"And to think, when I began stamping out rivals, it involved months or years of painstaking work-detecting, divining, even the odious art of dowsing," the Mysterious Mirabilus said to the unconscious crowd, spinning the bronze-handled, triangular-bladed silver dagger in his hand with a broad, disarming grin. "But in this 'modern' age all I need do is divine the right city, scan the yellow pages for likely practitioners, lay out a few bodies and-BAM!"
The dagger stabbed home into the altar right in front of my bound hands, and I jerked back. My hands didn't move, and I slouched back against the altar, sheltering my head between my forward-stretched arms, trying anything I could to get away from that knife-perilously aware this thrust my exposed backside into the air.
"All too easy," Mirabilus repeated, hand resting on the dagger. After a moment of silence, I glanced up cautiously and found him staring down at me. Nothing of the kindly old grandfather remained; all that was left beneath his black, pointed eyebrows were two merciless chips of ice. I was too terrified to speak.
Almost.
"Why are you doing this to us?" I whispered.
"I have always been forthcoming about my goal," he said, his genial tone belied by the cruelty in his eyes. " 'The one and only.' I am to become in truth what I claim on the stage-the last of the magicians, the last and greatest mind to look out on the world with the same eyes as those first wizards who began to see the world with greater eyes at the dawn of man."
"For the love of God-"
"Spare me this idolatry," Mirabilus said, jerking the dagger loose, spinning the altar so the world whirled around and stopping it short with a cold, clammy hand slapped on my thigh.
"Oh, God," I said, squeezing my knees together, throwing my head between my elbows and pressing myself as close as I could to the cold stone. This… disgusting old man was going to rape me before I died. "Oh, Jesus-"
"Enough," he said, and the dagger embedded itself again into the altar with a sudden ring, wobbling back and forth, slapping itself against my buttocks a few times before finally coming to rest, not touching me in any way-except I could still feel it there, a ghostly echo of cold silver and the cool smooth bumps of the jeweled guard hovering there, a ghostly threat hovering beyond sight or reach. "Do not speak the name of that Hebrew fuck again. I don't want to hear it-especially not from you. Not from a skindancer. We are the priests of Ba'al Shaman, the children of Ba'alat, you and I; keepers of the secret art, masters of the hidden flame-"
"Oh, G-," I began, and choked it off. I didn't want him to start using the dagger now. I didn't want him to start using it at all. There had to be, had to be something I could do. And then I realized: what the hell was he doing walking around after taking that bullet?
"Y-you were shot," I stammered. "You faked it. H-how did you-"
"Stalling for time by asking me how I do my tricks? Dakota, Dakota. For shame. You might as well ask how I pulled off the Dueling Mirabiluses," he said. He smiled at me, then began miming sarcastically: " 'Did he use a double?' 'Maybe he's twins? 'Or maybe triplets?' 'Is it a hidden projector?' Bah! What an endless parade of fools."
He stepped back, holding his arms wide, and two shimmering copies of himself appeared where he opened his hands. "You know the truth, Dakota. Magic is real, and I know how to use it. How did I survive the Masquerade? I was never on the stage of the Masquerade-not before tonight. I created those projectia without ever leaving my dressing room!"
"But… but…" I said, now really stalling for time. Wait-his image had gone to the hospital. "But the doctors examined you! They did bloodwork, took X-rays-"
"I could say that I'm just that good," Mirabilus said, "but why lie to you, Dakota? You're in the club. I did a simple switcheroo: I let the projectia get shot, then took its place in the ambulance. A pair of stab wounds, a little more magic, and, voila, a simulated gunshot. Didn't you hear when the X-rays came back? 'Miraculously', the bullet missed bone. It didn't hurt the illusion that those damn clods infected me with a very real bug."
And that was it. I was out of options. I looked around desperately. My friends were laid out around me like ninepins, and Transomnia was at the entrance Buck had blasted, nailing sheets of plywood over it to hide the interior of the Masquerade from the street. Maybe Doug knew where we were, if Jinx had told him-but supposedly he couldn't tell the police without Mirabilus knowing. We were fucked.
