Crossroads

by Stephen Kenson

  Our hostess showed her toothy smile again and laughed, a high, thin sound. “Are you certain? I do have some things that you might like, which are not suited to my taste.”

  “Thank you, but I would rather get to the reason you asked us here, ma’am.”

  “Please call me ‘Mama,’ my dear, as my darling boys do. As to why I wanted to see your handsome face in my humble home, I think that we have a common interest.”

  “Garnoff?” Trouble asked, and the old woman favored her with a shark-like grin.

  “Yes, the little mage . . . and the one he serves.”

  “You mean Mitsuhama?” I said.

  The old woman spat into the fire with a hiss. “Pah! Moneygrubbers and bean-counters! They know nothing of the old ways or of the paths of the Otherworlds. No, Garnoff’s master is even less an inhabitant of the sunlit world than I, and has even less claim on the title of living creature.”

  “Then Garnoff isn’t doing this for the corp?” I said. That put a whole different spin on things. Whatever Garnoff’s scam was, I’d assumed it was some kind of corporate operation, perhaps a deal with the yakuza on the side.

  “Oh, no. my sweetling. If anything, it is he who is manipulating his corporate masters where you are concerned. Just as he manipulated events to bring you into his company's service all those years ago.”

  “What?” I said. I felt the blood drain away from my face and I sank back into the chair, stunned.

  “Didn’t you know?” Mama said casually. “No, I suppose not. Garnoff recognized your Talent and wanted you for MCT, but you had already come under Jason’s protection by then.”

  “You knew Jase?”

  “I know everyone of importance, boychik, and your teacher was known in parts of the Catacombs.”

  “Mitsuhama offered me a scholarship.” I said, thinking aloud. “A chance to get out of the Rox. But after all Jase did, after we ... I couldn’t leave. So they killed him. And Garnoff was the one?” I asked. Mama nodded.

  “Half a mo ’ere, Talon. What the bloody ’ell are you talkin’ about?” Boom asked. His accent grew particularly strong when he was nervous. Apparently, the setting was unnerving him as much as it was me. I figured I might as well fill everyone in on the whole story.

  “While I was with Jase, this recruiter from Mitsuhama offered me a scholarship to MIT&T, with the usual corporate indenture to follow. I told him to go frag. I wanted to stay in the Rox with Jase, to use my Talent to do something other than provide magical security and research for a megacorp.

  “A couple of weeks later, Jase got killed in an incident of ‘random’ gang violence. I was so fragged up by it, I never even considered a connection. It was the Rox, people got cacked by gangs every day.

  “I dug up the card the MCT guy gave me and told him I’d take his offer. There was no reason for me to say in the Rox after Jase died, and I wanted to put the whole thing behind me.”

  I took a deep breath and turned back toward Mama Iaga, who sat perched on the edge of her chair like a vulture, digesting the choice morsels of information I had just fed her.

  “You’re saying Garnoff was behind all of this? He’s the one who arranged it?”

  Mama gave a tight-lipped smile and nodded.

  I slowly shook my head. “Why?”

  The old crone settled back into the embrace of her chair, almost vanishing into its shadowy recesses. She folded her hands in her lap and licked her dry lips as she pondered a moment before replying.

  “Garnoff acts for the best reason of all, my dear: power. He desires power over others. That is why he works to improve his lot with his corporate masters and why he sought to recruit you to serve him. His thirst for power led him to explore the dark paths, made him open to the call. Garnoff discovered something here in the depths of the Catacombs, a kindred spirit that spoke to him of a common cause. All Garnoff’s efforts have been turned toward supporting his new patron, providing it with what it needs to grow strong and in turn provide him with greater and greater power.”

  “The killings.” I said, recalling the news report. “The murders, down in the subway.”

  Mama nodded and her grotesque smile grew wider. “Blood calls to blood as power calls to power.”

  “Garnoff is using blood magic.” I said, and Mama nodded again. “Oh, gods.”

