Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter
Forty-Three
Fitz stood in the practice range in the castle’s basement facing off against a cardboard target maybe a week after the soulgaze.
This one was a stick figure of a Hollywood vampire, complete with a cloak, Gothic cross medallion, and oversized pointy fangs.
A word bubble rose from it reading, “Blah, blah, blah!”
He glanced back at me uncertainly, his features troubled.
“Don’t I get a warm-up round?”
“In the real world,” I said, standing with my hands behind my back, “you don’t get time to warm up. You don’t get time to stretch. No one counts to three.”
He frowned at me and said, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.” Then he took a deep breath and turned to face the target. “So, do I have a time limit here or—”
I took Backup out from behind my back and fired down at the target four times, as fast as I could squeeze the trigger. The nine-millimeter weapon was shockingly loud in the confined space.
“Jesus!” Fitz shouted, flinching.
“Now!” I roared. “Do it or die!”
Fitz whirled on the target, face locked in a rictus of concentration, and screamed, “Fiero! Fiero! Fiero!” As he spat the words, he slung his hands up from his hips like an old west gunfighter on the draw, and sent several screaming streaks of flame, like balls from a large Roman candle, downrange from his open palms, high-pitched whistling emerging from the spheres that led the streaks, leaving trails of steam in their wakes.
The first projectile missed, the second slammed into the word bubble, but the third went home in the center of the target, right below the Gothic cross, knocking the target back over and setting it furiously ablaze.
I lifted my eyebrows. Wow. Adrenaline seemed to help the kid, rather than shaking his concentration.
The spheres had been hot enough to boil the water in the air as they passed through.
Call it five hundred, six hundred degrees.
One of the angled steel plates at the back of the range briefly showed a ruddy color in a small circle before sinking back into soot-black.
Fitz dropped to his knees, gasping.
I put Backup down on one of the steel tables against the back wall and walked up to stand beside him. Then I dropped down to one knee and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Damn. Took me more than two years to get as far as you have the past few months,” I said gently. “You’ve got a gift, kid. Well done.”
He looked up at me, his face earnest and uncertain. He gave me a tentative smile.
I answered him with a grin and squeezed his shoulder. “Well freaking done.”
“Engh,” he said, panting. He grinned wider. “You jerk. A gun?”
“Gun will kill you just as dead as a spell,” I told him. “Or a knife, or a club, or a rock. And when the dancing starts in the real world, you don’t get time to wonder what to do. You act or you get taken out. Anyone who knows what you are is going to come down on you fast and all at once.”
“Sounds like maybe it would be smart to start the fights,” Fitz said. He was struggling to get his breath back.
“Maybe. If you think someone is going to be a problem,” I said, “why not just shoot them in the back of the head? Every time?”
He frowned at me.
“It’s smart,” I said. “You survive. They don’t. They don’t get a chance to hurt you. Why not do it that way?”
“It’s wrong?” he asked. “I don’t want to win like that.”
I waved a hand. “ ‘Win’ doesn’t mean anything. There are fights you survive and fights you don’t. So why not do it like that?”
He searched my face. Shook his head.
“Because life matters, kid,” I said quietly.
“Everyone knows that on some level. And whoever you kill might have someone who cares. They think their life matters, too. You go around killing folks, you create more enemies for yourself. More danger. You start killing, it breeds more of it—and you’re going to be alive for a very long time.
You get a reputation as a killer, folks are way more likely to come at you hard and fast. Maybe with a high-powered rifle from a mile away.
Maybe someone pulls a damned satellite out of space onto your head.
” I sighed. “And it gets to you. You kill people with magic, it sticks to you. Like tar. You remember the guy you burned?”
He looked down and shuddered.
“Exactly. You want a life worth living, don’t go starting fights. Just be sure you’re the one to finish them.”
“You make it sound like I’m going to be some kind of monster,” he said softly.
I hunkered down and frowned at the burning target. “Look, kid. You have power. What I want is for you to only use it when it’s absolutely necessary. It’s best to start thinking about how and why you ought to do that now, rather than after things have gotten out of hand.”
“To save my life,” he said quietly. “Or someone else’s.”
“That’s the baseline for when it’s time to get serious,” I said, nodding.
“What gets complicated is knowing when you’re standing in that place.
Learning the signs. Seeing when the balloon is about to go up and doing the smartest thing you can when it does.
Violence hardly ever comes out of nowhere. ”
“That sounds complicated,” he said, his voice heavy and serious.
“Yeah,” I said. “Right now, you’re learning how to be dangerous. But it’s just as important to know when and why. We’ve talked about that a little. We’ll do more about that, too.”
“Okay,” he said, nodding gravely.
I blew out a breath. “Look. There’s no easy way to talk about this, so we’ll just get right to it. I do dangerous work. It could get me killed. I don’t have plans to do it, but that’s something real. You get that, right?”
