A Mage's Stand: Empire State (Malachi English Book 3)

by Andy Hyland

  “I get you. Thanks for taking a chance on me with this. Thanks for even coming to meet me.”

  “You do some great work, Malachi, don’t get me wrong, but I wonder sometimes if you don’t cause more shit that you solve.”

  There was nothing more to say, so I turned to walk away. “How’s your Dad?” I asked. “Has he relaxed into retirement yet?”

  “Dad passed away a couple of months back. He got to do some fishing before he went. Hung out with the family. In a fair world he’d have had more time, but not in this one.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “Yeah, you kind of went off the radar for a while there. Shame. There was some stuff came up that I could have done with some help on. Still. Sure you had your reasons. Work quickly, Malachi.”

  “You heard all that?” I asked when I got back to the others.

  “We heard enough,” said Zack. “You okay?”

  “Not really. Let’s get some rest. Then we’ll go see Patrick. And if I don’t strangle him with my own bare hands he can consider himself bloody lucky.”

  We grabbed what sleep we could. The sky was black when my eyes closed and light gray when they opened. I checked my watch. Three hours. Not great, but I felt partially refreshed, and that was something. A long comfortable lie-in wasn’t something I had time for at the moment. A quick review of the apartment showed Zack still out of it on one of the sofas, legs straight, head back, and mouth open, breathing loudly. Arabella had her legs tucked up under her, curled sideways on a big armchair.

  “Hey you,” Julie said softly from the kitchen, where she was trying to put some coffee on as quietly as humanly possible. “Want some?”

  “Do I ever. Make it strong. This is a bit weird, being all stuck together like this.”

  “Weird yes. But also, even given the circumstances, pretty good. I mean, when was the last time we all got to hang out together for so long?”

  I gave it some thought. “Probably the last time we were all facing certain defeat and impending death. Still,” I said as I walked up behind her and curled my arms round her waist, nuzzling into her neck, “you’re right. It’s been too long. We’ll have to start doing this more often, on a more casual basis. Apart from the whole crashing out in the same room thing - we’re sophisticated adults, not kids.”

  She snorted, but smiled. “Beats the opera, right?” I checked out her face, but she was serious. “Not a dig,” she continued, “I promise. We lost sight of things, let everything get stale and boring. When this is over I’m going back to the comic shop. Hands-on management, no more of this silent owner crap.”

  “Great idea. I don’t get anywhere near as many free toys since you left.”

  “Tell me what you want, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  Shucks, she was just great. I spun her round, rubbed noses, and we settled into a long kiss. Which lasted about five seconds.

  “Is that coffee?” Zack demanded from the sofa. “Do I smell coffee? I need coffee. Bring me coffee.”

  “Coffee?” mumbled Arabella. “What about tea? Is there any tea? Peppermint tea?”

  “The kids are up,” I said. “Lets get everyone fed and washed.”

  By nine we were ready, primed and armed. Well, half of us were. Julie and I had to go in clean - anything else would look unfriendly and carry overtones of distrust. For my part, I had no problem with that, but Julie was insisting we play nice, and she had a good point. Getting the Mage-born onside would be a major bonus. With the Union in chaos since Liberty’s fall from grace, the Mage-born were the only group still left who might carry any significant sway with the Host. A few character references at this point could turn the tide for us.

  At half nine we moved down the stairs to the door that led onto the street. I looked out. “No limo yet. We are getting a limo right? Because I’m important.”

  “It’s Patrick,” Julie said. “I don’t think he knows that any other type of car exists.”

  “Well here’s our ride,” said Zack. “Stay sharp. We’ve got your back.” With a nod, he opened the door and slipped out with Arabella. They headed to a yellow New York cab that had rolled up to the sidewalk. A wild-haired, goggle-eyed guy sat at the wheel and gave me a quick salute. Rick, my go-go driver. Not Aware, but someone who knew how to keep his eyes open and get a job done. High up on my list of trustworthy city denizens.