  Every magician knew about blood magic. It was one of the first things they warned you about when you began learning to use the Talent. Magic and life were strongly connected. With the right rituals, it was possible to draw magical power from the life force of living things, killing them in the process. The rituals were dangerous because they nearly always corrupted the user. So much of magic was a matter of mindset, and the mindset required to murder in cold blood simply to gather power was pure madness.

  I thought about some of the things I’d seen when I first joined Assets for the Dragon Heart run—the Aztechnology magicians with their blood-soaked altars, the terrible rituals they used to gather the power they craved—and shuddered.

  “But why me? ” I said. “I haven’t been back to Boston for years. Why did Garnoff come after me after all this time? Revenge?”

  “He needs you, it needs you.” Mama said, her voice falling to a hoarse whisper. “Without you, the circle cannot be closed, and all his efforts will be for nothing. He wants you alive, for now.”

  “For what?” I asked.

  Mama glanced into the depths of the fireplace, the orange and yellow flames reflecting in her dark eyes. “There are some things you must discover for yourself, Talon.” It was the first time she’d used my name, and it sent a shiver down my spine. “Do you understand the power of true names?”

  “I know a true name grants power over the thing it names.” I said. “Especially powerful spirits, who hide their true names. They can be used to enslave them. Every magician learns that.”

  “Then you must seek the true name of the mystery at the heart of this.” Mama said. “Garnoff found his power while exploring the depths of the Otherworld.”

  “You mean the metaplanes?” I asked.

  Mama waved one bony hand in a dismissive gesture. “The metaplanes—such a foolish name. The Otherworld, the Second Road, the Twilight Realm, the Nether World, Heaven, Hell, call it what you will, that is where the secret lies. You can find it. All you need is a map to guide your way.”

  “Do you have it?” I asked.

  “No.” she said, “but I know who does.”

  “Wait a nanosec.” Trouble interrupted, turning toward Mama. “What do you get out of this? What’s this paydata going to cost us?”

  The old woman made a face that was a mocking parody of girlish embarrassment. “Let us simply say there is limited room in the jungle of the Catacombs. Too many predators can strip away all the prey and lead to starvation for all. When one predator enters another’s hunting ground unbidden, a struggle to the death ensues and only the strongest survives. I offer you the chance go from being sheep to wolves, from hunted to hunters.”

  “A chance to do your dirty work for you?” Trouble said. Mama laga’s predatory grin grew wider until I thought it would split her face in two. “Of course, my dear. Isn’t that what shadowrunners are for?”

  A plan suddenly came to mind. It was risky, but it was the only way I could see to get to the bottom of all this. Mama Iaga provided the inspiration and Garnoff had inadvertently supplied the means. I glanced over at Trouble and gave what I hoped was a reassuring look, then turned back to Mama.

  “Tell me where I can get the map.” I told Mama. “If I’m going into hell, I should at least know how to get there.”

  15

  “Well, that was interesting.” Boom said once we made it back to the safe house. He was always a master of understatement. “Now what?”

  “The first thing we need is a new place to hang.” I said. “Mama may keep our location to herself because she wants something from us, but I don’t trust her for a second. I’d rather we were someplace she didn’
t know about.”

  “Gotcha.” Boom said. “I can make a couple of calls and have another place inside of an hour.”

  “Good.” I said. “Tell Hammer and Sloane to meet us there and I’ll fill everybody in on my plan.”

  True to his word, Boom had a new safe house arranged within the hour. This one was a bit farther from the Rox, in South Boston, near the old neighborhood where I grew up. I decided to take it as a good sign. Driving through the area certainly brought back memories, not all of them unpleasant.

