Nightlord: Orb

by Garon Whited

  While she’s down for the day, I’m visiting Esteban Juan Manuel Jesus Mendoza. He’s an elderly gentleman and has the longest moustache I’ve ever seen outside a martial-arts B-movie. He speaks fluent English with a slight British accent and seems stiffly polite. I don’t think he likes me. I’m not sure why, other than I’m not Hispanic, Catholic, or a citizen of Mexico—apparently all of which is an insult to him. Maybe it’s because I didn’t drop everything and rush to do his bidding. Or because I have spells he doesn’t. I look younger than he does. I didn’t dress in a three-piece suit to meet him. My deodorant needs to be stronger. Who knows? I don’t.

  I walked into his house and immediately realized it was built on a major nexus. I’m no expert on ley lines and nexus points, but the magical environment was much more powerful than the typical background level. It was strong enough that I wondered what he wanted a power-concentrating circle for. Anti-aging spells, maybe. The place felt at least close to home—half-strength? Two-thirds? Somewhere in there.

  I swear, I’m going to create a scale for measuring this sort of thing.

  The place was also quite large, but sounded empty. Aside from servants, I didn’t see anyone. Was his family avoiding the stranger in the house? That seemed impolite. Maybe they were all off elsewhere in the world, doing whatever magi do when they’re not chanting in the basement. Maybe they’re all dead and he’s planning to resurrect them. Not really my business, and he didn’t seem at all inclined toward chitchat.

  On the other hand, he’s quite content to have a small circle of power immediately inscribed on a worktable and a much larger one in progress in the back yard. The larger one is getting chiseled into the concrete surrounding the pool. It’s not a perfectly circular pool—more egg-shaped—but the whole thing will be inside the circle. I warned him about spells going away when taken in or out of the circle; he didn’t think it was a problem. Maybe he wants to enchant the water or something.

  I should be finished with it tomorrow. Then I should probably talk to Sebastian about turning a large pile of cash into digital money—and about finding a tax accountant. Does Sebastian know how to launder money?

  On the other hand, having a large pile of cash can be useful, too. Still, I should check. Like cash, you never know when a money-laundering friend might come in handy.

  While we were sitting at the edge of a park that evening, listening to the outdoor music, Mary leaned her head on my shoulder and said my name.

  “Vlad.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Have you noticed any relatives in town?”

  “I can’t say I have.”

  “Isn’t that weird?”

  “You’re the only relative I met by accident,” I pointed out.

  “Yeah, but that’s a major metropolitan area. This place is much smaller. I’d expect to run into someone by now.”

  “Maybe it doesn’t have anyone.”

  “With this much going on? With all these people passing through? This is prime turf. There could be dozens here and nobody would go hungry.”

  “So?”

  “It’s odd.”

  “Maybe the place is too religious. I’ve seen a lot of churches around here. The place could be full of professional vampire-hunters.”

  “No, those don’t like to work in public. Too much chance of friendly fire and too many explanations with the law.”

  “Fair enough. I—wait. There are professional vampire hunters?” I asked. She lifted her head to look at me.

  “Of course. That’s another reason we go so such lengths to avoid publicity. Well, some of us,” she added, winking at me. “But you don’t leave much in the way of witnesses.”

  “Huh. How do these people operate?”

  “I’m not an expert, but from what I’ve been told, they stalk their suspect, confirm their suspicions, then blow the suspect away. I’m told they try to make it look like a terrible accident—gas leak, house fire, that sort of thing. Occasionally they attack with volleys of gunfire to cripple the target, then nail it to the ground and burn it.”

  “How nice.”

  “You asked.”

  “So, what’s to say there aren’t hundreds of them in this town?”

  “Too quiet,” Mary disagreed, shaking her head. “No vampires.”

  “But it’s prime turf,” I argued. “Could it be the place is kept so nice to use it as bait?”

  “Huh. You raise a good point.” She looked around. Nobody seemed to be taking any notice of us. “If you didn’t want to go out, you could have just said so, instead of being such a buzzkill.”

