I rose, stepped to one side, not taking my eyes off Martin. He brandished the monkey’s paw at me. “Die. Die!” He snarled in rage. “Why not? Why isn’t it working?”
“It’s working,” I said quietly. I could feel a surge of magic building from inside the item, slow but inexorable, like a rolling wave. I began backing away along the ridge. Martin didn’t seem to notice; he stood in the edge of the cone of light from the torch, shaking the monkey’s paw. “No, no, no. Not now, not now. Work! Have to work!” He stared down at it. “You promised. Do it. Come and do it.” The monkey’s paw sat silently and Martin’s voice rose to a scream. “Come out! COME OUT!”
Something came out.
I can’t remember what it looked like. It’s not that I didn’t see it; I did. But when I try to remember, all I get is a blank. I don’t think it was the light. I think my mind got one glimpse and shut out the rest, like tripping a circuit breaker. I don’t know why and I don’t want to. Even my curiosity has its limits.
I ran. Behind me I heard Martin start to shriek, a high, horrible sound with no trace of sanity. I ran down the slope as fast as I could, every trace of my attention on the two or three seconds of footsteps ahead of me as the shrieking continued. Cool air whistled around me, the grass swishing under my feet. The shrieks rose in pitch and intensity, then abruptly cut off. The echoes rolled out over the Heath, fading into silence.
I kept running and didn’t look back. I reached the edge of the Heath before collapsing against a tree, my lungs on fire and my legs shaking. Only then did I dare to look behind me. The Heath stretched out into the night, dark and empty.
I sucked in a deep breath and started running again.
It was after three A.M. when I got home. The new window gleamed orange in the streetlights as I unlocked my front door with shaking hands. Once I was inside with the door closed behind me, I felt a little better. I went upstairs, stripped off my clothes, and took a shower.
I stayed under the hot water for a long time, letting the water wash away the sweat and the cold. Once I was warm again I towelled myself dry and went to my bedroom. I got halfway across the room and stopped.
The monkey’s paw was resting on my bed. The cylinder was open just a crack, the inner tube pulled out half an inch but not quite enough to reveal what might be inside. I stood looking at it for a long time. “So you’ve come back,” I said at last.
The monkey’s paw sat quietly. Carefully I picked it up, and carefully I walked out of my bedroom, being very sure not to jar the cylinder and slide it open. I opened the door to my safe room and placed the monkey’s paw on an empty space of table, well away from everything else. I looked down at it, then walked out, switching off the light.
Behind me, in the darkness, the monkey’s paw snapped shut with a faint click.
Seeing Is Believing
I was already moving, but I wasn’t fast enough. By the time I’d gotten the little marble out of my pocket the gun had gone clack three more times. The suppressor muffled the shot so that the loudest noise was the metallic sound of the action cycling and the thud of bullets chewing through flesh. The man shot Anne a final time as I threw the marble, and the man watching their backs had only time to flinch before it shattered against the wall.
The marble was a one-shot—effectively a single spell with an activation trigger. This particular one was a condenser spell, and as the crystal shell holding the magic in stasis broke, mist rushed out to blanket the area in fog. The cloud was only about forty feet across and it wouldn’t last long, but for a minute or two anyone in that area was blind.
Except me.
taken
BENEDICT JACKA
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) • Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England • Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) • Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) • Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India • Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) • Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
TAKEN
An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Ace mass-market edition / September 2012
Copyright © 2012 by Benedict Jacka.
Cover photographs: London © Roy Bishop / Arcangel Images;
spiderweb © Uraydnikov Sergey / Shutterstock.
Cover design by Judith Lagerman.
All rights reserved.
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375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
ISBN: 978-1-937007-72-0
ACE
Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
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ACE and the “A” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
chapter 1
chapter 2
chapter 3
chapter 4
chapter 5
chapter 6
chapter 7
chapter 8
chapter 9
chapter 10
chapter 11
chapter 12
chapter 13
chapter 14
chapter 1
The Starbucks in Angel is on the corner of the busy intersection of Pentonville Road and Upper Street, set deep into the offices around it with a glass front that lets in the light. The counter’s at ground level, but climbing to the second floor gives a view down onto the high street and the crowds streaming in and out of Angel station. Opposite the Starbucks is Angel Square, a huge, sprawling, weirdly designed building checkered in orange and yellow and topped with a clock tower. The clock tower looks down onto City Road, a long downhill highway linking Kings Cross and the City. It was eleven A.M. and the morning rush was long past, but the roads and sidewalks were still crowded, the steady growl of engines muffled through the glass.
