Chapter 22
I woke up early the next morning after drifting off to a mercifully dreamless sleep in the chair downstairs. Roxana was on the chair across from me and gave me a chastising glare as I stirred. I looked at the clock on the wall in the early morning light. Six. Early enough to shower, change, and get some breakfast before calling the detectives.
By the time I finished eating, it was almost eight. I called Lajoie’s cell.
“What have you got, Quinn?”
“I think we figured out where the next sacrifice is going to be.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. It’s a bit complicated, but essentially the lines of magical power throughout the city have been shifting, like Samantha mentioned at her apartment. I think the blood rites are, in part, to lock them in place in the right positions for the final working. How it works I’m not sure yet, but either way, the next one to be in place will be in Grays Ferry.”
“Do you have an exact address?”
“It looks like it will be in the Greater Grays Ferry Estates. Either the big apartment building at South 30th and Moore, or one of the townhouses along that block.”
“Okay,” Lajoie replied. “Do you have a plan? We’ve got the four individuals Samantha identified in voluntary protective custody for the time being. They all understand what’s going on and aren’t keen on being the next sacrifice.”
“That’s a good start, but it won’t be enough. If their most convenient targets are unavailable, the killers will just find others. There’re dozens of unranked sorcerers in the area, and there’s no way for us to protect all of them even if we could find them first.”
“Could we warn them, at least?”
I grunted negatively. “The Rectors don’t keep track of unranked sorcerers’ contact information and whereabouts. I could probably find some phone numbers from invoices in my records, but not quickly, and there’s no guarantee they’ve all ordered items from me. The stronger bet is to go after the killers themselves.”
“So what’s the plan, then?”
“An ambush. We know where they are going to be, and approximately when they’ll be there. We can wait for them, spot them entering the area for the sacrifice, and confront them before they can start. Hopefully, that will be enough to disrupt the entire Tamesis, given what the Avartagh said about everything needing to be perfectly in tune with the necessary patterns. And if I can manage to capture them, we might be able to figure out who’s behind them.”
“Alright,” Lajoie mused. “We can come up with an excuse to evacuate all civilians from the target area. Gas leak or something. Then when the suspects approach, you can go after them. You’re confident you can take them on?”
“Yes. Especially if Samantha is willing to back me up.”
“How did that go, by the way? Is she still with you?”
“It went well,” I admitted begrudgingly. “Her work was essential to identifying the pattern. But no, she’s not still here. I asked her to leave late last night.”
“Do you trust her?”
I grunted. “I don’t trust anybody, son. Not for a long time. But she’s the only backup I’ve got in the area with the power and training to help me confront a Faerie and a rogue sorcerer. And at least her oaths give me some reassurance she won’t stab me in the back while watching it.”
It was more than that, really. I wouldn’t stoop to asking Rachel, or my mother, or any of the other officers and representatives of the Arcane Court to help me in battle. Not after everything they’d put me through, the memories and nightmares I’d earned in their service. I couldn’t bring myself to debase myself by requesting such aid when I’d rejected them for so long. But Sam was different. She was a member of the Arcanum, but she wasn’t an officer of the Court. And we had history. What I’d said was true—I didn’t really trust anybody except my own parents, and even that relationship was strained. But I distrusted Sam less than most.
“Good enough, I suppose,” Lajoie responded. “I can send some uniforms to pick her up.”
* * *
Three or four hours later, the four of us were in an unmarked car at the corner of South 30th and Moore Street, with a view of both the apartment building parking lot and the full block of townhouses down South 30th. The sacrifice would have to take place in one of those buildings to be on top of the node.
With their lieutenant’s permission, Lajoie and Connors had had the city’s public works department evacuate a two-block radius around the apartment building, under the pretext of a dangerous natural gas leak that might cause an explosion. It would be a paperwork nightmare, but the lieutenant agreed if we could stop a serial killer, that would go a long way to quieting complaints from the affected citizens.
Once the suspects showed up, Samantha and I would follow them into their chosen sacrifice site—it would be easier to try to capture them indoors than in the open. Connors and Lajoie couldn’t take on the killers themselves, but they had the custom ammunition I’d given them the other day, which should let them defend themselves long enough to escape if necessary. They’d be covering the exit, and if Sam and I were unsuccessful, they were to withdraw and call Rachel Liu. If I couldn’t handle it, the Rector would have to take over.
I guess several nights of low-quality sleep caught up to me, because I drifted off in the back around noon. Midafternoon, I woke to a boiling hot car and the sounds of the detectives and Sam talking softly.
“…what I heard, anyway. And from what he said last night, I believe it.”
Connors replied to her just as quietly. “You’re saying he killed his own best friend?”
“Yes. That’s the rumor. That he’d befriended the last dragon decades before. And then he led the team to hunt her down.”
