Spellbound: Book II of the Grimnoir Chronicles

by Larry Correia

  There were many different material components that could be used for spells. The Grimnoir had learned them through trial and error. The most common was good old fashioned salt or fine sand, because you could try again if you screwed it up. Even dirt would work if you were good enough. It was harder to do, but a spell could be scratched onto a glass surface, though she’d never managed to get one of those right.

  Four knights had joined them in Los Angeles and now they were all looking at her. It wasn’t helping her nerves any. Faye had not had much time to get to know them, but most of them seemed like they would be okay.

  The nice French girl didn’t talk much, but when she did, she talked with a funny accent. It made her sound exotic. She’d introduced herself as Colleen Giraudoux, but everybody else just called her Whisper, so Faye did too. She was very refined and pretty, with dark, elaborately constructed hair that was way nicer than Faye’s flat, straw-colored and constantly tangled mop. She even dressed fancy and wore a little bit of makeup around her eyes and on her lips and cheeks, which was a little scandalous in America even these days, but which was apparently perfectly acceptable in France. It seemed like all the young male passengers on the Minotaur kept looking Whisper’s way, and she never so much as blushed or batted a perfect eyelash with all that attention.

  Whisper didn’t seem to look down at Faye just because she wasn’t educated, fancy, or worldly, so since Whisper was only probably five or so years older, Faye hoped that they could be like sisters or something. Faye’s only real sister had died of a fever back when she was really little, Delilah was dead, and Jane was hardly ever around, so it would be nice to make friends with another girl.

  She hadn’t gotten to speak to Mr. Bryce or Mr. Bolander nearly as much. Mr. Bryce seemed to treat talking like it was a contest to see who could say the least, and if that was the case, then he was the champion. He was a tall, bony, suspicious type who seemed to scowl a lot and was always watching people with shifty eyes that she could barely see under the edge of his bowler hat. He reminded her of the scarecrows they’d had back when she was kid, back when crops actually grew in Oklahoma. She didn’t know what Mr. Bryce’s Power was. Probably something sneaky.

  Mr. Bolander was a broad man, with the big arms of somebody who had worked hard his whole life. He seemed really friendly, with an easy manner and a genuine smile, but Faye hadn’t gotten to speak to him much at all. He was a Negro, which meant that his quarters were in a different part of the dirigible, and there were only certain hours when the coloreds aboard were allowed to eat in the galley. There hadn’t been any Negroes where Faye had grown up, and in fact she had only spoken to a few in her whole life, so the whole thing about shooing them away from everybody else seemed odd to her. Why bother? With her Power, she could kill every single person on the Minotaur without even trying hard, but nobody treated her funny. Now she was different. But Mr. Bolander was the one that had to keep away from polite company because he was browner. If folks were that rude over looks, it was tough to imagine how they’d treat him if they knew he could shoot lightning bolts out his eyes.

  If those three had been the only new knights, Faye would have been glad for the help, but there was one left, and Ian Wright made her skin crawl. He had come from the same group as Whisper that had been working in Europe, only he wasn’t anything like her. Even now, while she was trying hard to make the stupid spell bind, he was watching her, acting like he was better than she was. Sure, he hadn’t said anything specific, but she could see it on his smug face.

  Ian was probably in his mid-twenties, but it wasn’t his age that made her think he didn’t deserve to be called Mr. Wright. He was decent looking enough, but Ian was moody and she found that turned him sort of ugly. They said he was English, but that he’d grown up here, so he didn’t really sound different. Mr. Browning had said that Ian’s Power was mightily impressive and that hardly anybody in the whole Society was better at making spells. He talked smart, but as it turned out, he was the knight that had stuck up for Harkeness and Rawls in the meeting, which automatically made Faye hate his guts.

  Just thinking about those traitors made her slip up on one of the designs. Ian stepped forward. He was going to offer to do the spell for her, and he was going to play like he was being chivalrous for doing it, when in reality he was just being a big mean jerk, but because she was thinking about jerks instead of drawing her markings correctly, the spell fizzled again. She wanted to swear at the Power like it was an obstinate milk cow that wouldn’t put its head through the stall, but that would just make her look dumber.

