HASHIM stared at Smith, horror slithering up his spine like a tunnel snake. “What are you saying?”
Smith’s grip tightened on Hashim’s waist. “I’m saying the protection spells do a suspiciously piss-poor job in actually protecting the Carnival employees.”
Hashim remembered Rion’s SpongeBob Band-Aids. “Rion was covered in bruises just yesterday. He said the players got ‘overenthusiastic.’”
“This wasn’t overenthusiasm. This was a premeditated attack against an unarmed opponent. The question is why was it allowed to happen when the damn Carnival is supposed to be closed to visitors? Isn’t the labyrinth monitored? One of the stockier races could get stuck in those passageways for days until they lost enough bulk to wiggle through.”
“There’s a room with scrying spells for all the attractions. I saw it once. There’s only one minion who staffs it, though, and he’s a chupacabra who, I’m told, is more interested in his next goat liver snack than in strict attention to his job.” I wouldn’t blame him for his passive resistance, except Rion’s paying the price.
“Is he on duty now?”
“How would I know?” Hashim said irritably, wringing his hands when Rion moaned again. “No. Wait. I saw him heading out the front gates this morning when I was on the way to my first show.”
Smith’s brows drew together as he watched his friend examine more of Rion’s wounds. “Why was Rion still hanging out in here, and why are you still doing shows for nobody? Why are you two the only Carnival employees still on the clock?” Smith’s tone was hard-edged with anger. “Didn’t that asshole Ringmaster bother to tell you the park was closed?”
Hashim laughed bitterly. “He told me, all right. He told me I needed rehearsal, so I wouldn’t disappoint the clients who were paying so handsomely for use of the Carnival.” He averted his gaze, not wanting to meet Smith’s eyes. “In other words, you.”
Smith laid his big hand along Hashim’s cheek. “Not me. I’d never have asked for that. Neither would Brooke nor Mikos. This is all on Ringmaster.”
“Oh, I know, at least in my case. But—” He glanced at the center of the chamber where Rion lay, all bloody and broken, with the witch-doctor working over him feverishly like a dark angel. “I don’t know why Rion would be here. I mean, he’d normally be here at this time because it’s his usual shift. But why today? Surely even if Ringmaster didn’t tell him about the closure, someone else would have.”
“Did you?”
Hashim tensed in Smith’s embrace. “I—I’ve been distracted since yesterday. I haven’t seen him since then.” Dushara have mercy, this is my fault.
“Hey.” Smith tilted Hashim’s chin up with one finger. “I can see what you’re thinking. This is not on you. This is on somebody else, and I’d bet my entire cache of vintage Bowie T-shirts that I know who.”
“Ringmaster,” Hashim muttered.
Smith nodded. “We heard that crazy laughter, remember? This wasn’t just one stray guy running amok in here, some random act of violence. This was a deliberate attack by an armed group.”
“You mean Ringmaster set Rion up to be hurt?”
“I mean Ringmaster set Rion up to be killed. The question is why?”
Killed. Heat built behind Hashim’s eyes, and his fingers curled into fists. “I know why. Money. With Ringmaster, it’s always money.”
Smith studied Rion, his expression grim. “I’ve got to ask. How much is the life of a minotaur—one of the few in existence—worth? And who would have the resources to pay it?”
“Do you—”
“Excuse me,” Dr. Makori called. “We need to get Rion to somewhere more well-lit and preferably with less underlying dirt.”
Hashim broke out of Smith’s arms, although he immediately missed the warmth. “His dorm room isn’t far. There’s a shortcut I can show you.” Hashim carded his hands through his hair, tugging it in frustration. “But Ringmaster could find him there and ask why he’s not at work.”
“He practically bled out,” Smith said. “Can’t he take a fucking sick day?”
Dr. Makori snorted. “Unlikely, given the consideration already shown for Rion’s welfare. In any case, I was thinking of something with rather more medical amenities than a dorm room.” He glanced down at Rion, whose eyes were closed.
Hashim’s heart seized. “He’s not—Is he—”
“Be calm. I’ve sent him into a healing trance, nothing more.”
Smith walked up behind Hashim, his chest a comforting warmth against Hashim’s back. “Did he say who attacked him?”
Dr. Makori lifted one elegant eyebrow. “There wasn’t much opportunity for small talk.”
