Blue Magic (13 page)

Four young men had eased the girl’s body onto a sheet of silk from a shattered tent. Now they each took up a corner, lifting her. The crowd fell silent, parting as they bore the corpse to the hospital.

Olive brandished a bloodstained wallet from her pocket. “Libby Wilson. Fifteen years old.”

Fifteen. “Who dropped this bomb? Where’s the pilot from?”

One of the seers replied: “Maryland.”

“Find me a beach in Maryland, Pike.” She reached out to the ravine, scooping up as much vitagua as she could and stepping through Bramblegate.

Will rushed after her. “What are you doing?”

“Got it, boss.” Pike’s voice buzzed. “Assateague Island National Seashore.”

“Stop calling me boss.” She stomped into the glow. Sea air embraced her, and a herd of wild horses spooked, fleeing north. Bramblegate grew out of the beach, spraying sand.

“Astrid…” Will appeared beside her. “Don’t do this.”

Vitagua was vulnerable to seawater, but there was plenty of life on the beach. She sprayed liquid magic into the salt marsh grass, into kelp thrown up by the tide. She brushed the birds: egrets and herons, gulls without number, a peregrine falcon roosting in a nearby tree. She contaminated a copse of small wind-blasted shrubs, a stand of pine, and then sent the rest of the vitagua rolling inland as a glowing blue fogbank to the limits of her sight, over the surface of the sand.

Clouds of contaminated ticks and mosquitoes rose from the grasses. Clumped starfish in a tidal pool began to bloat and stretch. Ghost and horseshoe crabs by the hundreds, unseen when she had begun, grew into dog-sized monstrosities.

“Astrid, stop! This is retaliation. You’re acting like a terrorist—”

“Why not? I’m a murderer, aren’t I?”

“Does this make you feel better about the dead girl?”

“It’s not about…” But it was: she was angry, out of control. “I’m sorry.”

He understood: She could see it.

“This was stupid.” The horses had doubled in size. Blue patches of hair marked their coats and manes. “We hit St. Louis, Roche hits us, I do this. Tit for tat. Stupid, stupid.”

“You can’t afford to lose your temper, Astrid. Too much is riding on you.”

The understatement made her burst into tears. Will hesitated just a moment before he opened his arms. She let herself lean in and cry.

He’s kind,
she thought again.

“I know you’re having a tough day,” he said eventually. “But I want to go after my kids before the Alchemites move on.”

Of course. It was the interrogation all over again. He wasn’t comforting her because he cared; he was keeping her on task.

Buck up,
she told herself.
Of course he’s tunnel-visioned on the kids. Forget the romance prophecies and get to work.
“Canada, right?”

“Saskatoon, Saskatchewan.”

“Astrid.” Their tuning forks were abuzz. “Come back, lass, or we’re sending the strike team.”

“We’re on our way,” Will said. He dried her eyes, then gestured at Bramblegate. “After you.”

Bracing herself, she stepped into the plaza. A crowd waited, volunteers packed around the trolley. For once, nobody was glued to the big TV with Sahara’s trial on it.

Mark spoke for them all. “You can’t take risks like that.”

“She’s not hurt,” Will said.

“This time,” Mark insisted.

Astrid reined in an impulse to run back into the glow, to flee all this attention and the burden too. Instead she met Mark’s mismatched eyes. “I didn’t mean to scare anyone.”

“You’re the key to this whole operation,” Clancy huffed.

“I’m sorry,” Astrid said. “Let’s just get back to work, okay?”

Mock groans and laughter rippled across the plaza.

“Come on,” she said. “Are we saving the world or not?”

“More the merrier!” someone shouted back.

“Good!” She reached for Mark, giving him a friendly squeeze, showing solidarity. “We’re heading out after the kids. But I want a plan for that idea about hiding vitagua in glaciers. Was that Dorrie’s idea?”

“You want it right this second?”

“First thing in the morning.”

The woman gave her the thumbs-up and waved to a trio of volunteers, leading them away.

“And Thunder, set up a meet with this guy who says we can dig an underground river.”

He nodded. “It’d help if someone could teach him English.”

She picked a Frisbee off the nearest bench, chanting it while concentrating on the idea of language lessons, instant fluency. “Presto. Go learn him up.”

