I wasn’t looking forward to this call. Cecil was a bit touchy about his vehicles, taking it personally when they were damaged, or in this case obliterated. I didn’t understand why he wanted to speak to me, it wasn’t like I blew up the Duster.
“Ronin,” Cecil said over the brace. “Explain what happened.”
I told him about the incident on the FDR Drive and how the rocket that mangled the Duster came from a runed rocket launcher.
“I see,” Cecil said when I was done. “Honor told me this vehicle was for recreational use or else it would have been runed differently.”
“Differently how?”
“If I’d given it the Montague Package, the rocket would have bounced off the side and exploded elsewhere.”
“Seriously? Can I get that on the Cuda?”
“Only if you’re immortal or close to it. The runes required tend to shorten normal life spans.”
“I’m sorry about the Duster,” I said and meant it. The car was a classic American muscle beast. Not quite as amazing as the Cuda, but worthy of respect. “It was a good ride.”
“I understand you’ve gone rogue,” Cecil said. “Is it true?”
It didn’t surprise me that he knew about my situation. Cecil dealt with every magical and non-magical community. Besides vehicles and security, SuNaTran brokered in information. Cecil was one of the most connected individuals in the city. He didn’t choose sides, opting to remain neutral. I imagined it was excellent for business.
“Truth is subjective,” I said. “It’s not as simple as just going rogue. There are complicating factors.”
“Spoken like a true Division 13 operative. Do you need the Cuda?”
“Luca had it confiscated from the old Abyss after it exploded.”
“You mean after you ordered an airstrike. Yes or no?”
“Yes,” I said after a momentary pause. “I’m currently dealing with hostiles. If you could enhance the defenses a little, I’d really appreciate it.”
“It won’t be the Montague Package, but it will be robust.”
“Out of curiosity,” I said. “How robust is the Montague Package?”
“Have you seen the Beast?”
“The Night Warden’s car? I heard it was indestructible…and evil.”
“Cursed, not evil,” he answered. “My vehicles aren’t sentient. The GTO 2.0 that the Demolition Duo are driving now is probably the only vehicle we’ve outfitted that can stand up to the Beast.”
“You gave them a cursed vehicle?” I asked. “I thought with all the destruction that follows them around, they were already cursed. You said 2.0, what happened to version 1.0?”
“It was slagged by an angry mage,” Cecil answered. “I’ll have Robert drop the Cuda off at Dragonflies in the next few hours. We’ll increase the defenses and make it sturdier than the Duster. Just try not to get blown up.”
“Top of my to-do list every day,” I said. “Thanks Cecil, I appreciate it.”
“You can thank me by keeping the Cuda intact,” he said, ending the call.
Cait said in her husky distraction of a voice.
I hailed one of NYC’s mobile vehicles of controlled fear and terror, otherwise known as a taxi, and headed to Dragonflies.
EIGHTEEN
I arrived at Dragonflies as the sun started to brighten the sky. The caffeinated smell of Deathwish greeted me with a warm hug of aromatic goodness. The Central Archive and Dragonflies occupied the same space, with the Archive taking up the majority of the property behind and around Dragonflies.
Long ago they were separated spaces, but Honor had redesigned Dragonflies and knocked down some walls, creating a small atrium to allow access to the Central Archive from the coffee shop. The passage to and fro was inscribed with runes that could deny entrance to the Archive with a gesture and thought.
Most of the symbols in the atrium seemed like innocuous design elements unless you could read the runes. Rahbi was pouring a large mug of coffee. She slid it down the counter as I walked in. Somehow she always knew when I was on my way.
Dragonflies was still mostly empty, the regulars would arrive in an hour or so as the city awoke with the morning.
“You look like hell,” Rahbi said. “Rough night?”
“A few NDE’s, par for the course,” I said.
“You do realize near-death experiences aren’t par for the course for normal people?”
“I never claimed to be normal, at this point I’m barely managing abnormal.”
“Just making sure you don’t need a reality check.”
“Trust me,” I said, reaching for the mug. “Reality has checked me plenty tonight.”
“Nothing hits harder.”
I nodded and wrapped my hands around the warm mug, taking in the smell of javambrosia in silent meditation. I waited another second before taking a sip of the coffee deliciousness that is Deathwish.
“Is he around?” I asked. “Robert is delivering the Cuda.”
“I heard you nearly got yourself disintegrated with the Duster.”
“My padawan was trying to increase his chances of promotion.”
“With a rocket it seems,” she said with a nod. “Cecil called earlier.”
“Office?”
“Training hall,” she said. “You should go visit.”
“Maybe I’ll wait until he’s done,” I said, wincing. “I don’t want to interrupt his practice.”
“You won’t, besides it’s not like you have time to sit around waiting,” she said. “D13 put out a BOLO for you. That means—”
“NYTF will join the hunt for yours truly,” I finished with a groan. “Last thing I need right now.”
