Night's Pawn (9 page)

"Is she…?" asked Victor. His gaze began to roam the apartment again.

"She'll be fine." As the elf lifted Roja up, her eyes were still closed but she grabbed on to his coat with what little strength she had. "We must leave."

Victor nodded and picked up Roja's dropped weapon. He turned to follow the elf, then stopped after a few steps. He grabbed the baggie of hair and darted after his companions, giving the apartment one last look as he closed the door behind him. Chase could see his anger.

Slowly, Chase bounced his head off the wall of the little room just loud enough to make a faint thump with it. Cara watched the monitors for a few moments, then looked up at him. Neither said anything.

"Damn," he finally said, again. "
Poputano
."

"What?" she asked.

He looked at her. "Fucked up."

"I don't understand. They left…"

Chase nodded. "Yes, they left, but they took hair samples with them."

Cara looked at him uncomprehendingly.

"The way it was explained to me was that mages can use pieces of a body, like hair, fingernails, blood, semen, and so on to trace the person of origin. The fresher the better. It takes a few hours, but it's like the finger of God pointing at you from the sky."

Chase glanced at his watch, then pushed up on the lever near the door. There was another hiss, and Cara could see a crack of light appear around it. She held her breath.

"We should be fine; it's been long enough." He swung the breakfront away and stepped into the room. With the seal broken and the door open, they could hear the faint sounds of a fire truck siren. "Time to leave," Chase said.

Cara followed him out, grabbing the pile of stuff she'd carried in with her. "Church," she said.

He turned. She'd stopped just outside the room and was standing there holding her belongings tight against her. She was still wearing her body suit, and Chase could see the fear in her eyes. "They've got magic… they're going to kill us…"

Chase wanted to walk over to her, take her in his arms, hold her, tell her everything was going to be fine. She needed him, and he could comfort her. Chase wanted to, but suddenly he was afraid to cross that distance, to take those steps.

Instead he measured his words as carefully as possible. "I won't lie to you, Cara. I don't know what to do. But I know someone who will."

7

"Farraday!"

Chase burst through the doors of the talismonger shop only a few steps behind the wind from the street. He moved quickly into the shop, looking everywhere. Following close on his heels, Cara shut the door behind them. The store resembled an old-fashioned bookshop, except that the shelves were stacked with odd items and artifacts of the occult as well as books. Cara looked around wide-eyed.

"Farraday!" yelled Chase again.

"Up here," came a voice, high and odd.

Chase and Cara both looked up. A man squatted atop one of the high bookcases, his tall, lanky frame crunched tight beneath the ceiling. A row of newly made Amerindian medicine shields hung from the walls near him. Several more, still wrapped in plastic, lay on top of the bookcase in front of him. "I wanted to see who it was before I said anything."

"I'm screwed, my friend. I need your help," said Chase.

Cara gasped, and Chase took a step back as Farraday virtually let himself tip off the top of the bookcase. He didn't move, but his body twisted in flight, end over end, completing the flip just as he reached the ground. He landed on his feet and bent with the impact, the many fetishes and trinkets on his leather vest bouncing merrily. He grinned. His face was long and tight, with oversized dark eyes nearly the color of his short-spiked black hair. A long, thin ribbon of red and gold metal dangled from one ear. "Cat fall," he said, still crouched. "You like it? Bought the spell yesterday; locked it on me right away. Never can tell around here."

"Good move," said Chase. "I've got magic problems."

Farraday rose gracefully to his full height. "Don't we all."

"I think I'm being traced, me and the girl." Cara gave Chase a look as he continued. "An elf mage got hold of some strands of our hair and we're sure he plans to use them to trace us."

Farraday nodded. "Ritual sorcery. Easy."

Chase winced. "Thanks. Just what I needed to hear."

The magician shrugged. "Sorry, I find circumspection morally repulsive."

"Me too, you smelly bag of shit. Can you help me or not?"

"There are things that can be done, yes," Farraday said, smiling. He turned and held one hand up, the index finger beckoning them to follow him to the back. Chase did as he was bid, as did Cara, who kept him between her and the magician.

"Church," she said quietly. "I…"

Farraday stopped suddenly and his index finger ceased twitching. "Wait," he said without turning, head tilted slightly. "Where did they get the hair?"

"From the shower drain," Chase told him.

The magician turned slightly, the glint in one eye clearly visible. "Not from a hair brush?"

Chase shook his head. "My hair's too short. I don't bother." He looked at Cara.

"Um, yes," she said. "I use a brush."

The light in Farraday's eyes dimmed.

"But I had it with me; I grabbed it before we went into the secret closet."

Farraday grinned again and gave Chase a speculative look before continuing. "What kind of shampoo do you use?"

"Shampoo?" said Chase.

"Shampoo," repeated Farraday. "Try to stay with me on this. What kind of shampoo did you use?"

Chase stifled a laugh and looked at Cara. "I, um, used what was on my shelf. Ah… Chic Clean, I think…"

Farraday nodded and smiled wider. "And you, my dear?"

Cara looked at Chase, then at the magician. "Me, too. I didn't have any of my own."

The mage snapped his fingers in triumph. "Then you are, as they say, in luck."

Chase looked at his friend. "As usual, you've lost me."

"You really should be using a natural, herbal shampoo, you realize."

