American Craftsmen (16 page)

There was one person in this equation that I could handle, so I handled him. “Chuck. Front and center, soldier. Right now.”

Chuck walked sheepishly over to me. I whispered, “What the fuck are you doing? She’s about twice your age.”

“So?” said Chuck. “She’s kinda sexy.”

“She’s very dangerous. Don’t get near her again. In fact, you should go. This party is about to get ugly.”

“A fight?” said Chuck. “Bring it on.”

“More like a fubar,” I said. “More like something that will ruin your life if you survive it.”

“But I could…”

“Nothing you can do, Chuck, or I’d tell you. If it wasn’t my house, I’d leave with you. So go.”

Reluctantly, with a look back that would have made Lot’s wife extra salty, Chuck made for the courtyard entrance.

The Pentagon men split their attention between me and Sphinx, babbling frenetically into their headsets. The other guests enjoyed the party’s energy, thinking they were in the midst of incognito Washington elites whose names they could later Google. By the amount of airplay, the Pentagon commanding officer would enter soon. That would limit my options.

If the enemy wasn’t Sphinx, where would the blow come from? She might be able to see it. I felt our residual heart sync tugging at me. Was there still time for a chat with the Delphic schizo?

With a series of pops that sounded like lightbulbs burning out in a tomb, the outer wards on the grounds were going. A low moan. One of the faded ancestors on the periphery faded out. Not much time.

As in response, Sphinx skipped over to me, face soiled with cocktail sauce and ebullient, as if she could buy the world a Coke. I took the direct approach. “
What do you know about my upcoming demise?
” I gripped her hand, hard.

Sphinx threw off my grip with a pout. “Don’t need that to see which way the wind blows along the watchtower tangled up with you here comes the twister.”

A cold wind did the rounds of the compass. Someone was changing the temperature. My enemy was a weatherman. But no power in the world should be able to oppose an active Morton on his own ground.

“Who’s doing this?” I said.

Sphinx cackled. “You’re in the ghost story. It’s coming up the street, across the yard, through the door. Coming from three directions and five horizons. Is it one thing moving or several things stuck together? Is it even human?”

“Nonhuman entities are fairy tales,” I said.

“Wrong genre,” said Sphinx.

“We’re running out of time,” I said.

“Yes,” said Sphinx.

Then Grandpa came between us and put his insubstantial hands to Sphinx’s face. “What the hell happened to you?”

She smiled, and tears streamed down her cheeks and through his fingers. “I’m sorry, Pops, but I tried and tried, and I can’t change the cold equations. The universe always balances my little causality tricks one way,” and she pointed at her head, “or another. But mostly, it just doesn’t care. It just doesn’t fucking budge. Smoke ’em if you got ’em, Pops. We’re screwed.”

As if on cue, the House thrummed. Endicott marched into the party, pushing his way through the crowd, and two of his men fell in behind him. “In your mother’s womb, I knew thee,” said Sphinx, grinning. “But at least that asshole will share the fun. Seriously, anyone got a joint?”

Dismal Eddy sprang to sudden life and blocked Endicott’s approach to Sphinx. “That’s close enough.”

Endicott looked at Eddy, weighed his options, then spoke in a soldier’s low anger. “In Christ’s name, what are you doing here? With him?” He pointed at me.

“Jesus sends his regrets,” said Sphinx, munching on some shrimp from her handbag. “Christ won’t be coming soon. The other fellow will be here any minute.”

“This farewell fraud just became a national security risk. Everyone needs to scatter. Except you, Morton. You’ll be coming with me.”

“No,” I said.

“You’ve got no rights, you son of a.…” Endicott faltered on the last word, avoiding the inevitable
witch
. “I’m arresting you.”

“For what?”

“Say it’s for Hutchinson’s murder,” said Endicott.

“Hutch?” How could this asshole still appall me? “That’s the goddamned stupidest thing you’ve said.”

“You’re not surprised,” said Endicott. “I just find out, and you don’t even pretend to not know.”

“You fucking idiot,” I said, “you
know
that she was more than either of my parents—”

“Say what you want,” said Endicott. “Maybe you’re crazier than Sphinx is, and you killed those civvies yourself, and you enjoyed it. We’ll figure out the charges later. But you’re leaving. Now.”

