I’d thought the Scandinavian room was the sitting room the man had mentioned, but when I reached the end of the hall I found myself in a vast space filled with chairs and sofas and low tables perfect for setting drinks on. A family portrait of Rasmussen, his wife, and Judy hung over the slabs of river rock the fireplace was made of. In the portrait, Judy was about ten, but the painter had perfectly captured her habitual scowl when confronted with something stupid, like having her picture painted instead of photographed. The warm mahogany and russet and brown combined with rich leather made me want to sink into one of the chairs, but the room was empty, and I could hear muffled conversation coming from beyond the French doors, which stood ajar.
I pushed open the door and stepped onto the patio, which was an enclosed space almost big enough to be called a sun room. More chairs, these of wrought iron with sage green cushions, stood unused around a matching table. Strands of white Christmas lights circled the top of the white vinyl fence surrounding the yard beyond. The patio’s sliding door was open, so I went through to where the rest of the guests had gathered on the lawn. More lights outlined the roof of the patio, giving the yard a fairyland look.
One glance at the guests told me if this was fairyland, it was a fairyland at war. Two largish groups stood at opposite sides of the yard, sipping from wine glasses and glaring at each other. Smaller groups of two or three stood in the center of the yard, seeming oblivious to the hostility of the others. I couldn’t see Rasmussen anywhere. Nervous, I trotted toward the one familiar face I saw, but I was intercepted by a smiling young woman bearing a tray of drinks. I took a glass of white wine—I could just picture myself spilling red all over my cute flowery summer dress—and continued on my way, hoping no one else would accost me.
“I haven’t missed any hostilities, have I?” I asked Lucia Pontarelli, who was dressed, for once, not in yoga pants and T-shirt but in loose capris and a button-down blouse. “Not that I want there to be hostilities.”
“I understood you, Davies.” Lucia took a healthy swig from her glass. She was brave enough to dare the red wine. “And no, nobody’s challenged anyone else to a duel. Yet.”
“Where’s Mr. Rasmussen?”
“Went inside to take a call. This party was a terrible idea. Nobody’s mingling. The Ambrosites keep looking at the Nicolliens as if they’ve got their familiars tucked inside their back pockets. The Nicolliens keep not looking at the Ambrosites and are pretending they don’t exist. I’m about two minutes away from taking my people and leaving.”
“Ms. Davies! Thanks for coming,” Rasmussen said from behind me. I turned to greet him. “Have you met Amber Guittard, my right hand?”
“I have. It’s good to see you, Ms. Guittard.”
“Likewise,” Guittard said. She was a gangly woman whose wide smile displayed prominent front teeth, but she had beautiful eyes and dressed more fashionably even than Judy. “I hope Abernathy’s hasn’t suffered because of these unfortunate events?”
“No, though things have been strained.”
“It’s fortunate we arranged to divide Abernathy’s time between the factions, don’t you think?” said Rasmussen with a smile that came just close enough to smug that I couldn’t call him on it.
“I still say it’s too bad it’s the only solution you and Mr. Parish could come up with, but it’s helped,” I said.
“And speaking of Mr. Parish—Ryan. Thanks for coming.” Rasmussen extended his hand to the big, well-muscled man who came through the patio door at that moment.
Ryan Parish shook it with no sign of distaste. “Will. I hope this isn’t a mistake.”
“Of course not.” Rasmussen raised his voice. “We’re all united in wanting to find this killer.”
“And prove Nicolliens don’t support his actions,” Brittany Spinelli said. Even across the yard from me, she was striking with her short red hair and lean, muscular frame. She wore black combat fatigues that bulged in places, suggesting she had concealed weapons on her.
The sight of her made me wonder why Malcolm wasn’t there. Surely Rasmussen would have invited him if he’d asked Brittany to come? They disliked each other, of course, but Rasmussen couldn’t afford to exclude the Ambrosites’ most skilled fighter in the Long War if he wanted to look like an egalitarian. I suppressed my disappointment and kept scanning the crowd for Judy.
