by Ben Reeder
“Corwyn lives there,” Polter started, but Draeden raised a hand to cut him off.
“The book came into his possession through no act of his or of his student. In fact, if I understand correctly, Trevor, it was Thraxus himself who involved the boy.”
“Involve isn’t quite the word I’d use for it. He threatened to kill Lucas’s family if he didn’t find the priest who had this book.”
“Now, I don’t know about you, Andrew,” Draeden said after a sip of his coffee, “but I do not like being told what to do. Especially not in one of our primary centers of power. I remember a time when the Elder Council came to us to explain their actions and ask for clemency if innocents were involved, rather than dictate terms to us and order us to look the other way. When they would ask for our help rather than threaten innocents in order to get them to do their dirty work.”
Polter shifted in his seat and looked down at the table for a moment before he answered. “Well, they didn’t exactly demand we look the other way, it was more of a request.”
“I was there, Andrew,” Draeden said, his fork stopping halfway to his mouth. He put it down and leaned forward. “They told us we were not to interfere with the investigation into Father Jacob’s disappearance, and if we did happen to stumble upon him, we were to take no action, no matter the circumstances. Does that pretty much cover it?”
“They didn’t say it outright, but they pretty much assumed they could send agents to New Essex at will,” I added.
“There was that. Subtext is important. And what was the response of the Sentinels? You just rolled over for them and all but bared your throat.”
“The Sentinels’ purview doesn’t extend outside the activities of the Conclave or the enforcement of our own Laws,” Polter quoted.
Draeden balled his fist up and held it over the table as his expression darkened. When he spoke, his voice was taut and strained. “The Conclave’s charter…the very existence of the wizards… is devoted to the protection of the cowan against all supernatural threats.” His hand came down slowly, and he spread his fingers out against the table cloth. “You committed us to a path of inaction, Andrew…until now. We’ve upheld our part of the agreement to the letter. In exchange, the vampires threatened a cowan family and assaulted the alpha of a local pack.”
“We have no formal relations with any clans in the Midwest,” Polter said.
“I believe it’s time for that to change.”
“The New England clans will take a dim view of that, Master Draeden,” Polter warned.
Draeden took a bite of his omelet before answering. “We’ve steered our course by the opinions and demands of others for long enough. It’s time we return to our true purpose. No more kissing ass. Now, we’ll need to get back to the reason we’re actually here in a moment. But first, Wizard Corwyn, what’s your estimation of young Mr. Kale? Is he mage material?”
“According to Sydney’s evaluation of him,” I said, “he has some natural talent, and he’s a quick learner, but given how late he would be starting his training, and how weak his talent is, he didn’t think he’d ever be more than a hedge mage.”
“Well, then, that seems to settle that,” Polter said, but Draeden held up a hand. His brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed. I felt myself fighting to stay still in my seat as he studied me.
“What do you think, Trevor?”
I sat up a little straighter, and my chest suddenly felt too small for the emotion that welled up within me. “Lucas fights above his weight class and wins on a regular basis. He’s a very smart, very resourceful young man. And while he might never attain the levels of personal power you or Master Polter have achieved… in time and with the right training, I’d hesitate to bet against him. Hell, I wouldn’t bet against him now.”
“Well, then Wizard Corwyn,” Draeden said with a humorless smile, “I’m hereby assigning you to give him said training. Now, as to the book. What was so important about it?”
“It’s the Codex Malekon.”
“The original?” Polter asked. I nodded.
“That explains a great deal,” Draeden said. “The vampires would go to great lengths to get their hands on that book. However, our course is quite clear here. In accordance with the Kyoto Accords, we must return it to the Zhang He Library in San Francisco at once. Also, I want you to help them find whoever took the codex. This happened within the Conclave’s borders, so we’re obligated to help them find the thief. I’m activating your reserve commission as a Sentinel as of now.”
