by Russ Linton
“Araceli?” I called as the deafening shower ended. No answer. Still hunched, I cautiously raised my head. “Araceli?”
She stood over Ida, glass crunching under her boots. She considered the body before removing a vial from her kit. “You know,” she said, uncorking a volatile green liquid. She strung a line of the acid along Ida’s spine. Smoke began to rise. Vial corked, she tossed it on top of the fallen creature. “I’m not sure if I should be impressed with your ability to negotiate with these creatures or not.”
Nice. Riding me again about the dark mojo. I got to my feet and brushed pebbles of glass off my pants.
“She wasn’t a demon,” I said. “No Below.”
“Undead. Some evolution of a vampire, maybe,” Araceli replied. She dragged her goggles around her neck to loosen her hair. Bending forward, she shook viciously and shards of glass sprinkled the floor. “This is what people get when they wish for immortality.”
I couldn’t tell if she’d aimed more shade at me. The attacks were starting to sound personal. She turned her attention back to the smoking corpse. The dress and skin were merging into a froth that smelled like a landfill on a hot summer day.
“So, if you’re in here now, how do we get out?”
She slipped on her goggles again and ignored me, searching the room. Her attention perked up at the full-length mirror with the golden frame. She tore the now empty frame down, plaster cracking where the anchors had held it. With her boot, she stomped the final bits to the floor. An outline had been left behind, too deep for a stain. The outline of a door that glided open with a push of her fingertips.
“After you,” she said.
No transition from or into This World happened as I went through the door. But stepping into the hallway gave off a sense of freedom. Same as when I’d passed through the gates of Duncan Correctional. An open invitation to a new life. No bars or chains.
The only sign of danger? That damn camera.
“Why wouldn’t Flagler’s wife just commit a good old-fashioned homicide and be done with her,” I said as we made our way through the construction area.
“If I had to guess, his wife wanted immortality for herself and the mistress was a guinea pig for an unproven spell. Once they saw what Ida had become, they found it easier to imprison her inside the spell than deal with her. That’s how they operate. Rarely do they have the guts to do their own dirty work.”
Something darker hid there. More history about Araceli I didn’t know. Could be time to demand some answers about her past. Of course, maybe I had to give this partnership time. Nelson and I worked together for years and I only recently found out just how corrupt he’d been. Araceli at least didn’t strike me as an opportunistic thug, maybe the self-righteous type. Didn’t know which was more dangerous.
“Any chance Kitterling’s prison is the same?”
Araceli kept walking, scoping out the surroundings in thought. “This is a complex magical working. Did you see any signs of this at the Castillo?”
“No, but hear me out. Why don’t we try out Ida’s jailbreak advice? Why can’t we gather some personal item of Kitterling’s, perform a ritual from the book, and set him free?”
She rounded on me, eyes wild. “We are not using that book! We are not performing necromancy! Haven’t you heard a thing I’ve said?”
“Woah, I’m just trying to help a man get unsundered, not create undead or whatever.”
She took a breath, maybe gave a ten count, her attempt to be patient with the new kid. What she didn’t know was how much damn restraint I was putting on.
“This is different. The mirror was a phylactery used to trap her soul and start the process of eternal life for her material body. As far as I can tell, this entire building was constructed to contain the evil they’d accidentally created. Evil, Ace. The book, all of it, pure evil.”
“Your magic has morals. Me? All I see with magic is people getting done what they want to get done, good or bad. You listened to Ida talking and figured out the special mirror was the key. I listened and figured maybe we could apply the same ideas to free Kitterling.”
She paced back and forth, hands on her hips, before starting down the hall again. “An item suited for a phylactery could be useful in reversing a spell of that nature.” She sighed and wagged her head in defeat. “But this building!” she exclaimed, arms spread. “All of this powers the spell. What powers Kitterling’s prison? What’s brought up these undead to begin with? One novice necromancer? Doesn’t add up. Magic is broken, twisted, on some fundamental level.”
