Blood and Whispers, page 15
I paused for a second. “The Grand Conclave is where the ranked members of the Arcanum vote on major matters like treaties. It’s also where we elect the Arcane Court—the King and Council—who govern the Arcanum and conduct any necessary diplomacy between Conclaves. My father is the current King. It’s his third term. My mother is his Lord Marshal, the member of the Council responsible for the apprehension of rogue sorcerers and Fae and other magical threats to humanity.”
She’d been Lord Marshal during the Shadow War, too. Back when I’d been one of her loyal soldiers. But I didn’t mention that part.
“But,” Detective Lajoie frowned, “if the Lord Marshal—your mom—is responsible for stopping magical people from doing bad things in the human world, why didn’t you just call her when you realized that the Townes murder was a blood rite?”
“I did, actually. Well, I called one of the Council’s Rectors, their regional deputies, earlier today. But she isn’t taking responsibility for it. As a ranked member, I’m generally considered responsible for my own territory—she’ll only step in if it turns out I can’t handle it.” I chewed on my lower lip for a couple seconds. “Anyway, I haven’t really spoken with my parents in a long time.”
We lapsed back into an uneasy silence, the two detectives clearly unsure what to say to that last bit, and me intently not thinking about my parents.
“Uber’s nearly here,” Detective Connors announced. “Less than a minute. Keep an eye out for a white Toyota Camry.”
We turned to look for the car. But when I’d gotten dressed for the evening, I’d made sure to wear my amulet under my shirt, the one with an enchantment bound into it so it would heat up if anyone used offensive magic in my immediate area. And as the detectives expectantly watched the corner of the street for our approaching ride, it flared into heat against my chest.
I instinctively threw up my left hand and released the shield spell tied to my ring. Because we were standing at the right end of the group waiting for rides, and I didn’t know where the attack was coming from, I just blocked that entire side off as I shouted a warning to the detectives to get down.
As the shield blazed into bright blue life, forming a wall between the three of us and the rest of the group, I was slammed back by an impact against it and heard the surprised yells and screams of those who had been minding their own business waiting on the sidewalk. The glow of the magical barrier meant I couldn’t see who the attack had come from. But while I was throwing up the shield, I was also reaching my right hand under my coat.
I quickly cleared the covering T-shirt and drew the Glock one-handed, silently thanking myself for all the practice I’d put in over the years. I rapidly switched my stance to bring my right side, and the gun, toward the threat. As soon as I was in a decent one-handed firing position, I dropped the shield and scanned for the attacker.
Fortunately, most denizens of the magical world have the sense to drop to the ground when people start throwing magic around. Until you’ve seen the effects of a particular spell, only the practitioner who cast it knows exactly what it will do, so most people wisely try to get out of the way, just in case. That meant those who had innocently been waiting for taxis or rideshares were all prostrate on the sidewalk—no one was running around hysterically, though a couple were still screaming. I could see exactly who had attacked us as soon as I dropped the barrier: a tall figure in a cloak was the only one still standing, and he had his hand outstretched, a dagger pointed directly at me.
Unfortunately, dropping the shield also gave him a perfect shot at me, and while I saw him quickly, I still had to bring my gun to bear. He, on the other hand, knew where I was going to be when the barrier fell, so he got his shot off first, a silvery pulse of energy that seemed to burst from the tip of his knife. It flew at me quickly, but not so fast that I couldn’t dodge—my instinct kicked in and allowed me to sidestep out of the way, if only barely. I felt the white-hot energy as it flew past, maybe an inch from my still outstretched left arm. It was so hot that I felt my skin blister despite the protective spells of my overcoat.
But it seemed to be a spell that took a second’s effort, and that was enough. Even while I moved, I continued bringing my gun to aim at my attacker.
As soon as the sights lined up with his torso, I squeezed the trigger. Bullets travel quite a bit faster than his spell. He didn’t have time to dodge, or to throw up any active defenses. And as soon as the sights dropped back into alignment, before I even saw if I’d hit him, I squeezed the trigger again, and a third time. A lot of creatures in the magical world have superhuman reflexes, but few can react quicker than I can get off three or four shots, even shooting one-handed.
Now, gun enthusiasts will debate for hours at a time the merits of the ten-millimeter, and even its supporters would likely be horrified to know what metals I used in my bullets. But no one doubts that it packs a punch. Contrary to popular belief, there is no handgun round that will knock down a person by virtue of its own kinetic energy; the only way to guarantee an instant stop is to hit something vital in the central nervous system, and that tends to result in death in short order. But one-shot stop or not, anyone who gets hit in the chest with three ten-mil bullets in rapid succession is going to notice.
And notice he did, though not as much as I would have preferred. He grunted as the bullets hit, but he absorbed the impacts like a boxer taking a combination of punches, rolling with the blows but shrugging them off. The knife dropped, and he threw up a translucent red shield of his own before I could resume firing.
I maintained my aim at the hazy outline I could see through his shield, but rather than resuming the fight, he kept the barrier up, took three steps, and jumped into the middle of the street. Directly into the path of an oncoming city bus.
