by Kat Ross
Like the rest of the city, Dr. Massot followed the Via Sancta, the Blessed Way, which taught that all things, however mundane, must be beautiful. Fresh-cut flowers sat in vases at strategic intervals. The furniture was graceful and airy. Rugs woven from fine Nantwich wool graced the blond hardwood floors. If the place seemed sterile, Kasia chalked it up to the fact that Dr. Massot was a wealthy bachelor and no doubt had hired decorators to ensure all was in impeccable taste.
She followed him up the stairs to the study on the second floor. Here, the doctor’s personal stamp was more in evidence. Framed degrees adorned the walls. A large oil portrait of Massot—ten years younger and fifteen kilos lighter—hung over the fireplace. It wore the same fixed smile. Kasia stayed in the doorway while the doctor lit a fire in the hearth, then strolled to his desk. It was a hefty, sober piece of furniture. He picked up a brass cylinder, the sort used to store documents rolled around a spindle.
“You came for this, da? I’d expected Domina Anderle. That’s what I was told by . . . .” Massot trailed off, eyes twinkling in a conspiratorial fashion, and put the cylinder down. “Well, we won’t mention names, will we?”
Kasia bit back impatience. She’d already explained this when she arrived. “Natalya fell ill so I came in her stead. I hope that doesn’t present a problem.”
“Not at all, my dear,” he murmured, staring at her. “Not at all.”
“Here.” Kasia dug into her jacket pocket and handed him a business card. “She asked me to give you this.”
Massot scanned it and tucked it into his trouser pocket. “I’ll pay you for your services, naturally. And you may have the papers for our mutual friend. But if you’d indulge me, I’d like a reading first.”
Kasia frowned. “Now?”
“Is the request so peculiar?”
“You declined my offer earlier.” When the other guests were still here.
“I changed my mind.”
She glanced at the brass cylinder, then at the clock on the mantel. 11:04. “It’s getting late. And the weather—”
“I’ll summon a cab for you, of course.” He waved a hand. “Only a few more minutes, yes? I’ll double your fee.”
Kasia studied him. She needed the money. “One reading.”
Dr. Massot grinned. “I must confess, I find this cartomancy of yours most intriguing. Does it really use the ley?”
“Of course.” In fact, most of the performance was guesswork. She was a keen observer and her clients often revealed secrets without even meaning to. But sometimes the cards did speak to her. Kasia didn’t know how it could be so, only that it was.
“Fascinating.” He came out from behind the desk. “Let’s sit here, shall we? It’s cozier by the fire.”
Kasia sank into one of the sleek armchairs flanking the fireplace, Massot across from her. A low table lay between them. Lightning flashed through the windows, followed by a slow roll of thunder. She shuffled the deck. “What sort of doctor are you, Domine Massot?”
His brows rose. “You don’t know?”
Kasia shook her head.
Massot chuckled. “I am a student of that convoluted maze we call the human mind, my dear.”
Kasia’s mouth formed a polite smile, her dislike of him deepening. The doctor managed to be both condescending and creepy. “Is there a particular question you want to pose to the ley?”
“Why, yes. I have something of a professional dilemma.” He winked, but his voice sounded strained. “A very delicate matter that has troubled me for some time now. Confidential, of course.”
“You needn’t tell me the details. Just hold the question in your mind.”
Massot opened the top button of his shirt. “It’s warm in here, isn’t it?”
He was sweating profusely. Kasia stared at the coffee table as she dealt a five-card spread, face down. It was rather hot. The fashion this season was military chic, with heavy embroidery and epaulets on the shoulders of a tight-fitting jacket, a long, layered skirt and boots with three-inch spiked heels. Gloves, naturally. Not the most comfortable attire, but one had to make do.
When she looked up, Ferran Massot had discarded his jacket. Wiry gray hairs poked through the collar of his shirt.
Oh, fog it.
“Don’t you have to take your gloves off?” he asked.
She didn’t want to expose a centimeter of flesh, but there was no choice. Kasia peeled off the black lace gloves. She took the first card and turned it over.
