by Alisha Basso
“A dozen of your wizards would be willing to give up a few decades of their life?”
I nodded frantically.
He frowned. “Perhaps that could work. Certainly the purity of the sacrifice would be in our favor.”
My heart rose. “You’ll try it?”
His mouth opened. I hovered on the brink of forever.
“Very well. Yes.”
“Great!” I grabbed him by the arm, relief and hope energizing me. “Let’s get back downstairs and talk to the Chief. Oh, and you might want to lose the magic swirly eyes for a bit. Don’t want to scare the troops.”
But the Chief wasn’t in his office. In fact the whole place was like a tomb.
T-minus forty minutes. Sure, it was nearly midnight four days before Christmas, but the Center ran twenty-four/seven. Never mind where was everyone—where was anyone?
I flashed a trance with my tattoo, found two life forces on the second floor, in Special Projects. Rafe carried me up.
Wizard Specialist Smith and Planning Witch Handover were gesticulating over the ceremonial knife. A simple artifact wasn’t going to help at this point so I skipped the pleasantries. “Where’s Wenkermann?”
“With that new adept, Fantastic Francie.” Smith thrust his palms under his chest and made a buoyant motion. Catching my narrow-eyed look he cleared his throat. “I mean Adept Frankie. Linda”—he gestured at Planning Witch Handover—“and I had just discovered something potentially disturbing about this knife, and we took it to the Chief to check out. Frankie was in Wenkermann’s office. They were arguing. Wenkermann came out and told everyone to go home and to do absolutely nothing until midnight. Something about not screwing with the balance.”
“Why are you two still here?”
“The knife,” Handover replied. “There’s something strange about it.”
Rafe’s life was uppermost in my mind. “The thing is, I need Wenkermann’s help. Actually, we need lots of help, and we need more wizards.” I sketched in our predicament, basically Doom, death, and sharing the load.
After I made my plea, Handover said doubtfully, “What you suggest might work. But there’s a problem. Wenkermann is the only one who can recall the wizards.”
Smith pulled a phone from his blazer pocket. “I have his cell in my contacts. You can try that.” He recited the number.
I used a desk unit and punched the number in with a shaking finger.
The call went straight to voicemail.
“Damn it!” I slammed down the handset. “Do you know where he went?”
“Where they went,” Handover said. “He and Frankie left together.”
“Looked very chummy,” Smith said.
Handover rolled her eyes. “You mean she was hanging all over him. He wouldn’t even glance at my Secret Santa signup. Can you believe it?”
Yep. That was our number one Planner, thorough to the last detail.
“Where did they go?” I asked.
“Wenkermann keeps a little apartment thirty minutes from here,” Handover said. “I’d try there.”
“Really?” Smith raised an eyebrow at her. “How do you know about it?”
“Never mind.” Handover blushed. “It was years ago. I’ll get the address.” She spun and trotted toward the back elevators.
“They may be locked,” I called after her.
A moment later she screamed.
Rafe ran instantly toward the scream. I followed as I was able, lungs sawing. Smith strode past me just as I came in sight of the rear bank of elevators.
Handover stood at the edge of an elevator, trembling, her hands over her mouth. “It was open, on hold… That…that was just lying there on the floor.” She squeaked it.
Rafe crouched, his long fingers reaching for the heap. His eyes closed.
Smith spun away. “Damn. That explains the disturbing aura on the knife.”
I wasn’t listening. My eyes were riveted on the fallen heap.
It was Mervyn.
He lay on his back, eyes open and staring. I was puzzled why he was on the floor, what he was staring at, why he was so pale and why there was a red magic marker line on his throat…my head spun.
Rafe sprang to his feet and caught me before I fell. He helped me to sit, pressing my head between my knees. Poor Mervyn. I wanted to sob. “That…” I swallowed. “That’s how the enemy shifted the balance back.”
“After the Venus magic, yes.” Rafe’s breath was warm on my ear. “Amaia, I’m sorry. He was tortured.”
Mervyn’s pain-wracked chair.
