Trickster (32 page)

I kept tasting the air for the
biludha
. I would feel it. Long before it crested and started feeding on the world, I’d know it. It would be invisible electricity in the air. Only those of us with the art would feel it. Any of us who didn’t know what was happening—those of us not powerful enough to be invited to the party and too far away to have heard through the rumor mill—would go nuts. They’d feel it, this immense spell, and go nuts trying to figure out what was happening.

I was going to die in this fucking room.

It was a very
nice
room. The sort of room your grandmother kept for guests, with a layer of dust on the flowered bedspread, a vague smell of potpourri in the air.

It was a tomb. I imagined dozens of rooms just like it throughout the mansion, which would be, of course, larger on the inside than the outside. Of course. Naturally. And in each of these rooms was the rotting corpse of another Prince of the Assholes, another moron who’d thought he might test his will against the gods.

I steadied myself and exploded into a constrained tantrum, shaking and jerking and trying to smash the rope, the chair, anything.

The chair was nailed to the floor.

Or maybe glued there via spell. It didn’t matter. It didn’t let me gain any momentum. I was stuck like a beetle tied to a pin. Walking in tighter circles, endlessly. I breathed hard through my nose, trying to push against the tape with my tongue. If I could get the tape off, I
could cast some tiny Cantrip. It would be enough to get me out of the chair. I didn’t doubt there was some deep magic on the door, so getting out of the room might not be easy, but losing the tape would be a start.

I sagged down and relaxed. Felt the sweat pouring down my back. I was going to die in this fucking room shortly before everyone else in the world died, wherever they happened to be.

A key in the lock. A whisper. The door swung inward on silent, greased hinges, and Cal Amir entered. Sauntered in like a cat with its tail in the air. A Bleeder trailed after him. Bald and fat, as Bleeders tended to be. Wearing a black suit. A big woman with no curves, a beaklike nose. Looking a little peaked already, with a fresh scar on her forehead. Like Renar and Amir had been forced to use their Bleeders more than usual. Run them down a little.

Amir glided about a bit, silent, with that terrible grace rich, powerful people had. The Bleeder stepped back against the door, pushing it shut. There was no click. I had the impression of an airtight seal. I wondered how much air the three of us had.

With a nod from Amir, the Bleeder stepped forward with her blade and sliced one of my arms free from the chair. Thrust a pen into my hand and stepped back to hold a pad of paper up to me.

“You cast on her,” Amir said flatly. “What did you cast? Be specific.”

I rolled my eyes in their sockets. Looked at Amir. Looked back at the Bleeder. I studied her fleshy face.
Got the feeling she was hoping intently that she wouldn’t have to roll up a sleeve and give Amir the gas.

I looked back at Amir. He was standing with his back to me. Studying the wallpaper. Hands easy behind him. As I watched he turned. Raised his eyebrows. “What was it?”

I just stared. Thought about the runes on Claire. How they deflected magic. Every action had a reaction. Amir and Renar seemed worried that one of our tricks might have skewed their careful markings.

He nodded and stepped back toward me. “You see, the ritual is very complex. Each link in the chain must be very carefully prepared. Magic leaves a
residue
of sorts. Easy enough to detect, using more magic. But you see the problem, then? We can’t
use
magic on her to check if magic has been
used
. That would only worsen the problem. But we must know. The markings twist energy. They deflect, distort—they are designed to distort and route energy a certain, precise way. If they are already routing one of your idiotic
mu,
the results of the
biludha
will be . . . unpredictable. We must know exactly what was cast so we can check for problems, make adjustments. Otherwise, weeks of work. Very disappointing. We’d prefer to spend ten minutes making you hurt and then perhaps we can avoid that small hell.

“So the question: What did you cast on her? She’s an attractive girl, Trickster. Perhaps a bit of Charm to spread those long white legs at night? Perhaps she did not trust you. A bit of magic smooths all waters. Perhaps
she ran from you. Resisted your help. A Cantrip just to calm her down.”

I thought of Hiram. Claire in his bathroom. Hope flushed through me, soured by fear for Claire. But at least if something we did queered the
biludha
we weren’t taking the whole world down with us.

“You see, we cannot take your
word
for it, Mr. Vonnegan,” Amir purred. “It would be worthless. You would tell us you cast something complex and unbelievable on her in order to interrupt our plans. Or you would tell us you
did not
cast on her, hoping that at the last moment we would be ruined. This, I admit, is our largest concern.”

He extracted his black leather gloves from his jacket pocket and began pulling them on. Stepped closer to me.

“The conversation will be one-sided.” He leaned in close to me. He smelled like good, old leather and the beach. “It will be no impediment to my questioning.”

A moment of silence between us. Ruined by the low whistle of my breathing. He squatted down in front of me. “Tell me, something, Mr. Vonnegan: Do you know how I came to apprentice to Mika Renar?”

I shook my head. I wondered if I’d been Charmed, somehow, subtly. Amir was like a shining thing, creepy and gorgeous all at once. Captivating. I wanted to look at him.

“I was apprenticed to another
gasam
when I was very young. He was very cautious. Suspicious of me. He in turn was in service to Renar. She was young
then, beautiful. My
gasam
had a particular spell I wished to know. A simple thing, really. A nice trick. Nothing more. You perhaps already know something like it. He kept telling me I was not ready. I was not ready to learn his trick. This silly spell, this trifle.”

He suddenly smiled down at me, cocking his head. “We are alone here. The other
enustari
have agreed to stay away, as the
biludha
is a fragile thing. My mistress is cruel, but she is honorable, else it would have been impossible to come to this agreement in the first place. Also, there is no one here to have second thoughts. No one of any ability to hear or see something that discomfits them. So we are
alone,
Mr. Vonnegan. Will you answer?” He waited a moment, then turned and shrugged at the Bleeder. She stepped back, dropping the pad, and began rolling up her sleeve.

