Con & Conjure rb-5

by Lisa Shearin

  I stopped at an intersection, amazingly empty at this time of day. People were either rushing toward the hotel or running away from it. Mago laid his hand firmly on my shoulder. There was no one anywhere near us; I knew that and so did he. That hand on my shoulder wasn’t a warning, it was a question, and he wanted an answer. He was worried about me and no doubt was wondering if I was in my right mind right now. He wanted to know where we were going.

  “Almost there,” I murmured.

  Mago gave my shoulder a quick squeeze and released it.

  I stopped at a boarded-up building. Its best days had come and gone long ago. But it had never been more useful than it was now. I ran down a short flight of stairs that went below the street level to a door without a knob. Mychael had told me the spell to get in. I laid my hand flat against the wood and murmured the incantation. The door opened on silent, well-oiled, and maintained hinges.

  I shut the door behind us, and with a word, wove a lightglobe into existence that floated above my open palm. This time it worked flawlessly. The Saghred was probably responsible for that, too.

  Mago’s dark eyes instantly took in everything in the room.

  The basement room looked like some of the more comfortable hideouts Uncle Ryn had in every major port city. It had the basics: table, a couple of chairs, and weapons. Lots and lots of weapons.

  And a bed in the far corner.

  I felt a flush creep up my neck until my ears were burning. Oh yes, I definitely remembered that bed.

  “What is this place?” Mago asked.

  “Mychael’s home away from home.”

  That didn’t clear things up for Mago; if anything, he went from confused to concerned.

  “Mychael’s been doing some work for Justinius, and no one but Justinius knew about this place until a few weeks ago when he brought me here.” I didn’t mention that Mychael and I hadn’t exactly used the bed in the far corner to plot strategy.

  I was here now because the Saghred had just made me its bitch.

  And I’d let it.

  “Raine, you should sit down.”

  “Do I look that bad?” I tried for a quip; it didn’t come out that way.

  “Actually you should lie down.”

  “I’d crawl under that bed and stay there if I thought it’d do any good.” I went and sat on the bed and leaned my head back against the headboard with a thunk. I rubbed a hand across my eyes and left it there.

  I heard Mago twist the cork from a bottle on the table. He took a sniff and, apparently satisfied with what was inside, poured two glasses. Mychael only kept the good stuff here. I guess he figured if you need to hide badly enough to be here, you wanted good liquor keeping you company. That meant I needed the best that had ever been distilled. Mago crossed the room to the bed with nearly silent footfalls; I put out the hand that wasn’t over my eyes, and the cool glass slid into it.

  “Thank you,” I muttered.

  “There appears to be plenty more where that came from,” Mago said. “We need to let Mychael know that you’re safe.”

  I laughed, but without the humor. “As long as that rock is anything but dust, I’ll never be safe again. I can’t let Mychael know where I am; this place is spellproof. I can’t communicate with him unless I’m outside, and I wouldn’t advise that right now.”

  “Won’t Mychael assume that you’re here? Since it’s apparent that you know about this place.”

  “After the show I put on, who knows where he thinks I am.” I swallowed past a lump that’d suddenly taken up residence in my throat. “Tam and Imala—”

  “Are either fine or they’re not.”

  “It’s the ‘not’ that I’m worried about.”

  “Either one is out of your control.”

  “Have you always been such a cold bastard?”

  “I couldn’t do what I do if I weren’t. I do what I have to.” His dark eyes were still and calm as he looked at me. “The same as you just did.” He paused. “And the same as you’ll have to do if you want to survive this.”

  I got off the bed and stalked the length of the room. I could swear the damned thing had shrunk.

  “Do things that will get me locked in a containment room until Carnades gets around to lobbing my head off?” I tossed back the rest of the whisky. “Or until Balmorlan chains me to a wall and lets his pervert mages have me?”

