Illusion (19 page)

“Where’s the grimoire … the book holding my charcoal drawings?” Maya asked as they traveled down a long hall in the fortress, passing people who avoided her gaze.

Clarice increased her speed and Maya skipped to keep up, her heels tapping on the stone floor.

“Only the arch-warlocks have access to the Vault,” Clarice muttered.

“It’s my fault he’s there, so I’ll bring him back. You know where it is.”

They hastened toward a group of warlocks standing at the top of a staircase, their barrel chests and buttoned jackets giving them a stoic dignity. Moonlight glinted off the dangerous eyes of one of the men, a similar shade to the sword at his side. The sensory overload of incense and frowning faces felt like a vat of hot oil tipped over her head.

Clarice grasped her arm and pulled her down the stairs. At the bottom she stared at Maya, tilting her head slightly in consideration. “I want my son back, but I don’t know the entry combination to the Vault.”

“Alexandr is an adept. He has access, surely?” Maya’s heart gave a loud thump. The warlock was furious with her. But right now she didn’t care what he thought of her. Even if Resh never trusted her again, she had to bring him home.

“All adepts know where it is,” Clarice said.

A low ring resounded through the curved walls.

“Dinner,” said Clarice. “No better place to find Alexandr. If we’re to convince him, bring your best words. He’ll be close to conversation and power.”

* * * *

Warlocks settled in front of long trestle tables in the dining hall. The air was crisp and laden with the scent of white jasmine petals floating in wooden bowls. The conversation was high and excited, bouncing off the domed ceiling where a glittering array of dolomite dangled from three enormous candelabra, almost the size of Maya’s old apartment. The crystals were lit from within and cast white reflections on the polished floorboards. Women wore similar slinky garments to the one Maya had donned earlier, their hair piled high in elaborate twists and braids, while the men seemed more formally attired in dark, fitted pants and high-buttoned military style jackets. Open windows stretched along the eastern wall, allowing a view of the stars and the one huge moon hanging like a lantern in the blue-black sky.

The western wall was taken up with the faded image of a painted serpent. In places, the surface had crumbled off, revealing white plaster beneath. Every time a warlock passed the painting, the colors changed. The snake seemed to undulate slightly, almost creeping across the wall, as if it wanted to get out. And behind the snake, well, there appeared to be a small figure skulking about.

Maya averted her gaze, but Clarice must have caught her stare.

“It’s from the Old Kingdom,” Clarice explained. The serpent, perhaps a hundred feet long, was covered in cuneiforms, and the bloated curves and waving lines were like great waves dashing on the ocean floor. It made Maya ill just to look at it.

“The serpent of life and death and the path one follows in rituals of transformation,” Clarice continued. “We have many reptiles in Balkaith and all are revered.” She motioned to a long bench and several empty seats in the neck of the Y where the trestle tables met before a stone fireplace. “Shall we?”

Despite the hundreds of chairs, the folk soon settled with a minimum of fuss and chatter. Tall metal goblets sat on a pristine cloth, along with round silver platters.

Food was the last thing on Maya’s mind. She was exhausted by worry, but she followed Clarice’s lead, taking a small sip from the goblet. The warlocks close by ate with their fingers and a knife, avoiding Maya’s gaze. It was as if a vacuum of empty space surrounded her and Clarice.

“Obviously word has gotten around.” Maya stared at her plate. On her wrist was a thin silver band carrying white ceramic balls. Clarice had clicked it around her wrist before they entered the dining hall, with a soft reminder that it would warn her of the djinni’s movements.

“Most know you’ve arrived,” the older woman said.

At least they didn’t seem to expect anything of her. She usually avoided crowds or formal occasions, but tonight they needed to find Alexandr. She took a deep breath and held it, glad she was sitting down since her knees felt watery.

“None will approach without an invitation. Your status is uncertain and until awarded sanctuary, you don’t exist,” Clarice said.

Alexandr appeared on the other side of the table. His chair scraped on the floor as he pulled it out and sat down, frowning. He focused his attention on Maya. “What are you doing here?”

“Good evening, Alexandr,” Clarice answered, calmly picking up a goblet and taking a sip.

“She could have eaten in her rooms. Her appearance will only cause distress for his family,” Alexandr said.

Clarice spoke to him in what Maya was starting to recognize as a mixture of old Greek and Latin.