Maybe Araceli didn’t know as much as I thought she did. She sounded overwhelmed. That was supposed to be me.
Phlegm shook loose as I walked down the steps beside her. I cleared my throat and she tossed a concerned glance. Truth be told, she’d pledged her own life to a dying partner. Maybe that lost cause had her twisted as much as this necromancy business.
Once we hit the lobby, we managed to dodge our tour guide, Preston. Didn’t seem the kind of kid to run to security when the root wore off. He’d have been too scared of getting in trouble himself.
We slipped out the front doors and into the courtyard, the sun warm and welcome. I paused long enough on the stone path to breathe as much air as my wounded lungs could handle. I’d dumped the cardboard box and carried the sword openly. A stroll in public, armed and black, was always a risk. But I wanted to just soak in the illusion of having busted out of another prison.
Couldn’t shake the feeling I’d escaped some terrible fate. Tish had been all about not entering the room, sure, but she said there’d been another presence which scared her more. Something or someone watching.
Some evil gang peering through the lenses of the camera? Was it these Overseers? More of the Sunset King’s goons or Mordecai’s followers? And how much of the world did they have under surveillance?
I’d shifted from the rare moment of living free back to my wary self. Paranoia, that’s what some would say. But navigating these magical factions required constant awareness. Street smarts and instincts like the ones I used to navigate my own reality.
Of course, when your partner was brooding and you were being all philosophical, the Spidey senses weren’t on ten.
We got all the way to the sidewalk along Cordova before I noticed the ash-colored limo. Coming out of the fancy college, I hadn’t thought anything of it. But as soon as we left the courtyard, it started to creep along the curb.
“Don’t like the looks of that limo,” I muttered.
Araceli gave a quick nod. A roll of her shoulders and I could see her fingers flexing, prepping to start throwing hands, knives, vials of hellfire. I tapped the sword against my thigh in thought.
We could run for the hearse. Navigating that beast out of the narrow lot would take too long. Not that a limo handled any better. A chase between the two in this traffic? Might as well be on foot. No, I was done with the running.
I hurried through the lot and unlocked Bubonic’s rear hatch.
“Whatever you do to make her bulletproof, get that shit ready,” I told Araceli. “We may need to take cover.”
Araceli produced a steel canister. I popped the hatch open as the limo backed along the curb, setting traffic into a chorus of angry horns and screeching tires. I gripped the hatch’s inner handle like the strap of a mighty shield. A whiff of something pungent and chemical, like rubber cement hit as the cap came off Araceli’s canister.
“Woah! You going to make this bulletproof or us furred enough to think we’re bulletproof?”
“Don’t worry,” she said as the clear sludge oozed down the back glass and over the metal below. “You won’t get high. But there’s a good chance this is a carcinogen.”
I gave her the side-eye. “You’ve been hanging out with Atofo too much.”
“A few hours is more than enough,” she said, eyeing her handiwork.
The chemical didn’t leave a visible coating. I rapped my knuckles on the glass. The normal, hollow ta
p you’d expect wasn’t there.
“Wash and wax later?” I said, trying to defuse the tension as the limo cruised into the lot.
Knives slipped into her hands. “Shut up and figure out how you’re going to do something useful from behind the door.”
Right, cops had kept my sidearm. My knife had been wrecked by a damn Gallu. Araceli and I hadn’t gotten to the sword throwing portion of my workout either. I rolled my neck and felt dense skin curl and rub. My armor spell hadn’t worn off yet. Wouldn’t stop a bullet, but might slow one down enough for me to get close.
I cranked down the back window then spun and shoved Araceli inside. Kneecapped by the bumper, the move caught her completely off guard. I’d slammed the door shut before she could scramble back out.
“Throw from cover,” I said. “I’ll move in close.”
She batted the curtains aside, cursing.
The limo rolled up and I whistled, slow and appreciatively. A Bentley. This wasn’t the boxy limo kids rented on prom night. This was the sleek chariot of the one half of the one percent, complete with tinted windows that ate light. I tried to appear relaxed, like there wasn’t a knife-throwing assassin in my trunk.
