The Initiate

by James L. Cambias

  “Do you work for him?”

  “No. I’m kind of a special case. I answer to the Seven Sages directly. They’re the top level. Very old, very wise, very powerful. You saw one of them tonight—Roger. He’s the Sage of the West, which means America.”

  “What are the others?”

  “There’s the Sage of the Mountain, who controls the Apkallu in the Middle East and is kind of the senior position; the Sage of the Nile, who has Africa; the Sage of Thessaly, who runs the Circles in Europe; the Sage of the Ganges, who runs the Circles in India and South Asia; the Sage of the Kingdom, who has East Asia; and the Sage of the South, who has South America. They’ve moved around over the years—the North America one used to be in France, and there was one in Rome who got moved to Brazil.”

  “No wizards in Antarctica?”

  Moreno grimaced. “I wish there weren’t. That place is nothing but a headache for guys like me. Never mind.” He moved off to brief Shimon, leaving Sam to put away a couple more Bloody Marys before Feng invited them all to join the feast.

  The meal was served at a great ring-shaped table with a big bronze oil lamp burning in the center. A gap in the table allowed waiters to serve the guests from the inside of the ring.

  Hei Feng was the ostensible host, and placed Roger on his right hand and MoonCat on his left. Shimon and Isabella sat between Sam and the Sage. By some legerdemain with the place cards, Lucas wound up next to Sam, and helpfully provided the new member with information about who the others around the table were.

  “The lovely lady with the pale hair next to Miss MoonCat is her mother, Taika Feng. A user of magic at least the equal of her husband and possibly greater. The very well-preserved woman next to her is called Miss Elizabeth; very influential in the Circle of the West.”

  Sam sipped his Bloody Mary, trying to pay attention to Lucas’s lecture while seeming not to. Lucas himself did a great impression of a bore enchanted by the sound of his own voice. Method acting, Sam decided.

  “Three seats to my right you may notice a gentleman wearing a great many gold chains around his neck. He is known as the Count, or Il Conte by those who are either pedantic or pretentious. Very influential. Beyond him is Mr. Stone, who I believe you have already met. Directly across from you there is a woman with glasses and unruly hair. That is Dr. Greene, down from Boston. Aside from Roger she is the most powerful magician on this continent. The dreadlocked man sitting two places to the right of her is known as Shetani. He is a close associate of Charles White, a very powerful member who doesn’t socialize.”

  Lucas paused while a dozen slender girls wearing caps of green leaves entered bearing golden dishes laden with the appetizers. As one stopped before him to serve him a couple of little puff-pastry cups filled with caviar and sour cream, the hairs on Sam’s arms and the back of his neck stood up as he realized she wasn’t human. The green leaves on her head were growing directly from her skin, which was the smooth silvery-brown of a birch tree’s bark. More sprouted along her arms and on the backs of her extremely long fingers.

  “Dryads,” Lucas murmured with a faint chuckle. “I believe Feng recruits them from a grove out on Long Island. The Central Park dryads are far too haughty to serve any mortals, even Apkallu.”

  It’s all real, thought Sam. Even when he had managed to summon spirits himself, there was still a part of him which viewed it as an interesting psychological effect. But seeing tree spirits carrying plates and dancing for the amusement of the assembled Apkallu really brought it home to him. A secret world really existed, just out of sight of ordinary people. Now he was part of it.

  And of course there was cake and ice cream.

  * * *

  During April and May he resumed his studies—both officially, with Sylvia, and unofficially, with Lucas. The only difference from before the ceremony was that he didn’t have to be quite as paranoid about his meetings with Lucas.

  “Now that you’re a sworn initiate, it’s not particularly remarkable that a senior member such as myself should take an interest in your training. I have done it for others before you,” Lucas explained one night while they practiced some formulas to contest another wizard’s control of a spirit. This time they were meeting in a vacant skyscraper condo in New Rochelle.

  “What happened to them?”

  “Oh, some are still around. Now, this formula is not without risks. You are, in effect, outbidding the other wizard for the loyalty of the spirit, and the cost is real.”

