Zero Sum (22 page)

Once the coast was clear, Jules crept up next to me. Her face held an expression somewhere between horror and awe. She was holding the gigantic US road map like a shield, and a snack plate like a sword.

“Dieter, I said a wee bit of mana.” She pointed a shaky finger at the other side of the room. The frame of the walk-through mirror was still glowing crimson, and the fine silk wallpaper was smoldering. A bellman clutching a fire extinguisher was eyeing the whole setup with a look of deep concern. “Dieter, that was not wee.”
 

I went to nod and my neck let loose a heinous crack.

“Ya break somethin’?” Looking hopeful, Jules poked my ribs. “A femur, perhaps?”

“Only my pride.”

“That crash shoulda put ya in traction.” Jules shook her head at it. “Guess all the bourbon broke yer fall…”

The man seated next to me scowled at her. (Must have been his bourbon I murdered.) But he wasn’t the only one. There were thirty or so men and women in the alumni club. None of them looked all too pleased with my awesome entrance. I just wished they’d all stop staring for a bit. My poor Sight was howling. It had a way of overloading when I held a lot of folks’ attention. Despite the rising headache, I tried to make an inventory of the room.

The Buckingham’s alumni club looked to be at least a hundred years older than the lobby. Everything was lit by gaslight, and the edges of the dark wood paneling were painted with a thin coat of gold. The strange mix of gold fleck and flame gave the room a shifty yellow glow. Edges blurred, and the richer hues sprung out at you. The men in the room all wore suits and ties. The women were a collage of flashy gowns. It didn’t take a fashionista to figure out these people had a ton of money. My father hadn’t been able to afford a simple suit for his own mother’s funeral, and these ones probably cost several times as much.

The old woman seated nearest me had to be the biggest fish. A diamond tiara was resting on her forehead, and she wore a flowing red dress sewn together with thin gold thread. The fringes of the gown danced between the oranges and yellows of a sunset, and each of the eight or so hues was given it’s own special layer. I thought it was a shame to waste it on such an old fart. Rei would have imploded space and time in a dress like that…I shook my head clear. I needed to stop fantasizing about an apex predator that liked to throw me into walls without a second notice.
 

Fortunately, something else caught my attention. There was a threesome seated next to the roaring fireplace on the opposite wall. Trench coats were hanging off the backs of their chairs. One of the men had his face wrapped in bandages. His hand busy with a pipe, which he nursed to life with a gentle puff. He was chatting with serrated black hair. Deep acne wounds marked the entirety of the second’s face. A woman was snoozing in the chair next to him. A broadsword was resting between her knees.
 

I shook my head at the scene. What was this—the set of fucking Highlander?

“DEA, ahoy,” I whispered to Jules.
 

“That they be…but nuttin’ ta worry about, Dieter. The authorities have merely identified ya as the village idiot.”

I snatched one of her cookies.

“Hey, Jules, remind me which idiot beat last year’s high score in biochemistry?”

“I had the flu that week.”

“Sure you did.”

“Focker.” Jules jabbed me with her elbow.
 

The old lady wearing the tiara chuckled. She’d been observing the two of us this whole time, and now the shrewdest little smile was planted on her wrinkled face. The woman seated across from the old woman reached across the coffee table to pour her a cup of tea. The rich aroma of black licorice met my nose as she did. I couldn’t help but gawk at the younger of the two. Her sharp ebony features were frozen in neutral, but her eyes burned like amber coals, almost as though they were lit from within. The ancient woman and the super model made for an odd couple, but I didn’t get a sense that we were troubling them. Couldn’t say the same for the rest of the guests. They were still glaring at me like a rat in the pudding.

“What happened to Bathory?” Jules asked. “Did she get sucked into a parallel universe, never ta return?”

“Na. Got a case of the midnight munchies.”

Blanching, Jules put down her plate and faked a gag. “I just wantcha to know that we are not sharin’ a room.”

“Bottoms up, lad,” the bartender said as he returned with my fifteen-dollar coffee. He gestured to the adjacent hall, where the Buckingham’s staffers were preparing the table for the evening meal. “Boss is steamin’. I’d hurry if I was you.”
 

