by VK Fox
“I suppose the one in the Louvre is a fake?”
“If I knew its location, I wouldn’t need to loop you in.” It wasn’t part of the three-step plan, but Mordred was so tightly wound, so intensely serious when it was him getting worked over. Everest kept his face sincere, “And I want a pony.”
“What?”
“A tiny horse. I want one.”
“You’re being an ass now. Did you want one on your sixteenth of an acre in DC?”
“I don’t want to care for it. I just want it to be mine. Perhaps donate it to a therapeutic program in my name.” Everest strained to deliver the words in a semi-serious tone.
“Fuck you.” Mordred shoved his hands through his hair like a man about to have an adult tantrum. After some internal wrestling characterized by a lot of stomping and groaning and having to breathe loudly, he gave Everest a focused, withering stare. “I’ll contact you when I have Joyeuse, and we can meet in a neutral location I will select.”
“I’ll pick the location.” Step three was to convince Mordred he’d regained control. It didn’t matter who chose, Everest knew where they’d meet. The two of them would stand on a neon-lit dais in the shape of a skull, and Everest would learn two halves of a secret. The first would drive him insane. The second would save Dahl’s life. Mordred strode across the garden and leaned over Everest so their faces were almost touching. He smelled like cheap chocolate and tobacco: indulgent and warm. Like Dahl. Everest closed his eyes.
“No, dear boy, I will pick the location and you will bring my book. You will take your stupid toy, and you will say ‘Thank You’ and we will never, never interact again. Am I clear? If I see so much as your shadow or hear a whisper of your voice, no force of man or God will keep me from ending your paltry life.”
Everest opened his eyes and patted Mordred on the cheek, “Good. Looking forward to it.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“The Once and Future King is missing?” Ian looked like a man having his world rocked. Jane stood behind him and patted his shoulder while she ate her filet o’ fish sandwich. Two books in one day was a lot to take in. One thing was for sure: she was getting really fucking sick of fish. Her mom used to make these big, thick, juicy burgers with fresh tomatoes, pesto, and mozzarella on top. She bet those would help her gain weight. Ian bent over to examine the forgery. He took the library checkout card and turned it over slowly. He held it to the light. He traced the words on the surface. It appeared to be a normal card, identical to a billion others.
“Does the message mean anything to you?” Sister Mary had brought a bottle of wine with a bow as a wedding gift, and she was pouring it into fancy glasses from the hotel bar.
Ian put the card back in the book, “No. This book was in the vault?”
“That’s right. Have you heard the title ‘The Suicide King’ before?”
Ian shook his head. “Never. It’s not much, but we can tell it’s been stolen in the last five years - the linking process wouldn’t have worked for Dahl if the book was fake. You know how tight security is.” Ian gave both women a slightly sharp glance, “There have been no other break-ins I know of. I can’t imagine someone pulling it off quietly. Honestly, you probably know more about vault security than I do.”
Sister Mary frowned, “Any other ideas?”
Ian combed his hand through his hair, “The book would be out of the vault at the linking ceremony and just after. This kind of thing isn’t my area, but I can’t see how a theft could be successful without inside help or something like the command power.”
“Which we know couldn’t have been used, because Dahl was newly linked.”
“Yes. I was with him the whole night; he couldn’t use command. He didn’t get a handle on things until much later. It takes time to figure new powers out: night-of isn’t happening.”
“So it’s an inside job.” Sister Mary placed the glasses on the table with a small clink. “Before we get into the rest of it, congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Sendak.” She raised her glass, “May the road rise to meet you, may the wind be always at your back, may the sun shine upon your face, and may the good Lord hold you in the palm of his hand.”
Jane and Ian clinked glasses before taking a drink. Ian kissed Jane’s cheek, and she tried to freeze the moment in her memory. They both thanked Sister Mary and chatted about the wedding for a few minutes until Ian began to fiddle with his lapis gauges and Jane could tell he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Sister Mary would know all the right words, but shouldn’t Jane be the one to tell him? The conversation paused, and she took the moment.
