DIRE:SINS (The Dire Saga Book 5)

by Andrew Seiple

  That bothered me. Not because I was jealous, but because what he was talking about was essentially rape. And because it raised questions about her and Khalid, questions that I didn’t have to be a supergenius to answer.

  I liked Khalid. I owed Khalid my life. Khalid was a friend. And the thought of that half-dressed half-fae fully-vile temptress using him like a toy distressed me. Made me angry, the icy sort of anger that usually only quelled when the target of that anger was in pieces before me.

  “Well,” I whispered. “Let’s get to her before she does that, or worse, hands him off to Maestro M.”

  Khalid started in alarm. “Go to hell! Maestro’s great!”

  Alpha, Vector, and I shared a look.

  Two minutes later, we finally managed to subdue Khalid and get him back into the chair. Five minutes later, Vector found the appropriate spot in his brain, and a few more, and worked the machinery accordingly. Eight minutes later, I poured Khalid a fresh cup of tea, as Vector blustered apologies. “What? I was scanning for her work, not Maestro’s. Give me a break, I’m dealing with a hell of a headache, here.”

  “Nevermind,” I muttered. “Alright. So, let’s talk about saving Acertijo.”

  “You will, of course, have my assistance. I will need supplies if I am to be of use to you,” Khalid said. “You probably have some of the chemicals I require here, but perhaps not refined in the ways I need.”

  I nodded, came to a snap decision. “Make up a list. Dire will handle it.”

  “I can do that, boss.”

  I glanced over at Alpha. “You need to finish work on your kids. Unless they’re done already?”

  “Well... no.”

  “Kids?” Khalid raised bushy eyebrows.

  “Long story. Alpha can tell you. Besides, Dire needs the walk anyway.” I stood and cracked my knuckles. The cold, rainy gray matched my mood right now. And I needed to get away from the apartment that we’d shared, for so long. Needed to get my boyfriend off my mind.

  After some discussion Khalid got me a list, which I memorized and tossed away the second I was out of the room. Then it was on with a raincoat and umbrella, out the door, and into the heart of London.

  That’s where everything went horribly wrong.

  CHAPTER 11: EVERYTHING GOES HORRIBLY WRONG

  “Harrods has the finest merchandise, and a guaranteed one-of-a-kind shopping experience! At Harrods you'll get everything you deserve, and more!”

  --Rejected Advertisement for Harrods, the famous London retail store, circa 1972

  The place was called Harrods, and it was pretty much the fanciest department store I’d ever been in. It had merchandise of the highest quality, endless halls of fancy stuff, and it also had automated credit check systems that were easy as hell to hack, at least at my level of expertise. Which is very, very important when you’re buying out their entire stock of chemistry sets. In today’s world where bathtub meth is a sad reality, the authorities tend to take a fairly close look at anyone who does that sort of thing. But a fake background as a chemistry teacher, and a flash of a forged charter from an accredited, unquestionable private school settled their nerves to my satisfaction.

  That’s the advantage of luxury places. They don’t ask as many questions, and they’re used to finicky, wealthy clientele. I didn’t have to get into long discussions where I ran the risk of exposing my speech impediment. These are the woes you have to put up with when your alchemist needs a certain grade of sulfur fast, and it’s too late in the day for your usual source of chemicals.

  I arranged delivery to one of the drop points I’d established in the city, tapped my credit card on the reader, then froze.

  Past the freestanding teddy bear display, a clean-shaven man in a business suit was staring at me. His phone to his ear, he listened, nodding, then took a picture of me.

  “Is there anything else we can do for you, Miss Jenks?”

  “No, no, thank you,” I said. “Please ensure prompt delivery. You know how these things go, surprise projects and all.” I smiled, and turned as she opened her mouth to bid me a good day. A bit rude, but no help for it. I didn’t like what I saw in that stranger’s eyes.

  And in the glass of the display case ahead, I watched as he followed me, not bothering to try and hide his interest.

  I kept my steps unhurried, moved to the stairs in the northern part of the toy section, easing through the crowd as if I didn’t have a care in the world. But even if I didn’t, he did. He stepped up the pace, actually bumped into a kid and knocked the pre-schooler over.

