by R. L. King
“I get it.” I put my hands on the table and lean forward. “It’s not the cops you’re worried about. It’s what would have happened if whatever organization controls that area found that card, which is associated with you, and thought your people committed the murder.”
Happenstance nods, looking grim. “Just so. You and Ms. Rainwater have unknowingly done me a service, Ms. Broome, by removing that card. You’ve likely prevented a great deal of bloodshed.”
“Yeah, that’s totally the reason I did it—to keep you and your crime family safe from your rivals.” My voice drips with sarcasm—I can’t help it. “But I guess I’m glad more people didn’t get killed. And please don’t call me ‘Ms. Broome,’ okay? Just Bron is fine.”
“Of course.”
“Okay,” Nick says. “So…I’m sorry, but this whole thing is making my brain hurt. I understand the part about somebody trying to pin DeVries’s murder on the Happenstances, and make this other organization think you guys are trying to break whatever rules you’ve all agreed to follow. But what’s that got to do with Twyla? Why did somebody drug her, turn her into a cannibal zombie rage monster, and send her after Bron?”
Something else suddenly occurs to me. “Wait, that changes something else we thought was true, too. We thought Mr. DeVries did this to Twyla, but I’m starting to think he didn’t. He could have been as much of a victim as Twy.”
“So…you think somebody grabbed them both? Maybe slipped drugs into the bar at the hotel or something?” Nick asks. To Happenstance, he says, “That would be easy to do with magic, right?”
“Very easy, especially if no one suspected it was coming.” His brow furrows. “You’re right—this does make things more troubling. I have no idea why this might involve Ms. Rainwater.”
“Have you heard of the stuff that causes the cannibal zombie thing?” Nick asks. “You said you were sure it was magic, but do you know what it is, or who’s using it?”
“No. But I wonder…”
“What?” All three of us lean forward now, and even Max looks interested.
Happenstance gets up and begins pacing the room. “I have heard of the attacks, of course. There have been a few of them over the past couple of months, most of which have been covered up so the public doesn’t find out about them.”
“How many is a few?” Nick asks.
“Perhaps a dozen. The one you described is the first I’ve heard of where more than one person was involved in the same incident. Usually there’s a single victim, and in every other case they’ve been taken down by either the police or someone else. Aside from your case, none of them have survived.”
“Have you or any of the other syndicates gotten hold of one of the bodies?” I ask. I’m amazed at how easily I’ve fallen into asking unthinkable questions like this. “I’d think you might want to check them out magically to see if you can figure out what causes the condition.”
“An excellent thought, Ms.—er—Bron,” Happenstance looks approving. “Unfortunately, we haven’t managed to procure one of the bodies yet. One of them was shot down by mundane gang members in the Whitehalls’ territory, and the Whitehalls’ investigating mages claimed to find nothing unusual around the body or the area where the person was killed. Were they telling the truth?” He shrugs. “Who knows?” He glances at Nick. “But it does interest me that it seems your ability can neutralize whatever is causing the change. That might be useful.”
“Oh, great. I’m useful,” Nick mutters. “Beats the hell out of what happened with the purple stuff, I guess. Nice to know I can help save people instead of killing them by getting near them.”
His words trigger another thought. “That’s a good point about the purple stuff. This seems like it’s another situation where somebody gets changed but no sign of it remains in the body afterward. At least if that other guy is telling the truth.”
“You’re wondering if it’s the same people?” Nick asks. “Seems like a completely different MO, though, right? The Glamour was never meant to hurt anybody. The only reason it did is because I got in the way.”
“Yeah, but don’t forget about that crazy machine we destroyed. That was meant to hurt people.” My voice hardens as the image of a smiling Jane appears in my mind. “It did hurt people—that’s why I have to look for a new assistant, and why all those other people are dead with their souls sucked out.”
A cold thrill shoots through me as another potential puzzle piece falls into place. “Twy, you said you thought one of the things that could have done that to DeVries was demons, right?”
Happenstance stops pacing. “Demons?”
“It was just a crazy thought,” Twyla says, almost defensively. “To reach into his chest like that, pull out his heart, scramble his guts—a normal human couldn’t do that.”
“No…they couldn’t.” He appears to be thinking something over.
“Hey, wait…” Max says. He looks startled.
“What is it?” I glare between the two of them. “Are you guys holding out on us? We told you our story—let’s hear yours.”
Happenstance still takes his sweet time, but he continues to look troubled. “I don’t know if it’s demons,” he said. “Without further evidence, I’d be hesitant to look there as a first option. But Ms. Rainwater’s comment about this murder being beyond a normal human reminded me of something.”
“Those other guys,” Max says.
“What other guys?” Nick demands.
Happenstance lets his breath out and sits back down. “I told you I believe someone has been trying to destabilize the magical organizations in Los Angeles. I don’t know if it’s the same people who were responsible for what happened last month, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was. Whoever it is, though, I think they’re behind the—what did you call them?—‘cannibal zombies’? There haven’t been many of those, though, and their effects have been more to cause localized terror. What there have been more of, over roughly the same time period, are reports of individuals and small groups possessing a level of strength, speed, and resilience far beyond what a normal human should display.”
