The Hanged Man

by K. D. Edwards

  He chewed his bottom lip. “I see more now, but I didn’t before, not until she made the drawing. It’s like when you watch a movie, and you think it’s a drama, but then everyone laughs like it’s a comedy.”

  “What does that mean, Quinn?”

  He gave me an oddly straightforward look. “I think this story is about something else entirely. You should go check on them.”

  I walked over to the hot tub. They must have been swimming in the pool earlier, because water was splashed everywhere. My boots left chlorine footprints as I approached.

  Max saw me first. He looked up, a puzzled expression turning into a smile, and then back into a puzzled expression, then went back to staring down at Anna.

  Anna looked up and blushed, something between pride and embarrassment.

  Dancing along the rim of the hot tub was a tiny blue doll. Or at least that was my first impression. Because what I was seeing? It was one of those things that my intellect needed to absorb in stages. First it was a doll. Then it was a plastic figure. Then I thought, how did the Dawncreeks afford an enchanted plastic action figure? Those were actually somewhat expensive. And then the other shoe dropped.

  It was not a doll, a figurine, or something they’d purchased over the counter. What I saw—what I now witnessed—was a tiny creature given three dimensions by very recent, and very present, magic. It had started its life as a crayon drawing. Its paper home was under its tiny dancing feet. Its skin was the waxy shine of a cadet blue Crayola.

  It was a gargoyle. A sentient spirit pulled from a physical outline— drawings, murals, charcoal sketches. I opened my inner eye to the magic around me, and saw the vaguest wisp of willpower that tied Anna to the miniscule monster.

  Whatever expression was on my face made Anna’s flush deepen. The magic crumbled, and the gargoyle dissolved into fat blue flakes.

  Corbie made a sound of disappointment, which immediately became delighted giggles as he got distracted by a hot tub’s air jet.

  “Rune?” Max asked, squinting at me.

  “Max, stay with the kids. I need to talk to Brand.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Please, Max.” I took a few steps back, turned, walked back to Quinn. “You were right to call. Stay with them.”

  I didn’t even pretend to be casual about it. I turned in a slow circle, and searched out every camera. A building as expensive as this would have cameras everywhere for security. Possibly even onsite officers. I would need to find out.

  I pulled out my phone, but didn’t bother calling Brand. I could already sense his approach. He was alarmed at my shock—he knew I wasn’t in danger, but he knew something was wrong. He was moving fast.

  I called Addam. Before he got the word hello out of his mouth, I said, “Are you still in your condo?”

  “No. I’m a few minutes away from the Dawncreeks. Is something wrong?”

  “I need you to have every minute of video surveillance from the pool area found and destroyed, for the entire day.”

  “Has something happened?” Addam asked, startled. “Are the children fine? Is Quinn okay?”

  “Everyone is okay. Addam, I need this done immediately. Please.”

  “It will be done. Can you say anything?”

  “Later. In person. I have to go.”

  I hung up as Brand stalked through the doorway. He hadn’t pulled out his knives, but he’d put on his chest harness. His eyes sought mine, then a quick surveillance of the area. When he was done, he said, “Tell me.”

  “Not here.” I touched his arm, urging him out the door. He didn’t want to leave the pool area—I could tell he was confused. The bond wasn’t precise enough to convey where the danger was. But he trusted my direction.

  In the hallway, after watching me check for cameras, he said, “Did something happen with Lord Tower? What’s going on?”

  “Not Lord Tower. But Quinn told me to stop by. He said there was something I needed to see. Anna . . .” I turned around and looked through the glass door to the pool area. Condensation obscured everything, but I could make out the huddled figures of the children. “She summoned a gargoyle.”

  “Like the ones we’ve fought before?”

  “No. Yes. Sort of. It was tiny. She summoned it from a crayon drawing. To make Corbie laugh. She’s twelve years old. She should not be able to do that at twelve years old. I couldn’t.”

  “Is this one of those times I’m supposed to stroke your ego? You did plenty of cool shit when you were twelve.”

