Codex Born mel-2

by Jim C. Hines

  Nidhi flipped on the windshield wipers. The beetle held tight, and the wiper blade slid over it with a thumping sound. She switched on the washer fluid next. That was enough to dislodge the beetle, but more bugs were rattling down on us.

  “Speed up,” I yelled. The faster we went, the harder it should be for the insects to hold on. I tried to ignore the clatter of bugs, concentrating instead on the pages of a good old-fashioned dungeon crawl. Gutenberg locked most role-playing manuals, but there were plenty of tie-in novels out there.

  The page I had bookmarked described an enormous warrior cowering in the back of a cave as a creature that looked like a super-sized cross between an armadillo and a cockroach waddled closer.

  I couldn’t blame the fighter for his fear. When I was a kid, my paladin had lost a +3 bastard sword and a full suit of enchanted plate mail to this particular monster, leaving me all but defenseless against the goblin ambush in the next tunnel.

  I immersed myself in the scene, imagining the mage’s laughter as he watched the burly fighter shout in fear. Even the normally-stoic cleric chuckled before raising his wooden cudgel to strike. The creature dodged the first attack. With surprising speed, it scrambled between them, oblivious to anything save the glorious feast of steel laid out before it. Twin antennae whipped out to strike the warrior’s breastplate.

  Instantly, the steel armor lost its sheen. The priest knocked the monster away, but it was too late. A dark stain of pitted rust spread across the armor, and bits of brown metal fell to the floor.

  I seized that moment in my mind and reached through the book, grasping one of the antennae in my hand. It felt like a dry, armor-plated snake.

  The beast wouldn’t fit through the pages, and even if it did, I had no idea how to control it. Nor was I certain I could rip an antenna off and use it effectively. But if I could channel its power—

  What looked like a bumblebee built from scrap metal and a broken sparkplug punched through the windshield and flew toward my face. Without thinking, I yanked my hand from the book to swat it away.

  The bee bounced against the door and dropped onto the seat. The wings buzzed, but the sound had changed. The pitch grew higher, like a tiny electrical motor burning itself out. Brown fog spread in a tiny cloud as the remnants of the wings rusted away. The body corroded next. A leg broke free. The bee collapsed onto its side, remaining legs curled inward, until nothing remained but an orange-brown smear of rust.

  “That’s a new trick,” Jeff commented, staring at my hand. “Did you mean to do that?”

  “Not exactly, no.” Leathery brown plates gloved my hand, stopping at the wrist. I curled my fingers, feeling the plates grind together like stones. There was very little sensation. I tugged at the wrist where armor met flesh, hoping I could peel it free, but this was my skin now.

  I didn’t know what I had done, if it was permanent, or what it would do to me in the long run, and I had no doubt I would begin freaking the hell out very soon, but for the moment, there were bugs to kill.

  A wasp burrowed through the hole the bumblebee had left and landed in Jeff’s hair. I plucked it away with my thumb and forefinger. It tried to sting me with an inch-long needle that looked thick enough to penetrate bone, but the tip rusted away as soon as it hit my hand.

  I used my left hand to unbuckle my seat belt, then rolled down the window. I pulled the upper part of my body out until I could see the roof. I squinted against the wind and stretched out very carefully to flick away a cockroach. A ladybug crept toward me, and I reached over—

  A passing truck honked. I jumped, and my hand slammed down on the ladybug. I yanked it back, but it was too late. The bug rusted away, as did an oversized handprint in the roof of Nidhi’s car.

  “What did you do?” yelled Nidhi.

  “Nothing!” I twisted around, trying to reach the ones on the rear windshield. The magic of this particular monster affected all metals, regardless of whether they were ferrous or not. But as long as I didn’t hit hard enough to crack the glass, the windshield should be fine.

  Lena was pulling closer. I waved her back, then pointed to the insects. The last thing I wanted was to knock them off Nidhi’s car and onto Lena or her motorcycle.

  Lena pointed right back, not at me, but at the tires.

