Power Game

by Brad Magnarella

  The pilot, who Claudius had just cleared, craned her neck. “Where to?” she asked.

  “Downtown,” I shouted back. We were clear of the quarry. Far to the south, the Manhattan skyline appeared as a ghost through the snowy haze. A pair of NYPD helicopters joined us in flanking positions.

  “Who are they?” I demanded.

  “Escorts,” the pilot replied.

  “Tell them to drop off.” My mind was jumping with paranoia. “And kill all radio contact until we’re about to land.”

  The pilot looked at Vega, who nodded for her to comply. When the pilot turned back to the front, Vega gave me a questioning look. I waited for the flanking helicopters to turn and thump away before addressing her.

  “I need you to call a number for me. I lost my phone.”

  I reached into my shirt pocket and handed her Malachi’s card.

  While she read the number, I got the pilot’s attention. “St. Martin’s Cathedral,” I shouted.

  It would be the safest place for the efreet, I decided.

  36

  From a dark street corner in the heart of his old district, Arnaud watched the helicopter touch down through the lightly falling snow.

  He hadn’t anticipated Everson ordering away the ride in which he, Arnaud, had been a passenger, the pilot under his thrall. So, a point to Mr. Croft. But the moment Arnaud saw that they were returning to Manhattan, he had a strong suspicion where they were going. He suggested that the pilot parallel their helicopter from a distance until he was sure, then ordered him to come around from the south of the island and land in Battery Park, a brisk ten-minute walk from the cathedral.

  Now Arnaud smiled.

  Croft may have become a more capable wizard, but his thinking remained transparent, predictable.

  Arnaud remembered the case Croft had pursued years before at St. Martin’s. Croft had even come to his office for information, the reckless fool. In any event, that experience would have reinforced in Croft’s mind the soundness of the cathedral’s defenses, with its faith-based protections and mighty fount of ley energy.

  Following the very close call at the quarry, and the knowledge that more demons remained—demons like Arnaud—Croft would have cycled through all the safe places he knew in and around New York City.

  But none, in his mind, would have rivaled St. Martin’s for security.

  “And here we are, Zarko,” the vampire-demon whispered. “And not a moment too late.”

  He’d known it would take time for the police to clear the street in front of the cathedral before the helicopter could land. In fact, upon arriving, Arnaud had had to wait a couple of minutes himself. But he didn’t mind. It gave him a chance to meditate on the rightness of him reclaiming his power, and then some, in the very place he had lost it.

  The goblin hopped down from the helicopter first, pointing his automatic rifle around like a toy solider, Arnaud thought. The woman detective appeared next, covering the other side of the street, the side closer to Arnaud. He was too well concealed for her to see him, but that would change shortly.

  And now it was Everson Croft’s turn to make an entrance. A worm of hatred wriggled through Arnaud as he watched the wizard step from the helicopter, holding onto the large, sobbing man—the efreet’s master. Arnaud clenched his fists at the idea so pitiful a fool should have been allowed to control something that would soon enter into a fiery amalgam with his own vampiric and demonic nature.

  Had there ever been such a being? Arnaud wasn’t sure, but he doubted so. Zarko did too.

  A moment later, the efreet appeared behind Croft, power radiating from her in tremendous waves, power he would soon claim. Arnaud had no doubt of this. He could already feel the changes coming over him, as though worlds had decreed it should be so. And perhaps he would rule worlds one day.

  But for now, the efreet.

  Arnaud had admired her from the rim of the quarry, but he’d had no plans to confront Croft and his ring to claim her. And he refused to reduce himself to the barbaric mindlessness shown by the other demons. No strategy, no finesse—just racing headlong toward the efreet and hoping for the best. Arnaud shook his head. No, not for him. So, he had improvised with mind control, animations, and simple calculations.

  And where were the other demons now? he thought with swelling conceit.

