Mob Rules (27 page)

I knew Papa Danwe could tap more juice than I could in this place. In fact, I noticed immediately that our juice was running pretty thin. I also discovered in that first exchange that he was faster than I was. A lot faster. I had two things going for me, and I'd have been toast without either of them. The first was Honey and the second was the fairy magic I'd stolen from the changeling.

The Haitian had warded himself against fairy magic. I wasn't sure how he'd arranged it, but it seemed like a prudent thing to do given what he'd been up to. He'd cut a deal with the Seelie Court, but in the underworld any deal can go wrong. So the bad news was that Papa Danwe was protected. If he hadn't been, Honey and I could have swatted him around like two cats playing with a ball of yarn. The good news was that his protections against fairy magic weren't nearly as good as his defenses against sorcery.

I poured all the juice I could pull up from our tags below
into the bare minimum of static defenses that would prevent the Haitian's attacks from instantly reducing me to meat pudding. Whenever I got a second to go on the offensive, I picked away at his defenses, just as I'd been defusing the wards on the gate machinery.

That's what I was doing, but none of it was apparent to the naked eye. It
looked
like I was just getting my ass kicked. Even this was an advantage, though, because the sorcerer didn't know what I was doing, either. He was protected, but he didn't have any fairy magic of his own.

Papa Danwe's initial assault knocked me from my perch on the platform, and I tumbled to the roof of the factory some twenty feet below. He came after me like a seagull swooping in for a bread crumb on the pier. His attacks were relentless, pummeling me with spell after spell, knocking me from one side of the roof to the other. Honey did what she could, lighting him up with ineffective glamours and wailing away at him with her tiny sword. It was enough to occasionally distract the sorcerer, and I seized each opportunity to pull loose one more thread.

In the end, I just ran out of juice before Papa Danwe ran out of protections. It got harder and harder to keep my defenses up, until finally, I couldn't keep them up at all. The Haitian saw the moment when it came. He grinned evilly, picking me up with a telekinesis spell, lifting me slowly into the air about level with the sphere at the top of the tower. Then he slammed me down into the rooftop with all the strength he could muster.

I managed to get my legs under me before I hit. They shattered on impact, but better them than my back or neck. My body was completely numb from all the juice I'd been flowing,
so there wasn't any pain. I levered myself up on one arm and tried to spin one last spell, but I was dry. I was done.

Honey screamed and dive-bombed the sorcerer, but he intercepted her with a writhing bolt of electricity that arced from his outstretched hand. The force of the spell sent the piskie cartwheeling through the air over the edge of the building, and she plummeted, smoking, to the ground below.

Papa Danwe was in the mood to talk some more. He hobbled forward and stopped about ten feet away. “I been looking forward to tasting your juice,” he said, licking his cracked lips. It was pornographic, and my stomach turned. “I heard so much about you, that you become so strong.” He spat. “I heard wrong. You are weak. You have nothing for me.” He cupped his hands before him and they began to fill with baleful juice that sizzled like acid. He started giggling as he came for me.

Then a ball of liquid fire burst over his head and poured down on him, scouring the thin, dry flesh from the back of his skull and one side of his face. It would have devoured him completely, but he reacted quickly, extinguishing the fire with protective magic. He turned slowly and I followed his gaze to see Terrence Cole's wide head poking through the hole in the roof. Papa Danwe roared in pain and fury and unloaded on his erstwhile lieutenant.

Terrence didn't run. He came all the way out onto the roof and pushed forward, knocking aside his boss's attacks and pummeling the sorcerer with his own. He took one step at a time, bent forward as if battling a gale-force wind.

I reached out and untangled the last knotted threads that protected Papa Danwe from what I could do to him. When his defenses had burned away into the ether, I poured out the fairy magic inside me and turned him into a toad.

Terrence stopped and stared. I collapsed onto the roof and
rolled over on my back, staring up at the starless, electric-orange L.A. sky. Terrence started laughing. I tried to join in but I didn't have it in me.

After a while, Terrence's laughter subsided. “What you want me to do with the frog, Domino?” he asked. I turned my head and looked over at him. He'd caught the toad and was holding it up, peering at it curiously. It struggled in his wide hands and its mouth opened and closed spasmodically.

“Squeeze the motherfucker,” I said, and Terrence did.

 

“Domino?” I opened my eyes and saw Honey hovering over me. I was still lying on the roof, and Terrence had covered me with his jacket. The juice buzz was gone, and the pain was welling up from my legs like bile in my gullet.