"Oh, please feel free to ask me something else," Mirabilus said, checking his watch. "I've lugged this altar across five continents. I've had many, many women on its surface. And I know stalling for time. But it's useless. The full moon is hours off yet, and I'm not yet peaked enough to sample your goods-"
I cringed on the platform, pressing my forehead to my bound hands. Oh, Jesus. Oh, Jesus. The creepy old geezer was going to rape me before stripping the skin from my body. I was fucked. Or was about to be. Oh, God And I looked aside for any help, saw Jinx and Cinnamon hanging from a hook, saw Alex and Buck laid unmoving-and then I saw that Wulf still breathed.
"Look. I… I know you want my tattoos, and maybe Cinnamon's too, if you decide not to turn her," I said. Mirabilus said nothing, so I cautiously continued. "And I know how you feel about the magicians. I won't get in the way of you eliminating your rivals-"
"Won't?" Mirabilus said curiously, putting his hand on my buttocks. "Or can't?"
I cringed again, but continued. "But you don't need to let Wulf die." I cried. "His marks are too old to harvest. He's not a magician at all. He doesn't even know what you've done to him. He served you well, even if he didn't know it. How could he possibly be a threat?"
"Wulfgang? That old Nazi bastard?" Valentine laughed. "He's no threat at all. In fact he was my favorite stalking horse-all I needed to do was plant a suggestion about a 'cure' for his 'curse', and steer him towards my target. Normally he'd dig up one or two practitioners, but this time he struck gold, I have to say. At last, he's helped me draw out my true rival."
I looked over at Buck. I'd drawn him into this. "Oh no. Not Buck-"
"Oh, no, not him, my dear. And not Alex or Jinx either. They're all just wankers," Valentine said. "Even Buckhead, prize that he is, is in the end a pathetic old fool, a fading wannabe-god who never learned anything. None of them, not a one, know the Art."
He shrugged off his cloak, exposing a barrel chest covered in intricate tattoos. ^
"My true rival, my dear, is you."
"Tattooing is the only true magical art," Mirabilus said, spreading his arms wide, showing off a hundred, a thousand detailed tattoos, each a hyperintricate knot of runes and sigils I would have been proud to have inked-had they not been woven throughout with scars and brands and symbols of pain and death. "Tarot readings, onmyoji mystics, hexes-all nonsense. Ley lines, sacrifices, potions- mere dabbling. Only necromancers come close to the true nature of magic; their every spell is powered by the spilt blood of a living thing. But do they recognize the source of their power? No-they let all that magic bleed out into the air, catching only a whiff to make some dead thing dance like a marionette."
"Only the Art truly understands the true source of all magic: life." He shrugged his shoulders, and his tattoos seemed to glow to life, coming off his body in a haze of psychedelic color. "All the inks and powders and designs and rituals are just a way of focusing the power that is life. Understand that, and you can do anything."
"From the olden days, the Hebrews tried to stamp us out," he said, raising his voice. "They knew what we could do and murdered us, overturned our stones, defiled our altars. We had to go underground, practice our rites in secret-"
"Baal," I said. "You're literally a priest of Baal-" "Close enough," Mirabilus said, bowing slightly. "You know enough to recognize the words, but have forgotten what they mean. Should I… introduce you to the rites of Ba'alat Gebal before I take my prize?"
Something about his tone made my skin crawl-fuck that. "I knew I saw something Middle Eastern in your skin tone," I said. "You're a descendant of priests of Baal who escaped persecution by pretending to be Jews. You threw me off with that 'Christopher Saint Valentine's Day' stage name, but I'm sure of it now-what did your family do, switch to pretending to be Christian once the Jews were the ones being persecuted?"
Mirabilus was silent for a moment, then laughed bitterly. "Wrong, but close enough-the Inheritance of Byblos has taken many guises over the millennia. You know, the rites of Ba'lat would make this easier on you. Call it professional courtesy for a fellow priest-"
"Fuck that" I said, this time aloud. "I'm no priest of Baal or of anything else. I don't believe in any of that hocus pocus-but I was brought up a Christian and if I have to choose I'll go out with Jesus. Fuck Baal."
