Libriomancer (9781101597552)

by Hines, Jim C.

  “How do you feel?” asked Lena.

  “Like a mummy freshly risen from the dead.” I stretched again, grimacing as various joints popped in protest. There were no other chairs, so I joined her on the couch. I didn’t know the proper distance for people-who-were-almost-lovers-until-the-dryad’s-girlfriend-turned-up-alive, so I settled awkwardly onto the opposite end and rested my feet on the coffee table, earning myself a pointed glare from Pallas.

  “The attitude is familiar, at least.” Nicola Pallas, Regional Master of the Porters, looked exhausted. Her tan, ruddy face drooped, and the bags beneath her eyes were darker than I remembered. She wore a rumpled denim jacket over a tight turtleneck. A silver ring glowed faintly blue on her right index finger. She pointed that finger at me. “What is your name?”

  I raised my hands, making the movement as slow and nonthreatening as I could. I didn’t know what that ring could do, and I was pretty sure I didn’t want to find out. “Isaac Vainio. It’s just me. No fictional hitchhikers in my head, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “That was one of our concerns.” Pallas studied me a moment longer. The magical glow of her ring dimmed, but didn’t entirely go out. “Lena brought you to me four days ago.”

  “Four days?” That would explain the dry mouth and the rumbling in my stomach. “Did anyone remember to feed Smudge?”

  “I have,” said Lena. “Nicola said he had to stay in his cage, but I’ve been giving him bits of hamburger and some butterscotch candies I found in the other room.”

  “I wanted him caged for his own protection.” Pallas reached down to scratch her pet behind the ears, carefully avoiding the black spines that lay flat along the middle of the animal’s neck and back. “Pac-Man eats pretty much anything.”

  “Pac-Man?” The beast looked up at me, oversized fangs giving it an expression that straddled the line between deadly and dopey. A string of drool waved pendulum-like from the jaw, pushing it firmly into the latter category.

  “When he was a puppy, he tried to eat a ghost,” Pallas explained.

  I had never been able to tell when she was joking. Another puppy bounded through the room. “How many animals do you have here?”

  “Four pureblood chupacabra, six poodles, and three crossbreeds, not counting the eleven puppies. I also keep goats in the barn. Louis is the pack leader, but he’s locked in the kennel right now. He has a fungal infection, and I don’t want him spreading it to the other animals. Bessie’s upstairs. Chupacabra get vicious when pregnant. I can’t even go near her without using magic, so it’s hard to make sure she’s getting enough goat blood. The little one who just went by is Pumbaa. My niece named him. He tends to be rather flatulent. I’m trying to adjust his diet to see if it helps, but so far—”

  “What’s happened since Lena brought me here?” I interrupted. I had the feeling Pallas could go on all day about her pets.

  “I kept you sedated for the first forty-eight hours. I couldn’t risk any sort of magical healing, not in your state. I estimated we had at best a fifty-fifty chance of getting you back. We roused you every twelve hours to give you food and drink, and to allow you to use the bathroom.”

  “I . . . don’t remember that.” I glanced at Lena.

  “This wasn’t how I had planned to get you out of your pants,” she said wryly.

  Pallas continued as if she hadn’t heard. “You may experience nausea, dry mouth, and constipation as the rest of the drugs work through your system.”

  “Good to know.”

  Pallas whistled a countermelody to the trumpet and piano riff playing over the speakers, and I felt her magic pass through me. Pallas was one of four known bards with the ability to shape magic through music. I had no idea what she was doing with that magic now, though. Using magic on another Porter without permission violated both rules and politeness, and while Pallas had never worried about politeness, she tended to be rather hard-assed about the rules. “Lena told me what you did.”

