“Why not? Titles are all you care about, you buzzard.”
His face went red in anger and embarrassment, but it kept him quiet long enough for Laura to escape.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Laura fretted, one floor down. “I’m not usually so—” On second thought, that was a lie. She backtracked. “I have a personal problem with him.”
“Enough to call him a buzzard,” the woman laughed. “Oh, that’s such a pity. I came here to hate you and you’ve made yourself personable.”
Laura raised a brow. “I didn’t think that went over as a pleasant appearance.”
“I never said pleasant. You’ve just revealed your humanity is all.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” Laura said slowly. “You seem very positive for someone who hates me.”
“I’m a wonderful actress.”
That answered nothing.
“So, why’d you come calling so early? It would’ve been easier to catch me at the Sweeper shop, and probably more appropriate if this is about the job.”
“It’s about Sweeping, but on the other hand it’s not. Follow me?”
Baffled, Laura did so.
Upon leaving the Cynder Block, the woman led her down one of the nearby roads. It was a route Laura knew well, even if she no longer frequented it. She’d taken this path for three years of high school. She knew where other children came in off the branching streets, knew which stores opened earliest to entice students who’d skipped breakfast, knew which canal-spanning bridges were steepest. School was in session today, so they were soon crowded by high schoolers and book bags. A pair of girls walked in front of them, whispering the same ghost story about the Sylph Canal that Laura had gossiped over in her time on this path. Between this and the discarded brochures, she was in a bittersweet, nostalgic stupor and almost missed it when the woman spoke again.
“Have you been following the Dead Ringer?”
The familiarity of this place no longer comforted her.
“Of course,” said Laura. “It would be stupid to ignore what people are saying about me.”
“And does it please you to see what they write?”
“Not really. I never agreed to any sort of mob alliance, so if they come knocking for favors, they’ll be disappointed.” The woman hummed, thoughtful. Laura sucked in a breath, gathered her courage, and continued, “That being said, I don’t think anything they’ve printed is wrong. Petulant maybe, but still. The Council is making weird decisions for Sweepers, and citizens are focusing on the wrong things. I don’t care whose authority steers the Sinclairs, if it’s me or Juliana or even someone else, but I do care about it all functioning well and being sure we can protect against infestations. As far as I can see, the Dead Ringer and Mad Dogs have the same priorities.”
She’d meant to make a critic think deeper. She clearly made the wrong decision. The woman’s expression plunged into something entirely chilling.
“So you do ally with them.”
She said nothing more but kept walking. It wasn’t enough of a dismissal for Laura to feel comfortable leaving, so she kept walking too. Before them loomed the Naia Canal bridge. The canal and accompanying Naia Street were an industrial thoroughfare. Small boats chugged up and down the waterway, and the bridge rose high to accommodate them; its height gave a good view over the cars of Naia, and it was this that made Laura pause. Students complained and circled past her on the bridge, but she didn’t pay attention. One of the buildings on Naia was a tall, unassuming office complex, but she’d seen its façade printed in a newspaper: the Dead Ringer’s headquarters. Police surrounded it, but they weren’t raiding it. Their backs faced the building and they looked out into the crowds as if searching for something.
The woman stopped. The chill hadn’t left her, but a smile returned to her face. “Is something wrong, Miss Sinclair?”
“Are you a mobster?” said Laura. “Because if you’re a Mad Dog, I just said—”
“A Mad Dog? Don’t insult me.” The woman turned entirely and stepped back toward her. It was a slow movement, deliberate and slinky and very much predatory. “But you’re decently fast on the uptake. No, I’m not a Mad Dog, and neither are you. We’d like it to stay that way.”
We. Laura’s eyes jumped about, trying to pick out any kind of mobster tag, and alighted on a metallic gray hair clip. It could easily be nothing, easily be coincidence, but—
“Silver Kings?”
“Good guess,” said the woman. “Now, you’re familiar with the MARU? Of course you are.”
