Fire Water (Black Magic Outlaw Book 5)

by Domino Finn

  The sword I'd created in the drift extended from my hand now. Connor took a step backward and summoned fire to his hands. The impaled jinn lay still on the ground. The other guard was on his hands and knees, panting. I stepped forward with a look of judgment on my face. Connor watched in shock as my sword came down and beheaded the jinn at my feet.

  He hissed in frustration. "You never cease to be a major pain in the ass."

  "I'm more powerful here," I said.

  His face reddened. "You fool. You idiot. I'm more powerful here too."

  His hands came together in a wall of flame. It bore toward me like a bus. I had to dissipate my sword to erect a barrier of shadow. The light slammed into the darkness and the ground shook. My boots dragged a few feet across the ground.

  The light of his fire was killing my shadow. I'd been here before. I'd reconstructed it as easily as he killed it. What was once taxing in the Earthly Steppe was trivial in the Aether.

  But Connor's fire was stronger, too. More forceful than the elemental blasts. More searing than anything his guards had conjured. My shadow was stout, but cracks of light burst through. Once that happened, it was game over. My shadow fell like a crumbling dam.

  I dove to the ground under the burning oblivion. I sent spears of shadow up from the grass. One, two, three. Connor fended them off with fiery hands. This was gonna be harder than I thought.

  "Cisco!" yelled a voice from above.

  It was Tyson, a few stories above us now. He leaped over a short balustrade into the open air. As he fell, a bronze sword streamed through the sky on a trail of sand. It grazed the elemental's shoulder and nudged him off his trajectory, sending him flailing into a wall. After a hard bounce he tumbled unceremoniously. He dropped two more stories and hit the ground. I had to jump out of the way to avoid being flattened.

  Chirps flooded the airspace above. Spinning tornadoes of sand and bronze spilled over the raised walkway and converged on us with earsplitting whistles.

  I tightened the shadow around my fist and snarled at Connor. He seethed right back at me.

  "Don't do it," warned Tyson, sitting up and raising his arms in surrender.

  More tornadoes came into view and touched down. The entire chase party of officiates, twelve of them, landed between us. Three held swords on the volcanic elemental. Three on me.

  And then, surprisingly, three held swords on Connor Hatch.

  The ifrit rolled his eyes and crossed his arms in annoyance. The fire on his hands died out. The officiates chirped at him but he didn't respond. A soldier checked the headless jinn and then the one impaled by the spear. She was still hanging on.

  One of the officiates was jabbing me with his sword, as gently as possible given the circumstances.

  "He wants you to release your spellcraft," translated Tyson.

  I sighed, nodded, and did so. It was clear the officiates were arresting everybody indiscriminately. And as even more piled into the air above us, I knew this was a losing battle.

  As they rounded us up, I grumbled to Tyson. "Where are they taking us?"

  He lifted his head, grim and determined. "To be judged by Connor's master. The shah himself."

  Chapter 27

  The three of us paraded down the street with officiates at our sides. One held my right arm in packed sand, another my left. Tyson and Connor marched ahead, similarly subdued. The six officiates were led by another unit of six who cleared the street and directed the crowds away. We were tailed by yet another six who brandished their weapons plainly in case we got any ideas about running.

  Combined with the giant city spire stretching above us, the seat of the shah and the destination of our march, the justice of Maqad was an impressive display of power.

  I'd been captured before. Bound, beaten. This was the first time I admitted escape wasn't an option.

  I'm a fighter. Handcuff me. Chain me down. I'll do anything I can to break those links. One captor. Two. Hell, three's not a crowd, it's an every-man-for-himself cage match. I thrive under daunting odds. Even when the Covey had me on the cold tile floor of the Star Island house: gutted, spent, contained in a circle of power, drained by a brick dust pentagram, grievously outnumbered—even when the situation was so bad that death had been the only option—I had fought back.

  But here, escorted by the capital officiates in their grand kingdom, I knew bruising wasn't in the cards. I'd only seen a glimpse of their power, simple but effective. And their numbers were even simpler. Eighteen now. More inside the tower.

