Circle of Enemies: A Twenty Palaces Novel

by Harry Connolly

I felt that strange keening again, and I took a savage joy in it. I slashed a second and third time, as the buzzing voices grew around me until they became that furious beehive noise I’d heard in Melly’s home. Was this drape calling to others like it?

  There was a sudden thump on the couch above me, and for one terrified moment I thought another predator had landed beside me. But it wasn’t a drape; it was Jasmin. She’d broken away from her grandmother and run back inside.

  “What’s that noise?!” she shouted.

  Beneath Caramella, the floor vanished, revealing an opening into the swirling black mists of the Empty Spaces.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The shrouded figure of Melly dropped into the darkness, and I fought for balance at the edge of the portal. The back legs of the couch were also over the void. The couch tipped downward and began to slide into the opening, scraping the edge of the wooden floor.

  Jasmin screamed as she pitched forward. I lunged at her, throwing all my weight over the gap. I didn’t think about it; I had no plan or courage. I just moved.

  The couch pitched over backward as the front legs caught on the edge of the floor. I clamped my hand on Jasmin’s wrist, my knee slamming onto the arm of the chair, my ghost knife slipping from my grasp and tumbling into the darkness.

  I wish I could say I’d been graceful about it, that I’d grabbed her arm and hopped lightly to safety. But in truth I scrambled across the tumbling couch, snagging my shoe on the arm and trying desperately to throw some of my body weight onto the solid part of the floor.

  It didn’t happen. The couch floated away from me as my weight pressed on it. I slammed my left hand down on the carpeted living room floor and tried to keep my left foot in the solid world, too, but it slipped free and I swung out over the void.

  My hand pressed down on the floor, stopping my fall. Once my body weight dropped below the level of the room, I wasn’t falling anymore. Like the couch, I had momentum, but the void didn’t pull me downward because there was nothing to fall toward. The friction of my left hand against Vi’s carpet held me in place, and I started to pull myself back up. I glanced down at Jasmin. She stared at me with huge, terrified eyes.

  Suddenly, a strange pulse pulled me downward. It wasn’t like the tug of gravity—this felt as though something huge was trying to breathe me in. My mind only had room for one gigantic thought: Hold on hold on. The pull subsided, then came back again, and again, and again, with the regularity of a beating heart. Hold on.

  Something grabbed my left wrist, and I cried out in panic. I pulled myself high enough to see Maria on her knees holding my forearm like a baseball bat. For a moment I had an absurd fear that she was going to lift my hand and fling me into the void, but instead she pressed down, anchoring me in this world.

  “¡Santa madre de Dios! ¿Que pasa aqui?” she shouted.

  “Here!” I lifted Jasmin as high as I could.

  Maria let go, snatched her granddaughter, and dragged her into the world. She pushed the little girl toward the door and, bless her, started toward me again.

  “Get out of here!”

  She grabbed my wrist again. “What’s happening? What’s happening?”

  I glanced down and saw pale, shapeless forms swirling in the darkness below. “Get out of here and close the door behind you! Run for your lives!”

  It was a ridiculous thing to say, but it worked. Maria rolled to her feet and scooped Jasmin off the floor. With both hands free, I lifted myself halfway into the room. The door slammed shut.

  My ghost knife was gone. I tried to reach for it with my thoughts the way I’ve always called it back to me, but I was scrambling out of the hole in the floor, and the shapes below were getting closer, and I was frightened, and I hated myself for my fear. I couldn’t concentrate.

  I’d lifted one leg out of the void and onto the solid floor when one of the sudden pulses dragged me back. They hadn’t let up the whole time, but just as I was about to be free I was hit with one so much stronger than the ones before that it nearly sucked me in.

  I cursed and scrambled upward again. I had one leg out when something heavy and soft struck my trailing foot. I rolled onto the floor, outside the void, just as another, even stronger pull started. I’d made it back into the world, but I wasn’t safe.

  There was a pale glob on the lower half of my left leg, like a small blanket bundled around my foot and ankle. And it was creeping upward.