  “Oh, crap.” I ducked back into the car and grabbed my seat belt, only to have the buckle crumble like thin Styrofoam in my hand. “Nidhi, we’re about to lose the tires.”

  I slid into the middle seat, trying to work the belt left-handed. I bumped Smudge’s cage in the process, and the thin bars melted away. I got the buckle clicked into place and scooped Smudge into my hand. The armor protected me from his nervous flames.

  Nidhi had slowed down to about forty when the first tire blew out. Other cars honked and swerved around us as she fought for control. Her arms and hands tightened as the second tire followed the first, and the car lurched hard to the right. The front wheels hit dirt, and then we were spinning around, and centrifugal force pinned me to my seat.

  By the time we jolted to a stop, we were in a ditch staring up at oncoming traffic. I set Smudge down and fumbled with the buckle. The airbags had gone off, body-slamming Jeff and Nidhi into their seats. They were both alive, and I didn’t see blood. As for me, I had a twinge in my neck that would no doubt evolve into something much worse, but I was pretty sure nothing was broken.

  I opened the door and stumbled out of the car. Most of the swarm was flying away like silver sparks in the sun. I swatted the few that remained, hoping August Harrison felt every one.

  Lena pulled off the road a short distance ahead. She jumped from the bike and sprinted toward us, bokken in hand. “Is everyone all right? Isaac, your hand—”

  “Yah, that didn’t go quite the way I had hoped.” I walked around the car to check the damage. Both tires were shredded. We had driven on the rims for those last forty feet or so. This thing wasn’t going anywhere without major work.

  “Whatever hand sanitizer you’ve been using, I’m staying the hell away from it,” said Jeff as he climbed out.

  “Is it permanent?” Lena asked.

  “I’m not even sure what I did.” I suspected it was similar to the way people could reach into books and infect themselves with various strains of vampirism. They weren’t being bitten by literal vampires; they were simply remaking their bodies through magic.

  What worried me was the fact that such magic was intrinsic, robbing the person of their ability to use extrinsic magic. If this was permanent, or worse yet, if it began to spread…“I’ll be fine. I just need something to wrap around my hand so I don’t keep breaking everything I touch.”

  Nidhi popped the trunk and pulled out an old blanket. Lena ran her index finger over the length of her bokken, restoring the wood’s edge, then handed the weapon to Nidhi. With a nod of thanks, Nidhi began cutting.

  “I saw the things that took out the tires, and they were bigger,” said Lena. “More like birds than insects. I couldn’t tell if they got away, or if they were destroyed when you spun out.”

  “Nicholas—Victor—said something about the insects breeding and evolving.”

  Another car slowed, but Lena waved them on. We circled the car, searching from top to bottom for any stragglers, but the insects were gone.

  “Next time, we’re taking your car,” Nidhi said.

  I started to answer, but my phone buzzed in my pocket. I set Smudge on my shoulder and reached for it, then caught myself. The case was mostly plastic and glass, but there was enough metal trim that a single touch could turn the thing into a useless brick.

  “Allow me.” Lena grinned and slipped a hand into my pocket. For several seconds, I forgot about August Harrison, mutant wendigos, and my messed-up hand. She planted a quick kiss on my neck that sent goose bumps down my spine, then pulled out the phone.

  I blinked and concentrated on the message from Gutenberg. The automaton was dying, which meant we were running out of time. “Harrison is close by. If Lena a
nd I ride together, we can still catch him.”

  Nidhi’s face was expressionless. She tossed the wadded-up length of blanket to me and climbed back into the car without a word to get the GPS. Nidhi had told me she was struggling to adjust to our new relationship, but this was the first time I had seen that struggle.

  “I’m sorry,” Lena said quietly, watching Nidhi. “That was stupid. I was worried about you. I saw you fighting off those insects, and then you were moving around in the back seat and the car was out of control. You scared me. You both did.”

  I grabbed the end of the blanket and began wrapping the rest around my fist. “So go tell her.”

  Lena studied my eyes, like she was searching to see if I meant it.