  “Let me do it,” Ian said as he nosed in. “It may be an emergency.”

  “We’re in a blimp. If it’s an emergency, what are we supposed to do about it?” she snapped.

  “Well, I suppose you could just pop on down to wherever it is and easily take care of everything for us.”

  “Faye, he may be right,” Mr. Browning said. “Let him do it.”

  Cheeks burning, Faye grudgingly got out of the way. Ian wet his fingers in a cup of water and drew a complicated design in the salt. He frowned at it, said the proper words, and the room seemed to shudder. The salt instantly flash-fused into a solid disk. The circle floated into the air until it was a bit higher than she was tall. It had only taken Ian thirty seconds and the view of the other side was clear as could be. Damn it. He was way better at spellbinding than she was.

  “Whoever started this has alerted every Grimnoir within reach. There are a lot of people getting on. This will be very draining for him.”

  The circle floated and seemed to spin like a top as others made the connection. She recognized Lance Talon by the bottom of his bushy beard before his circle had even gotten into position to show his face. Others followed, some Grimnoir she didn’t know, then Dan and Jane Garrett, who had curlers in her hair and was still throwing on a robe, more strangers, and then Mr. Sullivan, who from the background had built his circle using the rearview mirror of a moving automobile. Though he would never brag, Mr. Sullivan was remarkably good at spellbinding, which was especially surprising that somebody with a bruiser’s hands could have such a delicate touch.

  “So who called this conference?” Mr. Browning asked.

  The circle spun. She recognized the disorderly stateroom of the new Cyclone. “Francis!” Faye exclaimed. “What happened to your face?” He looked like the losing fighter at the end of a long boxing match. One eye was swollen shut and purple and his lips were all puffy and cracked. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Heinrich was killed in the assassination attempt.” There were collective gasps. Jane cried out and Dan swore. Faye was too surprised to react. “I don’t have much time. This link hurts to keep open and I’m not in good shape. You all know about Roosevelt? I think the assassin was an Iron Guard.”

  “No-good rotten bastards,” Lance snapped.

  Francis hurried and told them about the attack, and then his interrogation and beating at the hands of the mysterious Mr. Crow. The assembled Grimnoir shared an uneasy look when he told them about the assassin’s ring, and Faye thought a few of them might have a fit when they heard about how Francis’ magic had been blocked. She was still stunned about Heinrich, and by the time Francis finished, her knees had gone all wobbly and soft.

  A deep voice cut in. “This is Sullivan.” The mirror spun over to him. He was still driving, and from the lights zipping past, going really fast. He held a small orange box up to the mirror. “This is how they blocked your magic. I don’t know how it works. There’s one word stamped on the bottom, looks like Dymaxion. There’s a stone inside, and while it’s spinning it disrupts your connection to the Power.”

  “However did you get that?” Mr. Browning asked.

  “Four men tried to kill me tonight. Didn’t recognize them, but probably from the same outfit as the one that beat up Francis. One of them had this.”

  Faye realized that the bad men weren’t that smart, since they had only sent four men to kill Mr. S
ullivan. Obviously they hadn’t known who they were dealing with.

  “There’s more, though. Francis, how long can you hold the line?”

  “I’ll do my best,” Francis answered, through gritted teeth.

  “I’ll make it quick.” Sullivan rattled off events like a military man giving a briefing, which in a way, was exactly what he was. “The Chairman’s ghost called. EGE has a working spirit phone. And yes. It really was him. He said the Enemy’s sent a scout. It’ll be here sometime soon. We have to stop it before it sends a message home saying this is the place for dinner.”

  That cinched it. It was Faye’s turn to smirk at Ian. “Told you so.”

  “Enemy? Wait—you mean the big thing?” Lance asked. “Hell, I was hoping you had imagined that.”

  “Me too. I’ve got an idea on how to find it, but we’ll need to work fast.”

