Magic and Loss: A Novel of Golgotham (7 page)

I looked around, at first thinking he must have gone to one of the concession booths to freshen his drink, but there was still no sign of him. However, there was an unpleasant smell in the air, one that seemed familiar, yet which I could not immediately place. Just as I was beginning to get worried, I caught a glimpse of purple hair half a block away, headed in the direction of the riverfront. I hurried after him, shouting his name, but his back was to me and my voice was drowned out by the noise of the carnival. I pulled out my cell phone to try to call him, only to find my battery drained.

Just as I was closing in, he suddenly ducked into one of the nameless alleyways that thread their way through the neighborhood. Upon following him, I was surprised to find Hexe standing in the middle of the narrow passageway with his back to me, his limbs twitching and jerking as if afflicted with Saint Vitus’ dance.

“Hey!” I shouted, more exasperated than angry. “What’s the big idea ditching me back there?”

Upon hearing my voice, the thing I had mistaken for Hexe turned to face me. Although it possessed the exact physical build, with the same color hair, worn in the exact same style, and was dressed in identical clothing as Hexe, the face was a blank oval, save for a pair of gaping, empty holes where the eyes should be.

As I backed away from the decoy, I caught the distinct smell of scorched metal, as if someone had left a saucepan on the burner for too long. I turned to see Boss Marz looming behind me, blocking my escape.

“Foolish little nump.” He grinned. “Don’t you know better than to believe
anything
you see on Jubilee Night?”

T
he next time I opened my eyes I was relieved to find myself looking across a table into the
real
Hexe’s face, not that of the hideous simulacrum Marz had conjured forth to lure me away from the crowds. That relief was short lived as I realized I was tied to a chair and Hexe’s arms were pinned down atop the table by what looked like croquet hoops fitted into holes drilled into its surface. The fingers of both his hands were kept splayed and rigid in metal splints, therefore preventing him from working magic.

“Did they hurt you?” he asked anxiously. Although his purple hair was hanging down into his face, I could see that his right eye was blackened and his lower lip was split.

“I’m okay,” I replied, looking around as best I could at our surroundings. We seemed to be in a warehouse of some kind, and I could distinctly smell the river. “What is this place?”

“We’re somewhere in the Stronghold—the Maladanti’s private pier,” Hexe replied.

“How did we get here?”

“Marz’s familiar grabbed me the moment that nymph started spinning you around,” he explained. “They must have been watching us the whole time, waiting to strike. He teleported in and out within the blink of an eye.”

“I
thought
I caught a whiff of something hellish.” I grimaced.

“This is all
my
fault,” Hexe said bitterly. “We should have left the festival when I saw Marz, but I was unwilling to back down. Because of my pride, I’ve put both of us in danger.”

“How gracious of you to take the blame, Serenity. But then, you’ve always been one for noblesse oblige,” Boss Marz said as he emerged from the shadows, his familiar riding his shoulder, trailed by a pair of Maladanti goons. He smiled as he approached us, like a gracious host greeting welcome guests. “While I was away in the Tombs, I learned how little there is to do when one is in solitary confinement with steel mittens locked about your hands. They only allowed me the free use of my hands—and then, only the right one—for a few minutes each day to tend to meals, ablutions, and excretions. Having to rely on my weak hand to feed and groom myself proved quite eye-opening.”

“Not enough to take you off the Left Hand path, it would seem,” Hexe replied acidly.

“Ah, but it
did
provide me with a great deal of inspiration.” Marz’s smile became almost beatific as he stroked his familiar, Bonzo, who screeched and flashed his tiny fangs in my direction. “Gaza, show him the implements.”

A Maladanti soldier with peach-colored Jheri curls stepped forward and placed a small bundle on the table next to Hexe. Without anyone touching it, it unrolled to reveal a collection of metal items that resembled a cross between surgical instruments and a handyman’s tools. My blood ran cold as my mind suddenly flashed back to the display case wrapped in police tape at the museum.

“Those are witchbreaking devices,” Hexe gasped.