“It’s not fucking small talk, Evan. We have to find out who did this.”
“And keep Rion safe,” Hashim said, “so it can’t happen again.”
Dr. Makori opened his bag and extracted an obsidian-handled athame and a bag of crumbled brownish herbs. “I agree with you… I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name?”
“Your pardon.” Hashim bowed, his palms pressed together. “Hashim of the Windr—formerly of the Windrider clan.”
“Charmed.” With his blade, Dr. Makori began to draw a circle in the dirt around Rion’s prone figure. “As I said, I agree with Hashim, and while I agree with you as well, Smith—provisionally, at any rate—any interrogation must wait until Rion is stable.”
“Stable?” Panic welled in Hashim’s belly. “You said he was healing. You said—”
“I don’t believe I said anything to you specifically, but you needn’t be unduly concerned, provided I can get him to more sanitary facilities. I’ll transport us to my clinic, where—”
“Clinic?” Hashim glanced sidelong at Smith. “Where is it?”
“The San Francisco Interstices.”
Hashim shook his head. “You can’t. He can’t leave the Vegas Interstices.”
Both Dr. Makori’s eyebrows shot up this time. “At all? Not even to return home?”
“No. But there’s an infirmary near the Interstitial side of the Bellagio.”
“Yes. I am aware. Very well, I will transport us there.”
I can’t go. I can’t leave the grounds. But I can’t tell them. Not now. Hashim shot Smith an apologetic smile and edged around him, outside the circumference of the nearly complete ritual circle.
Smith frowned at him. “Hashim? Don’t you want to go along?”
He shook his head. “I can’t. Ringmaster expects me to arrive for my next ‘rehearsal.’ If I’m missing, he’ll get suspicious and might ask questions that would expose Rion’s absence too. It’s safer if I stay.” He gazed into Smith’s eyes, hoping he didn’t sound too abject. “You’ll tell me how he’s doing, won’t you? Any change, anything at all?”
“Of course.” Smith reached for him, but Dr. Makori hissed and Smith dropped his hand before it could break the circle. “As soon as I know anything, I’ll come back. I—”
And the circle erupted in a flare of green fire. When it died, the circle was as empty as Hashim’s heart.
EVAN’S green fire always left an unfortunate afterimage on Smith’s retinas. Guess I prefer the color of Hashim’s fire. Although things were looking more promising on that front, Smith put it aside—and moved out of the way to let the nursing staff descend on Rion and transfer him to a plus-sized hospital bed.
A bronze circle and pentagram were embedded in the room’s concrete floor, so the staff could choose whether to emphasize Earthside medicine or healing craft—possibly both, since in the Interstices, tech and magic could mix.
Smith lurked in the corner while they stripped Rion out of his leather breeches and boots, quickly and efficiently cleaned all his wounds—of which there were many, but all above his waist, where his skin had been bared. The nurses were confounded by the metal gauntlets on his wrists, though—they couldn’t get them off.
Finally Evan stepped in. “Leave them. They’re ensorcelled somehow, and at least the spell is strong enough that it protected his wrists.” He pointed to a deep cut on Rion’s forearm. “Otherwise, they might have taken off his hand.”
Apparently Evan was well-known here, because the nurses didn’t ask any questions and he gave very few instructions. They were a team. In a way, it made Smith a little sad. He and Evan had never had that kind of synchronicity. They were friends with occasional benefits, but Evan, with his impeccable Earthside credentials, combined with his incomparable magical talent, had always been out of Smith’s league.
Everyone’s out of my league. But he might stand half a chance with Hashim. A conjured ifrit. What does that really mean? Would there be any way they could be together? Was Hashim constrained by the terms of his conjuring? And if he was, how could he escape those constraints, yet not be declared rogue?
Smith had done some research on demon/wizard contracts a couple of decades ago when his mom was considering making a bargain with a sleazy necromancer. It was a much more reciprocal and time-boxed arrangement than what Hashim had described for djinni and ifrits. The wizard could summon the demon, explain what he wanted, and the demon could present what they wanted in return. Both were free to decline the bargain since the penalties for reneging were severe. Smith had convinced his mom not to go through with it, and she’d listened for a change.
But if there was one thing he’d learned in his years meshing tech and magic for the benefit of Enchanted Occasions, it was that once you understood the rules and parameters of any construct, you could work with them—or in some cases, around them, just like he was doing with the Faerie infrastructure upgrades.