  Mr. Browning was the senior knight. “We have two problems then. It appears we are meant to take the fall for this assassin and this being has finally found us. Could the two be related?”

  “Don’t know . . . Maybe,” Sullivan responded. “We don’t know enough about it to guess. The Chairman said his Iron Guard had been trained to deal with it, but he can’t reach them. I was led to understand this has happened before.”

  “I think I know where we can find an Iron Guard fast,” Dan said. “Can you meet me in D.C.?” The view spun back to show Sullivan nodding. “Good, I can meet you there tomorrow afternoon . . . I’ll help you talk to him on one condition.” And when it came to a skilled Mouth like Mr. Garrett, talking took on a more sinister meaning.

  “Yeah?”

  “That when we’re done, we kill the son of a bitch . . . for Heinrich.”

  The Grimnoir were quiet. Everyone knew that Heinrich had been Dan’s best friend. Sullivan grunted in agreement. “Sounds swell.”

  “Count me in on that, too,” Lance said. “This OCI will be watching so we’ll need to keep a low profile. We don’t know who else of us they know about.”

  “They sure know about me,” Sullivan stated. “Won’t be the first time I’ve been on a wanted poster.”

  “There are other resources to find out more about this new office. I will place some calls.” Mr. Browning checked his pocket watch. “I have Faye and some volunteers. We will go directly to Florida to investigate. Francis, we must assume that you have been compromised and that they will be watching. Go about your business and stay out of contact.”

  “But, John, I can—”

  “Lead a band of killers to our door? Yes. Indeed you could.”

  Francis obviously did not like Mr. Browning’s directions. “Fine . . . I can’t hold this link much longer.”

  Francis really didn’t look very good. Faye wished that she could be there with him, but even a Traveler had limits. The last time she’d gone that far in one hop she’d spent a few weeks unconscious, though in her defense she had drug an entire dirigible along for the ride.

  “Then good luck and Godspeed,” Mr. Browning said. The magic circle fell and broke into hardened bits. Browning wasted no time giving the order to the assembled knights. “Contact everyone. We must warn them what is coming.”

  That meant more communication spells. Faye groaned. “Can I go borrow the radio?”

  Menlo Park, New Jersey

  IT HAD BEEN a real pain to get here so quickly.

  Per Crow’s instructions, the scene had not been disturbed after the bodies of his men had been removed. It had been roped off and chalk outlines applied, which had been difficult since the floor was a metal grate, but there was enough chalk and dried blood that he got the picture. Crow had seen so much violence in his life that reconstructing the event was easy. The Heavy had taken one by surprise, then the robot had gunned down the others. His men had been stupid. He should have dealt with it himself, but even he had his limitations.

  Reconstructing this particular scene was easy. Dealing with the rest of these Grimnoir was going to be hard. His new office had money, but it was short on talent, which was why he’d made the trip from headquarters all the way to the EGE facility personally.

  The building was a mess. They were still cleaning up the wreck of the spirit phone. They had been lucky that the entire building hadn’t just fallen down. It was too bad about the phone. It would have been really nice to have the recordings of Sullivan’s conversation, but the cameras had been destroyed when the phone had flashed out of existence. There were transcripts from the witnesses, but they had not been close enough to hear every word.

  What he did have of the conversation was confusing, something about an enemy coming, but that was over Crow’s pay grade. His job was to break the Grimnoir. His boss and the intelligence types could worry about the other stuff.

  He’d thrown all of the EGE people out of the robot room except for the one he really wanted to talk to. The Coordinator’s office had a thick file on her. She was flagged as a rare type of Active and a potential problem down the road. However, she had a rare talent he needed, and more importantly Crow knew what she really wanted, and that gave him leverage.

  “Pemberly Hammer . . .” he said, playing it soft. “Pemberly. Sounds old-fashioned.”

