Breaking Ties

by Vaughn R. Demont

  A break in the shooting, probably to reload. I peek over the dash and see three tall attractive men with soft-blue skin and long pointed ears and cobalt-blue field-plate armor. And pistols. And they are reloading.

  “Three Fae, they look like sidhe.”

  The Dwarf coughs. “Heraldry?”

  Hanging around Rourke, and having degraded myself by playing Dungeons & Dragons with James, I at least know that asking about heraldry means checking the colors and symbols on their armor or cloaks, and that will give the identity of what house or noble they serve. I, however, know next to nothing about Fae heraldry in the City. Except…

  “Nothing I can see, but considering they’re all wearing dark-blue armor and they shot up a Benz with a half-Dwarf and a half-Coyote in it, I don’t think it’s much of stretch to guess, Oz.” I peek again and barely duck another shot. “I don’t see a car though. What’d they hit us with?”

  Almost on cue, there’s a rush of wind, a beating of wings, and even from my angle, I can see a dragon with scales like burnished metal descending, landing likely beyond the road. Traffic is flowing slowly around the crash, human denial doing its thing. As far as humanity’s concerned, we got run off the road by a semi and we’re just waiting for AAA.

  “Well, there’s a dragon now.” I titter nervously.

  “That doesn’t make sense. Are they fighting?”

  I glance over the dash again. “Nope, they’re standing there looking at us in a menacing fashion.”

  “Together?” He coughs again. “Dragons and Fae don’t work together.”

  “Coyote!” The voice is smooth, sibilant, eloquent. “Our quarrel is not with you. Send out the tainted one, and you will be spared.” A sudden snort follows. “Apologies. Our colleague prefers we also take you into custody, but you will not be harmed. The Cobalt Order sees no reward in antagonizing Fate’s Chosen. I would refrain from any quips or attempts at humor that I’m told are common to your kind, however. Our colleague would relish the opportunity to discover the time it would take to roast the two of you alive. A pity we would not be able to stop him.”

  Oh fuck. Well, I did want to find the Cobalt Order, and since Fate has a sick sense of humor, they found me. I glance at Ozzie. “Tainted one?”

  “Human mother. They don’t approve.” He rests his head against the seat. “I’ll go with them, better one of us makes it than both of us dying.”

  “I just brought you back from the dead, and you think I’m going to hand you over? I mean, props for the noble sacrifice, but shouldn’t we come up with some crazy and ridiculous counterattack options first?”

  Ozzie gives me a look. “Like what? You tell jokes and I bleed at them? That dragon won’t hesitate. They hate Dwarves and they really hate Coyotes, as I’m sure you know.” He sighs. “They’re going to take one of us, and one of us has to find James. As much as I hate to say this, you have a better shot at that than—”

  I’m already outside, hands up. “Okay. I don’t know where you’re getting this tainted-one business, but that Dwarf in there is clean.” I keep my attention on the dragon. “He’s also involved with the Ra’keth, and I seriously doubt you want to draw his ire. It’d be a better idea to take me. My mother was human, my grandfather’s a god, my father’s a Coyote, I was conceived with all the stars aligned and shit, that’s some fucked-up heritage right there. Wouldn’t I be a better prize than a Dwarf who’s good at grabbing his ankles?” I wink at the dragon. “Not to mention I interned at Victory. I could give you all sorts of insider info about next quarter.”

  To be honest, the scant insider info I have is about how the head of my department took his coffee. (Irish. Very Irish.) But, hey, they don’t know that, and only the dragon has to buy it, and let’s face it, he’s a dragon, I’m a Coyote. He’ll totally—

  “All Coyotes lie. All of them.” Smoke is snorted from the dragon’s nostrils, the wind carrying it toward my face, and I cough a fair bit. Okay, maybe he won’t buy it right off, but…

  “We do the quarterlies for eight conglomerates.” I smile beatifically. “Imagine how you could help your investments if you knew which one of them I had to spend four days shredding documents for.”

