The Last American Wizard (28 page)

Aristocratic fury swept through Zwack’s mind. “Oh, it was
von Zwack, was it?” Steve thought. “Well, I can use
that.”

“You’re German, right?” he asked. “Too bad you couldn’t have gotten one of the cool names: ‘Von Zwack’ would have sounded so much better. Although I’ll bet a nobleman would have been ‘zwacked’ after the Nazis lost–hell, some GI would have shot him by accident while he was falling all over himself with laughter.”

Now, raw fury filled the prisoner’s mind. Perfect.

“So, I’m sure you’re not to blame for all this. No, don’t worry; I can’t read your mind. I can feel it in your heart.” He could feel how the surge of panic was quickly supplanted by a sneering sense of superiority. “What were they trying to do? I mean, you guys made a mess here. Now, my friends got all excited about that but I know all about eggs and omelets. None of those people on the
floor look like they’ll be
missed.”

He had to fight down another surge of nausea. When he’d glanced over at the carnage–trying to be casual–he’d seen the face of a little girl. Terror had been carved so terribly deep into that tiny face.

His face was calm, even slightly amused when he turned back. “Hah,” he thought. “It’s just like interviewing a banker or a Congressman. Just keep him believing you’re buying his
bullshit.”

The second the word passed Zwack’s lips, his entire face crumpled in pain, and he began to convulse violently. Steve felt agony surge up his arms–as if he’d just plunged his hands in acid– and he jerked
away.

“I think Herr Franz Xaver
von
Zwack has nothing more to
say. The aspect of the Chariot has been passed to
another.”

Adam Weishaupt was leaning against the wooden doorjamb. No one had noticed the door reopen after Ace had closed it with such finality. Steve’s eyes were drawn to his right hand–it had the pink and soft skin of a newborn, but it was
there.

“Oh, you like my new hand?” Weishaupt held it up in front of his face and rotated it, obviously pleased by Steve’s surprise. “When you’re an immortal, either you learn how to make the odd repair from time to time or you end up walking around in a body made of wood and plastic. I know that an enlightened soul shouldn’t be concerned with such things, but I do like to look my best.”

Zwack gave a final violent spasm and was still. Weishaupt continued. “Of course, there are some things that none of us can really go without. Air is one of the vital essences, and I’m afraid Herr von Zwack has used up his ration. I will miss
him.”

Ace pulled the sword from her belt and began to advance. Weishaupt appeared momentarily curious. “My dear Ms. Morningstar. I see you have acquired
le Glaive sacré de la Libératrice.
We lost track of it about a century ago and I believed the replacement was just a piece of earthly metal–used in a vain, almost unforgiveable, attempt to imitate a weapon forged by primordial gods in the depths of
time.”

“Wrong,” Ace said.
“Again.”

“Ah. Then I can’t allow you to come much closer. I’ve heard that you’ve been developing magical talents in clear violation of the new laws of nature. We thought that would be impossible for anyone who hadn’t made preparations to protect their powers during the
Dies Regis
Draco.”

“Again.
Wrong.”

Steve and Carlos, still in his
cadejo
form, were slowly closing in behind Ace, but both were still a good six feet to her right. Weishaupt made an abrupt chopping gesture and the wooden door next to him shattered into a hundred needle-sharp pieces. They hung in the air and slowly revolved to point at
Ace.

“As much enjoyment as I get from sparring verbally with the Ace of Swords, I’m afraid that, as the next Emperor, I can’t afford to waste any more time. So, in one of my last acts as the Ace of Wands…”

There was an orange flash as the wooden shards leaped towards Ace and burst into flame. Steve only had a second to react. He knew that there was no way even Ace could block that many, that fast. With a desperate effort, he created a shield bubble around her and attempted to expand it to cover all of them, but there just wasn’t enough time. He felt a hammer blow to his chest and a searing pain in his
arm.

Something was wrong. Something missing. He stood swaying for a moment and then realized that it was his heartbeat. As he fell, he was slightly bemused by the thought that he never noticed it beating until it
stopped.

Then his head snapped against the stone floor and black mushroomed through
him.

Wham
!

Someone punched him in the
chest.

Wham
! Again.

Steve considered whether to complain about this mistreatment but decided it was simply too much
effort.

Another
blow.

This was really unfair; you simply didn’t kick a man when he was down. “I’ve been in more than my share of bar fights,” Steve thought indignantly. “There are
rules.”

Wham
!

OK, that was it. Steve said, “You know, that’s not fair. Hitting a man when he’s down, I
mean.”

There was a stunned silence. He opened his eyes to see Ace leaning over him. It was interesting to see how her face went from intense concentration to deep relief with perhaps a hint of affection and then back to her usual irritated impassivity in a matter of seconds. Steve thought he’d have to watch her more closely in the future.

“You asshole!” she
said.

“Me?” Steve was genuinely surprised. “What did I do?”

“You know damn well what you
did.”

“No.” He started to shake his head, but pain shot up his neck and he settled for his most sincere look of denial. “I really have no memory of doing anything unusual at all. We just walked into the place under Meridian Hill, didn’t
we?”

“Nope. We’ve been in here for about thirty minutes, found a ritual sacrifice, and had a chat with Joe Illuminati himself. Any of that sound
familiar?”

Steve tried to put his hand up to rub his aching head. That effort resulted in a flare of pain in his arm, so he decided that a calm, perhaps not quite serene but definitely motionless, approach was in order. “Well, now that you mention it, I guess some of those things did happen. But I still don’t see how any of them makes me an
asshole.”

