The gleam of the countless individual connections made the man appear to shine, in the lobby of this partially built apartment complex. He made everything around him radiate with something just as fundamental as light.
Johannes found his pipes in hand when he reached down.
His minions stirred, tense.
“I was expecting challenges and interruptions, but not before I started the ritual.”
“The ritual starting is what concerns me. It’s very possible you’ve made a mistake,” the shining man spoke.
“No,” Johannes said, “I don’t think I did.”
“I can see it from here. I’m not quite aware how, and I can’t say whether it’s to your benefit or detriment, but you’re about to act, and your actions will upset the balance. That’s enough for me to take notice.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Johannes said.
“In this case, it may well be,” the shining man told him.
Johannes spread his arms. “I’ve invested a lot into this. Even the timing is pretty important. A good few of the neighbors are off on summer vacation, or off in Toronto. First weekend of summer, after all. Unsporting, but what are you going to do?”
The shining man made the step from the doorway into the room. He glanced around, then paced the perimeter, studying the circle and the boy.
Johannes was only fifteen, but his demeanor was one of someone older. His long hair was tied back into a ponytail, flush with the nape of his neck, and his face had yet to grow scruff. A gun, a laptop, and a set of papers sat on the top of the bar. A cheap construction of wood that put everything at chest level, without Johannes having to sit down. The laptop screen glowed, showing the same text that appeared in the book.
“The practice is about dealing,” Johannes said. “Everything has a price. The trick is to skew the deal in your favor. I don’t see how this is different.”
“It defies convention.”
“To hell with convention!” Johannes said, raising his voice. “Who or what the hell are you to come here and dictate what I can and can’t do?”
“One of the architects of convention,” the shining man spoke.
Johannes frowned. “Ah.”
“And, it likely goes without saying, one of the protectors of convention.”
“That’s problematic.”
“Not if you put this matter to rest,” the stranger said. “I could destroy you, I’m being gracious enough to offer you safety instead.”
“Thank you,” Johannes said.
He grabbed the book, then threw it to the nearest Other. The childlike bogeyman caught it.
Johannes collected his laptop and gun.
“You’re taking this opportunity to leave,” the shining man said.
“Yeah, seems like the best option,” Johannes commented.
“I’m not oblivious to the fact that you intend to resume the ritual as soon as you get a chance.”
Johannes paused mid-stride.
“Fuck,” he said.
“Now please-”
“Attack,” Johannes said. “Arthild.”
His pet Faerie went on the attack. Her features distorted, and she swelled in size. A rat, big enough to fill a smaller room, hair sparse, flesh purple with the veins just beneath the surface, stomach bloated and writhing.
One of the darker faerie, a lucky find, his ace in the hole. He’d spent four months screwing with the rat population until something took notice. He’d expected a spirit, he’d picked up the faerie instead. One from the winter court, the sunless court.
The shining man dodged her charge. She was mad, frenzied, and there was a deeper instinct driving her actions. On colliding with the wall, her bloated stomach was compressed. Fluids and rodents spewed from her nether regions, flooding much of the room.
Johannes was already heading to the door. He turned, laptop held to his chest, and managed to grasp at the pipes while still holding his gun. He paused for only a fraction of a second to make sure he wouldn’t accidentally shoot himself in the head before he raised the pipes to his mouth and blew. A tune.
He’d had to learn the pipes to use the artifact’s power. With the tune, he was able to sway the otherwise senseless swarm of rats. What might have been a distraction or psychological weapon became a tool. The rats swarmed the shining man.
He pushed on the door with his shoulder blades, spun, and ran.
His Sight told him that the combined collection of faerie and rats didn’t last any longer than it took him to run the length of a city block. The connection between the pipes and the controlled was cut by the simplest, most inevitable means. Death.
■
Johannes startled as the shining man entered the lobby of the hotel that was still in construction. He had his laptop open, and a cable stretched behind the front desk he was sitting on.
He tapped the top of his screen. “Architect of convention? You wouldn’t be an angel, would you?”
“I am. You’re trying my patience.”
“You have other things to look after?”
“Yes.”
“Things of structure? The construction of elements, convention, I imagine?”
The angel shook his head.
“Damn.”
“Okay, well, with that in mind-“
Johannes swung his legs over the front desk and shouldered his way through the door behind it.
A short hallway, a turn, passing through some double doors-
There was a flash from the room behind as the door swung closed.
A flash in front, as he passed through the double doors.
The angel waited for him in the convention room of the hotel.
“Ah,” Johannes said.
Before he or the angel could say another word, he raised the gun and fired.
The angel stepped back. Blood welled from a hole in the abdomen.
“Your weapons of war don’t work against me,” the angel said.
“Okay,” Johannes said, backing up. “Angels… opposite elements are strongest. You create, bullets destroy.”
“Bullets change, they affect structure, even if that is tearing down blood, muscle, and bone,” the angel said.
“Right. Interesting! Learn something every day,” Johannes said. He continued to retreat, not to the door, but to the wall.
“You’re edging toward the light switch. I assure you, whatever you intend, it’s not going to stop me.”
“I only need to delay,” Johannes said.
He hit the light switch, one light on, one light off.
The blacklight lit up the room.
It was now lit up lines and diagrams, words in script and spots of bodily fluids that had been given to power the working.