The Night Witch: Wilde Justice, Book 6

by Stark, Jenn

  She stood, but I crossed the room before she could take the first step. I took the card from her. The note was written in English, a heavy, slashing script.

  I understand you have a demon problem. Perhaps I can assist. Come to Dubai.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I muttered. Was this what Jarvis had hinted at, by trapping me instead of Eshe? But the problem was…Ahmad still had Eshe. And between the demons that had shown up at Justice Hall and the ones who’d attempted to dismember Sariah, I definitely had a demon problem.

  So what to do about it?

  I tossed the heavy card stock back to the table, my hands going to my own pockets. Empty.

  “Do we have a Tarot deck here?” I asked Mrs. French.

  “Oh!” She hopped up from the desk, clearly happy to have something to do. “Well, of course we do, right here, just a moment.” She hurried out of the room and disappeared into the office, and I winced as a stack of canisters went crashing to the ground.

  “Ah—Mrs. French?”

  “Be there in a jiff,” she assured me, and, true to her word, she appeared a few moments later, holding up her find. My eyes widened. The deck she had was branded with the Flamingo Casino—where the Devil resided. The Devil, who was now the head of the Council and one of the trickiest Connecteds I knew. If he’d somehow snuck a deck into Justice Hall to spy on me…

  “Where did you get those?” I asked Mrs. French, as casually as I could.

  “Well, I’m not sure I know. I assumed you brought them in? No?” She frowned down at the deck, clearly at a loss, then brightened. “Not a problem at all. There’s another. One of the boys snuck it in from the gift shop, hold on a tick…”

  This time, she reemerged without incident, but in her palm there was a bright pink plastic case about three inches square, attached to a carabiner hook. On the front of the case was a symbol that looked a lot like…Disney’s Magic Kingdom?

  “What is that?” I asked, while she popped the lid, then shook out brightly colored cards.

  “Aren’t they dear? An entire set of Disney-themed Tarot cards, with its own carrying case. An ingenious idea, really—here you go, then.”

  She dropped the cards out into my hand, and I scowled down at them as I tried to shuffle the perfect squares of coated plastic. The backs of the cards were magenta pink as well, again boasting the castle logo, while the fronts… I braced myself and drew three cards, placing them on the table, facedown. I turned the first one upright, and a cartoon version of Princess Jasmine stared back at me, her eyes wide and innocent as she peeked up demurely from her magic carpet.

  “What in the…” I frowned, then saw the Roman numeral etched at the top of the card. “Chariot,” I muttered. “you’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Mrs. French practically bounced on her toes. “Well, now, it’s very pretty, I think. And that movie was always one of my favorites. It suits, wouldn’t you say? If you’re asking about a sheikh, to pull a magic carpet?”

  “Yeah, it suits, all right.” I turned over the next two cards in rapid order, like ripping a bandage off a wound. Better to get it over quickly. Then I blinked.

  “Oh! How marvelous,” Mrs. French cooed, leaning forward. “That’s from The Sword in the Stone, isn’t it? The boys’ absolute favorite. Walt Disney was a genius.”

  “Ace of swords,” I murmured before glancing at the last card. “And, um—the Sun.” The card depicted a lion with a dark flowing mane, sitting next to his cub. They both watched a mighty sun rising in the distance.

  “Simba and Mufasa,” Mrs. French sighed. “So very sad, what happened to Mufasa. I…I honestly can’t even think about it without tearing up. I mean, truly. Such a tragedy.”

  I shot her a questioning look, and she blinked at me, then put both her fists on her ample skirts in something approaching outrage. “Well! You cannot be serious. Surely you have seen The Lion King. You were only a child when it came out!”

  “Of course I did,” I agreed readily. “Many times. Super sad. But what’s important is this reading points to a journey involving a sword or a new beginning—to, the Sun…wait a minute.” The Sun card appeared unusually thick, and when I picked it up again, I realized why. A second card was stuck to the back. I peeled it away.

  “Well, they really are going back to the beginning, now, aren’t they,” Mrs. French said, clearly pleased. “Chernabog. He is a fright.”

