A Mage's Gambit: New York Falling (A Malachi English book)

by Andy Hyland

  She lowered her eyes. ‘When I was sure. Growing up, I had a lot of gold-digger training. How to spot the sort of boys who’d target me for my Dad’s wealth. It’s not only women who do that, you know. Dad used to choose all my boyfriends. Bless him, they were all such saps. A few of them I’m pretty convinced were gay. I think they all worked for him, or were sons of friends. Even now, he takes a…strong interest in anyone I see. Which is why I’ve tried to keep you at a distance from him. For your own good, as well as mine. That make sense?’

  I nodded. ‘I understand. Sometimes life is complicated and you want to keep the good bits straightforward.’

  Her smile lit up the room. ‘I knew you’d understand. Look, let me get changed and put some coffee on, okay? Have a look round.’

  Left alone in this amazing place, I gravitated towards the bookshelves. It was an actual working library. Someone had chosen these books, not bought them in by the meter, and the classics were mixed in amongst bestsellers from the last few years. She’d worked her way through all Dan Brown’s books, and more than once by the state of the spines. I walked along, running my hands across the shelves. Stopped dead when I felt a spark. It was a copy of Faxcowe’s History of Salem. Faxcowe was one of the very few witnesses at the time who really knew what he was talking about, and although he was well known among the Aware, to find a dog-eared shabby copy of his work in a place like this, was…unusual. And from the spark, it appeared that this volume had, at one point, been around strong magic.

  I ran my eyes across the hundreds of books, at the same time letting my hands run up and down across spines, hunting for more of the same.

  ‘Wow, you love books,’ said Julie from behind me. ‘Are you trying to hug my library?’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, the blood rising to my face, ‘that looked weird, but…yeah, I suppose I love books.’

  ‘Okay. Well, books and evil clowns from Spawn. I’m dragging out your secrets one by one. Here’s your coffee.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She took my hand and led me over to the sofa. Our coffees sat on a small table steaming while we held each other tight. Possibly starting to steam ourselves. I wasn’t sure if this was a comfort hug or something else. I’ve always struggled with that one. I decided to let the whole book thing go. If you get enough second hand books on your shelf, you’re almost bound to come across one that’s been tainted in some way, and an Unaware would never be any the wiser.

  ‘Sorry about mentioning that gold-digger stuff earlier,’ Julie said into my shoulder. ‘I had to be sure about you. And I’ve decided that I am.’ She moved away slightly and lifted her lips, keeping her blue eyes fixed on mine. ‘I really, really like you, Mal.’

  And at that point, because this is my life and good things get screwed up, the phone rang. Not a quiet buzz that could be ignored. No, this was a full-on, old fashioned ringing that pierced the whole room. ‘Sorry,’ Julie said, darting off the sofa. ‘I’ll get that. Don’t you dare move.’ The phone was across the way by the window. A big, old style thing that was plugged in and you couldn’t carry around the room with you. In keeping with the room, but not that convenient.

  ‘Oh hi Daddy. No, I’m fine. No, I guessed you’d know. Your friends in the police, right?’ She looked at me and mouthed ‘sorry.’ I nodded, and got off the sofa myself. Might as well enjoy the view while I’m here. The apartment was high enough up in this great building to get a fantastic view of Central Park. The trees were starting their quick spring burst, and there must have been a few hundred shades of green down there. The bridle path was a bit further in, and two horses trotted through. At a guess, I’d have put this apartment in the ten million dollars range. This was a different New York to the one I lived in.

  The only reminders of my own particular brand of the city were outside the apartment, to the far left and right of the three windows that looked out over the park. Two disgustingly grotesque gargoyles, all teeth and legs and claws, looking down over the streets. I grinned. Nice to have some familiarity about the place.

  ‘No, I understand. Okay, I’ll see you soon.’ She put the phone down and sighed. ‘Sorry. He’s a bit protective. But you’ve probably already got that, right? Anyway, he heard about the break-in, because he knows everything, and he’s coming straight over to check I’m okay. Because that’s what he does.’

  ‘I get it. I wish my folks were the same.’ A bit of a lie, actually. I hadn’t thought about them in years, and they’d probably forgotten I ever existed. Still, as a whole I think family is a good thing. I’m definitely in favour of it.

