by Louisa Lo
“Well, we’ll just have to agree to disagree, love.”
“Right, as if you and your sneaky ways will have a place in this new, supposedly pristine world.”
My little dart seemed to have found a chink in his armor, because Damarion huffed and turned towards the door. “I’ll be back. Keep yourself entertained while I bully your family into giving up the harp. I might even be in the mood to trade two for the price of one.”
Damarion crossed the threshold. Dan did the same and then closed the door behind him with a muffled thump.
Touché.
I had to get out of the dungeon and find Esme. But how? I looked around me. There were two guards outside the door. The room itself was devoid of any furniture, and, ick, were those mice in the corner? As a kid I’d gone through a human Disney phase, but even then, I hadn’t been that big on Mickey Mouse. Mice in general creeped me out a bit.
They’d taken away every single one of my weapons, from the extendible knives, the arrow-shooting ring, all the way to the snap-together shield. They’d even confiscated my trickster-spun hairband. They’d left my pearl pendant necklace alone though, as a twisted sign of respect for a vengeance demon captive, however tainted they thought that blood was. But they’d made sure to rub anti-magic balm all over the pearl. My little amplifier would be out for at least a day, if not more.
I had to face the facts. I was guarded by radical vengeance demons who knew exactly who I was. To escape, I could safely rule out using any vengeance magic and even most of the common trickery magic.
That meant I had to think outside of the box, literally. Who do I know who has free access in and out of my jail?
I looked at the mice in the corner again and smiled. I remembered now a story I’d once read about Walt Disney during my aforementioned Disney phase. When he’d started out, he’d been so broke that he’d had to live in an infested apartment. When life had given him mice, he’d drawn mouse cartoons and made millions.
Maybe I didn’t mind Mickey Mouse that much, after all.
But first I had to get the mice to come closer. If I couldn’t do it the vengeance or the trickery way, what about the human way? What did magically impaired humans do to get what they wanted? They had to know something. They’d managed to build everything from the pyramids to the Internet, after all.
They lied and they bribed.
All of a sudden I remembered the dog biscuits I’d put in my pants pocket, given to me by Rosemary at the shelter, what felt like a lifetime ago. My life seemed to have divided into two Befores and Afters since then. There was before and after Esme’s kidnapping, and before and after the rediscovery of Grandma’s love.
I concentrated my will on one of the bigger mice, subtly enhancing the smell of Rosemary’s awesome dog biscuits and lowering its fear towards the giant they belonged to—me.
It seemed I could still use some limited magic as long as it wasn’t combat-related in a direct way.
The large mouse crawled towards me, its approach tentative. I did some weird yoga move to slip two fingers into my pants pocket and took out a dog biscuit.
“Hey there, little one, want a bite?” I crooned.
As soon as the mouse bit into my food, it was mine. I used a form of mind-control called The Drone. This was a little trick I knew for sure the High Monks wouldn’t have safeguarded against, because it was newly invented by my half-brothers and hadn’t reached the market yet. Fir planned to market it to teenagers who were under the gun to clean their room but didn’t want to do the grunt work themselves.
My little drone mouse climbed into my pants pocket, grabbed more dog biscuits, and shared them with his friends. Soon I had a tiny army of four.
One mouse worked on unbinding my hands. Another one did the same to my feet. The other two took the remaining dog biscuits out and laid them in front of me.
I enchanted the biscuits with a Sleeping Beauty spell—another one of my half-brothers’ inventions—and the pair of mice slipped out the dungeon door carrying them. Before my guards had a chance to cry foul, my little soldiers had stuffed a dog biscuit down each of their throats.
I heard two almost simultaneous thuds just as my limbs were freed from the ropes, and I knew that the coast was clear.
“Thank you, my little friends.”
***
Emerging from the basement dungeon, I blinked like a baby owl in the waning sunlight. I would’ve bet it was evening already. Turned out it was still daytime, though it wouldn’t be for much longer.
