Okay, that last part probably went over his head. Hey, wait!
In an instant, the Muse was charging her, jaw opening to reveal a darker-than-black maw.
Bring it. She unlooped her sword arm from the lattice and prepared to swing.
Don’t screw up, don’t screw up, don’t screw up.
The mantra ran on repeat, and as the Muse flew within distance, Ree swung the sword with as much of her body strength as she could muster, twisting in the air. Seeing it cut through the Muse’s jaw, she let go with her left arm and reached for another handhold. She dropped her feet out of the lattice and swung with all her strength, biting a cut into her lip as she hauled herself over to grab on again.
Ree leaned back and saw the Muse looping around, bleeding ink-black somethingplasm as it swiped for her.
Come on, one more pass.
Hoping she had the thing properly enraged, she swung again, so forcefully that she let go with her arm. She dropped, hanging by her feet, but she kept on swinging. Die, already! The Muse’s claw tore at her arm, and it took a big bite of her shoulder.
Ree rammed the sword into the creature’s chest with a scream of pain and rage, and she felt the thrust pierce deep. As the cold closed around her, squeezing on her heart, she twisted the blade and kicked out of the lattice, somersaulting in the air.
She hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the wind out of her like a cartoon anvil.
Above her, the Muse, cracked from the cuts, poured out somethingplasm and lit up with dark-dark-blue light. With a scream that poured fire on the cold burn around Ree’s heart, the beast exploded.
Ree tried to shout in victory, but no breath came. Every bit of her ached or burned or stung, and blackness knocked on the door to her mind. It was so inviting. She could just let go, close her eyes, and be done.
The Muse was gone, and what were the chances there’d be another suicide that fit the bill before midnight tomorrow? She’d saved at least one life, maybe another soul, and had done some awesome hero shit. Wasn’t that enough?
The air wasn’t coming, only the black and the burning cold. The cold ate up her pain, the ache, and the sting in her lungs. It wouldn’t be that bad after all. All she had to do was let go . . .
The black closed in on her, offering the easy way out. But Ree pulled herself up, gritting her teeth. She had no air, no voice, so she took the pommel of the sword and slammed it into her solar plexus.
The rest of the air in her lungs came out with a puh, then she inhaled one sharp breath. It hurt like hell, but after the first breath came the second, then another. She looked around, the edges of her vision blurry. Drake stood by the gate, firing the rifle one-handed while his hands played over some kind of panel.
“Get up, Ms. Ree. We must escape while the opportunity remains!”
Ree dragged herself over to the portal, her legs flopping uselessly to the ground when she tried to get onto her feet. Come the fuck on, girl. It’d be pretty damn stupid to fall over and die after pushing back the easy death, right? Move your ass.
Drake reached down and helped her pull herself into the ritual circle. He fired his rifle several times more into the oncoming crowd of spirits.
“As they say, here goes nothing!” Drake stepped into the circle and swung the butt of his rifle down on the panel.
Liquid blue smoke wrapped itself around her, and the world went—
BLINK.
When Ree opened her eyes, her vision was cast in blue tones, like she was looking through sunglasses. She saw the rough outline of a street, car-esque blobs, and lines of windows. She blinked a couple of times, and the tint faded. She was splayed across the middle of a street, probably Lincoln, judging by the poshness of the buildings and the coffee shop on the corner of the cross street to her right.
Ree looked around and saw Drake kneeling next to her. She pulled herself up on her arms, and another wave of pain crashed over her. She dropped to the ground, tucking her head to the side to avoid a face-plant.
She took several long breaths, trying to push the pain aside.Get it together. Keep going. There’s shit to be done, people to be saved.
She rolled over to her back and sat up, focusing on Drake. He reached out a hand and helped her limp her way out of the street and into an alley as the spirits wound their way through the street, apparently with better things to do than harass some humans.
