“—best magical tattooist in the Southeast,” Cinnamon finished.
The speaker didn’t answer at first. “How rude, Ms. Frost,” said an oddly familiar voice. “It isn’t polite to put someone on speakerphone without asking.”
I cocked my head. “Mr. Carnes,” I said. “My apologies, I’m driving.”
“I have private matters to discuss with you, Ms. Frost,” the wizard said. “If this is a bad time, we can speak again later—”
“No, no, this is a perfect time,” I responded. “You’re just the person I wanted to speak to, and if you object to my daughter’s presence, give it up. She’s my closest advisor.”
Cinnamon grinned at me.
“Very well, Ms. Frost,” Carnes said. “I keep my daughters out of the business, but it’s your funeral. That was a hell of a calling card you left last night; you now have my undivided—”
“Hang on—what are you calling a calling card?” I asked.
“The giant dragon symbol all over Macy’s in Union Square.”
“Actually, I cast the giant dragon projectia that flew over the Square while defending my friends from a magical assault,” I said. “The giant coded symbol on Macy’s façade was left by our assailants, whom I assumed were allied with you. Your first message failed, so you—”
“I’m afraid,” Carnes interrupted, “I do not know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, come now,” I said. “How did you get this number? I didn’t give it to you. You had to get it from the goon you sent to the airport.”
“Ferguson is not a goon. The purpose of his visit, as he should have stated—”
“He did,” I said sharply. “We figured out what you were doing with him—”
“What we were doing,” Carnes said, “was giving Ferguson a chance to show his mettle, and giving you the opportunity to gracefully bow out of your trip—which you were free to decline, as you did. And yes, he did pass along your message to me—”
“Along with your thinly veiled threat about my safety on the streets of Oakland,” I said, “after which, if you recall, my friend was assaulted on the streets of Oakland. I thought they were unrelated until I saw the magical symbols on your tie billboarded across Union Square—”
“What? Jesus,” Carnes said. He was quiet on the phone, but I could hear clicking, as of a web search. Finally, he let his breath out like a hiss; I guessed he’d found a picture. “I hadn’t looked closely, but I see the resemblance. Look, Frost . . . we got off on the wrong foot. I didn’t order these assaults, and if you didn’t instigate those fireworks, then . . . I’m disturbed to see a magical assault in public, much less Union Square. My eldest daughter shops there—”
“Sorry to hear that. About the proximity, not the shopping. I hope she’s OK.”
“Yes, she’s—that’s not the point,” Carnes said. “I’m worried about . . .”
“Yes?” I said, after a long pause that drew on to the point I worried about my cell battery.
“Well, frankly, I’m worried about you, Ms. Frost,” Carnes said. I blinked—he sounded completely sincere. “I didn’t want you here because I was afraid you’d be a disruption, and clearly, I was right. But there are disruptions, and then there are outright attacks—”
“Not everything is about me,” I said. “My friend appears to be the target.”
“Same one from Oakland?” he asked. “What’s her relationship to you?”
“I—” think she’s cute. My cheeks reddened. “I just met her on the plane in.”
“Hell,” Carnes said. “She’s that fire magician, the Queen of Fire, right?”
“Princess, I think,” I said.
“Right,” Carnes said. “Alex Nicholson told me about her. I think I’ve even seen her perform, in Paris, if I recall. So . . . a visitor to the City has suffered two magical attacks. I’m going to take you at your word you weren’t responsible, Ms. Frost—”
“And I’ll take you at your word that you weren’t, Mr. Carnes,” I said. “But if this doesn’t have anything to do with you and me, then whatever disagreements we have are a distraction. We need to—well, that is, I need to focus on Jewel’s safety—”
“No, you had it right the first time,” Carnes said tightly. “I can’t speak for the Guild, but I’m not going to sit by and let magicians get attacked, not in San Francisco, not on my watch. We need to keep your friend safe. We need to get to the bottom of this. And we need to stop it.”
Now the pause was on my end of the line.