“You know Ramirez,” she said with a nod. “He won’t ask questions.”
“Especially if he can collar a D13 operative.”
She tapped the top of her wrist with a finger.
“Tempus fugit,” she said motioning with her head to get up. “Get going. It will only hurt for the first ten minutes or so. Then you go numb.”
“Your motivational speaking needs work,” I said, moving to the rear of Dragonflies.
I grabbed my mug, crossed the atrium, headed into the Central Archive, and up a short flight of stairs next to Honor’s office. These stairs led to a mid-level space between the first and second floors.
I pressed my hand against the smooth wooden door and exhaled. The door flashed orange for a second before returning to normal. The training hall entrance was keyed to the signature of several Division 13 operatives. Luca enjoyed training here occasionally which meant regular sessions of blood, sweat, and pain.
Memories flooded my brain…most of them laced with agony. I considered avoiding the training hall altogether, but something TK said stuck in my head: I’m surprised Honor gave you this considering your apparent lack of commitment. He must believe you have potential.
I needed to know the answer. Why would Honor give me a runed blade when he knew I didn’t wield magic? I pushed the door open and stepped
into the Central Archive private training hall.
The windowless training hall was a plain square room. The center of the space was dominated by a large square of varnished parquet flooring. On the wall opposite the entrance rested several racks holding all manner of weapons, none of them ceremonial.
I could see most of the runes that filled the walls of the training hall. Reading them was another matter entirely. In the center of the floor stood Honor. Around him, several golden and white orbs floated in lazy orbits around his body. His eyes were closed, but I knew he sensed me entering the hall. I placed my mug of coffee goodness on a bench near the edge of the training floor.
“How is TK?” Honor said, keeping his eyes closed as I removed my shoes. “I’m guessing she was behind the energy spike during your teleport. It didn’t read like Grace.”
“TK is fiercely frightening,” I said, removing my jacket. “And I’ve faced ogres and trolls.”
He smiled with a nod. “There was a time, not too long ago, where she’d erase someone for trying to track her or Fordey Boutique.”
“Oh, you mean I met the mellowed TK? Because the energy around her screams ‘potential death’ every moment in her presence.”
“I didn’t say TK was harmless, only that she has matured with age. You’re still alive, which means she showed some restraint.”
“I’m sure LD has something to do with that.”
“Probably,” Honor said. “He is a stabilizing influence, or does she stabilize him?”
“TK said something that made me think.”
“That would be a first,” he said with a chuckle. “What did she say? Is this about Sliver?”
“Yes,” I said, stepping onto the cool wooden floor. “Why did you give it to me?”
“You really want to have a conversation about this?” he asked, opening his eyes.
“Of course,” I said without thinking, momentarily forgetting who I spoke to. “That’s why I asked.”
“Very well,” he said with a short nod. “Let’s converse.”
The next thing I knew the orbs that were floating around him stopped moving mid-orbit and raced at me.
“Oh, shit.” I said and unsheathed Sliver.
NINETEEN
Conversations with a mage rarely occur without the presence of magic, mayhem, or massive amounts of pain. Usually it’s ample doses of all three.
“A discussion,” I said, rapidly backing away from the orbs intent on slamming me. “I meant to say a discussion.”
“You need to do less talking and more of the not dying.”
I wasn’t a mage, but I knew the power contained in the orbs racing my way was enough to cause bodily harm. I rolled to the side, avoiding the first barrage. I stood up, smiling smugly at my deft evasion maneuver.
I saw the second barrage a few seconds before it was too late. I held up Sliver and braced for impact. The orbs crashed into me. Rather than launch me into the nearest wall with bone-crushing force, I felt the energy of the orbs course through my body and into the blade. The blue runes on the blade increased in intensity as Sliver held the energy.
Honor nodded. “Why didn’t you use Thorn?”
“It’s never been effective against you and your orbs of conversation.”
“You’re finally starting to understand,” Honor said. “Use the right tool and use the tool right. Thorn won’t work against this summoner. You need to use that”—he pointed at Sliver—“and you need to use it properly, not half-ass it.”
“I’m not a mage. I don’t wield—”
“It’s all energy, Ronin,” he said. “You do things with that techbrace that some would consider magic. It’s just another expression of energy. Think of the blade as a tool. That’s all it is. Don’t get hung up on needing to be a mage.”
I looked down at Sliver and felt the power pulsing through the blade. It still felt odd, but I started to understand what he meant. The blade, rather than feeling alien in my hand, felt like an extension of my body.
“I’m starting to see—feel it,” I said. “I just hope it’s enough.”
“Well, if you fail, you’ll die a horribly painful death while allowing this summoner to unleash an army of creatures on the city.”
I stared at him. “I can see where Rahbi gets her motivational positivity,” I said. “Turns out the suspect is an ex-Wordweaver. I need to go see Aria.”
