Armageddon Rules (14 page)

“Long ’fore I did bone magic, I was killing,” said Rip Van Winkle. Now he shuffled with both feet when he walked. “How’s it feel, princess? To be stripped of any magic at all? If you can’t breathe, that ain’t the dust. Big ol’ princes. Feisty princesses. Even killed myself a king or two at times. Just can’t quite function without magic.”

About then the ground under his feet exploded. Strictly speaking, the ash under his feet leaped upward as my harakathin attempted once more to punch a way through the layer of bones, but this time they’d grown smarter. The eruption threw Rip Van Winkle off to the side, straight into a cash register.

Then as he slumped toward the ground, it exploded upward again, bashing him in the head. I struggled to my feet, unable to put any weight on my broken foot, but as I approached him I took the gun out.

He rolled over and started to laugh. “You done tried that already.”

I pointed with the gun, and shot him twice. “You made a clean spot.” Right where his own blood had washed away the dust, I put two bullets.

He rolled over, clutching his thigh in an attempt to quell the rush of red. And he laughed. Not just giggled. Deep-throated laughter that bent him over so that he curled up in a ball, even as he convulsed in pain. “You ain’t no princess.”

I knelt, putting my knee on his chest and shoving my gun in his face. “No. Who paid you to kill Ari?” I pressed down on him, driving the air that kept him laughing out. Instead, his body shook and a wild grin spread across his face.

“What’s so funny?”

“You best be calling the police. Taking me to jail or somet’n.”

I stopped for a moment, thinking about how Ari would have reacted to a void spot in the magic. Wondered if she could even breathe. Wondered if she’d die from the lack of it. “You aren’t going to jail.”

He nodded in acceptance. He’d killed so many people, I suppose death was natural for him. Maybe even normal. “I didn’t figure you for a killer.”

“Some gnomes stole my cell phone, and I can’t call Grimm with your bone dust in the way. Not that it would matter. There are a couple of furious harakathin who will come through the first crack in your spell. I don’t know what they can or will do, but I know I won’t be able to stop them.”

I put the gun to his head. “Then there’s Ari. I don’t believe a jail cell would hold you for a minute, and she’d spend the rest of her life wondering when you would show up. I’m not normally a killer, but I do have my limits.”

He stared at the gun, then his eyes got wider, and I realized he wasn’t looking at it anymore. He was staring at my hand, where the Black Queen’s emblem darkened my skin. “Handmaiden. You think I’m evil ’cause I kill girls and grind up their bones. You got the mark of real evil.”

“How do you know?” I took his face in my hands and made him look at me.

He gasped for breath, the blood loss killing him. “I been sleeping and killing for centuries, but I do it honest, with my own two hands. The Black Queen, she killed her handmaidens by killing others. When you die inside, you’ll do whatever she wants.” He closed his eyes. “I was jes’ wonderin’, handmaiden. Wondering what got sent after you.” Then he shuddered and the dust exploded in a cloud as it fell from the ceilings and walls.

Bursts of ash signaled the final arrival of my harakathin. The hair on my skin stood up as they passed by. “Blessing, curse, you did good. Extra treats tonight.”

Rip Van Winkle was dead.

I took his head with me in a box. Not because I like heads in boxes. It’s very rare that you get in a situation where you’ll say, “You know what I need? A severed head in a box.” I took it because I figured that people wouldn’t believe me otherwise. Also, if he’d really been killing that long, there might be a reward on his head. In Kingdom, people tended to be literal. I packed it in bone dust and sealed it in the largest salad-fresh container I could find. Then I put the container in a Christmas gift bag I got from under a register.

As soon as I was outside, I called Grimm. No answer, though I had enough bone dust on me to cancel almost any form of magic. From my cell phone I ordered a package pickup for the head, having it shipped to myself. Then, as fast as I could limp to a cab, I ordered the driver to take me to the college. I continued to try to call Grimm all the way there, but he still didn’t answer. That didn’t worry me. Grimm was a big boy, a fairy of near limitless power. Ari, on the other hand, might be in trouble.

