Last Breath (35 page)

“Keep what contained?” I really needed to know, having visions of gryphons flying down Charles Street. What
could
be so horrible that it took regular sacrifices to contain?

His eyes twinkled, evil Santa that he was. “You’ll find out soon enough. It’s your town now, you’re the Templar. It’s your problem to deal with.”

Oh no. These guys screw up and summon a monster, then dump it on my shoulders when they all get arrested for murder? No way. “What is it?” I demanded.

“Something that has slept a very long time. We didn’t wake it. We didn’t bring this curse upon the city. But we did take it upon ourselves to keep the city safe.”

“By killing other people. Is restraining this thing really worth a dozen or more deaths every year?”

“Yes.” Chuck folded up his puzzle book and stuck it in a pocket of the old coat, sliding off his stool. “Now take me to the police so I may confess my crimes. It’s a relief, actually. Death magic does bad things to a person’s soul. I mean, an occasional chicken or rodent is one thing, but killing a human, killing many humans… it has become more than I can bear. Time for this burden to move on to younger shoulders.”

I was beginning to really worry about this monster. Not that any monster excused murder, but I really wanted a heads-up on what I might need to deal with in the coming weeks or months.

“Tell me what Fiore Noir was trying to contain, or instead of the police, I’ll let him take care of your punishment.” I pointed to “Araziel” who was a few seats down sipping coffee.

The mage laughed. “I am not afraid of that. Just because I don’t spend my time summoning demons doesn’t mean I can’t protect myself from one or banish it if needed.”

Araziel-wannabe froze, coffee halfway to his lips. I schooled my face into what I hoped was a convincing look of shock. “That’s an angel, not a demon. You all made the mistake of not only killing a demon-marked man, but a woman who had been angel-marked. He’s here for vengeance, and you can’t banish an angel.”

With a flick of his wrist, a gold band dropped low on the mage’s wrist. Etched symbols across the surface lit up red. “He’s cheesy low-level scum, that’s what he is. It’s an insult, really.
Eieci, ti
. Go, I banish you.” The man’s voice boomed, like he was suddenly using a PA system. The angel/demon flung out a hand, but his reaction was too late. With a bang and a puff of black smoke, he was gone, leaving behind a cup that fell to the counter and rolled to its side, dumping coffee across the Formica.

The waitress screamed and hit the floor the same time the smoke detectors shrieked.

“Young lady,” the mage hollered at me over the wailing alarm. “If you have any intention of being this town’s protector, of fulfilling your duty as a Templar, you need to be able to tell an angel from a demon.”

I’d figured it out. Granted, it had taken me a few days, but I had eventually figured it out. And now I was screwed. Balsur’s minion was gone, and although that did make me a bit happy, I’d still needed him. It would have been better if Chuck had banished the demon
after
I’d gotten Dark Iron’s real name and whereabouts.

The coughing waitress was standing on the counter, waving a menu at the smoke alarm. Behind her stood a guy I assumed was the cook, a befuddled expression on his face as he looked around at the dissipating smoke. Chuck was standing, but wasn’t making any movements toward the door, so I watched the smoke drama and waited to speak until the alarm became silent.

“I
needed
him. Yeah, he was a demon impersonating an angel, but I was hoping to keep mum on that until I got him to lead me to the Stranger—Dark Iron of Haul Du. I’ve got no idea his real name or where he is.”

Chuck threw a ten on the counter and headed toward the door. “Mitchell Raymond Sauer?” he chuckled. “Everyone panicked when the psychopomp tried to get through the barrier at Old Town Mall. Your Dark Iron was carrying the one thing that might cost him his life, so he hid it, intending to retrieve it later. I’m not afraid of an angel, I knew who he was coming for, so I grabbed it up on the way out.”

The mage reached into his pocket and took out a small wooden container. It looked like a cheap jewelry box except for the symbol on top.

“Know how to use it?” he asked, handing it to me.

I didn’t want to know how to use it. I didn’t want to even be holding it, but better me than in the hands of Dark Iron.

Chuck nodded at the box. “Collect the soul in ritual, then hold it until you need it. We only used it as a channel since we were powering a spell right away, but it can be quite useful in powering magic on the fly at a later date.”

