“That might be difficult right now. I need to be centered in order to get anything, and right now my psyche feels like it’s been scattered into little pieces.”
“Have another espresso,” I said. “That always calms my nerves.”
She smiled, but it was strained. I gave Lou another slight nod and he walked over and put one paw on her knee. She automatically put a hand down to ruffle his head, and when she did he rubbed against her calf like a cat. She smiled again, and this time the smile was real. Lou and I make a great team at running cons, even if they’re for a good purpose.
“Want to at least give it a try?” I said, holding out my hands.
Morgan took both of them in hers, just like before. She closed her eyes and breathed in, then half out, just like before. This time, though, there was no dramatic conclusion. She simply sat there, breathing evenly for a couple of minutes, before opening her eyes and releasing my hands. She shook her head with a quick back-and-forth motion.
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t get anything this time.”
“Nothing?” I had been counting on at least something.
“Just some images. The only thing I could recognize was the Golden Gate Bridge, for what that might be worth.”
“Could you tell which side?”
“This side, I think. It was close to the tower, and I could see sunlight just hitting the top of the tower, so it must have been late afternoon.”
“And could you feel the presence of… well, whatever it is?” She shook her head again, slowly this time.
“No, just the bridge and you. There might have been other people with you.” That wasn’t much help.
“Well, it’s better than nothing,” I said. “I appreciate the effort.”
“Anytime.” She got up from the table and pushed the chair back in.
“I’ll give you a call if anything else comes up,” I said. “Or call me if there’s anything I can do for you.” I wrote my number on a napkin and handed it to her. “Or for any reason.”
Lou hopped into my lap and looked up appealingly at her. He makes a great wingman. Or wingdog.
“Sure,” she said, smiling more at him than at me. “Why not?”
SIX
NEXT MORNING I DUMPED ALL THE STONES into the original black-and-white messenger bag they’d come in. Lou looked on approvingly until I took a bunch of them back out, wrapped them in a piece of silk, and put them back in my trunk. When we left the flat, he stalked out ahead of me, stiff-legged and disapproving.
Half an hour later I walked into the study with the distinctive-patterned bag slung over one shoulder. Eli looked at the bag with frank curiosity, while Victor barely looked up from his seat behind his desk. Lou stayed a good distance away from me, and as soon as we entered the study he trotted over to the far wall, as far away from those things as he could get. He didn’t like anything about those rune stones, not one bit. If he could talk, he would have ratted me out for still holding some of them back, I’m sure.
I spilled them out dramatically on top of Victor’s desk, marring the pristine finish. Victor abandoned his casual demeanor as they cascaded past him. Usually he would have been pissed at my cavalier treatment of his precious desk, but in truth he was too awed by the aura of power emanating from them to do anything but gawk at that pile of ancient bones.
Maggie had been curled up under the desk, but when I dumped them out, she shot out of there like her tail was on fire. She ended up next to Lou, and they stared at me with both canine and feline disapproval. The feline variety was a lot more obvious, complete with lashing tail.
Eli bent over to examine the stones. He picked up one and gingerly held it between his fingers, where it glowed softly like a dying firefly.
“I had no idea,” he said, after a moment.
“Yeah,” I said. “They’re special all right.”
“You really shouldn’t have kept these.”
“I know,” I said. I tried to keep my voice neutral, but Eli was good at reading me. For a moment I thought he was going to pursue the matter, but finally he shrugged and placed the stone back into the pile.
“Well, you never know about these things. Maybe it was just as well you did keep them.”
“Do you think these are enough to do the trick?” I asked. Victor had quickly overcome his initial sense of awe and was examining one particular stone that was slightly larger than the rest.
“With this kind of firepower?” he said. “If they don’t, we’re in trouble. These stones are the magical equivalent of RPGs.”
“But we still have to figure out how to harness the power, and what kind of trap to set up,” Eli said, “so we might as well get started.”
Victor opened his safe and hauled out an impressive array of magical props-powders, a copper bar, shavings of various other metals, a few bottles of liquids, a twelve-volt battery, and as always, salt.
“What are you trying to do?” I asked. “Build something that can trap and hold it?”
“Building a cage will be comparatively easy,” said Victor. “Getting it into the cage might be another matter.”
“Then what? Why would it help us?”
“We can bargain. If that doesn’t work, there’s always Bertram.”
“No,” said Eli. “That’s not a good idea.”
“He’s effective. He can be very persuasive.”
“Doesn’t make it right.”
“Why not? This Wendigo is a monster, after all.”
“We don’t know that. And no, we’re not using Bertram. End of discussion.”
Eli doesn’t say things like that very often, but when he does there’s no arguing. Victor shrugged and turned away. I was just as glad we weren’t calling on Bertram for help-his methods were unpleasant in the extreme, and he enjoyed using them.
Eli returned his attention to the large tattered book he was thumbing through, the kind of book you usually see in the rare-book room at the library or in specialty book-stores.
“We’ll need to find a way to compel it to enter. Ironic, is it not, considering how it operates?”
He closed the book and knelt down on the floor where Victor was arranging items according to some criteria I couldn’t even guess at. My improvisational use of talent has served me well, but it was at times like this that I realized how little I know. And how useless I was in this type of endeavor.
The two of them discussed strategies. Victor wanted to grind up a few of the stones and incorporate them into a larger matrix. Eli thought that too dangerous and unpredictable; he wanted to use the stones themselves to form a template. Neither one asked for my opinion, which was just as well since I didn’t have one.
Finally Eli won out on that point. They took half the stones and arranged them in a rough circle, not much larger than it would take to contain a person. I wasn’t sure if half was all they needed or if they were saving the other half in case something went wrong. A layer of salt was poured out, snaking in and out between the stones, and each stone was dusted with a small amount of iron shavings.
Most of the folk knowledge about magical operations is laughably wrong, but there are two items that crop up in myth all the time: iron and salt. And those two are real. Salt is practically a universal substance in any ritual designed to bind something, and iron is almost as common. All metals, except silver and sometimes gold, are difficult to work with. But iron is by far the most difficult; it’s almost as resistant to talent as is an Ifrit.
Victor spoke a command and let energy flow into the circle. He didn’t need much; it was like lighting a match to a bonfire of kindling. Power welled up, strong and fierce. Eli took a step backward, and even Victor seemed slightly intimidated by what he’d done.
“Now the attraction spell,” said Victor. “Mason, I could use your help here.”