“Hey!” Simon protested.
“Shut up. Rhianna, deal with them.” She nodded at the crowd gathering now that the fight was over, a combination of other patrons and restaurant staff. More than one of them was on the phone. “Maybe Simon has a license for this taser.”
“It’s not a taser,” said Simon sulkily. “It’s a channel. I’m the taser. Oh,” he said, catching on. “I do have—” and he fumbled out his wallet. Rhianna and Marley both converged on him.
Branwyn tuned them all out, focusing on the ruined weapon. She couldn’t save the woman. She was useless with people. But she could damn well do something about broken things.
She concentrated on the weapon, activating all her cultivated magical senses, and realized with a start that it was made of silver. That made sense when she thought about it, but it must have taken a lot of work to maintain the edge. No wonder Simon loved it so much. How could you help it when something required that degree of care?
Studying the lines of Geometry running through it, she noted where they’d frayed apart and stroked along them, smoothing them back together. It was slow going and her rage at Severin sustained her while she worked. After the basic structure of the weapon was repaired, she paused to consider the rest of it. The lines could be intensified, if she concentrated. She found, when she peered closely, that she could see the sharpness. There was something…
Digging into her pocket, she pulled out the Machine Key, laying it on the table beside the knife. The tendrils of the Machine Key unrolled as she touched them, merging with the surrounding Geometry. One sank into her chest, and one wrapped around the knife.
Branwyn smiled. With the knife side by side with the Machine, she could see just what to do. She pinched the lattice of the knife here and there, until she found the heart of the weapon. It pulsed under her fingers, long, slow, hissing beats. She placed one palm on the knife’s heart, and touched a finger to the Machine Key. A spark of light ran up her arm, through her chest, and down into the knife. The tangle of lines under her palm expanded—
Somebody shook her by the shoulder, hard. “Branwyn! Branwyn, you’ve got to put that thing away, or we’re going to get into even more trouble.” It was Marley. But Branwyn was almost done. She ran her fingers over the node she’d created, smoothing it like the inside of a clay pot.
She was still so angry. The knife was a small thing compared to all that Severin had done. She pressed both hands over the node now, the sharpened blade slicing into her fingers. The knife felt her rage, shared it. It felt the mark on her skin as a brand on its own metal and tasted her hunger to even the scales.
It woke up.
Branwyn’s breath hissed out as she felt the flicker of awareness, dim cousin to the demanding, alien intellect of the Machine itself. The hints she’d seen in the lines of the metal had all come together to produce this awareness. This desire.
Distantly, she heard Rhianna say, “I’ll do it, then,” and her hand came toward the glowing Key.
That snapped Branwyn out of her creative fugue. “No!” She dropped the knife and snatched up the Key before Rhianna could grab it. The light—the actual light, she realized, visible to anyone who looked—radiating from the Key, the knife, and herself vanished. “Don’t touch it. It’s powerful. I don’t know what it would do to you now.”
“It’s powerful? Really? We never would have realized. It was glowing, Branwyn. And so were you.” Rhianna crossed her arms. “Are you done? We need to get out of here, right now.”
“Where’s Simon?” Branwyn stuffed the Key in her pocket and picked up the knife. To her ordinary vision, it looked just as it had when Simon had first pulled it out. It had a bit more of a shimmer, a bit more of an edge, maybe.
“He’ll meet us outside. Can you move?”
“Of course!” said Branwyn indignantly. She stood up and did her best not to sway. It was just that she had been so focused. She hadn’t been aware of her surroundings at all.
Rhianna eyed her. “Still want to recover Jaimie?”
“Hell yeah. Did Simon say he knew where to find them?” She thought she remembered something like that, through the fog of emotion Severin had raised.
“Yes, he did.” As they moved toward the door, watched by a number of extremely curious people, Rhianna said, “People got videos. Hope you’re looking forward to being famous.”
Branwyn stretched her shoulders as they stepped outside. “The net is clogged with videos of people doing amazing things right now. A glow is nothing. A kid’s CG club project.”