"Now, now," Mirabilus said, "you'll make me change the order-"
"If you were planning to rape me after ripping open my back," I said, "I'd prefer you switched the order." Though I couldn't imagine any order of those things that I'd prefer.
"I will kill you tonight," Mirabilus said icily, pulling out the dagger and drawing it over the skin of his arm without a flinch. The dagger's pommel began to glow red. "I will link my life with yours with the Art of Ink and Life, drain your power and add it to my own. It will be done now as in centuries past by the Children of the Ba'alat of Gebal."
I swallowed, clenching my hands tightly. I could feel the mana building in my hands, but underneath the stinging pitch it had nowhere to go and the skin of my hands got hotter and hotter until it felt like it was burning fire.
"Oh, please, Dakota, build up the mana in the vessels on your hands until they burst," he said, laughing-and something tickled the back of my mind. "It will only make my job easier, the flow faster. I will kill you, tonight, and then Buckhead, and Jinx, and then Alex-a pity for him, he had such potential."
But I was ignoring him now, concentrating. Build up the mana in the vessels of your hands until they burst. What was wrong about how he said that?
"Sorry I'm late," Transomnia said, hopping up to the podium nimbly and tossing down a hammer with a kind of glee. "Anything left for me, old man?"
And then it hit me. He'd hadn't said the vessels in your hands, but on your hands.
"You can have all the blood," Mirabilus said, grinning. "I just want the skin."
Vessel was an old skindancer word for magical capacitor. He didn't mean my blood vessels-he was talking about the magical marks on my palms and knuckles. The word was old, falling out of use in the 1800's, used now only by faux-ancients like Wiccans… and true ancients like Mirabilus. If I was right about his use of such an old word, Mirabilus had extended his life a century or more with his lifedraining tricks-and maybe, just maybe, he was like the Marquis, trapped in a prescientific view that saw magical tattoos as mystical lenses, projecting mana from living bodies into the air through their two-dimensional designs.
In that view, my hands were the biggest threat: with their flexible skin, they were my quickest source of power, whereas any other skindancing movement would be slower, giving him more than enough time to stab me in the back. With my hands coated with goo, all that power could do was burn out my skin, like black paper thrown over a light bulb.
But reality was more complicated: the line between air and skin, skin and flesh was blurry; each had its own capacity to carry manabut a difference of degree, rather than kind. After all, a cell phone is just like a land line-once you realize the air can act like a wire.
I could use that coating of pitch, project the power of my tattoos inward, make my body like the air, to hold that power and release it. It might damn near kill me-but with the magic hidden away behind my skin, Mirabilus would never see it coming.
I had a chance, if I could only find a distraction.
"Every drop of blood in her body," Transomnia said, breathing heavily. "Oh, yessss, juice of the forbidden fruit. I will enjoy defying the Lady Saffron again."
But… he hadn't defied Savannah before. He had practically been a rules lawyer, skirting what harm he could do to me without defying her ban. I twisted my neck to look at him, and he raised an eyebrow, eyes trying to communicate… something. He knew what he was saying was wrong. What the hell? What was I missing?
My eyes widened as I remembered it had been awfully easy to get in here-and yet Transomnia knew exactly how to shut me down. He just hadn't told his guards.
"Maybe I'll make Jinx my apertif before I feast on you, Dakota," he hissed, leaning down close, his desperate face in opposition to his words; but when he leaned back where Mirabilus could see him, he was practically leering in hunger. "And Alex will make a nice palate cleanser before I have Buckhead for dessert-"
I writhed and squeezed my hands. The mana built up in them and fed back, burning my skin, sinking into my body, like I'd drunk an entire pot of hot coffee. I could feel the tingling start, rippling down my insides-but held on to the power, held onto it tight.
"Please burn out your hands trying to awaken your marks," Mirabilus said, raising his dagger. "I'll drink in your power until not a scrap is left-"
Transomnia stepped up behind Mirabilus for a better view, leaning in, winking at him, leering down at me, making me duck and flinch. Mirabilus glared and Transomnia stepped back, hands raised in mock surrender. But the moment the wizard's face turned away, he caught my eye and raised his finger to his lips… and showed me the pruners.
