“Matt,” Erin called calmly. “Fiona’s willing to talk.”
Fiona? I deciphered it as I approached them. Fiona, Fee, Feeble.
I crouched in front of them, so I was lower than the trembling girl, trying to be as unthreatening as I could. Still primed from the action at the house, I caught a taste of her aura. The flavours were still uneven, would remain so until she calmed, but at least they were flowing again. The sweetness and the tart, swirling freely around her. Smooth, not as heavy or thick. Despite all the other shit going down, for someone who’d just had a litre and change of blood sucked from her body, Feeble… Fiona, looked, well, better.
“How do you feel?” I asked.
Fiona chewed on her lower lip, looking from me to Erin and back again. “Lighter.”
It could have been a spiritual, I’m free of my abuser, lighter. Or it could have been an I’ve lost the extra blood that was endangering my life, lighter.
Or it may have been both.
“Good. We’d really like to know about your friend, Scary.” That too had been easy, when I knew to link them. Sean Carey. S Carey. Scary. “Are you okay to talk?”
Feeble sniffled and ducked her head against Erin’s shoulder. “Yeah.”
“He was good to you, wasn’t he?”
Nodding, Feeble whispered, “He took care of us. He had a job and he paid the rent on the house, so we wouldn’t have to be on the streets, or go home. He always took me to the doctor when I needed it.”
I shoved aside the memory of his head just disappearing right in front of me. “He sounds really cool. Marcel was from Scary, wasn’t he.”
Another nod and a sob. “Scary said the monkeys were given to him, by the boss of the zoo, because they had too many and had to get rid of some.” She smiled, sad and wry. “I knew he was lying. I knew he stole them. But I didn’t care, because Marcel’s so… Was so sweet and loving.”
“He was a brave little man,” I agreed. “You know Scary sold the other monkeys he had, right?”
“I guessed. He had a lot of money after he gave me Marcel. We were going to go to Sydney. Him and me and Razor. Get away from Chop, but then Scary disappeared. He’d said he had a date.” Another small smile, as if she couldn’t believe Scary would date. “At a place on Queen Street. But he never came home. Then the cops came looking for Chop and they said he was dead.”
Tears appeared again and Erin rubbed her back until she could pull in a steadying breath.
“Fiona,” I prompted as gently as I could, “we need to find the man Scary sold the monkeys to. Can you help us?”
Sniffing back her tears, Fiona nodded. “Scary took me there, once. He had to get the last of the money off the guy. I had to stay outside and hide Marcel, because Scary said if the guy knew he’d kept one of the monkeys he’d be in trouble.”
This was it. We were going to finally get this bastard.
“Where is he?”
Fiona looked at me helplessly. “I don’t know.”
Before I could blow an artery, she continued, fast and eager to please.
“I mean, I don’t know the address, but I can get there!”
There was a hungry desperation in her eyes seeking reassurance she hadn’t messed up, that I wasn’t angry with her, that I wasn’t going to punish her.
I had to walk away. It wasn’t that Feeble had disappointed me. It was that I wanted to run back to Chop and finish what Mercy had started. Behind me, Erin gave the girl the assurances I couldn’t right then.
Mercy joined me in the dark. “Now we hunt?”
“Now we hunt.”
Her surge of sparkly joy warmed me right through.
Erin bundled Fiona back into the BMW, Dev and I got into the Monaro and Mercy on the bike. This time, Erin lead the way, guided by Fiona.
One of these days, I was going to learn to not make assumptions. Hopefully a day in the not too distant future.
Our destination was in Kangaroo Point, at the exact spot on the map Kermit had pointed out and I had dismissed as the home of Tanqueray.
The house was one of the palatial monstrosities looking out over the Brisbane River, rendered to within an inch of its life and bursting the seams of its block of land. All the windows were dark, not a hint of movement inside.
“Bad memories,” Dev murmured as we sat in the car for a moment, casing the joint, as it were.
“Of?”
“My last visit to Friedrich’s place,” he answered grimly.
“Let’s hope it goes better this time.”
