“But you might not be far off,” Charles paused, looking grumpy but thoughtful. “The fear drug would be an excellent set-up for that kind of magic. It would certainly benefit a particular subset of Moroi,” he glanced at Tamara, “and I’m sure the Sanguinarians would benefit as well. But even bringing the Lord of Fear and Nightmares across would still only be a means to an end.”
“So, to what end?” The little mambo leaned forward, intent. “ An’ more importantly, how d’we stop it? That’s too big of a spell t’just break it outright.”
Charles smiled for the first time, a vicious smirk. “Exactly.” He tapped the map, indicating the various smaller circles, some in red marker, some in black. “I’ve outlined the general areas that would need to be anchored with smaller rituals in order to set up a grand ritual at the Vulcan.” I noted that the circles he pointed out were still a few city blocks wide apiece. “And they’ll need one significant piece of the statue’s ‘flesh’ at each anchor point.”
“So five,” Tamara commented, leaning on me and looking over my shoulder. I gave her a thin smile.
“But, there’s more to it than just that,” Charles continued. “They don’t just need the five. They need all of them.”
“All…pieces of the statue?” I frowned. “Why? I don’t understand.”
“Of course not.” His reply was matter-of-fact. “You’re not a wizard.”
“A spell like this is way, way intricate magic,” Flora stepped in patiently. “If any significant piece of Mister Vulcan remains outside of their control, in another magician’s hands—”
“Someone else could derail or destroy their spell,” Charles finished. He grinned. “Months of work and magical construction, all for nothing.” He picked his satchel back up and set it back on the table. “Of course, that’s the good news.”
“There’s more bad news?” I raised an eyebrow.
“The deadline’s in the next few nights,” he said simply. “That’s when the ritual will be.”
“What?” Tamara’s voice was shocked.
“You mean we only have a few nights to—” I watched as he rolled the large map back up and stuffed it into his satchel. “Wait. Are you leaving?”
He grunted in the affirmative as he took a step away from the table. “You know everything you need to. I trust you can figure out how to keep interfering; I have a whole other side of this to take care of.”
Stunned, I almost let him get away. “Hey! I’ve only seen you a couple of times since I beat a demon out of you.” I rose and caught at the edge of his coat arm to slow him down, but he shook me off. “Where have you been?”
“Busy,” he replied flatly.
I sighed. “But—”
“You do realize that there’s more at stake here than pleasantries and catch-up?” His intelligent cinnamon eyes were hard. “You have your job, I have mine.”
“Okay, but how the hell did you even know all of this was going on?”
He just stared at me.
“Right. Wizard.” I sighed again. “So what do we—”
“You’ll have to figure that out on your own,” he replied shortly. “I simply don’t have time.”
And just like that, he left, pushing back through the sparse crowd with the same storm of purpose that he’d entered with. The door chime tinkled again, and he was gone.
This time, I just let my friend go.
“Is it just me, or was that kinda rude and weird, even for Charles?” Tamara didn’t bother to hide the irritation crinkling her perfect face.
“I dunno. Seemed like the same old asshole to me.” I thumped back into my chair and slumped a little. Tamara put her hand on my shoulder, pairing it with a sympathetic smile that absorbed the worst of my sadness. “I guess some things never really change.”
“Now, now, dear. Don’t take it too much t’heart,” Mama Flora consoled gently. “I’m sure he’s just doin’ what he thinks he needs to do, with what all’s on th’ line. Things’ll work themselves out in time, yeah?” Her smile turned slightly sad too. “‘Sides, it don’t sound like we got th’ time for feelin’ down, no, no.”
“Well, Charles left us completely to our own devices.” Tamara’s tone still had an edge to it. “Are we really any better off than we were before he popped in, told us the world is ending, and left again?”
“Now, child, it ain’t all like that, neither,” Flora said calmly. “We got the one thing we needed to know t’make sure none of this mess ever comes t’pass.”
