by Anton Strout
“You know what that sounds like?” I shouted at him, shaking. “That sounds like torture . . .”
“It was,” he said, finally meeting my eye.
“So, what?” I asked. “You tortured his soul right out of his body? Is that why he’s acting the way he is?”
Caleb shook his head. “No,” he said. “He’s in there still. You can’t quite force something that strong to give up its form, but you can repress it.”
“Who are you?” I said. “Does Desmond Locke approve of all this? He’s watched over my father and this family for decades. He says it’s to monitor us, to keep balance in the name of the Libra Concordia, which is supposedly a good thing if I’m supposed to believe him, but you—”
“The Libra Concordia has no idea of my other affairs,” Caleb said quickly, his eyes full of worry. “A good freelancer learns not to let his activity with one group of clients get in the way of profiting off another. I would prefer that my other freelance work not be something the Libra Concordia take notice of. I’m trying to come clean here with you after wronging Stanis the way I have. Jesus.”
“So you’ll do just about anything for money?” I spat out.
Caleb’s eyes sharpened, and he straightened up. “If I have to,” he said. “Yes.”
“Unbelievable,” I said.
“Don’t you judge me,” he said, defensive. “I have a talent. A skill. So I get paid for using it. I’m sorry I don’t have a guild hall downtown and a spare alchemical research library in Gramercy at my disposal.”
“There are more honest ways of making a living than working for madmen,” I suggested.
“Honesty is a luxury afforded to the rich,” he said, his anger matching mine now. “Yes, I have a pride in the skills I have. I live for the challenge of answering the question can I pull this arcane trick off? Everything I earn goes into my survival. Supplies for what I do, the thrill of the next great job . . . That’s where my money goes. I offer services most don’t, that most can’t, and sometimes those services go to those who pay the most. So, yes, I try not to ask too many questions because then that makes me a liability to my clients. One that might make them want me dead. But I keep it nice and clean. I go in, I do my job, and I get my money.”
“It makes you an accomplice to their crimes,” I said.
“When you don’t have the luxury of taking the moral high road, it’s better to think of it like this: If someone runs somebody over, you don’t go after the guy who made the car, do you? No. It’s simply a thing. How people use it is where it gets all ambiguous. So somebody comes to me wanting to be stronger or to cure something that ails them or whatever they want to do with what I can provide them, so I sell it to them. I don’t ask what they plan to do with it.”
“Oh that is such bullshit,” I said. “You know what they’re going to do with it. You just choose to turn a blind eye to it.”
Caleb shrugged. “I won’t deny that I’ve probably got a good idea sometimes, sure. In that case, I tend to charge a little higher to burden them more and maybe ease my conscience a little.”
“So noble,” I said, shaking my head.
“Nobility is for those who can afford it, too,” he said. “I won’t apologize for who I am or what I do, but I’m telling you all this because I am trying to help you here.”
I resisted the urge to shake him or drop the ceiling on him. “How is any of this helpful? And why now?”
“Because helping you helps me,” he said, his voice calming now. “Yes, I do jobs that I don’t particularly like, okay? But knowing you and your friends . . . knowing what Stanis means to you all now . . . I can’t do it anymore. If I can fix this, maybe I can not feel as shitty as I do right now about what I’ve done to Stanis. About what I am still doing.”
“So you’re just going to go back on your deal with the Servants of Ruthenia?” I asked. “Good luck with that.”
Caleb shook his head.
“I know these people, this Kejetan,” he said. “I can’t just drop him and his rocky friends as clients. That would get me killed in a heartbeat, but I can find out some things that might help you out. There may be a way that I can help your Stanis without their knowing about it if I play this smart.”
“I can help him myself,” I said, bitterness in my voice. “I just need more information from you.”
Caleb shook his head.
“I can’t tell you anything more than I have just now,” he said. “You know how dangerous Kejetan and the Servants of Ruthenia can be. The less you know, the greater chance we all get out of this alive.”
“How do I know you won’t just turn around and give everything we’ve discovered together this week right over to Kejetan?”
Caleb thought for a moment. “Honestly, you don’t,” he said. “But if that were what I was going to do, why would I even bring any of this up to you?”
As frustrating as it was to admit, he had a point. He could have just kept his mouth shut. Still, I needed answers.
“Tell me where they are, Caleb,” I pleaded.
“I can’t,” he said. “Not just yet. I don’t need you exacting justice in your own special way. Not with the friends you have. Rory’s got a temper. She’d want to meet them head-on, and right now, for your safety and especially for mine, I can’t have that.”
“I could beat it out of you,” I threatened.
Caleb grabbed for the trim of his coat, pulling it back while his other hand poised over the vials within like a gunslinger over his gun.
“I don’t think you want to do that,” he said. “We know how that turned out the last time you tried to win against me.”
The image of Rory unconscious on the floor of my great-great-grandfather’s guild hall filled my mind’s eye, as well as my pained helpless memory of the situation. “Maybe I’m willing to take that chance on a rematch.”
“Easy, easy,” he said, backing away another foot, his hands staying poised. “We were getting along so well, too.”
