Divinity Circuit (Senyaza Series Book 5)

by Chrysoula Tzavelas

  It too was unusually empty for a Friday afternoon. At one of the few long freestanding tables on the far side of the room, Simon slouched in a chair with elaborately carved arms. Across from him sat both Skadi and Mr. Black, equally casual. Mr. Black’s jacket was unbuttoned and Skadi’s cheeks were flushed. There were several bottles, glasses and an ornate box on the table.

  Marley narrowed her eyes and stalked over there, beating Branwyn despite having a shorter stride. “What’s going on?”

  Simon looked at her, his hair sticking up right over his eyes. “Tell me you got my note.”

  “Ah, Marley,” said Mr. Black, waving a hand expansively. “Do join us. We’re discussing Corbin.” Neath leapt into a chair and then onto the table and Mr. Black eyed her. “And you brought the celestial kitty. How charming.”

  “They’re getting smashed,” said Simon bitterly. “They made me come along.” He pulled his bottle and shot glass away from Neath’s questing nose.

  “Why?” demanded Branwyn, yanking out a chair next to Simon and sitting down. “Can’t they pour their own drinks?”

  “It seemed cruel,” said Skadi. “Plus he’s better at getting drunk than I am. I was hoping it would rub off.”

  “Simon is peaceful company in a bar, I’ve found. I could use some peace.” Mr. Black rubbed his eyes and then sipped from the tumbler in front of him.

  “You’re drinking cocktails,” pointed out Simon irritably. “Slowly. You want to do this, you have to commit.”

  “Well, I do have gala security to monitor later,” said Mr. Black mildly.

  “I hate to admit this, but I’m confused,” said Branwyn. “Is this really the right time to explore pushing your alcohol tolerance?”

  Mr. Black fished in his pocket and pushed a piece of paper over to Branwyn. Branwyn read it impassively and then handed it to Marley.

  Dear Grandfather,

  I’m anticipating seeing you at the annual gala tonight. I hope the whole family will be there.

  Corbin

  Marley stared at it and then sank into the chair at the end of the table, her thoughts whirling. Skadi, Corbin, Mr. Black. Senyaza was full of liars. For a moment, she thought they all deserved each other. But she remembered Corbin’s wounded eyes, his exhaustion, his hunger when he’d pulled her to him. She remembered how the virus had changed her thinking, and how it had hurt. He didn’t deserve what had been done to him.

  She raised her eyes to Mr. Black. “You infected him with the virus on purpose. Because of his magic. You wanted to use his magic to identify Hadraniel. You bastard.”

  “We gave that order, yes,” agreed Mr. Black. “Corbin’s never embraced his gift the way his father did, and we needed to find out who was responsible for murdering our people.” His gaze darkened. “I lost my son, Marley.”

  Marley smacked the table. “So you sacrificed your grandson? What kind of sense does that make?”

  Mr. Black’s fingers tightened around his glass. “It wasn’t supposed to be a sacrifice. Skadi’s run dozens of controlled exposures. It should have been safe for everybody.”

  “Still don’t know what went wrong,” said Skadi. “No idea what will happen when Corbin dies. Maybe he’ll escape for real.” She tapped one of her pale nails on the box. It was a puzzle box, Marley realized, made of many tiny panels of wood. The box Corbin had opened.

  There you were, laying the old trap. But I won’t be taken again, the virus had said. She mentally replayed more of the conversation that followed, moving pieces around.

  “She was talking like that even before we got out the booze,” Simon commented. “Babbling. Fidgeting with that box.”

  “I understand,” said Marley, after a deep breath. “I understand everything. Almost everything. But I understand more than they do.” She met Mr. Black’s mild gaze again. “Why do you use the past tense talking about Corbin’s father’s gift?”

  “Ah, that’s a quirk of his bloodline. They each have their own magic but there’s also a particular gift that gets passed down.”

  “The thing with the eye,” volunteered Simon helpfully.

  Mr. Black glanced at him. “Yes, the thing with the eye. The Eye of Insight, we call it. Corbin’s other grandfather died when Aedrian was still in the womb; Aedrian inherited it before birth. It killed his mother.”

