Poison Sleep

by T. A. Pratt

  Desperate, she Cursed once more.

  The lights in the apartment brightened, the vibrator by the bed came on with a buzz, her clock radio began blaring industrial music at earsplitting volume, and the stun gun hanging from Zealand’s belt pulsed brightly. He fell like a bag of sand, and Marla managed to grin. A quarter second of contact from a stun gun was enough to repel someone, and a couple of seconds was enough to put them in the state Marla was in now. The stun gun had buzzed against Zealand’s body for five or six seconds before the effects of the Curse dwindled and the weapon turned off, along with the radio and the vibrator.

  The bed creaked, and Joshua sat up, having finally managed to free his arms. He pulled the gag off and tossed it aside. “Are you all right, Marla?”

  “Ngh,” Marla said. All that Cursing had tired her out. She was beginning to feel some measure of muscle control returning, but she couldn’t get up yet. “Yes,” she managed.

  “Who is that man?”

  “Killer,” she said. “Help.”

  “I was afraid he’d murdered you.” Joshua crawled across the bed and looked down at her. His face above her was lovely, his expression one of infinite concern and tenderness.

  “Tie…up. Him,” she said.

  “Ah,” Joshua said, and went to get the scarves from the headboard. He returned, kneeling by Zealand. Marla managed to sit up, finally, though she still felt all jangly and stretched out.

  “Lousy date,” she said. “Sorry ’bout that.”

  “Still interesting, though.”

  Marla prodded Zealand with her foot. He groaned. “I won’t kill you if you give me an alternative,” she said. “But I am going to need to know who sent you. I know, code of killers, yadda yadda, but you bailed on the slow assassins, so I know you don’t have that much honor.”

  “I…feel…dizzy,” Zealand said. Joshua was tying his wrists together quickly and efficiently.

  “I’d think so,” Marla said. “I sure as shit did when you hit me with that stunner.”

  “No…this…different,” he said. And then he disappeared.

  Joshua sat, holding the silk scarves in his hands. They were still knotted, but the wrists they’d been tied around had disappeared. “Magic,” he said.

  Marla groaned. “Damn it. That’s a good trick. Wish I’d invested in some teleportation of my own. Shit.” She glanced around. “At least I’ve got some of his stuff, though. He dropped a garrote and a knife along with the gun, and he’s got a whole bag back in the closet, it looks like. I can get Langford to track him using that, assuming they’re possessions he’s owned for a while. We can keep him from flitting away again, and then I’ll find out who wants me dead this week. I—”

  Joshua reached out and put a hand on her knee. She stopped talking and looked at him, captivated by his regard. “I’m hungry,” he said. “Let’s order Chinese food.”

  Marla stared at him for a minute, then started laughing. “I had Chinese earlier. How do you feel about Thai?”

  “I feel pretty good about it.”

  Zealand lay staring at the ceiling as that beautiful, beautiful man tied him up, wishing desperately that their positions were reversed. He was a big man, with a strong constitution, but he didn’t think he’d recover from the effects of the stun gun for several minutes, and by then Marla would be in a position to make him talk. Or worse. She knew his name, which meant she’d probably spoken to one of the other slow assassins, maybe even Kardec himself. Marla might be willing to let him live if he cooperated, but his former brothers and sisters would not. They were patient, though. They’d let him die slowly. He resolved to tell Marla whatever she wanted to know in exchange for freedom. After he left town, he’d return the advance portion of his payment to Gregor. He rather doubted Gregor would be alive to receive it, of course—not after he told Marla that Gregor was the one who’d paid for her death—but Zealand was an honest man when it came to his business dealings.

  Then, abruptly, with another wave of vertigo, the eggshell-white ceiling was gone, replaced by a sky so blue it made his eyes water. The floor beneath him was no longer ancient carpet but something hard and smooth, marble or another polished stone. There was no sun in evidence, but the place was bright all the same, and the smell was utterly different from that of Marla’s musty apartment—there was a whiff of something green, and something more acrid and even faintly poisonous, like a strip-mined hillside after a hard rain. What now? Was this some sort of extra-dimensional holding cell Marla had sent him to?

