Lady of Misrule (Marla Mason Book 8) (19 page)

“Any temptation to kick her off the throne and take it back yourself? Run Felport again?”

“Oh, the thought crossed. But I’m busy with my whole dread-queen-Persephone gig half the year, and my city deserves better than a part-time leader. I might find myself in a position to elevate a new chief sorcerer, though. Not sure who I’d put in the job. Someone other than the Chamberlain, though. Almost anyone would be better. Nicolette excepted.”

“I didn’t get to know the Chamberlain well, but she seemed to know her shit,” Bradley said.

“Yeah, she’s good at that bullshit ghost-magic she does, but I hate her, so she’s obviously unfit for leadership. There’s Hamil, I guess – he was my number two, so he’s the obvious choice.”

“Marla, he voted to kick you out of the job and exile you.”

Marla nodded. “Sure. And he betrayed our friendship in the process, potentially making me a terrible enemy, etc. But he did that terrible because he thought getting rid of me was best for the city, see? The fact that he made that hard decision tells me he’s qualified to run things. The problem is, he doesn’t want the job. He’s too smart to want to sit on the throne. Who else is even halfway qualified? Langford’s a sociopath, which I’ll grant you isn’t necessarily a flaw in a leader in some situations, but he’s happy running the Blackwing Institute and running experiments I’d rather not run about – he never even really wanted to sit on the council. The Bay Witch is strong enough to run a city, but she’s only halfway in our reality most of the time, and it’s hard to imagine she’d pay attention to anything beyond the waterfront.” She sighed. “The other obvious choices are all dead. Maybe there’s somebody on the council who has chops, I don’t know. I could set up a ruling triumvirate or something. Or a rotating leadership thing like they had in San Francisco before most of their sorcerers got killed.”

“So you don’t have any doubt you’ll be able to knock Nicolette off her perch?”

Marla actually laughed. “Bradley. My superpower is I
don’t lose
. No matter what it costs me. I win, or I die. And just lately, I can’t die.” She shrugged. “That’s nothing but math, Little B.” She yawned behind her hand. “Besides. It’s just Nicolette. She ain’t shit. I’m taking a shower.” She rose from her seat and ambled toward the restrooms.

Bradley sat and brooded. In this particular skin he hadn’t known Nicolette well, but in some other realities, now only vaguely recalled, he’d known her better – in at least a couple they’d been lovers, despite his total lack of sexual interest in women, due to some love-spell shenanigans. In still others they’d been devoted allies. In most realities he was aware of, Nicolette was a bad person, selfish and violent and spiteful, and she had a tendency to fixate obsessively on people as mentors or enemies, contorting her life around theirs as acolyte or adversary. But in a few timelines, she’d fixated on someone more noble than her mentors in
this
world, and devoted herself to doing good, or at least not to doing
bad
.

In some realities, Nicolette had even been an ally of Marla Mason, both of them fighting in resistance forces against supernatural despots and interdimensional conquerors – enemies bad enough to make them join forces despite the inevitable clash of their wills. In those worlds, Nicolette often looked up to Marla with something that could only be called love, and she’d lived or died inside based on Marla’s opinion of her.

Bradley wondered how much of that applied to the Nicolette
here
. In this world, Nicolette was Marla’s implacable but inconsequential enemy, a gadfly who wanted to be a monster. How much of her villainy over the years was just down to her wanting Marla’s respect? Crapsey had made the same argument, and while the murderous parasite wasn’t famed for his understanding of psychology, Bradley thought he might be on to something in this case.

Not for the first time, Bradley really wished he trusted himself enough to order a double Scotch. He’d have to settle for a shower and a nap, which were just about the worst substitutes for getting drunk imaginable.

•

The flight was uneventful, and the seats reclined fully into beds, so Bradley even slept well. (He had experience sleeping in abandoned buildings full of addicts, and in alleys, and on freezing cold location shoots, and in more cars and fields than he could count during his pursuit of the Outsider, so anything resembling a bed was too glorious to be believed.) He didn’t wake until a flight attendant nudged him to tell him they were about to begin their final descent, but Marla was already conscious beside him, looking out the window and sipping orange juice.