This guy was sick. For all his harmless old-guy vibes, he was a psycho. “But Raven… Dark Iron tried to take her soul. How could he if you had the box since last Friday?”

He shrugged. “That dead girl downtown? Amateur. It was a hack job made to look like the previous murders to implicate one of us. Any mage worth his salt could see the guy had no idea what he was doing. Your boy might be good at demons, but he doesn’t know squat about death magic.”

No, he probably didn’t. “You used the soul trap to find out his name.”

For that Goetic mages usually relied upon a demon, although many mages could trace a person through blood, hair, or saliva. Seems this guy was skilled enough to do it through an owned item.

Chuck nodded. “Simple divination really. A two chicken job though, since the first time got me some guy down in Argentina. It’s yours now. Do what you want with it. And do what you want with that Haul Du scum.”

His name would help, but how the heck was Tremelay going to prosecute Dark Iron? We couldn’t even link him to the soul trap since the prints on it were probably smudged. I doubted a jury would accept a divination done with two chickens as adequate proof of murder.

“Does he know you have it?”

Chuck opened the diner door and headed down the steps with me close behind. “Yep. And he really wants it back. Probably has more to do with that guy in Argentina than it being used as evidence against him.”

I halted at his words then ran a few steps to keep up. “Can you do a favor for me?” It seemed weird to be asking a murderer who I was taking to the police station for a favor, but there it was.

The mage paused at the passenger door of my car, making me wonder how he knew it was mine. There was no parking lot. My Toyota was one of many cars lined up along the curb. Maybe I’d underestimated this mage. Maybe he
had
known I was coming before I’d stepped foot in the diner.

“Tomorrow. Midnight.” Chuck gave me an address in Butcher’s Hill. Then he pulled a little notepad out of his pocket that reminded me of Tremelay’s and wrote down a number. “It’s your choice whether the police take him in or you do it yourself. After all I’ve done, I’m not about to judge your methods of justice.”

I stared at the paper in amazement as Chuck magically unlocked my car door and crawled into the passenger seat. An address and a time. I had all day to prep, and Dark Iron wouldn’t expect me to be there. Well, I hoped not.

“What do you want in return for this?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Four times a year, a tub of Fisher’s caramel popcorn. The big tub, not that little one.”

I guess if you were going to spend the rest of your life in prison, you wanted to ensure a regular delivery of comfort food. I had my cannoli, this guy had his caramel popcorn.

I climbed into my car and started it, still a bit stunned at his request. It was an easy trade, and I was so close to the end of this whole nightmare. The angel impersonator was out of the picture, at least for now. All the mages would be in Tremelay’s hands. I didn’t have to threaten violence to this one. Well, not much threatening, anyway. And soon I’d have Dark Iron.

The mage crinkled his nose as we pulled away from the curb. “Ugh. Your car smells like demon. Hope you’ve got an air-freshener at home.”

I
DON’T KNOW
how I managed to sleep. I don’t know how I managed to make it through my shift at the coffee shop. Brandi asked me how my friend Raven was doing and I burst into tears, needing to take a break in the storeroom to compose myself. After that my co-workers tip-toed around me, giving me wide-eyed stares.

I ignored calls from Tremelay. I ignored calls from Janice. I cancelled my nighttime meeting with Dario, knowing I’d need to prepare. By the time it was eleven o’clock and time to go, I’d worn a groove in my apartment carpet. Would Dark Iron even show up? I had nothing beyond Chuck’s note, no way to confirm the meeting without tipping the mage off that something was amiss. All I could do was go and hope that surprise was on my side.

I brought the soul trap. As much as it creeped me out to have the thing in my pocket, I knew it would guarantee that Dark Iron would speak with me, even if I wasn’t the mage he expected. He needed it back. I had a feeling it was the only thing keeping that Argentina mage from cursing him to a fiery death.

The address Chuck had given me was north of where I lived in Fells Point. I passed Patterson Park where we’d LARPed this past weekend, parking near the CVS on Fayette so I could cover the rest on foot. From there, I walked for blocks, with my sword on my back. It wasn’t the only weapon I was carrying but it was the most obvious. And it was the one I’d rely upon the most if this turned bloody.

I
knew
it was going to turn bloody.

