Bring the Fire (The Wisdom's Grave Trilogy Book 3)

by Craig Schaefer

“You won’t get paid,” she told Nyx.

  That stopped the hunter in her tracks.

  “It’s a joint contract,” Marie said. “That’s what they told us. Isn’t that right? You have to get me and Nessa, or you don’t get paid.”

  “This one doesn’t have to kill you both at the same time,” Nyx replied.

  “You don’t get it. Ask anyone who was at Vandemere. Nessa is gone. Forever. She disintegrated along with the King of Rust when they killed each other. You know what that word means? Disintegration?” Marie chopped the air with the flat of her hand. “No body. She’s dead, but good luck proving it. It doesn’t matter what you do to me: you won’t get a single red cent out of it.”

  Nyx glanced back to Alton. “Is the prey correct?”

  “Does it matter? I’ll pay you myself, out of my own pocket. Kill the little bitch.”

  Nyx sniffed. She folded her arms.

  “It is not a matter of coin. It is a matter of prestige. This one makes her name by fulfilling bounties. A bounty that cannot be fulfilled is a waste of this one’s time.”

  He fumbled in the breast pocket of his jacket, tugging out a slim, squat-nosed pistol.

  “Fine,” he grumbled, “I’ll do it myself.”

  The apartment door opened. Marie turned, about to shout a warning for Janine to run, but her roommate wasn’t home.

  Calypso entered, with Caitlin at his side.

  “See what I mean, baby?” Calypso pointed to Alton and Nyx. “Give a man a taste of power, and it goes right to his head. Some people just can’t handle their high.”

  Alton scowled at him. “The hell are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same, daddy-o.”

  “I’m doing what you couldn’t, obviously.” Alton took shaky aim, framing Marie in the sights of his gun. “Cutting the loose ends. Paving my way to the White House.”

  Calypso reached into his own jacket. He came out with a cellophane packet and a gold-plated lighter. He shook out a cigarette.

  “I had a long, hard think about things, thanks to a little help from a friend.” Calypso nodded at Caitlin. “Made me realize something. See, I’m all about the stories. Souls may be my stock in trade, but stories make the world go ‘round.”

  “And this is how hers ends,” Alton said, still aiming at Marie. His finger brushed the trigger.

  “Well, see, that’s my problem. Because that’d be a low-down and dirty way to end it. I couldn’t abide an ending like that. So I suppose I’ve got to do something about it.” Calypso turned to Nyx. “Sweetheart? Alton’s in violation of his contract with me. I’m calling it due. The bounty is live, and I’ll pay your usual fee. Ought to make up for what you’re losing on Marie and her dearly departed.”

  Alton’s eyes slowly went wide as Nyx turned toward him.

  “You—you can’t mean that,” Alton said. “We had a deal!”

  “Sure did. With clearly stated terms that you agreed to. Signed in blood, no less.”

  He dangled the cigarette between his lips, lit it up, and tucked the pack and lighter away. His hand emerged with a slim, folded piece of parchment, bound with a scarlet wax seal.

  “You chose the terms, you agreed to ’em, and you broke ’em when you went behind my back, baby.” Calypso shrugged. “That means you get nothing. Nothing but your final reward. And believe me, it’s exactly what you deserve.”

  “But what about you? Your reputation, everything you staked on getting me in! You’ll be ruined, you dumb bastard!”

  “Suppose I will,” Calypso said. “Nyx? Take him.”

  Alton leaped off the futon. Marie threw herself to one side, diving out of the way as he opened fire. His bullet drilled into the backsplash over the sink, spitting powdered tile onto a pile of dirty dishes as Marie’s shoulder slammed against the fridge. He didn’t get another shot. Nyx’s hand lashed out, grabbed his gun hand, and gave it a vicious twist.

  His wrist shattered. Shards of bone tore through the skin, jutting out and gleaming scarlet as he screeched in pain. Nyx dragged him close and clamped one hand over his mouth.

  “This one finds the screams of humans often delightful, but in this case, irritating. Compared to what is waiting for you in hell, this is like crying over a stubbed toe.”

