Druid Bond

by Brad Magnarella

  “Where do you wanna be dropped?” Otto asked.

  My mouth was dry when I answered. Not from where I intended to go, but why.

  “Midtown College.”

  17

  Otto talked nonstop as the van shuddered up Park Avenue. There was a sincerity about him I liked, but though I made sounds of interest, I was only half listening. Go to Midtown College, or go home? A couple times I almost asked Otto to turn around, but that would mean doing nothing, and I was really bad at that.

  On the other hand, going forward could mean opening a giant can of worms. It could even mean trouble. But more trouble than having Seay contact God knew who to get us into the time catch?

  I seriously doubted it.

  “…for being a warlock,” Otto was saying. “Can you believe that?”

  I squinted over at him. “What was that?”

  “The original furniture store I was telling you about? I was saying that the man who owned it, which would’ve been my father’s father’s father’s et cetera”—he circled his thick hand several times—“was accused of being a warlock.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, probably because he was taking up prime real estate—the store was down on Duke Street. Plus he was Dutch, and New Amsterdam had long since become New York. Most British colonists didn’t care, but some took issue, I guess. They tried to burn him out, but the fire didn’t take. Probably ’cause Dutch used ceramic tiles on their roofs instead of wood shingles.” He grinned at the ingenuity.

  “And they didn’t try again?”

  “Apparently not. And get this.” He smacked my shoulder. “Afterwards, he made his sign twice as big.” He moved his hand across the span of the windshield. “‘Vander Meer’s Furnishings.’ Oh, man. I bet that got their long johns in a twist.” Otto broke into a bout of full-bodied laughter that shook the van. “And we’re still in business!”

  Out of curiosity, I opened my wizard’s senses. I didn’t detect any magic in Otto’s aura, but that didn’t mean casters hadn’t held spots on his family tree.

  “A warlock, huh?” I said.

  “Isn’t that crazy? Oh hey, this is you.”

  I followed his nod to the approaching block of academic buildings. The warlock talk had been an interesting distraction, but now my heart was back to slugging over the thought of what I’d be doing.

  “I can wait for you,” he said, sidling the van up to the sidewalk.

  “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t know how long I’ll be. Thanks for the lift.”

  We shook farewell, his thick, earnest hand swallowing mine. Midtown College was closed on Saturdays, which was good. Fewer people meant having to deploy less magic. I selected a key from my ring and unlocked the front door.

  Inside, my footfalls echoed down the empty corridors as I took a right, then left. At the locked administrative office, I slid the bolt out with an invocation and stepped inside. The records rooms were in the back.

  Summoning a ball of light, I sent it ahead to the room with the employee filing cabinets. The head of records, a stodgy old woman nearing ninety, had kept her system stubbornly low tech. I scanned the cabinets’ neat hand-written labels until I reached the R’s. With an uttered word, the stopper lock slid away, and I drew the door open. Caroline Reid’s file was near the front. I pulled it out.

  You don’t have to do this, I reminded myself.

  It’s just a request for help, I shot back. She can always say no.

  The problem was I had no way to contact Caroline. Following our last meeting well over a year ago, she had disappeared. But I was convinced she kept an address in the city. Just as I remained convinced that Caroline’s mother had manipulated her into joining the fae for her political acumen.

  Opening the file, I searched the page with her contact info. Though Caroline no longer taught at Midtown, she was technically on sabbatical, meaning that if anyone had updated info on her, it would be the college. Her number was the same, which I knew for a fact was out of service, but a line had been drawn through her old address. My heart sped up as my gaze dropped to the new one.

  A P.O. box with an uptown zip code.

  Balls. I’d been hoping for a physical address, but this was better than nothing.

  I carried the file to the administrator’s office and loaded a blank sheet of paper into her electronic typewriter. It ended up being one of the most challenging letters I’d ever written, but an hour and several balled-up drafts later, I was satisfied I’d made my case while keeping the right tone.