“Do I hear you right, Mr. Carnes?” I said, not trusting him for a second. “I’m hearing the kinds of things I was saying at the Conclave, the kinds of things I’ve been saying to my own Magical Security Council for months. Do I have you on board, Mr. Carnes?”
“Yes,” he said even more tightly. “I swear to you, though, if this is some kind of plot—”
“I swear too,” I said. “Don’t be playing me, as my daughter would say, or I—”
“No, no,” Carnes said. “Of course not. On that note . . . did she collect her award?”
“Uh . . . not yet,” I said. Carnes kept throwing me—I’d been ready to pigeonhole him as “foe,” but he seemed to actually . . . care. I told him about the talk. “We thought it was going to be a dozen people in a conference room, and it was three hundred in an auditorium.”
“That . . .” Carnes began, with a laugh he quickly suppressed. “That must have been challenging, Cinnamon, isn’t it? I know you’ve got . . . things you struggle with, and it was brave of you to step in front of all those people. Your mother must be very proud of you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Cinnamon said, oddly muted.
“So, Frost,” Carnes said, suddenly serious. “We both know what this is for.”
“I take your meaning,” I said, looking at Cinnamon. The man had daughters too.
“Make my job easier,” he said. “Give the Conclave their quid pro quo. Convince Lord Buckhead to meet the fae. You don’t know what that will mean for all of us—”
“First, Carnes,” I said, “I do not control Lord Buckhead, so no promises—and no stalling on this problem waiting for his cooperation. If this is a threat, we act on it.”
“Look, Frost—”
“It’s your jurisdiction,” I said, and there was silence on the other end of the line. “It is your jurisdiction. All I can do is advise. You will tell me what to do, unless you want another arrangement.” He remained quiet. “Do you want another arrangement?”
“Perhaps,” he said. “It would make things easier. Let me consult the Guild.”
“All right,” I said. “And second, Carnes, Lord Buckhead is a friend, and a . . . strategic asset of Atlanta. I’m not asking him to come out here unless we can get assurances of his safety. The last time a wizard wanted to meet Lord Buckhead, it was a trap.”
Carnes snorted. “What wizard tried to take on the Lord of the Hunt?”
“Christopher Valentine,” I said, “better known as the Mysterious Mirabilus—”
“Mirabilus?” Carnes asked. “The stage magician?”
“Only on TV,” I said. “Valentine was, in secret, a member of secret skindancing cult and an extremely powerful magician. Lord Buckhead called him the Archmage—”
“Fuck me!” Carnes said. “I’ve heard of him, a nasty piece of work with a huge trail of bodies in his wake. I guess he bit off more than he can chew, taking on a fae god.”
“No,” I said. “Lord Buckhead tried, but . . . the Archmage planned his attack well. He took him out in under a minute. I had a center stage seat for the whole show.”
“The Archmage traditionally kills those he defeats,” Carnes asked suspiciously. “How did Lord Buckhead survive? For that matter, how did you?”
“Do you never read the
news, Mr. Carnes?” I said. “I defended myself—”
“You took on the Archmage and lived? I don’t believe it.”
———
“You don’t have to take my word for it,” I said, pulling the rental to a stop in front of the Valentine Foundation headquarters. “It will be all over TV this fall.”
22. Godwin’s Law
The Valentine Foundation headquarters was a grey stone structure in the hills south of San Francisco, overlooking a little town called Burlingame. At least, the signs said we passed through the “City of Burlingame”; however, climbing the windy road toward the Foundation, I had seen no clear city boundary. Only the odd trees set this place apart—thick, white-trunked, almost like massive birches except for the rich, dark green foliage.
I slammed the door of the rental and stared out over the suburbs and into the Bay. Trees rose through a sea of homes like reeds in a marsh; beyond them hotels and offices, shrunken by perspective, clustered like piles of white toy blocks in a green carpet; and beyond them, washed out by distance, the Bay, mountains and sky stretched across the vista in three stripes of blue. The view was spectacular—Valentine had spared no expense acquiring this land.