  “Raine, you know better than anyone that the right thing isn’t always the legal thing . . . you did what you had—”

  “ ‘Legal’? I don’t give a damn about legal. I’m talking about a rock using me to slaughter—”

  “Men and women who deserved it. Killers of innocent people.”

  “But I enjoyed it; I wanted to do it. I couldn’t stop myself.”

  “Couldn’t you? If the Saghred had tried to use you to kill Mychael or me—or Tam or Imala—could you have stopped yourself?”

  “That’s not the—”

  “That’s precisely the point. You killed those mages because they needed killing, and you enjoyed it because you’ve had too many people after you for no other reason than you have power that they can’t control or have for themselves. You got a chance to cut loose—to use everything you had in your arsenal to destroy them—and you took it.” Mago studied my face in silence for a few moments. “Did you imagine one of those mages with someone else’s face? Balmorlan perhaps? Or Silvanus?”

  I didn’t meet his eyes. “I don’t remember.”

  “Meaning, yes,” he said in a quiet voice. “Raine, you did what needed to be done.”

  “If a member of the Conclave had torched those mages, they wouldn’t get locked in a containment cell or put on trial for being a danger to society. They’d be a freaking hero.”

  Mago didn’t say a word. He knew I was right.

  Carnades Silvanus wanted an excuse to lock me up, but he needed proof—and I’d just handed him both on a silver platter.

  Dammit to hell.

  If I’d been thinking straight, would I have done the same thing? Yes. People were dying; I could help, so I did. End of story. Unfortunately, it could also be the end of me. I hadn’t been in control. I let the power inside of me take over. It had been the only way I could stop those firemages. I had the power to do it, and I used it. I didn’t care what Mago said. I’d enjoyed it so much that I wasn’t just shaking in rage. I was terrified. I wanted to scream and curl up in a dark corner and hide. I wasn’t afraid of Carnades Silvanus and what he could have the Conclave’s Seat of Twelve do to me.

  I was afraid of myself.

  I’d let myself be taken over by something stronger than myself. Nothing sent me into a panic quicker than being helpless. Yes, the Saghred had used me as its bitch, and I probably couldn’t have done anything to stop it once I had started killing those firemages. But what terrified me the most was that I hadn’t wanted to.

  I let it have its way with me, and I enjoyed—no, I relished—every second of it. No doubt, every single witness who had seen me in that street thought I was a power-crazed maniac. And they were right. I had control of myself for the moment, but how long would it last? Until the next time another power-crazed maniac tried to slaughter innocents? Then I’d slaughter them. That made me no better than the Sarad Nukpanas of the world.

  If the Saghred got that much control over me once, it could easily do it again. The rock’s power was coiled quietly inside of me, patiently waiting for its next chance. Gloating in triumph at what it’d just made me do.

  I’d just played right into the hands of everyone who wanted to get their hands on me. Carnades and Taltek Balmorlan shared more than the same race—they shared the same ideology. I’d just used the Saghred’s power twice in as many days, both times in defense of a goblin prince and his people. I would have saved them if they’d been elves, humans, or purple polka-dotted ogres. I valued life.

  They valued power.

  Sarad Nukpana and Sathrik Mal’Salin wanted me dead. Locked in the citadel, they’d know right wh
ere to find me. Or just wait for Carnades to get his ultimate wish—my head separated from my body. With me dead, the Saghred’s power would fall to the first mage-level person—elf, goblin, or human—to get their hands on it. It would be the beginning of the end of the world as we knew it. If the elves got it, they’d destroy the goblins. If the goblins got it, they’d destroy the elves. Either way, every living thing was screwed.

  Mago was seated at the table, his fingers steepled in front of his face, watching me. I’d never even noticed that he’d moved.

  His gaze continued to search my face. “The question you have to answer for yourself is what are you going to do about it?”

  I wasn’t going to hide here. They weren’t going to win. I couldn’t let them. Raine Benares couldn’t set foot on the streets.