  “All the breath in my body—that sounds like I’m letting it kill me.”

  “No, the meaning is literal. For just a moment your lungs will empty. Be sure you keep your mouth open, and it’s wise to hyperventilate a bit before you utter the words.”

  Sam recited the formula a few times while Lucas checked his pronunciation. “That sounds good. And yes, I’ve built up a little network of proteges and allies over the years. I don’t participate overtly in the politics of the society, but unofficially I’ve got quite a power base.”

  “So are you under Feng’s authority too?”

  “Hardly! He may act like a man of great importance, but he is merely a member of the Circle of the West like myself. That is the level where many ambitious men wind up—they are high enough to have authority over others, but the highest level is closed to them. He will never be the Sage, though he may imagine otherwise. Now, let us see how well you have learned the Pact-Breaker. On your guard!”

  Before Sam could say anything, Lucas reached into his pocket and cast a handful of clay dust into the air, then said, “Tule minulle, unen henki! Mihal kaskee sinua!”

  The powder coalesced into a smoky human figure with a winged head, which moved toward Sam, crooning softly. Sam felt a wave of intense drowsiness as it approached.

  He fought the urge to sleep and repeated the formula Lucas had taught him. A second later he gasped for breath as the spirit hesitated, hovering between the two magicians.

  “I could now try to regain control,” said Lucas. “So when you break the pact you should follow it immediately with a binding or banishment of your own.” He dismissed the spirit himself while Sam took some deep breaths, wincing at the lingering pain in his chest.

  “At your initiation I pointed out a few people of importance, but some extremely influential Apkallu were not there. There is an aged wizard named Zadith who never leaves his home, and Mr. White, who doesn’t socialize. Thankfully. They are names you should remember.”

  “When will I be ready?” asked Sam as they tidied up the condo before leaving.

  “Ready for what, is the question. Can you challenge the Seven Sages? No.”

  “I want to find out who did it. Who sent the bird demon. You said he’d done it a bunch of times.”

  “Well, you could follow the rules—approach Feng and explain the situation, beg his help. He might even agree to assist you, though I would emphasize ‘might’ in his case. You would have your justice…and the Apkallu would continue on their merry way, using ordinary people as tools and playthings, heedless of the harm they inflict on the world.”

  “It seems like that’s what’s happening anyway!” said Sam, surprising himself a little with how angry he felt. “I study and I practice and I go through all this bullshit but I don’t do anything!”

  Lucas finished putting away his materials and papers in a steel briefcase before answering. Finally he looked straight at Sam and his usual half smile was gone. “All right, then. Let’s find out just how serious you are about this project. You say you want to take some action?”

  “Yes!”

  “Then here’s a job for you: kill Hei Feng. He’s the Master of your Circle, so getting rid of him will leave you virtually free of all oversight for a while, until a new Master can be chosen and learn the ropes. There would certainly be justice in it: Feng draws multiple large salaries as a ‘consultant’ for various financial firms while doing nothing. I know for a fact that he sent a demon to murder an auditor who was digging into his aff
airs, and I suspect he has eliminated at least two others the same way. With a more friendly Master of the Circle here in New York we could even make some inquiries about who is responsible for the anzu attacks.”

  Sam remembered a green-eyed dog and didn’t hesitate. “Okay. How do I do it?”

  “That’s the trick, isn’t it? Though you are more powerful than a rookie initiate should be, you are not nearly in his league. A suspicious-minded fellow like him has probably accumulated dozens of guardian spirits and demons.”

  “Couldn’t I just shoot him?”

  “My dear fellow, all of us are virtually immune to firearms. That hafaza you wear about you may not be able to save you from getting hit by a bus, but it can easily deflect a bullet. Try it, if you doubt me. Even a knife can be nudged enough to turn a deadly wound into a minor cut. Ironically, a wizard is far more vulnerable to an unarmed opponent than one with a gun or a knife. An adept who has trained in bare-handed martial arts can push past a victim’s magical protections.”

  “I’m willing to do that.” He had beaten a dog to death, he could do the same to Feng. He ignored the queasy feeling in his stomach.