He nodded.
“Anything happens to me,” I said, “I’ve got a number for you to call. It will get you to Carlos Ramirez. He’s a Warden with the White Council. You meet with him, alone, and tell him everything. He’ll look out for you.”
“White Council?” Fitz said skeptically.
“I know,” I said. “Look, kid. Organizations can be shady as hell, no matter their intentions. I don’t trust them and never have. It’s people that can be okay. Ramirez is one of them. He’ll look out for you.”
“Look out for me how?”
“Get you set up so the Council doesn’t declare you a warlock out of hand. Train you. From a talent perspective, the two of you have a lot in common. Hell, he might be a better mentor than me.”
“But he’s a Council guy,” Fitz said.
“Some people work well with more structure. He’s one of them. And he’s solid.”
Fitz nodded uncertainly. “Okay.”
“Good man,” I said. “You stand up yet?”
He shoved himself unsteadily to his feet.
I got up with him and put my arm around his shoulders as the target smoldered out and lay there smoking. He’d put on ten or fifteen pounds of muscle working out with me since we’d gotten started and gotten physically and mentally tougher, too.
He’d just thrown out about ten times as much power as he had in his early sessions, focused and concentrated and quick. He didn’t have my strength, but he had far more natural control and precision.
Fitz was going to be a very dangerous wizard.
Like me. Like Ramirez.
“Hit the showers, kid,” I said. “Then meet me in the kitchen. I just got a crate from Mac’s, and you’ve earned the good stuff.”
—
Michael Carpenter was walking me and Will Borden through the renovations to the third and fourth floors. The place still looked like a castle, but when you opened the doors to the rooms, they looked a lot more comfortable and modern.
“Blown insulation between the stone and the drywall,” Michael was saying proudly.
“Baseboard heating is working, and running the lines through all the stone was a lot of work, let me tell you. Summers won’t be a problem, with all that stone between you and the outside. Might need heaters at night anyway.”
I shook my head. “And Bob signed off on all the drilling?”
He looked slightly uncomfortable and nodded.
“Yes. The spirit assured us he could still operate the castle, though only the bare-bones electrical stuff will survive here. The heaters are very simple. The lighting should be all right. The plumbing won’t be an issue, and the boiler we put in the basement is as old-school as they get. ”
“Hot showers,” I murmured, somewhat awed.
He grinned at me. “Well. Yes. You’ll need to do preventative maintenance, too.”
Will, wearing jeans and an office shirt rolled up to the elbows, waved a clipboard. “I’ve got a schedule here for you, Harry. Pretty simple stuff, couple of hours a week if you don’t let it stack up.”
Michael walked us to the doors at the end of one of the long halls running the length of the castle and opened them proudly. “The suite.”
I went in slowly, to a sitting room a little larger than the entirety of my old apartment.
It was all rich, natural wood panels on the walls, sealed but not stained, bringing out the whorls and knots and imperfections in each board.
The floor was stone. Bookshelves had been built in all around three walls, ready to receive.
The original fireplace was still there, framed in by new stonework that made it yawn even a little deeper than its makers had intended.
There were logs laid upon a grate in it.
A tiny flame burned at one spot in them.
“Gas,” Michael said, and flicked a switch on the wall.
There was a little whooshing sound, and fire curled up around the logs, which I supposed must have been masonry or ceramic or something.
“Just like magic,” I murmured, smiling. Then I frowned. “You couldn’t have done this for the price you quoted me.”
Michael leaned on his cane, grinning, and shrugged.
“The material wasn’t as expensive as the labor.
I told my people you were my friend and asked them to give whatever extra they’d like to.
” He scratched his beard with one hand, eyes sparkling.
“Honestly, Mouse made a good impression on all of them. Maybe you should thank him.”
Will snorted.
The bedroom was smaller, but just as well done. There was a bathroom, too. And a hot shower.
“But I like my basement,” I said.
“Nothing stopping you from staying down there,” Michael said. “But…I was thinking maybe you’ve been there long enough.”
Will pursed his lips thoughtfully and looked at Michael.
“What’s wrong with a basement?” I asked.
“Not a thing,” he said. “For the man you’ve been. Maybe the man you’re going to be will like it in here, though.”
I grunted. “If so, the man I’m going to be will have to walk up a lot more stairs.”
Michael laughed. “I thought you needed more exercise lately.”
“Hmph,” I said. I turned slowly around, looking at the sitting room, imagining a comfy chair or couch in front of the fireplace. Surrounded by books, reading. My cat on my lap.
Mister, my old grey tomcat, came prowling into the room, took one look at the fire, went over to the floor beside it, and stretched out luxuriously. His purr rumbled through the room.
“Huh,” I said. “I guess that’s settled, then.”