I looked away in terror. What new horror was this? But his face had shifted from eager leering sycophant to… something else, just for a second. Mirabilus stepped forward, to the edge of the platform, and placed his clammy geezer hand on my bare backside. I looked back one last time, and saw Transomnia raise the pruners high behind Mirabilus's head.
"Whatever you're going to do, do it now, Dakota," he said.
And rammed the pruners down with vampire speed.
Mirabilus whirled, crying out in pain as the pruners stabbed into his collarbone. Faster than a vampire, stronger than a werewolf, his fist popped out and clocked Transomnia under the chin; Transomnia staggered back, but pulled with his right hand on the pruners, making Mirabilus scream as they ripped free. Mirabilus shook the pain off, shifted his shoulders and chest, and his tattoos blazed to life.
Transomnia tumbled backwards, screaming as Mirabilus poured all his power out into the air. Snakes snapped at him, bees stung him, and spiders whirled around him, twining his legs so he tumbled backwards off the stage. But somehow, despite all the power, all the artistry, even with the magic flying through the air, there was something off about Mirabilus' designs… something flat, and two dimensional.
Mirabilus was an old school magician. He had thought Transomnia had taken my weapons away by coating my 'vessels' with pitch to keep the magic from leaking out into the air and awakening my marks. But that theory of magic was over a hundred years out of date. I, on the other hand, was an Edgeworlder. We experiment, not inherit; and I knew from the burning in my gut that what we'd learned was true: as mana was concerned, the flesh of the body was just another kind of air-except it could hold a thousand times more mana.
I ignored the sounds of Transomnia's screams, and drew in one painful breath. Then I let it out slowly, sinuously rippling my back, pouring every ounce of mana I had into the Dragon.
The pain of so much mana was incredible as it reverberated through my body and streamed out of my skin. I screamed. I squeezed my eyes shut as my vision exploded into white light. Then the light faded, slowly-and suddenly I saw through new eyes.
The world before me was sharp, but its colors distorted, my point of view rising through a stream of colors and flame.. My new eyes looked down, and I could see my own trembling body, could watch as the glittering scales and rippling form of my finest tattoo glowed, detached from my skin and came to life. I saw through the eyes of the Dragon, rearing over a shocked Mirabilus in a fully dimensional tower of color and flame.
"Spirit offire," I whispered. "Show him the light!"
The Dragon unleashed a torrent of fire upon Mirabilus, blackening and burning his body. His tattoos seared and dissolved, leaking mana in fitful incoherent sparks, and he fell backward with a tortured scream. Then the Dragon reared back and pounced upon him, jaws snapping down upon his neck as its long, segmented tail detached from me.
My link to the Dragon severed abruptly, and I opened my own eyes to see its curling form, rippling and alive-and savaging Mirabilus. With each bite it seemed to grow more real and strong, until it stopped and looked back at me, fully opaque, all aglow in glittering coils and sparking blue eyes. Then it raised its wings, screeched, and shot upwards, exploding through the ceiling of Hell, disappearing into the darkness.
Valentine twisted, moaned, raised one weak, bloody hand after the Dragon. Then he collapsed and was still, mana streaming slowly out of his ruined tattoos like slow rainbow fire.
"Finally," Transomnia said, clambering back up onto the stage, burnt, singed, but still standing. "Free of you, you sick fuck."
He stared down at Valentine's body for a long, long time. Then he looked up abruptly at me, and I flinched. I had nothing left. No way to defend myself. If he decided to come after me-and then his hand came out of his pocket, holding the pruners.
"Oh, God," I said, ducking my head back down to the dais. "Oh, God-"
"Oh, quit whining," Transomnia said, strolling around me, cutting the wires on my wrists, then pulling me up to a sitting position. "But we're not done."
He strolled off casually, and I just sat there, propping myself up with one hand, covering myself with another, ankles still pulled apart by the wires. He returned with a rag and grabbed my right hand and began wiping it off roughly. I sat there, trembling, letting him do it, until he finally gave up in disgust and released my only slightly less grimy hand.
"That will have to do," he said, opening his shirt. "Now get this fucking thing off me!"
