Chapter 7

A discordant buzzing woke me up. It sounded like a thousand seagulls with laryngitis whisper-squawking over an overturned truck hauling fresh bread.

Oddly specific, I know, but I was only semiconscious. And hungry.

My head cleared and I realized the noise wasn't seagulls but half a dozen MPD agents milling about the cargo bay in which Lienna and I had done battle with Jeff and Geoff. I was propped against the side of the smart car, and the shark tooth necklace had mysteriously found its way back around my neck. Across the loading bay, I could see that the white box van had disappeared.

Lienna stood a few feet away, scribbling on a clipboard.

I moaned and sat upright. "What the shit happened?"

She looked up from her paperwork. "Oh, you're awake."

"Did you hit me with one of those evil little marbles?"

"I had to make sure you didn't escape." She glanced around at the other MPD agents, none of whom were paying attention to anything but their own tasks, then stepped closer to me. "What did you do, Kit?"

"I was saving you, not escaping," I complained, rubbing my eyes. "I can't believe you zapped me."

She crouched to get on my eye level. "What did you do to Jeff?"

"Nothing. You're the one who punched him in the head."

"The other Geoff. You walked right up to him, and he didn't even try to stop you."

I shrugged. "He wasn't the sharpest spike-ball nunchaku in the toolshed."

She analyzed me like a specimen under a microscope. "I know you're a Psychica mythic, but mentalism usually requires touch or close proximity. Are you—"

"Where are we off to next?" I interrupted with chipper enthusiasm, fully prepared to derail this "what kind of psychic powers do you have?" guessing game. For obvious reasons, the less she knew about my magic, the better. And aside from that… let's just say most people didn't react well when they found out what I could do.

A magician—or a convict in MPD custody—never revealed his tricks, after all.

With one more sweeping assessment, she stepped away from the car. "We aren't off anywhere. I have suspects to interrogate, and you're heading back to the precinct."

As she signaled for an MPD cohort to come over, I scrambled to my feet.

"Hey now," I protested, trying not to sound frantic as all my plans for escape crashed and burned around me. "That wasn't the deal."

The lumberjack agent who'd escorted me to and from my cell a handful of times since my arrest walked over to us. "What do you need?"

"Jack, can you take Kit back to holding?" She nodded my way.

I couldn't help it: a grin cracked my mouth open. "Your name is Jack?"

The mountain man frowned. "Agent Cutter to you."

"Your name is Jack Cutter?" No way! This broad-shouldered, bushy-bearded, callus-handed agent was one plaid shirt and an axe away from landing himself on the cover of Wood Cutter Weekly. "It's a little on the nose, don't you think?"

"Keep an eye on him," she warned her co-worker. "Make sure he doesn't take off that necklace."

The tree chopper grabbed me by the crook of my elbow to lead me away, but I shook him off and turned back to Lienna. "You know they won't talk to you, right?"

"Jeff and Geoff?" she said. "Maybe not at first, but we have ways to get answers out of them."

"Not if they don't know anything."

"They know something." She returned her attention to her paperwork as Agent Cutter took hold of my arm again. Not letting me wiggle free this time, he dragged me away.

I waited until we'd traversed a good fifteen feet before I called, "That's not how Blue Smoke works."

Her head snapped up. "What?"

"You heard them. They're part of Blue Smoke."

"And what is Blue Smoke?"

I gave her a half-cocked smile. "You have no idea, do you?"

She opened her mouth, then snapped it closed and gestured angrily for Agent Cutter to bring me back over to her.

* * *

"It looks like Godzilla went through here."

Lienna and I stood in the drizzling rain outside a temporary chain-link fence encircling an office building that had belonged to my former guild. The last time I'd visited, renovations had been underway on the dingy two-story structure, replacing the broken windows and scrubbing away its distinct "crack house" vibe. It hadn't been much to look at, but it'd been more than… this.

"Not Godzilla," she murmured. "A pyromage."

"A strong one."

"In a very flammable structure, yes."

The basic shape of the building remained, but all the windows were gone, sections of the roof had caved in, and scorch marks stained its walls. It was a charred mess.

I grabbed hold of the chain-link fence, and it wobbled alarmingly as I pulled myself over it in one quick movement. For a brief second, I was separated from my overseer by a six-foot fence, and the ever-present thought of escape leaped to the forefront of my brain.

But she smoothly vaulted the fence and landed beside me before I could formulate a plan beyond "run really fast." She peered into the darkened doorway of the burnt structure.

"Blue Smoke," she muttered. "A clandestine organization inside a rogue guild."

It was better than that: a clandestine organization inside a rogue guild that was masquerading as a legal guild that was posing as a respectable corporate law office that was actually neck-deep in illegal schemes, fraud, embezzlement, and blackmail. It was secret-ception.

Speaking of secrets, yes, I'd decided to play one of my aces to avoid a trip straight back into Duncan's thirsty company. Revealing what I knew about Blue Smoke—and that Quentin had been involved—was a risk, but one I was willing to take.

Lienna gave me a skeptical look. "And the Blue Smoke group met here?"

"That's what Quentin told me."

