by Kai O'Connal
Once they hit the road it was over. The cops would give chase, but Elijah and Kyrie had speed and maneuverability on their side. They would shoot to the Barrens, then hide in places Knight Errant wouldn’t dare follow.
It would’ve been perfect, except that as he rocketed into the night, Elijah noticed Slycer’s aura had become completely dark.
CHAPTER SIX
The following evening, Elijah and Kyrie walked into the foyer of The Eye of the Needle restaurant, set atop that most famous of Seattle’s tourist attractions, the Space Needle. Both were dressed in evening wear similar to what they’d used for the run into Hayakawa’s home, only these were a bit more subdued.
Elijah met the maitre’d’s neutral expression with his own blasé stare. “Mr. Tish and Ms. Elyson to see Mr. Johnson. 8:15 p.m. reservation.”
They were precisely on time.
“Right this way, sir, madam.” As the maitre’d led them through the understated, elegant resturant, Elijah saw Mr. Johnson awaiting them in a corner booth. The occult archaeologist kept his face impassive—given the long waiting list, a corner booth was very hard to come by. Their Johnson had either a skilled hacker or very lofty connections. Elijah would’ve bet on the latter.
Mr. Johnson was an elf with skin the color of Recchiuti’s dark chocolate. He had deep brown eyes that watched the pair approach with a soulful, almost innocent gaze. His hair was bound in dozens of tiny plaits, each one decorated with small silver beads spaced evenly from each end to the scalp. Everything else was straight-up elven; gracefully pointed ears, aquiline nose, a to-die-for smile, the whole package. He looked like a well-to-do executive meeting a business associate, or perhaps seeing some very lucky lady.
Elijah knew better—the man was a Johnson, therefore he was playing an angle—several at once, probably. The real trick now was to deliver their good news and hope it would mitigate their bad news.
He wasn’t the only suspicious one. Kyrie sent him a quick message.
Elijah smiled tightly at Kyrie’s words.
Mr. Johnson didn’t say a word as they approached and sat kitty-corner from him. He simply sat there, his folded hands resting on the table as their waiter—another elf who could barely tear his gaze away from their host—ran through the evening’s specials. Elijah scanned the menu that had popped up in his AR while also keeping an eye on their employer.
“Do either of you need a moment to peruse the menu? If you enjoy sushi, I recommend the tuna, watercress, and sweet egg makizushi—you won’t find any better in the city,” Mr. Johnson said. After starting his order with mango iced tea, he surprised Elijah by ordering a braised short rib appetizer. Although the mage didn’t think he’d shown any reaction, the elf grinned. “Not all of us ‘dandelion-eaters’ are vegetarians.”
“Of course not.” Despite the events of the previous evening, Elijah had worked up enough of an appetite to order sparkling water and the Kobe burger, rare. When someone else is paying, go all out—he had found it to be a simple, effective rule. Kyrie took Mr. Johnson’s suggestion and got the sushi platter, along with a diet Ko-Cola.
After the waiter had melted into the background, Mr. Johnson spread his hands. “So, what’s the word?” His voice was melodious and smooth as silk, his tone calm and gentle as the Sound during a heat wave. Despite himself, Elijah found himself relaxing slightly, and admonished himself to remain alert.
Exchanging a quick glance with Kyrie, he laid out what went down the night before, from walking into Hayakawa’s home to their unexpectedly rushed exit out the back—all carefully couched in non-specific language, of course. “The bottom line is, the object you’d asked to have analyzed was a fake. The downside is that the assistant you’d suggested accompany us didn’t make it back.”
“Hmm, that’s interesting—I didn’t catch any mention of an intruder being killed at the scene of the break-in.”
Elijah’s face could have been set in stone. “We took care of it.” Which they had; the dwarf’s remains had been sunk in a deep part of the Sound early that morning.
The elf cocked his head ever-so-slightly. “I certainly hope there wasn’t any sort of disagreement between you all that ended—badly.”
Before Elijah could reply, Kyrie did. “He died because he was slow. He was locked into Hayakawa’s host and couldn’t get out fast enough. Because of that, he caught a bullet that made him slow. That made him catch a few more bullets. He was dead when we left the grounds.” The steel in her tone dared Mr. Johnson to even try to dispute their version of events.
The elf’s shoulder twitched, and he made what might have been a tsk noise out of the corner of his mouth. “Well, Slycer knew the risks when he took the job. I wouldn’t think his loss has upset either of you too much—after all, it simply means one less split of your completion payment.”
Elijah felt Kyrie stiffen beside him, and wondered what her reaction to his words meant, but Mr. Johnson spoke again before he could text a query to her.
“What’s important is that you accomplished the job, and—despite the obstacles placed in your way—did so without appearing on the local screamsheets, either public or law enforcement. A commendable performance overall.”
Elijah had met some ice-cold customers on either side of the table, but this guy gave all of them a run for their money. Of course, he might have sent Slycer with them in the hopes that he’d get taken out—who could tell what machinations lurked in the mind of Mr. Johnson?
