Incarnate (A Spellmason Chronicle)

by Anton Strout

The female detective raised her firearm. “Are you threatening us?” she asked.

  “No,” I said. “I believe what Alexandra is actually trying to do is be reasonable.”

  The detective could not help but laugh. “Three people and one gargoyle breaking into our precinct is considered reasonable?”

  “Actually, Stanis is right,” Alexandra said. “I don’t think anyone upstairs here has anything written in the law books to cover the world we’re all trying our best to deal with now. I’ve been lamenting how I haven’t been able to just spend time practicing actual art lately, but the truth is we’re creating something here. We’re going to have to make this up as we go along. All of us.”

  Detective Rowland lowered her firearm. “What do you want us to do, then?” she asked.

  “I’ve decided that I—we—will help you with your grotesque problem,” Alexandra said.

  I looked to her, lowering my voice. “We will?” I asked.

  She laid a hand on my chest. “We already are. I just think it would be better if we found a way to bring in more of the human involvement element. Your kind are public now. It’s time we start thinking about how humanity is going to adjust to grotesques out in the world . . . or not adjust. Our first step is to find a way to better control the rogue population out there, and I think these two might help us with that. I’m tired of fighting the rogue ones alone, especially when being chased by witches, warlocks, and cops alike.”

  “Witches and warlocks?” Detective Maron asked. “We’re talking witches and warlocks as well?”

  Aurora held up a hand. “One threat at a time, pal.”

  “I had something I meant to tell you about them, Alexandra,” I said. “Before we were interrupted at the armory. I had wished to impart some knowledge I have learned from Jonathan.”

  “Who the hell is Jonathan?” the female detective asked.

  “A dead monk now trapped in a grotesque body,” I said, getting dead-eyed stares from the detectives. “It is a long story.”

  “You can tell them about it another night,” Alexandra said. “What did the monk tell you?”

  “As you suspected from your vine incident, there was another person in Fort Tryon Park with you, hunting you. A warlock. I believe it was he who had set the plant snare that was meant to trap you.”

  “Jonathan saw the guy?” Caleb asked.

  “He did,” I said with a smile that bared my fangs.

  “Well, what did he look like?” he asked

  “The monk said this man had black hair and a beard,” I said. “And he wore many rings.”

  “Great,” Marshall said. “We’re on the lookout for some guy with way too much man jewelry. Maybe we should start our search among the Bridge and Tunnel crowd. Head out to Long Island or New Jersey.”

  “Wait,” Caleb said. “Was it wild hair, like kind of an Einstein thing? And fistfuls of rings?”

  I nodded.

  “You know this man?” Detective Maron asked Caleb.

  “That I do,” Caleb said. “I’ve done some work for his family over the years.”

  Anger filled me. “Once again working for those who would do us harm,” I said.

  Caleb met my eyes, not looking away.

  “Don’t start,” he said. “All my past mischief predates knowing any of you.”

  Detective Maron stepped forward, pulling a small notebook from the inside pocket of his jacket. “You have an address on this guy?” he asked.

  “No,” Caleb said. “Actually, I heard he was dead, but I know some people who might be able to sort that out for me one way or another.”

  “Let’s get on it, then,” Aurora said.

  “We can grab this guy and hold him,” Detective Rowland said.

  “Like you did Alexandra?” Marshall asked. “Very effective. I’m sure this place is totally warlock-proof.”

  “Let us handle it, Detectives,” Aurora said.

  Caleb shook his head. “I don’t think large numbers are what’s needed right now,” he said.

  “Bullshit,” Maron said.

  “Listen,” Caleb said, insistent this time. “I can’t risk spooking the whole arcane community by starting a massive . . . well, a perfect term for it, actually, is a witch hunt. What I need to conduct with those people requires subtlety.” He looked up at me. “Not brute force.”

  Detective Rowland was already shaking her head.

  “No,” she said. “We have to be part of this.”