“What?” I look at Nick. “I haven’t seen anything about that on the news, either. Have you?”
He shakes his head and turns back to Happenstance. “What are these people doing? How did you find out about them at all?”
“Because most of them are members of the same gangs I’ve been describing. The reports I’ve heard describe them as being in a berserker rage, but not mindless like the so-called zombies, and certainly not cannibalistic. More like a particularly strong case of road rage, or steroid rage.”
“So it’s some kind of physical enhancement thing,” Nick says. “And you haven’t caught any of them?”
“No—at least not while whatever is causing it is active in their systems. We managed to track one of them down and question him, but even when we used magic he didn’t give us anything.”
“And there wasn’t any trace of magic around him?” I ask.
“There was. But it was undifferentiated, too vague to get anything. We took a blood sample and sent it to one of our alchemists, but aside from that faint trace of magic, she found nothing.”
“So wait,” Nick says. “Now my brain really hurts. Every time I think I’ve got my mind around this mess, somebody adds another variable. I need a freaking scorecard.” He pulls a notebook and pen from his pocket and begins scribbling. “So, we’ve got Twyla meeting with this DeVries guy, or Hooper, about a film project for her family. She’s got a sealed package from her mentor back in New York that she’s supposed to give DeVries.”
Happenstance tenses and starts to say something, but Nick, obviously realizing he’s said something he shouldn’t, barrels ahead. “Twyla and DeVries go out for lunch and a little horizontal fun after the meeting, and the next thing Twyla knows, she’s coming out of the zombie fog when she and two other people try to attack Bron and me, and my power screws up the magic.”
“Right,” I
add, getting into it. “Then Twy and I sneak into DeVries’s office and find him dead with a hole in his chest, his heart and his guts hanging out, and a card from Mr. Happenstance’s club in his mouth. The part that’s still stumping me is the connection between Twy’s meeting with DeVries, and DeVries’s murder.”
“And it sounds like we still don’t know who really killed DeVries,” Max says. “We know who they want us to think did it—one of our rival organizations, trying to frame us. Maybe using this stuff that makes people super-strong.”
“The other thing we don’t know is how, or even if, Twyla’s meeting with DeVries had anything to do with his murder.” I spread my hands. “It could have been nothing but a coincidence, right? Mr. Happenstance, I can’t remember—did you say DeVries really was a producer?”
“He was—but as I said, that wasn’t his primary occupation.”
“Was he well known? Did he advertise his services?”
“Not that I’m aware of. He mostly handled private projects for the people in his own organization. Television spots for businesses they control, small films to provide roles for aspiring actors, that kind of thing.”
“And he wasn’t a mage, right?”
“Correct.”
“So how did Selene even know about him?” Now I’m not even looking at them as I try to organize my thoughts. “She wanted to make a short fundraising film for Nana’s homeless-kid project. That’s not a tough thing to do. Any reasonably competent producer could do it—she wouldn’t need somebody all the way out in Hollywood. In fact, it might have made more sense to do it locally, so they could feature some of the kids they’re trying to help.” I glance sideways at Twyla. “I think we’re going to need to tell him the rest, Twy.”
She shrugs. “I was in favor of doing that from the beginning.”
“What do you mean, ‘the rest’?” Happenstance settles his steady, bright-green gaze on me and suddenly I feel like I’m a bug pinned down on a board. “You asked if I was holding out on you—it sounds as if you might be doing the same.”
I let my breath out. Nick and Twyla are obviously deferring to me on this, and I wonder if I’m making a big mistake. Not a lot of choice, though: if we’re going to get anywhere on this, we need to have all the variables out on the table.
“Okay,” I say. “We were holding back one bit of information.”
“The sealed package Twyla was supposed to give to DeVries.”
Okay, he’s sharp. I guess he has to be, to survive in his line of work. “Yeah.”
“Did she give it to him?”
“No,” Twyla says. “It had a magical seal on it from Selene, which seemed odd to me for some documents for a film producer. So I held on to it until after I met Mr. DeVries. I was going to take a look at his aura during the meeting and decide whether I trusted him enough to give it to him.”
“Why would you suspect him?” Happenstance redirects his gaze to her. “Why would you suspect your mentor of doing something you might disapprove of?”
She looks away. “Because I had a dream about her. Look—I don’t want to go into all this, okay? The short answer is, I have prophetic or precognitive dreams sometimes, and I had one that made me think something that happened in my past didn’t happen the way I thought it did. It made me suspicious enough to hold off. And now I’m glad I did.”
“You didn’t give him the package. Where is it now?”
“In my bag over there.”
“Which you’re no longer interested in keeping away from Nick, suggesting that you’ve figured out a way to break the magical seal.”
I make a mental note to be careful what I say around this guy. I’m starting to think he’s even sharper than I suspected he was. “Yeah. We broke it. Or rather, Nick did.”
Happenstance nods as if he expected that. “And, if I may ask, what was in the package?”
Twyla gets up, moving jerkily and without her usual grace. She snatches up the bag, brings it back to the table, and pulls the thick manila envelope from it. “Here,” she says, tossing it across to him. “I don’t want anything to do with it anymore.”
