Got Luck

by Michael Darling

  Béil smiled and snapped her fingers. All the women, except her, were now Erin. A dozen of her.

  “No,” I said.

  She gestured again and I was standing knee-deep in gold. There were coins and bars and chains and cups and knives and crowns. The women changed to high-ranking nobles of various courts. They were all in their finest dress and they were applauding me and shouting my praises.

  “Bravo, Prince Goethe!”

  “Well done, your highness!”

  “Congratulations!”

  “Not even close,” I said.

  Béil stepped up to me and waved her arms some more.

  We were suddenly on a mountain peak. McKinley. I was holding Béil in my arms. The air around us was thin and crisp and invigorating. The afternoon sun brilliantly lit the snow and rock where we stood. In the distance, far below, the pines were dense with fragrant shade. In my heart, I was content. All the people I knew and loved were happy and well-cared for. I knew no worry. I had no conflict to disturb my heart. I knew that all was well.

  I had no idea how she could make me feel these things. Magic Prozac? She was getting closer.

  “Enough,” I said.

  With a disgusted twist upon her lips, she snapped her fingers and we were back in her kitchen.

  “Thank goodness,” I said. “The pancakes aren’t burning.”

  She pushed me away and waved her hand and the food disappeared.

  “Stupid Halfling. I can give you whatever you want,” Béil said. “You only need to name it and I will make it real.”

  “The price is too high,” I replied.

  “Idiot,” she snapped. “You’ll be waking up soon. There will be unbearable pain. You have been sedated for hours now and the moon is about to rise. Caimiléir is nearly finished with the ritual and he will want you to be awake to witness the end. Fáidh has been unable to teach you what you need to overcome him. You won’t be able to stop him from summoning the deamhan.

  “Then you will die and Fáidh will die and the other women will die. The deamhan will emerge and lay waste to the land you hold dear. Caimiléir will let it kill thousands of the mortal herd you care so much about before returning it to the Deamhan realm. Caimiléir will have made his stand, and mortal belief will make him more powerful than the Alder King. He will reign over both realms with death and terror. All because you are stupid.”

  I tried to remain unmoved by her plea. It wasn’t easy.

  I said, “Do you know all this for a fact? Or are you guessing? You must answer honestly.”

  Her expression fairly curdled with sourness. She didn’t answer directly. “With my help, you stand a far better chance of prevailing,” she replied. “Without my help, you are almost guaranteed to fail. And I cannot understand your stubborn refusal to let me help.”

  “At least that was honest,” I said wryly. “In exchange for your help, I must take you as my courtesan then. And you need to be present when the deamhan is defeated so that you can claim a share of the glory. And you want to kill Caimiléir as well. Is that it?”

  Béil was growing petulant again. She didn’t want to answer. I looked at her with a stone face and waited. Finally, she said, “Most of it.”

  “Well, I don’t really want a courtesan. I couldn’t care less about who gets credit for ending the deamhan. Or stopping Caimiléir. But what’s so almighty important? You need this so much. What else is there?”

  She turned her back on me then. “I can’t say,” she replied flatly.

  “Can’t? Or won’t?”

  There was no further reply forthcoming it seemed. She held her tongue for a full minute. I decided she couldn’t tell me after all.

  I groaned. Something was happening to me. I was starting to hurt. I bent over, putting my hands on my knees as my breathing grew short.

  “You’re waking up,” Béil said. Her voice was suddenly tense and urgent. “You have to summon me. As soon as the deamhan appears, trace a circle on the ground and say my name. Say ‘Béil, I summon thee’ three times. It’ll even work in English. I’ll hear you and do the rest. Remember! Three times! Summon me! Summon me!”

  I was consumed by the white light. It ran through my body, filling me with pain. Then the light went out and all was blackness.

  I gasped.

  I opened my eyes.

  I saw only darkness.

  I couldn’t move.

  I felt my eyes close and open again.

  I saw only blackness.

  I heard a voice.

  I tried to breathe but it hurt.