  “Sorry. I only thought of it a second ago.”

  “Fine,” she sighed. “What do you want to do?”

  “Have another dancing lesson. I think I’m getting the hang of the tango.”

  “Seriously.”

  “Seriously,” I insisted. “I don’t think we’re being targeted. I only want to be aware of the dangers. That way, if a crazy man with a flamethrower screams and charges out of the kitchen at me, I’ll have some idea what to do.”

  “No, not that. The tango. Do you really think you’re getting the hang of it?”

  “Oh. Yes, I think so.”

  “So, delusions are part of getting old, too?”

  “You’re not too old to spank,” I pointed out.

  “Talk, talk, talk,” she teased, waving a hand dismissively. “You never follow through on such delightful threats. I really wish you would. Come on. I’ll help you justify your illusions.”

  We danced. Well, she danced; I came close. She got several compliments and a number of invitations to dance, even while I was sitting right next to her. She raised an eyebrow at me and I shrugged. She danced. While she was on the dance floor, I got invitations to buy drinks, mostly from pretty ladies but also a few from pretty guys. Apparently, I don’t dance well. At least, not the flamenco or the tango. When I didn’t pay attention to my feet, they tried dances from Zirafel. I know this because Mary told me I actually had rhythm and timing when I wasn’t watching.

  Tha candle in the center of the table flared brightly. I put a small plate over it and smothered it. Not a good time.

  Why do calls always seem to happen during dinner? Is it a universal law?

  Walking back to the hotel, Mary practically skipped along. If she couldn’t steal stuff, at least she could ride the high from being filled with vitality. That suited me, as long as she didn’t take so much it fatigued the whole room. I stuck to siphoning off energy from belligerent drunks and other unpleasant people. When they were too lethargic to make much of a fuss, it helped everyone else have a much better time.

  We made it back to the hotel without incident and Mary pointed out no one followed us. I hadn’t thought she was watching. I said so.

  “If I looked as though I was watching for a tail, they would work harder at not being seen,” she pointed out. “For someone as old as you are, you miss the obvious.”

  “Hmm. Well, the subtle I get immediately; the obvious takes a while. I don’t normally live in a state of heightened alertness, constantly checking every shadow for threats. It’s a habit I haven’t developed but probably should,” I admitted. “So, you think we weren’t followed?”

  “Just because you think of someone who might want to doesn’t mean they instantly come after you.”

  “There seems to be a correlation.”

  “Maybe you’re psychic, like Thessaloniki.”

  “Oh, yeah. I am.”

  “You, too?”

  “Sorry. Forgot to mention.”

  She growled as a reply. “Fine. One night, I’d like you and I to sit down and discuss exactly how you’re different and how you’re similar.”

  “Well, when a baby is conceived, it gets and X chromosome from it’s mother. It gets either an X or a Y chromosome from the father—”

  She hit me in the face with a well-thrown pillow. I don’t think it would have damaged a human, but I’m not sure.

  “You know what
I mean!”

  “I do. Okay. Some evening soon. For now, the morning is coming.”

  “Which reminds me. Why are we here? You said you had business, but you’ve been with me every night. Are we waiting for the business to show up?”

  “That’ll be part of the discussion of differences.”

  “Okay. I guess it’ll wait.” She kissed my cheek. “Sleep well.”

  “You, too.”

  Wednesday, November 11th

  Señor Mendoza sat on his patio and watched me carving cement. It struck me how this was an interesting reversal of stereotypes. The wealthy Hispanic man watched the white guy doing manual labor in the back yard. It amused me. He sat in the shade and sipped his drinks; I hammered at cement in the sun. That’s enough irony to rust. At least he was nice enough to have his cook prepare lunch. Two lunches, in fact. He ate his at the patio table; mine was delivered to me on a tray. No fraternizing with the hired help, obviously.

