Labyrinth g-5

by Kat Richardson

  “But most of those are servants of opportunity—demi-vampires and the like. The asetem make theirs quite specifically.”

  “Are you talking about the kreanou?”

  “Kreanou?” Ben frowned. “I’m not sure. . . . What is that?”

  I blinked at him, surprised I’d come up with something he didn’t know. “They’re, uh . . . sort of super-vampires. They’re incredibly fast, single-minded, and vicious. They can change shape, too, a little. But they are driven to hunt and destroy the vampire who made them. Some kind of rare mistake, I gathered. Sort of fury incarnate that dies once it kills its creator.”

  They all stared at me. “Well, that doesn’t sound like a useful servant at all,” Mara said.

  “No. I think they’re usually something vampires fear,” I added and explained the kreanou I’d encountered in London.

  Silence ticked a moment after my tale ended. “Uh, no, I don’t think this is the same thing,” Ben said. “The book calls them ‘ushabti’—it’s the same word as the funerary statues of servants meant to attend the dead in the afterlife—and attributes some magical powers to them—limited, but still powers. Did I tell you the asetem are magical?”

  “Yes, you did. What kind of magic?”

  “Mostly small magic, illusions and emotional manipulations, but the Pharaohn has a few bigger powers, chiefly generative. He’s the only one who can make another asete or an ushabti.”

  I narrowed my eyes in thought. “What are these ushabti like?”

  “Unfortunately the book isn’t specific about that except that they can move around in the daylight. And it doesn’t say how they’re made or destroyed, just that they are ‘servants by life and by blood.’ Or that’s the best translation I can make. This is a pretty old book and the writing is a bit . . . eccentric.”

  “So the asetem and their servant went to Germany once?”

  “Looks that way. You know the Nazis were big collectors of antiquities, but they weren’t the first group of Germans to be interested in that sort of thing. Various Germanic states and institutions stuck their paws into the collection of ancient mystic artifacts. Apparently one prince or another ...” He looked down into his book for a moment for more information but had to shrug and continue after a fruitless moment. “Well, it’s a little unclear who, but someone managed to piss off the Pharaohn and he sent a small cohort into the area to exact revenge, with an ushabti to protect them. According to this book, the asetem did it in remarkably bloody style—even for vampires—which isn’t too unusual for them since they thrive on strong, negative emotions like fear and panic. They did things like flaying people alive and killing their children while they watched—”

  I felt sick and, judging by the others’ faces, I wasn’t the only one. I held up a hand. “I get the idea. They committed atrocities.”

  “In a word. And when they were done, they packed up and disappeared.”

  “Literally?”

  “Well, no. They went back to Egypt. The Pharaohn doesn’t squander his people—they’re too rare. But they probably didn’t worry too much about their ushabti once they got home since he wasn’t an asete—at least if I am reading this correctly he wasn’t. And I don’t see how he could have been; the asetem don’t have any daywalking abilities among their magical powers and they wouldn’t convert one of their own and then throw him away.”

  “But their servants do have some powers? How does that happen if the ushabti aren’t asetem? Regular vampires don’t usually wield any magic. How do these guys rate?”

  “One skill the asetem do have is sensing magical ability in others. Which might explain how the Pharaohn found you and your father in the first place. The . . . subject’s powers remain intact after conversion to asete, apparently.”

  I was getting an idea, but it was also confusing me on another point I’d thought I had. “So they know what powers people like me have?”

  “I don’t think so. I think they just know there’s a power there. To know which one, they’d have to observe for a while. I’m guessing here, but that seems the likely scenario.”

  “And that would also explain why Wygan didn’t make a move to force me into his plan earlier. He had to wait until I did something he recognized. It also confirms something I was thinking—” I turned and glanced at Quinton. “This is what I didn’t say in the truck—I don’t think most vampires have any idea what powers I have or that I even have any at all. I don’t think Edward knew what I can do until he got information from others and made guesses that were often incomplete and presumed more on my investigator’s skills. I don’t think the asetem—or even the Pharaohn—know exactly what I can do. Wygan only knows what direction he’s pushed me in and he won’t be certain he’s succeeded until I show him or he pushes again and sees what I do.”

