Labyrinth (Book 5) (20 page)

“No. Harper, don’t do it. Let the creep go.”

I knew that voice. . . .

“Harper . . .”

I’d pushed him almost to the arch of roses at the peak of the stairs leading to the sidewalk. A gun—a stubby, small-bore rifle with a collapsing stock—lay across the top step, just outside the weak gold line of Mara’s magic. That made me angry, but it was my own, pure anger this time, not something pouring into my head from the Grey.

I opened my mouth to speak and the voice that issued out of me echoed with a dozen strains and cries. “Tell your master I’ll come when I’m good and ready.” The voices in my head changed pitch and volume, singsonging “alone, alone, alone . . .”

I let him go, dropping him, staggering, onto his feet at the stone landing. I was just about to give him a push when a bright bolt of light flashed past me and hit him in the shoulder, setting his shirt on fire. He slapped at it, turning and letting out a gasping cry as he stumbled down the stairs.

“And don’t come back y’feckin’ bastard, or I’ll burn y’to a crisp!” Mara yelled from the porch. She had the eye clutched in her hands, the disk flashing and smoking as the sun touched it. Her shawl was gone, her hair was wild, and her face was streaked with black. Quinton stood beside her with a bucket. Behind them, just inside the doorway, Ben, shocked pale, held Brian against his chest. The boy had turned his face away from the scene and buried it in his father’s jacket.

As Goodall escaped down the street, Quinton took the eye from Mara’s hands and dropped it into the bucket, where it sizzled and hissed with a watery splash. Mara sat down in a boneless heap on the porch. I picked up the rifle and started back up the walkway. I climbed the porch steps and handed the gun to Quinton. He dropped the magazine, cleared the chamber, and slung the rifle over his shoulder like he’d been doing it all his life. I sat down next to Mara.

“Hell of a morning,” I said. “And nice shooting.”

“I thought y’were gonna kill him.”

“I thought you were.”

She shook her head and looked queasy. “I think I’m gonna be ill.” She threw herself full length across the step and vomited into the battered rosebush. We gave her a minute to finish and rinse her mouth with a handful of warm water from the bucket and then Quinton and I helped Mara up and back into the house. She flopped again into the first couch in the living room and Ben sat down beside her with Brian still in his arms.

The three of them curled into a shivering ball as Quinton and I retreated to the hall.

“What happened in the back?” I asked.

“A couple of . . . I don’t know. Stumpy little doll-like things tried to grab Brian. The dog got one and Mara got the other. Or maybe Ben did. I don’t know if it burned up or if Ben kicked it to death. They must have jumped in at the same time that shot went off out front. I guess Mara’s perimeter wasn’t designed for a coordinated attack from multiple points. What about Phoebe?” he added, stooping to pick up the paper shopping bag that was lying on the entry floor.

“She’s downstairs. Goodall was at the condo when she got there and I’d guess he made her call and then sent her to the door to lure me out. He tried to shoot us, but Phoebe knocked us down. The spell on the house might have bent the bullet’s path, but Phoebe probably saved our lives.”

Quinton looked into the bag. “She brought the puzzle.”

“She’s going to be really mad at me this time. And she’s got a gun.”

“Excuse me?”

“Mine is down there. I told her to take it—in case anyone made it through.”

He sighed and then gave me a quick, soft kiss on the lips and glanced at the basement steps. “You want backup?”

“Want? Yes. Taking? No. She’s my friend and it’s my fault she’s scared. I’ll take care of it.”

He nodded and let me go.

Phoebe did not shoot me, though she was very jumpy when I knocked on the basement door. She let me in, looking over my shoulder and all around for any new creeps who might do something nasty.

“It’s all right,” I said, taking the pistol from her gently and putting it back into the holster that should have been on my hip to begin with. “We sent him packing. I’ll talk to the cops about him later—I think I know who he is. How are you doing?”

She was still a little shaky, but she drew her shoulders back and stood up as tall as possible. “I’m OK. Not happy, but OK. Store’s been robbed before. That ain’t the first time some no-good waved a gun at me.”

“I’m sorry.” I was saying that a lot lately. “I wouldn’t have asked you to go if—”

“I know that. Now you tell me what that man wants with you. Why he’s willin’ to shoot three women in plain sight.”

