CHAPTER XX

TRY THE BAD GUYS

When you weaponize magic, the ability to Draw and Bind is only one piece of the puzzle, maybe even the smallest piece. A helicopter pilot once told me that flying is like “driving, checking your e-mail, and dancing all at the same time.” Mission-focused magic use is the same thing. Effective Pyromancers who don’t know how to aim are about as useful as Aeromancers who don’t know how to fly. Just because your daddy gives you a new Ferrari doesn’t mean you automatically know how to drive it.

—Chief Warrant Officer-4 Albert Fitzsimmons
Inputs (stricken) to quarterly report on the progress of the Shadow Coven (C4-Umbra) program

With the barricades breached, Scylla turned her army north, and the pressure on Battery Park subsided.

Bookbinder worked around the clock, ensorcelling the ammunition arriving from Fort Dix and Hamilton, overseeing the soldiers who then packed it into helos that took to the sky to distribute it among the units desperately trying to corral the breakthrough.

Harlequin had been looking nervously to the south ever since he heard how Bookbinder had been delayed, until the news reported that the navy’s Fourth Fleet had surrounded the Breach in the water. Anything coming out of it would do so under their guns.

“We have to do the same,” Harlequin said to Bookbinder, as they rested inside Castle Clinton. “They think we’re out of the fight. We need to get them looking at us again, threaten the Breach. It’s the one point through which Scylla receives supply. We put that at risk, and we force her to turn her attention to us.”

“Outside the walls of this compound?” Bookbinder asked. “We won’t last long.”

“We’ve got Britton now. You helped us get an army on the hop last time, Oscar. Can’t we do it again? What about your goblin buddies in the Source?”

Britton pursed his lips. “They’re still getting back on their feet after saving our asses at FOB Frontier, and they only got into the fight after we’d disengaged. A raging battlefield with goblins fighting goblins? The friendly fire would be insane. Plus, we’re fighting against other humans now. The Mattab On Sorrah have religious dictates that would have to be reconciled. It would be complicated. It would take time.”

“We don’t have time,” Bookbinder said.

“Truelove”—Britton’s brow wrinkled—“I doubt he’ll help, but I can ask.”

Harlequin’s face lit. “We were wondering what happened to him.”

Britton’s expression set. “I can contact him, that’s all. He’s . . . not favorably inclined toward the SOC at the moment.”

“Neither was Downer,” Harlequin said. “Give me a chance to talk to him. We can offer him the same deal that we’re offering . . .”

“Downer already talked to him. I think she . . . put some cracks in his defenses. I can work that angle.”

Harlequin was about to respond when a sergeant came bursting into the room, out of breath. “Sir! There’s an Aeromancer flying around out over the water. He keeps shouting that we shouldn’t shoot him, and he wants to talk to you.”

Harlequin rushed out of the exit, Bookbinder and Britton behind him. He raced past the guards and jumped airborne, rising up and over Castle Clinton, shading his eyes and looking south.

In the distance, a Blackhawk hovered, its guns broadside at a floating man, gesturing wildly at the crew. As Harlequin watched, the Aeromancer began to descend slowly toward the shoreline while the helo hovered behind him, keeping its minigun trained on his back. Soldiers crowded beneath him, guns aimed skyward.

As the man came into view, recognition bloomed in Harlequin’s mind. He hung back, descended until he stood beside Britton and Bookbinder.

The Aeromancer saw him, of course. Harlequin felt the pulse in his current, saw the flicker of dark anger in his eyes, but he swallowed it and faced Britton squarely, breaking into a smile. Bookbinder recognized him as well and waved the soldiers back, though they only moved a few steps, guns trained on Swift. They’re going to have to get over this, Harlequin thought. Our only chance is to work with Selfers.

“Howdy,” Swift said.

“Took you long enough,” Britton said. “I was worried about you.”

“You worry too much,” Swift said. “That was quite a speech you made. Any of it true?”

“Every word,” Britton said.

“Yeah, I figured. You were always a pompous dick but never a liar. Might be why you’ve got so many die-hard fans in the Houston Street Gang.”

Harlequin swallowed his excitement.

