Gooseberry Bluff Community College of Magic: The Thirteenth Rib (Kindle Serial)

by Schwartz, David J.

  YOU ARE THE ONE CALLED INGWIERSEN, said Stolas.

  “You’ve heard of me.” She laughed. “I hope it’s been good things.”

  YOU HAVE A REPUTATION. Stolas’s voice was like the wailing of a hot summer wind. TONIGHT WILL BE THE END OF IT.

  “I’m not afraid of you.” It was true; she was beyond fear. She was thrilled—her heart was racing—but there was no fear in her.

  NEVERTHELESS.

  She held up the bow. “Do you know this weapon?”

  SPARE ME YOUR LEADING QUESTIONS. I AM NOT ONE OF YOUR STUDENTS. I AM YOUR MASTER.

  “This weapon is the bow of the Parthian general Surena, who defeated the Roman Crassus at the Battle of Carrhae. The wood comes from sacred cypress, spruce, and maple trees; the horn and sinew from a wild oryx. After Surena’s betrayal at the hands of King Orrodes II, the magi preserved the bow, which was blessed in the name of Ahura Mazda and imbued with the power to defeat demons.” She lowered the bow; it was heavy, and she did not plan to use it yet. “That would be you.”

  IT IS YOUR KIND THAT CALLS US DEMONS. WE SIMPLY ARE. WE WERE BEFORE YOU CAME; WE WILL REMAIN WHEN YOU ARE GONE.

  “Yada, yada, yada.” This was standard demonic cant, as unverifiable as it was portentous. “If we’re so far beneath your notice, why have you allied yourself with the Heartstoppers?”

  YOUR IDLE CURIOSITY IS TEDIOUS, INGWIERSEN. TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT.

  Stolas’s legs were trembling, Ingrid thought. Or perhaps there was steam rising from the river. Running water weakened demons, but it would also weaken her summoning circle over time. She needed to pick up the pace. She was doing several things at once—maintaining the pentagram, protecting her own power circle, lending power to the bow to activate its magic—but she needed to keep some of her attention on moving the conversation forward.

  “You took something of mine when you manifested on this plane,” she said. “I’m curious about the reason that you chose to take physical form, when for most of your kind simply projecting a shade of yourself is enough. But I don’t really need to know why. I just need you to give up what you took from my sister.”

  YOUR SISTER. HOW SMALL-MINDED YOU HUMANS ARE. I COMMAND TWENTY-SIX LEGIONS OF HELL. DO YOU KNOW HOW I CAME TO POSSESS THOSE LEGIONS? I KILLED AND CONSUMED MY BRETHREN. THEY WERE AS NOTHING TO ME.

  “Nevertheless,” said Ingrid.

  HELL HAS NO STARS, DID YOU KNOW THAT? AND YET I KNOW ALL THERE IS TO KNOW ABOUT YOUR STARS. I HAVE TAUGHT THIS KNOWLEDGE TO BETTER THAN YOU, ALONG WITH THE SECRETS OF HERBS AND POISONOUS PLANTS, AND THE HIDING PLACES OF PRECIOUS STONES. YET YOU ASK ME FOR NONE OF THIS.

  “I want my sister back.” Ingrid became aware that she was sweating. The psilocybin was beginning to wear off. She fished a few more mushroom caps out of the pocket of her dress and popped them into her mouth. Then she reached down and picked up one of the three arrows at her feet, arrows of silver and fulgurite.

  I HAVE BEEN PROMISED THE STARS, said Stolas. THAT IS WHY I AGREED TO BECOME MANIFEST. THAT IS THE ALLIANCE I HAVE MADE.

  “I thought that question was tedious.” Ingrid nocked the arrow into the bow. “You’re stalling, Prince Hooty. Give me what I want, or I’ll knock that chintzy crown off your head.”

  YOU ARE THINKING THAT I AM FORCING YOUR HAND. BUT THE TRUTH IS THAT YOU HAVE FORCED OURS.

  Ingrid drew the bowstring back to her cheek. “Explain.”

  IF YOU DO NOT RELEASE ME FROM THIS CIRCLE, MY MORTAL COMPATRIOTS WILL DETONATE A HEARTSTOPPER HERE IN THIS LITTLE TOWN. KILL THIS BODY OR NOT; EVEN IF IT BRINGS YOUR SISTER BACK, SHE WILL SUFFER THE SAME FATE AGAIN MOMENTS LATER, ALONG WITH YOUR STUDENTS, YOUR COLLEAGUES, AND YOURSELF—THREE HUNDRED AND THIRTEEN OF THE INSIGNIFICANT CREATURES HERE WILL LOSE THEIR SOULS, AND MASTER LEONARD WILL RISE.