My friend. Someone had done this to my friend. Shock gave way to rage. The enemy must have sacrificed Mervyn horribly to achieve that much power that quickly. I began to tremble. “We have to find this evil wizard. Can we find him?”
“Yes.” Rafe’s arms came around me. “I have her magical scent now.”
“Her?” I blinked, trying to make sense of what he was saying. The only thing I could think was that I’d proven the enemy wasn’t Chief Wenkermann. “I thought it was a man.”
“As did I. But the magical signature on this body…it’s definitely female.”
Female. But who…? No. Oh, no. “Not Francie. She’s only an adept.”
“Not if she’s done this.”
“My God.” Francie had killed Mervyn, my friend, my ally…and a seasoned, savvy wizard. I swallowed my sadness and anger. If I wanted to beat her, I needed to be smart. She’d taken out an experienced magus and she’d hidden her true power from me—which meant that she was subtle and strong.
And she had the Chief in her power with thirty-five minutes to go on humanity’s darkest night.
Rafe rubbed my shoulder. “I will stop her, Amaia. But I must leave now.”
“I’m coming with you.” I struggled to my feet.
His hands were there, warm on my arms. “I wish you would not.”
“You might need me.” I pulled free of his hold, swayed but caught myself. “I’m not a combat wizard but…I’ve had some training. I can at least distract her.”
His eyes on me were that deep, all-knowing glitter. “Can I stop you?”
“No.”
The glitter softened and a small, resigned smile appeared on his lips. “I knew you’d say that.”
Chapter Eight
We made it to Wenkermann’s pied-á-terre in just over twenty minutes. To my utter surprise, who should be standing at the apartment door but a long straw of a young man in oversized yellow tennies and a slightly rumpled MIB suit. Dennis Long saw us and waved.
“Oh good, you’re here.” He used one hand to push back his flop of hair. “Do you have a key for the door? It’s locked.”
“No.” I whispered, mindful of who was inside. “Why should I have a key for the Chief’s door?”
“You don’t have to whisper,” Dennis said. “Francie—she’s beautiful, isn’t she?—she said the door’s soundproofed. The whole apartment is soundproofed. She’s so wonderful. I thought you’d have a key because this is where Wenkermann does his Venus magic. Wait.” He paused, frowned, and shook his head. “How do I know that?”
Good question. “What are you doing here, Dennis?”
“I’m…well, I’m…huh. What am I doing here?” He fingered the chunky silver necklace hanging over the dimple of his tie. He leaned in and whispered, “Francie wanted me here. Isn’t she beautiful? I think…” He rubbed the necklace again. “I think Francie is ready for some sweet Dennis Long-driven Venus magic.” He rolled his hips, awkwardly, but the intent was plain. Ew.
Rafe and I exchanged a glance. Rafe sent a mental, The necklace is bespelled. No doubt how she lured him here. Try to distract him. He slid around behind Dennis.
“You can’t go inside, Dennis,” I said. “In fact, as soon as I say the word, get out of here. I can’t tell you why, but you’ll thank me.”
“But Francie’s so beautiful. I can’t leave now.”
Rafe slid a finger under the necklace. Dennis caught the movement and tw
isted to grab his wrist. “Hey, that’s mine!”
We didn’t have a lot of time and I only needed to distract Dennis long enough for Rafe to get the necklace. I blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Sex!” At the same time I pushed him off balance. Rafe, having already snared the necklace, yanked it up and off.
The moment it was free of Dennis’s body it changed color, deepening to a fiery red. Rafe dropped it with a sharp exclamation. The necklace hit the carpet with a searing sizzle. Its red chunks brightened to orange, melting, losing form, finally collapsing in a liquid rush. Almost immediately the molten metal started bubbling, vapor rising. The liquid dried up magically fast. Wisps of smoke and a burnt-black ring on the carpet were all that were left.
Dennis blinked like he’d come out of a dark room into the sun. “What am I doing here?” He blinked some more. “I…I need to go. You.” He hit me with a shockingly lucid stare. “You both need to go too.” Then his eyes started whirling and he stumbled away, moving faster and faster until he was running down the hall.