My eyes widened. There was an elaborate knot tattooed on Transomnia's chest-a bat, practically turned inside out inside an elaborate design pulling at it with fishhooks. It was a controlling charm, from the looks of it precisely the same kind inked on WulfTransomnia had been just as much a pawn as he had.
I gathered my strength and reached out with my cleaned hand. At first I felt nothing; then I caught the edge of the mana, began flexing my fingers, and drew the magic out into the air. The bat squealed and squeaked as its prison dissolved. The fishhooks of the design came loose and flailed in the air. But I didn't let them get a grip on anything, and soon the whole design dissolved into sparks, leaving nothing but a faint ghost of an impression on his chest.
"Thank you," Transomnia said, buttoning his shirt, somehow taller, more businesslike. He popped the wires on my ankles, left, right, and I gratefully pulled my feet together and huddled in a mound on the dais. Transomnia calmly walked away and stood over Valentine's corpse-and began kicking it, grievously, brutally, methodically, each time releasing a flash of magic and color as his body flipped and skittered across the floor.
"No draining. No maiming. No raping. No killing. Those were the rulesf Transomnia said, staring down at Valentine's bloodied corpse with pure contempt. He looked straight back at me, and I twitched back a bit, trying to cover myself. "Consider ourselves even."
"Even steven," I said, trembling, naked but for Savannah's collar, sitting here before a vampire who had almost beaten me to death… and who had now saved my life. I slipped slowly backwards off the dais, still trembling. I didn't know if my legs would hold me, but somehow they did.
Transomnia smiled evilly, then threw the pruners down, embedding them in the floor between my feet. I flinched, but stayed where I was. Then he turned to go… and paused a moment, scowling. Finally he turned back to me. I flinched again, but didn't try to get away-and I stood my ground before him, damn it, I stood.
And then Transomnia took off his coat, and slipped it on my shoulders.
"I hate your guts, bitch," he said, "but you need this more than me."
"Thanks," I said, drawing it about me. "For saving my life."
Transomnia roughly nodded. "I needed your help, too."
"Then why didn't you just ask?" I shouted, waving my hand at the carnage around us. I couldn't keep it in anymore. "Why did you put us through all this-"
"Because I had to," Transomnia snarled. "You saw the design. Mirabilus would have known the instant I turned hostile. I had to play my cards very carefully-"
"You let me beat your guards," I said, in sudden realization. "You told them what to do, but not clearly enough for them to take me seriously."
"That gamble paid off," Transomnia said. "But Mirabilus would have dismissed the rent-a-thugs from the ceremonial chamber anyway-it's better to have no witnesses to the deed, since even Wulf and I couldn't always tie up every loose end. It was always going to be just you, me, and Mirabilus-but the history of our little tussles made it appropriate to express hostility in his presence." He smiled grimly. "For that… I thank you, Dakota."
"Why did you let him tattoo you in the first place? Did you think he could protect you from Saffron?" I asked-and then I stopped, working out the timing in my head. "No… not even vampires heal that fast. That had to be an old tattoo-"
"So old," Transomnia said, "I barely remember why the deal made sense at the time."
"You're his advance man," I said. "You roll into town, sniff out the lay of the land-"
"And then help him take out his rivals," Transomnia said. His eyes were burning on me, not hate exactly, but… rage? "But this time, it was supposed to be different. This time, I was going to find someone to protect me, a vampire whose aura was strong enough to bind myself to, someone whose power could shield me from Mirabilus' control. I found Calaphase of the Oakdale Clan-and then you went and fucked it up. They kicked me out because of you-"
"-and drove you right back into his arms," I said. "I'm sorry. I didn't know-"
"You couldn't have," Transomnia said, still glaring at me. "How could you know all this would happen, just from one little punch? But remember: you picked that fight. I was doing my duty, trying to scare you off-but I never touchedyou that first night.."
My eyes widened. His stayed on me, burning with anger and expectation. Surely the vampire who nearly took two of my fingers wasn't waiting for… an apology?
"I'm sorry," I said at last. "Sorry… that I hit you."