  Ingrid focused on her breath. Stolas might be lying. Demons lied as effortlessly as scratching their asses; sometimes they did it just because they were bored. Sometimes they did it because they were afraid. For such powerful creatures, ultimately, demons were cowards. Faced with a confident opponent, they had a tendency to talk fast but eventually back down.

  DON’T BE FOOLISH, INGWIERSEN.

  Ingrid let the arrow fly.

  ***

  “What is it?” Cyril Lanfair asked, staring out the library window with everyone else.

  “Prince Stolas,” said Bebe. “If you’d studied your Ars Goetia, you’d know that, Cyril.”

  “I’m an alchemist, for God’s sake. I don’t want anything to do with demons.”

  “Is it an attack?” Joy asked. She looked at Ken Song. They all looked at Ken Song.

  “What?” he asked. “Oh. No, nothing. I’m fine.”

  “He’s not moving, you know,” said Lutrineas. “I mean, he’s just…wading out there in the river. If this were an attack I’d think he’d be stepping on things.”

  “Is that what you would do?” asked Cyril.

  Lutrineas sniffed Cyril. “You smell like cats. You always smell like cats.”

  “That’s because he has seven cats,” said Bebe. She was moving away from the window, looking through the bookshelves. “You should smell the apartment. I won’t even go in there anymore.”

  “Well,” said Lutrineas. “I do not know how your cats behave, but I am an otter, sir. We do not crush things. Not with our feet, and not unless there is meat inside.”

  “Can we focus on the demon?” Joy asked. “Someone brought Stolas here, but not as an attack?”

  “It seems that way,” said Bebe. “But if they were just looking to consult with him, they wouldn’t have summoned him in his physical form.” She pulled a large book off the shelf and flipped through it. “Stolas. Gems, herbs, poisonous plants…astronomy. One hundred and forty-nine.”

  “One hundred and forty-nine?” Joy asked. The number stuck out in her mind for some reason. Something to do with Flood, or Flood’s office.

  “That’s his demonic number.”

  That clicked it into place. Flood’s office, a week ago, going over the files on the Heartstopper attacks. “It’s also the number of people killed in the Minneapolis Heartstopper,” Joy said.

  “Oh,” said Bebe. “The one that killed Selma Ingwiersen.”

  “Ingwiersen?” Joy asked. “Wait a minute, do you mean Ingrid’s sister?”

  Bebe nodded. “You didn’t know?”

  “Dammit!” Joy pounded on the nearest bookshelf. “Her sister is listed as recently deceased, but no details. Someone at the FBMA fucked up.”

  “Or they didn’t want you to have that information,” said Yves.

  “I’m not going to think about that right now,” said Joy. “Why would Ingrid bring him here?”

  Bebe shook her head. “I’ve known her almost ten years, but Ingrid’s not the kind of person you really get to know, in some ways. She’s guarded, which is one reason we never got around to inviting her to join us here. If I had to guess, though? She might be dabbling in some necromancy. When her sister died, Ingrid was broken up, but she was also…she wouldn’t accept it. She might have some idea of getting Selma back.”

  “Is that even possible?” Necromancy was illegal, but Joy was pretty sure Ingrid was too far gone to care about the risks. Joy remembered the conjuration professor’s aura, bands of red fading into a miasma of gray.

  “Anything’s possible where magic is involved,” said Yves. “Whether it’s likely is another matter. I understand that Ingrid has a great deal of experience in dealing with demons on the battlefield, both major and minor. But to face one in its physical form is as foolhardy a thing as I’ve ever heard of.”

  “Can you find out where she is?” Joy asked.

  “Yes,” said Abel Bouchard. “Get me a map of the town, please,” he said to no one in particular; Simone Deschamp went to do so. The rest of them, including Lutrineas, were all looking at Joy. It occurred to her that she had meant to do something when she got here, before the gods and demons started showing up.

  “I have something f
or you,” she said. “All of you. Consider it a donation to your library.” She pulled the copy of the manuscript out of her bag and set it on the table. “I’m hoping you’ll grant me access to it in the future. It’s Carla Drake’s manuscript and, I suspect, the reason behind her disappearance.” Joy was hoping that this gift, combined with the geas the group had put on her, would create a loophole that would conceal from Flood the fact that she’d copied evidence.

