Cloak Games: Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  I passed him, returned to the van, and put the tray in its place. I glanced around, made sure I was out of the cameras’ fields of view, and yanked my duffle bag from beneath the car. I opened it up, checked its contents one more time.

  Then I stripped down to my underwear, tossing my clothes into the van’s laundry bin. My next outfit came out of the duffel bag – a sleeveless black dress with a short, tight skirt, and a pair of black shoes with four-inch heels. I quickly slapped earrings in place and dropped a silver necklace over my head, and then undid my ponytail, letting my hair fall loose around my shoulders. Makeup would have been ideal, but there wasn’t time to apply it, and the light was dim in the courtyard anyway. I did apply some perfume to hide the smells of the kitchen. I flipped the duffel bag inside out, revealing its shiny interior and transforming it into a hideously ugly purse, and reloaded the remaining contents. I stepped to the driver’s side mirror and gave myself a quick look. I looked like someone’s spoiled daughter, which was perfect.

  I cast the Masking spell, making myself appear as a male catering worker in white shirt and black pants, and hastened across the parking garage. I had to take care to Mask the loud clicks of my heels with every stride. Fortunately, it was a wasted effort. The guard did not look up from his phone, and security cameras could not penetrate a Mask. Anyone watching through the cameras in the garage or reviewing the footage later would see nothing amiss.

  I left the garage, dropped my Mask, and crossed the mansion’s lush lawn, acres of brilliant green grass trimmed with machine-like precision, and made for the glassed-in courtyard. A crowd of later arrivals filed through the doors to the courtyard, and four of McCade’s security men stood there. I joined the crowd, adjusting the straps of my fake purse, and walked towards the door.

  “Miss?” One of the guards, a middle-aged man with the look of a veteran still familiar with violence, held out his hand.

  “What?” I said, filling my tone with surly truculence.

  “This is a private party, miss,” said the guard. “I need to see your invitation.”

  “Oh my God!” I said, letting my voice go up an octave. “Don’t you know who I am?” A few of the other guests looked at me and snickered.

  “Unfortunately I do not, miss,” said the guard, “which is why I need to see your invitation.”

  “My daddy is so going to get you fired,” I said. “He’s friends with the Duke of Milwaukee, and you’re just a security guard. You can’t talk to me that way.”

  “Please present your invitation, miss,” said the guard, still polite. My disguise was working. Had he thought me a random party crasher, he would have used force by now.

  “Just do as he says, dear,” said a middle-aged woman in an elegant black gown.

  “Fine,” I said, drawing the word into an angry whine. I reached into my purse, drew out the fake invitation, and unfolded it. “Will you let me inside? I haven’t eaten all day.”

  The guard lifted his phone. The usual camera had been augmented with some kind of fancy combined IR/UV lens. He waved the phone over the bottom of the invitation, and I briefly saw the holographic seal and its embedded barcode flash. I hoped that Niles had done his work right, and that the printer I had “borrowed” had been up to the task.

  The phone beeped, and the guard glanced at the display.

  “Please enjoy the party, Miss Annovich,” he said.

  I sniffed and walked past him, letting my heels click loudly, and the guard forgot about me as he turned to the other guests.

  More people had arrived while I had been changing clothes, and now close to a thousand guests occupied the courtyard. The air conditioning was on full blast, the air chilly against my bare arms and calves. Across the courtyard, I saw a good-sized crowd spilling into the art gallery, admiring McCade’s collection. I wanted to slip away from the gala and reach the library, and do it without drawing undue notice. I reached into my purse and felt the smooth plastic of the burner phone I had prepared. I just needed to find that drunken Homeland Security major, and I would…

  Speakers crackled overhead, and suddenly a voice boomed in my ears.

  “Ladies, gentlemen, honored guests, and nobles of the High Queen’s court,” said a man’s voice. “If I might have your attention for a moment?”

