Live and Let Lie

by F. A. Bentley

  “Who’re you?” He demanded.

  “They’re with me,” slurred a familiar voice.

  It was Sam. He was waiting at the door just as hairy as I remembered him. He even had a shirt on this time. The bouncer stepped aside the second he received our invitations from the Domovoi.

  “How exactly did you get these invitations?” I heard ‘Sophie’ softly ask.

  “Mailed to me,” the house spirit said.

  I nodded at the words. Now that I came face to face with it, I really had to appreciate Nine Tower’s spy network. A double agent like the Domovoi must be hard to come by. Especially one clever enough to seem trustworthy to the Russian Coalition. Perhaps he even had his finger in both pies.

  “Impressive,” I said. “You even came away from your house to join in the festivities. Must be quite uncomfortable for spirits like you, Sam.”

  “Doing as favor, agent. Very big favor,” he replied. “Free bar helps.”

  Be still my beating heart. Sam said the magic words: Free bar.

  “Daniel, what are you doing?” ‘Sophie’ hissed as I strayed away from her.

  “Mingling,” I replied.

  *

  I tightened my arm around the waist of the grinning blonde next to me and concluded my story.

  “Needless to say after I’d finished seducing my former master’s daughter, I had to make a dramatic escape. Three pidgeons worth of blood fueled my ritual, the Lidless Eye beating down the door to my study, and the second they got to me staffs bristling, the ritual went off. Poof!” I said, “Suddenly I found myself in a Serbian farmhouse with nothing on me but a smile.”

  “And that’s why you’re against NT? Why you came running to the Familiar Lord?” asked the incredulous bartender.

  Of course it isn’t. I made the whole story up.

  “Of course it is,” I replied. “God’s honest truth.”

  The blonde babe giggled. The gentleman a seat over laughed. The bartender smiled, shaking his head. Tensions fled from their faces. My initial entrance, at first strained, now seemed to ease up. They trusted me now. They probably knew my story was an exaggeration, or pure fiction, but it sounded just like a story someone interested in boasting and making friends would conjure up.

  Zophie sat down next to me, having studiously ignored me since we first came in together. Good. Too suspicious otherwise. Now to make up a realistic reason to be seen together.

  “Well now, you must be new. What’s your name?” I asked letting go of the blonde (much to her dismay) and turning my attentions exclusively towards Nuhl.

  “Sophia Burger,” Zophie muttered.

  Could she possibly be worse at playing along?

  “Where are you from? What’s your specialty? Is it illusion magic or do you look this inviting normally?” I asked.

  A twinkle shone in Zophie’s eye.

  “A sweet talker, are you?” she asked, her voice suddenly husky.

  “It’s my specialty,” I replied.

  “I’m not a fan. I like things to be nice and straightforward,” she replied.

  “Then what are you waiting for?” I said.

  Zophie grabbed my tie, dragging me millimeters away from her face. I was quite sure she was going become intimately familiar with the taste of her tongue for an instant before she whispered so that only I could hear: “Nine o clock. Tall skinny nerd with the glasses and mustache.”

  Sparks shone in the antimage’s eyes.“It’s him.”

  Nikita Gogol. I smiled as I sat back in my seat, “Not bad, rare to find such a straightforward woman.”

  “I’m full of surprises, mister…” Zophie replied.

  As my eyes furtively locked onto the tall guy in mustache and glasses combo, I said, “Daniel Hunter. I’m not from around here, but I think I’m starting to like the place.”

  My eyes followed the target. He looked around before going into a backroom. Alone? Perhaps he was going to leave. My eyes narrowed. So did Zophies. I leaned down and whispered in her ear loud enough for the others to hear.

  “Why don’t we go somewhere more private where we can talk. Just the two of us.”

  Zophie’s smile strained despite her flirty words. “Sounds good, Mr. Hunter.”

  Chapter 49

  “It’s him. It has to be,” Zophie said, cursing as she tried to manage her dress.

  Must be used to wearing pants. Her trim cut shoulders shrugged as she withdrew her pistol from a thigh strap.

