Devouring Flame, page 15
“He didn’t have a problem with Ringmaster.”
“That’s different. The vampires only hurt him. Ringmaster was hurting me. Rion is very loyal to his friends.”
“I’d better follow him, anyway.” Brooke ducked into the crowd and disappeared.
Hashim sighed. “I’ll miss them.” He looked at Smith, laying a hand against his face. “I’ll miss you too.”
Smith’s eyes kindled. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
Hashim held up his wrists. “I can’t leave, Smith. And once Ringmaster and Chef finish playing with each other—” Another oooooh rose from the vampires, coupled with a massive thump that shook the ground. “—I’ll be just as under his power as ever. He was always annoyed he couldn’t make me suffer more. But now he knows how. He need only threaten you.” He kissed Smith, soft and lingering. The last time. “I can’t risk being near you ever again. I can’t risk hurting you. I can’t risk killing you. Because if he orders me to do it, I don’t know if I’ll be able to tell him no.”
SMITH trapped Hashim’s hand against his face. “You know what? Fuck that. I’m not done with this job until you’re free. Until everyone is free and Ringmaster is brought down.” A flash of red above the vampires’ heads caught Smith’s eye as Ringmaster flew through the air and landed with a crash and a crunch. “Although Chef is doing a pretty good job on that account.”
But Ringmaster stood up again and charged across the impromptu wrestling ring, slamming into Chef and sending them both flying backward in a scatter of vampire voyeurs.
Hashim’s shoulders sagged. “If he’s a goblin berserker, though, he’ll survive. They always do.”
“Then we’ll have to be sure he won’t have power over you when he does. Let me see your cuffs.”
Hashim held out his arms. Smith took his hands and turned them, first palm up, then palm down, peering at the cuffs in the uncertain light. “The unlocking algorithm did something. Look here—” He pointed to a swirl of cracked crystals. “And here.” A line of blackened metal twined throughout the pattern. “It’s only the band at the top that’s still intact.”
Hashim frowned at his wrists, his lips compressed as if the sight of the cuffs turned his stomach. They probably do, the vile things. “That section materialized after Yashar sold him my name.” His head jerked up and he met Smith’s gaze, wide-eyed. “My name. That’s the problem. All the other carnies, even Rion, were bound by standard articles of indenture. But I’m bound by my name. He has my name. I don’t.”
Another ground-shaking crash and a ragged cheer from the vampires accompanied what Smith recognized as Chef’s battle cry—the one he gave whenever the meat delivery was late. It pinged something in Smith’s memory, something about goblin berserkers…. Shit!
He grabbed Hashim’s shoulders. “Goblin berserkers are indestructible except against one another. That’s why the old fighting pits were declared illegal back in the day—because it amounted to wagering on murder.”
“So Ringmaster could kill Chef?” Fear chased across Hashim’s face. “We have to stop them.”
“I don’t think we could stop them, although my money’s on Chef. But here’s the thing. If Chef takes this all the way—and it seems like he and Ringmaster have some history—what happens to you if Ringmaster dies with your name still his secret?”
Hashim blinked. “I… I don’t know. It might revert to Yashar since he’s the last who knew it. He might still know it, depending on how the sale was conducted. But my name has to be contained in something. It can’t just be in somebody’s head.”
“So you’re telling me that somewhere there’s an artifact with your name embedded in it?”
“Yes. Like the fire gem with your name.” Hashim’s eyes got huge. “Ringmaster could force the truth about the gem from me, could make me turn it over. He could have you in his power too!”
“Fuck that. It’s not important. What’s important is making sure you’re the one in charge of your own fate. So all we have to do is find the thing with your name in it, right? Once you’ve got it, nobody can force you to do anything again?”
Hope dawned in Hashim’s eyes, only to fade immediately. “But then I would be an unbound ifrit, subject to arrest and return to the djinn crèche.”
“We’ll deal with that problem when we come to it. First things first. Where does Ringmaster keep his treasures?”
Hashim pointed over the vampires’ heads as half of them threw their fists in the air and the other half groaned in dismay. Clearly there’s some betting going on.
