The Warlock's Curse (34 page)

Will looked at him incredulously. “How do you figure that?”

“Sangrimancy is the only kind of magic where there can be conscious cooperation,” Briar said. “In credomancy, one person can’t have power unless they fool or manipulate some other person. And that other person can’t agree to be fooled, ‘cause that would defeat the whole purpose. In animancy, magic is drawn from spirits that don’t have any kind of conscious thought ... natural spirits that can’t agree nor cooperate, only respond according to their nature. Are you getting me?”

“But someone can agree to let a sangrimancer use his blood,” Will said, with soft surprise. He’d never thought of it that way before.

“Bingo,” Briar said. “So what them Dreadnought Stanton books say ain’t necessarily false—‘cause at it’s worst, sangrimancy is the worst of all the kinds of magic. But they ain’t true either, because at its best, it can also be the best.”

Will took this in. “You’d think we’d hear about those kinds of sangrimancers once in a while,” he murmured thoughtfully.

Briar snorted, breath congealing white. “Not in a Dreadnought Stanton book, you won’t. Like I said, they’re kids’ books, for kids. When you grow up, you learn different.” He paused, then added in a mutter, “It’s just a goddamn shame that in this world, most people don’t ever grow up at all.”

Chapter Thirteen

The Goês’ Confession

T
EN DAYS UNTIL THE FULL MOON

Dear Will:

No word from Mother about the private investigators, but no more urgent telegrams from you either, so I suppose things have settled down for you in Detroit.

The good news is I’ve obtained several days of leave from the Institute, and I will be coming to Detroit on December 16.

I am very much looking forward to seeing you,

Your brother always,

Ben

G
ood morning, Blockhead!” Passing behind him, Roher slapped Will on the back so hard that it made his pen gash the paper of the report he was writing for Grig. Will glared at Roher as the fat kraut sat down heavily in his desk chair, grinning and squeaking with renewed vigor.

But Will said nothing, just laid the ruined paper aside and replaced it with a fresh sheet. “Good morning, Mr. Roher,” he said with what he hoped was quiet dignity.

“How’s that Flume of yours coming?” Roher smirked, rocking back and forth. “You figured out what a fuse is yet?”

“Oh, lay off the kid,” Court said in disgust, dropping a thick stack of papers on Roher’s desk. As he passed Will’s desk he gave him a conspiratorial grin, twirling a finger around his head to suggest imaginary blonde braids.

“You stay out of this, you nitwit,” Roher glared after him. “You just stick to kissing your pictures of Marie Curie.”

“She’s smarter than you’ll ever be!” Court catcalled back. “And a whole lot prettier, too!”

Will hoped that would be the end of that morning’s unpleasantness, that Roher would quit talking and just stick to his stupid squeaking. But Grig was out of the office and Roher wasn’t one to pass up a chance like that. Leaping out of his chair, he snatched something off his desk and came to Will’s side, bending down over his chair. Will recoiled from the heavy body looming over him—usually Roher favored the ranged attack.

Without a word, Roher slid a paper over the fresh sheet that Will had intended to start working on. He said nothing for a moment, just let Will stare at it dumbly.

It was a flyer—a facsimile document clearly duplicated with the intention of issuing it to multiple offices—with two grainy pictures on it. The pictures were of himself and Jenny.

“Is that your wife?” Roher whispered in Will’s ear. “She’s real pretty, Blockhead. How’d you land a wife like that?”

The bottom of the flyer bore the logo of the Pinkerton Agency, the familiar wide-open eye with the text “We Never Sleep” written under it. The heading on the flyer was short but humiliating:

S
OUGHT
: T
WO
R
UNAWAY
C
HILDREN

Will’s face flushed with rage as he read over the text:
Loving families in California eagerly desire the subjects’ return
...
subjects are known to be in Detroit, Michigan
...
subjects are in extreme danger
...

Extreme danger—that was rich! Was there no lie Father wouldn’t tell just to get his way? Cheeks burning, Will pushed the paper back in Roher’s direction. “Mr. Tesla is taking care of it.”

“Mr. Tesla is taking care of
you
,” Roher continued, very softly. “But I’m sure he doesn’t give a pin about your pretty little wife. In fact, I’m sure he figures your pretty little wife is nothing but a distraction. What if someone told the Pinkertons where she was at? What if they snatched her out of that love nest you share and hauled her home? You could move in here with us. Oh, it would be such
fun
having you around the dormitory.”

Will turned, furious, but Roher had already backed away, laughing as he returned to his desk.

“Will and Jenny Edwards, sitting in a tree ...” he sing-songed. “R-u-n-n-i-n-g ...”

Something cold and dark overcame Will suddenly, a feeling stronger and more violent than he’d ever known. The feeling spread through his whole Body turning his limbs to ice and fire at the same time. He saw himself going over to Roher, grabbing him by his tie, bashing his face on his desk until all the papers were bloody.

But he did not move. Instead, he just sat at his desk, looking down at the flyer for a long time. Then he folded it and placed it quietly in his desk drawer. He looked at the blank fresh sheet of paper that lay beneath it.

