My hope was that the kid would be back to himself in a bit. I might not have the most intimate knowledge of magical mechanics, but I did know the most fundamental principle: give something to get something. The ins and outs of a hustle I completely understood, and in this case, a lot of the trade-off was dangerously close to being one-sided. This stuff was the equivalent of a gateway drug, one where the price it extracted was far more insidious than the user was conscious of. The longer a person used it, the more they wanted. And when they got desperate enough for more, they would reach into darker and darker places to re-experience the power they had come to love.
I called the client and told her she was off the hook for the bill and that what she’d been seeing was some wonky gizmo created by a local pervert, basically a toy-drone, and that now it was destroyed; an explanation that was more within her realm of understanding than the truth. I stuck the perp with a hefty bill. I wasn’t running a charity, and I figured if he could pay five grand for the stuff, he could certainly pay my fee. This solution was better than a beatdown, although I hadn’t ruled that out if he failed to comply.
***
Cleveland had a way of imprinting itself on those of us who came up there. We’re a sturdy people, usually a bit too blunt or abrasive, and we skew pretty blue collar. It was a tough town, but I don’t know if I would want to live anywhere else, crazy as I’m told that is.
Our shop was right outside downtown, a little north toward the industrial side of the city. Circle Protection Agency was a play on the fact that my work as an artificer all begins with a circle. The shape was the oldest ward known to mankind, predating written language.
Ours wasn’t a big spot, just two window panels with our logo and the company name above it. The door was framed in old brick, with a dedication plaque mounted beside it. It was our touchstone—literally. Grove and I each placed our hands on it every time we entered the building. When we first came together as a team, we’d done so with a third person—the person who’d brought us together. At the end of one very rough week we ended up losing her, but not before she quite literally saved the city.
Maybe more.
It was heavy stuff, especially since we specialized in the proverbial lower end of the totem pole. We dealt mostly with minor wayward beasties, novice practitioners making trouble, or every now and then, something like what was laid at our feet today.
Inside was a fifteen by fifteen foot room; the desks in the middle faced each other. In the back we had a couple of blackboards. One where we collected our scattered writings, theories, and sightings. Next to that was another board where we pinned articles about local goings-on and settled cases. In the middle were cases that still seemed to be pending or problematic, ones that we’d yet to resolve. There was a narrow hallway off that wall which lead to a second room, an annex where we worked out and trained. Since taking on Grove I’d stepped up my own fitness routine. By stepped up, I mean I went from twelve-ounce curls at the bar to actual weightlifting and running, although both of us found that we had a few things to teach each other when sparring.
For my part, I’d been tutoring Grove on what I knew of the world beneath the world we lived in. We talked of lore, separating fact and fiction. I’d attempted to show him the rudimentary break down of artificing, but that took a kind of skill that was impossible to teach. It was a gift. Without over-complicating it, sigils had base templates to draw from. From there, a person had to feel the way the magic infused an item and inscribe runes using a kind of sixth sense. I took to it criminally fast, especially since I never really became the prodigal son that some people expected I might, but for most, it took a long time. It wasn’t in the cards for Grove though, and that didn’t seem to bother him in the least..
“What’re you thinking, food-wise?”
Grove unholstered a pistol and cleared it, taking the round out of the chamber and setting it down on his desktop. While he thumbed through menus, I pressed play on the answering machine. The contraption was old school, especially in the age of cellphones, but we were both equally paranoid and preferred to keep it low-tech in the office. Grove’s paranoia was born from Big Brother, mine from the boogeyman; same phobia, different mask.
“Maybe even try our luck at the Last Lo—”
The door banged sharply; it smacked the wall hard enough off that it almost ricocheted back into the face of the two figures bursting through. Luckily, the woman had enough of her wits about her to catch the door before it could crack her right on her full head of scarlet hair on the way back. The intercepting hand left a print of blood, which smeared as her weak arm slid down from the exertion of even having to lift it. She was beautiful in an ageless way, with exotic eyes that stabbed straight to your fast-beating heart and seized it still.
Gale was a big fish in a small pond here in Cleveland. She was without rival in terms of raw power as well as knowledge, as far as I could tell. The last time I’d seen her magic at work, she was able to fight a godling to a stalemate before finally relinquishing some ground, but never giving it over; a feat so impressive I hadn’t the right kind of eloquence (or time) to really impart just how awe-inspiring an accomplishment it was.
When she stood upright she was just shy of six feet tall, but right now she was painfully hunched over, her body propped up by a much smaller man. Donovan was my new mentor, a master Tinkerer and gnome with whom I met every week to refine my skills. Our lessons were usually tight-lipped and combative, but I was learning at too quick a pace to allow my pride to fuck it all up for me—no matter how badly I wanted to shove his head through the workbench.
