“No, we just clicked, and it’s been going well and…”
“And he knows your nature but doesn’t think you mad. Should he grow to love you, he will not slip into madness, and while he won’t be as long-lived as you may be, the Fae will live a good many years longer than a human. Again,” he smirks. “A better choice than a trickster.”
“You sound like you’re speaking from personal experience there.”
He sits in one of the conjured chairs. “That is a story I believe you have not earned yet. I am speaking from experience, that is all I will give you. Upon realizing my error, I made a grave mistake that I am yet to outlive.”
“Shouldn’t I learn from your mistakes, then? Isn’t that one of the advantages of having a teacher?”
“Telling you the tale would only grant you false confidence that you would not fall to temptation. I will put it simply: a trickster wishes nothing more than for you to look a fool. They may claim grand altruistic motivations, but they speak falsehoods. You are a trophy to them, nothing more. Friendship, romance, animosity, hatred—all of these are tools they exploit to gain sway over your actions. This is true especially with Coyotes.”
Considering I’m speaking to the King of the Dragons, and that he prefers them to be treated with dignity, I can understand his issues with a clan of tricksters seeing his people as nothing more than a collection of saps with entirely too much money. I know that Spence is going to try to trick me. Hell, the day he found out I was a sorcerer he told me as much.
But he’s also someone who’s stepped up for me again and again, shown generosity to a dragon (in exchange for crash space and a ten-dollar lunch allowance) and even helped to save my life, and possibly the world. Maybe Spence isn’t the average Coyote and—
“They are all the same, James.” When I look at Ras, his jaw is set. “You were thinking the trickster you know is one of the exceptions, yes? We all have believed that, every one of us who has been humiliated by their ilk.”
I shrug. “Maybe. But I just met you. The only experience I have with other sorcerers has generally been them trying to kill or intimidate me. And dragons have only seen me as a means to an end as well, remember? I appreciate that you’re giving me a lesson in magic, but—”
“You think this is a lesson?” He chuckles to himself and shakes his head. “No, James, this is simply a conversation. An introduction. This is not a lesson.” He gestures to the wall, murmuring in Sigil, and a portal opens to the hall outside.
“You’re letting me go?” I stroll through the doorway, which doesn’t shut in my face as I half expect. Instead, it opens to a ballroom reminiscent of my grandparents’ manor in England, with high ceilings, big bay windows and an expansive parquet floor. The walls are papered with a dull and simple design, no interruptions by paintings or objets d’art, though there are fresher sections of wallpaper that outline where paintings had been at some point. No furniture, no rugs. It’s completely vacant, save myself and someone at the far end, about twenty yards away, a woman in jeans and a punker T-shirt and Atlantic-blue hair.
Ras enters shortly afterward and gestures to the woman. “I believe you remember Codacintha.”
“The bump on my head does, yes.”
He calls across the room. “Codacintha?”
She snaps to attention. “Yes, my liege?”
He tics his head at me, still looking at her. “You may kill him now.”
“What?” I back toward the wall, where the door has conveniently vanished. “What the hell is this?”
Ras glances at me with a slight smile as Coda closes her eyes, long sharp claws extending from her fingers, scaly blue ridges pushing out from her forehead as she advances toward me.
“I would think it obvious, James.” He takes a few steps back, murmuring in Sigil to create a simple wooden chair to sit upon. “This is your lesson.”
I gulp as she grows closer. “So, she’s not going to actually kill me, right?”
“She’ll try, whether she succeeds is entirely up to you. You wished to learn. I see no better way. I would prefer you incapacitated her, rather than kill her. She has much potential.”
“What fucking purpose does this serve?”
“A simple but needed one, James.”
Coda lunges at me.
“Today, James. I meet the Lightning Rod.”
Chapter Sixteen
James
December 20, 5:25 am
I jump out of the way just as two sets of claws plant themselves in the wall I’d been standing in front of. She has little trouble pulling them out as I break for the opposite end of the room, my lungs reminding me that, again, smoking cigarettes was a bad idea. Before I can reach the other side she’s caught up with me, and I intentionally fall on my face to miss a swipe at my back.
To hell with dignity, I want to live.
As a result she overshoots a few steps, long enough to extend my hand and shout in a panic, “Lightning.”
The bolt flies from my fingers and spreads in a fractal pattern, one of the forks colliding and crackling over her body, quickly being absorbed while the rest leave scorch marks on the walls, floor and ceiling.
Right. Blue Dragons breathe lightning. After having played Dungeons & Dragons for as long as I have, I probably should’ve remembered that. Also, I should’ve remembered that shooting lightning bolts from one’s hands will tire a sorcerer out right quick.
She snorts sparks as she turns to face me, snickering to herself, advancing with deliberate steps, her claws clicking together in anticipation.
“I truly hope you have more than that in your arsenal, James.” Ras is seated, his tone unimpressed, almost bored.
I can hear Cale’s voice in my head, memories of our first meeting.