  On the drive, I thought about what Mama Iaga had said about Jase and why Garnoff was interested in me, specifically. If it was true, the man was a rogue, running his own scheme behind the scenes using the resources of both Manadyne and Mitsuhama, not to mention the yakuza, to cover it all up. That made things both easier and harder for us. Easier because Garnoff would be even more cautious than we were about getting caught. If the big boys in the corps found out what he was up to, they would probably shut him down and Garnoff would be “reassigned” to where his employers could keep a watchful eye on him. Assuming, of course, that they didn’t just kill him outright. On the other hand, if Garnoff was running his own shadow operation, it must be very well-hidden to avoid the notice of the corps so far. Which was going to make it that much harder to ferret out if what I had in mind didn’t work.

  Val pulled the van up in front of the address Boom gave her, and the troll rolled the door open with a theatrical flourish.

  “Here you go, terms.” he said. “One new hideout, as requested.”

  “You have got to be kidding.” Trouble said, looking out the open door at our new safe house.

  The building had once been a church, and most of it was still standing. The walls were heavy stonework, blackened in places and covered in graffiti and gang symbols. There was a narrow steeple that may have once housed a belfry, which stood like a ragged stump on top of the structure. The door and the windows were boarded up with heavy sheets of gray construction plastic and plastered with “CONDEMNED” signs.

  Around the building stood a small yard heavily overgrown with weeds that were encroaching on the cracked concrete path leading up to the front steps. Around the yard was a rusting wrought-iron fence topped with sharp spikes. A heavy padlock and chain held the front gate closed, and another “CONDEMNED” sign hung across the gate.

  “A church?” Trouble said, echoing her earlier disbelief. “A former church.” Boom corrected. “It was seriously damaged during the quake and condemned by the city. Rather than spend the money to rebuild it, the church deconsecrated it and built a new one a few kilometers away. It’s been slated to be torn down forever, but it’s so far down on the municipal reconstruction and reclamation projects list that they won’t get to it for another twenty years at least. A contact of mine in the Department of Public Works passed me a list of potential sites. This looked like the best one.

  “A real-estate development company is supposed to be looking at it as a possible building site over the next few weeks, which should cover us with any city officials who might wonder why there’s activity around here. The best news is that the power and water in the place still work and I’ve got them turned on, for a while, at least.” A church. I decided to take that as a good omen as well, with only a momentary flinch of concern over blasphemy or desecration. Boom said it was de-consecrated, after all, and I wasn’t Catholic—not by a long shot—but being raised by Catholics as a kid still leaves a strong impression. Old habits die hard.

  “Good job, Boom.” I said, shouldering my gear. “Let’s check it out and get to work.”

  The interior of the church building was nearly bare of any furnishings, but we tossed down temprafoam pads from the van and set up our gear in the vestry. The van was concealed in the alley behind the building, where it wouldn’t be easily visible from the street. Hammer and Sloane arrived in short order and brought Chinese food with them (more of Boom’s good planning, I suspected). Soon we were sitting on the floor of the vestry, chowing down on noodles and kung pao chicken as I told everyone my plan. As I suspected, some people didn’t like it.

  “It's crazy, Talon!” Trouble said for about the fifth time. “It’ll never work.”

  “I think it will.” I said, trying to stay calm and reasonable. “It’s our best chance to get at Garnoff.”

  “Do you really trust that old hag?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “No, but I do trust her greed and her desire to get rid of Garnoff without having to dirty her own hands. She was honest enough about that.”

  “She might just want you both out of the way! Did that ever occur to you?” Trouble said. Actually it had occurred to me, but I wasn’t going to mention it right then.

  “Mama is a lot of things.” Hammer said, “but she's got a reputation for doing business fairly. You don’t get the kind of shadow rep she’s got by slotting over everyone you meet. If Talon thinks she’s on the level, then I’m willing to go along with the rest of the plan.”

  Sloane sort of nodded and shrugged. “You’re the boss, Talon. We’ll do whatever you say. Your call.”

  I glanced over at Boom. The troll looked me square in the eyes. “It sounds risky.” he said.

  “It is.”

  “Do you really think it’ll work?”

  “I still think it’s our best shot.” It obviously wasn’t quite the answer he wanted to hear.

  “All right.” he said. “Let’s do it.”

