I pulled the chair away and knelt beneath the desk. The bottom of the drawer was made of thin wood. I grabbed a letter opener and jammed it into the join at the front, then twisted.
The wood split with a crack that seemed as loud as a gun shot. Hesitation kills, so I pried further, splitting the bottom of the drawer free. The book slid out into my hand. There was a slipcase for it stuck in the back of the drawer. I yanked it out, too.
I rolled to my feet and pushed the chair under the desk. The splintered wood rested on the seat. It wouldn't be noticeable until someone tried to sit down. I hoped.
In the mirror, I caught another glimpse of my bandaged neck and peeled back the tape. Yes, the marks were still there. No, I hadn't dreamed it. No, I wasn't crazy--at least, I didn't feel crazy, whatever that meant.
The book's cover was made of plain black leather stretched over metal plates and it was creased from years of use. I opened it. It was filled with hand-written notes and diagrams.
This was a spell book. Diagrams like the ones on Annalise's ribbons were scattered over the pages, and at the top of each was a name for the spell. Stepping through Shadows was hand-written on one page. Dead Speech topped another.
I closed the book, and noticed a faint design scored into the front cover. I ran my hand over it, felt the ridges and also the power embedded in the symbol. The book itself had a spell on it.
Goosebumps ran up and down my back. Last night I'd been astonished to see people doing things I'd never seen outside of a comic book. Was this book an instruction manual to let me do the same crazy things?
I opened it again. It had been written in black ink with a ball point pen, so it wasn't as old as I'd thought at first. At least it wasn't human blood. It was also much thinner than the magic books I'd seen in the movies; it looked more like an old-fashioned diary.
I tried to read a random spell, but I was too exposed here in Callin's suite, too jumpy. I needed to go somewhere safe to study it.
The bedroom door was closed; was Callin in the front room or had he gone out for breakfast? I listened for him but didn't hear anything. If he was out there, I wouldn't be able to smuggle this book past him.
I slid the book into the leather slipcover and buckled it shut. Then I slid open the glass door and stepped onto the balcony. The city sprawled below, with Elliott Bay on one side and the gently sloping hills on the other. The sky was cloudless, for once, and Seattle was almost beautiful from so high up. A heavy black cloth had been draped over the railing, but I wasn't sure what it was for.
There was a parking garage below. The roof had painted yellow lines for cars but there were no vehicles on it, only a line of Dumpsters along the side of the building directly below me.
I held the book over the railing with the back cover flat to the ground, then dropped it. It didn't tumble, and none of the pages flew out. It struck flat on its cover in a pile of trash inside a Dumpster.
I hurried back into the room and slid the door shut as quietly as I could. I grabbed my socks and shoes, sat on the bed and finished dressing. As I was tying the second shoe, the door opened and Callin entered.
He was wearing a robe the color of eggshells and a pair of pinstriped pajamas. He held a long envelope in his hand.
"I am glad you are awake," he said. "Would you please close the drapes?"
Beams of sunlight were shining through the glass doors, falling across my legs. I remembered the bite marks on my neck and concentrated on my shoelace. No way in hell was I going to shut out that light.
"Fine," Callin said, sounding more aggrieved than annoyed. He crossed the room, walking straight through the direct sunlight, and pulled the drapes closed.
"Disappointed?" he asked me. "Did you expect me to scream, fall to the floor and turn to ashes? Of course you are disappointed. But things are not always what they appear to be."
As a guy with two punctures below my ear, I wasn't interested in that conversation. I stood and pulled on my jacket. The wound on my neck was tender, but I ignored it.
I had a clear path to the door and I moved quickly toward it. Callin could stop me easily, but I had to try. Besides, the less time we spent near the broken desk, the better.
I heard Callin following into the front room. "Raymond, I have something to give you."
"Keep away from me!" I was startled and embarrassed by the fear in my voice. I grabbed the knob to the front door but couldn't turn it. It wouldn't open.
