by Nazri Noor
Holy hell. Had the spell worked? Was that fire? Wait. Maybe my eyes were just bleary from being shut. They refocused, and I realized what I was looking at. It was a jewel on the ceiling, reflecting the incandescent light from one of my lamps. Wait. What was a gemstone doing up there?
I looked closer. The jewel was dangling from a single thread. And it was moving all eight of its wriggling legs. It was a spider, with a gem embedded in its back. One of Arachne’s children, the enchanted ones she used to harvest information from around the city. How the hell did it make it into the hideout? More importantly, what did it want?
The answer came swiftly as the secret-spider went about its work of weaving a web in the corner of the ceiling. Supernaturally fast, too, the web taking shape before my eyes, until it had created a roughly circular weave the size of a hubcap. The spider settled into the center, the light reflected out of its gemstone shimmering, then expanding across the web into something hazy and indistinct, like – like a computer screen, I realized.
An image wavered from out of the web, and I swear I almost shit myself when a face came into view. It was Arachne herself, staring out at me from the makeshift flatscreen television her offspring had just crafted for her in the privacy of my own damn bedroom.
“Sweetling,” she said, her voice shuddering and distant, but warm with familiarity. The veil over her face rustled as she spoke. I knew that eight eyes peered out of the beautiful face hidden behind it, though I didn’t quite know why she bothered wearing it. I caught glimpses of her fangs as she smiled, as she cooed in greeting. “Sweetling. Can you hear me? Do you see me?”
“Loud and clear, Arachne,” I said, doing my best to be as enthusiastic and as friendly in return. What the crap was going on? “I thought this place was warded. How did you find me here?”
“We have a special bond, you and I. Not even the ethers or your master’s precious wards can keep us apart.” She tilted her head in a coquettish pose, and grinned again. “How sweet you look outside of your exoskeleton. Tender and fleshy.”
Exoskeleton? Oh. I was half naked. I pulled my covers closer to my body, blushing when I heard her giggle.
“So. Um. How can I help you?”
“On the contrary, sweetling, it is you I have come to help. I have come to warn you. My children bring ill news. I have reason to believe that your former master is alive and well. The woman who dared to kill gods.”
Something cold trailed up my spine. I knew in my bones that Thea was still out there somewhere, but knowing what we did of her and her talent, who could even stand a chance of tracking her down? Of course. An entity.
“Instinct tells me that she exists still. My children note distortions in nature centered around the city of Valero, yet we could not pinpoint her location. I could not sniff her out. It was that accursed ring she traded me. It must have dampened my senses.” Arachne sighed. “Even now I find no trace of your erstwhile master. But I do know that she lives still. You must be careful, Dustin Graves.”
I nodded earnestly. “I will. I thought she’d still be alive. But listen, Arachne. If I may ask. Is there any way you could track someone down for me?”
She cocked her head and rested her chin on her knuckles. “How interesting. The mage thinks he can order around the greatest weaver the world has ever known?”
“That’s not how I meant it at all,” I said, reaching forward in some lame attempt to convey with my body language that I didn’t mean to offend her. “I only wanted to ask.”
“And I only wanted to tease,” she said, smiling kindly. “Ask, then.”
“Would your brood be able to find my father?” It was greedy, I knew, but again, where was the harm in asking?
Arachne’s smile grew wider. “It is a noble thing to ask, sweetling. There is none such as a youngling’s love for its parent. I will see what I can do.”
“Thank you,” I said, almost rolling off the bed. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“Think nothing of it. I make no promises, but I shall consult the web.” She raised her fingers, thin gossamer strands stretched between them like a cat’s cradle, and tittered to herself. “The web. See? Did you like my joke, sweetling?”
“I. Um. Yes.”
“But you did not laugh.”
“You’ll forgive me, Arachne. It’s been a tiring day, and these are strange circumstances for us to be communicating in.” Like a video call, only way creepier. “I do have a last question. Do you – do you watch me when I shower?”
