Midas didn’t reply, simply pushed through the front door that was still broken and unlocked, much to Fix’s annoyance. Fix followed after him, making a mental note to call the building manager or just straight-up bring a tool bag and fix it his damn self.
They passed a young woman who was coming down the stairwell to the left who missed the bottom step as she spotted Midas. Fix caught her arm as Midas kept on going without a care.
“Thanks,” she whispered to Fix, embarrassment making her hurry off.
Fix gave her a brief smile, settling at an ambivalent Midas’s side as he called the rusty elevator.
It arrived with a screech, the doors opening to reveal a guy dressed in dark clothes, the brim of his hat pulled low over his face. He hardly looked at them as he exited.
They entered and Fix pressed the six for Liam’s floor.
They arrived with a labored lurch and stepped into the dank beige hallway, Fix leading the way to the right door.
“This is it,” Fix said, only now realizing that they’d gotten this far without any plan for how they were getting into Liam’s apartment.
Or at least, so he thought.
Midas pulled a long golden hairpin from the inside pocket of his leather jacket. It was about two centimeters thick and had a ruby set into its handle.
“Will that pick the lock?” Fix asked, a little fascinated. He’d seen similar things in the movies Ash liked to inflict upon them.
Midas gave him a flat look that said many things at once as he took the pin and gathered his hair into a beautiful bun at the top of his head. One, that Fix was an idiot. Two, that Midas was judging him for it. And three, that Midas shouldn’t have to suffer such indignities.
“Sorry,” Fix felt compelled to say. Like he was apologizing for his entire existence up until that point.
Midas reached into his pocket again and pulled out a small leather pouch. He knelt on the floor in front of the lock and flipped it open. Fix glanced around them warily, but Midas didn’t seem to care as he selected a couple of the thin metal pieces and started in on the lock.
Only he paused.
“What?” Fix asked and signed, even though Midas wasn't looking his way.
Like he heard him anyway, Midas glanced at him. “Lock’s been tampered with before.”
Fix felt a lance of anger and fear move through him, his mind throwing a thousand scenarios at him, each worse than the last. He’d never gotten to ask any details about who was cursing Liam before he’d made him leave the first time. “Recently?”
“No way to really tell,” Midas said. “The building isn’t exactly secure. It could have happened before he even moved in and they didn’t bother to replace it because it wasn't broken. It couldhave been a robbery at one point. It could have been that they tried it and it didn’t work.”
Fix took in a calming breath and blew it out through his nose before he nodded. He was definitely replacing the locks. The whole door. He wanted walls between danger and his b—Liam. His Liam. Fuck, he was losing it.
Midas got to work and in a matter of seconds he was getting back to his feet as the door popped open, dusting himself off like he did this every day.
Honestly. It didn’t seem to be a far-fetched assumption.
Midas gestured for him to go ahead and Fix wished he could say he second-guessed his decision. Liam’s safety was at the forefront of his mind though, so he pushed his way into the apartment without a moment’s hesitation.
He was all business.
They walked into the familiar living room and Fix looked around freely now that Liam wasn’t there.
The place suited him perfectly. It was colorful, but with tranquil tones that were comforting rather than stimulating. There was also an edge to the pieces chosen—packed full of personality, just like Liam.
“We don’t have time to swoon.” A hand pushed into his face and Fix broke out of his trance to face Midas’s exasperation. “Get to it.”
He nodded and placed his bag on the little sofa, opening it up and taking out several different markers and pens. All of them were caster-created and served a purpose in his diagnostics. Each ink color was infused with different magical substances and responded to curse signatures around him.
He took them one at a time, uncapping them and bringing the tips to the skin on his forearm. He pressed each one to the inside of his wrist, drawing a line that connected to the one tattooed on him in light blue ink.
His tattoo carried the magical ink to the cursemark on his shoulder, letting it detect the presence of curses around him.