Both of them had the look of someone who’d come out the losing end of a bad fight, a look I’d worn all too often. Their abrupt entrance earned them the barrel of a gun from Grove, who, despite being aware of who they were, hadn’t lowered it. Like I said, he’s as good a partner as there could be; I had to admit that I was alert, and not just because of the way they looked. Donovan had swapped his usual stoicism for sincere panic, and he was straining to keep Gale off the floor. He had a pretty ugly wound in his left leg, and another on his right flank, which was gushing blood in rhythm with his elevated heart rate.
My place was their last resort, which meant that whatever was after them came from official channels, or was just so big and bad that they were acting on pure survival instinct. Our silent stare-down said everything without any of us having to actually utter a word out loud. Gale was trying her best to keep some semblance of dignity about her. Her jaw clenched with effort as she fought to keep the pain off of her face, as if looking impassive would help anything. Pride is a funny, funny thing.
Donovan, on the other hand, was easier to read than a pop-up book, which caught me by surprise. He usually had the kind of poker face that players at professional tournaments trained a lifetime to master.
I looked at Grove and, when he finally acknowledged me, mouthed for him to get the med kit. One of the many benefits that came from having a partner with a military background was that we trained constantly and prepared ourselves for every imaginable eventuality, with emergency medical care being near the top of the list.
“Lockdown,” I said. Another contingency laid out by my hyper-vigilant partner was a protocol to button us up. The last shred of bravado broke in Gale and relief flooded over her bloodied body as I jogged past both of them to close and lock the door. I hit the switch next to it, which lifted a panel with a number pad on it. With an ease that came from muscle memory, since my stringent associate insisted on countless repetition, I punched in the code to put us on lockdown. Hurricane shutters slammed over both windows and the doorway. Inside, the electricity went off the grid and a series of emergency lights popped on.
I shoved Donovan aside and ahead of me, a little more roughly than I intended, and took his place under Gale’s arm. She was taller than me, but even with her athletic build she was feather-light. I suspected she had some kind o
f hollow bones like most elvish types, but now was not the time to ponder that. “Out of all the doors in all the city, you had to pick mine,” I said.
Despite the violence she had experienced, Gale smiled at my Bogart reference as I hustled us to the back. “I thought that would appeal to your inner gunslinger, and even more to your love of Casablanca.”
For a moment I thought she was shrugging, but I realized she’d actually passed out cold. The back room was much bigger than the front, and every corner was filled with all kinds of training equipment: boxing gear, replicated melee weapons, barbells, weights, and even a pair of cots for overnight duty. Donovan shot me a concerned look. I got the sense he didn’t think this was the best place for us to stash Gale.
I wrapped my other arm beneath her now-limp legs and scooped her up. Grove started dragging away the old high school wrestling mats we’d bought from a shady second-hand store to reveal a large cellar door that led down to our sub-basement.
“Take her,” I said, handing Gale over to Grove, who was much more confident in his balance than I was. I waited at the top of the stairs and offered Donovan my shoulder, which he took with a pale hand. He thanked me with an appreciative look before before we started down. Managing to get the best of a Tinkerer was a big deal, especially on his home turf. There’s no way Donovan didn’t have his place warded to the proverbial nines to deal with any and and all kinds of potential issues, which made this big deal even more impressive. Before they showed up at my door in this condition, the idea of handling the Tinkerer and putting Gale on her ass simultaneously should have been impossible, yet here they were.
The sub-basement was shaped like a big cylinder. It was an old bomb shelter built back before the city began regulating that sort of thing. Grove settled Gale on the bed we’d prepared and set to lighting torches.
Donovan’s dubious looks were starting to subside, but when the room lit up they completely disappeared. I’d taken the time to carve, trace and imprint every kind of sigil and rune I could find, from the most fastidious and archaic to the ever-evolving stuff being done at the few known institutions of magic. The trick was keeping to what I knew, which was subtle manipulation and craftiness. None of it was meant to thwart scrying eyes or repel an attack, all of it was misdirection and guile. It was designed to bounce a seeking spell on itself, cycling any energy signal so it constantly circled the very quarters they were inside. Determining where either of them was would be a nuisance and a major league pain in the ass for even the most accomplished practitioner. One sigil would redirect a spell into another sigil, which would in turn do the same to another, each of them imbued with a small sapping quality which wouldn’t challenge the actual power of the casting but instead weaken it with every deflection until it just evaporated.
If you can’t be strong, be smart.
Normally the impression of just how stunned my mentor was would be kind of a Hallmark moment for me, but given that this recent encounter had nearly killed Gale and had grievously wounded him, I didn’t have time to gloat.
“Sit down,” I told Donovan. Before he could object, I shoved him down onto the foot of the other bed.
Grove had laid Gale out carefully to examine her. Just before getting to work, he paused and gave me a wary eye. Luckily, as I said, we’d come to understand one another well enough to keep in sync. While I had his eye I said, “She’s still got a physical vessel; same rules, amigo. If it’s bleeding, it’s bad. She’s probably going to need an IV and some bandages.”
