Spellbound (20 page)

This had been brewing since she’d laid hands on him last night and discovered the new spells. There were no chairs so he gestured at the bed. “Have a seat.” Then he went over and leaned on the windowsill a respectful distance away. It wouldn’t be polite to sit on a bed next to a married woman. Jake Sullivan, despite what some might say, always tried to be a gentleman to those that deserved it. “I figure I know why you’re here. Let me say—”

“You are an idiot,” Jane snapped. Sullivan nodded. He’d predicted that response. “A damn fool idiot. Do you have any idea how dangerous carving magic onto yourself is?”

“I believe I do.”

“No. I don’t think so.” Jane was exasperated. She had been a child when the Harkeness family had come over from Eastern Europe, but the more excited she got, the more her heritage showed up in her pronunciation, accenting the wrong syllables. “The Society has been experimenting for decades, trying to get those horrid things to work right. Many foolish knights have died in horrible pain, while others became twisted and inhuman. Putting a spell onto metal or glass is one thing, putting one onto living flesh is different.”

“Yeah.” Sullivan chuckled. “The metal don’t scream while you do it. They
really
hurt when you bind them on.”

“Yes. I would imagine mutilating yourself with magic would . . . Why? Why would you risk that?”

He didn’t answer because Jane already knew the answer.

She folded her arms and glared at him. “Are you trying to become our version of an Iron Guard then? You expect to beat them at their own game?”

“I do.”

“Then you are an even bigger fool than I thought. The Iron Guard lose more of their humanity with each spell they take. They’re weapons, not people. They’re monsters!”

“My brother was a monster a real long time before he hooked up with the Japanese or got branded with a kanji, Jane. I ain’t Madi.”

“I . . . I did not mean . . .” Jane shut her mouth and turned red. Madi had soundly beaten them all and captured her. If they hadn’t come after her, Jane would either be an Imperium slave or a Unit 731 experiment, and they both knew it. “Of course, you are nothing like your brother. He was a beast. You are a decent man.”

“I wouldn’t go that far . . . Look, I know what I’ve done is dangerous. So what? It’s dangerous every time we face those bastards. I’ve seen the Power like nobody else has. That’s how come I can make this work. That’s why I have to make them work. Until we figure out how to match the Iron Guard, they’re going to keep on beating us. The only reason we rescued you off the
Tokugawa
was because the Chairman was too
amused
watching us fight until it was too late.”

“And I thank God every single day for what you all did for me, but—”

“But if I’d just been a little better before . . .” Sullivan trailed off. “Never mind.”

“You’re thinking of Delilah?”

He couldn’t answer. Sullivan stood up and looked out the window at the dead grey fields. “Maybe.”

“Jake! Her death was not your fault.”

“Not a day goes by that I don’t ask myself if I could’ve done something more.”

Jane wouldn’t let it go. “I don’t think she’d want to see you killing yourself trying to avenge her.”

“Delilah’s dead. She don’t get a vote.”

“Risking your life won’t bring her back.”

“Of course it won’t. It ain’t like that . . . It’s . . . Shit. Never mind.” She could never understand. Her Power fixed people. His Power broke people. The only good thing he could accomplish in this world was breaking those that needed it, and one of the times he’d really needed it, he hadn’t been strong enough to get the job done. “I’m not stupid, Jane.”

“Could have fooled me. I see four working spells bound to your body, and two other attempts that did not stick. Grisly work.”

“You can tell just by looking?”

Jane gave a resigned sigh. “Four are alive with magic. Two are simply scar tissue. So which one of my over-exuberant and dangerously naive colleagues assisted you in this foolishness? Was it Heinrich? He was certainly crazy enough to try.”

“No, but he wanted the same one for Healing that I figured out after Faye shot me in the heart. I’ve done a couple of those now. It’s actually not too hard. No, I didn’t have help. I carved these on my own.”

“You did
what?
”

He had created them by himself with only a memory of the Power’s geometries, a steady hand, a sharp knife, some Summoned smoke, whiskey to dull the pain, and a mirror so he could see his own chest while he worked. “You’d be surprised what a man can accomplish with a little motivation. Hard part is doing it backwards in the mirror.”