  “You might find it difficult. Feng has been practicing Nanquan Kung Fu for much of his life. Most Apkallu from Hong Kong do. Unless you happen to be a champion yourself, I don’t recommend trying to beat him that way. No, I will provide the weapon. You will be the delivery system. Just get it past his defenses into his home, and make sure no eyes or cameras see you do it. I will manage the rest.”

  “I’ll need a month or so to figure a way to get in and out of his place. How big is this weapon you’re thinking of?”

  “Quite small. Even the mightiest spirits can be bound into a mustard-seed by the proper incantations. I shall place a demon into some small trinket, then veil its true nature with illusions and misdirection. I’m good at that sort of thing, or so I’m told.”

  Chapter 8

  Hei Feng wasn’t listed in any directories Sam could find, and he suspected that any kind of asking around would draw Feng’s attention. But he did have one clue to follow: MoonCat. Unfortunately, having murdered her dog didn’t leave him in a good position to cultivate her acquaintance. At Sylvia’s class she routinely gave him looks of unbridled hate.

  He didn’t want to use magic to spy on her, so instead he invested a few hundred dollars in a used motorbike, and sat close to the door during the next class session at Post Academy Instruction. He hustled out as soon as Sylvia finished, and went up to the sidewalk to tinker with the bike until MoonCat emerged.

  As usual, the burly man in sunglasses was waiting for her in an armored SUV. When they pulled away from the curb, Sam followed, not making any attempt at stealth. On the Henry Hudson Parkway they turned south and he kept the SUV in sight only long enough to establish that they weren’t taking the George Washington Bridge to Jersey.

  Over the next couple of weeks Sam trailed the SUV as far south as Canal Street. After that he began skipping class from time to time in order to wait in ambush on a rented bicycle at Canal Park, near the parkway exit. When he spotted the armored SUV going past he pedaled after it, his bright spandex tights and pretentious cycling cap making him effectively invisible. Just another middle-aged bicycle bore.

  It took him three tries to tail the SUV all the way to its destination: a fancy building at Howard and Lafayette Streets. That was where MoonCat scrambled out of the car without glancing at the driver, and went inside through the marble lobby.

  Sam didn’t want to barge in after her, so instead he called Ash using his old “Sam Arquero” phone. “Want to go out for a fancy dinner tomorrow?”

  “A fancy dinner?”

  “You know, the kind of joint with cloth napkins and servers who don’t call you ‘babe.’”

  “Cloth napkins, no less! All right. What’s the occasion?”

  “Nothing special. I just heard about a Chinese-Peruvian fusion place and thought I’d try it. I’ll meet you at the corner of Canal and Broadway tomorrow at seven.”

  The restaurant occupied half the ground floor of the building MoonCat had entered. Halfway through the meal Sam excused himself to use the men’s room, but made an embarrassing error and blundered out into the building lobby. He took the opportunity to check out the elevators, and saw that one of them, located around the corner from the rest, had a key-card reader instead of a call button.

  When he got back to their table Ash raised her eyebrows. “I was afraid you weren’t coming back.”

  “Sorry. I got lost and had to ask a security guard for directions.”

  * * *

  The next morning Sam used a public computer at the Fordham University library to search for tenants of the building where MoonCat had gone. After a couple of hours he had built up a complete list: offices on the lower floors, some apartments on the upper floors, and a complete absence of information about the three-story penthouse on top.

  He had never tried using his Inner Eye with binoculars, but that weekend he positioned himself on the rooftop terrace of the 401 Broadway building nearby and took a look at the penthouse. As soon as he got the lenses focused on the building Sam nearly dropped the binoculars. Something was looking back at him.

  He couldn’t see it, not with his eyes, but the sense of hostile, searching attention was overpowering. Sam dropped down behind the parapet of the terrace and kept his eyes tightly closed until the feeling of being watched went away.

  “O-kay,” he muttered. “Now I know where he is. How do I get in?”

  If Feng’s guardian spirits could spot someone merely looking at his penthouse from three blocks away, there was no way Sam could get away with any breaking and entering. He had to get himself invited.

