Now that it was forbidden, the itch to cast was all the more tempting. I really didn’t care what the council said. If my life was in danger, I was going to use magic to protect myself, period.
I hopped on my scooter, sans Dude, wishing I drove a loud-ass Harley Davidson, which would announce my anger with its obnoxious engine. Instead I tried to peel out with the scooter. The result was a sad whine and small puff of dust.
I drove aimlessly. What was I supposed to do now? I had a demon after me, trying to get me to lower the spell shield, and I was forbidden to use magic. And what horrors would Azazel unleash on Boston if the shield was lowered? I didn’t want to know. The fact that he was trying meant that he’d probably amassed an army large enough to take the city. Yet, Azazel hadn’t destroyed the cities in my dreams, he had corrupted them—as he was trying to do to me. It would be egotistical to assume I was the only one he was trying to manipulate. He must be working others as well. How long would it take one of his fish to bite?
I needed to talk to my old Demonology teacher…Father Killroy.
I hung a quick U-ey and headed for Trinity Church. As pissed as I was at Killroy, I needed him now more than ever. Our personal differences could be addressed after the corruptor of man was dealt with. Hopefully, the father had something up his holy sleeve that could weed out those under the demonic influence.
I arrived at Trinity and went through the back. Killroy seemed to have been coming out.
“Rezner!” he said, with surprise. “I was hoping you would come. We’ve so much to talk about. I—”
“No time for bromance, Father. Azazel is trying to influence me through my dreams. I believe he’s trying to get someone to lower the spell shield.”
Father Killroy’s eyes fell and jumped around in deep thought. “This is grave…hurry, come in.”
He ushered me inside and led me to his office in silence. I sat across from him at his massive wooden desk while he kneaded his big, gnarled hands together.
“He says he has your sister?” he asked, finally.
“Yup, and he was after the children of the Cain the other day—he didn’t care about the regular kids.”
“True.” He nodded absently, his eyes locked on some spot on the desk.
I leaned in as if divulging a secret. I couldn’t shake the feeling that Azazel could hear my every word…my every thought. “Father, if he’s successful in lowering the spell shield, who knows what hell will be wrought?”
Killroy nodded gravely. He looked like a man who needed a drink.
“Is there any way we can discover who he is influencing?” I asked.
He shook his head. “In a city so large? That’s a tall order. There are prayers, holy incantations, but I have never used them on such a grand scale.”
“I don’t think we have to worry about the whole city,” I told him, “just the Wizard and Witch Councils—anyone who has access to the Temple of Light.”
“Rezner, there are hundreds of witches and wizards in Boston!”
I shrugged. “It’s better than having to search the entire city.”
“Well, why not just go to the council with this information?”
A laugh escaped me. “Good idea. I’ll go to the council and tell them a demon told me in a dream he wanted me to lower the spell shield, and that others among them might be so influenced. Likely, it even is one of them.”
“Well when you put it that way…” He sighed. “I’ll get to work at trying to find something that might help.”
“A half a truth is often a great lie,” said Old Ben, suddenly appearing beside Killroy’s desk.
I jumped, startled. “Jesus, Ben!”
He cocked an eyebrow and added, “A lie stands on one leg, truth on two.”
“All right, I get it.”
I threw him a scowl and turned back to Father Killroy, who regarded me as if I had just proclaimed that I liked putting candles in my ass.
A thought struck me—“Clive!”
“Who?”
“The doorman, at the Temple of Light. He sees everybody who comes and goes. If you could create something for him to use…”
“Perhaps.” Killroy nodded. “Or he’ll tell the council everything. That seems like something a security officer would share.”
“I’m not asking him to do anything against the council.”
“It’s deception, nonetheless.”
Old Ben nodded. He looked like he had something on his mind. I didn’t know where he had been; he comes and goes in the blink of an eye. His reaction to Azazel’s name, back in my apartment, had been uncharacteristic. Considering what he had done to help against the demon last week, I was hoping he would have answers—though they would come as quote-riddles.
“It’s all I can think of,” I told them both. “If either of you have a better idea, feel free to share.”
“Either of us?” Killroy looked concerned.
Yeah, Father, not only do I see demons in my sleep, I talk to a ghost all the time.
He must have thought I was out of my freaking mind—I would have.
I shrugged. “You know what I mean.”
“Son—”
Yup, he thinks I’m nuts.
“Are you still seeing the Ghost of Ben Franklin?” he asked.
“Gimme a break, Father. You know ghosts exist.”
“Yes, but they can’t communicate to the living.”
“They’re not Old Ben. The Wizard Council is named after him, for Christ…mas sake. He was one of the most powerful wizards who ever lived. Is it really such a leap of faith?”
“I don’t know, Rezner…I guess not. It’s just…the world has changed so much in the last seven years—wizards, witches, vampires, ghosts. I’ve just begun to understand my own powers.”
“I hear ya, Father.”