Twelve

IN THE MIDDLE of a completely average Monday, I arrived at the college. Students packed the front sidewalk, expressing how little they liked being up before noon. Some of them lumbered about like zombies. I’d never understood the fear of zombies. Sure, they’re dead. Sure, they’re hungry. But the ones I’d seen aren’t hungry for brains. Corn chips, on the other hand, can get you killed. Particularly nacho-cheese-flavored ones.

I stopped a zombie/pre-med student and asked him the way to the drama department. He mumbled, pointed, and otherwise provided an answer that was completely unsatisfactory. I shook him a bit and got a much better answer. The drama department was on the fourth floor, east end.

Regardless of what you might have seen in movies, you do not run around with a gun drawn to every door and hallway. In fact, if you have the choice, you don’t take out a gun around other people at all. College kids filled the halls, shuffling their way toward algebra, English, and other mundane horrors.

The city’s supply of waitresses and burger flippers would be severely damaged if I caused a massacre here. So I carefully climbed the stairs and headed to the drama department. The sign said “Closed,” which didn’t bother me a bit, and “No Admittance,” which meant “Come Right On In.” I wasn’t dyslexic. I’d made a career out of ignoring signs.

Right before I opened the door, I had a thought. Grimm still hadn’t answered, and normally I’d ask him to call for backup. Today, I needed backup of a different kind. I slipped my nine millimeter out of my purse. Inside the purse, it was hidden from metal detectors and masked by a cheap illusion I bought that made it look like a box of tampons. Aiming with care at the brick wall, I squeezed off three shots.

I’d definitely found the drama department, judging from the screams. I mean, I’d put the bullets into a wall for a reason—I didn’t want to hurt anyone. Soon enough, the entire college would be swarming with cops. Then I headed into the theater.

First off, let me say that if you are performing on a stage that small, the only way you will end up on Broadway is by taking a cab. Contrary to what the sign said, the theater wasn’t closed. A single stage light lit up one edge, either stage left or stage right. I had a hard enough time with normal left and right.

From the back, an angry woman yelled. Not Ari, but odds were I was going to get the drop on whoever had come after her. I ran down the aisle, vaulted onto the stage, and dashed to the back curtain. Behind it, the dressing rooms split off to the left and the right. The women’s dressing room door was shut.

Well, mostly shut. The top half of the door was torn off the hinges. An older woman, dark skin, Haitian jewelry, and a flower-print dress stood in the hall, tossing lightning bolts into the door. She stopped for a moment, and a flash of red hair lit up the door as Ari peeked out.

From a display cabinet on the wall, I slipped a trophy out. A cheap imitation of the Golden Globe Award, the figure looked a lot like her left hand was ringing up a cash register and her right hand was offering a box of fries. Either way, the enchantress never saw me coming.

I smashed the trophy right into her kidney, waited until she collapsed, then repeated it on the other kidney. Then I thought about awarding the enchantress her first “bloody red temple,” but decided against it. The cops would be here soon enough. “Ari? You okay?”

She stuck her head out the dressing room door. “M!”

I ignored the sweat dripping from her hair, focusing instead on the fact that as I hugged her, she hummed, her skin buzzing like a nest of wasps. “You okay? You don’t feel right.”

She glanced about, eyes wide, with exhaustion or adrenaline, I couldn’t say. “I’ll be okay. They were waiting for me when I walked through the doors. The thugs with guns were easy. I just drunked them. The spell slinger, on the other hand . . .” She trailed off, looking at the woman collapsed on the floor. That’s when I realized the ground and walls behind the woman were scorched. Ari had returned fire.

“I sort of sent a distress signal before I came in. Cops will be here soon enough. Why didn’t you leave after you figured out it was an ambush?” I tried to keep the worry in my heart out of my voice. This was common sense.

