Part-Time Gods

by Rachel Aaron

  “That’s what tyrants do,” I snarled, ripping out of his hold. “My life is mine! I’m not another treasure for you to hoard!”

  “You are my greatest treasure,” Yong said, reaching out to grab my arm. “And I am taking you back.”

  My eyes went wide as his bony fingers wrapped around my bicep. “What are you—”

  The dragon didn’t listen. He just turned and started toward the door, dragging me behind him across the carpet like a petulant puppy.

  “You can’t do this!” I yelled at him, struggling with all my might, but it was hopeless. Even gaunt and weakened, he was still a dragon, and I wasn’t exactly in the best shape myself. “I paid you back!” I cried, trying another angle. “That still means you have to let me go, curse or no curse. What about your promise?”

  “I’m breaking it,” Yong said bitterly, dragging me into the hall. “And before you start in with threats against my reputation, I’ve none left to lose. The whole world knows what I’m willing to do for your sake now. Oath breaking is nothing next to that, but done is done. I’ve paid the price for both of us, and now you’re coming home.”

  My booted feet scrambled on the hardwood as I fought him. “I’m not going anywhere with you!”

  “I’ve already sent word to ready the plane for our flight back to Seoul,” he went on, completely ignoring me. “The servants will pack up the house, but I still have to attend to a few things myself before we go. It should only take a few minutes, but until I’m finished—” He stopped to yank on a door just down the hallway from the library. When it opened, he jerked me forward, flinging me onto the floor inside. “Stay here and think on what you’ve done.”

  I shot back to my feet in an instant, but my father had already slammed the heavy door and turned the key in the old-fashioned metal lock, sealing me inside.

  “You asshole!” I screamed, pounding my fists on the wood.

  My father’s answer was a bestial growl as he stomped away down the hall, shouting orders to his few remaining servants to pack his things. The Dragon of Korea and his daughter were going home.

  I beat on the door a few more times for good measure, then I turned around to examine my prison. Now that I was no longer blind with rage, I recognized the room. It was a shooting closet, a room commonly found in wealthy nineteenth-century homes for the safe storage of sporting rifles. There were no guns now, though. Just dusty racks, a whole lot of windowless stone walls, and a heavy door that locked from the outside. So a prison, basically.

  “He can’t keep me in here!” I yelled at the servants I could hear rushing by in the hall. “I do not consent! This is kidnapping!”

  No one answered, of course. Maybe a newer servant would have been swayed, but Yong had pared his retinue down to just the loyalists. Some of the people outside had been working for my dad for generations. Every one of them would have happily gutted me if it pleased their dragon, the brainwashed bastards.

  “I’d offer to call someone,” Sibyl said while I kicked the door. “But the security AI on this house is amazing. I’m already on total lockdown, zero connectivity for every network. He’s even blocked the emergency radio frequencies, and no one remembers those! I can’t even be mad I’m so impressed.”

  “That’s fine,” I said through clenched teeth as I turned around to try bashing the heel of my boot into the door since the steel toe wasn’t doing shit. “I’m mad enough for both of us.”

  Mad wasn’t even the word. There was no language for the murderous fury building up inside me. I’d won. I’d paid my debt. I was supposed to be free! What was the point of killing myself for weeks if my dad dragged me home anyway?

  Cursing loudly, I turned to glare at the door that was still standing strong despite my best efforts. Damn solid oak construction. Why couldn’t my dad have bought a cheap McMansion full of hollow doors and gypsum walls you could punch through?

  “What are you going to do?” Sibyl whispered.

  “I don’t know,” I muttered, covering my face with my hands. “Just let me think.”

  My AI dutifully went silent, but that actually made things worse. Without Sibyl’s chatter, I could hear my father walking on the floors above me, his instantly identifiable footsteps sharp and efficient. It wouldn’t take him long to get his things together. If I was going to get out before he dragged me onto a plane, it had to be now, but unless I found another hundred pounds of force somewhere, there was no way I was getting through that door. I couldn’t even blast my way out. Like every place my dad deigned to sleep, the house was warded inside and out. I couldn’t see any spellwork locked up in here, but I could feel the orderly hum of magic flowing through the floor like an electrical current. It zapped me when I poked it, and I snatched my mental hand back, shaking my head furiously. What the hell was I going to do?

