The Book of Lies

by Melissa McShane

  “Illusion?” Of course, Diane wasn’t wearing her lanyard with attached monocle. “I wish I could see it.”

  “What do you mean? Take off—oh, you’re not wearing it.”

  “I thought you knew. As Abernathy’s custodian, I can see through illusions.”

  Diane looked at me curiously. “I’ve never heard of anything like that. Are you sure—”

  Iakkhos, his headset gleaming under the low light, came forward with his hands outstretched. “Welcome,” he said. “Come, have a drink. Enjoy a taste of my homeland.”

  I accepted a glass of ouzo and managed not to recoil at the strong smell of anise wafting from it. This would have to be my last drink of the night. I was already feeling dizzy. “What does the illusion look like?”

  “Ah, I’m sorry you can’t participate,” Iakkhos said. “The illusion is that of a house on a cliff overlooking the Adriatic. Smells, sights, sounds—the best magnifica illusion money can buy.”

  He sounded sad, as if it wounded him personally that I couldn’t experience his party to the fullest. “I’m sorry to miss it. I never thought I’d want to see an illusion. Mostly it’s benefited me to be able to see through them. Saved my life, once or twice.”

  “Well, enjoy yourself. Drink, eat, talk.” Iakkhos smiled. “You’ll just have to party the old-fashioned way.”

  I looked around. I knew most of the people here. Lucia was talking to Ragsdale in one corner. Claude had a beer in one hand and was chatting with the custodian of the Kiefer Node, an attractive young woman who seemed very intent on his words. “Where’s Nimisha and Parvesh?”

  “They were here earlier, long enough to have a drink and stare disapprovingly at the rest of my guests,” Iakkhos said. “I think they’d be happier if they knew how to relax.”

  “They are out of their country for the first time. I’m sure I’d be awkward if I visited Nepal.”

  “I think you’d be more open to the possibility of looking foolish, which they aren’t.” Iakkhos smiled and went to greet someone new—oh, great, it was Rebecca Greenough. I walked quickly to the far side of the room and twitched the curtains aside to look out over the city. Iakkhos’s suite looked out over the Willamette River, a long dark ribbon threaded with light where the bridges crossed it. Probably not as beautiful as the magnifica illusion, but at least it was home.

  “Amazing, huh?” Lucia said. I needed people to stop sneaking up on me. “You can taste the brine in the air.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I can’t perceive it.”

  “That’s right. I’d forgotten. Sucks to be you sometimes.” She saluted me with her glass, then took a drink.

  “I guess there are always compensations. Is it really that beautiful?”

  “At the risk of rubbing it in, yes, it is. Paper magi have the showiest magic, I think. In a good way.”

  “Did you ever consider becoming a magus, Lucia?”

  Lucia shook her head. “Never. But I wasn’t a good candidate for Damerel, so it didn’t matter.”

  “How do they decide? If you can be a magus, I mean?”

  “It’s complicated. They look at your history—how many family members survived the rites, what kind of magi they were. Like, for instance, the Campbells. Long, long line of steel magi over a dozen generations.” Lucia gave me a calculating stare. I gave her my most innocent look.

  “Anyway. They also look at your body, whether you’ve got the right combination of physical traits to endure the implantation. It’s not about physical fitness, either, though being too over- or underweight usually disqualifies you. And there’s a battery of mental fitness tests to see if your sanity can handle it. Like I said, complicated.”

  “The thought of having something stuck into my heart just makes me shudder.”

  Lucia grimaced. “Me too. And it’s painful—worse than the worst healing you can imagine. Which is another part of knowing if you’re a good candidate. You have to want to use magic so badly you’re willing to endure pain and risk death for it.”

  “Which I’m not.”

  “You’ve already risked your life for the oracle twice. I wouldn’t be so quick to deny that.”

  I was saved from having to answer by someone saying, “Pontarelli. Corrupting the youth of America again?”

  “I would corrupt the youth of England, but you beat me to it,” Lucia said. “I thought I told you to stay away from me, Greenough.”

