Mob Rules (22 page)

I stared at him and swallowed hard. “That's what I learned from you. I already had the nuts and bolts. You showed me how to bring it all together.” I thought back to those days, when Rashan had trained me. It had been…intimate. Not
sexually, not exactly, but it had some of the same vibe to it. In a very real sense, Rashan had shared his juice with me.

“I'm afraid so. And more to the point, you're the only one with whom I've shared this most intimate aspect of my art. In other words, I suspect you're next, Dominica.”

“I think I would have been next anyway,” I said. Maybe I should have been shocked or angry, but I wasn't. Mostly I felt like I should have seen it earlier.

Rashan continued. “So Papa Danwe isn't after territory, at least not directly—he wants to take a shot at me. He knows he has no hope of succeeding with my magical defenses in place. The question is, why bring this spirit into it? Why bring my son into it?”

“Before we get to that, I need to ask you a question.” I looked up at him and he nodded. “What's it all about?”

“I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, Dominica.”

“All of it. The juice, the outfit—everything. I've been thinking about it since Jamal's body first turned up. It doesn't make any sense.”

“Why not?”

“There's too much juice. All the things we're into. We have Jamal's tags and others like them pumping juice from crack houses. We have gambling and prostitution rackets that are just cover for numerology and sex magic rituals. We're on the verge of war with Papa Danwe, and half of South Central is drowning in juice. Even without all of the outfit's operations, there's more juice running through this city than anyone could ever use.

“That's one reason it doesn't make any sense that Papa Danwe is trying to move on you. What would be the point? To get more juice? Everyone already has more than they know what to do with. I asked Case, and he said there's never been
a war in the forty years he's been with the outfit. There's no real conflict between the outfits because there's nothing scarce for them to fight over.”

Rashan nodded and smiled. “It wasn't always so, you understand. I came to L.A. in the twenties with the bootleggers. It was a different time. There was a lot less juice and a lot more violence.”

“But now there's plenty of juice.”

“Yes. Every year, every day, it gets stronger. I take it you realize there is far more magic in the world today than there used to be.”

“Yeah, I guess I knew things had been a little dry for a few hundred years.”

“Indeed. Some will try to tell you the Enlightenment was responsible for the decline of magic. This reverses cause and effect and ignores what was happening in the rest of the world, beyond the borders of Western Europe. Magic was already fading and men simply turned their attention to other pursuits.”

“But now it's coming back.”

“Yes. It isn't the first time this has happened. Magic is rather like global temperature. It follows a cycle, it waxes and wanes. Humans can influence the cycle, even catastrophically, but there isn't any ultimate cause of it. It's just the way it is.”

“So magic is on the rise again and that's why we have more juice than we can ever use.”

Rashan shook his head. “That's why we have more juice than we can use today. You asked what this is all about. Simply put, it's preparation for what's coming.”

“A war,” I said.

“Yes. And other instabilities, before it comes to that.”

“What kind of instabilities?”

“The kind you get when six billion human beings wake up to a world of magic, the unreal made real, things they can't possibly understand.”

I had a sudden vision of the Four Horsemen riding through the streets of L.A. It would be like riot weather in Inglewood, but on an apocalyptic scale.

“And then war,” I said. “Who is the enemy?”

“Monsters, of course. Things that can't exist in this world without magic, things human beings haven't had to face in hundreds or thousands of years. Things they don't even remember.”

“So we're the good guys?”

Rashan laughed softly and shook his head. “Our interests coincide with those of the rest of humanity, at least insofar as this is concerned. We're all threatened by what is to come. But we share their interests only by virtue of knowledge they do not possess, and there is an inescapable arrogance and elitism in that. We certainly can't expect them to thank us for it. They will see us as secretive criminals with powers that are forever beyond their reach, criminals who play by their own rules. That is how they have always viewed sorcerers. To them, we will be no different from the monsters.”

“But we aren't monsters. We're human, too.”

“Are we? In the biological sense, certainly. But we aren't part of their community. We exist at the margins of their society, and they're right—we don't play by their rules. The truth is, Dominica, whether we are or not we don't think of ourselves as merely human and we certainly don't act like it.”

“Speak for yourself,” I said angrily. “I'm not six thousand years old. I'm still human.”

“Really? Tell me something, Dominica, when was the
last time you considered the effects of your magic on other people?”

“What do you mean? I never use sorcery to hurt innocent people.” There it was again—the gangster's code.

“Not intentionally, I'm sure, and not with violence. Unfortunately it goes much deeper than that. When you confronted the vampire at the nightclub, did you consider the owners of the businesses you destroyed? I suspect it never even occurred to you. When you use your traffic spell to make better time on the freeway, do you think about the effect it has on others? What if your tampering with probability slows down an ambulance just the few seconds it would take to safely deliver a critical patient to the hospital? Even the most trivial magic you use for simple convenience can have life-and-death consequences.”

