“Hey, Dad,” Cy said as Jazz pulled up a search engine and typed in the name of the town. “Do you know what Alaska has? Polar bears.”
“Oh, right. They sure do,” I said, trying to make my grimace look like a smile. Any kind of bear scared the hell out of me, and I was pretty sure I’d heard somewhere that polar bears were the biggest, and therefore the scariest.
“Yeah, we’re learning about them in school, and I looked up more stuff about them online. They’re nature’s killing machines,” Cy went on, oblivious to the way the color drained from my face. “Did you know that they can weigh more than a thousand pounds and eat fifteen percent of their weight at a time? They could eat a whole person!”
“Heh. That’s … great,” I said weakly. I probably could’ve been happy for the rest of my life not knowing that.
“Also, their fur isn’t really white. It’s see-through, and their skin is black. So I bet you could hardly even see them at night,” he said. “That means they can probably go invisible like us and sneak up on people. Isn’t that cool?”
“Uh, yeah. Really cool.”
“Polar bears are awesome,” he said with a happy sigh as he flopped back on the couch. “If you see any polar bears, can you take a picture for me?”
I cleared my throat. “Sure I will,” I said, desperately hoping I wouldn’t get anywhere near close enough to a polar bear to take a picture. Maybe I could find a polar bear poster in a gift shop or something, if they had gift shops in Silvak.
Provided this Silvak place actually existed.
“I might have something here,” Jazz said. When I looked at her, she gave me a knowing smirk. “Don’t worry, it’s not a polar bear.”
“Good, because polar bears aren’t reflective,” I said.
“Actually, they are,” Cy piped up. “That’s why they look white. Their fur reflects sunlight and stuff.”
Interesting as that fact was, there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d try to step into Alaska through a polar bear. “I think I should try to find something a little flatter than a bear,” I said, smiling before I turned back to Jazz. “What do you have?”
She tilted the laptop toward me. “The Igloolik Pit Stop,” she said. “I think.”
On the screen was an entry in somebody’s travel blog, with a date of June 2008. It was accompanied by a photo of an aluminum-sided building almost as big as a warehouse, with a couple of neon beer signs flanking a solid steel door that read IGLOOLIK above it. Of course, I couldn’t see a single window in the picture.
The title of the blog entry was Why You Should Never Ask for Directions in Silvak.
“Great. That sounds promising,” I said, shaking my head as I scanned the text. Whoever wrote it had been on vacation in Alaska and accidentally found this bar, but said it wasn’t a good place for tourists. Apparently the locals didn’t like people asking questions. About anything. “Uh, can you scroll down?” I asked. “Maybe there’s more photos.”
Jazz tapped on the laptop’s touch pad a few times, and the screen jerked down a few times. The top of an image slid into view. She scrolled further and revealed a photo of a closet-sized room with a rusted toilet surrounded by a brownish puddle on the floor, yellowed and mildew-spotted tile walls, a cracked sink with a chunk missing out of it, and a cloudy mirror that was maybe three by three feet hanging crookedly above the sink.
The caption beneath the picture said: The bathroom they make out-of-towners use at the Igloolik. Stinks like a sewer!
“Well, I guess that’s our way in,” I said, already close to gagging at the imagined smell. “Thanks, Jazz. Can you save that photo?”
“If you really want me to.” She wrinkled her nose as she right-clicked on the picture and downloaded it to the laptop. “Maybe I should keep looking,” she said. “I mean, that is nasty. And it sounds like the people there kind of suck.”
“Luckily, we’re not going to hang out at the bar,” I said. “We just have to find this Nate guy.”
“Yeah, and then what?”
“Uh …”
Before I could explain that I wasn’t really sure what we were supposed to do besides help the Annukhai cast some big spell, the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it!” Cy shouted, scrambling down from the couch and running across the living room. He threw the door open and beamed at Ian and Akila. “Hey, guess what?” he said. “Dad’s going to take a picture of a polar bear for me while you guys are in Alaska.”
