Guardian Glass

by Christopher Nuttall

  I was tempted to ask if Aylia could remain in the chapel for a while, but I knew that there was little chance of them agreeing to it. Brother Andrew might have allowed it, but the Bishop was looking grimmer and grimmer by the second. He had to be having doubts about everything that had happened since we had entered his domain.

  “Come on,” I said. “Let’s go face the music.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  A person is smart. People are dumb

  -Various

  It hit us the moment we stepped out of the aura of peace and harmony surrounding the chapel. There was a sense of…unease building in the Magical Mile, a sense that the street was on the edge of disaster and it would only take one idiot lighting a match to trigger the explosion. I had felt something like it before, back when I’d been in the Army as a liaison officer and we’d been called in to deal with a mob riot that had gotten badly out of hand, so badly that they'd relaxed the rules on using the army within the United States. It had felt the same way. It had also ended badly.

  There was no sign of any threat, either mundane or magical, but I knew better than to assume we were safe. The existence of magic meant that the situation could go from reasonably stable to disastrous within seconds, often without warning, and the mob might decide to have a go at us. The tourists were glancing around uneasily, trying to understand why the street suddenly seemed a hell of a lot less friendly, while the regulars were looking in our direction and trying to hide it. Someone, I knew, was going to start something.

  “All right,” I muttered to Aylia, cursing my own decision to bring her. I was about to take her into a war zone. She was definitely perceptive enough, even without Brother Andrew’s warning, to know that something was badly wrong. “Whatever you do, don’t show any fear and remain calm, understand?”

  She nodded, one hand clutching mine tightly. I was tempted to rely on it for reassurance myself. It would be fairly straightforward to deal with most magical threats – and my protective wards would cope with most mundane threats, like someone trying to shoot me – but it would be easy for me to become overwhelmed if I had to cover her as well. I shouldn’t have brought her as well…or, perhaps, vaporising the zombie head and arresting the owner had been an overreaction. The NYPD wouldn’t come anywhere near here and the other Guardian, the one who should be on duty, was nowhere to be found.

  “Brave heart,” I said. There was just enough rogue magic in the air to make teleporting dangerous. I couldn’t swear that it was an attack either. The Magical Mile was normally drenched in unfocused strands of magic. It probably wasn't a coincidence that New York also had the largest infestation of magical creatures in the world, outside the countryside. “Come on.”

  We had come out near the Garden of the Stoned Philosophers and we took a moment to check them out before we started to walk out. I wanted to present an unworried face to the world, even if I was panicking inside. The Stoned Philosophers believe that a person in mortal flesh and blood simply lacks the detachment to meditate properly on the world, let alone their place in it, and so they pay magicians to turn them into statues. There were a dozen such statues standing in the garden ahead of us, each one a person turned to stone, naked and alone against the elements. Three of them had adopted dramatic poses, including one that probably violated some obscenity law, while the remainder looked surprisingly contemplative. I don’t know if they actually find any answers within their meditations, but it takes all sorts to make a world.

  “I spent a week as a statue once after a close encounter with a basilisk,” I said, dryly. It had been the second most embarrassing time of my life, just behind being caught by my father with a girl who had had the most enormous breasts, but a giggle that could drive a person to drink, or violence. “I can’t say I got much out of it, apart from a hatred for pigeons and dogs. I still flinch whenever I see a dog coming close to me.”

  Aylia gave me a sharp look, clearly doubting my sincerity. “Really?”

  “Really,” I confirmed. “They had this creature running around in Kentucky and it kept turning people to stone, so they decided it was a medusa. No one who saw it was in any condition to tell the tale, so…they sent me up there without the right gear to hunt it down and kill it. I found it and…well, before I could retreat it got me. It took a week to undo the spell and regain some mobility and afterwards I was stiff for weeks. I think a retired Marine got it in the end.”

  I shrugged. “They actually tamed a few afterwards and put them to work in the jails,” I added. “It’s amazing how much quieter the jails are when the prisoners are turned to stone. They don’t even want to re-offend!”

  Aylia stared at one of the frozen women. “And people volunteer to go through this just for enlightenment?”

  “Apparently,” I said. “They were the subject of several investigations, but nothing was ever proved.”

