Chapter 13

“It’s confirmed. It’s definitely Iverson.” Stephan walked into the library without knocking. “We’ve got a—” he stopped dead and eyed Eric with concern. “Did I interrupt something?”

Eric, dressed in only a pair of jeans, stood in front of the mirror that hung on the far wall. He didn’t even turn around. “How long have you gone without taking on a masque?”

Stephan pulled off his jacket and threw himself into one of the leather club chairs. “A while.”

Eric cursed himself. Stephan had been turned in West Africa about a hundred years before he was kidnapped and forced into slavery on a Louisiana plantation. He didn’t speak much about what he’d endured there, but Eric knew he’d been taken by rival masquerada who were jealous of his power. Once in America, Stephan’s rage that his ability had resulted in such pain meant he refused to take a masque for years. Selene helped him confront his fury.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Wasn’t thinking.”

“I know. You’re all wrapped up in yourself, classic masquerada. But since what happened to me was a long time ago, and what’s happening to you is now, tell me why you’re asking.”

Eric glanced back at the mirror. It was strange to see himself simply as Eric, rather than the raw material for a more interesting or more useful masque. The magnitude of what had happened hadn’t hit him until this morning, when he’d wanted to go out as Alex. It had been like a punch to the gut to realize that he couldn’t go as Alex or anyone but himself. No masquing allowed. It wouldn’t be for long, the medics assured him—another day or so—but it was like denying part of himself. Maybe his true self. But if those other masques were all the true Erics, then who the hell was he?

“Nothing. I wanted to take on a masque today, that’s it.” It sounded incredibly whiny now that he said it.

“Well, I’ve never had to not do it when I wanted to. Is it hard?” Stephan sounded more curious than pitying, which Eric appreciated.

“No,” Eric lied. “It’s not long now.” He reached over for the shirt that lay draped on the table in front of him. “Report.”

“We have another sighting of Iverson. One of Tom’s team saw him at the Oasis last night.”

Eric quirked an eyebrow. “The Oasis? The burlesque place?”

“Burlesque is having a revival. Feathered fans and everything. It’s popular with the statics right now.” Stephan had a faraway look in his eyes. “Takes me back.”

“How do you know it was Iverson?”

“It was a new masque, but our contact was close enough to hear. He was with a brunette woman but the place was too dim to get a photo without being obvious. She called him Frankie.”

“Frankie?” Eric frowned. “I can’t believe he allowed that. Is that it?”

“Our man also identified his scar when Frankie’s scarf slipped. The crescent on the side of his throat was visible, you know he never shifts that out.”

That was true. As the blood pumped out, Iverson had sworn revenge for the wound Eric had given him. Not for the first time did Eric regret not making it deeper. Like right through his neck.

“He’s definitely consolidating his power, Eric. We’ve been monitoring the police scanners. This is a calm city but crime’s starting to rise again. Same drill as Washington. Small stuff now. Petty crimes and targeted to statics.”

“He’s in direct violation of the Law.”

The last arcane war had been centuries ago, and had led to the establishment of the Law, the treaty that forbade any arcana from interfering in human politics or other institutions. The Law forced the arcana into a secret life, living in tandem with the humans who remembered them only in stories. Compliance was monitored by Pharos, a secret pan-arcana group responsible for upholding the Law and keeping peace in the arcane world.

“Hard to pin it on him.”

“It won’t stay like that for long.” Eric tapped his fingers on the table. “What about the knife?”

“Almost forgot. Here.” Stephan passed over the knife, now in a new leather holster. “It came back clean. No poisons or anything on it.”

Eric pulled the knife out of the sheath. It shone like a new coin and when he touched the edge, it felt sharp enough to cut glass. “No more bloodstains,” he noted absently.

“Guess you’ll have to put them back on.”

That sounded good. Eric strapped on the sheath. “Did Tom brief all our field teams and patrols?”

“They’re prepped but it’s going to be too much for them soon. Mai was injured last night. We got her to the medics before she bled out.”

“Mai?” Eric snapped to attention. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“She’s fine, almost healed. Tom’s with her now. You know Mai. She told me and Tom to keep our goddamn mouths shut and not bother you.” Stephan checked his notes. “We found four bodies around her. Incapacitated and now in detention.”

“Mai’s good,” Eric said proudly. “The problem is, even she can be outnumbered. Partners on patrols from now on and everyone’s to shift once every two hours in case they get a bead on us.” There were strong masquerada on his security team, each one able to maintain multiple masques.

“I’ll tell them. Also, I’ve been talking to Evie.” Evie was their data hound. The way the woman could pore over streams of what were to Eric completely unrelated data and come up with viable predictions was incredible. In another age she’d be considered a seer.