The car came to a stop, sleek lines of sunlight tracing the gleaming panels. I tensed, ready to charge. Rich boy might decide to pop a round through the glass. No doubt his insurance would cover it. Instead, the driver’s door opened.
A man stepped out wearing the whole nine — black suit, derby hat, and a pair of sunglasses. Average height, graying tips on his hair, this guy had been ordered out of a butler’s catalog. I’d need to get Kitterling a subscription when he got back. The driver moved to the rear and opened the door.
“Mr. Grant,” he said, stiff and formal. “I’ve been sent for you.”
I risked a step closer. No holsters, no bulges where somebody might keep a gun, he might have a knife tucked away, but I had a few feet on him there. I got no vibe, magic or otherwise. Though that hadn’t meant much lately.
“What if I’m not Mr. Grant?”
His eyes went to the sword and the hearse behind me. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll take my chances, sir.”
“Who sent you?”
“You wouldn’t know him, but he would very much like to meet you. I’ve been told to say he’s had his eye on you for some time.”
Here was one puzzle piece I didn’t want to let fall between the cushions. MiRA had been dogging me for months. This danger though from Tish hadn’t been resolved. Could be I got with him and that’s where the bad stuff happens. Could be this is my only break.
One step forward and Araceli was all over me, tearing the lace curtains of hearse aside. “Ace, are you seriously getting into that car?”
“Yeah. More negotiations,” I said. I tossed the keys to her through the open window. “Follow?”
I left her to scramble over the seat and I went toward the Bentley. The driver kept up his perfect posture, one hand on the top of the door.
“Apologies for the mess, sir,” he said. “I had to make a stop on the way.”
All I saw inside was rich leather and varnished wood accented with spotless chrome. “You get any crazy ideas,” I said, tapping my leg with the Shaw Sword, “and you’ll be driving impaired.”
“Quite,” he said coolly.
I slid inside, dragging my hand across silky leather. Space age controls and a screen ran along the headliner. There were four seats, the front and back facing each other. As the door closed, I realized I wasn’t alone.
A body sat across from me, propped up and cocooned in cloudy plastic. I could just make out the fancy suit and the golden ring of a monocle and chain suspended against his chest where it had fallen during the mummification.
Sykes. Or what used to be him. Guess he had a meeting too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Bentley pulled up to a building on the west side of town. Vaguely art deco, four stories, new construction, the clean lines had zero character. A good place for the anonymous rich dude to anonymously hole up.
We rolled through an open fence and into a parking garage. A vehicle barricade lowered and popped back up as we entered. Araceli had done a good job tailing us. I mean, you can’t go into stealth mode or whatever behind Bubonic’s wheel. The driver didn’t seem to care she was there. But he did stop and wait for the barricade to raise right behind the Bentley’s rear bumper to keep her out.
I swiveled to watch Araceli pop the hearse into park and jump out, fuming.
“You better let that girl get her way.”
“As you say, sir,” replied the driver. He’d been as good for small talk during the drive as my man, Sykes here in the plastic wrap.
The driver wound higher into the parking garage. Two guards approached Araceli as she came after us on foot. She knew her tail had been ugly and didn’t see any reason to try and sneak. Around the turn, and I heard a loud pop echo through the empty garage. I hoped she didn’t mess them up too bad.
For a weekday, the parking garage didn’t make sense. With the college not too far, all the tourists fighting for spots downtown, and most businesses operating their normal hours, empty spaces didn’t feel right. Building had to be unoccupied. Could be the money man had cleared it out just on my account. Put those together with the corpse riding shotgun, and I should’ve been more on edge.
One more barricade later we were driving out onto the roof of the garage. I squinted at the sudden brightness. No cars up here either, but there was a helicopter. Somebody commuting in style. If Araceli bops her ass all the way up here to see me go airborne, she might just drop that bird from the sky.
