The Last Sun

by K. D. Edwards

  I followed him, dividing my attention between chest and ground level, looking for both enemy and tripping hazards. We entered a large room. I pulled on Addam’s elbow just before he stuck his foot into a rusting metal . . . bear trap?

  I looked closer. It wasn’t a bear trap, and that wasn’t rust. I said, tiredly, “We’re in a torture chamber, aren’t we?”

  “At the entrance to one. Ah—this is what I wanted to show you.” Addam swung aside a tapestry with a flourish. A hidden granite stairway spiraled down into cold, black depths.

  When I didn’t comment, he said, “This is how they made their way into and out of the castle so easily. It leads under Farstryke grounds. We can use it to escape.”

  “Perfect plan,” I said. “Let’s go deeper into the basement of the haunted house. That won’t go wrong at all.”

  “Have faith. How many more Shatter spells have you stored?”

  I didn’t feel like explaining that I had a limited arsenal of sigils. I’d already burned through every spell but two. “How about we go with plan B?” I asked.

  “This would be the less-comfortable option?”

  “It would.”

  I touched his arm and initiated the spell I’d released earlier, when I’d arrived at Farstryke.

  It had been a while since I’d used a Slingshot spell.

  Teleportation magic operated under the basic principle of establishing two or more reference points, and bridging those points with the instantaneous. A Slingshot was the shortcut version. It relied on a single point of fixed reference and used the spell-caster like a bungee cord. You couldn’t return anywhere except where you started; the radius was crap; and you got none of those pleasant, cool tingles that real teleportation gave you.

  The spell put our bodies through the sensation of being stretched far beyond any physical possibility, followed by a rapid collapse into a dense, carsick mess. We wound up next to Ciaran, tangled on our knees. Addam threw up. I managed to stumble over to a sewer grate. Our faces were beaded in something gelatinous and sour. It smeared orange when I wiped at it.

  “Charming,” Ciaran said.

  “Ciaran?” Addam panted. He gave the principality a wobbly smile that was actually friendly. “I didn’t know you were here. Did Quinn send you?”

  Ciaran cut a look at me. I decided it was a bad time to tell Addam that his brother had been hurt. “We can go over the details later. I need to check in with my partner, then we’ll move to a secure location. Ciaran, could you get the car started?”

  “Your wish,” he said, and swept me a bow. He offered Addam a hand up.

  I called Brand. He answered with, “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine. I’ve got him.”

  The line hissed as Brand released a deep breath. “Tell me.”

  I quickly described the events of the last hour. He asked a few questions, each one calmer than the next.

  I said, “Anyway. I should be home in a couple hours.”

  “A couple hours,” Brand echoed. His voice lost that calm. “And how does that fucking work?”

  “I’m going to escort Addam back to his condo,” I said. “I don’t even know if we have a job past that point. I’ll be home soon.”

  “The Dead Man isn’t dead. He’s not even incapacitated, not if he sent skeletons after you.”

  “Skeletons. Phfft. He’s incapacitated enough, if he didn’t come after us himself. You know, it is conceivable that I could survive on my own for another hour or two. And you skipped over the part where you complimented me on my derring-do.”

  “Yes, awesome job, thank you for not dying after you left me behind. I baked cookies.”

  “Chocolate chip or oatmeal raisin?” I asked.

  Brand hung up. I tucked the phone back in my pocket and headed to the car. The phone vibrated. I pulled it out and saw that Brand had texted: “Dick.”

  Addam left me the front seat, while he sprawled along the length of the back. Ciaran pulled away from the curb before I even buckled my seatbelt.

  “You must call Lord Tower,” he said.

  “Look at you, being all serious.”

  Ciaran spared me a pissy expression. “I am a principality. My obligations to the Arcanum are limited, not absent. Lord Tower must hear what happened.”

  “I know so little,” Addam said from behind us. “I am not sure what has happened.”

  I turned around. “Do you remember anything about your kidnapping?”

  “Just . . . that thing. Coming into my office. I only remember snatches after that, of recarnates carrying me through the tunnels under Farstryke.”