The building was a two-story brick, on a street lined with identical homes. I was glad I walked since the street was so narrow that with even with cars parked half-on the sidewalk there would have been barely enough room to squeak by. Feeling very exposed on the empty street, I checked the numbers and ducked down a narrow space between two buildings. In the walkway was an entrance that led to what would have been called a garden apartment—fancy word for basement.

Ten minutes ’til midnight. I was early, but I was sure Dark Iron was even earlier. It was his style, and I was counting on him being here, waiting for Chuck. Slowly I eased open the unlocked door, counting to three until I stepped a foot over the threshold.

“
Haxa luz
.” A ball of light appeared before me and I sent it forward to better see the room. It was a cheap, low-rent apartment, a twelve-by-twelve room with a door that I assumed led to a bathroom, an open doorway to a shadowed kitchenette, and a back bedroom. Tiny, without a lot of room to hide. It should have been encouraging, but I was far from confident.

I drew my sword with one hand, touching my finger to the third charm on my bracelet. Heat surged through me and the room lit up, every magical trap and ward highlighted in white.

I’d expected to see some sort of magical protection in the room. I wasn’t disappointed. One spot lit up right in front of my feet past the threshold, and another midway through the room. The windows had some kind of charms on them as well.

And a figure in the corner, previously invisible, glowed. He saw me, and now I saw him. I dropped the charm, jabbed my finger on a needle I’d hidden in my pocket, and palmed my butter knife. “I’ve got something you want.”

The figure shifted, becoming fully visible. Dark Iron stepped forward to the dusty metal table. “And what am I expected to do to get it back, hmm? Confess my sins?”

“Why kill Raven?” I asked him. “She was loyal to Haul Du for over a decade, loyal to you. She wouldn’t have said anything about the soul trap or the Dupont Circle mages. There was no reason for you to kill her.”

He leaned against the table. “Me? All the evidence points toward Fiore Noir. Your friend Raven was just one more in a long line of their victims. Sad, really.”

“Even
I
could tell Fiore Noir didn’t conduct that ritual. Don’t bullshit me, Mitchell.”

Dark Iron winced as I used his real name. “Raven was a good mage, but she knew too much, and I couldn’t trust her. The last few days she was busy filling your ears with confidential information—things Haul Du mages vow to keep within the group. Her loyalties were elsewhere. She knew the price she’d pay.”

“The
price
was being thrown out of Haul Du,” I snarled. “Not being stripped naked, bolted to an office floor, and sliced up with a knife. Nothing she knew about the Dupont Circle murders, Bliss, or the stolen soul trap was worth killing her over. It was all conjecture, what she’d heard from others. It’s not like she could bear witness on any of that.”

He shrugged. “No, but it was a matter of time until she found something and took it to the Conclave. The timing was right, with all the Fiore Noir mages being accused of murder.”

“Was it worth it? You’ve lost Haul Du all because of a stolen soul trap. Why would you even need such a thing? You’re a Goetic mage.”

Dark Iron scowled at me, his hands steady by his side. “There are magics that can’t be worked through demons, or charms, or hexes. Some spells need death magic, and some spells need soul magic. You’re an idiot if you don’t recognize that.”

I glared back. “I’m an idiot because I think there’s nothing magic can bring that is worth murdering someone? That’s worth stealing their soul, taking away any chance at eternity?”

The scowl turned into a smirk. “Yes. Because there are times when the blood of a few must be spilled for the greater good. Go on with your naïve Templar hopefulness. Go on thinking you’re saving the world when you’re just making it worse.”

“Well it’s all for nothing. You’ve lost your magical group, you’ve lost the soul trap, you’re about to lose your freedom, and if I’m reading the situation with that mage in Argentina right, you might just lose your life.”

“I think not.”

Magic sparked in the air. I had less than a second to act. He was too far for me to reach with my sword, so I ran my fingers along the butter knife as I threw it at him. It wasn’t a sharp weapon, so instead of stabbing into him like a dart, it bounced off his chest and onto the floor.

“
Combustio
.”

Nothing happened. Dark Iron blinked in surprised and looked down at the knife on the ground. I’d blown all the spells from it breaking into Eleanor’s garage hideout last night, and hadn’t had time to do more than one simple spell, one every Templar knows how to use—a null spell. Activated with the blood from my poor, needle-jabbed finger.