“The jury’s still out on that one.”
“How is ass hair even relevant?”
“Good point. D13 is a technological powerhouse. Why don’t you wiki this?”
“Because this is ancient knowledge. It’s not going to be in some database.”
“Then your people are slacking,” I said. “This info should be available at the touch of a few buttons.”
This time it was his turn to stare.
“It doesn’t always work like that, and you know this,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t have the access a dark mage has.”
I knew where he was going. “Aria won’t let you near her library, not while you’re breathing, at least. She barely tolerates me.”
“Wasn’t talking about the Wordweavers.”
I didn’t know where he was going before, but I did now. “No. Are you suicidal?” I asked. “He’s just as strong, if not stronger, than Aria, and a lot crankier.”
“That’s why I’m asking you.”
“Why don’t you ask him?” I shot back.
“I’m not a dark mage, you are,” he replied. “There are parts of the Archive he keeps off-limits. Even to me.”
“For a very good reason,” I said. “Most of those tomes and grimoires are lethal.”
“I think the information I’m looking for is in there, but I need a dark mage.”
“We aren’t exactly on speaking terms,” I said, shaking my head. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“Actually, I do,” Ronin answered with a sigh. “He’s my best and only chance.”
I shook my head again, and took a long drink of coffee. Honor and I had had a conversation a few years ago. It didn’t end well. I damaged part of the Archive, and we’d agreed to mutually avoid blasting each other to bits.
“You know he’s an Archmage, right?” I asked. “Or at least as strong as one.”
“I know he’s strong.”
“I’ll ask,” I said. “You’d better have a hell of a peace offering.”
“I think I do,” Ronin said, pulling out a small book. The title read: On Darkness and Fear—The Sentience of Dark Entities, and the Correlation to Fear Responses.”
“Shit,” I said under my breath. “How did you get a copy of that? I thought they were all destroyed?”
“There’s only one other copy, and Professor Ziller has it,” Ronin said, “He gave me this copy.”
I rested a hand lightly on the book. The latent energy thrummed through my fingers. This book was dangerous. He slid it across the table to me.
“What are you doing?” I said, sliding it back. “You give it to him.”
“I’m offering you a chance to help me and repair your relationship with Honor,” Ronin said. “It makes sense to be able to access the Archive. You know I’m right.”
“Bullshit. You’re using me to get information on the Magekiller, because Honor won’t let you into that part of the Archive.”
“Well, that too,” he answered. “I think he’s forgotten what happened between you two by now.”
“Do you know Honor?” I asked. “Books were destroyed.”
“He is a bit particular about his books,” Ronin answered. “But this should help smooth things over. I’ll let him know to expect you.”
“Wait, you said you were asking,” I said, recalling his earlier words. “You aren’t here as Division 13?”
“Yes and no.”
“That sounds like you’ve gone rogue.”
“Officially, I’m on extended leave.”
“And unofficially?”
“I’m sanctioned to do whatever needs to get done, while giving Division 13 plausible deniability,” he said with a smile. “Win-win for me.”
He stood and tapped his arm-computer.
“Is that thing only for technomancers?”
“More or less,” he said. “We have to bond to it on several levels, but they can be removed, unlike a certain artifact that has joined to a certain dark mage.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’m sure you don’t,” he said, handing me a card. “If you come across the Magekiller on your patrols, give me a call. I won’t just be gathering data this time.”
“I appreciate it,” I said, taking the plain, blank white card and turning it over. “How am I supposed to read this?”
“Ask the lizard,” he said. “I have other leads to follow. Understand, just because Division 13 doesn’t interact with the Wardens any longer, doesn’t mean—”
“They aren’t watching me,” I finished. “Tell them to take a number.”
“As long as you remain a dark mage, they’ll keep an eye on you,” Ronin said.
“I’m flattered, really.”
“Don’t be. They’ve been burned by dark mages in the past. In some cases, literally.”
“So, I’m not being watched by fans?” I asked. “Now, I’m slightly disappointed.”
“There are some in the organization who think Wardens are a relic that should be retired, permanently,” Ronin answered. “Don’t give them a reason to act.”
“I may be old, but it doesn’t mean I’m helpless.”
“That was evident tonight. I’d prefer we focus on the Magekiller, and whoever is flooding the streets with this new Redrum X.”
“Tell your people to leave me and mine alone, and we’ll avoid the pain,” I said. “If they don’t start none, won’t be none.”
“‘Don’t start none, won’t be none’?” Ronin asked. “Really? What is this, kindergarten?”
“Sometimes the simplest messages are best,” I said with a slight smile. “Tell them to back off, so I don’t have to shoot them. Dead operatives make my life messy. I don’t like messy.”
“I’ll inform them to leave you alone.” He made to leave. “They won’t listen, you know.”
“I know,” I said. “But I’ll feel better knowing they were warned when I shoot them.”
“Maybe you should get out more? Take up a hobby?”
“I get out…every night.”
“I meant besides these patrols you do,” Ronin said. “I know they’re called the Night Wardens, but you are allowed to do things during the day. Take a break, Grey. Next thing you know, you’ll be running around claiming to ‘be the night,’ or some other insanity.”