The elf’s next words, delivered in his oddly deep, honeyed voice, made Elijah’s eyebrows raise. “So, if you don’t have anything planned in the immediate future, I have another job for you. This one involves a bit of travel, but I think you’ll find the compensation well worth the trip.”
Elijah kept his face impassive, although a part of him wanted to accept before he’d even heard the terms. He frowned at the sudden wave of impulsiveness washing over him. What’s going on here? The waiter arrived with their drinks, and he seized the interruption to text his partner.
Elijah took a quick peek at Mr. Johnson’s aura and got nothing. This was one exceptionally cool and controlled customer. He could get more info by actually casting a spell, but he didn’t dare risk it—the overwatch in the Eye was so sensitive that any detection of unauthorized casting would get Kyrie and him ejected from the establishment—and he’d been dying to try the Eye’s burger anyway. He sipped his water and set the glass down. “We’re listening.”
“I’m sure, Mr. Tish, that a man of your expertise is aware of the Aleph Society.”
“Yes. That’s the Chicago branch of the group—many call it a cult—that claims to be able to restore magical ability to impaired or burned-out mages.”
“Exactly. Recently it has come to my employer’s attention that they have acquired what appears to be an antique map of a remote area of Antarctica. Your task would be to travel to the Chicago area, gain access to the Aleph Society facility there, and use your skills to ascertain two things. First, whether the map is genuine, and second, whether it has any arcane properties of any kind. If it does, you are to liberate the map from the Society, depart the city, and contact me to arrange for its delivery. I can facilitate travel within forty-eight hours, as well as complete schematics of the target facility in Rolling Meadows, and the information we’ve already uncovered regarding the map itself. As for payment, I think twenty thousand nuyen—each—plus transportation should be sufficient. So, are you interested?”
His words flowed into Elijah’s ears like soothing elven jazz, and again he had to fight the nearly overwhelming urge to agree to the job. It wa
sn’t that the task as outlined was sending him any danger signals—and maybe that was the problem. It all sounded really good—sounded too good—
“It sounds good to—”
Kyrie’s exclamation brought Elijah out of his slight daze and back into full alert. Coughing to cover the sudden break in his answer, he reached for his water glass and sipped from it while shooting her a quick query.
“Are you all right, Mr. Tish?” Mr. Johnson positively oozed concern.
“Yes—just something caught in my throat,” Elijah replied. “As I was saying, we’ll accept the job, but we’ll need a 72-hour window before departure. I have—various affairs to put in order here first.”
“That can be easily arranged.”
Elijah leaned back in the booth with a smile. “Then it’s settled. Upload all pertinent files and the first half of the payment at your convenience.”
Mr. Johnson smiled, and even though Elijah knew what he was, he still had the strongest feeling that this guy could be trusted completely, that there was no way he would leave them hanging out to dry—
The entrees arrived, and Elijah drank more water while digging his nails into his thigh under the table. The brief shock of pain helped clear his mind, and he was able to focus on the matter at hand.
Mr. Johnson dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his linen napkin. “Until his unfortunate demise, I would have recommended that Slycer accompany you on this run as well. However, since he is now unavailable, there are several others I would be glad to recommend …”
Again Elijah felt that wave of suggestibility wash over him again and fought it off with an effort. “Nothing against your suggestions, but if you don’t mind, this time we’d prefer to use people we already know. I have certain contacts in the area that will prove useful in bringing us up to speed on the situation in the Midwest.”
The ghost of a frown crossed the Johnson’s features for a second, there and gone so fast Elijah thought he might have only imagined it. “Fair enough.” He lifted a forkful of short rib to his mouth, chewed and swallowed. “Everything you require will be in your accounts by tomorrow morning. When precisely would you prefer to leave?”
“That was quite a meal, even if the company left something to be desired.” Patting her stomach, Kyrie leaned against the back wall of the elevator. “I don’t think I’ll be able to look at a chocolate cake for a month.”
“It was something, wasn’t it?” Still savoring the subtle flavors of the Kobe beef and a delicate red wine horseradish lingering in his mouth, Elijah sent the elevator to the lobby. He glanced upward, almost as if he thought Mr. Johnson could eavesdrop on them from where he was still sitting in the booth—which, of course, was quite possible if the Eye’s security was sleeping on the job. “I think the sooner we hit the road, the better.”
“Couldn’t agree with you more—a road trip sounds pretty good right now. By the way, who do you know out in Chicago? I wasn’t aware you had any connections there.”
Elijah smiled. “I haven’t yet told you everything I’ve done. Besides, I wasn’t exactly talking about Chicago. I know a human hacker based in Detroit—he’s good at what he does and should be happy for the work. Since he’s in the area, I can even get him to head over to Chicago and start poking around, easing our way in and getting the lay of the land.”
He frowned, and Kyrie caught it. “Yeah, I’m worried, too.”