“So why are Ambrosites the only ones being targeted?” a man I vaguely recognized from the store said.
“One murder doesn’t make a trend,” Lucia drawled. “Let’s not exaggerate.”
“Ms. Pontarelli is correct,” Rasmussen said. “I’ve invited you all here to remind you that we have the same goals, however we may differ in achieving them. I’d like to think that the fact you’ve accepted my invitation means you’re not lost to reason. Talk to each other. Discuss the facts. If you come to any conclusions, Ms. Pontarelli would be happy to listen.” Lucia snorted and drank more wine. “But most importantly, remember that we are all magi together, not faceless enemies.” He put his hand on Parish’s arm and drew him aside, speaking quietly.
“And that speech should remind you why he’s the Nicollien leader,” Judy said quietly.
I jumped a little and nearly lost control of my wine glass. “It was good. I almost forgot I don’t like him. Sorry.”
“It’s all right. Father’s good at making enemies. He sees you as an impediment to his plans and doesn’t waste time pretending otherwise. At least he’s honest.” She shrugged and took a drink from her own glass. She’d chosen a rosy pink that matched her blouse.
“True.” Rasmussen was an enemy who’d challenge me to my face. I sipped some wine and said, “What should we do?”
“Talk to everyone. Don’t spend a lot of time with one faction or the other. Good thing Campbell’s not here for you to moon over. That would screw everything up.”
“Why isn’t he here?”
Judy shrugged. “I don’t know. He was invited, but he politely turned it down. Probably out hunting. I know Brittany resents being here instead of in the field—notice her subtlety in dressing for work?”
“I noticed. Brittany’s not a subtle person.” I liked Brittany, but in the way you might like a tiger: it’s pretty, and powerful, but get too close and it will rip your head off. “Let’s go talk to her. She might tell us something about the hunt.”
Brittany turned away from the woman she was talking to when we approached. “Helena, Judy. I can see why Judy’d have to be here, but what made you come, Helena?”
“I’m just trying to help ease tensions. How goes the search?”
“It would be better,” Brittany said with a feline smile, “if I didn’t have to stand around here making small talk. I told Rasmussen I’m giving him half an hour and then my team and I are out of here.”
“I have to agree with you,” I said. “Catching this killer is the most important thing you could do.”
The smile vanished. “I want to beat Campbell to it. He’s getting arrogant beyond belief, just because he was the first to guess we were looking for a human. His selfishness is going to lose us the Long War.”
“I don’t think the Long War hinges on one man,” I said, suppressing a desire to shout at her in Malcolm’s defense.
Brittany made a dismissive noise. “I’m just tired of him lording it over the rest of us. As if anyone cares who his father was or how many steel magi there are in his family tree. What matters is what you do here, now. I’ve killed or captured more invaders than he has.”
“Aren’t there several teams working on finding this killer?” Judy said, overriding my ill-judged retort. “What matters is that he’s caught, not who does the catching.”
“Sure, just so long as it’s me,” Brittany said with a laugh. “Hey, your father is giving you the stink-eye. You’d better go chat with someone else before you get into trouble.” She turned away and grabbed another Nicollien by the arm, pulling him in to speak to him in a low voice. I marched away without waiting for
Judy. The nerve—!
“Slow down and take a breath,” Judy said, taking my arm and bringing me to a halt. “You know what Brittany’s like.”
“I don’t care what she says, Malcolm is not arrogant!”
“You and I know that, but you have to admit he’s got that air about him that says he thinks he’s superior to everyone else.”
“You just don’t like him.”
“No, I don’t. But I figure if you do, there must be something worthwhile about him.”
I gaped at her. “That’s…an unexpectedly nice thing to say.”
Judy shrugged. “Friends should support each other, right?” She wasn’t quite meeting my eyes, and now her cheeks matched her blouse and her wine.
“Yeah,” I said. “They should.”
Judy tugged on my arm. “Let’s go talk to some of the Ambrosites. And hope none of them try to take my head off because of my last name.”