  She yanked him off his feet, dragging him backward, toward the open door of Marie’s bedroom. The last thing Marie saw were his bulging eyes, his red, sweaty face and look of absolute terror, before Nyx hauled him out of sight.

  A wave of heat boiled across the threshold, carried on a shifting crimson glow and the crackling roar of an open furnace. Then came the sound of an iron door clanging shut, swallowing the light and the sound all at once. The heat wave broke against Marie’s skin, leaving a thin film of sweat in its wake.

  “Suppose we should leave you be,” Calypso said. He gestured to the bullet hole in the backsplash. “Sorry about that.”

  Marie stood there, mute.

  “Just one thing,” Calypso added as he turned to go. “You got all the look of a woman thinking about cashing in her chips.”

  “I’m still here,” Marie said.

  “For now. But I know how thoughts creep in, in the small hours of the night. And all that pain you’re carrying around? You might be tempted to make it all go away with a bullet or a bottle of pills. Now, seeing as I just saved your life, I think you owe me a favor.”

  “Which is?”

  “Wait,” he said. “I know stories, see. And when I look at you…I see one that isn’t quite finished. Not just yet. So wait for it. You’ll know the real ending when it gets here.”

  “Do you know something I don’t?” Marie asked.

  “Nope. Wish I did, wish I could tell you so, but no. I’m just a humble gamblin’ man, and a gambler has to believe in hope. Always room for a twist ending, right?”

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll wait.”

  Marie never broke her word. So she’d wait. She felt a bit of strength in that resolution. Something she could cling to, something to keep her standing on her feet.

  * * *

  Calypso and Caitlin left. Caitlin spoke for the first time once they were out on the landing, door closed at their backs.

  “That was kind.”

  “That was dumb and self-destructive, and you know it.” He puffed his cigarette and eyed the contract in his hand. It ignited in a sudden gust of flame, like flash-paper lit by an invisible match. He tossed the last scrap from between his fingers and watched it turn to black ashes, drifting to the dirty stair runner.

  “Not mutually exclusive concepts,” Caitlin said.

  “True. True. So. Let’s see how fast word travels.”

  He took out his phone and dialed up his favorite restaurant.

  “Hey, friend. Webster Scratch here. Listen, I was wondering if you could rustle up a couple of seats for tonight. I’ve got a—”

  They hung up on him.

  He hit another few numbers. An electronic voice told him that his line of credit had been shut down for non-payment. Another refused to admit his account ever existed. Fontaine picked up on the fifth ring, the hunter’s New Orleans drawl drifting over the line.

  “Son, you stepped in it.”

  “Word travels fast indeed,” Calypso replied.

  “Let’s just say some very unkind words are floating about hither and yon. Not from my lips, but I’ve never been much for high society. You bet the house and you lost it all.”

  Centuries of stories, centuries of pride. Gone in the flash of one irrevocable choice. There was something smaller about Calypso now, something less, but he forced himself to keep his chin high.

  “Good lookin’ out, Fontaine.”

  “Same. Call me sometime. We’ll get those drinks I owe you. Just…after the smoke clears a little, okay?”

  Calypso hung up. Caitlin studied him, motes of copper dancing in the whites of her eyes.

  “You want to get a cab with me?” she asked. “I’m headed to the airport.”


  They left the apartment building, stepping out onto the sidewalk under a slate-black sky. City lights chased all the stars away.

  “Nah,” he said. “I’m gonna take a walk, collect my thoughts a bit. Something poetic about midnight in New York.”

  She hailed a taxi and he left her behind, walking alone. He was busted. Back to ground zero, square one, clean slate, no different than any no-name fledgling bargainer with a blank contract and a razor-tipped pen.

  Maybe that was all right.

  He’d been a clean slate once, when he was knee-high to a grasshopper. He’d learned. He’d gotten good at his trade. He could do it again.

  The sound of music jolted him from his thoughts. It was a harmonica, dense-woven notes drifting from an alley, dulcet and full of soul. Calypso’s feet steered him around the corner.

  A grizzled hobo was slumped in a makeshift camp, back to the wall, half-empty bottle of rye at his side. He played the harmonica like he was born to the stage, making it sing the blues.

