Cloak Of Blades l2y41

CLOAK OF BLADES

Jonathan Moeller

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Description

There is no honor among thieves.

My name is Nadia, and I'm a shadow agent of the High Queen of the Elves.

That means I use magic to steal things for her.

Now she wants me to steal a treasure from an Elven lord without him even realizing that it's missing.

To pull it off, I'll need a crew.

But there is no honor among thieves, and not even all the magic in the world can protect me from a blade in the back...

***

Cloak of Blades

Copyright 2021 by Jonathan Moeller.

Smashwords Edition.

Some cover images copyright ID 33797977 © Roza | Dreamstime.com & Illustration 82931994 © Bezimeni Bezimenkovic | Dreamstime.com & Illustration 79323234 © Bezimeni Bezimenkovic | Dreamstime.com.

Ebook edition published July 2021.

All Rights Reserved.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.

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Chapter 1: Fun In The Sun

I spent the long, hot summer of Conquest Year 317 helping my husband kill monsters.

Usually, this meant lurking in dark alleys or hunting for cultists in abandoned warehouses.

Today, however, I was sitting on a lounge chair wearing a red swimsuit, a pair of aviator sunglasses, a whole lot of sunscreen, and a constant scowl.

I would have preferred the dark alley.

For one thing, I wasn’t happy about spending the day in public wearing a garment that felt like underwear, even though it did cover everything from my shoulders to my hips. But it was skin-tight, and my arms, shoulders, and legs were completely bare. For another, even though it was ninety-five degrees Fahrenheit and humid, I was chilly. I tended to summon my magic when under strain, and hunting a lunatic who had been summoning up anthrophages was a bit stressful. So, I constantly held my magic ready, which drained away my body heat, which meant I was cold even though it was nearly a hundred degrees outside.

And my companion was enjoying herself, which was just annoying.

Nora Chandler was almost a foot taller than I was, with dark skin and dark eyes. She was also in excellent shape, which I could tell because she was wearing a strapless white bikini that didn’t leave very much to the imagination. Nora had well-toned arms and legs and a flat stomach, which was more of her than I had ever wanted to see. Without false modesty or false bragging, I was in very good shape myself. I exercised a lot, partly to keep my permanently unsettled brain on an even keel and partly because I did a lot of dangerous things, and it was a good idea to stay in shape for them.

But, still. All that exercise and I still looked spindly next to Nora.

And, worse, short.

I put the annoyance out of my mind and focused on my surroundings.

Which was easy, because our surroundings were loud and distracting.

We were at the Sunshine State Resort in Miami Beach, Florida. The resort was a sprawling hotel and convention center complex with a wide beach. Currently, Nora and I sat (lounged, really) on chairs facing the beach and the churning waves of the Atlantic Ocean, the air smelling of salt, sunscreen, barbecue, and liquor. Hidden speakers played music that sounded either Cuban or Mexican – I wasn’t sure which, but the lyrics were definitely in Spanish. Duke Curantar of Miami owned the resort, which had originally started as a base for his men-atarms. But being an Elven noble is very expensive, a Duke especially so. While Curantar apparently did not like humans all that much, he did need money, and one of his advisors convinced him to turn the base into a resort.

The advisor was right. The place made a lot of money.

It was August 27th, Conquest Year 317 (or 2330 AD according to the older calendar), a little after 7 PM, and the setting sun to the west threw long shadows across the beach. There must have been two or three thousand people on the sand. About two-thirds of them were the human men-at-arms of Elven nobles taking their leave time at the resort, men in their late teens and early twenties with crew cuts and a lot of muscle definition. The remaining third were women of roughly the same age, most of them wearing swimsuits, though a few had on beach shirts and skirts.

Numerous men-at-arms got married before they began their mandatory six year of service at the age of eighteen. But quite a few did not, and many of the men-at-arms here were looking for an evening of female companionship. For the soldiers who couldn’t quite manage to charm themselves a girlfriend, the resort also offered discreet licensed brothels, though they were beyond the financial reach of most men-at-arms.

I didn’t like the Sunshine State Resort at all. I was too loud, too expensive, and too awash in alcohol. I don’t drink because there’s too much crazy inside my head, and I don’t want to let it out. Also, we had ed our one-year wedding anniversary last month, and sitting here in a swimsuit as soldiers on leave cruised for women irritated me. Though to be fair, I was wearing a translucent earpiece tucked behind my left ear, and I could talk to my husband whenever I wanted.

And we were here on business.

“Relax, tigress,” murmured Nora. She turned her brilliant white smile towards a group of ing men-at-arms, who smiled back at her. “You look like you’re chewing aluminum foil.” She spoke with a northern English accent, which meant “aluminum” seemed to have way more syllables than it should.

“I wish I had a gun,” I said.

“You do have a gun,” said Nora. “In your purse.”

She was right. I had a gun in my heavy canvas purse, which rested next to my lounge chair. I also had the transmitter pack for our radio earpieces and my aetherometer, which was currently set to track for the aura of the summoner we had followed here.

“I wish I had more guns,” I said. “Also, body armor.”

Nora sighed and stretched. “It’s much too hot for body armor. Honestly, tigress. Compared to some of the things we’ve had to do, sitting on the beach is one of the least bothersome.” Her smile returned. “But this is one of the few times I’ve ever heard you complain about anything.”

“I wish Riordan was here,” I said. Quite a few men had looked me over as they ed. I suppose I couldn’t blame them – given the resort’s reputation, it wasn’t as if I could expect to sit here in solitude.

“I could be if you need me,” came Riordan’s quiet voice in my ear.

“You’re too frightening,” said Nora. “Our summoner likes to go after lone women or small groups. He sees Riordan, he’ll steer clear of us.”

That was a good argument. The Shadow Hunters’ commission had come from one of the Elven barons of Miami’s suburbs. Something had been attacking and killing women visiting the resort. So far, three women had been found dead, and all of them had been half-eaten.

I knew the signs of an anthrophage attack when I saw them.

I knew them very, very well.

So the Shadow Hunters had been hired to kill whoever had been summoning anthrophages in the Miami area. They had been doing that sort of thing all summer, and since Tarlia hadn’t given me any new jobs since I had stolen the contents of Duke Vashtyr’s laptop, I had been helping my husband and his colleagues. We had taken down eight summoners across the United States over the course of the summer, and I knew that other groups of Shadow Hunters around the world had ed for another thirty. It had become easier to summon things from the Shadowlands ever since the Sky Hammer, and someone had printed up a lot of brand-new copies of the Summoning Codex and had been sowing them around the world like poisoned seeds.

“I know, I know,” I said.

“You need to relax, tigress,” said Nora. “How often do you get to simply lie in

the sun?”

“We’re in the shade, technically.”

“We’ve spent all summer chasing every lunatic who managed to get his hands on one of the new copies of the Summoning Codex,” said Nora. “Compared to waiting in a hotel, skulking in an alley, or running through a junkyard, this is pleasant.”

“To be fair, we were only running through that junkyard to stop some wraithwolves from eating people,” I said.

“Details, details,” said Nora. “Do you know what your problem is?”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re about to tell me?”

Nora continued as if I had not spoken. “You don’t relax. You never relax. It’s important to work hard, but you also need to play hard. Else you’ll go nuts.”

She had a point, but I was already nuts.

I was spared the need to answer by a buzzing noise.

Something was vibrating inside my purse.

I reached into it and lifted my aetherometer.

“Playtime’s over,” I said. “I’ve picked up something.”

Nora sat up, swinging her feet to the ground. Her cheery demeanor vanished, replaced by the cool, calm mask of a Shadow Hunter about to enter combat.

“What do you have?” came Riordan’s voice in my ear.

The aetherometer was a flat bronze disk about the size of my hand, with a crystalline lens over a dozen different dials, all of which were jerking back and forth as they analyzed the local magical fields. The dials could mean different things depending on the context, their meaning conveyed to me via the telepathic link I shared with the device. The High Queen had given me the aetherometer as a wedding present, and it had been useful. I could use the spell to detect magical forces easily enough, but the device was more powerful and persistent.

And right now, it was picking up the aura of the summoner.

All three of the murdered women had been killed within five miles of the resort, and the aetherometer had picked up the echoes of an anthrophage at the sites of their deaths. The echoes had been too faint to trace back to the summoner, but the aetherometer would recognize the summoner’s aura if he came within range.

“He’s nearby,” I said. “Within a half-mile. I think he just came to the resort.”

“Which way?” said Nora.

“Um.” I frowned at the dials for a moment and then pointed along the beach. “That way. He’s getting closer.”

“He’s somewhere near the main bar,” said Nora.

“I’ll head in that direction,” said Riordan. “He’s probably searching for his next victim.”

“I’ll see if I can identify him,” I said, watching the dials.

“Ready?” said Nora, getting to her feet.

I nodded, tucked the aetherometer into the canvas purse, and stood up, slipping my feet into a pair of sandals. Nora remained barefoot, which had to be painful given how hot the concrete and the sand were from the Florida sun, but she didn’t mind.

We headed north along the wide concrete pathway overlooking the beach proper.

Ornamental lampposts arched overhead, and wooden benches sat at the edge of the path every so often. Given Florida’s frequent violent weather, the benches had all been set in concrete and bolted to the ground. To the left rose the resort’s towers, with hundreds of hotel rooms facing the water. On their balconies, I saw people getting the night’s drinking underway. This place had to go through an ocean of alcohol.

The crowds had gotten thicker while Nora and I had been watching them, and hundreds of people splashed in the water. Others walked along the pathway, and Nora and I both drew some iring glances as we ed groups of men. Nora favored some of them with her brilliant smile and ignored others. I kept a constant scowl on my face, partly because I didn’t want to talk to anyone and partly because I was focused on my aetherometer.

“Just as well we’re here to work,” murmured Nora. “You would seriously cramp my style otherwise, tigress.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure you call me ‘tigress’ because of my chipper personality,” I said. Nora laughed at that. I glanced at my aetherometer’s display. “He’s close. Somewhere in that bar.”

The bar in question was huge. It ran along the base of one of the hotel towers, with a dozen workers serving drinks to the crowds. A wide patio held numerous round wooden picnic tables, each one equipped with an umbrella. Nora sat on an empty table at the patio’s edge. I eyed the wooden seat dubiously, having a sudden mental image of taking a splinter in my ass. But the seat was in good repair, so I sat down next to her.

“Anything?” murmured Nora.

“Hang on.” I set my purse on the table and drew out the aetherometer. I scrutinized the dials, letting the instrument work. “He’s definitely somewhere nearby. Maybe in the crowd by the bar. I think…”

I fell silent, frowning.

“Nadia?” came Riordan’s voice.

“I think he’s walking right towards us,” I said. I looked at Nora. “Pretend to laugh at something I just said.”

Nora smiled and let out a long laugh, lifting one hand to her chest, and I feigned a smile and shot a quick look around. Despite the crowds, this part of the patio was relatively deserted, with most of the people clustered around the bar or the tables closer to the beach.

A lone man walked towards us.

He was youngish – late twenties or early thirties. Trim, fit build, with a pale complexion that had to burn easily under the Florida sun. He had dark hair and bright blue eyes, and he was wearing the uniform of a Sunshine State Resort employee – dark slacks, white dress shirt, blue jacket, blue tie, and a lanyard with an employee ID around his neck.

And there was the faint echo of a magical aura around him, identical to the one the aetherometer had detected at the dead women.

“That’s him,” I said, keeping the smile plastered on my face. “Walking right towards us.”

“Acknowledged,” said Riordan. “I will follow you at a distance.”

I caught a glimpse of my husband in the crowd near the bar. He was wearing dress pants, a white shirt, a black jacket, and wrap-around sunglasses. If you looked at him, you would think he was a banker or a lawyer come for an afterwork drink.

Though not many bankers had arms and shoulders that bulged against their shirts the way that Riordan’s did.

The hotel employee strolled towards our table, and Nora caught his eye and smiled, sitting up a little straighter as she did, her shoulders back. The man faltered for a half-step, and I made myself smile as well. He approached our table, and I saw that the name on his ID card was Anthony.

He seemed completely unremarkable. Totally non-threatening. Looking at him, you wouldn’t realize that he had kidnapped and killed three women.

But appearances are so often deceiving.

Look at me, after all.

“Are you ladies enjoying your stay at the Sunshine State Resort?” said Anthony. He had a pleasant voice with a southern drawl.

“Oh, we totally are,” I said. I decided to act a little inebriated, hoping to lull Anthony off his guard. “This is such a nice place. Like, I’ve drunk so much I’m a little embarrassed.”

Nora snorted. “Don’t mind my friend. She’s a lightweight. Two beers, and she’s taking off her top and dancing on the tables. Four and I have to drive her to hospital.”

“I’m glad she’s having a good time,” said Anthony, smiling. “Your accent? England?”

“That’s right, ace,” said Nora.

“Are you from London?” said Anthony.

“No, Manchester.”

Anthony blinked. I had the impression he had never heard of the place, but his smile resumed a second later. “Well, I hope you’re enjoying your visit to America.”

“I really am,” said Nora. “I shouldn’t rag on my friend here.” She raised a hand to her mouth, hiccupped, and then laughed. “I’m afraid I’ve had rather too much to drink myself.”

He took a half-step closer towards us. His genial expression remained in place, but I could all but see the interest in his eyes. The surface is often deceiving, but sometimes things reveal their true nature, and I suspected we were about to see Anthony’s.

I glanced over his shoulder and saw that Riordan had drifted closer.

“What are your names, if you don’t mind me asking?” said Anthony.

“I’m Elizabeth, and this is Julie,” said Nora, patting my shoulder.

“Are you from the UK too?” said Anthony.

“What, do I sound British?” I said, affecting a terrible English accent. Nora rolled her eyes. Some people can do accents well. I am not one of them. “No, no, no, I’m from Wisconsin.” No point in lying about that since I did sound Midwestern. “That’s why I can hold my beer so well, regardless of what Lizzie here thinks.”

“Lizzie?” said Nora. “Only my mum calls me Lizzie.”

“You seem like good friends,” said Anthony. “Have you known each other long?”

“Only a few years, but we’re besties,” I said, throwing an arm over Nora’s shoulder. She jerked a little. My skin probably felt cold from the amount of magic I was holding ready. “We both moved to New York to get jobs, and we wound up working at the same bank. I think we both needed a vacation, so we came to the Sunshine State Resort.”

“To get hammered and maybe make some new friends,” said Nora. I had never heard her sound flirtatious before.

I could all but see the calculations going on behind Anthony’s pleasant expression. Two single women, both of them on vacation and far from home. If a local disappeared, someone might notice. But two women on vacation from New York? It might be days, even weeks, before anyone missed us.

“Well,” said Anthony, reaching into his coat pocket. “I’ve got a surprise for you.” I started to draw magic together for a spell in case his surprise turned out to be a nasty one, but instead, he held out two shiny plastic cards. They were a silvery color and had the resort’s logo on them. “Take them.”

I did, but only with two fingers, in case he had some sort of drug smeared across it. “What is this?”

“A VIP card,” said Anthony. “That’s one of my jobs here at the resort. I’m a Guest Experience Manager. Every night I hand out a few cards for people to get into the VIP lounge. It’s all the liquor you can drink, free of charge. And, if you excuse me for saying so, the management likes me to pick pretty women for the lounge. Makes the place look classy…and I think you two are very classy.”

For God’s sake. Had that really worked before?

But he had killed at least three women that we knew about, and it looked like he had picked me and Nora to be four and five.

I looked at Nora. “What do you think, Lizzie?”

“Is it a posh lounge?” said Nora. “Should we go back to our room and change?”

“Oh, no, it’s poolside,” said Anthony. “I think you two will fit right in.”

“If there’s free liquor involved, I’m in,” I announced. I got to my feet, feigning a drunken wobble, and grabbed my purse.

“Oh, all right,” said Nora. “I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble without me.”

Anthony’s eyes flicked up and down me when he thought I wasn’t looking. I was betting the “Poolside VIP Lounge” was where he had his summoned creatures waiting. His eyes lingered on my left hand.

“You’re married?” said Anthony.

I was still wearing my wedding ring. I hadn’t taken it off, thinking it would deter men from hitting on me. It hadn’t really worked, but that had only been an excuse. I hadn’t taken it off, because, well…I didn’t want to take it off.

“Freshly divorced,” said Nora, patting my shoulder. “Why do you think we needed a boozy vacation?”

“Good save,” said Riordan in my ear, voice dry.

“This way, ladies,” said Anthony, gesturing. “Please, follow me.”

We followed him across the terrace, my sandals slapping against the concrete, Nora quieter in her bare feet. I shot a quick glance to the side and saw Riordan following us.

Anthony led us to a side entrance to the nearest hotel tower, and we entered and walked down a carpeted hallway. I was already cold from holding my magic ready, and the sudden blast of air conditioning made goosebumps stand out all over my skin.

“Chilly?” said Anthony, glancing back at me.

“Yeah,” I said, sliding off my sunglasses and slipping them into my purse. “What is the freaking temperature in here?”

“Don’t worry,” said Anthony. “It’s very warm in the lounge. In fact, here’s a shortcut.”

He stopped before a metal door that had UTILITY printed across it in black letters. I glanced at Nora as Anthony swiped his employee ID across the lock, and she gave me a quick, shallow nod. She was ready for action.

“Almost there,” said Anthony, and he swung the door open.

We stepped into what looked like an industrial laundry room. A row of massive washers and dryers covered one wall. Half of them were disassembled, their mechanical innards exposed. The floor was polished concrete, and the fluorescent lighting overhead was harsh and stark.

“This doesn’t look like a shortcut,” said Nora.

The door clicked behind us, the lock engaging.

“It’s not, I’m afraid,” said Anthony, spreading his hands. “I would like you to meet my pets.”

Three of the dryer doors clicked open, and the anthrophages unfolded themselves, claws tapping against the concrete floor.

A wave of pure hatred and revulsion went through me.

Anthrophages came from Earth’s umbra in the Shadowlands, and while they were human-shaped, they really didn’t look human. They were gaunt with gray, glistening skin, the muscles taut and ropy beneath it. Their eyes were a venomous yellow, and instead of noses, they had triangular craters in the center of their faces. Despite that, the creatures could track almost anything by scent. Black claws topped their fingers and toes, fangs filled their mouths, and a row of black spikes jutted from their spines.

They ate human flesh. I knew that very, very well.

The three anthrophages prowled towards us, and I ed the feel of anthrophage claws shredding my skin, of their fangs sinking into my flesh.

“Do you like my pets?” said Anthony, grinning. The genial hotel employee had vanished, a leer distorting his features. “Take off your swimsuits, and we’ll get started.” He unbuckled his belt and started to undo the front of his pants. “Or my pets will rip them off you. The easy way or the hard way. I think I prefer the hard way, though, it’s more fun to watch…”

“Dumbass,” I said, raising my hand.

Anthony stopped with his fly halfway down, a look of confusion going over his face. I suspected me calling him scornful names wasn’t part of the script he had in his head.

This wasn’t going to be, either.

I cast a spell. A sphere of elemental fire leaped from my hand, glowing with brilliant light. It was about the size of my thumb t, and I had packed a lot of energy into it. I focused my will, and the sphere zipped back and forth. It had more than enough power to burn through the skulls of all three anthrophages, carving tunnels through their brains in the process.

In near unison, all three creatures fell dead to the floor.

The look of shock on Anthony’s face would have been comical under other circumstances.

“Now,” I said, and I called another fire sphere over my palm, letting it spin and glow. “Where is your copy of the Summoning Codex?”

“What?” sputtered Anthony. “I don’t…I don’t…”

“You’re really going to want to tell me,” I said. “Where is your copy of the Summoning Codex?”

“I don’t…” started Anthony.

There was a flash of something like a shadow near the door as Riordan sliced through the lock, and he stalked into the room. His eyes had turned solid black, and his Shadowmorph had taken its blade form in his right hand. Fear replaced Anthony’s surprise, and he stumbled back, eyes wide with alarm.

“Should’ve told me,” I said.

“Where is the Summoning Codex?” said Riordan, his expression and voice calm.

Anthony backed away, which was a mistake because he hadn’t bothered to redo his belt. His tros fell around his ankles, revealing blue boxer shorts, and Anthony fell backward, his head bouncing off the floor.

Riordan kicked him, hard. Anthony squealed, flipped over, and slammed into the wall. Without appreciable effort, Riordan stooped, seized the front of Anthony’s shirt, and lifted him off the ground. Anthony flailed, clawing at Riordan’s forearm and trying to kick at his shins, but he might as well have tried to attack a concrete wall.

“Where,” repeated Riordan, “is the Summoning Codex?” He lifted the black sword to point it at Anthony’s heart. “You won’t like it if I ask a third time.”

“There!” shouted Anthony. “There, in the dryer!” He pointed at one of the halfdismantled dryers.

Riordan jerked his head at me, and I nodded and crossed the room. I opened the dryer, holding my magic ready if Anthony had another anthrophage stashed in there.

He didn’t. Instead, a small hardback book with a dull gray cover sat inside the dryer. I picked it up and paged through it. The book was new – the binding was still tight, and I could smell the fresh paper and ink. The pages held the nowfamiliar text of the Summoning Codex.

About two hundred years ago, a former member of the Wizard’s Legion named Sergio Cortez had become disgruntled and decided that humans needed magical power of their own to fight the Elves. Well, some humans could use magic, Riordan and myself among them, but only a minority. By contrast, all the Elves could use magic, and it took magic to hurt them. Anyway, Cortez (who had apparently been a genius) had decided that the best way for all mankind to gain magic was to use summoning spells to bind creatures from the Shadowlands, so he created the Summoning Codex and began distributing copies in both digital and paper format.

Unfortunately for him, and for everyone else, while Cortez might have been a genius, he had still been a dumbass in the way that only smart people can manage. Like the sort of people who crash national economies and cause famines with political theories and elaborate spreadsheets. It’s relatively simple to summon creatures from the Shadowlands, and you don’t even need natural magical talent to pull it off – a spell empowered by human blood will do the trick. Unfortunately, while it’s easy to summon and bind creatures, it’s really hard to protect your mind from their corrupting influence. Even powerful Elven

wizards rarely summon Shadowlands creatures because of the inherent danger. Time and time again, I had seen people summon Shadowlands creatures only to be corrupted and dominated by them.

Maybe Anthony hadn’t intended to become a serial killer when he first opened his copy of the Summoning Codex.

Or maybe he had gone into this with his eyes wide open. His anthrophages had been under tight control.

“It’s one of the new copies,” I said.

“Where did you get the book?” said Riordan.

“It…it came to me in the mail,” said Anthony. “The note said that the publisher had selected me and that the book would grant all my wishes. I thought it was bullshit…and then I started reading…”

I shared a look with Nora. We had heard the same story several times already this summer. Someone had printed up a bunch of copies of the Summoning Codex and distributed it through the mail, and whoever had printed them had apparently selected people who had a psychological predisposition to try the book’s spells. They had been mailed out from Seattle, and efforts to trace both the books’ source and all their recipients had been futile. Some of the recipients had called the Inquisition in a panic once they realized what they had (the Inquisitors thanked them and relieved them of the books), but not very many.

I suspected today would not be the last time I heard this story.

“If…if you want the book, you can have it,” said Anthony. “I can show you how to use it. It can call up things from the Shadowlands. You must have been a manat-arms, you’re old enough. You fighting against those monsters? The book shows you how to make them do whatever you want. You can…”

Riordan plunged his Shadowmorph blade into Anthony’s chest at exactly the right spot to find his heart. Anthony lived for maybe five or six seconds after that, not even enough time to realize what had happened to him.

A quick death.

Quicker than his victims had enjoyed.

Riordan dropped the corpse to the floor and let out a weary sigh. He closed his eyes, and they were their usual brown color when he opened them. The Shadowmorph symbiont would feast upon the life force of anything he killed, feeding it back to him as strength and stamina and agility. It could become addictive, and Shadow Hunters who succumbed to the urges of their Shadowmorphs sometimes warped into insane serial killers.

Disturbing, I know, but I had a lot of bad urges I had to resist myself.

Besides, Riordan had been a Shadow Hunter for a long time. Longer than Nora, and longer than Alex and Markus and Adler and the other Shadow Hunters we

had worked with over the summer. Only the Firstborn and the Elders of the Family had borne Shadowmorphs for longer than Riordan, and the Firstborn was the sole surviving founding member of the Family of the Shadow Hunters. In fact, Nora had told me a few weeks ago that Riordan ought to have been an Elder, that he was old enough, but he believed that he had failed with Sasha and wasn’t worthy of the position.

All that meant I had absolutely no fear of him losing self-control and going on a rampage.

I was more concerned about that for myself.

But I was still worried about him.

“How are you?” I said.

“Fine,” said Riordan. He looked at Anthony’s corpse and shook his head. “Wish it hadn’t been necessary to kill him, but I won’t regret it.” He reached into his coat, drew out an envelope, and dropped it on Anthony’s stomach. Inside was the writ of execution for the summoner. When law enforcement found that writ, Anthony’s death would be recorded as a legal execution by the Shadow Hunters, and that would be that. Riordan turned to me. “But how are you? I was worried about you.”

“What?” I said. “I’m fine. I doubt we were ever in danger.” I nodded towards the dead man. “He was in way over his head. Three anthrophages wouldn’t put up much of a fight against people like us.”

But I knew why Riordan was worried. In the Eternity Crucible, I had died again and again, ripped apart by anthrophages the way that Anthony’s minions had torn apart his victims one he was done with them. Whenever I fought anthrophages, there was always a chance the rage would boil up inside me, and I would lash out.

But, for once, I didn’t feel that. I mostly felt sheer disdain for Anthony. He had killed three innocent people for nothing.

“Another one of these damned books,” said Nora. I handed her the Summoning Codex, and she flipped through it. “I wonder if they’ve had any luck tracking who printed them. Or how the printer targeted wankers like Anthony here.”

“I don’t know,” said Riordan. “We’ll check once we take the book back to New York and the Sanctuary. Let’s get out of here and call in Anthony’s body.” He nodded towards the corpse. “I don’t think any of us want to be questioned by the Miami police.”

“We do not,” I said. While the writ of execution would provide immunity, it was best to simply disappear after a job for the Shadow Hunters. “And then I can put on a shirt. And pants. And actual shoes.”

Nora laughed. “I think you might be more bothered by the swimsuit than the anthrophages.”

###

A short time later, Riordan and I let ourselves into our room in the Sunshine State Resort.

We had booked a room for several days, anticipating that it might take longer than it actually had to track down the summoner. Our room was on the fifteenth floor of the hotel with a balcony facing the beach and the sea. I suppose the décor was trying for “tropical resort,” with paintings of palm trees and islands on the walls. This included a pair of actual hula hoops propped against the balcony door. I had seen a few people using them on the beach.

The bed was large and somewhat uncomfortable. The mattress was too new and too firm.

“I’m glad that’s done,” I said, putting my purse and the aetherometer into the room safe. Not that a room safe would slow down someone with say, my level of skill, but it would stop casual thieves from walking off with things.

Riordan nodded. “Nora can take the book to New York. We can go back to Wisconsin, and you can work on Moran Imports.” I slid the copy of the Summoning Codex into the safe as well. Definitely not something I wanted to leave sitting around. “Hopefully that’s the last of the active summoners. Maybe the Inquisition will have some luck tracking where the new copies were printed.”

“And I can finally get out of this damned swimsuit,” I said, closing the safe.

Riordan laughed.

“What?” I said, looking at him.

“You don’t like Florida very much, do you?”

“Florida’s fine.” I gestured towards the balcony doors and the twilight sky outside. “I don’t like the resort. It’s too…”

“Hedonistic?” said Riordan.

“That’s a good word,” I said. “Hedonistic. I don’t drink, I don’t like parties, and I don’t want to parade around in a swimsuit with my,” I gestured at myself, “my parts hanging out.”

“All of your parts are securely concealed,” said Riordan. “More’s the pity.”

“I can’t believe Nora went back to the bar,” I said. “Do you think she’s going to have a one-night stand before she flies back to New York?”

“Not my business,” said Riordan. “She’s a grown woman and can take care of herself.” He shrugged. “And most of the Shadow Hunters don’t share my views

on monogamy. Or yours, for that matter.”

He was right. I had been with exactly one man before Riordan, and I intended for things to stay that way. I had never had a one-night stand, and the very idea made my skin crawl. I suppose I could claim I was a bastion of moral rectitude, but the truth was that both my upbringing and my life had left me paranoid, and physical intimacy was about as vulnerable as you could get with anyone.

“And these hula hoops,” I said. “They look stupid.”

Riordan shrugged. “Why don’t you try it?”

“Seriously?” I snorted, grinned, stepped into one of the hoops, and began to whirl it around my waist. A pleasant enough exercise, I suppose, though I preferred workouts with more intensity. “This would get boring pretty quick.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Riordan, his voice soft.

I looked at him. He was staring at me with sudden intensity. He was so-self controlled, and I knew him well enough by now to tell when something was threatening that self-control.

Huh. Guess he liked what he saw.

I grinned again, pulled my arms out of the swimsuit, and rolled the garment down to my waist.

“You know,” I said. “I am getting really tired of this swimsuit.” I tugged it down my legs and tossed it aside. Riordan stopped blinking entirely. “There. That’s a lot more comfortable.” I began to spin the hoop around my waist again, maybe jerking my shoulders back and forth more than I had earlier. “I bet this looks…”

Before I could get the sentence all the way out of my mouth, Riordan stepped closer, lifted me out of the hula hoop, and carried me to the bed. I let out a peal of surprised laughter, and he laid me down atop the blankets.

“Guess you liked that, huh?” I said.

He was too busy getting undressed to answer.

I think that mattress was finally broken in by the time we were finished, and I did leave Florida with at least one fond memory of the Sunshine State Resort.

***

Chapter 2: Royal Service

Three days later, on the morning of August 30th, Conquest Year 317, Riordan and I had breakfast on our patio.

Our house was in Brookfield, one Milwaukee’s richer suburbs. We had been in the process of looking for a house soon after we had gotten married, and then I had wound up saving the life of a dragon and catching her uncle’s murderer. (Long story.) Anyway, Delaxsicoria had been so grateful that she had given me a house she owned but had never used in Brookfield.

Riordan and I had lived there ever since.

Though lately we hadn’t been here all that often. Since the end of May, I think we had spent one day out of every eight or so in Milwaukee.

Anyway, it was a nice house. Four bedrooms, with a large concrete basement that we had turned into a workshop and a gym. It was more space than we needed, but it wasn’t large enough to be garishly ostentatious. It had come with an excellent security system, which I had upgraded further. About an acre of lawn surrounded the house, and the backyard sloped towards a large patch of woods.

It was going to be a hot day, but it was only 7 AM, and for right now, it was cool. The day had started pleasantly enough. Riordan and I had woken up at

about the same time, which had led to us making love, and then we had worked out in the basement, followed by a shower. Now we were having breakfast together on the patio, sitting in Adirondack chairs and facing the woods, a table between us. I had dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and was eating a smoothie that had just enough strawberries to cover the vegetable taste, a cup of coffee on the table next to me.

“You going to spend the day writing?” I said.

“I think so,” said Riordan. Most years, the Shadow Hunters were not as busy as they were now, and my husband had taken up writing when he had been a manat-arms. In the decades since, he had written hundreds of books under several different names.

I really had to read one of them someday.

“I’ll read this one,” I said. “Once it’s done.”

Riordan snorted and took a drink of coffee. “I think you have as much interest in reading one of my books as I do in unloading one of your brother’s fruit trucks.”

“Truck unloading’s not so bad,” I said. “It’s a good workout.”

“Which means you’re going to do that today,” said Riordan.

“Well, I do own a third of the company,” I said. “Though they don’t really need me. Russell and Robert have things in hand.”

“Does that bother you?” said Riordan.

I opened my mouth, thought about it.

“No,” I said at last. “It doesn’t. I mean, Russell needed me for most of his life. If I screwed up one of Morvilind’s missions, the frostfever would kill him.” I shrugged. “Now he doesn’t have to depend on me.”

“Well,” said Riordan. “I think…”

His phone went off.

I frowned and looked at the phone. It lay on the table next to his empty smoothie cup, and I recognized the number. It was the Sanctuary of the Family in Manhattan. It was seven in the morning here, and they wouldn’t have called unless it was important.

“Shit,” I said.

“I’d better take that,” said Riordan, and he lifted the phone. “Hello? No, I was already up, sir.”

I blinked. The only man that Riordan ever called “sir” was Jonah Robb, the Firstborn of the Family. I listened to Riordan’s half of the call. He had spent a big part of both August and November of the last year in the UK, helping the Shadow Hunters track down a Dark Ones cult in Manchester. The Family thought that they had wiped out the cult during the last fight, but apparently, they had been wrong. Someone had begun kidnapping people and sacrificing them to the Dark Ones again, and the Firstborn wanted Riordan to take charge of the effort.

Long story short, my husband was going to the UK again.

Riordan ended the call and set his phone back on the table.

“I want to come with you,” I said.

Riordan met my gaze.

“I didn’t have a port the last two times, but I do now,” I said. “It will go a lot easier with my help.”

“I was going to ask you to come,” said Riordan. “I didn’t want to, but I was still going to.”

“Why not?” I said, a flicker of insecurity going through me. “Why wouldn’t you

want me to come?”

He reached over the table and took my hand. “Because it will be dangerous, and I would rather that you were safe.”

“I bring the danger with me,” I said, trying for a joke and not quite getting there. “Besides. You know it will go better with my help.”

“You are good at this,” said Riordan.

That wasn’t an idle compliment. I really was good at this kind of thing. My hellish experiences in the Eternity Crucible had left me as one of the most powerful human wizards in the world and significantly stronger than many Elven wizards. For that matter, I had lots and lots of experience as a high-end thief. I had only ever been caught once.

Which had led me to the Eternity Crucible, ittedly.

But I was legitimate now and working with the Shadow Hunters, who had a charter from the High Queen. I could put my skills to use hunting down the Dark Ones cultists, and help the Shadow Hunters bring their job to a close faster and more easily than they would have otherwise.

“If I’m good at this, then I want to help you,” I said. “I know you worry about me, but I worry about you, too. I mean, yeah, I give you way more cause for worry than you give me, but I still want to help you.” I squeezed his hand.

“There is one thing that annoys me.”

“What’s that?”

“We just got unpacked. Now we have to goddamn pack everything up again.”

Riordan let out a short laugh. “Then we had better get started.”

I finished my coffee and rose as he stood. He went to get to work in the basement, packing the cases with the equipment we needed. I washed out the smoothie cups and the coffee mugs since coming home to the smell of rotting food wasn’t fun for anyone. We had gone on enough violence-related road trips that we had a routine. Just as well that I had already done the laundry.

I had put the last cup on the drying rack next to the sink when I felt the surge of power from my blood ring.

I wore two rings. The first, as I already mentioned, was the wedding ring on my left hand. On my right, I wore a heavy gold band set with a gemstone that looked like a ruby but was actually crystallized blood. My blood, specifically, drawn from my heart the day that Kaethran Morvilind had recruited me as his shadow agent. The High Queen had taken that vial of blood from Morvilind and shaped it into the gemstone, giving me the ring of a shadow agent. The ring let her communicate with me from any distance, and it also let me project the royal seal in times of urgent need. As an added bonus, the ring was invisible to anyone except Tarlia’s shadow agents.

I heard the High Queen’s voice within my head.

“Nadia MacCormac,” said Tarlia. “Come to Morvilind’s mansion in Shorewood by 9 AM. I will have further instructions for you there.”

The telepathic ended.

I stared at the sink.

“Shit,” I said again.

“Nadia?”

I jumped halfway out of my shoes and turned. Riordan had come out of the basement, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. I had been so wrapped up in my thoughts that I hadn’t heard him.

“The High Queen just ed me,” I said. “She wants me to go to Shorewood.”

Riordan always looked calm, if a bit grim, but he suddenly looked grimmer.

“I see,” he said. “Did she say why?”

“No,” I said. “Only that she would have further instructions once I got there.”

“I should go with you,” said Riordan.

“You can’t,” I said. “You thought that we…that you could be on a plane to New York by noon.”

“I can call the Firstborn, ask him to put someone else in charge in the UK,” said Riordan.

But we both knew that he couldn’t. Riordan was one of the most experienced Shadow Hunters, and he couldn’t abandon his commitments to the Family. For that matter, I couldn’t refuse the High Queen’s command. And I didn’t know what Tarlia would ask me to do once I spoke with her. It could take a day, or it might take weeks.

“Damn it,” said Riordan quietly. “I thought you could actually come with me to the UK for once.”

“So did I.” I took a long breath, let it out. “But we’ve done this before. I’ve been in the US doing work for Tarlia, you’ve been in the UK. We’ve done it before.” I stepped forward and hugged him. “It will be okay.”

I wasn’t sure if I was trying to comfort him or convince myself. Maybe both.

“You’re right,” said Riordan. “The burner phones?”

“Yeah, it’s time to use them.”

We had spent the entire summer together, but we had known this could happen, that eventually, the demands of the Family of the Shadow Hunters and the High Queen would require us to travel to different continents. But given the kind of work we did, sometimes we didn’t want to walk around with our personal cell phones since it was relatively simple to tap into telecommunications. So we had purchased a pair of burner phones, cheap and simple. We would use those to communicate until we came home again.

I took one of the phones, and Riordan slipped the other into his pocket.

“I’ll text you when I know more,” I said.

“Same,” said Riordan. “I’ll text when I get to New York, and then to London. And after that, when I can.”

I nodded. We both knew that sometimes it wasn’t possible to take a moment to send a text message while pursuing Dark Ones cultists.

“I love you, Nadia,” said Riordan. “Be careful.”

“I love you, too,” I said. “And I’ll be just as careful as you are.”

I kissed my husband, grabbed my black pea coat since I was probably going to get cold, and then took a deep breath and went to the garage while Riordan continued packing.

We had schedules to keep.

To my great annoyance, I felt moisture in my eyes as I got behind the wheel of my car. We had been married a year, and already I wanted to cry at the thought of a few weeks apart.

For God’s sake, we had done this before.

But I hadn’t enjoyed it then, either.

And Riordan had gotten good at keeping my mind from flying off the rails when the memories of the Eternity Crucible threatened to overwhelm me.

And even laying all that aside, I loved him and didn’t want to be apart from him for long.

I forced aside my emotions, backed out of the garage, and headed into traffic.

Best not to keep the High Queen of Earth and Kalvarion waiting.

###

It’s not very far from Brookfield to Shorewood, about fifteen miles or so in a straight line, but it took me the better part of an hour, partly from rush hour traffic, partly from the fine summer tradition of Wisconsin road construction, and partly because none of the roads actually go in a straight line from Brookfield to Shorewood.

Driving that route brought back a lot of old memories, most of them bad.

Shorewood is a little town in northeastern Milwaukee County along the shore of Lake Michigan. High bluffs overlook the lake, which means a lot of rich people live here so they can have nice views. Myself, I would prefer a home site less prone to erosion and storms off the lake, but that was just me. Some minor Elven nobles had houses here as well. I think both Duke Tamirlas of Milwaukee and Duke Carothrace of Madison had houses in Shorewood.

Lord Morvilind had lived here.

Until I killed him, anyway.

I hadn’t thought about it at the time, but Morvilind had been rich. He had prepared a will, and he had left everything to the High Queen, who I think had been the closest thing to a daughter that he had. So Morvilind’s house had become the High Queen’s house, or at least one of them.

He had, of course, left me nothing.

I came to the main gates of Morvilind’s estate. There was a small gatehouse there, and within, I glimpsed an Elven man wearing the silver armor of a Royal Guard. He waved me through the gate, and I drove up the long driveway to the front of the mansion. The house itself was about the size of a small city block. It had been built in the classical Elven style of Kalvarion, which meant it looked like a combination of Roman and Imperial Chinese architecture. Hieroglyphics that looked vaguely Celtic but were, in fact, Elven adorned the walls in intricate, dizzying designs. I could read some Elven hieroglyphs and knew that they marked the location of powerful wards. Anyone trying to attack that mansion would be in for a nasty surprise.

I parked my car in front of the house and got out. Tension meant I held my magic ready, draining my body heat, and I tugged my coat tighter despite the fact that it was getting hotter.

The tension came from my memories as I looked at the mansion.

Nearly all of those memories were bad. I had spent a significant portion of my childhood here, with Morvilind’s various retainers training me in the illegal skills his shadow agent needed. Morvilind himself had taught me magic, though he had made sure I was ignorant of a lot of things since that would make me

easier to control. Like, he hadn’t told me about the Shadow Hunters, or the Dark Ones, or a lot of other things. In fact, he hadn't even told me that what I did for him was called a “shadow agent,” and I had learned the term later when I had been working with other thieves.

I had stolen a lot of things for him. Once I had been a teenager and old enough to for sixteen (I had been driving regularly with a fake ID by the time I was twelve), Morvilind had sent me out to steal things for him.

All the while, he had threatened me, saying that if I failed or was killed, he would withhold his cure spells, and Russell would die of frostfever. Whenever Morvilind had summoned me to the mansion, I had come with a feeling of choking dread, knowing that he was about to tell me to do something dangerous that might get me killed and condemn Russell to a painful death from frostfever.

God, I had hated him.

A lot of people think they know about hate, but they don’t, not really. Not the kind of hate that starts when you’re a little child and grows stronger as you get older, and I was over a hundred and eighty years old now.

I had hated Kaethran Morvilind…and he had destroyed the Archons and ended the long war between Earth and Kalvarion. The Archons had murdered billions of Elves and killed God knows how many humans, and Morvilind had destroyed them all in the blink of an eye. He had been one of the few people in human or Elven history to end a war by destroying the guilty and sparing the innocent. Everything Morvilind had done to me, every pain he had inflicted on me, had been in pursuit of that goal. He hadn’t cared what he had done to me. I had been a useful tool in the pursuit of his goals.

I had just happened to outlive him, that was all.

My time with him had been awful, but if not for Morvilind’s training, I wouldn’t have been able to save Russell, and fifteen million people would have burned in the Sky Hammer’s fire.

It had been over a year since I had watched Morvilind die beneath the Quantum Nihlus Stone on Kalvarion, and I still hadn’t sorted through my emotions about him.

I probably never would.

I looked up at the mansion and sighed.

“Get on with it, Nadia,” I muttered, and then pulled myself together and headed for the front steps.

One of the mansion’s front doors opened, and a middle-aged human man in a business suit stepped out. When I had first met him, he had been stout, but grief had taken its toll, and now he looked thin, maybe even a little too thin. He had used to wear the traditional formal red livery of a household servant of an Elven noble, but now that he worked for Tarlia, he wore a sober black business suit.

I suspected that Tarlia only valued tradition to the extent that she found it useful.

“Mrs. MacCormac,” said Carlton Rusk (I had finally learned his first name), formerly the chief butler of Kaethran Morvilind and now the manager of Tarlia’s Shorewood estate.

“Hey, Rusk,” I said. “I suppose if this was like the old days, we’d insult each other and then go on in.”

He managed to smile. “A lot has changed since then.”

Boy, was Rusk right about that. Back in the bad old days, we hadn’t liked each other very much. I had viewed Rusk as an officious, pompous blowhard, which had been true, and he had seen me as a sarcastic smartass who mouthed off to him and got away with it.

Which, to be fair, was also true.

Then during the Archon attack on Milwaukee, Rusk’s wife had been killed, and his daughter Jill had been shot in the head, though she had survived and been left in a vegetative state.

Whenever I get too angry about Morvilind, I think about Jill Rusk. The Archons had attacked Earth regularly since the Conquest. There had been thousands, millions of people like Rusk, who had lost family to the Archon raids.

His daughter’s story had ended happily, at least. Russell had arranged for an Elven bloodcaster named Vander to heal Jill. Then we had almost gotten killed by the Rebels and a renegade Elven necromancer, and a bunch of other things had happened, but both Jill and her father survived the experience.

“How’s Jill?” I said.

Rusk’s smile was wider this time. “Better. Mr. Vander says she has as much of her memory back as she’s going to get, and she’s stronger. Finished her physical therapy at Christmas.” He frowned. “Though a few young men are interested in becoming her boyfriend now.”

“Well,” I said. “If you like, I could follow them. Make sure they’re not troublemakers.”

“Maybe,” said Rusk slowly. We might have made peace – saving someone’s life from a crazed Elven necromancer was a great way to become friends – but he still didn’t get my sense of humor. Or maybe my sense of humor was just bad. “But some of them seem like nice young men. I’m getting to the age where a man starts thinking about grandchildren.”

I suppose he was, at that.

“But Her Majesty wants to see you right away,” said Rusk.

“In the library?” I said.

“It has the best view in the house,” said Rusk. “You know the way.”

We walked together into the mansion. Like most Elven architecture, it was light and airy, with lots of open space and red-painted walls, the wooden floor polished to a mirror sheen. Morvilind had possessed a taste for the art of ancient Earth, and so Roman and Egyptian and Greek statues stood in niches or upon plinths. I ed stealing some of those statues for him. They hadn’t been part of his grand plan or anything. He had just liked ancient art and sent me to steal them. Like a soldier on his way to a life-and-death battle stopping at a gas station to shoplift some burritos.

Yeah, Morvilind might have been the visionary who had defeated the Archons, but he had been one petty, petty bastard.

Rusk and I walked into the room that had been Morvilind’s library. It was large room at the rear of the house, with high windows overlooking the bluffs and the endlessly churning waters of Lake Michigan. The floor was white marble, polished and gleaming. Books written in both high Elven hieroglyphics and the common Elven alphabet covered the walls, along with countless volumes on ancient Earth’s history and peoples. I saw that Tarlia had left the books untouched. An elaborate summoning circle had been carved into slabs of gleaming marble before the high windows, a design so intricate that my eye could not follow it. I’ve said before that summoning spells are dangerous, that they can influence the mind of the caster, but nothing ever changed Morvilind’s mind but his own will.

When this had been Morvilind’s library, he had kept a standing desk near the windows. The desk was gone, and in its place was a hologram projector. It glowed with faint blue light and projected a peculiar-looking hologram over the windows, a strange mix of circles and lines crossing variously colored regions.

The circles had been labeled with Elven hieroglyphs, and the entire thing looked like a big map.

There were three people in the library.

The first was Tythrilandria, another former shadow agent of Morvilind and now a handmaiden (and shadow agent) of Tarlia. She was tall, with dark hair and silver eyes, and wore a bright pink leather coat. The coat fit well against her lean body, but I knew thanks to the spells Morvilind had put upon it, she could fit an entire arsenal into the pockets. She probably had enough guns and ammo inside the coat to arm an entire municipal police force. The ring of a shadow agent was on her right hand.

The second was Neil Freeman, who I had met when he had tried to kill me and Delaxsicoria in New York. He wore a pilot’s black jumpsuit with combat boots, a pair of earphones around his neck, and sunglasses clipped to his collar. He had thick black hair and icy blue eyes that looked both weary and sharp at the same time. The thousand-yard stare of a soldier who had seen some things, I suppose. A leather glove concealed his right hand, which was because his entire right arm was some sort of machine. Riordan had called it a cybernetic prothesis, which I suppose was a fancy way of saying that his arm was made of metal and it could punch holes in solid concrete. Because his right arm was made of metal, his shadow agent’s ring was on his left hand.

The third person was Tarlia, High Queen of Earth and Kalvarion.

Neil gave me a grave nod, and Tyth smiled, but Tarlia stared up at the floating holographic map. She was seven feet tall, taller than either Neil or Tyth, which meant she towered over me. Tarlia wore the silver armor of a Royal Guard, a close-fitting outfit of silver plates, and a red cloak streamed from her shoulders.

She turned as we approached, and I saw her eerie blue eyes, her red hair bound back from her angular face with a simple golden circlet. Earrings glinted in her ears, and she wore a ring on every single finger, each one with a different stone.

I felt the magical power around her. I was a powerful wizard, but Tarlia was beyond me, just as Morvilind had been. The Elves might have called me a magus, stronger than a normal wizard, but Tarlia was an archmage, practically an army in her own right.

I went to one knee before her.

“Your Majesty,” said Rusk. “Nadia MacCormac has arrived.”

“Thank you, Rusk,” said Tarlia, her voice like music and thunder. “Please return to your duties.” Rusk offered a crisp bow and marched out, his back straight as an arrow despite his age. Tarlia smiled at me. “Rise, darling girl. We have work to do.”

Morvilind had never smiled at me.

But as powerful as he had been, as ruthless as he could be, even he had heeded Tarlia’s will.

Given how charming Tarlia could be, it was best to never forget that.

“Introductions would be necessary at this point,” said Tarlia, “but we all know one another.”

“Yes,” I said. “Tyth and I went to Mars, Tarsidhar, and Kalvarion together, and Neil tried to kill me, and then I made his helicopter crash.” He snorted, once. “Not the sort of things you forget.”

“You always have such a…punchy way of putting things,” said Tarlia. “Tell me, how many of the statues in the foyer did you steal for Kaethran?”

I hesitated. A lifetime of secrecy and evading law enforcement wanted me to hold my tongue. But Tarlia had already given me a retroactive pardon for everything I had done in Morvilind’s service.

“About half,” I itted.

“Half?” said Neil, surprised. He spoke with a precise English accent, like a newscaster. “Bloody things are heavy.”

“I did get about two-thirds of them in one job,” I said.

“Yes, I believe you bankrupted the museum in the process,” said Tarlia, voice dry. “But that was Morvilind’s doing, not yours. I will give the statues one by one to various Elven nobles as gifts, who will donate them to suitable museums.” She made a dismissive wave. “But we are not here to speak of the past.” She gestured at the hologram. “What do you think this is?”

I stared at it. I had no idea, but I didn’t want to look like an idiot. Yet I recognized some of the Elven hieroglyphs. That was the sign for Kalvarion, that was the dwarven world of Nerzuramaxis, that was the frost giants’ world, and…

Something like recognition clicked.

“It’s a map, isn’t it?” I said. “A map of the Shadowlands?”

“Very good,” said Tarlia. “More specifically, a map of the Warded Ways the ancient Elves built in the Shadowlands, when our civilization was at the height of its power. Most of the records were lost in the fall of the First Empire of the Elves.” She waved a hand over the hologram projector, and the image winked out. “In Kaethran’s records, I found the most extensive map of the Warded Ways I have ever seen, even larger than the one stored in the Towers of Art on Kalvarion. He pieced it together during his studies.”