Inside, the shop was peaceful. Two women in work clothes chatted over their lattes and muffins, while a stolid-looking man with greying hair hid behind his Times. A student sat absorbed in his laptop while three men in business suits were bent over a table full of spreadsheets, their drinks forgotten. Music played quietly over the speakers, and the clatter of cups and coffee machines drifted up from the floor below. And near the window, chair turned to watch b
oth the street and anyone coming in, was me.
I like the Angel Starbucks for meetings. It’s easy to reach, there’s a nice view, and it’s just the right balance between public and private. Usually it’s quiet—most of the trendy people prefer the cafés north along Upper Street—but not so quiet as to give anyone ideas. I’d probably like it even more if I drank coffee. Then again, given how much people like to complain about Starbucks, maybe I wouldn’t.
I’d already checked out the surroundings and the other customers, so when the woman walked into the shop downstairs I was free to focus on her. There are two ways of getting a look at someone with divination magic: You can look into the futures of you approaching them, or you can look into the futures of them approaching you. The first is better if you want to study them; the second is better if you want advance warning of what they’re planning. I chose the first, and by the time the woman stepped onto the second floor I’d been watching her for nearly a minute.
She was good-looking—really good-looking, with gold hair and sculpted features that made me think of old English aristocracy. She wore a cream-coloured suit that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe, and everyone in the room turned to look as she passed. The three men forgot about their spreadsheets, and the two women put their chatter on hold, watching her with narrowed eyes. Her heels clicked to a stop as she looked down at me. “Alex Verus?”
“That’s me,” I said.
She sat opposite me, legs together. I felt the eyes of everyone in the room comparing the woman’s outfit with my rumpled trousers and sweater. Now that she was on the same level I could see that it wasn’t just the heels, she really was tall, almost as tall as me. She carried nothing but a small handbag. “Coffee?” I said.
She glanced at a slim gold watch. “I only have half an hour.”
“Suits me.” I leant back on the chair. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re after?”
“I need—”
I held up my hand. “I was hoping you might introduce yourself first.”
There was a brief flash of irritation in her eyes, but it vanished quickly. “I’m Crystal.”
I already knew her name. In fact, I’d gone out of my way to find out quite a bit about Crystal in the two days since she’d contacted me requesting a meeting. I knew she was a Light mage, one of the “nobility” with lots of connections. I knew she wasn’t a player in Council politics, although she had friends there. I knew the type of magic she could use, where in England she was based, and even how old she was. What I didn’t know was what she wanted me for, and that was what I’d come here to find out. “So what can I do for you?”
“I expect you know about the White Stone?”
“The tournament?”
Crystal nodded. “Isn’t it due to start soon?” I said.
“The opening ceremony will be this Friday,” Crystal said. “At Fountain Reach.”
“Okay.”
“Fountain Reach is my family home.”
My eyebrows went up at that. “Okay.”
“I want you to help manage the event,” Crystal said.
“It’s very important that everything goes smoothly.”
“Manage how?”
“Providing additional protection. A diviner would be perfect for that.”
“Right,” I said. I’ve run into this a lot lately. People hear about my background and assume I must be a battle-mage. Now it’s true that I’m a mage and it’s true that I’ve fought battles and it’s even true that I’ve fought battle-mages, but that doesn’t make me a battle-mage myself. “I’m not really a bodyguard.”
“I’m not expecting you to serve as a battle-mage,” Crystal said. “You’d be more of a . . . security consultant. Your role would be to warn me of any anticipated problems.”
“What sort of problems?”
“We’re expecting over a hundred mages for the tournament. Initiates and journeymen, including a number of Dark representatives.” Crystal clasped her hands. “There’ll be competition. It’s possible some of the participants will carry grudges off the piste.”
It sounded like a recipe for trouble. “And stopping them will be . . .”
“There’ll be Council battle-mages present. We’re well aware of the potential for trouble. There will be sufficient security. We just need to make sure the security is in the right place at the right time.”
“You haven’t received any warnings or threats?”
“Nothing like that. There’s been no suggestion of trouble so far, and we’d like your help to make sure it stays that way.”
