Bookburners: Season One Volume Two

by Max Gladstone

  “Or forever,” Sal offered, to break the uncomfortable silence. “If you blow it out and no one relights it.”

  “Right.”

  “So you trust Menchú,” Sal said.

  “I trust all of you,” Grace said, bringing her focus back to the conversation. “Although Liam doesn’t know yet. I’d probably trust him to do the right thing if he had to.”

  “‘Probably?’” Sal asked.

  Grace nodded. “Liam knows something is different about me. We don’t talk about it. But he. . .” She frowned, looking for the words. “. . . he has a bad history with magic. Very bad. The truth would hurt him. As it stands, he knows there’s something wrong with me, but he is good at compartmentalizing.”

  “Yeah, but he’d deal if you came clean,” Sal said, waving her hand in an attempt to sound eloquent. “Your candle isn’t just another spell that can go wrong, like Delphi.”

  “There’s more to magic than harmful and harmless,” Grace said. “It’s complicated. Liam knows that, and fears what he doesn’t understand.”

  Sal thought of their last real conversation, and felt a twinge in her chest.

  “I know you care for him. Or cared for him,” Grace said. “But he’s damaged.”

  “We all are,” Sal reminded her. “So much for Liam. And everyone who knows your secret is on Team Three?”

  “A few higher-ups know, but I don’t trust them. I’d never leave the team—not while Arturo is alive, anyway. I’m in his debt; he saved me from eternity in a box.”

  “The debt thing comes in a lot, I guess,” Sal said, thinking of Perry, and of Liam waking up among the wires, missing two years of his life.

  “It’s a powerful motivator, if you have any sense of honor,” Grace said.

  “How many times have you saved Menchú’s life?” Sal asked. “I know I’ve seen a couple.”

  “Three hundred and forty-seven,” Grace said.

  Sal blinked. “I was being rhetorical. I didn’t know you kept score.”

  “Numbers and precision come naturally to me,” Grace said, shrugging. “I don’t expect payback. I just keep track of things. I know how many times I’ve genuinely feared for my life, for example.” Another Bellini arrived, and she looked thoughtfully at the bubbles breaking on the orange surface. “And I know how many minutes I have left.”

  Sal’s head snapped up. “You do? How many?”

  Grace took a long drink, then looked at Sal with a level gaze. “I’ll tell you when you tell me how many minutes you have left in your life.” Then she laughed. “I’m just joking. I don’t really know for sure. But the look on your face was great.”

  Sal laughed, unsure whether Grace was really joking after all. “Have you ever taken these days off with anyone else? Menchú?”

  “I’d rather not talk about him anymore.”

  “I thought you were doing math tricks,” Sal said. “Were we talking about him?”

  Grace stared at her row of empty champagne flutes. “I was. But I’m done now.”

  Shit. Grace was going morose. She had to get Grace sober and cheered up. Their food arrived, and Sal asked the waiter to bring Grace a big glass of water, and to keep that coming instead of the champagne.

  “So what are we doing next?” she asked around a mouthful of pastry. “I kinda feel like drunk-texting Liam, but I’m betting that’ll piss him off.”

  “He’s fun to poke,” Grace allowed. “More fun to hit.”

  Sal laughed. “Not sure I’m up for sparring with him. At least not until the breakup is a bit more in the past. That could get ugly.”

  Her pocket buzzed and she fumbled for her phone. “Speak of the devil,” she said, then regretted the euphemism. “Text from Liam.”

  “What’s he say?” Grace asked around a mouthful of cheese pastry.

  The text said: Local shit going down. Thinking some sort of time artifact, followed by an address.

  Sal wiped her mouth and half-rose from the table. Her head spun and she sat back down again. Grace raised an eyebrow, seeming to have regained her usual self-control. “How is Liam?”

  “He says there’s some magic going down nearby,” Sal said.

  “He’ll be fine,” Grace said.

