Promise: Caulborn #2 (25 page)

He pointed his sword at me. A pale blue liquid dripped from its tip. Poison? A line of light rippled down the blade, and the liquid changed color to a deep purple. I didn’t like the look of this.

So I sent a wave of fire at him.

The flames rolled off of him like water off a duck’s back. The wall behind him had a perfect reverse silhouette of his form burned into it. He spun his sword, and droplets of the purple liquid flicked toward me. They splattered against my face and clothes. I wiped them away without taking my eyes off him. Something about the sword was familiar. It was jet black and nearly as long as my arm. The tip of the blade flared, as did the ends of the cross guard. He came at me, so fast that I barely had time to register the attack. I hastily wrapped a protective telekinetic bubble around myself. The sword struck the bubble and slowed, like it was trying to move through liquid glass. My attacker grunted as he tried to keep the blade moving.

I concentrated as hard as I could, draining more and more of my faith reserves to keep the blade stationary. Anything that could cut through barriers composed of sheer mental energy was definitely going to put a crimp in my style. I shifted my focus and slammed my attacker in the stomach. As he doubled over, I slashed my switchblade across his back three times in rapid succession. A triangle of black material fell away, giving me a view of pale flesh beneath.

I sent a lance of fire into that spot.

My attacker screamed in pure, torturous agony and fell to the ground. He fumbled at something on his belt and a bright flash blinded me. Acrid smoke burned my nostrils, and when my vision cleared, the attacker was gone.

I kept my shield up and surveyed the room. The kobolds were ministering to Cather, their small hands glowing with golden healing magic. Cather had regained consciousness and was waving them away. “Not here,” he said. “Fashion a stretcher and bring me to the sleeping chamber, where I might convalesce in comfort.” Several of the kobolds scurried off as Cather turned his good eye to me. “Thank you, Vincent. Your intervention was most timely and appreciated. While I am unable to serve as a decent host at the moment, Kleep can see to your needs.”

The kobold stepped up to me proudly. Seemed he was Alfred to Cather’s Batman. Kleep held out a hand, indicating we should leave the room. “One sec,” I said. I took two bottles of Perrier from the table, drank one, dumped the other out, and then telekinetically guided some of the liquid that had dripped from the assassin’s sword into each. Then I snatched up the scrap of fabric from the assassin’s costume. I had a feeling I knew what it was made of. I nodded to Kleep and we left the room.

“Thank you for coming, Vincent Corinthos,” Kleep said when we were alone. “Twice now you have saved my clan.”

I shook his small, clawed hand. “I will search for the person who attacked you, Kleep. Was he after you or Cather?”

“He seemed focused on Cather,” Kleep replied. “The only time he paid us any mind was when we tried to impede him.” A handful of kobolds entered the room and gathered behind Kleep. “We will fortify the lair with cunning traps and alarms,” Kleep said to them. “No harm will come to the master of the house.”

I said my goodbyes to Kleep and found the horse I’d borrowed still standing outside. I rode her back to the Undercity Square, returned her to her owner, and then took a blessedly slower train ride back to the office.

I rubbed at my jaw and tried to think. Cather had a bunch of enemies, but none that could beat the shit out of him like that. Even in human form, Cather’s skin is tougher than Kevlar. For something to nearly sever his leg, well, it was unsettling to say the least.

When I finally got back to the office, I took the fabric sample and the fluids over to Medical. I dropped them off with Mrs. Rita, already certain that the fabric was woven from the strands of that funky worm silk. Several different kinds of silk, too, if my guess was right. Someone had gone through a lot of trouble to make a suit that would be immune to Cather’s powers. Whoever this person was, they were damned thorough.

My mind returned to the sword. Sure, the thing had looked like something out of Final Fantasy VII, but it had been wickedly sharp, and it had generated some kind of poison. I replayed the fight in my mind several times before a question occurred to me—why hadn’t Cather shifted forms? While he was amazingly strong and tough in human form, shifting into his true dragon form, or even that weird half-dragon shape he had would’ve given him a tremendous advantage. Cather could’ve just lifted the attacker off the ground and thrown him through the wall in hybrid form. I was missing something.

