Live and Let Lie

by F. A. Bentley

An idea burst to life in my brain. I flicked my palm skyward and released a tiny wisp of light.

  “How many times have you used that trick in my presence alone, I wonder?” the Gogols asked, stuffing their eyes into their sleeves. “You won’t blind me with that.”

  A snap of my fingers, and the wisp turned into a shining beacon.

  “It’s not the blinding I want. It’s the opening it’ll create,” I replied.

  Eyes closed, I sprung my attack. Rushing to the nearest Gogol, I swung my wand-sword in wide arcs, mist and empty vapors dissipating as soon as they were sliced in half.

  When my light went out, there seemed to be quite a few less Gogols on hand. Hell yes.

  “Direct attacks are totally useless against you, but taking a master of illusion in a straight and honorable fight would be beyond stupid. So that means I need to start fighting dirty to whittle you down.”

  The Gogols snorted with contempt. “You make it sound like I can’t make others, you cocksure sprat.”

  More illusions broke off from the mirror images. In the blink of an eye the crowd had been restored to full strength and then some.

  “So then it comes down to this, you vodka stained liver spot. Which runs out first? My blood, or your magical reserves?”

  The Gogols smirked. “Attrition is it? Why don’t we find out.”

  Chapter 63

  Fingers rose to cast a volley of deadly thorn blasts, but I had no intention of making myself a sitting duck. As I sped towards the illusory Illusionists, I became aware of one further behind than all the others. As the nearby illusions raised their blades, I readied my shoulder.

  Brute force solution had a nice ring to it. I plowed my way through the clouds of congealed vapors that was the illusions, and finding myself on the other side none the worse for wear, I turned my attention to the one I’d seen before.

  Skulking at the back. Waiting for the right moment. It had to be him, I thought to myself.

  Or at least the next best thing to him, added a voice that sounded woefully similar to Lis’.

  Wand-sword raised high, heedless of the false thorns and fake knives pretending to cut me to shreds, I closed the gap and swung the violet blade in a wide back handed slash.

  The look of surprise on the illusion made my heart leap into my throat, then immediately plummet into my stomach as wisps of white smoke escaped through the cut. Another illusion.

  In the back of my head I hadn’t put it past him. Gogol was clever. He must have known I’d be searching for the slightest difference between illusions. So he laid a trap. An illusion conjured up to behave like a squeamish old man. I fell for it completely.

  And by falling for it, the bait was set for my own trap.

  My side erupted in red hot pain, the curved edge of the lone true dagger caressing a kidney as it cut past my flesh. And as the real Gogol cut me, I turned my wand-sword right around and stabbed it behind me with all my might. Mutually assured destruction.

  The satisfying oomph of a sharp tip stabbing into flesh was nowhere to be found. Did I miss him? Did he detect my strategy and counteract it?

  My eyes trailed up the length of my wand-sword to see blood trickling down from the tip. As I turned, I saw that Gogol had a look of surprise on his face.

  The illusion buckled. It flickered, warped and disjointed like a very old and finicky television screen before resettling. White feathers and golden eyes met mine for a brief second, returning to normal a moment later. Stray feathers glided through the air, coming to rest on the chapel floor.

  “Impressive. A glancing hit was more than I expected. You’re too smart to panic when brute strength fails and too stupid to quit when you know you’re outmatched,” the Gogols said.

  “I doubt that I’m the most impressive ‘person’ in this Church, Lord Illusionist.”

  “Don’t mock me with such prideful titles,” the Gogols spat.

  “Do you finally believe me when I say that I really don’t want to fight you?”

  My vision blurred. My wounds, once hot, only felt cold now.

  “No,” the Gogols said. “It doesn’t matter what the Oracle saw in you. It doesn’t matter how much pity you showed the Chorts. I will find a way out of this. I always have. And I doubt you’ll let me do that until I kill you.”

  I shook my head. “There has to be another way. Nine Towers isn’t as corrupt as you think. They are being manipulated by someone. Someone high up if I had to guess.”

