Spellbound: Book II of the Grimnoir Chronicles

by Larry Correia

  She pulled his head down and kissed him on the lips. The intensity surprised him. When she finally let go, Faye gave him the saddest smile he’d ever seen on her face. “Nothing’s wrong now.”

  When Francis woke up again, strong daylight was beaming through the windows. Hours had passed. The air smelled like smoke and he didn’t know why. Voices could be heard outside. Browning was giving orders. It sounded like it was time to clear out.

  He rolled over and reached out, but the blanket was empty. Faye was gone. Not surprising, considering her seemingly boundless energy, she had probably Traveled away to go do something useful or heroic. That was simply how she was, and he loved her for it. Her absence made him sad, but it was good in one way, because things had just become a lot more complicated between the two of them and it would be nice to at least have a chance to think things over before she popped back in.

  What was there to think about though? This was Faye . . . She was a force of nature. Francis knew that he was a handsome, talented, sought-after bachelor—not to mention incredibly rich—but here he was . . . wondering what she saw in him. Funny how things work out sometimes.

  His fingers brushed against a piece of paper so he dragged it over. Still flat on his back, he unfolded the note. Faye’s handwriting was horrible, but reading and writing had never been very important in her life before the Grimnoir, so it was to be expected.

  Dear Francis

  I am real sorry. I have to go away for a while. I learned some things about how come my magic is different from everybody else. There is a curse on me and I do not want to become a monster. I got to figure out what to do about it. There is someone I have to find. Please do not look for me. It is better this way.

  Some of the elders were so scared of what I am that they sent Whisper to kill me. From what I know now they were probably right to. But Whisper died to help me instead. She was very brave. I made her a promise so now I have to figure out how to keep it.

  Please do not tell the others that I am alive. It is safer that way.

  When I thought you were gone I wanted to die inside. I was so scared. No matter what happens I am glad that I found you. I come from nothing and you come from everything but I love you Francis and I want to marry you and be your wife. But first there are monsters outside and monsters inside and I have to figure out how to beat both kinds. More bad things are coming. I know it. And I have to be ready.

  I do not know how long I will be gone but I will be back. If I do not come back it is because I messed up and died. If I die I want you to go and be happy without me. So I need you to be brave for me.

  Love

  Faye

  There were soft spots on the paper that were still damp. Francis thought that they might have come from tears.

  The bag was removed from his head, revealing that they were in the kitchen of an average home. A large recording device had been set before him. The man who had removed the bag paused to turn on the audio recorder before taking a seat.

  The Coordinator of Information, Doctor Bradford Carr, found himself sitting across the table from two dangerous Actives. The Grimnoir had finally decided to interrogate him. Very well . . . He had nothing to hide, and wouldn’t have been able to hide anything from the likes of these anyway. He recognized both of them from the OCI files: Daniel Garrett, former radio celebrity and Mouth, and Pemberly Hammer, former asset of Mr. Crow, a Justice. One could convince him of anything and the other could detect any falsehood.

  “So, I take it you intend to make me talk and then murder me?”

  “No,” Garrett replied. “Though that would be rather easy. We’re recording this conversation to give to the Bureau of Investigation in order to clear the Grimnoir Society of any wrongdoing. Then you’re free to go. You have my word.”

  Carr laughed. “You take me for an imbecile?”

  “Not at all. We want the courts to deal with you publicly. It’ll be quite the scandal. The nation needs to know what you were up to. They need to hear the truth. They won’t get that truth if we were to just bury you in a ditch, now would they?”

  He looked at the spinning wheels of the recording device with disdain. If the Grimnoir thought that would work, then they were bigger fools that he’d thought. No testimony coerced, nor evidence gathered, through magical means was admissible in any court of law. “Well, Mr. Garrett, Miss Hammer . . .” He was careful to state their names for the record, assuring that the tapes would be thrown out, because after all, how could he, a mere Normal man, resist the persuasions of mind-controlling Actives? He would simply say that he’d been forced to repeat whatever Garrett had wanted him to. “I would be completely unable to resist your magical persuasion anyway, so we may as well continue.”

  “Was the OCI involved with the attack on Franklin Roosevelt?”

  He did not sense any overt presence in his mind from the Mouth’s magic, but it was certainly there. “Yes.”

  “In what capacity?”

  It actually felt good to talk about it. “I had Giuseppe Zangara recruited for the task.”

  “And?” Hammer prodded.

  A half truth wasn’t much better than a lie to a Justice. “One of my men created a spell to augment Zangara’s natural Power and then we provided him with a Grimnoir ring.” Even if an investigator followed up on that, they would never be able to prove anything with Crow gone. “The purpose was to pin the crime on the Grimnoir Society.”

  “Why?” Garrett asked.

  “I needed an enemy for the people to unite against—an antagonist, if you will. And since you were the types that would stand in the way of magical registration anyway, I could eliminate—”

  “No . . .” Garrett held up a hand. “Not about us. Why Roosevelt? Why try to kill him? Isn’t he in favor of registering Actives too?”