  That was when I knew it was serious. That was the height of rudeness, and something that just wasn’t done. Not here. Not by a man in his social stratum. I wasn’t the only one to feel that way, and people turned, started yelling at him. He ignored them and bolted for me and I bolted too, making it to the stairs—

  —and skidding to a stop as I saw the couple below, waiting for me, phones to their ears and smiling. Behind them, people were urging them to move, a store associate was threatening to call security, the people on the stairs were stuck unable to get down, and they didn’t seem to give a shit about their utter rudeness. The woman even waved, grinned a cheeky grin, and pointed behind me.

  I slipped a hand inside my raincoat, found my forcefield generator, and flipped it on. The people nearest me twitched and looked around, feeling the weird crawling sensation that the electron field gave when it powered up. I kept my face neutral and they glanced around... and focused on the suited man, who by this time was straight-arming people out of the way, coming right for me.

  I eyed him, braced myself, and calculated the angles. Catch his arm, twist, then a hip-throw straight down the stairs should just miss the crowd and land him in that glass case down in the gift shop—

  “Doctor!” He called, slowing as he came near, offering his phone. “It’s for you! It’s an emergency!”

  I eyed the phone. I’d killed someone over the phone, once. Targeted sonics, and, well, splat. “Going to transfer you to her phone, there.” I pulled out one of my prepared burners, and held it out. The smiling man tapped his phone to mine, synching up the carrier wave.

  And on the screen, Maestro’s smiling face. “Hello Doctor. You’ve had quite an eventful day, hm? Doctor Dire’s big day, and all?”

  “What do you want?”

  “Lust and Envy back for a start. I don’t know what you did with them, but we’ll start with that.”

  The seconds slowed, and time ground to its slowest setting as my mind raced into overtime, considering the angles, analyzing his meaning, and considering my best course of action.

  Which was, simply enough, to play along.

  “Well, you’re going to be disappointed. Didn’t come all this way to trade your minions like Sorcery cards.”

  “You know, I rather expected you’d say that.” White teeth flashed. And the intercom whined to life around me, as the shoppers perked their heads up.

  And I knew what was coming.

  I threw the burner phone as far as it could go, turned and ran, slid down the staircase. The blocking pair at the bottom stretched out arms to stop me. I caught the man full in the chest with both feet. We went down in a heap but I recovered first, slammed my palm into his face until he let me go, and scrambled away as the woman grabbed at me. And the Maestro’s voice came over the intercom.

  “Attention Harrod’s shoppers! Today we’re running a special on women with a red raincoat!”

  Oh the bastard. Half of my toys were in its hidden pockets, I couldn’t discard the thing.

  Screaming from behind me as I ran, people yelling for security, and I found the escalator blocked by a mob of angry-looking shoppers all holding their phones to their ears. I skidded, turned, and recalled the map I’d glanced over on my way in. Then it was into the bookshop and full tilt toward linens.

  “It’s a nice coat, I’m sure you’ll agree!” Maestro M continued. “So find her and kill her for it.”

  Total, total fuckin
g bastard.

  Everyone in the store that I could see started charging me, most screaming or yelling excuses or incoherent noise. I burst out of the book section, into linens, and hit the escalator from the side, leaping down onto the steps and praying I didn’t turn an ankle. I didn’t, but the landing hurt, and to my surprise I was breathing hard already. Months of the fake-housewife life, finally catching up to me. I was out of shape and paying for it.

  I wasn’t afraid of dying here. That wasn’t going to happen, not unless I got stupid or horribly, terribly unlucky. What I was afraid of, was collateral damage to these poor brain-zapped bystanders. Because I knew what was going to happen here, the Maestro was going to soften me up with everyone he could throw at me, wipe their memories with a word, wipe any electronic records, then blame me for the chaos. His move with the police had shown the extent of his power. He doubtless had agents sprinkled throughout key positions of power and security.

  And once he’d softened me up and taken care of his alibi, he’d send in the real heavy hitters. Worse, we were compromised. I didn’t know how, or the extent of the damage, but if he knew my secret identity I knew he had to know about the lair.