  Gogol huffed an insincere laugh. “Any bottom feeding apprentice’s apprentice could tell you that much.”

  “There are enemies Gogol, but there are allies too.”

  “How rich. Where were these allies when I began to motion for reformations? Where were these friends for the last century of the Long Hunt? When I made to pull the Coalition out? When I warned them of the instabilities that wrack them even now? Nine Towers doesn’t care. That’s why I have to. For Human and Supernatural alike.”

  “I’ll be your ally.”

  “Are you a schoolboy? You’ll be my friend? What can a single hopeless forever apprentice like you possibly help me with?” the illusions asked.

  “You should know how resourceful I am, and that’s not all. I have contacts, friends of my own.”

  Not that I’d ever admit it to their faces.

  “Against the Archmagisters?” Gogol asked.

  “The Oracle. You seem to think highly of her. She’d help you. And I can guarantee that Philestos Swanquill would too.”

  A look of shock spilled onto every last Gogol’s face. A tense pause was only brought to an end when the illusions whispered, “What did you just say?”

  Chapter 64

  “Phil,” I said. “The Lord Demonologist? He’s like a mentor to me. He’s been used by Nine Towers as well. I guarantee he’ll help us. Zophie had a tracking beacon put on her by me, but it came from Phil. That’s how the strike team found you. But the problem is Phil was tricked into--”

  I couldn’t keep speaking. I couldn’t hear myself. Nikita Gogol, all one hundred of him, laughed until I was deafened by them. What the hell was so funny?

  “I see. I see. Outright crafty of that damn toucan. I didn’t think he had it in him,” Gogol said.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  Gogol turned to me and grinned ear to ear. “Charles Locke, it seems that we’ve both become trapped, and we fell for it totally and completely. How stupid of you. How stupid of me!”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “No? Have you ever thought about what exactly had forced my hand into declaring open rebellion?”

  “You’d had enough. You saw an opportunity and you took it. Used Venice as a cover for--”

  “Do I look like I’ve masterminded some great rebellion? Do I look prepared? Where are my elite forces? Why didn’t I attack Nine Towers directly? Threatened the other magisters? Taken hostages? Anything other than run off and gather my forces?”

  “Because…” I trailed off. My head swam.

  Gogol shook his head. “I saw him. I saw him in a dream. And then I saw him with my own two eyes. A monster of the old world has wormed his way into Nine Towers. I knew the moment that I laid eyes on him that I had to break the Russian Coalition off now or else we’d all perish together.”

  “You’re kidding me. A monster? How could one possibly worm his way into NT without anyone figuring him out?”

  “The how is easy. He did it the same way I’ve been doing it. By pretending to be Human. The why is more complicated. Because he can? Because it’s in his nature? Because he thirsts for such things? Because he’s been told to by some unseen manipulator? I don’t know.”

  “Who is it?” I asked. “Tell me.”

  Gogol laughed again, the laugh of a desperate, defeated man. “There’s no use telling you, Locke.”

  My fists clenched in anger. “You’re lying then. I can’t trust you without proof.”

  “Smart boy, but I have no proof to offer. Inste
ad, listen to me and come to your own conclusions.”

  “Why should I?” I demanded.

  “Because me killing you was part of their plan.”

  I froze. Terrifying thoughts that seemed like conspiracy theories suddenly became dangerously logical. I’d thought it possible that Nine Towers had planned to sacrifice Zophie in order to be done with Gogol, but now? Suddenly?

  “That dread bird. That bloody beaked parrot planned to have me kill you without a second thought. To have his problems kill each other, ideally. Why you though? That’s the real question. What is it about you that makes you worth going to such lengths to kill?” Gogol asked.

  “Nine Towers wants me dead?” I asked.

  They never planned on forgiving me. This was a suicide mission from the start. They were hoping I’d be killed. Expected it. Banked on it.

  “Nine Towers? Maybe. Some of them perhaps, but not all. The Oracle would not--”

  The church shook. The timbers and roof shuddered and creaked under the strain. The strike team was breaking through.

