Spellbound (41 page)

—Radio promotion for the

League for a Magic-Free America march

on Washington,
1933

Washington D.C.

THIRTY AGENTS
from the Bureau of Investigation had been detailed to this operation by the Director. Extra agents were already in the city to keep an eye on the ever-growing numbers participating in the antimagic protest. They did not know the particulars of the case, only that J. Edgar Hoover insisted that it was of the utmost importance, and he was overseeing the operation personally.

Per Hoover’s orders, an agent had left a large courier envelope under some bushes at a small park on the corner of two busy streets. Ten agents had eyes and telescopes on the package. They were undercover, sitting on nearby park benches, watching from windows or rooftops, or simply out for a stroll. The other agents were waiting in chase cars, ready to swoop in and grab whoever picked up the package.

The agents were in the dark. Was it a ransom payment? A foreign spy? Communist agitators trying to stir up trouble in the antimagic mob? Was it related to the Active Plot? All they knew was that Hoover was taking this case very seriously, and he’d warned them to be ready for anything. The director was pacing nervously in the command center, listening to the constant radio check-ins.

The package had been placed at noon on the dot. It was now just after two o’clock in the afternoon and nobody had so much as sniffed around. A dog entered the area and began exploring the bushes, looking for a place to do its business. The presence of a golden retriever was dutifully reported. Twenty seconds after entering the bushes, the dog reappeared, carrying the courier package in its mouth.

As soon as he heard, Hoover ordered his men to seize the dog.

The agents had not been prepared to chase a dog. The retriever fled up the street and into an alley where it was briefly out of visual contact. The first three agents on the scene grabbed the apparently confused dog, who bit one agent on the hand during the struggle. However, the package was gone.

On the opposite side of the alley, one of the chase cars called in a sighting of a suspicious, two-foot-tall
dough
creature. It waddled quickly along on two legs, cradling the package in its lumpy arms. Pedestrians screamed at the sight of the tiny Summoned and tried to get out of its way.

Hoover ordered all cars to arrest the demon.

The creature turned and walked through the door of a haberdashery shop. A crowd of agents pursued it inside, only to discover that the room was filled with a thick, dark smoke that quickly dissipated. The package was missing. The proprietor of the shop explained that the store had been empty except for a pleasant young lady in a straw hat and dark glasses that had been browsing the wares. She was nowhere to be found.

When the dejected agents returned outside, a small hand mirror had been left on the driver’s seat of one of the chase cars. Surprisingly, the reflection in the mirror was that of a large, square-jawed, unshaven man. The mirror requested to speak directly to J. Edgar Hoover. It was brought back to the command center and turned over to the director, who promptly threw everyone one else out of the room.

“Was that supposed to be a test?” Jake Sullivan asked. “I’m assuming we passed.”

“It wouldn’t do to ally with a group of incompetents. The dog was a nice touch,” Hoover responded, watching the magic mirror as if it might turn into a snake and bite him. “Your people are as clever as you made them out to be.”

Sullivan was already opening the package. “Is this intelligence current?”

“It is,” Hoover assured him. “We at the Bureau like to stay informed. However, I was recently ordered to have no involvement whatsoever with the OCI. So I’m afraid I have no need of these files. I’ve been hearing some very troubling things about our mutual acquaintances. Ugly things. Anything reliable you find will enable me to start an official inquiry. Until then, any action I take will be looked upon as mere political vindictiveness. He’s seen to that. Bradford Carr is a crafty one.”

“Small world,” Sullivan muttered as he read one of the linotyped sheets. “
Doctor
Bradford. Ain’t that something? I’ve been in the library named after him. Very nice collection, though now I’m betting he was keeping the good stuff for himself.”

“Do what is necessary, but I will not abide a complete disregard for the letter of the law.”

“Uh huh . . .” Sullivan was studying one of the pages. “I bet you won’t. I’ll be in touch.”

“There is something else, Mr. Sullivan. The OCI has released a bulletin that they are expecting another attack shortly. Time is of the essence. We have never spoken.”

“Keep the mirror. It makes a nice souvenir.”

Bell Farm, Virginia

THE GANG’S ALL HERE!