The man supervising the dinner prep did look a little irritated. I watched his thin black mustache twitch up and down a few times. It was sorta mesmerizing…
 

Realizing my time was short, I snatched up Jules’ last cookie and dunked it in the coffee.

“Oi!” Jules exclaimed. “Ya already stole one. Get yer own, ya focker.”
 

“I need the calories more. I’m getting the boot.”

“Ya think?” Jules rolled her brilliant green eyes. “Don’t worry, Dante’ll just shroud ya back in later.”

“Speaking of Dante, where the heck is he?”

“Hiding by the front desk.”

I let out a sigh. What a freaking night. Rei was pissed at me, these VIP mages were pissed at me, I hadn’t gotten dinner yet, and my pants were a soppy mess…where was the bloody reset button?
 

I finished off the commandeered cookie just as the pencil-mustached boss man started his march over to the bar. The guy had a peculiar way of walking that suggested a curtain rod had been lodged up his ass. Three feet away, the wafer of a man paused to deliver an overly dramatic frown. I drained the last of my coffee as the man let out a gust of wind that was far too ambitious for his narrow nose.
 

“Excuse me, sir, but do you have a reservation?” The nameplate read Ambassador Balcon, and his voice sounded high and reedy. I tried not to chuckle. He must have been pummeled on the playground.

“No, but I can pay ahead in cash if you—”

“Cash? How quaint. We only accept bullion. And the Translocation Society of America is having a function this evening. I’m afraid that the Buckingham is booked solid.”
 

“Oh. That’s too bad.” Bullshit. There were still quite a few keys hanging behind the front desk.
 

“But I’d be happy to arrange for some other form of lodging.” His eyes lingered over my liquor-soaked jeans. “Perhaps a nearby motel?”
 

Ass.

“Sure thing, Mr. Balcon. Sorry for the, um, mess.” There was no use in fighting it. The guy was a prick, but it was his place after all. I stood and a few more shards of glass tumbled to the ground. “Still kinda new at this,” I said with a chuckle.

“Later gater,” Jules said with a twiddle of her fingers.
 

I stuck my tongue out at her. Jules was enjoying my unceremonious eviction a bit too much.

“You too, madam,” Balcon said with another twitch of his whiskers.

“Me? Why me?” Jules stammered. “He’s the idiot. What’d I do wrong?“
 

Balcon gave Jules a slow look up and down, then turned to the crowd with a smile.

“Other than dressing yourself in a throw rug?”
 

A few of the guests chuckled.
 

Jules tried to not give them the pleasure, but her ears were going red.
 

“Now if you two would come with me.”
 

Pencil-stash took Jules by the arm—which I considered a bad call.

“Don’t ya be touchin’ me.” Jules went to push Balcon away, but he managed to hold onto her by the puppy scarf.

“Do I need to involve the authorities?” he hissed.
 

The sight of Pencil-stash tugging on Jules’ neck like a doggy was enough to get me angry.

“Chill, man,” I said squeezing between the two of them. “We’ll go, but I need you to take your hands off blondie.”

“Blondie!” Jules socked me in the side, and I stumbled away. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. I have rights, I do. Ya cannot just be evictin’ me for no cause and such. The Tenets clearly state—”

“Johansen, get me security.”

The barkeep gave his bald head a rub.
 

“Boss, isn’t it a bit late to be tossing—”

“Johansen, I’m not paying you for your timekeeping.” He gave Jules’ scarf a tug towards the door. “Give me a hand or you’re following them.”
 

Jules was sending off another choked off, “Oi!” when the entire club cracked with a massive boom. The old woman seated next to us had rapped her cane against the ground. The marble beneath it had shattered. The old lady looked none too pleased. Her bushy white brows rose to an impossible height.
 

“Bacon, this is unheard of. You’d send them outside at night?”
 

The ambassador let go of Jules and adjusted the lay of his suit.

“Madam Fremont, as I have told you before, my name is Balcon, not Bacon, and I—“
 

“Listen here, Bacon,” the tiara lady interrupted. “I won’t stand for…for…” Madam Fremont faltered as wave of violent coughs shook her tiny chest. Her frail body rocked from each and every spasm.
 

Her ebony companion brought the black licorice scented tea to her lips, and Madam Fremont took a grateful sip.
 