“You saved my life,” Ace said. “You
asshole.”

For a moment, Steve couldn’t even speak. Then he sputtered. “Wait a minute; I don’t save your life. You save mine. We have an excellent relationship based on that principle and I have no intention of changing
it.”

Ace scowled–which he noticed suddenly was really something to see on a face as pretty as hers–and said, “That’s exactly what I meant. You’re not supposed to save my life, but you did and in the process put the life of someone far more important into
danger.”

“Who?”

“You. Jerk.” Ace stood up and began to pace. Steve tried to keep her in sight, but gave it up when it would have required twisting his neck. He could
wait.

“Hah! Another point of information,” he asked. “I’m really all that
important?”

“Sadly, yes,” she said as she came back into his line of sight. “You’re the damn Fool, you fool! You’re supposed to protect yourself with your limited powers, not waste them protecting
me!”

“Oh wait, I remember. Weinerwurst shot an entire door at you and I threw a shield to save your ungrateful butt. Then someone hit me with a knife and a sledgehammer at the same time–which seems unwarranted overkill.” He thought for a second, “Maybe
that was the wrong choice of
words–”

“Oh, shut up,” Ace said. “You were hit by two slivers of the door–either one of which could have killed
you.”

“Would you have been able to defend yourself against all that firepower?” he
asked.

“No!” She was almost shouting. “I’d have been dead, but that’s not the point! It’s my job to take a bullet for you and I will not allow you to just wander in and haphazardly decide to shield me! Do you
understand?”

“No.
Not
really,”
Steve
said,
thinking
how
lucky
he
was
to have kept the little scuffle in Bladensburg a secret.
“You’re
angry
because I saved your life? I think that’s completely
ass-backward.”

Carlos, still an enormous dog, came into Steve’s view on the opposite side from
Ace.

Steve appealed to his fellow male. “I mean, Carlos, do you agree with her on this?” Carlos began to shake his head but froze at a glare from Ace and backed away, one hoof at a
time.

“Lot of good you are,” Steve grumbled, and then carefully shifted only his eyes to Ace. “OK, for the sake of argument, I’ll agree
to
let
you
die
the
next
time
the
situation
arises.
If
it
makes you feel better, I’ll even promise to administer a death stroke if you get a hangnail or stub your
toe.”

There was a fascinating mix of satisfaction and embarrassment on Ace’s
face.

“Now, can we discuss something else?” Steve said. “How is it that I’m alive if I was turned into a human
pincushion?”

Ace was still looking away, but she didn’t appear interested in continuing the argument. “You only took two shards. One is still stuck in your upper arm–we haven’t taken it out because it’s doing a fair job of holding your blood in–and the other struck you directly over the
heart.”

Steve was astonished. “The heart? Then I’m dead and if you two are the only angels available, I’m complaining to the management. Unless, of course, you’re my personal demons… That might make more
sense–”

“Oh, shut up.” Ace cut him off and bent over him again. She removed Send Money from his breast pocket and held it up. The screen was filled with a cartoon medal engraved with the words “Cell Phone
Hero.”

Ace glanced at the picture and said, “Don’t blow a circuit patting yourself on the back, Ghost in the Machine. It was that milspec cover I made him buy for you. He took the shock, but the flaming shard bounced off the metal
sheathing.”

“Thank goodness.” Barnaby spoke from the cell phone’s speaker. “There were a few nanoseconds there when our calculations showed that Send Money might have been damaged. Steve would have lived in all possible scenarios, but as I’ve explained, the loss of this cell phone could have been catastrophic. However, once the number crunchers confirmed that the tip of the object had charred sufficiently to render it incapable of penetrating the case, it was tremendously exciting to
watch.”

“So why were you punching me? Send Money flashed the word “NOT” in a violent combination of red, black, and
purple.

“So why were you punching me?” Steve asked, “Insult to injury or simple
rage?”

“
Commotio cordis
,” Ace said. “
Gesundheit
.” Steve
responded.

“No, that’s when someone’s heart stops due to an impact on the chest at the precise moment the heart is between beats. Usually happens to athletes when they’re playing
baseball.”

“So you decided that the best thing for a man whose heart had stopped from being hit was to beat him up some
more?”

“It worked.” Ace moved to deal with the injury to his arm. “Also helped with my emotional
reaction.”

“Glad I could be of service,” Steve said. “Hey, what happened to Weltschmerz? Shouldn’t we be chasing him or
something?”

“I doubt ‘we’ are about to chase anyone. Anyway, he did a standard ‘black smoke and tiny lightnings’
disappearance.”

“That’s in the
manual?”

“Of course. Magic Wielders: Evasion: Subtype: visible vapor and electrical discharge. OTN Appendix
13-B.”

“Of course,” Steve said. “Ow. Hey. Careful with the arm, OK?”

“I could leave the charred piece of door in
it.”

“No. Get it out. Just be a bit gentler, regardless of how foreign that may be to your
nature.”

Barnaby’s voice came from the phone. “While this delicate medical operation continues, I wonder if Carlos could help me
with a close examination of the ritual area. I think that will work better if you’re back in human form,
Carlos.”

“You guys go ahead and have fun playing tourist,” Steve said. “I can see that the Master Chief is preparing to use the serrated side of her K-Bar knife for this, so I’ll be passing out until it’s over.”