I was at the university just as before. On the bootleg or the real human plane, I didn’t know. I stood in front of Hart House and simply sent out my senses.
Definitely bootleg. There was a lack of souls all around, despite the appearance of being at the heart of a bustling city.
They would’ve moved Esme after my little failed impersonation. Now, if I was a pretentious, deluded religious nut with an overdeveloped sense of self-righteousness and a cliché-ridden sense of style, where on campus would I be relocating my hostage?
I ran through a list of all the likely suspects in my head: student theaters, large-capacity lecture halls, student centers housed in Victorian mansions…problem was, there were simply too many possibilities.
“I know where they’re holding her.”
I spun around. There was Gregory, leaning against the wall of the front entrance with his arms crossed over his chest. He’d changed into a simple sweatshirt and jeans, as if he’d been chilling out at home before coming here.
“You know where she is?”
“Where she is and where she was before that.”
“And you didn’t bother telling me when we first got here?” I looked around for something handy and sharp to stab him with.
Gregory shook his head as if I was the most naïve girl in the world. Maybe I was—for not kicking him in the nuts the moment I met him. “I’m a businessman. I saw no need to offer that information. You had nothing to trade for it at the time.”
Bastard. Wait. “And I do now?”
“I’ll exchange what you need for a boon.” The guy made the offer without batting an eye. He didn’t use any power to sway my decision. Just good old-fashioned negotiation skills.
Too bad I was a bit too pissed to be just as cool-headed. Cold, hard business, my butt. I’d gotten my cover blown. I’d barely made it out of my dungeon of a prison. And this guy had known a better way all along? “A boon? What am I, the freaking Wall Street fairy?” Then I couldn’t help asking, “What kind of a boon?”
“Your help in this new job I was just offered.”
“What is it?”
“Can’t say. Client-mercenary confidentiality.”
“Well, that’s vague.”
He raised his eyebrow. “It’s a good deal. You only have to do it if you survive this mess.”
“Geeze thanks, asshole. I’m not promising you anything if I don’t know what it is.” He might want me to perform vengeance on an undeserving party or something. Or worse, to use my trickery powers to do the same. That would open a floodgate I might never be able to close again.
“Well, I’ll give you a promise of my own then. The job is going to be legal for both vengeance and human laws. It doesn’t involve trickery.” Gregory counted off his fingers, proving that he knew of my heritage as much as my reluctance. He did his homework, I’d give him that. “It’ll even have your grandmother’s stamp of approval. Plus, you get to help a friend. Your changeling friend.”
“What does Serafina have to do with all this?” I asked sharply, “Just what is it you’re playing at?”
“Let’s just say that she’ll be very happy if you say yes to my offer, mark my words. So do we have a deal?”
“Alright.” It wasn’t like I had another choice. I couldn’t suffer any more delays in getting to Esme. At least if I’d promised this guy something, it’d increase the likelihood that his information would be reliable.
“She’s at the Rotman School of Managem
ent.”
Rotman, the business school on campus where students learned how to succeed in a capitalist world. It was a place I would never consciously associate with the High Monks, yet when I thought about it, it made sense as they were all about living the high life. Talk about hiding in plain sight.
I started in the direction of the school.
“Wait.” Gregory blocked my way. “A little bonus to help you out.”
“Why?” I asked suspiciously. When a guy who viewed the world as one giant freaking chess game wanted to do you one, you took notice. “Another one on the house?”
“Of course not. My reputation won’t survive it.” He shuddered.
“Then I ask again, why?”
“Because it’s the little things that make the difference between someone returning the favor willingly, or out of obligation.”
“Or being alive to return the favor at all,” I shot back.
“Yeah, there’s that,” he conceded, then pointed at my necklace. “Give it to me. I could feel the bind on your pearl all the way from here. I can free it.”
Reluctantly, I unclasped my necklace and handed it over. Powerless or not, it was my little security blanket, and I hated his hands on it.
