Circle of Enemies: A Twenty Palaces Novel

by Harry Connolly

  But it was already too late. The maid’s body burst as though she’d swallowed a grenade. Her legs, arms, and head split open in a ragged confusion, but there was no blood. In fact, there was no red in it at all, just a strange charcoal gray and smudge brown, and her body held together like a shredded blanket waving in front of a fan.

  The maid’s body was gone, transformed into something that fluttered to the ground as Csilla’s spell spent itself. Her flesh, bones, clothes, and shoes had vanished, and in their place was a pile of something I couldn’t make out. My brain was looking for a corpse; it couldn’t recognize the dark, shiny stuff on the carpet.

  I wasn’t struggling against Annalise anymore—what would have been the point?—but she was still squeezing my wrist, much harder than she realized.

  Csilla stood without letting go of what had been the maid’s throat, lifting something that shimmered like raw silk. It hung from her hand like fabric, splotchy and wet-looking. She draped it over her shoulders as though it would keep her warm, and among the discolored blotches and ragged ends of that cloth, I could make out the shadow of an agonized face. Csilla returned to her chair and stared into space.

  My hands were shaking and I felt sick to my stomach. A fury was building in me, and I didn’t know what to do with it.

  I turned to Annalise. “Boss.” I looked down at my wrist and so did she. She let go. Her face was pinched and pale. I didn’t want to think about what my expression looked like.

  Talbot was breathing heavily. “That was fucked up.”

  “We’re going to be fucked up if we don’t move quickly,” I said. I moved toward the door. The housekeeping cart was parked just outside the room, but there was no one else in the hall. “Talbot, pull that cart all the way back to the elevator. Then get back in here and close the door.”

  He looked jumpy. “What if …” What if I get caught?

  I held his gaze with my own. “If someone sees you, tell them it was in the way. Just be cool.”

  He hurried out the door, taking a tissue from a silver box by the phone. He laid the tissue over the handle before pulling it away.

  I spun on Annalise. “Boss, aren’t predators just magical beings that kill people?” My voice was a harsh whisper, although I felt like shouting.

  She understood what I was saying right away. “No.” Her voice was low and urgent, as though she was afraid she’d be overheard. She glanced at Csilla. “Predators are a new link in the food chain. They’re alligators in the rabbit hutch. The society doesn’t hunt down murderers.”

  “I can see why.”

  She stepped close to me, her teeth bared. “Don’t you dare talk to me about killing. Do you think I’ve never killed an innocent person by accident? What about you? Are you sure your hands are completely clean?” Talbot hurried back inside. He shut the door with both hands and his shoulder, as though it weighed as much as a bank-vault door.

  “This isn’t even her fault,” Annalise said. “It’s mine. The peers wanted her out here for him.” She pointed at Talbot. “I was supposed to look after her.”

  Don’t ask Csilla any questions, Annalise had said. I paced back and forth. Wally King, Arne’s crew, and the drapes were all running around the city, and I had Csilla on my side. I felt just as dirty as the people we were after.

  Csilla was still sitting in the same chair on the other side of the room, staring at the same piece of nothing. “The universe … we think its thoughts and …,” she said, her voice trailing off. “We … we … we …” She seemed agitated. Maybe she knew she’d done something wrong.

  Annalise said: “We’ll have to move her.”

  “What about me?” Talbot asked.

  Annalise scowled at him. “You’re with me now. Don’t fuck up.”

  We packed quickly, throwing all the clothes into suitcases without folding them. Annalise checked us out, and a valet brought the Grand Vitara to the front door. We moved to a Best Western in Canoga Park, throwing all Csilla’s things onto the bed and parking her in a little chair by the window. Annalise went into the bathroom to make a call.

  When she emerged, she said: “An investigator will be here before tomorrow morning to escort her home. Let’s go.”

  We went straight to the airport in Burbank, boarded a private jet, and lifted off. Predators were on the loose with more coming anytime, but we were leaving for Canada to go after the guy who was bringing them here. I was sure we were making a terrible mistake.