  You could ask for help.

  At this point, the DFZ’s voice didn’t even make me jump anymore. I was confused what she was doing here, though. “How are you talking to me?” I asked out loud since I no longer gave a shit what my dad’s servants thought. “I’m not even in the DFZ.”

  We have a good connection, the god replied. Your high draw makes you easy to reach for from my end, if that makes sense. Also, you’re currently leasing four hundred twenty-three of my properties. That puts us in bed together pretty solid.

  I winced. Oh yeah. I’d almost forgotten about all the apartments I was going to have to pay rent on in just a few days. Considering it hadn’t changed a damn thing, I was really wishing I hadn’t transferred all that money to my dad now.

  It still wouldn’t have been enough. The DFZ informed me. Your total bill is going to be over six hundred thousand, but that’s what you get for abusing my Cleaning system.

  My stomach dropped. That was a lot more than I’d realized, but it did give me an idea. “You should bust me out of here, then,” I said sweetly. “Because I can’t pay you back if I’m locked up in Korea.”

  I could, you know.

  I froze. “Really?”

  I am a god, she reminded me huffily. I think I can manage freeing someone from a closet even if it is across the river. But breaking that door would make me a powerful enemy, so I’m not going to do it for free.

  I sighed. Should have known. “You still want me to be your priestess, don’t you?”

  Of course! the DFZ said excitedly. Dr. Kowalski and I have been most impressed with your progress controlling your draw. You’d be absolutely wasted as a dragon’s pet mortal.

  “I agree with you there,” I said. “But I already told you I’m not trading one master for another.”

  You’re not going to have much of a choice in a few minutes, the spirit said. Windsor is still just barely inside my reach, but once your father takes you over the sea, you’ll be out of my power. If I’m going to help you, it has to be now.

  I couldn’t let it be now. I understood what she was saying, I could even admit that she was right, but I hadn’t fought this hard to turn around and sell myself to someone new. All I wanted was to be free for once in my life. Why was that so difficult? What did I have to do?

  Serve, the DFZ whispered.

  “No,” I growled back. “I don’t bow. Not to anyone. Not anymore.”

  Then I guess you’re on your own, the spirit said sadly. And I’m not saying that just to hard sell you. I’m the god of a city. My powers are defined by my borders, and those don’t extend into Canada. I can’t help you in Windsor unless you’re part of me. For a still-living mortal, that means priesthood.

  I sighed and sank down to the floor, burying my face in the canvas fabric of my bag. On the other side of the door, the house had gone still, probably because everyone was packing up the cars outside. Soon they’d be coming to pack me in, and then it’d all be over. I’d be over. I was finished, done for, completely and totally de—

  I stopped suddenly, blinking the tears out of my eyes. Sitting up again, I opened my bag and dug around until I found the lump that had been pressing int
o my cheek. The slightly soft, dusty-brown lump of my potato.

  The spirit in my head went quiet as I pulled the tuber out and stared at it. A few of the eyes had sprouted over the weeks I’d been carrying it everywhere, but it was still mostly the same as when Dr. Kowalski had handed it to me. I knew its shape by heart at this point, the size and weight of it in my hand. I knew how to take just that much magic, no more, no less. I hadn’t tried to cast anything serious with it yet because things had been so busy, but I’d refilled my poncho’s wards and pried open magical safes and done tons of other stuff without blasting myself in the face. Maybe I could do this.

