Prisoner, page 25
part #2 of The Contractors Series
“Put it in perspective. All that stuff happened to him hundreds of years ago.” Jack folded his arms and leaned against the tree, tucking his feet in against the roots. “I’ve been down here for months,” he said, “and I’ll be the first to admit that Rasputin is a passive-aggressive dickbag and I don’t get along with him. But Dracula is the man.”
“Dracula.” Daniel’s voice was flat. “Is the man.”
“You heard his story,” Jack said. “The guy is a badass. A lifetime of struggle and centuries later and he’s still trucking.”
“It was all pretty impressive,” Daniel said.
“He welcomed me in, gave me a place to stay, helped train me,” Jack said. “When I didn’t know what was going on, or what was gonna happen to me—I mean, when I got banished, I half expected a lake of fire or something.”
“Instead we get the freakshow,” Daniel muttered.
“Dracula,” Jack said, brushing over the comment, “was the one that helped me. He put me in charge of a squad. He wants me to be somebody. Hell, it makes him happy to see me being somebody. It’s like he’s really personally invested in me doing well. That’s the kind of guy I want to go along with. He’s got...” Jack spun a hand, thinking of the words. “Vision. Purpose. He’s not like people back home. He means what he says and he follows through. Plus, I like the way he does things. He doesn’t get angry, he gets even.”
“It’s real cute, isn’t it?” Daniel said. “Vengeance is mine says the lord. But the guy with the big red cross is all about revenge.”
“Well pardon me for not holding Dracula’s good Christian upbringing against him,” Jack said. “The guy was fighting for his life—for his entire life. Can you blame him for being a little rough around the edges?” Jack gestured to his armlet. “You’ve got the cross, now, bub. Frills and all. I know structure and discipline is not exactly your thing, but you gotta take it seriously. If Dracula was out to get you, why would he bother taking you in? Why would he even let on that he eavesdropped? If he was out to get you, he would’ve kept that secret.”
Daniel glanced up at the tree. The violet leaves were silent, unmoving. There was no wind in Purgatory—in a cave.
“I don’t know,” Daniel said eventually.
“Yeah,” Jack said. “Good question, huh?”
Daniel raised his armlet. He was registered as a team member of the Order of the Dragon; the white and red colors were proof. A golden tuft at the top of the cross flashed at him as he rotated it on his wrist.
It was a very fancy chain, but he was still a prisoner. They all were.
“I tried trusting people,” Daniel said. “That landed me here. Now the local strongman wants me to keep the faith. Fool me twice, Jack, shame on me.”
“He’s different from them,” Jack said. “We have a common enemy in the magical establishment.”
“I reserve the right to look for reasons not to trust him,” Daniel said. “It all went...too well.”
“Too well?” Jack said. “For once something goes well, it turns out the boss isn’t a total dick and you’ve got good prospects. Relax. Stop checking for potholes every 5 feet.”
“I’m riding on two spare tires here, man.”
Jack sighed, then picked himself up off the tree. “Dan.”
“Yeah?”
“Do you trust me?”
Daniel frowned at him. “What do you mean?”
“We’re gonna fight a battle together,” Jack said. “And you just got finished telling me about how everyone’s got an agenda and you can’t trust them. So, do you trust me?”
Daniel paused. “Yeah,” he said. “I do. I really do trust you.”
“Even after lecturing me about how my head’s on backwards?” Jack said.
Daniel looked at him carefully. Jack studied him in return, waiting for his response.
Maybe he’d been too harsh earlier. Too quick to judge. Jack was still the same guy he ever was—maybe given opportunities he’d never had before. It made sense he’d react in a way he never had before. At the core of the person in front of him was something good, and honest, that sought out honesty and goodness in return. The realization reminded Daniel of something important, something a part of him was afraid had disappeared.
“If I can’t trust my best friend,” Daniel said, “then who can I trust?”
