Master of None

by Sonya Bateman

  Though Ian returned a cool stare, I knew Tory had hit him where it hurt. Right in his pride.

  “All right, this isn’t helping,” I said. “Look, if Shamil still wants to die after we bust him out, he can tell us himself. And I think we can do it. If we pull this off, we might be able to save your friend and get rid of Trevor and his Morai pal at the same time.”

  Ian was already shaking his head. “I am not convinced we will be able to destroy this Morai,” he said.

  I blinked at him. “You know which one it is? Does it even matter?”

  “In this case, it might. I believe Trevor has allied himself with Lenka.”

  “Of course he has.” Just my luck to have my mortal enemy hook up with the strongest possible bad guy. What had Ian said about him? Powerful, inbred, and crazy. Terrific.

  Tory’s jaw looked as if it might fall off. “Lenka? Shit, Ian. You could’ve mentioned that before.” He crossed his arms. “Maybe we should come up with a different plan.”

  “Come on,” I said. “You said it yourself, Ian. All we have to do is get his tether.”

  Ian gave a deep frown. “You do not know Lenka. Destroying him will not be an easy task.”

  “Just hear me out, okay? And I need Jazz to listen in. She’s important to the plan.” Besides, she’d kill me if I made monumental decisions about Trevor without her. I spotted her leaning over the engine bay of a solid-looking Cadillac, prodding wires and yanking out dipsticks. Damn. If all mechanics were that sexy, I’d have gone in for a lot more repairs. I cupped my hands and shouted her way.

  She strode back, wiping grease-smudged hands on her thighs. “That one might do it,” she said. “Why do you all look like somebody spit in your drinks?”

  “Your friend De Rossi here thinks he has a plan,” Tory said.

  I sighed. “It’s Donatti.”

  “Whatever. Just spit it out.”

  I drew a breath and explained what I was thinking. They came around. Eventually.

  Ian smiled. “It is a good plan.”

  “Thanks. I’m a brilliant strategist when it comes to saving my own ass.”

  “If this works, you will save more asses than your own.” Ian glanced at Tory, who looked away just long enough to seem apologetic. “Are we in agreement, then?”

  No one objected. I guessed that was as close to agreement as a bunch of humans and djinn who were probably planning their deaths could get.

  WHILE JAZZ BANGED AROUND UNDER THE HOOD OF THE CADDY and instructed Ian on the finer points of vehicles that didn’t sport pull-me-over signs, I ran reconnaissance on an important mission: finding needles in a haystack. Or, more technically, finding knives or knife-shaped metal objects in a thousand tons of jumbled scrap metal.

  Inspired by Lark’s bird mummy, I’d persuaded Ian to make dupes of his tether—one for each of us to carry. He’d stash the real one here among the junk, so none of us would have it when we broke into Trevor’s place. It wasn’t a permanent solution. If we got caught, it would only buy us time. I hoped that would be enough.

  Ian had explained that transformation worked best when the thing being changed resembled the original. Jazz and Lark didn’t do blades, so that left us with one between us, the butterfly I’d lifted from Pope. I was glad to donate it to the cause. Using another man’s blade was like wearing someone else’s underwear. Now I only had to locate four more knives.

  Might as well look for Atlantis in here. I’d probably find it sooner.

  I left the long rows of junked cars and headed for the giant piles of scrap. There weren’t quite so many lights on this end of the lot, and the jagged mounds of metal cast deep shadows over the narrow pathways. The place smelled like fresh earth and old blood. At the base of one mountain, an idle yellow Cat stood with scoop upraised, as though its driver had given up hope of ever moving that formidable mass and run screaming from the yard at mid-push.

  The flashlight Lark lent me, a mini Mag with a halogen bulb, should have cut through the gloom like butter. Instead, it created a murky brown puddle near my feet. I slapped it against my thigh. Blue light flashed forward, throwing the junk ahead into strobe relief. For an instant, I thought my chest tightened and my arms tingled, but whether magical need or old-fashioned brute force had brought the light around, I welcomed it.

