by Ben Reeder
“Oh, that knowledge comes at a price, Corwin. And while I’m sure young Mr. Fortunato could eventually find what he’s looking for, time is not a currency you possess in abundance.”
“You want protection for a bunch of assholes who were going to shoot up a school. No deal. We can find the info within hours. A day or two on the outside.” Dr. C came around his desk and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. “Right now, we have a crime scene to get to before the cops find it.”
“Saturday night,” Vortigern said as we all turned away from him. That stopped everyone in their tracks. “You do not have hours to waste, Corwin. Much less days.”
Dr. C’s jaw was clenched as he turned to face Vortigern. “Fine. Protection for five scumbags. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Six, Wizard Corwin. I may need that protection as well.”
“Six, then,” Dr. C said, and I saw his fist clench. “Now, the Rending. Short version.”
“The Rending is just as it advertises on the tin, as it were,” Vortigern said. “It is part of the Faustian Bargain. One night every thirteen times thirteen years when any Infernal agreement may be rendered null and void with no repercussions. Provided certain conditions are met.”
“And this is happening Saturday,” I added. Keeping my hands at my side was an act of sheer will.
“Roughly, yes,” Vortigern said. “And obviously, this Half Caste Chylde is part of those conditions. I would wager too that she is part of someone’s contract. So, you get her safely out of the picture, you guarantee the safety of countless other young blonde women at the same time.”
“And some demon gets screwed on a contract,” Lucas said. “You know, I’m not really seeing a down side here.”
“Except the part where a demon tries to rip our heads off to get her back,” I said.
“Dude, someone’s always trying to kill you or something,” Lucas countered. “How is this any different?”
“Dr. C, a little help here?”
“He’s not wrong,” my mentor said with a smile. “And it isn’t like you were going to say no anyway. Now, do you have anything on this Half-Caste Chylde?” All the humor left his voice at the last question.
“Half-caste would indicate that she is illegitimate, and a half-breed,” Vortigern said. “Normally, such a child would not be found among the cowan, and she certainly could not hope to hide among them. The physical differences alone would make anonymity impossible among them. Unless…”
“Vortigern,” Dr. C said, making his name sound like a warning.
“She may not be aware of what she is,” Vortigern said absently. “She may not have manifested any of the physical characteristics of her bloodline. And if she’s not manifested anything obvious at this late stage in her development, there is hope that she never will.”
“So, dumb question from the new guy here,” Lucas said. “How do they even know she’d be hiding out with the mundanes, anyway? Maybe she’s kicking back somewhere in the Hive or the Underground.”
“If she’s part of a contract, then they would have the blood of one of her parents on the agreement. They could use that to trace her indirectly. They could tell certain things in general, but nothing specific because she would be a step removed from the sympathetic bond they were using. Hair color, surroundings, things of that nature. So, gentlemen, I’ve more than fulfilled my end of things. I expect swift completion of your terms.”
“We’ll have something for you by the end of the night,” Dr. C growled. “Come on, boys. We’ve got a lot to do.”
The first thing on our list was heading to the actual crime scene that Lucas had scried out. Junkyard and Ren jumped into the Mustang while Lucas rode with Dr. C to navigate. I followed them south through town, until we hit the border where the Pittsburgh district ended and the old Joplin district started. Along the northwest edge, it was mostly old houses, neighborhoods with names like Oakview and Blue Creek, where none of the things they were named for had been since the Sixties. Once upon a time, they were nice homes, the kind of places couples without kids moved to in order to have them. But time and crime had slowly turned this area into an urban desert. Lawns tended more toward brown than green, and windows were often boarded up. Where plywood wasn’t doing double duty for glass, ragged blinds held sway, looking like a vertical version of a gap-toothed grin on either side, with drooping sections showing up in the middle in some windows. Small, lighter colored patches about the shape and size of bullet holes showed on some walls, and every window was covered in bars. Siding nearly doubled the value of a few homes, but mostly, the exteriors were wood, with paint peeling from them in strips. Graffiti marked several buildings, most of it gang tagging. In a neighborhood like this, though, a tag wasn’t just a territory marker. It was a warning. When cops’ response time was measured in hours, if not days, and other emergency services waited until after the cops cleared a scene, people turned to the only thing they had. In the Split, it was gangs like the Falcons and the Warlords.
