Celebromancy

by Michael R. Underwood

  Talon shrugged. “Just think. If he’d ducked that swing, I might never have known him from Adam.”

  Ree tried to imagine the fight, making a storyboard in her mind, switching between medium shots of the fight and close-ups of their significant glances through the eye slots of their helmets.

  “So what else have you heard about Jane Konrad? Or the show Rachel MacKenzie is working on? My sources tell me that MacKenzie has a hate-on for Jane, but I don’t know what she’s doing about it.” Ree didn’t feel like disclosing the fact that her “sources” involved sneaking into a closed set; not a detail Talon needed to know.

  The magic community in Pearson was tight. But even tight, it was anything but homogenous. She’d tried to build a map of the factions and subgroups and had gotten tired when her graph had gotten more convoluted than the board on The L Word. Ree felt like she trusted Talon as much as almost anyone in the Market—not as much as Drake, but more than the average Geekomancer (though since there was no such thing as an average Geekomancer, making the whole thing even more complicated).

  Talon took a long swig from her glass. “Haven’t heard much. MacKenzie has the mantle of America’s Sweetheart locked up, and Konrad’s in a death spiral. Seems to me all MacKenzie has to do is keep clear and Konrad will do herself in.” Talon shrugged. “You might take a lesson from her, Ree. Opportunities are great and all, but this one has disaster written all over it. They don’t make Celebromancers like they used to. These days the stars all get their power through sex tapes, online feuds, and reality shows.”

  Ree shook her head. “That’s not Jane. And my loyal streak runs about as long as my stubborn streak.” A shiver hit her arms, and she tried to shake it off. Just nerves.

  Talon toasted with her glass. “Good luck.” Ree raised her own glass in salute, and they both drank. Talon took her pint back across the row when a graying man with a Radio Flyer wagon full of miniatures cases wheeled his way into Talon’s booth.

  The hall filled out a bit leading up to midnight, and a notable proportion of the crowd stopped by the cart for a drink to nurse during the auction. She’d miss the auction itself while womaning the cart, but the steady trickle gave her the chance to pump more people for information.

  “I heard MacKenzie took a geas to never wear anything but couture,” said Uncle Joe, who collected another Guinness, still thumbing through a stack of cards.

  “Last I heard, she’s putting everything she has into the divorce,” said a short black woman with an anime-patterned hijab and a broadsword bigger than she was strapped to her back. “They’ve got the biggest baddest lawyers at it, and no one is pulling punches.”

  “She’s making a bid for an Arcana spot, I heard. Going for Empress,” said a small white woman whose name Ree didn’t know. She showed up to every Market in a TOS Star Trek communication officer outfit, complete with boots and earpiece. Ree knew the Tarot, but had no clue how a mortal could become part of/supplant one of the major Arcana. And frankly, she had enough on her mind. Still, she dutifully filed the rumor under WTF? and went back to business.

  Finnish ass-kicker-for-hire Sven Carlssen neglected to answer her query about Rachel MacKenzie, but he wasn’t too proud to swing by for a bottle of imported Finnish Ale (which Grognard stocked for that express purpose). The mountain-sized mercenary didn’t seem to harbor Ree any ill will, despite having tried to maim her in the sewer six months ago. Ree, however, had vengefulness for everyone. A little for you, a little for Lucretia, and a lot for Wickham. One day, I will be the fucking Oprah of Vengeance.

  Luckily, other people had more to say than the Finn.

  “I hear she loves to find little out-of-the-way fountains and read. She doesn’t take her guards, even uses a glamour to avoid notice,” said Shade. Shade Turing, of the Obvious Pseudonym Turings (Strength 10, Dexterity 12, Stamina 8, Will 16, IQ 17, Charisma 14—Geek 4 / Rigger 6 / Cyberpunk 4 / Salesman 3), was a thicker African-American man of fortyish, wearing a two-piece royal purple suit and matching mirrored shades. The techie held up a pair of totally outrageous sunglasses. “But with these, you can see through any veil!”

  “Nearly any veil,” Talon said from across the row. Ree raised an eyebrow, but Talon just shrugged.