Sphinx’s eyes went from ticking REM to frozen sociopathic. “Not while I’m here.”

Endicott winced with disgust. “And how long were you planning to stay, Sphinx?”

“Another hour or so.” Sphinx’s eyes began to play tennis again. “I like the shrimp.”

Some of the steam leaked from Endicott. “Oh, well…”

Meanwhile, this little scene had motivated some guests to leave, but not enough. Too many were ignoring the altercation, or taking an unhealthy interest. Time to get the bozos out of here. I pressed “10” on my remote.

The music stopped, and an official-sounding man spoke over the speakers, “Attention, a terrorist threat has been called in against this address. Please evacuate immediately. Thank you.” Then the warning was given in panglossic craft, so that everyone would assume the second language was their own.

Some more people made for the gate. Good. Anyone who stayed would be with or against me—most likely against.

Endicott must have heard the craft touch in the message. He was beyond pissed. “What’s that in your pocket? Give it to me.”

“Worse and worse,” said Sphinx.

“Hey Dale!” No—stupid drunk idiot Chuck had wandered back into the party. He spun around, looking up at the sky like an airborne strike was coming. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Chuck, this is an order—”

Pop! Then a series of sharp cracks, and the sound of rock sliding against rock. The seven spirit stones in the courtyard wall failed in quick succession. I cringed at the scream of Jonathan Morton’s second death. Someone was turning the Morton hallowed ground into their own abominated space. My enemy was here.

“Morton, what are you doing?” Endicott must have remembered my threat about the House.

Sphinx looked at her watch. “Right on schedule. Must be a fascist. They’re such clockheads.” She giggled. “Clock. Head.”

Stunned, I said nothing. Large chunks of my reality were blinking out. The craft forces around me became a checkerboard of uncertain absences in the ground, the walls, the House, the sky. Between the gaps, the protests of the Left Hand interspliced like helicopter blades. A juggernaut of force closed in on me, and I was going blind.

“What the hell was I thinking?” I said.

“I spy with my little eye something that begins with
D
,” said Sphinx.

Endicott was chest to chest with Eddy. He shouted at me, “You treasonous motherfucker, stop this.” So much for Christian sentiment.

The blind spot had moved into my immediate vision. It circled me, the people, the courtyard, became an alternating blur. They could come right up to me and kill me.

Time to retreat. “It’s after me,” I said. “Stay away from the House.”

As if to punctuate the point, a crash. Ward gargoyles from the roof shattered to the left and right of the doorway. I stepped away from the Peepshow and Endicott standoff.

Too late. Halfway to the door, I froze. Death surrounded me, and I couldn’t move my legs. I felt the bond with my enemy tightening, could sense my opponent’s focus, even as my bond with the House and the Left Hand severed. Endicott was shouting from miles away. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. Somewhere close, a rifle sight sought my skull.

No, not until I inflict casualties to protect the Families and country that I love, whatever they feel about me. Not until Scherie was farther away from here.
With all my will, I stepped back toward the House and into the death of my choosing.

Too slow, too slow. I felt the rifle sight move with me, felt the tension on the trigger, the joy of my hunter, the odd ecstasy of being prey. Hailing my grandfather and my ancestors, I said, “I’m coming.”

CHAPTER

ELEVEN

Sphinx moved faster than my thought. She left shrimp stranded in midair and took me in a twirl with a ballerina’s grace. One hand found mine, the other found the chakra of my lower spine, like she was dancing lead, like she was completing a circuit. She ripped me into her fast-forward world.

I felt a lightness that was more sex than combat. No, I wouldn’t let this happen. “Get the fuck down, nut job.”

“That’s my boy.” Sphinx smiled, the fool with the sane punch line. Like a speed freak, she enunciated an order to her Peepshow goons: “
Protect. Casper.
”

A screech of psychic feedback froze me as Sphinx’s command echoed shock from my brain to my enemy’s to the blind force pulling a trigger. Too late. With an eldritch blast, the rifle fired.

The craft-guided shot came in like a heart-seeking missile on a spiral path of untraceable origin. The bullet made a little
pock
sound as it passed between Sphinx’s ribs. The accompanying craft sizzled like black static, ensuring death. My heart, tied to hers, felt the pain. Sphinx’s grip on me tightened spasmodically, then released. “Hunh.
Chimera.
Go now.” The heart sync broke; Sphinx’s soul exploded in blinding craft, bolts of sunshine in the gathered gloom.