“You’re insane.”

Sullivan laughed and returned to sitting on the windowsill. “Maybe. Not like there’s a lot of sanity to spare in this outfit. Sane folks don’t go around poking the Imperium in the eye. Look, Jane, something big is coming. I can feel it in my bones. Maybe it’s this scout creature, maybe it’s the big Enemy it serves, maybe it’s just the winds of change blowing. Hell, I don’t rightly know. But whatever it is, I’m going to be as ready as I can be.”

Jane was staring at him again. “You’re wearing three of those Healing spells.”

“That’s the first one I learned. Figured I’d practice it a few more times before trying it on anyone else. There seems to be a point of diminishing returns though. Each one of the same kind feels like it does a little less. Madi said he had five of these, so I’m assuming that’s the max, but you saw how damn hard he was to put down.”

“Cutting him in half seemed to do the trick.” Jane actually gave a little smile. “Served him right. What’s that other one?”

“This?” Sullivan touched a spot on his left side. “I don’t rightly know. Found the design in a box of Cracker Jacks, figured I’d slap it on and see what happened.”

“Jake!”

“I’m kidding.” He opened his shirt and showed off the intricate scar. “That’s what the area of the Power that affects gravitation looks like.” Through years of determined practice, Sullivan already had a better connection to the Power than most, and had even blurred the lines between his abilities into other areas of the Power. The latest mark had been an experiment in pushing those boundaries even further. “It was an experiment. Seemed to increase my reserves, and I think it made my magic a little stronger.”

“You think? That’s reassuring.”

His stomach rumbled. “You going to keep yelling at me? Because if you are we can do it over lunch just as easy.”

“You Heavies are always hungry . . . Such large men with such rapid metabolisms, it is understandable.” Jane shook her head sadly. “I know why you are doing this to yourself. Men like Madi cannot be allowed to win. If the rest of us are willing to risk our lives to stop that, then why should I expect less from you . . . Fine! Would you please just promise me that you won’t do any more of these?”

“I never give my word when I don’t intend to keep it, so no. I’ll do whatever I think is necessary. If that means more binding, then that’s what I’ll do.”

Jane frowned. “Not that I want to encourage this madness, but how about you don’t do any more stupid and potentially lethal experiments on yourself, without me, your Healer, there to keep your heart from exploding?”

“I can agree to that . . . If it’s possible, you can help keep me from dying.” Besides, Jane didn’t need to know, but it had become increasingly difficult to come back from each new spell. He was nervous about trying any more without a Healer around anyway. “Do me a favor though. Don’t tell anybody what I’ve done. The others don’t need to know.”

“You don’t want them to worry? Why, I’m rather surprised.”

“Not really. I don’t want anybody to get stupid and try to copy me. Can you imagine Francis trying to give himself Brute strength?”

She laughed. “Or Faye, wanting to mind control milk cows or some such thing . . .” Jane got off the bed, strode over, and offered him her hand. “Shake on it.”

He took her delicate hand in his big mitt. It was a soft hand, a Healer’s hand, but she gave him a remarkably firm handshake. “Deal.”

New York City, New York

THE OFFICE OF THE PRESIDENT
of United Blimp & Freight was on the top floor of the Chrysler Building. The meeting that had been called was of the utmost secrecy. The palatial room had been carefully swept for listening devices, both magical and mechanical, and wards had been placed to chase away any Finders’ spirits that might be lingering around. The only other man present was his single most trustworthy employee, mostly because of his opinionated and contrarian nature. They had spent the first ten minutes discussing mundane business matters, mostly so his secretary could type up some minutes before he dismissed her. He couldn’t assume that OCI didn’t have some means of getting into his papers. Francis wasn’t taking any chances.

The UBF vice president of finance polished off the whiskey that his boss had poured for him, set the glass down on the antique executive desk nowhere near the coaster, and held up one hand in protest. “Hold on, Francis . . .” Then Mr. Chandler thought better of it, and pulled the glass back over to pour himself another from the bottle. The ice cubes hadn’t even had a chance to melt from the first round. “You want me to do
what
?”