I nodded. “All we have to do is get our hands on one peice of the Vulcan.” I managed an honest smile; whatever was going on, Charles had come through after all. “We do that, and they’re up shit creek. They don’t dare attempt the ritual.”
“An’ if they did, why I know just enough t’throw a monkey wrench or two into their fancy magic.” Mama Flora grinned, removing the heavy knit shawl she wore over her bright floral sundress and making a gesture as if rolling up its nonexistent sleeves.
“Yeah, all we have to do is somehow track down the same hidden artifacts in a couple of days that all these other guys have had months to search for,” Tamara added dryly.
“Spoilsport,” Flora sniffed. “Why, I know more of this city’s history than three damn historians rolled together. Hell, I watched a lot of it happen.”
“And besides.” I nudged Tamara repeatedly, trying to rouse a smile from the Moroi. “Tracking down stuff is a lot easier,” I held up my phone and wiggled it in her face, “when you’ve got a pair of magic coyotes on speed dial.”
o o o
To my surprise, Jason showed up alone fifteen minutes later.
“But where’s your other half?” I frowned, peering expectantly behind him.
The lean young shifter rolled his eyes. “Sorry, mujer fuerte. I’m rollin’ solo tonight. Rain’s out with his dad.”
That’s right. I remembered Garibaldi’s celebratory night out with his son, but hadn’t remembered that it was tonight. “I hope I didn’t interrupt any of your plans, or coyote alone time.”
“Plans?” He huffed. “My folks were out cold, and I was sitting around drinking my padre’s whiskey.” He pulled a brown-wrapped bottle out of his rugged brown trench coat and shook it at me. “You messaged, and I slipped out the window and left. So what’s up?”
“Well, there’s sort of an emergency on. Think you can help out by yourself?”
“Chica, when is there not an impending disaster or two?” He grinned. “I’m solid. Whatever it is, let’s do this.”
Jason caught on quickly, barely batting a lash at the quick description of impending doom, though he did take a long drink or two before we were done. “So, what now, ladies?” He grinned. “How can I be of service?”
“Now we steal some shit from the bad guys,” I replied. “Specifically, a victory.”
“Now that sounds like fun.” With a chuckle, he reached across the table and fist-bumped me. Tamara took the opportunity to steal his near-empty whiskey bottle, and he pouted.
“But first,” Mama Flora said firmly, “a history lesson.” When Jason started to protest, she rapped him firmly on the knuckles with her coffee spoon.
“Ow.”
“That ol’ statue, he’s been through a lot,” she continued, ignoring the complaining boy. “They built him for the World’s Fair, way on back in 1904. Seems like it was jus’ yesterday.” She grinned, and I couldn’t tell whether she was joking or not. Maybe Tamara could. “He won, o’course. But after they shipped him back, he didn’t get the welcome home he deserved, no. He sat in pieces next to the ol’ railyard for near a decade, ‘cause nobody bothered t’pay the shipping bills. They even lost his spear tip.”
I blinked. “The…railyard? The one Fright was at?” I exchanged looks with Tamara and Jason. “I bet that’s what he found there.”
“See? That’s why history’s important.” The old mambo grinned. “Now they eventually put mister humpty dumpty back together again, but he didn’t have a home till nearly the
forties.” Quicker than one would expect, she leaned over, stole Jason’s whiskey bottle from Tamara, and drained the last of it dry as she continued. “Then they gave him a new spear, hammer, an’ anvil, held a big festival, then set him up on that pedestal on top of the mountain, with a museum at his feet.”
“Dat ass,” Jason remarked, referencing the statue’s famous bare buttocks. I smirked. Tamara hid a giggle in her hands.
“Since then, he’s been rusted, repainted, rebuilt, and rededicated three or four times over,” Mama Flora finished. “Once, they even put one of his arms on backward.” She shook her head. “They gave him a torch for a while, but gave him back a new spear ‘round the turn of the century.”
“Ah, the old neon popsicle,” Tamara grinned. “But how does that help us now?”
