Zophie smiled. Popov frowned.
“Photographic memory. So, Cho, after our nice stroll through the burning archives, did you see something that has to do with the Lord Illusionist?” I asked.
“No,” said Cho, sounding exceedingly happy. “No mentions of Lord Illusionist.”
Chapter 45
My eyebrows furrowed. My heartbeat picked up. Don’t panic. Try another key word. He’s like a search engine.
“Familiar Lord?” I asked.
“No mention.”
“Nikita Gogol?” I demanded.
“Oh. I remember that name. Yes, master.”
“Stop calling me master and tell me everything you found on Nikita Gogol,” I said.
“Of course mas-- Charles,” Cho said. “Nikita Gogol, registration papers, dated October 1819.”
“What?” Popov exploded. “Registered? To the Order of the Black Rose?”
“So he was a member of the Order?” Zophie asked.
“Don’t just jump to conclusions. Cho, what else you got?”
“Only a few mentions of him, and those are from two hundred years ago. Wow. I wasn’t even a candle holder back then. I was still rock stuck in a mine somewhere,” Cho said.
“Reminisce on your weird childhood later.”
“Nikita Gogol was a humble peasant from a tiny village, the papers said. Shuycha’s the hometown’s name. He wrote a lot of letters about trying to bring the Long Hunt to an end. Whatever Long Hunts are.”
So in his youth Gogol was not only raised by Supernaturals but tried his best to reach out to his fellow Man and broker a peace? We were getting close to something big. I could feel it.
“What happened, Cho?”
“I don’t know about the lead up, Charles Locke, but I can tell you the results. Found those in a nice recent history book,” Cho replied. “1821, peace talks appointed in Shuycha. Big deal for both parties. Talks broke down, seemed only Gogol actually wanted peace. The Order`s Grandmaster and Fairy Lords tried to stab each other in the back. Ended with lots of the forest and the town getting burned. The rest of the chapter is all about whatever a Tsar is getting upset at the Order for burning his favorite hunting spot. Did that help?”
It certainly answered a lot of questions. It seems the Order used Gogol to round up all the Fairy big wigs in one place then try to deal a fatal blow to them. Or maybe the fairies used Gogol to round up the Humans?
Considering the Lord Illusionist couldn’t have been more than twenty years old at the time, this event was most likely the defining moment of his life. No wonder he was so secretive and solitary, even by Archmagister standards. Probably why he never took on a single apprentice in all those lonely years.
Could this be why he rebelled against Nine Towers then? Because he saw the same corruption in us that he saw in the Order and the Fairy lords of yester-century?
“Cho, what about locations? Does it mention any of his favorite haunts? Abodes? Creepy derelict towers looming over the empty countryside?” I asked.
“Lucky lucky,” Cho called out. “Registration form has a home address on it. An estate called Kovennyy Dom.”
A long pause, and then, “Doesn’t say where it is though.”
I sighed. “Of course not. He’s the Lord Illusionist. Even as a teenager he probably knew how to cover his tracks like a pro. Damn it, where do we even start searching for some hypothetical secret base? If it even exists.”
“I doubt we’re in much condition to chase after anything, Charles Locke,” Popov said, pointing to my side.
Nuhl was leaning heavily against the cold stone passage wall, her head cradled in her free hand. The burn marks over her pants and her arms looked like hell. Should have counted my blessings she wasn’t bleeding out.
I cursed under my breath. “Don’t put on the tough bitch act, Zophie. If you’re about to die of exhaustion tell me.”
“I’m fine,” she lied.
Popov shot me a worried look. I rubbed my eyes.
“Come here.”
I picked the petite slip of a woman up, much to her horror. If she wasn’t so weak I would have probably been punched in the throat right then and there.
“Let’s get out of here, rent a hotel room somewhere quiet, and lick our wounds. We can send out feelers from there and maybe get a solid fact about the Lord Illusionist’s hideout. Deal?”
Popov nodded. Zophie turned away from me peevishly.
“Is it a deal?” I pressed.
“Deal,” she said.