Jack held his gaze for a moment, then dropped it. Daniel waited for him to respond, but he kept his face turned. Jack started walking without looking back and gestured for him to follow. “Come on. We better...we should get ready.”
Daniel caught up and put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey man. You alright?”
Jack wiped a hand across his face and sniffed. “I’m fine.” He pushed Daniel’s hand away.
“What’s wrong?” Daniel said.
Jack’s cheeks were wet. He wiped across his eyes again. “It’s real lonely down here, sometimes. I’m glad you’re here, okay? Don’t make it weird.”
“I’m glad to see you too, Jack,” Daniel said. “Really.”
Jack sucked in a breath through his nose and plodded forward. “Alright. I’m good.”
Daniel followed behind, feeling better—better than he had since New York.
Daniel thought about bringing up Beelzebub and Bathory, but he decided to keep that card close to his chest because it was the one thing he held over the Order of the Dragon. He did trust Jack, but characters like Dracula and Rasputin couldn’t be let in so easily. If he told his friend, it might make it back to them, under the excuse of friendly eavesdropping. He didn’t want that happening again.
Daniel felt compelled to send out a feeler concerning Rachel, and he got burned. He’d prepared himself for a no, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear. Still, he was glad he asked. If nothing else, he got some good perspective on how his magic worked—what exactly what he was doing and was happening. Hopefully he’d have more chances to pick their brains. Maybe even pick up a few more magic pointers, see if there were other spells he was able to learn. The one sigil Rachel was able to teach him marked a sea change in his combat ability. Another spell like that could be just around the corner.
Rachel floated through his thoughts—but this time, it wasn’t so lingering. Not quite so painful. And he thought of his mother, his college dormmates—Eleanor, for some reason—his dad. His brother, Felix.
When Felix came to mind, Daniel suddenly realized his old plan was still in place. He’d filmed himself back in New York on his cellphone. He’d planned on keeping the footage private if the Ivory Dawn asked him to, but it was out of his hands, now. He couldn’t exactly send text messages from Hell.
Daniel smiled to himself. Guess they’d have to deal with it. At least they’d be forced to pay attention to Felix. That ought to keep his brother safe.
Chapter 10
Go Browns
Eleanor bent at the waist and held her arms around herself, staring down at the grass at her feet. The world spun around her. Her stomach was spinning the opposite way.
The nausea of long-distance teleportation slowly started to fade. After checking her breathing a few times, she held herself straight. A little dizzy, Xikanthus?
She was on top of a small hill; sprawled below her was a massive mundane relocation facility. It looked like a concert campground, a trailer park, and a military dugout all mashed together and multiplied several times over. The vast majority of the tents were uniform green-brown, standard issue, but they were frequently interrupted by large octagonal family tents or neon triangles. Further back, near a tree line, were camping vehicles. The left side of the camp was dominated by a row of military trucks and a swath of camouflage netting. Several portable buildings had already been set up, complete with a central nest of antenna and electronics. Between the portables and the main campsite were massive tanks labeled POTABLE. It all stretched nearly as far as she could see, out to the trees near behind trailers and then sweeping along the border of the woods.
The sky above the camp was bright, sunny, and dominated by the presence of an Ivory Dawn airship. The core of the huge warcraft was mostly made of wood, the original hull being a ship of the line. It still carried the enchantments that were originally placed on it, modified and reinforced over time. The only visible portion of that old hull were the three masts that stuck out slightly above thick layers of steel plating—also enchanted—creating an aesthetic that was more like a modern naval destroyer than an eighteenth century vessel. Despite the similar appearance, the most important difference between a mundane ship and an airship was that the wooden core of an airship was still alive, and still growing. As it grew, it became more powerful.
Most airships were like that, amalgamations of magic and sequential modification, a living core serving as their foundation. They were impossible to dismantle entirely—that would kill the ship—so instead, new innovations were tacked on over time. This led to a bulky but modular design that represented cutting-edge efforts to merge technology and magic. Often the tree-core would grow into its new modifications, enhancing them in ways that were greater than the sum of its parts.
