by HP Mallory
Harry frowned but he looked like he wanted to believe Tido. “What do you think, Addie?” All eyes were fastened on her. That pegged her as the alpha bitch of this woof pack. Her answer cementaried it.
“I think we’re wasting time these people could use. Yeah, we’re in.”
Jeannie gave her a relieved smile. “You know how to operate this equipment?”
Harry barked or quacked when she said that. “Sheeit, only reason we’re here. That bunch of headcrackers would probably find a pair of cups and a string too complicated to use.”
Queen Addie was ready with the radio dial. “What do you need?”
Three steps later, Jeannie was right by her side. “Dial the radio to 381.4. Then hand me the headset… please.”
The voice she used to issue that order sounded a lot differentiated from the one she used to talk to me an’ Tido. Banner people weren’t usually considerated command material but here she was, barking out commandments like she did at Army General Boot Camp. What the hell wasn’t she telling us?
Tido turned his thousand-yard stare to the thousand yards of battlefield ahead of us. The chit-chatter of the machine guns and popcorn pops of the rifles kept mixing with horrible screams and cries.
“That damn fool’s keepin’ ‘em there tae long.”
I stood next to him and felt so… little. “Yeah, anybody else woulda blown the retreat smoke signal by now.” I could’ve telenoculared my way to the fightin’, sure. But I’d seen that show too many times. Seeing it again was about as appealing as passaging a kidney rock and about as much fun as chemotherapractice. The radio crackled to life, making both of us turn around.
“Tangent calling Sapphire. This is Tangent. Do you read, Sapphire?” A voice sounded over the radio.
Another sunbeam smile later, Jeannie mashed the talk button with her thumb. “Sapphire here, Tangent. Are you safe?”
The relieviated sigh that came over the channel threatenated to blow out the speaker. “For right now, we are. What’s your twenty?”
My new favorite gal glanced at the fighting before answering. “The camp… we shall need to move ourselves soon.”
“Come back, Sapphire, did you say ‘we’?”
Jeannie seemed on the verge of laughter. “Oui, I said ‘we’! I can vouch for each of mes nouveaux amis but we cannot hold our position.”
A chorus of whistles an’ horns rang up and down the line. I knew what that meant. So I ran over to Harry. “This dump got any food?”
He scrunched up his face while Tangent kept yapping to Jeannie. “Copy that, Sapphire. Rendezvous at the wizard’s place and we’ll meet your new friends, over.”
Queen Addie glow-wormed at me. “This place isn’t exactly a Taco Bell, Shorty.”
Jeannie didn’t seem to notice us while she answered her mystery man buddy. “Tres bien, mon ami. We shall see you soon.”
Ms. She-Hulk pointed over at a spot behind the equipment. “You’ll find food there.”
Thankfully, Conan backed my play with a nod. “’Twill have tae do. Best grab as mooch as ye can afore we go. Nae tellin’ when ye’ll git another chance tae fill yer belly.”
Jeannie put the radio mike down and gave the troops a once-over, then a twice-over. “We have a little longer than two minutes before their return, mes amis. It would be best to do as they say, rapidement!”
Thankfully, the Calvin Klein Clones knew a good idea when they heard one. They started grabbing the boxes of food fast. When Tido walked outside the tent, I saw something behind him that made me feel downright celestialistic. It was a sat phone case right there, just waiting to be opened up and used. I was about to take it when I felt the unmistakable, hairy arm of Tido yanking me back.
“Wha’dya think yer doin’, man?”
The tree trunk that he called his arm held me like a vise. “Just need ta make one quick call before we vamoosh, Tido.”
He looked angry. “Nae time left fer it! Soon as the lads an’ lasses get what they can—”
“We’re set!” Harry yelled at us.
I ducked under Tido’s hand and ran back to the phone.
“Stookie angel, what’d Ah jist—”
I yanked the sat phone case off the bench. Damn thing weighed as much as me but I did my best to ignoramus that. By then, everybody was lining up behind Jeannie. Since Tido was too busy staring at me, I barked at him, “Well, we goin’ or what?!”