  Sal opened her mouth to argue, but reread the text. It sounded like every other text he’d sent about Team Three: matter-of-fact, calm, and informative. There was no sense that the world was about to end, no sense that he was frightened. No sense that he even needed her. Them, she reminded herself. Her and Grace. Liam wasn’t blaming her for not being there. She rubbed her head to try to shake the buzz. This was an it’s-time-to-go-to-work message, nothing more.

  And Menchú had ordered her to take the day off.

  She slipped the phone back into her pocket. “So, you’re Liam’s sparring partner,” she prompted. Grace nodded, grinning, and began to tell a story about the time Liam broke her nose.

  A fourth Bellini arrived, and another platter of pastry. So much for sobering up. Sal finally began to relax.

  • • •

  Place: The alley outside Maestri del Tempo

  Time: 10:28:02 a.m.

  For the fourth time, Liam pulled his phone out to check for texts. Nothing from Sal. He swore, and dropped it into his backpack.

  He stood with Menchú and Asanti in an alley outside a dilapidated shop. The building was clearly more than a hundred years old, with cloudy windows that hadn’t been cleaned in ages, and ancient wood that had never been replaced.

  Liam tried to get more information about the shop and clockmaker online. He found one Google review of the shop (three stars, the clock was fixed but the owner was rude) and nothing else. “This woman isn’t even on the grid,” he said to the others. “It’s like she doesn’t exist in the new millennium.”

  “Yes, because email is all that makes you whole in the eyes of God,” Menchú said over his shoulder.

  “You want me to do my job or not?” Liam asked sourly. “I got some information about time artifacts. Surprise, they alter time. Either slow it down or speed it up.”

  “Anything that helps someone walk through time?” Asanti asked.

  “No one has invented a time machine yet,” Liam said. “Not to say that a few cultists in Arizona aren’t trying.” He glanced away from his laptop. “Hey, why aren’t you going in? Is the owner in the shop?”

  “She’s there,” Menchú said, peering through the dirty window. “So is a younger man with a scarred face. They’re not moving.”

  “What, are they dead?” Liam asked, closing his laptop and putting it into his backpack.

  “No, she’s sitting upright at her table with all her tools and clocks,” Menchú said. “He’s next to her, looking like he’s about to hug her. They’re just not moving.”

  Liam joined them and squinted through the window. The woman was indeed sitting at her table, working on a clock, but she looked like a mannequin, or a paused television show. She focused intently on her job, she just didn’t move. The clock she worked on was brass and gold. Liam couldn’t see the face, as it had been removed so that the clockmaker could get at the guts of the thing, but it looked fancy and expensive.

  But the man . . . “That’s not a hug,” Liam said. “He’s attacking her.”

  “You’re right,” said Asanti. “We have to do something.”

  “Do you think the clock is the artifact?”

  Asanti shook her head. “No. Look at the tool she’s using.” Beside the clock sat a tool made of what looked like gold. It had a large wheel attached to many smaller parts, reminding Liam of an old film projector. But there was no film here, just gears and an unearthly glow that pulsed slowly, like a heartbeat.

  Menchú sighed. “I hate artifacts,” he said.

  “At least it doesn’t look violent,” Asanti said. “Not Grace-level violence, anyway.”

  “I really miss Sal’s deductive skills right now,” Menchú said, but when Asanti put her hands on her hips, he added, “but we’ll make do withou
t. Liam, do we have anything to go on yet?”

  Liam rolled his eyes and got his laptop out again. “Nothing. Let me see what my mates in antiques have to say.”

  • • •

  After another half hour, no one had thought of anything, and the people inside still hadn’t moved. Menchú stood. “I’m going in.”

  Liam closed his laptop and looked at his mentor. “It’s a bad idea, but I don’t have a better one. Godspeed you, black emperor.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t worry about it. Do you want backup?”

  Menchú nodded. “You follow me in. Asanti, keep watch out here. Text Sal if things get dicey.”

  Asanti nodded, and Liam stashed his backpack in the van. Menchú took hold of the door handle, pushed, stepped inside the shop, then stopped.

  “What’s wrong?” Asanti asked him.

  Menchú didn’t answer, or even move. He seemed frozen entirely. Liam reached in to touch him, but Asanti slapped his hand away. “It’s caught him. Let’s not have it catch you too.”

