Poison Sleep (26 page)

“Well, just because everyone loves me doesn’t mean I love everyone, Marla. I can hate as well as the next man, I imagine, though admittedly I have less cause.” His hand slid down to her hip, fingers tucked into the waistband of her pants, a casual intimacy that almost made tears come to her eyes. She hadn’t been this unguarded with anyone for years, except for the incubus, and that hardly counted.

“A lot of what I do is because people hate me,” Marla said. “I went to San Francisco last month because someone was trying to kill me, and the only thing that could save me was hidden on the other side of the country. At least this mess with Genevieve doesn’t feel
personal
that way, though it’s getting there. It’s kind of funny that Genevieve hates me
and
her sworn enemy hates me. The enemy of my enemy is my enemy, too, apparently.”

“You could use a love potion and make everyone adore you.”

“That only works for a little while, and there are diminishing returns—it’s less effective with each application. Besides, that kind of stuff, that mind-and-emotion control, it’s immoral.”

He chuckled. “You think I’m immoral.”

“You didn’t choose to become what you are, Joshua. You didn’t decide you wanted to control people and then work magic to make that happen. A hammer can be a tool to build something, or a weapon to kill something. Your power is the same way. Motive is what matters, and so far as I can tell, you’re mostly on the side of the angels.”

“I’m not entirely unselfish. I am used to getting what I want.”

“Sure. But you don’t do so at the expense of others.”

“I’ve never considered my power an excuse to be cruel. I can see what you mean, though. Better if you go on as you have.”

“Feared by many, hated by some, loved by few.”

“It will all work out,” he said, and leaned in to kiss her cheek, her chin, the tip of her nose, finally her lips. He looked into her eyes, his own just inches away. “You have me. Let’s take you home, and get some rest. Tomorrow is a big day, yes?”

“Yeah,” Marla said. “I’d like you to come with us tomorrow. I’ve got tranquilizer guns and stuff like that, but the best way to get Genevieve might be to have you stand up and say ‘Come here, sweetheart,’ you know?”

“Of course. Should I go get the car?”

“I think I’m too wiped out to leave, and it’s probably better if I’m here first thing, in case Langford calls earlier than expected. The couch folds out into a bed. It’s not too comfortable—it’s a little like sleeping in an iron maiden—but for one night it might not be so bad.”

“As long as you’re sleeping with me,” Joshua said, and rose to help her make their bed.

Zealand dragged himself to the library, sore, exhausted, knowing he’d be bleeding from a dozen places if not for the mold acting as a natural bandage. St. John Austen opened the door for him, ushered him in, and offered him water.

“That was the most bizarre fight I’ve ever had in my life,” Zealand said, sinking into the armchair, grateful for the rest. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but he hadn’t been prepared for the reality—or surreality—of the battle. Reave’s black tower had appeared on the horizon and approached over the sea of clouds like a pirate ship, black banners flapping. Genevieve had stood beside Zealand on the highest balcony, and he’d watched as she closed her eyes and mustered her defenses, people and creatures appearing on the balconies all down the length of the palace, weapons at ready. The defenders of her castle were a bizarre mishmash of pop-cultural references and the plainly surreal. There were familiar super-heroes in capes and tights; an archer who might have been Robin Hood; a Cheshire Cat as big as a tiger, with a grin like a scythe; a black stallion with flaming hooves; a titanic, ten-foot-tall version of St. John Austen clothed in shining plate armor; angels riding astride enormous locusts; and more, all conjured from her subconscious, things she’d imagined as protectors or heroes. And the attackers from Reave’s tower, throwing grappling lines from their balconies to Genevieve’s or buzzing the parapets, were equally strange: hordes of literally faceless men with flashing silver knives, riding astride monstrous blackbirds; things like the marriage of squids and spiders and crabs; babies with gigantic heads and needle-sharp teeth; women in bloody wedding dresses armed with razor-edged cake knives.