Then Cinnamon got out of the car, and my blood boiled. Valentine had deceived us all, and Cinnamon had almost died because of him. How much of this land had been paid for by Valentine’s use of real magic to enhance his stage career?
Worse, how much had been paid for by theft from his Edgeworld victims? Valentine had quietly disposed of the real magicians who accepted his Challenge, but it was equally dangerous to have turned him down—most of those who did disappeared after violent robberies.
Even though Valentine himself was gone, I was determined to see his Foundation pay for his crimes in full—to the tune of one million dollars, the one million the Foundation owed me for winning the Valentine Challenge—performing a feat of magic Valentine couldn’t replicate by nonmagical means, namely, inking a working magical wristwatch on a willing subject.
Supposedly, the Valentine Foundation itself was innocent. Supposedly, none of the Foundation staff had participated in his crimes. Supposedly, this visit was my last contractual obligation to the Foundation—shooting bumpers for the TV special documenting my defeat of the old coot. And supposedly, after I did that, I’d be free to put the screws to these shmucks.
The only problem?
The head schmuck was Alex Nicholson, who’d nearly lost his life trying to save mine.
“Dakota!” he cried in his familiar voice, and I turned to see Alex descending the steps—trim, blond, muscled, arms thrown wide with easy warmth, smile held wide with more difficulty. “I’m so glad you finally made it out to, ah, to film the trailers—and Cinnamon too! Gimme a hug!”
Charming, with a touch of snake oil. Alex was a bundle of contradictions: magician and fireweaver, clean-cut and tattooed, Valentine’s protégé—and nearly his victim. He’d let me ink that magical wristwatch to win the Valentine Challenge—but now was withholding my money as the Valentine Foundation’s official gatekeeper. He was a close friend to Jinx and me, but also a near-adversary on the Magical Security Council as the representative for the Wizarding Guild.
Our relationship was officially complicated.
“Mom,” Cinnamon said, squealing. “The giant Ken doll is crushing me!”
“Oh, give her a squeeze,” I said, trying to force a grin. “She’s a werekin. She can take it.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to break her, but—OK!” Alex said, lifting her again, his glance catching mine, his eyes unexpectedly moist. Cinnamon had almost died from silver poisoning during that nasty business. “Yep, still in one piece, thank goodness!”
Oh great. I’d forgotten he had seen Cinnamon maybe twice in the last six months; because of the show, he hadn’t had his face rubbed in our troubles like the rest of us. So we’d be processing this all again. Well, great, we were here to reopen old wounds anyway.
“So,” Cinnamon said, as Alex put her down. “Mom says you spins fire. And can fly!”
“I certainly can and do firespin,” Alex said, “though I’d call it floating with style.”
I grinned—that was how I’d described Jewel’s performance at the Crucible. “That’s fair,” I said; I’d seen Alex do essentially the same trick, though for a far shorter duration, and with considerably less height. Still . . . “But it’s far more spectacular than you’re letting on—”
“Yeah,” Cinnamon said. “Fire magic is super awesome. We went to this show at this place called the Crucible or something—”
“I love the Crucible—” Alex began, grinning at me as Cinnamon rolled on.
“—and these guys called the Fireweavers or something ended their show with this super spinny floaty fireball thingy done by this cute fat chick Mom likes called Jewel—”
“You saw the Princess of Fire?” Alex said, impressed. “What a treat, Cinnamon! Jewel Grace is a real artist. She’s definitely old school, but she’s got awesome technical skill and killer style to go with it. I’d love to pick her brains—”
“I’ll see if I can arrange it,” I said. At Alex’s baffled look, I said, “Jewel’s a . . . friend.”
“She’s Mom’s new giiiirlfriend,” Cinnamon said, with a toothy grin.
“She is not,” I said testily. “She’s . . . just a friend into fire magic.”
“You’re not kidding,” Alex said. “Jewel’s more into fire magic than anyone.”