  Connor and Tyson seemed to come to the same conclusion, but their reactions were curious. The jinn was calm. I only caught his face once or twice when he looked back. Unafraid. Not angry, exactly, but pestered. A rich man holding a parking ticket. The volcanic elemental was even more stone-faced than usual. He silently accepted this fate, keeping his head down and marching forward with implacable rhythm.

  That made me the obvious man out. A human surrounded by primal beings. Your friendly neighborhood audience surrogate. Captured by a foreign army and subject to foreign law. I had no idea where this was leading.

  The wide thoroughfare cleared free of spectators as we crossed to the edge of the inner island. A metal gate swung open and the road dead-ended, a sheer drop into the sky without so much as a warning sign.

  Across the sky-moat was the tower. From this close the ground floor looked like a haphazard cluster of dwellings stuffed together. Wood, metal, and textile patched over every conceivable surface in so many layers I couldn't even see the island the tower sat on except for the rock outcropping below. A drawbridge hung on the other side. It wasn't extended to walk on, but it wasn't in the "up" position either. Rather, it was in a "down" position, hanging limply into the barren emptiness of sky. At the officiate's order, the drawbridge lifted and locked into place. We crossed.

  After passing through a slew of checkpoints and gates, the inside of the tower wasn't nearly as mazelike as I would've guessed from its outward appearance. The core of the structure was open and streamlined, with various halls clearly delineated.

  Our party stepped onto a large central dais circled by a stepped stucco wall. The six sandmen lined us up. Only four of the remaining twelve stepped up with us because of space limitations. Then the entire slab of stone rose from the floor, straight into the air.

  "Huh," I said. "A magic elevator."

  We passed through a round opening in the ceiling and picked up speed. Level past level, we headed upward incredibly fast, without any of the stomach butterflies you get from good old-fashioned physics elevators. The platform slowed and came to a gentle stop in half a minute, with quite a few stories still stretching above us.

  An officiate chirped and we stepped off the dais into an extravagant bathhouse. Arched walls with geometric columns, brushed designs, and repeating tile patterns. The floor was marble (or the Aether equivalent) and hot baths were carved into the floors of alternating bays. Each was empty but meticulously cared for. We shuffled through to a private hall and found a grand bath with deep blue water. It was so blue it was opaque.

  A single figure stood outside the pool. A lanky man with a hooked nose. He had bad skin, rough and sun damaged. He wore a fine robe of red and green, ornamented with some kind of metallic seam. He held a purple cloak in his hands.

  One of the sandmen saluted him and communicated in a series of chirps.

  "This is unacceptable," said the man in a whiny voice.

  More chirps.

  The man raised his hooked nose to study us. He was jumpy and flittery, without the air of royalty. "The bathhouse is a sacred chamber."

  "Let it be," called out a voice. This one was stronger. More aggressive and coarse. It dripped with authority and I knew it was the shah before I even turned around.

  The top half of a bald head sat on the surface of the blue pool. A crocodile in wait. The man had a ring of fat around his head with shriveled, pointed ears. His eyes were so beady I couldn't tell their color. The complete lack of eyebro
ws drew more attention than the eyes themselves. His mouth peeked above the surface again to speak.

  "We asked for them directly," said the shah. "Although, we admit, we didn't figure they would be captured so promptly."

  The shah lifted fat, stubby arms out of the water. Large bracelets clinked together. Thick, carrot fingers covered with rings. Then slowly, like the elevator, the man rose out of the water and floated in mid air.

  I didn't know what had me more off guard. The levitation or his size. He was huge. Eight hundred pounds if he was an ounce. Completely naked except for shiny metal links around his shoulders and neck. A far cry from Lilliane, trust me. Thankfully his bulging lumps of mass drooped down modestly. That didn't change the fact this was a dumpster-fire I couldn't look away from. Each thigh was wider than Tyson Roderick, but the jinn was short. His round mass made his limbs look stumpy and insufficient.

