by Bryan Fields
Josephine has a phenomenally disconcerting ability to remain motionless. It’s an Elven thing, a level of kinesthetic awareness and control Humans can’t come close to. Most Elves only use it when meditating or hunting, and never around Humans. Turning into a statue is a good way to freak us out—unless we know about it.
I let her stew, and refilled my coffee cup from the carafe. The slight angle I was leaning at gave me a great view of the guy pointing a gun at Josephine’s head.
He had the same look as the scarecrows we’d dealt with last night—gaunt, dirty, and wrapped in tattered clothes. The gun was a snub-nosed .38 revolver. He cocked the hammer.
I threw the coffee cup at him. He ducked the cup itself, but took a face full of steaming coffee. He howled and jumped back. I charged him, still holding the carafe. Josephine’s bodyguard beat me to the guy, breaking his wrist with a collapsing baton. I kicked the gun to the side, grabbing the scarecrow’s shoulders and spinning him to the ground.
Two more Llewellyns sailed over my head and brought down a second scarecrow by the front door. Casino security charged in, one guy with pistol drawn and one reporting the situation into a shoulder handset. I raised my hands and started to stand up.
The bullet went into my side instead of the back of my skull. It hurt like a sonofabitch, but I had enough adrenaline and endorphins in my system not to feel it full-strength. I turned around, grabbing the back of a chair to help myself up.
Josephine kicked one of her shoes off and grabbed it out of the air. Her sensible flats must have been designed by MI-6, because she hit some kind of pressure release and a carbon fiber blade snapped up out of the sole, locked into place by a row of finger loops. Brass knuckles for the fashion police. She slashed the scarecrow across the stomach and down one arm, across his upper thighs, and straight up from his gonads to the middle of his chest. He stumbled back, trying to aim at her.
Instead of running, Josephine grabbed his gun hand and yanked, driving the crown of her skull into his forehead. He dropped the gun. Josephine brought the blade down, spearing through the back of the scarecrow’s hand and pinning it to the unmarred oak dining table. She grabbed her other shoe and popped out its hidden weaponry as well. As she scanned the room, the scarecrow tried to reach for his gun. She took a butcherblock carving board from a server’s trolley and banged it across the back of the scarecrow’s head until he stopped moving.
I weaved a little as blood loss took its toll. A frail-looking, elderly woman with a walker pulled a .45 automatic out of her purse and aimed at Josephine. I lunged, trying to knock Josephine out of the way. Stupid. We both got hit.
I woke up in Aerin and Angus’ suite, on the marble island in the middle of their kitchen. Everything below my neck was numb. I started to panic until Rose touched my cheek.
“You’re fine,” she said. “The spell keeping you still will wear off in a few minutes. One bullet came close to your spine, but there was no serious damage.”
“How is Josephine?”
Rose shook her head. “The one who shot you also hit Josephine three times. Her body armor stopped two, but the third lodged in her skull. Aerin is still working on her.”
I nodded and tried to relax until I could move again. By the time I managed to sit up, Josephine was out of danger and sleeping the same spell off. Aerin and Danya were zapping the bloodstains on the counters and floor away, so I collected my shirt and followed Angus onto the patio. Nadia was working away on a monster of a high-end laptop, wearing haptic feedback gloves and video-output goggles. I left her alone and asked Angus, “Do we have any idea who these guys were, or what they were after?”
“Random people, like before.” Angus handed me a grimy, blood-spattered piece of folded paper. “They wanted you. Everyone else was…collateral damage.”
The paper was a photocopy of a cell phone picture of me at our booth. Probably taken early yesterday, from somewhere near the exhibition hall doors. I handed it back. “Was anyone else hurt?”
“Some. One Houseguard shot in the arm. His emergency potion patched him up. You and Josephine are the most serious injuries.” He shrugged. “The official story is a botched robbery.”
“What about the cameras?” I waved at the ceiling. “Casinos have them everywhere.”
“Retcon works on electronics. They run those tapes, they won’t see us.”
“Nice spell. Why me, though?”
Angus snorted. “They’re the Bloodmaiden’s followers. I doubt it was their idea.”
