“I don’t know,” I said, “Can I have a week or two to think about it?”
“I’m going to miss your wit, but I didn’t come here to trade blows. I came here to tell you what’s going to happen, and why.”
“Let me guess. I’m going to put the crown on, and you’re gonna cackle maniacally as I give you the power of the drowned Queen.” I shook my head. “You weren’t listening before, were you? It’s not going to work like that. I can’t give you what isn’t mine.”
“That’s not true. You see, I know for a fact you’ve used the power of this crown once before, which means you can do it again. That little worm you’ve got coiled around your soul may have prevented me from diving into your mind and pulling your secrets out by force, but I got enough of a glimpse to know you’re scared of the crown. You’re scared of what it can do. So, you’re going to do it again, and this time, I’m not leaving until one of us breaks.”
“We’re gonna be here a while, then.”
“Oh, I’m not so sure about that.”
Asmodius shone a little sinister light on the big thug he’d brought into the room with him. He was wielding a set of pliers, the kind you pull bolts with; only he clearly wasn’t going to be using them on the chair. They were probably meant for my mouth. I swallowed hard, hoping that, in the dark, neither man could see just how on edge I was.
“That’s disappointing,” I said, shaking my head.
“Disappointing?” Asmodius asked.
“You know. You work so hard on putting out this civilized monster routine, not a hair out of place, every word and action meticulously chosen to perfectly fit with the mask you’ve chosen to wear. But then when it comes to the good part—to the nitty gritty torture part—your fall back is a thug with a set of pliers? I almost expected more from you. I certainly expected you to do the deed yourself. For shame.”
“I feel like I have to object to this,” Ifrit said, filling the silence that followed, “I wouldn’t be a good Guardian if I didn’t.”
Asmodius looked across at the man holding the piers and took them from his hand. “Who said I wasn’t?” he asked, taking a step closer to me. “But even this, I think, won’t be enough to convince you to do as I ask. No. I could pull all of your teeth out, I could cut you, maim you, I could bring you to the brink of death only to have you healed so you can endure the same pain over, and over, and over again, but I believe not even that would be enough.”
“Figured me out, huh?”
“Indeed. You’re quite the stoic little one. Here you sit, trapped in front of the man who wanted to eat your heart, and you still find it within yourself to be brave. To be bold. To make jokes, even.” He tapped his nose with the pliers. “But little Isabella Warden has a weakness, now. Do you want to know what it is?”
“I have a feeling you’re gonna tell me anyway.”
Asmodius leaned a little closer to me. “I’m not going to kill you,” he said, “Instead, I’m going to let you sit here, and day after day, I will bring your friends in here and make you watch as I do to them what I’m going to do to you right now. The Necromancer, the little Tempest, the Vivimancer, and even my son. I will butcher them in front of you, eat their hearts, and when I’m done with them, I will hunt down each and every member of their families and do the same to them, day after day until you decide to do what I want you to do.”
“You don’t have the balls,” I growled.
“Don’t I?” he asked, clamping the plier around my index finger. He hadn’t applied enough pressure to break it, but the pain was already a hell of a thing. I took a deep breath in through the nose and held it as the pain reached its peak. “My agents have been following the Vivimancer’ family for weeks. His father, his mother—his sister, the one you allowed to get hurt once before. They’re all being carefully watched. A single order from me is all it would take for them to be bagged and brought here, kicking and screaming.”
I hadn’t been taking him as seriously as I should’ve been. It wasn’t the pain in my hand, it wasn’t the thought of being tortured—even though that would suck. It was the thought that Asmodius wouldn’t just harm my friends, but that he had RJ’s family in his sights. That had struck the deepest nerve.
I didn’t want anyone else to come to harm because of me. I could deal with the slings, the arrows, the pain. I’d dealt with pain before, plenty of it, and I knew if I tried—if I really tried—I could resist Asmodius until I was dead. But if it meant protecting other people, then I didn’t have a choice, because he wasn’t the kind of man to bluff.
I had to put on the fucking crown.
“Fine,” I growled, “Fine. I’ll do it.”
Asmodius released my finger, and the pain subsided. “Good,” he said, “I’m glad we could come to an understanding.” He straightened up. “Now, will you do as I ask?”
“Untie me, and I might.”
“Do you take me for a fool? Give me what I want, and I’ll leave your friends and their families alone.”
“And what exactly do you want? Because the crown won’t work on you. It only works for me.”
“What I’ve always wanted… her treasure. Or did you think I was after something more esoteric?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I should’ve known you were only interested in the money.”
“There’s more than money to be found in the drowned Queen’s city. What I want is wealth, and there’s a difference, but I doubt if you would know what it was.”
“Right, because my brain is so much smaller than yours.”
“No, but your ambitions are.” He paused. “Can you do what I want from you? Or is this a pointless endeavor?”
I stared him in the eyes, so he knew I wasn’t trying to hide anything from him. “I can do it, but I’ll need time.”
“How much time?”
“I don’t know. Time works differently in the Tempest than it does out here. You can’t rush this, and you won’t be in control of the situation… you understand that, right?
He frowned. “I do.”