  Mind spinning, I got on my knees and pressed the hand that wasn’t holding the potato against the floor to check the wards again. The magic flowing through them felt smooth as silk, definitely high grade. I couldn’t tell exactly what it did without seeing the spellwork, but that didn’t really matter. I wasn’t skilled enough to hack any spell, let alone one this expensive, and blowing it would probably kill me. But while I still wasn’t and likely would never be the sort of wiz who could disarm a ward blind, I did know my dad. He trusted his people, and he didn’t make a habit of taking prisoners. His threats were all external, which meant his magical security was likely balanced toward defending against attacks from the outside. There was no reason the Great Yong would want to block magic cast inside his own property, and while it would be foolish to lock a mage in a room she could blast her way out of, I wasn’t a mage to him. I was his bumbling, hopeless little Opal, and if there was one thing my dad would never expect, it would be me casting magic that actually worked.

  I jumped back to my feet, scrambling to dig the casting chalk out of my bag as I raced to the door. When I started to draw a ring around the door knob, though, I paused. If there was anything in that ward to stop casting inside the house, it would be triggered by circles. Wards, like all spells, needed specifics to work, and what better specific to look for than the first thing every Thaumaturge—which at this point meant every employable mage—did. Just drawing one could set off the alarm, and then my dad would rush in, and the jig would be up.

  Shaking my head, I tossed my chalk back into my bag and put my hand on the door instead. I could do this. I’d cast without circles plenty of times, but this time I was going to do it right. I just needed to—

  Dr. Kowalski says remember to ride the lightning.

  I twitched a bit at the interjection, but there was no point complaining. My head was a highway whether I liked it or not, so I might as well accept the help with good grace. So, with that, I took a deep breath and focused on my hands—one on the door, one holding the potato. When I had both sensations firmly in mind, I reached for the magic.

  As usual, my first handful was way too much. But I’d learned now that magic could be put back as well as picked up, so I let go and tried again, pinching the free-floating magic like I was trying to pluck a single frond from a dandelion until I had exactly one potato’s worth.

  Cupping my seemingly tiny sip of magic, I turned my focus to the hand I’d placed on the door and thought about what I wanted the magic to do. I didn’t try to order it or bend it as I would with spellwork. Instead, I created an image in my head, a picture of a knife thin enough to slide between the door and the frame but sharp and strong enough to cut through a steel bolt. I imagined how it would slice, the way the metal would part soundlessly beneath it like butter. Then, when the picture in my mind felt so real I could have picked it up, I poured my magic into it like molten metal into a mold. It hardened instantly, forming a knife that felt as real as I was. Real enough to grasp as I slid it into the door crack and pressed it down.

  The rest happened in an instant. The magic sliced the bolt in half exactly as I’d envisioned, cutting through the steel with no more sound than a sigh. I didn’t even realize I’d done it until it was over and the door, cut free of its moorings, swung open under its own weight. Swung open for me.

  “Wow,” I said, sitting back in amazement. “It actually worked.”

  “Of course it worked,” Sibyl said proudly. “You’ve been practicing.”

  If practicing was all it took to make a good mage, I’d have been a world champion ten years ago. But while Sibyl wasn’t right, she wasn’t wrong, either. I had been practicing. The difference was that this time I’d been practicing the right thing.

  Dr. Kowalski says congratulations, the DFZ relayed. Actually, she’s saying a lot more than that, but I don’t think you’ve got the time right now.

  I did not. I was already peeking my head out the door, heart pounding as I glanced down the dark hallway. Everyone must have still been outside, though, because I didn’t see a soul. I didn’t hear anyone either, and I took that as my sign to make a break for it.

  Can you get me a cab?

  “No,” Sibyl replied.

  Sure, the DFZ whispered. Where do you want it?

  I pictured the closest intersection and hurried into the hall, my sneaking steps breaking into a quiet run as I darted in the opposite direction from the library where I’d screamed at my father toward the patio that let out onto the mansion’s expansive back lawn. I opened the glass doors with a soft click, slipping out onto the flagstone paving with barely a—

  “Opal!” my father bellowed.

  Shit.