  I leaned over the opening into the Empty Spaces. The shapes were closer than ever now, and two were very, very close. I held my hand over the darkness and closed my eyes. There. I could feel my ghost knife in the darkness below. I called for it, desperately.

  God, I had a predator on me, and it was already making the skin on my leg burn. I didn’t even have to watch it move; I could feel it.

  One of the drapes rushing out of the void faltered, and a moment after that I had my spell in my hand again.

  Just as I rolled away from the opening in the floor, a drape rose out of it and rushed at my face. I shut my eyes and slapped my free hand over my nose and mouth.

  The predator hit me and knocked me back; my iron gate suddenly burned white hot. A sudden rush of despair sapped my strength and my thoughts became confused, but I knew it was something the drape was doing to me, and I did my best to shake it off.

  The first one creeping up my leg suddenly squeezed so hard that I almost gasped in a mouthful of slime. They began to pull in opposite directions. Christ, they’re fighting over me.

  I laid the edge of the ghost knife against my cheek and began to slash at the drape. It flared back, clearing a space from my mouth and nose, but I didn’t dare take a breath. Not yet. I could feel it holding on to my head and neck, burning my already tender skin.

  If one broke my neck, would another opening appear in the floor?

  I scraped my spell across my throat just as the predator tried to squeeze. It pulled away, releasing me, and the one on my leg began to drag me across the floor. I opened my eyes in time to see the drape float away from my face. A third came through the gap in the floor, then the gap closed. The opening to the Empty Spaces was gone.

  There were still three predators in the room with me. The third one moved unsteadily. It took me a moment to realize my ghost knife had already passed through it once when I called it from the void.

  I twisted onto my stomach and slashed my ghost knife through the one that had just let go of my face. I swiped through it four, five, six times, but it wasn’t dying fast enough. It retreated along the floor, too badly wounded to fly.

  But the first drape around my leg was still pulling me in the other direction. I scrabbled with my elbows after the second one, then dug my untrapped foot into the carpet and launched myself after it.

  I plunged the ghost knife into it. The drape tried to wrap itself around my hand, but I was already twisting and wiggling my spell, cutting it with every tiny move, and it quickly turned to sludge and died.

  I spared a second to look at it closely, hoping to see a brain or an eye or some other vulnerable spot on its now visible body. I wanted a way to kill the thing in one shot, but I couldn’t see anything

  I rolled onto my back. The first predator had reached higher than my mid-thigh, but the effort it had put into dragging me away from its competition had slowed its progress. Still, it was much too close to my crotch. There was no way I was going to let this damn thing crush and dissolve my nuts.

  I scanned the room for the telltale shimmer of the other one, knowing that it would be invisible if it had landed on something solid.

  It hadn’t. It hovered at the edges of the apartment door as though trying to figure out how to get through. I had to kill the third predator before it reached open air and a victim of its own, but first I had to give this first one something to think about. I sat up and slashed at it with my ghost knife.

  But pain and panic had made me sloppy. I saw the edge of the spell cut through the thin flesh of the drape, and I saw my pants split
apart, and I felt the ghost knife cut my leg.

  My iron gate flared with white-hot pain—every tattooed spell on my body, even the two tiny ones on my neck that I never think about, suddenly burned as though they were made of napalm. A scream erupted from my throat.

  My head was filled with roaring: Cut cut cut cut it screamed, over and over. It was a compulsion—a fury—to slash and splinter and tear and slice. The ghost knife had a desperate hunger to cut and destroy, and it ached to cut the spells on my chest, the spells Annalise had put on me.

  I moved the spell toward my stomach.

  A tiny voice in my head resisted. Those spells were precious. They’d saved my life many times, and I wouldn’t last long without them. The burning of my iron gate slowly brought me back to myself.

  But the compulsion from the ghost knife was unbearable. It had a powerful will of its own, and it needed to destroy everything, especially the magic on my body and in the predators.