“You’re quite right, Serenity,” Boss Marz replied. “Isn’t it ironic that the Witchfinders, in order to rid the world of our kind, were forced to use magical weapons? But I can also appreciate the need to have the right tool for the job. Take this little beauty, for example,” he said as he picked up what looked like a double-edged cigar cutter. “The last time it tasted Kymeran blood was when Lord Bexe scattered his people to the wind.”

“You’re
still
grinding that axe, Marz?”

“Aye, and it’s quite sharp now,” the crime boss replied as the finger-cutter’s twin blades shut with an audible
click
.

Hexe’s face went white and his cat-slit pupils expanded until they swallowed the gold in his eye. “You wouldn’t dare,” he croaked.

“I wouldn’t be so certain as to what I
might
or might
not
do, if I were you, Serenity,” Marz sneered. “After all,
you’re
the one who didn’t think I would make a move against you during the Jubilee. But you needn’t worry—I’m not going to steal your magic so easily,” he said, tossing the finger-cutter back onto the table. He then pulled open the cuffs of his shirt as if to invite inspection. “Please notice that there is nothing up my sleeves.” He waved his left hand in an extravagant gesture, but instead of conjuring a bouquet of flowers from thin air he produced a metal mallet.
“Prest-o change-o!”

Hexe tried to evade the blow, but there was no way to escape it. I closed my eyes, but could not block the sound of Hexe’s scream as his metacarpals splintered. Although I didn’t want to, I forced myself to look and saw that the color had drained from his face. He was hyperventilating and struggling to keep the pain from showing. Hexe raised his head to glare at Marz.

“Is that all you got?” he croaked.

Boss Marz brought the hammer down a second time, reducing the already-damaged fingers to kindling. Although he had to be in immense agony, Hexe gritted his teeth and remained silent, determined not to give the bastard the satisfaction of hearing him cry out.

However, I wasn’t as strong.
“Stop it!”
I screamed as Marz lifted the hammer a third time.
“Please, don’t hurt him any more!”

“Very well, Ms. Eresby,” Marz said, tossing aside the witchbreaking device. “Far be it from me to go against the wishes of a lady.”

“You’ve gone too far, even for the Maladanti,” Hexe rasped. His face was starting to go gray with shock and his pupils were distressingly large. “They’ll throw you so deep into the Tombs you’ll never see sunlight again.”

“If I was frightened of your mother or the GoBOO, I never would have tossed you in that fighting pit in the first place,” Marz snorted in derision. “Understand this, Serenity:
nobody
interferes with me and gets away with it—I don’t care
how blue their hair is! The fact you are the Heir Apparent means less than
nothing
to me. You are not, and never will be,
my
Witch King.” He motioned for Gaza to remove the restraints pinning Hexe’s arms to the table, and then ordered the other croggy to untie me from my chair. As I jumped to my feet and rushed to his side, Hexe instinctively reached out to me, only to grimace in agony. I sobbed as I saw the swollen mass of tortured flesh that was now his right hand.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry,” he whispered hoarsely, clumsily wiping away my tears with his left hand. “It’s going to be okay.” Cradling his ruined hand to his chest, he turned to face his tormentor. “I don’t care what you have planned for me, Marz—but leave her out of this. She’s done you no harm.”

“I would beg to differ,” Boss Marz replied sourly. “That accursed mechanical cat of hers cost me an excellent lieutenant. But there’s no need for you to plead for the nump’s life. I don’t want either of you dead, Serenity
.
Seeing you reduced to using your left hand to survive is
far
more satisfying to me than watching your blood dry on the floor. But I warn you: should you breathe a word of this to the authorities, I’ll make sure your loved ones pay the price, starting with Her Majesty. And I won’t stop there: the centaur Kidron and his mare; the kitchen-witch Lafo; that runaway bastet, Lukas, as well as the old were-tiger Mao and his cub—each and every one of them will die because of you. And do not think my reach is limited to Golgotham,” he said, flashing me a nasty grin. “It would be quite gauche if your mother began to vomit venomous snakes in the middle of a garden party, don’t you agree? And just imagine the headlines should your father and his yacht be attacked by a kraken! And it’s always
so
sad when newlyweds like your nump friends come to an early, tragic end. And then there’s the matter of your
dog. . . .”

