by LE Barbant
“Be careful with this shit,” he said. “It’s not something you want coming into contact with your scales.”
Rita took the bag and nodded. It was her sign of gratefulness.
“Do I want to know what you’re up to?”
Rita shook her head. “Probably not. It’s for Skylar.”
Chem’s brow furrowed as he watched her slide out the basement window.
Checking his watched again, he swore and grabbed his messenger bag. With the late afternoon traffic, he would be late to the meeting he had been anticipating for over a month.
****
The coffee shop was perfectly empty, as he hoped it would be, except for a man in a dark suit seated in the corner furthest from the bar. The man nodded as Chem entered.
Chem had never seen him before but knew it must be Kennedy—if that was really his name. Beads of sweat ran down his side as the chemist pushed his trembling hands into his pockets. The meeting could change everything, and Chem knew he had to look the part he had portrayed to the man he had connected with through his black market back channels. He nodded back at the suit but turned toward the counter. Wanting to get his nerves under control, he ordered a tea from the unassuming barista sporting a manbun and boredom. If this guy was some sort of operative, he was a master of disguise.
The kid slid a steaming pot and an empty cup across the counter. “Three bucks.”
Chem dropped a five on the counter.
Making his way across the room, the cup rattled on its saucer. Be cool, Chem, he said to himself, doing all he could to steady his hand.
“Kennedy?” Chem asked in a whisper.
The man nodded. Up close, Chem could make out a well-trimmed goatee, dark enough to match his suit. Chem tried to read his face, but it was a blank wall.
Pulling out the chair, Chem eased his tall thin frame into the vacant chair. An empty espresso cup sat between them next to a nondescript manila envelope.
“You made the right choice,” the man said in a deep raspy voice. “You will hear from my associates soon, but I wanted to make first contact. Our people have been following your work, and we’re pleased. You have promise, Mr. Scott.”
Chem forced a smile. “Thanks.”
He reached into the messenger bag and withdrew an envelope nearly identical to the man’s own. Sliding it across the table, Chem cursed at his shaking hand.
In response, Kennedy pushed his own toward Chem. “That has the information you requested and a burner. We’ll only contact you through that phone. Keep it on and don’t use it for anything else. We’ll review your materials and get back to you shortly.”
Without waiting for a response, the man stood and left the building.
Chem sat until his coffee turned cold, then followed him out the door.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A light rain started to fall, adding a wet chill to the already dreary afternoon. The passengers sat quietly on the bus as it plodded through Pittsburgh’s afternoon traffic. It jolted at every stoplight as it made its way out of the city. The surly driver cursed at each pothole lacing his commute.
He pulled up to an empty street corner and stopped hard, passengers swaying in unison at the abrupt shift in momentum. An elderly woman, carrying a single shopping bag stepped out into the rain, a bright blue umbrella shielding her from the precipitation. Two younger men were close on her heels. The better looking of the two held the woman’s arm from behind, easing her onto the sidewalk.
“You’re a nice boy,” she said.
The Rhett grinned. “Why thank you, ma’am. Beautiful girls like you make being a gentleman easy,” he said with a wink.
Elijah left the shelter of the bus and immediately wished he had bought a better coat. Fitting shopping into his schedule of teaching and trying to get his friends out of their current shitstorm was a task appropriate for a true hero; he hardly had time to eat. Before he made it half a block, the rain had soaked through his brown sports coat and was working its way into his cotton button-up. The drenched corduroy smelled like the thrift store he bought it from. It weighed an extra ten pounds.
Rhett said farewell to his good deed and caught up to Elijah, smiling despite the ugly weather. He looked stylish, as always, and comfortable in his long black pea coat and leather driving gloves.
Elijah cursed at himself for the hundredth time.
“So, what exactly do we know about this Crane character?” Rhett asked, not taking the effort to look in Elijah’s direction.
Elijah hunched his shoulders, trying to keep as warm as possible. “Not much really. Willa’s journal only mentioned that he was friends or something with her grandfather. I assume that means he can do spell-poetry stuff. But that’s all I’ve got.”
The historian still found it difficult to find words appropriate for his new reality. Although they were paranormal, Elijah continued to follow the leads. Different than the archival work of his academic community, this new role had a certain gravity that didn’t allow for sabbaticals. The journal they found in Willa’s apartment was cryptic in its brevity, but he hoped that this lead would pay off. Crane and the magician were close, and Elijah couldn’t help but wonder why she had never mentioned the old man to him. Was she on to something?
“It’s all you have.” Rhett smirked.
It took Elijah a second to understand Rhett’s correction.
“Screw you. I have to get some non-writer friends.”
“Not much of a lead,” Rhett said, ignoring Elijah’s quip.
Elijah shook his head. “Tell me about it. I’m not even sure the address is right, or if this is the Crane that Willa wrote about. But he’s a retired lit professor, so that’s something.”
“Well, if he has any information about the Guild, I’m sure we can get it out of him.”