  But he needed to focus. The group of Croft, the large man, and the efreet were moving toward the cathedral now. A second wizard took up the rear, but Arnaud wasn’t concerned about him, even despite his impressive feats at the quarry. He had seen the old man freeze when the demon seized the efreet. The old man would respond in the exact same way when Arnaud seized the detective.

  And it was time.

  He crossed the street and sidled up to a police officer managing the scene.

  “Walk with me,” he told the officer, pushing power into the words. “And kindly loan me your weapon.”

  The officer complied on both counts, unfastening his service pistol and slipping its cool grip into Arnaud’s hand. They paced toward the detective, Arnaud careful to keep a police cruiser that had been parked away from the helicopter between them. When they arrived at the cruiser, Arnaud had the officer stop.

  At the door to the powerful cathedral, a young man met Croft and his group. Following a short exchange, he allowed them inside. The efreet joined them, passing through the cathedral’s defenses, but this would only be temporary. Here again, Arnaud knew Everson Croft’s mind. Using the wizard’s most sensitive pressure point, he would compel him to send the efreet out again. To send the being to him.

  As the cathedral door closed again, Arnaud’s gaze cut back to Detective Vega.

  “Now,” Arnaud said to the officer. “Bring the detective over here and be quick about it. Tell her it’s to do with her son.”

  The officer nodded and trotted toward Vega. Meanwhile, the goblin had shouldered his weapon to help the older black woman from the helicopter. Together with the large feline, they walked toward the cathedral.

  The detective had begun to follow when the approaching officer caught up to her. She brought her weapon around—so suspicious, Arnaud thought with a grin—but when the officer began to speak, she lowered her weapon and angled her head. When he turned, she followed him.

  And so predictable.

  Arnaud was already anticipating the trade with Croft: the efreet for the detective. If the wizard delayed, Arnaud would hurt her. If he balked, he would kill her. He would lose the efreet, but so would the other demons. The power game would be a wash. Arnaud would accrue power some other way, but the torture he had envisioned for his adversary would be underway. For was there any greater pain than losing one’s beloved to senseless violence?

  Perhaps he would kill the detective anyway, just for that pleasure.

  Arnaud was contemplating the very idea when a hot spike seared his chest.

  He seized the front of his shirt in a fist and fell against the cruiser. Through the windows, he could see the officer and detective approaching. With each step, the white-hot pain became more intense, more blinding.

  And he knew the pain!

  Arnaud spotted the chain around Vega’s neck. The pendent it held had ridden up above her tactical vest, appearing as a small lump beneath the fabric of her shirt. Underneath his pain, Arnaud’s confidence fell out.

  Croft had given her the cursed ring, and it was stealing his power!

  Arnaud’s legs trembled, and he fell to his hands and knees, dropping the gun. The pain was positively ripping through him. Smoke began to drift from his flesh. The detective still couldn’t see him, but at this rate, the energy of the ring would reduce him to ashes before she even arrived. And if there was still life in him, she would end it with a series of silver rounds to his head at point-blank range.

  Too weak to cast toward the ring-bearing detective, Arnaud summoned his final reserves and thrust his arm at a police cruiser coming in from a side street. The force caught the front of the vehicle and veere
d it into a parked car. Vega and the officer wheeled toward the clapping bang, giving Arnaud a sudden respite from the pain. He gained his feet and began limping in the other direction, harsh lights flashing in his vision.

  Vega shouted, but she was calling for assistance for the accident.

  Arnaud turned down a street and then into an alleyway, where he found refuge behind a stack of crates. He collapsed against the wall, then slid down to the filthy asphalt, nothing left in him, his insides cored out. When a large rat waddled up and sniffed his shoe, he hadn’t even the strength to kick it away.

  “We failed, Zarko,” he rasped, not believing he was saying it.

  The bastard wizard had won again. By the time Arnaud recovered his power, the efreet would be gone. He knew this. Worse, Malphas would call him to a Dread Council, wanting to know what had happened. When his master found him in this pathetic state, having failed to claim the efreet, he would cast him back to the Pits. And this time, Arnaud would have no shadow demon to fend off the most vicious devils.