Even with an arsenal of spells, my TK wand and my paintball gun loaded with explosive rounds, I found myself wanting to reach under the seat for the gun case that wasn’t there. The LeMat would have at least given me a little more intimidation power than the Ariakon. Still, the Warlords had a street shaman on their side. My magickal arsenal might be more than enough firepower.
And, I remembered as I got out of the Mustang, we had a wizard on our team. Ren buzzed into the air, and I heard my phone buzz as he called me. With a tap on the headpiece, he was in my ear. Beside me, Junkyard growled low in the back of his throat and his hackles came up.
“Okay, I think we’re there,” I said. “What say we go in the scary house and check it out?”
“We should split up, too,” Lucas said. “So we can cover more ground.”
“Only one problem with this scenario,” Dr. Corwin said, leading the way to the chain-link fence that surrounded the front yard. “You have an adult with you. So you’ll probably find nothing of interest and I’ll dismiss all your concerns and warnings until it’s too late.” He stopped at the gate and put his hand out, muttering something under his breath. A set of glowing red runes materialized in the air above the gate and at the other three sides of the property. “Or not.”
“Whoa,” Lucas breathed.
“Pop quiz time, boys,” Dr. C said. “What are we looking at here?”
“That big one is a standard anti-curse shield,” Lucas said. “The one to the right of it is a basic entry ward, but I can’t tell if it’s the fry-intruders-to-a-crisp kind or the more friendly barrier type. Not sure what that other one is.”
“It’s a neglenom spell,” I said. “Dr. C hasn’t shown us those runes. They’re illegal magick because they break the First Law.”
“Free will above all. This you shall not violate,” Lucas quoted. “So, how do we get in?”
“Sentinels would usually just ward up and kick the door in,” Dr. C said. “They don’t have to worry about things like pissed off bad guys showing up. Usually, they’re looking for a fight, anyway. But we need to be more subtle. Lasting runes like this are usually woven into the fabric of a structure, anchored to a wall or something. In this case, the fence. And like any security system that is on twenty-four seven, it needs a power source. All we need to do is find it.”
“And unplug it,” I said. “If the security system has no power, it can’t sound an alarm.”
“Watch and learn boys,” Dr. C said. A faint blue spot showed up on the barrier, and we watched as he probed the weave of the wards. After a couple of minutes, the probe moved along a particular strand that curved down into the ground. “There’s the power source. Now, the trick is to sever it just outside the ward proper…” he said. He closed his eyes and moved his hands down an unseen line, then twisted them in opposite directions. The glowing wards faded and vanished.
“That’s the most complex warding we’ve seen in this whole case,” I said as Dr. Corwin opened the gate. “Do you think this grou
p might be the ones behind it all?”
“I think they might work for someone bigger,” he said as he ushered us in. “But without more to go on, I can’t begin to guess if they’re the Big Bad Wolf we’re looking for or not. So, let’s go find out.” We followed him up to the front door. With a wave of his wand and a few words, he had the locks open. He used the same spell I had at Truman to disable the electronic alarm system, and a few minutes later, we were standing inside the lair of a bunch of demon worshippers. The front room was no big surprise. Liquor bottles, needles, a few bongs and lots of takeout food boxes covered the mismatched couches and bare mattress that were set around the electric altar of three television screens. The one on the far left had multiple game systems attached to it, and it seemed to be the cleanest part of the room. The middle one was showing a soap opera on mute, and the one on the right displayed the title screen for “Spring Break Sluts XV.”
“Obviously the masterminds behind this whole thing,” Lucas said, his tone dry enough to make me thirsty. Beside me, Junkyard sneezed, but he didn’t seem to be focused on anything in particular. My nose was assaulted by the combination of stale smoke, spilled booze, body odor and spoiled food. If it was bad for me, I could just imagine what Junkyard’s much stronger sense of smell was being hit with.
