by Jim C. Hines
“We’re not going to let him round us up into his fucking camps.” Deb snarled and kicked a chair hard enough to crack one of the wooden legs.
“Don’t take it out on the library,” I said without looking up.
“Integration my undead ass. Did they teach you about the Great American Melting Pot in grade school?” she asked. “Some of us don’t like the idea of being melted down and blended into stew for the rest of you to devour.”
Lena sat down beside me. “You brought us to D.C. to stop this, right?”
“We need proof.” If we could tie Keeler to the attacks in Lansing and elsewhere, prove that he’d orchestrated terrorism and assassinations in order to manipulate public opinion, we’d be able to shut him down and turn the country’s anger around.
“You know who’s running things?” Deb leaned in, practically drooling in her eagerness.
“I think so, yah.” I glanced at Lena.
“What we don’t know is who’s running you,” she finished.
Deb tensed and pulled away. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve read Renfield,” I said. “I know what you’ve become. You’re powerful, sure. All those lives you consume, added to your own. But you were written to serve. Whether you were running around doing Alice Granach’s bidding in Detroit or serving Gutenberg as liaison between Porters and vampires. It’s your nature.”
Deb snorted and jerked her head toward Lena. “Hers too, but weren’t you telling me how she’d become more?”
“She’s become more.” I didn’t bother to keep the anger from my voice. “You’ve become less. I saw your bookshelves in Detroit. You want to pretend you’re still the same person, but there was a month’s worth of dust on those covers. You once told me immortality meant the chance to read everything, to learn everything. When’s the last time you opened a book?”
“I’ve been a little busy preparing for war, hon.”
“You didn’t even know who you were working for when you betrayed Vanguard,” I snapped. “Then Lena and I showed up at your door and trashed your pet vampires. At that point, you started following our lead. How the hell am I supposed to trust you when you’ll happily turn on us as soon as you find the next potential Dracula to your Renfield?”
“I knew exactly who I was working for,” Deb said calmly. “I have no intention of betraying her.”
Lena connected the pieces before I did. “Granach.”
Alice Granach had helped rule the Detroit nest for more than sixty years. She was a century and a half old, born and turned long before the urban fantasy surge brought a new wave of sexy, angsty vampires into the world. “Granach ordered you to brainwash those werewolves?”
“Alice Granach died in the firebombing of Detroit, trapped a thousand feet belowground.”
“I’m sorry.” I meant it. I’d met Granach once. She was in many ways unique.
“She ordered me to send a message to humanity. To make it clear you couldn’t murder us with impunity. Killing Governor Sullivan and Attorney General Duncan sounded like a good first step.”
“What else have you done?” asked Lena.
“Not much.” Deb sighed. “I didn’t know about the other attacks that night. I helped kill two very bad people, but in the process, I played into the hands of whoever’s running this conspiracy. I tried to find who was behind it, but my anonymous contact was a dead end. They were too careful. The only other lead I had was the USCGC Kagan. Then the two of you came along and busted through my front door. It sounded like we were after the same thing, more or less. I figured you had a better chance of tracking them down. And I was right. You know who’s been pulling everyone’s strings.”
I didn’t answer.
“You can’t shut me out now. Sure, I screwed up. Give me a chance to make it right.”
“By killing more people?”
She shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”
“This isn’t about revenge. We’re not going to escalate the fighting if we can help it.”
“That’s a big if, hon.” Deb leaned closer, assaulting me with a scent like roadkill. “Remember, you wouldn’t have gotten the Kagan’s orders without me. So ask yourself one question. Are you sure—are you one hundred percent positive you can take this person down without my help?”
Bi Wei,
Hao jiu bú jiàn! I hope you and your fellow Bì Shēng de dú zhě remain safe.
I’m writing to you from the road. By now, you’ve likely heard about the terrorist attacks here in the States. You’ll be shocked to hear that Isaac and I have been in the middle of things, searching for answers.
We’ve found two high-level leads who may be responsible. We’ve also found evidence that this may go beyond the United States. One of the people involved is a book-born woman named Kiyoko Itô. According to Isaac, she’s a living computer, a clone with a psychic connection to her fellow clones.
One of those clones has been spotted in China.
I don’t know her role in all this. Our plan is to confront the man we believe is responsible, a senator named Alexander Keeler. I hope that by finding and exposing the truth about these attacks, it will help to set things on a better path.
We’re not completely certain what we’re up against. Our enemies have protected themselves from magic, and they have weapons specifically built for people like me. I know your people have tried to withdraw from the world, but I have to ask you for two favors.
If you don’t hear from us, please find and protect Nidhi. Then, contact Nicola Pallas from the Porters, and Isaac’s research team at New Millennium. They know most of what we’ve found. You’re the only person I know and trust with the power to succeed if we fail.
I’m sorry for asking this of you after you’ve done so much for me.
Love,
Lena
“You never trusted inhumans. You never allowed them to be a part of the Porters. Why?”
“The Porters was an organization of people who used magic. Inhumans are magic, but they can’t use it the way we do.”
“Neither can Nidhi Shah, but she’s been with the Porters longer than I have.”