  As the blue water slicked down his unevenly colored flesh, the shah drifted beside his aide and waited with outstretched arms. The purple cloak was laid over him. It wasn't a full cloak so much as a cowl in two pieces. One for his head and one for his shoulders. The metal necklace was adjusted to rest atop the cloth. A matching loincloth was wrapped around his waist. The belt portion disappeared into the shah's girth, leaving only a length of runner cloth hanging below his belly to his feet.

  Not once did the shah bother touching the floor. He floated a foot and a half above it. Even so, his aide was taller than he was.

  "Let us address business immediately," he proclaimed.

  "Of course." The aide bowed deeply and jerked his head at the officiate.

  The sandman escorted us through a doorway and then another, leading us into a sort of viewing room. It reminded me of the Mother's chamber in High Valley. Not nearly as rudimentary or spacious, but an empty seat of power.

  We were shoved before a throne with spikes rising from the back. Stacks of books and scrolls were filed away on shelves behind it. The aide took his place beside the chair and waited for the shah to float to his seat. Rather than lower himself into it, the throne rose into the air on the same magic current and fit around the shah's body. Then various items drifted from the shelves and took their places surrounding the king. Hardbound books opened to various pages. Partially unwound sheepskin scrolls. A bejeweled scepter of gold. All the objects hovered around him like Gradius options.

  "Please tell me you've watched Dune," I whispered to Tyson.

  The aide glared at me and one of the officiate's holding my arm tugged in warning. Either I wasn't supposed to talk or jinns weren't into sci-fi epics.

  I licked my lips and loosened my shoulders, waiting for things to play out. The aide dismissed the extra officiates, leaving only the six holding us. According to back-of-napkin math, my odds were improving. But something told me the shah himself wielded far more terrible power than anyone else in this room. I still didn't harbor hopes of fighting my way out of here.

  "Combating royal officiates," started the shah. His eyes scanned a scroll to his right as he spoke. His voice was wandering, only half paying attention. "A jinn killing. Multiple aspects abolished. Vast property damage in Tree Song."

  "I can explain," I said.

  "Quiet!" he shouted.

  The command hit me like a sonic boom. I stumbled. Probably would've fallen to the floor if it weren't for the sandmen propping me up. I strained to focus and noticed the shah was staring straight at me now.

  "We have not given you leave to speak, human." He took in a long, raspy breath. "There is always an explanation, but we are not thrilled to have it from a lot of criminals. There is only one trustworthy person standing before us and we will hear it from him." The shah turned to his loyal subject. "Subjugate Connor Hatch, it has been a long while since we have seen each other."

  The jinn flashed a cool smile. "I only regret our reunion is under such circumstances, Master." Connor bowed as he finished the statement.

  I was in a stupor. I'd never imagined Connor Hatch could come off so subservient and agreeable. This wasn't just duty, it was ass kissing.

  The shah snorted. "The circumstances are not surprising given your love for everything Earthly. We have warned you about the human realm, have we not?"

  Connor kept his gaze averted. "Wise words, as I remember. But my profit there has been your profit here."

  The giant man on the throne pursed his lips, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

  "I see you are not holding a full court," noted Connor.

  "No," said the shah. "We feel it tidier to keep this ugly business in house. No reason to involve the satraps."

  No reason besides a fair trial, maybe.

  Connor nodded agreeably. "You are ever wise, and I am ever your servant." He flicked his head to the officiates. "That being so, are these really necessary?"

  The shah sighed. "No, we suppose not."

  He glanced at his aide who in turn jerked his head at the officiates. The two sandmen released Connor and exited the chamber. Tyson and I were still bound. I was starting to get the feeling this trial wouldn't be the pinnacle of justice.

  Connor Hatch smiled at me and brushed sand off his arms. Then he strolled closer to his shah.

  "Really, Master, I appreciate your zeal for order, as well as the assistance in the apprehension of these two interlopers, but this is my mess entirely. I own up to that. If you release them to me I'll see to it they never disrupt any Aether business again."