“Honey, I thought you were dead.” She was burned, but it didn't look like anything her healing magic couldn't handle. “I guess you're pretty hard to kill.”

“Warrior-princess,” she said, and smiled. “Just like you, Domino.”

Honey was able to finish dismantling the wards on the crystal sphere without my help. It was a good thing, too, because it took whatever reserves I had just to stay conscious.

With the wards down, the destruction of the gate was a little anticlimactic. Amy Chen hit the sphere with an entropy spell and it just came apart, melting like an ice sculpture in summer. She even captured some of the free juice and poured it into me, returning my body to blessed numbness.

All of them had survived—all except Frank Seville. I'd never gotten to know the man very well, and now I regretted it. I remembered what Vernon Case had told me, that Frank had brought Rick Macy into the outfit. I wondered what else
he had done for us over the years. I knew what he'd done at the end.

Amy got on her cell and called Chavez to give him the news and request an extraction. I certainly wasn't going to be walking back to Crenshaw. She started issuing orders and then fell silent. Amy wasn't one for emotional displays, but she didn't look happy. Finally she handed the phone to me.

“You'd better hear this for yourself,” she said.

I took the phone. “What is it, Chavez? The gate is down, the deed is done and I'm all fucked up. Send some guys out here to give us a ride back to town.”

“They're already on the way, Domino, but that's not the problem.”

“Spit it out, Chavez, or I'm likely to pass out before you get the chance.”

“Reports have been coming in for the last hour,
chola.
Gates are opening all over South Central.”

Honey's healing magic had me up and limping around with a cane within a couple days. I'd taken Papa Danwe's walking stick. The black wood was carved into the likeness of a cobra twining around the shaft, and its hooded head worked in silver formed the pommel. The stick had some juice, and I thought it was the least he could do.

A guerilla war had broken out all over South Central L.A. Our battle plan had become more of a counterinsurgency operation since the other gates opened, and near as I could tell, we were losing. I'd become so fixated on the Hawthorne gate that I'd never really considered the possibility of others. It had been an obvious, terrible mistake. It was even worse, because I'd known they didn't have to be huge, permanent structures like the one in Hawthorne. I had one of them tied off to a sports bottle in my kitchen.

In hindsight, it seemed a perfect match for King Oberon's way of thinking. Give your enemy a big shiny to focus on, and he won't even notice anything else you're doing. He'd been playing Three Card Monty with me since this whole thing started. I was getting hustled.

We'd lost a lot of soldiers in the past thirty-six hours or so. Our guys had no real protection against fairy magic, so even when we could find the sidhe and pick a fight, it usually ended the same way. I'd seen enough. The changeling had been right—King Oberon was coming, and there wasn't a hell of a lot I could do about it.

Our efforts hadn't been a total failure. It was looking like the Seelie Court would end up controlling most of Papa Danwe's former territory, but at least they wouldn't have ours. Not yet. And with a little time, I might be able to give my outfit the defenses they needed to make it a fair fight.

It could have been worse, but it still wasn't good. I couldn't see the future like my mother, but what I could see didn't look all that bright. King Oberon would bring in more and more of his sidhe, consolidating his power in Inglewood and Watts and slowly expanding from there. We'd be mired in a guerilla war for months, maybe years. That's what King Oberon had been trying to avoid. By decapitating our outfit, he'd have been able to move in and fill the power vacuum while seizing the largest territory and the deepest juice supply in L.A. Instead, he'd gotten a quagmire, but it was a quagmire he'd probably win, eventually.

I slammed my fists down on the conference table. I crumpled the map in my hands and swept it aside. I looked at Chavez, who had a cell phone glued to each ear, taking reports and issuing orders to the front. I looked at Amy Chen and Ismail Akeem, who were taking a breather and licking their wounds before heading back out to the war. Sonny Kim and Ilya Zunin were still out there somewhere. They'd brought in their outfits with us, as promised, and they were dying as fast as we were. Even Anton was in the trenches, doing what he could. I got up and headed for the door.

“Where are you going, boss?” Chavez asked, momentarily pulling himself away from the cell phones.

“China,” I said, and walked out.

 

When I got outside, two men were standing by my Lincoln. Black suits, black ties, white shirts, sunglasses. One was medium height and build with a shaved head and a ruggedly handsome face. The other was larger, with close-cropped black hair, a square jaw and a dimple in his chin. The guy with the dimple was leaning against the trunk of my car.

“You should see the last guy who leaned on my car,” I said as I limped up to them. His expression didn't change, but he stepped away from the Lincoln.