I thought for a few seconds, but didn’t care for where those thoughts took me. “She’s trying to kill me to keep Crom’s game from being made.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Angus unfolded the paper again, pointing to some smudges in the margin. “Mmm. The boneheads left good leads. Smells like…lawn care chemicals. Garbage. Oil and gasoline. Piss and shit. Running water, lots of crap in it. Clay. That means a steady flow of water and lots of material.”
“Where can water deposit clay in a location likely to be pissed on? Vegas doesn’t have any rivers.” My mind raced a few seconds before the jackpot bells went off. “Storm drains.”
Angus nodded. “Agreed. Find ’em, pay ’em a visit.”
“Yeah.” I looked at Josephine, then back to Angus’ throat. “May I ask you a personal question?”
He snorted. “Is it about my scars?”
Don’t be a noob. I shook my head. “Not exactly. What kind of injuries can’t be fixed by the magic you all have to call on? I’d like to know what to avoid.”
“Don’t get killed. Keep your brain intact. Remove foreign objects from the wound.” He tapped his throat. “Shrapnel did all this. A Viet Cong mortar during the Tet offensive. A medic removed a bunch of shell frags from my chest, but then he got a good look at my throat. Put me right into a body bag.” He pointed out a small ring on his left hand. “Ring of Regeneration. My heart was fine in ten minutes, but my dog tags and chain got tangled up in the throat wound. The ring couldn’t heal my throat. It just made layers of scar tissue. This poor corpsman in San Diego finally removed my tags three days later. The throat healed and I woke up. The corpsman left shit stains clear to Tijuana.”
“What did the Army say?”
“‘You’re dead, Jim.’ I stole some clothes, hitchhiked to Berkeley, and continued our quest. The whole time, the guy was at Harvard taking world history classes.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Anyway. The throat’s fixable. I just have to cut off my head.” He started laughing, and after a moment, I joined him.
Aerin came out and snuggled up to Angus. “I’m keeping Josephine unconscious until morning, just to make sure there’s no swelling in the brain. I fixed her scalp, but I left the right side of her skull open just in case. Sandy and Richard are flying out and should be here tomorrow morning. Josephine may hate it, but she’s still mommy’s little girl. At least her mother thinks so.” She looked across the table at Nadia and swooped down on her, pulling my new vice-president into a hair-tousling hug.
“Mother…” Nadia fought for a moment, surprise and wariness flitting across her face. She relaxed and accepted Aerin’s touch, but she still looked uncertain as to how to respond. As soon as she could, she turned back to her keyboard and said, “I think I found something.”
As we crowded around, Nadia switched her display from the glasses back to her monitor. A sandy-blond woman in her late thirties was posing for a mug shot. “Elise Vaughn, former reporter for one of the local television stations. Arrested for smoking meth with an underage informant in the parking garage of a shopping mall. Fired for staging several stories to boost ratings. One was an attack on a homeless man, beaten to death by a street gang she’d paid to carry out the assault. She pled guilty in exchange for a suspended sentence and community service. Court records show she’s working at a secondhand store in old downtown.”
I studied the picture, but I was sure I hadn’t seen her before. “Any connection to the Meadows homeless shelter?”
Danya
said, “Yes. Toni had a coupon for special discounts on kid’s clothes for shelter residents. She was going to try to buy a dress to wear to the costume contest tomorrow.”
“Let’s have a look,” Aerin said. She got out her crystal ball and focused on Elise Vaughn. The fog in the glass cleared, showing us a woman who looked nothing like her mug shot. The mane of flowing golden honey hair was gone, replaced with a medium brown bob. She was thinner, harder looking, and there was something broken in her eyes. She was in the back of the secondhand store, sorting clothes and stapling on price tags. If she detected the scrying, she gave no sign.
Aerin moved the view outward, showing more of the back room. Three other women were doing the same tasks, sorting clothes or bric-a-brac and attaching prices. Another clerk came through a pair of double doors and hauled a rack of clothes back with her onto the sales floor. Aerin followed, and then left the clerk behind and swooped up to the display cabinets in the front of the store.
