Authors: Nancy A. Collins
Left Hand Magic (27 page)
“Do you know his name?”
“No. But he had a KUP pin on his lapel, if that helps.”
“You were right, Tate,” Hexe said as we left the visitation room. “Dori has changed—you can smell it on her. When she began trafficking in curses I was afraid something like this would happen. The woman that I knew would never inflict a curse on someone who couldn’t protect herself. When we first met, she was a carto-mancer, designing special tarot decks and doing readings for clients. But the money wasn’t good enough, so she decided to branch out. We had a terrible fight about it, and that’s when we broke up.”
“Does inflicting curses turn the wizards and witches who cast them evil?” I asked.
“Not necessarily. Most Kymerans dabble in both Left and Right disciplines, and as long as they stick to the Lesser Curses, it balances out. But those who deal in the Greater Curses—the ones that are truly malevolent—run the risk of being tainted. To be willing to cast misfortune upon a stranger for no other reason than financial gain requires a certain darkness to begin with. But when you move up to disfigurement and death, what you’re doing goes from mischief-making to depraved indifference. The Left Hand Path is as insidious as cancer, and with each additional Greater Curse, the shadow on the heart grows larger.”
Upon our return to the entry desk, the blue-eyed Cyclops motioned to Hexe. “You’ll need this to leave,” she said, handing him a slip of paper. “It’s today’s exit pass.” He glanced at the paper, then stuck it in one of his pockets before continuing out the door.
As we exited the long, shadowy passageway that led from the hidden quadrangle to the street, one of the sphinxes that guarded the portico turned to regard us with a menacing growl, her lambent green eyes glowing in the ever-present gloom. Hexe and I froze as she padded toward us.
From the waist up, save for her pawlike forearms, she appeared to be a beautiful Egyptian princess, complete with vulture cap headdress and a pectoral made of gold, lapis lazuli, and faience, depicting the sun god Horus. From the waist down she was a lioness. To my surprise, the creature spoke with a deceptively sweet voice that belied her razor-sharp claws and needlelike teeth.
“With potent, flowery words speak I,
Of something common, vulgar, dry;
I weave webs of pedantic prose,
In effort to befuddle those,
Who think I wile time away,
In lofty things, above all day
The common kind that linger where
Monadic beings live and fare;
Practical I may not be,
But life, it seems, is full of me! What am I?”
“A riddler,” Hexe replied with a knowing smile.
Convinced that we weren’t escaped prisoners, the sphinx turned her tawny back on us and resumed her place on the plinth atop the stairs, alongside her mate. As we hurried down to the street, I could feel their twin gazes on my back, eyeing me as lions would a gazelle at the watering hole.
Chapter 22
“S
o—have you decided what you’re going to tell your parents?” Hexe asked quietly as we cabbed home from the Tombs.
o—have you decided what you’re going to tell your parents?” Hexe asked quietly as we cabbed home from the Tombs.
“Not only am I going to tell them to go to hell; I’m going to give them road maps and hold the door open for them as they leave!” I replied with a crooked grin. I expected Hexe to laugh, but instead he gave me a serious look.
“Are you
sure
that’s what you want to do?”
sure
that’s what you want to do?”
“No, but it’s not like they’re giving me a choice,” I admitted.
“I hate to sound like my mother, but maybe it
would
be a good idea for you to leave Golgotham for a little while. At least until the matter of the demon is resolved.”
would
be a good idea for you to leave Golgotham for a little while. At least until the matter of the demon is resolved.”
“Your mother’s a lot nicer about it than mine, but she’s definitely not thrilled with us hooking up,” I commented. “I wasn’t going to mention it in front of her, for fear of providing ammunition for her argument, but Nessie
did
offer to let me crash on her couch.”
did
offer to let me crash on her couch.”
“Why didn’t you say so?” Hexe exclaimed in relief. “Problem solved!”
“I can’t impose on her like that, what with the wedding coming up. And I thought you couldn’t send me away?”
