The Night Witch: Wilde Justice, Book 6

by Stark, Jenn

  Sensei Chichiro stood looking at me imperiously, and I bowed slightly in genuine respect.

  “I didn’t expect to see you again,” I said honestly.

  “Whereas I always knew our paths would cross once more. You cannot stop learning simply because it has become inconvenient, Justice Wilde. You do a disservice not only to your station, but to the people who believe in you. And to yourself. I could not allow that in any student, and I certainly cannot allow that in the student with the heavy charge that you carry.”

  I grimaced. “Yeah, well. I don’t recall the actual instruction going all that well last time. I don’t suppose there’s just a YouTube video I could watch?”

  Sensei Chichiro sighed, her lips tightening with what looked like real dismay. “It was my intention to teach you humility. Instead, I taught you fear. It was my intention to teach you self-sacrifice. Instead, I taught you stubborn isolationism. I cannot teach you in the training ground. You do not listen. You do not learn. I can only give you the crack of the rod in real life. And so, this is what I will do when the time comes. It is my promise to you, Justice Wilde.”

  I made a face. The crack of a rod? I immediately called up a vision of Yoda riding on Luke Skywalker’s back as he raced through the swamp. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  In response, Chichiro lifted her hand and murmured something. A stiff wind sprang up between us, nearly knocking me over.

  “What was that?”

  “A spell of connection,” Chichiro said demurely. “When you most need it.”

  “Oh yeah?” I fought the urge to scrub the offending magic off my face, my arms, or wherever she applied it. “And who decides that?”

  “Unfortunately, it is all we have time for. Fight with your head, not your heart, Justice Wilde. I’ll be watching.” And then she took a step back into the shadows and vanished from sight.

  For a long moment, nobody spoke, then Nikki raised her glass again. “This is gonna be awesome.”

  15

  We took the House of Swords’ plane to Dubai. After finding Kreios’s Flamingo-flavored Tarot deck in Justice Hall, I had no interest in using any of the Council’s resources, and if they were left wondering what I was up to, so much the better. The House of Swords had kept its actions quiet from the Council for millennia. They were good at it. In addition, the long plane ride gave us more time to work out a plan of action, and to run through a dozen different potential scenarios.

  Finally, it allowed me the chance to sleep. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, but my recent experience with Sariah had exhausted me more than I cared to admit. I suspected only the Magician guessed how much, and I hoped even he wasn’t fully aware. I didn’t want him to feel like he needed to play nursemaid, and perhaps more importantly, I didn’t want anyone else on the Council to guess that I was compromised in any way.

  Now, as we coasted toward the airport, banking down out of the clouds, I felt the tension building again behind my ribs. There was no reason for it to be intensifying this quickly. I glanced over to Danae, who looked equally pensive as she stared out the window.

  “So let’s go over it again,” I said. “We were asked to meet with Sheikh Alsain Ahmad, who is currently harboring Eshe. He is sending a private entourage of security to greet us at Ahmal Lounge in the airport once we get through customs.”

  “Yes,” Danae said. “We could’ve done it more elaborately, but the Ahmal Lounge is accessible to the public and gives all sides a chance to size each other up before anyone ducks into any private limos. In addition, the sheikh’s security team can have their eyes on anyone watching us. There are layers upon layers of security at the Dubai airport, some obvious, some not. They’re not taking any chances. We shouldn’t either.”

  “Doesn’t feel right, though,” Nikki said from a seat facing us. She had her laptop open, her fingers moving rapidly over the keys. “Simon has his eyes in that airport as well. There hasn’t been a lot of movement, but he’s picked up members of the sheikh’s public security detail. Everything looks on the up-and-up, but there’s a tension in the place, he says. Something’s hinky.”

  “And we’re going to walk right into it,” I said.

