The Red King

by Jenn Stark

  “There are several reasons,” Armaeus said. He released my hands with the slightest squeeze, then stood again, strolling over toward the terrace wall. Below him, the party continued apace. “First, Budin had made his anger with the magicians’ senate quite plain over these past several weeks. He wanted to be given due credit for his improved abilities, and no one wanted to give him the forum he needed to perform.”

  “He does seem like kind of a needy dude,” Nikki said.

  “Secondly, Budin knew more than anyone suspected about Greaves and Marrow,” I put in. “He shared that information with an outsider. Me. That might not have gone over so well, though I don’t think it’d be worth killing a man.”

  “It might not have been, but then he got caught up with the Black Elixir.” Death made a face. “Stupid of me not to have figured this out before that sample you gathered from the drug dealer, but I’d only seen the effects on the dead, not the living. And I hadn’t seen it at all in its pure form.”

  I turned to her. “Is that really possible, that it’s demon blood?”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Nikki waved her hands in front of her, and locked eyes with me. Two heartbeats later, she grimaced. “Gotcha. So Black Elixir is black because of demon blood. That’s just gross. And how exactly do you get a demon to donate its blood?”

  “That’s an entirely different problem,” Death said, her lips twisting. “But, at least we know this technoceutical is definitely not the result of someone preying on children. I wouldn’t even mind the hit the demons are taking, except for how badly it jacks up humans, who will simply never leave well enough alone.”

  I raised my own mental barriers carefully to keep my thoughts to myself, at least for the moment. I still had Lorenzo the dark practitioner’s offer to process, and I didn’t quite know how to present that yet. And there was also the problem of what the High Priestess had intimated.

  “How many of you were in Venice already?” I asked. “I didn’t summon you from across the globe.”

  “You didn’t,” Armaeus said. “Though I do believe you could have. We were staying…locally enough.”

  “Locally.” Suddenly, I remembered the golden circuits I’d seen among the guests. “You were here. Like, here, here. In costume.”

  “I was not in costume,” Eshe advised frostily. “I was asleep.”

  “It is customary for a quorum of the Arcana Council to attend the Magicians’ Ball that marks the announcement of the magicians’ alliance.” Armaeus tugged his cuffs. “Normally we come in exclusively for that event, but given the unusual circumstances surrounding this year’s event…we came early.”

  I stared at him, suddenly remembering the menagerie. Specifically, the skill with which the illusion had been rendered. “This palazzo is yours?”

  “It’s one of several properties the Council holds here,” Armaeus said. “Rarely used, but it comes in handy when we need it.”

  “No wonder the prelate hasn’t had access to it for so many years,” I mused. “And that explains why he was able to get it at a moment’s notice this year.”

  “He thought it best if no one knew the precise method of his acquisition of such a prime location. I thought it expedient to cater to his pride.”

  I swung my gaze back to the High Priestess, unable to let her comments go. “So let me get this straight. You were asleep when the, um, summons came. My summons.”

  “I was.”

  “Wearing amethysts.”

  The flash in her eyes betrayed her. “Not all of us require demon’s blood to read the future,” she said, her chin high, and suddenly, the dots connected for me. Before her ascension to the role of High Priestess, Eshe had been a Greek oracle of high renown, quite possibly the actual Oracle of Delphi, though she’d never a hundred percent come clean on that. And she’d apparently read the future…and seen me.

  “You knew I was going to be injured?”

  “I knew you were going to rashly put yourself in danger to save a human who was beneath your dignity,” Eshe sniffed. “I decided I should probably be prepared. I was. When you arrived on the terrace, Kreios was able to lay you down on a bed of amethysts to draw the poison out of your system. Armaeus was able to hold the darkness of the Nul Magis toxin at bay until you could accept healing.”

  “And Death?”

  Eshe sniffed. “She was here specifically for the human. She hates parties.”

  “I’m going to need to go back down there,” I said.