Well, except for the ones that were in prison, the ones that had died, and the others that were far away, but it was most of the Grimnoir Faye knew, all in one place, and all, sort of, working together. The old farmhouse was packed. Faye Vierra, Jake Sullivan, Lance Talon, Dan and Jane Garrett, Whisper Giraudoux, Ian Wright, and the new lady, Pemberly Hammer, were all in the living room.

Faye thought Pemberly seemed nice, if a little frazzled. She was pretty too, in a straightforward sort of way, though she was no Whisper, who was constantly dolling herself up and putting cosmetics on her face and playing with her hair—Faye figured it was because she was French—and she was certainly not in the same league as Jane, who Faye still thought should be a movie star or something. Jane just woke up beautiful. All of the other women made Faye feel sort of plain in comparison. It was okay, she was used to it. Besides, Francis seemed to think she was pretty, but that wasn’t the only reason she was going to go rescue him.

Toru was the only one on the farm missing from the meeting, but Lance was using a rat to watch the crazy Iron Guard. Lance said that he was just sitting there on the barn floor,
meditating
or whatever it was Iron Guards do.

Mr. Sullivan had only been a Grimnoir as long as she had, so he was supposedly still one of the junior members, but everybody knew that when it came to combat nobody knew as much as he did. There wasn’t any pride about it, he just kind of came in and took over when the discussion turned to fighting. She was glad that Lance was smart enough not to let his pride get in the way. Mr. Sullivan had used a grease pencil to draw a map on the wall. He’d been going over the plan for the last hour. As had been pointed out repeatedly, it wasn’t much of a plan, but the clock was ticking. It was Tuesday afternoon and sometime on Thursday morning, Heinrich was scheduled to die. They weren’t about to let that happen.

Luckily, they weren’t too far so they didn’t have to worry about getting there in time, just about what to do when they got there. Some of the others knew right away where the secret OCI headquarters was just from the name.
Mason Island.
Faye had never heard of the place.

“It’s a swampy chunk of dirt in the Potomac, just between D.C. and Arlington County.” Sullivan kept on drawing as he spoke. “Half a mile long, quarter mile wide. One bridge crosses the southern end of the island”—he made a broad slash—“connecting it to land on both sides. Government bought the place right after the Great War. They started building it up to put a Peace Ray on it, but that was before scientists figured out that the rays turned the air around it to poison. Couldn’t have that zipping a couple hundred yards over the city.”

“The elevation is crap. Stupid place to put an energy weapon,” Lance said.

“I think the idea was that it would make an impressive silhouette, looming over the Capitol. Symbolic and all that. Anyways, they finally gave up and built this region’s Peace Ray over on Catoctin Mountain, but before that decision, they’d finished the bridge and a couple of buildings. Officially, there’s nothing there, even though you can see the lights from the other shore. According to Hoover”—Sullivan drew a square above the bridge—“this is where the OCI has set up shop.”

“Good place for a secret police force. No flash, nice and secluded, out of sight, out of mind,” Dan said, “but driving distance to where the action is.”

“We can bet it’s fortified and heavily guarded. With twenty good men I could hold a place like that from now ‘till doomsday. This isn’t going to be easy.”

“Maybe there’s another option,” Ian insisted. “Why don’t we go after this Carr and take him out of the picture instead?”

Sullivan sounded weary. “Thought of that. First, they’ll still have our people. Second, Hoover said Carr hasn’t left OCI headquarters since the assassination attempt. He’s been working through intermediaries and telephone calls.”

“He’s scared of us,” Lance suggested. “Damn well ought to be. That’s what happens when you poke the wrong hornet’s nest.”

“You’ll still need whatever evidence they’ve got inside there anyway.” Pemberly hadn’t spoken in a while. She knew she wasn’t very popular.

“I don’t recall asking you,” Lance said, sounding distracted, but that was how he normally was when part of his brain was occupied somewhere else. “Yesterday you were working for the enemy.”

Faye turned to him. “I think she’s okay.”

“You thought the same thing about Isaiah Rawls,” Lance responded gently. “Right before that treacherous son of a bitch near killed us all.”

