Circle of Enemies: A Twenty Palaces Novel

by Harry Connolly

  And she’d killed Lino without a second thought. She’d threatened the boat captain’s son. She wasn’t as big an asshole as Wally or Ansel Zahn, but could I hand over the spell book to her?

  Hell, no.

  I gripped the steering wheel with my left hand, rubbing it against the leather. That was my skin, touching. My face itched from the sweat and heat. My hair was damp. It felt good to be back in my own bones, and I was tempted to step out into the parking lot to dance, just to make sure everything worked. And yet, I could still feel those nine hooks wrapped snug around my middle, like phantom limbs.

  I closed my eyes and tried to remember how I’d “seen” in my vision. Those alien creatures had been about to tell me something important. They’d brought me to that private place, and they were all about to share something with me at once.

  Maybe that’s how the original spell books worked—they didn’t really give you visions, they sent you out of your body, where those things dumped the knowledge of the universe into your brain the way I’d throw old newspapers into a recycling bin. And Christ, they’d almost given that knowledge to me.

  I set the thermos on the seat next to me, but when I realized I was about to belt it in, I moved it to the cup holder. The L.A. River was just a few blocks away. I could dump the contents of the thermos into the thin stream and watch it flow out to the Pacific. Hell, I could take the advice I gave Dale and stuff the whole thermos into a trash can by the curb. The book would vanish into a landfill somewhere.

  Would that be enough to get it away from everyone, including myself? Part of the reason I wanted to trash it was that I wanted it so much. “Reading” the Book of Oceans would turn me into a primary, one of the most powerful sorcerers in the world. I would live for centuries. I could go back to Hammer Bay and destroy the predator I’d left behind. I could do things I couldn’t even imagine.

  But if I didn’t trust Annalise with that much power, I certainly didn’t trust myself. Not that I was sure those aliens would accept me if I tried again. I laughed, and the sound echoed in the confines of the SUV. I hadn’t lied to the chubby guy after all. My alien host had taken me into a room to become a full sorcerer, and I’d gotten myself fired.

  I was going to have to get by on what abilities I already had …

  And suddenly I knew where to go. Wally had said: I know a little desert retreat that’s going to be abandoned soon. Arne had “broken into” a building in the desert—a building with security cameras on the outside—to steal that Bugatti, but he hadn’t bothered to go invisible first. The building must have been his.

  And once Arne vanished into the Empty Spaces …

  I started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. I drove aimlessly for ten full minutes, trying to remember the best way to get to the 15. Francois had been right all along; Arne was ransoming the man’s car back to him, not recovering it.

  I followed the 15 through Barstow into the desert. Somewhere out here was the turnoff to that little dirt road and metal warehouse, and I spent at least twenty minutes convinced that I’d missed it when it suddenly appeared in front of me.

  To my right was the Mohave. To my left, across the median and the westbound lanes, was the dirt road. If I was lucky, I’d also find the circle Wally had used to summon the drapes. It was the only way he’d know about the building. I hoped.

  Traffic was thin. I slowed and swerved onto the dirt median. When the way was clear, I drove across the westbound lanes onto the raised gravel pathway. Once I passed the rough ground by the dry stream, the gravel gave way to a dirt track.

  After about a mile, I passed the spot where I’d spied on Arne, then came to the fenced gate. It was standing open, always a bad sign. A battered sign on the chain-link read QUAKEWATER REFRIGERATOR RECYCLING. I drove straight to the run-down sheet-metal building.

  A piece of yellow metal stood out from the far corner, and I decided it would be best to drive around the building once, just in case a SWAT team was hiding back there. As I came closer, I saw that the cameras were pointing right at me, and that the front doors, each as wide as an airplane-hangar door, were wide open.

  I drove down the path and coasted by the open doors. It was dark inside, unsurprisingly, and all I could see was a concrete floor and a row of unlit headlights.