A female servant slipped platters of cheese, fruit, and meat onto the middle of the table, interrupting the dispute.

The smell of food made Maya’s stomach churn.

“I want you to take me to the Vault,” she said abruptly. She might as well get straight to the point. “My pictures are in the grimoire and I can use them to bring him home.”

Alexandr’s mouth tightened and he looked at Clarice, who shrugged and stabbed a piece of sweet-smelling fruit with a silver knife.

“Something in there will help,” Maya persisted.

“What do you know of your pictures?” Alexandr asked.

“If I can see them maybe I can alter them in some way. Access Resh’s soul.”

His face darkened. “Your stupidity planted Resheph in the Abyss. I’ve spent most of the afternoon trying to gather support, but the Tribune have decided. They won’t bring him back. If I push further I’ll be thrown from the Conclave.”

“Earlier today I drew for Clarice,” Maya said, determined. “We found Resh and he’s being tortured. If I can get my hands on that book…” She tried to keep the desperation from her voice. “Don’t forget it’s your fault he agreed to come to Earth in the first place.”

Alexandr withdrew a dagger from his cloak. He selected meat from the platter with the point of his knife and tapped a thin slice onto his plate with a forceful flick, rattling the glassware. “If what you say is true, then I’ll take you to the Vault. Lower your tone and start eating, or you’ll draw attention.”

Clarice nodded. “He wouldn’t give up on you, Alexandr.”

Maya looked around the table, noting the other folk had brought their own knives.

Clarice realized her mistake and gave Maya a tight smile. “My apologies, age makes me forgetful. We’ll ask the serving girl to bring you a knife.”

“It’s fine, I have my own.” Reaching under her skirt, Maya pulled her
kila
from the ankle sheath. She placed it on the table. Clarice jolted as if hit by an electrical current. Blood drained out of her face, making it parchment white.

Alexandr choked on a sip of water, coughing hard. Clarice half stood. Reaching across the table, she smacked him hard on the back and tossed a napkin over the dagger at the same time.

A rush of air heralded the arrival of another guest. One smelling of perfume, her glittering purple eyes outlined in kohl. Her full red mouth was curved into a smile. She had gold wire entwined in her long, dark hair.

“Ahh, Sorceress Esmonda. How good of you to join us.” Clarice sat with a slight bump, a touch of red on her cheeks. She swiped the napkin and dagger and thrust them under the table, onto Maya’s lap.

The weight of the knife pressed against Maya’s thigh. She resisted the urge to fan her hot cheeks. She’d done something wrong, but for the life of her couldn’t work out why her companions looked so frightened.

Clarice’s voice was as high-pitched as when she’d first seen the djinni. “Esmonda, this is Maya McAdam. Maya, meet Resheph’s sister, the sorceress Esmonda-wa-Khasis.”

Maya’s wristband rattled. The bangle twirled, faster and faster around her wrist until it was a soft blur, flashing under the light. She shoved her arm under the table, but the bracelet hummed a low tone and hit the underside of the wood with soft, intermittent thuds. The djinni was back and the timing couldn’t have been worse.

Clarice closed her eyes briefly; her forehead wrinkled.

Esmonda lowered her gaze to Maya’s lap, and gave a small smile that caused an army of tiny demons to dance between Maya’s shoulder blades.

Esmonda kicked her dress out of the way of her feet and leaned one hand on the table, her breath hot on Maya’s face.

The hall went quiet, the clang of knives falling from loose hands bringing Maya’s head up. Warlocks were staring at their little group.

“Enjoy your meal,” Esmonda said in a clear voice. “It will be your last one. Either by my hand, or by order of the Tribune. I demand your death in lieu of my brother’s soul.”

The Bitter Taste of Knowledge

Alexandr pushed open a heavy curtain, revealing a small alcove with a padded red window seat. Maya didn’t need Alexandr’s nod to tell her to follow Clarice inside. The curtain whispered shut behind him. A gilt mirror leaning on the alcove wall revealed Maya’s short frame and a riotous mess of blonde curls sticking to her pale skin.

