“Worms that make fireproof silk. That’s kind of cool, actually. The fire department would love these little guys.”
“I believe it is more than that, Vincent.” She held out her hand to me again. “Try to burn this.” I conjured a weak flame. It danced along the threads but did not ignite them. “These worms fed on the remains of Agnes MacLaughlin, a renowned pyromancer. And now they weave thread immune to fire both mundane and divine.”
I whistled. “So these things eat people’s bones then spin out thread that can withstand whatever that person could do in life?”
“I need to conduct a few more tests but that is my initial impression, yes. A garment woven of such a material would make for very effective armor. The technicians in Dublin were very excited to hear about these; they could use them to craft protective gear for our agents across the world.”
“So they’d never heard of these worms before either?”
Mrs. Rita shook her head. “No, but the fun part of the job is discovering something new. We found these worms in all the soil samples you and Megan brought back, once we knew what to look for.”
“Let me call Megan real quick. She’ll want to hear about this.”
Mrs. Rita put a hand gently over mine. “Let Megan be, Vincent. I believe she had plans this evening.”
“You mean Herb Wallenby, the man who puts the romance in necromancer?”
Mrs. Rita’s eyes crinkled. “All joking aside, Vincent, you should be happy for Megan.”
“I don’t know, Mrs. Rita. I mean, he talks to the dead. That’s gotta mess with a guy’s head.”
“You know this for certain, Vincent Corinthos?” she asked, arching an eyebrow at me. “Be careful of speaking in generalizations. One might think that deities are arrogant beings who are not concerned with their followers, or that gremlins only care about sabotage, or that animated statues are simply automatons incapable of feeling.”
I raised my hands. “Okay, okay, point taken.”
Mrs. Rita’s features softened. “Vincent, Megan is lonely. She has been in this city for some time now and has no friends outside of work. Her daylight hours are consumed with cases, and her nights are taken up by diplomatic talks and bargains with vampires. The fact that she has not succumbed to the dark offers the vampires have given her speaks volumes about her character.”
“Dark offers?”
Mrs. Rita blinked at me. “Megan is Strigoi Viu, Vincent. She will likely become a powerful vampire.” All children born with cauls had a small chance of being born Strigoi Viu, or living vampire. Upon their death, a Strigoi Viu became a Strigoi Mort, an ultra-powerful vampire lord that would make Dracula look like a wimp. It was so rare that we hadn’t had one in hundreds of years. Megan, unfortunately, had drawn the short straw on that one. “The Midnight Clan can sense the latent power within her, and wants her as an ally,” Mrs. Rita continued. “When Megan finally turns, she will be a formidable force. The Clan has been trying to influence her for some time. They offer her power and wealth, subtly, of course, but Megan is sharp enough to read between the lines. She has talked with me about it quite a bit.”
“Why hasn’t she brought this up with me?” I asked.
“You are her partner, Vincent, but you are also a god. Megan felt you had enough on your plate. Herb is someone outside of work—and someone who understands Megan’s life as no other outsider could. If Petra were a flesh and blood woman, would you have the relationship with her that you do? If she were a mortal, would she accept your jumping between dimensions to be worshipped by a race of psychic fae? What would a person outside of the paranormal circles think of that? You’d be laughed at, or locked up.” She looked at me pointedly. “And you would be lonely, as Megan has been. Do not mock this man for his talents. If he makes Megan happy, then you should be happy for her.”
I looked down at my shoes. Mrs. Rita was right and I felt terrible. “I guess I’ve never looked at it like that,” I said. “Petra’s been a part of my life for so long…”
Mrs. Rita smiled at me. “You are a good person, Vincent. But you do not know everything about everyone. Perhaps you should get to know Herb better. After all, you both will be an important part of Megan’s life.” She patted my arm, and a green flash exploded around us, knocking me flat on my ass.
Mrs. Rita stood a few feet away in a boxer’s stance, panning the room. For a second, I thought her eyes were glowing green. I blinked and they were their normal dark brown again. Must’ve been dazzled by that green flash. “What was that?” I asked as I hauled myself to my feet.