Drake produced a roll of bandages from somewhere, which he used to bind a sopping wound on his left arm. His sleeve was stained with blood just below the elbow.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
Drake grimaced through bloodied teeth. “I rather think that I had the easier time of it. Can you walk? It is not too far to the maximum safe distance and a quick return.”
Ree grunted as she planted the sword on the pavement and tried to use it to help haul herself up. Pain crashed in again, but she held it back, creaking to her feet. The cold fire was still licking at her, numbing everything except the pain.
“I’m good. Just how about no more fight scenes for a while, ’kay?” Ree asked.
“Fates grant that will be the case. We need not travel far, and if I am correct, the ritual circle should be overtaxed and nonfunctional for several minutes yet. We best be on our way, though.”
“Got it.” Ree hobbled forward, using the sword as a cane, the tip biting into the ground, making blue digital ripples in the ground as they hurried. This was even worse than when the Muse first wounded her; she’d started out more tired, taxed herself more using magic she didn’t know she could do until she did it, and taken two hits from a desperate monster in its own territory. She needed to get out of Spirit fast, then drink a two-liter of Drake’s nasty soul goop like it was Mountain Dew at an all-day game-a-thon.
Ree was thankful for the lack of traffic, with just a few spirits walking and flying by. Apparently, there was no aetheric equivalent to Twitter or APBs, since they passed by without notice, not even caring that two humans were in their realm. Ree limped along, her arm over Drake’s shoulder, and they leaned on each other, trying to stay upright. They stopped once so she could catch her breath, then again so Drake could replace his already-soaked bandage.
Three blocks later, Drake stopped to check the cross street, then looked behind him. “We should be within range.”
Ree looked over her shoulder and saw that her silver cord had brightened, shining like it had when they first crossed over.
“So we just yank?” she asked.
“Thankfully, yes. I can wait to make sure you get through.”
Ree cracked a half-smile, thankful for Drake’s help. You don’t meet many genuinely good square-jawed heroes anymore. Good people, sure, brave people, but not too frequently together.
Ree reached behind her back, closed her eyes, and yanked.
• • •
When she saw she was back in Drake’s living room, Ree collapsed in relief. She dropped the sword, flopped on the floor outside of the ritual circle, rolled onto her back, and breathed. A few seconds later, Drake appeared to her left. His shoulders sagged in relief, and he set down his rifle.
“Thank the Mistress,” he said.
“Mistress nothing. That was all you, Drakey.”
Drake raised an eyebrow, restraining a smile. “Drakey?”
“Yeah . . . That didn’t work at all,” she said, breathing heavily. Drake gave her a tired smile. “Do you have more of that soul-sludge?” Ree ran her hands over her arms, cold from the Muse’s touch. If I never have to do that again, I’ll still say it was too much. This better work.
Drake walked around to the kitchen, and she heard rattling in the fridge.
Ree pulled out her phone and checked the time. 6:30 AM. Damn timey-wimey crap. Do I have to work today? Yes, just about now. Do I (A) call in again and risk my job, (B) drag-ass my way through the day, or (C) none of the above?
Drake returned to the living room and mixed up another batch of tincture. Ree stumbled into the bathroom and
checked herself in the mirror to assess how unprepared for work she was.
Ree tried to blink the tired out, to no avail. She had bags under her eyes, scrapes and cuts on her arms and face, and her shirt was trashed. She might be able to make it home and throw on new clothes if she left now and chugged the soul goop on the way. But with that much gunk, there was no way she could stay awake. And Steve Jobs only knew what Eastwood would be able to do in that time.
Ree leaned out of the bathroom and asked, “So what are you going to do next?”
Drake looked up from his mortar and pestle. “What would you ask me to do?”
Ree tried to clean off her face, wincing as she dabbed her face with a damp cloth. “All I can think of now is try to find Eastwood again, stay on him like white on rice, and try to persuade, intimidate, or face-beat him into dropping the devil’s bargain.”
“Technically, the Duke is a demon rather than a devil.”
“Is this a Chaotic Evil/Lawful Evil thing?”