“No. I watch you after.”
“What?”
She chuckled. “I see your pink skin after it has been scrubbed raw in hot water, and it makes me wonder whether you would taste better poached or sauteed.”
“That answer is so much worse than anything I could have possibly expected from you.”
Arachne grinned, her fangs wet and gleaming in the jade light of her domicile. “It is my policy to speak the truth. Until we meet again, Dustin Graves. Stay alive.”
The screen disassembled in a puff of dust, the web collapsing into a net of loose strands and threads. The bejeweled spider scuttled away from its destroyed creation, secreting itself into a crack in the stone, then disappearing from view.
So Thea was still alive. I knew it. I didn’t need to be told. Something connected the two of us, this unseen thread woven out of betrayal and vengeance. On some level I knew that she couldn’t die unless it was by my hand. It wouldn’t be just any other way.
I laid back against my pillow, sighing, the sheets now cool against my back. I had to get some rest. We were going to ship Asher out in a matter of hours, but if my mind was racing after I shut my door, it was practically on fire now. I needed to get this all out of my system.
I raised one hand to the ceiling, palm out, fingers outstretched, grasping an invisible sphere. I thought of myself as a dragon. I thought of Thea.
Burn, I thought. Burn. Burn.
Chapter 21
Steam rose like little wisps of cloud from the tiny opening on top of my latte. It was a chilly night out in Valero, made even colder by the fact that we were smack in the center of the Nicola Arboretum. I wasn’t sure how my coffee was still hot, or why I hadn’t finished it already, actually. By rights it should have died an honorable death within minutes of landing in my hand.
Carver had asked us to swing by a coffee shop en route, which he had never done before, and it was clearly a gesture meant to endear Asher to him. He tried to pay for everything with two hundred-dollar bills, then laughed it off when the barista asked him for smaller change. It wasn’t the first time I wondered where the hell his wealth came from. I mean, how was he even paying us?
Okay, so maybe Carver had never bought us coffees because we’d never actually traveled outside of the hideout together much. But was I bitter? Yes. Of course. As kind as Carver was to me when we first met, he was being especially charming with Asher. Gallant, even. I sucked on my coffee, keeping my suspicions to myself, ever distracted by how I got a full glimpse of my tattoo each time I lifted my cup to my mouth.
Asher was finishing up the rest of his coffee. I didn’t know what he ordered, only that it was hot. Gil stood in front of us with his arms folded, like the big damn bodyguard he was. Sterling didn’t come along for reasons that should be obvious – none of them having to do with me accidentally summoning the sun, of course.
Carver had tipped back the entirety of his insanely hot Americano right in front of an extremely horrified barista, and the six equally horrified people behind us in line. I had to remind him not to do that next time. Maybe it had been so long since he’d been human that he’d forgotten how things were supposed to work.
“Ah. She comes.”
Carver lifted a finger, pointing towards the far end of the clearing. It was the same as the night we first met Enrietta. We were to convene under the statue of Nicola at ten in the evening, her using her power and clout to cow security into letting her pass, us using our array of arcane talents to
break the law and trespass on public property after visiting hours. I disposed of my empty coffee cup, rubbing my hands for warmth as the chill of the night came rushing back over my fingers.
Enrietta Boules was dressed much the same as before, in a severe gray smock that was more functional than fashionable. Arnaud trailed behind her, clad in his matching gray clothing. He nodded at me as they approached, his face somber as always, though I caught the slight creasing in his forehead when he saw two of our number that he didn’t recognize.
“New faces,” Enrietta croaked as Arnaud wheeled her up to the statue. She raised a hand, pointing at me. “If there are no objections, I will speak to a familiar one. Mr. Graves, have you brought me the Codex?”
“We have, Mrs. Boules.” I straightened myself up, putting on my most earnest face, because I wasn’t sure how she was going to take the news – not that she really had a choice. “The circumstances are unusual, however. The Genesis Codex is not an artifact. It was a person all along.”