The Mage. Inverted.
Which shouldn’t be possible since she was certain she had dealt them all right side-up.
Massot leaned forward, eyes darkening. “What’s wrong?”
Kasia forced a smile. “Nothing bad, don’t worry. The Mage represents the power of the ley.” And a Nightmage, when inverted. “Or it can indicate worldly power. Over other people or in the sphere of business. Just what I’d expect for a man like you. Let’s look at the next one.”
The Slave. Followed by the Knight. The Fool. And the Martyr.
All Major Arcana. Taken individually, they could signify a thousand things. Each contained layers upon layers of meaning. But together, in that particular order…. Nameless dread pooled in her stomach. The feeling didn’t come often, and never so strongly, but something bad would befall this man—and soon.
Massot studied the cards with bright-eyed interest. How to break the news? Should she tell him at all?
He wouldn’t take it well, they never did, but she had no choice. Fog it, she should have begged off. She’d be in a taxi on her way home by now—
Kasia glanced up just as Dr. Massot tore a glove off with his teeth and reached across the table. Clammy fingers gripped her jaw.
“Be a good girl,” he growled, sweeping the cards aside. “Just relax and I’ll give you what you came for. We both know you want it.”
How could his hand be so cold when sweat dripped down his face?
Ungloved. He was touching her ungloved.
It was unthinkable. Even the lovers she’d had over the years never took their gloves off. How dare he?
Kasia raked her nails down his hand. Massot yelped in surprise and jerked away, knocking the table over. She grabbed his wrist. Never had she been so angry. A red film covered her vision and Massot made an animal sound low in his throat. He shoved her. Kasia tripped over the table and landed on her rear. She scrabbled back, heels digging furls in the carpet.
“Cardinal Falke—” she began.
“Isn’t here and doesn’t care what I do.” Massot stood in front of the door. His pupils devoured his eyes. “You’re no one.”
Kasia’s cheeks flamed. “Listen, we can forget any of this ever happened. Just give me the message. I won’t breathe a word—”
Massot raised a pale finger. Her skin crawled looking at it. His voice was toneless. “I’m sorry, Domina Novak. You’re right. I don’t know what came over me.” The doctor licked his lips. “You’re just very pretty, my dear.”
Kasia stood. The coffee table lay on its side, cards strewn across the carpet. Her best deck, but she wasn’t about to bend over to collect them with the good doctor staring at her. She held out a hand and willed her voice to no-nonsense firmness. “The papers, please.”
Lightning flashed. This time, the shattering crack of thunder was instantaneous. Massot gave a strange, twitching shudder as if he was having a stroke. Then he lunged at her. He was blocking the door to the hall, so she leapt over the coffee table, wobbling in her boots, and darted behind the desk. Kasia grabbed a paperweight and threw it at his head. Massot dodged the missile, but it shattered the window behind him. A damp wind fluttered the long white curtains.
“Help!” she shouted.
The doctor feinted right, then hurled himself at the desk, teeth snapping like a rabid dog. Kasia threw herself at a door, hoping it might be another way out, and found herself in a tiny bathroom that smelled of lavender. She bolted the door and pressed her ear against the wood.
Heavy breathing. A
dull thud, as if a paunchy middle-aged body had slumped down against the door. The bathroom was pitch dark except for a thin line of light coming under the door. Kasia groped along the wall for a switch.
“Domina Novak?” Dr. Massot’s voice sounded eerily calm.
She hesitated, but it’s not as if he didn’t know she was right there behind a flimsy door. “What?”
“They’ll be coming for him. They don’t know who he really is, do they? No, of course they don’t. They don’t have the slightest inkling.” A giggle. “But they’ll figure it out eventually. The only question is who will use him first.”
Was the doctor talking about himself or someone else?
Kasia found the switch. Light flooded the tiny bathroom. She looked around for something to defend herself, but there was only a bowl of potpourri and a bar of soap in a little ceramic dish.
