Turn Coat

by Butcher, Jim

  “Emotional attitudes,” I said quietly. “You mean . . . her and me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because she always believed in keeping her distance,” I said quietly. “Until recently.”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “She . . . never cared about me.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “There had to have been some kind of foundation upon which to build. It’s entirely possible that she genuinely felt fond of you, and that something might have grown from it. But it was forced into place instead.”

  “Who would do that?” I shook my head. “No, that’s obvious. Why would he do that?”

  “To keep tabs on you, perhaps,” the Gatekeeper replied. “Perhaps to have an asset in position to remove you, if it became necessary. You were, after all, virtually the only younger Warden who never gave Peabody an opportunity to exploit you, since you never came to headquarters. You’re also probably the most talented and powerful of your generation. The other young Wardens like to associate with you, generally, so there was every chance you might notice something amiss. Taken as a whole, you were a threat to him.”

  I felt a little sick. “That’s why she showed up in Chicago when she should have been back at headquarters helping with the manhunt.”

  “Almost certainly,” he said. “To give Peabody forewarning if you should get closer to his trail, and to locate Morgan so that Peabody could make him disappear. Morgan dead at the hands of White Council justice is one thing. Had Peabody succeeded, killed Morgan, and gotten rid of the body, then as far as we knew the traitor would be at large in the world, and uncatchable. It would have been a continuous stone around our necks.”

  “And a perfect cover for Peabody,” I said. “He could off whoever he wanted, and given the slightest excuse, everyone would assume that it had been Morgan.”

  “Not only Peabody,” the Gatekeeper said. “Any of our enemies might have taken advantage of it the same way.”

  “And it also explains why he came to Chicago after I dropped that challenge on the Council. He probably thought that the fake informant was Anastasia. He had to go there to find out if his brainlock was holding.” I shook my head. “I mean, he never needed to come through that Way since he already knew one out to Demonreach. Christ, I got lucky.”

  “Also true,” the Gatekeeper said. “Though I would suggest that your forethought allowed you to make your own luck.” He shook his head. “If Morgan had not acted so quickly, things might have been even worse. Luccio would have stood accused as well, and neither of them would have had any idea what had happened. Accusing Morgan was bad enough—the Wardens would not have stood for both the Captain and her second to be placed under arrest. It might have begun a civil war all on its own.”

  “Morgan . . . he loved Luccio,” I said.

  The Gatekeeper nodded. “He wore his heart on his sleeve for quite a while when he was younger. But she never let anyone close. In retrospect, it was a personality shift that should have been noted, though she kept her relationship with you discreet.”

  I snorted quietly. “Easy to expect tampering when someone turns into a foaming maniac,” I said. “When someone changes by becoming happy, it’s sort of hard not to be happy for them.”

  He smiled, a brief flash of warmth. “Very true.”

  “So she’s . . . I mean, when you help her start fixing the damage . . .”

  “It’s already begun. Her subconscious has been struggling against the bindings placed in her mind for some time. Even if she’d felt something before, the fact that it was forced upon her will cause a backlash.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Things got sort of tense between us, I guess, after this whole situation got going. I mean, I sort of figured we’d already broken up, but . . .”

  But this wasn’t a case of having loved and lost. She had never loved me. Madeline’s kiss, when she’d buried me in an avalanche of bliss while she took a bite from my life force, had proved that. Anastasia hadn’t ever been in love. Maybe she hadn’t ever really liked me. Or maybe she had. Or maybe it was all of the above.

  Whatever it had been, it was over now, before it could grow into anything else, and neither of us had been given much of a choice in the matter.

  I hadn’t expected it to hurt quite as much as it did.

  Rashid put his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought you deserved to know.”

  “Yeah,” I said, my voice rough. “Thank you. I guess.” I found myself letting out a bitter little laugh.

  The Gatekeeper tilted his head.

  “I’ve been trying to work out why no one used magic on anyone at LaFortier’s murder.”