  “The Devil,” I murmured, but just as in Pompeii, I didn’t think it was Kreios who was indicated. Chernabog was the original incarnation of a Demon Most Foul in Disney’s Fantasia, and he looked straight out of central casting—large, midnight blue, glowing yellow eyes. “My demon problem, in the flesh. But how do I fight you, big boy?”

  Almost absently, I drew another card—and burst out laughing.

  “Oh my,” Mrs. French said, biting her lip as she peered down. The woman depicted on the card was regal, haughty. She wore a bright gold crown and a murderous scowl. “Queen Grimhilde. She was a nasty one, make no mistake.”

  “Queen of Swords,” I said, tapping the card. “Danae.” I hadn’t thought of contacting the head of the House of Swords for information on this job, but the direction seemed obvious now. Danae wasn’t only a shrewd tactician, she was a witch—albeit one far more beautiful than the grim-faced queen in Snow White or the hideous hag she turned into. And witches and demons went way back. Maybe she would know what I was walking into in Dubai…and maybe she could help. Besides that, if we were talking about the House of Swords…then the Ace took on new meaning as well.

  “Find Nikki,” I told Mrs. French. “Tell her to meet me at Danae’s tonight. I need to go see Gamon.”

  13

  I crackled into existence at Gamon’s cloud-swept lair—and was immediately knocked to the ground with a flurry of leathery wings and the familiar poke of a sharp beak.

  “What in the hell?” I snapped, ducking my head into my arms to protect myself. Before I could drum up a good handful of fire, however, six more of the creatures plowed into me, sending me sprawling. I threw my hands up, experiencing the world’s worst déjà vu. It was the stage in Pompeii all over again, the attack in Hell on instant rewind, and I yelped in real pain as one of the creatures dragged a long talon across my back. In a flash, without thinking, I set my entire body on fire, the burst of flames making the bird bats finally peel off and wheel back. I flipped over, grimacing with pain as my torn back hit the stone floor of Gamon’s receiving area, and glowered at the squawking creatures.

  “Dammit, Gamon,” I groaned. “I thought you got rid of those.”

  Behind me, Gamon’s chuckle was dry as dust. “I wondered if you were going to try something different this time. You always forget your cuffs, you know. They worked the last time. You need to use them more often.”

  I sat up, glaring at her as she sat against the far wall of the bay. The creatures above us squawked and flapped, but they didn’t try to approach again. Their heads swiveled between me and Gamon, and I narrowed my eyes at her as she tossed her long, thick braid over her shoulder. She leaned against a wall, decked out in her usual body armor. Because when you’d lived a life as long and as deadly as Gamon’s, you never let down your guard.

  “Did you make some of those things into your pets?” I asked. “Is that what’s going on here? Are you training them?”

  “If I am, you’re the one to blame. You’re the one who dropped six dozen of these fuckers on me without so much as a text to warn me. They’re hellspawn, did Armaeus tell you? I had to break down and ask him. Which I did not appreciate.”

  “They were cuffed. You were supposed to, I don’t know, get rid of them. All of them.”

  She nodded, but her eyes had gained a speculative gleam. “That was what I was supposed to do with them, wasn’t it? Get rid of them. Because that’s what I do. That’s not what you do, or at least it’s not what you used to do. That’s changing, though, isn’t it?”

  I grunted as I pulled myself to a sea
ted position. “Do I have to ask what you voted for?”

  “You not only don’t have to ask, I’ll tell you what the rest of them voted for as well. I haven’t been idle up here, isolated from all the bullshit that goes on in the Council. Instead, I’ve been watching. The vote was closer than you would think. The Magician, Devil, Fool, and myself all voted to act. The Hanged Man, Hierophant, Hermit, and Emperor voted to stay. The Lovers, useless meat sacks that they are, also voted to stay. That was a two-in-one vote right there, which seems like something the Council should address. Taken together, they’re two brains but less than one coherent thought. Death’s vote is the only one I didn’t track, and honestly, she could have gone either way.”

  I sighed. I’d thought the same thing. “Well, they didn’t ask me, and I would’ve voted to fight. Did they get ahold of Eshe, somehow, after all? Simon said they hadn’t had contact with her.”