  The shah frowned. His chair swayed up and down on a current. "That is not possible, Subjugate. If this were only about a single rogue aspect we would not have demanded your presence, but we cannot submit a human to you as such. He is not your property."

  A sigh of relief escaped my lips. Being released into Connor's control on his home turf was just about the worst thing I could think of.

  "Besides," said the ruler, "it is not every day that a human sneaks into Maqad. We will hear of this business."

  Connor shrugged. Not in objection or ill humor. The shah's decision didn't seem to matter to him one way or another.

  "Fine then," he said. "I'll go through the whole boring ordeal as I know it. As long as you have patience for it. But you should know that I know nothing of their plot. I am not part of their crimes."

  The shah cleared his throat. "What is criminal and what is not will be decided by us alone. We warn you, we will have somebody's head for this. It is high time we get started. Before the rule of the capital, each of you are to answer for this madness. Let the trial commence."

  Chapter 28

  The floating throne listed as the shah leaned into a heavy book. "Go on, then."

  Connor nodded and bowed. An edge of confidence was shaved from his demeanor, but it hadn't fled him completely. The jinn knew well enough to take this seriously, whether or not this was his playing field.

  "The battle aspect was one of mine," he started. "A long, long time ago. Eleven years, to be precise."

  The shah's hairless brow hardened. "Years?" asked the shah in disbelief. "In the Earthly Steppe, an aspect cannot be held for more than seven days and seven nights. You know the law."

  "Of course," Connor hastened. "I obeyed the law. I summoned the volcanic aspect for one small thing or another. Then I banished him. His actions since then have been someone else's."

  "That's a lie," I said.

  The aide stomped toward me and grabbed me by the mouth. I jerked toward him but the officiates tightened their grip. The aide spoke in a commanding whisper. "You will remain quiet or the officiates will fill your throat with sand. Is that clear?"

  I scowled but held my tongue and nodded.

  The aide leaned his hooked nose close to my face as if he could see through me. Then, satisfied, he released me and returned to his ruler's side.

  The shah sighed impatiently and turned back to Connor. "So you assert freedom from all the aspect's crimes."

  "I do, Master."

  I nearly growled. I wondered why Tyson didn't speak up in hi
s defense. But he was familiar with the rules here. With his second-class status, he didn't want to make things worse. Like I was doing.

  "How was the human introduced to the aspect?" asked the shah.

  Connor tilted his head to concede a fair score. "That, I freely admit, was my work. This human is a formidable animist and there came a time when he faced off against several of my supporters. The volcanic aspect was necessary for this task, which was over a decade ago."

  The ruler's beady eyes looked me over with suspicion. It was clear my presence was a bigger deal than Tyson's. Maybe that meant I was special. Like a zoo animal.

  "And this human has grievances with you?"

  "Unfortunately," said Connor. "The empire that brings wealth to this state is a ruthless one. The human came to odds with a vampire in my employ."

  "Nether creatures," he spat.

  "Only for Earthly business," tempered Connor.

  "The whole business offends us." The shah frowned as documents circled his throne. "Still," he added, "your pursuits have not proven illegal." For the first time, the shah turned to Tyson. "Who is your master?" he demanded.

  Tyson lifted his head and squared his shoulders. "I am in service to Connor Hatch," he answered plainly.

  "An obvious lie," remarked Connor.

  The shah shook his head and squinted at Tyson. "You do know, aspect, that speaking against your master is a crime punishable by death? And lying to us, worse."

  The elemental grunted. "I speak only the truth."

  "Then you are damning yourself," muttered Connor. I wondered why the shah's aide wasn't snapping at him to shut his mouth.

  After a moment of reflection, the shah spoke. "We tend to agree. But we have decided to hold a trial, and hear one we will." The throne drifted to the side so it hung before the elemental. "Levy your charges, Tyson Roderick."

  The magma under his rockskin pulsed brightly. "For a decade, and just until five months ago, I was part of a group called the Covey."