“He broke six of the Wards before I got him under control. Six! My master must be told. Oh, the punishment will be dreadful if he thinks I betrayed him.”
Everyone had left, even the caterers. Massot had no live-in staff. Natalya was feverish in bed at their shared flat. She might not realize Kasia had failed to come home until morning. It had never occurred to either of them that something like this could happen. If Massot had been a new client, Kasia would have taken precautions, but he was a friend of the cardinal.
“You already know all about it, don’t you?” His voice took on an angry edge. “They’ve been listening to my thoughts. They put an imp inside me. He reports to them. Tells them everything!” The doctor giggled again. “He likes the things I do, though. They didn’t expect that.” More maniacal laughter. “He’s a dirty little imp!”
Kasia turned on the cold tap. She bent over the sink and splashed her face, wondering how she’d get out of Dr. Massot’s house alive. He had at least thirty kilos on her. And he was fogging insane.
“Damn,” she muttered, leaning into the mirror. “I thought that was supposed to be waterproof.”
Flakes of mascara ringed her eyes to ghoulish effect. It didn’t really matter, but Kasia used a square of toilet paper to scrub away the makeup. At least it gave her something to do while she waited for the doctor’s next move.
“I’m too important to be trifled with in this way. They know. Everything is under control. He’ll see to that. I wrote it all down.” A heavy sigh. “It is no easy task to serve two masters who despise each other, Domina Novak. No easy task.”
She heard Massot stand. Muffled footsteps crossed the rug toward the desk. She was about to make a run for it, but a moment later, the footsteps returned.
“Come out,” he said. “I have something for you.”
She pressed a palm against the door. “What is it?”
“You’ll see.”
How stupid did he think she was? “The thing is, I don’t trust you, Dr. Massot.”
Tap-tap-tap. She could picture those pale fingers creeping along the door like a spider. “As well you shouldn’t, my dear.”
“Listen, the cards told me something bad would happen to you, but you can still change it. The future isn’t written yet.”
“Oh, but it is. In fact, I can tell you exactly what will happen to you if you don’t come out.” He kept talking, describing in detail the things he had planned for her. Kasia tried not to listen. She yanked open the drawers under the sink, finding nothing but spare toilet paper. The soap dish was a pathetic excuse for a weapon. Could she strangle him with a hand towel? Blind him with potpourri?
“Come out, come out, Domina Novak,” Dr. Massot sang, tapping the door again. It sounded different this time. Like he was holding something.
A letter opener?
She’d seen one on his desk next to the paperweight.
“Or I’ll come in, come in.”
The scrape of metal on metal. An indistinct curse. More scraping.
Ferran Massot was digging at the lock.
Chapter Three
The rain never ceased in Novostopol.
It cascaded from the mouths of gargoyles and raced through mossy canals. It dripped from umbrellas and lapped at the cobblestone streets, eventually emptying into an ancient system of aqueducts and flowing out to sea. If the city did not sit atop a series of hills overlooking the harbor, it would have been submerged long before.
Alexei stood at the foot of a narrow bridge that had been cordoned off with sawhorses, a four-meter gap in its center. It looked like it had collapsed some time ago. The Saints only knew when it was scheduled for repairs.
The Markhounds must have leapt across, but Alexei couldn’t follow, not that way. He gave a sharp whistle. A minute later, the four dogs came bounding back down the hill. They crouched on the opposite bank, indistinct shadows in the rain.
He’d been right. They were close or the hounds would have taken longer to return.
A sudden updraft seized the umbrella. Alexei struggled to close it, finally tossing the flapping thing aside and letting the wind take it. Any thought of sleep vanished. He felt the clarity of purpose that only came at these moments.
Alexei knelt down, water soaking his cassock. He removed one leather glove and laid his left hand flat on the sodden earth. Blue ley flowed along the surface, darkening to violet at the border with the red abyssal ley. He drew on that liminal stratum, watching the ley darken as it rose to meet his palm. Power burned a trail up his arm and down his back, coiling around the muscles of his legs.