  Gamon’s smile was brutal. “They did not. And yet there were other votes tallied, beyond even Death’s. Three more, in fact. All voting against action.”

  I blinked. “Three? There are three Council members I don’t even know exist? Who?”

  “An excellent question, and one I look forward to helping you discover the answer to, assuming you don’t die first.”

  With a wave of her hand, she sent the squalling bat birds back into the shadows. Apparently, there was some sort of access point into her inner sanctum, because their prehistoric cries eventually faded.

  “I need to be able to hear myself think,” she said. “Those hellspawn are chatty little bastards.”

  “And why are they suddenly everywhere, do you know?”

  “Hellspawn, as it happens, are the ancient guardians of Hell, as it happens. Creatures of a very specific subset of mythology, hearkening from the Arabian Peninsula.”

  I grimaced. “Oh. Of course.”

  “It gets better. They are considered to be the particular favorites of the djinn, and their reemergence into society argues for that particular breed of demigods being awakened from a long and needful sleep. The djinn and their pets are not exactly morning people, it would seem.”

  “Where is the Hierophant in all this?” I groused. “Shouldn’t he be policing any new demon varietals?”

  “He’s been busy, actually. The Syx have been sent out no less than a dozen times in the past few weeks, quelling incidents in the villages throughout the Middle East. Fear is rampant, but actual injuries and death are harder to come by. The Syx are all too often finding nothing when they go to investigate, which means most likely…”

  “They’re being deliberately distracted,” I said. “Michael knows about this?”

  She shrugged. “Who knows what Michael knows.”

  I looked at her skeptically. “Apparently, you do.”

  “I made my living knowing my enemies, and I see no reason to change that now. My targets are simply a little more advanced. Fortunately, there are fewer of them every time I turn around. It’s an easy trade-off. But the problem isn’t the Council, Sara, it’s you. Even more so than the Hierophant and his enforcers, you’ve got the tools at your disposal, the resources you need to go after the Shadow Court. The Council isn’t going to do it for you. A few individual members? Sure. I suspect even the Devil would love to act if he could do it on the sly, but if you want to take out the Shadow Court, you’re going to have to do it yourself.”

  “I can’t exactly blow up an entire organization on the sly, Gamon,” I said irritably. “Everyone’s going to know I did it.”

  She smiled. It wasn’t a good look, but it was particularly appropriate for her. “Everyone will know. And yet no one will be able to prove anything, not if you do it right. Think about that. Your reputation will precede you in the deadliest of ways. You will be a one-woman agent of assured destruction. That wouldn’t mean that your troubles will be over, but they would become much more interesting, now, wouldn’t they?”

  My head was starting to hurt, but I couldn’t discount the twitch in my hands, the surge of fire in my blood. I also couldn’t unhear Sariah’s soft whimpers of pain as I’d peeled myself off her body. “I can’t take on the Shadow Court and kill them all. That’s not what I do.”

  “Correction, that’s not what you did. Who knows what you’re truly capable of? The short answer to that is no one. Not even you. And so…it opens up some interesting possibilities, doesn’t it? If I could deliver to you the person who dismembered Sariah, the director behind that attack? Would you kill them?”

  I stared at her. “How can you even ask me that question?”

  “Because it’s important. I need to know. Are you capable of killing someone in cold blood who desperately deserves it?”

  I opened my mouth, then shut it again. The question was basic, and I wasn’t the first person to ever consider it. It was a question that played out in suburban tree-lined streets and urban back lots, open plains and deep forest hollows all over the world. And I’d never given it much thought.

  The answer had always been obvious, before now.

  “But things have changed, haven’t they?” Gamon asked again, watching me with keen eyes. “They struck close to home. Worse even than cutting you down, they cut down someone you love. Don’t think they didn’t notice you went after her. Don’t think you haven’t just given them the perfect lever. You’ve all but signed the death warrant for everyone you care about.”

  My heart jerked sideways, a flood of anger rushing in behind the wrenching tug. “Gamon,” I said warningly.

