Cold Hearted: A Yancy Lazarus Novel (Episode Two) (12 page)

“Fortuna …” Things started turning in the ol’ hamster wheel I call a brain. “Wait, are you Lady Luck?”

“No, I’m For-
tuna
, the overseer of the great sea-tuna. Yes, of course I’m Lady Luck. Dolt.”

I took another inventory: plain-Jane, a little mousy, dull brown hair, business wear. “You’re different than I’d imagined.”

She rolled her eyes and quirked an eyebrow. “Oh? Did you expect me to look like some trampy dancer from the Vegas strip? Maybe a red-headed pinup girl with a pair of double-D’s, bouncing around in a cocktail dress?”

“Well, yeah, actually. That’s how Lady Luck is always pictured.”

She rolled her eyes again and sighed. “Men. I swear,” she said, but didn’t imbue her words with the scorn of the truly offended. “Luck is important. Modern man has lost sight of this essential truth, I think. Here on your continent I’ve been relegated to the casinos and backroom gambling dens. Ridiculous.

“Now the Romans,” she said, then paused for a moment as though reminiscing fondly. “They had a proper perspective on things. By my hand battles are won or lost. Vast treasures come or go. A lucky harvest can mean plenty or starvation. Why, with just a little fortune—or misfortune—whole nations can rise or fall. Men and women might live or die by my interference or lack thereof. A bullet which lands in your shoulder instead of your heart? Luck. A car zooms through a red light and narrowly misses a child crossing the intersection? Luck. Just a little of my aid can go quite a long way. Serious business, fortune.”

“Got it—not the good-natured stripper with a heart of gold.”

“Indeed not,” she said with a voice as dry as the savanna in summer. But still, a little grin flashed across her lips.

“So you’re here to spring me?” I asked.

“Ummm.” She pressed her lips into a grimace. “No, not quite that simple, I’m afraid. My patron has sent me to lend you aid, provided that you agree to finish the task you have already undertaken.” She pulled a glossy photo out and set it on top of all the other, carefully arrayed pictures of dead monsters wearing human faces. The picture was of fat-faced Randy.

“This is Randy Shelton, the man behind the murder of Maxim Kozlov, which, of course, you already know. Randy is currently setting in motion forces beyond his control which may well unbalance the destiny which the Three-Faced-Hag, Lady Fate—my Patron—has been entrusted to preserve. Now, he is but a pawn in some larger scheme, which yet remains unknown to me and my lady, but Shelton must be stopped. And you … you, have become something of a lynchpin in the whole bloody affair, it would seem. So my Lady has dispatched me to be your patron and guide until your role in this little drama is played out.”

“Sounds like all upside to me—I get to knock Randy down a peg, and you help me get my powers back and break outta the hoscow. So what’s the catch? In my experience, if it looks too good to be true, something is probably about to try to turn your insides into your outsides.”

“Quite apropos, actually.” She pulled out another photo, this one of a crude silver ring, old, worn, etched with runes and glyphs inside and out, a giant ruby affixed to the top.

“What’s with the gaudy costume jewelry?”

“The gaudy costume jewelry,” she said without missing a step, “is the first catch. A thousand years ago or more there lived an evil mage called Koschei the Deathless. As his name implies, he’s deathless—a Lich, actually. Except someone did kill him … well, imprisoned his immortal soul in the ring at any rate. The details are hazy at best. The ring itself has been locked away, guarded by the Guild of the Staff. Yet Randy has it, thus Koschei has him.”

That had some serious implications. If the ring had gone missing from the Guild’s vault, it meant someone on the Guild was one dirty little birdy—though I couldn’t even begin to fathom why someone would want to release a nasty old Lich into the world.

“You said that Koschei was the first catch. What’s the second?”

“The second—yes, the second. Since I work for the Three-Faced-Hag, I am granted a somewhat limited knowledge of the future. I have foreseen that shortly, this station will go on lock-down due to a terrible winter storm stirred up by Old Man Winter. Koschei will then use the atmospheric disturbance to unleash something horrific to hunt you down and murder anything that gets in the way—like a building full of police officers.”

I let out a low whistle. “Wow. That’s a hell of a catch. But if you break me out, then it stands to reasons that the monster won’t hang around, right?”