  The rat began gnawing on his rubber sole.

  Arnaud watched in resignation, dumb to the sensation taking hold in his mind—a scent, he realized dimly. A human scent. Arnaud straightened as the scent resonated with one he’d stored earlier in the day.

  “The blood slave has found the one who has taken the scepter,” Zarko whispered.

  Arnaud strained to tune into the security guard. It was the woman. She had covered a good bit of ground, and now she was standing before an apartment building in a neighborhood he knew. That was where the scent led.

  “Indeed, she has, Zarko,” Arnaud said.

  His eyes remained on the rat, which had already worked through a sizeable chunk of sole.

  “Very good,” he told the female blood slave, a resurrected hope filling the words. With the scepter, he would be immune to Croft’s cursed objects. He would never know this kind of pain or defeat again. “Keep a low profile. I’ll meet you there.”

  The rat squealed and kicked as Arnaud seized it and brought it to his mouth.

  He was going to need his strength after all.

  37

  As I crossed the threshold into St. Martin’s Cathedral, a familiar wave of energy rippled through me, taking with it a quotient of my wizarding powers. That was all right. I wasn’t going to need them in here.

  At last.

  With Brian still in my grasp, I turned to ensure the efreet made it across as well. Claudius came up behind her.

  Malachi, whose invitation had given us all safe passage, closed the door. He had been uneasy about providing refuge before I had committed to the Upholders. I was right, though—that had been the druid’s position more than the others’. When I explained the situation as well as the catastrophic implications over the phone, Malachi relented.

  I looked around now, breathing hard with exertion and relief, not quite believing we had actually made it. My gaze stopped at the cavernous nave, where I used to attend services with Nana. I even picked out the pew where we would sit. The same stained-glass window presided above the apse. Among the depicted angels and hallowed saints, glowed the image of Michael, the forebearer of my magic-using line.

  A good reminder of my work’s purpose.

  “This way,” Malachi said. “I’ve cleared a room for you.”

  He led us down a corridor and into an office with a desk and several places to sit. I brought Brian to the couch, where he promptly curled onto his side facing the back, knees tucked to his belly. The efreet took a sentry position beside him while Claudius settled behind the desk and produced the phylactery from a pocket. As I placed the dragon gauntlet on a corner of the desk, Malachi asked to speak with me outside.

  “Jordan is insisting you invoke the bonding spell,” he said.

  “I will once the efreet is free, and this is done,” I promised.

  Malachi pressed his lips together. “You’re putting me in a difficult position. It makes it look like I’m playing favorites, and we decided from the start that the Upholders needed to be egalitarian.”

  “Why is he so damned adamant I be a part of this?”

  “He…” Malachi squinted past my right shoulder as though considering how much to reveal. I remembered the tension I’d felt during last night’s meeting when I’d asked Jordan about his story. At last Malachi sighed. “The Stranger who infiltrated his druid community took possession of his wife.”

  All right, that explained it.

  “Sorry,” I said, “but holy shit.”

  “Yeah, right?”

  Sudden sympathy for Jordan cascaded through me. What lengths would I go to if something like that ever happened to Vega? I looked down at the cane that concealed my father’s blade with the banishment rune.

  “Reassure him that it will happen tonight,” I said, “once the efreet is free.”

  Malachi nodded. “We’ll complete your induction tomorrow, then.”

  “And I want places for Vega and her son.”

  “It will be arranged.” He waved toward the front of the cathedral. “I’ll let the others in,” he said, referring to Vega and Bree-Yark, who had covered our approach, as well as the rest of the team still in the chopper.

  I considered joining Malachi to ensure they got inside safely, but the cathedral’s aura would ward away any demon who attempted to get close. Plus, I had given Vega my ring to wear, topping it off with protective power. Arnaud wouldn’t be able to come within two hundred feet of her without seriously regretting that decision.