He needed more information to know whether Hashim’s contract was one of the former—something he could work with—or the latter. Sometimes you want to get things right, but sometimes you just have to get shit done. And Smith was famous for getting shit done.
Evan left Rion’s side and strode over to Smith’s corner. “He’s doing better than I’d hoped. I had a moment in that ridiculous labyrinth when I thought we’d lose him.”
Smith’s stomach rolled. “You’re kidding. You seemed like it was another day at the office.”
Even smiled tightly. “Considering Hashim was about to fly apart at the seams and Rion already had one foot in Charon’s boat, I needed to project a different outcome for them. Luckily—” He draped his stethoscope around his neck and stuck his scrying crystal in the pocket of his lab coat. “—we were able to make that happen. Minotaurs are both tougher and more fragile than you might expect. I’d love to run some tests on him when he recovers fully. We know so little about them.”
“So who would want to slaughter him? I mean, it was clearly attempted murder.”
“Undoubtedly. He was lucky that whoever was wielding those weapons—and I judge it to be at least three different assailants—were merely semiskilled and weren’t armed with longer blades. Otherwise he wouldn’t have survived long enough for you to find me.”
Smith ran a hand over his face. “If you don’t mind, I’m not mentioning that to Hashim.”
“Nor to Rion.”
“I’m not an idiot, Evan.”
“No, Smith. I know.”
Smith moved toward the bed where Rion’s upper body was more gauze than exposed skin. “It had to be the vampires. I saw a bunch of them lurking around the labyrinth entrance beforehand.”
“There weren’t any bite marks. All the wounds were inflicted by bladed weapons.”
“We heard laughter before we found him.”
Evan raised his eyebrows. “‘We?’ I assume you’re referring to that extraordinarily beautiful man who refused to stay inside the circle. May I ask what ‘we’ were doing at the time ‘we’ heard the laughter?”
“No, you may not. How long will he be in the trance? I’d like to ask him about the attack. If we can prove it was the vampires, we can—” Smith slapped himself on the forehead. “Shit. They’re EO clients. I can’t do anything to them under the Death and Untold Destruction Indemnification clause of the contract.”
“You can’t, but Rion could. He’s not an EO employee so the clause wouldn’t apply to him. He could pursue redress through his own employer.”
Like that was going to happen. Smith clenched his jaw. Ringmaster might not pursue it, but nothing said Smith couldn’t do it on Rion’s behalf. I just need to work around the rules. “I’ll make it happen.”
Evan nodded sharply. “Good. I’d expect no less.” He glanced at the readouts on the monitors and at the scrying bowl next to the bed. “I can rouse him for a few minutes, if you want to talk with him briefly before you go.” Evan tilted his head. “I’m assuming you do want to go.”
“Yeah. I promised Hashim I’d—” Smith rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, you know.”
“Just so.” He smiled a little sadly. “Very well. A few minutes only, mind.”
Evan murmured a few words over the scrying bowl, and Rion’s eyes blinked open.
He looked around dazedly. “This isn’t the labyrinth.”
Evan gripped his shoulder. “No. You’re in the infirmary.”
Rion looked down at himself, at the bandages covering his chest, arms, and hands. “Wow. I guess that’s a good thing, huh?”
Smith approached the other side of the bed. “Hey, Rion. We sort of met in the labyrinth, remember? I’m Smith.”
He smiled, and Smith’s first thought was My, what big teeth you have. But they were blunt, like a ruminant, not sharp like a carnivore. Minotaurs have gotten a shit rap from the beginning. “You’re Hashim’s friend.”
Smith’s eyebrows shot up. “He’s mentioned me?”
“Uh-huh. Although he never seems very happy about it. Maybe you guys should have lunch and talk or something.”
Smith snorted. “Or something is right,” he muttered. Although Rion definitely had a point. A little conversation would be a good thing. “I’ll think about it. But I wanted to ask you about what happened in the labyrinth. Who attacked you?”
Rion blinked, his mouth trembling. “I don’t know exactly. I was at my station but—” He glanced left and right as if he was afraid someone might overhear. “—I was reading,” he whispered. “Don’t tell Ringmaster. He doesn’t like it when I read while I’m on shift, but it was so boring. There hadn’t been any players all day.”
“Not surprising. The Carnival is closed.”
