Left Hand Magic (31 page)
Authors: Nancy A. Collins
“Madame Ruby, on behalf of the royal family, I would like to extend my sincerest condolences on the loss of your husband,” Hexe said softly, handing her the rock from his garden.
“Thank you, Serenity,” she whispered, cupping it in her hands as if it were a precious stone.
The pocket doors slowly rumbled open, pushed apart by invisible hands, revealing a large living space that seemed to serve as both parlor and bedroom. The far wall was composed of tall windows that looked out onto Pearl Street. A wind chime fashioned from bits of crystal hung from one of them, advertising Ruby’s job as a shaper of scrying stones. One side of the room had been lofted to create a sleeping platform, with an overstuffed divan wedged underneath. On the opposite wall was a modest fireplace set with green tiles. Judging from the other chunks of rock that lined the antique oak mantelpiece, we weren’t the first to come pay our respects.
“When is the funeral?” Hexe asked.
“It’s scheduled three days from now,” she replied. “It would have been sooner, but I couldn’t afford the barge to Necropolis until this afternoon. Your uncle was kind enough to step forward and pay the ferryman on my behalf.”
“That was . . . considerate of him,” Hexe said carefully.
“Please excuse my ignorance,” I interjected, “but wasn’t Jarl an alchemist? Didn’t that mean he could create his own gold?”
“That is a common misunderstanding when it comes to alchemy,” Ruby said with a sad smile. “People wonder why most alchemists aren’t rich. They don’t realize it requires a ton of lead to create a quarter ounce of gold. Besides, Jarl’s gift didn’t lie in transmutation of base metals. He specialized in producing the rare ingredients used in various potions, and dabbled in panacea and elixir vitae. His clients were other Kymerans—that’s why he didn’t bother setting up shop in the Rookery.”
“Madame Ruby, I am truly sorry to intrude upon you at this time, but it’s very important that I ask you a few questions about your husband’s business.”
“That’s all right, Serenity.” She smiled wanly. “If not for the aid you and Ms. Eresby rendered that night, Jarl would have died on the street. Ask me whatever questions you need to, and I’ll do my best to answer them.”
“Did your husband happen to know the favor broker Quid?”
“Yes, they knew each other,” Ruby replied, nodding her head. “In fact, Jarl had just repaid his favor to him.”
Hexe and I exchanged knowing looks. The connection between the others and the alchemist was finally becoming clear. “How so?”
“Jarl told me he could discharge the favor he owed Quid by drawing up blueprints for a piece of alchemical equipment for one of his clients.”
“Did Jarl say anything about what he was working on?” Ruby shook her head. “You know the code. ‘No questions asked; no stories told.’”
“Yes, but that oath died with Quid,” Hexe said gently.
“I really don’t have much information,” she replied. “But I do remember him being uncomfortable about the project. He said there was no sane reason for the device to be the size the client wanted.”
“Do you have any idea what sort of apparatus he might have been working on?”
“No, but I
did
accidentally walk in on him while he was at his worktable,” she said, gesturing to the covered bathtub. “He rolled the blueprint up, so I couldn’t get a good look. But whatever it was, it had a dragon’s head.”
did
accidentally walk in on him while he was at his worktable,” she said, gesturing to the covered bathtub. “He rolled the blueprint up, so I couldn’t get a good look. But whatever it was, it had a dragon’s head.”
“That freaky still I built for Quid’s client—that
has
to be the thing Jarl designed,” I said excitedly as we left the tenement building. “It makes sense. It was made out of copper, and it had a dragon’s head and a lion’s feet. That’s why the dragon I saw in the vision was copper. It still doesn’t explain why Jarl was feeding it eggs, though.”
has
to be the thing Jarl designed,” I said excitedly as we left the tenement building. “It makes sense. It was made out of copper, and it had a dragon’s head and a lion’s feet. That’s why the dragon I saw in the vision was copper. It still doesn’t explain why Jarl was feeding it eggs, though.”
“Eggs are a symbol of life, of fertility,” Hexe mused aloud, as we headed back in the direction of the boardinghouse. “They also represent creative potential. But the language of visions isn’t the same as dreams. What you saw could have any number of interpretations. When we get back to the house, I’ll use one of the scrying stones to look into your past. If I can get a glimpse of the ‘freaky still’ you constructed, maybe I can figure out its purpose, and how it’s related to everything that’s happened in the last week or so.”
“Are you going to call Captain Horn and tell him what we’ve learned?” I asked.
