Queen of Nothing (Marla Mason Book 9)

by T. A. Pratt

  “Having a student helps keep Bradley tethered to our world, too, huh?” Rondeau said. “Gives him something to do, so he doesn’t take off and get re-absorbed into the godhead, or whatever.”

  Cole’s smile was warmer now. “Marla always insisted you were more astute than you liked to let on, Rondeau. Yes, that angle did occur to me. It is pleasant to have Bradley back. I understand the burdens of responsibility, and the inescapable call of duty, but if Bradley can find a way to do his great work while still allowing some part of himself to dwell among friends, that is the most desirable of all possible outcomes. Why are you looking for him? Not more trouble, I hope, like that dreadful business with the Outsider?”

  Pelham said, “Mrs. Mason was supposed to return from the underworld three days ago.”

  Cole nodded. “Oh, I know. I keep her cycle marked on my calendar. It’s good to know when Marla Mason is abroad and walking up and down in the world.” He laced his fingers together on his desktop. “But I note you say ‘was supposed to.’”

  “She never showed.” Rondeau looked around for a place to sit, was disappointed, and settled for leaning against a shelf instead, arms crossed. “We waited three days... it seemed like a mythic interval, I don’t know... and then we started to get really worried.”

  “She is a god,” Cole said. “I can’t pretend to know what the lives of such beings entail—I have avoided consorting with such forces whenever possible, beyond a few ill-considered youthful forays—but I imagine her existence is quite complicated. Perhaps she’s simply dealing with a matter of some importance?”

  Rondeau chewed his lower lip for a moment. “I dunno, Cole. Her bargain with her husband was, she’d spend a month in the underworld, and a month living as a mortal. One on, one off. She was pretty clear about that, and I get the idea that when gods make a deal, they stick to it. That their laws are less like contracts and more like gravity. It’s not like Marla is the only god of death. It’s a whole duality thing. Her husband could step in to cover her, right?”

  “Unless something happened to Mr. Mason, too,” Pelham said quietly. “If something happened to Death himself.”

  “You decided against summoning an oracle to ask after Marla?” Cole said. And then: “Ah. You want Bradley to summon an oracle instead. To take the danger and burden of repaying the oracle on himself.”

  Rondeau almost ducked his head, but he settled for a shrug. “It’s half cowardice, sure. You heard about the thing that happened with the Pit Boss? The last oracle I summoned stole all my money and kicked me out of Las Vegas.”

  “I understand that is because you made an ill-advised bargain with the creature.”

  Rondeau lit up. “Yeah! Exactly! It was a terrible bargain! I have the same powers to summon oracles that Bradley does, but he’s got more experience, and a better natural sense, and, hell, he’s just better than I am. Me and Bradley are both driving high-powered sports cars, but he knows how to handle his. I just flip mine over and end up in a ditch.”

  “It’s true that you’ve received no formal training in the use of your powers,” Cole said. “Though I gather you haven’t been interested in pursuing such studies?”

  “I’m a lazy hedonist, Cole. I’m happy sitting around in my suite at the hotel playing video games and eating lobster. I don’t want to be a crazy powerful sorcerer. I wouldn’t even be here right now, except....” He shrugged. “Marla.”

  Cole nodded. “Marla. She does inspire a certain loyalty. It isn’t easy to become her friend, but once you do, it’s forever. She’s demonstrated a willingness to destroy the fabric of reality itself to help a friend. You know she’d do anything for you.”

  Rondeau snorted. “I dunno if I’d go that far. When I fuck up she’s pretty happy to let me twist for a while.”

  “Don’t be uncharitable.” Pelham’s voice was sharp. He thought Marla Mason hung the moon, and the stars, and probably the space station and satellites and most of the planets besides. “Mrs. Mason intervened with the Pit Boss and returned you to your position and status in Las Vegas. She just wanted to make sure you had time to learn from your mistakes first.”

  Rondeau nodded. “I did learn. I haven’t summoned an oracle for anything important since.”

  Cole said “Mmm. It’s up to Bradley, of course. But have you considered attempting conventional divination?”

  “We know enough about divination spells to find a lost set of keys, but that’s about it,” Rondeau said. “Besides, I mean... she’s a part-time god. She can’t be easy to find.”