“Ren, what does it look like out there?” I asked.
“It’s a wasteland out here,” he said over the earpiece. “No fae of any kind; nothing wants to be here. Even the strays would be somewhere else if they thought it was any different. No one is moving on your position. Hell, no one seems that interested, outside of a few guys eyeing your vehicles.”
“Understood.”
“Okay, we clear this place one room at a time, then we do a more thorough sweep,” Dr. C said. He drew his wand, and I slipped on the gauntlet and drew mine, while Lucas pulled his paintball gun. The first room off the living room was the kitchen. The mess from the living room spilled over into this room part way, with an overflowing trash can and a table covered in partially eaten food.
The garage was a bit of a surprise. Made for one car, it was dominated by a workbench that took up one wall. Storage shelves were built high on the back wall, and a small summoning circle had been painted onto the floor near the main door, which had been insulated and blacked out with spray paint over the windows. It was more of what we expected, but it still wasn’t a crime scene.
That was waiting for us in the master bedroom. A set of hooks and pulleys set in the ceiling were fitted with bloody ropes, and gore streaked the walls in broad swaths. Even without opening my senses, I could feel the residual aura of pain and despair the girl’s death had left in this room. My stomach went sour at the sensation, and Lucas’s face went a shade lighter. The carpet had been pulled up and the floor sanded down to paint another, bigger circle in the room, this one in a brown substance that didn’t require much guesswork.
“I’m sorry, Lucas,” Dr. C said, his voice tired and beyond sad.
“What for?” Lucas asked.
“Because I knew you’d find exactly what we were looking for. And I asked you to do it anyway.”
“It needed doing sir,” Lucas said after a moment’s silence. “And I need to see this kind of thing. Even if I don’t like it much.”
“Maybe so. It still doesn’t sit easy with me. Okay, let’s check the other bedrooms out and get the hell out of this place.” The next bedroom only had a couple of twin mattresses on the floor. Discarded condom boxes littered the floor, and clothes were tangled up in the sheets and blankets that lay on the bedding.
“I sure as Hell wouldn’t want to see this room under Luminol and a blacklight,” Lucas said. I shuddered at the image that left, then we followed Dr. C to the last room. The door was locked and warded.
“Well, this is different,” Dr. Corwin said. He pulled his wand and dismantled the ward at the power source before he opened the flimsy lock. The room beyond was almost a shock after everything else we’d seen. An old roll top desk sat against the far wall, with a low bookshelf set beside it. We stepped in and saw a narrow cot against the wall closest to the door, and three milk crates doubling as drawers beneath it. Thick, leather bound books lined the lower shelf of the bookcase, with more modern looking works on the upper level. The desk was neat and organized, with nothing left on its surface. But the drawers had locks on them. Shiny, new locks that weren’t nearly as old as the desk. A quick glance at it with my Third Eye told me the locks weren’t the only defenses on the desk.
“Desk is locked and warded, sir,” I said.
“Then it’s time you learned how to defeat a tapped ward,” Dr. C said. He flicked his fingers at the desk, and the wards showed up as glowing red symbols. “Oh, they’re all linked. How disappointing. You only have to unplug one power line. Now, I’ve been running from the inside out. But finding the power tap outside the wards is easier. We’ll start with that. Do you see where it’s tapped into the earth?” I concentrated, and sure enough, I found a tendril of energy that snaked down from the wards and slithered into the ground.
“I see it,” I said.
“Follow it down a little and close it off.” I followed his instructions and felt a little jolt when I shut the tap line down.
“That was too easy.”
“It was sloppy spell work, that’s what it was,” Dr. C said. “Most demon work is. The assumption is that anyone who might trip the ward doesn’t know the first thing about magick. But a good ward will have a reserve battery set up so that it will alert you when its power source is cut off. That way it doesn’t shut down right away. The really subtle ones lay dormant and don’t drop a tap line until they have to. By then, whoever set it off has other problems. So, let’s go through this guy’s drawers, shall we?”