Enrietta’s hand fluttered to her chest, and she looked at each of us, eyes wide. “Which one?” she asked softly, her gaze now alternating between Asher and Carver.
“That would be me,” Asher said, stepping forward, waving one hand sheepishly. “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Boules.”
We’d practiced this already. Exchange pleasantries, give Mrs. Boules what she needed on her terms, collect payment, then ensure that we left with Asher in tow, primarily because of that whole “The dude is a person” thing, but also because I had more than a hunch that Carver was totally in love with him and wanted a second apprentice who could probably make fireballs and do the dishes more regularly.
Also there was the tiny matter of running over to Dionysus and making sure he cut out his poison bullshit. There might have been a time in the past when I would have considered getting a tattoo, but after this experience? Nope.
I can’t say how I was expecting Mrs. Boules to react, but she tilted her head and smiled broadly. “What a handsome boy.”
Asher had the decency to blush, rubbing the back of his neck and quietly muttering. “Aw, shucks,” I heard him say. Either the kid was as good at playing the game as I was, or he really was just an awkward, gangly puppy. “Asher Mayhew, ma’am,” he said, extending one hand, which Mrs. Boules took limply in hers.
“A handsome name for a handsome boy,” she said, beaming. “Now, Asher. Will you heal me? I don’t entirely know how your gift works, but if it’s a matter of time, then perhaps we can sort out multiple engagements.”
“That can be arranged,” Carver said smoothly.
“Oh?” Mrs. Boules raised an eyebrow, her expression neutral. “And you are?”
“Carver, Mrs. Boules. At your service. I am Asher’s – well – ”
“Manager,” Asher said, smiling at Enrietta in reassurance. “A temporary one. In any case, I’ll see what I can do about eliminating the problem in one go. That way we can be out of your hair and stop being such a bother to you.”
“Oh, you’re no bother at all.” Enrietta chuckled and patted the back of Asher’s hand. He had come closer, kneeling in the grass in front of her wheelchair. Smart kid. Getting on her level meant that she would trust him, and this entire operation could go even more smoothly, as if it wasn’t already.
By now Enrietta was patting at Asher’s hair, smoothing it out of his face. He was a natural, to be sure, but I couldn’t help wonder if this wasn’t just him subconsciously seeking out affection. The kid did lose his mom, after all.
I started to tune out by the time the two of them had started speaking in lower voices, discussing the specifics of Enrietta’s disease, which I guessed would determine how Asher was going to approach treating her. I had the impression that brute-forcing it would have worked, but I recognized what Asher was doing for what it was: putting the old woman at ease, simply by talking and listening.
Arnaud cleared his throat eventually. “It is getting quite chilly for you, madam. I suggest we finish this sooner rather than later.”
As if that had prompted something inside of her, Enrietta shuddered slightly, gathering her blankets closer around her. “Yes, I think you’re quite right. Mr. Mayhew, may we proceed?”
Asher nodded, and within the glimmer of a second his expression hardened, the boy melting from his face. It was odd to see him so serious, so stony. His breathing steadied, and greenish light began to pour from him, pulsing from his elbows, down his fingers, and onto Mrs. Boules’s tiny wrists.
She sighed softly, eyes closed. Even in the darkness I could see that her cheeks were getting rosier, her skin filling with color. The blanket slipped from her knees, and she hardly seemed to notice. Asher stood with her as she rose to her feet, this time without the awful pain and effort that it had taken before. Even her spine was straighter. Warmth and life were returning to Enrietta Boules.
The rest of us watched in silence, Carver observing with all the reserved curiosity of a scientist, and Arnaud marveling in open wonder. I had to admit, it was incredible to see something like this. It looked unremarkable on the outside, and sure, I’d seen healers and clerics at work before, but what Asher was doing was actually giving Enrietta renewed life, cleansing her body of whatever ailed her.
