Unbound (8 page)

“Another one?” she asked without looking up.

“This is Mahefa. He’s my insurance adjuster. He’s finally getting around to assessing the damage to my house from last month.”

“Your house looked fine the last time I drove past,” she said. “That would be two weeks ago, by the way. When you hadn’t called or come in for two days, I decided to swing by and make sure you weren’t dead.”

Mahefa cleared his throat. “Isaac, would you like me to—”

“No!” I didn’t know what powers he might have to manipulate minds, but I didn’t want any of them in my library. “Jennifer, I’ll make up the hours.”

“No, you won’t.” Her shoulders slumped. With a sigh, she pushed her paperwork aside and focused her attention on me. “You’ve been with this library longer than I have, and you’re
good
at your job. One of the best people I have. When you’re
here
. I’ve tried to be flexible, and I’ve cut you as much slack as I could.

“I was happy to fight to get you a full-time position, but this isn’t working. Even when you show up, your mind is elsewhere. I’m not the only one who’s noticed. I don’t want to be the bad guy, but I have to think of what’s best for the library, and for the staff as a whole.”

“Are you
firing
me?” Before, I had always had a salary from the Porters to fall back on. A grant through one of their dummy companies had funded my position here, guaranteeing my job security. Now that grant was gone, along with the bulk of my income. If I lost this job, I was well and truly screwed.

She hesitated only a few seconds, but they stretched out like hours. “I’m willing to keep you on, but I’m cutting you back to part time. Twenty hours a week.” She held up a hand before I could speak. “Show me you want this job, and we’ll revisit things in three months.”

Part time meant reduced income and no benefits. Health insurance hadn’t been a concern when I could pull Lucy’s healing cordial out of
The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe
to fix anything from a cold to a severed limb, but without magic or insurance, a simple broken bone could bankrupt me.

“Or I can let you go altogether,” Jennifer added.

“No.” I hated myself for how quickly I answered. For the desperation, and for
needing
this job. I should be out in the world reading and discovering the true power of books, not reshelving and recycling them. Music echoed in my thoughts, the siren’s song weighing me down with yearning and despair. I had to grip the doorframe to keep from falling.

“Go home,” Jennifer said wearily. “Take care of your house. I’ll talk to you about scheduling tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” I grabbed Smudge’s cage on the way out. He scooted into a corner, crouched in the gravel that lined the bottom, and watched Mahefa closely.

Alex called after me to ask where I was going, but I couldn’t bring myself to explain. Let Jennifer fill him in.

Once we were outside, Mahefa reached into his inside jacket and produced a circuit board encased in clear plastic, about the size of a business card. A tangle of ribbon cables emerged from one end. “I got this from a libriomancer in Mozambique,” he said. “It should be able to hack just about any electronic lock.”

I didn’t like where this was going. “It sounds like you have a particular lock in mind.”

“I do.” He squinted up at the clouds. “And it should be passing over the Midwest later today.”

Bookstore Owner Hospitalized After Attack

ANN ARBOR, MICHIGAN—Clarissa Andress, owner of Drumming Goddess New Age Bookstore, was hospitalized yesterday following the alleged firebombing of her store.

Flames broke out near the front of the bookstore at approximately 6:15
PM
. Andress was quick to usher customers out of the building, but went back inside to attempt to find the store cat. Andress apparently collapsed from smoke inhalation. Firefighters pulled her from the building and administered oxygen. She regained consciousness at the hospital, and is expected to make a full recovery.

“Never go back into a burning building,” said Edward Hubbard of the Ann Arbor Fire Department. “Get outside and leave the window or door open behind you so your pets have an escape route. They’ll find their own way out. Call to them, and let the firefighters know your pets are still inside, but
don’t
go in after them. People don’t realize how quickly smoke can overcome you, or the flames can spread and trap you.”