  I reread what I’d written:

  Dear Caroline,

  Because of the serious nature of this letter, I’m going to get right to the point.

  As you might be aware, a breach opened between the demonic realms and our world last month. Hundreds of demons entered, some servants to powerful masters. Among them were a group of Strangers, demons who infiltrate groups and undermine their collective beliefs, twisting them into devotion to their masters.

  I’m collaborating with a team. One member, Malachi, is affiliated with St. Martin’s Cathedral. The rest have seen their groups infiltrated by Strangers: a mermaid, a druid, and a half-fae. We have reason to believe a powerful demon is coordinating the Strangers. Further, Malachi sees the master’s plans leading to a demon apocalypse. I don’t need to tell you, Caroline, that this would be devastating for both of our races.

  My team is doggedly tracking the Strangers, not only to eliminate them, but to determine the identity and ultimate ambitions of their master. We’ve had early success, but our present target is hiding in a time catch—a preserved bubble of time and space that we can’t access without powerful magic.

  I’m asking you, Caroline, as a fae in high position, to send someone to assist us. Not as part of an exchange or bargain, but in the mutual interest of our races. Perhaps, also, in memory of our close friendship.

  I hope this letter finds you well.

  Respectfully,

  Everson Croft

  The formal tone was so at odds with our joking two-year relationship as colleagues that it was scary. But upon reclaiming her fae nature and marrying Angelus, Caroline had become a different being. Hell, I’d watched the transformation happen in real time. I had no choice now but to address my old friend as fae royalty.

  I made a copy of the letter, signed the original, and folded it into thirds. After sliding it into an envelope and penning the address, doubts began sprouting up in my mind. How long would it sit in her P.O. box before she saw it? Would she ever see it? Deciding to hedge my bets, I signed the copy too and stuck it inside another envelope. On that one, I only wrote Caroline’s name. It would be a hand delivery.

  Really pushing the envelope, aren’t you?

  I frowned at my lame joke and stole from the office, making sure to leave everything exactly how I’d found it. Since helping Professor Snodgrass a month earlier, and ingratiating myself to his wife, my department chair had lowered the heat. But I didn’t want to give him an excuse to crank it up again, because I was sure he’d take it.

  I left the college the way I’d come in, locked the door, and nearly spun into someone. Grunting in surprise, I stumbled backwards. Wrapped in a scarf and camelhair coat, hands thrust into his pockets, Vega’s brother had just arrived at the top of the steps. Above his gold-rimmed glasses, stern lines creased his forehead.

  “Everson,” Carlos said.

  “Wh-what are you doing here?” I stammered, sliding my two envelopes into a coat pocket.

  “Looking for you. I stopped by your apartment and left several messages on your phone.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been busy.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “Now’s not a good time.”

  “It shouldn’t take long,” he said. “There’s a café on the corner.”

  “If this is about your sister, we already had that conversation.”

  “And by all appearances, nothing’s changed.”

  Oh, if you only knew. “Then that
should tell you everything you need to know,” I said, stepping past him.

  I was halfway down the stairs when he said, “I believe I’ve met Arnaud Thorne.”

  I stopped.

  18

  As Carlos spoke at a corner table in the café, I hung onto his every word. He’d removed his scarf and gloves and opened the throat of his coat, but he kept both hands wrapped around his steaming coffee mug. His voice remained low. When he finished, he took his first sip. The mug trembled slightly.

  “When was this?” I asked.

  I ventured a sip of my own coffee, but it tasted acidic, probably from my nerves.

  “Last Saturday, around one o’clock. The same day my brothers and I spoke to you.”

  “Right, the big meeting.”

  That was also the day I’d been in and out of Epic Con, hunting down the conjurer and ultimately his fire elemental. We tracked them to a rock quarry across the Hudson River, put down a conjured dragon, and rescued the efreet from a massive demon attack. When several of the demon hosts rose again as zombies, I suspected Arnaud’s infernal hand and assumed he’d sensed the efreet’s manifestation. But what if he tracked me down from info he’d extracted from Carlos?

