Chapter 31
I must have been more exhausted than I’d known—I had no dreams, and the nagging voice at the back of my mind remained silent. I woke up several hours later feeling significantly refreshed. The wounds were still painful, but between the afternoon of sleep and the healing potion, I was a lot less stiff. I took a look in the mirror for the first time in days to discover two black eyes, bruises all over my body, and of course, the multiple fresh scars. I wouldn’t be winning any beauty contests, but at least I was on my feet.
I took a shower as best I could manage, got dressed in the cleanest clothes I could find on my floor, and headed downstairs. I didn’t bother to shave, which added to my haggard appearance. Absent any other painkillers, I knocked back several fingers of whisky before I heard a knock on the door.
I opened it to see a man who was a little shorter than average, about five foot seven, with a long, braided, dirty blonde beard and swarthy skin. His shaved scalp gave a clear view of his ever-so-slightly-pointed ears. He had a backpack slung over one shoulder.
“Eitri,” I grunted in greeting. “Thanks for coming.”
The svartalf nodded at me as he entered and walked over to one of the chairs in the reading corner, where he set down his pack. Without looking at me, he started unzipping the main pouch.
“You look like shit. What did you do to yo’self this time, Tom?”
“Something stupid. I lost the Vepr in the process, too.”
He shook his head slowly.
“Damn fool Sorcerers, always gettin’ in ovah they heads, breakin’ the nice stuff I got fo’ ’em at great difficulty and expense on my part. I expect you’ll be wantin’ a replacement soon enough.”
I shrugged. “It did its job first. I got three of the bastards before their friend melted the barrel. I’d say just replace the barrel and gas system, but it’s currently in police evidence, and I don’t expect them to be releasing it back to me ever. But we can worry about that another time. Right now, I have more pressing needs.”
Eitri finally turned to face me, holding in his hand a small box.
“More pressin’ needs like this. Yeah, I know. Sounds like you got yourself in a right mess this time, Tom. But this should help out.”
He opened the box to reveal three rings. Each was a dull, featureless metal. One was coppery, the second gray, the third matte black, like wrought iron.
“This is some old magic, boy. Stuff I ain’t nevah used befo’ myself, but I found it in one of my great-great-grandaddy’s books.”
He picked up one of the rings and held it between his fingers to show me.
“These three rings are linked. When you activate ’em, they’ll form the points of a triangle. Kinda like what them vodou priests did down in the Caribbean and Atlantic, what people call the Bermuda Triangle, but the opposite, and a lot smaller—that one is anchored to land; these itty-bitty little rings can’t focus near as much power. But anyway, the one in Bermuda amplifies magical fields inside it. This one dampens them. Anything inside the triangle will be cut off from all magical fields, ’cuz they basically won’t exist inside.”
He paused. “Now, you said y’all’re goin’ after some sort of god, so a word o’ warnin’. The rings will get rid of his access to magical fields. But that don’t mean his own power goes away. He’ll be limited—no blastin’ energy or telekinesis with no energy fields to influence. But he’ll still be able to heal plenty, and he’ll still be plenty strong. And if you don’t trap him physically, ain’t nothin’ stoppin’ him just walkin’ out of the triangle, see? So’s y’all gotta get him in the triangle, activate the rings, and either trap him in place or hit him real hard before he can escape. Unconscious or dead, you hear? And if you just knock him out, don’t dawdle. Take the openin’ to kill him before he can heal up.”
I nodded. “That’s why I asked for the claymores.”
He snorted. “Yeah, yeah, claymores are fun little toys, and I brought two for you like you asked. But you know bettah than I do that no plan survives first contact with the enemy. What’s yo’ backup plan iff’n this here god don’t wanna walk into yo’ pre-rigged trap all nice and neat with a bow on?”
I frowned. “I don’t have one yet.”
Eitri smiled, as much as his dour nature would let him. It almost looked like a grimace.
“Thought so. So I went ahead and threw in a couple presents for y’all, in case yo’ prey don’t wanna cooperate.”
He reached back in the back and pulled out two boxes.
“These are the claymores. Be careful with ’em. You’ll have to rig ’em up if y’all do decide to use ’em, but you already know how to do that, right?”