  “What is your conclusion?”

  “You can’t do anything with magic that you don’t really, truly believe in,” I said. “Some part of Luccio had to recognize that killing LaFortier was wrong. So she used a knife. Morgan could no more have unleashed magic upon a lawfully serving Senior Council member or onto his commanding officer than he could have apologized for how he’s treated me. And LaFortier never saw it coming from Anastasia. He probably died confused, never had a chance to use a spell.” I looked up at the Gatekeeper. “It wasn’t some big arcane, mysterious reason. It was because everyone was human.”

  “In my experience,” he said, “that is more than mystery enough.”

  I was gathering my things to leave and go back home when Ebenezar appeared in the doorway. “Hoss,” he said calmly. “Figured I would walk you home.”

  “Appreciated, sir,” I told him. I had already sent Mouse home with Molly, and it was always a good idea to avoid walking the Ways alone. We started walking through the tunnels. I was heartily sick of them. I’m not claustrophobic or anything, but I think you’d need some kind of groundhog gene to enjoy living at White Council HQ.

  We hadn’t gone far when I realized that Ebenezar was taking a roundabout route to the Way, through tunnels that were largely unused and unlit. He conjured a dim red light to his staff, just enough to let us see our way, and in the color least likely to be noticed.

  “Well,” he said, “we filled LaFortier’s seat on the Senior Council today.”

  “Klaus the Toymaker?” I asked.

  Ebenezar shook his head slowly. “Klaus didn’t say it, but I suspect the Merlin asked him to decline. Gregori Cristos got the seat.”

  I frowned. The seats on the Senior Council were awarded geriocratically . Whoever had the most years of service in the Council was offered the position of leadership, though there was nothing that required a wizard to accept a seat when it was available. “Who the hell is that? He’s not up at the top of the seniority list.”

  My mentor grimaced. “Aye. A Greek, and an unpleasant bastard. He’s lived all through southern Asia over the past couple of centuries. Distinguished himself in the battle with that rakshasa raja the Council took on recently.”

  “I remember when it happened,” I said. “I heard it was pretty crazy.”

  Ebenezar grunted. “He was LaFortier’s protégé.”

  I took that in, processing the logic. “I thought that bloc had been appeased.”

  “When someone wants power, you can’t buy him off,” Ebenezar said. “He’ll take what you offer and keep on coming. And Cristos as much as told the Merlin that he and his allies would secede from the Council if he didn’t get the seat.”

  “Jesus,” I said quietly.

  He nodded. “Might as well give the Red Court the keys to all our gates and let them kill us in our sleep. Fewer bystanders would get hurt.”

  “So the Merlin made a deal,” I said.

  “Didn’t have a lot of choice. Cristos’s people gained a lot of support after they lost so many at the trial. He’d have taken a third of the Council with him.”

  “Screw the selection process, huh?”

  Ebenezar grimaced. “It’s never been codified by anything but tradition. Oh, the Merlin made a show of adhering to it, but I guarantee you it was arranged behind the scenes, Hoss.”
He shook his head. “The Senior Council has issued official positions on LaFortier’s assassination.”

  “Let me guess,” I said. “Lone gunman.”

  He frowned at that for a moment, and then nodded. “Oh, Kennedy. Yes. It was an act of individuals motivated by profit. There is no evidence to suggest the presence of an organized conspiracy. There is no Black Council.”

  I stared blankly at Ebenezar. “That’s . . . stupid.”

  “Damn right,” he said. “But they had a majority. The Merlin, Cristos, Mai, Martha Liberty, and the Gatekeeper.”

  I shook my head. “What the hell does he think he’s accomplishing?”

  Ebenezar shrugged. “He’s never been easy to read. And I’ve known him since I was sixteen years old. Two or three explanations come to mind.”

  “Like, maybe he’s Black Council.”

  Ebenezar walked for several steps in silence. Then he said, “Aye.”