“Abracadabra,” he replied, cheerfully, twirling the Frisbee as he headed for the glow. Around the plaza, she could hear the tuning forks buzzing, transmitting her orders.

“It’ll be enough,” she murmured. “It has to be.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“
IS SAHARA KNAX A
god?”

A couple days had passed since Juanita slipped Sahara the latest chantment, a ladybug, bringing the total number of chantments hidden in her cell to three. Three crimes, three betrayals. So far, Wendover hadn’t crumbled to dust or been obliterated by a plague of locusts. The trial was continuing in almost humdrum fashion, bound up in procedural arguments.

Today, though, the atmosphere was tense.

The Alchemite lawyers had petitioned to get their clients back in the courtroom, and so far they’d behaved. Sitting in a double row at the defense table, they looked vulnerable and beaten down. Some slumped in their chairs like bored schoolchildren. Caro Forest kept scanning the galleries, presumably looking for her husband.

Lucius Landon, today’s witness, was a nerdier version of the firefighter, Gilead, who now shadowed General Roche’s every step. He dressed like a young academic, someone you’d expect to see teaching chemistry labs to university freshmen. When he was introduced as a magical expert, Sahara leaned forward, lips slightly parted.

In response to Wallstone’s question, Landon said: “Sahara Knax is not divine. She’s David Koresh, Charles Manson … but on a different scale.”

“Meaning?”

“Knax escaped from Indigo Springs with a collection of magical objects. Using these items to create an illusion of godlike power, she developed a following of gullible believers.”

A hiss from the defendants’ table. Skagway shot them a glance that could’ve frozen blood, and they quieted.

“So there’s no spiritual foundation for the Alchemite religion?”

“Knax has drawn her so-called prime lessons from legitimate sources,” Landon said. “She’s pilfered Wiccan teachings and exploited widespread public concern for the environment. But her disciples, the religious practice—it’s Sahara-worship, pure and simple. The people she’s attracted aren’t interested in profound spiritual practice. She’s offering easy answers and magical power. That’s what these snake oil vendors do.”

“Sahara’s followers claim she has guided them to troves of holy artifacts,” Wallstone said. “Items she laid aside decades ago for use in their rebellion against the government.”

“Decades ago?” Landon repeated. “When she was … what, ten?” The gallery chuckled, and the witness shook his head. “As long as magical objects—chantments—have existed, there have been chantment thieves. Knax is a gifted thief. It doesn’t make her a deity.”

“And the sea monsters she claims to have created?”

“Raw magic befouls living things, afflicting them with giantism and mutations.” Using a remote control, he brought up a time-lapse sequence of an ant blundering into a droplet of luminescent blue fluid, and subsequently growing to the size of a handbag. “Imagine what would happen if you exposed a blue whale, or a giant squid.”

“The monsters are alchemically contaminated sea life?”

“That’s all they are.”

Wallstone asked: “What about the icebergs created when the Alchemites destroyed the
Vigilant
?”

“Using a chantment to work magic requires energy; it’s no different from technology in that regard. The Alchemites drew heat out of the ocean near the carrier. The icebergs were a side effect of the sinking. Anyone could do the same.”

“So her powers aren’t special, her philosophy is hollow, and her so-called miracles are a side effect of chantment use?”

“That’s about the size of it.”

“Is what Sahara Knax has done against the law?”

“Objection,” defense counsel said laconically. “Witness isn’t a lawyer, Your Honor.”

“Sustained.”

Lucius locked eyes with the attorney. “It’s morally wrong. Isn’t that enough? As for unlawful, that’s a no-brainer.”

“How so? It’s not illegal to propogate magic,” Wallstone said.

“There are laws against contaminating the environment and poisoning people, aren’t there? Against terrorism? Knax openly boasts of having caused earthquakes and wildfires. Tens of thousands were displaced by the contaminated forest. They lost their homes, lost everything. And maybe I’m no lawyer, but sinking the
Vigilant
was certainly against the law.”

Sahara snorted, too softly for the judge to hear. Juanita resisted an urge to flick the back of her head.

“Let’s move on. The defendants are using a necessity defense. They claim their crimes are justified because they demonstrate magic’s potential to reverse climate change.”