Anyone who’d lived in Amicae knew about the Mob Action Resolution Unit. The roughest members of the police force, they’d been turned loose on the lower Quarters with the sole mission of breaking up the mobs. They’d attacked anyone remotely connected, and used any tactic—coercion, torture, outright murder—to take someone off the scene. They ruled with an iron fist until the Silver Kings rallied all the mobs under their banner. The MARU could fight scattered mobsters, but the united front overwhelmed them. Mobsters made the MARU’s actions look like child’s play. They hunted down every last member, picked them off one by one with increasingly gruesome tactics, and everywhere they went they left circles. A circle like a target. A circle like a noose. They drew it on victims splashed by acid, slapped it on cars and along the MARU’s frequent routes, hung it over baby cradles and gifted wreaths to unwitting wives. For months Amicae had been tormented by circles on every street, and the MARU broke under it. Most died by the mobs’ hands; some took their own lives; the few who survived were either too injured or too afraid to return to the force. The mobs dispersed quickly afterward, but the point was made. Amicae knew who held true power.
For a long time the Council had spread the rumor that Sweepers were the current incarnation of the MARU, but as far as Laura knew, the mobs knew better. She and Clae had never been drawn into their fights, and circles never appeared at their door.
“We’re not the MARU,” Laura said anyway. “We’re not involved with your politics.”
“So you say, but the Mad Dogs have you in their pocket,” said the woman. “I don’t know what kind of agenda the Mad Dogs are pushing, but there’s a delicate balance to this city. We’ve lost too much protecting that balance to let it be broken now.”
“I’m not allied with them!” Laura snapped.
“But you will be, and that can’t be allowed.”
Fire and glass burst from the upper floor of the Dead Ringer office, with force enough that the very air trembled. Students screamed and ducked.
Back, whispered something far away in her mind.
Back, she thought in reply.
The amulet on her belt activated. She was thrown back so fast she felt as if she’d been shoved. Her rear hit the low railing, and her head reeled to keep up. She’d dodged something. A knife. The woman pivoted, slashed her little blade upward now. Laura canted sharply back. The knife missed her chin by an inch. She tried to catch the rail and heave herself back up, but it was too smooth. Her hands slipped. With nothing else to catch her, she fell over the side. Partway through the tumble she snapped her arms to her sides and cried, “Straighten!”
The amulets in her shoes answered this time, catching gravity so she hit the water in a pencil dive. The canal closed over her head, muffling the shouts and the crackling of the bombed building. She didn’t have time to do more than thrash before something caught her under the arm and towed her upward. She broke the surface, coughing and spitting out canal water. She’d been caught with a curved metal pole, something used to hook fallen cargo from the little boats. The man wielding it didn’t look used to reeling in fallen humans, but reached out a hand and called, “Here, missy!”
He hauled her onto the deck. She stood fast and looked back up at the bridge; would the woman have a gun, too?
The woman stood at the rail, knife still in one hand. The students fled, tripping in their haste to get away from her, but she remained totally calm.
“You s
hould work on your escapes. That lacked any sort of grace,” she called.
“You’re the one who just tried to stab me!” Laura retorted. “What kind of grace is that?”
“The best kind.” She put the knife away and rummaged in her purse. “Remember what I said about balance. A single floundering Sweeper I can let go, but if it gets more than that, you won’t be the only one suffering. Remember the MARU.”
She pulled an object out of her purse and threw it. It spun and fell with a clunk at Laura’s feet. It was a wreath of flowers woven tight against a painted backing, like the ones used at graduation ceremonies or funerals. As pretty as the flowers were, Laura could only see the circle now. She glowered at the woman, snatched up the wreath, and snapped it in half. The woman threw back her head and laughed. Another bomb went off on the Dead Ringer’s second floor. Laura flinched on instinct. When she opened her eyes again, the woman was gone.
“Miss Kramer!” A policeman teetered at the canal’s edge. “My god, it is you! Are you all right? Are you hurt?”
She’d recognize that man anywhere. “I’m fine, Officer Baxter!” she replied.
“Can you get back up here?” said Baxter. “Really, this is no place for you, miss!”