“I meant everything I said: I can no more tell you to leave than I could cut off my own right hand. But if you go of your own volition—that’s different. I’d miss you terribly, but as long as I knew you still loved me, and would come back as soon as it was safe, I could handle it. I realize it would be unpleasant, but at least you’d be safer with your parents than living in Golgotham. It would just be a temporary situation—”
“That’s what they all say,” I replied with a humorless laugh. “You mentioned the Left Hand Path was insidious—that it corrupts you in slow motion, until you’re no longer the person you used to be. Well, the same holds true for my parents. If I pack up my things and head home, I might as well slit my wrists and get it over with. My mother has been trying to drag me back into the fold for years, and this thing with the demon gives her a good excuse to swoop in and try to run my life. You’re just icing on the cake, as far as she’s concerned. My parents don’t like the idea of me being involved with a Kymeran, but they
really
hate the fact that I’m an artist. Believe me, I’ve seen it before.
really
hate the fact that I’m an artist. Believe me, I’ve seen it before.
“I used to go to high school with this girl named Eleanor. She was an amazing, incredibly talented poet who wrote stuff that could make a statue cry. She had fire inside her—you could see it in her eyes. She went off to Vassar and got a few poems published that got some attention from the
New Yorker
. Everyone said she was going to be this century’s Edna St. Vincent Millay. When she graduated from college, she moved to the Village and decided to publish a poetry journal to showcase her work as well as that of her friends.
New Yorker
. Everyone said she was going to be this century’s Edna St. Vincent Millay. When she graduated from college, she moved to the Village and decided to publish a poetry journal to showcase her work as well as that of her friends.
“One thing led to another, and eventually Eleanor’s so deep in debt she defaults on the mortgage for her loft. That’s when her parents told her that if they were going to bail her out, she had to move back in with them. I remember her telling me that it would only be temporary, until she could straighten out her finances and get herself back on her feet. That was a couple of years ago.
“The last time I saw Eleanor, she was no longer ‘burning her candle at both ends,’ but taking high tea with the rest of the Ladies Who Lunch at the Plaza. She’d gotten married to some dreadful hedge fund manager, who I hear cheats on her every chance he gets, and they’d moved to New Hampshire. Now she just comes into the city to go shopping and attend her mother’s charity events. She was surprised and, I think, more than a little embarrassed to see me. When I looked into her eyes, I could tell the fire had been snuffed out. I don’t care
how
much safer I’d be sitting in my family’s penthouse—I’ll be damned if I end up a Bergdorf’s zombie.”
how
much safer I’d be sitting in my family’s penthouse—I’ll be damned if I end up a Bergdorf’s zombie.”
“I don’t think you’ll ever be in danger of losing your fire,” Hexe replied with a smile, squeezing my hand. “You’re a stronger woman than you give yourself credit for, Tate.”
“The pits be praised! I’ve been going crazy waiting for you two to get home!” Scratch yowled, nervously kneading the floor of the foyer with his front paws.
“I’m sorry it took so long, but we had to make a couple of stops after leaving the hospital,” Hexe replied. “I’m sure you’re
starving
, of course.”
starving
, of course.”
“I’m not hungry,” the familiar replied.
Hexe stared in disbelief. “
You?
Not hungry? What’s the matter? Are you sick?”
You?
Not hungry? What’s the matter? Are you sick?”
“I’m fine. I just can’t find Beanie. That’s all,” Scratch replied with an uncharacteristic hint of worry.
“What?”
Hexe and I gasped in unison.
Hexe and I gasped in unison.
“Did you check the backyard?” I asked, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.
“Of course I checked there—what do I look like, an idiot?” Scratch snapped. “I even searched the maze. I asked the hamadryad, and she says she hasn’t seen him all day.”
I hurried up the stairs to the second floor, praying that he had simply fallen asleep in the dirty laundry hamper again. “Beanie? C’mere, boy!” I called out. “Mommy’s home!” I paused, hoping to hear the velvety flap of his ears as he shook himself awake, followed by the familiar
thumpity-thump
of his paws against the hallway runner as he scampered to greet me, but there was only silence.
thumpity-thump
of his paws against the hallway runner as he scampered to greet me, but there was only silence.
“He’s not up there!” Scratch shouted after me. “Believe me, I’ve looked all over the house, and I can’t find him
anywhere
! I went downstairs and checked the basement, and I even went up to the third floor, just in case. He’s
not
in the house. I think he got out when the PTU crime scene investigators were here. They kept coming in and out. . . .”
anywhere
! I went downstairs and checked the basement, and I even went up to the third floor, just in case. He’s
not
in the house. I think he got out when the PTU crime scene investigators were here. They kept coming in and out. . . .”