  But I didn’t think he would. Assuming he had been behind the animation spell at the quarry, there was no way he could have beaten us here—or even known where we were going.

  I returned to the room to check on Claudius’s progress. I was anxious for this to be done, for the efreet to be freed and returned to her realm. To his credit, Claudius was hard at work. Strange lights glistened in the phylactery’s metal faces as the magic-user’s fingers trembled over the artifact.

  “Ah!” he said suddenly. He pinched something invisible and drew it back, then smiled in satisfaction as the phylactery glowed warmly for a moment. “There went an especially nasty knot. The rest should be easier. Won’t take much longer.”

  “Great,” I said, stepping back to let him work.

  He seemed much calmer and more in his element here than over the phone.

  A moment later, Mae, Tabitha, and Bree-Yark came through the door.

  “Your girl’s behind us,” Bree-Yark said, anticipating my question.

  Mae sat down in a chair, propped Buster’s carrier on her thighs, and released a weary sigh. “I should have known better than to wear brand new shoes,” she said, clapping the toes of her white tennis shoes together a few times. Buster replicated the sound with a series of clicks. “I’m pretty sure my bunions have grown bunions, God bless ’em.”

  “Well, take a load off,” I said. “We made it.”

  “I’ll believe it when I’m back home on my own cushion,” Tabitha muttered, hopping onto the chair beside Mae.

  The same cushion you were so down on last night? I thought.

  But that reminded me… “Hey, Mae. I have a cat question for you.”

  “Sure, honey,” she replied with closed eyes, her words going slack with fatigue.

  “Not any cats we know,” I added quickly, remembering what I’d promised Tabitha—though I could tell by my cat’s breathing, she was already asleep. “The feline in question is about seven or so, and she fell into this sudden funk.”

  “What kind of a funk?” Mae asked.

  “Well, if she could talk, I think she would’ve said her life had lost all meaning, that she saw no reason to go on.”

  “House cat?”

  “For the most part, yeah.”

  “That’s not uncommon.” Mae paused to stifle a strenuous yawn. “At that age, cats are getting on in years. Their bodies are changing. The treatment is to get them outside now and again. Shake things up. Let them have some adventures.
After a good night’s sleep, they’re right as rain.”

  “Yeah?”

  “The bigger the adventure, the better.”

  When Tabitha began to snore, Mae opened her eyes long enough to wink at me.

  Well, how about that? I thought. I’ve been treating Tabitha without even knowing it.

  Bree-Yark coughed in the exaggerated way of a goblin trying to get someone’s attention. I turned to find him in the far corner of the room, M16 strapped across his back. When he cocked his head, I walked over.

  “Hey,” he said in a lowered voice. “I’ve been thinking about our Gretchen talk. You’re right. I’m ready to cut the string she’s been using to dangle me along. No more house-sitting. No more pony-watching. When she gets back, I’m going to tell her all that’s over. I can’t keep doing this to myself.”

  I nodded proudly and clapped his shoulder. “Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life.”

  “Tell you the truth, a lot of it came from watching you and your girl today. The way you treat each other. The way you listen. ‘Might be kids,’ I kept thinking, ‘but what they’ve got is the way it should be.’” For the first time since I’d met him, Bree-Yark smiled. And if you’ve never seen a goblin smile, it’s terrifying.

  “Wow,” I said. “That’s really flattering.”

  “Oh, one more thing.” He lowered his voice further. “What do you think about Mae?”

  “Mae?” I followed his squash-colored eyes to where the nether whisperer was slumped in the chair. “Well, I mean, you’ve spent time with her. She’s kind, loving, about as motherly as they come.” Actually, she was the anti-Gretchen, now that I thought about it.

  When I caught Bree-Yark nodding, I wondered if he was thinking the same thing.

  I was about to add my hunch that Mae might have been interested in him too when she snorted and startled upright. “Everson, honey,” she called. “I am falling right off. Afraid I’m going to have to call it a night.”

  I caught Bree-Yark’s eyes with mine and jerked them toward Mae.