  It was getting hard not to stare.

  “Are you certain?” I said.

  She held up her ring for me to inspect. It looked like one of those mood rings except the colors were swirling like a lava lamp.

  “Supernaturals wearing illusions only make it twitch. That guy was born mundane, but has illusion magic all over him.”

  It added up then. When we reached the same backroom that the glasses and mustache guy disappeared into though, it was completely empty. Rows and rows of books and arm chairs and even a coffee set, but no man. I shot a look at Zophie.

  “Invisible? No. He must have gone somewhere.”

  Book case secret passage? Trap door? It all sounded cliche, but I suppose it was just the tools of the trade for the Lord Illusionist. Who else would know all the tricks and traps to the chateau?

  “It’s confirmed at least. If it isn’t Gogol himself it’s a close confidant. Someone we can grill or threaten or get a clue off of,” I said.

  “Shut up and look for a secret passage,” Zophie said, and started feeling up the walls of books.

  My blood froze when I heard wood creak and boots scuff. Someone was coming. Think fast.

  I rushed to Zophie, grabbed her wrist and said, “Come here.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could just make out the man that peeked in on us. It’s a good thing my reactions are so fast otherwise we’d have been discovered in an instant.

  A tall bear-like bruiser. With a familiar white beard down to his chest. He walked with a slight limp and scanned us for a good long time before finally withdrawing.

  I broke off from Zophie. “One of the assassins from the hotel. The ice mage.”

  Despite the ice mage’s presence, Zophie looked like she was burning up. She had a defiant look on her face, even though he legs were entangled with mine, and sweat trickled down her forehead. She stifled a moan as she rested her hand on my chest.

  I may have forgotten to mention it, but the only way I could think to obscure both of our faces was to make out with her. Stiff upper lip. Think of the queen.

  “Nuhl. Get a grip,” I muttered.

  “Screw you,” she cursed.

  “Later. I think I found the passage.”

  Professionalism returned to Zophie face in an instant. She must be fun to have as a secretary given how quick she could transition between lady in the streets and freak in the sheets.

  I grabbed Zophie’s wrist and showed her the ring. It was going nuts.

  “Illusory wall,” she said.

  I nodded. Pushing my finger into the nearest book case, my digit bore a hole into the seemingly solid wall before giving away completely.

  “I’ve never actually seen one in person. Actually manifesting an illusory wall is the stuff of legends, as it takes meticulous knowledge and absurd power to properly replicate the feel of the real deal. We can’t underestimate Gogol. Come on, before it re-manifests.”

  We walked through the fake wall and up a lengthy stairwell all the way up to a medieval looking wooden door. Must be the top of one of the chateau’s towers. Gogol’s private study?

  I put my ear to the door and listened. Footsteps inside. I nodded to Zophie. In and out. No talking. Get his head and get the hell out. The party goers won’t even notice.

  Zophie solidified pure anti magic into her hands, ready to go full force in an instant. I retrieved my wand. Go time.

  I kicked the door open with all my might. Zophie’s anti magic shot forth, hitting Gogol dead on. It was over. The illusion fizz
led, I moved in for the kill. Wand-sword raised high, secret murder coming to deadly fruition, the cat and mouse game came to a crashing halt as I stopped my wand sword an inch from the target’s throat.

  “Charles,” Zophie almost screamed cocking her pistol at me. “Getting soft on me? Step aside and I’ll kill him myself.”

  “No,” I said, my wand-sword hanging limply at my side. “That’s not it. This isn’t Nikita Gogol.”

  The illusory magic only succeeded in dissolving two things from the target. His glasses and his mustache.

  “Surprise,” the man said in a wiry voice.

  “It wasn’t a bad attempt to kill me, as far as covert operations go,” spoke someone from behind us.

  Recognition of the fresh voice thrilled through me. Shock and cold sweat washed over me.

  “I don’t believe it,” I said.

  A short man with a beard stepped out from the tower stairwell. He was wearing the standard getup of an Orthodox priest and a glower on his face.

