The Immortal Crown Page 3

  Justin read his caseload with bleary eyes, occasionally daring glances at Mae. Although the tension in her body promised readiness for any threat, her focus was on her ego as she read what Justin suspected was a novel. The heat and sweat had made escaping tendrils of her blond hair curl up along her cheek and neck. His fingers itched with the need to brush them back from her face and touch that flawless skin . . . then he remembered that any further romantic dealings with her would inextricably bind him to Odin forever. It was kind of a buzzkill.

  “Goddamn!” he exclaimed, sitting upright. Mae nearly jumped three feet in the air at his outburst. He’d seen something move out of the corner of his eye and at first wrote it off as one of the daring moths that would occasionally fly in. But no, the ugly little beast crawling in underneath their door was a large, black beetle. A very large black beetle. Wordlessly, he pointed.

  Mae, gun drawn and aimed, scoffed. “That?” she demanded.

  “Hey, that’s a big ass bug,” he said, feeling slightly sheepish. “Surprised me, that’s all.”

  “Well, rest easy, your lordship. I’ll take care of it.” She strode over and smashed the beetle with a booted foot. When she removed it, they were treated with the sight of a mushy black mess . . . which then suddenly reassembled itself and continued crawling forward. Mae’s smugness faded. “What the hell?”

  Before she could do anything else, the beetle suddenly spit a small dab of green ooze onto the wooden floor—ooze that briefly smoked, seeped into the wood, and left a scorch mark behind. Mae quickly stepped on the bug again, only to have the resurrection repeated.

  “Mae, look!”

  Two more beetles were coming in under the door. Then three. Mae, in what would have been comical were the situation not so freakish, rapidly kept stepping on them over and over, with no effect. They continued to advance, spitting the acidic goo. When two more came in, Justin donned his shoes and joined her.

  “What are they?” she demanded, going so far as to grind one into the floor with her toe. It was as ineffectual as everything else. “Do you seriously think I know?”

  “You’re the expert in all things that aren’t from this world!”

  “Well, then, you know as much as I do. They aren’t from this world. Shit!”

  There were about a dozen in the room now, with more coming. In the onslaught, some of the ooze got on Justin’s shoes. Although the slime didn’t penetrate to the foot, the leather definitely took damage. A sickening image of the beetles crawling up his body seized him. He and Mae, now having difficulty keeping up with the bugs, backed up and both jumped on the bed. Like a dutiful army, the little black soldiers began marching up the post.

  Your wisdom would be appreciated now, Justin informed the ravens.

  Use the knife, said Horatio.

  What knife?

  The only one you guys have.

  Justin glanced around as he helped Mae kick off members of the black tide. “Knife,” he said aloud. “What knife?”

  “My knife?” she asked.

  His eyes lit on her boot, where he could barely make out a gleam of metal from within. “Yes! Use the knife on them.”

  She frowned but didn’t argue as she withdrew it from its hidden sheath. The knife was as much art as it was weapon, a beautiful piece of craftsmanship whose handle was wrapped in amber. Mae traded it for the gun in her right hand and, after a brief assessment, jumped off the bed. Since the beetles were swarming it now, there was a fair expanse of open floor available. Justin wasn’t thrilled at being on lone duty but continued trying to play keep away, even managing to expel a fair number of them by lifting and shaking the covers. He didn’t have to defend long, though, because the bugs soon turned in the opposite direction and advanced on Mae.

  She’s the one they’re here for, he realized.

  Well-spotted, responded Horatio dryly.

  But Mae was ready, plunging the knife down with the remarkable speed and accuracy born of her implant, excessive training, and natural talent. The dagger’s blade struck a beetle right in the middle of its carapace. The small creature shattered into black fragments . . . which stayed where they were. Driven by her success, Mae went after the others, her blade making contact each time it struck. No misses. Keeping ahead of them was difficult, and Justin leapt off to help her, kicking them back as best as he could so that she had a chance to take out new targets. He lost track of time as they played their game of keep- away until, at last, they both paused and saw that nothing else was moving. Mae still held her knife poised, eyes sweeping the room for several more seconds until she finally returned the knife to its boot.

  Justin kicked at piles of black debris covering the floor. “You don’t think they’d give us a broom, do you?”

  She shook her head in exasperation. “Around here, that might be—look!”

  Mae pointed toward the door, and Justin was just in time to catch a blur of black movement disappearing underneath. With that remarkable speed, Mae sprinted over and flung the door open to the hall. Justin joined her and watched as one lone beetle made its retreat from them. The knife was in Mae’s hand again, but he caught hold of her arm before she could act.

  “Wait,” he said. “Don’t you want to know where it’s going?”

  Their eyes met as the suggestion hung in the air. They were few and far between, but in moments like these, there was no animosity. A fierce solidarity burned between them, one that united them in single purpose and understanding. No matter what other drama existed around them, Mae was the only person who really “got” what was going on, and ultimately, that meant far more to Justin than the inconvenience of enduring all the slings and arrows of working together.

  Without another word, they set off down the hall, following their insect guide. It moved at a pretty good clip, but they still had to pace themselves to let it stay ahead of them. There were a few more people in the inn’s common area, but no one who gave them much notice. Justin supposed around here, one more bug wasn’t worth paying attention to.

