“No, but I’ve chipped the sim.”
Nadja chuckled. “You really should try the archaic practice of reading sometime.”
Ryan ignored the tease. An idea was taking shape in his mind. A plan forming. “When are you supposed to deliver the armor?” he asked.
“I was planning to send it out tomorrow.”
“You’ll need more security than usual,” Ryan said. “Won’t you, considering the inordinate value of the merchandise?”
Nadja narrowed her eyes on him. “What are you
scheming?”
Ryan smiled. “I plan to be on the plane with that armor,” he said. “And I’ve got a few friends I’d like to invite along.”
Nadja sighed. "I supposed as much. As far as I’m concerned, you and Assets can take charge of delivering the package. Just be careful. I have a funny feeling about Harlequin. He’s been around a long, long time it seems. He could be extremely powerful, and he’s possibly known Dunkelzahn far longer than either of us. We can’t be sure that their relationship has always been on good terms.”
“What are you suggesting?” Ryan asked. “Do you think he could have been involved in the assassination?”
Nadja sipped her wine, deliberately hesitating before she answered. “I’m not suggesting anything, Ryan. I’m just saying that he’s got a known history with our master, and we don’t know whether they were friends or enemies.”
Ryan steepled his fingers in front of his face, contemplating. “Why would Dunkelzahn want me to contact an enemy for help? It doesn’t make sense.”
“When did Dunkelzahn’s plans make sense?”
“Good point,” Ryan said. “But I still need to contact Harlequin. It’s very important.”
Nadja leaned across the table and took Ryan’s hand. “I know,” she said, her hands warm around his. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”
Ryan looked into her eyes. “I'll be careful,” he said. Nadja narrowed her gaze on him. “You’d better be.” Her stare hardened, though a smile played over her lips. “If you’re not, I’ll kill you myself.”
4
The touch of pure evil resonated inside Lucero and brought shudders to her body. It had been mere hours since she’d passed out from the overwhelming sense of dread and horror that had seized her on the metaplanes, at the site of the dark wedge.
Now she stood in the physical world, high up in the San Marcos
teocalli,
looking out the window of the step pyramid structure, gazing at the growing masses of people outside. The hot Texas sun beat down on her, bathing her in its searing radiation. She didn’t mind, however; she enjoyed it. This physical existence, however uncomfortable, was a blessing after her extended stay in the metaplanes with Señor Oscuro.
The valley before her and the plain beyond was filled with people, drawn from the farthest reaches of Aztlan by the Locus—the chiseled obsidian rock ensconced in the lake bed below the temple. Security fences had been set up in a broad perimeter to protect the stone from the huge crowd. Thousands and thousands of metahumans stretched off into the distance, chanting and celebrating the end of the Aztec Fifth Sun.
Which she knew, meant the coming of the
tzitzimine
—demons who would devour the world. A shiver passed through her. Had she seen those demons across the Chasm? Had she felt their touch in her heart ?
People were drawn to the Locus, she supposed, or perhaps Señor Oscuro was luring them magically. Their presence made Lucero uneasy, though she wasn’t sure why that should be. They were only citizens and common folk, camping out under tents and makeshift shelters.
Perhaps they are merely as entranced by the power of the Locus as
I
am.
Lucero found herself hypnotized by the allure of the huge black stone. Its glossy surface was cut perfectly flat, like chiseled onyx or black diamond. It seemed to absorb all light around it. A fine tracery of gold lines ran through it, tiny threads of orichalcum barely visible from up here.
The lake was mostly dry now, only the deepest section still holding water. The rest of it was captured by huge pipes and channeled downstream. Lucero could see the needle reflection of the observation tower in the silvery water—an old amusement park structure where people used to ride up high on a cylindrical metal tower to get a better view of the area in the revolving observatory at the top. The observation platform had long rusted to the column and had not moved in the years since Lucero had visited San Marcos.