I returned to my apartment around noon, hungry as hell. I should’ve picked up something from the soup kitchens on my way home, but Mushi was supposed to meet me at twelve. As I walked up the steps I noticed an envelope wedged in the door, above the knob. I turned and scoured the street—nobody. Hesitantly, I opened the nondescript envelope. A single piece of paper was within. Glancing around once more, I unfolded it.
Rezner,
We must speak. Meet me at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum at midnight.
-M. S.
PS: Drop this letter.
I stared at the post script.
Huh?
The note burst into flames, slightly burning my hand.
Sonofabitch!
I shook it off and looked around once more. Some kid with a bicycle stood in the middle of the street, staring at me.
I laughed nervously. “Faulty lighter…uh, don’t smoke.” I smiled and quickly slipped into my apartment.
Who the hell is M. S.? I wondered. Melody Stone? Maybe she wanted a piece of the Rez…we had hit it off pretty good at Fracco’s.
I grabbed the bread and peanut butter Killroy brought the other day and plopped down on the couch wondering where Dude was—he loved peanut butter—then I remembered.
Memories of Dude’s crazy escapades played in my mind and my eyes blurred. I lathered the spread over my crusty bread like a broken-hearted schoolgirl and ate my feelings.
“Yo, Roundeye!” Mushiro was at the door.
“Momb ign ere!” I said with a mouthful.
Mushi came into the living room, mocking caution and concern. “Rez, man, you speakin’ in tongues?”
I pointed at my mouth as he plopped down on the recliner. “Beenut budda.”
“Where’s Dude?”
I finished chewing and swallowed. “At Harvard, supposedly. They took him, and suspended me indefinitely.”
“You serious, man? That’s bullshit. How about Kronos? They give him anything for casting against you in public?”
I shrugged. “They said he would be punished accordingly, or some such bullshit.”
“Yeah, punished my ass. They aren’t gonna do nothing to him. Ima
gine you or I did that? We be up shit creek with one paddle.”
“It’s without a paddle, Johnny.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.”
I went to the kitchen and grabbed two warm beers, my last two, and made a mental note to grab some on my next trip out. Going against a demon like Azazel was bad enough, but without beer? No thanks.
I sat back down and handed Mushi a warm one.
“How long you think?” he asked.
“I dunno. Elder Wizard Maximillian said indefinitely, whatever that means.”
“Means they say jump, you jump.”
“And what about you, Mushiro? What if you’re told to leave kids behind again?”
He didn’t answer. He had stayed behind with me, but never protested or moved against Kronos. If I hadn’t said anything, would he have? Was everyone who left the children behind evil? Or was I the oddball? The city had voted on the law, after all.
He finally answered. “It’s a tough one, Rez…what if the Cain do have a disease or something?”
“You mean like the one we were all immune to?”
My sarcasm was apparent.
The possible disease theory was an oft-used cop-out. The city’s remaining doctors could test them and find out, but of course that never happened. It didn’t really matter. The idea that the Cain were tainted was already embedded in the minds of the Witnesses. Seven years had passed since the Culling, therefore the youngest a Cain child could be was seven years old. In a decade they would all be adults, and no one would know which of them had voluntarily drunk the blood of the dying to live. Furthermore, the Cain adults were rumored to still be able to reproduce, and their children were born normal—that is to say, they had no red stain about their mouths.
“I think Melody wants to meet with me tonight,” I said, changing the subject.
Mushi’s eyes lit up. “Really? After what she said last night?”
“What’d she say?”
“You were in bathroom—I asked if she was into you.”
“And…”
“Well, at first she just smiled, but then she laughed. Said, ‘Wizards and witches don’t mix.’”
“Seriously?” I was deflated.
“Yeah, sorry, bro. What makes you think she wants to see you?”
“There was a note in my door. It said ‘Meet me at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum at midnight.’ It was signed M. S.”
“M. S., like Melody Stone...” He seemed to reconsider the possibility and then said, “I don’t know…maybe she changed her mind.”
“Maybe it’s a trap,” I said.
“You want some backup? If it is a trap, you can’t use magic.”
I laughed at that. “If someone is trying to kill me, I’ll defend myself, regardless of the council’s suspension.”
“Maybe someone is setting you up to use magic to get you in more trouble—someone like Kronos.”
I thought about that for a moment. “No, doesn’t sound right. Kronos is an asshole, but he isn’t petty. Besides, he spent all that time training me—why would he try and ruin me?”
“He hates you.”
“True, but only because I’ve given him so much slack.”
“Yeah.” Mushi laughed. “You’re a pain in the ass.”
“Thanks. You hungry?”
“Always.” He smiled. “You wanna see what they got at soup kitchen today?”
I eyed the peanut butter. It wasn’t really doing much for me, so we headed out.
Chapter 15
M. S.
At 11:30 p.m. that night, Mushiro and I headed to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum. I wanted to arrive early to get a good look at the meeting place before anyone showed up. I couldn’t use magic, but no one said anything about guns. I stashed a pistol in the small of my back before leaving. Ben hadn’t shown since earlier at Trinity Church. I hoped he would—he makes an excellent spy.
