Eve of Destruction

by C. E. Stalbaum

  “Books? You mean spellbooks?” Danev asked, the hairs on the back of his neck abruptly standing up. No, that wasn’t what they were talking about and he knew it.

  “Her journal,” Eve said. “The one where she wrote down her dreams.”

  Danev nodded and did his best to keep his expression cool. That journal, the one that might have held more dangerous secrets than every presidential safe box combined…

  He licked at his lips and suddenly found them parched. “Not to belabor the point, but why ask me?”

  Eve took a deep breath. “Because she left me a note, Mr. Danev. She never delivered it, but I found it in her room. It said that if something happened to her, I needed to find you and give you her journal. She said you would know what to do with it.”

  Danev sunk deeper into his chair as the stream of old memories washed over him. Tara had only been eighteen when they first met, but even then the instructors at Valmeri believed she was special. Some went even farther than that…

  He’d been skeptical at first just like all of their friends. But after a few years with her all those doubts had been neatly swept away.

  Then everything had changed. And judging by the look on Eve’s face, she had no idea how. Her mother must never have told her, which probably shouldn’t have surprised him. He knew how much Tara had regretted some of the decisions she’d made back then. If he’d ever had children of his own, he probably wouldn’t have told them about all the things he’d done back then, either.

  But if Tara was dead and her journal had been taken…well, then maybe it was time to break that silence. Unfortunately, it meant her daughter’s life was about to get a lot more complicated.

  “We need to talk, but not here,” Danev said. “Please, come on upstairs with me.”

  ***

  Danev’s business was as fascinating as it was sleazy, Amaya Soroshi thought to herself as she settled into her “pampering room.” She’d been able to select from a wide range of options and décor in her personal suite, but she’d tried to keep it as tame and in-character as possible. Her cover was simple but passable: a Talami businesswoman on an overseas expedition to meet some of the up-and-coming new Industrialists. It had worked well enough so far, but she was still annoyed the ruse was necessary at all.

  Their assassins on the train had failed. She never received a wire from them at Olastown, which probably meant they were dead. She wondered idly if DeShane’s mysterious protector had struck again, or if perhaps the young girl had fought them off herself. Ultimately it didn’t really matter. The moment Amaya had arrived in town yesterday she’d quickly gotten to work preparing their next ambush. Danev’s place of business seemed like the obvious place to start, and she’d already scouted the building and gotten a feel for the employees and their routines.

  Amaya dropped her purse on the ridiculously plush mattress and smiled faintly. Last night had been an interesting experience, to say the least. As a trained yohisha, she had spent years cultivating various useful interpersonal skills from the art of conversation to the delicacy of dance…and some more intimate techniques that were occasionally useful. She had a hard time believing Danev or his associates possessed any comparable training, but she couldn’t argue with the quality of their service. The men in his illusions were quite effective, to put it mildly. They knew exactly what to say, how to move, and what to touch. It was almost impossible to believe they weren’t real—but then, that was the point. It wasn’t hard to see why this place was so popular.

  The evening’s entertainment was scheduled to start soon, but this time she wasn’t going to be here to enjoy it. She slid off her bulky professional dress and corset, leaving only the tighter bodysuit she had underneath, and then slinked over to the door. Her prior scouting had revealed only one viable option for her to move about the building without interference, and it would be dangerous. She dropped into a combat stance by the door and waited.

  Perhaps two minutes later a gentle knock wrapped against the wood, and an attendant slipped inside carrying a tray of food and beverages.

  “Ms. Hashi, I have—”

  Amaya dropped the other woman with a swift chop to the throat and even managed to catch the tray in the same motion. She set it down on a nearby dresser before hopping on top of the attendant and knocking her unconscious. Killing the hapless woman outright was an option, but it wasn’t necessary. Amaya preferred not to bloody her hands if at all possible. Sadly, that was becoming more difficult every day she worked for Chaval.

