24

GEAS, GIVE ME A HEART ATTACK, WHY DON’T YOU?

The radius effect of magic is never predictable. We went around the back side of the high school, and the parking lot lights—at least the section of them that we could see—were still going strong, but the lights inside the high school seemed to be off entirely. I couldn’t even see vending machines glowing in the gym lobby, or the faint gleam of computers absentmindedly left on in classrooms on the upper floors. It seemed like a pretty good bet that we wouldn’t have to worry about any security cameras or alarms.

“There’s magic in the air,” I said. “And I’m not talking about Christmas.”

Keeley seemed more alarmed at the prospect of his cell phone not working than the idea that something was up. “We don’t have a team in place yet.”

They didn’t? That didn’t sound like the Simon Travers I knew. The Templars really must be keeping busy.

“See that ticket booth?” I pointed toward a small wooden shack set next to a practice field, right beside the driveway. “You can hide in there and be our contact person on the outside once we scout around a little.”

Keeley protested, but only halfheartedly. Choo found a discreet place to park down the street, and he and Molly and Keeley focused on using their smartphones to find a map of the school and the name of the yearbook editor while Sig and Kasia and I looked around the outside of the high school for sentries or signs of an ambush. It was an even bet on whether it was Reader X’s imagination or the School of Night’s divination magic causing the supernatural static on the inside.

Normally, I would have taken several hours to scout the area properly, but, you know, magical monsters, nuclear bombs, nutjobs with the power of gods, clocks ticking. So, I did the best quick job I could, then found a house across a side street whose yard was almost completely in shadow. Once hidden, I tried to call Ben Lafontaine.

I say “tried” because my fingers wouldn’t punch the buttons on the cell phone. The tendons in my wrist tightened up as if my shoulder were reeling them in, and the fingers of my hand were pulled into a painful claw. My heart started pounding painfully against my breastbone.

My geas was kicking in. I tried to stab the buttons with a knuckle and a choked sound came out of my mouth that made me realize I wouldn’t be able to talk to Ben even if I did manage to call him. The wolf in me knew that the same city where my pack leader was sending a lot of werewolves had become a death trap, but the John Charming who thought in terms of tactics and strategy knew that Ben continuing to send more werewolves was the best chance to save the lives of the werewolves who were already there. And if all of the werewolves suddenly started fleeing the city, or even sending their families and friends out, there was no way it wouldn’t be noticed by other members of the supernatural community, which would inevitably draw the attention of the people with their fingers on buttons.

And if that weren’t complicated enough, the knight in me who was bound by a geas knew that if Ben found out about the Templars’ nuclear option, it might irretrievably break the alliance between the werewolves and the knights once and for all. That wouldn’t be good in terms of keeping magic a secret, and my geas wouldn’t let me do anything that I honestly believed was in disservice to that cause.

I sank down to my knees and put my head on the ground. I wasn’t being dramatic. My thudding heart was sending fight-or-flight chemicals through my body, and a bright, hot, sharp pain was starting to flare in my skull. The only way to get my body under control was to find a path that could make the wolf and the knight align with the man, or reason things out until I sincerely believed that what I was doing was the best way to serve the Pax Arcana.

The thing was, the knights couldn’t keep going the way they were going. It wasn’t just the specific circumstances; it was their mind-set. Even if I kept the nuclear scenario away from Ben and we managed to find Reader X and defuse this situation, no pun intended, the Templars and the Round Table would wind up going to war eventually. The knights thought of us wolves as disposable second-class citizens, and we wolves thought of the knights as fascists who couldn’t be trusted, and that house divided against itself couldn’t stand. I really believed that.

That was too abstract for my geas, though. The piercing pain in my head was still building.

Telling the truth to Sarah about the Book of Am had paid off because I trusted Sarah, and she was smart, and she had brought a whole new perspective to the problem that helped me make real progress. I trusted Ben. Ben was smart. Too smart to lie to or withhold truth from without him catching on sooner or later. And Ben might bring a whole new perspective to this problem. Ben didn’t want war between the knights and the werewolves either.

Yeah, Simon’s way might work, but it was a short-term solution, and it would definitely cause problems further down the road. I really believed that, too. Trusting Ben might backfire right now, but it might not, and it would be better in the long term. Simon’s way might backfire right now too, and it would definitely lead to long-term disaster. Didn’t that make trying to figure out a way to work with Ben a better option?

If the geas paralyzed me or made me pass out, Sig would call Ben anyhow. So, there was no point in my body shutting down.

The pain in my head suddenly stopped intensifying.