  Calypso rapped his knuckles on the crumbling brick wall. The man stopped playing and looked his way.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Calypso said. “Just had to show my appreciation. You’re damn good with that harp, old-timer.”

  The hobo chortled, a laugh that became a phlegmatic cough. He grabbed the bottle of booze at his side and tossed down a swig of hard medicine.

  “I’m better than good, boy. I’m the best that’s ever been.”

  Calypso had to smile. “Is that so?”

  “Used to be somebody. I was gonna be one of the greats. I could play better’n anybody. Made some bad choices, fell down hard, but I still got the music in me.”

  Calypso’s hand slipped into his breast pocket. His fingers curled around his lighter. But it wasn’t a lighter anymore.

  “You sound pretty sure of yourself. You could outplay anybody?”

  The old man snickered and took another pull off the bottle.

  “The Lord upstairs and all the saints,” he said. “Hell, bring the devil himself down here. I’ll kick his ass, too.”

  Calypso opened his hand, showing off a harmonica made of solid gold.

  He put it to his lips and played a few notes. He was rusty. That was all right. The old man’s eyes glittered in the dark, a fish on a hook.

  “Tell me something,” Calypso said. “Are you a bettin’ man, friend?”

  He’d gone back to the very beginning, but that was just fine. Beginnings were always better than endings, and besides, the journey to the top was the fun part. He could do it all over again. Get it right this time.

  Fifty-One

  Morning brought a light rain, kissing the air with the smell of diesel fumes. It clung to Marie’s face and hands, cooling her down as she drifted through the streets once more. Supposedly looking for a job. She’d filled out a half-hearted application at a liquor store and called it a day.

  Her stomach grumbled. She had a dollar in her pocket and fifteen cents change. She walked until she found an ATM. She slotted her card, punched the keys, waited. It spat out a twenty and a paper receipt. A blurb of text on the receipt caught her eye. “Now open: Sunrise Café, serving breakfast all day long. Free cup of coffee with the bottom half of your receipt!”

  She shrugged. The address was on 30th Avenue, not far away. She wasn’t sure if she was in the mood for breakfast food. She folded the receipt and kept walking.

  The next block up, a mural had been painted on the side of a brick apartment building. It was an ad for the Sunrise Café, showing a smiling sun rising over a steaming cup of coffee.

  “Weird,” she muttered and moved on.

  She waited at a corner for the light to change, no particular place to go. Across the street, a scrolling LED sign hung in the window of an electronics store, reading off a stock ticker. As she idly glanced over, reading the meaningless jumble of acronyms and values, the sign flickered and died. Then it sprang back to life.

  Marie, it read.

  Stop being stubborn.

  Go to the goddamn Sunrise Cafe already.

  The light changed. She speed-walked across the street, heart pounding. Then she broke into a run. The café was on the next block, with an open face to the street and outdoor seating under white-and-black striped umbrellas. A lone customer sat under an umbrella’s shade, sipping a cup of coffee.

  Nessa turned to her, raised her cup, and smiled.

  It was her, alive, in the flesh, and she set her cup down and stood and opened her arms wide to meet Marie as she ran in. Marie threw her arms around her and pulled her close and lifted her off her feet, spinning her around, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry it took me so long,” Nessa told her. “I had a little trouble out there. Had to put myself back together on an atomic level, and I mean that literally.”

  Marie pulled back, just a little. Behind her owlish glasses, Nessa’s eyes had changed.

  They were pits of darkness. Globes of absolute night, windows into the depths of outer space.

  And in that darkness, there were stars. Nessa’s eyes were like tiny universes, infinite and deep and glimmering with diamond pinpoints of starlight.

  Marie clutched Nessa’s shoulders, touching her like she had to reassure herself that this wasn’t a dream, wasn’t a mirage. “What happened to you?”

  “I did what I set out to do.” Nessa flashed her lopsided smile. “I ate the King of Rust, down to every last little morsel. And he was delicious. Clytemnestra is inside me now, too. That’s by her own choice; she’s committed to this crusade and plans to see it through.”

  “Crusade?” Marie asked.