Drake blinked, waited a second, then continued. “Demons are administrators and executives, where devils are functionaries and field agents. Devils report to demons.”
“How the hell does that work if all the Christians complain about the Devil?”
“The Devil, Lucifer, and Satan are all different entities that overlap to different degrees at different times, changing with human conception. It is rather like the pantheism of the Hindus.”
“Thanks, Dr. Exposition,” she said with more bite in her voice than she intended. She saw hurt flash across Drake’s face and ducked back in the bathroom, flushing with embarrassment.
“Sorry, that was out of line,” Ree yelled through the wall. “I have to get to work, double time, or I’ll lose my job, but I haven’t slept, I look like shit and feel worse, and none of that helps me keep Eastwood from doing something monumentally stupid.”
Emerging from the bathroom, she checked her phone again and looked up to see Drake in front of her. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her into a hug.
“You’ve done more than anyone could have reasonably expected, and you’re willing to do more. If you need assistance in obtaining leave from work, I will try my best to assist. But nothing binds you to this mission other than your will. It is your right to step away from it if you do not wish to continue.”
What I want is to sleep for a day. Ree soaked in the feeling of envelopment and safety. Then she pulled herself out of the hug and met his eyes. “I’ve got to go. See if you can track down Eastwood, then let me know.”
“Of course. I have prepared more of the tincture. Take this to speed things along.” Drake walked back, grabbed the French press, and handed it to Ree. “You’re welcome to take the sword along as well, should you wish it.”
“I’m not that paranoid. It’s a ten-block walk.”
Drake nodded. “Of course. I will send word when I have it.”
Without thinking, Ree stood on her toes and kissed Drake on the cheek. She turned toward the door, blushing.
Why did I do that? Damnit. Bone-tired is worse than drunk. Get going. She opened the door and hurried down the stairs, trying to jolt herself into wakefulness.
I do not need more complications right now. Step one, job. Step two, find Eastwood. Step three, save lives. Step four, sleep for a week.
And . . . go.
• • •
The first rays of orange sunlight crept in from the east, lighting one side of the sky as she hustled home to grab a fresh shirt.
She ran everything over in her head, trying to keep her brain going so she didn’t get groggy. She sipped on the scalding-hot tincture, and each bit warmed her inside and, well, disgusted her on the outside. If she could explain things to Bryan, things would be so much easier.
He’s a Pagan, after all, maybe he already knows? Or has some idea?
When Ree got home, the apartment was empty. Sandra had apparently stayed over at Darren’s, since she was usually puttering around in the kitchen by ten till seven on Monday mornings. Ree tore through her laundry pile and found a not-that-dirty black top, wrapped her blue-and-purple-and-pink scarf around her neck, grabbed a pair of chopsticks for her hair, and thanked her luck that the elevator was still there to take her back down.
Even so, she reached the door of Café Xombi at 6:59, according to her phone. Looking through the windows, she saw Bryan inside, looking distracted. Ree waved to him as she entered, going straight to the back to drop off her bag.
Bryan stopped in front of the coffee grinder and asked, “Are you all right?”
“Long night. Drama.”
Bryan gave her the you can confide in me look, but Ree wanted to get into the rhythm of the day before she unloaded.
“I’ll explain in a bit. I need to get those scones in the oven.” Ree sneaked around him and started working on the baking for the day.
Cinnamon raisin, cranberry orange, and apple walnut scones, banana bread and pumpkin cream cheese muffins, pumpkin butterscotch cookie clouds (her specialty), and the requisite tray of cinnamon rolls, the most disgustingly deliciously decadent dessert she’d ever had the self-hating pleasure of making. Each one of those monsters clocked in at nearly a thousand calories, nearly none of them any sort that you’d call good.
The scents and sounds helped her calm down, let her slip back into her comfort zone. She’d gotten only half of the baking started, since she hadn’t been around to pre-prep the last few days, but she emerged from the baking meditation at 7:30, when the shop opened.