  “Let’s make this as painless as possible,” Popov spoke. “Surrender to me and my Familiars, and I can guarantee both of your lives.”

  “Popov,” Zophie said. “But that’s impossible.”

  “Infiltrating the Order was a joke. I’d done it once before, as you figured out on your own.” Popov said.

  On his flanks the polar bear of an ice mage and Sam the Domovoi took position. An assassin and double-- no, triple agent. Birds of a feather really do flock together. Wordlessly they handed Popov a short walking stick made of carved wood and a necklace made of wooden beads. It had a pair of white feathers attached to the center.

  With a wave of his hand, ‘Popov’ dissolved before my eyes. Gone was the frumpy priest I readily recognized only to replaced with the Lord Illusionist. Gnarled hand stroking a long white beard, the sturdy man, wrinkled from head to toe, looked me over with an appraising eye.

  “I honestly had to see it for myself, Charles Locke, Warlock First Class.”

  “What, see me make a massive ass of myself?” I demanded.

  We never stood a chance. To think Gogol would go so far as to insert himself among his own damn assassins, make himself seem useful under the guise of his Order sympathetic persona. We were kindergartners trying to out card trick a professional stage magician.

  “Not at all,” Gogol replied, leaning onto his cane. “I am referring to the bottomless well of craftiness in that brain of yours. Even though Miss Nuhl is your superior, you took extensive care to minimize her faults and maximize her usefulness. And that trick with the lantern!”

  He laughed out loud.

  “Imagine my surprise when my carefully conducted strike against Archive Fort Krasny, to annihilate what evidence there might remain of my past, was quashed by your little pet. No wonder you’ve slain dragons, toppled dynasties and overcome geniuses far outstripping your meager magical talents,” Nikita Gogol spoke.

  He started clapping. So did the mages flanking him. Then the sound of more came from below. Ah. I get it. Everyone was in on it then. This was a party all right. A surprise party. Just for me and Zophie.

  “You understand however, that I cannot be so kind as to offer you my head. I have quite a few things left to do in this world, and I won’t let anyone stop me.”

  “Why do all this?” I demanded. “Why rebel? Gather forces? Rekindle the dying flames of the Long Hunt?”

  Gogol looked confused for the briefest of instants. “You of all people should know, Charles Locke. It’s because I’ve seen this all happen before. Because I’ve seen what will befall Nine Towers. In a week, in a month, in a year, in a decade, it will collapse on its own rotten foundations. Your very presence here as assassin is proof of their corruption.”

  “So stay with us. Destroy the corruption from within. Civil war won’t do anything but up the body count!” I shouted.

  Gogol shook his head. “Nine Towers doesn’t want to be saved.”

  “Talk to your fellow Archmagisters damn you,” I said.

  Gogol smirked. “My ‘fellow Archmagisters’ are the main problem. The pressure I put on them with these actions, and your failure, will hopefully be the last straw. The camel’s back will break, and Nine Towers will collapse into civil war. By rebelling here I will ensure the foundation is set for another Nine Towers to rise from the ashes.”

  “Under your sole control, I bet. So this is your game? A really round about power grab?” I demanded, extending my hands out to him in a pose of exasperation.

  “I’m sure it looks like that to you. For what it’s worth though,” Gogol said. “I apologize for the events set in motion by my actions.”

  “So do I,” I said, and snapped my fingers.

  Chapter 50

  I’m not one to talk with my hands. There isn’t an ounce of Italian blood in me. When I extended my hands in my dramatic accusation that Gogol had planned to rise to the top all along, I was carefully releasing two tiny sprites barely visible to the naked eye.

  A snap of my fingers was all it took to then turn the wisps into miniature stars. At the worst possible moment for Gogol, of course.

  Eyes crammed into my sleeve, I had Zophie by the arm and charged past the groupies and down the stair while they were all busy contemplating a visit to their optometrists. The mission had officially failed, and so the only objective now was to die another day.

  “Blinding light,” Gogol said matter of factly, a sleeve obscuring his face as well. “After him. Alive if possible.”