Chapter 15
The bus came to a stop. After a few seconds I decided there was no further immediate threat, so I pulled my T-shirt back up with my left hand and safely returned the Glock to its holster. Everyone else was still on the ground, but at least the screaming had stopped.
It had been maybe fifteen seconds from the surprise attack to the mystery sorcerer’s escape. That’s the thing about gunfights in the real world as opposed to the cinema: there’s no script or choreographer, and they tend to be a lot shorter than one would expect.
By the time I’d pulled my shirt back down over my holstered gun, the detectives were on their feet.
“Did that guy…did he just jump in front of a bus?” Detective Connors looked shocked.
“Yes,” I answered, shaking my head, “but I doubt it had much effect. Sorcerers tend not to shuffle off their mortal coil from minor things like that. It was probably his escape plan all along if things didn’t go as he wanted. He timed the attack so he could use the bus to cover his retreat.”
“How…?” She asked, the confusion obvious in her voice.
“You saw the shield I used to stop his first shot? He threw up something like that after I started returning fire. When he jumped in front of the bus, it would have protected him from the impact, and he was likely pushed down the street unharmed, far enough away we wouldn’t be able to catch him if we gave chase.”
Detective Lajoie frowned. “I saw you hit him. Three times.”
“Yes,” I replied. “I don’t know how much damage it did, but I learned one thing: whoever he was, he was almost certainly human.”
“How do you figure?”
“Most any kind of magical creature would have been a lot more affected by the rounds I use than our attacker seemed to be. Unless it were wearing a bulletproof vest, which is pretty unlikely among nonhumans. Meaning a high probability of human.”
By this point everyone had seemed to realize that bullets and spells were no longer flying, and they were getting up and dusting themselves off. No one seemed to have been hurt in the fight. The bus had come from the wrong direction to be in the line of fire, and none of my shots had gone wide, so at least there was no collateral damage to deal with. But gunshots are extremely loud, so count on some of the neighbors to call the police anyway. I heard the sound of approaching sirens.
“We’ll handle the responding officers,” Detective Lajoie offered. “You figure out what the hell happened.”
“Nice shooting, by the way,” his partner said. “What kind of gun was that you were using?”
“Glock 20. Why?”
“Do you have a concealed carry permit for it?”
I scowled. That was her primary concern right now?
“I do, as a matter of fact. Have since eighty-eight. Do you want to see it?” I started to reach for my wallet in my back pocket.
She shook her head as a police cruiser came screaming up the block, sirens blaring loudly. “Maybe later. Let’s deal with this first.”
She and Detective Lajoie held their badges high as they approached the driver’s side. The sirens cut off, but the lights stayed on.
“What happened, detectives?” the uniformed officer at the wheel asked through a rolled-down window. They engaged him in muted conversation for a minute, then Detective Connors went to talk with the bus driver while her partner stayed at the patrol car. I saw the cop reach for his radio, hopefully to pass the word that no other units needed to respond. While they obviously wouldn’t be able to enter the Market itself, the fewer police officers who arrived to see something happening after hours at the Magic Gardens, the better.
After the commotion and gunshots, people were milling around the front gate to see what had happened. Aengus pushed his way through the crowd of rubberneckers.
“What is going on?” he demanded, looking around to see me standing, helping up the last of the small group who had been waiting with us. He also saw Detective Lajoie in conversation with the uniformed officers in the squad car, and his eyebrows went up.
“Everyone back inside. Now,” he commanded.
I caught the detectives’ attention and jerked my head back to indicate the crowd re-entering the Magic Gardens. Lajoie finished up the conversation and, after the officer turned off his lights and drove off, he joined me. Connors returned a few seconds later, the bus resuming its route for the night.
“I convinced the driver it was just kids messing around,” she told us. “No one was hurt and the bus wasn’t damaged, so no need to worry about it.” I nodded.
“So what’s up?” Detective Lajoie asked.
“The Treaty of Tara guarantees a general truce at any sanctioned Faerie Market, which makes what just happened the magical equivalent of an international incident. And as the ranking member of the Tuatha Dé present, enforcing the Market Truce falls on Aengus. He needs to talk to us and figure out what happened. He’d rather do that away from prying eyes and ears, so we need to go back inside.” I led the way.
“Sorcerer Quinn,” Aengus called out to me once we’d re-entered the Market, “explain to me what happened. Why was the Truce breached?”
“My companions and I were waiting for a ride home,” I explained in a careful, measured tone, my eyes on his. “We were attacked without provocation by an unknown cloaked assailant. I defended myself. The assailant fled into the night as the bus arrived.”
“That is the truth!” I heard someone speak up. Aengus and I both turned. It was one of the Tylwyth Teg from earlier. “He was doing nothing and was ambushed by an assassin! The Market Truce was breached, but it was not the doing of this sorcerer or his friends.”
I gave her a slight nod of thanks for speaking up. Aengus stared hard at her for a long moment, as if deciding whether she was telling the truth or had an ulterior motive. She had tears in her eyes—the Tylwyth Teg are highly emotional creatures. But before she actually burst into hysterics, he nodded too.
“Very well, Child of the Forest. I believe you.”