The defenders on the balconies drove back the attackers again and again, and Zealand was happy to stay out of the bloody battle and beside Genevieve as her personal bodyguard. The towers rocked a little, like ships at sea, and Robin Hood fell from a window and spiraled down through the clouds. A giant blackbird snapped a giant locust in half with its beak. The faceless men hurled the needle-toothed babies across the gulf like projectiles, and they landed biting. St. John Austen’s giant counterpart swung a warhammer and knocked down a dozen enemies at a stroke. The battle was an even match, with neither side gaining, and Zealand began to see how this could happen every night with no decisive result. Of course, Genevieve’s side wasn’t trying to gain ground, just hold it, which he thought was a tactical mistake. If he was going to be here for a while, he might try to talk a little strategy with Genevieve, get her to put her men on the offensive. It was possible she’d just sing a snatch of song at him, or ignore him entirely, but if he repeated himself enough it might penetrate. At any rate, the battle was almost boring once you got past the bizarreness of the fighters—

Until Reave appeared on the balcony directly opposite theirs. The two towers were separated by a gulf of only a few yards, just a bit too far for a normal man to leap, and so they could see each other clearly. Zealand stepped forward with his best grin. Reave looked stunned. “I
killed
you—”

Zealand didn’t chitchat, though the urge for banter had never gripped him more strongly. Instead he flung out a dozen ropes of twisting vegetation, tangled Reave up, and jerked him off his balcony. Genevieve gasped, then clapped her hands like a little girl who’s just seen a magic trick. Zealand twisted his hands around the vegetation to get a surer grip, then leaned out a little, looking over the edge of their balcony, where Reave dangled, knives in his hands.

“Go ahead and cut yourself free, then,” Zealand said, swinging the vines a little, starting a pendulum motion that set Reave swaying and spinning. The man wasn’t very heavy, really, and the fungus gave Zealand’s muscles extra power anyway, so he was in no danger of being pulled off himself. “Go ahead, I don’t mind.” Genevieve came, hesitantly, to stand beside him, looking down at her enemy. “See, he’s just a stupid little yo-yo at the end of a string,” Zealand said. “Nothing to be frightened of.”

Two of Reave’s giant blackbirds fell dead from the sky, taking their riders with them. Zealand grinned. So this
was
getting through to Genevieve. “Shall I let him drop, fling him out, and send him down through the clouds, my dear?” he said, and Genevieve clapped her hands again.

Reave jerked at the vines. He was
climbing
them, even as he swung, even though the vines were wrapped around his own body. With a dismissive sniff, Zealand flicked his fingers, and let the vines fall free.

He expected Reave to plummet, but the man fell at an angle from the pendulum swing, and snatched on to the edge of a balcony on his own tower, a few floors below. He clambered over the rail, shouldered his way past his fighters, and disappeared inside.

“Gone to lick his wounds, I expect,” Zealand said, but a second later Reave was back on the highest balcony,
running
out, and leaping.

The jump was too far for a normal man. Zealand could have made it, with the help of his mold. Reave apparently had augmentations of his own, because he cleared the gap easily, and landed to perch on the railing. “I will eat your champion’s
eyes,
” he said. Genevieve fell back with a cry. Zealand shoved at Reave, trying to knock him off the rail, but Reave wouldn’t budge. He’d been a lightweight before, but now he was dense as marble.

“Genevieve, get inside!” Zealand said. If she didn’t
see
Reave getting stronger, maybe she wouldn’t
let
him get stronger. Genevieve hurried inside. Zealand’s only weapon was the mold, while Reave had his knives, and they came flashing as Zealand danced away. The blades nicked him lightly here and there, but the mold was ready this time, and it bound up Reave’s wrists, first slowing them and then wrapping them together. The mold crawled up Reave’s face, gagging him, and Reave just chewed methodically and spat the mold out, almost fast enough to keep up. Zealand kicked at Reave’s knee as hard as he could and heard a satisfying snap. The king of nightmares lurched over, unable to support his own weight, and Zealand gathered him in his arms. The man must weigh five hundred pounds now, and it took every ounce of Zealand’s mold-augmented strength to lift him up and dump him over the parapet. Reave fell, shouting as the mold in his mouth turned to dust, and disappeared through the clouds.

Zealand didn’t believe for an instant that he was dead. Genevieve was right. It wasn’t that easy. The black tower disengaged, though, pulling away and bobbing off into the distance. The defenders vanished like dew in the sun. Zealand went inside, but he wasn’t on the top floor anymore, and Genevieve was nowhere to be found. He’d trudged to the library instead, where St. John Austen gave him water.

