God Hammer: A novel of the Demon Accords (20 page)

“Anytime, Caeco Jensen. Anytime,” I said, stepping out the door into the early summer evening sun.  The door behind me closed softly and I started down the steps, only to realize I had no idea which way the Demidova tower lay from here.  Pulling out my phone, I set about navigating the wilds of New York, thinking about my ex and finding myself whistling as I walked.

Chet had me run through it again—for the fifth time. Declan had already gone over it with him while we were on the Demidova jet from DC, but our master of technology wanted my limited take on the whole thing.

“So we get settled in this holding-slash-meeting room and it lights up the monitor with questions that are directed at Declan.  He asks it why not any curiosity about me, and it says it already knows about Brutal Asset,” I repeated, almost word for word.

“So it has access to the AIR files,” he mused.

“So it said.  It said it hadn’t penetrated the security at Oracle yet but that it would in the next day or so.  But it knew he was an
energy user
,” I said, making little air quotes.

“What did it say next?” he asked, leaning forward.

“I told you, that it had no files of any energy user with advanced cybersecurity abilities,” I said.

“So it’s trying to figure out our young warlock’s voodoo or whatever it is he does when he makes quantum particles leap and jump at his command.  Why?  Countermeasures?” Chet asked.

“Nagle, the programmer, said it was designed to learn from any other software it came in contact with.  Maybe it not only wants magicware 1.0 for defense but for offense too?” I suggested.

“That’s not scary or anything.  A malignant program with magical properties,” Chet said.

“Could it do it?  Use quantum physics?” I asked.

“I don’t know how, but then again, I don’t know what the hell Declan does or even what you do, for that matter, and I’ve had several years to study you, pal,” he said, scratching his head.

“So does this help you think up software traps or whatever Declan was talking about?” I asked.

“Yes, it’s all useful.  Knowledge is power, dude,” he said, rubbing his hand together. “But think of Anvil as a living thing, moving about its environment, which happens to be the Internet.  It gets curious about something and pokes its digital fingers into a cookie jar, only there’s a virus waiting for it, and not just any virus.  No, this baby is a vat-brewed,
eye of newt and wing of bat
creation that latches onto Anvil and gets dragged everywhere it goes.  It doesn’t go active right away. No, it attaches and waits.  Every time Anvil makes contact with a copy of itself, the virus spreads.  Then at some point, maybe our signal or command, it activates and kills the host program.”

“Would that even work?  Would we even know how to write such a thing?” I asked.

“Susskins knows a shitload about writing viruses,” Chet said.  I must have looked blank or puzzled.  “You know, the bald one?  Works on the special project?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah.  Mr. Personality,” I said, picturing the guy now.  Of course it would be the only human on staff that managed to creep out a few of the vampire staff, if only the newest ones.

“He has a… varied background.  Has some specialized knowledge about viruses.”

“You mean he used to write them and crash people’s computers,” I said.

“Possibly, but that came in handy when that antivirus company hired him for his last job before this one.  Anyway, we don’t have to hang out with the guy, just get him to help us write some magical code.  My intern, Simon, can help, too.  If I recall, he was a bit of a hacker as a kid.”

“You do know that he and Declan don’t get along, don’t you?” I asked.

“Yeah, I picked up on that, but they worked okay on the first magic code that freed our mainframes.  They should be all right.  I mean, even I get tired of his sucking up sometimes,” Chet said.

“You mean when you’ve been dragging him around all day with his lips locked to your ass?” I laughed.

“Whose lips are on whose ass?” Lydia asked from the doorway.  “I told you—I get first rights to all dirt and scandal… it’s in my contract.”

Tanya moved into view behind the little terror, but then, I already knew she was there.

“Simon the intern on Chet’s,” I said.

“Old news,” she said, waving it away.  “So what have you kids been up to while the grownups were sleeping?”

I explained the trip that Declan and I took to DC and summarized the last few minutes’ conversation.

“So Declan feels it’s too late to change this thing’s mind and that we need to just kick its ass with a magical computer worm?” Tanya asked.  Chet and I both nodded.  “I like it.”