“Is he, now?” Akila said, returning his smile as she walked in with Ian trailing behind her. “That sounds very exciting. I have always found polar bears quite beautiful.”
“Yeah, they’re just nature’s beautiful, furry, thousand-pound killing machines,” I muttered. “Can’t wait to meet one.”
Jazz elbowed me gently. “Come on, tough guy. Polar bears are probably the last thing you’ll have to worry about up there.”
Right. At least according to some random stranger’s travel blog, the locals in Silvak were meaner than the bears. So I guessed I had that to look forward to.
Cyrus led Ian and Akila across the room, chatting away about polar bears and how awesome and deadly they were the whole time. I thought Ian looked a little green around the gills by the time they reached the couch. At least I wasn’t the only one trying not to think about becoming a polar bear’s dinner.
Jazz set the laptop on the coffee table, and we both got up. “So where’s your stuff?” I said. “I thought you wanted to leave right away.”
Ian frowned. “What stuff?”
“You know.” I pointed to my packed duffel bag at the end of the couch. “Clothes, gear … stuff. I mean, you’re not even wearing a shirt.” Not that he ever did. Ian had multiples of exactly one outfit — boots, pants, vest, and duster, all in varying shades of brown. He claimed that shirts were uncomfortable, but I suspected he just liked showing off his muscle tone and tats.
He folded his arms. “And?”
“And, we’re going to freakin’ Alaska,” I said. “It’s cold. Even in June.”
“I will be fine. I have fur.”
Terrific. So he’d just turn into an oversized wolf every time he needed to warm up. That’d probably go over big with the locals.
It also left me out of the furry warmth equation. Shape-shifting was a djinn thing. They could only transform into their clan animals, but their forms were a lot bigger than their earth counterparts. Akila had a hawk form the size of a condor, and Ian’s wolf could look me directly in the eyes while he stood on all fours.
“Fine, whatever,” I said. “I don’t have fur, so I’m bringing shirts. I’ve got extra in case you change your mind.”
“I will not change my mind,” he said.
Didn’t I know it. Stubborn was pretty much Ian’s middle name.
Jazz opened the photo she’d found of the filthy bathroom, and both Ian and Akila recoiled at the sight. “Is that our only option?” Ian said.
I shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much. The Igloolik doesn’t have any exterior windows, and Silvak isn’t even on the map. The pickings are pretty slim here.”
“Indeed,” Ian said dryly. “I suppose I will go first.”
Our living room mirror was a full-length, freestanding model with a heavy frame positioned behind the television. Ian and Akila moved toward it, and I hung back a minute to say my goodbyes. “Be good for your mom, okay?” I said as I crouched in front of Cyrus. “I don’t know how long this is going to take, but I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
“I’m always good.” Cy grinned and threw his arms around my neck, and I hugged him tight. “Love you, Dad,” he said. “Don’t forget about the polar bears.”
I’d never get tired of hearing him say that he loved me. It was the best feeling in the world. “Love you too, little man,” I said. “And don’t worry. There’s no chance I’ll forget about polar bears.”
I let go reluctantly and stood to hug Jazz. “Miss you already,” I whispered near her ear.
“Me, too.” She smiled a
nd kissed me, sending a warm jolt through my bloodstream. “Just come back in one piece, all right? With or without polar bear pictures.”
I grinned. “I can do that.”
When I headed to the back of the living room, Ian had already opened a bridge. The full-sized mirror was black and smoky, except for a three-by-three square showing a bathroom that was even filthier than the photo. “We are going to find another way back home,” Ian said gruffly, and then reached for Akila and took her hand. “Ana bahibbik,” he said with a rare, actual smile.
She smiled back. “Ana uhibbuk. Safe travels, my heart.”
“I will return soon.” He braced his hands on either side of the small opening, and then looked back at me. “Be quick, thief,” he said. “I do not wish to stay in that room any longer than necessary.”
“Yeah, I’m right behind you,” I said.