  “And you have no idea who ordered that recarnate, Rurik, to kidnap you?” I asked.

  “The one who kidnapped me seemed much more than a recarnate. But no. Nothing was said. Do . . .” Addam’s face was drawn with worry. “Is someone striking at my mother through me? Is my family in danger?”

  “I don’t know. But I think it may have been more personal than that.”

  “Personal,” Addam repeated. “As in someone I know has done this to me?”

  My cell phone vibrated. I pulled it out and saw Brand’s name. I barely got a syllable out before he said, “Are you sticking to busy streets? Is anyone watching for a tail? Do you have your senses open to feel for power spikes?”

  “What was the first one?” I asked.

  “Rune.”

  I thought about it for a second. I said, “Shit. You’re behind me, aren’t you?” I swiveled around. Brand’s motorcycle trailed us by a half block. I felt a sharp, sudden surge of emotion—relief he was there, guilt that he always did a better job at looking out for trouble, and anger. Oh, there was anger. “Brand, so help me fucking gods, if you were standing outside Farstryke this entire time, it will be war.”

  “I wasn’t!” he said. His helmet mic made the words crackle. “I just caught up with you. Damn it, Rune, Saint Nicholas is just sitting on his ass. Will you at least have him look out the window for ambushes?”

  “I can hear him,” Addam said.

  “He’s right,” I said, nodding to Addam. “And blunt. Brand, we’re heading toward Edgemere. I’ll see you there. Addam, keep an eye on the left side. I’ll watch the right. Ciaran, straight ahead. Stay alert, people. We’re not out of this yet.”

  Addam lived in the Edgemere district, a wealthy neighborhood that straddled the financial and market districts. His building was a desanctified church, split into four large condos, each sharing a corner of a massive, circular stained-glass window. Addam had the upper right—a tip of an angel’s wing against a sky the color of strychnine.

  Brand was already off his motorcycle by the time we piled out of the car. My introductions were brief.

  Ciaran left the motor running. He moved his chin to his left, inviting me to step aside.

  “This is where I leave you,” he said.

  “I meant what I said earlier. Thank you. You didn’t just do this for the money, did you?”

  Ciaran paused, weighing his response. He came from a generation for whom gratitude was a vulnerability. “No,” he finally admitted. “Quinn is a special young man. I am very fond of him. I will go now, and attempt to find him in dreams. Be sure to tell Addam about Quinn’s injury soon, Sun. They are unusually close. He will not take it well.”

  “I will.”

  “And you will reach out to the Tower as well?”

  “Still reluctant to share your suspicions?”

  “For the moment. In part, I don’t want to bias the Tower’s own assessment. Make sure you tell him about the null line.”

  “Pretty hard to skip over that bit,” I said. “Thank you, Ciaran. I’ll make sure the Tower wires your fee as soon as possible.”

  Ciaran gave me a nod, lifted his hand in parting to Addam, and blew Brand a kiss.

  As Addam, Brand, and I headed to the second floor, it occurred to me that Addam hadn’t asked my name—I’d only introduced myself as the man hired to find him. He must have heard Brand use my
name on the phone, though. And there weren’t too many scion mercenaries on the market. I had a hard time believing he hadn’t figured out who I was.

  Addam’s condo had no physical lock. It was completely secured by biometric wards. He said to Brand, “Would you be more comfortable standing watch out here?”

  Brand just blinked at him.

  “Brand’s my partner,” I said. “Not just a Companion. He comes with me.”

  “Plus,” Brand said, “I hear all the cool bodyguards love to shut their clients in a strange room with a strange man. Extra points when zombies are involved.”

  “I meant no offense,” Addam said, and gave a short bow. “Please, Brandon Saint John, join us.”

  Brand gave me an eye roll as he followed Addam inside.

  As soon as we cleared the door, Addam restarted the wards, while Brand vanished down a short hallway into a dark room. Instead of blundering in his footsteps, I picked a direction he hadn’t gone. Between the two of us, we turned on lights while walking off guest bedrooms, a master suite, a sanctum, a kitchen, and a living room that ran along an entire side of the condo.