  I didn’t mind. I didn’t have to hide my expression as I wolfed it down. I have no real objection to Mexican food, but the cook liked spicy dishes and treated garlic like a vegetable, not a seasoning. If I wasn’t an eating machine, I would have skipped lunch altogether. As it was, I just tried not to breathe through my nose too much.

  With the circle in place and the spell engaged, I tested it a bit. It was definitely taking in much more power in this high-magic zone. A little work from the outside of the circle let me look over the flow of power. There were definitely some lines of force intersecting in the vicinity, deep below. There was also a trace of distortion in their flow, but only a trace. It was a Sphere, not a magic-sucking jet. The new Ascension Sphere acted less like a magnet and more like a drain. Power tried to flow past it and got caught, swirled around it, and fell into it.

  It was also easy to see the power was an external thing, not a direct flow. Somewhere inside the world, in its veins and arteries, was where all the magic happened. What we worked with was only at the surface—the radiant energy from the inner conduits. It’s like the difference between the power in someone’s blood and their body heat. This nexus was a place where blood flowed near the skin and warmed everything.

  I really do need to see if I can tap a ley line for power. How would that work? Drill a hole, like an oil well? Or find a really deep cave and go down after it?

  Once I was sure the Ascension Sphere was working properly, I moved around to the patio table and greeted Señor Mendoza again.

  “This thing you have created,” he demanded, not returning my greeting, “it will gather power indefinitely?”

  “Until you use it, which will cause it to collapse,” I told him. “It will require using or storing all the energy inside it before it will do so, however. You can also break the circle, which will release all the power. That may cause unpredictable effects, of course, unless you have something prepared to receive a large jolt of power.”

  “Very well. I see it is working. You are dismissed.”

  I shrugged and left. He was the client and he was paying. Politeness wasn’t going to get him a discount, so he didn’t bother with it, I guess. I had the distinct feeling he didn’t like me.

  Back at the hotel, with curtains drawn and darkness absolute, I checked on Mary. She was still dead, so I closed the trunk and ordered room service. It was a long day in the sun; I wanted food, water, and a bath. Room service assured me they could satisfy my needs. I guzzled water, ate the food they sent up, then had my bath. Things were looking up.

  A bath, however, is not nearly as pleasant as it used to be. I sink so hard I don’t even feel the half-floating sensation that comes with immersion. Undead problems.

  The bathroom mirror rippled.

  I sat up in the tub and directed my attention toward it. There was some sort of magical effect. The mirror continued to shiver, as though some building-sized monster was stomping along outside. Nothing of the sort was happening, though; I felt no vibrations that could produce such a shivering. After a moment, it became obvious a scrying spell was attempting to make a connection. If it was reaching, somehow, from Karvalen, then it took an awful lot of power and more than a little skill.

  Grumbling, I got out, put on a hotel robe, and placed my hands on the mirror’s frame. A little concentration and a little push…

  The mirror cleared. I expected T’yl, but Señor Mendoza looked out of the mirror at me. He did a double-take and gestured, closing the connection.

  Well, that was plain rude. I guess I should wear my location-blocking amulet even when soaking in a hot bath.

  Was there anything to do about it now? I could call him back and ask for an explanation. I could go visit and confront him. If I wanted to be slightly less direct, I could call Sebastian and ask him to remonstrate with Señor Mendoza, possibly charge him a penalty fee. If necessary, I could probably manage to take down the Ascension Sphere from the outside—the carved ideograms were actually part of the spell matrix, not just foci to help me cast it. Or maybe I should get Sebastian to figure something out. He’s the one who knows how these people work.

  I called Sebastian—on the phone—explained what happened, and he was silent for several heartbeats.

  “You’re sure it was Señor Mendoza?” he asked.

  “I saw him as though we were looking at each other through a window.”

  “I wonder what he wanted.”

  “So do I, but I’m more concerned with his invasion of my privacy. It’s rude.”

  “Yes… On his behalf, I apologize. I’ll try to impress upon him the importance of that.”

  “I appreciate it. I don’t suppose you could give me some advice on how families settle this sort of disagreement? Just in case?”