  My hackles rose at the implicit disapproval. “What I did was find the libriomancer who killed Ray. I saw him. It’s not Gutenberg. I need to look up the name Jakob Hoffman. If we can track him down—”

  “You had a vision, and you heard voices. That’s not the same thing as finding a killer. Our database has no record of any literary character named Jakob Hoffman. We’ve contacted thirteen Jakob and Jake Hoffmans so far, but none have any magical abilities, nor do they appear to have any connection to this murderer.” Her rings clinked as she fidgeted. In all the time I’d known Pallas, I don’t think I had ever seen her still. “You’ve given us a lead, nothing more. A lead that may or may not pay off.”

  “When I spoke to you on the phone the other day, you said there was a magical attack in London. Did it hit Baker Street, by any chance? Anywhere near Sherlock Holmes’ fictional residence? You mentioned Afghanistan as well. Watson, Holmes’ partner, was a veteran from Afghanistan. Those attacks could be coming from the various personalities struggling for control of our killer.”

  “A rather elementary conclusion, Isaac.” Though her expression never changed, I was pretty sure that was a joke. “We’re looking into the connection and trying to tie the other attacks to specific literary characters.” She tilted her head toward one of the speakers and stared out the window. “Lena also brought me the book you destroyed. Do you have any idea what that level of char can do? To the libriomancer, and to this world?”

  “I know what it almost did to me,” I said.

  “I doubt that.” She moved closer, and the clinking grew faster. “Lena says you barely escaped that book, that you were like a gibbering child when your awareness returned.”

  “Not true. I was like a gibbering grown-up.” But the memory of those moments undermined my attempt at humor. “He tried to lock me into the book. When that failed, he sent . . . something after me. I’ve never experienced anything like it before. It was like—”

  “Like a single disharmonic note, growing in volume until it overpowered the melody that defines you.”

  “Sure.” I suppose, to a bard, that was as horrific a description as any. “You know what it was?”

  “It was proof that I erred in allowing you to investigate this matter. Isaac Vainio, you are forbidden from practicing magic until further notice.”

  Her tone never changed, so it took me a second to understand what she was saying. I jumped up from the couch. “I found the man who killed Ray Walker!”

  She hummed quietly, and her stereo switched to a faster-paced song. The magic in the air grew stronger as well, like a magnetic current through my bones. Her animals were less subtle. As one, they growled and raised their spines.

  “What would have happened if you hadn’t managed to cling to your sanity back there in Detroit?” Pallas asked. “If you had lost yourself to possession? Instead of one rogue libriomancer, you would have forced us to fight two. Imagine yourself terrified and insane, your body flowing with uncontrolled magic. What do you think you would you have done to Lena?”

  “I wouldn’t have hurt her.” But even as I protested, I remembered staring at Lena with no memory of who she was. If that darkness had caught me . . . “What was it? Ray described the consequences of magical screw-ups in great detail, and he never mentioned anything like that. None of the Porter texts or reports I’ve read—”

  “Your antics with the vampires have had consequences as well,” Pallas said, as if I’d never spoken. “Attacks worldwide have increased over the past four days. I spent this morning on the phone with Luis Quenta in Bolivia. They had to firebomb the Santa Cruz nest to keep the vampires contained. They’re testing us. And with Gutenberg and his automatons gone, we’re failing that test.”

  “They gave me a week to find this killer,” I protested. One week, more than half of which I had now wasted, lying unconscious in Nicola Pallas’ apartment.
<
br />   “Granach gave you a week. She said nothing about the rest of the world, nor are all vampires bound by a deal made by Alice Granach.” Pallas picked up an enormous dog bone that appeared to be made of some sort of woven black material. “My animals are beautiful, but they will always be part monster. I have their toys custom-made from Kevlar. Anything else they destroy within minutes. If I ever forget, if I expect them to be other than what they are, then whatever happens to me will be my own fault as much as theirs.” She threw the toy across the room, starting a riot of growling and fighting. “Magic is the same way. If you forget the rules, it will turn on you.”

  “We’d know even less if I hadn’t broken the rules.” I shivered, remembering my flight through the book. “How could someone get so powerful without the Porters knowing?”