Paydirt. Two dozen of the Bloodmaiden’s emblems were on display, being touted as Sacred Heart Holy Protection Medallions, complete with a big swath of Latin text and pictures of bullets bouncing off a force field.
Aerin snorted. “I think they’re trying to say some holy power protects the wearer from catapult stones.” She pointed to one of the sentences and asked Angus, “Can you make that out?”
“Accomplish the sacred blood stacked higher than the evil which will be throwing of many catapults rocks upon your head,” he replied. “Can you show the card backs?”
“Of course.”
The actual maneuvering of the eyeball we were looking through took a bit, but Aerin’s skill and focus were more than up to the job. The back of the cards packed with each pendant had a simple, innocent-sounding prayer asking for God to protect the wearer from random bullets and intentional ones alike. I didn’t see anything funky, but Rose did.
“There. Start with the first word, then every third. Don’t read it out loud.” She traced her finger over the words as she spoke. That pattern revealed an oath, promising fealty to the Bloodmaiden once the speaker donned the amulet. Call me paranoid, but I’m not going to repeat it here.
“Using bulletproof amulets to recruit low-level flunkies,” Aerin sad. “That’s almost creative, by her normal standards.” She cocked her head to the side and pulled the Lens of True Seeing out. “Those can’t be permanent enchantments. The materials would never stand up to that amount of spell energy.” She paused to peer through the lens at the medallion’s image, turning the scrying crystal in a slow circle.
After tucking the lens away, Aerin said, “I was wrong, those are permanent items. The problem is they’re blood-fueled. Once the initial charge is used, the medallions convert the user’s blood into magical energy, and they don’t stop when the medallion is full. They just keep feeding until the wearer dies.”
“Any chance they’re locally made?” The corner of Angus’ mouth curled up into a small smile. “Fireball doesn’t need a search warrant.”
“Not enough information. I’d need a dormant medallion.” Fog billowed up to conceal the images in the crystal ball. Aerin focused again, this time showing the inside of a convenience store. Another batch of medallions was mixed in with a collection of lighters, pot decals, raccoon tails for your car antenna, and fifty-piece nut driver sets. The scene changed again, focusing on a street-side vendor selling Vegas paraphernalia and T-shirts reading “What time does the midnight buffet start?” This time the pitch was different—it claimed to bring luck and help you obtain the righteous prosperity God wanted you to have.
Aerin tapped her fingers on the table. “Let’s see how far she’s gotten.” Images popped in to the crystal ball, each showing only an individual. Many of them looked sick, and the environments around them generally didn’t look like Las Vegas. After two dozen or so, Aerin dismissed those images as well. “People wore them home from Vegas, but I can’t find any bulk supplies of unsold ones outside the city.”
Half a dozen guys from Josephine’s entourage joined us on the patio. I wasn’t sure if I’d met any of them before, as they all had nearly identical faces. I assumed the one who stepped forward was in charge, but I didn’t see any sign of rank or authority.
He inclined his head forward and tilted it to the left, leaving him staring at Angus’ feet. “Warmaster, the Houseguard awaits your command.”
Angus nodded. “Vigilance. Who saw those who attacked us?” Three hands went up. Angus nodded to them and said, “Prepare descriptions and circulate them. If you see them, do not confront. Alert hotel security. For now, abide by the law. Minimal force self-defense. Grandmother arrives before morning and will update you then.”
He paused, gazing around at them. “Send out the Red Branch. Heavy weapons but stay street legal. Understood?”
The Llewellyns nodded. “It shall be done.” They moved to the living room and started making phone calls.
I raised my eyebrow at Angus. “I thought the ladies had all the power in Dark Elven society.”
He shook his head. “Not when we’re at war. I’m in charge of both families now.” I could see him making an effort to keep his voice smooth and understandable. “You and Rose are not involved. You can go if you want.”
“Josephine was hurt when these guys attacked me,” I said. “We’re already involved.”
“Besides,” Rose added, “That one guy I took apart had a lot of gold fillings. I’d like to find a few more like him.”
