The Lucifer Deck (18 page)

And the things she could see! Magical energies swirled and eddied about her like colored mists. In some spots she could sense strong emotional residues—here, in this intersection, someone had suffered great pain. There, in that room, was a bright sunburst of joy. The streets were alive with odd-looking, magical creatures. Some were the size of mice, with multiple heads and shimmering fur. They scuttled up the street or peeked out of drain holes. Other presences were more natural—and more alien. When Pita walked through a park, the trees, grass, and earth pulsed with life, with emotion.

Drifting along a busy sidewalk, she could clearly see the violet aura that clung to one of the men in the crowd. Looking closely at him as she passed, she saw his true form—not human at all, but a hideous, misshapen beast with reptilian scales and cloven feet. It exuded a miasma of hatred and anger. Pita circled warily around the creature, but it seemed as oblivious to her presence as any of the others she passed.

She followed Cat for some time. She had no idea what streets they followed; she could see the signs, but the words on them were meaningless symbols. Some were tangled scribbles, others were asymmetrical patterns of circles, triangles, and squares. She was able to roughly gauge her progress by keeping an eye on the Renraku and Aztechnology complexes. But although she could pass through walls with ease, she could not see through them. Much of the time, the buildings blocked her view.

Eventually Cat led her to an old, wood-frame building on the corner of a quiet residential street. It looked as if it had once been a Stuffer Shack; the sign over the front door was the right shape, even if Pita couldn’t read it. The windows were boarded up and the door secured with a chain and padlock. At some point in the past, a vehicle had collided with a corner of the building; large sheets of chipboard covered a gaping, splintered hole. Cat stopped in front of this boarded-up wall, looked back at Pita, then disappeared inside.

Pita followed, and found herself inside a large room. Dusty counters and broken display racks had been pushed against the walls, clearing a space in the middle. At the center of the room, Aziz lay sprawled on his back, arms and legs spread wide. His dark hair fanned out in a halo around his head, and the loose sleeves of his robe made him look as if he had angel wings. At first Pita thought he was dead. But then she saw his mouth working. He was chanting. Although it looked as though he were shouting, all Pita could hear was a faint whisper. His words were incomprehensible gibberish.

The floor was ablaze with a pattern of glowing, magical lines. It looked as though a cherry-red circle had been painted on the floor with neon tubing. Inside the circle were five straight lines, each a different color, that formed the branches of a pentagram. In each point of the pentagram, a different symbol had been drawn. Aziz lay with his head in one of the points of the pentagram, his hands and feet on the other points. One of his hands clutched a lighted candle, the other, a lump of earth. A clear glass bowl near one of his feet held water, and an empty bowl was near his other foot. His head rested upon what looked like a jagged piece of window glass that had been placed flat on the floor. His eyes were focused on the ceiling; he showed no signs of realizing that Pita was there.

Pita heard a faint hiss and glanced down at Cat. Its multi-colored body was curved into an arch. Every one of its translucent hairs was on end, quivering. Its claws were extended, buried in the floor. It was staring—straight up—at a skylight in the ceiling.

Pita looked up. Now she, too, could see what had startled Cat. A spiral pattern was forming on the ceiling,
swirling inward through the grimy glass to coalesce at
the spot at which Aziz was staring. It was fantastically bright, as difficult to look at as the sun. In another second the brilliant light formed a tornado spout. It spiraled down, down, closer to Aziz. As it approached him, he chanted faster. A frightened look crept into his eyes. Face locked in a grimace, he screamed at the thing that had formed above his head. His face was awash with light. The candle in his right hand flared brilliantly, was consumed in one burst. The earth in his left hand turned to ash. Aziz screamed as blisters erupted on his face and hands, and turned his head aside, his eyes screwed shut. He seemed to be struggling, unable to move.

With an angry hiss, Cat turned and fled.