“They’re not going to like that,” I said. “The fact that it was stolen from them is going to be a big enough stain on their honor. Having to accept help from a gaijin, a gwei lo, will only make it worse.”
“Those are the terms the councils agreed on. Like it or not, you’re going to help them find the thief, and they’re going to have to let you. Andrew, put the Kestrel at Trevor’s disposal. I want him in San Francisco by nightfall, and with every possible resource at his disposal.”
“The Kestrel?” Polter sputtered.
“Did I stutter, Master Polter?”
“No,” Polter grumbled. “I’ll have it made ready for takeoff.”
“Good. The transit platform is faster for you anyway, Andrew. Well, then, I believe you have a flight to catch, Trevor. The plane should be ready to take off by the time you reach the airport.”
The Kestrel. For all that the High Council had access to some of the most powerful magicks in the world, they tried to keep one foot in the real world as well. To that end, certain council members had access to a fleet of private jets. As head of the Council, Draeden used the Eagle as a portable headquarters. The leader of the Sentinels used the Kestrel as a portable command post. I had served aboard it back in the eighties as an apprentice, under Master Mordecai Crane, Polter’s predecessor.
As soon as I got out of the cab, I knew that a lot had changed in thirty years. The new plane was bigger than the one I’d served on, and the woman waiting for me at the door was no Sentinel. In fact, I was willing to bet that she wasn’t even a mage.
“Good morning, Dr. Corwyn,” she said. A young man came out of the open hatch and took my bag, then scrambled back aboard. “That is Roland, and I’m Caroline; we’re your flight stewards. Ego sum Illuminatos.” I shook her hand, but didn’t feel the tingle or buzz that skin to skin contact with another practitioner of the mystic arts usually gave.
“Is that so?” I asked.
“Yes, sir.” She gave me a dazzling smile. “I don’t have the Talent, but my family has served the magi for generations. Welcome aboard the Kestrel, sir.”
Once aboard, I s aw ee that other things ha d ve changed as well. There wa i s no apprentice assigned to the plane, unless they were assigned to Polter specifically, and the focus ha d s changed. Where there was once a balance of comfort and utility, this plane wa i s almost entirely focused on luxury. The first three compartments look ed no different than a normal business jet. Two big, reclining seats face d each other on each bulkhead in the front compartment, with a small table set on the left side of the plane with four seats on either side, and a low credenza on the right side that supported a large TV screen. The carpeting swallowed the sound of my footsteps as I went to the aft cabin and found myself slack jawed. If I wanted to get some sleep, there was a couch back there, and another entertainment center. All luxury, as far as I could tell, and zero function, unless it was hidden under the plush leather upholstery. The guy who had taken my backpack and duffel bag came was coming out of a compartment even further back in the plane.
“Your luggage is in the storage compartment, but there is also a complete wardrobe, if you need something more formal, sir,” he said.
“This is still the Sentinels’ mobile command post, right?” I asked.
“Of course, sir,” the steward said. He pointed to the single executive lounger beside me. A keyboard and wireless mouse were on the table in front of it. “Mobile C-and-C command station is there. Armories are
in the aft storage, mid-cabin and in the forward section of the plane where you entered. The galley also has alchemical and herbalism equipment to supplement the potions and compounds already on board. And we just restocked the galley.”
“Illuminatus es tu?” I asked. Are you enlightened?
“Ego ambulado inter mundo,” he answered. I walk between worlds. “My talent is limited to alchemy and herbalism. Still, I help where I can. Bloom as you’re planted, my teacher says. We’ll be ready to take off in ten minutes. Would you like something from the galley during your flight?”
“Breakfast would be nice,” I said.
