"Dakota?" she said, twisting her cane until it brightened like a sun again.
"Beh-behindyou," I croaked.
The dark hooded figure I had seen in Purgatory stepped up behind her and stretched forth his hand, and simply said: "See."
Jinx screamed and held her hand in front of her eyes, tossing her cane away as if blinded by its light. She whirled, and the hooded figure stretched out his arm and clotheslined her, and she fell back to the ground in a little heap.
I tried to get to my feet, as the hooded figure stepped to the rail.
"Let's simplify this problem," he said, stretching forth his hand. "Sleep."
40. SACRIFICIAL LAMB
Icy cold water splashed over me, and I screamed, bucking. I was awake, cold, and in pain, hunched over in a kneeling position, my head pressed to a stone surface before me. I tried to sit up, and found my hands bound together with wire, fixed tight to a steel ring set into the stone. My legs pulled apart by something similarly tight and sharp. And as the water ran down over me, I realized in utter terror that but for my steel collar, I was completely naked.
"Oh, God," I said, looking up to see a box covered in tattooed skin.
I was on the main stage of Hell, tied to a flat stone disk. I'd never seen it at the Masquerade before; it was new. Before me, the dark hooded figure stood, vigilant, one hand resting on the box, that horrible box covered with tattoos ripped from their owners. His other hand held a silver knife. Beside him Transomnia stood, glowering, a little worse for wear but angry and alert, holding the pruners.
"Oh, God," I said. I cringed, and my terror intensified as I realized they could rape me in this hunched-over position. Then I looked again at the box, and I realized the real reason I was tied like this was probably to harvest the Dragon from my back. "Oh, God-"
"Shut up," the hooded figure said.
"Let her whine," Transomnia said. "I figure her friends ain't done-"
"Good," the hooded one said. "I'm counting on it."
Transomnia's eyes narrowed. "Are you now?"
"Yes," the figure boomed. "Though, you'd think they'd've come all at once."
My eyes caught a bit of movement, and-Oh, Lord-over to my right I could see Jinx and Cinnamon, hanging in the air, back to back, bodies making a cruel butterfly as they slumped away from the bloody nest of barbed wire that bound their arms and feet behind them. As they turned midair I saw they hung from a meathook dug into the wire. Saw blood dripping out of the barbs. Saw the drops fall onto Alex Nicholson, similarly trussed on the floor at their feet.
Oh, Lord. What had I gotten them all into? When I'd messaged Jinx, telling her what I was doing and to come get me if I didn't call back in an hour, I'd assumed she would call the cavalry-not come herself and get killed.
"Or that at least one of them would have called the police," Transomnia said thoughtfully. His eyes fell on me, and I cringed against the plate. "I was surprised you didn't call the police, Dakota. You were a good girl-"
I was going to kill him. Somehow, somehow, I was going to kill him "It wouldn't matter if she had," the dark figure laughed. "I told you, I took care of that. I'd know-but more importantly, I can stop it. Even then, I think my pup's raised enough havoc elsewhere to keep the police busy all night."
"Fair enough," Transomnia said. Suddenly he grinned down at me, and pulled a cell phone out of his pocket-my cell phone-and began thumbing through the contacts. "Not one call after I called you, Dakota, a very good girl. Is he about back?"
"Almost," the dark figure said, and my stomach lurched. I had a very, very good idea of who he meant, and it was tearing me to pieces. "What do you have in mind?"
"To speed things up," Transomnia said, reaching down and jerking my face up so I faced my phone. "Smile for the camera, Dakota," he said.
"Fuck you," I replied.
"I'll pass, thanks," he said, looking back at the dark figure. "I'd be second in line, after all, and I prefer unspoiled meat."
My eyes widened in terror, and Transomnia took the picture.
"Perfect, perfect," he said, smiling as he hit send. "Just the look I want."
He leaned back and showed the picture to the hooded figure, who nodded.
"You have a great eye," the figure said. "As always, you truly are an artist."
"Thank you," Transomnia said, with a small bow. He winked at me as he bent down, and I looked away again. "Don't fret, little one," he said, reaching down to tousle what was left of my hair, making me flinch, and him giggle. "It will all be over in-"
And then what had been the service door of the Masquerade exploded, showering Hell with shards of corrugated metal and sparks.