“What’s our first step?” I asked.
Angus said, “Ecophage. Sign the contract now. We’ll work out the money later.”
I didn’t laugh. “Would you ever do that?”
Aerin patted the table and gestured to a seat. “I’ll guarantee the money, David. As Crom’s Emissary, I vow you will receive a fair contract, or I will pay the disputed balance. As ranking Eldest daughter, I have authority to negotiate with you on behalf of Llewellyn Industries. Geneva?”
Geneva set up her tablet and set the video to record. “David, all we are asking for is an agreement in principal. You agree to make the game, we agree to pay you for it and provide a pool of candidates to hire from. Separately, you agree to allow LI to develop the fusion battery you patented. We agree to pay you a great deal of money and a percentage of revenue for not less than ten years. Are these terms acceptable?”
“Fifty years. Nadia approves the tech side and Rose signs off on the financials before I agree to anything else.” I’d hired them and I was going to trust their input.
Aerin looked up and to the right, gazing somewhere past a wispy cloud struggling for life in the desert heat. “Hey, Boss! David agreed to make the game. Is there anything you want me to tell him?” She cocked her head to the side, listening to something only she heard. Her eyes narrowed and she jumped out of her seat. “He said, ‘Get your sword’. That bitch sent a hit squad after Lilah.”
Chapter Fifteen
Ambush
“I can’t see them. The whole area is warded against scrying.” Aerin pounded her fist on the table. “Nobody has enough power to do that! Not against this crystal and not against me!” She grabbed a pitcher of water off the sideboard and hurled it against the nearest window. Thankfully, no one was in the kitchen as the entire twelve by twenty window shattered and fell inward, covering the kitchen in snowdrifts of glass fragments.
Angus grasped Aerin’s hands, squeezing them together with one hand while wrapping his other arm around her shoulders. She fought, but he forced her into a chair and pinned her down, leaning over to whisper something Elvish into her ear. Aerin burst into tears, sobbing on his shoulder and beating her fist against his chest.
Rose sat down in front of the crystal. “They expect you to be looking, Aerin. They won’t be expecting me.”
Aerin shook her head. “You don’t have the magical training to use the crystal. Nobody here does.” She bit down on her finger and tried to hold back more sobs.
The corner of Rose’s mouth twi
tched. She flicked her fingers at the shattered window and mimed tossing something into the air. The glass flowed back together as though breaking in reverse. “I have done a little classroom study myself. Tell me about the person I’m looking for.”
Riki jumped off Aerin’s shoulder and burrowed into her purse. He emerged clutching a small crystal vial hooked to a ring of car keys. He passed it to Rose and zipped back on to Aerin’s shoulder.
The vial contained a lock of honey-blonde hair. Aerin scooped Riki up and stroked his back, eyes fixed on the hair in Rose’s hand. Rose cupped her hands around the crystal and an image appeared, floating above the table.
I don’t know what part of the Mojave we were looking at, but it had a lot more greenery than I expected, as well as an actual creek within easy walking distance. Six lashed-together A-frame shelters covered with layers of cut brush surrounded a stone-ringed fire pit. I expected to see a group of Scouts learning to whittle or tie knots; instead, a dozen women bound with zip ties crowded together under a shade pavilion. A blonde woman in her mid to late forties lay staked out next to the fire pit, far from any shade. Dried blood caked her mouth, nose and one eye. Parts of her face and upper chest were already blistered and burned dark red.
Aerin grabbed for one of her rings but Angus was faster. He caught her hand and held it in place. “No! They’re expecting us. They want you to come in angry.” Aerin struggled again, shouting in Gaelic and reaching for her rings, but she couldn’t break Angus’s grip.
Rose looked up from the crystal. “Stop that! Now! You both have to see this if you want her back alive.” The scene zoomed in on the inside of one of the survival shelters and focused on three plastic boxes placed against the back wall of the shelter. Whoever put them there had tossed some spare clothes over them in an effort at concealment, and it might well have worked if not for wind and gravity. The box on the right was exposed, and so were the words, ‘This Side Toward Enemy.’
