by A. L. Knorr
“If someone is fool enough to come after you, you end it. If they survive, it’s one more person to come after you again, only now they understand you a little better, and that makes them more dangerous. I killed those men to protect us, protect you, and if you want to live through this, then you should be ready to do the same.”
I shook my head, clenched fists pounding against my thighs. “No! If we operate like that, we’re no better than the people we are fighting.”
“Do you hear yourself?” Sark scoffed. “You sound like a child. No better than? Are you joking? We are trying to stop the resurrection of an omnicidal demi-god. That makes us better. Even if that weren’t the case, your morality is hilariously and fatally naive.”
“I’m not laughing, Sark.”
“Well, the more fool you because I am,” Sark sneered. “This is not some grand crusade. This is survival. If you don’t get with the program, you are going to get us killed.”
I bored holes in the back of his head with my eyes, but he stared steadfastly out the windscreen.
“Some things are worth more than living.” I bit off each word, my anger-flushed mind struggling to form sentences. “Some things are worth risking, worth dying for. Doing the right thing is one of them.”
“Right, wrong, good, evil … fairy tales weak people tell themselves to justify doing what is necessary,” Sark muttered. “We can’t afford to be weak.”
I heaved a sigh and sank back into the seat.
“A year ago, I would have told you that demons and demi-gods were fairy tales.” Anger settled like a pile of cinders in the pit of my stomach. “You could afford to believe in some fairy tales, too.”
Sark shifted in his seat but didn’t reply.
“We’re here.” Jackie clicked on her turn signal and slowed down.
---
Uncle Iry closed the bay door and had Jackie roll the car onto a pair of ramps, once the passengers were out, so he could set to work on the vehicle.
Sark had arranged the hideout––a small garage off the motorway––with the owner, so it had been left unlocked for our after-hour activities. The owner had acquired the necessary parts for our vehicular disguise, at an extra cost of course, but as Sark had said: when you were going on a suicide mission, you might as well spare no expense.
“Do you have everything you need, a’am?” I asked as Uncle Iry slid a creeper towards the elevated front of the car.
“Near enough, yes.” He turned back to pick up his bag of tools, then stopped as he saw the disarray of my dress. He looked away, placing the tools next to the creeper. “So, it did not go well?”
“We got what we went for.” I crossed my arms in a vain attempt to feel less exposed. “But things got ... complicated.”
Iry gave me a long look, keeping his eyes on my face, before sinking on to the creeper.
“I am noticing a pattern.” He flashed me a playful smile. “So complicated that I see you picked up a very strong man, though he does seem in need of a good doctor.”
I heard a sharp cry, and I peered through the window of the office to which the others had retreated. Jackie patted Marcus on the back as he sat hunched on a folding chair. The big porter’s face was bloodless, his expression pained, but he gingerly moved his injured arm around.
“I work with him, at the Museum,” I explained, still watching Marcus take big, slow breaths as he wiggled his fingers experimentally. “He followed us to the party because he thought I was in trouble. I think he had it in his head he was going to save me or something.”
“Judging by his face,” Uncle Iry grunted from beneath the car, “he was the one who ended up needing to be saved.”
“Yes.” I nodded, but then remembered Pierre’s venom and the Webley’s blast causing it to retreat. “Though, at one point, he did actually save me when I was caught off guard.”
“That young man must care a great deal for you.” Iry slid out from under the vehicle. “To have risked so much. Reminds me of another young man who’d do anything for the girl he loved.”
It took a heartbeat or two to realize that he was talking about my father, but when I turned from watching Marcus to offer a rebuttal, Uncle Iry was braced against the bumper of the vehicle.
“Stand clear.”
I stepped back as the bumper came free with a twang. He heaved it to the side. He pushed a wheeled winch bearing a different bumper towards the car. There was a difference between the old and new bumper, but I struggled to see how one part would function as a disguise.
“Just changing the bumper will be our disguise?” I asked, unable to keep the incredulity out of my voice.
“No.” Iry fetched tools out of the bag and set to work on the grille. “Not just the bumper. Grille, lights, emblem, and some paint. Trust me; it will look very different.”
“You can do all that in an hour?”
Iry looked up from where he crouched in front of the vehicle, giving me a small smile. “Not if I have to keep answering questions.”
“Right, sorry.” I took a step back and nearly tripped over the creeper. “I’ll leave you to it.”
Sark had set up the ledger and a laptop on a workbench in the other bay. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be around him, given our recent interactions, but talking with Jackie didn’t seem a much better option, so I just stood there.
“Ibby,” Uncle Iry called.
“Yes?”
“You should really talk to that boy.” Iry nodded towards the office window. “He looks a bit lost.”
Marcus was staring at me through the window. Suddenly and painfully self-conscious, I waved. He waved back.
21
“Is your arm going to be okay?”
It sounded stupid, but it was the only thing I could think to ask.
“Well, uh, yeah,” Marcus stammered. “Your friend said she put it back in the socket, and it bloody well hurt when she did, so I imagine I’m on the mend.”
By way of demonstration, he rolled his shoulder and flexed his bicep. The amount of muscle rippling was impressive, but not so impressive that I didn’t notice him wincing with the effort.
