“I don’t understand,” said Zophie Nuhl at last.
The curvy young woman nodded, her full red lips parting in reply, “This was the dream Lord Illusionist Nikita Gogol came to my mistress with. The meaning troubled his Lordship, and so he came to hear our council. Now the pieces are ready. The board is set.”
“What do you mean?” Zophie asked.
“The mission,” I said. “We’re supposed to find the Lord Illusionist? Or help him find the meaning behind these dreams?”
The old woman shook her head slowly. Her curvy aide replied, “The Illusionist is not lost, though he is lost to us. He has returned to his motherland. To rally his servants and strike alliances against us. Insurrection.”
“Insurrection?”
The old woman turned her head towards me and spoke in a voice creaking with both age and unquestionable command, “The Nine Towers compel you: Assassinate Lord Illusionist Nikita Gogol. Kill him before he tears us apart in the fires of rebellion.”
Chapter 7
“An Archmagister? They want us to kill one of the nine most distinguished and talented sorcerers in the world?” I demanded, watching Zophie Nuhl’s stiff steps down the hallways.
“Orders are orders. There is nothing else but to carry them out.”
We turned right at the crossroads of halls ahead, and went down an empty walkway whose directions all read ‘Teleportarium’. Next stop, Russia.
“Aren’t you going to at least question the reasoning behind this? When’s the last time Nine Towers carried out a political assassination within its own goddamn sphere of influence? Sorry, not Nine Towers, Eight Towers now, apparently!” I carried on.
“Enough whining. There’s a reason the Lords assigned you to me. I specialize in antimagic. Remember that. With me present the Lord Illusionist is just a man like any other.”
“Oh really?” I asked, “I suppose the fact that Nikita Gogol is the most cunning illusionist in living memory doesn’t factor into the equation?”
“All this worry about an aging old nut. Antimagic trumps all. Simple enough even a warlock can understand it. I never thought that the infamous Charles Locke would be such a coward. Can’t take an old man one on one?” Zophie asked.
There was a fine line between courage and stupidity. Unquestioning loyalty was one stumble away from willful ignorance. I learned that very early on in my life.
The Lord Illusionist was bad news in my books. Not because he was a master magician but because he was a master illusionist. He probably knew every trick in the damn book and had plenty of ways to skin a cat like antimagic. His reputation for keeping secrets was particularly legendary within Nine Towers. Gogol was the only Archmagister that had never taken on a single apprentice in all his long decades of command. He went through apprenticeship applications like a rebellious high schooler went through cigarettes. Even the Lady Divination, who everyone seemed to think was his close buddy, didn’t give me anything beyond an obscure dream prophecy and a ‘best of luck out there’.
A foe I know nothing about and can’t outsmart? Very bad news.
As we reached our reserved teleportation terminal, I couldn’t help but catch sight of a rickety figure hobbling around with a pair of healers begging quite loudly for him to return with them.
Recognition ignited in me instantly.
“Where are you going? Locke!” I barely heard Nuhl hiss.
“You invincible burnt up bastard,” I called out, practically rushing up to the rickety old man.
It was impossible for me to keep my grin, a genuine one no less, from splitting my face in two. It was Philestos Swanquill. Up and about.
“Charles. Good. Good that I caught you before you left,” he said in a shaky voice.
“Jesus Phil you were unconscious like, sixty minutes ago. You need to go back and rest. You look like a snowman in the middle of summer.”
“Very funny,” Phil replied. “Just who do you think you’re dealing with?”
Nuhl caught up, gripping my wrist and raising herself on her tiptoes to better get in my face.
“You’re like a stray mutt. Do you need a leash? Do you go up to every person you meet down the hall and chat it up like a cheerleader?”
“This is Nuhl. My superior,” I introduced.
Phil nodded. “Yes. Good. Give me a moment to speak to Charles.”
Zophie opened her mouth to object, but Phil swiftly raised his wrinkled hand to stop her.