“Roll up your sleeves.” Mrs. Rita ordered.
I did, displaying the mark I’d received earlier. Mrs. Rita frowned at it, then fished a bit of crystal out of her pocket and ran it over the mark. Her dark eyes locked with mine. “You have a Thief’s Mark, Vincent Corinthos. That brand is only put on people who have stolen artifacts of tremendous power. The magical aptitude needed to craft such a brand is immense. How did you acquire this? What did you do?” I opened my mouth and Mrs. Rita put up a hand. “And no stories, Vincent.”
“I Opened a box that wasn’t supposed to be openable,” I said, and quickly explained how the treasure chest had attacked me.
Mrs. Rita shook her head, and a few strands of salt-and-pepper hair came loose from her bun. “Very few people walk away from an encounter with a hand-eater with all their digits,” she said. “You have no idea how lucky you are. This mark will act as a homing beacon for the guardians of the chest. They will pursue you until either you or they are dead.”
“Fantastic. How do I get rid of it?”
“You can either return the item you found in the chest, or you have to defeat whatever was set to protect it.”
“Returning it’s out of the question,” I said. “Can you remove the mark?”
“No, but I can suppress its magic for a time. That will give you the chance to set things right, one way or another. Headquarters is warded, so you are safe here. But the moment you set foot outside the front door, you’ll be a target again.” She walked to her desk and rooted around in the bottom drawers before drawing out a green crystal about as long as my index finger.
She traced several geometric patterns along the brand, the crystal leaving behind a faint green residue. After a few minutes, she nodded. “Done. You are safe for perhaps thirty-six hours, Vincent. Keep in mind that it will only prevent the guardians from tracking you. If they happen across you, this magic will be broken.”
“Great,” I said. “I’ll let you know if I need you to do this again.”
“I will not,” Mrs. Rita said firmly. “You received that brand because you did something you shouldn’t have. I am granting you one chance to make amends. Do you understand?”
I nodded. “So what was the green explosion that just happened?”
“Some of the magics that I employ to keep this building safe reacted violently with the mark,” Mrs. Rita said. “The crystal’s ink will suppress that from happening again.”
I rubbed my forearm. It looked like I had a drunken tattoo artist scrawl all over me. “Thanks for the talk, Mrs. Rita.” She smiled at me and I headed back up to my office.
Once there, I Glimpsed back and came up with a list of the gravesites. I jotted down the list of cemeteries and the names of the people whose graves had been disturbed. I ran the names through the Caulborn’s main database. Jebediah Mason had been an illusionist. Nathaniel Watt had been a wereshark. Agnes MacLaughlin had been a pyromancer. I pushed back from my desk and stretched as I walked over to the whiteboard to start making notes.
If the worms ate their bones, what sort of immunities would the silk have? I grabbed a dry-erase marker and scrawled a few thoughts on the board, trying to look at things from a different angle. What did these beings have in common? Weresharks had loads of teeth, but they had nothing in common with pyromancers or illusionists. And pyromancers and illusionists had nothing in common with each other, aside from the obvious fact that they both slun
g magic.
I stepped away from the board, capped my marker, and rubbed gritty eyes. It was just after one in the morning, and I couldn’t think straight. I knew I was missing something, and I hate missing things. I rubbed the brand on my arm. What exactly had I given to the Keepers? Thad’s analysis hadn’t sounded like anything bad, but it warranted a Thief’s Mark? I needed answers, but I needed to sleep before I’d get them. I headed home, grimly suspecting that I was going to have nightmares tonight.
Chapter 5
Bargain 19895621 – Fulfilling a promise for a godling. Fulfillment will require assigning a group of sycophants to invisibly ward target. Payment – the Rosario. This is necessary to eliminate the recipient of bargain 1987763, who has failed to deliver the promised amount of precious metals.
—From Keeper Laras’s Transaction Log
Surprisingly, no nightmares came. I listened to my followers, did my best to comfort those Urisk who were afraid of the eclipse, and recharged my faith batteries. After a shower and a hot breakfast, I was ready to tackle the day’s problems.