  “Don’t you Gamon me. You know I’m telling the truth. Sariah wanted to peel back the onion, find out who was truly at the heart of the organization besides that buffoon Jarvis who’s the money and the mouth, but not the real power. She didn’t succeed, but you can bet she made a lot of people excited. There’s a whole contingent of bad guys out there chuckling into their coffee right now. Don’t think they’re going to stop with Sariah. Don’t think they won’t even try to take her out again. And I’m not talking just the Shadow Court anymore, I’m talking every two-bit asshole in every arcane corner of the world who’s thriving right now. You or me or anyone else associated with the Council has fucked up over the last few months—we’ve gotten soft. Even me. Your little librarian’s snit over the House of Cups was well-founded. They’ve been very bad girls and boys since I’ve left, but they haven’t felt the need to keep me apprised. That’s not so much dangerous as tedious, and probably something I’m going to need to fix eventually. You went to Hell to retrieve someone you love. You almost died in the process, and you didn’t kill a single soul to keep them from doing it again.”

  “There was nobody around to kill.”

  “Bullshit. You didn’t think to look for anyone to kill. You didn’t look to exact revenge, you only looked to save someone. Sweet, honorable Sara Wilde, champion of the afflicted, protector of the doomed. But the world doesn’t just need protection, Sara. It needs someone willing to strike.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Well, maybe you should,” Gamon cut me off. “Maybe it’s time. Do you want the Council to be dismantled piece by piece? With as good eyes and ears as I have, I can’t get close to Eshe right now. Who the fuck knows what they’re doing to her when she’s not out in the open. You certainly don’t see her making a break for it, even though she’s traded keepers. You don’t think that’s a problem? Because let me tell you, it is.”

  “Oh, so now you’re the expert on the High Priestess too?”

  “I’ve known people like the High Priestess my whole life. There’s only one thing they prize.”

  I knew the answer without her having to say it. “Their freedom.”

  “Bingo. She’s stayed too long without contact. She’s not there of her own volition, not entirely. She would want to be stroked for her super-spy skills if nothing else. There’s something wrong. You need to go there.”

  “Me?” I thought of Armaeus’s direction, Sheikh Ahmad’s invitation. The cries of the Connected who
had the poor luck to be in a djinn’s path. All roads, it seemed, led to Dubai. Was that a trap? Or simply the universe lighting the way?

  “Yes, you,” Gamon said, refocusing me. “You’re the one who fascinates the Shadow Court more than any other member of the Council. You, not the Devil, not the Magician, though arguably, the Devil runs the Council now, and the Magician has arcane depths that even he hasn’t fully explored. They don’t care. They want you. There has to be a reason. It’s probably not a good reason. Which means they’re probably going to come at you with guns blazing. You’re going to need to be prepared for that, and you’re going to need to use deadly force.”

  “You don’t know that,” I finally snapped, if only to end her diatribe. Jarvis’s mocking words echoed in my mind. Was it you we should have caught?

  “I do know that,” Gamon shot right back. “And if you aren’t willing to do what you have to, then you have to let me do it. Like this.”

  I jolted and stared across the open space at myself. It was like Sariah all over again, only I knew that wasn’t possible. It was Gamon in some sort of Sara suit.

  “That possibly is the most disturbing thing you’ve ever done,” I said flatly.

  “But can you fight me?” The open bay of Gamon’s receiving area suddenly felt like a killing field. “Would you strike me?”

  She took a step forward. The image didn’t flicker or shudder like bad CGI. It was smooth, flawless. And that creeped me out more than anything.

  “I told you I haven’t been idle up here. I’ve been learning, searching. I’m Connected, but unlike the rest of the Council, it wasn’t my magic that landed me with you people. It was my willingness to kill. To sacrifice—hell, not even that. Just to kill. In that way, I’m not all that much unlike Viktor. He’s only a middling magician. You know that as well as I do. But he is one of the meanest, most cold-blooded motherfuckers you’ll ever encounter in this generation or any other. He is a killer, and the Magician knew that from the start. Mix that level of sociopath with even modest Connected ability, and you’ve got a problem. Same with me. My Connected ability lies in my influence, and I helped cement that influence in blood. Pure magic, not really my thing. But the Magician has a big, wide library for the taking, and so does Justice Wilde. I’ve been doing a lot of reading in my spare time. Do you want to know the number one magical ability demons use both inside Hell and out?”