Chase groaned inwardly. "We don't have time—"

"However, the same drek that'll rot your scalp in a few years has probably saved your short-term asses," said Farraday. "Chic Clean is a chemical monstrosity, but in this case that's good. To use a physical specimen as a material link for ritual sorcery, that physical specimen must be as pure as possible. Chic Clean leaves so much residue and pollution in the hair that it'll be a bitch and a half to use it to form the link." Farraday all but beamed.

Chase relaxed slightly. "So then we're safe."

The magician shook his head. "I didn't say that. It'll take them longer, and it's going to be harder to make the link, but they can still do it. If they're good."

"I think we can assume they are."

Farraday's eyebrows went up.

"One of them was carrying a nerve-gas sensor. The mage even had a spell to deal with the stuff."

"Experienced then."

Chase nodded.

"You know who they are?"

"I have my suspicions."

This time Farraday nodded with a slight smile.

"What can you do?" asked Chase.

"I could put you inside a mystic ward. That'll make you harder to trace, but it won't stop them if they're as good as you suspect. Plus, you'll still be local and easily accessible once they do find you."

"What do you suggest?"

"Run like hell. Get as far away from here as you can. The farther you are from where they think you are, the harder you are to find, with or without the strands of hair."

Chase nodded. "Anything else you can do?"

"I could lock some spells on you," said Farraday, "but ultimately those might prove more dangerous than they're worth. If your enemies do find you, the spell locks will make you incredibly vulnerable."

"I'll take your word for it."

"Thanks. But I can do one thing that'll at least help you get out of the city."

"And that is?"

"Why, the thing I do best, you unbeliever you."

"Ah," said Chase, and Farraday grinned wildly.

With a look of alarm Cara put a hand on Chase's arm but Farraday spoke before she could utter a sound.

"I'm going to summon up the nastiest, bad-assiest spirit of this fine town that you've ever seen," said Farraday, locking his gaze with hers. "And under its protection, you will be escorted out of this fair city."

A short time later they stood in the small alley that ran behind Farraday's shop. At the shaman's request, Chase and Cara had moved some small trash dumpsters and cans to block the alley at either end. Farraday had pointed out that interruptions wouldn't necessarily help his summoning of the city spirit. Chase had asked if they should clear an area in the alley for the ritual, but the street shaman had laughed and said that maybe they should find more garbage and debris to scatter around. It was a city spirit, after all.

Now, they stood waiting for the shaman to emerge from his shop with the necessary paraphernalia. The sounds of the city echoed around them.

"Church," said Cara, the word coming out almost strangled. Her mouth moved, but no more words came out.

Her intense discomfort was obvious. "What's wrong, Cara?" he said.

"I just… I mean, do we have to…"

"You don't like the magic?"

She turned to face him, grabbing the shoulder strap of her bag to keep it from falling. "No, frag it, I don't," she said. "Do we have to do it this way?"

Chase shrugged. "We've got magic after us, so we need magic to keep us alive. That's all I know. If our elf and his two friends were right here in the alley with us, I could probably take care of them," he said, shifting the weight of his own pack. "But they could be anywhere, conjuring up God knows what. We need the magic."

She looked down. "I don't like it."

"You never did."

"No, I never did."

"You never liked cyber ware, either," said Chase, "yet you got some for yourself."

She reached up and unconsciously touched the gleaming datajack near her ear. "I… needed it for the instruments, you know, to trigger them, when I was with the band."

"You know you can play those things manually."

"I… needed it…"

She suddenly seemed tense and uncomfortable. She'd stopped touching the datajack, but her left hand had begun twitching. Chase could hear the flexing of the leather glove.

"Look," he said, "Is there something—"

The back door to the shop banged open as Farraday bounced out. He was wearing a long black-and-gray leather coat, lighter-weight cycle boots, gray silk shirt, and the same black vest as earlier. He also had a new, rose-colored stone dangling from a silver chain on his left ear. He looked up and down the alley, oblivious to what he'd interrupted. "Wiz," he said, eyeing the trash barriers. "Well, time to get down to business." He squatted down.

The shaman's reappearance had apparently snapped Cara out of whatever was bothering her. She stared, wide-eyed, as Farraday pulled various bits and items out of his pockets and piled them on the ground at his feet. While she watched the shaman, Chase watched her.

"What are those?" she asked.

"Things I'll need."

She put her hand up to her mouth. "They're toys, I mean…"

Farraday frowned. "Well, of course they are. How else do you think I can get him to come?"

She giggled as the gray rubber mouse bounced and squeaked as it hit the ground and ended up next to the brightly colored circus ball.

"Mister Church," he said, "I assume you have witnessed at least one spirit summoning in your long lifetime."

"Only one," replied Chase, "and it was hermetic magic: an elemental."

Farraday grimaced. "Brainless creatures, barely smarter than those who summon them," he said. "This is very different." He looked up at Cara. "Ever seen a spirit summoned?"

She shook her head.

"Then I suggest you should stand near Church and don't do anything unless he tells you. Who knows what might happen?"

Cara nodded and went to stand beside Chase. She grabbed his arm again. "What's he going to do?" she whispered.

"I don't know," he said. "Every shaman summons spirits differently. It's very personal. Hermetic mages have tried and true procedures, almost formulas. Shamans have specific rituals, too, but I understand they make some of it up as they go along based on what feels right."

She nodded and grabbed him tighter. Without thinking, he reached out an arm and she moved into the shelter of it.

"Now," said Farraday, "I'm going to do this the long way. I could do it all in an instant, but why give myself a headache?" Dropping to the ground, he sat Indian-style in front of the pile of toys. He separated them so that none touched, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a greasy bag.

"What's that?" asked Cara.