I thought about it. I’ve usually steered clear of Light tournaments in the past; my teachers thought they were a waste of time and on the whole I agreed with them. But if initiates were there, that changed my feelings a bit. Trying to protect adult mages is a thankless task, but apprentices are another story. “What exactly would you be expecting me to do?”
“Just to keep an eye on the guests. Possibly some investigation if anything comes up. We’re particularly concerned about keeping the younger apprentices safe, so we’d been hoping you could help with that.”
I started to nod—and stopped.
Crystal looked at me. “Is something wrong?”
I kept still for a second, then smiled at her. “No. Not at all. You mentioned investigation work?”
“Obviously, some mages are more likely to make trouble than others. We don’t have anybody we’re especially suspicious of, but it’s likely things will crop up to turn our attention to someone. When they do, it would be very helpful if you could find things out for us about them. Their background, connections, that sort of thing.”
“I assume the place is staffed?”
“Oh yes, the servants will handle all that. You’d be considered one of the guests.”
“And you said the opening ceremony was on Friday. The guests will be arriving on what, the same day?”
“Exactly.” Crystal was relaxed now; the interview was going well. “We’re expecting the first guests by the morning, although of course the sooner you can arrive the better.”
“And regarding payment?” I thought about cash, as soon as possible.
“Future service, as usual. Though if you’d prefer something more tangible that’s perfectly acceptable.”
“When could you arrange payment by?”
“Immediately, of course.”
“Well.” I smiled at Crystal. “That settles that.”
“Excellent. Then you’ll be able to come?”
“No.”
The smile vanished from Crystal’s face. “I’m sorry?”
“Well, I’m afraid there are a couple of problems.” I leant forward casually. “The first issue is that I’ve had a lot of approaches like yours over the past few months. And while they all looked good on the surface, the last couple of times I’ve said yes they’ve turned out to be . . . well, let’s just say I don’t feel like a repeat performance.”
“If you have a prior engagement I’m sure we—”
“No, we couldn’t. Because the second problem is that you’ve been reading my thoughts ever since you sat down.”
Crystal went very still. “I’m afraid I don’t follow,” she said at last.
“Oh, you were very subtle,” I said. “I’d guess most mages wouldn’t even notice.”
Crystal didn’t move, and I saw the futures whirl. Flight, combat, threats. “Relax,” I said. “If I was going to start a fight I wouldn’t have told you about it.”
The futures kept shifting a moment longer, then settled. “I’m sorry,” Crystal said. She brushed back her hair, looking remorseful. “I shouldn’t, I know. I was just so worried you’d say no.” She met my eyes, entreating. “We need someone as skilled as you. Please, won’t you help?”
I looked back at Crystal for a long second. “No,” I said at last. “I won’t. Good-bye, Crystal.”
Again the smile vanished from Crystal’s face, and this time it didn’t come back. She watched me without expression for a long moment, then rose in a single motion and stalked away, heels clicking on the floor.
I’d known Crystal was a mind mage, but even so I hadn’t noticed her spell. Active mind magic like suggestion is easy to spot if you know what to look for, but a mage who’s good with passive senses, reading the thoughts that others broadcast, is much harder to catch. The only thing that had tipped me off was that Crystal had been too neat. In a real conversation no one tells you exactly what you want to hear.
That last reaction had made me wonder, too. In between her magic and her looks, it occurred to me that Crystal probably wasn’t very used to not getting her own way. I’d better be careful around her if we met again.
I noticed suddenly that everyone in the shop was watching me. For a moment I wondered why, then smiled to myself as I realised what it must have looked like. I left my drink on the table and ran the gauntlet of stares as I walked down to the ground floor and out into the London streets.
* * *
I never used to get offers like these. A year ago I could go weeks at a time without seeing another mage. In magical society I was an unknown, and all in all that was how I liked it.
It’s hard to say what changed. I used to think it was because of that business with the fateweaver, but looking back, I get the feeling it was more to do with me. Maybe I was just tired of being alone. Whatever it was, I got involved in the magical world again and started getting myself a reputation.
Although not necessarily a good reputation. I got the fateweaver against some stiff competition, making a couple of very powerful enemies in the process, one of which came back to bite me five months later. A Light battle-mage named Belthas was trying to get sole ownership of a very nasty ritual, and when I tried to stop him it came down to a fight. When the dust settled, Belthas was gone.
Alex Verus Novels, Books 1-4 (9780698175952) Page 56