Happenstance doesn’t touch it right away. Instead, he examines it first with obvious magical sight, paying particular attention to the ruined seal. Then he uses magic to pluck the envelope up and turn it upside down. The five bundles of cash and the note slide out onto the table.
“Holy shit,” Max breathes, moving in closer. “That’s fifty grand.”
Happenstance doesn’t look impressed by the cash. Using magic again, he picks up the note, studies it as it hangs in midair, and returns it to the table unfolded and face-up.
“Do you know who wrote this note?” he asks Twyla.
“No. Presumably it’s Selene, but there’s nothing on it to tie it to her. Unless that sigil did, but Nick’s power messed it up.”
He nods once, still looking at the items in front of him. “Do you believe the note and the money were meant for DeVries?”
I blink in surprise. “Why wouldn’t they be?”
“Wait, I get it,” Nick says. “You said DeVries worked for one of your rival organizations in some kind of small-time capacity, right? So you’re thinking he was a go-between?”
“Just so.” Happenstance looks pleased, and again I wonder how long it will be before he starts trying to groom Nick to join the family business. “It’s unfortunate that we don’t have the magical seal to analyze—if we did, I would bet a large amount of money against this fifty thousand in cash that the actual intended recipient for the money wasn’t DeVries, but somebody higher up in the Skellig organization.”
“But why?” Twyla asks. “Why would my mentor be giving that kind of money to a criminal organization? Sorry,” she adds quickly, flicking her gaze up to meet Happenstance’s.
“Quite all right. No harm in stating the truth in this case. The Skelligs are without a doubt a criminal organization.”
“Unlike you guys,” I mutter.
“In a way, yes.” He still seems unruffled—I wonder what it would take to really piss this guy off. “I’m not going to justify myself or my organization to you, Bron, but I will say this: the Skelligs are involved in some enterprises that I find abhorrent. Every organization has to decide what they consider acceptable, and Lucas Skellig and I disagree on several such decisions.”
“What kind of stuff are they involved with?” Nick asks in a tone suggesting he’s not sure he wants to know.
Happenstance considers. “Without going into detail, my organization almost exclusively focuses on what are called ‘victimless crimes.’ The mundane law might disagree, and some segments of the population might concur with them, but ultimately the worst that can be said about most of our endeavors is that they exploit human folly and greed. I don’t apologize for that. For the most part, we provide services that people in the magical community consider valuable enough to pay a lot of money for.”
“Forgive me if I don’t take your word for that,” I say. “Sounds like a lot fancy dancing to me, but that’s beside the point. What about the Skelligs?”
“The Skelligs…well, let’s just say that they have far less respect for free will than I do.”
“What’s that mean?” Nick presses.
“You’re saying they compel people to do things, using magic?” I frown. Even during the short time I was an apprentice, I learned about some of the ways mages could exploit mundanes, or even other mages, with everything from alchemical potions to illusions to outright mental coercion. It’s one of the biggest dark sides of magic, one that most mentors don’t teach and most mages, especially so-called “white” mages, don’t get near.
“I am, yes. As I said, I don’t approve—but as long as Skellig stays in his own territory and away from mine, it’s not my place to involve myself.”
“So you let him get away with this stuff because it doesn’t affect you?” I can’t keep the disgust out of my voice.
He shrugs. “Yes. Does that truly surprise you, B
ron? I’m not a policeman, nor do I want to be. I don’t have the temperament for it. If you know anything at all about magical society, you know there aren’t any organized policemen in our world. Many disapprove of that, but so far no one has been willing to step up and do anything about it. And as long as that remains true, I’ll continue to profit.”
I look away. I have to. Quentin Happenstance is a charming man, there’s no doubt about that. I don’t know how much of that is natural and how much is magical enhancement—probably mostly natural, given that he’s sitting next to Nick and his head hasn’t exploded. But either way, I can see how he can be very convincing. His words bother me, but some small part of me is surprised he’s being so honest about it. For a man who deals in illusion, he seems not to be trying to hide much.
Unless he is, of course. He could be burying the truth behind layers of what look like full disclosure. But that way lies madness, at least right now. He seems willing to help us, especially now that he’s got some skin in the game, and we may need his kind of power on our side.
“Okay,” I say. “So they’re the bad guys and you’re the…somewhat less bad guys. I get that. But I still don’t see how this is connected with Selene. Why would she be paying this kind of cash to somebody in the Skellig organization?”
He looks at the note again. “‘This should be a good start. Contact me through the usual channels when everything is in place to begin the next phase.’ It appears her aim is to set up some sort of longer-term plan.”
“Yeah, and if it has anything to do with making fundraising films for orphans, I’ll eat my cat.” I turn to Twyla. “You don’t have any idea what this ‘next phase’ she’s talking about is?”
“Not a damn thing. This is all freaking me out, Bron.” She lowers her head and buries her hands in her hair. “Between the dream and this, I’m starting to wonder if I ever knew Selene at all. And that doesn’t even bring up who messed me up and sent me to kill you.”
