Cloak Games: Tomb Howl

by Jonathan Moeller

  If the Rebels spent this much time bickering, no wonder they hadn’t managed to overthrow the High Queen and the Elves in the last three hundred years.

  Yet Nicholas had forged them into an effective team. I felt a flicker of misgiving as we laid out our plans. With my abilities, Nicholas could achieve far more than he could otherwise.

  Just what was I helping him to do?

  Three jobs. I just had to survive three jobs, and then I was done with him. I could bring the Inquisition down onto his head, and whatever he had planned would die with him.

  Once the meeting was done, Nicholas dismissed his lieutenants for the day. They would return tomorrow to begin their tasks, and I would have to help Vass and Morelli hide thermobaric bombs in the ruins of Chicago. I really didn’t want to go back to Chicago, but I didn’t have any choice.

  I was almost the last one out of the conference room, but Hailey lingered to talk to Nicholas.

  I stopped just around the doorframe, out of sight, listening to their conversation.

  “Yes?” said Nicholas, his voice calm.

  “Nicholas,” said Hailey. “I…I just wanted to apologize.”

  My blood went cold, remembering how he had predicted that she would apologize. He could control her as easily as he said. Had Nicholas manipulated me that effectively when we had been together?

  Was he manipulating me even now?

  I detested Nicholas as much as I had once loved him, and perhaps that cunning mind of his could exploit my loathing for him just as easily he used Hailey’s love and desire for him.

  “It’s all right,” said Nicholas. “I forgive you. I know how much Miss Stoker upsets you, but we’re working with her for the greater good of the Revolution.”

  “I just can’t stand that woman,” said Hailey. “Bad enough she’s such a jerk, but…Nicholas, she’s insane. I looked into her mind, and she’s insane. Worse, she hates all of us, but she especially hates you. Katrina Stoker is powerful, crazy as a syphilitic rat, and she hates you personally. I’m afraid of what she’s going to do to us. I’m afraid of what she might do to the Revolution and to all your work.”

  “I understand,” said Nicholas. “And I’ve taken precautions. Katrina is dangerous, but we need her help for now. And once we’re done, I’ll deal with her. I promise you that.”

  “Thank you,” said Hailey, her voice quavering a little.

  “Come here,” said Nicholas.

  I shook my head and stepped past the doorway.

  Hailey didn’t see me. Her head was buried against Nicholas’s chest, her back to me. She didn’t see me.

  Nicholas was looking right at me.

  Likely he had known I had been there the entire time, and this little conversation had been as much for my benefit as for Hailey’s.

  He smirked at me, but his eyes were cold, cold, cold.

  I flipped him the bird to cover my misgivings and kept walking. Tonight, I was going to eat a smoothie and drink maybe a gallon of water.

  Tomorrow, we would prepare to steal something from beneath the tentacles of a myothar and its undead army.

  Chapter 12: Bombers

  As it turned out, Morelli had access to a freaking lot of thermobaric weapons.

  When he and Nicholas had been discussing them, I had been thinking of something like rack-mounted missiles designed for helicopter use. Instead, Morelli had a whole bunch of rocket-propelled grenades. They were metal cylinders about three times the length of a standard hand grenade, their sides covered with warning messages written in Russian. The thermobaric grenades looked extremely dangerous, and I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near one when it went off. Getting burned to death is a nasty, nasty way to die.

  Believe me, I knew that firsthand.

  Morelli had ideas to make them even nastier.

  He found a whole lot of plastic five-gallon jerry cans and burner cell phones. Since I had experience with improvised explosives thanks to my adventures in the Eternity Crucible, I wound up helping him prepare the bombs. We filled up each of the cans with gasoline and secured the grenades to their sides with zip ties. Once that was done, we activated the burner phones, noted the numbers, and wired the phones to the grenades’ detonators. All Morelli needed to do then was to dial the burner phone’s number, wait a few seconds, and boom. The thermobaric weapon would explode in a burning shock wave, and it would also spray ignited gasoline in all directions.