“I see,” I said, unsure of what else to say.

“You don’t much like it here, do you?” said Tarlia.

I hesitated again. I didn’t want to talk about it, but lying to the High Queen was both futile and a bad idea.

“No, your Majesty,” I said. “Too many bad memories.” Tyth shifted a little. She

had revered Morvilind, notwithstanding the fact that he would have sacrificed her in an instant if he thought it necessary or even convenient.

But he had promised Tyth vengeance upon the Archons, and by God, he had delivered.

“The best cure for melancholy is work,” said Tarlia. “Fortunately, a great quantity of it awaits us. Come.”

She strode away from the hologram projector, and Tyth, Neil, and I followed her. We headed through the mansion’s corridors, Tarlia’s heeled boots ringing against the polished floor. Four Elven Royal Guards in silver armor discreetly appeared and followed us at a distance.

Tarlia opened a door, and we stepped into a large room. It looked like a library, but we had just left Morvilind’s actual library. This was instead sort of a large reading room. Books lined the walls, and high windows looked towards the lake. There was a long wooden table and a ring of four overstuffed leather chairs. It looked like the sort of place where men in suits would sit with cigars and glasses of port and discuss business or possibly their mistresses.

“Remain outside until I call for you,” said Tarlia, and the Royal Guards bowed and stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind them. She turned to Tyth. “You know what to do?”

Tyth nodded. “Remain here until you return. If anyone asks, I am meditating and not to be disturbed, and I am not seeing any petitioners today. If there is an emergency, I will use the ring to you.” She spoke with such a

pronounced California accent that I always wondered where she had learned to speak English.

“Good,” said Tarlia. “I expect that we shall return within six hours. You have the mask?”

Tyth nodded again and reached into one of her coat pockets, drawing out a heavy silver bracelet. The thing looked like a man’s metal watchband, except wider and heavier. It was a Ghostwright Mask, and it projected an illusionary appearance around its wearer. Unlike the normal Mask spell, the Ghostwright Mask couldn’t be detected with the spell to sense magical forces.

“Don it,” said Tarlia.

Tyth slipped the bracelet over her left wrist. Silver light flashed around her body.

When it cleared, a perfect duplicate of Tarlia, High Queen of the Elves and mankind, stood in her place.

“How do I look?” said Tyth. She even sounded exactly like Tarlia.

The real High Queen stepped forward and examined her illusionary duplicate, frowning, and then gave a nod of satisfaction.

“Good,” said Tarlia. “That will fool both casual and a more serious examination.”

“Oh,” I said.

Tarlia looked at me. “Figured it out, darling girl?”

“The Skythrone is officially in Africa right now,” I said. The Skythrone, the High Queen’s floating fortress/city, roamed endlessly over the inhabited world, showing her power to all the nations of Earth. “Which means most people think you’re in Africa. But a few people know that you’re here in Wisconsin. And that means you want to go off somewhere without anyone knowing about it, and you want me to come with you.”

“Very good, darling girl,” said Tarlia. “Follow me. We’re going to find the answer to a question.”

***

Chapter 3: The Riddling Dead

Tyth, wrapped in the guise of the High Queen, sat in one of the overstuffed leather chairs. The real Tarlia crossed to one of the shelves, reached behind a row of books, and pressed something. There was a click, and a shelf swung open to reveal a steep, narrow staircase climbing upward.

Huh. I hadn’t known that was there. But Morvilind hadn’t exactly let me wander around his mansion unsupervised.

Else I might have found the hidden laboratory where he experimented on condemned criminals to refine his plan to destroy the Archons.

Tarlia ascended the stairs, and Neil and I followed her. I it I felt a little uneasy standing next to Neil. He had tried hard to kill me and had come pretty close. Granted, that hadn’t been his fault. Neil had been one of Catalyst Corporation’s experiments in mad science, a cybernetic soldier stronger, faster, and hardier than a normal man. And because Catalyst’s scientists had been both crazy and assholes, they had added a control unit that forced Neil to obey any order given to him.

I had destroyed the unit, and the minute I had, Neil had turned on the man controlling him and all but begged Delaxsicoria to kill him.

She had refused, Tarlia had recruited him, and here we were.

“May I ask a question?” I said as we emerged onto the roof. Despite the mansion’s classical Elven appearance, the rooftop looked mundane – shingles, vents, and big air conditioners. Morvilind might have wanted a house that looked like an Elven mansion, but he hadn’t been willing to suffer through the Wisconsin summer without air conditioning.

“Since finding things out is one of the chief duties of a shadow agent, I would encourage it,” said Tarlia, striding towards one of the air handlers. Behind it rose another wing of the mansion, about fifteen feet taller, with an iron ladder along the side.

“Are we going to kill someone?” I said.

“Because I’m along, you mean?” said Neil, voice quiet.

“Well, not to be rude, but yeah,” I said, glancing back at Neil. “I saw you fight. If I was going to kill someone, I would ask for your help.”

“Thank you,” said Neil. “I think.”

“We are not going to kill anyone today,” said Tarlia. She paused. “If it can be avoided. Neil is here, darling girl, because neither you nor I know how to fly a helicopter.”

She climbed the ladder to the next wing of the mansion, and I saw something else I hadn’t known about Morvilind’s house.

He had a helipad.

A compact black helicopter rested on it. It wasn’t very large, though it was bigger than the helicopter Neil had flown during that business in New York. The cockpit was big enough for a pilot and a co-pilot, and the cabin could carry four engers.

“How long before we can depart?” said Tarlia.

“I did the preflight checks before Nadia arrived, your Majesty,” said Neil. “We can be in the air in five minutes.”

“Good,” said Tarlia. “We shall leave as soon as you are ready.”

Neil went to the cockpit, and Tarlia and I climbed into the cabin. We sat across from each other, Tarlia settling with smooth grace into the seat as she secured her restraints. She managed to make it look dignified, even regal, even though she was a little too tall for the seat and her knees were higher than had to be comfortable.

“You said we were going to find the answer to a question,” I said.

A thin smile appeared on the High Queen’s angular features. “One hopes. At the very least, we may discover a piece of the final answer.”

“To what question?” I said.

“That in itself is a good question,” said Tarlia. She reached next to her seat and picked up a black metal case about large enough to store a handgun. “Tell me. Do you recognize this?”

She flipped open the case.

I caught a glimpse of the thing inside and recoiled, summoning magic for a spell.

Tarlia raised an eyebrow.

“Interesting,” she murmured. “So you do recognize it.”

“No,” I said, recovering my poise. “I just thought I did. It reminded me of…”

The thing in the metal box looked like…well, for lack of a better description, it resembled a mummified miniature squid. It was black, about twelve inches long, and it looked for all the world like some sort of mutant alien squid monster. Like something you would find in the deep Shadowlands. As I looked closer, I realized that it wasn’t made of flesh but of dull, lusterless metal.

“Go ahead and touch it,” said Tarlia. “It is perfectly safe for the moment.”

I really didn’t want to touch the thing. I felt the same sort of instinctive revulsion as if Tarlia had asked me to thrust my hand into an unflushed gas station toilet or to pick up day-old roadkill on a hot summer’s day.

I rallied my nerve and picked up the squid thing.

It felt icy cold to the touch, and it was a lot heavier than it looked. I also felt the magical power bound within the thing. Ever since the Eternity Crucible, I could sometimes sense magic without casting the spell to detect magical forces. Especially powerful magic, and the power within the key was strong. It had the greasy, corruptive feel I had come to associate with necromantic magic.

“That’s dangerous,” I said, and I set it back in the box.

“A sound judgment,” said Tarlia. “What did it remind you of?”

“A myothar,” I said, naming one of the ancient enemies of the Elves. I had encountered a myothar exactly twice, and both times the creature had almost killed me and turned me into one of its undead pets. “It reminds me of a myothar. Just what the hell is in that box?”

A whine came from overhead as Neil fired up the helicopter’s engines. Tarlia

gestured to the side, and we picked up headsets with heavy earphones from the seats next to us. I donned the headset and heard a crackle as the speakers powered up.

“It is a key,” said Tarlia through the headset as the whine of the rotors grew louder. “Specifically, a key made by the myothar.”

“Where did you find it?” I said.

“Not far from the corpse of a German billionaire named Melvin Strasse,” said Tarlia.

“I would be very grateful if your Majesty could start from the beginning,” I said.

“I imagine you would,” said Tarlia with that dry smile again. “You recall Paul Rampton?”

“Vividly.” To make a long and complicated story short, Paul Rampton had been a disgruntled high school teacher who had managed to make with Singularity. They had recruited him, not because of any useful skills or knowledge Rampton possessed, but because some quirk of genetics made it easy to affix cybernetics to clone soldiers grown from his DNA. In exchange for his help, Rampton wanted Lydia Valborg, one of his former students, as his own enslaved personal concubine.

Since Lydia was Russell’s ex-girlfriend, that was how I had gotten involved.

That mess had ended with me handing Rampton over to the Milwaukee police, who had promptly given him to the Inquisition. Rampton had come to a bad end, but he had been the sort of man who had installed hidden cameras in the girls’ locker room at his high school, so it didn’t upset me.

“Rampton was only the second Singularity member we have managed to capture since they came out of the shadows,” said Tarlia, “and he was the only one to have access to Hood, who is a ranking member of Singularity, and not a disposable tool like Charles Edina or Kyle Warren. Naturally, I took apart Rampton’s mind most thoroughly. He knew little of use, but he did the network address of the hidden Singularity server he found on the Internet.”

“He boasted about that,” I said.

“The Inquisition tracked down the server,” said Tarlia. “It was in on the corporate campus of the Strasse Group, one of the largest European pharmaceutical corporations. The resultant raid proved most fruitful. You recall the Ashes drug Rampton used on Lydia Valborg? The Strasse Group manufactured it in a secret facility with Singularity nanotech. The workers were all clones who had neural computers rather than organic brains.”

The helicopter jolted, and we rose into the air.

“We are underway, your Majesty,” said Neil. “We should arrive within the next fifty to sixty minutes.”

Fifty minutes? Where were we going that a helicopter could reach within fifty minutes and that the High Queen wanted to visit in secret?

I had a sinking feeling that I knew.

“What happened next?” I said.

“Unfortunately, Melvin Strasse had the wit to keep his activities mostly secret,” said Tarlia. “Only a few trusted aides within the corporation knew of his true allegiance. When the Inquisition arrived, he destroyed most of the hard drives in the server and was killed during his escape attempt. The Ashes laboratory was shut down, and we recovered some information, but not as much as I wished.” She tapped the metal case holding the myothar key. “But he had this in a safe in his office, and based on what the Inquisition could recover from his servers, he had been planning to hand the key over to another member of Singularity.”

“Okay,” I said. “Why?”

“A very good question,” said Tarlia. She crossed one armored leg over the other and folded her hands in her lap. She managed to make even that look regal. “Have you figured out where we are going yet?”

I braced myself. “We’re going to the ruins of Chicago.”

“Very good,” murmured Tarlia. No wonder she had made the trip in secret. The Elves hated the myothar, and if the nobles knew that Tarlia had consulted one for

advice, it might open a big can of worms.

“Is that a good idea?” I said. “It’s not…”

“Sensible? Politically feasible?”

“Safe,” I said. “There are thousands of undead inside the ruins. And the myothar is…well, if it has a chance to kill you, it will.”

“According to history, I destroyed the city of Chicago in the second year of the Conquest with a magical weapon called the Reaping,” said Tarlia. “You and I know both know the truth is rather more complex. The Reaping created a permanent gate to the Shadowlands in the heart of Chicago. The myothar that lives in Chicago is an exile and an outcast from its kind.”

“Can’t imagine why,” I muttered. “It has such a sparkling personality.”

Tarlia offered a brief smile. “I permit the myothar to live here in exchange for killing anything that comes out of that gate. The arrangement has so far been satisfactory. The myothar fears above all things the vengeance of its fellows. If it kills me, it will lose its safe haven.” I saw a hint of Morvilind in her expression. “Or, rather, if it tries to kill me, it shall regret it bitterly. If briefly.”

“The myothar,” I said. “Will it be able to identify the key?”

“Yes,” said Tarlia. “The myothar do not manufacture the keys but grow them with dark magic and transmute the flesh into metal.” I wiped my hand on my jeans before I could stop myself. “The key is linked to the chest it opens. The myothar in Chicago will track the key to its corresponding chest.”

I frowned. “You’re an archmage, your Majesty. Couldn’t you do it yourself?”

“I could,” said Tarlia, “but the spell requires dark magic, and I will not use that. We all have our lines that we cannot cross without losing ourselves, darling girl.”

That was true. Though I knew her line allowed for considerably more than mine did.

“I should mention,” I said. “The last time I was in Chicago…”

“When you were working with Nicholas Connor’s Rebels,” murmured Tarlia.

“When Lord Morvilind forced me to work with Nicholas against my will,” I said at once, and amusement glinted in Tarlia’s eerie eyes. “I might have lied and told the myothar that I was a royal agent…”

“You didn’t lie,” said Tarlia. “You merely made a premature assertion of fact. I see Kaethran never gave you any legal training.”

Morvilind never made jokes, either.

“The myothar might be annoyed to see me,” I said.

“It will,” said Tarlia, “but not enough to cause trouble. The myothar will bluster, but it is a coward and will not cross me. But speaking of that, we now arrive at the reason you are accompanying me.”

“Okay,” I said.

“To cast this spell,” said Tarlia, and she locked eyes with me and reached into my mind.

She was using the mindtouch spell. I could cast it, but I wasn’t particularly good with it, and I had to physically touch someone for it to work. Tarlia was a master with the mindtouch spell, and if she wanted, she could have crushed my mind like an empty soda can. She wouldn’t have needed to even exert herself.

Instead, she pushed the knowledge of a new spell into my thoughts.

My will wrapped around it with greedy hunger.

When I had been young, a long, long time ago, I had dreamed of gaining enough power to break free from Morvilind, to become so strong and so magically

powerful that no one could ever compel me to do anything again. With the benefit of a hundred and eighty years, I had come to realize that had been an adolescent fantasy, not all that different of a boy dreaming of becoming the star quarterback or a girl fantasizing about being the prettiest and the most popular student. No one was ever free of obligation. With power came responsibility, which was one of the reasons I was helping Tarlia to keep human civilization from becoming ashes and bones.

But an echo of that old hunger remained, and my mind eagerly absorbed the knowledge of the spell.

It was a Seal spell, a ward projected around the caster. Usually, Seal spells were employed to guard a specific area. Like, the Seal of Shadows prevented any Shadowlands creatures from entering its bounds, the Seal of Unmasking disrupted illusion spells, and so forth. I examined the flows of power for the spell, the mental disciplines it would take to create it, and realized that this Seal was protection against the undead.

“Given the skill I have seen you display with the Seal of Shadows,” said Tarlia, “you should have no trouble wielding this spell.”

“It’s a ward against undead creatures, isn’t it?” I said.

“Correct,” said Tarlia. “When you cast it, no undead creature will be able to enter the Seal’s circumference.”

“What happens if I cast the Seal over a group of undead?” I said. “Will it destroy them?”

That faint smile flickered over Tarlia’s lips again. “Sound tactical thinking. But, no. The Seal will only destroy the undead if they are physically restrained within it for several minutes. Too long to be of any use in battle. The spell cuts them off from the dark magic between the worlds, which is their source of sustenance, and they will be driven back.”

“What is it called?” I said.

“The Seal of Restoration.”

I thought that over. “Restoration?”

“The undead are an abomination, a blight upon the natural order of things,” said Tarlia. “The Seal restores that order. Hence, the Seal of Restoration.”

“I can cast it,” I said. “But it will take most of my power to do it. Compared to the Shield spell or the Seal of Shadows, it’s a pretty dense ward.”

“Don’t worry, darling girl,” said Tarlia. “You will keep the myothar’s undead away from me. I will handle the rest. I suggest you use the remainder of this trip to practice with the Seal of Restoration. It will not affect the helicopter.”

That was a good idea, so I put it to work, casting the Seal of Restoration several times. I could do it with ease, but it required a significant chunk of my available

strength. I would have enough power left over to throw some fire spheres or lightning globes, maybe manage a weak Shield, but that would be it. Tarlia, for her part, spent the remainder of the trip in silence, gazing out the window of the helicopter’s cabin.

From the corner of my eye, I saw what held her attention.

We were approaching the ruins of Chicago.

The dead city loomed like a tomb against the waters of Lake Michigan.

Which was appropriate, because it really was a tomb.

Just one where the dead walked around and told the future.

The Reaping that destroyed Chicago in Conquest Year 2 burned the city from I294 to Lake Michigan. The sky above the ruined city was permanently cloudy, and the clouds seemed to burn above the dead skeletons of the ancient skyscrapers. The undead killed anyone who ventured into the city. The creatures stayed within the ruins, but if anyone crossed the boundary of I-294, the undead killed the intruders, who then rose as undead themselves in service to the myothar that lurked within the wreckage.

No one ever went to Chicago. At least no one who ever returned. Most of the suburbs of the old city still existed, though they had become small, sleepy cities of their own over the decades. The suburbs close to I-294 just withered and died

since no one wanted to get up every morning and see the corpse of a city on the horizon.

I stopped practicing the Seal of Restoration as the helicopter descended to the ground.

Neil landed in a grassy field just north of the ruins. Overhead, it was like the sky had been divided by a line. To the north was clear blue summer sky. To the south were the burning clouds that covered Chicago like a constant shroud. South of that line, the ruins began, crumbling houses and businesses looming over a pockmarked street lined by the rusting shells of ancient cars. Nature ought to have reclaimed more of Chicago by now, but something in the magic of the Reaping had slowed decay within the city. Or maybe it was the myothar’s necromantic aura.

A dozen undead wandered down that street, moving in random patterns.

People have weird ideas about the undead. Most people, whether human or Elven, have never seen an undead creature, lucky them. Occasionally they turn up as villains in books or TV shows. So, when people think of the undead, they have this mental picture of animated skeletons or shambling, rotting corpses chasing people through the woods while moaning about BRAAAAAAAINS.

That’s totally wrong. Think about it. If necromancy turned corpses into shambling automatons, why would anyone bother?

For one thing, the undead didn’t rot. The necromancy preserved them like flies stuck in amber. They were also a lot stronger and faster than humans or Elves,

and a punch from an undead creature would be like getting hit in the head with a shovel swung by a champion weightlifter. You probably weren’t getting up again.

Oh, and their eyes glowed with eerie green light. As if they weren't unsettling enough.

We exited the helicopter, and Neil and I followed Tarlia to the edge of the ruins. Since I was not the High Queen of the Elves, I got to carry the metal case with the myothar key. Neil held an M-99 carbine and watched the undead with wary eyes.

“Should I accompany you, your Majesty?” said Neil.

“No,” murmured Tarlia. “Wait here. We should return within two hours. The Seal, Nadia.”

I nodded, summoned magic and shaped it with my will, and cast the Seal of Restoration. A glowing blue circle about twenty feet in diameter appeared on the ground, encircling all three of us. The Elven hieroglyph for “restoration” filled most of the circle. Holding the spell was an effort. It felt a bit like lifting something heavy over the top of my head. I could do it for quite a while, but it was going to be a strain.

“Come,” said Tarlia.

I took a deep breath and followed the High Queen of the Elves into the city she had destroyed.

The undead rushed towards us.

Their odor filled my nose. They didn’t smell like rotting flesh but dust and ozone.

The last time I had been here, I had worked out that the undead saw infrared instead of visible light, so our body heat glowed to them like a beacon. They charged at us and struck the perimeter of the Seal. For a terrible instant, I was sure that I hadn’t cast the spell properly, but the Seal held. The undead rebounded from its circumference as if they had run into a concrete wall.

They didn’t fall over, though. They were too strong and quick.

The Conquest had been three hundred years ago, but the creatures looked as if they had only been dead for a little while, their clothes only a bit dusty and threadbare. Their skin was a corpse-like gray, regardless of what color it had been in life, and their eyes glowed with that eerie green light.

Tarlia kept walking, and I stayed close to her. The undead bounced off the Seal for a while like wasps against a glass window. After about a minute, they gave up and trailed after us.

Then they began to talk.

Yeah, I haven’t mentioned that part yet.

The undead could all talk. Some of them spoke things that made no sense – an undead woman in a dusty business suit repeated a question about an number over and over again. I couldn’t tell if it was something from her life or gibberish. Another chanted what I thought was an advertising jingle for chicken tenders – apparently you could get five for the price of four.

And sometimes the undead spoke in disturbing, unsettling riddles that seemed to predict the future.

“Behold,” said one of the undead, a teenage boy in loose shorts and a red basketball jersey with a stylized picture of a bull’s head on it. “What is man? When the heart is replaced with steel, is he still human? When the mind becomes a machine, has his soul been lost?”

“Beware the crystals,” said a woman in shorts and a T-shirt. “I have seen them coming. They covered the earth like moss, and consumed flesh and watered themselves with blood.”

“The burner of worlds,” said an undead man in a dusty suit. I shot him a wary look. “You have altered the destiny of nations. Shall you do it again?”

“The burner of worlds,” repeated an elderly woman. She must have been about eighty when she died and wore a sweater and a floral-patterned skirt that hung to her ankles. The woman looked as if she couldn’t have managed more than a

shuffle, but in undeath, she moved with the same fluid grace as the others. “Beware the woman who rewrites her flesh. Force will not defeat her. Only cunning.”

What the hell did that mean?

“You probably shouldn’t listen to them,” murmured Tarlia. I guess some of my unease must have shown.

I forced moisture into my dry mouth. “You know I fought the necromancer Vastarion.”

“You killed him,” said Tarlia, “and did the world a great service. Necromancers merit only immediate execution.” Nearly all the Elves hated necromancy. They were closer to magic than humans, and necromancy revolted them on an instinctual level, much in the same way that psychologically healthy humans would react with disgust and fury to a grade school teacher who molested students.

“When Vastarion’s undead saw me, they lost their shit,” I said. “They started screaming about the Sky Hammer over and over. Then a few weeks later, the battle of New York happened. Can the undead really see the future?”

“Yes,” said Tarlia. “But to all practical purposes, their foretelling is meaningless because we lack the context to understand. Like relaying a mathematical equation in ancient Sumerian to someone who only speaks English.”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

I realized that might have been disrespectful, but Tarlia answered regardless as we kept walking. A sudden insight came to me. She was teaching me, in the way that Morvilind had once done, but far more subtly. Tarlia never did anything for one reason, and perhaps part of the reason she had sent me to help Delaxsicoria and Owen Quell was so I could learn from the experiences.

But what was she teaching me to do?

“When I was much younger, before I became the High Queen,” said Tarlia, “my grandfather the High King sent Kaethran Morvilind to hunt down a necromancer in the northern regions of Kalvarion. Since my grandfather had entrusted Kaethran with my education, I accompanied him.”

“Hell of a lesson,” I said. A mob of about fifty undead followed us. Even though I knew I could use the Seal of Restoration to push through them like a plow through a snowbank, it was still disturbing.

“You Kaethran’s teaching as well as I do,” said Tarlia. “He believed that to act was to learn and that pain was the best teacher.” Boy, did he ever. “As you might expect, Kaethran annihilated the necromancer and his acolytes while I dealt with the undead minions. The final undead, before I destroyed it, told me to watch for the flash of the light upon the stars of red, white, and blue as the pleas for mercy filled my ears.”

“That sounds like gibberish,” I said.

“So I thought at the time,” continued Tarlia. “Then, centuries later, we came to Earth. I found it necessary to execute most of the American government.” I knew that. Every child in the world saw that video of Tarlia executing Congress in the first year of the Conquest.

“Yeah,” I said.

Tarlia’s lip curled with the memory. “The very first Senator I executed was an odious creature. He had built his fortune through various forms of fraud, and three times a year, he flew to southeastern Asia to avail himself of the underage prostitutes there. All the others in Congress knew about his crimes, of course, and colluded to conceal them from the public to hide their own misdeeds. Before I killed the Senator, he fell to his knees and begged, offering to help me enslave his constituents in exchange for his life. He was wearing an American flag pin upon his lapel, and as he knelt and pleaded for mercy, I saw the light flash off the pin.”

“The undead’s foretelling,” I said, feeling a chill.

“Precisely,” said Tarlia. “In that moment, I ed that prophecy. But you see the problem, do you not? When I first heard that foretelling, I had no idea that the United States existed. I didn’t even know that Earth and humans existed. For that matter, it was long enough ago that the United States hadn’t even fully formed. It was a collection of colonies annoyed about British taxation. The future is so vast that attempting to act upon the visions of the undead is fruitless.”

I thought about that as I walked. It was better than listening to the undead, who

trailed after us like hungry rats following a garbage truck.

“Riordan told me once that every philosopher eventually decides to believe in either free will or predestination,” I said. Tarlia snorted. “If the undead can see the future, is everything predestined? Or do we all have free will?”

“Yes,” said Tarlia.

Ahead the street widened, going from two lanes to four. It opened into a wide intersection. Rusting traffic lights hung overhead, and crumbling gas stations occupied two of the corners. Ancient cars lay strewn across the intersection. About a dozen more undead milled among the wrecked cars, and they rushed towards us.

“That doesn’t make sense,” I said.

“I suspect it is not comprehensible to beings who live in linear time, such as us,” said Tarlia. “However, our problems are more practical than unraveling the essential nature of the universe.”

We walked to the center of the intersection, and Tarlia stopped. The undead tried to penetrate the Seal once more and bounced off. Under other circumstances, it might have been funny. Though watching how quickly the creatures regained their balance made it less funny and more unnerving. Like seeing someone shrug off a gunshot wound to the head and get back to trying to kill you.

We had a good view of the ruined towers rising from the heart of downtown Chicago. They looked almost like a range of man-made mountains. I ed fleeing from the myothar and its undead down the canyons of crumbling concrete and broken glass between the skyscrapers, how Nicholas had almost betrayed me but I had turned the tables on him.

“This was a mistake,” said Tarlia after a moment.

“Oh. Okay. Good,” I said. “We can go back…”

“Destroying Chicago,” said Tarlia.

I didn’t say anything. Tarlia was more charming than Morvilind, far subtler, and certainly more generous. But she was just as ruthless, albeit less frequently. In the opening days of the Conquest, she had ordered the destruction of Chicago, Baltimore, and St. Louis to crush a rebellion that had threatened her. Before the defeat of the Archons, she had destroyed human cities the Archons had almost conquered to deny the enemy a foothold on Earth. That was how my mother had met my father, actually. She had been a refuge from Vladivostok after the Archons had taken it, and Tarlia had destroyed the city with a nuclear strike.

I said nothing.

“After Jeremy Shane was assassinated, most of the United States rose in rebellion. I didn’t fully understand humans back then,” said Tarlia. “Not the way I do now. If I had understood better, I might have defused the situation before it came to this.” She gestured at the ruins. “Morvilind and some of the other nobles wanted to wipe out humanity entirely. To repopulate the world with loyalist

Elves.”

“Why didn’t you?” I said.

“Because the humans were now my subjects by right of conquest, entitled to my protection and law,” said Tarlia. “One day, I will be answerable to God for what I have done, darling girl. All the many, many failures and defeats. If your brother fails, his company will go out of business, and thousands of people will lose their jobs.” She gestured at the jagged skyscrapers. “If I fail, this is what will become of both humans and Elves. It was always wise to the costs.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Ah, you have the gift of silence,” said Tarlia. “A rare talent.”

“I really don’t,” I said. “Sometimes, I just can’t shut up.”

“If we are to avoid further failures, then let us speak with the myothar,” said Tarlia.

I guess she was done talking about the Reaping and the destruction of Chicago.

“It’s going to be a long walk to downtown from here,” I said.

“I am the High Queen of the Elves,” said Tarlia. “The myothar will come to me.”

She gestured, and magical power exploded from her, so fast and so strong that it shocked me. The eruption of power caught the undead and flung them backward like leaves in a storm wind, sending them tumbling over the pavement. Tarlia gestured with her right hand and made a fist, and I sensed the magic surging through her.

God, but she was strong. I was powerful, but she outclassed me by orders of magnitude.

“Nerghazzathar of Myothalur!” thundered Tarlia, her voice ringing over the intersection and echoing off the walls. I wondered what the hell that was, and I realized it was the myothar’s name. “I, Tarlia, High Queen of Elves and humans, Sovereign of Kalvarion and Earth, summon you! By the of our treaty, I charge you to stand before me and offer your counsel and wisdom!”

She lowered her hand, and the echoes faded away. One by one, the undead picked themselves up and walked towards the Seal, though they didn’t try to cross it. I remained quiet, knowing that the myothar might make an appearance at any second. Tarlia might be happy to answer my questions in private, but I knew that in public, she would not respond well to being questioned.

For a few more seconds, nothing happened.

Then the myothar appeared out of nothingness before us.

It took every bit of self-control I had to keep from recoiling in revulsion.

Two and a half years had ed since I had seen the thing, and the time had not improved its appearance.

It’s kind of hard to describe the myothar. It was shaped like a morbidly obese human man, albeit one who stood ten or eleven feet tall. A massive squid-shaped thing bulged from its neck and served as its head, a squid thing with long twitching grayish-black tentacles. Hidden beneath those tentacles, I knew, was a sharp black beak that could slice through steel without difficulty. In lieu of hands, the myothar had dozens of smaller tentacles sweeping back and forth from its wrists, some of them lined with glistening suckers. It was draped in a greasy black robe the size of a tent, the hem sometimes rippling from the movement of the tentacles beneath the robe.

And the stench.

Dear God, the stench. Think of how dead fish smell. Now imagine a dumpster behind a seafood restaurant in July that hasn’t been emptied for a month.

That still smelled better than the myothar.

The ancient Elves had been the bitter enemies of the myothar, and it wasn’t hard to see why. I mean, the smell alone…

Two enormous red-glazed black eyes watched us from behind the writhing tentacles of its head. Tarlia gazed at the creature with wintry serenity. I tried to match her calm and didn’t quite get there. The myothar was a stronger wizard than I was, and I had barely escaped our last encounter.

Still, if it came to a fight, Tarlia would still clean the myothar’s clock.

“High Queen of Earth and Kalvarion,” said the myothar in the Elven tongue, and it moved its swollen body in a ghastly facsimile of a bow. Its voice was somehow even worse than the smell. It was a bubbling rasp that sounded exactly like a horrible squid monster from another world.

“Lord Nerghazzathar,” said Tarlia.

“Why do you trouble me?” said the myothar. “I have not broken any of your laws, nor have I aided any of your foes, whether new or old. I have killed anything coming through the gate from the Shadowlands. I have only killed the human apes foolish enough to enter the city and no others. Any aspersions to the contrary are unjust calumnies. There is no reason to harass me.”

Yeah, about that. I had learned this the last time I was here. The myothar might have been an alien necromancer of immense power commanding tens of thousands of undead, but despite all that, it was still kind of a whiner.

“You have upheld the of our agreement,” said Tarlia. “I have no grievance against you.”

The myothar considered that, and then its head turned towards me. The creature lifted one arm, and I tensed, readying to defend myself if it cast a spell at me. Instead, the tentacles at the end of its wrist lashed at the air in a rhythmic pattern. I suspected that it could use those tentacles as a sort of sensory organ, much like a snake’s tongue.

“The female ape with you,” said the myothar. “I have encountered it before. Both the ape and its impudent tongue.”

I really, really wanted to make a smart remark with my impudent tongue, but I also didn’t want to make an ass of myself in front of Tarlia, so I kept my mouth shut. Maybe Tarlia was right, and I really had developed the gift of silence.

“The female ape claimed to be your agent,” said the myothar. “A falsehood.”

Okay. In addition to a whiner, the myothar was also a tattletale. Before it had fled here, I bet Lord Nerg-whatever had been real popular with its fellow squid monsters.

“I have since recruited her,” said Tarlia. “But I have not come here to bore you with the details of my government. I have a question for you.”

“I shall be pleased to answer,” said the myothar, like it had a choice.

“The key,” murmured Tarlia. I opened the metal case, but before I could touch the key, Tarlia gestured, and the key rose out of the box, suspended in her

telekinetic grip. It floated halfway between Tarlia and the myothar, revolving slowly.

The myothar’s tentacles slithered against each other, and it held out both hands towards the key as if tasting the air around it.

“Where did you find that?” said the myothar.

“You recognize it?” said Tarlia.

“Not this specific key,” said the myothar. “But when I was still among the great lords of Myothalur, I made many such keys to guard my treasury.” A gloating note entered the horrible gurgling voice. “I hid them well before I chose exile. It pleases me to know that those who betrayed me shall never find my treasures.”

“Indeed,” said Tarlia. “But could not your foes simply force open the boxes?”

“Impossible,” said the myothar. “Great magic is used to create a myothar chest. Each chest is magically bonded to its appropriate key. The chests themselves are in a state of quantum flux until unlocked, and only the proper key can release the locks. The key and the box are linked, and no spell, device, or weapon known to me can break that link.”

“Very good,” said Tarlia. “I presume this means you can trace the link from this key to its matched chest?”

The myothar hesitated. “I can, yes.”

“Please proceed.”

“I must caution you,” said the myothar. “The chest could be anywhere in the cosmos or the Shadowlands. I can only find the precise location if the chest is on this world. Otherwise, I shall only be able to discern the name of the world and nothing more.”

“Acceptable,” said Tarlia.

The myothar went motionless. Utterly motionless, as still as one of its undead pets. Then the tentacles at the ends of its arms started to move, slowly at first, until they were thrashing as if they had been caught in a windstorm. Purple fire glowed around its left arm and green around its right. I felt necromantic magic radiating from the myothar like the stink from a dead animal, and my stomach twisted. Tarlia remained imive.

At last, the myothar let out a screeching noise, and it thrust its arms. Purple and green fire mingled together to create a shimmering, translucent image of the Earth.

“This world,” said the myothar, strain in the hideous voice. “It is here. Behold!”

The image rippled and zoomed in like a map on a computer tablet. The spell focused on the United States, and swept to the southeast, and then to Florida.

It settled on Miami.

The myothar chest was in Miami? Did that have something to do with the copies of the Summoning Codex that had appeared around the country?

“It is somewhere within the human city at the southern end of this peninsula,” said the myothar, tentacles pointing towards the translucent image of Florida. “Beyond that, I cannot discern its location any further.”

“No need,” said Tarlia. “I know exactly where the chest is.” She beckoned, and the key floated back to the case, and I closed the lid over it. “Thank you for your counsel, Lord Nerghazzathar. You have upheld the of our treaty. You may return to your business.” Tarlia’s eyes flashed to me. “Come. We must depart at once.”

With that, she turned and walked from the ruins of Chicago, and I followed.

***

Chapter 4: Factions

“You may release the Seal of Restoration,” said Tarlia as we stepped over the invisible boundary. Neil remained in exactly the same spot where we had left him, the M-99 carbine still waiting in his hands.

I released the Seal, and the symbol of blue light vanished. A wave of dizziness went through me, and I let out a long breath. Maintaining that spell had been well within my capabilities, but it had nonetheless been a strain.

“Your Majesty,” said Neil. “Did you find the answer to your question?”

“I did,” said Tarlia. “Though like all true answers, it inspired more questions. Prepare the helicopter. We will return to Shorewood immediately.”

“Your Majesty.” Neil jogged towards the helicopter. The High Queen and I followed at a more sedate pace and seated ourselves in the cabin and donned our headsets as Neil warmed up the engines. I had no doubt that Tarlia would want to talk some more once we were airborne.

“You did well against Lord Nerghazzathar,” said Tarlia.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I just stood there and kept my mouth shut.”

“I meant your earlier visit before you entered my service,” said Tarlia. “I would not have expected a human wizard, even one of your power, to survive a battle with a myothar. Like all cowards, Nerghazzathar is especially vicious to those weaker than himself.”

“I noticed that,” I said. The rotors whined and rose to a roar as the helicopter’s engines started. “Why do you…tolerate him?”

“Sometimes in ruling, there are no good choices, merely a selection of evils,” said Tarlia. “Having a renegade myothar guard the gate to the Shadowlands in Chicago is simply the least evil of the available options.”

The helicopter jolted and rose into the air and soon were flying north along the coast of Lake Michigan, the jagged towers and burning sky of Chicago vanishing behind us. I was glad to leave the place.

All of a sudden, I missed Riordan. I ed the night with the hula hoop. I wanted to be back with him so badly that it hurt. I was tired of seeing horrible things like the myothar and its undead, or the Fusion wraithwolves, or Mr. Hood’s cyborg eyes.

I wanted to go home instead.

“I assume you have another task for me?” I said, wondering when I would get to see Riordan again.

“You assume correctly,” said Tarlia. “Tell me. Before you spent the summer helping the Family hunt down Shadowlands creatures, I frequently sent you to spy on Elven nobles staying at the Prestige Hotel in Milwaukee. What have you deduced about the factions among the Elven nobles?”

I had deduced quite a bit, but I wasn’t sure how much of it was correct. I took a moment to arrange my thoughts.

“The destruction of the Archons changed things,” I said. “The threat of the Archons kept most of the nobles united behind you, or at least obedient. But now that the Archons are gone, a faction of nobles has arisen who are tired of…well, tired of your rule.” A corner of Tarlia’s mouth curled in amusement. “They’re led by Duke Vashtyr of Venice, or he’s one of their leaders. They want to abandon Earth and go back to their old estates on Kalvarion.” I paused. “How much did I get right?”

“All of it,” said Tarlia, “though your knowledge is incomplete. Duke Vashtyr is a traditionalist, and he’s the worst kind of one – a romantic. According to him, Kalvarion before the Archons was a perfectly ordered society. The monarch did not involve himself unduly in the affairs of the nobles, the lords acted justly and wisely, and the commoners loyally and devotedly served their beloved lords.” Scorn entered her voice.

“Things weren’t really like that?” I hazarded.

“Not even remotely,” said Tarlia. “The lords brutalized the commoners, and my grandfather and his predecessors lacked the authority to stop them. Why do you think the Archons arose among the commoners of Kalvarion? The nobles were

so brutal, so avaricious in their cupidity, that even the Archons seemed like a better alternative. When I came to the throne after my father’s murder and my grandfather’s death, I tried to rein in the power of the nobles, but it was too late. The Archons had become too powerful. The commoners turned to them…and in exchange, the Archons butchered them as sacrifices to the Dark Ones.” She wasn’t kidding. Before the Conquest, nine billion Elves had lived on Kalvarion. After Morvilind killed the Archons, there were maybe a billion Elves left on their homeworld.

Possibly a little less.

The Archons had killed the rest.

“That’s why you…uh, arranged things as you did on Earth,” I said. “You let the Elven nobles recruit their men-at-arms from among the humans. But you have the Elven commoners live in their own cities, sworn directly to you, and nobles are not allowed there.”

“It worked for three hundred years,” said Tarlia. “But now the Archons have been defeated. Vashtyr, and those he has swayed to his side, want to return to Kalvarion. Our enemies are gone, so why not abandon the humans to their fate and return to our homeworld?”

“You disagree,” I said.

“Vashtyr is a fool. A charismatic and clever fool, but a fool nonetheless,” said Tarlia. “Humanity and the Elves need one another to survive. You and Morvilind proved that. Left to our own devices, the Elves would have been consumed by

the Dark Ones. And if the Conquest had not come, humanity would have destroyed itself by now. You saw what the US government was building in Last Judge Mountain. The Chinese and Russian governments were working on similar projects. Nor does that includes the artificial plagues their scientists bred in their laboratories or the other weapons of mass destruction that were underway.”

“Or,” I said, voice quiet, “the sort of stuff that Catalyst Corporation was building and that Singularity has now.”

Tarlia gave me a sharp look. She really didn’t like talking about Catalyst Corporation. I suspected it was because John Starkweather and the other leaders of the corporation had betrayed her. One of Tarlia’s greatest strengths and biggest weaknesses was that she could forgive almost anything except betrayal.

I had seen that in her mind the day she had recruited me as her shadow agent. She had been betrayed too many times. It had not destroyed her ability to trust… but it had inspired an absolutely murderous fury against anyone who betrayed her.

Best to that.

“Precisely,” said Tarlia at last.

“What happens if Vashtyr gets his way?” I said.

“In the short term, disaster,” said Tarlia. “The Elven commoners who survived on Kalvarion the misrule of the nobles. Should the nobles return, they will rise up in violent revolt, and the free cities of the Elven commoners on Earth will likely them. I keep a tight leash on the human governments of this world, but if the Elven nobles devolve into civil war, they will go to war with each other as soon as my back is turned.” She let out a scoffing sound. “Every human male of sound health has served as a man-at-arms, and they have all seen the horrors of war in the Shadowlands. Yet many of mankind’s leaders are so eager to bring those horrors home.” She shrugged. “That is only in the short term. In the long term, utter catastrophe. One of our other enemies would exploit the situation to conquer both Earth and Kalvarion. One of the orcish khans, perhaps, or maybe the myothar or the naelgoths. Or perhaps Singularity itself. It seems they have decided to come out of the shadows now that the Archons have been defeated.”

“Okay,” I said. “What does all this have to do with that key and a myothar chest?”

“Singularity wants whatever is in that chest,” said Tarlia, “and I know now where it is. The chest is in the private collection of Duke Curantar of Miami. He is a collector of peculiar and exotic magical items, and a locked myothar chest is almost certainly the sort of object that would be to his taste.”

“Duke Curantar doesn’t like humans very much,” I said.

“Not particularly,” said Tarlia. “With Morvilind and Vashtyr, he was one of the nobles who argued for the destruction of mankind after the Conquest. He has since mellowed somewhat. He owns that ridiculous resort in Miami Beach and will sometimes go in person to allow his adoring subjects to fawn over him.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “Curantar is a friend of Vashtyr?”

“No. In point of fact, Curantar and Vashtyr despise one another,” said Tarlia. “Vashtyr is a notorious womanizer.” I had, in fact, seen Vashtyr sleeping with the wife of one of his vassals the day I had copied the contents of his laptop. “He attempted and failed to seduce both Curantar’s wife and daughter within the same week.”

“Jeez.”

“Indeed. Curantar, as you might imagine, took offense. It was all I could do to keep the two of them from killing one another in a duel.” Tarlia shook her head. “Between those who are loyal to me and those loyal to Vashtyr, Curantar is firmly neutral. And that, darling girl, is why you are going to break into Curantar’s mansion, open the myothar chest with the key, and bring its contents to me.”

I swallowed. There it was. That was why Tarlia had summoned me.

“You are the High Queen,” I said. “Can’t you order Curantar to hand over the chest?”

“I could,” said Tarlia. “But what would happen if I did?”

I blew out a breath. “Curantar doesn’t like you very much, so he would take offense, even if he obeyed. Vashtyr would pounce on that. He would say you

were abusing your authority, that with the war over, you should respect the rights of the nobles.”

“How cynical of you, darling girl,” said Tarlia. “And entirely accurate, as it happens.”

I thought it over. “Maybe if you warned Curantar that Singularity was after the myothar chest? I mean, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if he got in their way. Hood could probably kick Curantar’s ass, and I bet they’ve got more guys like Hood. You could say that you had heard of a threat against Curantar’s life and take possession of the chest…no, no.” I corrected myself before Tarlia could point out the flaw in my reasoning. “Vashtyr would say that with the Archons defeated, you were playing up the threat of Singularity to bolster your authority.”

“Arrogance, I am afraid, is a flaw in the character of most Elven nobles,” said Tarlia. “They simply fail to conceive that humans can be a threat to them. Fortunately, a better solution to the problem is at hand.”

“Me.”

“Correct.” Tarlia smiled, her eerie blue eyes glittering. “Curantar cannot open his myothar chest. Not without the proper key, which is in our possession. Therefore, you will break into his mansion, open the chest, claim its contents, and make your escape undetected. If you are successful, Curantar will never even know that the chest has been opened, and we shall deny the chest’s contents to Singularity. A worthy combination of goals.”

“I need some time to prepare,” I said. “I’m not sure how long it will take.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Am I Kaethran, to give you a task without the necessary tools? I expect you will need to recruit a crew of specialists. I also expect that you shall require money, so I will provide funds. And should you succeed, you will be well-rewarded.”

Morvilind had never paid me, either. Part of his whole sink-or-swim philosophy of training shadow agents that had gotten Riordan’s brother killed.

“Thank you,” I said. “And if I fail…”

Tarlia shrugged. “We will deal with that if you fail. Though I stress the need for secrecy. Knowing your character, I doubt I would need to punish you. Nevertheless, the consequences for you if you are caught would be personally unpleasant, including the possibility of getting shot by the Duke’s security forces, to say nothing of the political problems. It might trigger a civil war among the nobles.”

Great. No pressure.

But I felt…if not quite confident, calmer than I expected.

I was a very, very good thief. It had taken the Lord Inquisitor himself to catch me, and he was considerably smarter than most of the Elven nobles. I could do this. I had done it in the past.

I would just have to do it again.

“Once we return to Shorewood,” said Tarlia, “return home and gather whatever equipment and weaponry you need. You have three hours to return to Morvilind’s house once we land.”

I frowned. “Shouldn’t I go straight to Miami?”

Tarlia shook her head. “We shall fly there to save time.” Her smile returned. “And I have someone in mind for the first member of your crew.”

###

We landed back in Shorewood a short time later, and Tarlia and Neil went into the mansion. I got back to my car, started the engine, and pulled out my burner phone. It took only a minute to send a text to Riordan, telling him that my boss had given me a job and that I would be out of communication until tomorrow at the earliest.

Likely he wouldn’t get it for another few hours until he landed in New York. Or maybe not even until tomorrow, if he wasn’t able to bring his burner phone out of airplane mode until he reached London.

Damn it. I wished that he was here.

Suck it up, Nadia.

I started the engine and headed for home.

I had work to do.

***

Chapter 5: An Old Acquaintance

I hurried home and loaded a pair of trunks with equipment, clothing, and weapons I might need to rob Duke Curantar’s mansion. It helped a lot that Riordan had left out a bunch of stuff I needed, which made the packing go a lot quicker.

It also made me miss him all the more.

I dragged the trunks to the garage and tossed them into the back of my car. Just as well I spent so much time lifting weights. Once that was done, I used my primary cell phone to send text messages to Russell and the Marneys, letting them know that Riordan and I would be out of town and out of communication for a while. After that, I armed the security system, backed out of the garage, and headed back to Shorewood.

Tarlia had given me three hours. I made it back to Morvilind’s estate in two hours and fifteen minutes. I pulled up in front of the mansion and saw that a lot of work was underway. Two large black helicopters had landed on the driveway, and Rusk and Tythrilandria directed the household staff as they loaded the aircraft. I parked a good distance away and walked to them.

“Her Majesty said you might have some cargo for the trip,” said Rusk.

“Yeah, two trunks,” I said.

Rusk nodded. “If you leave me your keys, I’ll have the trunks loaded and put your car into the garage until you return from Her Majesty’s work.”

I handed over the keys. It was an odd feeling. When I had been younger, there was no way I would have trusted Rusk with anything. I suppose surviving an attack by a Rebel terrorist and his crazy necromancer sidekick was a great way to forge a friendship.

Not one I’d recommend, though.

I stood with Tyth as I watched the staff carry my trunks to one of the helicopters.

“You’re not coming on this little adventure, are you?” I said.

“Sorry, Nadia,” said Tyth. “Her Majesty wants me to accompany her back to Africa. But I would rather go with you.” She grinned. “We’ve done some, like, crazy stuff.”

“And somehow lived through it,” I said. Given that we had met after she had crashed a Milwaukee city bus into a tree in front of the Marneys’ house, I couldn’t disagree.

At noon Tarlia swept out of the front doors of the mansion and down the shallow front steps, red cloak flaring behind her. Neil followed her like a well-armed

shadow, along with a half-dozen Royal Guards in their silver armor, swords at their belts and submachine guns slung over their shoulders.

“We are ready?” said Tarlia.

“All is in readiness, Your Majesty,” said Rusk. “You can depart whenever you wish.”

“Excellent,” said Tarlia. “Nadia, Tyth, with me.”

The High Queen’s bodyguards and entourage boarded the various helicopters. Tyth and I followed her into one of them. This helicopter was larger than the one we had taken to Chicago, able to hold about twenty people, with two rows of seats facing each other along the sides of the cabin. Tarlia settled in one of the seats, and Tyth and the Royal Guards sat around her. I took a seat facing them, and a few moments later, the helicopters took off.

The flight from Milwaukee to Miami took about six hours. A jet would have been faster, but these helicopters were designed for quick response, to move Homeland Security officers and men-at-arms to respond to attacks from the Shadowlands. We stopped for a half-hour at a rural airport somewhere in southern Kentucky to refuel, and I bought a couple of apples and a cup of coffee from a food kiosk.

Tarlia spent the first half of the flight dictating letters to one of her secretaries and the second half sitting with her eyes closed, as if sleeping, though I suspected she might have been meditating. I kept feeling flickers of magical power from her. I thought she was casting the mindtouch spell but on herself.

Which didn’t make any sense, but she no doubt had a reason for it.

We arrived at Miami International Airport at about 8 PM local time. It was just after sunset by then, and I couldn’t really see much – mostly lights in the distance. It was just as hot as it had been in Wisconsin but far muggier, and the air somehow smelled both hot and wet. Or maybe that was just the fumes from jet exhaust.

A black Royal Motors enger van pulled up, and two of the Royal Guards loaded my trunks into it. Tarlia told me to follow her, and we got into the van with a half-dozen Royal Guards.

“We should be back within two hours,” Tarlia told Tyth. “Make sure the jet is ready to leave by then.”

With that, we left the airport, making our way through a maze of streets and then onto a state highway – specifically the Palmetto Expressway, heading south.

“Where are we going?” I said.

“To recruit the first member of your team,” said Tarlia. Her eyes seemed like blue flames in the gloom within the van.

“Who?” I said.

“Someone with whom you are already acquainted,” said Tarlia. “I trust you a thief by the name of Armand Boccand?”

For a moment, I could not place the name, and then recollection came.