  He tried to move, and to his surprise, discovered that he could. Everything still felt jangled in the wake of the stun gun’s jolt, but he was in control of his movements again. He stood up and kicked the ground. It was yellowish-white, the same plain he’d glimpsed when the vertigo hit him in Marla’s closet. Maybe this place didn’t have anything to do with her. There was nothing on the horizon but faraway mountains and a swath of bright green, so in the absence of other options, he began walking toward the green. He did an inventory as he walked, and the situation was not good. He had his cell phone, but it didn’t get any reception here, of course. The only weapons he had left were a pair of brass knuckles in his inner jacket pocket and the stun gun at his belt, which he was tempted to hurl away.

  Maybe there would be water in the green place. He was very thirsty, though it wasn’t particularly hot here. Perhaps there’d be a convenient portal back to the reality he knew as well. He resolved not to panic. Yes, he was in a strange place, perhaps not even an earthly place, but Zealand was a pragmatist. He would cope.

  After perhaps half an hour of walking—time was hard to judge here—he reached the green place. It was vaster than he had supposed, an irregular blob the size of several football fields, faintly glistening. It didn’t look like living plant matter so much as a carpet of old vegetables, and it smelled like…spinach. He knelt at the edge of the blob and reached down, tugging at the green, to see if it was somehow rooted in this stony ground, but no, it was just lying there, like the world’s biggest compost heap. He brushed the green stuff off his hands, wishing for something to wipe them on beside his pants.

  “I remember his breath,” someone said behind him, and Zealand whirled, hand going for his stun gun.

  The woman standing before him—and where had she come from? He had sight lines endlessly in all directions!—was familiar. Wild, caramel-colored hair. Violet eyes. A yellow dress, a black scarf. He’d seen her lying in the snow, hadn’t he? Marla had draped her coat over this woman. “What is this place? What have you done to me?”

  She didn’t look at him, but at the green. “His breath was hot, and smelled like spinach. He had a cavity in one of his teeth, I could see it, a little black crater. His teeth were straight but yellowed. His mouth hung before my eyes, his breath on my face.” She shuddered.

  “Tell me who you are.”

  Now she looked at him. “I’m Genevieve. I couldn’t let you die, be captured, not there, not then. I need your help.”

  Zealand laughed. “My help is quite expensive, though I suppose if you snatched me from Marla’s clutches, that counts as a down payment. And letting me leave this place might convince me to lower my rates still further.”

  She took a step toward him. “Will you be my protector? My knight?” Something like a smile touched her lips. “My…green knight, protecting his lady?”

  “I’m no knight, and I’m not even remotely interested in ladies.”

  “I know that. It makes me feel safer.” Now she looked to the horizon. “He’ll come for me soon. He’ll storm my castle. Do you see? My castle?”

  Suspecting a trick, he turned his head, and saw a tower of opalescent stone, with arched windows, and yellow banners flying from silver poles. The same vision he’d seen on the way to Marla’s apartment. “That’s…your castle?”

  “My stronghold,” she said. “It moves, just like his. But his moves faster. And he is closing in.”

  “Who?”

  “Reave. He lives
in the black tower. He marshals nightmares. He hurts me forever and ever and over and over.”

  “If you take me back to Felport—and promise other compensations—I’ll kill him for you,” Zealand said. He stared at the palace. It did not look made. It looked as if it had grown, like a conch shell or a crystal.

  “He’ll come for me,” she said, as if she hadn’t heard him. “And you will protect me.”

  “If I can,” Zealand said. He tore his eyes away from the glimmering palace. “Assuming I’ll be rewarded.”

  “I can give you things,” she said simply.

  “I like things.” His gaze slipped back to the palace. “Beautiful things. When do you think he’ll come for you?”

  “Yesterday, and tomorrow, and forever,” she said, sadly, then sighed. “Good-bye, green knight.”

  “What do you—” Everything tilted, and Zealand gasped as cold ripped through him. He’d left his coat in the other apartment, the one where he’d cut through the wall, and now he was outside, in the ice and snow. He groaned and sat up, looking around, seeing only barred storefronts and empty sidewalks. He didn’t know where he was, but then he saw the glowing tip of the Whitcroft-Ivory building, the tallest skyscraper in Felport, and his mental map of the city oriented itself accordingly. He hugged himself and limped in the direction of the hotel where he was staying.