“That’s an order.”
Nuhl left in a huff. As soon as she did Phil turned to me. He dropped what looked like an over sized button into the palm of my hand.
“I hear it’s going to be a dangerous mission, Charles,” Phil said. “The Lord Illusionist. I always knew he’d make a mess of Nine Towers one day, and now it’s finally come to it. However, I also know how much you enjoy your magic gadgets.”
I could always count on Phil. He was the closest thing I had to a mentor. As long as we discount a certain she-devil. “What do you have for me?”
Phil grinned devilishly. His injuries didn’t seem to affect his wit at all. “Oh, it’s not for you. It’s for Nuhl. A homing beacon. Just in case you need some time alone from her. Pour a bit of your magical force into it, strap it onto her, and you’ll be able to mentally visualize where she is at all times and from anywhere.”
“I’m going to buy you a new pair of shoes for this. Thank you Phil. Now go rest, damn you.”
Phil nodded weakly. “I just couldn’t sit still without making sure you had a bit of help from me. Give them hell.”
I parted ways with the old man as I reached terminal fourteen. I felt like a load had been taken off my shoulders. Nuhl however, looked ready to put another load onto me.
“What was that all about, warlock? Tell me.”
With pleasure.
“Phil heard that you were stuck with me and so gave me this to give to you as a peace offering,” I said, holding up the oversized button.
The magic within the enchanted nub of wood was weak but remarkably stable. It felt warm, like it had been in direct sunlight til just a moment ago.
“What is it?” Zophie asked.
A homing beacon. So I can do my damn job without soulless Nine Towers golems like you needling me.
“A power amplifier. He said you should feel more energetic and ply your antimagic easier with it. Not exactly a disintegration rod, but you take what you can get.”
Zophie glared at me suspiciously before she swiped the button from my hand and attached it to her leather belt without any ceremony or mumbled thanks.
“Where are they teleporting us?” I asked.
“London International Airport.”
“What, they couldn’t just zap us to Moscow?” I asked.
“Safer to fly. Teleportation routes could be compromised. Do you want to find yourself teleported to the bottom of the Caspian sea? Because someone like the Lord Illusionist would probably come up with a trick like that.”
“I didn’t think you took him seriously.”
“Don’t try me Locke,” Zophie snarled. “I’ve been dealing with disgruntled mages since before you were out of diapers.”
It was difficult to not comment on how she looked about a decade younger than me. Far be it for me to burst her bubble though.
We took our positions on the glittering teleportation platforms, turned to the ritual master and gave the okay. The teleportation runes flickered to life, and in the next instant, we were gone.
Chapter 8
Getting teleported was a lot like someone flipping a light switch that activated every single last bulb in a million dollar light show. Fortunately the short distance we had to travel ended the show far faster than usual. In the blink of an eye I suddenly found myself in a waiting room at the London International Airport.
Despite the dizziness and mild teleportation sickness both Zophie and I walked out of the waiting room, boldly marked with ‘Do Not Enter’ on the outside of the door, in one piece.
The antimage turned to me and set her hands on her hips.
“This is how we’re going to do this: You stay right here and don’t move a muscle. I go buy the tickets.”
“Best impression of a statue, coming right up,” I replied.
Zophie turned on her heel and stalked towards a long line in the distance. As I stared after her, it finally came to me. I figured out exactly what annoyed me most about that woman.
Nuhl completely lacked any sense of humor. Dealing with Zophie is what burger flippers must feel like when the twentieth soccer mom of the day demands to see their manager.
“Pain in my ass,” I muttered.
My statue impression didn’t even last thirty seconds. As soon as I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back against a cement pillar, the sound of barely stifled sobbing reached my ears. I looked over my shoulder to find a little girl with big bright eyes and an honest to God dictionary slung under her arm. She was trying her very best not to tear up.
It wasn’t working.
“Hey. You lost or something?” I asked, crouching down to her level.