  “Divination magic is a specialty of mine.” Cole rummaged in the drawers of his desk and drew out a roll of purple velvet cloth. He opened it on the desk, revealing a small brass bowl and a clear glass tube full of small sticks with dark heads. “Lucifer matches, from 1829. They were swiftly made redundant by the invention soon after of phosphorus matches. But I bought these, and enchanted them. Now, let me see, where is my special inkwell....” He opened another drawer, removing a quill pen, a ragged scrap of hand-pressed paper, and a black inkwell. “Ink mixed with my own blood, and a charm to prevent coagulation.” He dipped the quill and scrawled something on the paper, then opened the tube and carefully removed a match. Cole didn’t strike the match, just stared at it, and the head burst into flame with a sudden flare and accompanying chemical stench. He held the paper to the match and when it began to burn, dropped the flaming scrap into the brass bowl.

  The smoke that rose up was copious and thick, mostly black but streaked with gray threads, and weirdly odorless. Cole stared at the smoke, grunted, and then waved his hand through the smoke, dispersing it. “Marla Mason is nowhere in this world, or if she is, she is hidden so well even I cannot discern her position. Such concealment is certainly within the power of a god. Has it occurred to you that, perhaps, she doesn’t wish to be found?”

  “What, that she found some other route to re-enter the world besides her sandbox in Death Valley and she just didn’t tell us?” Rondeau scowled. “That she ditched us? I mean, maybe. Last time she was on Earth, after we beat the Outsider... things got kind of fraught at the end. We were all pretty surprised when Marla teamed up with Regina Queen and froze Nicolette into a block of magical ice for all eternity.”

  Cole nodded. “I heard about that. Bradley was very disappointed in Marla. He thought her refusal to recognize Nicolette’s redemption and transformation, her dedication to leading Felport, was a regrettable lapse in judgment. Small-minded and spiteful, I believe he said.”

  Rondeau nodded. “Also nasty and vengeful, and I say that as someone who hated Nicolette from guts to garters. Marla’s been going on and on for months about how she’s trying to do better—she even has those words tattooed on her wrist! And then when Nicolette actually gets her shit together, and helps us capture the Outsider too, Marla turns on her. I couldn’t understand it.”

  “I’m sure Mrs. Mason had her reasons.” Pelham was loyal, as always, but even his voice had an edge of doubt.

  “Didn’t she task the two of you with... getting rid of Regina Queen?” Cole said.

  “You mean did Marla tell us to murder the person she used as a tool to stop Nicolette? She sure did.” Rondeau shuddered. “Like we’re assassins now? I mean, yeah, Regina Queen’s as evil as the sun is bright, but still. I’m not a killer if I can help it, though. We made a deal with the new boss of Felport, Perren River. She put those lunatics Squat and Crapsey on her payroll, to keep them from causing trouble—better to have them inside the tent pissing out than outside pissing in, that sort of thing. She sent the deranged duo after Regina Queen, with their expedition funded by a hefty contribution from my personal coffers. I hear they got the job done.”

  “An elegant solution, in its way,” Cole said. “I’m sorry Marla put you in the position to come up with it.”

  “Yeah. I guess maybe Marla’s off somewhere sulking because we all got mad at her, but....” Rondeau shook his head. “What if she’s in trouble? If we find her and she tells us to
fuck off and leave her alone, that’s one thing. But I’m not going to stop looking if she might need help.”

  Cole nodded. “Bradley and Marzi will be back tomorrow. Perhaps he’ll have better luck tracking her down than I did. In the meantime, do you have a place to stay?”

  “We’re open to recommendations,” Rondeau said. “We’re not picky. Any of the best hotels in the city will do.”

  Oracular Emperor

  Bradley Bowman, often known as B to his friends, sat in the window of the Borderlands Café in the mission, sipping a strawberry lemonade and watching people stroll by on the street. Rondeau and Pelham were late, which wasn’t surprising. Rondeau was often calamitously late, and Pelham was always scrupulously on time, so when the two of them joined forces, they split the difference, and were usually only moderately tardy.