Chapter 46
Considering we found the hotel on the fly, I have to say I was pretty impressed with it.
It had two rooms, a kitchenette, and that nice rustic log cabin feel except clearly made by a guy who’s been born in the twentieth century. Good. I wasn’t in the mood for putting up with any more quaint cabins in the wood.
“Hungry?” Popov asked, pointing to the fridge. “We should talk.”
“Starved but give me a sec.”
I opened the door to the nearest bedroom and let go of Zophie’s arm. She flopped onto the mattress with a grunt.
“Strip,” I commanded.
No response? I perked an eyebrow high. I’d strategically said that knowing it would get a harsh reaction out of my leash holder. The fact that Zophie was lying limply on the mattress despite being entirely conscious suggested a bigger problem brewing inside her brain. She had been acting strange since the archives, now that I thought about it.
I took another look at her and groaned. Why couldn’t she get melancholic after we got killed by the Lord Illusionist?
“I’ll give you some time alone then,” I said, and made for the door.
“Wait.”
I paused, but didn’t feel charitable enough to turn around and face her. “What?”
“How do you do it?” she asked. Her voice was tiny.
“Alcohol. Next question,” I replied.
She laughed weakly. “I have to admit, this whole mission has been something else. I never really knew how useless I was until I stepped out of dealing with hooligan apprentices back at HQ.”
“Perfectly understandable,” I said.
“Is it?” Nuhl asked. “You went through at least a dozen monstrous Supernaturals since I met you. At least. I couldn’t take out a single Chort. I’ve seen your file. Your aptitude scores. How are you so good at this?”
“Not sure if you’re trying to compliment me or pick a fight,” I said, turning and approaching close enough to catch her eye. “It’s easy. No matter how full of hate or vengeance or a desire to grind my bones into dust a Supernatural is, I know that it’s me or them. I hate killing. But I can’t die. No matter what. It’s all straightforward from there really.”
It wasn’t straightforward at all. But that sounded vaguely like a pep talk. Maybe it’d be enough to get her off my back.
The antimage’s hand suddenly shot out and gripped my shirt. It was so unexpected that I offered no resistance as she pulled me atop her. By the time I’d recovered enough to take offense, she had already locked her legs around me and was halfway done unbuttoning my shirt.
“What are you doing?” I said, too shocked to be turned on.
“Shut up,” Zophie hoarsely replied. “I’m a mess, I know, I know I am, but I want it. Right now.”
My hands gripped her shoulders. My eyes stared into hers.
“You need a cold shower. This isn’t the time for panic sex.”
She looked ready to protest, to convince me, but a shake of my head dissuaded her. She looked like she was about to cry. I got up.
Heartless asshole. Guilty as charged. However I’ve bad experiences with workplace romances. When fire hot emotion and narrow escapes come together the thrill and the attraction is hard to ignore, but the thing about thrill in this business?
It ends as soon as your luck runs out. Itabimori. I’m so sorry.
I stopped at the door. “Take me on a date after the mission. If you pay the bill and I’m in the mood
you might just get lucky,” I said.
Zophie looked at me like I’d gone insane before she choked up with a laugh. “Fine. Play hard to get,” she said.
“Scream if you start feeling worse,” I said, and closed the door.
Popov sat at the wooden table with an eyebrow perked high and a bowl of complimentary fruits in front of him.
“You wanted to talk, Popov. Any new insights that might help us?” I began.
“Not really. I just wanted to thank you,” Popov said.
“For what?”
“For killing the Chorts. Of all the Fairies I’ve learned of in my long years, they’re the very worst. Grotesque. Vile. Child stealers too. You did the right thing, Charles, and you avenged my brothers by doing so too.”
He offered me a rare, strained smile. “You have my thanks, even if the Order never acknowledges you in full.”
“You’re wrong,” I said, grabbing an apple from the table’s bowl.
“What do you mean?”
“The Chorts are evil because they were made so. Child thieves? Grotesque and vile? Anyone would look like that after two hundred years of being hunted down on sight by your people and the superstitious peasants that were probably just waiting for an excuse to act like assholes.”