  Shade smiled through Talon’s comment, grabbing Ree’s attention again, his drink forgotten. “Nearly any veil! Money-back guarantee, cross my heart and hope to de-rezz!”

  He was charming, in a Max Headroom kind of way.

  But charms wouldn’t get her past a half-dozen Hollywood toughs and fifty twitchy PAs. Probably. The shape-shifting had worked, just not long enough. And if she could pin down MacKenzie’s picnic spot, then it might be her best chance of forcing a confrontation on her own terms.

  “But she brings guards, right?” Ree asked Shade.

  “Of course. But usually only two or three. And I heard she prefers places without cell signal so she can avoid calls. So, what do you say?” Shade produced a tape from seemingly nowhere. ”Only a hundred bucks, and I’ll throw in this Betamax tape of The Rocketeer!”

  Not that she had a Betamax player, but still! The Rocketeer topped Ree’s Underrated Pulp Adventure Movies list, along with The Shadow and Dick Tracy.

  Ree checked her wallet. “I don’t have a hundred on me. Can I pay you half today and half tomorrow?” she asked.

  Shade produced his smartphone, which had a credit card swiper attached. “Baby, I’ll take it any way you like.”

  Ree snorfled a laugh. “Sure, just don’t call me baby again.”

  The merchant held the phone out, swiper toward Ree. “Sure thing, sugar.”

  Ree rolled her eyes as she swiped her card. Shade consulted the phone, and a few seconds later, he passed it to Ree to sign with her finger.

  I love living in the future, Ree thought, handing the phone back to Shade. He set the shades on the cart, along with the tape, then picked up his pint of Russian Imperial Stout and toasted Ree as he stepped away.

  This is almost sounding like a plan. Assuming I can figure out where she takes her getaways. And assuming I can get past her guards. And that she doesn’t just blast me off the face of Earth with Fame-doukens when I try.

  Ree got a few more tidbits about MacKenzie from other visitors throughout the auction, but nothing she hadn’t already gotten from Charlie’s Twitter info-dump.

  • • •

  Midnight Market closed up around 2 AM, leaving Ree to wheel the cart through the sewers back to Grognard’s. It wasn’t a long trip, and it stayed clear of all of the known monster dens, but it was still one woman and a cartful of expensive beer.

  Well, one woman, one man, and a cart. Drake had lingered at the Market for seemingly no better reason than to escort her back. For a guy who’s dating one of your best friends, he’s awfully chummy, a voice in her head nagged as they made their way through the poorly lit, could-be-romantic tunnels.

  As Ree started to turn the cart around a corner to get on the last stretch to Grognard’s, all the lights in sight went out at once, like someone hit a switch.

  “Oh, bother,” Drake said.

  Well, frak me, Ree thought, reaching for her lightsaber.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nothing Good Happens after 2 AM

  Traveling in Pearson’s sewers is a terrible idea. Unless you want to avoid the gangbangers on the west end, if you need to get to the Market, Grognard’s, or any of the other dozen hot spots built under the Pearson that most people know.

  So basically, you have to do it, even when you don’t want to.

  Walk quietly, carry plenty of ammunition, avoid the gnomes, and whatever you do, don’t let your light go out.

  —Eastwood, personal correspondence with Branwen nic Catrin, December 8, 2003

  Ree’s lightsaber lit the tunnel in a pale-blue light, revealing hundreds of tiny shadow-bat things that looked disturbingly similar to the not-so-friendly f
auna from Pitch Black.

  She waved the lightsaber, trying to get a better look at the creatures as the light passed over them. They shied away from the light, clinging to the walls and hovering in the air on hummingbird wings.

  “The fuck?” Ree asked.

  “I’m afraid I have no idea, Ms. Ree,” Drake said, his voice thin, tense. Drake touched something at his neck, and light spread out to his front like a wearable flashlight.

  “Lucretia? Is this one of your tricks?” Ree shouted, making a guess as to who might be responsible for her current probably-going-to-die predicament.