  “Or maybe Peabody got to him harder than we all think,” I said.

  “Improbable,” Ebenezar said. “The drugs he slipped the Senior Council let him nudge them . . . us. But we’re all too crusty to bend more than that.”

  “What then?”

  “Well, Hoss,” he said, “maybe Langtry’s worried about the consequences of officially acknowledging the Black Council.”

  I felt a little chill glide over the nape of my neck. “He’s worried that if enough people knew that the Black Council was real, they wouldn’t line up to fight them. They’d join.”

  “Everyone loves a winner,” Ebenezar said. “And we haven’t been looking too good lately. People are afraid. Cristos is building his influence on it.”

  I stopped in my tracks and all but threw up on the cold stone floor.

  Ebenezar stopped, putting his hand on my arm, and frowned in concern. “What is it, boy?”

  “Sir,” I said, hearing my voice shake. “When Peabody came to the island . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “He wasn’t alone. Someone else came with him. Someone we never saw.”

  We said nothing for a long minute.

  “That’s only one explanation, Hoss,” Ebenezar said. “It’s not even a calculated estimate. It’s a flat-out guess.”

  There was no conviction in his voice, though. Ebenezar felt the same thing I did. A hard gut feeling that left me certain—not pretty sure, but certain—that I was right. Besides. We were talking in whispers in an out-of-the-way corridor of our own damn stronghold. If that didn’t tell you something was seriously wrong with the White Council, I don’t know what would.

  “They’re inside,” I whispered.

  My mentor faced me gravely.

  “That’s why they whacked LaFortier. To get their own man into position.” I leaned against the wall and shook my head. “They won.”

  “They won the round,” he said. “Fight isn’t over.”

  “It is for Morgan,” I said.

  “But not for you,” he said with harsh intensity. “Morgan thought that saving your life was worth losing his own.” Ebenezar took a deep breath. Then he said, very quietly, “Hoss, it ain’t over. Some of us are going to do something about it.”

  I looked at him sharply. “Do something?”

  “It’s just a few, for now. Some wizards. Some key allies. People we know we can trust. I’m the only one who knows everyone involved. We’ve got to take this fight to the enemy. Learn more about them. Determine their goals. Shut them down.”

  “Fight fire with fire, eh?”

  Ebenezar smiled wryly. “In denying the existence of one conspiracy, Langtry has necessitated another.”

  “And got himself a twofer with a side order of irony,” I said. “If the Black Council finds out about us, they’re going to jump for joy. They’ll expose us, call us the Black Council, and go on their merry way.”

  “ ‘Us’ already, is it?” His eyes gleamed as he nodded. “And given what we’ll be doing, if the White Council finds out, they’re going to call it sedition. They’ll execute us.”

  See what I mean? Just like Disneyland.

  I thought about it for a minute. “You know that in every objective sense, we’re making a Black Council of our own.”

  “Aye.”

  “So where does that leave us?”

  “With pure hearts and good intentions,” he answered. “Our strength shall be the strength of ten.”

  I snorted loudly.

  Ebenezar smiled wearily. “Well, Hoss, we’re not going to have much choice other than to be walking down some mighty dark alleys. And doing it in mighty questionable company. Maybe we should think of ourselves as . . . a Grey Council.”

  “Grey Council,” I said. We started walking again, and after a few minutes, I asked him, “The world’s gotten darker and nastier, even in just the past few years. Do you think what we do will make a difference?”

  “I think the same thing you do,” Ebenezar said. “That the only alternative is to stand around and watch everything go to hell.” His voice hardened. “We’re not going to do that.”

  “Damn right we’re not,” I said.

  We walked the rest of the way to Chicago together.

  Murphy drove me down to get my car out of impound, and I caught her up on most of what had happened on the way.

  “You’re holding out on me,” she said, when I finished.

  “Some,” I said. “Sort of necessary.”