“Ice!” A frozen wall erects between the dragon and me, leaving me exhausted, barely able to rise to a kneeling position. The dragon punches it hard, the barrier spiderwebbing from the impact, but it holds against her strikes. It won’t keep her off forever. I stumble forward, pressing my hand against the wall, the cold shooting up my arm. I envision the wall, imagine it freezing, expanding, thickening. “Ice.”
Nothing happens.
“Children speak in simple words, James.”
A huge crack appears in the wall, the sound echoing through the room.
“You are a sorcerer.”
“I don’t know those words!”
He gets up from the chair and strides toward me. “You named the language, it is yours.”
“I can’t just speak it at will, I’m not a Bard.” At a time like this, I’m jealous of Spencer, who can speak Sigil at will as long as he’s heard it recently. I keep pushing against the wall, numbness invading my fingers. “Ice!”
Nothing.
I look quickly to Ras. “Help me!”
“That is not the purpose of this lesson.”
Another large crack.
“Please!”
“There is only one person in this room capable of helping you. Only one who can give you the words you need. It is not me.”
I can feel tears streaming down my face as the wall shatters, my arms flying up to shield my face from the shards. She bursts through with a corona of ice crystals about her, glittering in the light, her claws pointed at my throat.
I shut my eyes tight, terror making my muscles rigid, the soft tissue of my neck scant milliseconds from being torn asunder, a flurry of thoughts rushing through my brain. “Go away.”
The impact doesn’t come.
I wait a second. Then two. Three. Ten.
Nothing.
My eyes open slowly, expecting to find her talons grazing my skin. Only the fallen ice is present in a fast-melting pile. I sob, audibly, stumbling toward the wall.
After what feels like an eternity, I look around. Ras is now seated in his chair. The ice is nothing more
than a puddle. Coda is gone.
I take a few deep breaths, trying to push down the nausea. “What happened?”
“You took a step.”
“What happened to Coda?”
At that, he gets up and strides across the room until he’s standing over me. “I would ask the same. You sent her away. One moment she was here, the next she was gone. I’m curious as to where you sent her.”
“I…I didn’t.” I shake my head quickly. “I didn’t do anything, I just wanted her to go away.” I try working back through the newly formed memories. “I panicked. She was going to kill me.” I glance at him. “Wasn’t she?”
He nods. “I had every confidence you could defend yourself, though.” He motions to the puddle. “Evocation and conjuration are clearly not your strong suits. We’ll have to alter your lesson plan from here on out.”
I tremble, walk away from him. “Where’d she go, then? What’d I do?”
“You have pierced space before, yes?” At my look of confusion, he searches for words. “Moved things from one place to another?”
I stop to think, remember. “Uh…I took someone from Osaka and brought them here once. It was really hard, though. I thought that was just a form of scrying. And I guess I’ve jumped over to Tartarus a few times, but that’s pretty easy.”
At that, he laughs. “Easy? You have walked between worlds. Even I cannot do that without effort and preparation. All sorcerers are not the same, James. Conjuration has always been my specialty. I would suppose that this is your own strength, though it obviously must be honed.”
“By trying to kill me?” I feel my strength returning. Enough at least to brace my back against the wall. “I’m surprised doing that didn’t burn out my soul.”
“You needed adequate inspiration. However, I would like to know where one of my subjects has been sent to.” He waits patiently. “Please.”
“Uh…” I search frantically through my mind, trying to remember, the emotion of the moment overshadowing everything. “Not to Tartarus, I know that.” I didn’t want to kill her. I wanted to go home, to be safe. “I sent her somewhere where I thought I’d be safe.”
That could be one of three places. The diner, Ozzie’s place or the room that’s now my father’s private office up in the Mews. I pray it’s the first. Dragons have done enough damage to Ozzie’s recently, and I doubt my father would appreciate a punker girl appearing out of nowhere in his office. Dave would be able to handle a dragon, at least, and Dave would know I’m okay. Knowing my luck, though, she’d probably appear ten feet off the floor and have her fall broken by his latest stack of AC/DC albums.
Still, how did I do that?
I’m plenty pissed that Ras decided murder is part of the curriculum, but it’s hard to argue with the results, even if I plan on arguing.
I didn’t have to think, the words came out in perfect Sigil, soaked in emotion and will and power. I didn’t even have to use her Name, I just sent her away like an overcooked burger, to be dealt with by someone else.
“It can be disorienting, the first time you surpass khrazet. We always feel there is some trick to it, and for some, there is. It is a rare sorcerer, or a very old one, who requires nothing to bolster his will.” He gestures, murmuring again in Sigil, and a plush, overstuffed chair appears beside me, which he helps me into. “I am still curious where my subject has gone. If you will excuse me a moment.” He backs away, giving me plenty of space before I feel a surge of power in the air, a bright light flashing as he takes the Ra’saar’s form, a Golden Dragon now in his place. The beast closes its eyes a few seconds, and it takes a little while to figure out what he’s doing.
Jutte told me once that all dragons are in constant communication, possibly through telepathy, that they possess seers and an unbeatable information network when it comes to the Keth themselves. I thought it only applied to actual dragons, though, considering that when I’ve been, ugh, Slartibartfast, I haven’t received any mental phone calls from other dragons. Unless of course I’ve just been broadcasting everything I’ve been thinking, in which case I might end up having a rather awkward conversation with Parivian the Algid later on, seeing as Slarty has a bit of a crush on him.