  For the first time, Pallas looked uncertain. She turned toward the window, staring out at the field. “That is something we’ve been asking ever since these attacks started.”

  “And?” I pressed.

  “And the Porters will continue to investigate until we have answered that question.”

  “He’s possessed, but it’s more than that, isn’t it?” I pressed. “Possession would drive him mad, force him to lash out. It wouldn’t give him the power to rip open locked books, or to send that thing through a book after me. He’s killing Porters, enslaving vampires . . . why?”

  Pallas reached down to scratch one of the puppies on the belly. “This matter is no longer your concern.”

  “No longer my concern?” I stood and turned to face her. “He tried to kill me!”

  “He tried to do far worse than that.” She raised a hand, her ring pulsing a warning. “You have been touched by something you don’t understand.”

  “So explain it to me!”

  “When the immediate crisis is resolved, we will speak more about what you saw.”

  “What about Nidhi?” Lena asked quietly. “What happens to her while you continue to investigate?”

  “We will not turn Isaac over to the undead. Nor will this rogue libriomancer be delivered to their laboratories, where who knows what power they might try to extract from him.” Pallas rubbed her temples. “I’m struggling on three fronts. Our first priority is finding this libriomancer. If what you saw is true, he will soon destroy himself, but who knows what damage he’ll cause in the meantime. We’re also speaking with the vampires, doing what we can to maintain peace and persuade them to return Nidhi Shah unharmed.”

  “What’s the third front?” I asked.

  “Politics. At least vampires don’t bother to mask their hostility in pointless pleasantries.” Her laughter had always sounded forced to me, and this was no exception. She knelt to scratch Pac-Man’s ears as he gnawed the Kevlar toy he had triumphantly stolen from the other animals. “Gutenberg may yet live, but we can’t wait for him to return. He built the Porters to function after his death, but there are . . . differences of opinion as to who should take his place. We’ve established a temporary ruling council, twelve regional masters from throughout the world. In magical affairs, I now speak for most of North America.”

  “Which means you’re overwhelmed and understaffed. Let me help! I have copies of the books he stole from the archive. I can show you—”

  “Those books have been shipped to Philadelphia, where they are being examined by two of the most skilled libriomancers we have.”

  I stopped to survey the other magical trappings Pallas had prepared. Etchings in the windows reminded me of the spells worked into the windshield and mirrors of my car. An ornate brass padlock hung on the front door, like something out of a medieval fantasy novel. And then there was her music collection. “Am I a prisoner?”

  “For the time being, the council prefers you both remain here,” Pallas said. “We will, of course, complete a full review of your actions before a final decision can be made as to your status.”

  “Nice,” I said. “Yank the guy who actually found your rogue libriomancer out of the field.” My tone earned a growl from Pac-Man.

  “Don’t exaggerate. Had you found this man, we’d be having a very different conversation. You heard a name. Three field agents have wasted their time trying to follow up on that lead. They’ve found nothing.”

  “So how can it hurt to let me try?” I asked, trying charm instead.

  Charm proved as futile as anger. “In thirty years, I’ve only had to put down one of my animals before its time,” Pallas said. “A bitch named Peaches. She was aggressive, but I’ve dealt with worse. Her problem was single-mindedness. Once she sighted prey, she had to have it. She chewed through the barn to kill one of my goats. When a deer approached the fence, she scaled it and escaped. That fence is electrified, with enough power to stop a bull, but Peaches didn’t know how to stop. She tore her leg to the bone on the barbed wire, but she caught her deer. She was a beautiful creature, with hazel eyes, soft fur, and gently curved spines that rattled like maracas when she ran.”

  I tilted my head. “Are you calling me a bitch?”

  “I’m telling you that your part in this investigation is over.”

  “You’re hiding something,” I said. “Do you know what happened to Gutenberg? To the automatons? Do you know what Jakob Hoffman is trying to do?”