Darkly, Rhianna said, “We’ll see. It looked pretty spooky to me.”
“Well, it’ll fit right in with all the faerie videos, then.”
“Is this what you’ve been learning on the other side of the door? With your faerie friend?”
Branwyn shrugged. “Yes. Indirectly.” And as Branwyn said it, she realized for the first time that she’d been working as if she was in her studio in Underlight. In the Backworld, where manipulating the dreams of matter was much easier than manipulating matter itself. When she’d tried to work on the acrylic casing of Hunter’s Machine fragment in the real world before, she’d had no traction. Either she was getting better, or working on the Key was changing her.
*
***Miracle rescue***
Views: 1,567,892
It’s a windy, cloudy day over a grey river. There’s a bridge just at the top of the frame, and the old railing has been bent out. There are people shouting nearby. A man’s voice behind the camera says, “Oh my god. A minivan just went off the bridge. We saw it fall. It just sank. The water is so cold. This woman, this woman, she just stood up from beside the river and walked into the water. She didn’t even swim. I don’t know, I don’t know…” There’s a siren in the distance, getting closer. The camera is jostled and lowered for a moment. There’s splashing, then more splashing, then somebody shouts.
The camera is jerked up again. A diver that had just waded into the water is backing out again. There are ripples on the river surface. First one head, then another rises out of the water. “Holy Mother of God,” says the cameraman’s voice. Two women slowly climb out of the river, walking rather than swimming. One of them is wearing torn clothes and looks dazed. Her nose and forehead well with blood. She is holding the hand of the other woman. That woman is smiling faintly, and in her free arm, she’s holding a sleeping baby while another child clings to her back. None of them are gasping for breath.
The child slides down, crying, and the woman hands the baby to a uniformed man before turning and kissing the mother she saved on the forehead. Then she looks around, as if startled by all the attention, pulls away from grabbing hands, and vanishes into the growing crowd. The video drops to the ground, then cuts to black.
-twenty one-
“I’ve thought of a problem,” announced Marley. The five of them lurked near a hedge outside the square three-story building that Simon swore was where Rime was taking her victims. And Simon insisted it was “victims,” not just Jaimie. It looked bland and soulless to Branwyn, almost completely indistinguishable from the buildings around it.
Branwyn winced. “Of course you did. Lay it on us.”
“Well, I was thinking of this poem. La Belle Dame sans Merci. It’s about a knight enchanted by a faerie. And even when she’s left him, he’s unable to do anything else but wait for her.”
Simon crouched nearby, looking at his knife. He hadn’t stopped ogling it since Branwyn had handed it back to him and she wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or creeped out. But now he glanced up. “Hey, Keats.”
Marley nodded, then her thought process visibly derailed. “Did you know him?”
“Naw, but his daughter’s a sweetie.” Simon glanced at Branwyn, then hurriedly said, “So, uh, yeah. What about La Belle Dame sans Merci?”
“Well, if she’s enchanted Jaimie, won’t he just go back to her if we drag him away?”
“Oh.” He considered. “Yeah, probably.”
“How do we get the enchantment off him, then?” Branwyn demanded, looking between Simon and Marley. “There has to be a way to break it.”
“Well, what you have to do is disrupt her power. Kill her via a spirit tether, or mess her up enough that she can’t maintain the enchantments anymore.” He surveyed the building. “Could be tricky if we’re looking to get her hostages out alive and you want to do this right now. Give me a couple of months to stalk her and it’d be much easier.”
“We’re not waiting a couple of months to get Jaimie back,” said Rhianna flatly. “There must be another way.”
“Well,” Simon drawled slowly, clearly hesitant to suggest a long shot. “You could always… ask her? Convince her to let him go? She can remove her own enchantments whenever she wants.”
“Can’t you do something, Marley?” appealed Branwyn. “Like you did with Penny?”