  “Your girlfriend was just in an accident, and the first thing she saw was you hugging and getting friendly with me.”

  She stared at me, then smiled. “I chose better than I realized.”

  “I’ll meet you at your bike.”

  Intellectually, I had more-or-less come to terms with our relationship weeks ago. But this was the first time I had been able to walk away from the two of them without feeling those barbs of jealousy and insecurity. I didn’t turn around to watch Lena’s good-bye—I wasn’t certain how stable this newfound peace was—but it was a start.

  10

  Winter whispers his song.

  Strips her branches,

  Abandons her naked before the heavens

  As souls slumber beneath,

  And dirt becomes stone.

  Spring celebrates the tandava,

  And the newborn feels only the

  Heartbeat of the dance,

  Sings only her love

  Of an undiscovered verdant world.

  Under a moonless night,

  She remembers the cold.

  Her song warms the earth,

  And her dance begins anew,

  Celebrating the return.

  But none shall ever sing so purely

  As the newborn spring.

  Forever after, her dance is tempered

  By foreknowledge of winter’s return.

  I LEFT SMUDGE BEHIND with Jeff and Nidhi. Without his cage, I didn’t trust him on the back of a motorcycle. I waited while Lena strapped her spare helmet over my head, then climbed onto the back of the bike. I tucked the bottom of my jacket between us to keep it from getting caught in the wheels.

  “Hold tight,” she said, and then we were darting onto the road.

  I felt her laughter as she wove through traffic. On another day, I might have shared it. Lena had the irrepressible ability to not only find joy in life, but to express it without fear or self-consciousness. She loved without fear. It was one of the things that made me crazy about her.

  But even as I clung to her waist, feeling her body pressed against mine, breathing in the woodsy smell of her hair, I couldn’t stop thinking about August Harrison. About how casually he had threatened to murder innocent people. About the anger I had seen when he murdered that wendigo in Tamarack. About his willingness to transform human beings into monsters, using techniques I had developed.

  Where had he found his would-be wendigos? Were these allies who had volunteered to be transformed, or were they more victims? They had dragged the unconscious bodies away, leaving nobody who could answer those questions.

  The magic in Harrison’s two pelts wouldn’t last forever. The rat had reverted to normal after three days, though that had been a smaller sample of skin, one which had been preserved for years before use. We didn’t know how long the magic of a fresh skin might endure.

  I kept an eye out for insects, but either Harrison hadn’t noticed Lena’s bike, or else I had stung him too badly when I swatted his last batch.

  Another possibility taunted me. Maybe this was what Harrison wanted. He had tried to get the two of us to surrender back in Columbus, and here we were, speeding down the highway to find him. Victor had been a genius. I couldn’t afford to underestimate his father.

  The GPS led us to a small Baptist church. Scorch marks covered the parking lot. Streaks of black rubber showed where someone had swerved around a car parked by the main entrance. The van was here, having smashed into a basketball hoop on the far side of the lot. Tire tracks on the grass suggested the truck had kept going into the field behind the church, where a row of pine trees stood like a living fence.

  Lena parked her bike on the side of the road. I tugged my helmet off with one hand and clipped it to her bike. As we approached, I heard shouts from the field.

  “Oh, shit.” Lena took off running toward the front door. A body lay slumped against the brick wall, half hidden by the bushes alongside the walk. Lena pushed the bushes aside, and from the way the urgency drained from her movements, I knew we were too late.

  Sharp claws had opened the woman’s throat and shoulder. Her eyes were wide. Blood dribbled from the wounds, soaking into the gravel. Whoever she was, she didn’t look like she could have presented a threat. Thick glasses, a close-permed frizz of brown hair, and a round face gave her a vaguely jovial appearance, even in death. She had died clutching her purse to her chest. I knelt and opened her purse.

  “What are you doing?” Lena whispered.

  “I’m not sure.” I just wanted to know her name. This murder struck harder than the others. Maybe the still-warm body just felt more real than vampires who turned to dust or ash, or the wendigos who had been hacked apart until they were nothing but meat. Or maybe it was my own human prejudices, the idea that a human death meant more than the others. After all, wasn’t I the one who had experimented with old wendigo hide like it was nothing more than a toy?

