Mama nodded and her grotesque smile grew wider. “Blood calls to blood as power calls to power.”
“Garnoff is using blood magic.” I said, and Mama nodded again. “Oh, gods.”
Every magician knew about blood magic. It was one
of the first things they warned you about when you began learning to use the Talent. Magic and life were strongly connected. With the right rituals, it was possible to draw magical power from the life force of living things, killing them in the process. The rituals were dangerous because they nearly always corrupted the user. So much of magic was a matter of mindset, and the mindset required to murder in cold blood simply to gather power was pure madness.
I thought about some of the things I’d seen when I first joined Assets for the Dragon Heart run—the Aztechnology magicians with their blood-soaked altars, the terrible rituals they used to gather the power they craved—and shuddered.
“But why
me
? ” I said. “I haven’t been back to Boston for years. Why did Garnoff come after me after all this time? Revenge?”
“He needs you,
it
needs you.” Mama said, her voice falling to a hoarse whisper. “Without you, the circle cannot be closed, and all his efforts will be for nothing. He wants you alive, for now.”
“For what?” I asked.
Mama glanced into the depths of the fireplace, the orange and yellow flames reflecting in her dark eyes. “There are some things you must discover for yourself, Talon.” It was the first time she’d used my name, and it sent a shiver down my spine. “Do you understand the power of true names?”
“I know a true name grants power over the thing it names.” I said. “Especially powerful spirits, who hide their true names. They can be used to enslave them. Every magician learns that.”
“Then you must seek the true name of the mystery at the heart of this.” Mama said. “Garnoff found his power while exploring the depths of the Otherworld.”
“You mean the metaplanes?” I asked.
Mama waved one bony hand in a dismissive gesture. “The metaplanes—such a foolish name. The Otherworld, the Second Road, the Twilight Realm, the Nether World, Heaven, Hell, call it what you will, that is where the secret lies. You can find it. All you need is a map to guide your way.”
“Do you have it?” I asked.
“No.” she said, “but I know who does.”
“Wait a nanosec.” Trouble interrupted, turning toward Mama. “What do you get out of this? What’s this paydata going to cost us?”
The old woman made a face that was a mocking parody of girlish embarrassment. “Let us simply say there is limited room in the jungle of the Catacombs. Too many predators can strip away all the prey and lead to starvation for all. When one predator enters another’s hunting ground unbidden, a struggle to the death ensues and only the strongest survives. I offer you the chance go from being sheep to wolves, from hunted to hunters.”
“A chance to do your dirty work for you?” Trouble said. Mama laga’s predatory grin grew wider until I thought it would split her face in two. “Of course, my dear. Isn’t that what shadowrunners are for?”
A plan suddenly came to mind. It was risky, but it was the only way I could see to get to the bottom of all this. Mama Iaga provided the inspiration and Garnoff had inadvertently supplied the means. I glanced over at Trouble and gave what I hoped was a reassuring look, then turned back to Mama.
“Tell me where I can get the map.” I told Mama. “If I’m going into hell, I should at least know how to get there.”
“Well,
that
was interesting.” Boom said once we made it back to the safe house. He was always a master of understatement. “Now what?”
“The first thing we need is a new place to hang.” I said. “Mama may keep our location to herself because she wants something from us, but I don’t trust her for a second. I’d rather we were someplace she didn’t know about.”
“Gotcha.” Boom said. “I can make a couple of calls and have another place inside of an hour.”
“Good.” I said. “Tell Hammer and Sloane to meet us there and I’ll fill everybody in on my plan.”
True to his word, Boom had a new safe house arranged within the hour. This one was a bit farther from the Rox, in South Boston, near the old neighborhood where I grew up. I decided to take it as a good sign. Driving through the area certainly brought back memories, not all of them unpleasant.
On the drive, I thought about what Mama Iaga had said about Jase and why Garnoff was interested in me, specifically. If it was true, the man was a rogue, running his own scheme behind the scenes using the resources of both Manadyne and Mitsuhama, not to mention the yakuza, to cover it all up. That made things both easier and harder for us. Easier because Garnoff would be even more cautious than we were about getting caught. If the big boys in the corps found out what he was up to, they would probably shut him down and Garnoff would be “reassigned” to where his employers could keep a watchful eye on him. Assuming, of course, that they didn’t just kill him outright. On the other hand, if Garnoff was running his own shadow operation, it must be very well-hidden to avoid the notice of the corps so far. Which was going to make it that much harder to ferret out if what I had in mind didn’t work.
Val pulled the van up in front of the address Boom gave her, and the troll rolled the door open with a theatrical flourish.
“Here you go, terms.” he said. “One new hideout, as requested.”
“You have
got
to be kidding.” Trouble said, looking out the open door at our new safe house.
The building had once been a church, and most of it was still standing. The walls were heavy stonework, blackened in places and covered in graffiti and gang symbols. There was a narrow steeple that may have once housed a belfry, which stood like a ragged stump on top of the structure. The door and the windows were boarded up with heavy sheets of gray construction plastic and plastered with “CONDEMNED” signs.
Around the building stood a small yard heavily overgrown with weeds that were encroaching on the cracked concrete path leading up to the front steps. Around the yard was a rusting wrought-iron fence topped with sharp spikes. A heavy padlock and chain held the front gate closed, and another “CONDEMNED” sign hung across the gate.
“A church?” Trouble said, echoing her earlier disbelief. “A
former
church.” Boom corrected. “It was seriously damaged during the quake and condemned by the city. Rather than spend the money to rebuild it, the church deconsecrated it and built a new one a few kilometers away. It’s been slated to be torn down forever, but it’s so far down on the municipal reconstruction and reclamation projects list that they won’t get to it for another twenty years at least. A contact of mine in the Department of Public Works passed me a list of potential sites. This looked like the best one.