There was a soft knock behind her, followed by the whisper of the door opening. Lucero turned to see three acolytes dressed in white linen. One of them, a boy of about seventeen with brown skin and black eyes, carried a gray robe for Lucero. He unfolded it and offered it to her.
“Señor Oscuro has requested your presence at the new altar,” the boy said. “We will escort you.”
Lucero nodded. “Thank you. I will be ready shortly.”
Modesty was an unusual trait at the temple, but Lucero was an extremely special case. The acolytes took the hint and stepped outside.
Lucero breathed a heavy sigh. She could not disobey her master, but she dreaded what he might ask her to do. The last time they had traveled to the metaplanes together, he
had used her as the focus for his blood magic. Because of
her, Oscuro had been able to build his wedge against the goddess of light and song who guarded the metaplanar bridge.
Lucero slipped out of her nightshirt, and stepped to the mirror with her gray robe in hand. She stared at the full-length reflection of her naked body. She had once been quite beautiful, but that had been long ago, before the scarring. Before her addiction to the blood, her slavery to the dark stain on her soul.
Her head was bald—dark brown skin shaved smooth. The shape of her skull was delicate. It was fragile and unmarred like her face. She had large eyes, the color of worn leather, faded from time but resilient and strong. Her narrow nose was elegant and her mouth full.
Below the neck, her brown skin was a tapestry of scars. Deep-etched runes, like embossed tattoos bled of their ink. They were the runes of ritual blood magic, runes of the Blood Mage Gestalt, and they covered her arms and shoulders, her breasts and stomach, back and buttocks, thighs and legs. Such mutilation was a hideous and unnatural thing.
For the briefest of moments, Lucero saw past the scars, saw the woman she had been before Oscuro had perverted her, before he had fostered her addiction to the life energy in metahuman blood. She could see the bright, intelligent eyes, the smooth, young skin stretched tight across her stomach. Unblemished and supple. She tried to remember what it had felt like to sense the delicate touch of an intimate friend. To be desired.
A gentle knock on the door brought her out of her reverie.
He will take me across again,
she thought as she slipped into the gray robe.
He will take me to the dark circle, that place which was once radiant with light and beautiful music.
Lucero loved the song and the light; she knew it was her
only chance for salvation. Señor Oscuro had cut a sharp wedge of his own darkness into the beauty, and she knew that he planned to destroy the light completely. She also knew that, for some reason, he needed her help.
I will hinder him this time,
she vowed.
She opened the door and followed the three acolytes down the stairs and outside into the oppressive heat. They led her across the grass, which felt dry and brittle against her bare feet, then down the recently built wooden ramp into the dry lake bed and across to the small gathering around the Locus.
The power emanating from the chiseled black stone penetrated her and drew her. It was like a dark sun of mana, a magical focus of such unprecedented force that it made her mind reel. The air seemed to grow heavy as she approached, making it harder to go ahead even as the stone’s hypnotic enchantment made her desire nothing more than to touch it.
Just when she thought she could walk no further, Señor Oscuro stepped out of the gathering of people and smiled at Lucero, his handsome face adorned with a black beard and mustache. His expression was warm, and it reassured her. His teeth showed in his smile, perfectly straight and white, almost gleaming.
Oscuro wore the tan robe of ancient Aztec magic, embroidered with profiles of the old gods. Around his neck hung a ceremonial collar of gold and dragon feathers. The feathers were deep blue and crimson, brilliant green and yellow. They had been encased in enamel and their edges rimmed with gold.
Oscuro’s skin glowed with life, shedding hope on her, giving her the strength to continue. But his eyes were darkly framed holes of blackness, and underneath their false sparkle, they cut her up like a surgical laser. They betrayed his true nature.
Oscuro reached to her with a pale hand, the back of it sprouting hundreds of individual black hairs. “My child,”
he said.
“We are close to victory.” He gave her a secretive smile. “The bridge is nearly ours.”