Witnesses claim to have seen two youths fleeing the scene immediately after the fire began. The police have no suspects in custody, but say they are following up on several leads, including a number of threatening letters delivered to the store in recent days.

“There have always been people who see ‘New Age’ and immediately think of witches and incense and weed, but it’s getting
worse,” said Annette Botke, a University of Michigan sophomore and employee at Drumming Goddess. “Our sidewalk sign was vandalized twice last week. One commenter on our Web site said people like us should be burned at the stake.”

The fire department was unable to save the twenty-year-old store. The area is cordoned off for safety, and the site will be bulldozed later this week. The stores to either side, an antiques shop and an Indian restaurant, sustained minor damage, but should reopen soon.

Padfoot, the store cat, was found huddling beneath a car in a nearby parking lot. He was checked out and found to be in perfect health. Padfoot is staying with a friend until he can be reunited with his owner.

I
FOUND LENA IN
the backyard, pulling up the poison ivy vines that had begun to encroach from the edge of the woods. She yanked them from the dirt bare-handed, unaffected by the oils that would have transformed me into a miserable mass of red, itchy bumps and blisters.

Most days during the week, she would have been out doing odd landscaping jobs or volunteering around town, but lately she had been spending more time near her grove. She brightened when she saw me, and then her gaze moved to Mahefa. She grabbed a wood-handled rake and walked toward us.

I wondered if Mahefa had any idea how quickly Lena could grow that handle into a spear, or how many bones she could break with it. A part of me hoped he’d get the chance to find out.

“You’re home early.” Lena kissed me, careful to keep her oil-covered hands away from my skin. “What’s wrong?”

“This is Mahefa Issoufaly. Jeff said he could help us to speak with Gerbert d’Aurillac.”

She frowned and looked at my arm. I didn’t try to hide the Band-Aid near the elbow. There was almost no bruising. He had hit the vein on the first try. The remaining warmth evaporated from Lena’s expression.

“He’s not a vampire,” I said. “He’s . . . you could probably call him a hematophile.”

“You make it sound like a medical condition,” Mahefa complained. “Blood magic is just as real and valid an art as your libriomancy.”

“You let him drink your blood?” Lena’s fingertips pressed into the rake’s handle like it was clay. “And then you brought him here.”

“His price for helping was a sample of my blood.” I rubbed my arm. I should have said no. Should have told him to go to hell the second he said Lena’s name. Let Jeff find someone else who could help us. “And yours.”

She took a step back. “I see.”

“You don’t have to say yes.”

“What’s wrong, Isaac?” Mahefa asked. “You’ll share your dryad with your friend Doctor Shah, but not with me?”

“She’s not—”

“Not what?” He circled Lena, studying her up and down. “She’s certainly not human. Isn’t this why she was created? For men like you and me?”

Forget saving the world; right now I wanted my magic back so I could turn this loathsome man into a cockroach and drop him in a cage with Smudge. But since I couldn’t do magic, I settled for punching him in the nose.

He staggered back, eyes watering. Blood dripped from his nostrils. He snarled and started forward, only to find the sharpened tip of the rake handle barring his way.

“I told you I would ask her,” I said. “I didn’t say anything
about letting you come to my home and insult the woman I love. You have until the count of five to get off my property.”

“If you want to speak to your dead man, you’ll let me sample your woman’s blood.”

“If you want to join my dead man, you’ll keep standing there.” I folded my arms. “One.”

“Wait,” said Lena. “Isaac, tell me why you need to do this.”

“Jeneta—”

“The Porters know about Meridiana and Jeneta,” she interrupted. “You’re not the only person in the world clever enough to make the connection to a dead pope. Why do
you
need to be the one to go chasing answers?”

It was arrogant as hell to believe I could succeed where the Porters had failed. But then, being one of the few who could use magic to rewrite the universe tended to reinforce both ego and arrogance.

