The figure in the foyer wore a broad-brimmed black hat with a long black veil, the cloth thick enough to obscure her features entirely. She also wore a floor-length black dress of severe cut, and leather gloves to match. Not an inch of skin showed.
“Nicolette.” The voice that emerged from beneath the veil was cracked, broken, and jagged, but comprehensible. “Have you come to commit yourself?”
“Why, Doc? Do you miss me that much?”
“You never really belonged here.” Dr. Husch sounded somehow placid despite her shredded voice. Almost peaceful, Crapsey thought, even though she’d been cut to pieces. “I never believed you were mentally ill. You are vile, contemptible, and selfish, but sane. No, you were a political prisoner, kept here because of your repeated treasons against Marla Mason.” The doctor shrugged. “But Marla isn’t in charge anymore, and our new chief sorcerer has no particular interest in you. You’re lucky – you have a chance to start over. You’re just fortunate that Marla chose not to kill you. I used to share her compassion, but no more.” The hat and veil shifted, and Crapsey knew the doctor was looking at him. “And you. The last time you came to my door, I... suffered. I do not like suffering. I abhor it.”
Crapsey took a step back. “Doc, it wasn’t my idea, the Mason
made
me go after you. I kinda liked you, honestly, and anyway I didn’t catch you, you smacked me on the head – ”
“I know,” Dr. Husch said. “You are a lackey. And I understand your more... promiscuous tendencies... have been curtailed, making you a
harmless
lackey as well.”
Crapsey winced. Once upon a time, he’d had the power to leave his flesh and take over the bodies of others, overwriting the consciousnesses of the original owners, and tossing their souls into the darkness of oblivion without hope of resurrection or afterlife. He’d murdered hundreds that way, on the Mason’s orders, and changed bodies the way most people changed their shirts... but Marla had cast a spell that trapped his mind in this body, like a fly buzzing around in a glass jar. Worst of all, when this body died, there was no reason to think his consciousness would die too – he might just be trapped in his own rotting corpse forever, awake and aware. Probably justifiable punishment for his crimes, he could see that, but still: fucking harsh, to go from immortality to... well, an entirely more horrible form of immortality.
“Yeah, he’s been neutered,” Nicolette said. “He’s totally housebroken now. I don’t even know why I keep him around. He’s a born lickspittle, and as you can see, I’m in greater-than-usual need of a right-hand man.” She grinned and twitched her stump.
“Yes, I noticed your lack of limb. You should have stayed in the Institute. You had both arms when you were under my care.”
Nicolette ran her remaining hand over her scalp. While she was captive, Crapsey knew, they’d kept her head shaved – Nicolette used to have dreadlocks, with wicked charms woven into the locks. She was letting her hair grow back in, but all she had now was a pale duck-fuzz, which looked even dumber than a bare skull. “Not that I don’t miss your tender ministrations,” Nicolette said, “but I’m here about something else. A certain mutual enemy. Mind if we come inside and talk?”
“If that crosses my threshold – ” she pointed at Crapsey “ – it will be confined, forever, in the blackest cell I have. The one in the basement. The one I used to be too enlightened to keep
anyone
in. And you aren’t welcome through this door, either, chaos witch.”
“Uh, okay.” Crapsey took another step back. Much farther and he’d be back in the driveway. “We can talk out here. Or we can just... go. Probably it was a mistake to come here – ”
Nicolette interrupted. “The divinations don’t lie, Doc. I did three different readings, with entrails and dice and butterflies, and they all told me – you’re the one we need.”
“And what were you trying to find with this divination? Someone to lock you both up for your own good?”
“Nah.” Nicolette leaned in close, not quite crossing the threshold. “We were looking for somebody else who wanted Marla Mason dead bad enough to do something about it.”
The veil and the hat made reading expressions impossible, so it took a moment for Crapsey to realize that Dr. Husch was shaking with silent laughter, which finally bubbled forth in a harsh little series of caws. “Oh, dear,” she said. “Well, yes, divination doesn’t lie, assuming an augur skilled enough to read the signs correctly, but there’s nothing to stop a witch from asking entirely the wrong question.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nicolette demanded.