Swift’s face went pensive. “I’m here because we know each other, and for all the help you’ve given us, but I still have to answer to the rest of them. Even after all that happened, some of the gang are still just barely off the fence. Luckily, they’re outnumbered by your cheering section. You were the first to bring this thing public. After both gate-gates, when people watch TV, when they go on the Internet to debate Latent rights and the McGauer-Linden Act, it’s your face they see. Hell, I know you. I was in a gulag with you. I’ve seen what a fuck-up you are firsthand, and I still get chills sometimes.”

Britton looked embarrassed. “So, that’s why you’re here? Because I’m on TV? Hell, Harlequin’s on TV all the time.” Harlequin winced. Don’t draw attention to me. He hates me.

Swift didn’t even look at Harlequin. “Yeah, well. I’m not a fan, but the gang feels that his most recent appearances have gone a ways to balance all the crap he stood for before. You know, I’d still rather see the guy dead”—Swift raised his voice, making sure Harlequin could hear him—“but it’s like I said. We make decisions as a group, and the decision is that the gang wants in. We want the new world you promised. We’ll help you to get it. I was in the hole with Scylla. I remember what she’s all about. I don’t want to live with whatever she’s got planned.”

Britton grinned and clapped Swift’s shoulder. “That’s fantastic,” he said, turning to Harlequin. “Is there an access point we can open to get them in here? Maybe we can have a helo . . .”

Swift cut him off. “You never were a good listener.”

The Aeromancer finally turned to Harlequin. “We want all the way in. Not just to the fight. To the committee meeting. To the legislative process. When the law gets rewritten, we have our hands on the pen.”

“We’re out on a limb here,” Bookbinder answered. “I can’t speak for what the president or his staff are going to . . .”

“Well, we’ll just go, then,” Swift said. “You fucking people need to learn when your back is against a wall, and you can’t negotiate anymore. I said that I know Scylla and I’ve seen what she’s about. I won’t join her. A few of us are of the same mind. But a lot of the others see her point. I’m sure when they hear that the president would rather take his time and dither over this, they’ll know he’s not for real. I thought you appreciated the precariousness of your position. I guess I was wrong.”

“So you take Scylla’s bootheel off our necks and replace it with yours?” Bookbinder asked.

“Goddamn right!” Swift said. “We’ve been putting up with yours on ours for years now! It’s about time you got a fucking taste! If clinging to the trappings of your power is more important to you than winning this fight, then be my guest. But a nation ‘of the people’ actually has to be of the people, jackass. That means a place at the table.”

The rage rose. Harlequin felt his magical current surge and his muscles bunch. Is he wrong? He’s here to help you! Why are you so angry?

The anger suddenly competed with shame. Because you’re on the same side now. Because you’re no different.

Because now even you can’t tell the difference between the sheepdog and the wolf.

“We’re not trying to overthrow the government here. That’s Scylla’s game. We’re just trying to force it to change. This is still America, Swift,” Britton said. “That place at the table is for representatives designated by popular acclaim, not a power grab.”

“Yeah, when it comes to Selfers, the Porter administration definitely has popular acclaim. Jesus, listen to yourself. What the hell do you think the SOC is but a giant power grab? It’s the few Latents who have agreed to do the bidding of the people most terrified of them. All we’re doing is trying to make sure our voices are heard.”

Bookbinder opened his mouth to reply, but Harlequin could stand it no longer.

If Swift is your partner, then he’s your partner.

“How many are you?” Harlequin cut Bookbinder off.

The anger in Swift’s voice was unmistakable, but he answered. “Twenty, maybe twenty-five if I twist a few arms.”

Harlequin looked at Bookbinder. “This whole argument won’t matter anyway unless we win.”

“Could it tip the balance?” Bookbinder finally asked.

“Maybe,” Harlequin said. As if on cue, a series of booms sounded far to the north, followed by sizzling cracks of summoned lightning. The soft whisper of distant screams reached him.

Harlequin sighed, felt his shoulders slump. He was so damned tired. “Probably not.”