  Zophie and I reached the living room with its regal rows of books. The party, however, had turned from a cheerful soiree into a Western shootout with sorcerers instead of cowboys.

  Staffs and wands, rods and orbs, all pointed towards us and blazed with every element I could think of plus a couple that I couldn’t quite attach a name to. Thankfully the heady cocktail of alcohol, fear of impending doom and some good old fashion instinct for self preservation kept my legs going fast enough to avoid the deadly barrage of magic.

  I made a bee line for the large central window, got a leg up on the ledge and jumped through. Shards of glass soared through the air and the chill wind of Father Winter hit my face as I heard Zophie yelp. We landed three feet away from two shining motors strapped to skis.

  Hell yes. Those Skidoos could not have looked more attractive if they had been wearing miniskirts and tube tops.

  I got onto one, revved the motor to life, and turned to Zophie. “Hold tight. I’m gonna get us out of this alive or die trying.”

  Hitting the acceleration was all the encouragement the Skidoo needed. Before I knew it we were barreling down the snowy hilltop at what felt like mach three, the engine roared as we kicked up a storm of flakes and foliage behind us. Now all that we had to do was put a bit of distance between us and Gogol’s bachelor pad and we’d be home free.

  Up ahead a hillock suddenly exploded in a shower of snow. I craned my neck around to see a duet of pursuing Skidoos, sorcerers chanting baleful Russian spells from the bitch seats.

  “It’s always like this,” I muttered, and ducked into the nearest thicket I could find. Trees shattered with oncoming fireballs and bolts of lightning as I sped up, weaving through a deadly labyrinth of trees.

  Please no Leshys.

  An explosion of sound reached my ears. Metal crunching on metal and snapping trees. It brought a grin to my lips. One of the pursuers must have hit a tree. Most wizards were heavily reliant on non physical powers, thus leaving something to be desired in their reaction speeds.

  One Skidoo left, a trail of smoke quickly receding from sight all that was left of the third. I drew my wand and swerved out of the trees and into a pure white plain.

  Ice mage was closing on us. In cold pursuit of revenge for the hotel. His immense form kept the remaining Skidoo planted in the snow. Massive spiked cannonballs of ice shot from his free hand like mortar shells, landing ever closer to me. I had to think fast.

  Wand-sword useless. Getting close to him was suicide.
So how could I bring him to the blade? I smiled, an old growth tree gloamed at the far end of the snow field. Just one chance. I pushed the Skidoo into overdrive. As I neared the tree, I brought the vehicle into a deadly close turn that hugged the massive trunk.

  Play more conservative and they’ll lose me. Which is exactly what I knew they wouldn’t let happen.

  Conjuring a blade of hard arcana I swung my wand towards the tree, cutting the whole blade from the tip and embedding it in the bark. Trap set. A moment later, cannonball of spiked frost ready to deal the killing blow, the Ice mage’s Skidoo found my present.

  Metal squealed and screams of dismay echoed through the snowy fields as the blade chewed up their motor and flung them far and wide.

  “Lucky us,” I said to Zophie. “We’ll lose them in the forest, get onto a main road and then we can hitch-hike back. Come up with a new plan and--”

  I jinxed it.

  In the space of a second, a pale hand blurred past us. It was over before I could even say ‘Rusalka’. The left ski on our Skidoo was promptly amputated from the rest of the roaring jet engine beneath us.

  Spiraling wildly out of control, all that was left for Zophie and I was to try and aim for the least solid clump of ice we could find as the ground eagerly rushed up to embrace us.

  Chapter 51

  The crash was sudden and brutal. When the world stopped spinning, it hurt a whole lot more. I got up to find that I was bleeding quite a lot from my right arm. My eyes too were blurred by a sudden influx of unscheduled bleed out. I must have cut my head too.

  Damn. I got up onto shaky legs and found Zophie, unmoving in the snow. Her eyes were closed but she was breathing. Despite the cuts and blood she didn’t look to be that bad off. Compared to me at least.

  “Sleeping on the job? Nuhl, get up. We need to lose them before…”