Con & Conjure (16 page)

No doubt Taltek Balmorlan would wonder why we didn’t wait for him at the Swan Song or show up at that tavern.

No doubt I didn’t give a damn.

Mychael was waiting in the coach, his mage glamour gone and the Guardian paladin back in spades.

I pulled myself inside and quickly sat down; Mago was right on my heels.

Mychael tapped twice on the wall behind him and the coach quickly moved out into traffic. “You two are getting out at watcher headquarters.”

That was only halfway to the hotel.

“No deal, I’m—”

Mychael’s eyes blazed. “Raine, I’m not making any deals with you. He’s set you up—”

“And people are going to die unless I’m there,” I shot back.

“You’re not going to be one of them.”

“Damn right, I’m not. I’m also not getting out of this coach until it gets to the hotel. I can’t hide, Mychael. Not now.”

“Balmorlan said the show wouldn’t start until we joined him at the tavern,” Mago said.

“With this many lives at stake, that’s a chance I can’t take,” Mychael replied.

“What could he do that we’d need to be two blocks away?” my cousin asked him.

“Magic of the worst kind.”

“Balmorlan collects mages, remember?” I said bitterly. “The more lethal, the better.” I didn’t say that he’d be paying any black mages, supernatural assassins, or whatever was waiting at the hotel, with the money we were supposed to get with the transit numbers that we didn’t have. Mago didn’t need me to remind him.

Mychael glowered. “Which is why you won’t be there,” he told me.

“Balmorlan already thinks I am there.” I leaned forward in my seat. “Mychael, it’s me he wants; whatever he’s about to do is
my
fault, so what I do about it is
my
decision. And if it’s something that only the Saghred can handle, then I’ll handle it.” I felt my glamour start to waver. I stopped and steadied my breathing. I knew from experience that pain wasn’t good for a glamour, apparently neither was rage. I couldn’t go back to being myself, not yet. If there was any chance that I could get out of this without taking the lead role in Balmorlan’s horror show, I owed it to Mychael to keep my head down. But if the bastard forced my hand, I’d have no choice. I leaned back in the seat and forced myself into a calm I didn’t feel. “Don’t worry,” I told him. “Balmorlan won’t get a chance to have me hauled off. If I’m caught, I’ll die of embarrassment first. That’d ruin his day.”

“My men can handle anything Balmorlan has planned,” Mychael assured me. “It’s what we train for. My men are inside the hotel, outside the hotel, on rooftops around the hotel, and hell, they’re even on sky dragons patrolling above the hotel.”

“Balmorlan seemed sure that I’d have to get involved.”

“No, he just knows that if people are in danger you’ll do something about it.”

Mago braced himself against the jostling of the speeding coach. “You said what’s going to happen will involve the worst kind of magic. Can you be more specific?”

“It would have to be something that would catch the prince’s mages off guard; that is if the assault came from inside the building. If it’s outside, he’s hoping to catch my men flat-footed. It’d take a hell of a lot for either one to happen.”

My cousin exhaled. While not as uncomfortable with magic as Phaelan, Mago would rather not have to deal with it head-on. Neither would I. “I imagine the prince hasn’t lived as long as he has by not being able to anticipate and counter any attacks,” he said, as if trying to make himself believe it.

Mychael’s mouth turned into a firm line. “Let’s hope today’s not the exception.”

Mychael had the driver pull the coach around to the back of the
hotel. He wanted to get everyone who was inside the hotel to safety, but at the same time, he needed to catch the bastards, bitches, or creatures waiting for Balmorlan’s signal. Jumping out of the coach in front of the hotel and screaming that the world was about to end would incite panic in the public and hiding in the bad guys. Both were undesirable for obvious reasons.

Mychael had the door open and was out before the coach stopped. He turned and looked at me. “You wouldn’t consider staying here, would you.”

He didn’t ask it as a question, because he didn’t seriously consider it one. I was going with him. He knew it, and so did I. I dispensed with a verbal response and jumped out of the coach with Mago right behind me. Mychael and I just looked at him.

“Hey, don’t even think about leaving me here alone,” my cousin told both of us. “You’re the Guardian paladin, and you’re the lady with the killer rock. If anyone’s getting out of this alive, it’ll be the two of you.” He flashed a grin. “So I’m going to be harder to get rid of than bad credit.”

We entered the hotel.

I was going with Mychael because I thought I could help find whatever or whoever it was that was about to unleash doomsday in the Greyhound Hotel. However, I was at a serious disadvantage considering that I had no clue what I was looking for. True to his word, Mago was staying close enough to qualify as my second skin.

I was wearing my own skin now, not Symon Wiggs’s. I was bonded to the Saghred; Symon wasn’t. I couldn’t tap my magic and hold onto an anatomically correct glamour at the same time. So it was Symon or the Saghred. I liked Symon more than I did the rock, but I needed the rock more than I did a scrawny banker.

I dropped the glamour.

If I was going to locate Balmorlan’s surprise before it happened, I’d need every bit of my magic. And if the elven bastard pulled something truly nasty—and I had no doubt that he would—I’d need the Saghred to stop it.

Mago and I would have opted for stealth when going into a building with heavily armed men not in our own employ. Mychael was the chief lawman on the island; he barged right on through the hotel into the lobby.

My eyes and magical senses were trying to see everywhere and everyone at once. The lobby was filled with armed goblins and Guardians. Neither was growling at the other, but that was as far as niceties were going to go.

While Mychael went to speak with a Guardian officer and a goblin senior guard near the front doors, Mago slipped behind a potted plant and pulled me with him, whispering urgently, “Do you see what I see; or more to the point, what I don’t?”