“She came in behind me.” Ari slumped against the door. “I was barely able to block her first spell, and then I ran. My bag’s out in the aisle somewhere, or I’d have shot her through the wall.” Ari carried a shopping bag almost everywhere with her Desert Eagle hidden by a similar spell. I believe hers showed up as a vampire romance novel.

“How much magic did you use?” I started to think there might be a good reason for her situation. Grimm had been quite clear about limiting her magic. Ari had run the equivalent of a marathon on bad knees.

She rubbed her fingertips together, and I guessed she could feel it too. “A lot. Mostly shields, but I might have thrown a lightning bolt or two.”

Right then I made up my mind. Priority one was getting Ari back to the Agency so I could make Grimm take care of her. “We’re going back to the Agency, and we’re doing it now. Someone meant to kill both of us. I was supposed to get the enchantress.”

Her eyes locked with mine. “What did they send after me?”

I helped her along the hallway backstage, supporting her each time she stumbled. Through the walls, the wail of approaching sirens rose. I’d get the paramedics and tell them that a drama student had collapsed under the pressure of a spelling quiz. “You ever heard of the Gray Man?”

She rolled her eyes, like normal people did if you asked them about the Easter Bunny. “Dad used to tell me he was under my bed, or in my closet, and if I got one more drink, he’d get me. He’s a myth.”

“He is now.”

Her eyes went wide as she worked out what I meant, and she reached up to rub a trace of bone dust from my forehead.

“Calm,” I said, pushing us through the stage curtain. “Once Grimm’s cleared you, I’ll tell the whole story. Until then, relax. The Royal Boogeyman is now just a boogeyman.” My mind clicked on what she’d said before. “You left thugs here?”

Ari nodded. It occurred to me right then how much I couldn’t see. How bright the lights were and how dark the theater was. But I’d seen the stage when I walked across it, empty.

“Marissa,” said a female voice in the darkness.

My stomach churned as I worked to place her location, but her accent told me who spoke. There was no point in pretending otherwise. “Queen Mihail.” I shoved Ari behind me and glanced to the sides.

The sound of metal on metal that echoed through the empty room I recognized as a safety coming off.

“Stay where you are, or I shoot your friend.”

“You mean you shoot me.” If someone had to be shot, and it couldn’t be an intern, I wouldn’t let it be my best friend.

“No,” said the queen. She moved as she spoke, coming closer until her face emerged from the darkness near the foot of the stage. “I shoot your friend. You, I have something special for.”

I thought about the sirens outside. About the dozen police officers checking locked classroom after classroom. All I had to do was delay her. So I asked a question I already knew the answer to. “Why did you send the Gray Man after Ari?”

“Don’t feign ignorance with me. My son was destroyed by your hand. Your friend there protected you long enough to allow you to throw the apple. Do you remember my promise to you?” She took one step up the stairs and the stage lights cast her face into shadows.

I did. She’d promised me rewards not even Grimm could provide, and punishments not even he could protect me from. Then I remembered her other promise. That her generosity would fall on everyone who aided me, if I returned her son unharmed.

And so would her wrath.

“You should have left her out of this. Your problem was with me.” Queen Mihail wouldn’t leave anyone out. It wasn’t in her nature, but again, the point was wasting time. I’d stopped counting seconds and started worrying about who else she might have gone after.

“I promised you wrath, Marissa. I always keep my promises. It took me years to find ways to get all of you, but I am patient.” What amazed me was how calm her tone was. She spoke the same way I talked about the news over breakfast. Calm, almost cordial. “Even your fairy friend had a weakness.”

So that’s why Grimm wasn’t answering. The traditional way to attack a fairy was to break their original mirror. I’d also managed to do it once the hard way, but I destroyed the only weapon capable of killing a fairy in the process.

“What did you do to him?”

She took another step onto the stairs, rising from the shadows like a cobra. “Your boss? Or your man?”

“You harm a single scale on Liam and I’ll make sure you have a family reunion.” I spoke before I thought—likely Liam would tear apart almost anything sent after him. If he had a chance. If he saw them coming.