“Yes, that assumption is quite astute. Unfortunately, I will not be breaking you out at all. Fate’s a bit of a tricky thing, you see. The White King”—she pointed to the ceiling—“has decreed that the freewill of human beings not be unduly infringed upon. So our involvement is necessarily limited. Hence the reason for your involvement. You will be Lady Fate’s Hand, her mortal agent, in this matter. Quite literally, the Hand of Fate. Now, as your Patron, I can nudge things this way or that, providing a lucky break at just the right moment, but major intervention? No. Not my thing. Couldn’t do it even if it was my thing.”

“You’re not gonna get me out? There’s a friggin’ blizzard about to descend, plus a face-eating monster on the way, and you’re just, what … bailing on me? What the hell is the upside to having you in my corner?”

“Well, as the saying goes, forewarned is forearmed. Aren’t you better off now than when I first entered?”

I thought about it for a moment, and I guess she had a point—a
very
small point, which, pragmatically, was almost useless. Better than nothing, though. “And what about my power?” I asked again. If I had my power it would be a completely different ball game.

“Oh, right, your power,” she said while tapping a finger thoughtfully on her chin. “No, I’m afraid you will not have access to your power. Hopefully that shouldn’t prove too problematic.”

I felt like smashing my head into a wall or maybe jumping off a bridge. Hell, if there was a shark tank in the room, I’d probably throw myself in to save myself the headache—getting torn to bits by a shark was probably the less painful option. At least the shark would be quick.

“My power will come back, right?” I asked, and my voice broke a little. There had been plenty of times in my life where I’d wished I was just a normal guy, without all the supernatural bullshit to contend with. But, in truth, my power was a part of who I was—what the hell would I be without it?

“That depends.” She withdrew a third photo, this one some kind of funky-looking drinking flask: beaten bronze set with seven rubies that formed a cross on its front. Sticking out of the bottom was a strange key-like protrusion a couple of inches long. Looked like something you might find in one of those old-timey antique shops. Fortuna was quiet a long while, her eyes slightly unfocused, seemingly lost in thought, or maybe catching some vision I wasn’t privy to.

I snapped my fingers a couple of times. “Hey, Earth to Lady Luck. You gonna tell me about
Antiques Roadshow
there or what?”

“Sorry.” She shook her head, her eyes refocused. “Yes, right, that. The Holy Grail, actually. You have been poisoned with an ancient toxin, the making of which has been lost for ages. But Koschei the Deathless is ages old and is one of the few creatures living that knows how to brew it. He used the poison to incapacitate Kozlov, and you, unfortunately were poisoned by touching Kozlov’s blood. You will remain powerless indefinitely. This artifact, however, can cure you. And I know where it is. If you survive the night and find a way to escape, I’ll help you get it.”

“You’re the worst,” I said. Dammit! Screw the shark tank—a wood chipper would be more merciful than this. “So just to recap—you’re going to abandon me to the hands of a FBI agent who wants to see me fry, while expecting me to fight off some living nightmare in the middle of a blizzard, and then orchestrate a jail break … without the Vis.”

She nodded vigorously. “Yes, I think that’s a good summation. Glad you’ve been paying attention.”

“Just the absolute worst.”

A shrill ring emanated from her purse. She fished out one of those fancy, newfangled iPhones, thumbed the screen, and lifted the phone to her ear.

Someone jabbered on the other end of the line, just a faint hum of noise on the outside range of my hearing. Fortuna nodded a couple of times. “Yes, I’ve given him the brief.” More senseless jabbering. “I’m not sure … No, he seems compliant, but you know how these mortals can be—fickle and ungrateful.” She shot me a playful look over the top of her glasses. “Yes … Okay … I’ll be on the way shortly—and tell her not to start without me.” She hung up the call and slid the phone back into her briefcase.

“Mr. Lazarus,” she smiled, “it’s really been quite the pleasure to see you again.” She reached across the table and took my chained hands in hers. She smiled gently, almost sadly. The lights flickered overhead, while the wind howled against the station. “That’s my cue, I’m afraid. The best of
luck
.” She giggled at her own pun and stood up. “I kill myself.”

“I wish,” I muttered under my breath.

“Oh, play nice … One last thing, get friendly with Agent Ferraro. Be open with her, honest. Tell her everything if you must. You’re going to need her help if you plan to live through the night.” She packed up her briefcase, stood, turned heel, and banged on the two-way mirror,
thump, thump, thump
. A few moments later the door swung open and Ferraro strode back into the interrogation room.

“All done?” the grumpy agent said, folding arms across her chest and staring daggers at Fortuna then me in turns.