I felt the bottom of my stomach fall away as what Scratch said started to sink in. The thought of Beanie being out on the streets, scared and alone, with no one to protect him, was far more distressing to me than the possibility of another demon attack. I hurried back downstairs to join the others in the kitchen.
“Beanie’s out there by himself, Hexe,” I said breathlessly. “He’s just a baby—he’s never been mistreated. He doesn’t know people can be mean, or that things can hurt him. He’s never known anything but love and kindness his whole life. He doesn’t even know enough to be scared! What if he runs out in front of a carriage and gets crushed? I’ve got to go find him! But where do I start?”
“I think I know a way to locate him,” Hexe said, ducking into his office.
As I waited for him to find whatever it was he was looking for, Scratch hopped onto the kitchen counter, so that he was eye to eye with me. “I’m sorry, Tate,” the familiar said. “This is all my fault. I should have kept watch on him. I would already be out looking for him, but I’m bound to the house until Hexe says otherwise.”
“Where’s all this concern coming from?” I asked in surprise. “I thought you
hated
Beanie!”
hated
Beanie!”
“I don’t
hate
him!” Scratch replied indignantly. “I just think I’m
better
than he is.”
hate
him!” Scratch replied indignantly. “I just think I’m
better
than he is.”
“This should do the trick,” Hexe said, returning to the kitchen with a scrying crystal the size and shape of a small avocado. “It was designed to reveal the exact location of missing persons and misplaced things. And since Beanie falls somewhere between those two categories, I think we have a good chance of finding him with it.”
He knelt beside the refrigerator and dunked the odd-shaped crystal into Beanie’s water bowl, then held it up to the light. As the water began to dry on its surface, shapes began to move deep within its heart, gradually resolving into distinguishable black-and-white images. My heart leaped at the sight of Beanie running down a narrow, trash-strewn passageway.
“I think I know where he is,” Hexe said, turning the scrying crystal around for closer inspection. “That looks like Snuff Alley, behind the Stagger Inn, just off Rutger Street.”
“At least he’s still alive and in one piece!” I sighed in relief.
“Not for much longer, though,” Hexe said grimly, pointing to the living buzz saw of teeth and claws in pursuit of the puppy.
“Bloody abdabs!” I yelped. “What the hell
is
that thing?”
is
that thing?”
“It’s a rat king,” Scratch growled, his eyes glowing like lanterns. “I can’t
stand
those chuffers!”
stand
those chuffers!”
As I watched, helpless to intervene, Beanie ducked between a pair of overflowing garbage cans, putting his back against the alley wall, as the mass of writhing rodent flesh advanced upon him with snapping teeth and scuttling claws.
“Come on, let’s get him before he’s torn to shreds!” I shouted.
As I threw open the front door, Scratch leaped in front of me, blocking our path. “Let me go with you two,” the familiar pleaded. “I can get there faster.”
Hexe nodded and Scratch jumped over the threshold and with a couple flaps of his wings shot into the air, soaring past the roof of the boardinghouse.
Hexe and I hurried in the direction of Rutger Street, dodging fellow pedestrians as we tried to keep an eye on the hairless cat flying high over our heads. As we crossed Perdition, I spotted a narrow opening between a tenement building and the Stagger Inn, an establishment that catered to the harder drinkers of Golgotham, which was saying something. The passageway was barely wide enough to allow two adults to walk side by side, and was far too narrow to accommodate a centaur, with or without a carriage.
With its rusty fire escapes and clotheslines full of drying laundry hanging overhead, Snuff Alley looked no different than it had a century ago, or the century before that. And judging from the stench coming from the overflowing garbage cans that lined both sides of the alley, that was also the last time the sanitation department had paid a visit.
“I see them!” Scratch called out from his vantage point high above. “They’re twenty yards in, on the left-hand side!”
I charged down Snuff Alley without a thought as to what might be lurking in the shadows. All that mattered at that moment was that my dog was in trouble and needed my help. Then I saw the rat king.
What I had glimpsed in the scrying crystal had been awful enough, but it was nothing compared to seeing the creature in the flesh. It was composed of at least a dozen Norwegian rats, arranged in an outward-facing circle. The long, hairless tails of the individual rodents were tightly braided together, creating the hub of a wheel, of which each rat was a spoke. No matter what direction you looked at it, the rat king was nothing but snarling, snapping heads with razor-sharp teeth and filthy claws, and it was impossible to sneak up on.
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