He wasn't supposed to tell me anything, but Quentin's lips tended to loosen after a few margaritas or daiquiris or martinis or whatever his drink of choice was on a given night. According to the empath, KCQ's late guild master, Rigel, had collected a covert group of his favorite mythics for a mysterious purpose, which none of them were fully privy to.

Quentin hadn't even known why the group was called Blue Smoke. I'd speculated that it had something to do with the made-for-TV movie starring Scott Bakula of the same name. Quentin hadn't agreed.

Of course, I hadn't let on to Lienna that I didn't know much about the group or their plans. Revealing that little reality wouldn't help me any.

The moment we stepped inside the office building, darkness swept over us. She dug into her satchel, pulled out her phone, and activated its flashlight mode. With the bright beam guiding our way, we moved carefully through the debris.

"Where is it?" she asked, stepping over a burnt two-by-four.

I scanned the overcooked wreckage. Most of the drywall that had divided the rooms was ash, which made it difficult to get oriented. About halfway down the northernmost wall, I spotted a metal pillar, about three feet wide, that stretched up to the second story. The wooden planks that had formed a closet-sized enclosure around it were little more than charcoal now.

I nodded toward the structure. "This way."

We picked a path through the maze of melted plastic, scorched furniture, and the odd lump of super-seared god-knows-what. I stopped at the pillar.

She shone her light over it. "It doesn't look like anything."

"That's the idea."

As I ran my hand over the blackened steel, searching for the indent Quentin had described, a new beam of light swept across the room. I spun around, Lienna mimicking me.

A silhouette in the doorway pointed a much brighter flashlight at our faces, and I scrunched my eyes painfully.

"This building's off-limits," the man called.

"Crap," Lienna muttered.

"Rogue mythic?" I guessed, shielding my eyes with one hand.

She released her satchel. "Security."

The man lowered his eye-abusing light enough that I could make out his clothes—a security guard uniform. As he strode into the rubble with a self-important bent to his shoulders, I eyed him. Late twenties but sporting a thick, immaculately groomed brown mustache that belonged on a much older man.

"You two can't be in here." His jaw smacked as he chewed a massive wad of pink bubblegum. "Door is that way. Move along."

"MPD." Lienna flashed her badge at him. "We're here on official business."

"Whoa there, miss. Let me get a closer look at that badge."

Rolling her eyes, she held out her badge once more.

I stifled a grin. It was nice to see someone else on the receiving end of that eye roll. It gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling.

The guard examined her badge. "I've never seen one like this before. MPD? What are you two kids trying to pull?"

Kids? Seriously, dude? He wasn't that much older than us. Big brother older, sure, but definitely not father-figure older, which was how he was acting. What did this guy do for fun? Shake his cane at teenagers, take early walks in the mall, and compare prune juice brands?

Lienna pushed her ponytail of dark hair off her shoulder. "You don't know what the MPD is?"

"No, and I'm not playing your game. Now take yourselves to the door, please."

Blinking, she glanced at me as though asking what to do. I shrugged in answer. Guess an overzealous security guard hadn't come up in her one whole case before this, which had been arresting me in LA.

Drawing herself up, she levelled the man with her stern agent stare. "I'm afraid I don't have time to explain. You'll need to contact your superiors for an explanation."

His patronizing smile fizzled away. "Excuse me?"

"Call your superiors and tell them that an MPD agent is investigating this building."

The guard crossed his arms. "I don't appreciate being the butt of practical jokes."

Of course you don't, grandpa.

Lienna mirrored his stance with a scowl. I could practically see her patience level plunging into negative numbers.

"Make the call," she ordered.

After an unexpectedly protracted standoff, during which I had to stifle several amused snorts, the guard gave in and pulled out his cell phone. He grudgingly dialed a number.

"Hey, this is Trevor Eggert." He turned half away from us as though that would prevent us from overhearing his every word. "I'm over here at the Skyler building on Clark and Powell… No… no, the one that burned down last week… Yeah…"

While Eggert tried to convey his location to whoever was on the other line, I leaned toward Lienna and whispered, "You should've just hit him with a doom marble."

Eggert finished describing the two "kids" trying to bypass his authority, then paused to listen. "Are you sure? Absolutely sure?"

Apparently, the person on the other end was for sure sure, because our friendly neighborhood watchman hung up with a defeated frown.

"I don't know who you two are," he grumbled, "but I'll be just outside here, so no funny business."

"Sure thing, Eggsy." I waved as he trudged back across the room, then canted my head at Lienna. "You MPD agents are like the FBI. You just say the word and all lowlier forms of law enforcement get lost, huh?"

"The system wouldn't work if MPD agents were getting arrested left and right." She gestured at the pillar. "Go ahead."

Eyebrows arched, I turned back to the steel structure. Maybe I was biased, but the MPD had too much power. Magic was a big secret, but like most good secrets, all the important people in the world were in on it—the uppermost ranks of police, military, government, and business included. And the MPD used those connections to keep mythics out of prison and law enforcement well away from magic.

Musing about checks and balances and magical oligarchies—not that I'm an expert, but you learn things when you hang out with smooth criminal types—I stepped close to the pillar again.