“It’s hard enough keeping the loyalty of people from different nations, different religious backgrounds, different philosophies about the world. How could I trust someone to put the Porters above his own species?”
“Some of them would have. Lena would have.”
“Right now, she probably would. But she’s evolved a great deal in recent years. Who’s to say she’ll remain loyal ten years from now?”
“You could make the same point about me. About anyone.”
“Oh, I was keeping a very close eye on you, Isaac. Tell me, do you think you could have done a better job building and protecting the Porters? That’s not a rhetorical question, by the way.”
“I don’t know. I’d like to think so.”
“Mm . . . so would I.”
“YOU ENCHANTED A LETTER opener?” asked Lena.
“I figured it was less conspicuous than carrying a full-sized sword.” I’d borrowed the old letter opener from the library’s circulation desk. It was essentially a dull plastic knife, nine inches long and bright red. The name of the library was stamped in faded black on the handle, along with a note to CELEBRATE READING: TAKE THE 2012 SUMMER BOOK CHALLENGE.
I’d copied the magic of a sword called Wayfinder into the letter opener, drawing on Fred Saberhagan’s The Complete Book of Swords. When I looked closely, I could see the typeface from the book wavering within the plastic.
“Gutenberg used to do something similar with his sword. A Katzbalger. I never got the chance to study it, but it looked like he’d transferred the powers of dozens of tomes into that blade. Wayfinder had the power to lead its wielder to whatever he or she wanted. The downside is that it doesn’t always choose the safest route.”
We’d tried finding Senator Keeler’s home the old-fashioned way, but every public database and directory had failed me. More significantly, several magic
al attempts had failed as well. Keeler was likely shielding himself with magic, just as we’d been doing.
“Why didn’t you use that thing to begin with?” Deb demanded. “Whip it out and tell it to take us to whoever’s in charge of this circus.”
“All magic has limits, and that’s a pretty abstract question. It’s going to be tricky enough finding a specific individual. If all we had was a vague idea who or what we were looking for, this thing could have led us around for months. We might have come face-to-face with our bad guy and never known if he was the one we wanted, or just another quest ticket we had to collect along the way.”
I clutched the letter opener. “Anyone need to use the bathroom before we go?”
When nobody answered, I pushed open the library doors and stepped onto the sidewalk. Keeler had hidden himself and his home from magical detection, so I couldn’t target them directly. “Find us someone or something that can lead us to Senator Alexander Keeler.”
It was the first time I’d spoken the name in front of Deb. Her breath hissed through her teeth. “Keeler. That weasel-faced ass-pustule. I should have guessed.”
I turned in a slow circle until the plastic tip quivered in my hand. “This way to the weasel-faced ass-pustule.”
Four hours later, we were on the D.C. metro, heading northwest. We’d stopped on the way so Deb could steal an oversized hoodie from a Goodwill donations bin. It was far too large, hanging down to her thighs, but the hood helped to conceal her gaunt and jaundiced complexion.
I wore a Phillies baseball cap from the same bin, with the brim pulled low to shield my eyes. Hiding Smudge had been trickier. Keeping him on my shoulder would attract too much attention. I ended up digging through a recycling bin outside of an apartment building until I found an old soup can. It was a bit cramped, but he’d be safe in the can in my pocket for now. I’d dropped a gummi worm in to keep him happy.
We were alone on the metro car, except for a police officer standing at the far end. She’d been watching us since we boarded. Sooner or later she was going to figure out where she’d seen me, and the more I tried to hide, the more suspicious I’d look.
I turned in a casual arc, keeping the letter opener tucked into my sleeve. When it passed over the officer, it vibrated hard.
“You’re sure?” whispered Lena.
“It keeps pointing to her.”
Deb sniffed. “We’re supposed to do what, exactly?”
“It doesn’t work that way. The sword—letter opener—is like a compass, not an instruction manual.”
Deb cracked her knuckles and stood. “Give me a few minutes to get inside her head. If she knows anything, she’ll tell me.”
I didn’t like the idea of violating another innocent person’s mind, but simply following an already-suspicious cop around wasn’t a great plan either, and since I had no other ideas . . . “Be quick.”
“Men never appreciate the pleasure of taking things slowly.” Deb sniffed and walked toward the cop, who tensed. One hand moved casually to the gun at her hip. I could see the moment Deb reached out to touch the woman’s mind and ease her alertness.
“Do you trust her?” Lena whispered in Gujarati.
I slipped an arm around her waist. “Nope. You?”
“How many times has Deb tried to kill you now?”
“To be fair, I’m not sure she was really trying that hard back in Detroit.”
“How hard do you think she’ll try with Keeler?”
I’d been worrying about the same thing. “Killing him would be too quick. She wants him to suffer. It would be much more satisfying to expose him, watch his life and career unravel. But we should be ready to grab her if we have to.”
Deb returned a short time later, leaving the police officer slumped asleep on the seat. “Officer Sheldon over there responded to a call at Keeler’s place two weeks ago. Graffiti complaint. Turned out to be an ex-boyfriend of Keeler’s daughter. Sheldon couldn’t remember the address, but she called dispatch and had them pull it up from her report. The Keelers live in the Spring Valley neighborhood, up in the northwest part of D.C.”
