“It’s not another deal. Relax. Tell me how I got here. And for that matter how long was I out and getting nightmared by Kikimoras?”
“About eighteen hours. You’ve been here for like, seventeen of em.”
They got me here in a single hour? We were a hop skip and a jump away from Yekaterinburg, and now suddenly I’m several days drive up North on the roof of the world?
“Does Gogol own a private jet or something?” I asked.
“Nope. They walked you here,” Lis replied.
Another mystery to go with all the other damn mysteries. I didn’t know where the Lord Illusionist was, I didn’t know how to get back without freezing to death and or hitchhiking either. Hell, I didn’t even know where--
“Nuhl!” I practically shouted.
“I see the gears in your brain haven’t rusted any,” Lis said, toying with her crucifix. “Good thinking. Nuhl is indeed the key to getting back on track.”
Nikita Gogol has her hostage, held near to him to make sure there are no more slip ups. However, thanks to Phil, lugging that chihuahua in the shape of a woman around was the same as sporting a very big and very fancy homing beacon.
I turned my thoughts inward. I recalled the shape and the feel of the enchantment Phil gave me. The homing beacon’s magic echoed back. She was far away. Very far, but she was alive and well. All I had to do was track her down.
“We need to get out of here and get to work. I have a girl to save.”
“Saving princesses Charlie?” Lis asked. “You keep saying you prefer black-knighting but I just don’t see it.”
“Think about it. If I save her she’ll practically have to write a good report about me.”
“That’s extraordinarily jaded of you, Charlie,” Lis said.
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Before we go though, I need to check on something.”
“Oh?”
“The Rusalka sounded like she was familiar with the Lord Illusionist. Downright intimate. A close subordinate sure, but she talked about him like a confidant. And I have a hunch this whole mystery will unravel if I uncover what the Rusalka knows.”
“And how are you going to do that Charlie? Did you pass out while I was talking about that whole decades of slowly reassembling herself thing?”
I shook my head. “Gogol trusted the Rusalka without hesitation. And she had no intentions of half-assing her Familiar Lord’s commands. This abandoned base is probably her personal lair. Her official haunting grounds. She’ll have kept mementos. Trophies. Records. Something. We just have to find where.”
“Lead the way then, Chumbo,” Lis said. “I love scavenger hunts.”
Chapter 57
“Find anything?” Lis called from down the rubble strewn hall.
“Patience is a virtue. Grow some,” I retorted.
The Rusalka’s quarters were hidden behind a door that led to a small room. Probably a command post once upon a time. The dreadful Fairy probable entered and left the room by pouring herself past a small hole punctured through the thick metal door, and which offered anyone else nothing more than a quick glance inside. The actual lock mechanism had long since rusted shut.
The place definitely gave me a strong ‘no boys allowed’ vibe.
Cutting past the door’s hinges with a swing of my wand, the water spirit’s lair turned out to be anything but what I expected. Any respectable Supernatural girl with as much lethality on her as the Rusalka ought to have trophies from failed monster hunters, perhaps a nice nest made of skulls, or at least some creepy dolls hanging by strings from the roof.
This Rusalka however, seemed to like painting.
I stared in mute awe at the painstakingly crafted work of art before me. Amid bright spring trees in a dark green landscape, a majestic snowy owl with wings spread wide, flew dramatically through the air. The attention to detail, particularly on the owl itself, was staggering.
My heart skipped a beat. The Fairy tale that girl told me in Shuycha came flooding back into my mind. The witch’s fate. Gogol’s sudden appearance in the birth records. The pet owl too.
The thought that the Lord Illusionist was this witch, using illusion to masquerade as someone of different size, shape, and even sex, had always struck me as more than possible. It was downright probable. But something about the Rusalka’s painting suddenly turned my thoughts in another direction.