Increasing size offered diminishing returns when you wanted something to float, but Eleanor knew from experience that it was still roughly half the size of an aircraft carrier. The hull was large enough that the name, printed in bold on the armor plating, could be read from the ground: IVD Higher Power 059. The ship drifted in a slow circle high above the camp, patrolling in plain sight—probably for the sake of reassuring the mundanes, because it was easily capable of going invisible.
Apparently they were starting to roll out the big guns. Her father had avoided using them in New York, mostly for political reasons. They didn’t want to intimidate their newfound allies in the mundane military, instead working with them to enchant their weaponry. It was doubly advantageous because fighter jets and helicopters were far more expendable guinea pigs to bait out a Vorid response before risking the airships, many of which were the product of hundreds of years of effort and evolution. They were also extremely wary of the huge Vorid fortress, which might have been designed to counter exactly that type of heavy weaponry.
The deciding factor was that Rothschild had refused to pledge any of his own airships in New York. And if the True Flame wasn’t going to have serious skin in the game, the Ivory Dawn’s council didn’t want to commit too much either. Airships were major magical power pieces; their living component made each one unique and unreplaceable.
The Mantriks, Magi, and Wu had airships that were said to be grown from a sprig of the original sacred fig tree under which Buddha obtained enlightenment. The Japanese supposedly had a Sugi that was over 10,000 years old. The core of the Ivory Dawn’s fleet were old oak trees stemming from the 17th and 18th centuries. More numerous and modern ships had been built, making up for the lack of time spent growing with sheer numbers during World War II. Eleanor had read a few research reports involving grafts of ancient bristlecone pine from California into some of the newer Ivory Dawn ships, but whether those studies bore fruit was outside even her clearance level.
In any case, the mages had been winning the battle at large following their first attack, steadily pushing the Vorid back into the center of the city with Daniel’s assistance. The Vorid lord warranted more force, but it would have been awkward to attack a single individual using a hulking battleship without catastrophic collateral damage, not only to the city but their own forces.
By the time Eleanor looked back at the camp, a group of five or so uniformed men were already making their way toward her. She had the idea of trying to find the Fitzgeralds without making contact with the local unit, but the scale of the place was so massive that it would take a week to find anyone without outside knowledge. There had to be at least several hundred thousand people down there.
The other problem was that this little excursion of hers was time-sensitive. As soon as her father and the others got out from Xik’s barrier in her room, or maybe even sooner, they’d contact Cleveland to see if she’d arrived. Then she’d be taken into custody and shipped right back to New York. She had to get this done quickly.
And so, Eleanor marched straight toward the oncoming patrol.
“Identify yourself!” came a shout. They didn’t point their guns at her, but they were holding them.
Thank god I have my wallet. Eleanor unclasped her personal sigil and flipped it open, displaying a gold sun on a blue background. “Eleanor Astor, Ivory Dawn. Is there a magician present?”
The men shuffled around a bit until a mage made her way to the front. Her skin was a deep brown color, and she had black hair and brown eyes. She was small compared to the geared-up infantry surrounding her. She wore an Ivory Dawn tabard—royal blue with gold trim, stamped with the gold sun in the center—tucked into green camouflage pants.
“The Eleanor Astor?” The woman—probably in her mid-twenties—peered at Eleanor’s ID. To a mundane, it was just a badge, but a trained magician would be able to verify how real the magical seal there was with just a quick brush of their senses. She straightened, then thumped a fist on her chest. “I’m sorry we didn’t receive you properly. I’m Tamara Hurley. Third branch family of the Lowells.”