  “Alpha!” I voxed, running down the escalator and bowling down a pair of security guards, “Under assault and compromised. Plan D.”

  “What? Hang on, I’ll teleport you in.”

  “No! He wouldn’t react well. She’s going to stall him.”

  “You sure? I could at least port in some backup...”

  “Positive. Whoops! Busy! Talk later.” I handled the dismount with ease, and kept running.

  Once I hit the first floor I darted left, headed into the perfumery. I’d done well so far, but the architecture of the store was working against me. Big rooms, plenty of visibility meant few places to hide. Large, open archways provided no respite, no doors to shut against my pursuers. Couldn’t just blow a hole in the wall either, not in the middle of London. Someone would die, and that was entirely unacceptable. I had to get to a window or a door, and I knew Maestro M had covered the doors.

  A hand closed around my arm, spun me around. I recalled my sparring practices with Acertijo, leaned into the spin, and swept the legs out from under a very surprised teenager wearing torn designer jeans. Into a perfume display he went, spraying glass and ambergris-based substances everywhere, and oh gods the smell as scents never meant to mix did just that.

  And didn’t that give me an idea.

  I spent a precious second digging out my pocket respirator, jammed it over my nose and mouth and popped the seal, then went on a rampage, slamming into the wall of groping hands surrounding me and knocking them into the merchandise. Bottles broke, vials shattered, and half the crowd backed off, coughing and retching. I hurdled a counter, punched a very surprised clerk, and started chucking bottles at the more strong-bellied of my would-be murderers.

  “Can you patch me in?” Alpha asked.

  “Sure.” I blinked until the HUD in my contact lenses activated, and kicked the clerk as she tried to jam a broken perfume bottle into my knee. Over the counter again and past the hurling, retreating crowd of my tormentors because a fresh wave was coming from the escalator, screaming after me like a gentrified Mongolian horde.

  “Harrods? Seriously?”

  “She didn’t choose the battlefield.”

  “South to luxuries!”

  “Way ahead of you!” I called back.

  I darted around a crowd between me and the nearest window because of course they were, and dashed through a room full of faux-Egyptian architecture, with the god-awful tackiest sphinx statue I’d seen in my life grinning at me. I slowed, paid for it as I took a punch from a beefy guy who got too close. I rolled with it, tasted blood, came up with a metal stanchion. I hit him in the chest with the metal base, driving him back as the stanchion dragged the velvet ropes along and the other stanchions fell with a clatter, making a godawful racket.

  “There she is!” a woman whooped, and I turned and ran, through the tasteful and the gaudy alike, feeling sweat pouring down my face. My eyes were burning as the perfume on my coat sent up what had to be a horrible reek, and my jaw smarted where the bastard had caught me. That was a chipped tooth at least, and a hell of a bruise either way.

  I was doing better than I had any right to, really. They were fresh, and I was tiring fast. But the difference between me and the rest of the shoppers was vast in a lot of ways. I’d been through violence, fought for my life before, knew the fear and adrenaline and chaos of an actual fight. They were fighting like they thought they had to fight, like the movies and television and other media had taught them. I was a tiger among housecats. But there were so, so many housecats, and I had to keep my claws tucked in.

  And there, showcasing the glory of a brand-new sports car, was a window and my freedom.

  My hand dipped into my pocket, came out with my army pistol. Three shots, angled upward to avoid hitting the people outside, and three bullet holes weakened the points I needed weakened. Then it was holster the pistol, charge full speed, and leap and twist in midair, lifting my arms and tucking my head down and shoulder-checking the glass for all I was worth.

  Distant screaming, at my gunshots I presumed. The discordant crash of shattering glass. Pain in my shoulder because it was a bit thicker than I’d estimated, and damned if I didn’t feel another line of pain across my unwounded temple. Couldn’t call it that any more, I supposed. Well at least I matched on both sides now. But I made it through the glass, so I counted it a victory. Through the glass, bouncing off something that yelped and gave way, then onto the pavement, rolling and feeling a fresh new crop of bruises announce their presence.