What was it that the one Fairy in Shuycha woods said? They found Gogol and took care of him. The Fairies and the village girl too. But that would mean that Nikita Gogol and the witch from the Fairy tale are totally separate people. Gogol didn’t fake drowning to get the Order of the Black Rose off his back. It was the witch who drowned.
And if I recall Supernaturals 101 correctly, drowning a woman with a strong enough desire for revenge is exactly how you get a Rusalka. Turning back to the painting, I felt puzzle pieces suddenly click into place. A hunch. Just a hunch. But this owl…
I shook my head. Search room now, Charles. Deal with Gogol later.
Scattered around the room were not just paintings but letters too, written in ink and quill by the look of them. They were in Russian of course, but the strange way the words lined up evoked images of something more familiar than the backwards Russian letters.
It almost looked like poetry.
On the central desk, caked with paint and half rotting, there sat a talisman upon a stained sheet of paper. A pair of sticks were carefully tied together in the shape of a cross sign and on the bottom were tied a pair of tiny pine cones and a stark white feather between them.
I wondered if all girls’ private rooms felt as much like a crime scene as this one. Grabbing the talisman, I made my way back over the now hinge-less door lying on the concrete and out past the rubble strewn hall.
“Any luck?” Lis asked.
“I think I’m beginning to get a solid theory,” I replied.
“Enlighten me.”
“The Rusalka might have been Gogol’s Familiar, but I think she really loved him.”
Lis’ jagged eyebrows perked high.
“The way she spoke of the Lord Illusionist was way too familiar, pardon the pun, for a henchman. They were close. I’m sure of it. Also I found pages and pages of poetry in her little nest. Here, tell me I’m wrong.”
I held up a plundered sheet to Lis, who scanned it in a split second before whistling.
“She’s pretty good. You bet this is all directed at Gogol, her ‘Golden Eyed Love’. But the real question is where’s my poetry, huh?” Lis asked.
“I’d rather rot in Hell, than hear the ring of a wedding bell,” I retorted.
Lis very nearly fainted. “I think I’m going to cry Charlie. Keep it up and you’ll be hearing wedding bells in Hell.”
I need to stop encouraging her.
“We should head up to the surface. Put a call through to HQ and see if I can get Fran to look into something for me. To confirm my other theory.”
“Good thinking. While you were busy with your poetry slam I went and located a hatch that leads outside.”
“Perfect,” I replied.
By the time I’d pried open the antique metal hatch and tasted the first breath of forty degrees below freezing air, my cell phone started ringing. And ringing. On and on and on.
I looked at the caller ID. One hundred and forty three-- forty four missed calls, all from Fran’s number. A tap of the screen and Fran was on the line.
“Fluke? Fluke!” she said, breathlessly.
“Are you one of those psycho stalker girls I’ve heard so much about? A hundred and forty four calls?”
“No time for jokes. Info vomit in bound.”
Sidestepping our ritualized banter? “What happened?”
“Big deal. Huge. Never seen before. Three of the Archmagisters and an elite strike team of the top shelf mages, from the nobility might I add, all just teleported to Russia with gear and murder in their eyes.”
“What? Why?”
“They actually h
ave his location,” Fran said, “They found the Lord Illusionist. He’s in St. Petersburg in some Church. Savior on something something. They brought the big guns and are planning on leveling the whole cathedral to make sure they get him once and for all. What did you do over there Fluke? This is insane!”
My face fell. The last of the puzzle pieces finally clicked into place. I really wish they hadn’t.
“It was two way.”
“Huh? You’re breaking up,” Fran frantically replied.
“I’ll call you back. Thanks Fran.”
Chapter 58
I cut the call and let my phone hand hang limp at my side.
“The homing beacon,” I said. “It wasn’t just a me to Zophie thing. It was a two way connection. Probably back to HQ. The other Archmagisters must have tricked Phil. Took advantage of his injuries and his garbled state of mind to pass off some extra insurance onto me. Goddammit. Why didn’t I see it before? They have Gogol’s location now. They’re going to kill the Lord Illusionist.”
