Blood Engines

by T. A. Pratt

  “Maybe it’s not such a shithole quakemeat city, after all,” Marla said.

  20

  M arla sat in one of the comfortable chairs in her hotel room, looking out at the night skyline, her feet propped up on the windowsill. She was smoking a clove cigarette for the first time in years, because for the first time in years she wasn’t worried about cancer or diminishing her lung capacity.

  The door opened, and she didn’t bother to turn around, because even if it was an assassin, what did it matter?

  “Marla,” Cole said. He sat down on the edge of the bed behind her.

  “Hey,” she said. “How’d it go?”

  “It went well. I performed the psychic transposition—what do you call it? The Doorstep trick?”

  “The Thing on the Doorstep,” Marla said. “A guy named H. P. Lovecraft wrote a story with that title, about a bad wizard who stole a girl’s body. You should read it. The prose gets a little purple, but the story’s a good one.”

  “Mmm,” Cole said. “I’ll look for it. At any rate, I put the apprentice’s mind back in her own body. Nearly all the necessary components were available in the Celestial’s shop. He was still unconscious, deeply traumatized by seeing the spirits of his ancestors. Or the things he thought were the spirits of his ancestors. That friend of yours, B—he’s powerful. I don’t think he has any idea how powerful.”

  “What did you do with the Celestial?”

  “We gave him to Ch’ang Hao to dispose of, though he didn’t seem to relish the task, as his enemy was catatonic. Ch’ang Hao asked me to tell you that he looks forward to seeing you again.”

  “Not if I see him first,” Marla muttered. But soon, no one would ever see her again, so it was a moot point. “Do me a favor. Teach B, would you? Unless you’re going back to sleep.”

  “No. Not for a while. I want to enjoy being awake for a bit first. I suppose I can stay awake for a few years, and teach B what I can.”

  “Good,” Marla said. “He’s a good kid. I’d hate to see him go crazy or anything.” Cole was as fine a seer as had ever lived, and his ways were not particularly violent, unlike Marla’s. She was still troubled by the way she’d tried to turn B into a weapon to kill the Celestial, and proud of him for finding another solution. Cole would continue to lead him down the seer’s path. “Even if I were going to be around to teach him, I wouldn’t want to. The way I do things…that’s not right for B.”

  “I understand,” Cole said.

  Marla gestured toward the window. “So who’s going to run things in San Francisco now?”

  “That’s an open question. I do intend to go back to sleep in a few years, and I have no taste for leadership anyway. Several sorcerers fled, and they’ll be coming back soon, I imagine…but they’ll be a bit surprised when they do.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ve cast a spell so that they can’t come back into the city at all. They’ll reach the border and find themselves repelled. If they try to push their way in, they’ll get sick, and if they become truly insistent, they will die. Let Oakland have them. They deserted San Francisco in her hour of need, and they will not be allowed back into her good graces.”

  “I approve,” Marla said. She crossed her feet on the windowsill. “Where’s Rondeau?”

  “Ah.” Cole squirmed. “I cannot say for sure, but I believe he is making love to the Celestial’s apprentice, now that she is back in her proper form and feeling grateful for his assistance. He said something about giving Mr. Bowman a try after he finished with the apprentice.”

  Marla laughed. “Same old Rondeau. He didn’t help the apprentice for the sex, but he’s happy enough to take advantage of it.” She sucked on her cigarette, tasted the smoke, exhaled. “So, Cole. You know lots of the old lore. I’ve been meaning to ask you, since the apocalyptic showdown this afternoon—is there some other way I can protect myself from Susan, now that the Cornerstone is gone?” She had to ask, but she knew the answer.

  “Is there a way to keep the erasure spell from working on you? No, I don’t think so. Not unless you can find one of the two remaining Cornerstones, which seems unlikely, given that your time is limited.”

  “That’s what I figured,” Marla said. She wondered if she’d be able to get back to her own city before Susan made her disappear. It would be nice, if her last sight was of her own city. It might be heartbreaking, too, but there were some things so sad and wrong that it was only right to let your heart break over them. “I didn’t think there was any other way.”