Lajoie sounded skeptical. “How did he befriend a dragon?”
“I don’t know,” Sam answered. “I’m just telling you, between the rumors and his breakdown last night, I believe every word now. His friend was in trouble, and he killed her.”
I winced internally. But I didn’t get angry.
“My friend was already gone,” I said, sitting up.
Samantha at least had the good grace to look ashamed at being caught talking behind my back. Lajoie and Connors were studiously keeping an eye out on the apartment building, as if I hadn’t heard them too. But it didn’t matter anymore. Maybe my confession to Sam last night had been cathartic. I didn’t know, but I just couldn’t bring myself to feel angry.
“My friend was already gone,” I repeated. “I put down the monster she had become.”
“It’s true, then?” Connors asked.
“True enough,” I allowed. “No one left but me remembers the details. There were thirteen of us at Tunguska that day. The other twelve are all dead.”
“Did the dragon kill them?” Lajoie inquired.
I shook my head. “No. Calliatrix didn’t kill any of us that morning. Two were killed on the Western Front in 1916. The rest all died in the Shadow War.”
“Calliatrix?” Samantha this time. “That was her name?”
“Yes, at least in human tongues. No one’s spoken her native language in centuries. Not since all her kin were killed off.” I paused. “I’d rather not talk about her. She was my friend. She went mad and started killing innocent people. I put her down because I had no other choice. That’s the gist of it.”
We all fell into an awkward silence for a few minutes.
Connors broke the tension. “I’ve heard the Shadow War mentioned several times over the past week. Would you mind explaining exactly what that was?”
I thought about it. Nothing about the Shadow War had any real relevance to our current case. But they were committed now. It couldn’t hurt to answer some basic questions, things most everyone in the magical world already knew. Not at this point. Besides, we had some time to pass, and at least it changed the subject from what had happened in Siberia.
“The Shadow War was the greatest conflict the Arcanum had faced in generations,” I replied. “We still don’t know what the Shadows were or where they came from. They could appear out of nowhere, passing through solid rock and metal as if it wasn’t there. Their magic was horrifying, splitting people apart from the inside out. And there were so many of them…” I trailed off, remembering Angkor Wat.
“For several years, we fought them across the globe wherever they appeared. We usually won on the battlefield, but they were pyrrhic victories, driving them back to wherever they came from, but losing so many in the process it was almost pointless. They were fighting a war of attrition, and they were winning.”
Sam interrupted. “Until the Fields of Fire.”
I was silent for a long moment, then I nodded.
“Yes. Until Canada. We beat them back in northern British Columbia. We managed to kill so many of them and their demon allies that they disappeared. No one’s heard from them since that day.”
“What happened?” Connors asked.
“I…” It was complicated. “I gambled. And we won,” I said, leaving it at that.
That was a vast simplification. It left out the fire. So much fire. The single largest firestorm ever recorded in North America. It left out all the dead and maimed sorcerers. It left out the screams. I hadn’t even known demons could scream before that day.
Sam didn’t leave it at that, however. “What exactly did you do, Quinn?”
I didn’t look at her. I didn’t say anything. That secret would die with me. Just because she’d kissed me didn’t change that conviction.
“That’s right, Quinn,” she sighed. “Because not talking about it all these years has worked out so well.”
I felt my anger rising again, that little voice urging me to let it free. I breathed slowly, trying to calm myself down. She wasn’t a child, but she was too young to have been there. She’d only heard stories, half-whispered rumors told over drinks at Grand Conclaves, usually accompanied by nervous looks around to see if I was within earshot. I didn’t have to be. I knew what they were saying.
“No, Sam,” I finally replied, shaking my head. “That’s enough about Canada. Leave it at that. I took a risk. It worked. We won. All of that is long past. Let’s focus on stopping the Tamesis.”
She pursed her lips, clearly not pleased. She’d been hoping for more, maybe felt she was owed more after last night. I owed no one anything. Except, I reminded myself, a favor to Lugh.
We all lapsed back into an awkward silence for a while. At some point Connors made a run to get food from a Middle Eastern place a few blocks away. When she came back, the three of them chatted about inconsequential nothings while I ate my falafel quietly.
I wasn’t paying much attention as they discussed the personal life of some famous athlete. Or politician. Or musician. I didn’t keep up with current events enough to recognize the name. I tuned it out and thought about things I normally tried not to think about.
Her name was Calliatrix, from the root Callias—“most beautiful.” And it fit. Green and gold scales that shimmered, almost iridescent in the sunlight. The most expressive eyes I have ever seen. In her human form—that myth is true, some dragons learn to shapeshift, though only a fool would ever mistake them for a mere human—her eyes had the green and gold color of her scales, and shimmered as if they were on fire. She had a laugh that you felt in your soul, and a warm, friendly voice.