Oddly, it disturbed me to learn even Alex knew about Jewel’s skill—independent corroboration of her knowledge meant I’d have to consider her ideas about the curse even more closely. And then it struck me—Alex was the friend into fire magic I’d known longest.
“Speaking of that,” I said, “since you are officially my oldest friend into fire magic, can you teach me about it?”
“What?” Alex said, grinning broadly, a bit too broadly, like he was sucking up to me. “You want to be a firespinner? It certainly would go with the whole dragon theme—”
“Well, no,” I said, laughing. “I’m just a tattoo artist. I saw some . . . interesting fire magic last night, and I was hoping to pick your brains about how it was done.”
“Dakota,” he said, reproving but with a touch of the snake oil returning to his voice. “Going from pillar to post? If Jewel didn’t feel comfortable telling you, I can’t tell you either. It isn’t nice to ask a magician to spill his own secrets, much less spoil someone else—”
“Hold on,” I said, raising my hand. “First off, we practitioners call you stage magicians illusionists—but I wasn’t asking about the secrets of your stage magic. I’ve seen you do real magic with fire, and that’s the kind I’m asking about—”
“Dakota,” Alex interrupted, a little more sharply, a little more honestly, “yes, I am a fire magician, but . . . our art is not public knowledge. The Order’s secrets are passed on only to initiates, and if Princess Jewel didn’t see fit to tell you something, I certainly can’t.”
My eyes narrowed. That was the second time that he’d called Jewel a “princess,” and I was starting to think it wasn’t just a stage name. That disturbed me, but, on the other hand, I was known in vampire circles as “the Lady Frost,” so who was I to talk?
“Well,” I said, “while Jewel was not exactly forthcoming, she claimed to be as stumped as I was about that little business in Union Square—”
“Oh, Jesus. Don’t tell me you cast those dragon spells? You’re smirking. Oh, my God. That was you. That ginormous dragon projectia was amazing—and so that was you, flying? I know I hover, but I didn’t think magically powered human flight was even possible—”
Fascinating, how much magic he knew, but still . . . I had a hard time unpursing my lips.
“Well, ah, thank you, Alex,” I said, wiping my smile
off, “but it’s the fire mandala that was a bit more baffling. Cinnamon thinks it was little more than a big lighted sign, but Jewel seemed to think it might be a curse, but she wouldn’t say much more than that.”
Alex looked like was about to speak, but when I said Jewel wouldn’t say more, he folded his arms. “I’m sorry, Dakota,” he said uncomfortably. “Jewel was there, and saw it better than I did. If the Princess didn’t see fit to tell you, I shouldn’t speculate either. I could be censured.”
I stared at him. “Princess” had to be more than a stage metaphor. Was it a fireweaver rank? Still . . . “Alex, come on. It’s the twenty-first century. Magic is out in the open now. We’ve even worked problems like this on the Council, when you bother to attend, that is—”
“We are in preproduction for the new season,” Alex said, with a sharp wave of his hand. “I take the MSC seriously, but I was clear to both you and the Wizarding Guild that my actual job comes first. Until the Guild wants to start paying me, like, a lot, I am tied up when the show is running.” He relaxed a little. “Yes, it is the twenty-first century, but this is fireweaving. This is my art. I swore an oath to keep its secrets, Dakota. You know how it is.”
“No,” I said, “I don’t know how it is. That’s why I’m asking—”
“Look,” Alex said, frustrated, “surely when you became a skindancer—”
“We don’t have “secrets for initiates,” we have a newsletter for practitioners,” I said. “My old master Arcturus is practically throwing himself at me to pass on his knowledge.”
“Maybe so,” Alex said, “but still, I have to walk a tightrope already, being a wizard and running a show aimed for skeptics. Hell, we hired Jacob Dauntless because there were things I just can’t touch. I thought you, of all people, would understand following the rules.”
I pursed my lip. “OK, let me rephrase my life mantra. I follow every good rule.”
“And who decides what rules are good? You?” he asked. “That’s very relativist—”
Liquid Fire Page 17