I stood there for a moment longer, the two of us staring at each other in a game of chicken. Given the smile beneath his half-crazed eyes, I could tell the bastard was enjoying this just a bit too much, which only angered me.
Pissed as I was, I had to play this smart myself, so, breaking my gaze away from him as I slumped onto the stool behind me, I crossed my arms, then rubbed my eyes.
“So now what?” I asked.
Caleb let go of his coat and dropped his hands to his side, walking back over to me.
“I could have kept quiet,” he reminded. “I could have kept pretending about who I am and what I know. You never would have known where Stanis is or the things I have done to him, but listen . . . that’s not how I want this. Working with you these past few days . . . This makes so much sense to me, and I think you’re of a similar mind, yes?”
“I still think you should tell me everything you can,” I said.
“I can’t,” he said. “As it stands, it’s bad enough that you know anything. And remember, you can’t tell anyone at the Libra Concordia about this.”
Despite the warm fuzzies I had been feeling a few moments ago, I had to shut all that down.
“If I even get a hint of your screwing me over, Caleb, Desmond Locke will be the first to hear of your extracurricular activities. I can promise you that.”
“Believe me, I don’t want any undue attention from either side of things,” he said, backing away toward the rear of the studio. “I’d hate to get a bad rep for my bad rep.”
“I don’t give a damn about your bad reputation,” I said.
“On no?” he asked. “Not you?”
I smiled at that, and instantly the old Joan Jett song filled my head, but I killed it immediately, try to stay focused.
“No more harm can come to Stanis,” I said. “Do you understand me?”
Caleb held his hands up. “Not by these hands.”
“And until we can figure out how to get him back, at least keep him from harm, Caleb,”
I said, stern this time.
He laughed, shaking his head. “I think you’ve got your sense of who’s in danger messed up there. He’s the strong, ancient stone guy. I’m the soft, fleshy creature. Just who exactly is capable of harming whom in this little scenario?”
“You . . . tortured him,” I said, barely able to say the word for all the suffering it held in it. “Which means you have some formidable power if you did that.”
“Actually,” Caleb said. “To be fair, the gargoyle didn’t put up a fight.”
I stood, eyes wide. “He didn’t?”
“Not at first,” he said. Caleb looked to the ceiling shaking his head. “I really don’t get that. I mean, what kind of creature like that doesn’t even put up a fight?”
It was clear to me that a man of such questionable character as Caleb couldn’t fathom it, but I could.
Stanis hadn’t put up a fight because he was protecting me and my family. And what pained me more, it was at the cost of his own well-being, which pulled at my heart. It was even more impressive knowing that Stanis had chosen to give himself over to servitude after having been freed from my great-great-grandfather’s sway, his sacrifice only making me feel doubly conflicted about having just kissed Caleb.
Not that anything of that sort could ever happen between Stanis and me . . .
“Go,” I said, the word flat and lifeless on my lips, the sight of Caleb at once enticing and upsetting me.
Was that true, though? Or was I really more upset with myself for momentarily allowing myself to lose focus?
“If you think you can get Stanis back to our side,” I said, “or break Kejetan’s control over him, you need to do it.”
Caleb sighed. “It’s not that simple,” he said. “Once I finished binding him, I gave control to Kejetan, which means I don’t directly have the power to break that bind anymore.”
“So it’s hopeless,” I said, not able to hide the frustration in my voice. “Great.”
Caleb held up a finger and waggled it at me. “I didn’t say that, now, did I? Do you think I would have brought all this up just to torment you if I didn’t have a plan already forming in my head?”
“Well, whatever your plan is, get out of here and get on with it, will you? It’s only a matter of time before Kejetan sets him more directly to the task of harming me, my family, and my friends in his search for Alexander’s secrets. We need to be ready.”
“We will be,” he said, turning away toward the broken French doors leading out onto the terrace.
“How can you be so confident?”
Caleb spun back around, stopping. “Trust me,” he said. “When you hear me sounding this confident, that just means my back’s up against the wall, and I’m not particularly a huge fan of that. Luckily for you, it also puts my mind into panic mode, and that’s when I tend to go a bit hypercreative. I don’t have a full plan yet, but the wheels are turning.”
“Please tell me they’re not hamster wheels in there,” I said, rubbing my temples in the hopes it would help dislodge the ice daggers his cheerful tone was plunging into my mind.
“We can use those wings,” he said, pointing at my latest handiwork just behind me. “Keep working on them.”
“Caleb,” I said, stern as I could as I walked over to the statue. “Now is not the time for my fucking art project.”
“And work on counting,” he added.
“I know how to count,” I said.
“Yes,” he said. “But I want you to always be doing it in the back of your head, like keeping time with music.”
“Why?”
“Just trust me,” he said.
I wanted to, but it was hard to muster it for a man who for all intents and purposes was still a stranger to me, one who played both sides of the fence, always looking for an advantage.
“Right now, I trust you as far as I can throw you,” I said. “Nonmagically speaking.”
He held his hands up.
