I stopped in mid-step. I had been assuming it was something she was doing, a technique others could learn and master to take advantage of electronic books. What if, instead, it was something inherent in her? What if she was simply more powerful? True sorcerers could shape magic with their minds alone, and if she did possess that kind of power, it might explain why the devourers were drawn to her.
I forced myself to sit down, but couldn’t stop my legs from bouncing to an unheard beat. A bad case of post-magic twitchiness was essentially Restless Leg Syndrome for the whole body. Perhaps pleasure reading wasn’t the safest idea tonight. After ripping into so many books today, the barriers between myself and these books was dangerously thin.
Deb DeGeorge liked to describe spellcasting as shooting holes in a beer keg filled with magic. Shoot a single bullet through the keg, and you can fill your cup from a steady stream. Fire a few more, and the magic starts flowing faster than you can keep up with it. Blast the whole thing with a shotgun, and you end up soaked in the stuff.
It was an elegant trap, one which had claimed the sanity of many libriomancers over the years. As you exhausted yourself physically and mentally, your judgment eroded as well, leading you to make mistakes when you could least afford them.
Sleep was the best cure. Naturally, insomnia was a common side effect of magic use. As much as I loved being a libriomancer, sometimes magic was a pain in the ass.
I set my books aside, powered up the laptop, and began filling out a requisition form for my shock-gun. Porters were supposed to avoid carrying magical artifacts around long-term, but I thought the circumstances justified keeping the gun until this was over.
My cell phone went off before I could finish. I glanced at the screen and swore. A call from Jeff DeYoung at this time of night couldn’t mean anything good.
He wasted no time on niceties, and his terseness confirmed my sick sense of foreboding. “We’ve got another dead wendigo. Right around the same area. I think this might have been the first one’s mate, come to see what happened. Two weres heard the noise and interrupted the son of a bitch, but it was too late to save the wendigo.”
I straightened. “Did they see him? Were they able to track where he went?”
“Laci didn’t see shit,” Jeff snapped. “And Hunter died before we could get him to the hospital.”
“I’m—” I bit back the word “sorry.” A werewolf wouldn’t appreciate empty words. “I can drive out with a healing potion.”
“Laci’s got a thick head. She’ll be okay. She and Hunter had snuck off for a late-night romp, and weren’t expecting anyone to try to kill them. They found the body, then something attacked them from behind. Whatever it was, he was strong. Tossed Laci into a tree, and clubbed Hunter hard enough to crack the boy’s skull.”
I hadn’t seen anything to suggest superhuman strength in either of the two figures who had killed the first wendigo.
“What the hell is wrong with these kids?” Jeff continued. “There’s no excuse for letting yourself get caught unaware, I don’t care how horny you are.”
“Did Laci notice any insects by the body? They would have been metal.”
“Not that she mentioned, but I’ll check when she wakes up.” He sighed. “How are you and Lena doing? Neither one of you looked to be in great shape this evening.”
“I think whoever killed those wendigos tried to take out Lena’s tree. We dealt with it, but she’s pretty wiped.”
“Any idea who or what we’re looking for?” There was a hunger to his words, an eagerness that made me nervous.
“We’re working on a few things,” I said carefully.
“Bad enough to kill those white-furred cannibals in our territory, but now they’ve killed one of our pack. That makes it personal. You Porters can do whatever you’d like, so long as you stay the hell out of our way.”
Vigilante werewolves. Just what we needed. “Jeff, this guy tore up two wendigos, tossed a pair of werewolves around like dolls, and has magic I’ve never seen before.” Not to mention the devourers. “This is a bad idea.”
“He jumped a pair of dumb kids who weren’t expecting trouble. We’ve hunted these woods for generations. We’ll find the bastards.”
“Or they’ll find you.” I had no idea how many insects Victor had made. I imagined metal hives hidden in the trees, a cloud of magical bugs descending upon the werewolves.
“Let ’em.”
“You don’t even know what you’re hunting.”
“What in God’s name am I supposed to tell Hunter’s family, Isaac? Not only are we burying one of our own, now you want us to lock the doors and sit around with our thumbs up our asses, hoping nobody else gets killed while we wait for you Porters to do your thing? All your magic has done so far is show us a shitty snuff film and knock you on your ass.”
I hated werewolf-style negotiation. “First of all, bite me,” I said. “Second, this is my investigation. One of your pack is dead, and that gives you the right to be involved, but you work with me. Be here tomorrow at nine A.M. We’re driving down to Ohio to investigate a lead.”
“What lead?” Jeff snarled.
“Do we have a deal?” When he hesitated, I added, “If these things are half as dangerous as I think they are, you do not want them coming after Tamarack. I’m going to find whoever did this, Jeff. Either be here tomorrow morning, or else stay the hell out of my way.”
When Jeff finally spoke again, he sounded almost cheerful. “Nine o’clock, you said?”
“See you tomorrow.”
As long as I was worked up, I went ahead and called Deb to arrange a deal with the vampires. By the time I got off the phone, it was almost two in the morning. I shut down the laptop and bundled it and the books into a plastic garbage bag for protection, crawled into the sleeping bag, and settled against the base of the oak.
Lena retained some awareness of what happened outside her tree, though I wasn’t sure how much. But she would know I was here, and that was enough.
I awoke with a stiff neck, sore back, and Lena looking down at me with a crooked smile. She showed no sign of pain or weariness from yesterday. Lucky dryad.
“I need a shower and a change of clothes,” she announced, grabbing my hand and hauling me to my feet. “And so do you.”
The shower took a bit longer than usual, but it was certainly rejuvenating. By the time we emerged and dressed, I felt almost human again. I filled her in on the call from Jeff, then checked my messages to make sure everything was set for today.
In exchange for helping us talk to Victor, the vampires wanted either a Shipstone—a battery from Heinlein’s work that would power their underground lighting needs for a century—or an official apology from Gutenberg for the incident in Detroit. A message from Nicola Pallas confirmed that the Shipstone was the more feasible choice, and authorized me to take care of it when we finished in Ohio.
My biggest concern was that the vampires would try to turn the Shipstone into some kind of weapon, but if they were foolish enough to try, they would most likely just blow themselves up. I had stressed that fact repeatedly to Deb on the phone. Even if they succeeded, Gutenberg’s automatons should be able to deal with any magic-fueled weapon.
Both Jeff and Nidhi arrived as I was restocking my books. In addition to my book bag, I had retrieved a brown leather duster from the hall closet. I had lost my old jacket during the troubles earlier this year, but in at least one respect, the new one was even better. This one was fireproof.
“How’s Jeneta doing this morning?” I asked as I shoved books into the various pockets sewn into the lining, trying to plan out the tools and toys I might need.