“You should have asked, ‘Who would
help
us kill Marla Mason?’ Because my name would not have appeared in a list of answers to that query. I do mean Marla Mason harm. Her selfishness unleashed the Mason on the world, and that led directly to me becoming...
this
.” She drew out the last word in a hiss, and Crapsey steeled himself for a dramatic raising of the veil to reveal the horror beneath, but Dr. Husch settled for shuddering and hugging herself. “And Marla doesn’t
care
. She didn’t even come to see me after her exile, even though my hospital is outside the borders of Felport, and open to her. If she’d come... if she’d
apologized
... Well. I don’t know that it would have mattered, really. But she didn’t. Exile is far from sufficient punishment for her transgressions, and her selfishness. So, yes, I do mean her harm – but why on Earth do you think I’d need help from
you
two idiots to kill her?”
“No offense,” Nicolette said, “but every time one of the more dangerous loonies in this bin of yours got loose, you always went crying to Marla, and before her, you went crying to Sauvage, and I’m sure before that, you went crying to whoever was chief sorcerer before him. You’re a healer, right, and a
jailer
, and when it comes to fixing broken things and locking up the things that can’t be fixed, you’re pretty badass, and I’m full of respect for that. But killing Marla Mason? Doc, you just don’t have the
chops
. Neither do I, and neither does Crapsey, not alone. But together? Striking now, when she’s weak and friendless? We can all get revenge. Crapsey for getting stranded in this stupid universe he hates, all his powers stolen, his boss sent away to another universe. And me? She locked me up
here
. Before that she backed me into a corner so tight I had no choice but to kill my own mentor Gregor just to stay alive myself. Hell, indirectly, she’s the reason I lost my arm. What do you say? You, me, Crapsey, maybe we round up a few others, and go all legion of supervillains on her ass?”
“Not really legion of supervillains.” Crapsey flinched away when they both swiveled their heads toward him. He couldn’t help it – he’d read a lot of comic books in his home universe, and he wanted to get the metaphor right. “More like the... Marla Mason Revenge Squad. “
“I am well aware of my limitations,” Dr. Husch said. “I do not intend to attack Marla personally. But as you pointed out, I am a
jailer
. This is the foremost magical containment facility on the East Coast, and I have in my care some of the most lethal sorcerers to ever grace this continent. Norma Nilson, the nihilomancer. Gustavus Lupo, the skinshifter. Roderick Barrow, who rules a dark realm of his own imagination, and yearns to loose his armies into this reality. Roger Vaughn –
both
Roger Vaughns, the original and his young reincarnation – and their terrible oceanic magics. The nameless madman who calls himself Everett Malkin, and claims to be Felport’s first chief sorcerer, displaced in time. The immortal Beast of Felport
itself
. And, of course, I have your hero, Nicolette, locked in the most potent cell I possess, at the center of a cube wrapped in bindings of order – the witch Elsie Jarrow. You would be
amazed
at what some of these people are willing to do when you dangle the prospect of freedom before them. So, no – I won’t be needing your services. Good luck with the rest of your miserable, pointless lives.” The doctor started to close the door.
Nicolette stuck a boot in the way, and Dr. Husch made a noise of distaste and opened it again. “Do you want to lose a foot along with your arm, woman?”
“We want in,” Nicolette said. “If nothing else, we can help wrangle the crazies. Besides, don’t bullshit me, there’s no way you can let Elsie Jarrow out, you’d never be able to control her, she’s too – ”
“I am well aware of her condition – indeed, as her doctor, I know far more about her situation than you do. As I said, your services will not be needed. Why hire Vasari when you can work with Michelangelo?”
“I’m going to assume that’s an insult,” Nicolette said. “Like ‘why listen to Rush when you can listen to Led Zeppelin?’ But I don’t mind – I’m not fit to touch the hem of Elsie Jarrow’s garment. But that just means I’m even more eager to lend a hand. Let us join in. What could it hurt?”
“My chances of success,” Dr. Husch said.
Nicolette laughed. “Not bad, Doc. Being disfigured has given you a sense of humor. But what’ll
really
hurt your chances of success is me going to Marla and telling her what you have planned. And sending word to a few of the reigning sorcerers – I don’t think the Chamberlain or Hamil would be happy to hear you’ve decided to switch your patients from art therapy to murder-for-hire. That’s the kind of thing that could seriously impact your funding at the next meeting of the council, don’t you think? Or maybe you want to get locked up in one of your own cells?”
“You would help Marla? Protect her from me? Even though you want her dead?”