“That’s enough! Stop threatening her!” Hexe growled, grimacing in pain. “You’ve made your point, Marz!”

“I’m glad we’ve reached an understanding. Bonzo, please show our guests out.”

The squirrel-monkey jumped off its master’s shoulder, transforming into its demonic aspect in midleap. As Bonzo reached for us, Hexe staggered to his feet, valiantly putting himself between me and the hell-ape. With a hideous shriek, the familiar swept us up in its shaggy arms as if we were dolls and disappeared in a cloud of brimstone.

Suddenly I was tumbling through darkness, my ears echoing with the distorted screams of an angry ape. Although I could see nothing in the void, I felt Hexe’s arms wrapped about me. I returned his embrace, hanging on for dear life. Then the next thing I knew, I was dumped on the street outside the locked gates of one of the piers that jutted out into the East River. Hexe was lying on the pavement next to me, his face drawn and pale. He cradled his damaged hand close to his chest, as if protecting a small, wounded animal.

“We’ve got to get you to Golgotham General,” I said as I helped him back onto his feet.

“No,” he said with an emphatic shake of his head. “They’ll ask questions. Take me to Dr. Mao.”

D
r. Mao’s Apothecary and Acupuncture Parlor was located on the bleeding edge between Golgotham and Chinatown. By the time we arrived, Hexe was barely able to walk and I was genuinely terrified that he would collapse on the street and I wouldn’t be able to get him back on his feet. I banged on the front door so hard that the
SORRY
,
WE
’
RE
CLOSED
placard nearly flipped itself back over.

The door opened the length of its security chain and a feline eye peered out. “Can’t you read?” Lukas growled, his face an intimidating admixture of puma and human. Upon recognizing us, he resumed his usual boyish appearance. “What are you two doing here?” he asked in surprise.

“Open up, Lukas,” I said urgently. “Hexe has been hurt.”

The young were-cougar threw open the door and helped me escort the near-unconscious warlock over the threshold. “Bast’s eyes!” he gasped upon seeing Hexe’s damaged hand. “What happened?”

“Never mind that,” I said tersely. “Just fetch Dr. Mao.”

“What’s going on out there?” the old were-tiger asked sharply, stepping out from behind the curtain that separated his family’s living quarters from the shop. He had shed his traditional black Mandarin jacket and was dressed in a damask robe covered with embroidered phoenixes. “Why did you open the door? You know I don’t see patients after hours. . . .”

“There’s been an accident, Doc,” I explained. “Hexe told me to bring him here.”

“Take him into the parlor,” Dr. Mao said, pointing to an alcove at the far end of the shop that was partially hidden by an elaborate lacquered screen.

Where the apothecary resembled a traditional Chinese herbalist shop, with jars and cases filled with dried caterpillars and sliced deer antler, the acupuncture parlor looked more like a doctor’s examination room, complete with stainless-steel exam table. As Lukas and I lifted Hexe onto it, his eyelids fluttered and he groaned in pain.

Dr. Mao winced as he saw Hexe’s hand. “Go fetch Meikei,” he told Lukas. “I’m going to need her help.”

Upon hearing his friend’s voice, Hexe opened his eyes and attempted to sit up, only to have Dr. Mao push him back down. “Lie still, Serenity,” he said gently. “I must assess your wounds.” As the were-tiger attempted to examine Hexe’s fingers, he gasped like a drowning man coming up for air and his golden eyes rolled back in their sockets.

“Where’s Tate?” he rasped.

“I’m right here,” I said as I grabbed his uninjured left hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. His eyeballs abruptly dropped back down like the reels in a slot machine. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

He flashed me a wan smile before turning his attention to Dr. Mao. “How bad is it, Doc?”

“You need a boneknitter, not an acupuncturist,” the old healer replied matter-of-factly.

Hexe shook his head. “A boneknitter would be worse than useless. It’s a witch-hammer injury.”