Gregory placed the pendant at the center of his palm and chanted something in Sumerian. The pearl grew bright and transparent, just like it had at Grandma’s place. But this time, instead of lifting itself up, it absorbed all the anti-magic balm on its surface and gave off a little burp, as if saying in defiance, “Is that all you’ve got?”
I laughed. The pearl sure had some attitude. My magic was now back in full swing.
“Remember this moment,” Gregory advised as he retreated. “When I come back for my boon.”
***
I knew about the Rotman School of Management because I’d been there once when a third cousin twice removed, from the trickster side, had graduated from there.
I repeat, a trickster obtaining a business degree and getting a steady job. That would be like a reaper training to be a baby-delivering stork, or a human mobster aspiring to be a cop. A clean cop.
Once I got near the school’s contemporary structure, I knew Gregory had delivered the goods. Connected to Esme as I was, I could feel the mental breadcrumbs she’d left behind for me to chase.
I made myself invisible and followed a student into the building via the automatic doors. The atrium was set up with rows of chairs for what appeared to be a guest lecture with the banner overhead that read, “Speaker Series: The Challenges in the Valuation of Derivatives.”
Yep, definitely Rotman.
The library upstairs.
What was that? I could have sworn I just heard Esme whisper her whereabouts to me. That level of connection was almost unheard of. I rushed upstairs, walked towards the library, and passed through the anti-theft detection gates.
And got transported into the demonic dimension of the same room.
The real demonic plane. I was a hundred percent sure of it. I didn’t think there was a difference while I was in the bootleg plane, but now that I was out of there, everything felt more solid and vivid, from the air I breathed to the carpet under my feet.
So much for getting angsty over my ability to leave the bootleg plane when the time came.
Somehow, I managed to remain invisible through the shock of the transition. Not wanting to lose that competitive edge, I dared not make a sound as I observed my surroundings.
Esme was sitting at a nearby cedar table among rows of bookshelves, playing chess with her date-turned-jailor. One of her ankles was chained to the leg of her heavy wooden chair, the metal links peeking through the edge of her pink floral sundress. The links were made of duralumin, from the look of it. At least the dress appeared clean and in one piece. Good, I didn’t have to rip the asshole’s heart out for messing with her. I’d just rip his heart out for the kidnapping part.
On the surface, Esme seemed rather relaxed, which kinda pissed me off. I thought she was supposed to be terrified. Here I was, risking my neck, and she looked like she was enjoying a grand old time with her man of the hour.
Until I heard her frantic mental call urging me to be cautious. She couldn’t exactly read my mind like Grandma did, but connected as we were, she could feel my presence and tried to project warnings into my head.
As I got closer to her, I could feel her concern for me, her fear for both of us. Yet her face remained neutral and even almost pleasant. If the vengeance gig didn’t work out, maybe acting would be a good fallback plan for her.
Prince Guillermo Cristobal Canus, or whatever his real name was, lifted the wineglass at the corner of the table and took a sip. “Now, this is not a bad way to kill time, is it?”
“Until when?” Esme asked, sounding casual and bored.
“Patience, my sweet.” Guillermo shook his head. “You waited months for me. Surely you can wait a bit longer now.”
“Months.” Esme sighed and lowered her eyes so her captor couldn’t read the murderous intent I could feel rolling from her in waves. “I was so stupid.”
“Don’t feel too bad, sweetheart. I laced my lips with powdered love potion when I kissed you at the ball, and it was some potent stuff. I know, because I swallowed a bit of it myself by accident.” Guillermo winked at Esme and attempted a seductive smile. “Even aware of its effect, I found myself missing you just a little bit. You should be flattered.”
Esme made a disgusted sound from her throat that was completely unladylike, but which I approved of. I was relieved, frankly. That whole mooning, lovesick thing had me worried there for a while. So it was nothing but a spell that had turned my level-headed sister a little crazy. I was afraid it was the start of a lifelong trend of choosing losers or something.
