Contractor (18 page)

Daniel looked at Felix. After stuffing

himself with three pancakes, his little brother

bounded back to the living room. He was

currently fiddling with some wires to

connect a game console to the television,

oblivious to the danger that was slowly

consuming the earth.

When their dad was depressed, Daniel

picked up the slack so Felix didn’t have to. It

was hard. Daniel stopped doing a lot of

things, then. He lost touch with the few

people at school he actually cared about. But

it was what it was. He was older, so he had

the responsibility to take the blow. For Felix,

Daniel would bear it.

It had gotten to the point where he didn’t

think about how isolated he’d become. He

didn’t care that he didn’t have any real

friends. But now, it wasn’t just about making

sure his brother was dressed and at school

on time. Now it was about saving lives. And

maybe he didn’t really like people, but no

one deserved to die like that. Scrubbed out

of reality like an ant.

The burden had multiplied, and he was

still alone. There was no one to share the

struggle. If he messed up, no one would

come to save him. That would be it for his

family, and the entire town. He was a very

tiny wall between Aplington and complete

annihilation.

He’d almost died.

Daniel gathered up the silverware onto

the plates. He rinsed off the syrup and

uneaten bits into the sink and slotted them

into the dishwasher. He leaned on the

counter.

Ohio was a big state. It would have

plenty of Vorid. If he was going to protect all

these people, he had to get stronger. A lot

stronger.

The media already had an explanation

for the attack from the authorities. That

bothered him. In less than 10 hours, someone

had found out about this mess and cleaned it

up. That meant he had to keep his head down.

But who controlled the authorities?

Those Ivory Dawn people? Maybe. But no

sense worrying about it. Right now, that was

still way above his pay grade.¬

Chapter Four

Treaty

In Westchester County outside of New

York City was a manor situated within a

broad swath of forest. Expansive grounds

created a preened boundary between woods

and the main building. Its stacked stone walls

met with steep tile roofs dotted with

chimneys; intricate crenellations ran along

windowsills and around balconies. Each

wing of the sprawling complex possessed

wings of its own. If any American institution

could be called a castle, it would be this

giant home: the headquarters of the Ivory

Dawn, the magical organization that had been

in power in the United States since the

Revolutionary War.

Beneath the manor was a meeting

chamber to rival any national parliament.

Seats were arranged on a stepped half-circle

surrounding a central dais. Delegates from

all over the world were in attendance. There

were Indian Mantriks; Magi from the

Mediterranean and Western Asia; the Order

of True Flame, the wizards that ruled

Western Europe; the witches of Scandinavia

and Russia; the Chinese Wu, ancient

mediums skilled in healing arts; Voodoo

practitioners from the Caribbean and Africa;

and any number of shaman and druids

representing smaller tribes and families

scattered across the world.

The unprecedented gathering had only

one purpose: to discuss the war that they

were losing, to find a solution to the conflict

that was steadily eating away mankind—to

unite and prevail against the Vorid.

Eleanor Caroline Astor, daughter of

Henry Astor, the President of the Ivory

Dawn, watched the chaos from her father’s

shoulder. They shared the same ice-blonde

hair. Henry himself sat in the great wooden

chair at the center of the dais. It was a seat

carved more for an emperor than a president,

painted white and gold. Behind them were

more members of the inner family, all

wearing their tabards.

To say the talks weren’t going well

would be calling a tornado light rain. In the

chamber above them, the delegates were

arguing wildly, each group trying to shout

over the others. Everyone’s local problems

were the most pressing. Everyone thought

their methods were best.

The fact of the matter was that the Vorid

had already erased tens of millions, and,

despite their best efforts, the rate of

consumption was accelerating, not slowing.

Eleanor’s father hadn’t spoken in some time;

his hands were clasped in his lap as he

surveyed the room. Eleanor leaned close to

his ear. "Shouldn’t you stop this?"

"Always impatient," he murmured. He

tilted his head up to her ear. "Sometimes it’s

best to let everyone fight it out for a while.

Then they’ll be too tired to complain when

you come at them later."

Eleanor’s lips turned up in the smallest

of smiles. "You’ve had enough fun, I think.

Let’s make this more productive."

"Advice from my daughter, now?"

Henry said. "I really must be getting old."

"I apologize. I didn’t mean it like that."

"I was only joking, dearest."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Try to relax." Henry stood. His white

robes swirled around his feet as he walked

forward. A simple gold sash kept the cloth

snug around his waist. He stopped in the

center of the dais and waited. Seeing him

stand, the room slowly quieted. Eleanor’s

father waited until it was completely silent

before speaking.

"The Klide did not lie to us," Henry

said. His tone was matched only by his

hawkish stare. He had the amazing talent of

transforming from gentle giant to

unquestionable ruler when things were

serious. Eleanor wondered if she’d ever be

able to replicate it. "This threat is perhaps

the greatest we have ever faced."

One of the men stood. Eleanor

recognized his blue robes; he was the leader

of the True Flame, Lenhard Rothschild. "You

imply we should take their offer?"

There was another burst of noise. Henry

raised his hands for quiet. It came somewhat

quickly, this time. "I imply that it remains on

the table. Or is there anyone here with the

gumption to claim that they haven’t been

pushed back?" The room stayed still. "We

are too few. The Vorid are too many. We

cannot protect the mundanes. Not all of

them."