  One of those predators was getting away. I turned my attention toward it, trying to turn the will of the ghost knife toward it, too. I couldn’t hold out much longer against the compulsion; I had to distract it. The spells on my body weren’t going anywhere, but that predator would escape if I didn’t destroy it first.

  The ghost knife turned toward the drape. I threw it. It flashed across the room faster than I’d ever seen it move and cut through the creature.

  I called it back immediately. I couldn’t deny its hunger for the predator, and now that I’d opened myself to its will, it ran wild. The spell returned to me and I threw it again. Called it back. Threw it. I struggled to my knees, scrambling clumsily toward the drape, suddenly feeling as though I was as hungry as the predator I was destroying. Called it back, threw it.

  The drape collapsed onto the carpet. I grasped my spell and fell on the creature, slashing and tearing at it in a mindless frenzy. I might have screamed, but I wasn’t aware of myself at the moment, only of the growing pain of my iron gate and the ghost knife’s unbearable urge to destroy.

  Finally, the predator was dead, and my attacks against it felt empty and useless. The urge to cut was still strong, but the iron gate under my collarbone was blocking it with pain.

  It would have been so easy—so easy!—to surrender to that need and slash through all the spells on my chest.

  Instead, I turned to the drape on my leg. My hand trembled as I laid the edge of the spell against it. The predator wrenched at me and squeezed, but I didn’t even notice. All my perceptions had narrowed to a tunnel, with the compulsion of the ghost knife at the center and pain everywhere else. It wanted to jump out of my hand and cut me, but I held on to it like it was a rattlesnake. It slashed into the drape.

  The predator recoiled, and I felt the ghost knife’s hunger for it. I couldn’t fight my own spell, so I let it pursue the drape, using all my will and strength to redirect it from my body.

  The drape peeled off me, and I cut it until it died. At the end, I could barely feel the ghost knife’s compulsion anymore. The pain from my iron gate had grown large enough to fill my whole mind and will. It burned away the spell’s influence, and I was in control of myself again.

  I rolled over onto my stomach, gasping for air, waiting for the pain to ease. My mouth lay open against the carpet, and I inhaled enough dust and hair to make me hack. The pain wouldn’t subside—my iron gate kept burning and growing, and I finally cried out pitifully, feeling tears running down my cheeks. Maybe it would never stop. Maybe it would go on and on until I lost my mind or ate a bullet or I really did slash it with my spell.

  Then, finally, it began to subside. I struggled to my knees, not ready to stand yet. My ghost knife lay on the carpet beside me. It was mine. I’d created it. I’d used it against other people.

  I shuddered. The pain from my iron gate had been so overwhelming that I thought it would destroy me, but I’d needed it to scour away the influence of the ghost knife. The spell hadn’t affected other people the way it affected me, but I had no idea why. I also didn’t have a coherent thought in my head; this was something I’d have to puzzle out later, if ever.

  But my own spell had been just as hungry as the predators I fought, and by cutting myself I’d let it take control of me. I could never let that happen again. Never.

  The pain wasn’t entirely gone. My face, neck, and head were burning, just as they had the first time a drape attacked me, and so was my leg. I struggled to my feet. Exhaustion made me unsteady, and my leg felt stiff and swollen. I needed to wash away the sticky acid the predators left on their victims. Maybe a shower?

  I stepped onto the section of the floor that had closed over the gap, feeling miserable enough to risk my life. It felt solid—I didn’t fall through into the Empty Spaces, at least. Was it safe to bring Maria and Jasmin back into the room?

  I glanced out the window. The big guy in the red shirt and camo pants was back, and he was looking right up at me. He took something long and thin from a hockey bag at his feet. One end was vaguely spear-shaped.

  He lifted it to his shoulder and pointed it at me.

  Oh, shit. I spun and hustled for the apartment door. It was seven or eight strides away—too far. I was never going to be able to run that far before the explosion hit. I ran anyway, because the only other option was waiting to die.

  My stiff leg made me lurch across the room like a wounded drunk. I was halfway there and the explosion hadn’t come. Then I had my hand on the knob, then I was pulling the door open, knowing that would only make it easier for the flames to blast out into the hall. Then I shut the door behind me, threw my leg over the railing, and jumped toward the pool below.