I shook my head. “It’s complicated, but . . . he works for someone who wants me to do something pretty bad. I mean, he wants me to do something that might hurt or kill a lot of people. I won’t do it. I guess that’s not the answer he wants to hear.”

“You aren’t gonna change your mind?”

“No. And I’m not going to let it happen, either.”

“What are you gonna do, then?”

“I’m working on that. I need more information first and that puzzle ball may help me get it. Then . . . we’ll see.”

“ ‘We’ll see’? That’s a plan?”

“Not by itself, but there are other considerations.” I thought for a moment about how much to tell her and what might help keep Phoebe safe and sane. “That man may have helped kidnap Edward Kammerling of TPM, but since Kammerling’s still missing, the situation’s delicate.”

She goggled at me. “I knew he looked familiar! I saw him on the news: He’s that security guy! He kidnapped his boss?”

“Helped. Probably. And he thinks I know something or have something he wants.”

“Why?”

“I just got back from doing some work for TPM in London.”

“And do you know something?”

I cocked my head over and made a disapproving face. “Phoebe,” I chided. “You don’t want to know that.”

“Oh, all right.” She started for the door, then stopped and turned back to me, still a little pale. “You think it’s safe? To go back home?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I think it’ll be fine. So long as you stay away from my place and stay away from here, no one should bother you any further.”

She made a dismissive grunt in the back of her throat. “Better be right about that. Or I’ll tell Poppy to poison your food on Sunday.”

“Tomorrow Sunday?” I questioned, thinking there was no way I could risk going to the Masons’ family dinner at this point.

“No, not this Sunday. I said next Sunday, didn’t I? Don’t you know the difference between this Sunday and next Sunday?” She snorted and tossed her head. “Next Sunday.” Then she turned and marched up the stairs. I followed her back into the entry hall.

She paused and pointed at Quinton, who was still standing near the door. “Next Sunday. Don’t you let her forget, or I’ll find someone to put a curse on you both so bad your hair’ll fall out.”

Quinton nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t you ‘ma’am’ me! You just be there,” she shouted back and stomped out.

Quinton gave me a wide-eyed look. I only shook my head. Phoebe was dealing as well as I could expect with what she’d been through, especially since she hadn’t seen anything that couldn’t be explained as ordinary violence and human action. She’d be all right. I was a little less sure about the Danzigers.

“We had better find another place to stay,” I suggested, taking the bag full of puzzle ball from him.

“Why?” Ben asked behind me.

I spun around, startled by his unexpected presence in the hall.

“Why what?”

“Why would you leave now?”

“Why not, after disrupting your home and your life so badly? Mara’s wards are a mess and Quinton says there are a couple of dead somethings in your backyard. You do not need me here, making your family and your home into targets.”

“We also don’t need dead friends on our consciences. We know what’s at stake. Really.”

Brian came galloping into the hall and grabbed at the bag I was holding. “Gimme!”

“No,” I replied pulling the bag away.

Brian jumped and snatched for it. “Mama says gimme! Wanna see the zuzzle ball.”

“Yes. As I’ve killed something for it and set someone else alight, I’d like to get a look at the infernal thing,” Mara added, leaning in the living room arch. She looked wan but less upset than I’d expected.

I looked around and saw they were all staring at me. I raised the bag higher out of Brian’s reach. I felt lame saying, “You do not get to touch it until your mother says it’s safe.”

Brian stuck out his lower lip and looked more pugnacious than tearful. “ ’Snot fair.”

“Get used to it,” I shot back.

I handed the bag to Ben since he was the tallest person in the room and most likely to keep the thing out of Brian’s clutches. We all trooped into the living room, Mara in the lead and Brian scampering around, eyeing the bag with a calculating expression. We distributed ourselves on the twin couches, except for the boy, who dragged a child-sized chair up to the coffee table from beside the hearth and plopped into it.

Mara took the bag from Ben and peered inside. “Ben, would you get the eye out of the bucket? It’s on the front stoop. There’s a pile of clean washin’-up towels on the kitchen counter. Someone fetch those, too, please.”

I went for the towels and met Ben in the hall to wrap up the dripping disk he’d fished out of the bucket of water. Mara dried off the eye with care and looked it over. Brian stood up and leaned as close as he dared, almost breathing on the object his mother had.

“What is it y’think you’re doing, little man?” she asked.

“Lookin’,” Brian replied.

