Hard Magic (25 page)

Excitement was building in the pit of his stomach. It felt good to feel
something
. “I would like permission to call up all our reserves.”

The Chairman’s expression didn’t change, but his words indicated his displeasure. “The fiercest warrior strikes and holds nothing back, assuring an enemy’s demise with a single blow, yet wastes all his strength for the rest of the battle. The wise warrior strikes with skill, retaining his strength to fight again.”

Madi bowed in submission. He’d gone out of his lane. It wasn’t his place to jeopardize the Imperium’s many secret operations inside the United States. Madi had only the slightest idea of the number of agents they had in the military, government, media, and industry. America was riddled with corruption, and when the time came, it would fall. “My apologies, Chairman Tokugawa.”

The Chairman appeared deep in thought. “But for Pershing . . . I’ll make an exception. Activate as many cells as wisdom dictates. Make an example of him that will strike fear into the hearts of the few Grimnoir that remain. Yet we must have complete deniability. The time for open war with the Americans has not yet come.”

He did have a plan. Something that had been simmering in the back of his mind, and this seemed like the best opportunity he’d ever have to put it into effect. “I have an idea for something
spectacular
. . .” Madi said. “It’ll accomplish multiple goals.” Madi outlined what he had in mind. He was rather proud of it. Normally he was a straightforward type, but this struck him as particularly devious. He’d put a lot of thought into it.

“I am impressed . . . Your mind is as fearsome a weapon as your body,” the Chairman said. Madi felt like he could explode.

“I’ll need Shadow Guard.”

“You will have them . . . and my complete faith. Kill them all, my son.” The leader of the Imperium cocked his head to one side, as if listening to something very far away. “I am needed elsewhere.”

The shimmering ball of light flickered into nothingness. Madi turned to Yutaka. “Send a telegram to every cell in five hundred miles. We strike as soon as the Shadow Guard arrive.” He could almost taste the blood.

Mar Pacifica, California

Francis had arrived
at the reunion a little late, just in time to see Faye shoot the big man in the back for no apparent reason. Heinrich reacted instantly like the soldier he was and drilled Faye. He was too surprised to act, but then Heinrich stepped forward and aimed his Luger between Faye’s eyes, ready to finish her off.

“No!” Francis shouted, surging his Power. Heinrich was knocked aside as he pulled the trigger, blasting a hole in the dirt next to her head. Francis ran toward them. “Wait!”

“Heinrich, stand down,” Browning ordered. Obviously confused, Heinrich stepped back, lowering his pistol to his side. The entire group was shocked.

“What the hell!” Lance bellowed, dropping down beside the girl. “Faye! Damn it! Stay with me, girl.”

Francis arrived in time to hear Faye whisper something. “Madi. Thought he was . . . Madi . . .” She coughed and blood came shooting from her mouth. Francis dropped down at her side and did the only thing he’d been taught to do in this situation, and put direct pressure on the hole.

“What was she doing?” Delilah screamed, rocking the big man back and forth in her lap. His eyes were open, flickering. They rolled back in his head and he was out. “Come on, Jake, come on.”

“Save them,” Browning said to Jane.

“I . . . I can’t.” The Healer stood between the two, hesitating. She closed her eyes and held her hands out. “Too much internal damage. I can’t save them both. They’re dead in minutes. I’ve only got enough Power to do one or the other.” She looked to Browning imploringly.

Browning, unsure, stated to speak, but bit his tongue, looking between them.

“Are you insane?” Garrett shouted. “She must be a Shadow Guard. Help Sullivan.”

“No, she’s not,” Francis spat. There was no way that Faye was some sort of Imperium assassin. There had to be an explanation.

“She’s a damned teleporter! She’s a ninja, Francis!” Dan grabbed Jane by the arm and pointed. “Save Sullivan.”

“Don’t you
dare
use your magic on me, Dan.” Jane ripped her arm away.

Heinrich had holstered his gun, and was walking in a slow circle, rubbing his hands on his face. “
Scheisse
,” he said, snapping back and moving to Delilah. “Roll him over.” She did, and Heinrich pulled the big man’s coat down, revealing a white shirt soaked red. Blood was pouring from multiple entrance wounds.

Browning spoke. “Which one has less time?”

