by Jenn Stark
“This is magic,” Armaeus said, his tone rife with awe. “Broken magic.”
“Broken?” I yelped. “What does that mean, broken?”
We took another step back, only to connect with the immovable wall of the In Between. Nowhere else to go. Meanwhile, the current of what Armaeus called broken magic hovered now only ten feet away, stopping apparently because we’d stopped, which was downright neighborly of it.
“Spells once formed in light and joy that were then used for ill purposes,” explained the Magician, his voice still tinged with far too much awe and far too little fear, in my book. “My own failed spells, some of them, but far more spells and bits of arcane lore that I had stripped away from sorcerers who didn’t possess the skill or discernment to wield such magic. Once, they were beautiful, full and true in the light of the world. But here, they are truncated and corrupted and false, reflecting all the twisted uses of magic that mankind has ever attempted to wrest into a new form for its own corrupt ends. They are—broken. And I could not fix them.”
“Got it. Broken.” And given what I was looking at, I could see what he meant. If magic had a physical form, it would surely be a wonder to behold. These…were not that. Spells that at one time had been things of beauty were now shrunken, misshapen, and deformed. And they were quivering toward Armaeus—the Magician, not me—as if he could somehow help bring them back to life. And maybe he could. But for him to have thrown all these bits and pieces of broken spells into the heart of the In Between like so much trash didn’t feel right. All these spells were completely out of balance, the light stripped away from the dark or the light amplified to the point of being a punishment. I found myself staring in mute horror even as the wraiths finally reached us, and then I heard the first of them strike Armaeus…and he didn’t fight back. There was only the briefest puff of air as he absorbed the broken magic inside him.
“What are you doing?” I gasped, but I didn’t really need an explanation. He was absorbing the broken bits of magic—all of it—in hopes that within all the pain and misery, he’d find the missing piece of spell work that would make him whole again.
Unfortunately, that approach didn’t seem like it was going so well.
“No…” groaned Armaeus after one particularly brutal hit. “No.” Another hit him, then another, and a sob broke free from his throat. Then he half screamed, dropping to his knees with an agonized gasp, and that was all it took for me. Turning to Armaeus, I threw both arms and a couple of spectral wings of energy around him and enveloped us both in a curtain of fire—and we were gone.
We crackled back into awareness a heartbeat later, both of us crumpling together on the cold rain-soaked concrete of the shipyard. Not my best location for a return visit, granted. But it certainly was top of mind.
I yanked Nikki’s phone out of my jacket. The flashlight still was toast, but the rest of it seemed to be working. I’d take it. I scurried over to my borrowed motorcycle, which was somehow miraculously still sitting there. While Death, Simon, and the Magician had been stuck in the In Between for days, not much time seemed to have passed since Armaeus had summoned me there. Still, I had no idea where Nikki had chosen for our next lodging, or if anywhere in Hamburg was safe. I pounded out a text to her as Armaeus stirred on the ground.
“What…where?” he wheezed.
“We’re in Hamburg, big guy. You can sort out all your problems in therapy later, but I can’t afford to lose you right now.”
“Miss Wilde.” Armaeus shook his head, peering at me. Even from his position laid out on the ground, he looked…different. Better. “Just who exactly would you consider qualified to provide psychoanalysis on me?”
His tone was so cool, so supercilious, and so endearingly familiar, I nearly dropped my phone. “Ah, so now you’re feeling more yourself?”
He offered me a lopsided smile that did funny things to my heartbeat. “It would appear that my mission to the In Between bore many gifts, above and beyond the extraordinary gift of John Dee’s learnings. I now have the secret of alchemy, which is far different than I thought it was. I have, with your help, healed some very broken magic. And I have also learned…other things. Important things.” He glanced around. “We’re in Hamburg?”
“Where it’s finally stopped raining, yup.”
His quizzical smile broadened, and he nodded as he sat up fluidly, with none of the weakness I’d seen in the In Between. “Of course we are. The dead zones.”
My phone pinged with Nikki’s response. “You know about those?” I demanded as I looked down at my screen. “And do you have any idea where Avenue Am Sandtorkai is?”
“Near the Speicherstadt, yes. A good location, but there’s one better.”
Without further discussion, it was Armaeus’s turn to play Woober driver. Abandoning the bike for good this time, we disappeared in a burst of smoke and a second later reappeared in the dining room of somebody’s house, definitely not mine. I stepped away from the Magician and turned around, recognizing the quality of furniture, artwork, and decor in general.
“Ahhh… Have you always had a house in Hamburg?”
“Not me personally, but the Bertrand family has held a home here for over a hundred years.” He paused, looking off at the far wall to concentrate. “Since 1852, in fact.”
“That’s…interesting timing.”
“Indeed, falling rather late in Abigail Strand’s tenure as Justice. I didn’t buy the house personally, though I wasn’t unaware of its existence as I was with the house in Paris. However, I’m not entirely sure whose decision it was to purchase in this particular city, now that I think about it. It would seem I should make a study of all such points of confusion in my recollection. I suspect it would make for very interesting results.
“You still don’t remember anything about the Shadow Court?”