  I lay there for a second. Shouting nearby, someone calling for help, and a pair of hands on my shoulder, as some Samaritan told me to hang on. At least they weren’t trying to kill me out here. Not yet, anyway.

  Pop.

  The forcefield flickered.

  Pop, pop.

  More flickering. It was sniper fire, I knew. Silenced, too.

  “Back off!” I yelled, staggered to my knees, and stiff-armed my would-be rescuer. Getting him back, getting him clear of the shots. Too late, as he stepped out of my field’s radius at the wrong second. His eyes went wide, and his blood splashed on me, candy crimson in the light of the streetlamp.

  The streetlamp!

  I reached into my raincoat, as bullets spattered from my field, marking the seconds with flicker flashes as the crowd backed away from me, turned to run. And I pulled out my universal remote.

  Green letters filled my HUD as it went online. I pointed it at the streetlights, and turned them off, one by one, plunging the street into darkness, save for the passing automobiles. Blinking until my night sight engaged as I moved, slipping away into the shadows, moving north. Brompton road, that was what we were on. I could follow it up to Knightsbridge, then Grosvenor and Vauxhall and the bridge...

  The bridge.

  He’d been willing to sacrifice a department store full of civilians to get to me. Odds were he’d prepared something big, flashy, and horrible for the bridge if I turned that way.

  I weighed my options, decided to go for a fakeout. As traffic slowed I pointed the universal remote at passing shipping vans, clicked until I found one that was remote-enabled. I charged through a lane of traffic, hit the door, thankful for the left-sided cars for once. I tore the door open, jammed a taser into the side of the very surprised driver, then shoved him to the side and slid into his seat.

  I clicked on the remote, told the car to drive, and started transferring gear. I didn’t know how Maestro was tracking me, but he’d brought up the raincoat so the smart move was to ditch it. Besides, it was bloody now, and I didn’t have time for a proper cleaning. This next part would require me to blend in with a packed crowd for a little bit.

  The last of my devices went to my sweater and jeans, and I pulled out a chempack, tossed the raincoat in the back of the van, and dumped the chempack’s contents ov
er it. Bubbles, hissing, and a chemical odor told me it was doing its job. I’d gotten this recipe from a reliable black-market source a few months back; if it worked as advertised then it would cleanse my DNA from the garment.

  The thought occurred to me, as a perfectly good coat melted, that I had a source who might be able to clarify how Maestro was currently tracking me. “Alpha, put Vector on.”

  I nudged the van through traffic. It was slow going, thanks to the panic and the darkness and the fleeing bystanders, but progress was progress. And the lack of sniper shots hitting my field told me I had the respite I needed. I slumped over the wheel, panted as my muscles throbbed. No more soft living, I promised myself. Jogging. Every day, jogging, good cardio, and a workout. Not an insane workout like Acertijo’s, but something sensible. And maybe a little less pie.

  “You wanted to talk to me?” Vector asked.

  “Yes. Maestro managed to ID Dire’s civilian face and location. Do you know how he’s doing it and how to stop it?”

  “That’ll be Sloth. Just use whatever you used to block him before.”

  Sloth.

  The Sin we couldn’t find. Oh fuck.

  “Vector, Dire has no idea who Sloth is, or what he can do.”

  “Wait, how is that possible? The implications... oh shit. Oh shit oh shit.”

  “Calm yourself.”

  “No! This is not a good time to be calm! This means that the only reason you’ve gotten this far is because he was okay with you getting this far!”

  A chill ran down my spine. It had been easier than I expected. Even this, this wasn’t as nasty as it could have been. A tight spot, true, but I’d been in worse. The logic took me to the most likely conclusion, and I knew it to be true.

  Maestro M was playing with me.

  I ran a hand through my hair. “Vector. What does Sloth do.”

  “Jesus, no, I have to get out of here. I knew this was a... okay, okay, put down the knife. Fine. Right, I’m stuck, I get it.”

  Alpha. Or Janissary. I smiled. “You’re actually free to go once we’re clear of this. But it sounds like we’ll have to take care of Sloth to get clear of this. So answer the question; what is Sloth’s deal?”