  I took one final look at the statues and led her back onto the main street. The Magical Mile isn’t just the street that bears the name, but hundreds of small businesses and side streets, packed with tourists and members of the magical community. I had been told that you could find anything in the area and they were probably right, as long as you didn’t take too close a look at it afterwards. The stores selling magical supplies ranged from genuine stores selling goods at horrendous prices, to cheap stores run by frauds, or sometimes owners who had no idea that they were selling fakes. It’s not easy to prove, particularly with some of the lucky charms and love potions, but I had a suspicion that too many of them breached the law. If we had the manpower to patrol more often, we might even be able to clear out the black market…

  “Pixie Dust,” I muttered, as we passed an open-air stall promising everything from Unicorn Horn – it somehow restores virginity – to powdered Horny Toad, which gives a man enough endurance to satisfy three girls in a night. They’re illegal – Unicorn Horn in particular – but it was so hard to cut off all the black market trading. I ran my senses over the stall and found barely any magic. The owner had been sent nothing more than chalk dust and tiger bone paste. “I wonder…”

  The stall owner took one look at me and started to close up. I could have asked him questions, but there was little point; he would only have denied anything. If someone had sent enough Pixie Dust to the Faye house to be so noticeable – although I couldn’t imagine why anyone would use Pixie Dust in a kidnapping, unless it was to put the child to sleep – it would be someone further up the chain than a simple street seller. I would have to check the files and see who lived closer to Washington and might have the required supplies. I might have to pay them a midnight visit.

  Aylia caught at my arm. “Glass,” she said, “what are they?”

  I smiled. “They’re Griffins,” I said. I’d seen one back in Faerie, but these were in the mundane world. Imagine a giant eagle, with the head of a lion and the bad disposition of a coffee addict in the morning. They’re trainable – Griffin flying has replaced horse racing in some parts of the world – but they’re surly and generally unpleasant to be anywhere near. As I watched, one of them shat on the street and snarled at a passing child, who ran right into her mother’s arms. Griffins are supposed to be herbivores, but I wouldn’t have bet against them eating the odd child. The trainer whacked the creature on the nose with a long pole and made a gesture of apology to the mother. On the whole, I rather preferred the dragons. “Try not to turn your back on them.”

  “I see,” Aylia said. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “What are they doing here?”

  I looked at the long column of beasts. “They say they’re going to be putting on a flying display later,” I said. It was barely legal, if that, but it was a great tourist attraction. The occasional tourist who was the victim of Griffin malice only added to the amusement, although I had a feeling that New Yorkers prayed for the next Griffin dump to land squarely on the Mayor’s head. “I don’t think we’ll have the time to go.”

  “I wouldn’t want to go,” Aylia admitted. “Why d
on’t they keep them in zoos?”

  I shrugged. It seemed like a reasonable question to me, but then, I don’t set policy.

  “Never mind,” I said, finally. There was always something else to see. The Magical Mile seems to be larger on the inside than on the outside, although opinion is divided over the question of if that is actually the case or not. A large concentration of magic could do odd things to space and time, but I had the feeling that it was merely illusion in New York. Creating a pocket dimension took time, effort, and a great deal of magic. I doubted that one could form naturally. “Why not take a look at the parrots instead?”

  Aylia smiled when she saw the parrots – charmed beasts; they actually have a certain level of intelligence – but I didn’t relax. The magical field kept shifting around us, but I would have picked up on something anyway; the tension was still rising. The tourists were looking more and more uneasy – they’d probably never believed the strange tales of what could happen to unwary tourists in the Magical Mile – and starting to wander off, trying to look nonchalant. The regulars were being more prudent, for once, and were scattering in all directions.

  Who is it going to be, I wonder? I thought. Oddly, I almost welcomed the coming confrontation, after all the frustrations of the past two weeks. Beating up on someone was unprofessional, but it would feel very good indeed. There were a dozen factions that would try to challenge a Guardian, but most of them hated each other more than they hated us…and might even end up fighting each other, if we were lucky. The intelligence briefs had suggested that at least five major factions – magical groups – were present in the Magical Mile, but which one would it be? And, coming to think of it, where was the missing Guardian?

  “Here we go,” I said, as the wave of departing people became a rout. The street was suddenly almost empty, as if it was a deserted city. I remembered Mannington and shivered as the magical field twisted and hissed around us. “Just remain calm and focused and we’ll be fine.”

  There was a brilliant flash of light right in front of us and a massive black man appeared, wearing nothing, but a loincloth made from human hair. His skin was covered in tattoos and dull red patterns- it took me a moment to realise that the red colour was blood – and he carried a staff tipped with a human skull. I almost smiled in relief. He might have looked showy, and he was clearly trying to be intimidating, but he hadn’t risked teleporting into the street. He had used a simple invisibility and illusion spell. It would impress the tourists – I could sense a handful creeping back to watch the show, the idiots – but not any other magic user.

  Well, I thought, in the privacy of my own head, either that, or he’s saving his power for the duel.

  Two more men appeared behind him, wearing the same outfits – although without the staff – followed by seven naked women. The women immediately fell to their knees, although their cold dead eyes watched me mercilessly, while the two younger men took positions on either side of their leader. I lifted my Sixth Sense briefly and peered at them through it. Two of the men had considerable magical power, but the third had hardly any, while the girls wore magical chains. The Voodoo Cult – I recognised them, as I was meant to – didn’t think much of women. They existed as sources of power and little else. It was ironic that at least two of the girls had real power of their own.