He grimaced. “I do not. The apparent purpose of my journey into the In Between was to recover the knowledge of Dee’s alchemical process, reclaim an awareness of a trap I’d built for myself…a trap I would do well to destroy for good…and to achieve a sudden and unfortunate realization of the nature of what I released into the In Between a short while ago. Eight hundred years of broken and misguided spells, it would seem.”
“Yeah, let’s talk about that. A little more detail would be good.”
“In my studies, I’ve come across an endless series of magic and spells that didn’t do what their owners wanted them to do or, worse, accomplished their wielder’s aims far too well. These broken spells have been entrusted to me for centuries upon centuries, so that no others may stumble across their madness unaware.”
“Then why’d you suddenly decide to get rid of them? I mean, it was handy that the In Between portals were right there and open at the time, but there’s no way you could’ve been thinking about airing out your gray cells while you were getting blasted by the Irish gods a few weeks ago.”
“True, unless there was something in my memory storage that I knew was a liability. In my weakened state, I couldn’t keep it protected. If I thought I was on the verge of death or being broken, I wouldn’t want anyone to take advantage of my weakness and turn it against the Council.”
“So sending all those spells to the In Between was your version of activating your ejector seat.”
“Until I was better able to heal that broken magic, yes. So it would appear.” He moved over to the bar, taking down the bottle of scotch. He eyed it thoughtfully before pouring glasses for both of us.
I accepted mine willingly, savoring the rich slide of liquor down my throat as Armaeus studied me. When he spoke, his voice was quiet.
“I have put you through a great deal, Miss Wilde. It was never my intention for you to suffer so much on my behalf. Had I realized the harm I’d be causing you…”
“You still don’t remember me, do you?” I asked bluntly, gesturing at him with my glass. “You want to, but you don’t. And the fake memory of Hell doesn’t count.�
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He sighed. “I do not, not entirely. It’s possible that I need to fully reclaim more of the magic I placed within the In Between before I can successfully reclaim all my memories.”
“So the ‘memories’ you have about me now, about how I’ve suffered or whatever, aren’t really memories after all, are they? They’re whatever you were able to pull from my mind when you reached out to me for help and I let you in.”
“Yes. But you see, I hope, the advantage of letting me in, as you call it.” He eyed me over the glass. “I want to understand you, Miss Wilde. To understand us. I want to know everything I can about you in case it could serve us in the coming confrontation with the Shadow Court.”
I twisted my lips. What he was saying made sense, but there was a complexity to it I didn’t trust. I hadn’t believed the apparition in the shipyard when he’d cast aspersions on Armaeus’s feelings for me. I knew the Magician loved me. Correction. I knew that the Magician I’d known loved me. I also knew this man in front of me wasn’t that same person. He was darker and edgier, and I’d seen only the barest hints of his new personality, or his new-old personality, now reborn within a far stronger being. I trusted the Magician I’d fallen in love with. But this Magician had not yet earned that faith.
And yet…I still loved him with every ounce of my being. Which made me more vulnerable than I wanted to be.
“We’re going to have to find a workaround, I’m afraid.” I drained the rest of my scotch and set down my glass. “Like I’ve said before, if you simply thumbed through my mind, those wouldn’t be your memories, they’d be mine, clouded with all my hang-ups. Of which I have many. Your interpretation of the actual events that created those memories could be entirely different than it was in the moment those events happened, and that misinterpretation could be deadly.”
My explanation sounded good, even to me, but I didn’t miss the quick pain in Armaeus’s eyes or the sudden flash of loss that clouded his expression. He’d thought I’d give in to his reasoning. He’d wanted me to give in to it.
I wanted to give in to it too.
I glanced down at the booze refilling my glass. It now nearly reached the rim. “Getting me drunk isn’t going to get you inside my mind,” I warned him with a rueful smile as my phone pinged again. “That’s Nikki. She’s got the team with her. Should we join them or have them join us here?”
“Here,” Armaeus said without hesitation. At least he sounded like the Armaeus of old, even if he didn’t remember everything. “But they can’t travel here directly from the hotel. Have them utilize conventional transport to an outside location I will provide while they’re en route, then they can employ magic to transfer here.”
I frowned. “You don’t think they were watching us in the shipyard?”
“This house is warded. Anyone coming in or going out is cloaked, no matter where they come from. Still, tell them to use all precautions. I’ll explain about the dead zones when they arrive.”
“Yeah, I’ve already been introduced to one of those. There are more?”
Armaeus nodded. “Hamburg is an old city, full of secrets. I should have guessed the Shadow Court would be here. Now that I know where it is…the rest must in turn follow.”
I communicated all this to Nikki, and her response was immediate. Roger, but change of venues needed. We’ve got Interpol waiting for a meet at 06:00, would rather not have them realize the Magician’s back in town. Can he be discreet?
The Magician smiled, tucking away John Dee’s prized journal into his jacket pocket and giving me a last, searching glance. “I assure you, Miss Wilde, you won’t even know I’m there.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
At Armaeus’s insistence, the meeting place was none other than the warded location where he’d wanted everyone to meet before jumping to his family home, but it was hardly discreet. The Speicherstadt was one of the most well-known tourist areas in Hamburg, and though the conference rooms beneath the hotel we’d chosen were heavily guarded, how difficult would it be for an organization that had based its operations in this city for hundreds of years to watch it?