It had been a long time ago (at least from my perspective), before the Eternity Crucible, when I hadn’t been nearly as strong as I was now. Morvilind had sent me to steal an artifact from Baron Castomyr of La Crosse in western Wisconsin. Before I could get the artifact, Boccand had stolen it and left me to take the blame. Boccand was a wizard, but he also possessed a rare magical talent called shadowjumping, which allowed him to teleport short distances.

Handy when you’re a thief.

Anyway, I had managed to escape, and Morvilind had me track down Boccand. I found out that Boccand had been coerced to steal the artifact by a Dark Ones cultist who was holding his fiancée captive. Long story short, Boccand and I outwitted the cultists and escaped with his fiancée and the artifact, and we had parted on friendly .

I hadn’t seen him since.

“He’s in Miami?” I said.

“The suburb of Westchester, specifically,” said Tarlia. Even as she spoke, the Royal Guard driving the van took an exit for Westchester. We drove through a

commercial district lined with grocery stores and mini malls. The people I saw through the windows were nearly all Hispanic, with a scattering of Caucasian and black thrown in. “He was difficult to track down, but I suspect you will need someone with his particular talent to fulfill your task.”

“I’ll try to persuade him,” I said. “But the last time we talked, he said he was done with thieving and wanted to live quietly somewhere.”

“Darling girl,” said Tarlia, “you’re not going to persuade him. I’m going to tell him.”

“Ah.”

“But in all matters of persuasion, both the carrot and the stick are necessary,” said Tarlia. “Mr. Boccand has quite the extensive criminal history, even longer than yours. Unlike you, he was never a shadow agent and operated entirely for his own profit until he ran afoul of the Dark Ones cult. I am sure he will be amenable in exchange for clemency.”

We turned onto a residential street. All the houses were of the same type – one story, three bedrooms, concrete slab foundations. Chain-link fences encircled the backyards, and the houses had car ports, not garages. Palm trees and a few cypress trees rose on the medians. Quite a few of the houses had plywood nailed over the windows. I wondered if Miami expected urban unrest, and then I ed that it was hurricane season. Some of the Royal Guards had been talking about the weather before we left.

“On the right,” said Tarlia as we drove past.

I looked to see another of the standard ranch houses. A pair of LED work lights stood in the front yard, bathing the house in their light, and I caught a glimpse of a man in cargo shorts and a short-sleeve shirt adorned with palm trees using an electric drill to mount plywood over the windows. I thought it might have been Boccand, but I wasn’t sure.

“Go around the corner and find a parking space,” ordered Tarlia.

The driver obeyed and parked the van, shutting off the engine.

“We’ll have to make sure that Boccand doesn’t panic and shadowjump away,” said Tarlia. “Nadia, you will go first and talk to him. Once he recognizes you, I shall cast the Seal of Shadows over his house. That will prevent him from shadowjumping away, and we will have time for a nice chat.”

I didn’t like that plan. It sounded like it could go very bad. Armand had been an officer of the Wizard’s Legion, and he knew how to handle himself in a fight. If he felt threatened, God only knew how he might react.

That said, it was a reasonable precaution. Armand’s shadowjumps were usually random, but he could prepare an anchor, an enspelled object that would pull his shadowjump to it like a magnet drawing a paperclip. He had probably prepared his anchor and hidden it somewhere nearby to allow a quick escape.

“Maybe it would be better if I talked to him first,” I said. “Tried to prepare him.”

“No,” said Tarlia. “, darling girl, Boccand was in the Wizard’s Legion before he turned to freelance thievery. I read his psychological evaluation. He is strongly resistant to authority, to the point where he deserted.” Her tone grew frostier. “Desertion is a form of betrayal.”

Uh oh.

“So if Mr. Boccand has more than two brain cells to rub together,” said Tarlia, “he will appreciate this opportunity to atone for his betrayal. Begin.”

Well, that was that.

I got out of the van, and so did Tarlia and four of the Royal Guards. I took a second to consider the incongruity of the ruler of two different worlds standing beneath a palm tree in suburban Miami. I also noticed that Tarlia was carrying the case with the myothar key.

“Go,” said Tarlia. “The Guards and I will use the Cloak spell. We shall be right behind you.”

“Okay,” I said, and silver light glimmered around Tarlia and the four Guards as they vanished into the Cloak spell.

I looked at the sidewalk and braced myself. Poor Armand had no idea of the kind

of storm I was about to bring into his life.

Well, better get it over with.

I walked around the corner and came to Armand’s house.

He was still putting that sheet of plywood over the living room windows. When I had met Armand Boccand all those years ago (at least from my perspective, for him it hadn’t been all that long), he had been tall and thin, almost gangly, with an unruly mop of dark hair. I had thought he would get fat once he settled down, but he had put on muscle, not fat. Truth be told, he looked pretty good.

I walked up the driveway, letting my running shoes crunch against the gravel, keeping my hands in plain sight.

Armand heard me coming and turned, and as he did, I saw the butt of a pistol tucked into the waistband of his shorts.

“Good evening, madam,” he said with a cautious smile. He had an English accent, northern English much like Nora’s.

“Hi, Armand,” I said, stopping a dozen paces away. “Been a while.”

The LED work lights were focused on the front of his house, so the lighting on

me wasn’t very good. But his eyes narrowed, and then shocked recognition flooded over his face. “Anna?”

Anna? Why the hell was he calling me that? Then I ed. Anna Rastov, that was the name I had been using when I had met him. He had never learned my real name.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m really sorry about this.”

A quizzical look went over his face, and then Tarlia and the Royal Guards dropped their Cloak spells. They appeared on the front walk to the house, and Tarlia gestured and cast a spell. A huge Seal of Shadows appeared, encircling the entire lot of Boccand’s house. Anyone driving by was going to see the blue glow, but the street had been deserted so far.

Boccand gaped at the High Queen, his expression frozen in shock.

“Armand Boccand,” said Tarlia, stepping forward, the four Royal Guards trailing her. “It has been fifteen years since you deserted your post in the Wizard’s Legion.”

Boccand opened his mouth, closed it again. I saw his eyes flick over the yard, calculating his chances of escape. But then his eyes swung back to the house.

“Okay,” he said. “I surrender.” He raised his hands. “Take me away.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Mr. Boccand,” said Tarlia. “I…”

Right about then, the door swung open, and a woman stepped onto the front step.

She was twenty-five or so, about fifteen years younger than Boccand, and pretty – blue eyes, blond hair, a good complexion. She had put on a little bit of weight since I had seen her last, but she carried it well. Her name was Cecilia, and Boccand and I had rescued her from Martin Corbisher’s Dark Ones cult, a process that had involved a high-speed freeway chase, evading arrest by Homeland Security officers, and a desperate run through the Shadowlands.

“Armand?” she said. Like Boccand, she had an English accent, though hers was more like Neil’s. “What kind of lights did you get? They’re…”

Then she saw me, Tarlia, and the Royal Guards, and froze in utter shock.

“You must be Mrs. Boccand,” said Tarlia.

English manners overruled Cecilia’s shock, and she dropped to one knee. “Your Majesty. I…”

Before she could say anything else, a toddler ran past her.

It was a little girl, about fifteen or sixteen months old, right about at the age where she could walk, but it involved a lot of wobbling. The girl had Armand’s dark hair and Cecilia’s blue eyes. She darted past Cecilia with an excited squeal and would have run over the step and landed on her face had her mother not grabbed her first.

“Sophie!” Cecilia said. “No, we stay in the house, I…”

She froze again, eyes wide as she stared at the High Queen.

“A lovely child,” murmured Tarlia.

“Look,” said Armand, “I know I deserted and that it’s finally caught up to me, but if you’re going to shoot me, could you do it out of sight of my wife and daughter?”

“No!” said Cecilia, anguish in her voice. “No, they can’t execute you, they can’t…

“Enough,” said Tarlia. “Very noble, both of you, but no one is getting executed today.” Armand looked puzzled. “Probably. Let us go inside and speak.”

Armand turned his confused look in my direction. I only offered a shrug.

A short time later, we had gathered in the living room. It was comfortable enough, with two couches and a recliner facing a large TV. The floor was a minefield of baby toys, including several board books. One of them discussed how the benevolent High Queen watched over mankind, complete with bright illustrations. Tarlia sat at the end of one of the couches, and I stood next to her, while two of the Royal Guards waited at the front door, and the other two went to patrol the perimeter. At Tarlia’s gesture, Armand seated himself in the recliner, his every muscle tense. Cecilia put Sophie in a playpen, and the toddler watched us all with bright, curious eyes, heedless of the tension in the room. The metallic gleam of the High Queen’s armor seemed to fascinate her.

“I’m so sorry for the mess,” said Cecilia, ingrained British politeness overriding her obvious terror. “I didn’t know we were having company. If I had known we were having people over, I would have cleaned up. Oh, God, when was the last time I vacuumed? The High Queen is in my house, and I haven’t vacuumed.” She took a shuddering breath, and I saw that she was on the verge of tears. Cecilia had handled herself well during our escape from Martin Corbisher, but that had been different.

It was much harder to escape from Tarlia herself.

“Maybe you should get our guests some tea,” said Armand.

“Yes. Yes, of course. What am I thinking?” Cecilia disappeared into the kitchen. Sophie sat down and began sucking her thumb, picking up plastic blocks, and throwing them against the side of the playpen.

“Whatever I’ve done,” said Armand, “Cecilia and Sophie don’t deserve to suffer for…”

“Of course not,” said Tarlia. “But the innocent often suffer because of the decisions of others, do they not? And you’ve made quite a few bad decisions, Mr. Boccand. All those thefts. You even managed to steal from Kaethran Morvilind, something which was extraordinarily difficult to do, let alone survive. And all that doesn’t cover your desertion from the Wizard’s Legion, which is an automatic death sentence.” She paused. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“Can I be honest?”

“I would very strongly encourage it,” said Tarlia.

“You want me to do something,” said Armand. “With respect, Your Majesty, if you were going to execute me, you would have done it already.” The corner of Tarlia’s mouth curled in that faint smile. “Or you would have arrested me and taken me to Homeland Security for a good old-fashioned Punishment Day video. The only reason you haven’t killed me is because you want me to do something for you.”

Cecilia returned, bearing a wooden tray holding cups of tea and cookies. She froze when Armand said “killed,” her face going white as a sheet.

“Here, let me help you,” I said. She gave me a look of mixed fear and gratitude, and together we distributed the cups of tea. Cecilia even gave tea to the Royal Guards, who at least had the grace to accept it with murmured thanks.

“That’s quite good,” said Tarlia after the first sip.

“Thank you,” said Cecilia automatically. “Earl Grey with milk and vanillafavored creamer.”

“The English and the Chinese have mastered tea,” said Tarlia. Cecilia seated herself on the arm of Armand’s chair and grabbed at his hand, clutching at it as if trying to hold onto him by main force. “It lends such a civilized air to a discussion. Because you are right, Mr. Boccand. I do need you to do something. And if you successfully complete this task, you will receive a royal pardon.”

“A pardon?” said Armand, frowning. “For what?”

“Everything,” said Tarlia. “The desertion, the thefts, all of it. Everything in your life from before the date I issue it. A clean slate, Mr. Boccand. Though I suggest you refrain from any criminal activity in the future.”

There was a long pause.

“And if I refuse?” said Armand.

Cecilia squeezed his hand tighter, her face somehow going even paler.

“You have a lovely family,” said Tarlia, “and seem a reasonable man. I suspect

you will be wise enough to make the correct choice.”

Armand let out a long breath and rubbed his face with his free hand.

“What do you need me to do?” he said.

“I have given a task to Nadia,” said Tarlia, gesturing to me.

“Nadia?” said Armand. “You told me your name was Anna when we met.”

“True,” I said. “And right after that, you stole the tablet and left me to get caught for it.”

Armand shifted in his chair. “Okay, fair point.”

“Nadia will need your unique talents to finish this task,” said Tarlia. “Once it is completed to her satisfaction, you shall receive your pardon. Additionally, you will receive an additional fifty thousand dollars.” Armand’s eyebrows rose. “Children are quite expensive, aren’t they?”

“The diapers alone,” said Armand. Sophie saw her father looking at him and let out a burbling toddler laugh. “All right. I accept. I’ll do it.”

“Splendid,” said Tarlia. She set her teacup on the end table and rose. I noted that she had finished the entire thing. “Nadia, take this.” She handed me the case with the key. “Bring the van around.” One of the Royal Guards turned and strode from the house. “Nadia will explain the task to you. The Royal Guards will unload your equipment.”

The glowing lines of the Seal faded away as Tarlia released the spell. I looked at Armand, half-expecting him to run for it, but he remained where he was, his expression grim as he held his wife’s hand.

The Royal Guards deposited my trunks in the living room, and then Tarlia and the Royal Guards drove off, leaving me alone with the Boccands.

We looked at each other.

“I’m really sorry about this,” I said. “I had no idea we were coming here until we were a few blocks away. I…”

Sophie let out a long, happy groaning sound, and a second later, a foul smell filled the room.

“Oh, dear,” said Cecilia. “I think someone’s ready for a change.”

Armand sighed, and he and his wife got to their feet. “We’ll put Sophie to bed, and then we’ll talk. I don’t think we want to discuss this in front of her.”

Granted, Sophie was one year old, so I doubted she understood very much. But I thought of the ghastly key in the case under my arm, and I wouldn’t want that thing anywhere near a child.

Hell, I didn’t want it anywhere near me.

“Okay,” I said.

###

Twenty minutes later, we sat around the kitchen table.

The Boccands’ kitchen was a pleasant space, the walls covered with alternating black and white tiles. Patio doors overlooked the backyard, which had a plastic shed in the corner. Armand and I sat facing each other, with Cecilia between us.

“Been a while, huh?” said Armand.

It had been. Even longer for me, thanks to the Eternity Crucible.

“You said you wanted to settle down and stop stealing,” I said. “I thought you’d

go back to the UK.”

“Oh, well, I thought about it, but I decided a change of climate would be better,” said Armand.

“That,” added Cecilia, “and all those people in London are still mad at you.”

“Mmm, yes, true,” said Armand. “Plus, I get on well with the Cubans.”

“The Cubans? Which ones?” I said.

Armand grinned. “The ones who work for the nobles’ shadow councilors, of course. That’s the thing about Miami. It might be in America, but it’s really more part of Latin America than of the United States. Half the Cubans in the city are spying for the Kingdom of Cuba, and the other half want to see it overthrown.” He waved a hand. “But we’re not talking about them. Cecilia and I moved here, and I wanted to keep a low profile. We have enough money that we don’t need to work, but I took a job as a network security consultant to keep up appearances and because it’s interesting. Cecilia was working as a preschool aide before Sophie came along.”

“I like kids,” said Cecilia.

“So,” said Armand, studying me. “You’re working for Her Majesty the High Queen now. How the bloody hell did that happen?”

“You know I was Morvilind’s shadow agent,” I said. I didn’t want him to know the whole story because that knowledge was dangerous. “To sum it up, he pissed off Tarlia before the battle of New York. To punish him, Tarlia basically poached me, and I’ve been working for her ever since.”

“I suppose Morvilind made it up to Tarlia when he killed all the Archons in the Mage Fall,” said Armand.

“Mmm, yeah, he kind of did.” I didn’t want to mention that I had been there.

“I see why the High Queen recruited you,” said Cecilia. “If not for your help, Armand and I wouldn’t have gotten away from Martin Corbisher.”

“Thanks. If it had been up to me, I would have left you guys alone,” I said. “But it wasn’t. We’re stuck doing this. The only way through is to do what Tarlia wants.”

“Will she keep her word?” said Armand.

“Yes,” I said. “If we succeed, you’ll get your money and your pardon.”

“What are we supposed to do, then?” said Armand.

“We’re going to rob Duke Curantar’s mansion.”

“Oh,” said Armand. “Bloody hell.”

“It’s not quite as bad as that.” I set the metal case on the table. “Apparently, Curantar has a chest sealed with a magical lock that he’s never been able to open. The High Queen found the proper key when the Inquisition raided a terrorist group in . They were going to steal the contents of the chest. But we have the key, so we’re going to do it first.”

Cecilia frowned. “Why doesn’t the High Queen just order the Duke to let her have the chest?”

“She can’t, my dear,” said Armand. “The High Queen and Duke Curantar are not on the best of . It might cause problems for Tarlia if she ordered him to hand over the chest.”

Cecilia’s frown deepened. “So she makes you do it instead?”

“Yup,” I said. “Our job is to break into the mansion, take the contents of the chest, and escape without detection. If we do it right, Curantar won’t even know that anything has been taken. You get your pardon and fifty thousand dollars, and I get to go home.”

“You’ve done this sort of thing before, Armand,” said Cecilia.

“Right, yes, I have,” said Armand. “The sort of thing I wanted to give up.” He tapped his fingers against the table for a bit, thinking. “You have this key?”

“Yeah,” I said, setting the metal case on the table. “Don’t touch it. It’s not… pleasant.”

I flipped open the case.

Cecilia flinched, the feet of her chair scraping against the floor. “Dear God, what is that?”

Armand merely stared at the key, expression grim.

“The key,” I said.

“Is it alive?” said Cecilia. “It’s not going to crawl out and bite someone, is it?”

The key did indeed look like some sort of poisonous sea creature, so it was not an unreasonable fear.

“No,” I said. “It’s just metal. I don’t think you should touch it, though. It’s charged with dark magic, and I doubt it’s safe to handle for any length of time.”

“That’s a myothar key, isn’t it?” said Armand.

“Yeah.” I closed the case. “You’ve dealt with them before?”

“No, but I’ve heard of them, back when I was still in the Legion,” said Armand. “They’re supposed to be these powerful necromancers. Bad news. The Elves absolutely hate them, and the myothar hate the Elves right back. I know the High Queen has fought against them, but that was before my time. Why the bloody hell does the Duke have a myothar chest?”

“He likes to collect stuff,” I said. “A myothar chest is a curiosity. Curantar’s never been able to open it, though. I know you’re doing this under duress, but we can agree we don’t want whatever’s in that chest to go to someone like Martin Corbisher and his cronies.”

“No,” said Armand. “How do you want to start?”

By now, it was past 10 PM, and it was too late to do anything else today.

“Tomorrow, I want to have a look around the Duke’s mansion,” I said.

“Well, that will be easy enough,” said Armand. “He offers tours.”

“Seriously?”

Armand grinned. “Oh, yes. The Duke doesn’t like humans, but he is fond of money. Like you said, he enjoys collecting stuff, and he lets people pay to have a tour of his artifacts. Though I’m wagering the myothar box isn’t on public display.”

“Okay,” I said. “We’ll go tomorrow. I’ll call a taxi and find a hotel, and meet you back here tomorrow at…”

“Don’t be silly,” said Cecilia. “You can stay in our guest room.”

I hesitated. “I don’t want to impose. Especially after I just showed up out of the blue and…”

“You saved our lives in Minneapolis,” said Cecilia. “If you hadn’t, we wouldn’t be here for you to impose upon.”

“She’s right,” said Armand. “You didn’t even know we were here until the High Queen brought you to our front door.” He offered a smile. “I suppose I can’t blame you for my past misdeeds coming home at last.”

That made me feel better, oddly enough.

“All right,” I said. “We escaped from Corbisher and Venomhold, and we’ll get through this.”

It sounded optimistic, but I knew it would be a lot harder than that.

***

Chapter 6: The Ducal Residence

I spent a restless night sleeping in the Boccands’ guest bedroom.

Though as so often was the case, the “guest bedroom” also doubled as general storage and Cecilia’s sewing room. Not that I was in any position to cast judgment. Riordan and I had mostly gotten our house unpacked, and we did have an official guest bedroom, though at the moment, the bedroom held most of my power tools because I had decided to redo the windows. The Boccands’ guest room had a comfortable double bed and its own small bathroom.

What more did you need?

Speaking of Riordan, I got a text message back from him at about one in the morning, which showed how badly I slept. He had arrived in London and was heading north to start the “business trip,” which meant he, Nora, and the UK Shadow Hunters were heading to Manchester to start hunting down the Dark Ones cultists.

I really wished that I was with him.

Or that he was here.

Or that we were both home.

Goddamn it, emotions are exhausting. Especially when they are contradictory. Though I would rather have been with Riordan, regardless of where we were.

I woke up at about six in the morning. After about twenty minutes of failing to get back to sleep, I decided to get up and start with my day. I spent about forty minutes going through a workout. During the bad old days when I stole things for Morvilind, I had stayed in a lot of hotels, and hotel gyms generally ranged from mediocre to hazardously awful. I had a few different workouts I did in hotel rooms with a lot of bodyweight exercises – pushups, planks, lunges, squats, and so forth. Since the house was basically built on a concrete slab, I could do jumping jacks without disturbing the Boccands.

Once I had a good sweat and a burn going, I showered off and got dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, intending to make myself breakfast before the family woke up.

Though I found them all awake already in the kitchen.

“Good morning, Nadia,” said Cecilia. She was wearing actual pajamas, complete with buttons, and cooking eggs and sausage links on the stove. Armand sat at the table, watching Sophie in her highchair as she ate chopped-up pieces of fruit from a plastic plate. Every so often, she seized the plate as if to throw it to the floor, and Armand gently and lowered it back to the table. Sophie looked dismayed for a second and then went back to eating the chopped fruit.

“Morning,” I said, a little taken aback.

“You know,” said Armand, “I used to go to bed at four in the morning and wake up at noon. Now I’m up at six every day to feed a toddler fruit pieces.” He didn’t look dismayed, though.

“Ah, you wouldn’t have it any other way,” said Cecilia.

“I checked the Duke’s website,” said Armand. “The tours start at ten AM and go through six in the afternoon.”

“Let’s go on the first tour,” I said. “We can take a casual look around. Get a feel for the layout of the place.”

“Sounds reasonable,” said Armand. Sophie tried to throw her plate to the floor again, and Armand intercepted her. “We…”

“Just a second,” said Cecilia. “The weather’s on.”

A radio was playing on the kitchen counter, and Cecilia turned up the volume. The weatherman announced that today, September 2nd, the Miami area could expect temperatures in the upper eighties with a thirty percent chance of rain in the afternoon. Once that was done, the weatherman spent the rest of the segment talking about Tropical Depression H-317, which was apparently forming in the mid-Atlantic and advancing closer to the United States. It was too soon to say if it would develop into a tropical storm or even a full-fledged hurricane, but there was a good chance it would make landfall somewhere along the eastern US seaboard. Residents were advised to make reasonable preparations of drinking water and canned foods.

“Ugh,” said Cecilia. “That’s the one thing I don’t like about Florida.”

“I honestly don’t know why people live here,” I said. “If a hurricane hits the state at the wrong angle, the whole place is underwater.” That, and Florida’s mosquitoes made the insect life of Wisconsin seem downright tame by comparison.

“Oh, every place in the world has its own little quirks of natural catastrophe,” said Armand. “California has earthquakes. And forest fires. Occasionally at the same time. You’re from the Midwest, aren’t you? You sound like you’re from the Midwest. You’ve got tornadoes and those nasty blizzards.”

“One hurricane can make many tornadoes,” I countered.

Cecilia presented me with a plate of eggs and sausage. “Here you go. Do you want any salt or pepper?”

“You don’t happen to have any hot sauce, do you?” I said.

Cecilia blinked but handed me a bottle that proclaimed its contents were genuine Cuban hot pepper sauce. Because of my experiences in the Eternity Crucible, the textures of certain foods violently disagreed with me, but copious quantities of hot sauce prevented that.

“Hot sauce,” said Armand. “Bloody Americans.”

“It’s your house, and you’ve got a bottle of that stuff,” I said.

“There’s something we should think about,” said Armand.

Cecilia rubbed Sophie’s head. “Is this something we should talk about in front of the baby?”

“Oh, yeah, this is fine,” said Armand. “See, after you told me your real name, I looked you up on the Internet.”

“Of course you did,” I muttered. “You saw that damn,” I shot a quick look at the baby, “that darned video at the battle of New York.”

“Yeah,” said Armand. He shifted a little in his chair. “It wasn’t a very good video, but your face was recognizable. If someone notices you at Curantar’s mansion, that’s going to be a problem. Curantar’s not stupid, and he doesn’t have stupid people working for him. It wouldn’t take much to figure out that you’re working for the High Queen.”

“That’s a good point,” I said. “I could use the Mask spell, but…”

“But Curantar will have Elves on his security staff,” said Armand. “If they get

close enough, they’ll sense a Mask spell.”

“Good point,” I said. “I’ve got an idea.”

Before we left for the Duke’s mansion, I changed clothes. I donned a loose blue sundress with a frilly skirt, leather sandals, sunglasses, and a big floppy white sun hat. The dress left my arms and calves bare, which I wasn’t happy about, but it wasn’t as snug as the bathing suit had been. It was also a brighter color than I usually wore, and with my hair tucked beneath my hat, and I didn’t look anything like my usual self. I looked like Armand’s younger, much shorter sister, which was what we were going to say if anyone asked.

Once I was ready, Armand and I got into his car, and we set off for downtown Miami.

“Are you cold?” said Armand. He had donned a new set of cargo shorts and a tropical shirt, which seemed to be the standard wardrobe for the average Florida man. “You’re shivering a little, and I haven’t even got the air on.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said. Once again, my subconscious mind was holding my magic ready, which made me wish I was wearing my usual sweater and pea coat even though it was going to hit the upper eighties today.

“You know,” said Armand, “the video…”

“Oh, God. That damn video.”

“I saw you fight when we were in Venomhold,” said Armand. “We had to run from that bloodrat. But the kind of magic you used in that video…you could have mowed down that bloodrat, and Corbisher and his pets as well.”

I started thinking about the Eternity Crucible and made myself stop.

“Yeah, well,” I said. “Some stuff happened since Minneapolis.”

“Sure bloody seems like it.”

“What about you?” I said, hoping to change the topic. “You were this dashing master thief, and now you seem so…”

“Domestic?” said Armand with a snort.

“Settled.”

“Yeah, that’s a fair cop,” said Armand. “I never wanted kids, you know? Cecilia changed my mind about that. I think it’s different when it’s your own kids. Like, after Sophie learned to walk, she was obsessed with stacking her baby books for a while. I would watch her stack those books over and over, and it was just… contentment.” He grinned. “Of course, then she’d knock the books over and scream bloody murder about it, so having a baby isn’t all cuteness and light.”

“I smelled that diaper last night,” I said. “Need to ask you something.”

“Yeah?”

“We might not be able to pull this off by ourselves,” I said. “Do you have anyone in the local underworld you can trust?”

“Of course not. You should know better.”

I rolled my eyes. “I mean reasonably trustworthy. Someone we can hire and be mostly sure they won’t stab us in the back.”

“Yeah,” said Armand. “Yeah, I know a few blokes like that. I’m on pretty good with Mr. Ruiz.”

“Ruiz?”

“The shadow councilor of Duke Rendoscar of Havana,” said Armand. “His main business is Peninsula Construction, but he has his fingers in a lot of pies. He owns a bar downtown by the port. Not all that far from the Duke’s mansion, come to think of it.”

“We’re in Miami,” I said. “Rendoscar is the Duke of Havana. Why is his shadow councilor in Miami?”

By then, we had gotten onto the freeway and ed the general mass of traffic heading for downtown Miami. Quite a few skyscrapers stood outlined against the pale blue sky. Almost as many as Chicago, come to think of it.

But these skyscrapers weren’t ruined and haunted with undead.

I shivered again, and not from the cold. Fortunately, Armand didn’t notice.

“It’s a Cuban thing,” said Armand.

“We’re going to be stuck in traffic for a while, so you might as well explain,” I said. The speed limit was sixty-five, but we were doing about forty, and Armand had to slow down to twenty even as I spoke.

“Good point,” said Armand. “Okay. History 101. Back before the Conquest, Cuba was Communist, right? Then the Conquest happened, and the High Queen hates Communists. They’re too much like the Archons. She told the remaining Communist governments that if they wanted to stay in power, they had to throw over the whole Communist thing real quick. The Chinese did right away – they had mostly abandoned communism by then anyway in favor of authoritarian capitalism, so they became the Chinese Imperium, and the government rebranded itself as the Chinese Imperial Party. In Cuba, there was this vicious little civil war. The winner was a captain in the secret police named Hector Navarro, who basically slaughtered everyone else in the government, seized control of the country, named himself King Hector Navarro the First, and

pledged eternal fidelity to the High Queen. His descendants and Duke Rendoscar have been running the country ever since.”

“That’s the current King of Cuba, isn’t it?” I said. “Some guy named Hector Navarro XII?”

“Right,” said Armand. “Now, Cuba’s got two big businesses – tourism and sugar cane. Rendoscar and King Hector charge a lot of money for the sugar, so there’s a fair bit of coin in smuggling sugar out of the country. That’s why Mr. Ruiz operates out of Miami – his main job is to keep the sugar smuggling orderly and tidy.”

“So Ruiz basically steals from Rendoscar and pays him back?”

“Just so,” said Armand. “You know how the Elves think. They like order. Duke Rendoscar reckons people will steal sugar anyway, so he might as well have some of the profit.”

“What does Duke Curantar think of all this?” I said.

“He doesn’t grow sugar cane, he doesn’t care,” said Armand. “So long as his shadow councilor gets a cut and everyone gets paid, things are nice and neat, and there are no murders in the street. But, anyway. I did a lot of jobs for Mr. Ruiz back in the day, and we’re still on good . He can introduce us to some…ah, freelance professionals.”

“In exchange for a cut,” I said.

Armand grinned. “Now you’re getting the hang of it.”

We reached downtown Miami fifteen minutes later, and Armand parked in a ramp facing the Duke’s residence.

Curantar’s mansion looked a lot like Morvilind’s, albeit smaller and without as many warding hieroglyphs. It stood surrounded by skyscrapers, its grounds occupying an entire city block. The gardens were lush and well-maintained, filled with thousands of brilliant multicolored flowers. An ornamental fence about ten feet tall encircled the entire grounds, and human soldiers in fatigues patrolled the fence, likely Curantar’s men-at-arms.

We circled the block first, looking over the building. I pretended to gawk like a tourist while I noted the location of interesting features. There were a lot of security cameras visible within their domes of black plastic. While Curantar’s mansion looked like a traditional Elven noble’s house, it did have modern features like a truck ramp with doors for three trailers and HVAC equipment on the roof. It would also have a sewer hookup in the basement, which was a possible entry point.

“How would you do it?” I said as we circled the block.

Armand rubbed his jaw, gazing at the mansion. “Well, parties were always good. More people around during a party. A lot more distractions. That’s where we met the first time, at a party.”

“Yes, I ,” I said.

Armand glanced at me, perhaps worried that I would remind him that he had stolen the artifact and left me to take the blame, but he kept talking. “Other than that, if you can arrange a distraction, that always works. A fire, a power outage, that kind of thing. Of course, you have the Cloak spell. Maybe you can just turn invisible, walk into the mansion, and walk out with whatever’s in the chest.” He paused. “Do you know how big the chest is?”

“No idea,” I said. I hoped it wasn’t very big. If it turned out to be, say, the size of a bank vault, I might need a forklift to remove the contents. To say nothing of what might be inside the chest. What if it was some nasty weapon of dark magic? “We’ll need to have a better look around to make a proper plan.”

“Speaking of that,” said Armand, “it’s about time to buy tickets for the ten o’clock tour.”

We finished our loop around the block and came to the mansion’s gates. A wide driveway led up to the house, but next to it was a pedestrian entrance with a kiosk that had the words TOUR TICKETS painted over the window. A sixtyish woman hair dyed a disturbing shade of red occupied the booth.

“Can I help you?” said the woman.

“Good morning, madam,” said Armand, turning his charming smile on her. I saw some of the old, pre-fatherhood Armand. “Two tickets for the ten o’clock tour,

please.”

“Certainly,” said the woman. I handed Armand some money to pay for the tickets. “And it’s good to see young people taking an interest in history. You make a lovely young couple.”

“What?” I said, grinning. “Oh, no, no. This is my brother. He and his wife had a baby, so I’m in town to help for a bit.”

“My wife wanted me out of her hair for a bit, so I’m showing Anna here the sights,” said Armand. This led to him producing his phone and showing the woman some pictures of Sophie, of which he seemed to have thousands. There were pre-Conquest Presidents of the United States who hadn’t had their pictures taken as many times as that kid. Soon the woman was agreeing that Sophie was an adorable child, which had the useful side effect of removing any possible suspicion.

Interesting. I had never considered that angle before, the way small children tended to disarm suspicion. Then again, I wasn’t about to take a kid with me on something dangerous, so I suppose it was moot.

“Head through the gate and over to the historical center,” said the woman, pointing to a small building on the grounds that looked like a cottage built in the Elven style. “The tour begins in the gift shop at ten.”

Gift shop?

Of course there was a gift shop.

The woman printed two tickets with bar codes, and we headed through the pedestrian gate and into the historical center. The slap of the air conditioning against my skin made goosebumps rise on my arms and legs, and I really wished that I had brought a sweater. The exterior of the historical center might have resembled an Elven cottage, but the inside was a tasteful museum gift shop, with postcards, books, small models of the mansion, and numerous portraits of Duke Curantar, since people sometimes liked to have pictures of their local Elven noble to show their patriotism. The portraits showed Curantar standing on the beach, the towers of Miami rising behind him, one foot upon a rock and one hand holding a sword aloft. His lean, alien face was serious to the point of nearconstipation.

The portrait portrayed him with sober gravitas. He and Duke Vashtyr had probably hated each other even before Vashtyr tried to seduce Curantar’s wife and daughter.

A good-sized crowd had gathered in the gift shop, mostly older people and a few younger couples with school-age kids who were apparently going to get some educational content whether they wanted it or not. Promptly at ten, our tour guide arrived – a paunchy elderly man who looked like a retired history professor. He thanked us for coming, scanned our tickets with his phone, and launched into a talk about the history of the mansion and Curantar’s devotion to the people of Miami, which may or may not have been true.

He walked backwards up the driveway to the house as he talked, and the group followed him. I flicked my eyes over the mansion’s exterior, noting the location of security cameras and windows. I suspected the windows would not work as a point of access – they were thick security glass with wire mesh, and you’d need to rip out the entire window to get through it. No way of doing that without a lot of noise.

The guide led us through the main doors and into the entrance hall, pointing out the kinds of wood and marble used in the construction, and right away, I noticed another serious problem.

The entrance hall was a big space, with a polished floor of black and white marble and gleaming white walls. The walls had been adorned with the same symbol in orderly rows, almost like ornamental flourishes. It looked striking, except the symbols carved into the wall weren’t ornamental but Seal spells.

Specifically, the Seal of Unmasking, over and over again.

I could feel the magical power worked into the Seals. The power was faint, but with so many overlapping Seals, that didn’t matter. I could cast a Mask or a Cloak spell in here, but they would be unreliable. Like, they would work, but they would flicker and sputter a lot. And since a Cloak spell was supposed to make you invisible, the flickering would draw every eye. It would be worse than simply standing motionless. It would be like running around with a flashlight while shouting.

Curantar had a very clever defense system. I wondered if he had dealt with magic-equipped thieves before.

Our enthusiastic tour guide took us through the public areas of the house – the banquet hall, the reception room, a memorial hall devoted to the men-at-arms who had fallen in the Duke’s service. Curantar might not have liked humans, but I’ll say this for him. He had built a suitable room to memorialize all the soldiers who had died in his service. There were thousands of names carved into the

marble of the walls, which was disquieting until you ed that he had been the Duke of Miami for three hundred years. Then it was just sad, and we were appropriately silent in the room.

Though everywhere I saw those carved Seals of Unmasking. I suspected it wouldn’t be possible to cast a stable illusion spell anywhere in the mansion.

“Now we’ll go to the most popular portion of the tour,” said the tour guide. “The Duke’s museum. His lordship is a keen collector of all kinds of antiquities, and he has generously made a portion of his collection available to the public.” In exchange for the ticket price, of course. “The Duke has relics from other worlds that can’t be seen anywhere else on Earth. Everyone, please follow me. Photography is permitted, but only with no flashes.”

The museum wing had its own entrance, which was guarded by two men-at-arms in fatigues and tactical armor, pistols on their hips. The guards once again scanned our tickets, and we went into the museum wing. It was a long rectangular room with a marble floor. Statues stood in niches, and there were glass display cases of varying sizes. All the windows had been sealed, and the lighting was subdued and focused upon the cases, no doubt to protect the artifacts from deterioration.

Curantar did have an impressive collection. I saw orcish armor and battle-axes, along with dwarven statues and ancient Elven armor. I realized that most of the objects on display were war loot, stuff he had captured after battles in the Shadowlands. I stopped in front of a display case holding what looked like a hollow bronze sphere that had cracked in half, exposing innards made of interlocking gears. Whatever had split the sphere had melted and warped the metal around the cut.

I flinched a little when I realized what I was seeing.

“What?” murmured Armand.

“Nothing,” I said, my heart racing. The thing in the case was a disabled slayer golem. Golems, automatons created and empowered by magic, were big bad news, and slayer golems were the worst. How bad were they? Kaethran Morvilind was the most powerful wizard I had ever encountered, and I had seen him wipe out an entire battalion of orcish mercenaries as easily as if he had been stepping on an ant.

A slayer golem had come within a hair’s breadth of killing him.

“Nothing,” I said again. “Just a bad memory.”

“I don’t suppose you see the box in question anywhere,” said Armand, keeping a careful eye on the other tourists. The guide was waxing eloquent about an orcish battle banner and the circumstances under which it had been captured.

“No,” I said. “They wouldn’t keep it out here. You saw that key. If some kid saw the matching chest, he’d have nightmares. I’m going to try something.”

I didn’t see any Elves nearby, and I didn’t think anyone else in the hall other than Armand could use magic. I gathered my will and cast the spell to detect the presence of magical force.

Impressions filtered through my mind. About half the artifacts in the hall had some level of magical auras, mostly the captured armor. I was pleased to note that only residual power remained around the wrecked slayer golem. I could also feel the weak auras around the dozens of Seals of Unmasking marking the walls. I extended the reach of the spell, wishing there had been a way to smuggle my aetherometer on the tour, and then I felt it.

A flicker of necromantic magic, the same malignant corruption I had sensed around the myothar and the key.

It was coming from beneath my feet. I glanced around the room and spotted a closed metal door marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY secured by a glowing keypad lock. I was willing to bet that Duke Curantar kept his most valuable artifacts in a secured cellar beneath the main museum floor. Most houses in Miami didn’t have basements because of flooding problems, but the Duke’s mansion stood on a low hill that was probably artificial, and the vault would be high enough above the water table that flooding wouldn’t be a problem.

“It’s in the basement,” I murmured. “Right under us.”

“Huh,” said Armand. “Finding it was easier than I thought.”

Yeah. Finding the chest had been easy. Escaping undetected with its contents would be much harder.

“What do all those symbols mean?” said a girl of about eight, pointing at the Seals of Unmasking carved into the walls.

“That is an Elven hieroglyph, young lady,” said the tour guide. “It’s the symbol for truth because his lordship believes strongly in the importance of the truth.”

Well, that was sort of true.

The truth for me was that getting the contents of that chest were going to be tricky.

***

Chapter 7: Consultants

I was deep in thought as the tour ended and we returned to the gift shop. Under other circumstances, I would have been amused that Armand bought a mug for Cecilia, but I was mulling over the problem.

“What do you think?” said Armand as we stepped onto the grounds once more. After the air-conditioned chill of the gift shop and the mansion, the heat of the Florida sun was welcome, though Armand started sweating at once.

“Nice tour,” I said, glancing towards the guards at the exit gate. “Let’s talk about it more in the car.”

The guards scanned our tickets and reclaimed them, and then we left the mansion’s grounds and headed towards the parking garage. Once we were in the car, Armand cranked the air conditioning to the maximum, and I sighed and folded my arms across my chest.

“Sorry,” said Armand. “But it’s got to be a hundred and ten bloody degrees in here.”

“I’m more worried about the mansion,” I said.

“I didn’t see anything too tricky,” said Armand as he steered the car down the

ramp and into the downtown traffic. “Just Cloak and walk into the basement. Or Mask yourself as one of the guards or something.”

“That won’t work,” I said. “All those symbols carved into the wall?”

“The Elven hieroglyph for truth, or so the tour guide said,” said Armand. “Seems a bit pretentious if you ask me, but I was never one for art. Unless I was stealing it.”

“It is the hieroglyph for truth, but those symbols are Seals of Unmasking,” I said. “Hundreds and hundreds of them. It must have taken years to carve them all.”

“Unmasking?” said Armand.

“You the Seal of Shadows?”

Armand snorted. “All too well. Blocks access to the Shadowlands and keeps me from shadowjumping within its circumference.”

“Right. A Seal of Unmasking blocks illusion spells within its boundary. But I think Curantar or whoever designed his mansion did something clever. Those Seals are too weak. They won’t block illusion spells, but they’ll disrupt them.”

“How?” said Armand.

“Like this.”

Deciding to demonstrate, I concentrated and cast the Mask spell. I Masked myself with the image of Cecilia, but I made the image flicker and pulse like a dying fluorescent light.

“Jesus!” said Armand. “Don’t do that when I’m driving.”

“Sorry.” I released the Mask spell. “But you see the problem.”

“Yeah,” said Armand. “If that happens inside the mansion, you might as well hold up a giant placard saying you’re here to rob the place.”

“I had hoped I could just Cloak us both,” I said. “We could walk into the vault, open the chest, and you could shadowjump us out to your anchor.”

“That’s still the best possible plan,” said Armand. “What’s the point of having magic if you can’t cheat now and again?”

“Remind me not to play cards with you.”

He snorted. “So, if you can’t Mask and you can’t Cloak, what then?”

I thought about it for a mile or so. Armand got onto the freeway, heading back towards Westchester. I ed the thefts I had done for Morvilind. Back then, I hadn’t been as nearly strong with magic as I was now, which meant that my plans hadn’t involved the Cloak spell as often.

“We’re gonna have to infiltrate,” I said at last. “Disguise ourselves as security people and disable the cameras and the locks. Because of your abilities, we have an advantage. We just have to plan enough to get in. We don’t need to plan to get out again because you can shadowjump us out.”

“Makes sense,” said Armand. He rubbed his jaw. “But that’s going to be tricky. You saw those cameras everywhere? I’d wager my last cup of tea that the Duke’s got a server recording absolutely everything that happens in his mansion.”

“We’ll have to see if there are any parties or events at the mansion,” I said. “A time when we can get in and out quickly.”

“That could work,” said Armand.

“And,” I said, “we might have to talk to your friend Mr. Ruiz. See if we can find freelancers to hire for the job.”

Armand said nothing for a moment as he settled in at a safe driving distance behind a semi.

“You know that’s risky,” said Armand. “You and me, we’ve got…how do the Americans like to say this? Skin in the game? If we don’t pull this off, we’re screwed. But every person we bring in might sell us out to the police or the Duke’s men.”

“You think Ruiz will sell us out?” I said.

“He wouldn’t,” said Armand. “He’s Duke Rendoscar’s shadow councilor, so he’ll be happy to steal from Duke Curantar so long as he can get away with it. But some of his people might not be smart enough to keep their mouths shut. The kind of professionals we need…this isn’t going to be cheap.”

“That’s all right,” I said. “The High Queen is footing the bill.” Money, at least, was not going to be a problem. I had checked the Tarlia had given me, and it held 1.2 million dollars waiting for me to use. I suspected I probably shouldn’t go on any wild spending sprees, but I would have enough money to cover bribes and hiring costs.

“Then that’s the plan?” said Armand. “ Ruiz and put together a crew?”

“Yep.”

“All right, then,” said Armand. “I’ll give him a call as soon as we stop.”

“Tell him you’ve found a backer,” I said. “Someone who will foot the bill for the job, make sure everyone is rewarded handsomely.” Another unpleasant thought

occurred to me. “Also, do you know where Cecilia has her hair done?”

“Yeah,” said Armand, surprised. “Why?”

“While you call Mr. Ruiz, I think I need a haircut.”

###

At 8 PM that night, I scowled into the bathroom mirror.

I liked my hair long, and it had grown down to the middle of my back. I suppose that was impractical, given all the violent and kinetic things I did, and long hair made an excellent handle for an adversary. So I had gotten very good at arranging my hair in an elaborate braid I could tuck down the back of my jacket.

But I wanted to look different, so I had gone to the salon and had my hair chopped down to the base of my neck. Not too short, but still shorter than I preferred. I also had the remaining hair dyed blond instead of the usual brown. I had dyed my hair before in the bad old days working for Morvilind, but I was still always surprised to see how much it altered my appearance. Something about blond hair made my face look sharper, starker, paler. My eyes looked colder as well.

Crazy, though. But let’s be honest. My eyes always looked crazy.

Ruiz agreed to meet us at his bar at 9 PM, and I thought about how to dress. Armand had said that Ruiz liked to present himself as a cultured and refined man. Showing up and jeans and a T-shirt probably wouldn’t cut it. Showing up in a nice dress might make him think I was there to seduce him. In the end, I settled on what I thought of as my Corporate Bitch look – black jacket, black slacks, white blouse, silver earrings, and just a bit of makeup. I looked like an evil lawyer from a TV drama.

Which was probably the right look for this meeting.

Once I was ready, I grabbed my purse, left the guest room, and stepped into the Boccands’ living room. Cecilia had put Sophie to bed and was picking up her toys. The little girl liked to close out the night by throwing her toys around in a vortex of destruction.

Cecilia glanced up at me. “You look good as a blonde.”

“No, I don’t, but thank you.” I squatted and helped her gather up the toys, some of which were still a bit sticky. “I’m sorry again about all of this.”

“About what?”

I blinked. Had she forgotten? “You know…showing up and dragging you and Armand into this mess.”

“It would have happened someday anyway,” said Cecilia. We dropped the last of the toys into the playpen and straightened up. “You’re married now, right? You haven’t said anything about it, but you have the ring.”

“Yeah.” I suppose if I was trying to remain undercover I ought to take the ring off, but I couldn’t make myself do it.

“If you love someone, if you really love someone,” said Cecilia, glancing towards the hallway, “then you know you’ll have to be with them through rough times. That’s it’s not always going to be sunshine and roses. Armand was there for me for some really, really bad days before we left England. Now I’m here for him.” She turned back to him. “And if you hadn’t been here…maybe the Wizard’s Legion would have just shown up and shot Armand for desertion.”

“Maybe.” The fact that Tarlia had bothered to track down Armand meant that she had thought I might need him for this job. Which was a little disturbing to think about, wasn’t it? The only reason Armand was still alive was that Tarlia thought I might find him useful. Then again, the only reason Russell was still alive was because I had been useful to Morvilind.

“I know you’re a good person,” said Cecilia. I laughed. “No, really. You could have taken that tablet and left me and Armand high and dry in Minneapolis.”

“Then I would have had to live with myself,” I said.

“But you didn’t, and now we have Sophie,” said Cecilia.

“You can think of me when you’re changing her diaper,” I said. Cecilia laughed. I didn’t like praise, and I wasn’t all that comfortable with thanks. I never felt like I merited it. If I helped someone, or I didn’t hurt someone when I could have, it was because I had a hard enough time sleeping at night as it was.

I was spared the need to say anything else when Armand strode into the room. He was wearing a well-cut black suit with a red tie, and Cecilia gave an appreciative whistle.

“Well, you clean up nicely, Mr. Boccand,” she said. “Go on, give us a spin.”

Armand grinned and turned, and I snorted. He planted a kiss on his wife and turned to face me.

“Ready?” said Armand. “We definitely do not want to be late for a meeting with Mr. Ruiz.”

With that, we headed out to the car and set off for Miami’s waterfront. Armand turned on the radio as we drove. The news came on, discussing a couple of local robberies and shootings. ual for a city of this size. The rest of the segment was devoted to Tropical Depression H-317, which in fact had been upgraded earlier in the day to Tropical Storm H-317.

“You know,” I said, “if that becomes a hurricane and hits the city, with our luck it will wash Curantar’s mansion out to sea.”

“Eh,” said Armand. “Most of the weathermen think it’s going to veer north. Sucks to be Jacksonville or Savannah. We’ll probably just get a lot of wind and rain. Though if it does hit Miami dead on, that’s going to be a problem. I saw pictures of the last time the city took a hurricane – downtown looked like Venice. Might actually make it easier to get into the Duke’s mansion if the power is out.”

By then, we were driving through downtown, the lights of the skyscrapers and office buildings rising around us. We ed by Duke Curantar’s mansion, which was bathed in illumination from multiple spotlights. It made the mansion look lovely, like a beacon of gleaming stone in the darkness. Of course, that made me think about how much harder a damned spotlight would make it to sneak around the building at night.

“Tell me about Ruiz,” I said. “Anything I should watch out for?”

“Rolando Ruiz is charming,” said Armand. “Very charismatic. He will probably flirt with you, but he won’t push things. His wife and his three mistresses all have an arrangement where they know about each other and sometimes have lunch together, and it makes my head hurt just thinking about it. Anyway, Ruiz keeps his word, and if you play fair with him, he’ll play fair back. But he’s absolutely ruthless when crossed. Last year a bunch of sugar smugglers disappeared, and the police eventually found bits and pieces of them washing up on the beach. You know, an arm there, a torso there, that kind of thing. They had been trying to smuggle sugar and rum out of Cuba without going through Ruiz. I’m not certain he personally killed them and chopped up their bodies with a chainsaw to send a message, but I wouldn’t rule it out.”

“Great.”

“Also, he’s never, ever let a cent slip through his grasp,” said Armand. “I hope the High Queen gave you a lot of money for this because we’re going to need it.”

We came to Miami’s harbor district. In the darkness, I saw the running lights of ships on the ocean and in the harbor. A couple of big freighters, and lots and lots of small yachts. I guess rich people liked to buy yachts and drink on the water. I don’t drink, and I’m not going to waste my money on a boat, so I don’t see the appeal.

“Two things,” I said. “We shouldn’t tell Ruiz that I can use magic, and I won’t use any magic in front of him unless it’s an emergency. That will be our backup if things go sour.”

“Good plan.”

“Also,” I continued, “obviously we’re not going to tell anyone my real name. Introduce me as Ms. North. Anna North. You already knew me as ‘Anna Rastov’ so that will help avoid slip-ups.”

“All right,” said Armand. “I’ll introduce you, but it will be up to you to convince Ruiz that you’re on the level. Well. As on the level as professional thieves can be.”