We bounced between groups for nearly an hour, by which time I was in despair and wishing I’d gone to dinner with Cynthia instead. Neither faction was speaking to the other regardless of Rasmussen and Parish’s hinting. Judy and I were at our most eloquent, urging, cajoling, sometimes even pleading with people to see sense. I had no idea if it was working, but it felt like it wasn’t. The magi were determined to hate each other, and there wasn’t anything I could do to change that.
We met up with Lucia briefly. She gave us a cynical smile that was just loose enough to show she was tipsy, though otherwise she displayed no symptoms. “Still happy you came?”
“I think this was pointless,” I said. “Nice idea, but no one’s willing to listen.”
Lucia surveyed the backyard with a slow turn of her head. “Oh, they’re listening. They don’t like it, but you and Judy make some good points. And they know neither of you has an axe to grind. Good work distancing yourself from your father, Rasmussen.”
Judy scowled. “I just wish they weren’t all so stupid. It’s not rocket science. There’s a killer out there and he’s not representative of either faction. The End.”
“You’re the one who told me conflict between the factions is inevitable,” I said. “They don’t trust each other at the best of times. This is just an excuse to hold onto that.”
Lucia nodded. Then she stilled, one hand on my arm. “That doesn’t look good,” she said, jerking her chin in the direction of the patio. A young man dressed in hunter’s fatigues stood in the doorway, talking to Rasmussen. Rasmussen had one fist clenched at his side and was leaning toward the young man. He glanced around, caught my eye briefly, then looked at Lucia. Lucia let go of me and headed toward Rasmussen. After a few seconds, Judy and I drifted after her.
“—don’t tell them now,” Rasmussen was saying when I was near enough to hear his words to Lucia.
“They need to know,” Lucia said angrily. “Better here in controlled circumstances than from rumor later.”
“It will—” Rasmussen saw me standing nearby. “This is a private conversation.”
“Sorry,” I said, not that I was. “But it sounds like Lucia wants everyone to know, whatever it is.”
“This is not Lucia’s call.”
“Actually, it is, Rasmussen. But I’m sorry about it. You got farther than I frankly thought you could.” Lucia turned away and called out, “Everyone, we’ve had some bad news, and I’m counting on you to stay calm and use your influence to keep others from reacting badly. Mike Lavern was killed about an hour ago, drained of his magic—”
An uproar cut off the rest of her words. Judy gripped my arm so tightly it hurt. “An Ambrosite,” she whispered in my ear. Nicolliens and Ambrosites who had been drawing closer to one another now backed away toward their opposite sides of the yard, yelling threats and profanities. Two women emerged from the groups and ran at each other, clawing and punching until they were pulled apart by others of their factions.
Parish stood aloof from the fight, his dark, handsome face set like stone. Rasmussen was shouting, his face bright red, but no one listened to him until he made a complicated gesture and everyone covered their ears, wincing in pain. Rasmussen, a paper magus skilled at illusions affecting all the senses, had never displayed his talent where I could see it before—or, rather, see the effect, as my position as Abernathy’s custodian made me able to see through illusions. Or hear through them, apparently. Now it shut the crowd up.
“That is enough!” he roared. “There is no Nicollien conspiracy to murder Ambrosites. Ambrosites are not using this as a pretext for outlawing Nicollien familiars. Use sense, people! All we know is that someone is killing magi by draining their magic. If you allow this to drive a wedge further between our people, you will only be helping this killer do his foul work. Now. Go back to your homes. You are all influential within the community; use that influence to keep the peace. Mr. Parish and I will speak with you tomorrow.”
There was embarrassed silence for a few moments. Then people began filing through the patio door, though I noticed the Ambrosites all waited for the Nicolliens to leave before exiting. Lucia, Judy, and I were the last to walk through the door. “So much for that,” Judy said.
“It was worth trying,” Lucia said. “Go home, Davies. Get some rest. I’ll be sending people over for auguries in the morning. Not that I expect to get any sleep tonight.”
“I’ll be ready. See you in the morning, Judy.”