I got to the office and found Megan at her desk, happily humming “On Top of the World,” by Imagine Dragons. A vintage The Wizard of Oz movie poster hung framed over the desk, and a couple of Precious Moments figurines were arranged on a shelf beneath it. “Hey,” she said as I walked in. “I got your message, but I was…” she blushed a little, “busy. What’s going on?”
I told her about the giant blue undead that attacked me last night. Megan raised a hand to her mouth and dialed Herb on her own cell. She and Herb exchanged gooey pleasantries and then she handed the phone over to me.
I described last night’s festivities to him. He let out a whistle. “Sounds like draugr,” he said. “They’re a kind of Norse undead that were very prominent back in the old days. They get very cranky if someone takes something of theirs. Did you steal anything from them?”
“No, of course not,” I lied. No point in Herb knowing about the promise I’d made to Megan. Besides, the promise itself was now moot.
“Hmm,” Herb continued. “Sometimes they’d just reenter the land of the living and go on a bender. I suppose you might have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“I’d rather no one else wind up in that place if I can help it, Herb. Can you banish them?”
He paused. “I think so.” He didn’t sound too sure about it.
“C’mon, Herb. I saw you blow away those pirate ghosts and that wight. Are these that much different?”
“Oh, heck yes,” Herb replied. “Corporeal undead are always harder to banish than incorporeal, because you have to penetrate their physical shell to get to the animating spirit beneath. Think about it like armor; if you’re going to go through the trouble of building a suit of armor, you’re going to make sure it offers you a measure of protection against attacks. A wight’s armor is tough, but now tack on the amount of magic the draugr possess, and the varying nature of that magic, and you’ve got yourself a formidable guardian. I can probably banish them, but I’ll need to see them to know what kind of bindings to craft. And to do that, I’ll need some time to study them without them trying to eat me or drive me insane.”
“So if I were to make myself a target and fend them off for a bit while you watched from a safe location nearby, would that provide you with what you need?”
A pause. “Yes, that should work.”
“Great, when can you come by?”
“Not until later tonight. I promised one of my clients I’d be over this afternoon.”
“More ghost busting?”
“No, bookkeeping.”
“Sorry?”
“I’m an accountant, Vincent. I do taxes and give financial advice to retirees who can’t afford it.”
“Seriously?”
“Sure. There are a lot of people out there who take advantage of senior citizens; stealing their pensions or Social Security by convincing them to invest in some cockamamie scheme. I don’t charge for my advice, so they trust me because I don’t stand anything to gain.”
“So how do you make a living?”
“Well, the kids and grandkids of those seniors need financial help, too. A lot of them have come to me as paying clients. I could charge a lot more, but that’s not what I’m after. I just want to help people.”
“That’s very noble, Herb.” I wasn’t sure what else to say to that. We set up a time and place to confront the draugr and hung up after another minute or two of conversation.
Megan smiled at me. “Isn’t he great?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I think he’s growing on me.”
“Good,” she said, her smile widening. “Because I think he and I are going to spend a lot of time together.”
I thought back to what Mrs. Rita had said and bit back a snarky remark. Instead, I said, “Don’t rush into anything, Meg.”
Her dimple appeared. “You’re so sweet. Trust me, Vincent, I’m a big girl. Herb is a big teddy bear. Did you know he spends his weekends working at the Haley House soup kitchen? He’s genuinely a gentleman. I was trained to read people and their intentions. Herb is the real deal.”
“Okay, well, you, me, and our gentleman necromancer have a date with some undead Vikings later tonight,” I said. “Meantime, I need to pop over to the Bright Side for a bit.”
“I’ll hold down the fort until you get back,” Megan said with a smile.
I caught the train back to the Children’s Museum. On the way, I placed a call to Frank Grady. “Frank, some stuff’s going to go down this afternoon at Monument Park; it’s related to the events at the Museum of Science. Some of my associates and I are going to deal with our large blue friends, and I’ll need you to cordon off the area so no one gets hurt.”
