Bring the Fire (The Wisdom's Grave Trilogy Book 3)

by Craig Schaefer

  “Poisoning you, for starters.”

  “She wasn’t wrong,” Nessa said. “She knows me better than anyone. Which means she knew exactly how to back me into a corner.”

  They both circled her now, moving slowly counterclockwise, Nadia’s image a pillar between them as they stalked one another around the red carpet.

  “But you’re not going to do it,” Marie said. “You’re not going to let her win.”

  “Don’t you see? That’s the beauty of it. It’s not about letting her win; it’s about deciding what to do with the time I have left. I’m going to die—she’s right, Shadow infection is incurable—and she’s handed me the tools to make a mark upon the universe like none of my incarnations ever have or ever will. Why not go through with it?”

  “We don’t even know what we’ll find in Elysium. We don’t know if any of this is true.”

  Nessa flashed a wicked grin, darting behind Nadia’s back. Almost playing a game now, daring Marie to catch her.

  “That’s the fun of it. It’s one last mystery, one last adventure. What should I do, die in bed?”

  “I don’t want you to die at all!”

  Nessa stopped circling. Her smile faded. She let Marie catch up with her. Then she reached up, her fingertips stroking Marie’s cheek as she gazed into her eyes.

  “You don’t get to decide that, love.”

  Marie’s hands clenched into helpless fists at her sides.

  “I don’t believe that,” Marie said. “I don’t believe in giving up.”

  “That’s the thing about reality. It doesn’t care what you believe. It simply is. Facts simply are. And you have to play with the cards you’ve been dealt, not the ones you wish you had.”

  The vision broke into jagged shards all around them, drifting away like a mirror shattering in slow motion. They fell, scattering, melting, as reality asserted its grip over them once more. Reality was humid, stagnant air. Reality was rusted metal and sharp edges and a battlefield turned into a graveyard.

  “And you will keep your word,” Nessa told her. They stood face-to-face, just a few feet apart on the corroded, damp floor grille.

  “I said I’d go to her if you die—”

  Nessa’s fingertip pressed, gentle but firm, against Marie’s lips.

  “You will keep your word,” Nessa said. “I—she—went to a lot of trouble to make sure you’d survive this, and that you’d have a home waiting for you when it was all over. Knowing that you’ll be happy, that you’ll be safe, that you’ll be with another incarnation of me…that makes this, all of this, what’s coming, easier for me to face. Do you understand? It’s important to me.”

  Marie nodded, reluctant.

  “I don’t know about ‘happy,’” she said.

  “I do,” Nessa replied. “Because you’ll be with me. She wasn’t wrong about that, either. We’re the same woman, love. She was just quicker on the draw, and she beat me in a game I didn’t know we were playing until it was all over.”

  Her fingers brushed the torn fabric of her blouse and came away damp. Her cut was a distant, aching throb.

  “Damn. Need to get a fresh bandage on this. Hedy, do you still have the first-aid kit?”

  Hedy brandished the bright blue plastic box. It was so mundane here, surrounded by oddities and strangers from a dozen worlds, that it seemed almost surreal.

  “Let’s grab an open table,” Hedy said. “What’s our next move?”

  “We find this ‘Marquis’ and claim our prize.” As they took seats together, Nessa caught Hedy up quickly with the broad details of the vision she’d just seen. “From there…well, we’ll see what happens. Clytemnestra, do you have an opinion?”

  Nessa set the knife on the table. Clytemnestra’s voice rang out from the blade, her human image a hazy blur along its enchanted edge.

  “My opinion stands,” she said. “We go, and we…do as you and I discussed, when we entered accord together.”

  “Agreed,” Nessa replied. She pulled up her blouse a few inches, baring the splotchy, dark stains on her bandage, as Hedy opened the first-aid kit. Marie stared, her mouth dangling open.

  “I realize I should not be surprised, given—” She finished the sentence with a wave of her hand, taking in the room around them. “But why is that knife talking?”

  “Marie, this is Clytemnestra. She’s not a knife. She’s a witch in the shape of a knife.”

  Hedy rummaged through the kit, sorting bandages in various sizes and plucking out a slender yellow tube of disinfectant. “Still don’t understand why she doesn’t just change back into human form.”