We drove past a marina, dozens of expensive-looking yachts sitting at their docks, and came to Ruiz’s bar, which was simply called Rolando’s. It was bigger than I expected, its lights blazing in the night, and a patio encircled it on all four sides. To my surprise, it was a two-story building resting upon a cinder block

foundation, and it looked like the bar itself was on the second floor, with garages and storage on the ground level. I realized it had likely been built that way to help with flood recovery costs. If a big storm hit Miami and the waterfront flooded, most of the bar’s fixtures and equipment would be on the second floor and would have a better chance of surviving.

Armand parked in a gravel lot next to the bar, and we crossed it and climbed up the stairs to the front doors. The patios had a good crowd on them, with people eating and drinking. A large white man stood next to the doors, wearing a polo shirt and khaki pants. He had a bit of a gut, but his arms were huge and strained against his sleeves. His hair was close-cropped, and there was something wrong with the right side of his ruddy face. After a second, I realized it was a jagged scar and that he was missing his right ear. Something had clawed his face, likely while serving as a man-at-arms in the Shadowlands, and it hadn’t healed well. He had lost the ear, and from the angle of the scar, it was frankly amazing that he hadn’t lost the eye.

His bloodshot eyes turned towards us.

“Miles,” said Armand, and he held out a hand. They shook hands, and Armand winced a little as Miles squeezed. “Good to see you again.”

“Heard you got out of the business, man,” said Miles. He spoke with a heavy Southern twang. Alabama, maybe, or possibly Georgia. “Settled down to play daddy with your baby girl.”

“Ah, well,” said Armand. “Kids are expensive. You know how it is.”

Miles snorted. “That’s why I don’t have any.” He grinned at me, showing nicotine-yellowed teeth. “Hey, honey, you like my scar? Chicks like scars.”

“Bet you left the other guy with an even bigger one,” I said, and Miles coughed out a laugh.

“You ain’t cheating around, are you, Armand?” said Miles. “Your wife seems like a sweet lady.”

“Mrs. Boccand knows all about me,” I said. “This is business. I want to make some money, she wants her husband to make money, and we all get along fine.”

“The boss wanted to see us at nine,” Armand said.

“Yeah, he don’t much like waiting,” said Miles. “Come on in.”

We headed into the bar. The air conditioning was off, the windows open to it the sea breeze. A long bar ran along one wall, and tables filled the floor. Booths lined the walls, and most of them were full. Rolando’s was doing brisk business. Miles led us through the crowd to a corner booth with an excellent view of the harbor. At least, it would have been an excellent view during the day.

Rolando Ruiz rose from the corner table and beamed at us.

Armand was right. He was charismatic. Ruiz was about forty and fit, and his white suit fit him quite well. Something about his dark eyes, gray-streaked black hair, and golden-brown skin radiated vigor and strength. His teeth were very white in his friendly smile, but his eyes were cool, calculating, and wary. He looked nothing like Arnold Brauner, the former governor of Wisconsin and Duke Tamirlas’s shadow councilor, but Ruiz gave something of the same impression, an affable exterior that concealed a calculating mind, disciplined ambition, and occasional ruthlessness.

In other words, the shadow councilor of an Elven noble.

“Armand! It has been far too long,” said Ruiz. His English was absolutely flawless. He stepped forward and gave Armand a back-thumping hug. “How is your wife? You have a daughter now, yes?”

“Fifteen months old,” said Armand. “We just about fell on our knees in thanksgiving when she started sleeping through the night.”

“Ah, that is a good age,” said Ruiz. “I have a few that age myself right now.” I wondered if they had come from his wife or one of the mistresses. “Of course, in a few years, they learn to drive, and then you must meet their suitors with a shotgun.” He turned his brilliant smile towards me, and suddenly I felt the focus of his entire attention. Russell could do the same thing, could make someone feel like they were the center of the world.

I suddenly wondered if Russell would have three mistresses by the time he was forty. I hoped not.

“And who is your charming companion?” said Ruiz. He offered a bow over my hand, the gesture almost archaic, and planted a dry kiss upon my knuckles. “I confess, when Armand said he had a business associate, I thought he would bring someone like Miles here.”

“I am pleased to introduce Anna North,” said Armand. “Ms. North, this Rolando Ruiz, one of the most prominent businessmen in Miami.”

“A pleasure,” said Ruiz. “Please, be seated.” He gestured and waited until I had sat before sitting across from me. Armand slid into the booth after that. A waiter materialized at our side. “Rum and soda for us all, please.” I repressed a grimace. I couldn’t decline the drink without insulting him, and Ruiz would take refusing to drink as a sign of weakness. I would just have to take small sips.

Miles lurked just out of earshot, no doubt ready to come and crack skulls at his boss’s call.

“Is this your first time in Miami, Ms. North?” said Ruiz.

“No,” I said. “My business has brought me here before, though I have never had the good fortune to cross your path.”

Ruiz leaned back in the booth. “And what business might that be?”

“Freelance acquisition of high-value items for discerning buyers.” That was probably one of the most euphemistic for burglary I had ever invented.

“That was how we met, as it happens,” said Armand. “Ms. North and I had been hired to go after the same item.”

“Interesting,” said Ruiz. “How did you resolve this conflict? It is difficult to solve such disputes without resorting to more…unfortunate methods.”

“Armand and I agreed I would take the item,” I said.

“Ms. North had just saved Cecilia’s life,” said Armand. “It only seemed fair.”

“Indeed,” said Ruiz. “Family is the most important thing in this life.” Brauner had said the same thing. Maybe it was a requirement for shadow councilors. “Has Armand told you he did some…how did you put it…freelance acquisition for me in the past?”

“He has,” I said. “He suggested that I approach you with a potential business venture.”

“You intrigue me, madam,” said Ruiz. “Ah, here are our drinks.” The waiter returned with three glasses of dark amber liquid – Cuban rum mixed with soda. “I wish to propose a toast. To prosperity and good health.”

“I’ll bloody well drink to that,” said Armand, and we clinked glasses. I took a sip of the drink. The rum burned against my tongue and down my throat. I didn’t

like how much I enjoyed that feeling. Ever since the Eternity Crucible, I had gotten drunk exactly once, and that had ended with me unconscious in my van in a parking lot. I wasn’t sure what would happen if I got drunk again, and I wasn’t eager to find out.

Damn it, I should have eaten something to fill my stomach first. I reminded myself to take small sips.

“That’s very good,” I said.

“I have a private source in Cuba,” said Ruiz. “Ms. North, Armand spoke most highly of your talents on the phone. If you saved the life of the charming Mrs. Boccand, I can see why my old friend Armand is impressed. I am curious, though, why you might need my help.”

“Let me discuss a hypothetical scenario with you,” I said. “Nothing concrete, of course.”

“Of course,” said Ruiz. “We are merely three acquaintances having a pleasant chat over drinks.”

“You are familiar with Duke Curantar’s collection,” I said.

One of Ruiz’s eyebrows rose just a little. “His lordship is renowned for his interest in the antiquities of other worlds. I recently took my children on a tour of the museum. I confess the sight of an orcish battle banner brought back some

most unpleasant memories.”

“As you know, the Duke has many items that are not displayed to the public,” I said. “One of them is a box that cannot be opened by any means.”

Ruiz’s expression did not change, but he shifted a little in his seat.

He knew about the myothar chest. Or, at least, he knew it existed.

“My backer has discovered the means by which the chest can be opened,” I said. “I have been hired to facilitate the retrieval of the chest’s contents.”

Ruiz let out a cheery laugh. “A fine hypothetical, Ms. North. But, of course, I would not dream of stealing from his lordship the Duke of Miami. Just the thought of it – bah! The very notion would be elfophobic.”

“Of course,” I said. “But in this hypothetical scenario, we wouldn’t be stealing from the Duke. He doesn’t know what’s in the box, and once we are finished, he wouldn’t even know we had taken anything. Is that really stealing?”

“An interesting argument,” said Ruiz. “I wonder if you are a lawyer when you are not engaged in freelance acquisition.” First Tarlia had said I clearly had no legal training, and now Ruiz thought I was a lawyer. For a second, I was tempted to tell him I was in fruit wholesaling, but that would have been stupid.

“I am glad that you think so,” I said. “If this scenario were not hypothetical, what would it take to hold your interest?”

“Money, if you will forgive my crassness.”

“We’re all business people here,” I said.

“Additionally,” said Ruiz. “Proof that you are not simply spinning a fanciful tale. If you truly have a means of opening this chest, I would like to see evidence of it.”

“Very well.” I hadn’t wanted to bring the key with me, but I thought it might be necessary. I reached into my purse, drew out the flat metal case, and set it on the center of the table. “Go ahead and open that. But I strongly advise against touching the object inside.”

Ruiz cocked an eyebrow but opened the case.

I could tell the exact instant he saw the myothar key. His eyes widened, and I heard the hiss of the inhalation through his nostrils. For a second, he stared at it, then he slapped the case shut and slid it across the table to me.

“A rather unappealing sight,” he said, voice calm again, though he took a much longer sip of his drink.

“It is,” I agreed, taking the case and tucking it into my jacket.

Ruiz set the glass back down. “Armand, is it genuine?”

“Yes,” said Armand. “I cast the spell to sense magical forces over it myself. It is the real thing.”

“What is it?” said Ruiz.

“The race that created the key and the chest is called the myothar,” said Armand. “I’ve never seen one, but they’re bad news. They use necromancy and can raise corpses as animated puppets. I don’t know all the details, but the Elves waged wars against them even before the Conquest. From what I understand, only the correct key can open the proper myothar chest.”

“And you are certain this is the correct key?” said Ruiz.

“Absolutely,” I said. The myothar had been too frightened to lie to Tarlia. And I had felt the aura of the chest inside the Duke’s mansion. The chest and the key were a match.

“Since we have moved from the realm of the hypothetical,” said Ruiz, “I can tell you that I have seen the chest in question.”

“Have you?” I kept the hope from my voice. Did he have a way into the museum’s vault? “Freelance item acquisition?”

Ruiz offered a brief smile. “No. A tour for prominent local businessmen. As you know, the High Queen prefers her nobles to engage in charitable works, hospitals and food pantries and such. The Duke persuaded some local businessmen to donate to the hospital. In return, there was a nice dinner and a tour of his private collection.”

He thought for a moment. Interrupting him would be rude, so I kept quiet.

“As I get older,” said Ruiz at last, “it becomes more apparent to be me that the surface of things is so often deceptive. A beautiful face may hide the wickedest of hearts. But that chest in the Duke’s private collection…I confess the sight chilled me to my bone. I cannot say why. Something about it seems unspeakably malignant. Why does your backer want the contents of that chest?”

“I am not at liberty to say.”

He frowned. “Who are you working for?”

“It would be an indiscretion to share that information.” I decide to take a gamble. “I am not, however, working for a Dark Ones cult or a Rebel group. In fact, I’ve made enemies of such organizations in the past.”

Ruiz’s smile returned. “There are no more Rebels. They all died in New York.”

They had. I had killed them with the Sky Hammer.

“I imagine Rebels are like weeds,” I said. “Some new organization will rise in time, and the cycle will repeat.”

“I am a businessman, Ms. North,” said Ruiz. “Perhaps more flexible than most, but still a businessman. But because of my position in the community, I have access to more information than many, and I know of the Dark Ones cults and the recent problems with summoners. If I come across such groups in Miami, they will encounter regrettably fatal accidents.”

Interesting. I would have to mention that to Riordan. The Shadow Hunters had been hard-pressed over the summer. Maybe they could have local help from the Elven nobles’ shadow councilors.

“I agree completely,” I said. “I can reveal that my backer and I both share your opinion of cultists and summoners.”

“Ah,” said Ruiz. “So you are the shadow agent of an Elven noble.” Armand hadn’t been lying when he said that Ruiz was quick. “People like you always bring trouble, but such trouble carries the potential for profit. If we can take nothing else from the Duke’s mansion, then I must tell you now that my initial fee for arranging the enterprise will be a quarter of a million dollars, with another quarter of a million to be paid when we are successful. This fee is nonnegotiable, and should you attempt this enterprise without me, I will notify local law enforcement and leave you to your fate.”

“Acceptable,” I said. “I agree.” It was expensive, but there was no way around it. I suspected I wasn’t going to get this done without Ruiz’s help, and I definitely did not want him as an enemy.

“I can arrange introductions to suitable freelancers,” said Ruiz, “but you will need to pay them yourself.”

“Money should not be a problem,” I said. I really hoped I didn’t have to call Tarlia and ask for more cash.

“Good,” said Ruiz. “What you propose is feasible, but it will require a unique set of talents. I shall make some phone calls tonight and tomorrow. However, there is one small matter we must resolve first.”

I tensed, bracing myself. I had suspected something like this. “What is that?”

“I am having some trouble with the police,” said Ruiz. “You see that man there on the patio?” I glanced out the window. At one of the patio tables sat a middleaged Hispanic man in tros and a polo shirt, nursing a drink and reading something on his phone. He gave the impression of a lonely guy who had come to a bar in the dim hope of finding some companionship. But he was watching his surroundings a little too intently for that, and he was in considerably better shape than most middle-aged men who come alone to bars.

“An undercover officer?” I said.

Ruiz let out an exasperated sound. “Ever since the local branch of Homeland Security spun off into the new Miami Security & Police Department, I’ve been having problems. The new chief is eager to make a reputation for himself. I very much would like to resolve the matter quietly.”

Right. So this was a test.

“I can take care of him for you,” I said.

Ruiz raised an eyebrow. “And just how shall you do that? I do not want any violence in my establishment.”

“Nor do I,” I said. “I’m going to need to borrow Miles for a few minutes. Oh, and I need a bottle of rum. Like, the cheap kind, the kind you don’t mind losing. This particular officer won’t bother you again.”

Ruiz considered me. I knew this was a test, but I was making a big ask. If I hurt a police officer in Ruiz’s establishment, it would cause all kinds of problems for him.

“She knows what she’s doing, Rolando,” said Armand.

“So be it. You haven’t led me wrong yet, Armand,” said Ruiz.

He gestured, and a waiter appeared and Miles lumbered over to our table. A moment later, the waiter returned with a bottle of cheap rum, and I got to my feet, slinging my purse strap crosswise across my chest. I headed for the door to the patio, flexing the fingers of my right hand, the bottle of rum in my left.

“Little lady, you better not get me arrested,” rumbled Miles.

“I thought chicks liked scars,” I said. “Wouldn’t an arrest record be even sexier?”

“Not at my age.”

I strode out onto the patio, my heels thudding against the deck boards, and approached the officer’s table. He looked up at me, eyes wary, and I gave him my biggest and most disarming smile. Some of the caution disappeared, but he still kept an eye on Miles, who loomed behind me like a tattooed mountain.

“Hi,” I said.

“Good evening,” said the officer.

“Jesus Christ, look at the size of the mosquito on your neck,” I said. He reached up with his left arm to grasp his neck, feeling for the nonexistent insect, and I grabbed his forearm.

As I did, I cast the mindtouch spell and dumped some of my memories of the Eternity Crucible into his skull. I had done this several times before, so I knew what to expect. The officer’s eyes went wide, and he would have screamed, but I slapped a hand over his mouth. He went rigid for a second and then slumped unconscious into his seat as his mind shut down under the horror. When a conscious mind encountered traumatic memories from outside its own consciousness, it basically rebooted to protect itself. The officer would wake up in about twenty to thirty minutes with no recollection of the last half hour.

As an added bonus, he would not Armand or me since he clearly had been here to keep an eye on Ruiz.

“Goddamn it, what’d you do to him?” hissed Miles.

“Drugged him,” I said. “He’ll wake up in a bit with a nasty headache and no recollection of the last hour.” I patted the sides of his legs until I found his car keys and fished them out of his pocket. “You’re the bouncer, right? This guy had too much to drink. Drag him out of here.”

We headed for the stairs down to the parking lot. Miles made a big show about how the man had too much to drink, and they were cutting him off because Rolando’s was a respectable establishment. A few people glanced our way, but no one seemed interested. Miles and his coworkers probably threw people out a few times a night. I hit the lock button on the key fob until headlights flashed, and I led the way to the officer’s car in the far corner of the gravel lot, which was exactly the kind of unremarkable four-door sedan law enforcement agencies liked to use for undercover work.

I opened the door, and Miles dumped the officer behind the wheel.

“He’s gonna be mighty pissed when he wakes up,” said Miles.

“No, he won’t,” I said, breaking the seal on the rum bottle. “He’s going to be confused. And in a lot of trouble.”

I dumped about half the bottle of rum onto the officer’s shirt, and spilled the rest all over the front seat of the sedan.

“He will wake up in fifteen minutes with no memory of how he got into the car and the smell of rum everywhere,” I said. “I don’t know how he’s going to explain that to his sergeant, but I bet a drug test’s in his future.”

Miles blinked a few times and then let out a rumbling chuckle. “That’s a nasty trick. Wish I’d thought of it.”

“Thank you.” I handed him the rum bottle. “Carry this, will you?”

“Sure. Hey, you married?”

“Yes.”

“Happily?”

I gave him a look.

Miles chuckled again and spread his hands. “Hey, a man’s got to ask, right? Can’t live with myself if I don’t ask.”

“Let’s just say you don’t want to meet my husband.” I held up my left hand, letting my wedding ring catch the light as an idea occurred to me. “The drug was in the ring.”

Miles snorted again as we headed back to the bar.

“All set,” I said as I sat back across from Ruiz. “He’ll wake up covered in rum with no memory of how he got there. I spilled enough in the car that he’ll have a hard time convincing anyone that he wasn’t hammered.”

Ruiz frowned. “How did you get him unconscious?”

I held up my left hand. “Drug in my ring. Little needle. The best part is that it s as alcohol on a standard drug test for the next forty-eight hours. That particular officer won’t bother you again for a while.”

“Very clever,” murmured Ruiz. “You know, I generally don’t think very highly of American women. For all their talk of toughness and individuality, they crumple like cardboard in the face of actual adversity.”

“If you’re trying to flatter me, you’re going about it the wrong way,” I said, and Ruiz laughed. I reminded myself to be more controlled. The little sips of rum I had taken must have hit harder than I thought.

At least that was the excuse I was telling myself.

Because the truth was – and I’m not proud of this – I had liked messing with that police officer. A lifetime spent stealing things for Morvilind had left me with a baseline dislike of law enforcement officers. I spent years in fear of them, knowing that Russell would die of frostfever if I was caught.

All that was in the past, but the dislike remained. I would never be completely rid of it. I had suppressed it well enough to work with Owen Quell, now Milwaukee’s police chief, and even become sort of friends with him, but it was still there.

“Very good, Ms. North,” said Ruiz. “I look forward to working with you. If you can transfer the first half of my fee, I shall begin ing the appropriate freelancers at once.”

I was committed now. I would need expert help to break into Duke Curantar’s mansion, and Rolando Ruiz’s organization was the place I was most likely to get it.

“Right,” I said. “I’ll need some information.”

***

Chapter 8: The Duke’s Private Secretary

Once I paid Ruiz the first half of his fee, he worked fast. I set up an additional burner phone, one I would use just for communicating with Ruiz and Armand, and they did the same. Promptly at nine the morning the next day, I got a text message from Ruiz, telling me that he had located some appropriate freelancers and had planned a meeting with them. We would meet at 7 PM in a construction site that Ruiz owned. Evidently, it was going to become a distribution center for a national grocery chain, but work had halted due to inclement weather.

Which was all anyone on the news talked about.

H-317 remained a tropical storm, not a hurricane. Apparently, to get promoted from tropical storm to hurricane, it needed winds faster than seventy-four miles per hour, and it wasn’t there yet. However, the weathermen were certain that it was going to get to hurricane speed soon, and it was coming out of the central Atlantic towards the eastern coast of the US.

I noticed the signs as I borrowed Armand’s car to carry out a few preparatory errands before the meeting.

Everywhere I went, I saw people putting plywood over their windows. In a few backyards, I saw people using hoses to fill up plastic drums with water in preparation for disruption to the city’s water supplies. Every grocery store and gas station had lines. Not panic lines, but nonetheless long lines. Miami was getting ready just in case the storm became a hurricane.

I wondered if I ought to be worried.

Maybe I should have been more concerned. But all I could really think about was getting the contents of that damned chest out of Curantar’s basement.

Still, I could take precautions, so that was what I did. Illusion spells wouldn’t function in the mansion, but they worked just fine elsewhere, and so I Masked myself as a middle-aged man in a suit. Wrapped in that illusionary disguise, I drove to the bus station in Fort Lauderdale. As I suspected, they had rental lockers available, and I paid for two weeks, hiding the case with the key inside the locker.

Armand said that Ruiz was trustworthy enough, but his freelancers might not be. For that matter, depending on what the chest actually held, it might be valuable enough to tempt Ruiz to go back on his word. Better to keep the key somewhere safe – and especially not at Armand’s house, where Cecilia and Sophie would make convenient hostages.

Though if anyone tried to threaten Armand’s kid, they would regret it. What I had done to the officer at the bar would seem mild by comparison.

I got another text message from Riordan. They had reached Manchester and were beginning their business, which I knew meant they were hunting for the Dark Ones cult. I texted back that I was still carrying out my job. I also said that I loved him, and I missed him, and that I wanted to see him soon.

The words just seemed so inadequate. Insufficient.

But I had a job to do, and at 6:30 PM, Armand and I got into his car and drove for the meeting.

It was raining, annoyingly enough. A hurricane might be on the way, but apparently, the rest of the weather didn’t know that, so a strong thunderstorm was rolling over the Miami area. Wind lashed at the fronds of the palm trees, and lightning arced over the overcast sky. The rain hammered against the roof of the car, the wipers swinging back and forth to keep the windshield clear.

“You ever work with any of Ruiz’s freelancers?” I said. “Back before you went legit?” For this meeting, I was wearing jeans, a sweater, work boots, and my pea coat. The rain gave me an excuse.

“I’m planning to help you rob a Duke’s mansion,” said Armand. “I don’t think I can call myself legit.”

“When we pull this off, you’ll have your pardon, and you’ll be officially legitimate,” I said. Armand snorted. Unlike me, he was still wearing his usual Florida uniform of cargo shorts and a tropical shirt. “But do you know any of his freelancers?”

“Some,” said Armand. “Ruiz uses Miles a lot. I guess Ruiz got Miles out of a Punishment Day video, so he does whatever Ruiz tells him. There’s another guy named Nicandro Suarez. Some sort of crazy genius hacker who does locksmithing on the side.”

“A useful guy on a robbery,” I said.

“And me, of course,” said Armand, patting his chest. “Gotta say, shadowjumping makes stealing things pretty easy most of the time. You put on a mask and some gloves, walk into the room, grab the target, and shadowjump away to your anchor.”

“Not all of us can shadowjump,” I said.

“But it’s best that no one even knows that you’re there, obviously,” said Armand. “But you know that. Anyway, Ruiz used me for the tricky jobs, the ones with big payouts. He had one other freelancer with my level of ability, but I never met her.”

“Her?” I said. “Is she another shadowjumper?”

“I don’t know,” said Armand. “I doubt it, frankly. Ruiz never told me much about her. He only said she was a thief of my ability, but he never needed to use us both on a job.” He snorted. “Probably too expensive to hire us both at the same time. I didn’t come cheap back then.”

“Is she a wizard?” I said.

“I think she might be,” said Armand. “We all know women aren’t allowed in the

Wizard’s Legion, but, well…” He gestured at me. “Ruiz always called her the Chameleon. Said that I could get out of any building in the world, but she could get into anything.”

“I hope she can’t use illusion magic,” I said. “That wouldn’t do us any good.”

Armand shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out soon. Or maybe Ruiz won’t bring her in for this job.”

We followed state highway 27 northwest out of Miami. Southern Florida, except for Miami and some of the surrounding towns, is basically one big swamp. Ruiz’s grocery distribution center was located off the highway just outside the protected wetland area, and I saw that his construction crews had raised a huge platform of dirt and concrete to build the warehouse. The distribution center was currently a massive rectangle of cinder blocks and steel roofing, and I was relieved to see that the parking lot and the surroundings had already been paved. Else I doubted Armand’s car could have gotten through the mud.

“There’s Miles’s truck,” said Armand, and we drove around the side of the massive building. In addition to the pickup truck, there were three other cars. I spotted Miles himself standing next to one of the truck doors, smoking a cigarette in the shelter of an overhang. From inside the truck door, I saw the harsh glare of LED work lights.

Armand pulled over next to the pickup truck, and we got out. The rain was falling in torrents, and I pulled my coat tight as we hurried to the warehouse. As soon as we stepped beneath the overhang, the pattering hiss of the rain was replaced by its drumming against the steel roof.

“Hey, man,” said Miles. He was wearing jeans and a polo shirt. He had a holstered pistol on a gun belt. “Ms. North. The boss said to bring you in. The others are already here.”

We followed him into a vast, gloomy space. Polished concrete scraped beneath my shoes. A row of truck doors stretched away on either side, opening into the parking lot and the rain. A long plastic folding table, like one from a school cafeteria, had been set up, along with folding chairs. Four LED work lights stood on stands around the table, casting a ring of illumination around it. They threw off enough stray light that I saw the shapes of forklifts and pallets of cinder blocks in the distance.

Rolando Ruiz stood at the head of the table, hands in his pockets. He wore dark tros and a white button-down shirt with the sleeves artfully rolled up his forearms. The shirt was just tight enough to display the fact that he had biceps and no gut. Next to him stood a Hispanic man about Ruiz’s same age. Unlike Ruiz, this man had no charisma whatsoever and was thin to the point of emaciation. He wore jeans and a T-shirt and carried a heavy laptop bag. A beard shaded his jaw and lip. He had trimmed it well, but the mixture of gray and black made his face look oddly piebald.

“Ah, Armand, Ms. North,” said Ruiz, stepping forward as if to make introductions at a party. “This is Nicandro Suarez, an expert on various security technologies.”

"Security expert" meant “hacker” the way that “freelance item acquisition” meant “thief.”

“Nicandro has graciously agreed to our venture,” said Ruiz.

“Mr. Suarez,” I said, holding out his hand.

Suarez looked at my hand, managed to make eye for about half a second, stared at my chest for a solid three seconds after that, and then gave my hand a quick, feeble shake.

“I want five thousand dollars upfront,” said Suarez, “and twenty-five thousand dollars if we pull this off.”

Ruiz sighed. “Social graces are not among Nicandro’s many talents.”

“Done,” I said. Suarez gave me a surprised look. “I’ll transfer the funds after the meeting.”

Miles grinned and clapped Suarez on the back, who flinched. “You’re gonna be able to afford the fancy hookers for once.”

“I do not think a large group will be necessary for this venture,” said Ruiz. “A small team, with specific skills, will be able to accomplish what we need. Myself, Ms. North, Armand, Miles, and Nicandro. And, of course, the final member of our group, who some of you know as Chameleon.”

Suarez flinched and then recovered himself. I had the suspicion he did not like Chameleon very much, whoever she was.

“So I will finally get to meet the redoubtable Chameleon, eh?” said Armand.

“You know how the business works,” said Ruiz. “The less anyone knows, the less anyone can be compelled to testify. But to pull this off, I think we shall need both your particular talents and Chameleon’s skills.”

“Where is she?” I said.

“Having a quick look around,” said Ruiz. “I’m afraid she’s rather a cautious sort. An asset in our business.” He tilted his head, and I heard the tap of high-heeled boots against the concrete floor. “Ah, here she comes. We can begin.”

I saw a woman’s shape approach from the gloom of the half-finished warehouse. About a couple of inches taller than I was. Lean build. I wondered what kind of wizard she was. This might be a problem if she was a summoner or some other kind of renegade.

Then she stepped all the way into the light, and my brain froze in surprise for a second.

Just like that, all my careful plans blew up in my face.

Because I knew this woman, and her eyes widened in surprise when she saw me.

She wore a snug black skirt, a black halter top that exposed a few inches of taut stomach, fishnet stockings, high-heeled boots, and a leather jacket. Her black hair had been arranged in a sort of swooping style that covered the right side of her head, and multiple earrings glittered in her left ear. Depending on the light, she could have looked anywhere from sixteen to thirty-five.

Her name was Victoria Carrow, and she was the shadow agent of Duke Vashtyr of Venice.

Duke Vashtyr, who was apparently allied with Singularity, though the High Queen hadn’t moved against him yet.

Singularity had planned to steal the contents of Duke Curantar’s chest, and now here was Victoria.

Shit, shit, shit.

My mind blasted into overdrive. Victoria had helped me in the Shadow Waypoint, but I didn’t delude myself that she was on my side. She had only helped me because she disdained Singularity and didn’t like Paul Rampton. If Vashtyr had ordered her to find a way to steal the contents of the chest as a favor to his friends in Singularity, then Victoria would carry out his will. Like Morvilind had done with me, I suspected Vashtyr had some sort of hold over Victoria, one that left her with no choice but to obey.

So what the hell was I going to do about it?

I decided to take the initiative.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” I said.

“Nor I you,” said Victoria, raising one eyebrow. She had the sort of British accent Nora would have described as posh. “But, then, there aren’t terribly many professionals of our caliber, are there? I suppose in hindsight, it makes perfect sense that you would be here.”

“I suppose it does,” I said.

The silence stretched on. Miles looked back and forth between us.

“I take it that you ladies are already acquainted?” said Ruiz.

Miles chortled. “The way they’re glaring at each other, I think they should put on bikinis and go wrestle in the mud outside. Work off some tension, and we get a show.”

“Charming as always, Miles,” said Victoria, not looking at him. “In any case, we previously met…I’m frightfully sorry, I can’t recall your name…” She extended her hand.

“Anna North,” I said, and we shook hands.

“Kate Sunderland,” she said. I recognized the gesture. It was a way for us to exchange our current aliases without revealing our actual names.

“We happened to meet at the same location while on different jobs,” said Victoria. “I gave Ms. North some advice, which I do believe was fruitful.”

“It was,” I said, watching her for any sudden movements.

“Splendid,” said Victoria. “Rolando mentioned that he had found a backer for a potentially profitable job, and he’s never steered me wrong.” She favored the shadow councilor with a smile, and he offered a gallant bow. “So I assume you are the backer for this job, Ms. North?”

“I am,” I said, thinking.

Victoria was playing along. Why?

Well, that was obvious. I had the myothar key. Victoria couldn’t get whatever the hell was inside the damned box without it. She had to play along until she could steal the key. A second possibility occurred to me. Maybe even with the key, she didn’t think she could get in and out of Curantar’s mansion without help. Perhaps her smartest play was to work with us and then snatch the contents of the chest as soon as we cleared the mansion.

My first impulse was to refuse. I could probably work out a plan with Armand and Ruiz to get in and out of the mansion without Victoria’s help.

But that approach had problems. For one, it would probably offend Ruiz. For another, it wasn’t as if Victoria would go back to Venice with her tail between her legs. Vashtyr seemed like the sort of guy who demanded results. Victoria would lurk in the shadows, waiting for her chance to seize the contents of the chest, and I might never see it coming.

If she worked with us on the job, I could keep an eye on her and hopefully see the treachery coming.

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

Maybe that was why Tarlia hadn’t killed Vashtyr yet.

“Well,” said Victoria, putting her hands on her hips. “I hope you will accept my humble assistance, Ms. North.”

“That depends,” I said. “How much do you charge?”

Victoria grinned. “I am not cheap.”

“I thought you said your assistance was humble.”

Victoria’s smile widened. “Humble isn’t the same as cheap.”

“Guess not,” I said. “Mr. Ruiz said you’re known as the Chameleon, that you can impersonate anyone.”

“I can,” said Victoria.

“I’ve seen her do it,” mumbled Suarez. “It’s freaking weird.”

“I have a strong suspicion that illusion magic will not work inside the Duke’s mansion,” I said.

“That is troublesome,” agreed Victoria. “Fortunately, my abilities at disguise do not revolve around illusion magic.”

Now how the hell did that work?

Guess there was only one way to find out.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll make my pitch, and we’ll discuss your fee.”

“Excellent,” said Victoria. “I look forward to a productive working relationship.”

I bet she did.

“Ms. North?” said Ruiz, gesturing to the head of the table. “The floor is yours.”

I sat at the head of the table, Ruiz at my right, Armand at my left. Victoria sat at the opposite end while Miles and Suarez faced each other over it. There were a few boxes of doughnuts and a carafe of coffee, and the men helped themselves to baked goods. I took a cup of coffee, and Victoria did the same.

All at once, I had a sudden feeling of déjà vu. Nicholas Connor had sat at the head of the table like this while planning his attacks, and disgust rolled through me.

Was this what I had come to in my life? Imitating Nicholas?

Then again…maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.

Nicholas had been a murderous asshole who had tried to become one of the biggest mass murderers in human history, and as much as I had hated him, I had to it he had been an excellent leader. During his meetings, he had defined areas of responsibility and set clear expectations. The reason his band of psycho Rebels had caused as much havoc as they had was because of his planning and

strategy.

“All right,” I said. I took a sip of coffee. It was better than I expected. “I’m sure Mr. Ruiz has told you some of it, but here’s the entire story. Duke Curantar has a locked chest from another world in his basement. In all the centuries the Duke has possessed it, he’s never been able to open it. The chest was made with alien magic, and only the proper key can release the lock.”

“And you have this key, I assume?” said Victoria.

She asked the question with perfect casualness.

“I do,” I said. “Here’s the job. We are going to enter Duke Curantar’s mansion, retrieve the contents of the chest, and leave undetected. Ideally, the Duke will never know that we have opened the chest and taken what is inside.”

“So what’s in the box?” said Suarez around a mouthful of doughnut. He chewed with his mouth open.

“Treasure,” I said.

“How much treasure?” said Miles. “I mean, are we going to need a truck or something?”

“I doubt it,” said Ruiz. “I’ve seen the box in question. It was no more than three feet long and two feet deep. Whatever is inside – and Ms. North has been most reticent on that question – will neither be bulky nor heavy.”

“The fewer people who know details, the less they can be compelled to surrender under oath,” I said.

“I presume you have a plan,” said Victoria.

“I have the rough outline of a plan,” I said. “We will find a way to enter the mansion undetected. Once we do, I will unlock the chest and retrieve its contents.” I gestured to Armand. “You are all familiar with Armand’s abilities.” He grinned and feigned a bow as he chewed his doughnut. “Once I have opened the chest, Armand will transport us out of the building. You will all go your separate ways with your payments.”

“We need a more precise plan than that,” said Victoria.

“Which is why I am here, hiring experts and listening to their advice,” I said.

“Cameras are going to be a problem,” said Suarez, staring into his coffee as he chewed. He reached for another doughnut. “I’ve done the museum tour at the Duke’s mansion. Cameras everywhere. If we want to get away clean, the footage is going to be a problem.”

“Alarms as well,” said Ruiz. “We may assume the basement level of the mansion

is well-equipped with them.”

I looked at Suarez, who still wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Can you access the camera systems remotely?” I thought he couldn’t, but it would be handy if he already had a backdoor installed.

Suarez made an aggravated sound. “Computer security doesn’t work the way it does in the movies. I can’t just type into my keyboard for five seconds and magically have complete control of the servers. That just pisses me off, the way…”

“So the Duke’s server systems have no known security flaws, and you don’t have any backdoors or secret s installed?” I said. Suarez blinked and I felt a little flicker of satisfaction. He hadn’t expected me to know the proper .

“No,” said Suarez. “Not that I know about.” He shoved another bite of doughnut into his mouth. “I can scan for vulnerabilities, but it will take time. The Inquisition always keeps an extra firewall around a Duke’s servers, and you have to be careful that the scan isn’t traced back to our physical location.”

“Because if it does, we’re screwed,” I said.

“We’d wish we were screwed, that’s how bad it would be,” said Suarez.

“I can assure you that the Duke’s security systems are top of the line,” said Ruiz.

“During some unrelated business, I happened to see his purchase orders for servers and firewall equipment. While I am no expert, I am certain we are unlikely to find unpatched software vulnerabilities in his systems.”

“What if you had physical access to the systems in question?” said Victoria. Suarez gave her a startled look and then stared back down at his coffee. “I assume you could install a rootkit then?”

“Yes, obviously,” Suarez said with scorn. “The best network security in the world won’t do you any good if an attacker has physical access to the machine.” I knew that firsthand since I had stolen the files off Duke Vashtyr’s laptop that way.

“That suggests an avenue of approach,” said Victoria. “I will masquerade as someone high-ranking on the Duke’s staff. Someone who would have access to the entire mansion and security servers. I will take Mr. Suarez into the mansion, and we will install a rootkit that will grant remote control of the camera servers and the security system. That way, the night of the actual job, we can disable the cameras. Or we can loop security footage in such a way that nothing appears amiss.”

“What about actual access to the mansion?” said Armand.

“Deliveries, most likely,” said Ruiz, stroking his chin. “Duke Curantar has a large household staff and receives frequent delivers of food and other supplies.” He smiled. “As it happens, I own a large share in several of the companies that supply the ducal mansion. It should be possible to arrange a disguise as a delivery worker or driver.”

“Agreed,” I said. “Our first step is to identify a suitable target for Ms. Sunderland to impersonate.”

“There will be a limited number of candidates,” said Ruiz. “It would have to be someone who has full access to the mansion and who would not have to immediately report to the Duke. Ms. Sunderland’s masquerades are remarkable, but that Duke Curantar is centuries old, and some of his people have worked for him for decades. Too obvious of a slip-up, and he will realize that something is amiss.”

“I don’t make slip-ups,” said Victoria. “But, yes, I see your point.”

“What will you need to impersonate someone?” I said. “Do you just have to see them?”

“I’m afraid it’s a bit more demanding than that,” said Victoria. “I will need a drop of their blood.”

A drop of blood. Okay.

“You’re not a necromancer, are you?” I said.

Victoria smiled. “No. Quite the opposite, in fact. And since I can guess your next several questions, my method of disguise can also fool fingerprint scanners, retinal scans, and voiceprint analysis.”

“Quite a trick,” I said.

“It is. That’s why I don’t come cheap.”

I turned to Ruiz. “I assume you are familiar with all of Duke Curantar’s key people?”

“I am,” he said. “I will check my files and have a list of suitable targets for you tomorrow morning.”

“When you do, Victoria and I will investigate them,” I said, meeting her eyes. She smiled a little. “Once we have a suitable target, we’ll proceed with the next phase of the plan. After we have a rootkit installed on the security servers, we can open the chest at will.”

“This construction site will be abandoned until after H-317 es,” said Ruiz. “I suggest we use it as our base of operations. I control the security, and I will instruct my people to allow us to come and go as we please. They will know to keep their mouths shut.”

“Good,” said Victoria. “Ms. North, shall we meet tomorrow to go over Mr. Ruiz’s list of targets?”

I made myself smile. “I look forward to it.”

***

Chapter 9: Research

After we settled on a plan, the meeting wrapped up quickly. I finalized payments for Suarez and for Victoria, who demanded fifty thousand in advance and a hundred thousand more once we were successful. Still, following Nicholas’s example had worked. We had a plan and clear lines of responsibility.

Step one. Find someone for Victoria to impersonate.

Step two. Install a rootkit and a backdoor on the security servers.

Step three. Disable the cameras, open the chest, and get out of Miami.

Yeah. What the hell could go wrong?

Well, that’s the thing. Anything could go wrong. But courtesy of Victoria Carrow, I had a very specific idea of what was going to go wrong.

Once we were done, Armand and I got back into his car. Or ran to his car, since the rain had intensified in the last hour.

“That Chameleon woman,” said Armand. “Sunderland. Where did you meet

her?”

“Drive,” I said. “We’ve got a big problem. I’ll tell you on the way. Don’t take your usual route home. I’ll watch for a tail on the way.” I summoned magic and cast a spell.

“What are you doing?” said Armand, though he started the car and headed for the onramp.

“Checking for spells and magical items,” I said. There were none. Victoria hadn’t left any magical surprises in the car.

“What’s going on?” said Armand. I watched the parking lot, but none of the other cars had followed us yet. “When you saw Sunderland, I thought for a second you were about to attack her.”

“For one thing,” I said, watching the rearview mirror, “her name isn’t Kate Sunderland. It’s Victoria Carrow. I met her in May on another job.”

“Is she really a freelance thief?” said Armand.

We were back on the highway, rain lashing against the asphalt around us. There were no headlights behind us, which was good. On the other hand, maybe it meant that Victoria had remained behind to plot against us with the others, which was less good. Maybe we shouldn’t have been in such a hurry to leave.

“Probably,” I said. “She’s also the shadow agent of Duke Vashtyr of Venice.”

“Duke Vashtyr?” said Armand, startled. “I stole from him a few times in the old days. Bit of a pompous wanker, that one.” He tapped his fingers against the wheel. “But you work for the High Queen, and she wants you to steal the stuff in the box. If Victoria works for Vashtyr and she turns up here, that means Vashtyr wants to steal the box from under the High Queen’s nose. That’s really not good.”

“Oh, it gets worse,” I said. “I have to tell you some stuff I didn’t mention before.”

He took his eyes for the road for a moment to frown at me. “You were lying to me?”

“No. I didn’t tell you everything. There’s a difference.”

“So why were you holding out?”

“ Martin Corbisher?” I said. “You know how he would have killed anyone who knew that he was a Dark Ones cultist?”

“Yeah.”

“The kind of people we might be dealing with are just as ruthless,” I said, “but they’re much smarter than Corbisher, more effective, and have better tools and weapons.”

“When you put it like that, I’m not sure that I want to know,” said Armand.

“I won’t tell you if you don’t want,” I said. “Ruiz is right. If you don’t know anything, you can’t be forced to testify about it…”

“But I can be killed for it,” said Armand, voice grim. “People get killed all the damned time for things they didn’t know. I’m not going to let Sophie grow up without her dad.” Guilt shivered through me at those words, and I wished he hadn’t been pulled into this mess. “The more I know, the better chance I have of avoiding something stupid that will get me killed.”

That was a good argument. There had been numerous times that Morvilind hadn’t told me the whole story, and I had almost gotten killed in the process. I didn’t want to repeat his mistake.

A little voice in my head said that Tarlia hadn’t told me the whole story, either.

But that wasn’t really comparable, was it? Tarlia answered far more questions than Morvilind had ever done. For that matter, she had shared more information than Morvilind had ever deigned.

“Okay,” I said. “Here’s the story. Duke Vashtyr and his friends think they should abandon Earth and go back to Kalvarion. The Archons are dead, they say, so the Elves ought to abandon humanity to its fate, whatever that might be, and go home.”

“Would…that necessarily be a bad thing?” said Armand.

“Think about it,” I said. “All the Elves leave tomorrow. What happens then?”

His speculative expression sobered. “A lot of people are going to be killed. Have you ever been to Europe?”

“Not yet.”

“There’s a lot of ethnic hatreds in Europe that the Elves keep from blowing up into wars,” said Armand. “I mean, in the UK every few years there are terrorist bombings because extremist groups can’t fight each other openly, so they smuggle bombs into buses and mailboxes and suchlike.”

“Yeah, I’d heard that.”

“I suppose the situation would be even more explosive in Africa and the Middle East,” said Armand. “So if the Elves leave, it would be bad for humanity.”

“It would be just as bad for the Elves,” I said. “You know why Tarlia has the Elven commoners live in their own cities away from the nobles?”

Armand shrugged. “To keep them under control, I assume.”

“That’s part of it,” I said. “A bigger part is that the Elven commoners absolutely hate the nobles. Apparently, the nobles were so capricious and greedy that the Archons got more than they would have otherwise. Kalvarion is a wreck, but the Elves living there will accept the return of the High Queen. They won’t accept the return of the nobles, though. If Vashtyr and his friends get their way, they’ll set off global war on both Earth and Kalvarion.”

“That’s not great,” said Armand. “Not all the nobles feel that way?”

“No. Not even most of them. The smarter ones realize the truth. And quite a few of the nobles just like it here. I mean, the Elves never developed cell phones or instant coffee on Kalvarion because they relied too much on their magic. They never bothered with technology.” I saw headlights behind us, but they were from a semi. Victoria might be hiding behind the truck, though. “The High Queen says that Vashtyr is the worst kind of traditionalist, a romantic one. He really thinks that if the nobles go back to Kalvarion, they’ll be greeted with cheers – shining knights and bright castles like a historical drama.”

“That’s dangerous enough,” said Armand, “but no one’s going to kill me for knowing it.”

“The dangerous part,” I said, “is Singularity. Or the Singularity.”

“Single…what?”

“Singularity,” I repeated. “They’re a cult or a terrorist group or maybe a little bit of both. Elves and humans working together. They’ve got this idea that people will merge with computers to become immortal machine gods, and they’re going to try to make that happen no matter who they have to kill to do it. Can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs, right? They’ve been causing problems over the last year. They’ve got freaky technology – machines that can turn people into wraithwolves, men with metal arms, that kind of thing.”

“Metal arms?” said Armand. “One of our neighbors lost his left hand in the Shadowlands. Now he’s got this grippy thing on his wrist he can use to pick things up. Not as good as a real hand, but better than nothing.”

“Can he use that grippy thing to punch through solid concrete?”

“No.”

“Some of the of Singularity can. Vashtyr has apparently been working with these people,” I said.

Armand frowned. “So why doesn’t the High Queen kill him?”

“I don’t think she can,” I said. “I mean, most people think that Tarlia is all-

powerful and all-knowing. She’s not. She’s an archmage, and she’s very clever, but she’s not omniscient. And there are limits to her authority over the Elven nobles. Like how here in the US, the President has to play ball with Congress if he wants to do anything. If she just executes Vashtyr, all the other nobles will turn against her. Anyway, the Inquisition found the key in the possession of a German member of Singularity. Tarlia traced the spells on the key to the box in Curantar’s mansion, and so here we are. And since Victoria is here, we can assume Duke Vashtyr sent her after the key and the chest as a favor to his Singularity buddies.”

Armand mulled over all that for about a mile or so.

“So what are we going to do about it?” he said.

“Good question."

“You think Victoria will try to steal the key?” said Armand.

“That would be a good plan,” I said, “but I’ve hidden it, and I don’t think she’ll be able to find it. We’re going to have to work with her until we’ve got the contents of the chest.”

“What? That is a terrible plan,” said Armand. “You know that she’s going to betray us. She knows that we know that she’s going to betray us. And you know that she knows that…ah, Christ, I can’t keep it all straight, and we haven’t even started yet.”

“If you and I could get the contents of the chest by ourselves, we would,” I said. “But we can’t. And Victoria can’t get it by herself. I think we’re all going to have to work together until we’ve got whatever is in the chest.”

“Then what?”

“And then we deal with Victoria,” I said. “If I get the contents of the chest to the High Queen, it’s over. Victoria can’t get it back, and she has to go report failure to Vashtyr.”

I wondered if she would be killed for it. I hoped not. I reminded myself not to let emotions cloud my judgment. Victoria had given me some help in the Shadow Waypoint. But I didn’t know all that much about her, which meant I didn’t know how far she was willing to go, how ruthless she would be.

Like, threatening to shoot Sophie if I didn’t give her the key, that kind of ruthlessness.

Ruiz had said a pretty face could hide a rotten heart, and he wasn’t wrong.

“This damned chest,” said Armand. “I suppose the joke would be on us if we opened it and there was nothing inside.”

“Actually, that would be the best possible outcome,” I said. “We could all go our separate ways, the High Queen would be out some money, I would have wasted a few weeks, and that would be that.”

“I wouldn’t get my pardon and fifty thousand dollars.”

“You’ll get your pardon,” I said. “Tarlia keeps her word.”

“I bloody well hope so,” said Armand. “You’re going with Victoria tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” I said. “If she really can impersonate one of Duke Curantar’s staff, that’s our best chance of pulling this off. You’re still going to work with Suarez?”

“I will,” said Armand. “Suarez is better at network security than I am, but not enough to pull the wool over my eyes. I’ll make sure the little wanker doesn’t stab us in the back.”

“You sound like you don’t like him very much.”

“I don’t. Do you?”

“I think he’s an asshole, but I only met him two hours ago,” I said. “You’ve known him longer.”

“I have, and you’re not wrong. But this kind of job, any one of us could betray the others,” said Armand. “Ruiz will keep his word unless he has no other choice

but to betray us. Then we’ll never see it coming. Miles is actually a fairly decent guy, but he decided years ago that he’s better off letting Ruiz do all his thinking for him. He’ll do whatever Ruiz tells him. Nicandro Suarez, though – he’s just out for himself. He works for Ruiz, but he’s not loyal to him. If he thinks he could get a bigger payday by selling us out to the Inquisition, he would do it.”

“So why won’t he?” I said.

“Because to get a reward from the Inquisition or the Elven nobles, you have to present yourself in person,” said Armand. “Suarez has committed every single computer crime in existence in multiple countries, and he likes expensive prostitutes.” I made a gagging noise, and Armand laughed. “Anyway, he can’t hand us over to the Inquisition because then he’d be screwed, and if he does it anonymously, he won’t get paid. I’ll keep an eye on him, and you’ll keep an eye on Ms. Sunderland. I think you might have the harder job.”

He was right about that. Victoria Carrow was a wizard, but I didn’t know the extent of her abilities. She had claimed to be weaker than me, but that might have been a ruse. But when I had broken into Duke Vashtyr’s hotel suite, she had smelled me. I had showered beforehand, I wasn’t sweating, and Vashtyr’s room had smelled of the cigarettes he and his latest mistress had smoked after their liaison.

But somehow, Victoria had smelled me and followed me into the hallway. I had seen her sniffing the carpet like a bloodhound.

That shouldn’t have been possible for a human nose.

An anthrophage could’ve done it, though. Or maybe a wraithwolf.

“Well,” I said. “One way or another, tomorrow won’t be boring.”

###

After the thunderstorm, September 3rd dawned bright and cheery. The sky was a crisp blue, and a pleasant breeze blew over Westchester. The green of the palm trees, the bushes, and the grass was so vivid it looked like a special effect. On days like this, you could see why so many people lived in Florida.

Though the constant news reports about Tropical Storm H-317 were a reminder that it wasn’t all sunshine and warm breezes here.