“Who did this?” Dr. Mao demanded, his head suddenly replaced by that of a snarling tiger. Although I knew he meant me no harm, I instinctively recoiled in fear at the sight of his razor-sharp teeth and flashing amber eyes. “It was Marz, wasn’t it?” Mao growled, his stripes once more fading back into his skin. “I may be old, but I’m no fool.”

“Yes, it was Boss Marz,” Hexe replied grudgingly. “But you can’t tell
anyone
what you know, Doc. Marz has threatened to kill our families and friends—including you and Meikei—if we talk.”

“I understand,” Mao sighed. “But how did the Maladanti get their hands on a witch-hammer?”

“They stole a collection of Witchfinder implements from the Museum of Supernatural History,” I explained. “The Curator was talking about the theft when I was there with Canterbury earlier this week.”

“I’m not surprised that the Maladanti would stoop to such tactics,” Mao grunted as he took out a black and red lacquer box from a nearby medicine cabinet. “Have no fear, you have my silence on the matter.”

Meikei, dressed in a housecoat, entered the parlor. “What’s going on? Lukas said something about an emergency—” She froze upon seeing Hexe lying on the exam table, her mouth hanging open in disbelief.

“Don’t just stand there gawping at the patient, girl!” Mao snapped. “I need you to compound some
Chin Koo Tieh Shang Wan
while I block his nerves. You know the formulation?”

“Pseudoginseng, dragon’s blood, Angelica root, myrrh, and safflower,” Meikei replied, quickly regaining her composure under her father’s quizzing.

“That’s my girl,” Mao said, with a proud smile. “Now go make pills.”

Lukas moved to follow Meikei into the apothecary, but Dr. Mao shook his head. “You stay here, boy,” he said sternly. “My daughter can run the pill mill by herself. I need you to hold him down when I insert the needles.”

The young were-cat nodded his understanding and laid his arm across Hexe’s shoulders, pinning him to the exam table.

The healer scowled down at his friend’s hand, which now resembled an overfilled hot-water bottle, the fingers jutting from it at unnatural angles. “I wish I could lie and tell you this isn’t going to hurt,” he said apologetically.

“I understand,” Hexe rasped, clenching his jaw. “Go ahead and do it.”

Dr. Mao flipped open the lid of the lacquer box, revealing rows upon rows of golden acupuncture needles ranging from near-microscopic to something you could knit with. As he inserted the first of them into the fractured right hand, Hexe’s body jerked and bowed, as if undergoing electroshock, and then suddenly went limp.

“Don’t worry, he’s still alive. He’s just fainted, that’s all. It is better he not be awake for this, anyway,” the were-tiger explained. Seeing the worried look on my face, he gave me a reassuring smile. “You got him this far, Tate. Lukas and I will take him from here.”

I nodded dumbly and stepped away from the exam table, leaving Dr. Mao and his apprentice to their work. It tore me up inside that the man I loved was in agony, and there was sweet FA I could do about it. As I entered the apothecary, I saw Meikei at the counter, wearing a half-mask respirator as she vigorously pounded the contents of a pharmacist’s mortar with a pestle.

“If my father wants to know what’s taking so long,” she said in a muffled voice, “you can tell him that I’m working as fast as I can and to get off my back, Dad.”

“Actually, I just came out here to keep from being underfoot,” I admitted.

“You can help me make the pills, if you like,” she said, gesturing to a machine that looked like a cross between an old-fashioned meat grinder and a die press. I joined her behind the counter and took my place at the compounding bench. “The
Chin Koo Tieh Shang Wan
will reduce the swelling and soft tissue damage, and dull the pain,” she explained as she poured the powder from the mortar into the machine’s hopper.

I turned the crank on the side of the press. There was a slight resistance, but not too much, and a second later the mechanism popped out a yellowish aspirin-sized tablet, which dropped down a narrow slide and fell into a small steel basin. Relieved to be of assistance, no matter how slight, I turned the handle faster and the solitary tablet was followed by several more. Suddenly, in midcrank, my vision abruptly dimmed and flared, like a malfunctioning video monitor, and the next thing I knew I was lying on the floor, staring up at a startled Meikei.

“Are you okay?” she gasped as she tore off her mask.

