Marion Zimmer Bradley's Sword and Sorceress XXIV

by Unknown

  The world spun crazily in front of her, and something smacked her hard in the side of the head. Blinking, she realized it was the floor, though her inner ear wanted her to think she was still upright...as if the floor was a gigantic wall she was somehow stuck to. Eubie lay upside down in front of her, his chair, occupied now by his doppelganger, jutting out into the empty space on Cluny's left, but the Eubie on the floor was already stirring, sitting up—except it still wasn't up! Frozen with vertigo, Cluny couldn't speak, couldn't even find her paw to put it to her lips to tell Eubie—

  But Shtasith suddenly hung from the front of his robe, the firedrake's mouth moving, one front claw gesturing to the stairwell. Eubie stared, his chest pumping, but he nodded; Shtasith let go, and Eubie started crawling for the stairs.

  Along the floor, Cluny realized, her jangled brain finally telling her that she was indeed lying down. She managed to get her paws onto the ancient wood, Shtasith quickly fluttering to her side, helping her stand, his power an electrical tingle over every inch of her skin. "Three more, my Cluny!" he whispered.

  Casting the spell on Jeanette spun Cluny around like a kick to the head; doing Ric slammed her as hard as a baseball bat; and after Meeshele, she lay sprawled on the floor under the table for what felt like minutes, sure that she'd broken all her ribs. The pain just kept pounding, power tearing out of her, pouring forth in torrents to keep the spells in place. Huddled there feeling like glass about to shatter, she could scarcely hear Shtasith's whispered instructions under Goulet's continuing oration, but the shuffle of robes moving away all three times told her it had worked. Everyone was out and safe.

  Except for her and Shtasith and Crocker, of course...

  Swallowing a groan, she forced her paws to brace her up, blinked and blinked and blinked until she could see her claws digging into the blackened hardwood. No way she could cast that spell again, so how—?

  Gentle claws around her, balancing her. "Oh, my Cluny," Shtasith whispered, the raging fire she usually felt from him barely a flicker now. "We must get you away from here!"

  "Not without—!" Her stomach fluttered, and she clenched her lips shut. If only she knew what a mana flayer did! Mana was the fundamental force underlying all magic, of course, but how could you possibly flay it??

  Frustrated, she let her claws gouge curls of accumulated filth from the floor, her mind racing through every bit of theory she'd learned this year-

  And it was like a series of dominoes in her head suddenly went flipping over, a pattern of definitions and connections and forces that made her gasp and grab Shtasith's neck. "Fly me up there! Right into Crocker's lap! Now!"

  She heard his intake of breath, saw fear swirling in his eyes, but— "Yes, Cluny," was all he said, his grip tightening, her balance going haywire again as the floor dropped away.

  "They'll rue the day!" Goulet's shrieks rang in her ears, and as they came out from under the table, she saw the boy had one foot up on the back of his tipped-over chair, his fists waving in the air. "My name will be whispered with fear and—!"

  Shtasith dropped with her into Crocker's lap, Crocker hitching back in his chair and saying, "Whoa!"—she'd forgotten he couldn't see her. Now that she was touching him, though, she severed the power to her spells, all five doppelgangers disappearing, and pushed herself to stand on Crocker's left knee. "I have had," she panted, Goulet staring at her with his mouth hanging open, "more than enough...of you!"

  "Cluny!" Crocker cried behind her. "What're you—!"

  "Damn you, Crocker!" Goulet screamed, and he lunged for the table, for the crooked glass globe he'd left sitting there, his finger jabbing the same indentation as before. Cluny braced herself, prayed to each and every thaumaturgical deity that she'd guessed right, and with the last vestiges of power pulled from herself and her two familiars, she cast her scouring and spackling spell across the floor of the entire library.

  The effort buckled her knees, collapsed her across Crocker's legs, and the lump of glass went black, a darkness more absolute than any cloud-choked midnight. Cluny's ears popped, and the darkness began to swirl, a sudden breeze plucking at Cluny's fur.