  “So you and Tony were leaving the house,” I recapped. “A man headed you off and then fell to the ground in agony.” That might have been Arnaud reacting to my grandfather’s pendant, which Vega had given to her son. “You said he was strange looking. How, exactly?”

  “Short and thin. Very pale faced. He looked old, but he carried himself like someone younger. He was wearing a business suit and hat, both brown.”

  Sounded like the same suit a murder victim had donned before heading to work that morning. His corpse was later found bobbing in the East River near Roosevelt Park, naked, throat-bitten, and blood-drained.

  “Eye color?”

  “He was wearing sunglasses.”

  “Hair?”

  Carlos shook his head again. “None showing below his hat. Or it was so fine, I didn’t notice. When he fell, I saw something on the back of his neck, though. A symbol about the size of a quarter.” He made a circle with his thumb and first finger.

  “Like a tattoo?”

  “More like a brand. I thought he’d been a POW or something.”

  A demon brand, most likely. Arnaud might not have even been aware it was there.

  “Probably our man,” I said. “And when Tony went back inside, Arnaud recovered and grabbed your wrist, and then you blacked out?”

  “Not blacked out, spaced out.” He said it as if losing consciousness was for lesser men. “I was standing when I came to, and he was waving at me from a cab. My head ached for the rest of that day and the next.” He dropped his voice further as he leaned forward. “What in the hell did he do to me?”

  “It sounds like he used … powers of persuasion.” I almost said vampiric powers, but caught myself. Thanks to his sister’s assertions, Carlos accepted that strange things happened in the city, but I didn’t think he was ready to accept he’d been in the grip of a vampire. I also didn’t mention that he was lucky to be alive rather than dead or undead. “Most likely he was after information,” I said.

  “What information?”

  “My whereabouts,” I replied absently, still reviewing the account in my mind.

  I wanted to drill down to a more detailed description of Arnaud. Carlos was the only one I knew who had seen him up close. But Carlos straightened back from me now as if establishing a more formal distance.

  “You’ve just made my point.”

  I brought him back into full focus. “What’s that?”

  “You’ve just confirmed that the man I encountered was Arnaud Thorne. You also said that he came in search of you. Let me rephrase that, he came to my family’s house in search of you. Think about that. A kidnapper and serial killer came to their house looking for you. Why do you think that was?”

  It was a rhetorical question. He was circling back to my involvement with his sister.

  “The house was protected,” I said. “If you’d stayed inside like Ricki and I asked—”

  “Oh, so we’re all supposed to remain on permanent house arrest now?”

  I looked down at my coffee and took several steadying breaths. I’d had a variation of this conversation with Ricki just this morning about the safe house. I had responded with concern and respect. Though it wasn’t easy, I resolved to treat Carlos the same way. He was her brother, after all.

  “I’m sorry that happened,” I said. “Arnaud went to you for information. That was all.”

  “What’s stopping him from coming back?” he challenged. “Or doing worse?”

  “He won’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because he wants to make this personal between me and him. You’re too peripheral. So are your brothers’ families.” I had started out to reassure him, but the words emerged with increasing certainty, as if some spectral part of my mind was aligning with Arnaud’s. “He wants to surprise me. Going after you guys wouldn’t give him the same pleasure.”

  “Then what about Ricki?” he asked between clenched teeth. “Or Tony?”

  “They’re someplace Arnaud can’t touch them. They’re safe.”

  “Where?”

  “In Brooklyn. I’d prefer not to get more specific.”

  “So you’re managing my contacts with my own family now?”

  I peeked around the café. It was about half full, and no one set off my baddie alarm, but Arnaud and his blood slaves could be anywhere. “If Ricki wants to give you more information, she will,” I said.

  He snorted dryly.