The burner phone whose number I had shared with Ruiz buzzed soon after I finished my morning workout. The message was from Ruiz, who had compiled a list of potential candidates for Victoria’s infiltration effort. Attached to the message was a list of names along with photographs, including a short summary of each individual. It was excellent work. I wondered if Ruiz had a secretarial equivalent to Miles, someone who handled research while Miles cracked the occasional skull. Or maybe Ruiz had a few private investigators on retainer – a lot of the PIs I had dealt with tended to work for shadow councilors on a regular basis.

A second text message was from “Kate Sunderland.” Victoria would meet me at a coffee shop a few blocks from the Duke’s mansion in downtown Miami at 9

AM. Armand would need to drive to Suarez’s apartment to work with him on preparing the rootkit, and Suarez lived all the way over in Cutler Bay, a smaller suburb to the south. Rather than make Armand ferry me around the city, I walked a few blocks to the nearest gas station and called a taxi.

Besides, it was better if we took separate vehicles, and I had more than enough money to handle a taxi.

The taxi arrived ten minutes later. I pretended to be in Miami on business, and the taxi driver, a garrulous older man, regaled me with his opinions about the mayor, the governor, his Congressman, both Florida’s Senators, King Hector Navarro the Twelfth, and the head coach of Florida’s football team as he drove. In the driver’s opinion, the lot of them were all crooks at worst and incompetent at best, and Duke Curantar and the High Queen would deal with them sooner or later.

I was reasonably sure the High Queen did not have a strong opinion on Florida’s star quarterback’s ing ability, but I kept that thought to myself.

I had the driver drop me off in front of the Duke’s mansion. I paid the meter, leaving a good tip (no sense in making enemies), and set off on the short walk to the coffee shop. I was wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and a hooded black sweatshirt. I really, really wanted to wear my pea coat, but practically no one in Florida wore coats in September, and it would draw notice. It was just barely cool enough in the morning that I could get away with the sweatshirt.

The coffee shop occupied the corner of a high-rise building, and a good-sized crowd filled it. Across the street was a half-constructed building. Currently, it was only a thick steel skeleton rising thirty stories into the air, though some of the lower levels were complete. A sign proclaimed it the future site of the

Everglades Tower, with the construction work carried out by…

Ah. Peninsula Construction was building the tower, which was Ruiz’s company. I wondered how much of the building he would own when it was done. The guy had his fingers in everything.

I opened the door and stepped into the coffee shop. It had a polished wooden floor and gleaming tables and booths. I spotted Victoria in a two-person booth near the window. She gave me a cheery wave, and I nodded and pointed at the counter. I got myself a simple black coffee and walked to her, bracing myself.

“Good morning, Nadia,” said Victoria. “Or would you prefer Anna?” She was wearing a crisp white blouse and a deep blue skirt that came to her knees. Earrings glinted on either side of her face, and her hair had been tied back. Honestly, she looked good. Well put-together. I felt slightly shabby next to her.

“Depends,” I said. “Would you prefer Kate?”

“Katherine’s actually my middle name,” she said. “But I suppose there’s no point in lying to one another.” She took a sip of her coffee and gestured for the door. “Shall we take a walk?”

I had gotten my coffee in a go-cup, as Victoria had done, and we stepped outside.

“I happened to see that our mutual acquaintance Paul Rampton wound up on a Punishment Day video,” said Victoria.

“He did.” Rampton had been executed in July, after the trial for the murders of two other teachers at Thompson High School.

“I suppose you’re directly responsible for his death,” said Victoria. “Does it trouble you?”

“No. He murdered two people who thought they were his friends. He also would have done a lot more and a lot worse. There are things I regret, but not what happened to Paul Rampton.”

“Mmm.” Victoria took a long drink of her coffee. “It would trouble me. Which, I know, is completely irrational. I am perfectly capable of pulling a trigger when necessary, but it always bothers me. I don’t like doing it.”

I wondered what she was getting at.

She pointed at the half-constructed tower. “Did you know that Mr. Ruiz owns a majority share in that building?”

“Then why aren’t we working out of it?” I said, but the answer occurred to me as I spoke. “It’s too exposed. The warehouse is more isolated.”

“I suspect that was his thinking as well,” said Victoria. “Still. Depending on how the plan develops, we may need to use the building at some point.”

“Yes,” I said. “We will, won’t we?”

We walked in silence for a block or so, coming back to within sight of Curantar’s block-sized mansion. Victoria remained calm, her heels clicking against the concrete. I would have been annoyed that her shoes added a few inches of height, but thankfully I’m not nearly that petty. Despite her calm and poise, I had the impression that Victoria was nervous, that the calm manner and nice clothes and makeup were all to cover her unease.

I made her nervous.

Which was an entirely rational response.

“That bench looks pleasant,” said Victoria, pointing to one that sat beneath the wrought iron fence encircling the mansion’s grounds. “Why don’t we sit here and have a chat? I do enjoy the Florida weather. England is so cloudy. I’m halftempted to buy a bikini and lie on the beach, but I’m afraid I would turn the color of a lobster.”

“We’re not here to sunbathe,” I said.

“No.”

We sat on the bench, Victoria on my right. I sensed the faint aura of magical power around her. She was holding a spell ready, and I wondered if she knew I was aware of the fact.

“If Rampton’s death didn’t trouble you, I am curious just how comfortable you are with killing,” said Victoria.

“Like, if someone happened to be in my way?” I said. “To pick an example at random, say I had to find a certain object, and someone else had been hired to get that object? Would I kill that person?”

“One suspects,” said Victoria, her eyes meeting mine, “that the question has rather immediate relevance to our situation.” Her eyes were a strange shade of blue-purple, and I could see the fear in them. She hid it well, but either she was an amazing actress, or she was terrified of me.

Or both. No reason it couldn’t be both.

“Why are you so frightened of me?” I said, deciding to go for directness. Victoria might have been British, and therefore polite. But I was an American and bluntness was part of my national heritage, so I might as well use it.

“Seriously? You don’t know?” said Victoria.

I shrugged.

“I know you were in Duke Vashtyr’s hotel room in Milwaukee, even if I can’t prove it,” said Victoria. “I didn’t recognize you in the hallway outside. But once I did…I realized that I had survived an encounter with the Worldburner.”

“I really wish they didn’t call me that.”

“Imagine, for a moment, that you were running through the jungle,” said Victoria, voice distant as she gazed at the street. “Then you found yourself face to face with a tiger. And there was nothing, absolutely nothing, you could do to defend yourself. But the tiger turned and walked away. That’s what meeting you was like.”

“You know, I have a friend who likes to call me a tigress,” I said. “It’s really annoying.”

Victoria arched a single eyebrow. “Do you always make jokes during serious conversations?”

“Yes. I’m told it’s also really annoying. But if you want to have a serious conversation, here’s a serious question. Did you tell Duke Vashtyr about me?”

Victoria paused and took a drink of her coffee.

“I’m afraid I may have omitted to mention that to his lordship,” said Victoria. “I had no proof, and the Duke does not always respond well to receiving bad news.”

“I suppose I owe you an answer, then,” I said.

“I didn’t ask a question.”

“Yes, you did,” I said. “I have killed people, probably too many. But I always did it in self-defense and never in cold blood.”

“You have rules, then,” said Victoria. “That’s the regrettable thing about rules, Nadia. When people get desperate enough, their rules go out the window…and we are in a desperate situation here.”

“Are we?” I said.

Her smile was rueful, but it didn’t touch the fear in her eyes. “I’m afraid so. My employer and your employer want the same thing. Our desired outcomes are incompatible.”

“So what is inside the box?” I said. “What does Duke Vashtyr and Singularity want so badly?”

“You shouldn’t use that name openly,” said Victoria.

“They already know who I am,” I said. “And we’re alone. Anyone walking past will think we’re talking about our husbands or our kids or something.”

“Perhaps I’ll tell you what’s in the box if you tell me where the key is,” said Victoria.

“I put it in a condom and inserted it someplace uncomfortable,” I said. “I can get it for you, but it will take a lot of fiber and sixteen to twenty-four hours.”

Victoria stared at me.

I grinned at her.

“Is this an American thing, or is your sense of humor truly that bad?” said Victoria.

“Probably the second one,” I said. “So. What’s in the chest? I mean, I’m going to find out if we pull this off anyway. You might as well tell me now.”

“A good argument,” said Victoria. “Unfortunately, I don’t know what’s in the chest. His lordship’s allies…”

“Singularity,” I said.

Victoria continued right over me. “His lordship’s allies told him, but they didn’t see fit to tell me. I don’t know what’s in the chest. However, I do know it is something my lord’s allies don’t want for themselves since they already possess it, but rather something they wish to deny to the High Queen.”

Interesting. I tried to think of what that might be and came up blank.

“Have you ever seen a myothar?” I said.

“I am pleased to say that I have not.”

“You’re fortunate,” I said. “I have. The Elves, they’re a lot like us. Two arms, two legs, two ears. The myothar are completely alien, and they hate Elves and humans. They think we’re hairless apes, and they raise our corpses as puppets.”

“I know this,” said Victoria. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because,” I said, “whatever’s in that chest might not be something you want to find. You might not be doing your lord a favor if you bring it back to him.”

Victoria shook her head. “I’m afraid my lord doesn’t particularly like it when I think for myself. He wants his instructions carried out to the letter, and he wants it done as soon as possible. My lord snaps his fingers and expects his will fulfilled at once.”

“You don’t like him very much, do you?” I said.

Victoria smiled. “I am a faithful bondswoman and retainer of my lord, and his wishes are my stern commands.” She had said the same thing to me in the Shadow Waypoint.

“You hate him, don’t you?” I said, voice quiet.

Victoria said nothing for a moment. “I don’t think you can understand.”

I leaned closer. She shied back a little before she caught herself.

“I do understand,” I said. “I know all about hatred, Victoria. Ever since I was a child. He makes you helpless, doesn’t he? Nothing inspires hatred like that, hate that goes down deep. Hatred that’s like a sun inside your head, and you see everything by its light.”

We stared at each other for a while. The fear in her eyes drained away, replaced by bone-deep weariness.

“Yes,” whispered Victoria. “Yes, I hate him.”

“Then change sides,” I said. “I’ll introduce you to the High Queen.”

Her cool English poise returned. “That was a very good recruitment speech. I ire the skill. But I’m afraid I have made my choices freely and of my own will, and to make the choice you are proposing would cost me more than I am willing to pay.”

“I could help you,” I said.

“No, you can’t,” said Victoria. “In the end, I am the only one who can help myself.”

I suppose I could respect that.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll level with you. I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t want to kill you. You helped me in the Shadow Waypoint, and I haven’t forgotten that. Let’s have a…truce, let’s say.”

“A truce?” said Victoria, taken aback.

“We both have the same job. And I’m pretty sure we can’t open that chest on our own. I propose we work together until we’ve got that damned chest open. No

backstabbing, no taking hostages, no trying to murder one another to get the key,” I said.

“And then?” said Victoria. “If we’re successful?”

I shrugged. “And then we renegotiate. Hopefully, we can do it without violence.”

I held out my right hand.

“How do you know you can trust my word?” said Victoria.

“I think I can,” I said. “I’m very old now, and I can tell sometimes.”

Victoria laughed. “Oh, come off it. You’re three or four years younger than I am.”

“No, I’m not,” I said, and I stared into her eyes. “Doesn’t Ruiz like to say that the appearance of things is deceiving? I look young, but I am not.”

I don’t know what she saw in my eyes, but she believed me.

“All right,” said Victoria, and we shook hands. She had a strong grip. “A truce. Until we have the chest open. And then we renegotiate.”

Or, to put it another way, we would see which of us was the cleverer. Because I was going to prepare.

And so was she.

“Of course,” I said, “if we all get killed trying to get inside, this entire conversation will have been for nothing.”

“Yes, well, let us endeavor to avoid that,” said Victoria. “Did you read Rolando’s list?”

“I did,” I said. “There are a couple of candidates for you to impersonate, but I think one stands out.”

“I agree,” said Victoria. “Let’s say our choice on the count of three, shall we? One, two, three.”

In unison, we said the name “Jacob Pierce,” and then both of us grinned in amusement.

Damn it, I liked her. That might cause a problem.

“The Duke’s head of security,” said Victoria.

“Who will have access to the entire mansion,” I said.

“And who is also notoriously bad-tempered and abrasive,” said Victoria.

“But more importantly,” I said, “is fond of prostitutes. More specifically, highend ‘escorts’ from a company called Venture Companions.”

“Which means there are times he will be alone and vulnerable,” said Victoria. “There is an additional bonus. Guess who owns a significant share of Venture Companions?”

“Rolando Ruiz?” I said.

“Quite right,” said Victoria. “Which means when you impersonate Pierce’s escort for the night, it will be easy to get him alone. We can drug him, and I will take a blood sample.”

“Right,” I said. “Wait. Why don’t you impersonate the prostitute?”

Victoria raised an eyebrow. “Because I will be getting ready to impersonate Pierce himself.”

I sighed.

***

Chapter 10: Venture Companions

Everyone agreed that the plan Victoria and I had come up with was our best path forward.

It took a few days to set up. Ruiz owned a portion of Venture Companions, a fully licensed ‘escort’ service, but so did Duke Curantar’s shadow councilor, and Ruiz had no involvement in the day-to-day operations of the company. In the end, Armand proposed that Ruiz bring them to the company offices and he and Suarez would install a rootkit on the escort agency’s server. Ruiz thought that was a good plan, but Suarez did not. He all but had a tantrum about the extra work we were making him perform, and to shut him up, I finally agreed to double his fee if he did the work.

He was going to be a problem.

Under other circumstances, I would have paid him off and dumped him from the crew, but both Armand and Ruiz vouched for Suarez’s ability, and I trusted Armand. Then again, while I trusted Armand’s judgment, at some point in the past, he thought it would be a good idea to steal from Martin Corbisher’s Dark Ones cult, and look how that had turned out.

Still. Armand had a lot more to lose now.

Meanwhile, Miami began to empty out.

Tropical Storm H-317 had been upgraded to a full-fledged hurricane, and it was headed right for Florida, though it could make landfall anywhere between Miami and Virginia. The governor and the mayor had been on TV, saying there was no cause for panic but urging residents to have supplies of food and water on hand. The lines around the grocery stores and the gas stations suddenly got a lot longer. Anyone who had friends or relatives elsewhere or who had an RV was getting out of town. The Miami police were stepping up patrols to prevent theft, and Duke Curantar had summoned his knights and their men-at-arms to help with patrol and potential evacuation.

We watched this on the screen of Miles’s laptop in the warehouse. Armand and Suarez had set up laptops on another table, arguing about what rootkit to install on Venture Companions’ server. Miles had brought his own laptop, not to do any work but to watch sports matches and the news. Right now, Victoria and I stood behind Miles as we watched the weather reports. Ruiz had gone to arrange for Armand and Suarez to visit Venture Companions and access their data room.

Oh, and to run Peninsula Construction and all his other businesses. He was a busy guy. At least he was working for the half a million dollars he was going to get out of this.

“I’ve never been in Miami for a hurricane before,” said Victoria, arms folded over her chest. She had changed back to the halter top, tight skirt, and leather jacket. Her wardrobe oscillated between primly conventional or wildly extravagant, depending on her mood or the circumstances.

“Ah, it ain’t so bad,” said Miles. “I’ve done two. Last one was…let’s see, K-310. I bought a bunch of bottled water and canned soup and spent the storm getting drunk in my bathtub. Though the power went out for two weeks, which was annoying.” He looked up at her and winked. “You could have had all the rum

you wanted.”

“Bathtub rum,” said Victoria. “How very charming.” Miles flirted with Victoria whenever the chance presented itself, which she always shot down with polite British sarcasm. He was never deterred, but as far as I could tell, he had never crossed a line with her. “Though I do have a question you might be able to answer.”

“I am at your service,” said Miles.

“Why do all the hurricanes have letters and numbers?” said Victoria. “In the UK, we don’t have hurricanes, but we do have big storms, and we always give them names.”

“Well, that’s a funny story,” started Miles.

“Oh, God, you’ve got him started again,” said Armand from his laptop.

Miles was apparently obsessed with history, specifically American history going all the way back to the Revolutionary War. I had happened to make a ing remark about Jacksonville, Florida, and that had prompted a rambling story from Miles about how Jacksonville had been named for President Andrew Jackson, which had then segued into a discussion how Jackson had gotten into a fight with someone named John C. Calhoun which had helped set the stage for the American Civil War.

Riordan and Russell would have been fascinated. Miles was not the kind of guy you would expect to be interested in history.

But as Ruiz had said, the surface of things was often deceiving.

“Well,” said Miles, warming to his topic, “back in the old days before the Conquest, they used to give the hurricanes ladies’ names – Hurricane Camille, Hurricane Katrina, and so forth. But people complained that it was sexist to only give the hurricanes girl names, so they started adding in men’s names and names from other cultures. But then people complained it was offensive to foreign cultures. The first group sued the second, and they countersued, and finally the entire mess went to the High Queen, who decreed that henceforth in the United States all hurricanes would be assigned a letter of the alphabet and the year. So, we’re on H-317.”

I could just imagine how annoyed Tarlia would have been by the argument.

“You’re having me on,” said Victoria.

“No, it’s true,” said Armand, squinting at his screen. “I didn’t believe it at first, either, but the entire story is on the national weather service’s website. You can look it up on your phone.”

“My God, but you Americans are strange,” said Victoria.

“We can’t cast stones, we’re the country that invented cricket,” said Armand.

Later that afternoon, Armand and Suarez went with Ruiz for a discreet visit to the offices of Venture Companions. That night we all returned to the warehouse, and Suarez booted up his laptop and accessed the escort service’s computers.

And just like that, we had control of their systems.

“Look at all these whores,” muttered Suarez, glaring at his laptop screen. He browsed a directory containing photographs of all the escorts currently working for the company. A lot of tanned blond women with obvious surgical enhancements. Despite his disdain, Suarez’s eyes were riveted on the images. “Bet they’re all filthy and diseased.”

“Certainly not,” said Ruiz with mild reproof. “All of Venture Companions’ escorts are regularly tested for disease and must meet stringent health requirements. A reputation for…communicable illness, shall we say, would quickly kill the business.”

“Find Jacob Pierce’s ,” I said.

All the clients were recorded as numbered s, which was supposed to preserve their anonymity. But Suarez’s rootkit allowed him to access everything, which meant he could trace the payment information of the numbered s, which allowed him to unmask their identities.

“I don’t suppose you have an in there?” I said Ruiz.

Ruiz let out a laugh. “The pursuit of a woman is half the fun. Hiring a prostitute would be like paying some to bring a deer in front of you to shoot.”

“Nice metaphor,” I said.

“Some of us don’t have time to hunt,” snapped Suarez, as if he had taken the comment personally. He pointed at his screen. “Here is Pierce's .”

Suarez plugged in a projector, and a holographic image of his screen appeared over the table, large enough that we could all read it comfortably. Jacob Pierce made regular use of Venture Companions’ services, paying them a considerable amount of money for twice-weekly sessions.

“Aren’t we in luck?” said Victoria. “His file says that he prefers short blondes. I think that fits you quite well, Anna.”

“Great,” I said. Suddenly I wished I had dyed my hair red instead of blond.

“He meets them regularly in a room at the Silver Hotel,” said Victoria. “I’m not familiar with it.”

“I am,” said Ruiz. “The most expensive hotel in the city. Not so garish and gaudy as the Sunshine Resort. Very exclusive.”

“Okay,” I said. “Delete the appointment with whatever escort got assigned Pierce’s next visit. But keep it in the system as a dummy. I want the management of Venture Companions and Pierce himself to think nothing has changed, but the appointment needs to vanish from the escort’s data.”

“Of course I can do that,” said Suarez with a sneer, though I hadn’t asked, but he started typing.

“We’ll also need a room at the Silver Hotel,” said Ruiz. “I’ll make a phone call.”

“Meanwhile,” said Victoria, “we need to find you a costume.”

I sighed again.

###

The next day was September 4th, and I dressed up like a really expensive prostitute.

I didn’t ask Cecilia for advice because there’s no way to ask someone how to dress up like a prostitute without offending them, and she wouldn’t have known the answer in any event. Fortunately, Victoria did.

I suppose I could have used the Mask spell, but I decided it was too risky. The Silver Hotel was an expensive place, fifteen stories tall, with fountains out front and everything. Sometimes Elven nobles stayed at the Silver Hotel, just like the Prestige Hotel in Milwaukee. If I had the bad luck to walk too close to an Elven noble, he might sense the Mask spell, and we would have a whole new set of problems.

No, better to play it safe.

Jacob Pierce’s appointment with his escort was at 8 PM. Ruiz rented a room on the first floor of the Silver Hotel, and we set up inside. Victoria, Armand, and Suarez accompanied me to the room, along with Ruiz himself. Victoria would impersonate Pierce once we arranged for him to take a nice long nap. After Victoria had disguised herself as Pierce, we would enter the mansion’s data room and Suarez and Armand would install the rootkit. Though, in truth, Suarez would install the rootkit, and Armand would come along to make sure he didn’t stab us in the back.

I was surprised that Ruiz was coming along himself.

“Ms. North,” he said with a genial smile when I asked why, “we are about to kidnap, drug, and impersonate the chief of security for a Duke. While I am not a lawyer, I am entirely certain we are about to commit multiple felonies.”

“So why not stay at home or send Miles to do it?” I said. “Plausible deniability.”

“True. However, here is another truth. If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself, and this must absolutely be done right.”

He was right about that. If we screwed this up, the consequences would be bad.

Which was why I stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, finishing my makeup.

“If you will forgive the comment,” said Victoria, who stood next to me, “you look positively smashing.”

“Yeah, great,” I said. I wasn’t sure that I agreed. None of the clothes I had packed would make a suitable outfit for a high-class call girl, shockingly enough, so Victoria and I had gone shopping. The High Queen’s money had bought me a silken blue minidress that came to mid-thigh, some tasteful jewelry, and black shoes with three-inch spiked heels. The dress was very snug, and I had put on rouge, lipstick, and mascara. Between that and my new haircut and hair color, I looked like someone else in the mirror.

Though my eyes still looked crazy. I couldn’t do anything about that.

“You think Pierce will buy it?” I said, turning to scrutinize myself at different angles.

“Technically, he already did,” said Victoria. For once, she wasn’t dressed up and wore old jeans and a T-shirt with no makeup or jewelry. She would have to

change clothes in a hurry once she was ready to impersonate Pierce.

“Ha, ha,” I said. “But do you think he will notice anything wrong? I’ve been making fun of Pierce for hiring prostitutes, but he’s not stupid. Someone like Curantar wouldn’t tolerate stupidity in his head of security. If Pierce suspects that anything’s off, he might not come into the hotel room with me.”

“I mean this as a compliment. You look entirely like a high-end escort,” said Victoria. “And this part is constructive advice. All you have to do is play the part long enough to get him into the hotel room.”

“How is that constructive advice? I know that already.”

“You may have to…suppress your personality a bit. And your sense of humor. No jokes about hiding keys in the lower regions of your intestinal tract, for example.”

I snorted. “Fine.”

“Also, you’ll have to take off your wedding ring.”

She was right. “Good point. But I need it with me.”

Victoria frowned. “Sentiment is well and good, but the ring might ruin the

disguise.”

I sighed. She would figure this out anyway, so I might as well tell her. “Ruiz and his people don’t know that I can use magic. So I told them there’s a poisoned needle in my ring.” I shifted the wedding ring from my left hand to my right, and it clinked against my shadow agent’s ring. “That should do it.”

“How are you going to knock him unconscious?” said Victoria. “I assume you will use magic?”

“Mindtouch spell,” I said. “I’m going to project some memories into his mind. He won’t be able to handle it, and his mind will shut down and reboot to protect itself. It won’t hurt him, but he’ll lose about an hour of memory. And then you and Ruiz will drug him so he sleeps the night.”

Victoria frowned. “I’ve heard of that technique. But that only works with extremely traumatic memories. Sustained torture, long-term debilitating pain, that kind of thing.”

I looked at her.

“Oh,” said Victoria, voice quiet.

“I had a bad day once,” I said.

One that had repeated over and over for a century and a half…

I shoved down the memories with annoyance.

“Let’s go,” I said.

We stepped out of the bathroom and into the hotel room proper. The room that Ruiz had rented was one of the cheaper ones, but it still had a thick green carpet and an enormous king-sized bed. Ruiz stood on the other side of the bed, pushing a green plastic trunk out of sight against the nightstand. Armand and Suarez sat at the room’s desk, working on their laptops. Ruiz, Armand, and Suarez all wore crisp black suits with ties, though Suarez still looked somewhat ragged.

“Well, Ms. North,” said Ruiz. “I must say you clean up nicely. You almost make me wish I wasn’t a happily married man.”

“Thanks,” I said. Given that I knew he had three mistresses, it wasn’t a very convincing statement. Suarez stared at me for about three seconds, scowled, and then turned his attention back to his computer. “Communications check, everyone.”

I carried a small clutch that contained the room key and a radio pack linked to a hidden microphone in my left earring. The others wore earpieces linked to that radio pack. They would hear everything I said, which would let them know when it was time to hide in the bathroom.

“I believe we are ready,” said Ruiz.

“All right,” I said. “Get ready to catch Pierce when he falls. I don’t want him cracking his skull open on the baseboard or something.”

The others went into motion, and I left the room and headed down the hall for the lobby. To my relief, the hallway was mostly deserted. A lot of people were clearing out of Miami in case the hurricane hit the city, which meant there were not a lot of people checking into the Silver Hotel just now. I ed a few women in work uniforms pushing janitorial carts, and they gave me suspicious looks as I ed. It was a good sign – I must have looked like a call girl, which was what Pierce expected to see.

The lobby of the Silver Hotel stretched before me. It was a big space, with a bar opening off on one side and a receptionists’ counter along one side. Big glass windows overlooked the parking circle and the fountains. I supposed those windows had to be a pain to cover in the event of a hurricane. Chairs and low tables lined the walls, and I headed for one near the doors and sat, crossing my legs.

Dear God, that skirt rode up high. First the swimsuit at the Sunshine State Resort and now this. Why couldn’t I ever infiltrate a place where I could wear, say, a parka? Or maybe a snowsuit?

Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long. Promptly at 7:57 PM, Jacob Pierce strode into the hotel.

He was about fifty, with close-cut gray hair, deep set black eyes, and a tanned

face that was becoming leathery. If not for his gut, he would have looked like a hard-bitten drill instructor out of some movie, the one who shouted in the new recruits’ faces and told them to drop and give him twenty. He wore a black polo shirt, black tros, and a gray sports coat. To judge from the way it hung, he had a pistol in a shoulder holster beneath it.

That might be a problem.

He looked around, and his eyes fell onto me.

I rose to my feet with smooth grace and glided towards him.

“Mr. Pierce?” I said. “I think I’m supposed to meet you here.”

Pierce frowned at me. “You’re with Venture Companions?” His voice was a harsh growl that spoke of too many cigarettes or too much whiskey or possibly both.

I gave him a bright smile. “That’s right.”

“You’re not who I was expecting,” said Pierce.

“I just started with the company,” I said. “Your previous consultant ate some bad fish and had to go home. To apologize for the inconvenience, you’ll have a

discount.”

Pierce grunted, pulled out his phone, and unlocked it. I was pretty sure he was checking his messages from Venture Companions. He looked at me again and then shrugged and tucked his phone into his interior coat pocket, exposing the butt of his pistol for just a second.

“I gotta it, you’re shorter and skinnier than I usually like blondes to be,” he said.

And he was older and fatter, but I kept that opinion to myself.

“Well,” I said instead, “I could go home.” I bit my lip for a second and grinned at him. “But you already paid for the hour. We might as well do something to the time.”

I saw the lust in his eyes. He might have been an intelligent man, but he had a vice, and it overruled his thinking. “Suppose it couldn’t hurt to stop by your room for a drink.”

“Let’s find out, shall we?” I said.

I led the way back up the hallway to the room, my arm intertwined with his.

“We’re on the first floor?” said Pierce. His eyes kept flicking over my face, down my shoulders, and across my chest.

I had specifically told Ruiz to rent a room on the first floor so I wouldn’t have to go in the elevator with Pierce. A bit of a flush was coming into Pierce’s face. He was getting excited, and if he got handsy in the elevator, I might lose my temper and hurt him, which would mess up the plan.

“The room has a lovely view of the ocean,” I said.

His other hand came up and brushed my arm. “You know, you’re in pretty good shape. You’ve got some excellent muscle tone there.”

“Why, thank you,” I said. “I lift a lot of weights. Some of the other girls are afraid weights will make them bulky, but that’s not how it works.”

“No,” said Pierce. “You know, I lift myself.”

Oh, dear God, I hoped he wasn’t going to tell me how much he could bench press.

“Do you?” I said. Thankfully, the room door was coming up on the right. “Do you think you could lift me?”

Pierce laughed as I produced the keycard from my clutch. “Let’s find out.”

I smiled and swiped the card over the lock. It beeped, and I pushed the door open and glided into the room. For a second, I was afraid that the others hadn’t gotten out of sight, but the room looked pristine, and the plastic case holding our equipment was out of sight on the other side of the bed.

The door thumped shut behind us, and Pierce followed me in, his eyes glittering.

“Well.” I swayed towards him. “Want to show me just how strong you are?”

I put my right hand on the side of his face, stepped forward as if to kiss him, and cast the mindtouch spell.

My will hammered into Pierce’s mind and dumped an enormous burning pile of my memories of the Eternity Crucible into his thoughts. His eyes bulged, and he staggered, his mouth falling open with horror. I it I did it a little harder than maybe I should have, simply because I didn’t like him. Pierce staggered, and he would have fallen over, but the bathroom door burst open, and Ruiz and Armand rushed out. They caught Pierce’s arms and dragged him to the bed, dropping him atop the covers.

“He’s not going to have a stroke, is he?” said Armand. Pierce was unconscious, and his face had turned a disturbing shade of gray.

“No,” I said. Well, probably not. “He’ll have a nasty headache when he wakes

up.”

“He can sleep through it,” said Ruiz, opening the equipment case on the other side of the bed. “Let’s get moving.”

Suarez sat at the desk, opened his laptop, and began typing. He would leave a report in Pierce’s with Venture Companions, claiming that Pierce had been violent with his escort, and she had fled in fear of his life. Since Pierce wasn’t going to have any memory of the evening, it would be difficult to refute. We weren’t going to steal anything from him, either, and we would leave a halffilled bottle of rum and some glasses in the room. By the time Pierce sorted through the mess, we would have retrieved the contents of the chest and retreated.

Hopefully.

Armand pulled off Pierce’s coat, shoes, and shoulder holster, dumping them on the bed next to him, and yanked Pierce’s tros down to his knees. We wanted him to wake up confused and half-dressed. Ruiz rolled up Pierce’s sleeves, and Victoria reached over and tied a tourniquet across his upper arm. She produced an empty syringe, and Ruiz took one loaded with a soporific that would knock Pierce out for the rest of the night. Victoria would take the sample of his blood she needed to impersonate him.

I was really curious how that was going to work.

“Ms. North,” said Ruiz, and he tossed me a paper bag holding my Corporate Bitch outfit. I retreated to the bathroom to change in haste, stripping out of the

dress and donning slacks, shirt, jacket, and heeled boots. I had done a good job of folding the clothes, and they weren’t wrinkled. I stuffed the dress, my shoes, and the clutch into the bag, and went back into the hotel room.

“It’s done,” said Suarez. “We’ve got a complaint logged in their system. By the time anyone figures out something’s weird, I’ll have erased the rootkit.”

“Don’t do it until after we’ve gotten out of Curantar’s mansion,” said Armand.

Suarez gave him a scathing look. “I’m not an idiot.”

“Ms. North,” said Victoria. “Please come with me to the bathroom.” She held a vial of Pierce’s blood and another paper bag of clothing underneath her arm. “I’m going to need your help to transform.”

***

Chapter 11: Metamorphic

“What the hell for?” I said.

“Because I sometimes get dizzy during the process, and I don’t want to fall and crack my head,” said Victoria. “Also, I will have to change clothes, and since you’re the only other woman among our number…”

“Fine,” I said, and I followed Victoria back into the bathroom, closing the door behind us.

She set the vial of blood and the paper bag of clothing on the counter. Then she quite calmly stripped naked in front of me. She was in very good shape, with visible muscle tone on her arms and legs and back. Good skin, too, though her black hair was stark against her shoulders and neck.

For a moment, Victoria stared at her reflection in the mirror, her eyes haunted.

“Um. Okay,” I said. “This isn’t weird or anything.”

She turned a bright smile towards me, though her eyes were still haunted.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s about to get a lot weirder.”

She picked up the vial of blood and downed it in one swallow.

“That…can’t be healthy,” I said.

“I need the DNA for this to work. It won’t hurt me,” said Victoria. “I can digest anything. I can’t be poisoned. Bacteria and viruses don’t work on me.”

“Are you still human?” I said. “You’re not a Singularity cyborg or something, are you?”

“I’m afraid I am entirely human,” said Victoria. She pushed aside the curtain and stepped into the shower, which was large and expansive with a steel disability rail running along one side. “Catch me if I fall over. I’m about to start. Oh, and turn on the vent fan, will you?”

I reached over and flipped on the fan, and its dull roar filled the bathroom. “Why are you in the shower?”

“I sometimes lose bladder and bowel control during the process,” said Victoria, “and if I forget myself and scream, the fan blocks out the noise.”

With that, she closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, her chest rising and

falling so fast it was almost like she was hyperventilating.

Then she spread her arms on either side of her body, palms turned upward, and cast a spell.

Golden fire rolled down her skin, and a second later, I saw every blood vessel in her body shining with golden light. I felt the magical power pulsing from her, and I took a cautious step back. It felt a little like the regeneration spell that Arvalaeon had taught me, a spell that could heal any wound at the cost of a weeks-long coma and wild nightmares. It also felt a little like the magic that Mr. Vander used. He was a bloodcaster, and he could heal almost anything.

But Victoria’s magic was different from Vander’s and only superficially similar to my regeneration spell. This was something different.

“Here we go,” whispered Victoria.

She threw back her head, her teeth gritted in a silent scream, the cords in her neck bulging.

She began to change.

Ripples rolled up and down her limbs as if her flesh had become clay and invisible fingers were kneading it. Victoria began to shudder, and I heard cracking sounds. Bones, I realized. Bones were snapping inside her body, and even as I looked, she started to get taller. A sheen of sweat covered her skin, and

weird bulging growths spread over her body.

All the while, the golden glow shone in her veins.

Victoria swayed a little and whimpered.

“Victoria?” I said.

“Oh, God,” she croaked. “It hurts. It hurts so bad.” Her hand flailed towards her. “Hold my hand. Please, please, it helps.”

I reached out and grasped her hand. The fingers felt icy and clammy, and she gripped my hand with desperate strength.

The change accelerated.

Victoria grew taller until she was exactly the height of Jacob Pierce. Her shoulders broadened, her arms and legs thickening. Her breasts shrank until they disappeared, and I heard the crackling as the bones in her face reshaped themselves. Her flat belly swelled with fat to match Pierce’s gut. Dark hair sprouted all over her torso and limbs, and the hair on her head receded into her scalp and turned gray.

It was incredibly disturbing to watch. Victoria’s face was a rictus of agony as her

features reshaped themselves into a perfect copy of Jacob Pierce’s. Sweat covered her, and as she warned, her bladder did let go, the harsh smell filling my nostrils.

I ed something from our conversation in the Shadow Waypoint.

I know what it costs to reshape your flesh voluntarily.

I hadn’t understood what she had been referring to, but I did now.

All at once, it was over. The golden light winked out, and Victoria gasped and slumped against the wall of the shower, still holding my hand. As far as I could tell, she looked like an absolutely perfect duplicate of Jacob Pierce. Between her legs, she hadn’t grown a male organ, but other than that, she looked identical to him.

“Oh,” said Victoria. “Oh, that stings.” Her voice was now Pierce’s deep growl.

“Are you all right?” I said.

“Never better,” said Victoria. I caught an echo of her cheery smile on Pierce’s craggy features. “Give me a moment to shower, will you? I absolutely stink.”

She pulled the shower curtain closed and turned on the water. I waited,

wondering what I had just seen. About a minute later Victoria shut off the water and opened the curtain. I handed her one of the towels (the Silver Hotel did have nice towels), and she began to dry off.

“Bloody hell,” she said. “Pierce really needs to lose some weight. My back muscles are already killing me.”

“I have questions,” I said.

“I rather thought you might,” said Victoria. She stepped past me and scrutinized her reflection in the mirror. She must have done a faithful job of reproducing Pierce’s backside because it was an unpleasant sight. “But ask quickly, we don’t have much time.”

She opened the paper bag and began to dress.

“Did you just turn into a man?” I said.

“No,” said Victoria. “I’m still a woman, I just physically resemble a middle-aged man with a bad back. If I stay this way for longer than a few days, I’m going to have some nasty hormone imbalances, let me tell you.” She pulled on a pair of boxer shorts and a black polo shirt.

“Let me see if I’ve got this figured out,” I said. “You swallowed some of Pierce’s blood, and your magic was able to use it to reshape you to duplicate his appearance.”

“Correct,” said Victoria. She waggled her fingers. “Same fingerprints, too. Which will be useful quite shortly. I’m not your match in magical strength, but I do have some useful skills.”

“I guess,” I said. “Are you a bloodcaster?”

“No,” said Victoria. “Bloodcasters can rearrange others’ flesh and blood. They generally prefer to be healers, but they can be deadly assassins. My talent is called bloodmorphing.”

“You can endure the cost of voluntarily reshaping your flesh,” I said.

She gave me a startled look and then turned back to the mirror.

“Yes,” said Victoria.

“That’s how you found me at the Prestige Hotel,” I said. “You augmented your sense of smell.”

“I usually do that,” said Victoria. She sat on the toilet lid and pulled on some black socks. “Compared to most animals, humans have relatively weak hearing and olfactory capabilities, so I usually enhance my ears and nose. Eyes are trickier. Well, not tricky, but augmented eyes don’t look human, so I don’t usually do that.”

“Do you need a fresh vial of blood every time, or does your magic…I don’t know, the DNA?” I said.

“It re,” said Victoria, pulling on her tros. “I’ve built up quite a library of forms. Much like you and your Mask spell, I suppose. Your Mask spell can’t fool fingerprint scanners, and it’s easily detectable by another wizard. But it’s much easier to use than the bloodmorph spell.”

“Does it hurt?” I said. “Every time you transform?”

Victoria froze for a second and then resumed threading her belt through the loops on her tros.

“Yes,” she said, voice quiet. “It always hurts. It feels like dying. Every single time.”

With that, she tied her shoes, and we walked back into the hotel room.

I looked at where the real Pierce lay sprawled on the bed and then back at Victoria. The resemblance was perfect.

“Christ,” said Armand, looking up from the desk. “That’s absolutely uncanny.”

“Did I not tell you, Ms. North?” said Ruiz, spreading his hands. “I did say I would find skilled freelancers for this job.”

“You did,” I said. Victoria picked up Pierce’s keys and wallet from the bed. It occurred to me that she would only leave Pierce’s own fingerprints on the objects. “Let’s go.”

Ruiz would stay with Pierce for the next part of the plan, making sure he remained unconscious and didn’t choke on his own vomit or something. Disguised as Pierce, Victoria would go to the Duke’s mansion, accompanied by me, Armand, and Suarez. Victoria would get us access to the data room, and then Suarez would install the rootkit on the security and cameras servers. Once that was done, we would retreat to the half-constructed Everglades Tower a few blocks away, where Ruiz had an encrypted, untraceable (and highly illegal) Internet connection. We would test the rootkit, and then Suarez would delete the video recordings of our visit, overwriting it with footage of empty hallways and rooms. Armand and Suarez would go home, and Victoria and I would return to the hotel room and drop off Pierce’s keys and wallet.

If all went well, we would have backdoor access to the Duke’s security systems. Pierce would wake up in the hotel room sometime tomorrow morning with no memory of the night, and a complaint against him lodged with Venture Companions. With luck, he would never figure out what had happened. Maybe he would assume he had gotten blackout drunk and hit his escort.

But there was also the possibility that he would realize that he had been targeted by thieves planning to hit the Duke’s mansion. If that happened, I wanted to be out of Miami with the contents of the myothar chest by then.

The four of us filed out of the hotel room, following Victoria. Ruiz had come to

the hotel in an older car owned by Peninsula Construction, and we would use that vehicle. We had considered driving Pierce’s own car but discarded the idea for the simple reason that we might lose his parking space while we were gone. If Pierce woke up to find that someone had moved his car, that would send his thoughts in a direction we didn’t want them to go, and he might think to have his car swept for hair and DNA.

We piled into the car, an unremarkable vehicle painted an unremarkable shade of green, and drove to the parking ramp near the Duke’s mansion. Victoria led the way, and we followed her. She even matched Pierce’s exact stride, harsh and commanding, like the sidewalk had offended him and he wanted to pummel it into submission with his heels.

She walked around the block to the mansion’s truck ramp, and I took a deep breath as I saw the domes of the cameras mounted on the fence. We were committed now. The ramp’s gate was closed, but there was a smaller pedestrian gate next to it. Victoria swiped a keycard through a lock and then put her thumb on the lock’s pad.

It beeped, flashed green, and unlocked.

The bloodmorph spell might have caused her agony, but it was proving useful.

We crossed to the truck ramp, and Victoria unlocked and opened the personnel door. I followed her inside and saw that we were in a small warehouse. The space before the truck doors was empty, and pallets of various items had been stacked against the wall – toilet paper, canned beans, printer paper, and other things. If anyone saw us, hopefully they would assume that Pierce was showing some potential new hires around the building.

“Looks deserted,” muttered Suarez as I pulled on a pair of thin leather gloves. If I had to touch anything, I didn’t want to leave fingerprints.

“The Duke’s staff only works during the day unless there’s an event,” said Victoria. “This way.”

Ruiz had sources who had worked inside the mansion in the past. From them he had assembled a map of the mansion’s interior. The Duke, his wife, and his retainers and closest servants would be in the residential wing, which was on the other side of the building. The office wing was nearest to the truck dock, and it should be deserted this time of night.

Unless someone had decided to work late.

Two security guards came into the warehouse, men in gray uniforms with pistols on their belts.

"Sir?" said one of the guards. "We saw you come in over the cameras."

Victoria growled at them. "The Duke asked me to oversee some quiet upgrades with the security consultants. If you two want to have a goddamned job in the morning, you had better forget about this."

The guards apologized and made a hasty retreat. Evidently Pierce's harsh

reputation was warranted.

We left the truck dock, headed down a concrete corridor, and came to a receptionist’s office. The walls were painted institutional white, and a blue carpet covered the floor. The receptionist’s desk occupied the far side of the room, and that dour-faced portrait of Duke Curantar hung on the wall. The lights were muted, and the office had the stillness of a deserted place.

Victoria headed down the corridor behind the desk, and we walked past closed office doors, the titles posted next to them – chief of staff, director of media, chief financial officer, and so forth. We stopped before a door marked DATA ROOM, and I heard the whine of server fans from behind it.

“This is it,” said Victoria. She swiped her card and pressed her thumb to the lock, and the door swung open.

The data room beyond was built of stark concrete and cinder blocks, the air chilly from the blast of the air conditioning that kept the servers from overheating. Three rows of four server racks stood in a tidy square, aisles between them. Servers and data storage arrays filled the racks, their rows of blue and green LEDs blinking like demented fireflies. Bundles of network and power cabling ran down the back of the servers and into covered trenches on the floor and conduits along the ceiling. I had been in some data rooms that looked like a rat’s nest of cables, but all the cabling in here had been tidily and professionally installed.

“Come on, let’s get this done,” said Armand.

He and Suarez moved up and down the racks of blinking servers and then stopped at the row farthest from the door.

“Here it is,” said Suarez.

He sat on the floor, unpacked his laptop, plugged a cable into one of the servers, and started typing. Armand sat next to him, watching the screen and making suggestions that Suarez answered with an annoyed grunt. Victoria held the door open, watching the hallway. I hesitated, not sure if I wanted to watch Suarez work or help Victoria guard the hallway. But Armand knew more about network security than I did, and if trouble showed up, I could deal with it more effectively than anyone else.

So I leaned against the doorframe, one booted foot in the data room, the other in the hallway.

“How’s the back?” I murmured.

Victoria shrugged. “It hurts. One gets used to it.”

“Keep calm and carry on, is that it?”

Victoria’s amused smile looked out place on Pierce’s rough face. “It helps to know that the discomfort is only temporary.”

“Who taught you to do that?” I said.

Victoria shrugged again. “A natural talent. I was simply born with it, I’m afraid. As for how I learned…” She glanced at Armand and Suarez, but they were busy with the installation of the rootkit. “The same way you did, I imagine. A teacher, and then followed by the hard way.”

“Nothing teaches like the hard way,” I said.

“Yes,” murmured Victoria. “Nothing does.”

“How long, guys?” I said, raising my voice.

Suarez didn’t answer, his fingers flying over the keyboard as white text scrolled down his screen.

“Ten minutes, maybe,” said Armand. “This has to be added to a lot of different databases to work.”

“I suggest we keep quiet,” said Victoria. “No sense having the night janitor overhear our voices.”

That was a good point. It was also an excellent excuse to keep me from asking her additional questions.

We waited in silence. Suarez kept typing, Armand muttering a suggestion every so often. Suarez either grunted, which meant he disagreed, or paused, which meant Armand’s idea had been a good one. I kept my eyes on the corridor, half expecting security to show up at any moment or for some unfortunate custodian to wander in and get a nasty surprise.

But no one arrived.

“Okay,” said Suarez. “We’re ready. I think.”

“You think?” I said. “For what you’re getting paid, we’re going to need something a lot more concrete than that.”

“The rootkit and the back door are installed correctly,” said Suarez, glaring at me. “But we have to test it, and there’s no way to test it until we’re outside of the network.”

“Fine,” I said. “Let’s get moving.”

We relocked all the doors behind us, exited through the truck dock, and headed back to the parking ramp. The knowledge that there was footage of me on the camera server made my back itch, but hopefully, we could delete it in a few moments. I drove us from the parking ramp to the Everglades Tower. The building’s parking ramp was finished, and I stopped the car while Armand got out and unlocked the gate with a key Ruiz had provided. We drove onto the first level of the parking garage and then took the stairs up to the seventh floor.

The exterior walls and the floor were finished here, glass windows overlooking the street below. About half the interior walls had been finished, and it looked like this floor was going to become office space. The rest had been sealed off with plastic sheeting and tape.

We walked into what would be a conference room, though the floor was still bare concrete and the walls were unpainted drywall. A plastic folding table and a chair stood in the center of the room, and a desktop computer rested atop the table. Suarez sat down, plugged his laptop into the computer, and started typing.

We waited in tense anticipation.

“Ha!” said Suarez. “We’re in.” It was the first positive emotion I had ever seen from him. He smirked up at Armand. “Told you.”

“Good job,” I said, a wave of relief flooding through me. “Camera footage first.”

“On it,” said Suarez. I wondered at his sudden cheerful cooperation but realized he didn’t want his image on the Duke’s servers either. “I’ll delete the relevant footage and loop in some empty recording. It will be seamless. Should only take about fifteen minutes or so.”

“Good,” I said. I looked at Armand and Victoria. “This makes things simple. We pick a time. Suarez sets the cameras to show empty footage for an hour or so. I open the chest, you shadowjump us out, and that’s that.”

“Yes,” murmured Victoria. “Very simple indeed.”

Except I needed to take the chest’s contents to the High Queen and Victoria needed to take it back to Vashtyr, and those were mutually incompatible goals.

“The storm might mess things up,” said Armand. “Even if it doesn’t hit Miami head-on, driving in that much rain and wind is a challenge. The streets might get flooded.”

I frowned. “Would the Duke leave the city during a hurricane? If the mansion is evacuated, that would make things a lot easier.”

“No,” sighed Armand. “He won’t. He’ll want to make sure the people see him striding around and taking command and acting lordly. Besides, I’m told the High Queen gets annoyed at nobles who abandon their posts in times of crisis.”

She would, come to think of it.

“Oh, shit,” said Suarez.

We all looked at him.

“What?” I had a sudden vision of the Inquisition tracking this location, of having to flee the city. I should have insisted that Ruiz hire a different network expert.

“There’s a problem,” said Suarez.

“What kind of problem?” I said. “Seriously, do we need to start running?”

“No, no, it’s not like that,” said Suarez. He grimaced and jabbed at the screen. “The firmware for the main firewall has a scheduled reimaging function.”

“Oh.” That wasn’t an emergency, but it wasn’t good, either.

“How long do we have?” said Armand.

“Let me look at the log files,” said Suarez.

“For those of us who aren’t particularly technologically savvy,” said Victoria, “what does that mean?”

“You explain it, Armand,” snapped Suarez, not looking away from the screen. “You both speak British.”

Victoria and Armand rolled their eyes in unison.

“Okay, put simply,” I said. “Suarez and Armand installed a backdoor on a couple of different servers in the data room. One of them is on the main firewall, which protects the Duke’s servers from the rest of the Internet. So long as we have that backdoor , we can get into the system. But the firewall has a function that automatically wipes its memory and reinstalls its operating system and restores its programmed configuration every so often.”

“Which would wipe out the backdoor and cut off our access,” said Victoria.

“You see the problem.” I turned back to Suarez. “How long do we have?

He tapped some keys. “About three hundred thousand seconds.”

I stared at him.

For once, Suarez actually looked sheepish. “The configuration file stores it in seconds.” He pointed at the screen, and just as he said, I could see three hundred thousand seconds ticking down. “That’s just under…three and a half days.”

“Okay,” I said. “We have three and a half days to get this done.”

“We have to be done before that,” said Suarez, his usual waspish manner returning. “Once we’ve finished the job, I need to delete all traces of our

presence from inside the Duke’s firewall. It’s not difficult to do, but it needs to be done, or else an audit of his networks will turn up proof that we’ve been in there. I’m not going to a Punishment Day video over this.”

“No one’s going to a Punishment Day video,” I said. I checked the time – it was almost 10 PM by now. “We’ve got three and a half days, and for that time, we’ve got complete control of the camera and security systems. That gives us more than enough time to get into the mansion, open the chest, and get out again.”