“Thank you, Ayaan dear,” she whispered.
 

The concoction seemed to be helping, because she was back on the attack in no time.
 

“Now hear now, Bacon, these children will stay in my suite tonight. You know full well that the evacuations have sewn all sorts of chaos. I won’t have three young mages sucked dry in some gutter by dawn.”

“Young mages?” Balcon’s mustache gave another irritated twitch. “I would encourage you to re-inspect these ‘young mages’. Certainly, a lady such as yourself would not want to be associated with such a filthy pair of sparks.”

“Bacon, the only one certain about what I am certain about, is the only one certainly speaking out of my mouth. Now I declared these children under the protection of my circle. This discussion is at a close. Why don’t you busy yourself with your talents, and go and check on the roast.”

Balcon gave his suit jacket another tug.

“Your circle? You mean all two of you?”
 

That comment drew a few laughs, which definitely put some more wind in Balcon’s sails.

“I’ve had enough of these miscreants scampering about the embassy grounds. This is a club for university-trained mages, not some hackish trinket peddlers that managed to hex their way through a pepper ghost. I am the duly appointed DOMA representative here, and I will not have you keeping strays on the premises.”

The man seated nearest to me leaned over and poked me in the chest.

“Here, here, Balcon. Toss these rancid bums out!”
 

I near gagged on the compost pile masquerading as his breath. It reeked of Fruity Pebble diarrhea. The drunken bastard near toppled off his stool before Johansen righted him, but most of the crowd was on his side. One went so far as to applaud.

I hadn’t been aware that the Magi took their tier system so seriously. My classmates at Elliot had worked hard to avoid the topic entirely. Elliot only admitted about thirty mages a year. (I’m told that’s how many Tier 4 plus mages North America produces.) But early on, I’d learned that talking tiers was almost as uncool as comparing SAT scores. I guess that was a good thing, because I had no idea what my own rank was.

I looked over at the DEA mages for support. The bandaged guy was still busy loading more tobacco into his pipe, and the pockmarked man was picking away at his fingernails with a knife. The orange-haired woman let out a snort, shifted in her chair, and went back to snoozing. I guessed that meant we were on our own…

Before I could figure out what to do, Ambassador Balcon had Jules and me by the collar again.
 

Madam Fremont shouted something. Jules lost her footing and fell. Her giant guidebook flew up into the air. Her feet went out from under her. I caught her right before she hit her head on the bar top. That’s also about when shit got real…the entire room echoed with a thunderous boom. All the glassware shattered. Decades of dust shook off the walls. And a crushing aura crashed into me. I’d never felt the sensation before. The enormous oscillations were tossing my Ki back and forth like a dingy.

“May Zeus strike you down,” she shouted. “Bacon, you are both a pissant and a fool.”

“Excuse me?” Balcon’s attention was occupied by the grievous harm she had just wrought on his glassware. He seemed oblivious to the violent stew of power churning all around him.

“What is this?” I asked Jules.

“A mana storm,” she answered, gripping my arm for support. “It’s like flexin’ yer muscles.”

My eyes bulged. “Wait, so this is all her own mana?”

“Aye…some of it.”

“I said you are a fool, Bacon. A pissant and a fool. Can you not see the tapestry that has been laid out in front of you?”

“What in the devil are you talking about?” Ambassador Balcon asked.

Madam Fremont pointed her gnarled cane at Dante, who was still hiding out at the front desk.

“A Kentuckian wearing a fine-spun Eastern cardigan. A somersaulting lad with socks monogrammed EC. And a charming young lass with a long reed woven in simple circles around her waist. One does not have to be Angela Lansbury to reason this out.”

Some in the crowd let out gasps.

A woman in the back pointed at Jules. “That one’s a druid?” She covered her face in embarrassment.

Madam Fremont gestured to the Christmas tree in the corner. “Apologies for the sacrilege, dear. Some of the Magi forget their roots.”

“No worries, ma’am,” Jules said with a slight bow.

“What’s the deal, Jules?” I whispered. “Are you magic Elvis?”

“Don’t be such a fockin’ thicko, Dieter. Druids are just a bit…rare.”

“You mean precious, dear,” Madam Fremont corrected.