  The lights swiveled overhead, falling upon a clear spot near the art gallery. For the first time, I looked upon Paul McCade in the flesh. Morvilind’s photographs had given me a good impression of the man. He wore an extremely expensive suit, the coat cut a little longer in imitation of Elven fashion, though it didn’t quite conceal his small paunch. His graying hair was perfectly parted on the left, and he wore rimless glasses perched upon his nose. He was handsome in a sort of dry, passionless way, and the owner of McCade Foods looked like a man who had never touched a McCade Foods product in his life.

  I didn’t like him. Just as well. It’s always harder to steal from people you like.

  “It is with great pleasure that I welcome you to my home on this Conquest Day, the three hundred and fourteenth anniversary since our wise and gracious High Queen brought the benefits of her just rule and wisdom to Earth,” said McCade. “In that time, look at all that mankind has accomplished under the guidance of the High Queen and her nobles. War between human nations has been outlawed. Our cities are safe and prosperous, and human men-at-arms have fought under the High Queen’s banner in a hundred demesnes of the Shadowlands and upon the face of a dozen different alien worlds. We have even faced the rebel Archons and their armies of orc slaves and fouler things, and have emerged victorious. Let us look forward to the day when the High Queen at lasts defeats the Archons and returns to her home, and the Elven and human races alike shall prosper under her wise hand. To the Day of Restoration!”

  “The Day of Restoration!” we responded, automatically, followed by the Pledge of Allegiance to the United States and the High Queen (the foreign guests did not participate, but bowed their heads respectfully). It was one of the things you learned in school. At least, normal people did, though Morvilind’s tutors had taught me how to mimic normal people reasonably well.

  “My friends,” said McCade once we had finished, “McCade Foods has the great honor of providing our fighting men with rations. In their honor, and for the honor of our glorious High Queen, I invite you to celebrate Conquest Day!”

  The crowd applauded, and McCade waved for a moment, then hurried over to speak with the Elven nobles. I saw that Tamirlas, the Duke of Milwaukee himself, had arrived, a tall Elven noble in a gold-trimmed blue coat, his profile stark and forbidding. The hidden speakers began to play music, and some people broke into pairs to dance, while others went to bother my former coworkers at the catering company for more food. I turned, seeking for the Homeland Security major I had spotted earlier…

  A tall man in a tuxedo stepped into my line of sight. Likely he wanted to dance. I flashed him a polite smile and started to step past him.

  “Care to dance?”

  The voice froze me in place, and I turned, keeping my smile in place.

  It was the man without a shadow who had pursued me near Niles’s office.

  I took a long look at him.

  He…cleaned up pretty nicely, actually.

  Without the sunglasses, I got a good look at his face. It was lean with sharp cheekbones, and deep brown eyes the color of expensive bookcases. His brown hair had been styled and trimmed, glinting in the light from overhead. His tuxedo was, perhaps, a bit too snug, but he had the physique to make it look good. I couldn’t see any weapons on him, but he could have a folding knife or a small gun tucked away in the pockets of his coat.

  Of course, he could use magic, could call the lightning to his grasp. With that kind of power, he didn’t really need to bother with a gun.

  He met my gaze without flinching, and I felt a strange sort of pressure from his eyes.

  “Why?” I said.

  He shrugged. “A man sees a pretty girl at a gala, he asks her to dan
ce. I imagine it is the sort of thing one does.” His thin lips moved into a smile. “It will give us a chance to talk.”

  I didn’t think he was with McCade’s security. If he was, he would have thrown me out already. It was more likely he worked for Homeland Security, or even served as a human agent for the Inquisition. Which meant that he might have been hunting for me, following up on one of the many other crimes I had committed. If that was true, I was finished.

  Unless…

  Unless he was a Homeland Security officer or an Inquisition agent here for McCade or one of McCade’s guests. That made much more sense. The Inquisition’s mission was to root out disloyalty to the High Queen, and while everyday people feared the Knights of the Inquisition, so long as people like James and Lucy paid their taxes and didn’t denounce the High Queen the Inquisition let them alone. People like McCade, who had the spare money to fund a Rebel cell, had much more to fear from the Inquisition. For that matter, Elven nobles feared the Inquisitors. That was one of the reasons Morvilind kept a vial of my heart’s blood. If something went wrong and I was arrested, he could kill me from a distance before the Inquisition learned of his various illegal enterprises.