  Marley swallowed. “That’s grim.”

  Mr. Black shrugged. “In any case, Aedrian grew up with it. But when Corbin was born, he lost the power. We didn’t really expect that. We’d come to rely on Aedrian’s access to the Eye.”

  “Which is…?” prompted Branwyn.

  “Information,” said Mr. Black. “Or access to information. We don’t know how it works. It’s never been easily controlled, but at least Aedrian was willing to try on Senyaza’s behalf. Corbin has always been resistant to tapping into the power.”

  “It’s more than information,” said Marley. Someone claimed him first.

  Skadi pushed her hair away from her face. “What have you discovered, little one?”

  Marley glanced at Skadi, and found she couldn’t be angry at her the same way she was angry at Corbin’s grandfather. When Marley had been ill in Mr. Black’s office, when she’d fallen down, they’d all stayed away. They hadn’t told her or Branwyn what was going on, even though in retrospect they must have known. Skadi may have technically been responsible for the virus, may have unleashed it, but she was doing her best to track it down while Mr. Black and the elders of Senyaza sat safe above.

  “Well, it’s why whatever you put into that box—a celestial you turned into a virus somehow? I don’t know. But Corbin’s got something else like that and that’s why the virus couldn’t fully possess him, and it’s why you can’t recapture it. If that’s just information, it seems to be information with an agenda.”

  “Ah,” said Mr. Black and pulled out his phone to start tapping on it.

  Skadi blinked at her for a moment and then said, “He turned himself into a virus. All we did is catch him and put him to use. He only would have ended up impaled on a Sword anyhow. Never friends with his peers, that one.”

  “Speaking of information with an agenda,” said Mr. Black and this time slid his phone over to Branwyn.

  She glanced at it and her mouth tightened. “Yeah. Well, you reap what you sow, man.”

  “What?” said Marley, annoyed that the subject was apparently changing with no more than Skadi’s mild acknowledgement of Marley’s discovery.

  “Titanone’s programmer just quit. Apparently he’s going dark, getting off the network. He’s scared of Titanone.”

  “You’ve confused it a great deal,” said Mr. Black severely.

  “Me? I had things well in hand and you decided to make him into a spy!” flared Branwyn.

  “Little pitchers have big—and I mean really big—ears,” said Simon. He tapped a finger on the shot glass in front of him.

  Marley smacked the table again and Neath hissed in annoyance. “Can we please get back to Corbin? Why were you talking about what might happen when he dies, Skadi?”

  “Ah, we’re back to reasons for drinking,” said Mr. Black, and finished off what was in his glass. The barmaid, a young woman with pink hair, appeared silently beside him to replace his glass. She put down glasses of ice water for Branwyn and Marley and what Marley hoped was a saucer of water for Neath. A drunk cat was the last thing she needed.

  “Can’t let him sneak into a party full of nephilim, little one. My ability to manage the virus is—” she drained her glass “—limited. A family? I can do what needs to be done if I can get there in time. A gala? No. Too likely my own defenses would be overwhelmed.”

  “Especially if he spreads the version you can’t stop,” agreed Mr. Black. “Such a disaster.”

  “I know this is crazy,” said Branwyn brightly, “But why not cancel the gala if you don’t think you can stop him safely?”

  “He’s coming because Hadraniel is,” said Marley. “You should cancel the gala.”
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  “Ah, well, Hadraniel at least I am not worried about,” said Mr. Black. “I hope he does come. But he won’t. Corbin is coming for his own reasons.”

  “It,” corrected Branwyn. “Hadraniel doesn’t have a gender.”

  “And yet you use ‘he’ for Titanone,” pointed out Mr. Black.

  Branwyn clenched her fists on the tabletop and Neath nudged her, meowing in concern. Marley cut in before they could get more off track. “Gender Studies 101 is tomorrow. Why the hell aren’t you worried about an angel with the divinity circuit who hates you? I promise, you should be.”

