Spellbound (11 page)

He made his way out through the chaos. The facility had taken quite a blow from the collapsing spirit phone and the night shift was being evacuated. The power was out almost everywhere and from the smell, something had caught fire. At one point he saw some of the Navy people shouting his name, searching for him, but Sullivan kept his head down and ducked behind a fire truck. He didn’t know how many other enemies he had here. There was no sign of Hammer either. He stopped at the front office, which was luckily deserted, broke open the lockbox with one solid kick and retrieved his pistol.

Hammer’s giant Ford Hyperion was in the garage with the keys still in it. The starter turned over on the first try despite the cold. He didn’t like stealing, but it was a question of priorities. Somebody was going to come looking for the men that had tried to kill him, so he wanted as much of a head start as possible. He’d leave the Hyperion someplace it could be found easily and even top off the tank, but it served her right for setting him up. He hit the road and gunned it in order to leave Jersey behind.

The night had raised a lot of questions and not very many answers. Dead men calling, presidential assassinations, Pathfinders, dark oceans, devices that could quell magic, and mechanical men . . . It was enough to make a poor Gravity Spiker’s head swim. He needed help. It was time to call the Grimnoir.

Chapter 5

And how will the New Republic treat the inferior races? How will it deal with the black? How will it deal with the yellow man? How will it tackle that alleged termite in the civilized woodwork, the Jew? Certainly not as races at all. The world is a world, not a charitable institution, and I take it they will have to go. The whole tenor and meaning of the world, as I see it, is that they have to go. So far as they fail to develop sane, vigorous, and distinctive abilities for the great world of the future, it is their portion to die out and disappear. The world has a greater purpose than happiness; our lives are to serve God’s purpose, and that purpose aims not at man as an end, but works through him to greater issues.

—H. G. Wells,

Anticipations of the Reaction of

Magical and Scientific Progress Upon

Human Life and Thought
, 1901

UBF
Minotaur

Somewhere over Nevada

IT WAS FRUSTRATING SOMETIMES.
She seemed to have a stronger natural attachment to the Power than anybody else around, though she wasn’t nearly as strong as she’d somehow become on the
Tokugawa,
but she was mediocre at creating anything more than the most rudimentary of spells. Sure, she could Travel like it was nobody’s business, which was supposed to be one of the hardest types of magic to master, what with all the possible ways of crashing into things and dying, so why couldn’t she make this stupid communication spell work right? And now everybody was staring at her, wondering why the girl that had supposedly fought the Chairman couldn’t even get a stupid little spell to take.

Faye, Mr. Browning, and the new volunteers had left L.A. a few hours ago, catching the first blimp heading east. They were rushing back to help, though nobody really had any idea what helping meant in this case. It wasn’t like she could shoot or stab her way out of so many folks hating Actives. Moving made her feel like she was doing
something
though. Heck, on a blimp, even when they were sleeping they were moving. One nice thing about blimping was that the staterooms tended to have pretty comfy beds, which meant you could usually get a good night’s sleep on one, at least until your Grimnoir ring tried to burn your finger off.

It had been about five minutes since Faye’s ring had turned hot enough to wake her up. It wasn’t just her, either. All of the assorted Grimnoir aboard the
Minotaur
had received the same signal and it had been a strong one. Somebody really wanted to talk. They had gathered in the observation bubble because it was quiet and they could lock the door to keep out snooping crew members.

Since Faye had gotten here first, she’d volunteered to cast, and now she was regretting it. It was starting to frazzle her nerves, but she wouldn’t give the unfamiliar knights the satisfaction of seeing her fail. She redrew the design in the pile of salt and tried once again to concentrate on letting her own Power connect. Lance made it look so easy.
Focus
, he’d said,
the Active provides the juice. You’re just a battery. The Power knows what to do based on what part of it you draw.

There were many different material components that could be used for spells. The Grimnoir had learned them through trial and error. The most common was good old fashioned salt or fine sand, because you could try again if you screwed it up. Even dirt would work if you were good enough. It was harder to do, but a spell could be scratched onto a glass surface, though she’d never managed to get one of those right.