I woke up when the engines changed pitch. A few seconds later, the plane tilted left and the horizon outside slid toward the top of the window. Below me, San F r ancisco stretched out in all its glory. My watch read one-twenty, but the sun was too low in the sky. I did the math, and figured the local time was nine-twenty A.M. as I brought my seat back upright. We banked again, and I felt the landing gear lock into place. A few minutes later, the plane hit the tarmac and the local info came up on the screen for me. Perfect weather for a blazer and jeans. Once the plane pulled to a stop inside a hangar, I went to the aft compartment and grabbed a charcoal blazer and a white button down shirt in my size and changed. Then it was time to accessorize.
Since I was investigating a crime as a Sentinel, I needed to be armed with more than just a wand and the odd charm. In Missouri, I was licensed to carry concealed and openly, and there were very few problems with doing so. In California, though, the gun laws were almost Byzantine. In the nineties, the Sentinels created a private security firm so the they could be armed while “on duty” in most states. Even though I was legal to carry, I didn’t want to attract the attention of local law enforcement. And that meant ditching my usual weapons. I usually liked the H&K Mark 23 and my LeMat revolver for spelled rounds. But for discretion, I was going with a pair of slightly smaller guns, the Glock 36, a slim version of their .45 caliber model, and the Colt Pocket Percussion Navy model, a small revolver that still packed a punch even before you added in incendiary spells on each of the five .36 caliber ball rounds. Both were good backups to my wand.
With a few other items from the plane’s stores in my pockets, I grabbed my backpack and got off the plane. Two Sentinels were waiting for me by a pair of Dodge Chargers. As I got closer, I recognized the one on the left.
“Sentinel Jimenez,” I said as I got within arm’s reach. She took my extended hand in a firm grip and shook it, giving me a smile. “Good to see you.” Like most Sentinels on the cowan side of the Veil, she wore black cargo pants and a blue polo shirt with her paramiir on her belt. She kept her long, black hair in a regulation braid that reached down somewhere south of her shoulders. Her oval face and light brown skin worked together well, making her one of the more attractive badasses I knew. It worked to her advantage, since most men had a hard time equating a pretty woman with the high-end ass-kicking Marcella Jimenez was capable of dishing out.
“Corwin,” Jimenez said. “This is my new partner, Sentinel Grayson.” I looked at the tall young man beside her. He kept his hair cut short, a no-nonsense cut that kept dark curls a strict half inch high from his scalp. His dark eyes flicked over to me and flicked up and down once before he extended a dark brown hand. His grip was strong, his expression neutral. His face still had some of the softer lines of youth, though his eyes and his body language made him seem older.
“Sir,” he said as he shook my hand.
“Good to meet you, Grayson.” I turned back to Jimenez. “What happened to Tyrell?”
“Lost an arm to a rakshasa we chased down last year. He qualified for regen, but…he was never the same. He retired a few months ago, took a spot at Citadel. He trained Grayson and recommended he partner with me during his probationary period.”
I nodded and looked at Grayson with newfound respect. “That says a lot for both of you. Are you two going to be working with me on this case?”
“Our orders are to stay out of your way. We’re just here to drop off a car. But, if you should need back-up,” she said, leaving the rest unsaid as she handed me a business card and the keys.
“I’m just here to return a book and look into a theft,” I told her as I pocketed the card. “I doubt I’m going to need to draw a gun, much less yell for help.”
“I noticed you were carrying a little bit light,” Marcella said. “Do you need anything while you’re here?”
“Maybe a place to stay. Is the Dolores Heights house still open?”
“Occupied. I’ll book the suite at the Warwick for you for a couple of nights.”
I nearly choked when she dropped the name of one of the more expensive hotels in the city. “When did we get a suite at the Warwick?”
“About five years ago, I think,” Marcella said. “When the Sentinels started handling security for visiting dignitaries. It’s the bulk of what we do any more.”
“Things sure have changed since the nineties,” I said. “With any luck, the only reason you’ll be hearing from me for is if I need back-up handling dinner.”
“That would be a welcome change. I like Indian cuisine, by the way.” She gave me a smile and turned toward the other car. Grayson followed her silently, and a few seconds later, they were pulling out of the hangar.