Grunting, Dev muttered, “It couldn’t go much worse. I can feel it even out here. The rogue’s definitely spent a lot of time here. Done a lot of tricks here.”
Even I thought I could feel it, a tingly irritation at the back of my skull. Mercy felt it too. She didn’t like it at all, shaking her head and snarling as if she could either dislodge the sensation or scare it away.
Maybe Carver hadn’t ensorcelled Tanqueray at the hospital. Perhaps he’d just seen the big man there, decided he’d make a nice real life Thing (of Fantastic Four variety, not Addams Family) and followed him home.
A quick debate later it was decided Mercy, Dev and I would venture in. Erin and Fiona would stay in the car, an open phone line to Mercy (the only one of us three with a working device, as weird as that sounds. Well, not as weird as a ghoul with a mobile, I guess) to warn us of any incoming trouble.
The street side of the property was guarded by an eight foot fence of wrought iron, which Mercy cleared with barely a run up. There was no way Dev and I were going to scale it without alerting the neighbours. Dev took care of it by freezing the lock on the gate with a trick and then smashing it with a rock.
Back itching from the sorcery, with a bitchy echo from Mercy who had felt the trick far more keenly than I had, I crossed the narrow front yard, Baby Glock ready, telekinesis lurking like a warm weight in my chest. Dev scouted a little further afield, making sure there were no sorcerous traps waiting to spring out at us. Mercy flashed about in a blur of moonlight, racing around the perimeter, looking for more mundane issues.
Neither had sprung any traps by the time I reached the front door. Squashing a perverse urge to ring the doorbell, I waited for my cohorts to catch up.
“Merce,” I sent down the link, “take the back. Make sure our prey doesn’t flee that way.”
She narrowed her predator-sheened eyes, but blurred away.
“She’ll take the back,” I told Dev.
He nodded and the background level of sorcery amped up several notches of my spine, from mildly annoying to actively teeth-gritting. Couldn’t blame him, though. We had to be prepared for anything.
“Ready?” I asked Mercy.
She snapped in the positive.
“Ready?” I asked Dev.
He grunted in the positive.
“Right,” I said. “Let’s dance.”
As I had in the hotel, when looking for Dev’s room, I blew in the door with a sharp punch of telekinesis. That simmering level of anger might have added to the power of it, somewhat. Lock and hinges were ripped out of the doorframe this time. Oh, and maybe the rock situation in my head may have contributed, because the thick wood of the door was pulverized to splinters. The explosion boomed through the house and rolled across the street. Dogs started barking.
Dusted in woodchips, Dev just cocked an eyebrow at me.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “Ding dong,” I called into the house. “Avon calling!”
Not waiting to see if I got a smile, I ducked inside, gun at the ready. Dev came in behind me. Between us, we cleared the first floor in under a minute, meeting up with Mercy at the base of the stairs leading to the next floor.
Vampire in the lead, we went up.
At the top of the stairs, Mercy went still. Head tilting, she scanned along the dark corridor. With a nod, she indicated which way we had to go. Through her, I could hear the heartbeat at the end of the corridor. Fast, frantic, panicking. Also through her, I felt the poi
son-prickling of sorcery from that direction as well.
Dev, picking up on the sorcery most likely, moved with us without needing to be told.
Mercy took care of the door this time. A single kick busted the lock and it swung open. She darted in and I followed.
Through our shared senses, we locked onto the dark shadow at the same time. Mercy tensed to pounce and my finger squeezed back the trigger.
“Kufungia!” Dev shouted and the whole room was doused in a sudden, muscle spasming cold.
It was effective, I’ll give it that. My aim went haywire and Mercy crashed into the bed instead of the man in a hoodie in the chair by the window.
In the teeth-chattering silence that followed, there was a muffled shout and the man in the chair began to struggle.
“Shit,” I stuttered, pulling the gun up and away from pointing at anyone.
“It’s not him,” Dev said, breathless with relief.
Mercy picked herself up and very deliberately dusted herself off while glaring at Dev. “He feels like the dick who broke my neck,” she ground out, fangs clicking to punctuate her meaning.