“Well, them there’s parts of his legend, his history. Things tied into the city, to the people,” Flora explained, pulling out a shiny new mobile phone, the first time I’d ever seen her with one. She swiped out a couple of quick questions with obvious familiarity, then looked back up at us. “An’ as of last night, that torch was still sittin’ on display at the Birmingham art museum, busy weighin’ about half a ton or so.”
I grinned as I caught on. “So I should go get it.” I started to rise.
“Meanwhile, why don't you take a run on past that museum at ol’ Vulcan’s feet an’ see what's up? They framed th’ first ticket from the that dedication festival an’ hung it up. Maybe snag it while you’re there.” Mama Flora gave Jason a sly smile. “If you think you're up to it, that is.”
“Pffft. No problema, Mama.” He stood as well and gave me a calculating look. “Race you, chica.”
I shook my head. “No deal, kiddo. I know when I’m beat.” He snorted.
“What about me?” Tamara frowned.
“Well, while they're busy doin’ the hard work,” Flora grinned, “you're gonna take me for a ride.” She tossed Tamara her keys—I noted the Mercedes symbol with a raised eyebrow—and took a final sip of her iced coffee.
“Well?” She looked around at all of us and adjusted her shawl. “Why ain’t nobody movin’ yet?”
o o o
The Birmingham Museum of Art was a large, generally rectangular building situated on an expansive set of grounds. Despite its size, I wasn’t too worried about finding what I was looking for; Mama Flora had told me precisely what exhibit and which part of the building where the Vulcan’s old neon torch was on display. Not to mention that I’d come here many a time with Lori back when I was still a breather, and that left me fairly familiar with the grounds themselves.
But as soon as I tracked the first hammering, terrified heartbeat to a prone security guard, curled into the fetal position and hidden under a large shrub pruned to look like a goose, I knew it wasn’t going to be that simple.
I drew the darkness in tight around me and stepped sideways, bypassing the closed glass double doors in front and any alarms they might have had on them. From there, I went hunting.
I jogged past colorful displays of Hindu art and an extensive collection of authentic Japanese arms and armor. I jumped from rail to rail instead of taking the big circular staircase normally, clinging to its sides and clearing it in a trio of quick leaps. Then I took a right at the room with all the old, intricately carved pottery, quietly happy that I didn’t have to go in there and accidentally destroy it, and found the Birmingham History exhibit.
The large pedestal that should have held Vulcan’s torch was empty.
What now? I went still and waited: listening, thinking, observing. A slight feeling lingered in the air, something barely perceptible. There was no dust on the unoccupied pedestal, or the couple of other empty spots. And since the place wasn’t crawling with police and caution tape, the torch must have just been here. From different corners of the building, a handful of horrified heartbeats hammered away, all human.
But there was nothing else.
Until I heard the howl.
I didn’t know what the lingering, solitary sound signaled, but it was my only clue. I burst into motion.
I stepped sideways past the third-story glass windows and dropped into the garden beside the large, polished chrome statue of the Steelworker, running after the last vestiges of the wolf howl as it wavered and faded away into a whine.
And in the middle of the gravel-covered Sculpture Garden, I found Fright.
Holding the torch and surrounded by wolves.
However, unlike with myself and my…progeny, the dangerous animals weren’t trying to assault him—probably because they were obviously terrified.
As I approached, I heard the alpha wolf’s low, plaintive whine as he tried to rally his forces, but with no noticeable effect. The ring of werewolves only cowered more as I made my way through them, gently pushing aside a petrified, silver-furred wolf on my way.
“I waited for you,” Fright rasped quietly, gazing at me with his huge, pale lantern eyes. “You’re Kitty’s friend. Do not make me slay you.” He fidgeted and adjusted his grip on the torch, holding the heavy, iron, neon-tube covered object carefully with his thick welding gloves.
I barely slowed down, holding my arms out wide and revealing my claws, splattering a random few wolves with my dead blood as the rusted blades emerged. “Likewise,” I rasped. “So hand over the torch. Let’s make this easy.”
“Easy?” Fright tilted his head curiously, smirking. Then nodded. “That is why I waited for you.”