  She pulled out one of the poisoned needles she kept in her hair and stabbed it into the attendant’s neck. It wasn’t lethal, but it would keep her unconscious for several hours, and that would be more than enough. Amaya set to stripping off the woman’s clothes and found that her visual estimates from yesterday had been about right—they were nearly the same size. The outfit was meant to be more elegant than revealing, which wasn’t surprising given the gender of the clientele. Like any truly great illusionist, Danev cultivated a certain image with the mundane as well as the magical.

  Amaya got dressed and slipped into the hallway. The costume wouldn’t pass against any of the other employees, of course, but it really didn’t have to. Danev ran with a small, tightly-knit staff of other magi, which meant they were almost always dealing with a client or at the very least too busy to wander the halls looking for trouble. Amaya was more likely to run into a customer, and in that case her guise would pass just fine.

  A few discreet inquiries around town had revealed that Danev ran his “other” businesses from an office on the top floor, and Deshane would end up there eventually. Amaya just needed to get into a position where she could overhear what they were saying. Chaval wanted information, and that’s exactly what he was going to get.

  Once Amaya knew what they were up to specifically, then she could decide whether it was worth leaving any of them alive.

  Chapter Five

  In some ways, Gregori Danev was exactly the man Eve had expected. The very notion of a “brothel owner” conjured up some less-than-flattering images in her mind, and some of them definitely panned out with the man in front of her. He was heavyset, for one, and had a moustache thick enough to hide half a dozen small animals inside it. His coat, suit, and hat were all a gleaming, pristine white, which wasn’t fashionable anywhere in the world as far as she knew. He completed the ensemble with a fancy black cane that had to be purely cosmetic given how little weight he was putting on it.

  But appearances aside, he seemed far too cultured for this line of work. Two minutes of conversation with the man had revealed that much. Eve just wondered what was so important that he wasn’t willing to speak about it downstairs. The entry foyer wasn’t exactly what she’d call private, but it hadn’t been crawling with people, either.

  She and Zach followed Danev upstairs, and she couldn’t help but admire the subtle elegance of the whole establishment. The floors were a nicely polished wood, and the walls held a variety of art she imagined was expensive. Red was the color of choice, from the paint to the furniture.

  Perhaps the most striking thing, though, was the smell—or rather, the lack thereof. She figured a brothel would reek of flesh and sex, but that wasn’t the case. She started to wonder what Danev actually did here, and Zach must have been thinking the same thing.

  “Not to be rude, Mr. Danev,” he asked delicately, “but what kind of business is this, exactly?”

  The man smiled as they walked down a long corridor on the third floor. “The Pampered Goddess provides erotic entertainment to exclusively female clientele.”

  Zach blinked. “Entertainment? I don’t see any…”

  “Whores?” Danev asked, eyebrow cocked. “There aren’t any. My staff prepares food, cleans the rooms, and weaves illusions, but they are definitely not prostitutes. We can provide almost any stimulation our clients desire.”

  Zach glanced to Eve, then back to Danev. “So it isn’t real?”

  “It’s as real as you want
it to be, my boy. My clients can’t tell the difference, and that’s all that matters. Here there are no risks of disease, pregnancy, or judgments of any kind. I respect their privacy and their wishes, no matter what they happen to be fond of.”

  “You know, if you advertised that more,” Zach said, shaking his head, “the Dusties might not hate the magi so much.”

  Danev grunted as he reached down to open the door at the end of the hallway. “You might be right. Please, have a seat and make yourself comfortable.”

  The room was much larger and the decorations more elaborate than downstairs. Six plush chairs and two couches rested at the center, and a full-size bar dominated the other side.

  “But you only serve women, huh?” Zach asked. “Surely some of them ask for…well, other women.”

  “They ask for all kinds of things. But before you ask, no, I don’t have any male clients, and you won’t be the first.” His eyes flicked over to Eve. “Besides, I’m not sure your friend would approve of that, anyway.”