  I tried to move my hands.

  I tried to move my feet.

  So much pain.

  It felt like my arms and legs were restrained and something covered my eyes. I took short breaths and suddenly coughed. A wellspring of new agony came up through my chest. I had broken ribs. Again.

  Something was going on at the back of my head. Someone untied the blindfold that was covering my eyes and then I could see. There was a wall of concrete in front of me. Or rather, a concrete floor. I realized I was lying face down looking at the ground. I saw a pair of shoes. Expensive.

  “Welcome back,” said a voice.

  Lonnie MacPherson. Son of a monkey.

  I was about to attempt a smart-aleck reply when he pushed on my ribs and another wave of pain flourished along my side.

  While I groaned, MacPherson started holding things in front of my face where I could see them.

  He had my shield coin along with the medallion for healing and the Kris-shaped silver piece from Amad’s serpent. “Found those on you,” he said. He put them in his pocket. Then he showed me my flashlight. And my gun. “You won’t need these anymore,” he said. He kept those too.

  Next, he dropped a stun gun on the floor where it clattered.

  “These things are beautiful. The electrical charge goes right through magic shields. Did you know?”

  An empty hypodermic landed on the floor beside the stun gun.

  “This little number kept you out for the last twelve hours. While our friend Amad and I made final preparations.”

  He leaned into my side again. I groaned again and hated the sound. Hated giving my tormentor any satisfaction.

  When he eased up, I said, “Pretty brave. Beating a man who’s unconscious. What do you do for an encore? Pull the wings off butterflies?”

  He didn’t attack me again, although I expected him to.

  “We did a lot more than beat you up,” MacPherson said. There was certain gleeful malevolence to his voice. “This will be payback for coming to my office. Embarrassing me in front of my employees.”

  “Yeah? How about you help me up and see if I can embarrass you again?”

  MacPherson actually laughed at me, but there was no mirth in his voice at all. I was lying on a table of some kind and it rotated. MacPherson unlocked it and pivoted the table so I was upright and able to face him. My weight shifted and the pain was enough that I wanted to pass out.

  “Tell me, Mr. Luck, have you ever had a tattoo?”

  A shaft of cold plunged into the center of my being. It wasn’t hard to guess where this was going.

  “Your luck has finally run out, Luck. We didn’t have time to give you the full treatment, with the needle, but we’ve found that a painted tattoo works just as well. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

  Of course I did.

  “You think you can control me?” I snapped. “Like you controlled the Tongan?”

  “I know I can. Works every time. So the only way you’re going to do anything to embarrass me is if I tell you to.”

  Bits of information clicked in my head like magnets rolling together. When assembled, they formed a complete and terrible truth.

  “You made her kill him.” It was a statement of fact and I could hear
the sadness in my own words. “You forced your own daughter to kill her husband.”

  He didn’t deny it. He didn’t expect I’d live long enough for him to be worried.

  “Like I said, works every time.” All smiles. He was actually proud of it.

  “You’re a spineless coward and a sycophant,” I said. “The magic comes from Caimiléir and you can’t take any of the credit for that. You’re a sadist, but all you can do when faced with actual killing is try not to pee your pants. You can neither create nor destroy. You’re nothing more than a parasite.”

  I was finally getting to him. His jaws were clenched along with his fists, and his eyes were starting to bug.

  “I made all of this possible,” he said, insistent.

  “Sure, you provided a location. You have people who can build for you. And you’re willing to let your daughter be used. You’re a tool, in every sorry sense of the word.”

  MacPherson was losing it. He wanted to hit me. I could feel it. I was trying to get my arms out but it was slow going. Every movement hurt and I was nowhere close to being free. If I could get him close enough, I could hit him with my patented, clock-stopping head butt. That would hurt both of us, but if I could knock him out, I could get away.

  He fumed, “I have made important contributions here.” He said each word slowly, emphasizing each one, spitting out the syllables. “I will have a throne at his side.”