The boatman steered her to the canal’s side, where she caught the metal rungs and pulled herself back up to street level. This done, she gave a salute and the boat happily chugged away from this mess.
“Please tell me this isn’t a Sweeper job,” she said, grimacing at the burning building.
“What? Oh, no,” said Baxter, ushering her away. “This is regular mob warfare, no infestations. They tipped their hand, too, so no one was actually in the building, but—” A third blast shook the area, and the building groaned. Baxter hurried her faster. “But that doesn’t mean they won’t show up to retaliate! Let’s get out of here!”
The other officers had moved out, herding the remaining students away from the danger zone and waving in reinforcements. Baxter stopped alongside a parked automobile and groaned. Another circle had been painted over the door, obscuring Amicae Police Dept with crimson.
“Should you use that, or is it a trap?” said Laura.
Obviously they had no time to waste on worrying; Baxter climbed in without hesitation, explaining simply, “They’re painting it on everything these days.”
Laura took a seat, tossing the ruined wreath in the back, and he started the engine. They peeled away from the curb just as another vehicle sped past, siren blaring.
“Are you sure you should be leaving?” said Laura, craning her neck to see the billowing smoke. The sight made her feel sick.
“Ensuring your safety is more important,” said Baxter. “They clearly targeted you on the bridge, and led you here to begin with. If they want you around, the chief wants you as far away as possible. If something happened to you, the only Sweepers in the city would be mob-employed. It would be disastrous.”
Laura sucked in a shuddering breath and closed her eyes. “How long have the Silver Kings and Mad Dogs been at each others’ throats?”
“We don’t know for sure. It came out into the open the same time the truth came out about the wall.”
Maybe the wall policy had been part of the Silver Kings’ balance. That was a hell of a change for their regime, and the Mad Dogs had pushed for its collapse the whole time. No wonder they were angry enough to bomb each other.
No one died, though, and they could’ve tried much harder to be rid of Laura. This wasn’t a real attack. It had to be a warning.
They stayed quiet all the way up until trundling to a stop on Acis.
“Well, here we are. I apologize for all of this. It’s a frightful business.”
Laura frowned, eyes closed. She still felt off, like something was about to spring at her. “It’s fine,” she said distantly.
The sound of a wind chime made her look up. Okane leaned out of the shop door, squinting at them. Once he realized who it was he came out.
“Laura? What’s going on?”
“I got caught up in something,” she replied. “Don’t ask what. Even I don’t know.”
“Don’t worry, though, we’ll be increasing security on your shop and home,” said Baxter, clambering out.
Okane gave Laura a horrified look, and she sighed. “I’ll tell you inside.”
Laura turned, readying herself to leave the vehicle. On a whim she glanced at the backseat. The wreath’s flowers had withered. A white blossom trembled and fell, revealing something pitch black beneath. The painted backing had split so easily because it contained a hollow.
“Get away from the car!” she screeched, leaping out.
Baffled, Baxter followed, and not a moment too soon. The blackness made a rattling sound and expanded. The vehicle doors shuddered as it slammed against them, and the horn honked as feelers slipped up over the controls.
“An infestation?” said Okane. “But I didn’t sense it at all!”
“It must’ve been hibernating,” said Laura, cursing her own carelessness. “They knew any damage would get it moving.”
“They? Was it planted?”
“Classic mobsters,” Laura spat, pulling an Egg from her bag. She wound up to throw but hesitated. The memory of her single job as head Sweeper sprang back to mind, the seemingly obvious target and the following damage. She couldn’t do that again. “How likely is that vehicle to blow up if I throw an Egg at it?”
Judging by Baxter’s expression, very likely.
She snatched up a rock from the ground instead. It hit the door hard enough to dent. With a blur of motion, the infestation snatched it into its bulk before it could hit the ground. It otherwise seemed unwilling to budge from the seats, content to hide under the roof. They’d have to drive it out another way.