  I shook my head. “You don’t understand. I couldn’t do that now.”

  Brand froze.

  I said, “Not without a sigil. Not without hours and hours meditating over a sigil in a sanctum.”

  Brand’s eyes tracked back to the foggy door, just like mine did. He knew I was upset. He knew I’d just said something big. But he hadn’t put the pieces together yet. How could he? I barely understood the magnitude of this myself.

  “So you’re saying she’s powerful?” Brand asked haltingly.

  Because I needed him to understand, I said, “She’s a principality at the very least.”

  Now his jaw dropped. “A principality? Like Ciaran?”

  “A principality is just an Arcana without a throne, Brand. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Brand’s mouth softened as he tried to work out more words. He settled on:

  “Fuck.”

  Brand and I dragged a big patio chair to the other side of the pool. Since we were going to wipe the video surveillance, it seemed the safest spot to have this talk. We’d been there long enough that my shirt and pants were damp, and hung on my frame like a heavier cut of cloth.

  We squeezed into the chair, side by side. It’d make it easier to talk in a low voice. Also, really, it was a comfortable position, ingrained since childhood. That was how we’d learned about the world: squeezed side by side, murmuring questions in each other’s ears.

  I tried not to stare at Anna, but it was difficult.

  After a minute or two of silence, Brand said, “How bad is this?”

  “It’s not her power that’s the problem. It’s her circumstance. If she were a member of an established court? We’d be drinking champagne. I have no court, though. Her family is being pursued by the Hanged Man. She is too young to defend herself, and I don’t know if I can, either.” I rubbed my forehead. “If her powers were known, she would be targeted. Coveted. The best of us would try to recruit her. The worst would try to own her. And those are just the political scenarios. There are a lot of other creatures who don’t give a damn about rules. Brand, she is in so much danger. Everything has changed. Everything.”

  Brand did not want to say what he was about to say. But he said it anyway. “You are my responsibility. Max and Queenie are my responsibility. Are we . . .”

  I stared at Anna again. “Power like that doesn’t appear out of nowhere. It may skip generations—but there’s always a common denominator. And her line lies in the Sun Throne. We’d match in a blood test.”

  “The fuck? You may be related?”

  “Distantly. Maybe many branches removed. I’m almost sure. But either way . . . She’s our people. If things had happened differently? If my father and the court had survived? She would have been our responsibility, too. I don’t think we can turn our back on this.”

  Brand slammed back in the chair. “A year ago, my biggest fucking worry was keeping you from hitting the snooze alarm ten times. How did we get here? People never liked us before.”

  “Simpler days,” I agreed.

  “Did you take the armored car back?” he asked me, because that was the sort of thing he worried about.

  “Yes.”

  “Where did you eat? He paid for it, right?”

  “Yes,” I sighed.

  “Did you check for listening devices? Are you sure he didn’t bug you?” “He only does that to you, because he thinks you’re amusing when you’re mad. He doesn’t play those reindeer games wit
h me.”

  Brand said, “There’s always a fucking first with him.” And then, as if he was hesitant to even find out, “What did he want?”

  “He knows what we’re up to. I don’t think he’ll intervene—I’ve made him curious—but he’s not happy. He says the Hanged Man is a known problem, and wants us to let the Arcanum handle it. That’d be fine for Max, but not Layne. And maybe not Anna.”

  We were interrupted then as the poolroom door opened. A man in a burgundy uniform and shoulder cloak came in. He slashed a glance across the room, spotted Brand and me, and double-stepped over.

  “Lord Sun,” he said. “I report to Lord Addam Saint Nicholas. He had me secure all video footage from this area for the entire day. I took the liberty of sequestering footage of the entire floor, if that’s acceptable. It’s on this.” He handed me a small flash drive.

  “Nicely done,” I said, slipping it into my pocket. I’d burn it later.

  The man bowed, exchanged a professionally curt nod with Brand, and left.

  “Smart move,” Brand said, nodding at my pocket. I tried not to react, because he didn’t like it when I preened, but he was so sparse with compliments that it was hard not to at least smile. He rolled his eyes. “Now tell me everything Lord Tower said.”