“So we’ve been working on this thing.” Yep. She was off to a great start.
Ian nodded, “Yes, it seems that way. A vault break must have taken a lot of planning.”
Mary cut in, “Jane didn’t know about it until a few days ago, and I twisted her arm to get her to help. You can be angry at me if you need to be.”
Ian nodded but offered no additional reaction. Jane took his hand, “We were trying to help Dahl. We still are trying to help Dahl, I should say, but the whole book thing is a big setback.”
Again Ian nodded, “With The Once and Future King I had guessed. Also, Olive turned up and can’t remember anything, and Lovecraft told me in not so many words to keep my head down. There’s a theme in all of these things.” He inspected the book, running his fingers over the water-damaged cover, “Will you please tell me what’s wrong with my son?”
Sister Mary sat back and sipped wine. Jane stood in front of him and squared her shoulders. They could handle this. Look confident.
“He was able to get a message to Sister Mary last autumn, saying there was something wrong with his link. Sister Mary figured out the book had woken up. He’s at least partly possessed by Mordred’s consciousness.” Jane stole a glance at Sister Mary. Was she explaining this right? Mary gave a tiny nod. “We were trying to get The Once and Future King so Father Gentle could do an exorcism. We couldn’t tell you, because if either Mordred or Sana Baba found out it would mean a really crappy turn of events for you or Dahl or both. I’m sorry…” Ian’s eyes were unfocused. He shook his head slightly, “I’m sorry I kept things from you. I didn’t want to. No matter what I did in the situation, I was screwing someone over. I wanted to help.” Why did she feel like such an utter failure? They’d succeeded against fucking impossible odds. How could they have known the book was fake? Sana Baba didn’t even know. How did they not know their own book was fake? Jane knit her eyebrows together.
“How come they didn’t know the book was fake? Can’t agents tell by holding the book if it’s linked or not?”
Ian was still vacant. Jane hugged as much of him as she could. Sister Mary responded, “Yes, most can. That would be a lead to follow if we had access to their records about who has been in contact with the book in the last five years.”
“I am going to dream about this.” Ian’s voice was strangely calm. No questions, no volume: only a plan going forward. Special agent all the way.
He stood woodenly and shuffled back to the bedroom. Jane mumbled something to Sister Mary and followed him. Ian was folding back the covers just so, his huge star white and dark velvet ephemeral antlers shining in the low light. He paced around the bed in a circle, mercury and light flowing where his footsteps marked out. Jane stood at the edge of the room and watched his colossal, graceful form go through the motions. His face was so serious it made her irrationally afraid. The gravity of expression on a man his size was imposing and dangerous—millions of years of human evolution told her this was a predator, a threat, the fearsome male of the species. Ian slid his shoes off and pulled back the covers, climbing into bed.
He turned to her, his eyes wide and voice slightly fractured, “Will you stay with me? Don’t worry, the magic won’t affect you. I’m afraid about what I might dream.”
Jane nodded, stepped over the mercury ring, and climbed in bed. Ian wrapped her in his arms like she was his teddy bear, and they drifted o
ff to sleep.
Olive and Jane were feeding coins into a slot machine at an offensive rate. The dials announced that they were terrible at their only function in the slot machine/gambler relationship. The slots, which did not even have old-timey mechanical parts picturing dollar symbols and shit gave Jane a cow, cow, hay bale, tornado, and sheep on the electronic screen. A farmer in a straw hat appeared to say “You got a windstorm, buckaroo!”
Quarters failed to appear. Apparently, windstorms did not result in quarters.
“Do you like rats?” Olive was acting weirder than normal.
“I like them better than windstorms.” Jane scowled at the farmer and pulled the lever again.
“Do you want some?”
“What?”
“They are really good pets. Smart, clean, affectionate.” Olive adjusted the hem of her pleated skirt, “I don’t know, you were fawning all over that piece of Tupperware and I thought ‘Here’s a girl who needs some rats!’”