"Finally," Transomnia said, leaning back. "And I'm sorry that led to all this-but it is over, and as far as I am concerned, we are evenand done. I'm not going to come after you, you're not going to come after me-we leave each other the hell alone."
I nodded, blinked, and when my eyes opened, he had disappeared.
I stood there, swaying, drinking it all in. Then I stepped up Valentine's corpse. It was still steaming with wisps of color and fire, but fading fast. I stood there, watching him go, my skin tingling with magic as the last streamers from his tattoos faded into darkness.
"Guess what," I said. "It turns out I can do a trick you can't do, after all."
Grimacing in pain, I used the clippers to cut Jinx and Cinnamon down and then tried to free them from the silver barbed wire. Jinx was easy, but Cinnamon was damn near hopeless-and the wires on her wrists cut so deep into the flesh I couldn't get the clippers in there without hurting her more, so I just cut the wires between them, leaving her with two bloody silver bracelets. My hands were tingling with pain, but I tried to carefully clip the wires out of her mouth; when I was done her mouth hung slack and I could barely hear her breathing.
I stared at the others. Wulf looked dead, but Jinx was still whole; Alex and Lord Buckhead were pretty trashed, but they were all breathing, if not stirring; they'd hold. I untied them, prayed to God that they'd hold, and carried Cinnamon up out of Hell. At first I was relieved when I saw that the guards I'd incapacitated were gone, but then I realized that meant they were alive and conscious. I didn't wait to find out whether they were running or plotting: I just ran straight out into the street.
Knee and hands throbbing with pain, I hobbled out across North Avenue, leaving the Masquerade behind, alternately heedless of and wincing at the gravel and glass scattered across the pavement. I headed straight for City Hall East, for the police entrance, where cop cars left after refueling in the night. One black-and-white was pulling out of the gate just as I stumbled up, and I ran straight for it. They came to a screeching halt just as I ran out of gas, gasping, depositing Cinnamon on their hood.
"Holy Mary," the driving officer said, only half stepping out of his car, holding a flashlight with one hand and with his other reaching for… his sidearm?
"Help, help, we've been attacked," I said, bending involuntarily as my knee began throbbing like mad. "I and my friends have just been attacked in the Masquerade. I need you to call for backup and ambulances-"
"What the hell you think this one's been on?" the second officer said, crawling out of the car. "And look at the state of the other one-"
I realized how I must look-bruised, naked, with a flapping black coat, carrying a bloody young girl outfitted in the most realistic tiger costume they'd ever seen. They thought we were drugged-out prostitutes, and were tuning out everything I was saying, assuming I was babbling. Fuck them.
"My name is Dakota Frost," I barked. "I'm an expert witness working with Special Agent Philip Davidson of the DEI and Detective Andre Rand of Atlanta Homicide-"
The first officer was frozen, but the second was holding up her hands and saying, "Now, far out, little lady-"
"I have just been attacked," I said. "I and my friends have been attacked. This girl is dying, and at least four other people are injured in the Masquerade. We need ambulances and backup in case Mirabilus had any other help-"
"Mirabilus?" the female officer said. "Like the Mysterious Mirabilus-"
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I said, glaring at her.
"Settle down, now," the female officer said. "I now you've been through a lot-"
Damnit, they were thinking that whatever I'd been through was over, but for all I knew the guards were coming back with shotguns to clean up the evidence. I needed help. We needed help. For a moment I thought of lunging for the car's radio and calling for help myself, but my dad was on the force: I knew I'd never make it. Something more subtle was required.
So I did the first thing that came to mind. It's lame, I know, but it works: I swayed.
"Oh God," I said, tottering. Then I leaned heavily on the hood. "Can-can I sit down for a minute?"
"Sure thing, little lady," the female officer said. She stepped to the back passenger door and opened it, and I smiled weakly, leaning on the car with one hand as I walked around it-but as I passed the front passenger door I dove in and shot one long arm in to grab the car's mike.
