Magic and Loss: A Novel of Golgotham

by Nancy A. Collins

  “I’m fine, Dad,” I assured him as he kissed my cheek. “As for the baby—you can see for yourself.”

  My father grinned as he peered into the bassinette. “He kind of looks like my grandfather.”

  “Timothy, all babies look like your grandfather: wrinkled and bald,” my mother replied, rolling her eyes.

  “Yes, but this one definitely has the Eresby nose,” he grinned, tapping his own for emphasis. “Don’t you, champ?”

  “Oops! I think somebody’s hungry,” I said, reaching into the bassinette as the baby began to fuss. As I exposed my breast for a second feeding, my father blushed and quickly looked away.

  “Maybe we should head out, Millie?” he suggested. “Let the new mom and her baby get some rest?”

  “You’re right, dear,” my mother agreed. “There is so much that still needs to be bought: baby clothes, furniture, toys . . . not to mention baby-proofing the house!”

  “Mom, I appreciate the concern—but I don’t think he’s going to be sticking his fingers into electrical sockets just yet,” I pointed out.

  “Well, better safe than sorry, I always say! Come along, Timothy—next stop Neiman-Marcus!”

  As my mother turned to leave, she froze upon seeing Lady Syra and Captain Horn standing in the doorway. The two women stood at rigid attention, regarding one another for a long moment.

  “Syra.”

  “Millicent.”

  To my surprise, my mother abruptly smiled and threw her arms around Lady Syra, kissing her on the cheek. “Isn’t it wonderful? We’re grandmothers!”

  The moment the door closed behind my parents, I fixed Syra with a suspicious stare. “Okay—what did you do to her?”

  “Honestly, my dear! Is it really so hard to believe that the birth of a grandchild might change your mother’s mind?”

  “There’s a difference between a change of heart and a transplant,” I replied. “What spell is she under?”

  “It’s called the ‘Walls of Jericho.’” Lady Syra sighed, surrendering the charade. “It’s designed to bring down the barricades around the heart of whoever drinks it. While I was waiting for you in the Grand Salon, I used the occasion to slip a small amount of the potion into her decanter. I didn’t put that much in her bourbon—well, maybe a little bit more than usual. You know your mother. But the emotion she showed you today isn’t fake or manufactured. I figured it was the least I could do, seeing how much of her animosity and fear of magic is related to me. Now—where’s my grandbaby?”

  As Lady Syra drew closer, her smile abruptly disappeared, to be replaced by a look of genuine shock. “I don’t understand,” she gasped. “The child has human hands . . . but its eyes—! How can such a thing be possible?”

  “They said the same thing when Hexe was born. Your family did not believe the child of a Servitor would breed true, either,” Horn said proudly. “I still remember to this day the joy I felt when our son opened his eyes for the first time. . . .”

  Hexe looked at his father in surprise. “You were present at my birthing?”

  “Of course I was,” Captain Horn said with a sad smile. “It was the first, and last, time I held you as a baby. It broke my heart to surrender my rights as your father, but even as I did so, I was proud to know my son would, some day, be Witch King.”

  “Yes, but you, at least, are Kymeran,” Lady Syra countered. “There’s never been a half-human Heir Apparent in all our history, much less a Witch King.”

  “And yet he has been chosen,” Hexe said. “Perhaps our child is a sign—a guidepost for the future of not only Golgotham, but the human race as well, proof that Kymerans and humans not only can coexist peacefully, but are capable of transcending the darkness that has plagued us for so many centuries.”

  “It is going to be difficult to coerce even the moderate members of the Aristocracy to accept a hybrid Heir Apparent,” Lady Syra said worriedly. “And that doesn’t even include the host of problems that will arise once news of your amputation spreads.”

  “The child has been born, my hand has been lost—these things cannot be changed, no more than we can alter the outcome of the Sufferance or undo the slaughter of the dragons,” Hexe said firmly. “Golgotham is on the verge of great change—whether for good or bad depends on whether we embrace the future or fight to reclaim the past. I believe that is why Esau has returned, and why he has worked so hard to destroy me—and my son.”