A strange look overcame the priest before he began blustering. Must be pretty shocking when the rose tinted glasses get knocked off for a second.
“You’re insane. They slaughtered an entire archive of innocent--”
“Armed and armored Order members who have been instrumental in perpetuating a stupid war for multiple generations. And for what, Father? Why are you fighting?”
A look of anger passed over wrinkled cheeks. His whole face scrunched up.
“You don’t know. Did your parents know? Do the Grandmasters of your illustrious order know?”
“We’re on the same team, sorcerer,” he said, slowly.
“I’m here to kill Nikita Gogol. Not to help you eradicate Supernaturals just because one of them looked at you cross eyed a couple centuries ago.”
Popov’s hand slammed down against the table. I honestly thought he was going to take a swing at me, but he closed his eyes, and turned towards the door.
“I’m going for a walk. It’s a beautiful day outside and staying cooped up in here is havoc on the nerves.”
So much for our heart to heart.
Chapter 47
I heaved a sigh, leaning back in my chair. Zophie recovering from her physical and mental trauma? Popov away to chill out?
“That just leaves me to handle the problem solving. Good hustle team,” I said to myself.
Retrieving my cell from my vest pocket, I checked the calls. Nothing. Twelve texts though. I clicked the mail icon and frowned.
Dead yet, fluke?
Tell me when you are so I can rezz you.
Is this curse even working?
Hey. Stop sucking.
The rest of the messages were all just clips of cartoon skeletons dancing. Francisca Sauer had always been tech savvy for a girl committed to the art of death-cheating.
Updates? I typed in.
No, was the instant reply.
None at all? I responded
No. Tell me if you like my new hat. Pic inbound.
Download canceled. Just ask my zombie’s opinion after I’m inevitably murdered during my mission.
Kys. Fairies laying low. No weird recent deaths at all. Came Fran’s response, flanked by cutesy ghosts going ‘boo’.
If I don’t reply in the next twenty four write my obituary. I texted.
I’ll think up a nice eulogy. Bad luck.
I set my cell phone down and rested my chin on my hands. The optimism that flooded me in the archive had slowly seeped out like a leaky tub. We knew about Gogol’s early life, his reason for being a top class asshole, but none of the specifics.
Even close as we were, the fact of the matter was that Gogol could keep dodging us for the rest of our lives if he really felt like it. Hell, even the information we’d amassed could very well be faked down to the most minute detail, or so woefully out of date that it might as well be useless.
No. That isn’t entirely correct. Nikita Gogol wouldn’t have attacked the archive so soon after confronting me in Shuycha’s woodlands. It’s an uninterrupted flow of logic. Nine Towers assassins hot on his heels, Gogol sends his servants to kill. He probably felt when the Leshy failed too, and so moved on to preemptively strike where he thought we’d go next.
Maybe I haven’t been as unlucky as I think I’ve been. By a pure stroke of luck I had Fran on hand to tell me of the sudden burst of spirits welling up from the archive, and once again when Cho scrounged bits of info from the tattered remains of the Order fort.
We were hanging on by our fingernails, but the Lord Illusionist still didn’t have his cards on the table. I had a feeling that the only way to find out how deep that rabbit hole was would be to jump into it feet first.
Two doors opened at the same time, startling me out of my train of thought. Popov at the front door. Zophie at the back. They looked at me and then to each other.
“Zophie, after you,” the priest said politely.
“Sam. The Domovoi,” she said breathlessly.
“You two have a Domovoi in your pocket?” Popov asked.
“Yes. Sam, he came through. I just got off the phone. We have him. We have the bastard.”
“Slow the hell down. What do we have?”
Zophie smirked. “Invitations to attend a recruitment drive for the Russian Coalition. The location? Kovenny Dom. Day after tomorrow.”
My heart skipped a beat. Kovenny Dom. The name of Gogol’s homestead, according to the Order archives. It couldn’t be coincidence.
“I don’t believe it,” Popov whispered.