He turned back to me. “Nevertheless, as you are the ranking sorcerer in this region, I am bound to summon a Rector to confirm that the breach of the Truce was not initiated by a member of the Arcanum. And I shall have to insist you remain here until then.”
I nodded.
The closest Rector to us was Rachel Liu, with whom I’d spoken earlier that day. She was a decent sort, as far as they go. She could be a bit stuck-up sometimes, but not a bad person. But it would be some time before she could get here, even through the Otherworld—last I’d checked, she lived in San Francisco. And she’d mentioned a trip to hunt down a Wechuge, a type of demon found in cold mountain regions like the Canadian Rockies, so she might not even be available.
Aengus told the crowd to disperse, and they did so slowly and reluctantly. I needed fresh air, so I stepped back outside and found a seat on the floor against the wall while he returned to his tent to summon Rachel.
The detectives followed me out, and Lajoie moved over to the exterior wall where the attacker’s heat spell had struck the muraled façade. From what I could see, it had melted a hole into the underlying concrete. He wasn’t likely to find any clues from the damage, but maybe he was just curious.
His partner, on the other hand, approached our attacker’s knife where it still lay on the sidewalk, exactly as he had dropped it before he fled. She knelt next to it, examining it minutely, then stretched a hand out towards it.
“Don’t touch that,” I snapped.
She looked up at me, her hand only a couple inches from the knife. “Why not?”
I looked at her like one might regard a small child wondering why you were telling her not to touch the lit burner on the stove.
“Because,” I explained, reminding myself to be patient, that she honestly couldn’t know the potential danger, “that athame was just used as a focus for extremely dangerous offensive magic, and it was dropped in place by someone who clearly both meant me harm and had a plan in the event of an unsuccessful assassination. We have no idea what residual effects could linger on the blade, and there’s a good chance it wasn’t dropped by accident.”
She looked at me, then dubiously back at the knife, and withdrew her hand. “Contact poison?”
“Very possibly,” I murmured. “Or worse. Leave it be until the Rector gets here.”
I pulled up the sleeve of my coat and saw that the spell had left a nasty burn on my forearm. I sighed. Reaching into my left pocket, I drew my dagger. I focused briefly on it and whispered a word, and the blade chilled until it covered in a fine layer of frost. I pressed it against the burn on my left forearm, to cool the flesh and reduce the blistering. Not really my original intention in binding that particular spell to the blade, but it would suffice until I got home and could treat it properly.
Connors walked over and sat down next to me. She looked tired. It had been an eventful day for her, too, I supposed. Learning that her grandmother’s stories were true—or at least based on truth—and being taunted with her worst fear by one of the monsters from them was enough to wear anyone out.
“So that was magic? I mean, I know we visited Faeries in the Otherworld, but the only part of it that felt like real magic was the portal. But your shield, that was magic.”
I smiled politely, without much feeling, looking out over the tracks at the far wall. “Yes. That was the type of magic I wouldn’t do for you in the tent. The showy stuff. The type of magic that convinces otherwise completely rational and scientific people that magic does exist.”
“So why did you use a gun at all, if you can do things like that?”
“Because…” I faltered. It was harder to explain than I’d thought it would be. “Because this isn’t the cinema. Magic doesn’t consist of ‘wave a wand and say some Latin words.’ It’s a lot harder than that. If you don’t have a spell prepared, it’s not very easy to come up with one on the fly, even when you’ve practiced.”
That wasn’t the whole story. It wasn’t even the main part of it. The truth was that magic has to come from the heart and the mind and the soul of the sorcerer, and I didn’t have fire and lightning in me anymore. I’d burned it all out. But that was too hard and too personal to explain, so I took the coward’s route and lied through half-truths.
“A gun is more reliable, faster, easier, and a lot less tiring than combat magic. And causes significantly less collateral damage if you can hit what you’re aiming at. I practice hard to make sure I can.”
“Fair enough,” she replied. “But the Glock 20’s a ten-mil, right? Kind of an odd choice.”
That wasn’t really a question, but I answered anyway. It’s not like I had anything better to do while we waited.
“It’s a niche caliber,” I shrugged. “But when I first started shooting back in the early eighties, it had just come out. I experimented with some and realized they worked better for my purposes than any other round I’d tried—they’re large enough for my custom anti-magical bullet design, the flat surface makes it easier to engrave counterspell glyphs to help them slip through magical defenses, and their added penetration is useful for someone who might find himself fighting demons and Fae monsters. I started out on a Colt Delta Elite; I switched to Glock about a decade back.”
“Wait, the early eighties? And you said you’ve had a license since eighty-eight. That would make you at least in your early fifties. You don’t look it. I’d have guessed around forty, maybe forty-five at the most.”
I snorted. “Thank you, my dear, but I’m considerably older than that. Sorcerers age slowly. I was born in 1783.”
Her eyes went wide. “Wait, for real?”
I nodded. “Your partner had a similar reaction when he learned that yesterday, too. I started my training in sorcery before Napoleon ruled France. I’ve known Aengus since the American Civil War.”
“Christ,” she whispered. Then chuckled lightly. “You don’t seem like it. You grumble enough for someone in his seventies, but you don’t talk like you’re in your two-hundred-thirties.”