For a moment, worry for Chef curled in Smith’s belly. Nah. For one thing, he’d back Chef against anything but the flower fairy IRT. For another, Brooke knew about the throwdown, and if he knew Brooke, she’d have Mikos on deck ASAP. Even goblins in berserker rage couldn’t resist a siren’s song.
Smith followed the direction of Hashim’s finger. Ringmaster’s tent. “A tent isn’t the most secure of locations.”
“It is when it’s protected by ADP.”
“ADP?”
“Associated Druid Protection. It’s the security company he uses.”
Smith’s heart sank. “So we can’t get in?”
“Oh, we can get in.” He brandished his cuffs. “He couldn’t lord it over us and maintain proper superiority if he had to actually get out of his chair and let us in the door.”
“In that case, come on. We’ve got a name to find.”
Chapter Sixteen
THE path to Ringmaster’s tent was now blocked by vampires, all of them craning to see the fight. Ringmaster is probably furious that he’s not charging admission for this. This tip was greater than any they’d pulled into the sideshow tent in the last three months combined.
Hashim took Smith’s hand and tried the thump-poke-shriek method of clearing the vampires out of their way, although this time the thumps were supplied by goblin berserker bodies hitting the ground rather than a techno dance beat.
When they finally got to the tent flap, Hashim checked over his shoulder, but nobody was looking at them. The vampires were all focused on the fight, and Chef had Ringmaster in a Bulgarian headlock facing the other direction.
He scratched on the tent flap in the usual pattern, but nothing happened. Oh. He turned to Smith. “After I scratch on the flap, say ‘Enter’ in as deep a voice as you can manage.”
Smith grinned. “Trying to match Ringmaster’s voice? I can do one better.” He poked at his cell phone screen, fingers moving with preternatural speed—of course; he’s a demon. “Okay. Go ahead.”
Hashim scratched again—skritch skritch scraaaaatch skritch skritch. Smith touched his tablet screen and Ringmaster’s voice boomed, “Enter” from the speaker.
“Oops. A little too much volume on the playback. Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Hashim grabbed Smith’s wrist and towed him inside. The sounds of the Carnival immediately faded. “That was brilliant. How did you capture his voice?”
Smith shrugged. “A precaution. I recorded the whole conversation with him the first time Brooke and I were here.”
Hashim raised his eyebrows. “Without his knowledge? Isn’t that a bit unethical?”
Smith grinned again. “A gray area, especially here in the thrice-blasted Vegas Interstices. The whole fucking place is a gray area. Besides, I’m a demon. We live to skate on the edge.” He tucked his phone in his pocket. “Now. Where would he keep his treasure?”
Hashim pointed to the iron-bound casket—which was now gold-bound. “That’s the obvious place. But I don’t have the key.”
“Keys,” Smith scoffed. “Are you an ifrit or what?” He grabbed Hashim’s hand and held it on the curved wooden lid. “Burn, baby, burn.”
And with Smith’s energy supporting his, fueling his—and with the loosening of the bonds in the partially broken binding spell—Hashim called on his inner flame and reduced the wood to ash, while leaving the contents untouched. The gold that had been packed inside spilled out across the desktop.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Smith said. “Perfect aim.” He poked through the pile of coins. “Do you have any idea what it would look like? I mean, could it be one of these coins?”
Hashim held both hands over the pile and felt… nothing. No hint of recognition, of like calling to like, of the rightness he felt with his hand in Smith’s. “No. This is all just gold. Worthless.”
Smith’s mouth lifted in a wry smile. “You have an interesting set of values.”
“Well, it’s worthless for this particular purpose.”
Smith circled the desk and yanked open the drawers. “These aren’t even locked. And they’re empty, anyway.” He scanned the tent, his sharp eyes apparently cataloging everything with the attention to detail that had captivated Hashim from the first. He sees things. He sees me. “No file cabinet. Are you sure he’s got it stored here? Not in some vault somewhere outside the Carnival grounds?”