“And Sahara Knax knows how to carry that off? She’s a radio deejay. How much sea life died as a result of her actions?” Lucius Landon clicked the remote, bringing up a shot of the wreckage of the carrier, surrounded by ice floes, a fuel slick, and dead gulls.

“Still. Drawing heat from the sea, right when the oceans are heating up and the Antarctic ice sheet is shrinking—”

“Randomly creating massive icebergs could make things worse. What if they cool things down so much that it affects the North Atlantic current?”

“Is that possible?”

Landon directed his response to the camera, to the viewing audience. “A large enough casting, unchecked, could trigger an ice age.”

“Earth survived the ice ages,” Wallstone said, pressing the point further.

“How well do you think humanity will do if one hits us all at once?”

“And global warming?”

“Sir, we know how to slow climate change. We knew before the magical spill.”

“Is there no way magic can be used to restore balance to the world?” Wallstone said.

“Objection.” The Alchemite lawyer rose. “Calls for speculation.”

“Your Honor,” “Wallstone said. “This witness has experience with vitagua and magical chantments, as well as a master’s degree in physics.”

“I’ll allow it,” Skagway said.

“False prophets like Sahara Knax prey upon human weakness,” Lucius Landon said. “It’s natural for us to wish for a painless way out of the world’s ecological problems. But if there were a quick fix, she’d have done it already.”

False prophet,
Juanita thought. The archaic-sounding phrase struck a chord. She remembered Sahara’s prediction from the other night:
You’ll be a believer, you’ll be in Indigo Springs with me at the end.

False prophecies. Garbage, in other words. The words were comforting. They cut Sahara down to size.

Wallstone continued playing devil’s advocate: “Magic shouldn’t be used to feed people, cure epidemics, relieve droughts?”

“Since when do we allow churches and amateurs to decide what society’s problems are, or how to solve them?”

“Ever hear of a soup kitchen, man?” one defendant called.

“Order,” Skagway said. “Young man, I won’t warn you again.”

“All right,” Wallstone said, “what if governments and experts wanted to employ magic in taking on society’s problems?”

“There are responsible ways to channel magic.”

“Such as?”

Landon produced a vial of coffee-colored fluid. “This is a potion.”

“A magical potion?”

“Yes. It was produced in a controlled environment and produces a limited magical outcome.”

“Now who’s the false prophet?” Sahara rose, sliding Juanita a wink. “Sorry, Your Honor—I can’t let this pass.”

The ladybug chantment was in her hand.

Juanita was on her feet, weapon drawn, safety off, adrenaline pumping.

Suddenly the room was full of starlings, hundreds of birds whirling above the ceiling. They were shrieking, their characteristic
snnk-snkk
noise rasping through Juanita’s skull like a hacksaw.

“It’s all right, my darlings,” Sahara said. “Everything is absolutely fine.”

And it was. Juanita hesitated. Her arm fell to her side, and she relaxed. For the first time in weeks—months—she felt safe. Looking at Sahara, she felt an upwelling of love.

“Gladys, dear,” Sahara said. “Unlock my friends, will you?”

Gladys scurried to comply. The Alchemites raised their hands to be uncuffed; they had their heads lowered and their lips were moving.
We should all be praying,
Juanita thought, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Sahara.

She was getting woozy.

That was all right. Sahara would take care of everything.

“Stay with me,” Sahara ordered the camera operator at the back of the courtroom. She sauntered to the witness box, plucking the potion from the hand of the witness.

Landon didn’t object. He looked a bit green.
Good,
Juanita thought; now she hated both of them, these two Landon men with their Goddess-hating rants.…

Sahara spoke: “Children of the technofilth, you have done me great harm. Here I sit, chained, beaten down—”

Cries of outrage rippled through the courtroom.

That’s a lie.
Juanita felt a tickle of defensiveness.

“You foul my air, burn my sacred groves, devour my creatures, and persecute my followers.”

We never beat you,
Juanita thought. Her head cleared a little. Her knee trembled with the effort of holding her weight. Her right hand, her gun hand, was getting heavy. One of the older lawyers had sunk into a chair.

“Let me finish what I have begun. I will return to my sacred grove and bestow enchantment upon you all. This man lies! I can end food shortages, fix the weather, eliminate racism and religious strife—”