Dev held his hands up. “I know. He’s an earth sorcerer, yes, but not the rogue.” Carefully, he moved toward the bound man. “Why would the rogue be tied up? Or gagged?”
Thankfully, the room was rapidly warming up and I rubbed some life back into my hands. Well, right hand. My left was completely numb, and it wasn’t the from the cold.
“Because this was the trap,” I answered. Fumbling, I found a light switch. “So, who is our mystery player?”
Light flared and we all winced, but when I could focus, I recognised…
“Dr Carver?”
Chapter 49
The old man wriggled in the chair, firmly held down with dozens of plastic ties.
Dev stopped shy of touching the man. “Isn’t he the one you believed was the rogue?”
“Yeah.” I frowned at the coroner. “Are you sure it’s not him?”
Carver struggled even harder.
“Certain,” Dev said and removed the man’s gag.
“Ah,” Carver exclaimed, stretching his mouth. “Thank you.” It took a couple of goes to make it understandable, and when it was, it was laden with sarcasm. “At least you aren’t stupid enough to kill me before making sure I was the one you were after.” He narrowed his gaze at Mercy, then me. “Well, at least one of you is.” To Dev, he repeated, “Thank you.”
Dev nodded to him, produced a switchblade and began cutting the ties holding Carver to the chair.
Aiming for calm and hitting repressed irritation, I asked, “You’re a sorcerer?”
“Of a sort,” Carver said gravely. “I suppose if I were to classify myself, I would be an earth sorcerer.”
“No would be about it, sir,” Dev announced, crouching to release his legs.
Carver gave the weather sorcerer a look it was probably best Dev didn’t see. “I am hardly on a par with you, young man.” And from Carver’s point of view, that was a good thing, apparently.
Dev’s head snapped up. “What do you mean?”
Eyes narrowing again, he studied the Texan critically. “So reckless,” he said softly. “So much damage.”
Before Dev could deck the man, I stepped in. “Is that why you’ve made it to such a mature age? Because you don’t use your sorcery?”
“Precisely.”
With a few, dare I say it, reckless slices of the blade, Dev finished releasing the older man and retreated. “You’re rogue,” he accused. “That’s why you don’t use much sorcery.”
“Another rogue? Aren’t they supposed to be rare?” I demanded.
But they ignored me, having their little sorcerous duel of wills or snappy gazes or whatever. Mercy threw her hands up and stalked out of the room.
“Precisely,” Carver said again. “Why anyone would want to throw their life and, more importantly, their reasoning capacity away for the sake of a few flashy tricks is beyond any rationally thinking person. That is exactly why we’re a dying breed, young man. You and those like you, showing off for no good reason—”
“No good reason?” Dev took a step back toward Carver. “I only use my power to protect those who can’t protect themselves!”
Carver smoothed a hand over the still perfect shell of his hair-met. “If you believe that, you’ve already lost your ability to think reasonably.”
I stepped in and blocked Dev from going the old man. Shoulder in the tall Texan’s chest, I pushed him toward the door.
“Maybe go outside and calm down, hey,” I suggested, totally getting the irony of me being the voice of reason. “I’ll find out what he knows.”
Dev went but reluctantly. When I got him out of the bedroom, Mercy took over, guarding the busted door, keeping Dev back with a steel-eyed gaze guaranteed to cow even the stoutest of hearts, or even the hottest of tempers.
Carver was methodically rubbing his legs when I regarded him again.
“So, Dr Carver,” I began, conversationally, “how long have you been a sorcerer?”
“The power generally manifests when a child hits puberty.” His voice was pitched for a long lecture. “So, I have been practicing my Art for forty-five years.”
About as long at the average sorcerer’s life.
“Dev said you were a rogue.”
“I am. Meaning I did not have a mentor when I first came into my power. Did not, in fact, realise what I was or could do until I was quite a bit older. Since puberty, I had been able to sense a level of detail in the world around me that no one else seemingly could. I knew which plants would survive in what conditions, if an animal or person was sick before they felt the symptoms. I also knew, on a fundamental level, that I could manipulate these things. At first, I tried many things to bring about this change, but nothing worked. I gave up on it, went to medical school, became a doctor and specialised in pathology. I was at a conference in Prague, visiting an old library on one of the free days, when I discovered a book of spells.
