Fire Kissed (14 page)
“You know where to reach me,” Kaye answered as Bastian escorted her toward the doors. She had a lot to think about.
The blurs around that dinner table, the dark warp in the empty seats, could be only one thing. And considering the pointed questions of her client’s partner today, she knew exactly what the visual “absences” had to be.
Mages.
With the exception of herself, she could never see the futures of mages in her Shadowfire, and today was no different. Not that she would inform her client what he was missing when he looked at his future.
But the mages were there, in the warp of darkness and fire. She was sure of it.
And they were cutting deals with humankind.
Horace Ballogh stilled his quavering hands on the conference table. He wanted a cup of tea but was too preoccupied to walk to the conference door, open it, and ask. Shadow—the word had confounded his team. It was used in too many contexts and ways for him and his colleagues to reliably define, until now.
Shadow was magic.
Magic was real.
And that woman with the scars could wield it—though there was nothing dark, shadowy, about
her
magic. Horace could still see the flames, though the woman had left.
her
magic. Horace could still see the flames, though the woman had left.
The trembling that had beset his hands these last few years now spread to the rest of his body.
Houses? He still couldn’t define that one. Were they political groups that controlled different kinds of Shadow? Or was Shadow more of a genetic trait? House, meaning heritage?
The door opened, his partners reentering for a report.
There was only one recourse left. He didn’t have to like it. This was survival. The paradigms of the world were shifting, and only a few were privy to that knowledge. The masses would be crushed under such power—Shadow—but he would not be among them. “Make the call,” Horace said.
“Don’t tell me you believed her,” Linda said. “She’s a fortune-teller, a scam artist; she’s supposed to be persuasive.”
“Men like him will burn in Hell,” Mark added, referencing the person Horace wanted him to call.
Horace put a shaking hand over his face. He’d been involved in some unpleasant business over the years, hence his connection to Urlich, but magic, Shadow, fire—that Horace could hire Ms. Brand in the first place, take a meeting with someone like that—meant that he was probably too late to the game already.
He looked up at his partners. Still saw the wild fire. “You don’t understand,” he said. “The world is already burning. Make the call.”
Jack kept close behind Kaye as they headed for the elevator. He considered the details of the meeting and the thoughts he’d fished out of the lawyers’ minds. Yes, they’d paid for Kaye’s services, but they were really trying to network with the mages, an ignorant, foolhardy endeavor at best. They had no idea whom they were meddling with.
The known interaction between magekind and humanity had just ratcheted up several notches. Even Kaye seemed unnerved. “Terrible place.”
The word
Houses
used in this context was like a pebble hopping down a dangerous mountainside; soon awareness would avalanche, all eyes would turn in fear or awe toward magic, and its reemergence would demolish the current structures of government and order. He’d seen it happen before. In five years, what would the world look like? He already knew from the visions in Kaye’s fire.
Houses
used in this context was like a pebble hopping down a dangerous mountainside; soon awareness would avalanche, all eyes would turn in fear or awe toward magic, and its reemergence would demolish the current structures of government and order. He’d seen it happen before. In five years, what would the world look like? He already knew from the visions in Kaye’s fire.
He’d lived it before.
Jack turned to the fast
clack
of female footsteps.
clack
of female footsteps.
... message for Ms. Brand ...
From the receptionist’s mind, he got a quick flash of a delivery boy, as well as her signing a clipboard. “This came during the meeting.”
From the receptionist’s mind, he got a quick flash of a delivery boy, as well as her signing a clipboard. “This came during the meeting.”
He and Kaye had to have been followed to the appointment. Someone was tracking their movements, which was expected, but still of concern.
“Thank you.” He took the envelope and stepped inside the elevator. The doors closed, and he handed the missive to Kaye.
She opened the flap, pulled out a card, and after a moment looked up at him. “Hirshhorn Sculpture Gardens.”
Jack frowned. “It’s a couple blocks from here, toward the National Mall. Mage?”