  “There’s not a magical way, no,” Cole said. “Though there is one thing you might try….”

  “What?” Marla said, hearing the note of desperate hope in her own voice, and knowing it was justified; she was, perhaps, just a few hours away from ceasing to be, and if there was a better time to be desperately hopeful, she didn’t know what it was.

  “You might consider diplomacy. It has often worked for me, when all else failed.”

  Marla shook her head. “I don’t think Susan’s going to be willing to negotiate with me. She wants my job, and she knows she’ll never get it as long as I’m alive.”

  “Do you think she would still refuse to negotiate if I offered my services as a mediator?” Cole said.

  Marla turned her gaze from the window to look at Cole. “You’d do that?”

  “Oh, yes. Though it will be a true negotiation—I’m not offering to settle this for you by making threats or taking action against her. But, given time, I could cast a spell on her that would make her plans to erase you seem a paltry thing.” His voice was grim, and Marla appreciated it—she’d made a friend of him.

  “What can I possibly offer Susan?” Marla said. “She wants my city. That’s one thing I can never give her.”

  “Oh, I appreciate that. But if Susan is as formidable, smart, and capable as you say, then I believe there is something you can offer that she might accept.” Cole turned, pointedly, and looked out the window, at the city glittering below and beyond on the hills. Marla looked with him.

  “Cole,” she said. “You’re a genius.”

  “It’s been said before, yet I never grow tired of hearing it. I was not much help in the fight, I know—battle has never been my forte—but I pride myself on finding elegant solutions to difficult problems.”

  “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

  “The way you describe this Susan, I think she might be a tool suited to the task.”

  “The only drawback is that I don’t get to kill her when it’s all over,” Marla said. This could actually work. Susan was pigheaded and proud, so it might not work, but there was a chance.

  Marla reached out and touched Cole’s hand. “You’re the strangest sorcerer I’ve ever met. I don’t know if it’s because of the time you come from, or if it’s just you, but…you’re different. I’ve always thought being the best sorcerer meant being able to utterly overwhelm your enemies, being the toughest thug, but that’s not the way you approach things at all, is it?”

  “There are many reasons to become a sorcerer,” Cole said. “Many, perhaps most, do it for the thrill of power, or to strike back at a world that made them feel powerless. But some become sorcerers because it’s the best way in the world to protect the things you love.” He shrugged. “If you have to give up the things you love to increase your power, then what’s the point of having the power at all?”

  Marla nodded. She thought about which kind of sorcerer she was. The answer was not as clear to her as she might have hoped, but at least she’d finally thought to ask the question.

  Susan entered the hotel’s conference room in her usual elegant fashion. She was tall, lean, blond, perfectly attired. Sitting down with the grace of a cat, she inclined her head toward Sanford Cole. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said. She looked at Marla, but pointedly said nothing.

  Marla stared straight into Susan’s eyes—the left one was green; the right one, blue—and smiled. “Good to see you, Sue. Thanks for coming all the wa
y out west.”

  “Neutral ground seemed appropriate,” Susan said. “I wouldn’t have come, but Hamil assured me you were telling the truth, and that Sanford Cole did indeed wish to speak to me on your behalf.”

  Marla had to bite back a dozen responses. She wanted to accuse Susan of treason, betrayal, idiocy, low morals, and pretentiousness, but she forced herself to keep smiling. Susan really was good at what she did. Marla’s city simply wasn’t big enough for the both of them, any more than one anthill could have two queens.

  “This is Bradley Bowman, Cole’s apprentice,” Marla said.

  “A pleasure,” B said, beaming. He was no longer an in-between creature, an ordinary plagued by visions; now he was an initiate, learning from the best. It wasn’t an easy path, but it was a path.

  And it probably didn’t hurt his mood that he’d had sex with Rondeau the night before, and probably this morning, if the sounds coming from the hotel room adjoining Marla’s own were any indication.