Doubt—and caution—rose, and I hesitated for a moment.
Fright threw his head back and kreened. Somewhere behind me, glass shattered at the sound, the point-blank, deafening noise shuddering through my bones and head and making me reel for a moment—
—unable to do anything as he drank in the cloud of terror from fifteen trembling, fear-stricken wolves.
Wolves fled and neon tubes shattered as Fright took a single step forward and slugged me with a half-ton of glass and cast iron.
I got my arms up in time to block, but it didn’t matter. The impact threw me off my feet like a ragdoll; I felt a vague, soft impact, and kept right on flying. I smashed through a chest-high cement wall, sailed out into the night and into the parking deck like a foul ball, barely slowing down…right up until I bounced off a parked van and hit a cement pillar head first.
And in an instant, everything went black as night.
15
But where did you find it
I was back on my feet what felt like an instant later, on guard and gripping the frame of the battered utility van, steadying myself until I could make sense of my surroundings.
My vigilance was wasted; I was alone.
Except for one faint, rapid, inhuman heartbeat, completely alone.
I turned around, looking for its source, only to find that I’d been laying on an unconscious, naked, teenage girl.
“Um…” I paused, casting about for some sort of explanation, only to come up empty-handed. “Well, alrighty then.” I took a breath. “Don’t suppose you know how you got here, huh?” As expected, the unconscious girl didn’t respond. I scratched my head, only for my hand to come away sticky with dark blood. “Uh-oh.” I glanced at the ten-foot-wide support pillar, and specifically at the small bloody splatter and long, jagged crack my stubborn skull had left on it.
I stared for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, hopefully we’ll both be okay,” I commented to the girl. Sometimes, looking back, my life seemed like one long slideshow of things I didn't understand, and tonight was just one more to add to the pile. So I took off my cardigan and wrapped the girl up in it, then lifted her in my arms. There was little point in chasing after Fright; he’d be long gone by now, and I had no direction to go in.
Besides, I couldn’t just leave the teen here alone.
There were monsters out tonight.
I juggled the girl and my phone as I powered the device up; thankfully, Fright hadn’t nearly killed it, only me. On my way to message my friends, though, I noticed a s
hort message from Garibaldi; it was several hours old, so I must have missed it earlier.
I know who he is, and where he’s staying, it read simply.
He could only be talking about Juris, and the information couldn’t have come at a better time…except for the fact that I was already in trouble up to my asshole, and didn’t really need more at the moment. Juris and his supernatural drug ring would have to wait. For now.
Guys, I’ve got an…issue. I texted my three fellow apocalypse resistance fighters instead. Can we meet somewhere other than Bookbinders?
Flora says we can go to her house, Tamara responded a few seconds later. What’s wrong? Are you okay?
I paused. It…wouldn’t sound right in text. I’ll just see you there. I put my phone away and headed that way, still carrying the strange girl in my arms and hoping she didn’t suddenly wake up and start screaming at me.
o o o
“You weren’t gone long,” Tamara remarked, opening Mama Flora’s front door for me. She looked down at the bundle in my arms. “And who’s—”
“Long enough to get my ass kicked, and I have no idea.” I made my way in past Tamara, ignoring the normal Southern Grandmother section of the house and heading straight upstairs. Once beyond the darkened stairway, we found ourselves in the much more mystical part of the house where the ebony wood hallway panels were etched with arcane symbols or decorative skulls, and the corners and overhead arches were darkened with black, lacy webbing and filled with tiny, dangling, star-like silver charms.
I ignored the pretty decor and took a right into Mama Flora’s study. As luck would have it, one of the silver-and-black chairs in the mambo’s bookcase-packed study had been replaced with a short, matching divan, which is where I carefully placed the unconscious teen.
I turned back around to face everyone’s curious expressions. “No, I don’t know who she is. Just that she’s hurt. I think.”
“Dude, she’s a changeling.” Jason got closer, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled. “Chica, she’s a wolf girl. I can smell it on her.”
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