  A sense of urgency filled Gogol’s eyes. A flash of gold washed over them and disappeared once more. “Locke, the time I’ve spent with you and Nuhl was not altogether a miserable one. Of all the Humans I’ve known you are one of the least detestable. Therefore I grudgingly accept.”

  The strain of blood loss and the shock of uncovered plot after uncovered plot was almost too much. I staggered back, finding a seat in a nearby pew.

  “Accept what exactly?” I asked, slowly.

  Gogol grinned. “Don’t make me spell it out for you, you talentless beetle. It only makes sense that the Archmagister for whom no apprentice was ever good enough would take a warlock unworthy to be anybody’s apprentice under his wing. Charles Locke, I officially accept you as my apprentice”

  Apprentice? I must have misheard. Or begun hallucinating from the blood loss. Apprenticeship was something reserved for up and coming sorcerers. Those with enough talent and enough elite blood running in their veins to wrangle themselves a position in the hotly contested power structure of noble wizardry.

  For a lowborn warlock, much less a magically talentless one such as myself, the thought of ever being taken on as an apprentice was about as distant a dream as one can get. The fact that the one offering me an apprenticeship was not only an Archmagister but the notoriously apprentice-hating Lord Illusionist safely placed Gogol’s words in the realm of fever dream.

  “Say that again? It almost sounded like--”

  “There’s no time. Locke, as my new apprentice you’ll need some things from me,” Gogol said.

  Digging into his robes he produced a tiny leather bound booklet and a talisman much like the one the Rusalka had. Both were thrown at me without hesitation, and to my great surprise I had the strength to catch them both without fumbling.

  “Don’t be intimidated by the book. The spells within won’t be obvious to you now, but they will become clear with practice. Guard my talisman with your life as well. Good. tuck them into your suit.”

  “What the hell are you doing? Gogol!” I demanded.

  “What a dimwitted apprentice you are. Do you even need to ask? Now that I know what my sworn enemy’s true objectives are, I’m going to do everything in my power to bring them to ruin. While you’re at it tell Nadya-- the Rusalka, I’ll be waiting for her when she’s ready to come.”

  “This is too much. What am I supposed to…”

  “Don’t second guess me, my boy. I’m not so kind a master to overlook your impudence. Now listen close to the first order I shall give you.”

  Raising his hands out to the sides, magic poured out of Nikita Gogol like a vortex. Wispy tendrils of misty vapor reached out and beyond the church, and with a wave of the Illusionist’s hand, all the illusory magic and his mirrored images disappeared in an instant.

  “Apprentice Locke,” Gogol said, turning away. “Avenge me.”

  The sound of crashing wood deafened me. From high above a duo of shapes bulging with muscles crashed on either side of the Lord Illusionist. Pitch black spears shimmered in the gray light, both tips pierced either side of Nikita Gogol. The old man shuddered, and fell without a word.

  Crooked lips. Unearthly frames. Blood red clothing. They had to be Demons of Pride. But if they really were, then their presence here could only mean--

  “Phil?” I croaked.

  “Charles? It looks like I got here just in time to save you. I thought I was too late,” spoke Philestos Swanquill. Floating down from the hole in the ceiling.

  My body gave out as the main doors of the church opened. I was vaguely aware of other magicians nearing me as I fell to my knees and consciousness ebbed.

  The last thing I remembered was seeing an owl as white as snow lying dead in the middle of the church. Nikita Gogol. Not so much a lord of Familiars, as a Familiar that had made himself lord.

  Chapter 65

  I sat down in the musty hallway with enough bandages on me to make King Tut jealous. Of course I didn’t die of blood loss. That would have been too easy. Instead I got patched up, given a serious once over by the healers, and then dropped off on a waiting room bench.

  Missions come and missions go, but the annoyance of having to wait to give the Archmagisters my report stays.

  The thick double doors, caked in magical runes, opened wide. The sound of footsteps made me tilt my head up to see who it was.

  “Locke.”

  “Nuhl.”