  She glanced at me as she drove and said, “Okay.”

  I lifted my eyebrows. “It is?”

  “You are beginning to deal with some scary people, Harry,” she said quietly. “And people are trusting you with secrets. I get that.”

  “Thanks, Murph.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know, Harry. It means I’m trusting you to come to me when you’ve got something that intersects with my responsibilities. I’m a cop. If you screw me on something I should know . . .” She shrugged. “I don’t know if we could ever patch something like that up.”

  “I hear you,” I said.

  She shook her head. “I never really cared for Morgan. But I wish it hadn’t ended that way for him.”

  I thought about that for a minute and then said, “I don’t know. He went out making a difference. He took out the traitor who had gotten hundreds of wizards killed. He kept him from getting away with God only knows what secrets.” I shrugged. “A lot of Wardens have gone down lately. As exits go, Morgan’s was a good one.” I smiled. “Besides. If he’d been around any longer, he might have had to apologize to me. That would have been a horrible way to go.”

  “He had courage,” Murphy admitted. “And he had your back.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Did you go to his funeral?”

  “No one did,” I said. “Officially, he was corpus non gratus. But we had a kind of a wake, later, unofficially. Told stories about him and came to the conclusion that he really was a paranoid, intolerant, grade-A asshole.”

  Murphy smiled. “I’ve known guys like that. They can still be part of the family. You can still miss them when they’re gone.”

  I swallowed. “Yeah.”

  “Tell me you aren’t blaming yourself.”

  “No,” I said, honestly. “I just wish something I’d done had made more of a difference.”

  “You survived,” she said. “Under the circumstances, I think you did all right.”

  “Maybe,” I said quietly.

  “I went through that phone you sent me.” She meant Madeline’s phone, the one Binder had given me.

  “What did you find?” I asked.

  “The phone numbers to a lot of missing persons,” she said. “Where’s the owner?”

  “With them.”

  She pressed her lips together. “There were a lot of calls to a number I traced back to Algeria, and another in Egypt. A couple of restaurants, apparently.” She took an index card out of her pocket and passed it to me. It had the names and addresses of two businesses on it.

  “Wha
t are they?” she asked.

  “No clue,” I said. “Maybe Madeline’s contacts in the Black Council. Maybe nothing.”

  “Important?”

  “No clue. I guess we’ll file this under ‘wait and see.’ ”

  “I hate that file,” she said. “How’s Thomas?”

  I shrugged and looked down at my hands. “No clue.”

  My apartment was a wreck. I mean, it’s never really a surgical theater—except for right after Morgan had shown up, I guess. But several days of frantic comings and goings, various injuries, and serving as Morgan’s sickbed had left some stains not even my faerie housekeepers could erase. The mattress wasn’t salvageable, much less the bedding, or the rug we’d transported his unconscious body on. It was all soaked in blood and sweat, and the various housekeeping faeries apparently didn’t do dry cleaning.

  They’d taken care of the usual stuff, but there was considerable work still to be done, and moving mattresses is never joyful, much less when you’ve been thoroughly banged up by a supernatural heavyweight and then stabbed, just for fun, on top of it.

  I set about restoring order, though, and I was hauling the mattress out to tie onto my car so that I could take it to the dump, when Luccio arrived.

  She was dressed in grey slacks and a white shirt, and carried a black nylon sports equipment bag, which would hold, I knew, the rather short staff she favored and her Warden’s blade, among other things. The clothes were new. I realized, belatedly, that they’d been the sort that she’d favored when I first met her, wearing another body.

  “Hey,” I panted. “Give me a second.”

  “I’ll give you a hand,” she replied. She helped me maneuver the mattress onto the top of the Blue Beetle, and then we tied it off with some clothesline. She checked the knots, making sure everything was just so, and then leaned on the car, studying my face.

  I looked back at her.

  “Rashid said he talked to you,” she said.

  I nodded. “Didn’t want to push.”