  “I agree,” Syra said. “But none of this will be easy. There are a number of aristos who would have no problem following your uncle into the bowels of hell over something like this.”

  As I listened to Hexe and his mother discuss the ramifications of our child’s birth, I found my attention starting to drift and my eyes growing heavy. The next thing I knew my head was bobbing up and down like one of the CONGRATULATIONS! balloons tied to the giant teddy bear.

  “All of this can wait, for the time being,” Lady Syra said. “It’s best your father and I leave, and allow Tate some time to rest. You must be exhausted, poor girl,” she said, bending down to kiss my forehead. She then smiled at her grandson, curled in the crook of my arm. “And as for you, young man: Welcome to the Royal Family.”

  Once his parents left, Hexe took the baby from me and placed him back in the bassinette. “He’s sound asleep,” he whispered. “I’m going to step out for a few minutes and find something to eat. I’ll be right back.”

  I looked over and smiled at the sight of my son, lying buttered-side up, oblivious to the chaos his arrival in the world would soon start. I placed a gentle hand on one of his feet, marveling at how tiny and perfectly formed it was. I must have dozed off at some point, because the next thing I knew the baby’s foot was no longer in my hand and he was making a mewling sound like a kitten. I looked up to see one of the pink-robed Daughters of Nana lifting my son out of the bassinette.

  “What are you doing with my child?” I asked.

  “I’m just taking him to be bathed and change his diaper,” the priestess replied, turning her cowled head in such a way that I did not have a clear view of her face. Although she did not appear to be either Zena or Tipi, there was something familiar about her voice.

  “Why can’t you do those things here in the room?” I asked suspiciously.

  Instead of answering me, the priestess simply turned and fled to the door, clutching my son to her breast. As she ran, the cowl on the robe fell away, revealing slate-blue hair.

  “Bring back my baby!” I screamed as I clambered out of bed, only to discover that my legs had been replaced by bundles of cooked noodles. I was able to take only five or six steps before stumbling and falling to the floor. “Somebody, please, stop her! She stole my baby!”

  The next thing I knew Hexe was there, helping me back onto my feet. “Tate—what’s happened? Are you all right?”

  I frantically shook my head as I clung to Hexe. “It was her! I mean, it was him! Uncle Esau kidnapped our baby!”

  Chapter 31

  “I’ve got all available units scouring the streets in search of Erys,” Captain Horn said, trying his best to sound confident and in charge as he watched his son pace furiously back and forth in the front parlor. “I’ve got my best dowsers on the case. They should be able to draw a bead on her general location. Then we’ll cordon off the area and do a house-by-house search.”

  It was less than an hour after the kidnapping, and Hexe and I were already home. I had downed a panacea at the Temple of Nana in order to restore my stamina before leaving, and was now feeling back to normal, if somewhat sore. Hexe and I, along with his parents, were gathered in the front parlor, waiting to hear from the kidnapper.

  “I wouldn’t bet on your dowsers turning up anything of use,” Hexe said bitterly. “Esau’s too good a wizard to be tracked that easily.”

  “Esau?” Horn frowned. “I thought you said it was Madam Erys who took the baby. And what could your uncle possibly have to do with all this? The man was murdered by Skua’s useless punk of a s
on, Skal, over six months ago.”

  Hexe halted his pacing to scowl at his mother. “I thought you said you told him the truth about Esau and the Sons of Adam?”

  Lady Syra shifted about uncomfortably, looking embarrassed. “No, I said was going to tell him. When the time was right.”

  “Tell me the truth about what?” Horn demanded, giving Syra a stern look.

  Syra lowered her eyes, unable to meet his gaze. “Well . . . uhm . . .”

  “That Esau grew the Sons of Adam in his alchemy workshop,” I explained, “and, on top of that, he was secretly going around murdering people so they wouldn’t figure it out. He was also the one who sent that demon to kill me, so he could start a race riot and become mayor and purge all the humans from Golgotham and try to start a new Unholy War. Oh, and he murdered Skal, not the other way around, and was going to do the same thing to me and Hexe, except I stole the junk jewelry he was using to control a demon, and ordered it to return to the Infernal Court—and take Esau with him.”