  “You will,” Clytemnestra told her. She fell silent, content to leave it at that.

  Marie put both of her bags on the table—the mirror bag alongside the cushioned black container Tricia had given her.

  “Figure it wouldn’t hurt to take inventory,” she said. “So, I’ve got the bell from Deep Six. Did you bring the candle?”

  Now it was Hedy’s turn to look surprised. She leaned in, staring at the mirror bag.

  “Where did that even come from?” she said. Her palm hovered over the bag’s face, feeling the invisible, and her eyes widened. “Ooh. Enchanted to go unnoticed. I didn’t even spot it.”

  “Thank you,” Nessa said. “I think it’s arguably my best work to date.”

  “Nadia didn’t notice it, either,” Marie told her.

  Nessa preened, savoring the small victory. Hedy gently peeled back her bandage and exposed the angry, jagged line of her cut.

  “Good chance God wouldn’t notice it,” Nessa said. “Hmm. You know what? Put a pin in that idea, save it for later. What else do we have to work with?”

  “The sapphire manacles from the coffin, your spell book—”

  “We won’t be using that.”

  “—the gun I took from one of Nadia’s guards. Don’t even know what it’s loaded with, but it’s pretty ferocious looking.” Marie unzipped the black container and peeled the lid back. “So, did you bring the candle?”

  “It’s back on Earth,” Hedy said, “but we can cut a doorway and get it when we’re done here. Considering you were the beacon that drew us in, I think leaving this place is going to be a one-way trip. Which is unfortunate, because the silver and gold coins we acquired in case we might need them are also back at the hotel. We left in an unexpected hurry.”

  “According to Nadia, the Marquis has already been paid. We might have to remind him of that, but he’s been paid.”

  Most of the container was taken up by a lozenge-shaped cube of black plastic. Its smooth, polished face sported only a single pewter button, secured under a hinged shroud like the missile button on a fighter jet’s joystick. Marie rummaged through the rest. Tricia had packed a handful of dull orange plastic tubes, a slim coil of rope that felt like flexible steel in her hand, and a few other odds and ends.

  “This is supposed to be a homing beacon,” Marie explained. “Hit the button, and wherever I am, they’ll come to…I mean, they’ll know where I am.”

  Nessa winced as Hedy dabbed her cut with ointment. “This is really unnecessary,” she told Hedy through gritted teeth.

  “Don’t fuss,” Hedy told her, unwrapping a fresh bandage. “If by some miracle we all survive this, you’ll be thankful I cleaned your wound. This isn’t exactly a sterile environment.”

  Marie kept rummaging. “Looks like she packed some survival tools, basic camping stuff. I’m pretty sure these are light sticks. There’s a packet of charcoal tablets for starting a fire, a water filter…a Swiss army knife? I mean, it’s probably not a Swiss army knife, not sure if her world has a Switzerland, but this could be handy. Oh, and snacks. She said she was packing snacks.”

  Marie fanned out a trio of Triumph-brand food bars, the stark black-and-white labels promising oatmeal and raisin-style nutrients. Nessa and Hedy both held out their hands.

  “Give,” Nessa said.

  They tore open the wrappers and dug in. Halfway through chewing her fir
st mouthful, Nessa looked to Marie. Hedy mirrored Marie’s expression as she wrinkled her nose and swallowed, forcing it down.

  “Bad?” Nessa asked.

  Marie swallowed. Reluctantly. “Can’t you tell?”

  Nessa’s gaze dropped to the table.

  “I’m…having a little trouble tasting things at the moment.”

  Marie understood. The Shadow sickness. She didn’t ask for details, and she knew Nessa probably wouldn’t give them. Her lover took a deep breath, pushed her chin up, and forced a smile.

  “Now I know the true motivation behind Nadia’s machinations,” Nessa said. “The food on her planet is terrible. Marie, you will deliver her a message when I’m gone.”

  “You aren’t going anywhere,” Marie said.

  “All the same, remember this, and remember it well. She is not allowed to keep you unless she also abducts a Michelin-star chef from our world to feed you. I’ll make a list of suggestions. Everyone is allowed a dying wish, and mine is that you not eat…whatever this is.” Nessa turned the wrapper around and squinted at the ingredients. “‘Raisin-like substitute.’ Really.”