  Then it was once around the building. On the far side from the gate, I saw a digging machine, almost certainly stolen. There was a scraper on one end and a scoop on the other. Behind the building was a low berm that prevented me from driving out into the desert, which I didn’t want to do anyway. The dirt out there had been disturbed in a few places, as though someone was digging for treasure.

  At the front of the building, I turned the Hummer around and backed in. I was barely inside before a tremendous anxiety washed through me—I couldn’t turn my back to all that darkness. I jumped from the vehicle and wandered into the room, wishing I had kept Lino’s gun. I kept my hand close to my ghost knife.

  Once I was out of the sun, the room didn’t seem so dark. Against the far wall was a row of cars, mostly German makes. Those were always popular in South America, and Arne made most of his real money with them. In the dimly lit corner at the far right of the building was a small workbench and a radio playing norteño music. God, I hated those accordions.

  To the left was a set of desks and tables, including a much larger bench covered with tools. There was also a huge blue plastic water jug mounted atop a cooler.

  Against the right wall, off into the darkness, was a red circle on the floor.

  I moved toward it. It had been made with red paint—in fact, an open bucket was set in the corner—and it was much bigger than I’d anticipated, more than fifteen feet across.

  There were sigils along the inner ring. I compared them to the ones on the back of my hand, but they were not the same, of course. These were rounder and more filled with open space … which was appropriate, I guessed.

  This was it. This was where Wally brought the drapes into our world, and killed my friends.

  Time to work. I went to the tool area and found a long-handled shovel. The blade was sharp and heavy; it could kill someone if I put my back into it, but it was too crude. I kept searching, but the best option I found was a long flat-head screwdriver. There was duct tape, too, which would suffocate someone, but no. That’s an ugly way to die.

  Then I noticed a little shelf loaded with soup cans and packages labeled MRE. They were army rations; I could only wonder where Arne had stolen them. Beside them, in the back corner, was a knife block. I found a long, sharp boning knife there. It would have to do.

  I got into the Hummer and backed it closer to the circle but not too close. I didn’t want any part of it extending over the red paint when I opened the back hatch.

  I opened the rear door and laid my hand on something I couldn’t see. I caught hold of it—it felt like an arm—and pulled it toward me. My skin began to itch, but that couldn’t be helped. I jostled the body until I managed to roll it onto its back and grasp it under the arms. As I dragged it, it whispered.

  I jumped back, startled. Had the drapes learned to talk? I heard the sound again, and it didn’t sound like something a drape would make. It sounded terribly human.

  I leaned in close to listen. It was Potato Face’s voice, and he was begging me to kill him.

  I hauled him out of the vehicle, doing my best to keep him from flopping onto the concrete floor. He still fell heavily, and I apologized to him. I knew he was in terrible pain, and maybe thumping his heels on the ground was minor by comparison, but I owed him a bit of dignity before I did what I had to do.

  I dragged him across the red circle, then set him down and checked the paint. It was undamaged. My brain was working quickly, and I didn’t try to slow it down. How much time did I have before these men started dying? It could have been two weeks, or it could have been two minutes. I had no way to know, except that they’d been stuck in the back of a car for hours in desert heat, so probably not two w
eeks.

  But I couldn’t put them all into the circle at once. If I did, the first to die would drag the others into the Empty Spaces. If Wally was right about there being no death there, those four men would never have an end to their suffering.

  So it would have to be one at a time. I taped the knife to the butt of the shovel handle. I probably used more tape than necessary, but I didn’t want it to fall into the void.

  Then I took a handful of dirty rags out of a bucket. I was ready, even though I really, really wasn’t.

  I laid my makeshift spear on the ground outside the circle. Then I found Potato’s body and felt around for his throat. Once I had that, I laid one of the dirty rags near it, pointing away like a beam of light from a kindergartener’s drawing of the sun.

  Then I went outside the circle and hefted the shovel. The first time I’d killed someone in cold blood, Annalise had been standing over me. This time, I couldn’t even see the guy’s face. It didn’t make things easier.