  He snickered, and she slapped his arm lightly.

  “We’re just friends,” she insisted, doing her best to ignore the sudden flush in her cheeks.

  Danev’s eyes glimmered in amusement. “Ah.”

  He sat down on one of the couches and gestured for them to do the same. Eve sunk into the chair and crossed her legs, then almost jumped out of the seat when a second man soundlessly followed them into the room.

  “That’s Aram, my bodyguard,” Danev added quickly. “You’ll have to forgive his lack of manners.”

  “I apologize if I startled you,” the man said in a cultured Esharian accent.

  Eve nodded awkwardly and tried to force herself to relax again. One look at the bodyguard, however, convinced her it wasn’t worth the effort.

  He was tall and well-muscled without being bulky, not so different than Zach. That was, however, where the similarities ended. Aram’s cold gray eyes matched his dead expression, and he moved with the lethal grace of someone who could crush a man’s neck in the blink of an eye and not think twice about it.

  No, she definitely wasn’t going to be able to relax with him in the room. At least not until she was certain they were on the same side…and maybe not even then.

  “Sorry to move us like that, but this office is considerably more private,” Danev said. “I’ve gotten a touch paranoid in the recent months, what with the increase in gang violence.”

  “I certainly can’t blame you,” Eve replied.

  Aram sat down in one of the open chairs. It was such a mundane thing, and yet somehow he looked awkward doing it. She noticed Zach watching the other man carefully, and she wondered dimly if he’d seen many men like this before in the service.

  “If you don’t mind my asking, did you take up your mother’s calling at Rorendal?” Danev asked.

  “No,” Eve said, shifting her attention back to their host. “I’m studying sorcery, actually.”

  “Impressive,” he commented. “I suppose that is one positive side effect from this ‘Age of Innovation’ we’re living in. Now more than ever people are interested in explaining the world around them. They want to know how it all fits together.”

  “I find it fascinating,” she said.

  “I never had the mind for it, personally.” He pressed his lips together in thought. “I ask because I’m curious how much you knew about your mother’s talents.”

  “I know she had dreams. I didn’t realize until recently that some people thought they were more like premonitions, or that a few members of the church actually thought she was the Prophetess.”

  “I wondered how much she’d told you about that,” he said pensively. “I expected not much, given all the things that happened to us when we were younger.”

  Eve raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

  Danev took a deep breath and rubbed his hands together. “I suppose if Tara sent you here then you ought to know. There were decidedly more than a few people who thought your mother was special. Myself and her other friends back at Valmeri might have been the first, but we weren’t the last. By the end of our tenure there, the Exarch herself paid Tara a visit.”

  “The Exarch,” Zach breathed. “I thought she rarely left Esharia?”

  “She only leaves for rare visits to the major Edehan temples or in response to a particular crisis,” Danev said. “In this case, she wanted to confirm whether or not your mother was the Varishal.”

  Eve frowned, a knot twisting in her stomach. Mr. Maltus hadn’t mentioned anything about the Exarch, but if he was there at Valmeri, then he surely would have known about it. So why hadn’t he told them? She looked over to Zach, and she could tell he was thinking the same thing.

  “So what did the Exarch say?” Eve asked, her voice sounding especially hollow.

  Danev grunted. “She never told us one way or another.”

  Zach cocked his head. “Huh? How does that work?”

  “There are politics involved, even within the church,” Danev said sourly. “You have to remember that the Exarch position was originally created by the Kirshal several centuries ago. She created the Enclave at the same time. In principle, the church would act as the spiritual leaders of the people while the Enclave defended them. By divine edict, however, both would have to cede their authority to the genuine Prophetess.”

  “So if they admitted her mother really was the Varishal, then she would have been in charge,” Zach reasoned. “And I’m guessing neither the Exarch nor the Enclave wanted that.”