She was gone. The end had no magic. I slowed back into the world.

Flashing guns greeted me; their barrels scanned like raptors, searching for the sniper in all directions. Over Sphinx’s slumped shoulders, I searched too, and felt nothing. A nervous young Peepshow held his weapon close to my head, his grip way too sweaty-tight. Sphinx’s order or not, this boy was going to kill me.

“Don’t shoot him, screen them!” yelled Eddy. Relieved to be under command, the Peepshow goons faced outwards and sandwiched Sphinx and me in our last tangle. I lowered Sphinx down to the ground. Her blood pooled onto the paving stones and into Morton earth.

Thunder without lightning, and scattered rain dropped into the blood. Eddy backed away from Endicott, gun drawn. Endicott was whispering into his transmitter, and his men formed a belated, moving circle around the Peepshows. Unconcerned with the sniper, they appeared to be looking for a clean line of fire on me, and not finding one.

Eddy bent to confirm Sphinx’s death. “This wasn’t part of the plan.”

No
, I thought,
this was part of some plan, just not mine or Eddy’s
. Grandpa glared at me with a young man’s rage. “I’m glad we won’t have long to think about this. I’ll be inside with the others.” And he disappeared.

Formal shoes clattered on wet stone; the remaining guests finally realized that any benefits of further intel were outweighed by implication in this muddy mess. The Americans had left at the first sign of unpleasantness. Now the foreigners ran, not walked, through the courtyard gate, like bulls pursued by butchers.

My brain caught up to my strange and sad reprieve. Sphinx had made a blood sacrifice and shattered the death-seeking magic. But even shattered, such magic was a threat. My former death flew about in too many shards to repel, infecting those around me with a tendency to kill me.

They needed little urging. The Peepshow and Endicott’s men were yelling at each other, a confused cacophony of “Stand down,” “Let us through,” and “Give him up”—“Stand us up!” Classic alpha-male standoff. With his discreet talent for compulsion, Endicott yelled with more focus at Eddy: “
Stand down
, or we will shoot.”

“
Resist
,” I said, but Eddy’s left eye twitched with Endicott’s compulsion. Then Eddy responded through clenched teeth: “You won’t shoot him through us.” Being Peepshow had its advantages.

Endicott ignored the rebuttal. “Dale Morton, you’re under arrest. These misguided bureaucrats don’t have jurisdiction here. You’ll either come with me now, or you’re resisting arrest. Do I have to explain that to you?”

I didn’t need explanations. I needed to get inside the House. If Endicott wanted to come inside with me, all the better. “Can I get some things?” I asked.

“No,” said Endicott.

Oh well, worth a shot. I tried Eddy. “We need to get inside my house.”

Eddy’s face was taut with stricken anger. “I don’t think so. I think we’ll protect you at Langley, and I think you and I are going to have a nice long chat.”

Endicott must have sensed his opening. “Tell him how you did it, Morton. How you killed Sphinx. How you butchered Hutch.”

I felt new waves of craft arcing like ICBMs toward me. “We won’t get one hundred yards from here. We need—”

“Nobody’s going anywhere!” Frothing at the mouth, Chuck hurdled onto the food table and waved a stick around in some crude parody of kendo. The rain-slicked stick flew out of his hands. He jumped down and scrambled for his stick, leapt up into a sloppy martial arts stance, then scrambled for a weapon again. The act would have been hysterical, except that it threatened to get people killed.

“Get the fuck out of here, Chuck,” I said, “or I’ll shoot you myself.”

But we were out of time. One of the Peepshows screening me doubled over. Blood streamed from his eyes. Almost in answer, one of Endicott’s men tried to bash in his own skull with his gun.

“Eddy, get me inside,” I said.

Thunder and a crash of glass. A dark figure spun down from the third-floor balcony and hit the flat stones of the courtyard with bone-breaking thud. Shit, a new problem. But it wasn’t. With impossible steadiness, the figure stood up. With rare horror, I recognized him.

It was M. He moved, but no aura. M wasn’t alive. It was a meat puppet. I had been played. I had sealed my House, but death had penetrated my little party. That I hadn’t believed that such legendary power still existed was no excuse. I had killed M and upgraded their weapon.