The Hidden Goddess (45 page)

“Go and tell the Sini Mira to come in,” he said. “And see if you can’t find them some tea.”

A moment later, Rose led in Perun and Dmitri, and a very pleased-looking Miss Jesczenka, who had the self-satisfied
air of the cat who had swallowed the New York press. Emily went to her side, gave her arm a fond squeeze.

“Did you see the papers?” Miss Jesczenka whispered.

Emily nodded.
“Horace Armatrout,”
she said.

“Horace Armatrout,”
Miss Jesczenka echoed, letting out a sigh of satisfaction.

“Gentlemen, make yourselves comfortable,” Stanton invited. Lowering himself into the very same chair he had sat in the night before the Investment, Perun pulled his cigarette case from inside his coat and hung a cigarette from his lips. Seeing the action, Stanton reached into a humidor on his desk, withdrawing a cigar. After fussing with it for a moment, he lit it with a finger-snapped tongue of flame. He did not, however, move to offer the flickering werelight to Perun. The white-blond man smiled slightly, reaching into his own pocket for a match.

“Thank you for bringing my magister back to me,” Stanton said, eyes moving from Perun to Miss Jesczenka. “You are unharmed, I trust?”

“Entirely,” Miss Jesczenka said.

“Excellent,” Stanton said. There was a long silence. Stanton smoked his cigar contemplatively, watching Perun. Perun smoked his cigarette down between brown-stained fingers, watching Stanton. After five minutes of this, Emily stomped over to the window and cracked it open.

“Honestly,” she muttered.

“I am rather busy,” Stanton said finally. “Do we have further business?”

“We do,” Perun said softly. “We most certainly do.”

And then, in low even tones, Perun explained everything. About the hair sticks, about Aleksei Morozovich, about Volos’ Anodyne. Stanton watched Perun give the recitation, his eyes hard and glinting.

“Miss Jesczenka’s execution of the Talleyrand Maneuver restored the power of the Institute to you,” Perun concluded. “We allowed her to do so in exchange for her solemn oath that the Institute—that
you
, Sophos Stanton—would help us.”

“Miss Jesczenka is a valued member of my staff,” Stanton
said, “but she does not have the power to make promises for the Institute. Or for me.”

Dmitri snorted, a dark scornful sound. “I told you so, Perun,” he said.

“I see you have been reading the papers.” Perun gestured to the pile of newsprint on Stanton’s desk. “Tell me … have you noticed that
temamauhti
has begun, or have you been too busy with your own clippings?”

Stanton looked at Perun, not moving. Perun reached forward, began pulling paper after paper off the pile on Stanton’s desk.

“America’s Pacific Coast …” He lifted a paper. “Arkansas and Tennessee and Kentucky …” He lifted another. “Japan and China and Java and the good Lord knows how many other unfortunate places by now.” He threw the papers to the floor, his face seizing with fury. “And all of those are just from the Black Glass Goddess gathering the Exunge she needs. It is
beginning
, Mr. Stanton. And we have to stop it—one way or another.”

Stanton watched him closely, but did not speak.

“If you do not believe me, ask your fiancée.” Perun looked at Emily. “She has seen it all, through her unprecedented connection to the Mantic Anastomosis—the consciousness she calls Ososolyeh.”

Stanton looked at her. “What is he talking about?”

“Ever since the Symposium—” Emily began, then stopped. “No, since before that, actually. I can’t even remember when it started. It seems like forever. Ososolyeh speaks to me. It shows me things. Awful things.”

“What does it show you?” Stanton asked softly.

“The Black Glass Goddess, her fingers sharp as knives,” Emily whispered, eyes turning inward as remembered images danced before them. “I have seen her cutting twelve men to pieces, leaving nothing but a mound of flesh, like some kind of monstrous … organ.”

Her eyes stared forward, fixed and unfocused.

“A priest in gold and feathers and jade. The world remade in blackness and frost.” Emily’s mouth was moving, but she didn’t feel in conscious control of what was coming out of it.
Words poured forth like humming, like roots growing. “Blood running down the sides of stepped pyramids. The air ringing with the screams of the innocent. The end of the world.”

She did not know how long she was lost in the terrible memories; she only knew that when she came back to herself, Stanton was standing before her, a warm hand laid on her cheek.

“We have to get the hair sticks back,” Emily said softly. “We have to find a way.”