We cut out the scooter motors a few blocks from the church and walked the rest of the way. The night was warm and a soft breeze blew at our backs. The stars twinkled brightly. Seen through the spell shield, they sparkled like multicolored gems in the sky. The shield itself resembled the aurora borealis. Flares of purples, oranges, and blues arched and curled in on themselves—it was a hippie’s dream.
Mushiro opened his spell book, recited an incantation, and reached a clawed hand toward the museum as we approached.
“What you got?” I asked.
Mushi stopped and focused on something unseen. His brow furled, and he looked to be listening intently. The spell was one of detection. It enhanced the caster’s innate ability to sense magic.
“Nothing, Rez.”
The news didn’t ease my paranoia. If anything, the lack of any sort of magic made me apprehensive. Melody wanting to meet me here was strange enough, but what was the big secret? If it was Melody, it reasoned that some residual magical energy would be detected by Mushi. But if not Melody, then who? The letter had gone up in flames after I read it, which suggested a magical messenger. Was this a woman’s idea of romantic mystical intrigue?
We approached the museum and ducked around a corner to scope it out. I checked my pocket watch—eleven thirty. The streets were quiet…too quiet. Or maybe it was just my nerves. I hadn’t gone without magic in the two years I had been using it. Now I felt as naked as a turtle without a shell. Mushiro and I casually walked around the perimeter of the museum. It was one of the many public buildings that was still kept up. After the Culling, priceless paintings, books, furniture, and statues had been removed from places like this and were now kept in secure vaults. The only things of interest that remained in the museum were the gardens, which were open to the public twenty-four seven.
Mushiro took out his spell book and recited the incantation again, raising his hand to the back of the building.
“I don’t know, Rez. If there is anything, it’s too faint to get a lock on.”
“What do you mean, if?”
Mushi scrunched up his face. He looked frustrated. “I thought I sensed something, but when I tried to focus, it went away.”
“All right, you keep a lookout and give a holler if you see anything. I’m going in.”
“Careful, Rez.”
“You too.”
I entered the greeting area where, back in the day, one would pay before venturing into the main building. Signs pointed to the library and children’s section downstairs. Behind me, a metal stairway led to the upper floor. Turning, I scanned what used to be the museum’s restaurant. Quietly, I ventured down a hallway where the walls gave way to old stone. The place felt like a tomb. Where once had sat a great collection of humanity’s achievements and history, now only shadows remained. To my left, a hall ran the length of the gardens. To my right, the stone wall led on for twenty feet before opening up to rooms where once sat half-ruined statues from all over the world.
I stayed to the right in the deeper shadows near the outer wall. The place smelled of damp stone with a hint of flowers. To my left, the gardens came into view beyond the arches and pillars of masonry. Nothing moved.
The gardens took up the entire center of the building—a big rectangle adorned with lush vegetation and impressive pillars randomly scattered about well-kept walkways of loose stone. Directly above, four stories up, was a ceiling of frosted glass. The place reminded me of an old castle with a courtyard.
Standing in the shadows in the open first level, I could make out twin staircases with curved banisters leading to a dark doorway arched in pillars, shaped by the hands of masons long ago. I reached for my pistol and found some comfort in its weight.
Five arches lined each of the four walls of the garden’s ground floor. Above those, on the next floor, sat large open windows with short stone railings. These were arched as well, but with a different design that reminded me of gothic church windows. The same design was mimicked by the third and fourth floors. Staring up at the glass ceiling above, the gardens gave the illusion
of being on the outside of four buildings rather than inside one large one.
I needed to get to higher ground since the multitude of archways looking out over the gardens offered too many shadows. I reached the far wall and took the wide stair up to the second level as quietly as possible. When I reached the top, I stopped and listened to the silence. Looking down the dark hall, I thought I saw something move on my right. Whoever left me the note knew I was here—no point in stealth.
“Melody, that you?
No answer came.
This whole business with Azazel had made me paranoid. Had I been seeing things? I had an overwhelming urge to use magic. The spell to enhance my sight and hearing teetered on the tip of my tongue. If I were to cast, the council would probably know instantly. They were likely monitoring me with the same spell they used at Harvard to ensure apprentices didn’t try mental casting without supervision.
I went in the opposite direction of the movement I had seen. Taking this route, maybe I could intercept whoever was playing games with me. If this was a trap, I wasn’t about to follow my attacker. I went left through long, empty rooms. The first, a high-ceilinged chamber with a spiraling floor design, offered no secrets. I continued on to the next and walked to one of the small balconies overlooking the gardens. Below, the stonework at the center of the garden shone brightly in the moonlight spilling in through the frosted glass. I scanned the shadows among the pillars and tall plants—nothing. I was beginning to get a bad feeling. If Melody had sent the note, why would she play cat and mouse? I figured maybe she didn’t know I was restricted from using magic, and was expecting me to find her with it.
Afterworld (The Orion Rezner Chronicles Book 1) Page 12