My smirk matched Zophie’s perfectly, “We have him in the bag.”
Chapter 48
Kovenny Dom seemed surprisingly modern for the secret base of a two hundred year old Illusionist. If I wasn’t absolutely certain there was a coven of sorcerous separatists within the warm wooden walls of the building, I could very easily be convinced it was just a ritzy oversized ski lodge. Or Santa’s workshop. A cobblestone path led up to the entrance, fancy iron lamps lit the way, and a bunch of Skidoos were parked outside.
I straightened my tie as I got out of the the slightly less expensive car I’d grabbed. Fancy cologne. Pitch black suit. Hellfire red tie. Designer shoes. Rolex. It was a hectic day and a half to get together the ensemble and buy plane tickets to Yekaterinburg. And then rent a car to take to Kovennyy Dom proper.
We had to look like curious magicians disenfranchised with Nine Towers. We also had to be armed to the teeth enough to kill one of the most illusive magicians in the entire world.
All of my prep felt like packing a toothbrush and a single change of boxers compared to Zophie’s. She looked sharp in her light blue dress, fur coat, high heels that brought her up to about my neck height, and a few magical surprises to boot.
“I had a feeling it’d come down to finding him in a crowd,” she’d told me. “So I brought just enough reagents for a certain ritual. A specialty of the Lidless Eye.”
Mage cop shenanigans. I wondered if they’ll end up getting used against me someday.
Chalk circle, plus three examples of false perceptions were required to complete the spell. I ended up buying her a matrioshka doll and a padded bra. The silencer to her pistol made three.
As Zophie stepped out of the car, she shot a glance at me and nodded, holding up the inconspicuous ring on her finger. An item enchanted to detect high levels of illusion magic.
“And you’re sure this will work?” Popov asked, shutting the car door behind him.
“Like I said, it makes sense that Nikita Gogol would never attend his own party ‘in the flesh’,” Zophie said. “If he’s here at all, he’s most likely got enough magic on him to look like someone completely different.”
“So all we have to do is
find the guy, or gal, with the most illusion magic on them at the party,” I said.
Zophie nodded. “That’s the idea.”
“How does it work?” Popov asked.
“It doesn’t,” Zophie replied. “At least not yet. I’ll activate it when we get inside. The magic inside it won’t last for very long so we need to work fast.”
Popov nodded. “I see, so it’s like a divining rod. Very clever.”
“Can’t let Locke get all the smooth moves and make me look bad,” Nuhl said.
“I resent that,” came my reply.
“Quit your bitching and remember to hold the door open for me. You call yourself a gentleman?”
I almost replied ‘only to ladylike women’.
“What would you have me do while you two work? Shall I come with you?” Popov asked.
“Up to you, Father,” I said. “You’re more useful as an info dispenser. Less as a meat shield. You could come with and maybe get lucky with a nice well aged sorceress. Or…”
“Or I can watch the car and glare at the door man,” Popov finished for me, gesturing towards the hulking brute at the door.
“Suit yourself. Ready miss--”
“Sophia Burger.”
“Burger? Really?” I asked.
She stomped on my foot like a rocket powered sledgehammer.
“Daniel Hunter,” I groaned, “Charmed.”
“Ch--Daniel, before you go,” Popov called out.
“What?”
“Back at the hotel. I might have gotten a little heated.”
My eyebrows rose high. My brain processed the words and implications. Popov was a member of the Order of the Black Rose, a priest, and by no means a friend of Nine Towers. But he’d always been on the level with me. I’d never admit it to the wrinkly old bastard, but he reminded me of Phil a little bit. Even if he was a completely miserable old bastard most of the time.
“It’s nothing, Father. No need to get emotional in your old age.”
Popov glowered. I grinned.
We reached the door only to be stopped by the enormous bouncer. I say bouncer in the loosest sense of the term. Upon closer inspection he appeared to be another Leshy, or at least some close relative of one. A twig jutted out of his bark-like nose, and his whole frame creaked thunderously with every movement.
Live and Let Lie Page 15
