Power Game

by Brad Magnarella

  “No one was seen entering the room where the frog thing was, but a couple of cameras are out on the tenth floor. Cameras that just happen to monitor the approach to the stairwell we checked out earlier. And guess who’s staying on the tenth?”

  “Who?”

  “Brian Lutz.”

  The head of the Military Federation of the Dragon, I thought.

  “He just passed us going that way,” I said. “Anything come up on his background?”

  “No word yet.”

  I still refused to believe someone like Brian could channel magic, but I couldn’t stop thinking about his visible shock when the duel hadn’t gone his way. Not to mention the way the crowd’s energy had shifted toward him. Throw in the defunct cameras on his floor, the manifesto, and the fact he had followers…

  “Hey,” I said to Vega. “I’d also like to know who’s in his group. They call themselves the Military Federation of the Dragon. They may have indicated that affiliation somewhere on their registration.”

  I watched Vega repeat the name to herself as she inputted the info into her phone, but the longer I stood there, the more paranoid I was getting that demons were watching too. “All right, I should get going.”

  “There’s something else you need to know,” Vega said.

  When I looked back, her expression had turned grave.

  “Police pulled a body from the East River this morning, near Roosevelt Island. The vic was a middle-aged male. They found twin puncture wounds in the neck, and his body was drained of blood. Also, his suit was missing.”

  Roosevelt Island was upriver from Container City. The missing suit suggested a certain vampire-demon was now in the city. Though Vega didn’t say Arnaud’s name, I could read it on her face plain as day.

  “I’ll check on Tony while I’m out,” I told her.

  19

  I studied the casting circle I’d created in my laboratory, eyes poring over each line and sigil to ensure I’d accounted for every potential form of attack. Accessing my connection to Thelonious was going to leave me vulnerable, and I didn’t want anything crawling inside me, especially if demons were scaling the bond.

  Finally satisfied, I stepped into the circle, shoes off, and lowered myself into a cross-legged position. I tried to clear my mind. Easier said than done when the events of the day were zipping around my skull like motorcycles in a Globe of Death.

  On the way here, I’d called the vampire hunters. When Blade answered, I updated her on the body in the East River. She’d actually investigated the scene after picking up the report on her police scanner—telling me she was taking the job seriously—but Arnaud was long gone. Vega had been able to obtain a description of the outfit the victim had been wearing when he’d left the house that morning, and I shared that with Blade. She said she’d let her network know. I hung up with the sinking feeling we were losing more ground to Arnaud.

  I’d also called the Order, but not even Claudius answered this time. A part of me feared that the situation in the Harkless Rift had taken a bad turn. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on either call, though. I needed to focus.

  As I deepened my breaths, my worried thoughts slowed down and began to fade.

  I was almost in my trance when Tabitha snapped at Bree-Yark downstairs. The goblin barked something back.

  Oh, for the love of…

  They were preparing lunch—“a real one,” Tabitha had said, loud enough for me to overhear—but from the current sounds of it, the two had yet to agree on the menu. Bree-Yark was pushing for shepherd’s pie and greens while Tabitha was standing her ground on pan-seared veal steaks and no greens.

  A pan clattered to the floor.

  “Guys!” I shouted. “I need some quiet up here!”

  When their bickering continued, I swore and cast a pair of light shields over my ears. The muting effect was immediate. Within moments, I found myself settling back into my focused state, and then trancing out.

  “That you, young blood?” a slow, rumbly voice called.

  I’d only meant to access the connection to my bond with Thelonious, but a look around told me I’d ended up in his realm. It was dull and lonely like the last time I’d been here, the throbbing bass note that vibrated through the creamy space barely able to hold a beat.

  I found the corpulent form of Thelonious reclined on what seemed a large, soft chair. Though everything was indistinct to me in his realm, I felt like I was visiting an old man in a nursing home.

  “Yeah, it’s Everson,” I said, moving toward him. “How are you?”

  “Not well. Still broken.”

  “From Arnaud’s visit?”

  “Never did catch the cat’s name,” he replied.

  That Thelonious was still in this shape a year after Arnaud’s interrogation suggested just how powerful Arnaud had grown in the demonic realm. I shuddered to think what would happen if he ever attained that kind of power in our world.

  “Have a seat, young blood,” Thelonious said. “Take a load off.”

  I was about to explain that I hadn’t intended to come, but an idea occurred to me. Anything I cast on our bond was going to be tenuous at best, not to mention temporary. But if I could convince Thelonious to release me entirely, there would be no bond, period. Which meant no way for the demons to locate me.

  I lowered myself beside my incubus until it felt like I was sitting on a liquid cushion. We sat in silence for a moment, his deep breaths rumbling in and out, but it wasn’t the sexy purr of yesteryear. This sounded like a faulty motor, one that could fail at any moment.

  “Must get lonely down here,” I said.

  His breathing became a sad chuckle. “That’s the thing about power, young blood. When you have it, everyone wants a piece of you. Gets to where you have to start turning them away. When you lose it, they can’t run the other direction fast enough. It’s like a disfiguring disease they might contract.”

  “If it’s any consolation, that’s true of my world too.”