  “You are,” Armaeus said. “Budin, for his sake, would be better served spending the rest of the night out of sight, and ideally the next two days. He believes most sincerely that a specter has moved into his home, and I am inclined to believe him. We are dealing with a magician of great strength, and unfortunately, a magician that we currently have no way to identify. There are simply too many people who have been exposed to the influx of magic to know how it affected any one person.”

  “Uh-huh.” I sighed, sitting back in my chair. And how are we going to figure that out in time for the Magicians’ Ball? That’s only two days away.”

  “We aren’t, my dear Miss Wilde.” Armaeus arched a winged brow. “You are. As Justice of the Arcana Council, you are our righteous hand. We may support you, but we cannot replace you. Both for the sake of the position and the sake of your personal safety, it has to be you.”

  I stared at him, then cut my glance around the terrace. Four sets of serious eyes stared back at me, while Nikki’s eyes were filled with pride and more than a little worry.

  I stared at my hand, the one that’d taken a blow dart full of souped-up demon’s blood. “I’m so asking for a raise.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “I find myself somewhat at a loss for why we’re here.” Armaeus’s dry comment carried over the breeze as we approached the Casino of Spirits from the water, and unlike the rest of the pleasure boats and water taxis surrounding us, we angled toward the private dock with a sense of purpose. Two days had passed since the Spectacle, and the grand Magician’s Ball was supposed to occur in this very place, later tonight.

  But I wasn’t here to party, quite yet. Armaeus stood beside me on the water taxi in what I supposed he considered casual wear—a cotton shirt fine enough to have been spun by the hands of angels and a pair of trousers that draped so effortlessly, they no doubt cost as much as the taxi we were on. Still, he’d gone along with me without any hint of objection until now.

  “Aw, c’mon. Afraid to spend some alone time with me?” I fluttered my lashes. I wasn’t very good at it, but I deserved an A for effort.

  “Simon has already downloaded and cross-referenced the contents of the library, comparing it against the older, rarer texts we have at our disposal,” Armaeus continued, ignoring my baiting. “He found no significant discrepancy in the translations, nothing redacted beyond normal loss of data to be expected with books that have no doubt been damaged and retranscribed countless times. There’s nothing here that we don’t already have.”

  “Good.” I’d thought as much, in the wee small hours of the morning as I chased the last vestiges of the Nul Magis around my system. The faintest shadow of the magical concoction lingered, more to taunt me than to cause any danger, and I was almost glad of it. If I’d been easily rid of its taint, I would have discounted the drug altogether. The fact that it remained in my system nearly two days later, stubborn and cloying, had been enough for me to pay careful attention to everything I’d seen and heard since I’d set foot on Venice’s shores. “How long has it been since you’ve been inside the Casino’s library?”

  “It can’t even be called a proper library,” Armaeus sniffed. “The collection they have on display is only a fifth of their total inventory.”

  “That’s what Alfonse said.” I glanced at Armaeus. “He totally has a magician crush on you. You know that, right?”

  “The prelate is not the most powerful of the magicians in the senate, but he’s undoubtedly the
smartest. And, it would appear, the most discerning.”

  “Well, there he is. Try not to make him faint.”

  We pulled up to the dock of the Casino of Spirits, and as he had a few days earlier when Nikki and I had accompanied Count Valetti, Alfonse was waiting for us at the top of the ancient stone steps. But unlike that time, he didn’t merely have one acolyte at his side. No, this time, fully a half-dozen men in long tunics and trousers stood watching as we reached the pier, their excitement a palpable wall of energy pulsing toward us.

  “Hmmm,” Armaeus said, surveying the crew. “These are men of some ability but no training.”

  “I suspect they’re going to want your autograph. Try to keep them busy for, what, at least a half hour?”

  “What?” Armaeus slanted a sharp glance down at me, then his mouth twitched. “You brought me along as a distraction?”