  “And why am I just now hearing this story?” Horn asked as he massaged his forehead.

  “Because I was afraid of what might happen if it was discovered a member of the Royal Family had manipulated both Golgothamites and humans to generate racial unrest,” Lady Syra admitted grudgingly. “Ever since Lord Bexe and General Vlad, the Royal Family has a tradition of taking personal responsibility for the rogues within its ranks. I deemed it best that Hexe and I kept Esau’s involvement in creating and operating the Sons of Adam between ourselves—and Tate, of course.”

  “Heavens and hells, Syra! I realize you’re the justicar, and accustomed to making rulings and judgment calls without having to defer to anyone else—but do you always have to be so chuffing secretive about it?”

  “I’m sorry, my dear,” she replied. “It’s a family tradition—and not one of our finer ones.”

  “It turns out the old cack-hander has been behind everything from the start. As if trying to drive me mad and murder Tate wasn’t enough, he’s gone after our son as well!” Hexe fumed. “I’m going to make him wish he’d stayed in hell!”

  “Now you’re talking, boss!” Scratch growled from his perch on the mantelpiece.

  Suddenly there came a tapping, as if someone was gently rapping, on the parlor window. I lifted back the curtain and was surprised to spy a raven on the windowsill, staring intently at me with a ruby-red eye, a piece of folded parchment held in its jet-black beak. Scratch arched his back, spreading his leathery wings to make himself even bigger and more imposing.

  “That’s Esau’s familiar, Edgar!” he hissed. “I’d know that filthy feather duster anywhere!”

  As Captain Horn opened the window, the raven flapped into the room, landing in the center of the floor. Scratch leapt from the mantelpiece, placing himself between the familiar and Hexe. The raven opened its beak and dropped the note it was carrying on the floor. Then, with an abrasive caw, it once more took wing, flapping its way out of the open window.

  Hexe snatched up the parchment and unfolded it, reading it aloud for the benefit of the rest of us.

  Greetings, Nephew:

  Congratulations on you and your nump whore bringing forth an abomination whose very existence is an affront to our hallowed bloodline. It would please me beyond measure to rid the world of the ill-born freak you have spawned. However, seeing as we are family, I am prepared to be merciful. If you wish to ever see your brat again, you and your traitorous mother must formally abdicate as Heir Apparent and Witch Queen, respectively. If you do not agree to these terms, I will hand the infant over to the trolls living under the Brooklyn Bridge, to be raised—or feasted upon—as they deem fit. Write your answer, yea or nay, on the back of this parchment and set it afire, then await instructions.

  Your loving uncle,

  Esau

  “He’s out of his mind!” Horn snorted.

  “No, he’s far from insane,” Lady Syra sighed. “My brother knows me all too well.”

  “You’re not going to agree to this madness, are you?” Horn asked.

  “If it means saving my grandson—I will do whatever he wants,” she replied grimly. “My brother is more than capable of handing over a helpless infant to trolls.” She turned to look at Hexe. “What about you? Are you willing to surrender the throne in order to reclaim your son?”

  “I’d do it in a heartbeat, if I thought that was all Esau was after,” Hexe replied. “But what good does our abdicating do him, if he’s still trapped in the Infernal Region? If there’s one thing I’ve learned about my uncle—nothing he does is as simple as it first seems. I’m certain he’s got something up his sleeve—but what?”

  “I think I know someone who might have some insider information,” I suggested. “But it’s not going to be easy to get it out of him.”

  • • •

  “Are you sure you want to use that thing?” Hexe asked, eyeing the amulet. It was triangular in shape and fashioned from some unidentifiable metal and affixed to a golden chain. Both the front and back of the amulet were inscribed with symbols and words from a hodgepodge of languages, including Sanskrit, Greek, Kymeran, and Babel, the language of the Infernals.

  “I’ll summon a hundred Demon Knights if it means getting our son back,” I replied—and I meant it. I have never wanted anything more in my life than to have my baby safe in my arms again. The ache of having him stolen from me was greater than any physical pain I had ever endured, and so unbearable it was all I could do to keep from screaming like a crazy woman.