“Come again?”
“I think we said yes too fast. The surroundings, his charisma, the food, the money he was offering—I wasn’t on my A game. If someone wants to send us someplace like Chicago, there are a few more questions we should be asking. We let him off easy.”
Elijah realized she was probably right, but he hated to admit he’d been slacking in his negotiations. “It wasn’t that.”
“All right, so what gives?”
“It’s just—Chicago doesn’t hold many fond memories for me. In fact, the last time I was there, I promised myself I wouldn’t go back—ever.”
“Ah. But the target changed your mind, I take it.”
“Something like that.” Elijah’s expression made it clear he wasn’t going to discuss the subject any further.
Kyrie rolled a shoulder and moved on. “Well, since we’re heading to Chicago, feral city extraordinaire, and we may be crossing nano-blades with the Aleph Society, I think we’re gonna need a bit more muscle on this job than usual.”
Elijah raised an eyebrow. “I suppose you have someone in mind?”
Kyrie grinned. “As a matter of fact, I do. He’s a troll named Pineapple, and if he’s available, he’ll be the perfect mountain of street samurai to have with us on the run.”
The elevator chimed to announce their arrival at the lobby, and Elijah was already walking forward as the doors slid open. “Works for me. You contact your guy, I’ll contact mine, take care of any other necessary business, and meet at Sea-Tac to fly Mr. Johnson Airlines in three days.”
“Yeah—their slogan would be ‘fly the suspicious skies.’ See you then.”
Hearn had eavesdropped on people being tortured before, had been forced to listen to the sick, wet twisting and snapping sounds followed by screams that choked off into sobs. And he would rather do that again a hundred times than have to eavesdrop on people eating at a luxury restaurant. He could hear their lips smack, the quiet sounds of pleasure they didn’t realize they were making when they swallowed. He heard the clink of glasses, the contact of metal flatware on ceramic plates, even the sound of serrated blades gently cutting through tender meat. And he heard it all while sitting in the back of a dingy van with nothing but a bag of sunflower seeds. It was horrible.
But, he’d learned what he needed to. This pair, Elijah and Kyrie, had passed the audition. It was time for the real fireworks to begin, and it looked like they were set to head to Chicago. Hearn figured he could chisel a few thousand extra nuyen out of his employers for the annoyance of having to visit one of the worst hellholes in North America.
He pulled away from the curb. He didn’t need to worry about cleaning anything up—the drones he used were already self-destructing, disintegrating into small clouds of undetectable dust. His work for the night was done. He was going to get some food, dammit, while he thought of a way to make sure the many threats of Chicago kept their hands, claws, and other assorted grasping limbs off of him.
PART TWO
CHAPTER SEVEN
Seventy-six hours later, Elijah, Kyrie, and Pineapple stepped out of O’Hare International Aerospaceport. A cold wind blew across the airfield out of the east, hitting Elijah’s face like a wet gym sock—clammy, unpleasant, and full of smells he would have been happy never to know about. There were hints of woodsmoke, and maybe even a touch of the lake, but he didn’t want to concentrate on it enough to tease out all its subtle elements.
At least they were in the relatively civilized confines of O’Hare. This was corp territory, and while they didn’t always have a great eye for aesthetics, they at least knew how to keep things running. The glittering high-rises visible nearby were intact, their windows unbroken. Streets outside the airport were
full of newer-model cars, and the crowd walking around contained a very low percentage of wild-eyed individuals driven mad by the horrors they had seen.
In short, it was everything that the legendary Containment Zone of Chicago was not.
“Where’s our ride?” Kyrie asked.
Elijah scanned the line of waiting cars, spotting a few private rides mixed with the cabs. About ten cars away was a vehicle that had probably been a Bulldog Step-Van in a previous life, but over the years had been transformed into something quite different. Its patchwork body consisted of scrap metal punctuated by various spikes, bars, and sharpened fins. Elijah even spotted a couple of old highway signs that had been reshaped into the rear fender. A man stood by it, wrapped almost entirely in filthy rags and wearing an ancient, full-face gas mask.
“That’s him,” Elijah said, raising a hand in acknowledgement.
“Damn,” rumbled Pineapple. “That is one ugly truck.”
“You’re one to talk,” said Kyrie, grinning at the enormous troll.
Pineapple grinned back. The light was dimming, but the troll’s gold-capped tusks glowed warmly as they protruded over his upper lip. Kyrie and Pineapple had a history, which meant Elijah spent most of the flight listening to them swap war stories. It had set him at ease—somewhat. Pineapple was easily the largest and most frightening troll Elijah had ever met, and his first reaction on seeing him was to pull away. If Kyrie trusted him, though, Elijah figured he could too.
Elijah turned to the approaching figure. “Leung?” he called.
The man stepped up and pulled his gas mask off to reveal a stunningly handsome man of Chinese descent. The smile he flashed warmed the chilly March air.
“Have I ever let you down?” Leung reached out to embrace Elijah.