“What’s the other reason?” she asked, without looking back at him.
“Because you can shape this prison we’ve been bound to. It lies alongside the mortal world like a shadow and the dreams and passions of mortals touch it. Those who know how to harness those figments into creative forces have far more control. And a few—” He paused until she turned to look at him “—A rare few, who have honed their skills here under our tutelage, are able to return to the mortal world and shape it directly. The substance of the world becomes malleable under their fingers.” He shrugged. “Or so I understand. It has been a very long time since any of these Artificers studied here and desired to return to the world.”
Giving Tarn a hard look, Branwyn said, “You know, there's a big gulf between casual chat and a formal offer. So let's bridge that gap. Are you offering to teach me how to do this? In exchange for completing a commission for you? A normal commission?”
“Can you do any other kind yet?” he asked innocently.
Her head whirling with sudden possibilities, Branwyn said, “Golly. You know, I need to think about it. Check my schedule.”
“Of course. Go home. Relax. Enjoy your day at work tomorrow. Return when you’re ready.” He looked around, his eyes bright and his expression pleased. “We should be here for a good, long while.”
-three-
When Branwyn got back to the apartment, Marley was already home and cleaning the kitchen like the stove grime represented sin itself and she was determined to hand-deliver the wrath of God.
Ah, not a good lunch, Branwyn thought but carefully didn't say. She flicked a wave as Marley glanced sharply up and hotfooted it to her bedroom. Safely inside, she poked around for a moment while deciding what to do, since Marley was exactly who she wanted to talk to.
Her thoughts were all tangled up between Penny and the angel who had hurt her, and Tarn, locked away from the world, talking about tasting human food with a wistfulness that brought a secret pang to Branwyn's heart. Her own fears of being cast aside as a useless bystander didn't make the knot any easier to work through. And he'd offered her magic! Yet—faeries. Nobody ever said anywhere, “Ach, faeries, they're trustworthy sorts.”
But talking to Marley always helped Branwyn sort things out and decide on a plan of action.
Although she'd have to lure her out of her bad mood first, and not by starting the conversation with, “So, I talked to a supernatural man today, quite the sexy beast, oh, and how was your lunch with two more of those?”
When she emerged again from her room, she held the original letter from Tarn. It still smelled of the ocean. She crossed to the kitchen table and threw it down, then slung herself into a chair and waited for her roommate to come to her.
“What's that?” said Marley immediately, dropping her steel wool and coming to see. “Oh, that.” She sighed and rubbed her water-pruned hands on a towel. “It's probably for the best that he hasn't followed up. Men never keep promises,” she added bitterly. “They can't even pretend to get along for one research-focused working lunch.”
“Actually...” Branwyn watched Marley from under veiled lashes, then shook her head and changed tactics. “The twins did something big, didn't they? When they broke that chain. Something big for the faeries. Maybe something big for the world.”
Marley settled into the other chair. “That's what people keep telling me, even people who won't speak to each other. That the faeries, locked away for aeons, can visit the world now. Visit, but not stay, not while there's two chains of the Covenant remaining.”
“Mmm,” said Branwyn noncommittally. “Have you seen any?”
Marley shrugged. “I can't tell them apart from the other celestials. I've seen a few of those, here and there, from a distance. I haven't tried to get closer.”
“Were they doing anything particularly nefarious? You'd think a whole class of people so bad they were locked away for eternity with no chance for parole would be absolutely terrifying if they got free.”
Marley's gaze sharpened, traveling from Branwyn to Tarn's letter and back again. “Nothing notably awful.”
“Ah, must not have been faeries, then,” said Branwyn crisply, leaning back in her chair. “Murdering angels, maybe.”
Marley blew a wisp of hair away from her face. “Maybe. What's going on, Branwyn?”