  So I did. After the years we’d spent doing assignments like this, you got the hang for reconstructing conversations word for word. I omitted only a few details—like the bit about the time magic. Lord Tower was right. I needed to be very, very careful about an accusation like that unless I was ready to use the proof I had.

  When I got to the part about the omelet, I said, “Did we know the Hanged Man grows mushrooms?”

  Brand creased his forehead. “Yes? A farm, I think. He doesn’t have many businesses.”

  “By design, apparently. What is a yartsa gunbu? The Tower made me eat one. Rich people make no sense.”

  Brand whipped out his phone and opened a browser. He pulled a face. “You ate something called a ghost caterpillar mushroom?”

  “I did not!”

  “You so fucking did. It grows out of the head of an actual caterpillar. And . . .” Brand’s face fell. “Well, shit. It sells for like two thousand an ounce. Did you bring any leftovers home? We could sell them on Craig-slist. Dude, you ate something that grew out of a caterpillar’s fucking head.”

  “People are messed up,” I said in disgust. “Who even thought to eat that in the first place? There are better things to feed—”

  Pieces slammed together.

  My teeth clicked shut.

  Words and phrases flashed apart and then together. He’ll feed the bottom line. A farm. Mushrooms and their organic food. Lord Tower scattering thumbtack clues in my path.

  “Brand,” I said softly. “Feed the bottom line. What else do mushrooms grow out of? We need to find this farm. Now.”

  SATHORN UNIQUE

  “Insane,” Addam said. “That is insane.”

  “It’s important,” Quinn argued.

  “As is what Rune, Brand, and I will attempt. As is your life. As is Max’s life. Nowhere, in all these levels of importance, would I place the need for your presence on the Hanged Man’s property.”

  Brand and I sat on Addam’s sofa. We followed the confrontation with the mute turning of our heads. Our go-bags were at our feet, ready for our approaching departure.

  “It’s really, really important,” Quinn said. “And I don’t know why. I just know that it helps if I’m there when you need me.”

  “We are more than capable of locating Layne Dawncreek. It requires magic, not prophecy.”

  “That’s not what I mean!” Quinn said in growing frustration. “And I’m not saying that I need to go into the building with you right away. If we all showed up at once, the unicorn might attack, which would be really bad. But when you’re done with that—”

  Brand’s hand shot up. He said, “Unicorn.”

  I added, “Fight?”

  “It feels like a unicorn,” Quinn said, and then made another helpless sound of exasperation. “Addam, you know I can go where I want. I can always tell where cameras are. Or when guards are looking. You know I can. Why don’t you trust me?”

  “This is not about trust. You are—”

  “A child?” he shot back.

  “Inexperienced,” he stressed. “You are not combat-prepared.”

  “I hate this!” Quinn said. “There’s got to be a better time than this— this—this—this space of time between when I’m your brother, and when I’m a freak, and when I’m useful.”

  Addam bore down on Quinn so hard that Quinn almost fell backwards on his ass. He grabbed Quinn’s shoulders and dragged their faces together. “Not even you,” he said in a low, angry voice. “Not even you may call yourself that.”

  “So then I’m useful! I’m your useful brother!”

  “Wouldn’t it be smarter if someone else drove the car?” Max suggested. For once, he wasn’t just leaping into the conversation; he actually looked a little frightened to raise his voice. “It seems stupid to park it a few blocks away. What if you need it quickly? I know how to drive. I even looked at the map. I found a good alley we can wait in.”

  “So you can be our getaway driver,” Brand said reasonably, which should have clued Max in right there.

  “Yes!” Max said.

  “Cool,” Brand said. “How many one-way streets are there in a ten-block radius? Where are the traffic lights? Which corners have traffic cameras? Is there any construction going on right now—what did the Public Works Department website say, when you checked it out?”

  Max gamely pulled out his phone, as if this was a test he had any hope of passing.