“Oh yes. My client has waived the right to counsel and has decided he will cooperate with you to the fullest extent of his ability—which, I’ll readily admit, is limited. Not the brightest crayon in the box, this one.” She turned back to me for just a second. “Again, good luck Mr. Yancy Lazarus.” She giggled again and shot me a wink.

I wanted to shoot her something in return, but it damn sure wasn’t a wink—I was thinking about something with a much higher caliber.

She walked from the room, accompanied by Ferraro, and the door swung shut behind the pair. My life.

ELEVEN:

Black Out

“Yancy Lazarus,” Agent Ferraro said, sounding pleased. “That’s a new one—I’ll have to add it to the list.” She took out a note pad from her pocket and casually scribbled the name down, then slid the pad back into its place. “So you’re going to cooperate … That seems, unlikely.”

The lights flickered again, the wind sounding unnaturally loud in the night—man, this was like the set-up for a bad horror movie. There was energy out there in the night, I could feel it even without being able to touch the Vis. That no-goodnik Old Man Winter was manipulating the weather—calling up a storm and simultaneously weakening the bonds between Earth and Outworld. With all that distortion, it’d be easy for Randy to conjure up some tentacle-clad, horror-show. My life just wouldn’t be complete without one of those.

This was going to turn out terribly—there was no way it couldn’t.

“Look Ferraro, I’m not interested in confessing. Not exactly—that lawyer … she’s a little off kilter. But maybe there are a few things we should talk about. Just kinda clear the air a little. That sort of thing.”

“Oh, I’m listening.” She pulled out the chair across from me and took a seat, seemingly at ease, though I knew it was all show. My guess was that Ferraro was never at ease—lady probably took a bubble bath with a glass of wine in one hand and her Glock in the other.

But I needed her help. Something was coming—I could feel it swell, rise, and fall, like some invisible tsunami inbound for our little slice of Earth. A hazy cloud seemed to melt through the roof, a rolling, bubbling pool of black—visible to me, but invisible to Ferraro. The energy lashed out at me, its weight settled into my bones, and around my shoulders like a heavy winter jacket. Sinking down, into my skin. I shook for a second, just a brief muscle spasm that probably looked like little more than a set of chills. It was a helluva lot more than chills, though, let me tell you.

I’d just been cursed.

Well, cursed in a manner of speaking. Douche-waffle Randy had just anchored his summoning construct to me—whatever was about to break in from Outworld wouldn’t stop until one of us went down for keeps. I’m a gambler by trade, and I was gonna call in my bet for the other guy.

My time was running out damn quick. “Shit. Okay, look … so those people.” I picked up the photos and leafed through them, looking at each face. “They weren’t really people. And yeah, maybe I had some part in their … let’s say disappearance, but you gotta believe me—they were monsters. And not in the metaphorical sense. These were the kind of monsters with fangs and spikes and fur. Or bat wings in some cases.” I pointed at the picture of the little girl, the Tiktik. “Underneath this kid’s flesh mask, she looked like a
Walking Dead
cast reject—except with a five-foot tongue and a pair of bat wings. Crazy shit, right there.”

“You son of a bitch,” she said. “You’re going for an insanity plea—that’s your game plan, huh? Well, it’ll never stick. I’m gonna see them lock your ass away in the Florence Supermax until they put the needle in your arm.”

“What? No. Look, I’m not trying to game the system here. And no, I’m not trying for an insanity plea—though that’s a hell of an idea. Listen, these things were no-shit monsters—supernatural creatures from the darker parts of reality. At the time it was sorta my job to deal with them, to keep regular folks safe. Like a cop I guess. See, I can do magic. Well, we don’t call it magic—I can use the
Vis
, which is kinda like doing magic. Sort of …” Boy, to some Rube cop, I bet this sounded like crazy-banana-pants, madman gibberish.

“Magic,” she said, her voice as smooth, flat, and cold as a frozen winter lake. “Prove it. Do some magic for me.”

Dammit all to hell. Stupid Randy. Stupid, deathless Koschei. Good-for-nothing Lady Luck. “Well … I can’t exactly
do
any magic
right now
.” I tapped my fingers against the tabletop. “It’s complicated, but I’ve temporarily been poisoned by an evil mage …” I just trailed off at the end and finished with a sigh. Hearing myself, even I thought I sounded about five cans short of a six-pack. No one would ever buy this, at least not until the monster showed up.