Blue Magic (21 page)

Stifling exasperation, Will said, “If Roche starts taking us seriously—”

“We don’t want him taking us seriously,” Pike said. “The more of a joke we are, the fewer bombs they drop.”

“What are we, people?” Will asked, hiding impatience. “Roche says terrorists.”

“No,” protested a half-dozen volunteers.

Will faced them squarely. “Who believes what we’re doing is right, believes in Astrid’s Happy After?” Hands shot up everywhere. “So everything we do is driven by prophecy. Does that make us a cult after all, like the Alchemites?”

No answer.

He took a breath. “Well? What are we doing?”

“We’re rescuing people,” Olive said. “In the real and the unreal.”

“Preventing a catastrophe,” Astrid said. Her voice rang with confidence. “The well is open, the magic is spreading. We’re just holding back the flood.”

“Delaying Boomsday,” agreed Mark.

“Will’s right. We’ll return this man to his family.” Astrid looked straight at Clancy. “No prisoners.”

Will said, “So we call Wendover?”

“We’ll approach that marshal,” Astrid said. “The cute one.”

Igme said, “You just want the woman’s cell number.”

“Try one eight hundred hot butch,” said Pike.

The tension eased a bit.

Mark sighed. “Astrid made a chantment so Katarina and the off-site science teams could teleconference. We’ll use that.”

“Perfect,” Will said.

“What’ll we tell ’em?” Mark said.

“The truth, of course,” Will said. “Alchemites dumped the Fyreman here. We want to return him.”

“And then?” Mark asked. “Load up the strike team and roll into a trap?”

“One problem at a time,” Will said.

“That’s another thing,” Mark said. “Astrid, you’re off the strike team. We can’t afford to lose you.”

“I’m not the only chanter anymore,” Astrid said. “Will’s learned how.”

There was a collective murmur of relief.

Mark crossed his arms. “Yeah, Astrid? Is he as good as you?”

“It’s his first day.”

“You know how the president and the vice president never get to fly together.…”

“In the first place, I’m not the president of anything, and in the second place, the two of us may be becoming an item, Mark—so you can just give up on keeping us separated.”

“Becoming an item,” Pike said. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

Janet clucked. “What’ll that cute marshal say?”

The last thing Will wanted was to have the meeting devolve into public discussion of his love life. “Folks! Calling Roche?”

“Am I allowed to make phone calls, Mark?” Astrid asked.

“Only if you look healthy,” Mark said. “They can’t know you’re wounded.”

“We’ll all clean up,” Will said. “Legitimacy, remember?”

“Meeting the Roach,” Astrid said, her tone disbelieving. Then her attention wandered; she crouched down, hands cupped.

“What is it?”

“Mouse magic.” She stood, coming up with a mouse. It was alchemized; a blue spatter colored its tail, and it was the size of a softball. “Something the grumbles said … I guess I figure it out later.”

“Astrid? Cleaning up? Taking a meeting?”

“Right.” She held out the mouse. “Can someone find a cage for this little guy?”

“I’ll do it,” said Janet, taking it. “Good plan, Forest.”

“Uh … thanks.”

“You’re off to the baths?” Mark asked.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Astrid said. “I need to catch up with a couple projects.”

Janet grunted. “You need to learn to delegate.”

“Delegate,” Astrid agreed, her eye following the mouse. Then she shook off whatever thought had grabbed her. She headed for Bramblegate, moving, Will noted, as though her body ached.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“
WILL FOREST IS IN
the little conference room.” Juanita murmured the message into Roche’s hearing aid.

She had been off duty and trying to meditate, to grab a few minutes when she wasn’t at Sahara’s mercy or Roche’s whims.

It hadn’t worked out so well. She liked the idea of meditation better than the practice: she knew she should take it seriously, but something—early childhood conditioning, maybe?—resisted. She’d relax, start breathing, and right away an inner voice piped up, snarking about how she was grasping at straws if she’d resorted to Prayer Lite.

She’d cracked an eye open to check the clock, and Forest—a spooky, see-through Will Forest made of dust and sunbeams—was standing in front of her.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he’d said, “but I need a favor.”

It was almost a relief. And at least she couldn’t complain she was out of the loop, right?

“Forest is here?” Roche gave her a gimlet-eyed glare, but when Juanita didn’t say anything else, he gestured to Gilead and followed her out of the courtroom and down the hall.