“I went to Renar to ask for advice. She admired my impatience. She suggested I become
her
apprentice, as she had none. She told me to do so I would have to kill my
gasam,
but that my reward would be her solemn oath to teach me everything she knew, without exception.” He smiled. “So far, as we have discussed, she has kept this oath save one last thing. And I have kept faith with her because of that. You see, Mr. Vonnegan, I am very good at
discovery
. I find out the things I wish to know.”

He let that hang in the air. Kept smiling at me. His lips were smooth and glossy.

“This,” he said, without moving or changing expression, “is going to hurt
tremendously
.”

The Bleeder slashed a professional cut onto her
arm. Blood welled up, dark. Amir whispered three words. Agony bloomed deep inside me.

Someone had teleported a double-edged blade deep inside my bowels. And then applied a magnet, slowly drawing it out, hot and wet. I bit down on my tongue. Blood flooded my mouth. Air exploded from my nostrils and I leaned forward, straining against the bonds. But I didn’t make any other noise.

The pain stopped.

“What did you cast on her?”

I sucked in breath. Exhaled. Blew snot all over him. He flinched. Pulled his handkerchief from his jacket breast pocket. Wiped his face. Whispered three words.

I jerked back as the knife reappeared. It felt like something living and covered in sharp scales was wriggling inside me. Tearing me apart. I kept my mouth shut tight behind the tape. Three seconds, the pain disappeared. Not even a lingering burn.

“What did you cast on her?”

Before I could even contemplate a response, Amir spoke three words.

Before he finished the final syllable I clenched my body tight and shut my eyes, drawing in and holding a deep breath. The pain sliced up from within anyway. It was all illusion, magic directly attacking my nervous system. Nothing I did physically was going to stop it or alter it. It was like a recording being played and rewound and played again. Always exactly the same.

The pain vanished, and I sagged down, limp.

“What,” he said as mildly as before, “did you cast
on her?” The Bleeder picked up the pad of paper and held it up to my hand again, a thick line of blood marring the white surface. “Specifics, Mr. Vonnegan. As specific as possible.”

I wondered if the stupid Charm we’d cast—the stupid Charm that was still tugging Daryl Houy by the cock days after it should have faded—was enough to queer the ritual. Amir and Renar were clearly afraid of even the smallest interference. That all that blood and magic would hit Claire precisely the way it was supposed to . . . and then would squeak out of control, a tiny miscalculation, and then who the fuck knew—magical force suddenly burning through everything in sight, uncontrolled. So
we
would all die, but at least the world would be safe.

Or I would break and write it out for him, and Renar would be able to make adjustments, and I would get to appreciate the fact that at least no one was going to tear this tape off my mouth. At least that.

I didn’t like either option.

With a heavy sigh theatrically conveying his disappointment in me, Amir spoke three words.

I tried to surge upward again, every muscle in my body straining like boiled leather. Then it was gone. I collapsed back into my own sweat.

“I do not trust other mages,” Amir said conversationally, still squatting there. Still beautiful. “Especially
idimustari
. You are crafty. If I cast a spell on you to ensure truthfulness, will you know a way to subvert it? I once caught one of you lifting my wallet. Poor fellow did not know who I was. Whom I was apprenticed to. I decided
to have a bit of fun with him, and cast something similar to what I’m using now. A prank, really. He added a word. A
syllable
. Just whispered it as I spoke the spell, inserting it perfectly, transforming my little Cantrip and pushing it back on
me
.” He shrugged. “So, you cannot speak. You cannot be trusted. You are not
quality,
Mr. Vonnegan. And you wonder why you are being left behind while the rest of us go onward, forever.”

He tilted his head. Reached into his jacket. “So, Mr. Vonnegan, magic will not help you, here. Your tricks will not prevail against your betters.” He produced a pack of cigarettes. “Tell me: What did you cast on her?”

I pushed my swollen tongue against the tape. There was enough blood in the air, just being wasted, I could cast a dozen fucking spells to my benefit. If I could make the Words. Sweat ran into my eyes. I willed it down my face, willed it to loosen the glue. I needed two seconds. Then I’d show this smug asshole what a Trickster could do.

I thought of the
udug
and in my hunger almost felt it. I wanted it to tell me some secret, something that would help. How did people figure things out without it? How had I lived without that flat voice telling me everything I needed to know, everything I didn’t need to know,
everything,
in one endless rush of confusion?

Amir smiled, shaking out a cigarette. Held it for a second between two gloved fingers. “Very well, Mr. Vonnegan.”

I shut my eyes. Clenched my jaw.

Amir spoke three words.

I
drifted up toward the dim, milky light. Flinched away from it and sank.

Rose up again.

Opened my eyes. Still in the chair. Still damp. Sweat and urine. I felt certain there would have to be some blood, but the pain had been imaginary. Real enough. Real enough to bruise where I was bound; every muscle ached from hours of strain. Hours of Amir whispering in my ear, hours of an invisible knife slicing up my insides.

Every breath hurt. Razor blades.

I tried to focus. There wasn’t much light. It had gotten dark. I tried to remember the hours with Amir. Had I said anything? I wasn’t entirely sure. Did it matter? I wasn’t sure of that, either.

I became aware of a noise. I became aware of the invisible sizzling of magic in the air. Blood burning off. Huge amounts of it. More than I’d ever felt in my
life. Closer than I’d ever felt. Like a nuclear bomb had gone off five feet away in an alternate universe.

The
biludha
. Renar had started the Rite.