  Carr laughed. “Of course he is. Registration will happen regardless. Oh, no, Mr. Garrett. Roosevelt had to go simply because I knew he intended to replace me! You see, the two of us have never gotten along. Franklin believes in the gradual and incremental increasing of controls over the Active race. I believe that time is of the essence and they must be controlled now. Rumor was that he intended to appoint someone else as Coordinator. I certainly did not put that much effort into building my dream only to have it stolen from me. Strike while the iron is hot I say!”

  Garrett looked to Hammer. She nodded. Of course he was telling the truth. Garrett’s file had said that he was extremely subtle. Carr was impressed. It actually felt good to get this off of his chest.

  “And the demon that tore through Washington?” Hammer asked.

  “One of mine that slipped the leash. And a further example of why Actives need to be controlled at all costs.” Carr laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I should be saddened by the destruction of my headquarters and the ruination of my plans, but this worked out so much better. Crow’s rampage inspired far more terror in the hearts of the populace than anything I could have dreamed of. I was only trying to convince the Normals, but now Actives themselves will come begging us for protection. It was worth the sacrifice of my research—”

  “By research, you mean those poor Actives that you were torturing on Mason Island?”

  “Torture?” Carr snorted. “A small price to pay for knowledge. They were science experiments, nothing more.”

  “Innocent people, taken from their homes, and carved on, poisoned, manipulated, drugged . . . I’ve seen similar experiments conducted in the Imperium.”

  “And the Nipponese are wise to do so! We have entered an arms race. The first nation to fully harness magic to its fullest will rule the world. As long as people like you are running free, squandering your gifts, we will lag behind!”

  “So what do you intend to do about it, Doctor?” Hammer asked.

  “Me? Nothing. My job is done. The tipping point has been reached. The masses will speak, first with words, then with force. Actives will be regulated, studied, quantified, and organiz
ed. You will be commodities, resources, your skills going to where they are most needed for the greater good. Our way of life will be preserved. We will reach for the stars. We will—”

  “And for those of us that don’t want to go along?”

  “This is America. Everyone has a right to choose—”

  Hammer was blunt. “He’s lying.”

  “Fine! To the trash bin of history with you! Collect the troublemakers and use them as breeding stock. Take the children born with gifts and raise them to be obedient. The next generation will serve admirably. And for the very worst of the worst, like you”—Carr sneered—“we could learn a thing or two from the Imperium schools.”

  The Actives were silent for a very long time. Hammer was unreadable. Garrett seemed angry. Perhaps he’d said too much? But it could not be helped, not with a Mouth pressing his thoughts and a Justice testing his every word.

  “What happens next?” Garrett asked.

  “Plans have been made. Big plans.”

  “Who else knows about these plans?”

  The door swung open. “That’ll be enough.” Two tall men in suits entered, then quickly stepped to the side. The Actives looked up, not surprised in the least by the interruption. One of the new arrivals shut off the recording device and deftly wound and removed the tapes. Another man entered the room behind them, and the Coordinator gasped in surprise when he recognized the round face.

  “Director Hoover?”

  J. Edgar Hoover tipped his hat. “Coordinator Carr . . .”

  What was the Director of the Bureau of Investigation doing here? “These people kidnapped me! They’re Actives!”

  “Yes, I am aware,” Hoover said. “I recently accepted Miss Hammer’s application to be a BI special agent. She will be working for me now.”

  Hammer beamed with pride. “Thank you, Director. I suppose that makes it official.”

  That news seemed to surprise Garrett. “Really? I didn’t think you hired women or Actives.”

  “Times are changing, Mr. Garrett, and the BI stays at the forefront of change. Recently, I’ve decided to reexamine some of the applications that were rejected in the past. Perhaps if I had more gifted agents on the payroll, heinous plotters, such as our good Doctor here, would not prosper.”

  “This one is a Mouth.” Carr knew he had to think fast. “He forced me to say all sorts of terrible lies.”

  Garrett leaned back in his chair. “You know how we Mouths can be.”

  Hoover nodded. “I’m familiar with Mr. Garrett’s tricks.” He reached into his suit coat, removed a small orange box, and opened the lid. The sphere in the center was spinning. The Dymaxion nullifier was placed in the center of the table for him to gawk at. “I believe this belonged to you.”

  Carr felt all of the blood drain from his face. “No . . . It can’t be.”

  “I was on the other side of that door. This device was running the entire time. However clever Mr. Garrett thinks he is”—Hoover explained as Garrett grinned and rested his hands on his ample belly—“there was no magical influence during the recording of your conversation.”

  The Coordinator tried to respond, but couldn’t find his voice.

  “In addition, we have some very questionable documents with your handwriting on them that were gathered up by a Traveler before your office was swallowed, not to mention several people who are willing to testify that you kidnapped and tortured them. We shall continue this discussion at BI headquarters.”