  During the flight, Talbot tried to talk about the mission, but Annalise didn’t answer any of his questions, and I certainly didn’t know anything. Eventually, he stopped talking and stared out the window. I closed my eyes and slept heavily for an hour and a half. We landed at a small airport in Everett, Washington.

  At the airport, we were met by a woman who didn’t want to know our names. She was nearly my height, and was as skinny as a mop handle. Her hair was a nest of tight black curls with a good bit of gray mixed in, and her muscles were long and ropy. Annalise handed her an unsealed envelope, which she tucked into the satchel she carried.

  She piled us into a pickup truck—Talbot and I sat in the bed. I peered into the cab to see if Annalise had something to say to the driver, but I didn’t see them talking.

  The truck ride ended at the docks. We had to detour through waterfront construction, but we eventually pulled into a long parking lot and stopped at the back.

  Annalise followed the tall woman, and Talbot and I followed Annalise. The driver unlocked a gate and we followed her down the dock. The boats on either side of us were pleasure craft of one kind or another—some sailboats, but mostly they were tall motorboats with enclosed cabins and tinted windows. They looked like expensive condos with a hull, or maybe oversized SUVs. A little thrill went through me. I had never liked the ocean, but I liked a high-class ride as much as any car thief.

  Unfortunately, the boat we stopped at was the smallest of the bunch. It was a little more than twenty feet long, I guessed, and completely open to the weather. BAYLINER was written along the side, but it looked like a brand name, not the name of the boat.

  Annalise stopped short. “This isn’t a sailboat.”

  “There wasn’t time,” the tall woman said.

  “Wasn’t time for what? This is a deck boat.”

  The woman sighed in exasperation. “Wasn’t time for you to find someone else. I’m not doing this for you people in a sailboat. Not again.”

  I had an uncomfortable moment waiting for Annalise’s reaction, but after a few seconds she nodded. “You’re the expert.”

  The captain led us aboard. She cast off and carefully motored out of the slip.

  “Do you have our folder?” Annalise asked.

  “After we pass Jetty Island,” Captain answered.

  It was about thirty minutes before she opened her satchel and handed Annalise a folder. By that time, we were all stretched out on the long cushions that ringed the small deck area. Talbot went to sit out at the bow, but Annalise and I stayed near Captain.

  Annalise opened the folder and took out three sheets of paper in plastic slipcovers. She handed one to Talbot and one to me. It was a map. I laid it flat on the cushion beside me to make it easier to read—we weren’t going that fast, but there was enough of a breeze that the ride was rough.

  “This is Slostich Island,” Annalise said. “The little a is Walter Roi’s cabin. That’s where we expect to find Wally King. For once, there are no other residences nearby, although it’s not completely isolated. The southern end of the island is where all the people are. The north end is scattered cabins, a few retreats, and protected forest. Memorize that map, because we’re not bringing it ashore. With luck, we’ll reach the cabin, kill the target, and be back on the water in two hours with no one the wiser.”

  There was a little mark on the paper where we were coming ashore. It was some sort of park, and it looked to be about a mile from the cabin. “Will there be a car for us, boss?”

  “Not unless w
e steal one. There was no time to arrange it.”

  I nodded, but I didn’t like it. A mile wasn’t far to walk if you’re going for pad thai, but fleeing the scene of a murder—and probably an arson—was another thing entirely, especially on a long strip of land with what appeared to be two north/south roads running through heavy woods.

  Talbot looked at us, irritated. He waved the plastic sheet cover at me. “In the service, we had blue-force tracking. We had computers and … not fucking Google maps! We flew here on a private jet, but we can’t afford a GPS?”

  “Who’s ‘we’?” Annalise snapped. “The jet is Csilla’s. She spent a couple of centuries killing people and taking their shit. You haven’t. We’re lucky we have someone in place to take us by boat.”

  “We could do better, is all I’m saying. Do we really have to go the whole way by boat?”

  “Did you bring your passport?” Captain asked.

  Talbot took a deep breath. “No.”

  “I’m a convicted felon,” I said. “There’s no way they’d let me through a checkpoint.”