“You are aware that spells are not worked by a sorcerer on someone or something else. Rather, the spell is worked on the sorcerer—”
“Yeah, yeah,” I snapped, a touch evilly, I’ll admit. “Dev kind of already explained.”
Carver’s lips pursed in disapproval, but continued. “Does it not then stand to reason that each of these spells will damage the tissues of the brain? This was my first thought when I discovered just what this skill of mine was. I have since learned that children born into sorcerous families are raised with the knowledge their life will be short. Thus they fill their minds up with as many spells as they can. If their fate is decided, then why restrain themselves?”
“Live fast, die insane,” I murmured.
Dr Carver shook his head. “Not insane. Just damaged. The main cause of death amongst sorcerers is aneurism. Closely followed by stroke. Yes, there is a chance of a sorcerer going insane, but it is, relatively, rare.”
“So you decided not to do any spells?”
“Oh, I have tricks,” he said. “Just not many. And I always carefully vet and study any spell before casting it. It helps, as well, to not use them often.”
I winced, thinking about the number of tricks Dev had trotted out the past couple of days, and the number of times he’d used them.
“It never fails to surprise me,” he continued, thoughtfully, “how reckless these ‘registered’ sorcerers are. So careless with their lives. It is a self-fulfilling prophesy of a sorts, I suppose. They are told they will invariably die young, so they end up ensuring they do. Very sad.”
“Yeah, tragic.” Currently suffering from a sorcery-sponsored terminal illness, I wasn’t inclined to feel too sorry for the whole lot of them. That, or I was slipping into Evil Matt territory again.
As if reading all that in my two words, which wouldn’t have been impossible if it sounded aloud how it had felt in my head, Carver gave me something approximating a sympathetic look. It came and went so fast I barel
y saw it.
“As is what has been done to you, young man. I am sorry for what Belinda’s done to you.”
“Belinda?” I asked, confused.
“Yes. My assistant. You met her that day at the hospital. She is the rogue you’re after.”
“Um, no, she’s not. We’re after a man. There’s another fucking sorcerer out there?”
Carver quirked an eyebrow at my language. “No. There is only one. Belinda. Trust me, I’ve had firsthand experience of her sorcery.”
“What’d he say?” Dev demanded from outside the room.
“He said,” Mercy told him, enunciating each word crisply, “that his assistant is the rogue. And y’all—” She nailed his accent perfectly. “—can’t tell a girl from a bloke. Good on ya.”
I marvelled at Mercy’s ’tude for a split second, then agreed with Dev’s protestations that we weren’t wrong.
“It was a man who killed Lyle and Candy,” I said, convinced of what I’d felt through Lyle’s dying imprint. “A man we chased through Coorparoo. Sean Carey said he made his deal with a ‘guy’. It’s a man!”
“No, it’s Belinda,” Carver said, with more conviction. “She found me when I went to California for a conference. Ensorcelled me into acting like she was my assistant and came back with me. I’ve been acting under her influence the entire time. I said before insane sorcerers are rare, but she is severely impaired emotionally, mentally and socially.”
“Shit!” Dev kicked the wall of the bedroom hard enough to make me wince and be glad it wasn’t my toes. “She can change her body, Hawkins! She can be either male or female. We’ve been chasing our asses this entire time! Goddamnit!”
“Precisely,” Carver said.
Sorcery. It was going to be the end of me.
Thinking of which, I asked Carver, “Is there anything you can do for me?”
Slowly, Carver stood, made sure of his balance, then came over to me. “I felt the ensorcellment on you as soon as I saw you here. It is a powerful one. I am not that powerful.” He settled his cool, dry fingers on temples. “But I shall see what I can do. If anything.”
Filled to the brim with confidence, hah, I closed my eyes and hoped. All I could think of was the small bits of rock in the big monkey’s brain. Was that what my head was like now? Part tissue, part stone?
Rock Paper Sorcery Page 36