Four knights had joined them in Los Angeles and now they were all looking at her. It wasn’t helping her nerves any. Faye had not had much time to get to know them, but
most
of them seemed like they would be okay.

The nice French girl didn’t talk much, but when she did, she talked with a funny accent. It made her sound exotic. She’d introduced herself as Colleen Giraudoux, but everybody else just called her Whisper, so Faye did too. She was very refined and pretty, with dark, elaborately constructed hair that was way nicer than Faye’s flat, straw-colored and constantly tangled mop. She even dressed fancy and wore a little bit of makeup around her eyes and on her lips and cheeks, which was a little scandalous in America even these days, but which was apparently perfectly acceptable in France. It seemed like all the young male passengers on the
Minotaur
kept looking Whisper’s way, and she never so much as blushed or batted a perfect eyelash with all that attention.

Whisper didn’t seem to look down at Faye just because she wasn’t educated, fancy, or worldly, so since Whisper was only probably five or so years older, Faye hoped that they could be like sisters or something. Faye’s only real sister had died of a fever back when she was really little, Delilah was dead, and Jane was hardly ever around, so it would be nice to make friends with another girl.

She hadn’t gotten to speak to Mr. Bryce or Mr. Bolander nearly as much. Mr. Bryce seemed to treat talking like it was a contest to see who could say the least, and if that was the case, then he was the champion. He was a tall, bony, suspicious type who seemed to scowl a lot and was always watching people with shifty eyes that she could barely see under the edge of his bowler hat. He reminded her of the scarecrows they’d had back when she was kid, back when crops actually grew in Oklahoma. She didn’t know what Mr. Bryce’s Power was. Probably something sneaky.

Mr. Bolander was a broad man, with the big arms of somebody who had worked hard his whole life. He seemed really friendly, with an easy manner and a genuine smile, but Faye hadn’t gotten to speak to him much at all. He was a Negro, which meant that his quarters were in a different part of the dirigible, and there were only certain hours when the coloreds aboard were allowed to eat in the galley. There hadn’t been any Negroes where Faye had grown up, and in fact she had only spoken to a few in her whole life, so the whole thing about shooing them away from everybody else seemed odd to her. Why bother? With her Power, she could kill every single person on the
Minotaur
without even trying hard, but nobody treated her funny. Now
she
was different. But Mr. Bolander was the one that had to keep away from polite company because he was browner. If folks were that rude over looks, it was tough to imagine how they’d treat him if they knew he could shoot lightning bolts out his eyes.

If those three had been the only new knights, Faye would have been glad for the help, but there was one left, and Ian Wright made her skin crawl. He had come from the same group as Whisper that had been working in Europe, only he wasn’t anything like her. Even now, while she was trying hard to make the stupid spell bind, he was watching her, acting like he was better than she was. Sure, he hadn’t said anything specific, but she could see it on his smug face.

Ian was probably in his mid-twenties, but it wasn’t his age that made her think he didn’t deserve to be called
Mr.
Wright. He was decent looking enough, but Ian was moody and she found that turned him sort of ugly. They said he was English, but that he’d grown up here, so he didn’t really sound different. Mr. Browning had said that Ian’s Power was mightily impressive and that hardly anybody in the whole Society was better at making spells. He talked smart, but as it turned out, he was the knight that had stuck up for Harkeness and Rawls in the meeting, which automatically made Faye hate his guts.

Just thinking about those traitors made her slip up on one of the designs. Ian stepped forward. He was going to offer to do the spell for her, and he was going to play like he was being chivalrous for doing it, when in reality he was just being a big mean jerk, but because she was thinking about jerks instead of drawing her markings correctly, the spell fizzled again. She wanted to swear at the Power like it was an obstinate milk cow that wouldn’t put its head through the stall, but that would just make her look dumber.