I didn't have anything to say. I kept my mouth shut and worked at flattening my teeth.

“You don't think about such things, because it would make your life impossible. You'd find yourself unable to cast even the simplest spell for fear of the unforeseen consequences for innocent people. You'd have difficulty getting out of bed in the morning.”

“Maybe I shouldn't. Maybe the juice does make us monsters.”

Rashan shrugged. “That's something you'll have to decide for yourself, Dominica. You wouldn't be the first to turn her back on her gift. But if you decide that you are a sorcerer, you will have to accept that you can never be fully human. You'll have to realize that you do not—you cannot—play by the same rules as those who do not share your abilities.”

“That's a pretty good description of a sociopath.”

“Yes, it is. And that's all we'd be if this thing of ours, this thing that sets us apart, were just in our minds.”

Neither one of us spoke for a long time. Everything Rashan had said was true. I didn't go out of my way to hurt people—I just didn't think about them at all. I shared space with them, but I wasn't really part of their world and they weren't part of mine. I lived in a secret world, a world of magic, and most of the time I forgot the mundane world was even there.

“I don't know what to do with this,” I said finally. “I don't want to be a monster, and I don't want to take the coward's way out and pretend to be just like everybody else.”

Rashan started to say something, but I waved him off. “No, don't. This is something I have to figure out for myself, boss, if I get the chance. But first I have to finish what I started.”

“I understand,” Rashan said.

“Tell me about these things that are coming, and I'll tell you what I have to do.”

As Rashan started telling me about my future, my mind kept wandering to my past. I thought about the things I had done, the things that had made me what I was. I remembered driving back to Santa Monica from the junkyard, and the way Moonie had looked at me. I'm a fucking monster, I'd said.

Sometimes the truth hurts.

I drew my forty-five as I walked into the kitchen. I set it on the counter and poured a glass of tequila. I drained it and poured another one. I tore loose the threads binding Honey's gate to the sports bottle and let the magic escape out the open window like a bad smell. I turned to look at the nest. There was no sign of Honey, but I knew she was in there, hiding in her cave.

“I trusted you,” I said. “I thought we were friends.”

Honey walked out through the waterfall, parting it like a curtain. The water didn't seem to touch her skin. Her wings drooped and blue and violet pixie dust fell from her like tears. She sat down on a rock by the lagoon and put her head in her hands.

“We are friends, Domino. You're my only friend in Arcadia.”

“You betrayed me.” I turned and picked up the gun from the counter. “I know, Honey.”

The piskie nodded. “They made me, Domino. I was ordered. I had no choice. If I hadn't asked you to make the gate,
they would have punished me.” She looked up at me, and her cheeks were wet. “My
family,
Domino.”

“The gate and what else, Honey? How far does it go? You were supposed to play along, right? Keep me focused on the vampire? Make sure I was buying the Evil Spirit act? And what about Mr. Clean? Did you both set me up?”

“No!” Honey shouted. “I didn't know any of it, Domino! The jinn didn't, either. I'm not saying he wouldn't betray you if he got the chance, but we didn't know.”

“How long have you known?”

“When you went to get the gun from the Burning Man, I went to see my family. They were waiting for me, in my home.”

“Who was waiting for you, Honey?”

She didn't answer for a long time. I guess some choices are hard to make. Finally she looked at me, and I saw resignation in her eyes.

“My king. In Arcadia, he is called Oberon.”

I'd known the answer before I asked the question. I'd probably known before I went to see Rashan. In the cop movies, the moment when the detective solves the mystery is always a decisive one. It hadn't been that way for me. It started as a question I couldn't answer and gradually became a suspicion. But despite everything that Rashan had told me, I probably couldn't have really owned it until I heard Honey say it.

I couldn't pretend there hadn't been plenty of clues—enough to get me close, if not all the way there. Even if there hadn't been, Honey should have been enough. The first thing she'd asked of me—the only thing she'd ever asked of me—was to help her cross over to my world, to Arcadia. She told me the fairies were born of a different world, a world in the Beyond.
She told me they longed for this world and its magic. They needed that magic, that juice, to survive here.

I'd been so focused on the Evil Spirit act, on my obsession with saving Adan, I hadn't connected the dots. I wanted to be the white knight riding to the rescue, right out of a fairy tale. I should have remembered that in
real
fairy tales, the white knight is always a sucker.

“Adan is a changeling,” I said.