“Dennis, wait.” I started after him.
He flung over his shoulder, “She knows we’re here. All of us!” He rounded a corner and the thudding from his feet faded.
I turned to Rafe. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“I don’t like any of this.” Rafe turned his attention to the door, traced it with light fingers. “If she knew we were coming, she may very well have called Dennis to keep us occupied until it was too late.”
“Or she called him as the final sacrifice. Damn it.” I remembered Mervyn’s apprentice Mickey, his chunky silver necklace. “Those disappearing adepts. We thought they were just quitting. Somehow she got access to them, and has been using them all along. A full year of it.” I swallowed my pain. “Francie was sacrificing adepts to raise fear of the Mayan Doom.”
Paving the way for the nightmare gods, fine. Armageddon, sure. But what really pissed me off was she was killing fathers like Mervyn and young mages who were practically kids.
It struck me suddenly that this abomination had been happening under wizardly noses since before I started work at the Center. Killing adepts…and today, even before Mervyn, she must have killed someone in the two minutes I was in the Chief’s office accusing him of being the enemy. Killed that soul onsite at the Center, literally under our noses. She was downright psychopathic. “Dammit, we have to stop her. She may know we’re coming, but fuck it. Can you get us in?”
Rafe leaned toward Wenkermann’s door. Suddenly his nostrils flared and he jerked back. “I can get me in.”
“What? No. I’m not waiting outside. We’ve been over this.”
“That was before I scented the magic in there. It’s foul.” A shudder ran through him. “I won’t subject you to that. You will wait here.”
Stubborn-ass jinni. True, I wasn’t a combat mage; I had the coursework but not the honing of constant drill. But I could still throw things. Fight physically. Give my life if I had to. “We don’t have time for this, Rafe. We have to move in before Francie completes the spell.” I thought of my friends. How being together made us better, stronger. “Besides, I don’t want you doing this alone. Since there’s no one else here, I’m it. You go with me or not at all. Open the door.” At his scowl I raised my knuckles. “I’ll just knock, then.”
“Damn it, Amaia.” Rafe silently popped Wenkermann’s door lock.
Well, far out. Made him swear.
He cracked the door. A burnt-hair odor bit my nostrils, the destroyer magic strong enough for even me to smell it. I covered my nose, nodded at him to open the door more fully. He nudged it open with his foot. I tensed against a cry of discovery or ambush.
Nothing. No one jumped us or even raised an alarm. Cautiously, we slipped in.
We were in a living room, décor courtesy of Torquemada and the Spanish Inquisition. The walls were the color of half-dried blood. Cast iron gargoyles littered the tables and shelves. A clock—embedded in an iron maiden—sat in one corner. Life-sized pictures of the missing adepts hung from the walls, framed in stone, decorated with feathers, pearls, and Mayan glyphs.
Oh, she was clever. She’d used Mayan trappings to attach the fear to the Mayan Doom. I wondered how she’d managed to hide it from the Chief. Some sort of obfuscation spell no doubt, like the tricks she’d pulled on me.
The miasma of wrongness was so thick I could barely breathe. “Rafe. You find the Chief and have him start some counter-magic. I’ll find Francie and stop whatever she’s doing.”
“No.” His eyes sparked the elemental black of deadly storms. “I’m not letting you confront her alone.”
“We don’t have time to argue. Just—”
“Gods damn it, Chief. This is it!”
We shared a horrified look. Rafe broke into a run. I stumbled after him into the bedroom.
Chief Arnie Wenkermann was manacled spread-eagled on a red satin bed, his glasses askew on his face.
Francie Frankie was sacrificing him—with Venus magic.
Sweet retrograde Zodiac, she was humping him like a kangaroo on crack. It was almost funny, especially with her basketballs bouncing like, um basketballs.
Until I caught the glint as she raised a ritual knife.
The overhead light sparked off the obsidian blade. She chanted as she lifted it above her head.
This was bad. This was very bad. Venus and blood magic entwined—she was working a braided spell. Each reinforced and augmented the other, thickening the resistance of both. They were complicated and hard to break and I saw immediately I was screwed on just interrupting.