“Did I say you could? What’s the rule?”

“ ‘Don’t touch the magic things ’less you wanna wear the warts.’ But I’m not touching it!”

“If you were any closer, you’d have your nose on it. And a warty, warty nose it would be, too. Now, go into the hall and fetch mama’s shawl and the things she dropped with it.”

“But—”

Mara made a sharp little humming noise and glared at her son. “Fetch, boy-o.”

Brian bit his lip and trundled off. Mara sighed. “Troublesome little mite.”

I glanced at Quinton with a sudden flare of alarm. “Speaking of trouble ...”

He unbuttoned one of his pockets and Chaos stuck her head out, making an uncomplimentary grumbling noise. “And the dog’s OK, too,” he added. “I went out to look while you were downstairs.”

I nodded, relieved the only serious injuries seemed to be the opposition’s. Brian returned, hauling the bundle of shawl, and heaved it up onto the coffee table. In spite of his earlier demeanor, he seemed quite pleased with himself for returning successfully.

Mara thanked him and opened up the shawl. The contents were a bit of a mess—several of the packages had spilled and the contents were sticking all over the fabric—but she sorted out enough of the various herbs to satisfy her needs and ground them between her palms. Then she dusted them over the flat sides of the disk, which took on a gleam like glass as she muttered and spread the crushed herbs over the surface. The object was still opaque, but it looked shiny.

“Right, then. Harper, you hold the ball.”

I dug into the bag and pulled out the wooden puzzle ball, seeing the thin Grey sheen that seeped from its seams. I didn’t see anything else and it didn’t feel any different than it ever had. But it wouldn’t: Phoebe’s saying it was creepy had been directed by—or at—Goodall. I held it at arm’s length, hearing something rattle gently inside, and Mara moved the eye over the ball as she stared at the surface.

Quinton and Brian both stared at the eye in fascination. As Mara moved it around I could see why: When you looked straight down at the arcanely shining surface, what you saw was an enlarged section of the object below, but glowing with colors and shapes in a strata of glittering dust.

“Ooo,” Brian sighed. “Pretty animals.”

Mara laughed and looked up from her work. “Not animals, y’silly boy:
anima
. It’s girly magic,” she added, glancing at me.

I frowned. “I don’t get it.”

She put the eye down in her lap and began wiping the surface clean. “Some things, some types of magic, are gendered. I don’t mean that only men or women can do it, but that there’s a tendency or bifurcation that’s analogous to gender.”

I rested the ball on my knee; my arms were tired from holding it out while Mara inspected it.

“So,” Mara continued, “either that puzzle was made by a woman, or for some very feminine purpose, or there’s another part that’s the complement to that one. A masculine part with an
animus
type of magic. There’s something inside that’s not radiating at all, so no concern here. Oh, and it’s quite safe. You can put it down if you like. Aside from the gendering, there’s not much there. Something compacted but neutral, and a partner strand, which I assume is linked to the other-gendered part of whatever that’s supposed to do.”

“Supposedly, it’s either a labyrinth or a door to a labyrinth. I have a key, which is probably the male half of the equation.” I pulled the small wire toy from my pocket and held it up. It didn’t look much like a key at that moment, but I knew what it could do and they didn’t.

“Keys would seem pretty masculine by nature,” Ben observed, studying the twisted wire thing in my hand.

I made a dry smirk at him. “Ha, ha.”

“I’m serious. Keys tend to be masculine objects.”

“Magic isn’t subject to concepts like political correctness,” Mara added.

“All right then,” I said, hefting the ball in one hand and the wire puzzle in the other. “Door, key. Let’s see if they work.”

“Just a second,” Quinton broke in, putting his hand over mine. “How big a door, or whatever, do you think that thing opens? Just from a physics standpoint, if the area or pressures aren’t the same on both sides, there’s going to be a mess in here when you open it up.”

“It’s magic,” Ben said. “Physics doesn’t enter into the equation.”

“Yes, it does,” Quinton argued. “So far, everything I’ve observed says that there are still working laws of physics, like the conservation of mass and fluid dynamics, in play with magic. So if you open an area of different pressure into this room, there’s going to be displacement of whatever fluid you have—be it air or water or giant Cthulhuan horrors from the slime dimension—until the pressure is equalized. Do you really want to risk psychotic killer jellyfish swimming around your head?”