by John Levitt
A quick stop at a newspaper rack told me it was only the next day, so for once the time flow in the singularity had run parallel to the real world. By the time I got home it was fully dark. I checked to make sure my wards didn’t show any signs of tampering and opened the front door.
Instead of going in, Lou stopped and looked around warily. I listened, but didn’t hear anything. For a minute we both stood outside the door, like unwanted guests. Then he shook himself and trotted inside.
I was hungry, but the fridge didn’t hold much of interest. I dug around and came up with some cheese, so I made a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches, the old-fashioned way, in a frying pan with a plate on top of them to provide the proper weight for grilling.
I usually made two, cut them in half, and gave Lou one of the halves with the other three halves for me. It’s one of his favorite treats, certainly more interesting than kibble even if processed cheese isn’t good for him. Or for me, I guess.
But instead of hanging around the stove, he hopped up on the table by the window and kept watch, on the alert. I opened it a crack to help his senses of hearing and smell. When I slipped the sandwiches on a plate and he didn’t even acknowledge it, I knew something serious was up. He cocked his head again as if not sure of what he was hearing, but he was hearing something. I listened as well, but heard nothing.
Sometimes I use a trick where I can see through Lou’s eyes, though it’s disorienting and leaves me with a violent headache afterward. In fact, it’s so disorienting that it can render me incapable for a while, so it’s only a last resort. But I’d never tried it with his hearing. That shouldn’t be so bad.
Another problem with the vision spell was that I could only see whatever Lou was looking at, and occasionally he’d be scanning the treetops for invading squirrels when I wanted to check out something very different. But sound is not dependent on a sight line like vision; I’d be able to hear anything he could, far beyond my own dull sense of hearing.
I put down the plate and concentrated, trying to focus on sounds I could identify, like the noise of traffic barely audible in the distance. Then I shifted my consciousness into the psychic realm, ran a feedback loop through Lou, and felt the familiar dislocation as his sense of hearing became mine.
It wasn’t as bad as the vision spell. It didn’t make me sick to my stomach, but it wasn’t as useful as I’d hoped, either. I could hear amazingly well, not just better, but a quantum leap in ability. I could have heard a squirrel rustling a branch fifty yards away. But there was a problem—hearing is not accomplished just by the ears; it’s also done by the brain. Babies can hear perfectly well, but they can’t make much sense of the sound waves coming into their ears. Like sight, hearing takes interpretation as well as a perceptual filter to focus and block out irrelevancies—we’re constantly ignoring things we hear unless they have importance to us.
So what I heard was astoundingly clear, but it was also a cacophony of sounds from all directions, some soft, some loud, but none of them identifiable or even comprehensible. It was worse than useless.
I tried to focus on the familiar traffic sounds I’d heard before, hoping to find purchase. At first I couldn’t distinguish them from the wind blowing through tree leaves, but eventually I got a handle on it. I blocked out the myriad distractions until I could distinguish the sounds of engines revving and tires hissing on pavement.
I narrowed my concentration, ignoring farther-off sounds and listening only to those right outside my window. I fine-tuned, until I could hear footsteps going by, not pausing. A can rolling in the gutter. Branches rubbing together in the bush near the window. And an odd sound, not quite a rustle, familiar but hard to identify. Movement of some sort, something large, but with no footfalls, and a steady, smooth quality like a wave on sand.
When I suddenly recognized what I was hearing, it was enough of a shock to break my connection to Lou. My hearing went back to normal, and although Lou now had his lip curled back in a snarl, I no longer could hear a thing. But I knew what I’d heard. A snake.
How was that possible? There was no way either of those things could have followed us back into our world, much less have tracked us to our home. But then again, what did I know about it? Anything was possible.
We’d probably be safe inside—the flat was protected by excellent wards, and if the snake was unaffected by them, there was still a strong front door and a back door as an escape hatch if worse came to worst. But if it tracked me here, it could track me anywhere. And waiting for it like a rabbit in a bolt-hole was not an attractive option.
Then I came to my senses. This was absurd, a fantasy constructed from nothing more than weariness, paranoia, and a peculiar sound I’d heard. There was no giant snake waiting outside for me. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t something out there.
I eased quietly over to the closet and took out the katana Victor had given me. I was sure it couldn’t be the snakes, but even so, I still had a faint nagging doubt. I’d seen impossible things before. And magical talent might not work on them, but a sharp blade certainly would. Besides, there was something elemental and satisfying about the feel of the sword in my hand.
I motioned to Lou, turned out the lights in the house so I wouldn’t be backlit, and cautiously opened the door. Lou slipped out silently, an invisible shadow. I closed the door behind me and stood there until my eyes adjusted to the darkness. The light streaming from windows of houses along the street provided enough illumination to see fairly well. Lou pressed up against my leg in warning before he crept toward the tangle of bushes that crowded the side of the house. I moved in behind him, sword held at the vertical. Anyone passing by who saw me would be sure to call the cops.
We made it all the way to the back of the house without incident, but Lou didn’t relax so I didn’t, either. He turned around and headed back toward the street, more slowly this time. He stopped and half crouched, every muscle quivering.