Elijah sighed and pushed wet hair off his forehead. Despite all that Rhett had done for them—discovering that it was Mayor Dobbs who was behind the tech suit attacks and convincing his blogger friend to keep their powers secret—Elijah still felt a little nauseous every time Rhett mentioned using his persuasive abilities. There were innumerable ethical issues around shaping another person’s will. Elijah had seen a lot, but his experience with the paranormal continued to push against his life-long training in objectivity and the modern science of a historian. He was lost, forced to choose answers to questions he didn’t fully understand. But Elijah was, for the most part, a practical man, and their situation called for feet first pragmatism. He did all he could to suppress such questions.
Willa and Tim were in danger and there was little time for introspection.
Too bad I can’t put meta-human ethics on my CV.
A ten-minute walk through the quiet streets brought them to the foot of an old but well-maintained house. Elijah checked his phone to confirm the address.
“Well, here goes nothing.” He held his breath and rang the doorbell.
Thirty seconds passed. Elijah looked at Rhett, who only stared back in response.
Elijah opened his mouth to suggest coming back at another time, but the sound of multiple locks clicking interrupted him.
The door opened a crack, and a wrinkled face appeared in the gap—its eyes expressing either distrust or scorn.
“What do you want?”
“Are you Dr. Mallory Crane?” Elijah tried to smile, but it felt all wrong.
“Who wants to know?” The man snapped.
“Um…my name is Dr. Branton and this is my, ah, colleague, Rhett. We—”
Rhett jumped in, cutting Elijah off mid-sentence. “We’re friends of Professor Willa Weil. She’s in trouble, and we were hoping you could help us.”
The door closed and chain rattled against wood.
The entryway swung open, revealing a hunched-over man in a worn cardigan.
All marks of distrust had vanished, replaced by a warm tea-stained smile. “Elijah? What took you so long?”
****
Crane’s living room was cramped. The walls
seemed to be closing in on them, only adding to Elijah’s awkward fidgeting. Rhett sipped easily on a cup of Earl Grey.
Elijah dove in headfirst. “Dr. Crane, were you expecting us?”
Crane shifted in the orange armchair. The man couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds. When he spoke, the folds of skin on his neck moved. “I heard about what happened at the bar. I’m sorry I greeted you so suspiciously, but I thought it was those bastards coming for me too. You can never be too careful when a witch hunt commences.” The old man’s eyes cut to the windows, which were covered in layers of blinds.
Elijah understood his paranoia. He had been feeling it himself as of late.
Rhett leaned forward, teacup in hand. “The Guild?”
Crane nodded. “Yes, the Guild. I tried to warn Willa, but she’s like her grandfather. Headstrong and reckless. But to answer your question, Dr. Branton, I had hoped that you would come. How did you find me, by the way?”
Elijah reached into his jacket’s inner pocket and pulled out the spellbook. “We found your name in here. It’s Willa’s.”
The old man placed his cup on the table and leaned forward. “May I have a look at that?”
Elijah looked over at Rhett who only shrugged in response. He felt uncomfortable handing over Willa’s notebook to a man he had just met, but if she trusted him, he had no reason not to.
He reached across the living room and placed the leather book in the old man’s hands.
Crane opened the book and leafed through the first couple pages. “You know, Willa puts a great amount of faith in you. And your power might be the only thing that can save her.”
Elijah looked up, startled. “What do you mean?”
“The Guild is a powerful group, there’s no denying that. But they are inbred. They’re only concerned with policing those like them—other wizards. It’s been centuries since they interfered with other forces in the world. But your possession, Dr. Branton, to put it bluntly, is something quite out of the ordinary. I imagine they have no idea what to make of you. I’m a bit surprised they didn’t take you as well, just to be safe.”
Elijah remembered the words Willa used to bring Elijah to his full strength. Sweat trickled down his side and was absorbed by his already damp cotton shirt.
“What do you know about…my predicament?” Branton wondered if the professor knew something he didn’t. Willa and Tim’s abduction had interrupted his own study of the changes affecting him, but it hadn’t quenched his thirst for answers.
“Almost nothing. Which means that they probably know just as little. If they did, you would likely be with them now. This gives us a strategic advantage.”
“But who are they, and what do they want?” Rhett asked. The speechwriter probed with a certain coolness that would never make sense to Elijah. His friend was a charioteer, in control of his passions, and he guided them with impeccable skill.
Crane sighed. “I’m not sure there’s an easy way to answer that, Mr. Johannes. Think of them like any other guild—a collection of folks with a certain skill set. Their explicit purpose is to preserve the integrity of their craft by enforcing their will on the rest of us. This keeps them in power. They’re fascists, really.” Crane paused and sipped his tea. Elijah shifted uneasily. He wished they would get to the point. Crane continued at his own pace. “They’ve mostly cut themselves off from the world, and yet they consider themselves gods. They wield their ‘divine’ powers with great cruelty.”
Crane leaned to the side and picked up a small frame in his thin, wrinkled hand. An old woman with kind eyes and a gentle smile looked up at him.