  “Absolutely not,” Alexandra said. “But it would be kind of you to fetch my things for me. They’re going to come in handy.”

  Detective Rowland tried to argue, but her partner laid his hand on her shoulder. “Let them go,” he said. “We’ve got to start trusting someone sometime in all this.”

  “I’m not sure releasing our only tie to all this gargoyle madness is our best course of action,” she said. “This woman and her friends are the first solid lead we’ve actually been able to track down. Something tangible, so our brothers and sisters in blue stop snickering at us in the hallways.”

  “As I mentioned,” Alexandra said, “I could have released myself anytime I wanted. You know my name. No doubt in your research you’ve already verified that I am who I say I am. If I prove uncooperative after my release, you have more than enough information to track me down where I live. But don’t worry. I’ll be in touch.”

  The woman thought about it for a moment before giving a silent nod.

  “I’ll get your things,” Detective Maron said and headed back up the hallway with Rowland.

  “I will see what I can find out about who is organizing this other band of grotesques,” I said. “I do not like the idea of some sort of dark insurrection rising up out there while me and my people at Sanctuary strive to protect this city.”

  “Thank you,” Alexandra said. She turned from me, and went to Caleb. “Come on. The sooner we find this guy, the sooner maybe I can have one less group of people trying to kill me.”

  The two of them followed after the detectives, leaving the rest of us alone in the basement.

  “Come on,” Aurora said. “We’ll take the back way out with you.”

  “Back through the sewage,” Marshall said. “Lovely.”

  I nodded. “If my father the tyrant could see me now,” I said. “An emissary of my people, trudging around under the city, going out of my way all for the comfort of humans and the safety of my own . . .”

  Aurora slid the pieces of her pole arm into the art tube and strapped it across her back once more. She clapped me on my shoulder.

  “You are not your father’s son,” she said. “He would have caused a scene, tearing his way out of this precinct with as much devastation as possible.”

  “That is where we differ,” I said, heading back to the storage room we had come in through. “I have not half the vain pride he had. I do not have his ambitions.”

  “Well, what ambitions do you have?” Marshall asked.

  I stopped at the door leading into the room, casting my eyes back down the hallway just as Alexandra and Caleb vanished around the corner.

  “To see those I care for happy,” I said. “And for myself? Peace.”

  Twelve

  Alexandra

  On one of the quiet winding streets hidden off in the far West Village, the building before Caleb and me was exactly the sort of home I imagined a cosmopolitan wizard might live in. Part low-rise fortress and part spired castle, the odd little town house looked far older than the buildings to either side of it.

  “This must be the place,” I said. “It looks like a Gothic version of the Weasley house.”

  “Yes, very understated,” Caleb said. “About what I’d expect from a long-lived magical clan like the O’Sheas.”

  “So do we just knock?” I asked.

  “I don’t th
ink that’s a wise move,” Caleb said. “This is the warlock that was trying to trap you, after all. Warren’s the only guy I know who wears more rings than Liberace, and since he’s been sneaking around after you, I think that allows us to give the sneaky approach a chance ourselves.”

  Climbing the steps, I examined the heavy oak frame that ran around the frosted-glass panel at the center of the door. Runic script wove its way all around the frame.

  “I’m going to guess this is bad,” I said, tracing one of the symbols, making sure not to actually touch it. “There are different styles of runes, but these aren’t overly familiar to me. This one here, though, looks like the symbol for fire that my great-great-grandfather used in his notes.” I moved to another section. “And this looks like one for mal and health. I don’t want to explode in flame.”

  “Okay, so no front-door approach, then,” Caleb said.

  “Hold on,” I said, considering our options. “We don’t need to actually use the door.” I pointed to the masonry surrounding the entrance to the town house. “The stonework around it is pretty hefty, but I think I can manipulate it.”

  Caleb wagged a finger at me. “I thought that messing with the lower floors of a building was a no-no.”