For an attack to be most devastating, it had to be delivered when the moment was right. And it had to be delivered before it was too late.

Taking up his pen, he dipped it into the inkwell and quickly began to write.

Dear Mr. Tesla
...

Later that week, the book Court had asked to have delivered to Will’s mailbox arrived, and when they were finally able to sneak away for a smoke so Will could give it to him, Court was so excited that he didn’t even light up, just seized the package and began tearing at the paper like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Oh gee!” Court raised the book before himself, regarding it with solemn awe. “I can’t believe I got it!”

Whatever the source of Court’s excitement, it couldn’t possibly be the result of the book’s appearance. It didn’t just look cheap, it looked hasty and furtive, as if it had been printed in someone’s basement. It had a cover of rough brown paper, the kind of paper one might expect to wrap pornographic contents. While the title—
The Goês’ Confession
—wasn’t at all titillating, when Will saw the book’s subtitle, he experienced a strange thrill.

Veritas vos Liberabit
.

“The truth will set you free,” Court translated, seeing where Will’s gaze rested. But Will did not need a translation. He’d translated those same Latin words himself, for his father, on his birthday. It was incredible that they should reappear again here.

Court opened the book eagerly.

“You’re not going to read it
now
, are you?”

Court looked up, his face sharp with intensity. “Damn right I’m going to read it now!” Will shrugged and left him to it, returning to his work in Building Three. When, after five hours, Court had not returned, Will grew curious. And when he snuck back out to look for him, he found Court in precisely the same place he’d left him, hunched over the book, pale and shaking as if he’d seen a ghost.

“That must be some book,” Will commented. Court jumped with a startled squeal. When he saw that it was Will, he held up the book.

“It’s incredible,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Will, it’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever read.”

“All right,” Will said, taking a seat on one of the scientific-equipment crates. “Let’s have it.”

Court rubbed a hand over his mouth, eyes darting back and forth. He was clearly trying to think of the best way to begin.

“So, I’ve always been interested in The Great Change because there’s a theory that it was geological,” he said. “Like, some kind of change in the geology of the Earth. But how could a geological change result in a whole generation suddenly developing an allergy to magic? That doesn’t make any sense. That’s why I wanted to get this book. I thought it might shed some light.”

“And does it?”

“It doesn’t just shed light, it sets the whole world on fire,” Court whispered. “This book says that it
was
a geological change. A fundamental alteration of the very structure of the Earth itself.” Court paused, letting the implication sink in both for Will, and, it seemed, for himself. “You see, there’s a poorly understood geological structure beneath the earth’s surface. It’s called the Mantic Anastomosis. It’s a big web of a special kind of rock, and it’s wrapped around the earth like a net. Now, if you read old geology textbooks, they explain that the Mantic Anastomosis was a kind of processing system for a substance called
geochole
. Of course that’s the technical name, but if you read the popular literature they used to refer to it as Black Exunge ...”

Will must have gasped, for Court paused and looked at him. “You’ve heard of Black Exunge?”

Will tried to seem casual. “It’s, like, the toxic residuals of magic, right?”

“Exactly,” Court said. “When humans work magic, this toxic substance is created. Now, in the old textbooks, they say that it was the rock web that actually created the Exunge somehow. They didn’t really understand how even back then. But however it was created, sometimes large pockets of this Exunge would build up beneath the ground. And if it reached the earth’s surface and came in contact with a living thing, incredible and terrible things were the result.”

“Like what?”

Court hitched closer.

“
Aberrancies
,” he said in a low, thrilling voice. “Remember reading about those in history class? How there used to be huge monsters, giant jackrabbits and things like that? How they’d storm across the plains, wreaking havoc? Aberrancies were created when something living came in contact with Exunge. The Exunge had some kind of mutational effect on them, made them swell up out of control, grow huge and deranged.”

Will blinked, his head spinning. He was thinking about Selvaggi, and the dark tendrils that had swirled beneath his skin. Dr. Gore had said they were Exunge.

“Now, this fundamental alteration to the earth’s geological structure changed the very nature of how Exunge was produced and processed,” Court continued. “Before The Great Change, the Mantic Anastomosis generated and processed all the world’s Exunge, on a huge global scale. After The Great Change, human beings
themselves
generated and processed Exunge, on a tiny personal scale. If a human being worked magic, the Exunge that resulted from working the magic stayed in his body. The more magic he worked, the more Exunge was created.”

It was exactly what Will had seen at Dr. Gore’s house. Selvaggi had worked too much magic—and as a result, his body had become riddled with Exunge.

“But ... then, you’re saying that all human beings born after The Great Change had an entirely different physical structure from their parents and grandparents?” Will asked.

“Isn’t that the very definition of the Malmantic Generation?” Court lifted an eyebrow.

Will shook his head in astonishment. Yes, it was! He was beginning to see why Court was so excited by this book. “So how could something like this just happen?”

“It didn’t just happen,” Court said. “It was
engineered
. By a bunch of Russian scientists in the 1870s. They created something called Lyakhov’s Anodyne, and this Anodyne somehow restructured the Mantic Anastomosis. And the crazy thing is, these Russian scientists developed the Anodyne because the Earth told
them
to.”