“Right, and I’m the one who needs to get out more?” I asked. “Before you go, I wanted to ask you who’s making the new strain of Redrum?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Ronin answered, his voice hard. “Surprisingly, it’s not on any task lists that I know of.”
“UV-resistant rummers aren’t a priority for Division 13?” I asked in disbelief. “Really? What are they waiting for? Until rummers fill the streets?”
“Wake up, Grey,” Ronin said. “Think about the population it’s hitting the hardest.”
“The homeless and forgotten,” I said. “They view this as a culling, population control…bastards.”
“Exactly,” Ronin answered. “They aren’t going to devote resources to finding the supplier, but I’m guessing you will.”
“I will.”
“When you find whoever it is, do me a favor?”
“What?” I asked. “Hand him over to the authorities? Because I can tell you right now that—”
“Put a few extra rounds in them from me.”
I nodded, surprised at his words. “Will do.”
“One more thing,” he said. “When it looks like you’re walking into a trap, and you don’t know who to trust—use the number.”
“What number?” I said, looking at the card. “Not seeing a number.”
“You will.”
Ronin walked away from the table and left The Dive. I found myself not disliking him entirely. He was still part of Division 13, which meant hidden agendas were par for the course.
Still, better the devil you know than the devil you don’t. I turned over the blank card he had given me, put
Ziller’s book in my duster pocket, and headed back over to the bar.
TWELVE
I tossed the card on the table, next to Frank.
“Can you read that?” I asked. “Looks blank to me.”
“Maybe it’s time you finally admitted your age and got some glasses,” Frank answered. “You could be the scholarly Night Warden.”
“Can you read it or not?”
“Give me a second,” Frank answered, examining the card. “The suit gave you this?”
I nodded. “You know what I really need? Besides another cup?”
I slid my mug down the bar. Cole stopped it and removed it from the bar in one deft move.
“What did he want?” Cole asked, as he refilled my mug. “He left in a hurry.”
“He wanted to let me know that he knew—about me, and all of you,” I said. “I think you spooked him.”
Cole raised an eyebrow and slid my mug back. Gary B. B. Coleman came over the sound system to let me know the sky was crying. I paused a moment to enjoy his voice, savoring the fresh java.
“I spooked him?” Cole asked. “Can’t see how.”
“Apparently he couldn’t get much info on you,” I said. “The fact that you guessed he was D13, threw him.”
Cole nodded with a slight smile, and tapped the side of his nose.
“Told you,” he said. “Never fails.”
“He said to make sure you kept your information to yourself,” I answered. “D13 is twitchy about people knowing they exist.”
“Might come over and erase your ass, Cole,” Frank said with a chuckle, until he saw my expression. “Shit, really?”
“He wouldn’t be the only one,” I said, pointing to the card. “Can you read it or not? For the record, you’re older than I am.”
“There is no way you could possibly know that,” Frank snapped. “Yes, I can read it. It just needs a special treatment.”
“If you say saliva, I’d prefer you leave it blank, thanks.”
“Did he tell you to give it to me?” Frank asked, flicking his tail side to side.
I nodded. “Said: ‘Give it to the tiny lizard with delusions of grandeur. He’ll know what to do,’” I answered. “Having my doubts now.”
“I need to send a charge through it,” Frank answered. “But you can’t be in proximity when I do it, or it will fry you too.”
“Fine. Take it upstairs and do what you need to do.”
“Be right back.”
A second later, Frank disappeared with a small thunderclap. Upstairs, I heard a crack of lightning followed by another, louder, thunderclap. A few moments later, the smell of chlorine assaulted my senses, and Frank reappeared on the bar.
“Wonderful. It smells like a pool in here, thanks.”
Frank tossed me the card. “It only smells that way to you,” he said, with a growl. “And, you’re welcome.”
I picked up the card. It was covered in runes. They looked ancient and unfamiliar.
“I’m supposed to be able to read this?”
“Yes,” Frank said. “If you focus, you can.”
I looked down at the card again and narrowed my eyes, letting my inner sight read the runes. It was a string of digits I didn’t recognize.
“All of that security for a phone number?” I asked, looking at the number again. “Seems kind of long. This international?”
Frank looked down at the card. “My guess is that it connects directly to that super tech on his arm.”
I nodded. “It makes sense,” I said, sliding my mug down to Cole, who dropped it in the sink. “Still seems long.”
I put the card in a pocket and grabbed a rune-covered rag, just in case.
“What did he want?” Frank asked. “I mean, besides giving you his number and threatening us?”
I pulled out Ziller’s book.
Frank took a step back. “Whoa,” he said. “Where did you get that?”
“I have to go see Honor.”
The words hung in the air for a few seconds.
“Well,” Frank said, after letting out a long breath, “it was nice knowing you. Cole and I will keep the place going after you’re gone. Maybe even rename it—The Grey Dive. What do you think, Cole?”
“Has a nice ring to it,” Cole answered. “Maybe a small statue, or just hang the duster in a corner as an homage to our departed friend.”