When she unlocked the door, there was a line of four polo-wearing young geek professionals, three regulars, and a girl she’d never seen before—artsy-looking, with dyed-purple hair and a tie for a belt.
Ree and Bryan welcomed the early risers, serving the three regulars and shuttling them back into the world with the awesome efficiency that had made Bryan famous. They banged out two cappuccinos and a mocha in three minutes flat, bringing the purple-haired new girl to the front of the line with two more people behind her. Another hour and a half of Zen barista action, and the crowd settled down.
Being back in the café reminded Ree of her “real life.” She asked Bryan, “Any word for Aidan and his ladylove from Stanford?”
Bryan looked up from cleaning the tables. “Nothing yet, but it could just be late. The October 31st deadline for response is one they made up, so they can break it if they want.” He shook his head with a chagrined smile. “I tried to get him to put it out of his mind, try to have fun with the day, but he’s been more twitchy than ever.”
Ree continued wiping down the coffee bar and mentally ticked off her still-to-do list for baking. He has his own crap to deal with. I can handle my own, she told herself.
Best boss ever, remember? she countered. He may be able to help. Plus, you’re going to have to come up with some understanding if you plan on skipping more shifts.
Ree put down the cleaning rag and leaned on the counter. She took a deep breath, then said, “Hey, boss?”
Bryan looked up again. “Yeah?”
“This is going to sound crazy. If you don’t want to hear me talk crazy, let me know and we’ll pretend this conversation didn’t happen. Actually, chances are you won’t remember it even if it does happen.” She hadn’t talked to her dad since cluing him in, so she had no clue how the Doubt really worked.
“Is this a writing thing?” he asked, giving her his circumspect look.
“I wish. It’s a ‘my life has gone crazy’ thing.” Ree wandered into the back, checking the freezer that held their fruit. The more time I spend thinking about scones, the less I have to think about teen suicide and a Darth Vader showdown with Eastwood. Happy, happy café drone.
Bryan was still wearing the concerned face when she walked back into the main room. Yeah, that’s not going to work.
“Bryan, what kinds of magic do you know about?”
Bryan shifted his weight and leaned back, looking unsure where she was going but relieved that it was a
topic he knew something about. “Well, Ritual magic is what I know best. It has two main camps: white magic, which creates and preserves; and black magic, which corrupts and destroys. Other people believe in different types, but for my purposes, it comes down to those. Why do you ask?”
“I’ve gotten into some crazy shit, and you’re the only person around that I know whose worldview doesn’t think magic is bunk.”
Bryan considered Ree’s face, then checked his watch. He walked around the counter and flipped the sign on the door to Closed. “Okay, why don’t you start at the beginning,” he said.
Ree smiled and dropped into her Inigo Montoya voice. “There is too much, let me sum up.”
She focused this telling on the magic bits, the Geekomancy and the nostalgia-fueled props, the midnight market and the ritual with the crucible. And, of course, Eastwood’s bargain. When she was done, she realized that she’d burned through two full cups of coffee; maybe they would help her see through time and predict the future.
Bryan poured himself another mug of tea and breathed in the steam. “You should have come to me about this sooner.”
What, so he’s in on the secret? Who else knew about this without telling me?
“Are you in on the Occult Underground thing, too?”
“Not so much in as adjacent to. I have some friends who are deeper in than I am. I’ve heard of Eastwood. He was a legend during the border disputes over the Wild Wild Web.”
“Did you know Branwen?” Ree asked.
Bryan shook his head. “I only ever heard bits and pieces.” He set down his mug and walked behind the counter. He pulled up the traction mat that they kept on the drain, flopped it over to the side, and reached down to fiddle with the grate.
“What are you doing?” Ree asked.
“Those friends I told you about? They’re more paranoid than I am, so I let them put in a panic room for me. It has some things you might be able to use.”
I’ve got to hit the bottom of this weird-ass rabbit hole anytime now, right?
Geekomancy Page 21