"Black Mayday, Black Mayday, D-E-I assets down, Black Mayday, Black Mayday-"
"God damn you, you tricky bitch," the female officer said, hauling me out, twisting my arm round and slamming my cheek to the hood of the car. I screamed and bucked at the pain in my hand, but she twisted harder and pushed me down. "Jeez, she's strong," she said, and I winced as a cuff went on one wrist. "Help me-"
I bucked up and clocked the woman in the jaw with the back of my head, and then the other officer surged around the car and pinned me down in. "You shouldn't have done that," he said, grasping my other squirming wrist and cuffing it too. "She's my partner-"
"Go easy," I heard the female officer say. "Look at what they've been through. Between the drugs and whatever their pimp did to them she's probably out of her mind-"
And then the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard swept over us, a rising, high-pitched purring like a mechanical cat-or a muffled leafblower, sweeping out of City Hall East and swooping over us in a sudden gust of wind. A bright light pinned us all, followed by an eruption of red and blue flashing lights as a DEI Shadowhawk decloaked above us.
"This is the Department of Extraordinary Investigations!" Philip's voice roared over the PA. "Officers stand down! APD officers stand down!"
"Boy, that was quick," I muttered under my breath.
The Shadowhawk set down in the middle of North Avenue, its whirling blades whipping over our heads as Philip leapt out, brandishing his badge and shouting, "D-E-I agent! Officers stand down, stand down! DEI agent! Stand down, stand down!"
"Holy… cow," the officer said, releasing me.
Philip ran up, holding his badge up like a shield, shades glowing red like night-vision goggles and carrying an enormous black combat shotgun carefully pointed away from the APD officers. "Special Agent Philip Davidson, DEI! Miss Frost, Miss Frost, are you all right?"
"I'm not hurt," I said, "but the tattoo killer tortured Cinnamon to get to me."
"Damnit!" Philip shouted, staring straight at me, then surveying Cinnamon, the officers, and the rest of the scene in one quick glance.
Then he threw the shotgun over his shoulder and scooped Cinnamon off the hood of the car. "Pilot! I need an emergency evac-"
"If you disappear her, I will kill you," I shouted after him.
Philip nodded, never looking back. "Emory Hospital-special emergencies unit, stat!"
Philip deposited Cinnamon in the back of the Shadowhawk and stepped back, motioning to another officer, who was already grabbing a first aid kit as Philip closed the door and whirled his hand for the black helicopter to lift off. It left the ground in a rising whine, and Philip bore down on us in a whirlwind of debris and rage.
"Half of Little Five Points is bleeding out in the Masquerade," I shouted. "Alex, Jinx, Wulf, Buck-and would someone get these cuffs off me!"
"Do it," Philip said. "What are we facing in there?"
"The killer was Christopher Valentine-yes!-but he's dead," I said, as the female officer freed my hands. "He was controlling Wulf through a magic tattoo. And guess who was helping him-our favorite poseur vampire!"
"Transomnia," Philip snarled. "Are they still in there?"
"Transomnia skipped, and Wulf is dying and Mirabilus is dead," I said, "but they had a buttload of guards. I took them out when I arrived-"
"You took them out?" the first cop said. "How?"
"Magic," I responded. "But all of the guards were gone when I came out. I don't know if they're gone or just regrouping-"
"Aw, hell," Philip said, looking off sharply-sirens started blaring out of City Hall East, and I heard more approaching rapidly from the distance. "And now we're about to get a swarm of badges descending on a sea of Edgeworlders. It can't ever be easy, can it?"
He stood there, just a moment; then he came to a decision.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Philip said, loudly, as if he was speaking to far more than just the two officers. "We have five victims, including one witch and one werewolf-yes!-at the mercy of the minions of a serial killer. I need you at my back, but be sharp! Don't plug anyone just because they look odd or furry! Let's move."
They ran. I realized he hadn't asked me where to go, what else to look for. He just ran for the Masquerade, and the two officers followed him without a second thought. I tried to follow, but the pebbles and glass that I had sailed over before brought me to a standstill when I was halfway there. The sirens and the lights grew louder and louder, but I kept walking, walking towards the Masquerade. I was shaking when an officer stepped up beside me, covered my shoulders in a blanket, and sat me in the open door of his police cruiser.