“What did she say?”

“She says there is a crisis node coming.”

“What the hell is a crisis node?”

“Like a point of no return, is how I understood it. Things building and needing to suddenly release. Or something like that. You know how Evie explains things.”

Yeah, he knew how Evie explained things. Whenever she came into his office, Eric listened for form’s sake, knowing that he’d be lost after the first sentence. At the end, when she peered at him through her black-rimmed, now-fashionable-again glasses, he’d always congratulate her on her insight, give full approval, and leave it at that. He groaned. “Did she say when? Give any details?”

“She said she needs more input.”

“What does that mean?”

Stephan rubbed his temples. “She told me, but I was goner about a microsecond after she started talking. I told her to use any resource she needed.”

“Good man.”

“She’s got Paul helping her.”

Eric perked up. “Paul?” Paul was one of the most introverted masquerada Eric had met. A brilliant analyst, Paul was almost physically unable to hold a casual conversation. Eric didn’t think he had ever even looked a woman in the eye.

“I saw them working together late last night,” Stephan gossiped. “He was smiling.”

The two men beamed at each other like successful matchmaker grandmothers. Then Eric turned somber. “Did Evie say Iverson was going to move soon?”

“She said there was a good chance.”

“She did?” Eric said doubtfully. “That doesn’t sound like something Evie would say.”

“It isn’t something Evie would say. It’s a paraphrase. Evie actually said there was a probability ratio of 94.6 per cent given certain parameters and conditions. I think.”

His phone rang. An unknown number, but instinct told Eric to answer. Perhaps it would be Caro. Stephan stood close, listening intently.

“Hello, old friend.”

Eric stared at the phone in disbelief. Franz Iverson. It was like him to pull this kind of a move. He was a huge fan of theatrics. The message was clear: Eric was so stupid that he would miss Iverson’s efforts if he wasn’t pointed in the right direction.

“Franz.” Eric kept his voice pleasant, knowing this would irritate the man more than out-and-out hostility. “I heard you were out. Prison food getting to you?”

“It was a new experience that quickly became boring. You know all about being boring, Eric.”

“I certainly know about being bored. Thanks for the knife.”

“It was careless of you to leave it lying there for anyone to pick up, Eric.”

“What do you want?”

Iverson laughed. “Come, after all these years you even have to ask? Your time’s up. All this playing nice with the statics is over. Weaklings. Sheep.”

Eric frowned. This was more than gunning for his job. “The Council won’t like to hear that.”

“You think I give a shit what the Council thinks? Those assholes are obsolete. However, I think you might be surprised, Eric. Not everyone is as big a fan of statics as you. Not at all.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Eric was already tired of Iverson’s arrogance.

He could hear the man’s shrug through the phone. “We could call it a sense of fair play.”

“We could, but we both know that’s not how you work.”

“Efficiency. I’ve been watching you, Eric. You’re tired. Losing confidence. That’s why you fuck around pretending to be many others. You are searching for novelty in a desperate attempt to avoid thinking about who you are. Who you are not.”

Eric felt as though he’d been punched in the gut. “When did you turn shrink?” he asked, keeping his voice uninterested.

Iverson snorted. “Christ, a kid could see through you. I’m giving you a chance to step down. I’ll take you on and I’ll win, but I’d rather not waste the resources.”

“Fuck you.”

“Suit yourself, Eric.” Now Iverson sounded uninterested. “Enjoy being Hierarch for a little longer. I think that’s about all you have left. And when you go, the Law will finally get the quick death it deserves.”

Eric shut off the phone and relayed the conversation to Stephan. The lieutenant sighed and ran his hand over his eyes. “Looks like Evie was right. Now will you tell the High Council?”

“No.”

“No. Why not? Did you hear what he said about the Law?”

“I did, and he’s full of shit. No one in their right mind would destroy the one thing that’s given us peace from the humans.”

“I still think you should tell the Council. At least Michaela Chui. I hear she’s Pharos.”

“I heard the same but she wouldn’t say even if she is. I’ll tell the Council when they need to know.”

Stephan slumped in his chair. “And that’s not now because why?”

“Because Iverson’s not winning, that’s why,” Eric said coldly. “We’re going to hit that fucker, and hit him hard.”

Stephan’s tired face split in a wide smile. “You got a plan?”

Eric snorted. “That is my plan. We’ll move in ten days. Get everyone ready. We’re taking down every masquerada in the city who’s not with us. We’ve let this stupidity go on long enough. Iverson’s not taking my city or my people or my fucking throne.”

“Yes, sire!” Stephan turned away and began barking commands into his phone.