“Yes,” Honey said. “He's a shapeshifter. He can be anyone or anything he wants, and he's a born liar. That's his glamour. But you almost destroyed their whole plan when you brought Jamal back. King Oberon didn't expect that. The changeling had to improvise all that stuff about the evil spirit when he realized his part in the murders had been revealed.”

“It was a good act,” I said. “Good enough for me, anyway. The lie really wasn't that far from the truth. The killer was a spirit from the Beyond. It used magic from that place, magic I couldn't see. The only question was what kind of spirit from the Beyond? Well, the kind that didn't like the railroad spikes Fred used to crucify Jamal—cold-iron railroad spikes. The kind of spirit with a preference for titanium over steel in kitchen cutlery. The kind that seemed, just for a moment, to sniff out your potion when I dosed his drink with it.”

“It doesn't seem like much to go on.”

I scowled. I didn't think Honey was really in a position to question my investigative technique—or lack of it. “More than anything, it was the juice. This whole thing was always about the juice. Papa Danwe doesn't need Rashan's territory. Neither would a spirit that's just looking for a vacation home in the mortal world. It had to be something that needed a lot more magic—needed it just to exist in this world. From there,
the details pointed to your people. Rashan just confirmed my suspicions.”

Honey shook her head. “I didn't even know about the conspiracy, and I gave it away.”

“Yeah, I guess you did,” I said. “So I'm next, right?”

Honey hesitated before answering. “I'm not sure, but I think he would have killed you already if he didn't need you. He needs your juice, Domino.”

“And he's the assassin? Once he has the juice he needs, he's going to kill Rashan?”

“No, he can't. Remember, he's not a sorcerer. He can't use the juice himself.”

“I guess that makes sense. If he could do it, he wouldn't need the soul jar. His job is to get the juice and give it to the assassin, and then help the assassin get close to Rashan. Papa Danwe. That's the only reason they really needed him.”

Honey shook her head. “They needed him to build the gate, too.”

“In Inglewood. The gate I was so sure was the World's Largest Magic Wand.”

“Yeah, but Domino, it's actually in Hawthorne.”

“So what? It's all Inglewood to me.”

“In the old days, hawthorn trees were doorways between Avalon and Arcadia.”

“What the fuck? Is that important?”

“No, King Oberon just thinks it's funny.”

“Yeah, I can't stop laughing.” I shook my head. “The one thing I don't understand is why use sorcery at all? If Oberon wants to take down Rashan, why not just nuke him with
fairy
magic?”

“They know each other, Domino. I think they've known each other a really long time. They aren't friends, obviously.
I think your boss has defenses against glamour, but that's not the only reason. There are stories. It's said the last time they faced each other there was a treaty, and King Oberon promised to never again use his magic against the sorcerer.”

“Seems like your king broke that promise when he sent the changeling after him.”

Honey shrugged. “I guess it depends on what his definition of ‘his magic' is.”

“He's worse than a fucking politician.” I wondered why Rashan hadn't bothered to mention any of this. Then again, I'd learned not to waste too much time on that kind of wondering. “He
is
a politician, Domino. A really good one.”

“Well, he hasn't changed my opinion of them much.”

“So what about us?” Honey was looking at the gun in my hand. I put it back in its holster.

“I guess I probably won't shoot you.”

“Maybe I deserve it. I'd rather die than betray you.” She started crying, and I didn't like hearing it. “Maybe that sounds stupid, but it's really true. I'll do anything if you can just forgive me and we can still be friends.”

“Take a shower with me?”

The crying stopped, and Honey blushed.

“Just kidding,” I said. “But I'll think about it.” I winked at her and smiled.

Honey laughed and shook her head.

“The thing is, Honey, I don't have many friends in Arcadia, either.” I swallowed hard. “And I betrayed you, too. When we first met, I used a spell to read your mind.”

“What did you see?”

“Enough to know you're not to blame for any of this.
Enough to know I'd be lucky to have a friend like you. And I'm sorry.”

Honey started crying again, but this was a different sound, one I could live with. “Thank you, Domino,” she whispered.

I nodded. “Okay, just two more things. What's Adan planning to do with your gate, and what are we going to do about your family?”

The piskie smiled, and there was an evil gleam in her eye.

 

Adan arrived at my condo right on time. I buzzed him up and went to meet him at the door. When I opened it, he was standing there wearing faded jeans and a snug white T-shirt, with a sports bag slung over his shoulder. It was the kind of unremarkable image—just a guy standing in a hallway—that nevertheless breaks over a girl and pulls her in, making her feel that all is right with the world. It made me think of razor blades and sleeping pills.