“Fine. But you had better be right,” said Suarez. He closed the connection and shut down the laptop. “I’m heading out.”

“Noon tomorrow at the warehouse,” I said, pointing at Suarez. “We need to plan our next move. Don’t be late.”

“Fine, fine,” said Suarez, and he stuffed his laptop into his bag and scuttled off.

Armand, Victoria, and I stood in silence for a moment.

“You know,” said Victoria to me, “I don’t think he likes you very much.”

“It’s not personal,” said Armand. “He doesn’t like anyone. Coming?”

“In a bit,” I said. “Victoria and I need to have a word.”

“Do we?” said Victoria.

“I think so,” I said.

Armand looked back and forth between us, shrugged, and then packed up his own laptop. “All right. I’ll see you later, then. Be careful.”

He disappeared into the hallway, heading back for the stairwell. The plan was for him to head back home while Victoria and I would return to the hotel to leave Pierce’s keys and wallet on the bed. With luck, a very confused Pierce would wake up tomorrow and would assume he had a bad experience with his escort.

Victoria and I faced each other for a moment.

“I have some questions,” I said.

“You know, I rather thought you might,” said Victoria. She held up a finger. “Just one moment, please.”

A look of concentration went over her face, and then golden fire flashed over her body. I took a long step back, summoning magic of my own to work a spell. But Victoria’s magic was directed inward. When she had taken the shape of Jacob Pierce, it had been a grinding, tearing transformation, one that had had a cost of severe pain.

She snapped back to her previous form in the space of a second, stumbled a few steps, and grabbed the edge of the table for balance. Victoria had returned to her original shape, which meant her much leaner and shorter body was swimming in her clothes.

“Oh,” she mumbled. “Oh, that always feels strange. Like sneezing and everything turns inside out.”

“It’s quicker to return to your original form,” I said.

“Yes, quite a bit. Considerably easier, too,” said Victoria. She rolled her shoulders, grimaced, and redid her belt to keep the Pierce-sized pants around her narrower waist.

“Why?” I said.

“I’m not entirely sure,” said Victoria. “Maybe it’s easier to undo a spell-induced change in the flesh than it is to create one, but I could be mistaken. The simple fact is I don’t know. My teacher…was less than helpful on several points. Or my talent is rare enough that it’s not really understood.” She turned towards the door. “We should get moving. Rolando is waiting.”

“One question first,” I said.

“Yes?” said Victoria, pausing, a bright smile on her face. She could change her face and form, but that was camouflage. Just as the cheerful smile and the polite British sarcasm were also camouflage. She was hiding something.

Or protecting something.

“When I was a child,” I said, “Kaethran Morvilind took a vial of blood from my heart. With it, he could track me anywhere, summon me from anywhere, and kill me from a distance if he thought I had failed him.” Tarlia had taken that vial of blood and transmuted it to a gemstone, which now was set in the shadow agent’s ring on my right hand.

“That sounds awful,” said Victoria.

“It was, but it’s over,” I said. “You needed to drink a vial of Pierce’s blood for the DNA. You changed yourself into a perfect copy of him. Same fingerprints, same retinal scan. You could turn into anyone.”

“Yes, we’ve already established that,” said Victoria. “And you’ve seen the proof of it with your own eyes. But why are we discussing it now?”

“A vial of heart’s blood wouldn’t work on you,” I said. “Once you changed your form and then changed back, the blood would be incompatible. The connection would be broken.”

Victoria smiled. “Perhaps I like my real form.” She gestured at herself. “This

outfit is most unflattering but I am rather fond of my own face and body.”

“Vashtyr can’t have a vial of your heart’s blood,” I said. “So why do you keep working for him? Why not just become someone else and disappear?”

“Duke Vashtyr is my beloved liege lord and employer,” said Victoria. “I simply wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”

“What hold does he have over you?” I said.

For a second, just a second, all the emotion drained from Victoria’s face, and she looked tired. Almost exhausted. Then she rallied.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Victoria.

“Maybe I can help you,” I said. “Maybe between the two of us, we can figure out to free you from him.”

I don’t know why I offered. I don’t know why I liked her, even though I knew she would have to betray me sooner or later, probably sooner. I suppose some of it was that I saw myself in her. I had been trapped in Morvilind’s service, just as she was probably trapped in Vashtyr’s. Was that empathy? Maybe. Some of it was calculation. She knew a lot about Singularity and whatever Vashtyr’s plans were, and if I could flip her, it would be invaluable.

“I’m afraid I’m the only one who can help myself,” said Victoria. She had said that before. “But we really shouldn’t keep Rolando waiting, should we?”

I couldn’t get anything else out of her. “I am paying him a lot of money for this. A little waiting won’t kill him.”

“I am reasonably certain that Ruiz did not know this commission would include sitting in a hotel room with an unconscious man who we hope will believe he was drugged by a prostitute.”

“What’s life without a little variety?” I said.

We stepped into the hallway, heading for the stairwell down to the parking garage, and then we froze in unison.

Heavy footsteps were coming up the stairs.

Victoria and I looked at one another.

“Maybe Armand forgot something,” said Victoria.

“Maybe,” I said. “And brought a friend with him?” Victoria shook her head. “Do you know any battle magic?”

“Some,” she itted. “I can summon a lightning globe, and I can also cast the Shield spell.” Morvilind had never bothered to teach me the Shield spell. “But I’m not very good with them. If my plans end in violence, something has gone wrong.”

“Let’s see who it is before we do anything,” I said, summoning magic. I thought about Cloaking us both but decided to wait until I saw who came through the door. It was entirely possible that Armand and Suarez had encountered a problem and were on their way back up.

The steel door swung open, and Paul Rampton stepped into the corridor.

Victoria’s sucked in a startled breath.

The original Rampton had been one of the least athletic and soldierly people you could imagine. The clone that stepped into the hallway was as bulky as the original, but the mass was muscle, not flab. He wore black fatigues and tactical armor and carried a heavy rifle. His face was hairless beneath his helmet, and his pale skin had a grayish tinge.

Oh, and his lips were blue. All of Singularity’s cloned cyborg soldiers had translucent blue slime in their veins. They also had weird computers in their heads instead of brains. I had seen inside the head of one of the first Rampton clones I had killed (that had made a mess, believe me) and instead of a brain, his skull had been filled with blue goop, delicate wires, and computer parts.

Another Rampton clone followed the first, and both leveled their rifles at us.

My first thought was that I felt like an enormous fool. Victoria had played me, lured me here, and set this trap. She was going to try and kill me to find the myothar key.

Well, she would regret that.

But I looked at her face, and I saw terror.

But she wasn’t frightened of me.

“What are they doing here?” she whispered.

“Hey, guys,” I said with a mad rictus of a smile. “How you been? I haven’t killed one of you in like months!”

In unison, they raised their rifles and started shooting.

***

Chapter 12: Salvatore

Victoria flinched and stepped back, but I moved forward, my left hand coming up.

Because I knew what kind of guns the clone soldiers carried.

Nearly all the firearms on Earth were chemically propelled kinetic weapons. Like, you pulled the trigger, the gunpowder detonated, and the blast threw the bullet down the barrel and at your target. Singularity had access to more powerful weapons. The guns that the clones held didn’t use bullets. I had no idea how the physics worked, but apparently, they projected some kind of ionization beam and then sent charged particle packets down that beam.

But that was a mouthful to say, so most people just called them blasters.

Guns didn’t work on Elves. Or, to be more accurate, bullets didn’t work on them. You needed weapons infused with magic to hurt Elves.

But blaster bolts worked just fine on Elves. In fact, you could kill a dragon with a blaster shot if you were lucky.

For a split second, I wondered if Singularity had the capacity to mass-produce blaster weaponry and what would happen on Earth if they did.

Then I summoned magic and worked the Shield spell.

A hazy dome of reddish-orange light appeared, interposing itself between me and Victoria and the Rampton clones. I charged the Shield with power to resist elemental fire, and the cyborg soldiers fired. Bolts leaped from their weapons and hammered into my defense. They hit hard, but my will held against the attack.

One good thing about blaster rifles. They could blast holes through solid concrete, but they apparently couldn’t fire on full automatic like an M-99 carbine or a similar weapon. That would have been a lot harder to defend against, but the clones could only fire as fast as they pulled the trigger.

I summoned more power and thrust my right hand. A thumb-sized sphere of flame leaped from my hand, zipped forward, and plowed into the head of the clone on the right. It burst out the back of his skull, accompanied by the smell of burning plastic and overheated electronics, and the first clone fell as the sphere drilled into the second cyborg. He died a half-second later, landing next to his companion.

I turned, seeking more foes, and saw Victoria staring at me, mouth open.

What?

Oh, right. People who weren’t used to the kind of things I could do were always shocked to see my abilities for the first time. Knowing is one thing but seeing it

in front of you is something else entirely.

The stink of burned plastic and scorched electronics filled the air.

“We have to move,” I said. “There won’t be just two of them.” And we would face someone more dangerous than the clone soldiers. I had the impression the clones made for good soldiers, but they weren’t great at independent thought, probably because they had computers for brains and had been grown in a vat somewhere. Someone smarter would be here to take command.

Maybe Mr. Hood. He and I had unfinished business. I had fought to him a draw in the Shadowlands, but maybe he wanted a second round. Or maybe someone more powerful in Singularity had decided that I was a threat to be removed. I had encountered a lot of Singularity’s pawns in the past, guys like Charles Edina and Kyle Warren and Paul Rampton, but Hood was the only actual member of the organization I had fought. As powerful as he was, he reported to someone stronger, and perhaps that person (or entity) had decided to get rid of me.

How had they known where to find me? And why now?

Later. Questions for later.

Victoria shuddered and pulled herself together. “Yes, we need to move. This place is a trap. We…”

Before she finished speaking, the wall next to her exploded. It was sheetrock,

unpainted, with gaping holes where electrical outlets would go. A human arm exploded through the wall, seized Victoria’s throat, and slammed her against it. She barely had time to shriek before the fingers sank into her neck, cutting off her air, and her eyes bulged.

Metal. The fingers digging into her neck were made of metal.

Her windpipe would collapse in another second or so.

My mind flashed through a calculation. Whoever was strangling her was standing right on the other side of the wall. The arm was human-shaped, so it was likely attached to a human-shaped attacker. Probably someone like Neil Freeman, the cyborg assassin who now was my fellow shadow agent of the High Queen.

I pulled together power for a telekinetic spell.

Here’s the thing about telekinesis. You can put a lot of pounds of force into a telekinetic spell, certainly enough to kill someone. But the more force you put in the spell, the harder it is to push that force into a tight focus. Like, a man swinging a baseball bat at full strength generates something like four thousand pounds of force when the bat connects with the ball, which is more than enough to kill someone if you hit them in the head.

But it’s hard to do that with magic. Morvilind could put way more force than four thousand pounds into an area about the size of my fingertip. I had seen him do it to explode the head of a Homeland Security officer who had made the fatal mistake of talking back to him during a crisis. As powerful as I was with magic,

I couldn’t do that.

But I could still put a lot of force into a relatively tight focus. Not enough to make someone’s head explode, but still enough to hurt them.

I thrust my hand and cast the spell, hurling a lance of invisible force into the wall next to Victoria. An area of drywall the size of a pizza box exploded, and I caught a glimpse of a dark figure for a half-second before my spell caught him and flung him backward. The metal hand slammed Victoria’s head against the side of the wall and then released, and she fell to her knees, one hand at her throat as she wheezed.

More magic surged through me, and I flung a fireball through the hole I had just blasted into the wall. I wasn’t sure how much power to put into it, but it exploded with a roar and a flash. Victoria scrambled backward, still coughing, and I held more magic ready to strike, but no additional attacks came from the other side of the wall.

“Can you stand?” I said.

“Salvatore,” croaked Victoria, staggering to her feet.

“What?” I said.

“That was Salvatore,” said Victoria. “I’d recognize that damned cologne anywhere.” I wondered how she could smell cologne over the burning drywall

and fried cyborg, but then ed that she could enhance her senses. “He’s a Singularity agent. Dangerous one.”

“Did you lead us into a trap?” I said.

Victoria stared at me, eyes full of fear. “No. And if I did, I’m a fool. Salvatore hates me and will kill me if he gets the chance.”

I looked at the holes in the wall. The fire was still burning on the other side, but it was getting dimmer. Guess the next room didn’t have much that could burn.

“Your buddy Salvatore,” I said. “Let me guess. His right arm’s metal, he’s super strong and super fast, and he can generate force fields.”

Victoria nodded.

That was just swell. Salvatore was definitely another enhanced super-assassin like Neil Freeman. Neil worked for the High Queen now, but before that, he had killed the dragon Malthraxivorn, he had almost killed Della, he had nearly killed Nora Chandler, and he had fought me to a standstill. Like, I probably could have won, but Neil had retreated before I could kill him.

And Neil had been enslaved, forced to act against his will. His heart hadn’t been in it. From what Victoria had said, it sounded like this Salvatore guy was a willing member of team Singularity.

Which meant I didn’t want to hang around and fight him.

“Right,” I said. I ran to one of the dead cyborgs, grabbed his blaster rifle, and handed it to Victoria. “You know how to use one of these things?”

“Point and pull the trigger,” said Victoria, voice grim.

“We’re getting out of here,” I said, heading for the door to the stairs. “You see Salvatore or any more Ramptons, shoot them and keep shooting them until they don’t get up again.”

I froze at the door.

“What?” said Victoria.

I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. A lot of footsteps.

It sounded like a dozen more Rampton clones were coming up the stairs. Crap. Did they all have blaster rifles? Double crap. I could Cloak myself and Victoria and go downstairs, but the stairwell was cramped. If one of the Rampton clones felt us go by, we would have problems. Could I Shield myself and rain fire and lightning on them? That might work, but the two clones I had killed had grenades on their harnesses. A fragmentation grenade going off in a confined space like a stairwell was bad, bad news, and I might not be able to catch all the

fragments on my Shield.

Actually, come to think of it, a few grenades might be useful, and we needed another way out of here.

I grabbed two grenades from the dead cyborgs, stuffed them into my jacket’s inadequate pockets, and hurried back to Victoria.

“Come on,” I said. “Don’t shoot me in the back.”

Victoria nodded. It was a promising sign that she held the rifle competently. She might not have been a fighter, but at least she knew how to shoot. “Where are we going?”

“Another stairwell,” I said, heading down the corridor. “Building like this will have at least two main stairwells and an emergency one. They can’t have enough clones to cover them all.” Or so I hoped. Ahead the corridor ended, opening into a large space, and I summoned magic, holding a Shield spell. “Stay behind me.”

We stepped into a large unfinished room, the floor concrete, the walls only metal s at the moment. Several tool chests stood scattered around the room, along with dozens of rolls of institutional gray carpet and a couple of concrete saws. Thick concrete pillars ed the metal girders of the ceiling. Once the building was complete, I suspected those pillars would be integrated into the walls, but for now, they rose before us like an orderly stone forest. There wasn’t much illumination from the emergency lights mounted on the ceiling, and the glow of downtown Miami came through the windows.

On the far side of the room, I spotted another steel door that would lead to a new stairwell, along with gaping black doors that probably opened into elevator shafts. Ruiz’s company wouldn’t install the elevators until the building was finished.

I took a step forward, and a shape leaped out from behind a pillar.

I reacted, casting a Shield spell at once. The figure leveled a blaster rifle and started shooting, and in the flashes from the weapon’s bolt, I got a good look at Salvatore.

He was six feet tall, maybe a couple of inches taller. He wore black fatigues and tactical armor, a weapons harness over his torso and holstered blaster pistols on either hip. He looked Mediterranean, probably Italian, with skin several shades darker than mine and thick black hair that had been cut short. Probably he would need to shave twice a day to avoid a constant five o’clock shadow. Had he not been shooting at me, he would have been strikingly handsome. Honestly, he looked like the kind of guy you expected to emerge in a tuxedo from an expensive Italian supercar on his way to shoot somebody for the Mafia.

Oh, and from what I could tell, his right hand had been made out of dark metal. It looked like he was wearing a skin-tight gauntlet made of overlapping metal plates, but it was his actual hand.

Victoria stepped around me, bringing the blaster rifle to bear, and Salvatore shifted his aim towards her. I cursed and took a long step to the side, interposing the Shield between him and Victoria. More magic flooded through my mind, and I prepared to hurl a spell.

Except I ed the Rampton clones flooding up the other stairwell. Salvatore was shooting at us to slow us down. Then the clones would attack us from behind, and that would be that.

Unless I changed the shape of the battlefield.

I flung out my free hand behind me and cast a spell. A thick curtain of white mist rose in the hallway, filling it, and then hardened into a two-foot thick wall of glittering diamond-hard ice. If the Rampton clones opened up at the wall with their blaster rifles, they would make short work of it, but the ice would slow them down.

Victoria fired at Salvatore, and he stepped back, shifting his rifle to his left hand and clenching his right arm. A disk of blue light the size of a car tire appeared over his arm, and the blaster bolt shattered against the shield. It wasn’t magic – it was apparently a forcefield generated by twisting magnetism and gravity, and I had no idea how it worked.

Salvatore was strong enough to hold his rifle-one handed, and he took a long step back towards the far stairwell, keeping the weapon pointed at me.

“You must be Salvatore!” I called, keeping my Shield up and calling power for another spell. I needed to decide on a strategy. The best thing to do was to hit him with everything I had, knock him down or kill him, and rush for the far stairwell. I had blocked the hallway with my ice wall, but the Rampton clones would shoot through it with their blasters. Also, the building was unfinished. They could probably just go through the gaps in the walls and encircle us.

Salvatore laughed. He had a rich, merry laugh, belied by the fact that his black eyes reminded me of a snake. “Naughty, naughty, little Victoria.” He definitely sounded Italian. “Telling tales out of school? Telling the Worldburner who I am? You’ll have to be chastised.”

“You don’t make the decisions,” said Victoria, her voice like winter. “You’re just your master’s attack dog.”

He grinned and barked at her. Like, actually barked. He did a pretty good impression of an angry dog. Victoria, despite her icy calm, flinched at the noise.

She had been frightened of me, but Salvatore terrified her.

“Maybe I’m the dog, Victoria dear,” said Salvatore, “but I’m going to enjoy getting my teeth into you.”

A muscle in her throat worked.

“Eww,” I said. “If that’s a pickup line, Sal, you’ve really got to work on it.”

“Tell you what, Worldburner,” said Salvatore, gesturing with his right arm. The blaster rifle remained rock-steady in his left hand. “I love a good fight, but I might kill you, or you might kill me, or we might wind up killing each other. Too chancy. This isn’t your fight. Leave the key and Victoria, and I’ll let you go in

peace.”

“Key? What key?” I said.

“Ah, you don’t have it with you,” said Salvatore. “A sensible precaution.” I heard something ring against the ice wall. Had one of the clones hit it with something? “Then walk away, Worldburner.”

“Nope,” I said.

He grinned. “Fighting to defend Victoria? You don’t know what kind of viper she is.” His dark eyes flicked to her. “Look at those clothes. Disguising yourself as a man again? But I appreciate that you made yourself all pretty for me. Maybe I’ll take you down to my basement.”

Again Victoria flinched at that.

“Tell you what, Sal,” I said. “Here’s a counteroffer. Get out of our way, or I won’t burn you to ashes.”

Right about then, his eyes changed color.

They had been black before, but now they turned blue. And they were glowing. Had his vision been enhanced somehow?

Neil hadn’t been able to do that.

But it had been two hundred years since Catalyst Corporation had created Neil. Maybe Singularity had improved the design since then.

“I like you!” said Salvatore. “I wish you weren’t so powerful. I could enjoy myself instead of just having to kill you.”

I had been expecting him to attack, so I wasn’t surprised when the move came. I was surprised that he dropped his rifle, snatched a pistol from his belt with his left hand, and started shooting as he advanced. As he did, he clenched his right arm, and the shield appeared before him. He headed towards me like a man-atarms in the Shadowlands with shield extended, weapon raised over it.

Except his weapon was a blaster, and he was shooting at me.

My Shield spell soaked up the bolts, my will shuddering with the effort. Behind me, I heard the roar of blaster fire as the clones decided to shoot their way through my ice wall. Victoria began firing at Salvatore, but his shield deflected up her bolts. I think his plan was to walk up to me, crush my skull, and then deal with Victoria.

But that shield only covered him to mid-thigh, so I adjusted my aim and cast the ice spike spell. I hurled a lance of ice as thick as my leg and as long as a car at Salvatore. It hit the ground just in front of his feet, and it shattered, the fragments bouncing into his legs and behind his shield. Salvatore stumbled back with a cry,

and Victoria’s next blaster bolt clipped his left shoulder. He cursed and flung himself behind a pillar, and I cast yet another spell.

This time the ice wall curled around both Salvatore and the concrete pillar, sealing him inside a cylinder of rock-hard ice. I doubted that would stop him for more than a few seconds. In fact, I already heard him punching through as the Rampton clones shot at the ice wall.

“Move!” I said, grabbing Victoria’s shoulder, and together we ran for the far stairwell.

The wall of ice sealing off the corridor exploded, and the clones rushed into the large room, still firing. I saw Salvatore’s metal arm punch through the ice. But they were too late because I wrenched open the stairwell door and…

Shit.

I heard more heavy boots ringing against the stairs, saw a dozen more cyborg clones rushing up. Goddamn it, how many of those guys did Singularity have? Behind us, the clones in the hallway ran forward, and Salvatore began to claw his way free from the ice wall.

Okay, time to get creative.

I grabbed the grenades from my pocket, pulled the pins, and flung the weapons towards the approaching enemies. Both the clones and Salvatore saw the

grenades coming and dodged, taking cover behind the pillars. I figured that gave me about three seconds to act.

I pushed Victoria towards one of the yawning elevator doors. The empty elevator shaft gaped before us, deep and dark, but I saw light coming from the floor above us.

“What are you doing?” said Victoria.

“Hold on to me,” I said. “Arms around my chest, now!”

She nodded and dropped the rifle, which clattered against the floor.

I summoned magic, and the grenades exploded.

That was really loud. Fragmentation grenades like that don’t have a big radius and work better in enclosed spaces. But the noise echoed off the concrete walls and floors as I cast my spell. I worked the levitation spell as Victoria’s arms wrapped around my chest.

I stepped off the edge of the floor.

Victoria shrieked, her arms tightening around me to a painful degree, but my levitation spell hauled us up to the next floor. I seized the lip of the elevator door

and pulled us onto the eighth floor of the building. It was far less finished than the seventh floor. The concrete floor had been completed, but none of the interior walls had been put in, and neither had most of the ceiling. I saw the steel skeleton of the building rising above us. For that matter, the windows hadn’t been installed, and I heard the street noise and felt the wind blowing past us.

Perfect.

“Come on!” I said, and I sprinted for the edge of the building, Victoria a halfstep behind me. I wished that I had put on running shoes instead of these damned heeled boots, but I kept my balance.

I skidded to a stop at the edge of the building, looking at the street a long way below. It was deserted, which was good. My eyes fixed on a streetlamp and its sturdy steel pole.

God, it was a long way down.

I don’t have any particular fear of heights, and inside of the Eternity Crucible, I had fallen to my death a few times. That had been one of the better ways to die, in fact – a few seconds of terror, big flash of pain, and then nothing.

Unless you survived the fall, in which case it was a horrible way to die.

“What are we doing?” said Victoria, breathing hard.

“How much do you weigh?” I said, doing the math in my head.

“That’s rather a rude question.”

“I need to know or else we’ll splatter all over the goddamn street,” I barked. “Under a hundred and thirty pounds, yes or no?”

“Slightly under,” said Victoria. “Oh, God, we’re jumping out the window, aren’t we?”

“Your buddy Sal won’t expect that,” I said. “Um. Better get your arms around my chest and your legs around my waist. And for God’s sake, hang on.”

She complied, jumping up to wrap her arms around my chest and hook her legs around my hips. That really wasn’t comfortable. She was heavier than I was, and her fingers and heels dug into my shoulders and legs. Just as well I spent all that time lifting weights. In fact, if I started doing squats with her on my back, I bet it would really dial up the resistance.

I cast a spell of telekinesis, my will wrapping around the lamppost, and I jumped.

Victoria let out a single strangled shriek as we plummeted towards the street, and her fingers felt like spikes as they dug into my shoulders.

But we weren’t falling, not exactly.

Instead, we were descending in an arc, like the pendulum of a clock. That was something else I had learned to do with telekinesis. Basically, I was using the spell as a big invisible lever. I could use it to grab onto something heavy overhead and pull myself up, which kind of looked like I was flying. To go the other way, I had to grab something heavy and anchored to the ground in a telekinetic grip, using it as a fulcrum to slow my approach.

We fell towards the street, our descent slowing as we rushed downward. The sidewalk? No, if I miscalculated, I would smash into the side of a building. Middle of the street was safer, and there was no traffic. I adjusted my grip on the post, and I hit the middle of the street at about ten miles an hour. I lost my balance, tucked my shoulder, and rolled, Victoria falling off me in the process.

I came to a halt with a lot of bruises but no broken bones and scrambled back to my feet. Victoria was prone on her back. I wondered if she had cracked her skull, but she sat up.

“Come on,” I said, holding out a hand. “Can’t stay here. If one of those assholes looks out the window, they’ll figure out what we did.”

“Right,” said Victoria. “They must think you levitated down the elevator shaft. We’ve got about a minute to get off the street.”

I looked around and saw the glowing lights of an all-night drugstore.

“This way,” I said, and we hurried onto the sidewalk and threw open the drugstore’s door.

The store was deserted. The clerk sat inside a box of bulletproof glass and metal and lifted bored eyes in our direction. Seeing two women who looked unlikely to rob the place, he turned his attention to his magazine once more. I strode down the aisles, looking right and left until I found the fire door. It was protected with an alarm, but I cast a weaker version of the telekinesis spell, releasing the lock and disarming the alarm. I eased open the door, and we stepped into an alley. It smelled of the dumpster nearby, and I jogged down the alley, Victoria on my right.

We turned the corner and found a small private parking lot. To our left was the back door of a pizza delivery place, a dozen cars parked there. Three of them were running – the vehicles of delivery drivers, I assumed. If I stole one of them, a call to the police would come immediately. I looked around and found an old Lone Star Motors sedan painted the exact color of shit, which was unfortunate for the owner. But I was familiar with that model, and I knew how to start it without the keys.

I hurried to the car, used telekinesis to unlock the door, and slid inside. Discarded wrappers and paper containers filled the back, and the upholstery had a distinct odor of cheap fast food. Victoria dropped into the enger seat. I started to tell her not to touch anything, but she pulled the sleeve of her coat over her hand before she closed the door.

“No fingerprints,” she said.

“Yup.” I popped off the radio with my gloved hands and pulled at the wires behind it. “After everything else we’ve done tonight, it would suck if we got busted for car theft.”

The engine roared to life as I overrode the starter, and I put the car in reverse, backed out, spun the wheel, and punched into the street. No one followed us, and I saw no sign of Salvatore or his clone buddies.

We had gotten away.

For now.

And here I thought things had been complicated before.

***

Chapter 13: Allies and Rivals

“Where are we going?” said Victoria, a faint quaver in her voice.

“Back to the Silver Hotel, eventually,” I said. “I want to drive around a bit first. Make sure we’re not followed. And see if I can figure out how Sal and his goons got into the building.”

“They probably used a rift way,” said Victoria. “Singularity has wizards very skilled at targeting them. That’s how they prefer to move small forces.”

“Also, we’re gonna talk,” I said. “There are some questions I need to ask you.”

I looked at her and was taken aback.

She was crying.

Not very hard, but there were tears sliding down her cheeks, and her shoulders were shaking a little from the effort of holding back sobs.

My immediate reaction was suspicion.

I mean, I was alone with her, and then a Singularity hit squad shows up. Maybe Salvatore’s threats towards her had been play-acting, meant to bolster her credibility with me.

I activated the aurasight spell I had stolen from Owen Quell, which let me view someone’s emotional aura.

It was less useful for detecting liars than I might have hoped. I had thought that the aurasight spell would let me tell when someone was lying, but it turned out not to work that way very often. People lie in situations of fear and stress, and so when you look at their emotional aura…you see a bunch of fear and stress relevant to the situation. Sometimes people felt guilty when lying, but less often than you think. And really good liars can make themselves believe their lies, like an actor feigning tears for the camera. I ought to know, I was an excellent liar.

Victoria probably was as well.

But she wasn’t feigning the terror. That was real. As was her shock. She hadn’t expected to see Salvatore and his goons there, and they had badly frightened her.

“Victoria?” I said, easing the car to a halt at a red light.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh, dear. I’m terribly sorry.” She sniffled and wiped at her eyes. “So much for British stoicism. It’s the bloodmorph transformation. Plays merry hell with my hormones, and sometimes I get wild mood swings.”

“Yeah, that,” I said, “and some murderous asshole with a metal arm just tried to kill you.”

“Yes, that as well,” said Victoria. She took a shaking breath. “Thank you for my life, Nadia. Salvatore would have killed me, and I couldn’t have gotten away from him on my own.”

“He bit off more than he could chew,” I said. “Next time, he’ll be more cautious. Which is why you need to answer some questions.”

Victoria tensed. “I can’t tell you much. You know that.”

“You had better reconsider,” I said.

She stiffened. “Is that a threat?”

“From me? No,” I said. “But Salvatore just tried to kill you. We both know he’ll try again. And I suspect neither Singularity nor Vashtyr will be upset if you are killed so long as Salvatore comes back with whatever the hell is in that myothar chest.” Sadness flooded Victoria’s aura, and I pressed the point further. “I don’t know what hold Vashtyr has over you. It has to be someone you love, right? Your husband, your kid, your parents, somebody.” Her aura roiled like it was a pond, and I had just thrown a cinder block into it. Aha. “You get killed here, you’re not coming back to them. If we’re going to live through this, it’s up to us. Not Vashtyr, not Singularity, us. If you want to get back to whoever you love, then you have to tell me more. Otherwise, we might not be so lucky the next

time.”

The light changed. I drove through the intersection. There were only a few other cars in sight, and none of them looked like they were following us.

“Okay,” said Victoria in a small voice. “I’ll tell you what I can. What do you want to know?”

I asked the first question that popped into my head. “Why did Salvatore talk about a basement?”

“Ah.” Victoria sighed and slumped against her seat, arms folded tight against her chest. “When I was seven years old, I was playing in my parents’ front yard. A van pulled up by the curb, and a man got out and tried to drag me into it. I screamed and fought, and my father came out and shot him in the head. His brains exploded over my face. I was so shocked by it that I didn’t speak again for four months, and I still have nightmares about it.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, wondering what this had to do with Salvatore. “Was your father arrested?”

“No, he was commended,” said Victoria. “The man he had shot was a serial killer. The Westminster Butcher, they called him. He had been kidnapping children, specifically young girls, from their front yards and taking them to his basement. None of them survived the experience. I would have been his latest victim if my father hadn’t come down with a cold and come home early from work. Somehow Salvatore found out about it and threatens to take me down to his basement. He thinks it’s funny, but he’s not really joking. Whenever he

eliminates a female target, if time permits, he’ll force himself on the target before finally killing her.”

“That’s messed up,” I said, making a right turn. “What does Duke Vashtyr think of that?”

“He laughs,” said Victoria, voice bitter. “It’s all a joke to him. He doesn’t like humans very much. He thinks we’re monkeys who talk and managed to invent firearms. His opinion is that if I get myself killed, it was proof that I was too stupid to be in his service.”

“So you spurned Salvatore’s advances, and he has a grudge,” I said. “Seems a lot of trouble for a revenge killing.”

“Salvatore’s a monster, but he’s not stupid, and he wouldn’t disobey his superiors,” said Victoria. “I assume you know how Singularity lost the myothar key?” I nodded. “Duke Vashtyr and Singularity knew that the High Queen would send someone to quietly open Curantar’s chest. Salvatore wanted to track down the key and kill whoever possessed it. Vashtyr argued it would better to infiltrate any attempt to break into Curantar’s mansion and then make off with the contents of the chest in the process.”

“I thought you said Salvatore wouldn’t disobey his superiors,” I said. “What’s he doing here?”

“Because Duke Vashtyr and Singularity do not always see eye-to-eye,” said Victoria. “They’re allies of convenience and nothing more. I suspect Singularity agreed to the Duke’s plan, and so I was sent here. But they sent Salvatore and a

strike force anyway.” She took a deep breath. “I expect Salvatore’s orders were to take the key by any means necessary. Which includes killing me, which he would enjoy. But his primary objective would be to deny the High Queen whatever is stored in the chest.”

“And your mission is to get whatever’s in the box and bring it back to Vashtyr so he can use it as a bargaining chip with his Singularity buddies,” I said.

“Quite right,” said Victoria. A weak smile went over her face. “I’ve done jobs for Rolando in the past, so ing him was the obvious place to start. When he told me that he was putting together a job, I was delighted – the High Queen had sent an agent with the myothar key. It would be simplicity itself to betray the agent and escape. Then I walked into the warehouse and saw you, and I just about had a heart attack on the spot.”

“Why?” I said. “You were right.”

“Because you’re the bloody Worldburner!” said Victoria, half-exasperated, halfamused. “Do you have any idea how terrifying you are? You helped Morvilind kill the Archons. You killed the Rebels and burned Venomhold. And you even managed to escape from Mr. Hood.”

“You helped with that.”

“I gave you some advice to help get that blond girl away from Rampton because I felt sorry for her. Well, and I wanted to screw with Hood,” said Victoria. “But as soon as you left, Hood took off with a large force, and he’s a powerful wizard. I didn’t think you would live through that, but you survived and forced Hood to

retreat. A powerful wizard and a Cerberus-class cyborg, and you didn’t lose to him.”

“Cerberus?” I said. “Isn’t that a Greek thing? The dog who has three heads and eats dead people?”

“Close enough,” said Victoria. “John Starkweather was fond of Greek mythology, so he gave a lot of his inventions Greek names.”

Hood had talked at length about the founder of Catalyst Corporation and his great vision.

“So why did he call Hood a Cerberus-class cyborg?” I said. “Hood had only one head that I could see, even if he had metal eyes.”

“Because he has three minds,” said Victoria. “There’s his organic brain, and then his cybernetic implants host two different artificial intelligences. The first one is conscious – it’s sort of like having a personal assistant in your brain, or so I’ve been told. The second one is unconscious and can take control of Hood if he’s stunned or hurt. Sort of like an emergency backup.” She ticked off the points on her fingers. “So, one organic mind, two AI minds. Three minds. Hence, Cerberus.”

“And is Salvatore a Cerberus-class cyborg?” I said, hoping the flow of information from Victoria would continue.

“No, he’s Myrmidon-class,” said Victoria. “The Myrmidons were apparently elite soldiers in Greek mythology. Salvatore has the obvious enhancements – the metal arm, the forcefield generation, the enhanced speed and strength. He also has nanotech in his blood that will rapidly repair any wound, and his muscles and bones have been strengthened and are much harder to damage. A glancing hit from a handgun round wouldn’t penetrate his musculature. And Salvatore is the latest generation of Myrmidon-class cyborg, which is why his eyes glow. He can see infrared and ultraviolet in addition to normal light.”

“The last time I fought a Myrmidon-class cyborg,” I said, “he didn’t want to do it. He was under someone else’s control. After I destroyed his control unit…”

“You’re talking about Neil Freeman,” said Victoria. “He was the first version of the Myrmidon cyborg. A prototype, essentially. The technology has been upgraded considerably since Freeman was augmented. Salvatore doesn’t have a control unit – honestly, so long as Singularity gives him chances to hurt people, he will follow orders cheerfully. But Salvatore does have an AI implanted into his skull. It influences his mind on a subconscious level. He will always follow orders and think it was his own idea.” She shivered. “A profound form of enslavement. One of the upgrades Starkweather came up with for the Myrmidon design.”

I frowned. “Starkweather? John Starkweather? He’s dead. I saw the records. The High Queen executed him for treason two hundred years ago.”

“Yes,” said Victoria. “But he’s either running Singularity or advising its leadership in some capacity. I know the High Queen executed Starkweather, but apparently he found a way to come back.”

“Great.”

“And Tarlia didn’t execute him for just treason,” said Victoria. “Apparently, Starkweather and Catalyst touched off some sort of global crisis, an ecological disaster or a pandemic or something of that nature. That was why Tarlia took apart Catalyst Corporation and killed as many of its leaders as she could catch. But she didn’t get them all, and they founded Singularity and continued their work.”

“Hood and the others like him,” I said.

“Yes,” said Victoria.

I came to another intersection. I was going to have to head for the Silver Hotel soon. Too much longer, and Ruiz was going to get worried. Or annoyed, most likely, and it’s not a good idea to have a shadow councilor annoyed at you. I wondered what I was going to tell him.

“How do you know all this?” I said.

“I pay attention, of course,” said Victoria. “Vashtyr likes to discuss business surrounded by his servants. It makes him feel important. Of course, Hood and the other Singularity agents try to avoid mentioning anything sensitive in front of me, but they make slipups. And sometimes I can ask questions of my lord.”

“He lets you ask questions of him?” I said. Morvilind had sometimes let me ask him questions. Other times he had responded by using magic to inflict pain.

Victoria snorted. “Vashtyr loves to talk. If you get him started about the glorious old days on Kalvarion, he won’t shut up. How the lords were all shining and gallant and served by their grateful and obedient commoners until the Archons and the High Queen’s bungling ruined everything. Ever since the Mage Fall, that’s all he talks about.” She sighed. “I can sometimes get him to talk eful things, but he quickly becomes bored of practical talk. So, let’s summarize, shall we? My lord Vashtyr sent me to steal the contents of that myothar chest. Except the Worldburner, one of the most powerful human wizards in existence, is going to steal the contents of the chest for the High Queen. And because Singularity doesn’t think I can pull it off, they’ve sent Salvatore and his men to kill us all and take the chest and the key themselves.”

“That sums it up,” I said. “Wow, your boss sucks.”

Victoria wiped at her eyes and let out a quiet laugh. “Yes, he really does.” Her emotional aura had settled, the fear and dread subsiding back to their previous muted levels. “But we have more immediate problems, Nadia. We have to go back to the hotel. What are we going to tell Rolando?”

“The truth,” I said. “Or as much of it as we can.”

“We can’t,” said Victoria.

“Be a little hard to cover up those dead bodies in the building,” I said.

Victoria shook her head. “Salvatore won’t leave the bodies behind. Singularity

doesn’t like leaks. He’ll take the bodies back through the rift way to be recycled.”

“Recycled?”

“Broken back down into proteins and used to grow new clones,” said Victoria. “And before you ask, no, I don’t know where Singularity grows its clones and has its research labs, or how their wizards manage to travel through the Shadowlands so accurately. I think they have control of a small domain somewhere in the Shadowlands like the Shadow Waypoint, but I don’t know for sure.”

“Okay, so the bodies will be gone,” I said. “But the blaster marks won’t, and I set off two grenades, for God’s sake. It will be obvious. Ruiz needs to be warned. He might have resources we could use if Salvatore shows up again.”

It was also possible that Ruiz had betrayed us to Singularity. Somehow Salvatore had known we would be in the half-constructed Everglades Tower, and he had known when. Either someone had been able to locate us through magic, or someone had told him where we would be. Still, if someone had betrayed us, I didn’t think it was Ruiz. The man was ruthless, but like many shadow councilors, he had his own code of honor, and he didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would throw in with a group of crazy terrorists like Singularity.

“If you tell Rolando about Singularity, he might not believe you,” said Victoria.

“He might have already heard of them, or at least rumors,” I said. “Have you ever heard of a guy named Arnold Brauner?”

“No,” said Victoria. “Should I have? There’s…ah, Brauner Farms, that’s a brand of cheese curds, isn’t it?”

“Arnold Brauner owns that company,” I said. “He’s also Duke Tamirlas’s shadow councilor. Last year Hood gave some Homeland Security officers a bunch of Fusion devices, and they went berserk and tried to kill Brauner and a bunch of other local politicians.”

“I didn’t know that,” said Victoria. “You stopped them, I assume.”

“Yeah,” I said. “It was all covered up. But I bet Ruiz might have heard about it.” A thought occurred to me as the Silver Hotel came into sight. “You said you don’t know how Singularity can travel accurately through the Shadowlands? How did you get to the Shadow Waypoint then?”

“I walked,” said Victoria. “I’m afraid it’s quite unspectacular. I know the rift way spell, and I take the Warded Way to the Shadow Waypoint. To anticipate your next question, I use the bloodmorph spell to alter my blood so I smell like a naelgoth.”

“That must stink,” I said. I eased the stolen car to the curb. We would abandon it here. I felt bad for the poor pizzeria worker whose car I had stolen, but he or she would get the vehicle back in good condition.

“Oh, it does, but most of the creatures of the Shadowlands hunt via scent,” said Victoria. “No one in their right mind crosses a naelgoth. Between that and the

protective spells upon the Warded Ways, I can travel through the Shadowlands with relative safety.” She paused as I fiddled with the wires behind the radio and shut down the engine. “Relative being the operative word.”

“Come on,” I said. “Let me do most of the talking with Ruiz.”

“Very well,” said Victoria.

We walked the final distance to the Silver Hotel, headed through the lobby, and down the corridor to the room. The same clerks were on duty at the front desk, but they didn’t glance at me twice. I guess my Corporate Bitch outfit was different enough from the dress I had worn that I didn’t look like the same person.

Jacob Pierce still lay unconscious upon the bed, drooling a little on the pillow. Ruiz sat in a chair next to the bed, watching a soccer game on the TV, a gun resting on his lap.

“Going to shoot the referee?” I said as Victoria put on a pair of gloves and dropped Pierce’s wallet and car keys next to his belt. There would be no fingerprints on them but Pierce’s own.

“Certainly not,” said Ruiz, switching off the TV. “If one needs to fix a football match, it’s much easier to simply bribe the referee. You are later than I expected.”

“Yeah,” I said. “There were problems. We were attacked in the Everglades Tower.”

“What?” said Ruiz, getting to his feet. “Explain.”

“Did Armand and Suarez get out okay?” I said.

“I believe so,” said Ruiz. “I heard from them both not long ago. Armand explained that we have only three and a half days before we lose our access to the Duke’s system. But what is this? You were attacked in my building?”

“We were,” I said. “A large group of gunmen. They were all in tactical gear, matching uniforms and weapons.”

Ruiz frowned. “Did you get a look at their faces?”

“Briefly,” I said. “They all kind of looked the same.” Which was true enough. “Kate and I ran like hell. Didn’t hang around to chat.”

Ruiz scowled, and I took a moment to activate my aurasight. If I didn’t succeed in convincing him to continue with the theft, we were going to have problems. It was my first time using aurasight on Rolando Ruiz, and my initial impression was one of coldness. Despite his affable exterior, he was a man who had kept his emotions under tight control. They were not at the forefront of his decisionmaking process.

“If they were Duke Curantar’s men-at-arms, they would have arrested us,” said Ruiz. “Duke Rendoscar wouldn’t have sent men to interfere with the plan.”

“Does Duke Rendoscar know about it?” I said.

“What his lordship doesn’t know can’t hurt him,” said Ruiz. “Though if his lordship knew about it, he would entirely approve.”

“Plausible deniability,” I said.

“Indeed,” said Ruiz. “It must have been mercenaries, then. Perhaps someone with a grudge against me? Or someone with a grievance against one of you?” He smiled, but both his eyes and his emotional aura were cold. “Despite your charming personalities, ladies, I suspect you have some enemies.”

I glanced at Victoria. She had been silent so far, and I saw a deep weariness in her aura. I wasn’t sure she was up to telling a convincing lie just then.

“I might have a suspicion,” I said. “Out of curiosity, have you ever met a man named Arnold Brauner? Former governor of Wisconsin?”

“We’ve spoken a few times,” said Ruiz.

“Then I suppose you know that he’s the shadow councilor of Duke Tamirlas of Milwaukee?” I said.

Ruiz offered a brief smile. “Indeed.”

“What, do the shadow councilors have a newsletter or something? Or like a yearly convention?” I said.

“Certainly not. Putting things in writing is an elementary mistake,” said Ruiz. “But we are aware of one another, yes, to avoid unprofitable misunderstandings.”

“Back in November, Brauner was almost killed at a charity dinner,” I said.

“Yes, I’d heard that,” said Ruiz. There was a flicker of wary interest in his aura. “An attack of Shadowlands creatures, which has been happening more and more of late. Many Homeland Security officers lost their lives, alas.”

“That’s not the real story,” I said. “A terrorist group named Singularity tried to kill everyone at that dinner.” I saw the recognition go through both his expression and his aura. “The truth was covered up.”

“Brauner mentioned that,” said Ruiz. “A general caution against them as professional courtesy. You think these mercenaries were Singularity?”

“Pretty sure,” I said.

Ruiz thought about it and then put away his gun. “And how do you happen to know about them?”

“Let’s say I’ve worked with Brauner in the past,” I said.

“Who are you really, I wonder?” said Ruiz. “Ms. Anna North.”

“Everything I’ve told you has been the truth,” I said. Though I had left out quite a bit of it, to be fair. “I have a powerful backer, and I need to get the contents of that chest without Duke Curantar knowing. I’ve already paid you a quarter of a million dollars for your help, and more will be coming if we pull this off.”

“Well, Ms. Sunderland,” said Ruiz. “What do you think?”

“I think you should listen to Anna,” said Victoria.

“All right,” said Ruiz. “Why would these Singularity terrorists show up now?”

“Pretty simple, I think,” I said. “They want what’s in the box. They probably figured out where my backer found the key and sent their goon squad to kill me and take it.”

“Then how did they know to attack at the Everglades Tower?” said Ruiz.

“I have no idea,” I said. “But I think someone in your organization tipped them off.”

Ruiz was unperturbed. Treachery was par for the course among a shadow councilor’s associates. “It is possible. I shall have Miles and a few other trustworthy men conduct inquiries.”

“Okay,” I said. “But we have to go ahead with the job. We’ve got three days to pull it off. Let’s meet back at the warehouse at noon tomorrow. We can set a final date and get this done.”

“Very well,” said Ruiz. “May I offer you a ride back to Armand’s house? I know you’re staying there, and I know the address anyway.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Kate?”

She managed a thin smile. “I’ll take a taxi. I’m afraid getting shot at rather rattled me.”

“It’s amazing what you can get used to,” I said.

***

Chapter 14: Backup Plans

We left Pierce to sleep it off, and Ruiz insisted upon waiting with Victoria until her taxi arrived. I suppose it was a chivalrous gesture and also made sure that Victoria couldn’t rush off to meet with any unknown conspirators.

I wondered how much of the truth Ruiz had deduced.

“Nice car,” I said as we walked to his vehicle.

It was indeed a nice car. Armand drove an unremarkable sedan, likely to help keep a low profile. Ruiz drove a higher-end Royal Motors sportscar painted vivid neon green, complete with leather seats and neon-blue running lights. The interior of the car was immaculate, and in contrast to the car I had stolen, I doubted it had ever seen a single molecule of food.

“Thank you,” said Ruiz, and the motor started with a growl. “I’m afraid it’s frightfully expensive and the maintenance costs are prohibitive.” We left the Silver Hotel’s parking lot and headed for the freeway. “But one does have a certain image to maintain. And it is quite fun to drive.”

“I prefer motorcycles,” I said.

Ruiz grinned. “So did I when I was fifteen years younger. Though I am curious

about something.”

Ah, that was the real reason he wanted to drive me back to Armand’s house. Information. “I imagine you’re curious about many things. Which one in particular do you want to talk about?”

“You are very well-informed for a freelance thief,” said Ruiz. “Brauner mentioned that his warning against Singularity was not to be shared. Evidently, the higher authorities wish knowledge of the group to be suppressed.”

“Didn’t we already have this conversation?” I said. “I am a freelance thief, yes. But I’m working for someone with a lot of money. You did wonder if that means I could be a shadow agent.”

Ruiz frowned. “I also wonder if it means that you are working for one of the higher authorities who wish Singularity’s existence kept quiet.”

He was worried that I was an Inquisition agent. A reasonable fear, I supposed. For a second, I was tempted to summon the High Queen’s seal to see how he would react, but that would have been a bad idea.

“I suppose it’s possible,” I said. “If I am, though, does it change anything? I still have a wealthy and powerful backer who wants the contents of the myothar chest. If I am an agent for a higher authority, they don’t care about you or your organization. They just want the contents of the chest. You’re the means to the end. A well-paid means to the end, I should point out. Half a million dollars for less than two weeks’ work is a pretty good deal in my opinion.”

“One must place a suitable value upon one’s time,” said Ruiz. “If you are right and it was Singularity terrorists who attacked you at my building, then we must consider an unpleasant possibility.”

“Which is?”

“You have already realized it. Someone has almost certainly betrayed us,” said Ruiz. “There are only a very few people who know about the encrypted data line in the Everglades Tower. So, tell me, Ms. North. Who betrayed us?”

“Not Armand,” I said. “He just wants to get paid and get this over with.” There was also the royal pardon, but Ruiz didn’t need to know about that.

“What about Ms. Sunderland?” said Ruiz.

I thought about my conversation with Victoria in the stolen car. “It’s possible, but I doubt it. She was badly shaken by the attack. Maybe she’s a really good actress, but I’ve seen people frightened for their lives before, and she looked the part.”

“It is also possible,” said Ruiz, “that she set an ambush for you and didn’t intend to get caught in it herself. Such things can so easily go awry. Perhaps she thought to kill you and take the key.”

“You’ve known her longer,” I said. “Do you think she is capable of that kind of treachery?”

“No,” said Ruiz, “but one of the unpalatable truths of mankind is that anyone is capable of treachery given the proper inducement. Perhaps Singularity offered her a large sum of money. Or maybe they are threatening a loved one. That is one of the traditional methods of ensuring compliance from the unwilling.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said, ing Russell and Morvilind’s cure spells. I wondered again what hold Vashtyr had over Victoria.

“That leaves you, me, Miles, and Suarez,” I said. “Plus anyone in your organization who put the pieces together.”

“I frankly doubt Miles would betray me,” said Ruiz.

“How did you get him out of a Punishment Day video?” I said.