“Steady on,” I said with a little laugh. “Don’t want to undo Jackie’s good work. Where is she anyway?”
Marcus hooked a thumb to where a small icebox sat under a countertop next to a steel door.
“She found a couple of beers and said she was going to unwind out behind the shop.”
I felt a tug on my heart to go and check on my friend, but I couldn’t avoid the explanations Marcus needed. All things considered, he was holding up remarkably well, though I was glad he’d missed the horrifying finale of my fight with Pierre.
“So,” Marcus began as the awkward silence stretched between us. “Have you always done magic?”
“No, not exactly,” I said. “Where do I start?” As the song says, the beginning is a very good place to start, so that’s what I did. I told him about the Rings, Lowe, the Inconquo, Sark, and Kezsarak. I also had a chance to let him know I hadn’t been playing a joke on him last year. After that, I told him about the past few days and the insane inversion of loyalties that we’d been trying to survive. He listened attentively, only asking a question when my worn down brain forgot to mention something. By the time I had finished, I felt even more emotionally drained, yet somehow satisfied that Marcus looked at me with concern rather than wariness.
I suppose seeing what he had seen helped, but it still touched me.
“Sorry you find yourself in the middle of this mess,” I said apologetically. “I know you meant well, but I don’t think any sane person goes looking to get caught up in conspiracies involving demons and ancient bloodlines.”
Marcus shook his head, chuckling so that his big shoulders bobbed a little.
“Nope, no sane person would.” He winked. “But my mum says I was never quite right in the head.”
I laughed at his battered, lopsided smile as I leaned against the office desk.
“Well,
I guess you’ll fit right in around here.”
Marcus’s smile fell away, and his eyes took on a light I struggled to understand.
“So long as I’m with you, that’s all that matters.”
I felt my cheeks flush, and I wanted to look away, but his piercing eyes wouldn’t let me. I was embarrassed by the forthright statement, but the reality of what it meant stuck in my mind like the words now caught in my throat.
“Marcus … I …”
His expression softened as he studied my face, but the intense determination burning in his eyes didn’t waver for a second.
“I know this seems sudden, even obnoxious given the timing, but whatever happens, I just wanted you to know: I want to be with you through it all, thick and thin.”
Well, things certainly were thick, and seeing as he’d lived it first-hand, I couldn’t tell him he didn’t know what he was talking about.
“I … I don’t know what to say,” I confessed. “I never thought I’d have someone declare his interest in the middle of a covert operation to stave off the rise of a new world order.”
Marcus smiled, and something hot and skittish stirred inside me. It made me want to run. The problem was I didn’t know which direction to run: towards that feeling or away from it.
“I certainly didn’t imagine I’d be asking under these circumstances,” Marcus admitted. “But then I never imagined I’d find someone like you.”
Damn, he was good.
“Yeah?” I was unable to keep a smile from curling the corners of my lips. “You really think so, huh?”
He took a step towards me, close enough that he could reach down and scoop me up in those powerful arms. I made a conscious effort not to let this new gravity draw me into an embrace. Surrendering to that pull was the point of no return, and I needed time to think things through.
“Ibukin Bashir, you are the strongest, smartest, fiercest, and most beautiful woman I know,” Marcus declared in a voice that shook with sincerity. “And I believed that before I ever knew about all this … this other stuff. Now you’re more than just an amazing woman, you’re the most amazing woman, and the only one I can dare to love.”
Something strange happened at this declaration, something I never expected.
A wave of peaceful satisfaction washed over me. The fear was still there, and all the doubts, but his genuine fervency struck me as true, and I surrendered to it. This was how Marcus saw me, which was a blessed comfort given how much I’d felt like a wandering disaster area.
“Marcus,” I said pushing away from the desk. “I’m not sure what this will–”
The door to the office burst open, and Sark stood glaring at us.
“Iry’s done,” he declared roughly, juggling the laptop to point back at the Maserati. “Get our driver and load up. We’ve got work to do.”
Marcus looked ready to rip Sark’s face off, so I raised a hand to pat him on the shoulder.
I gave him my best trust me look before turning back towards Sark. “I’ll get her. You been able to get into the ledger yet?”
Sark patted his coat pocket so I could make out the outline of the hard-drive against the fabric.
“Pierre’s arrogance and age showed on what passed for encryption on this thing,” Sark remarked, somehow making every word snarl.
“That’s good, right?”
Sark cut a sharp glare towards Marcus before looking back at me. “Are you sure we should be discussing this around him?”
Marcus shifted. “I can go and get Jackie,” he offered.
“No.” I glared at Sark. “He’s part of the team now, like it or not. You can say what you need to. I trust him.”
Sark looked at Marcus again, and something remarkably like jealousy shimmered, toxic and bitter, in his dark eyes.
“Fine.” He turned to me with a look just as venomous. “Hopefully, your new ... friend can convince you to start acting sensibly.”
I felt pressure building behind my eyes as the tension thickened in the small office. “Sark,” I said forcing a neutral tone. “What are you talking about?”
“The ledger,” he growled. “It’s got everything we need, but using it is going to be … messy.”