Branwyn nibbled on her thumbnail a moment and then a whole slew of words she'd scarcely considered came pouring out. “No matter how I look at it, I can't make it come out square, Mar. Either they're people, individuals, and what's been done to them is awful. Not just imprisoned, but forced to aid their jailors. I saw that angel make Tarn attack you.” Branwyn ran her hands through her hair. This was the thread she hadn't seen in the tangle, the one that made the tangle move in unexpected ways. “Or they're a single monolithic force, in which case I still find myself wondering about the motives of the child-murdering angels who locked them away.” She placed her palm on the letter. “But you know, I'm betting they're individuals. You said you can't distinguish them from the angels and the others. And you practically made that angel cry and beg for forgiveness when you beat him. He felt guilty. Monolithic forces don't feel guilty.”
Marley looked down at the letter again. Branwyn's hand was right over the part where Tarn apologized for abducting her. Softly, she said, “Tarn contacted you again, didn't he.” It wasn’t a question.
Branwyn shrugged, taking her hand away from the letter. “Yes. And I want to find out more about them. I'm glad that the twins gave them a little freedom. I want to see what happens. I feel like something has been stolen from us and I don't know if it's a birthright, or a history, or opportunity, or just the truth.”
“I don't know much more,” Marley said, still quiet. “I can try to find out.”
“I mean, wouldn't that be a good idea? Even if they are the worst of the worst, shouldn't we know more about them? It doesn't seem very likely that the two chains are going to last forever when they thought they needed three. And if they're individuals—” She stopped short of finishing the thought.
“I'll look, I said. Corbin has—” Marley stopped, a faint flush rising in her cheeks. “I can get books from somewhere. There must be something.”
Branwyn scrutinized Marley, then offered her a faint smile and said fondly, “You and books. Research Girl.” She hopped to her feet, energized by her rant. Corbin and Marley weren't even talking, eh? “Well, you read books and I'll go out and kick some ass.”
As she went to the door, Marley called, “Hey—be careful. Even if they turn out to not be as bad as the angels, they're tricky.”
“So the stories say,” said Branwyn lightly. “Being tricky isn't actually a crime, though. Sometimes I'm tricky.”
“Not just the stories, Bran. Tarn played me and that angel both, despite wearing a magical choke collar so tight he could barely breathe. I can't even imagine what he'll do now that it's loosened up.”
“I'll be fine,” Branwyn said brightly. “Besides, this is finally something I can do.”
Marley regarded her doubtfully. “What makes you say that?”
“Because I have an invitation.”
*
Senyaza. Publicly, it was a multinational electronics corporation. Once, it had just been a brand name to Branwyn, but now she knew that it was a nest of wizards and the descendants of angels known as nephilim. Or, as Marley had put it, angels and other things. They had locations all over the world, but in LA, the main building was Senyaza Titan One.
Apparently they employed plenty of humans, too, doing the mundane work of expanding an electronics empire, and they were a decent employer, as far as multinational corporations went. Marley had investigated that right after discovering their secret, trying to soothe Branwyn's usual dislike of large corporations. She liked doing that kind of thing. It distracted her from thinking about her problem boys.
Branwyn thought about Marley's problem boys for a moment. Zachariah Thorne employed Marley to protect his t
wo wards and clearly wanted more. There was bad blood between him and Corbin Adair, once his protégé. It was, Branwyn assumed, a wizard thing. Well, and a Marley thing, because Corbin had feelings of his own.
Branwyn would have been on Corbin's side, partially because Zachariah was a manipulative jerk, except that it was Corbin who thought being human meant she should focus on staying safe and out of trouble. But she was better at dealing with misguided and protective than arrogant and controlling, even if sometimes it was hard to tell the difference. And it sounded like Marley wasn't talking to Corbin at the moment, and Branwyn was impatient. So here she was, staring up at Senyaza Titan One.
She dragged her feet walking to the entrance, though. It would be so much easier if Corbin didn't work for the entity treating Penny's illness as an experiment, if he didn't belong to them by birth. She'd quite like the guy if he was just Marley's human boyfriend. He was smart and friendly, with a touch of the nerd and an interesting dash of intensity. And he was patient, and he knew how to laugh, and how to listen.