  Quinton closed his eyes and nodded, putting the pieces together to his own satisfaction.

  “Carlos is probably the only vampire who has any idea at all. And I have no way of knowing how good his idea is,” I continued.

  “So y’need him as an ally,” Mara suggested.

  “Let’s hope I don’t. I’m not sure how safe I’d be standing between Carlos and any offer of power.”

  “True,” Mara agreed. “He can be a right greedy bastard.”

  I grunted in thought: These ushabti had some kind of magic. They weren’t vampires or asetem, but they had some traits in common; they could walk in the daylight and were the servants—tied by blood and life—to the Pharaohn and his asetem. A servant . . . I knew who that had to be. “So . . . that would make Bryson Goodall Wygan’s ushabti. But I don’t think he always has been. Edward wouldn’t have let him close.” Now I thought I understood why Goodall had said, “Things change.” Not just things but him, too.

  The Danzigers looked puzzled and I had to explain who Bryson Goodall was.

  “Certainly if he was workin’ that closely with Edward, he couldn’t have been Wygan’s ushabti,” Mara said.

  “But he was Wygan’s spy. So maybe the ushabti thing came later,” I suggested.

  Ben looked crestfallen. “I don’t know how the conversion is done or what state the candidate has to be in first....”

  “That doesn’t matter right now, but the fact that I know it might.”

  In spite of my long rest earlier, I felt a little tired either from my exertions at the brewery or just in anticipation of what I was yet to do that night. I sat down on one of the pale green couches near the hearth. No fire was lit, but it was the most Grey-silent part of the whole room where the only ghostly noise was the distant electrical hum of the power grid. Quinton sat down next to me and slipped my closest hand into his own warm, grounded grip. I took a slow, clearing breath, savoring the moment of peace.

  Mara perched on the arm of the chair next to her husband and they leaned together without thinking. A small, pink corona swirled between them. I hated to break the surface of contentment, but I spoke up anyway, knowing I had to get on with my plans soon. “If Goodall is Wygan’s ushabti, that would explain how he was able to pull away the spell on Simondson. Or rather, he’s Wygan’s ushabti because he could do so, once trained.” Mara and Ben looked startled. Quinton just squeezed my hand a little. “I think Wygan’s been a busy master while I was in London.”

  I explained what I’d seen at the brewery office, how Goodall had been present at Simondson’s death and what he had done. “If he’s the ushabti, then his ability to break the spell—even knowing it was there to break—makes some sense it didn’t before. He didn’t seem very comfortable with it, though I’m not sure if that’s lack of experience or what. I would like to know what the spell was doing to Simondson before it was removed.”

  Mara frowned. “Without seein’ it myself, I can’t say.”

  I shook my head. “That’s not quite what I mean. What I’m really interested in is whether the spell could have caused Simondson to do something that was entirely against his will and inclination.”

  “Some ca
n. But it would have to be a very powerful compulsion indeed. The greater a subject’s resistance, the more force must be applied.”

  “Like the inverse-square law?” Quinton asked.

  “Well, perhaps not quite quadruplin’ the force as you halve the distance, but ’tis something like that, yes.” Mara smiled a little. “But a working that compelling would be complex and not so simply torn away when y’were done with it. It would need dismantling.”

  Quinton turned his gaze to me, but he didn’t say anything. Certainly not “I told you so,” and yet I didn’t feel much better about Simondson.

  “It didn’t look complex. Maybe I only saw the end of the process. We don’t know that Goodall couldn’t have taken a more complicated spell apart.”

  “That we don’t,” Mara agreed, “but ’tisn’t likely. If he had such skills, surely you’d have noticed. And I’m thinkin’ Wygan wouldn’t want an ushabti with too much power runnin’ about while he’s dozin’ of a morning. Bit of a paranoid control-freak, isn’t he?”