  I slid the knife forward just above the ground. I suddenly felt resistance and shoved forward, sawing back and forth. I hoped I was hitting him just below the ear—that’s where I pointed with the towel, at least. But I couldn’t see blood. I couldn’t see anything.

  There were no sounds, either. I yanked the shovel handle back, pulling it outside the circle. The blade was clean, but …

  A portal suddenly opened. There was no buzzing or cracking noise this time. The entire floor inside the red circle just vanished. The shop rag fluttered down into the Empty Spaces.

  A swarm of drapes flooded up through the hole, swirling at the edges of the circle but unable to cross it. I stepped back to see how high they could go. It looked to be about twelve feet, well below the ceiling above.

  I stepped back farther. It was like looking at a giant aquarium filled with drapes instead of water—minus the aquarium. I didn’t want to be anywhere near it.

  With my ghost knife in hand, I watched them swarm, hoping the circle could hold them all and knowing there was little I could do if it didn’t. It held, and after a few seconds, the drapes dropped out of our world and the floor reappeared. From off in the corner, a man sang in Spanish about love and death, with accordion and sax accompanying him.

  The next man wasn’t easier, but it was quicker. I made sure to turn him the other way so the knife would enter below his left ear rather than his right. I had the idea that that would make it quicker, and I was right.

  When the drapes swarmed in again, I turned my back on them and went for the third man, because fuck them. They scared the crap out of me, and I was tired of being afraid.

  My hands were itching badly. The watercooler was just across the room, but I didn’t wash the slime away. It seemed right that I should suffer during this job. These men were. Somewhere, somehow, I’d acquired a taste for penance.

  Once the last man had vanished into the Empty Spaces, I walked to the back of the room toward the watercooler. It was half full. I dribbled the water over my hands and forearms; the slime the drapes left behind vanished at the water’s touch, but my skin was still raw. Sweat ran down my back. The radio played another song with lyrics I couldn’t understand. I felt terribly, painfully lonely and, at the same time, grateful to be alone while I worked.

  “Is that what you plan for us?”

  I yelped and jumped to the side, backing against the wall. A push broom and other long-handled wooden tools clattered to the floor.

  It was Fidel. He was three feet from me, scratching furiously at his neck. He’d stripped down to a sleeveless undershirt and those fancy green linen suit pants. I didn’t like the bitter, desperate smile on his face.

  Summer and Ty appeared beside him. Summer’s expression was fierce, but her eyes were red, as though she’d been crying. Ty gaped at me.

  “Let me ask again, Ray.” Fidel’s voice was quiet. “Is that what you planned for us all along?”

  “We could see them,” Ty said. He held his injured shoulder high and his arm close to his chest. The burn must have been bothering him badly. “Mostly. We know what they were.”

  “And you killed them,” Fidel said. He scratched furiously at his arm. Summer did the same. “I didn’t think you had it in you, baby. But why did you put them in that summoning circle, hey? You calling up more of these creatures?”

  “That’s not what the circle is for,” I said, but Summer didn’t let me continue.

  “You tried to stop that woman from hurting Bud, but you weren’t trying to save his life. Right? You just wanted to kill him here so you could call up more of these things.”

  “Summer—”

  “I’m right, Ray. Just admit that I’m right.”

  “You don’t understand,” I said. “As soon as that symbol wears off, you’re going to be like those guys I pulled out of the SUV. How long have you been itching?” Summer stopped scratching her arm.

  Ty glanced at Fidel. “He said they would start eating us.”

  “What bullshit,” Fidel said.

  “Once you’re dead, they carry you away and let more into our world. If you die outside the circle—”

  “This is bullshit, Ray!”

  “They get loose!” I shouted at him. “And they do this to other people!”

  “Fuck other people!” Fidel leaned into my face. “I got to watch out for myself!”

  I almost said: There’s nothing left of you to see, but I didn’t. He’d backed himself into a dangerous spot, and he couldn’t see a way out. I sympathized.