But he wasn't human, and neither were his parents or grandparents. He was a third-generation nephil—that seemed to matter quite a lot to him—and he thought of humans as sheep to be protected, or, very occasionally, trained. That made liking him a lot more complicated.
Branwyn forced herself to get moving. There was no point in brooding about it. That never changed anybody's opinion. Instead, she focused on the bright side.
Bright sides: at least he wasn't the kind of corporate drone who thought his employer could do no wrong. He was usually willing to answer her questions, often at far more length than she was interested in. She'd learned that in their brief, disastrous attempt at training her to do more than just use the charms he’d given her. And because he cared about Marley, she had some leverage if he proved reluctant. She was pretty sure that was true even if Marley and Corbin weren’t on speaking terms at the moment. It was all a matter of where you applied the force.
From a distance, the lines of the shining steel and glass building twisted as it climbed into the sky, forming a spiral stretching to the heavens. As she approached, Branwyn joined the steady stream of traffic exiting and entering the building. Inside the atrium-style interior, a waterfall tumbled four stories into a terraced pool lined with green and white tiles, and the air smelled fresh and clean. The first three floors of the Senyaza Titan were dedicated to retail space, with an abundance of restaurants, electronics stores, and a cutting-edge theater. Escalators zig-zagged through the center of the atrium, so that those riding could look out over the whole mall and see how much like a glossy magazine spread it was. It wasn’t the sort of place Branwyn generally shopped; it was too expensive, too artificial, too shiny. The waterfall was a nice touch, though.
Following the instructions she’d been given, she took an elevator up to the fourth floor, emerging into a place that seemed far more than a floor away from the commercial sparkle below. Here, it was all business: subdued charcoal carpeting and sterile prints featuring muted colors and shapes far too abstract to ever offend anybody on walls above uniform maroon couches. Even though the reception area was an irregular wedge-shape, it still had the feel of a place that had been designed by a committee determined not to make waves. Branwyn could feel the creativity draining out of her as she looked around, and she longed to take a can of spraypaint to the insipid art collection and free her soul.
The security checkpoint that looked like something from an airport helped her squash that impulse, though. After pausing to sneer at the little attribution card under one of the prints, she stopped at the desk fronting the checkpoint and flashed a smile at the suited professional on the other side. “Hi.”
His eyes moved to her green hair tied up in a ponytail and her paint-spattered black t-shirt before he said, his voice cool and unfazed, “May I help you?”
“I bet you can. Corbin Adair is expecting me.”
The suit frowned, but before he could say anything, a voice from beyond the checkpoint called, “Branwyn!” A moment later, Corbin himself hopped the low barrier attached to the desk and joined the security suit. The wizard was tall and lean, with untidy black hair and deepset dark eyes. He dressed more like a computer geek than something out of a fantasy movie, in new jeans and a grey button-down shirt. He didn't have a beard or anything, which Branwyn felt was rather letting down the side. He could have at least managed a sinister goatee as a concession to professional standards.
“She’s my guest,” he told the security guard. “I’m just going to take her down to my office.”
The guard pursed his lips—maybe he felt the same way about lax professional standards—and checked the tablet in front of him. “Your office?”
Impatience edged Corbin’s voice. “Special Investigations and Threats Department. Still.” He pulled an ID card out of his pocket and laid it down.
“Ah, yes, you're full-time now. Congratulations, sir.” said the guard, who sounded as if he thought somebody somewhere had made a mistake. “Fill this out.” He slid the tablet over to Corbin and pulled out a stack of temporary nametags. First he scanned the bar code on a blank nametag, then said, “Over here, miss.” She followed him around the desk and stepped through the security scanner. On the other side, he held out an electronic fingerprint scanner.
She balked. “Is this really necessary?”
“Standard guest security, miss.”
She turned to Corbin. “Can’t we just grab a cup of coffee downstairs?”