  I recognized a few of the twisted, bent, and generally broken objects stacked to the sky. Bed frames, filing cabinets, pipe fittings, and ladders studded the less recognizable mash of splinters and chunks. Eventually, I unearthed a jumbled pile of tableware, fished out four reasonably solid table knives, and wandered back toward the others with my rust-spotted bounty.

  Apparently, Jazz and Ian hadn’t resolved their technical differences yet, because I arrived to find them in the middle of a small war. Jazz had the Caddy jacked up and was halfway through stripping the lugs on a bad flat. A fresh tire stood propped beside her, and a frustrated Ian stood scowling over her.

  “This is not necessary,” Ian said. “I can repair the tire in far less time.”

  Jazz didn’t even look at him. “With magic? No, thanks. I’ve got it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t want this bitch to blow while I’m driving.”

  “It will not ‘blow.’ ”

  “How do you know? This thing’s a human contraption. And maybe everything that works in your world doesn’t work in ours. Besides, when it comes to cars, nothing beats mechanical soundness. The less jerry-rigging we have to do, the better.”

  Ian grunted. “At least allow me to loosen those fastenings.”

  “Will you shut up and let me work? I said, I’ve got it.”

  “I found your knives,” I said loudly.

  Ian’s head swiveled in my direction. “Would you inform your woman that djinn magic is not like your charlatan stage performers and will not cease to function if one should sneeze while driving a vehicle?”

  “And would you inform your genie,” Jazz said, emphasizing the word with a hard twist on the lug wrench, “that I’m perfectly capable of changing a goddamned tire?”

  “Hey, look. I’m not translating English into English.” I shoved a fistful of knives against Ian’s chest. “Take these. First of all, where’s Lark and Tory?”

  Ian snatched the bundle and waved a hand off to his right. “They seek a suitable location to conceal my tether.”

  “Okay.” I crouched next to Jazz. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, but he’s right.”

  The look she gave me said she would’ve punched me if her hands weren’t full of tire iron. I reminded myself not to argue with her when she possessed a lethal weapon. “I’m busy,” she said. “Back off.”

  “Come on, Jazz. It’d be faster if you let him do it.”

  “I’ve. Got. It.” She freed the last lug with a crack and yanked the tire off as if she was plucking a leaf from a branch. “Look, Donatti. I’ve got to contribute something, okay? I don’t have any magic.”

  If she were anyone else, I would’ve thought she was jealous. But I knew what she meant. Watching someone else get even for you wasn’t satisfying enough. “All right,” I said. “Just try to remember that you don’t have to do everything alone. We’re on the same side here.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.” She scooped the scattered lugs into a hand and frowned at them. “Shit. These are stripped to hell. I’ll never get them back on.” With a sigh, she held them toward Ian. “Can you . . .”

  “Of course.” Ian set the knives aside. “Though I am not quite certain what you need me to do. What is stripped to hell?”

  Jazz smirked. “I’ll show you.”

  After fifteen minutes of explanations punctuated by subtle and not-so-subtle jabs, Jazz pronounced the thing drivable. She’d helped Ian create a set of plates that would pass a cursory glance from a cop, though we had no idea what’d happen if anyone ran the tags. We hoped we wouldn’t get the opportunity to find out.

  “Now,” Ian said when we stepped back, “we must create the dupli
cates. I will need your assistance, thief.”

  “Whoa. What, with making them?” I held up a hand. “Come on, man. I already had enough doing Lark. I’m not real interested in frying myself again.”

  “Doing Lark?” Jazz cocked her head. “What’d you do to him?”

  I sighed. “He was in a wheelchair when we found him. And . . . otherwise fucked up. Ian healed him. I guess I helped.”

  “You unparalyzed him?”

  “He did.” Ian thrust one of the table knives in my direction. “And he is going to assist me further, because I do not have the strength at the moment.”

  “Oh, I gotta see this.” Jazz boosted herself onto the hood of the Caddy and sat cross-legged, watching me with something like awe. Or serious doubt. Maybe utter disbelief.

  I snatched the knife. “Fine. Just for the record, though, I’m not looking forward to this.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it hurts. Remember?”

  “Only too well.”