  ‘It’s just that, and don’t take this the wrong way, but,’ she bit her lower lip, ‘I don’t want him to meet you yet. And I really don’t want him to turn up and find you in my apartment. There’s this thing coming up, this work party or something he’s having. Big black tie affair. I’m getting you an invitation and I’m going to introduce you then, so don’t think I’m hiding you, or anything like that. But…not like this.’

  I nodded and smiled. ‘Really, it’s not a problem. Much better to have the big introductions stage-managed.’ Bit of a relief actually.

  ‘Great, I knew you’d get it.’ That got me another hug, and, finally, that kiss.

  Greg the doorman was equally suspicious on the way out, but touched his cap and gave me a polite ‘good day.’ I was warming to the whole idea of having a doorman. I could live with that.

  The bolt of lightning only hit me when I was in a cab, a block away from 300 Central Park West. I paid the driver and sprinted back to outside the building, mentally working out which windows belonged to Julie’s apartment.

  I should have spotted it before. I would have done if I’d been thinking properly, if I wasn’t so loved-up. It’s an art deco building. A classic. Art deco buildings don’t have gargoyles. And they weren’t there now.

  Damn it. Nothing in life stayed simple.

  Chapter eleven

  Gargoyles are tricky buggers at the best of times, and if you see any around then you can be sure there’s a grade-A mage somewhere near. They’re not that easy to make. Yes, make. Contrary to popular opinion, they’re created beings, artificial servants. They don’t hatch from stone eggs or any of that nonsense. Also, for the record, they’re quite happy to move around in daylight, but prefer the night for obvious reasons. Due to some quirk in the casting and creation of gargoyles over the centuries, they end up with a profound sense of embarrassment over their hideousness. The whole thing could be fixed by mages making better-looking gargoyles, but this radical step seems to have been overlooked. Tradition, you know.

  Broad daylight, they wouldn’t have gone far. No chance of them scampering through the streets or playing chicken with traffic, both of which they’re known to do. I headed back inside, giving an apologetic grin to Greg. ‘Forgot something. Sorry.’

  ‘No problem with that sir,’ he nodded. ‘And sir, if you have a moment?’

  Not really, but there was no point getting on the wrong side of this guy. ‘Sure.’

  ‘Miss Fairchild. She’s a lovely young lady. Truly lovely. And you can’t have failed to notice the financial position of the family.’

  ‘Please, Greg,’ I stopped him. ‘I promise you, here and now, I’m not a gold-digger. To be honest all this, it’s a bit overwhelming. Really not my style at all. And if you find out that my intentions aren’t completely honourable, then I have no problem in you putting me up against the wall and ruining my perfectly good face. But you won’t have to.’

  He looked unconvinced but apparently the beating wouldn’t have to take place yet. ‘Very good, sir. I’m watching, you know. And her father, he keeps abreast of things. Very well connected.’

  ‘I’m sure he is. Thanks, Greg.’

  The elevator took me to within two floors of the top of the building. No idea why it didn’t go higher, but great buildings and common sense don’t always go hand in hand. A quick skirt around and some minor-league lock picking got me through a door marked ‘Janitor’, and th
ree flights of narrow stairs completed my ascent of the northernmost tower.

  The tower went up in stages to the pinnacle. I was on the flat roof the lowest of the three main levels. People still lived up here – I didn’t even want to think about the property prices when you got this high up – and if they’d been inside looking out then the cops would have been called sharpish. Fortunately for me, nobody was at home and my presence, for the moment, remained undetected.

  I gave the place the once-over. Didn’t take long to find what I was expecting. Birds. Lots of them – twenty at least. Killed and torn apart, but not eaten. Gargoyles don’t feed in the traditional sense of the word, but they have a violent streak a mile wide.

  Creating a gargoyle, as well as being a significant magical feat, is also a bloody and time-consuming process. Could Becky pull it off? Almost certainly, but you’d never find her trying. You wanted a certain degree of intelligence in your average gargoyle, and given the risk involved you needed absolute loyalty, and an almost unquestioning obedience. Far back in the mists of time, some mage, somewhere, figured out that what you were really after was a magical creature with the attitude of a dog.