"Oh, stop being melodramatic," Callin said. "I have done nothing--"
I lunged for the fireplace and snatched up a poker. With all my strength, I slammed it over Callin's head.
"permanent to you," He finished, as though nothing had happened. "I certainly didn't molest you in your sleep, if that's what you're so worried about. I simply had your clothes cleaned."
The poker was bent where it had struck Callin's skull. I tossed it aside. "You shouldn't have emptied my pockets."
"Lively one, aren't you? Hold still, if you can, and let me look at you," Callin said. He stepped toward me and reached for the bandage. I tried to back away but Callin grabbed my shoulders so quickly I didn't see him move. Then he shook me. Once. I felt the strength in that grip and held still.
Callin peeled back the bandage and inspected the wound, probing it with soft fingers. I could smell his flowery cologne and he still looked a little drunk. I glanced at the tall mirror beside the door. Callin's reflection stood beside mine, completely visible.
"More disappointment, yes?" Callin said. "You thought I might not reflect in a mirror? I hate to disenchant you, my dear boy, but I am not a vampyre. I do not shrink from crosses or sunlight, and I love garlic, when it is properly roasted."
"If you aren't a..." I couldn't bring myself to say this word, either.
"There are no more vampires," Callin said. He didn't pronounce it like Bela Lugosi this time. "Thanks to me. I have fought many evils over the centuries. Some of my battle scars are worse than others."
Centuries. I stared at him, wondering how much was truth and how much was bullshit.
Callin didn't glance up from the bandage. "These teeth--and the talents that come with them--are one of my scars. Like your injury, it is nothing--I don't even thirst for blood the way vampires do. The difference is that you will be perfectly healed by the end of the week and I will never be free of this curse."
Callin laid the bandage back into place, then pressed the tape against my skin. "I know a couple curses I'd like to lay on you," I said.
There was a crooked smile on the old man's face, as though he admired the empty tough talk I couldn't seem to hold inside.
"I have something to give you to help Jon and Macy." I was startled to hear him say those names. "Oh, yes, my boy. I stole more than your blood; otherwise I wouldn't have bothered. I have something to give you so that you can give it to your friends. It may, just possibly, save their lives."
"Does Annalise know you're going to save their lives?"
Callin shrugged. It was a smooth, practiced, careless motion, as though he'd dedicated years of his life to indifference. "What she knows or does not know is immaterial. Do you know what she is?"
I thought about Echo, about the smoking bones of the old drunk. I touched my jacket, feeling absurdly grateful that it had been cleaned. "One of the 'evils' you're supposed to be fighting. A killer."
"We are all killers, my dear boy. Annalise is wonderful--for her level of ability--but she is so drearily direct. But do you know what she is?"
I searched for the right word. Centuries, Callin had said. "A sorcerer." Just saying it aloud made me want to put on a pair of rubber Spock ears. "A sorcerer and a vigilante. And a peer in the society."
I was hoping for a reaction, but Callin's face betrayed nothing. "Told you about that, did she?"
"Told me what? I don't remember a thing about last night. Can I go now?"
"You may leave after you take this." Callin took the long envelope from the pocket of his robe and offered it to
me. I didn't take it. "It is for Jon and Macy. Let them open it and look at it at the same time."
Damn. I wished I had a way to take back those names. "What will it do? Make them fall over dead?"
"Nothing so dramatic, I assure you. They will look at the paper inside and then they will come to see me. They will be compelled. They will also be protected, for a short while, from the influence of the creature inside them. Once they are here, I will try to help them."
"Really." Callin had been inside my mind. It made me feel exposed and vulnerable. It made me want to attack, no matter how useless that was.
"Don't be so cynical. You'll get lines at the corners of your mouth. Have you already forgotten what you learned about the nature of your friend Echo's... enhancements?"
"That was the first thing I decided to forget."
"Naturally. Jon and Macy likely have the same infestation. I don't know for certain if I can help them, but at least I will try. Annalise will simply kill them because that is the easiest way."