  I couldn’t be seen, but Symon Wiggs could.

  A very slow smile crept across Mago’s lips. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but you obviously like it.”

  “The best place to hide is in plain sight of those you don’t want to find you, so I’ll put myself in the last place Balmorlan will think to look for me. Sitting right across the table from him.” I smiled and it was fierce. I made this choice, not the rock, and it felt good. “He’s not going to get me, and he’s not going to get away with what he just did. I say we stick with the plan—we bring the bastard down. That’ll bring down his allies, too . . .” I paused. I didn’t like what I was thinking, but I saw no other option. “And if that doesn’t work, I’ll take him out.”

  “You mean kill him.”

  “I don’t see any other way to stop this, do you?”

  “Not really.”

  “You don’t approve.”

  “Phaelan would. But I rob, not kill.”

  “Well, robbing clearly isn’t my area of expertise. Killing is. I just proved that.”

  “You only proved that you care about people.”

  “Killing Taltek Balmorlan would go a long way toward protecting everyone.”

  Mago gazed at me a moment, his expression unreadable. “Whatever you have to do, I’m behind you all the way.”

  The lump in my throat was back. I wasn’t sure if it was from Mago’s support or the thought that I was ready to murder someone in cold blood. Taltek Balmorlan definitely had cold blood, and his death would keep hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions from meeting the same fate from the Saghred should he gain control over it—and me.

  “Thank you,” I managed. “Can you get a message to Balmorlan telling him that we saw his display, were very impressed, and want to do business?”

  “Without difficulty.”

  “I don’t like the idea of you being on the streets, but—”

  “My name and face isn’t all over the city. Yours is. I also feel confident in saying that no one who matters saw us together; in that smoke, no one could see anything. As to my personal safety, I slink along back streets just as well as I move among the gentry.” He stood and walked over to the wardrobe.

  “What are you looking for?”

  Mago thoughtfully flipped through the clothes hanging there. “I was thinking something more appropriate to slinking.” He stopped and with a flourish, pulled out a heavy midnight blue cloak. “Something perfect for a cloak-and-dagger evening.”

  I rolled my eyes. I had to admit it felt good. Anything I could think about rather than what I just did was good.

  Mago swirled the cloak to settle it on his shoulders. “I don’t believe anyone could identify me as the man with Raine Benares; but in my business, there are acceptable and expected risks, and there are foolish risks. I would rather not have the word ‘fool’ appear on my gravestone. A hooded cloak will go a long way to ensuring my prolonged life. Like my little brother, I highly value my hide.”

  My vision blurred. “I highly value your hide, too.”

  “Is that your way of telling me to be careful?”

  “And to come back.”

  Mago crossed the room and kissed me on the forehead. “Nothing will prevent me, dear cousin.”

  After I’d closed the door behind Mago, and reactivated the wards, I went over to the bed and essentially collapsed on it. Mago said he’d use the family knock when he came back, but that he wanted me to try and get some sleep.

  Sleep. Like that was going to happen.

  My eyes welled up with tears. The last time I’d been in this bed had been with Mychael. I’d been warm, cherished, loved. I was walking the fine line between being a felon on the run for the rest of my life or losing my life—or my soul or sanity—in the next few days.

  If the Saghred had taken a big bite out of my sanity, would I know it? Crazy people—especially cackling-crazy villains—never thought they were nuts. They could justify everything they did.

  Like I’d just done.

  I bit my bottom lip to keep from crying. I curled up into the tightest ball I could, folding in on myself, protecting what little the Saghred hadn’t torn away from me and used. I buried my face in the pillow and the sobs came, racking and uncontrolled.

  In the next few days I had to ruin Balmorlan or kill him, stop my former fiancé from killing the man I loved, keep a goblin prince alive, and prevent a full-scale racial war from ending life as we knew it. All while keeping myself alive, sane, and unarrested.

  My time was literally running out.

