chapter 15
It didn’t.
We found Sonder back in the central room, searching for us amidst the traces of the battle. I think he was under the impression that we were the ones who needed rescuing by him. I would have laughed, except I was actually pretty impressed he’d been able to follow us at all.
I put the fateweaver back on its pedestal, and Luna relocked the force barrier with the cube. It’s sat there for two thousand years, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s where it can stay.
Luna and I were nearly dead on our feet by the time we stepped out under the night sky of England. A call on the communicator brought Talisid running, who took one look at us and fetched a healer. Luna went out like a light as soon as she was treated. The life mage who mended her arm told me afterwards she was surprised Luna had been able to stay conscious, much less walk.
Starbreeze followed us part of the way back, then got distracted and flew off somewhere. I didn’t mind.
The official Council report was released a week later. It stated that a group of renegade mages had launched an unprovoked attack upon a Council research team studying an archaeological find. A volunteer force had mobilised to protect the researchers, and a battle was fought. Although there had been numerous casualties, the only mage to die was Griff Blackstone, the leader of the research team, who had been tragically killed while protecting the mages under his care. The attack appeared to have been random and unmotivated, with no organisation behind it. Several prominent Dark and Light mages were quoted as condemning the attack, stating that it demonstrated the need for greater integration. The report finished by stating that since the item had been damaged beyond repair, it would henceforth be placed in stasis.
Probably the biggest surprise from my point of view was that no one tried to blame me. In fact, the report singled me out for praise for my “heroic efforts to protect noncombat-ants.” I was invited to a ceremony where I was publicly congratulated by a low-ranking Council representative. Before and after the ceremony, I was taken aside by several less public and considerably higher-ranking Council representatives and told to keep my mouth shut, or else. I did as I was told. I was fairly sure I’d made enough enemies without going out of my way to look for more.
With the crisis over, the ones who’d been in hiding emerged again. Helikaon returned to his country house, and Arachne came back to her lair.
And I went home.
And that’s how it is.
I still run my shop in my quiet little side street in Camden. Most of the time it’s still clueless kids, but I get a lot more mages now. Ever since the affair at the museum, quite a few people seem interested in talking to me. Sonder drops by from time to time, and sometimes he brings friends.
I haven’t heard anything from Levistus or Morden, or from their servants. With the fateweaver out of play, I’m not important to them anymore. I’ve taken precautions though, and it’ll be a long time before I forget again to scan ahead for danger when I travel somewhere.
Rachel and Cinder disappeared off everyone’s radar, and I haven’t seen them since. No surprise.
For a week or so after returning I was dogged by bad luck—tripping, hitting myself, little things going wrong at the worst possible moment—all aftereffects of Luna’s curse. I didn’t complain; it was cheap at the price.
Speaking of Luna, she visits every couple of days now. She still brings me items, but that’s not her reason for coming, not anymore. Instead we go to Arachne’s lair. After all, apprentices need a place to train.
She’s started to learn how to control it, you see. That was how she was able to help me against Abithriax; she took the protection her curse gives to her and lent it to me, just for a little while. Since then, she’s begun to control the negative sides: keeping it away from people she doesn’t want to hurt, directing it where it’s safe. She can’t do it reliably yet, and her touch is still almost as deadly as ever, but for the first time she can hope that one day that might change.
And as for me? I left something behind in Abithriax’s chamber, something that had been following me a long time. And I took away something in exchange, something harder to name. Maybe a sense of purpose, maybe simply knowing who my friends are. The memories are still there, and I still don’t fit into either world, but that’s okay. There are worse things than not fitting in, worse things than having to watch your back. Rachel taught me that.
My nightmares have stopped too. Mostly.
I think sometimes about Abithriax’s claim that he could cure Luna of her curse, and I remember what it felt like to wield that power…and I think about the fateweaver, resting on that pedestal within that bubble, locked away to all but those of us who know the secret. I wonder whether I killed Abithriax, or whether he’s still there, trapped in the artifact that’s become his prison, waiting for the next mage to pick him up. But then I shake it off and go back to what I was doing.
My world’s still not a safe place to be. The proposal to appoint Dark mages to the Council was dropped, but the Dark mages are still out there, still doing what they do in their mansions, behind soundproofed walls. Not all of them stay in their mansions either. There are things that come out after nightfall that you’d do well to stay away from.
