A Hero at the End of the World (5 page)

As far as Oliver could remember, the theory was weirdly simple. Rather than using a specially crafted totem to hold your magic, the way your average devourer would, Sazzies tapped into the ambient magic that was in every object around them. That way, they didn’t have to carry magical objects around with them all the time. They couldn’t manage any more magic than normal people—that was impossible without getting someone to cede their magical capacity over to you, and everyone knew that didn’t last and, what was more, made you evil—but they were the only magic users known to be able to cast permanent enchantments.

The problem arose from what happened to the things around you once you’d drained them of their life. The consequences were obvious for Oliver, who’d drained his childhood totem (a teddy bear) at the age of six, and then had his foster parents sit him down to give him The Talk and take him to the Institute of Alapomancers to register him for a new one. There was loads of research on dréags like Sophie, who at some point would use up all of the potential magic in her body and be sapped completely dry. There had even been research, now of course irreproducible, on certain really nasty practices: Duff Slan’s harvesting of others’ potential, the use of familiars, the channeling of the recently deceased, and so on. But Zaubernegativum, though it described itself as a science, had never really been studied, and not for its long-term effects. How could you study a form of magic that could drain the power from the very instruments you were using to measure it?

There was something sinister about it, Oliver thought. He couldn’t imagine what sort of person would be drawn to that.

The day after they’d tried and failed to get more information on Ralph the Ravager out of the cultists, Oliver and Sophie found themselves in South Kensington, standing outside of the headquarters of the Society for the Advancement of Zaubernegativum. It was a red-bricked Edwardian building squished between two modern, post-war offices. In front was a high iron fence with pointed finials and gold-painted roses; the bars of the gate, which blocked the front door from access, were twisted into two vicious-looking hounds facing away from each other.

Something about the place felt odd. He’d felt it when they had exited the Tube, and the closer they got, the more pronounced the feeling became. It persisted up until he reached for the latch to unlock the gate—

And walked smack into an invisible wall.

“Argh,” he cried as pain shot up his nose, spreading through his face. When he reached up, his fingers came away sticky with blood.

So that’s what he had felt: a protective ward.

Sophie held a wad of balled-up tissue to his nose. “Here.”

“Cheers,” he muttered, eyes watering.

While he waited for the bleeding to clot, Sophie took a step away, still holding the tissue against his nose, so she could get a better look at the gate. She pursed her lips. “Do you think someone killed themselves so they could put up this ward?”

Fairly sure he could breathe again without inhaling a nostril’s worth of blood, Oliver gently pushed her hand down. “It wasn’t that strong,” he admitted, shoving the bloody tissues in his trouser pocket. “I’m just a moron.”

“Look there.”

Sophie pointed. The decorative fixture hanging over the door was shaped into the face of a warg, cut out of stone to match the rest of the exterior. At first glance, it looked perfectly ordinary, but when Oliver took a closer look he could make out a faint shimmer over it.

“They’re watching us,” she added.

Drawing back his jacket to show off his ID card, Oliver yelled up at it, “We’re with the SMCA. We need to ask you some questions about an incident that happened two days ago.”

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then Oliver felt the ward drop, taking the tightness in his chest along with it. It fell with such swiftness that he staggered forward, and if Sophie hadn’t grabbed his shoulder, he might have had a mouth full of pavement.

Once he had steadied himself, he reached out and cautiously touched the gate. It swung inwards: unlocked. Up the garden path, the front door of the building did the same.

“We’ll just let ourselves in then,” he told the warg.

The interior of the building was about what Oliver had been expecting. It was all white walls and Victorian molding, with a floral carpet beneath their feet and tasteful paintings of the English countryside on the walls. A decorative table near the entrance held a vase of fresh orchids, whose scent was enchanted to waft through the office. It was also deathly, chillingly quiet.

“Hello, is anyone there?” Sophie called, looking unnerved. Her voice echoed throughout the hall. “We’re Special Agents Stuart and Abrams with the Department of Unusuals. We’re looking for Lady Gardener Hobbes.”