  I waited for them to speak, staring at the leader and concentrating on studying his wards. They were elaborate, but most of them were designed to protect him against otherworldly threats – the Voodoo Cult dealt with hundreds of sprits and entities – rather than another magician. He was warded against most kinds of physical force, however, which made simply shooting him impossible. His two apprentices had bound themselves to their master in blood, I realised; there was little hope of convincing them to back down, separate from him.

  He finally ran out of patience and spoke, his voice rumbling into the open air. “You have taken something from us,” he said. I recognised hints of compulsion magic in his voice, something that was definitely illegal, even if it wasn't a threat to either Aylia or myself. The tourists, however, would be almost completely helpless. I would have to stun them all as quickly as possible before they turned into a howling mob that wanted my blood. “You are also walking with the whorish daughter of our enemy.”

  His two comrades took a step forward, slapping their hands together for attention. It looked like a traditional dance, but they were summoning some entities to their command. Their master allowed them to do it, quite simply, because they would be taking all the risks on their own shoulders. I smiled at them and they stared at me, unable to believe their eyes, while I thought rapidly. The Voodoo Cult thought that Aylia’s father was their enemy?

  “You will return our brother and place yourself naked before us,” the leader continued, firmly. He sounded as if he had been practicing in front of a mirror. He also didn’t mean physically naked, but leaving my soul open for them, giving them control over a Guardian. “If you refuse…”

  “Oh, grow up,” I said. “The seller with the zombie head was hardly your brother, was he? He was merely another sap you used to sell your dangerous products.”

  His face almost went purple. “You will pay for that,” he hissed. He raised his staff and levelled it at me. I felt Aylia shrink back behind me, even as I prepared my own wards. The Faerie weapon seemed to be burning a hole in my pocket. “You will…”

  A dark shadow fell over the street and he looked up, his eyes going wide with – just for an instant – stark terror. That would have told me, if nothing else, that the new arrival wasn't something he'd summoned, let alone something he could control. The dragon settled almost casually onto two buildings, somehow straddling the street, and peered down at us with bright red eyes. They were so bright that the entire street was bathed in a dull red glow.

  “Look at what we command,” the leader shouted, finally. I could hear his voice shaking, although I had to admire his nerve and thinking under pressure. If their enemies thought that the Voodoo Cult commanded a live dragon, they would face far fewer enemies in the future. Even a temporary control over a dragon would be impressive, if extremely dangerous when the dragon broke free and came for revenge. “See how the Gods protect their own…”

  The dragon reached down with one long foreclaw and picked him up in one smooth motion, holding him up in front of the massive red eyes. The leader urinated in midair under the dragon’s unblinking eye; I had the feeling, somehow, that his power had just been broken. The two apprentices lifted their hands and began a chant, launching bolts of magical fire towards the dragon, but they all flickered and died against the dragon’s invulnerable hide. It moved its neck with one smooth motion and blew a single plume of fire towards them. I staggered back – the heat was enough to give me sunburn, despite my wards – as the two apprentices vanished. There wasn't even the traditional pile of dust.

  “Begone,” the dragon said, and dropped the leader on the street. The leader’s legs broke and he collapsed on the ground. A moment later, the naked women were on him, tearing away at his flesh and bone. I looked up at the dragon, trying to see its face, expecting that I already knew its name. I was wrong. The dragon wasn't Gorwen at all, but another one – a smaller one, if that seemed possible. It was impossible to estimate, but it seemed only about the same size as a jumbo jet. A moment later, the dragon leapt up into the air and vanished.

  I stared at the rapidly disappearing shape, and then at Aylia. “What the hell just happened?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. She was shaking like a leaf, a mixture of delayed shock and the awe that most people feel when they come face to face with a dragon. The massive creature should have crushed part of the city just by spreading its wings. “What…what did it do that for?”

  “Don’t complain,” I said. I hadn’t been quite as confident as I looked. “In fact, remind me to send it a note of thanks and ask it just what it wants in return. They never do something for nothing.”

  “It looks
as if something very interesting just happened,” a new voice said. I looked up to see the speaker. “You seem to have friends in high places.”

  “Yeah, you can talk,” I said, crossly. Guardian Cowboy had always gotten on my nerves. “We’ve been wondering where you have been for hours. What the hell kept you?”

  Chapter Twenty

  John Constantine? Yes. He dances on the edge of the known, like a crazy man, pitting himself against heaven and the pit, because he is John Constantine; and because he is alive.

  -Dr. Occult

  “Well, first there was a sniper in Brooklyn,” Guardian Cowboy snapped, angrily. “And then there was this thing” – he held up a cage that looked suitable for a small rodent – “causing havoc over on the other side of the city. I got here as quick as I fucking could, so don’t fucking start with me, got that?”

  I rolled my eyes. Truthfully, if he had come into my territory, I would probably have given him the exact same speech, but we had to observe the proprieties. It’s strange, in a way; our fellow Guardians are the ones who would most understand our problems, and yet there are times when we can’t stand each other. I blame it on the constant pressure myself.