  The catch in Ian’s voice reminded me how much longer he’d been doing this. I decided to lay off. “Sorry, Ian. What am I supposed to do?”

  “I will show you, if you would hand me my tether.”

  “Oh. Right.” I’d forgotten I was wearing his coat. I patted the pockets, discovered a lump, and gave him the dagger.

  He took it and held one of the replacements in his opposite hand. “As Taregan explained, it is a matter of need—or, in this case, will. You must will one object to resemble another.” He offered a small smile. “Do not worry, thief. Transformation is a strength of the Dehbei. This will not hurt as much.”

  “Great. That’s very reassuring.”

  “Pay attention.” Ian held the table knife on an open palm. He passed his tether slowly over the length of it, and a copy of the dagger emerged inch by inch. When he held them both up, I knew he could’ve put them behind his back and shuffled them, and I wouldn’t have been able to spot the original. He handed me one with a nod. “It is your turn.”

  I swallowed and took the dagger. His instructions sounded like a knockoff Nike commercial. Just will it. There had to be more to this stuff than feelings, didn’t there? Just because I shared a few genes with Ian, that didn’t mean I should be able to make unnatural things happen when I wanted them to. It almost seemed wrong. Like cheating.

  Then again, I supposed stealing wasn’t much better.

  I arranged the knife in my hand the way he had and stared at the dagger for a long moment. Maybe if I memorized the shape of it, my will would have an easier time imposing itself. I felt far from ready when I copied Ian’s motion and passed the dagger over the knife.

  No pain. And no change.

  “Brilliant,” I said. “Maybe I should stick with accidental invisibility.”

  I tried to give the dagger back. Ian didn’t take it. “Try again, thief. You have made progress.”

  “No, I haven’t. This thing is still just a rusted . . . er, wait.” I held up the table knife and blinked. Along the flat blade, copper had replaced silver beneath the corroded surface streaks. The handle seemed thicker, too. “I’ll be damned,” I murmured.

  Without waiting for a prompt, I lowered the knife and tried to concentrate. To tune out everything but the dagger and my need to make this work. After a minute, my chest tightened. Warmth spread through my torso, down my arms. Only a mild ache instead of the intense pain Lark’s healing had caused. I moved the dagger over the base of the knife, and it rippled and expanded against my palm.

  For the first time since I’d met Ian, wonder struck me and demanded acknowledgment.

  Magic. I possessed magic. It was in my blood. I could feel it, a tingling sensation through skin and bone, raw and comforting at once. Like toweling off in a cold room after a hot shower. The realness of it lodged in my throat.

  When I looked down, I realized I hadn’t quite gotten the hang of it. The handle looked almost right, but the blade was still dull and rounded. The world’s first table dagger.

  A hesitant laugh escaped Jazz. “You missed a spot.”

  I glowered at her and tried again. The same feeling moved through me. I forced my mind to think dagger thoughts. Finally, I finished the pass and fought a whisper of vertigo. A glance at the dupe revealed I’d gotten it right this time—or at least close enough. “No problem,” I said with a slight slur. “Let’s make a hundred of ’em.”

  “You really did it?” Jazz slid down from the hood and plucked the copy from my hand. “Holy hell. Ian, you sure you didn’t help him with this?”

  I made a face. “Your confidence is underwhelming.”

  “Sorry.” Jazz smiled and squeezed my hand. “Guess I picked the right nickname for you after all, Houdini. I’m impressed.”

  I grinned. Impressed in Jazz-speak was one step shy of worship. Maybe she really didn’t completely hate me.

  “I will be impressed if you manage to transform the remaining three.” Ian handed the knives to Jazz, then absently tucked the dupe he held into his waistband. “You must use the true tether as a guide for each transformation. Be as quick as you can. The sooner we depart, the more time we will have before we are discovered.”

  “Wait a second. Why do I have to do it? I mean, if you want fast, you should probably do this yourself. I suck at magic.”

  “I have explained this. I have no power left. After two transformations, flight, bridging to the djinn realm, and repairing that vehicle, I am drained.” Ian hitched a half-smile. “And you need the practice, thief.”