But in my little corner of the city, things aren’t so bad. So if there’s something you need help with, drop by the Arcana Emporium. It’s easy enough to find if you try. You probably won’t take it seriously at first, but that’s okay.
Seeing is believing, after all.
Unforeseen Circumstances
My precognition warned me just in time and I jerked my head back. Half a second later there was a high harmonic crack as a bullet whipped through the space that had just a moment ago been occupied by my right eye. My would-be assassin was a very good shot.
That last bit of information was enough to make me sure that I did not want to make a run for it. The ground around the tree was rolling grassland for fifty yards in every direction and I had no intention of trying my luck. I hugged the tree and waited.
Ten seconds passed, twenty. How long would the assassin stay with his sights trained on the tree? He couldn’t afford to wait forever; the more time he spent in his position the better the chance of being found. Thirty seconds. Forty. I looked into the future and saw that putting my head out wasn’t going to attract another bullet. Maybe he’d gone? No, there was another attack coming, it was—
My eyes went wide. He’s going to shoot me with a WHAT?
Praise for
FATED
“Fated is an excellent novel, a gorgeously realized world with a uniquely powerful, vulnerable protagonist. Books this good remind me why I got into the storytelling business in the first place.”
—Jim Butcher, #1 New York Times bestselling author
“Benedict Jacka writes a deft thrill ride of an urban fantasy—a stay-up-all-night read. Alex Verus is a very smart man surviving in a very dangerous world.”
—Patricia Briggs, #1 New York Times bestselling author
“Jacka deftly invents the rules of magic as he goes along, creating an emotionally satisfying story arc and a protagonist who will keep readers coming back.”
—Publishers Weekly
Ace Books by Benedict Jacka
FATED
CURSED
cursed
BENEDICT JACKA
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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CURSED
An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Ace mass-market edition / June 2012
Copyright © 2012 by Benedict Jacka.
Excerpt from Taken by Benedict Jacka copyright © 2012 by Benedict Jacka.
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ALWAYS LEARNING
PEARSON
cursed
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
chapter 1
The old factory was the kind of place you only find in the very worst parts of big cities. Its bricks had once been red, but years of grime and pollution had darkened them to a brownish-grey. The outer wall was topped with ragged coils of razor wire. The wire was rusted and full of holes that hadn’t been repaired in years, as if the owners had decided that they couldn’t keep the burglars out but might at least be able to give them tetanus on the way in.
The rest of the dead-end street was dark, empty-looking buildings and shops hiding behind steel security gratings. The gratings were covered in graffiti and it was hard to tell whether the businesses locked behind them were still open or whether they’d been abandoned too. The only shop that looked in good shape carried the triple-sphere sign of a pawnbroker’s. Behind the shops and factory was the sort of council estate where the muggers use broken bottles because they can’t afford knives.
It was only eleven o’clock and the rest of London was filled with the sounds of the city, but on the street nothing moved. The road was empty except for parked cars. Half of them were missing wheels, windows, or both, and none would have looked out of place in a junkyard—except for the minivan parked at the top of the street. Its polished black paint melted into the shadows, with the orange glow from the streetlights picking out the silver hubcaps and lights along with the Mercedes symbol mounted on the grill. I rolled my eyes when I saw it. My senses told me there was no immediate danger but I stayed in the shadows of the alley and scanned the street for another minute before walking out towards the van.
Most of the streetlights were broken and the ones still working were patchy. I walked the street’s length cloaked in darkness, with only the occasional circle of orange piercing the gloom. Looking over my shoulder I could see the pillars of light of the Canary Wharf skyscrapers, visible over the rooftops. We were close to the river, even if I couldn’t see it, and as I walked I heard the mournful sound of a boat’s horn echoing off the water. Ragged clouds covered most of the sky, their cover blending with the glow of the streetlights to hide the stars.
As I reached the van one of the front windows slid down, and the street was quiet enough that I could hear the purr of the motor. I stopped by the door and looked at the man sitting inside. “Could you possibly have made it any more obvious?”