  I pulled out a leather wallet. The driver’s license identified her as Christina Quinney, age fifty-three. Killed by monsters because she was in the way. I returned the wallet and closed her eyes. As I stood, I ripped the blanket away from my hand and stretched the armored fingers, then donned my enchanted sunglasses. “Come on.”

  Lena tested the edges of her bokken, then nodded. I debated preparing an additional weapon or two of my own, but I didn’t want to push it. Not yet. Smarter to wait until I knew exactly what would be most effective at ending August Harrison.

  We made our way around the back of the church, keeping close to the wall. The pickup had driven through a small flower garden, overturning a bench and smashing a birdbath before coming to a stop by the trees. A starburst of blackened grass and the smell of sulfur showed where the automaton had taken another shot at the truck. Through my glasses, the charred grass shimmered as if someone had spilled gold glitter: the remnants of the automaton’s magic.

  The battle had moved to the edge of the woods, where three people stood around the automaton. Insects lay dead and scattered, like flickering embers. Harrison and his wendigos formed a second ring, but only those inner three were actually fighting. Each held a book, and with the sunglasses, I could see three ghosts circling the automaton, draining the life from its body.

  What the hell were they? I had seen possession before, where fictional characters crept into the mind of a careless libriomancer. If I kept pushing things, I’d see it a lot closer. But that was a known and somewhat understood magical phenomenon. Like possession, these beings appeared to come from books, but they behaved like the absence of magic.

  “How long do you think we have before the police show up?” Lena asked.

  “They won’t. Not until this is over. Automatons can become invisible when necessary, but they also divert the attention of anyone who doesn’t know what they are. Call it an apathy field, for lack of a better term.” The automaton stumbled. A patch of metal fell away from its wooden body, and three of the spells woven into its shell went dark. “Anything magic I throw their way, they can intercept.”

  Lena stepped away, returning a short time later with several chunks of broken blacktop. “So we hit them hobbit style. Nothing magical about a flying rock.”

  “I don’t know what’s sexier,” I said. “Watching you prepare to
take on bad guys, or the fact that you’re making Lord of the Rings references as you do it.” I pulled out a copy of The Marvelous Land of Oz. “If we hit them from two directions, we should be able to draw off their attack enough for the automaton to start smacking heads.”

  The automaton staggered, and the others closed in. More of its armor dropped into the grass. Two more insects flew in and burrowed into the exposed wood.

  I set the Oz book aside and grabbed Plato’s The Republic. Reading was tricky with only one working hand, but I soon held the Ring of Gyges. I had done an honors paper as an undergraduate, arguing the similarity between Plato’s tale and Tolkien’s One Ring. I shoved The Republic back into my pocket and started in on The Marvelous Land of Oz.

  “Dare I ask what you’re planning to do with a ring and an old pepperbox?” Lena asked when I was done.

  I beamed. “It’s a surprise. Give me two minutes to get ready.”

  I slipped the ring onto my finger and vanished. In theory, true invisibility should have left me blind. Vision relied on the interaction between light and the cells at the back of the eye, but thanks to the ring, the light passed through me as if I wasn’t here.

  Fortunately, libriomancy obeyed belief over physics, and few modern-day readers thought about invisibility on a cellular level. I ran back to Christina Quinney and took a lipstick from her purse, then hurried toward the garden. Once there, I dropped behind the overturned bench.

  The seat and back were slabs of polished black granite. The engraving along the back read, In memory of Annette Butler. Had the truck hit this thing head-on, it probably would have broken both the bench and the truck, but it looked like they had struck it at an angle.

  “I’m sorry about this, Annette.” I uncapped the lipstick and drew two red eyes and a large mouth. I wasn’t much of an artist, especially since the lipstick had turned invisible when I picked it up, but it left visible, waxy lines on the granite. I added a pair of angry eyebrows as well, along with uneven ears to either side.