“I wanted to call you sooner, you know,” the ever-gallant prince offered. “But my superiors said I had to set a few things in motion first. We couldn’t afford to miscalculate again after that disaster of a ball.”
Yeah, I bet. Cross-dimensional demon-napping was delicate work indeed. So he bewitched her, then he left her alone to deal with the withdrawal symptoms that came with the love spell. Jerk.
I made a mental note to talk to Grandma about her physician. He was either not that good, or he’d been paid off to act clueless when Esme went to see him. Either way, a little disturbing.
I concentrated on remaining invisible and swept the room for a makeshift weapon. That little footstool close to the end of the second row of bookshelves on the left was made of metal and seemed promising. I inched towards that slowly, careful not to leave any traces of energy for Guillermo to detect.
“What will happen to us when Megan gets here?” Esme asked as she moved another pawn.
Guillermo rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Something painful and grisly, I’m sure.”
In other words, he wasn’t sure. It was beyond his pay grade to know.
Esme seemed to have come to the same conclusion. “You don’t know yourself, do you?”
“‘Course I do,” he protested in the typical fashion of an underling with an overdeveloped sense of self-importance. “I heard them say at least one of you had to die.”
Esme snorted. “I’d like to see you try.”
Guillermo moved a bishop with a triumphant smile. “Checkmate, my sweet.”
“Oh, no. That’s the fourth one in a row,” Esme whined and glared as if she’d just cracked a fingernail rather than lost a game of chess. She formed a perfect pout with her full lips that was guaranteed to make the males of any species think of her as less of a threat. Wow, that subtle shift of mood from defiance to dourness was a lightning-fast one. Such inconsistency was common among flighty human females, but rare for the self-controlled vengeance demons. But Esme pulled it off. Nothing motivated like survival instincts. “You must be cheating.”
My half-sister was up to something. I knew it. I stopped moving and focused on her, ready to act the moment she made her play.
Guillermo laughed,
being put at ease by Esme’s apparent sullenness. “I assure you, I won fair and square. I might’ve lied to you about many things, but I am from a prominent family and chess is second nature to me. I didn’t have to cheat to win.”
Old-school, huh? Yeah, he did seem the type who enjoyed dumber females. Esme was playing to his ego. Good girl.
Her eyes flared with challenge, bratty and sultry at the same time. “Prove it.”
Guillermo folded his arms over his chest. “How do you propose I do that?”
Esme leaned closer to him, “Let me touch you.”
He leered. “Oh, is that what this is all about?”
Esme blew out an exasperated sound and held out her hand. “I mean, let me touch your hand. Then I’ll know if you’re lying. Just one touch. You know full well I don’t have the skills to take power from you. Not shackled with these anyway.”
She made a point of shaking the duralumin links that were binding her ankles. As human technology progressed, vengeance demons had found to their dismay that some of the new manmade alloys, such as duralumin, had the unintended effect of disrupting vengeance magic. It was most annoying, as duralumin was being used in creating aircrafts, which meant no bringing someone to justice while he or she was enjoying the mile high club. That was why the Cayman Islands airport was always full of grumpy vengeance demons waiting for their took-the-money-and-ran charges to get off the plane before getting on with the vengeance.
If Esme’s magic was affected, Guillermo’s would be too, though to a much lesser degree.
Esme continued to hold out her hand. “Well?”
Vengeance demons generally tended not to hold hands with people they didn’t trust, because there was much power and revelation in such a connection, just like that time when Esme had recharged me. I understood what she was trying to do now, so I got into position beside her, opposite Guillermo.
Overconfident with his success so far and given my half-sister’s chained-up position, Guillermo gave a smug nod. “Alright. But I reserve the right to take power from you.”
Gotta hand it to Esme, she didn’t even flinch at his suggestive tone as she held still for his advancing touch.