  There was no answer, just the sound of claws on stone and wings flapping in the air. The creatures clustered together, forming a near-solid mass.

  That’s not good, Ree thought. And then, of course, they charged.

  Ree cut a swath through the creatures, jumping to the side as they hit. She avoided the majority of the attacking swarm, only taking slashes and bites along her legs and abdomen. The pain hit her like a splash of still water pushed off of an awning. But she gave as good as she got, a handful of creatures hitting the sewer floor in smoking pieces.

  Drake’s rifle fired several times, green light from the blasts mixing with her lightsaber’s blue. More creatures fell, but the mass continued, rolling off the wall and coming at Ree again.

  Fucking Swarm rules, Ree thought, biting back the pain. The saber and Drake’s gun wouldn’t do nearly enough damage to keep them alive for long. The light seemed to deter the creatures a bit, but she needed bigger guns.

  “On me!” Ree said as she bolted behind the cart and pawed for the panic button that Grognard had installed. The creatures swarmed over the mobile bar, carving gashes into the wood and doing their best to shred it to kindling. Ree knocked over glasses and spilled bottles as she searched, trying to avoid the shards of now-broken glass. She reached out with her legs and hooked them around Drake’s waist as she depressed the button.

  There was a fat whoom sound, and Ree felt a burst of energy push out, washing over her and knocking the creatures back and away. A dome of energy rippled around the cart at a diameter of about ten feet, and the claws and bites of the creatures strained against it.

  Grognard had enchanted the cart with a circle of protection, fed by a small gas oven that used Land cards from Magic: The Gathering for kindling.

  “With a full deck, it should last about five minutes, less for every bit of constant attack. Pray you won’t need it,” the bald bartender had told her the first night he sent her out to Market.

  Ree looked back from the mass of creatures to Drake, who stared around with wide eyes. “Quite remarkable!” he said, shifting his weight to sit up. “If you don’t mind, Ms. Ree.” He looked down to her legs, which were still vise-gripped around Drake’s midsection.

  “Sorry,” Ree said, letting go with her legs and finding her own feet, careful to keep the lightsaber clear of the cart, any body parts, and the dome of energy. The lightsaber was still their brightest source of light and omnidirectional, unlike Drake’s shotgun-spray amulet.

  Ree stood, inspected the cart for damage, and pronounced it fit to haul ass. She called Drake over, and the two of them pushed the cart, Ree on the right, holding the lightsaber off to the side for light. She’d be better off getting out her actual flashlight, but a flashlight wouldn’t do her a fat lot of good if the circle of protection gave out before they got back to Grognard’s.

  She couldn’t call the store for help, since the store’s cell signal extended about three-and-a-quarter to five feet beyond its sewer entrance, despite Grognard’s best efforts. So all they could do was book it back to the store. That and pray.

  “It’s not far,” Ree said, as much for herself as to encourage Drake.

  Drake strained against the cart, which wobbled like a drunken kitten, thanks to a cracked axle. “I am doing my right best, Ms. Ree.” He had a determined look on his face, along with scratches and bruises, including a welt that was swelling his right eye shut, half-blinding him. Ree knew she was probably just as bad off, but that was pretty far down her list of worries. Said list had gotten so big it no longer fit in the overhead compartment of her short-term attention.

  More than a hundred feet down the tunnel, Ree saw lights on, including the blue bulb that signaled the store entrance. The creatures continued to slam into the sphere, their impact like heavy rain on a windshield. If rain had teeth, claws, and off-white eyes.

  Inside the bubble, the air wasn’t circulating, instead recycling the smells of sweat and fear from the two of them, and the sharp scent of burning cards.

  “Almost there!” Ree said, pushing harder, trying to keep the cart steady.

  The left wheel, closer to the sewer side of the ledge hit something, making the whole cart lurch. Ree held on to the right side, but as it bounced back to the concrete, it veered left, the desperate momentum she and Drake had built carrying it straight off the side and into the river of sewage in the middle of the tunnel. And this with the blue light of Grognard’s and the promise of safety less than eighty feet away.