Eleanor flicked her badge back in place. “Of course, the Hurleys. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Eleanor nodded her head politely. She wasn’t familiar with Tamara, personally, but she had memorized every branch family of the Ivory Dawn when she was 6 years old. The Hurleys stemmed from the Lowells, who originally developed as the head of a Massachusetts textile empire. The Hurley family had since moved to east-central United States, mostly Ohio and Michigan, where they had a controlling stake in heavy industry. “My transport here was short notice. I’m sorry I took you by surprise, normally we’d communicate ahead of time.” She offered a light chuckle. “And I wouldn’t be arriving alone on a hill.”
“Not at all,” Tamara said. “We’re happy to have you, Miss Astor. It’s an honor.” She was obviously in a hurry to not cause any offense. Eleanor thought it was rather cute. “You came alone?”
“I did,” Eleanor said. “Teleported direct from New York.”
“In one jump?”
Eleanor quickly formulated an excuse to explain Xik teleporting her hundreds of miles with a single spell. “It was a prepared formation.”
Tamara whistled. “Must have been costly.” She gestured down the hill, toward the military encampment. “Please, let me take you inside. We’ll get you settled. What’s the emergency?”
They started walking; the patrol fell into step behind them without much ado. Clearly they were getting used to mages popping in and out. “I’m looking for the family of the contractor that fought in New York, Daniel Fitzgerald. I understand they’re at this encampment.”
Tamara nodded. “I’m aware of their status. Headquarters called in when we confirmed Fitzgerald’s identity after his capture.”
“Are they alright?”
“Perfectly fine,” Tamara said. “I was ordered to place additional personnel near their tent last night. I moved one of the mid-camp troop posts near their position so a mage would be within scrying range at all times. I’ve kept them unaware of the surveillance so far, in case someone tries to make contact with them.”
“Excellent,” Eleanor said. “I’ll keep your name in mind, Tamara. We need competent people more than ever right now.”
Tamara smiled and nodded. “Thank you, ma’am.” She paused. “If I can ask, what do you need to see them for?”
“A chat,” Eleanor said. “We’re worried about them being targeted in the event of another attack and considering moving them to the manor.”
“Understood,” Tamara said. “Let me see off the patrol and I’ll lead you to them myself.”
“Very well.”
Eleanor picked a spot to wait near the trucks, arms folded under her chest as she watched the activity. A group of men were working on putting up another antennae tower near a portable shed. A supply convoy was ferried in and waved into parking opposite her—another fresh tank of water, along with box after box of MREs—Meals, Ready to Eat. One of the smaller trucks was refrigerated; it continued on to another of the sheds. Soldiers offloaded the cargo right into the building—medical supplies that had to be kept cold. A helicopter buzzed low overhead, pulling Eleanor’s attention up to the sky. It came to a stop at the edge of the camp before dropping down for a landing.
Tamara was back in under a minute. “Right this way, ma’am.”
Eleanor considered telling her to not be so formal; it wouldn’t be bad to have a personal contact in the Hurley family. Unfortunately, wartime was not moment to start blurring lines of authority. Eleanor had her station; Tamara had her own.
Plus, the clock was ticking. There would be time to schmooze with Tamara after Eleanor collected Daniel’s family.
They made their way down a large dirt road that split the mundane campsite roughly into two halves. The road was solid, tamped down by army engineers and complete with gravel drainage pits on either side. They’d help keep the path dry if it rained. “We’re planning for the long haul,” Eleanor stated.
“You’d better believe it, ma’am,” Tamara said. “They’re going to start installing secondary fencing around the camp today. We estimate another 200,000 or so refugees will be filtering into this location over the next 2 weeks.”
“How many are here so far?”
“About five hundred thousand,” Tamara said. “Site B has closer to a million. Cleveland was split into 3 camps. Ohio has 19 total.”
“No one essential, I assume.”
Tamara grunted in the affirmative. “Anyone with a non-agrarian, non-manufacturing job is holed up here.”
“What about doctors, nurses?” Eleanor asked.
“They’re in the camps and at protected work sites, farms, factories, distributed as needed. Everyone’s an employee of the state, now. Congress passed the bill yesterday.”