“That’s my guess. It’s not signed. We have a thing about names.”
“You’re getting popular.” Magekind was eating her in one big gulp.
“That’s the point, right?” She looked at the card again. “We don’t have to go. It could read like a summons, which I would ignore.”
He smiled at her temper and felt a little better. “Or the mage could merely be cautious.” Which meant a possible connection, possible information. And it was highly unlikely it had anything to do with Grey.
She sighed. “All right. But I’m not dressed to fight wraiths.” Her dark gaze darted to his arm. “And you still look too busted up for anything athletic.”
“Well, they’d better not try me.”
You can, though.
You can, though.
As they moved briskly through the lobby, he was aware of angels at a distance forming a lookout. The driver had the car waiting outside. All very quick, very efficient.
“Interesting vision,” Kaye said once she was settled inside the backseat with Jack. “Mr. Ballogh was having dinner with mages—we just couldn’t see them. I’m sure they were there.”
“We’ve been tracking suspected human-mage connections,” Jack said, thinking of Urlich. “But none lead directly to a House. If humans are negotiating deals, they’re buffered from the real identities of the other side. Grey knows that The Order will suffer no mage dominion of humanity.”
And Jack was there again, creeping through a wood toward a clearing. Sacrifices on dark altars to the fae on the Other side for more power, more Shadow, more seduction. Daggers of black. He’d been focused on human thoughts, so when the wolves jumped him, ripping his flesh, he fell.
“I’ll mention the vision to Ferro tomorrow night. See if he says anything.” Kaye looked worried. “Though it’ll do no favors for Mr. Ballogh.”
“Ballogh and his partners are actively looking for trouble anyway,” Jack returned. The past and the present weren’t lining up right for him anymore. It was all a jumble. And the war was beginning again. “We need the information. The sooner this is over, the better for all involved.”
The car traveled a few long blocks and slowed to a stop at 7th Street and Jefferson. The evening was overcast, the colors of the buildings, streets, and trees creating a drab pall, which made him uneasy. They walked the half block to the opening that led them down into the sunken garden. Bronze sculptures, most anthropomorphic, stood at easy intervals, their patinas darkened to graphite black. They passed a naked woman, arms extended. Two modern seated figures. The human forms all seemed alive, yet trapped in metal skins.
Kaye, gleaming in the sullen air, peered at the art as they strolled down the pathways, her lips parted in wonder.
Though the space was enclosed and landscaped, it felt eerie, bare vines crawling the white walls. And though the cloudy sky cast no shadows, darkness pooled in every corner and under each statue.
An angel communicated,
Two soulless just ahead of you.
Two soulless just ahead of you.
Mages were here. Of course they were. It was he, the angel, who seemed to be trespassing in this little bit of their world.
They approached Rodin’s
Burghers of Calais,
a gathering of six life-sized men, each with a somber and defeated aspect as they walked to their deaths
.
Burghers of Calais,
a gathering of six life-sized men, each with a somber and defeated aspect as they walked to their deaths
.
Before the raised area of these statues, two black-eyed mages stood—an old man in a wool coat and scarf and a young one in only a jacket—awaiting their approach. Jack flexed his hands to keep himself loose. The Shadowfire burn seared.
“I’m cold,” Kaye said to the elder. “But I like this place.”
Which didn’t surprise Jack. It was melancholy and beautiful.
“I like it too,” the older man said. “I feel a little stronger when I visit.”
“Seems like there’s Shadow in plenty here,” she answered. Jack agreed. “Maybe we can linger for a while.” She tilted her head in his direction. “This is my associate, Mr. Bastian. He’s human, but loyal to me.”
Yes, loyal. He would keep her from harm, if she’d let him.
The old man’s eyes crinkled. “With your beauty, any man would be loyal. Even an old one.”
“I think we’re going to be friends.” She shifted to the younger. “You have the same eyes. Grandson?”