That got the hairballs out of Conan’s brains. He gestured to all of us to play “Follow the Leader” around the left side of the tent. I could faintly hear the stamping of Custer’s boys’ feet when we evacuumated the place.
“As to the centre first I downward tend.”
-Dante’s Inferno
FIFTEEN
LILY
For the hundredth time, I looked through the crack in the door for any sign of trouble. Nicolas glanced up from the tile floor where he was making markings and grunted.
“While I truly admire your caution, Mademoiselle Harper, I can assure you that neither side of this wasteful conflict will bother us here.”
I tore my eyes away from the outside to answer him. “Look, no offense, but every time I assume I’m safe down here, I turn out to be anything but.”
Perenelle’s face exploded with joy although she stayed focused on the chalk marks she was making. “And your words have made you mon nouveau meilleur ami.”
Nicolas grunted at her. “You only call her your new best friend because the women have now officially outnumbered the men in our immediate vicinity.”
She shook her head at him and laughed. Meanwhile, I busily tapped my fingers against the wall. “No further offense intended, but this place doesn’t exactly inspire good vibes.”
That was putting it mildly! The inside of the place looked like a shower room from hell with thick concrete walls, no windows and metal showerheads everywhere. That was before I discovered that every one of the nozzles spat out fire instead of water.
When the Flamels mentioned a safe place where they’d formerly conducted certain experiments that weren’t safe to test in their lab, this wasn’t what I had in mind.
Nicolas tapped his chin and nodded. “Vibes? As in ‘vibration’, oui?”
I couldn’t mask my surprise. “Yes, but how did you figure that out?” I didn’t mean to offend him but clearly he was from another time and place and I doubted contemporary phrases like “good vibes” would be easily interpreted.
Nicolas shrugged as he continued to work on the floor. “In life, I was a humble scribe at a time when literacy was considered a rare and specialized skill. I am also very fortunate to have an affinity for languages in general.”
Perenelle chuckled with a little hint of derision. “And how many ‘humble scribes’ have two shops for writing manuscripts in Paris, not to mention a number of sculptures along with several other pieces of property, dear husband?”
Nicolas took her comments with good humor himself. “Oh, I never actually considered anything my property except for my humble shops, dear wife. We both know that, the prejudice of our neighbors notwithstanding, you actually owned the rest.”
“And you owned them when I died… so I am still correct in my assessment, Nicolas.”
In spite of my fears, I could relax while listening to their banter. Perenelle noticed and cast a smile my way. “Nicolas, you have succeeded at putting mon nouveau ami at ease.”
“Well, I figure if you two can be so casual with each other, it must mean this place really is safe,” I said.
Nicolas hummed thoughtfully. “You would not be the first young lady I have set at ease. The one who works by my side at present was one such lady.”
While his wife waved her hand at him dismissively, I asked her, “What did Nicolas mean when he said you actually owned almost all the property you both had?”
She glanced up at me before answering. “Before this charming scribbler worked up the courage to ask for my hand in marriage—”
He inte
rrupted her with, “She lies… I was ready to do so from the moment of our introduction.”
She shook her head. “Oui, oui, you and countless other would-be chevaliers with notions of nobility running through their empty heads.”
I remembered Manfred’s introduction back at their place. “So you were a noble lady?”
Perenelle chuckled. “No, no, no, no, Mademoiselle Harper! Much more than that, I assure you. I was a widow whose two previous husbands allowed me the wealth and means to choose the man who would take me to the altar the third time.”
Nicolas scooted himself over to draw out the next part of the design they were working on. “And no more than two days after the wedding, you tried to convince me to close my shops and live in luxury for the rest of my born days.”
“And now who is lying, husband?” she asked with another laugh. “I saw how you put your heart and soul into your work. I would have no more separated you from it than marry the other hommes muets who thought you unworthy.”