  “You have proven to be an excellent distraction so far. And I need to get into the library alone to poke around.”

  “I assure you, you’ll be vastly disappointed by what you find in there. The books are nothing more nor less than what they appear to be.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe. But I still need to look. And I need you to keep Alfonse panting after you while I’m doing that. On the other end of the property, ideally.”

  “Hmmm,” Armaeus said again, this time more noncommittally. But I could tell his mind was turning over the possibilities as he returned his gaze to the eager young initiates. The Magician might be a solo practitioner, more comfortable locked up in his glass-and-steel fortress than he was interacting with the great unwashed, but he wasn’t immune to adulation. Very few demigods were.

  “Welcome, welcome,” the prelate practically gushed as we stepped off the boat. He gave me the briefest of salutes, then turned his full attention to Armaeus. “I’m so glad you were able to visit today, Signore Bertrand. It was all I could do to keep the attendants to this select group of our most promising new practitioners in Venice. They, of course have heard about you, and—”

  “And I have been deeply remiss in my absence from your fair city for so long,” Armaeus acknowledged, his rich, rolling tones striking the prelate temporarily mute. The men surrounding him looked equally poleaxed, and I struggled not to roll my eyes. “I would very much like to see the preparations for tonight’s Magicians’ Ball, but I brought Justice Wilde along for some quiet study in the library. To assist with her recovery.”

  “Oh!” The prelate turned back to me even as I schooled my expression into one of wan Post-traumatic Magic Disorder. I’d been feeling pretty chipper, but of course, Alfonse wouldn’t know that. He’d known only that I’d taken a barb intended for Budin—who was still out for the count, though for far different reasons. I didn’t know if Budin was having such a hard time detoxing from the demon blood or getting over his up-close-and-personal brush with Death. “Forgive me, Justice Wilde, I didn’t even ask. You are so very strong.”

  “It’s okay, I’m much better, really,” I demurred, flicking my third eye open to survey Alfonse’s circuits as he dithered over me. From everything I could tell, he remained Johnny Straight and Narrow. He was concerned about my illness, embarrassed more than a little, but otherwise, his emotions read as completely guileless. I recognized that a not insignificant part of me wanted him to be guileless, however, and that made me uneasy.

  I managed a slight tremor in my hand as I gestured to the building behind me. “The Magician was so interested in seeing the changes here, and I thought I might spend some quiet time in rest and meditation—perhaps in the library? While you show him all around?”

  “The library! Of course.” The prelate’s eyes flew wide at the prospect of having the Magician to himself. He turned eagerly to one of his acolytes. “Please show Justice Wilde to the library and ensure she is comfortable, then return to us immediately. We will start in the Grand Hall, and I know you will not want to miss any of that conversation.”

  “Of course, Your Grace,” murmured the unfortunate man who was designated my tagalong. He politely gestured me toward the beckoning entryway as the prelate made an attempt at small talk about the weather with Armaeus, but as soon as we’d crossed the threshold into the Casino of Spirits, I turned to the initiate and smiled, reaching out to touch his arm. I didn’t miss his jolt as my deliberate pulse of energy shot through him. His eyes widened, and I knew immediately that the prelate had not shared with any of his people who I was or how powerful I was. It was possible Alfonse didn’t know that last part, sure. It was more likely that he couldn’t wrap his head around the concept of anybody being more powerful than the Magician.

  Either way, his single-minded focus on Armaeus was all to the good as far as I was concerned.

  “I’ve been here before,” I said, infusing the words with ultimate confidence. “I know my way around. It’d probably be best if you returned to the prelate.”

  He blinked at me. “If you’re sure? The library is all the way down this hallway, a door to your left flanked with—”

  “One black column and one white column, yes,” I said, giving him another winning smile. “I appreciate your reminder, but I can find it from here, truly.”