The girl nodded, sniffling her nose miserably. God forbid there be any other responsible adult around willing to help her.
“Where are your parents?”
“If I ever get lost I’m supposed to go to the chapel and wait. I’m supposed to not cry, and go straight there.”
Chapel? Her parents must have meant the prayer rooms they have in the newer, fancier airports. Generic places of worship for all stripes of people who liked clapping their hands together and mumbling under their breath.
I was very tempted to toss the little girl to an airport attendant to deal with. My bad day was only getting worse, and the last thing I needed was Nuhl riding my ass about doing a good deed. However, I caught sight of a sign reading ‘Prayer Rooms’ almost as soon as I started looking.
Quick and over with before Nuhl even notices I’m gone, I convinced myself.
“Right this way, little miss.”
She held her hand up to me and refused to budge. It took most of my willpower to stop the groan that threatened to flee my throat. I grabbed her hand in my own and led her to the ‘Chapel’. The holy room was completely devoid of life. So much so that our footsteps echoed.
It didn’t help that churches had always made me uncomfortable. I felt like I didn’t quite belong, or at the very least like my sins were laid bare whenever I was in one. Stupid I know, but I couldn’t help it. I was most assuredly on the naughty list.
“Thank you,” the girl said.
“You have weird tastes,” I said. “Airport full of motherly flight attendants and you pick a guy like me? Not exactly the picture of paternal instinct.”
The little girl smiled shyly, shaking her head.
“Nuh uh. It’s cause you look familiar. Like I’ve seen you somewhere before.”
Ah. I must resemble a family member or a trustworthy face. “Is that so?” I asked, feigning interest, “And where exactly have you seen me before little girl? Family reunion? T.V? A magazine?”
A most wanted list?
“In the dictionary,” she replied, holding the book up. “Right next to the word gullible.”
Recognition seeped into my veins like a deadly venom. I slowly dragged a hand down my face as the ‘little girl’ struggled to stop a fit of maniacal laughter.
“Lisistrathiel,” I groaned.
Chapter 9
While I’m in something vaguely resembling a church I might as well make a confession. I’ve done rude and nasty things in the past, not the least sin of which involved me partaking in dark and blasphemous rituals.
My girlfriend at the time was something of a charismatic cult leader in the make, and decided to offer me, her dear boyfriend du jour, up as a sacrificial lamb to advance her position in the eyes of the dark powers present. I was sixteen at the time.
As one might guess by the fact that I’m still alive, the ritual didn’t exactly work out as planned. It ended with lots of fire and death for the ritual performers, me meeting Lisistrathiel, my very own Infernal Adversary, and that’s the short version of why a ‘little girl’ was laughing her ass off at me right now.
“Wow, Charlie. Just wow,” she said. “You must be pretty darn miserable to have gone this long without noticing me.”
The ‘little girl’ snapped her fingers. She disappeared in a poof of almost comical smoke and was replaced with the the lead actress of my worst nightmare.
Lisistrathiel wasn’t just an old school Devil bent on tempting me out of my soul. She also happened to be a six foot tall heart throb with long, lean legs that may or may not have had a hand in the development of my fetishes during my teenage years. Her hair was the exact same shade of black as my shriveled heart and her eyebrows were as sharp and jagged as her serpentine smile. She was wearing her favorite nun getup with matching heels and crucifix that did nothing to hide the smooth contours of her breasts and hips. Her molten bronze eyes watched patiently, waiting for me to finish sizing her up and form a proper retort.
I obliged. “You’re going to have to go pretty far out of your way this time to make my day any worse than it currently is.”
“Is that a challenge?” she asked ever so sweetly.
“It’s a fact. I’ve had bad days Lis, but this one feels like a perfect storm.”
“Don’t get so depressed, Charlie,” Lis said. “Are you trying to tell me that putting up with that chihuahua of an antimage is worse than what you’re used to?”
“I’m not depressed. I’m furious. NT knows I’m in my element when I work alone. Present company excluded.”