I Glimpsed back at my fight with the assassin and froze the memory on the sword. Again, that aggravating familiarity, but nothing concrete. I played the memory backward, freezing it again right as I’d walked in, when the assassin held the sword above his head. My eyes widened. It looked like a much larger version of that metal cross I’d recovered for the Keepers. The Loremaster had said the Rosario could change size. Were the Keepers behind this attack? That didn’t make sense because Cather was one of their best customers. Unless he’d been screwing them over. As laid back of a dragon as Cather was, I couldn’t imagine he’d be too keen on the idea of forking over a third of all the loot he found.

I figured the next thing to do was talk to Cather about this, but he wouldn’t be in any shape to talk right now. I’d give him until morning; between the kobolds’ healing magic and his own insane regenerative abilities, he’d be up and about in no time. I stood and reached for my coat. The world swam around me. I tried to catch my balance and only succeeded in crashing into my chair. It rolled away and crashed against a filing cabinet. The ceramic bust of Batman atop it fell to the ground and shattered. My face struck the floor, and I was surprised at how bristly and stiff the carpet fibers were. I could feel my arms and legs flailing about, but I couldn’t control them.

“Vinnie?” Gearstripper’s voice came from the hallway. An unopened pack of Twinkies dropped into my field of vision with a crinkle as Gearstripper took off down the hall. “Mrs. Rita! Vinnie’s sick!” His voice faded and so did the light of the world.

Chapter 11

Bargain 19895621, Addendum B – The godling has been attempting to rescind our bargain. Normally, this would not warrant action, however he recently interfered with the nullification of bargain 1987763. This is unacceptable, and I am glad I had the foresight to send sycophants to the realm of his followers. Harvesting their genetic materials proved more difficult than expected, but we were able to use a battle between Corinthos and the realm’s other denizens as a distraction. Proper defenses against Corinthos have been prepared, and I am ready for him. The dragon will have to wait, for the time being.

—From Keeper Laras’s Transaction Journal

The world faded in and out a few times. The first time, I was being placed on a stretcher, Jake’s face a mask of concern. The next couple of times were just hazy lights. Then there was the smell of antiseptic and fresh sheets. I was dimly aware of Doc Ryan barking orders and the smell of cigarettes. Then the world came back again and stuck around this time. I was on a bed in Medical. Tubes and sensors were connected to my arms and chest.

I couldn’t read the displays from where I lay on the bed, and when I tried to sit up, I couldn’t. I groaned. A minute later, Doc Ryan appeared next to me. “Easy, Corinthos,” he said, putting a hand on my shoulder and gently forcing me back down. “You’re not going anywhere for a while yet.”

“Doc? What time is it? How long was I out?”

“It’s mid-morning,” he replied as he glanced at one of the blinking displays to the right of the bed. “You were out for about eight hours.”

Eight hours? That should’ve been more than enough time for me to recover. Why did I still feel like I’d been hit by a bus? “What’s my temperature?” The hotter my fever flared, the faster I’d heal.

“Good question.” Doc swiped a thermometer across my forehead and showed me its display. 98.8. “It’s been the same since Jake brought you down here.”

“That can’t be right,” I said.

“It’s nearly perfect for a normal human being, Corinthos,” Doc replied as he made a note on a chart. I glowered at him. “Tell me what you’ve been up to for the last few hours. How’d all this happen?” I filled him in on the fight at Cather’s place. “All right, Corinthos, I’ll level with you. Whatever was coating that sword is screwing with your biochemical functions. Specifically, it’s inhibiting those areas of your physiological and neural systems that allow you to exercise your powers.”

“Oh come on,” I said as I pushed the button on the bed’s railing so I could be in a sitting position. “Just a few drops of that stuff made contact with my skin. That can’t be it.”

“Oh, you a doctor now, Corinthos? Well listen up, smart guy. Not enough of the toxin got into your system to completely shut you down, but it’s doing a helluva number on your immune system. My theory is that this stuff targets regenerative abilities first, then moves on to all those special effect things you can do.”

I rubbed my face with the hand that didn’t have tubes attached to it. My entire body ached. So this was what it was like to heal normally, huh? It’d been so long that I’d forgotten how much it sucked. “Hang on,” I said. “I brought in two vials of fluid. What was the other one?”

Doc sat down in the chair next to my bed and lit a cigarette. “Same stuff, but with a different target,” he replied. “Instead of taking out a half-god’s powers, it was focused on shutting down a dragon’s.”