I nodded. He reached back in the bag and pulled out a couple of cylindrical containers.
“And these are the same anti-god composition, but in fragmentation grenade form instead of claymore. So’s if he don’t wanna play nice, you can bring the pain to him instead of having to drag him to yo’ kill zone.” He looked me in the eye. “You ever throw a grenade befo’, Sorcerer?”
I nodded. I’d been around a long time.
“Then you know that they blow up and out,” he explained anyway, “and won’t make no bigass fireball like they do in the movies—just a loud pop, a concussion, and a bunch o’ shrapnel. Get one o’ these at his feet once y’all got him in the dampenin’ field. That should at least knock him on his ass ’til you can finish the job, if it don’t take him out outright. Maybe cut his head off or something, I don’t know—I don’t kill gods, I just make and sell weapons. But anyway, these have a three-second fuse. So if you wanna cook ’em off befo’ you throw ’em, don’t do it for too long, or you’ll find yourself short a hand and arm. In the middle of a fight with a god, I can’t imagine that’ll go over too well.”
I gave him a wry, humorless smile. “No, I doubt it would.”
“Finally,” he said, reaching once more into the backpack, “I got you another present.”
He pulled out a plastic box, which he unsnapped and opened to reveal a Glock 20, to all appearances identical to the one the police had confiscated in Grays Ferry.
“Ten-mil, with the same SSVI custom job you had befo’. Picked this up a while ago, figured you might want a spare, just haven’t had the chance to get it to you befo’ now. I can’t replace the Vepr on such short notice, but at least it’s bettah than nothin’.”
“What do I owe you?”
He shrugged. “These rings here, they’re probably priceless. Ancient magic, doubt many in this world or the Other could have come up with them for you. Ordinarily I’d charge you a couple big favors in return, but seein’ as to what you’re plannin’ here, I ain’t so sure you’ll be in a position to make good on that trade. So I’ll take hard cash, if you’d be so kind. No checks, not this time. Cash or bullion. Call it a cool million. I’ll even throw in the claymores, grenades, and Glock for free.”
I nodded and went into the back office, where I removed two of several large shoeboxes from the safe, then returned to the front.
“One million American dollars, cold hard cash, as requested,” I said as I opened them on the counter for his inspection. The stacks of hundred-dollar bills were still in the original bank bands, fifty neat stacks of ten grand each per box.
He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Shoeboxes? Seriously?”
I shrugged. “Would you prefer a leather briefcase? They’re a good way to organize my money in the safe.”
He just shook his head. “Only you, Tom, would pay for an arsenal of priceless god-killin’ weapons with a couple shoeboxes full of cash.”
But he dutifully counted out the stacks of cash, emptied his backpack’s contents onto my counter, and transferred the cash to the bag while I quietly watched. Then he nodded.
“Good luck with the god killin’, I suppose.”
He turned for the door, but I put up a hand in a stop gesture.
“Actually, Eitri, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d appreciate if you could stick around for a couple hours. I’m going to have a meeting with a few others who I hope will help me with my plan.”
He looked at me, one eyebrow raised. “I ain’t no warrior, Tom.”
I shook my head. “No, I know that. I’m not asking you to help with the actual fighting. But you know these weapons better than anyone. You may have some useful input in the planning process.”
He thought about it for a second, then shrugged. “I ain’t in no rush to get back on the road, I s’pose. I’ll stick around for a bit. You got any food?”
At nine o’clock, I looked around the reading corner of the shop at the people who’d come to help me in my time of need. Rachel Liu was in one of the armchairs, Aengus Óg leaning against the wall behind her. Connors was in the other chair, her eyes closed, taking a moment to rest before we started. Eitri sat on a stool he’d dragged out from behind the counter. And in the chair from the back office, my mother sat expectantly, her arms crossed over her chest. She’d gotten the message I’d left for her, requesting her attendance at this meeting.
Johannes knew me, had known me for over two centuries, had been watching me and manipulating me for my entire life. He knew me. Hell, he’d made me, shaped me to be his weapon. To get an advantage, then, I knew I had to do something out of character for me.