And the rising whine of the Shadowhawk returned-one, then two, then more, backed by a deeper thrum. I and the new officer looked up to see three Shadowhawks decloak around the Masquerade, disgorging black-suited officers that rappelled down to join the fray. Above them, the long cigar shape of a zeppelin was dimly visible, its black metal hide illuminated by the backwash of a huge spotlight.
"Holy… cow," the officer said, just like the first one had.
"You're telling me," I said.
Most of Mirabilus's thugs were gone. Philip said they rounded up one minion holed up under the bar in Purgatory-Baldy, who turned out to be the same low-rent gun thug that had gone after me during the stage show but ended up plugging 'Mirabilus'. True to form, the former stage magician had used a plant to 'fake' (or at least keep control over) his own shooting. They also picked up a confused and astounded chauffeur who had been waiting for Mirabilus and company to return to his rented car, but Philip seemed to have already checked the guy's story out by the time he got back to me, two hot steaming coffees in his hands.
"Mirabilus is dead," he said, looking back at the Masquerade, "but you're right-no sign of Transomnia."
"Transomnia helped me at the end," I said. "Said Mirabilus was using him."
"He's an accessory to murder," Philip said. "You're not suggesting we let him go?"
I pulled back my right lip to expose my missing molars. "You won't hear that from me," I said, "but you won't see me going after him, even if I thought I could take him."
"Fair enough," Philip said. He sighed. "The medics did what they could to revive him but… we were too late to save Wulf."
"I know," I said. "I know."
He reached out and took me into his arms, kissed my forehead, held me while I cried. "I know," he said. "I know."
"He just wanted my help," I said. "Just wanted a normal life-"
"Hey," he said. "You saved a young girl today, and your friends. We lose some, but we win some."
"Fair enough," I said, wiping my cheek. "What about North Carolina?"
"Goose chase," he said. "We're holding the girl. She claims she was just trying to create trouble for her boyfriend, but she's got a relatively new magical tattoo-"
"Controlling charm," I said.
"Given what I saw of Mirabilus and Wulf," Philip said, "Oh yeah."
"I'm sorry I didn't call you sooner," I said.
"Kidnappings always make for tough calls," he said softly. "You did the right thing. Jinx's boy Doug tried to call it in-"
"Good for him," I said. "Good Doug!"
"Ha," Philip replied. "But he got routed to 911 hell, very hinky-"
"Mirabilus again," I said bitterly. "He was bragging about it."
Philip nodded. "By the time he'd given up and drove down to the police station, the shit had already hit the fan."
"At least he tried," I said. "More sense than the rest of us-"
"None of this is your fault," Philip said. "None of it."
"I know, I know," I said. But I had trouble believing it, looking over at the ambulances, at the one pulling away, and the one waiting on a body bag to be loaded. "But still… I just have one question."
"Shoot," Philip said.
"That damn box," I said. "Mirabilus didn't use it to take down Buck, and it didn't look like he was going to use it in the ceremony on me. He went on and on about the Children of this and the Inheritance of that, but never mentioned the box. But it was far too sophisticated a magic to imagine it was just a trophy. So… what the fuck was it for?"
"I have a better question," he replied. "Mirabilus was killing people and taking their tattoos to put on that damn box," Philip said. "But it wasn't his damn box."
I just stared at him.
"When we got the lid, we also got some of his notes," Philip said. "I've read them. From what I can tell… up until recently
Mirabilus was just eliminating the competition. The tattoo harvesting is something new, just a silver lining, so to speak, that turned his hobby into profitable work he could do for someone else. The box was a commission."
"So, if it wasn't his…" I said, horrified.
"Then who was it made for?" Philip said, touching his hand to his ear, "Yes, this is Special Agent Davidson. Yes, I'm with Frost. No, she-there's a problem with her what?"
"What is it?" I asked. Philip's eyes had bugged and he was looking at me strangely.
"No, I don't think she has a-yes, that was the-" His eyes narrowed and his face grew hard, stony. "We'll be there right away." He took his hand out of his ear and stood, motioning to me. "We gotta go. We'll take a Shadowhawk-it's faster."
"What's wrong?" I asked, standing as well. "Where are we going?"
"Emory," Philip said. "Cinnamon is dying."