  Zack and Arabella climbed in the back and slid down out of sight. Then Rick reversed up a few meters. When a shiny black limo arrived a few minutes later, it just looked like a parked cab, nothing to do with our address.

  “Shouldn’t have got it to pick us up here,” I told Julie for the fifteenth time. “The location’s now blown.”

  “It was this or wander further than we should in the light of day. Anyway, the security’s up. It’s still secure.”

  “Secure isn’t the same as secret.”

  “Well it’s done now. Remember, head up, shoulders back. Show no fear.” She gave me a final peck on the cheek. “For luck.”

  The driver stood at the back door and opened it as we approached. We slid in. Everything you’d expect from a Mage-born ride: slick leather seats, mini-bar, too much space. All this money ploughed into a car. I hated to think what the depreciation would be like. Still, you could pick one up that was four years old…

  “Focus,” Julie insisted. The driver didn’t need instructions from us - it wasn’t like we knew where we were going - so he just jumped back in the front and a few seconds later the car pulled effortlessly away into the morning traffic. To pass the time she pulled out her phone and quizzed me on the council members likely to be with Patrick at the meeting, testing my memory, seeing if I could link names to faces. I was now up to a seventy-five per cent success rate, which to my mind was pretty good. From the frown Julie was giving me, however, I was apparently still not good enough.

  Every now and then I faked a stretch or an itch and flicked my gaze back to see if Rick was keeping up. Taking two cars was necessary but risky. We still weren’t sure how far away from Julie the rest of us would have to get to lose all the benefits of her non-magical dampening field. We all carried emergency Silvian knots, an arcane privacy shield, but they would only last for thirty minutes tops, and Becky’s stash was running low. All we could do was rely on Rick’s utter disregard for the rules of the road and his determination to do anything humanly necessary to get the hefty bonus we’d promised him for sticking to our rear the whole time while not getting made as a tail. We were fine for the first few blocks, but once the limo swung north and accelerated slightly I became nervous.

  “Relax,” said Julie, patting my knee. “Concentrate on what you can control, not what you can’t.”

  As always, she was right. I closed my eyes, took some deep breaths, and ran through everything that needed to happen in the next half hour if we were going to save our necks. I was going to have to get Patrick to support us and help us. Then I was going to have to royally screw him over. And I would do it with a perfectly clear conscience - he’d killed those cops and it wasn’t even remotely necessary. He could pay for it.

  We changed direction again, heading east, skimming along the south side of Central Park before turning north again. The destination was still a mystery. “Any ideas?” I asked Julie.

  “None. Not for lack of trying - he was pretty tight-lipped.”

  “I can’t see the cab,” I muttered out of the side of my mouth.

  “Focus,” she said again, and left it at that.

  We pulled up five minutes later outside a hotel on the Upper East Side. Decent place - by which I mean it exuded a modestly understated quality, and was clearly outside of my price range. “The Clover? You been here before?”

  “Rings a bell. I was with Dad. Can’t be sure though - these places all blend together after a while. It was dark, lots of suits, people drinking too much out of boredom.”

  “Yeah, well today should be a bit different.”

  The driver ste
pped round to open the door for us. I stretched and twisted in what I suspect was a thoroughly unconvincing manner. “No cab,” I hissed to Julie. “Can’t see them anywhere.”

  “Well what are you going to do?” she asked. “Run away? Stand there stretching for another ten minutes? Pull yourself together and let’s do this.”

  The smartly dressed brunette on reception smiled as we passed, and then walked over and locked the front doors behind us. Two suits fell into step either side, silently shepherding us through wide corridors until we came to a set of double doors. The suits stopped. Julie turned and leveled a stare at the one on her side. “Would you mind?” she asked frostily. The man recoiled slightly as if struck, before stepping forward quickly and pushing the doors open. I think he had to stop himself bowing slightly as we passed. That’s my girl. Sometimes you need to get yourself mentally geared up and think yourself into winning. Every little bit helps.