“Robbers attacked his sister,” said Ruiz. “Miles interrupted them and beat all three of them to within an inch of their lives. Two of them still walk with a cane, I believe. Since one of the attackers was a nephew of a district attorney, the judge was inclined to be vengeful.” A satisfied smile went over his face, stark in the glow from the dashboard instruments. “But, of course, the district attorney and judge were old enemies of mine. Suffice to say that evidence emerged of their corruption. Both officials resigned in disgrace, and Miles has been my loyal friend ever since. To be blunt, I don’t think he has the imagination for treachery.”

“What about Nicandro Suarez?” I said.

“I could easily see him betraying us,” said Ruiz. “He is a solitary and unpleasant man, with his rudeness exceeded only by his great skill. But like Ms. Sunderland, he is a professional and has always completed his jobs for me. But as I said, anyone can be induced to treachery.”

“True,” I said. “Like Rolando Ruiz.” He raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps he will collect his fee from me and then sell the contents of the chest to Singularity.”

He let out a hearty laugh. “What a rich imagination you have, Ms. North. But I, too, have fanciful musings from time to time. Perhaps I envision a future when you betray my organization to Duke Curantar and sell the contents of the chest to Singularity, and then go to your backer and claim that I was the one who stole the chest.”

“That would be way too much work,” I said. “I just want to finish my job and go home.” I thought of Riordan. It was almost one in the morning here, which meant it was early morning in the UK. According to his last message, he, Nora, and the UK Shadow Hunters were still in Manchester, hunting down the Dark Ones cultists. I wished we were both together at our house in Wisconsin. But since that didn’t seem to be possible at the moment, I wished I was with him in the UK.

“A fine sentiment. What do you propose as a backup plan against treachery?” said Ruiz.

“Our escape plan,” I said. “We’ll finalize it tomorrow. The basic plan is that

we’ll stash Armand’s anchor somewhere and then shadowjump to it. I think we should settle on a backup escape plan we don’t tell the others. Something just between you and me. Maybe we’re both projecting our paranoia onto everyone else, and they’re all trustworthy. But if they’re not…”

“Then it’s best to be prepared,” said Ruiz. “And you were attacked by Singularity, Ms. North. A little paranoia is now a prudent precaution.”

“After we finalize our plans at the meeting tomorrow,” I said, “we’ll make a backup escape plan. Just in case.”

Ruiz dropped me off at the Boccands’ house in Westchester, and I let myself in through the front door using the key that Armand had given me. One light was on in the living room, and the TV displayed a soccer game. I think it was the same one that Ruiz had been watching at the Silver Hotel. Armand sat on the couch, dozing, but his eyes opened when I unlocked the door. He was still wearing his suit, though he had taken off his shoes, socks, jacket, and tie.

“You didn’t have to wait up for me,” I said.

Armand waved his hand. “It’s a married man thing. If I was in bed, Cecilia would hear the noise and think someone was breaking into the house, and I would have to go check it out anyway.” He turned down the volume. “That took longer than I thought.”

“Singularity agents attacked Victoria and me before we left the Everglades Tower,” I said.

Armand stared at me for a few seconds.

“Oh,” he said. “Hell.”

“Yup,” I said. I sat on the other end of the couch. “Some cloned soldiers and a cyborg named Salvatore.” I gave Armand a brief sketch of my eventful evening.

“So let me get this straight,” said Armand. “Victoria is Duke Vashtyr’s shadow agent. Duke Vashtyr is working with Singularity. The Singularity people want what’s inside Duke Curantar’s chest. Vashtyr volunteered Victoria to get it for them. But the Singularity people aren’t sure that Victoria can pull it off, so they sent this Salvatore bloke to kill us all and take whatever’s in the chest.”

“That’s about it,” I said.

“Bloody hell,” said Armand. He sighed and rubbed the heels of his hands against his forehead. “Bloody, bloody hell. This is why I wanted to get out of the business, you know? Everything always turns into a mess like this. Everyone’s always betraying everyone else. It is such a damned hassle.”

“No honor among thieves,” I said.

“There should be,” said Armand, leveling a finger at me. “There bloody well should be. We should have a trade union or something.”

“I think that’s what the shadow councilors are supposed to do.”

“They’re not exactly concerned with happy labor relations.” Armand tossed aside the remote and leaned back against the couch. “What are we going to do? That’s what worries me.”

It worried me, too.

“We’re meeting at the warehouse tomorrow to set a date for the job,” I said. “I think it’s gonna have to be September 6th or the 7th. Tomorrow is the 5th, and there isn’t enough time to get set up properly before the 6th.” One way or another, this would be settled in forty-eight hours.

“Which means that if Victoria is going to stab us in the back, or these Singularity arseholes want to shoot us,” said Armand, “they’re going to show up then.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I think Salvatore’s original plan was to kill me and Victoria and take the key. Except I didn’t have the key with me, and I got us away.”

“You said Victoria was afraid,” said Armand. “You think she was faking?”

“No,” I said. “We know she’s a great actress. That shapechanging trick of hers wouldn’t work so well if she couldn’t mimic people. But she was terrified of Salvatore, I’m sure of it.” I grimaced. “I think Salvatore wants to have a little

nonconsensual fun with her before he cuts her throat if you get my drift.”

“Christ, that’s twisted,” said Armand. “Martin Corbisher threatened to do the same thing to Cecilia if I didn’t cooperate. I wasn’t a saint, but I never made threats like that. What the hell is wrong with these people?”

“Look what happened to Corbisher,” I said.

“Good point,” said Armand. “But we need a backup plan.”

“I’ve got one in motion with Ruiz,” I said. “But Ruiz might have been the one who told Singularity where to find me and Victoria.”

“Ruiz?” said Armand. “The man keeps his word. He’s not someone to ever cross, but he keeps his word, and he took the first half of his fee.”

“He told me himself that everyone is capable of betrayal with the right inducement,” I said. “Maybe Singularity offered him a billion dollars. Maybe they’re holding one of his kids hostage, I don’t know. Or maybe he’s playing fair with us, and someone in his organization is spying for Singularity. I don’t know, Armand. But I do know that we need a backup plan of our own. What that only we know about.”

“Yeah,” said Armand. “Back in the old days, this is the kind of situation I would always make sure to have my anchor stashed in a car nearby. Things go bad, I shadowjump to my anchor and get the hell out of there.”

“You’ve got an anchor ready?” I said.

“Ready and waiting.” He reached under the end table and lifted his anchor.

It didn’t look impressive. It was a stainless steel cylinder the size of a can of beer. In fact, it was probably a can filled with gravel. Armand could control his shadowjumping ability to some extent. If he tried to travel to somewhere within his line of sight, he could manage that with a good degree of accuracy. Any farther, and the jumps became random. However, he could charge an anchor with magical power, and so long as he was within range of the anchor, the shadowjump would carry him there.

“Good,” I said. “Can you make another one?”

“What would be the point?” said Armand. “If I make two anchors, I’ll just be pulled to the nearest one when I shadowjump.”

“Not unless you dispel the first anchor,” I said. “We’re probably going to stash the first anchor in a van or a truck or something. A second anchor in a second car that no one knows about is going to be a good idea.” I thought about it. “Maybe in one of the parking ramps closer to the freeway. If I’m right, and if Ruiz or someone on his crew wants to betray us to Singularity, then we can use that to make a quick escape.”

“God, I hope it’s not Ruiz,” said Armand. “If it is, Cecilia and I will have to move. I like it here.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Even though it’s hot all the time, the insects are everywhere, and the entire city might be underwater in a few days depending on where the hurricane makes landfall?”

“All part of the Florida charm,” said Armand. “You realize, of course, that even if none of Ruiz’s people betrays us, Victoria is going to come after whatever’s in the chest.”

“I know.”

“What are we going to do about it?”

I shrugged. “If she tries, I’ll deal with it then.”

I didn’t want to kill her. I empathized with her predicament. To be blunt, she reminded me too much of myself when I was still Morvilind’s shadow agent. But that sympathy might cloud my judgment. Victoria’s minor breakdown in the stolen car might have been calculated to win my . Or maybe her emotions were entirely unfeigned, and she was nonetheless using them to rouse my sympathy.

The best way to deceive is by telling the absolute truth, just at the wrong time.

There was no way she could take me in a straight fight. I knew it, and Victoria

knew it. And she knew what I was capable of. Which meant if she tried to take the contents of the myothar chest, she would try to ambush me. Maybe shoot me in the back of the head, or blow up my car, or something like that. Some plan that would neutralize my magic and allow her to get away with the contents of the chest.

I really hoped that the damned chest turned out to be empty.

Armand blew out a breath. “Suppose I’d better get some sleep. I’ve got a second anchor to make tomorrow.”

“And I’ve got a few things to do myself,” I said.

###

I got a few hours of troubled sleep, then woke and exercised to clear my head. Despite the exercise, I had a throbbing headache and felt like I wanted to hit someone. As I guzzled down water to clear my head, I realized the reason for my irritability – I had forgotten to eat anything but a banana and a piece of toast yesterday. I sometimes got so wrapped up in what I was doing that I forgot to eat. If Riordan had been here, he would have reminded me, but he was in the UK.

I didn’t know if it was funny or not. Half the people in the United States wanted to lose weight, and I had trouble keeping any weight on.

Armand was busy preparing his second anchor, and so I left him to it and borrowed his car. I drove back to Fort Lauderdale, retrieved the key from the bus station, and left. From here on out, I wasn’t letting the thing out of my sight.

With that done, I drove to a diner a short distance away, used the Mask spell to disguise myself as an elderly man in a tracksuit, and ordered a breakfast of steak and eggs. When it came, I doused both meat and eggs in hot sauce so my stomach wouldn’t rebel and started to eat.

I needed to think, and I was hungry enough that my brain would be clearer with a full stomach.

Just what was inside the myothar chest? What was so damned important?

I thought it over step by step.

I had initially assumed it was some sort of powerful magical relic or weapon. Maybe something like the Reaping, or the Quantum Nihlus Stone, or the Cruciform Eye that the Rebels had used to launch their attacks on Milwaukee. Maybe Singularity had another Cruciform Eye they used to target their rift ways with precision, which explained how Salvatore and his squad had emerged from the Shadowlands inside the Everglades Tower.

But I didn’t think the box held a weapon. Victoria had said that the chest contained something that Singularity already had and didn’t want the High Queen to obtain. That probably ruled out a weapon. If Singularity had some sort

of rare magical weapon, they would have used it already. For that matter, it seemed more likely they would build their own weapons, like the Myrmidonclass cyborgs or the Fusion wraithwolves I had fought in Milwaukee.

So. Not a weapon.

What did Singularity have that it didn’t want the High Queen to possess? Tarlia commanded the resources of Earth and Kalvarion, and hypothetically she could build or make anything she wanted. What did Singularity have that she couldn’t match?

I thought about it as I chewed and swallowed, sipping coffee.

The answer came to me.

Information.

Somehow, the chest contained information that Singularity had and didn’t want the High Queen to learn. It was the only thing that made sense. Maybe the chest held a map, or a book, or a tablet, or a scroll, some kind of document that Singularity didn’t want Tarlia to obtain. I wondered what it possibly could be.

But the nature of the object in the chest was immaterial. What mattered was the information it contained.

I came to a decision as I finished my breakfast and settled the bill.

It was time to make a final backup plan, one I wouldn’t share with anyone else.

The diner was in a strip mall, and across the street was a big-box electronics store, one that sold phones and tablets and computers. I went inside and browsed until I found a small digital camera with a flash and the kind of resolution I needed. I paid cash for the camera, then went back into Armand’s car and set up the device. I practiced with it a few times, taking quick pictures of small objects on the enger seat, and checked to make sure that the memory card was working and recording images properly.

I hoped that I wouldn’t need the camera.

But if I did, I would be ready.

Just in case.

***

Chapter 15: Hurricane H-317

A few hours after I bought the camera, we met back at the warehouse and planned for the final day of the job.

We settled on the night of September 7th for several reasons, though it was later than I wanted. Ruiz wanted to use an official City of Miami utility van as our escape vehicle, as it would be unlikely to be stopped by the police. I agreed that was a good idea, but Ruiz needed an extra day to obtain the van. Bribes had to be paid, and some forms falsified.

For that matter, Suarez and Armand wanted an extra day to monitor the backdoor s the rootkit had placed into the Duke’s security servers. One possibility we hadn’t considered had been that Jacob Pierce might order a comprehensive audit of security procedures after waking up with no memory of his night in the Silver Hotel. So far, Ruiz’s sources indicated that hadn’t happened. Pierce had awakened, made a furious phone call to the management of Venture Companions that degenerated into a shouting match, and then stormed off to work. So far, it appeared that he assumed his altercation with his “escort” had nothing to do with his job as Duke Curantar’s security director. But if Pierce was angry enough, he might insist on questioning the escort who claimed to have been attacked, and the management of Venture Companions would quickly realize that no one had actually been sent to Pierce’s room that night.

That was the trouble with using the Internet to commit crimes. You could do all sorts of wonderful things with computers, but a lot of them fell apart if people started actually talking to one another face to face. Fortunately, people were more inclined to trust their computers than to talk to one another.

“The footage from our previous entry has been looped?” said Ruiz. We sat around the table in the half-finished warehouse. A steady rain drummed against the steel roof, filling the gloomy space with a faint murmuring roar. Ruiz had provided a lunch prepared by the cooks at his bar, Cuban sandwiches and a lot of sides. I had mostly filled up at breakfast, so I settled for dipping chips into salsa every so often.

Really good salsa, come to think of it. Ruiz’s bar might have been a money laundry for his other operations, but at least he didn’t skimp on the food.

Suarez grunted and looked at Armand.

“Yeah, that’s sorted,” said Armand. “Most of the footage from that night just showed empty hallways and sidewalks. It was simple enough to erase any recordings of us and splice in the empty footage.” He grunted. “Of course, the metadata is going to look wonky, but there’s no way around that. A serious forensic audit of the server will turn it up, but by then, all other traces of our backdoor will have been deleted, so there will be no way to track it to us.”

“And by the time anyone thinks to audit the server, hopefully we will be long gone,” said Victoria. She had dressed neatly again, with a blouse and a pencil skirt, her hair done up and makeup artfully applied. Maybe after bloodmorphing into the form of Jacob Pierce, she wanted to look pretty, which Pierce definitely wasn’t. Yet I saw the hint of shadows under her eyes that the concealer couldn’t quite hide. I suspected she hadn’t slept very much.

“Yeah,” I said, “and if all goes well, we won’t give anyone a reason to check the metadata of the camera logs. Especially our presence in the servers will be gone

by then.”

Ruiz looked at Suarez. “It will all be gone by then, won’t it, Nicandro?”

Suarez started to grunt again, but something Ruiz’s pleasant tone caught his attention. He swallowed and then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, it will, boss. Me and Boccand worked up a shell script that will delete all our traces in the camera footage, splice in empty recordings, and then delete all the backdoor s. Then in a few days, the firewall will wipe and reinstall its firmware, and no one will be the wiser.” I was glad to hear that Armand had helped Suarez write the script. I knew enough about network security to understand that it was a lot harder to stick hidden commands into something as comparatively simple as a shell script. “Can’t do anything about the metadata anomalies, but without any other evidence linked to them, they’re meaningless. They’ll probably think it’s a glitch in the software. And Ms. North says the whole point is that we get in and out undetected.”

“That’s the job,” I said.

Brilliant lightning flashed outside, brightening the gloomy warehouse for an instant. About five or six seconds later, the rumble of thunder rolled over the countryside, and the wind driving the rain intensified.

That was the other reason we had decided on the night of September 7th to finish the job.

Hurricane H-317 was on its way.

The tropical storm had become a full-fledged hurricane, but it had changed direction in the process. Previously, it had been driving for the eastern seaboard of the United States, with landfall projected anywhere from Miami to somewhere in North Carolina. But as the storm strengthened, it swung to the west. Now it was projected to over Cuba on its way towards the Gulf Coast of the United States, with probable landfall somewhere in Louisiana and Mississippi.

For the city of Miami, that was mostly good news. The eye of the storm was probably going to be over the Gulf of Mexico as H-317 ed Florida. The bad news was that a lot of the storm itself was going to over Miami. No storm surge, but the city was going to get a lot of rain and wind, with the possibility of tornadoes forming at the hurricane’s edges. Flooding was expected in numerous areas, especially along the coast, and while the city hadn’t been evacuated, people were told to expect power outages and potential disruption of supplies. The lines around the grocery stores and the gas stations would have been even longer, except that everyone who could get out of town had already done so. I had asked Cecilia what she did to prepare for hurricanes, and she had shown me her stockpile of emergency supplies, which was impressive. Armand had also shown me his collection of shotguns and pistols (securely locked away to keep them away from Sophie’s inquisitive fingers), so his family was set for food and water in the event of power outages and civil disorder.

And in the midst of all this disruption, it would be an ideal time to break into Duke Curantar’s mansion and waltz out with the contents of the myothar chest.

Man, I hoped that damned box turned out to be empty.

“Then we are agreed,” said Ruiz. “We shall meet at the Everglades Tower at 9 PM on September 7th.” I wasn’t sure that was wise. Salvatore had ambushed us

there once before. Then again, while Salvatore was a violent thug with super strength, I suspected he was too cunning to launch an ambush at the same place twice. Besides, if Singularity had a method to accurately target rift ways, they could launch an ambush anywhere they wanted.

Unpleasant thought, really.

But the plan was settled, and we went our separate ways to prepare.

Meanwhile, I went to buy a car.

###

The car was necessary for the backup plan I had prepared with Armand.

I did it carefully, using a false name, wrapping myself in a Mask spell, and paying for the car with cash. I bought the car from a guy with a used car lot that I had seen in Fort Lauderdale. His establishment also sold car and motorcycle parts that I was pretty sure had been stolen, but I didn’t care. It wasn’t a great car, a four-door Lone Motors sedan with a lot of rust and a hundred and ninety thousand miles on the odometer, but that model was reliable, and a quick check showed that the engine was in good shape.

It didn’t have to get us far. Just far enough.

Using another false name, I rented a room at the Silver Hotel, and I stashed the car in the hotel’s long-term parking ramp across the street. As it happened, that ramp was pretty close to the freeway, which was what I wanted.

Armand’s newly completed second anchor went into the trunk.

If the job went bad, Armand and I would have a quick escape that none of the others knew about. If Singularity had agents in Miami or within Ruiz’s organization, hopefully none of them would figure out the backup plan.

Riordan texted me and said that they had made progress in the UK and were close to concluding their “business deal,” which meant that they were on the trail of the Dark Ones cultists. I texted back that we had made progress as well, and I expected that my “business deal” would wrap up within the week.

God, I missed him.

I kept the myothar key on me, wrapped in plastic and tucked within the interior pocket of my coat. I also carried the little camera, also wrapped in plastic, secured in another pocket.

I told no one about it.

###

You’re probably wondering why I wrapped the camera in plastic.

The rain made it necessary.

It wasn’t my first hurricane, not precisely. Traveling around the country stealing crap for Morvilind meant that I had seen a lot of different weather conditions. I had been in Dallas when a hurricane had ed over the city, and while I hadn’t been in the storm’s direct path, I had seen the amount of damage that even a hurricane’s outskirts could do to a city.

On the night of September 7th, the rain fell in torrents, and the wind howled like some kind of Shadowlands monster. The gusts didn’t get above fifty miles an hour but combined with the rain, it made conditions outside dangerous and unpleasant. All the streetlights came on by three in the afternoon, and when the time came to meet the others, Armand drove slowly and carefully across the city to the Everglades Tower.

“Bloody hell,” he said, squinting at the windshield as the rain pounded at the car. He had to shout a little to make himself heard. We both wore green rain ponchos with hoods that could be drawn up. I realize it was strange to rob a Duke’s mansion while wearing high-visibility rain jackets, but the rain would have drenched us to the skin in about a second otherwise. Beneath the poncho, I wore my pea coat, a t-shirt, black jeans, and black work boots. I also had a pair of pistols in holsters on my hips, extra ammunition, and some other equipment, along with the key and my backup camera. “Suppose it would be funny if we went to all this work only to go off the road and drown.”

“Yeah, the joke would be on us, wouldn’t it?” I said. Lightning blazed across the sky ahead, followed by the boom of thunder.

Mile by sodden mile, we made our way into downtown Miami. We drove past the Duke’s mansion, and I saw that the ornamental lights were still on, their glow illuminating the sheets of rain that fell from the sky. The gutters flowed with torrents of water, and I hoped the streets didn’t flood. We came to the halffinished skeleton of the Everglades Tower. The chain had been removed from the parking ramp, and we drove to the lower level. I was surprised by how little water was down there. Ruiz must have invested in a good drainage system.

Armand parked next to some other cars and got out. One of the vehicles was a City of Miami utilities van, complete with flashing yellow lights and the city’s seal painted on the side, along with the number for service. Absolutely no one would question seeing a utility vehicle out and about during the storm.

A folding table had been set up near the wall, and Nicandro Suarez sat there, already typing into his laptop. Miles leaned against the utility van, his rain poncho making him look like a neon-green hill. Ruiz stood between them both, wearing black jeans and a long-sleeved black athletic T-shirt. I guessed that was what he wore when he expected action.

Victoria waited nearby. She had bloodmorphed into the form of Jacob Pierce and wore clothes similar to Ruiz’s – black jeans and black athletic shirt, though the clothes looked rather better on Ruiz than they did on Pierce’s form. She had a backpack over her shoulders containing a pair of running shoes. Victoria had told me that she planned to resume her original form as soon as we were clear of the mansion since Pierce’s bulk meant she would have a hard time running fast. And that meant she would need different shoes, since Pierce’s feet were quite a bit larger than hers. It had been nothing short of a miracle that she hadn’t tripped

and cracked her skull during our escape from Salvatore, though it’s amazing what you can do when people are shooting at you.

Hopefully we wouldn’t have to run anywhere.

I wondered if Victoria had something in the backpack she planned to use against Armand and me once we emptied out the myothar chest.

She looked exactly like Pierce, but I could tell it was her.

The real Pierce wouldn’t have flinched for just a second when he saw me.

“Hey guys,” I said. “Some weather, huh?”

Miles snorted out a laugh. “This gentle rain? Nah. This ain’t a hurricane. This is just some stormy weather. Nothing to worry about.”

“If this is a gentle rain, I’d hate to see what you consider bad weather,” said Victoria.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Ruiz. “The weather is dangerous, but not enough to hinder us so long as we are careful. Nicandro, are we ready?”

“We are,” said Suarez, tapping away on his keyboard. He had an external monitor plugged into his laptop, and black and white camera feeds showed on the screen. The images were crystal clear. Anyone who showed up on them would be easily identifiable. It was a good thing we had temporary control over the camera servers. “I’ve got your route to the museum mapped out. We’re in luck that the museum is closed until H-317 es. Once you get into the building, follow my directions. I’ll overwrite the camera feeds with blank footage as you and warn you if there are any security guards approaching.”

“Miles, the radio packs,” said Ruiz.

Miles opened the back of the van and handed out radio packs the size of a deck of cards. They were Homeland Security models, which Ruiz had likely obtained them when they had fallen off the back of a truck somewhere. They had excellent range and hopefully would be strong enough to punch through the hurricane’s interference. I clipped my pack to the back of my belt and slipped the earpiece over my left ear. The others followed suit, and we did a communications check.

“We are ready,” said Ruiz. “Your final positions.” We all knew this already, but like a good leader, Ruiz reminded everyone of their responsibilities one last time. “Nicandro will remain here to monitor the servers and the Duke’s computer systems. Miles, Armand, Ms. North, Ms. Sunderland and I shall take the van to the Duke’s mansion. Miles and I will remain behind with the vehicle while Armand, Ms. North, and Ms. Sunderland penetrate the mansion. Once they have obtained the objective, Armand will use his special abilities to egress himself, Ms. North, and Ms. Sunderland from the building. We shall return here, and at that time, Ms. North will make sure everyone gets paid.”

“Yeah,” I said. “So if anyone wants to shoot me in the back, wait until after I’ve paid you. Otherwise, you’re all getting squat.” I wasn’t looking at Victoria, but I saw her shift a little.

“After all this work,” said Miles, “I’m wondering what’s in that damned box.”

“I advise against that,” said Ruiz mildly. “Curiosity is at times a liability in our line of work, my friend. There is such a thing as knowing too much.”

“I know, I know,” said Miles. “Still. Wouldn’t it be funny that after all this it turns out there’s a teddy bear in the box?”

“A…teddy bear?” said Victoria, Pierce’s face wrinkling with incredulity.

“Well, yeah,” Miles said. “Like that one old movie about that old guy with his sled, you know? Orson Welles, that was the actor. Maybe the myth-whatever…

“Myothar,” murmured Ruiz.

“Yeah, that thing,” said Miles. “Maybe the myothar locked its teddy bear in the chest, and it’s been sitting in the Duke’s basement for hundreds of years.” He paused. “Do the myothar have teddy bears?”

“Pretty sure they don’t,” I said.

“As fascinating as these theories are,” said Ruiz, “it is time to move. Good

fortune, my friends.”

Miles took the driver’s seat of the utility van, while Ruiz took the front enger seat. Armand, Victoria, and I clambered into the back. It looked like Ruiz had obtained an actual city utility van. Racks of tools were mounted on the walls, and a tool chest with numerous drawers had been bolted to the floor. Several large plastic spools of wire sat on the worn gray carpet. I settled on the floor, Armand next to me, and Victoria settled atop one of the spools. It was odd to see Jacob Pierce’s burly form perched ladylike atop a seat.

“Don’t sit there,” I said, grabbing one of the tool racks.

“Why ever not?” said Victoria. Miles started the engine, and the floor vibrated. “That carpet’s filthy.”

“Because the wire spool’s going to start sliding around,” I said.

As if to prove my point, Miles backed out of the space faster than he should have. Victoria yelped as the spools of wire slid around, then sighed and sat against the van’s back doors.

“Gently,” murmured Ruiz. “, we want to look like diligent municipal employees going about their business.

Miles snorted but drove out of the parking ramp at a more sedate pace. “Boss, there ain’t no such thing as an honest municipal employee, you said so yourself.”

“Yes, but they all want to be seen as honest, and for now, we must emulate them,” said Ruiz.

We pulled onto the street, and the rain hammered against the windshield. The wind howled past us, the rain falling at almost a sixty-degree angle in the wind, and the van rocked on its springs. For an awful second, I was sure the vehicle was going to roll over as we turned, but Miles kept the van on its wheels, and we headed towards the mansions.

There was no one else on the street. Which was good. On the other hand, the way the rain and the wind were coming down, maybe we shouldn’t have been out here either.

“Nicandro,” said Ruiz, tapping his earpiece. “We are coming up on the mansion’s fence.”

“Acknowledged,” said Suarez’s voice in my ear. It crackled a little bit with static but was otherwise clear. “Park beneath the second stoplight around the corner. I’ve got control of the camera on that sector of the fence, and it will loop blank footage. All the damn rain makes it easier.”

“Can’t we park closer to the truck dock?” I said. I wasn’t looking forward to the run to the personnel door.

“Can’t,” grunted Suarez. “When you park under the lamp, you’ll be covered by two cameras. If the three of you walk to the dock, you’ll move from camera zone

to camera zone, which will always cover you with at least two cameras. I can overwrite the footage on two cameras simultaneously without any trouble. But if I overwrite more than two cameras simultaneously, the Us on the servers will max out. The whole system will get sluggish, and if someone’s annoyed enough, they might check and find the backdoor .”

“Acknowledged,” I said. At least it was a good reason. Suarez was petty enough to make us run through the storm for his own amusement.

“Speaking of that,” said Ruiz. “Do you have eyes on Pierce himself? It wouldn’t do for Mr. Pierce to meet his duplicate.”

“Hang on.” I heard Suarez tapping keys in the background, followed by a muttered curse in Spanish. “He’s in his office. It looks like he’s been taking phone calls and answering emails all day. There’s a camera in the hallway outside his office – I’ll have it notify me if he leaves.”

“Good work, Nicandro,” said Ruiz. The van slid to a stop beneath the lamppost. “We are in position.”

“Okay,” said Suarez. “If anyone uses the cameras to look at that portion of the street, they’ll see nothing but the storm.” He snorted. “If the wind keeps picking up, they might see nothing but the storm anyway.” As if to punctuate his words, the van gave an alarming sway.

“It’s time, then,” said Ruiz. “Armand, Ms. North, Ms. Sunderland. Good luck. We shall await you here.”

“Ready, guys?” I said, looking at Armand and Victoria. She nodded while Armand looked up and tapped his anchor, which he had secured in the tool rack.

One of his anchors. The other, which we hadn’t mentioned to anyone, was hidden in the trunk of the crappy car I had bought and parked in the ramp a few blocks away.

“Then let’s do it,” I said. I drew up the hood of my rain poncho, pushed open one of the van’s back doors, and stepped into the storm-lashed night.

I promptly almost fell over.

Or was blown over.

The wind…God, the wind was like a living thing. I had been in some serious storms before, but never anything like this. It was like trying to stand motionless on a conveyer belt, except the air itself was the belt. The rain pounded into my poncho, and I was glad that my boots were waterproof when they were laced up. I grabbed the van’s door and caught my balance, and Armand and Victoria scrambled out. I needed Armand’s help to get the door shut.

“Come on!” shouted Armand, and we started up the sidewalk.

The wind was behind us, which was good because it was easier than walking

against it. Though I had to take care not to get blown onto my face. Suarez called out the camera changes as we walked, and soon we reached the truck ramp. I saw that a miniature lake had formed at the base of the ramp, the rain falling faster than the drain could siphon it away. We scrambled into the shelter offered by the overhang of the mansion, and stepping out of the rain was a welcome relief.

“We’re at the truck door,” said Victoria.

“Right,” said Suarez. “Unlocking it now.”

The next to the door flashed green, and the lock released. Victoria swung the door opened, and we stepped into the warehouse. I looked around, worried that we would see security guards or workers, but the warehouse was deserted. We knew the Duke’s staff had instructed nonessential personnel to stay home until the storm ed, and I guessed that included the guys who unloaded the trucks.

“We’re in the dock,” I said, pushing back the hood of my poncho. We were leaving a trail of droplets and wet footprints on the floor. That wasn’t great, but there was nothing we could do about it. Besides, everyone who had come into the mansion over the last few days would have left wet footprints. Likely the staff was going to clean the carpets and polish the floors once the storm ed.

“Head for the door on the far wall,” said Suarez. “Doesn’t look like any guards are making rounds right now. I’ll unlock the doors as you go and overwrite the camera footage.”

“Okay,” I said.

Victoria had taken Pierce’s form in case we ran into anyone, but we didn’t. The office wing of the mansion was dark and deserted. Some of it, no doubt, was the storm. Quite a lot of it was that it was past nine PM and most of the staff would have been at home anyway. Not many Elven nobles wanted office staff clattering around their mansions in the middle of the night. I saw light leaking from under Jacob Pierce’s door, but he remained in his office and didn’t emerge.

A few minutes later, we reached the museum wing. We walked past the cases of armor and relics and other curios I had seen during my previous visit. I felt the faint aura of power from the Seals of Unmasking carved into the walls.

And, if I concentrated, I could just feel the dark aura of the myothar chest beneath the floor.

“We’re at the door,” I said as we stopped before the steel door leading to the basement.

“Hang on,” said Suarez. “There are extra alarms on this door. I’ll need to disable the notifications.”

It occurred to me that if Suarez wanted to screw us over, this was the perfect time to do it. Here in the museum wing, we were exposed with limited escape routes. I couldn’t even Cloak or Mask myself. All Suarez needed to do was send a quick message to the real Pierce, and we would be in trouble. Armand would have to shadowjump us out, and that would be that. We would have blown our only chance to open the chest undetected.

Or if Suarez didn’t betray us but simply made a mistake.

Suddenly I wished that I had insisted Ruiz or Miles stay with Suarez. Armand and I were the only other ones who knew anything about computer security, but we needed to enter the mansion. Miles and Ruiz were waiting in the escape van. I would have been happier if one of them had been near Suarez with a pistol ready.

Unless, of course, Ruiz or Miles had betrayed our location to Singularity.

Well, too late to second-guess yourself now, Nadia.

We were committed.

The lock flashed green and unlocked with a beep.

“It’s open,” said Suarez. “I’m looping the camera feeds in the basement now. There’s no one down there for hours at a time, so it shouldn’t be too complicated.”

“Can you see the chest on the cameras?” said Victoria.

“No,” said Suarez. He paused. “At least, I don’t think so. Don’t know what the damned thing looks like.”

“I trust, Ms. North,” said Ruiz, “that you will be able to locate the chest?”

“Oh, yes,” I said. “I know what I’m looking for.”

That was a lie. I had no idea what the thing looked like. But I suspected I would have no trouble finding it. If it was as ugly as the key, it would stand out like a dead squirrel on a white tablecloth.

And I could feel its magical aura already.

“Let’s hurry,” said Armand.

“I should go first,” I said. “In case there’s trouble.” That was another potential weak point in our plan. The rootkit and the backdoor had gotten us past Curantar’s conventional security, but it was possible he had magical defenses that we didn’t know about. Wards, maybe. Perhaps summoned guardians. As I’ve said before many times, summoning spells are really dangerous, but the least dangerous application of a summoning spell is to bind Shadowlands creatures to guard a specific location. Then they just attack anyone who enters that area.

Or maybe he had a golem guarding his treasures. I really hoped not.

Armand, Victoria, and I were all wizards, but of the three of us, I was by far the most powerful and the best equipped to deal with any surprises.

“Follow me,” I said, and I pushed the door open. Beyond was a concrete staircase with a steel railing, and we descended to the basement. There was another steel door at the bottom, but this one was unlocked, and I opened it.

We stepped into the room beyond.

The storeroom for Curantar’s treasures looked like a cross between a big bank vault and the back room of a rare bookstore. A wide concrete aisle went down the center of the room, and rows of close-set steel bars divided the rest of the space into numerous individual storage lockers. Some of the lockers held wooden crates, others held statues of Elven nobles in archaic armor or formal robes. One of the lockers held a suit of dark gray armor that stood nine feet tall, the helmet slashed in half. Still another held a statue of a wraithwolf that was so lifelike I watched it for a second to make sure it wasn’t breathing. To my mild alarm, I did see a stone golem in one of the lockers, but the thing was inert.

And, of course, many of the steel cages held more mundane varieties of treasure – rare artworks and jeweled goblets, rings and amulets in display cases. At a casual glance, I probably saw thirty or forty million dollars of gold and gems down here.

“Jesus,” breathed Armand. “Too bad we’re not here to thoroughly rob the place. We could all retire. Or buy islands somewhere.”

“That’s not the job,” I said, walking down the aisle. I felt the faint aura of dark magic coming from ahead. “Curantar can never know that we were here.”

“I know,” said Armand. “I know. But…” He flinched. “What the hell is that thing?”

He had seen the myothar chest.

It sort of drew the eye in the same way that a serious car accident at the side of the road compelled you to look against your will, even knowing that you might see something horrible.

The chest sat on a wooden table in a locker against the far wall. As Ruiz had described, it was about three feet long and two feet deep. Whatever was inside wouldn’t be terribly large. The chest had been built of the same dark metal as the key, which meant it looked like the box had been fashioned from the glistening black flesh of some poisonous sea creature. It wasn’t symmetrical – black tentacles of varying sizes wrapped around the box. Set at irregular intervals along its sides and lid were red gemstones. They gave off a faint glow, and the combined effect made the box look like a hideous, misshapen monster, its red eyes glaring in all directions.

“A disquieting sight, is it not?” said Ruiz in my earpiece. “It looks like something dredged up from the ocean floor.”

“Yeah,” I said. The steel cage was locked, but a simple spell of telekinesis opened the door. It swung open on silent hinges, and there was nothing between me and the chest. The hair on the back of my neck stood up in involuntary

revulsion. At least there was no smell. The chest looked as if it should have given off some malignant alien stench. “I’m going to open it now.”

I stepped into the cage and walked around the wooden table, examining the chest.

I found the keyhole. At least, I thought it was a keyhole. It looked like a round hole lined with tiny spiked fangs, like the sort of mouth that would latch onto human flesh and start sucking out blood.

“All right,” I said. “Opening the chest.”

Victoria leaned closer, an expression of intense concentration on her disguised face.

I reached into my coat, drew out the flat metal case, and opened it. The key lay within, and I picked it up. I knew that touching it was harmless, but I was nonetheless glad that I was wearing gloves.

I lifted the key towards the chest, and they both started to move.

The key’s tendrils began to twitch and write. The tentacles encircling the box jerked as well, sliding back and forth with a faint rasping sound. Watching it was just disgusting beyond words. I’m not a big seafood person, but after this, there was no way I was ever eating calamari.

“Ugh,” said Armand.

“Here goes,” I said.

I pushed the key towards the fang-lined mouth. The tentacles of the key reached out and sank into the mouth. The chest jerked, and the tendrils wrapped over the lid slid backward, slithering down and sinking into the sides of the box. The key settled into place, going motionless, and the chest’s lid slid open without a sound.

Victoria, Armand, and I all leaned forward to look inside.

The outside of the chest looked organic and misshapen, but the interior was perfectly flat and level, constructed out of that weird black metal. I had expected that the box would contain a book, or a scroll, or clay tablet, or a map, something else that could record information.

I did not expect the box to contain a dagger.

Specifically, an Elven dagger.

It was a ceremonial weapon with a blade eighteen inches long and about as wide as my hand. I couldn’t see the blade since it was sheathed in a scabbard of polished red wood. The crosspiece had been fashioned of gleaming steel, and the

handle and the pommel were gold. A single brilliant emerald rested in the pommel.

“A knife?” said Armand, puzzled. “All this for a knife?”

Victoria let out a long breath, gazing at the weapon.

“What do you see?” said Ruiz.

“It’s an Elven noble ceremonial dagger,” I said. “I’ve seen them before a couple of times. In the Elven language, they’re called ‘blades of honor’ or ‘blades of fidelity.’ An Elven lord gives them to his knights as a gift when they swear fealty to him for the first time.”

I worked the spell to sense magical forces, focusing my will upon the dagger. I felt the malignant aura of the chest and the key and magical energy from some of the other objects in the basement.

From the dagger, I felt absolutely nothing.

No, wait, that wasn’t right. I sensed a mild magical aura from the scabbard. For long-term storage, it’s a bad idea to keep a sword or a knife in a sheath since rust might damage the weapon. The scabbard had a mild ward to block any rust, but that was it. The dagger was otherwise non-magical. An Elven knight’s ceremonial dagger would be stronger and more durable than normal steel, but that was it.

What the hell did Singularity want with a ceremonial dagger?

Well, I could figure that out later. Right now, I had two bigger problems. First, getting out of the building with the weapon. Second, making sure that I got away with the weapon and Victoria didn’t kill me for it.

I picked up the dagger. It was lighter than I expected, with a faint tingle from the preservation spell upon the scabbard. I stuffed it inside my coat and then reached down and grasped the handle of the key. I pulled, and it slid out of the keyhole/mouth with a grotesque squelching noise. The key’s tentacles flailed for a moment and then resumed their previous position, going rigid once more. The tendrils around the chest wrapped tight, and then the lid snapped shut.

The tentacles settled into place and stopped moving, and then the myothar chest looked as if it had never opened. I slapped the key into its case and returned it to the interior of my coat.

“That’s it?” said Armand.

“That’s it,” I said, though I looked at Victoria as I said it. Her disguised face was a grim mask. I half-expected her to pull out a gun and threaten to shoot me if I didn’t hand over the dagger, but she only looked tired.

Miles hooted out a laugh. “Man, we did all this work for some fancy-ass knife?”

“My backer’s paying for it,” I said. We stepped back into the aisle. For a brief second, I thought about shoving Victoria into the cage and locking her inside. I knew she was going to try to take the key sooner rather than later, and if she was stuck inside the Duke’s cellar, she couldn’t stab me in the back.

No. For one thing, the High Queen wanted me to get away clean, and leaving Victoria behind to take the fall would definitely not accomplish that.

And my conscience recoiled at the thought. Of course, everything she had told me might have been a lie, a carefully spun tale to win my sympathy. But I didn’t think she had feigned the terror when Salvatore had come for her.

I swung the cage door shut and locked it again.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said.

“Ladies, hands on my shoulders, please,” said Armand. I reached up and grasped Armand’s left shoulder, and Victoria took his right. Armand took a deep breath, gathering magical power, and cast a spell.

Specifically, the shadowjump spell.

Gray light swallowed the world, and cellar vanished around us.

***

Chapter 16: Familiar Faces

Like I’ve said before, shadowjumping is a sort of teleportation. The way it works is you fling yourself against the barrier that separates Earth from the Shadowlands, but not with enough power to breach the barrier. You bounce off that barrier and return to the Earth, and the net effect is instantaneous transportation over a short distance. Armand wasn’t powerful enough to transport himself more than a mile or so, but there are times when that is more than enough.

Like when robbing a Duke’s mansion, for instance.

The gray light of the shadowjump swallowed me, and it suddenly felt like I dropped a thousand feet in the blink of an eye.

The three of us reappeared on the sidewalk a few feet from the van.

That was a shock, let me tell you.

For one thing, it was dark out, and the lack of light after even the relative gloom of the Duke’s cellar was jarring. I saw the mansion illuminated in the night, along with the streetlamps and occasional lights from the tall buildings around downtown Miami, but it took my eyes a second to adjust.

It didn’t help that the wind had gotten stronger since we had left, and it felt like a gallon of rainwater hit me in the face. I gasped and stumbled a step, and Victoria caught my arm before I could pitch over the curb and land in the torrent of water in the gutter. I looked at her, half-expecting her to shove me, but she only offered a grim nod.

“The door!” shouted Armand, straining to make himself heard over the wind and rain. He yanked open one of the back doors to the van, and Victoria and I scrambled inside. Armand hauled himself after us, straining to get the door closed. It thumped shut, and the howl of the wind dropped a bit.

Golden light flashed, and my head snapped around. But Victoria had only cast the bloodmorph spell, returning to her usual form. With her hair plastered against her scalp, she looked like a wet child in the Pierce-sized green rain poncho. But I couldn’t have looked much better.

Ruiz looked at her and frowned. “You changed back rather quickly.”

Victoria shrugged. “If you were a woman and had the choice between looking like Jacob Pierce or my real self, which would you choose?”

“Understandable,” said Ruiz. “Nicandro?”

The earpieces crackled again, and Suarez’s voice came on. “There were no alarms at the mansion. I’ve looped over all the camera footage, and everything looks clear. I think we got out clean.”

“Good,” said Ruiz. “Very good. Start the deletion script. Leave no traces behind. The firmware install, if I understand correctly, should wipe out remote access, but let’s not trust to it.”

“I agree one hundred percent,” said Suarez. “Starting the deletion script now. It should be finished by the time you get here.”

“Miles, take us back to the Everglades Tower,” said Ruiz. Miles grunted and put the van into drive, and Ruiz looked at us as the van pulled into the street. There was absolutely no traffic. Anyone with a lick of sense was holed up inside. “Armand, ladies, I believe we have been successful. My congratulations. We shall gather one last time for Ms. North to finalize our payments, and then we shall go our separate ways.”

I noticed he held a pistol against his right leg, the barrel pointed at the dashboard.

“What’s with the gun?” I said.

Ruiz smiled. “Dreadfully gauche, isn’t it? But I hope you will forgive my precautions. The payment phase is traditionally the point of any operation to inspire betrayal.”

Victoria shifted a little but said nothing. I activated my aurasight. Despite his words, Ruiz wasn’t nearly as alarmed as he claimed. Miles was focused on the road. Armand and Victoria radiated tension – Armand, because he knew that Victoria was going to try and steal that damned dagger, Victoria because she was going to have to try something soon.

“No worries,” I said. “I wouldn’t trust me either. But once we’re paid, we can all go home and get out of this damned storm.”

Armand reached up and gripped his anchor, casting a spell of his own. He dispelled the magic that turned the metal can into an anchor.

“What did you do that for?” said Ruiz. Evidently, he had seen Armand create anchors before.

“Well, if there is shooting, I’d really rather not be here for it,” said Armand. “But if I don’t dismiss my anchor first, my shadowjump would bring me right back. With my luck, I’d reappear just in time to get a bullet in my ass.”

Ruiz laughed. “A sound precaution.”

“No one’s shooting anyone,” I said. “I don’t want to burn any bridges. You’re all getting paid as soon as we get back the Everglades Tower parking ramp, and that’s that. I’ve got enough enemies that I don’t need to go around making more.”

“A sensible policy,” said Ruiz.

The van turned the corner, and the half-finished shape of the Everglades Tower rose on our right. Lightning flashed, and the girders of the upper levels looked

like skeletal fingers for a second.

“Why the hell is that helicopter flying so low?” said Miles.

I peered out the windshield. I couldn’t see anything.

“Helicopters can’t fly in weather like this,” said Ruiz, dismissing the comment. “Nicandro?”

“The script’s finished,” said Suarez. “All the logs have been wiped, and all the backdoor s have just finished deleting themselves. The only thing we’re going leave behind is some unusual metadata on the video files, and they’ll only find those if they do a forensic audit. Otherwise, the server will delete its recordings after another two months and then start recording over them. I think we’re in the clear.”

“Good,” said Ruiz. “We’re almost there. Ms. North will be delivering our payments shortly.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Suarez. “We should…Jesus Christ! Wait! What…”

His voice cut off in mid-word.

“Nicandro?” said Ruiz. “Nicandro!”

“That helicopter!” said Miles, and he slammed on the brakes.

The van screeched to a halt, and I grabbed at one of the shelves to keep from flopping onto my side. Victoria yelped and hit the side of her head against the wall. Armand grabbed at the back door handle and managed to stop his slide.

I looked out the windshield as I caught my balance, and I saw the flying machine swooping towards us.

It wasn’t a helicopter.

It was a drone.

It took me a precious half-second to realize what the hell the thing was. Back in the old days before the Conquest, remote-controlled flying robots – commonly called drones – were quite common. The last couple pre-Conquest US Presidents had really been into using armed drones to blow up their enemies via remote control. But nowadays, they were heavily restricted, and you could get arrested and executed just for having one. Homeland Security had a number of camera drones they could use for search-and-rescue operations, but that was about it.

Of course, a search-and-rescue drone was to the thing flying towards us as a newborn puppy was to a wraithwolf.

It had a cigar-shaped fuselage about the length of the van, and four arms jutted off from its side, each ing a spinning rotor. A cluster of red-glowing sensors adorned the front of the fuselage, making it look like the drone had a dozen red eyes glaring at us. There was a turret slung beneath its fuselage, and a pair of slim black barrels jutted from it.

Guns.

I realized what the drone was at the same instant as it started shooting at us.

Miles had stomped on the brakes, and that saved our lives. The drone’s targeting had been correcting for our speed, and bullets sprayed into the asphalt where we would have been. I didn’t know if the thing was some sort of independent robot or if someone was piloting it through a radio link, but it reacted with deadly speed. The drone’s slowed and the turret rotated, the spray of gunfire climbing up the front of the van.

I had exactly a second in which to react.

So much for not using magic in front of Ruiz.

I surged to one knee, flung out my hand, and cast a spell as the windshield exploded. The half-dome of my Shield spell formed in front of the van, and the volley of bullets that would have ripped through the van and turned us to hamburger instead bounced off the Shield. The drone came to a hovering stop and kept pouring fire into the van, which was bad.

But it was motionless, which was good, because I had an easier target.

Still holding the Shield, I cast the lightning globe spell. Six lightning spheres leaped from my hand and arced towards the drone. My spell struck the chassis and exploded into a sheath of blue-white lightning that ripped up and down the drone.

Oh yeah. It was raining. Water conducts electricity really well.

The drone jerked to the side, its guns falling silent, and one of its rotors shut off. That sent the drone into an uncontrolled spin, and it hit the street thirty yards away, bounced, hit the street again, and exploded. A brief fireball bloomed from the wreckage, immediately quenched by the pouring rain. Which was also pouring into the van since the drone had shot out the windshield.

“Anyone hurt?” I said. Victoria sat up, wincing and rubbing her head. One of the bullets had gone right through the van and punched out the back window, but it had missed Armand. Neither Miles nor Ruiz had been hit.

“Well, damn,” said Miles. “That was some fancy light show.”

Ruiz’s dark eyes met mine. “You can use magic?”

“Yeah, didn’t come up before,” I said. “I’m not going to apologize on of how we’re not all dead.”

“What the hell was that thing?” said Ruiz. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“I have,” said Victoria, her voice unsteady. She must have hit her head hard against the wall. “It’s a Mark I Hunter drone. Autonomous artificial intelligence but they can be remotely controlled. Singularity probably sent it to kill us.”

“Singularity?” said Miles. “That some sort of math thing?”

“Terrorist group,” said Ruiz. “Apparently, they are interested in acquiring the same item as the magically-skilled Ms. North.” He moved and pointed his pistol at Victoria, whose eyes went wide.

“Rolando?” she said.

“A curious coincidence,” said Ruiz. “The previous Singularity ambush occurred when you and Ms. North were alone. If she had perished and you escaped, would you have taken that opportunity to abscond with the myothar key? And you identified that flying craft at once. Strange that you should know this fact.”

“Rolando,” she said. “I…”

“Guys!” I said, pointing at the shattered windshield.

Two SUVs burst from the parking ramp beneath the Everglades Tower and skidded into view. The sunroof was open on the rear SUV, and someone was standing on the back seat of the SUV, one hand braced against the roof for balance. The vehicle ed beneath a streetlight, and I saw that the man was Salvatore, a blaster rifle in hand, his eyes glowing blue in the darkness.

Well, crap.

“Drive!” I shouted. “We’re in trouble! Drive, drive, drive!”

Miles reacted swiftly, putting the van in reverse and stomping on the gas. We squealed backward, water flying from the tires, and he stomped on the brakes and spun the vehicle around. As he did, Salvatore starting shooting, but even for a cybernetically-enhanced super assassin, the backseat of a moving SUV during a hurricane is a terrible firing platform. The nearest blaster bolt hit the street about a yard away, though it did rip a small crater in the asphalt with a flash of steam.

Ruiz leveled his pistol and sent three shots through the shattered windshield. I doubt his accuracy was any better, but at least the gunfire forced Salvatore to duck and stop shooting. Miles put the van into drive and stomped on the gas, and the vehicle roared forward, throwing up a sheet of water on either side as we accelerated.