I let him in and he gave me a quick kiss. He set the bag by the couch and went into the kitchen to fix us some drinks. I sat down on the sofa to wait. I'd like to say I didn't feel anything, but I guess I'm not that tough. I hurt like hell, and just like in the Between, I couldn't tell exactly where the pain was coming from.

Adan came out of the kitchen with two glasses and a bottle of tequila. He smiled at me. I looked at him, and for a moment, he was all I'd ever wanted. He smiled again and came to me.

When he reached the middle of the living room, he crossed the circle I'd laid down with saltwater. I'd been a little apprehensive about it, but I followed Honey's directions to the
letter. The changeling never even noticed, never sensed the trap until it was much too late. I tapped the ley line running under my building and channeled it into the circle.

When the circle closed, Adan noticed. His eyes narrowed and the beginnings of a snarl tugged at his mouth, but he quickly controlled it. He kept walking and a few steps brought him up against the other side of the circle. He bumped into the magical barrier and stepped back. He looked confused. It was very convincing.

“Domino, what's going on? There's an invisible wall in your living room!”

I considered playing along, letting him have his moment. I decided I had better things to do.

I picked up his sports bag. I set it on my lap, unzipped it and pulled out the soul jar. Its magic was strong, old and black. Holding it was like telling a secret.

“What is that? I didn't put that thing in my bag. Domino, strange things have been happening to me. You'll probably think I'm crazy, but…I think something is inside me. I think maybe I'm possessed. Is that possible? Is this… Can you help me?”

“Yeah, I can help you, Adan. But I won't lie to you. It's gonna sting a little bit.”

Right on cue, Adan called out in the lilting pre-Celtic language of his people. The spatial fabric of my living room stretched and thinned, and two fey warriors came through the gate. They had long, perfectly straight, silken hair, and their features were far too fine and sharp to be human. They were very tall, and their bodies were heroin-chic thin but bound in corded muscle that made them look dangerous rather than delicate. They were dressed more like street kids than elf lords,
with battered jeans, T-shirts and trench coats. They held long, straight swords like they meant to use them.

While impressive, all of this was little more than a fleeting image. As soon as the fairies stepped through the gate, they were bound to Honey's nest on the kitchen table. The audible pops as they disappeared were followed by two tiny splashes as the miniaturized elf warriors were dropped unceremoniously into Honey's lagoon. That had been the piskie's idea.

Adan screamed and threw himself at the magical barrier, clawing at it like a wild animal at the bars of its cage. He stilled himself quickly, though, and his look of rage and madness was replaced by one of quiet terror when he saw what I was doing.

I got up from the couch and knelt on the floor before the circle. I set the soul jar in front of me and placed my hand on the lid. Then I lifted my head and locked eyes with Adan. To his credit, I suppose, he didn't beg for his life. He stared back at me defiantly, but the fear still gnawed at the edge of whatever sanity he'd been given when he was made.

“It doesn't matter anymore, lover,” he said, his voice a harsh whisper. “You can't change what is happening. The Shining Host of the Seelie Court is coming, and this world will have a new king.”

I nodded. “You're probably right. Your death probably wouldn't serve anything. It won't bring back the guys you killed.”

“I can
be
him, Domino. I can be anything you want.” The words were soft and seductive.

“So this is really just payback.”

I tapped the line and poured juice into the circle and the soul jar. “And your very flesh shall be a great poem,” I said. It was more power than I'd ever wielded. I didn't really tap the
ley line—I just opened myself to it. The tidal wave of power broke over me, and for a moment I feared the magic would unmake me. The juice gave birth to the ritual, and the ritual slouched toward Adan like a wolf taking a helpless lamb. I couldn't do it exactly the same way the changeling had. The juice was different, and so was the spell. The soul jar came as advertised, though.

When I removed the lid, a black cloud, like thousands of tiny flies, swarmed out of the jar. An insectile droning filled the room, but there were no real insects in the swarm. They were too indistinct, shapeless, like figments of void suspended in the air.

Adan fought. The circle prevented him from using his magic against me, but he could still use it to protect himself. He began to sing in that musical tongue, and a silver glow, like moonlight, surrounded him and held the dark swarm at bay. The song was beautiful, and so was the monster.

His form began to change, slowly at first, but then faster and faster. He was a child, perhaps three years old, Adan as a little boy with curly hair and eyes large enough to swallow the world. He was something ancient and glorious, with leaves and vines woven through the long, straight hair of the elf lords, crowned with the antlers of a great stag. He was an old woman and a young mother, a blood-drenched warrior and a shining prince.

The silver glow pulsed and pressed against the swarm, and the changeling's magic warred with my own. The ritual broke against Adan's will like surf against the rocks, and it retreated, flowing into me, immersing me in juice as cold as space.