  There’s a flash of light, and the dragon is replaced by a tall, svelte individual in a crimson suit, with ruddy skin, blood-red hair, and still about as pretty as the sidhe who flank him. He takes a step toward me. “And which company would that be?”

  “MWS.” I say it plainly, and he glances at the sidhe. They nod to him.

  The one on the right of him says, “The half-breed speaks the truth.”

  Of course it’s the truth. I worked for a major accounting firm, we shredded sensitive information for all of our clients, but TV has taught us that shredding means you’ve got something illicit to hide.

  “But this is a waste of our—”

  At that, the dragon seethes at the speaker. “Nothing was promised in the way of compensation for working with dreambloods. A butchered twin-blood Dwarf means little to the council. A greater hoard will.”

  The Fae glare at him, particularly wincing at the term twin-blood. Twin-blood tends to piss Fae off because it makes the insulting implication that human blood is equal to Fae blood.

  “As for your Dwarf,” he continues. “Fate has spared his life, and only a Keth openly defies the will of Fate. A slave of Fate, as this one, will make a fine prize.”

  Oh yes, they look pissed. I’ve heard of saber rattling as a term, I’ve just never actually seen it literally done. This is likely bigger than me, and I got tapped for getting to the bottom of this at Under the Bridge. I have to go with them, if only because, firstly, Fae can’t lie, and secondly, they likely won’t resist the urge to taunt me with their entire diabolical plan.

  Monologuing. It’s not just for Bond villains anymore.

  “I’ll go with you, willingly, if you all walk away and give your word that Ozzie won’t be harmed.” I glance at the one Fae knight who spoke, his hand still gripping the hilt of his sword. “I’m also rather well-acquainted with the Riordan. I’m sure you guys would love some dirt on his liaisons outside of the court.”

  That gets their attention. I’m not planning on selling out Rourke, but the more useful I seem, the less likely they are to kill me, and the more a promise to spare Ozzie will seem worth it. It’s one of the few things you can count on with Fae.

  “You have my word that the Dwarf will not come to harm.” The Fae has a cold smile, but I don’t have to give a damn about reading him. Instead…

  “That’s fantastic.” I motion to the other Fae. “But I don’t have their word on the matter yet. You aren’t screwing me with some backdoor technicality.” I point to the dragon. “I want his word too. On his hoard.”

  The dragon snorts a hard thick plume of smoke. I honestly have no idea if that’s even an oath among dragons. But if there’s one thing they care about, it’s their money.

  The Fae grumble, but each of them responds, “You have my word that the Dwarf will not come to harm.”

  After nearly a minute, the dragon simply nods. “You have my oath.”

  I smile widely. “And your oath is on your…what now?” Yes, this is not the time to be rubbing it in. But he’s a dragon, I’m a Coyote, it’s our job to mess with those bastards.

  “On my hoard.” An actual gout of flame accompanies that. “The dreamblooded will not come to harm.”

  So I walk over to them. That went a hell of a lot easier than expected. They could’ve just taken me and tortured me, in ways you only see in spy movies, to get all the information they want. They’re likely just as surprised as I am that the two of us came out of that crash and a hail of gunfire alive.

  It’s not to say that they’re gentle, however. I’m grabbed roughly by the forearm and practically dragged down the road toward a car that’s parked on the side, unharmed. I’m guessing it’s
the dragon that hit us from behind. They don’t test for that at the factory, I’m sure.

  I know I should be worried, but I’m a little relieved, and not just because Ozzie’s likely to make it through the night. I’m surprised that it took this long, considering the role that I chose once I gave up my hero gig (though James has a knack for forcing me back into the role, despite my best efforts to stay on the periphery). James is the hero. Actually, James has magic and can sling lightning bolts at zombies with his mind—James is a damned superhero.

  And I’m a sidekick. I’m a superhero’s sidekick. And superhero sidekicks get kidnapped by the bad guys and held hostage until the superhero fulfills some ridiculous demand. And now I’m kidnapped.