Blink blink blink. “It is? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“That’s a really good question. But back to the attack. You were reading. Then what?”
“Suddenly, there was a guy. He had a knife. He—” Rion shrugged, then winced as the bandages—and what was under them—pulled. “It happened really fast. The labyrinth is kinda dark, you know. The players all have night vision goggles so they can see, but I don’t have any and my eyes aren’t good in the dark.”
How cruel was it to stick someone whose eyes weren’t night-evolved in someplace like the Twilight Carnival, let alone in the middle of that murky labyrinth? Smith’s opinion of Ringmaster sank to a new low.
“How were you reading?”
“Oh. A book light. Hashim got it for me.” Another furtive glance. “Don’t tell. He’d get in trouble.”
“No fear of that.”
“Speaking of your book,” Evan said smoothly, “I picked this up before I activated the transportation spell.” He set a battered paperback copy of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe on the bedside table.
Rion’s eyes widened. “Ooohh. Thank you. This is one of my favorites. I’d hate to lose it.”
Evan smiled down at him. “I like that one too. You’ll have a chance to finish it, since I’m keeping you here for a bit to make sure you’re on the mend. But you should be fine in a week or so, provided you take it easy.”
Rion plucked at his blanket with the tips of his fingers, the only part of his hands not covered in gauze. “Ringmaster won’t like that.”
“Ringmaster can suck my—”
“Smith.” Evan’s tone was sharp. “Remember where you are and to whom you’re speaking.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Rion said with a smile. “Hashim says that all the time.”
“Does he? I’m not surprised.” Smith cleared his throat at the warning glare from Evan. “So one guy with a knife.”
“Only at first. He got me here—” Rion touched his side, just under his massive rib cage. “But then, when I was trying to keep him from stabbing me again, another guy jumped on my back and another one started jabbing me from the other side.”
“So three of them? And you didn’t get a good look at any of them?”
Rion dropped his head to his chest as if afraid he’d done something wrong. “Sorry.”
“Hey.” Smith didn’t presume to pat Rion’s shoulder—for one thing, it was covered in bandages, and for another, he didn’t have permission—but he thumped the bed rail. “It’s not your fault. They attacked you. I’m curious, though—why didn’t you fight back?”
“We’re not allowed to touch the customers. It’s a rule.”
“So they can try to kill you—”
“Smith!” Evan glared at him.
“But you can’t do anything in return. Lucifer’s balls, why don’t you quit? This is obviously a shit job.”
Rion blinked his enormous brown eyes again. “I can’t quit. None of us can. We belong to Ringmaster.”
Smith stomach twisted. “You what?”
“We belong—”
“I heard you. I just don’t know what that means.”
“Ringmaster bought us. Our indentures. Although mine is kind of permanent. My stepfather says there’s not enough money in the world for him to let a monster back in his house.”
Smith wanted to vomit. “Is Hashim—Is he… indentured too?”
Rion’s broad, furry forehead wrinkled in consternation. “Sure. Didn’t you know that?” He held up his wrists. “That’s what these are for. The spells define our sentences. The fancier the pattern, the longer the term. Hashim’s got fancier yesterday, so probably nobody wants him back either.”
Like hells. I want him back.
“Could you leave if you wanted to?”
Rion looked up at Smith with those big innocent eyes. “Where would I go?” He tilted his head, peering up at the ceiling in thought. “I don’t think I could leave, though. One of the indentured flower fairies tried to leave once, and she kinda got zapped by the threshold.” He winced. “That was bad.”
“So what you’re saying is that you’re enslaved. But that’s illegal in every single realm there is.”
Evan shook his head. “Not in the Interstices.”
“Yes, in the Interstices. Just because we’re between worlds doesn’t mean we’re between laws or decency.”
“Don’t be naïve, Smith,” Evan said. “Think about the Vegas Interstices and the other spots that host the vampire Centennial Feast. If a spell is strong enough to negate vampire nature—even if only for a day—don’t you think it’d be strong enough to negate a few puny laws too?”
“Gray areas,” Smith muttered. “Gods, I hate them.”
Evan smirked at him. “Then maybe you ought to do something about them.”
Smith set his jaw, shoving his hands into his pocket. “Maybe I will. And you know me, Evan. If I decide to do a thing, you can bet your ass that thing will get fucking done.”