“He’s far more likely to take murder clues revealed in dreams seriously than your average police officer, but I suspect he’ll still need something closer to hard evidence to take action,” Hexe pointed out. “But at least he will be able to reopen the investigations into Gus and Bayard’s deaths. Someone went out of their way to make them seem unrelated, and I want to know why.”
As we turned the corner onto Beekman Street, a man suddenly stepped out of a shadowy doorway, blocking our path. He was dressed all in black, from his hoodie jacket to his steel-toed boots. As he raised a lit cigarette to his lips, I could see that his hand had five fingers.
“What do you think you’re doing with one of our women, Kymie?” the stranger growled.
“I’m not ‘your’ woman, asshole!” I snapped. “Who do you think you are to talk to us like that?”
“I am Cain, first among the Sons of Adam,” he replied, pushing back the hood to reveal his face. “And my brothers and I plan to teach this Kymie bastard to keep his filthy hands off human women.”
As Hexe put himself between me and the terrorist leader, I saw two more figures step out of the shadows behind us. They were dressed identically to Cain, save for the black ski masks hiding their faces, and all I could see were their eyes, which seemed to shine like those of wild animals. As they hefted their weapons, I saw Quid’s dried blood smeared along the tips and barrels of the bats.
Hexe spoke in Kymeran, raising his right hand to cast a stasis spell, like the one he’d used during the riot. There was a quick burst of light, like that of a flash camera, but instead of becoming a living statue, Cain merely laughed and blew a plume of cigarette smoke into Hexe’s face.
“Better check on lover boy,” he sneered. “I don’t think he’s all there.”
I touched Hexe’s forearm and he abruptly pitched backward on his heels, right hand still upraised. He was as immobile as a department-store mannequin, and about as easy to maneuver as I lowered him to the pavement.
“What did you do to him, you chuffer?” I demanded, cradling Hexe’s head in my lap.
“Nothing that he wasn’t trying to do to me first,” Cain chuckled. The amusement quickly disappeared from his face and he grabbed me by the hair, yanking me back onto my feet. “So much for your warlock fuck-buddy. You’re going to be partying with
us
now, bitch. We’ll show you how
real
men do things.” He tightened his grip on my hair until it felt as if my scalp was being torn free of my skull. As Cain brought his face close to mine, I could see his hair was going gray at the temples, although his features seemed oddly smooth and unlined, as if he had never laughed, frowned, or cried throughout his life. In strange counterbalance, his eyes burned with a focused energy composed of equal parts malice, exhilaration, and lust. It was like looking at someone wearing a mask.
us
now, bitch. We’ll show you how
real
men do things.” He tightened his grip on my hair until it felt as if my scalp was being torn free of my skull. As Cain brought his face close to mine, I could see his hair was going gray at the temples, although his features seemed oddly smooth and unlined, as if he had never laughed, frowned, or cried throughout his life. In strange counterbalance, his eyes burned with a focused energy composed of equal parts malice, exhilaration, and lust. It was like looking at someone wearing a mask.
“I wanted to taste you from the moment I first saw you,” Cain whispered hoarsely. “I could have placed you under a come-hither anytime I wanted, and neither you nor your precious warlock prince would have had a clue. But I did not want to pollute myself through fornication. However, that is not a concern with
this
body. . . .”
this
body. . . .”
Suddenly his mouth was on mine, his tongue plunging down my throat. It was strangely cold, more like a piece of dead meat than a living thing, and it writhed like a slug. Summoning all my strength, I raked the side of his face with my fingernails hard enough to draw blood. He bellowed in pain and let go of my hair. I staggered backward, wiping my mouth in disgust on the back of my arm, only to be punched in the pit of the stomach by one of his ski-masked “brothers.” I dropped to my knees, gasping like a landed fish on the bottom of a rowboat.
“I should have expected as much from a chuffing race traitor,” Cain growled. Blood seeped from four deep gouges on the right side of his face. “You could have had some fun, but now you’re going to get the same as your boyfriend.”
He motioned to his confederates, who began to attack Hexe’s prone body, still frozen in stasis, kicking him with their steel-toed boots and clubbing him with their bats.
“Leave him alone!” I shouted at his attackers as I struggled back to my feet. I launched myself onto the one closest to me, punching and kicking as hard as I could as I tried to wrench the bat from his hands. He didn’t seem to notice me at all until I made a grab for his ski mask, and then he turned and punched me. I shook my head to clear it, spat out a mouthful of blood, and leaped right back in again. The second time I managed to yank the bat out of the bastard’s hands.
“Get rid of her!” Cain snapped angrily.