“Mason!” a voice called.
I glanced up and saw Jessie standing on the sidewalk fifteen feet away. She took a step forward, and as she did there was a flurry of movement by the side of the house as something moved and Lou pounced. A sudden thrashing, and then Lou was out in the open, jaws clamped down on the neck of a huge snake. Naja. So I hadn’t been entirely mistaken. I’d just had the wrong snake in mind.
For a moment Lou had her, but he’s only twelve pounds and Naja weighed as much, if not more. And she was reptile strong, a cord of banded muscle. She twisted around and threw him off his feet, and as he went down his grip loosened just enough for her to sink her fangs into his shoulder, just above the harness.
Lou gave a yelp and let go, springing back out of range momentarily. For a moment he faced her defiantly, and then his legs buckled and he staggered drunkenly sideways. Naja reared up in the iconic cobra posture, towering over him, almost as tall as I was, preparing to strike again.
I sprang forward, turning the edge of the katana blade toward her as I moved, drawing it back for a strike of my own. Naja was no rope hanging from a beam, but I’d still slice her in half if it was the last thing I ever did.
I heard Jessie’s footsteps running toward me but paid it no attention. She’d never get to me in time. Then she yelled again, louder.
“No! Don’t!”
If it had been a threat or a cry of anger, it would have had no effect on me. But it wasn’t; it was a scream of fear and anguish, raw emotion and desperation. That made me hesitate a fraction of a second and that was all it took for Naja to pull back just enough so I couldn’t be sure of a clean strike. Victor always says I’m too soft and that it will end up getting someone killed someday. Maybe he’s right.
“Don’t,” Jessie cried again. “It was an accident. She didn’t mean it.” By now Jessie was almost on top of me. “I can still save Lou, but it’s got to be right now. He’s only got seconds before he’s gone.”
It might be a ploy, but I didn’t even have to think. Any chance was better than non
e. I lowered the sword and knelt down next to Lou. He tried to walk to me but his legs wouldn’t work anymore and he toppled over in slow motion. His tongue lolled helplessly as he lifted his head and stuck out one feeble paw in hopeless supplication.
“Goddamn it,” Jessie said, bending down next to me.
She muttered a few words and ran her hands over Lou’s body. His eyes glazed over as he went limp. She’d thrown a stasis spell over him, effectively suspending his entire metabolism as well as the working of the poison, and her spell was a lot better than mine would have been. Mine tends to create a cold, brittle hardness; hers left him warm and still soft.
Naja had backed off a good ways, looking apologetic, if a snake can be capable of showing emotion. My first thought was to get Lou to Campbell; she was probably the only one with the ability to heal such a mortal wound. But Campbell was a thousand miles away, dealing with a sick mother again. I didn’t hold out much hope Jessie could help—black practitioners are not known for their skill and dedication to the healing arts.
“What happened?” I said. “What the hell are you doing here, anyway?”
Jessie sighed. “You didn’t answer any of my messages again, so I left Naja to keep an eye on the place and let me know if you showed up. I guess Lou saw her as a threat, and when he went after her she reacted.”
“By trying to kill him?”
“It’s instinct. She’s an Ifrit, but she’s also a snake. Snakes strike when they feel threatened.”
I knew what she meant; in the same way, Lou’s very much also a dog, but that didn’t excuse what happened.
“We need a healer,” I said. “Do you know anyone good?” Jessie shook her head.
“A healer won’t help, although I’ve got some skill in that area myself. A cobra the size of Naja has enough venom to kill a full-grown man in fifteen minutes. Something the size of Lou? Sixty seconds, at most. I’d guess about half that time elapsed before the stasis spell, so when I bring him out of it, he’ll have only thirty seconds, not nearly enough time to help him.”
I got a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach. Jessie was still kneeling next to Lou, now reaching into her purse, searching around until she found what she was looking for, a compact brown leather case. She opened it and took out a syringe and a small vial of clear liquid.
“Antivenin,” she said.
I’d seen that case before. So it wasn’t drugs after all.
“You seem prepared,” I said.
“It’s not the first time something like this has happened. Naja’s not aggressive, but she can be skittish.”
She said this matter-of-factly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She really was a black practitioner.
“Has the antivenin worked?” I asked.
“No one’s died yet.” That was reassuring. “But then, no one as small as Lou has ever been bit before. And I don’t know how an Ifrit will react.” Less reassuring.
She filled the syringe and found a spot on Lou’s foreleg. With the skill of a trained vet, she eased the needle in. She paused just long enough to take off the stasis spell, and as soon as Lou took a long, shuddering breath, she pushed the plunger home. For long seconds, nothing happened; then Lou gave a weak cough and managed to stagger to his feet. Jessie passed her hands over him again, doing something subtle. It must have been some type of healing work, because he took a couple of steps before he sat down again, exhausted. She looked at him closely.
“He’ll be all right, I think,” she said. “He’s amazingly tough, which is no surprise. He’ll need at least a day to recover, though.”
I picked him up and carried him inside, being careful not to cut off his tail with the sword in my other hand. He hates being carried and even struggled feebly, which was a good sign.