  Danae smiled, then gestured to the ashes burning in the small salver she’d just used as a portable scrying tool. Make no mistake: witches were cool. “You were summoned to Sheikh Ahmad for the express purpose of him proposing an alliance with the Arcana Council. That feels right, particularly with his intercession with Eshe. That sets him up as a target, and, of course, you as well. In other words, there may be trouble in the airport. But what’s interesting about that is that the sheikh may seek to test your abilities before he even lets you darken his door. So we could be looking at an attack from pretty tight quarters.”

  I made a face. “This is giving me a headache.”

  We argued back and forth for another few minutes as the jet landed and taxied to a stop. Given the people we knew and our friends in high places, getting through security and customs was a remarkably expedited proposition, and we were soon met by a quintet of dark-garbed businessmen, all of them sporting earpieces and serious faces.

  For ourselves, we were dressed conservatively, but stylishly. Especially Nikki, who strode ahead, her impressive curves draped in a silky black half shawl that flowed easily over a knee-length dress. Matte nude hose covered her legs, and her black platform heels were positively circumspect. She also had on black gloves that extended up to her elbows, and she was clutching a baby doll pink silk purse. Her hair was swept up in a neat chignon, clasped with a thick black barrette. I’d seen the glint of steel in that barrette and wondered what material it was made of, given that it easily passed through security.

  To my left, Danae looked like a Wall Street lawyer, her slender body wrapped in an ice-blue business suit with a white shell beneath, a slender blue-stone necklace around her neck, more blue stones I couldn’t identify circling her wrist. She strode along easily in matte linen pumps. I moved just as easily, with a jet-black, calf-length, expensive-feeling duster over a black silk tank and trousers, my black boots polished to a high sheen. I even had a deck of cards tucked into my jacket—standard Rider Waite this time, no Disney knowledge required. The ensemble had appeared in my bedroom thirty minutes before flight, a gift from Armaeus and one I was happy to take. I generally didn’t place too much emphasis on my attire, but I was walking into the unknown. At least I would look the part.

  We proceeded without incident to the Ahmal Lounge, but the moment we entered, my anxiety ratcheted up a notch. Nikki had been right—something was simply off here. I could feel the tingling of fire sparking at my fingertips, so at least we weren’t in a magical dead zone. That had been my first concern. But when I looked at Danae, the hard set of her jaw tipped me off that she had felt the tension as well. When we entered, a man stood at the far end of the lounge, near the bar, where a slender, dark-faced man busied himself drying glassware. The place was about half full, a mixture of obvious tourists and other smaller knots of what I presumed to be locals, all of them well-dressed. This was not a group of people who were going to suddenly start diving for their machine guns, I consoled myself. If there was an attack, it would start out polite.

  The attractive older man at the bar slid his phone into his pocket and offered us a broad smile. “Hello. I am Alsain Ahmad—”

  The loud crack of a gun sounded from several feet beyond us, and Ahmad’s head exploded.

  Shit! I spun around, my third eye peeled wide to assess the lines of energy bouncing through the room. There were dozens of them, which made sense. Even Connecteds of limited power give off some level of electrical impulse, and highly agitated non-Connected did as well. And there was no question that everyone in the room was agitated. In less than a breath, another round of bullets lit across the space, puncturing the kegs of wine that stood in artful display along one side of the bar. People started screaming, and I spun back toward the shooter, my hands out. I wasn’t Armae
us, I couldn’t stop time, but I could seal this problem off right now. Ahmad had been Connected. He had been shot. All these people were victims and aggressors. It was justified.

  Fire shot from my fingertips in a crackle of blue flame and raced along the energy circuits bouncing around the room. The doors slammed shut, the walls became electrified, and a moment later, everyone in the lounge was shackled in the cuffs of Justice except for myself, Nikki, and Danae—and the bartender. Because: bartender.

  “Well, that’s a new trick,” Nikki drawled.

  “I’ve been working on it.”

  The bartender, who still stood frozen behind the long counter, dropped his cloth, then placed both hands on the smooth surface before raising his eyes to us. He had a serious face, I saw now, a hard face, with a long thin scar down one side. He was also quite a bit older than I’d thought he was at first glance.