“Maybe not,” Swift said, “but we’re one of the most well-known gangs outside of Mescalero. If we stand with you, chances are it could turn a few heads. Maybe turn a few coats, too.”

Harlequin sagged, the exhaustion and the gravity of it finally sapping what little remained of his strength. They had come so far, and for what? He’d gotten Downer, gotten the training Covens, even gotten Bookbinder to produce magical ammunition. Now, at long last, Scylla played a trump card that he couldn’t hope to beat, turning the government’s own record of oppression against itself. Harlequin had faithfully served that system, and in doing so, maybe even helped to create the threat he was now called on to mitigate. And for what? He’d now gone on record calling on the state’s greatest enemies to join him. What future did he have even if he did manage to win this? Self-indulgent. Cowardly. It’s not about you. You have people depending on you. Take care of them.

“If you’re bringing twenty Selfers to the fight”—Harlequin’s voice sounded as if it came from a long distance away—“then we’re going to need to turn a whole lot more coats. We need a serious contingent of magic-wielding troops. Quebec . . . All the good guys have been waved off by other good guys.”

“Then we ask the bad guys,” Swift said.

Harlequin looked up at him at that. We already did that, he thought. Better not to say it.

“You’re already getting us.” Swift was smiling now. “You need dyed-in-the-wool bad guys.”

Harlequin began to take his meaning. “Who is worse than you?”

“In the eyes of the US? No one,” Swift said. “But Mexico has its own prodigal sons.”

“What are you talking about?” Harlequin was too tired to play guessing games, even if it did antagonize his potential ally. “You mean the Limpiados?”

“You know about them?” Swift asked.

“I . . . ran into them a day or two ago. They’re not interested.”

“They’re not interested in you. They’re damn well interested in Oscar Britton. I talked to them back when I first got here, tried to see if we could find a common interest. They weren’t buying it then, but things have changed.”

“Let me guess,” Bookbinder said, “they’ll want a place at the table, too. A voice in the new policy.”

Swift shrugged again. “That’s the only thing you have on offer, General. But yes, they want to curry favor with the American government for the same reason any Selfer would, so they can step out of the shadows. They may live in a sewer, but they’re not stupid. If America’s policy moves, Mexico’s . . . heck, maybe the world’s, will follow.”

“So you’re offering the assistance of a group of sewer-dwelling Selfers who work for the most notorious drug cartel in the world,” Bookbinder concluded.

Swift nodded. “I’m offering you a chance to beat Scylla and save New York City. If you’ve got a better idea of where to get Latent troops, I’m all ears.”

Bookbinder sighed. “Whatever I promise you now, the government can overrule. We can publicize the hell out of your involvement, show Selfers and the US military working together, I can put in all the good words I’ve got, but that’s where it ends. This may finish up with everyone’s head on the chopping block, win or lose.”

“Seems to be something of an Internet media campaign, though,” Britton said. “We’ve created a fact on the ground by making them public. Administration’s had a tough time shaking that. Heck, not only are both of you are still in uniform, you both got promoted.”

“And put out to pasture,” Bookbinder said.

Britton smirked. “I’m sorry, but you appear to be in charge of the most significant military engagement in the history of our nation. Wherever this so-called pasture is, I don’t think you’re in it.”

Harlequin surprised himself by laughing. Some of the exhaustion fell away. “Okay, let’s get the cameras back in here. We’ll do another speech, this time with Swift in it. That is, if you’re willing to make a public commitment?”

Swift nodded. “Two delegates. Myself and Guinevere. That or nothing. You insist on that when you get your meeting to reform the McGauer-Linden Act, and you hold the line if you don’t get it. We bleed together. We negotiate together. You try to break us off at the critical moment, and you’ll have a brand-new insurgency to deal with.”

“Don’t threaten me,” Bookbinder said, “I’ve acted in good faith since I came up Latent. If I say we’re honoring our commitments, then we’re honoring them.”

The crackling sounded again, the screams drifting from the north. Stuttering gunfire as the fight was joined in earnest.

“Fine,” Harlequin said. “What are they going to do, fire me?”

Britton looked to Bookbinder, who nodded silently. “Okay. Get the cameras back in here, and let’s go for round two.”