A big, burly bloke stepped into the corridor. His crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at them, expression hard.

Oliver opened his mouth—

“Second door on the left,” the man grunted.

“Thank you,” Sophie said, drawing Oliver away by the elbow.

The first door they passed gave them a glimpse of a small blue waiting room. Next was a dark office with green and cream furniture; the walls were cluttered with portraits, and a massive mirror hung opposite the entranceway, giving them a long look at themselves: Oliver, tall, broad, and in need of a shave; and Sophie, half a head shorter and well turned-out. Chandelier lights were turned on to compensate for the heavy curtains over the windows.

Behind a wooden desk was a tiny, slender woman. Her blonde hair, streaked with gray, was drawn back into a high bun, and her blue eyes peered at them keenly. Her long, thin face was too severe to be truly beautiful. Lately, Oliver had a tendency to compare every woman he met to Sophie, and Sophie—even with her slowly draining power—seemed strong and soft in comparison to the woman he was looking at now.

“Lady Gardener Hobbes, we’re with—”

“I know who you are, Oliver,” she interrupted with a smile. She laid a hand on a folded-up newspaper on her desk.

“Congratulations on your recent promotion. Am I right to assume that vanquishing the Grand Master Buffalo was a walk in the park compared to Duff Slan?”

“It was a difficult in its own way,” Oliver replied. “As a hero, I’ve come to learn that there’s no one-size-fits-all solution for defeating villains.”

Sophie cleared her throat.

“And this is Agent Stuart,” Oliver said. “She helped. Some.”

“Some,” Sophie repeated irritably.

“Forgive my manners.” Gardener Hobbes gestured to a pair of chairs with a hand bearing a large diamond ring. “Please take a seat. Now, tell me, why is the Serious Magical Crimes Agency interested in my charity?”

“Charity?”

“My Society is a registered as a charity with chapters in England, Scotland, and Wales.” She smiled again. “We’re working on Northern Ireland.”

Oliver leaned forward. “My lady, two days ago some of your lot was found—”

“My lot?” Gardener Hobbes repeated archly.

“Erm, your worshippers. Followers. Society members.” He scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed. “They were caught attempting to perform a human sacrifice.”

Gardener Hobbes put a delicate hand to her breast. “A human sacrifice? How dreadful! Are you sure they’re members of my society?”

“We’re very certain about that, my lady,” Sophie replied. “They specifically mentioned Zaubernegativum.”

“I’m afraid that doesn’t make them members of my organization, Agent Stuart. Zaubernegativum is still practiced throughout Europe, and in fact, there are multiple societies here in Britain.”

“Yes, there are three,” Sophie said. “I checked.”

“They claimed they were giving up their lives for Ralph the Ravager,” Oliver added. “Yours is the only Zaubernegativum society of which he is the President of the Council.”

Gardener Hobbes looked at the both of them for a very long moment. “I must confess,” she said finally, “that there are some people in the Society who are drawn to Zaubernegativum because they are disturbed individuals. The freedom that Zaubernegativum gives them also leaves them with a sense of invulnerability. I try to do what I can for those people, of course, but I can’t watch them every moment of every day. It was only a matter of time before one or two snapped.”

“It was nine people,” said Oliver.

“One, two, nine, what difference does it make?” she asked, spreading her hands.

Beside him, Sophie stiffened. “What we’re concerned about is whether or not Ralph the Ravager is telling your members that Zaubernegativum has brought him new abilities, such as being able to absorb far beyond his normal limit of power. This is particularly troubling since your people told us Zaubernegativum is a religion.”

Oliver felt that the word “cult” was hanging in the air. Things had become a lot more complicated since the Grand Master Buffalo had been given a sentence of life imprisonment.

“That is absolutely
not
something Lord Ravager has been informing people,” Gardener Hobbes said wearily. “
All
that my society works for is to spread knowledge about Zaubernegativum and to remain a support network for those who practice it. The people who attempted that heinous crime were acting on their own.”