  “Usually, yes,” I said. “But this door is set into an archway. Given that specific architectural design feature, a lot of the load-bearing is taken up by the keystone at the top, which then flows down into either side of the arch. That makes it a lot easier for me to concentrate on where to focus my effort and energy to keep the support where it should be, to know what I can and can’t shift around. I should be able to open up a gap for us along the side of the door where there’s no hinge hardware.”

  Caleb backed down the steps. “You won’t mind if I just watch that from afar,” he said, not stopping until he was across the sidewalk and out into the center of the quiet street. “No offense.”

  “Some taken,” I said, then shrugged. “But understandable.”

  I pulled out my notebook, quickly going through some of the power focus sections that I hadn’t quite mastered yet. After a few minutes of brushing up, I slid the notebook back into my coat pocket and let out a long slow breath while quietly letting loose one of my family’s words of power. My hands worked through the accompanying gestures as my concentration flowed into the stone of the archway.

  I searched for any sense of weakness in the craftsmanship. Near the top of the arch I lashed out my power, tugging at the stone there. A block at the top left side of the door pulled out from the door’s framing, and as it came free, I added the ones below it to my efforts, attempting to remove them as one column.

  The second they were clear, the heavy pressure of the archway and the building it supported became painfully evident as the invisible sensation of a giant finger suddenly pressed down on my brain. The force startled me enough that I staggered back, feeling like my skull might pop open at any second, barely able to keep control of the wobbling column of stone at my command.

  “You okay?” Caleb called from out in the safety of the street.

  “Get up here,” I hissed through clenched teeth. “And get inside . . . now!”

  Caleb ran up the stairs, but hesitated before the gap leading into the building.

  “I’ll get us in,” I assured him. “Then it’s up to you to keep us alive.”

  Without a word, Caleb slid into the narrow space and disappeared into the building.

  Stepping carefully around the stone column in my control, I pressed myself into the opening and followed after him. The immediate interior of the town house was dark, but before I worried about my eyes adjusting to it, I still had work to do. I reached out my power, pulling the column of stone back into place behind me, and restored the archway.

  As the stones settled once more against one another, I nearly wept for joy as the crushing pressure in my brain subsided, leaving only a dull headache in its place.

  “Remind me to start carrying aspirin,” I said, turning around to look for Caleb.

  Caleb held his finger up to his lips, shushing me.

  Silently, I waited as my eyes adjusted to the darkness so I could fully assess the main floor of the town house. From inside, the rooms of the town house looked far more spacious than the outside of the building suggested and the furnishings were a bit more modest and plain than I expected.

  “You sure this is the place?” I asked in a low whisper. “I mean, it looks so . . . mundane.”

  “So it would seem,” Caleb said, scanning the hallway. “What did you think? That there would be a broomstick stand by the front door or something? A sacrificial altar where the dining room table is?”

  “Kinda,” I said, then stopped myself. “Actually, I don’t know what I thought to expect. I’m pretty sure, however, that the IKEA catalog wasn’t it.”

  Caleb poked his head into a few of the archways off the main hall. “I’m guessing his inner sanctum is probably somewhere on the upper levels,” he said, then drank a vial he pulled from his jacket. He tapped his shoes to the floor, but they made no noise whatsoever. He gave me a thumbs-up and headed soundlessly for the stairs.

  I followed after, attempting to make as little noise as I could, a little pissed he hadn’t offered me at least a swig of what he was having. In a home as silent as this, my every move sounded to me like I was a lumbering giant, but since Caleb didn’t turn to shush me again, I kept on trying to do my stealthy best to keep my stair creaking to a minimum.

  Once upstairs, the two of us went down its main hall, only to find bedrooms and a plain office devoid of people and any sense of taste. We stopped at the end of the hall where it dead-ended in front of a large wall-spanning mural that consisted of fornicating unicorns.