  “What’s happening up there these days?” he asked with a note of nostalgia. “Haven’t been able to travel lately.”

  “Honestly, nothing good. The demon who visited you broke through a couple months ago. He arrived weak, but his passage left a hole that hundreds of lesser demons followed him through. We’re trying to send them back.”

  “Demons from the Pits?” he asked.

  “Sounds that way.”

  Thelonious shook his head ruefully. “All the worldly pleasures to be had, and they’re going to waste it fighting each other—just you watch. Everything’s a power game to them. Never take time to savor anything. Me? I’m a connoisseur of the sensual.” He looked around his barren domain. “At least I was.”

  “They seem to be in a contest to reach a being called Sefu.”

  When Thelonious repeated the name, hope flickered inside me.

  “Do you know who that is?” I asked, keeping my voice neutral.

  “I’ve just heard echoes. This Sefu is being talked about.”

  So far I hadn’t shared anything that wasn’t already out there, but now I had to be careful. Thelonious might have been an incubus, “a connoisseur of the sensual,” but he was also demonic. And no matter how he presented himself, he was just as power hungry as the rest of them. If selling me out meant getting his mojo back, he’d do it in a heartbeat. Meaning, he couldn’t know I was after Sefu too.

  “Well, the demons seem to think I know something about him. To be clear, I don’t—in fact, I want nothing to do with whatever they’re involved in. But I think the demons are using the bond between us to track me.”

  “That so?” The heaviness in Thelonious’s voice told me he was losing interest in the conversation.

  “I want to make a new deal,” I said.

  “Already told you, young blood. I’m in no condition to help you.”

  “And you’re in no condition to possess me, either. Let’s face it—I’m getting stronger while you’re getting weaker. If things keep goin
g this way, there’s zero chance of you ever inhabiting me again.”

  That got his attention. “What are you saying?”

  “That there’s no point in the bond anymore.”

  He waved a hand. “I don’t dissolve my agreements.”

  Many demons’ pacts were like trophies to them, even after the pacts had outlived their usefulness. It appeared Thelonious was no exception. I’d been right to lump him in with the rest of demonkind.

  I tested him anyway. “What would it take?”

  “I don’t dissolve my agreements,” he repeated.

  “Let’s not talk dissolution, then. Not yet. How about a suspension?”

  “A suspension? How long we talking?”

  “One year.”

  That was nothing in demon time, but he gave a doubtful grunt.

  “And what do I get in exchange?” he asked.

  The image of the old man in a nursing home came back to me. “Monthly visits,” I answered. “I’ll come here. I’ll spend time with you. I’ll tell you all about my experiences in the world, anything you want to hear.”

  Thelonious appeared to chew on that. “Even the juicy stuff?”

  “Yeah, sure, the juicy stuff too.” I could always lie.

  “Well, let’s see what we’ve got.” He motioned, and a form appeared in the space in front of us. It looked like a thorny tangle of roots in the shape of a thin tree. I grimaced as I realized it was our bond. Damn, the thing was ugly. But at least it was exclusive to me and Thelonious. No other demon could buy or otherwise claim it.

  Thelonious made a few contemplative sounds. “You weren’t wrong about the demons. Looks like we’ve got an infestation.”

  It took me a moment to see what he meant, but the bond’s root structure was writhing with dark energy. It looked like a swarm of black ants. Small columns were winding their way up to what I understood was my end, where another tangle of roots clutched my immortal soul. The demon I’d encountered earlier must have been the first to arrive—but others weren’t too far behind.

  “Well?” I said urgently.

  “Well, what?” Thelonious rumbled.

  “Will you agree to suspend the bond that connects us?”

  He made some more thinking noises. I looked from him to the bond, where the demonic energy continued to ascend. If he said no, I was going to have a lot of visitors in short time. I could call the Upholders, sure, find sanctuary in one of their safe houses. But then I’d be forfeiting this Sefu to the demons.

  “Six months,” Thelonious said at last.

  “Nine,” I countered, knowing that if I agreed immediately to six, he would try to get me down to two or three.

  “Six months,” he said again.

  I made some noises of my own. “Fine,” I said. “Six.”

  Thelonious regarded me for a moment, then turned back to our bond. He made another feeble gesture with a hand. Like high-tension bands suddenly being released, the bond began to snap and unwrap itself before dispersing into the ether. I wanted to cheer and pump a fist as I watched the swarm-like energy of the demons fall in a scatter.

  When it was done, all that remained was a single twisted thread.

  “Demons won’t be able to see that,” Thelonious said. “But it’s sturdy enough to support your visits. Once a month,” he reminded me. “And you’ll come bearing the juicy bits.”

  “That’s right,” I said.

  “Here’s the thing, though.” He leaned toward me, carrying with him a stale fog of old age. “You don’t keep up your end, or I feel you trying to break the bond, not only will I restore it like that”—he snapped his fingers—“I’ll help all those demons back up. They’ll find you faster than you can ask, ‘Is that a pitchfork in my behind?’ You understand me?”

  “Ouch, but yes.”

  “Ouch is right,” he warned.

  I stood. “I’m glad we came to terms.”