  When Addam rejoined us, I said, “Who else has access?”

  “Here?”

  “Yes. Your family? Any of your business partners?”

  “Oh, no. Not them. Lilly Rose does, but not Michael, Geoff, or Ashton, or any of their assistants. My brothers and sister may enter. Lady Justice can get in. She goes where she wants, really.”

  “What about condo management?”

  “In an emergency they can break the wards and enter, but I would know if they did. Do you think we are unsafe here?”

  “Addam, Rurik got through your office defenses without any trouble.” Or someone helped Rurik through them. “It’d be safer to stash you somewhere else while we figure out the next step.”

  Addam nodded grimly. He snapped the rubber band from his ponytail and shook his dirty hair loose, frowning at the way it snagged between his fingers. “I will bathe first. Do you need to call Lady Justice? There’s a phone on the kitchen counter.”

  “You want Rune to call your mom?” Brand asked in disbelief.

  “To report in,” Addam said.

  I hadn’t been clear before; he didn’t know the Tower had hired me. It was an easy correction, but maybe he’d be hurt that his court hadn’t been ripping the city apart in pursuit of him. “Actually, I’m not sure who your mother has looking for you. I’m here because of Lord Tower.”

  “Speaking of,” Brand said. “I’m going to see if I can get Mayan on the phone.” Mayan was Lord Tower’s Companion and chief of security, the person Brand dealt with most closely at the Dagger Throne. “Maybe I can get him to start returning your fucking messages. Excuse me.”

  As Brand retreated back into the front hall, Addam said, “Lord Tower asked you to find me?”

  “He was concerned.”

  The skin around Addam’s lips and eyes pulled tight. “Quinn must be beside himself, as well. My brother. I need to call—”

  “Addam . . .”

  Addam went over to the island that separated the kitchen and living room. There was an old-fashioned phone mounted to the wall.

  “Addam,” I said. “Quinn’s in the hospital.”

  Addam went dead still. “I don’t—What? Quinn?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Quinn? Quinn’s hurt? What happened?” Addam’s voice broke in honest panic.

  “We were at the hospital where Christian is being treated, and some recarnates attacked us. He has a head injury. The recarnates were using concussive grenades—”

  Addam began punching numbers on the phone. He started crying. Operator assistance connected him to an aide at New Saints Hospital, who connected him with the nurse’s station on Christian’s floor, whom he frantically bullied for information about Quinn’s status. The nurse could only confirm that Quinn, while still unconscious, was resting and out of immediate danger.

  When Addam hung up the phone, he stared for a long time at his fireplace. There were framed photos there. He wiped at his tears without shame.

  And then ran over to his desk. Next to a tricked-out desktop unit was a tablet computer. He swiped it on and tapped into a mail program.

  Whatever he saw made him go still.

  Brand was at the edge of the room, watching us. As usual, he picked up on things quicker than I did. He said, “Did your brother send you an email before it happened, Addam?”

  Addam gave him a sharp look. “You know about him, then. He . . . does this sometime. Usually when he’s about to break his curfew or fail an exam. He . . . he apologizes in advance.” Addam gave the tablet a small smile. The smile faded quickly. “It says, ‘Most of the time I’m okay. Don’t worry about me. It’s after you.’”

  “There’s another one,” Brand said, watching Addam closely. “You looked at two messages.”

  Addam’s expression had given it away. He pressed a button and the screen went dark. “There was. He sent it right after the first. It said, ‘No, it’s after him now.’”

  Brand’s eyes snapped to me. And, yes, I was feeling every inch of all the shit I’d landed in.

  Addam sighed and said, “I am very dirty.” His Russian accent burned through the very. “I need to shower. I need fresh clothes. And then I need to find who hurt my brother, and kill them. There are coffee beans in the freezer if you’d like. Excuse me.”

  Brand and I looked at each other as Addam walked into the bedroom. Brand rolled his eyes. I went after Addam.

  He was standing by a dark oak nightstand, head bowed. I said, “Quinn told you he’d be okay. He knows these things, right?”