  “It’s Ms. Davies I want to speak with.” Greenough smiled pleasantly at me. “Or does she let you play duenna for her? I thought she was an adult, if barely that.”

  “What do you want, Ms. Greenough?” I asked, managing not to sound annoyed.

  “To persuade you that moving Abernathy’s is in everyone’s best interests. I want you to speak on my behalf to the Board.”

  Her effrontery stunned me into more candor than I’d planned on. “I’m not going to do that.”

  “See sense. London is cosmopolitan and accessible by the world. Abernathy’s move was always intended to be temporary. This is just setting things right.”

  “Ms. Greenough, you haven’t been listening. Moving Abernathy’s is dangerous. I don’t think you understand how dangerous.”

  “I’ll submit to you remaining custodian, even though I think your appointment was a mistake,” Greenough said.

  Now I was close to losing my temper. I could understand why she and Lucia were enemies. “Because I won’t do what you want? Or because I’m not an Abernathy?”

  “Because you’ve let yourself become too attached to your customers. Don’t think I didn’t notice how chummy you were with them when I visited this morning. You’re meant to be impartial, Ms. Davies, and if you can’t do that, you don’t deserve to be a custodian.”

  “That’s enough of you passing judgment,” Lucia said, stepping in before I could start shouting. “I don’t think Davies has anything left to say to you.”

  “This is none of your business, Pontarelli.”

  “Abernathy’s is within my jurisdiction, so I’m making it my business.” Lucia took two steps that put her squarely in Greenough’s face. “Back off.”

  Greenough shoved her. “You back off.”

  “Lucia—” I said.

  “Stay out of this, Davies.”

  Greenough shoved Lucia again. Lucia grabbed her wrist and spun her around, twisting her arm up behind her back. Greenough shrieked in fury and slammed her free elbow into Lucia’s stomach, making her let go. Gasping, Lucia grabbed a handful of Greenough’s frosted hair and pulled. Greenough stumbled backward, flailing for balance, and jabbed Lucia with her elbow again. “You’re dead,” she snarled.

  “Not at your hands,” Lucia said, somewhat breathlessly, and shoved Greenough away from her. Greenough stumbled, caught herself, and turned—right into Lucia’s left hook. The sound of fist meeting flesh carried throughout the room. Greenough dropped like a stone into water, crumpling in a heap. Lucia shook out her hand, wincing. “Sorry,” she said to Iakkhos.

  “All part of the entertainment,” he said, winking at her. “Would someone help Ms. Greenough up, and get her some water? Possibly some ice? Ah, Helena, you’re not staying? Probably for the best.”

  “Thanks, Iakkhos, it was…memorable,” I said, and hurried after Lucia. Diane followed in my wake.

  In the hallway, Lucia said, “Sorry about that. Greenough pushes all my buttons.”

  “I didn’t know you could fight like that.”

  “That?” Lucia made a dismissive gesture. “That was nothing. You want to see real fighting, come down to the Gunther Node when we have our annual competitions. I’m the women’s judo champion six years running.”

  “I think I’m about partied out,” Diane said. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

  I said goodnight and continued down the hall to my suite. The dizziness had passed, but I felt a little unsteady on my feet, probably because of that last drink, which had been a mistake. I sat on one of the blue and gold chairs to take m
y shoes off. They were more comfortable than most of my party shoes, which Viv would probably say meant they weren’t flirty enough. I flexed my bare toes and ran them through the thick pile of the carpet. Lucia had actually punched Greenough out. It had been deeply satisfying, though it wouldn’t make Greenough like either of us. Not that she liked us to begin with.

  There was a click, and I shot to my feet. The bedroom door swung open. I grabbed the nearest thing that could be a weapon, which was my shoe with its sharp heel. Someone stepped through the door.

  It was Malcolm.

  10

  He looked so different. The beard, obviously, but there was also the way he stood, balanced on the balls of his feet in preparation to dive or run. He wore his familiar black fatigues, filthy with road grime and dark blotches I hoped weren’t blood. He looked at the shoe in my hand and said, “That isn’t the best weapon.”

  “I know.” I lowered my hand and let the shoe fall to the floor. “How did you get in here?”