"Aziz!" Pita screamed. She flung up her arm to shield her eyes from the brilliant light. This was horrible. Aziz was dying, being burned alive by the same spirit creature that had killed the mage in the alley. Pita was terrified. Yet she could not run. It wasn’t fear but guilt that held her fast. How many times in the past few days had she run out on someone, left them to die? Much as she disliked Aziz, she couldn’t add his name to the list. Not after she’d been responsible for his store being torched. Besides, she wasn’t really here—her body was back in the basement of the department store. Nothing could hurt her, right?

Praying that she was correct, Pita ran forward, her arm still raised to protect her eyes. She tried to leap across the glowing bar that formed the circle and crashed into an invisible wall. Stunned, she staggered back.

Pita heard a tearing, shuddering noise overhead, and looked up. The glowing spirit had drawn back, was spiraling against the ceiling once more. As Pita moved forward, it seemed to back away from her. Then it exploded outward with a brilliant flash, hurtling away through the skylight with impossible speed.

Aziz groaned, rolled over stiffly. He sat up slowly, blinking and holding his head. Squinting, he peered around the room. It didn’t look as though his eyes were working properly. The pupils were mere pinpricks. But then his head turned, as if he had sensed Pita’s presence. He crawled to his knees, fumbled toward her like a blind man. Then he stopped and held his palms to his
temples. Pita saw a glow of magical energy coalescing
about his head, centered on his eyes.

His mouth fell open. "Pita?" he gasped. "That was you? But what are you doing in astral space?"

Pita tried to answer, but found that she could not speak. Then she heard an echoing meow that called her mind elsewhere, and the walls of the convenience store started to waver. She felt a silent tug, somewhere behind her. Dimly, she sensed her body. It was weak, its heartbeat fluttery. She suddenly knew, with urgent certainty, that she had to return to it.

She turned and ran through the wall.

16

"Aziz! What happened to you? You look awful."

Carla hurried toward the mage. His clothes were smudged with dirt and had a sooty, campfjre smell. His face and hands were bright red and covered with weeping blisters, as if he’d suffered a severe sunburn. His dark hair was mussed and looked as if it had been hacked off short, just above the forehead. And his face looked odd. After a moment, Carla figured out why. Both eyebrows and lashes were gone. He stood in the lobby of the news station, dripping water onto the floor. Outside, the morning sunshine had disappeared and rain was sprinkling down.

He looked past Carla at the door that led to the studio. His dark eyes were watery, blinking. "Where’s the girl?" he asked.

"Who?" Carla’s mind was still trying to process what she and the decker Corwin had just uncovered. She’d been in the middle of scanning the personnel file they’d downloaded, rapidly absorbing every bit of information she could about the three mages who’d worked with Farazad on the Lucifer Project.

"The ork girl." Aziz said. "Pita."

"I don’t know. Masaki said she disappeared the night before last, around the time of the newscast. He was on
the phone all day to the social services agencies and soup kitchens, but no one’s seen her." She shrugged. "If you ask me, she probably got bored and went back to her street friends. Wayne said one of them stopped by just before she left." She shrugged. "Maybe she just got tired of the colored dishwater that passes for soykaf around here. In any case, it’s good riddance. I don’t think that kid had taken a bath in—"

"I need to find her." Aziz cut in. "It’s important. She’s the key to—"

"Have you seen yourself in a mirror?" Carla asked suddenly. "You’re a mess. And those blisters look painful." She keyed a code into the door behind her, opened it, and motioned for Aziz to follow. "Come on into the studio. There’s a first aid kit in the lunch room; I’ll put something on your burns. What happened? Did one of your spells backfire on you again?"

Aziz trudged after her down the hall. "Not exactly."

Carla spun on her heel, suddenly guessing the truth. "Aziz! You didn’t try casting the spell from the Mitsuhama lab, did you? The spell you said it would be suicidal to try?"

"No." Aziz shook his head and winced slightly as his facial skin tightened. "I tried something else. I wanted to learn more about the nature of the spirit Farazad Samji conjured. I thought it might be some new form of elemental. If the writings of Ko Hung were correct, I wondered if there was a fifth metaplane—one previously undiscovered. A metaplane of light. I figured that if I could find this metaplane, I’d be able to learn more about the spirit. And so I used a piece of window glass from the alley where the spirit apparently went free as a focal point for my meditation, and set out to find its native plane."