  “Is it ready?” he asked Lucas during a “chance meeting” in the Cathedral of St. John the Divine.

  “It is. A very nasty div—a cunning fighter, but I could bind it without using my own name, so it won’t be able to identify me. That’s important. I trapped it in a clay figurine. There’s a time-release spell with a trigger word. Put it into Feng’s home, preferably his bedroom or bathroom, and say the word. When the Sun sets, the div will be released. I have given it Feng’s scent by means of a used napkin, but there is likely to be considerable collateral damage. You don’t want to be anywhere nearby when it gets out.”

  “So I have to do this during the day?”

  “Yes. I’m sure you can manage it.” Lucas handed Sam a claim check. “The Park West Hotel checkroom. It should be a black leather briefcase with a lock. The combination is 4321.”

  Sam retrieved the bag the next afternoon, and tipped the bellman five dollars for bringing it to him. He examined the contents while riding across the Brooklyn Bridge in a cab. Lucas had protected the little clay figure by wrapping it in layers of cotton and plastic wrap. Even by concentrating on it with his inner eye Sam couldn’t sense anything about the figure, except that it was pretty crude looking.

  After that it was simply a matter of finding out some people’s names and making them believe his lies.

  Nine days after Sam picked up the figurine—which happened to be Midsummer Day—the water pressure in the spirit-guarded penthouse died away to nothing. After an angry phone call from Taika Feng, the building manager summoned the regular plumbing contractors to deal with the problem. They brought along their newest employee. “Phil” was a little old to be a plumber’s helper, and everyone kept forgetting to ask about his union papers, but he showed up on time and did good work.

  Sam was almost trembling as he rode the private elevator up to the penthouse with Mitch and Hector. He kept checking his watch—it was already past five. Taika had made the call hours later than he’d expected her to. There was plenty of time, he kept telling himself. Sunset wasn’t for another three hours. He could let Mitch and Hector putter around trying to restore pressure while he found a place to stash the figurine, then have a convenient hunch about the problem—the cutoff valve in the basement, which he had magi
cally commanded the building manager not to check—and be out well before the div got loose.

  “Got someplace to be?” Mitch asked him.

  “I’ve got a date at eight-thirty,” said Sam.

  “Well I’ve got a date with double pay for after hours,” said Mitch. “I can go all night.”

  Sam shrugged. He felt particularly naked because he had dismissed all the protective spirits he had accumulated, just in case anyone in the household decided to use the Inner Eye on him. His nervousness mounted with each floor that blinked past on the display over the controls. Suddenly the whole plan seemed utterly crazy. How was he going to beat a master magician in his place of power? Would Lucas’s magical time bomb even work? If there had been a way to reverse the elevator’s motion and go back down to the lobby, Sam would have done it right then.

  “Anyway, you don’t want to be on time for a chick,” said Mitch. “Let ’em wait for you. Isn’t that right, Hector? You’re the pickup master, right?”

  Hector, who had been faithfully married to the same woman since he was seventeen, grinned and nodded. “Works every time.”

  Sam chuckled along with the joke, then closed his eyes and thought of Alice—the touch of her skin, the smell of her hair when she cuddled up with her head on his chest. All gone in agony and terror one summer night. He’d seen the photos from upstairs. The Apkallu had done that. With that thought he felt the welcome surge of anger drive away his fear.

  “’Sides, wait till you get a look at this place. This dude’s beyond rich. We’re talking Bill Gates territory.”

  As if on cue the elevator door opened to reveal an extremely modest vestibule, with spotless white walls and a plain bamboo floor. But as soon as Sam stepped out of the elevator he was almost overwhelmed by the same sense of powerful attention he had felt when looking through the binoculars. That time it had been like hot sunlight; this was like looking into a furnace.

  Even Mitch and Hector seemed to feel it; they both looked around nervously. The single door in the vestibule opened and a tall woman with blonde hair so fair it might have been white stood regarding them. Sam recognized Taika Feng, MoonCat’s mother. He hoped his new look of beard, mustache, nerd glasses, and a shaved head would be enough to keep her from recognizing him.