“Relax, Miss Wilde,” Armaeus murmured. “All in due time.”
Due time was fortunately not long in coming, as the doors opened a few minutes later to reveal Simon and Death.
“We’re not staying for the party,” Death announced before she barely cleared the door. “We just need the intel before I get Simon to Dr. Sells.”
“I told you, I’m all right,” the Fool insisted, sighing as she glared at him. “Look, I get it. I very well may die in the In Between at some point, but I didn’t die this time, okay? I’m fine.”
“It’s still wise for you to be evaluated,” Armaeus said. “You were under my care, and once again, I abandoned you to the In Between. I would advise not agreeing to go with me the next time.”
“Are you kidding? I lit that place up with trackers like I owned it.” Simon grinned. “I caught the full show of you and Sara facing down the hobgoblins of doom down there. It was awesome.”
The Magician leaned forward with consummate interest just as the doors opened again to admit Nikki and Kreios. Nikki had changed into her preferred Mod Squad attire for the meeting with Interpol—her hair styled in a dark chestnut sweep, her sleek black minidress barely skimming her upper thighs, with an inch of skin showing before her deep black thigh-high platform boots took over the show. Her gaze swept the room, pausing only briefly on Armaeus before settling on me.
“Dollface, you changed clothes.” She grinned. “I totally approve.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, the expensively stretchy fabric of the new clothes Armaeus had suggested feeling completely foreign to me. My hair was slicked back into a tight bun, and I wore makeup. I also wore the totem of Guabancex, though it was tucked beneath my silky tank top. “I hardly think any of this is necessary.”
“And I assure you, you’re quite wrong,” Kreios said. He sported an upgrade to his own Mediterranean Surfer Boy attire, with an elegant suit and dark blue shirt open at the collar, hints of platinum at his wrist. With their matching suits and feral grins, he and Armaeus could have been stand-ins for Shark Tank. “But what are we looking at?”
“This is all I got, and it’s not a lot,” the Fool said. Death stayed close to Simon as he approached the table and slid into a chair with a little too heavy a sigh, and my gaze grew sharper on the Fool as he settled himself. Just how injured was he? He pulled out his laptop and opened it up, an image instantly projecting on the far wall. The logo of the Shadow Court, with its art deco crenelated crown.
“What you see there, that symbol—is nowhere and everywhere in plain sight. The Shadow Court is made up of a series of shell companies who are in turn linked to families so buried behind walls of security that it would take an army of bots to figure it out, and we simply haven’t had time. But with history as our guide, and given their location here in Hamburg and the families who’ve lived and grown rich in this city, we got a little lucky. Because ordinarily, this isn’t the town you want to be in if you’re Connected. So there had to be some personal reason for it to make sense.”
“The dead zones,” I guessed.
Armaeus nodded. “The city of Hamburg was founded in 800 AD and eventually became one of the region’s most vital shipping ports, with its access to the North Sea as well as inland trading routes. The city was a member of the medieval Hanseatic trading league and a free imperial city of the Holy Roman Empire, and because of its location and unusual governing practices, it has experienced both great freedoms and devastating losses. Much of the city was destroyed by fire. What was rebuilt after that was destroyed by flood, and what was rebuilt after that was destroyed by Allied bombs and economic attrition. Yet still, time after time, Hamburg rises from the ashes to recreate itself anew. Each time a little savvier, a little more hidden, a little more complex. The discovery that sections of the city were dead zones for magic was quite accident
al, as one of the earliest guilds was a group of sorcerers who created magic-infused blades. Their wares sold well enough that they expanded—but the new location proved disastrous. It didn’t take long for them to realize the reason why, and they charted the city carefully. But with the bombs, floods, and other natural disasters, the map lines keep changing.”
“So how do you overcome one of these dead-zone things?” Nikki asked.
“You don’t. You can only leave. At best, you can produce the smallest fraction of the abilities you used to have, enough to potentially facilitate your escape. Nothing more.”
“But Connecteds still live here?”
“There are warded sections and large swaths of the city that are not afflicted. However, because of the mercurial nature of the dead zones and the number of natural and man-made disasters that have beset the city—don’t think the two aren’t connected—it proved impossible to maintain more than a small section of warded territory, especially on the rivers. The Alster and Elbe rivers are also extraordinary sources of energy into the city, and as such, Hamburg is a magnet for magic, albeit volatile magic.”
“Why in the world would the Shadow Court maintain their base here?” I asked Armaeus. “It seems like a particularly hostile environment.”
“A very good question. The answer is, because there is no safer place than a trap of your own making. And, too, Hamburg remains an important harbor, a hub of innovation and a symbol of worlds both new and old.”
“Right,” I muttered, thinking of the richly cultured voice of the apparition in the shipyard. That guy definitely would have a thing for tradition. “So we’re looking for a single house, or perhaps more to the point, a single piece of property. It could be public or private, but it’s almost certainly on the waterfront.”