  Comfortably, Mr. Black said, “It is a nephilim gala, Miss Claviger, within the heart of our stronghold. It is built to stop celestial invaders, and there will be dozens of experienced celestial hunters on hand to tether Hadraniel down so firmly that we could spend years deciding what to do with it. Not that we’ll need to spend years deciding.” He flicked Skadi’s box with a finger.

  Marley stared at him. “Are you holding this gala as bait?”

  “Hardly that. We have a gala almost every year, my dear. And to be bait it must seduce the victim in—and I think a celestial would have to be mad to try to join us.” He glanced down at Neath again. “Although you may bring your cat, if you wish. You will be attending, yes?”

  “Yes,” said Marley grimly.

  “Good. You may be useful. Have a drink. Don’t worry about Hadraniel,” Mr. Black said. “My sources tell me that in a celestial spat this morning our enemy barely managed to damage a coffee shop. The power of the divinity circuit has been overrated by our friends in the government. And Senyaza was killing angels even before the Hush was created. He can only surprise us once. If Hadraniel does come, we will be ready for him, and unlike with my grandson, there will be no hesitation. But more than likely he will pursue an easier target.”

  Marley glanced at Branwyn, who didn’t look convinced. Then she shifted into her danger-sight. Branwyn dripped with blood, while Skadi glittered with crimson crystals. The echo of Mr. Black was worst of all: contorted and broken.

  “I wish I could trust you,” said Marley bitterly. “I wish I could believe you. But my celestial blood won’t let me. I see too much.”

  Mr. Black gave her a knowing look. “And none of it is ever good. I understand.” He tapped his glass. “Sometimes it brings things into focus.”

  “Not for me,” said Simon sullenly. “The whole point is to push things out of focus. But maybe you’re getting the magic alcohol.”

  Marley thought about Corbin again, considered why he might be coming to the gala. Despite his note to Mr. Black, she didn’t think it was to reconcile with his family. Not with the blood in the future. But why would he warn them? The security of Senyaza wasn’t only magical; they had access to quite large guns and it was obvious that Mr. Black would order his own grandson shot if he felt it was necessary to protect the whole of Senyaza. After all, hadn’t he ordered Corbin infected with an uncontrollable virus?

  None of the nephilim seemed to remember what it was like to love somebody. They were all as cold as the steel of their tower, cold as diamond.

  “It’s true that Hadraniel isn’t the only way things can go terribly wrong,” said Branwyn with deceptive lightness. “I’ll be there too. Maybe I can deal with one of them.”

  “And we will deal with another. Perhaps finally.” Mr. Black drained his glass.

  Marley clenched her fists. “How can you not have non-lethal ways to subdue angry nephilim?” Branwyn shot her a sharp glance that she didn’t understand.

  Mr. Black said, “Oh, we do. And if Corbin approaches through the front entrance, you can be assured we will deploy all of them. But Corbin is…. powerful, and prone to surprising us, lately. I’d rather he not die for it. But I must give my teams their orders.” He sighed.

  Marley started shredding a napkin. She’d thought Corbin was coming because Hadraniel was. She’d been sure Hadraniel would invade the gala. Mr. Black was so confident that it would be a non-issue if it happened, though, and he was right about how the nephilim had been dealing with angels since before the Hush. And Titan One was fortified, all right. A safe sanctuary and punishing vengeance for any attack was how Senyaza protected itself against even minor mischief from all the celestial factions who hated the organization.

  But there was blood in the future, and Corbin was coming. They had to be connected. Branwyn said he’d given Hadraniel information on the divinity circuit and he hadn’t denied it but how far would he go to punish those who had betrayed him?

  How far would those he loved go to punish somebody who’d hurt them? Corbin had grown up in Senyaza, grown up marinating in a sea of ancient grudges and rigid arrogance and secret power. He’d grown up in an environment that never forgave and where love was earned after centuries of life.

  And she was sitting here talking to those who’d betrayed him, who were talking now about ordering his death because they’d made a mistake. She was acting like they were reasonable rather than half mad with injured power.

  “You’re no different than the angels,” said Marley bitterly, and pushed herself away from the table.

  The bartender gasped behind her bar. Skadi tilted her head as if the idea wasn’t new to her, while Mr. Black frowned.