From the little time I’d known him Asher struck me as the kind to be boyish and buoyant, but seeing him so grimly determined changed him. He seemed taller somehow, his face set in a mask of intense concentration. Maybe it was the darkness, or maybe it was the wavering of reality caused by the surge of his magic, but he even looked older. I wondered if I was imagining things, or if that happened to be a side effect of his talent.
“Asher,” Carver said. “Be careful, now.” Either he knew something I didn’t, or I was correct in my assessment of this tenuous exchange of life energy.
“Don’t worry about it,” Asher said, shooting a quick, relaxed smile over his shoulder. “I’m working from the outside in. It’ll take some more time, but I promise it won’t be much longer.”
I knew that Asher was surrendering some of his life force in order to perform this massive feat of healing for Enrietta. He didn’t have to. It took me a minute to fully comprehend why he seemed so invested in ensuring her wellness, but it hit me.
He was buying his freedom. What did a sliver of his life span cost him if it meant he had the liberty to choose where he wanted to be, and what he wanted to become after this night was over? I finally understood, and I looked on as rich threads of emerald magic poured from his fingers into her skin.
But another voice split the silence. “Carver,” Gil hissed. “Something’s up. Do you smell that?” I turned to the two of them, my hackles rising.
Carver tilted his head back, as if sensing for something on the wind, one of his eyes flickering madly. “No,” he hissed back. “No, no, no. Such terrible timing.” He glared at me, as if in accusation. “Graves, your good friends from the Lorica. They’re here.”
“What the – again? How many fucking times are we going to have to – ”
“Over and over,” Prudence’s voice called out of the darkness. “Because that’s our job. Or have you forgotten already, Dustin?”
I whirled to face her, unable to contain my frustration, and my heart pumped even harder when I spotted that she was flanked by the exact same companions she had earlier. I couldn’t tell whether Bastion or Romira was angrier with me.
“Uh. Hi, guys. How’ve you been?”
“Keep them away,” Carver hissed, his hands already tracing patterns through the air.
Arnaud cried out as pale flames wreathed around his feet, encircling both Asher and Enrietta as well. The flames formed into a cocoon, then vanished. Carver had erected a barrier around them. Good. It would keep them safe until they completed their exchange.
“We’re not here to fight this time, Dustin. Odessa’s orders. We need to get him out of here, and fast.”
Odessa? So they were taking orders directly from a Scion all along. Was that why this oper
ation felt so off, why the Lorica seemed to be pulling its punches?
Not that it mattered. The exchange needed to be completed. “Let them finish. Prudence, please. The kid only wants to help. He just wants a life of his own.” Like Mrs. Boules. Like me.
“I don’t know why we’re even talking.” Bastion held his hand out towards Asher and the others, his fingers glimmering with faint light as he stalked straight for them. “There’s no time to argue. They’re coming.”
“What? Who?” Dread washed down my back like iced water. Surely not more of the Lorica? That was the last thing we needed.
Carver bared his teeth, his fingers gesturing as he prepared another spell. “You don’t tell us what to do, boy. You – ”
He paused, then bent his head, one ear raised to the sky, like a beast of prey listening for – for something. Gil sniffed at the air, then growled from somewhere inside of his chest.
“Too late,” Romira said, her hands working to shape an orb of fire. “They’re here.”
Maybe I was too distracted by the Lorica’s arrival to have missed them, but I saw the newcomers then, stepping out of the foliage, or blinking into existence from expired invisibility glamours, or manifesting from cheaply crafted teleportation spells.
Dressed in all their thuggish casuals, clutching makeshift weapons and baseball bats and what few enchanted devices their mistress could find for them, the Viridian Dawn closed around us in a loose, menacing circle. Among them, garbed in embroidered white robes, stood Deirdre Calloway. She lifted one hand, pointing a wand at our midst.
“Take the Codex,” she said. “Then kill them all.”
Chapter 22