  We walked side by side into what must be the hotel’s ballroom, Julie’s hand brushing mine. The ceiling was set high, so high that a small balcony ran the length of the room on one side, two meters off the floor. All the furniture had been cleared, save for three long tables set in a horseshoe, the open end facing us. Around the outer edge sat elegant figures, ramrod straight and chins in the air. A few of them I recognized from Julie’s photo quiz, but their names now completely eluded me. At the centre, facing us and standing, was Patrick Everheart, looking as slick as ever. He carried a black cane, which I knew from experience contained a sharp metal spike, the weapon of choice for the Mage-born. As my gaze slid round the tables I couldn’t help but notice that similar canes leant against the arms of every chair. Several of the men idly rubbed their fingers against the top of them.

  “Brace yourself,” I whispered. This felt all wrong. Too confrontational.

  “Patrick,” Julie smiled. “Edmund, Esmerelda, Suzanna. Everyone, thank you, thank you so much, for seeing us at such short notice. We clearly have a lot to discuss.”

  “Oh I don’t know,” said Patrick, his face hardening as he looked straight at her. “I think this is going to be over very, very quickly indeed.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Relax Patrick,” I said in my most calming tone of voice. Which, to be fair, I hardly ever used, so I had no idea if it still worked, or indeed if it ever had. “We’re on the same side here. We need to find out what happened to Max.”

  “We know what happened to Max,” Patrick stated.

  “You do? Great. Then stop dicking around and tell us. The sooner we take the demon off the streets, the safer everyone is.”

  Patrick started pacing around the tables, heading towards us. “It’s not a demon, Mr English. Or any type of hellkind. As you very well know.”

  “Don’t try to play us,” a white-haired gent spat. “We know how your kind work.”

  “My kind?”

  Julie took my hand and squeezed. “There’s clearly been some kind of misunderstanding.”

  “I agree,” a middle-aged woman with graying hair said, rising to her feet and lifting her black cane. “We misunderstood your nature, young lady. We thought - we were led to believe by Max - that your father’s nobility, his refinement, could be found in you, albeit in an as-yet undeveloped state. That with care and patience and tutelage you could be of use, of value, despite your obvious limitations.”

  “But it turns out,” Patrick continued, placing his hand on her shoulder as he stepped past, “that you have far more in common with them than with your father.”

  “Them being?” I politely enquired.

  “Refuse. Street-scum. The Aware,” another man clarified.

  “Look, I don’t know what your problem is,” I said. “Well, actually I do, and I’d love to discuss it with you in great detail. But not now. Not while we’re facing this. We were there. We both saw the crash. Saw what caused it.”

  “Convenient, isn’t it?” Patrick asked. “That you would be the only ones there? The only ones to bring back the truth to us?”

  “This is a waste of time,” I said, figuring that getting out now would be a really good idea. I turned back towards the door but the rear wall was lined with more suits. All carrying canes. I cast out my senses. Yep, all mages, and not a weak one among them from the look of it. We were vastly outgunned and outnumbered.

  “Why are you doing this?” Julie demanded. “I loved Max. He was very dear to me.”

  “Save your breath,” Patrick spat. “We have the confession. We have the truth. And as soon as we make that knowledge public, as soon as the Mage-born find out what abominations your kind are, we will join and rid the city of you completely. By whatever means necessary.”

  He was only a few steps away now. He walked up so that we were nose to nose, and dropped his voice. “Sorry, old chap. This is where it ends for you. The Aware lose their little hero. The police get their killer - or his body, at least, which I imagine they’ll be just as happy with. The waste of space and breath that has been your pitiful life will be over, and your soiled little soul can wing its way to hell.”

  “You bastard,” I said, the pieces falling into place. “You bastard. You’ve set me up.”

  The corners of his mouth momentarily flicked into a grin before he turned away and, with a flourish, drew the steel spike from his cane. “Gentlemen,” he roared.