I thought about the deep gashes on Cather’s arms and thighs. Those wounds were severe, and probably saturated with poison. “That explains why Cather got the crap kicked out of him; that stuff shut down his healing factor, prevented him from shape shifting, and reduced his strength.” I stopped as I realized what I was saying. “Holy shit, would a full dose of this stuff really work that fast?”

Doc Ryan nodded. “I’ve never seen a poison so focused or so virulent. A full dose of that effectively turns the target into a normal person until it runs its course.”

“So you’re telling me this assassin was carrying two different kinds of poison, one focused on dragons and one focused on half-gods? That seems a little far fetched, Doc.”

“Uh-uh,” Doc said as he puffed on his cigarette. “The poison wasn’t targeting half-gods, it was targeting
you
.” He pointed his cigarette at me. “As in, this poison was specifically crafted to shut down the systems of Vincent Corinthos. I could give that stuff to another half-god, say Hercules, and he’d be as strong and temperamental as ever.” Doc took another drag on his smoke. “And I’d be willing to bet that if I were to compare what’s in that other sample you brought in to Cather’s physiology, those two would be an exact match as well.”

“How is that possible? Poison for Cather makes sense as he was the target, but I just happened by. How would he have known to make poison for me?”

Doc shrugged. “You get plugged, I patch you up. That’s what I’m here for. You’re the detective. Figuring out weird shit like that is what you’re here for. So get figuring, Corinthos.”

“How long am I bedridden?”

He stood, the chair squeaking as he pushed away from it. “You’ve been poisoned, Corinthos. You’ve been running yourself ragged, and your healing fever is kaput. Christ, you can’t even sit up. You’re going to be here for a while, so you might as well get comfortable. I’ll have Gearstripper bring down some movies for you.” He brushed at the back of his white lab coat and headed for the door.

“Doc,” I said, trying not to sound desperate. “Megan’s missing. Kristin’s out of town. Galahad is massively overworked. And now I’ve got some whackjob ninja running through Boston who can create paranormal-specific poisons on the fly. I need to get back out there.”

He looked at me, at my chart, and back at me again. His bushy white eyebrows drew together in a stern fuzzy line. “Corinthos,” he said.

“I’ll be careful,” I interrupted, putting up my hands. “I’ll even check in with Uncle Dave every hour if you want.”

“Call Uncle Dave? How is the lifeline going to help you with this? Did you miss the part where I said you couldn’t stand?” Doc asked, incredulous. “You keep your ass in that bed until I tell you otherwise.”

“Doc, wait,” I said. “Get me to the Bright Side. I heal almost instantly there. Let me go over just for a minute, and then I’ll pop back and everything will be fine. Please, Doc. There’s too much at stake for me to be out of commission right now.”

He looked at me for a long moment. “Fine,” he said. “But I’m taking you there myself. Sit tight while I have Jake fetch the wheelchair.” I let out a relieved breath as he left the room.

Ten minutes later, I was riding shotgun in Doc’s yacht-sized 1987 Cadillac. A permanent yellow stain spread across the driver’s side of the windshield, the origin point being a spot about three inches above where Doc’s right hand currently rested on the wheel, a cig gripped between two of his fingers. Frank Sinatra’s voice came from the stereo, crooning about how he’d done things his way, and to my surprise, Doc sang along in a rather pleasing tenor.

“Never knew you could sing, Doc.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t know, Corinthos.” Doc is a fantastic physician, but his people skills have always been a bit lacking. I refrained from further attempts at small talk. Eventually, the giant milk bottle that sits just outside the Children’s Museum came into view and Doc deftly parallel parked his beast of a car on the street. “So how long will your magical heal up take?”

“A few minutes, tops,” I assured him. Doc helped me out of the car, and I tried not to lean on him too much as I hobbled to the alley behind the museum. “Wait here, Doc. I’ll be right back.” He looked at me with genuine concern in his eyes, and I gave him what I hoped was a convincing smile. “Aviorla,” I called, “please open to the Bright Side.” In response, a section of the brick wall began to shimmer and I stepped through the portal.

I let out a weak, ragged breath, then inhaled the fresh air of the Bright Side and felt my body heal.