  “But you can’t—”

  “You made too many mistakes.” Hoover’s voice grew cold and dangerous, “But most of all, you shouldn’t have tried to embarrass me in the papers. Nobody gets away with that. Take him away, boys.”

  Faye Spellbound

  Epilogue

  I hope your committee will not permit doubts as to constitutionality, however reasonable, to block the suggested legislation.

  —Franklin Delano Roosevelt,

  Discussing the Active Registration Act, 1933

  San Francisco, California

  Three Months Later

  THE FRONT PAGE of the newspaper was just as frustrating as usual. Roosevelt’s Hundred Days were continuing, rolling out program after program. Only one of which really interested Jake Sullivan, and even though they knew about him, he’d be damned if he was going to obey any Active Registration Act on principle, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to wear an armband in public with the floating anvil logo that identified him as a Heavy.

  In other news, the OCI hearings were still going on, despite Bradford Carr managing to hang himself to death with a shoelace in his jail cell. The Grimnoir were in the clear, but most of the Society was very uncomfortable being icons to a large section of the population. George Bolander’s legend had grown faster than the plant life in Oklahoma, and the now famous photograph of Heinrich Koenig bounding across the god of demons’ back wielding a pickax had helped catch the public’s imagination as well. Heinrich was rather proud of that photo. For a group that had fought in secrecy its entire existence, becoming public heroes took a bit of getting used to.

  “Mr. Sullivan! Mr. Sullivan! A moment of your time, sir?”

  He lowered the paper, scowling at the reporter. Sullivan wasn’t used to being well known either. Even though he’d only been Public Enemy Number One for a few days before the warrant had been rescinded, it was hard to shake off that level of infamy. Plus, he was one of only a handful of people who had been identified in the newspapers as a knight of the Grimnoir, which meant that no matter how much he hated the idea, or how uncomfortable it made him, he was now one of the public faces of the Society. Most of the others were lucky enough not to have been identified by the OCI, which meant that they didn’t have great big targets painted on them for the Imperium or any of the many other groups that the Grimnoir had pissed off over the years.

  “Please, Mr. Sullivan, just a few words with you?”

  There was no use beating around the bush. He had never been good at keeping a low profile anyway, and the reporter’s shrill voice had got the attention of everyone else sitting in the lobby of the UBF station. Now folks were looking at him. “What do you want?”

  The reporter stood there with a notepad and a pencil. “A quote on what you think of the President’s latest proposal.”

  “For the needs of a nation? Sounds like horseshit to me.”

  “We can’t print that, Mr. Sullivan.”

  He checked his watch. It was about time to go anyway. He had a flight to catch. Standing up, he towered over the reporter. “What do you want me to say?”

  “Well, our readers want to know what the reaction to the ARA is—”

  Sullivan held up one big hand. He didn’t like being seen as a spokesman. Nobody had voted him in. If they wanted somebody who could say something well reasoned and eloquent, they could talk to Dan who was serving as their voice in D.C., or if they wanted something impassioned they could talk to Francis who was back running UBF. All Sullivan was good for was honesty. “I’ll tell you what I think of the Active Registration Act.”

  The reporter got ready to scribble furious notes. All of the other passengers waiting for dirigibles were watching him now too. Some of them kindly, others suspiciously, and a few with outright hatred on their faces. “Go ahead, sir.”

  “FDR can go to hell. I’m a man. Not a type, not a number, and sure as hell not something that can be summed up as a logo to wear on my sleeve. A man. And I ain’t registering nothing.”

  “The President says that having Actives identify their Powers in public will keep everyone safer. What do you think of that?”

  Sullivan picked up his bags, over two hundred pounds in each hand, and tried to walk away.

  “Where are you going?”

  “On a trip.”

  The reporter followed him. “Do you really intend to flaut the law, Mr. Sullivan?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “But the penalties are steep. Fines, imprisonment, they’re even talking a
bout—”

  Sullivan stepped into the elevator. “I’ll deal with that when I get back, but right now I got bigger fish to fry.”

  The doors began to close, but the reporter shouted one last question. “And what could possibly be more important?”

  Sullivan didn’t answer until the elevator doors had slid shut and he was alone. “Saving the world.”

  The cargo was almost loaded. The last of the crew had arrived. The brand new airship docked at the private section of the air station was the most advanced craft ever built by United Blimp & Freight. They were ready to depart.

  “Jake Sullivan reporting for duty, Captain.”

  Bob Southunder was standing on the catwalk, hands clasped behind his back, inspecting his new ship. “Good morning, Sullivan.” They’d needed an experienced captain and crew, and there was nobody who knew the business better than Pirate Bob and his marauders. “The last of Browning’s crates has been delivered.”

  Sullivan had already said his goodbyes to Browning. The Cog had spent the last couple of months building some new weapons systems for this mission, and he’d kept Sullivan busy testing them out. Sullivan was rather excited to try the Spiker armor in action. Some of the defensive gadgets and improvements that Buckminster Fuller had come up with though . . . now those made him nervous.

  Southunder went back to critically examining the airship. “What do you think of her?”