“Let me do it,” Ian said as he nosed in. “It may be an emergency.”

“We’re in a blimp. If it’s an emergency, what are we supposed to do about it?” she snapped.

“Well, I suppose you could just pop on down to wherever it is and easily take care of everything for us.”

“Faye, he may be right,” Mr. Browning said. “Let him do it.”

Cheeks burning, Faye grudgingly got out of the way. Ian wet his fingers in a cup of water and drew a complicated design in the salt. He frowned at it, said the proper words, and the room seemed to shudder. The salt instantly flash-fused into a solid disk. The circle floated into the air until it was a bit higher than she was tall. It had only taken Ian thirty seconds and the view of the other side was clear as could be.
Damn it.
He was
way
better at spellbinding than she was.

“Whoever started this has alerted every Grimnoir within reach. There are a lot of people getting on. This will be very draining for him.”

The circle floated and seemed to spin like a top as others made the connection. She recognized Lance Talon by the bottom of his bushy beard before his circle had even gotten into position to show his face. Others followed, some Grimnoir she didn’t know, then Dan and Jane Garrett, who had curlers in her hair and was still throwing on a robe, more strangers, and then Mr. Sullivan, who from the background had built his circle using the rearview mirror of a moving automobile. Though he would never brag, Mr. Sullivan was remarkably good at spellbinding, which was especially surprising that somebody with a bruiser’s hands could have such a delicate touch.

“So who called this conference?” Mr. Browning asked.

The circle spun. She recognized the disorderly stateroom of the new
Cyclone.
“Francis!” Faye exclaimed. “What happened to your face?” He looked like the losing fighter at the end of a long boxing match. One eye was swollen shut and purple and his lips were all puffy and cracked. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Heinrich was killed in the assassination attempt.” There were collective gasps. Jane cried out and Dan swore. Faye was too surprised to react. “I don’t have much time. This link hurts to keep open and I’m not in good shape. You all know about Roosevelt? I think the assassin was an Iron Guard.”

“No-good rotten bastards,” Lance snapped.

Francis hurried and told them about the attack, and then his interrogation and beating at the hands of the mysterious Mr. Crow. The assembled Grimnoir shared an uneasy look when he told them about the assassin’s ring, and Faye thought a few of them might have a fit when they heard about how Francis’ magic had been blocked. She was still stunned about Heinrich, and by the time Francis finished, her knees had gone all wobbly and soft.

A deep voice cut in. “This is Sullivan.” The mirror spun over to him. He was still driving, and from the lights zipping past, going
really
fast. He held a small orange box up to the mirror. “This is how they blocked your magic. I don’t know how it works. There’s one word stamped on the bottom, looks like Dymaxion. There’s a stone inside, and while it’s spinning it disrupts your connection to the Power.”

“However did you get that?” Mr. Browning asked.

“Four men tried to kill me tonight. Didn’t recognize them, but probably from the same outfit as the one that beat up Francis. One of them had this.”

Faye realized that the bad men weren’t that smart, since they had
only
sent
four
men to kill Mr. Sullivan. Obviously they hadn’t known who they were dealing with.

“There’s more, though. Francis, how long can you hold the line?”

“I’ll do my best,” Francis answered, through gritted teeth.

“I’ll make it quick.” Sullivan rattled off events like a military man giving a briefing, which in a way, was exactly what he was. “The Chairman’s ghost called. EGE has a working spirit phone. And yes. It really was him. He said the Enemy’s sent a scout. It’ll be here sometime soon. We have to stop it before it sends a message home saying this is the place for dinner.”

That cinched it. It was Faye’s turn to smirk at Ian. “Told you so.”

“Enemy? Wait—you mean the big
thing
?” Lance asked. “Hell, I was hoping you had imagined that.”

“Me too. I’ve got an idea on how to find it, but we’ll need to work fast.”

Mr. Browning was the senior knight. “We have two problems then. It appears we are meant to take the fall for this assassin and this
being
has finally found us. Could the two be related?”