The basic bridge spell only worked for one person at a time. Once Ian climbed awkwardly through the hole, the surface of the mirror flashed dark and became an ordinary reflection again.
Hooray. It was my turn now.
With a final glance at Jazz and Cyrus, I slipped a hand in my jacket and nicked the end of my finger on the pen knife I’d sewn into the lining, then used my blood to draw the symbol for the Dehbei clan in the top right-hand corner of the mirror — a wavy vertical line, and then a dot inside a crescent. I heaved a breath at my reflection and spoke the spell. “Insha no imil, kubri ana bi-sur’u wasta.”
Low-level pain flared through me as the magic went to work and the surface of the mirror rippled and darkened. The same filthy portal opened for me, but my view was slightly different. It included Ian’s long, lanky frame crouched awkwardly on the toilet seat in the classic eek-there’s-a-mouse position, glaring at me. “Any moment now,” he growled. “The stench in here is unbearable.”
“Coming,” I said, holding back a laugh as I climbed through.
Whatever happened over there, at least it wouldn’t be boring.
Chapter 6
Sewer was too generous to describe what the tiny bathroom smelled like. Ian and I practically pushed each other out the door, into a dark space that looked like a barely used storage room. Full of dusty clutter, empty of people. That, at least, was a good thing.
“Maybe we can get out of here without being seen,” I murmured. “You know, head outside and circle around to the entrance. Like normal people.”
Ian scoffed. “I am not normal, or people,” he said, but he vanished anyway.
“You got the first part right,” I said under my breath, smirking as I went invisible.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Let’s go.”
I made my way across the room, thinking the whole time that Ian was behind me until the door I was heading for opened by itself. “Can you not move faster?” Ian whispered harshly. “I cannot tolerate this smell.”
“Yeah, I’m coming.” The stink from the bathroom was still strong, partly because of the enhanced senses I’d acquired with the soul bind. And I only had a fraction of Ian’s wolf-powered sight, sound, and smell capabilities, so I knew it was a lot worse for him. I could actually feel his revulsion, and I wanted to vomit.
I felt every strong emotion he did, and vice versa. We could even see through each other’s eyes if the feelings were strong enough.
That sucked when one of us was half-dead, but it had saved our asses a few times.
There was a hushed, semi-dark hallway on the other side of the storage room door. I let Ian stay in the lead and followed the sound of his footsteps. It wasn’t long until we came to a large, open area, almost like a barn, with sawdust on the floor and tables scattered around between poles reaching to the raftered ceiling. Toward the front was a bar, but not in the traditional sense. It was more like a corner stocked with beer and liquor on shelves and in glass-front refrigerators. And off to the right, a cleared space with a small platform behind it appeared to be a stage and dance floor, but no one was performing or dancing at the moment.
In fact, there was no one at all in the place. And I suddenly realized why.
“Well, shit.” I dropped the invisibility and frowned at the emptiness. “I forgot about the time difference.”
Ian shimmered back into sight beside me. “What time difference?”
“Between home and Alaska,” I said. “It was, what, noon when we left? So it’s probably eight in the morning here, and no bar would be open this early.”
“Humans,” Ian grumbled, shaking his head. “I will never understand why you place such importance on time.”
“Maybe because we don’t get as much of it as the djinn? There’s a pretty big life-span difference between eighty years or so, and practically forever.” I smirked at him. “Come on, let’s get out of here,” I said. “Maybe there’s a diner in this town. We could get some food and waste a few hours until this place opens.”
The entrance was locked, of course. I set my bag down, fished out my lock pick set and made short work of the deadbolt. “Wonder how cold it is out there?” I said as I replaced the set and shouldered the bag again. “I guess we’ll find out.”
When I opened the door, it was to a cool, sunny fifty-something morning. The rough parking lot in front of the Igloolik — if that’s what the big, hard patch of dirt between the building and the road was — held a beat-up sedan and a pickup truck on blocks, so boosting a ride was probably out of the question. Not that I’d planned to steal any cars. I was done with that kind of thing.