"What are you looking for?" she asked.

I slid my hands over the scorched surface until my fingertips bumped across a shallow etching. "This."

She felt the spot and frowned. "A rune?"

"I just need to remember the password."

"You mean the incantation?"

"Sure, yeah. An open sesame kind of thing."

Her eyes narrowed. "We came all this way and you don't remember the spell?"

"One of the words started with an A, I think."

"If this is all a misguided attempt to waste my time or figure out how to escape, I will make sure they tack extra years onto your sentence."

"Hold on, Kojak," I said. "How good's your Latin?"

"Very."

"Really?"

"I'm a sorcerer. I've been studying Latin since I was six."

"Okay, so can you say the word ‘open' in Latin?"

"Patentibus."

"… and then the word ‘door'?"

"Ianua."

We both waited for the glowing outline of a door to appear, Mines of Moria style. At least, that's what I was waiting for.

When nothing happened, I tapped my chin. "How about the Latin word for ‘friend'?"

She glared at me.

"I thought it would work," I protested innocently. "I Google-translated the phrase after Quentin told me so I wouldn't forget. I'm pretty sure it was just ‘open door.'"

"Latin is too complicated for an online translation. There are close to eighty versions of the word ‘open,' depending on the meaning." She put her hand on the rune again and whispered, "Ori aperio ianuam."

The rune beneath her fingers lit up like a glow stick and we stepped back. The bright light spun in concentric circles, and as it died down, a loud click echoed through the space.

Not quite believing that helpful click noise, I pushed on the pillar. Its front face swung inward like an obedient steel door, a dim red light emanating from the space behind it.

"Yeah!" I cheered. "That was easy."

She eyed the opening warily. "Too easy."

I stepped into the crimson-lit innards of the pillar and discovered a narrow staircase leading downward. "Did you expect something fancier? KCQ was a Psychica guild. Spells and shit weren't our forte. We were more into—"

"—illegal moneymaking schemes?"

Aw, how cute. She was finishing my sentences. "Rigel called them innovative business ventures."

She followed on my heels as I headed down the stairs. There were more than I expected, descending closer to two stories than one. At the bottom was a small landing and a door with a normal knob. I swung it open.

The room on the other side was an exquisitely furnished concrete cube about the size of a two-car garage and bathed in the same red glow. A semi-circular wooden desk, with a sloppy pile of folders and books strewn across it, sat at the far end. One wall was lined with shelves and cabinets, and in the nearest corner, a pair of leather sofas lounged across from each other with a low coffee table between them.

I peered at the monochromatic paintings of a human brain above the sofas, then down at the floor, which featured a lovely and rather eerie etching of a Celtic knot with a twist of smoke rising through it. Seemed Rigel had prioritized his swanky hideaway over the rest of the building's renovations.

Lienna surveyed the space. "This is where Blue Smoke held their secret meetings?"

"That's what Quentin said."

"So, what're we looking for?"

"You're the detective." I shrugged. "I'm betting Quentin's already been here. Not only because the Jeffs mentioned it, but Jenkins's reading for Quentin was about smoke too."

"Did you know all along that the ‘smoke' in the readings referred to Blue Smoke?"

"Never crossed my mind," I claimed guilelessly.

She swept past me and into the middle of the room, where she assessed every detail as though expecting Rigel's angry ghost to jump out from behind the cabinets.

"I assume Geoff and Jeff's job was to prevent anyone from following Quentin from Jenkins's place to this office," I added, ambling over to the desk to study a crystal decanter with a big yellow daisy as a stopper. "And considering Rigel's stick-up-the-ass tidiness, my guess is that Quentin made this mess too."

"Don't touch anything," Lienna warned as I reached for the decanter.

"Why not? Afraid I'll sully the scene with my criminal fingerprints?"

"Did Rigel always light his rooms with red?"

"No, but it suits the super-secretive mood of his underground lair, don't you think? He had a flair for the dramatic."

Frowning skeptically, she moved toward the cabinets. As she craned her neck, examining the doors and handles, I drifted back toward the center of the room. The open door beckoned.

This location, unlike Jenkins's suburb, was far more suited to escape. I could flee east into the industrial complexes, or bolt west and disappear among the destitute and homeless population of the Eastside. Plenty of highly viable options within sprinting distance.

All I needed was for Lienna to get nice and distracted by a juicy piece of evidence.

Completing her study of the cabinets, she gingerly grasped the stainless steel handle, her spine rigid. When nothing happened, she relaxed her stance and pulled the door open.

I gave her back one of my almost-as-impressive eye rolls. I wasn't allowed to touch anything, but she could—

The red light permeating the room vanished and a deep yellow glow ignited, faint and shimmering strangely. It emanated from the floor near the walls, and I angled my head to peer past the sofas.

A faintly glowing, butter-colored liquid the consistency of melted ice cream ran along the floor as though someone had spilled their lemonade. It spread quickly, creeping away from the wall. I stepped backward, then turned for the door. An equally glowing and creepy puddle flooded the floor in front of the only escape.

I didn't know where the liquid was coming from, but whatever it was, there was no way it wasn't a really bad thing.