I remembered Annalise waving me off after killing the drunk. She was a killer, yeah, but that didn't mean Callin was much better.
"You're going to undo Jon's cure?" I said, suddenly realizing what Callin meant. "You mean you want to take away the use of his legs again?"
"I do."
"I can't do that. I really and truly cannot do that to him."
"He must lose his life or his ability to walk. Trust me, he has no other options."
"What if I opened this myself?" I snatched the envelope and held the corner as though I was about to tear it.
Callin didn't look concerned. "Then the effect will be wasted on you. I spent the entire night preparing that envelope. I will not go to so much trouble again. If you were to look at the paper inside, you would return here, to me." Callin gave me a crooked smile again. "Which I admit would not be so terrible."
Time to go. I took the envelope and headed for the door. Callin stepped around me and turned the knob. It opened for him as though it hadn't been locked at all.
"Let me give you something to think about, my boy," Callin said. "You are at a crossroads. If you avoid prison, you might live a life of car payments, lunch breaks and ever-larger television screens on which you watch other men play games. Perhaps you will find someone to share it with--a pretty woman who loves travel but eschews red meat. You could let the years pass, and then the decades, all the while allowing the memory of the conversation we are having right now become more remote in your mind, slowly convincing yourself that this opportunity wasn't real even while you resent yourself for fleeing it.
"Or you could return here and work for me. You are welcome here at any time. I could teach you many things about the world. And about yourself, too."
"I don't think your partner would like that."
"I do not have a partner. Annalise is a peer, and an unequal peer at that. She doesn't matter." Callin stepped closer. I could smell that flowery cologne again. "I've seen the inside of you," Callin continued. "I know you could be useful to me. You have a certain wakefulness that most men lack. I also know you are, as I said, at a crossroads in your life. Should you live as a model citizen, or fall back into a life below the law? Raymond, I am telling you there is a third path, hidden from most. You could be one of the few people to walk it, one of the few to touch real power and glimpse the vast, terrible beauty of the universe. I could do this for you. I could show you the world behind the world."
I stared at him. "Why me?"
"Well, it's not because you are some special Chosen One, that is certain. It's not because you are favored by destiny or the universe. In my considerable experience, there is no such thing. Any number of people might have felt the power inherent in the iron gate--the little blue ribbon Annalise was wearing--were they perceptive enough. You, however, were not only open to it at a time of great stress, you reached out to seize it!"
I remembered the way the ribbon protected me from Annalise's green fire and from the creature, too. "That was luck."
"There are many kinds of luck," Callin said. "Sometimes it is a random bolt out of an unblemished sky. Sometimes it is an opportunity well-exploited. Luck can be a clear eye quickly and accurately judging a situation. Afterwards, others will say 'That was a lucky thing you did,' because they don't truly understand. But I do. I am not being cute or clever when I say I could change your life. The choice is yours." Callin stepped back, clearing the way for me to go.
I started toward the elevator, looking at the wallpaper, the carpet, the flowers: everything looked hyper-real. I pressed the elevator button, feeling as though my head had been cracked open and examined. And it had.
I suspected Callin's offer would expire as soon as he noticed his broken desk drawer. Good. I didn't want that temptation. I'd seen what Annalise did to Payton, not to mention what she'd done to Echo and that old drunk--I didn't even know the guy's name. Did I want to sign up with them?
Shit no. I didn't have any romantic notions about going out and killing people. I'd just spent three years at Chino, and none of that talk impressed me.
Besides, Callin had locked me in that room, had stolen my blood and my thoughts, had put his wet mouth on me. Did he think I was going to forget all that and sign on to be his little helper? Fuck him.
To hell with the world behind the world. I was going to pay my debt and live a safe, normal life.
As soon as I took care of Jon's problem.
The elevator door opened. I went inside and pressed the button for the lobby. I still had the envelope in my hand.
We are all killers. Callin had said. Annalise is so drearily direct.
This is as cured as their kind gets, Annalise had said.
Trust me, Callin had said.