My name is Alex Verus. I’m a mage, a diviner. In mage terms I’m unaligned, which means I’m not affiliated with the Council (the main Light power block) but don’t count myself as a Dark mage either. Although I’m not part of the Council I do freelance jobs for them, like this one. The man in the passenger seat to whom I was talking was my contact with the Council, a mage named Talisid, and he gave me a patient nod. “Verus.”
“Good to see you.” I looked the van up and down. “Seriously, a Mercedes? Did you get it waxed, too?”
“If you’re concerned about stealth,” Talisid said, “perhaps we shouldn’t be talking in the open?”
Talisid is a man in his forties, shorter than average, with greying hair receding from a balding head. He always seems to be wearing the same understated business suit, but with a sort of steadiness that suggests he might be more than meets the eye. I’d met him in the spring, at a ball in Canary Wharf where he’d offered me a job. Things didn’t exactly go to plan, but Talisid had held up his end of the bargain, and when he’d asked for my help tonight I’d agreed. I stepped back and watched as the passengers piled out of the van. Talisid was first and following him was a tall, thin man with a long face like a greyhound, who gave me a nod. His name was Ilmarin, an air mage. I didn’t recognise the next three but I hadn’t expected to; their guns marked them as Council security.
“Still planning to take the lead?” Talisid asked me quietly as the security team went through their preparations, checking rifles and headsets.
“That’s what I’m here for.”
“It’s also what they’re here for,” Talisid pointed out. “It’s their line of work.”
I almost smiled. When Talisid had called me yesterday and given me the briefing, he’d assumed I’d be staying at the tail end of the formation, maybe all the way back in the van. He was offering me another chance to back out. But there was another message in there too, which wasn’t so funny: the security men were expendable and I wasn’t. “I’m not going to be much use from a hundred yards back,” I said. “I’ll give you all the warning you need, but I need a good view.”
Talisid held up a hand in surrender. “All right. You’ll be on point with Garrick. We’ll move on your signal.”
The man Talisid had nodded towards was the one who’d been in the driver’s seat, now standing a little apart from the others. He was tall, with short sandy hair and an athlete’s build, strong and fast. He was wearing black body armour with a high-tech look, along with dark combat fatigues, black gloves and boots, and a webbing belt that held a handgun, a machine pistol, a knife, and half a dozen metal cylinders that looked suspiciously like grenades. A second pistol rested in an ankle holster, and he carried a weapon in a sling that looked like a cross between a submachine gun and an assault rifle. He watched me with calm
blue eyes as I walked up. “Garrick?” I asked.
Garrick nodded and spoke in a deep voice. “What’s the layout?”
“I’ll tell you once we get inside.”
“Going with Talisid?”
“With you.”
Garrick raised an eyebrow and looked me up and down. I was wearing combat trousers, black sneakers, a belt with a few things hooked into it, and a light fleece. If Garrick looked like something out of a military thriller, I looked like an amateur camper. “I’m flattered,” Garrick said, “but you’re not my type.”
“I’m your recon,” I said.
“That’s nice,” Garrick said. “You can do it from the van.”
“I’m not going to be in the van.”
“This is a combat mission,” Garrick said patiently. “We don’t have time to babysit.”
A lot of people think diviners are useless in a fight. All in all it helps me more than it hurts me, but it’s still a bit of a nuisance when you want to be taken seriously. “I’ll be the one doing the babysitting,” I said. “Those guns won’t do much good if this thing takes your head off from behind.”
I expected Garrick to get annoyed but he only gave me a look of mild inquiry. “What are you going to do? Punch it?”
“I’m going to tell you exactly where it is and what it’s doing,” I said. “If you can’t figure out a way to beat this thing with that going for you, then you can back off and let us handle it.”
Garrick studied me a moment longer, then shrugged. “Your funeral.” He turned to the other men. “Let’s move.”
The inside of the factory was pitch-black. The power had been turned off a long time ago and the lights that hadn’t been smashed or lost their bulbs were dark. Corridors were cluttered with old machinery and pieces of junk that had been piled up and left to decay, forcing us to pick a winding path through the obstacles and making it difficult to get a clear line of sight. The air smelt of dust and rusted metal.
Alex Verus Novels, Books 1-4 (9780698175952) Page 29