  It would be a brutal weapon, but it would generate a lot of heat, and hopefully that would distract the undead. Maybe we would even get lucky and injure the myothar itself.

  Morelli and I worked on the bombs in an empty warehouse, and at Morelli’s insistence, we stored the finished bombs well away from each other. Otherwise, one mistake might set off all the bombs at once, and that would be bad. An explosion of that size would draw the attention of Homeland Security, and not even Nicholas and Corbisher would be able to bribe their way out of a disaster on that scale.

  And that would be…maybe that wouldn’t be bad.

  Doubt gnawed at me as I wired another cell phone to a grenade. I had done a lot of bad things in my life. I knew that, and I admitted it, at least to myself. But I always had the excuse that I was doing it because Morvilind was forcing me to do it, that Russell would die if I did not cooperate.

  That was also true now, I supposed.

  But was I going too far?

  Stealing relics from Elven lords and frost giant ambassadors was one thing. Actively assisting the Rebels was something else entirely. Nicholas and Dr. Tocci might talk a big game about the Revolution and freedom, but I knew Nicholas was an evil man. I knew Corbisher was an evil man. I had seen the kind of things they had done with my own eyes, seen the victims of their schemes with my own eyes.

  And I was helping them.

  Riordan had told me a couple of times that he thought I used Russell’s frostfever as an excuse, that I used his need for a cure to justify doing things that I knew were wrong. At the time, I had gotten a little annoyed with him. Now, as I helped wanted terrorists build improvised explosive devices, I saw that he had a point.

  I knew that the Eternity Crucible had broken me.

  Had it also made me into a monster?

  Russell would be horrified if he knew what I was doing now.

  Hailey had looked into my mind and called me dangerous and insane.

  I brooded on all of this, using the complicated work of preparing the bombs to hold back the dark feelings. It was a great way to take my mind off my troubles because one mistake would get me killed.

  I finished another bomb and straightened up, brushing the dust from my knees, and saw Morelli approach.

  “What?” I said. “Did I screw something up?”

  “No,” said Morelli, his expression bland as ever. “You did not. In fact, your work is excellent. When Nicholas said that you were going to help me, I was disturbed. One mistake and we might die a fiery death. But you are quite good at this.”

  “Thanks so much,” I said.

  Morelli shrugged. “I don’t give compliments. I state facts. It is frankly baffling that a pretty young woman would know how to wire a bomb properly while possessing unusual magical skill, but here you are.”

  “Pretty young woman?” I said. “If you’re trying to flirt with me, I should warn you that it is really a bad idea.”

  Morelli snorted. “No, Nicholas is the one who seduces damaged women. I would prefer to shoot you in the head and get it over with.”

  “I can’t believe I’m about to say this,” I said, “but I think I preferred the flirting.”

  Morelli shrugged again. “It’s not personal. It’s just business. You’re obviously an Inquisition agent, and you’re just as obviously going to try and turn us in once your deal with the Forerunner is done. Better to shoot you now. I don’t like loose ends. I like everything neat and tidy.”

  He said it with an utter lack of rancor. Like an accountant stating his preference for a certain brand of tax sof
tware over another.

  “Right,” I said. “So how does a member of the European Union Security Directorate end up with the Rebels in America?”

  “Classified,” said Morelli.

  “Let me guess,” I said. “The Elves killed your wife, or your girlfriend, or killed your dog or stole your car or something, and now you want revenge.”

  Morelli actually laughed. “Do you take me for Dr. Tocci or Hailey with their sad stories? No, I was part of the Directorate, but my heart belonged to the Men of Honor.”

  “Men of Honor?” I said, and then an old detail I had learned from one of Morvilind’s retainers popped into my head. “Wait. You were in the mafia?”

  “A vulgar word,” said Morelli. “Our proper title is the Men of Honor.”

  “But I thought the High Queen exterminated all the organized crime groups,” I said. Even as I said it, I knew that it wasn’t true. I used to fence stolen merchandise with a gentleman named Mr. Rojo in Los Angeles, and his organization possessed influence on both sides of the US-Mexican border.