I blinked. “Cousin, I don’t even know what the hell you just said.”

“No elves.”

“What?”

“There are no elves at the front desk,” Mago told me. “They were there when I left for the restaurant, and the senior staff on duty this morning were all elves.”

Now they were all humans, every last one of them.

Oh no.

I could smell the setup from here. “Every elf in this place was probably an intelligence agent.”

“And now they’re gone,” Mago said. “Told to leave, I imagine.”

“So Balmorlan values his people,” I muttered, “but doesn’t give a damn about humans. What a guy.”

If the elves at the reception desk had been agents, they would also know exactly who was in what room, which would make it a lot easier for assassins to get in and do their thing.

The goblin guards who had seen us were giving yours truly some seriously belligerent looks.

“I’m here to try to save their collective ass and they’re looking at me like I’m something they’d like to scrape off their boots.”

“Should we tell them?” Mago asked.

“That elven intelligence is plotting to wipe them all out and they should run screaming into the streets?”

“You know, that sounds implausible even to me.”

I wish I could say the same. I’d seen Balmorlan’s destructive handiwork entirely too up close and personal. A couple of weeks ago, he’d arranged for half a dozen or so crates of Nebian grenades to be stacked in the basement of a house Markus Sevelien was staying in on Embassy Row. When those grenades blew, so did Markus’s house and nearly us along with it.

The Saghred couldn’t stop explosions from happening. Well, maybe it could, but I didn’t know how to do it.

Balmorlan would arrange something guaranteed to be deadly to an entire hotel full of people, but something that he knew I could stop and survive.

My eyes were drawn to the wall behind the registration desk. People weren’t the only things the Greyhound Hotel had too many of.

Mirrors ran a close second.

Mychael’s mirror mage friend had said the hotel’s mirrors were warded as of two days ago. Were they warded now? Without the ripple, I couldn’t tell. But a mirror mage could.

Carnades Silvanus was a mirror mage.

This was starting to stink like last week’s garbage.

The Guardian and goblin officer Mychael had been speaking with were now giving orders to their people, and the hotel lobby suddenly got really busy. Good. Message received; threat believed. I didn’t want to think about what would have happened if Mychael hadn’t been with us at the Swan Song. If I’d come running in here yelling the same thing, no one would have believed me. And disbelief would have been the best reaction I’d have gotten; I didn’t even want to consider other more likely scenarios.

“Let’s go!” Mychael called to us.

He took the stairs at a run, four at a time. I could only manage two, which put Mychael one flight ahead of me, which is exactly what he was counting on. If there was danger on the prince’s floor, he wanted to get to it first. That was fine; I needed the space around me clear of any magical distortions. Mychael’s power definitely qualified. Mago was a few steps behind me and didn’t affect what I was doing.

My feet weren’t the only things running as fast as they could. My magical senses were wide open and racing, searching anywhere and everyone, looking for an anomaly, someone who looked out of place or a hotel staffer or guest who was packing some serious magical mojo and trying to keep it quiet. I knew Mychael was doing the same.

“Feel anything?”
I asked in mindspeak, saving my breath for running, and for what I hopefully wouldn’t have to do all too soon—kick some serious supernatural ass.

“No.”
His curt response sounded in my head. He was conserving energy, too.

I didn’t know what I was looking or listening for, but I hoped I found it before it found me.

We reached the top floor and our way was blocked by a quartet of the prince’s guards.

“Move!” Mychael bellowed.

They did.

There was no spellsinger compulsion in that word, just the voice of a man that other men obeyed without question.

Apparently so did goblins.

To my surprise, no one tried to stop me, either.

Imala was in the hall, a pair of wickedly curved short swords in her hands and the nimbus of a protection spell forming around her.

“Get the prince out of here,” Mychael told her, his voice low and intense. “Get everyone out.”

“What is it?” said a deep voice from right behind me.

I damned near jumped out of my boots, and Mago helpfully yelped for me.

It was Tam.

“Within the hour, this building will be destroyed,” Mychael told him.

Tam didn’t even blink. “How?”

“Unknown.”

To Tam and Imala’s credit, that was all the proof they needed.

I thought getting goblin aristocrats out of a building would be like herding cats—big cats. That wasn’t the case. Apparently when you were courtiers of an exiled and renegade prince, you learned to move fast. Not only were they quick about it, they moved in complete silence, no talking other than what was absolutely necessary, and those words were whispered.

My estimation of goblin courtiers went up a few notches.

“Uh, Mychael, they can’t just go out into the street.” I kept my voice down, too. I didn’t need to tell him that I was thinking about snipers.

“There’s a door in the basement leading to a short tunnel,” he told me. “It empties a block away from the hotel.”

Balmorlan had said
two
blocks over would be safe. Well, when it came to saving lives, you took the best option you had.

I gave Tam and Imala a quickie rendition of why Balmorlan was having the hotel destroyed.

“Two birds with one stone,” Imala noted dryly. “Kill the prince and every goblin who supports him. Then a war with Sathrik will merely be a matter of who fires first.”

Tam looked at something over my shoulder. “Your Highness, we need to leave immediately.”

Prince Chigaru Mal’Salin was on his feet. Barely. A pair of guards stood just behind him, far enough for protocol, close enough to catch the prince before he hit the floor if he happened to pass out.

The prince was actually smiling. “I must run for my life, and Raine Benares is involved. How shocking.”

“And once again, it’s you they’re trying to kill,” I retorted. “Shocking.”

At least Chigaru was wearing trousers and boots this time, and he was almost wearing a shirt. It was completely open down the front, exposing his bandaged shoulder. His right arm was in a sling.