  “What is the demon’s name, by the way?” Syra asked. “You can’t summon an Infernal without first knowing its name—that’s how you gain control over it.”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “We never really got to know each other, beyond him breaking my arm.”

  “Here it is, on the back of the amulet,” Hexe said, pointing to an inscription that looked like it had been written by a chicken with a calligrapher’s pen strapped to one foot. “He’s called Mephitis.”

  “Well, it’s going to take two hands to prepare the wards for such an evocation,” Lady Syra said as she rolled back her sleeves. “Better leave this to me.”

  Ten minutes later, the rug in Hexe’s office was rolled back and Lady Syra was putting the finishing touches on the pentagram she’d drawn on the bare floor with a piece of chalk the size of her fist.

  “What do I do?” I asked as I slipped the amulet about my neck. “Do I just stand here and yell his name like I’m calling a dog?”

  “As long as you wear that medallion, all you have to do is formally summon him—the amulet binds him to your will, just as it bound him to Esau,” Hexe explained. “The pentagram is to make sure he doesn’t escape or try to harm anyone.”

  I took a deep breath to steady my nerves. I told myself that the amulet and the pentagram would protect me, and that I had to be brave. I was doing this for my baby. As I thought about my child needing me, a resolute calmness came upon me, driving the fear and self-doubt from me. “Mephitis! Knight of the Infernal Court!” I shouted into the empty air. “I call you forth! Hear me, demon, and obey!”

  Almost instantly the shadows in the corners of the room seemed to deepen, as if the light was being sucked inside them. Accompanying the rise of shadows was a sudden chill, and within seconds it was so cold I could see my breath hanging in the air. The flames of the candles anchoring the points of the pentagram began to gutter in unison, nearly snuffing themselves out, only to turn themselves into towers of roaring fire. The smell of brimstone abruptly filled the room, followed by the sound of a hog squealing in rage, as if being dragged by its trotters to the slaughter.

  As the candle flames died back down, there stood revealed in the center of the pentagram a figure that put the hair on my head and arms on end, and not because the office was as cold as a meat locker. The demon Mephitis was humanoid in general shape, with the torso of a man and the legs and hooves of a goat. His face resembled that of a boar, complete with snout a
nd tusks, save that there were three eyes instead of two, the third located in the middle of his forehead. Large batlike wings grew out of the demon’s back, and ram’s horns curled back from his temples. The very sight of the Infernal was enough to make my arm, long since healed, start to ache again.

  The last time the Demon Knight had manifested in this world, he arrived bearing the wounds he won from battling Hexe’s Right Hand magic, not to mention the business end of my acetylene torch. But now he appeared recovered from his injuries—no doubt the result of the restorative wonders of the sulfur baths of the Infernal Court.

  “Mephitis hears your call, milady, and doth appear,” the demon snarled, flexing his wings in an anxious manner.

  “Do you remember me, Infernal?” I asked.

  “Yes, milady,” the Demon Knight replied, with a bow of his hideous head. “You blinded me in one eye. But I harbor no ill will, for it has since grown back. For what purpose have you called Mephitis forth?”

  “I require information that only you can give. What has Esau been doing since you took him to your world?”

  Mephitis made a snorting noise, like that of a pig at a trough. “It did not take the sorcerer long to become influential in the Infernal Court. He has gained the favor of high-ranked courtiers—not mere knights, such as I, but princes and marquises—by promising them a fresh hell to make their own.”

  “How can he make good on such a promise?” Hexe asked.

  Mephitis snarled and shook his head, flashing his tusks in defiance. “I answer only to milady.”

  “Answer the question, demon,” I said sternly.

  “The sorcerer Esau is erecting a permanent portal in this dimension—one large enough to accommodate a legion of Infernals. Please, milady, I beg of you,” the Infernal Knight pleaded, “do not make me speak more of this. I shall be sorely punished should they learn I spoke of it to you.”

  The thought of a punishment so extreme it would frighten a demon was nothing I wanted to dwell on. “Very well, Mephitis. Get the hell out of here.”