“This isn’t about the hair sticks anymore, Miss Edwards,” Perun said. “I’m afraid it stopped being about the hair sticks when we lost them to the Temple.”

Emily looked at the Russian, astonished.

“Even if I had the hair sticks in my hands right now,” Perun continued, “there would be no time to implement the poison. Tomorrow is June 30. By the Aztec calendar, it is the first day of Cuetzpalin, the thirteen days the Goddess rules. It is the day of her greatest potency. It is when she will strike.”

“Then why—”

“I had to give you hope,” Perun said. “Without it, you and Miss Jesczenka could never have accomplished the near-impossible and returned the power of the Institute to Mr. Stanton.”

“But if there’s no time to implement the poison, what does it matter if the power of the Institute is restored?”

Perun chuckled grimly.

“Do you not remember, Miss Edwards? Even in the coldest darkness of winter, hope remains.” Perun paused, looking at Stanton. “And indeed, there is one last hope. It is one that only Mr. Stanton can deploy. The
desperatus
.”

Emily turned her gaze back to Stanton. “What is he talking about?”

But Stanton did not speak, only continued to look at her face, as if trying to commit it to memory.

“For a decade now,” Perun answered for him, “the credomancers have sought to perfect their own answer to the threat of
temamauhti
. Working together in greatest secrecy, Mirabilis and Zeno crafted a magical weapon called a
desperatus
.
It will block the larger apocalypse by unleashing a smaller one. Fire to fight fire, as it were.” Speaking of fire apparently made Perun crave one of his never-ending string of cigarettes; he took out his cigarette case. “We all hoped that it would never have to be used, for if it is deployed, it will be only slightly less destructive than
temamauhti
itself. Now, however, it seems we have no other choice.”

As Perun spoke, Emily watched Stanton’s face. She watched the emotions passing over it; frustration, then fear, regret, then resignation.

“Mr. Stanton, the
desperatus
is yours to deploy. The power of the Institute has been returned to you so that you can do so.” Perun paused. “The time has come, Sophos.”

Stanton turned, leaned on the desk, faced Perun squarely.

“You know as well as I do that no one has ever been able to ascertain the precise location of the Temple.” The words were clipped, and there was a determined note in his voice, the sound of a man suddenly and swiftly convinced. “We must get to the Temple to deploy the
desperatus
. How do you propose we find it?”

“You have Fortissimus, do you not?” Perun drew a cigarette from his case, tapped it. Stanton jerked his head in a nod.

“It seems clear that he planted the Nikifuryevich Ladder that was used to kidnap Zeno, and your magister agrees with me.” Perun looked at Miss Jesczenka. “If he is in league with the Temple, as I believe he is, then he is our only hope for finding it.”

“I have promised him pardon,” Stanton said. But it was a comment, not a protest.

“A little thing, compared to the end of the world,” Perun said. Stanton nodded, then straightened.

“Rose!”
he bellowed.

Rose hurried into the office, blond hair wisping about her face.

“Have Fortissimus brought here immediately,” he said.

If Fortissimus strode into the office of the Sophos looking very sure of himself, clearly expecting that he would meet
with Stanton alone, he was quickly disabused of that notion. The robust, dismissive bonhomie with which he had been intending to greet Stanton—as one would congratulate a colleague who’d just won a round of golf—mutated to cold suspicion as his gaze traveled over the faces of those who waited for him. Dmitri and Perun, Emily and Miss Jesczenka, and, finally, Stanton. Emily felt certain the man would have turned and fled had not Rose closed the door quietly behind him.

“Good morning, Mr. Stanton,” he said, licking his lips.

“Good morning,
Flannigan
,” Stanton said. Emily saw the man wince as Stanton used his real name. “Rose, take his hat and coat.”

“No … I’d like to keep them …” Fortissimus began.

But Rose already had them and was leaving with them through the office door.

“Please sit down,” Stanton said.

“I’d really rather—”

“I asked you to sit down,” Stanton said without raising his voice. Fortissimus dropped into a sturdy chair like a stone from an uncurled fist. Sudden sour fear bloomed from Fortissimus’ pores. It made Emily’s heart thud like a baneful elixir. At her side, she could feel Miss Jesczenka’s body tense with anticipation.