  B had spent the night on a rocky island decorated mostly with the shit and eggs of sea birds, teaching his apprentice how to transform into various interesting animals, and how to read omens in guano and the patterns of flight, and how to survive comfortably in inhospitable circumstances. Just before dawn he’d crept away from her sleeping form and taken their boat, leaving her to make her own way home however she could. She’d be pissed at him, but she’d shown some serious leaps in ability whenever she got annoyed or backed into a corner, and he was exploiting that quirk. Being a teacher meant being kind of an asshole sometimes, but he was a soft enough touch that he’d make it up to her when she got back.

  He’d returned to find a message from Cole, about Marla maybe being missing, and Pelly and Rondeau being worried. Well, they were still on her staff, or whatever—in her service—so it was their job to be worried. She wasn’t Bradley’s problem. He wasn’t sure where he stood with her anymore. He’d always thought people were too hard on Marla, honestly. She was uncompromising and tough, and could be sharp-tongued, but she was also loyal, and devoted to doing what was right, no matter what the cost. But the way she’d teamed up with Regina Queen... even by the logic of the ends justifying the means, that was a terrible idea, and the ends in this case had involved stealing Nicolette’s chance at redemption. Even so, he would have talked things out with Marla, let her explain herself, but she’d just straight-up ditched him that night. She was supposed to come to the hotel after she froze Nicolette, to join him and Marzi on their trip to San Francisco, but she’d never shown up, never got in touch, and they’d made the journey without her.

  For the first time, misgiving stirred in him. Had Marla gotten in trouble that night? He’d assumed she was just pissed-off at his disapproval, that she’d decided to stomp off and do her own thing, but what if something had happened to her? Had anyone heard from Marla after she froze Nicolette? She should have had a couple more weeks walking the Earth after that night, before returning for her month in the underworld, and now she hadn’t returned from that....

  Had Marla been missing for more than a month without anyone realizing it?

  Rondeau and Pelham arrived just then, and there were hugs and effusive greetings and annoyed glares from some of the people working on laptops nearby. They all sat around the table, and B dove right in. “Guys, did either one of you hear from Marla after that night she froze Nicolette?”

  They exchanged glances and Rondeau shook his head “No. We argued, because she wanted to make us responsible for Regina Queen, so we took off.”

  Pelham nodded. “We returned to Las Vegas. Wasn’t Mrs. Mason supposed to meet you that night?”

  B nodded. “Yeah... but she never showed up.”

  Rondeau whistled. “Whoa. Do you think she’s.... I mean... I know she’s half god, but there are things out there that can kill gods. I helped kill one myself, once. You were there, B. Or a version of you was, anyway.”

  “Mrs. Mason is not dead,” Pelham said. “I would know.”

  Rondeau frowned. “I know you were, like, magically bound to serve her, Pelly, but didn’t she absolve you or whatever? Set you free?”

  “Some bonds cannot be broken. If she died, I would feel a pain, here.” He put his hand over his heart. “A very particular pain. Those of my family line sometimes succumb to death themselves, when that pain touches them, and they realize their principal is gone.”

  “The rich are different,” Rondeau said. “Okay, so she’s alive, at least. But where is she?”

  B shrugged. “Still in the underworld, just working overtime?”

  Rondeau shook his head, with a stubborn and determined expression that seemed out-of-place on his face. “I don’t buy it. She made a deal to spend every other month in the underworld, and alternating months on Earth, living as a mortal, except for the bit where her husband gave her physical immorality, anyway. Those deals can’t just be broken, right? Mythology is full of gods getting fucked over because they made a promise to a mortal and had no choice but to stick to it. I figure one of two things happened. The first is, Marla came back to Earth on schedule, and we missed her arrival because she used magic to hide from us, or changed her point of entry to avoid us. In that case, she doesn’t want to see us, and okay, I can respect that. That’s Cole’s theory. I hope it’s true.” Rondeau leaned forward. “Because option two is, something happened, something that broke her deal, in which case, she could be in bad trouble.”

  “So we summon an oracle and find out,” B said. “That’s why you wanted to see me, right?”

  “It is,” Pelham said.

  “Also because we wanted to bask in your glory, movie star,” Rondeau said. “But, yeah, basically. I’d do it myself, but I’ve had some bad experiences with the whole oracle-summoning business. I think I’m starting to get a phobia. Especially when it comes to summoning something big enough to tattle on a god.”