“You threw him over the side,” Austen said. “Genevieve is
very
impressed.”

“Mmm,” Zealand said. “How many times will I have to throw him over the side before Genevieve decides he’s really no threat at all, and his power dissipates?”

“Well,” Austen said. “That is the question.”

Joshua and Rondeau sat at the beat-up old table outside Marla’s office, playing War, because that was the only game where “Joshua can’t cheat me blind,” Rondeau had said. “If it’s not pure luck, he can work his wiles. Not that I mind—I like it when his wiles work me over—but it’s more fun this way.” Marla was sitting out the game, waiting impatiently for Langford to call. It wasn’t yet noon, so he wasn’t late, but she was tired of sitting idle. She’d made a few calls, checked on a few business ventures, cast some precautionary auguries, trying to keep up with her
other
responsibilities, but the whole magical community was focused on the Genevieve problem, so she hadn’t accomplished much.

She paced around, finally ducking her head into her office, where Ted was at her desk, on the phone. “Hey, Ted, I’m going upstairs to take a look at the city. You want to come?”

He put his hand over the mouthpiece. “I do, I really do, but I’m trying to track some things down, and I’m getting close, so next time, okay?”

“Sure,” she said, a little miffed, but not willing to show it. Yesterday he’d been dazzled nearly into speechlessness by the sight of the city spread out below them, but now he’d rather make phone calls. She wondered what he was working on, but she prided herself on
not
being a micromanager, and he’d already proven himself trustworthy. He was probably just liaising with the sorcerers, making sure all the plans to quarantine the city were going smoothly.

Marla went to the roof—fuck, it was cold, but that was the point, wasn’t it?—and worked the spell. The roof dropped off below her, and she hovered above Felport, the illusion refreshing constantly, giving her a true view of events in the city with only a millisecond of lag between her vision and reality. It wasn’t snowing much in the city proper, but the snow was a solid curtain all around the perimeter, sealing the place off. Repair crews couldn’t get out to fix the phone lines, and the mayor was urging everyone to stay home and wait it out. Amazingly, power hadn’t failed in the city—Marla had made sure of that. She didn’t need people freezing to death or hospitals shutting down. With luck, the state of emergency would be over by this evening. Still, there were kids out sledding in Fludd Park, and a few pedestrians walking around. There were patrols of apprentices and cantrip-throwers and press-ganged alley witches out there trying to keep people safe. She saw a few scurrying things in side streets, and down by the waterfront, but whenever she zoomed in for a closer look they were gone. Reave’s nightmares weren’t getting stronger in the city yet. Good.

She zoomed in on Ernesto’s junkyard, a vast hell’s acre of crushed cars and scrap metal, which shimmered a little in her vision—he had non-Euclidean stuff going on in there, folded space and hidden pockets of choked-off reality, and it was hard to look at the place directly. As Marla watched, Reave’s black tower flickered and disappeared between two stacks of crushed cars. Ernesto said the tower had been appearing there pretty often. It had popped up other places in the city, too, but most often in the junkyard, so she wanted to keep an eye on the spot. She checked out Gregor’s building, and Hamil’s meat-golem guards were still there, watching the entrances. Gregor was safe inside—deep in subbasements too well defended to breach easily—but he couldn’t leave.

Except he probably had escape tunnels. Marla certainly did. But, hell, she couldn’t cover
every
contingency. Once Genevieve was safely ensconced in the Blackwing Institute, Marla would smoke Gregor out and banish him. Then she could divide up his holdings
and
Susan Wellstone’s, and enrich all the sorcerers who’d remained loyal. It wasn’t so different from being a medieval warlord. You rewarded the retainers who served you well, and stripped the assets from those who didn’t. It wasn’t a particularly enlightened or progressive form of government, but so much of being a sorcerer was about personal power, and benign dictatorship was the best you could hope for.

There were still weird sinkholes in Fludd Park, but Granger had them cordoned off, so the kids playing there were
probably
safe, unless shit started to come crawling out of the holes, but there were people watching for that. While she looked down, no more buildings appeared or disappeared. Reave was still out there, but he hadn’t gotten his hands on Genevieve. If he did, Marla thought the face of the city would begin to change rapidly. Genevieve was the ultimate power source for Reave, and Marla had to keep her away from him.