  That I would have to concede. “But the hole in the temporaclines—doesn’t that argue for some greater power? I’ve never seen them just broken up like that in a recent timeline. Someone tore that bit of history out of the Grey there.”

  “Not necessarily. Was the Guardian runnin’ ’round it?”

  “No. There wasn’t anything there except the absence of anything.”

  “If it wasn’t attractin’ the Guardian’s attention, then it’s only a local break, not a chronic one. More likely the effect of someone bein’ hasty in the Grey while tryin’ to cover up their mess in the normal world. Settin’ the garden on fire rather than pullin’ up the weeds.” She snorted in disgust. “The Grey’ll repair itself there, in time, but they’ve made a bloody bags of it in the meantime.”

  That, at least, made me feel I might not be walking into a nest of vipers—just one really big snake and his pet asp. “So you think,” I started, “that he might not really know what he’s doing . . . ?”

  “He must know he’s touchin’ magic, but he may have been ignorant of what or how he’s usin’ it. Judgin’ by the wreck you say he’s made, he’s not experienced at the very least. Likely he’s just followin’ Wygan’s instructions and muddlin’ through on instinct. If he never knew he had any touch of the Grey before this, it must be comin’ as a bit of a shock now. Just think of yourself two years ago.”

  I nodded. “All the better reason to move now, before anyone gets wiser.”

  “Move?” Ben interjected, twitching hard enough to dislodge Mara from the arm of his chair.

  I patted the air, trying to calm Ben down, but I knew it was useless. “Yes. Simondson’s ghost gave me a clue about what might be happening to my dad. And if I can figure it out, I can let both ghosts go free. So I’m going to go up to the station and see what I can get out of Wygan and Goodall that might help me find my father and Edward and ruin whatever plans the Pharaohn has for me. Right now they think they have all the cards. If I can surprise them, shake them up, I might be able to get some information out of them before they can do me any serious harm.”

  “ ‘Any serious harm’?” Mara repeated. “Y’can’t mean to confront them so soon—y’don’t know anything, certainly not what they’re up to.”

  “I do know that if they were ready to capture or kill me, they’d have done it earlier. Right now they only want to manipulate me and keep me off-balance. If they had grabbed me, they’d have to keep me, and that means guards and magical restraint and keeping me isolated and under control. Obviously they can’t or aren’t ready to do that yet. Probably they’re spread thin with other preparations. So I still have some grace period. If I hit them now, they won’t expect it and they may tell me something useful, if I can shake them. Maybe I can even do them a little damage for once. If I keep dithering around until the conditions are perfect, they never will be. A preemptive strike makes more sense in this situation than waiting. I will not allow them to think they have the upper hand.”

  “You’re mad!” Mara protested. “Y’haven’t even got a plan what to do when you get there.”

  “I can’t have much of a plan since I don’t know what they are doing. That’s the point. If I shake them now, I may be able to find out or even stop them. But if I just sit here and let them do whatever they like, they remain in control and I have no choice but to be driven where they want. I will not let them do that any longer. I’ll find out what I can, by whatever method I can.”

  Ben chimed in on the same tune with Mara, squelching by sheer volume my attempts to tell them I wasn’t crazy, just willing to take a risk now, while the odds were not so stacked against me in exchange for a better position later.

  Before the noise could wake Brian, Quinton pulled me around to meet his stare. “I’m going with you.”

  “Oh, no, you aren’t. I already told you”—I shot a quelling glare at the Danzigers, too—“I’m not taking my backup into danger with me. That’s why you’re called ‘the backup.’ You stay out until I need you.”

  Quinton grabbed onto my shoulders so I had to focus on him. “They’re the backup; I’m the partner. And I am going because I have the key.”

  ELEVEN

  “What? A key? To what?” I demanded. “To the radio station,” Quinton replied. “You may be sneaky and ghosty and all that, but you still have to get past the gate and into the building without setting off any alarms, magical or mundane. I can work the mundane side, which leaves you just the magical side to worry about. And I can take care of myself even with the vampires and ghosts, remember? I did it for years.”