The problem was that I wasn’t just risking my life. If I died, who and what Lena was could be lost as well. We hoped the book Bi Wei had given her would help to stabilize her identity, to end her dependence on her lovers, but we had no way of knowing it would work.

There were hundreds of Porters, all better prepared to protect themselves against magic. Was I truly the best person to find Jeneta, or was that the twin brain weasels of guilt and depression pulling my strings?

Why not simply stop? Let the Porters worry about Meridiana. Focus on my job at the library. Visit the cemetery and finally pay my respects to those who had died the month before.

I couldn’t do it. I had been suspended from the field for two years after Mackinac Island, forbidden from using magic except in emergencies, but I had still been a part of that world. I had touched the magic of books every day. I had clung to the hope of returning to the Porters as a field agent or researcher. From the moment I discovered magic, I had been unable to imagine a life without it. “Because this is who . . . this is what I am.”

Lena turned to Mahefa. “Fine. How do we know you’ll keep your word?”

“I’ve never cheated a customer,” Mahefa said indignantly. He held a handkerchief to his nose to slow the bleeding. “It’s bad for business. I will procure what Isaac needs. When he goes to his friend’s final resting place, he’ll be able to have his little chat.”

Lena nodded. “You can have my blood, but not until Jeneta is safe.”

Air hissed through Mahefa’s teeth. “Given that Isaac is very likely to end up dead, I’m afraid—”

Lena stabbed the end of the rake through the edge of Mahefa’s leather shoe, pinning him to the earth. He reached for her, and she casually thumped him in the face with the other end.

“And you drink it in front of me,” Lena continued as if nothing had happened. “I’m not risking you magically cloning yourself a dryad, or whatever else you might want to do with my blood.”

He chuckled. “A counteroffer, then. I take your blood when Jeneta is safe,
or
when Isaac gets himself killed, whichever comes first. I promise I’ll do nothing to facilitate the latter possibility.”

“Good. Because if you do, I’ll take an acorn from my tree, ram it down your throat, and start it growing. Do we understand one another?”

He lowered the bloody handkerchief. His tongue cleaned the remaining blood from his upper lip. “We do.”

Lena yanked the handle free and gripped his hand, sealing the deal. From the look on his face, she squeezed quite a bit harder than necessary.

“I’ll meet you out front, Isaac. Don’t take too long.” Mahefa whistled as he strolled away.

“I’m sorry,” I said as soon as he was gone. “He wouldn’t accept anything else.”

Lena didn’t look at me. “Promise me you’ll give me an hour’s notice before he comes to take my blood.”

“I will.”

“Good. I’ll wait until then to finish pulling up the poison ivy. The work is relaxing, and my skin soaks up the oils like aloe.” She glanced over her shoulder, giving me a crooked smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “I can even absorb it into my bloodstream.”

Mahefa insisted we take his car, a freshly-waxed black BMW that smelled like antiseptic and Chinese food. He also strongly advised against taking Smudge. On the other hand, he hadn’t objected at all to my bringing my shock-gun along. If anything, he seemed amused, which made me nervous.

I studied him more closely as we drove. I couldn’t be certain, but I thought the blackening of his lips and fingers was a form of magical charring. With my magic locked, I shouldn’t have been able to see it. How much power had burned through his blood to leave visible damage?

His veins were swollen. One mapped a dark, jagged line down the side of his forehead. Others bulged along his arms and the backs of his hands.

He swerved around curves at speeds I wouldn’t have attempted without magic, finally pulling off near the old railroad bridge about five miles south of town. He parked in the grass and popped the trunk. “Time for favor number three. You’re going to help me break into a satellite.”

We climbed out, and Mahefa pulled a pair of metallic silver suits from the trunk. My mouth went dry.

“Relax, it’s not a CIA spy satellite or anything like that. Nothing to tie you up in any ethical conundrums. Just your everyday illegal vampire-built space junk.”

“When you said this thing would be passing over the Midwest, I assumed we’d be meeting it at an airport somewhere.”