Well, unless it was an emergency.
Ian walked a few steps away and folded his arms, frowning at the landscape as I re-locked the door from the outside. No reason to let them think they’d been robbed or something. “I do not see a diner,” Ian said. “In fact, I see nothing but this building.”
I came up next to him and panned a slow gaze around, from the stand of scrub pines to the left, across the parking lot to the faded blacktop and the flat, empty field across the road, and finally to the left where a lamppost stood guard over a pile of scrap metal and splintered wood pallets. The only sound was the low whistle of a brisk breeze rattling through the pines. “Well, there has to be something else, somewhere,” I said, taking a step toward the parking area. “Nate said this was a town.”
“He said it was an outpost town,” Ian informed me, like he was proud of himself for paying more attention than me. “Is that not an old term, at least in human use? Perhaps the message was sent many years ago, and the town has moved on.”
“No, there was —” I stopped and thought about what I’d been planning to say. Was the electricity on in that place? Out here, the neon signs we’d seen in the photo and the lamppost light were dead, but that could be explained by the place being closed and it being daylight. “The coolers,” I finally said. “There’s a couple of coolers in there, and they’re running. I saw condensation on the glass and heard them humming. Somebody’s keeping the lights on here, at least.”
Ian raised a skeptical eyebrow, and then looked toward the road. “Do you hear that?”
I listened and made out the faint sound of tires on pavement approaching. “Yeah, there’s a car coming,” I said. “Maybe we can flag it down and ask whoever it is about Nate, or where the rest of the town is, or whatever.”
“If we must,” Ian said in a resigned tone.
I decided not to mention what the blog entry where we’d found the photos of this place said about people in Silvak being opposed to answering questions.
We were halfway across the parking lot when the vehicle came into view, a light brown late-model Crown Vic with tire chains. The blinker came on, the car slowed and pulled into the lot — and my years of law-enforcement-sensing instincts, entirely outside of any magical ability, kicked in.
“Crud. Ian, that’s a cop,” I said quietly, looking around as if a hiding spot or a place to run would materialize out here in the middle of nowhere while the car rolled toward us. “Do not disappear. He already sees
us.”
Ian snorted. “Really, thief. If you think I have any intention of surrendering to human law enforcement —”
“We’re not surrendering. Let’s just see what he wants, okay? Who knows, maybe he can help us,” I said, not believing that for a second. Cops in my experience were never helpful … but that might’ve been because of all the laws I’d broken over the years. “Oh, and pro tip? Don’t call me thief in front of this guy. It won’t go over well.”
“Fine.”
The Crown Vic stopped about fifteen feet back, and the headlights flashed on as the driver put the car in park. He opened the door and got out, leaving the engine idling as he approached with one hand resting on the gun at his hip. He was forty-something, black hair and dark eyes, wearing a tan uniform the same color as the car. The star-shaped badge on his chest almost looked like it came out of a cereal box.
Maybe they didn’t have a lot of budget for law enforcement in Alaska.
“Well, you boys sure aren’t local,” he said as he stopped a safe distance away, looking us over with a sharp gaze. “Are you lost?”
I glanced at Ian to make sure he wasn’t about to say something stupid. His mouth was shut, for now. “Not lost, exactly,” I said to the man who was probably a sheriff. Small towns didn’t bother with titles like Officer and Lieutenant — there’d be a sheriff, and sometimes a few deputies. Neither of which I was planning to shoot. “We’re supposed to meet somebody here, a guy called Nate. I guess we’re a little early,” I finished with a sheepish grin.
“Is that right,” the sheriff said, obviously not convinced. “Maybe you’re looking for Nate, maybe you’re not. But you’ve got a few problems to address here.” He nodded toward the bar. “Problem one, that building’s got a silent alarm, and it just went off.”
Damn it. I hadn’t even considered there might be a fancy alarm system in a place like this, so I didn’t bother looking for one. In the old days I never would’ve picked a lock without checking for alarms first.
Master of Elements Page 4