  “Any guesses on the name of this masterpiece?” I asked with a shudder, unable to look away from it. “I’m going with Pornicorn Bacchanal.”

  “I forfeit my guess,” Caleb said, looking anywhere but at the mural. “I’m trying not to throw up and leave any evidence behind.” He looked back down the hall we had just come down. “I thought for sure there’d be something up here.”

  “Let’s give the rooms one more go-over,” I said, heading off to the one on the right side of the hall. Checking each carefully, I made sure no secret stairs were hidden in the backs of closets, perhaps leading up to an attic space. When nothing appeared in any of my three rooms, I returned to the main hall, where Caleb had already finished and had against his desire started looking over the bawdy unicorns in the mural.

  “Any luck on your side?” I asked.

  He gave a weak shake of his head.

  “Creepy as this building looks on the outside, maybe you’ve got the wrong address . . . ?” I suggested, heading back to the stairs down to the main floor. When I realized Caleb wasn’t following, I stopped and turned.

  “Caleb!” I whisper-shouted. Even with no one home here, I still found myself reluctant to call out in the middle of the evening in a stranger’s home.

  “I . . . I can’t help it,” Caleb said, still staring at the mural. “It’s like . . . Tolkien porn. It’s—”

  “Distracting,” I finished, walking back to him as an idea hit me. “I know. And the thing is, it’s meant to be.”

  I stepped past Caleb to examine the mural closer. About an inch away from its surface, I felt something: a hint of magic radiating from the artwork. Raising my left hand to run over the canvas, I was surprised to find my fingers missing.

  Startled, I staggered back from the mural, and my hand suddenly reappeared at the end of my arm. I eased it forward once more, and my arm slowly disappeared into the mural itself. Continuing forward with the rest of my body, I stepped toward and through the mural as a tingling sensation washed over me and I found myself at the bottom of an ascending staircase.

  I turned back around, making out a Caleb-shaped shadow on the other side of th
e wall. I reached back through the mural, grabbed his arm, and pulled him through.

  “Whoa,” he said, stumbling into the bottom of the stairwell with me. “You should totally get one of these for your guildhall.”

  “I’ll stick with my secret-door bookcase, thanks,” I said, starting up the stairs. “I like something with a little heft to it.”

  “Suit yourself,” Caleb said. “I just thought it was a cool effect.”

  I started to respond, but as I hit the top of the stairs, I lost track of my thoughts and let out a low whistle. “Now, this is more of what I imagined,” I said.

  A large window looked up and out into the night sky, the moon full and bright as it shone down into the large open space up here. The room was neatly arranged into an eclectic mix of furniture and items, which gave it an almost museum quality due to the wide span of history that the collection clearly represented. Trunks upon trunks lined the walls to either side of the space.

  Caleb bounded up the last few steps and stopped at my side, taking the room in.

  “I’ve long suspected that the O’Sheas were a bit of a magical hoarding family,” Caleb said. “This just clinches it.”

  “Oh?”

  He nodded, stepping into the center of the space, marveling. “I freelanced for them a bunch of times, but they never let me see this. They never admitted to owning even a tenth of the stuff represented here.” Caleb shook his head. “Warren’s a dick.”

  He chuckled at his own statement, which I found odd until I realized it wasn’t Caleb’s laughter.

  I couldn’t pinpoint where the voice was coming from, and by the time I did, it was too late. A lone figure materialized from the shadows at the back of the room. The ominous tone of the laughter had me fishing for the store of small stones I kept in most of my coat pockets these days, hoping I could get off a few shots before the figure could close the distance. I began incanting the spell to drive them with significant stopping force at our attacker, but jumped as the massive trunks on either side of the room exploded open.

  Thick coils of heavy chain shot out from the massive holes, and I dropped my spell to dive out of the way of the incoming assault. Despite my attempt at evasion, the chains corrected their course after me all too quickly, wrapping around my ankles and bringing me to the floor.