She pulled on her goggles, swapping the Egg for a flash pellet. Okane copied, circling to the other side. Laura crept closer. At first the infestation milled, oblivious, but it came to attention as her steps grew louder. It swelled to fill the entirety of the vehicle, clicking and clattering. The horn blared again, only to cut out as the vehicle wrenched and shuddered. Inky hands slithered out, hissing when they met the weak sunlight. Not a very smart creature, she decided, and threw in the pellet. It ricocheted off an arm and stuck by the door before going off. Baxter yelped and tumbled at the sudden harsh light. Laura leapt back as the infestation flailed, feelers swinging far too close.
“Any idea where we can find a broom?” she called.
“What?” said Okane. He spooked at another swipe of feelers and tossed his own pellet. The infestation squealed in fright and sucked back into the vehicle.
“If we can’t hit it in the car we need to get it out. Drive it into the amulet and maybe we can flip it out!”
“Are—crazy? It would eat—along with the broom!”
“Not if we get it fast enough.”
She hoped, anyway.
She stepped in close, arm raised to sling another pellet, and stopped short. Nothing was there. The seats were discolored, a few petals scattered on the cushions, but there was no monster and no wreath.
“Down!” Okane shrieked.
She caught a flicker of movement by her feet and retreated fast. More arms stretched from under the car, faster and farther than before. Too fast. She threw her pellet on the road to spook it into slowing and only then escaped to the sidewalk. The infestation squirmed before withdrawing. It bubbled like water around the vehicle’s wheels, and the road beneath it bled black.
The door behind Laura opened. The pawnshop owner peered out, irritation fading quickly to fear before she pulled the door almost shut again.
“What in hell—”
“Stay inside,” Laura ordered. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of it.”
“Try not to break my shop,” the woman snapped, and the door closed.
So other people had heard of her track record. Hardly surprising, since it had been published in Amicae’s largest newspaper, but still. Anger burned ho
t in her throat. I didn’t sign up to be sneered at. She clenched her teeth and focused on the infestation again.
The bubbling solidified about the tires, and without warning it moved. The wheels spun, sending the whole thing careening forward. Laura swore and ran, but she couldn’t outrun it. She dodged into the thin alley between two derelict houses. The vehicle hit the entrance hard enough for its front wheels and hood to buckle, and the headlights smashed. The infestation slithered out into the shadowed walkway even faster than before. Laura tried another flash pellet, but the infestation had realized they were harmless; it slid up the walls on either side. Laura rolled a Bijou between her fingers but didn’t throw it—she’d taken out the majority of a building with some before, and now was hardly the place for a repeat performance. But what else could she do?
The infestation knit together overhead. Something winked behind it, a moment before a blast shook the ground. The infestation reeled away, studded with glass and debris from the smashed car; kin glinted bright alongside shards of metal and glass, sucked fast into the black body. The infestation swirled back toward the street, trilling angrily as it sought the more dangerous threat. She saw it lash out once, twice, and a furious cracking sound made it flinch back each time. Okane slung another Egg at the infestation, but it batted this aside to smash somewhere in the vicinity of Brecht’s bookshop. It was properly angry now. It smoked again in the sun, clawing out of the alley. Blackness wrenched at tires and the vehicle jerked back. It changed targets.
Laura ran out again as the ruined automobile leapt back into the street. Okane backed away fast on its other side, switching out for flash pellets again. The infestation didn’t so much as flinch. It whipped two more long arms at him. He ducked the first just barely, so it hurtled through a shop window. Screams came from inside but he didn’t have time to look before the other arm smashed into the road beside him. He scrambled on hands and knees now as the first arm swung down in his way, barring his escape. His magic crackled. The nearest arm flinched, but the entire black surface of the main mass bubbled. The arms dug deeper, hauling the vehicle straight at him. His face paled. He sprang at the arm blocking him, accompanied by a particularly loud snap of magic, but stopped short. His magic wasn’t enough to drive it out of the way. When the interior of Amicae had been covered in infestations, it had worked. When Laura had been caught by an infestation, he’d defied five hundred years of fact and driven it off with his magic. And now, on an infestation not even a fraction of the last foe’s size or strength, it wasn’t working?
City of Broken Magic Page 46