  “Normally, they talk it over,” he told me. “If that doesn’t work, sometimes there are conflicts.”

  “Deadly ones?”

  “It has been known to happen,” he admitted, cautiously. “The Clairmont family and the Lo family had a dispute in Hong Kong and it resulted in a dozen fatalities over the course of a decade. They still hate each other.”

  “Did they finally settle it on their own? Or did everyone else step in to stop it?”

  “It was a joint thing. The Ortoli family acted as a moderator and helped make peace between their houses. We’re not likely to need that sort of thing for a trifle such as this. Permanent maimings, murders—yes. This is probably a mistake. I think an apology is in order, if you’re willing to accept one.”

  “Good to know. Yes, I’ll be happy with an apology. No need to get all bent out of shape. Let me know if you need anything from me.”

  “Of course. Always glad to hear from you, Vlad. Have a good evening.”

  “You, too.”

  I hung up and settled onto the bed to watch some video. Maybe I could get Sebastian to give me a list of the various families of magi and a rundown of who liked or hated each other. It might be good to know.

  It was late in the afternoon when someone knocked at the door. I grumbled some more but managed to climb out of bed. I put serious dents in mattresses; it’s a struggle to escape the pit.

  “Who is it?” I asked, looking through the peephole. I saw a guy in hotel uniform.

  “Housekeeping, Señor. Do you have a tray and cart?”

  “Oh.” I unlocked and opened the door. “Yes. I’m done with it; you can have it back.” He stepped inside, smiling his professional smile.

  “Thank you so much, Señor. You are most kind.”

  When I turned away to walk past the cart, he hit me in the back with an electric shock thing. I went down and he kept it planted between my shoulderblades. Being facedown on the floor and locked in a vibrating-muscle spasm, I wasn’t really in any position to notice what else was going on. I thought I felt a needle. Since everything went away shortly thereafter, I must have been correct.

  Waking up after being forcibly rendered unconscious is generally a surprise and a mixed pleasure.

  On the one hand, it’s a good thing. I
’m alive!

  On the other hand, it means the people who grabbed me want me for something. That might not be a good thing at all.

  Sensation returned, bringing with it a stinging in my shoulder, a tingling in my extremities, a pounding heartbeat, an agonizing pain between my shoulderblades, and the feel of restraints at every joint. At a guess, someone gave me a shot to wake me. I slitted my eyes and took note of the restraints. Medical grade, probably. Suitable for psycho nutjobs who might rip open a straitjacket. I wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry. It would take real effort to rip free, even for me—a minute? Five? After dark, it would be tissue paper, but I had no idea how far away that might be.

  Of course, I wasn’t wearing anything but the restraints. Typical. Why does everyone want me naked? Is everyone a necrophiliac? Or do I look better naked than I think I do?

  The slap across my face encouraged me to open my eyes.

  “I know you are awake!”

  I recognized that voice. Pages flipped in my mental study and a name emerged. Fries. Jason Fries.

  I opened my eyes and, sure enough, I was right. Right in more ways than one, actually; Señor Mendoza was with him. They had half a dozen younger people, as well. Several of the Fries family stood on my left, Mendozas on my right. I hung there on some sort of framework, parenthesized by magi. I would have looked around more thoroughly, but the head-strap was good and tight.

  Somehow, I was not reassured to see familiar faces.

  “Good evening,” I offered. My face still stung from the slap, but also felt somewhat numbed by the drugs. The sting was winning; the antidote was taking hold. “How may I help you?”

  “I’ll ask the questions!” he declared. I remained silent. I couldn’t see any windows in the room, which suited me perfectly. Presumably, they didn’t want anyone to peep in and observe their activities. Something indefinable about the place made me think I was underground. The walls were paneled. A nicely-finished basement, perhaps. It was hard to tell. Aside from the tilted, metal platform they had me on, there was no furniture visible to me. I didn’t see a door, either. Behind me, probably; I was in the middle of the room.