I held up the envelope. Whatever was in here, no way was I going to give it to Jon.
The elevator opened onto the magnificent lobby. My shoes squeaked as I walked across the tile to the front desk. The same concierge was still on duty. He glared at me.
"You know that woman I came in with last night?" I said.
For a moment, I thought he wouldn't answer. Finally, he said: "I'm aware of her."
I pretended his expression wasn't pissing me off. "Callin wants you to give her this next time she shows up." I took a pen from the desk and wrote Annalise Powliss on the front of the envelope. If the contents of the envelope were really as harmless as Callin said, nothing bad would happen to her. Otherwise....
The concierge picked up the envelope between his thumb and forefinger as though it was a loaded diaper.
I went out into the sunlight, circled the building and strode past the valet booth into the parking garage. If the attendant noticed me, he didn't say anything. I climbed the stairs to the roof.
Cars had arrived while I was talking with Callin. All around me were targets that would have made Arne drool on his collar. There was an Expedition. There was a Lexus. There was a Yukon. A Ford 250. These weren't cars you stole for the chop shop. These were cars you drove into a shipping container and resold in South America. Arne would have brought in a team, slipped the attendant a few bucks (while showing him a shiny gun), and driven them all down to the docks. An hour's work, tops.
Not that any of that mattered to me now.
I tried to pinpoint the Dumpster below Callin's window but, looking up, I couldn't see the black cloth on his balcony railing. When I was dropping the book, it would have taken me half a second to count which Dumpster it had landed next to, but I hadn't bothered. The first two I checked were empty. As I checked the third, I noticed a sign that said PRIVATE PROPERTY NO DUMPSTER DIVING. Yet another opportunity to get arrested.
Of course, smashing a poker over some dude's head would land me in jail, too. Several witnesses had seen me enter and leave the hotel, and there had to be cameras. Christ. This was my third day in town and I'd almost committed murder. If Callin had been human....
I found the book. It had hit hard, of course, and had slid between two trash bag
s. I vaulted out of the Dumpster and examined it. The case had gotten a little wet but the spine seemed undamaged. At least, the pages didn't spill out onto the ground when I opened it.
I laid my hand on the cover and ran my fingertips across the faint design. Like the blue ribbon, I could feel the power in it. It was like laying my hand on the outside of a generator. And somehow, I could feel the glyph reaching upward toward Callin.
I didn't know how I knew, but I knew. The glyph was a connection to Callin.
I laid the book on the closed cover of a Dumpster, then snatched a wine bottle out of a recycling bin. I broke the bottle and laid the jagged edge against the design on the cover.
I didn't know what was about to happen, but it didn't matter. I needed this book. Jon needed it. If it was a spell book, it would tell us what Callin and Annalise could do. Maybe it could even help Jon purge the worm creature, if he had one in him.
I closed my eyes. He remembered the green flame and the way Callin made the world turn white and vanish. Anything could happen next. Anything.
Jon needed this book.
I gouged the cover, slicing across the glyph. The leather peeled back, revealing dull steel, and the broken bottle immediately began to vibrate. The vibration shot up the bottle into my hand. I felt the bones and muscles in my hand and wrist tremble.
A gout of black steam blasted up from the book, barely missing my wrist. The vibrations intensified.
I shoved the bottle away. It rolled across the lid of the Dumpster, and I ducked behind the metal.
The broken bottle exploded like a bomb. I held my hand, willing it to calm down, to be still. I imagined my hand exploding, too, spraying bits of bone and flesh in all directions. Calm. Calm.
I wasn't feeling calm at all, but the pain and tremors began to ease anyway. Slowly. I stood up.
The bottle had exploded about three feet off the ground. The shards had punctured the metal shell of the Dumpster. If I'd still been standing...
The jet of black steam was gone. I laid my hand on the cover of the book. The feeling of power was gone and I wondered if Callin could sense its absence. I tucked the book under my arm and hurried toward the street.
Twenty Palaces: A Prequel Page 6