  Ty’s expression was uncertain. I thought I’d had him convinced that the drape was killing him, but it was pretty clear he wanted to be unconvinced. He was still looking for a way out. “Did Arne tell you to say that?”

  “Where is Arne?”

  Fidel and Summer rolled their eyes. Ty said: “He said we should meet him up here. He said he could make things right.”

  Arne had brought them running to him by giving them false hope. Maybe I should have done the same thing. Maybe I should have lied. It would have been easier than this.

  But what had I expected? They weren’t going to line up inside the circle like victims of a firing squad.

  “Ray.” Fidel’s voice was low and urgent. “Did your good friend Wally make you bulletproof?”

  “No,” I blurted out with more anger than I’d intended.

  “It wouldn’t work anyway,” Ty said.

  “What wouldn’t work?” I asked.

  “Ain’t nobody else offering another plan, so why not?” Fidel said. “Where did you get that magic, Raymundo? Hey? How did you get so well protected? Who hooked you up?”

  Damn. He wanted a closed-way spell to protect him from the drape. “It won’t work, believe me.”

  Fidel sighed and turned to Summer. “He don’t know how to answer a question.”

  Summer glared at me. “Maybe we should raise our voices.”

  “Guys, these creatures are in your mouths and down your—”

  “I got a better idea,” Fidel said, raising his voice to talk over me. “Ray might be bulletproof, but we can all see he’ll still take a beating, hey?” He stepped over to the table and picked up a hammer.

  Oh, shit. He snatched a screwdriver off the workbench and tossed it to Summer. She caught it, and they both vanished.

  Ty gave me a helpless look, and he vanished, too.

  I grabbed a tool from the wall behind me—it was a curved metal piece at the end of a twenty-foot wooden handle—and swung it. The metal tip struck something soft, and I backed along the wall. I swung the handle again, this time not hitting anything except wall.

  The radio at the far end of the room suddenly switched off.

  In the silence, I listened for footsteps. Nothing. I moved toward the middle of the floor, which maybe wasn’t a good idea, but it was the only way to get to the Hummer.

  I swung the handle again. They were keeping their distance. Good. I glanced at the metal piece and realized it was used to open and close the transom
windows at the top of the wall.

  Not that it mattered. I swung again, struck something at two o’clock, then swung overhand at that spot.

  I hit nothing but concrete, breaking off the metal tip. The splintered wood and metal end flipped up and over my shoulder—too high to hit me, but I ducked away from it just as something struck the outside edge of my ear.

  I snapped my head to the side; it felt like my ear had been torn off. I didn’t pause to check it, though. I swung the broken handle, and it moved much faster now that it was shorter. I struck something and heard Fidel grunt in pain.

  Then something dull scraped against my shoulder blade.

  I stabbed backward with the splintered end of the wood, but I missed whoever it was behind me—Summer? Which was a good thing, since we weren’t even close to the red circle yet.

  I sidestepped, swinging the handle low in a full circle. Summer hissed when I hit her shin. Contact. I charged at her, my arms wide to make sure I caught her.

  I did, by her hair. She yelped in pain and I felt a sudden rush of shame. I had to kill her, but I didn’t want to hurt her. Was this how Wally felt?

  Whatever. I caught her around the neck and knocked her to the floor. I couldn’t see her, but I could feel that she was facing away from me. I guessed she had the screwdriver in her right hand and grappled for it blindly. It clattered to the floor.

  Scuffling footsteps approached from behind. I wrenched Summer off the floor and spun to put her between me and whoever was getting close. Nothing bashed my skull open.

  Sweat stung my eyes as I backed toward the red circle. If I could get her inside, I could use my ghost knife on her. The drape would kill her, quickly, and that would be that. It would almost be like mercy.

  But she was struggling furiously, and even though I was stronger and heavier, I couldn’t contain her. She was fighting for her life, and in my heart I wanted her to win.

  Ty became visible in the middle of the room; his expression had so much sorrow in it that it stole my energy away and I stopped fighting.