  Like I said, it’s a relief.

  Chapter Fifteen

  James

  December 20, 5:10 am

  Nothing happens.

  “I swear I said that right.” I exhale hard and glance at Ras. “You couldn’t have me make something simpler than a table?”

  “It is magic. There is no simple, there is no complex, there is only the Name.”

  I extend my hand, concentrate, focus my breathing, work through the phonetics in my mind several times, my tongue hesitant to shape the syllables.

  “You appear as if you are having a difficult movement. You are placing too much…you are…” He taps his foot, irritated, before dropping his hands to his sides in defeat. “Khrazet.”

  I blink at him. “Dare I ask what that means?”

  “It is difficult to articulate. It is like a wall between you and the spell, and you are expending your effort to scale the wall to reach the spell on the other side, but the wall is only of your own construction, yet you build it subconsciously because you feel it is necessary, even though it is not. You hobble yourself out of deluded necessity, and hobble yourself further once you are aware of it, and on and on in a vicious cycle. Khrazet.”

  “So that’s not going to be a pet name for me, I take it.”

  He shakes his head again. “Indeed not. What I would call you would not be appropriate to speak in polite company.”

  “And what, exactly, would that be?”

  “I won’t insult you so directly by speaking it in Sigil, but you would be considered… Both the Recluse and Frozen River were your lovers, yes? You would be thought an apprentice who only sought a teacher because of romantic inclinations, or simple sexual need, because of their great power and influence. I do not know if there is a current term for it, but—”

  “You think I’m a groupie?”

  “Hence why I made it clear that I have no interest in men. Talents such as yours are often weaker, seeking a stronger talent to nurture them, to raise them just above mediocrity. It is my suspicion that the world answers your commands simply because there are no other Ra’keth to speak to it—”

  “Table.”

  It appears in a sudden crackle of electricity, several bolts of lightning flashing in a wireframe of four legs and a flat surface. When the sparks fade, the frame has solidified into matter, a simple wooden table that could seat four is in the middle of the room, appearing to be oak, but it’s not from any of my memories. It’s a table, the kind I was envisioning when trying to cast the spell before.

  “I did it.” When I look at Ras, he’s smiling and nods once in approval. “Groupie, my ass. How’s that for mediocre, huh?”

  His smile gets a little wider, and then it all makes sense.

  “You son of a bitch, you provoked me into doing that, didn’t you?”

  “As I said, you must find your own way. I’m merely giving you the pokes and prods necessary. Emotion is a powerful force, especially for us, and must be tempered, as reality is no longer pleased with bowing to the wills of irate sorcerers. In the beginning, though, it is a suitable means of accomplishing workings, to build one’s confidence.” He motions to the table. “Remember this moment, James. Shoddy as it might be, that is an object you willed into existence.”

  “Shoddy?” I fold my arms.

  He gives it a flick with his fingers, and it topples almost immediately since I apparently forgot to envision screws, bolts or braces to hold everything in place. “Consider it a success to build on.” He gestures to the space next to the heap of wood. “Table.”

  An elegant, hand-carved mahogany table appears with clawfoot legs, as well as a tablecloth of golden silk and silver platters at every one of the place settings. Every one of the six place settings.

  “Showoff.” I give his table a nudge. Sturdy as stone. “Okay, I heard you. That was the exact same word I said.”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “So it is the pronunciation or…”

  “It is what is visualized. That is why memory is such a powerful tool for us. Though it can be a crutch, as it limits you to your experience.”

  I point at the adorned table. “This is a memory?”

  “No, I simply possess an active imagination. Your attempt was rudimentary, as you were more focused on the spell than the effect. It is something you will have to work on, but common to khrazet.”

  I glance at him. “Does this mean I can leave now?”

  He shows me an open palm.

  I start toward the space in the wall where a door had been before and hold my hand toward it. The word dances through my mind, the syllables disjointed, wisps of memory, snatches of song.