They were going in circles. None of the cultists had given them anything that could definitively place the blame of their attempted sacrifices on Ralph the Ravager, and Gardener Hobbes was never going to confess that he had told them to do it.

Oliver decided to give it one last shot: “May we speak with Ralph the Ravager?”

“I’m terribly sorry, but he’s out of the country right now,” said Gardener Hobbes blandly.

He and Sophie exchanged looks, and he could tell that she was as exasperated as he was. “I suppose that’s it then,” he told Gardener Hobbes, climbing to his feet. “We’ll be in touch if we have any other questions. You may be asked to come down to our office.”

She stood as well. “I’ll be happy to assist in any way I can.”

Under her breath, Sophie muttered something that sounded like, “Yeah, right.”

He was halfway into the corridor when Gardener Hobbes called, “Oh, Oliver? One more thing, if you please.”

When he turned, she was still standing behind her desk. Her lips moved wordlessly. A strange feeling passed through him, and the hair on his arms stood on end; time seemed to slow down to a trickle as they stared at each other.

Suddenly, he felt something big and dark and powerful begin to rise out of her. The magic she summoned came at him in one fell swoop like a hungry lion. With barely any thought at all, he called a shield around himself. Her spell bounced off him with enough force that he felt it reverberate through his defenses.

“Interesting,” she murmured. “You are very powerful indeed.”

“What in the name of Woden was that?” Sophie blurted out. She looked furious; there were two angry splotches of red on her cheeks.

Oliver released a breath through his teeth. “Lady Louise,” he said coldly, “you do know that civilian harassment of members of the Government is cause for an Antisocial Behavior Order and may also result in a fine of—?”

“Yes, of course. Send the fine to my solicitor.” She waved a vague hand. “I merely wanted to see if it was true what people said about you. I’d heard you’d taken Slan’s power.”

“It transferred to me fairly,” he snapped. He recalled the final moments of Duff Slan’s life, the rage twisting Slan’s face as he realized that his power would be absorbed by a mere child. In the heat of battle, Oliver had only been acting on instinct; it wasn’t until later, when he felt a foreign energy surging through him, that he had truly understood that Slan’s magical abilities had transferred to him. “What
was
that?”

“Oh, just a simple incantation. I wanted to see what all that power felt like.”

“A
simple
incantation?” he repeated incredulously.

“It wouldn’t have hurt you.”

“Oliver,” Sophie whispered, “we should go.”

He glanced behind him and saw the big man from earlier blocking the corridor, ready to escort them out. Oliver knew what Sophie was thinking: normally, either one of them would be able to take him, but these weren’t normal circumstances, were they? Moreover, not only was it well within Gardener Hobbes’ rights to refuse to answer any more questions, but she was also more than willing to pay the fine for harassment. They had no real reason to be there if they weren’t wanted.

As they left the building, he felt the wards draw up again, blocking the Society from their reach. That anxious feeling returned to his chest. It settled alongside the chill he had felt when that dark power had risen out of Gardener Hobbes. It might not have been as strong as his own power, but it was still like nothing he’d ever felt before: a whole new kind of magic. There was no doubt in his mind that Zaubernegativum was dangerous.

For the first time since he could remember, Oliver was afraid.

Chapter 5

C
ongratulations,” Sara said, “you’re still alive.” “Hooray,” Ewan replied flatly.

As usual, there were no customers at Eine Kaffee when Ewan arrived for his shift. Sara was alone behind the bar, and Lino, their one other employee, was sitting at a table changing from his crummy work shoes into a pair of expensive-looking trainers. From what Ewan understood, Lino was doing a part-time course in Business Administration and working at the shop between lectures. He was one of those guys who spent most of his spare time at graymarket internet cafés trying to get past the Government firewalls in order to download illegal spells. Ewan had never had a conversation with him in which he hadn’t mentioned the Illuminati.