The bald guy came forward and flashed an ID at me. “Ms. Riley, I'm Agent Lowell and this is Agent Granato. We're with the Department of Homeland Security. Special Threat Assessment Group.”

I peered at the ID and then looked at him. “Stag? Really? Are you guys serious?”

Lowell, the bald guy, flinched a little, but Chin Dimple didn't seem to get the joke. “Ms. Riley, we'd like to talk to you about the recent…disturbances…in this part of Los Angeles.”

“What disturbances? It's always like this. The tourists mostly stay in Anaheim.” I looked at the guys. They were both sorcerers, and both had a fair amount of juice. By the looks of him, Lowell could have been one of my big hitters.

“Ms. Riley, we know of your associations, and we know what's happening here. It's our job to evaluate the MIE, gather intelligence and recommend an appropriate response.”

He was doing the Mr. Clean thing to me, so I just looked at
him. He didn't seem to know what I was waiting for, though, so I finally had to ask the question. “What's an MIE?”

“Major Incursion Event,” Granato answered. “Our concern is the national security of the United States. And the welfare of its citizens, of course,” he added, somewhat belatedly.

I nodded. “Well, what do you want from me?”

Agent Lowell answered. “Ms. Riley, the U.S. government—part of it, anyway—is aware that we're moving into a period of global instability. We're aware that we can't stop it. Our goal is to manage the transition as effectively as possible.”

“Hope they pay you well for that.”

Lowell shrugged. “It's a government job. Ms. Riley, are you aware of the role the Mafia played during World War II?”

“Yeah, I guess. They were recruited by the government to do their part for the war effort—use their influence, help gather intelligence, mostly in Italy.”

“That's right,” Agent Lowell agreed. “We'd like you to do the same.”

“You guys have some juice,” I said. “I guess the government can handle it.” Maybe the outfit wouldn't have to save the world after all.

Lowell looked at Granato and then back at me. “Ms. Riley, as far as we know, Agent Granato and myself are the only two practicing sorcerers in the federal government. Our organization has compiled a great deal of information, but as you are aware, knowledge is not enough.”

So much for the cavalry riding to the rescue. “Let's say I'm interested. What do I get out of this?”

Agent Granato scowled. “You get a chance to serve your country in a time of crisis. Isn't that enough, Riley?”

“Serving my country and serving my government—or part of it—isn't necessarily the same thing.”

“I understand, Ms. Riley,” Lowell said. “Uncle Sam's reputation isn't what it used to be.”

I shrugged. “Everyone's got a crazy uncle in the family.”

“Understand this, though. The government isn't some monolithic entity that speaks with one voice and acts with one hand. It's just people—people with different ideas, making difficult decisions that have pretty serious consequences. They need good information, good advice. It's our job to give it to them, and you can help with that. If they don't get it, bad decisions get made and really bad things happen.”

I remembered what Rashan had told me, and an image of a mushroom cloud over Los Angeles sprung into my head.

“And of course,” said Lowell, “we could ensure that your business operations are not a priority for the federal government.”

“Done,” I said. “But I'm not going to start voting Republican.”

Agent Lowell laughed. “That won't be necessary, Ms. Riley. For now, we'd just like to know how this thing is going to go. Can you contain this MIE?”

“I don't know. But I'm about to find out.”

 

When I got back to my condo, I pulled up a chair at the kitchen table. The tiny sidhe warriors were sitting at the edge of the lagoon. One of them was nibbling on a fruit, and the other seemed to be napping.

“Hey guys,” I said.

“What do you want?” asked the one with the fruit. His voice sounded like one of the Chipmunks. The other opened an eye and looked at me.

“I want to arrange a sit-down with your boss. Thought y'all might be able to help me with that.”

“A sit-down?”

“Yeah, you know, a parley. Negotiations.”

Sleepy sat upright. “You would have to free us from this prison,” he said. “We cannot contact our king from this place.”

“I could do that,” I said, “if you delivered the message for me. Just one of you, though. The other one has to stay in the nest.”

Sleepy nodded and Fruity scowled. I had a pretty good idea who was staying. “I am Queen Titania's nephew, and I have rank,” Sleepy said. “I will be your messenger.”

I let the threads binding the elf to the nest unravel, and Sleepy appeared before me in the kitchen. He bowed. “On my honor, my lady, I will return when I have delivered your message to my king.”

“Yeah, okay, sounds good. See you later.”

The sidhe warrior strode proudly into my living room, stepped through the gate and was gone.