  No, not a breeze, she realized, the air as still and musty as ever. It was the deepest of deep magics plucking at her, a power stronger than anything she'd ever even imagined lurching into existence. "Hang on," she managed to say, and with a roar she felt rather than heard, the black spot sucked itself inward, became a void, walnut-sized and hungry, she knew, for all things magical. Just looking at it made her whiskers prickle.

  Of course, she, Crocker and Shtasith were pretty much empty at this point, but she doubted the flayer would be much bothered by the fine line between mana and life energy that Mistress Otembe had talked about in BioSci. No, Cluny felt sure Goulet had spoken the truth: this thing would kill anyone, no matter how little magic they had. Fortunately, though—

  A groaning, snapping, crackling sound, and the black wood of the floor directly beneath them began to ripple, Cluny's scouring spell starting to loosen the grime accumulated over the past thousand years or so. But not just grime, she'd known the first time she'd set a paw onto it. Century after century of students testing, casting and shaping magic of every sort had trod this floor, power sloshing onto it like water overflowing hundreds of thousands—maybe millions—of tanks.

  Pried free, this power drifted upward, tickled Cluny's whiskers like pepper and spice before getting sucked into the maw of the flayer. Cluny couldn't help digging her claws into Crocker's robes, could almost hear the black spot sniff, following the trail of magic shaken loose by her scouring spell. It shifted, aimed itself downward, and with a whoosh like all the winds of the world rushing past, every blackened foot of the library floor was stripped down to bright shining wood. Vertigo pulled at Cluny again, clattering thunks echoing from all around as tables and chairs dropped an inch, and the flayer, as Cluny had hoped and prayed, gave a little burp and flickered out, apparently full to the level Goulet had set it for.

  Silence for a moment, then Shtasith's quavering voice behind her: "We... we're alive?"

  "Yes!" Crocker shouted, and Cluny flailed as he grabbed her up into a hug. "I knew you'd think of something!"

  His warmth wrapped around her externally and internally, and she closed her eyes, held him as tightly as she could for a moment before she could find her voice. "Is Goulet—?"

  "He breathes," Shtasith said, and Cluny forced herself to look back, the pale boy lying in a heap beside the now empty table, not a flicker of magic reaching her whiskers from him. A little rumbly sound, and Shtasith turned his gaze up past her. "Crocker, I... I must offer you apologies. You truly—"

  A flood of light, a rush of air, voices a sudden tangle around her, and she saw they were outside, Crocker craning his head, Shtasith wings unfurling. A pink and green pixie in a white coat spun into view, a quarantine wand in one hand. "You're all right?" the pixie asked, tapping them each with the wand. "How can you be all right?"

  More emergency personnel bustled about what Cluny now recognized as the main quad outside the admin building, a phalanx of blue-coated ogres converging on Goulet, groaning on the ground a few yards from where Crocker stood. "Crocker!" a voice called, and when he turned, Cluny saw Tzu Yin rushing over, a small silver-gray sparrowhawk hugging the side of her head. "That was amazing!"

  Crocker spread his hands. "I just kept him talking. Cluny and Shtasith did the rest."

  Cluny watched Tzu Yin look from her to Shtasith and back again, then the girl held a hand up to the sparrowhawk. "Jian?"

  The hawk hopped onto her hand. "Yes, master?" he asked.

  "I'd like you to call me Tzu Yin from now on."

  Jian's eyes widened. "Master?"

  "Yes." Tzu Yin nodded once. "It seems to have an interesting effect on a familiar."

  It took some effort for Cluny not to burst out laughing, but then she saw Master Gollantz glowering from the other side of the security cordon. "Uh-oh," she heard Crocker say.

  S
htasith gave a gust of steam, and Cluny put a paw on his head, dug the other into the folds of Crocker's robe. "Y'know, guys, I'm starting to think we might not be cut out for this whole inconspicuous thing."

  A Curious Case

  by Annclaire Livoti

  These days law enforcement personnel and guns have replaced swordswomen. But, in real life, private investigators don't generally practice magic, and they don't have succubae as clients—at least I certainly hope not.

  This is Annclaire Livoti's first professional sale. A recent graduate of Radford University, she currently resides in Loudoun County, Virginia.