“Son.” The young man’s short delivery was less flattering.
So, of course, she switched back to his father and his compliments. Jack almost laughed at how predictable she could be.
“Your wife is a lucky woman,” she said warmly.
“Have you made an arrangement with Ferrol Grey?” the young one said.
A soft warning from the elder. “Marcell.”
Kaye bit her lip, looking closely at the old man. “I don’t recall meeting you at my party.”
“We weren’t invited,” he said. He held out a business card. “Sigmund Lakatos.”
Kaye took the card, glanced down at the text. “House Lakatos?”
“We were forced to disband,” Marcell spat. “We’re all that’s left.”
Jack wondered what form their Shadow talent took. Lakatos. Locksmith.
“We were once loyal to your father. The mages of Brand House were our patrons. But when your House burned, we fell on hard times.” Sigmund didn’t look well. “And times have only become more difficult.”
She glanced back at the young one, Marcell. “Then you’re astray?”
Jack had encountered this once before, ages ago. When a House grew weak, its numbers few, they lost status among their kind. Their House would not be recognized until they reclaimed power and prestige, as Kaye was now doing for Brand. The remaining members of a fallen House were considered stray, again as Kaye had been for the past ten years, and were often preyed upon in the mage world. Occasionally, a stray made other arrangements—by marriage or indenture—to be absorbed into a greater mage Household.
“I’d rather die,” Marcell said.
Rather die than what?
Sigmund cleared his throat, but it still took him a moment to speak. “We would be open to discussing an arrangement.”
Marriage? Poor Marcell, Jack thought. He could never hope to match Kaye Brand. He had to have known that the moment she came around the corner. This was as close as Marcell was ever going to get to ecstasy.
Kaye was silent a moment, then, “You honor me.”
Her way of saying no.
“She’s in with Grey!” Marcell said. “He threw a fucking party for her. What do think she’s going to do with us?”
“She’s just being cautious, son.”
Not as cautious as Jack would like.
She grinned at the old man. “If
you
were fifty years younger—”
you
were fifty years younger—”
“Grey is more than thirty years my senior,” he said. “But that is not what I am suggesting. I’ve come to—” The man halted briefly as he lowered himself awkwardly to his knees, then looked up with respect and deep sadness at Kaye. “I’ve come to beseech Brand House to take us in once again. We would serve you faithfully, as we did your father, and add our wealth to yours.” A rueful smile. “Triple your numbers.”
Shadow thickened on the pavement, smoking at the old man’s knees. His expression was resolute and proud. Tears streaked down Marcell’s angry face. He fell too, but he wouldn’t look at Kaye. His head was bowed and turned to the side.
Kaye stared, fixed in horror. She suddenly came to and reached forward to help the old man up, but Jack grabbed her arm and held her back, kept her on her feet, so that she wouldn’t touch either Lakatos. Could be a trap.
So many traps.
“Get up,” Kaye said thickly. Jack still held the balance of her weight.
“We have a facility with locks,” the old man continued. “We can get you in and out of anywhere, a talent—”
“Get up before I throw up.”
Jack could feel her shaking. This was not what either he or Kaye expected. Clearly they hadn’t thought matters through well enough. They knew Grey’s patronage would make her a target for suspicion, even violence. But this?
“The Dark Age is upon the world,” the old man said. “Please. We need your fire to protect us.”
“Well, with your talent, rob a bank and set yourself up,” Kaye returned. “You can fend for yourself.”
Jack had to say something. “Or try to earn an honest living.” Always an option.
Sigmund ignored him. “The world doesn’t have that long, and you know it. A House is refuge from the coming storm. Heaven itself will fall on magekind while the flood of Shadow drowns humanity. Take us in and Lakatos can be strong again.”
Very clever, if desperate. If Grey were joined to Brand, and Kaye had taken these two under her wing, then the Lakatoses would go from outcast to inner circle in one deft move. They would indeed be saved by her greater strength.
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