  He looked around the room with its two dozen patrons, wrists shackled. Easily two-thirds of the captives had started shaking uncontrollably, and Danae hissed a low warning, but I’d figured it out already. Not all the patrons in the bar were entirely human. The bartender narrowed his eyes at them before flicking his glance back to me.

  “Justice Wilde, you came highly recommended to me,” he said in a cultured, affluent tone. “I’m glad to see the reports were warranted.”

  I didn’t need him to spell it out. “If you’re Ahmad, who’s that?” I asked, pointing to the downed victim.

  “And where’s security?” Nikki asked from the doorway. “Coast is completely clear, but hello, gunshots.”

  “Handled in advance. No one will bother us.” Ahmad’s face softened only slightly as he looked at the slaughtered man. “And he was a trusted soldier who knew the sacrifice he might be asked to make. A sacrifice that shall be avenged once we dispose of this problem. Unfortunately, not even you can adequately dispose of a possessor demon on your own, despite your many skills.”

  “Heads up,” Nikki said as the men nearest to me started convulsing more violently. Their eyes flew wide, their shackled hands lifting toward their throats.

  Meanwhile, Danae had dropped into a crouch, peering into the corner of the room. “Salt,” she snapped, “but the line is broken.”

  “By necessity,” Ahmad said, already in motion. He jerked up a box from behind the counter. Four large tubs sat in it, uncovered, filled with the white crystals. Nikki and I surged forward, and he tossed two of them to us, their contents spilling. We wasted no time drawing a perimeter around the edges of the room, restoring its solidity, while Danae dropped to her knees and traced letters on the floor in another spill of salt. By the time she rose again, the convulsions of the demons inside the Possessed were growing manic. I held out my hands, feeling the tension tighten.

  “I can’t hold them any longer. I didn’t think I could hold it this long,” I gritted out.

  From behind the bar, Ahmad grinned. “I didn’t think you could hold them at all, so that’s good to know.”

  “Here they come,” Nikki shouted.

  The demons burst from the Possessed, and the moment they hit the ground, they went up in a roar of smoke and flame, black goop flying everywhere. The few tourists in the room, already traumatized, were now treated to sheets of goop. One of them fainted, and others stood rooted in shock, as layer upon layer of goop coated the room.

  It took Danae another three rounds of shouted spells to fully clear the room. By the time she was done, there was a tight knot of huddled tourists, nearly a score of dazed gunmen still in their shiny bright cuffs, and a very smug-looking Ahmad with a half dozen security guards who popped up from behind the bar and filed into the room, not paying any attention to the streaks of goop on the floor or dripping from the tables.

  “You can set them free, Justice Wilde, if you would,” Ahmad said, gesturing to the bound and formerly Possessed. “Most of them are my own security detail, men we suspected of turning traitor, but who had been with us for so long, their defection made no sense. It took one of the local sahiras to give us a clue as to the reason behind their sudden unexplained behavior. She was quite disturbed by the idea of an orderly, rules-following demon, but there seemed to be no other explanation for it. And then, I put the question to the High Priestess, beseeching her for oracular assistance. She was kind enough to confirm my suspicions and explain how you might assist. She said she, herself, was not as suited to the job.”

  “Of course she wasn’t. So you brought us here to clean up your mess,” I said, more irritated than I should have been. With a flick of my hand, the bracelets slid off the hapless post-possessed minions. Just as well. Gamon probably wouldn’t have looked too kindly on another unexpected delivery on her doorstep, this one far less interesting.

  “I did,” Ahmad said. “Unfortunately, it was a very tragic gunfight. Too many good men lost their lives.”

  What came next happened so fast, I couldn’t stop it—or I didn’t stop it, anyway. Ahmad’s men lifted their pistols and assassinated the soldiers who had been possessed. They fell to the floor, and the remaining tourists who still remained alert and aware finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

  “Lest you mourn the fallen, we are an ancient family with ancient rituals and knowledge,” Ahmad said coldly. “None of these men could have been possessed without their knowledge. They are not the victims here.”