  “I enjoyed your films,” Susan said to B, cool as cut glass.

  “Susan,” Cole said, getting to business. “You wish to erase Marla from reality in order take control of her city, yes?”

  “That’s right. I would run Felport far better, and since I know Marla will never step aside, I have no choice but to stage a coup. The fact that she could not prevent me from banishing her into nothingness without your intervention should serve to prove my qualifications, I think.”

  “The spell didn’t work when you tried it yesterday,” Marla said.

  “Then you shouldn’t mind if I try it again,” Susan said. “I’ll just go and do it now, shall I?”

  “I don’t think such a banishing will be necessary,” Cole said. “I believe we may be able to reach an accommodation.”

  “Oh? Marla is willing to name me her successor and go into voluntary exile?”

  “Hell, no,” Marla said. “But how would you like to move out west and run San Francisco?”

  Susan stared at her for a moment, then said, “That is not in your power to give.”

  Marla snorted. “Ever hear of right of conquest? Besides, Cole supports my claim.”

  “There have been major upheavals in the past few days,” Cole said. “All the powerful sorcerers who used to live here are either dead—”

  “I killed a couple of them myself,” Marla said.

  Cole went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “—or have otherwise departed forever. The…precipitating situation has been contained, but a power vacuum has developed in the aftermath. I owe Marla greatly for her part in saving this city, and she has asked that I offer you the stewardship of San Francisco.”

  Susan frowned. “I have no wish to be your puppet, Cole.”

  Cole waved his hand vaguely. “I’m going to the Marin Headlands, across the Golden Gate, to train B, away from the distractions of the city. Once he has a better grasp of his powers, I’m going back to sleep for a few more decades. I have no interest in running San Francisco, and I will swear to the same under the auspices of any spell you choose. I may walk its streets and eat its food, and I will always admire its beauty and vibrance, but I will not try to control it. But you will swear to protect this city to the best of your ability, under the auspices of a spell of my choosing.”

  “Come on, Susan,” Marla said. “Why would you want our dirty, industrial, blizzard-prone city when you could have the jewel of the West Coast? This isn’t a lateral move, either. I think most people would agree that San Francisco is a step up from Felport. You said yourself, my city’s a shithole.”

  “But you would rather rule Felport,” Susan said.

  “I love that city. It’s where I’ve made my life. You’ve always said that if you took over Felport, you’d run out the heavy industry, gentrify downtown, try to bring in high-tech companies. Why go to all that trouble, when you can come here? Not that this place doesn’t have its problems—I’ve never seen such shitty traffic, or so many homeless people, and the Mission is like an open-air latrine—but it’s got all that world-class theater and art and music you’re always going on about, too.”

  “This is the proposal on the table,” Cole said. “Leave Marla alone, and you may take over San Francisco. The offer will, of course, be withdrawn if anything happens to Marla during our negotiations.”

  “All my contacts and associates are in Felport,” Susan said, but she sounded uncertain, and Marla could taste the win.

  “So bring ’em. Hell, you can be like a medieval queen, and give out lands to your worthy knights. Let your lieutenants run the different neighborhoods. It’s a totally clean slate out here. Organize it any way you like.”

  “I will need time to consider your offer,” Susan said.

  Marla sat back and nodded. Susan always made a big deal of thinking things through, being careful, not rushing in, but she wanted this, Marla could tell. Susan had never liked Felport, had certainly never loved it, not the way Marla did. Circumstance and opportunity had brought her there, when she’d started out as the sorcerer Gregor’s apprentice, before she’d surpassed him with her own skills. Control was the important thing for Susan, and the chance to control a major city would be too great a temptation for her—it would even overcome her animosity toward Marla.

  “We’ll meet again this evening, then,” Cole said.

  “I wish we hadn’t had to give Susan anything,” Rondeau said as he packed his bag that night, after the negotiations were finished, the bindings sworn, and power over San Francisco given to Susan. “She doesn’t deserve this place. She’ll be a better ruler than Mutex would have been, but that’s about all I can say in her favor.”