“In here.” Juanita pushed open the door and froze: Forest had been joined by a ghostly Astrid Lethewood.

It was like seeing a movie star, or maybe the Devil. Gilead claimed Lethewood was to blame for everything: the release of magic, the end of the old world. Juanita had imagined someone flamboyant, with more stage presence than Sahara. But she looked profoundly ordinary—almost distracted.

Gilead eyed her like a cougar stalking a rabbit.

Roche broke the uneasy silence. “Your children, Will?”

“They’re in dreams.”

“You betrayed me for nothing, then.”

“They’re safer there,” Will said. “Arthur, I had to try. We were getting nowhere. But I regret … I am sorry—”

“Save your breath.” Roche struggled visibly with his anger while Gilead glowered at Astrid. “Why are you here?”

Will said, “Someone’s dumped an injured man in Indigo Springs. He was a trial witness.”

Oh no,
thought Juanita. This was about the guy Sahara’d possessed and tortured.

Gilead’s face was a mask, unreadable. “Is he dead?”

“He’s been contaminated, like Wallstone. He thinks he’s Sahara Knax.”

Roche asked: “Then Alchemites did it?”

If I’d never slipped Sahara any chantments …

“They gave him tainted blood,” Astrid said.

“Sahara’s blood,” Gilead growled.

She nodded. “Can you help him?”

His face was rigid. “There’s nothing to be done.”

“There’s gotta be a treatment.”

“Purity comes from fire, Lethewood. Like you, he’ll burn.”

“Death by fire?” Astrid seemed to be tasting the idea. Her hand rose, tracing her throat. Gooseflesh rose on Juanita’s arms.

Will interrupted: “We didn’t come to exchange threats. Your friend—”

Gilead’s voice was toneless. “He burns.”

“Son—,” Roche said.

Will shook his head. “Turning over your man so you can barbecue him isn’t what we had in mind.”

“Lucius will pray for salvation.”

“This is nuts,” Astrid said. “He’s only cursed because of your spell. Break it. The guy doesn’t have to fry—”

“The guy—my
brother
—” Gilead’s diction was as precise as that of a Shakespearean actor. “—will welcome death.”

“You’d just write him off?” The words were out before Juanita realized she was angry. The men started, as if the desk or curtains had spoken. Astrid grinned.

Gilead spoke through clenched teeth. “It’s what he wants.”

“You’ve asked him?”

“Juanita, Lucius is—”

“Is this woman telling the truth, Gilead? Your magic’s what’s messed him up, and now you’re going to burn him for it?”

“Sahara Knax has violated him.”

She said: “You can’t punish Lucius for that.”

“Punishment…” He made a sweeping gesture, a hokey illusionist’s move, nothing up my sleeve. Suddenly there were unstoppered glass flasks in his hands. He poured three potions down his throat, hurling the test tubes away.

“Observe your future, Lethewood.” Blue candle flames flickered under his fingernails. They spread down his wrists and arms, moving over the surface of his skin like wildfire. He reached for Forest, raking his fingers through the dust forming Will’s illusory body. Motes danced and wheeled, sparking.

“You’re angry—,” Will began.

“Professional empathy won’t save you,” Gilead said. Smoke roiled between the embers of his teeth.

“The person we’re trying to save is your brother.”

“Tell Lucius,” Gilead said, “tell him the Alchemites felt the heat of my vengeance.”

The defendants.

Juanita lunged to block the doorway, but Roche caught her arm, wrenching her off balance. “Let it play out, Corazón.”

Cold air gusted over her face—the a/c system, kicking in as the room heated. The flames on Gilead’s skin brightened from orange to incandescent white. Juanita yanked free of Roche, but it was too late: Gilead was gone.

Roche slammed the door behind him, trapping her inside.

“Are you insane?” Juanita demanded.

“Think! His brother’s been tortured. Nobody will blame him for going crazy.”

“Arthur!” Will protested.

“Sahara dies, the problem’s half-solved, Will.”

“It’s true,” said Astrid. “Gilead burns Sahara.”

“Arthur, you ass, Caro’s in there.” The grit and dust forming the illusory Will lost coherence, collapsing into haze. Juanita saw a new Will rising from the floor on the other side of the glass door. He was running after Gilead.