  Lastly, I turned back to Trouble.

  “You don’t make things easy, do you?” she said.

  “I need everybody for this.” I said. “Especially you. Are you in?”

  She bit her lip and stared at me for a second. I wondered what was going through her head. We’d never had a chance to finish the conversation we started back at the other safe house, before the Mama’s Boys interrupted. I wondered if it had any effect on her decision.

  “Okay, I’m in.”

  “Good.” I said. “Here’s what we need to do.”

  * * *

  Dr. Alan Gordon was a brilliant man once. He had been a celebrated member of the staff at MIT&T when I was a student there, a Professor of Thaumaturgy specializing in astral theory and the study of the complex, multidimensional structure of astral space. I remembered sitting in his class entranced at the way his mind worked. He seemed able to understand the most intricate interrelationships between the different layers and levels of the astral planes with ease, opening up literal new worlds to his students and colleagues. It wasn’t just his intelligence and insight that made him a popular teacher, but his charm and his infectious enthusiasm for his work.

  A year or two after I left the Institute, not long after I left Boston altogether, I heard that Gordon had been committed to a mental institution, after having some kind of fit. The Institute press release claimed it was due to stress from overwork and the pressures of academic life. I hadn’t really given my old teacher a second thought in years, so I was understandably surprised when Mama gave me his name as the man who could provide the map I needed. I was even more surprised when she provided an address in the Rox, the worst area in the sprawl.

  “Are you sure this is the place?” Boom asked as we entered the foyer of the building. He insisted on coming with me and I was glad for the company. The air stank of decay and human refuse, and the only light in the stairwell came from a bare bulb hanging from a cord near the very top, casting long shadows behind us.

  “This is where Mama said he was.” The place was eerily quiet. There was no sound of other tenants, screaming children, arguing adults, none of the noises I generally associated with a place where people lived. I kept my hand close to the gun concealed under my long coat, just in case.

  “Explain to me again why you need a map to go somewhere in a dream that doesn't even really exist in the first place.” Boom said as we climbed the rickety steps of the tenement building.

  “The metaplanes exist, chummer.” I said. “They’re just on a comple
tely different level of reality. They're vast, maybe even infinite. Nobody really knows. If I’m going to find what we need, I’ve got to have an idea of where to start looking for it. That’s where the map comes in. It’s not exactly a map, per se, more like a kind of ritual guide.” Boom just shook his head and muttered something under his breath about “fragging magicians.”

  At the third floor, we turned down the hall toward apartment 23. The “2” hung upside down by only a single nail, while the “3” was only in evidence from the lighter shade of wood where the number had once been.

  With a look of caution at Boom I knocked lightly on the door. We both tensed and waited, but there was nothing. I rapped again.

  “Dr. Gordon?” I said, then knocked a third time.

  “Go away!” a voice shouted through the door. “I’m not bothering anyone!”

  “Dr. Gordon.” I said again. “We need to talk to you.”

  “I don't talk to anyone. Now go away or I’ll place a curse on you!”

  Boom looked at me in alarm. “Can he do that?” he asked in a whisper.

  I shook my head. “I doubt it.”

  “Hope you’re right . . . fragging magicians.” Boom muttered again as I turned back to the door. I was tempted to simply break it down but I needed Gordon’s cooperation and I preferred not to get it by force. Also, as much as I tried to reassure Boom, I had no idea what the man’s magical abilities might be these days. Gordon used to be an accomplished mage and, while I doubted the likelihood of him cursing us, I didn’t dismiss the possibility of something equally nasty getting thrown in our direction.

  Once more I rapped on the door. “Dr. Gordon, Mama sent us to talk to you. It’s very important.” Only silence came from the other side of the door. Suddenly the hairs at the base of my neck stood on end and I had the intense feeling of being watched. I fought down all my defensive instincts and tried to stay calm, and the sensation washed over me, then passed. A series of clicks and clatters sounded from the other side of the door, and it swung open to show a face hidden in shadow.