“That’s a good thing, right? Mission accomplished,” Lis shrugged.
“Not even close. They’re going to destroy a whole building to make double sure. Zophie is with him. I need to save her,” I said.
“C’mon,” Lis murmured seductively. “You don’t even like her.”
“If I only saved people I liked the world would end up being a very empty place,” I retorted.
Lis pursed her lips, “Fair point.”
“And I think there’s someone else I need to save there too.”
“You’re not talking about the Lord Illusionist are you? Didn’t you spend the last week trying to track him down and murder him?” Lis pressed.
“He’s not evil. I don’t care what Nine Towers told me. They’re manipulating the situation just like they manipulated Phil and me. They were probably planning on having Zophie, who isn’t exactly great at field work, get caught by him from the start.”
“And?”
“And that means that they knew that the Lord Illusionist wouldn’t have the heart to kill her in the first place. They were probably banking on him not having it in him to even torture a tiny girl like Nuhl. It’d be a great deal to sacrifice a pawn like her in order to locate and get a big piece like Gogol off the board.”
“And that’s your reasoning for throwing out your orders, going against your superiors despite being in trouble with them already, and saving your mortal enemy?” Lis asked.
“That about sums it up. They didn’t want Gogol dead because he’s a major threat to Nine Towers. They wanted him dead because if the Lord Illusionist successfully pulls the Russian Coalition out from under Nine Towers, who the hell is going to stop the South American Protectorates from doing the same? Or the Noble Families? Or the damn Warlocks for that matter?”
“So your thesis is that this is all a dolled up ploy to consolidate power and show the world that Nine Towers does not appreciate its subjects seceding from it?”
“In a nutshell.”
“You know Charlie, I think you’ve got it more right than usual. Good job. I knew that booster shot of paranoia would be helpful. So, what are you gonna do about it? Swim to Canada?”
“This is where I need your help,” I said.
“Wow. Desperation time, huh?”
“Something like that. I need to know how we got here so I can get back to civilization the same way. I don’t care what you take from me. I need the info and I need it yesterday.”
“And if I said I want your soul?” Lis asked; Lis threatened.
“So,” I said, bitterness seeping into my voice. “My soul isn’t worth giving up your Devilish ways over, but it’s worth grabbing for a dozen words worth of info?”
“Is that your theory?” Lis replied.
I grit my teeth. “Fine. It’s a deal. I’ll--”
“Just kidding.”
I glared incredulously at the she-devil. “What?”
“Charlie, in all my years I have never ever met a Human so desperate to be rid of their soul. It’s not a poker chip, you know. You should really treasure it more. Seriously. Shame on you.”
“Lis, I’m begging you here. What do you want in exchange for the info? Anything.”
The she-devil grinned wickedly. “Well, I really wanted a poem written about me. But you already handed me a rhyme pro bono. That means I’m in a very giving mood right about now.”
“You’re joking.”
“Nope. I’ll give you the info you want for the low low price of two feature length poems. To be found on my desk first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Fine, whatever.”
“At least one has to be in iambic pentameter.”
“I get it.”
“And don’t forget to invoke the muses in the first stanza.”
“Lisistrathiel.”
“Crossed Over. You Crossed Over with the Rusalka and then showed up around here maybe ten minutes after disappearing. Gave me quite the startle when it happened. Does that help any?”
I thought long and hard before finally answering her.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes it does.”
Chapter 59
Crossing Over is exactly what it sounds like. A mage of sufficient talent takes in a deep breath, tears apart the fabric of Mundanity, and then steps into the Immortal Coil. Crossing Over in Norway is a one way ticket to Asgard or Jotunheim. Greece and Italy gets you to Olympus. Japan the Netherworld.
For a mage as untalented as me this information is mostly just interesting trivia but sometimes, every so often, the places between the Mortal and Immortal worlds become thin enough for even a magical weakling like me to get through.