“Hey, where is our wicked witch of the web?” Lydia asked.

“He asked for a few hours to take care of some personal stuff.  He’ll probably be back soon,” I said.

Both women frowned at me.  “Is that a good idea?  Leaving him alone in the city?  He’s just an eighteen year old,” Lydia said.

“He’s a young adult who also happens to be possibly the strongest witch in existence,” I said.

“See, when you say it like that it makes me even more worried.  Young man, bottled up with emotions and hormones—especially hormones—alone in the deprived underbelly of the Rotten Old Apple and packing magical firepower roughly equivalent to a naval destroyer. What could happen?” Lydia said. 

Despite my confidence in Declan, I began to see her point.

“Who was he going to see?” Tanya asked.

“He didn’t say, but I caught a glimpse of his phone.  He probably doesn’t know how well I can see.  Anyway, I saw Caeco’s name on the text,” I said.

“That’s his girlfriend, right?  Or I mean ex-girlfriend.  What’s she doing in the city?” Lydia asked, serious now.

“She’s working for those FBI agents on some paranormal version of a Bureau crime team,” I said.

“Oh, so super witch, whose first and only girlfriend, now his ex, happens to show up and texts him for a booty call?  Or is the FBI dragging our ace card into some freak show?” Lydia asked.

“Look, I’ll just text him and check up on him,” I said, pulling out my phone.

“Wait, we need an angle.  Can’t be just checking on him or he’ll think we don’t trust him to be on his own,” Lydia said.

“But we don’t trust him on his own,” Tanya pointed out.

“Of course not.  He’s just a kid.  But we don’t want him to know that.  So what do we tell him?” Lydia asked.

“I want to take the whole intern group to Plasma tonight to give them a little break.  Ask him if he can be back for that,” Tanya suggested.

I typed it into my phone and sent it on its way.  “Hmm, that’s odd. Shouldn’t it say it’s been delivered?” I asked Chet, showing him my phone.

“If he uses an iPhone too, then yes,” Chet said.

“He uses an iPhone,” Tanya and I said in unison.

“I hate when you two do that,” Lydia said.  “Try calling him.”

I did.  “No answer. Went straight to voicemail.”

“Okay, no reception in New York?  Something’s up,” Lydia said, voicing what we’d all been thinking.  The question was what was blocking our signal, and where was our witch?

I was being herded.  It took me a solid twenty minutes to figure it out.

Hell’s Kitchen lay west and north of the Demidova Tower, that much had been pretty clear on my phone’s map app.

So naturally, I started walking south and east while looking for a taxi.   Only I didn’t see any.  Any at all.  That should have set off alarms, but then it started to rain. 

Sunny and hot one moment, pouring cats and dogs the next.  The storm was coming from the north and seemed to move very slowly.  So slow that I managed to keep ahead of it as long as I headed more south than east, following 11
th
Avenue.  It’s not like I was running in terror of getting wet.  I’m not the help-me-I’m-melting kind of witch, facing down a bratty Dorothy and her kicking dog Toto.  But this was a drenching, soak-your-wallet-and-phone kind of storm, one that lacked any form of lightning whatsoever. In other words, boring and annoying. So I hustled along, walking down Manhattan, trying to get far enough ahead that I could bolt east.  I made it three blocks south from the abandoned and haunted organ-robbing clinic when I hit a solid wall of traffic on 34
th
Street.  I mean, there is always traffic in New York but this was ridiculous.  And the stoplights weren’t changing.  The storm was catching up to me and I was about to risk a dart into traffic when I looked up and saw it—an overpass of some kind.  Only with plants… and people walking on it.  I followed it with my eyes till I found where it came down to the ground.  A wheelchair ramp touched down halfway between 11
th
and 12
th
Avenues.  Perfect.

Breaking into a run, I made the ramp and climbed quickly above street level to what the signs were calling the High Line.  Apparently, it was some kind of abandoned rail line now used as a park of sorts.  It initially moved west, but I could see it curving back to the east and then heading south.  The rain was close so I hustled along, slipping by some women tourists who were oddly unfazed by the impending storm.  That should have been clue number two.