  “Just as the High Queen has ended prostitution, theft, murder, crime, and the evil within the hearts of men?” said Morelli.

  “Point taken.”

  “The Men of Honor, in fact, support the High Queen and the nobles fervently,” said Morelli. “There are always rich men who need things done quietly, even when those rich men are Elves, and the Men of Honor are there to do them. Such things are governed by unwritten rules, and so long as we stayed within the rules, the Men of Honor were allowed to go about their business.”

  “And you broke those rules,” I said.

  “Spectacularly,” said Morelli. “The head of my family abandoned me, and they would have handed me over to the Directorate. I had no wish to end up on a Punishment Day video, so I fled. In time, I met Nicholas, went to Venomhold with him, and joined the Rebels.” His dark eyes glinted. “When the Rebels are victorious and the High Queen overthrown, I shall return to Italy. I shall walk into the family’s house in Naples. And I shall make the Men of Honor regret their abandonment of me.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Bet that will be loads of fun.” So, Nicholas’s crew consisted of a disgraced corporate executive turned Rebel, a girl from an abusive home who had become a Dark Ones cultist, a doctor with a drinking problem who had been enslaved, and an exiled mafia assassin who wanted vengeance against his former associates.

  And then there was me. Honestly, where did Nicholas find people like us?

  “It will,” said Morelli. “But before we enjoy our fun, we must suffer through the work. If we are diligent, we can finish another thirty bombs before the end of the day.”

  We went back to work. We actually finished another thirty-two bombs.

  While we did this, Nicholas busied himself with other preparations. Frequently he consulted me with a question on some point or another, and he adjusted his plans depending on my answer.

  I overheard several arguments between Corbisher and Nicholas. Because Vass's helicopter would be flying over the ruins of Chicago, it would show up on the radar of local airports stretching from Milwaukee to Detroit. Corbisher wanted to file fraudulent flight plans with those airports, but Nicholas said it would be simpler to bribe the flight controllers, and Nicholas got his way. Corbisher insisted the bribes would be noticed in time, but I thought Nicholas was right. Flight plans would be scrutinized more closely than simple radar records because a troublemaker could cause a lot more trouble with a hijacked plane or zeppelin.

  Corbisher didn’t like spending the money. But if he didn’t want to worry about money, he shouldn’t have let me steal Armand Boccand out from under his nose in Minneapolis.

  Nicholas also decreed that Hailey and Corbisher would accompany us to Chicago when we went to break into the tomb. Both Hailey and Corbisher were wizards, could draw upon their Dark Ones for augmented power, and more to the point, they both knew the lightning globe spell, which as far as I knew, was the only spell that could harm the myothar.

  They demonstrated their skills for me one morning after Morelli and I had finished working on the bombs. I didn’t want to do it, but Nicholas thought I might be able to show Corbisher and Hailey a few pointers on focusing and improving their spells. At first, I refused, but Nicholas pointed out that someone distracting the myothar at a critical moment might save my life, so I relented.

  We stood behind the central warehouse, out of sight from the street. Corbisher was wearing his usual suit, and Hailey a halter top that left most of her toned stomach bare, tight shorts, and high-heeled sandals. I was wearing my usual coat and sweater. I suppose we looked like an extremely weird trio.

  Especially after we started shooting lightning globes.

  “I say again,” said Corbisher, “that this is a waste of time, and I doubt you can show us anything useful.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I heard you when you said that to Nicholas. The first twelve times.” Hailey snickered. “But let’s get this over with. Show me what you can do.”

  Corbisher went first, drawing himself up. Blue-white sparks snarled around his fingers, knitting together into a lightning globe. He thrust out his hand, and the globe soared from his palm to explode against the side of the building. He had cast the spell with more wasted movement than was necessary, no doubt to make it look more dramatic. Hailey went next, the muscles in her arms and legs visibly clenching as she drew the magic together. She wasn’t as strong as Corbisher, but she managed a good lightning globe, one that would probably kill anyone it struck.