  And that meant the man in the tuxedo was fishing for information.

  “Mmm,” said the man, and I realized that I had been staring at him. “I must have something in my teeth.”

  “What?” I said.

  “I asked you to dance, and you froze up like a deer in the headlights,” said the man. He looked amused. “Though I suspect you aren’t asked to dance very often.”

  What the hell did that mean? Then I realized he was trying to push my buttons, to get a reaction out of me. That did calm me a little. An agent for Homeland Security or the Inquisition would just arrest me on the spot. If he was playing games, that meant he wasn’t sure about me…and I could play along.

  “It was just unsettling,” I said. “After all, you went to such lengths to chase me down. Makes a girl wonder why you want to dance with her so much.”

  In answer, he held out his hand. I took it, putting my other hand on his shoulder, while his free hand settled upon my hip. His fingers felt a little cold, but that might have been the air conditioning. The music playing from the courtyard’s speakers was pleasant but bland, and we moved in a slow circle as we danced.

  I watched him, waiting for him to speak first.

  “What’s your name?” he said at last.

  “Katerina Annovich,” I said.

  “Is it really?” he said.

  I raised an eyebrow. “That’s what it says on the invitation.”

  “Your completely accurate invitation, I’m sure,” said the man.

  “So what’s your name?” I said. “Tall, dark, and laconic? Hard to fit on a driver’s license.”

  “My name is Corvus.”

  I laughed at that. “Is it really? Corvus? Latin word for crow? Very dramatic. Do you dress all in black and listen to sad music?”

  To his credit, he did not even bat an eye. “Only on weekends.”

  “Well, Mr. Corvus,” I said, “why don’t you tell me something? How did you do that trick with the shadow?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Corvus said, his expression cooling a little.

  “You don’t have a shadow,” I said. “Hard to tell in here, and I doubt anyone will notice.” The shoulder under my hand tensed, though his expression remained amused. “So, what’s your story? Are you a vampire? I read in some old book that vampires don’t have shadows.”

  “No such thing as vampires,” said Corvus.

  “Nope,” I said. “Worse things, though. Some of them don’t have shadows.”

  “Why don’t we make a deal?” said Corvus. “I’ll tell you why I don’t have a shadow, but you’ll tell me how you got out of that alley.”

  I gave him a sunny smile. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I bet if I talked to Paul McCade and asked to see his guest list,” said Corvus, “that I wouldn’t find anyone named Katerina Annovich in the file.”

  I kept the sunny smile in place. “What about a man named Corvus?”

  “An agent of the Inquisition,” said Corvus, “would find it a simple matter to edit the guest list, would she not?”

  “So he would,” I said. “I…wait.” I blinked as my brain caught up to what he had said. “She would find it simple? Wait. You think I’m an agent of the Inquisition?”

  “The thought had crossed my mind,” said Corvus.

  “My God,” I said. “That suit’s so tight that the circulation to your brain has stopped. You really think I’m an agent of the Inquisition? Or that I’m with Homeland Security?”

  “Homeland Security is too stupid to deal with someone like me,” said Corvus. “You seriously thought I was an Inquisitor?”

  I shrugged, which was harder to do while dancing than I thought. “Why else would you chase me down?”

  “Really, you should have more confidence in your appearance,” said Corvus. “You must have men chasing you all the time.”

  “Not for the reasons you might think,” I said.

  “I’ll let you in on a little secret,” said Corvus.

  He tugged on my arms, and suddenly I was pressed against him. He was a lot stronger than he looked. I was suddenly very aware of his hands against me for two reasons. First, he could kill me, and I wouldn’t be able to stop him. Second, he could…do pretty much anything else he wanted.

  I shoved that thought right out of my mind.

  He leaned closer, his breath against my right ear.

  “Every Inquisitor,” said Corvus, “still has his shadow.”