He scrawled something on the tablet and slid it behind the counter. “Branwyn, I’ve already got charms on you that would let me track you anywhere in the world. What’s one thumbprint?”
“Yes, but I trust you. Okay, that’s a lie. But you’re a person. You’re not a gigantic faceless corporation.”
He gave her a pained look, so she sighed and pressed her thumb against the pad. It beeped, and the security guard pulled the nametag off the device and handed it to her.
“Wear this when you’re in the building.”
“Thank you, Antonio,” Corbin said, joining Branwyn on the other side of the security checkpoint. “I hope you remember my promotion for more than five minutes this time.”
“Yes, sir,” said Antonio impassively.
“What was that about?” Branwyn wondered, not bothering to wait until they were out of earshot.
Corbin shrugged. “Antonio's very good at his job and he doesn't like me very much.”
“By 'his job,' you mean 'being obstructionary'? Because, yeah, I agree.”
Corbin suppressed a laugh. “His job is to protect the people in the office, and it's very, very hard to get past his gate by force, even if you're a celestial. He has… special talents. I think he's annoyed at me because of the wild goose chase I let Zachariah talk me into.” The laughter faded from his voice. “People got hurt and then I got promoted.” His gaze went distant, then he shook his head. “He's right, and I'm trying to be patient with him. He used to bounce me on his knee when I was a kid.”
Branwyn glanced back over her shoulder at Antonio. “He doesn't look much older than you,” she pointed out.
Corbin gave her the same look he'd given the security guard when he played dumb. “Well, he is. Quite a bit older.”
Branwyn thought about that, then decided she didn't want to pursue that line of discussion.
“You never answered my question. Why couldn’t we just meet downstairs?”
“Because you said you wanted to talk about the fae. I don’t want to talk about them in public yet.”
Branwyn snorted. “If anybody overheard us, they’d just think we were talking about a game. Or have I been misinterpreting my brothers’ conversations about an alien invasion all this time?”
He shook his head, but didn’t say anything else. Branwyn looked at him in mock astonishment. “No lecture? Come on, don't hold it in. Tell me about video games or something.”
He rolled his eyes. “Very cute.”
He
guided her down the hall to an elevator and jabbed the down arrow. The row of buttons inside had far more downstairs floors than Branwyn expected, going all the way down to S13. But Corbin chose S4, then leaned against the mirrored wall, crossed his arms, and stared at her, his eyebrows drawn together. “How’s Marley?”
“No idea. She vanished into the Brazilian wilderness with nothing but her cellphone. Guess you’ll have to call her.” She gave him a sweet smile.
He scowled. “Never mind.” The elevator chimed as the doors slid open. The hall they emerged into had a slightly more lived-in look than the reception area above, with framed horror movie posters on the walls. Some of them were signed. He led her past a darkened lounge and into a large room equipped with four ancient, heavy wooden desks pitted with damage and incongruous with the computers perched on top. There was also a long folding table overflowing with an assortment of technological junk and a dozen or so chairs of various styles, including three different swivel types and a Queen Anne wooden one with torn burgundy upholstery. The office was empty except for a single man sitting at one of the desks, playing a video game of the monster-shooting variety.
“We’re still short-staffed. That’s Simon.” Corbin threw himself into a chair and glared at her as if she was a puzzle he was trying to crack.
Simon paused his game and swiveled around. He had light brown hair and matching eyes, with an Asian cast to his feature, and he looked about the same age as Corbin. After swigging from a bottle on the desk, he said, in a rich British accent, “This isn't your apprentice girl, is it? Her hair seems more... seaweedy… than I remember.”
“No,” said Corbin bluntly, then added, “She's the friend.”
“The unteachable one,” Branwyn added. “I don’t have the aptitude. No, I’m just an innocent and helpless bystander. You know, a human.”
Simon narrowed his eyes at her with an unfriendly, assessing expression much like Tarn’s pet goblin, but then turned back to his game and back to ignoring them.
Infinity Key (Senyaza Series Book 2) Page 3