“Holy invasion of privacy, Batman,” Lucas said. We started on the bottom drawers, and if I was over twenty-one, I would have counted myself a pretty lucky guy. A crystal bottle of something amber rested next to two glasses. Very little else went in that drawer, and I gave whoever it was points for a little style. The middle drawer held a stack of folders, each one with a name on it, and a picture paper-clipped inside it. Each one had a profile sheet, and below that, a gray sheet signed in blood. My fingers tingled unpleasantly when I touched the gray page.
“Infernal contracts,” I muttered, and my eyes automatically went to the other party’s name. I let out a low whistle and handed the folders to Dr. C. “and check out who they’re with.” He glanced at the page, then looked up at me.
“That changes things a little,” he said as he tucked a slim tome into his messenger bag. This place was going to be crawling with cops soon, and if I had my guess right, he’d just snatched the groups summoning book. The one thing the Conclave didn’t want getting entered into evidence. He slid the folders in beside the book. “Okay, time to go. We have miles to go before we sleep.”
“What else do we have to do?” I asked.
“We still need to ask the Sentinels to protect Vortigern’s clients,” Dr. C said.
“Can’t you just make a phone call?” Lucas asked.
“That isn’t the kind of request one makes by phone. But hey, you get to see New York and be home by curfew. How cool is that?”
Chapter 7
~ Sometimes, the safest places are also the most dangerous. ~ Killian Moon, mage & gothi to the Branson pack
“When he said we’d get to see New York,” Lucas said, “I didn’t think he was being quite so literal.” We stood looking out over Central Park from a lot of stories up. And as far as we knew, this was as close as we were going to get to anything. Behind us, the Council transit ring was spinning down and folding itself back into the floor. New York City was a brilliant carpet of light, and Central Park, an oasis of darkness sprinkled with a few sparkling gems. An irregular shaped pond reflected the indigo of the night sky, and a soft haze reached upward from the horizon, as if warding against the darkness of the rest of the world. It was beautiful but alien, and
for all that we might be able to experience it, it might as well be on the other side of the world.
“I was hoping to get a real New York hot dog,” I said. Beside me, Junkyard’s tail swished across the floor at the mention of food.
“Maybe next time,” Dr. Corwin said from behind me. “Come on. It’s easier if you don’t dwell on it.”
“Easier said than done,” Lucas muttered. I chuckled and checked out the room behind us in the reflection against the glass. People stood around in suits and designer clothes, all looking like they’d just stepped out of the tanning salon after getting their hair styled just so. Gem bedecked staves decorated several hands, though in one case, stave and owner didn’t touch, but moved in unison. By comparison, Lucas, Dr. C and I were all still in our gear, with holsters riding low on one thigh and a pouch on the opposite hip. In my case, I also had the combat gauntlet still wrapped around my left forearm. We turned and walked into the crowd, looking like fighter pilots or soldiers at a ball.
“Aw, look, the mother Sentinel is leading her two cubs out on their first hunt,” a young man in a pale green polo shirt said when we drew even with the group around him. “Here we see the baby Sentinel playing make-believe, trying to pretend that his mutt is actually a real familiar.” Laughter rose from the crowd around Polo Shirt guy, and Junkyard gave a low growl.
“Hey, baby Sentinel,” a kid beside the first guy called out. I looked over at Lucas and snorted in mock amusement. “Hey, wanna-be, I’m talking to you!” A hand landed on my shoulder, and I willed my arms to relax as someone spun me around. This was not the place to dislocate a shoulder or break and elbow.
“I said I’m talking to you, scrub!” A darker haired guy in a pale blue button-down shirt and khaki shorts looked down at me from a solid inch of height advantage.
“I heard you,” I replied, tilting my head forward slightly. “I just don’t care.”
“Who’s your Master?” Button Down guy asked. “I’m going to make sure he hears about this.”