Sure, I could pull her off Wenkermann to sever the physical connection, but even without joined genitals she could induce her own orgasm and complete the Venus portion of the spell.
And if she cut him as I yanked her off? Instant blood for the destruction part.
I considered using magic on her. She apparently didn’t know I was here. A shove on the ethereal might derail her climax. Although it wouldn’t help with the knife.
Maybe both together. Knock her magically from the orgasm while knocking her physically off Wenkermann. I wouldn’t need much magic to throw off her concentration, and my personal well would have regenerated some.
But physically…I considered her. Francie was taller than me, even without her platforms shoes, and heavier. Yet with the element of surprise, using the full force of my body, I could probably shove her off. Although I’d have to come at her from behind, which could push the knife right into Wenkermann’s face, but any other angle of attack, and she’d see me coming and slice the Chief before I could hit her.
All that thinking, planning. I’d forgotten that Rafe was Mr. Instant Jinni. He was already on top of her, hands clamping her descending wrists. He had both the element of surprise and his inhuman speed and strength.
He stopped her from cutting Wenkermann.
Unfortunately that left me to counter the Venus spell. Moment of truth—would jinni-induced orgasms or lack of combat training leave me impotent in a crisis? I raised my hand, stared at my taijitu, and called my peace.
Nothing happened.
My heart thumped and my breath rasped in my ears. I stared at my tattoo in disbelief.
Francie hissed at Rafe. “You think you can stop me? I knew you were coming. And I still am coming!”
Her Venus power billowed, so strong I could almost feel it even though I wasn’t on the ethereal. Damn, she was strong, and I had nothing.
I panicked. I couldn’t do this. If only I’d followed my parents, become a combat mage…but without the drill, the rigorous training…no wait.
I had trained rigorously. I’d worked diligently over the years in meditation to achieve the perfect trance.
Relax. Breathe. Center.
Like sinking into a pool of water, the racket of her shrieks and my respiration muted, then faded into silence. I was in that quiet place where I was able to exercise my own constructive energies.
What I saw
nearly knocked me out again. Even without completing the sacrifice, Francie was wielding huge forces, not a bubble of power so much as a hot air balloon. She’d hit her pre-orgasmic plateau and was stretching it to gather the maximum energies. It wasn’t a question of if she’d orgasm, it was a question of when. The longer she drew this out the more power she’d have.
I went to my well of magic, cast the bucket, and drew it up. To my relief, the bucket was full. Time and the Venus magic with Rafe had partially restored my energies.
I spun my power up as a ruby arrow. With a wave of my hand, I shot it into her balloon.
The arrow hit. It went in without puncturing, a deepening point like a pencil pushed into rubber. I willed my arrow to go further, deeper, far enough to pierce her magic, to blow it wide open to disperse harmlessly.
But Francie’s magical force compressed, slowing the arrow, stopping it, then snapping it in reverse. I stood there as it flew into me, smacking me so hard that I was physically thrown, pitched off my feet in both real and ethereal space.
I struck the wall with a thud, losing my concentration and falling from my trance.
“Amaia!” Rafe’s voice was sharp with fear. “Are you all right?”
Dizzy, I lay there a moment as the room spun around me. At the edges of my awareness rippled a power that I could feel even outside of trance, Francie’s orgasm rising like a geyser, splashing out in ever-widening waves of malignant energies.
“Who’s the Master now, Amaia Jones?” Francie chortled, pure malice, no hint of the crazy, high-pitched doll’s laugh. I gritted my teeth. She’d used the whole naïve persona to make me underestimate her.
I didn’t bother to answer her. “Rafe. Get her off him.” I flashed my taijitu and regained my center. Since my ruby arrow hadn’t worked to puncture her magic, I’d try to contain it instead.
I opened my consciousness wide, spreading it around the welling destruction, like throwing a billowing silk bag. I’d gotten her maybe halfway surrounded when the leading edge of her Venus magic hit.
It wasn’t the main show yet it nearly flattened me. Her magic rolled over me like wild cattle.