“He doesn’t burn her now,” Astrid said. “What?”

Juanita hit her radio. “Gladys, lock down the courtroom. Lock it down now! You—Lethewood. Can you stop him?”

“Maybe,” Astrid said a little dreamily.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Oh.” Astrid clutched at her stomach. “It’s going to be terrible.”

Juanita bulled past Roche, sprinting after Will.

The courthouse doors were already burning, the security barrier ablaze. One of the marshals beat at the flames. Beyond the flaming doorway, Juanita heard screams and gunfire.

She darted inside … into a standoff.

No sign of Judge Skagway, was her first thought: maybe court was out of session. But no—lawyers and journalists were fleeing to the outer walls.

Gilead was facing the bench, his whole body a torch. Fire followed him like a cloak, spreading across the floor as he surveyed the room. Frightened spectators scrambled for cover: crouching behind seats, under tables, pressing themselves against walls. One of her marshals was hammering on the sealed emergency door near the jury box.

Gladys was protecting another exit, one that was still open. A single line of observers filed behind her, escaping as she fired on Gilead. The bullets had no effect.

The Alchemite prisoners were clustered in front of the bench, protecting Sahara.

“Have faith.” Her voice rose from their midst. “I will not die today.”

“Are you certain?” Gilead said, belching smoke.

Sahara tried to push her human shield away—halfheartedly, Juanita thought. “We do not fear you, Burning Man.”

“Do not fear, do not fear,” the Alchemites chanted.

“Funny, you sound scared,” Gilead said.

Will Forest, still a ghost, stepped between Gilead and the defendants. “Landon, this is my fault. The Alchemites captured Lucius because I knocked him out.”

“Your time will come, Forest.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Believe me, I want to,” Gilead said.

Overhead sprinklers kicked in, spraying Juanita with icy water. She saw Caro Forest’s face as she recognized the dusty simulation of her long-absent husband …

By the exit, Gladys was reloading.

White flame gathered around Gilead’s face, a lion’s mane of fire.

“Stop!” Juanita yelled. “Gilead, stop!”

But he raised his hands, cupping his mouth, and blew. Fire streamed out, engulfing one of the prisoners, Arlen Roy.

Time slowed. Roy shrieked, danced, and fell. The stench of burnt flesh and hair filled the room. The people crouching behind the chairs and benches began to scream and retch.

Gilead drew breath for another attack.

“Praise Sahara!” An Alchemite threw herself into the stream of flame.

The ghostly simulation of Will staggered.

Dear God, that was Caro Forest
.

Gilead moved on to the next defendant. And Sahara wasn’t playing brave anymore; she had her fingers hooked into the jumpsuit of one of her followers, shielding herself as she backed away.

“Somebody stop him!” she roared.

Gilead burned the remaining defendants down, one after another, advancing until Sahara was exposed.

She had reached the edge of the defense table, and as Gilead drew breath for another blast, she grabbed a lawyer, hauling him up and using him to shield herself.

It’s that same old guy she almost vamped to death before,
Juanita thought. She felt a giggle building, even though it wasn’t funny.
I’m losing my mind.

Two of the jurors were in motion now. It was the pair Juanita had identified as probable Alchemites. They were each dragging someone, a hostage, attempting to bolster Sahara’s human shield.

“Well?” Sahara demanded. “You gonna fry innocents, too? Show some balls, big guy.”

Her gaze flicked past Gilead to Juanita. Expecting her to grab a hostage too, probably?

Horror at the prospect paralyzed her.

“Club Gilead.” The spectral Astrid Lethewood appeared at Juanita’s side. “Use something solid—big and solid.”

Juanita grabbed up a chair and took a running start, using it as a battering ram. It burst into flame, billowing smoke, adding the reek of burned fabric and foam to the charnel house air—as she slammed it into Gilead’s body.

He pitched to the floor, practically landing at Sahara’s feet. Juanita upended the defense counsel’s table on his head, setting the exhibits afire.

“Get Prisoner One out of here!” she yelled.

Gladys, bless her, reacted fast. She dragged Sahara through the side door as Juanita struck Gilead again. The flames on his skin didn’t go out. Searing heat boiled off him, and she couldn’t get close enough to cuff him. For now, he lay atop the charred bodies, apparently dazed.