I was a little confused about something. “So why did Manfred call you ‘Lord’ and ‘Lady’?”
Their eyes showed mutual understanding. Nicolas spoke first. “Do you wish to tell her or shall I?”
Perenelle glanced over at his section of the design and pointed to part of it. “Given that the line there needs thickening, perhaps it is best if you focus on your work instead.”
Nicolas glanced at the direction she’d pointed and made a frustrated noise in his throat. While he furiously set to fixing it, his wife looked up at me.
“For you to ask that question, it can only mean you are largely ignorant of our reputation.”
I heard something under her voice that made me wonder. “Doesn’t sound like a reputation either of you wanted?”
Perenelle grunted in disgust before answering. “Given that this reputation conspired to condemn us to the Underground City, who would want it?”
I frowned at her. “What do you mean?”
Nicolas’s wife went back to the drawing. “While we both lived, we dabbled in the noble art of alchemy as many educated people of our time did. But we were hardly what you would call ardent seekers of the great magic. We were merely competent enough to make certain effects manifest.”
Nicolas couldn’t keep the disgust out of his voice when he added: “and yet that apparently was enough to convince Afterlife Enterprises to send us to the Eighth Circle for such marginal, innocuous activities. Since we were freed, I have learned that we acquired an overblown reputation as master alchemists.”
His wife looked at him with some sympathy. “Had I known the books on the Philosopher’s Stone which you transcribed for that wandering scoundrel would be credited to you, dear husband—”
He looked back at her with unmasked sympathy. “Ah, but do we all not make mistakes we regret? Wishing we could take them back and yet, we never can? I do not blame him for our predicament. Scoundrel though he was, he only acted according to his nature, nothing more. Our fault was our failure to realize the consequences.”
Nicholas sounded like he was using some of the principles in my self-help books to cope with his situation. “So who was this scoundrel?” I asked.
Perenelle shook her head as she moved down to the next part of her circle. “We do not repeat his name,” she explained. “We are not what I would consider superstitious people but on this one point, we have agreed.”
“Why?” I asked.
“To repeat his name would be to welcome bad luck,” Perenelle explained. “At the time, he seemed to me a typical example of a self-proclaimed alchemist. He imparted great wisdom but I sensed the treachery under his words. I shall always regret my utter failure to see the trap he laid for us until it was far too late.”
I could relate. “Sounds a lot like Alaire whenever I had to deal with him.”
My casual observation made both of them stop what they were doing and look up at me. Then Perenelle broke the awkward silence with a hum. “Of course, if you are on familiar terms with Alaire’s predecessor, why would you not also be familiar with the current ruler of this place?”
I rubbed the side of my face, keeping my eyes trained outside. “It wasn’t by choice. For some reason, Alaire wants me for his latest captive and he’s gone to some pretty extreme lengths to make that happen.”
“Such as…?”
I wanted to answer but my mind and mouth clammed up tight. Right now, Alaire was the last subject I wanted to discuss. “Let’s talk about this scoundrel you mentioned. What was his story?”
Nicolas sucked in a breath through his teeth. “My distaste for him and my wife’s hatred aside, he had a clear grasp of the transient nature of all things. So toward people and material things, he tended to be… I believe the phrase is ‘love them and leave them’?”
Perenelle sneered. “Mais oui, love them while they are useful and then leave them to the Underground City, a place that he shall never set foot in himself.”
I wasn’t sure if pushing the subject was a good idea but I couldn’t help my curiosity. “Why? Is he immortal or something?”
Nicolas firmly shook his head. “Even if he were, immortality is merely the delay of death, not a reprieve. As such, he would eventually die. However, even though he was an arch magician, he never once saw the Eighth Circle.”
“And why not? Doesn’t he deserve it?” I asked.
Perenelle gave me a tight smile that made me think of my mom whenever she was proud of me. “Indeed he does. But the only such sorcerers, alchemists and scientists who are sent to the Underground City are the lesser lights. You shall never find the likes of, for instance, Merlin, Morgan Le Fay, Mag the Ancient, or Prospero of Milan amongst us.”