  The petite antimage brushed a bang behind her ear and sat down beside me.

  “I learned a lot from all this, Charles.”

  “You mean besides how to be a better kisser?”

  Zophie smiled, “That too. I don’t know how cut out I am for this field work.”

  “Don’t feel bad. Crap missions are a guarantee when it comes to me,” I said.

  She shook her head. “I think I’ll stick to policing apprentices. For now at least. I need time to digest everything that happened.”

  Preaching to the choir.

  “So,” I said. “Did you remember to include in your report the part where I saved you and the mission multiple times?”

  “I even padded some of them out. The mission was only a partial success, but at the end of the day the Archmagisters seemed pleased enough. Now they can install a replacement for Gogol, a nice obedient puppet for the Russian Coalition, and--”

  “And keep the status quo,” I finished for her.

  “Yeah,” Zophie said. She hesitated a second before asking, “Charles, did we do the right thing? Popov, I mean Nikita Gogol, he didn’t seem all…”

  “I’ll get back to you when I figure it out myself. Go rest, get a nice fat tub of ice cream, and spend the next three days in your pajamas.”

  “That sounds like a good idea. I’ll leave you to it Warlock Locke. But before I go,” she said. “Coffee?”

  “Name the time and place,” I replied.

  “I will,” she said. Her footsteps faded down the hall until there was nothing but solitary silence left.

  Or at least as close to solitary silence as it gets for me.

  “I was wondering when you’d come by to salt my wounds. Lisistrathiel.”

  As soon as I said her name, the sudden pressure of a familiar diabolical presence manifested in the seat next to me.

  “Fascinating theory,” the she-devil said, a finger tapping her lips, “I hadn’t thought of it, but it is entirely possible that salting your wounds and twisting any knives I find pre-stabbed into you is indeed my calling. Or at least a hobby. Just to be sure though I’ll have to run the evidence down to the boys in the lab and then get my people to contact your people once I have my hot little hands on the results.”

  “You’re in a suspiciously cheery mood,” I muttered.

  “I’m more interested in your mood actually. So? What’s it like being an apprentice? Say what you want about Nikita Gogol, but the old bird sure knew how to surprise people. Almost as impressive as how he m
asqueraded as a Human for two hundred years.”

  “Aren’t you masquerading as a Human too?” I asked.

  “No way, Charlie I just look like a Human to lull you into a false sense of security. I made sure you knew I wasn’t Human since day one. So? What’s it like, Apprentice Locke?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “Too much at once.”

  “All right, I get it, you were recently exsanguinated. How about an easier question instead: Did you find the least wrong thing to do, given the circumstances?”

  Eyes of molten bronze patiently awaited my response. I shook my head.

  “I think I did. I wish things hadn’t ended this way but...”

  “But?”

  “Knowing what I knew back then? I wouldn’t have done anything different,” I said.

  Lis nodded. “See? And now you know just a little bit more than you would have if you’d given up.”

  A lot more.

  “There’s no way I can give up now. You better buckle up Lis. There’s going to be a lot of work coming up real soon. I can feel it in my bones.”

  Lis smiled, “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Charlie.”

  The double doors creaked open. A bearded twig of a man peered out and said, “They’ll see you now, Warlock First Class.”

  I rose to my feet and followed the mage into the antechamber. This was big. Like a enormous secretive pinata, Nikita Gogol’s final moments were nothing less than an explosion of dangerous questions, dizzying conspiracies, and unsettling truths.

  A secret plot to off me. A ‘monster-bird’, as Gogol called it, stalking the halls of Nine Towers. Eight Archmagisters that I could no longer trust a dime with. And above it all still loomed the shadow of the False Angel of Death.

  “Charles Locke, Warlock First Class,” spoke Gilbert Gelwer, sitting among the remaining masters of Nine Towers. “Nuhl has given us a starry report on your actions, so much so that I feel we need to hear it again, straight from the horse’s mouth. What exactly happened in Russia?”

  I had my work cut out for me. Clearing my throat, I stood before the gathered wizard lords and gave them my report.