Bradley got his seat into its upright configuration, hurried to the bathroom before the pilot could demand they stay in their seats, and then dropped in beside Marla. He leaned across her and looked down at the sprawling city by the bay, split by the curve of the river. “That’s Felport all right. Looks almost pretty from up here, the light shining on the water.”

“Makes my heart ache in my chest. Damn. I didn’t expect that.” Marla sighed. “You ready to make some moves? Bust Rondeau and Pelly out of wherever they’re held, assuming they didn’t bust themselves out yet? Kick Nicolette out of office and put someone better in her place?”

“I’ll do whatever you need me to... as long as I think it’s a good idea.”

“Apprentices are so disobedient nowadays.”

“You know, your goddesshood, I think I outrank you in terms of mystical celestial might.”

She snorted. “The Over-Bradley does, maybe, but you’re just the middle toe on his right foot or something. A skin cell that got ideas above its station.”

“I’ve always had aspirations beyond my abilities.”

“Yeah. Don’t we all.”

They sat silently as the plane began to descend, until Bradley said, “Do you think they’re expecting us?”

“Nicolette might have people watching the airports and roads, though I wouldn’t count on it. She’s never had to organize anything more complicated than a birthday party. Any surveillance she does try to put on us, we’ll breeze right past. We’ll jump out at her in our own time, in our own way, after I gather some intel.”

The plane landed, and they were the first ones off, Marla carrying her shoulder bag, and Bradley a backpack slung over his shoulder holding a change of clothes. They stepped into the gate area... and a tall, slender black woman with a profusion of white dreads, wearing yoga pants and a flowing white shirt and lots of bead-and-crystal necklaces, approached them with a smile. She was followed by a small serious-looking middle-aged man in a derby hat. “Marla!” the woman said. “So glad you could make it.”

Marla frowned. “Perren?”

The woman nodded, smiling, and turned to Bradley. “And this is Bradley Bowman? I’m Perren River, big fan of your work, both the films and the magic.”

“Uh,” Bradley said. “Nice to. Uh.”

“You remember Mr. Beadle, Marla?”

The small man nodded at her. “Ma’am.”

Marla frowned. “Wait. Nicolette sent you?”

“To meet you, yeah, and take you to you hotel. She figured you’d want to freshen up before she met with you.”

“Mr. Beadle works for Nicolette now? I thought you two were mortal enemies.”

“That’s right,” Bradley said. “You’re an order mage, aren’t you?”

“Yessir. Nicolette and I were more opposed philosophically than personally, but.” He shrugged. “That’s all worked out now. May I take your bags?”

Marla shook her head. “No. I have weapons in my bag, and I might need them in case Nicolette tries to mind-control me like she did
you
two.”

Perren shook her head, long dreads shaking. “If she were controlling our minds, we would’ve had an easier time with the transition. Come on. We’ll tell you about it. There’s a limo waiting.”

“Look, thanks for the offer, but we’ll make our own way wherever we’re going.”

Perren shrugged. “Suit yourself. What should I tell Pelham and Rondeau?”

Marla shifted her weight, and Bradley wondered if she was preparing for a fight, or easing back from her readiness for one. “What do you mean?”

Mr. Beadle gestured vaguely back through the terminal. “They’re waiting in the car.”

“Are they prisoners?”

“I won’t lie to you,” Perren said. “They certainly were, for a while there, though they were treated well. But now they’re free. They wanted to see you, so we gave them a ride.”

“Why would Nicolette just let them go?” Bradley asked.

“They were taken as leverage to make you come to Felport,” Perren said. “And... you came to Felport. As soon as Nicolette got word you were en route, she ordered their release.”

“What’s to stop me from grabbing them and getting on a plane and flying out of here without bothering to see Nicolette at all?” Marla asked.

Perren smiled. “Nothing, except everything everyone who’s ever met you knows about how your mind works.”

Marla didn’t smile, but her lips twitched, and that was remarkably close – Bradley didn’t think anyone who was less perceptive than he was would have noticed. “You know, that’s almost enough to trigger my natural contrariness and make me leave
anyway
. But you’re right. I do want to see Nicolette. And then hit her with things. And then send her back to Hell.”

“It wouldn’t be the first epic clash in the halls of power we’ve had in the past month, mum,” Mr. Beadle said. “I’ve been quite content with my own moderate level of power, lately. It’s safer not to be too big a target.”

“Shall we?” Perren said.