“We taking a flight?” I asked.
“I haven’t been informed of a flight, sir.”
Sounds like hired goon for “maybe”. Whatever. Like the Bentley, that chopper was big, made to travel in style and over long distances. Whoever this clown was, they might’ve come from out of town just to visit. Samoco’s corporate logo emblazoned the side. This was big oil money.
When we stopped, the driver climbed out and opened my door. He made a sweeping gesture toward the roof access not far from the helipad. “Security will buzz you inside. I will be a moment with Mr. Sykes,” he said, dipping his shades toward the other passenger.
“Uh-huh,” I muttered, keeping the sword between the two of us.
I made my way across the garage, not taking my eyes off the driver for long. Just like he said, he was wrestling Sykes’ gift wrapped corpse out of the car. As I watched, Araceli came storming up the ramp.
The driver held Sykes’ body propped against the limo. He tilted his hat back from a sweaty forehead. “Miss? Excuse me, miss?”
Araceli paid him no mind. She stalked up, a couple of walkie talkies clenched in her fists. She scowled at the driver who was still trying to get her attention and got in my face. “What is this?”
“Don’t know. But whoever is in there knows MiRA, and they came a long way to talk,” I said, gesturing toward the helicopter.
“And you’re actually going in alone. After what just happened.”
Bad plan? No plan, that’s what it was. Aside from a ride with a corpse, instincts weren’t screaming for me to turn and run or kick down the door and clear the building. I was too curious. If Araceli went along, she might start chopping heads before I got my answers.
“What did happen?” I asked. “I got yanked into some mirror prison and you go smashing up phylacteries or whatever to set me free? Did you even know if I’d make it out?”
“Are you saying I put you in danger?” Her eyes were getting crazy, but I wasn’t about to step off.
“Did you?”
“Deu meu!” Araceli tossed her gaze up as if she were talking to the Man himself. “Ace, if I wanted to, I would’ve left you in that room. You and Ida would’ve made a cute couple fighting over scraps of your own flesh!”
We’d gone from personal attacks to plain old cruddy. “But you can’t because you made your own demonic pact
or whatever to follow me around and keep me alive!”
“He begut oli!” she practically screamed.
“English, girl.” I expected knives but she still had her hands full with the walkie talkies.
“I have failed!” she said, getting in my face and stabbing my chest with a rubberized antenna. “When the sword bound itself to you, I accepted that judgment! When the spirits revealed themselves to you, I followed my duty! When you asked to leave the demon who ate my father alive, I walked away! And where are we? Closer than ever to the End!” She pushed past and slammed the crash bar of the rooftop door. When it didn’t open she lashed out with a boot and left a dent.
The driver had given up trying to carry Sykes’ body and was leaning against the roof, balancing his gruesome burden and watching our shouting match.
“Only Mr. Grant will be permitted to enter,” the driver said, blandly, as if the drama was boring him. “Initially.”
I scowled at the driver and moved closer to Araceli before she could melt the door. “Come on now. We’re both fighting this good fight. We’re on the same side.”
“Are we?” she demanded. “I’m doing everything I can to stop these forces of evil and you? What are you doing? Better yet, why are you doing this? Why?”
I didn’t have an answer. Not one she’d accept. I’d started this whole thing years ago to do what those necromancers had done — cheat death. I wanted to make that happen for Izaak, but the more I found, the less it seemed like something he’d want. Cures were one thing, but magic? That always required sacrifices. Prices people rarely understood before they got to the register. If I could, I’d give it all to her. Swords, responsibility for the fate of the world, magic. All of it. And the lectures, they were wearing thin.
“You want to do this here? Fine. Maybe you should call in your alchemist friends for backup and stop expecting me to help you save the world!”
She went pale, her eyes a dull flicker. From the moment I said the words, she knew. She understood I’d figured out her lie and the fire in her doused, a freshly forged blade dunked in a bucket of water. She looked so lost, I regretted saying what I’d said.