  He stepped back and spun me, and I was just able to keep my balance by flinging out my right arm. I supposed it looked graceful, and we drew a few appreciative claps from the nearby guests.

  For a moment we stared at each other, still gripping hands

  “Why don’t we agree,” I said, “to say out of each other’s way? Whatever your reasons for coming here…I’m sure they’re not mine.”

  “I think we can agree on that,” said Corvus. “Good fortune to you, Miss Annovich.”

  “And to you, Mr. Corvus.”

  He smiled once more, planted a cold, dry kiss onto my fingers, and strolled off into the crowd. I watched him go.

  The tuxedo did fit him well. It annoyed me that I noticed it. That kind of physical attraction was a liability, could cause me to make stupid mistakes. Morvilind had too much power over me already, and a romantic relationship with a man would cause me to give up even more power over my fate.

  I had learned that one the hard way.

  Well, it didn’t matter. I didn’t know if he was an Inquisitor or a Homeland Security officer or something else, but clearly I was not his objective. It occurred to me that Corvus had been near Niles Ringer’s office to buy a forged invitation for himself, and we had just stumbled into each other by bad luck.

  It also occurred to me that he might be here to do something illegal himself, maybe to steal something.

  Or to kill someone.

  His lack of a shadow…

  I pushed that thought aside. It wasn’t my problem, and I had my own concerns to manage. Specifically, I needed to get my hands on that tablet and get out of here before anyone noticed it was gone.

  I headed across the courtyard, my eyes darting back and forth, and I found the middle-aged Homeland Security major I had spotted earlier. He was drinking another glass of champagne, and to judge from the ruddy color of his face, he had downed another two or three glasses while I had been chatting with Corvus.

  Perfect.

  I reached into my fake purse, tapped a few commands into a burner phone, and then glided over to talk to him, my eyes wide, my back ramrod straight and my shoulders back to emphasize my chest as I asked him to dance. That did the trick. I caught his eye at once, and soon had his undivided attention. I learned that his name was Major Colin Kemp, that he had multiple awards for arresting Rebel
terrorists, and that neither his wife nor his ungrateful children nor his commanding officer appreciated all his hard work. I nodded in agreement, touching his arm as I laughed at his jokes. Someone like Corvus would have seen through me at once. Maybe Major Kemp was a bit savvier when he was sober, but soon he was doing exactly what I wanted.

  A kiss on his cheek persuaded him, and soon we were walking arm and arm across the courtyard and into the art gallery. The gallery was much less crowded than the courtyard proper, likely because a pair of polite but unsmiling security men kept anyone from bringing food and drink. Likely McCade did not want his masterpieces damaged with shrimp sauce and champagne. Here and there men and women stood in small clumps, admiring the sculptures.

  “Let’s go someplace quiet,” said Major Kemp. “Maybe that library?” He jerked his head toward the double wooden doors to the library, one of which stood slightly ajar. “We can…talk.”

  “That sounds nice,” I said. “You have such interesting stories. I think…”

  Right on time, my burner phone went off. I made a show of rolling my eyes and reaching into my purse. Of course, the phone wasn’t really ringing. I had installed Niles Ringer’s fake call app, and to my surprise it had turned out to be clever. It even simulated a fake voice over the phone’s speaker, so anyone listening in wouldn’t realize the fraud.

  “Daddy?” I said into the phone, and Major Kemp’s eyes widened. “Oh. My. God! You are such a jerk! Like, I don’t even have school until Monday. So what if I don’t graduate high school?”

  “High school?” said Major Kemp, his eyes going even wider.

  I waved a dismissive hand and smiled at him, and starting shrieking into my phone again. “Don’t tell me that! I don’t care what you think! I’m going to do what I want…”

  Self-preservation conquered Major’s Kemp libido. He turned and walked away as fast as he could while still maintaining something that resembled dignity. No one took any notice of me as Kemp hurried away.

  I closed the fake call app, dropped the phone back into my purse, and made my way into McCade’s library.