Jessie followed me inside, but Naja didn’t. Mistake or not, that would have been a bit much. Lou climbed shakily up on the bed, where he immediately curled up and closed his eyes. Jessie saw my worry.
“He’ll be okay. Honest, I know what I’m talking about.”
I cleared off the uneaten grilled cheese sandwiches and put on some water for tea. My nerves were too shaken for coffee. Jessie wandered around, looking but not touching. At least she had the sense for that.
I handed her a cup of tea without asking and we sat down at the little kitchen table, facing each other. Then I got back up and took the disks out of the bedside table drawer.
“I got Richter’s book back,” I said, handing them to her. “And another disk.”
“How?” she asked.
“Not important. Jackie has a copy, of course.”
“Where is she?”
“That, I don’t know. But she also has volume two now.”
Jessie snorted. “The famous second volume? Sorry; that’s a myth, a holy grail for black practitioners. It doesn’t exist.”
“I’ve seen it.”
“Impossible. Where?”
“Again, irrelevant. But I held it in my hand.”
“Did you look through it?”
“No. There wasn’t time.”
“So you don’t actually know what the book you held was. It could have been a cookbook for all you know.”
“I highly doubt that.”
But I did have a moment’s doubt. She was right; I hadn’t so much as cracked it open for a peek. It might have been anything. Then I remembered where and how it had been hidden. Jessie was silent for a moment.
“If this is true, then things are even worse than I thought,” she said.
“Why? Is this second book all it’s cracked up to be? Would it be that much more dangerous?”
Jessie was staring off into space, her tongue flicking in and out of her mouth in an unconscious imitation of a snake. She did not look happy.
“That would depend,” she said, slowly. “If I had such a book, or Victor, for example, we’d instantly become the most powerful practitioners on the planet. On the other hand, if someone less experienced got hold of it, it could spell disaster.”
“Disaster for who?”
“Anyone who had hold of it.”
“Like Jackie?”
“Or you.” She smiled to let me know she was joking, but of course she wasn’t. “But also, disaster for everyone else. Any object of great power is always dangerous; that’s inherent in the very nature of power. And unintended consequences can be dreadful, as I’m sure you know. Remember what I said about thin places. Imagine what would happen if those places ruptured completely.”
“Okay,” I said. “Not a good thing. I understand. At least you have your own book back, sort of.”
“I need Jackie back as well. She doesn’t know what she’s playing with.”
“And the second book?”
“Screw the book. It’s Jackie who’s become the danger. You seem to be doing a good job of locating her, but not such a good one at holding on to her once you have.”
“I’m not much of one for kidnapping,” I said. “Even if it’s a family affair.”
Jessie looked at me sourly. “I was wondering when you’d find that out.”
“I’m smarter than I look.” She didn’t make the obvious comeback, being in no mood for banter. “Why keep it a secret, though?” I said.
“It was irrelevant.” She stared down at the floor, showing some embarrassment for the first time since I’d met her. “Besides, it’s no one’s business. How would it look? I run a corporation, I run much of the black practitioner community, but I can’t even control my own daughter?”
I shrugged. “Whatever. But I’m still not comfortable simply handing her over to you, just on your say-so.”
“You don’t have to hand her over,” she said. “Just let me know where she is; that’s all.” She looked at me shrewdly, then turned her head to stare at Lou, who was out like a light. “I know you have reservations. Who wants to rat someone out and turn her over to an angry black practitioner, no matter what she may have done? But it’s for her own good, believe me.
And ours. Can I count on you, Mason?”
“Sure,” I said. “I can always be counted on to do the right thing.”
She didn’t like that answer, but then again, if she didn’t, she shouldn’t have asked that question.
“You know,” she said, “maybe you’re not the best person for this job after all. You don’t seem to work that well with other people.”
“I work very well with people. I don’t always work well for people.”
“That’s a shame; you have potential.” I’d heard that before.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m like Popeye the Sailor Man.” She looked at me blankly, not getting the reference at all. “Never mind.” She shrugged and opened the front door to leave, then stopped.
“I hope Lou will be all right,” she said. “I’m really sorry about that.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
After Jessie left, I was ticked off. It was weird—I wasn’t even working for her; I was spying on her. But I still was annoyed at her criticism. It was like finally deciding to ask out a woman you weren’t even sure you were that interested in and having her turn you down. Or auditioning for a band, realizing they sucked and you didn’t really want to play with them anyway, only to have them choose someone else.
I checked on Lou, who was sleeping deeply, though every once in a while he’d twitch and moan in his sleep. Morning had to bring a better day. It could hardly bring a worse one.
FOURTEEN
NEXT MORNING LOU WAS BETTER, BUT STILL NOT his old self. I had expected him to bounce right back; he’s done that so many times that I unconsciously think of him as being invulnerable, which he’s not. In fact, it’s a miracle he’s still alive, considering some of the fixes I’ve gotten us into. So when Campbell called, it was like a gift from the gods.
“I’m back,” she said. “Did you miss me?”
“More than you know,” I said. “Lou’s hurt. He’s okay, sort of, but he’s not really right.”