  Marie stared at her half-eaten bar, her voice flat. “I’m glad you’re finding humor in this.”

  “There are times in every woman’s life when you have two choices: laugh or scream. Usually laughter is the more productive choice, or at least more socially acceptable.” Nessa reached across the table and took Marie’s hand. “I wasn’t sure if I was ever going to see you again in this lifetime. If I’m a little giddy, well…you’re the reason why.”

  Marie lifted Nessa’s hand to her lips and kissed the curve of her fingers.

  Hedy had her eyes on the room, her gaze never resting in one place for too long, avoiding eye contact while she took the lay of the land. She squirmed in her chair and had another reluctant bite of her food bar.

  “We should find this Marquis and leave while we still can,” she said. “I don’t like this place. Too much strange magic swirling around, stray and loose. It’s making my teeth itch.”

  Marie let go of Nessa’s hand. She pushed her chair back.

  “We’re in a bar,” she said. “I’ll go ask the bartender.”

  Twenty-Five

  Marie crossed the room alone, ears perked, senses on high alert. The dented metal curve of the bar was almost empty now, a lull between rounds; the only other customer was the silent astronaut suit with its faded NASA patches. As she walked up, waiting to catch the bartender’s attention, the suit’s empty helmet turned as if it was staring at her. She pretended not to notice.

  The bartender looked her way. His varnished wooden arm set a bottle down, making faint clicking noises.

  “Do you, um, understand my language?” Marie asked.

  “I only speak ‘payin’ customer.’ So if you’re one of those, yeah, sure, read ya loud and clear.”

  His familiar accent took her by surprise. “Wait…are you from Brooklyn?”

  The squat man flashed a big smile at her. “Hell, yeah! Ain’t been home in a long-ass time, though. Where you from, doll?”

  “Queens,” Marie said.

  “Represent,” he said and leaned over the bar to present his wooden knuckles for a fist bump. “So I gotta ask, how are the Tip-Tops doin’ this season?”

  Marie furrowed her brow. “Tip-Tops?”

  “You know.” He pantomimed swinging a bat. “Baseball!”

  “Oh. Oh, I think…I think we might be from a different New York.”

  “Aw, swing and a miss. That happens a lot around here, y’know. Some of those parallels are so close, until they suddenly ain’t.” He shot a look across the bar and lowered his voice. “Last week, I was sure this lady was from my home turf, and vice versa. We’re hittin’ it off, she’s liking my style, so I make my move.”

  “Not good?” Marie asked.

  “She said she wanted me to fertilize her eggs. I thought she was being metaphorical. She was not. Awkward scene. Very awkward scene.”

  “Ouch.” Marie waved a hand. “So what is this place?”

  “This? Just a little patch of solace at the end of the line. This is where people go when they’ve burned every last bridge and there’s nowhere else to go. I opened this place a few years back, when a gold rush hit. Bunch of wannabe Idaho Joneses thought they could scavenge the Deadknot, harvest up some magical scrap and sell it for big bucks.”

  “What happened?” Marie asked.

  “Some got lucky and struck it rich. Most got some combination of crazy, crippled, or dead.” The bartender glanced to the window. “There’s stuff crawling around on those derelicts you wouldn’t believe. Angelic war technology. Occult gene splicing. And some of the stuff those crazy mothers built has had centuries to breed. Now, my mama didn’t raise no dummy. They want to go off and get eaten in search of fortune and glory, more power to ’em. I’ll be right here, where it’s relatively safe, and make my money keeping everybody liquored up and happy.”

  “Why is it safe here?”

  “Relatively safe. You seen any of the caretakers around? Guys in the green robes and the wicker masks?”

  Marie pointed behind her, to the stairs. “One of them found us when we arrived. He led us up here.”

  “Yeah, they do that. The caretakers keep this place running. Make sure the oxygen flows, keep the dangerous decks welded shut. It’s a religious thing. Anyway, we still get a few amateur archaeologists coming through, but the gold rush is dried up and gone.”

  “Too dangerous?”