A lot of rain was coming through the ruins of the windshield, and Miles was squinting like he was staring at the sun. I really hoped he didn’t drive into a building.

“What kind of weapon was that?” said Ruiz. “That looked like some sort of industrial laser.”

“Nothing you want to get hit with,” I said.

“I could’ve told you that,” said Miles.

“Nicandro?” said Ruiz, tapping his earpiece.

“Probably dead,” I said. I had to shout to make myself heard over the wind and the rain. A blaster bolt flashed past the van. I looked out the back windows and saw the two SUVs in pursuit, Salvatore’s dark outline visible through the roof of the second. Oh, and just for fun, a third SUV had ed them. Probably they were packed with Rampton clones. “The guy in charge of them is named Salvatore. He probably set up in the Everglades Tower, killed Suarez, and sent his flying robot to kill us.”

“You seem very familiar with these people,” said Ruiz. Victoria said nothing.

“They’ve tried to kill me a couple of times,” I said. “Hasn’t been fun.”

“Yes, I imagine Inquisition agents get shot at quite often,” said Ruiz. “We need a plan.”

We were roaring up a four-lane street in downtown Miami, I wasn’t sure where. Miles was driving way, way too fast for the road conditions, especially with a missing windshield, but the SUVs were gaining. Partly they had more powerful engines and were lighter, and partly Miles kept having to weave and dodge to avoid the blaster bolts from Salvatore. Worse, I saw other people leaning out the sides of the SUV, firing their own rifles. The only reason we weren’t dead was that blaster rifles couldn’t fire on full automatic. Sooner or later, either Salvatore or one of the clones would land a lucky shot, and we would be in trouble.

Or we would all die in a crash, and Salvatore could take the dagger from the wreck.

That stupid dagger. What was so important about it?

“They’re after the dagger, not any of us,” I said.

“You propose surrendering it?” said Ruiz. “I had better get paid either way.”

“Can’t. My backer would be pissed,” I said. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Find a place to ditch the van, and then Armand and I will run for it with a shadowjump. Salvatore will go chase us. We’ll either lose him, or I’ll kill him and his goons.”

Ruiz snorted. “By yourself?”

“They don’t let just anyone become an Inquisition agent,” I said.

“And my payment?” said Ruiz.

“You’ll get it,” I said. “Once we have Salvatore and Singularity off our backs. If I have to get out of Miami, I’ll send the money through Armand. I know you know where he lives.”

“We have to survive to get paid first,” said Armand. “I think one of those SUVs has a rocket launcher.”

I looked out the back window and cursed. One of the SUVs had Salvatore rising out the roof. Another had a bulky form in tactical gear, probably a Rampton clone. The final SUV also had someone standing on the back seat and looming through the skylight, but he was holding a thick metal tube.

A rocket launcher. Of course it was a goddamned rocket launcher. Why the hell do so many people keep shooting rockets at me?

“Miles!” I said.

At the same time, I saw a flare of fire from the clone holding the launcher.

Miles jerked the wheel, and the van skidded hard to the left, so violently I

thought we might tip over. But the van stayed on all four wheels, though we rocked back and forth. I saw the rocket shoot past us in a plume of fire, strike the street about twenty yards ahead, and explode in a ball of fire. Bits and pieces of broken asphalt and shrapnel rained off the side of the van.

“All right,” I snarled. “To hell with this!”

I heaved myself backward and kicked open the rear door. The wind and the rain poured into the van, which would have been annoying, except the storm was already coming through the broken windshield anyway. Salvatore and the Ramptons zeroed in on the open door, but I cast the Shield spell, and the glowing dome appeared between us and the pursuing SUVs. Blaster bolts hammered into it, my will shuddering under the strain, but I gathered more magic for a spell.

It came easily. I hadn’t used all that much power tonight yet, and I was pissed off and ready for a fight. A sphere of fire blazed to life in my free hand, and I focused on the nearest SUV and cast the spell. The sphere hurtled forward and hit the grill of the leading SUV and exploded in fireball that engulfed the vehicle. A second later, the gas tank touched off in a new explosion, and the burning SUV veered hard to the side, hit the curb, flipped, and crashed into the side of a building. The other two SUVs slowed down, swerving to avoid the wreck.

I hadn’t gotten the one with Salvatore in it, sadly, but I suspect it would take more than a car crash and an explosion to kill him.

“Keep going!” I screamed. Both SUVs accelerated, trying to close with us, blaster bolts flying.

Miles wrenched the wheel to the right, and we screeched around a corner. Between the damage the van had already taken and the wet roads, I don’t know how he managed to keep us from flipping, but he did. We went around the corner on two wheels, but we did it.

Unfortunately, right around then, our luck ran out.

The angle of my Shield shifted as we went around the corner, and for a second, Salvatore had a clear shot at our rear right wheel.

His blaster bolt burned through the tire.

“Shit!” said Miles, struggling with the wheel. The large muscles in his arms bulged from the strain. “Shit, shit, shit!”

“That alley!” shouted Ruiz, pointing. “Get us into that alley!

Miles wrenched the wheel to the side, and we jumped the curb and bounced into a narrow alley between two buildings. It was just barely wide enough for the van. The headlights illuminated a large dumpster that blocked off about a third of the alley.

We weren’t getting past it.

“Hold on!” shouted Miles.

We smashed into the dumpster.

Thankfully, the ruined tire had drained off a lot of our speed, and we hit the dumpster at about thirty miles an hour. That was still way too fast. We came to an abrupt halt, and the front airbags exploded, muffling Ruiz’s yelp and Miles’s bellowed curse. I slammed into the back of the driver’s seat, which hurt, but I had seen it coming, and I got off with only a few bruises. Victoria and Armand managed to do the same.

“Ow,” I said.

“Go!” said Ruiz, slashing his way free of the inflated airbag. “Out the front. Move, move, move!”

The wrecked van would block the alley, and we could get out before Salvatore and his squad caught up to us. Of course, I didn’t know where the alley led, and we might have gone into a dead end. I suppose I could have Armand shadowjump us to the backup car, but I wasn’t going to abandon Ruiz, Miles, and Victoria to be mowed down by the cyborg clones.

Even if Victoria was going to betray me at any minute.

Ruiz and Miles went out the windshield, and I went next, Armand and Victoria scrambling after me. We hit the ground running as one of the SUVs screeched to

a halt outside the alley, and blaster fire began pouring into the van. The powerful weapons would chew through both the van and the dumpster in short order, which meant we had to get away now.

The alley ended in a small concrete courtyard formed by four large buildings. Three more alleys went off in new directions. There were a few dumpsters against the walls, and fire escapes cascaded down the sides of the buildings.

“Okay,” I said. “We…”

Victoria ran at me.

I thought she was about to attack and try to take the dagger, but instead, she ran past me, sprinted into an alley, and vanished. Ruiz grimaced and leveled his pistol at her, but she was moving too fast and dodged behind another dumpster.

I saw her vanish into the street.

“It seems clear she was the one who betrayed us to Singularity,” said Ruiz. “A pity I trusted her. My mistake cost Nicandro his life. She will regret it if I ever lay eyes upon her again.”

“Ah, that’s too bad,” said Miles. “She had such a pretty face.”

Ruiz snorted. “Indeed? Which one?”

“We’ll worry about it later,” I said. “Here’s the plan. Armand and I are going to run around the corner and get Salvatore’s attention.”

“We are?” said Armand.

“When I get Salvatore’s attention, Armand will shadowjump us away,” I said. “Then we’re getting the hell out of Miami. Mr. Ruiz, once I’m clear, I will arrange for your payment through Armand.”

“I expect nothing less,” said Ruiz. “And perhaps an explanation.”

He was going to get his money, but he probably wasn’t getting an explanation. Partly because I didn’t know why everyone wanted this damned dagger.

“You should stay out of sight. Once Salvatore is chasing us, he won’t care about you,” I said. The howl of blaster fire had stopped, which meant that Salvatore had decided that blasting through the van was a waste of time. I suspect he would circle the block or maybe have his soldiers move out on foot to track us down. Or if he had more of those Hunter robots that Victoria had been talking about, maybe the thing was flying overhead watching us with cameras.

I looked up for any drones and got a lot of rain in my face for my trouble.

“Very well,” said Ruiz. “Good luck, Ms. North. I suspect we shall need it.”

“Too bloody right,” said Armand.

“This way,” I said, and I picked the alley opposite the one that Victoria had chosen. I ran up it, Armand a half-step behind me, and we emerged onto the street. Without the shelter of the buildings on either side of the alley, the wind hit me hard, and I staggered a bit as I skidded to a stop. Armand puffed to a stop behind me.

I grabbed his shoulder. “Get ready.”

He needed to be ready because I had guessed right. Salvatore’s SUV went around the corner, the cyborg assassin standing with the sunroof open, blaster rifle sweeping over the street.

“Hey!” I bellowed. “Hey, Sal! That metal arm of yours gonna rust in the rain?”

Yeah, the height of wit, I know.

And shouting at him was pointless because he couldn’t hear me over the storm.

But he saw me, and his rifle swung towards me.

“Now!” I said.

Armand cast the shadowjump spell, and the world vanished in gray light.

***

Chapter 17: Bad Road Conditions

Once again, I had the sensation of dropping a thousand feet, and the gray light vanished.

We reappeared atop a parking ramp about a half-mile away, and I saw the lights of the Duke’s mansion in the distance. Armand stumbled, fatigued from the effort of two shadowjumps in rapid succession, and I grabbed his arm. The concrete railing around the top of the ramp was waist-high on him, but I didn’t want him to fall over.

Or for the wind to push us over.

“I’m getting too old for this!” he bellowed.

“You and me both!” I said.

We staggered to the car. It was the only one left on the top of the parking ramp since anyone with a brain in their head had cleared out of downtown Miami by now. It had been a bit dirty when I had bought it, but the rain had no doubt scoured it clean.

I ed Armand the keys. “You drive. I want my hands free to cast spells.”

“Good point,” he said, and he wrenched open the driver’s side door while I circled around and dropped into the enger’s side. It took me three tries to get the door to close properly. The inside of the car was shabby and threadbare and smelled suspiciously of marijuana smoke, but the engine still ran.

Armand thrust the key into the ignition, and the car coughed to life.

“Where to?” he said.

“Your house,” I said. “I’ll drop you off, and then I’ll get the hell out of Miami.”

He winced. “You’re not going to cheat Ruiz out of his money, are you? That man is a good friend but a much worse enemy.”

“No, I’ll make sure he gets paid,” I said. “I just have to get this damned dagger to the High Queen first.” I shifted in my seat. The dagger’s pommel was digging into my side, so I yanked it out of my coat and dropped it into my lap. “Once the High Queen has it, neither Victoria nor Salvatore will be able to steal it, and that’s that.”

“Suppose Victoria got Suarez killed,” said Armand. He backed out, put the car into drive, and started heading down the tiers of the ramp to the street. “Man was a wanker, but he was good at his job.”

“Yeah,” I said.

But that didn’t ring true. Victoria wasn’t stupid. Salvatore had been willing to kill her before, so why would she share our plans with him? In fact, if she had told our plans to Salvatore, that had almost gotten her killed – that Hunter drone would have killed her with the rest of us if I hadn’t gotten the Shield spell up in time. I suspected that Victoria’s earlier speculation was correct. Vashtyr had sent her to get the dagger as a favor to Singularity, but the Singularity leadership had decided that she was unreliable, so they had dispatched Salvatore to kill her and get the dagger.

Or maybe Salvatore had decided to kill her himself. He might carry out his mission, but he seemed like the sort of psycho who would take some time to amuse himself with Victoria before killing her.

I was pretty sure that Victoria hadn’t panicked and run blindly into the night. She was up to something. Maybe she intended to hang back, watching Salvatore and I fight one another, and then take the key from the winner.

Hell, it’s what I would have done in her place.

But Armand had done his part. I wanted to get him and his family out of the line of fire. Salvatore knew that I had the dagger, and he would be coming after me. Maybe I could elude him and get to the High Queen first.

And if I didn’t…

I grinned my humorless rictus of a smile in the darkness as Armand steered onto the lowest level of the deserted parking garage.

And if Salvatore caught up to me, he would regret carrying out his mission.

He hadn’t spent a century and a half in the Eternity Crucible, had he?

“Jesus,” muttered Armand.

“What?” I said, shaking off the dark thoughts.

“You looked like you were about to rip someone’s head off,” said Armand.

“If Salvatore catches up to us, I’m going to,” I said. We drove up to the gate. “I think…”

And then something completely random happened.

“Shit!” said Armand, and he stomped on the brakes. The car screeched to a halt, and I jerked forward, the seat belt sawing into my chest and hips.

A dark shape darted in front of the car, huge and monstrous in the glow of the headlights. For a horrible second, I thought it was a wraithwolf, but then my

eyes caught up to my brain, and I realized it was a dog. Just a dog – a black Labrador, dripping wet, its collar and tags glinting in the headlights. The poor animal had gotten caught in the storm, and it had run into the parking garage to get out of the rain.

And as Armand hit the brakes, the dagger rolled over my knee and fell to the floor of the car. I grabbed it, my hand curling around the scabbard, but the blade fell from the sheath. The pommel hit my boot, and the weapon clattered against the floor.

The dog, heedless of its brush with death, raced into the deserted parking ramp.

“Buggering hell,” said Armand, shaking his head as he eased into the street and turned. “What is it with people here and unleashed dogs?”

“You’d think people would keep their dogs inside during a freaking hurricane,” I said, grabbing the dagger’s hilt. The blade was some sort of golden steel, and I turned the sheath to slide the weapon back into it.

And then I froze.

There was writing on the blade.

No, not writing, some sort of carving. It looked like a random pattern of circles connected by lines. Each circle had a brief, tiny inscription in an alphabet I didn’t recognize. My first impression was that it was a stupid thing to put into a

dagger’s blade. The design wasn’t aesthetically pleasing, and it would weaken the integrity of the blade. I could easily see it snapping off along one of those lines. I turned the weapon over and saw a different pattern of circles and lines carved on the other side.

Not only had we gone to all this trouble to steal a random ceremonial dagger, it wasn’t even a very good weapon. Maybe the myothar who had originally owned the chest had used it as a junk drawer. Just as well it hadn't contained some charging cords, expired coupons, and dead batteries …

A memory scratched at the back of my brain.

Wait.

That pattern of circles and lines.

I had seen something like it somewhere before.

Standing in Morvilind’s mansion with Tarlia and Tyth, looking up at the floating holographic image…

I sucked in a startled breath.

“Holy freaking shit,” I said as the pieces clicked together in my mind.

“What?” said Armand.

“The dagger,” I said. “It’s not a dagger.”

“It bloody well looks like one,” said Armand. We came to a red light. He slowed, looked right and left, saw no oncoming traffic, and punched the gas.

“It’s not a dagger,” I said. “It’s a map of the Shadowlands.”

That was why Singularity had acquired the key and given it to Melvin Strasse. They must have realized the chest contained a map to a location they didn’t want the High Queen to find. That was what Victoria had said, wasn’t it, that the chest held something Singularity possessed that they didn’t want the High Queen to have? I had assumed it was knowledge of some kind, maybe a book holding a spell or something.

But a map fit. Singularity had to have a stronghold somewhere, a place where they could grow Rampton clones and create cyborgs like Salvatore. If it was on Earth, the High Queen would have found and destroyed it by now. But if it was on some other world, someplace that the High Queen couldn’t easily reach and hadn’t been able to locate, that would explain a lot. Why Singularity had an outpost at the Shadow Waypoint, for one.

And why they were willing to go to such lengths to get this dagger.

“Oh,” said Armand. “That’s not good, is it?”

“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe not.”

I laid the dagger upon my lap, dug into my coat, and yanked out the camera. It had come through the rain intact thanks to the layers of plastic I had wrapped around it, and I powered up the device and started taking pictures with the flash on, as many as I could. Ten shots of one side of the blade, and then I flipped it and took ten more. I checked the images on the camera’s little LCD display. They weren’t good pictures – the golden color of the dagger looked hideous against my green rain poncho.

But that didn’t matter. The pictures of the inscriptions were sharp and clear.

A backup copy of the map, one that no one but Armand knew I had.

“Why are you taking pictures of the dagger?” said Armand.

“Backup plan,” I said, shoving the dagger into its scabbard and then into my coat. “And one that you don’t want to know about. As far as you’re concerned, we stole a dagger and nothing else.”

Armand snorted. “Trust me. Once all this is over, I plan to forget everything that happened after you walked up my driveway.”

We were approaching the I-95 onramp. The rain had intensified, as had the wind. The weather forecasters thought the worst of the storm would Miami by midnight, but we hadn’t gotten there yet.

“Don’t take the freeway,” I said, wrapping the camera in its plastic and shoving it into a pocket of my coat. “Stick to the surface streets. Harder for anyone to follow us and harder for us to get trapped.” A siren wailed to life in the distance, followed by several more. Had someone called in the SUV that I had blown up? That wrecked drone had made a pretty big fireball, too. Then again, it was possible the sirens had nothing to do with us. The storm was probably causing all kinds of trouble.

“Agreed,” said Armand. “This isn’t my first car chase.” He paused. “This isn’t even my first car chase with you. At least there are no anthrophages after us.”

“Yet,” I said.

“Cheery thought.”

Armand turned another corner, and I saw the flash of movement in the distance.

I peered through the lashing windshield wipers and saw the Hunter drone flying towards us.

It was identical to the first one – four rotors, red-glowing optical sensors, twin guns mounted on the belly. Those twin guns were swiveling towards us. I cursed

and flung out my hand, casting the Shield spell. I had a good idea of what to anticipate this time, and I did a better job of angling the spell. The Hunter spat out a brief volley of gunfire, but my Shield kept the bullets from striking the engine or the windshield. I expected the drone to keep pouring bullets into us.

Instead, it flew backward. Though I supposed with those four rotors, it could fly in any direction that it wanted. Why wasn’t it shooting? Was it smart enough to realize it couldn’t fire through the Shield spell?

No. It was following us.

I released my Shield spell, ready to bring it back, but the drone didn’t fire. Either it had run out of ammunition, or…

“Damn it,” said Armand. “It’s following us, isn’t it?”

“Probably,” I agreed, and I summoned power for a lightning globe spell to shoot the drone down.

But the Hunter changed the angle of its rotors, and it shot upward, vanishing into the rainy gloom. I saw the glow of its optical sensors for a moment, and then nothing. I couldn’t see it at all, but I had no doubt the machine had no trouble seeing the car.

“It is following us,” said Armand. “Flying robots. Dear God.”

“We’re going to have to ditch the car and go on foot,” I said. “They’ll have a harder time following two people than a car.” Had I been alone, I could have Cloaked or Masked myself and made my escape with ease. But I wasn’t going to abandon Armand, not after everything. “Look for…”

Lights flared in the rearview mirror, and I twisted around to look through the back mirrors.

Multiple pairs of headlights rushed behind us. In the glare from the streetlamps, I saw three black SUVs and caught the dark form of Salvatore standing in the second one, his blaster rifle swinging around to target us.

“Shit! Drive!”

Armand punched the accelerator just in time. The car swerved a little, and the blaster bolt that would have taken out our back tire instead melted a hole through the back window and burned into the center console between the two front seats. Thankfully, there was nothing there but an empty storage compartment, though the harsh smell of melted plastic filled my nose.

I cursed and cast the Shield spell, and the dome of reddish-orange light flared to life behind us, soaking up another blaster bolt from Salvatore and two more fired by the clones in the other SUV. More blaster fire converged on us, and I realized a weakness of the Shield spell. The spell blocked both bullets and blaster fire, but it glowed, and in the rain-lashed gloom of the storm, it was like painting a shining target on the car.

Armand punched the gas, pushing the old car as fast as it could go. Unfortunately, it was futile. The SUVs had better acceleration, and no matter how fast Armand drove, they were gaining. I threw fireballs when a clear shot presented itself, but Salvatore had learned from my tactics. The SUVs swerved back and forth as they pursued, and while I clipped a few of them with blasts of fire, it wasn’t enough to disable them. Could I try an ice wall? No, I couldn’t summon enough ice to block off the entire street, and by the time the ice finished forming, the SUVs would be through it already.

The sound of sirens was getting closer, and I wondered if Salvatore had arranged for the police to pursue us as well. Maybe Singularity had a high-ranking agent in the Miami Security and Police Department.

Ahead, I saw a sign for the onramp to the I-195 causeway to Miami Beach. I had driven that causeway with Riordan and Nora a few times while we had been hunting for our summoner. It was about a mile long, and it crossed Biscayne Bay to reach the islands that held Miami Beach and the other suburbs.

And I ed there was a long, rectangular artificial island that ed about the middle third of the causeway, an island covered with tall grass and palm trees.

A plan came together in my head.

“The causeway!” I shouted, jabbing a finger at the sign for emphasis. “Get on the causeway?”

“Have you lost your bloody mind?” said Armand. “There’s no place to hide

there, and they’ll run us down!”

“Trust me!” I said. “The causeway.”

Armand spat a curse, sighed, wrenched the wheel over, and sent us hurtling onto the onramp.

***

Chapter 18: There’s Always A Traitor

We roared up the ramp to the eastbound lanes of the causeway, and here I found an advantage that had been absent throughout most of downtown Miami.

The onramp was only one lane, and it was narrower than a regular street, which meant I had space to conjure an ice wall. I gestured, straining as I summoned the magic, and the curtain of white mist rolled up from the ground, hardening into a foot-thick wall of glittering ice.

Salvatore’s SUVs had no choice but to go single file onto the ramp, and I heard them screech to a halt, followed by the roar of blaster fire as the Rampton clones opened up. Their combined firepower would tear through the ice wall in seconds, but our car flew up the ramp and onto the causeway.

We shot east, the storm-tossed bay churning on either side of us. Occasionally waves sloshed just high enough to splash onto the causeway. Rows of lamps spilled yellow illumination over the roadway itself. Ahead, I could just make out the darkness of the artificial island spreading out on either side of the freeway. It wasn’t very big, not much wider than the freeway itself, but it was wide enough to palm trees.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” I said. “That damned drone is following us, so we’ll have to be quick. As soon as we get to the island, slam on the brakes and get to the side of the road. I’ll take your hand and Cloak us both, and we’ll get out of the car and head into the trees.”

“And then?” said Armand.

“I want them to think the car broke down,” I said. “And then when they search the car, we kill them all.”

“Kill them all?” snorted Armand. “Just like that?”

“Yup. Us or them, right? You got your gun?” I said. I looked over my shoulder and saw the headlights of Salvatore’s SUVs coming up fast.

“Yeah,” sighed Armand. “Let’s do it.”

We reached the artificial island, and Armand slammed on the brakes and jerked the wheel to the right. The tires skidded against the asphalt, and as our speed dropped, we went onto the shoulder and hit the guard rail. Sparks flew as the side of the car scraped against the steel rail, and Armand jerked the wheel to the left and sent the car into a spin. We came to a stop facing the rail and the southern half of the island.

“Nice,” I grunted, grabbing his right hand.

“You did say you wanted it to look like an accident,” said Armand.

“Follow me,” I said. “Don’t let go of my hand.”

I cast the Cloak spell, and we both turned invisible. I had to kick my door to get it open, and I scrambled out, Armand climbing over the center console and stumbling to his feet. The headlights were close enough that I could make out the dark shape of the SUVs, and I rushed for the railing, climbed over it, and ran towards the shelter of a big palm tree, Armand following me.

The grass came to Armand’s knees and mid-thigh on me. It occurred to me belatedly that the grass would be a great hiding place for poisonous snakes. In fact, at the Sunshine State Resort, there had been numerous signs warning guests not to wander into the grass and onishing us to call a staff member if we saw a poisonous snake. That would be just my luck – I survived the Eternity Crucible and the Mage Fall and the Sky Hammer only to die from a cottonmouth bite. Hopefully the rain had driven them to take shelter.

I came to a stop, turning Armand to face the road, and the SUVs screeched to a halt ten yards away. A whirring noise filled the air, and the drone landed another ten yards to the east, its guns pointed at the car.

Salvatore was thorough, I’ll give him that much. He shouted a command, and the clone soldiers sprayed the car with blaster fire. The windows exploded into molten glass, the trunk and the hood burst open, and the tires deflated into little puddles of liquid rubber. It made me really glad that I hadn’t paid all that much for it.

The doors on the SUVs opened, and men in tactical gear spilled out, rifles in hand. All of them were Rampton clones. I did a quick count and saw that Salvatore had brought ten men with him. Salvatore himself walked at their head, blaster rifle at the ready, and the soldiers fanned out, approaching the smoking

car.

“When I tell you,” I whispered, “start shooting and don’t stop until you run out of bullets.”

I felt Armand give a sharp nod.

The Rampton clones bunched up nicely near the car as they approached, and I saw my chance.

I dropped my Cloak spell and gathered magical power.

The flare of fire around my right hand must have been bright in the darkness because Salvatore’s head snapped around.

“Now!” I shouted, and hurled the fireball at the enemy.

Armand yanked out his pistol and started shooting.

He was a better shot than I expected, and he nailed two of the Rampton clones before my fireball landed at their feet and exploded. I had packed a lot of power into the sphere, and it erupted in a blaze of flame that engulfed the car and about five of the clone soldiers. I think the blast killed them all, and if it didn’t the car exploding a second later finished them off. I suppose the gas line or maybe the

tank must have been rusted, and some of the fireball had gotten through it.

Salvatore and the remaining clone soldiers reacted with speed, whirling and sending a storm of blaster bolts at me. The drone lifted off with a whir, guns turning to face us. But I was ready for them, my Shield spell already forming before us. The blaster fire hit the Shield, the impacts sending ripples through my mind, but I held the defense. Armand kept shooting, and the remaining clones scattered, taking cover. I hurled a volley of lightning globes, which caught the drone before it could open fire.

The robot spun out of control and crashed into the waters of the bay.

I held the power for the Shield, but I summoned more magic. I cast the Splinter Mask spell, and the air around me shivered with silver light. A dozen illusionary duplicates of me appeared, and I sent them running forward, some of them casting spells, some of them firing handguns. Salvatore must have realized what they were because he kept shooting at my Shield. But the illusions confused the remaining Rampton clones, who started firing at them. They did not confuse Armand, who shot down two of the clones with quick shots from his pistol. The weapon clicked empty, and he cursed and yanked another magazine from a pocket.

Most of the clone soldiers had been killed. Salvatore was still on his feet, but he would be much easier to kill without the distraction of Paul Rampton duplicates shooting blasters at me. If I could get a fire sphere or a lightning globe past his force shield, I might be able to kill him or slow him down long enough to land a lethal attack.

Then Nicandro Suarez stood up in one of the SUVs.

A lot of things suddenly made sense.

I suspected that Singularity had an agent inside of Ruiz’s organization, and I had been right. It hadn’t been Victoria who had been working with Singularity, it had been Suarez. Likely he had told Salvatore that Victoria and I were temporarily alone inside the Everglades Tower. He had helped us, letting us do the heavy lifting of getting the dagger out of Duke Curantar’s mansion, but all along he intended to double-cross us and send Salvatore to seize the dagger.

All that flashed through my mind in a second, followed by a much more relevant thought.

Suarez had a grenade launcher.

It was a big, cumbersome weapon with a revolving drum. Between the way Suarez was fumbling with the launcher and the intensity of the rain, I doubted he would be all that accurate, but he didn’t have to be. It was a freaking grenade launcher. He just had to get close enough. I was putting a lot of energy into my Shield spell to hold back Salvatore’s blaster bolts, but the Shield was tuned to deflect elemental fire, not grenade shrapnel.

Suarez grinned like a man and swung the weapon towards me.

“Down!” I yelled. Armand squeezed off one more shot, taking down the last Rampton clone. Then he heard me, his eyes went wide, and he flung himself to the side as Suarez pulled the trigger. The grenade launcher spat smoke and

flame, and I cast a second Shield spell.

When I had fought Mr. Hood in the Shadowlands, he had been able to maintain two simultaneous Shield spells without discernable effort. I wasn’t nearly as good with the Shield spell as he was, and it took everything I had to cast two simultaneous Shields, one to keep Salvatore from shooting me and the other to block the grenade. The missile landed right in front of me and exploded, and the shrapnel bounced off my second Shield.

I staggered back, a wave of dizziness going through me from the exertion, and Salvatore rushed forward. His right arm was clenched, and his force shield appeared before him as a hazy blue disk. He held his rifle steady with his left hand, squeezing off shots as he advanced. I scrambled to the right, swinging to put Salvatore between me and the SUVs. Suarez might have betrayed us, but I was pretty sure he wasn’t dumb enough to try to shoot Salvatore in the back.

Salvatore rushed towards me, his force shield leading, and I realized his next tactic. I had blocked his blaster bolts, but if he closed to hand-to-hand distance, he would kill me. One good hit to the head from that cybernetic fist, and I would be dead.

I had time to cast one spell, and I dropped my Shields to do it.

I grimaced, put all my remaining power into it, and cast the rift way spell.

A curtain of gray mist rose before me, glowing with its own inner light. Salvatore must have assumed that I was about to cast another ice wall because he moved even faster, springing forward in a leap.

Which meant he jumped through the rift way just as it formed and plummeted into the Shadowlands.

Singularity might have had a method of targeting precise rift ways, but I was pretty sure Salvatore wasn’t the one who used it. He wasn’t coming back to Miami anytime soon.

A wave of vicious satisfaction went through me.

I cut off the flow of power, and the rift way collapsed, trapping Salvatore in the Shadowlands. Hopefully, something would eat him.

Suarez fired another grenade, and I cast the Shield spell again. It was a lot easier without having to concentrate on anything else. The grenade hit my Shield and exploded, the impact rocking me back a step, but my defense held.

“It’s over, Suarez!” I shouted. “They’re all dead!”

He snarled and fired another grenade. I blocked it on the Shield spell, my head ringing from the noise. Armand scrambled to his feet and came to my side, sheltering behind the Shield.

“You’re dead, Worldburner!” howled Suarez. He knew who I was? Salvatore or someone in Singularity must have told him. “I’ve seen the future! The

Singularity is coming! You can’t stop it. You…”

He chambered another grenade and kept ranting. He couldn’t have too many left in that launcher. I began to draw power for the lightning globe spell. I wanted to stun Suarez and take him alive. I couldn’t capture someone like Salvatore, but Suarez might know something useful. Paul Rampton had been recruited into Singularity when he had found one of their hidden servers on the Internet, and his capture had led to Tarlia finding the myothar key. Maybe Suarez knew something equally useful.

Before I could cast the spell or Suarez could fire, a voice boomed over the battlefield, audible even over the rain and the wind.

“There can be only one reward for treachery!”

Suarez snapped his head to the side just in time to see Rolando Ruiz appear from behind one of the SUVs, a pistol in his hand. Suarez started to say something – an explanation, a threat, a plea for mercy, I don’t know.

I never found out because Ruiz shot Suarez twice in the head. I saw a brief mist of brains explode out the back of Suarez’s skull, instantly washed away by the rain. Suarez slumped forward against the roof, the grenade launcher falling back into the SUV.

Silence fell over the causeway.

“Armand?” I said, keeping a cautious eye on Ruiz.

“Here,” said Armand. I released my Shield spell and walked into the freeway, past the burning wreck of my car, the sprawled Rampton corpses, and the deserted SUVs. Miles emerged from the median, walking towards his boss, an M-99 carbine cradled on his arm.

“Ms. North, Armand,” said Ruiz, all genial calm as if he had not just killed a man. “I trust you are well? I thought you might need assistance, but you do appear to have matters well in hand.”

“Glad you showed up, though,” I said. “How did you find us?”

“After you departed, Miles and I commandeered a vehicle and returned to the Everglades Tower,” said Ruiz. “I thought perhaps Nicandro had been wounded, and it might be possible to save him yet.” His expression hardened. “However, I saw Nicandro riding in one of the black SUVs, along with those peculiar blankfaced soldiers.”

“Yeah, these dead guys all got the same faces,” said Miles. “Back home, I knew a lady who took some fertility drugs and had septuplets, but this is just some weird shit right here.”

“Good thinking,” I said. “How did you follow us?”

Ruiz smiled. “There is no other traffic. So Miles turned off our lights and drove

east along the causeway's westbound lane. Nicandro never saw us coming.” He took a deep breath. “I offer my apologies, Ms. North. Both Nicandro and Ms. Sunderland betrayed us. I should have anticipated it.”

“It worked out,” I said. I looked at the dead Rampton clones and their dropped blaster rifles. “Listen, we’ve got a big problem.” I couldn’t leave the blaster rifles lying around. One of them could kill an Elven noble, and the High Queen would not be happy if I left them here. “We…”

Green light flared in the darkness to the north, rising from within the median between the eastbound and westbound lanes.

I spun as a wave of green light washed over us. I felt the surge of magical power, and it touched my mind. A wave of deep, profound fatigue washed over me, and for a moment, my limbs felt like lead, and I almost collapsed to the wet asphalt. But my mind rallied. I had a wizard’s mind, disciplined and trained to control the furious currents of aetheric force, and I could recognize a foreign intrusion in my thoughts.

I fought off the sleeping effect.

Ruiz and Miles collapsed unconscious to the road. Armand wavered, fighting to stay on his feet, but dropped to one knee. He was a wizard as well, but he wasn’t as powerful as I was, and the spell proved too much for him, and he collapsed.

The green light came closer, and Victoria Carrow stepped onto the freeway, water sliding off her rain poncho.

Her right hand was extended towards us, the green light radiating from it. Her face looked sickly in the glow, her grimace almost like a death mask. In her left hand, she held something that looked like a metal lunchbox.

But it wasn’t a lunchbox.

Lunchboxes didn’t have wires running down the side, or a switch mounted on the inside of the handle, a switch Victoria was gripping so hard that her knuckles shone white.

It was a dean’s switch.

Which meant that the lunchbox was a bomb, and if she let it go…

Boom.

“Nadia,” said Victoria. “You didn’t think you were the only one who knew mind magic, did you?”

***

Chapter 19: Double Treachery

Victoria and I faced each other a half-dozen yards apart, the green light from her right hand painting everything with sepulchral light. I activated my aurasight spell, and I saw her emotions.

Utter exhaustion. Sick, gnawing dread. A surprising amount of guilt. But they were all locked beneath an iron determination to see this through.

“A sleep spell, I assume?” I said. “Nice trick.”

“Quite useful for a shadow agent,” said Victoria. “Not nearly as hard on the blood pressure and the heart as your trick with the mindtouch spell.” She sighed. “But apparently not as effective. I thought you were tired enough that the spell would affect you. I suppose not.”

“Oops,” I said.

Victoria gestured with the lunchbox that wasn’t a lunchbox. “Do you know what this is?”

“At a guess? A high-powered bomb with a dean’s switch,” I said. “You release the switch without disarming it first, we all die.”

“Yes,” said Victoria. “We both know you could kill me in about two seconds. But we’re right next to each other. I don’t think even you are fast enough to Shield yourself before the bomb kills you. And you wouldn’t be able to save Ruiz, Miles, and Armand.”

“You think I care about saving them?” I said.

The guilt in her aura deepened.

“Of course you do,” said Victoria. “You went to all that work to save that girl in the Shadow Waypoint, and I don’t think you even liked her very much. Armand’s your friend. You won’t let me kill him.”

“You’ll die, too,” I said.

“I have risked my life so many times,” said Victoria. “What’s one more? But you know the best way out of this, don’t you?”

I nodded. “You get the dagger.”

Did she know, I wondered? Did she know it was a map?

“Yes,” said Victoria. “A reasonable exchange. Give me the dagger, and I walk away. We all live. It sounds like a good outcome to me.”

“Who is it?” I said.

“I beg your pardon?” said Victoria.

“Who are you doing this for?” I said.

She raised an eyebrow. “My lord Duke Vashtyr, of course.”

“No, you aren’t,” I said. “You’re doing this to save someone. It’s the same reason I worked for Morvilind all those years.”

Victoria said nothing, the rainwater streaming down her face.

“Morvilind cured my brother of his illness in exchange for my help,” I said, “but Morvilind was far more powerful and much smarter than your lord. Duke Vashtyr talks a big game about how the Elven nobles were once heroic warriors, but he’s just a thug and a bully in the end, isn’t he? He’s threatened to kill someone you care about unless you keep helping him.”

Victoria’s shoulders jerked, once, and then her control reasserted itself.

“I have to do this,” said Victoria, her voice barely audible over the rain.

“I can help you,” I said. “Let me help you. We can find your family, whoever it is you care about, and get them away from Vashtyr.”

Her mouth twisted. “Why? So I can work for the High Queen instead?”

“No,” I said. “Because I’ve been where you are. I hated it.”

We stared at each other. I watched the turmoil in her emotional aura, impressed at how little of it reflected on her face.

“I can’t,” said Victoria. “It’s…I’m the only one who can help them. I’m sorry it came to this. We could be friends under other circumstances. But…you have to give me the dagger, Nadia. There’s no other way we walk out of this alive.”

She was desperate, and I knew she was desperate because of how she had set this up. If she misjudged my character, I could simply turn and walk away. She wouldn’t detonate the bomb because then she would kill herself for nothing. Eventually, she would run out of power for the sleep spell, the others would wake up, and then I would kill her.

But I already had my own copy of the map on the blade. I had succeeded in finding what Tarlia wanted.

Victoria didn’t know that, did she?

Which was better? To win, and have the enemy know they lost? Or to win and have the enemy walk away thinking they had won? Singularity didn’t want the High Queen to have the map. If I played this right, they would go on thinking that Tarlia didn’t have the map.

Perhaps the High Queen would use that to prepare a nasty surprise for them.

Something else stirred in my memory. In the last year of his life, Morvilind had told me that I was now powerful enough that I needed to consider the ramifications my actions would have in the coming years and decades.

I might not have been able to recruit Victoria today.

But who could say what tomorrow would bring?

“Fine,” I said.

Victoria blinked in surprise.

“I’m going to reach for the dagger,” I said. “Please don’t blow us up.”

I dug under my rain poncho, reached into my coat, and pulled out the dagger. A little tremor of anticipation went through Victoria.

“Question first, though,” I said. “Why the hell is this thing so important?”

“Haven’t you figured it out?” said Victoria, tension flooding into her emotional aura.

“It’s just a stupid ceremonial dagger,” I said. “There are thousands like it. And some idiot carved up the blade with a bad attempt at artwork. If you tried to stab someone, the blade would probably snap off.”

Relief flooded into her aura.

“I don’t know either,” said Victoria. “I just follow orders.”

“Oh,” I said. “You’re usually a better liar than that.”

I walked closer and held the dagger out to her hilt-first. The rain struck the enspelled scabbard and rolled right off it, leaving the weapon dry. Neat trick, that. I would have to learn the spell and apply it to my coat or something.

She stared at the weapon.

“Go on,” I said. “Take it.”

“No tricks?” said Victoria.

“No tricks,” I said. “Take the dagger, and you don’t kill Armand, Ruiz, or Miles. That’s the deal.” I met her eyes. “But if you do kill them, the deal’s off.”

“Fair enough,” said Victoria. “I have to ask, though. Did you kill Salvatore? I didn’t see his body anywhere.”

“No, I opened a rift way, and he tripped into the Shadowlands.”

Victoria snorted. “Pity. I would have liked to have seen that.”

She took the dagger with her right hand, which meant she couldn’t concentrate on the sleep spell any longer. The green light faded, and Ruiz, Armand, and Miles stirred.

“How long will they stay asleep?” I said.

“A few more minutes,” said Victoria, taking a long step back. “They’ll be fine,

otherwise.” She hesitated. “Thank you, Nadia.”

Then she turned and ran, vanishing into the wind and the darkness. A few seconds later I heard the roar of a motorcycle engine, just barely audible over the noise of the storm and the sea. She must have copied Ruiz’s strategy and stolen a motorcycle, riding east along the westbound lanes of the causeway with her lights off until she found us.

I waited until Armand and the others woke up.

“What?” said Armand, getting to his knees. “What happened?”

“Sleep spell,” I said. I helped him up and then moved to Ruiz and Miles. “Victoria cast it on you. Knocked you out for a bit, but I managed to fight off. I’m afraid she had a bomb with a dead man’s switch, so I had to give her the dagger.”

Armand stared at me, stricken, and I winked at him. He frowned, and then I saw him the camera in my pocket.

“Then it was all for nothing,” said Miles.

“No, it worked out,” I said. “I got what I needed.”

“Are you an Inquisition agent?” said Ruiz.

“Let’s just say everything I told you is the truth,” I said. “I work for a powerful backer, and that backer sent me to open the myothar chest. You’ll be happier not knowing more.”

Ruiz nodded. He had been in this business a long time, and he understood. “That is likely right.”

“I have to ask you for one more thing,” I said. “The guns Singularity used. We can’t leave them here. If we do, you will have more Inquisition agents crawling around Miami. You brought a car? I’ll need to take the guns with me when I leave.”

Ruiz smiled. “I will be more than happy to help you load them, but I’m afraid I will have to add an additional fifty thousand dollars to my fee.”

I stared at him. “So you’re charging me to help you keep from getting arrested by the Inquisition for possessing illegal weaponry?”

He spread his hands. “Business is business.”

“I can see how you got so rich. Let’s move.”

***

Chapter 20: I Play To Win

Ruiz and Miles helped me collect the blaster rifles and pistols we found on the dead Ramptons and in the SUVs, and we loaded them up into their stolen van. A short time later, we headed west for Miami even as I saw the flashing lights and wailing sirens as the Miami police came to investigate the battle on the causeway.

We paused just long enough for Ruiz to toss the pistol he had used to kill Suarez into Biscayne Bay, and then we kept moving.

“I have a question,” said Ruiz, “and I am aware that you may not be able to answer it.” I nodded. “Why did all the dead soldiers have the same face?”

“And they were bleeding blue slime,” said Miles. “Sort of look like those ice packs you put into a cooler, you know?”

“They were clones,” I said. “Singularity grew them in a lab somewhere and replaced their brains with computers.” I paused. “And you shouldn’t tell anyone about this, ever. Singularity doesn’t like people knowing about them.”

“Very well,” said Ruiz. “I will trust to your word…Nadia MacCormac.”

I gave him a level stare.

“I’m afraid I made a phone call to Arnold Brauner this morning,” he itted. “He said that you had saved his life and the life of his family and advised me to follow your suggestions.”

“He’s smarter than he looks,” I said. “Look, if you ever run into Singularity again, call Moran Imports in Milwaukee and ask to speak with me. They’ll get in touch with me, and we can figure out the problem.”

“Very well,” said Ruiz. “I am pleased we can part on friendly .” He raised his hands and wiped some of the water from his hair. “I am a businessman, Mrs. MacCormac. More ruthless than most, I it, but still a businessman. But these Singularity people…soldiers with machines for brains? They are men who are creating monsters.”

“Yes,” I said.

“The world is changing,” said Ruiz. “After the defeat of the Archons and the opening of the Great Gate, it is inevitable. But I do not want the world to be changed into a place where Singularity can create monsters.”

“Then call me if you run into them again,” I said.

It was about midnight by the time we reached the Boccands’ house. Ruiz and Miles helped me unload the blasters and stack them in the guest room. During the process, Cecilia woke up and emerged from the master bedroom with a pistol, and she hugged Armand in relief. I dug out my laptop and made sure Ruiz

got his final payment, all three hundred thousand dollars of it. Though I supposed I wouldn’t have to pay Victoria because she had betrayed us, nor Suarez, because he was dead.

I said goodbye to Ruiz and Miles when they left. I then sat on the couch and activated my blood ring. I sent a mental message to the High Queen, informing her of everything that had happened. After that, I texted Riordan, telling him that I had finished my work in Miami, and hoped to him in the UK soon.

I fell asleep on the couch, waiting for the High Queen’s response.

My blood ring activated at about six in the morning.

“Darling girl,” said Tarlia’s voice inside my head.

“Your Majesty?” I answered back, sitting upright.

“Very good,” said Tarlia. “Very, very good. So the myothar chest contained information, did it? You obtained that information and convinced Singularity and Duke Vashtyr that you failed.” She laughed inside my mind. “Very good indeed.”

“Armand did his part,” I said.

“Yes, he shall receive his royal pardon and his fifty thousand dollars,” said Tarlia. “You did well to collect the blasters. A team from the Inquisition is on its way to Miami to collect the corpses of the Rampton clones and the wrecked Hunter drone, but you will bring the blasters to me personally at Shorewood. Rent a van and drive to Milwaukee. However, first you will access the secure server on the Skythrone and your photographs. That was very quick thinking, by the way.”

“That map,” I said. “Do you know why it is so important?”

“Not yet,” said Tarlia. “But I have my suspicions. Singularity must have a stronghold on another world. As I told you in Shorewood, our maps of the Shadowlands and the Warded Ways are incomplete. We know only fragments of lore scavenged from the fall of the First Empire. Perhaps the map on the dagger will show me the way to Singularity’s seat of power.”

I hesitated. “Victoria said that Singularity thinks John Starkweather is still alive.”

“Starkweather.” The mental was calm, but I caught a hint of rage. “The man who thought he could become a machine god. The man who thought he could transform mankind into gods and nearly killed us all.”

“Could he still be alive?”

“I killed him with my own hands,” said Tarlia. “He may, however, have had a means of return. A backup, so to speak. We shall see. But to a different matter. Do you know why you spared Victoria Carrow?”

“Did it displease you?” I said.

“I care less for your methods than I do for your results. You are the one who must live with yourself after,” said Tarlia. “Do you know why you spared her?”

“Yes. She reminds me of myself when I was Morvilind’s shadow agent,” I said. I paused, not sure how to phrase my thoughts, but it wasn’t like I could lie to Tarlia. “I hated him.”

“I know,” said Tarlia. “Morvilind mostly raised me, and I loved him as much as someone like him probably could be loved, but I still often hated him.”

“But he at least had a vision for the future,” I said. “He told me of it before he died. Earth and Kalvarion rid of the Archons, and humanity and the Elves working together to stand against our foes. Vashtyr doesn’t have a vision, or at least not a good one. He wants to go back to the imaginary past that exists inside his head.”

“I prefer mercy to vengeance,” said Tarlia. “For one, it causes fewer long-term problems. But be careful your mercy for Victoria Carrow does not lead you to ruin. She was desperate, as you once were, and the desperate take risks they would not otherwise.”

Didn’t I know it.

“Will you move against Vashtyr now?” I said. “He is plotting against you.”

“Not yet,” said Tarlia. “There are rules to such things. Should I accuse him, his ers will rally around him, and he will place the blame upon Victoria and his other human subordinates, who he will claim acted against his orders. He will…what is the vernacular? Throw them under the bus, that is it. Soon Vashtyr will go too far, and I will have him. But that is a problem for another day. Bring the collected weapons to my mansion in Shorewood, and then you may go your husband in the UK.”

“Thank you, your Majesty,” I said.

“Do tell Mr. Boccand to stay out of further trouble,” said Tarlia. “It is always so embarrassing when someone with a royal pardon gets arrested for a new crime.”

With that, the mental ended.

I retrieved my laptop, went through the rigid authentication process to connect to the Skythrone servers, and ed my pictures of the dagger. I was pleased how sharp they had turned out, given the somewhat chaotic circumstances when I had taken them.

Armand and Cecilia and woke and walked into the living room. Cecilia carried Sophie, who seemed to be trying to shove her entire right hand into her mouth, and Armand had his phone.

“Someone just deposited fifty thousand dollars into our checking ,” said Armand.

“That would be from the royal household,” I said. “You’ve got your payment and your pardon.”

Cecilia let out a happy sound and hugged Armand, a bewildered-looking Sophie between them.

“Oh, God,” Sophie said. “Oh, God, I’m so relieved.” She stepped back and grinned up at her husband. “And never do anything like that again.”

“Believe me,” said Armand. “I never want to do anything like that again, either.”

###

Later that morning, Armand drove me to a rental lot, and I got a moving van. A short time later, I had my equipment and the blaster rifles loaded into the vehicle.

“Thank you again,” said Armand.

“I’m still sorry I dragged you into this,” I said.

“Ah, it worked out.” He held out a hand, and we shook. “Got my pardon, didn’t I? If I can do you a favor someday, give me a call…but I’m not doing any more thefts.”

I laughed. “Fair enough.”

I headed out, heading north out of the Miami area.

I would drop off the weapons in Shorewood and then fly to the UK to Riordan.

I wanted to go home, and home was wherever he was.

THE END

Thank you for reading CLOAK OF BLADES.

Nadia's next adventure will be CLOAK OF IRON (https://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=14060), coming in the final quarter of 2021.

If you liked the book, please consider leaving a review at your ebook site of choice. To receive immediate notification of new releases, sign up for my

newsletter (http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=1854).

***

Reading Order

CLOAK OF BLADES is the fourth CLOAK MAGE novel, but below you will find the reading order of Nadia's epic adventures!

THE CLOAK GAMES SERIES

1.) Cloak Games: Thief Trap

2.) Cloak Games: Frost Fever

3.) Cloak Games: Rebel Fist

4.) Cloak Games: Shadow Jump

5.) Cloak Games: Shatter Stone

6.) Cloak Games: Truth Chain

7.) Cloak Games: Tomb Howl

8.) Cloak Games: Hammer Break

9.) Cloak Games: Blood Cast

10.) Cloak Games: Last Judge

11.) Cloak Games: Sky Hammer

12.) Cloak Games: Mage Fall

THE CLOAK MAGE SERIES

1.) Cloak of Dragons

2.) Cloak of Wolves

3.) Cloak of Ashes

4.) Cloak of Blades

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About the Author

USA Today bestselling author Jonathan Moeller has written over 120 novels, including the bestselling FROSTBORN, SEVENFOLD SWORD, DRAGONTIARNA and THE GHOSTS fantasy series, and the SILENT ORDER science fiction series. His books have sold over a million and a half copies worldwide.

Visit his website at:

http://www.jonathanmoeller.com

[email protected]

You can sign up for his email newsletter here (http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=1854), or watch for news on his Facebook page (http://www.facebook.com/pages/JonathanMoeller/328773987230189) or Twitter feed (https://twitter.com/moellerjonathan).

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