  “It’s not a small thing,” Bradley agreed. “The divinities value their privacy. But, okay. Let’s do it.” He rose.

  Rondeau’s eyebrows went up in alarm. “Right now?”

  “We’re not all lazy millionaires with time to kill, Rondeau. Soonest begun, soonest done, and all that. I think I know where we can find a potent oracle. I sensed it a few days ago, and did a little research. Could be just the thing for us.”

  They summoned a car with a ridesharing app, and a gray SUV driven by a man with elaborate facial hair topiary showed up not long after. The journey, less than four miles from the Mission to the edge of the Financial District, took twenty minutes, because if the city of San Francisco was a beating heart, the streets were its clogged arteries. They disembarked at the corner of Grant and California, before a stately brick church.

  “Old St. Mary’s Cathedral,” Bradley said. “The cornerstone was placed in 1853. When the structure was finished, it was the tallest building in the state.” The church now stood in the shadow of skyscrapers.

  “I do so love old things,” Pelham said approvingly.

  “We’re not going to talk to God, are we?” Rondeau said. “I mean, is there a God? Like, that God? The big beard in the sky one?”

  B shrugged. “If so, I haven’t met Him. There are powers of varying degrees, and some choose to appear in different guises, so who knows? No, we’re here to converse with a ghost. I figure, if we want to find out what happened to the ruler of the land of the dead, why not ask someone who’s probably spent some time there?”

  “That makes as much sense as anything,” Rondeau said. “Who’s the stiff?”

  “His Imperial Majesty Norton the First, by the grace of God Emperor of these United States and Protector of Mexico. His twenty-one-year reign ended when he collapsed and died in front of this church in 1880.”

  “Ah, this was the madman who declared himself a sovereign?” Pelham said. “And the city humored him, by accepting his currency and printing his proclamations? I’ve read about him.”

  “He was more than a madman,” Bradley said. “Which isn’t to say he wasn’t a madman. But he was also a sort of natural-born Fisher King, as I understand it, with a powerful magical link to San Francisco and its people. He once
stopped a riot by standing between two angry mobs and reciting the Lord’s Prayer, and he spun more powerful glamours than that, on occasions that weren’t as well documented. His death was the result of a powerful magical assault on the city.”

  “Sanford Cole was his court magician, right?” Rondeau said. “Playing Merlin to Norton’s hobo King Arthur.”

  B nodded. “Cole doesn’t talk about Joshua Norton much, and when he does, it’s usually with as much exasperation as affection, but there’s no denying the emperor had a strange power—majesty born out of adversity.”

  “Not unlike Mrs. Mason herself,” Pelham said.

  “Now, now, Marla never declared herself Empress,” Rondeau said. “She just acted like one.”

  “Let’s see what his majesty has to say.” B tapped Rondeau on the arm. “No making fun of the emperor, if I manage to call him up, all right? Norton was pretty serious about his imperial dignity.” B sat down cross-legged on the sidewalk, leaning his back against the wall of the cathedral. He opened himself to the world, and sensed the same wisps and vibrations and tremulations in the air he’d noticed before: something unsettled dwelled here, or at least this spot was a point of contact for that unsettled things multi-faceted existence.

  Bradley’s most potent power—and Rondeau’s too, not that Rondeau had bothered to learn how to use it with any delicacy—was oracle generation. He could call into existence creatures of mysterious provenance, which took the forms of ghosts, demons, demi-gods, or monsters, and ask them questions or give them tasks (though the latter was especially dangerous, as Rondeau had learned to his dismay). There was always a price, and the depth and danger of that price varied depending on the magnitude of what you asked. The ability to generate oracles was rare, and poorly studied, and there was great debate in the sorcerous community about exactly what the oracles even were. One prevailing theory was that the creatures summoned up had no true, external reality of their own: they were simply visions conjured by powerful psychics as a way to access information their supernatural perception couldn’t make sense of directly. Like a mentally unstable character in a movie talking to a hallucination, learning truths they couldn’t confront without the illusion of distance: according to that theory, oracles were just a way of talking to yourself.