  “Named after my grandmother.” She stood back a bit, arms folded in the shadow of the deactivated robot. Crow knew she wouldn’t expound, but it didn’t matter. He knew all about her. She came from a proud old Texas line, even had a couple of ancestors at the Alamo. All his intel suggested that she was just as stubborn as all the ranchers, sheriffs, soldiers, and rangers that had come before her.

  “Speaking of family, I heard about your pops. We’re in the same line of work, me and him. Lawmen got to stick together.”

  “From what I saw from your boys last night, you’re nothing like my father. He had honor.”

  “I heard he could track anybody or anything. I understand you inherited his abilities.”

  “I’ve got a rep and I earned it myself. All I know about you is that you flashed some special badge and real important people asked how high they needed to jump. Who are you supposed to be?”

  “Crow. Office of the Coordinator of Information.”

  Hammer frowned. Of course, she automatically knew when people were lying to her. She could tell the name was fictional, but the office wasn’t. “Never heard of it.”

  “You’re not supposed to have . . . yet. We regulate magic.”

  “What?” She laughed at him. “You can’t regulate magic.”

  He didn’t care for her attitude. “We do now. I need your services.”

  “Listen, Agent Crow—”

  “It’s just Mister.”

  “Fine, Mister Crow, I’m not interested in working for your kind of outfit. Your boys just walked up to Sullivan and started shooting easy as saying hello.”

  “This job pays good. You can read minds, so you know when I say good, I mean real good.”

  “I’m no Reader, and I’m still not interested. Good thing I don’t need your money.”

  “Well, I’d heard you worked for whoever paid the most. Turning down good money . . . You’re not much of a mercenary then.”

  “Girl needs a job. Doesn’t mean she has to take every one that comes along. Good day, Mr. Crow.” She turned to leave.

  He wasn’t about to take any lip off a skirt. Crow knew he had a few options. Negotiation was a delicate dance. Sometimes you could threaten or bully, other times you could bribe or coerce. Cracking people was like cracking a safe: everyone had a combination that would open them right up, but sometimes it was just easier to dynamite the doors off. “I know what you want.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “A badge.”

  She stopped in the doorway. “I already told you—”

  “If my organization isn’t to your taste, I can pull some strings. Anywhere you want, wherever you want.” He could tell that he’d hooked her. “Come on, Hammer. Would I lie to you? Dig a little deeper.”

  She did. Crow could
feel the pressure in his head. She couldn’t Read him, but there was no lying to a Justice. He let her rummage through the top compartment, just enough to see that he wasn’t bluffing. She wasn’t even trying to be discreet. “Oh my . . .” she said slowly. As expected, what she found had shocked her. Crow wasn’t offended. Fear was just another tool in the tool box. “What are you?”

  Interesting. She’d gone deeper than expected. The girl was dangerous. “Somebody you can’t afford to cross. You got a little peek at what I’m capable of. If you help me, I help you reach your goals. Badge anywhere you want one. If you don’t help me, then what your Power does becomes public knowledge. I’m sure potential employers would love to know that their most closely-held secrets aren’t safe when you’re around. In fact, as much corruption as there is in this world, I could see how nobody would ever hire someone like you. Too risky, because everybody has secrets . . . Your call.”

  According to the OCI scientists’ categories and rankings of known Actives, Crow had been born as a relatively common type, and they mistakenly still had him there. Only a handful of men knew about what he could do now. Which meant that when he was done with this Justice, she would have to be disposed of.

  She was angry, afraid, and trying not to let it show. Good. That’s right where he wanted her, and it was fine if she knew it. “You hook me up wherever I want, and all I have to do is this one job for you?”

  “That’s all I want.”

  Hesitantly, Hammer came back into the room. “What’s the gig?”

  “Find Jake Sullivan again. He’ll have gone to ground and I want him found quick. OCI will pay double what you got to find him last time.”

  “Sullivan? You should have said so. He stole my new car. I’d have tracked him down for free.”

  He was pleased. Crow had learned all he could about Hammer first, about her abilities and her history. Despite the tough and cynical reputation she’d cultivated, she was basically an idealistic person, and nobody was easier to manipulate than an idealist.