Donovan, a guardian of not only Gale’s business but the woman herself, was about to voice a complaint when I tightened the tourniquet I’d slid up his diminutive leg while he was watching Grove work on her. It sank into sensitive flesh, cutting off the circulation and eliciting a yelp. Donovan was a gnome, but when they passed to our world a kind of natural glamour concealed any of the tell-tale traits of his heritage that would make him stand out to us; save, of course, his height.
“You could have warned me,” he said.
“Right back at you. Stay here.” I climbed back up to seal the cellar door. The locking mechanism turned, setting into motion a steady soundtrack of bolts engaging before I returned. I wasn’t too keen on locking myself inside as well, but given that this was a situation I knew quite literally nothing about and it was serious enough to bring these two clamoring to my doorstep half-dead, I figured it was time to exercise caution.
“So,” I said, plastering the most sarcastic grin I could muster across my face. “What’s new with you?”
“We were attacked,” he answered, his voice flat.
Gasping and wide-eyed, I covered my mouth in feigned shock before falling into a deadpan expression. “You two, what, pissed off the Stalker that got through the portal last winter and needed me to play clean up? Some old flame of Gale’s doesn’t want to pay alimony for their little hellspawns anymore? Mrs. Never-Blink think you and Gale got more than a working relationship?”
The last quip was for him. I probably shouldn’t have been so cavalier, but annoying humor was a kind of defense mechanism for me—some might argue that it’s my default setting—so even if I wanted to curb my behavior, any attempt would just flat-out fail. Everybody has their way of dealing with things, and this was my process.
“No.” Donovan’s voice dropped an octave, his sunken shoulders fell even further, and a desperate expression washed over a face I was used to seeing as unflappable. He turned to watch Grove as he cut Gale out of her bloodied clothes and gently covered her with the blanket we’d laid at the end of the bed.
It was really hard not to respect the guy.
I decided to soften my approach, and set aside my proclivity to remind the world what an asshole I am with every utterance, and tried to usher Donovan back to the present with a reassuring hand on his small shoulder. “Whatever it is, together we can—”
“She’s being hunted by a Blind Judge.”
And suddenly, I too felt the clutch of despair drag me down into hopelessness.
For the first time in memory, I was rendered completely speechless.
CHAPTER 2
Blind Judgment
“That’s impossible.” I might have been gaping at Donovan for one minute or ten, it was hard to tell. “That’s like, an act of… I mean, a Blind Judge?”
“It’s true.” Downtrodden and dead eyed, Donovan looked physically and spiritually exhausted. “I would know the Dreadnought anywhere, that is what came for us.”
“Dreadnought?”
“How much do you know of the Blind Judges?”
“Like, nada. Zachariah told me it’s ‘an inescapable death sentence,’ that’s about it. Something about a house of gnomes or something and a tribe of goblins, have some ritual trial about when the ‘Balance’ is broken, and they send their champion after the offender. Wasn’t really in my wheelhouse. I feel like I’ve got the bones of it but not much else.”
“That’s the gist of it, yes. The In-Between is the dividing space between our world, the Veil, the Abyss and the Beyond. The Masarou tribe and the House of Unet are keepers of the Balance. These two, the oldest goblin tribe and the royal line of Gnomes, are in control the Judges. If there’s an accusation, they take it under advisement, make a determination, and if justified, decide which of the Judges to send.”
“There’s more than one?”
Donovan nodded. “The one that came after us was from the House of Unet, their champion is the Dreadnought: a golem of Earthcore steel.”
“Earthcore, so that’s like, good? Like uh,” I paused, looking for the word; my forays into proper studies had been stunted, to put it kindly. “Mithril?”
“Mithril?” he asked, his tone unreadable.
“Nevermind. It’s from The Lord of the Rings.”
“I’m aware,” he said. The gnome had managed to recover some of the condescending superiority I’d come to know and
hate. “Yes, somewhat; it’s particularly good steel. It’s immune to the hottest of temperatures and tempered in such a way that the density is just astounding. Each limb weighs countless tons. They work anti-magic into every inch of it too. It’s resistant to almost every element and all but impervious to traditional magic.”
“Oh, good. I thought this would be...you know, tough.”
“It’s impossible, why are you celebrating that?” he asked.
“Well, if it’s impossible, it does tend to take a lot of the pressure to succeed off,” I said flippantly.
Donovan usually despised my capricious wit, but this time his disapproving stare shrank away and the beaten down Tinkerer actually chuckled, if only at the absurdity of it all.
“So they send this thing after the big-time magic wielding types, right?”
Donovan nodded.
“It’s a single-minded wrecking ball?”
Another nod.
“All right. No strength comes without sacrifice, and that will mean a weakness. What do you know about it?”
“Nothing, to be truthful. What I do know is just on the fringe of my consciousness,” he said.
That didn’t make any sense. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I don’t know anything about it, even though I built it.” Donovan’s affixed an unflinching stare on me, his tone neutral.
For the second time in the same hour I had been struck speechless, I even found myself swaying back to better absorb the startling surprise.
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