  #

  You might say I have a passing acquaintance with the supernatural. Every so often, a succubus will drift into my office, throw a case on my desk, and drift back out again.

  She called herself Diana, and I didn't mind when she visited. Well, I didn't mind much. It meant that I earned some respect in the eyes of the police, and that was always a good thing. They despise cases involving the supernatural community—means extra effort, extra danger, and extra paperwork, all of which they could do without.

  There was usually a year or two between Diana's visits, so when she strolled into my office one Monday morning only six months after our latest case, I was a little surprised. She looked stunning as usual, being the type of woman that made men drone on about "legs that go on for miles" and "a stomach you could bounce a penny off of"—the sort of thing that came with being a succubus, I suppose. Today, she wore a black leather jacket, nearly see-through white blouse, and skin-tight blue jeans, and her blue-black hair was piled in an artful bun on top of her head like she'd just come from a runway in Paris.

  "Diana."

  "Virginia." Diana glanced around my office, taking in the little changes I'd made. "Business is booming, I trust?"

  I just nodded. I liked to pride myself on being witty, but somehow it seemed pointless to try for a quip whenever Diana was around. She'd just smile that megawatt smile at you and ignore the wisecrack. I leaned back in my chair, trying to feign nonchalance and probably not succeeding. Couldn't blame me—Diana's cases were always interesting, and she paid extremely well. Plus, my car needed repairs to the tune of almost a grand. "What kind of problem is it this time?"

  To my shock, Diana hesitated. Now, this might not sound like a big deal, but during our twenty-year acquaintance, I'd never once seen Diana at a loss for words. Ever. Each gesture, each word she uttered came out effortlessly, like she'd somehow gotten a copy of her life's script and constantly read five lines ahead.

  "Diana?"

  Diana looked away, her slate gray eyes shadowed. Tension suddenly radiated off her in waves, making my stomach do a nervous somersault. Well, crap. I was beginning to think I wasn't going to like this job.

  "My sister is dead."

  For a moment, shock gripped me by the throat and kept me silent. When I finally could speak, all that came out was a horrified, "How?" I already knew the answer even as the question tumbled from my lips. Succubae died only one way.

  Violently.

  "Lily is the fourth succubus murdered this month. You and I are going to find the killer." She smiled, but it was one with too many teeth and no particular warmth in her eyes. "I trust you don't mind if we avoid involving the police in this particular case."

  I took in a deep breath. Released it. "You know I can't promise that, Diana." The police might be glad to fob off an unpleasant case or two on me, but that wouldn't stop them from arresting me for interfering in open murder cases, especially not ones that looked like a serial.

  Diana was silent for a moment. Then something in her shoulders eased, and a wry smile curved her lips. "I shouldn't have asked."

  I accepted that for what it was—the closest Diana could come to an apology—and motioned for her to sit down. "Tell me everything you know about the four victims."

  She pulled a manila envelope from beneath her jacket and handed it to me. "The first was Ala, on the third. After that, Oza on the eighth. Then Verrine on the twelfth. Lily-" There was a barely discernable pause as Diana swallowed. "Lily was killed last night. The twenty-first."

  I opened up the envelope. Four photographs spilled onto my desk. I studied them for a moment. Even if Diana hadn't told me they were succubae, I would've known. Unlike vampires, whom the cameras never seemed to detect, succubae and incubi came out crystal clear in photographs. It was simply everything else that blurred, like all the color and light longed to wrap themselves around that form—one reason succubae and incubi didn't make for good models.

  All four succubae looked young, but that didn't mean anything. Diana hadn't changed at all in two decades; not a single wrinkle or gray hair had corrupted her beauty in all the time I'd known her. My gaze lingered on Lily's photograph. They looked a little like sisters, if you knew what to look for. It was in the tilt of their heads and the shape of their jaws.

  Along with the photographs were police reports of the murders. I barely managed to keep from raising an eyebrow. These certainly weren't legal. Then I thought about the dark look in Diana's eyes, a coldness that made my hindbrain want to hide under the nearest bed, and decided not to question how she'd gotten her hands on them.