Faye blushed. Lance had her there. She’d been the one that had spilled General Pershing’s secrets. At the mention of his father-in-law’s name, Ian visibly bristled, but didn’t speak up. Lance had no way of knowing the relation, and since Ian was in a room full of people who’d suffered because of Rawls, keeping his big stupid mouth shut was smart. She could tell it was difficult for him. Ian sure did like to argue and always be right. Faye didn’t hate Ian as much now that she understood why he was such a bitter know-it-all jerk, and he’d been brave in Ada, though she was still mad about being pushed out the window.

“Lance, is it?” Pemberly asked. “I’m risking my life by being here. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t even know your friend was alive. So you can stuff it.”

“Well, excuse me, missy.”

Faye thought that Lance and Pemberly sounded kind of alike. Not their voices, because Lance sounded like all deep and grumpy and Pemberly sounded kind of light and pretty like she might sing real nice. It was more about
how
they talked, with an accent like they should be riding horses and branding steers and other cowboy type things. Some folks said Faye had an accent too, a country one, but she couldn’t hear it, so she figured they didn’t know what they were talking about.

Mr. Sullivan seemed to be ignoring them. He was too focused on that map to pay attention to little things like squabbles. He got that way sometimes. While Faye seemed to be at her best when her brain was bouncing around between topics a million miles an hour, Sullivan focused on one thing until it got done. “Biggest problem is going to be those magic nullifiers. Place is probably crawling with them and we don’t have a clue how to stop them. Stealth is out. Faye could pop in and get stuck and we’re missing our Fade. Without magic, we’re just guns, and they’re bound to have more of those too.”

“They can’t have too many men, though,” Dan mused. “If they’re as dirty as we think they are, they’d have to run a tight operation. Problem with conspiracies is the more people know, the more likely somebody will talk.”

“I’d like to assume that, but I can’t. I’d rather not shoot a bunch of know-nothing security guards just there trying to do their job that don’t know any better.”

“We might not have a choice,” Dan said. “They’ve declared war on us.”

“Maybe. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve killed a bunch of folks who didn’t know no better . . . Keeps a man up at nights. I really don’t want to do the same thing with my own countrymen if I don’t have to.”

“Me too, Jake, but how many of our kind are going to die if we don’t?”

“Said I didn’t like it, never said I couldn’t do it . . .” Sullivan muttered, deep in thought, as he ran one finger down a line representing a wall.

“Mr. Sullivan, if I may?” Whisper lived up to her nickname. It seemed bigger groups made her a little bashful. “Mr. Sullivan?”

He broke away from the map. “Huh?”

“Do you still have this box? The Dymaxion, you called it?”

He rummaged through one pocket and came out with a small orange cube. “Right here.”

“Could you turn it on? We can all try our Powers and see if perhaps any of us can work around it.”

The orange lid hinged open to reveal a sparkly ball inside. “Good thinking.” Sullivan touched it with one finger and gave it a shove. Faye thought it was rather pretty, the way it caught the light, and made bright spots swirl around the room. “Try it.” Whisper held up her hands but there was no fire. Ian looked like he was thinking too hard. Faye checked her head map and got . . .
nothing.
It was terrifying.

“Hey, Hammer,” Dan said. “I totally trust you a hundred percent and think that you’re just swell and really look forward to working with you.”

“Oh, now I know my Power is broken,” she answered.

Lance held up one hand. “Jake, shut that thing off.” Sullivan put a finger on the ball and the spinning stopped. Faye’s head map came flooding back. “Interesting . . . Start it again. Okay. Stop.”

“You got something, Lance?”

“Maybe. Ian, while it’s down, bring in a spirit or something.”

“Give me a minute.”

Jane sounded perplexed. “Very strange. I can still see everyone’s insides, just like I always have, but I can’t feel my Power. I don’t feel like I could Mend anyone, but shouldn’t I see everyone like a normal person would?”

“That’s too bad, honey. Then you’d finally be able to see just how ruggedly handsome I really am,” Dan quipped while rubbing one hand through his thinning hair.

“Oh, Dan. I love you just the way you are.” She took his hand. “Squishy and filled with juice . . .”