  “New competition,” he said. “The Network got wind of this place and started sending their own salvage teams in. And those guys you do not mess with. So, Queens. What brings you to my humble oasis?”

  “Looking for somebody. He calls himself the Marquis.”

  “Yeah? You don’t look like his usual clientele. You a bounty hunter? Because I don’t need any Wild West shit in my bar. You want to gank him, I’d appreciate you taking it outside.”

  “Nothing like that,” Marie said. “A mutual friend placed a…special order with him. I’m just here to pick it up and leave.”

  The bartender gave a subtle nod to the back of the room. Toward the pack of raucous drinkers she’d spotted on the way in, rolling rune-inscribed dice across a battered metal table. They looked like refugees from a medieval war, dressed in scraps of leather and metal, grimy and ragged.

  “See the one in back? Big feathered coat and the leather hood, half pimp and half executioner? That’s your guy. Just make sure to count your fingers after you shake hands with him.”

  Marie started to back away from the bar. Then she paused.

  “To be clear,” she said, “do you mean that literally, or—”

  “Nah, I mean he’s a sleazy jagoff who’ll rob you blind. Now, don’t make eye contact, but you see that tubby dude over in the opposite corner? He’s got actual mouths in the palms of his hands. Definitely don’t shake with him. Really, just a good policy not to make physical contact with anybody in this place.” He thumped his knuckles against his wooden arm and grinned at her. “You’re talkin’ to the voice of experience here.”

  “Appreciate it,” Marie said. “You take care, Brooklyn.”

  “Stay safe out there, Queens.”

  As she stepped away, Marie waved to Nessa and Hedy. They got up and joined her in the middle of the room.

  “He’s over there,” Marie said. “Game plan?”

  “Let’s just be our usual charming selves,” Nessa said.

  They closed in on the back-corner table. The conversation ran dry. The dice flashed violet as they clattered to a stop, their upward faces showing twin serpentine runes. The Marquis sat in the heart of his crew like a ruler at a war council, his thin shoulders draped in an oversize gray leather coat. The coat bristled with rows of frayed and faded feathers and sported a long leather hood that drooped low and cloaked his face in shadow. All they could make out was his sweaty, stubble-flecked chin, and lips that twisted into a sardonic smile
.

  “Gentlemen. We are either in the presence of true royalty or a dead woman walking.” The hood tilted toward Nessa. “Which one are you? Nadia or Nessa?”

  “I’m ineffably regal and I’m short on time. Do you have my book?”

  “Do you have my money?”

  “Do us a favor,” Marie said, taking a step closer to the table. “Let’s skip the part where you try to bullshit us. You were paid in advance. Are you going to follow through on your half of the bargain, or do we have to escalate things?”

  One of the Marquis’s men flashed a nearly toothless smile. His dirty fingernails trailed along Marie’s arm. “Ooh, this one’s feisty—”

  He yelped as Marie grabbed his arm. She hauled him out of his chair and twisted his wrist behind his back like a perp about to be handcuffed. Dice and beer bottles rattled as she slammed him down against the table, pressing his cheek to the battered metal.

  The others jumped to their feet. One pulled a gun made of PVC tubing and brass. He didn’t even raise it before Marie’s free hand swung up and the barrel of her pistol pressed right between his eyes. Another man leveled a sawed-off shotgun at her while Nessa brandished her Cutting Knife, the air shimmering at the edge of the blade. Static crackled upon Hedy’s raised fingertips, like she had a lightning storm in the palm of her hand just waiting to be unleashed.

  “That’s the problem with people these days,” the Marquis said, utterly nonchalant. “Nobody has a sense of humor. Just fucking with you. A little pre-deal banter, nothing to get your panties in a wedge about.”

  The shotgun stayed aimed at Marie’s face. She thumbed back the hammer of her pistol.

  “My people are going to put their weapons down now,” the Marquis said. “I’d be really happy, and it’d be a good sign for our future partnership, if you did the same. Okay?”

  Nobody moved.

  “Starting now,” he added.

  The shotgun barrel dipped downward. Marie eased off, lowering her gun, stepping back. Slowly, everyone put their hardware away. The man Marie had grabbed looked sheepish, brushing himself off and rubbing his arm as he sank back into his chair.