I was willing to try to keep magic a secret from the world at large; I really was. I didn’t want scientists dissecting werewolves trying to cure cancer, or the military trying to turn monsters into super soldiers, or cults or religious crusades or fears of the apocalypse that the appearance of magic in the mundane world would certainly cause. I didn’t want to discover what new kinds of racism might occur when beings that were actually different races instead of just ethnicities appeared on the scene, or find out what political platforms some ambitious prick might run on using fear of the supernatural as a focus, or have supernatural beings registered or questioned by Congress or put in camps until people felt safe again.

And maybe it wouldn’t go down that way in some countries, but it would definitely turn to genocidal wars in others, and history wasn’t very encouraging. I was willing to serve the Pax Arcana, but to serve it to the best of my ability, I had to use my best judgment, and my best judgment was telling me that Simon was wrong.

I found a way.

The migraine started to dissolve, and my breathing slowed.

I called Simon, and wonder of wonders, the prick actually answered the number he’d given me. Keeley had probably been texting Simon that we’d figured out the nuclear scenario, and the tumblers in Simon’s scheming mind would be whirling.

So, I didn’t waste time. “You have to tell Ben.”

Simon didn’t waste time either. “That will cause the disaster you’re trying to stop.”

“No,” I said. “It won’t. Because nobody in the supernatural community will think it’s suspicious when werewolf civilians start disappearing if they think there’s another war between knights and werewolves brewing.”

“What?”

“Ben’s going to tell the Round Table that he’s taking precautions because he’s seeing signs that the knights are going to mount hostilities again when the current crisis is over. And you’re going to spread signs of mounting tension among the supernatural community. Given our recent history, nobody will think it’s weird when the werewolves start to duck and cover. The Round Table already has preparations in place to leave quickly and quietly if that situation occurs again, anyhow.”

“You want to prevent a war between the Round Table and the Order by making everyone think there’s going to be another war between the Round Table and the Order.”

“I know it sounds crazy,” I said. “But Ben can tell his wolves that he’s just taking precautions. He can ask for some werewolves to volunteer to stay and keep working in the city so that the knights won’t get suspicious while the Round Table is evacuating its civilians. Werewolves will go for that, and the families fleeing the city won’t be calling every loved one they know to warn them about nuclear bombs, because they won’t know about nuclear bombs. The werewolves who stay—and pack loyalty will have almost all of them stay—will know that they’re volunteering for a messed-up situation they don’t fully understand instead of being ordered into it. And Ben will know that you told him the truth. He’ll know that you offered to look like the bad guy so that Ben could get the people he cares about out of harm’s way. He won’t like this nuclear craziness any more than I do—”

“Any more than I do,” Simon interrupted.

“—but he’ll understand that you’re doing everything you can to avoid that possibility, and that you’re respecting his needs and intelligence if nothing else. You’ll be building a foundation we can work on in the future.”

“He’ll smell you all over this,” Simon said.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “This is why he wanted me to work with you. Ben’s smart, Simon. You don’t know how smart. And you’ll be telling the truth. We’re going to make it the truth.”

Simon went quiet for a time. Then he said, “If we spread that rumor around, I could have knights evacuate their families without raising suspicion, too.”

Did it make Simon better or worse that he hadn’t already done so?

“You could use the story to explain all kinds of unusual knight activity,” I said. “The supernatural community has to know that something is going on. This story will have bystanders trying to get out of the crossfire instead of sniffing around.”

Simon hmmned. “Here’s the problem. We can’t have knights and werewolves thinking a war is coming very long without a war actually breaking out. The ‘Hah-hah, just kidding’ option has a short expiration date. And if me lying to Ben is bad, how is asking Ben to lie to some of his people any better?”

Was Simon saying “we” because he was trying to rope me in? Or was he doing it unconsciously? Either way was an improvement. “It’s better because they’re his people. And we’re desperately trying to buy time no matter what we do. That’s why we’re going to find this asshole and his Book of Am before the sun rises.”

“We are?”

“Of course we are,” I said. “We don’t have a choice.”

There were other things to say, but ultimately Simon went for it.

I called Ben. “I don’t have much time. Simon’s about to give you some bad news. But he wants to work with you, and we can use this.”

Ben caught the urgency in my voice immediately. “What bad news? Use it how?”

“When this situation is over, we’re going to leverage it to demand that some of our most promising young wolves start getting put through knight training alongside human geas-bound,” I said. “Things like that.”

Ben swore. “Exactly how bad is this news?”

“Just keep what I said in mind when you listen to him,” I said. “This is either a disaster none of us are going to recover from, or it’s our biggest opportunity. You have to think that way or we’re all screwed, Ben. I’m trusting you.”

Ben wanted more information, but I said, “Simon has to tell you himself, or it doesn’t mean anything. We can compare notes later.” And I hung up. Ben and Simon were going to have to work out the details themselves. I had just told Simon that this would all work out because I was going to find Reader X before another day went by.

No pressure.