  “Terrific. Well, don’t blame me if they end up looking like shit.”

  I managed to get through the rest in a few minutes. They didn’t look half bad.

  “Well done.” Ian put a hand on my shoulder. “Now, we must conceal the true tether. I cannot allow Lenka to control me.”

  I glanced around at the mountains of junk. “Well, if we had to pick a place to hide it, I’d say this one’s pretty good.”

  “Yes. Taregan has prepared a spot where it will be difficult to recognize.” A strange look flickered across his face. “Come. I wish you to know where my tether will be.”

  My brow furrowed. “Why?”

  “You may need this information eventually.”

  “Yeah. If you say so.” I followed him anyway, thinking that whatever was on his mind, I probably didn’t want to know.

  TORY HAD CREATED A NEST OF METAL SCRAPS AND PIECES OF daggers, all the same color and style as Ian’s tether. Once we buried it in the pile, he levitated a couple of cars and piled them on the spot. The feat used up the rest of his mojo, too. I’d seen corpses that looked more animated than Ian and Tory by the time we dragged ourselves back and loaded in the car.

  Jazz insisted on driving. No one objected. She eased the Caddy onto the main road and pointed us in the general direction of Trevor’s place. She’d suggested that Tory ride shotgun, since he was the least wanted. The rest of us crammed into the backseat and tried to shrink, to avoid touching each other. I wished we’d rigged a van instead. Close quarters made me itchy.

  “This is a bad idea,” Lark said for the hundredth time.

  I let my head fall back against the seat. “Like I said, you got a better one? Jazz knows what she’s doing. We’ll be fine.”

  Lark muttered something that sounded suspiciously like Go fuck yourself. Up front, a station giving the news and weather droned. Tory perched rigid and alert in the passenger seat, scanning the night for dangerous creatures like cops or stray deer or maybe innocent-looking hitchhikers who were actually evil snake djinn in disguise.

  I slumped between Lark and Ian and tried not to think that things couldn’t get any worse. If I let myself believe that, fate would be eager to prove me wrong.

  “It will not work.” Beside me, Ian toyed with the dupe he carried, regarding it with an expression normally reserved for offensive things like shit on a shoe and Canadian bacon.

  “Sure it will.” I sounded about as convincing as a politician’s promise. “It�
��s a classic con. The old shell game. They’ll never see it coming. I mean, there’s no way to tell these things are fake, right?”

  “There is one, outside of my obvious failure to die when one is destroyed.”

  “And that’d be . . .”

  “Blood tells.”

  I frowned. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  Ian unsheathed the dagger and ran a finger along the flat of the blade. “A tether reacts to the blood of the one tied to it. If my blood were spilled on the real tether, my symbol would be revealed. These false ones will not mimic that response.”

  “Great. Does Trevor know this?”

  “I am not certain. But Lenka does.”

  “So we’ll just have to stay away from Lenka. Wherever he is. It’ll work out.”

  Ian sighed and stowed the dagger in his vest. “Perhaps. But we should plan for the possibility that something might go wrong.”

  “What could happen?”

  The instant I said it, I wished he wouldn’t answer. I could imagine plenty of things going wrong. Sudden death. Drawn-out, painful death. Or worse, as Trevor had promised on my last visit with him.

  “I am their primary target.” Ian spoke soft and low, as if he didn’t want the others to hear him over the radio babble. He looked at his hands and touched the index finger that carried his bond with Akila. The golden glow shone briefly. “They will attempt to take me first. If they succeed, they will use me to find you and the boy before they destroy me. And I’ve no wish to exist as Lenka’s plaything.”

  “Ian. Don’t even think about it.”

  “We must think about it.” His gaze held mine, and I couldn’t look away. “If I am captured—”

  “No. I won’t—”

  “—you must destroy my tether.”

  The words hung between us, impossible to take back. “I can’t do that,” I whispered.

  “You can. Your abilities are more than sufficient. If you destroy me, it will be far more difficult for them to hunt you down. You and your son will survive. The barrier must remain.”

  “I can’t kill you. I won’t.”

  A small smile tugged his mouth. “Then do not. Free me.”