Lucia was parked a few spaces down from me, and we walked back to my car together. The night was clear for once, clear and cool, with a few stars visible against the glow of the street lights. “Do you really think it was worth trying?” I said.
Lucia shrugged. “I know you think I always go for the aggressive solution first because of my custodianship,” she said, “but I prefer talking my way through a situation before I resort to violence. Rasmussen gets on my last nerve, but he’s a strong force for good in this community. So’s Parish.”
“I can’t believe you can say that about Mr. Rasmussen, given how he invoked the Accords against you!”
“You don’t see everything that goes on here, Davies. Rasmussen and I…we’re never going to be friends, but we’ve come to an understanding. The point is, Rasmussen and Parish are at least trying to do damage control. Imagine what things would be like if either of them were egging on their people to hostility.”
“Have you ever seen the factions fight each other? I mean, literally fight?”
“Once, at a distance. About twenty years ago in Chicago. The Ambrosite leader for the Midwest hated Nicolliens so much he encouraged his people to outright violence against them. The two Archmagi had to step in, and the Ambrosite was removed from power. But for five days there was undeclared war in the streets. Several people died, lots more were injured, and I don’t think magery has ever come as close to being discovered as it was during that time. If it happens again…” Lucia paused with her hand on the roof of my car. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t happen again.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“What you’ve been doing. Talk sense to people. Be a force for reason in this nightmare.” She turned away, then said, over her shoulder, “And if you see Campbell, warn him to stay away from Spinelli. She’s just looking for an excuse to fight him.”
I watched her walk away, then got into my car and drove home. Malcolm fighting Brittany…he was good, and I was loyally certain he could defeat her, but it wouldn’t be a bloodless victory. Then I remembered the look in Lucia’s eyes when she’d said it, how amused she’d been, and I flushed hotly. So she knew I cared about Malcolm. That didn’t give her the right to tease me about something that could never happen—that she ought to know better than anyone would never happen.
Back in my apartment, I sat at my kitchen table with my phone in front of me and debated. I should warn Malcolm about Brittany. I should maybe even tell him about the murder. I scowled and picked up my phone between thumb and forefinger like it was a dead rat. Malcolm probably already knew about the murder, an
d he didn’t need my warning about Brittany because he also already knew she hated him. It was time I stopped going to him for every little thing, because it was just making my life harder.
I checked the time. Too late to call Jason. I plugged my phone in and got into my pajamas, then took out Silas Abernathy’s book on his travels as a stone magus. I sometimes read from it when I was too keyed up to sleep, random excerpts here and there rather than reading it straight through.
Tonight, I read: Setting a new ward is less difficult than renewing an existing one. At first, this seems illogical, but a moment’s thought makes it clear that this is only obvious. An existing ward can’t be snuffed out, so its renewal is a matter of matching one’s will and power to the remnants of the old one. I found this most challenging in Lumbini, which is one of the larger warded sites in the world. Its constant stream of visitors, not all of whom have good intent, means its wards are constantly in need of renewal. I found the place soothing to the spirit, but challenging to my aegis, which responded poorly to its fractures. I understand now why an individual stone magus is not allowed to renew the wards there more than twice in five years.
I set the book down. The aegis, the sliver of matter embedded in a magus’s heart to allow him to manipulate magic, was something I still didn’t understand well. It had physical and metaphysical properties, but the idea of having a sliver of glass or paper or steel stuck into my heart, even if it was only partially there, made me cringe. I’d been told that back in the earliest days of magery, only one in ten people survived the Damerel rites, the ritual that implanted the aegis. How desperate they must have been to take that risk.
I tried reading more, but my eyes weren’t staying focused, and eventually I laid the book aside and turned off my light. What I wouldn’t give to have Silas’s other book, the journal about his time as custodian. I only guessed it existed, because Silas was too methodical not to have kept a diary when he was in charge of Abernathy’s, but it was a guess I felt confident about. Maybe the Athenaeum knows about it, I thought muzzily, and slid into sleep.
The Book of Mayhem Page 10