“That’s a nice touch. I like the hanging duster, but over there in the other corner, out of the way. Don’t want anyone falling into it by accident and getting lost.”
“Good point,” Cole said, nodding as he wiped down the bar. “What about Koda?”
“We’ll keep the Lockpick,” Frank said. “Someone still needs to keep the streets safe. I’ll go out with her.”
“Really?” I deadpanned. “You and Koda will go out and patrol?”
“To honor the spirit of the brainless Night Warden who went to the Archive and got himself blasted. It’s the least we can do.”
“You won’t make it out the door without killing each other,” I said, picking up the book. “Besides, Honor won’t kill me, at least not before I give him this. Make the call.”
“You’re serious?” Cole asked. “Should I give Roxanne a heads-up? You know… just in case?”
I glared at Cole. “You think I’m looking forward to this? Call him.”
Cole headed to the back room.
“Nothing good will come of this, Grey,” Frank said with a flick of his tail. He was about to spit when I threw a runed rag on him. He shook it off. “Funny. I hope Honor does blast your ass. That’s what you need and deserve.”
“You know what I really need?” I said.
Koda came downstairs silently and scowled at Frank, who deliberately ignored her by turning away.
“What do you need?” Koda asked. “Besides a new form of security that’s less…lizardly.”
“Shut it, Lockpick.”
“I need a warden bag.”
Frank groaned, and moved to the other end of the bar.
THIRTEEN
“What’s a warden bag?”
“What are you doing?” Frank hissed. “Don’t encourage him.”
Cole appeared a few seconds later. “The call has been placed,” he said. “If he wants to erase—I mean, see—you, he’ll call back. Who knows, maybe he’s mellowed with age?”
Frank glanced at Cole, and shook his tail. “Did you smack your head on the doorframe on the way back?” Frank asked. “Mages don’t get ‘mellow’ with age, unless that means cranky, angry, and irritable.”
“Maybe he won’t call?”
Very few people could approach the Central Archive directly. Honor set up a system, where if you wanted access, you would reach out and leave a message. If he was feeling social that day, or you were important enough, you’d get a call back. I didn’t expect a call.
“Did I hear you right?” Cole asked, a smile barely crossing his lips. “You were asking about a warden bag, Koda?”
Frank hissed at Cole.
“What?” Koda asked, innocently. “Is this bag cursed?”
Frank glared at her and shook his tail again. “Why are you asking? Now he’ll never shut up.”
“Looks like we’re low on the Deathwish,” Cole said, heading down the stairs. “I think I need to check the inventory. Be right back.”
“Sure, run while you can, traitor,” Frank said. “You know exactly how much inventory we have at all times.”
“I may have miscalculated a few boxes,” Cole answered with a smile. “Better safe than sorry, especially with Mr. Cranky Mage and Deathwish.”
“I won’t forget this, Brutus.”
“What’s a warden bag?” Koda asked. “Is that like an accessory? Can I get one?”
Frank turned to look at her.
“Are you brain-damaged?” Frank asked. “Stop asking questions.”
“Didn’t you say they couldn’t be made anymore, Frank?” Cole yelled from the top of the stairs. “Remember?”
“You bastard,” Frank said, whirling in Cole’s direction as he disappeared down the stairs. “Et tu, Cole? Really?”
“Why not?” Koda asked, and Frank sighed.
“Fine,” Frank answered. “I’ll school the young Sith. You”—he pointed a finger in my direction—“shut your face.”
“Sith?” Koda asked, confused. “I’m not a Sith. If anything I’m a Je—”
“He’s a dark mage,” Frank finished, pointing at me. He turned to Koda. “You’re his apprentice, ergo that makes you a Sith.”
“He kind of has a point,” I said, nodding. “You do act very Sithy, what with the anger and hate. Jedis are very peaceful warriors, unlike a certain Night Warden apprentice I know, who gives in to the anger on a regular basis.”
“Shit,” Koda said, glaring at Frank.
“That’s just a scrambled Sith,” Frank said, with a flick of his tail. “Just like you. Now, pay attention, because I’m only explaining this once.”
“Fine, warden bags,” Koda said. “Enlighten me, dragon.”
Koda knew just how to nudge Frank. Nothing pleased him more than being called a dragon. He shook his tail, as small arcs of energy flew off his body. I tossed the rag on the most volatile, preventing a small fire.
“Back in the day, when Wardens patrolled the night and kept the city safe, the concept of time and relative distance in space was new. Wardens carried everything they needed in specially designed bags.”
“Warden bags,” Koda answered. “And they were special because…?”
“They were created to hold everything a warden needed on patrol.”
“What do you mean ‘hold everything’?” Koda asked. “How big were these things? I’m not carrying a duffel bag on patrol.”
“About attache-case size, at least on the outside,” Frank said. “Inside? I heard a Warden got lost in his own bag. They never did find him.”
“They’re like your coat pockets?” Koda pointed at my duster. “Bigger on the inside?”
“Better,” Frank said. “Warden bags acted as portals, containment, offense, and defense. They were virtually indestructible.”
“So why are they so hard to get now?”
“Well,” Frank said, “they had a small flaw.”
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