  Annalise scowled at Talbot. “So we cross the border. We surprise King in his home, hopefully while he’s asleep. We kill the hell out of him. We cross back into U.S. waters and fly east before anyone even knows about the body.”

  East? I almost corrected her, when I noticed Captain take the unsealed envelope out of her satchel. She opened it and unfolded the single sheet of paper inside. I couldn’t read it, but I saw that it was a short, printed letter. Captain looked it over grimly, then put it back into the envelope and shut it inside a compartment below the steering wheel.

  We cruised for about an hour. I studied the map off and on. I’d never been much for learning things off paper, but I went back to it several times until I was sure I had it down.

  Finally, Captain turned off the engine. We floated a thousand feet off the Washington coast, gently rolling with the waves. Talbot looked alarmed. “Why did we stop?”

  “We’ll cross into Canadian waters after dark. Sunset’s just after eight P.M., which is … two hours from now. Try to act like we’re out for some summer sun. Maybe no one will pay attention to us.”

  I closed my eyes and lay back on the cushions. I was going to see Wally King again. Did he sleep with all those predators inside him? I hoped so. We could destroy the creatures and him at the same time.

  How simple that seemed. How right. I closed my eyes, but I couldn’t sleep.

  After night fell, Captain started the engines again. We puttered forward, obviously in no hurry. She told us we had another five hours, more or less, before we reached our target.

  We rode in silence. After three hours, Captain brought out a cooler and slid it to Annalise. She took out four bags of fast-food burgers, fries, and soda. The drinks were watery and the food was cold and greasy. I was hungry enough not to care.

  I kept my eye out for patrol boats, but no one approached us. The trip was smooth and easy right up to the moment Captain pointed out our landing spot, and Annalise took out the guns.

  CHAPTER TEN

  They were revolvers, old Magnum .44s like the ones Clint Eastwood used to carry, and they were sealed in gallon-sized Ziploc baggies. There were two speed loaders in the bag, too. Talbot looked at his as though he’d been asked to dig a grave with a soup ladle, but I took mine without comment. I didn’t expect it to be much use, but I appreciated the thought.

  There were only two, of course. Annalise didn’t need one.

  Captain killed the engines and let momentum carry the boat toward the shore. There was a steep beach ahead and a line of trees at the top of the hill. Captain turned the wheel, letting the boat swing around. Annalise, Talbot, and I jumped off the port side into water up to our thighs—on Annalise it was up to her navel. Damn, it was cold, but no one else complained, so I kept my mouth shut.

  Talbot ran ahead, yanking the gun out of the baggie as he left the water and charging up the sand as if he was storming the beach at Normandy. I hissed at him, but he ignored me.

  I was surprised to come out of the water onto a flat, grainy tan rock. In the starlight it had looked like a stretch of sand, but it was actually solid and smooth like a boat-launch ramp. Annalise and I walked slowly up the hill, as though it was the most natural thing in the world, and Talbot came out of the trees to join us.

  I took the gun from the baggie, folded the plastic and put it into my back pocket, then stuffed the speed loaders into my hip pocket. I wasn’t wearing a jacket, and no way would I slip this blaster into my waistband. Life was too chancy. I carried it by the barrel instead.

  It was about three hundred feet to the road, then we turned toward the south. It was almost midnight, and of course there were no streetlights. The starlight was bright enough for what we were doing, but flashlights would have been better.

  We jogged along the side of the road. Talbot ran ahead, although I’m sure he thought of it as taking point. There was no sidewalk, of course, so we trotted along the asphalt. I turned around every ten steps, watching for headlights behind us. Not that it mattered: the gully along the road was choked with bush and brambles. We couldn’t exactly dive for cover.

  We didn’t need to. No one came. The moon rose over the trees, lighting the roadway. I ran toward my own faint shadow.

  At the mouth of a driveway, Talbot stopped and looked back at us. He made some sort of hand signal I didn’t recognize, but Annalise beckoned him toward us impatiently. When he came close, she said: “This is it, isn’t it?”