  It takes about five dogs to make the gargoyle. Ritually sacrificed, and the essences – dogs don’t have souls as such – retained and mixed. This is where personal preference comes in. Five Labradors and you end up with a really good-natured gargoyle, which is no real use to anyone. Five Rottweilers and you end up with a crazed attack-machine that’s going to get out of control and get you some very unwelcome attention. Mix and match, that’s the key. Take the mixed essence, add your own blood to create the link, and bind it to your stone carving of choice. Leave to settle for a few months and you’ve got a friend for life. The stone becomes a gray, hardened flesh, the eyes flicker, and you are ready to roll.

  Here we were dealing with two gargoyles. Incredible power and a great deal of patience. Somebody was very serious about something. I could throw guesses around but the person and the goal were both currently mysteries.

  I crouched over the nearest bird. Still warm, a fresh kill. I let my senses roam. Nothing lighting up in the immediate vicinity.

  Something whistled. A few second later an answering whistle replied. I looked around, trying to place it. My eyes ended up settling on the opposing, southernmost tower. There they were. Relatively small for gargoyles, but if they were spies by trade rather than fighters, that would make sense.

  I ducked low and hoped they hadn’t seen me. One of them was staring straight in my direction. It raised a stump, clawed hand and waggled it around. Took me a few seconds to figure out it was waving at me. I stood up straight again. No point in hiding at this point. Or running – the speed of these things when they were airborne was downright scary. We were going to fight, or we weren’t. And the decision wasn’t going to be mine.

  It leapt into the air, leathery wings flapping hard, and spiralled upwards before looping around. Visible, but against the grey skies you’d find it hard to spot unless you were looking very closely. It swooped out of sight behind the tower before turning and coming back up, right at me. My hands flexed, getting ready to cast on the fly, and I braced for impact.

  The impact came, but not from the gargoyle that had been impressing me with the acrobatic flying. Instead it felt like a medium-sized boulder had landed between my shoulder blades. I fell face down but jumped up again, winded and spitting out gravel, spinning round, trying to catch sight of them. One rose up from below, hovering in front of me at eye level. Gruesome little thing, with a long snout and curling tusks. Four arms as well. Suppose that could come in useful.

  I threw a ward up in front of me and stepped backwards to create a bit more space between us. In doing so I fell straight over the other gargoyle, which had snuck up and crouched behind me, right below knee level.

  As far as fights go, not one of my best. All of twenty seconds, and I was flat on my back with a heavy tusked gargoyle sitting on my chest running a talon gently across my sternum, and the other, a four-eyed two-nosed effort, standing by my head looking down.

  ‘That was downright childish,’ I muttered.

  ‘Don’t knock it, it worked,’ barked Tusky in a low, rattling voice. ‘Took you out. Nice and tidy. No blood. Not yet.’

  ‘You talk?’ That wasn’t usual. Taking a few dogs and sticking them into a new creature, that was tough enough. Raising the intelligence level to a point where it could converse – that was unheard of. And raised a few difficult questions. ‘What the hell went into you?’

  It tapped its snout. ‘Trade secret. Nothing you need to know.’

  ‘You talk as well?’ I asked Four-eyes. It shook its head.

  ‘Just me,’ Tusky confirmed. ‘Is enough. Talk fast.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘You. Girl. Need to know. Who you?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  Four-eyes snorted, and placed a foot on my neck.

  ‘We think so. Yes,’ said Tusky. ‘And we’s the ones who says what matters and don’t.’

  I tried to speak but could only gurgle until four-eyes relented and took some of the pressure off. ‘Malachi,’ I gasped. ‘Malachi English.’

  Tusky looked across at his colleague, a knowing glint in his eyes. ‘Told you,’ it said. ‘Told you it him. Smelt him mile off.’ Four-eyes glared at me and hissed, then jabbered and nodded hard at me.