“Doc,” Crapsey said. “This is Nicolette. You can’t trust her to do
anything
. Messy unexpected stuff just makes her more powerful. She’s got a roulette wheel instead of a soul, you know?”
“Hmm. What makes you think you can escape the grounds of this estate?”
Nicolette drew a small hatchet with a curved blade the color of the moon from behind her back, and held it up to catch the light. “I did a little looting while I was running around with Crapsey and the Mason. I found this beauty in one of Viscarro’s vaults. It’s sacred to some moon god, I forget his name, but the point is – it is
awesome
. All those years I was jealous of Marla’s cloak, and her dagger of office, and now I’ve got an artifact of my own, and Marla doesn’t have
any
. Anyway, sure, sic your orderlies on me, whatever – if you feel like getting chopped into fucking little
bits
again.”
Dr. Husch didn’t move. You could have cut the tension with a knife. Or a really terrifying axe.
“Look, we want the same thing,” Crapsey said, holding up his hands in a gesture he hoped was soothing. “There’s no reason for us to fight. Just let us help. We can lend a hand.”
“Three hands, even,” Nicolette said.
To Crapsey’s surprise, Dr. Husch snorted with laughter. “Fine. I can see you won’t go away. I suppose I could use people to carry boxes and fetch coffee. But you take orders from
me
, understood?” She turned and started into the Institute, then paused, and called back over her shoulder, “You can come inside now.”
“No trying to lock us up, Doc,” Nicolette said, stepping in.
“I wouldn’t worry,” Dr. Husch said. “Haven’t you heard? Nowadays, it’s fashionable to let the inmates run the asylum.”
A MOTHER’S LOVE
“I can’t
wait
.” Death smelled of cut lemons and tarnished metal. “We can finally start our afterlife together – ”
Marla resisted the urge to knee Death in the crotch, but she did disentangle herself from his embrace and push him away. “We’ve been over this. I’m not eager to shuffle off this mortal coil yet, and like you always say, the rest of my long and natural life is just a drop in the bucket of eternity, and all that – you promised you wouldn’t rush me into an early grave.”
He held up his hands, rings twinkling in the light from the brass chandeliers. “I’m not! I have no hand in this at all, darling. But there are forces gathering against you, and, well... while there are no certain futures, there are certainly
likely
ones, and it doesn’t look like you’ll live to see the new year here in the upper world.”
“Huh.” Rondeau turned to Pelham. “So, if your mistress dies, what happens to you? Do you, like, crawl onto the funeral pyre? Or serve her in the afterlife like an unlucky Egyptian servant?”
“The bond is broken by death.” Pelham wrung his hands. “But – but surely – ”
“Surely for
sure
.” Marla crossed her arms. “Who’s coming after me, Death?”
He sighed. “I’m not certain. I can tell when someone is going to die – or when they’re
likely
to die, though the possibilities have always proliferated rather wildly for you – and gradually those lines of probability narrow into certainties. Your death is... increasingly likely. I know some other people who will almost certainly die
with
you, in the same place, around the same time. Perhaps that might give you a hint?”
“Shoot,” she said.
“A witch named Nicolette,” Death said. “And, ah... your brother, Jason.”
Marla whistled. “Both of them? They don’t even know each other.”
Death shrugged. “Perhaps not yet, but they will probably die within half-a-dozen yards and a few minutes of one another, and your odds of lasting long beyond their demise are quite slim.”
Marla nodded. “But now I
know
about the threat. That changes the equation, right? Forewarned is forearmed and all that.”
Death spread his hands, and gazed down at the rings. The gems glowed faintly in various colors, from sky-blue to the red of strawberry wine to a necrotic pulsing black. He slowly shook his head. “Here, in this physical form, I have only limited access to my full powers, but from what I can see... . No, sorry. Your knowledge doesn’t change things substantially. Oh, the place and time, those have shifted, but death is still rushing toward you. None of this is
written
, nothing is ordained, but... you don’t need to believe in fate to know a dropped billiard ball is going to hit the floor. It’s simple physics. Objects are in motion, and it is possible to chart the trajectories of those objects, barring outside interference.”
“Like someone kicking the billiard ball through a window.” Marla rounded on Rondeau. “You! You’re supposed to be my seer. Haven’t you been having any crazy prophetic dreams? Bradley used to have visions if I was about to stub my toe!”