A moment later, Ras reappears in a flash of light. “She is safe, though her presence has surprised and irritated the Impecunious. She conveyed that she was there at the request of the Ra’keth.”
Well, that’s a relief, at least.
“So I’m good at teleportation?”
He shows an open palm.
“What happens now? Going to find a new way to kill me?”
He shakes his head and doors appear at the far end of the room. Shortly afterward, he gestures, murmuring a long table into existence, complete with multiple chairs. Men and women with vibrantly colored hair enter, some carrying platters. “It has been an eventful day. For both of us. I believe we have earned a repast.”
“Who are those people?”
“The council, of course.” He motions to a pair of grand-looking near-thrones at the head of the table. “Shall we?”
Chapter Seventeen
Spencer
December 20, 8:18 am
Being kidnapped sucks.
If you couldn’t tell, I’m aiming for the Understatement of the Year Award. I hear the winner gets a toaster.
I’m currently in a small ten-by-ten room, cinder-block walls, no windows, one door, a small air vent near the ceiling and a bare light bulb above the door. I’m not tied up, just sitting in a corner. The air is cold. I was put in here a few hours ago, maybe more. I slept a little. I’m starting to lose track of time, wondering what the sun looks like, stuff like that.
My throat’s also sore, but that happens when you run through the entire Tenacious D catalog three times. I was hoping to annoy them into something, but it would seem I don’t have a guard outside the door, which is a little insulting. I figure that someone like me would at least rate adult supervision.
Considering all the info I promised them, I have to guess this is part of the interrogation process before they put the electrodes to my nipples, or whatever else Fae think up. If fairy tales are any indicator, they can come up with some plenty sick shit.
The process of getting here was standard, at least as far as TV goes. I was stuffed in the trunk of the car, driven around enough that I had no idea where we ended up, and had a bag yanked over my head when I was taken out. The only glimpse I got was of a parking garage, so at least I’m still in the City. We weren’t on the road long enough to have made it to the Capital.
After that, I was stripped and thrown back in here with my clothes soon afterward. My pockets are empty, my cards are gone, but thankfully they’re just standard playing cards. A couple bucks at a c-store would easily replace them. Times like this I wish I’d had the foresight to stash some cards or something in the lining of my coat, but thinking ahead isn’t really the strong suit of Coyotes. All I can do is tell myself to have that ready for next time and hope it sticks.
Also to hope there will be a next time.
And I mean a next time to be prepared, not that I hope I’m kidnapped again.
Nobody’s looking at me, so I could just as easily turn myself into a coyote, but then I’d just be a coyote in a closed room. I don’t see the advantage, other than having a different method of pissing on the wall.
Which gets old after the first time.
Since singing off-key and marking my territory haven’t had any effect, I try banging on the door repeatedly.
Nothing.
Apparently they’re trying to bore me to death. I’ve seen this on TV too. They let me sit and stew until I reach the point where I’m willing to talk about anything, so long as it means social interaction.
But they made a fatal error.
I’ve seen enough movies, enough times to know them line for line.
/> Sure, The Princess Bride as performed with sock puppets may seem ridiculous, but us ’Yotes don’t mind embarrassing ourselves so long as it was our idea to begin with.
The sword-fight scenes are a pain in the ass, though.
“Would you be quiet?” The voice doesn’t come from outside. Rather, it echoes through the vent, but sounds like a refined gentleman. “If you are a means of torture, I would dare say you’re quite effective.”
“All right!” I whoop with joy, I’ll admit it. “There’s someone to talk to? This is awesome.”
“I’m beginning to regret starting this conversation.”
“No, you don’t get it. We can talk and get to know each other and plan a breakout. We’re halfway home now.” I consider things a moment. “Wait, are you attractive? Because this would totally count as a meet-cute.”
“Even if I understood what that meant, my affections belong to another. Still, it would seem that conversing with you will cease your infernal prattling.”
“Are you locked up too?”
“And bound. The Cobalt Order holds my prowess in high esteem, it would seem. And you?”
“They apparently do not, as far as I’m concerned. What’re you in for?”
There’s a sigh of exasperation, followed by “It is embarrassing. And yourself?”
“Implying that I could give them information on the Riordan. Oh, and tips on insider trading at Victory Financial.” I chuckle nervously. “Neither of which I can really deliver on.”
“Implied? You led them to the conclusion, or told them outright?”
Ah, he’s asking whether I’m Fae, considering that they can’t lie, not even the Phouka. But they’re damned good at leading you to your own false conclusions while remaining squeaky clean. Assholes.
“I’m not Fae, no.”
“Twin-blooded, then. I see no other reason for the Cobalt Order to give you a second thought. Was your mother or father of the noble race?”
“Huh? My dad wasn’t all that noble. Still isn’t. He’s a Coyote.”
“Ah.” There’s a slight pause. “You’re one of the…others.”
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