  Diana tapped a manicured finger on my desk, and I looked up. "I have three witnesses to Lily's murder."

  Of course she did. If there were witnesses to be found, Diana would find them. Though I didn't spend too much time dabbling with the supernatural community, I knew enough to realize that Diana had connections.

  "When can I interview them?" I asked, skimming the report on Ala. Single stab wound to the heart that punctured the aorta. She'd bled out in minutes. No witnesses.

  "They're waiting outside."

  I stared at her. "They're waiting—right. Just let me read over the police reports and then show the first one in." And let me work a spell or two to detect a lie, but that was understood.

  * * * *

  The first witness was a soft-eyed tourist named Céleste Travere, who spoke English with just the barest trace of an accent.

  "I was lost," she explained. Her long, delicate fingers plucked at the top button of her shirt, unbuttoning and then buttoning again as she spoke. A nervous gesture, not a guilty one—Ms. Travere had just arrived in the country two nights ago and couldn't have committed the other murders. "The driver of the taxi took me to the wrong restaurant. I was walking, trying to find another taxi, and heard someone shout, and—" She stopped and closed her eyes for a moment, pale freckles made obvious by the sudden blanching of her skin. When she continued, her voice was unsteady. "I did not see who killed that poor woman. I saw two men running over to the woman, but I did not see anyone running away."

  "Were there any buildings around that the murderer might have ducked into?" I asked, and watched a frown twist Ms. Travere's mouth.

  "There was a bar across the street," she said. "Everything else was dark and looked closed."

  Diana interrupted. "The next witness had been visiting the bar Vixen when he heard the shouting."

  Vixen? I raised an eyebrow, and Diana nodded. Yes, a bar that catered to incubi, succubae, and their groupies. Wonderful. I had a feeling I wasn't going to like this next witness.

  Sure enough, Isaac Ferguson was a sallow-faced guy with the restless eyes and trembling hands of an addict. Only what he was addicted to wasn't drugs or alcohol, it was sex, carnal pleasure from either succubae or incubi or maybe both.

  "Sit down, Mr. Ferguson." I kept my dislike out of my voice, but he flinched at the order anyway, gaze flickering towards the door like he was reassuring himself that he had an escape route. "Please, tell me what you saw."

  "Not much," he said quickly. He didn't meet my eyes. Either he was lying or he needed a fix. "I was just about to leave Vixen, was getting my coat and heard someone shout. Went out to see what was going on and saw this- body on the ground." His Adam's apple bobbed jerkily. "There was a lot of blood. This guy was by the door too, and we both ran over to see if
maybe we could save her." He paused, and then gave a brief, twitchy look in Diana's direction, licking his lips. "She was already dead, though."

  "Did you see anyone else on the street?"

  He jerked his head back, bony shoulders rising. It took me a second to realize he was shrugging. "We started running and I saw the French lady you just talked to coming over to see what was going on. Nobody else, though."

  "And you didn't see anyone entering or exiting the bar when you got your coat?"

  Ferguson shot me a look like I was an idiot. "I was getting my coat. Had my back to the door the entire time. You'd have to ask the other guy in the hall."

  "All right. Thank you for your time, Mr. Ferguson." I handed him one of my cards. "If you think of anything that might be useful, just give me a call."

  He gazed blankly at the card and tucked it into his pocket, but I could tell the words on the card weren't sinking in. He was too ready to get out of here, probably already thinking about going back to Vixen or another bar. "Sure," he muttered. Then his gaze flickered back over to Diana and lingered. He licked his lips again, and this time the truth spell glowed blue for honesty when he added, "I'll let you know if I remember anything."

  The last witness was Sam, an incubus. He made his entrance by a wave of lust that hit me in the gut like a sucker punch. I doubled over, gasping a little and grateful that I was sitting, not standing, because falling over would have been fairly humiliating. I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth against the ache in my belly, and remembered exactly why I only consorted with Diana when it came to the supernatural community. Incubi tended to be male chauvinists wrapped in pretty packaging.

  "Virginia?" Diana sounded startled at first, and then furious. "Sam—"