“While we cannot say where precisely they go,” Nicolas added, “I have it on good authority of the Malebranche themselves that they are sent to a place far more comfortable than this Circle.”
I didn’t want to believe it. “Well, the Malebranche are the big, bad, boss demons down here, right? Couldn’t they have been lying?”
Perenelle took a deep, steadying breath before answering me. “I accused them of doing that very thing when we were told of this alleged arrangement. I still remember the precise answer from the duke I berated: ‘Had we such great men at our disposal, why would we bother with the likes of you?’”
That tore it. Bad enough that AE let a freaking computer bug send the wrong souls down here. Bad enough that they were so crooked as to condemn plenty of people like me to a hazardous and basically impossible job. But for them to actually cut a sweetheart deal with a bunch of wizards in exchange for making good people like the Flamels suffer indefinitely? If one of those smug bastard Malebranche were standing in front of me, I’d have grabbed him by the neck and twisted it hard until his head—
It took me a second to realize Donnchadh was manipulating my anger to bust himself out again. Thankfully, I still had a surefire method to thwart him. Grabbing the hilt of my blade, I shoved him all the way back to where he belonged. It was funny how he didn’t howl about it like he did practically everything else. Maybe he knew he was up against a force way more powerful than he was?
I kept my hand on the hilt for a minute just to make sure Donnchadh was good and restrained. When I looked at the Flamels again, I realized they’d been staring at me. Perenelle spoke first.
“Are you aware that both of your eyes turned into solid black orbs, mon enfant?”
While I wasn’t sure what to say, the close call needed some kind of explanation. “Yeah, there’s this pesky, angry spirit who keeps trying to come out whenever I get mad or hungry or tired or whatever. So I—”
Nicolas shuddered as he cut me off. “That is not just any spirit, enfant. In fact, it displayed a remarkable resemblance to a Spite.”
A Spite? Donnchadh? “Huh?” I asked quaintly before shaking my head. “That can’t be right. The Spites are part of this big, killer, flesh-eating cloud that…”
Perenelle was the one to cut me off th
is time. “Almost all of them, oui, but there has long been one exception.”
Obviously, I needed more information to understand what they were talking about. “An exception? What do you mean? And what exactly are the Spites anyway?”
Nicolas warmed up to my question like I’d asked him to tell me his favorite bedtime story. “You are aware of the legend of Pandora and her infamous box, non?”
While I was nodding, Perenelle held up her index finger to her husband. “In actuality, husband, it was an urn.”
He waved off the distinction like it was a bad smell. “Regardless of the receptacle’s true form, it was nonetheless a wedding present given to Pandora upon her marriage to Epimetheus the Titan.”
That sounded as appropriate as giving someone a ticking time bomb for their birthday. “Why would anyone give something that horrible as a wedding present? I mean, outside of a jealous ex.”
“Well, for one, the happy couple was never informed of the true contents of the box—or urn, if you prefer. For another, Epimetheus was the brother of Prometheus, who stole the Divine Fire to give to humankind.”
I searched my brain for what little I could remember about Prometheus. “I seem to vaguely recall that Prometheus was cruelly punished for pulling that stunt.”
Nicolas smiled and pointed at me as though I’d just given him the correct answer on a test. “Indeed he was and Epimetheus was also found guilty by association. However, the latter was considerably more slow-witted than his clever brother, and thus, a much easier target to inflict additional penalties upon.”
Perenelle tapped her pointer finger on the floor. “Pandora was given one simple instruction when she received the urn: never open it.”
Okay, that part of the story, I definitely knew. “But, of course, she did anyway.”
Nicolas nodded. “And that unhappy action loosed the Spites upon the world, inflicting all their evils onto the whole species of mankind.”
I felt for Pandora. None of what happened was really her fault. Like me when I first sat in Streethorn’s office, she, too, was set up to fail from the very start. Perenelle must have read my expression because she added to the story.