  Who was that woman? Genevieve? What did she have to do with…anything? She was a sorcerer, and she was trying to involve him in her business. He shouldn’t have been interested—he should only be interested in getting out of Felport before Marla could track him down. But that palace of hers had been so lovely, almost as beautiful in its way as Marla’s lover, and he wanted to pass through its doors, see its walls. If this other man, Reave, wanted to storm that castle, Zealand wanted to defend it.

  He wondered, briefly, if he’d been ensorcelled. Possibly. But he wasn’t sure what he could do about it.

  The cell phone in his pocket vibrated. He’d had it turned off in Marla’s apartment, of course, but he’d turned it on in that…other place…and hadn’t thought to deactivate it again. Zealand sighed and looked at the readout. It was Nicolette, calling to see how things were progressing, no doubt. It wasn’t a call he wanted to take, but he was a businessman, so he did.

  “It’s all fucked,” he said. “Marla fought me off. I escaped, and didn’t give her any information, but she knows who I am, she said my name. The element of surprise is lost. I’m sure she’ll be on her guard against further attacks now.”

  “You just fed me a big shit sandwich, Zealand,” she said. “The boss man isn’t going to be happy about this at all. But, hell, I figured something went wrong, I had a fishbowl full of ’chanted guppies swimming around, and every single one of them floated belly-up about thirty minutes ago. Gregor’s gonna want to talk to you.”

  “I’m sure,” Zealand said, grimacing. “Can you send a car?” He gave her the address of the nearest corner.

  “Sure,” Nicolette said. “But you’re gonna have to reimburse us for mileage. I’ve got a feeling you’re off the payroll.”

  “A shame. I did so enjoy this job.” He flipped the phone closed. Gregor would bawl him out, possibly even try to kill him, though Zealand doubted it—Gregor was a cautious man. He’d want to know exactly what happened, how the assassination attempt went wrong. And what would Zealand tell him? The truth? Maybe. Gregor knew many things, and he might have some idea who this woman Genevieve was. Sorcerers were always poking into one another’s business.

  The back of his hand itched a little. He scratched it and felt something strange. Peering closer, he saw a little speck of green. He tried to rub it away, but it didn’t come off, and his hands were cold, so he shoved them in his pockets. He’d shower later. Dirty hands were the least of his problems now.

  He stood stomping his feet until the car came, driven by a surly kid who looked like he’d been kicked roughly out of bed. Zealand rode up front with him; he figured it was possible the boy was supposed to drive him to the waterfront, kill him, and dump his body there, and Zealand was opposed to that. Instead the boy just yawned hugely every few minutes and without speaking drove toward Gregor’s high-rise. He parked in the garage underneath, pointed Zealand toward the elevator, then walked off on his own.

  Zealand rode the elevator up, up, up. Nicolette waited for him in the gleaming hallway, chewing on her fingernails, which were painted in a rainbow of colors. “Marla’s people haven’t called,” she said. “So that’s good. But shit is crazy here, so don’t fuck around, okay? Just tell the boss what happened. And ignore the new guy. He’s been hanging around the past couple of days, but it’s nothing to do with you.” She beckoned and led Zealand into Gregor’s office. A man stood by the window, looking out over the city, his bald head weirdly soft-looking, his black shiny coat like something from a noir sci-fi movie.

  “Gregor,” Zealand said, nodding to the sorcerer, who sat behind his desk massaging his temples. “Who’s the new guy?”

  Nicolette kicked him in the ankle, but the stranger turned from the window and looked Zealand up and down. “My name is Reave.”

  Zealand kept his face still. The spot on the back of his hand began to itch more furiously. “Pleasure to meet you.”