She stopped at Faye and closed her eyes. “Damage to the aorta.” Then back to Sullivan. “Lung, superior vena cava, spine . . .” She opened her eyes. “Sullivan’s tougher. Faye’s dead first.”

“Save her,” Browning ordered.

Jane shrugged off Dan’s hand and ran to Faye.

“What!” Delilah shrieked.

Browning ignored her. “Do we have time to get him to the hospital, or could you walk us through an operation in time?”

Jane was concentrating on Faye, but she shook her head in a vigorous
No.

“Very well. Lance, help me.” The old man removed his coat and tossed it on the ground. “Place him on his back. Heinrich, open his shirt. Garrett, go to the library and fetch the third volume of
Rune Arcanium.
Hurry!” Dan ran up the steps and disappeared into the house.

“Are you crazy?” Lance hissed. “That never works.”

Browning pulled a small pocketknife and opened it. “The Imperium makes it work.”

“If we screw up even the slightest, it could warp him into who knows what. Almost every Grimnoir who’s tried has died, or
worse
, and most of them weren’t bleeding to death at the time.”

“He’s a very strong man,” Heinrich said.

Lance cursed under his breath. “Blood or Smoke, John?”

“You’ve the steadier hand with a blade. Here, this is finer than yours,” Browning said passing his pocketknife over handle first. Lance took it hesitantly. “Just pretend you’re cleaning an elk.”

“What are you doing?” Francis asked.

“Something stupid,” Lance said as he took a vial out of his pocket and handed it to Browning. “Delilah, don’t let him move. If we get one line even sorta wrong he’s done.” Delilah put her weight down on Sullivan’s shoulders and awoke her Power. Lance kept talking as he put the blade against Sullivan’s flesh. “This is like what the Imperium does to their Iron Guards . . .” Talking seemed to steady his nerves.

Browning unscrewed the vial. Smoke hissed out. “I will attempt to make a pattern in Summoned’s ink while Lance interlocks one into his skin. If we succeed, we will connect a direct link to the Power. This is the old spell for health.”

“Like what the Imperium goons have?” Francis sputtered.

“Something like that, only stronger,” Lance said slowly, cutting an intricate curve deep into Sullivan’s muscle. Dark red blood came welling out from behind the blade. “Except that pathetic scribble wouldn’t survive a bullet in the spine . . .
Come on
. . .”

“Francis, get a mark of weakness on that girl before she wakes up,” Browning said. “I don’t want her Traveling out of here if she is a Shadow Guard.” He raised the vial, but hesitated, and bowed his head first. Francis realized he was saying a prayer. A second later Browning opened his eyes, and started carefully dripping the smoking liquid. Delilah had to turn her head away as it sizzled on the impacted skin like bacon.

Francis looked for something to write with, couldn’t find anything, realized his hands were covered in Faye’s blood, and quickly drew the simple little mark of weakness on her forehead. All it should do was screw up her access to her magic. He didn’t feel right doing it, but he didn’t know what to think right then. This strange little girl had just murdered
another
person in front of him.

Jane’s hands glowed pink around the bones, almost like she’d placed them on top of a brilliant spotlight. This was the most Power he’d ever seen her expend at once. A deformed 9mm bullet rose through the hole in Faye’s chest as the tissue closed up behind it. Francis could feel the heat from a foot away. Jane removed her hands from Faye’s head, and fell into the grass. “I got it beating,” Jane gasped. She struggled back to her knees, blonde hair covering her face, exhausted. “She’ll live.”

“Jane, do you have anything left at all?” Browning asked.

“Give me a sec,” she panted, crawling over. “It won’t be enough.”

Browning frowned as he got to a difficult part. Sullivan’s blood was obscuring Lance’s cuts. “Wait until I tell you, then channel whatever you’ve got left into the dead center of this design. Understand?”

“Yes, sir . . . You’d best hurry. Blood pressure is dropping. His heart will stop in ninety seconds.”

Garrett returned with a thick leather book. “Page one hundred and twenty-three,” Browning said, and Garrett started flipping. Lance stared at the intricate picture, swore, and started cutting faster. Browning took one look, scowled, and said. “If any of you have faith, I’d suggest prayers for a steady hand.”

“Miracle would be good too . . .” Lance said, “Ask for one of those.”