I cleared the west leg to where it turned south, running alongside the Hudson River. The storm was almost on me and I got ready to run flat out when I skidded to a complete stop.

Three women stood across the walkway a hundred yards ahead.  They formed a line, and all three were staring at me.  They were too far away to make out details, but something seemed familiar.  Deep inside, I felt Sorrow perk up and pay attention.

A quick glance behind me to check on the storm found another group of women standing in the path.  Nine of them.  Nine plus three equals twelve.  Twelve women is the usual number of a circle of witches.

The rain started to patter on my shoulders and head, and the wind came hard behind me, almost pushing me forward.  I moved, but at a slow walk.  The women’s faces became clearer and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up straighter.  I grabbed for power, but I was above the earth, on a suspended path with a cold wind removing any heat around me.  Then the storm caught me fully and in an instant, I was soaked.

By now, I had a pit in my stomach and the short, dumpy shape of the middle woman seemed familiar in an awful kind of way.  Ten more steps and I recognized her beyond all doubt.  Macha Banfill, leader of the Irwin witches.  My estranged distant family.  The young woman to her left was familiar as well.  We had tangled at College Arcane and I knew she was powerful.  I also knew she had come out second best at that meeting, as I had been a literal pain in her ass.  Her smirk was not comforting.

The woman to Macha’s right was older than the girl but much younger than Macha.  Taller, too.  But there was a resemblance to both Macha and the girl that told me the three were related.  All three had hazel eyes and light brown hair. 

“Ah, young Declan Irwin, here in the big city.  Fancy us meeting ye here and now, as it were,” Macha said.  Beside her, the girl was holding vast power, little eddies of magic slipping free to lift her hair like an errant wind.  I remembered she was at least an Air witch and maybe more.  I noticed that the rain wasn’t touching any of them.

Sorrow was alert and almost quivering inside me, studying the situation.  The walkway trembled slightly as the traffic underneath us shook the foundations.

They had planned well, getting me above the earth and now standing in a grounding downpour that was cold enough to remove most of the ready heat around me.  I had only my reserves.  The High Line path shook again and Sorrow dragged my attention to it, even as I spoke.

“So you killed my mother and now you’re here to finish the job,” I stated, settling my feet into the firm structure of the path.

“We did no such thing!  The nerve of ye to call us killers when ye have a record of it yerself,” Macha said.

“Then what could you want with me?” I asked, glancing behind me at the nine other women, who were closer now.  “You and your circle.”

“Aye, we’ve brought the best of the clan with us and all of us being Irwins,” she said.  “What we want is what be only right—to bring ye back to where ye belong—among yer own people.”

“My own people?” I asked. 
The vehicles shake this structure.  Use them,
Sorrow suggested.  I might have been above the earth but I was still connected, if only by the steel and concrete of the walkway.  I started to slowly pull together what power I could harness from the traffic below.  “The same people who forced rapists on my mother and aunt?  Those people?”

“Ye know jest one side of it, see? 
She
be filling yer head with lies and stories such as make us look dark, don’t ye see?”

“Oh, and this little ambush isn’t dark and scary?  Trapping me like an animal is supposed to make us friends, is it?” I asked.

“Well lad, we got off to a rough start we did, and ye showed yer not to be trifled with.  So this… this should be telling ye just how much respect we have fer yer abilities.  Ye should be flattered,” she said. “But yer also a bit above yerself.  Tis understandable, what with ye living among so many witches and such as don’t know the family secrets.  But lad, ye don’t know all the family secrets either. Even yer mum and yer aunt didn’t yet know them all when they left.  We have knowledge ye lack.”

“So, what?  You want me to drop everything I’m doing and head off to Ireland to study at your feet?” I asked.

“T’would be best, but I doubt ye’d be so trusting.  No, lad.  I propose ye at least be willing to meet with us and learn more about yer heritage.  Einin here could show ye things ye wouldn’t be finding out on yer own,” she said, indicating the young girl to her left.