  “I’m sure that’s putting it mildly,” Danev murmured. “On one hand, I can hardly blame them. The Kirshal herself was a legendary figure, the one who restored the soul of Edeh and cleansed the Fane. Even most skeptics grant her that much. But the notion of this Prophetess is much more nebulous. There’s no precise test or anything like that. I wouldn’t be surprised if most of the clergy saw it as a parable rather than literal, like the Tarnsday Nymph or any other holiday myth.”

  “That’s on the one hand,” Zach prompted. “What about the other?”

  Danev eyed the younger man for a moment before smiling tightly. “The other is that I actually met Tara, and anyone who knew her at all had no doubts left in their minds. Tara DeShane was the Prophetess.”

  Eve looked over to Zach again, and the knot in her stomach continued to twist. It was too much to take in at once. Visions of the future, a mysterious journal, the legend of the Prophetess…it was completely surreal. And it was made even worse by the fact that her mother had never once mentioned any of it.

  “Predicting the future is right up there with immortality as far as hopeless aspirations go,” Zach said into the silence. “But if you’re saying she really could do it, then that journal would be worth a fortune.”

  “It would be priceless,” Danev agreed. “But if you’re looking for motive, Tara has been keeping a journal for decades. The question is why someone chose to take action now.”

  “And who,” Aram added. Despite being so worried about him at first, Eve had almost forgotten he was there.

  “It could be the Enclave,” Zach suggested. “Maybe your mom did something to make them mad.”

  “No,” Eve said. “It was Chaval. It had to be.”

  Danev shrugged fractionally. “He’s certainly the obvious choice. We’re standing on the cusp of the most important election in the last fifty years, maybe since Independence. If the Industrialists win—and right now it appears they will—all of us will be in great danger.”

  “They’re insane. There will be anti-mage lynch mobs marching through the streets.”

  “In some places, it has already come close to that,” Danev said gravely. “But Simon is not insane—ruthless, certainly, but he is a calculating man, and that makes him much more dangerous. I suspect he might have believed your mother knew things that could unravel his plans or maybe even expose something from his past.”

  Zach leaned forward. “Simon? I take it you know him?”

  Danev�
�s face twitched ever-so slightly, and Eve wondered if that name drop had been a verbal slip. “I haven’t seen him personally in many years, but yes, I knew him once,” Danev said. He paused and eyed both of them carefully. “So did your mother.”

  “What?” Eve asked. “When?”

  “At Valmeri,” he told her, leaning back in his chair and nodding at Aram to get him a drink. “He was part of our social clique at Valmeri. She never told you about that?”

  Eve shook her head. Maltus had mentioned Valmeri. He had said he, mom, and Danev had been a part of that group, but he hadn’t included Chaval in it. And now that she searched her memory, she realized he had, in fact, tip-toed around the issue quite expertly.

  Two thoughts immediately popped into her mind, and Eve wasn’t sure which was the most harrowing—the fact that her mother had known Simon Chaval, Industrialist leader and demagogue…or that Glenn Maltus, their longtime friend and neighbor, had lied to them about it.

  “I knew that’s where she went to school,” Eve said, her throat suddenly dry, “but I never knew anything about her friends. She definitely never mentioned anything about Chaval.”

  “We were a tightly-knit bunch, once,” Danev said wistfully. “All of us were youthful and motivated as people that age tend to be, and we believed the lot of us would change the world. We even called ourselves the Valmeri Seven. It seems a little silly now, but at the time it was…fitting.”

  Zach frowned and folded his arms across his chest. “What do you mean ‘change the world?’”

  Danev smiled wearily as Aram handed him a glass. “It was a different era. The Polerian War had just ended and thousands of men and women our age had been slaughtered—few magi, of course, but lots of torbos. People were frustrated with the government and the treatment of returning soldiers, and riots were growing more and more frequent. We felt like something was about to break, and we were frustrated that our instructors, especially the older ones, just didn’t seem to get it.”