“Because that worked out so well,” said Marley darkly. “And I don’t know. What the angel did to Penny wasn’t an enchantment or a charm. He was inhabiting her until Penny wouldn’t let him attack me directly. There was a constant flow of energy between them that my magic interrupted. And for all we know, she still loves him now. In any case, I can’t do anything unless the target wants me to,” she finished bitterly, glaring at Branwyn.
Branwyn stuck out her tongue. “If we have to fight, lots of people will be screaming for help, me included. You’ll have your chance. All right, we’ll try talking to her. Rhianna—” she looked at her sister, “Uh, never mind, you hate her too much. I guess I’ll talk to her. Marley and Simon can cover me. Rhianna, you and Howl find Jaimie and see if you can at least convince him to get out of the building.”
Howl asked quietly, “What about the rest of the band?”
“What?” Branwyn blinked at her little brother.
“It’s a recording studio, Branwyn, not a penthouse. She’s got Jaimie, she’s probably got the rest of the band. Are we just going to leave them there?”
Branwyn swore and chewed on her lip, staring at the building. “Well, see if you can get them all outside.” She stood up and brushed herself off. The weight of the Key in her pocket was a comforting reminder that she could do things now. She wasn’t just a bystander. She’d gotten involved as an actor instead of a pawn.
There were consequences, of course.
She would just have to deal with them.
She headed into the building, the others following her. The ground floor was an elevator lobby with only a pair of people talking earnestly at one of the couches. Seeing them made Branwyn uneasy somehow; one was raggedly dressed, with wild hair and a silver flute that he twiddled between his fingers as he listened to his companion, a long-haired man in a plaid shirt who was gesticulating wildly. She didn’t know either of them.
The button plate in the elevator declared that the second floor was the home of Coastal Professional Audio. She stabbed it, then had to hold the door open as Howl lagged getting onboard. “What now?”
“Those guys—”
“I know.”
“How many—”
“I know.” The doors slid closed and Branwyn tried not to think of the face of the hostess who Severin had dragged off.
A moment later, the elevator doors opened onto another lobby area. This one was smaller, heavily decorated with band memorabilia. It was also crowded full of musicians. They lounged on the black leather couches and tuned their instruments in stray corners and crammed around a buffet set up along the line of darkened windows.
Branwyn gritted her teeth and stepped out of the elevator, ignoring the sounds of dismay from behind her as they saw what she had. So there were a lot of people in Rime's studio. That didn't mean they were all being magically compelled. She was there for Jaimie.
Then she paused to take in the room again, spending a few minutes watching more closely this time.
Most of the inhabitants of the couches seemed to be sleeping rather than just lounging, like they were so exhausted they'd dropped off where they were, or hadn't been allowed to go home. And it wasn’t just people with musical instruments there, either; she saw several people toting video cameras and a couple with extremely large laptop computers. Every so often, somebody got up and walked through one of the four doors lining the wall opposite the window. Once, someone came out and immediately went to an occupied couch, where she curled up at the end and passed out.
“I don’t see them,” whispered Rhianna. “Do you?”
“Nope,” said Branwyn. “I do see the receptionist, though.” She made her way across the room to where a receptionist’s high desk had been turned into a dessert bar. A woman sat on the other side of the brownie platter, watching something on her phone. She didn’t look up until Branwyn said, “Hey!” but she smiled once she noticed Branwyn.
“Oh, hi. I thought you were here for the brownies. Can I help you with something?”
“What’s the party for?”
“It is kind of crazy, isn’t it? A producer rented out the whole floor for a massive collaborative project. It’s all hush-hush, but there’s some nice sounds coming out of the studios.” She laughed. “I’m one of the only regulars here this week. So what can I do for you?”
“You know if there’s a woman around here who goes by Rime?”
The receptionist looked pleased. “Yep, that’s one of the producers. She’s in Studio Three right now.”
“Thanks,” said Branwyn and turned away. Then she turned back. “She might not like the message I have, so if you hear any screaming, that’s probably what it is. I suggest staying out of her way for a while.”
“Exciting!” said the receptionist, leaning on her elbow to watch Branwyn instead of her phone.