  I extended my right hand, which he clasped in a kind of soul shake. When he finished, I surprised myself by leaning in and giving him a hug. I think it was the joy at being paroled from a bond that had staked my soul for the last twelve years. I was even more surprised when Thelonious patted my back.

  “See you in a month,” I said.

  “I’ll be here, young blood.”

  I arrived back in my lab and dispelled the shields from my ears. My right leg tingled with sleep as I put my shoes back on and stood. I stomped the leg back to life as I circled the lab. From the library, I pulled down a couple reference books, swapping them for two others in my interplanar cubbyhole. I then squatted in front of the bins beneath my table, restocking my coat pockets with starter potions.

  I was still carrying the sealed vial with the frog-beast goo, but sometime after leaving the hotel the substance had gone inert, leaving me zip to cast from. Something told me to hold onto the vial anyway.

  With the demons off my scent, I had bought myself some time. But Arianna’s warning from last night echoed through my thoughts: The being is concealed now, but that will change. Which suggested a clock was ticking down to the moment the demons would be able to locate Sefu without me.

  With a full coat, I lunged for the ladder to get a move on, then made myself stop. At what point today had I quieted my thinking mind and really listened to my magic? It was the number one thing Gretchen had been drilling into me. Arianna had also alluded to it last night: The same magic that speaks to me also speaks to you.

  I sighed and closed my eyes again, cleared my thoughts.

  And there was my magic, shifting around in seemingly random patterns. As if catching me watching it, my magic stopped suddenly and started into a new motion, one that took a moment to gain rhythm and momentum. It was the nodding I’d felt earlier. My magic seemed to be assuring me that I was on the right path, that I was gathering what I needed. It didn’t feel like head-shaking anyway.

  I waited for more, but that was it. Just a slow nodding: Keep going. Keep going. By now, though, the sound of my watch’s second hand was intruding. A peek told me an hour had passed while I was in Thelonious’s realm, and that felt like an hour too long. Especially with Arnaud in the city.

  I needed to get up to the Bronx to check on Vega’s son.

  I found my two teammates downstairs, plates and bowls lying around them. Tabitha was sacked out on her divan while Bree-Yark sawed logs from the sofa. He’d kicked off his work boots, crossed his large feet at the ankles, and pulled an afghan across his belly. When I shook one of his toes, he snorted awake.

  “You ready?” I asked.

  He ground his fists into his eye sockets and squinted up at me. “I’m gonna let that one fly ’cause you didn’t know,” he growled. “But never touch a goblin’s feet.” A snarl curled his scarred lower lip.

  “Noted,” I said, showing my hands.

  As Bree-Yark put on his shoes, Tabitha lifted her head from the divan. “Are we leaving already? I just nodded off.”

  “Yeah, c’mon,” Bree-Yark said, swatting her divan in a gesture of comradery I found touching. “Let’s move it.” Even though I could use Tabitha in the demon-detecting department, she’d put in a long day. She looked too exhausted to harm herself, and I could give her more elixir to ensure she slept until I returned.

  “Listen,” I told her. “If you’d rather stay, I understand.”

  She rose, arched her back, and let out a tremendous yawn. I thought she was going to settle back into her depression, but she surprised me by thudding to the floor. “If I stay here, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “You’re coming?” I asked in surprise.

  “Keep asking, and I might change my mind.”

  Though she was trying to affect a look of irritation, it struck me that somewhere during the course of the morning, she had gotten hooked on our team adventure. She wanted to see what happened next.

  I suppressed a smile. “Alrighty, then.”

  20

  “Your Laphroaig,” the bartender said, setting the shot gl
ass on the oak bar.

  Arnaud smiled beneath the brim of his fedora and pushed a bill toward him. “Keep the change, my friend.”

  The bartender in a tuxedo shirt and black bowtie tried to maintain his staid demeanor, but he picked up the money a little too quickly. “Thank you, sir. That’s very kind.” He moved down to the register, where he deposited a one-dollar bill that he believed to be a hundred and pocketed the balance as a generous tip.

  Someone was going to have to answer for the short count at the end of the shift, but that was hardly Arnaud’s concern. He lifted his glass, inhaled the rich texture of his drink, then sipped just enough to sting his tongue.

  “Ah, I’d nearly forgotten the pleasure of a good whiskey, Zarko.”

  There were few pleasures in the Below. The struggle for control and domination was constant. That competition burned in Arnaud too, yes, but it was tempered by his vampiric side. He had used that to his advantage in the Below. Just as he would use it up here.

  Already, he had two slaves in his service, their blood and souls still swimming inside him. And as he sat, enjoying a fine drink in a setting far more agreeable than his underground lair, his slaves were combing the streets, their preternatural senses attuned to the scent of the human who had looted the scepter. Manhattan was not a large island. Arnaud would have his scepter within a week, he estimated, if not much sooner.

  In the meantime, he would remain discreet, even enjoy himself a little.

  He was raising his glass again when the infernal hooks inside him yanked taut. Hot pain exploded through his gut. He pitched forward onto the oak bar, the expensive whiskey splashing across his face as he lost his grip on his glass. His fedora tumbled after the fallen shot glass, which shattered on the far side of the bar.