“Then let’s get this crap over with, but you need to give me your word you won’t hurt my friends or their families.”
“I give you nothing of the sort.”
He handed the pliers over to his friend, then slowly moved the crown closer to my head. The whispers started almost immediately. I hadn’t been able to hear them the whole time I’d been down here, but the closer the crown came to sitting on my head, the stronger they got. I could feel the Queen’s presence drawing nearer, and nearer, pushing through even the anti-magic runes Asmodius had installed into the room.
Nothing was going to stop her from crashing into me like a wave.
The crown touched my head, and as it did, I felt a sudden surge of pressure against my shoulders. Thunder rumbled, not outside somewhere, but inside of me; and behind it, a voice came screaming, screeching, tearing through the barrier between dimensions.
I caught a flicker of something in Asmodius’ eyes—maybe excitement, maybe fear, maybe both. He recoiled from the crown, stepping back, and as he did, the world around me fell away as if it had been swept up in a hurricane.
The Tempest roared around me; the smell of it, the sound of it, the sight of it filling me not only with dread, but also with excitement. I was standing on a rock overlooking an ocean violently churning, waves breaking and frothing around me. And there, gleaming like a pristine jewel above the waves, was the shining city of Ashelor.
Once drowned, but no more… thanks to me.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Athenaeum. Axel hadn’t been back here since the night Izzy hurled herself into the Tempest and joined the ranks of enlightened Mages. He stared at the monolithic, gothic temple, at the hordes of Pegasi and Angel statuettes decorating the walls, at the brilliant blue fire burning atop the central spire.
This was a place of magic, knowledge, and wonder, but it was also a place of judgment. It was here that the city’s Magistrate held court. I
n this building, five of the most powerful and influential Mages in all of New York—called Tribunes—convened to discuss Magistrate business and pass judgments in a session lorded over by Magister Eliphas himself.
There was a time when Axel’s own father would have had a seat at that table, but that time was long gone. Now, it was his father who was about to be discussed by the city’s governing body of Mages. The reason? Justice.
Axel waited with Becket and the others in a well-lit corridor adjacent to the Athenaeum’s main chamber. The corridor was marble, flush with golds and browns, the décor clearly inspired by many of the world’s oldest, and most pristine Cathedrals. On the walls, were shifting dioramas of Mages gloriously conquering the elements, of battles fought against mighty, demonic beasts; of the Tempest itself, the source of a Mage’s magic.
“Snap out of it,” Danvers said, clicking her fingers in front of Axel’s face.
Axel blinked hard and stared at her. “What?” he asked.
“You’re stuck in a daze when you need to focus. You’re gonna do the talking in there.”
“Not all of it,” Becket said. “Though, as the son of the man we are here to discuss, I suspect the Magistrate will want to hear from you as we argue our case.”
“What’s there to argue?” RJ asked, “Izzy needs help, and they need to help us get her.”
“I have told them what I can, and they have undoubtedly spent some time deliberating already, but you more than anyone should understand just how difficult the Magistrate can be when they are called to action.”
RJ shrugged. “Why do you think I left?”
“Can everyone just… stop talking for a moment?” Karim asked. He was pale, far more than usual, and holding himself upright against a wall. “I don’t think I’ve quite gotten over the portal hop over here.”
“We shouldn’t be here,” Axel said, “We should be out there, looking for her.”
“And we will, but we need their resources,” Becket said, “We don’t even know where she is, and even if we did, it should not fall on just us to do battle with Asmodius. We do not want him to escape again, and for that reason at least, we need them.”
The double doors to the Athenaeum’s main chamber slowly opened on their own. Beyond the doors was a domed, circular room with a giant empty space in the middle. On the far end of the room sat a semi-circular panel of Tribunes, all of them watching as Axel and the others made their way through and took center stage.
At the head of the congregation of judges was the Magister himself, Eliphas. Axel recognized every last one of the faces staring at him from on high. Each of the Mages there represented one of New York’s major boroughs.
Azalius, from the Bronx. Callista, from Manhattan. Dexius, from Queens. Neeve, from Brooklyn—she was the newest member of the Magistrate, having replaced his father.
As was the custom when the Magistrate was in session, each Tribune wore a ceremonial robe, stylish and covered in shimmering trimmings. Their hoods were pulled up and around their heads, though, revealing only their mouths and chins. Magister Eliphas wore a black robe, but unlike the Tribunes, he wasn’t required to wear his hood.
When Axel and the others reached the center of the room, Eliphas stretched his hand and bid them to stop where they were. “In the name of the Magistrate of New York,” he said, “I bid you welcome.”
Axel took a deep breath to center himself. They didn’t have time for all this pomp and pageantry, especially considering Eliphas himself knew what was going on. Not only had he been told what was happening, he pointed Becket and Izzy in the direction of one Hugo West. It was clear to Axel, though, that the rest of the Magistrate had no idea what was going on under their noses.
This pageant was clearly for them.
“Thank you for convening for us, Magistrate,” Becket said.
“What business do you bring before this court?”
“One of our number has been kidnapped by a man who used to sit on your very court. We would ask for the Magistrate’s assistance in locating and retrieving her.”