  And sadly, he thought, this isn’t even the weirdest thing I’ve ever done.

  Not by a long shot, agreed Horatio.

  Darkness had fallen on the streets outside, though there was still enough light from the hodgepodge mix of electric and gas sources to illuminate the road and the beetle’s path.

  Justin found himself thinking of Panama as they walked. He’d grown to despise that province in the almost four years of exile he’d spent there after filing a report claiming the existence of supernatural forces, but the more he traveled in other provincial areas, the more he began to appreciate it. Panama’s streets would’ve been full of revelers this time of night, along with the ubiquitous gangs that strutted around and vied for dominance. If you had no conflict with them, you could actually move about fairly safely after dark, since they were far more interested in each other. Here, the quiet streets had a more sinister edge. Regular citizens were inside and getting ready for sleep. Many of those who were out had more nefarious goals and were searching for easy prey.

  Maybe it was because they seemed to have purpose that Justin and Mae were left alone. It wasn’t until they’d walked almost ten minutes that a shout up ahead made Mae stop in her tracks, grab Justin, and pull him over to a building’s side. She put herself between him and the movement ahead, her gun out without him having seen her draw it. The scent of her apple blossom perfume drifted over him, a bizarre contrast to the scene at hand.

  The conflict on the streets had nothing to do with them, however, or any other unsuspecting tourist. It was between two local men, shouting and pacing around each other as each dared the other to make a move. Friends and curious spectators hovered nearby, eager for a fight. From what Justin could make out, the dispute seemed to be over a woman.

  One man finally landed a punch on the other, igniting the tinderbox. The two went at each other, even dropping and rolling to the ground. Bystanders cheered, while wiser ones tried to pull the two men apart. The whole
altercation lasted barely a minute, but Mae wouldn’t budge until the kicking and screaming combatants and most of the audience had left the scene.

  Unfortunately, the beetle had also left the scene.

  Mae swore in Finnish, but Justin had already realized they were in familiar territory. “I think I know where it went,” he said, pointing.

  She lifted her eyes to follow the gesture, and he heard her catch her breath when she saw Mama Orane’s house.

  “Well, why not?” Justin asked. “Makes sense that a supernatural attack would come from our known supernatural source around here.”

  They walked a little further down the block and then came to a halt directly across from the house. Mae narrowed her eyes as she studied it, her hand still tense on the gun. Lights burned inside the windows, and a bodyguard paced outside.

  “But why?” she asked. “If they’d wanted us dead, why not try it while we were there? They certainly had the manpower.”

  “You,” Justin corrected. “You’re the one those things were after. She couldn’t tell what I was. As for why—”

  “You!”

  The bodyguard had noticed them and came jogging across the street, his automatic weapon bouncing almost comically at his side. Mae took up a protective stance in front of Justin and pointed her gun at the man’s chest. It took him several moments to notice, and he came to a slow halt.

  “Don’t come any further,” she warned.

  “You,” he repeated. “You’re electi. Come. You can help. You can help her.”

  “Help who?” asked Justin.

  “Mama Orane. Please. She’s in bad shape.” Grief and worry lined the man’s face as he looked pleadingly between Justin and Mae. “I don’t think he’s a threat,” Justin said.

  Mae decided to agree and slowly followed when the bodyguard returned to the house, though she kept her gun out the whole time.

  Inside, they found a flurry of drumming, chanting, and incense— much like they had at the ceremony. Only, whereas that had been celebratory, the main room was now thick with tension and grief. The bodyguard led them through the crowd, one composed not of tourists, but of worried friends and neighbors. He spoke rapidly in French, clearing a path to a staircase on the far side of the room. After a quick glance to make sure Justin and Mae still followed, he hurried up to a second floor that showed where the tourist money had been going. Modern furniture, electricity, and tech pieces that were antiquated by Gemman standards but state-of-the-art around here. Justin would’ve liked to study it all more closely, but his attention soon snapped to a bedroom they were ushered into, the center of which held a flower- strewn bed.

  And Mama Orane.

  Justin felt a lurch in his stomach as he took in the woman’s blood- stained clothes. Violence might be Mae’s thing, but it was nothing he would be ever be comfortable around. Someone had done a neat job of wrapping Mama Orane’s stomach with bandages, but they were already wet and slick with blood seeping out from beneath. Her skin was ashen and sweaty, her eyes unfocused.

  “Help her,” begged the man who’d led them in. “She needs a doctor,” said Justin.

  “We sent for him,” said a young woman, sitting by the bed. It was the pretty assistant from earlier. “I took care of her in the meantime. I wrapped her wounds and said all the prayers and songs.”

  Mae grimaced. “Prayers and—never mind. What happened? Was she shot?”

  “Stabbed,” said the assistant. “By a red-haired woman—one of the ones that was here earlier.”

  Ask what she was stabbed with, ordered Magnus.

  “What kind of blade?” Justin asked.

  The assistant held her hands about a foot-and-a-half apart. “A dagger. It happened so fast—I could barely see it. It looked like there were bugs on it. We were sitting down for dinner, and she was gone before—”

  “Bugs?” interrupted Mae.