“Fuck it,” Marla said. “Let’s shall.”

Rondeau in a Limo

“See, this is proper style.” Rondeau sorted through the little built-in liquor cabinet in the back of the limo, pulling out stoppers from plain glass bottles and sniffing to identify port, brandy, single-malt scotch, and some kind of blackberry-infused vodka.

“I can’t help thinking it must be some kind of a trick,” Pelham said. “Nicolette... the things she’s capable of... Why would she just let us go?”

“She’s a chaos witch, Pelly. If she were predictable, she’d be... some other kind of witch.” Rondeau looked around for glasses but couldn’t find them. Probably hidden in some secret compartment. Drinking straight from the scotch decanter seemed gauche, but then again, the alcohol content was sufficiently high to kill any germs he left on the rim, so why not? He took a swig. Mmm, what a wonderful burn. And it would quiet his psychic powers, which were pretty freaked out every time he looked at Pelham. There were ghostly chains wrapped around the man’s head, translucent links visible only to Rondeau and presumably any other poor bastards who could perceive things on the magical spectrum. “Want a jolt?”

“No. My faculties are reduced enough by this spell Nicolette has cast on me.”

“So you can’t even give me a
hint
about what you saw in the Chamberlain’s magic mirror?” Rondeau said. “Maybe act it out charades-style? Nothing?”

Pelham opened his mouth, winced, frowned, and then said, very slowly and deliberately, “I can say only that it does not pose an immediate threat to us, or to Mrs. Mason. And that it involves –” His teeth snapped shut, and he hissed, then fished a handkerchief from his pocket and put it to his mouth for a moment. When Pelham took the cloth away, Rondeau saw a speck of blood on his lip. “No, not even that much. Nicolette’s spell makes me literally bite my tongue if I even come close to the secret. She told me she doesn’t want me to spoil the
surprise
.”

Rondeau nodded. Pelham had been dragged back to their room after his visit to the Chamberlain by Squat and a couple of homunculus orderlies, under heavy sedation, not just asleep but practically comatose. When Rondeau begged to know what was going on, Squat would only say that Pelham gotten up to some unauthorized magic with the Chamberlain. “We heard glass break in her room, and when I rushed in, thinking they’d try to stab me with shards of mirror or something... I realized they were up to something else, and the doc handed me a couple of hypodermics to settle them down. We’ll see what Nicolette wants to do with you.” Squat shook his head. “You gotta give the little guy props for courage, though I don’t know what they were trying to accomplish exactly. If Nicolette’s too furious, I’ll try to calm her down. I really would hate to have to eat you guys.”

“Is Nicolette really a better boss than Marla?” Rondeau said. “I mean – do you still think you made the right choice, jumping ship on us?”

“Nicolette sucks,” Squat replied. “But at least she doesn’t pretend she gives a shit about me. Unlike Marla.” He stumped away.

This morning, Rondeau was awakened by Nicolette herself, nudging him in gut with one meaty finger. He’d blinked at her for a few seconds and then said, “Your shoulders are broader than I remember.”

“You like?” Nicolette struck a bodybuilder’s pose, her white skin-tight t-shirt straining against bulging musculature. “I wasn’t sure about using a dude’s body, but this one’s pretty strong, and it’s got some other amusing qualities. I’ve got a couple of chick bodies put aside I can use, too, when I feel like going that way instead.”

“The meathead thing doesn’t really go with your bone structure.” Rondeau sat up on the bunk. “You’re too delicate. It’s like, I don’t know, a bird’s head on a rhinoceros.”

“You say the sweetest things. But tell me the truth. You kind of want to fuck me in this body, don’t you?” She turned around, wiggling her ass at him.

“I like the slim-hipped pretty boys more, to be honest,” he said.

“No accounting for taste. Come on, you’re getting set free today. After I put a gag order on your boy there.”

Rondeau slid off the top bunk to the floor and eyed Nicolette warily. What did she mean, a gag order? If she tried to cut out Pelham’s tongue or something....

Pelham was still asleep on the bottom bunk, though at least he was snoring a little – his earlier drugged-out stillness had been unsettling. Nicolette leaned over him, a silver necklace in her hand, and did a little muttering incantation while twisting the chain between her fingers. That’s when the ghostly links wrapped themselves around Pelham’s head. He groaned and blinked his eyes.