Branwyn beckoned the others after her, aware that she probably shouldn’t have said anything to the woman. She’d wanted to tell her to get out of the building right now, but that rarely worked on receptionists. Her compromise wasn’t doing much better.
There was a light over the door of Studio Three that said Recording In Progress. As Branwyn glanced up at it, it blinked out. That was a shame; she didn't want Rime to think she'd waited politely until the recording was done. Oh well; if she couldn't be really rude, she'd settle for stealing Jaimie back again. She threw the door open.
Beyond was a large, dimly lit studio, with Jaimie and his band in the center of the open floor. They’d clearly just finished performing and were chatting with each other as they cooled down. It was disconcerting. They didn’t seem like they’d been enchanted by a faerie. Branwyn wasn’t entirely sure what she’d expected, but it was something along the lines of large feather fans, peeled grapes, and loincloths, not an analysis of that last bridge Jaimie had played. Rime was in the booth, standing behind two technicians, and they hardly seemed aware of her.
Irritated at the lack of attention, Branwyn put her hands on her hips and took a deep breath.
Howl called, “Jaimie!” and pushed past her to lope over to their stepfather. Marley squeezed around her as well, following him. Annoyed at her own hesitation, Branwyn stepped into the room before Rhianna could show her up. As she did, Rime looked up from her conversation and saw Branwyn. A smile curved the faerie lady’s mouth, and she nodded a greeting.
Scowling, Branwyn stalked over to the booth, Rhianna trailing her. As she approached, she overheard Rime say, “This is excellent. The hook is perfect. With this done—ah.”
The two technicians glanced at Branwyn as she entered, then quickly busied themselves with their work. Rime, though, said, “Welcome, Branwyn. Have you come to join me? Tarn is a bore, isn’t he?”
Branwyn clenched her teeth over her first response, then uncracked her jaw enough to say, “I’ve come to ask you to release Jaimie and the band.”
Rime gave her a surprised look. “Release?”
“You’ve enchanted them, you and I both know it.”
Rime glanced into the farthest corner of the booth and Branwyn realized with a start that there was another per
son in the small room, lounging in the shadows like he was part darkness himself. Another faerie, Branwyn realized, so he probably was part shadow.
“You’re welcome to try and convince them to leave,” said Rime with a sweet smile. “Ah, I see the boy is already doing just that. But you know, with me they really have a chance to stretch their wings. And to find the, ah, appreciation they’ve always craved. It would be unkind, even selfish, to take that away from them, don’t you think?”
“Take your enchantments off them and we’ll have that discussion, sure.”
Rime tilted her head to one side, studying Branwyn. “No, I don’t think so. They’re all happier here with me than they ever were at their previous homes. I’m sorry to say this about your mother, truly I am, but she isn’t the right mate for a musician like Jaimie. A speech pathologist, really? What kind of muse is that?”
Branwyn caught Rhianna’s wrist as the shadow in the corner shifted. Rhianna made a noise, then relaxed, pivoting slightly to watch the shadow. “Oh,” she whispered, and Branwyn glanced at her sharply. The familiar look on Rhianna’s face both worried and reassured her: her sister had identified something she found both important and interesting.
Rime looked at the shadow again, then away. “When you hear what I have here—” she tapped the recording console, “—you’ll see what I mean.”
Blowing out her breath, Branwyn repeated, “Take your enchantments off.” She didn’t know what else to say to convince the faerie woman. “Look, we didn’t come alone. You’ve got something going on here, I can see that. You don’t want trouble. Give us back Jaimie and the band and we’ll get out of—”
“No,” said Rhianna sharply. “They’re all enchanted, Branwyn.”
Branwyn winced, thinking once again of Severin and the hostess.
“They were all perfectly willing to be enchanted,” said Rime, sharpness touching her sweet tones. “They are being paid in more ways than one for their service, and they are being valued far more than most of them value themselves.” She settled herself, running her hands over her silver skirt. “Besides, your sister lies. They aren’t all enchanted, except perhaps by promises.”
Infinity Key (Senyaza Series Book 2) Page 26