 

We met in the Between, at Temple Emanuel in Beverly Hills. Churches are neutral ground in the underworld, just like in
Highlander.
Whether in the physical world or the Between, you can't tap any juice in a consecrated place. Really, it works just like our thing. Churches are juice boxes—powerful ones—but someone else's lips are on the straw. I'd been angling for a Catholic church, but the sidhe insisted on something non-Christian. Something about old grudges.

The king's entourage stood in orderly ranks around the outside of the building. I had my big hitters with me, and I left them outside, too, when I went into the temple.

King Oberon was sitting alone in a pew toward the front. He stood as I approached and we shook hands. He looked
absurdly young, maybe twenty, tops. Straight, luxurious auburn hair cascaded down his back, nearly to his waist, and his skin looked like it had been lovingly crafted from flawless porcelain. His body was slender and perfectly proportioned, and he was wearing an exquisite bespoke suit the color of pearls. He was the kind of beautiful boy that would be really popular in prison.

“Ms. Riley, thank you for arranging this meeting. I am honored.” He smiled, and his face lit up like a child's on Christmas morning. It made you want to love him. It made you want to worship him. It made me want to punch him in the mouth.

“Thank you, uh, Your Highness. I wasn't sure you'd agree. It seems like this might have been worth a shot before you took the assassination angle.” Oberon smiled and nodded, and we sat down.

“In hindsight, it was a bit of a miscalculation. I admit it. But you must remember, Ms. Riley, when I set this plan in motion, you were just a tomboy using your magic to steal cigarettes at the convenience store.”

“What's that got to do with anything? You could have had a sit-down with Rashan. Instead, you decided to kill him and take his place.”

“I had reason, based on long experience, to believe that I could not have reached an amicable agreement with Shanar Rashan.”

“Why's that?”

“Pride, Ms. Riley. We both have far too much of it.”

Was that supposed to mean I didn't have any of it myself? I decided to let it pass. “I'm not real happy about what you did, but I guess I wouldn't have asked you to sit down with me if I couldn't get over it.”

“Indeed. So where do we go from here?”

“I understand you want in, and I can live with that. But I can't give you my outfit's territory.”

“Certainly—I do not expect you to. Papa Danwe's territory will suffice, for now. I will eventually need more, but I will agree, by treaty, to refrain from further attacks on your organization.”

I shook my head. “I can't give you Papa Danwe's territory, either. It's Terrence Cole's territory now—his outfit, what's left of it. Terrence is a friend of ours.” I shrugged. “I owe, King. Anyway, that's the same deal you gave Papa Danwe, and I killed him for it. I don't think it would look very good if I agreed to it myself.”

King Oberon sighed, and his shoulders slumped. “That is unfortunate. Perhaps one or more of the other outfits in the city, then? I have quite a lot invested in South Central already, you understand, but I am not unreasonable.”

“Thing is, King, I think we're going to need the other outfits for what's coming. No offense, but you're not the worst of it.”

“Indeed I am not, Ms. Riley. It seems we have reached an impasse, and for that I am deeply regretful.”

“What do you think of Hollywood?”

King Oberon arched an eyebrow. Then he smiled and broke out the light show again. “Oh, Ms. Riley, I think that would do very well.”

“Yeah. The way I see it, all the outfits nibble at the edges, but none of us control it. We'd all like to, but we've always balanced each other out. Hollywood is low-hanging fruit, Your Majesty. And it's got a lot of juice.”

“So what is your proposal, in detail?”

“I build you gates in Hollywood. I convince all the outfits
in the city to play along. You get the juice you need and start rebuilding Arcadia, in Tinseltown.”

“And you, Ms. Riley. What do you get?”

“I get an alliance with the Seelie Court. You and your people line up with me in the war that's coming.”

King Oberon nodded. “We would likely have done that anyway, Ms. Riley.” He looked at me, and a deadly serious expression hardened his face. “Whatever you may think of me, of us, understand one thing. We love your world. We even love humans, though it is, perhaps, not always the kind of affection mortals can appreciate. We are not monsters, Ms. Riley. We will fight for this place. We will fight, with you.”

“That's good enough for me, King. There's just one more thing. Honey gets a full pardon. And her family.”

“The piskie betrayed me,” the king said, frowning. “Surely, in your position, you know how damaging that can be.”

“I know. You have to protect your authority in order to run your crew. But the way I see it, you're a great king. You're strong enough to show mercy.”

Oberon laughed. “There is nothing quite as charming as flattery from a beautiful woman, Ms. Riley.”

“Besides,” I added, “you had it coming.”