“It wouldn’t be as effective if it was too far from me. That’s one reason I could defy Yashar at the Consort Race.” Hashim snorted. “Ringmaster taunted me once about not noticing it even if it was right under my nose. Trust me, if the smug bastard could figure out a way to pull that off, he’d never be able to resist.”
Smith gave him a quick kiss. “The only thing under your nose is your mouth, and trust me, I’d have noticed if anything were hidden in there.”
Despite the gravity of the situation, Hashim chuckled. “Well, perhaps those weren’t his exact words. But he implied it was obvious.”
“Hidden in plain sight, eh?” Smith glanced around the office, which was even more gilded than Hashim’s last visit. “How often are you in here?”
“As little as possible.”
“Then knowing that smug bastard, it’s not here. Not enough opportunity to gloat. Damn, I wish I could get Evan here to do a location spell but he’s on call at the Earthside hospital tonight.” Smith glanced around the tent one more time. “Lucifer’s balls, this guy’s really into gold, isn’t he?”
“He’s into wealth. And he’s old-school. Gold is the… well… gold standard for him.”
Smith drummed his fingers on the outside of his thigh. “Chef called him Dustman. Dustmen were garbage collectors, combing through other peoples’ trash for anything of value. Think he’s overcompensating for his beginnings?”
“Too bad he didn’t stick to scavenging.”
Smith’s eyes widened. “Lucifer’s balls, Hashim, he did.” He pointed to the coins spilled across the desktop. “Do you really think the Carnival pulls in that much?”
Hashim snorted. “Not with the pathetic crowds we’ve had lately.”
“Where does he get it, then? Granted, he got some of it from EO for the lease of the grounds, but it was a 10 percent deposit at most. We know he took money from those three vampires for the opportunity to slaughter Rion. How many other carnies have disappeared without explanation?”
Hashim stomach dropped and rolled. “Carnies come and go. That’s the nature of indenture. When you work off your contract, you go home.”
“How did that work out for you?”
Hashim turned away, arms crossed over his belly. I don’t want to think of that. That all the carnies he’d celebrated with in the mess tent—sharing cake and mead over good wishes for their homecomings—hadn’t escaped at all. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying”—Smith stroked Hashim’s hair as if he were calming a frightened horse—“Ringmaster is not the guy to turn down making an extra buck. What’s to prevent him from selling the carnies to one of the underside realms, the ones outside the ILE’s jurisdiction, the ones where slavery is still a thing?”
“Do you really think he’s done that?” Hashim’s voice sounded small to himself, like a child hiding from a monster in the dark.
“I wouldn’t put it past him.” Smith’s gaze lit on a leather-bound trunk, half-hidden by a pile of gold-tasseled red satin pillows. “Hold on. What’s that?”
Hashim frowned. “He’s never tried to bury that trunk in cushions before. Most of the time he keeps his Turkish coffee set on it.”
“What do you bet he got interrupted by the commotion when the binding spell broke and just tried to disguise it?” Smith strode over and kneeled on the carpet, flinging pillows over his shoulders until he cleared the chest. “It’s not even locked.” He lifted the lid to expose lines of neat hanging files.
Hashim crept closer and peered over his shoulder. One file was labeled Darvi. “There. He’s a faun who was a line cook in the café. I didn’t know him well, but Omisan thought the world of him.”
Smith pulled the file and opened it. After he rifled through a few pages, he stopped, eyes narrowing. “‘Sold to the Darkside Shadow clan for sixteen shekels.’”
“No,” Hashim whimpered. “He was so eager to return to Faerie, to see the sun again. His indenture was only supposed to be for three months, for some stupid cart licensing violation.”
The flames in Smith’s eyes flared bright enough to light the tent. “This guy is going down. Hard.” After he tucked the file back in the trunk, he pulled out his phone and touched its screen. “Brooke? Is the throwdown still happening? Good. Could you send Rion to Ringmaster’s tent, please?”