  I’d forgotten that Annalise was hopeless with maps. Talbot said: “Yeah. Shouldn’t we get off the road?”

  Annalise shrugged, and the three of us started moving up the drive. I felt a twinge on my right collarbone.

  “We shouldn’t be here,” Talbot suddenly said, rubbing the top of his breastbone with two fingers. “This is the wrong place.”

  I felt it, too. I was suddenly sure this was the wrong path. Why hadn’t I studied the map better? My iron gate throbbed.

  Talbot began backing down toward the road. “Let’s try somewhere else.”

  “Talbot,” I said, “are any of your spells hurting?”

  He was still rubbing the spot on his chest. “Yeah.”

  “There’s a spell on this place,” I said. “Some kinds of magic can make you think or feel certain things. Pay attention to the spells on you. They’re painful for a reason.”

  Talbot looked embarrassed and walked with me toward Annalise. “Want me to lead the way?” he asked.

  A cloud moved across the moon, and things were suddenly very dark. “Is that how you want it?” Annalise asked. She took a scrap of wood out of her pocket and lit a Bic lighter. I recognized the scrap as one of her Geiger counters for magic, but the sigil was dark and inert.

  The cloud moved away from the moon. I looked around. Everything seemed completely normal. “Shouldn’t you be getting a reading from that thing, boss?” If magic was making my iron gate throb, her detector should show it.

  “Yeah,” she answered. “Unless I’m not.”

  “Boss, let me take the lead here,” I said, without even realizing I was about to speak. “I owe this guy.”

  “No offense, Ray,” Talbot said. “But I was the one kicking down doors for Uncle Sam. I should lead the team into the house.”

  Annalise turned to him. “We don’t work that way. We don’t bunch up; we don’t charge in together.”

  “But … what about covering each other?”

  “These are sorcerers,” she said. “Taking them down is like taking down a suicide bomber, except without the suicide. This is how we do it: one wooden man comes at them from the front, and the others hit their flank.”

  “Boss, you know I have history with this guy. I want him.”

  “Ray, if you have history with him,” Talbot said, trying to be reasonable, “if it’s personal, you should probably not even be on this mission. Just saying.”

  Annalise waved that off. “With Ray, everyth
ing’s personal.” She turned to me. “Go ahead.”

  I started up the gravel driveway, wondering if I should feel stung. I shifted the gun to my left hand, holding it properly now. With my right, I took my ghost knife out of my back pocket. The revolver was loud, clumsy, and very, very solid, but the ghost knife was my weapon.

  I wanted to head back to the boat. I wanted to be in L.A. Nothing was right and everything was wrong. My iron gate was aching like an old bruise. The spell on this property, Wally’s or not, was getting stronger. I lowered my head and bulled forward, determined not to let feelings I couldn’t control drive me away.

  The brambles on either side of me were tall, well over my head. The path curved to the right, and after following it a few dozen yards, I saw a light in the trees up ahead. It was bright, not a lamp in a window—probably a security light.

  I suddenly hit a spot where my iron gate flared with sharp pain. I flinched, bending over slightly as the pain hit. “Something is different here.”

  Annalise hurried forward, and I could see she felt it, too. Talbot also flinched, but less than I had. Annalise took out her scrap of wood and held it in front of her. Immediately, the design started moving. A shower of dull gray sparks shot out, along with a jet of black steam.

  Something had changed drastically in just a few steps. I had stepped from a magic-free area into one that set off Annalise’s detector like a siren. When I moved toward the house, my iron gate eased. I backed toward the spot where the pain had first started and moved side to side, trying to find out if whatever was hurting me was a single spot or if it had a shape.

  It turned out to be a line that went across the driveway, down the stony gully into the brambles.

  “The plants look thinner here,” Talbot said. He was right. Not only were the brambles thinner, they were shorter. They had been cut or burned away some time ago up. I knelt in the rocky dirt and tried to peer through the underbrush, but it was too dark even with this bright moon.

  “It’s a circle,” Annalise said. “He surrounded the house with a circle and buried it.”