Every apprentice sorcerer in the Arcanum whose masters deem him or her potentially powerful enough to hold rank undergoes the Trials. The first and second are fairly standardized tests of magical strength and skill. But the last, if a candidate makes it that far, is tailored to the individual. Mine was decided by the three masters under whom I’d studied for the traditional thirty-three years.
I was to enter the lair of the last dragon and retrieve the crown of Arthur, which had been handcrafted by Emrys Myrddin himself. They expected me to sneak in, locate the crown, and sneak out with it. Instead I returned to where my masters waited in Lviv on the dragon’s back, the crown in my hand, given as a gift of friendship. I passed the trial, and for many years after I was known as the Dragonrider of Lviv.
But Calliatrix had lived a thousand years alone. Her species were never numerous, and all her kin had long ago been killed off by humans, one by one. She was already descending into madness by the time I met her, and I like to think I helped her hold on a little bit longer. But several decades after we met, the strain became too much for her to bear.
She went insane and began attacking human villages and farms in rage, lashing out desperately against the injustice of my species. I rushed to help her, to bring her home. She spoke to me. One last time, she was my friend. But she was too far gone. She apologized. Then she left.
We didn’t see each other again until that morning in Siberia. But my friend, the wise, intelligent, loving Calliatrix, had been dead since she’d said sorry and flown away. There was nothing left but a wild animal, a mad creature that knew only pain and anger. We’d been tracking her for weeks by the remains she’d left behind. The bodies. The charred huts.
There was nothing we could do but put her down. We battled, and we won. I struck the killing blow. I hated myself for it. Every second of every day since, I’d hated myself for it. But I knew I’d have hated myself more if I’d let anyone else do it. I owed her that much, at least.
I’d done horrible things for the Arcanum before. Maybe I was already scarred. But that’s when I changed. For the first century of my life, I was an adventurer, an optimist. After Tunguska, I started to withdraw from humanity. After all, what had friendship brought me so far? Better to be alone and bitter than to feel that pain again.
When Johannes discovered me and took me in, I finally found someone who could understand. He’d lived so long, seen and done so many things, that he truly knew my pain, what I’d been through. And he didn’t judge me—he never judged me. I saw the same hurt and sadness in his eyes.
Slowly, over three decades, he’d helped put me back together a little bit. He taught me his mysteries and secrets, deep magics long forgotten by anyone else. The wonders of the universe were laid out before me. For the first time since that cold morning in Siberia, I had hope.
But then the Shadows came, and I once again left to answer the call. And then, in the wilds of the Canadian Rockies, I’d taken the greatest of the Immortal’s mysteries, the knowledge of the wellspring, the beating heart of magic in this world, and turned it into a weapon. I’d perverted his teachings, his wisdom, into an abomination. It had gone down in lore as the Fields of Fire, the Arcanum’s great victory that ended the Shadow War. But it had finally broken me.
After what I’d seen, what I’d done, I’d stopped pretending. I could no longer tell myself I was a good person, that I was on the side of the light and the virtuous. No victory could be worth that price.
At Tunguska, I’d stopped being the Dragonrider of Lviv. After the Shadow War, I became the Hermit Sorcerer. Quinn the Loner. The Grouch. The Drunk. The Embarrassment. The Black Sheep. The Asshole Who Just Wants to Be Left Alone.
No wonder things hadn’t worked out with Sam. I needed a drink.
“Quinn!”
I was startled from my reverie. “What?”
Connors was pointing out the front window. “Two people just drove through the public works barricades and parked in the apartment building parking lot. They’re walking in now.”
I looked around Lajoie’s headrest to see out the front window. Sure enough, two people were walking across the parking lot toward the front door, one tall and one diminutively short, both wearing long coats and wide brimmed hats despite the late afternoon heat. And they were carrying a large bundle that looked suspiciously like a person wrapped in a blanket.
They wouldn’t notice us; I’d used a complex masking spell to hide the car from magical senses. But to my eyes they stood out like bright lights in a dark room. Definitely magical.
I nodded. “That’s them. Let’s go,” I said to Sam. Then turned to the detectives with my hand on the door handle. “You two stay outside and cover the door. Don’t come up unless I signal you.”
Lajoie looked back at me. “How will you signal us?”
“Like this,” I replied, and touched a ring on my left finger. The bracelets both detectives were still wearing flared into heat, enough to be noticeable, but not painfully so. Their eyes went wide as they felt it. “Easy enough?”
“And if you don’t signal us?” Connors asked.
“Call Rachel.” I’d already given them her number. “Tell her I couldn’t handle it.”
Connors looked me dead in the eye. “Don’t let it come to that.”
I nodded once, then turned to Sam. “Shall we?”
She smiled nervously. “Let’s do it.”
I doubted she’d ever been in a real fight before, but she certainly wasn’t weak.
We both got out of the car and headed across the street toward the building.