  With the cart thus felled, the protective circle filled out, creating a full sphere. The lightsaber slipped from her hands and reverted to its prop form, rolling around in the base of the sphere.

  “Goddamned monkey fuck!” Ree shouted, pitching with the cart as the sphere bobbed up and down in the muck. In the faintest blue light, Ree saw impressions of the creatures pressing at the edge of the bubble, teeth chittering with excitement like a tomcat eying a wounded bird.

  But this bird is no fledgling, Ree thought, pawing through her bag, taking the moments to search for the flare she’d buried somewhere near the bottom. Ree stood and held up the flare, her feet making waves of energy on the shield.

  “What now?” Drake asked, balanced on the curve of the sphere like it was a mountain slope, his rifle gripped in his left hand.

  The shield held for the moment, but Ree didn’t want to bet that Grognard had designed the stove-crucible-magic thing to take this kind of abuse. Ree looked to the blue light, hoping that just maybe, Grognard had stayed late and heard the crash.

  “Fuck,” Ree said, thinking.

  “I do not imagine that is the plan?” Drake said, managing a half-rakish smile.

  “Perv.” Ree answered his grin by sticking her tongue out. She waved the unlit flare at his rifle. “Do you have a flamethrower setting on that thing?”

  Drake’s eyes went wide for a moment, but he reached into his coat and pulled out a red-orange crystal. He pulled a slide and removed the green crystal, replacing it with the red. “This will not last long, I’m afraid. The rate of energy consumption removes the possibility of a sustained gout.”

  Ree scanned around and noticed that the sphere of energy had gotten tighter, the creatures pressing in. Ree dropped to the shimmering floor of the wedged-in sphere and found the edge of her lightsaber, snatching the prop back up and holding it ready in her right hand.

  “I don’t think we have time for a better plan.” She didn’t have the right cards on hand to get them both to safety. For a sideboard that big, she’d need to carry around whole folders like Uncle Joe.

  “When I drop the shield, you blast a path in front of us, and we make a run for it,” she said, speaking to Drake but keeping her eyes on the creatures.

  She waited, hoping for a shift in their tides that they could use, but the waves were too close together, the creatures relentless in their assault.

  Persistent buggers, aren’t you?

  “Ready?” she asked. Drake had shifted his weight onto the cart, which would be the only solid ground once the shield disappeared. She joined him, then said, “Go!” as she pressed the button.

  All at once, the dome vanished, Ree’s lightsaber ignited, the beam passed through the tip of the flare, lighting it as well, and Drake opened fire, his rifle throwing a cone of flame ten f
eet long and five feet wide at the end. Ree and Drake jumped off the cart and onto the walkway.

  Ree spun the lightsaber and flare around her as she cut a defensive pattern over herself and Drake, turning as she dashed forward, trying to cover all angles of attack. The two of them moved in concert. Drake fired belches of flame from his rifle as the creatures massed and pressed the attack, then lowered his weapon as Ree’s blade spun around through the space he’d just occupied.

  “Run!” Ree said, letting Drake outpace her. She turned and spun the lightsaber in a figure eight behind her as she sprinted.

  The creatures followed on her heels like collections agents from hell, even as the flame and saber cut them down by the dozen. Ree felt cuts accumulate on her arms, legs, and back, but ahead she saw Drake throw open the door, granted access to the warded door by virtue of his membership in Grognard’s list of trusted clients.

  Drake said, “Slide!” and without thinking, Ree dove to her side as Drake fired a blast through where she’d been, burning off a cluster of the creatures. The two of them scrambled inside, pulling on each other. Ree hauled the door closed, endlessly glad for the part of the enchantment that rendered the door nearly weightless to members and staff.

  The door slammed closed, and Ree pawed for the drop latch. Once it slammed into place, Ree found the light switch to illuminate the room.

  Grognard had clearly gone home, as the place was already spotless, and totally empty.

  Ree deactivated her lightsaber and slumped to the floor.

  Fuuuuuck, Ree thought as she gasped, catching her breath. Her lungs burned like a brush fire doused in kerosene. She looked to Drake, who had dropped to one knee, panting.