"Oh, if only help would arrive!" Transomnia said, grinning. "That was fast-"
"At last," the hooded figure said, reaching out and pulling a staff into his hands with nothing more than the force of his will. "At last. He's here."
Lord Buckhead stood in the shattered door in his man-stag form, North Avenue behind him. His huge antlers cut through the upper ridge of the doorway like a hot metal knives as he strode under it. The matching antlers on his staff began to crackle with power, and the feathered skull between them glowed with a warm, green light.
His alien eyes swept over Transomnia, over me, and his brow wrinkled with rage. But then he saw the hooded figure beside me, his eyes widened, his forward charge halted, and his deer's mouth opened. "The Archmage."
The figure beside me tensed slightly, drawing in a breath. I expected some kind of banter, some kind of taunt; but the two figures just stared at each other.
Then Buck snorted and he swaggered into the room. I knew that look. I owned that look. It was bravado. Half of me felt flooded with relief that even Lord Buckhead resorted to bravado when facing a serial killer-and the rest of me was batshit terrified.
"You should never have come here," Buckhead's deep voice boomed. He extended his arms, and a small army of coyotes, hawks and smaller creatures began slipping through the door behind him. "I do not permit necromantic rites in my domain."
"You don't permit?" the 'Archmage' asked. Casually he swept his silver dagger across my right forearm, and I cried out in pain. He jammed the bloody blade into a socket in his staff, just beneath its skull and crossbones, and it began to glow a deep, ominous red. "I'd wager you didn't permit skyscrapers in your domain, but humans built them anyway."
"I do not begrudge the humans their hives," Buckhead said.
"Really? How… magnanimous of you," the Archmage said, and I could hear a glimmer of genuine appreciation. Then the glimmer turned to sarcasm. "And wise. One should never begrudge the success of those one is too weak to stop."
Buckhead snorted and stepped forward, onto a design I could now see inscribed on the stage of Hell, and I panicked. "Buckhead," I croaked. "It's a trap-"
Transomnia rapped me sharply on the head, but the Archmage pushed him aside. "Give me some distance, lad," he muttered. "For this to work it must be one on one-"
"Fear not, Dakota," Buckhead said, striding into the hall with his hunt assembling around him. "Obviously it's a trap. I expected this, and will deal with this pathetic wizard."
"Pathetic?" the Archmage said. His voice, which at first had been cautious even when taunting Buckhead, now became openly mocking. "This from you, Looord of the Hunt, who once had the mammoth at your beck and call, now reduced to coyotes!"
"They serve," Buckhead said.
"They serve," the Archmage said, spreading his arms wide as Buckhead advanced upon him. "See how well they serve-facing my animal, the Wolf!"
A low guttural growl rippled through the room, like the tail end of a clap of thunder, and Buckhead and all his hunt paused.
I raised my head.
Wulf prowled into the room-eyes golden, and muzzle stained with blood.
41. HOUR OF THE WULF
"Oh, no," I moaned, as Wulf entered the room, big as a tiger, teeth stained red, snarling, driving Lord Buckhead's hunt backwards slowly. "It's not true. It
isn't true-"
"Of course it's true," the Archmage said genially. "Why do you think he was so keen to have you ink a control charm? He tried so hard to maintain control, so hard, but things kept… happening. He didn't know-I didn't let him-but obviously he needed more control."
The Archmage rapped his staff against the floor, and dozens of concentric lines of light glowed through Wulf s fur.
"It's a controlling charm," I said. "I thought it was a faded tattoo, but it's just a huge magical mark. You used skin-toned ink to hide it-"
"Pretty damn smart, Dakota," Transomnia snarked.
"No wonder you tried to have me killed," I said. "I'd have pulled it off him the moment I got him in my chair-"
"That you would have," the Archmage said. "I have no doubt. You're very powerful-"
The wolf now stood abreast of me, snarling, and Lord Buckhead's hunt began to quail. What few animals could survive in the concrete jungle no longer had the fighting spirit of the wild, and they cowered and fled from the snarling monster before them.
Buckhead had no such limitations, and stepped forward. "Alone or with an army," he said, raising his staff, "I will still defeat you."