I glared at the letter opener. Always the risky path. “Did the dispatcher ask why she wanted to know?”
“You worry too much, hon. Sure, they asked, but Sheldon said she was trying to catch up on paperwork. Nothing suspicious.” She grinned and clapped me on the arm. “It’s two more stops. We can either catch a taxi from there or walk the rest of the way.”
“All right. Remember, once we get to the house, you follow our lead,” I warned. “Nobody gets hurt.”
“You know something, hon? You’re a boring date.”
We took a cab to the edge of Keeler’s neighborhood and walked the last several miles over hills and around curving roads, several times setting off motion-detecting house lights or rousing dogs that barked like we were an army of evil mutant squirrels come to declare war on kibble and chew toys.
I blamed Wayfinder’s magic. The damned letter opener wanted to make sure the whole neighborhood knew we were passing through. I was tempted to dissolve its magic altogether, but if things went wrong, we might need it for a quick escape.
Any one of these homes probably cost as much as an entire block back in Copper River. We circled through a roundabout, veered left, and finally stopped in front of a two-story brick colonial with black shutters. A brick wall circled the property, with a brass-trimmed iron gate across the driveway. Oak trees lined both sides of the road. We kept our distance from the gate and the cameras mounted to either side.
I checked for signs of magic. “The gate’s clear. There’s a spell over the doorway to protect the house, but it’s a passive defense. I can pull it down without alerting anyone inside.”
We moved just past the corner of the yard, out of the cameras’ field of view. Lena scaled the wall and balanced on top. She pulled me up one-handed and pointed toward the front door. “Another camera.”
Ivy covered the sloping ground to either side of the driveway. Neatly trimmed hedges guarded the porch.
I studied the black hemisphere mounted over the door, then retrieved the soup can from my pocket. Smudge was sleeping, curled into a ball with a half-eaten gummi worm clutched in his forelegs. As gently as I could, I pulled his magic free and sent it into the camera. “Come on.”
By the time we reached the brick walk, the camera had filled with smoke and flickering red flame. I waited for the fire to die, then returned Smudge’s powers. I hadn’t been gentle enough. He glared at me, like he was silently vowing to inflict burnt, crispy vengeance on me at some point in the future.
The porch lights switched on automatically as we approached the white-painted arched doorway. My anger grew with every step.
Alexander Keeler had sat on his little throne, presiding over the Joint Magical Committee and telling the world how dangerous we were, how much damage we could do if we weren’t “properly regulated and contained.”
All that time, he’d been using us. Capturing and studying and torturing us. Turning public sentiment against magic.
How far did his ambitions go? The prisoners from Mecklenburg had been assessed as potential soldiers, and Keeler had come out in favor of a selective draft of libriomancers and inhumans, similar to the one implemented by Russia. What would he do with his magical army once he had it? He had the Coast Guard in his pocket. Had he corrupted other branches of the military as well?
I double-checked my books, ready to create a shield or knock out everyone within a hundred meters as needed. If they had a clone of Kiyoko on site, we’d need to incapacitate her as quickly as possible.
“Shall we?” I raised my hand to knock.
Deb caught my wrist. She sniffed the air. The mannerism reminded me of an animal.
“What is it?” I checked Smudge, but he was sulking in his can.
“I’m not sure.” She let go and nodded, her attention on the door.
I hesitated, then knocked. When nothing happened, I tried the doorbell.
A low chime echoed through the house.
“Maybe they’re out?” suggested Deb. “Congress is always running off for breaks and vacations.”
“Not with everything happening in D.C. right now. Keeler might be working late at his office, but his family should be here.” I had no interest in terrorizing the man’s wife and children, but they’d be able to tell us where to find him. I tried the door, but it was locked.
Lena pressed her fingertips to the door like Spider-Man getting ready to scale a building. Her hands sank into the wood, just as if she was joining with her oak tree back home, though the door was too thin to possibly contain her.
Or maybe it could. I’d never fully figured out what happened to Lena’s body when she merged with her oak. The tree didn’t visibly increase in size or mass. The wood within her flesh didn’t change her human form, either. They simply coexisted in the same space.
I was still thinking when I heard her unlocking the door from the inside. It swung open, and Lena gestured us in.
Deb sniffed again. “Oh, shit.”
Smudge shifted and looked around, but didn’t ignite. “What is it?” I asked.
“Blood.”
The interior of the house was dark, save for the glowing keypad of a security system by the door. Faint voices and flickering light came from deeper in the house.
“The alarm’s turned off.” Lena readied one of her bokken.
We entered the foyer. To the left, an open door led to a small music room. The streetlights through the front window illuminated a baby grand piano. A pair of electric guitars hung on the wall.
I kept checking on Smudge. He acted like we were in no danger, but my gut told me otherwise. I didn’t see anything suppressing his senses.
On the other side of the foyer was a living room as big as my first apartment. A ridiculously oversized television hung on the wall, playing an infomercial about carpet stains. A middle-aged woman sat sprawled on the couch. It was possible she’d fallen asleep while watching TV, but her posture was stiff, her body weighed down by a heavy blanket of magic.