Francis leaned way back in his grandfather’s stuffed leather chair and folded his hands behind his head. Experience had taught him that if he leaned back too far he’d find himself on the floor, but luckily he had never done that in front of witnesses. “I’m fairly sure you heard me the first time.”

“I just hoped that I’d hallucinated the whole thing.” Chandler swirled Kentucky’s finest around in the glass and held it up to the sunlight streaming through the window. “You’re talking about sabotaging a government agency during a time of national crisis.”

“I’m not doing anything illegal, which is more than I can say for them. Besides, I’m only asking for your help with the business part. The overall strategy . . . well, it’s probably best if you’ve got no idea what I’m trying to do.”

“When they’re beating a confession out of me, I’ll be sure to state that extra clearly. So, to make sure I’ve got this straight . . . You want me to find a secret company that makes a secret product, that nobody knows exists and has apparently never been publicized or advertised . . . and buy it. All while never letting anybody anywhere know that you’re the one doing the buying or the snooping.”

“That’s a fair representation,” Francis answered. He was rather proud of his idea. John had asked him to stay put and out of contact for everyone’s safety, but he hadn’t said anything about not helping out. “Think you can handle it?”

“I’m an accountant, not a detective.” Chandler downed his second glass and sighed before continuing,“Though that is a fascinating career field. Hell, I do enjoy a challenge. I suppose I’m game.”

Francis had figured his man would be in. Chandler wasn’t Grimnoir, didn’t have a lick of magic, and owed Francis no loyalty beyond his rather hefty salary. But it was a rare accountant who would volunteer for a gunfight on the Imperium flagship, so his volunteering to stick it to the OCI wasn’t a surprise. “You can’t let anyone find out what you’re up to. They’ll probably be watching.” The OCI had been tailing him everywhere since he’d gotten back to New York, and doing an embarrassing job of it, since they were so easy to spot. “It could be dangerous.”

“Dangerous? One of them sucker-punched a billionaire and got away with it.”

“Millionaire,” Francis corrected. Grandfather had been the billionaire. Between the board putting the screws to him and the UBF stock taking a hit because Francis had told the Imperium where to stick their gold, he was only a millionaire. Though to be fair, it was a
lot
of millions.

“Yeah, whatever. I prepare the financials, remember? Then this OCI guy waltzed out of jail, and your legion of lawyers can’t even prove the man ever existed. Oh, believe me. I’ll be
extra
careful.” Chandler freed himself from the too-cushioned chair and headed straight for the door like a man on a mission. “I’ve got a few ideas to start with. Your grandfather liked to collect companies like they were stamps. We’ve got a couple small ones that aren’t doing much of anything interesting. I think somebody is about to get a nice infusion of operating capital. Let me see what I can do.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chandler,” Francis said with all sincerity.

He smiled. “No, thank you, Mr. Stuyvesant. You somehow always manage to keep this job interesting.”

After his accountant had left, Francis got up and walked to the window. The view of the city, from what had recently been his grandfather’s office, was spectacular. The old man’s guilty dying wish had installed Francis here, and he’d fought tooth and nail to keep it that way. Luckily, enough of the board had thought that it was easier to keep him around as a controllable figurehead than to fight, but he’d managed to surprise and outmaneuver most of them. Francis had worked hard for that view.

A considerable sum of money had brought a Healer in to repair his arm and his face, but his pride still stung from the beating Crow had administered. The whole thing was shameful. Not that Francis hadn’t been hurt before, quite the contrary; he’d been shot, stabbed, crashed in a dirigible, and nearly drowned as a knight, but it was one thing to get manhandled by an Imperium warrior, it was something entirely different to be humiliated by a supposed public servant.

It wasn’t enough that Crow had hurt him physically, it was the insinuation that he was some sort of traitor to his country. He had risked his life to keep his country from being destroyed by a Peace Ray! Who were
they
to accuse
him
of treason? Francis had cultivated a public persona of being a spoiled rich brat, but it irked him even more to have that lorded over him by some thug. Now he was reduced to hiding in his office behind a protective wall of lawyers when he should have been out there doing
something
. Black Jack would have expected more from him. Heinrich certainly wouldn’t have sat around while the Grimnoir were being framed.