  “Is he frozen?”

  “No.” Asanti pointed above Menchú’s head where the bell hung, knocked aside by the door. Where it should have been swinging and ringing to announce Menchú’s entrance, it hung nearly on its side, mid-swing, the clapper almost reaching the side of the bell but not quite. “Listen,” Asanti whispered. If they watched very closely, they could see the clapper move, millimeter by millimeter, toward the edge of the bell. When it struck, it made a muffled ring that lasted much longer than a normal bell ringing should have. “He’s moving, just—slowly. How long will it take him to reach the artifact at this rate?”

  Liam did some calculations on his phone. “He’s doing about a millimeter a second,” he said. “So if the effect is constant, he’ll reach the clockmaker in . . . around five days. We may want to do something before then.”

  “At least Grace would be free.”

  “What do you want her to do,” Liam asked. “Punch really slowly?”

  “Fair point. Our options are: Return to the library and do research, but I don’t like leaving them alone. We could call Sal and get her take. We could call in Team One—”

  “Team One? I’m not sure shooting very slow bullets will do much good,” Liam said. “We have no idea what effect they’ll have on the artifact. Could just make matters worse.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “We could pull him out.”

  Asanti paused. “That’s . . . direct.”

  “Can you think of any reason not to?”

  “You could get caught in the same time field.”

  Liam waved his hand dismissively. “Nah. Here.” He motioned for Asanti to join him. Together they reached for Menchú’s arm, still close to the doorframe, and—yanked. Menchú was heavier than he had any right to be, but he did ease out, and the more of him that emerged from the store, the faster he came, until he stumbled out entirely and went sprawling on top of Liam.

  “What did you do that for?” he asked, rubbing his hip where he had landed.

  “You don’t remember?” Asanti asked, who had neatly avoided the falling men.

  “Remember what? I walked in and you yanked me back out.”

  “Check your watch,” said Liam, and then pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’ll bet it’s a few minutes behind ours.” So that they might stay on top of Grace’s anal-retentive timetable, everyone on the team had perfectly synchronized clocks and watches.

  Liam pointed to his phone’s clock, which said 11:45 a.m. Menchú’s watch said 11:41. “See?”

  “So time slows inside,” Menchú said thoughtfully.

  Asanti squinted at the sky, and then looked at the shadows in the alley. “Nearly noon? In midsummer? The light’s wrong.”

  Liam went to his bag and pulled out his laptop. It said 2:31 p.m. “Shit. The internet’s three hours ahead of us. The shop’s inside a bubble. And it’s growing.”

  “I’m calling this an emergency,” Menchú said. “Bring in Sal.”

  3.

  Place: Starsi Discount Theater

  Time: 12:00:08 p.m.

  There was a local theater that specialized in cheap blockbusters a couple of months old, and Grace wanted to spend some of her day off on a kung-fu flick.

  Sal was looking down at the ticket as she walked forward, but bumped into Grace’s back right outside the movie doors.

  “What’s up?” she asked, regaining her balance.

  Grace didn’t turn around, but she stood, rigid. “We are being followed.”

  Damn champagne. Sal should have known they shouldn’t have relaxed. “Who?”

  “Vatican,” Grace said, her jaw clenched. “They are keeping tabs on their asset.”

  “Okay. Let’s go inside and—” Sal wasn’t able to continue, as Grace had turned and dashed away.

  “Damn,” Sal said. She turned and followed Grace.

  Grace turned out to be right, if running away while being chased meant that you were guilty of something, because someone was definitely running from Grace. He moved with calm deliberation, as if he didn’t care they were chasing him, as he hightailed it away from them. Sal swore and ran faster.

  He wasn’t from the Vatican.

  Grace saw as much when she chased him down an alley and tackled him, trapping his arms behind his back and pushing his face into the asphalt. She grabbed his hair and pulled his head back.

  “Wait, who the hell is this?” she asked. “Did the Vatican hire you?”

  Sal stared stonily at Grace’s captive. Even trapped on the ground, arms and head pulled in painful angles, he still managed to look serene. So annoyingly comfortable in any position.