The in-character response for me was to confront Johannes alone, just me, my rage, and that voice in the back of my mind urging me to burn him where he stood. After all, not only did he well know that I didn’t trust others—and he’d expect his own revelations to reinforce that habitual distrust—but this was personal for me. Johannes was the architect of so many of the traumas in my life which had driven me to where I was today: Charlotte, the Shadow War, the Fields of Fire. And, indeed, he would expect me to blame myself for all of it—my misplaced trust in him, my own weakness, and so on. He would expect me to come seeking both personal vengeance and to right my mistakes. He would plan to take advantage of that.
Which was precisely why I was not going to do that. I’d remembered the shame I’d felt in that bedroom, when Hugo had me staked down and I’d realized I had let my selfishness imperil so many others. This fight wasn’t actually about me, no matter what Johannes had done. It was about the fate of billions of lives. It was about the future of the Earth, the future of the Otherworld. This fight belonged to far more than just me.
Johannes was threatening to destroy the Arcanum, so I’d invited the Arcanum here—the Lord Marshal of the Arcane Court and the Rector for North America—to help me ensure that did not happen. Johannes was threatening to break the veil and potentially imperil the Fae’s very existence, so I’d asked Aengus to come, hoping he would help me ensure that did not happen. And of course, Johannes was threatening to overthrow humanity at large, strip them of their freedom, and rule as he saw fit. Connors was here representing the rest of the human race.
I’d needed to do something out of character, so I’d put myself—my emotions, my traumas, my trust issues, my desire for vengeance—aside and thought about other people for once. Then I asked them for help. Out of character, indeed.
Of course, none of them but Connors knew any of that yet. All they knew was that I’d asked them for help, and they’d come.
I cleared my throat, and everyone looked at me, standing next to one of the small shelves in the center of the shop floor.
“Thank you, everyone, for being here. I asked you to come because I have a problem which I can’t handle on my own, and it will affect far more than me if I fail.”
Without hesitation, Aengus spoke up. “Of course, I’ll help if I can, Thomas. What do you need?”
Simple as that. I asked for help. He answered, even without knowing what I needed. I’d forgotten what it was like to have friends. I almost teared up. With a great deal of effort, I managed to keep my face straight.
I explained to them everything that had happened over the past two weeks. Most of them knew parts of it, and Connors had been there for most of it, but I filled in the gaps and told the whole story to ensure everyone understood exactly what was going on. They all remained quiet and attentive through the whole thing.
I then told them about the Immortal, and my history with him—how he’d become my mentor, how he’d trained me, manipulated me, deceived me, used me. I told them what he’d taught me, about the wellspring, about the Fields of Fire, and about what it had done to me. I told them what he’d told me during his visit the night before, and his plan to sacrifice me to fuel the Tamesis. I told them everything.
It was cathartic, honestly, to reveal all my deepest secrets after so long in isolation. It felt almost like a religious confession, except I wasn’t begging them for absolution. I was owning up to my mistakes and asking for their help in making things right.
It took a great while. And at the end, there was a long silence. I didn’t know what they were each thinking. My mother was the first to speak.
“Thomas, my love, rest assured that we will have a long conversation about why you didn’t tell your father and me about this Johannes when you first met him. Perhaps a lot of this heartache could have been prevented in the first place.” She sighed. “But too late now. All that can wait until after this situation is resolved. Obviously, Rachel and I are going to help you. So what’s your plan?”
Rachel stood up and nodded. “Even if I hadn’t already agreed to help, knowing what we know now, I’d be duty bound to do so. The Arcanum serves. How do we stop him, Quinn?”
Aengus met my eye and nodded wordlessly. He’d committed to helping before I even explained what was going on.
Connors looked determined. “Let’s do this,” she said.
Eitri just sat on his stool, his face as dour as ever, but he also spoke up. “I’m not a fighter, you already know that, Tom. But I’ll help y’all figure out how to do this right, as best I can.”
I actually smiled, my eyes welling up. It had been a long, long time since I’d smiled and meant it. For the first time in decades, since the Shadow War, I wasn’t on my own. I had a team. I had allies. I had friends. Maybe we could pull this off after all.