"And did you succeed?" Carla asked. Despite her concern for Aziz, her reporter’s curiosity was aroused.

"No. As far as I can tell everything we’ve always
believed till now is true: no fifth metaplane exists. Period. The spirit Farazad summoned isn’t from a new metaplane and it isn’t an elemental. It’s another form of beast entirely. I’m not even sure that we should be calling it a spirit, but it’s the only word that fits. By all the laws of magic, this creature shouldn’t even exist." He shrugged. "Whatever this astral entity really is, my attempt at an astral quest attracted its attention. Perhaps it thought I was trying to learn its true name, and tried to stop me. Whatever the reason, the spirit was drawn to me. It, uh . . . attacked me."

"Attacked you!"

They were passing through the newsroom. A few of the reporters and editors raised their heads and stared curiously at them. She took Aziz firmly by the arm and steered him toward the lunch room. Thankfully, it was empty. Pushing Aziz inside, she closed the door. She pulled the first aid kit out of a drawer, found the tube of burn cream, and twisted the lid off. Aziz sank into a chair and sat with his hands a few centimeters short of his lap, as if afraid that letting them rest on anything would hurt. Carla gently dabbed the cream onto his burns with a fingertip. The sharp smell of the ointment filled the room. "Tell me what happened." she urged.

"The spirt came close enough to burn me." Aziz said. His dark eyes winced at the memory. "I thought I was finished—that I’d be cooked alive, like the fellow who died in the alley. But then I sensed someone trying to break my hermetic circle. The circle held, but the interruption disturbed the spirit somehow. It vanished—just like that." He started to snap his fingers, then winced at his burned skin.

"I must have passed out for a second or two. When I came to, I couldn’t see anything. I thought . . ." He looked up at Carla, blinking his watery eyes. "I thought I’d been permanently blinded. But then I remembered my astral senses. I looked into astral space, and guess who I saw, standing just outside the circle?"

"Pita?" Carla asked as she gently applied the burn cream to his face. "You mean to tell me you had her along with you when you were working your magic?"

"Not intentionally." Aziz answered. "And not in the
flesh. I tried to touch her, but couldn’t. She’d projected
herself into astral space."

"What?" Carla said incredulously. "How in the world could she manage to—"

"She’s a raw magical talent, I guess." Aziz said with an envious sigh. "And powerful, too. I didn’t do anything to drive the spirit away. I was toast—literally—until Pita came along. She was the one who drove it away."

Carla sank into a chair beside Aziz. "Wow." she said at last. "That’s a story in itself. There’s more to that kid than meets the eye."

"That’s right." Aziz said. "And that’s why I want her with me the next time I try to find out more about this astral entity. She seems to have some sort of natural power over it. The thing fled as soon as she tried to penetrate my hermetic circle. She must have done something to banish it. I’ve got my suspicions about what it might have been, but it’s too unbelievable to be true." He turned his hands over, flexed them slightly, and winced. Then he smiled at Carla. "That feels better. Thanks."

Carla shook her head. "You’re crazy." she told him. "That spirit nearly killed you. What do you want to mess with it again for?"

"Why, Miss Carla"—Aziz arched an eyebrow—"if you keep talking like that, you’re going to make me think you still care for me." He reached out for her cheek with fingers that smelled of burn cream.

Carla jerked her head away, sorry now that she’d revealed her feelings. Aziz was the same stupid slot he’d always been, putting his quest for magical knowledge ahead of his own safety. Ahead of her.

The mage lowered his hand and sighed. "If anyone should understand, it’s you, Carla." he said. "This is a brand new form of spirit. Something that’s never been seen before in the hermetic tradition. I’ve got to know more about it." He tried to catch her eye. "It’s just like
when you’re onto a big story. You have to follow it
through to the end. Well, it’s the same with mages. Once we get our teeth into something we—"