"Bold words," the Archmage responded. "Wulfgang… eviscerate them."
Wulf advanced, snarling, past me. Nothing human remained. I wanted to cry.
"You didn't lie about your name after all, did you?" I said sadly. Wulf s eyes flickered sideways-and then he looked at me, and whined. His eyes flicked back to Buckhead, who smoothly relaxed and crossed his arms, averting his eyes, motioning his remaining followers to do the same; thus appeased, Wulf turned back to me, eyes dimming from gold to a warm, glowing green… not unlike the glow of Buckhead's staff.
For the briefest moment, I saw the real Wulf inside those eyes, and he leaned forward and licked my cheek.
"Oh, hell, you've tamed him," the Archmage said, and I heard the smooth shing of metal on metal. "Well, there's more than one way to skin a cat," he said-and plunged his silver dagger into Wulf s neck.
Wulf yelped like a kicked puppy and flinched aside, and the Archmage twisted the dagger out in a spray of blood that went over me, Transomnia, everybody.
"No, no, no-" I cried, but Wulf went down, collapsing to the side, whimpering, as the Archmage jammed his dagger back into his staff, making it blaze with evil red light.
"Fuck, boss," Transomnia said, laughing. "You're cold-" "He was at the end of his useful life," the Archmage said. "But that stray you picked up is young, strong, smart-and pretty. Perhaps I should make her my new slave-"
"Not in my domain," Buckhead growled. Electricity danced between the antlers of his staff like blue fire, and he thrust the staff at the Archmage and roared a mystic phrase that crackled with power: "Ot'iyagleya cicastakaf
Lightning leapt from Buckhead's staff, born in blazing fire between its prongs and striking the grille of the Archmage's fasces. Sparks and arcing bolts danced around the chamber, throwing Transomnia to his knees and forcing the Archmage backwards on the dais. But just when it looked like the old wizard was about to crumble, he thrust the staff upwards in the air and roared, "By Ba'alat of Gebal, fall at the feet of your lordf
The Archmage rammed the staff down into a socket in the central design, completing a circuit between the floor and horns of the altar. With a thunderclap his staff released all its mana, burning my skin like fire, knocking Transomnia flat to the floor… and piercing Lord Buckhead through the heart.
"NO!" I screamed. But Buck just slumped to the floor, his staff falling to the ground with an impotent, hollow clatter like any old piece of wood.
"Like bugs drawn to the light," the Archmage said, cloak thrown back by the force of the blaze. "All too easy."
Skin crackling with fire, crying with pain and loss, I twisted forward and craned my head up, at last seeing the face of the wizard behind this all.
My heart stopped.
It was Christopher Valentine.
42. UNVEILED, THE ARCHMAGE
"And to think, when I began stamping out rivals, it involved months or years of painstaking work-detecting, divining, even the odious art of dowsing," the Mysterious Mirabilus said to the unconscious crowd, spinning the bronze-handled, triangular-bladed silver dagger in his hand with a broad, disarming grin. "But in this 'modern' age all I need do is divine the right city, scan the yellow pages for likely practitioners, lay out a few bodies and-BAM!"
The dagger stabbed home into the altar right in front of my bound hands, and I jerked back. My hands didn't move, and I slouched back against the altar, sheltering my head between my forward-stretched arms, trying anything I could to get away from that knife-perilously aware this thrust my exposed backside into the air.
"All too easy," Mirabilus repeated, hand resting on the dagger. After a moment of silence, I glanced up cautiously and found him staring down at me. Nothing of the kindly old grandfather remained; all that was left beneath his black, pointed eyebrows were two merciless chips of ice. I was too terrified to speak.
Almost.
"Why are you doing this to us?" I whispered.
"I have always been forthcoming about my goal," he said, his genial tone belied by the cruelty in his eyes. " 'The one and only.' I am to become in truth what I claim on the stage-the last of the magicians, the last and greatest mind to look out on the world with the same eyes as those first wizards who began to see the world with greater eyes at the dawn of man."
"For the love of God-"
"Spare me this idolatry," Mirabilus said, jerking the dagger loose, spinning the altar so the world whirled around and stopping it short with a cold, clammy hand slapped on my thigh.