I didn’t like the sound of that.
---
“So, the only way we can use this ledger is as a list of targets? Targets for us, not the police?” said Lowe.
We’d returned to Museum Station after dumping the modified Maserati at Bloomsbury Square car park. Sark had ended our run-down of events by explaining what the ledger was, and, unfortunately, wasn’t.
“Pretty much.” I cradled my head in my hands, my elbows – now covered in a sweatshirt – on a common’s cafe table. “The ledger gives us locations, names, even notes about how to access the people, vulnerable times, and tendencies, but almost nothing we could give to the authorities to start destabilizing Winterthür.”
“I see.” Lowe frowned. “So, it’s a matter of time, then? It will take us longer to collect the evidence, and in that time, Ninurta’s awakening is imminent.”
“And more people will probably die,” I intoned heavily, my shoulders slumped.
“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Sark said flatly, making a point not to look at me. “Not if we are willing to take a few shortcuts.”
In my peripheral vision, I saw Lowe looking at me, but I refused to look away from Sark.
“What’s he on about?” the ghost asked.
Sark sat back and drummed his fingers on the table, still refusing to meet my gaze.
“Go ahead, Sark,” I said in a low, menacing tone. “Explain.”
Sark made a fist, and his eyes shifted to stare off into the middle distance. When he spoke, his voice was cold, robotic.
“There’s potential to leverage several of the targets to force them to give us or law enforcement more information about Winterthür’s dealings, both those which are legitimate and those which are not. If we move quickly, flip enough of them, it will start a cascade effect as rumours circulate that someone with inside information is turning the Group inside out.”
He leaned back in his chair, putting it up on two legs as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“This will not only compromise their ability to awaken Ninurta but puts them in the vulnerable position where their usual agents and catspaws won’t work with them. They’ll have to call on other, less reliable sources. We can then offer ourselves as agents and get inside their operation, and thus get to Ninurta.”
Sark set his chair down on all fours with a thunk and looked directly at me, his expression as icy as his recitation.
“It is quick, effective, and our best shot for taking out Ninurta why he still sleeps. Which makes it the obvious choice.”
I trembled with anger, fighting to form words that weren’t howling denouncements, but Jackie beat me to the punch.
“Except that the leverage you are talking about is people,” she said acidly. “Friends, family, even children, most of whom have no involvement in this. You are talking about kidnapping and threatening to torture or kill innocent people.”
“People are dying already,” Sark replied coolly. “I am trying to make sure we aren’t next while moving to stop an apocalyptic event. How is that a bad thing?”
“Because if you have to hurt kids to do it, it’s not an option anymore,” Marcus rumbled, watching Sark from under furrowed brows.
“I wasn’t asking you, tourist,” Sark spat.
“Marcus is right.” Uncle Iry laid a steadying hand on the porter’s shoulder as he shifted threateningly in his seat. “The fact is that these opportunities for leverage have a high chance of hurting or killing innocent people. There has to be another way.”
“The only other way is slow, inefficient, and liable to get us all killed,” Sark said with a dismissive shake of his head. “None of you are trained in espionage, and long-term surveilling takes skill and time, both things we don’t have. I’m not suggesting this because I
like it. I am suggesting it because it is our only option.”
Lowe looked around the table, scrutinizing each expression before settling on me. He studied me intently, and I wanted to look away, to escape the question he was going to ask.
“And what do you think, Ibby?”
I was angry, perhaps angrier than I’ve ever been in my life, but it wasn’t just because of what Sark was suggesting. It galled me that he would suggest such a reprehensible plan, but worse, I had no good alternative. He was right. The plan he offered was better in every aspect except the moral one. The reality of our limited options––and the terrible repercussions if we failed––felt like a web tightening around me. If I turned Sark down, insisted we go another way, I was likely condemning everyone at that table to death, and there was a good chance I was condemning humanity to Ninurta’s tyrannical rule.
But for all that, I couldn’t do what Sark was suggesting. Even if it meant Armageddon and the world going up in flames, I wouldn’t walk the path he was offering. I was a guardian, not an assassin.
I couldn’t, and I wouldn’t.
“I don’t know what we are going to do next,” I said slowly, feeling the doleful weight of every word. “But I won’t become a monster to save the world.”
I looked around the gathered faces, meeting each eye, even Sark’s.
“We start acting like them, Winterthür and Ninurta, even for the best of reasons, then each compromise, each shortcut becomes easier. It’s only a matter of time before we can’t tell the difference between ourselves and the people we’re fighting. We’re drawing the line here, this far, no farther.”
Tears stung my eyes, and I saw that all were nodding, their own eyes glistening. Except for Sark, who’d hung his head and refused to look up.
“Well said, my dear.” Lowe beamed. “Very well said.”
Then he froze, and a second later his body flickered like a video buffering. He snapped back in the blink of an eye, but his face was pained, and he was clutching his chest.
“Professor!” I sprang to my feet, knocking my chair over.
A crack like thunder echoed above us, followed by a wave of pressure sweeping down from above. Halfway around the table to Lowe, I had to grab the back of Jackie’s chair to keep from being knocked over.