  With a grating whisper the suits drew their own spikes. The more elderly folk at the table joined in, but in a relaxed manner that indicated they had no intention of doing any actual fighting. They paid good money for other people to do this for them, so why buy a dog and bark yourself?

  “He’s mine,” Patrick shouted with a glint in his eyes, and dropped into something like a fencer’s guard position, his other hand stretched out behind him and to the side, fingers flexing as he coaxed up a cast.

  The one advantage I had, and admittedly as advantages go it was a big one, was that Patrick was a complete and utter prick. He’d never had a fight in his life, I imagined, and now he wanted to play the glory-boy. Take down Malachi English all by himself. Well chump, not today.

  Without thinking twice I flung up a ward around Julie. She’s immune to many things, but steel spikes aren’t one of them. No point in me clearing a way for us to get out if she took one in the stomach or the chest. Then I moved in on Patrick. Presumably he was expecting me to call up a charm or a hex, and for us to engage in some highly artistic duel. What he wasn’t expecting was for me to let out a blood-curdling scream, drop my shoulder and charge past his spike, putting my shoulder into his ribs.

  Don’t get me wrong. I love magic. I thoroughly enjoy pulling off a creative bit of casting. But nothing could have compared at that moment to the satisfaction of feeling at least two of Patrick’s ribs crack as I drove him down onto the floor. Then, before he could gather his wits, I planted a knee in his stomach and drove my right fist down three times into his face, his neck snapping back and slamming the back of his head against the floor every time. His eyes rolled up and the lights went out.

  I sprang back to my feet just in time to throw myself backwards, away from an incoming spike at gut level. I spun round to my left, knocked the suit’s hand away, and sent a bolt of witchfire straight into his face. He went down, dropping the spike and slapping away at the fire which stuck to his skin and burned deep.

  A few meters back, three of the suits were trying to get at Julie. Two attacking from the front with spikes, the other trying to reach her from behind and drag her down. All three were failing miserably, the spikes glancing aside and the grabber having his arms flap out of control as he tried to get a grip. Which was all as it should be, because I am bloody good at wards, and if an amped-up Malachi English puts one in place, it doesn’t go down for jumped-up thugs on some posh twat’s payroll.

  The self-satisfaction was dangerous, and I reacted only just in time to a threat from behind me, flinging up my own ward. I turned round, expecting to see another suit, but it was the council members, on their feet
and flinging hexes my way at a rate of knots. At the same time four more suits were moving in slowly and deliberately. A few seconds more and I’d be outflanked. With multiple attacks, physical and arcane, from all directions, it was only a matter of time before a momentary lapse in concentration cost me dearly. And once I was gone, even if I was out for only a few seconds, Julie would die.

  I looked over towards the door. Still no clear route, and even once we were outside I was betting a few more personnel stood between us and the front door. Which, as I remembered, was locked after we entered. It was all looking quite bleak. And then I looked up.

  “What’s up, Malachi?” Arabella yelled down from the balcony. “You losing your touch? These pussies too much for you?”

  “Shut up and do something,” I shouted back, and doubled up on my own ward, getting ready for whatever was coming.

  The grenade-shaped missiles came flying down, thrown by Arabella from one end of the balcony, towards the suits, and also by Zack, who stood further along, out of sight of the council members. Ten seconds later, Julie and I were the only ones on the floor still standing.

  I’m not sure whether my old, dearly departed friend Becky actually invented whizz-bangs (not trademarked, by the way, but good luck with making the damned things), but she was the finest practitioner as far as their creation was concerned. Think of small, portable psychic shock grenades. If you were magically aware, or even better, actually engaged in magical activity, then having one of these go off around you was like someone with a night-vision scope suddenly facing a flash-bang grenade. Nasty stuff. Trust me.

  My ward held. Around me, some of the suits groaned and writhed on the carpet. Others were out for the count. Council members slumped in chairs or knelt leaning against the tables. A sharp tang filled the air from where someone had pissed themselves on the way down.

  “About bloody time,” I said.