“This is my wife, Cecilia. Years ago, she was diagnosed with an obscure genetic disorder. I watched as the disease slowly ate away at her. Everyone knew she was marching slowly toward death. We tried every conventional method possible, but none of them worked. So I sought the Guild’s help. Surely, I thought, they must have the power to stop it, to heal her.” Crane shook his head. Elijah watched the hate take over his eyes. “But not only did they refuse to intervene, they forbade me from leveraging my own magic. But what could I do? She was the only woman I ever loved. So, I ignored their warning. I found the perfect poem, one that I knew would work. But they were watching. They are always watching. As I performed the spell, one of their agents attacked, breaking my concentration. The spell faltered, killing Cecilia in the process.”
“I’m sorry. I—” But Elijah’s condolences were cut off with a flick of Crane’s hand.
“What’s done is done, Dr. Branton. But make no mistake, they consider Willa’s tampering with the natural world an egregious sin, one that they will not hesitate to punish. They will call it the requirements of justice.”
“Meaning what, exactly?”
“Your friend, Mr. Ford, will be destroyed. And Willa, she’ll most likely be executed for her role in creating the ‘abomination’.”
Elijah stood and started pacing, but the cramped room provided little space for his strides. The severity of the situation pumped adrenaline through his veins. Heat took over, and he felt the symbol on his chest grow warm. Elijah gritted his teeth and focused in an attempt to push the monster down. “We have to stop them. Do you know where they are?”
Crane shook his head. “Their location is a mystery. But I think I know someone who can help us.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
The bleach scent filled the air, like an old motel room trying its hardest to be young again. Other than the acrid odor, Willa’s accommodations were nice enough—for a prison. A twenty-by-twenty room complete with a twin bed, mismatched Ikea furnishings, and a generous full bath attached. It contained everything a guest would need for a long relaxing stay.
But Willa was anything but relaxed.
Upon arrival, she tried the door, though she knew that it was wasted energy. The knob buzzed, like her grandfather’s office door on the top floor of the Cathedral of Learning. A small window looked out across an untended field that terminated at a line of trees. The glass also vibrated with a magical charge.
There was no way out.
She dropped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. Her mind raced. The fight at Voodoo, the blindfolded drive, and now her cell—the Guild had been preparing for this. She began intentional breathing, a practice developed in her attempts to become self-controlled. Even as Willa tried to empty her mind, her thoughts kept returning to the brewery.
She had been naïve to think the Guild would leave her alone. Some part of her assumed she would have to deal with them eventually, but she never expected the display of force she saw tonight. Edwin had always downplayed their importance, changing the subject whenever she asked about them. Willa assumed his dismissal accurately represented their impotence. She pictured the robed wizards stuffing her friend into the back of an SUV just before a black hood dropped over her own head.
These were not the actions of an ineffectual organization.
Her breathing failed to calm her. Instead of a docile cow, she became a raging bull.
Willa wondered where Tim had been placed. They had taken her phone, and she had no way of telling how long it had been since the abduction. But Tim’s waning virility picked at her mind. Magic only lasted for so long, and Chem’s serum was no exception. Eventually, its effects would wear off, and the clock was ticking. Although she had little patience for science, Chem had implied that Tim’s body depended on the substance. Whether or not he could live through the withdrawal—that was a question she hoped to leave unanswered.
Elijah and Chem were planning a rescue. The two men couldn’t help but rush to the aid of a damsel in distress. But she was uncertain whether they had the strength or the wits to assault the Guild. The small attack force represented only a fraction of the Guild’s true power.
Anger at her situation transformed into concern for her friends.
Shuffling outside her room interrupted Willa’s brooding. The hinge squeaked comically as her door cracked open. Poetry raced through he
r mind. Her training kicked in and she recalled three perfect poems suited for as many contexts. She pictured blasting the blond giant from the brewery. Instead, the younger member of the attack group crossed the threshold.
“Ad ordine libertas, Magician Weil.”
Willa cocked her head to the side. The words were familiar. But she couldn’t place them.
“You don’t know, do you?” A goofy grin spread across his face, almost playful. His hair looked freshly styled. For some reason, he reminded her of Rhett. “Poor thing. You’ve missed so much. That old goat should have brought you to us years ago.”
Willa ignored the reference to her grandfather. “Know what, exactly?”
“Tradition.” The man paced across the room and placed a pile of towels on the Ikea dresser.
“Fiddler on the Roof? I’ve seen it.”
He rolled his eyes at her attempted humor. “I heard that you are one of us, but you know nothing of our ways. Your pitiful display at the bar confirmed it.” He smiled warmly despite the rebuke. “I do apologize if we hurt you; that was not our intention. I had to see for myself if you were OK.” He spread his hands out in front of Willa in a sign of peace. The bruise on his lip gave her a small amount of satisfaction.
“I’ll manage. And maybe the old goat was protecting me from you.”
He smiled. “Maybe…but I’m sorry…I shouldn’t really be talking to you. Not yet anyway. I was instructed only to drop those off.” He nodded at the linens. “And, between you and me, you should use them.” He gave her a wink then turned toward the door. “Now I’ve got to run. But we’ll have some time together before the end. I promise.”
As he left the room, Willa bit her tongue to hold back the words she wanted to cast at him. Even if she could defeat her Guild counterpart, the likelihood of escape was slim. For the time being Willa would need to be patient.