  “Is that what he promised you? Your own little corner of the new kingdom? Don’t kid yourself. Duke MacPherson? What a joke. Duke MacDumbdumb is more like it.”

  MacPherson’s face was red, and veins stood out on his neck like worms under the skin.

  I kept on him. “As his personal tool, he’ll discard you the moment he doesn’t need you. As soon as he’s done blowing his nose on you, he’ll flush you like the used-up wad that you are.”

  “You’re dead,” he spat at me.

  “Maybe, but not by you, limp noodle. You don’t have the spine to kill me. You only do what Caimiléir tells you.”

  He pulled back to punch me. I wasn’t free yet but my shoulders were loose enough I could dodge and maybe—

  “Stop.”

  Dammit. The command came from the shadowy corner of the room.

  “Calm down, Lonnie. He’s provoking you.”

  MacPherson backed off. He lowered his fists and looked at the floor like a kid caught stealing candy from his baby brother.

  “See that?” I said. “You just did what he said. You proved my point and you’re too blind to see it.”

  Caimiléir slowly walked into the light. He looked tired. There were dark circles under his eyes and his hair had lost its usual perkiness, sitting on his head like a wet poodle. He was far removed from the limping and hesitant man I’d first met. Now he looked very dangerous and very much in charge.

  “How are we feeling, Mr. Luck?”

  We are feeling like crap.

  “Hey, Lonnie,” I said instead. “Remember that day in your office? When I told you there would come a time you’d wish you’d done the right thing. It’s almost here, pal. Won’t be long now.”

  MacPherson backed farther away as Caimiléir walked up to me. There was a look in his eyes that was part pit bull, part inmate, and entirely psychotic.

  “Been busy?” I asked.

  “Mr. MacPherson,” he said, ignoring me. “It’s almost time.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chamber of the Jeweled Gate

  The next part was quick and simple. Like lopping the head off a fish or snapping the neck of a chicken.

  Caimiléir touched the top of my spine. I instantly felt a tingle of power as he activated the design I knew was there. A trembling wave of shock swept through me, like a bucketful of cold water.

  “Obey me,” Caimiléir said.

  I felt my will leaving me. I tried to hold onto it. I needed to maintain control.

  “Stand still. Don’t move.”

  I did what I was told.

  Caimiléir gently undid the restraints. I was surprised that he was so careful about it.

  “Are you in pain?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Mr. MacPherson can be very enthusiastic about pain. However, you are not to be killed. Lonnie, do you understand?”

  “No, I don’t,” he replied.

  Caimiléir sighed. “We need a witness to carry word of our victory to his father, the King. He will tell the Alder King that you, Mr. MacPherson, a mortal, were instrumental in completing our mission. Having those words coming from his own son will be exquisitely embarrassing, don’t you think?”

  MacPherson grinned. Caimiléir certainly knew how to motivate his minions. I wasn’t worried about MacPherson killing me anyway. He didn’t have the manhood.

  Caimiléir finished with the last buckle. I was freed from the physical bonds that had held me and able to move at last. But I hadn’t been told to do so.

  “Walk with us,” Caimiléir said smoothly. “You may not speak.”

  In silence and suffering I walked behind Caimiléir. MacPherson followed after me, an oily and smug presence. With my hands free now, I wanted to wrap my fingers around his pathetic neck and squeeze the life out of him.

  But I couldn’t. Not now.

  We walked down a hallway which turned a corner and emerged into the craziest room I’d ever seen. It was far more vast than the fake structure at the surface indicated. There were sections of the floor that were elevated or just had concrete slabs laying on the floor. The main area was enormous, like one football field laid at a right angle on top of another in a cross. The center of the room was dominated by a deep pool of water. In the center of the pool was an elevated dais of concrete. The diameter of the circle must have been fifty feet across. This was where the Jeweled Gate had been inscribed. There were five layers to the gate. Four of them were already glowing black. Sickly purple lights, like a stack of bruises, emanated from these layers, and even though the top of the slab was solid, each ring appeared to penetrate deeper level-by-level into the concrete. Reaching down to the Deamhan realm.