  And nothing.

  Every time I start, my voice catches in my throat, I stumble into a syllable and know I need to start over. And now I’m imagining a damned wall in my way, a mental barrier to match the physical one. It was a reaction before, I was so pissed off I didn’t have time to think. I thought it and acted. I try to think of enraging memories, things that Heath did to me, Cale dying in my arms, but then I think about thinking and thinking too much and—

  “God damn it.” I sulk a few seconds. “Why can’t I do it?”

  His hand is on my shoulder. “It is a slow process. You are likely convincing yourself at the moment that it was a one-time occurrence? Pure happenstance or fortune that you succeeded?”

  Well, I am now.

  “How do I push through that?”

  He shows me an open palm.

  “You don’t know? I thought you were a teacher.”

  “I am not you. How I overcame such obstacles would likely not be as effective for you.”

  “How’d you do it?”

  “Kernigon.” He smiles. “That is one of the lesser names for my draconic form. Obvious, his true name should remain my own secret.”

  “So you work magic better as a dragon?”

  “No, after spending time as him, some of him bled into me. A dragon does not hesitate in matters, he does not let his perceptions be clouded, he acts. He provides a…seductive clarity. I’m sure you’ve felt it as well when you show your favor to the Snow Clan.”

  I can only nod.

  “But I would not suggest it as a method for you. It can be easy to lose yourself in them, as I did with Kernigon. As I said, the clarity is difficult to resist, you might keep hold of yourself for years, as I did, and then falter completely while taking flight on a whim. Kernigon was not even the Ra’saar then, simply a golden drake who loved nothing more than the wind under his wings. He was a fast learner, though, of dragon society.”

  I take some time to process that. “He’s you though, isn’t he? Just like…” I catch myself before saying his name. “My dragon is me. Or at least a creation of my mind. It’s not like I created a dragon from nothing and possessed him. He’s something that…I don’t know what, maybe a split personality. But it doesn’t mean he’s not me, right?”

  He shows an open palm. “I have been the Ra’saar for centuries, and I could not tell you one way or the other. Perhaps he is an extension of my wish for dragons to be treated with greater dignity, perhaps he is a kind
red soul I created. He simply is, and I simply am.”

  “How can you have two souls in the same body? Wouldn’t that be, y’know, against the rules?”

  He tilts his head at me. “We are sorcerers, James. Rules are for humans.”

  “But we’re human.”

  He smiles. “Yes, but also we’re more. For all our power, we are human, but we still have power. We are…”

  “Better?” It comes across as dubiously as I intended.

  “Yes. By fate or circumstance, yes. And that grants us reason to use our power properly.”

  “With great power comes great responsibility?” Spence isn’t here to say it, so I might as well.

  “Yes! Exactly. Rather succinct, I must say.”

  “I don’t know how I feel about the idea of being better than someone, okay? It…” I stop myself. I don’t want to say out loud that it reminds me of Heath. Being referred to as a worthless mistake doesn’t do much for the ego, and I don’t even want to find myself on the other side of that. “It just doesn’t seem right.”

  Ras nods curtly. “You are early in your reign. I’ll ask you in a century if you still share the same egalitarian attitudes.”

  It’s his casual tone that puts me off-balance. A century. Just like that. I keep overlooking that aspect of being a sorcerer. Cale was at least in his nineties, but appeared in his early thirties. Ras seems a bit older, but certainly not several centuries old. Hades had told me once that I would live until I was killed, my death only coming from a murder. As a result, I’ve come back from some injuries that should’ve killed me, like falling through a skylight.

  “I’ve never really thought about living that long.”

  His face grows somber. “The first century is always the hardest. Lovers, family, friends, you outlive them all. Davinicus will likely survive along with you, another reason I forged friendships with dragons as opposed to people. Perhaps this is why you sought companionship with one of the dreamblooded as opposed to a human?”