  “Certainly,” said Yves. “I’m eager to have a look at it myself.”

  “Let’s concentrate on the big owl first,” said Joy. “Can you send Stolas away?”

  Bebe scoffed. “I was just beginning to think that you were smarter than that. What’s out there isn’t a projection; it’s the real damned thing. If we tamper with Ingrid’s summoning circle, we’ll just let it loose to wreak whatever sort of havoc it feels necessary.”

  “So it’s been on this plane since the Heartstopper attack?”

  “Probably.”

  “Abel, can you find out where?”

  “Tricky,” he said. “Even in their physical form, demons aren’t subject to our physical or magical laws. Give me a shoe from a missing person and I’ll find them in about five minutes; get me a feather from Woodsy down there and maybe I can backtrace him in a few days.”

  “I’ll see what I can do about the feather,” Joy said. “Look, you people want me to trust you, right? So help me on this. I want to know where Ingrid is, and I want some ideas on how to deal with Stolas. And we don’t have much time. In about fifteen minutes this town will be crawling with FBMA, GUMP, you name it. Bebe, Abel, get me what you can and call me on my crystal.” She turned to Abel. “I need to borrow your truck.”

  “My truck?”

  “I’m parked three blocks away. You were parking out front when I walked up.”

  “Um.” Abel produced his keys. “OK. It’s a classic, you know. Please be careful.”

  “Nothing bad is going to happen to your truck,” said Joy. “Lutrineas?”

  “Yes?”

  “You’re coming with me.”

  ***

  Zelda fumbled for the handle to the glass door. She was too terrified to take her eyes off of the giant crowned owl in the river, and Hector was still holding on to her, so she couldn’t see what she was doing and she could barely move. Finally she said to him, in a tone that came out more exasperated than scared, “Can we go inside, please?”

  “Yes. Sorry.” Hector kept one arm around her and reached for the handle with the other. They stumbled through into the apartment, and Zelda twisted out of his grasp.

  “I’m not sure what smothering me was supposed to accomplish,” she said.

  Hector was still staring out at the monstrous thing. Zelda stepped up and shut the patio door.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing. I’m sure most people feel very safe when they can’t move or breathe.”

  “I was trying to protect you.”

  “I don’t think the bear hug is quite so effective a defense as you may believe.”

  “Look, I’m sorry,” Hector said. “We have to do something.”

  “Why?” Zelda asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why do we have to do something?” Zelda asked. “Cowering in your apartment feels like a good thing. I was living in Jersey during the Count Murmur attack, and the police didn’t drive up and down the streets saying, ‘Please come out of your homes and throw rocks at the giant demon in the harbor.’ ”

  “You’re being sarcastic.”

  “I’m being fucking scared! You saw what happened in the library. And those were cats. That thing couldn’t even fill up on cats. That thing could snack on a train full of honey-roasted cats, have a blue whale fillet, and wash it down with a water tower.”

  “Yes, and if it decides to come this way, a lot of people are going to die. I may be able to prevent that. But I’m going to need help.”

  Zelda ran a hand through her hair, which was still wet and stiff from being set on fire and put out with beer. “I’m leaving, Hector.”

  “Zelda—”

  “I can’t help you!” She was furious; she clenched her hands into fists so she wouldn’t pick up anything and throw it. “I can’t help anyone, Hector! Even if I had the perfect potion for an owl-demon, it would only make things worse! My curse is real, and you can’t charm it away with your sweet talk and your homemade tortillas—”

  “Tamales.”

  “I don’t care! Stop pushing me. You’re only making things worse.” She stomped to his apartment door, yanked it open, and slammed it behind her. Then she stood there in the hall, trying to catch her breath. She didn’t want to be in the same space as Hector anymore, but going outside right now was probably a bad idea.

  The door opened a couple of seconds later. “Zelda,” Hector said.

  “I can’t help you.” She didn’t have the energy to shout about it anymore, but she said it again, quietly. “I can’t help you.”

  “I understand. I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to push. I do understand about the curse. I…”

  He was silent for long enough that Zelda looked at him. “What?”

  “I didn’t believe you at first. Not really. I thought you were exaggerating. That was unfair of me.”

  “You thought I was just a silly girl with a persecution complex.”

  “No. I mean, I understand it probably feels that way, and that’s my fault. It’s fair to say I didn’t take it seriously enough, though, and that was shitty of me.”

  “Yes. It was.”

  “Just now, though, when I said I needed help, I wasn’t talking about you.”