“You’re sounding more hungry than furious. Hang on a sec. I’m going to see if there’s any bread around that altar for you to eat.”
Biblical Devil bent on devouring my soul or not, Lis also happened to be the closest thing I had to a confidante. Our relationship was complicated in the same way that predicting the trajectory of a nuke blindfolded while simultaneously trying to solve a Rubicks Cube was complicated.
The only thing I knew for sure about Lis was that she loved three things above all else: Blasphemy, irony, and ruining my day in the most creative way she can think of. That being said, she wasn’t wrong. I was absolutely starving.
“Find anything?” I asked as the she-devil pillaged the prayer room.
Lis gave me a tsk of disappointment, “You’re out of luck Charlie. No snacks for you. Oh well, you know what they say: If there’s no bread then you should eat cake instead.”
“Less tyranny, Antoinette,” I retorted. “Where the hell were you anyways? You usually come harass me as soon as I know my mission.”
“What, were you missing me or something?” she asked, taking a seat upon the altar and retrieving her cell phone from the folds of her outfit.
“Beyond the furthest scope of desperation,” I replied. Sarcastically. “Answer the damn question.”
“Believe it or not I’ve actually got a life outside of you.”
“You don’t have to lie to me Lis.”
The she-devil smiled at that. “I’ve been a bit busy is what I mean to say, Charlie. The cell phone I bought with your credit card has been practically blowing up with smoking hot guys just desperate to get a hold of me. I even have a date set up.”
“Let me guess, in Russia?” I asked.
“Downtown Moscow. Quite the coincidence, huh?”
“And I’ll bet,” I said, my heart beat quickening. “It’s got something to do with the False Angel.”
You know, the one that nearly killed you? The one that showed me just how Mortal you really are? The one that proved to me just how little mere Men and Devils alike mean in the grand scheme of things?
“Quality prediction. You know me so well,” she said. “Wanna come with?”
I shook my head. “This is a trick. You’ll probably ask me for my soul as payment or something for introducing me around.”
“Oh, now your suspicion and skepticism w
ants to work,” Lis said.
“Fool me twice, shame on me.”
“Well the guy I wanna meet up with is actually a uh, old co-worker of mine,” Lis said, a diabolical grin pulling at the corners of her lips. “Wouldn’t be any problem having you come along to be my arm candy though. In fact I’d prefer it. We have a bit of a competition going on.”
“What am I, your trophy husband?”
“Are you proposing?” Lis asked. “Most guys usually get on their knees first.”
“I said less tyranny! Besides it’ll be a cold day in Hell before you’ll ever get me on all fours.”
“Speaking of cold,” Lis said, tapping her lips. “It’s chilly in Russia. You need to bundle up.”
“Who needs to bundle up when I’ve got you to light a fire under my ass every waking moment of my life?”
“That’s the sweetest thing I’ve heard from you all week, Charlie.”
“Cherish it. So.”
“So?” Lis echoed in mock innocence.
“What’s your game? Your trick. How are you going to try and damn me to eternal suffering this time? You never said and you usually can’t shut up about it.”
“Well, if you’re going to insist like that, I guess I’ll just have to come up with something to appease your unreasonable desire to be tempted out of your soul,” she said. “Let’s see. You must have gotten hoodwinked a solid three, maybe four times by now so maybe…”
“You make it sound like I’ve forced your hand but you’ve probably had an attempt on my soul planned out weeks in advance,” I said.
A low baleful chuckle escaped the she-devil’s lips. Eyes of molten bronze shone with monstrous glee. “Maybe. I guess you’ll just have to find out after the plane ride.”
With a sharp smile, Lis walked past me. It was only after I heard the door to the chapel open that I realizing she was running off.
“Wait,” I called out. “Don’t just leave me--”
Turning around I caught sight of Zophie Nuhl standing in the prayer room doorway. She had two tickets crushed in her fist.
Live and Let Lie Page 3