  I considered that. I wasn’t sure I believed him, but I had my own mad to manage. “Ahmad,” I said warningly, and Nikki moved up beside me, laying a hand on my arm.

  “Not now, dollface,” she muttered, as Danae watched us both with narrowed eyes. “He doesn’t need to know everything you can do. Just that you helped him out, yeah?”

  I blew out a long breath. “Yeah,” I muttered.

  Ahmad turned to his men, pulling his phone out of his jacket pocket as he directed them with quick gestures. “They’ll take care of the situation here, the injured,” he said.

  I watched with a curious detachment as the men moved around the collapsed tourists, syringes in hand. Those wouldn’t be your average narcotics, I decided. Those would be technoceuticals, and probably pretty strong ones. I didn’t know what these people would remember, but it probably wasn’t going to be a demon exorcism, yards of goop, and a gunfight.

  Ahmad directed us toward a back door to the lounge, and we followed, Nikki leading the way. He moved with utter confidence, and for a moment, I wondered if I should be more careful in following him out the door. I’d expected to be attacked by the Shadow Court, not by my own allies. And yet, maybe the two weren’t as separate as I thought.

  “Who possessed your men?” I asked. “Who commanded the demons to take them over?”

  “A question that has haunted us now for weeks,” Ahmad admitted. “You have to understand, I meant what I said when I advised that we have very old rituals and protections against such an attack. We have not lived as long as we have on the Arabian Peninsula without safeguarding ourselves from demons, particularly the djinn, which these possessors were not. For someone to have broken past our defenses, even preying upon weak-willed men, took some doing. An organization of sophistication and expertise.”

  I rolled my eyes. “The Shadow Court.”

  Ahmad shrugged. “So it would seem. I do not count that organization among my enemies, however, and we, in fact, received the High Priestess from them without issue as a show of faith. We have other discussions in progress with them, you see.”

  “What kind of discussions?” I asked sharply.

  Ahmad continued without acknowledging the question. “We are colleagues on the same playing field, even if we rarely play the same game. So if this is the work of the Shadow Court, it would be a foolish move on their part. Men often prove themselves as fools, but because the negotiations are ongoing, we can’t be hasty. If it is a third party outside the Shadow Court, it remains to be seen whether they are allies of the Court or their enemies in hiding, looking to weaken their negotiating position.”

  “T
he enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Nikki muttered, and Ahmad nodded.

  “Exactly so.”

  “So what do you want with me?” I asked. I didn’t bother keeping the edge out of my voice. I was being used here. I’d been being used for a while now, but it was really starting to get on my nerves. I was in Dubai to rout out the Shadow Court and send them to oblivion, not play resident assassin for the local thug lord. A local thug lord who had indicated that he could help me, not the other way around.

  Ahmad chuckled. “I am a proud man, the head of a line of proud people. I want to be heard by the strongest person in the Arcana Council in centuries. A person not so calcified in her thinking that she follows the old ways without thinking for herself. In return, I can share with you all my knowledge of the demons who are plaguing you—and the djinn who are controlling them.”

  I slanted a glance at him. “You know about them?”

  “I know about many things, Justice Wilde.”

  He turned to me and, with a crook of his finger, pulled a heavy gold medallion on a thick gold chain from beneath his shirt. With a flourish, he let it rest against his sternum and lifted his gaze to meet mine. A gaze that now burned with age, knowledge, and arcane power.

  “I am the Sun, a member of the Arcana Council since the time before Christ,” he said quietly. “I also voted that the Council should not act. I say we take these bastards out ourselves.”

  16

  We moved swiftly out of the airport to where Ahmad’s car was waiting for us, a long, sleek SUV that allowed all four of us plus two of his guards to enter easily, then take up positions all facing each other. The glass windows were only slightly tinted, so I braced myself for the inevitable nausea-inducing glance out the window, watching everything move sideways.