Brooke’s squawk was audible even over Hashim’s own protest. Smith snaked an arm around Hashim’s waist. “It’ll be okay,” he murmured. “I promise.” He listened to something Brooke said, nodding. “Tell him he can use the juggernaut effect from before. Speed is more important than finesse at this point. Later.” He disconnected the call, but didn’t put his phone away.
Hashim punched him on the arm. “Are you insane? It’s too dangerous for Rion to come anywhere near this place.”
Smith pointed at the trunk. “What about the danger to those folks? I may be strong, but I’m not strong enough to carry that back to the operations center. Rion is. With this evidence, not only can we rescue those people, but we can bring Ringmaster down for good.”
“But—”
“Plus we still have your name to find.”
Skritch skritch scraaaatch skritch skritch.
Smith touched his phone screen and Ringmaster’s Enter boomed again.
Rion poked his head through the tent flap. “Ringmaster? Oh!” He ducked into the tent, hunching over until he got to the center pole where he could almost stand upright. He turned in a circle, his big eyes wide. “Wow. There’s a lot of gold around.”
SMITH exchanged a quizzical glance with Hashim before turning to Rion. “When was the last time you were in here?”
“Me? Never. I mean the day my stepfather’s captain of guards brought me here, I almost came inside, but Ringmaster yelled and said I had to stay out because I was too big.”
More likely he didn’t want Rion to hear what plans the dickhead had for him. “We need you to do us a favor, big guy.”
“Sure, Smith. Anything you want.”
“See that trunk there? Think you can carry it over to the operations center for us?”
Rion peered into the shadowy corner. “That little thing? No problem. It’ll fit under one arm.” He glanced around. “I could carry more, if you want. Are we robbing Ringmaster?”
“No. We’re merely… gathering information.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Hashim put a hand on Rion’s sleeve. “Would it bother you if we stole from Ringmaster?”
Rion shrugged. “Not really. I mean he steals from other people every day.” Rion hefted the trunk, tucking it under one arm as he’d promised.
“Think you can get that back to Operations without anyone noticing?” Smith asked. How can you not notice a minotaur in a gray blazer carrying a trunk that belongs in a pirate adventure story? He’s head and shoulders taller than anybody else on the grounds.
“Sure. Everybody’s watching Chef and Ringmaster. Vampires must really like fights.” He leaned down to whisper conspiratorially, “There’s still cake in the banquet hall, but they all came out to watch the fight anyway.”
“Good thing for them Chef’s still whaling on Ringmaster, then, or he’d be after them. Nothing infuriates him more than when his food is ignored.” The ground trembled again. “Except Ringmaster, apparently.” I can understand the feeling.
“Oh, don’t worry about that. Hazel and her crew loaded the pieces on trays and they’re serving it to the crowd.” He gave them a brilliant smile. “Thanks, guys. Nobody’s ever asked me to do anything for them before. Other than stand around and look scary, I mean.”
Hashim shook his head, a bemused expression on his face, as Rion ducked out of the tent. “People constantly underestimate him.”
Smith wrapped his arms around Hashim. “Do you think he’ll be able to go back to his family?”
Hashim bit his lip. “If he did, his bastard of a stepfather would probably trap him somewhere else. I wish—”
“Hey.” He stroked Hashim’s soft hair and planted a chaste kiss on his lips. “We’ll figure something out. But right now, we have other shit to do.” He glanced around the gilded tent. “Is there anywhere else in here you think your name might be concealed?”
Hashim shook his head. “I don’t feel anything. I met one other unbound ifrit once, in the desert when I had only been with Yashar’s clan for a decade or so. He was on the run from the ILE. He said when he found his name, he just knew. It called to him. His was written on a scroll and he was able to pick it out of the Alexandrian library. Although he said he had to read a lot of boring scrolls before he found the right one.”
“‘I’ll know it when I see it’ doesn’t exactly help.”
Hashim sighed. “I know. But that’s the only information I’ve got.”
“What happened to that ifrit?”
Hashim’s gaze dropped to Smith’s chest, his lips compressing. “They caught him. It… wasn’t pretty.”
Smith cupped Hashim’s face in his hands. “That won’t happen to you. I won’t let it.”