“You got it, Mr. Corinthos.” I hung up, jogged down the alley behind the Children’s Museum, and stepped through Aviorla to the Bright Side. The sky, normally lit by twin suns, was a dim purple. The suns had moved closer to one another and now resembled a giant glowing peanut in the sky. To the right of them, another celestial body, one of this world’s moons, was inching its way across the face of the rightmost star. The few Urisk I saw were thickly covered in viscous amber and were slowly making their way to their homes, presumably to wait out the eclipse.
I found Lotholio inside the cathedral, his body oozing more of the amber stuff, which was making it difficult for him to light the candles he was placing at the altar. He bowed as best he could to me and gestured to the empty rows of pews. “The people stay in their homes now, Lord,” he said. “The encasement is upon us, but the Urisk do not fear, for they believe in you.”
I nodded. “I can feel it.” The Urisk’s prayers were as loud and clear as ever. “What will happen while you are encased, Lotholio?”
He shrugged his narrow shoulders, the amber rolling with the gesture. “We sleep a dreamless sleep. Disconnected from the world.” He shuddered. “If not for you and Aegeon, we would be completely defenseless. The shell will protect us from the eclipse, but not from anything else.”
“Don’t worry, Loth,” I said. “I’ve got you covered.” I felt his faith in me radiating off of him like heat from a furnace.
“I light these candles for those who have fallen,” he said as he turned back to the altar. “That they may know we have not forgotten. And that we will have peace in the coming days.”
I put my hand on his shoulder, the liquid amber schlorping around my hand. Surprisingly, the stuff didn’t stick to me. Maybe it was because my skin was different from an Urisk’s. “The fallen rest in peace in Robac,” I said. “And they know of your devotion. I will do everything I can to ensure peace for the Urisk in the Bright Side, Lotholio.”
The doors to the cathedral flung open, and a lone Urisk ran inside. “Lotholio!” he cried. His eyes went wide at seeing me. “Oh, Lord Corinthos, blessed is your name, my family needs help, please!”
“Daimin,” Lotholio said. “What is wrong?”
“I’ll exp
lain on the way,” Daimin said, grabbing me by the elbow. He looked down, realized he was touching me, and then flung himself to his knees. “Forgive me, Lord Corinthos. There is something wrong with my family’s chrysalises and I beg for your aid.”
“Lead on,” I said, gesturing to the door.
Lotholio and I followed Daimin to an Urisk hut. The dome shaped building was made of tan clay and stood perhaps fifteen feet tall at its highest point. Large windows spaced about three feet apart ran around the building, but were tinted to offer the occupants a measure of privacy. We stepped through the doorway and into the Urisk equivalent of a living room. Thick pillows and something like beanbag chairs were arranged around the room, each one next to a small table stacked with books. Three chrysalises stood in the center of the room. From what I could see, they held an adult and two children.
Lotholio stepped up to one of the chrysalises, squinting at it. “What are those, Lord?” He asked. I moved up to the first chrysalis and peered at it. Bands of darkness writhed within the chrysalis, wriggling around the heads of the Urisk. I stretched out a hand and touched the chrysalis. Instead of being a hard shell, the amber squished like a rotten mango. I resisted the urge to pull my hand away and closed my eyes. I focused my attention on the bands of darkness and saw a series of writhing maggots; they had burrowed their way through the chrysalis and chewed their way into the back of the encased Urisk’s head.
I snapped my hand away in revulsion, and turned to put my hands on the other two tainted chrysalises. Same thing. I cursed. I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth. Think fast, Corinthos.
“Lord, please, help them,” Daimin pleaded.
Lotholio shushed him. “Let Lord Corinthos work,” he said gently.
Okay, first thing to do is get the Urisk out of the amber. I formed a bubble in the amber around the maggots in each of the chrysalises, hardened them and pulled them out. They popped with a wet schlorp, and I telekinetically hovered them to a spot on the floor. Now for the Urisk themselves. I waved my hand and dissolved the amber, telekinetically lowering the Urisk to the floor. Daimin jumped forward to kneel with them, but Lotholio held him back.
Promise: Caulborn #2 Page 9