She put her warm hand into his, cold as damp fish, and allowed him to lead her into the crowd. They passed medical technicians and Jaguar Guards brandishing automatic weapons as Oscuro guided her toward the short wooden stairs that led up onto the stone itself. The power of the Locus thickened the air around her untii it seemed almost solid.
Then they stepped through the line of guards, and Lucero saw it up close. The partially excavated stone was faceted, each face like a sheet of black glass fifteen meters across. Its surface was unnaturally smooth, unmarred and perfect as though it had been polished. The threads of orichalcum formed fractal patterns over the surface, and Lucero felt a pulse of mana coming from them like the beats of an animal’s heart. The Locus was obviously created by man or some other sentience before being buried here long ago.
The Blood Mage Gestalt sat in a circle on the surface of the stone, preparing to begin a ritual. The ten mages stood and looked at Lucero and her master as they came up the steps. They were all human, their skin a mosaic of tattoos and runic scars just like hers. There were thick needle track marks on their necks.
When Lucero saw the dark emptiness of their gaze, she felt a swelling pity for the acolytes who had escorted her; more than likely they would be sacrificed to power the blood magic. The blood mages wore the traditional crimson robes and had catheters in their necks that allowed them to share their blood with each other during the ritual.
Lucero had been a member of the Gestalt herseif and had participated in the blood spilling, in the blood sharing many, many times. But since she had been touched by the light, this seemed evil to her, a perversion of magic. To use life energy for such purposes was highly addictive and Lucero had succumbed to the lure of it. Only by hearing the beauty of the song, by witnessing the sheer goodness of the light had Lucero been able to see her own inner evil, the shadow on her heart that made her destroy innocent lives in order to achieve power and domination.
“It is important for you to remain strong, my child. The one who blocks the bridge is on the verge of defeat now that we’ve breached to the tip, and our allies across the Chasm have lent us their influence. This will be our final battle.”
Lucero shuddered.
When her bare foot touched the surface of the Locus, Lucero froze. Her knees buckled as a wave of electricity passed up through her until every nerve in her body exploded. She felt her consciousness sink into the stone, swallowed up by the geometric black hole. For a moment she thought she could sense the whole earth at once, a split second of perfect godlike awareness—she was part of a huge network of power, manalines and other Loci that spanned the planet.
Then it was gone, and Señor Oscuro was helping her to her feet. Her skin tingled as she entered the circle formed by the Gestalt members. “Lie down, my child,” said Oscuro. “Soon we will be together on the metaplanes.”
Lucero lay with her back against the cold, hard surface of the Locus and opened her robe as the Gestalt mages encircled her. Oscuro appeared above her with an acolyte in tow—the boy who had spoken to her earlier. There was a look of distracted satisfaction on the boy’s face—he was under magical hypnosis.
The boy’s look changed momentarily as Oscuro produced an obsidian knife and drew it across the boy’s throat in a well-practiced slash. Then he was dead, his warm, thick blood spilling over Lucero’s naked body, and his eyes going glassy in the far-off stare that she had seen too many times.
Oscuro threw the boy’s body aside and knelt down in the pool of blood. As the iron smell of it overwhelmed Lucero, she gritted her teeth and fought down the urge to taste it. Oscuro traced patterns over Lucero’s flesh and spoke under his breath in a language she didn’t know.
Then the sun was gone, replaced by the flat light of the astral sky. Lucero saw the Gestalt entity forming around them for an instant before Oscuro spoke again and they rode the column of power rising out of the Locus.
“Stand up, my child.” Oscuro’s voice held a tone of authority now.
Lucero stood up and looked around, nearly panicking from the sense of overwhelming horror that filled the area. It was a raver’s madness, a rapist’s glee that penetrated to the marrow of her bones.
The cold ground brought shivers to her, a mean, hard chill that dug into her and wouldn’t let go. The cracked rock beneath her feet was part of a giant outcropping that extended over a bottomless canyon. She could see the other side of the Chasm now, an impossible distance away. And she could sense the creatures there, moving in slow motion as they constructed an outcropping of their own. An arch that extended toward her.