  The explosion, when it came, was loud but not as loud as I expected. The flames never reached me; I struck the water with a painful slap and was shocked by how cold it was.

  The pain on my face and leg eased immediately, and I struck the bottom gently. For one disorienting moment, I lost my bearings, but I saw light above and struggled back to the air.

  The building was burning. Fire alarms blared and doors around the complex swung open. What were all these people doing here so late in the morning? Didn’t they have jobs?

  I saw Maria and Jasmin standing beneath a set of concrete stairs. They both had a shell-shocked look about them. I paddled to them and pulled myself out of the water.

  “Take her out the back way,” I said, straining to keep my voice low.

  Maria grabbed my hand. “What—”

  “Don’t ask me questions!” I snapped at her. “It’s not the time! Take Jasmin out the back way and get her someplace public. She’s still not safe here.”

  Maria snapped her mouth shut. Jasmin tugged at her arm. “Abuela, I want to go.”

  They both hustled toward the little door on the far side of the pool, leaving me dripping water onto the pavement. People were charging around the complex, shouting at one another, demanding to know what had happened.

  Me, I turned toward the front gate. I should have been exhausted, but my anger gave me a surge of energy. Someone had just fired a grenade at me, and I was going to kick his ass.

  I ran out to the sidewalk. The asshole in camo pants was nowhere in sight. I looked up the street both ways; a Jeep Cherokee was driving away in one direction, a Dodge Ram truck in the other. Which one should I chase?

  I had no reason to choose either, then the choice was gone. Both vehicles turned corners and vanished. Neither had been driving fast, like they would if they were fleeing the scene of a crime. Which meant the asshole could still be here.

  And I was standing out in the street like a target at a gun range. I ran toward the spot where he’d stood, but I wasn’t quite sure where it was. I turned around and surveyed Violet’s burning building.

  The flames were already shining through the windows of the apartment above, and the smoke was billowing out in two heavy black columns. I heard sirens in the distance, and people were rushing out of the courtyard with cats in their arms, or baby gear. One woman ran acr
oss the street toward me and set a milk crate full of paperbacks on the lawn, then sprinted back to the building.

  Things would get very crowded soon. I tried to remember everything about Camo Pants that I could. I had seen the hockey bag at his feet, so I moved away from the line of parked cars. Had the telephone pole been on the right or the left? Had he stood on grass or the pavement?

  I walked around the area, looking for something that looked like a clue. In Chino, I knew a guy who’d left his wallet on the front seat of a Lexus he’d jacked. Camo Pants wasn’t so considerate. I couldn’t find anything but cigarette butts and food wrappers. Maybe TV cops could spend hours going over all this trash in some lab and finger the guy, but it was useless to me. And I’d forgotten to ask where I could find Violet.

  The sirens were getting closer, and that made me itch to leave the scene. But as I turned toward my car, someone behind me said: “Hey, Mr. Lilly.”

  I turned slowly and saw a homeless man walking toward me. His clothes were tattered and stiff with dirt, and even at this distance I could smell a year’s worth of cheap cigarettes on him. “Hey, Mr. Lilly,” he said again, his pale blue eyes wide and blank. “Your sick friend asked me to give you this.” He held out a cellphone.

  I didn’t move to take it. “Who gave it to you?”

  “Come on,” he said, “he paid me ten bucks.” He sounded a little nervous, as though he’d have to give back the money if I didn’t accept it.

  The phone rang.

  “Who?” I asked again. I still didn’t move to take it.

  “I don’t know his name, but he looks like a cancer patient or something. He said he’s your friend. Come on.”

  Okay. I can come on with the best of them. I took the phone from him. He bustled away, looking relieved.

  The phone was a cheap flip-closed type. It stopped ringing as the call went to voice mail. I opened it and looked at the number. It was an 818 area code, so it was coming from somewhere nearby. As expected, it started ringing again a few seconds later. I answered. “This is Ray.”