"Oh, God," I said, squeezing my knees together, throwing my head between my elbows and pressing myself as close as I could to the cold stone. This… disgusting old man was going to rape me before I died. "Oh, Jesus-"
"Enough," he said, and the dagger embedded itself again into the altar with a sudden ring, wobbling back and forth, slapping itself against my buttocks a few times before finally coming to rest, not touching me in any way-except I could still feel it there, a ghostly echo of cold silver and the cool smooth bumps of the jeweled guard hovering there, a ghostly threat hovering beyond sight or reach. "Do not speak the name of that Hebrew fuck again. I don't want to hear it-especially not from you. Not from a skindancer. We are the priests of Ba'al Shaman, the children of Ba'alat, you and I; keepers of the secret art, masters of the hidden flame-"
"Oh, G-," I began, and choked it off. I didn't want him to start using the dagger now. I didn't want him to start using it at all. There had to be, had to be something I could do. And then I realized: what the hell was he doing walking around after taking that bullet?
"Y-you were shot," I stammered. "You faked it. H-how did you-"
"Stalling for time by asking me how I do my tricks? Dakota, Dakota. For shame. You might as well ask how I pulled off the Dueling Mirabiluses," he said. He smiled at me, then began miming sarcastically: " 'Did he use a double?' 'Maybe he's twins? 'Or maybe triplets?' 'Is it a hidden projector?' Bah! What an endless parade of fools."
He stepped back, holding his arms wide, and two shimmering copies of himself appeared where he opened his hands. "You know the truth, Dakota. Magic is real, and I know how to use it. How did I survive the Masquerade? I was never on the stage of the Masquerade-not before tonight. I created those projectia without ever leaving my dressing room!"
"But… but…" I said, now really stalling for time. Wait-his image had gone to the hospital. "But the doctors examined you! They did bloodwork, took X-rays-"
"I could say that I'm just that good," Mirabilus said, "but why lie to you, Dakota? You're in the club. I did a simple switcheroo: I let the projectia get shot, then took its place in the ambulance. A pair of stab wounds, a little more magic, and, voila, a simulated gunshot. Didn't you hear when the X-rays came back? 'Miraculously', the bullet missed bone. It didn't hurt the illusion that those damn clods infected me with a very real bug."
And that was it. I was out of options. I looked around desperately. My friends were laid out around me like ninepins, and Transomnia was at the entrance Buck had blasted, nailing sheets of plywood over it to hide the interior of the Masquerade from the street. Maybe Doug knew where we were, if Jinx had told him-but supposedly he couldn't tell the police without Mirabilus knowing. We were fucked.
"Oh, please feel free to ask me something else," Mirabilus said, checking his watch. "I've lugged this altar across five continents. I've had many, many women on its surface. And I know stalling for time. But it's useless. The full moon is hours off yet, and I'm not yet peaked enough to sample your goods-"
I cringed on the platform, pressing my forehead to my bound hands. Oh, Jesus. Oh, Jesus. The creepy old geezer was going to rape me before stripping the skin from my body. I was fucked. Or was about to be. Oh, God And I looked aside for any help, saw Jinx and Cinnamon hanging from a hook, saw Alex and Buck laid unmoving-and then I saw that Wulf still breathed.
"Look. I… I know you want my tattoos, and maybe Cinnamon's too, if you decide not to turn her," I said. Mirabilus said nothing, so I cautiously continued. "And I know how you feel about the magicians. I won't get in the way of you eliminating your rivals-"
"Won't?" Mirabilus said curiously, putting his hand on my buttocks. "Or can't?"
I cringed again, but continued. "But you don't need to let Wulf die." I cried. "His marks are too old to harvest. He's not a magician at all. He doesn't even know what you've done to him. He served you well, even if he didn't know it. How could he possibly be a threat?"
"Wulfgang? That old Nazi bastard?" Valentine laughed. "He's no threat at all. In fact he was my favorite stalking horse-all I needed to do was plant a suggestion about a 'cure' for his 'curse', and steer him towards my target. Normally he'd dig up one or two practitioners, but this time he struck gold, I have to say. At last, he's helped me draw out my true rival."
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