  “You’d better have that cab ready!” I hissed at the god in my head as I broke into a sprint. Above me, I could hear my father running down the upstairs hall, but either he didn’t want to risk going full dragon and harming his art or he was even weaker than I’d realized, because no giant shadow appeared behind me. There were plenty of shouts and running, but the people running after me were all nice, fancy mortals who served a dragon. They were fine chasing me across the grass, but when we reached the muddy bamboo grove that separated my father’s stretch of river from the neighboring yard, they stopped and looked for a path. I, being a grubby Cleaner, dove straight in. River mud was nothing compared to what Nik and I had to wade through every day, so I barely noticed the greasy, reeking dirt trying to suck my boots off my feet as I shoved my body through the woody bamboo pipes until, at last, I fell out into the springy, well-manicured grass of the adjacent mansion’s yard.

  I was back on my feet in a heartbeat, legs pumping as I sprinted across the lawn into the cherub-filled rose garden of the Italianate villa. Behind me, my father’s roar shook the ground, spurring me to run even faster toward the road where I prayed to god—or at least to the DFZ—there was a car waiting to catch me.

  Don’t worry, the DFZ whispered into my fight-or-flight–driven mind. I’m a very good god. Keep this prayer stuff up and you’ll see! You might just end up a priest the old-fashioned way.

  If she got me out of this, I might. But I tried to keep that thought to myself as I sprinted into the boxwood hedge my dad’s neighbors had planted like a wall around their property. Getting through cost me several inches of my cheap shirt, but I fought my way free in the end, wiggling out of its green, leafy clutches to burst out onto the actual sidewalk.

  Panting and sticking close to the hedge to make it harder for my dad’s people to spot me, I turned and looked frantically at the intersection on the corner. Like any street in a major city, it was full of parked cars, but wedged in between the perfectly nice Canadian sedans was a beat-up DFZ autocab. The door was even open for me, creating a perfect bolt hole for me to jump inside.

  See what faith provides?

  I thanked the god profusely as I started to run. I nearly caused an accident as I sprinted across the intersection and dove into the car, slamming the door and dropping my body to the floor just in time as my father burst out of the wall of bushes I’d just come from. I didn’t know if he’d followed my footprints or traced my scent like a bloodhound—as a dragon, it could have been either—but whatever had gotten him this far wasn’t enough to catch the cab. Even in Windsor, the cheap little autotaxis were common as dirt. Dad didn’t even spare mine a glance as it puttered past him, humming
down the elegant street at its top speed of about thirty miles per hour.

  “Welcome to Val-U Cab, Val-U customer!” the cab’s AI said cheerfully, her computer-generated face beaming down at me where I was still cowering on the floor. “Where would you like to travel today?”

  That was a damn good question. There were several places I wanted to go, but only one that could actually help. It was a place I usually avoided like the plague, but after the epic hornet’s nest kick I’d just delivered, it was the only place in the world I could think of where my dad couldn’t get me.

  “Take me to the Dragon Consulate,” I ordered, still too afraid to get off the floor.

  “Right away, Val-U customer!” the taxi chirped, slowing its meager speed as we turned a corner and entered the squall of traffic headed for the bridge.

  ***

  As the nexus for all official dragon activity in the city and home of the Peacemaker, the Dragon Consulate was one of the biggest—and strangest—buildings in town. Though shorter than some of the newer superscrapers, it was so wide it took up two entire blocks, mostly to create more surface area for the landing balconies that covered its upper levels.

  Given how big some dragons got, though, those weren’t always enough. When one of the giants like Conrad, Champion of the Heartstrikers, flew in, he had to wrap his enormous body around the asymmetrical steel-and-glass building just to get enough footing. I’m sure that made for some pretty interesting viewing from the upper levels, but the Skyways portion of the consulate was reserved for dragons and the world leaders who were constantly coming over to negotiate with them. Unimportant mortals like myself came in through the building’s far less glamorous Underground entrance.

  As usual, the square out front was packed with tourists and dragon fanatics hoping to catch a glimpse of someone famous. Around that was the ring of ever-present vendor carts that always appeared wherever people gathered. My little cab couldn’t even make it to the drop-off zone thanks to all the congestion, so I ended up getting out a block away and jogging the final distance, pushing past all the hopeful foreigners lining up for the official Dragon Consulate tour to the small, unassuming door off to the side marked “Official Consulate Business Only.”