"You are not wrong," the leader of the

witches said. Neither Eleanor nor anyone

else knew her true name; the witches kept

those hidden. Eleanor didn’t know any magic

that used names, but then, she didn’t claim to

know everything about magic. The old

crone’s voice snaked out from her mouth.

"We must withdraw."

Rothschild flung his arm out. "I refuse to

accept that we abandon our land and our

peoples to save ourselves!" The Wu and the

Magi leapt from their chairs and shouted in

agreement. Anarchy was instantaneous.

"Enough!" Henry roared. Everyone

stopped talking. "This is not the time to

resolve old grudges! We move together, or

we all die!" He took a breath. "If you stand and speak in my chamber, speak calmly, and

with sound thought."

The witch stood again. "
Wizard

Rothschild. You must agree we simply do

not have the forces to protect every mundane.

To insist otherwise and throw ourselves on

the sword of the Vorid is ridiculous. You’d

have us commit suicide as long as we upheld

your moral standards."

Rothschild folded his arms. "Then what?

Run and hide in cities? We might defend

ourselves if we retreat and concentrate our

efforts, but at what cost? What will happen

to the world when billions have vanished?

What will happen when the farmers in rural

areas are gone, when the fishermen,

manufacturers, laborers are all erased?"

"If that is the sacrifice that must be made

to save humanity, than we must make it."

"I have an alternative solution," Henry

said.

Rothschild glared at Eleanor’s father. "If

you dare say that we all create a class of

cursed artificial creatures like the Klide

have insisted, I’ll save myself the waste of

time and go home now. I will not be

complicit in a second Elizabeth Bathory."

That had everyone’s attention. Lady

Bathory had been the greatest practitioner of

necromantic life absorption. She’d killed and

absorbed over 200 magicians. Only a

combined force of Christian wizards,

Turkish magi, and their demonic familiars

had been able to seal her away. It was as

close to complete destruction as the world of

magic had ever come in modern times. After

Bathory’s medieval empire was wiped

away, it was universally decreed that use of

such magic would earn not death, but a

sentence in Hell. It was the only punishment

terrible enough to ensure it never happened

again.

And then the Klide had come and

offered to do that to hundreds of men and

women around the world as casually as if

they were offering potato chips. Contractors,

they called them. It was unthinkable. If any

one person absorbed enough power, they

could become literally unstoppable.

"No," her father said. "Not that. But we must increase our strength somehow." He

folded his arms behind his back. "I suggest

we reestablish the familiar system."

That got scattered murmurs. Everyone

exchanged glances. "Dangerous," the witch

said. "Quite dangerous to meddle with those

demons."

"In most cases." Henry raised a hand.

"But they have a vested interest in making

sure earth’s population remains growing, or

at least stable. They have to be feeling the

effects. They’ll be willing to bargain."

"You’re playing with fire, President

Astor."

"We don’t have a choice. We can’t win

a defensive war." He let his hands fall to his

sides. "I call a vote on the following: that we

renegotiate our treaty with the demons and

again open summoning magic to common

use."

Rothschild stood. "You can’t expect us

to -"

Henry raised a hand. "We don’t have the

luxury of weeks, or even days. Even seconds

are precious. I did not call a meeting

between the greatest magical leaders of our

age for tea and crumpets." Henry folded his

arms behind his back. "Do I have a second?"

The leader of the Wu stood. His English

was heavily accented, but intelligible. "I

second it."

"Then we will adjourn for 1 hour.

Please make your decision in that time."

****

Eleanor and her father retreated to a

drawing room, each of them seated in a

straight-backed chair with gold-white

upholstery. It was a small, but tasteful space

located on the second floor of the manor.

Heavy gold drapes were drawn aside to

show a wide view of the gardens. She knew

every inch of those lawns and hedges; she’d

played in them since she was a child. He

would work in this room, and she’d wave up

at him, and get waves back.

The hour was long. Her eyes were

restless. She’d been practicing the

summoning spell for a week, but performing

it in front of the chamber was a demanding

prospect.

"You’re nervous," her father said.

Eleanor didn’t bother to deny it. "You are

disciplined. Have faith in your own

abilities."

"I do. I’m worried we’ll lose the vote,

but this is the only way. Even Rothschild can

see that."

"He’s only stubborn because he’s

ambitious. He remembers his grandfather’s

stories of when the True Flame was

unmatched by any other order." A smile

wrinkled his face. "You remind me of your

mother in times like these."

"Oh." It was the only thing she could

manage.

"You have her beauty, of course. But

beyond that, her strength of will. I rest easier

knowing I can depend on you."

She blushed. He rarely spoke of her

mother. Eleanor had never known her; she

passed away of cancer only two years after

her birth. The tumors had been discovered

too late. Even healing magic had its limits.

"…why…" Eleanor bit her lip, stopping

herself. It wasn’t proper to ask him that

question.

"But why am I telling you this now?"

She looked away, embarrassed. "Because

I’m old and worried about the future. Better

say it now than wish I had later."

"…I see."

"I’ve decided your destination. Boston

requires your presence."

"…I would prefer to stay here."

"I’m aware of what you prefer."

She phrased herself as diplomatically as