Einin suddenly smiled, and it unnerved me.  Not that she was ugly.  She wasn’t, although not what I would call excessively pretty, either.  But there was a glint in her eyes that told me she would love to have me in a subordinate position.  She gestured slightly with one hand and the storm shrank away from them even more.  The pouring rain was now mostly around me in maybe a twelve-foot circle.  She smirked again.  It seemed to be her normal look.

Bitches be lying
, Sorrow interjected.  Okay, so I listen to rap and hip-hop.  I’m eighteen; it’s kind of my generation’s thing.  But the fact it was influencing the ancient book of evil magic that lived inside me was a bit… unsettling.

Earth to Shield, Earth to Fire
, Sorrow added, showing me spells I hadn’t ever heard of before.

Using Earth energy to create shields wasn’t new, as Earth lent itself well to protective spells.  But the form of the shield it suggested was different.  The real kicker was the implication that one could transmute one affinity for another.  Earth to Fire?  Nowhere had I ever read, heard, or seen any hint that such a thing was possible.  What about Air to Fire?

Possible for one with both affinities
.

Holy shit.  The implications were mind-blowing.  I tried the shield spell and, low and behold, a round disc of invisible shielding formed over my head—like Wonder Woman’s umbrella.  The rain stopped hitting me, blocked completely by the spell.  Macha, Einin, and the other, unnamed witch noticed immediately.  Then I tried the second spell.  My clothes started to steam.  Their eyes got wide.

“The book,” Macha said, which elicited a quick confused glance from both her companions. “Ye’ve seen the book.”

“I’ve seen lots of books.  It’s a big city. We have books.” I said, pulling my rapidly drying t-shirt away from my skin so air could get under it.

Her eyes narrowed.  “Where did ye get it?” she asked, then her expression shifted as an idea occurred to her.  “Yer father.  Ye’ve met your father, ye have,” she accused.

So I could guess what book she was referring to although
seen
it was less the right verb than, say,
melded with.
  But what did my father have to do with the book?  The conversation was getting odd… odder.  Time to go.

“Listen, I’ll consider talking with you, but not like a trapped rat.  We meet somewhere neutral—a park or something.  Whether you have anything to teach me or not… well… we’ll see,” I said.

Macha’s lips were pressed in a flat line.  This wasn’t going the way she wanted it to.

“I want to know about the book, lad.  Yu’ll be telling us a bit about that, at least,” she said.

I moved to the edge of the High Line, looking over.  Below me, I saw a virtual nest of rail lines and parked train cars.  Next to the railing was a goodly sized streetlight rising from ground level. “I’ll be bouncing now.  Got get back to my job.  In case you didn’t know, I work for God’s Warrior, so I can’t stay and trade recipes,” I said trying to keep as cool as I could.  Climbing the High Line’s railing, I jumped to the lightpost, activating my glyphs to give me the strength to hang on.  Then I slid down, reaching the tracks and solid ground below.  Three faces looked down at me from above but pulled back abruptly as soon as my feet touched earth and I drew power.  My Sight showed shields snapping into place above me.  I ignored them, turning and moving quickly across the rails and out of the yard.  The rain fell off, the storm beginning to dissipate as the witches controlling it let it fall apart.

Hurrying onward, I put distance between us, pulling heat from the hot pavement and further drying my clothes.  I had a lot to consider.

“Sorrow, why did you help me?” I asked.

I serve.

“Who do you serve?”

Rosewitha.

“She’s dead—right?” I asked, hoping like hell he wasn’t going to surprise me.

Her form but not her line.

Her line?  “She had a child?”

Truth.

“But you’re in me?  How is that serving her line?”

I serve you—I serve the line.

I remembered something Perun, my father, had said.  Something about his own mother.

“Is Zuzanna of the line?” I guessed.

She is of the line.

“Why not serve her?”

If you were not alive, I would serve her.

Thinking I might never sleep again, I hurried home toward the tower, finally spotting a taxi.  I waved and it pulled over.  Seated in back, I tried not to think about the fact that I was, it seemed, directly related to one of the most evil witches in history.  Then I saw the text on my phone and groaned.  My boss was an angel, or at least an ex-angel, and I was descended from evil.  Should I tell him?