***

Jake Sullivan was back in his cell at Rockville, wearing his issued black and whites, sitting on the end of his tiny bunk. The fifty-pound iron ball chained to his ankle was a familiar old friend. It had been a joke to a man with his magic, but rules were rules, and he’d worn it for six straight years.

It was exactly the same. Every day was exactly the same.
You sleep. You work. You get put back in your cage . . .
but somehow Sullivan knew that today was different. Today he’d been a free man, but someone had shot him full of holes and murdered him.

So, this is what hell looks like . . . Figures.

There was a rattle as the eye slit on the steel door slid open. A pair of black eyes appeared. “Greetings.”

“You the devil?” Sullivan asked.

“Yes,” the voice answered. “You could say that.”

Sullivan scowled as he got a better look through the slit. He hadn’t expected the devil to be Japanese. Those black eyes were set in a handsome, strong face, but they belonged to someone far older. They were the eyes of an ancient. “You’re the Chairman, aren’t you?”

“I have many names. That one will do for this place . . . The land where the dead come to dream.”

“What do you want?”

The cell in Rockville was gone, and he was standing knee deep in mud made from ground dirt and blood, his Lewis gun smoking hot in his hands in the dead center of no-man’s-land. Coiled barbwire entangled thousands of mutilated corpses and the yellow cloud in front of the sunrise told him that the poison gas was coming again.

“I’ve come to witness your failure,” the Chairman answered. Sullivan turned to see the Chairman walking on top of the liquid mud. He was average height, wearing a fine black suit with a red sash festooned with medals and ribbons draped over one shoulder. He paused to pet a rising zombie’s scabrous head as if it were a faithful pet. “I want to see you burn.”

“Why?”

“It brings me pleasure. Few things do these days. I always come to see when someone tries to touch the Power directly. The Grimnoir are trying to save your life as we speak.”

The sensation of them mutilating and burning a spot on his chest seemed distant, somehow absent. “How do you know?”

“I am closer to the Power than they are,” he said simply. “I know when someone tries to steal my birthright. Their smallest spells are beneath my notice, but now they try the most complicated of links in desperation, but they are as children, toying with the things of adults. They will fail, as they always do.” The Chairman paused, studying Sullivan. “Too bad . . . I can see that you are a man of character.”

The Somme was gone, and they were in a familiar bar in New Orleans, another place where he’d tried to build a life, and failed. Sullivan stood over the splattered mess that had been Sheriff Johnson. The other patrons were fleeing or hiding. The negro serving boy that he’d saved from the Sheriff’s wrath was huddled in the corner, afraid of what he’d just seen Sullivan do. “He was gonna hurt you ’cause you’re an Active . . . Like me . . .” Sullivan tried to explain, but the little boy was too terrified of him to move. “It’s gonna be okay. I won’t hurt you . . .”

“Here you have dispensed the same justice as I would have. Pathetic Normals, afraid of magic, afraid to bow to their betters.” The Chairman strolled around the bar and kicked what was left of the Sheriff’s skull across the plank floor with one polished shoe. “They chained you for this? This was a work of righteous fury. They should not have imprisoned you for destroying this vermin. They should have rewarded you. What do you owe such a world, such a failed system? Especially after all you had sacrificed for them.”

He was back in France, in the final hours of Second Somme, the fiercest battle of the war. There were more Actives collected here on this day than any other point in history. Dirigibles and biplanes were exploding and dropping from the sky like a meteor shower. Lightning, fire, and ice danced back and forth, destroying like a reaper’s scythe. Men leapt impossibly high through the air, screaming down into their enemy as demons erupted from the ground in geysers of bone.

“A great and terrible thing to behold. You thought that you could show the Normals the goodness of the Active race. That you could be their champions, their protectors, but instead you gave them this.” He waved his hand at the carnage. “You gave them
fear
. They did not see heroes, they saw savagery beyond comprehension, and understood that it was only a matter of time until their betters turned their glorious fury upon them. You are not men to the lesser Normals. You are but tools. Dangerous beasts of burden to be kept locked away until needed, nothing more.”

Jake Sullivan held his little brother Jimmy as the blood pumped from the stumps where his legs had been and a dozen other lethal wounds. His other brother was trying to reach them. “Matty!” Sullivan shouted, unheard through the artillery shells exploding all around them. “Matty!” His older brother leapt through the shrapnel, heading for them, but a chunk of steel sheared cleanly through the right half of his face and he went down.