  Aaron.

  “They did not hire me, Grace,” he said. “I needed to talk to Sal. Business.”

  Grace dropped him back to the ground and stood up. “This piece of garbage is for you? What the hell did he interrupt my day off for?”

  “I have no idea,” Sal said. She put her hands on her hips. “But I think we should hear him out.”

  Grace walked past Sal without a glance. “You hear him out. I have a movie to watch. If you want to enjoy your day off, tell the bastard to come back tomorrow. You want to be a slave to work, then listen to him now.” With that, she was gone.

  Sal glared at Aaron. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Aaron gestured toward a delivery box that sat outside a door in the alley. He offered the cardboard box as a seat as if he were guiding Sal to a velvet couch. “Thank you for coming. We need to talk.”

  Sal stayed where she was. He sat on the box instead and faced her.

  “Your phone is broken?” she asked.

  He raised one perfect eyebrow. “I’m sorry?”

  “Clearly you know about Grace’s day off. So you’re following us for some reason instead of using a more human means of communication. Stalking and goading women into attacking you is your way of sending a message? I thought you were supposed to be one of the good guys?”

  “While it’s fine to cyberstalk her and then break into her room to uncover her secret?” he asked, smiling.

  “Shit, is there anything you don’t know?” Sal asked, collapsing against a wall and crossing her arms.

  He didn’t answer that. He simply smiled. She waited, and finally he said, “I had to speak with you today. And you’re a hard woman to contact.”

  Sal waved her phone at him. “You know what this is, right? You’ve used it before.”

  “I have texted you several times,” Aaron said. His patience infuriated her. “I have tried to call your apartment. Your cell phone. I can’t get through. Why do you think that is?”

  Sal threw her hands up in frustration. “I don’t know, shitty Italian cell service?”

  “Possibly,” he said. “I wanted to talk to you. If I had contacted you when you were working, you wouldn’t have left a job and put the team in jeopardy to come meet me. If I had tried to call you today during Grace’s day
off, you wouldn’t have met me, out of respect for her.”

  “How did you know Grace would leave us alone?” Sal asked. “She could have stayed and made this difficult for you.”

  Aaron raised an eyebrow. “She’s not that hard to figure out. She holds two things sacred in life. One of them is this day.”

  “You are a deeply creepy individual. And you have fifteen minutes before I leave.”

  He nodded once and started to speak.

  • • •

  Since Grace wasn’t around to scold her, Sal texted Asanti and Liam before she entered the theater. She put the phone on vibrate and went back into the theater to join Grace.

  The matinee was relatively empty. Grace sat in the center of the theater, a super-expensive tub of popcorn, a box of candy, and a vat of soda within reach. Sal noticed identical snacks sat on the seat beside Grace, waiting for her.

  She’d only missed the previews and credits. She picked up her snacks and slid in next to Grace.

  “Sorry about that,” she whispered.

  “Shh,” Grace said, looking at the screen. “Quiet.”

  “Do you want to know what he wanted?” Sal asked.

  “Not even a little bit. Tell me tomorrow if you have to.”

  Sal opened her mouth again, but Grace shushed her before she could speak. Impressive, as her friend hadn’t looked at her. She sighed and tried to enjoy the movie and not think about Aaron. Or the fact that Asanti and Liam hadn’t gotten back to her.

  They finished the movie, Grace breaking her own speaking embargo with eager commentary about the historical accuracy and her derision of the flashy martial arts moves.

  “Just punch him! So much can be done with just a freaking punch!” she yelled at the screen. Sal stifled a laugh.

  When it was done, Grace’s soda was gone, and she was in desperate need of a trip to the bathroom. Sal joined her and checked her phone as Grace was washing up.

  “Shit,” she said.

  “I know that ‘shit,’” Grace said. “That’s a Liam ‘shit.’”

  “A ‘Liam shit?’” Sal asked, confused.

  “Sure. That’s how you react when he texts you. Lately, anyway. So are you going to mess up my day off again?” She faced Sal, her face impassive.