  “Watch your mouth,” Marla said. “You’re talking about Her Highness, Queen of San Francisco. I hope she doesn’t get swallowed by an earthquake. In the meantime, I had Hamil send over some guys to rob Susan’s apartments and make it look like the Chupacabra boys did it.”

  “Sweet,” Rondeau said. “She’s got some great furniture.” He glanced at her. “Of course, now that you aren’t going to disappear, you’ve got Ch’ang Hao to worry about.”

  “I remember. But I’m used to worrying. It’s my job.”

  Rondeau went to the window and looked out at the city. “I enjoyed this place,” he said after a while. “I’m glad we came.”

  “Yeah,” Marla said. “Me, too.” She closed her suitcase. “Now let’s get the hell out of here, and go back home where we belong.”

  “I get the window seat this time,” Rondeau said.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I suppose it’s possible to write a novel in isolation, but it doesn’t sound like much fun. For this book I got help from a lot of people. Thanks to Cameron “Dawson” Panee and Jenn Reese, for giving me advice on martial arts—any cool moves in the book are thanks to them, and anything incomprehensible or dumb is my fault. My regular writing group—Darrend Brown, David Ira Cleary, Lisa Goldstein, Susan Lee, and Lori Ann White—critiqued the early chapters and helped me adjust my approach and get a better start. Other kind first readers who gave me valuable suggestions include Christopher Barzak, Susan Marie Groppi, Michael J. Jasper, and Jay Lake. I also thank the attendees of the 2006 Blue Heaven writing workshop—William Shunn, Sandra McDonald, Paul Melko, Mary Turzillo, Tobias S. Buckell, Brenda Cooper, Greg van Eekhout, Catherine Morrison, Sarah Prineas, and Charles Coleman Finlay—who helped me celebrate and whoop it up when I got the news I’d sold this novel. Scott Seagroves and Lynne Raschke have my eternal gratitude for letting me visit them in Santa Cruz whenever I need to get away and recharge myself. My agent, Ginger Clark, as always, provided wonderful insight, especially in regard to character issues. My editor, Juliet Ulman, is a joy and a wonder to work with, and her editing makes me look good.

  I’d also like to thank the city of San Francisco—which I like rather more than my protagonist, Marla, does—and to point you toward Tom Cole’s A Short History of San Francisco, which provided me with many fine historical tidbits, some of which I even
managed to use in the book.

  And, of course, the greatest credit goes to my spouse, H. L. Shaw, who makes my life worthwhile, and who is the greatest fan in the world of my Marla Mason stories.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  T. A. Pratt lives in Oakland, California, with partner H. L. Shaw, and works as a senior editor for a trade publishing magazine.

  Learn more about your favorite slightly wicked sorceress at www.MarlaMason.net.

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  POISON SLEEP

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  D o not move. My name is Julian Kardec. I am a slow assassin."

  Marla exhaled. No point trying to surprise this guy. If he was telling the truth, she was dead already. Slow assassins didn’t fail. But…the whole point of a slow assassin was to create dread in the victim, and make her last days—or months or years—haunted and miserable. If the victim didn’t know there was a slow assassin after her, she wouldn’t be looking over her shoulder constantly, wondering when the inevitable strike would come, trying fruitlessly to escape her fate. Nobody had ever let Marla know she was marked. “You aren’t here for me,” she said. “What, then, for Rondeau? Are you shitting me? I can’t believe he’s ever pissed off anyone who could afford to hire you.”

  Kardec chuckled. “I am not here for either of you. We have received…inquiries…about you, Ms. Mason, but the price we set has so far been too extravagant for anyone to accept. There is some concern among the upper echelons of my organization that, if threatened, you might lead a foolhardy attack on us directly. We would not expect you to succeed, but you might make things uncomfortable for us. The price we set for you is accordingly quite high.”