  “One king is down. The rest are scattered, in confusion, cut off from their former dominion. But cornered rats bite hard. Besides, I’m hungry for seconds. And thirds. And fourths.” Nessa reached up, cradling Marie’s cheek. “I have the power of a king now, love. Plus my own unfettered potential as the Witch, plus Clytemnestra’s gifts and the spark that the Demiurge gave us before he died…you know, they call themselves kings, but they clearly never read their fairy tales.”

  She leaned in. Her lips, painted a deep plum, brushed against Marie’s. An electric tingle passed between them.

  “Kings are so over and done,” she murmured in Marie’s ear. “It’s high time that they all made way for the evil queen.”

  “Nessa,” Marie said, hesitant. “If the Demiurge is dead, and you have his last spark and one of the kings inside you, along with everything else…”

  “Yes, love?”

  She gazed into Nessa’s eternal eyes.

  “Are…are you God now?”

  “You know,” Nessa said, “I do believe I am. The closest thing to it, anyway. Which makes me—and I say this with no shortage of resentment—responsible for the safety of humanity. I think my top priority is doing what my predecessor couldn’t. We’re going to hunt the Kings of Man. Every last one of them. I won’t have such creatures running amok in my universe. And of course, as I devour each of them, my power will grow…exponentially, I believe. Until such time as my will is absolute, my control over reality is unquestioned, and I will unleash a tidal wave of darkness and despair, ruling over humanity as its eternal, cruel, and merciless goddess, worshiped and dreaded by all.”

  Marie quirked an eyebrow.

  “You know I’m going to fight you on that, right?”

  “Maybe I’m just looking forward to the arguments.” Nessa winked. “And the make-up sex. All right, maybe the darkness and despair is negotiable. But I’m not going to be a nice goddess.”

  “I wouldn’t ask,” Marie replied. “I know you too well. So what’s the plan? Just…saddle up and go hunting?”

  Nessa shook her head. “No. Direct force is out of the question. These creatures have had eons to learn their craft, Marie. They know what I’ve done, and they’ve already gone to ground, plotting their retribution. They fight by proxies, and we’re going to do the same.”

  “Like the Network?”

/>   “Exactly so,” Nessa said. “It’s time for us to slip into the shadows, too, and build a network of our own. This war will be waged on a thousand battlefields. We’ll infiltrate societies on every contested Earth. Our agents will undermine institutions wherever they go and lay the seeds of secret societies, covens, cults, all serving our will. Whatever suits our needs and wins the fight.”

  Her fingertip stroked the nape of Marie’s neck, sending a shiver down her spine.

  “You’re my perfect knight,” she said. “Can you be my general, too?”

  “Always,” Marie said.

  “Let’s go see Hedy and end her mourning. I have work for her. Then I suppose we should pop back so you can say goodbye to your friends; you may not see them for a while. How do you think Janine will take it?”

  “I think she’s either going to freak out or start your official fan club,” Marie said. “Probably both. What then?”

  Nessa took Marie’s arm. She led her away from the café, down a dead-end alley.

  “Then, my sweet, I’m going to take a little of what I am and put it inside of you. So you won’t ever grow old, and you won’t ever die. And then…how about we catch up over lunch? I don’t have to eat food anymore, but I still enjoy it. Anyway, I spent about a week bouncing from reality to reality, trying to put myself back together, and I found a world next door where the Mayan Empire never fell. The food is amazing. Spices you’ve never dreamed of.”

  “One thing we should do first,” Marie said.

  She shared her idea, and Nessa broke into a grin.

  “Yes,” she said.

  Then she curled her hand in the air. Her fingernails matched her eyes, jet-black, and stars glittered in their depths. She raked her fingers downward and tore a hole in reality.

  On the other side was the Light In-Between. A sea of radiant gold, with the bend of a rainbow shining in the distance. Then Nessa took Marie’s hand, and they were gone.

  * * *

  On a desolate, frosty plain, a woman in deerskin and furs beat her fists against a drum. Tears stung her cheeks as she hammered out the song of mourning, pouring her grief and despair into every thudding note and sending the sound echoing out over the tundra. A funeral pyre of logs and twigs stood before her. It was small. She’d had to build it herself, cast out of her village and her clan. Her scalp still stung to the touch, from the rock her own brother had thrown at her.