Jane chewed her lip as the farmer laughed good-naturedly around his piece of mouth wheat. Voluntary robbery was so much fun. “I don’t know, Olive, I travel a lot for work. I don’t think I’d be good with pets that need things like water.”
“Sure. Makes sense. But if some, like, showed up you probably wouldn’t turn them away either, right?”
Jane narrowed her eyes as a few coins rattled into the tray. “Turn rats away? Isn’t ‘away’ kind of where most people want them?”
Olive huffed, “Obviously I’m talking to the wrong person in this dynamic duo.”
“Yeeeehaw! Try your luck, Buckaroo!”
“Olive, do not give Ian rats. Do not. He has a crow who is his current companion animal who leads its own independent life all over his house from what I’ve gathered. He does not need companion rats leading their own independent lives in the kitchen and bathrooms. No one in the world needs that.”
“You’re right, they wouldn’t do well in a free-range scenario. They’ve come to expect a certain standard of living, I don’t know if they could revert to rustic demands.”
“Are these existing rats in need of a home or hypothetical gift rats?”
“Existing.”
Olive slotted another quarter. Jane pulled the lever and didn’t even glance at the machine, while the farmer informed her of her utter flop. She was inspecting Olive’s crotch-length skirt and mostly unbuttoned blouse which resembled no schoolgirl ever. There weren’t really any places to hide rats in there, so they weren’t imminently being rehomed.
“Dahl can’t take care of them?”
“He does. He’s trained them to sit and beg and dices their treats into little paw-sized lumps. He kisses them on their noses.” Olive was fishing around in her cup for another quarter, but the motion was half-hearted. “I’m going to miss those girls.”
Jane put a hand on her arm, “Dahl’s going to be ok. Ian will have figured something out when he’s done meditating or decoding or whatever.”
Olive shook herself and grinned, “Sure, sure. Well, I think I can check slots off my Things to Do in Vegas list.”
“Haven’t you been here before?”
Olive shrugged, “Maybe. You want to go see some contortionist strippers?”
Ian joined Jane and Olive in Red Rock Canyon two hours later. After Olive dictated their schedule for the first half of the day, Jane took charge to minimize emotional scarring from their agenda. They’d left a note for Ian and headed for the hills. The sweeping, rocky landscape dotted with scrub and framed by mountains was a good palate cleanser. After four minutes, Olive announced she was going back to the car to take a nap.
“But we took a cab.”
“Well, I’ll call another to nap in.”
Jane couldn’t parse that, so she turned her attention back to Ian and the contrast of the bright red stone against the bright blue sky. They strolled along the gently graded path hand in hand. Maybe they would see a wild donkey. Maybe Ian would tell her what, exactly, he dreamed about and then puzzled over for hours.
“The linking ceremony I mentioned is tonight. I’d like to go, but I think it would be wise to go single. I don’t know how much Sana Baba figured out from the other night, but it does seem to tempt fate for you to revisit the scene of the crime so soon.”
Stalling. Jane’s stomach twisted. Why wasn’t he talking about the super important prophetic dream?
“Sure. You’ll have to let me know how it goes or whatever. So what did you dream?”
“No need to worry, it will all sort itself out in a few days.”
Jane stopped dead and squinted at him, “I’m going to remind you about something.”
“Okay…”
“When Olive dreamed, and you said she wouldn’t tell you any details. What were the words you used to describe that?”
“I’m sure she had her reasons.”
“Extremely frustrating? Those were your words, right?”
Ian studied something far off, “Maybe.”
“Now imagine you’re me and both of the people who have dreamed are withholding information—”
“I’m not withholding. I said it would all sort itself out.”
Jane narrowed her eyes, “On a long enough timeline, everything sorts itself out.”
“In a few days.”
“That is not a clear answer.”
“Dreams are unclear. It’s a hazard of the medium.”
“Ian! Come on! If you tell me what you know we can work on it together—I can be a resource. I got your back.”