“A real-estate development company is supposed to be looking at it as a possible building site over the next few weeks, which should cover us with any city officials who might wonder why there’s activity around here. The best news is that the power and water in the place still work and I’ve got them turned on, for a while, at least.” A church. I decided to take that as a good omen as well, with only a momentary flinch of concern over blasphemy or desecration. Boom said it was de-consecrated, after all, and I wasn’t Catholic—not by a long shot—but being raised by Catholics as a kid still leaves a strong impression. Old habits die hard.
“Good job, Boom.” I said, shouldering my gear. “Let’s check it out and get to work.”
The interior of the church building was nearly bare of any furnishings, but we tossed down temprafoam pads from the van and set up our gear in the vestry. The van was concealed in the alley behind the building, where it wouldn’t be easily visible from the street. Hammer and Sloane arrived in short order and brought Chinese food with them (more of Boom’s good planning, I suspected). Soon we were sitting on the floor of the vestry, chowing down on noodles and kung pao chicken as I told everyone my plan. As I suspected, some people didn’t like it.
“It's crazy, Talon!” Trouble said for about the fifth time. “It’ll never work.”
“I think it will.” I said, trying to stay calm and reasonable. “It’s our best chance to get at Garnoff.”
“Do you really trust that old hag?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No, but I do trust her greed and her desire to get rid of Garnoff without having to dirty her own hands. She was honest enough about that.”
“She might just want you both out of the way! Did that ever occur to you?” Trouble said. Actually it
had
occurred to me, but I wasn’t going to mention it right then.
“Mama is a lot of things.” Hammer said, “but she's got a reputation for doing business fairly. You don’t get the kind of shadow rep she’s got by slotting over everyone you meet. If Talon thinks she’s on the level, then I’m willing to go along with the rest of the plan.”
Sloane sort of nodded and shrugged. “You’re the boss, Talon. We’ll do whatever you say. Your call.”
I glanced over at Boom. The troll looked me square in the eyes. “It sounds risky.” he said.
“It is.”
“Do you really think it’ll work?”
“I still think it’s our best shot.” It obviously wasn’t quite the answer he wanted to hear.
“All right.” he said. “Let’s do it.”
Lastly, I turned back to Trouble.
“You don’t make things easy, do you?” she said.
“I need everybody for this.” I said. “Especially you. Are you in?”
She bit her lip and stared at me for a second. I wondered what was going through her head. We’d never had a chance to finish the conversation we started back at the other safe house, before the Mama’s Boys interrupted. I wondered if it had any effect on her decision.
“Okay, I’m in.”
“Good.” I said. “Here’s what we need to do.”
* * *
Dr. Alan Gordon was a brilliant man once. He had been a celebrated member of the staff at MIT&T when I was a student there, a Professor of Thaumaturgy specializing in astral theory and the study of the complex, multidimensional structure of astral space. I remembered sitting in his class entranced at the way his mind worked. He seemed able to understand the most intricate interrelationships between the different layers and levels of the astral planes with ease, opening up literal new worlds to his students and colleagues. It wasn’t just his intelligence and insight that made him a popular teacher, but his charm and his infectious enthusiasm for his work.
A year or two after I left the Institute, not long after I left Boston altogether, I heard that Gordon had been committed to a mental institution, after having some kind of fit. The Institute press release claimed it was due to stress from overwork and the pressures of academic life. I hadn’t really given my old teacher a second thought in years, so I was understandably surprised when Mama gave me his name as the man who could provide the map I needed. I was even more surprised when she provided an address in the Rox, the worst area in the sprawl.
“Are you sure this is the place?” Boom asked as we entered the foyer of the building. He insisted on coming with me and I was glad for the company. The air stank of decay and human refuse, and the only light in the stairwell came from a bare bulb hanging from a cord near the very top, casting long shadows behind us.
“This is where Mama said he was.” The place was eerily quiet. There was no sound of other tenants, screaming children, arguing adults, none of the noises I generally associated with a place where people lived. I kept my hand close to the gun concealed under my long coat, just in case.
“Explain to me again why you need a map to go somewhere in a dream that doesn't even really exist in the first place.” Boom said as we climbed the rickety steps of the tenement building.
“The metaplanes exist, chummer.” I said. “They’re just on a completely different level of reality. They're vast, maybe even infinite. Nobody really knows. If I’m going to find what we need, I’ve got to have an idea of where to start looking for it. That’s where the map comes in. It’s not exactly a map, per se, more like a kind of ritual guide.”
Boom just shook his head and muttered something under his breath about “fragging magicians.”
At the third floor, we turned down the hall toward apartment 23. The “2” hung upside down by only a single nail, while the “3” was only in evidence from the lighter shade of wood where the number had once been.
With a look of caution at Boom I knocked lightly on the door. We both tensed and waited, but there was nothing. I rapped again.
“Dr. Gordon?” I said, then knocked a third time.
“Go away!” a voice shouted through the door. “I’m not bothering anyone!”
“Dr. Gordon.” I said again. “We need to talk to you.”
“I don't talk to anyone. Now go away or I’ll place a curse on you!”
Boom looked at me in alarm. “Can he do that?” he asked in a whisper.
I shook my head. “I doubt it.”
“Hope you’re right . . . fragging magicians.” Boom muttered again as I turned back to the door. I was tempted to simply break it down but I needed Gordon’s cooperation and I preferred not to get it by force. Also, as much as I tried to reassure Boom, I had no idea what the man’s magical abilities might be these days. Gordon used to be an accomplished mage and, while I doubted the likelihood of him cursing us, I didn’t dismiss the possibility of something equally nasty getting thrown in our direction.