The faceless SOA member lunged at me with the quickness of a cobra strike, grabbing me by the throat. I clawed at his hands, trying to pull his fingers away from my trachea, but his grip was like iron. As he strangled me, I looked into the eyes behind the mask and saw—nothing. There was no hate, no anger, no fear, not even annoyance. Instead his gaze was as blank as that of a cow chewing its cud. Suddenly a beer bottle came flying through the air and bounced off my attacker’s head. The SOA member let go of my throat and staggered backward, giving me time to run to the dozen Wee Folk gathered across the street. I was never so happy to see a bunch of pissed-off, drunken leprechauns in my life.
“Oi! Leave the lassie be, nump!” Seamus O’Fae barked as he shouldered his way to the head of the pack. “You bastards picked the wrong neighborhood to pull this shite in!”
Another leprechaun, whom I recognized as Tullamore, stepped forward. “Let me handle this, Seamus! I’ll teach these blackguards to come witch-bashing in our neck of Golgotham!” He pointed his shillelagh at Cain.
“May you feast on hogwash and sleep in filth; may you root with your nose as the farmer till’th!”
“May you feast on hogwash and sleep in filth; may you root with your nose as the farmer till’th!”
There was another flash of light, and suddenly there was no more Tullamore. In his place was a tiny piglet dressed in a green vest and breeches, frantically running around in circles in the middle of the street, squealing at the top of its lungs.
“The buggers are wearing reflectors, boyos!” Seamus shouted, brandishing his shillelagh. “We’re gonna have to settle this
bataireacht
style!”
bataireacht
style!”
With voices united in a shared battle cry of
“Faugh a Ballagh!”
the leprechauns rushed to meet their foe. The masked Sons of Adam found themselves suddenly overwhelmed by a swarm of angry redheaded men the size of infants, armed with weighted cudgels. The thugs tried to swat them with their larger baseball bats, but the little men in green were too fast for them.
“Faugh a Ballagh!”
the leprechauns rushed to meet their foe. The masked Sons of Adam found themselves suddenly overwhelmed by a swarm of angry redheaded men the size of infants, armed with weighted cudgels. The thugs tried to swat them with their larger baseball bats, but the little men in green were too fast for them.
I was so fascinated by the sight of the Sons of Adam disappearing under a living carpet of leprechauns thumping away with their shillelaghs for all they were worth, I lost track of Cain—until I was struck from behind with a baseball bat.
I rolled over and saw, through a bloodred haze, Cain looming over me. “You should have listened when I told you to leave Golgotham!” he spat as he raised the aluminum bat over his head.
Suddenly the weapon was yanked from his grasp as if pulled by an invisible wire. It flew through the air—to land in Hexe’s right hand. He stood slouched against a nearby wall, as bruised and bloodied as a prizefighter. “Get away from her!” he yelled, raising the bat for emphasis. “Don’t you
dare
touch her again!”
dare
touch her again!”
Faced with an unfrozen Hexe and a small army of hopping-mad leprechauns, Cain turned and fled. His fellow Sons of Adam frantically shook off their diminutive attackers and moved to follow their leader. The first of the two managed to escape fairly quickly, but the second had trouble freeing himself from Seamus O’Fae, who was riding his shoulders piggyback while banging on his skull like a cobbler.
The minute his “brothers” were no longer in sight, the Son of Adam began to wail, more like an animal in pain than any sound a human would make, and run in circles, clawing at his pint-sized tormentor, before dashing in the direction of Pearl Street. Seamus, realizing the terrorist was running into traffic, jumped free seconds before he darted out in front of a Teamster hauling a heavy cart.
The Clydesdale-sized centaur instinctively reared onto his hindquarters, striking at the air with his forelegs. The Son of Adam fell to the cobblestones, his head split open by the Teamster’s flailing hooves.
“It was an accident! I swear!” the burly centaur exclaimed as we gathered around the dead body. “He ran right in front of me!”
I turned to Seamus O’Fae, who was dusting himself off. “Thank you,” I said, offering my hand to the leprechaun. “I know I didn’t get off on the best foot with your people, so I appreciate that you came to my rescue.”
“As far as I’m concerned, lassie, yer one of us,” Seamus replied as he shook my hand. “Ye’ve got brass, girl. Everyone knows how Esau toyed with ye at the rally.”
“They do?” I winced.
“Aye. And they also know ye didn’t pack yer bags and move out of Golgotham the first chance ye got. Not many folk—human or otherwise—would have the guts to burn out the eye of an Infernal Knight, neither. We could use a few more citizens with yer gumption, if ye ask me. Besides, I wasn’t going to stand by and let those numps do in a fellow Golgothamite, if I could help it.
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