“Perhaps you should leave, Miss Edwards,” Miss Jesczenka murmured to Emily, but the woman did not take her eyes off Fortissimus. There was dark desire in those eyes, hunger and anticipation, and a smile played at the corners of her lips. Emily looked quickly away, foreboding chilling her.

Stanton stood over Fortissimus, looking down at him for a long time, his hands clasped behind his back.

“You’re afraid, Flannigan.” Stanton’s tone was merely observational, but it set Fortissimus to trembling. His eyes darted from face to face.

“I came here on good faith,” he said. “This is an outrage!”

“You planted the Nikifuryevich Ladder,” Stanton said. “Under the direction of the Temple of Itztlacoliuhqui.”

Fortissimus’ eyes snapped up.

“How dare you suggest such an … obscenity,” he spat, rage overmastering terror. “How
dare
you! I have worked all my life to hone my skills, improve my practice, build my Agency to prominence … and you have the
audacity
to suggest that I would toss it aside so stupidly? To such little benefit? I am a
credomancer
, Stanton. If you’re interested in finding a sangrimancer, go look in a goddamn mirror.”

Stanton merely had to twitch a finger, and Fortissimus’ mouth snapped shut with such abruptness that blood trickled from the side of his mouth. As if proving some kind of point, he leaned his head down to wipe the blood off on his shoulder. Stanton took a deep breath.

“Tell me how to find the Black Glass Goddess,” he said.

“I don’t know! I don’t—”

“Tell me how to find the Black Glass Goddess,” Stanton repeated. “Stop lying and tell me the truth.”

“How would you know the difference?” Fortissimus snarled. He looked over at Emily, his eyes gleaming insinuation. “For example, how much of what I printed in that book was a lie? And how much of it was just … 
enhanced actuality
?”

“Do not change the subject,” Perun barked, smoke trickling from between his lips. “You invited the Blotgates to the Investment. General Blotgate advocated a military alliance with the Temple, and his wife is known to recruit for them. You planted the device for them, admit it!”

“I planted nothing!” Fortissimus screamed. “Yes, I invited the Blotgates. I invited them to remind people what he has done. What he is!” Fortissimus glared at Stanton, eyes dancing with hatred. “To pay him back for making an utter travesty of everything I have ever accomplished! I wanted to destroy him, not the Institute.”

Stanton crouched down before Fortissimus, looking into the older man’s face. When he spoke, his voice was strangely kind. “Tell me how to find the Black Glass Goddess. This is your third chance, and you know that’s all you get. You know that there are harsher methods.”

Fortissimus moved his tongue around his mouth. Leaning
forward, he spat blood into Stanton’s face. Stanton stood, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped the blood away.

“Miss Jesczenka,” Stanton said, tucking the handkerchief back into his pocket. “Please fetch the needle.”

Miss Jesczenka returned with a black leather case. She unzipped it carefully as she moved, and the small sound seemed to echo through the office. Fortissimus watched her movements; they were sinuous with malice. Miss Jesczenka removed a large crystal syringe and a small glowing bottle. She plunged the syringe through the bottle’s rubber top and filled the crystal chamber with the glowing liquid.

Stanton and Perun watched her actions with a kind of terrible calmness. Only Dmitri’s face was pale and slack with horror. He looked at Perun, shook his head, began to speak—but Perun stilled the words in his mouth with a curt gesture of his hand.

Miss Jesczenka knelt silently before Fortissimus and stretched his arm out. She unbuttoned his sleeve and rolled it back delicately. She touched the smooth flesh on the inside of his elbow, and then slid the needle into it. She depressed the plunger slowly.

Within a moment, Fortissimus’ face contracted sourly, as if he’d just bitten into a lemon. Before she stood, however, Miss Jesczenka leaned forward and placed her mouth close to Fortissimus’ ear. Fortissimus listened, then stared at Miss Jesczenka’s face. He stared at it for a long time.

“You,” he whispered. “I
ruined
you!”

Miss Jesczenka smiled at him gently. “And yet, at the end of the day, I am the one holding the needle, aren’t I?” she said. She replaced the syringe in the case, and laid it carefully at Fortissimus’ feet. Then she stood, brought her hand back, and slapped him across the face. The crack echoed through the office as Fortissimus’ head snapped to the side.

Stanton leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms. “Let us begin.”

“No!” The word burst from Dmitri. “Not this way! Perun, I beg you.”

“Peace, Dmitri Alekseivitch—”