He chuckled. “The only way to override one of these things from the ground is to fight our way into the Chernobyl
vampire nest and take over their system. I don’t think either one of us are up for that.” He tossed me one of the suits. “Put this on.”

I held the ridiculously flimsy fabric. A deflated transparent bubble topped the one-piece jumpsuit. “What the hell is it?”

“Some old sci-fi writer’s idea of what a futuristic space suit would look like. I bought them off a libriomancer in the early eighties. They hold twelve hours of compressed air, and there’s a radio unit in the collar.”

I couldn’t process the idea of going into space in a thirty-year-old magic spacesuit, so I tried to focus my thoughts elsewhere. “Are you saying the vampires have their own satellite?”

“More than one. This is blood bank number six, out of ten that I know about. I’ve been wanting to get into this one for years.”

Ten blood banks in orbit, and the Porters had no idea. What else had we—had
they
missed? And why satellites? The cold of space would provide cheap, effective refrigeration, but as far as food storage went, it was ridiculously impractical. You couldn’t just fly into orbit every time you wanted a snack. What a satellite did provide was secrecy and security. “They’re storing samples.”

“Very good. They’ve built up a library of blood from every known species and hybrid of vampire. It’s all treated with glycerol to preserve the cells, which does nasty things to the flavor, but it’s worth it.”

And we were going to steal from them. To break into a blood bank. In orbit. Wearing tinfoil jumpsuits. “All right, next question.”

“Why do I need you?” Mahefa guessed.

“I was going to ask how the hell we’re supposed to reach this satellite, since I didn’t see a rocket ship in your back seat. But sure, let’s start with that.”

“The damn vampires put a bomb in my head last year. I get within a hundred meters of one of their vaults, and
boom
.” He pantomimed the explosion.

“Sounds unpleasant.” It also sounded similar to what I had
done to Ted Boyer a few years back. I wondered if they had used the same hardware. “So you need someone who can get inside and loot the satellite without getting atomized in the process.”

He shoved a pair of fire extinguishers into a beat-up canvas backpack. A coil of nylon rope followed, along with an oversized metal thermos. He zipped the whole thing up, then grabbed a laminated index card from his rear pocket. He handed me the card and an empty cooler. “I got my hands on a copy of their cataloguing system. This card lists the samples you’ll need. One of these will let you talk to your dead pope. Bring them all back, and I’ll tell you which one.”

“Wait, let
me
talk to him?”

Mahefa paused. “Is that a problem?”

“I’m not a Ramanga. I can’t use blood magic.”

“Which is why I’ll be prepping your drink, cutting it with a bit of my own. Your body is used to channeling magic, so it shouldn’t burn your guts out or anything like that.”

“This is vampire blood we’re talking about. What if I drink it and then burst into flames the first time the sun hits me?”

“This particular strain shouldn’t turn you,” he assured me. “You might have a nasty migraine for a few hours, but that’s all. If you’re scared, trick someone else into taking it. I’m sure Lena would drink it if you told her to, yes?”

Gutenberg’s spell had locked my magic, but that shouldn’t interfere with the effects of the blood. Euphemia had demonstrated quite well that magic could still affect me.

“It goes without saying that if you tell anyone about this, I’ll rip out your throat.” Mahefa clapped me on the back. “Go ahead and put on your suit. Don’t seal it yet, though. Sealing the helmet starts the airflow, and there’s no need to waste oxygen.”

Flying—heights in general, really—ranked right up with do-it-yourself root canals on my list of things I’d rather avoid. Maybe Lena had been right. Let the Porters find a way to speak with the dead. Once they dug up the pope’s secrets, they could hunt Meridiana.

Assuming they took my vision seriously enough to pursue it. And what would they do to Jeneta if they found her? Gutenberg had done his best to destroy the students of Bi Sheng, and Meridiana was a far greater threat. They would kill Jeneta without a second thought.