“The question is, will she see you?” he said, stepping off the wood floor. “First TK, now Aria. Are you trying to get yourself atomized before you face this exile?”
“I was hoping you could make a call,” I said. “Let Aria know I come in peace and have really grown attached to breathing.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Honor said. “Aria can be difficult at times. Are you sure you need to see her?”
“Can you tell me about Wordweavers?”
“I could and have several books on the subject,” he said, “but none of them will tell you how to face one in combat and survive. Wordweavers are dangerous, Ronin. Especially since you don’t wield magic.”
“You just told me not to worry about not being a mage,” I said, frustrated. “Now Wordweavers are dangerous?”
“Wordweavers have always been dangerous,” Honor said. “How do you plan on stopping this exile on your own?”
I told him about the Stone Armature TK had mentioned and how I needed to get Haran in there for the erasure.
“If TK suggested the Stone Armature, she must think you can use it. All you need to do is get him in there.”
“Wonderful,” I said exasperated. “Are all mages this cryptic? Can’t you for once just speak plainly. Like how about: To use this Stone Armature thing press this panel and activate this section, then get the hell out of there. Would that be so difficult?”
“That Armature hasn’t been used in decades,” he said. “But I think we have a book that mentions it. I doubt there are any mages alive now that have used that particular armature. The latent energy it contains interferes with our casting.”
“Do you know what this sentence means: a mage can be undone by force of will or lack of belief, but the cage will only function in the presence of the greatest thief?”
“It’s the Armature Verse,” Honor said. “Most mages learn that passage early in our studies, but no one really uses it. We don’t engage in erasures. We prefer to blast each other to nothingness, not strip our opponents of their ability.”
“That doesn’t help me,” I said. “I need this exile alive, not dusted.”
“Taking him alive may prove problematic, especially if he’s responsible for Redrum. He doesn’t sound like the cooperative type.”
I followed him upstairs to his office. The phone on his desk chimed as he sat behind his desk.
“Robert is waiting at the side entrance with Ronin’s vehicle, and the NYTF are on their way. ETA twenty,” Rahbi’s voice filled the office. “I suggest you wrap up your conversation before I have to start blasting Ramirez’s people. You know he gets touchy about that sort of thing.”
“Ronin’s on his way out,” Honor said, turning to me. “How soon are you going to face this exile?”
“Right after I speak to Aria, I’m headed to the Delacorte. There are reports of heightened activity in that area. It’s close to the old Warden Keep and connected to the network of tunnels.”
“I’ll dig into the verse and see if I can find any other hidden meaning,” Honor answered, picking up the phone. “In the meantime, I’ll give Aria a call and convince her not to blast you on sight.”
“I’d appreciate it,” I said, leaving the office.
“Ronin?”
I paused at the door.
“This would be easier with Division 13’s help, or at the very least, get Luca to assist.”
“Not viable,” I said with a small shake of my head. “Delilah has Death Widow surveillance on me and I’m supposed to be rogue. Oh, and I have three days to hand over Luca’s body to Tigris.”
�
��Price of admission?” he asked.
“Would you believe she wouldn’t take me at my word that I’ve gone rogue?”
“It stretches the imagination. Does Luca know?”
I nodded. “I think Delilah is still pissed about that time D13 tried to blow her up.”
“Things like that tend to stay with a person,” Honor said. “As head of the Light Council I can’t overtly provide a rogue operative assistance.”
“I know,” I said. “You’ve done enough as it is, thanks.”
“If I find out anything more about the verse I’ll send it to your brace.”
“Appreciate it,” I said, leaving his office and the Central Archive.
I used the side entrance and saw the Cuda. It was like reuniting with an old friend.
Being rogue meant I no longer had access to the Division 13 MADE—Motorized and Automotive Department of Enhancement. SuNaTran tech was a few generations behind the Division. Calibration on our vehicles was immediate.
I had to admit though, combining the resilience of SuNaTran vehicles with Division 13 tech was the best of both worlds. Properly runed, SuNaTran vehicles did take punishment better and, like Cecil, I had a soft spot for the classics of American muscle.
Robert stood in front of my 1970 Plymouth Hemi Barracuda with a clipboard in hand.
“Good morning, sir,” he said, holding out a clipboard. “I’ve been instructed to inform you that your vehicle has enhanced defensive capabilities that are”—he looked down at the clipboard—“strong enough to bounce rockets off. I hope that makes sense.”
I grabbed the clipboard and nodded. “Absolutely,” I said with a smile. “Tell Cecil I said thank you.” I placed a thumb on the biometric area reserved for signing.
I grabbed the handle and heard the door unlock. A brief orange burst of energy raced across the surface of the Cuda. I sat behind the wheel and placed my hand on the dashboard next to it. The engine roared and then settled into a low throaty growl before I gave it gas.
The Magekiller Page 8