  The designs were even more intricate than pictured in the illustration Keeper had shown us. Each ring had its own filigree pattern. Each successive ring added to the complexity and beauty of the whole. At the same time, the potential it represented was terrifying.

  We passed over a threshold, and I suddenly felt the heat of the room. There had to be a ward of some kind. A ward that kept the heat inside. The air was dank and foul and stifling and swampy, and I understood now why Caimiléir was so disheveled. He had been working in this room for almost twenty-four hours under conditions that rivaled the worst jungles I’d seen. There was a definite rhythmic thrum here as well, like a thousand bass drums played in unison as a dirge. With each beat, one of the rings pulsed with purple illness. Every fifth beat was quiet because the final ring was dormant still.

  The height of the room was also surprising. The roof overhead—the underside of the structure at the surface—was at least five or six stories up. Six massive columns, surrounding the pool, supported the ceiling. Runes were carved into the concrete along with scenes of deamhans cavorting under the moon. The water in the pool had to be from the natural groundwater here, and MacPherson must have worked hard to build a place where the water could be controlled and channeled toward some purpose I didn’t yet fathom.

  I didn’t see Erin or the other women.

  I did see a whole lot of diamonds. The outer edge of the gate was overwhelming; brilliantly dazzling with a circle of diamonds completely surrounding it. The band of diamonds was six inches wide. It captured the light in the room and fractured it into zillions of sparkling colored lights.

  There are billions of dollars on the floor. Trillions.

  I couldn’t help thinking it. And then I couldn’t help that it bothere
d me because I was fueling the strength of the ring and Caimiléir’s plan by giving a new measure of belief in the value of all those tiny stones.

  An engine of evil driven by innocent faith.

  More diamonds waited on a nearby platform in an oversized concrete receptacle that would keep them from spilling into the swamp. There were so many it would take a lot of shoveling to move them.

  How many carats are in a shovelful?

  “Tell me, what do you think?” Caimiléir asked.

  I felt a tingle on the back of my neck and the compulsion to reply.

  “You’re cutting out the burning heart of the world and breaking it into a million little pieces,” I said.

  Holy crap. The heat and pain must be getting to me.

  “Very poetic, Prince Luck,” Caimiléir returned. He gave me the slow applause. One. Two. Three. Four. In time with the thrumming of power in the room. “It has taken more than fifty years for me to collect the fortune you see before you. A few stones at a time, here and there, from my realm and yours, to avoid attracting attention. Until it was time. And I knew I would be successful. I knew this day would come. I’m a very, very, very patient man.”

  “Six years building this place,” MacPherson said. “Millions of my own money. That’s what I’ve put into it.”

  Atta boy, Lon. Make sure you get your slice.

  Sweat was running down my face and into my eyes. The stinging made me want to wipe the perspiration away, but I couldn’t do that without permission from my captors. I couldn’t even ask if it was all right to move.

  “It’s time to reunite you with your friends, Mr. Luck,” Caimiléir said. He strode lightly to the receptacle of diamonds. He was so elated his limp was almost non-existent now. He waved his hand over the stones and released a little trickle of power. Light flared up from the stones. Scraping, concrete slabs moved under unseen forces, revealing an oubliette deep within the floor. Finally, I heard women’s voices. More scraping. The floor itself was rising, bringing the women up from the dank, musty hole beneath the concrete slabs. The women had been in the dark for hours. Brandy and Carlene were trying to see while protecting their eyes from the sudden change in light by putting their hands up over their brows and squinting. Caimiléir’s Stain encircled each of them. I could see plastic ties binding their wrists and ankles so they couldn’t fight or run. Their mouths had been gagged with pieces of cloth torn from their own dresses. They both made hoarse sounds that weren’t like any language I could recognize. They’d been screaming and they were traumatized and shaking. Their dresses were torn and ragged, and they were wilting from the heat and from crying.