  “‘Most of the time,’” Addam reminded me. “Most of the time he’s okay.”

  “He was aware enough to speak with Ciaran through dream-walking. That’s how I found you. That’s a good sign, right?”

  “There are no good signs here. This proves it, doesn’t it? That someone is attacking my mother’s throne?”

  I blinked. “Honestly, Addam, I don’t think so. Lord Tower believes that someone may be after you. That it’s either personal, or maybe tied to your business.”

  “But why come after me with that thing? This . . . Rurik. Why come after me with a small army of recarnates? These are the sort of pieces put into play when courts invade courts.”

  “Or when a scion with more spell books than sense summons something too powerful, and then loses control of the summoning.”

  Addam just looked at me, long enough to have me fidgeting. He finally said, “You interest me, Hero. I’m fairly sure you saved my life, and a simple thank you seems so small. I don’t know whether I should pay you handsomely, or invite you into the shower with me.”

  “We take checks,” I said, before I could get uncomfortable or act stupid.

  His smile brightened, just briefly, and then he vanished into the bathroom. The door clicked shut behind him.

  Back through the bedroom door, I heard Brand either snicker or sigh. I couldn’t tell which.

  We waited a good two minutes before we began snooping.

  Addam’s condo was decorated in simple but sturdy fabrics. Lots of leather furniture against forest-green carpet and dark-red walls. The photos on the mantle were mainly of Quinn, but there were also some of Lilly, Christian, and one obligatory Crusader Throne press shot. His bookcase and entertainment center was an exact inversion of mine—the bookcase was an afterthought, while the CDs took up an entire wall. He had boxed DVD concert sets, vinyl records, cassettes, concert VCR tapes, concerts on beta max, even original record-sized laser discs. Atlanteans were a long-lived species. Our interests always outdated evolving technology.

  The kitchen was a large alcove separated by a marble island. He’d painted the wall with chalkboard laminate. On it he’d drawn poetry, grocery lists, phone numbers, and song lyrics.

  In a corner of the living room was the tricked-out desktop computer. Printouts from a laser writer lay next to an ergonomic
keyboard. When I nudged the mouse, the screen hummed on. A web browser was open.

  I studied both the laser printouts and the browser. “Zoinks. A clue.”

  “Zoinks?” Addam laughed. He came out of the bedroom, drying his hair with one oversized towel, while another was wrapped around his waist. The walls of the apartment were thick and probably soundproofed; I hadn’t even heard the shower end.

  He came over and stared at the computer screen. “What is that?” he said immediately. He pointed at the papers. “Did you print those?”

  They were copies of tourist info on Brazil, along with local portal schedules. I’d already skipped ahead to the implications. From the look on Addam’s face, he wasn’t far behind.

  Brand said, “New Atlantis doesn’t ID people on their way out the door, they only track incoming travelers. Someone wants it to look like you used the portal station. You could have vanished in Brazil without leaving a paper trail.”

  “And,” I said, “someone entered your apartment to do this.”

  Addam’s family and Lilly Rose had access—they were the easy suspects. Supposedly none of the business partners did, but I wasn’t ready to discount the idea that something or someone had gotten around his wards. Rurik had pulled a null thread, for gods’ sake.

  “They were going to kill me,” Addam said softly. “Weren’t they? They weren’t going to ransom me. They were going to kill me and hide the body. Otherwise, why leave this? People were meant to find this and think I left on my own.”

  “It could have been a ruse to buy time while they planned a ransom,” I said. “Don’t make assumptions.”

  “Come with me,” he said, and strode back toward his bedroom.

  I gave his back an uncertain look, shrugged, and followed. I got to the door in time to see him shuck his towel and dig around in an oak dresser. He had a tan but no tan line. I lowered my flushed cheeks.

  Addam tossed black cotton pants and a yellow t-shirt onto the bed, along with a pair of socks and a belt, but no underwear. As he dressed, he said, “While I appreciate what Lord Tower did, I will take over your contract myself now.”

  “Are you concerned about his involvement?”

  “Not at all. But matters have changed. Will you help me?”