  “I understand you failed to kill a woman,” Reave said, and sniffed. “I can hardly say it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Zealand wondered if he could kill Reave right now. If the windows were breakable, he could hit the man and drive him out, but that would kill them both, and if Zealand died, he would never see the inside of that opalescent castle or receive the rewards Genevieve could offer. Better to bide his time. “These things happen,” Zealand said. He turned to Gregor. “I’ll return the funds you paid me, of course. And if you’re willing to wait some time, I can try to kill her again. She’ll be on her guard for a while, I’m sure, but she’ll grow impatient with caution, I suspect.”

  “I should have known it wouldn’t be so simple,” Gregor said. “The divinations were inconclusive—it seemed possible you might succeed. But Marla has more lives than an alley cat. You gave her no information? Didn’t mention my name, or Nicolette’s?”

  “I am, at least, that much of a professional,” Zealand said. “No, I did not mention your name. I’m willing to leave the city, of course.”

  “No,” Gregor said. “You left things behind, didn’t you?”

  Zealand considered lying, but doubted he would be able to hide the truth. “A few things. Weapons. No fingerprints, of course, but—”

  “She doesn’t need fingerprints. If you owned those items for more than a few days, there will be…psychic associations. If you leave, she will be able to track you. While you’re inside this building, however, she can’t trace you. I have defenses against that sort of peering-in. Even if you leave Felport, it won’t deter her. She might be reluctant to leave the city personally, but she wouldn’t hesitate to send Rondeau or Hamil or one of her employees after you. And she could extract information from you. I can’t let her discover I was involved in this.”

  “Ah. So I’m to be your…guest here?”

  Nicolette snorted. “We won’t put you in a dungeon, but you’ll be a prisoner, no doubt.”

  “For how long?”

  Gregor shrugged. “Until Marla is dead. Or I am. Or seven years, by which time every cell of your body will be new, and she won’t be able to track you anymore.” He leaned back in his chair. “Arguments?”

  Zealand shrugged. “I could use a vacation. Provide me with some books, decent food, and other amenities, and I’m content to stay for a while.”

  Gregor gestured. “Get him set up in one of the visitor apartments, Nicolette. I have to discuss things with Reave.”

  Nicolette gestured, and Zealand followed. When they were in the elevator, he said, “The new fellow seems very unpleasant.”

  “He won’t even talk to me,” she said. “Because I don’t have a dick, apparently. You hear the way he sneer
ed when he said ‘woman’? That’s a man with issues. But Gregor thinks he’s worth working with, so…” She shrugged.

  “Seven years,” Zealand mused. “That’s a long vacation.”

  “Shit,” Nicolette said. “You won’t be stuck here that long. Things are in motion. Something’s going to break, and soon. Marla, or, gods forbid, Gregor. Or, hell, everything else. My boss’s auguries are all fucked up, but I don’t care. Chaos is in the air, possible futures multiplying, and me and chaos, we get along just fine. I don’t expect the next days or weeks to be peaceful ones.”

  “And yet I’ll somehow content myself with reading and relaxing,” Zealand said. And if he had the chance, he would kill Reave. He’d had enough of working for men like Gregor, of running from slow assassins, of doing dark deeds for money and entertainment. This world, and his work, bored him more and more, and the sight of Genevieve’s castle had been a glimpse of another kind of world, another kind of life, something sweet and transcendent.

  Zealand scratched idly at the spot of green on the back of his hand.

  10

  M arla dropped a sack of bagels on the battered table in Rondeau’s kitchenette, just outside her office, and said, “Morning, Rondeau. I brought breakfast.”

  Rondeau slowly lowered his racing form, showing the sleeves of his seersucker suit. Rondeau was never one to heed the dictates of fashion, even seasonal ones. “Marla. You never bring breakfast. What’s wrong?”

  She rolled her eyes, sloughing off her coat and dropping it on the back of a chair. “Nothing’s wrong. I went past the bagel shop, it smelled good, I stopped in and got a dozen. We’ve got a busy day ahead of us, so I figured breakfast would be a good thing.”

  Rondeau leaned forward, unrolled the bagel bag, stuck his face in, and inhaled. “Garlic, tomato and basil, jalapeño, and, um, everything.” He looked up at Marla. “You have a really weird energy this morning, Marla.”

  “‘Weird energy’? What, are you seeing Lorelei again? She’s a bad influence on you. Next thing, you’ll be using crystals for deodorant.”