By the grace of the Pontifex and all the Saints, I need to cross. Find me a way.
Blood pounded in his temples, an almost sexual pressure building. He didn’t choose the Marks that would answer his prayer. The ley chose for him. All that mattered was that his heart was pure, his intentions good. It raced across his flesh in lines of shimmering violet flame. On the left side of his chest, the Mark he called the Maiden opened her eyes. On his back, the Two Towers ignited. Others flared briefly, some flashing blue, others a darker indigo. Had Alexei not been swathed in layers of wool, his entire body would have given off a faint glow. Seconds later, the ley flowed out again. It sank back into the earth, joining the river of power that ran beneath the city.
The wind died, though the rain fell as hard as ever. Alexei blinked away water, his cowl falling back. Floodwater churned through the canal, spilling over the stone embankment. He pulled his glove on and waited. The footbridge did not repair itself. The flood did not miraculously subside. He did not expect either of those things to happen. The liminal ley worked in subtler ways.
The Hounds paced the far bank, eager to rejoin the chase. One let out a mournful howl. Alexei had a sudden premonition that he was too late.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
Movement caught his eye. A downed tree came careening down the canal. Just as it passed, the bole was caught in an eddy. It spun sideways, jamming itself in place. Tree? More like a sapling, and barely strong enough to bear the weight of a child, but Alexei scrambled forward.
One chance.
He crawled down and tested a boot on the log. The current tugged hard, but it held his weight. Holding out his arms like a dancer, Alexei found his balance. He took one step, then another. More flotsam was already piling up against the branches. The roar of whitewater echoed in his ears. He kept his gaze straight ahead, moving as quickly as he dared. Ominous cracking sounds came from below. A thump. The log shifted. He pinwheeled his arms. Saints, it’s starting to roll—
With an ungainly leap, he gained the far bank just as the tree snapped in half and was swept downstream. The hounds ran over and gave him a desultory sniff. The largest and most intelligent, a female named Alice, nudged his palm with a damp snout. She was his favorite and she knew it. Occasionally, he found her in his room, curled up on the bed. He never told anyone for fear they’d lock her up somehow. Alice left his blankets smelling of dog, but they’d hunted mages together in the Void and he thought of her as a comrade.
Alexei whistled again and they tore up the street, sleek bodies b
unching and lengthening, ears laid back. He sprinted behind, trying to keep his footing on the slick cobblestones. Neat rows of townhouses with wrought-iron balconies flashed past. It was all uphill and his lungs burned by the time the dogs raced up to a well-kept house with two dormant Wards above the red-lacquered front door. Light shone from the upstairs windows. One was broken. Alexei unlatched the front gate and hurried up to the door. Locked. He pounded on it with a fist, three resounding blows.
“Open up in the name of the Pontifex!”
No answer.
The hounds could cross the threshold, but he didn’t trust them inside without him present. There had been . . . accidents . . . in the past. Alexei crouched down, addressing the pack leader. Her head cocked. “Mane,” he commanded. Alice trotted off and stood at the gate, ears pricked.
A tight alley led to the rear of the house. The other Markhounds followed him silently, too well-trained to alert whoever was inside. Glass doors led from the first floor to a canopied terra-cotta patio with ornate iron furniture. Also locked. Alexei scanned the garden, his eye landing on a heavy planter. Seconds later, it smashed through the doors. The noise was horrifically loud, but no one came rushing out to investigate. Alexei reached through the shattered panes and jiggled the latch. He eased the handle down.
“Sede,” he commanded softly over his shoulder.
Three sets of haunches hit the ground. Red tongues lolled.
The planter had spilled wet earth across the rug of a large drawing room. The hearth was cold, but he smelled the ashes of a recent fire. A clock ticked on the mantle.
11:39
Dirty wine glasses and empty bottles indicated a party, but there were no signs of trouble.
It’ll be on the second floor. In the room with the broken window.
Alexei moved to the hall. A flight of stairs led up. The house was still quiet. He squeezed the copper coin in his pocket. Three years he’d been searching and time was running out at last.