  “The asetem aren’t your regular vampire. Didn’t we just discuss that?”

  “Yes, we did. That does not change the tactical problem of getting into the bastard’s lair, just the details. You are not going to play Rambo—even if you are a lot better looking and smarter. You don’t have to go alone and there’s no advantage to it, so you won’t be doing that.”

  The Danzigers were both giving me pointed stares, plainly on Quinton’s side now that he’d spoken up.

  “You’re making a hell of an assumption.”

  “Yup. I’m assuming you haven’t totally lost your mind or your sense. And, well ...” He blushed and his gaze cut aside for a moment before returning, softer, to my own. He continued in a whisper. “There is that I-love-you thing....”

  My throat tightened and I felt tears prick my eyes. I couldn’t get words out of my mouth; they just knotted up on my tongue.

  “I didn’t just say that to get you home. I mean it. If you are determined to do something crazy-ass stupid because you have to, I won’t be a macho jerk and try to talk you out of it. But I’m going to do everything I can to keep it from killing you. If staying here really would make you safer, I’d stay put. But it won’t. Greasing electrons and lying to locks might. So I’m going with you.”

  “Quinton—”

  Mara cut across my protest. “He’s right. Aside from your being utterly barkin’—and I still say you’re madder than a March hare—you have no hope of this plan workin’ without help. Your wantin’ to protect us has gotten ahead of your sense. You won’t be any safer keepin’ us all behind the barricades and Quinton does have skills you could use.”

  “So do you.”

  “But you don’t need them. Anything I could be doin’ for this situation, you can do yourself. I truly am the backup.”

  “I don’t think you should go at all,” Ben added. “Why should you? You could set a trap and wait for them to come to you. Bide your time, stay safe.”

  “Ben, you haven’t listened to a word I’ve said. That only buys more time for them,” I retorted. “I cannot let them have any more advantages. It’s risky for me to walk into Wygan’s lair, but if I’m bold enough and fast enough, I can keep them off-balance and possibly get through to my father, get some information, or break Goodall’s loyalty to Wygan. Any of these would be worth the risk.”

  “What if they’re alrea
dy waitin’ for you?” Mara asked.

  “I’ll burn that bridge when I come to it and call in the cavalry: you.”

  “But you will be takin’ Quinton along, shan’t you?”

  I looked at Quinton, who gave me half a smile that was more rueful than smug. I guess he didn’t like having contradicted me in front of other people, but I could live with it. I’ve had worse, usually from my mother.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. We’ll give you an hour and if y’haven’t called or come back, we’ll come after you both. Shan’t we, Ben?”

  He nodded, adamant and a bit tense. “With the dog.”

  “Maybe you should leave the dog to Brian-sit,” I suggested, hoping to lighten the mood.

  “Better than the ferret, I suppose,” Mara added.

  Ben refused to laugh, though we could all see his mouth twitch.

  There was a bit more discussion, none of it really going anywhere, before I put the ferret into her cage and walked out of the house, heading uphill toward the broadcast towers on the top. Quinton strolled along with me, holding on to a paperback-sized silver box containing his latest Grey detector.

  “Not seeing anything here,” he muttered.

  “Not surprising. Wygan won’t have staked out the whole route—it’s pretty public—only the Danzigers’ and the station. Nothing else is really important and would spread his resources too thin.”

  Quinton grunted acknowledgment. “Sounds like he’s got a limited supply of cronies.”

  “Limited numbers, yes. Unfortunately, his assistants aren’t limited to the asetem and Goodall. Any vampire who’s not aligned with Edward could be working for Wygan. I don’t know how many vampires there are in Seattle, or how many might be persuaded to come from somewhere else, if that’s possible. So I admit I’m only making a best guess based on the activity I’ve seen and what you’ve reported.”

  Quinton sighed. “I hate Heisenberg. We can know where the vampires are but not how many.”