The plan was simple: Cross Over and figure out how the Rusalka traveled half a continent in half a smoke break in order to beat Nine Towers to St. Petersburg. However, as I focused my will inward in order to both prepare myself for the spell as well as sense the ebb and flow of magic around me, I became aware of two problems.
Problem One: I had no idea where Crossing Over was going to land me. It’s not that Russia didn’t have Supernatural planes, it’s that there were a couple hundred very different domains over there. The old Pantheons of the land were equal parts fractious and territorial.
Problem Two: The walls between worlds here weren’t as thin as I’d hoped and prayed. In fact they were unusually thick. I guess I have the Soviet Union’s disdain for creativity to thank for this. However, I might just have a solution for this on hand.
“Trouble, Charlie?” Lis asked, stretching her hands behind her back.
“It’s like they flock to me. Lis, don’t items that are kept near and dear to Supernaturals get infused with the owner’s magical powers over time?”
Lis nodded. “Over a long period of time, yes. That’s kinda how Cho became Cho, actually.”
“That’s what I remember too. Okay Lis. I’m about to start.”
“Oh? And how are you going to overcome your you know what?”
She was referring to my crippling lack of magical power.
“I found this among the Rusalka’s belongings,” I said, holding up the wooden talisman.
“So, you’re going to tap into the latent power of that memento in order to Cross Over? A bit risky. You have no way to get back.”
“I’ll find a way.”
“Are you sure? The dice are in favor of you Crossing Over right into a Dragon’s stomach, you know. How’s that for anticlimactic demises?” Lis asked.
“You were pep talking me a second ago. Go back to that,” I muttered.
“Please excuse me Charlie, I didn’t realize this plan requires you to be completely divorced from reality,” Lis said.
“You always know just what to say.”
Lis smiled. “Go get em, stud.”
The reaction the talisman gave me as I tapped into its latent magic was more powerful than expected. I wonder if sufficiently powerful magical items can sense intent and act according to their master’s will.
&
nbsp; Where once there were thick walls between the worlds, now there was a layer about as hard to get through as a blanket of fast food napkins. My eyes exploded with whimsical lights and dark yawning voids of violet and green. I felt like I was falling for a second, and then suddenly, the Crossing Over ended, and my new reality settled around me.
A full moon rose over a bald mountaintop. Black trees looking like they were made up entirely of shadow spread out endlessly around me. There was a thin layer of snow beneath my shoes, but no wind to kick it up. The sinister sight was enough to give me shivers.
I made a mental note to take Lis’ warnings more seriously from now on. On the off chance I didn’t die in these woods at least.
The forest seemed deserted. Seemed being the operative word. As the crunch of snow beneath my tread echoed eerily past the labyrinth of black bark, I began to realize what this all was.
A Fairy Trod.
I’d heard of them before. In Scotland and the Emerald Isle they were sort of Supernatural highways. The magical woods there could lead to all the forgotten corners of Creation. I guess the Fairies of Russia made something similar.
I tried to keep the stories of amateurs getting lost for an eternity in these forests out of my mind as I put one foot in front of the other. Luckily for me more pressing concerns revealed themself before I could really appreciate the anxiety of being alone in a vast dark forest.
The woods had eyes. Peeking past branches. Peering through bushes.
“Human. Filthy Human,” whispered one.
“Invader. Despoiler,” accused another.
“Curse you Human,” and another.
“We will dance on your corpse,” and another.
This was the last place I’d expected to meet familiar faces. “Chorts? So, this is where you all hide whenever you’re not burning down archives,” I called out to them.
A babble of voice erupted from the trees. Half shocked and half furious at my easy recognition of their race.
“I don’t have time for this. Let me pass I wish you no harm,” I said.
A chorus of accusations: Lies. Liar. Can’t fool us.
I narrowed my eyes. “I’m going to St. Peterburg to save your master. The Familiar Lord is in danger. Let me pass.”
Live and Let Lie Page 19