“Who is the victim, and who is the assailant?” asked Callista, her glossy, red lips delivering soft, smooth tones.
“The victim is Isabella Warden,” Becket replied, “The assailant is Asmodius.”
A quiet series of whispers moved through the chamber. “Mages are frequently being embroiled in disagreements with other Mages. If every single one of them was brought to the attention of this court, we would never get anything of importance done.”
“Perhaps not, but a kidnapping by a man who used to wield the power of this court is a serious matter that should be actioned by this body. I should also inform you that Isabella is a member of your Manhattan protectorate, as are many of the Mages standing before you now.”
“And just what are you implying, Becket?”
“Nothing, except, of course, that inaction on your part could be mistaken for weakness, or perhaps even cowardice, in the face of a more powerful foe.”
“You would call me a coward?” she hissed.
“Not at all, however I think the issue needs to be stressed. Asmodius has, in his possession, a magical artifact of incredible power. Though he has not yet used it, it is only a matter of time until he gets what he wants from Isabella. Am I to believe you would all sooner let him have what he wants than move against him?”
“I want to hear more about this crown,” said Dexius, his voice harsh and gruff. “Is it real?”
“It is real,” Becket said.
“And you’ve seen its power?”
“We were all present when Isabella used it the first time.”
“How do you know it took her to the Tempest?”
“Isabella isn’t a liar,” Axel snapped.
The Tribune broke into a series of murmurs and whispers. Becket frowned at Axel, chastising him without words for stepping out of line, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. Izzy was in trouble, and these people didn’t seem interested in helping her.
“The prodigal son speaks,” Callista said. “Tell me, has the apple fallen far from the tree? Or do you forsake your father’s wrongdoings?”
“I didn’t come here to have my loyalties dissected and scrutinized,” Axel said, “I came here because my father is going to use the crown if we don’t move to stop him. And if he can’t use the crown, he’s going to rip Izzy’s heart out from her chest and eat it.”
“Now, there is an outrageous claim if ever I heard one. Asmodius? A cannibal?” Callista scoffed. “Tell me a better joke.”
“It’s not a joke. When my father first kidnapped Izzy for her skills, he wanted me to incapacitate her and bring her to him so he could cut out her heart and eat it.”
“What you’re saying is fucking blasphemy,” Azalius snapped, his voice a sharp rattle in his voice. “There are no Heart Eaters in New York.”
“Believe whatever you want, but I’m telling you the truth. Maybe my father can’t use the crown yet, but Izzy can, and if he kills her and eats her heart, maybe he’ll be able to use it too. And then he’ll have more power than any of you.”
“I don’t think that’s the case. I think you want us to fight your battles for you, and that’s not what this court is about. If any of what you’re saying is true, then your friend is the one who should be brought to justice for meddling with something she shouldn’t have meddled with. If the crown is real, and if its power is real, then Isabella Warden is the one we should move against.”
“Let’s not act rashly,” Magister Eliphas said. “We can all agree we had our doubts about Asmodius. Perhaps he isn’t truly a Heart Eater, but he is a criminal, and a fugitive of this court, at the very least. We can come to an agreement, here.”
“We are listening,” Becket said.
“Asmodius must be brought before this court to answer for the crimes he has committed against the Magistrate of New York. Of that there is no question. However, if the crown is real and if its power is as you say, then it cannot
be allowed to fall into the hands of those who would use it for evil. I believe you when you told me Isabella was brought into this on pain of death, and I do not blame her for wanting to unravel the mystery of the crown—for wanting to see this through to the end. I know all of us gathered here today would have done the same if presented with such an opportunity.”
“Isabella is a trustworthy person. Right now, she is being held against her will and possibly fighting for her life. We must act quickly. What are your terms?”
“With the agreement of this court, I move we act against Asmodius now. Find the girl, find the crown, and bring the man to justice. However, the crown should belong to the Magistrate. We will take possession of it and lock it away, never to be used by another soul.”
A pause. “If the crown’s power is real, why wouldn’t we study it?” Callista asked. “If the crown can truly open the doors to the Tempest, imagine what discoveries we could make.”
“The crown is dangerous,” Eliphas said, “Its power would only corrupt, like it did the drowned Queen all those many years ago. It must be locked away. Unless there are objections to my proposal, we will act immediately.”
A pause, then Azalius slammed his hands against the arms of his chair, sending an echo through the chamber. “Are we seriously going to believe a word these people are peddling?” he asked, raising his voice. “Who are we even dealing with, here? The son of a crime lord, a man who broke the Legionnaire’s oath, a child, and… whoever the hell that is.”
“Oi!” Karim objected, “’l’ll have you know I’m the Lord of Westchester.”
“Lord?” Danvers asked in a low voice.
“I have a flat there. I’m Lord of my own property. It counts.”
“English,” Azalius scoffed, “A foreigner. And worst of all, the Infernal. Why you are even allowed to function as a member of our society baffles me, Becket. You should crawl back into the hell hole you climbed out of and lie in the filth with your demons. I’d sooner help a vampire steal blood from innocent children than help the likes of you. I object in the strongest of terms.”
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