  “We’re providing security for the conference. Evading it was easy. And I know how to bypass the lock on that door.”

  My heart felt like it was trying to burst out of my chest. “It’s dangerous, you being here,” I said, and immediately felt stupid at how ridiculous that sounded.

  Malcolm took a step forward. “I don’t care. I had to see you. Helena—”

  “I’m sorry!” The words came flying out of me. “I didn’t listen, and I said such awful things—I know you didn’t mean—”

  Swiftly Malcolm crossed the distance between us and took me in his arms. “I was stupid,” he said, “and I let my frustration spill onto you. I didn’t mean to suggest Harry deserved to be attacked. Forgive me.”

  “If you forgive me for being petty.”

  “Agreed,” Malcolm said, and kissed me.

  It had been so long I’d nearly forgotten how it felt to be kissed by him, how he offered me his whole heart with his kiss. He smelled terrible, but I didn’t care; I clung to him and kissed him, trying to make up in one moment for months of separation.

  “I missed you,” Malcolm murmured. “The way you look, the way you smile…it killed me that I couldn’t even keep a picture of you on my phone.”

  “I missed you, too,” I said. His beard was soft against my face, and it felt strange and wonderful at the same time. “You don’t know how many dates I had to turn down, and then make up stories about my missing boyfriend. Jeremiah Washburn thinks you’re an airline pilot.”

  Malcolm laughed and pulled me closer. “Turning down dates, eh?”

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t have to fend off beautiful women all around the world, Malcolm Campbell.”

  His amused smile went wicked. “Not as many as you probably think. But it wasn’t even a struggle, because none of them were you.” His hands went around my waist, his fingers working their way beneath my sweater. “You look beautiful tonight,” he said, and pulled the sweater off me in one quick movement.

  “You are very good at that,” I whispered. “Maybe a little too good. Should I be worried that maybe one of those beautiful women wasn’t successfully fended off?”

  “I’ve thought about doing that every day for the last five months,” he murmured in my ear. “That…and this,” he added, his fingers going to my bra strap.

  “Don’t stop there,” I said, my fingers going to his belt buckle. “I don’t plan to.”

  Viv was wrong. Make-up sex was amazing.

  “You really shouldn’t be here,” I said, my head pillowed on Malcolm’s chest. “We’re completely surrounded by custodians and all nine members of the Board of Neutralities.”

  “You don’t think it makes sex more exciting?”

  “Sex with you is always exciting no matter where we have it, but this makes me nervous. Or would if I weren’t so relaxed.” We’d made love, then showered together, then made love again, and now I felt like a puddle of warm honey.

  Malcolm put his arms around me, and I sighed out contentment. “Not to brag, but I’m capable of passing through these halls without being seen even if I don’t use illusions, which all these people can see through anyway. But I can’t stay long. I have to return to the fight.”

  “Why are you here? I mean, I know why you’re here, but won’t they miss you?”

  “We have mandatory rest periods and this is one of them. I intend to sleep beside you for a few hours, then return to my team.”

  I smiled in pure pleasure. “Sleep beside me. I’ve never heard anything so romantic. Isn’t this a glorious bed?”

  “I like your bed better. It’s cozier.” He brushed the hair away from my cheek and kissed its curve.

  “This is like sleeping on a cloud. A warm, snuggly cloud.”

  “I think the company is what makes it so excellent.”

  I kissed him, slow and sweet. “I agree.”

  He drew me closer, and I listened to his heartbeat, a deep, measured rhythm that relaxed me further until I fell happily into sleep.

  I woke some hours later when Malcolm disentangled himself from me and slid out from between the covers. “Oh,” I said, disappointed.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m sorry.” In the darkness I heard him hunting for his clothes, so I turned on the bedside lamp, making him squint.

  “It’s all right. I prefer not to wake to an empty bed. Will I see you again soon?”

  “I can’t make any promises. If the next rest period overlaps with a time when you’re in meetings, probably not.”

  “That reminds me. I met your brother.”

  Malcolm paused in putting on his pants. “Ewan? What did you talk about?”