“I’m going,” he said. “I’m going. You’ll see. I’ll show you I can fix this.”
“Just go.” I locked my eyes on his, refusing to look away. Eventually, he turned, made his way out onto the terrace, and disappeared over the edge of the building down the fire escape.
I collapsed against the wings, exhausted, leaning on the form that held them in place.
Knowing why Stanis was acting the way he was . . . it was the most promising bit of news I had, really. Caleb was close to reverse engineering Kimiya thanks to the week or so we had been comparing notes. I had no doubt we’d figure it out soon, but that was only the first step on our road to building an army to counter the Servants of Ruthenia. I still needed to unlock the arcane secrets of actually raising that army. The freelance alchemist had said he would help, but could I take Caleb at his word?
No, but I could work with and learn from him while also taking precautions to make sure I had a plan that extended beyond whatever he himself was concocting.
My thoughts were clouded as far as trust was concerned, more so due in part to what had been the pleasant sensation of Caleb’s lips on mine.
I needed to clear my head, going for the stairs at the back of the building that led up to the roof. I pushed through the upper door, hoping that the night skyline might help me focus even if the familiar form of Stanis was not there waiting for me as it used to be not so long ago.
The spot where Stanis had once stood before waking every night was empty, as it had been these last few months, but the rest of the roof caused me to stop in my tracks, my breath catching in my throat.
Stanis wasn’t there . . . but plenty of other statues were.
The inert forms of dozens of works—some on pedestals, some looking like they had been torn directly from the faces of buildings—covered the entirety of the roof. One thing stood out about them—they all bore the distinctive style of my great-great-grandfather’s hand in their carving.
I should have known better than to have allowed myself a little happiness earlier, or even take a moment of pleasure from the kiss. Given my luck lately, letting my guard down for even a second should have been the perfect indicator that, of course, my life was surely going to get worse, and here I was with proof positive that something else strange was up.
Work on the wings. Caleb’s voice sounded in my head.
I intended to, heading back down to the studio below. Carving was only a small part of the work. As I planned out my project, I set the back of my mind to Caleb’s second task.
I began to count.
Fourteen
Stanis
As I hung harnessed to the chains dangling from the cargo hold of the freighter, my inner voice demanded vengeance against Devon for the pain he had been inflicting on me for the last half hour. Blow after blow struck me, and my inner voice—my true self—wanted nothing more than to tear the deformed stone creature apart, but the dominant voice that held sway over me now allowed Devon’s continuing punishment.
Kejetan stood watching. For the first twenty of the passing minutes, I thought perhaps Devon had simply been following my father’s orders. For the rest of the time, however, it had moved beyond just a simple task for Devon, marked by the brutal enjoyment on his jagged stone face.
Kejetan dropped one of his thick stone hands on Devon’s shoulder, causing a pause in the assault on me.
“Stanis, you have gathered what I asked for—Alexander Belarus’s greatest stone creations—have you not?” he asked.
“I have,” I responded, my two voices both allowing me to answer. There was no harm in stating the obvious course of my actions over the past week.
“And yet you still can neither find nor bring me the secrets of the Spellmason,” he added.
My true voice held the dominant one silent by hiding the truth from it. How much longer I could keep secret the Spellmason master tome Alexandra carried was the ongoing struggle for me. As I had instructed her in our one meeting, as long as Alexandra kept it physically hidden from me and did not
reveal its whereabouts, I could continue to keep the dominant voice from acting out against her.
I only prayed Kejetan or his alchemist did not alter the phrasing of the orders they had set upon me, but for now both voices continued their silence on the matter, which, despite the immense amount of pain I was in at the moment, pleased me. The hint of a smile rose to my stone lips.
Devon shook Kejetan’s hand off his shoulder and lunged at me.
“What allegiance do you owe my former sister?” he asked, barely able to associate himself with any of his old ties to his humanity. His arms renewed their furious motion as he resumed his attack on my battered body.
“What is it that makes her or the rest of the humans so special that you deny the Servants of Ruthenia the same form as yours?”
I did not need to answer with either voice. The voice that dominated me answered to only one creature, and that stone monster stood idly by, watching as Devon slammed his fists into me again and again.
As I hung there, attempting to ignore the pain, my mind drifted to what I thought was the point of hallucination and beyond. The far wall behind the two jagged stone men in front of me shimmered, a section of the metal there transforming. The area was vaguely human-shaped and moving, every step closer to us becoming more and more clear until I recognized the form of the blond human who had tortured me.
His face looked concerned this time, but when Devon and Kejetan turned to him, his face transformed, rivaling that of a man who had not a care in the world.
He looked to Devon, whose right arm was pulled back in midswing.
“Easy there, Scrappy,” the human said, gesturing to my hanging form as I swayed on my chains with the motion of the ship. “You know, it might be more of a fair fight if you took him down off those spikes.”
“I did not summon you,” Kejetan said, his words dark.
“Yeah, I know,” the human said, moving closer to me, looking my form over. “Let’s just say I felt a disturbance in the Force.”
“The Force?” I asked before anyone else could.