  “Stand down, Isaac.” The speakers began to buzz as bass thrummed through the house. “I prefer not to use force against another Porter, but you will remain here. This is for your own protection.”

  I was no match for Pallas, especially here on her home turf, with her pets ready to eat me.

  Lena hadn’t spoken at all. How much of this same argument had she already had with Pallas? Lena wouldn’t sit here and wait for the vampires to murder her lover. She couldn’t. She would set out alone if she had to, single-handedly challenging the entire nest, and they would kill her. I doubted Pallas would stop her. Lena wasn’t a Porter, after all.

  I sucked a long, slow breath through my teeth. If I stayed here, both Lena Greenwood and Nidhi Shah would die. I couldn’t change Pallas’ mind. She was far too rule-bound for that.

  “Then I quit,” I whispered numbly.

  Lena straightened.

  Pallas turned to stare at me, her forehead crinkled in confusion. “Excuse me?”

  “I resign from the Porters. You want it in writing? Give me a pen.” I would have said more, but I was having trouble finding words.

  “What are you doing, Isaac?” Lena whispered.

  I felt like I was struggling to swallow a rock. I kept my focus on Pallas. If I looked at Lena, I’d lose it. “You’re the Regional Master of the Porters. So be it. If I’m no longer a Porter, then you have no right to hold me here.”

  “There are laws governing the use of magic—” Pallas began.

  “And if I break them after I leave, you’re welcome to haul my ass back here,” I snapped. “Until then, I’d appreciate it if you and your dogs got the hell out of my way.”

  My car was parked on the edge of the dirt driveway. My jacket and books were in the back, save those Pallas had shipped to Philadelphia. It wasn’t until I settled the familiar weight onto my shoulders that I realized how vulnerable and naked I had felt without it.

  Smudge started running laps on the dashboard the instant I let him out of the cage. “Sorry, partner. I’m not too happy about being locked up for four days, either.”

  Lena retrieved her bokken from the trunk and climbed into the passenger’s seat. “Do you have an actual plan?”

  “Find the libriomancer. Save Nidhi. I’m working on the details.” I was also trying very hard not to think about what would come next. About what I had just thrown away. I jammed the key into the ignition and started the engine. “Tell me what happened after I passed out.”

  “I tried to wake you. So did Smudge.” She reached out to touch the burnt hole on my shirt.
“When that didn’t work, I called Nicola. She said to bring you here. You heard the rest.”

  “That’s it?” I shook my head, not buying it. “You’ve just been waiting for four days while Nidhi—”

  “I thought you were dying, Isaac. You were cold, sweaty, and shivering, muttering to yourself in a language I couldn’t understand.”

  “What would you have done if I didn’t wake up?”

  She looked away. “I couldn’t leave you, but if you didn’t recover soon and the Porters didn’t find the other libriomancer . . .”

  “You meant to take me back to Detroit. To trade me for Nidhi Shah.”

  She raised her chin. “That’s right.”

  It was the logical choice. Trade the comatose libriomancer who might never awaken for the lover who was very much alive. Logic did nothing to alleviate this new emotional sucker punch to my gut. “How exactly did Pallas react when you told her how I had found the other libriomancer, and the thing that came through the book after us?”

  “I have a harder time reading autistics, but—”

  “What?”

  She blinked. “You didn’t know?”

  “I don’t have access to her files.”

  “Neither do I,” Lena said sharply. “But I’ve learned a thing or two living with Nidhi. I’ve been here for four days, long enough to get a sense of Nicola Pallas. She doesn’t express her emotions the same way you or I do. I think she’s frightened, though. When I first described what happened, she walked away from me in mid-sentence and started making phone calls. When she finished, she was playing with her bracelets and moving about like she wanted to run but didn’t know where.”

  “She knows something,” I muttered. “Why wouldn’t she tell me?”

  “Maybe because she knows how close you came to dying,” Lena said sharply.

  I had no answer to that.