  The girl nodded. “Like golden beetles.”

  Justin and Mae exchanged a brief glance. Before either could speak, Mama Orane stirred, causing the girl and the bodyguard to go rigid. Mama Orane blinked a few times and managed to focus on him and Mae.

  “H-hello, electi,” she said. A trickle of blood appeared at her lips.

  That was to both of us. She knows me this time, Justin told the ravens.

  She’s dying, said Magnus. Those leaving this world have greater senses. She can see through the powers hiding you now.

  Mama Orane’s assistant seemed to have the same idea the bodyguard had. “You can heal her?” she asked hopefully.

  Mama Orane tsked. “That is not their province. And it’s too late anyway.” She tried to speak again but had difficulty forming the words. Her assistant offered her a small sip of water. “They didn’t come for you?”

  “They did.” Mae’s eyes flicked to the blood. “But not in the same way.”

  “I’m sorry.” Mama Orane swallowed and closed her eyes. “They came to find me, and I called you out. I identified you to them. It was careless, though not as careless as parading myself around. El Diable always warned me, and I wouldn’t listen. This is no more than I deserve.”

  The big, hulking bodyguard stifled a sob.

  “Who are they?” asked Justin. “Who do they serve?”

  Mama Orane opened her eyes again. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. They are other electi, and they are about their master’s business.”

  “Gods want to convert the elect and get them on their side,” said

  Justin. “Why would they try to kill them—us?”

  “Because not every electi can be c—c—” Coughing broke her up until more water was offered. “—converted. Better then for a god to eliminate his rival’s servants. Better for other electi to eliminate their own competition.”

  “The War of the Elect,” said Mae in sudden understanding. “Because we totally need something else to worry about,” muttered Justin.

  “Serve your gods well,” said Mama Orane, her voice raspy now. “For others will be serving theirs.”

  Mae opened her mouth to speak, and Justin was almost certain she was going to issue her usual stance about how she had no god. She seemed to think better of it and paused, saying instead, “You need to rest until the doctor gets here.”

  “No doctor can help me now.” Mama Orane’s eyes closed, and she went so still that Justin thought she’d already died. They suddenly fluttered open as she focused on him. “But perhaps you will lend me a guide to take me to my gods.”

  Justin didn’t know what she meant, and then Magnus said, I will go. The raven paused and then added reluctantly, If you will let me.

  Yes, said Justin. Before he could even really wonder what he’d agreed to, he felt the searing pain in his skull that happened whenever one of the ravens left him. Mama Orane’s eyes opened wide, and a light filled her face. It was almost enough to make one think she might make a miraculous recovery. Then—she exhaled and grew still again. Everything about her seemed to diminish as she sank into the bed. Her assistant choked and buried her face in the shoulder of the bodyguard, who was openly weeping.

  Justin felt Magnus return to him. It is done, said the raven.

  Mae’s greenish-blue eyes studied Mama Orane with a mix of sorrow and disdain. “This wouldn’t have happened in the RUNA.”

  Justin knew she meant dying without medical care, but his mind was still on what had actually precipitated this: the elect preying on each other to further their gods’ causes. “I have a feeling it’s going to happen a lot more than we’d like in the RUNA.” He touched Mae’s arm. “Come on. It’s time to go home.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Security Type Stuff

  The Institute for Creative Minds and Experiential Thinking was the third private school that Tessa Cruz had attended. Counting her brief stint in one of the public schools, it was her fourth school overall since arriving in the RUNA a few months ago. This was the first one she’d picked out herself, and Justin hadn’t been thrilled about it. “It sounds
like the kind of place that breeds political dissidents,” he’d told her. He’d been even more dismayed when he learned what a loose teaching style it had, and his sister Cynthia had laughed this off as the real reason he was upset. “He used to teach,” she’d reminded Tessa with an eye roll. “So he expects everyone to be able to sit in orderly rows and dote on their teacher’s every word, just as I’m sure his adoring students did.”

  Tessa believed that but also suspected more to Justin’s dislike of the school. He’d always felt he owed a debt to Tessa’s father for helping during Justin’s four-year Panamanian exile. Justin had decided the best way to repay this debt was by taking Tessa—whom he believed to be too smart and talented for her provincial background—and bringing her back with him for a dose of Gemman education and culture. The terms of her student visa required her to attend school, and she knew Justin felt a “normal” Gemman education was the best way to prepare her for the civilized world. She would’ve liked to please him in that, but there was no denying she just hadn’t fit in to more traditional programs.

  Tessa liked this new school, mostly because it left her alone to do what she wanted. The Institute’s philosophy was simple. “Creative Minds” could be trusted to pursue their own interests. They could also be trusted to pass the country’s standardized tests that were required in all schools, public or private, with high scores that maintained the Institute’s reputation. Students who could not do this were politely told to leave.

  And so, Tessa found her days split. Half the periods were free time devoted to self-chosen projects in humanities, social issues, and science. The rest of the school day was set aside to prepare for the tests, which involved endlessly going over sample questions and utilizing tutors if needed.