  “Security things. He was angry with you.”

  He scowled. “I’m sure he was. That’s a permanent state with Ewan. No doubt he thinks I treated Mother badly.”

  “He said something about that, yes.”

  “Well, he’s a skilled steel magus, and dedicated to his job, so what he thinks of me doesn’t matter so long as he keeps you safe. Which I’m sure he’ll do.” He finished fastening his pants and pulled his shirt on over his head.

  “I didn’t realize he was personally responsible for the hotel security.”

  “Campbell Security is, and he’s head of Campbell Security while I’m gone. As far as the company is concerned, I’m still gone. They need me more on the front lines than here.” Malcolm leaned over and kissed me. “Much as I wish I could stay.”

  “I wonder if there will ever be a time when you’re not rushing off.”

  “Someday there will be. I swear it.” He ran his fingers through his hair, then over his face. “I never did ask what you thought of my beard.”

  “I love the way you look no matter what. The beard is different. I like it, but I miss your dimple.”

  “My dimple? I have a dimple?”

  I laughed. “Come on. You can’t not know about the dimple. You must see it every time you smile.”

  “I rarely smile at myself in the mirror. Now I need to shave so I can see it.”

  “It’s devastating. Every time I see it, I feel the urge to kiss you.”

  “Then I definitely need to shave.”

  I stood and put my arms around him. “It’s not the only time I feel that urge.”

  We kissed for a while, then Malcolm said, “I really have to leave,” and I let go of him. “I’ll call you if I get the chance.”

  “Don’t let me distract you. There will be plenty of time when this is over. It will be over soon, won’t it?”

  Malcolm hesitated. “One way or another,” he said. “They’re trying out a new binding that should keep any more familiars from breaking free, but we still have to destroy the ones that are already loose. And they have experience at fighting that an ordinary invader lacks. It’s not easy.”

  “Good luck,” I said, and he was gone.

  I put on pajamas and got back into bed. The clock on the bedside table read 4:23. I could still get some sleep. A lot of sleep, if I wanted,
since I didn’t have to go in to work. But sleep eluded me. I couldn’t stop worrying about Malcolm and the other teams, hunting monsters that could kill them if they weren’t careful. Then I moved on to worrying about Harry and wishing it weren’t the middle of the night so I could call Judy and find out how he was doing. And from there I went to worrying about Greenough and the possibility that I’d be moving to England—or that I wouldn’t be moving to England, but Abernathy’s would.

  Finally I gave up on sleeping and turned on the television in the sitting room. There had to be something mindless on. I found an infomercial for some personal hygiene product whose use escaped me and turned the volume down low, amusing myself by providing my own dialogue. “That’s right, June, this thing I think might be meant to remove excess back hair can easily be turned to fighting familiars. For the low, low price of $17.95 you, too, can own one!”

  I wondered what Jeremiah had done with his familiar when Viv came over. Locked it away, obviously, but I could see him destroying it proactively. He wasn’t sentimental about it, had never even named it, and thought of it as a tool rather than a creature. And I was sure he wouldn’t hesitate to destroy it if he thought it was a threat.

  On those disturbing thoughts, curled up in the corner of one of the soft chairs, I fell asleep and dreamed of fighting off familiars with a hand beater and one of those flails ancient Egyptian pharaohs were always depicted as having. But there were familiars fighting alongside me too, and in the dream they were named Shard and Shatter, Judy’s father’s familiars when she was growing up. Eventually there were so many invaders I woke, terrified that I was surrounded. It was daylight, and I’d left the drapes open, but even though I could clearly see the room was empty, I huddled in my corner for a few minutes, waiting for my heart rate to slow.

  Eventually I stood, feeling as achy as if I really had spent the night in mortal combat, and checked the time. 8:35. I turned on the coffeemaker and went to get dressed, opting for casual clothes rather than my business attire. I had all day to lounge around the hotel and the idea was daunting rather than restful. I hadn’t brought any books, I’d left my computer at home, and my DVD collection wasn’t doing me any good back at my apartment. I had no idea how I was going to entertain myself all day.