  “What?”

  “Ricki is playing off the same script as with Tony’s father,” he said. “Act one: get involved with a dangerous man. Act two: ignore our warnings, even as the dangers escalate. Act three: come to her senses before it’s too late and send the man to prison.” Carlos leaned forward. “Where he should have been all along.”

  “She sent him there?”

  “We’re still in act two, but Ricki will come around. She always does.”

  “What did she send him to prison for?” I pressed.

  Carlos took another sip of coffee and regarded me coolly. “If Ricki wants to give you more information, she will.”

  Having taken my own words and smacked me with them, he stood to leave.

  My cheeks burned with anger and futility. Before I could stop myself, I said, “She’s pregnant, you know.”

  Boom.

  Carlos turned slowly, scarf hanging from his hand. “What did you say?”

  “Ricki’s pregnant with our child.” I cleared my throat. “I thought you and your brothers should know. I also want you to know that I’m fully committed to her. I wasn’t going to quit our relationship at your say so, and there’s no way in hell I’m leaving her now.” Carlos’s face paled as I spoke. “There are dangers,” I continued, “but we’ll manage them. I’m hunting Arnaud as we speak.”

  But was I? The meeting with the Upholders had sidelined those plans.

  Carlos grunted and finished arranging his scarf with a sharp tug. “Like I said, same script.”

  19

  Some people had a talent for getting under my skin, and Carlos was one of them. Still, I couldn’t believe I’d blurted out Vega’s pregnancy, especially after she’d made it clear she wanted to share the news selectively and on her own schedule.

  Vapor clouds blasted from my nostrils as I paced the sidewalk outside the café. It wasn’t just that I was in deep trouble with Vega; I’d betrayed her trust. And it wasn’t worth the counterpunch I’d dealt her brother.

  Not even close.

  I stopped and fished out my phone. I needed to get a jump on Carlos, make sure Vega heard it from me first. I wasn’t even thinking damage-control—the situation was beyond that. How Vega chose to react, I deserved.

  When I reached her voicemail, I left a “call me” message and clapped my phone closed. Besides gett
ing under my skin, Carlos had also gotten into my head. If I’d been curious about Tony’s father before, I was now borderline obsessed. To be honest, that was the other reason I’d wanted to talk to her.

  Act three: come to her senses before it’s too late and send the man to prison.

  What in the hell could have happened that Vega would harbor a felon and then turn on him? I was returning the phone to my pocket, lost in the question, when I felt the envelopes with the letters to Caroline.

  “Oh, yeah,” I muttered.

  I still had the damned fae thing to negotiate.

  Stopping at the mailbox I’d been pacing around, I dropped in the envelope addressed to Caroline’s P.O. box. Who knew if or when it would reach her, but that was why I’d prepared a second letter. I batted that envelope against my hand a few times in silent debate, then hailed a cab.

  “East Seventieth and Fifth,” I told the driver.

  Found you.

  I peered up the stone staircase that ended at an emerald-green door. The first time I’d come looking for the fae townhouse, I had nearly missed it, a susurration of enchantments blending it into its immediate neighbors. But two years on, I was a more powerful magic-user, my senses better attuned to subtle energies.

  I was a little smarter too. Pulling a stoppered potion from my pocket, I activated it with an incantation and drank it down. Moments later, a warm neutralizing field took hold around me. Drawing a breath, I climbed the steps and rapped on the door. The contact sent out faint tendrils of fae magic that explored my protection before falling away. Two years earlier, that bit of contact had knocked my magic offline for hours.

  When no one answered, I knocked again and peered up the narrow edifice.

  The townhouse was larger than it appeared from the outside. According to Caroline, it contained a strategic portal to the fae realm. Its sister portal was downtown, inside Federal Hall. Following Caroline’s marriage to Angelus, her family controlled both portals, so I was betting she still came and went through them. Not that I expected her to be here. I just wanted the letter delivered to her in person.