  I didn’t even need to push him mentally. My words were enough, combined with his very obvious interest in returning to the prelate and the Magician. I watched him disappear down the corridor and back into the light with a soft smile that I couldn’t help. How long had it been since I had been that eager to learn something new? To head off on an adventure into the unknown, uncertain of anything but my own ability to see my way through whatever reached out to hit me?

  Well, okay. That was pretty much every day for me too.

  I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out my Tarot deck.

  As I made my way down the corridor toward the library, I shuffled the cards. The same way it had the first time I’d been here, the casino’s spirit struck me first and foremost with its age. This was a little odd to me, because it wasn’t really that old a building. I’d been in crypts that dated back to the dawn of civilization. By comparison, this building from the sixteenth century might as well have been a Wendy’s.

  And yet, there was something indelibly sad about the souls that haunted the Casino of Spirits, for all its history as a house of ill repute back in the glory days of Venice. Perhaps that was the problem. Before, it’d been a place to go and drink and laugh and party, while now it was the province of shuffling priests and murmuring acolytes. I could almost understand its yearning for a return to another time, another era, when life was so much simpler.

  I paused as a rush of cold air shivered through me. There was something in that realization, I thought, something important. The pull of the past was figuring very strong on the present terror of the Red King.

  Up ahead, I could see the flanking columns at the end of the long hallway, and I flipped the topmost card almost haphazardly, knowing what I’d draw. This time, I was right: the High Priestess. Seeing her last night had jogged something in my memory, and not only because she was rocking some serious stones of healing. Eshe considered herself the bastion of esoteric learning within the Arcana Council. While the Magician cared about the magic that moved the world around us, Eshe’s province was more the magic that moved the world within. The mysteries of the future, the realm of possibility, the hidden lore of secrets and unspoken desires.

  Which was all too close to how the prelate and Valetti had described this collection of library books. Seeing the High Priestess now in the deck reassured me that I was on the right track. The answers I needed would be in the library. But I didn’t think I’d find them by scrolling through the card catalog.

  The door to the library was unlocked, and I slipped inside as quietly as possible, shutting it behind me. It closed with an audible click. I debated finding some way to block it, to ensure that I’d have as much time as possible to myself. In the end, I opted against anything obvious. There was no point in causing any al
arm or, more importantly, tipping my hand.

  I moved across the room, bypassing the long table and heading directly for the shelves that lined the far wall. There were several doors cut into the wall, each of them locked tight. I turned and surveyed the rest of the room, noting the sunlight as it played over the dust motes in the air. The room was brighter than I remembered it, almost cheerful in the morning light, and I noticed this time around that the windows were topped with stained glass transoms, which threw colorful patterns into the far corners of the room. I stepped up to the monks’ table, settling in a chair as I spread the deck in an arc in front of me. When I was on a job, I rarely took the time to do a focused read. Most of the time, I was forced to check the cards as I was running for my life or about to do something relatively stupid. But now I took a deep breath and expelled it, drawing my fingers across the deck with a movement almost of reverence.

  Around me, the room seemed to press inward, though not oppressively. Almost as if the very stones yearned to feel the touch of magic unlocked by the presence of these cards. The cards and someone willing to ask them a question.

  “That’s right,” I murmured, “What’ve you got for me? What am I missing that I need to understand about the magicians working at dark purposes within Venice’s ancient senate?”

  Without pausing again, I reached out and selected three cards, flipping them in front of me on the table one at a time. Then I drew in a soft, startled breath and looked around.

  The first card was more one of reassurance, I thought: Death.

  While not too many people in the world would consider that a card of being on the right track, I’d seen Death not twelve hours earlier, and she’d been instrumental in my efforts so far, helping Budin get back on track. In a more general sense, the Death card meant transformation, but I didn’t think that signified in this case. No, the most interesting elements to this card were the image of a skeleton riding upon a white horse, carrying the standard of a single white rose. I glanced back to the doors lining the room, each of them surmounted with a carved flower, symbolizing one of the sacred flowers of Italy.