  “Three, every intersection except the corner of Magness and Glacius, and they’re tearing up the sidewalk in front of the Convention Center,” Corinne said, walking into the living room. “This conversation is tiresome. It makes no sense to ignore a prophet; and you promised to let the fae boy help. I’ll accompany them.”

  “Corinne,” I started to say, carefully.

  “They have my son,” she hissed. She tightened a strap on her chest harness. The hilt of a long, curved sword rose horizontally above her left shoulder. “It’s bad enough you made us waste the daylight hours, but this is intolerable. And now that I know you have as much to lose as I do, I feel comfortable saying that you need to get your shit together.”

  “Quinn and I have some ideas,” Max said hurriedly. “About the building. We heard Brand talking about it, so we did some research.”

  Around lunchtime, Brand had finally identified the location of the mushroom farm: we’d be searching a skyscraper in downtown New Atlantis. It seemed a hell of a place to build a farm, but the research was conclusive. So we’d spent the hours until then waiting for dusk, meditating over sigil spells, and catching a few hours of sleep.

  Corbie and Anna were safe for the moment. Addam had sent them, in Queenie’s care, to the Enclave. They would be protected at the beach resort by many, many guards along with Addam’s aunt Diana, who owed us a favor. Only Brand knew what we’d learned about Anna—I hadn’t even confided in Corinne yet. That was a problem for tomorrow.

  “What research?” Brand asked.

  Max and Quinn exchanged eager looks. Max spoke first. “We researched all the expensive restaurants in town, and all the reviews on them, and all the user comments. We found a few references to two other mushrooms grown by the Gallows—truffles and mandrake’s mother. And then we thought, well, right there, you have three different environments altogether. Truffles are grown in European forests. The ghost caterpillar mushrooms are grown at high altitudes. Mandrake’s mother is grown in deserts. So . . .”

  “So we think the building has been refitted with biospheres,” Quinn said. “And it makes so much sense because I see thin air and dry sand and oak trees, and how can you get all that in a single building?”

  Brand and I looked at each other, mutely wondering how much biospheres—and their u
nknown terrain—would fuck with our preparation.

  “Rune,” Quinn said in a plaintive tone. “I really think I need to be nearby.”

  Everyone stared at me, including Addam, who didn’t look like a man who thought he was about to get overruled. “Well, first, allow me to take this opportunity to genuinely thank you, Quinn, for forcing me to negotiate your presence in a possible firefight. This will absolutely deepen my bond with Addam.”

  Addam’s face hardened. Now that was the face of someone who knew he was being overruled. “You think they should go.”

  “Addam . . . A prophet just told us he thinks he’ll be needed. That’s not something we can ignore. Not in New Atlantis, not in the kind of lives we lead, not in any story in the history of the world. Even if the prophet is Quinn. But—”

  “Fine,” Addam said. He picked up his own duffle bag and walked out the front door.

  I swore under my breath and started after him at the same exact second that Quinn did. I stared at him. He sat down again.

  I caught up to Addam in the private hallway outside the condo. He’d stopped in front of a window, and was shredding the frond of a potted fern, waiting for me to catch up.

  “I need to tell you something,” I said. “Something that will really make you angry at me. And afterwards, if you want to pull out of this— and take Quinn with you—I’ll support it.”

  Addam went still, not sure what to make of that. He stared at me and waited.

  I took a deep breath. “Lord Tower gave me an out. He said he could buy time to save Max. He said he could help me stall the Hanged Man, long enough to make the issue of a marital contract irrelevant. All I have to do is forget about Layne Dawncreek.”

  Addam’s nostrils flared. “Lord Tower said that.”

  “He cares about you. He cares what happens to us. He thinks there are limits to how many people I can protect.”

  “You said you,” Addam repeated, warily. “Lord Tower mentioned me specifically? Quinn?

  “Your accent just got very Russian.”

  “I do not appreciate being used for guilt, especially when a boy’s life is at stake. It is monstrous to think we would abandon Layne. To turn our back on Corinne? On her children? It is monstrous. It is not an option worth considering.”