  Chapter 11

  Mago returned a few hours later, told me his plan, and after I picked my jaw up off the floor, I had to admit that it was brilliant.

  No one but a Benares would be crazy enough to do this.

  I was standing in a cathouse, glamoured as a puny banker. In the next hour, I would be having a late supper with an elven inquisitor. For dessert, I would con or possibly kill said inquisitor.

  The best thing about the entire scheme was that as long as I was glamoured as Symon Wiggs, I couldn’t use the Saghred.

  And the Saghred couldn’t use me.

  “Tell me again why we’re here?” I asked Mago.

  “We need information before our meeting, which is conveniently at a restaurant across the street. If you want to know every secret, scandal, or just catch up on the day’s news, go to the best house in town, have some drinks and a cigar in the madam’s parlor, throw some money around . . .” He spread his hands and smiled. “And the news will come to you.”

  “Could we find out what happened to Mychael, Tam, and—”

  “Most assuredly.”

  I let out a sigh that was half relief, half anxiety. I had to know what happened; right now ignorance wasn’t bliss, it was torment. You’ll know when you know, Raine. Try not to think about it.

  Yeah, right.

  “You know the madam here?” I asked even though I was hardly surprised.

  “As a matter of fact, I am on the most cordial of terms with the madams of the finest houses in most major cities. You would be surprised how many business deals are made in a madam’s parlor.”

  “No, I wouldn’t.”

  “Cultivating such relationships is the most advantageous mixing of business and pleasure.” He dipped his head toward my ear and lowered his voice. “How long can you hold that glamour?”

  “The longest I’ve had to hold one is three hours.”

  “Could you hold it for longer if you had to?”

  “I don’t know how much strength it takes to hold an anatomically correct glamour. And I hope I don’t have to find out.”

  The Satyr’s Grove was exactly as I’d remembered it. Well, as much as I could remember from running through it, chasing then fighting the specter of an ancient elven sorcerer who’d possessed one of the customers. The Night of the Naked Possessed Guy definitely ranked up there as one of my less dignified.

  I didn’t know what Symon’s usual odds were at getting laid, but I was willing to bet the ladies at the Satyr’s Grove would charge him extra.

  Not that I was going to find out.

  At least I didn’t plan on finding out.

  I was
a man on a mission. And that mission had nothing to do with what little was between my legs.

  Once inside, Mago didn’t hesitate, but walked straight through the front reception area to a large door flanked by matching muscle. One was human, one an elf, both were big. Not the big that came from working out, but the big that came from throwing out—anyone who caused trouble in the house.

  One smiled at Mago and the other opened the door for us.

  Traveling in Mago’s wake had its advantages.

  The madam’s parlor looked like a really nice gentlemen’s club—dark wood, fancy furniture, rich men. Though not particularly attractive rich men. Ugly might be taking it a bit far, but let’s just say that Symon Wiggs wasn’t the homeliest guy in the room. But the job of every sleek, yet curvaceous woman in that room was to make every last one of those men feel like leaving a sizable chunk of their wealth here before they left.

  A woman was essentially holding court on a low sofa in front of the fireplace. She was a sultry brunette, all curves with most of them on display. Not out, mind you; just strongly hinted at. She saw Mago, and my cousin was the recipient of a dazzling smile. She rose from the sofa and crossed the room in a seductive sway of silks and hips. She and Mago did that double-cheek-kissing thing, then the woman’s smile turned naughty and she kissed my cousin long and deep.

  I felt safe in saying that she and Mago knew each other.

  “It’s been far too long,” she all but purred. “It’s not nice to keep a lady waiting.”

  Mago’s rakish smile was the twin to the one I’d seen many times on Phaelan. “Last time I was here, I don’t recall you being much of a lady.”

  The madam languorously ran a lacquered nail down the center of Mago’s chest. “You bring it out in me.” She gazed around the room. “Unfortunately, I won’t be able to give you a repeat performance this evening.”