  ‘Wondering,’ said Tusky. ‘That you at hotel other night? Big bang. Big fire.’ Sounded like they knew all about it, anyway. No point lying, so I nodded. ‘Nice,’ he nodded approvingly. ‘Flames. Like flames. Listen,’ it said, bending down very closely, its tusks rubbing against my cheek. ‘We like girl. Girl good. Girl not get hurt. Girl important. You see?’ I nodded again. It winked. ‘Good. Good. You go now. Sod off.’

  Chapter thirteen

  I was still in a bad mood when Zack called around noon.

  ‘You still up?’ he asked. ‘I was expecting to have to leave a message. Arabella and Becky aren’t answering yet.’

  ‘Oh, I’m up,’ I assured him. ‘Going over a few things in my head. Again, and again, and again.’

  ‘Tell me about it, man,’ he said. ‘Anyway, I wanted to let you know we’re on for tonight. Dusk. Entrance of the same building we were sat in yesterday. Bring your game face.’

  I put the phone down and tried to get some sleep. Four hours later I woke up with time to kill and nothing but crap going through my head, so I pulled on my clothes, grabbed what I needed and headed out. Before I knew it I was in the street next to Benny’s. The sky was still dark, which matched my mood more than the afternoon sun back on earth as we know it.

  ‘Howdy,’ said Benny at the bar, pouring and sliding across a pint of gleaming amber goodness. ‘You by yourself?’

  ‘For now, at least. Any news?’

  He frowned and tapped the bar. ‘Well, you know Becky came through here looking for your guest yesterday. I couldn’t help her, so she headed off deeper hoping to catch a trail. Between you and me, she won’t. The collector comes and goes, and in between times there’s nothing to be heard or found. Still, good luck to her.’ He looked up at me with a hint of concern in his eyes. ‘You heard from Simeon? He’s gone dark. It’s not often it goes this long without word from him.’

  I shook my head. ‘Zack mentioned his place was closed down. Figure he’s off chasing leads about this Carafax thing.’

  ‘Yeah, he mentioned that to me. Couldn’t help. It’s all getting very intriguing. Who wants a boring life, eh? Anyway, I won’t bend your ear if you’re after some peace. My house is your house, Malachi. Drink, be merry.’

  Merriment wasn’t on my mind, but I could do with some peace, so I grabbed a corner booth and made myself comfortable. Pulling out the still-wrapped goody bag that Becky had given me two days ago now, I pulled off the brown wrapping paper and studied the contents.

  As she’d said in her little tiff with Zack here yesterday, Becky was an artisan. Most castings for your
run-of-the-mill mage like me were low-grade and short-lived. The big stuff, even as big as that ward against the flaming skull I’d thrown up back in my apartment, knocked me sideways. So buying in some extra firepower was a sensible option in a dangerous world. Becky, out of her generous reserves, spent her time creating amulets, charms and other interesting gadgets, pouring into them more power than I could summon up normally. Give me one of her care packages rather than a gun any day.

  She’d given me some good stuff. Four whizz-bangs and a verity chain. None of the chase-me bombs she’d deployed to such effect in the Staffarian, but that was too much to hope for. The whizz-bangs looked like small origami swans, but were much heavier than they appeared. Pull the head off, count to five, and it would send off a silent psychic shock that would incapacitate most humans and not a few demons. The verity chain was a fine piece of work – intense mind manipulation cast into an ornate silver necklace. Slip it onto someone and like it or not they’d tell you nothing but the truth for anywhere up to an hour. You could use it more than once, but like a non-rechargeable battery, once it was gone, it was gone. The necklace could be re-gifted though. That was a bonus.

  Overall, not a bad haul, and along with the scrying and the consequent damage to the apartment when the crystal exploded, I’d had far more than my five hundred dollars in terms of value. Becky could play the hard-nosed business bitch all she wanted, but underneath she was a big, soft, genius witch.

  ‘Hey, Malachi,’ said a gruff voice, as an equally gruff figure lowed itself on the seat opposite me. ‘How’s you rocking?’

  ‘Hey, Dexter,’ I smiled. He looked worse for wear, with his tired eyes and his greying afro sticking out from under a Yankees cap. We’d never run in the same circles. I lived in New York, and he’d gone native in the Fades long before I ever came on the scene. That was understandable – the pull of the place, the way magic was more tangible, more readily used – but it wasn’t a decision I could see myself ever making.