Ian sighed and rubbed his neck with his free hand, “Jane, listen to me.” Ian held her gaze, his eyes tired despite the nap. “If you are there, you will be tempted to use magic. You can’t. You are such a loving person. I have a hard time picturing you turning away from someone in need. If you back me up, can you accept the fact you might have to?”
Jane opened her mouth, but Ian cut in, “Think about it for a minute. Really think. Is it something you’re able to promise? Working yourself to death is a real danger we are going to have to learn to manage. I know this will be hard.”
Jane kicked a brick-tone rock off the path, dust puffing as it skittered down the incline. “I know it’s hard. Sometimes I feel like instead of saving someone I am not saving millions of people. Every time I choose to help someone it means I can’t help someone else.”
Ian squeezed her hand, “Those choices must be a heavy burden. But Jane,” Ian stopped to stare at her, face warm and loving, “I choose you over anyone else. Remember that.”
Jane nodded, squinting in the bright afternoon light. Ian kissed the top of her head, “The Neon Museum Boneyard at eight o’clock Thursday. Olive and I will be arriving separately. Dahl and Lovecraft will be there. Backup means out of sight, hidden until I give the signal. No heroics, no exceptions. Agreed?”
“I promise.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Present Day
“Don’t think about the wire, just act naturally.” Everest couldn’t remember the name of this support agent. While the middle-aged man taped the flexible metal and plastic cord to his chest, Everest wracked his brain. Was it Jordan? Jarome? Jacob? Something with a J. Or maybe a G. Everest sat as still as possible.
Looping Carpeaux in was the right decision. Adam’s list opened the incredible possibility of having allies in his corner, and although making it to the skull was almost a sure thing either way, Everest’s life would be extremely different afterwards depending on his choices now. Coming forward immediately was vastly preferable to letting upper command puzzle it together later. They’d figure it out in either event. This way he was an asset instead of a scapegoat.
Painting an exaggerated picture of his innocence, only lifted after Adam’s death tasted astringent, but it was the most believable option. Bringing the information to light made him look clever and loyal—he’d pieced together what everyone else missed. Now with a list of guilty names, a contact he knew was clean, and a willingness to help gather proof
, he could be a golden boy instead of a snitch or a traitor. When they praised him, he just had to keep his gag impulse to a minimum.
“Thank you, Jarret.” Carpeaux dismissed the support agent as soon as the last piece of tape was in place. “We’ll activate and you can begin testing as soon as Lovecraft exits the office and you’re in position.”
Jarret stood and gave a “Yes Sir, thank you Sir” to both men in the room, opening and closing the door on the Las Vegas sunshine. Everest’s gaze wandered out the window. The tents were decorated, and caterers were streaming in, unpacking trays of boxty pancakes, sausages, cheese, crusty bread, and beer. Musicians were tuning and warming up under the morning sunshine, and small groups of pledges wandered the grounds in excited anticipation. Food, family, and music: all the ingredients needed for life events from adoption to memorial service. Adam would have liked this. He always wanted to stay at parties hours beyond when Everest had tried to bow out.
Anxiety, the non-magical variety, washed over him. Sitting in front of tough-as-nails Carpeaux, who was reviewing directions and terse words of caution about Everest’s upcoming meeting with Mordred. Information leading to the recovery of the stolen volumes was primary. Additional inroads among Mordred’s allies were secondary. Dahl’s safety was not even tertiary. His death was an accepted, unavoidable fact once Everest was compromised or Mordred became too dangerous to try to manipulate. Of course, Everest was going to do what needed to be done to keep Dahl safe, regardless of orders, but hearing the readiness with which Dahl’s death was accepted left him shaken. There wasn’t even a conversation for show about trying to save him.
Everest gritted his teeth and tried not to break down as Carpeaux continued. He just wanted heroin: a wonderful, simple chemical that could make all of the nerves and sadness and emptiness disappear in an instant. It was more magical than anything Everest had experienced in twenty-five years. Except it would probably kill him sooner or later. Like all magic. He’d lived through a lot of grief in the last six months. Losing heroin as well was one loss too many.