  But it was Branwyn who said, “Hey, your boyfriend is the one actually working with the angels.”

  Marley stared at Branwyn in betrayed shock, then stood up. Without a word, she walked away, out of the bar, into the elevator and from Titan One. Once she was in the plaza beyond the grand front entrance to the skyscraper, she pressed her hands against her forehead and tried not to burst into tears. It was the wrong place for that.

  Neath meowed behind her, then trilled and darted past her. A raven sat on the plinth fountain spilling into a shallow basin. Neath bounced up to the edge of the basin and teetered there, as if considering whether she could jump and catch the bird.

  Marley looked at it warily, tears and anger momentarily dwindling. She couldn’t say it looked familiar—ravens looked like ravens to her. She was proud of being able to tell them apart from crows. But she couldn’t see a raven without thinking of Corbin.

  “Is he around?” she asked, her voice cracking.

  “No,” said the raven, in a surprisingly human voice. “No Corbin. Marley.”

  Marley’s eyes widened before she remembered that ravens were in that category of birds that could learn human speech. She moved up to the fountain behind Neath and held out her hand. “What are you doing here?”

  “Marley,” repeated the raven and fluttered to her hand. Neath watched the bird with slitted eyes, her tail lashing, but Marley didn’t think she was actually interested in going for the bird.

  “Scared,” added the bird, and this time its voice was higher pitched. “Corbin’s sick. Miss him.”

  Marley hesitantly stroked the back of the bird’s head with one finger, looking at how the feathers spread out in a shaggy ruff around the bird’s neck. Neath twined her way between Marley’s legs, until Marley had to sit down on the edge of the fountain or be knocked into it.

  “Me too, bird,” she told the raven. “I’m pretty scared too. And once again I’ve apparently stormed off without transportation.” She thought about going back in to get Branwyn, but she was still angry. And Branwyn had business still with the spirit of the skyscraper.

  The memory made Branwyn’s behavior a little less hurtful. Of course she couldn’t afford to get into a fight with Senyaza, not when the life she was responsible for belonged to them. Marley understood that. Relationships weren’t ever simple; there were always treacherous currents below the surface waiting to pull you down. She understood that, but it didn’t calm the pounding of her heart. There was nothing she could do to escape that, except breathe and try not to get into worse trouble.

  “Transport,” said the raven, in almost Marley’s voice.

  “Yes,” said Marley. “Yeah, I understand why Corbin prefers to rely on you guys.” A w
ild idea occurred, born from a growing sense of being trapped. “Are any of your brothers around? Maybe you could give me a ride to my own car.”

  “Yes,” said the raven. “Flight. To where you need to go.”

  Marley wondered if Corbin had sent them, given them instructions to help her. It was a sweet thought. Too sweet. Today, she couldn’t believe it; today everything felt broken. What could they do but run?

  Besides, the raven said yes but it simply sat on her arm, as if it hadn’t actually understood what she’d said. Maybe she could do something to communicate better with it.

  Marley cast about, trying to remember what Corbin had done before. He’d been obviously tapping into his intrinsic magic to communicate with the ravens, but he’d done other things too: interacted with the strands of the Geometry in silent ways that made the ravens into patterns against the sky. She looked at the sky with the Geometric Sight, saw the birds high above weaving through the tangled lines of magic. They were as distant as Corbin himself.

  Marley muttered, “What do I do?” She had to do something: run or scream or cry or engage in strange, reckless magic. The panic clawed at the edges of her mind.

  “Call,” suggested the raven.

  “Come here,” said Marley hopefully, but the raven on her hand clicked at her and all the birds above ignored her. No, that wasn’t it.

  She fumbled out her phone instead, swiped through its screens, feeling more and more anxious. Titan One loomed behind her. She had to get away. The shadow of Senyaza was oppressive, along with the secrets of her own heritage. Corbin had grown up under that weight, with a family that had known everything and always wanted more.

  She found a notepad app she could scribble on, and sketched out a sky pattern she remembered from before, then showed it to the raven. It tilted its head and clicked again.