“Wh—what happened?” I muttered, blinking in surprise.

Meikei knelt beside me, checking my pulse and inspecting my pupils. “One moment you were cranking the pill press, the next you stopped and sat down—except there wasn’t a chair.”

“I’m sorry if I freaked you out,” I said apologetically. “I guess everything just kind of caught up to me. . . .”

Meikei frowned and leaned in closer, sniffing me like a cat checking out a mouse hole. “Have you been nauseous lately?” she asked.

“Well, I
have
been feeling a bit queasy, here and there,” I admitted. “But I’ve been under a
lot
of stress at work. . . .”

“That’s not why you fainted,” she said with a shake of her head. “You are with child, Tate.”

I sat there for a long moment, my brain vibrating like a struck gong. I tried to figure out what Meikei must have
really
meant to say, because there was
no way
it was what I just
thought
I’d heard. Maybe she said I’d been
beguiled
, and in my dazed state I heard something altogether different. Surely it
must
have been a simple misunderstanding on my part.

“Tate? Did you
hear
what I just said?” Meikei asked, snapping her fingers to get my attention. “I said that you’re
pregnant
!”

“No, you’re wrong.” Even as I shook my head in denial, my mind was zipping around like a hummingbird on speed, finally making the connections I’d been steadfastly ignoring over the last month. “I mean, it’s
impossible
! I’ve been on the pill for years!”

“Human contraception is all very well and good,” Meikei said with a smile, “assuming your partner is
also
human.”

“Oh, crap,” I groaned as my last defense crumbled before me.

“Are you okay?” she asked gently, resting her hand on my shoulder.

“I’m not sure,” I replied. “It’s going to take a little while for this to
really
sink in. Right now, I’ve got to think about Hexe.”

“Of course,” she said as she helped me back onto my feet. “I won’t say a thing.”

•   •   •

“There you are!” Dr. Mao said as Meikei and I returned with the pills. “I was beginning to wonder if you had fallen into a black hole.”

“There was a mechanical problem with the pill press,” Meikei fibbed, glancing in my direction. “Tate was able to fix it, though.”

“Ah, very good,” her father replied, returning his attention to the last of the needles. Hexe’s right hand bristled liked an angry golden porcupine.

“Where’s Tate?” he moaned, drifting in and out of consciousness.

“It’s okay, baby,” I whispered as I brushed the hair from his face. “I’m here.”

“Don’t let them take it,” Hexe rasped, his eyes rolling about in their sockets like greased ball bearings. “My hand—don’t let them take it.”

“Nobody’s going to take away your hand, Hexe,” Dr. Mao said in a loud, slow voice, as if speaking to a child on a bad phone line. “Take these—they will help with the pain.”

Hexe clumsily tossed down the offered tablets with his left hand and chased them with a sip of water. Within a minute of taking them, the knot in his jaw unclenched and the muscles in his face relaxed. With a relieved sigh, he lay back down and closed his eyes.

“That should give him some relief for the time being. Safflower is similar to opioids for Kymerans,” Mao explained. “Now that he’s sedated, I can splint his hand properly.”

“Is he going to be okay?” I asked anxiously.

Dr. Mao paused for a long moment before finally answering. “I’ve done everything in my power to help him, but there was a great deal of nerve damage. The hand, once splinted, should heal well enough. But I seriously doubt he will regain complete dexterity without the aid of magic.”

My heart sank like a lead anchor, threatening to pull me downward into despair, but my brain told the rest of me that turning into a blubbering ball of boohoo was not going to help anything or solve any problems. I stared down at Hexe’s unconscious face, still pale and drawn, and felt a surge of love so intense I almost forgot to breathe. We had been through more, in the relatively short time we’d been together, than most couples would ever face in a lifetime: escaping angry mobs, angrier demons, and crazed homunculi, all while saving one another’s lives thrice over. If we could survive all that, then we would overcome this as well.

Despite Dr. Mao’s grim diagnosis, I refused to give up hope. Golgotham was filled with wizards, witches, and miracle workers—somebody, somewhere,
had
to know how to fix that which could not be repaired.