Raising his hand, Alexandr peeled through layers of stone that cracked apart with a hiss to reveal the top treads of a spiral staircase, the lower levels still shrouded in darkness. Puffs of ozone wrapped around Maya as she held onto a rusty balustrade and followed Alexandr and Clarice down to the Vault. The warm air ruffled her hair, drying the perspiration on her arms and legs and leaving a faint residue of salt on her upper lip. After living for so long in the cold, Balkaith’s heat was deliciously sticky and wet. The air swam with a heavy mix of coconut oil and valerian root.

“The dagger is from old Canaan. A savage knife used for sacrifice,” said Alexandr, his voice a hollow echo coming from several feet below. The dark tip of his staff glowed to life. It cast a yellow nimbus around his body, finding smudges of red in his hair and revealing stone walls and splintered treads that leaned on an awkward angle, perfect for Maya’s smaller feet.

“Never bring the dagger out in mixed company. Certainly not to eat with,” Clarice said. “Some have long memories and would judge you for it.”

Like Esmonda, who’d made it clear the only thing standing between Maya and certain death was a few measly hours. She scrunched her nose and gripped the warm metal balustrade. Why had the dagger been attracted to her? An awful sensation of butterflies flipped in her stomach. She squinted into the darkness, recalling Jusef as he handled the knife in the
alchemagical
shop. His warm smile had shimmered like a new dawn, carrying knowledge and something else. If she didn’t know better, she’d call it hope.

“Maybe I should get rid of the knife,” Maya said.

“If it’s bonded, it will only find you again.” Alexandr’s voice echoed. “Resheph wouldn’t have known its background.”

“He was as keen a scholar as you,” Clarice admonished.

“Only if it furthered his war strategy,” Alexandr said, reaching the bottom of the Vault. He touched the top of his staff to an iron wall sconce and it crackled to life, revealing a large cavern with crumbling walls, where hundreds of marked bottles perched on rough plank bookshelves. In the middle of the room rested a white stone platform on a channeled floor. Massive square pillars rested in each corner of the room—two white and two black—all engraved with multiple astrological markings.

Maya’s boots crunched on the pebbles and mortar.

Alexandr brandished his staff and the plinth cracked open, revealing a leather-bound manuscript as thick as Maya’s forearm.

She pushed the image of Jusef aside and walked toward the grimoire, the scent of incense and musk growing with each click of her boots on the uneven stone.

“Speak to it. Don’t touch the pages,” Alexandr warned as she reached his side. His hands were a weird sickly yellow in the amber light.

Maya nodded. “Show me my illustrations.”

The worn pages opened soundlessly. Leaves flipped, casting a breeze over her face. Black ash floated out of the book, spinning in mini vortices, and she pinched the bridge of her nose, holding back a sneeze.

The book opened to a dense black void with twirling lights. “Not my picture,” she said.

“The pictures change,” said Alexandr. “We’re never quite sure what will appear. In the beginning it was your apartment.” He met Maya’s gaze. “After that it was the small white room on Earth where we sent Resheph. Yesterday it changed again… Darkness is all it shows now.”

Cuneiform writing marched down the side of the page. The ink was red and globular, suspiciously blood-like. “It looks like the Abyss,” Maya said.

Clarice leaned over the book.

It repositioned itself so fast the breath caught in Maya’s throat, and she coughed to hide the huff of surprise.

Clarice pointed to a wedge shape in the corner of the page. “This is the demonic hierarchy behind the Gates of Mithra. Besmelo is the guardian of the gates, as shown by his signature here.”

“Where’s Molokh?” Maya asked.

Clarice pointed to one of the cuneiforms on the opposite corner. The lines wriggled and danced just out of reach.

“So, how do I summon him?”

“Calling a demon takes matters too far.” Clarice’s eyes widened to two green lamps, stark with fear.

“Either show me or go,” Maya said. “I’m going to bargain with it. It must know where Resh is.”

“Dealing with a demon brings consequences,” Alexandr said. “I don’t know if I can translate the incantation.”

“Try.”

“Besmelo will not let this transgression pass unpunished. I’ll not participate in this.” Clarice half turned to leave.

Alexandr reached across and grasped her sleeve. She glared back at him over her shoulder.

“You supported this girl. The Khereb are on Earth, which leads us to Molokh,” he said, adding quickly, “If a demon has Resh, our old enemy will know where he is. Do you want your son back?”

“You’re a fool for considering this. Let’s hope the storm you unleash doesn’t turn on all of us.” Clarice shook off his hold and moved toward the stairs, her heels tapping in the semidarkness.