  “Oh.” Stupidly, Zelda’s feelings were hurt.

  “I’d like it if you came with me, though.” He leaned against the wall opposite her, his hands in his pockets. “Don’t help me. Yell at me. Keep trying to talk me out of doing what I’m doing. I would prefer you didn’t assault me, but otherwise, hinder me in any way you can.”

  “Hector, you’re still thinking of the curse as a logic problem, as something that can be solved or outsmarted. It’s not. It’s a vengeful, evil bitch, and it hates me, and you can bet it hates you too, because even though you say stupid things all the damn time I can’t help the fact that I like you. Which means that it’s going to hurt you, and it’s going to be my fault.”

  “Not if you don’t help me. Come on. Come with me. Please.”

  Zelda couldn’t bring herself to say no.

  ***

  The woman who had sold Ingrid her arrows lived in Arizona. She was a weather wizard of sorts, but instead of predicting temperatures and precipitation she went out after lightning storms, driving an ancient, elemental-powered Jeep through the desert, seeking fulgurites.

  Fulgurites were sometimes known as petrified lightning; they were glass tubes formed when a bolt from the sky superheated sand, silica, or soil. They were fragile and irregular in shape, but Ingrid’s dealer was a patient and skilled woman. She bonded the fulgurites with silver and strengthened them with repeated treatments of fire and high voltage. The process she used to balance the shafts so that they would fly true—she made spears and harpoons as well—was a secret, and the reason that Ingrid had paid an exorbitant price for the three arrows she had purchased.

  The first arrow flew, jagged but true, into one of the thirteen tines of Stolas’s crown. The charge of living lightning inside the arrow released on impact; it flashed white and purple, electric light and gem refraction, psilocybin and phosphenes. The crown tumbled back off the owl’s head and plummeted, rolling through midair into the waters of the St. Croix.

  “I warned you,” Ingrid said. “I can’t imagine how you put that on your head in the first place. It’s going to be a real pain to get it back on. If you can find it, that is.”

  Stolas roared. The summoning circle trembled, shaking Ingrid in turn, but she kept her feet.

  “No tantrums.” She picked up a second arrow and nocked it. “
The next one goes in your heart.”

  I HAVE NO HEART, FOOL.

  “Oh, you don’t mean that,” said Ingrid. God, was she flirting with this thing? She hadn’t felt this alive in years. Maybe she hadn’t been depressed at all; maybe she simply missed the adrenaline of risking her life and her soul. “What you mean,” she went on, “is that you’ve hidden your heart somewhere. But if I take out a leg and a wing, you won’t be able to get to it before I find it. And I will.”

  I WARNED YOU.

  “Yeah, we both warned each other. So far I’m the only one who’s pulled the trigger, so to speak. You’re stalling to give your Heartstopper pals time to get set up. I’m giving you five seconds. Five.”

  YOU HAVE NO—

  “Four.”

  —IDEA THE—

  “Three.”

  —PLANS YOU—

  “Two.”

  —ARE MEDDLING—

  “One.”

  —INGWIERSEN, DON’T BE—

  “A fool?” Ingrid shot him in the eye.

  ***

  Ken watched from the third-floor window of the McMonigal Arms while Joy Wilkins and Lutrineas drove from the building and toward the river. It was stupid, but when Lutrineas had changed his shape, Ken had immediately missed Philip more. He wasn’t any more gone than he had been before, but being able to see him—or someone who looked exactly like him—had helped Ken pretend that he wasn’t as afraid for him.

  When Abel’s truck disappeared beneath the trees three blocks away, he turned back to the rest of the group. Bebe was paging through demonology books while Abel waved a jade amulet above an enchanted map of the town. Yves and Simone had gone downstairs to fetch something for everyone to eat. Cyril Lanfair sat across the table from Ken, his hands clasped, trying to look calm.

  If Ken was honest, he had always disliked Cyril. He was fastidious to a fault and overly invested in his stupid cats. He was also sexless in a way that Ken found impossible to relate to. Cyril and Bebe had been close for decades—Bebe was scornful to everyone, but even more so to the people she loved—but so far as Ken could determine they had never even kissed. Maybe Cyril preferred men; maybe he was horribly repressed; maybe he was asexual. It was embarrassing, the amount of time Ken had spent trying to figure Cyril out, and yet he had never bothered to ask because there was always the possibility that Cyril might explain himself, and then Ken would become trapped as some sort of confidant for a man he could barely bring himself to be polite to.