  Their magic would annoy the myothar, surely, in the few seconds before the creature struck back and killed them both.

  “I fail to see how you can improve on that,” said Corbisher.

  He looked so smug that I decided to prove him wrong.

  “Watch,” I said, and I lifted my hand, casting the spell. Five lightning globes spun into existence above my fingers, and Corbisher took a hasty step back, his eyes wide as he stared at the spheres. I pushed out my hand, and the spheres shot out in a dazzling volley to strike against the concrete wall in a spray of sparks.

  The echoes from the thunderclap died away. The spell had rattled Hailey, but she was trying not to show it. Corbisher only looked annoyed that I had shown him up.

  “How did you do that?” he snapped. “You used less power than either of us and yet you created a greater effect.”

  I shrugged. “I learned how to do it a while back.”

  “How?” he demanded.

  I grinned, remember all those thousands of anthrophages I had killed.

  “How does anyone learn anything?” I said. “The hard way.”

  That shut them up long enough for me to show them a few things. I taught them how to better focus the power so they could create a stronger lightning globe while using less magical force. Granted, they wouldn’t be able to cast multiple globes at once – I think I had been inside the Eternity Crucible for thirty or forty years before I managed that – but they would be able to hit harder.

  I still didn’t think they would be able to do more than annoy the myothar, but maybe if Corbisher annoyed the myothar it would kill him, and that wouldn’t bother me at all.

  Then it came time to place the bombs.

  ###

  The last time I had ridden in a helicopter had been with Arvalaeon and his personal squad of Inquisition soldiers, flying to La Crosse to stop Baron Castomyr from summoning a Great Dark One.

  I wasn’t sure that flying with Vass, Morelli, and fifty thermobaric weapons in a surplus Homeland Security attack chopper was an improvement.

  It had taken some negotiations to get me into the helicopter. While Morelli had a lot of thermobaric weapons, the Rebels didn’t have access to many incendiary rounds. We would need incendiary rounds if there was any close-quarters fighting, and Nicholas had sent me to steal some from the local branch of Homeland Security. I had cheerfully agreed, pointing out that this would use up another of the three things that the Forerunner’s
deal compelled me to steal for him. Nicholas promptly reversed himself, ordered Corbisher and Swathe to obtain the ammunition, and had instead sent me to help place the bombs.

  Most likely I would have wound helping to place the bombs anyway. I was the only one who could Cloak, after all.

  Vass flew the chopper, and Morelli and I waited in the cargo area with the bombs. The helicopter had started out painted Homeland Security blue, but some of Swathe’s people had repainted it with “urban camo,” a mixture of gray and black that would hopefully blend in with the ruins of Chicago.

  I watched with growing trepidation as we approached the ruined skyscrapers, Lake Michigan spreading like a giant blue sheet to our right. Planes and zeppelins flew over Chicago on a regular basis, but they usually flew a lot higher. We would be lower, only a few hundred feet above the ground, and the undead might climb up the walls to attack us, or the myothar might decide to blast us out of the sky.

  If they attacked the helicopter, I would jump out, use my levitation spell to cushion my landing, Cloak myself, and then run like hell.

  Vass and Morelli would just be out of luck.

  But the undead filling the streets did not respond to the helicopter. They could see heat, and maybe the cold metal skin of the helicopter sufficiently masked the heat from the engine. Or maybe they simply didn’t realize they should look up. The myothar didn’t show itself, either. Perhaps it didn’t care about helicopters. Or perhaps it simply didn’t notice. Chicago was a big place, and not even a powerful squid-creature from another world could keep an eye on everything at once.

  “We have reached alpha point!” said Vass, his voice crackling over the speakers in my headset. We were hovering about a hundred feet off the ground over Wacker Drive, not far from my confrontation the myothar. I saw no sign of the creature, and to my mild surprise, my bicycle was exactly where I had left it. “Let’s start placing the bombs! We are burning fuel.”