I got behind the wheel of my Charger and took a minute to familiarize myself with it. Like regular police vehicles, it had a laptop mounted to the dash. Unlike regular police vehicles, it had a black mirror next to the screen of the laptop. The windshield was enchanted so that it could display Mage Sight across the inside of the glass, just like the older Crown Victorias had been. The center console opened to reveal a trio of wands in different woods, as well as three small rods. One was red, for an incendiary spell, one was blue, for cold, and one was yellow, for an electrical based spell. And if I knew the Sentinels, there were two different first aid kits in the car, one normal, one magickal. And if I needed to be heavily armed, the trunk would have weapons enough to take down anything short of a dragon. Well, maybe a small dragon. Sentinels were fond of overkill.
The computer pulled up a map to the library, and half an hour later, I was pulling up to a plain looking little stone edifice not quite in the middle of Chinatown. It stood out for its height, around ten stories tall. Most buildings in the area topped out at three and four stories. The bronze plaque outside the door read “Zhang He Cultural Center, Est. 1952.”
Inside, the red carpet ran across a white marble floor to a white marble desk manned by a young man in a black jacket. He looked up at me and smiled. Behind him hung a portrait of a man in a blue suit with a long, drooping moustache, looking down at the world with benevolent grace.
“How may I help you, sir?” he said, his tone just a hair shy of friendly.
“Dr. Corwyn, to see the curator,” I said.
“The curator is very busy, sir,” the receptionist said, his tone dropping a few degrees. “He does not see anyone without an appointment. And his schedule, as you might guess, is quite full.”
“I can think of a couple of reasons why he’ll want to see me,” I said. “First: Ego sum illuminatus.”
“Magnus paciscor,” the man said. Big deal.
“Secondly, I’m returning a book,” I started.
“We’re a library,” he countered before I could finish. “That happens a lot here.”
“... that was not checked out.” I tried to keep a straight face as his mouth clamped shut and he pressed a button on his desk. His fingers danced across his keyboard for a moment, paused as he read something, then began moving again.
“Someone will be down in a moment,” he said, somewhat unenthusiastically.
A couple of minutes later, an elevator door opened to my left, and two large Chinese men in black stepped out. Both were armed, and they didn’t try to hide it. Swords rode at their left hips, and they carried Chinese bullpup assault rifles.
“The curator will see you,” the one on the
right said. It came out like a command. I joined them in the elevator. The one who ha d s spoken put a key in at the top of the panel, and the tenth floor button lit up. Tinny music played over the speakers, old school orchestral Muzak.
The doors opened onto an open room with glass walls on one side, and slate gray on the walls closest to the elevator. The guard with the keys stepped off with me and led me to a small lounge area toward the front of the penthouse. Comfortable, leather upholstered chairs were set around an oval coffee table, and a dark haired man in a navy blue suit stood at the window.
“I came to this country in nineteen-fifty-one, Wizard Corwin,” the man said without turning. “Even then, I could see the future that would come with Mao’s rise to power. I came here to protect the knowledge of the past, of my homeland, and to preserve a great culture. I left many to die under the leadership of a man more concerned with his own place in history than the lives and well-being of his own people, when I could have destroyed him. For decades, this place has been a sanctuary. And now, you come here, offering to return something taken from my shelves without permission.” The man turned to me, his features smooth, a narrow face with a Mandarin moustache that reached his collarbone, the same man as in the painting downstairs. I recognized him, the Honorable Sheng, the founder of the library, and one of the three Eldest Dragons.
“It brings me no pleasure to deliver such news,” I said, bowing my head. “This crime against you is an affront to the Council and the Sentinels as well, especially since it affected our people. I would offer my assistance in finding the thief.”
“This is my library, wizard. Under the Kyoto Accord, it is not even under Sentinel jurisdiction. I do not need, nor do I want, your interference in my affairs.”
