enjoyed the image of Cleo’s lover cutting the scrawny man to ribbons in the night.
He shifted his attention back to the jar. Eight o’clock was less than two hours from now, should he just grab it and vanish? There were of course the safety spells the jar was imbued with to keep it from breaking, would those hold? The only part of the story Hayden had managed to get correct was the need for intent in order to release what was held within. If this elaborate concentration didn’t signify his intent, Quintas wasn’t sure what else would. If the jar opened there wouldn’t be time to reseal it, and besides, even if they could find a suitable vessel who would cast the binding spells? Due to the Duchess’s feud with the local mages, very few of them would even work with him. Should he call Issac?
“Oh how lucky you were!” Quintas heard Cleo say, surely she wasn’t believing Hayden’s story? The jar was sealed in a small root cellar just outside of Gary not in some Anasazi cave out west. He couldn’t take much more. He turned suddenly and left the gallery. Cleo caught up with him down stairs and outside.He surveyed was surly to be the wreckage of his city once that jar was opened.
“I must tell the Duchess, this will be utterly catastrophic,” He said.
“I could have Michael deal with it? I could even get it tonight.” she offered.
“No, that will be too late. We must stop it from opening.” He looked back up at the building, the art gallery on the second floor of the brick building. He remembered seeing all of these buildings go up, he hated the idea of losing them like Green Bay and Chicago. “You should have let me kill him.”
“It’s not that easy anymore,” Cleo chided. “Besides Jarin would be beside himself if you shed blood in one of his galleries.” Quintas cursed the priorities of the Impassioned. He turned a second time and reentered the building.
He didn’t have to kill the man Hayden, he was easily faster and stronger than him, he just needed to take the jar away. He walked back up the stairs to the second floor gallery and directly towards the contraption. Hayden spotted him coming and apparently didn’t like the look in his eye. Hayden reached over and pressed the button on the machine prematurely and then grinned at Quintas.
Quintas was momentarily too stunned to move. He just stood blinking as the machine rapidly worked its way down, the jar being lifted and tilted and finally the clamps began wrenching the jar apart. Cleo was beside Quintas in an instant and he grabbed her to his side. There was still time to outrun the blast, and he did so, pulling her with him till he found the shadows behind the stairs and vanished into them.
***
Quintas unceremoniously shoved Cleo out of the shadows and into the personal chamber of the Duchess. The petite blond woman looked up from her ornate desk and frowned briefly at the intrusion. She had been going over something important, Quintas could tell by the state of her desk and the sharp look in her eyes. She began to speak to him but he brashly held a hand up to stop her. She arched an eyebrow.
“A demon has just been released inside the city on the southern half of Market Street. It is a beast of fire named Jack-Jaw and last time he was free, he set fire to Peshtigo and Green Bay, Wisconsin and then Chicago, Illinois in less than 6 hours.”
“When did this happen?” She asked her clam french accent a contrast to his quickly clipped English.
“1871,” He said. He watched her work through her memory and then she nodded slowly.
“What do you need?” she asked, again as calm as still water. He began to answer and then her cell phone rang. She looked at the number and then pressed the screen to answer.
“Duchess, the Alzaer Gallery downtown was just bombed!” Jarin Favian’s frantic voice rang out over the speaker phone.
“The whole building is on fire and it’s spreading down market street!” the Duchess looked over her gold rimed glasses at Quintas .
“I need Jude,” He said.
——-
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Raven at the Writing Desk 
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